#culture-bearer

[coolerdracula]

my last reblog about ASL made me wonder about Palestinian Sign Language. I don't have much time to delve into it right now, but I did find a lengthy 2020 journal article about PSL, written by Mahmoud A. M. Abdel-Fattaha and Khalil M. I. Alawnah for the International Journal of Innovation, Creativity, and Change. here is a direct link to read it.

[torchwood-99]

Theoden died patting himself on the back for killing a guy with a flag, while his niece literally slew the Witch King and a Fell Beast.

[david-is-a-h0]

Right, so!

Basically I just wanna detail the conceit for my ongoing project on here. I've been posting about this on Instagram, n I'll probably share my handle later when I feel like it, but the way I see it Instagram requires a lot more of a song and dance to make your content interesting right off the bat, so I figured I could get more to the point on here.

Basically the point of this project, my as yet untitled comic, is to explore a Zelda AU where the Triforce bearers all go adventuring together, kind of a mix up of the classic Zelda adventure with two other protagonists. This goddamned concept has existed in my head for at least two goddamned years, and it's really only now that I've finally been able to start shaping a plot and outline.

Part of the reason I've finally gotten this shit together in my head was because I dove fully into world building a totally different version of Hyrule for my versions of these guys to explore. Ig it just helped me tangibly visualize the logistics of their journey. I'll probably be posting about that in the near future.

Below are character sketches, and the evolution of my world map, partly inspired by Zelda 1's map.

[brokoala-soup]

my healing arc will be the story of me mending my relationship with the colour pink

[mali-umkin]

I present to you two formulas that are different in form but virtually identical:

Self-help + mindfulness + karma + self-enlightenment + yoga = white bhuddism

Bonus points: astrology, psychedelics

Dancing around the fire + "ancestral" + any Celtic symbol + fairies + paganism + holistic living = Celtic spirituality

Bonus points: LOTR stuff, ogham, crystals, manifestation

[luncheon-aspic]

Learning a fascinating and telling ethnographic detail relevant to someone else's research but you can't tell them because you learned it in a casual social conversation with a mutual informant

[goinggoats]

tamsyn muir is NEVER living down none houses with left grief

[humanfox030]

Patron saint of Healing is back

Twice as many, twice as powerful

Caught an ailment, put the Hoid pin on my bedside drawer. It looks like religious iconography. Patron saint of healing.

[coolerdracula]

why did jacksepticeye say that autism and adhd are the same thing

[transtistic]

50 narinder questions

1. When did your Narinder aquire the Red Crown? Was he born into the role or did the crown choose him for a particular reason?

2. Why does the red crown find him worthy as a bearer?

3. What did his childhood look like? Did he live with the other crown bearers?

4. Does the Red Crown give him any unique powers such as the power of rot (a la TROD AU)?

5. How did he feel about Shamura pre-exile?

6. How about post exile?

7. Which sibiling was his favorite? Least favorite?

8. What weapon did he use prior to exile?

9. Do you have headcanons about who his witnesses or ‘bosses’ would be pre-exile? If so, who are they?

10. Did Narinder take any lovers before his exile?

11. How did Narinder feel about his priests, witnesses, and followers?

12. Does he have a dedicated meow button?

13. Does your Narinder have any unique features?

14. Is he based on any particular breed of cat such as a puma or a British shorthair?

15. Describe his fur. Is it unkempt? Well-groomed? Curly? Kept short?

16. Is, and I cannot stress this enough, his tail so, so fluffy?

17. How ears is he on a scale of 1-10? (This is not a typo)

18. Was he born with his third eye or did he gain it later from the crown?

19. Any notable scars post-exile other than around his wrists?

20. Did your Narinder have any disabilities prior to his exile?

21. Does he have any new disabilities upon being spared?

22. How does he pass the time in exile?

23. Are the kits, Aym and Baal, really his children?

24. How does he feel towards Aym and Baal? Ambivalent? Caring? Annoyed?

25. Why does he wear the veil? Or does he forgo it entirely?

26. How and when was the prophecy that he would rebel against the others revealed?

27. How did the others react to this prophecy before it happened?

28. Did he feel doomed by the prophecy? Relieved? Offended? Vindicated?

29. What exact rebellious act got him chained in the first place?

30. What are some of the biggest emotions he feels about being chained?

31. Deep down.. does he agree that it was necessary?

32. Does he have any remorse for harming his sibilings? If so, does he ever show it?

33. Does he care that an entire species and culture was ended because of him?

34. What was his first impression of the lamb?

35. When did he realize the lamb might turn against him? Was he blind to it until it happened or did he have a gut feeling long before then?

36. Does/Did he enjoy the lamb’s visits?

37. How does he feel about the lamb after being spared?

38. Does he support or partake in cannibalism?

39. Does he take a lover other than the lamb after being spared? If so, describe them!

40. What is his biggest struggle after being spared? Fitting in with the cult? Seeing the lamb’s face daily? Chronic pain?

41. Does your Nari use any pronouns besides he/him? If so, what ones?

42. Was he born male, female, intersex, or do you have no opinion on his sex?

43. Does he ever wear jewelry or makeup?

44. Has he ever used catnip? If so, what happened?

45. Is identity kept a secret from the cult? If so, do any of the followers recognize who he really is?

46. Describe his personality.

47. Is he shy about any topics? Does he enjoy talking about anything in particular?

48. Does he ever rethink the concept of sacrificing followers now that he is one?

49. Is his favorite food anything other than fish? If so, what is it?

50. Free headcanon space!

Back by… well no demand actually but 1400 notes made me think y’all might be interested, so come get your cat-lore-generating questions.

And please! If you reblog from someone, send that person an ask. It’s ask meme courtesy.

[hrrtshape]

culture shocks after shifting back from 536 b.c babylon to....modern day.

the cold. the all-consuming, soul-devouring cold : one moment, i'm basking in the golden warmth of babylon, where the air is thick with the scent of incense and ripening dates, where the evenings are a balmy +20°C and the closest thing to “cold” is a mild desert breeze rustling the silk curtains of my palace chamber. and then!!! then i shift back. i shift back and step directly into lithuania in february. -13°. my body went into immediate protest. my bones are rattling. i am a victim. i am the protagonist of a tragedy.

clothing feels like a violence...or better yet, torture !!! :  listen. i spent my week draped in the finest silks and linens, soft and whisper-light against my skin, wrapped in golden threads, my hair perfumed with exotic oils. i woke up, and attendants dressed me. i didn't even have to think about it. now i am expected to put on my own socks. my own sweater. my own coat. and the fabrics......cotton.....polyester??? harsh. unforgiving. i feel like i am being punished. i tried to wear a wool scarf and nearly ascended out of sheer tactile suffering. babylonian me would never have allowed this.

i am, sadly, no longer surrounded by attendants :  where is my handmaiden with my morning pomegranate juice? where is the soft-spoken scribe noting down my musings on the stars? where is the sandal-bearer? WHERE IS THE GIRL WHO BRAIDS MY HAIR? i woke up and realised i had to brush my own hair, and i almost threw myself back into the astral plane out of sheer disbelief. you're telling me I have to function independently??? this is unacceptable.

food.........what is this. where is the saffron. where is the date honey. where is the spiced lamb :  i had a divine diet. every meal was a poetic masterpiece. rosewater-soaked figs. almond pastries. fresh bread dipped in olive oil infused with crushed herbs. every bite was an experience. i shift back and suddenly i'm eating…what? a supermarket garlic bread which i had to put in my oven? a reheated pizza? where is the ceremony? where is the flavourful indulgence? i used to sip my honey scented wine from a bejewelled goblet. now i'm drinking coffee from a mug that says "box box box." i have fallen from grace.

the architecture is just... sad : babylon, the city of wonders. towering ziggurats kissed by the sky. intricately carved stone reliefs. courtyards framed by towering columns, fountains flowing with cool water, golden mosaics depicting stories of gods and kings. my palace was a dream. i shift back and... panel housing. grey buildings. sad little sidewalks. a lidl. where is the grandeur?? where are the hanging gardens?? i used to roam marbled halls, and now i'm stepping over slush.

bathing ??? suddenly a logistical nightmare : in babylon, my baths were rituals. steaming water infused with rose petals, attendants scrubbing my skin with fragrant oils, golden pitchers pouring warm water over my shoulders. i would emerge radiant, perfumed, divinely cleansed. now? i have to turn on my own shower. i have to wait for the water to heat up. i have to use... store-bought soap. i have to wash my own hair. i feel abandoned. i feel forsaken. my shampoo is called "extra volume & repair," but what about my soul? where is the repair for that???

transportation is an insult. to my dignity. : i rode in carriages. i walked through palace gardens in soft, embroidered sandals. now i am… on public transport? now i have to walk in the cold? now i have to wait for a bus? and it's late???? babylonian me would have ordered someone to bring the chariot around. 2025 me is standing in the freezing wind, waiting for a vehicle that has no golden embellishments whatsoever.

the lack of supernatural occurrences : babylon was enchanted. the gods were real (or as real as the city made them), the omens were real, magic flowed through the city. dreams carried messages, the stars whispered secrets, the high priestess could look into a bowl of water and tell me my fate. every moment meant something. i shift back and... nothing. no divine prophecies. no sacred visions. i check my horoscope and it tells me to "avoid making big financial decisions." where is the drama. where is the destiny.

conclusion: i am suffering. but i am also so powerful for having lived through it. would i shift back to babylon? yes. will i survive modern lithuania in the meantime? .........tbd.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Personality Idioms

to describe your characters

All Brawn and No Brains - Refers to someone who’s strong and muscular, but not very intelligent.

Armchair Critic - People who pretend to know a lot about something, but really don’t know anything about it at all; those who sit back and criticize the way you do something without getting up and helping out. There’s a little armchair critic in all of us. Have you ever criticized an athlete’s performance (or, more likely, a ref’s call)? Or judged a dancer or singer on a reality TV show?

Born with a Silver Spoon in one’s Mouth - Means you come from a wealthy family with a high social position. The spoon you actually use these days probably isn’t a great indicator of your wealth, but in the Middle Ages, only commoners used wooden spoons. This idiom speaks more to the spoon-bearer’s personality than just their social status: Entitled, naive, presumptuous. All the qualities you’d expect of someone who wasn’t allowed to leave the palace walls.

Butter wouldn’t Melt in his/her Mouth - Describes someone who appears demure, innocent or sincere, but is actually unkind and devious. It’s saying you’re so cool and collected, that you wouldn’t even be warm enough to melt butter.

Doubting Thomas - A skeptic who refuses to believe something without personal experience or physical evidence. The idiom comes from apostle Thomas (Didymus), who did not believe Jesus had risen from the dead. He said to the other disciples: “Unless I shall see in His hands the imprint of the nails, and put my fingers into the place of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.” While being skeptical and demanding truth are wonderful qualities to have when learning new things, constant doubters can also come off as being overly critical or looking down on others’ beliefs.

Dyed-in-the-Wool - Describes a person’s deeply ingrained political, cultural or religious beliefs. It comes from the fact that when wool is dyed before it is woven, the color is less likely to fade. In the positive sense, you could be a dyed-in-the-wool sports fan, meaning you’re faithful to your team, even when they suck. But, it can also mean you are unwilling to be open to other ideas or beliefs because of how ingrained you are in your own opinions.

Long in the Tooth - Means someone's old. This idiom likely comes from the practice of examining horses’ teeth to determine their age. It’s generally an unkind or humorous way to refer to people who do something they seem too old for.

Shrinking Violet - An exceedingly shy person. This idiom is typically assigned to girls, but who’s “Violet?” The poetic origin of this idiom was describing the flower, not a girl. Sometimes, this idiom is used as “she’s no shrinking violet,” which describes a woman who is outspoken and not afraid to express her views.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[folklorespring]

Today is the remembrance day for all the Jewish people of Crimea that were killed during WW2. According to the 1939 census, there were 65 452 Jewish people living in Crimea, among whom there were probably more than 7000 Krymchaks. Krymchaks are a separate ethnolinguistic community of the Jewish population, who speak the Crimean Tatar language and are one of the indigenous people of Crimea. Records state about 40 000 victims among Jews and Krymchaks during WW2. Researchers state that the Nazis killed about 80% of the Krymchaks from their pre-war number. The loss of the main part of the ethnic community had irreversible consequences. Among the exterminated were almost all representatives of the older age group - the keepers and bearers of traditions, language and culture.

[velvetseahorse]

Uttara Phalguni, Uttara Bhadrapada, and Revati in music 𓃔𓃰

Uttara Phalguni and Uttara Bhadrapada share a significant connection to music, but they express it in distinctly different ways.

𓊬

Uttara Phalguni, known for its poetic and lyrical brilliance, often produces artists who excel in raw, soul-stirring lyricism and emotive vocals. This nakshatra thrives in the realm of storytelling through words, as seen in the work of artists like Fiona Apple, Amy Winehouse, Nick Cave, PJ Harvey, Lorde, Bruce Springsteen and Kurt Cobain. Their songs are narratives confessions and philosophies wrapped in music, each lyric a meditation into the depths of human experience.

𓁀

In contrast, Uttara Bhadrapada shines through vocal mastery and innovative soundscapes. Artists born under this star often possess a powerful, soulful voice one that can both soothe and shatter. Their music is a journey of layered emotions, combining profound depth with inventive arrangements. This is evident in the iconic voices of Lady Gaga, Elton John, Aretha Franklin, Lykke Li, Chaka Khan, Ari Lennox, Halle Bailey, Joan Baez and Mariah Carey. For them, the voice is an instrument in itself, a vessel for emotion and artistry.

𓃔

Both nakshatras share a unique connection through their animal yoni, the Cow (Cow Yoni). Cows are known to respond positively to music, particularly jazz, which has a soothing effect due to its rhythmic, melodic frequencies—similar to the natural, calming cadence of a cow’s lowing. Studies have shown that slow, gentle music, like Indian instrumental pieces, can increase milk production and reduce stress in cows, while faster, louder genres like rock can have the opposite effect, increasing stress hormones.

This sensitivity to rhythm and harmony may explain why artists like Lady Gaga and Amy Winehouse both tied to these nakshatras While Amy Winehouse has always been Jazz influence and Gaga have gravitated toward jazz at some point in her career. (Sidenote: Gaga reminds me of Uttara Bhadrapada ↑ Barbara Streisand in this video)

𓆟

I also want to mention revati, Revati is a nakshatra deeply connected to drums, percussion, and ethereal soundscapes. Artists born under Revati possess a unique gift for creating music that feels otherworldly, blending primal beats with futuristic tones to craft sonic experiences that transport listeners to dreamlike realms. Revati’s connection to drums is symbolic. Its rhythmic essence is reminiscent of modern drums. In ancient cultures, drums were the bearers of news used to announce important events or send messages, much like Morse code. This connection emphasizes that communication, in all its forms, is a core aspect of Revati. ( Source: The Book of Nakshatras by Prash Trivedi) Musically, Revati is a bridge between the ancient and the futuristic a hypnotic dance of rhythm and transcendence. Artists like Thom Yorke and Sade showcase this beautifully Yorke’s haunting, electronic landscapes and Sade’s smooth, transcendent melodies both channel Revati’s ethereal quality. Pharrell’s genre-blending production, Kelela’s shimmering, futuristic R&B, and N*co’s dreamy, avant-garde sound all reflect Revati’s ability to weave rhythmic magic. Even in Bladee’s cloud rap, where his dual influence of Revati and Uttara Bhadrapada merge, there is an airy, surreal quality that feels like drifting between heaven and earth. But Revati’s connection to drums goes beyond percussion it’s about creating an atmosphere, a sound that feels alive, pulsating, and transcendent. Whether it’s King Krule’s melancholic, poetic compositions or Arca’s boundary-pushing synth explorations.

While for Uttara Bhadrapada a nakshatra known for creating music that is haunting, ethereal, and deeply intimate. Artists born under Uttara Bhadrapada often venture into the surreal, the dark, and the sublime transforming their emotions into sounds that linger like a half-remembered dream. Grimes’ futuristic, synth-heavy soundscapes, with their blend of eerie and angelic tones, perfectly capture Uttara Bhadrapada’s ethereal essence. Billie Eilish’s sleepy vocals paired with haunting beats, and Soko’s raw, emotionally charged indie pop, are other clear examples of this nakshatra’s influence. Damon Albarn, known for his melancholy yet expansive sonic explorations (from Gorillaz to Blur), embodies the nakshatra’s ability to drift between genres and worlds. Similarly, artists like ABRA and Kilo Kish explore moody, genre-blending sounds that feel like secret conversations whispered in the dark.

[nitewrighter]

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part Three: I Got Better

Part One

Part Two

Hey thanks for getting the next round, man. 'Preciate you.

I've tried writing this part down, you know. Every couple decades or so I get the urge, say "I'm gonna do it right," get a journal or typewriter or laptop or whatever they're using, try it out for a couple pages... then I drop off. Then I get guilty for dropping off because... I mean Snow taught me to read, right? So if there's anything I should be doing to repay that then...

But I mean--Trolls, look, we're an oral-tradition based culture anyway, okay? The closest thing we had to a writing system is this... kind of Ogham-ish tally language that doesn't distinguish the alphabetical from numerical very strongly that was mostly used for outlining lineages and territories. And we can read rocks, obviously. We can look at a rock and we can tell you where that rock has been or how it used to be a much bigger rock or how it's actually a lot of little rocks mashed together but that's not really a language.

I'm getting sidetracked. Where was I? Snow and the Prince.

Okay. Bloody nose. Probably broken nose. Snow's leading the Prince through the castle, and this is the part where, if Snow were telling this, she would throw in something flowery about the way he gripped her hand or the way the light from the windows passed over his face, or the way her own brain was a scramble of 'You can't trust this guy, this is the queen's cup-bearer, he's done fuck all to try and connect with you before this, why would he try now? This has to be a ploy from the Queen." But then that thought gets interrupted by overwhelming pity for the guy, but then that pity gets interrupted by feeling bad for pitying him, because he's a whole-ass person with dignity or whatever. It all sounds very exhausting, this pure-of-heart thing. She brings him down to this spooky-ass alchemy lab and he's like, "Are we... allowed here??"

And she goes, "Sure, the Queen taught me all kinds of stuff down here when I was younger."

And this is when the Prince makes an 'Oh shit' face and she catches herself saying, "Oh, nothing bad! Like, we did great with the basics, but then we moved on to poisons, but then everything I made kept... burning or percolating into medicines, and she screamed at me over and over again every time my poisons turned into... the opposite of poison... and eventually she just gave up. Anyway, I've got a leopard's bane compound around here for the swelling....Should probably also find something for the pain--how's the pain?"

"It's... there?" Prince Damp Kingdom says awkwardly, "You know, you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why you're on edge?"

"Oh. Well, Queen wants to kill me."

"Wh--"

Snow plucks a vial from a crowded shelf, uncorks and sniffs it. "Oh, this'll work," she holds the vial toward him, "Put this under your tongue?"

"W-what is it?"

"It's... kind of complicated. It's rotten sugar and ground up seashells and this one herb that's been steeped in vinegar for a week and a bunch of other little things."

The prince makes a face again but Snow---and this is another part of Snow that to this day scares the shit out of me--Snow just flutters her eyelashes and goes, "If you don't want it, though..."

And knee-jerk the prince takes the vial from her and goes, "No, thank you--I mean, yes. I'll..." he glances at the vial and then back at her, "Thank you."

And yeah, you could argue that the prince is the kind of guy who would let his Bushwick girlfriend cut his hair and then pretend it looks great when it looks like shit for like three weeks after. But Snow is not a girlfriend from Bushwick. Snow is a Fae Weapon Forged in a Human Womb. Snow is the heart of the Evil Queen wrapped in new flesh and made pure. Snow is holiness and magic. Snow is a Miracle and a Curse. Again, Princess-Messiah.

So like, if you're hearing this from my perspective, you're probably wondering why she's spending so much time with a dude who doesn't have a lot going for him beyond being pretty and harp-playing. But y'know, I've already told you that Fae have complex and have esoteric notions of attraction, and that Snow knew things and saw things that both fae and human couldn't. She's just also... crazy convincing over the stupidest, smallest stuff, which is how the Prince found himself putting something that he didn't even know what the hell it was under his tongue and immediately making a face at this horrible honey-bitter-chemical taste before squinting for a few seconds and feeling his shoulders relax along with a slight tingling buzz relieving the ache of swelling in his face.

"Why do you think the queen's going to kill you?" it's possible Snow's medicine loosened his tongue as well as his shoulders.

"I didn't say she's going to kill me, I said she wants to kill me. If she could kill me, she would have done it already."

"So you can't... die?"

"I can die. Why wouldn't I be able to die?"

"I don't know. This is a lot right now. We don't talk much."

"Why is that?" Snow tilts her head.

The Prince gulps, already higher for this than he wants to be. "It... hurts to look at you, sometimes," he mutters, not meeting her eyes. Her thick black lashes squint and those red lips of hers hitch off to one side and he tries to clarify himself, "Not that you're not pretty--I didn't mean that in a 'You're not pretty' way, because you are... t-terrifyingly pretty, but when I look at you, all I can think of is... how... I've never done anything."

"I think you're selling yourself a bit short," Snow says kindly.

"But that's the other terrifying thing. I'm--I'm also scared of what kind of person I'd become just by being close to you. The world changes for you, I mean even right now, I'm saying so much more than I would ever normally, sanely say and--and what did you give me? What did I just put in my mouth just now?"

"Rotten sugar, ground up seashells, leopard's bane soaked in vinegar for a week--" Snow is counting on her fingers.

"But what does it do?!"

"It's for your nose--which I am still very sorry for, by the way."

"And I'm trying to find out something about you--I want to help you, but you just-just-- shimmer out of it! Why does the Queen want to kill you? This is the third time I've asked you that!"

"That's not the third time you've asked me that. First you asked why I'm on edge, then you asked why I think the Queen's going to kill me, which basically implied that you don't believe--"

"Princess," he bites the word between his teeth with frustration and she blinks, wondering if she's finally managed to find whatever iron is in him, before those thick black lashes lower.

"I think... because of what you just said. Because the world changes for me," she pauses for a few moments and her shoulders sink, "It scares me too. The changing. You stayed away because you thought I'd change you?"

"You can't tell that you're changing me now?"

"We don't talk much," Snow smiles sadly.

There's an awkward pause, then, and they both look away from each other. Fucking teenagers, yeesh. But then Snow seems to remember herself and says, "You really shouldn't be standing this long--with both the drug and the blood loss you could get dizzy so--"

They both flinch at the sound of a voice bouncing off the stone from the turret staircase. From the castle undercroft. They both recognize the powerful, elegant timbre. The Evil Queen.

"We should go," Prince Damp Kingdom says on reflex, all of the truth drawn up out of him shriveling up and dying like velella washed up on a beach, before saying, "Princess--Snow!"

But Snow's already pacing forward, shoulders stiff, gripping her skirts with white knuckles and the prince hopes she's going upstairs, but nope! Downstairs. And he curses in a very unprincely way under his breath before hustling after her, head now swimming from whatever the hell she dosed him with and his own movement.

He follows her down the turret stairs and into the castle undercroft, which is lit by some extremely unsettling purple-teal flames in the approximate spots where torch sconces should be, and they can hear the Evil Queen speaking, her voice echoing through the undercroft, though they can't make out the exact words. The prince gets a shudder at the back of his neck because there was this same draw, this same hook as when he was following the sound of Snow's voice when she sang at the well. Something something air and darkness, that was all the prince could make out, before Snow abruptly turns (maybe she could hear more sharply than him), and both find themselves looking into what may have been some kind of... mini-chapel for when the castle was under siege and human christians had to do human christian shit on account of the siege and everyone was probably going to die or something. Except there was definitely no Christian god for what was going on in that space now, I'll tell you that much. Instead, you have the queen standing in front of a circular plane of glass, as wide as both her arms spread out to her sides--and they can tell that because her arms are fully spread out, and she's saying,

"Mirror mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

And like, this is the horror movie part where any sensible person would be saying, "I should get the fuck out of here, that's what I should do" but again, we are dealing with FUCKING TEENAGERS so of course Snow and the Prince are both hiding behind a column watching the Evil Queen commune with some cosmic horror shit.

And like, the thing is, at first the Queen is just talking to her own reflection.

But then her reflection suddenly digs its fingers to its hairline and peels its whole front off, peels the goddamn image off the queen off like one of those Korean beauty masks, but in that same motion, it's like a layer of the glass itself is being peeled off as well, and before the evil queen stands a roughly her-shaped figure of green flames.

"Our dearest betrayer, our loveliest entertainment," the figure in green flames coos, "Must you call us on such tedious matters?"

And the Evil Queen just says again, more insistently this time,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

"You ask and ask and ask, beloved," the Mirror answers back, "What have you done to change things this time, hmm? Some new potion? Another felled king?"

The evil queen's breath hitches, but she steels herself before saying once more,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

The green flame figure huffs. "Ugh, so BORING--though know we're only answering because your reaction is the most entertaining part of these little chats." The green flame figure seizes and abruptly gets swallowed up by shadowed dampness, revealing itself as Mosscloak.

"You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But Snow-White is a thousand times fairer than you."

But suddenly two green flame eyes burn in the shadows of Mosscloak's hood.

"You act as if she is a weapon against you by her own will,

That she is not the product of your actions.

That she is not your heart. "

The Queen doesn't seem to react, but Snow suddenly winces next to the Prince, her head bowing, her features scrunching as if holding back a sob.

"Snow?" his name leaves him barely audible as a puff of breath.

"You need to go," Snow is suppressing the whimper in her own voice, like there's a tidal wave of grief inside her surging up, fingernails scraping against the stone of the column.

"Not without you--" the Prince starts.

"Now," she flicks those dark eyes to him and before he can even comprehend his own free will in the situation, he's zipping up the stairs, and she can feel his will screaming against her. He's supposed to be scooping her up in his arms and taking her with him, or sprinting toward the Queen screaming with a dagger, or something, but no, Snow is sending him away because he's safest if he doesn't have the Queen's attention.

"Show her to me," the Queen says, her voice thick.

The mirror abruptly morphs to show a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet-black hair. This mass of hair is facing a mirror, which is showing a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet black hair, looking at a mirror at the far end of the rom. The mirror in the mirror in the mirror is displaying a mess of black hair studded with pearls facing a mirror--

Snow realizes she's looking at the back of her own head in the Magic Mirror, and because she is looking at the mirror, the mirror is looking at itself. Her head swings around to see... nothing. There's nothing there and yet it can see her. Her jaw opens and quivers with unspoken, terrified words before she finally manages to force her brain signals down to her legs again. She hauls up her skirts in bunches and sprints up the turret stairs after the prince.

...Oh look at that. I finished this pint. Now, I could go home, or... I could tell the next part of the story if someone got me another pint of 'Literally Just Wet Hops' IPA. Decisions, decisions.

[into-fiction]

tw: self harm scars

idk, something that's been rattling around in my brain since an anon asked about it. i never could find a full scene to fit it into but oh well.

///

Elphaba brushes a thumb over the scars, the catch of her nails against the rough, raised skin sending shivers down Galinda's spine. She holds her breath on instinct, anxiety tangling in her chest in a way that makes it hard to fill her lungs with air.

"You know," Elphaba starts, eyes still tracing the lines on Galinda's fair skin. "In some ancient Ozian cultures, scars were seen as a badge of honor. A signal to everyone else that the bearer was strong enough to survive something that could've killed them."

Elphaba glances up, her emerald eyes shining as the corners of her lips tilt into the gentlest of smiles. She keeps her gaze locked on Galinda's as she lowers her head to press her lips to the marks.

"I don't think you're disgusting, Galinda," Elphaba whispers, crawling back up the blonde's body to press another kiss to her lips. "I think you're a survivor."