#pan seered

[simply-beautiful-world]

[carelessapples]

pride month art challenge day 19: seer

masterpost

[hummelimhimmel]

Some characters that people from VK told me to draw //I know everyone well except Otto, but its kinda a gift for my Bro//

[your-blorbos-are-queer]

seer from apex legends is pansexual (canon)

submitted by @shark-with-16-eyes

[otterfemme]

hey lookie here https://www.erininthemorning.com/p/national-anti-trans-bans-loom-will

do you see where infighting gets us? they're literally looming genocide over our heads, and some of yall can't seem to accept that we need to work together to defeat shit like this. the rights of queer people you dont agree with are your rights too. don't fall into the trap of the model minority. they're coming for you next.

what will it be: community, or death? it's ultimately your choice

american followers: call your senators and representatives

officially decided that anyone who tries to divide the lgbt community is a fed. i dont care if you're not actually a fed, if you're causing infighting in a minority community then you're a fed who just isnt getting paid to be one. either apply for a job at the CIA or shut the fuck up

[dangraccoon]

Mando'a (but Horny kov'taakyc)

Honestly, this is as much a post for me to reference back as it is for other writers to use 😅

ANYWAY

** denotes words that I created based on the rules listed in this mando'a dictionary (found here)

mando'a - english - pronunciation

Body Parts

bevagol - penis, dick, cock - bayv-AH-gohl

murce - lips (pl.) - MOOR-shay

palon - hole, opening; aisle, passageway - pah-LOHN

pel'gam - skin - pel-GAM

pel'troan - cheek - pail-TROHN

petir - center - PEH-teer

shebs - backside, rear, buttocks (also rear of building etc) - shebs

yai - belly, womb, abdomen - yay

yaiten - vagina (anatomical) - yay-TEN

Actions

aar'betenor - groan, moan - ahr-bey-tehn-OHR

baa'ruir - shiver, shudder - bah-roo-EER

baar'murcyur - making love, having sex - bahr-moor-SHOOR

baar'mureyca - sex (lit. "body kiss") - bahr-MOOR-aysh-ah

bat'gaanir - rub, grind - baht-gah-NEER

chayaikir - tease, barrack, make fun of (not as hostile as mock) - chai-ay-KEER

dihaarir - undress, take clothes off, unbutton, unzip - dee-hah-REER

↳ ke'dihaarir - undress (command) **

gayiylir - spread - guy-ee-LEER

gedetir - plead, beg - geh-deh-TEER

↳ ke'gedetir - beg (command) **

irudir - hug, embrace - ee-roo-DEER

iviin'hiibir - grasp, grab, seize - ee-VEEN-hee-BEER

murcyur - kiss - moor-SHOOR

pehir - spit - peh-HEER

tigaanur - touch - tee-gah-NOOR

videkir - swallow - vee-deh-KEER

↳ ke'videkir - swallow (command) **

Feelings

adenn - merciless - ah-DEN

aiki’yc - desperate - ai-KEESH

baar'laamyc - orgasm (lit. body high) - bahr-LAH-meesh **

↳ baar'lamycir - orgasming **

dola - throughout, pervading, soaked - DOH-lah

etyc - dirty, filthy, grimy - EHT-eesh

gebyc - narrow, tight - GEHB-eesh

jatisyc - delicious - jah-TEE-seesh

kandosii'la - stunning, amazing - kan-doh-SEE-la

murey'lin - lust - MOO-ray-leen

murey'yc - sexy, erotic - moor-ay-EESH

nepel - solid, hard - nay-PAIL

nukut'la - naked, nude, bare - noo-KOOT-lah

ori'aal - passion - OH-ree-AHL

piru'lini - thirst - pee-roo-LEE-nee

piryc - wet - PEER-eesh

tsikala - prepared, ready - zee-KAH-lah

yaihi'l - full - YAH-heel

yaiyai'yc - bloated, satisfied - yai-YAI-eesh

Other

ash'emuurir - please someone - ash-eh-moo-REER

copaanir - want - KOH-pan-EER

haav - bed - hahv

↳ haavir - bed (verb; to bed)

jat'ad - good boy/girl (name of affection or praise) - jah-TAHD

jatisir - delight, please, indulge - jah-tee-SEER

linibar - need - lee-nee-BAHR

pel'tigala - tender - pel-tee-GAH-lah

pelid - mattress, something soft to lie down or fall onto - pai-LEED

tennir - open - teh-NEER

↳ ke'tennir - open (command)

Kinky

brii'tay - knot - bree-TIE

↳ brii'tayir - knot (verb, i.e. A/B/O) **

nadal - heat - nah-DAHL

↳ or'nadal - in heat **

mircir - cage, lock up, capture - meer-SEER

tay'briik - cord, rope, string - tie-BREEK

tay'briir - tie up - tie-BREER

tay'gaan - strap, belt - tie-GAHN

yaihad - pregnancy - yai-HAHD

yaihad'la - pregnant - yai-HAHD-lah

yaihadir - conceive, impregnate - yai-hah-DEER

aar'ika - sting, little pain - AHR-eek-ah

aarar - hurt, cause pain - ah-RAHR

ekur - choke - eck-OOR

gratiir - punish - grah-TEER

kadalikir - scratch, leave a mark - kah-dah-lee-KEER

nynir - hit, strike - nee-NEER

oya'karir - hunt, chase - OY-yah-kah-REER

ky'goy - edge, verge, break, precipice - kee-GOHY

↳ ky'goyir - edge (verb) **

Drop a note or ask if there's anything you think I should add!

[talonabraxas]

“A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart.” ― Goethe Pan - Seer of Nature Talon Abraxas

[ranahan]

C, cy, yc—why are they pronounced like that?

I think I’ve mentioned before that the rule is very nearly regular, so here it is. I’ve reproduced Traviss’s original pronunciation guides here (so you can see whether what I’m saying holds true).

c (without y) is pronounced as /s/ before high front vowels /e i/

cerar [sair-ARR]

ceratir [sair-AH-teer]

ceryc [sair-EESH]

cetar [set-ARR]

cetare [set-ARE-ay]

cin [seen]

cinargaanar [see-NAHR-gah-nahr]

cinarin [see-NAH-reen]

cin'ciri [seen-SEE-ree]

cinyc [SEE-neesh]

ciryc [seer-EESH]

mircin [meer-SEEN]

mircir [meer-SEER]

mirci't [meer-SEET]

racin [ray-SEEN]

tom'urcir [tohm-OOR-seer]

ver'mircit [VAIR-meer-seet]

otherwise as /k/

That is, before other vowels:

ca [kah]

cabuor [kah-BOO- or]

cabur [KAH-boor]

ca'nara [KAH-nah-RAH]

can'gal [CAHN-gahl]

carud [kah-ROOD]

ca'tra[KAH-tra]

cuir [COO-eer]

copaanir [KOH-pan-EER]

copad [KOH-pad]

copikla [koh-PEEK-lah]

copyc [KOH-peesh]

cu'bikad [COO-bee-kahd]

cunak [COO-nahk]

cuun [koon]

cuyan [koo-YAHN]

cuyanir [coo-YAH-neer]

cuyete [coo-YAY-tay]

cuyir [KOO-yeer]

cuyla [COO-ee-lah]

du'car [DOO-kar]

du'caryc [doo-KAR-eesh]

ge'catra [geh-CAT-rah]

jorcu [JOR-koo]

ori'copaad [OH-ree-KOH-pahd]

vencuyanir [ven-COO-yah-neer]

vencuyot [vain-COO-ee-ot]

vercopa [vair-KOH-pa]

vercopaanir [VAIR-koh-PAH-neer]

…and in a word-final position:

balac [bah-LAHK]

bic [beek]

ibac [ee-BAK]

ibic [ee-BIK]

norac [noh-RAK]

tebec [TEH-bek]

yc is always pronounced as /iʃ/

aikiyc [ai-KEESH]

aruetyc [AH-roo-eh-TEESH]

balyc [BAH-leesh]

beskaryc [BES-kar-EESH]

burk'yc [BOOR-keesh]

chakaaryc [chah- KAR-eesh]

copyc [KOH-peesh]

dalyc [DAH-leesh]

daryc [DAR-eesh]

diryc [DEER-eesh]

duumyc [DOO-meesh]

etyc [ETT-eesh]

gaht'yc [GAH-teesh]

gehatyc [geh-HAHT-eesh]

haamyc [HAH-meesh]

haatyc [HAH-teesh]

haryc [HAR-eesh]

hayc [haysh]

hetikleyc [hay-TEEK-laysh]

hettyc [heh-TEESH]

hodayc [HOH-daysh]

hokan'yc [hoh-KAH-neesh]

iviin'yc [ee-VEEN-esh]

jagyc [JAH-geesh]

jaon'yc [jai-OHN-ish]

jari'eyc [JAR-ee-aysh

jatisyc [jah-TEE-seesh]

johayc [JO-haysh]

kotyc [koh-TEESH]

kyr'adyc [keer-AH-deesh]

kyrayc [keer-AYSH]

kyr'yc [KEER-eesh]

laamyc [LAH-meesh]

lararyc [lah-rah-eesh]

majyc [MAH-jeesh]

morut'yc [moh-ROO-teesh]

narseryc [nar-SAIR-eesh]

nayc [naysh]

neduumyc [nay-DOO-meesh]

nehutyc [neh-HOOT-eesh]

nu'amyc [noo-AHM-eesh]

nuhaatyc [noo-HAH-teesh]

ori'beskaryc [OH-ree-bes-KAR-eesh]

ori'jagyc [OH-ree-JAHG-eesh (or OH-ree-YAHG-eesh)]

ori'suumyc [OHR-ee-SOOM-eesh]

oyayc [oy-AYSH]

piryc [PEER-eesh]

ramikadyc [RAH-mee-KAHD-eesh]

ret'yc [RET-eesh]

ruusaanyc [roo-SAHN-eesh]

sapanyc [sah-PAHN-eesh]

shaap'yc [sha-PEESH]

shi'yayc [shee-YAYSH]

shuk'yc [shook-EESH]

shupur'yc [shoo-POOR-esh]

sol'yc [sohl-EESH]

talyc [tahl-EESH]

tomyc [TOH-meesh]

tranyc [TRAH-neesh]

tratyc [TRAH-teesh]

tug'yc [too-GEESH]

ulyc [OO-leesh]

urcir [oor-SEER]

utyc [OO-teesh]

verburyc [vair-BOOR-eesh]

verd'yc [VAIR-deesh]

vutyc [VOOT-eesh]

yaiyai'yc [yai-YAI-eesh]

Note that this is still true when yc occurs in the middle of a word instead of the end:

barycir [bah-REE-shir]

besbe'trayce [BES-beh-TRAYSH-ay]

dirycir [DEER-ee-SHEER]

ke'gyce [keh-GHEE-shay]

majyce [mah-jEE-shay]

majycir [MAH-jeesh-eer]

mar'eyce [mah-RAY-shay]

mureyca [MOOR-aysh-ah]

cy is pronounced as /ʃ/

burc'ya [BOOR-sha]

burcyan [BOOR-shahn]

cyare [SHAH-ray]

cyare'se [shar-AY-say]

cyar'ika [shar-EE-kah]

cyar'tomade [SHAR-toe-MAH-day]

mirshmure'cya [meersh-moor-AY-shah]

murcyur [MOOR-shoor]

oyacyir [oy-YAH-sheer]

Ret'urcye mhi [ray-TOOR-shay-MEE]

sheb'urcyin [sheh-BOOR-shin]

sho'cye [SHOW-shay]

tracy'uur [trah-SHOOR]

Exceptions

The above holds true except for some exceptions:

The first is a group of words with a combination of u + yc:

buyca [BOO-shah]

buy'ce [BOO-shay]

buycika [BOO-she-kah]

This might be related to the status of /ui/ as a diphthong in Mando’a & could be a piece of evidence against it. What do I mean? Well, every instance of ⟨uy⟩ in the dictionary, Traviss breaks up in two syllables /u.i/. Could be there’s no diphthong /ui/ in Mando’a? However, I think it’s more likely this is because Traviss gives the pronunciations with an English orthography (i.e. how an English speaking reader would know to pronounce the words), and there’s no diphthong /ui/ in English, so in order to represent those sounds in English, they have to be broken up in separate syllables.

I also think the long /uː/ in buy’ce etc. is likely simply an elision: try going slowly from /u/ to /i/ to /ʃ/, and you’ll notice it’s easier to slip directly from /u/ to /ʃ/. I would generalise it as the diphthong /ʊɪ/ being realised as /uː/ before palatal consonants (at least; maybe others as well).

and:

buyacir [boo-ya-SHEER] /bʊ.ja.ˈʃiɾ/

Which has no excuse for being irregular except for influence on its spelling from buy’ce, so you could alternatively spell it as buyacyir or pronounce it as /bʊ.ja.ˈsiɾ/ (either would be regular).

The other exception to the rule is:

acyk [AH-seek]

The rule for this could be formulated as “if y is the only vowel in a syllable, it’s pronounced as /i/ and the pronunciation of c follows that.” Except for…

tracyn [trah-SHEEN]

Which itself could be analysed as a combination of the above rules: y as an only vowel gets pronounced as /i/, but the consonant in cy is still pronounced as /ʃ/ (in which case it would be acyk that is irregular instead).

It’s the derivations that appear irregular:

tracinya [trah-SHEE-nah]

tracyaat [tra-SHEE-at]

tra'cyar [tra-SHEE-ar]

Tracinya is plainly a derivation of tracyn, just spelled with an i instead of y. Interestingly, in Harlin’s Mando’a tracyn is pronounced as /tra.ʃin/ and tracinya as /tra.sin.ja/. So perhaps it’s acyk which should be pronounced as /a.ʃik/?

I’ve chosen to adjust the pronunciation of the other two to conform to the rule of pronouncing cy as /ʃ/: /tɾa.ˈʃaːt/ & /tɾa.ˈʃaɾ/.

And then:

yacur [YAH-soor]

Idek? I have do idea where this one comes from.

And:

Coruscanta [KOH-roo-SAHN-ta]

which is a loanword and doesn’t count. Although I’d suspect that “Corusanta” might be a fairly common misspelling among native speakers.

Explanation

So why is it pronounced like that? The explanation is something called palatalisation, which is the same reason why c in Latinate words is sometimes pronounced as /k/ and sometimes as /s/.

In very simple terms, the high front vowels and the semivowel /j/ are pronounced such that the tongue is at or very nearly the palatal position. So they tend to pull the preceding consonants to the palatal place of articulation (instead of whichever place of articulation they used to be pronounced at).

So in Mando’a:

c → k

c + high front vowel /i e/ → /s/

c + semivowel /j/ → /ʃ/

Not sure if /k/ is the original value of ⟨c⟩ since this rule doesn’t seem to apply to ⟨k⟩. Maybe ⟨c⟩ had originally another value, which has later changed into /k/?

There will be a second part to this post later, but I’ll break this off here for now.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

what wouldve happened if the Saders (especially Marialena) didn't foretell the prophecy? What wouldve happened if Rafal didn't leave?

This has been in my ask box for months. I hope anon is still around if they still wanted the answer.

@fourleafclovxr Feel free to ignore this, but if you're interested, do you have any thoughts about this question—since it deals with seers and Saders?

⸻

If the neither brother had knowledge of the prophecy then there's a slight chance it may not have happened in a self-fulfilling way with their attempts to prevent it from coming true only furthering its completion. They might've been able to maintain peace.

Yet, even if the prophecy were not told, well, their world is still governed by fate, and considering how much of an inescapable grip that predestination has over everyone's lives, how fates that can't be circumvented—I'm not sure if the innate genre they lived in could have changed from "tragedy."

Even if fates can be subverted by being fulfilled in unconventional ways (as any room for interpretation could be exploited by participants) I don't see how fratricide and there being just One left standing(?) could contain some kind of exceptional clause.

Regardless, this possibility would mean that some sort of "user-friendly" loopholes could exist in their world, like how Chaddick's blood on the handkerchief allowed Rhian II to pull Excalibur when he otherwise wouldn't have been able to.

That instance of cheating is the best example I have at the moment. The rightful son didn't pull the sword, but the event itself, of the sword being pulled, still was able to happen given situational factors. The rightful heir's blood still came into contact with the sword, the sword was pulled (by someone), and the "right" candidate became king by the end. What happened between seminal events may not have mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Thus, prophecies may well work in a top-down way, only going as small-scale as they need to, to ensure outcomes.

So, from this, we could take away that the endings may be predetermined, but that the path to such endings could be open to interference—only to the degree that the ending wouldn't change as the result of any meddling, even if unanticipated third parties involve themselves.

The parties not affected by the prophecy, outside its bounds, could plausibly do whatever they wanted, and have free will (ostensibly, everyone has free will though), but I could venture to say that the consequences of said, seemingly free actions could be manipulated by the hand of fate, to produce those certain outcomes.

Basically, in the Woods, no matter what you try, since you at least have the freedom to try, you won't change a thing with your actions. All those actions would still snowball to produce the exact outcome that's set to happen. (And, if this were true, trying to change your fate would be futile. E.g., think of how Sophie and Agatha were locked into their true natures. They couldn't switch sides.)

(Keep in mind that this post just represents my view of things. We don't necessarily have canon confirmation of anything I'm speculating about.)

Applied to the prequels, if Midas' or the Pan's presences/roles were never predetermined, then they just helped the inevitable end along. If neither of them had been there, perhaps the prophecy still could have reached the same ending by other equally-as-effective means. (Different potential plot(s), one outcome.)

We could also argue that Adela's wording was vague enough to exploit.

So, the same thing could apply to the twins: the prophecy of the One and Adela's betrayal, war, death could happen, and lead to the same outcomes, but the specifics could unfold differently. Or, the events could all happen in the same way but hold different meaning/implications for the future (no 200 year curse despite fratricide or death of another form for Rafal?). Or, none of the events could happen in the same way, but the final ending would be fixed, like I proposed before. I guess we don't really know how malleable or interpretable prophecies or visions are.

And seeing that it's Marialena, I wouldn't put it past her to use red-herrings or mislead, even without saying a word of prophecy. Lying, other methods, or other dialogue/persuasion could produce the same results.

It's hard to separate out the cause and effect to me. We should ask: did (early) knowledge of the prophecy affect how it played out? Or was it set in stone? Or was it inevitable that Rafal's particular combination of character traits (the extorting, the threats, etc.) and the situation (in Monrovia) would have led him to finding out about the prophecy and that that very moment was also a part of the prophecy in action, happening or beginning?

⸻

Second, if Rafal hadn't left, I think the characterization that would hold true was the bit of internal monologue we saw in Fall, that he intentionally cedes some minor(?) arguments to keep the peace with Rhian.

Rhian might not even realize anything were wrong or that Rafal were (probably) hurt by his side being devalued.

I would suspect if Rhian were aware, not much would change. Rhian is prone to burying conflict and truth after all. But, I couldn't see him dwelling on the conflict Rafal lay to rest, unless he had good reason to, or lasting guilt/shame over it.

Rafal on the other hand holds grudges, and while we know he isn't the Evil brother now, he has Evil tendencies, of course, so he could easily let his resentment accumulate and fester inside until he found it in himself to do something: either leave, like he did, or perhaps, display passive aggression?

Outright anger against his brother would not be productive, but if his resentment became that severe, he could potentially lash out, and Rhian would see Rafal's "unprovoked" response as coming out of nowhere. Then, Rhian could accuse him of being irrationally antagonistic, like a villain without motive, or Evil that "always" (often, as of late) loses and that has to deprive Good of an ending to gain one for itself, as we would see the beginning hints of Evil's losing streak no matter what.

By that point, Rafal might either drop the issue, but secretly continue to hold the grudge for the rest of time, a reasonably moderate and functional if not flawless happy ending for the both of them. (Would it last? I'm doubtful.)

Or, Rafal could argue back, setting off the prophecy, even if it had a delayed start this time since I suspect any major enough argument could have set the brothers down the wrong path, no matter what the argument was about, Aladdin or someone/something else, if their bond had weakened over the decades, like it might've been implied to have done in canon.

[mistfallengw2]

Been a while since my last VSArtParty and I was very eepy, so funny doodle time it is!

First, let's say thanks to the host of the party, then the rest is under read more!

Turns out Pinata Choyas are super effective at scaring off dragon scions, huh.

Don't ask. This appeared on my tablet idk.

I don't know what was going on and I was too afraid to ask.

Who doesn't want a cryptid charr staring ominously from afar at your party?

< Prober Pann with the proper pan. > No better book to read while chaos erupts around you.

Bunnie was having the worst time trying not to make certain jokes. That's like, her whole thing, but she promised to behave.

Most enthusiastic entomologist has entered the chat and is ready to infodump about the spoods

Always the star of the party.

Might as well include my very bad warm-up (literally, my hands were frozen) doodles of Aurelia and Bunnie.

-

Tags time!

Big Women Big Fun - @hurricanenights Entomologist Pooka - @mirkwood-trash Geomancer Oxxid - @sytiart Golemancer Bunnie - me :D Mabaki - @mabaki Numen of Jormag - @lady-quen Obscure Wanderer - @wilsons-journey Paranomalous Plexxi - @leafofkudzu Pëlkk - @the-skrool Prober Pann - @vitaeplaysgw2 Riyaew - @bop-y Snowballs: Lumena, Rami Lupine, Stig The Seer, Ahrikima

[sybill-patrica-trelawney]

Hello everyone,

I have an important question am I the only one that dreams about people dying since she's three ? Yes ? Well, that's normal, I'm a fucking seer and before you ask no I don't like that. And yes I would make my gift disappear if I could. But no, I can't.

So anyway, I'm Sybill Trelawney. I'm 17 years old - and like said before I'm a seer. I'm a haft-blood. I'm pan. I'm also not normal because I have fucking dream where I see people dying and don't have a lot of friends. [In fact, I don't have any friends. - So the post is open.] I'm a Hufflepuff. I think that's all.

Oh, yeah. Also, Dumbledore is desperate to have people to join him. Please think about it, we are all pawns in this chess game. And don't talk to Riddle if you don't want to have problems later. DON'T JOINT THE WAR - DON'T BE FUCKING STUPID. I DON'T CARE HOW MUCH YOU ARE GODD IN MAGIC. YOU DON'T WANT TO DIE AT 21 YEARS OLD !

@pandoras-nox @xeno-graphical @lifeofthe-barty @little-king-official @mary-mcdeal @marls-mckinn0n @cas-not-the-band @james-the-amazing-potter @oxxen--free @tjsinclairofficial @wormy-loves-ch33se @alicethekindone @flowers-of-narcissus @andromedashoax @feeblemortal @flyasaphoenix @looneymoonyy @emmelineandhervans @mystical-magical-me @hjonesworld @the-queen-bellatrix @malfoy-lu @thebr1ghtestar  @whokilledevanrosier @voldemortcult

[strangelittlestories]

Let me tell you about the Truthspeaker.

It is well known that most fae are tricksters. They are creatures who do not lie per se, but who make truth light as chaos or heavy as a contract.

They distract you with the truth and while you are looking at it, they steal the ground from beneath your feet, the name from the craw of your soul, and the

They are like shitty close-up magicians, but the coin they produce from behind your ear is everything you ever valued. And the rabbit they vanish into their hat is reality itself.

They leave you untethered, unmoored, floating free in the summerlands while the path home unravels like a knot of handkerchiefs.

It is well known that fae do this. However, you should realise that 'it is well known' is also a clever illusion.

For while you *should* fear the fair folk, they are multi-faceted and manifold. There are some among them that you may still wish to seek out - for while they will *wreck you* quite thoroughly, sometimes a person must shipwreck themselves to reach their destination.

So let me tell you about the Truthspeaker.

I first heard rumours of them when on my quest year. It's become something of a tradition among aspiring urban esotericists to take a year out to gain practical magical experience. Druids venture into the fragmented urban wilds beneath their city. Mages seek out spells and traditions in rare local dialects and folklores. Seers get very high and follow whatever visions they may have to their inevitable horrible conclusions.

Meanwhile, I started out seeking a simple remedy for mild dimensional bifurcation. One of the alchemists I spoke to mentioned they sometimes sourced ingredients from the fae - in particular, they had a connect for ice cold truths that they thought may help me.

Sadly, I was hot on the trail of the Reality-phage by that point. And that whole situation … escalated.

When I emerged from that densely-woven five-year headfuck with a master's degree in Divine Linguistics and a fully fractured sense of self, I went panning for gold through my memories … and I recalled the Truthspeaker.

The path to faerie is an easy one to find, but a hard one to walk. Especially if you want anything that resembles yourself to emerge on the other side.

I had little enough of my self left, so I took precautions.

I conjured a worm out of earth and lichen. I took one of my memories - one I could not afford to lose - and I fed it to the imaginary creature. It was fat and wriggling, as if ready to burst with dreams.

I wrote my own personal rune on the worm's skin in white marker. The worm wrote *its* rune on me in slime.

I took it to a dried up canal behind a main road. I walked onto the footbridge that crossed it. I speared the worm on a hook, tried it to a silver thread and I dangled it from a fishing pole.

From the canal bed beneath, hungry mouths began to warp out of the concrete. I snagged the biggest and reeled it in. Arms aching with the effort, finally it breached the guardrail with a squeal of metal. Its grey teeth gnashed towards me.

I dived in.

After a small unknowable bubble of time, in which the concrete hydra and I argued over semantics, we finally reached an accord.

I rode in its mouth into the Summerlands.

Apologies, I was supposed to be telling you about the Truthspeaker.

Reaching them was complex, even with my fearsome new ride. (Honestly, riding in that thing's maw made me feel I was in that book about the sandworms, but a bit more 'Vore.)

I won't repeat the trials I had to go through, the spirits I had to beg, bribe or bludgeon ... if you ever seek them yourself, you will need to pay your own way.

But eventually I reached their grove.

It was a strange place. It had a mushroom arch, like many fae groves, but if you looked close you could see spots of rust growing on the caps of them. I peered closer and saw: there was an iron frame beneath the fungi.

I've heard it said that fungus make death into the stuff of life. Even given some faeries' affinity for mushrooms, I think it takes a very special fae to take that which is inimical to you and make of it your sustenance. (And to be quite so cottagecore about it.)

I passed beneath the arch and felt my magical protections torn away by long intangible fingers clawed in ferrous decay.

Inside, the grove sat beneath ... what is the opposite of a 'verdant' canopy? A dying canopy? A putrefying canopy?

No, it was canopy of tomorrows. A vast and dense web of mycelial strands that ate dank darkness and shunned the sun. The interlaced fungal strings shone with strands of copper and arced with electricity.

At the centre of this dwelling with something akin to a cottage, but vast and ballooning with bulbous growths. Cosy and grand. Homely but haunting.

From within its cavernous doorway emerged the Truthspeaker.

My eyes were drawn first to the crown that burst from beneath the skin of their head. Filigreed wires wove in and out of their temples, burning where they met flesh. From that burning emerged green shoots and flowering fungus in all the colours of autumn killings.

They were dressed in stars and pale cotton. Their eyes were caverns. Their lips were lined with morning frost, which crunched softly as they spoke.

"You have travelled a long road." their sweet, soft voice was echoed deeply by the creatures that squirmed in the earth around their feet.

"I have, honoured one." My voice shook.

"There is no honour here, child."

"Nonetheless, I come to honour you."

"You come to ask of me."

Inside myself, I felt my heart shrivel and rot away and a new heart build itself again from the mess.

"From where I stand, to ask favour is to show my throat. This is honour."

"You are a sophist." they snorted and a cloud of spores filled the air, glittering.

"That is the source of my power, honoured one." The spores settled on my robe and began to form a sparkling crystal city.

"You bear the blessing of the Once God."

"I, uh..." I found myself reaching for my phone to take a scrying selfie and resisted. "I had honestly forgotten it was there."

"As had the blessing. Such is the way of things with the God That Was But Was Not."

"There is much I have lost."

"You are not special in this regard."

"Are there ... any ways in which I *am* special?"

"I don't especially care to name them if there are."

"I..." I licked my lips and they tasted of earthy spices. "I would ask you to tell me one true thing, Truthspeaker."

"I have already told you several."

"I can offer fair exchange. I can serve you. I had knowledge and skill once, I am sure I can find them again."

"No. You never shall."

I blanched.

"Never?"

"They are mulch. New talents will grow. Or you will die. Such is the way of things." they looked me up and down with their hollow, everything eyes, "Tell me what truth you would have. I will find something to do with you after."

My mouth was dry. My lungs filled with thick honey-like dreck. My skin shone translucent. The crystal city on my robe spread and grew, went through two cataclysms, rebuilt itself, then began to spread across my back.

I forget the truth I had planned to ask for.

Instead I said:

"Do you like me?"

"I do not know yet." The Truthspeaker said. "But I am willing to find out."

That is how I met the Truthspeaker. Our first meeting, but not our last. But that is all the detail I will give you for now. If you want more then you will have to seek me out and ask me or win it from me or remind me of it.

But what was it that I wanted to tell you about the Truthspeaker? What did I learn? What might you learn from them?

Surely, I have already told you that?

No, I will say one thing more:

Sometimes the truth does not set you free. Sometimes it anchors you.

Because sometimes you don't need a trickster fae to untie you from reality. Sometimes you are already doing a perfectly adequate job of that yourself.

And when that happens, a truth you can rely on is like cold iron for the soul.

---

Enjoy my stories? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi with a one-off or recurring donation https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[boba-pearl-writes]

1/17 - vision - word count: 677 - @rosekillermicrofic

It wasn’t a secret that Pandora was a gifted seer. She was a favorite in their divination class and loved to scare people by ‘predicting’ random things. 

Then, there were the dreams. 

Pandora would wake up, breathing quickly, the frazzled look on her face unfamiliar on her usually calm face. She would run, almost trip on the stairs. The day after, she’d be distant, almost drowsy, like she was still living in a vision, a nightmare. 

Today, she was looking a bit like that, all over the place and aloof. Barty was scared, because now, as they sat spread across his, Evan’s and Reg’s beds, she still looked like that. 

Lily had come up to their table this morning at breakfast and Pandora had shooed her off, then pulled her back by the elbow, taken her face in her hands and looked into her eyes. 

“His eyes,” she’d whispered in a strange, almost sad, tone. “They looked dead. There was blood in his hair. White and red, Lily.” Then she shivered, like what she’d seen was too terrible to bear reminiscing about for too long. Lily sat down next to her and gathered her in her arms. 

“It’s okay, Dora, it’s okay.” There were silent tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her eyes still almost unseeingly watching. “You’re okay.”

Barty had listened in on the thing. It wasn’t really that quiet, but he didn’t think anyone else had heard it, given the ruckus there always was at breakfast. He locked eyes with Evan, who was looking at him worriedly. 

After that, everything moved too fast to think about what she’d said, though it was at the back of his mind. His classes, lunch, homework, and all of that, but now they were here. Together. 

He racked his brain, trying to piece together her words and what they may mean. It probably wasn’t anything good, which scared him all the more. 

‘His eyes. They looked dead,’ Pandora had said. ‘White and red.’

Something clicked in his brain. 

Oh. 

White hair. Red blood. 

Oh, fuck. 

“Pan,” he started, before he realized his mouth was moving. She started and looked at him. “Pan, that’s not funny. That’s- white and red. Fuck, Pan, that’s-“

“It’s true,” she said. “I- I saw it.” Her lower lip was wobbling, and her eyes glazed over. 

Regulus, Dorcas and Evan were all looking at both of them in confusion. Barty couldn’t bring himself to say anything. 

Pandora locked eyes with Evan, a haunted look in her eyes, and it seemed he understood. He let out a small oh and turned to Barty. 

“I mean,” Evan started, his voice surprisingly light. “We’re all going to die someday.”

“No,” he said, more a breath than a word. Evan looked slightly amused, then fond. “No, Evs, you can’t just- just leave me. I’d go mad.” He finished the sentence as sincerely as he’d said anything, ever. 

If Evan, his Ev, his rosie, died, he- he didn’t know what he’d do. 

He hoped he wasn’t around to see it. 

Pandora had predicted scary things before, things to do with dark clouds, drowning, a high, cruel laugh, and green light that all of them knew the meaning of. It was clear that they weren’t heading for anything good. 

Barty was fine with that, as long as they were together. As long as he still had Evan, and the rest of them, he’d be fine. 

But now-

“We’re all going to die someday,” Evan repeated solemnly. His hand came up to brush the unshed tears off of Barty’s face, and cradle his face so lovingly in his hands. Barty let out a sharp exhale, like a pained breath. “And when I die - after - you- you can’t do anything stupid, or reckless. Just- Barty,” he finished, like his name held all the meaning in the world. 

They meet in the middle in a slow, soft kiss, and, for that moment, it’s fine. 

They’re all going to die someday, but they haven’t yet. Evan’s still with him, and that’s all Barty’s ever wanted. 

[whumpsoda]

I raise that anon who raised you.

Vampire keeps their thrall hypnotized so they do all the chores without making a fuss and so they don't accidentally hurt themselves bruising or spilling any of their precious blood.

Whumpee breaks out of it randomly by something silly like a sneeze and comes back to hella confusing circumstances.

WOHEO Masterlist

Love this sm. Kinda mad cause I wrote all of it and then realized I was originally gonna go in a very different direction😭

cw: hypnosis, dehumanization, vampire whumper, human whumpee

———————————————————————

Nevan smiled contentedly to himself as a pile of dust flew into the pan. The broom, brittle and old scratched against the hardwood flooring of the mansion. Satisfied, he carefully poured the dust pan’s contents into a nearby trash can.

He had almost done all of the cleaning for the abode, the only room left being one of the many dedicated for storage. Nevan always felt exceedingly proud of himself for fulfilling his sanitation duties so well, even if there wasn’t much to clean when he repeated the same tasks every single day.

Darius liked his home spotless, and Nevan was more than happy to oblige to the wills of his master. Cleaning was the one thing he was notably good at, subsequently making it his sole job in Darius’ home. Besides being a food source, of course.

Transferring to the next room to be cleaned, Nevan was giddy with the thought of receiving his promised reward. 

Cleaning was his purpose, his sole job in life, so there was really no need for a reward. Yet, Darius was so kind hearted and generous, that he always promised his thrall a reward for his work. Whether it be presenting him with another place to cleanse or an extra feeding for that week, Nevan was over the moon simply with knowing he had pleased the vampire.

Nevan studied the mess he was presented with. The storage rooms were always a bit arduous to take care of, mainly due to the overwhelming clutter that had formed over centuries. 

He began with a smaller brush, sweeping the tops of boxes and junk. Before he knew it, whatever dirt inhabited the room had unsurprisingly mixed with the air, floating into and itching at his nostrils. 

He leaned his head back, readying himself for a sneeze.

Seering pain sliced through his brain as his body forcibly doubled over, almost as if splitting his head in half. Nevan clutched his head desperately, stumbling and slipping over his feet. He pulled frantically at his hair, the agony spreading to his scalp as well.

The human dropped onto sore knees, expelling a distraught whine. He panted heavily, attempting to settle himself. 

Luckily, after an endless repetition of deep, calming breaths, the pain subsided into a faint throb. Nevan groaned, rubbing at his tear prickled eyes. Out of reach thoughts danced inside his mind, too rapid to be coherent.

Holding his head in one hand, he forced open his soggy eyes. Gazing down at his own lap, confusion began to settle in.

How did-? Why was he…? Cleaning supplies?

Clutching the short broom in his hand, he noticed what was under it. “What?” He groaned, grabbing at the fabric covering his lower body. Whatever it was, it was large, frilly, and itchy, a terrible combination.

Nevan felt around, pressing his palms to the floor and pushing himself onto wobbly legs. He clung to a tall stack of cardboard boxes, his knees buckling. He took in the room, filled to the brim with piled up rubbish. 

Particularly, Nevan’s gaze landed on a long, thin mirror several feet away. He shuddered, digesting the image of the figure reflected. 

It was him. The reflection held Nevan’s eyes, Nevan’s moles, Nevan’s nose, yet they looked so different. Like a failed clone. His hair was lengthy with a healthy shine, his face and body meticulously clean shaven, and he wore a grand, luxurious dress. 

Worrying of all, were the achining wounds in his neck. Red, oozing and sore, Nevan gaped at the sight.

It couldn’t be him. Nevan didn’t do those things. He kept his hair short and easily manageable, he never gave a second thought to body and facial hair, and he sure as hell had never been very comfortable in a dress. He began grabbing at the excessive tool covering his thighs, trying to ease the irritation on his skin.

Once again, the burning sensation returned full force, tearing apart his brain in a wave of remembrance. 

Fear settled over him, a whimper catching in his throat. He was in a vampire’s home. Caught in a web of mind-bending magic, and by some miracle had broken through. His breathing quickened, short and frantic. 

What would he do? What could he do? If he got caught, there wasn’t a chance he’d ever get the opportunity to escape again. Maybe the monster would be so angry, they’d kill him.

“Nevan? Are you almost finished with your chores?” His heart stopped. Nevan lifted a trembling hand to his mouth, pushing his back against the objects behind him. “Where are you?” They called. 

Nevan slid down the boxed, landing on his bottom. Darius was close. Too close. If he tried to leave now, he would surely be caught, but the same was ensured if he didn’t.

Footsteps picked up, the clicking sound of Darius’ heels growing closer. “There you are.” Carefully, Nevan turned his head to face the beast, meeting a wicked grin. “Are you ready for your reward? I’m especially hungry today.” They said, adjusting the collar of their jacket.

Nevan let out a whimper and a snivel, alarms blaring inside his head. The vampire paused, studying him, his smile contorting into a confused frown. “What’s wrong? What did you do? You shouldn’t look like that.” 

Darius reached their hand out, taking several steps toward the human. Instinctively, Nevan hysterically crawled in the opposite direction, knocking over a pile of random contents. 

Darius met the other man’s stare, his eyes just as wide-eyed as Nevan. Slowly, as if faced with a wild animal, he descended to the floor, resting one knee to the ground. As the human continued to make a mess, Darius reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a glistening little item between two fingers.

Nevan recognized it instantly, squealing with terror as he violently shook his head. “Please! Don’t, please, I can’t-!” Ignoring the human’s pleads, Darius lightly began ringing the tiny bell in his hand. 

The ringing, no matter how light, how delicate, held a commanding, unexplainable presence. Betrayed by his own body, Nevan was unable to cover his ears as means of blocking the noise. The sound was soft, almost musical, causing Nevan’s terrified heart to flutter against his will.

“Come here, little servant.” The vampire sang. He began to lean into the constant ringing, as well as the glossy voice of his owner. “That’s right, return back to master.” Darius beckoned him over, settling onto both knees comfortably. 

The matter of his mind was melting, replaced with the weight of the bell’s authority. Lazily, the terrified shake if his body liquefying, Nevan shifted onto his hands and knees. Mesmerized by the sound licking his ears, he clumsily crawled closer, to Darius’ satisfaction.

“Good boy, almost there. Nothing is more important than the bell, isn’t that right?” The movement of the object never ceased. 

He smiled. That was right. It was Nevan’s bell, captivating and alluring. The only thing possibly more significant was Darius.

He soon reached the vampire, resting onto his knees with glazed over eyes. Darius gently placed the bell to the floor, ending the loop of hypnotic noise. He tenderly cupped Nevan’s cheek, caressing it with his thumb.

The vampire took a moment to adjust Nevan’s body, picking up limbs and turning his face as if he was searching for something. After a moment, he let out a sigh of relief. “I would’ve been very upset if you managed to lose some of your delectable blood in all that panic. Fortunate for you, it seems you didn’t.”

Nevan would’ve been utterly distraught had he made such a mistake. What a terrible thrall he was even risking it. “Now, are you ready for your reward?” He nuzzled into his master’s comforting touch.

In no other universe could he have been more ready.

[noobslayerarchetype11]

FYM?!?!?!? "Bsd Fandom is cooked."?!?!?!?

WE ARE GETTING BURNT, DEEP FRIED, OVEN COOKED 360° PAN SEERED, BURNT BASQUE-

as I quote my brother,

"Bruh, that's cremated."

Yeah brother.

[elrielffs]

It’s funny how “3 batboys and 3 sisters is so boring and cliche” yet the plots and theories people come up with outside of Elriel and their character arcs and story trajectory are SO boring and cliche themselves!!

“Elain uhhhh likes flowers so she belongs in the Spring Court!”

This is such a flat reading of the text.

“Az will train Gwyn and do shit in Illyria!!”

ACOSF 2.0

“Elain and Lucien are mates and SJM is a mates author!”

Which is in itself cliche for everyone to have mates.

I don’t know about everyone else but I’m kind of sick of the mate trope. I’m much more interested in how a rejected bond pans out and with Gwynriel especially I’m tired of the cookie cutter bad ass female warrior character with sass teaching the brooding dark bad boy the meaning of love. Those have become such a dime a dozen.

I’m ready for Elain. Give me my soft seer flower girl with a will of steel that likes to bake.

Give the me the girl who never gets to choose and the boy who never gets chosen.

Also side note but we know SJM wants to write a threesome, personally I’m ready for that VassaxLucienxJurian sandwich especially since Lucien didn’t like humans at first.