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strigital · 6 years ago

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Headcanons: Hero of Kvatch - Kassandra Saryn

‘tis about time i did something like that with Kassie. so here we go!

Kassandra is a halfbreed: she’s got a Breton father and a Dunmer mother. She looks very much human in almost every way, from the shape of her face and complexion of her skin, to the Nibenayan accent of her speech and a preference for simpler, less posh things. The only elven things about her are her pointed ears, predisposition to magical arts and slower aging.

Kassie’s got heterochromia: her left eye is bright blue and her right eye is vibrant green, which is believed to be the result of mixed blood. Her unique physical traits are also attributed to her vast and complicated genealogical tree, which includes centuries worth of interracial marriages, infidelities and all sorts of blood mixing between men and mer you could possibly imagine.

Her natural hair color is chestnut brown, not pearly white. Her hair was bleached by exposure to strong magical energies at a very young age, when her mother used a teleportation spell on the girl and her twin in order to relocate them from Morrowind to High Rock, to their father’s family.

Getting such a dose of raw magical energy not only made her hair standout in the crowd, but also awoke her own magical talents. Kassie got predisposition to Destruction and Illusion, while her little sister’s magic leaned towards Restoration and Alteration.

Kass considers herself a self-taught mage like her mother, though anyone at the Mages Guild would call her incompetent, unskilled and dangerous to both herself and her surroundings, especially after you learn that this girl favors Fire spells over anything else. She’s chosen fire not so much because of her Fire Resistance inherited from her mom, but rather because of many ways she finds instant fire out of nowhere useful in the wilds. However, Kass is NOT good with her spells: most of them aren’t even real spells, just random conjurations of magical fire and as such, most often than not, she ends up burning something. Usually herself. A nasty burn scar on her left arm and a frequent smell of burnt hair are constant reminders that she's in a dire need of a tutor. On the other hand, her skills in the arts of Illusion are a lot better. The only spells she knows from this school are a Candlelight and a somewhat effective Chameleon which are quite useful and help her out far more often that a little wild magical fire. Lucien believes that the reason why she’s far more successful as an Illusionist, rather than a Pyromancer is because one of her signs is the Shadow, which is known to favor anything that has to do with invisibility and sneak.

Kass was born under two signs, which even Uriel Septim VII himself believed to be of prophetic significance. She was born during the season of the Shadow, on the 5th of the Second Seed, 410 of 3rd Era, yet a wandering sign with no assigned season, which is known to pop up on the night sky every now and again - the Serpent - was also present on the night of her birth. Kass believes that the Serpent is responsible for all the misery in her life, but the Shadow is the one which allowed her to dodge all those miseries despite all odds.

After her daring escape from an orphanage as a kid, Kass ventured to the Imperial Reserve, where a huntsman from Chorrol named Honditar took her in as his apprentice. She’d spend summers at his lodge, learning the secrets of survival in the wilds and would leave before winter, when he went back to the city ‘till next spring. Kass then would go to the Gottlesfont Priory, where kind nuns gladly took her in and taught her about herbs and traditional medicine. Those were the best days of her life.

Years spent living in the wilds made her quite an aloof. She developed a strong dislike for cities and civilization in general, preferring thick woodlands over cramped streets any day. She would only leave the woods and go to the nearest town in order to trade furs and occasional treasure for soap or new clothes. If a certain winter happened to be a bit too harsh she’d find a job at a farmstead as a shepherd or a maid, but as soon as thaw began she’d disappear into the wilds once more. On the other hand, she became a real pro at all this survival stuff. She could make a trap out of anything, track down almost any living being and never get lost in the woods. One look around and she’d immediately know where’s the north, how far is the nearest river and what kind of predator frequents this place. Unfortunately, this also means that she’s absolutely helpless in a city. The streets confuse her, the people annoy her, the guards scare her and there’s no way of telling which way is the exit! Her life in the cities became easier once she discovered a way onto the rooftops though.

Because the wilds are never truly safe, Kass learned to sleep like a rabbit, with her ears perked up and listening. She’s such an incredibly light sleeper, that even Lucien couldn’t sneak up on her during the night of their first official meeting. On the other hand, she has serious troubles getting well rested and can’t stay asleep for longer than four hours without a cup of strong chamomile tea or a sleeping potion. That makes her the second insomniac of the Cheydinhal family right after the Speaker.

Since she’s the wild hermit from the forest, Kassie is an absolute tragedy when it comes to high class socializing. She can’t do small talk to save her own life, doesn’t understand when someone is flirting with her or how to pay back a compliment and most of the jokes totally fly over her head! She is polite, however, mostly due to her having some experience working as a servant girl. Also because of her uncivilized way of life, Kass never had a lesson in courtship. Poor baby does not understand all those sexual innuendos and metaphors people keep telling, has no idea what sexuality is and is absolutely clueless when it comes to sex and/or making out. Madam Josele finds her innocence irresistibly adorable and more than once scolded Lucien for attempting to use his charms on the poor girl.

As such, Kass was never in love before joining the Brotherhood. Lucien Lachance was her crush since day one and he, knowing that, deliberately manipulated her with his charms in order to make her a loyal little puppy by rewarding good behavior with a smooch or a suggestive smile, but punishing undesirable actions by giving her a cold shoulder or talking in harsh professional tone. That being said, Kassie felt that her feelings towards her boss were doomed and so she kept her options open. During one of her contracts she met a rather dashing Dunmeri merchant from Wayrest, with whom she exchanged letters for quite a few months after he went back to High Rock to his boring wife. However, Vicente was the one who pushed Kassie towards Lucien and when she insisted that he already had a mistress, the vampire said something that made her change her mind in an instant: “she gives him what he wants, but you give him what he needs.”

Later in the future, when she becomes a mother to Lucien’s only child and a future High Listener - Lawrence - Kass won’t stay to rebuild the Brotherhood after the civil war. She’ll disappear beyond the mysterious blue door in the middle of Bravil’s lake to never be seen again.

Kass may have a very simple taste in clothes, but boy does she know how to make them! Even though her auntie and a step mother died before the girl was five, she learned quite a few things from her before her demise. Sussana Saryn was a quite popular tailor in Anvil and did miracles with all those fabrics her husband brought to her from across the seas on his ship, and Kassie was always there to help with sewing. Give the girl a piece of cloth, a few needles and a thread and you’ll have a simple but cute dress in less than a day!

Kass is crazy for simple, energetic folk dances, which she learned whilst working at farmsteads during harvest seasons. Nothing gets her feet moving as much as a violin and a handsome farmer’s boy with whom she could spin under a linden tree in the late afternoon ‘till she loses her breath. Ah! Truly happiness lies in small things like these.

Because most of her adolescence she was malnourished, Kass has fallen victim to stunted growth. Even at the age of twenty she’s got thin limbs, small hips and little to no volume in her chest area. Because of this she looks unthreatening and small, which in some cases greatly helps her with contracts in crowded cities and other places where the ability to be unnoticeable is crucial to the success.

Kassie dislikes people, because for the most of her life they were cruel to her and indifferent to her miseries. For this reason she always preferred the company of animals, because in her eyes an animal will not lie, betray or deceive: if it wants to kill you it growls and does not pretend to be your best friend, and if it is truly your best friend then it will gladly follow you to Oblivion and back. Even after joining the Brotherhood she remains quite introverted, preferring to play with Schemer when everyone else is gossiping at the dinner table, or go for a walk with Ragnar rather than have dull conversations with other members of the Black Hand.

For some reason Kass dislikes felines. Maybe it’s because she has to constantly compete with wild big cats for food in the forest, or because she was robbed by Khajiiti highwaymen so many times... She just doesn’t like felines: housecats, wild senches, Khajiits or anything in-between she doesn’t like. The only exception is Vicente’s cat, who lives in his mansion in Blacktown. She’s a fluffy gray Alfiq named after the Queen-Wolf, who somehow managed to win over Kassie’s heart with her big eyes and melodic meows. Must be her magic!

That being said, Kass only makes friends with a few people at the time and stays loyal to them ‘till the end. Her best friend is, of course, Vicente, whom she found very likeable since their first meeting. Monsieur Valtieri became like a father figure to her, a mentor and a friend in one person. She always found vampires fascinating, because they live for so long and most certainly must know a great deal of things! Even in times when she’d doubt Lucien’s decisions, her trust in Vicente’s wisdom would remain absolute.

Kassandra may be polite, shy and unnoticeable, but she certainly can make her own decisions. It is often believed that she’ll do anything for the Brotherhood and will never disobey an order, but in truth she always does things as her heart says. If she’s given an order which doesn’t make sense in her mind and just screams “not right!” at her, she’ll do things her own way. The job will be done, but the contractor may be left displeased.

Her favorite season will always be spring, because with thaw comes warmth, longer days, first harvest of berries and mushrooms, prey comes out from hiding... With spring she can breathe easier, knowing that hungry winter is behind and for the next few months she’ll be busy hunting, gathering and exploring away from those pesky humans and their suffocating cities. Her favorite weather happens to be heavy rain in summer, when the sun is brightly shining from behind the clouds, whilst a wall of warm water falls from the sky, rejuvenating vegetation and washing away dust and sweat. On the other hand, she hates storms. Lightning and thunder were always scary, but in the middle of the woods at night? Absolute nightmare.

Kassie’s favorite food (and beverage) will always be milk. Just your simple milk straight from under a cow. Since most of her diet usually consists of roasted game, raw berries and an occasional fruit, the “normal people’s food” like bread, milk and soup are rare commodities in her life. A glass of warm milk is all it takes to make this lil’ elf a happy camper.

However, ever since becoming Lucien’s agent Kass developed a taste for apples, specifically those big red ones the Speaker always orders from Bretoni merchants. They’re big, sweet and juicy and most importantly they keep both her and her horses well fed.

Once she learned that everyone and their mother in the Brotherhood have their own postal pets, be it a bird, a bat or a magical construct, Kass didn’t hesitate to get her hands on her very own courier. After many hours spent walking about the animal market, she chose a small but witty flying fox, brought to Cyrodiil by poachers from the jungles of Elsweyr. She named her Chestnut.

After some phenomenal events in her life, Kass became heavily involved in Brother Martin’s life. Despite her constantly running back underground to deal with the Brotherhood’s problems, she and Martin became good friends. In fact, she was the only one the prince was not afraid to share his secrets with. At some point she even brought him the Rose of Sanguine so he could destroy it in his ritual and through this, symbolically, destroy his own dark past. He never forgot this gesture.

Kass is one of the few living people who knows that the last Septim did not die at the battle for the Imperial City. She made sure that nobody ever learns of what truly happened on that terrible night and provided Martin, who was no longer in possession of Dragon’s blood nor the Amulet of Kings, with quiet, safe and anonymous life somewhere in the meadows of the newly rebuild county of Kvatch. She’d visit him once every few months up until her journey to the Shivering Isles.

whoo boy, another long one, eh?

welp, y’all know the rules: if you made it to the end have a cookie and praise our Dark Lord while eating it C:

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theladyofdeath · 7 years ago

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Lord of Night and Darkness. {Ch 4}

Summary: Following Rhysand’s journal entries through the ACOTAR trilogy. Characters and plot belong to Sarah J Maas.

Author’s Note: I’ve included it at the end this time, because spoilers. ;) Enjoy!

Day 1

She won.

All that has occurred between the first trial and now…..has been but a distant dream. It already feels like a different lifetime, a haunting memory.

I’m sitting on the hilltop just outside of the city, my city, admiring its beauty. As soon as I winnowed across the invisible border, I wept. I wept as I watched my people in the village below, safely walking the streets, laughing and loving each other as I had hoped and prayed they would while I was gone. My absence was not in vain. They are safe. It was worth it.

But, for a moment, I had thought we were all doomed.

I had spent every waking moment after she defeated the beast to making sure she stayed alive. I healed her arm, making her a deal as I did so. One week a month, here with me, in my court. She loathed me for it, of course, but that’s only because she doesn’t realize. She’s still under Tamlin’s spell, she isn’t to be blamed. She needs to be here with me, though. Here she is safe. With me, she is safe. With me, she is free.

She deserves freedom. She deserves happiness. Especially after all that she’s done....

I watched her meet Amarantha’s demands, day after day. I watched her hold back her tears, until she felt nothing at all.

The second trial came, and her lack of literacy almost killed Beron’s youngest. The panic on her face forced me to intervene, and I could, silently, thanks to our newly made bond. She couldn’t read. This mortal, so brave and smart, was illiterate. I made a vow to myself to teach her when she came.

When I was around, I played with her. I made her hate me, because I knew it was easy for her to hate me. I made her hate me, to feel something. When I wasn’t around, I played music for her. I sent the music of Velaris, my home, inside her head, to make her feel peace. I played her the music I played for myself when I felt hopeless.

I sent her warm food. I sent her comfort. I sent her tiny glimpses of hope.

Every night, I brought her with me as my guest to the parties Amarantha threw in her grand ballroom. I painted her body, so she would know in the morning where she had been touched. I gave her the liquid drug, so she could forget, if only for a little while, so she could forget, if only for a moment.

I thrived on her hate. Thrived, because it meant she was still with me. It meant that she had not given up. It meant that she still felt hope, as long as she was feeling something.

I pressed my lips against hers and ignored the abundant sense of life that flooded through my body. I let her thrash against me as Amarantha found us. I covered myself in her paint, so the Queen of Hell wouldn’t punish Tamlin. I protected them both, because I needed to protect Feyre.

If Amarantha punished Tamlin, she would only be punishing Feyre. She loved him. She loved him enough to follow him Under the Mountain. She loved him enough to die for him.

She would die for Tamlin. I felt the need to protect what was my oldest enemy’s only love.

Why? I convinced myself it was because she was the one to save us all, and perhaps that was a contributing factor, but it was not the reason. She was the soul I had dreamed about for so long.

She was special.

The night before her final trial, I sat with Feyre in her cell. We talked. We actually had a conversation, and I may have been imagining it, but it was almost as if we were friends. She held no judgement. Her tone was no longer cruel, or annoyed, or accusing. It felt good. It felt right. Fifty years, and I finally had a normal, somewhat, conversation with another being. I felt it, then. I felt the feelings grow, although I knew they didn’t for her.

She still loathed me.

But, I cared for her. I cared for a mortal girl, far more than I should have.

Then, the next day….

The next day, the final trial arrived.

The room was eerie while we all waited for Feyre to arrive. I didn’t know what Amarantha had in store, I didn’t know what she had planned, and I didn’t want to. It was going to be cruel, merciless, impossible. I waited with my breath held, my hands shaking, as I watched our savior enter the hall.

She proclaimed her love to Tamlin, but he didn’t react. She proclaimed her love to Tamlin, because she expected to die.

I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to run to her side, take her hand, and walk her through it, but I could not.

Just as expected, Amarantha was not kind. Three innocent faeries, brought before Feyre. She was expected to kill them, murder them, in cold blood.

She would damn herself to save us all.

I watched her contemplate within herself, I watched the war rage inside of her through her eyes. My heart broke for the girl, so young and innocent in the eyes of the immortal.

Nonetheless, she stepped up to the first hooded figure, and grasped the knife. He was high Fae. He was young. He was terrified. He pleaded with her…..He begged until his blood spilled onto the clean, marble floor.

His mother wept in the crowd as shame clouded Feyre, and I hated the woman who made the order. I hated Amarantha, more than I had hated her for the last fifty years.

If I had my power, I would have misted her into oblivion and smothered her blood over her tainted throne with my bare hands.

The second victim was less painful. She was glad to be an offering. She prayed, a prayer that I had heard many times. Convincing myself not to cry in front of my peers, I watched as Feyre, with the life draining from her gray-blue eyes, pushed her dagger through the victim’s heart.

When the third hood was lifted, the remaining color had drained from Feyre’s face.

Tamlin.

We were doomed.

They stared at each other as she sorted through her thoughts. I entered her mind, I couldn’t help myself. Amarantha had tricked her, not to my surprise. I was expecting as much.

She was going through her memories, of her time in the Spring Court with Tam. She was connecting key moments. Realization hit her as shock rushed through me, and as she drove the ash dagger through the heart of her beloved.

Chaos erupted.

The dagger did not work on him, for some unknown reason. Unknown to everyone except Feyre, and now myself. But, she won. She did as she was told. She completed the trails.

Amarantha was pissed. She began bargaining, rambling on, trying to make sense of the human’s courage, trying to make her reign continue. It wasn’t until Feyre was screaming in pain, until I realized what Amarantha was doing, that fear consumed me.

She was going to kill her. She was going to kill her. Feyre was going to die.

I screamed her name before I could stop myself, screamed her name over and over and over again. Her name was a plea. Her name was a secret I was trying to express.

The snapping of her bones was agony to my ears.

My fear began to control me.

I ran to Tamlin, and grabbed the ash dagger from where he lied. It may not have killed him, but he was weak. It was up to me. I was going to kill her. I was going to kill Amarantha, before she could kill Feyre. But, as I raised the dagger and aimed it at her throat, the power she had stolen from us was used against me.

She was more powerful than any Fae should be.

I was still powerful, though. I could do it. I was the High Lord of the Night.

I rose again, talons protruding from my hand, the monster inside of me beckoning to break free.

For her.

An invisible wall stopped me, and Amarantha turned, fire burning in her eyes as she sent me flying again. My head cracked against the stone, the knife falling from my fingers as pounding filled my skull. No one moved to help me. No one would. I was nothing more than a monster.

I was just as bad as Amarantha.

She kept hitting me, sending her magic in waves to defeat me. I was going to die. I was never going to see my home, my people, my family, the stars of Velaris, again.

But, I would not go without a fight.

I struggled to get off the ground, and my eyes found Feyre’s. That’s how I would go. Watching her, as she pleaded Amarantha to spare me.

Feyre was asking her to spare me. Me. She didn’t want me to die.

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, I wanted to say, but I didn’t, and I should have. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.

Warm blood trickled down my chin, forming a puddle beneath me. My enemies were pleased, I knew that much to be true.

“Say you don’t love him!”

Amarantha yelled, continuously, the only way she would stop. Feyre wouldn’t, though. She would not lie to live.

Something happened, then, and I felt it radiate through the bond. Feyre’s weeping stopped. Her eyes began to glass over as one word, a single word, escaped her lips in a wistful whisper. Love.

The riddle.

She had solved it, but it was too late.

Feyre was dead, lying lifeless on the floor before the High Lord of Spring.

Then, the monster escaped. A growl came loose from Tamlin’s lips as he rose in his beast form, grabbed our distracted captor, and ripped out her throat.

I was caught somewhere between life and death, misery and triumph, as my powers rushed back into my body.

Amarantha was dead.

But, Feyre was dead, too.

I glanced back and forth between the two lifeless forms as a warm tear slid down my cheek, out of sadness for her, and out of fury for the one that took her life.

The High Lords came, one by one, offering their power. They were going to try and save her. There was a chance, though. A chance it wouldn’t work. A chance she was too far gone.

The glittering kernels fell into her chest, into her heart. I watched. I watched as they came, and gave Tamlin their gifts. As they gave Feyre all they had to offer.

My feet were slow, pained, as I stepped forward, as I stopped before her lifeless, limp form being cradled by my enemy. “For what she gave, we’ll bestow what our predecessors have granted to few before.” I paused, as shock consumed me, as I felt her spirit ignite within me. The bond was still there. She was still with us. She was holding on. This was going to work. “This makes us even.”

Tamlin almost, almost, looked grateful as I spoke.

It worked.

She awoke. She awoke as a High Fae, and I excused myself. No one noticed. No one noticed I had left as they danced and sang and rejoiced.

Victory. We had won. We were free.

I didn’t see her again until this morning. This morning, when I was standing on a balcony outside of the mountain, bathing in the sunlight, stretching out my wings. We talked, almost as if we were friends, just as we did the last night in her cell.

She was beautiful as a human, but she was stunning as a High Fae.

One week. I would see her one week, every month. The light in her eyes had died, and I could feel her broken heart through the bond. I know that feeling well: guilt.

“Are you going to fly home?” She had asked, as I was preparing to leave.

I wished, but no. I was not going to fly home, not today, but I was going home.

Home. Velaris.

Morrigan. Cassian. Azriel. Amren.

Home.

She thanked me, although I was sure she was going to regret it soon. She told me about being High Fae, how it would take some getting used to. She would get used to it, though, I have no doubt.

She watched, admiringly, as I tucked my wings back into my body.

It was when I said goodbye….

It was when I said goodbye that the feeling hit me. A punch to my gut told me every answer to every question I had ever asked. I was flooded with emotions, with love and fear and triumph and pure hunger. I felt like grabbing her, and crashing my lips into hers, and also tearing apart every male within spitting distance.

And terror. Utter terror.

The word was being yelled at me as she looked at me strange. She had noticed a shift, she had noticed I’d stumbled.

Shit.

She began to ask, ask what had happened, but I’d disappeared before she could finish.

She couldn’t know, she can’t know. She is not mine to tell. She is not even a friend, but an enemy by association. I am nothing more than a cruel, evil monster to her.

Mate. My mate. She was my mate.

Feyre, the bride of the Spring Court, was my mate.

It made sense. The love, the longing, the passion I had felt for her…..

She was my mate.

She is my mate.

Feyre.

Now, I will winnow home, and hope that everyone is there, together. Then, I will greet my people, and shake their hands, and embrace them. Then, I will count down the days until I see her again.

Until I can see my mate.

But, first, I’m going home.

I’m going to see my family.

Author’s note (cont.): Rhys is going home, which means chapter 5 will be one of love and good feelings (finally). Let me know what you all think! I love hearing feedback. <3

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @callmeladytypewriter @illyrianswingspan@skarpetkamroku@iwouldtrusthagridwithmylife @kortanna@illyrianshadowhunter @mynamestartswithaz @superhuman-imagines @wingsofanillyrian @freyalegends @runesandfaes @crazybookladythings @bookishtraci @songbirdsbooks @peachyyymeg @gogeek750

#fanfic #fanfiction #lonad #lord of night and darkness #feyre #rhysand #feysand #chapter four #let me know what you think

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arcanakrp-blog · 8 years ago

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LEE YURA – THE EMPRESS. AGENT 03.

[ FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: LEE YURA ...

international age: 22 birthplace: ansan, south korea arcana: the empress team number: one

//: LOADING MUTATION: WEAPONS PROFICIENCY ...

application one: enhanced marksmanship — Like the performance of knife-throwing she learned as a child in the circus, this is an accuracy that looks both frightening and improbable - as it should be. Capable of aiming and hitting targets of movement, high speed, or distance with exceptional accuracy, this is Yura’s ability to achieve results via any weapon that requires aiming before hitting its target - e.g. guns, knives, bow and arrow, etc.

application two: weapon calling — Her favourite ability by far, this is a simplistic application that allows Yura to attract weapons to her by a limited version of telepathy. This can be used to draw weapons out of enemy hands and simply dump what she cannot hold at her feet, but largely and more frequently it can be utilized to call her own weapon back to her.

application three: adoptive muscle memory — By nature of seeing a human individual work any sort of weapon, she learns the mechanics of it on sight, allowing her to replicate the use of it immediately - even if she has never before heard of or touched said weapon.

overall strengths and weaknesses: — Yura’s greatest strength is the creativity which which she utilizes her power: it’s become a favourite trick of hers to use weapon calling in a non-traditional way, throwing blunt or sharp objects (with the aid of her enhanced marksmanship) at an angle that, when calling them back to her a moment later, will cause damage to whomever is around her - making the return call as effective as the initial throw. Similarly she enjoys employing her enhanced marksmanship in ways that are unexpected; a rope or whip can be considered a weapon, and creating exceptionally effective lassos or traps out of said objects is rarely expected.

But no matter the creativity, there is certainly a limited scope to her power. She must have an unobstructed and undistracted view of someone using a weapon in order for her muscles to adapt to it, and at the moment this is largely limited to the training exercises she undergoes, as learning new weapons in the heat of a mission rarely works as the conditions aren’t ideal. Her weapon calling can be abused by enemies if they get their hands on it midair before it returns to her, and while she is practiced at returning her own weapon to her, she is still slightly unpredictable in terms of snatching weapons out of another’s hands - she cannot always control how many she can grab, or where they land.

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

i. you are born

everything is red. the walls, the low-hanging canvas sky, the place she is leaving. lee yura carved her mother’s womb into a bloody and torn place, and it is here that she first learned bitterness. she is born unlucky. the fourth day of the fourth month, and she is marked. this is how it was always meant to be. her mother doesn’t care about it, but her father does. her father doesn’t care about her, but her mother does. she is their circus rite, a performance ritual: conceived as if by magic, the result of a one-night-only two-for-one ticket to a beautiful dance. she has her mother’s name because her father will not give her his, but what a greedy, greedy thing she is even now – and she steals his eyes and the slant of his jaw anyway.

she does not even ask permission. she just takes.

ii. you are three weeks old

they will tell her that she was a noisy child, always wailing, greedy and loud, a pale bundle of noise and need. be not ashamed of this, child. it is your right to demand the world upright.

iii. you are stretching into the shape of your father’s shadow

she is his child and they all know it, and she knows it, but the bastard of a star is worse still than the bastard of no one: a stain on his honour, night sky across his shine. he walks by her with nothing in his eyes and nothing on his face and she feels everything. and the rest of them are silent.

the rest of them are not so cruel when there is no audience: they pet her hair and palm over honey cakes, watching how she climbs the silks like she was born in their chrysalis, then telling her where to better place your feet so as to climb farther. she holds their words like precious stones, placing the collection in a satchel and tying it around her neck. there are other children, but she is the most of them. she is the circus’s magic as well as its dregs; the shine of spotlight and the bloody knuckles. watching from in the rafters, somewhere between angel and rat, sleeping under the theatre seats because mother cannot afford a babysitter. this tent, these people, they raise her. she twirls plates on sticks when she is bored and stretches with the acrobats. this is the first kind of love she learns how to accumulate, handing out the correct slices of herself to each of them, becoming a daughter twelve times over. she is the daughter of this madness, and oh it becomes her.

but he still does not look at her. he is her father, but she is not his.

iv. you are eight, and it is time

but she is his, and to see her is to know it. precocious and stubborn and demanding, taking his silhouette now, ignoring the warnings and chastising to climb defiantly higher and move quicker. she learns his tricks, studying with the many aunts and uncles that have adopted her – still slower than him yet, but she is young, and even the elders stop to watch when you start moving.

when she climbs on his stage, it is with feet placed apart and elbows out. she is taking up space. ready to be held, ready to be hit.

he does hit her, later. but it is in the privacy of his own room, and she has won.

she is going to be a great, too.

v. you are nine, and it is not love

it will never be love, but he watches her now. younger than her are performers made here, and this art is as much hereditary as it is practice. his talent and ferocity is in her. they play noughts and crosses at night, and he does not let her win. three strikes, you’re out. he gives no second chances, no turned blind eye for age or temperance. she wins, she loses, but most often it is a loss. she will think this is because he wants to remind her that he will always win, but she’s wrong. he is teaching how to bruise and stand.

vi. you are ten, and the curtain drops

the world gets smaller as she cross it on the magic carpet of that towering red tent. she sees it all. weaned on the wonders of her own traditions, they are no longer special. then, somewhere along a cold coast with too much fog, you see a man make things out of thin air, and you know what real magic is.

vii. you are thirteen, and you do what they ask of you

and they ask everything. she becomes the embellishments, the minor roles, the gaps and the sick spaces. and in the dark, she makes her own courses and studies.

viii. you are sixteen, and with your body you do wonders but with your mind you work miracles.

she is a star now, full and bright and brimming with magick. she takes the shapes no one else can, willing her body into art. no longer the filler, she is the marbled meat.

before the shows, after the shows, it does not matter: she lives on stages across the world in her mind’s eye, craving new angles and newer ideas. she wants the world in a way that is not quite hungry but all the way starving; desperate, longing, hoping. she thinks there is something waiting for her just beyond the horizon, hidden under the tongue of the sky like a melting candy.

but every time, the answer is no. you belong here.

viiii. you are seventeen, and you petition for your right to glory

i will be the first, she says, and that should appeal to him – the first of anything is always something. she knows she is good enough; better than that, even. she has the world’s best secrets inside you, collected over the years from every place imaginable, and they are wriggling like bees at the ends of her fingers.

silence, he tells her. ‘daughter’ leaves his teeth for the first time, so in shock she tries to be one. duty. honour. respect.

she swallows the blood from biting her tongue and waits.

x. you are eighteen.

it doesn’t last long.

father hits her and calls her daughter. disobedient daughter.

you swallow your blood again and wait.

wait.

the audience is hushed.

xi. you are eighteen, and leave in fire

the real kind. no more goddamn poetry. mother catches her playing with matchsticks and weep tears that turn to gasoline on the floor. she smokes out their tents and leaves.

riotous applause.

xii. you are nineteen, and you do what you are made for

she works in the spaces too delicate for anyone else, making new names and taking new stories with each passing month. becoming their wives (lives) for a day, dream for a weekend, a month. they love her, and she loves them.

no one with correct knowledge would dare call it thievery. it’s not even a lie. it’s something far more grand. the only criminality about this is the way she pockets their watches when they aren’t looking, but that’s only for the thrill, not the shine. the warmth she bestows, the joy - it’s sleight of hand, grand plans and escapades. it’s making use of the only truth she’s ever known: gilt lies. magic.

she is no longer a girl, and you never took the shape of a woman. she is something else, and she is beautiful.

xiii. you are nineteen, and you meet a man who knows how to cheat death.

maybe that is an exaggeration, but he cheated her, so maybe not. he is tall and handsome and has fast hands and a slow smile. when you try to take his wallet, he catches your hand. fox-girl, he calls her. and then she’s kissed.

xiv. you are in love. fuck.

he says he’s good with cards, but that’s not all of it. what he means is: he’s good with his fingers, his instincts, and his lies, but he’s even better with everyone else’s – including hers. two ends of the same snake, they chase one another in circles, waiting to make the other lose while forgetting what winning feels like.

so she sleeps in his bed a little and wear his gifts and tries to make him lose, but mostly they just kiss. and it’s not so bad. you are a beautiful team. a two-person empire.

he gives her a ring and says she’s the most beautiful stranger he’s ever met.

xv. you are twenty, and you love him. you do. but.

but there is a wedding in two months, and the games are slowing down because he wants to take care of her, and her fingers ache from lack of use, and she are not made for this. she is too young; has no desire for a throne, she wants to melt it down and barter with its bars. so when the dream calls, with a message she doesn’t remember and a proposition she could refuse, she doesn’t. like all circus girls, she takes it as a sign.

and she waits.

POST-MUTATION

xvi. you are twenty, and they come for you.

like a dark cloud, like rain water, like a promise, they come. marya morevna’s ravens falling outside the window, and one day she opens the door looking for a familiar face and finding someone else entirely. they talk, she opens the door wider. when she invites them in for tea they stutter in surprise but come anyway. (your kindness in the face of danger is surprising, girl).

she does not take much convincing, but that’s because a girl that knows herself as intimately as she knows herself does not look to others for validation. they are only telling her what’s she’s long been expecting - been hoping for.

this is a reckoning.

a coming home.

xvii. you leave

with a note, but no explanation. she loves him, but that is not enough.

xviii. you arrive

among the first in these hallowed halls, she decides to bleed colour, sing warmth into the white spaces: mark everything with her fingerprints, give it humanity. it’s not what they expect, this angular approach to acceptance, to bringing other people in, but it works. the more people that arrive the stronger she grows, fed by genuine emotion and the relationships meant to build.

she’s never been happier. this is not the circus, not the city, not the man. this is adventures waiting to happen and something unexpected at every corner.

xxix. you live

welcome to the story of the girl who lived.

this is going to be her greatest act yet.

#arc.app #arc.empress #fc.bae suji

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foursprouthappiness-blog · 7 years ago

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The Book You Should Read Instead Of Binging Netflix, Based On Your Zodiac Sign

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/the-book-you-should-read-instead-of-binging-netflix-based-on-your-zodiac-sign/

The Book You Should Read Instead Of Binging Netflix, Based On Your Zodiac Sign

Unsplash / Aziz Acharki

Aries: March 21st – April 19th

Circe by Madeline Miller

“In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. But Circe is a strange child–not powerful, like her father, nor viciously alluring like her mother. Turning to the world of mortals for companionship, she discovers that she does possess power–the power of witchcraft, which can transform rivals into monsters and menace the gods themselves.

Threatened, Zeus banishes her to a deserted island, where she hones her occult craft, tames wild beasts and crosses paths with many of the most famous figures in all of mythology, including the Minotaur, Daedalus and his doomed son Icarus, the murderous Medea, and, of course, wily Odysseus.

But there is danger, too, for a woman who stands alone, and Circe unwittingly draws the wrath of both men and gods, ultimately finding herself pitted against one of the most terrifying and vengeful of the Olympians. To protect what she loves most, Circe must summon all her strength and choose, once and for all, whether she belongs with the gods she is born from, or the mortals she has come to love.“

Taurus: April 20th – May 20th

Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep by Philip K. Dick

“By 2021, the World War has killed millions, driving entire species into extinction and sending mankind off-planet. Those who remain covet any living creature, and for people who can’t afford one, companies built incredibly realistic simulacra: horses, birds, cats, sheep. They’ve even built humans. Immigrants to Mars receive androids so sophisticated they are indistinguishable from true men or women. Fearful of the havoc these artificial humans can wreak, the government bans them from Earth. Driven into hiding, unauthorized androids live among human beings, undetected. Rick Deckard, an officially sanctioned bounty hunter, is commissioned to find rogue androids and ‘retire’ them. But when cornered, androids fight back—with lethal force.”

Gemini: May 21st – June 20th

Sometimes I Lie by Alice Feeney

“Amber wakes up in a hospital. She can’t move. She can’t speak. She can’t open her eyes. She can hear everyone around her, but they have no idea. Amber doesn’t remember what happened, but she has a suspicion her husband had something to do with it. Alternating between her paralyzed present, the week before her accident, and a series of childhood diaries from twenty years ago, this brilliant psychological thriller asks: Is something really a lie if you believe it’s the truth?”

Cancer: June 21st – July 22nd

An American Marriage by Tayari Jones

“Newlyweds Celestial and Roy are the embodiment of both the American Dream and the New South. He is a young executive, and she is an artist on the brink of an exciting career. But as they settle into the routine of their life together, they are ripped apart by circumstances neither could have imagined. Roy is arrested and sentenced to twelve years for a crime Celestial knows he didn’t commit. Though fiercely independent, Celestial finds herself bereft and unmoored, taking comfort in Andre, her childhood friend, and best man at their wedding. As Roy’s time in prison passes, she is unable to hold on to the love that has been her center. After five years, Roy’s conviction is suddenly overturned, and he returns to Atlanta ready to resume their life together.“

Leo: July 23rd – August 22nd

The Chalk Man by C.J. Tudor

“In 1986, Eddie and his friends are just kids on the verge of adolescence. They spend their days biking around their sleepy English village and looking for any taste of excitement they can get. The chalk men are their secret code: little chalk stick figures they leave for one another as messages only they can understand. But then a mysterious chalk man leads them right to a dismembered body, and nothing is ever the same.

In 2016, Eddie is fully grown, and thinks he’s put his past behind him. But then he gets a letter in the mail, containing a single chalk stick figure. When it turns out that his friends got the same message, they think it could be a prank . . . until one of them turns up dead.

That’s when Eddie realizes that saving himself means finally figuring out what really happened all those years ago.”

Virgo: August 23rd – September 22nd

The Woman In The Window by A.J. Finn

“Anna Fox lives alone—a recluse in her New York City home, unable to venture outside. She spends her day drinking wine (maybe too much), watching old movies, recalling happier times . . . and spying on her neighbors.

Then the Russells move into the house across the way: a father, a mother, their teenage son. The perfect family. But when Anna, gazing out her window one night, sees something she shouldn’t, her world begins to crumble—and its shocking secrets are laid bare.

What is real? What is imagined? Who is in danger? Who is in control? In this diabolically gripping thriller, no one—and nothing—is what it seems.”

Libra: September 23rd – October 22nd

Simon Vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Alberalli

“Sixteen-year-old and not-so-openly gay Simon Spier prefers to save his drama for the school musical. But when an email falls into the wrong hands, his secret is at risk of being thrust into the spotlight. Now change-averse Simon has to find a way to step out of his comfort zone before he’s pushed out—without alienating his friends, compromising himself, or fumbling a shot at happiness with the most confusing, adorable guy he’s never met.”

Scorpio: October 23rd – November 21st

I’m Fine And Other Lies by Whitney Cummings

“Here are all the stories and mistakes I’ve made that were way too embarrassing to tell on stage in front of an actual audience; but thanks to not-so-modern technology, you can read about them here so I don’t have to risk having your judgmental eye contact crush my self-esteem. This book contains some delicious schadenfreude in which I recall such humiliating debacles as breaking my shoulder while trying to impress a guy, coming very close to spending my life in a Guatemalan prison, and having my lacerated ear sewn back on by a deaf guy after losing it in a torrid love affair. In addition to hoarding mortifying situations that’ll make you feel way better about your choices, I’ve also accumulated a lot of knowledge from therapists, psychotherapists, and psychopaths, which can probably help you avoid making the same mistakes I’ve made. Think of this book as everything you’d want from the Internet all in one place, except without the constant distractions of ads, online shopping, and porn.“

Sagittarius: November 22nd – December 21st

The Magic Misfits by Neil Patrick Harris

“When street magician Carter runs away, he never expects to find friends and magic in a sleepy New England town. But like any good trick, things change instantly as greedy B.B. Bosso and his crew of crooked carnies arrive to steal anything and everything they can get their sticky fingers on.

After a fateful encounter with the local purveyor of illusion, Dante Vernon, Carter teams up with five other like-minded illusionists. Together, using both teamwork and magic, they’ll set out to save the town of Mineral Wells from Bosso’s villainous clutches. These six Magic Misfits will soon discover adventure, friendship, and their own self-worth in this delightful new series.”

Capricorn: December 22nd – January 19th

Good Me Bad Me by Ali Land

“Milly’s mother is a serial killer. Though Milly loves her mother, the only way to make her stop is to turn her in to the police. Milly is given a fresh start: a new identity, a home with an affluent foster family, and a spot at an exclusive private school.

But Milly has secrets, and life at her new home becomes complicated. As her mother’s trial looms, with Milly as the star witness, Milly starts to wonder how much of her is nature, how much of her is nurture, and whether she is doomed to turn out like her mother after all.

When tensions rise and Milly feels trapped by her shiny new life, she has to decide: Will she be good? Or is she bad? She is, after all, her mother’s daughter.”

Aquarius: January 20th – February 18th

Every Day by David Leviathan

“Every day a different body. Every day a different life. Every day in love with the same girl.

There’s never any warning about where it will be or who it will be. A has made peace with that, even established guidelines by which to live: Never get too attached. Avoid being noticed. Do not interfere.

It’s all fine until the morning that A wakes up in the body of Justin and meets Justin’s girlfriend, Rhiannon. From that moment, the rules by which A has been living no longer apply. Because finally A has found someone he wants to be with—day in, day out, day after day.“

Pisces: February 19th – March 20th

The Disaster Artist by Greg Sestero

“In 2003, an independent film called The Room—starring and written, produced, and directed by a mysteriously wealthy social misfit named Tommy Wiseau—made its disastrous debut in Los Angeles. Described by one reviewer as ‘like getting stabbed in the head,’ the $6 million film earned a grand total of $1,800 at the box office and closed after two weeks. Ten years later, it’s an international cult phenomenon, whose legions of fans attend screenings featuring costumes, audience rituals, merchandising, and thousands of plastic spoons. Hailed by The Huffington Post as ‘possibly the most important piece of literature ever printed,’ The Disaster Artist is the hilarious, behind-the-scenes story of a deliciously awful cinematic phenomenon as well as the story of an odd and inspiring Hollywood friendship. Greg Sestero, Tommy’s costar, recounts the film’s bizarre journey to infamy, explaining how the movie’s many nonsensical scenes and bits of dialogue came to be and unraveling the mystery of Tommy Wiseau himself.”

#Happiness

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