#⟨ circe ⟩ when i was born the word for what i was did not exist. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thaliasthunder · 2 years

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coming home again 😌

chapters 1-5

WHEN I WAS BORN, the name for what I was did not exist. -> SO WE BEGIN

By then they had learned what the four of us were. You may have other children, they told her, only not with him. But other husbands did not give amber beads. It was the only time I ever saw her weep. -> 👁👁

“A prince, I think.” “A prince?” my mother said. “You do not mean a mortal?”-> omg i dont remember if its odysseus or another

"And her chin. There is a sharpness to it that is less than pleasing.” -> oh oh once i read something about this related to the ancient world but i'll make a another post about it

damnnn, my girl is named HAWK

My father has never been able to imagine the world without himself in it. -> ….. apollo where u at

His flesh was hot as a brazier, and I pressed as close as he would let me, like a lizard to noonday rocks. -> this comparation was lovely

“You,” he said to my luminous sister Pasiphaë. “You will marry an eternal son of Zeus.” He used his prophecy voice, the one that spoke of future certainties -> oh pasiphaë what awaits u 💀💀💀

“Father, I feel strange.” -> humanity? power? firsts glimpses of satisfaction from humans' pain? dont be shy girl tell me

“That he fucks them, of course. That’s how he makes new ones." -> okay i was not expecting that explanation neither that lenguage 💀💀💀

Such were my years then. I would like to say that all the while I waited to break out, but the truth is, I’m afraid I might have floated on, believing those dull miseries were all there was, until the end of days.-> oh the poetry of melancholy

There had only been Titans once, at the dawning of the world. -> MA'AM DONT

“Is it true that you refused to beg for pardon? And that you were not caught, but confessed to Zeus freely what you did?” “It is.” “Why?” “Perhaps you will tell me. Why would a god do such a thing?” -> ….....oh

My uncle Boreas and Olympian Apollo had fallen in love with the same mortal youth. -> EJKCJEK APOLLO Y HYACINTHUS MY BELOVEDS 😭

“You think I’d let Apollo have him? He does not deserve such a flower. I blew a discus into the boy’s head, that showed the Olympian prig.” -> oh u son of a bitch

Circe was the first word he ever spoke, and the second was sister. -> Aeëtes my young little boy <3

How does your divinity feel? “What do you mean?” “Here, let me tell you how mine feels. Like a column of water that pours ceaselessly over itself, and is clear down to its rocks. Now, you.” -> ??? im sobbing this is endearing 😭

“A conch.” “And what is in that shell? “Nothing. Air.” “Those are not the same. Nothing is empty void, while air is what fills all else. It is breath and life and spirit, the words we speak.” My brother, the philosopher. -> i love u aeëtes

Let me give you some advice. Next time you’re going to defy the gods, do it for a better reason. I’d hate to see my sister turned to cinders for nothing.” -> oh im sure she will

And that is when I saw the boat.-> wha

I remember the jump in my throat when the sailor lifted his face. Burnt it was, and shiny with sun. A mortal. -> OHOH A SAILOR A MAN

His name was Glaucos, and he came every day. -> mmh u will be a problem i can tell

“I will grant your wish and fill his nets. Yet in return, let me hear you swear you will not lie with him. You know your father thinks to match you better than with some fish-boy.” “I swear,” I said. -> ….something's gonna end bad in here 👁👁

I was too wild to feel any shame. It was true. I would not just uproot the world, but tear it, burn it, do any evil I could to keep Glaucos by my side. -> goddammit unhinged women loving must be the most feral and wonderful thing in the world gO GIRLIE TEAR THE WORLD APART

What could make a god afraid? I knew that answer too: A power greater than their own. -> EJKRJE GO FERAL WOMEN

His eyes opened. For the passing of one breath he did not move. Then he leapt to his feet, towering like a storm-surge, the sea-god he had always been. "Circe," he cried, "I am changed!" -> omg she made him a sea god !!

“That round-faced nymph,” he said, “the beautiful one. What is her name?” -> MMHHM 💀 this love wont last long

The truth is, I had begun to wonder if she was in love with me. -> AKDJAJSJAK 😭

His hands lifted, as though to ward me off. He, who was a towering god. “You have been a sister to me,” he said. -> MF U JUST NOT SAID THAT 😭😭

But of course I could not die. I would live on, through each scalding moment to the next. This is the grief that makes our kind choose to be stones and trees rather than flesh. -> …oh

The halls would echo with her furious screams and the great gods would come to whip me, but I would welcome them, for every lash upon my skin would be only further proof to Glaucos of my love. -> dONT BLAME HER LOVE MADE HER CRAZY. IF IT DOESNT DO IT TO U U AINT DOING IT RIGHT

#guys u dont understand the longing i had to read madeline miller again #the longing i had for her writing was palpable and unbearable #LIKE #missed her way of crafting words so deeply it HURT me #so naturally i couldnt help myself but to go for it #worth it is what it was 😌😌😌#now i welcome circe to my mind and soon to my heart #and of course ask u to come in this adventure w me 😌#circe #madeline miller #books #tsoa #greek myth #yes grecia reads sometimes

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jimeslifediary · 1 year

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The day Drey hit Levi ━━ Levi Ackerman x fem!reader

Summary: Drey gets mad that her older sister has to train Eren and ends up accidentally hitting Captain Levi.

Context: This Levi blurb is based in my own universe of shingeki no kyojin, where, Drey, Helena, Kane, and Circe exist and they have their own ships with characters and their own history.

Warning: Drey's behavior in this blurb can be a bit cringy, because she looks like a spoiled girl, but in reality she's not like that, she's just angry and the reason she keeps going is because of her sister, she doesn't want to see her sister get again because of eren.

Word count: 1676 words

chapter one; 01. the day drey hit levi

When Drey Volkova found out that it would be her sister who would train Eren Jaeger, she lost it.

She didn't really have a problem with the brunette, she could consider him the closest thing to a best friend (as long as Kane didn't hear, because if he did, the platinum haired girl would deny everything. That blonde could be a real pain in the ass), however, she did not buy at all that romantic look that Eren began to throw her older sister.

Come on, you don't fall in love just like that. And after so many years where the brown-haired man didn't say a single decent word to the gray-eyed girl, it was easy to expect that Drey would have some misgivings at the simple idea of her sister fighting hand-to-hand with Eren. With what it had taken for the blonde to get over the young Jaeger, it just didn't suit her.

Looking out the window, her leg bounced up and down as she swallowed the urge to stand up, find Levi and go yell at him for agreeing to Erwin's idea. Of course, she wouldn't gain anything, since all it took was an order from the blond with prominent eyebrows for Levi to pay attention. Obviously, he would ignore Drey's complaints, as much as Levi was in love with her.

The youngest of the Volkovas narrowed her eyes as she watched how Eren held out his hand to a defeated Helena and pulled with more force than necessary. By the walls, what did he want? Kiss her? She clenched her jaw very hard.

"I'll kill him," she murmured under her breath, attracting the attention of the blonde who was cleaning the room.

Kane, like the born gossip that he was, walked from the other side of the cabin room and lowered his head so that he was level with the younger girl. The blond focused his gaze on the couple who seemed to be looking at each other with such magnetism that even he felt the tension.

"And here I thought you and Lena would never fight over male," Kane murmured back. Confused, Drey turned her head and looked up at Kane's profile with a deep scowl. "What?" he apologized, shrugging. "You're obviously seeing someone, I just didn't think it would be Eren."

The minor opened her mouth with great indignation. She looked at her best friend as if she wanted to pluck the strands of his beloved blonde hair and then she pressed her lips together very hard as her cheeks flushed red. In her mind, horrifying images of situations that she had experienced with Levi began to appear, where her boyfriend's face was simply changed by Eren's. No kidding, Drey almost threw up.

"By the Walls, Kane Muller!" Drey yelled, covering her face with both palms of her hands. Her cheeks felt hot and that only put her in a worse position in front of Kane. Of course, no one knew of her relationship with Levi and until that moment, the two had agreed that no one would find out. "No no no! What the fuck you say? Eren and me?! By Maria, Rose and Shina, that's disgusting."

"Almost as gross as when Helena dated Jean."

“Or when you and Kris…Historia,” Drey spoke, brows furrowing.

"Or when you and me," Kane murmured, causing Connie, who was passing by, pretending not to have heard anything the two best friends were talking about, to widen his eyes.

"YOU AND KANE?" The short-haired one snapped, completely surprised.

Drey tensed from head to toe and turned her head. Kane tightened his grip on the broomstick in his hands and turned his head to face the bald man. The two blondes shared a panicked look and then looked at Connie, who was still wide-eyed, as was his mouth.

"Jeez, I thought Drey was dating Eren and you finally got it with Mikasa!" Connie said again, surprise filling his voice. "I never thought that you... God... this scares the hell out of me, is it normal for me to feel this way?"

“Why does everyone think that I would date Eren?!” Drey yelled again, as more images of Eren with the serious expression and the short height of her boyfriend were presented again. “Please just look at that.”

With that phrase said by the platinum-haired girl, the three young people turned their heads towards the window, where Helena had won Eren and was sitting astride Eren's lap and holding one arm painfully above his head. She was laughing at something the brown-haired boy had said and suddenly, Eren turned, leaving Helena on her back on the grass.

With disturbed faces, the three boys turned their heads and their entire bodies, turning their backs to the window with the strange image painted by the couple who were supposedly practicing hand-to-hand combat.

"If I have something against Eren spending so much time with Helena, it's because he doesn't deserve to have my sister in love with him again. He's already done a lot of damage to her and Helena doesn't deserve it. She's human and has a heart of gold "The shorter one spoke, crossing her arms and leaning her body against the window, while the images of Eren pretending to be Levi flashed through her mind again. "Besides, Eren isn't half the man Le..."

And Drey shut her mouth almost immediately.

"which man?!" she demands to know Kane, dropping her broom and grabbing her best friend by her shoulders, shaking her hard.

"Who are we talking about?" Circe's peculiar hair color head poked through the gap between Connie and Kane "Oh my Jupiter! Lena lenita and Eren are kissing!"

As if on command, Drey, Connie, and Kane turned so they could look at their two friends. Helena was static, while Eren held her cheeks. She had red cheeks and if Drey wasn't looking wrong, she was crying, while Eren kept his eyes closed and his lips moved slowly.

"I'm going to rip his nails out one by one, dammit!" Drey yelled, opening the window and jumping out of it.

"And then she wonders why we say she's dating Eren" Circe murmured, watching her friend run towards the kissing two.

"DREY, WAIT, I WANT TO HEAR HOW YOU INSULT HIM!" Kane ran for the front door, being so tall he couldn't jump out the window like Drey had.

"KANE, WAIT FOR ME!" Connie also ran after the blonde "SASHA, HURRY UP, DREY IS GOING TO BEAT EREN'S FACE!"

Circe ran towards the rooms, towards the one she shared with Armin and without saying anything else, she took him by the hand. "We need you, you're the only one who can calm Drey down." Armin stood up and let himself be carried away by the girl he was in love with.

The couple ran quickly. Reaching Jean and Sasha, the latter was dragging Mikasa, who had claimed that she wasn't very interested in seeing how Drey smashed someone's face in, until she found out it was Eren. In everyone's mind, the platinum-haired girl and the brown-haired boy were a casual couple. Sure, Mikasa was glad that Drey wasn't with Kane, although she had to admit that her 10-year-old Mikasa was feeling a bit annoyed.

The group made up of Kane, who waved the broom while shouting insult ideas at Drey, Connie, who seconded Kane's ideas, Circe who held Armin's hand and rushed to get there before Drey hit Eren, Jean who He watched bored and Sasha who was shaking Mikasa, while the black-haired girl tried not to get angry at Kane's enthusiasm for Drey, before long they reached the girl who had interrupted Eren's kiss.

"EREN!" yelled Drey who had quickly resumed her run, starting to run "GET YOUR DIRTY LIPS AWAY FROM MY SISTER YOU DAMN IMBECILE TITAN!"

And she began to run faster, creating an uproar among the group that was half encouraging Drey and the other half telling her to stop. Helena smirked as she saw her sister protect her and took a step back, away from Eren. The brown-haired boy watched his friend with wide eyes and not knowing how to react, the only thing he could do was bend down when Drey's fist was close to touching his nose, however, the green-eyed girl's fist did hit against something.

Suddenly, there was only silence. Suddenly, Helena covered her mouth with her hands. Suddenly, Eren wanted to be able to laugh at Drey and suddenly, the whole group wished they hadn't been there, because Drey had punched none other than Captain Levi right in the nose.

"Damn, I think I left a candle burning, didn't I, Mikasa?" Before the black-haired girl could respond, the taller one grabbed her wrist and they quickly fled the scene.

"Oh, I think I left a candle next to Kane and Mikasa's candle." Quickly, Connie ran out of the situation.

Under almost equally stupid excuses, the rest of the group vanished. Even Helena and Eren, who had claimed to go accompany Historia, since she had fallen asleep and had missed all the drama. When no one was around, Levi removed his hand from his sore nose and narrowed his eyes at his sub-captain.

"May I know what you were doing, Sub-Captain Drey?" Levi questioned, crossing his arms.

She sighed and lowered her head, looking down at her feet like a little girl just scolded. "I was going to hit Eren because he kissed Helena." Levi frowned slightly and Drey hurried to finish explaining the situation, before he thought she had done it out of jealousy. "Because Helena finally got over Eren and it's not fair for him to come and try to win her over like that."

Then Levi stepped forward and placed his palm on his girlfriend's head, who was a few inches shorter, stroking her hair carefully. In surprise, Drey raised her head, looking at him strangely.

"Your strength has improved, little brat" he said quietly. "Keep it up."

Looking around and noticing that they were completely alone, Levi parted Drey's bangs a little and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, before moving forward, however, he stopped and turned slightly.

"Still, you have to clean the whole cabin, you know, for hitting your superior."

“Levi!

#snk #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #mikasa x y/n #armin x reader #eren x y/n #funny #blurb #levi blurb #levi heichou #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction

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sorrowmarked-a · 4 years

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What form of gentle affection are you?

CIRCE

holding hands

he gentle physical affection... getting to subtly show your love to the world... feeling that new puppy love no matter how long you've been together... you want a love that is sweet and gentle, where every date you go on feels like your first. you want to be showered in romantic gestures, to be praised and adored, for every moment to be worthy of saving in your internal scrapbook. you want every kiss to be a memory. although an admirable goal, it is important to keep in mind that love is not always easy, and occasionally requires some effort. although you should never endure abuse or neglect, it is normal for relationships to have bumps in the road; do not treat these bumps like mountains.

tagged by: @orumad tagging: @ofcorpses, @generalkenobii, @rbeljedi, @finalsteps, @kalevalaian

#when i was born the word for what i was did not exist || circe

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 3 years

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Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes.

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

--->--->--->--->--->

“Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->--->

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->--->

An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

--->--->--->--->--->

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,” The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing

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literaticat · 2 years

Note

I keep seeing MSWLs saying things about wanting "a singular voice." Can you explain what this means? Thank you!

I can't say what OTHER people might mean by that - but what it makes ME think of is this tiktok. (In case you can't watch it for some reason, it's somebody going around to different staff picks at Porter Square books, reading the first lines).

Something I notice in a lot of random submissions is that the first line/first page is very often sort of generic or meh.

Something I notice in a lot of really great published books is that the first line/first page very much sets the tone for what is to come, and is often attention getting and singular -- which if you look it up in the dictionary, means INDIVIDUAL, EXCEPTIONAL, and UNUSUAL.

In other words -- that line -- that page -- that voice! -- couldn't really belong to any other book.

I grabbed some random books off the shelf next to me to show you what I mean:

The people who lived in the kingdom would tell you differing stories about when the forest started singing. -- Into the Bloodred Woods by Martha Brockenbrough -- This will be a sort of fairy tale, set in a storybook "once upon a time" kind of land (kingdom!)-- but an eerie/scary one that obviously has darkness (forest!) and magic (SINGING forest!). Also, the people who live in the kingdom have a lot of superstitions about their world that they spread through the oral tradition of storytelling. This tells us that their world is a mysterious one, and this combined with the narrator's formal tone tells us that this is not set in a modern time/place.

There was no possibility of taking a walk through the grounds of Lowood school without hearing the dreadful and yet utterly exciting news: Mr. Brocklehurst had been -- gasp! -- murdered. --My Plain Jane by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton and Jodi Meadows. this is a highly comedic Jane Eyre re-imagining (Jane Eyre meets Ghostbusters, basically) and here we know it immediately. Even if you didn't know that Lowood School and Mr Brocklehurst were characters from Jane Eyre, you'd know from the word choices that it was set in an old-fashioned probably victorian-esque English boarding school but that the narrator is gossipy and funny, and that potentially serious things will be treated lightly here (murder as shenanigan, basically).

While in prison, I received a dictionary. -- The Sentence by Louise Erdrich - This is literary fiction; You know from the first line that this narrator WAS in prison, but isn't anymore, that they are a plain talker with a troubled past, and that books/words will be involved in their story. And yep, much of the book will revolve around words, stories, books, "sentences" of both kinds, and prisons both literal and figurative. Also, the narrator is saved by books, in more ways than one. You don't know all of that necessarily when you read the first line - but when you read the book and then go back to the first line, it's like "yep." It all starts with a book and a definition.

When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist. -- Circe by Madeline Miller - this is about the mythological goddess/witch Circe. If you didn't already recognize her from, well, the title of the book - you'd learn in the first line that this is going to be a Mythic sort of tone, that "what she is" is NOT HUMAN, and that she is ageless -- this is told from the perspective of somebody looking back through centuries at their VERY long life.

(Again, these were just the first books my hands touched -- but for fun, go and look at the first pages of your favorites and see what I mean. Singular!)

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mellowgoateemaker · 2 years

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Circe by Madeline Miller

"When I was born, the word for what I was did not exist."

"A golden cage is still a cage."

"But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me."

"I thought: I cannot bear this world a moment longer. Then, child, make another."

"I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands."

It was a beautiful day in Bakuriani (located in Georgia) when j went to a book shop and found the most beautiful book I've ever seen. People often say "don't judge a book by its cover", well I chose this book like that. I had no idea that I found a real MASTERPIECE. It left me so many emotions and here j am writing about my favourite book...

I highly recommend this book to anyone but personally, this book was more interesting for me because I love mythology.

In conclusion, I loved this book because it was well written, the characters were amazing and the story was interesting and dynamic.

So if you want to read this book then what are you waiting for!

And about this song, when I read Circe j thought this was her song. Melody, lyrics etc, everything reminds me of her.

Circe Invidiosa

Painting by John William Waterhouse

#circe #greek mythology #madelin miller #book recommendations #reading #literature #books #Spotify #john william waterhouse #painting #art

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nedeljkovicsaysno · 3 years

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when i was born, the word for what i was did not exist

Circe//Madeline Miller

#dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #Circe #circeedit #Madeline Miller #creepy

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aravenwriter · 4 years

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Circe Prompt List

You threw me to the crows, but it turns out I prefer them to you

There was no wound she could give me that I had not already given myself

I have a better idea. I will do as I please

Even after all this time, you still believe you should be rewarded, just because you have been obedient

Such a constellation was he to me

A golden cage is still a cage

You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite

When I was born, the word for what I was did not exist

Whatever you do, do not be too happy. It will bring down fire on your head

Yet because I knew nothing, nothing was beneath me

Beneath the smooth, familiar face of things is another that waits to tear the world in two

I cannot bear this world a moment longer

He was a harp with only one string, and the note it played was himself

Be sure to not dishonor me

Some things are worth spilling blood for

I do not think anyone can say what is in someone else

I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, too dull to fly even when the door stands open

They do not care if you are good, they barely care if you are wicked. The only thing that makes them listen is power

This is what it means to be alive

How many of us would be granted pardon if our true hearts were known?

Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets

All my life I have been moving forward, and now I am here

If I had ever believed it, I no longer did.

If you want it, I will do it. If it would make you happy, I will go with you

Then, child, make another

#writing prompt #prompt list #circe madeline miller #circe prompts #rp prompt #writing inspiration #writing idea

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themoonstravesty · 3 years

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When I was born, the word for what I was did not exist.

- Madeline Miller, Circe

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flambazz · 3 years

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Pantheons: Hermes

Author: Balsam

History: Ancient Mediterranean; Greek Pantheon

Which god in the Greek pantheon do you see the most of in your everyday life? If you had anyone who wasn’t Hermes in mind, you’re wrong. You’ll find images of him just about everywhere from his caduceus carved out of the stone of a hospital, to his head being shown on a car’s logo, to his winged sandals painted onto Goodyear tires. He’s literally everywhere. We even have a planet and a heavy metal, both existing under his Roman name Mercury. But who is he, really, in the scheme of pantheons?

Hermes, known to Rome as Mercury, was the Ancient Greek god of roads/journeys, travelers, merchants, trade/commerce, athletes, thieves, and trickery. His name shows up in Mycenaean scripts like Dionysus’ does, but in the pantheon itself he is rather young. Predominantly, he was recognized as a messenger god, but in a similar sense to Mycenaean Dionysus he was also revered as an underworld god due to being a psychopomp and being responsible for guiding the souls of the dead in addition to being responsible for guiding dreams. In his myths he has a habit of helping out the mortal heroes when they run into issues of some kind. Now, to understand his characterization and historical context, we need to understand where exactly in the realm of Ancient Greek mythology Hermes stands. Let’s get into it.

Hermes is incredibly young in Olympian standards, with Dionysus being the only one canonically younger. Born to the pleiad Maia and the son of Zeus (like just about everyone else), his birthplace is a cave in the mountains of Arcadia. He sets himself apart from other Olympians by getting into trouble literally the day he’s born. According to Homer’s Hymn to Hermes, the first thing to happen after being born was his finding a tortoise and turning its shell into a lyre. He gets hungry and decides the only sane thing to do is steal 50 of Apollo’s sacred cattle, turning their hooves backwards to attempt and prevent Apollo from noticing they’re gone. Stowing the cows, he sacrifices some to the gods and then shows up back in the cave to pretend to be a helpless baby. Maia doesn’t buy his bullsh*t so instead he takes his time and explains to his mom that he’s attempting to get the Olympians to notice him, and that he’s trying to get the respect and honor they deserve instead of being stuck in a cave for the rest of his immortality.

Meanwhile back in Narnia, Apollo can’t find his cows so he plays Sherlock Holmes and finds Hermes back in the cave. While Apollo tries interrogating him, Hermes basically pulls a Miles Morales and says “What cows?” So, Apollo drags him up to Zeus, who’s cackling like a madman and then tells him to show the way to the cows. On the way, Hermes starts playing his lyre and wins Apollo over. Apollo is enchanted by it and promises Hermes will be messenger of the gods, promising he and his mother will be honored among the Olympians. Hermes and Apollo exchange the lyre for the role of herdsman and return to Olympus, where Hermes promises never to steal from him again and gets his caduceus (small staff with two snakes around it; symbol of heralds/messengers). And so, Hermes makes an arrival as a trickster and underdog wrangling an improbable victory via cunning and tricks. One who, despite winning untold power/fame, still comes across as the underdog for multiple centuries following.

Hermes regularly appears in the mythology, playing a support role in the Iliad and the Odyssey. In the Iliad he is allied with the Achaeans for the majority but protects King Priam when he went to the Achaean camp to retrieve Hector’s body, and in the Odyssey he regularly provides help and advice for Odysseus including how to get Circe to break the enchantment on his men and then later guiding the suitor’s souls to the afterlife. This might have been because Odysseus is actually Hermes’ great-grandson (son of Autolycus). One of Hermes’ most well known accomplishments is killing Argus, a hundred-eyed giant hired to watch over Io after she got turned into a cow. Zeus asks him to free her, so Hermes shows up as a shepherd and bores him asleep with the story of panpipes then cuts his Argus’ off. This is what gave him the epithet of Argeiphontes (slayer of Argus). He’s also got a bunch of other appearances in Greek mythology, frequently helping out heroes like Perseus and Orestes by giving them the means to succeed. This trickery is one of Hermes’ major characteristics as the god of liars, thieves, and the other stuff in his purview. While these seem like things that maybe shouldn’t be attributed to a god, most Greek heroes were underdogs or tricksters in some way and trickery was well respected when used in moderation.

Before we get into the rest of the history, we have one kind of wacky thing about Hermes: The Herms. The Herms were boundary/border markers commonly found along roadways, usually with a depiction of Hermes’ face and always with a carving of a dong on them. I don’t know why that’s what was non-negotiable either but I wish I did. With Hermes being a god of borders and boundaries, it makes sense that he’d be the one to show up on most of the border markers but it’s also a little weird (not because of the dong). So we’re going to shove that into a corner for a bit and get into the history.

First off, Hermes used to be Pan (not pansexual, the god Pan). Let me explain that. Pan is a mysterious figure due to how old he is. Because of his age, we don’t have much clear information on his origin or development. As he was characterized in Ancient Greece, Pan is the god of the wilderness, shepherds and flocks, nature, mountain wilds, fields/groves/glens, sex and fertility, and theatrical critisism. He was a companion to the nymphs, is responsible for panic (as a concept and word), and he’s literally the legendary dong. His worship was almost exclusively in the mountains of Arcadia, which also happens to be the birthplace of Hermes. Arcadia is known for being inland, mountainous and forested, and extremely old compared to the rest of Ancient Greece.

As a wild god, Pan wasn’t worshipped in manmade structures. He was mostly worshipped in natural caves and only ever had two built temples (one in Peloponnese). In the mythology, Pan is older than the Olympians are, and is credited with giving Artemis her hunting dogs and Apollo the gift of prophecy. Most commonly, he is known for two things that bear his name: panpipes (syrinx) and panic (panikos). He created the syrinx when a nymph he was chasing became reeds to try and escape, and then he turned her into the syrinx so he could put his mouth all over her like a weirdo. As for panic (for people who don’t know what it is), it’s a kind of fear that is intense enough it borders madness. He is credited with it as, supposedly, he would yell in the wood and anyone who heard it would be inflicted with said panic, which could rout entire armies. And while we know some stuff about him, there’s even more that we either don’t know or it’s vague and fuzzy. For example, his parentage is incredibly vague and varied, which suggests he’s very old since that kind of myth takes a long time to drift.

In fact, it’s highly likely that Pan is older than even Mycenaean Greece. Comparative mythology scholars that are working on reconstructing Proto-Indo-European religion that spawned from the Vedic, Norse, and Greek mythologies theorize that Pan is an offshoot from the god PÉH2USōN (no I don’t know how to say it), whose only other offshoot is the Vedic pastoral deity Pushan.

The Rigveda mentions Pushan, and may be as old as 1700 BCE. This means that if Pan is an offshoot from the same deity, he also predates Mycenaean Greece (age started in 1600 BCE). However, due to lack of written sources, we don’t actually know how Pan was characterized at any point before the Mycenaean age, but we can learn by proxy by looking at Pushan.

Pushan is the Vedic god of roads/journeys, marriages, cattle herding/feeding, and the sun as a guardian figure. Like Hermes, Pushan also served as a psychopomp, but is associated with goats and got all his teeth knocked out that one time. So, the generally accepted theory we have is that way, way back before or during the Mycenaean age is when Hermes split from Pan, and before even that, the original Pan was incredibly similar to Pushan, a liminal god of navigating between places like roads, general wilderness, and the journey to the afterlife. When the original Pan got subdivided, current Pan retained the pastoralist and herding connotations, but the roads and journeys stuff went to Hermes and left Pan reduced. It’s worth noting that Hermes also has herding connotations.

Now, this isn’t just based on the fact that Hermes is somewhat similar to a Vedic deity. There are also some other, stranger connections the two have. For one, both of them have an origin in Arcadia along with their centers of worship. In some versions of mythology, Pan is Hermes' son for some reason. Which is a weird connection, but at the same time it does make sense to link them in a reverse way. It’s also surprisingly relevant; Hermes and Pan are both notorious in the mythos for having large dongs (I wish I didn’t have to talk about it but here we are). So, time to go back to the Herms mentioned earlier.

The word itself translates into “piled stones”. So Hermes’ name isn't even a name. But the concept of Herms is an extremely old concept in the region, older than Ancient Greece and Hermes both. Back before Herms were sculpted, roads were marked with large piles of stones. Lack of human features didn't make them less sacred, though, and Herms were revered. Custom was to put another stone on the pile or to anoint it with oil, and messing with them or defacing them was a horrible thing. Pan, as the old god of roads and journeys, was likely the god who was revered through said Herms. Now, remember how I said Hermes had an epithet because of killing Argus? Well he isn’t the only god who had them, in fact most if not all of them did and they described the capacity a god was worshipped in. In Pan’s case, the one I’m going to mention is ‘Pan Hermes’ (although we aren’t really sure) or ‘Pan of the piled boundary stones’. What we do know is that around the time he likely had this epithet, he got split into current Pan and the god Hermes. This happened at a very early time, and so we aren’t quite sure why Pan got separated from his epithet and Hermes got to be his own god.

What’s likely is that old Pan was a fairly specialized deity and so his worship was having issues expanding beyond rustic areas and wild lands. Whatever the reason, we know Hermes shows up in Mycenaean Linear B writing (or a word like Hermes), meaning he split from Pan before proper records. By the time we get to the 800s, Homer is writing epics and Hermes is firmly seated in the Olympians as is shown by his role in the Iliad and Pan is simply a wilderness god.

Oh, and for the people well acquainted with Greek Mythological esoterica or the Percy Jackson books; Pan is (technically) canonically dead. According to Plutarch writing from around 100 CE, a handful of decades earlier during the reign of Tiberius, a divine voice supposedly called out from Paksi to a man named Thamus telling him “The Great god Pan is dead.” Thamus then told everyone and they were reasonably bummed out about it. But for every sense that matters, Pan didn’t actually seem to die since his shines were still frequented and worship of him continued as usual. So what the hell?

Well, it’s likely that this is a big misunderstanding. See, the goddess Ishtar had a dead boyfriend named Tammuz who had a cult that got bright over to Greece. And in the Ancient Greek language, the sentence “Thamus, the Great god Pan is dead” is read as “Thamus panmegas tethneke”, however due to ‘pan’ being both the name of a god and the prefix meaning all, the sentence can also be read as “Tammuz the all-great is dead”. So this whole ‘Pan being dead’ thing might have just been some dude overhearing the cult of Tammuz praising him for his sole achievement and thinking they were talking about the god Pan being dead. So yeah.

Back to Hermes. In early Ancient Greece, Pan and Hermes didn’t look too dissimilar,and between 800 and 500 BCE Hermes was shown as an older man with a beard. But in Classical and Hellenistic Greece, he is shown the way we recognize him now; a young, beardless, mostly naked athlete. Dionysus also underwent a similar change but this isn’t about him. Time to talk about Roman Hermes; Mercury.

Most Roman and Greek deities started as gods in their own right. Mars, who is Ares’ roman counterpart, started as a god of war and as an agricultural deity and was treated notably better than Ares is. And for the most part Rome’s other gods were also fully-fledged deities, though sometimes other gods got mashed together like play-doh. For example, Pluto (Roman Hades) was accidentally the god of wealth, Plutus, and the god of the underworld, Pluton. But Mercury didn’t even exist. The name has sketchy etymology, but likely comes from either the Latin root for ‘merchant’ or a much older word for ‘boundary’. In either case the name is a descriptor of one of Hermes’ divine duties and nothing farther. He did absorb the Roman Dea Lucrii, a handful of minor deities in charge of immoral profit coming from bad sources, but Mercury was basically just Roman Hermes.

During the Roman era, Hermes was extremely popular. And since Rome was the expansion kings, Hermes’ status as a trade and merchants god saw a bunch of use. He showed up on coins, imagery of him is in Pompeii, and he has another quirk making him so popular. Rome had a policy of taking and incorporating the gods of places they conquered into their pantheon in one way or another, finding the Roman god closest to whichever god it was and insisting they’re the same. This happened with the Greeks and the Celts where they likened Mercury to Lugh/Lleu who was a big deal seeing as he was the creator of all arts along with being a warrior-hero-king. Rome saw him as a commerce god and so he was equaled to Mercury. And when Rome dealt with the Germanic peoples, Mercury god likened to Odin, of all people. The Ptolemaic Greeks (oh god) equated Hermes with gods like Thoth and Anubis.

Hermes was all over the place, which is very appropriate, even showing up in Aesop’s fables for some reason. But for being such a versatile deity, why is he so (literally) iconic? We don’t know. Perhaps his mobility and speed resonates with our modern society? Maybe it’s because he’s one of the few of the Olympians to combine likable traits with a lack of distractingly terrible character flaws? Maybe it’s because medicine, communication, and capitalism are central qualities of many societies as well as his character. But his liminal status gets him in most every society and kind of just stays forever, turning up in places centuries later down the line.

If you read all of this, thank you and please reblog so more people can see and learn!

#greek mythology #ancient greek #tw long post #hermes #not story #original post #tw food #flambazz

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heireating · 4 years

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BOOK STARTERS VOL.56 CIRCE MADELINE MILLER

❛ But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. ❜

❛ He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none. ❜

❛ Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep. ❜

❛ It is a common saying that women are delicate creatures, flowers, eggs, anything that may be crushed in a moment's carelessness. ❜

❛ If I had ever believed it, I no longer do. ❜

❛ I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands. ❜

❛ I cannot bear this world a moment longer. ❜

❛ I have a better idea. I will do as I please. ❜

❛ All my life has been murk and depths, but I am not a part of that dark water. I am a creature within it. ❜

❛ You cannot know how frightened gods are of pain. There is nothing more foreign to them, and so nothing they ache more deeply to see. ❜

❛ When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world. ❜

❛ When I was born, the word for what I was did not exist. ❜

❛ But perhaps no parent can truly see their child. When we look we see only the mirror of our own faults. ❜

❛ I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. ❜

❛ This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive. ❜

❛ You threw me to the crows, but it turns out I prefer them to you. ❜

❛ Yet because I knew nothing, nothing was beneath me. ❜

❛ If now I am wise, it is only because I have been fool enough for a hundred lifetimes. ❜

❛ You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite. ❜

❛ Give me the blade. Some things are worth spilling blood for. ❜

❛ I have been old and stern for so long, carved with regrets and years like a monolith. But that is only a shape I’ve been poured into. I do not have to keep it. ❜

❛ I wake sometimes in the dark terrified by my life's precariousness, its thready breath. ❜

❛ Understanding the world is a matter of keeping very still and showing no emotions, leaving room for others to reveal themselves. ❜

❛ Beneath the smooth, familiar face of things is another that waits to tear the world in two. ❜

❛ The truth is, men make terrible pigs. ❜

❛ My father has never been able to imagine the world without himself in it. ❜

❛ This is the grief that makes our kind choose to be stones and trees rather than flesh. ❜

❛ Witches are not so delicate. ❜

❛ Those who fight against prophecy only draw it more tightly around their throats. ❜

❛ I learned that I could bend the world to my will, as a bow is bent for an arrow. I would have done that toil a thousand times to keep such power in my hands. ❜

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sideblogformindtrash · 3 years

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Witchless Familiar; Familiarless Witch; part 4

CW: Stress position; sensory deprivation; spitting; deshumanization; pet whump; no-con (non-sexual) touching;

She walks back into the fairy ring, where Circe’s wagon is hidden. There, the magic will keep them safe from any eyes, Circe said. At least as long as the faeries don’t come back to claim their mushroom ring, the little sparkly name-stealing bastards.

As she steps inside and the secrets reveal themselves, she sees a colorful figure in the center and she almost drops the firewood she was carrying, immediately turning around and keeping eyes on the floor.

“I’m so sorry Fern. I didn’t knew you were transformed”

She hears a tongue clicking as Fern approaches. She only turns to them when they touch her, with their cold hand, spotted with tiny scales that mixed with their human-like skin.

Alright. She has their permission, then. Good. It even seemed like they were waiting for her.

“Thank you, Fern”

The chameleon-person nods, huge eyes staring at her, colors on their skin and hair shifting from red-warm tones into blue ones. Fern moves around their ragged coat, looking for something.

They click the abnormally longue tongue in satisfaction once they find it, and lick their eyeballs. That looks very disgusting in this humanoid shape, especially because they do have eyelids now… but she does her best not to react. It already means a lot that they are letting her see them like this.

Fern raises a rag doll, for her to see. She frowns, taking a closer look… and drops all the firewood in shock, placing her hands over her mouth. She grabbed the doll, a little doll of her Roots, with tiny yellow button eyes and sewn ears. Her hands shivered, the doll gleaming on the fire.

“-W-why? How?” She looked back at Fern, holding back tears. Fern licks their eyes again, in satisfaction “Did you make this?”

The familiar nods, sitting crossed legged near the fire grabbing a piece of the firewood she brought and throwing it in, watching the flames revive and poking them from time to time. She lets herself fall there too, by the side of the fire, and gently pets the rope-hair the doll has. It smells like ginger.

“Alright… Thank you Fern” she hugs it tight, petting its hair, illuminated by the flames, as they wait for Circe to return.

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

He hears nothing and sees nothing, feels only the intense burning on his muscles, strained for hours in the same uncomfortable position. He has his teeth carved onto his lips to prevent him from sobbing, the lashes of the whip on his back making the ache even more unbearable. He wouldn’t give them – no, him. It’s just the general now – that much yet.

He wouldn’t call him master. No, he was part of nature and nature is owned by none, respects none, follows only the rules it created for itself. And cats – cats were born free. Lady, lord or masters, no cat should ever recognize.

But… He was about to collapse. And nature wouldn’t save him now, because it was as free and wild as it was uncaring and unfair. Pain, sorrow and shame were risks he took when choosing to assume a physicality. But he had no clue of how hard it could be.

And that same physical body, it was source of conflicts he never found living as a spirit. That body couldn’t truly merge with the essence of the world like he did before, so it craved to feel the world around it on the only ways it could: to see, to hear, to smell and taste and feel.

That body collapsed under pain, and it melted under gentle touches, no matter how unwanted. So when a hand ran through his hair, face, his back, the body relaxed just a little bit. In amidst the numbness, the awful pain of its muscles, the darkness of a blindfold and the awful, awful silence … the body wanted that warm touch, because it was so grounding, it was so real.

Even as his soul fought to be set free from the chains that bound it to earth, his body now wanted nothing other than find things that meant he was still there, after being deprived from them for so long.

The headphones were pulled slightly down, and he heard the breathing of the human. Disgusting.

“So… are you ready to obey now, little cat?”

The man always emphasized that last part, as if being a cat was somehow disgraceful. Being an animal was normal. That divide between mankind and the rest of the physical-life forms… It existed only in mankind’s ego. And they wanted him to feel ashamed.

Ashamed of being an animal. As if he hadn’t chosen that shape... And didn’t wish so bad to be back on it, instead of stuck on this imitation of a human, a shape familiars reserved for their most dear companions, when words would need to be exchanged.

And cats… Cats were all born free. Lady, Lord or Master, no cat should ever recognize.

The slap was strong enough to make him loose balance. Of course, he didn’t really have room to move, strapped like that, so fell a little to the side, shifting the weight, his body hanged against the ropes that were tightly digging on his skin. He couldn’t contain a whimper, and the fingers that until the moment were soft grabbed his jaw painfully.

“Do not ignore your Master, little cat”

He spit and hissed. He had no clue if it hit the man or not but… He let go.

“Fine. I guess a few more hours will do you good.”

The headphones were put back.

…Panic rose in his chest. A few more hours? He could barely stand. He whimpered, sadly. He could beg. That’s what the man wanted to hear, right? He didn’t have to mean it. He could just say the words… Just tell him…

No. No. He breathed, deeply. That was the physical shape, his corporeal prison speaking. He couldn’t do it. If he begged once it would be all too easy to make him do it again. And then… Then he was scared of what he could become.

Lady, Lord or Master, he would never recognize.

…Right?

tag: @talk-to-rock (I.. just noticed you are a rock. Cool :) )

#whump #oc whump #pet whump #roots and nepthys #I... kind of want this to be a steampunk setting now.#steampunk witches baby #also the line on cats being free is from a musical based on the story of the musicians of brehme #its in portuguese though so :/

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