#and he's a powerful ancient dreamer how fitting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

Text

Au Acosf - Chapter 73

I decided to split the chapter into two parts as it's growing so large and there's a lot to deal with so, surprise you get half of it earlier! All of you who thought Adeline/Eris were up to something sneaky... he's just a boy who loves his mama!

@a-court-of-valkyries @sv0430 @mis-lil-red @nesquik-arccheron @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lyzriel @dustjacketmusings @sugardoll22 @gwynethhberdara @embersofwildfire @witchsouth @faeriebambula @lady-winter-sunrise

‘Keep by my side,’ Baran advised, extending his arm for Nesta to slip her own through.

There were many mourners lined up along the vast corridors, weaving their way through the Forest House towards Beron’s body which was kept in a large hall for them to pay their respects. There was little chatter, just a sombre mood as if all the colour had been drained from the world. Mourners had come to say their final farewell to their High Lord. Nesta wasn’t sure how much of it was voluntary or expected following his passing.

She thought she might feel different, might feel some relief that the iron-fisted Lord had passed away, but her gut churned with worry.

There were tears from a number of females – quiet ones that slipped down their cheeks – as they shuffled along in the queue. Beron had never been the sort of male that would want females weeping for him, she thought; he was more likely to be the awful cause of tears and laugh cruelly at them. Change brought uncertainty, so perhaps some were worried over the future, perhaps some wanted to appear full of sorrow to appease their new high lord.

Baran led her through a side door, once guards had allowed them entry. The Forest House was a labyrinth, one that never seemed to end so she was glad to keep hold of him.

It was the family’s private quarters Baran had taken her to, Nesta realised with a jolt. Her eyes canvassed the portraits lining one the pine-coloured walls. Each High Lord of the court had a painting there; all the males had cunning eyes with shades of brown or russet hair. These males likely had all killed to secure their throne. Eris was simply the next Vanserra in a long line of males who had held the seat. The Vanserra name was ancient and powerful, holding the seat of the Autumn Court for an impossibly long length of time. The weight of the Vanserra legacy was gargantuan – and she did not envy Eris for carrying it.

‘The public showing will end soon,’ explained Baran as he escorted her into a small parlour. ‘It is customary.’

He gestured for Nesta to take a seat so she perched on the edge of a dark green couch, her fingers brushed against the velvet material as a way of grounding herself. It almost felt like a dream. A strange dream that she could not wake herself up from.

‘Eris will come here when the viewing is finished. He knows you will be here.’

‘How did he know I’d come?’

Baran quirked his head to the side, the dimple making an appearance again. ‘Because he said good people always go where they are needed.’

***

‘She’s not here.’

‘What do you mean she’s not here?’

Cassian gritted his teeth, fighting away the snarl rumbling in his chest, setting his siphons pulsing with power. ‘I mean she isn’t in the cabin, Az. What else could I fucking mean?’

Rhys saw fit to extend the offer of paying their respects to Beron’s memory to Nesta too. Az had been sent along with Cassian to Illyria under the thinly-veiled guise of winnowing them. Cass knew he was only there to ensure he did invite Nesta and return to Velaris rather than barring the door and not leaving.

His heart was in his mouth as he lumbered through the cabin like an oaf. He hauled open the armoire’s doors, wrenched open the chest of drawers. Cassian didn’t know what he was looking for really. Evidence that Nesta had packed and left. Evidence of her hiding under a bed ready to jump out and surprise him. That desperate hope that she hadn’t been driven away by him.

Azriel never gave him an inch of space. He’d stuck to him, colliding twice when Cassian had turned around and barrelled into him by accident, once wing to wing, the second time Az’s head had clattered with his jaw.

The cabin had been so well warded by Rhys for their protection that Nesta could only leave willingly. Somehow that was worse. She had walked out of that door by choice.

‘Cass, stop. Stop.’ Azriel blocked him on the stairs. ‘She might be with Emerie for all we know. Stop jumping to conclusions.’

‘She’s not. I know she’s not. Move.’

Az pushed against his chest, hard enough to shove him back a few inches so his wings bounced off the wall.

‘Tell me to move again and you won’t go to Autumn. We need to be a unit tonight to protect our High Lord and Lady. Think, Cass. Every court gathered. The risk is high for a trap or an attack. If you will be a liability, you will stay behind.’

It was rare for either of them to ever pull rank on each other. It was only ever done with good reason.

When his temper stopped pressing on the edges, Az released a scarred hand from his armour.

‘You are duty bound to this court,’ he said, voice crackling with power then he softened slightly, brow drawing downward. ‘Cass, have some trust in Nesta.’

‘She doesn’t want the bond.’

‘Who cares? She hasn’t been fae long – she doesn’t understand their significance in the way we do. But she has chosen you.’

‘For how long?’ He had given his fear a voice and now it felt like a very real creature growing larger with every rasping inhale.

Zasha rested his large on his knee when the descended into the kitchen so Cassian could gain his composure. Big, amber eyes blinked at him. She wouldn’t leave for good without Zasha. All of her clothes, her belongings, they all were still in their rightful place in their bedroom. It was enough to take the edge off of his fear.

Nesta’s note had been found on the table and it was now curled up in Cassian’s hand, a treasured secret too fragile to let go of. Shame smacked into him like a wave against a rock.

‘I was a fucking bastard yesterday.’

‘Just yesterday?’

He stuck his middle finger up to Az, but was secretly thankful for the jibe. It knocked the last bit of his temper loose. He explained how cold he’d been to Nesta as a defence mechanism for an inevitable, make-believe rejection. Azriel was good enough to listen without passing comment. His face remained unreadable.

‘I need you there, brother. Mor’s not going. I can’t protect Rhys and Feyre alone. The Crown is still in play. I’m uneasy about us going there already. I’d feel a lot better with you at my side, Cass.’

Rhys would not subject his cousin to that. Wouldn’t force Mor to sweep low and kiss Eris’ boots. In the pit of his stomach, Cassian knew that part of his fear of abandonment stemmed from that stupid dalliance in Illyria with Mor. He had been nothing; the bottom rung in a lesser society. There were males there whose glory was already written in the stars. Males who had achieved greatness in their lives – and he had been nothing. Young, dumb, untested, more boy than man. Even between him and Azriel, his brother was the son of a lord at least and a shadow singer. Cassian had been nothing then but Mor had chosen him. It was her first time – but his too. He’d never touched a female before her.

And then she’d got what she wanted and never wanted another moment with him again because the best way to ruin an engagement with a future high lord was to debase herself with someone like Cassian.

He’d learnt from it, pretended it was as meaningless to him as it was to Mor. Both had had fun and that was all either had planned for. He didn’t blame her for it. Mor had needed an escape and he was glad she felt safe enough around him - and still was safe in Velaris. But there would always be doubts that he was not good enough for anyone.

***

Nesta occupied herself with a seat by the window. Her eyes would flick up from the book on Autumn Court history she’d pulled from the shelf to watch the mourners departing back through the dense forests. A servant had been and gone with a tray of tea, speaking little as she deposited the items on a rickety table.

The stream of visitors trickled slower and slower as she drained the dregs of her tea. Eventually, the door opened and Eris slipped in. There were shadows beneath his eyes and he trod heavily into the room.

A vigil by his father’s body had occurred for two days, as expected by Autumn traditions. During that time, the new high lord was unable to eat or sleep, only drinking scant amounts as a testament to his devotion to the role. It was the time when he’d be weakest and more likely to be attacked during the period of instability; the first trial of his rule.

Nesta had moved to him. And then their arms were around each other, Eris’ head bent towards her own.

‘I’m so sorry, Eris.’

‘I thought I’d feel better about it. Thought I’d laugh, but I feel so empty.’

She stepped back to examine the fatigue wearing on his expression. Her father’s neck had been snapped in front of her eyes – and just like that the years of neglect had been erased. Elain and Feyre held a candle to his memory, their brilliant father who had brought armies to the battle ground. Not the father who had watched their mother die, not the father who had lay on his bed day after day while poverty tore at their flesh, not the father who watched his youngest be dragged away to Prythian and did nothing. Death, it seemed, absolved all sins.

Nesta led Eris into a chair and took the one next to him. ‘Let yourself grieve. It’s not shameful to still feel grief despite his actions. You can feel cheated, angry, sad. You can feel all of it, Eris.’

Eris nodded. ‘A tyrant, a bully, and still my father. Still a male I’ve learnt a lot from. He taught me how not to be. And I’ve vowed to never repeat his mistakes.’ Nesta clasped his fingers to squeeze them once in understanding. ‘Still a part of me though. Still what I can become.’

‘What happens next?’

‘The other high lords should present themselves tonight. Any who do not attend oppose my rule.’

‘Is that likely?’

‘It has never happened before. Not for my father or any other high lord. Afterwards, my brothers and I will carry my father to the pyre where his body will be cremated. I know it is difficult for you to be here – to even give my father any respect after he humiliated you – especially with your mate’s court.’ Eris pulled his fingers free from hers. ‘I will be busy. My mother will be stood alone mourning her husband. I couldn’t.’ His voice broke then. ‘I couldn’t let her go through it alone and I didn’t know who else to ask to be there for her. He isolated her from everybody. She has nobody except me.’

‘I’ll be there as long as you need me. Where is she now?’

‘Having a lie down. She’s… I’m so worried.’ Eris scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘Did you know faebane accumulates inside a body with regular doses? On one off occasions, the body can remove it, but when it is continually absorbed into the system the body struggles to expel it. Magic begins to dim until the host is rendered almost mortal.’

His voice was barely more than a whisper so Nesta had to lean towards him to catch each word.

‘My father died in his sleep. After months and months of food laced with faebane. Massive organ failure. My mother has been taking it too, to not arouse suspicion. It was put in both of their food.’

‘Is she sick?’

Eris shook his head slowly. ‘Her dosage was always much lower, but still there. Her body should begin to break it down now she no longer has to take it. But I’m still terrified, Nesta. I can’t have a healer see her properly because it would arouse too much suspicion.’

‘How did you know it would work, Eris?’ Nesta breathed. The story had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Such a gamble, such a dangerous scheme.

Eris rolled his shoulders to ease the tension knotting his spine. ‘My father’s been complaining of headaches and nose bleeds. He’s had two healers exiled for failing to discover what was ailing him. His moods have been worse than usual. Utterly vile. He dug his grave before he died, so to speak. Nobody will be too sorry. Autumn Court citizens will know that he’s been ill and it’s been hushed up.’

It was a dangerous game they’d both played, Eris and Adeline. Nesta could hardly believe that Eris would risk his mother that way – to let her take the faebane and to plant it into Beron’s food. He seemed to follow her train of thought.

‘There is a saying that poison is a female’s weapon. If my mother ever came under suspicion, the only one capable of pardoning her would be the High Lord.’ Eris gestured to himself.

‘You thought of everything,’ she said, marvelling slightly at the lengths of his plotting. ‘Will your brothers swear fealty to you?’

‘If they know what’s good for them. I expect them to pledge their allegiance by nightfall tomorrow. If not, they’ll be hunted.’

The words hung in the air. It would break Adeline if more of her sons were sent away. She had already seen two die. She had suffered enough in her sad, sorry life.

Despite the enormity of the Forest House, a silence had veiled it. Nesta struggled to even hear any steps scurrying by in the long corridors. Eris stared blankly at the wall, the enormity of the decision weighing on him now. She let him have a while to dwell without infringing on his silence. Instead, Nesta observed from the window as servants readied a pyre in the distance. Trees had been felled creating a clearing. The wood was chopped by burly males, their axes splitting the trunks. Others used to magic to tear branches off and to layer them around the stage. Ordinarily, the wood wouldn’t burn. It was too fresh, not dry enough, but magic would be used that night.

The Night Court would show, Nesta was sure of it. Eris had been their ally and the time was ripe to seize the fruits of it. Eris had positioned himself exactly where he needed to be without waging a civil war in his Court. It was difficult not to wonder whether Eris really needed the Night Court’s alliance now.

‘Does your tattoo hurt?’

Nesta touched two fingers to it through the soft material of her black gown instinctively. She nodded.

‘It woke me,’ Eris continued, rubbing his arm where his lay. ‘And then my mother came to me that morning to say he’d died. I already knew. I felt different. Full of power. Power that pushed at the fringes, expanding and growing through my marrow.’ Eris joined her by the window, face grave. ‘How badly does it hurt you?’

‘Just itching mostly. A little sore like I’ve bruised it.’

‘I think it’s the change in my powers altering the promise. I shouldn’t think it’s anything to worry about.’

‘I’ll investigate it.’

‘Add it to your eternal to-do list,’ Eris teased.

She nudged him with her elbow and he slung an arm around her shoulder, tugging Nesta into an embrace. When Eris finally let her go, Nesta couldn’t help but sadness surrounding her. Eris was a High Lord now. His duties would be never ending – and he was not a male who would delegate. Eris could never relinquish control that way. There would be no more dances, no outfits sent ahead for her to wear, no more teasing and joking, no bouncing ideas off each other – and definitely no time spent training magic or Zasha. It felt like the end. The end of their strange, unexpected friendship.

‘Besides,’ he said, winking, ‘If Koschei is on my heels, I had to level up my powers. With my father gone, that’s one less ally for Briallyn.’

‘You’re two steps ahead of everyone else.’

***

In five hundred years, Cassian had never received an invitation to the Autumn Court. None of them had. The Autumn Court wasn’t known for its hospitality or cheery nature. From its reputation, they expected gloom and dungeons galore. Lesser fae heads spiked on wrought-iron gates.

Rhys had been militant in ensuring they had a contingency plan for every outcome. If anything happened – any seeds of a trap or danger – they’d winnow out. They didn’t put it past Beron not to have faked his death to gather them all there.

They had discussed the possibility of Briallyn pulling strings or even Koschei. The priority would be getting to Nesta then winnowing to safety. The whole situation made Cassian raw with anxiety. He’d not been able to eat a bite, could barely sit down. He’d not even considered that it might be a trap, not until Azriel had mentioned the Autumn Court males who’d been under the thrall of the Crown. He’d excused himself to vomit. Nesta could already be hurt for all they knew. Time was too short to plan properly, especially with only scant details that Azriel had from spying.

When Rhys announced they were to leave, Mor had pulled her arms around him, worry marring her expression. Cassian could not even find words to say. His tongue had knotted, worried that Nesta would stay in Autumn, worried something worse would happen, worried he’d lose her entirely.

In a copse of trees, they landed in the Autumn Court. A warm breeze rustled through the red leaves. The rich evening light caught upon the branches so they appeared like spun gold. For such a cold people, the Autumn Court was gorgeous. The vibrant leaves littered the soft undergrowth in hues of amber to orange.

‘It’s pretty,’ Feyre said, brushing her fingers against the rough bark of an ancient oak tree.

‘You’re able to enjoy it more when Eris and his brothers aren’t hunting you and Lucien through it, I suppose, Feyre darling.’

Feyre gave a middle-fingered salute to her mate who reached for her hand and kissed the tip of her finger.

The location of the Forest House was known – it was too vast for it to not be known by every court. Still, it wasn’t weak; beyond the fortress itself, the thick forests made it difficult for an army to mobilise effectively. A massive river thundered by over weirs and rocks, cutting it off from the north and the east.

Torches lit their way towards the Vanserra family home. From Nesta’s stories, Cassian knew Eris had his own residence, further away with a lake and an orchard – far more than a humble cabin in Illyria.

‘Rhysand,’ a deep, rich voice rippled across the forest floor to them.

Appearing a few paces behind, flanked by his Peregryn guards, was Thesan, High Lord of the Dawn Court. Even this Court suited him, Cassian thought, as the golden glow bathed his brown skin so he glowed brightest of all.

They walked in silence, continuing onwards until they saw the guards flanking the narrow gates. The Summer Court was already there; Varian inclined his head in acknowledgment. They had left Amren and Mor in Velaris; the latter had too much history with Eris, the former couldn’t be trusted not to spit on Beron’s corpse.

‘We’ll be herded in there like sheep,’ Az murmured, shadows skittering over the ground.

There were four gates at each compass point, each one only wide enough for two to pass through comfortably; an excellent defence for the Forest House.

‘Sense anything?’

‘I don’t think I can ever feel anything but on edge here, Rhys.’ His hazel eyes scanned the crowd. It was sacrilege to bring a weapon – it didn’t mean blood couldn’t be spilt. The sentries were all armed to the hilt. Magic could be equally as deadly, sometimes worse.

Cassian was scanning for another, but there were no signs of his mate. Tamlin had arrived with an elderly female whose face was severe. They exchanged a nod of acknowledgement. Kallias and Vivienne appeared beside them along with a modest number of their council. Vivienne searched their group then her eyes widened in understanding when she realised Mor was absent.

A guard announced that they would be escorted to the main hall where they were expected to pay their respect to the former and current High Lords. Eris would gloat through every minute of it, Cassian was sure of it.

A warm hand touched his shoulder, making him jump. Without pomp or fanfare, Helion had arrived. There was no Pegasus, no blazing chariot, not even a single member of his entourage to escort him. There was a longstanding history between him, Beron and the Lady of the Autumn Court. Yet, he had come all the same, putting duty ahead of feelings. Perhaps Cassian could take a leaf from Helion’s book.

‘Eris has just become the most desired male in Prythian,’ Helion murmured to them, joining their group. ‘It’s said the Vanserra treasury is guarded by a dragon, it’s so vast.’

‘We’ll stage a heist later, Helion,’ Rhys replied, clapping him on the back. ‘Stop spending so much on wine and you won’t need to loot your colleagues.’

***

The Courts were assembled; all of them were in attendance. All had come. Nobles and lesser lords from the Autumn Court had also arrived, keen to clamour for Eris’ favour. The hall was swollen with bodies. Yellow candlelight flickered against the cream walls and along the polished wooden beams above them. A smell of roasting chestnuts wafted through air.

Each High Lord brought their small council, except one. The majority had come clad in black – even Helion had opted for an onyx toga that reached past his knees with no sign of his crown or golden arm band. He looked lost, Nesta thought. Helion, who seemed to dominate every social situation with his oozing charisma, was dulled. Morose, even. She’d felt his amber eyes on her often, but when she finally raised her head to meet him, it was not Nesta that Helion looked at all. It was the frail female tucked beside her who stood in a stoic silence.

Before entering the hall, Nesta had brushed through the Lady of the Autumn Court’s dry hair, tidying it for her after her lay down. It was brittle under her fingers, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. Was it grief or the faebane? Or was it guilt?

The Vanserra family stood on a raised dais, Eris the tallest of them. The body of Beron lay before them wrapped in a shroud of richest green patterned with golden branches. Nesta kept her hand settled on Adeline’s back, feeling uncomfortable to be lined up alongside the rest of the Vanserra’s as if she had become part of the family, though they were positioned to one side, sentries guarding them. No, Nesta would never have let Adeline go through this agony alone, to stand in isolation whilst she mourned. She would weather Feyre and Rhysand’s scorn.

Cassian would not look at her, would not as much as acknowledge her presence. The guilt pressing on her chest was immeasurable. She knew that this was a torture for him and wished she could have told him properly that Adeline needed someone.

Nesta fixed her attention on Feyre, willing her to look at her, but Feyre stayed with her head tipped towards the floor as an acolyte spoke. She looked to Rhys next, staring at him until his violet eyes turned her way.

Go into my head, she begged, go into my head.

Nesta?

Oh. You heard me.

You were screaming so loud against my mental shields.

He still managed to drawl even in her head.

Tell Cassian I’m sorry. Please. I didn’t know I’d have to stand up at the front like this. I know this is hard for him, but… I needed to be here.

Rhys gave a slight nod of his head, inconspicuous to anyone who was watching. If he passed along the message, Nesta wouldn’t know. Cassian had not deigned to turn any attention to her besides, he was watching Kallias as he passed on his condolences to Eris on behalf of the Winter Court.

In turn, each court approached. With every new arrival, Adeline seemed to shrink more and more against Nesta. Tears had come easily to her, so Nesta drove her thumb harder against the female’s skin, a private message that she was there with her.

When Rhys and Feyre paid their respects, Feyre’s eyes briefly met Nesta’s. Sorrow glimmered her features at the sight of Adeline, weak and broken, resting her weight onto Nesta.

The acolyte began talking again, her voice a lilting song against the bleak mood that had seized the Forest House. She said a eulogy to Beron, listing his achievements, his history, his long, long life ruling the territory. The brothers stood in stony silence. The acolyte did not tell the High Lords how Beron had beaten and tortured his sons, had driven one to exile, had forced them to fight until two had died. She did not speak of the way Beron had crushed his wife for centuries. No, death pardoned all crimes.

Under the direction of a sentry, each council from each court, moved to form an aisle for Beron’s body to be carried through like a guard of honour. They were duty-bound to enact it, even if none had ever cared for the male.

At the back of the hall, the door opened once more. A lone figure entered. Handsome and scarred, red hair running down his back.

The enormous silence filling the room was only broken by the quiet gasp beside Nesta as Adeline clutched a hand to her mouth.

Eris was already moving with purpose, legs striding through the empty space towards Lucien.

Bodies paces from each other, they paused - then Eris threw his arms around Lucien, pulling him tightly to him.

‘My brother. Welcome home.’

Lucien’s throat bobbed. His eyes closed, Eris’ too, as they continued their embrace. Adeline was shaking beside Nesta so she drew her shawl around the female, drawing it tight enough to stop her falling apart.

The brothers moved into position ready to carry their father’s body out through the Forest House and into the thick trees beyond to his place of rest. Lucien paused to kiss his mother’s cheek – their first moment in centuries. She touched his forehead with her own, eyes heavy with tears. Her beloved son, welcomed home: Eris’ first act as High Lord.

Guards flanked them either side as Nesta escorted Adeline behind her husband’s body. Her own chest felt as if it were caving in when she moved past the Night Court and was unable to stretch out her fingers to brush against her mate and have the touch she yearned for. Yet Adeline was so frail, her body weakened by faebane that Nesta had to be strong and continue guiding the lady.

One by one, the courts followed afterwards, trailing their path.

Adeline’s tears fell thickly blurring her russet eyes so she clung to Nesta as they weaved over uneven roots, following the glow of torches through the darkened forest. It was a shame that the most unified Adeline’s sons had ever been were as they carried their father’s body to its final resting place. Nesta stroked up and down her back, feeling each painful nub of her spine.

With a heavy heart, Nesta realised that Adeline had done this twice before for two of her own sons. She had walked their bodies into the forest to watch them burn. She had seen their bodies cremated and set to the wind the day Lucien had been expelled from his home. The Lady of the Autumn Court had lost three sons that day.

It was a pyre worthy of Beron, Nesta thought as the Vanserras laid him in the centre of it. It was magnificent, as wide as it was tall. Each son stood near a portion, their hands alight with flame. Yes, it made sense for the Autumn Court to cremate their dead. Their magic was flame, capable of devouring.

Eris, voice, thick with emotion pushed against the silence. ‘Cauldron save you. Mother hold you. Pass through the gates and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain. May you rest in the realm of eternity.’

In unison, the males sent their flames to crawl across the pyre.

Adeline turned her face to Nesta, burying her choking sobs into her neck. Nesta bit down on her tongue, fighting against the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm her too. For over five hundred years, Adeline had been the belittled wife of Beron. Now, she was free.

Nesta managed to turn her eyes to the flames, to focus on the flickering golden light. Most of the attention remained on the high lord, but one pair of amber eyes weighed heavily on them again.

Helion Spellcleaver watched the Lady of the Autumn Court cry against Nesta with longing carved into his features. She caught the hesitant step forwards – then Helion stopped himself. He did not turn his eyes to Beron, merely stared down at the floor, the ache in chest a palpable thing.

Lucien stepped away first, his flames receding from his fingers. One by one, the brothers relinquished their fire, symbolic of their time spent with their father, until only Eris remained. His flames burnt and crackled, the sound of wood splitting and hissing, driving a knife through Nesta’s own heart at the memories it brought with it.

She wanted it to be over. She wanted to go home.

#au acosf

58 notes · View notes

kiame-sama · 3 years

Note

hello! not really a request, but i was wondering if you have any tips on writing yanderes/your thought process while writing your works? i really love how you write yanderes and don’t know where to really start (^ ◇^；) you can ignore this ask if it’s too much!

My thought process is a strange one, lovie. I'm a maladaptive day dreamer so I often just space out and random thoughts from that usually are how my yandere ideas begin. I have a note app on my phone and it is FILLED with random ideas/ plot points. Some have been there for literal years (a big group of unfinished Selkie fics across multiple fandoms are just hanging out in there)

If I have a certain yandere in mind with the idea, I put their name at the top and see if I can expand ideas or even fit them together. Like having a pocket full of quotes and seeing which ones fit who. Sometimes I'll get a random idea for a BNH Quirk, or a HxH nen ability, and I'll write it down so I can come back to it later or see which character would be most likely to be interested in a darling with said ability.

Or I think of a character and build from there.

~~~~~~~~

For example:

I want to write something about Sesshomaru.

Ancient japan, but I am a present day human who does NOT live in Japan. Fine, reader becomes transfer student and is shadowing/living with Kagome. Both get pulled into the bone eater's well and are now in ancient Japan.

Yay! But he doesn't like humans other than Rin.

Fine, reader travels with Kagome and is washing her clothes in the river when she hears Rin scream while she is running from demons. Reader goes to help the girl and is attacked, basically sacrificing herself for Rin. This sacrifice (paired with the demon horde) creates a new Shikon Jewel. Rin is understandably upset someone just died for her and cries. Here comes Sesshomaru who mercifully revives reader using Tensaiga.

But wait! Shikon Jewel formed and that took reader's soul!

Fine, reader has no soul and therefore takes a nearby fox demon's soul instead and becomes a half-demon when revived due to demon soul. An empty vessel that now lives. Memories and personality are still there, humanity is mostly gone. Kinda like how Kikyo was a clay vessel until revived with an ounce or two of Kagome's soul. Jewel makes half-demon reader full demon!

Now demon, but what kind? Eh, fox demon soul. Fox demon. Works for me. Nine tail! Big fluffy!

Fox demon revived by Dog demon and encouraged by Rin, join Sesshomaru's party. Jaken complains about a fox in the party but shuts up because Rin is happy. Reader blames Kagome for dragging reader into all of this.

Dramatic questions when they finally meet again!

"You didn't even look for me! Doesn't my family deserve a chance to mourn? To know I died? Doesn't my life matter too?"

Note: Kagome DID go look. Couldn't find reader and blames herself for getting reader dragged to feudal era Japan. Every word is a knife that hurts more as reader speaks and blames Kagome for more.

Inuyasha wants new jewel and Kagome can see/sense it. Oh, but wait, reader is demon now! Lash out foxy-fox! Kagome and friends depart because reader demon abilities are a bit over powered due to new jewel and controlled by reader's angry emotions (instinct comes out in life or death battle, blinded by rage, one can only act on instinct).

Keep traveling with Sesshomaru and become a 'mom' figure for Rin. Sesshomaru is her dad figure, so reader can be mom!

More danger from wolf demons going after the jewel. Wolves are chasing the fox reader, Sesshomaru actually intervenes and saves reader.

"Foolish woman! Don't you know how to defend yourself?"

Angry because scared of losing reader, but will never tell. Reader was scared, not mad, so reader kinda forgot that she is a demon and a scary one at that.

Foxes have heats, dogs do too. Males have ruts. Sesshomaru has a rut when reader goes into heat. Guess it is time for Sesshomaru to claim his mate.

Fox demon? Fox terminology; tod, vixen, skulk, burrow, den.

~~~~~~~~

Bones outline for story, fill in the meat and descriptions, you got yourself a good one! Post and say "screw it!" And hopefully people like it.

That is my usual approach, but sometimes inspiration smacks me like a sack of bricks. I'm maybe/probably gonna write the full story of the word blurb above.

A few Rules I follow;

NEVER use same descriptive word twice in same paragraph or sentence, use another word with similar meaning. (Sad; melancholy, despondent, grief stricken, numb, sorrow, woe)

Dictionary and Thesaurus are friends. (As a kid, I sat and read a dictionary because I could. It has helped amazingly).

Try to not start two sentences in the same paragraph with the same word.

Paragraphs can be one sentence or millions of sentences! Split into new paragraph based off of idea or focus shift.

Purple prose is fine, don't let anyone else tell you it isn't. (Locks of ebony/ waterfall of tears/ waves of emotion) Find descriptive words for colors, even those weird funky colors. Life mimics nature and nature contains life. Immerse yourself and the reader with your words. 5 senses. (Maybe 6 if you want)

"Dialogue chunks should be together, easier than trying to write description between every line of dialogue for every sentence."

Put warnings for content as you write at list up top. Add as needed.

Practice! (Even if it is only in little notes on phone. These can be edited until you are pleased)

Why? Why not. Who will stop you other than you?

Don't follow grammar rules or sentence structure? Go for it! Commit to your style and try new styles. Who are others to tell you not to? It is your work, you decide! People can complain all they want, they are not the author, you are! You make your choices, not them!

If you don't like what you wrote, save to edit but don't beat yourself up for it. Write what you like and what makes you happy. What you didn't like prior may fit beautifully into a different piece.

#x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #kiame-sama #writing tips #yandere writing

76 notes · View notes

mcprincessdiaries-archive · 3 years

Text

life is fleeting and i realize i may never be able to share the stories i want to as fully fleshed out fiction. but thats ok cause im fine with essay length rambling text posts. so how about some belala lore indulgence :-)

part 1 of ???

some background: belalas spent like, basically her whole life studying to be a chirurgeon. while she excelled in the medical side of the field, her ability to weave healing spells left something to be desired. after learning everything she possibly could at whatever far flung outpost she'd been at, its guildmaster realized the help she needed was simply beyond what he could offer. so he sends her off to where he originally learned his craft, gridania

upon arriving and meeting with e-sumi-yan she immediately gets tasked with the tall order of assisting with the cleansing of the recently-ish-unearthed ruins of amdapor. of course, she wasnt to do it alone, as the guild leader had the foresight to seek help from a band of "incredibly trustworthy adventurers". three guesses at their identities.

sasabe had been approached by the serpent commander i-forgot-his-name while doing business at the adders' nest, asking if she was interested in assisting a newly arrived conjurer with some great arduous task. she accepts, and invites bonana and oranje to help too

so a black mage, a dark knight and a samurai walk into the stillglade fane. this happens during late stormblood, by the way. bonana, upon realizing who theyre helping, is just 100% completely absolutely stunned. to make it worse, she doesnt seem to recognize him (remember, she hasnt seen him since he was still a kid), so he decides to play the cool and stoic act and leave the talking to the other two while he internally panics

its a long, awkward trip down to the south shroud. belala did happen to recognize sasabe as "the girl at the tea shop" that befriended her sister. it prompted her to share quite a few embarrassing stories about said sister, that perhaps he didnt want sas to know about. just as well, belala also spent some time poking and prodding at him a bit, wondering why he seemed to regard her so strangely. but before he caved in to her pouting, they arrived at the entrance to the lost city.

there, they meet a serpent officer casually leaned against the wall, a mighty weird lance upon his back, his collar so high you could fit a number of puppies in it. he proclaims he was sent by brother e-sumi-yan to oversee them to their task, and guide them if need be. a dungeon, basically, theyre doing a dungeon. not lost city though. lets call it ummmmm....the dreamer's assay. sure

the first part is underground where ancient aqueducts flow into a cistern. but after decades upon centuries of being clogged, the areas grown stagnant with mold and decay, the creatures that roam it just as rancid. immediately belala is overwhelmed by the assault on her senses, while the others dont seem nearly as bothered. after assuring shes ok bonana charges ahead, but not too fast cause hes not quite certain of her capabilities yet.

at the end of their path they find an enormous croc infected with all manner of fungi and parasites. not a regular crocodile mind, one of those fucked up hairy ones with the face that splits open

after an intense boss fight the beast is laid to rest, and belala senses a change in the area. grabbing at that feeling, she channels aether through her staff and cleanses the stagnant waters of its taint. as it flowed freely again, she swears she saw someone standing at the other side, leading them onwards

the second part...i havent actually solidified. all ive got is its like a bunch of spiderwebs over a chasm, with a big ol' spider boss at the end. belala cleanses the wind, and she sees the ghost again, taking them even further downwards.

the THIRD area is some kind of sanctum, clearly somewhere important back in its glory days. however, it appeared to have a growing voidsent problem, the fiends forcing themselves to manifest within the power-laden statues adorning the place. after dealing with the infestation, the group comes across a very large, very important and imposing-looking statue, in similar appearance to kuribu. but instead of a faceted red jewel imbedded in its chest, this one was a smooth, pure white.

the serpent officer steps forward, shoving belala out of the way to reveal his ulterior motives. for he was never a real officer, but a black mage of ancient mhach...whose corpse had been roused into undeath by a rather ambitious voidsent. her plans laid bare, she makes her move to inhabit the statue just as it began to stir.

however, she couldnt possess it completely, becoming instead an abomination of marbled stone and twisted flesh, its wings breaking and giving way to a mass of writhing tendrils. the point is its very scary and gross and belala is 100% freaking out cause she has never seen anything like this before. queue final boss music

belala manages to gather herself as the other three make quick work of the fiend. everything goes fairly smooth, until the field is obscured in a cloud of darkness, the voidsent catching all of them unaware in the grasp of her tentacles. with quick thinking bonana shields his sister from the brunt of the attack as theyre grabbed together, afterwards wiggling one his arms loose to protect her with a powerful barrier (blackest night babyyy).

suddenly the conjurer finds herself all alone, that horrible creature gloating as it loomed over her. digging deep to find the courage within herself, she raises her staff and calls out to the stone still clinging on, and the white crystal resonated with her pleas. the statue collapses in on itself, crushing the voidsent within, as a wave of white, holy light bursts out, utterly destroying whatever remnants of it were left.

with victory secured, she rushes to aid the others recovery. none worse for the wear, sasabe starts looking through the rubble of the once-glorious statue. within it she finds the selfsame stone that had been embedded in its chest, completely smooth, save for a single symbol carved into its surface. the soul of a white mage.

she hands it off to belala and upon holding it, she sees the same small ghostly figure clad in white and crimson. this time, however, they take off the hood...revealing a face eerily similar to her own. holding up a finger in a hushing motion, the phantom dissipates, leaving the band to make their way back to gridania.

upon returning belala shows the soul crystal to the guildmaster, and he smiles and congratulates her, revealing the journey had been a deliberate test. it turns out the padjal had already known about its resting place as the ruins were explored, but was asked by the elementals not to disturb it. he was told to wait for the right moment in which a rightful successor would step forward and claim it. reluctantly she accepts, still feeling as if she hadnt quite earned it.

but before she can ruminate on it bonana asks to talk with her alone outside, except its not really a talk he just kind of awkwardly takes off his helmet to reveal his identity. belala is rightfully shocked, wondering why he didnt say so sooner. as it turns out, he didnt because he believed she'd been in cahoots with their mother, as he had seen letter written between them, and knew that she was the one who'd been pressing for him to leave home and study medicine just like she did (the thing that drove him to run away)

belala tries to assuage him and explains the reason she did that was because she knew how unhappy he was at home, and there wasnt much else she could do, being so far away, with no way to talk directly to him without their parents knowing (yet she admits there was an aspect of just wanting to see him again to it as well). but this only irritates him further as he sharply points out hes not a little kid that needed saving, and he definitely didnt need his goody-goody sister being around for others to compare and ask why he cant be more like her

ultimately their little "reunion" ends with him storming off, leaving belala alone to contemplate about just how much time has passed between them.

#bonana bonanza #gold star for reading all this #stay tuned for more of the belala saga

10 notes · View notes

silverfootstepswrites · 3 years

Text

Eden: TWIST [2]

ZERO / BLEACH / TWIST (here) / REVERSE / DYE / RED

Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world. — Oscar Wilde

++++

The bells were ringing. Ringing. Clanging so noisily in the tower.

She dreaded hearing those bells because it meant the beginning of another long day.

But as Sakura blinked awake, she realized what an odd thought that was.

The only clocktower in the city was an ancient thing with huge neon green hands that could be seen from almost any window. If you waved your hand in front of your face, the numbers on the clock blurred to reveal the weather and the times for the sunrise and sunset. Wave again to see the times for moonrise and moonset. It was a clever little spell that activated for each person the moment they set foot within city limits.

There were no bells.

So just what had she imagined hearing?

As she lay there, a memory came to her.

“It’s illusion magic,” Sakura had guessed one night as she sat at the kitchen table. This was years ago. She knew from the way Sasuke’s hair had gotten too long. The one time he was convinced that super long hair looked good on him. (He was definitely copying Itachi, but no one dared to point that out to him.)

“It’s conjuration. It’s making something appear,” Sasuke countered, swirling his spoon around in the remnants of his cereal milk. A few soggy bits of wheat drifted around with the motion.

They both looked to Madara, who just smiled. He gestured to Itachi sitting across from him. Shisui was away on one of his trips at the time.

“What’s the answer, Itachi?” Madara asked.

When both Sasuke and Sakura looked to him, Itachi chuckled.

“Transmutation,” he replied.

“What?”

“How?”

“The clock tower runs on electricity. The spell converts the energy from the electricity into light and heat.”

Sasuke wrinkled his nose. “How is that any different from regular electricity?”

Itachi raised his eyebrows. “Good question. No cogs. Just a few wires and some spells. The tower’s mostly hollow.”

It was Sakura’s turn to wrinkle her nose. “That’s…. Complicated for no reason,” she mused. And as her eyes fell on someone who loved to enchant things in complicated ways for no reason, her face lit up.

“Did you come up with that?” asked Sakura.

The corner of Madara’s mouth curled up in a feline smirk.

“Took Shisui ages to figure that out. Smart,” he replied before he took a sip from his mug.

There were lots of strange things about the city that traced their roots back to Madara. The streetlights powered by fire magic. The expansion charm on city buses that allowed more people to fit on each vehicle than seemed possible.

And in the present, she realized.

“There used to be a bell. Not anymore,” she said out loud.

She didn’t know why that mattered. But it felt important to say in the moment.

By the time she rolled out of bed, Madara was already shuffling around downstairs. She could hear the sink running. The refrigerator door opening and closing.

Gaara had texted her good morning.

He had been this attentive in her dreams too.

She texted him back. And then she tossed her phone aside to stretch her arms over her head.

“I’m borrowing your scrying bones!” she yelled as she crossed the hall. Madara grunted something that sounded affirmative.

The bones felt cool to the touch as she scooped them out of the pouch. She scattered them across the rug in her room. When she channeled magic into them, she could feel the bones begin to hum. The cracks began to light up gold, the whispers beginning to creep into her ears.

Beware of the dreams that linger.

Do not give your heart away.

It wasn’t unusual for scrying bones to give multiple pieces of information. It was unusual for those pieces to be so cryptic, however.

She ran her hand over the bones one more time. Her fingertips tingled.

Pity the child who trusts the keyless lock.

When she frowned, the scrying bones repeated the warning.

Pity the child who trusts the keyless lock.

Extremely cryptic. Bordering on unhelpful.

She sat on the rug, staring at the bones for a while.

But then another text arrived from Gaara, distracting her. She swept the bones back into the soft pouch. They almost seemed to cling to her- like they were reluctant to part from her. She peered down at the bones. And then she reached inside to pluck one of the bones from the pile. A rib. Less noticeable if it was missing since there were 23 others rattling around inside. She slipped it into the drop drawer of her dresser before she returned the pouch to Madara’s nightstand.

Madara yelled from downstairs asking if they were out of marmalade.

A laugh bubbled up her throat as she almost yelled back that he didn’t even like marmalade.

She stopped herself.

No, Madara loved marmalade. He ate it with all of his toast when possible. Where had that bizarre and obviously wrong thought come from then? Sakura blinked, shaking her head as she made her way downstairs to help him dig through the pantry.

++++

She didn’t see much of Madara in the next few weeks. She wasn’t avoiding him on purpose. But some small part of her was relieved for an excuse not to have to see him so often. She kept imagining his blood spilling over her, too warm, whenever he squeezed her in a hug or patted her on the back. It made it hard for her to meet his eyes for too long. And if at all possible, she wanted to avoid him catching on that something was up.

She regretted telling him everything. The magic circle still buzzing purple. A body sprawled across the runes. And Madara looking too calm, as if the blood wasn’t spreading until it wet the bottoms of his shoes.

She was glad she decided to keep quiet this time. Shisui wouldn’t disappear into thin air. Itachi and Sasuke were still alive.

And Gaara was easy to talk to. That was why she had liked him in the first place.

He liked calling more than texting. He tended to stay up late like her. They went to see a movie. Another time, they walked in the park.

November turned to December. Snow began to flutter down onto the city. As the white flakes dotted the asphalt, Sakura leaned against the counter in Gaara’s tiny studio apartment. One of the tiles on the floor was cracked, like someone had dropped something from the counter. She ran her heel over the circular indent in the ceramic.

“It’s hot,” Gaara warned.

Sakura turned her gaze back to him. He poured from the electric kettle. There were two mismatched mugs filled with instant coffee. Steam curled into the air as he filled both the cups.

“Sorry. I haven’t had a chance to get groceries in a while,” Gaara said, pushing one of the cups towards her. Sakura summoned a spoon from thin air and used it to mix her drink first, then his. She dropped the spoon into the sink, but it never clattered. Just dissolved into smoke. She smiled at him as she lifted the mug with both hands.

“That’s alright. I’m not picky about my caffeine,” she assured him. She took a careful sip of the coffee before she glanced around.

Gaara’s apartment looked… bare, somehow. There were shoes and clothes. A few decorations were scattered around. There was even a poster up on the wall of some vintage movie. But despite those little things, it felt a little cold.

“It’s really coming down now,” Gaara observed.

Sakura followed his line of sight to the window over the sink. The streetlights were beginning to blink on. There were still people running around outside as the storm began to pick up.

“I’ll call you a cab?” Gaara offered. He patted his pants until he found his phone in his back pocket.

“Can I sleep on the couch?”

Gaara’s hands slipped. He dropped his phone. It fell face-down on the tile.

Sakura laughed a little. “Sorry. I made you uncomfortable. I’ll go before it gets bad.” She pushed her mug away. It was still steaming as she grabbed her phone and keys off the counter.

In a way, she was glad. In her visions, she had never crossed that line with him either. She had been so consumed with her research. And his awkward little blushes and stutters had made her think that it would be better to take things slow. It had felt like they had all the time in the world.

As she reached for her coat where she had draped it over the back of the sofa, Sakura felt Gaara close his hand around her forearm.

“There’s no food in my fridge. We should order dinner before they stop delivering,” he said, quietly.

You’re garbage, Sakura thought to herself later. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Gaara slept on the sofa. His back was to her. There was a blanket draped over him, but he couldn’t have been too comfortable. But she knew why he endured it.

Knew it from the way his eyes lit up when she walked into a room. Or how he agreed too quickly to each of her comments.

It was cruel to exploit his little puppy love like this. She knew there were other ways to go about this. But what her recent experiences- visions- whatever- had taught her was that honesty might not be the best option.

Sakura shifted a little. Gaara’s breathing was steady. She slipped out of bed, shivering when her feet touched the floor.

A quick spell summoned a dim light to her fingertips. She glanced around the apartment. There didn’t seem to be much to snoop through. There were some books and papers on his coffee table, though they had been pushed to the side to make room for their paper containers of noodles and steaming dumplings. Sakura plucked one of the papers out of the mess to squint at it. It looked like an invoice for some clothes he had ordered online. She set it back down where she had found it.

When Gaara woke in the morning, it was to Sakura shaking his shoulder. He squinted, twisting around to look at her.

“Hey. I need to get going. Just wanted to say thank you for letting me crash here,” she whispered. She spoke quickly, before he could fully wake up and get his bearings about him.

He grunted something. Cleared his throat. Tried to speak again. “Yeah. No problem. Uh. Do you want breakfast or something?” Gaara sat up, swaying a little. He rubbed the side of his neck, wincing at the stiffness he probably felt there.

Sakura pulled on her coat. She flipped her hair over the collar.

“I’m running a little late. Next time,” she replied.

He looked disappointed. She felt a twinge of regret again. So she leaned over and kissed him on the lips. She had only done so a handful of times. Mostly because it filled her with the same guilt that welled up now. He might have called her name as she headed out the door. She pretended not to hear him.

He had some kind of connection to Madara. There was no other reason for him to end up dead in her house. Twice.

The most obvious solution was to ask Madara outright. He never avoided her questions. But another part of her remembered Madara’s hand coated in blood. As if it had stabbed directly through someone. Even if all her other visions were true and that wasn’t, she didn’t exactly feel comfortable asking him just yet.

Instead, she pretended to be working on her thesis and headed to the Senju Institute.

She dropped by the Department of Abjuration to check her mailbox. Nothing too interesting. She chatted with the secretaries for a minute, laughing and smiling in all the right places before she headed to the library.

Sakura scoured the database. There were hundreds of papers written by Madara. And even more papers that referenced or credited him. Not a single one also included Gaara’s name somewhere in the study. That was frustrating. She managed to find a few books that caught her interest and brought them back to her small office in the Department of Abjuration.

She was unsurprised when there was a knock on the open door a few hours later. Sakura looked up from her book, slipping her thumb between the pages to mark her spot.

“Headmaster.”

“Dry as always. You sound more and more like him with every day.”

She set her magnifying glass aside with a scowl.

“See? He does that too,” Hashirama added with a chuckle. He lingered in the doorway, looking around her narrow office that she shared with another grad student. When his eyes fell on the newest books on her desk, his expression changed.

“Thinking about changing your thesis?”

Divination: An Exploration of Foresight

Through the Eyes of Fate

Advanced Divination and Enchantment of Visions

There were a few others, but the spines were obscured under other papers and scraps ripped from her notebook.

When it was clear that she wasn’t going to rise to his bait, Hashirama sighed. The headmaster was forever trying to rope her into a conversation. Madara assured her that it was fine to ignore him. So she often did.

“Fine. I wanted to let you know that those spell books you requested last month are finally here,” he informed her. And then he followed her pointing finger. On the opposite end of her desk from the divination books were the texts on dreams she had specially ordered from another university several cities away.

“Oh… you already got them?”

She had known exactly where those books would be waiting for her. On the silver cart in the library. Labelled with her name and her department.

“I saw them when I visited the library this morning. Seemed like a waste not to grab them too,” Sakura replied.

Hashirama nodded. Then his expression brightened as he clasped his hands together. “How goes the research?”

The last time he had asked, she had demonstrated. Just a little something to show off.

She was tired today. Sakura just shrugged. “Slowly. But it goes,” she said as vaguely as possible.

Hashirama just laughed, waving his hand. “Alright. I get the hint. I’ll get out of your hair,” he conceded.

“Thank you,” Sakura replied. She reopened her book, about to return to her reading. But she stopped herself.

“Headmaster,” she found herself calling out. The man braced his hands against the doorway, still smiling. He arched an eyebrow at her.

When she lifted her chin, Sakura looked him straight in the eye. Whatever expression she had on her face made Hashirama drop his smile altogether.

“What happened to the bell in the clocktower?”

His look of confusion seemed genuine enough.

“There’s never been any bell. The tower’s always been hollow,” he told her. And then he tilted his head a little. “Perhaps you’re remembering another city. Or… “ The smile returned to Hashirama’s face. “Dreams can get confusing. Sometimes I think I’ve already done my laundry and wake up to find that it was only a dream.” He laughed a little.

Sakura forced a smile onto her lips.

An unpleasant sensation prickled down her spine. Dread, she realized a heartbeat later.

Something was wrong.

Hashirama’s smile sharpened.

“You should be careful not to let your dreams linger when you’re awake, Sakura,” he then warned her.

Sakura kept the bizarre conversation to herself when she left the campus not too long after. Goosebumps had erupted up and down her arms when the headmaster had uttered that final statement. It wasn’t quite identical. But it was similar enough to the scrying bones’ message.

In the world of divination, there were very few rules. One of the most important was that coincidence was the excuse of a lazy diviner. Or an incompetent one. Hashirama considered her- his eyes unreadable.

Sakura mulled over the bizarre conversation as she walked into the dream shop just before noon.

Shisui scrutinized her from the counter. His eyes narrowed. He turned to say something to Itachi. She ignored the both of them as she tossed her coat aside and headed into the break room to pour a cup of coffee.

Her cousins blocked her when she tried to step out of the break room.

“I’ll pour hot coffee on you,” she warned them.

“You’d never waste coffee like that,” Shisui called her bluff immediately.

“Try me,” she growled, trying to move past them. Shisui folded his arms across his chest.

Itachi didn’t look nearly so stern. “You’ve been acting strange lately. We just wanted to make sure you’re alright,” he said. It was weird how his voice suddenly made the corners of her eyes sting.

Shisui’s face softened. “Yeah. Like, even if you can’t talk to Uncle, we’re here,” he chimed in. And then he offered an arm to her. Sakura used the hand that wasn’t holding the coffee to hug him. He squeezed her just the right amount. Hugs from Shisui were the best.

“Except money. I’m broke. Can’t let you borrow anything,” Shisui then amended, squeezing her a little closer. Sakura laughed, slapping at his back a few times. As she twisted in his arm to hit him again, she felt Itachi grab her shoulder. Hard.

“Ow!” Sakura complained.

At the same time, Shisui protested. “What the heck, man? You don’t even like hugging. Wait your turn.”

Itachi swept Sakura’s hair off the back of her neck. He stared. It was bizarre enough that Shisui released her to get a look at whatever it was too.

“Oh. When did you get a tattoo?” Shisui wondered.

“A what?” Sakura retorted. She squirmed when Itachi ran his thumb over the back of her neck. It felt… odd. Tingly, maybe?

“This… isn’t a tattoo,” mused Itachi. He was gentler this time as he put his hand on Sakura’s shoulder again. She turned to face him. She put her palm over the place he had just touched.

“It’s a contract,” he then clarified. His eyes searched hers as he asked: “Sakura, have you made a deal with someone or… something?”

Sakura shook her head.

Itachi hissed out a long sigh. He ran a hand through his hair. His gaze wandered around as he thought. Shisui, however, seemed to come to a decision much faster. He cupped a hand around his mouth.

“Sasuke!” he shouted.

There was a long pause. And then a door slammed somewhere upstairs. Footsteps clomped down until Sasuke’s face appeared at the top of the staircase. He was scowling.

“I’m finishing up with a client,” Sasuke hissed.

“Don’t care. Wrap it up. We’re closing for the day,” Shisui decided.

“To do what?” Sasuke demanded.

“To figure out why the fuck Sakura has a demon contract on the back of her neck. Now hurry up, smartass,” Shisui snapped in response.

Sasuke paled. His stare lingered on Sakura for another moment before he ran back upstairs.

#eden #fanfiction #haruno sakura #Modern Magic!AU #uchiha madara #uchiha itachi #uchiha shisui #uchiha sasuke #the deja vu that leads to ruin

21 notes · View notes

radiant-flutterbun · 3 years

Text

Mason’s Brightside Part 2

Part 1

“No Mason, weird dreams are not a symptom of the herb I gave you last night,” Alaria sighed “If you had listened to me you would know the opposite is true.”

“No dreams is a symptom?”

“Yes and so are dehydration headaches so make sure you drink lots of water.”

Alaria shooed Mason outside of the healing den and he nearly crashed into Corkscrew, a spiral.

“Watch where you’re going!” Corkscrew snarled.

Mason ignored him and went to get something to drink, his mind however was still thinking about that dream. He’d never been a vivid dreamer. Something about it was so unnatural.

Evan came up to him later in the day and he described the dream to him.

“Weird right?”

“Yeah but sometimes a dream is just a dream. Don’t read too much into it.”

“But it felt so real!”

“You sure it’s not… Ya know your mind playing tricks on you?”

Mason glared at Evan “It wasn’t that.”

“Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to imply…” Evan coughed “Maybe you’re just not used to a good night’s sleep is all.”

Mason thought about that for a moment “That… Ok yeah that I can believe.”

The next night he was given the same herb from Alaria and he found himself right back at the Emperor’s Wake.

“Good to see you again Mason,” It was the tundra. They were sitting beside him, so close that Mason could feel their fur on him “Are you on your way?”

“I-” Mason began and then he snarled “What are you doing in my head?”

The tundra looked back at him calmly, “You can thank our local dreamwalker for that.”

“Dreamwalker…?”

“You’ll be waking soon. I don’t have time to explain. Please come here to the Emperor’s Wake. I’ll explain everything. It’ll be much easier in person, I promise.”

Mason was about to speak when he found himself awake, sunlight danced across his room.

He began to pack his things. It didn’t take long. Being formerly dead, he didn’t have any personal belongings from his world. All he had were just a few art supplies Flare had been kind enough to give him, a simple dagger, a water canister, a few snacks and a blanket. Everything fit neatly in a bag he wrapped over his shoulder.

He trotted down the stairs from his room and into the clan lobby. He made his way to the main exit when Evan found him.

“Where are you going?” He asked, seeing the bag.

Mason sighed “The Emperor’s Wake.”

“What? Isn’t that where that monster is?”

“Yep.”

“And you want to go there?!”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where the dragons in my dreams told me to go.”

“So you’re just going to listen to random dream dragons now?”

“See this is why I was trying to avoid you.”

Evan looked hurt “You were planning on leaving without telling me?”

“Because I knew this would happen! I knew you wouldn’t understand! Listen, I've been here before. I know that whoever these dragons are, they're not going to get out of my head until I do what they want me to do.”

“Hey no offense Mason but the last time you listened to some... thing in your mind you ended up hurting a kid.”

Mason snarled “He wasn’t just a kid. Don’t oversimplify what Muerto is.”

“I’m just saying, if you knew that was Match speaking to you, would you still have done the things you did?”

“Yes. Match is just another self centered god, but at least me listening to him, capturing Muerto, weakening him. Getting him to spill his dirty little secrets. At least that did something! You would have rotted away to nothing and we would have all been trapped in that horrible place until we died. I got the gods’ attention. I changed things!”

Evan took a deep breath “Ok. Yeah you’re right. But I also don’t have to like what we had to do to get where we are now. Maybe this time we can take some time to think about what we’re getting into before we have to hurt anyone?”

“We? You want to come with me?”

“I don’t like the idea of being near that monster, but I hate the idea of letting you go alone even more.”

***

Mason waited for Evan to pack his things. Like him, it wasn’t much so they were off on their journey soon enough. Evan felt bad leaving without a word so he took the time to leave a note for Nike.

The two took off and soared over the Sunbeam Ruins in the direction of the area now known as the Emperor’s Wake. Mason had a map with him to help him keep track of their journey. As he flapped his wings he noted how natural flight felt to him. It was strange to him how quickly he picked up the skill. His original body was not one designed for flight and never in a million years would he have guessed he’d eventually become a dragon. Sepulchral had taught him to fly after he had entered the Dragon Planet. Sepulchral was a good teacher, and unlike all of the other Selcouth creatures that were brought to Sornieth, Sepulchral actually had wings back in their world, making him uniquely experienced with flight. But even with such an excellent teacher, Mason felt like he shouldn’t have picked up the skill quite so quickly. It only made it more frustrating that relearning to draw was not as natural to him.

“Sorry about planning to take off without you,” Mason said after a few miles of silence.

“Hey, it's cool. No big deal,” Evan responded.

“What were you going to tell me the other day, by the way? I didn’t mean to brush you off like that. Sorry again.”

“Oh that?” Evan laughed nervously “That was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Mason glanced at his friend “Alright…” He thought about pushing the subject, but decided to let it go.

The two flew in silence until it got dark. They camped out in a secluded pine forest for the night and took off again when it was morning.

Their flight was uneventful until they flew over a patch of land that was scarred in an unusual way. Most of the Sunbeam Ruins were filled with rolling fields of grass and green pine trees dotted with ruins from a forgotten era. But this patch of land was blackened and dead. It was not burned like a fire found it, rather it looked like a perfect circle of the land just shriveled up and died. Below structures that were not ancient ruins were crushed and destroyed like a tornado ran through the community.

“What do you suppose happened down there?” Evan asked.

Mason shook his head “Nothing good probably. Let's keep moving.”

It wasn’t long before the land began to look more like what Mason saw in his dreams. There were tell-tale signs of destruction, but not quite like the shriveled dead land they had just passed. Mason searched the ground below him and nearly stopped mid flight. There on top of a hill covered in ruins was the same rugged tundra that had spoken to him.

Mason landed beside them with a thud and Evan landed more gracefully beside him.

“You!” Mason snarled.

The tundra smiled and waved “Mason! So good to see you in person. And oh look! You brought a friend.”

“Why were you in my head? How do you know who I am? What do you want with me?”

“Holy shit,” Evan was ignoring the tundra and instead his eyes were fixed on the horizon “It’s real.”

Mason heard a roar and looked up. There in the distance was the rampaging beast, the Emperor Luminax. It was even more horrible than it was in his dreams.

“Terrifying isn’t it?” The tundra asked, following Mason’s gaze.

“It’s just… Hard to believe it’s real.”

“I know. Seeing your first Emperor… It makes you wonder what’s real and what’s fake. But that thing is real alright. It’s destroying lives and the gods are doing nothing about it.”

Mason snorted “Yeah that sounds about right.”

“Ah, don’t like gods do you?” The tiny bug dragon from Mason’s dream landed on top of the tundra’s head “I knew this one would fit in well!”

Mason peeled his eyes away from the undead creature in the distance “Ok, no more talking until you two explain why you were in my head.”

“Ah that would be Karyu’s doing,” The tundra addressed the bug sitting on their head.

“How dare you!” Mason lunged forward to swat the bug, but they quickly flew away. Mason ended up hitting the large tundra’s antlers instead. Mason’s hand stung and the tundra glared at him.

“Maybe instead of threatening my friend, you could sit down and listen.” The tundra shoved Mason to the ground. Mason tried to get back up, but stopped when the tundra gave him another glare.

Karyu flew back onto the tundra’s head and pointed at Mason “That one tortured a kid god, so I guess I shouldn’t really be too surprised. Still, he has use here.”

Mason’s eyes widened “How did you-”

“My name is Perryn,” The tundra cut Mason off and smiled “I’m an Emperor hunter, and my friend Karyu here is a dream walker.”

“And demigod!” Once again Karyu took off from their perch on Perryn’s head. They circled in the air and as they landed they began to transform. Before Mason’s eyes the little bug dragon grew in size. They spun so fast it forced Mason to blink and with that one blink a new creature was standing where the bug disappeared. Its body was unmistakably human to Mason, but it still had some of the bug features of its dragon form. Antennae sprung up from Karyu’s head and insectoid wings from their back. They wore a long robe and their long purple hair touched the ground. They were still small, Perryn towered over them and so would have Mason if he had been standing, but they were no longer squishable.

“My mother is the goddess of dreams for this world, and lucky me, I’ve inherited some of her powers,” Karyu walked up to Mason and poked his snout. He snapped at their fingers “You have the most fascinating dreams out of everyones’ I’ve walked through. So many memories are mixed with yours. Some juicy ones too!”

“No. You didn’t.”

“It’s just a shame that lately you haven't been dreaming much. I’m guessing insomnia? Well that’s no good for me or my pals here at The Guild of Osiris! I was afraid if your sleeping patterns continued I would have lost contact with you! And that would have been a real bummer.”

“Which is why Karyu had to bring me into the picture,” Perryn said “We needed you to come here before they lost contact with you and they thought you would listen to me and not them.”

“And I was fucking right!” Karyu grinned and then leaned close to Mason and whispered “I just thought Perryn would be more your type. I’m gorgeous, I know, but I’m taken.”

Mason just stared at Karyu. He opened his mouth and then closed it like a fish out of water.

“Yes. Karyu was right!” Peryn shouted and then coughed “And now you’re here like we were hoping. Karyu has seen a lot of things about you from their dream walking ,which I know may be awkward and invasive-”

“You don’t think?” Mason found his voice for a moment.

“But Karyu has a knack for finding those who are perfect for helping our cause. Mason, is life uncertain to you? Maybe you’ll make a good Emperor Hunter.”

#tgoo #clan ton theon #tcotg

6 notes · View notes

theprettyinthemundane · 4 years

Text

Greek Culture and Why It’s Essential to Better Understanding the Greek Gods (Examining Pan as an Example)

Everyone knows the Greek gods are Greek, but what does that mean to us? I think that understanding the culture around the Greek gods is extremely helpful for understanding them better and I’d like to use the Greek god Pan as an example to illustrate just how important I think this is. Greek culture (both ancient and modern) is just as interesting and worth studying too, which is another reason I wanted to talk about it.

A quick note: The ancient word was incredibly diverse and covered a long period of time. Even between cities practices, myths, and views could be very different, so it is important to point out that there is no “one way” to see most things, even though there are some general things people do agree on. Even the genealogy of gods sometimes varied depending on location and gods themselves could be understood differently across Greece both in location and time (1, 2, 3, 4). Myths were often stories made to be entertaining, not to accurately and completely reflect how gods were seen in a religious sense, so the view of a god that a myth and religious text portrayed were often different. For some deities, understanding Greek culture better may make the difference between a loose group of unrelated domains vs a constellation of domains that paint a bigger, more cohesive picture of how they were viewed, like how something may be greater than the sum of its parts. This is how I think of Pan and his domains. Of course, it is also important to note that Pan is extremely complex, and this post is not meant to be comprehensive, just informative. With that said, let’s talk about the goat god Pan and Greek culture.

Why Pan? Well, unlike many gods whose origins lay in mythical places, Pan’s origin is Arcadia, a region in the south of Greece (this region has changed since ancient times, but it remains as its own region) (1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9) . Why does this matter? Because Pan was viewed as an Arcadian (god); even in Thebes and in Athens worshipers connected Pan to this region (1, 2, 4, 9, 10, 11). In other words, how the Greeks viewed Arcadia as a region and culture influenced how they viewed and understood Pan.

Then first, we should ask, what is Arcadia?

(credit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arcadia)

(source: 12)

Arcadia (Αρκαδία) is a mountainous region in the Peloponnese whose capital is Tripoli (Τρίπολη ) (12). In ancient times it was seen as a place of harsh wilderness (forests, plains, glens) where most people were shepherds (1, 5). It was “out of the way”, “hard to reach”, even viewed as “spooky” (5) and “uncivilized” (1, 13). This is related to many, if not all of Pan’s domains. In fact, Pan was known as the “ruler of Arcadia” (1, 5, 13) and it was even said that,

“The region was sometimes called Panland - in Greek, Pania. Pan was as rough as the country, half goat, half god…” (5)

Arcadia is the earliest center of Pan’s worship and it was done in formal sanctuaries (1,2, 14). After the Battle of Marathon in 490 BCE, Pan’s worship spread more widely to the rest of the Greek world (1, 6, 9). After this many people (in Thebes and Athens for example) worshiped Pan in grottos or caves (1, 2, 4, 10, 11). This difference actually reflects how people in those places connected Pan and Arcadia; for them, a cave or grotto was a wild place, like Arcadia, and since they had few other “wild” spaces this space kept Pan and his connection to the natural world within their worship. A scholar on Pan noted that “his lodging (in a cave at the Acropolis) marks him as connected to origins”(1) and others have pointed out this as well (10, 11) . This makes it clear that this cultural connection was important for how they worshiped and thought of Pan.

The first example: Pan’s relation to music? That was related to Pan being Arcadian;

“The simple, moving music of the shepherds (from Arcadia) gained a wide appreciation over all the Greek world. In time, this pastoral … music began to inspire highly educated poets …” (13)

“The one quality that softened the brutishness of Arcadian life was music, whether performed by the goatherds or played by Pan”(13).

Music is a fundamental part of Pan and he has been called: “a lover of merry noise” (Homeric Hymn to Pan) “a most accomplished dancer, a god of noise and movement, beautiful dancer”, and a “lord of the dances of the gods” (1). Just as music was a big part of other Greeks viewed Arcadia, it was a big part of how people saw Pan; Pan was even said to have created the panpipes and music was an essential part of his cult (1, 14, 15). In fact, the idea that Pan could manifest as music and in natural sounds was popular at times (9, 11). This isn’t to say music was unique to Pan (it wasn’t) or that music was not used to worship other deities (it was) but that music was an essential part of how ancients understood Pan, so we should be aware of that and the potential significance it has.

Music was an essential part of Greek and Arcadian education, even according to Plato and Socrates (1, 16). While I do not study the classics, I do think that Pan’s connection to music is symbolic of something more than just “pretty sounds” although I do not feel confident enough in my understanding to make any specific connections to his other domains or aspects. Music was essential to the ancient Greeks and was thought to be important for character / personal development, it was thought to deeply affect the soul and I think this is also reflected in Epidaurus’ hymn to Pan;

“The Epidaurus Hymn reminds us that Pan's music and dance restore a threatened cohesion. Dance, laughter, and noise become, in the festival, signs of a recovered closeness (1).” (cohension was threatened by a recent war)

Just as music was thought to affect people deeply, Pan also was associated with panic and mania (related to possession), which similarly has a strong affect on people spiritually and emotionally (1). If I were to make any connections between his musical domain and another domain, I would say that Pan’s domain of music seems connected to his domain of nature since his style of dance was called “animalistic”, he was called a “leaper” and for the fact that he was believed to be able to manifest himself in natural sounds, like was mentioned before (1, 9, 11).

A second example: Pan’s nature as a goat/shepherd and a god of fertility is reflective of Arcadia’s reliance on shepherding to sustain life: Pan has been called “divine-he-goat-shepherd”, “indispensable patron of fertility...” and “keeper and protector of the flocks” (1). Pan was a very positive figure because he was thought to help sustain life itself; as one scholar points out, Arcadia is “first and foremost a land fit for herding.” (1). One noticeably unique thing about Pan compared to the other Greek gods is how he is part goat. Interestingly, Pan was first depicted as a he-goat standing upright, not as a satyr and it seems that Pan was only depicted as a satyr (at least widely) after his cult left Arcadia (1, 17). If one was not aware of how central goats were to Greek (especially Arcadian) society then this may seem random or superficial, but it clearly is not.

Pan was a fertility god, but this domain is concerned with more than just lust and sex (even though these were important aspects of Pan) but also abundance both sexual and platonic; for example, the birth of twin goats (as opposed to a single goat) was attributed to Pan (1). Another example of this connection between sex and (platonic/ nonsexual) abundance is the description of the meaning of a dream where Pan and the dreamer have sex written by Atermidorus in his Interpretation of Dreams in the 2nd century CE:

“If he (Pan) gives someone something or has sexual intercourse with someone, it fortells great profit, especially if he does not weigh that person down” (18)

This theme of abundance and goats/fertility is related to Pan’s domain of rustic music as well: In a hymn found in the Palentine Anthology, a resource that showed the traditions of herdsmen and shepherds, one poem asks for Pan to play his pipes so that the she-goats might give them lots of milk;

“The poet here attributes to the god's music a power elsewhere expressed in the image of a sexual union with animals. The "divine message" (or "sacred voice": hieron phatin) of the syrinx brings about an abundance of milk. (1)”

Pan’s domain of shepherding/goats is also related to his role as a god of hunting. Unlike Artemis, Pan’s domain of hunting was only concerned with the type of hunting shepherds would do, that is, hunting small game and hunting to protect the flock (1). Goats were also associated with hunting because mountain goats were hunted for sport (1). In fact, “Arcadians thought Pan responsible for the abundance, and correspondingly for the scarcity, of meat, whether obtained by hunting or by herding” (1). Without understanding this distinction someone might mistakenly think Pan and Artemis were interchangeable in hunting.

Because we see such a concrete connection here drawn by an ancient Greek, Atermidorus, I think it is more than reasonable to say that the fertility domain was also connected to abundance more generally. Another example is in the story of how Artemis visited Pan in Arcadia and he gifted her hounds which he had bred himself (15, 19). Despite the mention of how the dogs had recently given birth, in this story Pan is “devoid of eroticism”, which further supports this connection between fertility and nonsexual abundance (19.). The hounds represent the fertility aspect of Pan (they recently gave birth) and platonic/non-sexual abundance (Pan gifted them to Artemis and as the author notes, the story is “devoid of eroticism”). Hunting (done by shepherds, associated with Pan) also served to protect the flock, protecting this abundance (1).

Conclusion: Without the context of Arcadia as Pan’s origin, it is hard to have as deep an understanding of him, which I think shows us why culture is also important to learn about. Without this context people may misunderstand Pan’s domains of fertility/shepherding, hunting music, and nature as disconnected or random, however by understanding Pan’s cultural context (Arcadia / Greece) a clearer and more meaningful image can be seen. These elements are closely related and interrelated, which I think is important because seeing these domains as “somewhat connected” is significantly different than seeing them as “interconnected”.

Here’s a table to summarize what I think we can better understand about Pan with this knowledge:

A disclaimer: This isn’t meant to be all encompassing as Pan is an extremely complex god. I have only focused on the way Pan was viewed by some ancient Greeks, more was written about Pan later. Pan also was not simply a “positive”, or “friendly” god, he was also perceived as terrifying and that aspect of Pan shouldn’t be forgotten or underappreciated. This post was designed to show how important culture is and so I have focused on aspects of Pan that help us see this clearly. That said, I do feel I have touched on most of Pan’s major domains (fertility/shepherding/goats, hunting, music/dance, nature, and panic). I have tried to give a better sense of Pan using context, not take anything out of context, so if you think I have made a mistake or misunderstood anything then please let me know. I am not a classics student, so there is a chance I misinterpreted something along the way. This post serves two purposes: to demonstrate how Greek culture is important for understanding the Greek gods and to shed some more detailed light onto Pan (which requires the first bit). I also do not think everyone interested in Greek gods or mythology needs to write long posts like these, I just want to emphasize that thinking holistically is important. We should just be aware of how everything is interconnected and be open to learning more about different things that can help improve our understanding.

Citations:

1 : Borgeaud, P., & Atlass, K. (1988). The cult of Pan in ancient Greece (p. 58). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ISBN 13: 9780226065953

2: Ogden, D. (Ed.). (2010). A companion to Greek religion. John Wiley & Sons.

3: Zolotnikova, O. A. (2017). Becoming Classical Artemis: A Glimpse at the Evolution of the Goddess as Traced in Ancient Arcadia. Journal of Arts and Humanities, 6(5), 08-20. Doi: 10.18533/journal.v6i4.1157

4: David Gilman Romano, & Mary E. Voyatzis. (2014). Mt. Lykaion Excavation and Survey Project, Part 1: The Upper Sanctuary. Hesperia: The Journal of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 83(4), 569-652. doi:10.2972/hesperia.83.4.0569 doi: 10.2972/hesperia.83.4.0569

5: WILLS, G. (1998). The Real Arcadia. The American Scholar, 67(3), 15-27. Retrieved May 31, 2020, from www.jstor.org/stable/41212784

6: GARTZIOU-TATTI, A. (2013). GODS, HEROES, AND THE BATTLE OF MARATHON. Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies. Supplement, (124), 91-110. Retrieved May 31, 2020, from www.jstor.org/stable/44216258

7: Yioutsos, N. P. (2014). Pan Rituals of Ancient Greece: a multi-Sensory Body Experience. In Archaeoacoustıcs: The Archaeology of Sound, Publication of the 2014 Conference in Malta (Vol. 57).

8: Parker, R. (2011). Analyzing Greek Gods. In On Greek Religion (pp. 64-102). Ithaca; London: Cornell University Press. doi:10.7591/j.ctt7zgrm.7

9: Haldane, J. (1968). Pindar and Pan: Frs. 95-100 Snell. Phoenix, 22(1), 18-31. doi:10.2307/1087034

10: Yioutsos, N., Kamaris, G., Kaleris, K., Papadakos, C., & Mourjopoulos, J. (2018). Archaeoacoustic Research on Caves dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs in Attica, Greece.

11: Yioutsos NP. (2019) Pan Rituals of Ancient Greece Revisited. In: Büster L., Warmenbol E., Mlekuž D. (eds) Between Worlds. Springer, Cham. Doi: 10.1007/978-3-319-99022-4_7

12: Arcadia. The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica - https://www.britannica.com/place/Arcadia-region-Greece

13: Ruff, A. (2015). The Classical Origins of Arcadia. In Arcadian Visions: Pastoral Influences on Poetry, Painting and the Design of Landscape (pp. 1-14). Oxbow Books. Retrieved May 31, 2020, from www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt19704rw.5 , eISBN: 978-1-909686-69-4

14: Yioutsos, N. P. (2014). Pan Rituals of Ancient Greece: a Multi-Sensory Body Experience. In Archaeoacoustıcs: The Archaeology of Sound, Publication of the 2014 Conference in Malta (Vol. 57).

15: Rinkevich, T. E. (1973). Comic structure in Theocritus 1-7 (Doctoral dissertation, The Ohio State University).

16: Stamou, L. (2002). Plato and Aristotle on music and music education: Lessons from ancient Greece. International Journal of Music Education, (1), 3-16.

17: Campbell, G. L. (Ed.). (2014). The Oxford handbook of animals in classical thought and life. Oxford Handbooks. DOI: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199589425.001.0001 , ISBN: 9780199589425

18: Stewart, C. (2002). Erotic Dreams and Nightmares from Antiquity to the Present. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 8(2), 279-309. Retrieved May 31, 2020, from www.jstor.org/stable/3134476

19: Faulkner, A. (2013). Et in Arcadia Diana: An Encounter with Pan in Callimachus’ Hymn to Artemis. Classical Philology, 108(3), 223-234. doi:10.1086/672004

Homeric Hymn to Pan: http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0138%3Ahymn%3D19

#pan #pandeity #greek gods #Greek Mythology #Ancient Greek Religion #hellenic gods #Hellenic pantheon #I hope you all find this helpful!#hint: if you go to sci-hub dot tw you can copy/past the doi to get the paper for free! It's a super helpful resource!#feel free to send me asks and I can try to find you papers on stuff that youre looking for : )#sorry the table is blurry #I tried to fix that but yeah

303 notes · View notes

writingonesdreams · 4 years

Text

Novel prep tag game

WIP Stormkeeper new version

I always end up doing this thingy when the concept is changing XD this like my, what, 6th novel prep tag? Always helps.

FIRST LOOK

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch)

Cultural scientist Acacia can finally realize her dream of doing field notes in different mage regions, but has to team up with a cold and judgemental bodyguard and his careless dragon-shifting brother in the process.

The story is basically about three exceptional people that don't fit in in various ways - Wes by nature, Kyler by force and Acacia because of her interests - and how they deal with it.

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

One novel, maybe a series later on.

3. What is your novel’s aesthetic?

Trains, mountains, cities, lakes and fog, spirts, sandstorms and hurricanes, rain.

4. What other stories inspire your novel?

Naruto, Frozen 2, Mash, Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, Star Wars, Atla, Avatar, The greatest Showman.

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel

MAIN CHARACTER

6. Who is your protagonist?

The protagonist Acacia drives the story with her goal of acquiring field notes for her research. But both Kyler and Wes are main and pov characters.

Acacia is analytical scientist and a imaginative dreamer, passionate but insecure inside. Her quick mind and abstract philosophic thought process is hard to keep up with.

7. Who is their closest ally?

Her reluctant bodyguard Kyler is son of one of the most significant Pulsor families and the most powerful and dedicated Pulsor mage (controls lighting) of his generation - but rather cold and closed off.

Kyler's younger brother Wes is the reincaratnion of a dragon - the rarest and most ancient spirits - basically a god. Mischievous, reckless but cunning, he has never been allowed to leave home before.

8. Who is their enemy?

There are no enemies per se. There are obstacles, energy thieves and Phatoms on the way, people that mean harm when they see someone different, but there is no antagonist.

9. What do they want more than anything?

Acacia wants to make ethnographic research on the similarities between magic types and the ways of expression and attitude that add up to be the same thing - people living their lives and looking at the world through the taught lenses of their respective magical culture.

10. Why can’t they have it?

Doing research in different regions is hard, because travelling between regions is limited and dangerous. There are Phatoms, energy thieves and people that hate differences and loathe people interested in magic not their own.

In the end the biggest obstacle is probably the way hybrid magicians are loathed - it’s considered a betrayal and weakness not to follow one’s born in type and learn other ones as well. Something Acacia loves, and other people like Wes could use.

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

Kyler believes he has failed. Wes that he is not enough. Acacia that magic is the most magical thing.

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

Commissioned art:

Kyler / Acacia / Wes

PLOT POINTS

13. What is the internal conflict?

Acacia’s internal conflict is mostly about staying true to her belief that different magics can coexist and learn from each other. She is the impact and main driving character of the story - she changes the others and struggles to stay true to herself and her love for different magics and learning from them.

Kyler’s conflict is about his perfectionalism that was recenltly ruined by his kindapping by the Shadow Cult that forced a magic upon him he hates and he can’t forgive himself for being weak enough to succumb to it. It's something that was forced upon him but became part of him nonetheless.

Wes deals with his original spirit memories not returning as they should.

14. What is the external conflict?

Acacia’s external conflict is about her love for Sight, ability to see nature spirits on another plane of existence and the danger she might lose connection to reality and her body if she spends too much time in it.

Kyler’s conflict is dealing with the very real consequences of Shadow Craft magic being now part of him. It’s always there when he is torn or angry or hurt, crawling under his skin and he hates he can’t control it completely.

Wes’s conflict is about finding a balance between his love for his family and the human world and the foreign yearning for his wilder dragon side.

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?

For Acacia to lose her connection to her body by not being able to stay in the moment.

For Kyler it would losing control of Shadow Craft and having it rule him.

For Wes it would be being abondoned by his family and brother and losing the life he has when his memories come back and he finds out about his spirit life.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

No magic is really bad. Or good. The key is balance and intent.

17. Do you know how it ends?

I can envision several ending scenes that would fit, they all mostly fit together.

BITS AND BOBS

18. What is the theme?

The main theme is self-worth, from self-understanding, acceptance of who you are with all the sides and flaws and yearnings and self-love and confidence in who you are and going after what resonates with you. Keeping the storm inside you alive so to say.

19. What is a recurring symbol?

Storms? XD The symbols representing each of the four main magics are moon sicle, sun, lightning bolt and a spiral.

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description!)

It’s set in modern age in a made up country divided into four regions accoriding to its dominating magic practice. These are also very different in landscapes - from mountain village of Pulsors, skyscapers of Aurals, lake bungallows of Sensors to deserts of Resonants.

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?

The big tentpole scenes are pretty sure, the rest I will figure as I go.

22. What excited you about this story?

The way I can use magic types as metaphors for fictional cultures and explore their related views and approaches. The different value systems are much clearer in such a excessive example.

Also all my favourite tropes fit into the story! From rivals to lovers, brothers, trio dynamics, gradual friendships, bodyguards, spirits, Shifters, reincarnations, dragons, healing, deeling with the fixed and growth mindset, perfectionalism and vulnerbility, how to stay in the present moment, how to find balance, different ways to express emotions, how to deal with differences, understanding vs tolerance vs acceptance, how to find - cope - stay true as well as have faith and confidence in who you are...all questions I'm personally very curious about.

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!

Building and living with characters in countless AUs, finding their arcs and a story to best realize them, magic system, themes and thematic questions I want to explore, finding a story to frame those, brainstorming, outlining and hopefully writing before the idea loses its spark.

***

Tagging if you want to play: @catharticallysarcastic @akindofmagictoo @estrella-writings @zielenbloesem @waysofink

#writeblr #writeblr community #amwriting #creative writing #writers on tumblr #wip intro #novel prep tag game #tag game #wip: stormkeeper #my wip #my writing

35 notes · View notes

atvir · 3 years

Text

The Edge of Thought, 1 - Seeking the Unorthodox

The individual carved the path of uncertainty, meandering the muted symphony expressed by the forests of Ashenvale. Even with the blood drying in the sands of Darkshore, even with the uneasy armistice signed between both Alliance and Horde, doubts and fear lingered throughout the elf’s careful steps. The prospect of some passerby with the fervent desire to more than apprehend a lone druid weighed heavily upon his mind.

By still-intact, ancient passages, the Kaldorei navigated the circuitous caverns for what felt like an eternity. As he crossed the threshold of the cave’s mouth, he found himself at the uppermost peak of the Stonetalon Mountains. The weight induced by the burdens of apprehension was lifted for an instant, only for the reality of being in Horde-occupied land alongside needing to search for the Dreamer to set in. A concoction of twilight stirred within Moon-and-star bled its contents onto the dry grass, piercing through the damaged treeline of years past.

All he could hope for were twofold - The prior approximate location of his first visitation, and that the ancient druid was still alive. He took advantage of the shroud of night and made haste. By miraculous portent, intervention of the divine, or mere memory, he arrived upon the site after several days of movement edging upon paranoia.

Upon the rocky face of an unfathomable slope, a mixture of vine and moss crept through cracks in the crag. The individual took a sharp, deep breath, and after exhalation, he gently placed his left palm upon the surface. His fingers moved from their resting spots in a rhythmic pattern twofold until finally feeling centered with the intertwining of stone and vine.

The druid uttered a phrase in Darnassian: “We cross the threshold as there is none to begin with”.

As the final word was silently spoken in his native tongue, a green light pierced through his hand and fingers, powerful enough to perceive the inner workings. The mountainous slope before him rumbled loudly for a brief moment, only for the wall to disappear entirely. Instinctively, he entered the cave, and the gate which he crossed began to form once more. Coated in an infinite blackness, the only audible note from the grotto was the nigh annoying inconsistent drippings from the stalactites dotting the upper reaches.

The Kaldorei sighed. Staff in his right hand, he struck the cavernous floor twice with the pommel. A silent, pleasant chime echoed upon the second blow, the floating focus illuminated with a soft, subtle, green light. Antithetical to his intent, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

There was supposed to be a song, something taken from two worlds. She is not here.

As the realization was etched into the mind, the familiar crone-like voice rang throughout the cave.

“Ah, but I am here, child. Your song rang with clarity the moment you stepped into one of my doorways.”

He opened his eyes, readjusting to the lone light on his person. “Doorways?”

“Ventricles leading to the heart of this stone-home. The cavern’s heart, where I reside.” A snide, quiet fit of laughter echoes from the woman. “Do you think that I just sit in one small grotto, waiting for the next pilgrim to find me?”

As the woman’s musings finished, the grotto rumbled with great vigor. The cavern’s artery began to sing, stalactites echoing with a deep hum, playing upon one subterranean spire after the next. The blood was flowing to the heart.

The individual did what he sought to do - follow the path to the center of the stone-home to meet with the Ancient Dreamer once more. The vastness of the network was far from lost upon him; with no guidance at all, he would have not been able to locate her nor find the exit.

Suddenly, the cavern tones stopped singing, all he could hear in the still silence was the hum glowing from his staff. A tiny blue orb flared up across the way and crept ever closer to him.

“‘How can I not see, sister? This should be no trouble for us.’, is what you may be thinking right now. In order to perceive the unorthodox, child, you must be able to welcome being blind once more.” The singular eye radiated as she ceased to talk, her figure barely perceptible from the edges of the staff’s light.

“I think I know what lies in your heart. It has not changed since our first meeting, but this time your song is a bit...different than before. You’ve actually tried to do more than just Dream, have you?”

The man nodded slowly. He saw no need to fill the air with useless ramblings, and allowed the old druid to continue. “And now you finally seek guidance after so many years of inaction.”

“Your learnings, from what I can see within the threads, were far from orthodox. You were trained to take in what you saw and provide your own insight, returning to your Shan’do to see if he agreed.”

The younger Kaldorei sighed and mused. “Alas, he did not want to agree. Seeking agreement would have taught me nothing.”

The older druid hummed. “Indeed, and now you are failing his teachings in the Dream. By using stringent ritual rather than finding your own way, by trying to interpret things that need not be interpreted, you have failed him.”

“It is time for you to master the Dream. You must be able to see beyond what is in front of you. We shall begin upon your word.”

The druid nodded. The old woman breathed deeply. “Follow the right wall until you hear your footsteps contact a puddle. Then, lay down.”

Thus, the man did as was requested. There was hesitation to lay in the water for a moment, but the fear subsided almost instantaneously.

“Accept the reality of the Dream - time cannot be perceived. Accept the reality of the Dream - carve your own path, find your own exit.”

“There is no--” The man is silenced as vines gently envelop him. He is not constricted, but the final thing he views from the staff’s light is a brilliant flash of green.

Once again, Atvir Leafshadow finds himself in darkness.

#story #the bond #Atvir Leafshadow

4 notes · View notes

mountphoenixrp · 3 years

Photo

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Tu’er Shen, the Rabbit God of LGBTQIA+ Relations, whose origins stem from Ancient China. He is currently unemployed.

FC NAME/GROUP: Lee Hoseok/Wonho - Soloist GOD NAME: Tu'er Shen / Tu Shen (Leveret Spirit / Rabbit God). He is the patron deity and safeguarder of LGBTQIA+ relations. IC NAME: Hu Tianbao PANTHEON: Chinese OCCUPATION: undecided DEFINING FEATURES: upturned rabbit-like nose

PERSONALITY: Ironically, Tian has grown a lot since his untimely death. However, he is still very much the same lovestruck young man that he was before his rise to divinity. Go figure that losing your life would give you a passion for living, right? He tries to experience new things whenever he can and not set limits on himself. This extends into his relationships with others as well. He has a big heart and cares very much for the people around him, the amount of which is always increasing because he's outgoing. Surprisingly, in spite of being a God who is known to help others find love, he isn't actually known for being monogamous. Part of his reasoning had been that he wasn't settled anywhere in the past, but nothing has changed now that he has put roots down in Mount Phoenix. Tian believes that he has a lot of love to give and that there is no reason it should be restricted to one person.

HISTORY: Many stories over the course of history have romanticized the act of sacrificing oneself for true love. Hu Tianbao doesn't really consider himself any different. A young soldier from the time of the Qing Dynasty, Tian found himself in quite the predicament when he fell for a man serving as a government official.

While bonds between men weren't unheard of in the province of Fujian, they were often concealed as a brotherly sort of relationship. The elder man, known as the qixiong (adoptive older brother) would pay what was essentially a bride price to the parents of the younger man, who would become known as the qidi (adoptive younger brother). They would even host a ceremony just like a formal wedding, after which the qidi would move into the qixiong's home and serve as the equivalent of a wife. Eventually, both men would be expected to marry women and procreate, but some of their partnerships could last up to twenty years before they separated to fulfill their "husbandly duties."

It was risky thinking that perhaps the man he desired would engage in such a deceptive partnership. The official was from another province and it was unlikely that their practices were the same, but Tian couldn't help how smitten he was. They'd met in passing, but he might as well have been invisible to the official, just another lowly commoner. Even so, he'd find himself longingly watching the man as he went about his duties and found it harder to keep his growing affections to himself. Could such a beautiful feeling truly be immoral? Unbeknownst to Tian, the official had noticed him hanging around and had grown suspicious of his intentions. He'd assumed he was a spy or some other shady criminal, but his attention had been harmless enough that the official couldn't make an accusation. The day came that Tian could no longer keep his feelings to himself, though, and he ventured to the bathhouse he knew the official frequented, hoping to catch him alone so he could tell him. He'd very nearly backed out, but the official saw him before he could and immediately questioned why Tian would invade his privacy. In a fit of nervous emotion, Tian confessed his love, saying that he knew it was wrong and that he was unworthy of a man of his stature, but that he couldn't help his heart's desire.

The official would have probably been less disgusted if Tian had confessed to murder. In a fit of rage, he dragged Tian out of the bathhouse and had his guards beat him to death, leaving his body beneath a dead tree. Tian journeyed to the Underworld, where the Lord of the Afterlife recognized his love had been true and granted him the title of the Rabbit God, so that he may oversee and protect the affairs of people like himself. With his newfound purpose, Tian returned to the mortal realm and appeared in the dream of a villager, telling him to build a temple where those in need could seek his aid.

For nine years, Tian blessed many relationships who would otherwise be shunned by the powers that be. In 1765, however, a new official named Zhu Gui came to Fujian. On the surface, he seemed like a true servant of the people, but his ultimate goal was the expansion of Confusian principles. He would create and enforce the first law in China to ban homosexual relations and so began his crusade against what he deemed as the "Cult of Hu Tianbao." Zhu Gui accused the Rabbit God's followers of being lewd individuals who prayed in secret for assistance in corrupting the youth to share in their depraved desires. It didn't take much convincing for him to receive government support to destroy their places of worship.

Tu'er Shen's temples were razed to the ground. His idols were smashed to pieces and scattered into the river to never be recovered. Like the forgotten bits sinking into the dark depths, those who worshipped and found comfort in the controversial God were forced to do so in secret. They would erect small, unmarked shrines that only they knew the true purpose for and couldn't even tell the tale of the unfortunate Hu Tianbao without the fear of retribution. Yet the shunned God still listened to the pleas of those who felt misunderstood and oppressed simply for who they loved. He only wished that he could reach out to more of the community that had no other Gods to turn to who understood their plight.

For nearly two centuries, the government's persecution of his followers had left Tu'er Shen's already discrete temples abandoned. If anyone happened across it, there wasn't even any sign that it belonged to the Rabbit God, except for the coincidental presence of bunnies that could occasionally be caught scurrying away into the foliage. He would go years before he would hear the whispers of someone's prayers... So it was with great sorrow that Tu'er Shen left Fujian. The harsh reality was that he couldn't do much for people who didn't know he even existed. A forgotten God was powerless... Yet as the civil rights movement for the LGBTQIA+ community grew in fervor, he realized that he could do so much more as just a man.

Tianbao traveled the world, finding the little pockets of people willing to fight for the freedom to love who they wanted without the fear of suffering the same grim fate as so many others. It wasn't until the 20th century that the movement truly started gaining traction and was able to make legal leaps and bounds to decriminalize same-sex partnerships. Seeing the progress that humans made, without having to entreaty the aid of a higher power, really astounded Tianbao. He would have never thought in his wildest dreams that any of what he'd witnessed would ever be possible. A once silent community had found its own voice and fought against all odds to make sure they were heard.

While Western nations were making more progress, though, Tian wasn't ignorant to the seemingly insurmountable oppression that was still going on in his homeland. In 2006, he found himself called back when a priest in Taiwan built the first temple dedicated to The Leveret Spirit in nearly two centuries. Even though he had been fighting for civil rights alongside mortals for many years, there had always been a sense that something was missing. Hearing the prayers of those who felt alone and reminding them that they were not fulfilled a purpose he had all but forgotten. During his years spent in Taiwan, Tian had crossed paths with a few Gods and Goddesses from an island out in the sea that mere mortals couldn't find. It wasn't until 2019, when same-sex marriages were legalized in Taiwan, that Tian decided to go check out this island for himself and he has remained there ever since.

POWERS: in his myth, Tu'er Shen can enter dreams and interact with the dreamer. But when going to his temple, people pray to him to find love and for blessings/good fortune in same-sex relationships. Usually at the temple, they ask for talismans or blessings on things like skin care products to hopefully attract a partner. So I was thinking his powers would be the ability to walk in dreams and influence the dreamer, momentarily increasing the luck or allure of someone carrying a blessed item, and minor wish granting.

STRENGTHS: confident, assertive, observant, instinctive, friendly WEAKNESSES: single minded, overly emotional, blames himself for things he can't control, overly protective of his children, cannot swim

#kpop rp #krp #lee hoseok #wonho #mp; welcome

2 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

The Crucible (part eight)

[Carrie AU; UK Tour]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Word count: 10,126

TW: None, for once lol

---------------------------

-Dreamer In Disguise-

“Tell us about the night of May 28th. Of the events leading up to the incident.”

Katherine grit her teeth tightly, then exhaled a sharp breath through her nose, releasing her mounting anger. Her eyes were stinging, like fire ants were infested in the sockets and wouldn’t come out no matter how hard she scratched. Her face was still blotchy and washed out from crying, but she held herself as confidently as always, not willing to give into the crime Mulaney so desperately wanted her to be a part of.

“It was meant to be a celebration.” Katherine said strongly. Her voice held no evidence that she had been crying just a few minutes ago. “It was supposed to be the biggest night of our high school lives. The ending of one chapter and the beginning of the next. If only--” Her words caught for a moment, but she would not break again. “If only--”

“If only what?” Mulaney urged.

“If only I hadn’t told Anna to go to prom with Joan!” Katherine exploded, slamming her palms on the table and making even Madeline jump and Mulaney look at her more warily. It pleased her, and she eased back down, steadying her sharpening breath. “Then maybe nobody would have died. But just because I should have done that, doesn’t mean I regret having her go.”

Mulaney’s eyes glinted and he leaned in, hungry for a confession.

“Anna sent me a picture.” Katherine said. She took out her phone and slid it over the tabletop. The screen showed an image of Anna and Joan, grinning brightly at the camera with two other kids, George Boleyn, Anne’s younger brother, and his girlfriend, Jane Parker. “Look at how happy she is… I’ve never seen her smile like that before. So carefree and peaceful…”

She put her phone back into her pocket and shook her head. She blew out a sigh from her nose.

“That’s why I don’t wish I didn’t have Anna ask her.” She said. “She was happy for the first time in her life. Truly happy. And who am I to take that away from her?”

Her eyes began to burn again. She fingered her shredded tissue, a whirlwind of emotions storming inside her skull. She wanted to release it on this skeptical detective before her and show him that she was innocent.

“I hope it was good for her. That prom. Before things went to hell.”

------

It was like a dream. An actual perfect dream.

The prom glimmered in droplets of amber and gold, sapphire and jade, obsidian and pearl. Fragments of gods and goddesses and mythical creatures prowled across the walls in detailed murals, capturing ancient battles in their canvases forever.

The gym had been morphed into a huge, vaulted space that hummed with activity. Intricately carved Greek pillars and spires and arches dotted the space, and green and silver drapes of silk dipped from the ceiling. White fairy lights were lit up everywhere, casting soft glows across various tapestries and weavings decorating the walls and architecture. Miniature recreations of temples acted as buffets for the hundreds of partygoers, bearing chips and cookies and cakes and other treats. There was even a large bowl-like piece that was shaped like the Great Theater of Epidaurus, holding salad condiments around the wide sides and lettuce in the middle. A chocolate fountain burbled on a nearby table, the most modern-looking piece of decor in there.

The food temples encircled a giant white fake-marble tree that the origins of were unknown to mostly everyone. The trunk was carved with intricate designs that looked like they had taken hours to scratch away, and the lush shrubbery it bore was braided with silver lights, making the entire decoration a beacon of sterling radiance. Transparent ice blue globes hung from the many reaching branches, lit up with fake candles inside of their hallowed out interior. They glowed like captured moons within the party.

The stage was set up to look like the Parthenon, with white pillars along the apron and wings, coiled by ivy and flowers. Golden and iridescent fabric braided the top, glistening in the fairy lights. A hired band was set up at the center, along with the DJ booth, which played most of the music. Behind them were the thrones for prom king and queen, all shiny and poised, ready for their royals.

Music catapulted around the high, canvas-covered walls like thread winding around and around the assembled students. The sound seemed to swallow Joan up, reverberating in her bones. Partygoers whirled together on the dance floor, the colors of their suits and dresses sparkling in bright tornadoes. They stomped and jumped and clapped in time to the beat of the music, a kaleidoscope of rainbow rhythm.

However, the highlight of the ball were the sculptures. There were at least ten different elaborate carvings sparkling importantly in the party space. Twisting spirals, weaving tendrils, and delicate beads mingled with glorious bells and vast shipwrecks, towering trees and clusters of griffon feathers. Joan wanted to run her hands over all of their smooth, bubbly surfaces.

“Anna.” Joan squeezed Anna’s arm tightly. “Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna--”

“Yeah?” Anna looked down at her.

“Look.” Joan pointed to the sculpture garden with her free hand.

“Wanna go look at them?”

Joan nodded vigorously. Anna chuckled. They both began to walk over, and Joan nearly dragged Anna when she leapt forward to look at the closest sculpture, a beautiful, branching ice tree with fat orbs of sugary fruit.

“It’s so pretty…” Joan murmured, her eyes sparkling.

“No wonder it’s so cold in here,” Anna observed. “They have to keep these from melting. Damn, this must have taken forever.”

“Yeah…” Joan nodded slowly, like she was taking in the secrets of the universe. “Ooh, look at that one!”

The two of them went over to a sculpture of roaring waves with captured pieces of poetry within their depths. Joan ogled at the ice with great interest, taking the time to read every piece of paper inside. Anna patiently let her, smiling at her look of awestruck wonderment. She was glad she was distracted so she didn’t notice all the stares they were getting.

But Joan did. She had picked up on it from the moment they stepped inside. It seemed like everyone in the entire gym was staring at her like she was an alien from outer space. She did her best to ignore all of them, but she could feel their eyes burning holes into her skin.

She’s never felt so exposed before, not even in the showers last Friday.

“Why, Anna von Cleves!”

A voice cut through the music and talking and laughter rebounding throughout the gym. Joan spun around and saw two people approaching them- a brunette boy with amber eyes, wearing a black tux, a silvery grey undershirt peeking out around the collar, and a blood red rose boutonniere, and a girl she didn’t recognize. She was taller than her date and had curled dirty blonde hair and grey-green eyes. Her dress was long and flowing, ebony black like the boy’s but dappled with silver specks like stars. The straps were thin and the bodice was gathered and fitted snugly against her bust.

“George!” Anna embraced the boy tightly in one of those “man hugs” men always seem to do, rapping his back so hard it sounded a little painful.

“You look good enough to eat, honey!” George whistled, looking Anna up and down.

“Some would say I am delicious.” Anna said.

“Okay, if you two knew how many people thought you were dating, you wouldn’t be joking about it.” The girl piped up, looking amused.

“Tell Anna to stop looking so goddamn queer!” George chortled.

“You know I always gotta look a little lesbo.” Anna said.

Then, George raised his fists and Joan flinched back a little. She flexed her powers, prepared to save Anna, but then Anna raised her fists, too, and began throwing playful jabs and poked at George’s stomach and chest. George did the same, and they began circling each other like two tuxedo-clad cats standing off against each other for a dead mouse. Joan realized that it was a game of sorts.

“Don’t let it bother you,” The girl said to Joan. “If they kill each other, I’ll dance with you.”

Joan couldn’t smother the smile that came to her lips. She looked down shyly for a moment, then lifted her head again to watch George’s and Anna’s sparring match. Anna tagged George twice, then got jabbed in the waist. They kept grunting and gobbling playful threats to each other.

“They’re too silly to kill,” Joan observed, tilting her head at them. “Like dinosaurs.”

The girl laughed and smiled, and Joan felt something warm flood through her.

Was this what delight felt like?

“Joan,” Anna said. She and George had stopped fighting and she now had an arm around his shoulders. “This is my best buddy, George Boleyn! And this is his girlfriend, Jane Parker. She goes to Chamberlain.”

She didn’t go to Kingston. So maybe that’s why she was being so friendly.

Joan liked it.

“George, Jane, this is Joan.” Anna continued.

“Joan, hi,” Jane smiled down at the girl.

“Joan!” George exclaimed. “Oh shit. Hey, can I just personally apologize for all my sister’s bullshit? I wish I could say she isn’t always like that, but…” He trailed off with a dry laugh.

“Wait…” Joan began to put the pieces together. “George Boleyn… You’re Anne’s brother?”

George laughed. “Yup. The youngest of the bunch. We have an older sister in college named Mary. She turned out pretty okay.”

“...I’m sorry.”

George burst out into even louder laughter. He shook Anna’s side, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“Oh, Anna, I love this girl!” He said.

Joan blushed dark red, ducking her head. Anna grinned at her.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” She said.

There was a light touch on Joan’s shoulder, warm and soft, easy for her to shrug off if she wanted. She turned her head to see that it was Jane’s hand.

“I love your dress,” Jane said. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it.” Joan told her.

“Made it?” Jane gaped, looking the length of the sparkling silk gown up and down. “No shit!”

Joan blinked a few times, then echoed, “No shit.”

Jane laughed. Anna grinned even more. Joan felt like a sinful little rebel.

“You really made that?” George asked.

“Oh, now who’s queer?” Anna said, earning her a smack on the arm.

“I did.” Joan answered George. “I like to sew.”

“You have got to teach me sometime!” Anna said. “I tried before but it didn’t turn out so well. A sweater somehow became a snake warmer.”

They all laughed. Joan felt glee bubbling up inside of her the longer and longer she talked to Anna and her friends. It was so nice to be a part of conversations and share her talents with other people.

“Yeah, of course,” Joan said to Anna.

“Hey, ladies,” Said a heavily sneering voice. “And Anne’s brother.”

Maggie, Maria, and a boy came gliding over. Maggie was wearing a pure white toga with gold lace to fit the Greek theme, while the boy, tall and tired-looking, was in a maroon tux. Maria wore a bright tangerine orange dress that had no sleeves and was loaded with fake jewels to make her gown sparkle.

“Hello,” Anna said. There was a sort of warning in her voice, like she was daring the three of them to try something and see what happened.

“Joan!” Maggie exclaimed in a very forced friendly voice. “Wow. You look so...different!”

Joan struggled not to squirm. She didn’t like the way Maggie was looking at her, like she was being sized up. Jane stood tall beside her, a protector of sorts, narrowing her eyes at Maggie.

“Thanks,” Joan mumbled. The bedazzled gems encrusted on Maria’s dress caught her attention and she looked at her in wonder. “Wow… You’re so shiny.”

Maggie snorted. “Shiny?” She said. “Joan, what are you talking about?”

“You made The Human Tide,” Joan went on, ignoring her. She lifted one of Maria’s hands in her own, tracing the lines on her palms. “Passion and lust, envy and yearning, wrath and guilt…” She looked up at her, eyes shining. “Did you put some Sylvia Plath in there?”

“What?” Maggie said uneasily.

“I-I did,” Maria stammered in an oddly rapt way. “I didn’t think anyone would have noticed… Nobody ever understands my pieces.”

“I’m very observant,” Joan stated. “Charles Dickens and Edgar Allen Poe and lines from the Odyssey…”

“Okay, not you’re literally just saying random names.” Maggie said. She looked at the others. “What is going on?”

“Shh.” George shushed her, earning him an evil glare that he deftly dodged around Anna.

“It was very beautiful.” Joan said, releasing Maria’s hand.

“Thank you,” Maria said, wide-eyed. “That--that means a lot. Thank you.”

Joan smiled at her. She looked at Anna in a sort of glance of approval and Anna grinned back at her.

“This is so fucking weird,” Maggie hissed under her breath, the swept away into the crowd. Maria and her date lingered around.

“Oh, hey,” George suddenly said to the boy in the maroon tux. “I know you from...Trigonometry? You’re William, right?”

“Yeah,” The boy, William, nodded.

“Where’d you get your dress?” Maria asked Joan at the same time.

“She made it.” Jane said.

“I made it.”

Maria looked Joan up and down, sort of like Jane did, then said, “Shut up!”

Joan flinched slightly and bristled. “You shut up!”

Maria laughed. Anna set a hand on Joan’s shoulder to relax her, chuckling slightly.

“Really, you made that?” Maria asked.

Joan nodded. “It’s a really simple pattern. I also got the fabric really cheap.”

“Wow.” Maria said. “Give it a twirl!”

“What?”

“Twirl your dress!” Maria specified, then demonstrated, spinning in a shimmering circle of orange and silver. “Like that!”

“Oh--” Joan blinked. “Okay.” She twirled for them.

Maria gasped loudly. “LOOK AT YOUR ASS!!!”

Joan yelped and leapt backwards against Anna, eyes bulging. George burst into laughter. William leaned to the side slightly to get a look and nodded in approval.

“Now THAT’S queer!” George chortled.

“Okay, after seeing your ass, the whole ‘nun in street clothes’ thing is no longer acceptable.” Maria said to Joan.

Joan’s bewildered expression does not lessen. In fact, she looked even more confused and startled after hearing that. Jane leaned down to her and whispered, “It was a compliment.”

“You’re glowing,” Maria said. “You really do look great, Joan. So different!”

Joan blushed shyly. “Thank you.”

Someone gently took Joan’s arm. “Let’s go find our table.” Jane said, and began guiding Joan through the crowd. “Yikes. Why is everyone acting so weird around you?”

“I’m not--usually like this.” Joan said. “All nice and pretty and dressed up. I’m kinda weird…”

“I like weird.” Jane said. “It makes you special.”

Joan ducked her head to hide her bashful expression. Jane chuckled.

“Here we are!” They stop at an empty table that was coiled with ivy and violets. Three candles flickered on the tabletop. Anna and George caught up to them.

“They’re really trusting us with real candles?” George said, peering at the small flames. “Not the best decision they could have made.”

“How are you doing?” Anna asked, sitting down next to Joan. “Feeling alright? Need to go out and get some fresh air? I know parties like this can be a little much. With everyone packed together and whatnot.”

Joan’s heart fluttered in her chest. She’s never had someone be so worried about her before. Anna genuinely cared about how she was feeling.

“I’m okay,” She answered. “It’s a lot, though. I’ve never been to a place like this before. It’s amazing.”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Jane put in.

Joan nodded. “I hope I’m doing okay. Again, this isn’t really my crowd, you know?”

“You’re doing great.” Anna told her. “Trust me.”

“Joan?” A voice called.

George leapt to his feet instantly and dragged Jane with him to go visit with another table, saluting Anna and Joan as he careened away. The remaining duo blinked, then realized what he was fleeing from.

It was Miss Aragon.

The gym coach appeared from the crowd in glistening swathes of gold, like an angel descending from heaven. Her dark brown hair was elegantly curled, framing her makeup-covered face perfectly. The dress she wore was smooth, with no wrinkles or frills, and had short sleeves so her muscles could be revealed to wandering eyes. A black pendant hung around her strong neck, glinting like polished onyx in the light.

“Oh, Miss Aragon!” A smile came to Joan’s face the moment she saw her favorite teacher. “You look incredible!”

“Thank you.” Miss Aragon said. “You look beautiful.”

Joan ducked her head humbly. “That’s very nice of you,” She said. “I know it isn’t true, but thank you anyway.”

Miss Aragon and Anna both ruffled slightly at that.

“Don’t be modest,” Miss Aragon said. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Joan blushed. “Thank you… Really, thank you.”

“Hey, Miss Aragon!” Anna said to the coach.

“Anna.”

Joan blinked and glanced back and forth between the two of them. Why did Miss Aragon look so threatening? Why did Anna look slightly nervous? Was there something going on that she didn’t know?

“You guys want some punch?” Anna said briskly, standing up. She smoothed out her tux and straightened her flower crown. “I heard Henry and Francis spiked it.” She snickered.

“Oh no,” Joan said in a woebegone voice. “Isn’t it dangerous to drink spikes? What if someone chokes?”

“Really?” Miss Aragon said to Anna at the same time.

Anna laughed, then noticed Miss Aragon’s unamused, deadpan expression. She stopped instantly.

“Uh-- No.” She said. “I’m joking.”

Miss Aragon’s expression did not change. Anna cleared her throat, then sidled off towards the food temples. Miss Aragon rolled her eyes and sat down next to Joan.

“So,” Miss Aragon smiled at her. “Is it everything you dreamed?”

“It’s nice.” Joan said.

Miss Aragon laughed. “Just nice?”

“It’s like being on Mars,” Joan admitted. “Now that I’m here, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do.”

“I remember my prom,” Miss Aragon mused. Joan tipped her head in interest. “I went with the captain of the basketball team. She was six foot seven inches tall!” They both laughed. “So, I went out and bought a pair of these Stiletto heels so the kiss goodnight would be less awkward. Anyway, we went in her pickup truck, which of course broke down, so we had to walk the last half mile to the prom.”

“Oh no!” Joan gasped.

“By the time we finally got there, my feet were so blistered that all I could do was just sit there. I was sure I ruined the night, I couldn’t dance, but you know what? We just sat there and talked for hours. And it turned out to be one of the best nights of my entire life.”

“Wow,” Joan said. “I’m so happy for you, Miss Aragon! I’m sorry you couldn’t dance, though.”

“Could have been worse,” Miss Aragon shrugged. “There was this one girl whose boyfriend brought a toy gun so he could pose like James Bond in the picture.”

“Oh,” Joan giggled, despite not knowing who James Bond was. “He sounds like fun.”

“Yeah,” Miss Aragon nodded. “He was arrested.”

Joan stopped giggling instantly. Miss Aragon chuckled.

“But it’s okay.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s just a dance. Not that special.”

Joan nodded. Her gaze began to slide back to the party around them, to the mass of writhing limbs that was the dance floor. Mostly everyone was dancing or talking, but she spotted a few people staring over at her and whispering to each other. Some glanced away when she noticed, pretending they weren’t gossiping about her, while others didn’t even try to make it seem like they weren’t talking behind her back. She turned her head towards them fully, unable to look away, and felt fear and shame bubbling back up inside of her.

(Mama was right Mama was right Mama was right Mama was right)

Miss Aragon smothered those thoughts for her.

“Are you excited for summer?” Her coach asked. Joan turned her head back to her, successfully pulling her attention away. “Then you’ll be in Year 12. One grade closer until graduation!”

“I don’t know,” Joan admitted. “Graduation makes me nervous. I don’t even know what I want to study.”

“That’s understandable,” Miss Aragon said, nodding. “I couldn’t wait to graduate.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Miss Aragon said. “I hated high school.”

“Oh, god.” Joan leaned in. “I do, too. I know you’re not supposed to say that, but I do. I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Preach it to the choir.” Miss Aragon said. “No offense.”

Joan smiled slightly. Miss Aragon took one of her hands and stroked the knuckles with her thumb.

“Just remember,” She said. “Nothing that has happened will matter after graduation. Nothing. Except, you know, things like good grades and studying. You take what you want and leave the rest behind. You don’t even have to see any of these people again if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” Miss Aragon said. “Oh, but I highly recommend the ten year reunion.”

“Why?” Joan asked eagerly.

“Everybody’s different. People will say, ‘Oh my god, so-and-so hasn’t changed a bit,’ but they’re LYING.” Miss Aragon told her, a devilish smirk twitching on her lips. “Everybody changes. And not always for the better.” She scanned the crowd, her smirk curving fully. She leaned into Joan, subtly nodding towards a trio of girls in insanely expensive dresses. “Like, those girls over there? Right now, they’re at their peak. They will never be more pretty or more popular, and in ten years, they’ll be fat.” She snickered. “And the fat girls, some of them will be thin, and the cute boys will be bald. The jocks will have beer bellies-- it’s fantastic!”

Joan dissolved into giggles and had to cover her mouth.

“And the ones who were miserable?”

Joan stopped giggling. She watched Miss Aragon nervously. Her hand was squeezed comfortingly.

“They turn out just fine.”

A grin came to Joan’s lips and she didn’t try to stamp it down.

(i’m okay i’ll be okay)

“They do,” Miss Aragon said, squeezing Joan’s hand again. “So enjoy yourself, and try not to take it too seriously. Everything is going to be okay.”

Joan vaulted into Miss Aragon’s arms, unable to hold herself back. Miss Aragon chuckled and hugged her back, cupping the back of her head to her chest with one hand and rubbing up and down her spine with the other.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Miss Aragon told her.

“Woah,” A voice said. “I better not catch you hugging any other girls like that!”

Joan and Miss Aragon parted as Anna set two cups on the table, grinning.

“Have a good talk?”

“Uh huh,” Joan nodded.

“We did.” Miss Aragon said. “And on that note- Anna. Can I speak with you for a moment?”

“Sure.” Anna said, sounding slightly guarded.

Miss Aragon smiled at Joan and kissed the top of her head before standing up. She took Anna by the arm and guided her away, far out of earshot from Joan.

“Having fun?” Miss Aragon asked. Her voice wasn’t nearly as loud as the blasting music, but the biting words still cut smoothly through all the noise.

“Yeah,” Anna nodded. “Yeah, I am. I think Joan is having fun, too. She’s making a lot of progress!” She looked over her shoulder for a moment, seeing that Joan was pulled over to one of the desert tables by Jane and George. George put some whipped cream on a brownie, then handed it to Joan, who observed the canister seriously for a moment and then promptly sprayed herself in the face. She dropped the can with an alarmed screech and tottered backwards as laughter erupted around her. She was laughing, too.

“That’s good,” Miss Aragon said, smiling fondly at Joan as she was trying to wipe her face off. “I just thought you should know,” She turned her smile to Anna, “that if you show Joan anything less than the time of her life, I will personally see to it that you are expelled.”

Anna gaped at her, mouth hanging open slightly. All the color drained from her face. Miss Aragon narrowed her eyes dangerously, leaning in.

“Do you understand the words that just came out of my mouth?”

Anna swallowed hard and nodded. Miss Aragon smiled again.

“Very good.” The coach said, pleased. “Now go get back to her.” She caught Anna’s arm when she tried to walk away. “Oh, and wait for a slow song to dance with her to. She’ll look stupid dancing to anything fast.”

Anna nodded again and was released. She scampered back over to the table, glancing over her shoulder at the coach as she went.

“Everything okay?” Joan asked as Anna sat back down.

“Yeah!” Anna answered. “Yeah, don’t worry.” She looked up as a slower song by Billie Eilish began to play. “You wanna dance?”

“No.” Joan said instantly.

“Oh--” Anna blinked. “Alright.”

“Sorry…” Joan hunched her shoulders in. “Maybe later. But not right now, please? I still wanna get settled in completely.”

“Yeah, of course,” Anna said. “We can just talk, alright?”

“I like that idea.”

“So…” Anna shifted in her seat slightly. She looked Joan over, then plunged into a question she really hoped wouldn’t upset her date (and make her have to retake Year 13 when Miss Aragon found out), “If I may...how’d you get those scars on your hands?”

“Ah--” Joan coiled her scarred hands into her cowl, looking embarrassed. “Um-- It’s really stupid…”

“No, no, no--” Anna caught her before she could tuck herself back into the shell she was just starting to come out of. “Hey, why don’t I tell you one of my dumb scar stories?”

Joan looked up at her in interest.

“Okay, so--” Anna looked around like she was making sure no one was around, despite there being dozens of people all around them. “I have this little hole in my lower stomach because when I was eight, I put a pencil in my pants and it stabbed me when I went to pee.”

Joan instantly burst out into laughter. It was such a pleasant sound to hear coming out of her, slightly high pitched and adorable.

“Really?” She sputtered out.

“I swear to god!” Anna said, laughing with her. “You can’t really see it anymore, but you can feel the indent of where the hole is. I also have this bad boy,” She rolled her left pant leg up enough to reveal a giant, faded burn scar on her inner thigh. Joan ogled it.

“What happened?” The younger girl gaped.

“When I was 13, me, my younger sister, and my cousin were riding around in a golf cart. My cousin was driving, and he ended up turning in a cul-de-sac way too fast, flipping the entire golf cart on my side. I hit the asphalt and, since I was sitting next to my cousin in the front, that whole loaf fell onto me, breaking his fall and letting him come out completely unscathed. I, however, got this burn.”

“Wow…” Joan murmured. “Were you scared?”

“At the time, oh yeah,” Anna said. “My sister wasn’t moving at all. I thought she was dead. So we got a helicopter air lift to the hospital. That was pretty neat!”

“You aren’t...ashamed of it?” Joan asked softly. “Your scar?”

“I used to be,” Anna admitted. “But it’s a part of me, you know? It’ll only look worse if I try to get rid of it. Besides, it looks pretty cool, and it's not like anyone sees it that often anyway. It’s always too cold to wear shorts.”

Joan nodded. She unconsciously traced one of the webs of scar tissue lacing across her left hand. She looked up at Anna with courage in her eyes.

“I stuck my hands in fire.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Joan nodded. “I found a picture of my father and my Mama threw it into the fire. I tried to grab it and burned myself pretty badly in the process.” She splayed her hands open, revealing the entire spider web of burns to Anna’s eyes. They were white than her already-porcelain skin, like someone had tried to paint over them. “They used to look really bad. All red and peeling a lot. But they’re gotten better, I think.” She rubbed her rough palms together.

“Wow.” Anna said. “That’s pretty metal.”

Joan looked at her strangely. “They’re not metal? This is skin.” She looked down at the scars.

Anna laughed.

“So… Did you know him?”

“Hm?” Joan looked back up at her.

“Your father.” Anna clarified. “If I may. Did you know him?”

Joan shook her head. “No. He left when I was just a baby.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I have his eyes.”

“Oh,” Anna said. “I mean, I’m glad the rumors aren’t true. Not that him leaving is a good thing, it absolutely isn’t, but it’s better than people saying--”

“My Mama killed him?” Joan finished. She looked up at Anna thoughtfully. “I don’t think she did. But you still never know…” She shook her head and rubbed her palms against her dress. “Can we--go outside?”

“Need some air?” Anna asked.

“Yeah,” Beads of sweat were welling up on the crown of Joan’s head. “It’s getting kinda hot in here.”

“Come on.”

The two of them slipped out of the prom through the door that fed into the rest of the school. It was much cooler in that hallway and much quieter, with only dim storm lights turned on overhead. They walked a few paces down until they got to the entrance hall. They sat down on the huge main staircase.

“Are you okay?” Anna asked, gently touching Joan’s arm. There was worry in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Joan answered, nodding. “Trust me. I just need to get away from all that noise for a moment.”

“Gotcha.” Anna said. “It was getting pretty wild in there.”

Joan nodded again. She was staring forward, looking out the huge windows all along the entrance way of the school. The sky was completely black now, even with the layer of clouds, and sheets of drizzling rain could be seen sparkling in the outside lights.

“So…” Anna said, hoping to ease back into some small talk. “What do you want to study in college? I know you’re only in Year 11, but I’m curious.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Joan shrugged. “Is sewing an option?”

Anna laughed slightly. “I’m not sure.”

“What about you?”

“Something with agriculture,” Anna told her. “I kinda wanna be a game warden. I like animals. A park ranger would be cool, too. I could get an entire tower all to myself!”

“That sounds scary.” Joan said. “Being all alone in a tower in the middle of the woods...”

“Don’t put it like that! You’ll crush my dreams!” Anna teased. “I actually thought about being a singer at one point, too. Can you believe that?” She snorted and shook her head.

“A singer?” Joan echoed. “Can you sing?”

“I like to think I can.”

“Can you show me?”

Anna blinked, slightly shy. “Right now?”

Joan nodded eagerly.

“What would I sing?”

“Your poem!”

“What?”

“Your poem, silly.” Joan said again. “It’s basically a song, you know. Just give it a rhythm!”

“Oh.” Anna blinked. “Right. Okay.” She cleared her throat meaningfully. “Let’s see…

An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings

A river's just a sheet of ice

Till winter turns to spring,”

Her voice came out husky and smooth, like molten caramel. Each word flicked languidly off of her tongue, dripping easily into open ears. Joan watched her in amazement and great interest and then, shockingly, began to sing the next few stanzas.

“And though the clouds may block the sun

Don't mean that it's left the sky,”

Joan’s voice was soft and slightly raspy, but higher pitched and easy on the ears. It was light and airy and pronounced each word with silky gentleness. Anna was so startled from hearing it that she faltered for a moment. Joan giggled at her bewildered expression.

“What?” She asked.

“You sing beautifully.” Anna blurted.

Joan blushed. “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind. Your poem was just so amazing that I sorta kinda memorized it… Sorry.”

Anna blinked at her in amazement. Nobody had ever been so interested in any of her writing pieces before, not even Katherine.

“No, no it’s okay!” She said quickly. “That’s so cool. That you like it that much. It means a lot to me.”

Joan smiled. “I’m glad.” She said. “Now, what was the next part?”

“Umm… Oh!” Anna cleared her throat again, then began singing once more,

“Just when you think you've seen it all

There's more than meets the eye,”

“Like, things I dream,”

“And things I feel,”

“There’s more to me,”

“Than I reveal,” The harmony they pulled off together was like nothing Anna had ever heard before. Her deep alto and Joan’s light soprano mixed together beautifully, sounding like liquid sugar in their ears.

“And cause I shine in quiet ways

I'm someone you don't recognize,” Joan sang, a smile twitching on her lips.

“I’m a diamond in the rough

A dreamer in disguise…”

They finished in another chilling harmony. Joan beamed at Anna. Anna smiled back at her brightly.

“That...was incredible.” Anna breathed.

“I know!” Joan exclaimed gleefully. “We sounded SO GOOD! I didn’t even know I could sing like that!”

Anna had never seen her so energetic before. Even Joan never felt this way before, so happy and at ease. She must have come out of her shell a lot more than she thought.

“You’re great, Joan.” Anna said. “We should really hang out more often! Are you free tomorrow by any chance? Katherine, George, Jane, and I were going to have an after party at my house. We have a pool!”

Joan looked absolutely thrilled to be invited. “I would love to go.” She said, eyes glowing. “Do you really mean it, Anna?”

“Of course!” Anna said. “We were also going to watch a few movies, too. Have you ever seen Star Wars?”

“No.”

Anna gaped at her in shock. “Really? You’ve never seen a single Star Wars movie before?”

“We don’t have a TV at my house.” Joan admitted. “What is Star Wars? Is it, like, World War I in outer space?”

Anna burst into laughter. Joan blinked at her in a delighted way.

“Now I REALLY have to show you!” Anna said, wiping an eye. “It’s a date!”

“Yeah,” Joan said excitedly.

They hung out on the main staircase for a little bit longer, discussing plans for the next day and Anna giving Joan permission to wear one of her bathing suits (since she didn’t have her own), then ventured back into the prom.

“I still can’t get over how pretty it is,” Joan said as they walked past a sculpture shaped like temple ruins. “It’s like a dream. A perfect dream.”

The plants were one her favorite parts by far. All around her there were glorious purple exploding star-shaped flowers, delicate pale orange orchids, clusters of petals the color of bananas, odd little orbs in ruby red and sapphire blue. Hanging moss and trailing vines and reaching willow were like curtain doorways to new parts of the prom in all shades of emerald green. And then, there was the tree glowing brightly among all the greenery.

It was so much more beautiful up close. Joan could see all the little details in the pure white trunk, which must have taken forever to get just right. The globes hanging from the branches were the same icy blue as her eyes, she realized, and she blinked at them in wonder. Was the color really that beautiful?

Looking closer, she noticed something in the hollow of the closest globe. A rolled up piece of paper! In fact, several of the globes had one or more, folded or rolled up to sit inside. There was also a small brown table next to the tree with pens and pieces of paper for anyone who wanted to write something. George was currently doing just that, looking very dutiful as he did so, while Jane waited by his side. She noticed Joan and Anna and perked up.

“There you guys are!” She said. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Sorry,” Anna said. “We just went out to get some air. What are you guys doing?”

“Making wishes,” Jane told her. “That’s what the tree is about. You’re supposed to write a wish or desire on a piece of paper and then put it into one of the fruit things.”

“So the decoration committee can laugh at you when they read all of them after prom,” George added as he was writing. “So don’t mark your name. And hope your handwriting doesn’t get recognized.”

“Wanna write one?” Jane asked.

Anna nodded, then nudged Joan questioningly.

“Sure,” Joan said.

They went over to the table George was hunched over at and each took a pen and piece of paper. Anna thought for just a moment, then began writing something, while Joan hesitated a little bit longer.

She had so many wishes that she thought about all the time. Being adopted into a nicer family, Mama loving her like a normal mother would, having friends, finding her father, getting a kitten… There were so many things to put down, and so little room, so, after a moment of deciding, she wrote, “I wish to always be happy like I am now.”

She rolled her paper up like a scroll and tucked it into an empty globe. Jane did the same, then Anna, and then, finally, George.

“So, what did you guys wish for?” George asked as they walked back over to their table. “Because I wished for something practical. Money.”

“I should have known,” Jane chuckled. “I wished for an easy, hopefully painless transition into college after summer is over.”

“Eternal love,” Anna said.

“A pet cat,” Joan lied, feeling too sappy to say her actual one.

“That’s a good wish, that’s a good wish,” George nodded in approval.

The four of them began to chat for several minutes, discussing summer plans and swapping funny stories. Joan didn’t have much to share, seeing as her life wasn’t exactly very easy to bring up in a lighthearted conversation, but Anna, Jane, and George each made sure she was included. She was perfectly happy with just listening quietly, but actually getting to partake in the talk felt like an honor she didn’t deserve.

“What about you, Joan?” George had been asking. “Got any embarrassing secrets?”

Joan thought for a moment, sifting out several way-too-dark things to share.

“I can’t swim,” She finally admitted.

“Woah, really?” George said. “I thought everyone learned how to swim.”

“Where? In school?” Anna snorted. She turned her head to Joan, eyebrows furrowed. “I guess that makes tomorrow’s pool party a little unfortunate, huh?”

“I still wanna come.” Joan said quickly, afraid the opportunity will be taken from her. “I agreed regardless, didn’t I? And I’ll be okay. I just had a bad experience with water one time, that’s all. It’s been years, anyway.”

(the tepid water and her wrinkled fingertips marked the end of her bubble bath. Mama just checked on her, but her patience had doubled since then. she called for Mama to help her out of the tub, but Mama did not respond. she tried twice more but she heard no returning calls. she decided that she did not really need Mama’s help; she was five and a big girl.

the slippery acrylic tub and her misplaced feet resulted in her arm roughly slicing on the sharp faucet. a metallic and unknown smell engulfed her. all she saw was red, just like candy apples. so much red falling from her arm and coloring the bathwater. unexplainable fear and pain overcame her. she started to cry and within seconds, Mama was standing at the door.

she had always been beautiful, but the flour smeared on her face and the stress lines present on her features did not do much for her. the sheer horror on her expression scared her further and transformed weak cries into wailing screams. Mama appeared white as a sheet as they stared at each other, motionless. the tub water was noticeably darker when she started to feel a painful sensation shooting down her arm. in a flash, Mama was carrying her onto the sink counter, swaddling her in a towel that turned crimson red almost instantly. Mama was wearing her special apron and bore a grim look on her face.

Mama left for just a moment, then returned with something gleaming.

there was no warning given before Mama started putting a needle and thread through her skin. it reminded her of sewing a dress together. she can only feel a light tugging, but it did not quiet her cries. Mama finally cut the thread after what felt like forever. the cuddles she got after that were like angel hugs. she thought she should hurt herself more often.)

“What happened?” George asked with great interest. Jane lightly whacked his arm.

“Don’t be pushy.” She chided him, then looked at Joan. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, hun.”

The pet name sent flickers of pink flames glowing on Joan’s ears. Her heart fluttered wildly inside of her chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings for the first time.

“Well--”

(the shower. the blood in the water like when she was five. her blood. girls all around her laughing, throwing things, humiliating her.)

“I was twelve, and I snuck away from home to this Christian summer camp because I wanted to make some friends,” She said. “That, of course, went south, and all the kids participated in a game where they would dunk me in the pool until I started drowning.”

Silence filled the table. Joan instantly felt guilty and lowered her head.

“Sorry…” She mumbled. “I-I shouldn’t have…”

“I’m so sorry, Joan.” Jane looked sympathetic and concerned. “That sounds awful.”

“Those kids are awful.” George corrected her. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Me too.” Anna nodded. She gently took one of Joan’s hands and squeezed it. “That’ll never happen ever again, I promise.”

Joan smiled at her. “Thank you.” She wanted to dive into Anna’s honey brown eyes and catch the reflected flames in there. She wanted to tell her and George and Jane how much this meant to her.

Suddenly, Anna’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, but kept her other hand holding Joan’s.

“Oh, it’s Kat!” She said to the other three. “She’s asking how the night is going.”

“Amazing!” George declared. “Really amazing! Isn’t this prom the GREATEST?”

Jane tipped her head at him and smiled, and Joan realized that THAT was what it looked like when someone was in love.

“It is amazing,” Jane agreed.

“Yeah,” Joan nodded.

“I’m gonna send a picture to her,” Anna said. “Come on, guys! Everyone get in!”

They all huddled together, even Joan, who got snugly sandwiched between Anna and Jane. Anna snapped a picture and then sent it to Katherine, along with a quick text telling her how things were going. By the time she finished, the music had changed into a slow, soothing song, and couples began to group together on the dance floor, including Jane and George.

“Oh--” Anna looked up with a smile. “It’s a slow song, Joan.”

Joan froze, her eyes widening. She began shaking her head, but Anna was already standing up and gently taking her hands. She pulled them back quickly.

“No, Anna, I can't--” Joan stammered nervously. She glanced at all the couples dancing, noting how smoothly they moved, and couldn’t possibly imagine herself swaying among them. She would be much too clumsy. “I’ve never danced before.”

“That’s okay,” Anna said dismissively.

“No, no, Anna--” Joan’s fear was mounting. This was where everything went wrong, this was where things got messed up, this was where her perfect night fell apart--

“Hey.” Anna knelt down in front of her. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just one little dance, and all we do is hold each other and sway. Just like everyone else is doing.”

Joan glanced at the dancers again. It didn’t look too hard…

“B-but what if--”

“Shh,” Anna carefully adjusted Joan’s flower crown so it would be straight again. “Everything is alright, Joan. Nothing bad will happen. Remember: if anyone laughs, I kick their ass.”

That got a tiny smile from Joan. Anna smiled back and lifted Joan to her feet, guiding her onto the dance floor.

“Okay, so you’re going to grab my hand like this. See?” Their right hands clasped together in the air. “And then set the other one on my shoulder.” Joan’s left hand rested on Anna’s shoulder, while Anna’s gently cupped her waist. “And then we sway…” They swayed. “See? It’s easy. You’re a natural!”

Joan smiled shyly up at Anna. She glanced around them, and realized mainly everyone was too absorbed in their partners to notice she was dancing with them.

“And...if you wanna get fancy with it…” Anna smirked. “We can do the Dancing With The Stars move.”

Joan had no idea what that was, but it still sent lightning bolts of anxiety shooting through her.

“N-no, Anna, no, I can’t--”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Anna hushed her gently. “Just trust me.” And then she stepped back slightly and spun around slowly so her arm would be draped across her torso and Joan would be pressed against her chest. Joan looked up at her with a mix between an amazed and deer-in-headlights look. “See? Easy! Wasn’t that fun?”

Joan nodded wordlessly, lost in her wonder. Her icy blue eyes were sparkling like starlight twinkling on fresh snow. Anna gently uncoiled her and they got back into position.

“You’re a good learner.” Anna told her partner.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered, ducking her head. “Can I spin you?”

Anna laughed. “Sure.”

Joan spun Anna, but ended up twisting their arms quite painfully before the full rotation could be complete, so they had to break away and come back together with unknotted muscles. They both laughed.

“Good first try!” Anna said.

Joan giggled.

A serene silence fell between the two of them as the music went on. They swayed together like a white and pink boat drifting on the quiet waves of the ocean at night. The rhythm they rocked to was conducted by years worth of longing and desire from Joan’s part, and now it was all blooming before her. Everything she’s ever wanted was happening. Friends, a fun night away from home, people who actually give a damn about her… She could feel tears of joy pricking in her eyes and she quickly blinked them back.

“Do you really have to be home by eleven?”

Anna’s voice, smooth and caring and not a bit cruel, cut though the singing playing from the large speakers set up. Joan looked up at her. It felt like she had just woken up from a nap, that the music had lulled her into sleep and she slipped away into a blissful dream. But it wasn’t a dream. This was real. The bodies rocking around her and the beautiful decorations and her perfect dress and Anna’s hand in her own--it was all real.

“Yes,” Joan said, processing what Anna had asked her. She frowned. “I’m sorry. I promised.”

“No, that’s okay!” Anna said quickly. “It’s just that after prom, a few of us were going to go to--”

“OKAY.” Joan said, pulling away and hugging her hands in close.

Anna blinked. “Um. What?”

“No, no, if you want to go off with your friends, I understand. I-I-I don’t want to spoil anything.” Joan sputtered out, feeling her heart sink back into the black abyss it had finally climbed out of for the first time in fifteen years.

“What I was going to say was,” Anna said, taking Joan’s hands again and pulling her back against her. She began to sway again. “If you’d like to, after prom, we could stop at the Blazer for awhile.”

Joan blinked. She suddenly felt embarrassed about how she had jumped to conclusions so easily, that just goes to show how much she truly trusted Anna, but Anna didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never been there.” She said, unsurprisingly. She didn’t go to many places.

“They have the BEST fries!” Anna stated, grinning.

“I’d love to.” Joan said.

“Then it’s decided!”

A smile was starting to come to Joan’s lips, one that felt like it would stay there for the entire night no matter how hard she tried to smother it. After years of vicious bullying and constant teasing and unfriendly looks, she suddenly found herself wrapped in attention and warmth. Anna or Jane or George didn’t hate her or were afraid of her like Mama had said at all. More than that, they seemed to actually like her. They were talking to her and being nice to her and making her laugh, and none of it seemed forced in even the slightest way. They were making her forget, for all these hours, how miserable she had been and how miserable she truly was. The pain was numbed.

For once in her life, for the first time in fifteen years, she truly felt happy.

“Thank you.” Joan whispered, breaking another few peaceful seconds of silence between them.

“What for?” Anna asked, tilting her head slightly.

“For everything.” Joan clarified. “For taking me to prom. For the limo. For being so nice to me.” The tears were coming back, but she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to blink them back this time. “I know you don’t like me like that, and I know it’s only one night, but…” She looked up at Anna, her eyes sparkling. “I’m glad I got to be your date tonight.”

“Me too.” Anna said, taking Joan by surprise.

“R-really?”

For a moment, Anna frowned at her disbelief, but then she shook her head and chuckled slightly.

“Of course,” She said. “I’m having the best time with you.”

“B-but what about Katherine--” Joan stammered, her voice catching in her throat.

“Katherine isn’t here right now,” Anna said, wiping away the tear that rolled down Joan’s left cheek. “Tonight, you’re all that matters to me. I’m going to make sure this is the best night of your life. And the nights and days and everything else after that. You aren’t alone anymore, Joan.”

That’s what broke Joan.

The girl whimpered, bottom lip quivering, and a cascade of sparkling silver tears began pouring down her face. Anna cupped the back of her head and brought it to press into the crook of her neck for security. Joan cried steadily, thanking her over and over again through squeaking sobs.

“How about this?” Anna said when Joan began to quiet down and was able to pull her head back. Her makeup was slightly smeared, but Anna still thought she looked amazing. “We dance for a little longer, see what poor fools get elected as prom king and queen, and then head to the Blazers for a bite to eat. And I’ll have you home by eleven.” She smiled warmly. “How does that sound to you?”

Joan nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Joan squeaked. “Maybe eleven-thirty…”

“Whatever you want.”

“Eleven-thirty.”

Anna smiled even more. “Wonderful.”

They fell into blissful silence as the song began to wrap up. Joan’s eyes were starting to sting, but she didn’t care. She tucked her head underneath Anna’s chin and rested her head on her chest, relaxing. Anna swayed them both gently, acting as a protective barrier that Joan never wanted to be away from.

The song soon ended and the two of them parted. George and Jane bounded over to them, with George grinning his head off and tapping his feet energetically. Jane rolled her eyes at him fondly, then smiled at Joan and Anna.

“I saw you guys dancing,” She said. “You were really good for your first time! This one,” She jerked her head at George, “tripped on MY FEET and dragged me to the ground when he fell the first time we danced together.”

Anna and Joan laughed. George was not fazed by his girlfriend spilling embarrassing things about him. In fact, he seemed a little proud.

“It’s going to be funny to tell our kids one day!” He said.

“Oh, you,” Jane rolled her eyes again and poked his nose. “Oh, Joan. Your makeup smeared.”

Joan blinked and lifted a hand to her face. “Oh dear,” She murmured in dismay.

“Not to worry!” Jane waved a hand. “I have some makeup in my car. I can help you fix it.”

“Really?” Joan said. “Thank you.”

“No problem, lovely!” Jane said. She gently took Joan by the arm. “Anna, I’m going to borrow your girl for a moment. George, don’t do anything dumb.”

“Yes sir!” George beamed. When Jane and Joan whisked through the crowd and out into the parking lot, he sighed lovingly, “I love her so much…”

Anna laughed and patted his back. “I can tell!”

Meanwhile, in Jane Parker’s blue Hummer, Jane was dutifully applying fresh makeup onto Joan’s youthful face and thinking back to some of the things she overheard Anne Boleyn saying about her when she was over at the Boleyn residence to hang out with George. The young girl before her didn’t look ugly at all, despite what Anne had said, nor did she look like a freak. Her eyes may be a strange color, but they were the most beautiful shade of blue Jane had ever seen before.

Jane suspected that, deep down, Joan actually enjoyed the kind of pampering she was giving her in the car, despite the distrust in her eyes as Jane drew near with a mascara wand. Not that she needed anything more, but still. Little Miss Five Minute Skincare had obviously missed out on a lot of the girly stuff that had saturated Jane’s existence since birth.

It made sense, though. From the rumors she heard and from everything Anne griped about, she didn’t have a normal upbringing like most people should have. Something much darker lurked beneath those silly stories.

Something terrible has happened to this girl.

And, judging by the “hideous” hand-made flannels Joan apparently wore quite often to school, her mother hadn't been much of a fashion mentor either.

Once Jane had achieved the smoky eye effect she wanted, she applied some gloss to Joan’s lips. The girl had quite an amazing tone to her mouth. Pity it was drooped in a sullen pout at that moment.

Jane leaned back to admire her handwork.

“Well?” She adjusted the rear view mirror down so Joan could see her reflection. “How does it look?”

“Pretty…” Joan murmured. “But it feels like I have dirt on my face.” She pouted adorably again.

Jane laughed. “Makeup has that effect, unfortunately.” She said. “But you look lovely. Now, come on, let’s get back inside.”

They journeyed back into the prom, chatting idly as they went. Joan was smiling again, but her hands kept twitching like she wanted to rub her eyes. This was probably the first time she’s ever worn mascara, Jane realized.

“Wow,” Anna murmured breathlessly when Jane and Joan got back to their table. Even George looked a little starstruck at the newer, better makeup applied to Joan’s face.

“Do I look alright?” Joan asked shyly.

“Better than alright!” George said.

“You look beautiful.” Anna added. “Gorgeous.”

Joan blushed bright red. “I’m glad.” She said. “Because this black stuff is making my eyes sticky. And itchy.”

“That’s mascara, sweetheart.” Jane corrected her.

“It’s AWFUL.” Joan said. “Do girls wearing makeup always have to feel this? How do they do that? I’d rather pluck all my eyelashes out!”

Jane, Anna, and George laugh. After a moment, Joan joined them, giggling.

“I’m going to go grab a drink,” Anna said, parting from the group and going over to the bufett temples.

“Excuse me?”

Anna spun around and found herself facing a young woman, maybe a Year 12 or Year 13, with tassels of red hair and striking smoky grey eyes. Her dress was scarlet, accenting her hair perfectly.

“Sorry,” She said, smiling slightly, “I just had to ask before I made a fool of myself. Are you two a couple?” She nodded in Joan’s direction.

“What? No!” Anna barked. The laugh came out more harshly-sounding than she meant, making her instantly guilty. But she was right- she wouldn’t date Joan. She was too young for one, and for another, she was already with Katherine.

The redhead was devouring Joan as the girl giggled over something George was saying, effortlessly adorable.

“No, we’re not a couple,” Anna found herself repeating as the redhead purred her appreciation. “But Joan” Anna couldn't resist. She really wanted Joan to open up to new people. “…Joan’s a total stud.”

God, that felt a lot weirder to say than she expected. She did NOT like that.

“Really?” The redhead’s gaze shot to Anna’s face and then back to her object of attraction. “Joan?” She teased the name with her tongue. “God, she's cute. Do you think I have a chance?”

Anna shrugged and sipped her drink to stifle a giggle. To be honest, she didn’t actually know. She had never ever seen Joan with anyone romantically before, making her believe she was a raging asexual or mother-superior-in-training.

The reality was that Joan was left tongue-tied by male and female nudity alike. Two years into high school gym, and Anne would say she STILL averted her eyes when changing out with other girls in the locker room. She was just hopelessly shy when it came to all matters sex-related.

“She may play hard-to-get.” Anna finally said.

“Ah,” The redhead nodded slowly. She chuckled. “Thank you.” Then, like that, she glided back off into the mass of writhing limbs that was the prom. Anna respectfully waited ten seconds after she left to snort her laughter.

“You’ve got some fans, Jo,” She said, walking back over her friends.

“What?” Joan blinked up at her innocently.

“I think someone has a crush on you.”

Joan’s face flamed red instantly. She stammered on a reply, but all her words came out squeaking.

“O-oh.” She choked. “Nice?”

Anna chuckled and patted her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it was nothing. And you can always say no.”

Joan nodded. A second later, the music switched to an upbeat Lady Gaga song. George began to bound excitedly.

“Oh, I LOVE this song!!” He yelled. “Let’s dance!”

Anna glanced at Joan, who appeared to be a little more confident at dancing. They all moved to an emptier spot on the dance floor and began to dance.

“Come on, Joan!” Jane encouraged, noticing that Joan was just bobbing her head to the beat of the song. “Shake that bony white ass!”

Joan was flabbergasted at that, but was motivated to get a little more into the song. Anna, Jane, and George all clapped and cheered for her as she did so.

Unbeknownst to them, Maggie watched on with Bessie at her side. Bessie’s amethyst purple dress went with her bleached white hair surprisingly well, but Maggie wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not, seeing as Bessie’s head was filled with quite a few moths. Anthony was somewhere in the crowd near the food temples, lost in the cluster of black tuxedos so much like his own, fetching drinks like Maggie had asked.

“God, just look at them.” Maggie sneered in disgust, watching Joan dance like an idiot and Anna, Anne’s younger brother, and Anne’s younger brother’s girlfriend actually make it seem like they liked her. “Couldn’t you just vomit?”

“I can’t believe Anne is missing this.” Bessie said, wide-eyed. Maggie definitely saw flickers of longing and jealousy in her dark brown eyes; she wasn’t exactly very subtle with her big gay crush on Anna von Cleves.

“Trust me, doll,” Maggie said dismissively. She shot a smirk at the stage. “She isn’t missing a thing.”

22 notes · View notes

ruthlesslistener · 5 years

Note

Gimme PK for the character meme!

I had a whole thing written up here and Tumblr reloaded and fucking ate it. I want to die

Alright take two

How I feel about this character

-Used to hate his guts. Like, legit, I rarely ever feel super strongly about characters but seeing what he did the first time made me sick to my stomach. Now though? I love him. After some wiki and lore diving in the game, I began to piece together his story and how he felt about it, and I went from seeing him as a coldhearted, clinical, detatched power-hungry dickhead to someone who genuinely loved their kingdom and loathed what they had to do, but still ended up harming multitudes because their love for it festered into something obsessive and toxic. Now he’s one of my favorites, purely because he fits that niche of ‘if a great person who was driven to desperation does horrible things, does that make them a villain?’ aspect that I love so much when writing. Also, I can bully him as much as I like in writing without feeling bad, so that’s fun. He’s like a fantasy punching bag/philosophical question.

Also, he has draconic ties. I am a weak man. I see a draconic character, and I love them no matter how awful they are. I’m weak for those proud violent majestic ancient lizards okay

All the people I ship romantically with this character

-White Lady! Usually I steer clear of hetero pairings in media because they’re written awfully, but Hollow Knight’s few romantic pairs are all excellently well-written and feel balanced and reciprocate. I know some people think that she was forced to comply with him or hated the vessel plan, but that’s...really not the case? She still speaks fondly of him in the gardens, as if he was still alive and she was merely taking a short trip away from him. And her approach to the vessel plan seems to be ‘it’s regrettable and disturbing, but it has to be done’. Hell, if anything she carries it out more efficiently than he does, keeping herself distant from Ghost and talking about Hollow as if they were a part of a machine that simply stopped working. He’s the dreamer in the relationship, and she keeps him grounded (or rooted, hehe).

Also, he canonically gave her a half of his soul when they were married to each other, which is cute as fuck. Nothing better than seeing a character who deeply loves his wife

My non-romantic OTP for this character

-I use Homestuck quadrants as a loose outline of how the god’s romance works, because I headcanon them to have a very different way of interacting and forming bonds than humans, so its a tossup between him and Lurien as morails and him and Herrah as kismeises. Proooobably I enjoy blackrom Herrah/Pale King though because she’s more than a match for him, doesn’t seem to trigger his desire to kill his opposition (compared to Radiance, another god), and already had a kid with him. If it wasn’t for the Dreamer plan I bet she could have hammered him out into a better person through their rivalry, which would be fucking awesome to read about (and then Hornet might have actually had parents who stuck around....). Grimm I kind of headcanoned him to have a hatecrush on until he learned what he was doing with the vessels, and then he just fuckin yote that crush out into pure hatred (because Grimm is social and a father and that is his sister who he’s going to starve to death, no matter how horrible she may be now she is still his sister...)

My unpopular opinion about this character

-He was kind. He loved deeply, honestly, faithfully. And it ruined him. Because like...I know some people think that he’s cold and efficient and cruel. But everything that he did for Hallownest points to the actions of someone who loved it and the bugs that resided within. He wanted to be among his citizens, so he died for them. It would have been much easier for him to rise to power if he just enthralled all the bugs under the Radiance’s power (once he destroyed her, ofc), but he granted them free will instead. Godseeker mentioned that him choosing to diminish himself was baffling, and though she is in no means a reliable narrator, I think about the connotations behind that a lot. Because for a being who feeds on worship, a being that is supposedly pure Mind and no heart, staying in that big wyrm form and enthralling the mortals would be the best course of action. But he chose to die instead, so that he may be with them. He chose to destroy his family so that they might live free from the mindlessness of the Radiance’s rule. He loved the Hollow Knight, his supposed mindless sacrificial lamb, enough to gift them the ability to see the world from their sealing and to build them a memorial statue (no small thing for a god, though condescending for a mortal- remember that gods true-die when they are forgotten, and a big honking statue about their sacrifice for the good of the kingdom is a sure way to gather awe and worship). And when Hallownest fell and he sealed himself away in dreams to die- the same as what he did to the Radiance, mind you- we can literally see the guilt and shame in the ruins of the White Palace. It’s his glorious palace, hidden in a mess of spikes and blades. His most heavily-guarded memory is a moment with him and Hollow- one that must be viewed by enduring the harshest punishment. The hidden rooms in the palace are all the things that were deeply close to his heart and saw as secret and shameful; his workshop with the void constructs, a tablet speaking a prophecy of Hallownest lasting forever, an empty cradle tucked directly below his throne. And then he himself, dead or dying on his throne, not a great glorious god but a neglectful mess. That all points to someone who lost everything they cared about and couldn’t handle all the horrible things they had to do to keep it safe, someone who never learned how to healthily handle their emotions and ended up hurting everyone around them in the process.

And that, in my opinion, is much scarier than your boring cardboard cutout villain model. Because the people who hurt you the most aren’t going to be calculating, cruel bastards all the time, they’re people who are kind and lovely and will do whatever it takes to keep their beloved safe, even at the cost of their own life and the lives of everyone around them. Much more interesting to handle, too. There is nothing that puts me off a fic faster than cold detatched asshole Pale King bc like...he did care. Of course he cared. That’s why he killed everybody

(Also he was a conflict-avoidant bastard but I’m not getting into that rn)

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

-MORE FLASHBACKS WHERE HE’S ACTUALLY ALIVE!!! MORE FLASHBACKS WHERE HE’S WITH HOLLOW OR THE DREAMERS OR HORNET!!! I want to see how he interacted with others so I’m not just piecing his personality together from his sad lore tablets and Lemm. I’m hoping we get some flashbacks with him in Silksong, since he has the potential to be a pretty...interesting influence on Hornet’s life, seeing how she looks so much like him, but that’s a pretty wild thing to look for. I also wish we saw him as he was when he was a full wyrm, too, bc goddamn I wanna know more about these big scary god-noodles. His corpse was mostly buried back in Kingdom’s Edge, with only the ‘teeth’ really sticking out, and I’m not sure how much faith I have in the coliseum being another wyrm like the Blackwyrm. If Bardoon says they’re much bigger than him, then I def. wanna see a full-grown, alive, full-sized one in canon at some point

Send me a character and I’ll break their ass down

#reply #hollow knight #pale king #mrslittletall #pale wyrm #the pale king #ask meme #i wanna know moooorreeeee #gimme moooooreeee

65 notes · View notes

ateddieadaykeepsthedoctoraway · 4 years

Text

posting this here before i forget again but the more i think abt the hk au im like… hm…

ANYWAYS WARNING THIS IS ME GOING VERY STREAM OF THOUGHT NONE OF THIS IS FLESHED OUT YET MOST OF THIS IS ONLY HALF FORMED CONCEPTS n ill prolly delete this once/if i work it out further

p4 would work so well in a post radiance sealed away setting w p3 having been the seal . like. minato/the hollow knight sealing up their respective gods rlly do be out there

the problem is that idk if id be into the idea of him being made a vessel? maybe somehow hollowed himself out n became a vessel as sacrifice? idk i haven’t seen p3 in years he just doesn’t fit the idea i have for the vessels (read later but im mainly reserving them for the non humans)

idk what that’d make the rest of the p3 cast but im here to talk p4 so like sh

anyways. tempted to make the radiance less nyx exactly n more just… a vague concept for all the gods

so her leaking out again /the infection starting again as stand in for izanamis fog spreading n ppl going not great over that

all i know is that this au or whatever would prolly start at the start of it starting to spread? so its not like the game where everythings already gone to shit

all i have is for ted mainly is that he’s a vessel ! cus the abyss felt like it could work for him n also the anti shadow suppression weapons (yes im lumping the shadow and the anti shadow weapons in together here its mainly just bcus they all work w the idea of not being supposed to have ‚real’ personalities)

i kind of want him as a mask maker! maybe not the mask maker but i like the idea of tiny vessel escaping the abyss and as he finds his actual personality more actually making other masks for himself to fit the self he wants to be towards others more (to mimic him creating the bear costume n human body to fit in as well skjdhfjks)(also as a small nod to him making glasses for others ig! mask maker)

im not entirely sure if i want to keep the dreamers? well. im keeping them but not asleep. was thinking of making them the velvet attendants? having sealed away, the seal. they aint sleeping n will actively fight u tho. my main reasoning for this one was I Think It Sounds Cool

dont know how to deal w the pale king n stuff tho so

im thinking abt kind of. getting rid of them? which prolly sounds like a major element to remove but the kings/queens/wyrm god stuff translates over a lil harder w the actual persona gods being like that (i wouldn’t know how to distribute the persona gods over radiance pale king white queen n grimm so i will just not do that i think (ik grimms not a wyrm but im not gonna lie folks his lore confuses me so i will just ignore it for this one) so instead the pale king could just be the entire kirijo group? creating the vessels to battle the radiance/the persona gods p much

as for the rest of the cast…. yosuke as a mantis? still has his wings. fast n jumpy to fit w him being fast n air based. speaking of the mantises- adachi possibly as the traitor lord?? not necisarrily a lord like in canon but just someone who accepted the infection willingly to gain power

design wise speaking i like the idea of chie as a bee? warrior bee. for yukiko- idk wtf isma was bug wise but cus her ability grants acid immunity n the acid i think could fit yukikos fire/n immunity her healing powers i wanna say smth like isma. maybe a giraffe weevil (like willoh) as species since idk what isma was and their long necks kinda remind me of yukikos bird shadows neck. yes thats fairly vague but im doing my best. giraffe weevil who has weird acid powers i dont even know. (THO I DO ALSO KINDA LIKE THE IDEA OF WEAVER YUKIKO. HM. MUST THINK ABOUT THIS SOME MORE IM JUST THROWING SHIT AT THE WALL RN)

kanji as whatever hegemol was. big scary towering bug. (who ends up actually being not scary!) for rise… wanna give her a design kinda like ze’mer maybe? traveling bard bug (which could be why she’s useful as a backup person moreso informing the team? she knows abt stuff cus shes been places)

naoto and yu as i genuinely have no idea . i dont know. help me. maybe naoto as a moth??? removing the moth tribe as inherently connected to the radiance. cus i removed the other worms/gods n jut replaced them w kirijo group radiance is kind of an outlier here n would prolly be a weird force of nature fuelled by emotions thing to fit in w persona more. can still take the form of a moth or whatever tho i might change that but the point is the moth tribe isn’t connected to r anymore n she wasn’t some ancient god already being worshipped that got angry shes just a force that suddenly started existing now

anyways. they all meet up bcus of infection starting to spread n start investigating and end up facing off w izanami version of the radiance (again. radiance is more a general concept of all gods so for the p3 cast it would’ve been more a nyx version. for p4 shes more izanami cus i make the rules in this house)

the dream world still exists and its where most of the major fights take place! like fighting the attendants- they’re not asleep but they can access the dream world n can only be fought in there (they dont die if defeated they’ll just be like yea i wont stop ya anymore do your thing)(defeating them prolly required to progress into certain areas besides them just protecting the seal)

teds still the one in charge of portalling them between worlds! when he was scouring the land still forming his personality he got access to a dream nail he can use to not only enter dreams himself but also let the others come w him. why? how? i dont know that yet. this is still just me throwing shit at the wall

#not art #ok thats enough me going batshit #half of this probably does not make sense but #OH WELL #ill flesh it out n work out the actual details #like #one day.#im sorry for this not being art my ass is being very depressed rn #drawing hard

10 notes · View notes

theharellan · 4 years

Text

Ame dirthan, ame harthan

This is a repost of a thread written five years ago tomorrow (so 4/1/2015) between myself and @theshirallen, an alternative scene (and canon to this blog) to the infamous grove scene where Solas does not turn away from revealing the truth to his love.

I want to note that this was written before Trespasser, so it was based mostly on speculation and extrapolation of canon material. And there is a lot I and I’m sure Joly would probably write differently if we were to rewrite it today, both because of new canon material and because our interpretations have changed. Regardless, it remains a special thread to me and I wanted it back on my blog.

As a final note most of the elvhen featured can be read by scroll over text. My apologies to those reading on mobile.

theharellan

The day had been kind to them, for though Crestwood was famed for its foul weather they had felt not a drop of rain since sunrise. It had been the perfect day, everything Solas had been planning since he first asked Ian to join him in Skyhold. Though fate had ruined his plans before, today it seemed fortune smiled upon him.

Yet every day spent beneath the sun had to end. Twilight had already begun to press down upon them and the grove was lit with a pale blue gloom. With every step Solas took the pressure in his chest increased twofold. It had hung over him like a shadow, always at the back of his mind even as he melted into kisses. The truth was mere moments from being spoken, and his lips trembled at the thought.

As they approached the grove Solas took Ian’s hand, hoping it might steady him. Their fingers laced together, his thumb rubbing the tough skin where scars lingered.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “The Inquisitor uncovered it not long ago, I thought of you when I saw it.” The proud hart statues towered over them, their eyes turned skyward. Whatever they guarded was gone now, but the area still had a power to it. The Veil moved here, stretched thin as spirits leaned in to watch the two elves on their stroll.

Solas pushed his tongue against the back of his teeth, glancing towards Ian. He had learned to love the way his whole spirit lifted when he looked at him. Over the course of the day Ian’s hair had steadily grown more mussed, tousled by the wind that skirted over Crestwood’s lake. Untangling their hands, he reached up to brush his hair through it, bringing them both to a halt.

“I was– trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me,” he confessed.

And as far as Ian knew, that was Solas’s only reason for planning the day’s events. It was more than that, though. He wanted one last selfish day, just for them. One last day where he might swim in cold lake water and hike up hills with Ian at his side.

“To demonstrate how much I love you,” he added. His hands rested along the back of the other’s neck, fingers warming themselves beneath his hair.

theshirallen

Ian was glad of the sun today. He always felt better when there was sun, and traveling in Crestwood was a rare place to find it. He would have endured the rain without complaint, however, to live this day with Solas.

Easy days came rarely, still. Things were not so difficult as they had been, though he was beginning to realize that the changes to his mind and his magic would linger far longer than he might have hoped. The ever-growing urgency that hung over Skyhold and the Inquisition did little to help him, but to spend an entire day with nothing more to concern him than enjoying the company of his love was a gift he had no intentions of squandering.

Stepping into the grove was like passing beneath a waterfall. Ian could feel the Fade shift and press close. The Veil was thin here, thin enough he was surprised no Rift had opened. Just on the other side of the barrier between the physical realm and the realm of thought, he could feel spirits shifting, their essence bending the Veil like a child behind a curtain, pressing their face into the shroud so that the contours almost matched their features.

Spirits caused him less alarm than once they had. He’d touched them, been touched by them, and being aware of them so close had become a comfort. They were always closer when demons were farther, and demons he still feared.

Solas’s fingers between his own pulled him from his distraction, and he looked up to study what his love had brought him to see. The towering statues inspired a soft draw of breath as his mouth fell momentarily agape before shaping into a gentle smile. Like so many remnants of the elves’ past, these monuments had weathered with time, but even the passing of ages had not robbed them of their beauty. Words could not adequately express the emotion they inspired, but Ian gave a soft nod in answer. Yes. He liked them very much. There was more to Solas’s question than it presented as, however. Something else beneath the spoken that did not immediately give rise, and Ian turned his face as Solas made an effort to smooth his impossibly tousled hair.

Fingers came to rest at the base of his neck, half buried in his hair, and his head fell forward for a moment, forehead resting where he fit so comfortably, nestled in the safety of Solas’s chest, tucked beneath the curve of his love’s chin. His own fingers found purchase at Solas’s waist, and he shifted his weight back, just a little. Just enough that he could lift up to his toes and bring their lips together.

How to explain to Solas that, though the thought was much appreciated, the gesture itself was not necessary?

“I’ve never doubted.” He said softly. “You have nothing to prove.”

He dropped back, rocking from his toes to his heels to back again before he found something akin to stillness. “I have no gift to offer you in return, vhenan, but I hope my love is known to you.”

As Ian nestled against him Solas went still. For a moment he did not breathe, afraid that in this position Ian might hear how his heart quickened. His nerves had settled over him, blackened fingers that gripped him tight and squeezed ‘til he had to remind himself to breath. He breathed in, memorising the feeling of his nose being pushed off-center by the top of Ian’s head. It was always the little things that he feared missing the most: the pins and needles he woke up with after a night spent together, the way his cheeks would ache from smiling, the things he could never find on his own.

He sank into the kiss, eyes falling shut. A shame that at this distance he could not admire how Ian’s mouth curved when their lips met. The fingers that rested at the nape of his love’s neck tangled in his hair, and remained there even after they parted.

A gentle smile stole across Solas’s features, though his eyes could not keep pace. “To you, maybe.” But he had much to prove to himself.

In a thousand years he never would have guessed he would be standing here, in love with another elf. Yet love was about more than sharing dreams and stories, he could colour a thousand dreams, show Ian a hundred ruins, but the word Vhenan would feel hollow on his lips until he could afford Ian trust.

This lie had lingered for far too long.

“I require nothing in return, I only ask that you listen ‘til the end, for what I have is no gift.” Ian loved him, but would he love all of him? He was meant for quiet evenings and a humble homestead, nothing Solas could offer him. Solas’s gut clenched, eyes tracing over the branches of Mythal, lingering upon the Tranquil brand. Perhaps this was a mistake, perhaps some truths were not meant to be shared, some loves never meant to be.

He had practised the words to himself time and time again, hoping he would find the combination that would make the revelation easier. Yet another truth came to mind, so that his lie might live another day.

But it would mean losing him.

“You have become important to me, in ways that I could never have imagined.” His fingers untangled themselves from Ian’s red locks, knuckles brushing his cheeks. “And so what I must tell you… the truth…”

For all his talk of freedom for the People, he had always been a selfish man. A more worthy man would never be in this position, his eyes would never have strayed from the target. He watched how Ian’s vallaslin shifted with his expression, and remembered the words of a woman who once valued him for his malleability. Perhaps, if things were to change for the better, then first he must change, as he had before. Something stirred in his chest, heart lifting, a feeling akin to hope.

“The Dalish tell tales of uthenera. From what they have described to me they believe it to be the last stage in an ancient elf’s life, and they are not always wrong, but they do not have the full story. Some Dreamers were so proficient they could sleep for centuries and not age a single day, often they would wake up to share what they learned during their time in the Fade.” The serenity of the grove put him ill at east, he almost felt this confession should come on a battlefield, if only to match the dread in the pit of his stomach. Solas paused to allow his words to sink in, so that Ian might recall every story his love has told him from his time in the Fade, stories that would have taken even the most proficient dreamer a hundred years to collect.

He surrendered any grip he had on Ian, afraid that if he held on his grip might be miscontrued as possessive, needy. “But when Arlathan fell they had nothing to wake up to. Some, like Abelas, clung to what little they had left. Others changed, allowed the world to see them as a lie while they picked up the pieces of their lost civilisation.

“Do you see what I am saying?”

theshirallen

There is a method of teaching, a style of intellectual discourse, in which one party leads and the other follows, where the destination is left only to discovery rather than provided in revelation. Sometimes, there is no time for such wanderings. Sometimes, the final fact must simply be given. Other times, this almost-game allows for a deeper exchange of thought, and comprehension is bolstered by reaching conclusions with only a gentle guide.

Ian and Solas often held conversations this way. It was how Ian had taught his apprentices, and Solas himself was quite adept at this, at providing one small piece after another, until, as Ian assembled them, the picture itself presented as a whole.

Solas’s request for him to listen attentively added an urgency that tightened Ian’s chest. Though nothing yet had been said, no motion had been taken that he might find truly upsetting, the soft brush of a hand over his cheek paired with his love’s somber tone and left his heart skipping. His attention was always given, freely, gladly. That Solas felt the need to ask for it as though seeking a promise added weight to anything that might come next. Something deeply troubled Solas, and that knowledge in turn troubled Ian. He would listen. He must.

But the pieces Solas set before him were incomplete, and it could be nothing but intentional. Solas was too gifted at teaching, at the sharing of stories, and there was more to this than the words he measured so carefully. Ian studied their shape, how they formed on Solas’s lips, as intently as their sound. He followed, and he listened, and his brow furrowed as he tried to reconcile what he knew with what Solas was saying.

It was more complex than a tale about elves like Abelas. Were it only about elves like Abelas, these pieces would have been given sooner. Shortly after meeting Abelas, perhaps. No. Were it only that, Solas would not have brought him here. This was a place for gifts, or so it had seemed. Now he knew that it was also a place of confession. A place to mark an occasion that could not otherwise feel right, where truths and stories should be shared that were too heavy for comfortable venues.

Solas’s hands fell away, and without that touch Ian had no anchor. Ice crept into his chest, and his mind clouded, but he did not reach out to reconnect with Solas. His thumbs hooked within the hems of his sleeve, rubbing the thick stitches and worrying at threads that would soon unravel for his nervous attentions. Teeth drew over his bottom lip as his mind worked, and his gaze travelled back to the towering statues, remnants of a world long since lost. Touched by time, and yet enduring. What moments ago had been subject of inspiration and wonder now stirred the beginnings of fear.

The pieces did not tell a frightening story, not yet, but Ian could feel his understanding shift as certainly as the world around him. The press of the Fade against his skin, the dampness in the air, the trepidation of the sun peeking through gathering clouds, and the foundation of the history of his people that he had so carefully nurtured for all of his life, all of it moved and changed and existed in a flux that threatened at any moment to grow unbearable.

And Solas.

Ian’s understanding of his love was changing, too. Solas was not talking about unnamed elves, about strangers unknown to Ian who might yet wander this world in the guise of any other, who carried secret banners and forgotten knowledge.

Solas knew much, had always known much. It had been so easy to accept that such was his gift, a piece of his magic and his talent, of his curiosity and his ability to seek places and people who might enrich his mind and broaden his experiences. Now it seemed that it was that, combined with the impossible spanning of ages.

Solas’s question fell heavy in his ears, and they shuddered at the burden. He dropped his eyes from the giant harts, folding one arm across his chest, holding himself where Solas would not, and braced his chin against the rough edges of his knuckles as words died somewhere between his throat and his lips.

“It must have been disorienting, to awaken and find your world so changed. To so suddenly have reality mean something other than what it always had.”

theharellan

“You must know the feeling well by now.”

Ian had lived a thousand lives in his twenty-seven years. Born to a Dalish clan but raised in the Circle, he had travelled with heroes and earned the title hahren by deed and not age. Now his world was being reshaped again, but unlike the colours in his dreams this change would be permanent. They could never go back to the way things were, not exactly. Yet that did not spell doom… only if Ian wished for it.

It was not often he allowed himself to seem vulnerable, even in their most intimate moments there had always been a part of himself he had guarded. No more. He looked small against the backdrop of the hart statues, shoulders rounded and sagging from the weight of what he had to say. Solas laid his heart before him, still beating, and hoped that another pair of hands would reach out to take it.

“When I was a boy reality was determined by Dreamers. The world was more than it is now. Once I told you of a world where spirits were one with this world, as natural as a mountain stream or a thunderstorm.” Without Ian to cling to his hands searched for something else to occupy them. He drew his fingers across the air between them, distorting the Veil until it shimmered. “The two worlds were woven together, and those with the ability to shape the Fade could build wonders.”

Palaces that floated in the clouds, spires that rivaled the mountains themselves. Arlathan, a city woven by Dreamers, the jewel at the center of Elvhenan’s crown. Solas had seen them all at their roots, when Arlathan was naught but a dream in the minds of Dreamers. He wanted to show Ian what the Elvhen were capable of, but he could not pretend they were without flaw. At Mythal’s Temple he saw a hint of what the empire was, and perhaps he could glean the truth from what Abelas had told them. That there had always been a blackened pit at the center of Arlathan. The brighter the empire the darker its shadows, their glory had eclipsed the lives of a thousand slaves.

“What I told the Inquisition was no lie: I was born in a small village to the west of Haven, but if you were to go there today you would find only ruins.” A wiser man would have lied, yet when Leliana questioned him he could not bring himself to sever ties with his home for a second time. “I had humble beginnings, but my abilities set me apart. I befriended spirits, which in the eyes of my village was akin to taming wild beasts.” And sometimes they were beasts. He recalled the fear in the eyes of a boy named Era’Len who had seen no wisdom in the eyes of their friend, not at first. The world was what they made it, after all.

“As I grew I began to discover I could do more than commune with spirits. From nothing I could craft anything, a dangerous power for a wild young man to have, and I was not the only one that had it. There were others like me.” He drew his tongue across his teeth, face crumbling as his tale continued. Solas watched Ian’s expression. He had pulled into himself, body language guarded. Ian had built a wall between them, and Solas feared it would only grow higher the more that was revealed.

“Imagine for a moment that you lived in this world, that you met a people who could shape the world to their whims. Imagine the names you might have given them as they went on to build cities that outshone the sun itself.” It had all seemed so logical then. They had built wonders, how could they not be gods? Their deeds far outstretched those of other elves, there could be no mistaking it.

He took a deep breath, lungs filling with air and mist. It did not lessen the strangled hold his nerves had over him, it did not make what he had to say any easier.

“Solas is not the name I was born with, nor is it the name that your People know me by. I have another.”

theshirallen

Ian could imagine the feeling, but he would not claim he knew it. For every time his world had come unravelled, for every time reality had reweaved itself, he had borne witness to its changing. There had been sudden changes and there had been gradual ones, but he had watched their passing, had caught himself in the falling and bent his soul to weather them, even as he had tried to resist them.

He watched as somehow Solas’s words made him less. It defied comprehension, to see him speak of the ancient empire of the elves, of the power he wielded and the life he had lived, and watch him grow smaller for the sharing. He could not bear Solas being small, because he was small, and Solas had always been more. How was it possible that in this truth, this identity he was revealing one gentle statement at a time, he was diminishing, as if in fear or shame? For all their time together, he had never seen Solas so vulnerable, and it was not a vision that brought him comfort. Solas had never been small, and Ian closed his eyes against the sight, turning away from the images Solas was weaving in the shimmering light of the folded Veil.

Solas was still speaking, and Ian was still listening, but the anxiety that crept up his throat and iced his mind made concentrating difficult. He could hear the words, could comprehend their meaning, if not entirely their implications, but his thoughts had drifted back, to a past truth that had felt so much safer.

To the Solas who stood beside the Inquisitor–then only Herald–and exuded confidence, who had first spoken to him in Elvhen when his Common had been so stuttering. That first meeting, when Ian had been covered in another man’s blood, terrified for his own life but needing to finish his task before the Inquisition stole it away and cost two lives instead of just one. How certain he had been of their hostility, and how Solas’s gentle assurances had calmed him. How he had believed, how he had trusted. Solas had not been small, then.

He had not been small when they stood together as the Herald had closed the Breach, when Ian had all but crushed his toes in his haste to steal a kiss in celebration, or when he had knelt in a dream to paint a garden, or when he had taken Ian’s hand to soothe away nightmares. He had not been small.

But now, with his shoulders slumped and his expression sad, with his every word weighed and measured and burdened with emotion, despite the power in their content, to Ian he seemed unbearably frail.

Ian’s own breath came only with conscious effort, ribs tight enough to cause pain, but he needed air in order to give answer.

He had listened. He had followed. He knew well enough how Solas guided, could see the conclusions that he was expected to reach, and yet he railed against the knowledge. It settled over him like a shroud, like icy mist that clung to his skin and muted the world around him. He didn’t like this truth. He didn’t like the way it shifted the ground beneath him, the way it unmade everything he’d tried to learn. He had always had questions, doubts, curiosity, but whatever answers he’d hoped to find had always been vague and distant and philosophical in nature. This was harsh and sudden and certain, and he could feel his very identity unravelling as he processed Solas’s words.

Shaky inhales left him trembling as his fingers still worried at frazzled threads and his lips still pressed against raw knuckles. He knew what Solas was saying, but he was coming to realize that knowing and understanding where quite different things.

Several attempts to speak fell to failure as the words crumbled in his mouth to leave a stinging bitterness in his throat.

“To those without such power, they would seem as gods.”

He stilled as if alarmed by the sound of his own voice, and when he lifted his eyes to study the face of the man he loved, the man whose name he did not even know, the dryness in his mouth broke the words that came next:

“Which god? Which name?”

theharellan

He saw how Ian came undone before him, unraveling like the threads of the shirt he tugged at. Solas’s stomach lurched, fingers curling into fists that squeezed ‘til his knuckles turned bone white. Tethered to the earth, he felt powerless to reach out, to help, terrified that the last thing Ian would want was his touch.

Fear had claimed Solas. He envisioned a world where he hid his truth, severed the ties that bound Ian to this ruin of a god. It was selfish of him to share it. There were times when he envied spirits, spirits like Cole, who at a single touch could unmake all the damage they had done.

Forget.

It was a talent Solas had never mastered, for all his expertise he was only an elf. Ian would know the whole truth, or none at all.

“… Correct again.” Though his voice did not ring with pride, as it so often did during their conversations. It was quiet, soft against the flow of wind and water. Words were fleeting, fumbling things, and this tongue was not native to either of them. The language of the People could not just be heard, but felt. Every word took on a life of its own, the King’s tongue a mere invention used to peddle goods. He was afraid in this language his meaning might be missed, his intentions overlooked.

He waited for Ian to find his voice, listening to the shaky breaths he could not soothe. Tonight he was the nightmare.

The question, once spoken, changed the world. The Veil drew to a breaking point, the curtain between the worlds thin enough for spirits to see through to their side. They listened, not just for the answer Solas will give, but the response. This confession was more than a display of trust, it was a surrender.

The curve to his back was shame born not of his past, but the lie he had lived. Ian had allowed Solas to love all of him, the freckles and the scars. Until now he had seen only the good Solas had to offer, only the freckles and never the scars.

His hands ghosted over the bone that hung about his shoulders, thumb tracing over the ridges in its teeth. A gentle hint, so that the words Solas must speak might be softened. His chest swelled, but not with pride. Resolve squared his shoulders, though the shame still dwelt behind his eyes as they met Ian’s. He wished he did not have to speak the words.

Ian could not answer every question for him.

“U'melin tel'dinem… Fen’Harel.”

theshirallen

The only one that remained. Said like that, it sank into his skin and burdened his very bones. The only one that remained, because the rest were locked away, trapped out of the People’s reach. Trapped by the one who yet walked the Fade, who visited the People’s dreams and dispensed twisted wisdom, who used them for sport, or hunted the souls of the dead.

Fen'Harel, to whom offerings were made in appeasement. Fen'Harel, whose name was a curse upon the People and their enemies alike. Fen'Harel, whose teeth were to be feared as those of any wild, untamable thing. Fen'Harel, who had chained the gods and would never stand to be bound himself.

There were no blessings in the Dread Wolf’s name. Only…

Nuva mar'dera'hron ir'tel'dera Fen'Harel.

Murmured in cautious parting, when anxious friends might fear for the safety of the paths they walked. Take care, that you might not draw his eye. Take care that he might not hear your steps. Take care, for when the Dread Wolf finds you interesting, nothing good will follow.

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ let him cαтcн your 𝓼𝓬𝒆𝓷𝓽

It was a warning as much as a prayer, and as Ian’s mind whirled through every story he could recall, he was chilled to realize that nothing he knew, nothing he had ever read or heard, provided instructions for what to do once he had.

Ian felt himself grow tight, fingers digging into his palms until the crescents left behind by his fingernails marked the skin as he unballed his fists. Lurching emotion quaked in his gut, and his head spun. There was no point in denying the statement; Sol–Fen'Harel. Fen'Harel had worked too hard, had been too adept at leading him here. The Elvhen hung in the air and shaped reality around it, like a dream weaved to suit the Dreamer. The knowledge would not let him deny it, would not let him ignore it. It would be heard. It would be acknowledged.

Accepting, then, this truth with the ones before it, left him exhausted, trembling and aching. Nothing was steady. Nothing was solid. Not the truth, not the stories, not the grove they stood in. Least of all himself, folding and bending and warping as surely as the Veil that tickled his skin and set his nerves prickling. Anxious, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, needing motion to balance himself, feeling more at ease with restless pacing than with stiff attention.

He must speak again, and the effort to do so all but broke him.

“I thought I knew you.”

It was not an accusation, but the beginning of a plea. “Why tell me this? After all this time, why now?”

theharellan

From birth the Dalish were trained to fear him. They were taught legends of his cruelty and hatred. He had taken the People from the gods that loved them. He was no elf, but a wolf– a monster. A beast with six eyes and a black heart.

What must his love think of him now? Could he still see the elf, or was there only a wolf where he once stood?

Solas wanted to hide, cover his face for fear that Ian may see his fangs. He didn’t, instead his hands clasped before him, a mimicry of the woman Ian had pledged himself to. Mythal had believed in him, given him purpose, he hoped she would forgive him for his weakness. He hoped Ian would forgive him for his deceit.

“I thought I knew you.”

If words could cut Solas would be sliced to the bone. A sharp intake of breath caught in his throat, head bowing to look at the space between them. From where he stood it looked like a chasm, one he feared might never be bridged. “You knew more than most,” he whispered. “Even before today.”

History would paint him as a monstrous god, but there were no monsters and there were no gods– only people. Ian knew the person that lay beneath the legend of Fen’Harel. That did not make it right, but he thought (he hoped) it was enough.

“Because I could not allow this to continue if you did not know the truth. I might have told you sooner, but I have heard the tales the Dalish tell of me, Vhenan. They carve statues of wolves and turn them from the hearts of their camps. Cowardice prevented me from telling you sooner; I was afraid.” There were moments, in dreams or on quiet evenings, when he imagined telling him, but terror gripped him. Solas could carry the hatred of the Dalish, he could stand the scorn of humans and Templars, but he could not stomach the thought of Ian’s resentment, no matter how justified it was. “It was wrong, and I am sorry for the deception.”

This lie had grown rotten inside him, cleaning the wound was no small task. Da’Fen, Fen’Samahl, Fen’Harel, Solas– they were all him, and if Ian wished to listen he would learn of them all. The good and the bad, and the shades of grey in between.

“I will not tell you what you should make of me. Despise me and I shall hold no ill will towards you, but know there is more to my tale than the Dalish tell.” As there so often was. He could see the truth at the heart of each legend, but the lie was prettier. It had good and evil, a figure that they could hate and a light they could turn to. “If you listen I will tell you everything.”

The promise slackened the tension in his shoulders, and his hands released one another. His fingers pulled idly at the Veil, as if he were plucking the strings of an instrument. One hand curled into a gentle fist, then opened, pulling the Veil tighter around them. This story was for Ian, and Ian alone.

“You deserve the truth. The whole truth.”

theshirallen

Ian had not intended his words to wound, but how could they do anything but? Fen'Harel slumped as the blow landed, and Ian’s shoulders mirrored the injury, though he did not straighten when the other did.

He tightened his grip across his ribs, knotting his fingers into the rough weave of his shirt for a moment before one hand lifted, fingers carding his own hair, tugging and pulling at the tangles as he continued to struggle with concentration and comprehension. His palm brushed against the raised scar of the Andrastian sun, and his whole body stiffened with the distraction, the memory of the broken man he had been surfacing to smother him. Panic, already clutching his heart, hovered just at the edge of tolerance, and he felt as though a single misdrawn breath would send him plummeting.

Strange then, that the thing that had set him to spinning was the thing that brought his world back to a stop.

That familiar voice, the whisper that had calmed his storm time and time again, drifted through his haze, first touching his heart and then his mind. Ian did not know what answer he had expected, but the one given surprised him. A fleeting warning brushed against his thoughts, a reminder that the Dread Wolf spoke in riddles and deceit. That he should not so readily trust, that it could be the words he wanted to hear were the ones that would be said, offered to appease him in a purpose he could not yet fathom. He should be cautious, and yet…

Fen'Harel already had his scent.

Ian smoothed his bangs back down, and with them as many of his misgivings as he could smother.

In the previous truths, he had been given no choice. They had to be accepted, even when they dismantled everything that composed his world. This one was offered differently, in the tone of a confession, a request, an offering. There should be no secrets between lovers’ hearts, and he wanted to believe that was Fen'Harel’s purpose. He let himself believe, because doubting would destroy him. He needed this truth to hold him steady while he heard the rest of them.

“It is unfair of you.” He said softly, glancing back to the great hart statues. His eyes travelled up their proud necks until he was looking no more at earthly things but drifting clouds that shaded the glade and dimmed the slowly rising moon. “To let me love you and then think I might despise you.”

In truth, he could not put name to the emotions he was feeling. Confusion, certainly, and fear. Hurt was there also, but not hate. Frustration. Anxiety. Others that could not be given substance beyond the turbulent waves that constantly buffeted his thoughts since he had been touched by the fade and the spirits therein. It never settled, and parceling his emotions did little to alleviate them. Let the waves come, so long as he did not drown.

He felt the change in the Veil before he looked to Fen'Harel, the thickening of the barrier pulling it away from his skin, relieving the ever-present electricity by a fraction. The spirits who had taken such an interest in their discourse no longer stood as witness. He was alone in the glade, and he no longer knew with whom he stood. His love, yet?

“Sathan dirtha.”

The elvhen left him with a sigh, and he moved forward with hesitating steps.

Fen'Harel already had his scent. More, he had his heart.

Ian reached tentatively forward, unable to disguise the shaking of his fingers as he touched the hand that had woven the Veil.

“Ar ame harthan.”

theharellan

“It would not be the first time that I earned the scorn of those I loved.” Though this time scorn was what he deserved. Those he once called brother and sister would rather hate him than hate themselves, as Fen’Harel had learned to centuries ago. He followed Ian’s gaze, eyes drifting towards the hart statues that had guarded this grove since a time only he could recall.

Solas had been here before long, long ago, in a time when he had needed shelter from a war of his own making. It had seemed more peaceful then than it did now. But Fen’Harel had brought ruin wherever he tread, why should Solas be any different? The thought curdled his blood, picturing the brand that lay beneath knotted red hair. Ian had come far since his tie to the Fade had been rekindled, but his emotions burned like a wildfire that threatened to reduce the forest to ashes.

If not hate, then what could he inspire? The name Dread Wolf was given to him by his enemies, but if history told him anything it was that Solas could destroy his friends just as easily.

The sound of boots scuffing against grass snapped Solas back to reality. Ian’s footsteps were an answer to a prayer he had not spoken. His words, woven in a tongue that had once redirected rivers and brought kings to their knees, stood a chance of changing both of their worlds. His legs shook and he locked his knees, toes curling into the wet earth, pulling strength from the soil beneath his feet.

Yet Ian answered no prayer beyond the one in his own heart, for he was no god. There were no gods, there had never been gods, only people. And Solas believed in them all, but none moreso than the man that stood before him.

They stood toe-to-toe, as they had so many months ago in Haven. Ian had asked him to speak, but he dared not so long as his heart were in his throat.

Warmth blossomed where Ian’s hand met his. At a single touch Solas had brought colour into his dreams, he had turned his sky blue and his gardens green, yet it was trifling compared to the fingers that now brushed the back of his hand. His skin felt unbearably fragile, his heart dropped in his chest. Tears pricked the corners of his vision, like needles in his eyes.

He moved as if they were made of glass, hand slipping gently into Ian’s. A broken smile cracked his lips, wet cheeks pinched together. Stranded somewhere between a laugh and a sob, Solas settled for a sigh.

“Ma serannas, emma lath.”

The moment lingered, Solas waiting ‘til he had found the words to tell his story. Parts would be missing, but if Ian wished to hear them, then they would come, too. There was not a moment of his life he wished to keep from him. He squeezed his hand once, and it gave him courage to go on.

“In the golden age of Elvhenan the People had another name for me– Fen’Samahl. I was a man without purpose or direction, while my brothers and sisters found their place in the world I floated without shackles. Some might have called me a god of freedom, but not universal freedom.” He had been blind, his pride made him a fool. “The Dalish wish only to see the good, for there was much to admire about Elvhenan. Magic lived in springs and music, we lifted the earth into the sky, and lived at a pace where each man might live forever. Yet it was not without flaw.

“In the early days of the empire criminals were forced into servitude for the duration of their sentences. This practise endured for a time, but it was not long before there was a desire for a steadier source of labour… slaves.

“Lower classes were forced into a lifetime of servitude, their faces branded with the blood of their gods– my family.” Blue eyes met with the markings of Mythal before looking past to see the elf that lay beneath. “It was described as a blessing, for by serving the gods and those who loved them, you were serving the empire. For centuries it went unquestioned, but Mythal, she…

“She guided me. I was her arrow, I struck where she could not, and I began to see that the faces beneath the vallaslin were no different from me. I was no god. I was born just as they were, what right did I have to subject them to my will?

“It was like I had woken from a dream, only to find myself in a nightmare. My name no longer had meaning, for there was nothing to laugh about, not anymore. I chose a new one, a better one, and I fought.” Purpose was a difficult thing to find, but once he had found it he did not let go. He held fast, determined not to let his love of his family turn him against his People.

“The People called me Fen’Harillen, but to my enemies I was the Dread Wolf.” At the time he rather liked the name. They had every reason to dread him, for he did more than free slaves. “Now I am neither.” Now he is Solas.

theshirallen

All the world was different, and Ian had almost forgotten, almost allowed himself to detach and retreat, to construct a reality that resembled the ghost of the one Fen'Harel had just unmade. For a few moments, his breaths came at pace, and his heartbeat slowed. He had returned to a quiet evening with his love, and everything was easier.

Their hands still fit, and Ian’s wrist turned slightly as Fen'Harel squeezed his fingers.

A simple gesture, that, and yet something in it spun the world again. At first Ian had thought the shakes were all his own, his fear and trepidation so prone to leaving him in timid fits. He was not alone in his uncertainty, however. Fen'Harel was trembling, quaking where he stood, vulnerable in a way Solas had never seemed, and when Ian lifted his face he could see the shining dampness of tears.

Even in this turmoil, it was not a sight his heart could bear, and his free hand lifted to cup Fen'Harel’s cheek, thumb gently smoothing away the tracks, as Solas had so often done for him. He let his hand rest there for a moment, still struggling to know just whose face he was touching. The same face he had kissed, just before the sun had set and the rising moon had thrown the grove into another realm? It seemed the same, dotted with pale freckles and the shadow of a scar. The eyes were the same, and he could almost see their color shift, the grey clouds massing to mute the bright blue.

His hand fell away. The face looked the same, but so did the world, and he knew that it was not. He had almost forgotten, in his desire to feel safe. But Fen'Harel had unmade it with these truths, and unmade him, and unmade himself.

Listening, still, one hand still anchored in Fen'Harel’s, the other raised to thumb the crystals set in his ear. There was little enough they could do for him, but even the small release of calm, of courage, eased his struggle.

He listened as Fen'Harel spoke of names he’d never heard, names forgotten by the Dalish. The Dalish had forgotten so much, and were he not so close to tears himself he might have laughed. He had dedicated his life to preserving what was known, and to discovering what was not. The truths he had uttered had turned him out from his own clan, and still he had searched. To hear now these truths, to know it was the barest shadow of what yet was unheard, might have been amusing, in another light…If he hadn’t been hurting down to his bones.

Fen'Harel’s eyes met his own, just for a moment, and then traced the lines that marked his face, gazing over the vallaslin he had worked so hard to earn, to prove himself worthy of, after a lifetime alienated from his culture, and the truth that came next viced around Ian’s heart. The ink burned as fresh, and he felt the skin on his wrists grow raw and tight in memory of chains he’d sworn to never wear again. Cold sank into his veins, so deep and penetrating that when he breathed he was startled to not see frost in the air, and his shaking grew. His head fell, as though if he looked away he might hide the shame, the hurt.

He had promised to listen.

He wanted to listen.

But how much more could he bear? What truth would come next? What was left to unravel in his world?

The next truth, however, was a great relief. It was the one he needed to hear most, and the one he had not dared to search for.

Ian’s shallow breathing fled him a sudden deep sigh, exhaustion pulling from his toes to escape, and when he breathed in, it was with his nose pressed deep into his love’s sweater. He could hear their hearts beating together, erratic and frightened, and the both of them trembled, and their hands still fit.

“Solas.” He murmured. “Solas, I’m sorry.”

theharellan

Every touch rebuilt the foundation Solas had feared he’d torn down. Ian bridged the gap, stone by stone. He took the heart Solas had laid bare and held it.

His eyes closed, indulging himself in the rough thumb that brushed across his cheek. It smeared the wet trail, cool against his skin. He longed to lean into it, feel the palm press into his skin. With Ian Solas forgot what it was like to have walls around him. For so long he had watched the world turn without him, but the fingers threaded through his anchored him to it.

The air felt cold where Ian’s hand was, blue eyes opened to watch how his love’s expression changed. He knew it was not easy. Ian had weathered two losses, one after the other– first he lost Solas, and then the Elvhenan of his childhood. Solas had heard the stories for himself: tales of kind gods and golden streets where every elf was free. An Elvhenan that existed entirely within the realms of their imaginations– and his own.

Ironic that this empire they longed for lay in the mind of their dreaded Wolf.

His heart clenched as Ian’s chin fell, remembering the face of another marked elf who could not bear to look him in the eye. Felassan had no such qualms anymore. Perhaps if Ian knew there was a choice his, too, would disappear. “In my time as Fen’Harel I discovered a spell that would erase the vallaslin, undoing the hold the gods had over the freed slaves.

“Not all of them desired it, some demanded theirs be kept. They did not want to forget, nor did they want me to forget.” At first Fen’Harel had not understood, but Solas did, and that was why he offered a choice. “If you like, I can remove yours as I did theirs.” Ian deserved better than the brand of two tyrants. He did not possess the power to remove the scar the Chantry inflicted, but he could take this.

He inhaled sharply as Ian fell against his chest, not daring to move. Solas hesitated, even now, even with Ian’s face pressed against him. Their hands still fit, but how? The breath caught in his throat, remaining there until the moment his other hand found his Vhenan’s waist. He wondered if Ian had heard anything he said: he had admitted deceit, and much more, yet he still sought comfort in his arms.

And they were only the beginning. There was one secret that remained, one that he had to know, but as Solas’s hand crept up to brace Ian’s shoulders he wondered if it should wait. He trembled as he had the day the Inquisitor brought Ian back to him. There was time, they both had time– together.

“No,” he whispered. Voice gentle, it wavered as fresh tears stained his cheeks. Solas– never had the name sounded sweeter. “I am sorry. Telling you was selfish, but I hope you understand why I had to say so much so soon.”

“Ar din jumyan na ta.”

theshirallen

For all the world had changed, leaning into Solas’s chest was enough to keep him breathing, and breathing seemed all he could do. He lingered there, and long moments passed of listening, of matching breaths and heartbeats, of laced fingers and smothered sobs. Solas’s hand first found his waist with a touch so gentle it almost seemed afraid before his hand traveled up to brace Ian’s shoulders, and it felt as though these hands were the only thing keeping him on his feet. Ian’s own hand pressed against Solas’s chest, close enough to his own face to feel the dampness he left there, but more concerned with the pace of a beating heart.

Trying to speak, his voice was lost in quiet hiccups, muffled in the thick fabric of Solas’s sweater until he surrendered the effort. His thoughts whirled back, spanning months and ending here in rapid and repetitive circles, from the moment their eyes had first met until this moment he stood in, reliving everything he had experienced a dozen times over in the span of only a few ragged breaths.

Though he had heard everything that had been said, to say he understood would be a lie. He reeled amidst the crashing turmoil of his emotions and the sudden overwhelming barrage of information, the hurt of being one deceived and the shock at the nature of the deception, the desire to be held until the storm settled and the need to run until it could not find him.

He could make no choice tonight, not with the whole of his existence unravelling.

He needed to think, to settle, to understand, and he could not do it in this instant. He wasn’t certain, really, if it could be done at all. Worse, he could still feel the way his love shook, and he could hear his tears, though they were softer than his own. No one should be abandoned while they cried, and yet Ian was not strong enough to stand beside him.

Breath came with a shudder, and he pulled his face back so that his words would not be stolen, knowing he could not speak loudly enough to keep them from being lost in the warmth and safety of his love’s chest.

“N-no.” He fisted Solas’s sweater briefly, before his hand fell away. A single shaking step put more distance between them than he could bear, and yet he took another, connected only to Solas by their interlocked fingers. “I-I’m s-sorry, I–”

He shook his head, still unable to raise his face, ashamed of his brand and ashamed of his fear and ashamed of his exhaustion. He struggled to find words to explain, knowing that clumsy ones would wound, and there was too much hurt in this grove already.

“Everything is–I can’t b-breathe.” The stutter in his voice marked his unsteadiness as surely as the way he swayed where he stood. He looked up, expression pained. “I-I need to r-run. I n-need to b-breathe.”

He always felt better when he was running, but he wasn’t certain that Solas would understand, standing as they were in such bare vulnerability. How could Solas think that he was doing anything but running from him, when Ian himself was uncertain just what it was he needed to flee?

“I-I’m s-sorry.” He said again, fingers slipping free from those of his love as he took one final step backward, the motion pulling him into a cloud as he cast his spell and changed his skin, fleeing the grove and bolting into the night.

theharellan

Wet tears stained the front of his sweater, Ian’s shoulders shook no matter how close Solas held him. He had lived through the millenia, believed himself a god, and yet without fail he was powerless to help the ones he loved. Fen’Samahl had not been able to save his brother, Fen’Harel had allowed Revas to slip through his fingers, and now Solas. Wisdom had knowledge that outstripped any library in Thedas, yet it had not been wise enough to put its trust in someone else.

The thought might have made him laugh were he not mere inches from the brink.

Solas’s fist balled up in his love’s shirt, burying his nose into his hair. He had done this to Ian, it did not seem fair that he was permitted to hold him. A selfless man would have let him go, but Solas couldn’t. Love, once earned, was a difficult thing to let go of. He hoped for the hand that laid in his to remain until it grew wrinkled and spotted. He longed for selfish nights where he could fall asleep to the sound of Ian’s breathing. He wanted forever.

This was no longer a diversion, the moment his old name tumbled from his lips it evolved into something far more dangerous. The last time Solas had embraced change he had lost his home and his People. His eyes squeezed shut, pushing out tears that caught in strands of ginger hair.

Fear consumed him, but love sustained him. Ian held Solas up with the top of his head, giving him strength where he thought he had none.

Fingers tugged at his sweater, squeezing the fabric into a fist. Lips freed from Solas’s embrace, it was impossible to ignore Ian’s staggered breathing. His arm fell to his side, dragging down Ian’s shirt. “Vhenan-” he breathed, hand twitching, hoping to stroke his cheek. Instead he touched air, as the chasm between them opened. He did not stop it, promising to himself that if Ian left he would let him. “I-”

Words were lost on him, he could only watched as Ian took another step, and another. Solas’s arm stretched out, fingers slipping farther from Ian’s grasp.

‘Wait,’ he wanted to whisper. ‘Please.’

Bridged only by the tips of their fingers, he clung to what was left. The inches between them felt crossable so long as they had this. “Ian,” he began, though he was not sure what he wanted to say. Solas traced his eyes over his love’s features (a precaution, in case memories were all he would have), memorising the shape of his eyes and the two freckles on his lips.

As they parted, he realised what he wanted to say:

“Dareth shiral.”

A blessing he had said time and time again, but never with the weight it now bore. ‘Please be safe,’ it said. ‘You do not have to come back, but be safe.’ Solas pulled his hands into fists, trying to fill the spaces fingers had filled. A breeze chilled him to his bone, a cold settled over him that no magic could cure.

Tears flowed freely, blue eyes rimmed red. Solas settled by a pool of water, feeling older than ever. In it he beheld the moon and watched its path across the sky. He sought no solace in the Fade, though he felt them gather around him, offering comfort when he wanted none. Twilight passed into night, and he sank into it. Sleep would find him when he needed it, now Solas needed to feel the chill night air in his bones and the damp earth beneath his feet. For once the waking world had something the Fade did not.

No matter what changes it might bring, Solas had chosen this world–

He had chosen Ian.

#( my writing )#( gifts )#theshirallen #i have found a home in him ( ian x solas )#ame dirthan‚ ame harthan ( thread )#to love without agenda ( ian )#[ getting the line breaks in this was an absolute nightmare ]

11 notes · View notes