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ithilwen-lionheart · 2 years

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Love, lead me on - Legolas x Priestess!Reader - Chapter 1 (Re-Vamped)

Alternatively:

On the road leading to you, I'll send a million I love you's

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A priestess should be one with her surroundings in order to be bound with even the smallest life around her without requiring the use of her senses- from the flutter of a butterfly's wings to the eruption of a volcano.

She is to hear every heart -beating or not- around her as well as the pleas for help and the cries of pain and anguish. To feel the tears of those who lost, and those who were forsaken. At the chance of being an audience to this, she is to act, for fate had not placed her where she finds herself at for a mere play at destiny's chessboard.

A priestess is where she is for more than a single reason:

to lay gentle hands on the wounded,

to aid the disabled,

to protect the defenseless,

to provide comfort and dreams to the haunted and,

to save as many souls as she could in behalf of the honor of both herself and the order that she represents by the crest that she wears.

But what of her? The priestess?

Who then would save her from the desolation of her heart?

-----

Amidst the roaring flames and clouds of smoke, where there was nothing but the sight of destruction, death and chaos, there remains a tiny flicker of hope that dare arise the hearts of those left alive and running in the floating city of Laketown.

Amongst them is a priestess, albeit a novice, of the Northern Order.

Her (H/C) shone as if commanding the lights of both day and night, skin of (S/C) so vibrant and pulsing with life, and eyes that are the most fanciful shade of (E/C)- ever so curious, ever so alive. She is a wonder dressed in dark brown garbs over a short white dress and loose pants tucked underneath knee-length boots, darting around the docks hidden under a simple royal blue hood.

As much as she is still of relatively fresh blood, she strives to give the best for all she believes could still be better at all times and so here she remained escorting every villager she could find into safety and out of the flames that ravaged all that it touched.

She is -like Lady Galadriel had said- here for a reason and even though some parts of the 'whyfores' remain unclear at the moment, her heart had long found the most significant reason behind her rushing about just under the gargantuan dragon, Smaug-

-it was because a piece of her was here.

The piece being of her heart that she so willingly gave to one who neither asked nor needed it, much less even knew he ever had it in the first place- Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, son of the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil.

All she came to do was pick up a thing or two about the Woodelves of Mirkwood after gaining the King's approval through the Elf Lord Elrond who all too willingly vouched for her character out of fondness.

She was initially left to Feren's care. Her pursuit of knowledge started with tours around the villages and the castle, expounding into lessons on their language and spells, books and healing. Then came one fateful noon when she came across the day patrol that the Elven Prince had led all the while on a stroll of her own with her Siberian Tiger, Luna. Legolas was immediately transfixed with her "odd choice for a companion" and it was a fascination that only developed further until her existing lessons began to get muddled up with archery and horseback riding. Before she knew it her charge had changed and much to her chagrin, with this also came a budding admiration for the prince each day that had passed until she began to ardently wish she could learn shape-shifting sometime soon within that mere month.

But that wasn't the most of the problem, no, it wasn't even half of it.

"(Y/N)? (Y/N)!" A hand on her shoulder attempted to shake her back to reality.

This, this was the problem.

It took the girl a few moments to register the voice as she was still nursing the echoing screams of a woman who had just lost her beloved husband over the memories that smelled vividly of book pages, herbs, and had Legolas written all over it in shades of gold and late afternoon sunlight. She felt a clenching in her chest at this and she doesn't know whether it was out of mourning for the woman's loss or that of her own.

Finally looking up, she sees long ginger hair in braids and bright emerald eyes glistening with concern on the face of the beautiful elf warrior, "Tauriel..." she trailed off and turned to look at the thick clouds of smoke that covered the light of the stars.

Tauriel furrowed her brows a bit and released the younger girl, "Are you alright?" She asks because there's something in the those eyes that went beyond being a simple Old Soul and a novice priestess.

(Y/N) just nods and shifts her attention to the elf approaching their group. The elleth notes how the younger girl falters for a moment before schooling her features into that of her usually playful sheepishness around Legolas.

-----

If I'm allowed to peep into your heart, I only want to make sure of one thing,

I wonder if I exist somewhere in the road leading to you...

The blond prince approached them. It had not once escaped (Y/N) how those icy blue eyes simply grazed over her before completely settling on Tauriel.

"Is everything alright, Tauriel?" He asks, his voice gentle and worried as he sheathed his knives in their scabbard on his back.

And it was as if there was only the two of them standing on the burnt planks over the debris-littered water. As if the captain of the guard hadn't just left him alone after dragging him into this mess, left him to chase after Azog during the preliminary ambush of the orcs back when Laketown still wasn't crumbling down in dragon flames as she tended to the dwarf, Kili.

Tauriel was not the least bit bothered by this huddle- not even after her apparent deviation from their initial plan of being a part of this world to help the populace instead of just a singular soul. She merely nods, giving the mortal girl beside her a glance that wasn't discreet enough for Legolas not to notice.

'Then again, what things Legolas never noticed Tauriel doing is very few and far in between...' (Y/N) ponders while trying her utmost not to nurse such sour thoughts- she wagers that maybe she knew now exactly why her chest felt all tight.

Then those piercing eyes were on hers. In fluid grace, he swipes an arrow from his back, aims at something behind her and shoots.

His arrows finds its home straight into the face of a marauding orc.

"You should know better than to space out in battle, (Y/N). I had taught you better than that." His tone was reprimanding yet with no small amount of a tease. It belied the concern that hung like a subtle scent underneath, one in danger of being so very easily missed.

(Y/N) adds the pale notes of worry to her list of reasons justifying her helpless clinging to this hopeless attachment.

Tossing the impending bout of self-loathing aside, the priestess opts for much needed presence of mind. Allowing her senses and intuition to take hold, her hand flew to the dagger at her waist to flung it at the beast that stood a few feet behind the unsuspecting prince. Finding a remotely stable pole behind the figures before her, she ran towards it and used it to propel herself forward to kick the monstrosity square on the face for good measure- her body barely grazing the prince's face and shoulder as she spun horizontally through the junction.

After hitting her mark, she gathers enough momentum with her feet planted on one hideous face to launch herself upwards before landing with both feet back on the ground. The priestess allows herself a dramatic flourish and a bow upon seeing that she had both elves attention: Tauriel with her face gawking in awe and Legolas with profound pride effectively unapparent to those who had not taken to heart his set of facial reactions.

Which made up everyone else who was not (Y/N), "Same could be said to you, Prince Legolas." She snickered and stood straight, the cape of her hood swishing behind her.

Legolas smirked, "I would not get too brazen now, dear priestess." She pretends that her heart did not make somersaults at the playfulness of him, his words and the title by which he chose to address her as and his closeness as he walked towards her and swung his sword at yet another orc that stalked them.

As much as they may always be at each other's throats with their snarky quips and witty banter, when it came a time like this- on a battlefield in a world that is larger than life, running through blood and gore and fending enemies meant to kill and destroy, it almost seemed as if an unspoken mandate that they would watch each other's back. Even if it was often (Y/N) alone who had guarded his while Legolas remained occupied looking after his heart, Tauriel.

Hers remained an exposed target, open to the world for the taking.

The novice priestess had long ceased minding the danger. It was a half-life she found herself willing to bear for as long as her insignificant mortal life would allow if it was what it took to safeguard his joy even if it were out of and for someone else. Better see it than not at all, She would oftentimes think whenever doubt threatens to find root in her heart and her mind begins to question the soundness of the extents she is willing to take for the unrequited admiration she harbors for the prince.

"Think fast, princeling!" She suddenly hollers with an urgency that Legolas knew to answer with muscle memory rather than the previous bristling he used to at the employment of the moniker. It was so much of an overused 'there's filth behind you that I am going to hit so please duck' that the Elven Prince had by this point knew to humor it with an equally mischievous smile that matched her own.

(Y/N) swung her left arm back and with it brought water forth, turning them into icicles that she then used to impale the beast with.

By the moment Legolas had straightened back up to his full height, he shot her one of his grateful little grins that she grew to know meant nothing more than appreciation. It only spanned for a mere few seconds before his whole attention snapped towards the sound of something cracking.

It did not take him a bat of an eyelash to dive in and push Tauriel away from the debris that nearly fell over her.

It did not take (Y/N) a mere half of it to whistle for Luna to tackle them both out of harm's way.

Commanding the water to douse the flames threatening to begin spreading outwards from where they were, the priestess throws both elves yet another cheeky grins and inclines her head, placing a hand just above her heart as she declared,

"At your service, my dearest Prince Legolas and Lady Tauriel."

The Great Tiger gracefully strides back to her owner with not so much as a beckoning before affectionately rubbing her huge furry head lovingly against the priestess' entire side, "You did a stellar job, my darling moon! Huh? What is it?" (Y/N) bubbling chuckle died at her familiar's observatory report. Her entire mien changing from blithe to grievous, "Bard? That is folly! He would not be able to take down a dragon by use of ordinary arrows. What? Bain? His son? Where is he? Oh dear Valars... Alright, take me there."

Not a heartbeat was wasted as the priestess swiftly climbed her mount. Halfway into uttering the command for their hasty departure, (Y/N) notices the confused albeit apprehensive expressions on her companions' faces and it made a grimace of the smile that she failed at, "Perhaps my lord and lady might fetch Bard's girls from their home? The boy is no longer there, I am to find him." she offers as if a cue that it is due time they get back to their posts and save as many lives as they could.

It was then that Tauriel had allowed the truth to make a home of her face. There was not a single attempt made to hide where her true concern laid- not with the world as she had so boldly declared to Thranduil, Legolas and (Y/N), no.

The mortal priestess could feel her heart break for the Elven Prince but still she spoke -it was information necessary for the lot of them to function, to know what they are doing and who remained in need of actual saving, "Yes, Tauriel, the dwarves are with them." she begins perhaps a nudge too pointedly than she intended, "Luna also notes that Kili had successfully recovered." (Y/N) did not find the least amount of entertainment at the elleth who flushed in embarrassment at having been found out, especially not when Legolas in turn rose a scrutinizing brow, his eyes now fixed on hers.

The priestess found herself with very little else to do save for scratching the back of her neck diffidently, a guilty upwards turn on her lips as she spoke, "I may or may not have mixed in some very specific ingredients on to the healing salve he took to hasten his healing process..." her voice trails off, gaze dropping to the side and away from electrifying blues, fearing that her resolution to remain a neutral party would waver at the intensity of those eyes.

Before she knew it, a hand laid atop her knee. Too delicate and thin to be Legolas', Tauriel was looking up at her with immense relief and gratitude, "Thank you." Those words alone and the thankful squeeze of a hand should not have given anything away aside from a profound sense of alleviation, however there remains the reason why novices are sent to see the world before they could undertake their vow as priestesses.

First they are to learn about every being in Middle-Earth. To see beyond race and skin and fur, into the hearts that laid underneath chests of varied sizes and make, to pay careful attention to the emotions that lurked beneath every breath and every bat of eyelashes, those that swirl just around a creature's eyes before disappearing entirely and turning into something else.

And in those bright emerald greens she saw love. A yearning so desperate yet aimless and confused and so so young that all that concealed the heart's desires was a thin sheen that is nearly transparent it might as well not be there. Tauriel had fallen for the dwarf and (Y/N) knew it ever since that night in Mirkwood's dungeons- long before even the elleth herself was consciously aware of it.

The intensity of what to her might have been a new emotion seeped out of her unbidden and heedless, so much so that it began to concern Thranduil. (Y/N) had been there during their confrontation but she swore against breathing a word of what she had witnessed. It was a secret that is all too welcome to lay beside her heart as they bury it once it finally dies from all the blows it had endured for and from the obliviousness of the prince.

"Legolas had grown very found of you."

"I assure you, he only looks at me as a captain and a guard. Nothing more."

"Perhaps once. But not anymore."

"Surely you would not let your son pledge himself to a mere Silvan elf."

"Yes. You are right. But he cares about you. Do not give him hope where there is none."

"Shall we head off, Tauriel?" (E/C) eyes were fixed on the blonde prince as he clasped a tentative hand on Tauriel's shoulder. It was a touch of lingering caution and persistence, of dwindling hope- of a stubborn refusal to acknowledge the inevitability of a loss. (Y/N) knew too well the chords of that tune, the ultimate fate of that prose.

Like calls to like.

Not trusting herself enough to meet the broken soul hidden underneath those pale blue eyes, the priestess was quick to turn to the direction that would lead her to Bard's house. Not once turning back to the elves behind her.

"It appears not... we are on completely different roads -you and I- and woe be this fate that I exist nowhere in yours." A lone tear traverses down one flushed cheek, short-lived was this grief as a brown gloved hand rose quick to rid the world of its existence.

The priestess dons up a smile if only for the comfort of the villagers still in need of aid and pats the side of the heart who remained steadfast by hers, "Let's get going. Shall we, Luna?"

-----

Within the fleeting dream, I wish this unexploited love to end,

Yet, I open my eyes to this red and flickering flame of love...

Casualty had and will forever remain a given wherever dragons and war are involved. Regardless of what a single soul or a group of races do, it could never be avoided and there would still be those whom they failed to reach in time and those whose plights they never even knew of.

It was this that most likely explained the burnt and mangled bodies strewn across the shore from where they evacuated what they could of Laketown.

This was what (Y/N) remained to see in the middle of the night while everyone else had long succumbed to sleep. She never knew why but out of all the people who had lost someone that was close to their hearts, it felt as if it were her who took everything the hardest. Sleep could not find her and so she instead volunteered to keep the fires going through the night in a bid to keep the villagers from freezing as winter is already upon them.

Smaug was dead. Bard had successfully driven the one Dwarvish wind lance in existence through its heart and was reunited with his family once more. He was even given the title of 'Dragon Slayer' as the dwarves of Erebor, lead by Thorin Oakenshield, finally reclaimed their homeland.

The priestess mused with no small amount of frustration how for some, prophecies and cautionary tales are so easily told by tapestries and age-old songs and yet those who heard and saw insist on making the same mistakes as the ones before them, insist on falling for the very same frailty that had caused the undoing of people and of kingdoms that had once flourished, the death of many and of what truly mattered. She never truly arrived at an answer, fathoms she never could-

-not while she herself remains suffering from the same affliction.

Kili had left in pursuit of the rest of his kin. However before that he first entertained the frivolous idea of taking Tauriel with him- the split second of consideration in the elleth's eyes did not get past (Y/N)'s keen observation. The priestess wondered whether Legolas had noticed it too because he was quick to intervene and order his captain to take her leave of the dwarf who then in turn left a stone with engravings on it as a promise that he will come back for her.

It was then that she saw the resolution deteriorate in the prince's eyes and through a chink, was able to discern the hurt and despairing vie as his entire figure slumped albeit immaculately discreetly. As if in quiet suffering, the final song of a dying wren- so tiny in the crushing hands of cruel fate and an even more brutal world.

The death throes of his heart and his hopes deserved a funeral pyre. It deserved acknowledgment, to (Y/N) it would have been granted eternal life.

The priestess sighs visibly now, white puffs of air slipping past her opened mouth. Everything goes cold wherever Death walks by, the trail he makes being that of emptiness and irremediable loneliness. She could feel the presence of Death even if it remained not her and hers- the dreadful aftertaste even stronger still. She remains consciously aware of the lives it took and the pleas of the souls who do not wish to depart from their loved ones yet and it tastes like bile stuck at the back of her throat.

The voices are there, yes, they drag her down into a state of half-sleep. A void that is a mixture of both her conscious and subconscious thoughts. She succumbs to it, it was not as if her service is needed anytime soon. Legolas and Tauriel left earlier to ride north, so there was not much left for her to do except to keep close watch of the bonfire.

Laying down, her back rested against patches of grass and dirt. She took a deep breath, watching the midnight skies clear for once to make way for starlight. It never failed to make her marvel at how surreal and distant the skies are for mortals, like some unattainable dream forever for them to see but never to touch-

Everything rushes to her and all she could see was the elf prince the very instant she had closed her eyes.

Before her were vivid recollection of the times she stood by him. From where he elegantly drew his arrows, took aim with his long arms and shocking depths of intoxicating blue, and then shot with deadly precision at whatever his target was; to where he skillfully fought his enemies with practiced ease by use of swords and knives and equally quick wits; where he is so much an adept warrior yet a refined prince both at the same time; where he is warm and gentle and bearing so much knowledge crammed into the little space in his eyes; where even though his soul may be centuries old, he remained eternally youthful and curious and his heart so achingly devoted to both the wrong causes and the right in tragic equality-

(Y/N) halts her reverie if only to stay Death's hand from laying a premature claim to her heart.

There were times she so fervently wished herself free from the burden of feeling so strongly. The mere idea that a vital part of her supposedly undivided attention as an aspiring priestess had been effortlessly snagged by one soul is trouble enough, but coupling it with the reality that it is unrequited made it all the more unbearable. It cleaves her actions in two and as much as it remains a shame to admit it, shall there be an innocent human, elf, or dwarf hanging on the precipice of a cliff with an incapacitated Legolas on the other and she could only deign to save one of them-

-she would rush to the prince's aid without so much as a second thought.

"Argh," The priestess' groan was only barely muffled by the crackling embers of the bonfire, "It is due time that I set my priorities straight.. I am a disgrace to my house." she threw her arms over her eyes that remained scrunched shut.

"How could you say such a thing about yourself?" A voice chides so hauntingly beautiful and familiar that she wished she could just close her eyes forever and hear nothing but that sound whispering her name in the tone that it would use to address his beloved.

She would try to keep her eyes closed, to feign sleep-talking, anything to keep herself from seeing him as close as his voice had indicated because she knew it will be her undoing. Yet like clockwork, she remains a loyal prisoner to his words as he leaned closer and demanded, every hushed breath a crooning tormentor,

"It is only proper manners to meet the eyes of whom you are speaking too, dear priestess. Is it not?"

At this (E/C) eyes fluttered open and all there was in her world then was his face curtained by his silky long blonde locks. (Y/N) figures maybe he was the reason why the moon was missing that night.

Like a child in a trance, (Y/N) reaches upward with a hand to haltingly touch a few of the glistening strands between her thumb and forefinger if only to see if the Legolas that crouched beside her was real.

With the slightest curve on the side of a perfect mouth, the figure vanished into thin air like silvery whisps of evergreen scented vapor. It did not take a second for the girl to realize that it was naught more but a ghost made concrete by the sheer strength of her longing.

She stood with vivid exhaustion plastered on her face -emotionally spent and heartbroken and for no one else to see- and made her way towards the camp to rekindle the fire threatening to die out.

The renewed pang her daydream had left fueled the flickering embers in her heart, even as it turned into despair as she stared at the crackling wood before her.

His illusion may have deserted her yet the hole he left in her heart had endured- the apprentice thinks she will harbor that -him- for however long her pitiful existence on the earth would stretch.

-----

I might not be the one who warms up your cold and numb hands, but

the one who can illuminate my future in this world is only you...

The real Legolas is with Tauriel under the same stars that prayed witness to her breaking that night. It is cold and (Y/N) wonders if they found some place warm to stay or if they, like her, opted to sitting close to one another in front of an open fire outside.

If they did however, it will not be quite like her, she realizes. For with the pair of them there is but one of her in the dead of night.

It would not matter if it gets cold, her heart whispers, there is the two of them after all. Always had been and always will be. Because even though the elleth displayed tendencies to go astray, the priestess knew, just like Tauriel, that Legolas would blindly follow her to the ends of the world.

(Y/N) hopes that the captain would at the very least return the favor by protecting him even if it is done out of nothing more but sheer courtesy. It will be hard for her to intervene on the occasions that they would be this far away from her and some time soon, she will have to eventually leave their side to discover the rest of the world-

Alone. To further her desire to be a priestess of great power, enough to leave the world a better place than when she had first found it.

Better than when it had first broken her heart.

Tear-stained (E/C) continued to stare at the dancing flames before her as she curled into a ball in a fetal sitting position. Allowing herself the luxury of weeping for all the wrong causes she had been too willing to bet her heart on and for the future she could now no longer see without the prince in it.

(Y/N) ultimately decides to strive for that future if she must- even if it means that she is to stay as nothing more but a priestess in his service. The path she would walk would bear no small amount of heartache yet with it will also be the guiding lights made bright by the purpose of being able to stand proudly beside the prince-

and to her young heart it was all that mattered.

-----

Even though I deliver this "I love you" to you one million times.

In the end, you won't give me a "YES", but

I will deliver this "I love you" to you one more million times again.

Oh love, please show me a way...

They never went back that day. Or the day after that. Not even when the villagers of Laketown went on their journey towards the ruined city of Dale, not even after they arrived.

The (H/C)-nette did her utmost to be of use- operating with the thought that perhaps if she moved about extensively enough the dreadful thoughts might spare her some mercy. Tending to the wounded and handing out blankets and food ration, keeping watch at night and maintaining what small amounts of bonfires they could manage- she took anything and everything to get her mind off of things.

(Y/N) was well aware that even Bard had taken notice of her blatant refusal to remain idle- nevermind to rest- yet he never did directly voice his concern, not even after she had volunteered to man the night watch for the second time in a row. He just asked her once if she was faring well and suggested he give the task to someone else the night before so that she might have a well-deserved rest.

It was an offer that she of course courteously declined. Resolution dawned quick upon her then that even if Bard did make an effort to retire her the results would have remained the same.

The midnight chill seemed much preferable over the warmth of a blanket after all. Especially these past few days when sleep had been her enemy and everything that came close to it had conjured upon her reverie the same picturesque imagery of the prince. The one who would openly smile for her and for her alone, the one she would divulge her genuine feelings to without fear of judgment or distaste or banishment altogether. She could no longer recount how many times she had told this prince how much she adores him so neither can she recall how many times he had been so close for her to touch before consciousness befell her and she realizes that everything was just the same tricks her mind had gotten used to playing on her over and over again.

And so, over and over she fell and swore and spilled the same words of adoration to the same phantom figure, hoping that it would somehow make him realize how much she truly, desperately means it. Over and over she awakes to see herself in the same position: curled into a ball, tucked beside Luna in front of the blazing fire before her, cheeks wet, eyes stinging; over and over her thoughts would wander to Legolas and she will say the same words again.

Some nights, she would ride Luna at full speed and run up hills to scream, on others she would curl in with the tiger and just settle with a coveted whisper.

All those times, her words fell on deaf ears. All those nights, her voice shivered and cracked for the absentee prince over and over again.

Out of love, out of a helpless passion she knew would never be returned.

She knew she will make the same decision a hundred times over because none of it was ever a mistake.

Once is a mistake, twice might perhaps be a coincidence, thrice could be a lie, there is fault in a fourth yet none of which could dare define much less begin to justify a word said a million times over before and again.

-----

The desolation of Smaug was merely the crux that predated an onslaught. Compared to the bloody war that followed, the flames and burned carcasses was nothing compared to the aftermath of The Battle of The Five Armies.

Bloody, mangled remains of elves, dwarves, orcs, and humans had littered both the foot of Erebor and the pummeled city of Dale. Discarded armor, ruined weaponry, machines and deteriorated stone walls of once great cities cluttered as far as the eye could see as if in poor tribute to a blood thirsty god.

Taking in the sight, it does not take a sage to conclude that no absolute victory had been won even by the rallied forces of all races combined against the Gundabad orcs and the annihilation of Azog the Defiler and his right-hand, Borg.

Not even (Y/N) could feel remotely festive after all that had transpired- not even if she were the key to every bit the most notable accomplishments they had with this war.

It mattered not to her that she had stopped a much unnecessary war between the Sindarin Elves and the Ironhill Dwarves; that she had fought alongside both dwarves and elves as Durin's Folk hid behind the walls of Erebor; that she stood firm with her usual garbs and nothing else but her courage and a sword and the skills she had learned from Legolas. Her great tiger, Luna, beside her-

(Y/N) had fought and will fight for everyone else's life if not for her prince's. That was why and how she manages to live, her own self-preservation long forgotten every moment spent in this unreciprocated charade of hers that stretched on and on. She had since ceased feeling guilt for throwing her life across the line far more times than she had kissed and will kiss the moon goodnight- unlike Legolas or Tauriel, she had not a soul who would mourn her loss.

Through it all, they had defeated their fair share of enemies- tiger and master, side by side. Guarding each other's backs and sharing an affectionate moment with their foreheads pressed together before going back into the fray once more and racing towards Dale after finding out that the orcs were planning to lay siege on the unsuspecting settlement.

It was already a given that the priestess would abruptly turn her head towards the direction of the city, chorusing with Gandalf as they made the dreadful announcement- hers containing a proposition to head straight to it with Bard and his army of angry lakemen to hopefully warn the rest of his own in time before it was too late.

The Elvenking had bestowed upon her then a look as if she had just lost all sense that he saw on her in the beginning.

"You came to the Woodland Realm with the intention of learning the culture of my kin in order to make a fine priestess. This is no longer the halls of my kingdom but a battlefield, (Y/N)." Thranduil seethed as best as his marmoreal grace had allowed. A hand settled on her shoulder then, the entirety of him threatening to haul her up into his mount, "You are still but a novice and even better than that you are not trained to be a warrior." his eyes blazed pale flames as his voice dropped, "You should be aware of the confines of what you could and could not do, priestess. Before you get yourself killed."

His disquietude was a sight to behold for Thranduil had been known for a great many things but this- ruffled and disturbed, very nearly mortal.

Yet her resolution did not dwindle. For though she is young of age -even for a priestess, a mortal and most especially an elf- her fortitude surpassed that of a great warrior, be it living or dead.

With a slight shake of her head and an apologetic little smile, she confirmed that her will is yet to bend under the king's stone-cold gaze.

"My most sincere apologies, dear king. But as much as I appreciate your concern, I ought to take my leave. I believe you would be more than capable to arm yourself and your kin but I doubt those men and women in Dale would survive this attack unaided." She offers in weak succor, her face hardening a considerable amount before she deigns to hide it behind yet another smile.

The Elvenking barely held back the barb that threatened to resurface and slip past his lips.

'The delicate hands of a mere mortal priestess would not be able to hold half of the onslaught that would befall those doomed souls. It is a battle loss before it even began...'

Still, he managed if only with the knowledge that this stubbornly selfless and naïve mortal girl is a mere front to something more glorious than a simple priestess. Although he yet finds himself able to admit, Thranduil knew her to be a competent warrior both in heart and soul- her mentor was his son after all.

"Very well then. Do as you wish." He finds himself relenting with a tilt of his head in the manner that was customary for him, the one that threw parts of his silky white locks on one side in a gracious waterfall.

Face devoid of any emotion, he proceeded to take the same direction as the young priestess, his regal form perched atop his great elk falling in perfect sync beside master and tiger.

"Pardon my imprudence, my king, but is it of mere coincidence that we are taking the same route?" (Y/N) asked nonplussed, her head cocked to the side and at a loss as to why the Elvenking would leave his elves in the battlefield.

"I will not have you harmed where my eyes could see and my hands may reach." Thranduil replied cryptically, not a part of him offering or heralding the beginnings of an explanation.

The priestess allows herself to find momentary solace at this wrinkle in time where she had not been alone, letting it be known with a pleasant hum that she had taken his words for what they were. They resumed to ride in silence, (Y/N) so oddly at peace despite the bloodshed around them until finally, agonizingly, their paths had split up and she was forced to wave the king a silent goodbye.

"May the Valars look down and smile upon you." The Elvenking grants her his blessing with a subtle tip of his proud head- with it was a minute upwards turn of the lips that the girl hadn't missed.

The same way it did not escape (Y/N) how those frosty blue eyes that lingered on her looked so extraordinarily familiar that it took her breath away. Still piecing bits and pieces of her addled consciousness, Thranduil returns her wave with a curt nod before turning back to his post amongst his kin.

It was in Dale that she was once again reunited with two of the Elvenking's bane- the priestess belatedly and most inconsolably noting that by some odd strike of luck this very pair of elves remain her heart's own scourge as well.

"Where have you two been?" she inquires by way of greeting, both worry and fury coloring her tone.

Their response was of a more deplorable note. There was an impending ambush from the north. Legolas having already tried to coax his father into warning the dwarves, (Y/N) had already by then saw the losses Thrnaduil had suffered and so it had not at all been a surprise for her that the Elvenking had turned the request of his own son down.

It had caused even more strife than it was worth when Tauriel aimed her arrow at the king, stating in self-righteous fury how she pities him for not knowing of love- for not having such in his heart.

Which the priestess had found was quite ironic for the elleth to say after falling in love with a dwarf she had just met. As if she did not bear even an ounce of remorse for so carelessly discarding Legolas, for acting as if his feelings bore no weight and significance -as if it never was- even if it had been so painfully obvious for everyone else.

(Y/N) knew a part of the captain is completely aware of it by now. Even a blind man could tell by the tone and the choice of words the Elven Prince would use whenever he would talk to her.

That was where they differed. Where Legolas would talk to Tauriel, he would talk at (Y/N).

"I would go up to Ravenhill to warn Thorin." the priestess blurts out, more out a desperate plea to keep herself from going idle and falling prey to her despondent thoughts once more rather than an actual decision made by a sound mind.

Thranduil was relatively quick on the uptake, "This brash behavior is precisely what I was warning you against, (Y/N)." his scolding was the first of the many to come. His tone taking quite an exasperated turn once all the rashness in his features had simmered down.

Legolas' then followed shortly after that.

"Even though I am openly against ada as of current, I must agree with what he had said. This battle is no longer yours to fight- it was never yours to begin with." His brows furrowed with the will of someone who, in all seriousness, wanted her out of it.

(Y/N) carried on and sported this particular ache as she had done all the others, decidedly pushing through with fighting alongside them throughout the war.

Her loyalty for the prince had peaked during the battle. There was not a single moment then when she had thought about her life above his.

From the very moment he and Tauriel had arrived to announce the grave news of an ambush from Gundabad, (Y/N) was quick to take her leave of her post without a single question asked. Through the disapproval of all three elves whom she had grown to call as hers -to protect and to serve- she remained a steadfast albeit impetuous ally, even when both father and son had named her bravery a perilous understatement for stubborn behavior in different shades.

Through it all Legolas instinctively looked after Tauriel, and knowing all too well how the captain's grief would hit the prince tenfold, (Y/N) in turn watched over Kili atop both elves' backs, especially Legolas'.

It is in this demented process of flying above her wingspan, that the priestess had lost the only one who had ever unconditionally reciprocated her love in equal value.

(Y/N) was on one of the neighboring mountains in Ravenhill, riding Luna and shooting arrows at all the enemies who threatened her comrades when she saw Borg, aiming to stab Kili with a large wooden stake.

(E/C) eyes widened and the whole world seemed to have stopped as the priestess gazed dropped down to Tauriel as she howled in despondence- a sound that was quick to snag at Legolas' attention despite their distance. It was not just the mirroring pain that was etched on the prince's face that had spurred (Y/N) into action, no, the undefended dwarf on the verge of death had too became one of her trusted confidantes. Kili was the only one who knew of her adoration for the Elven Prince and even though he had found her out of accident, he had not once pried or forced her to act on it. The Dwarven Prince, did however listen, tossed in what wisdom his equally youthful self was able to supply every now and then along with the occasional teasing that had always been meant and succeeded in raising her spirits.

The thing about (Y/N) is that she would die before she allow harm befall what few souls she chose to hold close to her heart.

Dismounting, she gazed off into the distance, a silent plea to the great goddesses to guide her slipping past her lips as she begged for them to give her the strength it required to protect all those who are dear to her.

Just enough. Not more, not less.

"Luna, love, we are to split up, alright?" She whispered sweetly as she caressed her heart and pressed her cheek on that spot beside ice-blue irises and slitted pupils. Immense dread threatened to split her into two as the tiger purred and returned her embrace with fervor.

"That's my girl." she cooed and kissed one great forehead before nuzzling her nose against the tiger's, "I love you."

Even though she is unable speak, Luna knew to return the words with her eyes and a stroke of her head and huge paws against her human. (Y/N) knew exactly what it meant, every word.

'I love you too.'

'It is not your fault,'

'You never had the choice.'

'It does not mean that it made me think you had ever loved me less.'

'Goodbye.'

That was the last she saw of her companion's lively eyes and taunting stature. Last of the pristine snow white fur always combed to perfection, of the vivid charcoal lines that decorated the expanse of her body in such an exquisite manner, of the huge build that could take 4 riders at once, of those depths of wise yet impish aquamarine irises and of that adorable pink nose and tongue.

Luna had always smelled of snow and cookie dough. It was a scent that was unheard of and strange for a tiger especially one as regal as her, it steered her kind away as it drew elves, dwarves and men towards her. She had preferred things the way they were, preened on the attention she had received from minds she knew aligned with hers- the tigers, Luna seemed to have thought once upon the time (Y/N) tried to proactively introduce her to them, smelled at best and repelled her at most.

It was on the more isolated part of the mountain far from the festivities of Erebor when (Y/N) had once more reunited with her. Hours upon hours of scouring through various mountains after defeating Azog the defiler and she had finally found Luna.

And all there was for her were tears of regret and yet another fistful of an already broken heart.

The deluge fell from her tired eyes as she stared down at her fallen kin. Badly did she wish to turn her head away from the stains of angry red that tainted snow white fur, to tear her eyes from the despicable sword impaled on the great tiger's noble chest that had once heaved but now no more.

But she would not. Not when it was herself that had brought this upon her stalwart heart.

"It was all my fault... " the young priestess murmured, her voice breaking after repeating the same words for the hundredth time that night. It was not unlike a fool's wish to hope it might somehow make the loss bearable.

At the sight of no one, (Y/N) dropped to her knees and wept her heart out once more, however this time, she was now truly alone in her grief.

The midnight skies had never been so dark before, it was as if the stars themselves shared her heartbreak and hid behind turbulent clouds to allow the incoming storm to come in a bid to mask tears of their own.

The impending downpour was a beating she would welcome with open arms in the hopes that she would somehow drown in it as she laid there sprawled over her tiger, that perhaps with it and her she might disappear too.

There she remained struck down by her sorrow. No longer minding the men, women and children of Laketown, the elves of Mirkwood or the dwarves of Ironhill and Erebor. Now they are safe, now there was no longer any need for her at the festivities that took place inside Erebor.

No more fighting, no more protecting.

The rain poured heavily then, drenching the world and pulling the young priestess further down the ground as she curled up into the fetal position that grew usual for both master and tiger. Her body at last became leaden from where she lay with the heavy feeling now successfully gnawing at her beaten heart, the coldness and loathsome presence of Death mocking her as it triumphantly stole the animal's welcoming warmth away from her.

Dulling (E/C) hues fluttered shut, spent from all the crying she had done to make up for all the times she had kept her grievances to herself. Alone as she had always been yet never was back when Luna was still there.

Unlike now.

Pitiful hiccups escaped her plush lips, sobs consuming her body like a merciless undertow as her gloved hands reached up in an attempt to stifle her all-consuming anguish.

It was due to this that she did not see the clouds part to make way for the vivid light of the moon as it glowed with gentle rays of pale silver upon her as if in consolation.

"My dear girl..." The Lady of the Light strode towards the broken figure on the harsh damp ground. Reaching out, she touched the top of her most sprightly novice's head before sitting down beside her, the mud not once staining her elegant robes.

(Y/N) flinched at the sudden appearance of her mentor and quickly sat up to clear her face of tears and gore,

"M-my lady, " she despised how her voice came out in a battered croak, "-surprising to find you here of all places..." She trailed off, looking around in search for a diversion before noticing the hem of the lady's dress in contact with the puddle of murky water closest to them, "m-my lady! Your robes!" (Y/N) shuffled to her knees and rubbed the dirt off her hands on her cloak before reaching out to grab the ends of pristine white cloth.

Lady Galadriel lifted a mild hand up to soothe the panicking priestess and held the trembling hands that reached out to touch her clothes instead.

(E/C) orbs involuntarily looked down in fear that her mentor would see enough of her to tell that she could no longer take any more of the world. That the Lady of Light had already seen how defeated and disheartened her student was that she would just deign to recall her back to Lothlorien and finally appoint her as a temple-maiden instead.

Galadriel saw through all the young girl's uncertainties, that even though the young priestess chose not to speak of it, she knows that her brave and young little heart needed all the words of encouragement it could be spared,

"My darling, do you know what it was that I saw in you back when you were young? What it was I saw that eased my blessing for you to go on this journey without so much as a second thought?" The lady queried, covering both of the younger one's hands in hers, lowering them so that it settled on the space between them.

(Y/N) only remained silent, shaking her head a 'no', because not once had she seen anything remotely special in herself.

This coaxed a melodic chuckle from the Lady of Light, her eyes shining brighter than the purest star as she squeezed cold hands before answering with absolute fondness -as if the young girl is her own and she was a proud mother staring into her daughter's eyes-

"It was because you were blessed by the moon and the stars with a heart so pure and brave that it loves so selflessly and earnestly to the extent of what others would deem as a fault." the gentle resolution in her gaze made (Y/N) want to weep, "It is such a blessedly unsought fault that the world greatly needs yet overlooks both at the same time." Galadriel smiles wistfully, reaching up to touch one reddened tear-stained cheek, her thumb lightly brushing the salty trails off.

(Y/N) merely sighed in resignation. Of course her mentor knew, she always does. But that does not mean she would not dare ask,

"You knew?" She finds herself completely against the idea speaking it as for her the grief remained too near and so she decided to be vague despite knowing that the lady of light would easily see through it- through her.

A mischievous little upturn made its way across the lady's thin lips as she spoke deliberately,

"Of your attachment to the Prince of Greenwood? Of course I do. Your soul is that of a wanderer that never took root on a single location for more than a week and yet you took a month in Lord Thranduil's kingdom." there was a discreet emphasis on the name that (Y/N) was certain the Lady of Light was letting her in on, "If it would not be because of the Elven Prince then I would be inclined to think your heart was ensnared by the Elvenking himself- although," she pauses as if in thought, "For now I doubt it is such for as fine and fair an ellon he may be, the young king tends to be quite... unconventionally detached." Galadriel finished, the strain of describing the Woodland King courteously quite palpable.

Taking notice of the girl's mood brightening and the discreet little blush coloring her pale cheeks once more, the Lady of Light decidedly presses her luck, "You must know that I am not entirely dismissing the possibility- the Elvenking is a pleasant sight for tired eyes." She winks.

A tiny grin blooms on chapped lips as (Y/N) shook her head, "If I had not known of your marriage to Lord Celeborn I would think you have taken a rather indiscreet liking to the Elvenking, my lady."

The revered elf queen nodded her head of silken blond waves, "Indeed, but we both know you are wiser than that, my child. It is more likely you than I. Long blond hair, piercing blue eyes, a mercurial personality -that seems to be your kind." She chuckled and brought her apprentice's broken form within the confines of her healing embrace.

(Y/N) could not recall how it happened but Lady Galadriel had, by some miracle, managed to coax her momentarily out of her grief. She still mourned, yes, but the Lady of Light managed enough to entice her into participating in the celebrations that took place in Erebor.

Coming to the conclusion that no amount of lamentation would bring her fallen comrade back, the priestess decides she could at least prevent further concern her absence might arouse from the people, dwarves and elvish warriors she had grown acquainted with during battle.

She did not dare hope too much for Legolas to care about her missing if Tauriel was there.

The elleth could easily take her place.

Such brash a thought, (Y/N) thinks to herself, when you do not even have a place in his mind, nevermind his heart.

Still, the priestess finds herself walking towards the gargantuan halls of Erebor. A heaviness finding its eternal resting place in the pit of her stomach and the hollow of her chest.

[ To be continued in Chapter 2 ]

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theskyexists · 9 months

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I actually think Marcy got the short end of the stick development wise...like narratively. She's a really fascinating character, but they didn't give her the time. The first temple was hers but they wasted half the episode on nonsense conflict with hop Pop. Marcy got betrayed by the person (parental figure) who she was destined to grow closest to and not just a little bit but GENUINELY horrifically twice over. She got stabbed in the chest and then he had her body painfully stolen by the Core and let it pick over her mind and manipulate and isolate her (ALONE, WHEN SHE DOESNT WANT TO BE ALONE). The narrative didn't take the time to point out that irony. Or that she had problems with her parental figures at home who she felt had betrayed her as well.

The narrative didn't give her the chance to help Sasha win the fight after she'd broken free of the simulation...

The narrative didn't give her the chance to speak with Andrias afterwards. To learn that he had attempted to save her life. That she was the reason that he let Anne defeat him. The narrative kind of added insult to injury by explicitly stating that Marcy never got to know Olivia or Yunan well ... When headcanon might have easily filled in that she DID and that she did have alternative connections that didn't go completely bad.

Even going with the depressing idea that Marcy never managed to build relationships with people except with the dad guy who was planning to sacrifice her to an ancient type of tech god... They didn't spend a lot of time on the implications of that... Or that she's been permanently physically altered.

#what i mean is - marcy turned out to be a fascinating character on her own just like Sasha but the narrative was a bitch to her #my stuff #amphibia #vidi

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articskele · 10 months

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Yall I just gotta spill my incoherent rambles about Its Name Was Cesar Torres because GRAAAAHHHHH

Spoilers under the cut!

I saw one post that was like “Ok but which would be more fucked up: the alternate killing Cesar while wearing the face of his mom, or vice versa?” And this fic gave us a third and even more devastating option holy shit-

“Picking up the receiver, it paused before pressing at the shapes in the pattern it knew would make Cesar Torres’ friend speak.”

DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS LINE.

Understanding the how but not the why, having the knowledge but not the experience, the inhuman detachment of it all. One small detail that betrays its whole state of being right now: An imitation.

And don't even get me started on the headcanons for how alternates work bc they're so FASCINATING

The way alternates just. Absorb? Things? To take on their form? One of the comments mentioned the alt wearing Cesar's corpse like a parasite and AOUGH

The way emotions have taste- Altsar's initial plan to understand pain just so it could make Mark's suffering that much better to savor- It's just the sheer embodiment of their nature as entities of consumption, born into a state of empty eternity

The way alternates have no personal stake in the war and are just doing what they do best because they can- The way alternates can't die and are just cast back into the void from whence they came, only delaying the inevitable-

Pfffft Mark walks in and just sees Altsar like 🧍 aksjdalkfh- Not a single thought between those eyes dude

Mark with the chewed up fingernails he just like me fr

THE BIBLE REFERENCES THE BIBLE REFERENCES OUGHHGHGHH HOLY SH IT

I don't even know why I love em so much they just make me FERAL- OK BUT THAT SCENE IN CHAPTER 2 WITH MARK RECITING THE FUCKIGNF PSALM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

BRO IS CLINGING. HOLDING ON FOR DEAR LIFE SOMEONE HELP HIM. GO CHRISTIAN BOY GO!!!! Voted God's little lamb most likely to be slaughtered-

THE PANCAKESSSSS. WHAT IF I CRIED. A glimpse of silliness in the storm, and Altsar fuckin grinning from ear to ear (perhaps literally lmao-) I love that and I want them to be ok in the end-

Can we talk about the deer alternate. Can we tALK ABOUT THE FUCKING DEER AAAAUGHH

They had us in the first half not gonna lie with the Mark fakeout- The way I slapped my hand over my mouth like "WUH? HUH??"

AND THEN ALTSAR, OVERWHELMED WITH RAGE, STRIKING THIS ABOMINATION WITH ALL OF ITS THEIR MIGHT. AND YET IT JUST KEEPS TALKING. WORDS DRIPPING FROM ITS SLACKED JAW LIKE SALIVA. WHY WON'T IT STO P.

The moment Altsar realizes he's gotten way in over his head past the point of no return- The constant change of it to they to he, struggling with newfound humanity and unable to see where the alternate ends and the dead man begins. Is there even a difference anymore?

The whole warm and cold thing..... Mark taking Altsar's hands into his and bandaging his its wounds..... Injured. Broken. Both of them living a lie for as long as they can.

AND CAN WE JUST APPRECIATE THE WAY EVERYTHING COMES TOGETHER AT THE END:

The Mary statue and the deer alternate coming back

Mark's righteous fury framed by the shards of the Evangelist

The change from ¬ Shoot me, Mark Heathcliff. I am not what you think. ¬ to ¬ Don’t shoot me. I'm not what you think. ¬

Altsar finally experiencing pain, only for it to be at the hand of his best friend. Bleeding out as he screams for the one thing he just can't go without.

“It hurts, Mark. It hurts.”

IT'S JUST SO!!! GODDDDDDDDD. WHAT IF I CRIED. WHAT IF I TURNED INTO A LITTLE PUDDLE HUH. WHAT THEN.

I just. I struggle to find the words to describe how much I adore this fic, yall. If you were to look in my brain you would just find that one video of the guy shouting "HEEEELP. HEEEEEEELP. HELP MEEE." with the most expressionless face-

I like this fic. I like it a whole lot. And I can't wait to see what comes next ouo

#mandela catalogue #hail true body au #my nonsense

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shamera · 5 months

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NaNo day 17

early today because it felt like a natural cut here, but i will keep writing if given the chance. I dunno if I'll finish the next scene tonight, after all.

continued from yesterday, but we'll see how far i get as this weekend is going to be really busy. but! i have a plan. a fairy tale plan. because i am that person who likes writing fairy tale aspects into stories.

i miss dfs, though. he won't appear in this story until the second arc, where he slams in aggressively through the wall like the kool aid man.

Fifteen years ago, when Fang Duobing was seven years old, the world changed.

Gates appeared in the brightest cities of the world, swirling with energy and sparking violet volts, appearing in the sky and and on the earth like globes of purple thunderclouds, large as a house.

Dozens appeared all over the world all on the same day, throwing everything into chaos. Some thought it was an attack, others lamented the destruction of places they held dear and people who went missing within the gates, and more still advented the end of times due to the arrival of the gates.

Fang Duobing personally did not remember it, as no gates appeared near him, but what he did remember was the rise of the Awakened.

People called those who fell into the gates and made it back the Hunters. They were stronger, faster, and had the stamina of olympic athletes upon return, each with an almost magical ability within their grasp. Those who returned told the story of otherworldly domains, bubbles of an alternate dimension within the gates filled with wild creatures beyond imagination. Creatures that couldn’t be harmed by any conventional means except by the hands of the Awakened. Each person returned only after a successful kill, and reported the slew of people dead who hadn’t made it.

Some managed to save groups of civilians who had gone through the experience and remained as ordinary as they were before they got pulled through a gate, seconding what had been said: for some reason, the monsters within the gates (dungeons, they insisted, as the places were often dark and teeming with dangers like in a video game) were invulnerable to all damage whether it was explosions or fire or projectiles— until an Awakened individual picked up a weapon, and suddenly they were able to inflict damage. It was baffling. It was terrifying.

To Fang Duobing, seven years old and often confined to bed due to his ill health, it was fascinating.

With the rise of the Awakened, some chose to go back in through the gates in hopes of finding more people to save, of killing more monsters to free those people, and those people brought back items that baffled the rest of the world.

Materials never before seen on Earth. Chemicals and elixirs straight out of a fantasy novel. If the Awakened were akin to superheroes, then what came back in their pockets through the gate started a revolution of science and technology.

Governments attempted to send soldiers in through the gates, hoping to capitalise on the wealth within the dungeons, yet the only ones who made it back alive were the ones escorted by Hunters. And even then, it was a difficult thing. Hunters began forming groups, then sects, to take care of each other. Laws and regulations began to crack down on the Hunters, and in response they either rebelled or did nothing at all, both reactions disappointing those in control.

In China, the sects were wild things, often flaunting their disdain for authority figures and becoming a threat to society as a whole. The gates were a threat to anyone who might come too close, but Hunters were a very real threat to anyone and everyone in the vicinity. They were superhuman and ungovernable, tearing through the already panicked civilizations.

From the chaos, however, emerged several names that Fang Duobing clung to. Above all of them was fifteen year old Li Xiangyi, a mere schoolboy who not only survived the first dungeon but managed to bring more than half his school back with him as well. He was an instant sensation, making international news as a boy who killed over three hundred monsters in the dungeon to bring everyone out, saving not only the corner of his school that had gotten absorbed into the dungeon but also the nursery next door. Nearly twenty children under the age of five managed to survive the dungeon thanks to him and his classmates.

Among his schoolmates, he was the only one Awakened.

A single Hunter, saving over three hundred out of the nearly four hundred people who got pulled into his dungeon. They disappeared for nearly a full week before children started reappearing by the drove.

He continued to return to the dungeons, different ones all over the country, and some across the ocean, attempting to rescue civilians or pull out the bodies of loved ones. Within a year, amidst the chaos that the dungeons brought to the world, Li Xiangyi was regarded as the most powerful of the Awakened, far above all others. Other Hunters would challenge him and place traps for him, but Li Xiangyi dodged and defeated them all with startling ease.

By seventeen years old, Li Xiangyi formed Sigu Sect, banding together like-minded individuals who wanted peace and prosperity amongst Hunters and civilians, and was willing to use their skills to guard the gates and rescue those who fell through into the dungeons. They brought back numerous treasures for people, and the reign of terror that started with the appearance of dungeons slowly started to die down.

When Fang Duobing was ten years old, he was caught in a gate by accident while journeying to the latest of his hospital visits with his nanny.

As the only heir of both the Fang family from his father’s side and the He family from his mother’s side, he mostly had famous doctors brought to his bedside when possible, yet the best doctors were always unwilling to leave their posts for the journey, stating that he would have to come to them as they could not afford the hours away from their job.

Dungeons were temperamental things. It swelled and shrunk like the moon waxed and waned, and knowledge of the movements were not fully understood even three years into its appearance. As such, Fang Duobing had been unfortunate enough to pass close enough while his driver sped along the streets for him and several other cars to be pulled through the gate when previously the gate had been small enough to contain behind fences.

He didn’t remember much of it, having been asleep in the car, but he remembered feeling strange and then waking to panicked shouts and darkness. He remembered being rushed out of the car and into his wheelchair because the car wasn’t working anymore, and the shrieking of strange and terrifying creatures that came closer and closer by the second. There were other people running, other cars that weren’t working, his nanny and driver both pushing his wheelchair and running along with the others away from the sounds of monsters.

He remembered stale air and being more scared than he’d ever been in his life, the air squeezing in his lungs until he felt like he was choking.

The rush of people found themselves cornered in the dungeon, surrounded by walls and darkness and crying out in despair because there was nowhere to run. Peering between the fingers of his nanny from where she pulled him closer to herself in a futile effort to protect him, Fang Duobing could see the vague figures that emerged from the shadows— something dark and twisted that resembled wolves if wolves had double jaws and hundreds of sharp teeth that extended from the mouth all the way down to the torso and legs.

He was heaving in his struggle to breathe, to look despite his fear, as each flashlight revealed a new horror coming at them, and the screams around him were overwhelming enough to burst his eardrums when the sounds changed and soon it all went quiet.

Peering through his nanny’s fingers again, this time he could see a figure in red standing to defend them. The flowing robes, the extended sword, and the long hair pulled into a high ponytail…

Fang Duobing was too scared to blink, this time for fear of the figure disappearing.

It wasn’t a red of blood and fear, the thought was vivid in his mind. It was the bright red that signified celebrations, of New Years and scaring monsters away. It was the vivid red of celebratory banners placed on doors, to attract attention and repel bad luck. Like red firecrackers. Like red wedding gowns.

And in that moment, Fang Duobing believed all the superstitions about that colour.

It was the red robes of the Sigu Sect founder, Li Xiangyi.

It was the first time Fang Duobing had seen a fight, but it was the most beautiful fight he had ever seen. Despite the monsters and the darkness, the swaying shadows and the blood and fear, he felt like he was watching a dance. A dance that would suit only to entertain the emperor in ancient times, with wide movements and flowing sleeves, the glint of the sword and most precise of footwork. Li Xiangyi wove through the monsters effortlessly, like water caught in a whirlwind, full of strength and agile grace, his sword catching on each of the monsters long before they could reach him.

For Fang Duobing, the vision of Li Xiangyi’s back in battle would be embedded into his mind forever.

It couldn’t have taken more than a minute before it was over, dripping blood and ichor along the walls and floors, yet at the end of it the crowd of survivors could only stare, just as amazed as Fang Duobing.

He didn’t even notice when other members of Sigu Sect showed up, helping the civilians and tending to injuries, harvesting tiny crystals from the monsters the same colour as the gate to pass to the civilians, prioritising those who were injured first.

“Excuse me,” his nanny spoke up when a shard of crystal was given to her. She was still holding onto Fang Duobing, whose wide eyes were following the red clothed figure speaking to his assistants. “We can’t just leave yet. I’m sorry, but… we have documents back at the car that need to be retrieved. Medical ones for the young master here.”

“Medical documents?” The Sigu Sect member asked them with a frown. “Surely that’s all online nowadays.”

His nanny shook her head. “There’s been some experimental procedures, and they wanted to compare files… please, if we could go back to the car, it won’t take long to find. His medication is there as well.”

The Hunter looked at Fang Duobing, who flushed in embarrassment and ducked his head. It was one thing to be a helpless civilian, but for his nanny to point out that he might actively hinder them…

“I’ll do it.” A voice spoke up, and suddenly red flooded Fang Duobing’s vision again as Li Xiangyi crouched before him with a smile. “It’s not any trouble.”

The Sigu Sect member (all in those white uniforms, bright so anyone in need of help could see them easily) bowed and retreated to document another person in need of help.

His nanny and driver crowded him in with looks of awe as Li Xiangyi smiled at them first and then said toward Fang Duobing, “How are you doing, then? You’ve been very brave here.”

Fang Duobing could only stare, tongue-tied and starry-eyed.

His nanny ran fingers through his hair, and Fang Duobing broke from his reverie, blushing at the babying. He already exhausted his energy just from the panic, and his uncooperative limbs felt heavier than usual despite not having run a single step of the way.

His nanny and driver gave profuse thanks to the Sigu Sect leader as they explained the situation, and then attempted to push Fang Duobing back the way the came from only to find that the wheelchair had gotten stuck, and one of the wheels bent at such an angle it would be useless unless they could change it out.

They despaired for only a moment before Li Xiangyi offered to carry Fang Duobing, and the next thing he knew he was hoisted up on Li Xiangyi’s back and they were walking back the way they came, with his nanny assisting his driver who had sprained his ankle during the run.

They weren’t alone, as there were others who wanted to bring something back from their cars before they left the dungeon, although most wanted to leave as quickly as possible and asked Sigu Sect to please help them retrieve items later. Still, Fang Duobing leaned against the warm back with wide eyes and fingers gripping soft red fabric as his gaze followed the night pearl which gently illuminated the dark expanse around them, and listened as people conversed quietly, still too afraid of the dungeon to speak louder than a whisper. They huddled together around the Hunter, whose blithe attitude reassured them more than the lack of monsters nearby.

It didn’t take too long before they were back to the empty space with several cars that looked various stages of damaged by monsters that had crawled over them. Fang Duobing was settled down while his nanny and driver went to look for the documents they needed, and Li Xiangyi went to help others who got what they needed and wanted to leave immediately, pressing the purple crystal shards into their palm and instructing them on how to leave.

When it came time for Fang Duobing, he clutched onto a red sleeve rather than taking the crystal shard (merely the size of a pearl), and pleaded, “What if this happens again? I don’t… how can I fight them like you do?”

Li Xiangyi looked surprised. “Fight them? You don’t have to fight them. That’s what the Hunters are here for.”

“But I want to!” Fang Duobing responded, thrilled to finally find his voice around his idol. “I want to protect people just like you do!”

Li Xiangyi exchanged a glance with Fang Duobing’s nanny that he couldn’t quite catch, and then his features softened with a smile. Reaching into his sleeve, he pulled out a small wooden sword with something inscribed on the hilt Fang Duobing couldn’t see in the dim lighting.

“Alright,” the Hunter said. “You can protect yourself with this if something like this happens again. When you’re all better and healthy, you can bring this and come find me, and I’ll teach you how to defend yourself.”

Fang Duobing grabbed onto the wooden sword like a lifeline, and Li Xiangyi’s smile was the last thing he saw in the dungeon before being transported back the road where they had originally left.

Two years later, Sigu Sect and Jinyuan Alliance cleared the largest dungeon in China, wherein the gate, along with the sect leaders, disappeared.

Seven years after that, with a clean bill of health, Fang Duobing Awakened as a Hunter.

#NaNoWriMo #mlc nano 2023 #maybe i will be able to finish the first part in the next two days #i'm at a crossroads where i want this to go #do i: make this a 'save llh' one or 'sleeping beauty' one #hmmmMMM

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countlessrealities · 11 months

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Send 🫢 for my muse's reaction to yours walking in while they are changing / getting dressed || Accepting !

@mcltiples sent: “oops!” { to Evil Rick from Weird Rick xD }

Despite what you would be pushed to think, Rick had his own bedroom in the bunker he shared with his partner. The place was spotless, in the way furniture on display was, betraying how little it was used. There were no personal items in sight, with the exception of a oddly shaped jar, filled with a fluorescent blue liquid, and a small device that supposedly worked as a projector, but that merelt laid on the nightstand, turned off and unused.

In that moment, there were other signs of life too. A fresh set of clothes on the bed, waiting to be used. A towel on the seatback of the chair. A half drunk glass of scotch on the desk.

And, of course, Rick himself, freshly out of the shower, standing in front of the full length mirror hanging from one of the walls. His body was completely bare, aside from the towel around his waist, and his hair was still damp, the usual spiky locks drooping backwards over his skull. The artificial flesh of his right hand had been removed, exposing the high-tech skeleton that lied underneath it, and he was busy recalibrating the circuits that gave sensitivity to his fingers.

The first thing that caught the eye were the dark countless scars that covered his flesh. A broad set of claw marks across his left shoulder. The slightly hollowed, large line that ran along his sternum, top to bottom. The ugly burn that decorated his left side, from his hip up to the border of his ribcage. The various scars littering his arms, starting from the ones that marked the whole circumference of the upper side of his biceps. A bullet wound, between his shoulder blades. And then so many others, standing out against the too pale flesh of his torso and legs. Rough surgical scars, for the most, but also deep cuts, smaller burns, even a couple of bite marks.

Normally Rick hardly paid them any attention, if not when they itched too much. And, since the start of his and his alternate's intimate relationship, also when their naked bodies were pressed together. He found the contrast between his ruined flesh and the other's flawless skin fascinating.

The sound of the automatic door sliding open briefly distracted him from his task. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know who had stepped in. After all, there was only another person had access to the bunker.

"I-I'll be with you in a moment, Rick," he spoke up, applying the last fixes to the circuits. "Is there something you need me for?"

He experimentally flexed his fingers a couple of time, before turning on his heels and heading for the desk. He set the tools on it, retrieving a small vial and carefully pouring his contents over the metal. In the matter of a few seconds, the whole surface was once again covered with muscles and skin.

"O-Or is it one of those times when you just like to stand and watch me?" He went on, draining what was left of his scotch as he tugged the towel off.

Not a trace of hesitation or shame touched his blank expression. Nudity was a taboo dictated by most Earthen societies and their mindset, and he couldn't have cared less about them. Besides, his partner had seen him bare plenty of times.

Once he had picked up his trousers and underwear, he finally turned to look at his alternate, head tilted slightly. Gray blue eyes studied those features carefully, trying to read the other's thoughts hidden behind them.

"Do you wish for me to guess?"

#[ ic :: Evil Rick ]#&& Prime/Weird Rick #[ v. Are you sick like me? ; canon div :: Evil Rick ]#[ You're my obsession. I'm your possession :: Evil Rick & Weird Rick ]#mcltiples #[[ he didn't bat an eye xD ]]#[[ but well that was to be expected it's HIM ]]#[[ tho he saw the chance to get subtly sassy and he took it x3 ]]#[[ it's not like he minds or anything ]]#[[ just every chance to call Weird Rick out is a good chance to do it xD ]]#[[ also don't mind me using this to list some of Evil Rick's scars xD ]]#[[ also did I make and edit a whole icon just to fit this? YES ]]#;; queue

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measlyfurball13 · 1 year

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Yoinking an open tag from @bloodgulchblog!

I've never met a tag game that's specifically about fandom, I just had to fill it out.

Tagging @totally-not-an-awkward-okapi and @nitr09-productions and @south-sea and @ow-old-men, along with anyone else who manages to see this between all of the Sonic reblog spam.

Your name: Call me Measly!

Your current fandom(s): Anybody checking my reblog spam knows that I am neck fucking deep in the Sonic fandom right now. Which I must say, is not the lowest I've ever been- one of my prior fandoms was League of Legends, somehow.

How did you first get into fandom?: Deviantart.com baby!! A really pretty girl in 6th grade introduced me to the website, and one day I finally worked up the courage to enter my favorite show at the time (Transformers Prime) into the search bar. I discovered that I was not the only girl in the world who experience the Blorbo Emotions and that blew my mind.

How long have you been engaging in fandom spaces?: Since 6th grade, as mentioned before. However, honorary mention- my mom is actually a part of the fandom old guard. She's been reading fanfic since before I was born. Strange thought, isn't it?

How often do you read fanfics?: About every week, I say. I usually find new stuff here on tumblr, and I troll the depths of AO3 every week and a half or so. (I usually just tend to tear through every fic that's been tagged with my favorite niche character and then get sad about it.)

Top three characters from your current fandom(s):

Anybody who's even glanced at my reblog spam knows that it's all going to be Sonic characters. More specifically, my beloved Metal Sonic, is #1. Obsessed with this funky identity crisis dude. He's the one I'm writing a literal novel for right now, because you can fit so much goddamn angst, mental illness, and daddy issues into this one robot it's not even remotely funny.

In close second is Omega. This is another robot built by the same guy in universe as Metal, by the way, so he's got a similar yet different flavor of angst going on. Omega was hit with the typical "you are what you choose to be" arc that most fictional robots undergo, except his choice was "I WANT TO COMMIT MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF VIOLENCE. AND ALSO MAYBE MAKE FRIENDS BUT DON'T TELL ANYBODY THAT" and that fascinates me deeply.

Number 3 is, uh, idk? Kind of a toss-up. Probably a tie between Shadow (who's the traditional pick for a hurt/comfort character in this fandom) or Silver (optimistic time traveler dude who is just. so tragic sometimes.)

Have you ever written fic for a fandom?:

BOY HAVE I EVER-

The longest fanwork I've written so far is sitting pretty at around 44,000 words (it's an incredibly niche crossover between Babylon 5 and Knight Rider). My current WIP (the aforementioned one starring Metal Sonic), however, just broke 50k yesterday and I'm not even remotely close to finishing.

But yeah- I've been writing since 6th grade. Here's my very first ever fanfiction by the way, if you want an idea of how far I've come (or a good laugh.)

Have you ever drawn fanart for a fandom?:

I can count on one hand how many times I've tried. I can count on zero hands how many times I've succeeded.

Share a personal headcanon that you feel very strongly about:

If you follow my Sonic sideblog, you'll see all of my headcanons projectile-blasted at you daily.

Additionally, most of my headcanons are pretty fluid. I LOVE enjoying multiple interpretations of the same character, even and especially if they're contradictory. There's only been, like, two that I've ever been super crazy about.

The one that I'm weirdest about right now is Metal Sonic being some flavor of trans. This is the character that, upon gaining the ability to redesign their body however they wanted in canon, gave themselves long hair, a skirt, and a big dragon alternate mode. If that doesn't scream "transgender" for you, I don't know what will.

And finally, what does fandom mean to you?:

Fandom is a place where I get to share the joy of creation with other people! My favorite thing in the universe to do is "yes, and" people and develop ideas together. My second favorite thing in the universe to do is to encourage creators to tell me more about their fuckin' awesome ideas. My third favorite thing in the universe is seeing people react to my own work. I'm just writing the stories that make me happy, man, so to see people enjoying it brings me so much joy.

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aria-i-adagio · 1 year

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Educational Musings

I'm mulling through several options for just what I do when this school year ends. Most likely, this school district would be willing to offer me a half-time contract in the fall, and the teacher shortage is enough that if I work a couple of contacts, I might be able to negotiate half-time in the neighboring county (which would pay better). Full time is definitely out because I don't hate myself enough to be absolutely miserable again.

I could also do a semester as a post-grad volunteer at a university counseling center. It'd be a drive, but I like working with college students as much as with adolescents, I could limit my hours to the 20-25/week which doesn't leave me miserable and chronically exhausted, I like the supervisor, and it would be an appropriate reswing back toward counseling before applying to 'real' jobs. It would also be ideal for combining trips to audit the Dx class since the DSM has been revised.

I haven't hated being back in the classroom, but I'll admit that is partially because my attitude right now is "y'all need me more than I need you." They know I'll walk if they don't keep me reasonably happy. (Okay, I wouldn't walk midyear without a very good reason, because the kids do deserve better.)

I picked up one section of English to help make up for a teacher leaving mid-year. It's senior English, so there's no end of course test, and I can pretty much do whatever I want. Even flying by the seat of my pants, I'm enjoying it. We're reading "The Things They Carried" because I didn't think the textbook selections dug deeply enough in the experiences of war veterans. I was able to give a unit assignment/project with a lot of creative options as alternatives to traditional essays. Next, I'm using the inclusion of a speech of Gandhi's to make them read Dr. King's "Letter from the Birmingham Jail." There's a lot more freedom in English (at least Senior English - I suspect it's not as much the case with the tested ELA classes) than in math.

Even with math, I still like the challenge of trying to figure out the best way to present the material. I wish I had sufficient time to create more in the way of custom curriculum materials - especially after reviewing the textbooks being considered for adoption. There has to be a way to teach math as a system of thought, rather than disjointed parts.

And yeah, I like working with teenagers. They're damn fascinating, particularly when you give them space to express themselves.

I like teaching in many ways, I just have a low tolerance for bullshit, and there's a lot of bullshit. I think I could be a very good teacher, but not with all the restrictions currently in place. I haven't bothered looking up the current laws in TN regarding classroom libraries. I won't have such a thing if I continue teaching, I'll just have books that I absent-mindedly left lying around and if someone takes one, well, I'm too scatterbrained to keep up with things like that. Obviously.

The real issue, which I suspect might be more of a math problem than an ELA problem, is that I can't actually teach what the kids in my classroom need. Even pre-pandemic, we had a problem with a majority of students arriving without the prerequisite knowledge to handle high school math. Post pandemic, even my best students are still struggling with algebra, and if I spend the time I really should be to remediate the gaps, I won't cover the geometry content. The test scores aren't going to be pretty this year. I don't know how I'm supposed to be a good teacher when I can't respond to where the students actually are. (And god knows, loosing time to benchmark assessments, data analysis meetings, etc. does not help. I already know they're behind.)

This doesn't even get into my significant differences in philosophy with the powers that be about what education should accomplish. I hate that I'm subsidizing a system which, at this point, primarily appropriates student and teacher labor to make money for a handful of companies publishing standardized assessments. I hate that I feel like a political football when I read the news. I hate that instead of teaching students to be curious, to ask good questions, to look for evidence, to point out flaws in arguments, to challenge assumptions, the only thing truly valued is the ability to get questions right on a standardized test. (The introduction to the revision of the academic standards for math actually said they were switching focus in Geometry back to numeric problems - i.e. those with one and only one answer and thus can be tested in a standardized fashion.) I truly feel that the current educational system needs to be burnt to the ground and rebuilt along radically different lines.

The trouble is that I'm not sure counseling will be that much better - at least not until I reach the point where I can open a private practice with a helluva sliding scale. Meeting metrics for a for-profit chain, standardized screenings, manualized treatment plans, subtle nudges to prioritize economic productivity as a sign of 'mental health', and in many cases, the not so subtle use of counseling and 'behavioral health' as coercion. I think I'll be just as pissed off and stressed out.

I don't know... Writing is the only thing that makes me consistently happy. I need to find a way to live off that.

#personal #teaching while bipolar #cmhc

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daily-rayless · 2 years

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Horizon AU Part 1

Horizon AU Part 3

Guy Delver

Hailing from the Claim, Guy always had an itch to see the world.

Surrounded by delvers bringing in their hauls from ruins all over the northwest, he became fascinated by the Old Ones. Especially their machines. Where so many Oseram wanted to render them down into useful scrap, Guy wanted to understand the machines – rebuild them – and get a taste of the life the Old Ones enjoyed.

His older sister Mary was strong-willed, often more strong-willed than Oseram women are supposed to be. Following the murder of their parents – after which the five-year-old Guy was traumatized by coming into contact with his mother's corpse – it fell to Mary to raise him. Because of the murder, Guy's developed a phobia about being physically close to women. He doesn't like it, but his efforts to try to push through it with sheer willpower have been unsuccessful. He's able to be friends with women, but only at arm's length. The only exception to this is Mary herself, but she didn't raise her brother to expect hugs or pats on the head.

Even when he was young, Mary tried to toughen him up, encouraging him to take on more responsibilities, hoping to make him an ealdorman who could finally make some changes in the Claim. But Guy never had such ambitions; he would have liked to please his sister, but his mind was always far away from the Claim, in distant lands, if not in the ancient past.

When Mary disregarded his aversion to marriage and attempted to broker a useful match with an ealdorman's daughter, Guy knew he had to stop spinning things out passively and take a stand. Even then, he couldn't bring himself to argue with his sister. He left her a note explaining everything and ran off in the night – something he's still ashamed of. But since then, he's traveled south, following every rumor of every ruin he finds.

It's when he's down near Daytower that he finds a half-dead Nora kid under the claws of a Sawtooth. Guy dispatches the machine, hoists the stranger onto his back, and attempts to return him to the Sacred Lands. The Nora guards at the entrance deny him passage, refusing to claim the self-made exile as their own. Having no choice, Guy makes camp on the border and nurses him back to health. His name is Luke.

Guy listens to Luke's story with a raised eyebrow, but he can't fault the kid his desire for freedom. Luke's mission is somewhere west in Meridian, but that's miles away and it'll be a long while before his wounds are fully healed. Worried the kid won't be able to defend himself alone, Guy says he's headed north to Pitchcliff and Luke's welcome to come with and heal up before he heads on to the capital.

The kid can be annoying, but it doesn't sit well with Guy to just leave him to die. As for Luke, he'd never expected to find any sort of ally. And he's smart enough to realize that he's too hurt to make it far on his own.

He takes the offer.

Having Guy be Oseram was an easy pick. Just switch out fontech for ancient ruins and death machines. To say nothing of machine cows. Though, again, it was a bit of challenge figuring out his look. Guy's original design is very sleek and dashing, whereas the Oseram aesthetic is all beefy and layered. I kept seeing him with goggles, probably because of his alternate mechanic outfit in Abyss. I also found myself wondering just how big of a belt buckle he could get away with.

Guy is one of the names that doesn't translate well over into Horizon culture. People joke about Guy just being named guy, but the history of the name is actually the other way around, name first, noun second. Historically, Guy originates in Old German as Wido, gets turned into Guido in Latin, and eventually, among other forms, becomes Guy in French. (It's actually the same name as Wyatt.) It only became a casual word for a man after the Guy Fawkes incident in the 1500s, and then it was presumably pejorative. All this to say, is that I don't know if the Oseram, lacking that linguistic history, would just name someone after the noun, guy. Unless it's a nickname? Maybe his real name is Guylund? Guyvahl?

#guy cecil #tales #tales of the abyss #horizon zero dawn #horizon au #2022

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darkpurpledawn · 2 years

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All the books I read in July

(a note on ratings: for me a 3 is “I really liked it but it had one or two issues,” a 4 is a favorite of the quarter or so, and a 5 is a really difficult bar to clear)

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling (Sci-Fi Horror) 3/5

I sure do love opening a horror book and getting a map. We follow a woman on a backwater world who lied her way into a well-paid job as a caver and the various ways the journey gets out of control due to the actions of her mercurial and secretive operations team of one who communicates with her via audio/video and has complete control of her specialized caving suit.

I have no idea if this would have landed as well as it did if I wasn’t extremely claustrophobic, but as it is I found the environmental horror of this very compelling, and the setting inherently quite terrifying. The survival aspects of the story worked much better for me than the lesbian enemies-to-lovers subplot, since the secondary character’s decisions didn’t feel all that realistic. I would definitely read more from Caitlin Starling if the plot interested me.

Finna by Nino Cipri (Sci-Fi) 1/5

Yikes. I had to pick this up because it’s a thinly fictionalized science fiction adventure story about the exact IKEA I grew up going to, but almost everything about it fell flat for me aside from one lone brilliant joke. It’s ostensibly a sci-fi parody about workplace exploitation in which two exes are forced to cooperate to retrieve a customer lost in another dimension.

I tend to really enjoy comedic stories about low-level employees in fantastical settings, but this focused almost entirely on the romantic relationship between the leads. The main character has an anxiety disorder that feels more informed than actual, and the whole plot feels like an excuse to resolve a very dull conflict between very uninteresting people. I’d be unlikely to pick up something from Nino Cipri again.

The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson (Fantasy) 5/5

SO many content warnings here, but if you can handle the themes, the violence, the analogues to real-world historical atrocities, etc this is a really standout fantasy series with no magic but an intricate and rich alternate history. Baru is a fascinating protagonist with definitive strengths and weaknesses who is sympathetic and monstrous by turns. The plot revolves around a global empire called The Masquerade who colonize Baru’s island, and her long arc of revenge as she becomes a civil servant and economist in a different colonized nation.

It’s bloody and brutal without ever losing track of the humanity of its characters or wallowing in misery for the sake of it, and I am so excited to continue the series.

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (Sci-Fi Fantasy) 3.5/5

It baffles me a little how much I’ve seen people talking about Gideon and Harrow as a cute ship, when their relationship is so very messed up (and interesting precisely because of its messiness and power dynamics and lifelong hatred). The atmosphere of the Ninth House is excellent, and Muir has a real talent for odd descriptions, which makes the gradual teasing out of the mystery within the magical competition the characters enter a great deal of fun. About a third to a half of the way through the plot becomes an isolated whodunnit, which I loved, but the pacing is a bit uneven.

It’s so extremely refreshing to have a female protagonist who is very unfeminine and both upfront and completely unbothered about it, without that being the central theme of the story, just, gosh, didn’t realize how much that was missing from other books until I read this.

The only reason I give this 3.5 instead of 4.5 is the dialogue–this is such an individual thing, but for me this landed right in the uncanny valley of too many modern speech tics and meme references for the setting, even though I think Muir is a very good writer in general. Still, I really enjoyed it and am loving the sequel so far!

I also started a lot of books I’m in the middle of, but those are going to have to go in an August wrap-up. Also, mutuals I am always interested in hearing about what you have been reading lately [eyes emoji]

#monthly media wrap up #books I read in July #science fiction #fantasy

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casspurrjoybell-22 · 8 days

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Dream Eater - Chapter 2 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

"Come in and tell me all about it."

Dante lets me go and leads the way inside.

His apartment is long and narrow and runs half the length of the warehouse.

One wall is all window and most of the space is taken up with art supplies.

Finished works line the other walls.

Like everything about them, Dante's paintings are elegant, refined and classically inspired.

Most feature nudes but none are obscene... which is surprising, coming from a sex-demon.

I've modeled for them in the past and my own face stares back at me from more than one place on the wall.

I look up at the largest example.

The guy in the painting has pale skin smooth as cream, eyes like liquid emeralds, silky brown curls and a mouth like ripe fruit.

Dante says they only paint the truth but the guy in the painting is not who I see in the mirror.

I glance over at the full-length one Dante uses for self-portraits.

The guy in the mirror looks like... well, he looks like he could use a shower and a warm meal... which, honestly, is why I'm here.

Dante's 'living room' is a collection of mismatched furniture arranged in a semi-circle against one corner.

I drop into a chair and they recline elegantly on a low sofa.

By the time I finish my story, they're sitting up, leaning forward with interest.

Even without recounting too many details, recalling the dream has me shaking again at the memory of so much fear and pain.

"And this guy has these dreams 'every time he sleeps'?" Dante asks, incredulous.

I nod.

"There's no way he's human. I mean, I'm a fucking 'dream-eater' and one time, was too much."

"You really think he might be Fallen?" Dante's deep purple eyes are bright with fascination.

Human religions are a mix of vague truths and fairy-tales.

Angels and Devils, Asuras and Devas, Aesir and Vanir, Gods and Titans... all are names for the same thing.

Basically, a long time ago there was this fight between two kinds of powerful beings and one side lost.

They are the Fallen.

They're dangerous and they're not supposed to be on this earthly plane.

"But I don't know how he could be," I say. "I mean, he didn't know I was a demon and he seems to genuinely thinks he's just an architect but that dream..." I shudder.

I can always tell when a dream is a memory or at least based on one.

Things are clearer.

Sometimes I can pick up smells and tastes, remembered sensations but nothing as strong as what I experienced with Damien Knight.

That shit was real.

"It sounds like one of the Hell realms, alright," Dante muses. "But if he somehow managed to escape from that, he's either very clever or one badass motherfucker or both. Whatever he is, he's trouble. I'd stay away if I were you."

"Don't worry," I laugh and rub my hands over my face. "If I never see him again it'll be too soon."

********

Dante agrees to let me stay with them until I can figure out my next move.

In exchange, they ask that I sit for them, as often and for as long as they ask.

This means hours of posing naked and motionless while Dante paints.

It's not my favorite thing but it beats the alternative.

By the end of the week, the thousand dollars is almost gone and I haven't had much luck with new clients.

I got two but they were both pretty weak.

One guy dreamed his checkbook wouldn't balance and he had to go through about ten thousand receipts to make sure they all added up.

The boredom wasn't worth the small amount of energy he gave me.

The other was a woman whose worst nightmare was that she came second in a marathon.

I mean, if I could finish a marathon at all, I'd be happy.

There was a lot of running and I woke up feeling like I'd lost energy rather than gained any.

Dante is generous but I can't stay with them forever.

I give myself two days to come up with new clients or a new plan.

After that... I don't want to prove Max right but I've done worse to survive.

I'm in the middle of redesigning my profile page on the job site, when a message from another social media platform pops up.

It's from Damien Knight.

Fuck.

Of course I used my real name on the job app and he must've traced it. I open the message.

Alex,

Since you haven't responded through the other site, I'm reaching out here. I'd like to schedule another session with you for my dreams. When can we meet?

Damien

I hesitate but then reply.

I'm booked. Not taking any clients.

There. Short and sweet.

He replies immediately.

I'll pay double your rate. $2,000 for two hours.

Ha ha... that's not double.

That's ten times my rate but he doesn't know that.

Proud of my resolve, I type...

'Sorry. No can do.'

I hit send.

Minutes tick by, and I start to feel hopeful that he got the message and gave up.

I go back to editing my profile, when another message pops up.

'I'll pay anything. Name your price.'

Jeez. Will this guy not take a hint?

On a whim, I answer.

$25,000.

His reply is immediate.

Done. When?

Shit. I stare at my screen.

You how people say stuff like, 'I wouldn't do that for any money?'

Well, most of the time they don't mean it and most of the time neither would I.

Not this time.

I'm sorry, I type.

I can't help you. Please stop contacting me.

I let out a long breath and fall back on the couch where I've slept for the past week.

My energy's low, and I need to find a nightmare soon... paying client or not.

There're always the hobos by the docks, if I get really desperate.

I'm frowning at that unpleasant thought, when another message pings.

Reluctantly, I reach for my cell-phone.

Once again, it's from Damien Knight.

I just turned down twenty-five grand but somehow I find these words harder to refuse.

I'm begging you. Please help me.

I stare at the message for ten minutes.

Finally, I type my reply.

Tomorrow 6pm

My finger hovers over the button.

I close my eyes and hit send.

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dreams-poetry-art-therapy · 6 months

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It's okay to distance yourself from people that feel toxic (even if they aren't) [27-28.10.2023]

I went to uni two times this week (once when the colleague told me I look sad and once for a work meeting). I feel like I'm still in holidays. It's definitely not healthy for me to spend so much time at home. I end up working/ studying very little because my computer at home is slow and I keep working while watching TV shows at home which makes me take double the time for any task.

Friday evening, I picked up Y from the main train station and went to eat dinner with him. Another friend of ours was supposed to come but got sick and then, I had the feeling that he thought it was a date. He kept telling me about insurances, because that's what he's studying now. He had a real talent to make everything about insurances, lol.

After that, I debated with myself to go out and meet J and others in a bar or pretend I didn't read her message, stay at home and sew while watching my Japanese TV drama. In the end, obviously, my reliability won and I went to the bar. I wanted to stay only until 1, then only until half past 1, then only until 2. In the end, I left after 3am. It was amazing to see J and also A and B again and they are people that are so easy to talk to. I felt light and happy. Also because: no politics, not even a glimpse of them, all night. Just me and my friends talking about our lives in the dimly lit, cigarette smoke filled bar.

The next day, I wanted to go to the first ice dipping group of the winter but it was at 10am and of course, my sleep deprived brain decided to roll over and sleep back instead. I ended up sleeping until almost 1pm which also means I must've overheard 3 alarms. When I put my earplugs in correctly, they are really strong.

Because at 12 already, CU was supposed to come to my place for a clothes adjustment session, but lucky for me, she was also late. I keep getting away with it.

The clothes adjustment session was nice as always, my sewing machine seems a bit broken again, CU told me about her shopping, she tried on clothes and I wasn't happy with my sewing. Two people so fundamentally different that we will never be friends but so fundamentally tolerant and apathetic that we will never fight about it, either.

In the evening, I went to meet with S. Over dinner, I fell over my words trying to tell her how much this political situation was taking a toll on me, always feeling like I can't express how much I'm really feeling from it. We talked about it in our typical wannabe- therapist- everything is okay- manner where I always feel like I'm only scratching the surface of how much I'm really feeling. Still, each time, the words "This has really taken a toll on me, like no political event ever has" leave my mouth, I feel a tiny bit less terrible, a tiny bit more honest, a tiny bit less alone with my feelings. S is dealing with it how I would like to: avoiding all news, no social media, focusing on her own life.

Then, we went to a burlesque- show in a Halloween - themed bar. The girl at the door was rude and we had to alternate sitting on a bar chair because they didn't have 2 for us. We sat next to a guy, who gave me uncomfortable normie vibes and his girlfriend and mom. Before the show started, we talk about what we always talk about: subcultures, hypothetical scenarios, books and popculture theory.

I loved the burlesque show. Even though it wasn't one bit Halloween- themed, I felt fascinated and entertained and just in awe at the dancers skill and movement and beauty and dresses and the music. One girl danced to "Brand New Bitch" by COBRAH, and now, I am re- listening to all her albums and feeling like a crazy bitch in all the best ways. Another girl made me absolutely feel like it's 1920 with her show wearing a tiny silver dress with a big headpiece, spinning to dramatic jazz music in the cheap, red lights and the faint smoke.

Just about to leave, S suddenly told me: "I reserved a spot for a comedy club after this." And off we went! I love this girl! The comedy club was small and friendly and warm. Because they ran out of snacks, they allowed us to bring snacks from the kiosk inside and I felt so happy on my chair in front of the small stage next to S, popcorn and chips and the drinks spread over the small table, joking around and waiting for the show to begin. I took a picture of the table. It's a candidate for my "happy moments of 2023" collection.

The show started and it was good. I want to watch more comedy with S, because she is, maybe besides B, the person with whom it's the most enjoyable! The host asked us questions about our life and my inner attention whore blossomed and it was funny and it was light and I felt good.

Then, a middle eastern comedian came up and he talked about the Israel- Palestine conflict. I won't spoil all of it but he made me feel okay with not having an opinion and he made me feel okay in general again. It was the second time since this happened thst I felt I could be happy while terrible things are happening, the same feeling I had when watching drag with A. I could exist in the same time while bad things are happening and I could be happy and not guilty despite it. I teared up, of course and I laughed so much at the same time. I felt light again.

And then at night, the second group had planned a movie night at C's place and I had a weird feeling about it. The second group. Politics, different opinions. They were going to protests. I still had this omnipresent anxiety of any political topic coming up and a political discussion ensuing. When I was alone and lost in my thoughts, I caught myself practicing what I would say to them, shakily practicing the words "I don't wanna start a political discussion. " and "I don't know enough about it to have an opinion" over and over in my head. I didn't want to keep thinking about this topic, but I couldn't stop my brain from circling back to it.

So, I kind of tried to avoid going, wondering if they might say it's too late for me to come at some point, or if I could bring it over myself to just not go. I kept asking around other friends what they were doing, playing with the thought of just ignoring the movie night and going out to a club while knowing that I don't have the guts for that.

I texted C, hoping she would be too stoned or distracted to answer, but she wasn't. I went, feeling excited and anxious at the same time. The second group was watching a documentary on the couch and we ate and I drank one useless glass of wine and they smoked and we chatted about this and that. I talked about life updates with Y again and for a few minutes, she felt like my best friend again. We were just laughing and talking and making references and there was no conflict, no protests, no other opinion, no anxiety to lose friends over politics, no knot in my stomach, just two people being on the same wave length and loving each other.

Then, C said to me "If you want to come, we are going to the protest tomorrow."

Me, staring at the TV screen, in the most neutral tone possible "No politics for me, but thank you."

Then: "It's affecting me too much and I don't know enough about it to have an opinion."

C: "It's affecting you too much emotionally?"

Me: "Yes, I cried about it in the first days so much."

I don't think what came could even count as a discussion. Y basically said that you don't need a lot to know to have an opinion and I kept repeating like a broken and deadly neutral clock "Yes, but I don't know a lot about it and I'm not gonna speak out my opinion about a topic I don't know enough a about." Staring at the TV-screen. "Discussion" is over. Nothing even happened. Just the uneasy feeling is back and the deep love and connection scattered in the air.

Later, while people were progressively falling asleep, I chatted a lot with B about random topics, growing up in a church, which countries we were interested in visiting, just easy innocent, superficial talk. When I went home, the uneasy feeling in my gut stayed.

Riding my bike back in the soothing rain, I asked myself what I was so afraid of. While did I keep avoiding this topic so desperately it hurt, and yet never thought about distancing myself from these people. I could've distanced myself from them without saying anything the first weekend I was back and literally nothing would've happened. I could've even told them the political situation is too much for me right now and I think they would've understood or at least told me that they did. I am convinced that it would've been better for my mental health to not see them so much these first days. I could distance myself from them even now, not in a hostile way, just for a while.

I don't know if I can't do that because I don't have the guts or because "I don't have enough self-love yet to allow myself a better life" (quote K). I feel like I'm only allowed to not love people as friends whole-heartedly and to distance myself from them if they are really toxic and do something actually bad, not for me just feeling uncomfortable about something I shouldn't even feel uncomfortable about.

I don't want to be a person who distances herself from anyone, for a silly reason like that. I want to live in a fairy tale where all my friends are nice and on time all of the time and I can just love them without restraint. But this world doesn't exist here. And the truth is that hanging out with them makes me always feel weird and uncomfortable in my skin and sad afterwards. And during, I also feel weird and careful and not myself. Meeting them is not making me feel good. So, I can distance myself from them, for any reason, not out of hatred for them, but jsut to protect my own sanity and my very fragile mood that can't take any amount of political discussion anymore. And of course, if I were to think about it, there are other things that bother me. It's okay if these friends are not in season for me right now, if this season, I want to meet A and S and maybe J and B and be calm. It's okay to distance myself from people even if they didn't stab me in the back, it's okay to distance myself from people because they annoy me a bit, it's okay to distance myself from people for a "silly" reason, it's okay to distance myself from people that feel toxic, even if they aren't.

#friend group #d7 #diary #friends #friendship #friend #friend breakup #political stress #gaza #israel #まれ #burlesque #burlesque show #comedy #comedy show #movie night #sewing

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