#i think pyrrhus wrote it

[iamthepulta]

the saddest thing is that for all the Westlijah I've written, I don't actually have a coherent narrative I could post to AO3 when I looked. It's literally the same scene five times just written at different points as we were playing Skyfarer because it NEVER HAPPENED IN CANON and then it ENDED and E and I were like fine we'll make it happen as an epilogue when things are calm.

#which means I need to write our whole Skyfarer canon for AO3 which... I was going to do that anyway but you don't understand guys #that's an easy 200k #more honestly. #probably 300-400k. Even if I wrote a 'chapter' per 'episode' that's probably 40 recorded chapters + 10 that we didn't record #/sigh #I'm proud of myself for writing I guess and it's way better than not writing #but that's... that's not just a book #the liztlie au could be trimmed into one book #this would be four books easy 'cause of how our dm set up narrative arcs #All that just for people to know who Westlie and Elijah actually are and to show them the crew of the pyrrhus #/sighs #It'll happen eventually lol; it can't not happen. But there's also the nagging voice in the back of my mind that I am not /paid/ #to do this. and that's stupid because I don't write for money; I specifically /don't/ write for money. But that's four books! #And I can't publish them because they're Sunless Skies content! #Suddenly just a lot to think about I guess

[paradoxcase]

Harrow the Ninth Pronunciation Guide

I keep coming back to that idea that he might have picked this name because of Caesar. It would be so funny if that was actually the case. Like, it would be like if in some future where the US had somehow ceased to exist, I don't know, conquered, destroyed, disestablished, whatever, only subject matter for historians now, etc. and some world leader was like, man, George Washington was really cool, I really admire that guy, I want everyone to think about George Washington when they hear my name. So I'm going to change my last name to George, because who else was there even who was named George? I bet this is exactly what the ancient Americans did to invoke this great man

But now I'm curious about how much of Earth's old cultural whatnot was still public knowledge 100 years after the Resurrection. Like, people don't seem to remember anything about that era anymore, but surely the people who were resurrected all knew about it, and I doubt all that knowledge just disappears in a generation. Did people know John's name back then, and its links to Christianity and at least that Gaius was a Roman name?

Ok, so, not really related to the pronunciation at all, but it occurs to me that we've now learned that Augustine and probably also Mercy and Gideon and their cavaliers would have been born on pre-Resurrection Earth and resurrected by John, since they are the founders of their Houses, right? And if supposedly all of the people who were resurrected spoke English, and English is still the operating language of the Nine Houses, they should have English names, right? Alfred is a perfectly traditional English name; Cristabel is not exactly traditional but perfectly believable as a name that someone would be given; Gideon, sure, biblical names never go out of fashion in the anglosphere, even the weird ones, for real I went to college with a guy named Cain; Augustine, well, Augustus has a fine tradition as a name, that seems like a believable variation on that. But are we meant to believe that there were English-speaking people on Earth before the Resurrection named Mercymorn and Pyrrha? I could buy Mercy by itself as a woman's name given by some incredibly religious Christians or something, but "Mercymorn" seems to be following the standard we have in these books of two part names like Harrowhark and Coronabeth and Jeannemary, which is not something that i think came from any Earth tradition. And I can't imagine anyone would have been named Pyrrha. Maybe her parents were Classics nerds, or something?

Augustine and Alfred were like quite possibly the very first people to ever have an arithmonym. How could there possibly have been any implications about any use of them at that point?

Honestly, I feel like it works much better as a reference to Pyrrhus, just in terms of names being significant in the context of the story, because of what happened to Gideon in the fight against Number Seven

It's kind of funny that she wrote a whole paragraph about this, but at no point did she actually define "dactylic enneameter" for anyone who didn't recognize the roots, as, presumably, a poetic meter where each verse consists of nine metric feet, which each consist of two unstressed syllables followed by a stressed one

This pronunciation makes me realize this is supposed to be apo + pneumatism. But the pneuma root is about movement of air. Is thanergy a force that only moves or exists or emanates/radiates due to the presence of air molecules, like sound? Is that why there is so little thanergy in space, and not just because there isn't a source of thanergy nearby? Light can obviously travel for huge distances from the source through space, because it doesn't rely on air molecules

I'm fairly certain that every other English word that derives from Greek meso- is pronounced either /mɛzoʊ/ or /mɛsoʊ/, so why is this one /misoʊ/?

#the locked tomb #harrow the ninth

[jules-ln]

I'm so tired of people complaining about MM's portrayal of Thetis, like I generally don't like to post negativity because no. And I'm not the type to complain about "media literacy" because half of the people who complain about it don't even know what media literacy and critical thinking is, and the other half are just self important arseholes who believe that their only redeeming quality is that someone in high school told them that they were smart

But to anyone who ever said that MM was demonizing Thetis. I'm taking away all the complex women characters until you learn how to be nice

MM wrote about how a woman that was forced to have a child she probably didn't even want, then come to love him, only to learn that she was going to lose him very soon anyway

She was panicking, so she tried to be controlling in hopes that she could achieve this one thing that maybe could prevent her child from dying

And she was so focused on protecting him, that she didn't realized that she was hurting him

In the end, she has to come to terms that in her way to protect this image she had of him in her head, she ended up hurting her real son and didn't even knew him

Thats why she asks Patroclus to tell her about Achilles in the end, to understand who was he beyond what she wanted him to be and comes to terms with the fact that she could've spend all that time being happy with him

But then I see people going "ThEtIs ShOUlD bE a GoOd mOm"

Like of course, reduce this complex character that this woman is, an imperfect person and an even more imperfect mother to just a stereotypical good mom without other personality trait other than being a good mom; thats sooo feminist 🙄 (it's sarcasm)

(And why should she ever be kind to Patroclus when shes A GODDESS!?!?!? Patroclus is like an insect to her!!!!)

I'm not saying that MM is beyond criticism, like why are Menoetius and Pyrrhus soooo one dimensional. But when you're criticizing some part of the book that's not even true, it makes me think that some of you went "I personally don't like it therefore it's bad iabdkabhsishsysk"

Shocking, but you don't liking something doesn't mean it's inherently bad

#why are you booing me i’m right #ramblings #greek mythology #iliad #achilles #trojan war #tagamemnon #patroclus #patrochilles #Thetis #Also let's not even talk about how some people here claiming that MM doesn't know what she's talking about is sooo misogynistic #like the writer of the movie Troy did a waaay worse job. And most (normal) people only know the Iliad thanks to that movie #AND YET #MM is the one who gets shit thrown at them. Yes. I wonder if there's a bias of some kind here 🤔 (more sarcasm) #But I really like to think about Thetis as a mother who was homophobic/transphobic towards their child #because she thought that it'd be the best way to keep her child safe #and only after their death. She realizes that she was wrong. But it's too late already #LET 👏 MOTHERS 👏 BE 👏 COMPLEX 👏 CHARACTERS 👏

[wellbelesbian]

20 questions for fic writers!

tysm for tagging me @bazzybelle, it took me a while to get around to this but it was a lot of fun!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

37!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

113,598, not bad.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

mostly the Simon Snow Trilogy, but I have a couple of Greek Mythology/Epic Cycle fanfics too. i used to write for Percy Jackson and Marve, but not anymore.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

two old Marvel fics are right at the top, then it’s:

i want the love on your wrist (oh give me the heart on your neck), the first explicit work i’ve ever written, maybe a sign i should write more.

The Tale of the Two Merwolves, which I wrote with a bunch of other lovely people in the fandom

Everything I Am Not, my COTTA fic from 2020

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes, I always try to!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

definitely crimson, my COTTA fic from 2022, but a close second is Visions, a little Trojan War Helenus fic i still really like.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

well a lot of my fics have fairly happy endings, but I’d say All That She Wants, an Agatha-centric fic, and Happier Memories, a proposal fic, have the most hopeful endings.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no, I don’t think I ever have, luckily!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

only twice so far, though I have another stewing in my brain that might get written. I can’t really say i'm limited to a certain “type” though, i’m pretty versatile, pun intended.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

no, they’re not really my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge! i hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

back when i used to write on wattpad i got some DMs asking to translate my fics and i always agreed, but i don’t know if they ever followed through.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes, i really love doing so! I wrote a stucky fic with one of my friends years ago, but we never ended up posting it anywhere. also, the two aforementioned marvel fics were co-written with another (now ex) friend, and the tale of two merwolves was written as part of a group.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

snowbaz, definitely. it’s been my longest-running OTP (do people still say OTP?) and i’ve written so any fics for it.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

hmm, i’ve only got 3 wips and i think i’ll finish them all eventually, but blow on the tinder and we are slaves to the gods are definitely on the back burner for now.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i’ve been told i’m good at writing dialogue, which is good because that’s two thirds of all the words i write.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

descriptions and anything sappy, which gives me second hand embarrassment.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i tend to shy away from it, but if i do i always put it in italics and will put a translation in the notes unless it’s super obvious, and like when other authors do the same.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Percy Jackson! I wrote so much solangelo and was actually pretty popular on wattpad, one of my fics broke a million hits which is still insane to me. i still get the occasional message asking me to come back and finish my fics, but i logged out of that account in 2018 and am not going back.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

oh, that’s hard. i’m really enjoying writing Shoulder To Shoulder right now, but i still love All That She Wants and Liar Liar. i also really love I’m On My Way To Believing, which is a greek mythology Pyrrhus/Hermione fic. they’re my blorbos. but i’d have to say my all-time favourite will always have to be the first carry on fic i ever wrote, which got me out of a years long writing slump: Rats.

i don't know who has already done this, so i'll just tag @ileadacharmedlife @prettygoododds @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @imagineacoolusername @ic3-que3n @forabeatofadrum @aristocratic-otter @larkral @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @artsyunderstudy @alexalexinii @shrekgogurt and @j-nipper-95

#tag game #long post

[baejax-the-great]

I need one more sentence about Flip-Flop. Please! That’s such a stupid cute name!

I don't have another sentence specifically about Flip-flop, but I'll just post the snippet of Pat learning that kittens' names.

Achilles opens his little notebook and waits for the scale to zero so he can start weighing. “What are these initials?” Patroclus asks, looking over his shoulder at Achilles’ notes. “Did you name them?” Achilles sighs. In his head, he still calls them by his employees' names. In reality… “I let the boys name them. Oneiros thought that since the mother is ‘Socks,’ one of the babies should be ‘Shoes.’ He picked the black one. Surprisingly, Pyrrhus went along with this and declared that the two-toned kitten would be ‘Flip-flop.’ I think it suits him. And then, apparently broadening the theme from footwear, Oneiros named this one ‘Hat,’ so we’ve got most of an outfit now, I guess. Any guesses for what Pyrrhus named the last one?” “Looks like you wrote a ‘B’ there, so… Bolero? Button… no, Belt.” “Close. It’s Bulbasaur.”

#Achilles would have gone with charmander personally

[nausikaaa]

WIP Wednesday

nobody has tagged me yet, but i got a spurt of inspiration last night and wrote some more of my post-Troy wip, so here's some more Hermione and Pyrrhus (called Neoptolemus in this scene), my favourite dysfunctional couple.

“What happened last night?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you show?”

“You made it perfectly clear you didn’t want to see me.” He replied with a dismissive shrug.

“No I didn-” I halted. Well. I supposed he was right, I didn’t want to see him. I shook my head. “This isn’t about what we want.” I said instead. “It’s about duty. We are expected to-”

“Apologies, my lady,” he snarled, “but I’ve had enough experience with expectations to know I want no more part in fulfilling them.”

“You will call me by my name when we are in public.” I hissed, looking around for eavesdroppers. Though we appeared to be alone, anyone raised in a palace should know that walls have ears.

Neoptolemus’s expression shifted, from rage to resignation in a matter of moments. “I will do whatever I must to appease you in public, but I won’t bend my own principles to yours, just because they are yours.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I told you, I’ve had enough of following expectations. I grew up under them, went to war because of them. All it ever amounts to is feeling inadequate. I would rather our marriage be one of bitter compromise than outright resentment.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Did he think I did not have expectations placed upon me, too? The son of Greece’s greatest warrior, a slip of a boy, and the daughter of Greece’s most beautiful woman, the spit of her father. What a pair we made.

i've written about Pyrrhus and Hermione's deal before here, this scene is set the day after the wedding in that snippet, after Pyrrhus left Hermione waiting all night for him to show up at her room for the final step of their union. they clearly have a rough start, but actually end up having a very loving and co-operative relationship... at least until Pyrrhus is murdered. spoilers.

since i've made playlists for all my characters now, this scene's corresponding song is I Know It's Over by The Smiths. Sad veiled bride, please be happy. Handsome groom, give her room, etc etc.

i tag @ileadacharmedlife @martsonmars @imagineacoolusername @confused-bi-queer @ic3-que3n @forabeatofadrum @tea-brigade @bazzybelle @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @theearlgreymage @aristocratic-otter @facewithoutheart @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @whogaveyoupermission @shemakesmeforget and @letraspal

#untitled post troy project #wip wednesday #Spotify

[catilinas]

non tu, Pyrrhe ferox, nec tantis cladibus auctor Poenus erit: nulli penitus descendere ferro contigit; alta sedent civilis volnera dextrae.

you, fierce Pyrrhus, won’t be the author of such great disasters, nor will the Punic man, no other sword sinks so deeply— deep-cutting wounds are fixed there by a civilian sword-hand.

lucan, pharsalia 1.30-2 trans. me lol

the thing IS. the thing that makes me go absolutely nuts over these lines. well there is a lot. like hannibal (the punic man) as auctor i.e. originator of disaster (this is setting up the 'pharsalus was worse than cannae' thing that comes up a lot later and is so so sexy) is cool and fun BUT then you remember lucan's insistence on framing caesar as hannibal and you're like yeah ok civil war is worse than foreign war we get it. but THEN you remember that caesar WROTE a history of his own civil war (and lucan's civil war is doing a civil war with caesar's version of the civil war) like oughughughghfghgfh caesar is literally the AUTHOR of the disaster of pharsalus. for now!!!!!! the future will read you AND me!!! OUR pharsalia will live on babey!!!!!!

and then once you've finally registered all that lucan hits you w the reference to cato's suicide (it's not explicitly in the text but come ON. it's in line 3 also) (alta for the wounds is so hrghegf to me bcs well ok so maybe i want to translate it as 'noble' for. cato purposes. but also you can't just put the word altus near the start of your historical epic poem abt rome and NOT cause everyone to immediately think about the hashtag Altae Moenia Romae. same word for high walls / deep wounds and tHAT'S the same vibe as condere meaning both found and stab.)

and THEN you get completely distracted again by the definitely not serious invocation to nero. hail my huge emperor :/

#GUY WHO IS CONVINCED THE PHARSALIA WOULD HAVE ENDED W EITHER THE DEATH OR FUNERAL OF CATO IN BOOK 12. JAMIE MASTERS I WILL DEFEAT YOU #pharsalia #suicide mention -- #beeps

[chasteblowjay]

I have notes somewhere with all the names of the characters written out and their meanings. Since Tamsyn had said the names were important.

And there are some I can remember and some I can’t. But oh my god the reason they’re so important is because John named his Lyctors after the resurrection, didn’t he? Or he allowed them to take their own names? I think Pyrrha still calls Gideon ‘G-’ at one point so maybe they do remember their old names?

I will have to find it and write it out again. Augustine likely named after St Augustine who wrote on the concept of the Just War. Cristobel’s name taken from an unfinished poem where the daughter of a king meets an obviously evil person but is so naive she brings them back to her father’s keep in friendship!!! Pyrrha from Pyrrhic victory and Pyrrhus of Epirus but also Gideon who was (iirc) a king and master tactician who won a battle with overwhelming odds. Naberius taken from alchemical texts (which were the fusion of science and faith) where he was recognized as a prince of hell!!!!

#the locked tomb #Nona the ninth spoilers #spoilers #the locked tomb spoilers

[subtletruamadumping]

Random Bits; A Game of Chess (10)

______________________________________________________________

"A Game of Chess" was actually the first one I wrote in the series that was based on board games but is supposed to come last in the timeline. It was very technical and pretty boring to write, at points. I played a game of chess against a computer, copied down all the moves, then used each move as a chapter. The brothers are inspired by Thor and Loki, the world mostly from Lord of the Rings, but the story I can't remember.

It started out as throw-away smut from my fanfiction days...

TW: Fantasy Violence

Written at some point in middle/high school.

______________________________________________________________

♘ White takes a Pawn ♟

R��dúlfr kept an eye on the two knights. They’d be the ones most likely to give them the most trouble. He hoped the way they had converged around Pyrrhus would give them a leg up in the battle. They needed all the help they could get facing these odds. The more people fighting the better. This is why he had brought Kóri along, though he had been advised to leave her behind. What good would a healer be, though, if all the men were dead? He needed a fighter more than a healer, at the moment.

Rádúlfr had the group pass the knights again, trying to see what they were doing. They seemed to be thinking; planning. No doubt, they were going to come after the group at any moment. He just hoped they would be able to fend them off and Kean’s men would call a retreat, soon. He looked back at his horsemen. They were as tight as ever, like he had told them to be. Pyrrhus was still in the center and the others were keeping any attacks at bay. One of them alone, however, couldn’t hold off a knight.

“Pyrrhus!” He called, making the man look up at him “Aim for the knights!” Pyrrhus nodded his understanding and Rádúlfr began to lead the group at top speed towards the two. The knights separated and Rádúlfr decided to go after the dark haired one, but kept an eye on the other. He was following close behind. Pyrrhus did his best to shot them down, but they were speedy and very good at avoiding. Just when they seemed to be in his sights, they would turn sharply or speed up or slow down.

Rádúlfr looked behind him, again. The blonde one was closing in, giving Kóri a hard time. She did her best to block his attacks and keep him away from Pyrrhus, but she wasn’t a fighter. The knight was wearing her down quickly, making her fall behind from the group. Rádúlfr was about to shout an order, when the dark-headed knight came at him. He gritted his teeth and parred, worrying darkly about Kóri. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, realizing she wasn’t going to come out of this alive.

He fought off the knight viciously. He heard the continuous twang of Pyrrhus’ bow and the ringing of swords. He just hoped Kóri would either be able to hold her own, or get help. This was more than just losing another soldier. He whirled around when he heard a cry of pain.

The knight was already drawing his sword out of Kóri’s body.

#writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #middle school #old work #random bits

[thepulta]

“Faaaaaaaire?”

Westlie jumped in her seat and whirled towards the screeching. There was a child loitering around the front arches of the library, casually kicking the carpet. It had to be what, eight? No older than ten?

“Faaaaaairee?”

She smashed her hip jumping out of the chair and nearly tripped over her skirt. Westlie strung out several whispered curses and made a flying tackle in the lobby, clamping a hand over the child’s mouth just as it inhaled for another screech. “You’re in a library you little shit! Jesus, don’t scream.”

“ ‘ah can talk as loud as ‘ah want!” The little goblin raised the letter with one arm and fucking punted her shin as hard as its little legs could. Westlie squeaked in pain and shot a glance around the rest of the library. The struggle was being watched by several students.

“God damn it, just give me that.”

“Pay me!”

“Jesus Christ, I paid in advance.” Westlie fished in her pocket and found a penny with some lint. She shoved it forward. “Don’t spend it all on candy.”

The urchin had the nerve to blow raspberries in the middle of the library entrance. It tossed the letter at her - Westlie snatched it midair - and raced away. There were a few polite coughs around the room and some less polite snickering. Westlie’s face burned as red as her hair as she slipped back to her seat.

She opened the note, laying it out flat so she could read it and straighten her desk at the same time. It was written in the same neat, pointed script she remembered from London. Fitzroy did not write unnecessarily.

.

Welcome to Port Prosper, Miss Faire. I’m glad to hear you arrived safely, and I apologize for The Pyrrhus’ tardiness. I hope you spent a comfortable evening at The Shroom.

The crew is currently loading a shipment of hours, which will most likely take the rest of the afternoon. I’ve decided to give them the night off since our passenger hasn’t arrived, which of course, extends to you as well. If you desire, you can meet us on the dock, port 2, at 8am tomorrow morning after another night at The Shroom or this evening at 5pm simply to get acquainted. You may also feel free to sleep on board the Pyrrhus, although it’s unlikely anyone else will be aboard the ship.

The next port of order will be the Eleutheria Transport Relay whenever our passenger arrives.

              Your Captain,

               Fitzroy

.

Funny, the Eleutheria Relay was the one place she hadn’t obsessively practiced navigating to. Westlie resisted the urge to open her books back up and pour over the seasonal wind speeds, trying to weigh her options for the night. She didn’t particularly feel like spending the night alone on board a ship she didn’t know. Then again, she could be at risk of looking tardy. Fitzroy had given her the option though, and it seemed like everyone else would be doing the same. Westlie puffed out a breath and folded the note back up, taking the opportunity to glance around the library. The students from earlier had gone back to their work, bent diligently over thick dictionaries and maps. The place was quite lovely, not as big as the one in London, but close. The entrance was grand and domed, with three wings to the right, left, and front. Books lined the walls of the bottom floors with desks lined towards the entrance. Three spiral staircases granted access to each of the three upper levels with bookcases where one could look down upon the massive (Surface-made, Westlie knew) Pakistani rug at the entrance. The walls were white, blue, and gold; there were a lot of Tuscan columns. ...a lot of them. The architect’s dreams must have been supported by Tuscan columns.

Westlie shelved her maps, absently drifting to another section and running her fingers over the titles. Flora and Fauna of Northeast Albion, A-N. Pteridophyta (Ferns and Horsetails) and their relatives in the southern areas of the Reach: a biologist’s memoirs. Edible varieties of fungi, 5th Edition. Geography and Biology of the Prosper Mountains, Revised and Selected by the Author with Illustrations. She selected that one. That was probably the reason for the gravity abnomaly around the island’s southern tip. Not that the biology of the mountain would help with that, but she was still killing time.

She took the book back to her seat, fanning the pages as she got settled. It opened to several depictions of the mountains around Port Prosper, lovingly illustrationed with several different angles. Gravity... gravity... Westlie yawned as she scanned through the pages, scribbling notes every so often as she found something useful. It ended up being mostly plants with a brief foray into naturalism about the shape of the mountains compared to others in the Reach (fairly large, minus Lustrum’s positive menagerie of peaks and valleys) while having nothing about the gravitational pull. At least she knew the abnomaly existed. Westlie shut the book and glanced up at the clock. 4pm. Well, she’d done enough for one day, hadn’t she?

Port Prosper was in the throes of dusk as she stepped out of the library. People thronged the streets, bustling to and from factories. It reminded her of London. Westlie slipped between the crowds, greeting a peddler and trading pennies for several hotbuns. She munched on one as she made her way back to the hotel, absentmindedly browsing the shop windows. The styles here were slightly different. A little higher on the ankle, a little wider in the hip, a little smaller in the chest. Westlie peered at one jacket with an upright collar. It buttoned down the front like her vest, but it had sleeves and the the collar was enticing. ...it was also a lovely shade of burgundy.

... it was ‘a night off’, wasn’t it?

Westlie slipped inside the shop and waffled over the decision for several minutes before finally giving the shopkeep the sovereigns. The jacket fit like a glove and did a fairly good job of matching her hair. Westlie felt like glowing as she walked down the street, dodging pedestrians and occasionally running children. Her time was her own; there was no sister, no Arthur, no Mary to reign her back. No judgement.

She’d wasted so much time, hadn’t she. A memory of Morgan popped up, unbidden, per usual - and in a bar, also per usual. Westlie had had one of her abysmal days; something about missing deadlines. There’d been a lot of screaming; a lot of accusations. She remembered not even wanting to drink, just huddling in the corner as Morgan sat there with her. They’d been older teens at that point, maybe. “You know,” Morgan had hesitated. “You could come with me on my next trip. You don’t have to stay here.”

“Father would murder me.”

Morgan had hesitated again. “... we don’t have to come back.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Westlie snorted, because it did seem ridiculous. “I have to work. I can���t just fuck off.”

They sat there in silence for a long time. Morgan finally leaned over and curled on her shoulder. It wasn’t a hug, but something akin to it and possibly more meaningful in their affectionless world. She’d let out a soft sigh as they huddled together. “...you’re so unhappy, Wes.”

They hadn’t said anything for the rest of the evening.

Westlie had forgotten about that whole encounter until now and there was a deep, sudden pang of longing for the weight of her sister on her shoulder. She let it settle, heavy in her heart. There was always the possibility they could bump into each other at a port. Morgan travelled voraciously. It was all she did, honestly. Westlie wasn’t sure if she did it to put a small dent in Arthur’s enormous sums of cash, to escape London and that horrid house, or just because she loved travelling and mischief. Regardless, from eighteen years onward she did all three things quite well. When she came home, it was a daily coin flip until she’d leave again. Westlie came to expect a note on her dresser with the lump sum of travel money taken, an address (occasionally), and some form of cheery goodbye. Sometimes, it was in person, like the last time she’d seen her a few months ago.

Westlie’d been woken up at 2am by a knock at the window to find Morgan sitting on her carpetbag in the garden. She remembered thinking it was a distinctly Morgan way to leave town at 2am. She kept throwing pebbles until Westlie opened the window. “Goodbye, Wes! I took a few thousand sovereigns this time!”

Westlie remembered making a rude gesture, half-asleep. ...Annoying but not surprising. Morgan just laughed.

“Don’t tell, but I packed that box of sunlight from the shop too.”

Westlie’s eyes shot open. “That- Fuck, Morgan, that’s expensive!”

“Don’t worry about it! It’ll all take care of itself.”

“You’re going to get robbed blind by some asshole carting around a fucking box of sunlight- What the fuck- What do you even need it for? You’re such a dipshit. Why do I have to deal with this? You know those take months to get in. Goddamn it, Morgan.” Westlie considered grabbing the rope and taking the box back but in the time it’d take to tie it Morgan would absolutely be gone. That was probably why she hadn’t said goodbye normally in the first place. Fucking sneaky.

“Shhh, shh shh shh~” Morgan spun around and blew her a kiss. “Westlie, you worry too much.”

“I worry for both of us. Fucking give me that sunlight. Father’s going to skin you alive when you get back.” Westlie hung halfway out the window, debating if it was worth jumping and squashing the fuck out of the little kleptomaniac.

Morgan gasped in pretend horror. “Oh, I forgot, I have thousands of sovereigns and I won’t be back for months.” Her mouth turned up into a cheeky grin. “Westlie please, you know me better than that. The old bastard won’t remember a thing.”

“I’ll remember!”

“You love me though~” Morgan grabbed her carpetbag and blew Westlie another kiss. “I’ll see you later! Sorry I left so soon. Don’t miss me too much.”

“Morgan!”

Morgan slipped into the darkness with practiced ease, and Westlie glimpsed a cheerful goodbye hand wave before she disappeared into the shadows. Saucy prick.

Westlie remembered going back to bed pissed as hell she’d have to pick up the pieces from stolen sunlight no less. Jesus Christ, there was embezzlement and then there was that. She did remember going to sleep after that and opening up the shop in the morning, but the memory grew a bit fuzzy. Westlie scowled at the irony because she’d tried to forget about it to save her blood pressure, regardless of the outcome she couldn’t quite remember. God, Morgan did the dumbest shit. 

Westlie was not going to miss that.

Even with the memories she was still more relaxed than usual as she approached The Humble Shroom. A few skyfarers milled about now after arriving from various ports, footmen moving boxes in and out of the lobby. Westlie took a moment to appreciate the soft touches of civilization they put on display. A rug, a lamp that had probably lived a former life in a grandmother’s cabinet; several crystal sconces on the wall that flickered appealingly. The rooms were off to the right, but there was a soft concerto playing off in the corner from the left where a doorway opened into another room. A bar? Probably where breakfast had been offered earlier. There were more skyfarers milling in and out. Westlie hesitated. She didn’t feel like going to her room and studying, but she didn’t want to stay out and about either. She didn’t need to drink, just... people watch. Tea would be nice.

The bar was excellent for her chosen past time; there were faces from all walks of life. A few stovepipe hats huddled in the corner while miscellaneous groups of suits - with patches or tears and without - circled about at random. There were three shelves of drinks, the aromas of mushroom wine and hard liquor circling about; a waiter handed off a plate of steaming something that smelled delicious. Westlie took a seat in the back and ordered tea, pulling out a piece of paper to work on navigating to the relay. It was far, but it wasn’t that far; a few days to a week or so. There was a bit of tricky gravity somewhere in the region and she tapped the pencil on her lips, staring up at the ceiling as she struggled to recall the numbers.

Someone cleared their throat nearby and she blinked, jerked back to reality. “Hello-?”

Jesus Christ it was Fitzroy.

He looked the slightest bit more worn with a bit of coal dust on his jacket, but otherwise quite the same and unmistakable. “Good evening, Miss Faire. You look well.”

“Thank you. You... you too.” ... she could die on the spot, or she could just die later after she made a complete fool of herself. Or she could have a normal conversation like a normal person. Westlie cleared her throat and folded up the paper while Fitzroy made a questioning motion to the chair across from her. “Yes, please, feel free- have a seat.”

He sat down and crossed his legs, pulling out a pipe from his pocket and taking his time stuffing it. After a good long minute he put up his hand to flag a waiter and glanced at her. “Would you like something.”

“No- ah, thank you. I have tea on the way.”

“Excellent.” His face betrayed nothing if that was the right or wrong answer. “Is that a 1890 Elegant on the shelf? I’ll take a small glass of that, please.”

There was heavy silence until the waiter brought both the tea and mushroom wine. Fitzroy lit his pipe and the smoke puffed lazily, adding to the rich scents around them. Instead of handing it off like the wine, the waiter chose to pour the tea himself. (He did not pour it the way Westlie liked it; she could already tell it’d been seeped too hot and it gave off the slightly acidic odor of a burned teabag. She held her tongue and comforted herself that the bitterness would keep her insides awake as she worked.) Fitzroy took a sip of his wine and savored it. Westlie did not enjoy the tea but she kept her face neutral.

When he placed his drink back down he faced her, dark eyes scrutizing. “I assume you received my note earlier?”

“Yes, sir. About an hour ago, I think.”

“I know the rest of the crew has divided themselves up across the city, so it was a good choice to stay put for the night.”

Westlie couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just nodded.

“As far as introductions go, you’ll meet them all tomorrow. I recently accepted another applicant as Navigator, an Owen West. I understand he’s been a reliable skyfarer for some time. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” Westlie hadn’t. “He seems a bit shakey, but capable. I’ve known the rest of the crew for significantly longer. Marion is quite the ingenious engineer; Selmer is relable and loyal to a fault. Elijah is the kind of man who should be into politics but makes an excellent signaller instead.” He chuckled at a private joke and took another sip, re-crossing his legs and focsing on her. “I can’t speak for Owen, but the others were needling me about you.” There was a thin, not unkind, but not wholely trusting smile and Westlie could very clearly see the impression her interview left on him. “I was going to simply wait until morning, Miss Faire, but if you pardon me for noticing, you are not quite the same person I met in London and I know very little except your father is the kind of man I rarely associate myself with.”

Westlie took another sip of bitter tea, purposefully scalding her tongue as she tried to think. She drew on the remains of her evening, the calm purposefulness as she walked from the library back to the hotel. Why not be honest? She met his eyes and they were supicious, wary, but not unkind. He was being honest in his observations, and she wasn’t the same person in London. “I ran away.” That seemed the most straightforward, blunt way she could put it. Westlie sat the tea cup back in its saucer, half wondering if she was required to give more information. Fitzroy didn’t say anything. She tried to collect her thoughts. ‘I couldn’t take it anymore’ didn’t seem like the best phrase to describe it. Neither was ‘I’m nobody’, or ‘I don’t know who I am’, even though that was absolutely the truth.

Westlie hated sweet tea. She forgot, put two sugar cubes in her half-drunk cup and stirred it.

“Were you working on the Eleutheria Relay route?” Fitzroy broke into her thoughts and Westlie met his gaze again, briefly.

“Oh, before you came. Yes, actually.” She dug into her pocket and handed over the sheet of paper. Fitzroy browsed it. The look wasn’t quite like the interview; there was no judgement, just thoughtful acknowledgement. He was trying to distract her - he was actually quite good at that. Westlie stored that information in the back of her mind.

“You mapped this from Tratinson, didn’t you?”

How-?

“There’s a small abnomaly about three leagues in.” Fitzroy placed the paper on the table and pointed out the column of numbers halfway down. “Tratinson ignores it, because he considers abnomalies smaller than .5 newts to be immaterial. However, it’s enough to increase speed and throw off the trajectory of your second curve here.” He pointed to another set of numbers. “It’s never a big issue because the pull is small enough it doesn’t run you into any islands, but still. I have to look at the book, but Richards takes more of the northern abnomalies into consideration despite his occasional miscalculations.”

Westlie felt a deep flare of respect feed the hunger inside her. She could learn from him. She opened her mouth, couldn’t find which questions to ask, and settled on looking deeply appreciative. “Thank you.”

Fitzroy bobbed his head and took another drink. “It comes with experience.” He paused. “You were obviously well-trained.”

An image of her father brushed across her mind and Westlie’s hatred for the man flared deeply and uncontrollably. “I received a 102 on my piloting exam.” (For the fourth time, because Arthur kept forcing her to retake it, even though she passed the first exam without problems.) “And charting courses is... a hobby.” (It was an obsession. Definitely an obsession, probably unhealthy; kept her from losing her mind after hours of numbers in the ledgers.) “It helps me stay focused.”

She took another sip of tea and nearly spat it out. The sugar made it completely undrinkable. Westlie settled on refilling the cup until near overflowing, hoping between the bitterness and the hot substitute she could scald her tongue and ignore it some more. Between all of it she felt a minute, calmer spark of anger and she grabbed onto it, meeting Fitzroy’s eyes. “I was a navigator on one of my father’s ships. I think that’s what he planned for me to do until he realized I couldn’t take his commands mid-voyage and I wouldn’t save half a crate of supplies by driving through a shitload of scrive-spinsters.” Westlie reigned herself in. “After several instances like that, I worked in the shop instead for a... significant amount of time until I decided that... didn’t suit me.”

She glanced at Fitzroy and his face was blasé, but attentive.

“I won’t let you down.” Westlie remembered her stupid fucking mantra from the morning before and it just felt like something needed to be said. “I know I’m... quiet, and I know...” she hesitated, because it was a bitter pill. “I know my father. Nobody knows him better than I do. I can’t help where I came from, but I want to learn.” Please. She hoped it went unspoken. “And I learn quickly.”

Fitzroy finished his drink and there was the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “You have the job, Miss Faire.”

“Well I-” Westlie moved to take a sip of tea, remembered the saccharine taste in her mouth already and thought better of it. “-You asked,” she tested the waters with a hint of a dry look. “Sir.”

“And I am grateful I know more about you than when we started.” Fitzroy stood up to take his leave, pulling out several coins for the wine. “For the record, Miss Faire, I don’t question your abilities. Anyone who can chart a course by memory under the duress you were under deserves second attention. However, I feel an understanding between us that your father’s company does not require nor, if I may be so forward, deserve special attention, is in order.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Westlie interjected, before she realized what the hell she said.

Another barely visible hint of a smile played on Fitzroy’s lips. “Well my drink is done, but it appears we are firmly in agreement. If you have time after getting settled tomorrow, I might be available to discuss the Richards and Geralt maps if that suits you.” He made a brief bob of the head. “Goodnight, Miss Faire.”

Westlie stared at his back and then at her incredibly shitty tea as he walked away, finally downing the rest of the cup in one disgusting shot and pouring herself something vaguely more palpatable. She slumped back in her seat. That... went well. Tentatively? Possibly? Jesus she needed to go to bed. Getting tea was supposed to be relaxing, and- gods this was shit. Westlie resisted the primal angry urge to dump all of the tea on the ground, dance on the ashes, and refuse to pay; instead she put down coins for her tab and slipped out of the room, trying to decide if Arthur or Fitzroy was more dangerous when angry.

-=-

In her room that night, Westlie dreamed about something peaceful. She woke up after midnight but she couldn’t remember it, just... something about flowers, something about returns. There was a subtle longing for a name, a face; it itched at her mind, making her sleepily tousle her curls. Fucking dreams. Westlie yawned, pulled the pillow closer, and fell into a now deep, dreamless sleep and the feeling was gone in the morning.

-=-

Selmer was a beast of a man. Owen looked horribly nervous. Marion looked... chipper. Elijah looked like he could murder someone in his sleep but probably wouldn’t because he was the nicest of all of them. He’d tipped his hat a bit as Westlie arrived, discerning something as she searched for Fitzroy and headed for the small group of people on the dock around him. That was probably what Fitzroy meant about his alternate self in politics; that was a niche skill. She joined the group, lurking a bit on the outer edges as Fitzroy muttered into a clipboard. After several minutes of writing and scribbling he looked up, unemotionally scanned each of their faces, and made several more notes. It seemed like a lifetime before he put it away.

“Westlie Faire, your crewmates:” Fitzroy nodded to each punctually. “Selmer Gallway, Marion Gascoigne, Elijah Fry, Owen West. Feel free to chat a bit to each other before boarding. I need to submit these reports to the Ministry.”

Westlie felt a rush of euphoria that she wasn’t submitting the reports. Jesus Christ she was free. Fitzroy walked away towards shore and everyone eyed her silently, expecting her to say something. “... Hello.”

Selmer looked like he was going to explode after another five seconds of silence. “‘s a bright day gov’nr! You from around these parts?” He grinned, and he showed all his teeth, flashing a blinding giddy white.

“Ah, from London, actually. I assume you are as well.”

“O’aye, but I packed me bags a long time ago. ‘ah followed Marion on board. A capt’n always needs ah good shov’lah. An a wrench!” He hip-checked Marion and she rolled her eyes.

“Right, right. Well, welcome aboard, Faire.” Marion gave her a little casual unofficial salute. “The Pyrrhus is a great engine! I know you’ll love her. Have you been aboard any others?”

Westlie hesitated, “I ah- some Bediveres.”

Marion’s eyes gleamed. “Now there’s ships! Nothing’s better than the Pyrrhus, obviously, since I’ve helped make our own improvements, but ahh, the Bediveres are gorgeous. Have you driven them? I hear their handling is a little rough around the edges since one of the steam propulsion gaskets blocks the radius grav hinges.”

Westlie had heard about radius hinges exactly once when she and Morgan were shit-faced drunk in a pub on Elinore St. and an equally drunk engineer following Morgan around started bitching about radius hinges and Altanis locomotives for a full hour before they all passed out. She remembered absolutely nothing of that conversation. “I uh- I have driven one.” I was seventeen; please don’t ask about turning radii. “I do remember how fast it was.”

Elijah patted Marion on the shoulder as she opened her mouth to ask more questions. “I’m sure there’ll be time to show her the improvements once she’s settled. Speaking of which-” he gestured a bit into the ship. “The crew’s quarters are to your right from the hatch. Would you like some tea?”

“I would, actually, yes please.” Westlie gave a brief little nod to Owen as she passed by, following Elijah gratefully, and Owen nodded back, his face grave but not unkind or unwelcome; he’d just seen a bit too much. She knew that look.

When she stepped through the hatch, the Pyrrhus itself smelled of hours and cinnamon. It wasn’t a heavy scent, just enough she noticed. The air was wet though, steamy, like Marion had been warming up the engine earlier. There was thin wood panelling on the sides of the walls, polished to a soft sheen through multiple scratches. (Four claws had been dragged down the wood with deep, deep indents at one point.) It was all very orderly though. The crew obviously took great care with their upkeep; the same with their quarters. It was neatly swept, no cobwebs, electric sconces lining the far wall between the bunks. Elijah motioned to the bed at the end of the row where her trunk was sitting, to the right this time, right against the hull; it was opposite the engine, so was probably at least in port, the quietest end of the ship. Westlie glanced around at the bare walls, wondering absently if she could fit them with shelves like the other engine had.

“None of us care to decorate,” Elijah offered helpfully, reading her mind. “But I’m sure Fitzroy wouldn’t mind. I’m-” he gestured at the door, “-going to make that tea if you’ll excuse me.” He stepped back, spinning around for a moment in the doorway. “Oh the passenger should be here soon, Selmer just carried in her trunk. We don’t know her name yet, but she’s sleeping in the Captain’s Quarters, across from the hall.”

“Oh, excellent.” Westlie had no idea what to do with her hands. What did a first mate do with their hands? She settled for a curt nod of the head. “Thank you, Elijah. That helps.”

His lanky frame disappeared from the doorway, and Westlie took a breath as she opened her trunk. Everything was there (of course it was there; she’d just re-packed it forty minutes before) so she closed it and sat down on the bed. A deep sting of fear hit her as she looked around; the casual, not-quite perfect orderliness of the bunks. Selmer’s? messy pillow. Either Elijah or Owen, they both seemed like good candidates, had repurposed a crate by their bedside and stacked several dozen books on top of it. There were a few more bunks but they seemed untouched. Marion must have moved her quarters somewhere else - which was eccentric actually. Westlie vaguely mused if Fitzroy would let her sleep in the map room. Did they have a map room? They probably had a map room.

She puffed out a breath and looked around the room once more, trying to memorize the small details. The iron bedframes bolted to the floor (advantage: no creaking) the wooden floors fitting snugly against iron walls, the four bare walls curving into an iron ceiling. A soft breeze whispered around the hull and Westlie had a feeling she would get some very nice whistles in the middle of the night being right in the corner. That was alright. This was ‘home’ now, wasn’t it? It was what it was.

A deep pang of not-quite-loneliness, not-quite-sadness hit her and Westlie pushed up her chin a little. No emotions allowed now. She was done here; it was time to work.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself, brushing off her skirt and heading out of the room.

The very first thing she learned on her own was that the Pyrrhus echoed, deeply. The metal walls carried sound; literally carried, where if you leaned in close you could probably see the tiny vibrations of the sheet metal. No whispers were safe. There was the hiss of the kettle in what she assumed was the mess quarters  and a roaring, boisterous laugh from Selmer. There were quick footsteps above her - possibly Owen.

“She’s very quiet,” Marion said from the kitchen, and a jar rattled with crackers or some sort of foodstuff. “Do you think she’s alright?”

“Juz giv’ ‘er time to settle in; Willy was pre’y quiet too,” there was a vigorous thump on the table. “Tea man!”

“Gods, you’re so impatient. It’s not ready.”

“You bloody know, Mar’on, you need to make ‘lijah a little thingamabobber that’ll heat the tea up twice as fast. Hook it up to the engine all fancy-like-”

Westlie hesitated at the open doorway to the mess hall, wondering if she should knock to announce her presence, but it absolutely was not necessary as she was almost blown over by the force of Selmer’s, “OI GOV’NAH.” He thumped the table again. “’e got apples, an we got ‘ese kipper snacks and if ‘lijah ever finishs that ‘ere bloody tea ‘e’s got some ought lovely black. Captain says ‘s from India but I think i’ tastes the same as London’s. Once ‘e finishes you can be the judge.”

Marion smiled and patted the table (in a much, much softer, friendly way). “Westlie, right?” she nodded. “We didn’t have breakfast earlier - or Selmer did-”

“But ‘ah’m always down for second breakfast.”

Elijah visibly, almost audibly rolled his eyes.

“-but we were going to have something if you’d like to join us.”

Westlie sat down closest to the door a little grateful for the offer so she didn’t have to figure out where to place herself. “Tea and a few snacks would be lovely, thank you.”

The conversation fell silent with just the hum of the kettle and Selmer tapping the table and fidgeting. Westlie vaguely wondered in the uncomfortable quiet if she was too attuned to it. There was a lot to be said in silence. Selmer very clearly did not think the same way. Finally he leaned forward. “Yous ‘ear the Captian was thinking about a new gun?”

“He did mention it to Owen the other day.” The kettle finally whistled and Elijah moved to pour. “We don’t encounter problems too much though. Is it worth it?”

“Eh, it won’t be too hard to install. Can’t hurt to have a nice bit of firepower now, can it?” Marion took her mug and sipped it gratefully, even though it’d barely seeped. “Absolutely worth it. Thanks, Elijah.”

“Thank you,” Westlie took her mug and settled back, letting the warmth flow through her hands as Elijah handed the next mug off to Selmer. There was a much more comfortable pause as they sipped, Selmer grabbing kipper snacks from the bowl in the middle of the table and tossing them tournament-style into his mouth. He crunched loudly. Westlie wasn’t sure why she wasn’t annoyed at his behavior. He was the spitting image of some of the skyfarers in Morgan’s bars; loud, obnoxious, bustling, but there was a sweet cheerfulness too. Maybe she just needed to be around someone that relaxed right now.

A knock at the hatch startled all of them.

Selmer bounced up, “I got it,” and he was out before anyone could put down their mugs. The hatch opened, and there was an unintelligible, questioning voice. “Oi yas, right this way, gov. I’ll carry in your cargo don’t bother with it. Step right this way.”

“Should we...?” Westlie made a vague gesture to the door. “Help...?”

Marion shook her head with a quick smile. “Selmer’s got it. He likes to feel busy.”

The room was significantly quieter after Selmer left and nobody felt like breaking it. Westlie considered asking where they’d been before London, but it seemed like such an empty question. Or any tales; maybe there’d be something useful. Fitzroy did say they’d been on the longest. For some reason she couldn’t quite muster up the words. The silence was comfortable at least though, Marion seemed to see she didn’t feel like talking and Elijah seemed comfortable with the silence as well. They listened to the footsteps reverberate about the Pyrrhus until Selmer hollared down the hallway. “Cap’ains back!”

Marion offered for Westlie’s tea mug and she handed it over, a few sips left. She tossed them in the sink before going through a back door into what Westlie assumed was the engine room. The cab. Fitzroy said they’d be taking off after the passenger arrived. She nodded once to Elijah before heading out and to the side, climbing up the tight stairwell on her left to the second floor of the Pyrrhus.

Owen was already inside the cab, a few maps spread over the table in the middle of the room, steam hissing from a pressure gasket. He glanced up as she walked in, smiled, and then refocused on whatever he was doing. Numbers, it looked like. Westlie hesitated before pulling the scrap of paper she’d been working on the night before out. “I ah- I did some crunching last night if you want to use this.”

Owen glanced up and blinked. “Oh... Oh, Tratinson. That’ll help actually, thank you.” He took the sheet and Westlie was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room again.

It was a lovely cab. There were some references and maps in small bookshelves in the back, the familiar panels for navigating in the front. The Pyrrhus had bronze handles, steel interworkings with pipes of steam and cables welded to the sides of the cab, leading to the nav panel. The top was slightly domed with curved, arching blue windows for less drag, riveted along all their edges. It was somewhat soothing, Westlie mused, looking at the world through blue-tinted glasses rather than red ones. All the Bediveres had rose or yellow tinted glass. Something about looking more professional and yellow light being bad for your skin; turned the crew sallow.

There were footsteps up the stairs and she somehow picked out Fitzroy’s step in the hall, firm, patient, cat-like. He nodded to her and Owen as he entered the cab. “Everything ready? The cargo is on board. Adelia is settled.”

Westlie instinctively looked for the pressure valve, noting it’d only been a few minutes since the engine grumbled to life under her feet. “Almost. 50 psi to full capacity, sir.”

Fitzroy nodded acknowledgement, checked a pocketwatch, and went through the backdoor, letting a burning blast of steam and soot into the cab. His voice was almost drowned out. “MARION, NEW RECORD TO 250.”

There was a barely intelligible cheer from somewhere in the engine room which Westlie had to assume were Selmer and Marion. She found herself smiling a little as Fitzroy shut the door, brushing off his collar. “She’s done excellent work,” he informed Owen and Westlie without looking at either of them. He browsed the numbers on the table, checking the maps. “Mm, this looks good too. Pressure update?”

Westlie glanced again. “285, sir.”

“Close enough. Owen, take us out, please.”

Owen was already at the controls. They lifted with a lurch, the engine giving an angry hiss as the locomotive released steam from below. Westlie turned and stared out the window, resisting the urge to press her nose against the glass as they rose above Port Prosper. The library shown in the distance, the morning glinting off the glass in the dome with the mountains stretching beyond that, little plants dotting the slopes. Homes cuddled about the city, painted in red, grey, yellow, blue; Prospans weren’t picky. They grew ever more dotted and sparce further from the center, farms drawing lines in the landscape. The wind picked up as they rose higher.

Owen pushed the engine forward and Westlie felt the whisper of the breeze as it brushed the windows. Through the blue tint it was all so very alive, and it felt like... like being in love. Westlie had no idea how to confirm the feeling, but her heart squeezed and the rest of the world fell away. It was so beautiful. This was what she wanted. The love ached like a new happy fire in her chest and she embraced it, pulled it tight around her. It was easier to handle than her anger since it just glowed without burning, with a soft tender warmth. There was no action to it either, no demands, just a deep well of peace. She was never going to let this go, she swore quietly as Port Prosper faded away. She would die before she stopped traveling with the wind, watching these islands pass by, blessed by the soft glow of the fungi along their edges. She’d worked hard and she’d gotten so lucky. So very, very lucky. She would make every single second count. Damn the man who tried to take it from her.

#/sobs #my child went from an angry baby to a floundering anxiety ridden toddler #I'M SO PROUD #idek what to say about this #I did NOT intend for it to turn into 6k tbh #It was supposed to center on this latin phrase that roughly translates to #with the sword she seeks peace under liberty #which is basically what's happened the last 10k words #with less fighting and more screaming lol #but I forgot the phrase existed until I was done finished off everything and then scrolled to the top for my first reread and saw it #shit man I wrote all that and there was no continuity #fuck it though; these are basically increasinly long oneshots #and now I've dragged the crew in to make sure I"m not butchering their characters to pieces #I still don't have a handle on marion; sarah needs to write some shit #next port of order will be initial traumatic crash I think because I can write that; it's westlie relevant #then there was marions stabbing which I want sarah to write then other shit #lots of shit #HOW MUCH SHIT HAS HAPPENED TO US AHHHHGG IT HAPPENED LIKE FOUR MONTHS AGO TOO AND I STILL HAVE ANOTHER EPISODE LEFT BEFORE I MEET MY SIS #/screm #the crew of the pyrrhus #crew of the pyrrhus #adventures of the pyrrhus #the pyrrhus #skyfarer rpg #sunless skies #westlie #selmer #fitzroy #marion #skyfarer

[walkinginquiry]

I just finished reading Song of Achilles, and of course, it was amazing. But I had a thought as I was reaching the finally:

I get that it was all from Patroclus' pov but like, I would have loved to see what happened in the underworld. I wrote down a few ideas of what I think would have happened inbetween as my own personal headcannons of what happened when we couldn't see it (and I get that it is cannon that they are just shadows, the souls, but that makes for way less amusing happenings and I need some after the heartbreaking parts of the books)

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

Achilles arriving at the underworld alone because a CERTAIN person refused to write Patroclus' name on the tombstone

Achilles: *arrives at the underworld*

Achilles: *searching for Patroclus, can't find him*

Achilles: Gods dammit Patroclus, where are you? I had us buried together so it would be easy to find each other in the underworld

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

It's canon that Pyrrhus would have gone to the underworld before Patroclus, and I was a little upset that Pyrrhus didn't get his due evening out for his bad actions, so this is mostly just Achilles clearing a few things up for him

Pyrrhus: *Stomping right up to Achilles*

Pyrrhus: Father, you would be proud of me

Achilles: *still hasn't given up his search for Patroclus, only half listening* uh huh, yeah

Pyrrhus: I pleased you with the dead girl offering, right?

Achilles, think back to Agamemnon's daughter: Wait, what now?

Pyrrhus: oh yeah, I also made sure that commoner didn't mooch off your fame! We couldn't take his ashes out, as they were mixed together, but I did not let them put his name on your tombstone

Achilles: YOU, you are the reason I am not with the love of my life, and probably never will be!

Pyrrhus: Wait, what? You wanted his name on the tombstone?

Achilles: *throwing his hands up in frustration* of course I wanted his name on the tombstone! Why would I be buried with someone if I didn't want their name on the tombstone!

Pyrrhus: Well, I'm not a mind reader dad. Next your going to tell me that one bedslave girl was telling the truth about you and that man, that you never bed her because of him

Achilles: do you mean Briseis? Of course I never bedded her, the only thing we had in common was that we both were in love with Patroclus. Why would I bed her? I'm gay, kid

Pyrrhus: but you bedded mom??

Achilles: the only reason I did that was because my mother kidnapped me and said it was the only way she would tell Patroclus where I was

Pyrrhus: so you like never bedded the girl, like never ever? And you were in love with the one man? so she wasn't lying?

Achilles: no she wasn- wait, what did you do?

Pyrrhus: 👉👈 I may or may not have killed her for lying to me... I thought she just didn't want to bed me, so she lied, and then she cut me with a knife, so I killed her

Achilles: wait, I never saw her here, are people just really hard to find here?

Pyrrhus:

Pyrrhus: about that... I may or may not have killed her in the ocean... And then couldn't find her body so I just... Didn't bury her

Achilles: Oh my gods, what the heck kinda child did you raise mom?

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

I thought the one scenes at the end between Thetis and Patroclus were really adorable, and I loved that after she spent the whole book hating him, she is the one who added his name so he and Achilles could reunite

Patroclus: *walking into the underworld*

Patroclus: sup babe, sorry I'm late

Achilles: *nearly sobbing* wha-? How? You're here! How are you here? I missed you so much! I thought I would never see you again!

Patroclus: oh, yeah, well, hung out with your mom a bunch. We shared stories and just chilled at our grave. She was the one who added me so we could be reunited.

Achilles, who never once saw his mother be civil to mortals, much less help Patroclus for nothing in return: my mother? Are you sure it was my mother?

Patroclus: do you know anyone else who would sit at your grave and tell stories about you while looking like a ghost with demon eyes?

Achilles, wondering what the heck has been happening on the surface world since he left cause every time he talks to someone, the surface world seems to get weirder and weirder, I mean, his mother finding good company in the spirit of the mortal love of his life that she always hated before?: I guess she lied to me when she said no, you know, about protecting you after I'm gone. Anyway, I'm so sorry, Pyrrhus told me what happened.

Patroclus: I have nothing to forgive you for. Besides, I saw his whole homophobic temper tantrum both times, and let me just say with complete and utter sarcasm, you have a great kid, really, one of the finest

Achilles: Both times?

Patroclus, changing the subject so Achilles didn't try to rekill an already dead soul: *Placing their foreheads together, their noses touching* at least we are together now, that is all that matters. I shall never let go of you again.

Achilles: you think I would give you the chance? I'm never letting you slip away from me again, we will be together for eternity

#song of achilles #achilles #patroclus #greek mythology #briseis #pyrrhus #thetis #underworld #patrochilles #tsoa #tsoa fanfic #tsoa memes #tsoa achilles #the song of achilles #tsoa spoilers #achilles x patroclus #tsoa patroclus #tsoa briseis #tsoa thetis

[smallraindrops-blog]

Can we unanimously agree that if the son au was also a modern au, that Y/N would be so much more chaotic? I just get that sense with him being in a modern day world, he’d be able to get away with a lot more.

Absolutely! We are in full agreement on that.

I'ma going to put the rest under a cut. Because it is pretty long anon. Sorry it just nice to put of my thoughts in one crazy mess of a post.

Hey anon, if you get past this post, send me some of those modern! Au ideas if you want. I might have already wrote some stuff down but would love to hear what you think.

So in the son!au, I had started with a loose idea of who he was.

He was in a not so great place the first couple years of his life and that stuff sticks with you and honestly, if it haven’t been for his parents, he would off in a much worse place/his morals would be much looser.

Y/N was an outcast due to his own talents and odd sense of how the world work along with his odd humor.

He always had a smart mouth, and never cared if someone was an authority figure. Especially if someone were in a leadership position and felt entitled by name alone to have people mindlessly obey you. (*cough* Pyrrhus/most of the gods*cough*)

he is a good person at heart, he always stand up for others when they can’t like he get a lot fans among the women in the war camps due to him stepping in when needed.

While he is a prankster too, it’s never mean or cruel. I haven’t added it in the son! Au but he actually goes to the cook afterward and pay four times what the bags of ruined food were worth.

He just never told anyone, but it’s why the cook serve him good food even after everything. (I just couldn’t make it work without ruining the flow of the story) Also, he doesn’t like attention so he will do this one good thing and move on because it just what you do, you know?

He is chaotic but he never mean about it. He just a hard life and he lost his parents in a ugly war, And live for years alone using illegal fighting rings to earn money, end up saving an whole city only to met a horrible death by Ares’ hands.

Hypnos had been good to him so many ways. It allowed him to open up a bit, which is slowly letting others in, even to his parents again. (There been some issues and stuff due to the war and what happened in it.) Hypnos having an odd/dry sense of humor worked well with Y/N and give him someone to bounce off.

Also y/n is just a big guy who is soft for Hypnos.

But on to the modern!son!au

I think Achille and Patroclus still adopted him and they do their best to give him what he needs and in a lot of ways, they succeeded. A warm home, and a loving family. And he loved them deeply for it.

But when he hit his teenage years, I can see him going off the rail.

His relationship with Achilles struggle a lot, because Achilles had expectations of him since Y/N was a talented athlete in his own right. And even got several full-rides to colleges because of it.

Y/N will take up spray painting, breaking shit in a junkyard and normal hoot-rat stuff with his friends while wearing a letterman jacket. And he does get away more stuff, partly of who he is, partly of his skills at athletic and Tbh his own good looks. Which you can image make Y/n a little bit of an fuckboy.

He and Hypnos knew each other since their families knew each other and they went to the same school but they wouldn’t get together until after high school. At least, I don’t think so…. Maybe they do or they get into one those will they or won’t they thing you know?

however, there been many times when Y/N would step in to keep Hypnos safe from bullies even back into kindergarten. which may had started Hypnos’ crush on Y/N and one he would have for many years.

Annnnd they might have kissed once during one times in after a high school party when Y/N had to step in to help.

later on, Hypnos will help Y/n loosen up and reconnect with his parents and he will help Hypnos built more self-confidenc.

and- god i just need to write this don’t I?

anon if you are still here, hit me upppppp!

[gabtapia]

Warning extra long ask lmao:

The last three chapters broke me. 😭😭😭

But the worse thing was reading first two paragraphs of ch 31 and having it go from Patroclus’s narrative to third person narrative because Patroclus is dead so he can’t tell the story anymore 🥺🥺😭

I have so much to say so i’m gonna use quotes to help:

“A prophecy,” she said. “That the best of the Myrmidons will die before two more years have passed.”

She draws down the blanket, releasing me into the air. She cups my face in her hands. “Be careful tomorrow,” she says. “Best of men. Best of the Myrmidons.” She places her fingers to my lips, stopping my objection. “It is truth,” she says. “Let it stand, for once.” Then she leads me to the side of her tent, helps me slip beneath the canvas. The last thing I feel is her hand, squeezing mine in farewell.

No. My hands flurry in the air like startled birds, trying to halt the spear’s relentless movement towards my belly. But I am weak as a baby against Hector’s strength, and my palms give way, unspooling in ribbons of red. The spearhead submerges in a sear of pain so great that my breath stops, a boil of agony that bursts over my whole stomach. My head drops back against the ground, and the last image I see is of Hector, leaning seriously over me, twisting his spear inside me as if he is stirring a pot. The last thing I think is: Achilles.

WHY??? Why does Patroclus have to be the person of the prophecy. They made it pretty obvious that it was him but my God actually reading it I-

Calm down Chiara. Say this properly.

WAIT NO THERE IS NO WAY TO SAY THS PROPERLY PARTOCLUS IS DEAD 😭 AND THE FEW PARTS WHERE ACHILLES DOESN’T KNOW HE’S DEAD YET MY GOD I JUST STARTED BAWLING IT HURT TOO MUCH

HIS GRIEF AFTER PATROCLUS DIES IS JUST SO RAW I COULD LTERALLY IMAGNINE PATROCLUS IN THE TENT AND ACHILLES CRYING OVER HIS BODY AND MY HEART-

But he cannot feel it. There is a numbness in him. The writhing field is like a gorgon’s face, turning him slowly to stone. The snakes twist and twist before him, gathering into a dark knot at the base of Troy. A king has fallen, or a prince, and they are fighting for the body. Who? He shields his eyes, but no more is revealed. Patroclus will be able to tell him.

HE SEES THE THING IN PIECES. Men, coming down the beach towards the camp. Odysseus, limping beside the other kings. Menelaus has something in his arms. A grass-stained foot hangs loose. Locks of tousled hair have slipped from the makeshift shroud. The numbness now is merciful. A last few moments of it. Then, the fall.

He snatches for his sword to slash his throat. It is only when his hand comes up empty that he remembers: he gave the sword to me. Then Antilochus is seizing his wrists, and the men are all talking. All he can see is the bloodstained cloth. With a roar he throws Antilochus from him, knocks down Menelaus. He falls on the body. The knowledge rushes up in him, choking off breath. A scream comes, tearing its way out. And then another, and another. He seizes his hair in his hands and yanks it from his head. Golden strands fall onto the bloody corpse. Patroclus, he says, Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only. Somewhere Odysseus is kneeling, urging food and drink. A fierce red rage comes, and he almost kills him there. But he would have to let go of me. He cannot. He holds me so tightly I can feel the faint beat of his chest, like the wings of a moth. An echo, the last bit of spirit still tethered to my body. A torment.

I’M MAD AT BOTH OF THEM FOR BEING STUPID IDOITS FOR ACHILLES NOT LETTING HIS PRIDE GO AND FOR PATROCLUS FUCKING GETTING HIMSELF KILLED BUT I CAN’T EVEN STAY MAD AT THEM BECUASE HELL THEY ARE SO BEAUTIFUL AND THEY DIDN’T DESERVE ANY OF IT

And then Pyrrhus? I want to kill the asshole:

“When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.”

There's is a slight pause. “Your father and his companion. Patroclus.” “And why should this man be buried beside Aristos Achaion?” The air is thick. They are all waiting to hear Menelaus’ answer. “It was your father’s wish, Prince Neoptolemus, that their ashes be placed together. We cannot bury one without the other.” Pyrrhus lifts his sharp chin. “A slave has no place in his master’s tomb. If the ashes are together, it cannot be undone, but I will not allow my father’s fame to be diminished. The monument is for him, alone.” Do not let it be so. Do not leave me here without him. The kings exchange glances. “Very well,” Agamemnon says. “It shall be as you say.” I am air and thought and can do nothing.

Pyrrhus’ hand closes on the shapeless, blowing dress of the princess Polyxena and yanks her towards the altar. “This is what my father’s soul deserves.” He will not. He dare not. As if in answer, Pyrrhus smiles. “Achilles is pleased,” he says, and tears open her throat. I can taste it still, the gush of salt and iron. It seeped into the grass where we are buried, and choked me. The dead are supposed to crave blood, but not like this. Not like this.

And then the way Achilles just becomes a cold killer after Patroclus dies reading that part felt so bad because it wasn’t Achilles anymore and i was so glad when he died. But then Patroclus didn’t get a proper bury and i freaked because why??? I thought the book might end with him not being reunited with Achilles in the underworld and i had another good cry because seriously that would be the most unfair thing. I was so, so, so happy when Thetis wrote his name.

So basically i’m not okay right now and ever time i think about them before the war happen my eyes fill with tears because they were just so happy and innocent and in love and it hurts to think of what happened during the war. I’m glad i read this book thought, but i know the pain wont go away for a while watch me punish myself by reading all the fluffy scenes 😭

@in-love-with-themoon did you finish yet? I realize i may be spoiling for you, sorry about that! 😅 tell me if your finished the book! And i will send you bunches and bunches of tissues

Sending you lots of love, hugs, ice cream, and tissues!! 💙

I swear I had to take a break after reading that book

The last 3 chapters are just pain

Tbh I was crying since they said goodbye to Chiron because Achilles told him that they were going to come back in a few days and I was like nope you are not and even Chiron knew they weren't coming back 😭😭😭

Since the prophecy said that "the best of myrmidons" I was like fuck is Patroclus and this is bad

The scene that broke me was when Patroclus said that they didn't say the words (I love you) because they would have more time to say them, like in the night when they talk about their day and I was like please tell him 😭😭😭😭😭

THE MOST PAINFUL THING IS THAT EVEN WHEN PATROCLUS KNEW HE WAS GONNA DIE, HE TRIED TO STOPPED HECTOR BECAUSE HE KNEW THAT IF HECTOR KILLED HIM, ACHILLES WOULD KILLED HECTOR AND THE ACHILLES WOULD DIE AND HE DIDN'T WANT THAT 😭😭

AND OMG I WAS SO MAD WITH THEM, WITH ACHILLES FOR BEING SO STUBBORN AND WITH PATROCLUS FOR FIGHTING EVEN WHEN HE KNEW HE DIDN'T STAND A CHANCE!!! 😭

YES I KNOW WHEN ACHILLES IS SURE THAT PATROCLUS IS GONNA COME BACK AND EVERYTHING IS GONNA BE FINE, BUT WE KNOW THAT HE IS ALREADY DEAD 😭😭😭😭

ACHILLES GRIEVE BROKE ME HOW HE DIDN'T WANT TO SEPARATE FROM THE BODY AND HOW HE JUST WANTED TO KILL HECTOR AS SOON AS POSSIBLE

AND I WAS CRYING MY EYES OUT WHEN HECTOR'S FATHER TALKED WITH ACHILLES AND TOLD HIM THAT THEY SHOULD LET THE DEAD REST, AND ONLY AFTER THAT ACHILLE AGREED TO BURN THE BODY 😭😭😭

WHEN ACHILLES DIED WITH A SMILE ON HIS FACE BECAUSE HE THOUGHT THAT FINALLY HE COULD BE REUNITED WITH PATROCLUS 😭😭😭

Don't let me get started with Pyrrhus I hate that jerk so much I was happy when thetis said he was dead!, When he was taking decisions on his father's name I was like stfu you don't even know him!!

And for real I thought they would never be reunited and that Patroclus' soul would be strand in the living world forever I was crying but then thetis appeared and for once in the whole book she wasn't a bitch!

Yes before the war they would never imagine what the fate had for them and it's so sad because they just wanted to love each other, and their love was so beautiful and I love their communication because no matter how bad the things were they always tell the truth to the other 😭😭😭

Believe me I already reread their fluffy scenes and it's never enough! 😭

I'm glad you enjoy the book too, even when it left us with a void in the heart!!

#Chia 💙 #asks #the song of achilles spoilers #the song of achilles #tw caps

[oddnub-eye]

I’m thinking about Song Of Achilles again and like....I cannot think of the logic behind how Madeline Miller wrote Pyrrhus (Neoptolemus).

Like, he was a cruel asshole in the myths, so she got that part down.

But she added the wrinkle of him being raised by Thetis and did....nothing with it.

He quite literally exists solely to be a hate sink and to drag the plot out just a little longer.

Maybe he exists to give Thetis some form of redemption, by having her correct his big mistake.

But that raises even more questions because Thetis had been filling the role Pyrrhus had nearly the entire book. Pyrrhus may exists to show why its a good thing Thetis didn’t raise Achilles, but that is never the focus.

As far as the book is concerned, Pyrrhus is just a hate sink like Thetis (until the end) or Agamemnon to throw onscreen to get in the way of Achilles and Patroclus’ happy ending, and the inherent tragedy of him being a twisted Achilles or him being thirteen fucking years old by the time he’s onscreen is never touched upon.

Pyrrhus quite literally exists solely to be a replacement hate-sink for Thetis, and to provide some damn-near unearned last minute redemption for her.

Was Pyrrhus an ass in the original myths? Yes. Does that mean Madeline Miller could have wasted a potentially interesting character so she could throw in yet another one-note hate sink? Absolutely.

#the song of achilles #criticism #I like the book #but I have issues with it and how it handles certain characters #Pyrrhus #Thetis #tsoa #tagamemnon

[batwngs-archive]

somnolence, pretty hurtful lies, kaleidoscopic view, and pyrrhic victory for the title thing 💞

these titles are all SO sexy (I wrote the ideas so messily tho im so sorry!)

somnolence: (I really thought this read solace at first and went off on that but uh it works for somnolence too lmaoo) waking up slowly in the morning and just sharing a lazy start with duke! I see this being in bed mostly, the covers like clouds brushing up against ur skin. sleepy laughs and smiles, eyes barely opened, and it all feels like a dream (is it a dream?) he’s looking at you and you’re looking at him, you don’t want the day to start or let this moment end

pretty hurtful lies: kinda builds up to dick’s ‘death’ but would start off with the reader and dick in this good relationship, he would jokingly say stupid things like ‘you look like horrible’ when the reader would ask about a new outfit or something and him getting the reader presents but the box they open is empty that kinda cheesy shit that is harmless and fun and brings about the laughter he loves to hear. but one time after those events he tells the reader he’s going out, ‘I’ll come back’. the reader go about their evening watching movies and tv shows until its creeping into the hours of worry. he isn’t coming back and the reader is left waiting in the dark of your apartment, the television glow like a false lighthouse that could help him find his way back 

kaleidoscopic view: cass is hiding her face from the reader, and the reader is worried and questions why cass is hiding from them?? why are there sm sides the reader doesn’t get to see? the reader wants cass to be more open but cass doesn’t want the reader to see this, doesn’t want the reader to see them like this, all bloodied and broken, something that isn’t whole or ‘beautiful’, in one piece. and then the reader is gentle with their movements once cass expresses that, and softly says things like ‘you are beautiful’ and then is face to face with cass’s mask, lifting it a little bit while cass holds their hands. the reader only pulls enough of the mask off to kiss cass, bc they dont want to disrespect her wishes and think that cass has to share rn, slowly yet surely it will happen. cass then lets the reader pull the mask off completely (her hand still holding the reader’s) and the reader sees the damage, the pain and the bruises and the beginnings of tears. they see it all and gently caresses her face (this could work for jason too tbh or at least some version of this because I feel like this would be a good idea to explore the multiple sides these characters have hidden away)

pyrrhic victory: I think of barbara because of pyrrhus meaning “flame-tipped hair” or something like that and given the title and it’s historical/classical meaning? has to be angst but in a enemies to friends to lovers to enemies to maybe lovers again kinda way maybe. it’s messy but the reader is also a pretty skilled hacker and tries to out-do babs a lot (attempting to hack into her systems and such) but the reader and babs meet one day at a library and they hit it off as friends and eventually they spend more time together and develop feelings one thing leads to another and boom girlfriends. babs had mentioned this hacker who keeps trying to get into her systems and such and the reader then realizes the whole mess and babs sort of catches on from the way the reader starts acting with babs, she’s suspecting but doesn’t want it to be true, how could it be the reader someone who’ve they’ve trusted so deeply and intimately?? why would the reader betray them like that? babs does end up hacking back the reader at some point and discovers the Truth and is just devastated, heartbroken, and angry. was any of their love real or was it all a show?

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

#duke thomas x reader #dick grayson x reader #cassandra cain x reader #barbara gordon x reader #jason todd x reader #for later reference #pray you mark #pen to paper

[milvusrae-scribbles]

Some Pyrrhus art. 

The first is a banner image made for the first full fic I ever wrote (for Exalted or otherwise): Sun in the Labyrinth. You can definitely tell it's the first thing I ever wrote, but I still like it. V'neef Pyrrhus, called Lightbringer, is captured during battle by the Deathlord who's obsessed with his Circle. He somehow gets out of it alive and with his soul mostly intact. https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921946 The second is Pyrrhus and his previous incarnation, Calansei, called Flawless Silk Cascade. Calansei’s memories are strong and occasionally overwhelming, especially when Pyrrhus is severely stressed or injured. Calansei is also a bit of a d-bag, but still fundamentally a Good Guy. He just doesn’t share hardly any of Pyr’s values and doesn’t care what Pyr thinks when he crosses them. Long story.  

#exalted #exalted rpg #my art #my character #my writing #V'neef Pyrrhus #Zenith Caste #Solar Exalted