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inthememetime · 2 years ago

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Friend, you inspired a whole entire Ghost Riders in the Sky themed fic.

She was flying low over the plains of Texas when she heard them- hoofbeats. Her ghost sense flared up just before she caught the sound of low whistling, the lowing of cattle, and oddly metallic hoofbeats.

A dull red glow began to brighten in the west- the wrong time and direction for sunrise. Her first thought was 'wildfire', but the wind didn't bring smoke or heat.

Well, she wouldn't be Dani Phantom if she didn't at least check it out! She darted up until she started to see the makings of a glowing red herd of cattle galloping northwest, chased by faintly glowing figures on horseback.

She turned to chase them down and found they were going almost too fast for her- she wouldn't be able to keep this up for long.

"Hi!" She shouted.

The ghost nearest to her, a skeleton in tattered cowboy clothes with a dull orange glow on the back of a horse made of bones and shadows, looked at her briefly. "Where's your horse, rider?"

"I don't have one! Why are you chasing the cows? Won't humans see?"

It grunted but made no other attempt to reply. After a few unsuccessful attempts to speak, she flew straight up to take a quick break, then darted forward to speak to the next rider, this one on a horse made of burning coals with a bright yellow glow.

"Hi! What are you doing?"

"We ride to catch the herd, little lady," it rasped, "been a century at least, but we ain't caught 'em yet."

"Can I help?"

It laughed- but not meanly, she thought. It was hard to tell when it didn't have a face. "Yer pretty quick, little lady. Get ya a horse, 'n maybe. Don't count on it though- these cows ain't meant to be caught."

"So why do you chase them?" She pushed past the sensation of breathlessness- she didn't need to breathe, after all.

"We swore solemn oaths, and broke them," shouted another skeleton, clad in a ladies' riding frock and legging astride a horse of steel. "Any of us who catches one of the devil's herd will be granted a wish- rest, freedom, or anything else."

That was interesting, but- wait. That gave her an idea. "Do you know if catching one of the cows lets you wish to be independent of a ghost parent before aging out?"

"Yes, it certainly do!" The skeleton on the coal horse agreed. "Anything you want. Gonna be a rider?"

Might as well- it would at least be a little fun. "Know where I can get a ghost horse?"

"Ask the whistling wind!"

As the sun rose, the riders and herd faded out of view, then sound. Huh. The whistling wind.

After a few days of mindless wandering, she'd realized the cowboys (cow people? There was a girl, maybe) were having a laugh at her expense. "Ask the whistling wind," she grumbled, "I've just been talking to myself like a moron."

She kicked a rock only to find it was more solidly placed than she thought and winced. "Stupid cool-looking cowboys on stupid cool horses."

"Having boy troubles?"

Dani jumped and spun. Somehow, perhaps due to the sharp sounds of the storm brewing through long grass or the traffic from the highway a few hundred feet away, she hadn't noticed the woman sitting on the brown fencepost of the barbed wire fence.

The seemingly normal woman set off her ghost sense- in a big way. The way only Clockwork or Pandora did. Danielle took a step back. "Something like that. Sorry to disturb you, I'm just going to go."

She tilted her head, and Dani saw her eyes were bright red. The noise from the highway disappeared.

"But you've looked so hard for me," the ghost began gently, "I've heard you speak to me in every breeze for three nights. It was only now that you thought to address me during the day."

"But ghosts only come out during the night," Dani asked, "At least, outside of places with a ton of ecto. Right?"

The woman smiled, showing no teeth. "Indeed, dear girl- but I am the spirit of the Whistling Wind. I ride with those who charge the open plains, who sing to me in day and night. I am a spirit of the Wild Hunt- I don't follow all of your rules."

Wild Hunt. She racked her mind and swallowed when she realized she'd invoked one of the fae. Their rules were almost, but not exactly, the same as a ghost's. "Um. Whistling Wind of the Wild Hunt, I greet you," she said politely. Manners were everything with the fae.

"And I, you," she said. "What is your name?"

"Dani-" she began, only to cut herself off. At least that was only a nickname. "Everyone calls me Dani."

"Dani," she said, "a novel name for a girl. I'll take that from you if you make a deal with me," she warned.

"It's only a nickname, not my real one," she said in confusion. Didn't fae always want the real one?

The Whistling Wind grinned wolfishly. "I know. Someone related to you has upset another member of the Hunt. But if you give me that name and take a new one, you'll be off the hook and I'll have won that bet with Loptr."

She couldn't help but grin back, but steadied her face. "Um, are you sure it'll be a fair deal? I'm asking for a ghost horse, and to be one of the riders with the same wish if I catch a cow," she said, then quickly added, "but I don't want to be trapped like them, of course."

The ghost nodded solemnly. "Making you a Ghost Rider- that's easy enough. But with your freedom is the tricky part," she said. "What would you wish for, if you won?"

"Um. So do you know how ghosts have ghost parents until they're a few centuries old?"

"Yes," she confirmed, "Though it's been a very long time ago for me."

"Well, mine is kind of horrible and evil, so I want to be free of him. But I don't want to trade him for someone just as manipulative, which is hard because he doesn't fight fair."

"Ah," said the spirit. "A desire for freedom I can respect. Very well. Give me the name of Dani, which you'll never be able to use to refer to yourself again, and your service for the yearly Wild Hunt for 10 years. Do this, be bound by it, and I shall give you a fitting horse and make you a Rider without their curse, and allow you to make a wish should you succeed,"

"Our agreement cannot be broken or adjusted. Are we of an accord?"

Dani thought carefully. "Yes," she eventually agreed, "I, D-"

She couldn't say her name, and she didn't want to risk saying her full name. Dani just wouldn't come out, for some reason. "I, Phantom, agree."

"Then walk on your own legs due East until the sun rises- in either form. There, you will find your horse and your fellow riders. Good luck, Phantom."

She nodded, remembering at the last moment not to thank her. "Hopefully, I'll see you soon!"

Filled with hope, she started at a quick walk (it was best to be literal with the fae) east.

The hope lasted about two hours. The curiosity remained, however, as she trudged on at a steady pace. It was a good thing she was experienced with stealing Vlad's cash or food and filling up her large hiking bag and the pockets of her cargo pants; it meant she had plenty of easy-to-eat snacks and plenty of clean water and other drinks.

After four hours, she shifted into her ghost form to cool down- even in October, the heat was no joke. The sun set, and she yawned, exhausted.

"Pretty sky," she said to herself and, despite her pained legs, kept on.

At sunrise, she'd never been so tired- not even when she'd been destabilizing. Finally, she stopped and let herself sit, easing her cramped legs. Ellie dumped the remains of her water over her head and leaned back against a tree.

An hour or so later- it was hard to tell, as she'd been dozing- she was woken by her ghost sense, a sharp chill up her backbone. She opened one eye and saw, to her muted delight, a skeletal horse clad in what looked like medieval heavy armor. Its' eyes burned bright green, just like her own.

"Hey, big guy. Or girl. What's your name?"

She didn't expect an answer, and so was doubly surprised by the sudden influx of images and sounds that invaded her mind.

Charging onto a battlefield. Screams of horses and men alike. Arrows caught on armor plates, lance in the side. Shieldbreaker. Wraith of the battlefield, pestilence, venom of a snake, infected wound.

She gagged a little. "So that's a little bit long. How about just...Shieldbreaker? That's pretty cool, right?"

It huffed and nodded with the clanking of metal and harnesses. "Well, I'm-"

She thought for a moment. "You know, Phantom technically belongs to someone else, and I just sold my nickname. How about I be Wraith for now?"

It nodded again and patiently gnawed on some grass nearby.

Shieldbrraker sent her more mental images. Rest. War begins tonight. Campfire. The chase. Breaking of shields and battle lines.

"Sounds good. Wake me up at dark, please?"

The ghost horse flicked its bony tail in response, and she dozed off once more.

Her deal with Whistling Wind didn't include being automatically able to ride, she discovered the third time she fell from Shieldbreaker's back. Still, she climbed back on, and they chased after the so-called Devil's Herd, their steel hooves ringing loudly whenever they hit asphalt or stone.

The ride, she discovered, began at sunset and ended at dawn. Once the sun rose, the cattle were gone, and she and the other riders appeared in some sort of liminal space.

Her phone still showed October 28, 3 PM. It hadn't lost any charge, but it had lost all service. Over the next few days, she learned about her companions; some, like her, made deals to chase the herd. Others were oathbreakers or made deals with evil beings.

Slim- the talkative cowboy from the other night- introduced himself as hailing from the territory of Kansas, while Horace was from the nation of Texas. Highnoon- the woman in the riding dress- said she was from the California territory.

They hadn't been kidding when they said some of them were centuries old! The three ghosts gave her lessons in exchange for stories about what the world was like now.

Slim wanted to know about new guns, mostly, while Highnoon, who'd forgotten her name, wanted to know about everything from women's rights to the Temperance movement. Horace asked only for myths, tales, and legends- he was still as quiet as the first day, but like many of the Riders, wasn't hostile.

Most of them didn't care who she was or what she did- they wanted to catch the Devil's Herd, and as long as she didn't get in the way, they were fine with her.

It was impossible to tell how many days, weeks, or even months she'd spent away; sometimes the sun moved West to East instead, or there were two moons, and again- she had no way to communicate. She couldn't even judge by the state of her supplies, as she never became hungry or thirsty, even in human form.

Every night at sunset, they'd howl and scream as they charged after the herd, and every sunrise, nothing would happen in their dim world with eternally rolling storm bands.

Ellie talked to her new friends and Shieldbreaker, chased the herd, practiced, and chased the herd over and over. She thought many times about using the escape clause Whistling Wind had given her, but knew that would lead to breaking their deal.

And, likely, gaining the full curse of the riders.

So she rode every night, slowly growing a little faster, riding a little longer. And rode. And rode. And rode again.

Until one night, roughly a year or so after she came- it was hard to tell, as the little marks on Shieldbreaker's saddle didn't always stay there. At least a year and a half. Maybe longer.

It had been chance, pure and simple, or maybe fate, that caused the bull to trip- but trip it did, and she took the opportunity by the horns. Immediately, before she could shout a goodbye, or maybe a question, she was in the middle of a dry valley, a black horn still in her hand. To her relief, Shieldbreaker was under her as usual, though the warhorse was clearly confused.

And then it happened- a buzz on her phone. Just one vibration, then a flood as the device searched for data and updated.

She pulled it out- October 28th, same year, same time. But she was in Montana now. "What happened? Where are the others?"

"Chasing the herd," a voice she'd heard once said. She urged Shieldbreaker around and found herself face-to-face with Whistling Wind. "They'll remember you, and perhaps when they catch one, will find you as a friend. Or not. It depends on the wish."

"I almost forgot the wish," she said.

The spirit smiled. "I did not. Be free from your old ties," she said, and the part of her core attached inextricably to Vlad's broke off, becoming wholly her own. "Remember your promise, Rider of the eternal plains, and I will see you next year for the Wild Hunt."

Ellie laughed brightly. "I feel it! It's gone!"

"Ride like the wind, then, wherever you go. May the breeze always favor you, once-Dani."

"I will! It's Wraith, now, I think."

"I'll see you soon- or late. Time is such a tricky thing."

And she was gone, leaving Ellie with Shieldbreaker- now a large black horse- and an eternity being her own master in front of her.

(Image sources: here, here, here, from the Same Energy site)

#danny phantom #inthememetime #danny phantom au #cowgirl dani phantom #fae #deals with the fae #wild hunt references #ghost riders in the sky #ask game #ask answered #dani decides to be free of Vlad #and the Whistling Wind needs to win a bet #coincidence? i think not

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mask131 · 2 years ago

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Magical summer: Circe

CIRCE

Category : Greco-roman mythology

Circe is without a doubt the most famous witch and sorceress of all of Greek mythology (well maybe outside of Medea).

I) The Greek Circe

Circe’s great fame began with one of the texts that formed the literary foundation of Greek mythology: Homer’s Odyssey (8th century BCE). Very interestingly, in this original depiction of her Circe is not actually considered a human being, she is rather called a “goddess with human speech”. It was indeed the opinion of Greek mythology, and of many Greek authors surrounding Homer’s era, that Circe was actually a minor goddess, one of the “immortals” (though, as the “human speech” part indicates, unlike other gods she speaks, live, behave and seems like a regular human) – it is only later, in ulterior Greek works and in Roman mythology, that Circe was devolved into becoming a human sorceress, a mortal witch. Homer also insisted on how pretty she was, and on how she had very “lovely hair”.

In The Odyssey, Circe is depicted as the mistress and ruler of a small island of Aeaea, where she lives in a building alternatively called her mansion/palace, and her temple. Assisted by all-female servants, she has around her temple-palace a bunch of wild animals acting as pets: mountain lions and mountain wolves that are actually as docile as lambs. In truth, these animals aren’t really animals: they are human beings, more precisely human men, that Circe turned into animals. It is her fancy and “game” to turn into beasts all men that arrive on her island. When Odysseus’ crew arrives on the island, those sent to explore the island’s woods hear the beautiful singing of Circe and discover her palace. She invites them inside to a feast, offering them food. But what the men ignore is that she places a magical poison in the food she gives men – once ingested, she just has to take a wand, touch them with it while reciting some incantations, and they turn into beasts. This time, into pigs. You see, this is actually Circe’s magic, what Homer calls in Greek “polypharmakos”. “Pharmakos” was an ancient Greek word equivalent to the English “drug”, as in “pharmakos” designates both a healing medicine and a deadly poison (the Greeks had already discovered that often healing products could turn deadly on heavy doses, or that deadly products on small doses could improve health – as a result they gathered all those products under one category, the “pharmakos”). But the “pharmakos” also meant by extension all sorts of magical concoctions, brews and philters that could both do harm or improve one’s condition – aka magic potions. Circe’s magic and enchantment relies greatly and mostly on her using potions and poisons to enact her spells.

In fact, when Odysseus goes to confront her, the god Hermes appears before him and gives him the way to beat the witch-goddess: he needs to ingest a special herb (a mysterious plant called the “moly”) before eating what Circe gives him – this herb will counter the effect of the sorceress’ poison. And indeed – no matter how much she touches Odysseus with her wand, she cannot actually turn him into anything. After he threatens her with his sword, she tries to seduce him and to lure him into her bed for… some pleasures. But he refuses out of two things – one, he knows that sorceress and goddess can actually weaken and ravish men’s life-force through sex, it is a common tactic to make men impotent and slave to the female ; second, he only agrees to go along with her if she makes a solemn swear, an “oath of the immortals” to not harm him or his men in any way. Only after this oath is struck can he actually accept Circe’s charms, and force her to restore his men to normal (though Odysseus never asks her to restore the other animals of the island).

Once this little incident is over with, Circe actually turns out to be a great helper to Odysseus and his crew – she lets them stay on her island for a whole year, giving them all the comfort, food and wine they want (it is also highly suggested that she and Odysseus become lovers) ; when they say they need to go she agrees but first tells them how to find their road home (by going into the Underworld), and when they return from Hades’ realm she studies the map they found there and warns them about the different sea dangers awaiting and how to get out of them. Because it is the other main “power” of Circe: her great knowledge. She knows how to enter and exit the Underworld, she knows who you have to ask for to solve your problem, she knows everything about the monsters and dangers of the sea and how to avoid them… Knowledge is power and info is magic, you know?

Another very important source of info about the Greek version of Circe is a 3rd century BC epic poem known as the “Argonautica”, written by a certain Apollonius, and telling the story of another famous group of sea-sailing heroes, the Argonauts.

This poem takes the same genealogy that Homer mentioned, making Circe the daughter of Helios, the god of the sun, and Perse, one of the Oceanids (nymphs of the ocean) – the poem also adds that Circe has a brother, who is the mortal king Aeëtes (keeper of the Golden Fleece, father of Medea the other great witch of mythology), and a sister, Pasiphaë, wife of Minos and the queen famous for birthing the Minotaur. The poem heavily insists on her relationship with her father the Sun – it claims that she arrived to the island she ruled today thanks to her father, who took her on his flaming chariot and placed her on Aeaea (here said to be south of Elba) ; and it adds that “like all descendants of Helios”, she has golden eyes able to shoot out rays of light. In the poem, her niece Medea and her lover Jason visit her after committing a murder, so that she could purify them from the moral and religious soiling caused by this crime. The couple does not actually tell her who they murdered or why, they just ask her help for a murder and she agrees to purify them – but she is not fooled and actually seems to know somehow who their victim was (Medea’s own brother), greatly disapproving of this action. She still decides to purify them – she does so by slitting the throat of a baby pig and letting its blood drip on the murderous couple. Due to not approving or liking the murder, she orders them to leave her island immediately and never return, because Medea is still the murder of her brother (and so of Circe’s nephew) – but due to having pity for Medea, she also adds that she won’t be an obstacle on their way and won’t try to take any kind of revenge or punishment on them. The poem mentions the animal inhabiting the island of Circe, though it does not specify that they used to be humans – in fact, the description is very weird… it says that they are basically entities between wild animals and human beings, not fully either and yet not truly both, just looking like a bizarre medley of various human and animal limbs.

There is a long tradition talking about the “sons of Odysseus and Circe”. Another fundamental text of Greek mythology, Hesiod’ Theogony (8th century BCE), mentions that from the love between Circe and Odysseus were born three sons: Agrius, Latinus (who would rule over the Latins) and Telegonus (who would rule over the Etruscans). Another epic poem, called the “Telegony” actually covered this story of Circe’s children: in it, Telegonus, wishing to know who his absent and missing father was, asked his mother for his name, and upon learning it sailed to Odysseus’ island-kingdom of Ithaca with a poisonous spear (gift of his mother). Arriving on the island and hearing that Odysseus is absent, due to being at war, Telegonus starts ravaging and destroying the kingdom – Odysseus returns to protect his land and fight Telegonus in battle, though both ignore each other’s identity. Telegonus kills Odysseus before learning who he truly was, and he brings back the corpse of his dead father to Aeaea, taking with him Penelope (Odysseus’ wife) and Telemachus (Odysseus’ son) : after burying Odysseus, Circe made Telegonus, Penelope and Telemachus immortals – then she married Telemachus, and Penelope married Telegonus, and they all lived together. At least… this is one possible version of the story. You see, the “Telegony” is actually a lost poem so we only have second-hand accounts and ancient recaps to trust, and another retelling of the story gives a very different ending: Circe, upon seeing Odysseus corpse, uses her magical herbs and potions to bring him back to life. Odysseus marries his son Telemachus to Circe’s daughter, Cassiphone. But after a quarrel, Telemachus kills Circe by accident, and Cassiphone has to kill him to avenge her mother – and it ends with Odysseus dying of grief.

As you can note by the fact Circe is depicted dying – by this point, Circe had already begun transitioning from an immortal goddess to a mortal witch.

II) The Roman Circe

If the Greeks loved Circe, so did the Romans. Circe’s legends and myths got buffed up a LOT by Latin writers – but unlike the Ancient Greeks, the Romans perceived Circe much more as a semi-divine witch, a mortal sorceress.

When Ovid decided to transliterate and Romanize numerous Greek myths, in his work “Metamorphoses”, he added a brand-new legend about Circe. In this story, Circe falls in love with a sea god named Glaucus, but he is in turn in love with a beautiful woman named Scylla. Scylla spurns and rejects Glaucus’ love, so he comes to Circe’s domain asking for her magical help to make Scylla fall in love with him (unaware of Circe’s love). The jealous sorceress decided to punish her rival – and so she created a terrible potion that she poured in the water in which Scylla was about to take her bath. When the poisonous water touched the naked woman, it turned her into an atrocious and horrible monster (the same monster described in Homer’s Odyssey).

Ovid also added another tale of Circe and transformations: in it, Circe, as she was picking up herbs for her potions in the woods, met a man who was hunting boars. She fell in love with him – trouble is that this man was the king of Latium, a man named Picus, and he was already married to a nymph named Canens. As a result he refused Circe’s love and rejected her attempts at seducing him. Furious, Circe turned Picus into the very first woodpecker.

The story of Picus was actually carried over from an early source: before Ovid wrote his Metamorphoses in the 1st century of our era, another Latin writer, Virgil, had already talked about it in his epic poem, “The Aeneid”, a Latin sequel to Homer’s “Odyssey” supposed to explain the origin of the Roman people. In this story, as the hero Aeneas travels through the seas from Greece to Italy, he careful avoids the island of Circe, knowing too well the dangers awaiting him there, but he hears from far away the cries of the numerous men she turned into animals : lions and boars and bears and wolves…

It is quite interesting to see Circe’s evolution throughout history, starting out as a powerful immortal sorceress with helping powers and whose all “turning men into animals” seems to be more a sort of test to prove people’s worth… and ending up as a petty, men-obsessed witch that turn people into monsters and beasts left and right.

- - -

Circe had a HUGE success in artistic and philosophical works even beyond Antiquity. From Middle-Ages and the Renaissance up to today, Circe's story and legends are still heavily interpreted, reinterpreted, debated and talked about. Odyssey' legend about her turning Odysseus' crew into pigs has notably been heavily debated. Some saw in this the symbol of a female dominance asserted by reducing men into beasts ; others saw a metaphor for the dangers of drunkness or drug-taking ; others proposed a reverse interpretation where Circe was trying to "gift" them and "help" them by reducing them to carefree beasts with very simple lifes, far away from the difficulties and troubles of a human life... There are huge talks of the idea of "reason", in that Circe turning men into beasts can be seen as her taking away all "reason" through magic, because a man without reason is a beast ; many authors liked to imagine parodies, satires and comical pieces where the transformed men compare their human life and current condition, sometimes ending with the victims of Circe begging not to be turned back into humans. But reverse takes exist depicting the horrors of being a human stuck into an animal's body) ; and of course there was also a HUGE talk about the sexual undertext of it all. Circe is a seducer and charmer, who first tempts Odysseus' men with food and wine (gluttony) and then tempts Odysseus with sex (lust) ; and there are heavy talks as to whether Circe is a figure of the female power over men, of the powerful and dominating woman, or if she is a symbol of the "dangers and evils" of a woman... There is a pretty common consensus that the men being turned into beasts aren't just turned into animals by magic but also by their passion ; or that them becoming beasts is just revealing their true nature: for example a tradition starting with Niccolo Macchiaveli's unfinished poem "The Golden Ass" claims that each different animals corresponds to the main traits of Circe's victims. Those turned into lions were particularly brave, those turned into bears were violent brutes, those turned into wolves were always dissatisfied and frustrated in life, etc...

#magical summer #witch #legend #myth #greek mythology #circe #goddess #greek #magic #transformation #roman mythology

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Prompt- Genderswap for male!yanli and fem!wwx? Or a fic where nmj adopts wax as playmate for nhs, except its after the war with the wens and they're adults who didn't agree to this

The morning:

Some people – stupid, ignorant, blissful people – thought that Nie Huaisang’s elder brother had no sense of humor. Those people were fools, obviously, and below Nie Huaisang’s notice, but on the other hand those people also didn’t have to actually deal with the man on a regular basis and therefore lived what was probably a much happier life.

Take today.

Nie Huaisang got up a mere half-hour past time, wobbled in the general direction of the training field and then took advantage of a lapse in his attendant’s attention to quickly duck into a hidden door way to hurry back to his room to get an extra hour of sleep before anyone found him. After that, he’d spent some time on the roof, painting; he’d fed his birds; he’d leisurely had lunch…

At that point, he’d realized that his brother was unexpected not home, and that worried him.

He might not do much, including paperwork, but he did have a general sense of when there were night-hunts going on, and when emergencies came up, and neither was applicable at the moment. It wasn’t time for a visit with either of his brother’s sworn brothers, and no one seemed especially tense the way they usually did when Nie Mingjue left the Unclean Realm for too long…

Trouble was brewing.

Dinner time:

Nie Mingjue strode in, and he was grinning the grin.

The one that meant trouble, and not of the easy you-need-to-practice-your-saber type that Nie Huaisang knew how to avoid.

No, this was the one that Nie Huaisang was most afraid of: the shit-eating-I’m-sect-leader-and-you-can’t-stop-me grin that spelled trouble for anyone who got in Nie Mingjue’s way.

“Oh no,” Nie Huaisang said immediately upon seeing it, especially since all the retainers immediately fled and it didn’t seem to bother Nie Mingjue in the slightest, which meant Nie Huaisang was, in fact, the target of the grin.

“So,” Nie Mingjue said, and he almost managed to make it sound conversational. “You remember how we agreed that you’d properly practice your saber at least three times a week if I got you a playmate?”

Nie Huaisang’s eye twitched. “…when I was five, yes.”

He didn’t think he liked the way this was going at all.

“Well, I’m finally delivering.”

Nope, he didn’t like this.

“I was five, da-ge!” he protested. “Five! I didn’t know what I was saying!”

Nie Mingjue arched his eyebrows. “Are you breaking your promise?”

If there was one thing you didn’t do in the Nie sect, it was break your sworn oath, and Nie Huaisang, young and dumb and more than a little lonely, had in fact made a solemn promise.

Nie Huaisang might be a failure of a Nie in many ways, his barely-used saber being first and foremost among them, but even he got a superstitious shiver of dread at the thought of not keeping his word.

“…fuck,” he said.

This had better be a damn good playmate, though, or else he was totally refusing to acknowledge it. If Nie Mingjue’s supposed delivery wasn’t up to par, Nie Huaisang was within his rights not to accept.

“I got you Wei Wuxian,” Nie Mingjue announced.

“Fuck!”

---

Three days earlier:

“You really need to be kinder to Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao said, strumming the strings of the guqin idly. “All your harsh words aren’t going to make him any more likely to practice his saber.”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “I don’t suppose you have any better suggestions.”

“Well…why don’t you try trading with him? You could offer him something he wants if he’d practice more.”

“Trade?” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Trading with him hasn’t worked since he was –”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #jin guangyao my fic #my fics #crackfic #Anonymous

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soybeantree · 4 years ago

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pairing: do kyungsoo x reader genre/warning: spoopy fluff word count: 1.7k description: thanks to bridgerton we all are back into our regency era feels usually preserved for late night bbc reruns or jane austen binges. here’s a little kyungsoo in her majesty’s finest. a/n: september installment of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is gone’ series.

Beware the darkest corners of the ballroom for within them lurks the Spinster’s Doom. The gossip mongers say he is the spirit of a spurned suitor come to have his revenge on whichever lonely woman wanders into his clutches. He invites them in with a sweet smile and the promise of affection and attention. They place their hand in his, he whirls them onto the dance floor, and they are never seen again. He feeds upon their souls, so that he may continue his vile existence.

The salacious tale resurfaces again and again in polite circles, but everyone is quick to say they find it folly and laugh it away. Yet in recent years, you have noticed that ballrooms have been remodeled. The grand square spaces have become round. When you have commented on this change in your polite circles, everyone agrees it only makes sense for a ball to occur in a round room; otherwise, they would be called a square. The comment is inevitably followed by more laughter.

You wish he would whisk you away from the never ending balls. You are entering your third season, and if your mother continues to ignore the obvious, next year you will have your fourth. Rather than anger or irritation, you feel pity for your mother. She has tried ever so hard to find you a match, but doom would have been the outcome no matter how large your dowry or how good your family connections. You ensured that when you were little.

Your mother calls you special. Most everyone else calls you either a freak, demon possessed, or, if they are being polite, odd. You are simply yourself. While you have been born with a skill unique to yourself, the same can be said of most everyone. Your skill, unfortunately, happens to unnerve most everyone.

Standing at the back of a yet square ballroom, you inch closer to the darkest corner and further from the young cad who continues to use his height to stare down the dresses of each lady with whom he dances. The images loop within his mind which means they loop within yours. The greater the distance between you and him, the weaker the images become. However, in such a small space it is impossible to be far enough from everyone to escape all their thoughts. Closing your eyes, you rub at your temple and the brewing headache. By nights end, it will be fierce enough to bring tears.

Contrary to the whispers, you hate spying on others thoughts. Your thoughts are enough for you and sometimes too much. You have no need for everyone else’s thoughts. Perhaps, if drama was more to your liking, the skill would be more entertaining, but you much prefer mystery.

Reaching the darkest corner, you breathe a sigh of relief as sweet emptiness fills your mind. “I was wondering if you would make an appearance tonight.” You whisper to the Spinster’s Doom.

“I have sworn a solemn oath.” He responds materializing beside you.

While he rarely smiles, his face is more than capable of enticing a young woman to take his hand. With dark brooding eyes which rival any romance novel rake’s and lips so plush one would spend a fortune merely to know their touch, he could have any woman with a raise of his brow. Despite his features and his fearsome reputation, Kyungsoo would never whisk anyone away to feast on their soul. He is also no spirit bent on vengeance for lack of love. You are uncertain what he is but are quite certain he could have had the love of anyone he chose.

You met Kyungsoo during your first season, at your first ball. You had begged your mother during the weeks preceding to allow you to stay at home. Your arguments about your oddity and your belief that no one would show interest in you fell on deaf ears. She had already allowed you to delay your debut for two years. You would go to the ball, and you would dazzle every man, and at the end of the season, you would have a husband. Your mother is overly hopeful.

As the minutes ticked to midnight, you had yet to receive a request for a dance, but you had heard the thoughts of every young man who dared to enter your vicinity. They supported your beliefs rather than your mothers. Some had been downright malicious, but you had experienced that reaction before and paid little attention to it. A mistake which you have since remedied. Tired of the constant stream of foreign thoughts and with a headache brewing, you wandered from the ballroom to the solitude of the gardens.

The thoughts preceded the men. They had been drinking. Drunk thoughts are jumbled and, depending on the level of intoxication, can be indecipherable. These thoughts were indecipherable. As the men drew closer, you had decided it best to return to the ballroom.

Unfortunately, the way back which you chose led straight to them. Their indecipherable thoughts became vulgar words. You lowered your head and attempted to push past them, but they pushed you back. Their thoughts cleared into a single idea. Fear iced your veins, freezing you to the spot. They advanced, the image in their mind pressing down upon you. Then it was gone.

You blinked. The men were still there. They were still approaching. You should have still heard their thoughts, but the only thoughts in your head were your own. You blinked again, and he was there, standing between you and them. They blinked as well; their glazed eyes slow to focus.

“It would be best for all if you left.” His deep voice reverberated through your chest, cracking the ice. The men laughed. Their bravado returned as their confusion dissipated. They were three to his one. They advanced, and Kyungsoo nodded, squaring his shoulders.

The middle one came first. Kyungsoo grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and raised it until it snapped. The man howled, but Kyungsoo threw him aside as the next assailant raced forward. He ducked beneath the man’s swing and landed a punch to his gut. As the man doubled over, he whirled and struck out with his foot, hitting the man’s temple. He toppled. The third man eyed his fallen companions before racing away.

As quickly as he had appeared, Kyungsoo was gone. After your encounter, you began to hear the tales of the Spinster’s Doom. Your assailants swore they had been injured saving you from him. You rolled your eyes at the gossip and, at each ensuing ball, would search for him. He was easy to find. After all, you simply had to find the one spot where you only heard your thoughts.

“Are there many young ladies in danger tonight?” You ask.

While your knowledge of Kyungsoo remains small despite the growing number of interactions, you are certain of a few things. He is not as others suggest. Rather he is a protector of the overlooked and abused, ready to defend at a moment’s notice.

“You always seem to find danger.”

You give a most unladylike snort and are grateful your mother is on the other side of the room.

“Rather I think danger finds me.” You raise a brow and quirk your lips, but he maintains his silence without sparing you a glance. “Even so, if no one is presently in danger, I find myself without a partner for the coming dance.”

“Perhaps, because you have secluded yourself in a dark corner far from the room’s occupants.” He continues to stare ahead, but you catch the slight lift at the corner of his mouth.

“Perhaps, because there is no suitable partner amongst the room’s occupants.”

“If that is so, why complain about the lack of a partner?” He flicks his gaze to you but quickly returns it to the room.

You open your mouth and close it. “Why do I even bother?” You huff, crossing your arms and slumping against the wall. Even across the room, your mother catches your display. One glance has you straightening your back and folding your hands at your waist. Beside you Kyungsoo licks his lips, and you know he is only doing it to hide a smile. “May I at least stay here? The thoughts, tonight, are particularly aggressive.”

He gives you his full attention for a moment. Your mouth goes dry as you stare into the dark depths of his eyes. Your fingers twitch against one another as temptation urges them to reach out and cup his face. “Nothing will come if you stay with me.”

Lowering your head, you sigh. Your fingers go cold as you squeeze them. “I know.” You whisper. Clearing your throat, you raise your eyes and thrust your shoulders back. “But still, I would much prefer spending the evening around someone who bears no hostility towards me.”

“Someone will come along one day.” His voice is soft, his words more a wish than a promise.

“I fear you are wrong.” You swallow the growing lump in your throat and force your eyes to remain dry. “But I refuse to let such fear cower me. Besides, I think I have found an alternative to life as a reviled spinster.” You smile.

“And that would be?” He encourages the change in subject.

“I think I shall follow your example and become a protector. It would be a good use for my unique skill.”

He blinks at you before shaking his head with a sigh. “I feel as if my assignment is becoming more difficult.”

“Come now.” You chuckle, swaying in your skirts as your hands slip behind your back. “Have I asked for your assistance? No. I will ensure that I am fully capable of the roll before I assume it, and besides, are you even able to help outside of balls?”

He rolls his eyes, and you chuckle once more.

“However, if you are able to appear outside of balls, I would accept training with fisticuffs. I feel as if I will need it in this line of work.”

He sighs. “I should have asked you to dance.” The words are a whisper, but you hear them all the same.

#hmw #kyungsoo #d.o.#exo #kyungsoo drabble #exo drabble #kyungsoo collection #exo fanfiction #kyungsoo fanfiction

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electricfeelss · 8 years ago

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enjoying a nice brew on this beautiful day

#beer #solemn oath #solemn oath brewery #brew

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turkleader · 5 years ago

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Drinks and Old Rumors

Part 1 of 7 Written for FFVII Halloween Week 2019.

Prompt: October 26th - Scary Stories [ghost stories, old legends, tales of the supernatural, creepypasta]

Summary: It's Halloween week and the Turks are shooting the shit at 7th Heaven when an old rumor about Tseng rises from its uneasy grave.

Description: This is the first piece in a multi-part story that follows Tseng (and those he encounters) over the course of seven days. I took inspiration mostly from the "old legends" and "tales of the supernatural" parts of this prompt, but tried to make it a more lighthearted experience to start the week off with. I hope you enjoy this little piece, and happy Samhain and Halloween to all who celebrate!

👻

A note before we begin: In case anyone is unfamiliar with the official names given to the Before Crisis Turks, I’ve included them here at the beginning of the story for reference. I hope this helps!

Rod (Male) - Alvis Crisis Gun (Female) - Emma (Elena’s older sister) Two Guns (Male) - Ruluf Shotgun (Female) - Freyra Martial Arts (Male) - Maur

Enjoy the story!

“I bet you Elena could take your ass three out of five times, at least, easy.”

The redhead scoffed, laughing. “Yo, I ain't about t'take a bet like that.”

“Come on!” the light-haired brunette goaded. Her thick ponytail almost fell into her drink as she leaned forward across the counter of the 7th Heaven bar, grinning past comrades new and old. “Why not?”

“Yeah,” Elena chimed in, a cunning smirk spreading across her face as she repositioned to face Reno. “Why not?”

“Rigged,” a dark-haired man with sharp bangs muttered.

The bald man beside him nodded.

“Oh, you're absolutely no fun, Ruluf!” the ponytailed woman pouted. “And neither are you, Rude!”

“I mean, it doesn't make sense for him to take an unfair bet, Freyra,” a large, well-built man with short brown hair spoke up.

“There it is,” Ruluf said, pointing at Maur.

“Since when does the Reno of the Turks turn down a challenge?!” Freyra exclaimed, jaw slack and brow raised in an attractive taunt.

“Oh, it's a challenge now?” Reno shot back. “An' who's footing the bill if I win?”

“If...” Rude emphasized quietly.

Ruluf sighed and laid his face down on the bar.

“Sounds like Reno's buying me my next drink if he knows what's good for him,” Elena said, her expression smug.

“And he shouldn't be the only one,” Freyra declared with a giggle, tossing back her drink.

“I'm beginnin' t'remember why I don't make bets with you, yo,” Reno said, flipping off Elena and Freyra as he turned away to flag down the bartender.

“Don't put your mouth where you're not ready to put your gil,” Freyra winked.

“Wait, you guys are serious?” the bartender interrupted, setting down another drink for the ladies. Her intense ruby eyes flickered between Freyra and Elena as she hurriedly lifted a hand in apology. “No offense meant, Elena, but I didn't know you had that kind of reputation in the Turks.”

Elena opened her mouth to respond but a new arrival cut her off.

“Are we discussing our win-loss records?”

A blonde woman with a stunning resemblance to Elena took a seat at the bar, giving Tifa a knowing smile as she motioned for her regular.

“Emma!” a scattered chorus rang out from the gathered Turks.

“Big sis!” Elena exclaimed with warmer surprise than she used to bear her elder sibling.

“Hey guys. Hey sis,” Emma greeted as Tifa playfully rolled her eyes and went to grab her drink. “So? What mischief are we getting up to tonight?”

“Trading drinks for bets,” Maur supplied with a wave, a shrug, and a smile.

“So is Ruluf winning or losing?” Emma asked with a slight smile, thanking Tifa for her drink and using the fresh glass to indicate the dual gunner with his face planted against the countertop.

“Losing,” Tifa put in with a half-amused, half-exasperated smile.

“How was I supposed to know the rookie had a black belt or whatever and was hand-raised by Tseng?!”

“Really?!” Tifa exclaimed, looking at Elena with a new respect.

“An' this is why our slumdog lost almost every bet he took,” Reno declared and stole Ruluf's drink, tossing back a swig.

“You really should know better than to underestimate a Turk,” Freyra chipped in as Rude nodded.

“Especially my sister,” Emma joined the discussion, shaking her head.

“You'd think he'd get the hint after betting against me five times.” Elena shot a withering glare at Ruluf.

“...wait,” Emma began.

“Yep!” Reno added brightly, finishing off Ruluf's drink. “He finally made the right choice the sixth time!”

Ruluf lifted his head, forehead and nose red from where they'd pressed against the counter. “Again, how was I supposed to know?!” he demanded, irritated.

“Tseng wasn't the only one looking out for her,” Rude said.

“She had our undivided attention after you all went dark.” Reno puffed out his chest, looking proud.

“Hey, I aced all my intro and advanced training, and all my exams but one, and that was without your help!” Elena reminded, flushing at the attention despite her best efforts.

“Yeah, well— I don't think anyone'll question yer commitment to seeing the mission through t'the end these days,” Reno said. His voice sounded strange, but every member of the Turks—retired and active—knew what he meant.

A thick silence settled upon the group.

Concerned stares glanced their way. Hushed voices began to brew between the patrons. They didn't need to hear the conversations to know what was being said— 'Hellhounds of Shinra. Death dealers. Murderers.'

Some people had begun to forgive them.

...but it was all too soon to forget.

“Alright Em,” Freyra spoke up at last, pushing past the heaviness that had pulled them each into their own familiar hell. “Who's the one Turk you wouldn't want to go up against?”

Emma didn't hesitate.

“Tseng,” she said.

“Aw, c'mon Em!” Reno groaned.

“What!” she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard above the sudden influx of bar patrons coming in after the dinner hour. “Would any of you want to fight him?”

“It's no fun choosing the immortal,” Ruluf said, nodding his thanks to Barret's daughter as she brought him a refill on his drink while Tifa was busy with the new crowd.

“Immortal?” Marlene asked, brown eyes sparkling with curiosity as she paused in the middle of taking away the Turks' empty glasses.

“Don't tease Marlene like that,” Elena chastised.

“It's not that much of a stretch,” Reno said, shrugging. “He should've been dead how many times?”

“For all we knew... he was dead—dead more times than any person has the right to come back from,” Ruluf stated, ire lost from his voice.

“Maybe it's true then,” Freyra confided, eyes shining.

“Oh boy,” Elena sighed.

“Not this again, Frey,” Maur protested gently.

The hunter folded her arms and leaned across the bar counter, a mischievous curve to her lips as she beckoned Marlene into her confidence.

“There's an old, old rumor that Tseng made a deal with Death—a deal Death couldn't refuse,” Freyra whispered ominously.

“Yeah, the same one Veld did,” Reno scoffed.

“I heard it happened before he joined Shinra,” Emma remarked. “That he swore an oath to one of Wutai's deities so he could cross the ocean to get to Midgar.”

“And that's why he can't die?” Marlene inquired, brows furrowed as she puzzled over each suggestion, empty glasses forgotten.

“It's all just rumors and supposition,” Maur assured the young girl, but even he sounded doubtful.

“Isn't he able to pull that shit off 'cause of the Full Cure materia Veld gave him back when he was a rookie?” Ruluf questioned.

“Nah, there were times he didn't get the chance to use it and still survived,” Reno dismissed.

“The Temple,” Rude clarified, tone solemn.

“Shit,” Ruluf cursed under his breath. “Forgot about that.”

Elena bit her lip and suddenly grew very interested in her drink.

“It's not all that unusual for the Turks to have those experiences though,” Emma noted, trying to steer the conversation away from the sensitive topic. “Remember when Alvis fell into a coma only to wake up three years later?”

“Yeah, and Freyra almost put him back into it when she nearly hugged him to death,” Reno taunted.

“You're just mad 'cause I got to mess with him before you did,” she retorted, sticking out her tongue at him.

“I think it was the one-two punch of Cissnei and then you right afterwards that really got him,” Emma observed, trying to suppress a smile.

“What about Vincent?” Marlene suggested, catching the group's attention. “He used to be a Turk. My dad told me when they found him he had been asleep for decades. And Cloud says because of the experiments that were done to him that he might never grow old or die.”

“Shit,” Ruluf laughed, more out of surprise than humor.

Rude cracked a small smile. “Someone's got us all figured out.”

Marlene wasn't deterred.

“Did they do experiments on Tseng, too?” she asked. “Is that why you guys keep coming up with stories to cover up the truth?”

“S'far as I know, he's a hundred percent real human being, untampered,” Reno said.

“Tseng was out for a while too after what happened in the Temple,” Elena said, finally finding her voice again.

“That wouldn't explain everything that he'd miraculously survived before then,” Maur said.

“A'ight, Rude,” Reno interrupted, turning to his partner. “This might be a long shot, but d'ya think it might be his other materia that's gotten him through all that shit?”

“What materia?” Maur asked, confused but curious.

“Ohhh we're getting into those goodies now?!” Freyra exclaimed. “I thought that was just talk!”

“Nah, it's real,” Reno confirmed. “At least, the materia is. I dunno if what they say about it and Tseng's true though.”

“What materia?” Maur repeated. “This is the first I've heard of it.”

“Tseng wields an Enemy Skill materia,” Rude said.

“Mastered,” Reno revealed.

“Holy...!” Maur uttered.

“Yep, there it is!” Freyra exclaimed.

“What the shit?” Ruluf scoffed. “First of all, how is that possible? Don't some of the enemy abilities you need to learn to master that materia kill the person upon casting?”

“Yep,” Reno said.

“Then it's not possible,” Ruluf decided.

“...unless he's ~immortal~,” Freyra sang from her end of the bar, grinning.

“Actually, there is an enemy skill that can be gained through use of the Manipulate materia that prevents Death magic from having any effect on the user,” Maur informed. “Perhaps this is how he's been able to master the materia and escape from so many fatal situations?”

“Maur!” Freyra shouted. “You are seriously the worst! Stop ruining my fun with your facts!”

“A mastered Enemy Skill would go a long way in helping someone to stay alive,” Emma considered.

“Maybe the bastard's just lucky,” Ruluf declared and took a long swig from his glass.

“Is this someone I should know about?” a new voice suddenly broke through the group's discussion.

Turning, they found the devil himself had arrived, amusement warming his grey gaze as he joined them. But before anyone could respond, Marlene planted a hand on the counter and stared the Turk down.

“Are you an immortal?” she asked him matter-of-factly.

Tseng raised a brow as his Turks looked between him and his interrogator.

“Not that I'm aware of,” he answered, approaching the bar.

“So you didn't make any blood oaths to any demons or gods?” Marlene pressed.

The warmth in his eyes flickered. The beginnings of a smile edged across the corner of his lips, but there was no joy in it.

“No, though sometimes it feels that way,” he confessed.

Marlene nodded, considering his answers. She lifted a finger.

“One more question,” she said.

The gathered Turks held their breaths, waiting.

“Do you guys wanna join our Halloween movie marathon night tomorrow?”

The disappointment was explosive.

Tseng laughed as his coworkers fell into grumbled and mirthful exclamations.

Marlene threw them a look, and then continued as though nothing had interrupted her. “We're hosting one all day tomorrow here in 7th Heaven, and I think you guys should come. It'll be fun!”

Tseng inclined his head in gratitude, a true smile crossing his features.

“I have a few things to handle for work tomorrow, but I will try to be there,” he said.

“I'm sure you'll make it,” Marlene said and promptly headed into the kitchen.

Tseng looked after her before turning away, shaking his head softly.

“Yo, bossman! You're late so you're buying the next round!” Reno shouted.

“Whoohoo! Drinks on Tseng!” Freyra cheered.

“To the immortal, lying bastard!” Ruluf joined in.

“Cheers!” the Turks toasted him.

[End]

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lincolncollection · 6 years ago

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Lincoln’s First Inauguration, March 4, 1861

On March 4, 1861, Abraham Lincoln was inaugurated as the 16th President of the United States. The occasion followed the traditionally established pattern, with the outgoing president, James Buchanan, and Lincoln riding in an open carriage down Pennsylvania Avenue from Willard’s Hotel to the Capitol. But for this ride there was a large military presence along the route, including sharpshooters on the roofs, to prevent threatened attacks on the president-elect. Mounted soldiers along the route can be seen in this illustration from the March 16th issue of Harper’s Weekly.

When the presidential party reached the Capitol, they went first to the Senate chamber, where the new vice president, Hannibal Hamlin, was sworn in. Harper’s Weekly pictured Lincoln and Buchanan entering the Senate chamber to witness the swearing in.

Finally, the presidential party proceeded to the Capitol’s east front for Lincoln’s swearing in. A crowd had been gathering all day on the Capitol grounds, as these photographs taken that day show. One photograph shows people clustering in the area in front of the speaker’s stand that had been built on the Capitol steps. The other shows the crowd and speaker’s stand from a greater distance, with the scaffolding and crane of the unfinished Capitol dome looming above.

By the time Lincoln appeared, approximately 25,000 people had gathered to witness the inauguration. Harper’s Weekly published this illustration of “The Inauguration of Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States, at the Capitol…” “from a drawing made on the spot.”

A photograph of the scene verifies that the Harper’s artist was not exaggerating.

Lincoln arrived on the speaker’s platform wearing a new silk hat and carrying a gold-headed cane. When he could find no place to set his hat as he prepared to deliver his inaugural address, Lincoln’s long-time rival Sen. Stephen Douglas held it for him. Lincoln then put on his reading glasses, “secured his manuscript” with the cane, and began his address. Contemporary accounts indicated that this is the cane he carried that day.

Lincoln’s inaugural address was described by some at the time as being a reasoned and non-coercive statement toward secessionists, by others as an “iron hand in a velvet glove,” and by others as a declaration of war against the South.

The inauguration ceremony concluded with Chief Justice Roger Taney administering the oath of office in which Lincoln swore to “preserve, protect and defend the Constitution.” This postcard illustration shows the scene as imagined by Raphael Tuck & Sons of London, England.

The solemnity of the inauguration was followed that evening by an inaugural ball. This illustration from Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper for March 23, 1861, shows the scale and glamour of the event, which was held in a “hall especially erected for the occasion adjoining City Hall, Washington, D.C.” It does not, however, show President Lincoln in attendance, though he did attend. He stayed until midnight before retiring, exhausted, knowing that he would soon have to deal with the supply crisis brewing at Fort Sumter.

#abraham lincoln #abrahamlincoln #inauguration #first inaugural

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chicagobeerpass · 2 years ago

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Chicago Beer Pass: 2 Percent

youtube

Welcome to the Chicago Beer Pass: Your ticket to all the great beer events happening in and around Chicago.

On this episode of Chicago Beer Pass, Brad Chmielewski and Nik White are opening a crazy low ABV beer from Off Color Brewing. Beerathon from Off Color Brewing is a 2.6% ABV beer that has salt and a complex blend of watermelon rind wafting from the slightly pink-hued ale. This is a great beer to have at lunch or even just hanging out in the sun; refreshing and salt helps with rehydration right?

As the guys knock back a couple low ABV beers, they talk about trips to Solemn Oath Brewing, Hopewell and the newly opened Good Times Brewery. Summer is now in full swing and there are a lot of events happening all the time; enjoy the summer and be sure to support the local beer scene.

Having issues listening to the audio? Try the MP3 (53.8MB) or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes!

#audio #podcast #beer #beer podcast #beer guys #beer tasting #Brad Chmielewski #nik white #events #Beer Review #Off Color Brewing #good times #solemn oath brewing #solemn oath #salt #watermelon #podcasting #weekly podcast

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adilynia-kiden · 6 years ago

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The Trinity Wedding: Part 6

An enormous roar of approval is heard from the gathered crowd and the High-Priestess visibly winces. Indeed, everyone standing on the dais feels the wrath of Condea about to descend.

Instead, everyone else receives the ‘wisdom’ of the Council of Nobles’ Old Man. “I object to how long this is taking. You realize there’s food getting cold right now, right?”

Larcos steps forward to address the bitter vampire in their midst. “Do you happen to have, for once in all your many years my friend, a warm body to return to? In a cage, perhaps? Or, a box?” The audience roars with laughter, much to the other man’s consternation.

"You wanna talk shit, but here’s the deal: They all want to fuck, and we all wanna eat. So–let’s all just agree to shut the fuck up and let them get to fuckin’ so we can get to eating.“

Larcos is about to make a follow-on assault on Condea’s verbal tirade, only to be interrupted by the irritated noble’s thoughts in his head. Sobo'Avill, pay the fuck attention. Shut these assholes up, or this wedding ceremony is going to go down in history as the most rejected match up in Nishanian history; and that’s bad for my business. Understand?

The Baron’s brows rise, more in surprise that the Count is - after his own fashion - attempting to safeguard the Marquis’ matrimonial bliss, but also in understanding of what must be done. Condea falls silent, and Nerenna raises her voice a second time. "Does anyone object to the union of these men and this woman in marital bliss?”

Discreetly, Larc uses a somatically empowered spell to cast a brief but expansive Silence spell across the assembled crowd. Ten seconds pass. Twenty. Thirty; and he releases it in time for Nerenna to turn once more to the Trinity to continue. The time to object passes and the ceremony continues uninterrupted. “Now, that we’ve gotten Count Condea’s request under consideration, I believe it is time for the three of you to share your vows.”

More that satisfied with Teren’s answer regarding holding her hand, the adoring look heats with the weight of his promise for things to come. Good… I’d have it no other way…. There was no other way, as far as she was concerned.

Addie’s anxiety returned with a vengeance as the required path to marital bliss gave open cause for all of Nishan to rise up in defiance of their union if they wished. A thousand terrible thoughts were then personified in a single cry of objection that crushed her heart but didn’t make her posture falter at the reaction from the crowd, no matter how much she might want to crumble.

For Addie’s family, the reaction is no less visceral as their spine snapped straight and every bit of smiles on their faces became neutral and stone like expression, save Tanner who’s green eyes narrowed in defiance of the noble’s outburst.

Teren and Lycan surely felt their soon to be wife’s heart skip and her breathing start to hitch as Condea spoke, only to turn into absolute confusion once more in actually listening to what he was saying. Her certainly wasn’t wrong in his reading of the situation, but she could have hugged Larcos for his quick retort and dousing of the spark that could have sent everything up into flames.

The second time the question was asked, she didn’t breathe, think or move. Ten seconds felt like an eternity, and everything else after that was absolute torture. Only when Nerenna spoke again was the palatable sense of relief enough to break her formidable poise and see her shoulders move down from her ears.

With a deep breath and look between Teren and Lycan that anchored the storm brewing, she waited, as she always would, for them.

With their hands intertwined and bound by the braided ribbons chosen for their ceremony, Teren psychically unifies the Trinity so that their recitation of the traditional Nishanian wedding vows arrives in a perfected chorus of unison; rich with the depth of their love for one another and the precipice of the shared future they stand on. .

“Heart to Heart, Hand to Hand, Bound forever to this land Never to waiver, Always to be, Bound together n matrimony.” "Soul to Soul and Eye to Eye We bind ourselves to this sky Never to waiver, always to be, Bound together in matrimony,” "Blood to Blood, Skin to Skin United are we, until the end. Never to waiver, always to be, Bound together in matrimony.” "Ashes to Ashes, Above and Below Always together, wherever we go. Never to waiver, always to be, Bound together in matrimony.” "Soil to Soil, In Spring and in Fall In life and in death, let us recall. Never to waiver, always to be, Bound together in matrimony.”

As the vows are spoken, even Condea is affected by the emotion pouring out across their collective tongues. Rising from his seat, the vampiric noble calmly exits the ceremony, making a beeline for the Mansion’s roof from which to brood in peace.

Nerenna calmly clears her throat at the conclusion of the Trinity’s perfectly woven notes, smiling as a crystalline film shimmers across her pale green eyes. “Well then. After a performance like that, what more can I say?” She muses before cementing the marriage in proper Nishanian fashion. “By the powers vested in me as the High-Priestess of the Church of Light in the Federation of Nishan, I now pronounce you Husband–” She bows to Teren, “–and Husband–” she turns to bow her head to Lycan, “–and wife.” she finishes, bowing her head to Adilynia and taking a step back before concluding. “You may now kiss your Husband and wife; your wife and your Husband; your Husbands, and your wife.” Snickering to herself, she teases. “I hope I got everyone in there on that one.”

Baron Sobo'Avill triggers a much appreciated and long-delayed spell, and sparks explode high over the top of the Trinity, the Mansion, and the thousands of Nishan Federation’s citizens gathered in and beyond the gates.

Uproarious applause echo for miles in every direction, burdening even the most hard of hearing and reaffirming for As'eh Condea the wisdom of having left before the ceremony concluded. Even from his perch, the roar was stupendously unpleasant. Looking up at the extraordinary array of red, gold, brown and blue lights shimmering and exploding across the night sky, he muses to himself. “Not a bad light show, though.”

For the Praetorium, the moment of the vows arrives with solemn expressions that turn warm in the Trinity of voices that rises above the crowd. Formality is cast aside for the Commander’s arms wrapping around Tanner and Brilaria as they watch their Pixie take the last steps away from them. All three are moved by the vows spoke, so much so that the Confessor and squire’s eyes spill soft emotion down their cheeks that is wiped away by the careful hand of Mal with a knowing and brave smile of his own.

Even for Raelin, the moment is profound and leaves the ginger heathen wiping at the corner of his eyes with one hand, while the other still has yet to move from the braid in his hair.

Anxiety and objections faded away to nothing but the sound of the Trinity’s combined voices rising together to create a chorus of unequivocal love and devotion, that while they could try, none could deny. Together they speak the sanctified vows that would cement a future so hardly fought for, which once had seemed impossibly far to reach for, let alone earn, in the multi-colored cords wrapped around their hands. Word for word, the small Outsider matches the strength, purpose, and reverence of the sacred vows spoken by Teren and Lycan, as if she had always known the words in her heart, but never had reason or cause to speak them.

Until now.

Now, the divinity found in the Nishanian vows spoken between the Trinity is held with all the sanctity one expects of a Light-wielding paladin, the bravery and commitment of a Valkyr, the pride and purpose in a joyful heart, and the promise that would never be broken. Held higher than even the tabard of blue and silver she once coveted, the Trinity’s commitment to one another would stand as the most reverent oath ever promised, and held in exalted rank until the last star fell.

For Addie, the moment is overwhelming, surreal, and seared into her memories with misty eyes; March 19th. The day the most exalted vow she’d even taken, or would take, came not with the promise of armor and glory, but the peace in knowing the places they had promised one another were now fully realized. It settled in her heart and across bonded connection as nothing else ever had, and would ever again. Not even Larcos’s brilliant and beautiful spell catches her attention, nor the thousands that ring in her ears, as the world, and everything in it, became almond and sapphire, and centered on Teren and Lycan. Looking between them as the tears in her eyes threaten to spill over with the profound happiness felt in that moment, the small knights hand finally shifts to wrap more firmly around theirs.

The hand that had stayed so still against theirs curled slowly so the tips of her fingers could brush against the warm skin of her now husbands. The thought and promise of sealing it all with public kiss, doesn’t at all rattle her, but pushes her toes into the ground with expectation of what is to come with the tenderest of smiles for both of them. Yes, gentleman….by all means, do kiss your wife, Addie shared with a laugh between them as the mist in her eyes gathered to send salted tears to her softly blooming cheeks. The singular title that rolled off her thoughts instantly became her favorite and was spoken with such pride and happiness in knowing she was theirs… and they were hers. …and don’t ever stop…

Wait for it… Teren teases, looking down into Adilynia’s eyes.

Lycan stifles a laugh as his heart explodes with happiness. Pretty sure that's Nerenna's line.

#The Trinity Wedding #Teren x Lycan x Adilynia

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moonreflected-a · 6 years ago

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“Yeah – you kind of did.”

Harvey doesn’t bother sugar coating it or lying to spare her feelings. He rarely loses his temper with Sabrina. There’s been irritation between them before, evident in their argument when she hadn’t first believed he’d seen something in the mines. Conflict is bound to happen; they are humanpeople ( teenagers no less ) after all, but bitter anger is something else entirely. Rage stems from two sources: pain & love and right now both are brewing in his chest.

“You think that saying you do things because of me is some valid reason?It’s not, Sabrina, it just makes those consequences my fault. All that guilt and blame you’re feeling? That’s one me too and I never asked for it.”

He hates seeing her cry; even worse when he’s the source of her misery. Harvey wishes he was enough of a man to swallow the resentment he harbors that she lied to him and went behind his back to enact this terrible spell. This mortal loves this witch too deeply to ever hate her, but she isn’t free from his anger any more than he is himself.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Sabrina. You think I’d bring back your parents if I could, but I wouldn’t.” He points to his chest, “because I know you. I know what it would do to you to lose them again, from old age or your coven or – whatever!”

A bandaged hand swipes over his cheekbones to catch the tears that sting his eyes. “So yeah, you let me down. You lied to me, decided what’s best for me and now…now there’s this rift between us. How can I ever trust you again?”

Coffee colored eyes look everywhere but hers. “You broke my heart, Sabrina. Maybe you saved me from the mines, but you killed me all the same.”

‘YEAH -- YOU KIND OF DID,” the words, the confirmation, they’re.... unexpected. they sting --- a little more than sabrina cares to admit even to herself. somehow, she’d talked herself into believing that by admitting her mistake, that maybe they’d begin to be able to move past this. and maybe that’s why she suddenly feels such a tightness in her chest, and such a desire to..... well.... cry. she won’t, though, if the power of positive thinking has any say in the matter.

eyes avert because suddenly --- oddly ( or not, if she’s being more honest than she’d like to be, because look where honesty and good intentions have gotten her so far ) --- looking at him directly and seeing the hurt that seems to seep from every pore? it’s too much. it’s the very last thing sabrina wants to be doing right now --- even though she loves him. she loves looking at him. or.... maybe because she loves him, and loves looking at him, is it so difficult now.

“you’re right. i didn’t think.” she’s been doing a lot of ‘not thinking’ lately, hasn’t she? “i just saw the chance to protect you, then later to get tommy back and i --- i jumped. reacted, without really thinking through all the endings. what it would do to you if something went wrong. it was reckless, and completely stupid, and i’m so, so sorry,” a pause, as she steels herself once more, “but saving you? the protection spell? i don’t regret it, harvey. i don’t. maybe i should, maybe i shouldn’t, i don’t konw. don’t get me wrong, i feel absolutely awful about you having to lose tommy twice. it’s.... unfathomable how much you must be hurting right now. but losing you? that would’ve been --- i don’t know what i’d have done,” and something about that frightens her.

sabrina blinks, trying to clear the tears she wishes weren’t there at all, “i’ll do whatever it takes, harvey,” an oath so solemn leaves her searching desperately for even the briefest eye contact, to let him know how genuinely serious she is. “i love you so much, harvey kinkle,” sabrina wishes she could touch him, that she weren’t too afraid of upsetting him further, or of the likelihood of his rejection to try, “and i swear, i’ll do whatever i have to in order to regain even a little of your trust,”

@steeledwill | sabrina & harvey | cont.

#steeledwill #☾ ⋮ writing!#☾ ⋮ sabrina spellman!#☾ ⋮ thread | steeledwill | sabrina & harvey 001!#i love that our very first thread is just angst central immediately byE #dec.

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veridium · 6 years ago

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Bonus Episode

The morning of their departure for Adamant Fortress compels Inquisitor Theia Trevelyan to practice some of her most intimate rituals in preparation for violence and battle. As she does so, her love and colleague Josephine discovers a side of the Inquisitor she has kept to herself: who she was in the days of the rebellion, and what yet lingers in her life and soul from such tumult.

If a morning dawn could conspire to have as many colors as it could during one sunrise, that would be the morning of the Inquisition’s departure for Adamant Fortress.

Blues, purples, reds, and oranges water-colored the horizon, and Theia was witness to every fluctuation of every hue. She sat on the ground of her balcony, the cold stone underneath her bare thighs, exposed by the gathering of her night dress skirt so as to sit with her legs criss-crossed. This was the morning a warrior Mage would desire to see, if it were to be her last.

In front of her was a small wooden bowl, artisan-made and modest in design: the etches on the side were of Free Marches origin. It was one of the few small objects she had maintained in her possession since they went on the rogue during the rebellion. She remembered how she carried her small possessions -- what Olivia would call her “estate” in reaction to her protectiveness of it all -- in a dirty cotton nap-sack over her shoulder. A bowl, a knife, some medicinal herbs, and a jar of wax that could be heated over a campfire and used for various tasks, like leaving notes for fellow wayward Mages to find -- notes full of intel, like where the nearest water source was, where the Templars were stationed, or what villagers to trust and not trust. Theia always insisted on a paper trail wherever they went.

But, nowadays, paper, wax, and herbs were in abundant reach. But, on days such as this, she still found a use for her bowl and incense herbs.

Ceremoniously, she had gone out to the balcony as the first shades of daylight began to show. Sitting on the ground, she lit the herbs with a soft flicker of fire from her palm, and as they began to smolder, the blew lightly to encourage the burn. Then, placing them in the bowl, the stream of incense and smoke reached up into her face and chest. She placed her hands on her lap and closed her eyes, quieting her thoughts and engaging with the core of her body, the core of her powers.

Soon, the visualizations of her surroundings faded away. She stopped feeling the stone floor and the morning air, as she became enveloped in the raw energy of her body. It was like oscillating currents: centering her storm energy, she felt the static brew from the tips of her fingers and toes, up into her shoulders and thighs, meeting in her abdomen. Then, within her mind, she reached her hands towards the hearth of the ice within her soul, and felt the concert of cool air and rigid cascades of ice and frost in her hair and down her neck. It felt like goosebumps, but hungrier.

In her mind’s eye she then turned to look over her shoulder, feeling warmth on her cheek as she sought congress with the fire now. It was more raw, less accustomed to her devotion and training, but still strong. The heat, in its own way, was formidable simply because she had left it so untouched and unburdened with restriction. But, it had been kept at a distance. She reached a hand out again, almost asking for it to be appeased with her lack of attention. Ravenous, but patient, she felt it intertwine around her forearm, forgiving.

She grinned with a solemn reassurance.

Mages sought congress with their own selves in many different ways. Some never walked a step without being in conversation with it all, and such people were powerful and capable of balancing their emotions along with the raw momentum of their abilities. Others sought to separate the reactions of their powers from their own, and only when they would figuratively reach out a hand to collaborate would this side of themselves take center stage.

For Theia, her powers were as much a part of herself as any limb of her body or hair strand on her head. She almost recognized it as its own autonomous force, but merely using her body as a conduit of expression. In exchange for such candor, she was able to push her limits more in training. She learned this from her mentor, Lady Faustina, during her days in the Circle. If it weren’t for Faustina, Theia would have been at war with herself perhaps for forever. Having a mentor say it was alright to conjoin emotions and magic, and even healthier to do so, was a life-defining moment for her.

She learned this ritual from her, and she did them before every major battle and major conflict she could. People like Seeker Cassandra and Madame Vivienne, as well as Solas, learned as they traveled with her that on certain nights they could find her in her tent quietly sitting and meditating on the air of incense. Some of them understood more than others, but they all recognized how vital it was for her own soundness of mind and body.

As she felt at last connected with the main triad of her abilities, the all-too-expected disruption in the currents appeared. It was the magic of the anchor, brimming and seething out of place. She had tried many times to understand it, to make it feel more at peace within this captive body, but it wrestled with her. This was not the body of an elf, this was not its desired vessel. Their heritages were in contention with one another, and there seemed to be no hope of reconciliation. Still, in a way, Theia felt almost as if the anchor pitied her. She didn’t know whether to feel thankful or fearful at that intuitive observation.

She took another deep inhale, her lungs filling with a deep aroma of flowers and stems burning.

Just continue this path with me, is all I ask. I can fend for myself.

The anchor’s temper calmed, and with it the green glowing she saw in her closed eyes dissipated, going back to the locale it had occupied in her body and soul. It re-centered itself, and she was contented once more, for the time being. For now, Shemlen. For now.

Her shoulders rolled back and framed her straight and confident posture. Her braid of hair resting over her right shoulder.

She hadn’t noticed, of course, but someone had been watching her for several minutes after waking up alone. The person watched with a soft curiosity, having wrapped her naked body in one of the linen sheets of the bed. Her raven black hair was messy and knotted, but it looked positively beautiful in its tousled curls. She leaned against the archway wall; what was originally instinctual alarm that perhaps Theia had left for the siege without saying goodbye, had given way to heartfelt adoration. This was the first time she had caught the Inquisitor during one of her most intimate ritual practices. Theia never ever tore herself away in order to do such things when they slept together, even the night before Emprise du Lion. As she watched in quiet stillness, she wondered why.

Then, Theia began speaking out loud, and her thoughts silenced themselves out of fear of being too loud.

“We battle like warriors,

Avenge like wolves,

Love like the sea of Amaranthine.

Angry like the storm,

Our blood seethes

Until our justice is yours and mine.

Come to me sisters

In the killing of lesser men,

We drink to their downfall,

And dance to our blessed rise.

For your strength is my bone,

Your oppression my armor,

Your grief my staff blade edge,

And for your protection, I pine.

Guide my hands in war,

And my heart in forgiveness.

For tonight, we fight like Kings

And take to the bed of their Queens.”

The words sent chills down Josephine’s spine as she heard Theia’s lamentation. It sounded like something you would promise before drinking from a chalice or slicing a vein open for a blood oath. Something more powerful than any treaty or contract: the commitment of one’s heart and soul.

A moment passed, and Theia let out a deep exhale of release. Her eyes open, the rich purple emboldened by her consortium with her powers. They glowed with ferocity as she looked down at the herbs, their smoke waning.

“You know, I would have invited you if I wished you to witness my radical Mage rituals,” Theia hummed in a calm monotone, reaching and grabbing the bowl, cupping it with one hand as she stomped out the rest of the burning embers.

Josephine felt her stomach drop, fearing she had done something terribly wrong. She stepped away from the wall and grasped at the sheet wrapped around her body.

“Forgive me, Theia, I was only concerned when I woke up without you. I feared you had left.”

Theia looked ahead as she listened to her response. She grinned with compassion, not meaning to come off as angry.

“It’s alright, Josephine. I just...am not used to having an audience is all. It wasn’t my intention to scare you,” she rose to her feet, turning around and facing her. She tried her best to have a facial expression that was compassionate enough to soothe Josephine’s nerves.

Josephine, meanwhile, anxiously rolled her shoulders as her lover’s eyes met with her own.

“Does this mean I cannot ask what the purpose of this practice is?” she asked with shyness.

“You can, if you know the right way to ask,” Theia retorted, walking past her towards her desk, setting the bowl down on it. Josephine’s shoulders turned as her gaze followed her movements.

“How do I, then?”

“Ask what the Fox hunts for.”

“What does that refer to?”

“I’ll tell you, if you ask it.”

A pause, while Josephine nervously shifted her weight.

“What...does the fox hunt for?”

Theia turned and leaned against the edge of her desk with her hip. She crossed her arms, letting a sly smile appear.

“The fox hunts for the hunter who steals her meal.”

Josephine couldn’t help but be even more intrigued, but she had no clue what she was talking about, and it was a rare feeling for her, being lost.

“I...I do not know what…”

“My Love, it’s alright. It’s...it’s language from my days during the rebellion. Me and my group, we had certain...routines. We developed them while we were in the Circle, but then when things changed, we relied upon them for more than just comfort. The oath I recited, we would say at night before we would go hunting, or when we anticipated battle with Templars or bandits. It’s a sort of rally call, so-to-speak. We would chant it together; it was the only chant we revered as much as any Andrastian would revere their own.”

“It...sounds like you desired vengeance a great deal.”

“Would you blame us? We were hunted like bush animals. Survival meant...harnessing something more carnal, more animalistic, in a sense. I was not always proud of my actions, but, I will never regret them with the knowledge of what endangered us all. It kept us alive.”

“You scarcely discuss your life in the rebellion. I suppose I pictured it different,” Josephine took a couple steps closer.

“Not everything the Templars do are within the confines of duty and integrity,” Theia’s tone was cold, reminiscent of a time when her soul was hardened.

“I did not mean to imply that, I am just not used to seeing this side of your demeanor.”

“I understand, trust me, I am not offended. It’s just interesting, sharing it with someone else, someone who isn’t also trying to survive.”

Theia saw that Josephine was still feeling uncomfortable. She stepped away from the desk and approached her, taking light hold of one of her hands.

“So, what does the fox refer to?” Josephine’s curiosity was very robust.

“The fox was one of our codes to refer to ourselves or each other. Instead of saying mage or woman, we would discuss movements of foxes, birds, wolves. Like, for example, if I was to tell my comrade that I saw what looked like a Mage traveling alone with the Templars on her heels, I would say the “Fox hunts in territory where she is just as easily the prey of wolves.” Then, we could go find her, or try to cut off the Templar pursuit.”

“You sound like vigilantes, or mercenaries.”

“We were a mix of both, I could say. It was a way of keeping our identities as secret as possible.”

“How did you maintain that, given you walked with staffs?”

“We stashed them when we had to, and relied upon the magic in our bodies. One person would be tasked with guarding the stash while the rest of us would do recon, or get supplies from a nearby village.”

Josephine walked over to the couch by the fire, the sheet trailing behind her slightly as she sat down. Theia followed her, taking her place beside her, elbows resting on her knees.

“Why are you opening up so easily now, after all this time?” Josephine asked another question.

“Perhaps I am nostalgic, as violent and horrific as it was. I miss the women I traveled with most of all, especially on days when I feel alone or I intimidated by an oncoming challenge. I take comfort in the superstition that if I maintain our rituals, somewhere, out there, they feel it and send their strength to me. And, if they do so as well, I lend my strength to them.”

“Where are they now?”

“Olivia is the only one who I know of her location and safety. There was Veronica, Rosalyn, and Naomi besides us. Veronica took her own path, last I heard she was nestled somewhere in Denerim. We all thought she was foolish to do it, but, she has family there. Rosalyn wanted to be a part of the action, and she left to find her battles and get her vengeance. I don’t know if she’s alive or not, but, that is not a promising detail. Naomi wanted to be a healer, and help the downtrodden, so when we found a village that had taken on refugees she stayed to assist. I returned to Ostwick, looking for survivors, any of my mentors, hoping I could help rebuild some of the security we had lost. I don’t know why, but, after seeing all I had seen, it was as if something trained into me told me to do it. I returned and found my mentor, Lady Faustina, in hiding. She and two other colleagues sent me to the Conclave using the remaining clout they had, and that is how I ended up at the Temple.”

Josephine listened with intention and care. This life she led, it seemed to pose more questions than answers with every divulged detail. Why did her and her friends go on the run? What did they hope to accomplish? Who was she when she was a Circle Mage?

But, as Theia looked at her, and she saw the ache in her eyes as she re-lived it, and she knew it would take time.

“Theia, I cannot possibly know how difficult those times were for you, but I hope you know just how much you inspire me.”

“Inspire you?”

Josephine bit her lip slightly. “Yes. You have had to live through some of the most unthinkable experiences, and even though you have not opened up to me as much as I would hope you could, I know that it is because you carry these memories with a steeled will and heart. Your protectiveness is hard-won and trained. I respect your abilities, and not just those you derive from magic,” her hand went and rested on Theia’s thigh.

Theia’s chin tilted with intrigue. “Even with the tumult of the Mage Rebellion being the topic of disdain and hatred for all of Orlesian nobility?”

“Someone who has a true commitment to an earnest and integral political constitution extends understanding to all sides of a conflict before passing judgment.”

“If only the Templars and the Chantry would practice such mediation.”

Josephine’s face tensed with soreness. These institutions helped define her power and notoriety, but she was no fool. She knew when they misstep, and when they intentionally strode beyond boundaries of decency.

“My dear, you are doing it again,” Theia’s voice cooed as she took hold of Josephine’s hand and pulled her to her. Josephine shook her head and leaned into her shoulder, resting her cheek.

“I deserve to overthink occasionally, mi amor,” she muttered back.

“I will tell you more stories, you must give me time. It is still all fresh in my heart.”

“I understand, truly, I just wish you always remember that you can do so.”

Theia’s arm around her shoulder gripped more snuggly, and she put her lips to Josephine’s hair.

“You fill my life with new rituals, ones that comfort my heart instead of priming me for loss and pain. Forgive me if I wish to relish in them and keep ones from a different time for my own sentimentalities.”

For a moment, it was as if no battle awaited her. No marching of troops, no arming. Just them, in this space and time, with their own private ceremonials.

#oc stuff #Theia Trevelyan #Fanfic Appreciation Day #Inquisitor x Josephine #BONUS EPISODE #fanfiction #Theiaphine

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