#Maculate Heart

[slrmagazine]

LUCIFER Release Video For New Single "Maculate Heart"

LUCIFER Release Video For New Single "Maculate Heart". #lucifer @LuciferTheBand

Heavy rock megalith LUCIFER are kicking off the new year in style with a brand new single called ‘Maculate Heart‘, which is yet another preview to be released before their magnificent new album, Lucifer V, drops on January 26th, 2024. Consisting of nine unholy hymns, LUCIFER‘s fifth offering can easily be regarded as their magnum opus and sees the band channeling all their strengths known from…

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#Female fronted band #Johanna Platow Andersson #LUCIFER #Lucifer V #Maculate Heart #Women in metal #Women in rock

[azulyrae]

❛ —— 𝐈𝐕 : The Bishop.

to yearn for a mate was to dance around the thin line of blind devotion. azriel thought of himself a maculated sinner with the nerve to beg the cauldron for a sacred connection. he shouted at the skies until his throat dried and his voice lost to the clouds; until his wings were too sore to fly and his heart was too tired to hope.

to abandon the pursuit of a mate was to abandon the thought of everlasting love. yet, there she was. a fever dream above expectations, with similar scars and a soul who mirrored his.

after a rough argument, azriel travels to the core of his mate’s memories, and finds that there’s always more than meets the eye — and that, at last, his prayers were well-answered.

the fourth chapter of onyx sword of sorrow.

check the original post to be aware of the trigger warnings.

azriel/fem!archeron sister. reader with mind control & the ability to shapeshift.

THIS CHAPTER HAS DESCRIPTIONS OF PAST SEXUAL HARASSMENT! please be safe while reading it!

word-count: 5K.

But I don’t know what else that I would do, than to try to kiss the skin that crawls from you; than feel your weight in arms, I’d never use. It feels good, girl, it feels good. Oh, to be alone with you.

— To Be Alone, Hozier.

Azriel felt distressed due to the bothering awareness of the growing sweat running down the extension of his forearms, dripping from his hair to the bridge of his nose; from his elbows to the earth; from his palms to the wooden-hilt of the pair of swords he maneuvered. His steps were fast and precise, crushing the leaves underneath as he retreated, footwork and handiwork aligned to exploit the radius of his abilities. It was a frenetic and relentless pace born from the increase of her amelioration, which granted him the long-awaited opening to no longer repress his movements — since the better [Name] got, less was the need to inhibit his polished instincts, battle aggressiveness, and speed.

The female had a long way to go: more than once had the wooden-sword touched her arm or legs, and if it was made of silver or steel, it would’ve sliced her skin, drawing blood from the teared flesh. However, those occurrences grew infrequent after proper repetition. [Name] had been trained before by a mortal man whose identity she was yet to reveal, and by Mor herself, an experienced and talented warrior in whom Azriel would trust with his life if it was required — had done it even, countless times before. A month under a regained routine of guidance and practice, and [Name]’s muscular memory had already started to act accordingly to what it had been once taught, growing accustomed to the intensity of heated confrontations.

Neither her proficiency nor her dedication were a surprise: [Name] remained with her sais in hand whenever they were meant to rest, spinning the blades on her fingers as though it was an interesting pastime of hers. Azriel presumed that her previous knowledge of daggers and throwing knives was half-responsible for such a swift familiarization, for the sais were turning into an extension of her body. The female spun one in her fingers as they played a match of chess or ate their meals or even jogged on the beach at nighttime, and the male couldn’t help but to grin to himself at the fact that he had given her the most well-suited pair of blades, one that was perfect to her fighting style.

As the two darted around the jungle in quick steps, Azriel reminisced times when a quite drunk Mor had insisted on the importance of having a vast knowledge in the matters of dancing. She would sway left-and-right in a long, red dress, twirling in her feet and dragging Azriel to the center of the room. Mor tried to convince him to learn a few waltzes, arguing that battling was but a mere variation of dancing — only that it also happened to involve swords and life-or-death situations. At last, Azriel brushed her off after two or three songs, their closeness enough to steal his breath away, a fresh and sadistic torture that made his skin crawl. He couldn’t see it back then, and wouldn’t dare to either.

To battle was to reap one’s life, to either stare into their eyes as the Mother claimed their souls or to move forward onto the next opponent. It was a chaotic scenery of gore and severed limbs and warm blood. It wasn’t something that one ought to equate to a delicate and intimate thing such as a waltz. Yet, as his feet stepped back in a defensive manner, being followed-in-suit by [Name]’s offensive stance, he understood what Mor meant.

They were a pair of agile dancers, pooled in sweat and driven by obstinacy and an equal sense of competitiveness. One could presume that [Name] would’ve cowered at the sight of his swords — one in each hand —, but she grew bolder, more courageous, and at last understood the dynamics of that particular match of chess, applying her relentless and unpredictable strategies that drew one to an inescapable and pitiful defensive stance. It had been a long time since Azriel had guided their waltz: the charge of it was entirely hers.

[Name]’s durability remained a matter to work upon whatsoever, especially if he was to consider the intensity of her battling: a repetitive and vexing thing that could tire out even the strongest defense. However, as of then, it happened to do the same to her, and the longer Azriel refused to relent, the more she lost her preciseness and strength.Yet, in terms of technique, she wasn’t at all disappointing.

The Spymaster raised his right arm across his chest, placing the wooden-sword above his left shoulder. That granted him a further boost as he lowered down the weapon, outlining a half-arch towards her carotid; an attack that, were their battle under different circumstances, would’ve been lethal. [Name] spun both her sais. The one in her dominant hand was held horizontally, and it trapped the wooden-sword in between one of its guards; the other one remained somewhat vertical and served as leverage, its blade crossing the inside of the guard from the other pair of sai she held. The movement itself resembled a plus sign, with his wooden-sword caught in the middle due to the positioning of her blades, making it impossible for the opponent to rid his weapon from that lethal trap.

If Azriel had all but a single sword, the battle would have ended then and there. [Name] would have used her sais to snap his blade in two and the lack of protection would have been enough for her to spin one of them and drive its point straight into the side of his neck and pierce through his carotid. That was not the case whatsoever. Because [Name] raised both her arms to meet one of his wooden-swords in the middle, both her armpits were left defenseless.

He pressed the edge of the other sword held by his left arm against one of those vulnerable spots, and his voice had neither cockiness nor glee when he stated: “You’re dead.”

During the first weeks of his training, when he was yet learning about the pressure and most lethal points where it was best to strike the opponent, Azriel found it odd and entirely embarrassing that one could die due to a cut to the armpit. It was, if anything, the stupidest and less dignified manner with which to perish in battle. However, the moment Truthteller first sliced through that vulnerable part of his rival’s body, his misconceptions were muted at the horror of such a death. Blood gushed everywhere as if he had squeezed a cherry in between his fingers to drink its juice. It pulsed non-stop, meeting Azriel’s face and blade and armor, droplets invading his eyes and painting the world in a horrific tone of bright red. His opponent fell to his knees and convulsed in utter agony, his hand clinging to the maimed tissue of his armpit. The sight left him petrified to the point where he was not even able to strike the dying male with a merciful slash of Truthteller and free him from that suffering. Instead, he observed as the Mother claimed that tortured soul and was haunted by the sight of it ever since.

The mere idea of losing his mate in a similar manner brought tremendous dread, and was enough a reason to cause a turmoil in his stomach and a sudden wave of nausea. Azriel pictured it, challenging the discomfort within him, punishing himself with that awful perspective. He had waited more than five centuries for his mate; the other half of his soul; and five more centuries he would torture himself was she to perish due to the lack of training. That end would paint her image not as his love, but as his sin; his greatest failure.

The snap that came when she broke his wooden-sword in two was enough a sound to ground his mind back to the present, drifting it away from the what-ifs as though his thoughts were a lonely sailing boat under the mercy of a turmoiled sea. Azriel didn’t miss the touch of her armpit, how it drove itself straight into the point of the reminiscent wooden-sword, but neither had he missed the glint of her eyes, staring into his very soul.

“You’ve read my mind,” he accused, steadying himself as she took a few steps back, twirling her sais.

“I was invaded by them,” [Name] argued. “Your thoughts are as loud as a parade of drums and tambourines.”

“Rhysand would disagree,” Azriel countered, sensing the need to defend himself.

“I’m more sensitive than a daemati, as we are both well aware.”

He found himself itching to lose himself within the banter that his mate offered. The bewitching character of their bond was quite an odd thing to witness, but the more time he spent with her, the more Azriel believed that it was not their connection to blame for that senseless tendency, but her. Compelling and argumentative, melting the solid ground of the world in which he stood into a puddle of his well-established beliefs. To fall into her words was to abandon all logic; to stare into that puddle and envision a glimpse of the male he had once been, before centuries of war and death engulfed him in the abyss of pessimism and paranoia: convinced, challenging, eager.

It was a sight to behold, neither uncomfortable nor familiar; a reasonable prospect of a version of himself he had long decided was lost and buried under the piles of corpses — both foes and allies. But to stare into the past, to envision himself through the reflection of the lake of his melted world, would do him no good. Because the male that stood above that pile was the strongest, the necessary means for his Court’s survival.

Azriel caught himself stepping on that puddle, returning to reality, avoiding the goodness that his mate could bring to the surface. His thoughts were back to the gore of that slash; the severance of that inconvenient artery. Because a world without his mate was inconceivable, and if to keep her alive meant to remain chained to his worst version, then so be it.

He drove the wooden-sword straight into the ground. The tip shattered, and the entire extension of it came apart in a dozen pieces. [Name] merely glimpsed it with a somewhat sense of unamusement.

“You were careless,” he snapped, for once not caring to conceal his anger.

“I’m well aware,” she bit back with a scowl.

“You’re not,” the Spymaster insisted, his steps diminishing the distance between them. “You’ve never had to witness death at such a close range; never had to feel your opponent’s blood splattering into your face; you don’t know.”

Her nostrils flared and her entire body trembled with the intensity of her own anger. Azriel could smell it, escaping through her pores as though wildfire in a dry forest.

“There’s something that I’ve read,” she started out slowly, an edge to her voice that he had never heard before. “An interesting theory, really, about the limitations of the mind and its projection. Let’s try it out.”

[Name]’s teeth gritted with her last sentence, and Azriel had no time to react before his mate latched one of her hands to his face, her fingers and nails biting into his temple. He felt as though the weight of earth shifted under his feet, his breath stolen from his lungs with a violent and invisible force. The skies, once painted orange and yellow and filled with white clouds, morphed into darkness. The stars were dim — not even a speck of the sight Velaris offered during the night — and the Spymaster was no longer within the borders of a forest; could no longer hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore far from where he stood. Instead, Azriel was in the middle of an unknown and miserable district, the houses so small and precarious he could not believe half-a-fae fitted inside. The streets were empty, the torches were long put off. He found the scenery as peaceful as it was deplorable, but the previous silence was soon replaced with a loud piece of music.

His eyes followed the source of said cacophony. Azriel could distinguish the sound of lutes and a hurdy-gurdy, flutes and drums. His thoughts wrapped around the concept of a gleeful festival, but were instead met with a single home with bright, colorful lights shining through the closed curtains of many windows; with at least three floors built of bricks and stones, whose roof was a well-planned triangular structure covered in soot and of many different tiles. Above it all, stood a lonely and small gyrfalcon of white feathers, poorly hidden.

The door to that house — so different to the ones from the street before — opened. Azriel noticed the presence of a muscular man, tall to the parameters of a mortal, and concluded that one was most likely to be the guard to that place. He felt the urge to scoff with a well-placed arrogance, aware that he could take that man down with half a blow. However, the smaller frame that walked past through the guard and ventured into the night streets caused his stomach to twist and drop. Azriel hastily read the title painted above the entrance: “The Lupanare”, and felt a sudden urge to throw up; a numbness to his fingers and nerves that refused to subside.

The female figure under the door was dressed in fine silks of translucent shades of blue. The attire had a thin and long skirt divided in four sections; the one in the middle was made to protect the sight of the female’s intimacy; the other two sections began at the side of her hips, leaving the entire front of her legs bare to the external eye; and though he could not see, Azriel figured that the fourth section was a mimic of the first one: a piece of fabric that scarcely protected the ass. The odd skirt was connected to the top through a thin belt made of silver, with adornments meant to mimic shells, that encircled her entire waist. While the bottom had one thicker layer of silk to cover the intimate parts, the top left nothing to the imagination: it was made in the format of a V, leaving her entire waist, back, and part of her abdomen bare. The silk was so thin, one could see the breasts almost as though they were uncovered, as the only barrier that stood between the eye and the body was the top’s dark shade of blue. It was held together by silver ligaments, a large shell above each clavicle and a chain that encircled the neck. Azriel stood far from the female, but he could hear her voice almost as though he was by her side.

“It’s best to change before leaving,” the guard seemed to instruct her in a deep, yet oddly worrying tone.

“I don’t have the time. There’s something wrong at home, I can feel it.”

The voice that answered broke him entirely. It was no ordinary female. For the love of the Mother, it was his mate. Azriel’s heart, all of sudden, danced around two different beats; his breathing was split into two halves; his soul, however, remained one with that of the female that hurried out of the brothel. He felt enraged and saddened; worried and aware. It took him a moment to realize that, by sharing her memories, [Name] began to share her feelings as well.

The Lupanare left his sights as his mate ran into the night, wearing nothing but a set of thin silk wrapped around silver chains. Azriel felt the urge to move; to grab that fragile figure and soar with her through the skies, away from those dull stars and into the dazzling night of Velaris. But he could not. He was stuck into place as though a tree with roots too deep in the soil. One could not change the past any much as one could alter a memory.

When that sight of [Name] came closer, Azriel noticed that she was inches smaller and less agile; she seemed younger, although not too much, perhaps a year or two, at best. He grew used to her fae-form; to how it increased her height and speed and the overall flow of her movements. Seeing her in that mortal shell was unfamiliar to him, and Azriel wondered how his mate felt about that whole ordeal.

The memory shifted accordingly to her steps. The music was long gone, as were the colors. She had left the district of the brothel and was running along the poorest streets, passing through alleyways and locked one-floor houses without a thought in the world. No longer had Azriel started to worry about the safety of those actions, someone grabbed her shoulder, and plunged her against the dirty wall of a narrow alley. His mind shouted at Azriel, all logic evaporating from his entire being upon witnessing that scene. Every nerve within him commanded his limbs, demanding him to move. It was his mate; his heart; the very reason why he had been born, why he had endured those five centuries of sorrow and loneliness. His mate needed his aid, and he wasn’t there.

The revolt that ran through his veins as though liquid fire had gone cold with terror. Not his: hers. Azriel could sense it, had his soul shivering because of it. Again, he felt the need to move; and again, he could not. This time, it was not desperation and rage that moved him, but the utter necessity to comfort her, to keep her safe.

“It was only a matter of time,” the man slurred, and Azriel felt the hot breath and smelt the stench of alcohol, regardless of the distance. “I knew one of that brothel’s little birds would eventually try to flee from the cage earlier than they should. Now, I’ll take what’s mine.”

A hand covered her mouth. Azriel tasted the soot. With a grin, however, the man decided to place his hand on her throat instead. “There’s no need to scream. No one hears the weeps of a whore.”

It was torture. Azriel desperately tried to free himself from his mate’s memories, and thought that, at last, as cowardly as that was, he could tear his eyes from the scene. The Spymaster looked up — seeking solace in the stars and founding none — and his eyes caught on the white gyrfalcon, propped on a roof. He prepared himself for the worst, but instead, heard a masculine shout of pain.

Azriel’s eyes landed on the scene. His mate had managed to hide a dagger somewhere in between the thin silks of her attire. It was on her dominant hand, the blade digging into her attacker’s stomach. She pulled it out just to plung it again. And again. And again. The man fell backwards on the ground, blood was pouring from his mouth and stomach. His mate fell with him, digging her dagger into his chest and ribs and throat. He felt the warmth of blood as it splattered on her; face and chest and legs, the shades of blue mingled with red. He felt the burning behind his eyes as the tears fell down her face.

At last, she got up, spat on the body, and pressed her back to the wall. Her soul shattered in a cacophony of feelings: satisfaction, fear, anger, horror. But no sympathy. Her hands were trembling, but she would not let go of the dagger, whose steel blade was reddened and wet. The minutes that it took for her to compose herself felt like an eternity. His mate turned on her heels, prepared to leave that scenery, and Azriel caught the glimpse of a taller figure observing at the entrance of the alleyway. The Spymaster had only managed to discern the long and bright red hair before the memory faded.

Azriel felt disoriented. His vision burned with the sudden brightness of the afternoon sky. He heard the sound of the waves and felt the warmth of the Sun against his nape. The shared reminiscence took but a small fraction of time, yet it felt as though they had been lost in the tissue of the past for non-ending hours. [Name] had taken a few steps back, her hand no longer touching his face, and despite the consequences, the pain that came with the lack of her was equal to the worst of punishments; to drink the most lethal of poisons. Inside her memories, he had a taste of what it meant to be one’s mate. There, Azriel grew roots inside her soul, and she had nestled herself at his very core.

She was observing him then, and he drowned in her eyes, addicted to the sight of her; to her entire being. “The owner of the Lupanare, Moira, prided herself in the fact that her… workers… were free of diseases.”

Her voice. Azriel regained the control of his nerves and will, commanding his legs to dash towards her. Yet, the Spymaster felt the tug of a bold shadow on his collar. They had developed the tendency of remaining hidden during those times of the day, weak due to the light. Yet, one of them darted forward to ground him, to make Azriel see not with his heart, but with his eyes. [Name] stood far from him, hugging herself; her scent was one of unsuruness and hesitation; she craved the space between them, clung to it as one living in the desert would to water. Azriel stopped in his tracks, not daring to give another step.

“Moira stated that, for the expenses to offer an environment secure from diseases to be worth it, the price to spend an hour with the women should be befitting to the efforts placed in their health,” [Name] gulped, as if the mere act of remembering that treacherous woman brought a sense of great pain. “Safe to say, the men that came to the brothel had coins to pay for their stay. Those who could not afford the time, had to resort to the women on the streets.”

Azriel took in her expressions and the sight alone clawed at his heart. “I get it. You don’t need to tear up old wounds for my sake.”

She moved her head in denial, closing her eyes. “It makes no difference when said wounds never healed enough to make for scars.”

Azriel went quiet. He wished he had a word of comfort to offer, but the typical, easier ones, were of no use. The Spymaster could appeal to the passage of time: [Name] was now immortal. A longer life meant opportunities to rewrite the script of one’s trajectory; to bury the awful instances of time with centuries of greatness. But how could he gather the courage to voice said things, when five centuries later, he remained haunted by what had happened when he was a boy of ten? Reminded of said horrors whenever he caught a glimpse of his hands?

[Name] seemed, however, grateful for his silence. “The women of the Lupanare were forbidden fruits to those who couldn’t afford them. Most of them had been either trafficked or expelled from their homes, but some rare exceptions, like me, had a place to return to in the morning. By the end of it, there was only me. The men who couldn’t be regulars at the Lupanare would pry at the edges, waiting for an opportunity to grab the ones who dared to walk home. I was lucky to have a dagger, to know how to wield it. The others were not.”

She took an instance to catch her breath. Azriel was startled to watch his mate take a few steps closer to the trees. He feared he might have upsetted her in some form, but his worries were gone as soon as he caught a glimpse of his shadows whirling around her in mute comfort.

“That memory I showed you… it was from the night Tamlin took Feyre. I wasn’t home then, but I felt a disruption within me, every aggravating instinct shouting at me that I was needed somewhere else. It took me three hours, but at last I was able to flee without being seen. I was careless. I was grabbed. I got rid of the problem. That was my first kill.”

Azriel felt the urge to apologize. He tried doing as much, but his mate brushed that away with a wave of her hand. “You didn’t know.”

“Did I shout my thoughts again?”

A smirk crept over her lips. He felt slightly relieved. “A little bit.”

“Regardless, I lost my temper. I apologize.”

“You weren’t entirely wrong,” she insisted. “I’ve never had to dispose of the men I killed. That first one—”

“Lucian did it for you,” he concluded, and she blinked in shock.

“You glimpsed it so far beyond? Well, yes, he did. Somehow. I never got the courage to ask,” [Name] sighed. “Feyre must’ve let it slip that one of her sisters wasn’t home; either that, or Tamlin saw it through her. Whatever happened, he sent Lucian to fetch for me, and so he did.”

“He enchanted you?”

She nodded. “I returned with instructions to wait outside for him. He gave me a new set of clothes. I changed. When I entered that small home, the fact that Feyre left to help a rich aunt sounded natural. My memories were filled with burlesques, I was the result of a well-placed spell.”

[Name] left the shelter offered by the trees, and Azriel could hear the whispers of protests coming from his shadows. The sudden proximity sent a shiver down his spine, for his mate was but a few inches away, and the feeling of the bond they shared remained fresh in his mind.

She pulled the long sleeve up, and there, inside her forearm, Azriel glimpsed a burnt scar. Fire had maimed his mate as much as it had maimed her. It was a long trail; the flames spreaded from below the shoulder to above the wrist.

“Moira had us tattooed. She said it was a sign of our employment contract, but we all knew better. It was a mark, one meant for the commoners to identify us as whores and to mistreat us in the streets. Moira wanted to make sure that we’d never be able to find a job again, that we’ll always be her property. Tamlin’s spell clouded my family’s memories well enough but not the memories of the town. When we were given another Manor, Elain wanted to celebrate. We threw this enormous party, but the glares I’ve received from the guests that night were enough to undo the spell. Suddenly, my youngest sister was nowhere to be found and I had a past that couldn’t be erased and a tattoo I wanted gone.”

“You’ve… burned yourself?” Azriel inquired, though the thought alone sounded horrendous. He could remember the pain vividly; had frequent nightmares of flames taking over the skin of his hands as though starved beasts. To have a self-inflicted burn scar…

“I’ve tried to, but was too much of a coward to get it through,” she answered, tugging the sleeve down. “I still had three friends — soldiers —, stationed at the village. So, one night, I went to the tavern they were regulars at, and paid them to burn that thing.”

Azriel was appalled. “They accepted it?”

“We all have mouths to feed or broken dreams to drown out with cheap wine,” she came to their defense. “The three were stationed at the end of the Mortal Realm for a reason. I knew they’d never agree to burn me for free, and Tamlin was kind enough to give us some coins, so I used it.”

The last sentence came with a scowl, and her tone was filled with scorn at the mention of the High-Lord of the Spring Court.

“When Nesta went after Feyre, I was still enchanted. And when she told me the news that there was nothing to be done… I guess I also felt the need to punish myself. As if I had to pay.”

Azriel moved his head in denial, holding back the urge to touch her chin. “You’ve paid more than enough for errors that weren’t yours.”

“I know that now,” she whispered. “But not then. So I drank half a bottle of cheap whisky; they soaked my arm with alcohol, and burnt it with a cloth. The pain made me pass out. The healing was one of the worst things I’ve gone through.”

He knew. Mother above, Azriel knew that all too well. The female in front of him was his mate, with aches and scars that had, too, been carved deep into his core, leaving nothing but bitterness and shame on its wake. Azriel should’ve known which words to say; which advice to give; but he doesn’t. He can’t help his mate heal a wound that he hadn’t learned how to heal himself.

The Spymaster watched with certain helplessness as [Name] picked up her sais, twirling the blades between her fingers. Her eyes were glued to his hands — uncovered ever since he learned that gloves were too much of a hassle to keep. Again, his throat dried up with the amount of words unsaid, the sentences that sounded too shallow. Azriel opened his mouth — if only to try —, and watched it in awe as [Name] used her strength to tear the cloth of her shirt. The long sleeves fell on the grass and she kicked it aside, allowing the afternoon light to press kisses to her now bare shoulders.

“Someone told me my training attire wasn’t adequate,” she voiced. A short laughter echoed from his parted lips, sounding odd to his own ears. It had been a long time since he last laughed. [Name] opened a smile at the sound. It had also been a long time since she had smiled.

“You should listen to that someone more often,” he teased, grabbing the fallen branch of a tree to mimic a wooden-sword.

“That wouldn’t be smart. He brings branches to sai fights.”

“And somehow, he manages to win.”

“Beginner’s luck. He’s a bit younger so I cut him some slack.”

“You called me an old male yesterday after managing to outrace me at our beach’s jog.”

“Have I?”

Azriel grinned, using his knee to split the branch in two. “If I win this one, I’ll have you shift into a kitchen mouse to follow Cassian around the House of Wind for a whole day.”

“Well, when I win this one, I’ll have you clean up my bathtub of experiments.”

Azriel remembered the stench left by the chemicals, and the glimpse of the once white marble covered in a dozen different shades of violet. He shuddered at the mere thought of it, knowing that she was making sure that he wouldn’t go easy on her during the rest of their sparring. He dashed forward. The branches were larger than the previous wood-swords, so her range of stances were drastically diminished.

But that was his mate. His [Name]. The world was her chessboard, and she didn’t mind sacrificing pawns for the sake of victory. His offense met hers, and their next match was but a metaphorical waltz on tiles of black and white.

general notes: last chapter I said I wished I had those wild AO3 explanations for delayed updates and, well, talk about manifesting. since I love oversharing!! I had a small surgery!! and my laptop broke, it’s the first time I’m uploading on my cellphone and I feel like a millennial. also, what do we think of what we read of Az in House of Flame and Shadow? let me know, let’s chat!

taglist [comment to be added]: @nyotamalfoy @arilindemann @bsenpai @rachelnicolee @piceous21 @forsiriussake @sassybluebird @esposadomd @brujitafantomatico @witchymomfrien

#acomaf #acotar #acowar #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel imagines #azriel x reader #acosf #acotar x reader #azriel / reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #sjm

[sayakxmi]

I finally got myself together to finish the trolltags/lands I have for the dancestors, that I overthought to hell and back, so why not share. Explanations under the cut!

(Also, I probably should mention that it's all in context of an AU, so if some things are confusing, that's why.)

KANKRI:

vendicateThumomacule [VT] Kankri's original trolltag is, well, grey to hide his indentity, and is actually a small nod to John/June. Hence the letters are VT, absolutely taken from VanTas. Mostly, because ectoBiologist has EB like EgBert. You know how these letters are taken from the genetic code, but John/June ended up breaking from it? Well, Kankri's the opposite here. The very first mutation, someone who didn't belong there, but inserted himself there anyway.

Vendicate means to claim for oneself, whereas Thumomacule comes from two words - thumomancy (divination by means of one’s own soul) and macule, which can be either a) (in printing) to blur, as from a double impression in printing, or b) (in anatomy) another name for macula (a discolored spot on the skin). The second definition refers to his mutation, while the first, I'm kind of thinking about blur/double impression as a reference to The Signless, and seeing visions of another world. Personally, I love the idea that Kankri's always had these visions as well, so that's what I was going for here.

As for constructiveGrievance, I'll be honest, I've seen it once upon a time, I don't know where, and internalized it as his trolltag. He has a lot of grievances, and tries to be constructive about it. (Whether he succeeds is up for debate, lmao).

As for his land, the Land of Conduits and Valves: Conduit: - a pipe or passage for water or electrical wires to go through - reference to Mituna (as I am a huge Captor&Vantas whatever the fuck they have going on enjoyer) - a way of connecting two places - the aspect of Blood - someone or something that provides a way of passing something such as information or payments from one person to another - role of a Seer, but also a small reference to The Signless again, passing information about different worlds between each other Valves - a device that opens and closes to control the flow of liquids or gasses, or a similar structure in the heart and the veins that controls the flow of blood - pretty obvious aspect connection.

In general, thinking about the Seers' lands, they all have somewhat... liquidy feel to it. Rose's has literal rain, while Terezi's land has these thought river-like things on the sky. So I was also thinking about something fluid, and, well, blood.

Kankri's land is pretty similar to Dave's, except there's no cogs or lava, only endless red-and-blue pipelines that are meant to let the blood flow, but the valves aren't letting it, and empty void beneath your feet. It's an extremly unpleasant land.

It's a bit of a theme, actually, that the lands are pretty hostile towards their players here - since the game was tampered wth, Skaia knew early on that this session had no chance at succeeding, so it was quite literally trying to get the players to make The Scratch faster. F.

It's actually quite evident since the get-go, Kankri's land is LOCAV. So. Random fact: I'm Polish. In Polish the way you read V in English is the same as we read W. So I could write it as CAW. A sound made by a crow. And, well. One Crow: bad luck, loss, unpleasant catastrophic changes.

From the very moment Kankri got into the game, it was already lost. RIP.

Also, I've meant what I've said. I aggressively overthought it, lmao.

DAMARA:

acroamaticAcicutie Acroamatic - esoteric - “intended for or likely to be understood by only a small number of people with a specialized knowledge or interest” - I was thinking about her ability to speak & control ghosts, a medium, but, yeah, honestly, it can also allude to the fact that as far as we know only Rufioh actually understands her speech. Acicula - One of the needlelike or bristlelike spines or prickles of some animals and plants; also, a needlelike crystal. Connected with cutie.

Land of Ponds and Shimmer, well, when it comes to Shimmer I was thinking about light reflecting on crystals, since her Scratch device looked like these music boxes on Aradia's land, so there had to be Some crystals in there. But it can also be the shimmer of the ponds. With ponds, I was kind of thinking about koi ponds? Who's stopping me from there being koi fish, tbh. The ponds are also a reference to Meenah, because, well, water. But also small one to Rufioh, I guess. Also, ponds and reflections (When will my reflection show who I am inside).

In general, Witches lands are, imo, pretty, colorful, and dangerous if you aren't careful. And that's also what I thought about Damara's land - looks very pleasant, but crystals can have some sharp edges, ponds be deeper that it has any reason to etc, etc.

But since all their lands make things difficult for the dancestors, the catch of this one is that it makes Damara homesick. :)

Ah, but here's my favorite part. PAS. Pas is Polish for fold in poker. "Folding simply means to let go of your cards and surrender the pot to another player". Or another set of players. ;>

RUFIOH

agromaniacalTauroboly Agromania - intense desire to be in open spaces Tauroboly - the ritual sacrifice of a bull. I like to think about is as a contrast to Tavros' trolltag, in which Tavros is a bit more of plot’s sacrificial bull, but his trolltag relates to bulls fighting, whereas Rufioh would wreck people’s shit if it wasn’t for his non-existent self-worth & confidence, but his trolltag relates to sacrificing a bull.

The Land of Breeze and Hills has a somewhat simple etymology. All the Breath player we know had some specific type of wind in their land's name (literally Wind for John/June, and Zephyr for Tavros), so I went with something similar. And boy oh boy, is Breeze a reference. Obviously, Breeze relates to water, and that way it references three pretty important gals in Rufioh/The Summoner's life - Damara (ponds), Meenah (a seadweller), and Aranea, or more specifically Mindfang, who was a pirate. As for Hills, Rogues tend to have some rises, like Roxy's pyramids, or Nepeta's... sugar cube pyramids? So I thought about hills for Rufioh to more or less fit it in, very much thinking about"a hill to die on".

BAH is kind of weaker, but at the same time, it gave me some ideas for the land. In several languages it means flood, but in a few others it's an expression of disbelief, disdain, resignation & scorn.

LOBAH is flooded, which is a huge pain for Rufioh, whose wings aren't really good for damp environments. His mobility sure is limited, which kind of sucks. He could probably ask some imps to help him out in travel, but that'd mean using his powers, and he's not a big fan of them. }:(

MITUNA

technicolorAlytarch Technicolor - a vivid or bright color “Alytarch in ancient Olympic games was the leader of the police force who assisted the Hellanodikai to impose fines on athletes who did not follow the rules” "Hellanodikai - literally meaning Judges of the Greeks - were the judges of the Ancient Olympic Games, and the success of the games was attributed to their efforts". I like the idea of it referring to more than one character, but ofc I thought of Latula first.

Land of Screens and Skyscrapers Skyscrapers as in heights & danger, at least that’s my association. Something about falls, especially when you're very high... Screening - concealing, protecting, sheltering. But also screening, as in “checking for disease when there are no symptoms. Since screening may find diseases at an early stage, there may be a better chance of curing the disease”. Also, fun fact, SAS is a group of highly trained British soldiers who work on secret or very difficult military operations. SAS is an abbreviation for 'Special Air Service'.” I wonder if it's relevant.

Heirs' lands tend to be really dark for some reason, but it's a bit difficul to say if it's a theme for them, because Equius' aspect is literally Void, so of course his land is dark. But I went for it. I'd say LOSAS resembles Dirk's land a bit, but there's also a shitton of giant screens on the building, all of them not working properly. The land is dangerous in it's nature, and generally not the most pleasant place to be in (ah, Doom players), but it sure gets worse after Mituna's accident, now that he has trouble seeing, and his balance also got quite bad. F.

MEULIN

acuteCardiograper Acute: - causes severe problems or damage; - pain or illness is one that quickly becomes very severe; - aware of or able to recognize small differences between things, or being accurate in judging something; The first two are more foreshadowing, whereas the last one is the actual intent. Since she's an amazing matchmaker whose speciality is the Hreat. Cardiography - the use of a machine to record the beating of the heart. So. You know. Hehe. Meulin's trolltag is an ad. Bonus a cute cardiographer.

Land of Lily Pads and Wisps Lily Pads are literally there in Openbound, but also I like the general symbolism of lilies - purity, innocence and rebirth. I think it describes Meulin very well. Wisps - of smoke, of light, but also will o' the wisp - a person that is difficult or impossible to reach or catch on (OR aurora). Of course even Meulin can't have nice things. Her land mocks her for being "useless". (Note: I'm not saying that she is, but that's how she feels). LOLPAW is not exactly deep.

PORRIM

gallivantAvantgarde Gallivant - to visit or go to a lot of different places, enjoying yourself and not worrying about other things you should be doing. Avantgarde - the painters, writers, musicians, and other artists whose ideas, styles, and methods are very original or modern in comparison to the period in which they live, or the work of these artists. Porrim's attitude, essentially.

Land of Threads and Frogs Threads like fabric, but also thread/fabric of the universe Also thread as in “to move forwards, often changing direction in order to avoid people or things”. Which is, well, what she was supposed to do. Another land that isn't exactly dangerous, but feels more like a mockery. Cluttered, soft & pastel. You could say ""girly"". She hates it here.

Maid's lands are pretty nice, though they tend to lack the aspect the Maid is supposed to create, at least that's what I've understood.

TAF - a substance, consisting of protein and nucleic acid developed in a malignant tumor, that stimulates the formation of capillaries for nourishing the tumor and carrying off its waste matter. A connection to Kankri, and especially The Dolorosa's role in The Signless' life.

LATULA

I'll be honest, I'm not exactly the proudest of hers, but this grl was giving me a headache at some point. Mostly when it comes to her trolltag, because I like the name of her land, but oh well. I was tired.

galiantCaballerial Galiant - “Galiant is a mixture of two words; Valiant (Possessing Courage and Determination), and Gallant (Grand, Fine). This is what you call someone who excels at anything they play, mainly videogames.” Urban Dictionary. I'm not sure it's the most believable source, but you know what, why not. If it's not really a thing, what's stopping me from headcanoning that it is on Beforus? Or add a small backstory that Liltula found that term & loved it, used for his trolltag & only later found out it's not a real thing. Now she's living a lie. Caballerial - a trick invented by Steve Caballero in the early 1980s in which the skater performs a 360-degree ollie in a ramp while riding fakie and without grabbing.

Land of Smoke and Mirrors Smoke and Mirrors - the obscuring or embellishing of the truth of a situation with misleading or irrelevant information. Other than the obvious, it's not a big discovery that the Knights' lands are filled with danger and even things they personally hate & fear. Mirrors for somebody as self-conscious and obsessed over her presentation? And also smoke. There might be fire somewhere, but she can't smell it, she won't know she's in danger until she gets closer to it. F. No cool meaning for SAM :(

ARANEA

amasthenicGraphomaniac Graphomania - a compulsive urge to write Amasthenic - uniting the rays of light into one focus, as a certain kind of lens does (in photography)

Land of Swirls and Candles Swirls - I was thinking about the weather, so connection to Breath, but also whirlpools, so connection to water. Extreme weather. Hella important in sailing. Etc. Also swirls & cherubs. Candles - light. Quite simple. LOSAC is essentially a gorgeous dark forest lit by candles, and Aranea is blind as shit in there. Did I mention that Skaia doesn't want them to keep going? :) Other than that: - Candle Queen by GUMI is such an Aranea song, you won't tell me otherwise. - one of the definitions of a SAC is "a covering that surrounds a tumor" i WoNdEr If It'S rElEvAnT

HORUSS

compoundTegument Tegument - natural covering of an animal or plant body Compound: - a thing that is composed of two or more separate elements; a mixture - make (something bad) worse; intensify the negative aspects of But Also - compound bow - A hand-drawn, hand-held bow that for similar poundage at full draw, stores more energy than a recurve bow through the use of two cables and two eccentric wheels

Land of Copper and Bolts Copper can be used in making steam engines. “Brown coins of low value made of copper or bronze”. And making electrical wires. “any of various small widely distributed butterflies of the genera Lycaena, Heodes, etc, typically having reddish-brown wings: family Lycaenidae” h u h Can mean “policeman”... Law reinforcement… Executioners… HMM. Bolts - well, bolts, but also arrowheads (in crossbows), also to quickly escape, and also (lightning)bolt, also A bolt is also a part of a gun that pushes the cartridge (= container filled with explosive powder) into position to be fired - I wonder if it its *gets shot* CAB - besides the obvious - “the enclosed compartment of a lorry, locomotive, crane, etc, from which it is driven or operated” - trains. steam. it’s all coming together “the glass-enclosed area of an airport control tower in which the controllers are stationed” listen, it works for me, but I can’t explain Why “first cab off the rank” - the first person, etc, to do or take advantage of something - like. the first person to take advantage of somebody’s malleable and passive personality…?

Steampunk land. What can I say. Downside: them damn bolts everywhere. You can hurt yourself :<

KURLOZ

tumultuousCaduceator Tumultuous - chaotic or disorderly; full of noise, commotion, or turbulence. Caduceator - herald; messenger Also similar to Caduceus (prolly related), so a relation to Mituna who is a Gemini - Gemini is ruled by Mercury (Hermes’ Roman name, the Caduceus belonged to him) So it’s a mixed bag of relations to others: tumultuous is a relation to Caliborn (there’s even a wholeass Sign of the Tumultuous - Caniborn). Herald/messenger is akin to Kankri’s role of a prophet. Except he’s heralding Lord English’s arrival rather than another Signless’. And, well, the Mituna connection. It’s also a Doom connection, lmao.

Land of Pits and Thrills You have this huge never-ending theme park with random pits where you least expect them, cartoonish experience. In general, Princes' lands tend to be extremely dangerous in ways that relate to their aspects, and, well, cartoon-like traps break the immersion a bit, really makes you think about everything being fake. Plus a theme park doesmake one think about the HS clowns a bit, right? Another one of my faves, PAT means a stalemate in Polish - a situation in chess where one of the players can’t move according to the rules, but their king isn’t in check - it ends the game in a draw. Technically, they haven't lost, and yet they cannot progress :o)

CRONUS

corbanAlluvion Corban - offering to God in fulfillment of a vow / kinda thinking abt it regarding Cronus wanting to fulfill his “destiny” Allivion - effect of water impacting on shoreline (eg. deluge) Was I tempted for Cronus to have his trolltag as cronusAmpora? Yes. Absolutely. But in the end I decided to pretend that I Am A Serious Writer.

Land of Tides and Rows Tidal island - a piece of land that is connected to the mainland by a natural or man-made causeway that is exposed at low tide and submerged at high tide Also changing tides. Row - well, rowing, so water travel. This land looks quite nice on the first glance, but once you start to travel you find out, that the further you go, the darker and more dangerous it becomes. Oh no. Also, the water is definitely tainted. TAR - a dark, thick flammable liquid distilled from wood or coal, consisting of a mixture of hydrocarbons, resins, alcohols, and other compounds. It is used in road-making and for coating and preserving timber. But also as a verb: blame or damage the reputation of (someone).

MEENAH

cerescentConqueror Conqueror - obvious Cerescent - a typo she didn’t care to correct; crescent is a phase of the moon (halfmoon); Ceres is a roman goddess of harvest etc.

Land of Passages and Harvest Passages as literal passages, but also in: passage of time, or passing = death, so a relation to Damara. And Harvest is, well, harvest. In general, the only other Thief we have is Vriska, and her land is essentially "things that help in stealing her aspect" and "something that represents her aspect". In this case, then, you need to let the time pass for harvest to begin. Also, I love the idea that all Life Players have some representation of the other players on their planet, just like Jane's lamps. In this case, Meenah has flowers. I have yet to finish it, but I did assign some already. PAH - used to express disgust or contempt. Aka Meenah's reaction when she first saw her bright colorful land full of flowers.

Final notes: - ok, so, the idea for LOLPAW, Thrills in Kurloz's land & Avantgarde for Porrim's trolltag are from kanmeu, Caballerial is 100% an accident, though, when I've found that word I thought it looked familiar, and Oh. - I might fix the formatting tomorrow, idk, but it sure ain't gonna be now.

#homestuck #kankri vantas #damara megido #rufioh nitram #mituna captor #meulin leijon #porrim maryam #latula pyrope #aranea serket #horuss zahhak #kurloz makara #cronus ampora #meenah peixes #dancestors #hs: pfh #today on the “things nobody asked for” #but also i did mention at some point that i was working on this & finally sat down & finished

[poems-from-around-the-world]

The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks - Paula Meehan - Ireland

It can be bitter here at times like this, November wind sweeping across the border. Its seeds of ice would cut you to the quick. The whole town tucked up safe and dreaming, even wild things gone to earth, and I stuck up here in this grotto, without as much as star or planet to ease my vigil.

The howling won’t let up. Trees cavort in agony as if they would be free and take off — ghost voyagers on the wind that carries intimations of garrison towns, walled cities, ghetto lanes where men hunt each other and invoke the various names of God as blessing on their death tactics, their night manoeuvres. Closer to home the wind sails over dying lakes. I hear fish drowning. I taste the stagnant water mingled with turf smoke from outlying farms.

They call me Mary — Blessed, Holy, Virgin. They fit me to a myth of a man crucified: the scourging and the falling, and the falling again, the thorny crown, the hammer blow of iron into wrist and ankle, the sacred bleeding heart. They name me Mother of all this grief though mated to no mortal man. They kneel before me and their prayers fly up like sparks from a bonfire that blaze a moment, then wink out.

It can be lovely here at times. Springtime, early summer. Girls in Communion frocks pale rivals to the riot in the hedgerows of cow parsley and haw blossom, the perfume from every rushy acre that’s left for hay when the light swings longer with the sun’s push north.

Or the grace of a midsummer wedding when the earth herself calls out for coupling and I would break loose of my stony robes, pure blue, pure white, as if they had robbed a child’s sky for their colour. My being cries out to be incarnate, incarnate, maculate and tousled in a honeyed bed.

Even an autumn burial can work its own pageantry. The hedges heavy with the burden of fruiting crab, sloe, berry, hip; clouds scud east pear scented, windfalls secret in long orchard grasses, and some old soul is lowered to his kin. Death is just another harvest scripted to the season’s play.

But on this All Souls’ Night there is no respite from the keening of the wind. I would not be amazed if every corpse came risen from the graveyard to join in exaltation with the gale, a cacophony of bone imploring sky for judgement and release from being the conscience of the town.

On a night like this I remember the child who came with fifteen summers to her name, and she lay down alone at my feet without midwife or doctor or friend to hold her hand and she pushed her secret out into the night, far from the town tucked up in little scandals, bargains struck, words broken, prayers, promises, and though she cried out to me in extremis I did not move, I didn’t lift a finger to help her, I didn’t intercede with heaven, nor whisper the charmed word in God’s ear.

On a night like this I number the days to the solstice and the turn back to the light. O sun, centre of our foolish dance, burning heart of stone, molten mother of us all, hear me and have pity.

#the statue of the virgin at Granard speaks #paula meehan #ireland #poem #poetry #poems from around the world

[grapeeggnog26]

Hearing Well Being Center

But understand this, that in the final days there will come instances of issue. We have a perfect three step cleansing routine you could follow to ensure your device lasts lengthy and performs its best. The interplay between an individual and his or her surrounding environment is mediated by way of sensory experiences. This model works well with an iPhone and with gentle to extreme listening to loss. Dia II is a BTE hearing assist for gentle to average hearing loss with background noise filtering. Lexie’s Directional Hearing know-how first focuses on sounds in entrance of you to help with hearing conversations. Has not given you a heart to know or eyes to see or ears to hear to. There is a small dense area of nerve fibers called the macule positioned in each of the saccule and utricle. The macule of the saccule is oriented vertically whereas the utricle macule is horizontal. Each macule consists of nice hair bundles that are coated by an otolithic membrane that's jelly-like and lined by a blanket of calcium crystals. Information from the vestibular system of the inside ear is shipped to the brainstem, cerebellum, and spinal wire. Potential stability abnormalities do not require conscious input from the cerebrum of the mind. Hearing impairment should be identified as soon as possible, so that your baby is not delayed in learning language—a process that begins the day they are born. That's why, earlier than child goes house from the hospital after delivery, they undergo a formal new child listening to screening. However, at any time throughout your kid's life, should you or your pediatrician suspect that they've a listening to impairment, insist that a formal listening to analysis be performed promptly. Some family docs, pediatricians, and well-baby clinics can test for listening to loss or fluid in the center ear. Today, 34 million kids have deafness or listening to loss, of which 60% of circumstances are due to preventable causes. We recommendation you to talk together with your hearing care skilled for extra steering on RITE listening to aids. They are much less noticeable than conventional BTE hearing aids but are extra vulnerable to earwax build-up and moisture. With the receiver being within the ear, it could be damaged by wax as opposed to a BTE mould. The physique will produce as a lot ear wax because it wants, however sometimes it could produce too much. VitaHear Plus of ear wax causes cerumen buildup and ear blockage. Several components can influence ear wax production, together with food regimen, stress and hygiene.

#hearing problems #ears hearing #chronic tinnitus #get rid of tinnitus #tinnitus relief #nutritional solution

[satanasvincit]

Lucifer - Maculate Heart

#the band lucifer #lucifer #Youtube

[deadly-nightshade]

LUCIFER - Maculate Heart

#lucifer

[erickleoni]

LUCIFER - Maculate Heart (Radio Edit) (OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO)

#youtube

[p-isforpoetry]

Read by the poet: "Sweeney Among the Nightingales" by T. S. Eliot

ὤμοι, πέπληγμαι καιρίαν πληγὴν ἔσω. Apeneck Sweeney spread his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe.

The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the hornèd gate. Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney’s knees Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee-cup, Reorganised upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up; The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges Bananas figs and hothouse grapes; The silent vertebrate in brown Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel née Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws; She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue, Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wistaria Circumscribe a golden grin; The host with someone indistinct Converses at the door apart, The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the bloody wood When Agamemnon cried aloud And let their liquid siftings fall To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud.

Source: The Voice of the Poet: T. S. Eliot, 2005

#Sweeney Among the Nightingales #T. S. Eliot #Eliot #poem #poetry #p-isforpoetry #audio #read by the poet #Youtube

[sio-writes]

A Botanist’s Guide - Chapter 2

(Chapter 1 can be found here)

Cassie

With herculean effort I fully open the blinds and grab the watering can from the windowsill, marching it over to the sink and turning on the tap. NASA has these nifty auto-watering pots for those of us too lazy to water manually, but there’s something about the act of pouring water over a small bit of life that brings me joy. I’m still half-asleep and my head is starting to pound again, but I’m happy to see my plants.

Ned, my diffenbachia maculate that followed me here from Earth, needs to be moved to a bigger pot, but is otherwise doing well. I nudge Carol, a cutlass aglaonema, with my foot over to her secondary spot in the partial shade before dowsing her with water. She’s starting to lose a few leaves, so I’ll need to keep an eye on her. And Nancy, my Red Anthurium, drinks up the water like she's dehydrated, even though I watered her the exact same time yesterday.

The fundamental requirement laid out by NASA mandates at least three large plants per apartment to raise the oxygen levels to a comfortable state. But they had never mentioned a cap so I, both botanist and full-time hot mess, have ten total in my tiny studio apartment, not counting the line of tiny succulents and cacti along my windowsill. I’d love to add some natural flora from Summanus, but another NASA mandate labeled the harvesting and selling of Summanian life an affront to science. It stops any big corporations coming up and mining the shit out of the planet, but I wish I could snag a small plant for myself.

After the watering is done, I set the can back on the windowsill and grab some breakfast. Eating here is a struggle, but I’m not picky. Eggs and milk are far too expensive to import, and any meat is usually flash frozen and tastes pretty bad by the time it reaches us. I'm left with yogurt, frozen bread products, or fruit. I haven’t tried much Summanian food, although I’ve heard from Jillie that their version of blueberry pancakes are just to die for.

I finish breakfast, brush my teeth, and grab a change of clothes before I head to the gym. Today is a mandated Workout Day, designed to keep our oxygen levels from dipping too low in the low-oxygen environment of Summanus. Usually I'd work out on the weekends just to get it out of the way, but I needed the full two days to relax. Binging Within the Hour while sitting on my couch eating potato chips had been the best medicine for my weary soul. 

I walk out of the complex and spot Jillie across the street. She greets me with a perky smile and a wave and we head towards the gym. Our outfits almost match -- simple leggings and athletic shirts-- except she looks much better in hers than I do. 

She gives me a dazzling smile. “Mornin' twinsie!”

I grunt my response and offer a half-hearted grimace that makes her laugh.

“Sleep well?”

I run a hand over my face. “Jillie, it’s too early for conversation.”

She pouts, her cheeks puffed out. “Don’t be a cranky Cassie, it’s exercise day!”

We try to exercise together at least twice a week. It keeps us from getting lazy.

The gym is technically two buildings in one. An "outdoor" area made of a large glass dome simulating Earth's atmosphere, and a standard two-story concrete building for all indoor activities. It used to be sponsored by Gold's Gym, but Planet Fitness and Shalia's Exercise eeked their way in after throwing some money at the project. It makes for a very confusing set up of Olympic-grade equipment and state of the art training facilities mixed with torn up floor mats and showers that are only hot half the time. 

“You hate exercise day,” I say, staring longingly at the coffee bar as we walk inside. Soon my love, soon.

“Duh, so I’m gonna kick it’s ass!” Jillie holds up her arms and puffs out her chest. Her enthusiasm is infectious, I feel the hint of a smile pulling at my lips.

“Yeah,” I concede. “Let’s crush it.” I hold out my hand for a fist-bump, which she happily pounds.

NASA mandates a total of five hours a week of aerobic exercise, but leaves the specific choice up to us. There’s tons of equipment for strength training, but Summanus has a higher gravity constant than Earth, so I don’t see the point. We pick a spot in the building close to the back and set down our things.

"Stretch time," Jillie says as she sets her bag down. Jillie and I always come into the gym as early as possible, it keeps the chances of running into creeps at a minimum. 

She spreads her feet and pikes forward, wrapping her arms around her knees while I stand there and wonder how she's still single. Jillie is gorgeous, smart, flexible; anyone at the compound would be lucky to have her. She has gorgeous blond hair that I've always envied, and a small lithe body that reminds me of a dancer. I used to have a crush on her when we first met, and I can still see why I felt that way. But any romantic feelings I had were gradually replaced by the slow burn of an amazing friendship. She held me as I cried over breakups, and she took me to my first drag show. I've only known her a handful of years now, but I don't know what I'd do without her.

I try to mimic her pose, and nearly fall over from my efforts. I'm not completely hopeless though, and manage to get my hands on the floor. 

"And up," she says, and the blood rushes from my face as I straighten. 

We spend the next ten minutes working through basic stretches and then trot a lap around the gym. Jillie would make a good fitness instructor if she wanted to. She holds her pace well, and always has a smile. Normally I'd find it annoying, but knowing that Jillie hates working out as much as I do softens the sharp edges that would poke in my side. 

Jillie turns to me after our lap and says, "It's your pick today." 

I guzzle my water as I walk over to the class board. There's a lineup of virtual fitness classes available year round that Jillie and I like to pick from. It keeps us out of a crowded group session and lets us chat as we go. I scroll through the list, looking for something high intensity that'll make me sweat, because I need to let off some steam. 

This past week was hell. It took me running into Kri about eight hundred times for him to get the message to stand back, and from his vantage point in the corner of the room he could apparently still see well enough to criticize my every move. A constant barrage of “This does not follow protocol,” or “Are you certain of this action” so incessant and condescending I started hearing it in my sleep.

By the time Friday rolled around, the headache I’d been nursing turned into a migraine so severe I could barely type my report. A report that couldn't have been worse, according to Kri. I can still hear his voice over my shoulder, "Is that the most scientifically accurate you can be?" 

My jaw still hurts from how often I'd been grinding my teeth together. Kerry, the Outpost dentist, will be absolutely furious with me when he sees all my molars ground down into nubs. Look at these teeth, he’d say, poking around my mouth. They’ve been eradicated by stress!

Bless Jillie for trying to keep the peace, or at least a version of it where Kri and I weren't reaching for each other's throats. Jillie would have to literally step in the middle of our arguments like Chris Pratt in Jurassic World to calm us down. Usually it worked, but it mostly left me feeling gross for falling into another argument when I should be working. 

At this point, I'm not even upset about the audit anymore. Had I been assigned someone else, a quiet observer or something, that would've been fine. I would've gotten over it and maybe even worked with a bit more hustle. Anything would've been better than a helicopter parent judging my every move. I can't catch a break, nothing I do is right, and I'm constantly on edge. 

So I have a lot of extra energy from the past week, it fizzles through my nerves like electricity, making me jumpy and irritable and the binge of trash tv with potato chips only helped so much. 

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and turn to Jillie. "I wanna box."

***

The virtual exercise rooms are lined up like offices along a far wall of the gym. At twenty feet long and fifteen wide, they can accommodate a five-person dance class with no issue. They’re lined with soft mat gym floors and the far wall is lined with mirrors. There's somewhere between fifteen to twenty of them, and during the day they're always occupied. Most people have the same idea we do--a personal class is preferable to a packed room. But because we got there early, Jillie and I found a room relatively quickly. The only downside to the rooms is that the air circulation sucks.

And I definitely picked a routine that made me sweat. 

Ten minutes in and I'm already brushing sweat out of my eyes. The virtual instructor is more hyped up than Jillie, and it just keeps moving around. Our instructor is an AI, a tall woman with paper-white skin, no distinguishing facial features, and a generic brown ponytail. The program gives her a high pitched voice so she can yell out encouragements or instructions. It's an intelligent program, all things considered. It reacts to your movements, corrects you on form, and if you program it to, it even knows your name.

"Jillian, great form!" it shouts as we throw another punch. "Player 2, don't forget to rotate your hips!" I don't like the computer knowing my name, I feel like the gym collects our data at the end and runs it through algorithms for ads. But even with a featureless face, Jillie and I have picked the same AI for every class we've done together. We decided to name her Tami. 

For boxing, Tami has on joggers and a sports bra, and has fingerless gloves on. She's set us up with some virtual fighting partners--more faceless AI's-and picked an upbeat song to punch along to. 

Halfway through a round of jabs and dodges, Jillie turns to me over her shoulder. "Ready to see tall, dark, and grouchy today?" 

I answer automatically, "Ready to punch him in the face."

I've been imagining Kri's stupid gray face on my virtual partner for the past ten minutes. I've been punching harder than usual, but I didn't think I was being so obvious.

Jillie snickers. “He’s gonna be waiting for us like: You are late, ten points off.” Jillie tries to scowl but the exertion from moving makes the expression look funny.

"He argues with me on everything," I say as we switch to kicks. "He second guessed me on how much to water the corn. The corn! He made me measure it out three times! Does he want to run the experiment?" I punctuate my sentence with another hard kick, which disintegrates the virtual man into dust. He pops back up again. 

"I dunno. It might just be the way he works," Jillie offers. "We are the aliens here, and technically the less advanced ones." 

I pause, and turn the thought over in my head. She's not wrong. The Summanians have been incredibly accommodating since first contact five years ago. They shared their technology, they invited us to set up shop all over the planet, hell they even adapted one of their pidgin languages to speak around us so we could hear it. They treat us like guests of honor, even when we have relatively little to offer in return.

"He's still a jerk," I huff. I know I'm being immature, but I can't help it. I don't like the guy, I don't want to work with him. "Just because we grew up on different planets doesn't mean he gets to treat me like I don't know anything." 

"Have you talked to him about it?" Jillie throws me a sympathetic look, and I punch the air a little harder. 

I open my mouth to reply that yes, actually, I've told him to back off multiple times, but she cuts me off.

"Talk, not yell. As my therapist would say, you need to use your 'I Feel' statements." Jillie raises her eyebrows knowingly at me. Being a mediator all week, she's seen every argument. "Not to be condescending or anything," she says. "But you're pretty shit at communicating effectively. You gotta go in with something like 'I feel like shit when you correct me because if feels like you think I'm stupid,' or something."

I clench my jaw and turn my head to throw another punch at the Kri stand-in." He's just going to deny it."

"Then what do you have to lose?" 

My pride, for one. My ego. My lab. 

I don't want to second guess my friend. But talking about it won't make things go away--action will. I need to fight, to stand my ground against Kri and his stupid little papers that only write down what I do wrong. I need to make him understand that I'm an accomplished scientist too, damn it. I've been doing things without his help my whole life, and I will do just fine after he goes.

So I don't respond, and keep punching to the beat of the song. 

Despite my disdain for all things exercise, I get lost in the rhythm. Sweat is dripping into my eyes, but the endorphins make me want to do this all the time. My muscles are burning, my heart is pounding, I feel great. I can totally exercise consistently, nearly three decades of doing the exact opposite be damned. 

The class ends with cool down stretches, and I'm definitely more limber than earlier. I can just barely get my arms around my knees this time. 

When we walk out, there's already a line forming for the virtual rooms, and I'm glad we arrived early. Outside, the air feels ten degrees cooler, and I inhale deeply through my nose. That session did help me after all. I feel calmer, less tense. I could even do yoga. Hot yoga.

Jillie sidles up next to me with her bag thrown over one arm. She bats her long eyelashes at me. “Coffee?"

I give her a single nod. “Definitely.” I'll need the caffeine to get through the day. 

We head over to the long line forming at the counter. "Cheer up Cas, at least you'll be out of the lab today." 

I respond noncommittally, a low hum in my throat and roll of my eyes. But I'm tamping down a smile. I’m excited. The greenhouses are all communal, and I don't mind because it means I get to be nosy and see how everyone else's projects are going. Dr. Markesh has a whole line of hybrid flowers about to bloom, Dr. Blaine is working hard on their Summanian veggies, and I know. Dr. Natsuki is getting ready to start her observation on imported non-edibles. It's all just so exciting, and I want to be there to see it. 

Daily watering is one thing, but today is about documenting progress. Mostly it consists of measuring a plant's growth, soil levels, and planting new seeds. I could just have Jillie do it all and stay in my lab, but I love this side of the experiment, getting my hands dirty in the mud. 

But today's greenhouse day will have an extra body in it. At the realization my small smile turns sour. 

The baristas are quick. It's only a few minutes till we reach the counter. "One large iced mocha for Cassie, and whatever the lady wants," I gesture to Jillie with my head, another part of the exercise ritual. Whoever picks the workout pays for coffee.

Jillie orders something ridiculously sweet and I scan my smart watch to pay.

***

The sun is high in the sky when we walk out of the gym, and I feel refreshed and ready to take on the world. The ground is lush with grass and small flowers, even several trees wind their way up to the sky. In fact, most of the plant life on Summanus twists up to the sky. Everything spirals on the Fibonacci sequence like on Earth, but taken to the extreme. There's herbs that grow like someone stuck a pinecone in the dirt, fruit that spirals up the trunks of trees, and fungi that swirl like a snail shell. The Outpost has a handful of fruit trees growing at the entrance of the greenhouse sector, and it wasn't a half hour walk either way, I'd take my lunch there everyday. 

"Oh it feels so good to be outside!" Jillie stretches her arms to the air as we head uphill.

And because I'm in a good mood, it only makes sense that the universe sees fit to ruin it.

"Hey ladies!" Stephen Byrne waves us down and I groan under my breath.

"Oh lord," Jillie responds just as quietly.

We turn down the path and hurry our steps, but Stephen jogs to catch up.

"You girls just getting out of the gym?" He has on joggers and a light sweatshirt, and his dirty blonde hair is plastered to his head. He's smiling at us with straight, whitened teeth. He looks like a grade-A jackass.

Stephen and I dated for close to four years back in training. For so long, I thought he was The One, until he screwed me over to get a promotion. It set my launch date to Summanus back a whole year, and kept me out of a lab for an extra six Summanian months. He dumped me like I was nothing, but for some reason Stephen insists that we're still friends. I want to push his head into the garbage compactor.

"Yep, and now we're off to work" Jillie says dismissively, picking up her pace.

"Cass I heard you got an audit," Stephen says, keeping pace with us. "That's really bad for your record."

"Uh-huh," I say, keeping my gaze on the ground and hugging my arms around my middle. Even responding to him has my stomach in knots. I hate when he calls me Cass. He used to say it so lovingly, but now it sounds like a hissing snake.

"Your auditor is an ento, right? Those bugs are tough. My buddy Bill got a review from one of them and cost him the lab. I told him, 'Bill you need to be on your best behavior or else,' so, ya know, I'd do that."

I sigh through my nose. His voice grates on my nerves worse than Kri. But what if he's right? Diana told me that if this doesn't go well it's going to cost me my lab. I grip my bag a little tighter. My anxiety from earlier is coming back. It always does when Stephen is around, but his talking isn't helping. Someone else lost their lab too? How many audits do they even do in a year? I knew I wasn't the only underperforming scientist, but surely it can't be that big of a problem?

"If you ladies aren't busy after work, the guys and I are--"

"No," Jillie interrupts, and I'm grateful she's blunt. She may hate Stephen more than I do.

"You know, it's good to get out once in a while, instead of staying inside all day," Stephen is now jogging ahead of us, going backwards. I hope he trips. "Being cooped up inside all day can't be good for your mental health."

My blood runs cold and I stop dead. I know that's targeted at me, and I want to fight back, I should fight back, but all the fight has been sapped out of me. Somehow he found out about my episode, and hasn't let go of it since. It's like a badge of honor. Hey, I made this girl break down in front of all her academic peers, isn't she stupid and fragile? 

I need to respond, some witty retort, but all I can do is stare at the ground and hug myself.

I feel Jillie's arms go around my shoulders and she pulls me to her side protectively. "Back off Byrne."

I see Stephen's hands go up defensively. "I'm just tryin' to help."

Jillie starts to walk me up the hill again. We're almost there. If we can get to the greenhouse he'll go away. Probably.

"Well go help someone else, we have work to do," Jillie says pushing us past him. My anxiety is so bad my teeth are chattering. I pray to whatever god is listening that he can't hear it. 

His fading voice calls after us, "I'm sure it's very important." Dick. "The invitation is open, ladies."

Jillie mumbles under her breath, "Not in a million years."

***

We stop in front of the greenhouse, Jillie's arms still around my shoulders.

"Hun, look at me," she says firmly, and I wrench my gaze from the ground to her blue eyes. "Are you okay?"

The truth is, I want to cry. I can feel tears prickling just behind my eyes, and my breathing is shallow. I hate this, I hate feeling like this. One stupid conversation was all it took for Stephen to tie me up in knots, and get me crying all over again.

I sniff, and it's gross. "I'll be okay," I mumble.

Jillie gives me a disbelieving look. "You sure?"

I flex my fingers anxiously, and I can't meet her gaze anymore. I fix my eyes on a freckle on her cheek, dark against all that pale skin, and nod.

It's no use to dwell like this. Crying solves nothing, and I hate the clean up, the puffy eyes, the snotty nose. The looks of pity.

On a deep inhale, I draw my shoulders back, willing the tears back into my body where they need to stay, and nod again. "I'm good. Let's kick some ass."

Another look of disbelief crosses Jillie's face, and I'm silently begging her not to push it. I can't handle any emotions right now. Please, please let it go. 

Thankfully, Jillie sighs and pats my shoulders. "Okay." 

I give her a small smile. "I'm fine, really." 

"Mhm," she hums, lips pursed. 

She opens the door and my mood drops even further. Kri is already here. 

Except he's not frowning at us; he's not even looking at us. He's crouched low to the ground, examining one of Dr. Markesh's plants. One hand is out, gently holding a leaf between his fingers. He's making chirping noises, which I recognize as his native tongue but I don't understand. It flits in and out of my hearing range like a wave, melodic and steady. His head is tilted like he's listening to it talk--can ento do that?-- and his gaze is half-lidded. He's looking at the plant the same way I do, with reverence and affection. 

He didn't acknowledge us at all, so he must not have heard us walk in. After a moment, I clear my throat, and Kri startles. 

It's awkward, looking down at Kri. At a little over seven feet he towers over me while standing, but now his head barely reaches my chest. I can see where his plating connects at the back, forming ridges that protect his spine. The iridescent flecks in his exoskeleton catch the morning light and reflect back to me in gorgeous purple shimmers, and the plates over his arms and chest look like thick muscle. The plates over his face look like they're glowing blue. 

There are some people who are, well, let's say attracted to ento. And if we’re being honest, I see the appeal. They're like nothing I've ever seen before. Ento are gorgeous, in an (excuse the pun) otherworldly way. 

Not that I’m attracted to Kri. Not at all.

Over the past week, when Kri wasn't running his mouth or hovering over my shoulder, he was poised somewhere off to the side. I noticed he holds himself with pride. I can see it in his posture, in the graceful way he walks, how he takes off to fly. It's all done with careful measures of control to be as smooth as possible. And I will admit, despite his propensity to piss me off, he's actually quite pleasant to look at.

Kri stands up and brushes off his knees. "You're late." 

Aaand any good notion I had towards him is now gone. 

"We were at the gym," I hiss, setting down my bag on the table that runs down the middle of the greenhouse.

"I can see that," he says, voice tense. Is he really that mad we were late? I roll my eyes and he folds his arms.

"Sor-ry," I say, opening my bag to get my laptop out. 

"Your tone suggests sarcasm," he says, leaning backwards against the bench. 

"No," I respond, sarcastically. The back and forth almost feels like a game now, seeing how much irony I can inject into my voice to set him off. It's one of the only things that's kept me sane the past week. 

Kri sighs heavily through his flat nose, and starts jotting something down. It's gonna be a long day. 

***

"That's the improper measurement for--" 

"Yeah, I got it." 

"You do not. Your hand position is--" 

"I said I got it!" 

***

"I believe your ratio is off." 

"I'm not measuring it again." 

"Are you certain?" 

"If you write down that I didn't measure the soil to fertilizer ratio in your stupid fucking report I'm gonna--" 

"Cass! Come help me with the seedlings!" 

***

"Are you going to--"

"I already did."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to mention that I overwatered, then ask if I put proper drainage in the pot so it wouldn't drown. So yes, I already did that."

“Refuses to accept corrections,” he mutters, and I snap, whirling on him.

“What is your problem?”

Kri stops writing and looks up from his clipboard at me. “I’m writing my report.”

I lean forward. “All week it’s ‘Doesn’t do this,’ or ‘Doesn’t follow that,’ but not once have you written down the good things I do!”

Slowly, Kri lowers his clipboard, and for a split second I think I’ve got him. With his free hands he starts listing things off. 

“You don’t follow protocol, your organization is nonexistent, you rarely stick to your ‘lists’,” he says “lists” like it’s something he wants to spit out of his mouth, and my anger flares.

Kri narrows his eyes and folds his arms. “And you ignore any form of critique."

I groan, a loud sound that’s ripped from my throat. “You are the most condescending man—alien—thing I have ever had the displeasure of—“

“You are being highly unprofessional.”

“My ass!” I’m shouting now, and I don’t care. “You have been nothing but rude since you walked in! I have plants to take care of, and I can’t afford to be distracted by your stupid, meaningless corrections!”

I want to flip a table. I want to punch something. Instead, I throw my chair to the side. 

It's too much. This is too much too fast. Tears prick at my eyes, betraying my frustrated state. I can't stand the thought of Kri seeing me cry, so I storm out. 

The sun is blinding and I hold a hand up to shield my eyes. I'm storming off towards…I don't know where, I just need to keep walking. I need to get away.

Chapter 3 >>

#my writing #A Botanist's Guide #monster writing #Exophilia #exophilia writing #Next chapter we get a kri perspective! #I promise he's a big softie underneath all those layers #I have no idea how many chapters this will be but I'm gonna ballpark it at like 9 or 10

[void-bitten-ghost]

God @mierian you've got me with this figure skating re8 wintersberg au like

I can't help but think Ethan did some hockey when he was younger and was like. Really good at it. But that's a secret because he only met Mia by pretending to be Bad At Skating and having her help him around the rink like bambi on stilts.

He misses the speed. The control. The freedom he used to feel on the ice. After a big fight with Mia (I'm not too sure what it could be about. Maybe she made a deal or something with a company (see: umbrella) Ethan despises and didn't discuss it with him at all) and he goes to the rink and that's how he first meets Karl.

The rivalry is almost instantaneous, maybe because Ethan is convinced he's seen his face before and that he's supposed to hate this man for some reason. Vicious races and maneuver competitions ensue, and the animosity slowly seeps into actual camaraderie. It becomes an unspoken thing every time they somehow meet up at the same rink. Mia's busy with her training for the big thing coming up anyway and Ethan is still a little pissed at her so he looks forward to these little bouts of aggression.

Then the big thing comes up. It's still a little tense between Mia and Ethan but he supports her regardless, no matter what happens he'd support her in this.

Then he hears the name Karl Heisenberg get called. Thinks nothing of it. Gets Mia her water and such, leans against the side as she drinks it and talks at him about nothing in particular.

Then he sees the face of the man that's been his rival for the last few weeks, right in the centre of the ice, in a pose that most definitely did not fit the obviously very wrong preconceptions he had about him.

The music starts, and he's fucking gone. Blown away. No fucking way is this the man that almost fucking tackled him over the last cola in the vending machine. No fucking way is that him, dancing and quadruple axle-ing his way into a place on the podium, scraggly hair tied back and im-fucking-maculate. Where's the coat? The hat? Those ridiculous sunglasses he never took off? ?

Ethan's having a bit of a crisis okay. First he finds out his wife isn't who he thought she was and has been making deals behind his back, and now it turns out the one constant he had is exactly the fucking same. The stranger that wasn't really a stranger anymore for one split second.

But yeah, Ethan is having A Time but Karl's moment of realisation is Worse

He's the type to play to the crowds. It's what made him initially popular in these circles, how he can get the crowd invested, claps and stomps and shouts of song lyrics. He's a showman at heart and he's Good At It

But

Then he sees Ethan and trips. He stumbles, catches himself, but by then it's too late. Too late in the routine to fit in any more ambitious moves for extra points and everyone knows it.

He finishes the best he can. And he does it flawlessly, still flowing with the energy of the crowd. He stops, pose perfect, and hesitantly, subtly turns to look to the sidelines.

Miranda is Not pleased.

#heisenwinters #wintersberg #other peoples AU #other peoples idea #ethan winters x karl heisenberg #figure skating au #i hope its okay i tagged you i thought it would be polite #re8 village #it'd be a real slow burn here okay #im also imagining this whole thing with ethan learning about the prodigy children all being told to use brand new skates every set #he sees heises feet after another friendly competion at the local rink and just crumbles inside at how damaged and scarred they are #tenderness ensues #im sorry ive been watching figure skating vids recently and just got gripped by this au idea

[nancybryans]

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[sadoeuphemist]

The unicorn was unique within the medieval bestiary in that it was at once immaculate and ethereal, only revealing itself to the pure of heart, and yet trophies of unicorn horn abound: scepters, goblets, scabbards, crowns, the throne of the Danish king sculpted almost entirely from their ivory. The unicorn could only be witnessed by the unblemished soul still capable of recognizing its grace and purity—it was said not to even disturb the birds in the trees, nor the blades of grass with its footsteps—which raises the question of how it was so prodigiously hunted, if it would have been invisible to anyone venal enough to wish to slay it. 

The truth was that the unicorn—having to be loved to be seen, and having to be seen to be loved—was desperately lonely. All that was necessary for a successful hunt was to acquire a virgin maiden as a lure, and have her sit quietly beneath a tree in the forest. The unicorn, sensing in her innocence a kindred soul it might reveal itself to, would be drawn to the maiden irresistibly, forgetting all fear to kneel before her and lay its head submissively in her lap, whereupon the hunters could emerge from the bushes and the unicorn could easily be killed.

We may ask whether the maiden wept afterwards, whether she was coerced into participating in the hunt, or whether she watched the slaughter with open eyes, her heart already racing in anticipation. But we may also ask the same question of the hunters themselves. Having pursued and studied the unicorn, having attributed such a transcendent mythology to the beast, how could they bring themselves to plunge in the sword, the lance, the spear? What drove them on their quest? Did they not weep?

Perhaps an insight may be gleaned from the narrative of the Verteuil tapestries, an object of much scholarly discussion, depicting one such hunt. Over the first six tapestries the unicorn is stalked, lured, and slaughtered; in the seventh it is miraculously alive again, circled in a fence against a field of flowers, sitting serenely beneath a pomegranate tree. It may be that the hunters thought of the unicorn as immortal—that, just as it could not be beheld by an impure heart, it could not be felled by implements so base as swords or spears or lances. The unicorn, once beheld, would live forever in the soul of its beholder: tamed, fenced in, beneath the blood-red fruit of the heart. 

(It may also be that since the unicorn was defined primarily by negation—unblemished, innocent, immaculate—the hunters believed that it had no substance of its own and therefore could only be materialized through its violation; that the only proof of a unicorn was the bloody horn left afterwards, the evidence of its loss.)

When an adequate maiden could not be found, a mirror could sometimes be substituted, hung from the trunk of a tree or wedged between its branches. From a distance the unicorn would glimpse its own reflection and be filled with an overwhelming compassion and pity, advancing timidly at first, and then earnestly, touching its horn against the glass in a futile attempt to comfort this miserable beast, who along with them was alone in all the world.

The danger of this method was that, if left to stare into the mirror for too long, the unicorn would begin to perceive the reflection as itself and become distressed. It would become agonized at its own loneliness, at the fragile ethereal beauty of its soul, and then, feeling encircled and penned in by the knowledge of its own identity, it would begin to thrust in earnest at the mirror, whinnying wildly, rearing back on its hind legs.

Then, inevitably, the mirror would fall, and shatter into pieces, and there would only be another hunter standing there staring at the shards of glass, his lance upraised, eyes darting desperately from the shards to between the trees and the untamed woods trying to follow that flash of silver and white—shining, immaculate, still unsullied by the world—searching desperately for a glimpse of the unicorn once again.

#fiction

[itsthe-neo-zone]

Wands and Potions - NCT Chenle

Please read the masterlist before continuing ahead. thank you.

listen to Halsey: Colors pt.2

Chapter 7:

[12:17PM]

[Selene’s Pov]

Do I believe in destiny? In the world repeating itself? It’s a difficult question, I could sit and think about an answer for the rest of my life and not have a conclusion.

Ever since I caught a sound of my mother keeping secrets from me, I felt hurt.

Betrayed. Broken. But I had no right to be. Anyone else would have done the same.

[“You would’ve done the same, Selene. Don’t blame me for looking out for you.” Her poise didn’t hold confidence or intrepidity. But it held pain. Sorrow. Regret. She curved closer towards me. Never once had I seen mother like this.

The macule of red beneath her living orbs was layered over porcelain pale skin. She looked sickening. The tears long gone and dried.]

“I’ve never known my father.” I whispered. “to be truthful, I couldn’t even call him father. I was born…” I took a sigh reliving the sight I’d be met when spitting out my truth. Something that shouldn’t have been done. A mistake. Someone to be erased. “born out of wedlock.”

“He was never there.”

I felt the lifeless caress of the fabric draping over my back. Lyra felt cold, she brought back a blanket.

“I’m so sorry.” I shrugged, nodding lightly. “It’s like he’s dead to me anyway.” The silence was mellow. For once I felt like everything had been removed off my shoulders. Letting it all out like that and to someone who was truly listening felt untroubling.

“Selene. Remember earlier this morning?” I hummed.

“I showed you my family tree. For the first time.” Lyra sat next to the female at the edge of the path, any farther out and they’d both plunge into the abyss of the lake. “The names weren’t there. But they will be, soon.”

The sun was hiding behind dark blanket of clouds waiting, just silent. They would come to erupt with downfall soon. It was like a frozen scene. Nothing was moving but the quiet tap of Lyra’s hand on the stone below their bodies.

But it was the quiet before the storm.

A shrieking cry was heard from below. Noted it came from the edge of the forest. A female cry for help. Whatever or whoever created that sound clearly saw death himself before their own eyes. The agonizing noise made both Gryffindors alert.

Lyra trembled in shock. She was frightened from the ungodly noise. I quickly felt the blood rush in my body. It began to convulse in adrenaline. I watched my fingers unable to stop their stirring.

Selene, please. Help me.

I heard his voice. It echoed through the empty air, calling. Begging. Crying out for help. I tumbled upwards quickly speeding up. All I could hear was ringing of distant bells I felt it spinning around me, my ears only picking up that sound. Everything went silent. It was like the existence of time had sedated or stopped. All I could hear was the invariable reverberate of my heartbeat. It was erratic.

My name was being bellowed out behind me as I left it all. I left everything. Something happened, it’s– he’s hurting. It’s wrong, something wrong has happened. I felt myself almost asphyxiate, the anxiety building up.

I had forgotten about everything and everyone, Scorpius, his voice yowling echoed horrifically in my head. I felt it, all the unbearable pain, the agonising tribulation. Mentally cursing myself for not being able to make off any faster.  

At some point after I reached past the staircase and down the hills almost tumbling over my own feet too many times to count, I felt my chest constrict overexerting my limits. I could make out, past the trees. The first clearing, what was there.

My chest tightened at the sight as I pushed past the girl who was screeching in terror at the view, Albus, Pained and wounded. The male was kneeling, grounded, the thick maroon almost black liquid spluttered past his lips soaking down his chin and clothes.

“What happened?” my voice was audibly strained as I glanced at Scorpius. His eyes said it all, his heart was hurt, eyes filled with salty drops ready to spill and fill an ocean entirely. His true friend, brother. Was dying before his own two eyes.

“Alb-- i mean, Poison. H-He’s d-dy-- please no don’t die--, Selene do something. anything-- jus-- i mean, Please.” I dropped down towards the male, not wasting anymore time. I took out my wand and the three drops of elixir in my pendant.

There were others but my focus didn’t pick up who, I felt Lyra appear next to me shortly. “Pull Scorpius away. Do it now.” My tone left no room for discussion although you could hear the fear behind it. I glanced up to the male who was next to Albus trying to ease his pain. “Get me any form of foliage. It needs to be clean.” The male whom I recognise to be Rosier glared at me.

“You’re going to kill him; he needs to be taken to the hospital ward.” He spits. His eyes are full of hatred it inflamed in his irises. He didn’t budge staying stationary.

I rolled my eyes, so stubborn. Quickly lurching forward and lifting a branch a few meters away. I snapped it against my own knee before taking the soft green fibre. I forced myself to focus, feeling my hands start to shake uncontrollably.

I tumbled back towards the hurt boy. He had lost too much blood. His eyes glanced up at me and he smiled weakly. I felt myself about to mutter something but bit my tongue in the last minute. I hushed him, my whole-body convulsing weakly at the sight of his figure almost drenched in the crimson liquid.

The stench was the strongest as I inched closer it was nauseating and acrid tickling my own throat and nose. I felt my entire being wanting to throw up but tried to keep myself in control. Dropping the vials entire containment onto the foliage I quickly pushed it towards the breathing features of his face getting my hands soaked in his blood in the process.

Taking a whiff of the concentrated elixir he felt himself begin to weaken even further as he languidly dropped to the dirt filled ground.  I rearranged my position, climbing onto his limp almost lifeless body. the blood began to seep onto my skin, i couldn't stop the shiver from running down my spine. 

“She’s killed him! Scorpius!” the raven-haired male growl next to me as he witnesses the sight before him.

I hurriedly grabbed my empty pendant with both hands gripping it tightly, a wand in the right “Accio Potio Sanguinem Implerent.” The pendants teardrop shaped vial filled with a red umber liquid before their own eyes. I remove it from my touch and empty it out past the male’s lips. Completing the action several times before stopping. I pause out of breath before taking my slender wand into my hand firmly gripping the handle of the dark balanced wood.

“Ferula.” I whimpered watching the internal wounds heal slowly but surely and bandage his sprained bones. It definitely looked as if he had taken much more than a poison, but I wouldn’t dare ask now. His health was top priority to scorpius.

I whispered the incantation again moving the tip of my wand gently over his torso. Albus looked to be stirring with discomfort slightly until the spell took action on his distressed body. The pained and scrunched up facial expressions stopped as he stopped feeling. His breathing, distraught and laboured, now became alleviated as the spell tranquilised his senses.

I tumbled off the Slytherin boy’s body. Plopping myself down to the floor. It’s all coming back. Everything. I tried changing the thought pattern that I’m falling into, but my hands. They were right there. In my view.

The blood covering it all over seeping into my own bones. Reminding me of what I did. What happened. How I was cursed with no luck in life. A child of disgrace.

“He’s dead, Albus is dead.” A taut, wobbly tone was heard, disbelief in his voice was evident. It was rosier again. His glare could be felt from my curved back. I could feel the thick tension in the air. My figure was starting to tremble.

“Selene,” Lyra left Scorpius’ frail figure as she approached me her voice thick with emotion. She crouched holding my body. I could hear her, feel her, physically. But I wasn’t mentally there. I was falling into that endless it of guilt, despair and regret. It was me, It’s my fault.  

[“You shouldn’t have been born, a defile to our family. A taint to my honour.” She screeched at me. Her image as ‘mother’ had been ruined from that day. “How dare you disgrace our family like this?” I didn’t see her as a mother, she wasn’t my parent. She hated me. Everyone hated me.

I pushed my head further into my soiled garments and bloodied arms. I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t stop myself. It–

“She’s no child of ours, filthy half breed.” The horrible blaring continued tormenting my young feeble self. It stayed with me. Haunting my once innocent ears. I peeked from the curve of my arms looking up. The two figures looming over me. Like monsters. Ice cold, scary creatures that have no remorse for a young child.

They hated my existence. I had done something bad, disobeyed their rules. I don’t deserve to be happy. I was a disgrace, a dishonour. A mistake that should have never been.]

“Selene!” 

I blinked a couple of times my eyes releasing the inner troubles I trapped and suppressed in the form of tears. His voice became louder from my muffled head it broke my trance as he repeated the name again and again.

Scorpius was wailing my name out breaking me from the trauma. But it wasn’t him that lifted me. It wasn’t him that dragged me to the southern edge of the black lake 2 miles from the clearing we were in. It wasn’t him that pushed me towards the lake to wash off my hands.

“Tergeo.” A deep voice, quiet and controlled. Very monotonous in tone, spoke. As I sat at the edge, I began to see the spell with the help of salty mild water removing the crimson taint and pungent scent. “Procuro.” He continued until I was clear of any stain.

I continued to shake mildly as I pressed myself backwards away from the shore of the dark depths of the black lake.

The figure left. I was left to my own accord.

It was him. Chenle. His voice still echoing the quiet incantations to siphon the liquid and dirt off my body.

After a few moments of laconism, save the lapping trickle of aqua against the feet of the land, I realised I had left everything back at the clearing. My pendant and wand. I could hear voices and the padding of feet against the dirt branches and twigs making their way to the edge.

“Thank heavens he’s alright. Selene caught him just in time.”

“Yes, but what I’d like to know is how she found us, how she knew what to do?” Accusing and leery in tone, the male named Jisung continued to pick at the scene that just unfolded before him.

“Ji, that’s enough.” It was Scorpius. His voice seemed serious and calmed. “We can have this conversation later.”

“Where is she? Did you leave her here?”

Their voices got louder and as they passed the last few trees at the end of the southern edge of the forest. Lyra ran towards me, embracing my shaking figure. “You did that. You saved his life. Selene, you’re amazing.” She squeezed me even harder. I smiled meekly before patting her shoulder reluctantly.

“She is, isn’t she? Thank you for your effort.” Scorpius smiled taking me in his embrace as he handed me my wand and slipped my pendant across my neck as it laid over my collarbones  beneath the top of my shirt that was now unbuttoned. I could see Rosier still glaring from my peripheral. His eyes never left me standing at a distance with a sceptical peer. It was almost insulting.

“How?” Jisung whispered.

I took my steps closer towards Albus. He had started to regain consciousness as he glanced up towards me. He looked weak. I could see it in his eyes, no energy for his snarky words or flirty attitude.

“How are you feeling now?” I lower myself gently down before him. He’s perched against the roots and bottom of a tree. Resting his head against the bark. The sweat that was all over his head had gone slightly but his hair was still stuck over his forehead covering some of his eyes.

“You,” he breathed out. Taking a while to form his words. The blood replenishing drops weren’t enough. I looked up towards his eyes.

“You’re different.” He whispers, I gulp. Looking away, anywhere but him. “Thanks for saving my life-- saving me.” He continued. An unguarded smile, genuine and honest.

“It was nothing. You’re a friend of Scorpius. He cherishes you very much.” He nodded understanding. The colour had vanished from his face and lips. Those were chapped and dry. I got up lifting myself before gathering water from the lake. I purified it using my acquired wand.

Bringing it to his lips he drank from the liquid. Before letting himself rest back at the roots of the evergreen trees.

I sat back finally resting up. God, did I hate myself.

[05:32PM]

[3rd person pov:]

Selene and Lyra made their way back up to their dormitories. Most students around this this time would’ve gone down to have dinner before strolling for a while. It was a Sunday afternoon and so students would’ve gone to bed a little earlier than usual. Curfew for sleep was usually at 11pm so Selene had plenty of time.

“I need a soak in the girls’ bathrooms.” Selene groaned lifting her hand towards her head. After the whole issue of Albus getting hurt and then the suspicion of a skip out of Hogwarts with the other three boys getting into some form of fight. It was all taking a huge toll on selenes mental mind-set and physicality.

“I’ll be up in the dormitories then. See you later.”

Selene managed to get herself swiftly to the female bathrooms after preparing and gathering the items she needed. as she dropped her robe alongside the side of the steps she had wanted to sink by. There was a faint echo of female voices echoing that could be heard form a very slim distance.

Selene ignored the figures that were in the marble-covered vacancy. The small smoke trails leaving the surface of the water threaded through her figure as she sank in letting the water caress and hold her body deep in.

Selene always found a quick soak- though it took longer than necessary -in the tub to be the best self-induced clearance of the mind. A bit similar to taking a quick walk to clear your thoughts.

She wanted to get to the bottom of the issue of the 4 Slytherins taking their undisclosed leave and getting dreadfully hurt. As she sat thinking of the ins and outs of multiple disputes that have been occurring in the span of a couple of weeks.

“I can literally see the gears turning in your head.” I was met with the button nose and burnt-sienna coloured orbs of Lily Luna potter. The renowned princess of Gryffindor. “Penny for your thoughts?” her shoulder length locks draped against her back and wet skin. She leans closer her hands helping her in the awkward position she was in.

An angel to all, even most of slytherin loved the witch. Being James and Albus Potter’s beloved sister, she was in literal definition a princess. Royalty that deserved to be treated as she is.

“Not much,” I murmur. “Oh, come on. Don’t be a bore.” She moved backwards slightly into her own seated position.

“I’m very curious, and i don’t stop digging till i found out what i want so why don’t you tell me and get this over with?” the ginger fiddled with the strands of golden-auburn hair.

“Fine fine, don’t get your pigtails in a twist.” She sways in the foamed water a little, turning to face Selene. 

“What do you do if two of your close friends won’t tell you where they’ve been. You secretly know where they had gone. It’s a dangerous situation but they don’t want to tell you.”

“And just out of curiosity was it a public or private place.” The younger witch enquires. Selene rolls her eyes

“Public. But it was at night. Oh, I forgot. There was another bystander of what had happened.” Selene bites her lips waiting for the cheerful witch’s answer. If I got the viewpoint of another unbiased person, it should clear things up.

“I think you should talk to the bystander, if they were their earlier, they may have heard something about the situation. This is -if you say they won’t budge at all.” Selene nodded but in deep thought of her words.

“They won’t budge. At all.” Selene had her work cut out for her, if anyone was going to answer what happened that night, it wouldn’t be Ravelle or Jinsoul. She had tried but Ravelle has been giving her the cold shoulder and Jinsoul thought feeding her lies would work well.

She low-key hated the potters though. Saving one’s life in the morning and being subjected to another’s nosiness in the afternoon. They were everywhere.

[08:01PM]

“Good evening.” Selene mumbled  took a seat at the table eyeing all the delicious snacks on the grand and narrow table. Lifting a near carafe selene placed a little of the liquid into her chalice.

“How’s everyone’s weekend been?” Irene joined the conversation, sliding closer. Selene gave her a curt nod, the girl was out all weekend and didn't get much of what happened at the castle.

“Eventful,” Lyra murmured eyeing Selene from the edge of her own cup. Selene winked back slightly, “Very.” before smirking.

“Is anyone free to have a sleepover over the week-long break?” Jinny spoke up the glimmer of hope in her eyes as she mentions the chance.  “We can’t, we’ve got family meet in place. Sorry.” Irene and Olivia murmured. Both were meeting up over the break as their families are close. Blood ties I guess.

“No, sorry.” Another apology.

“I live too far away. It would be a too much a hassle for my parents.” The third pardon. At this rate nobody will be going. Selene smirked.

“What do you mean by that? I literally live in the neighbouring country. You call living in England far?” the students laugh at their sarcasm.

“I’d be happy to go Jinny,” a kind gesture from the raven, Selene glanced down, moving her fingers across the paper-fine rim. 

“I’m sure Selene is coming too.” The ginger looked up to meet the questioning and curious eyes. Around 7 pairs of them.

“Actually,” their heads snapped. Selene? Was saying no to something? Yeah, that was something oddly new. Not every day would you view Selene Adams showing her personality and not following their lead like a lost puppy.

“I’ve got plans, with a certain someone. They’re set in stone. Sorry.” Though it wasn’t necessary to pardon herself. With that shit-eating grin plastered on her face, she clearly didn’t look sorry not one bit. Their reaction was priceless. Too good not to grin at.

“Are you sure?” Ravelle’s voice cracked and the others glanced at her reaction. Was it that much of a shock? “I mean you always come to jinny’s sleepovers. You’re constantly hanging out with us. All the time.” She further explained. 

The ravens eyes locked and narrowed slightly, she was thinking through something. Probably wondering who this person is. After all, the group knew about her relationship with her mother, there was nobody else in her life.

Selene smirked; she made a mental note to thank Scorpius for his invite. She should accept his offers more often if it was to lead to this. “Well as I said, these plans were sent in stone from way before and I can’t hope to disappoint this person.” She licked her lips and stood.

“Where are you going now?”

“Just a light walk. I’m meeting up with someone really quick. I’ll be back at the common room soon.”

As Selene walks out and turns to the right past the grand doors of the great hall. She is pulled underneath the main staircase in the depth of the musty dark. “Hey. I told you to meet me beneath the stairs, where were you going idiot?”

“Nowhere,” Selene rolled her eyes at his harsh words. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” he sighed.

“A deal is a deal. I’ll tell you what happened and lead you to where James and his boys meet with your slut- fuck, --crappy friends and you’ll tell me what the secret behind the move you pulled today was.” Selene reluctantly nods letting him lead the way.

“You do realise calling them crappy isn’t any better than the vulgar words you used.”

“Watch your mouth half-breed. And deal with it. I despise them, nothing you say is going to change that.”

#nct chenle #nct hogwarts au #nct dream x reader #nct fanfic #chenle x reader #nct dream #nct u #NCT 127 #Wands and Potions #fanfic #kpop smut #kpop memes #zhong chenle #chenle #jisung #nct dream x oc #Hogwarts Au #kpop hogwarts au

[athaisatha]

#18 : Ada Allah

Pernah galau?

Siapa sih yg gak pernah galau, jangankan untuk masalah pelik kita manusia dikasih cobaan sepele aja galaunya suka kebangetan.

.

Jatah hidup yg semakin berkurang ini bikin aku agak overthink. Selain urusan dunia kebanyakan, urusan akhirat juga kadang terlintas meskipun intensitasnya jarang. Astaghfirullah, padahal kita kan hidup buat macul amal ngumpulin bekal buat di akhirat ya?

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Tapi tenang, ada Allah. Semelenceng-melencengnya kita yg lagi tinggal di dunia ini masih patut bersyukur kalau dikasih kesempatan buat kembali lagi ke jalan yg benar. Berarti Allah sayang dan lagi Allah paling tahu bahwa kita sanggup menghadapi itu kemudian balik lagi. Tapi ingat ya, hidayah itu dijemput bukan ditungguin.

.

Pernah salah satu kajian ustad Hanan Attaki bahas tentang hikmah. Isinya mengajarkan kita lebih bersabar juga untuk mengetahui hikmah apa yg Allah siapkan di akhir. Sungguh Allah itu punya alasan baik pada setiap hal yg kadang saat itu kelihatannya gak masuk akal. Benar-benar deh kalau tahu dari awal skenario Allah itu luar biasa udah paling sempurna buat kita, tapi apalah kita sebagai hambaNya kadang suka cepat ngeluh, cepat juga putus asa padahal Allah mau kasih surprise.

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Jadikanlah shalat dan sabar sebagai penolong kita. Tenang, ada Allah. Kalau kita bertawakal pasti Allah tolong. Kalau kita berusaha kembali sama Allah pasti Allah rangkul. Kalau kita terus minta sama Allah jangan merasa sungkan, Allah malah senang itu berarti hambaNya merasa dekat. Rajinkan ibadah, tambah yg sunnah, kuatkan iman, bismillah. Urusan kita dijamin selesai kalau sama Allah, kita hambaNya tinggal doa, tinggal shalat, tinggal sabar, nanti Allah yg kasih jalannya.

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Manusiawi banget emang kalau kita merasa galau. Tapi mulai sekarang segalau apapun kita, meski sepele, harap tenang dan mohon diingat; kita punya Allah!

.

Cr : We Heart It

#30haribercerita #30hbc1918 #athaisatha #randomthingshappen #writingproject #30hbc19tenang

[monaghantate5]

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