#and what often ties together the sun and moon? the earth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

melodyofthevoid · 9 months

Text

The Crane Wives Analyzed: Coyote Stories

(Yes I’m changing the verb every time I think it’s funny)

The mellower of the albums, this focuses on the self. Songs of introspection and reflection. From the firmly anti-capitalism “Hand That Feeds” to the melancholic “Never Love an Anchor”. It isn’t to say there aren’t any moments of intensity. In fact, the vocalists have moments of growls deep and hungry as the eponymous coyotes themselves.

Keep You Safe

It is human instinct to shield oneself from danger, from the fear of the unknown. The pitfalls of anxiety make any risk feel insurmountable and an eternity is spent looking from the outside in. The singer’s feelings took root in childhood, nerves keeping them from climbing trees in fear of a fall, of hurting themself. Believing that they weren’t strong enough, brave enough, weren’t enough to even attempt to try. Watching their friends from a distance as they made it to the heights that inspired such fear.

And then the thesis: Nothing in life comes easy, spoken from a father to a child. Being afraid of the world, of the future, it’s a security blanket. An easy escape that fails to fix any real problems, it won’t truly keep you safe. Waiting and hoping to just suddenly become brave, or strong enough, it won’t happen.

As the singer ages the fears shift, collecting over the years. Not limited to only heights and falling, but grander more existential threats. Fears collected from those around them, accumulated from the news, from loved ones, from friends, trapping the singer in a new web they fear they can’t escape from. They carry them, all of their untold regrets, all of the plans abandoned by the wayside, and remember what their father told them.

Knowing that mistakes will occur no matter what is one thing, acting is another. That first step can appear insurmountable, an eternal obstacle to one’s dreams and ambitions. Because what if? What if this step is a mistake? What if this leads to ruin? What if- What if. How can one say “come what may” when all their life they’ve let that fear paralyze them?

It’s no easy feat, it’s hard, and sometimes, you will fail. But some of the most beautiful parts of life come from those risks, and it’s worth it in the end to climb that tree, pursue that dream, try to be better, braver, because time will pass anyways. You’re no safer in the dark than in the light, so why not?

The Moon Will Sing

Often the Sun and Moon are tied together in symbolism as a pair of mutual lovers or siblings, each with their own beauty. But the truth is that the Moon is simply a ball of rock, reflecting the light of the Sun back to Earth. It doesn’t shine on its own. Forever caught in Earth’s orbit circling around the larger star. Waxing and waning, glowing a faint cold imitation in the night sky.

So too does the singer reflect their partner, a hollowed out shell that only feels worth when they’re with their lover. Being who they’re told to be, in spite of knowing that they at one time possessed the power to be anyone yet they let their partner, their sun, make that choice for them, guide them through the dark. Never once questioning their decisions. The slow guitar a quiet melancholy companion in their lament.

Their heart is empty, bare of any love, endless empty rooms of what could’ve been reminding the singer constantly and yet the weight of a decade’s worth of blind trust and manipulation leave them apathetic. Lying in the dusty bed with their lover wondering what it was truly worth. There’s the implication that they’ve both made their peace with the exhaustion, but it’s impossible to know how their Sun feels. Only the mutual acceptance that this is all that there is.

The chorus entreats to the Moon to sing a song for them, to share in their plight. The only being to understand their pain and tell their story. They know that they love their partner like the sun, bearing the brunt of their darkness and claiming that they had no light of their own. Yet who told them that? Their partner? Others in their life? Regardless of where the belief came from, they shine only –in their eyes– with the light given to them. With the person they’d become.

Perhaps emboldened by the realization that this relationship, who they’d become is not who they want to be, they confront their partner. Lamenting all of who they once were that they’d lost to their lover. Hoarded, implying a theft that’s left them without. All of the words bitten back over the years leaving wounds inside, they want to be themselves again. Have the fire and bite that they’ve so long been denied.

It’s a story without a resolution, a dance with no ending. A moon trapped in the orbit of a sun.

Allies or Enemies

It happens on occasion, a word slips out without meaning to. Maybe it’s been a long day, or week, a hard time in general. Maybe patience that typically let issues slide before ran out, and you let out a statement in closed quarters that felt good to say, yet it wasn’t genuine. Authentic. Yet someone overheard, and now it’s a problem. It started a fight, and you’re left with the question of what happens next?

The singer’s words are destructive, in their own admission, wildfires and weeds that spread far beyond where they started them. Plaguelike in their transmission. Perhaps it was frustration that tinged their vision red and let loose pointed insults, weaknesses they knew the other had but promised to never target. A threat they didn’t mean. They swear that they didn’t mean it, voice dropping lower before swelling again as they ask their partner to listen to them. That moment of weakness wasn’t meant to be heard, using the turn of phrase “you owe me ears for dropping eaves” to call their partner out for listening in. Asking for the moment to be forgotten before asking the titular question: are we allies or enemies?

The third verse reminisces on better times when an off comment or heated moment could be dispelled with a joke. Anger fizzling into nothing. Now it’s different, now the anger lingers and the air grows cold. They’re fighting now and it hurts, neither happy about the situation and the singer pleading for the “war” to stop.

Because the options are now to either give their relationship another try or to bow out, walk away from one another. And in spite of the troubles they’ve had, the singer wants to try again. They want to put the war to bed and love again, to be let in and try to remedy what’s been done. Still the uncertainty remains, are they in fact allies or enemies?

Unraveling

Love and loss run as constant themes throughout The Crane Wives’ discography, the latter serving as the origin of so much hurt. Formerly happy memories sour, the relationship that once brought out the best in you now falls apart. That support system shattering, especially if the relationship meant more to one party than the other.

In the midst of the journey, one can forget that there was ever a problem, as the singer recalls. Their first love a tailor, who took to them as though they were a project. Eagerly attending to their needs, “stitches neat and clean”. And now that love is gone, the work unfinished, and the singer is unraveling.

Each love following carries a different title, a gardener, a carpenter, each using their skill sets to fix in the only ways they know how. The gardener plucks away weeds and trims the excess, the carpenter carves a smile and sands down the edges, and each one leaves in the end. Each change that they made a source of suffering now that they’re gone. With the “weeds” plucked away and without a hand to tend, the singer is withering. The carpenter sanded the edges but those held them together and now cracks are widening.

The singer laments that they didn’t understand how much they needed those they were with, and while this may be a “taken for granted” statement, in the broader context of the song it’s a realization of how intertwined they became in their relationships.

Their last love married them, “tied me up in knots” or in plain terms, tied the knot. The line before that “kissed me once before he left” implies perhaps a draft or war, a brief love where the pair married before they were likely ready. He left, promising to come back home and then never returning.

A personal interpretation is that all of the lovers: the tailor, the gardener, the carpenter, the man, are all the same person. The singer lamenting the different aspects of him now that he’s gone. The “you” in “I never knew I needed you” could very well be singular or plural, but I feel that’s up for interpretation.

Hard Sell

Fun part of growing up, as I and others have discovered, is the fact that no one has it all together. Everyone’s just making things up as they go along to the best of their ability. Which kind of sucks honestly when you first hit that revelation. Because all your life you’ve operated under the assumption that adults know what’s going on. That people in charge have a plan. But no, actually.

And that makes life tricky at best. Much to the singer’s chagrin. Each day they get up and do their best to make something out of their lives, pushing aggressively on good days to buy into the “hard sell” of the way life is supposed to go. A hard sell, in marketing terminology, is an overly forceful sales tactic. High pressure and meant to close a deal. When things are going well, the singer can swallow the bitter pill. Most of the time there’s nothing they can get a grip on, it either tears into them or falls apart at the slightest touch. Moth wings and barbed wire.

It’s tearing them apart too, their voice stopping and starting in sentences as though on the verge of the breakdown that they’re warning they’re on the brink of. They want a respite, someone to come in, wipe their tears away and say it’s alright. Comfort is in short supply in a world obsessed with profits and success. Where not having it all together is a badge of shame.

They ask if it’s really just them who can’t get their life in perfect order? Is everyone pretending to have it all wrapped up in a nice little bow? They’re holding on with a loose thread of their own but they keep pulling at it. Trying to get closer to perfection or tear it all apart.

The compulsion to pick and tear at any flaw or imperfection comes with the desire to eliminate them. Because if you can pull away the holes, maybe there’s something worthwhile underneath. “A better me”. There isn’t, not one that can be revealed like this.

They plead for everyone to stop pretending for a moment, so maybe they could all be honest with themselves. Maybe then they could all actually figure things out. Be a little kinder. Or maybe not, and it’s all a mess regardless.

Rock Slide

A quick, breezy song, running fast and sudden as the titular event. A distinctly Folk™ aesthetic, the kind of song passed down and sang with a small town dance. It swings and swirls and then lets you go.

The singer feels the oncoming disaster coming from the mountain top, warning their lover that they’d better skip town and run before the rock slide buries them alive. They’d only just arrived, just planted roots but the singer insists they have to go lest “the devil come to claim them”.

It seems the pair have tumbled their way from town to town, and there’s something on the horizon that gives the singer reason to fear that their time is up and they have to go. Sprinting away without looking back.

Why are they running? What are they running from? The law? Are they con-artists? Is their relationship forbidden, and they have to go before they’re found out and killed? The line “that monster’s coming and it don’t care for you or me” seems to point towards the latter, with a pursuing force that will never stop. Sees them as less than human.

A brief song, one of a few on this album, but a fun one.

Metaphor

Ah the metaphor, that favorite of literary devices. A comparison that can dress up any subject, turning the mundane into the extraordinary. Blood red sunsets, the infinite diamond tapestry of the night sky, they accentuate, and in some cases, obfuscate. Like the lyrics in many of the songs in the Crane Wives’ repertoire, the singer relies on metaphor to obscure the meaning of their words. Dressing their language in borrowed phrases and secondhand expressions picked up from others to keep themselves apart, separate. Their intentions untrustworthy at face value.

Because sometimes it’s easier to keep cards close to the chest and become a character rather than let someone in. If one wraps themselves in enigma, then they don’t have to worry how others see them, they control their perception. It’s safe, it’s clean.

They keep no secrets, no skeletons in their closet, because instead they dig graves. They cut contact, they leave. Or perhaps they’re the one who’s been left before. Once bitten and twice shy, no longer willing to expose the truth of themselves for fear that it will be turned against them. They beg for you not to look too deeply into the words they say, to look at them for too long, lest you see the scars.

And again they acknowledge that they’ve honed their skills, stretching the truth into sweet meaningless fluff. Cotton candy, without substance and liable to fade away at the slightest touch. Untrustworthy, as they’ve made themselves to be.

The Hand That Feeds

The anti-capitalist anthem we need in these trying times. All the more relevant with the rising surge of unions in the United States in the wake of years of abuse from those in power. A personal recommendation, if you can listen to a live recording of this song, please do. It will make you want to yell and scream the song in tandem as a fair warning, but it’s so worth it.

It’s a tale as old as time, the dream of working hard, earning a living, and making it for yourself in America. Yet, that dream serves as nothing more than fantasy, an empty promise obscuring the harsh reality. There’s no escape from the rat-race, no reward for a job well done. Any and all hope dashed against the grindstone. Those who come home from their jobs howl their laments to the sky, forced to work themselves to the bone in order to even scrape out a living. Chained to their jobs, nothing more than mere animals to the greater system.

The chorus echoes sentiments of early work folk songs, coins clinking together in otherwise empty pockets. No real money but the bare minimum that makes noise in its lacking. It gives the song an aged quality, as though it came from the Great Depression where coins were often all a family had to feed themselves. Now pocket change can’t even buy a meal anywhere. They can’t stop the time either as it passes, generations stuck in the same cycles of poverty wages under the same circumstances and masters.

The singer’s family endured this injustice, their father having traded his youth, his heath, his dreams for the Great American Ruse. Selling pieces of himself for cheap to put food on the table. But he warns his child to take their own path. He wanted to give them a better life than the one he’s made. Don’t follow his example or they’d have squandered those years of work.

He taught them how to stand up for themselves, to not merely take what they’ve been handed and be grateful for the scraps. They deserve better, they are better. And the hand that feeds earns no loyalty, especially when it turns cruel and strikes those it deems lesser than. If you are a dog to them, remind them that a dog has teeth.

And so the child raises their voice, proclaiming that their freedom is worth more than a paycheck. That the empty promise of becoming rich means servitude to the rich. They’ll never have them.

Remember: you’re not a temporarily embarrassed millionaire. You have more in common with the man you see on the side of the road than you do any ceo. Any set of unfortunate circumstances could land you destitute. There’s power in numbers if the recent wave of strikes has shown anything. They rely on the man to make their numbers go up.

Remind the hand that feeds that it still has fingers because we let it.

Little Soldiers

Love, war, two subjects that go hand in hand. The ever dragging drudgery of attempting to salvage a relationship when it’s devolved into nothing but fighting. It’s a familiar subject for the Crane Wives, and herein is the aftermath. The words they’d used to hurt one another the soldiers in the war, each side dug in and yet holding hands across enemy lines. (Perhaps the war in “Allies or Enemies” finally coming to a close). Pretending that everything was fine.

The singer swears that they loved their partner once. The line repeated at a near yell, as if daring them to challenge this fact. It’s frantic, desperate. And yet all too exhausted at the end of the war.

Each side resorted to dirty tricks and low moments in their fighting. Their partner would offer their secrets to others and let the “dogs” hurt them, hounds of the war. And the singer would bring their grievances to every room in their home, never giving a moments peace and yet their lover would hold them at night anyways.

Now they’re left without their lover and they swear they were loved once. That it meant something once.

At the bridge they concede that the whole thing is a loss, but not out of surrender. They’d each tried to make it work, afraid to give up for varying reasons. They’d done their best. It wasn’t enough.

And it’s over, the silence ringing with the remnants of war songs. Boxes packed as their lover moves away and leaves at the end of it all. The singer fought tooth and nail until the end and yet… it was futile. Their lover already left. Perhaps the war was more one sided than they initially thought.

The imagery of war, the trenches, coming home in boxes, it brings to mind thoughts of futility. Wars that never end with no “winner”. No resolution. They affirm, quiet now, that they swear that they loved their partner once. Then louder as they face the aftermath of the war. Left to pick up the pieces.

Sleeping Giants

A song of awakening, starting off with the same rocking guitar from “Rock Slide”, both involving mountains. There’s a force rolling down the mountains, power rising in the land and rushing into their veins. Every aspect of nature from the moon to the trees are changing, there’s an uprising. An energy. Something is calling now, and it wants the singer to follow.

Another one with not a lot going on lyrically, but it’s a rocking good time to listen to.

Of Everlong

A short and sweet melody, a melancholy lament of only vocals. A soft lullaby reminiscent of older bluegrass. A song of distance and a journey. Mourning for a lover to let them go after they’ve died, because in the end they belong to them.

It’s a departure from their other songs, barely coming in at over a minute long, but it highlights how magical their harmonies are.

Not much to say here, but a pleasure to listen to.

Never Love an Anchor

Oh where to begin with this song. How does one describe a wound? A hole where a heart goes? Knowing that they hurt when they were meant to heal. A role they were never meant to fill and failed to live up to.

“On some level I think I always understood that these hands of mine were clumsy, not clever”. Off the bat the song hits with the self awareness that there is so much they could do but knowing that the attempt would break things, that they are clumsy. No skill to be found. And yet their heart it is “guilty not remorseful”. They keep this fact locked away but they know. They know that they’re failing, but don’t feel remorse. They fear their true feelings would be overbearing and thus keep them away, opting for neglect instead.

The singer is an anchor, keeping their loved one weighed down in their mind. So they cut them loose. Set them sailing away. Letting the distance grow until they couldn’t hurt the other anymore. A necessary separation that leaves the singer forever wondering. Stuck in what-if scenarios, unsure of whether to breach the gap between them or to leave it be. How are they doing now? Better? Worse? Do they resent the lack of effort or understand? Do they deserve that understanding at all?

The paradox of being “someone I have loved but never known”. How do you unpack that? It evokes so many images of moments where love could be shown but was said. Small actions never done to prove that love. The barest bones of a relationship there, yet never explored, never encouraged. Even the singer acknowledges this, wondering if they’re ever thought of, wondering if there’s questions as to why they did what they did. Never tending to a fever, never holding gently.

Others have spoken on the selfish nature of the singer, calling them cruel and callous. And they acknowledge this. And yet they wonder what the other thinks of them. Wonders if their failings outweigh the harm they might have caused if they had tried.

Then there is the final line. “And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you.” What else is there to say? That the singer gave up before ever fully trying. That they resigned themselves to not getting attached so they wouldn’t have to bear the heartache themselves. They are selfish, and they leave whoever the song is addressed to with that knowledge.

It is the failings of a parent, someone meant to love, the failing of a partner who doesn’t know and doesn’t want to risk themselves. It leaves the listener hollow, with the knowledge they did nothing wrong, but that they had no way of fixing something they likely threw themselves at in vain.

The instruments in the back only heighten the emptiness, with a soft melancholic guitar and light drums as the only accompaniment. There is no anger in this sadness, no entreating. Only the sound in the space.

New Discovery

A wistful wandering, that feeling that comes when the sun peeks through the clouds and breaks the fog. Expanding horizons broader than ever thought possible. If “Safe Ship, Harbored” lamented a shrinking horizon, then this declares a new journey. A yearning for more than what they have because they deserve more than simply staring at the water forever. They want to find something new, untouched, see beauty the world’s never known. What good is the world if everything’s already been seen? What’s the point of staying only within the known?

It’s easy to get lost in the repetition of life though, when the days roll by like an endless desert. Rolling dunes identical to the naked eye. Yet, one can continue through, seeing the path behind them, a reminder that they’ve come a long way and there’s further to go. Pick a direction, and go. Keep going, and don’t waste the work you’ve done up to that point.

The singer cries their hopes to the heavens, that they want something to be left for them, something new to discover, something more to life. Something waiting for them if they only try.

And of love, the singer wants a love that’s ever changing. That as the years go on, as age alters their bodies and weathers their souls, they want to find something new to love. To never fully know their lover and find a new way to love them all over again. There can always be more, if they’re willing to discover it.

#the crane wives #my writing #melody rambles #lord this took a while sorry folks #it's been a Time #hopefully I finish Foxlore and the singles before the next album comes out lmao #at least there were a few short ones in here that didn't take much #to no one's shock the first of these I completed was never love an anchor

65 notes · View notes

lavenoon · 1 year

Note

I have more family dynamic thoughts to tease out! We know a lot about how Sun and Moon work together, how they overlap each other just as often as they work together, and in turn we’ve learnt a lot about how different Eclipse is to the two of them… But what about where one of the other two is an outlier instead?

We know Moon is the introvert between two chatty little extroverts, for example, but are there other examples where Sun or Moon is left as the one who does/thinks/likes A where the other two are B? I love how unique all of them are… but the mental image of the boys being able to mentally shake hands with their little brother and not their other half makes me giggle.

-🌻 Daye

Last January ask let's go! <3

This would have been fun to do as a Venn Diagram but alas, I am already cozied up so we'll do it without the visualization

Outlier Moon: Definitely the introversion, and also the fact that he doesn't lie about whatever accidents he gets into. Eclipse lies for fun (like Y/N), and Sun lies to protect his pride, and Moon listens to their bullshit and just sighs. Just in general a little more down to earth, so any time Sun and Eclipse are plotting extensive petty revenge for some reason (Sun for the extensive, Eclipse for the petty), Moon is the voice of reason going "hey maybe we could just. yknow, hear me out. ignore all of that actually." Definitely also the guy insisting on good sleep for any humans involved - while both Sun and Eclipse are very much pro-self care, they're much more easily convinced towards "but what if sleep crimes to stay up with you for a bit?" Also most likely to go non-verbal for a bit - ties into the introversion, but is mostly me projecting. Sometimes talking is just too much, and he goes quiet, communicating only through noises or vague gestures while mostly withdrawing

Outlier Sun: Simply not as much into sci-fi. Moon likes novels with that as focus, and Eclipse isn't opposed, so whenever Moon wants to talk about the intricacies of futuristic tech with someone, he doesn't go to "but is there romance?" Sun. Also the most dramatic of the three, and most obviously putting on an act - and somehow, least confident. Despite everything, Sun is deeply insecure about what roles he plays and has to fill, whereas Moon is doing just fine and Eclipse's insecurities mostly relate to his relationship with Sun and Moon. Sun is very hesitant about everything he projects as soon as his scripts aren't enough, and he (oh gods) has to be his genuine self. Moon and Eclipse both help with that as much as they can though! Also the only one I inflicted with "scripts" type of neurodivergency! Needs to follow certain patterns or else he gets nervous/ unsure, while Eclipse and Moon would not really get what he's talking about/ don't think of social interaction like that

Outlier Eclipse: Apart from the obvious? A lot more thinking outside the box. He's fueled by undeniable and experimental confidence, so even when an idea seems crazy he's willing to try it just to know for sure whether it'll work or not, while Sun and Moon like to play it at least somewhat safe. Eclipse isn't scared of set-backs, while Sun and Moon are very much success oriented (despite varying definitions of success). He wants to know what would happen, rather than just what will work! A lot more blunt, too, and definitely least aware of conversational cues. It even takes Sun and Moon a bit to adjust - they're so used to each other, it doesn't occur to them they have to spell certain things out to him! Also the most curious about "human-only" things, like how things would taste and why people eat just for the fun of it, why exactly muscles get sore, or the ways "eyes" developed multiple times in different ways! He wants to know everything, while Sun and Moon are focused more on what is useful to them, and it results in a lot of "useless" trivia from Eclipse

#answer let luce #daye asks #accidentally undercover #im slightly not sober but most was written yesterday so this should be fine?#hfjdks #sorry i mostly just wanna post this after i got distracted by aumv yesterday #pretty short one all things considered too #but i hope it's fun anyhow!#love how a good bunch of the differences is just me going “now what which parts of my autism i projected onto them” lmao #they're still brothers and Eclipse is a result of both of them coexisting #so they're similar/ family despite the differences #so yeah #sorry it's short the reason is theyre very close and similar and also it's hard to think of every possible difference rn #so it stays with mostly what I wrote yesterday fghdjsk #enjoy! <3

16 notes · View notes

danpuff-ao3 · 2 years

Text

HP Astro #8: Remus Lupin

Remus John Lupin, born 10 March 1960. Sun in Pisces, Moon in Leo. Birth place and time not known. Random town in Great Britain chosen as the place. Time chosen to give us Capricorn on the ascendant.

No one can tell me Big Daddy Saturn isn't ruining ruling this man's life.

The ascendant is often called our "mask", the face others see. First impressions. The rising is more than that, though; it is how we react. Not only what others see, but what we show them. Capricorn flavors how others see Remus: he is structured, put together, sure. However poor his means and his status, he radiates competence and confidence. Not the ease of charm, but the ease of practice and work and experience. People feel they can trust on Remus, can rely on him.

Capricorn is ruled by Saturn, and thus Saturn rules his chart. The chart ruler is a planet given more prominence than it might usually.

Saturn is the taskmaster. The Disciplinarian. The Father. The Teacher. Being ruled by Saturn means the lessons never end. Remus is forever being watched (and judged) by stern Saturn.

Remus' Saturn is domicile in Capricorn, and is in the First House: House of Self. Remus has high standards for himself, a heavy sense of duty, and a fear of failure. Remus always gives his best; he takes pride in giving his all, but it is tainted by the sense of expectation. He defines himself by his achievement, by his abilities. And he is wracked by guilt when he falls short.

His Saturn also shows a great sense of morality, a firm grasp on right and wrong; a sense of law and order. Responsibility, but also judgment.

In my experience, those ruled by Saturn are followed by strife. And it often begins early.

Let's think for a moment, how his lycanthropy ties into it. Remus was turned young. It changed the course of his life. He had to learn to be on his toes, to watch his back. To be self-sufficient, and wary. He was isolated, unable to truly connect to others. (We'll touch on why that's extra sad, in a bit.) The lone wolf, however unwitting. Remember: wolves belong to packs. Being a lone wolf is no blessing.

Capricorn, the cardinal earth sign. Wolves and earth; of nature and the physical world. No digging in heels as a fixed sign (Taurus) or ever-changing as mutable signs (Virgo), but the forward-moving, driven nature of cardinal signs. The goat, trudging forward, climbing up, heading for its goals. The wolf on the hunt, target in sight. Unstoppable in attainting its desires, catching its prey.

It is a blessing, in a way, that Remus' Saturn is domicile. Saturn runs smoothly on Capricorn energy. What better person to withstand the trials and tribulations of being ruled by Saturn, than a person built for it? The crucible didn't break him, but shaped him.

Being turned was a traumatic event in of itself, and it led to a lifetime of ill-treatment, judgment, and suffering. Hard Saturnian lessons.

But it would be cruel to thank Saturn for the person Remus became.

Instead, let's look to the Sun and Moon for who Remus is beneath the stern earthy exterior.

Sun: ego, core, self. Second House: House of Possessions. Pisces: dreamy, imaginative, compassionate.

Remus needs material security (Second House) to feel stable in himself (Sun.) With Pisces' whimsy, the lack of resources can be looked past. Where other second house suns might lend towards excess, Remus looks deeply and finds the worth what he does have. What possessions he owns, he cares for and makes use of. Well-worn cardigans, and a beloved briefcase filled with all his earthly possessions. What Remus has becomes part of him, for all of the care he gives them.

Moon: emotions, subconscious. Seventh House: House of Relationships. Leo: bold, magnetic, creative.

Remus needs connection to others (Seventh House) to feel emotionally fulfilled (moon.) You can see where Saturn might have injured this part of him. The wolf was not meant to be alone, and neither was Remus. His moon is bright and warm (Leo), drawing others in, but he must be cautious. His own wellbeing, and others' safety relies on this.

It was luck the Marauders came in when they did. That they shamelessly let themselves be pulled into his orbit. Self-expression is a must for Leo moons, and the Marauders were relentless in truly seeing him. And they accepted him.

More than the meaningfulness of this, after being so isolated for so long; it was a long denied need finally realized.

Defined connections matter; pinky promises and chosen family. Promises made. That is the Seventh House; not casual friendship, but dedication and duty. The Marauders saw him, accepted him, and went the extra mile for him. They proved their love and loyalty by becoming Animagi. They gave him the gift of allowing him to be open and honest with someone. And in return, Remus gave them his loyalty; generous with his love and affection. This is the realm of Leo: loyalty and generosity.

After the life he lived up to that point, how could Remus deny them anything? How could he stand up to them? Plagued by guilt and Saturn's demands for justice, at odds with his need for acceptance and love (Seventh House), and his sense of duty (Capricorn) and loyalty (Leo.) They were the security and stability that had been missing in his life.

Worse still: moon in opposition to Venus. The need for harmony led him to giving in too easily. This can cause resentment, but I think Saturn's hold on Remus turned a lot of that inward. Blaming himself above all others, because he holds himself to a higher standard. His emotional needs and social needs at a cross-purpose...but we'll return to that when we get to Venus.

All in all, the softness of Pisces and the brightness of Leo temper the stern hold of Capricorn. A firm, respectful handshake more than a chokehold or show of superiority. The ideals of Pisces in his core, the creativity of Leo in his heart. The enlightenment and wisdom of Pisces. The loyalty and boldness of Leo. Optimism, and faith. All of his jagged edges and broken pieces bandaged together by charm and compassion. The biggest lessons Remus learned from all he went through were kindness, and the value of friendship. But while Saturn had its hand in Remus' life, it was Remus himself to thank for this.

For all of the dark, cold loneliness of his life, Remus could count on the warmth of Leo and the refreshment of Pisces to keep him going. Resources found within, and shared with the world.

The easy-flowing nature of Pisces can also be found in Mercury: planet of information. How we communicate, how we learn, all found in Mercury. Also in the Second House; possessions, materials.

As a student, Remus likely learned more from homework than from class. Self-study suits him better than lectures. He also learns better by exploring, and by doing. And this is how he taught: pull out your wand, say this incantation. More than the physicality of it, was the intuition and empathy (Pisces.) Remus could see what his students needed, and he acted on it. Showing what fun can be had in learning, and how learning could benefit them. Practicality in ways (the material appeal of the Second House), but also whimsy (dreamy Pisces.) As a professor, Remus was dedicated and kind (Pisces Mercury), but still grounded in reality and necessity (Capricorn rising & Saturn.)

Now look to the other inner planets, Venus (social interaction, romance, pleasure) and Mars (action, aggression, conflict, sex.) Both in Aquarius. Venus in the Second House (possessions), Mars in the First (Self.)

In the First House we see Capricorn Saturn, which speaks to duty and order, structure and hierarchy. Paired with Aquarius Mars, being pushed to action by humanitarian causes. The Capricorn focus on responsibility, the Aquarius focus on the collective. Duty (Saturn) and drive (Mars.) Abiding by rules and laws (Capricorn), but innovative in focus and execution (Aquarius.) If you like Remus the Alpha, this might be a fun point for you. Mars in the First points to assertive personalities, and taking control. Stepping forward and leading the pack. But tempered by reliability, by righteousness, by caring for the whole. Community over the self. The Leader (Mars) and the Father (Saturn.)

But look to Mars' connection to sex, and the Venus realm of romance: apply to that the odder side to Aquarius. The value of freedom, individuality, and thinking outside the box. This could spell attraction to unorthodox relationships, to unconventional lovers. An attraction to uniqueness, and excitement.

As for Second House Venus...remember the sun? The value of material security. Apply that to romance. Not extravagant gifts, necessarily, but some physical manifestation of affection. Handmade gifts, homemade dinners. Sensual experiences; cuddling close or holding hands. More than anything, a partner who can be his security, who can be his home -- but with Aquarius, this means a place to return to. The freedom to fly, while relying on the steadiness of his partner.

Remember Venus' opposition with the moon? Oppositions mean stress, not impossibility. His emotional needs are at odds with his social ones. The Leonine focus on the self, attention, expression. The Aquarian focus on others, invention, improvement. Leo's loyalty, Aquarius' freedom. Stability and exploration. By meeting his emotional needs, he might neglect his social ones; and by fulfilling his social needs, his emotional needs might wither. It doesn't come easily or naturally to sate both, but Remus can learn to balance them.

Remus faced so much adversity throughout his life.

If canon is to be believed, it ended in tragedy. Finding love and joy with Tonks, but fighting it every step of the way. Finding hope and future in the birth of his son. Remus himself had to much potential. He was too young, not even forty.

But if one were to discard canon, and embrace all of the potential of fandom, we can imagine where life would have taken him. A long, happy marriage with Tonks? Parting amicably, and co-parenting? Would he live to see werewolf legislation overturned, bias fought against, and enjoy a life where he wasn't feared or mistrusted or hated? What more could he give, and what more could he be, if given a real chance?

#hp astro #remus lupin #astrology

36 notes · View notes

ofgildedhearts · 4 months

Text

♙ ⸻ · 。… [ charlotte spencer + twenty-eight + cis woman + she/her ] the city of new york welcomes isla sinclair to the social season of 1887, the cousin of arundel family. known to be gracious and astute, their rumored aloof and unimpressed tendencies might prove to be their unmaking. the street musicians often string along a tune that sounds like the history of man by maisie peters whenever they are near, hoping for a coin or two as a reward. unbeknown to their peers, isla views the social season as sometimes it's endless and tiresome obligation but not without its flashes of interest and joy. mostly it's an escape. but when holding a secret such as secret engagement that had love win out over logic, leading to a lapse in judgement and a pregnancy scare , it would be best to keep their opinions to themselves.

full name: isla alexandra sinclair nicknames or aliases: will only answer to isla or the correct form of address age: twenty-eight date of birth: 29th august occupation: landed gentry ( daughter of a viscount ) parents: alexander sinclair & elspeth sinclair née arundel siblings: campbell sinclair extended family: the arundels ( maternal cousins ) marital status: engaged ( secretly ) sexuality: demisexual

the secret: -

isla usually always puts logic over emotion, rarely letting her heart guide her in anyway. she remained neutral on the idea of marriage, happy to content herself to an amicable match if they could at least achieve something together. what she didn't count on was falling in love and she finally set aside reason long enough to enter into a secret understanding. the pair are engaged but things have cooled slightly since she'd briefly though she'd fallen pregnant. it was enough to bring her back down to earth and begin to reconsider things.

thoughts on high society: -

society is something of a double edged sword for her. on the one hand she thinks she'd be stupid not to see the benefit of it and despite finding it boring at times, she'd never be one to sever her ties from it entirely. she enjoys being influential in some way and the security it gives her. isla knows she is good enough at playing the perfect lady that she doesn't find it a struggle, just dislikes how monotonous it can be when she'd rather have a challenge or be left to her own devices. new york provides her with a sense of escape, new dynamics able to form without the spectres of her estranged father and brother to hang over her.

personality: -

traits: haughty, astute, cautious, quick-witted, ambivalent, condescending, thorough, strategic, sceptical, observant, judgemental, loyal, dependable, guarded, impartial. zodiac: virgo moon, taurus sun, capricon rising - individuals display a personality that is practical, disciplined, and focused. they are methodical in their approach to life and are always striving to improve themselves and their surroundings. hardworking, reliable, and dedicated to achieving their goals, they have high standards for themselves and others, which can make them appear critical or demanding. however, they genuinely want the best for themselves and those around them. they also have an appreciation for beauty and art, which manifests in their love for the finer things in life. enjoy living comfortably and appreciate a stable, predictable routine. when it comes to emotions, individuals with this combination can be reserved and slow to express themselves. however, they are still highly sensitive and can be deeply affected by emotional situations. moral alignment: lawful neutral temperament: melancholic

headcanons: -

tl;dr - isla grew up with a disinterested viscount father and a resentful brother, never fully accepted by the men in her family. while her mother was warm there was only so much she could do to reduce the chill felt in the sinclair home. her mother's side of the family, the arundels, always welcomed her and so she finally found those close family ties that she had been denied. loyalty to them runs strong and she will always do her best for them, using intellect to try to do whatever might be beneficial for them.

tw for miscarriage/infertility

the marriage between alexander sinclair, a viscount, and elspeth arundel was not a happy one but the pair managed a functional relationship. the viscount was cold to all, clinical and cutthroat but successul in retaining the wealth that he come with the inheritance of his title. they had a son quickly after their married, campbell, but struggled with fertility for years after. elspeth suffered miscarriages before eventually having isla.

alexander was not impressed by a daughter, the reason that he'd kept trying being that he'd wanted a 'spare'. he was disinterested in his daughter aside from the fact that he might be able to secure a connection with a match for her when she was older. elspeth, however, was thrilled after years of heartbreak, finding comfort in her children while she got none from her husband.

but where her father simply seemed apathetic towards her, campbell was outright resentful. for eight years he had had the undivided attention of his parents and while isla was no competition for their father's focus let alone affection, elspeth doted on her. her mother treated both children with equal care and love but to a son unused to sharing it seemed as though his mother's attention had been diminished by isla.

as much as she might be loathed to ever admit it she was still her father's daughter. his intelligence and calculating manner was something she seemed to have inherited. their similarities went unnoticed by most, however, with only her mother noticing and deciding that isla should spend more time with her cousins lest her lonliness drive her towards a cruel nature.

the arundels provided her with the warmth and welcome that she had been denied and she quickly became attached to them. reluctant to leave and always begging to return. her mother indulged the relationship as much as possible, taking frequent trips to see her brother with isla.

a close relationship meant that when she was finally introduced to society her cousin, alastair, was happy to begin to include her in family business. finally feeling valued, isla thrived in the environment using the skills her mother had instilled in her to be the perfect lady and win people over whilst still being impartial enough to give shrewd advice.

there was a brief spell where her father took an interest in her, seeing what she had been capable of but while he opened the door slightly to her being included campbell slammed it shut. after that she firmly distanced herself from the sinclairs aside from writing to her mother.

on the surface all is well with her family, her father and brother would never risk the scandal or whispers that knowledge of the dysfunction would bring so isla enjoys a healthy allowance as long as she brings no shame to their name. it's this that she used to help her cousins wherever she can and enjoy freedom away from her father.

connections: -

friends - while isla does prefer to keep a small, close circle those that she does include would be seen as almost family to her. she would probably have to see them as equals in some way but there's a variety of ways this could be accomplished!

pen pals - isla likes to be well connected!! they could be connected through her father somehow or anyone who might have been to the UK.

fellow aesthetes - she's a bit of an enjoyer of art and architecture though it's probably not something she offers particularly readily. but anyone who might share those views with her and lead to her talking about something she genuinely enjoys.

suitors ( past or present! ) - wealthy and titled, isla would be a valuable match for anyone and it's likely that a fair few have tried, unsuccessfully. whether it be due to isla's own disinterest or perhaps her father not deeming the match good enough, there's likely been a few spurned. there's an option for the dynamic to have turned positive though! perhaps a friendship developed or some mutual respect or perhaps they just avoid each other and pretend it never happened.

probably lots more, open to everything tbh!!

#gildedintro #you can only see part of her at a time a crescent like the moon || 𝓲𝓼𝓵𝓪

5 notes · View notes

tiffanylamps · 2 years

Note

this doesn’t really feel like anything huge but i did want to show this to you because i was thinking about them (jwds) for the millionth time 💛

relating these two to my favorite art style, dansaekhwa. (sorry for the bad cropping, there was only one website to find it on and i had to screenshot 😅) this piece—‘Pray VI20’ by hyun ae kang—in particular reminds me of them…

it’s literally named ‘pray’!!! need i say more? 😳

HEYYYYY!!! I'm so excited right now because this is some cool shit!! Thank you so much for sending me this, I LOVE this piece and the fact that you decided to send it to me, of all people! 🥰🥰 I'm going to put a page break/read-more divider here because... well, my response is looong and barely makes any sense 🤦‍♀️😂 I apologise in advance, and please ignore/forgive my dyslexia (it's rampant this evening)

I see so much symbolism to jwds here. I often associate cool tones (like navy blue) with Joo Won and warm tones (like yellow or orange) with Dong Sik*. Obviously, the colour palette (for their attire) the show creators put them in has influenced this thought process, but I also view them in this way because I see Dong Sik as the sun and Joo Won as the moon. *I would be remiss to not point out that in colour theory blue and yellow are *almost* opposites on the colour wheel. But they are oftentimes seen together; almost every day, in fact, when the sun is out shining bright and beautiful against the brilliant blue sky. (I could go on about light waves and how the sky is ever-changing, and how that relates to Joo Won... but it messes with my moon symbolism lol) I hope you don't mind but I'm going to share with you some quotes that I think are very fitting for this subject The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections. ― Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me (hello han joo won)

“Even After All this time The Sun never says to the Earth,

"You owe me."

Look What happens With a love like that, It lights the whole sky.” ― Hafiz (hello dong sik)

Love is the great unifier of both light and darkness, aren't the luminaries beautiful? I choose to walk with the brighter one to unveil the mysteries of the darker one. ― Patricio Telman Chincocolo (hello jwds) Anyway, the first thing that came to mind when I thought of this beautiful artwork is the symbolism of light and dark, and how the lighter parts of the artwork are encompassing and almost smothering the darkness. I think this is a beautiful representation of the story of Beyond Evil, and how the good outweighs the bad; how jwds chose to focus on the good, instead of the bad and together, they bring forth lightness in a world of dark (brb i'm crying) Also, I love the crackling of the paint (?). It shows that even beautiful things can break, or, better yet, there is beauty in breaking apart. I adore that the colour melds together into a concoction of purple hues and that when the two colours overlap, they don't necessarily cancel each other out, but instead, bring forth a new element to the piece overall. But the second thing that came to mind is autumn sunsets. This scene looks like the early-evening sky during a bright October day... and then I thought that's very apt, considering what time of year Beyond Evil is set in.... but then I remembered episode 2.... and just-

⬆️⬆️⬆️ helllooo?? It's the skyline at the reed fields in Manyang!!

Another thing this artwork reminded me of is this BEAUTIFUL piece by @micah-lat!! The colour palette and how it ties in with the reed fields, and how that ties in with marrying of light and dark, life and death, and how one can lift the other up from darkness or nefarious intent.... how Joo Won is Dong Sik's "saviour"** but really, they saved each other. ** as quoted from the script book: "Han Joo Won, my saviour, who came to ruin my life" (the actual quote might be slightly different, I'm basing it off memory)

Also, I am going to be self-indulgent and share with you a little thing I wrote last year when I was on a bus during an autumn sunset-

That time of dusk when tropical meets marigold and they kiss like lovers do; with an envious display of earning, for - through tragedy and design - they can only meet once a day. It is a fleeting romance, only lasting a few moments before it is gone. Their kiss is beautiful, and they meld together like the wrong paints on a canvas, growing in saturation and passion until they are cobalt and vibrant tangerine. From their love blooms a smattering of bruised purple and with it, the beauty is over. Night-time has arrived.

(idk, it feels fitting) Whilst we're here, I going to also point out the beauty of jwds being represented by an "in-between" state of being, such as dusk. They aren't a definite, but instead, a fleeting moment that rapidly changes and morphs into something beautiful; and is itself beautiful. They aren't black and white, summer or winter, altogether good or bad. Instead, they are autumn and spring, dusk and dawn. They are twilight and the seasons of change; they are the guarantee that the day kisses the night as they meet once again. They are intersection and connection; a light breeze in early fall.... the quiet comprehending of the ending of it all***... light, warmth, touch, trace, memory- *** I don't know why this came to mind but it's a beautiful lyric

Oooooh, and the fact that it is called 'pray' is just SO GOOD! Perfect, even. One day I will write a think piece on the religious symbolism in Beyond Evil and the folly of man praying for better days in a world of bad, but how that's juxtaposed against the beauty of putting one's faith in another person, and how a person can be a religion, a deity, the symbol for hope and justice, if one chooses them to be, because faith is all about choice, and jwds chose one another, and, and andnand !!!!!!!

Sorry, I literally just sat with my head in my hands because I needed a moment.

I need to stop; I have gone past the point of comprehension (was it there, to begin with though?) and just end with this: Thank you. I love this ask and I appreciate you so much for sending it to me. I did have other points to make but I have forgotten them along the way haha. This made me so happy, and I really enjoyed word-vomiting at you in my response. I hope there's something of interest here in my reply- I'm not entirely sure if I'm making sense, or what point I am trying to make. But know that this is awesome. Thank you once more, and goodbye! 😊

#beyond evil #jtbc beyond evil #jwds #ask answered #thank you <3

12 notes · View notes

shadowkat678 · 2 years

Note

clipped wings has such an interesting concept to me~ does the story entail a great uprising a la the hunger games? or is it moreso just in worldbuilding atm

So the basic premise is that there is a group called the Children of Yuen who's trying for something like that. The main characters actually aren't a part of it, and the leader of the faction is a Wingless man named Hestor who was part of the mages that keep the city afloat and provided with food and water and control the climate and all that other good stuff. Magic is innate in the setting, and they're taken and raised as soon as they start having signs of it, but he may or may not have uncovered something and got thrown out, with both his flight and his magic taken in the process as is the standard. The problem is he's using the uprising more as one last big bang suicide note because he doesn't actually believe that society CAN be changed at this stage.

The main characters are Sybil, a priestess in training of the Goddess Omis, and a Flightless woman named Domiel who took the fall for her sibling and got punished in their place. The religion of the city is based on the main trinity with a smattering of other spirits and offsprings of the main two. And I promise this is relevant to this whole setup and not just me taking a chance to ramble about world-building.

Omis is considered the mother of the world and "She Who Brings Justice". Current mythos says that she came from a past world, where she and Amos were the sole survivors of chaos that consumed its godly people, and together they sought to recreate life. They're the ones that carry out sentencing. Note that the higher classes of the city often can get away with small crimes despite being very much an All Crimes Are Equal trope.

In their wisdom, they saw the coming destruction, and knew that it could not be stopped. That their fellows were too far gone in their selfish bickering.

In this world, not only would there be life, but there would be Order. The Order of Omis see themselves as the hand that carries out that vision, to keep the last bits of their own world from crumbling and repeating the cycle. Her symbology is heavily related to the sun, shedding light to the world and inspiring others in her teachings. They also have a more militant suborder that works as secret police and the church enforcers.

Meanwhile, Amos is the god of Magic, tied to the Moon and breathing life into Omis' creations. The two aspects of the church control the city, the priests and the mages. The priests and priestesses of Omis are tasked with ensuring order and making sure there is a fair system of justice that continues the legacy of the city in safety, whereas the mages and church of Amos keep the city fed, with clean water, and occasionally are tasked with bringing up new motes of earth for new purposes, guarding the Flightless enclaves, and using their abilities for the good of the city.

The Children of Yuen take on the image of Amos' and Omis' first child, Yuen. He's a bit of a trickster figure, and his meddling helped to shape a lot of things about the world. In doing so, introduces chaos to the order. He's not a villain in the mythos, but seen as a misguided child his parents have to reign in and a free spirit that misjudges his actions by putting himself over the whole.

The Flightless have begun adopting him as a mascot, which the church obviously isn't happy about, especially as they have begun crafting iconography of him in the image of Flightless, being born without wings and still with the use of the magic that Yuen inherited from his father Amos.

Followers of Omis often go to the outlying communities of Flightless to deliver healing and aid as a form of state-sponsored charity (obviously avoiding the subject of whose behind the fact that they need it), and many of them, Sybil included, were raised believing that the system is what's best for the city and the people and that what they were doing was just. But those priests have been made prime targets in the unrest, and she gets caught up in it.

There are no real guards there other than ones occasionally checking in to make sure there's no big uprising or protests happening, and to supervise any work, and the Flightless communities have developed their own system of community organization and justice. So when she gets separated and targeted, it's only those in the community that see it. One of those being Domiel, the other main character.

The rest of the book is questioning if such a civilization can be saved, what to do when you learn everything you've been taught about your duty is a lie, how to forgive someone who's been a part of a group that has hurt your own that now wants to atone, grappling with what that means and the loss brought about by turning from these teachings, etc. There's also uncovering of old history, and grappling with what the past says about our current present and future, and how systems of power can manipulate such history for their own aims and "greater good", and how complicated and murky the water can get when you consider how it affects everyone who is under such a system.

So that's the general gist and breakdown of it. I can't really say if the uprising will or not work, because I hope to publish this one day. But I will say it's not going to be a simple answer, or a clean one.

I'm still outlining some stuff while trying to write a few pieces of the story to make it clearer, so I have a long way to go. I actually started out with a dream about Hestor and the Children of Yuen about two years ago and it stuck around in my head until it morphed and evolved and now it won't leave.

I will also say that though Hestor is an antagonist, he's not the villain. The villain is the system as a whole. Hestor is simply someone who got caught up in it and is lashing out, which in itself isn't even a bad thing. The bad thing is he's misled those who joined him that think he found a solution when he's fully aware what he's leading up to is a suicide mission. I've kinda focused on making a lot of the characters mirror each other and traits and tried to do away with the "extremists are inherently bad" and the whole thing kinda has an overtone of "there is no white or black morality and punishing people for a mistake that costs them their whole lives Is Not Great Or Effective" so. Because I absolutely hate that in my media.

Systems of oppression and the people who fall under them are Complicated and they Cannot Be Reduced To 2D Caricatures. And obviously there are a lot of very messy complex issues that reflect our own world's social commentary in here and I'm trying to make sure I take the time to do them right instead of what's easy or convenient. Now that I'm in a writing critique group and I've been able to practice writing again after a long hiatus with short stories I think I'm finally going to try and put it together here soon.

#writing

6 notes · View notes

lyxthen · 2 years

Text

Well, when the first people came, they were like gods. There was a man and a woman. The first two people were called Adam and Eve. They didn't have houses. They used to sleep under a tree, this was a long time ago. There wasn't one mountain, or cave, or pebble: the earth was flat, without hills or valleys, all bare land, it was.

So yes, Adam and Eve slept under the tree, because Adam and Eve were the first people. Well, who knows what they were thinking, when they made mud, and started shaping it. They gave the mud hands, a head, a nose, feet, ears and eyes. All that, they gave to the mud. They did it well. The mud started to turn into people. Now they could move and speak, very quickly, those that had been made from mud.

Then our Father from Heaven thought it was wrong that there were no mountains, pebbles or hills. There were no places for the water to run through, no rivers. His children could not survive, water covered them because there were no valleys and no hills. Then a very powerful earthquake came, it came because there were no rocks yet. Our Holly Father from Heaven, the Sun, made rocks. He made pebbles and hills and valleys, he made rivers. Then water ran, and people weren't covered by water, and there weren't earthquakes every day anymore, because the new land was too heavy for the Mother of Earthquakes. At the start it wasn't as heavy, as there were no rocks. When our Father the Sun made them the earth sank. There are still quakes, but they happen less often. A long time ago, there were quakes every day.

Well, this place were Adam and Eve lived didn't sank. They were under the tree when the earthquake happened. Those who had been made with mud were also under the tree, and now they were people. One was a man, the other a woman, and they were all naked like that. They barely covered their private parts and their asses a little bit, they had a cloth tied to their waist. But they didn't know how to eat, how to sing or how to party, they didn't know how to dance or sleep, they just sat there. They didn't sleep because it was always day, and the land never darkened, there was always light. Our Holly Father the sun fell, yes, and was replaced by our Holly Mother the Moon, but she was just as bright as him, and so there was no night. Our Holly father the Sun didn't like that, because his children weren't able to sleep, since it was so bright all the time. So the land started to darken. Our Holly Mother the Moon covered her face, but then the demons came. They were always there, watching, but now Our Holly Mother the Moon, having covered her face, couldn't see them coming, and she couldn't protect her children. That's why demons came.

So the mud people fell asleep, and so did Adam and Eve. There weren't any saints back then, and there were no churches, no houses. There was only The Sun and The Moon, and nothing else. That's why it was all full of demons. But then the Saints of The Church came, and by then there were already hills and valleys.

It came time for Adam and Eve to mate but they didn't know how to do that, since they were asleep. So they didn't mate, until the demons came and ordered for them to mate. They came together, and they were happy. And they came together every day, because it felt really good. They started telling the mud people, "when you lay down to sleep, hug each other and kiss each other, it is good, very good". That's what Adam and Eve told them.

But the mud people didn't know how to hug or how to kiss, they didn't know how to work or play. They didn't know anything yet, but they obeyed Adam and Eve. Eventually their children were born. That's how people started slowly to multiply, and they were many of them.

But they still didn't know how to party or sing, they didn't know how to drink posh, they couldn't dance, they didn't even have houses or clothes, nothing of that. They didn't eat much either, they ate one corn seed every day. There wasn't any corn at the start of things, only coliflower and beans and beetroot leaves. The people that had come before corn didn't eat tortillas, only coliflower and beans and leaves.

Demons killed Our Holly Father the Sun, as he used to walk on land, back then. They buried him, but he wasn't really dead. The demons thought he was, but he wasn't. But then they say him walking again. So they gave him posh with demon piss to drink, and he got drunk, Our Father the Sun. He laid down asleep for a whole our. Then he came back to his senses and he thought the posh was good. And so, he drinked more.

"It would be good, if my children had this. If I don't give it to them they will never know how to sing and dance and party. I should give them this posh. If they drink it they will throw parties in my name, and learn to play the harp and the guitar". That's what Our Holly Father the Sun said.

And they learned to play and sing and party, but only after having drunk the posh. If they hadn't they would never have learned to do it.

Well, one thing is true about the people that lived back then: and it's that they had eyes that were like dog eyes. They had really good night vision, they could see as if it were day. But our Holly Father wasn't content with that. He thought it was not right for them to see al the riches the Lord of the Earth had hidden in the mountains. "I should rather cover their eyes", said our Holly Father the Sun from the Heavens.

Well, now people had their eyes covered by a little cloth. They couldn't see their way at night anymore, but a long time ago they could see it very well.

Our Holly Father the Sun from Heaven saw that people weren't eating enough and he thought that was bad. "It would be good for them to eat more, if they don't they won't work. If they eat a lot they'll work a lot", those are the words our Holly Father said. He saw it was bad for them to eat one corn seed every day. It was bad that people weren't working enough. So a young corn sprout came floating down the river, and the people back then planted it next to the river. They took care of it so it wouldn't wither. And it grew, the little corn didn't die, it grew tall. And so that's when milpa showed itself.

People grew tall, too, and multiplied even faster. They started making houses with leaves, but they couldn't protect them well from rain. Their clothes weren't good either, they had made them with tree bark. A little later our Lord San Juan came with all his sheep. That's when they started making clothes for people. He started making clothes for his children, but then they learned to make it themselves. They saw him coming, and they saw how he built his house and how he made the bell ring. All that, the first people saw. Then, when he grew old, he told his children the story of how they had been made. When the old people died, they had already told their children how things had been before.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

This story is a rendition of the Christian story of creation, by the tsotsil people, according to "myths" by Elisa Ramirez Castañeda. Their version of Genesis is nothing like the one most Christians are familiar with. It feels wrong to call it Genesis, even, it's more like a christianized native myth. The book doesn't elaborate of where exactly this story was collected, outside of the fact that it was collected in the tsotsil language, that is spoken in the state of Chiapas in southern mexico. Something about it fascinates me, so I've gone out of my way to translate it to English. It is a translation of a translation, and a lot of the original meaning might be lost by now. The book I got this from is fully written in Spanish. I tried to be as direct with the translation as I could, and it isn't revised, so there likely are grammar mistakes all over the place. I am not feeling very well physically, either, but oh well, at least I tried. I am passionate about creation myths, and this is one of my favorites so far. I know this post doesn't quite fit with the rest of my blog (general fandom tomfoolery etc). Sorry for that.

#mythology #idk what else I should tag this with #translation #I worked hard on it alright

8 notes · View notes

tbenvs3000w24 · 2 months

Text

The Ecology of Music

This week's blog prompt was interesting, but a tricky one. As a classically trained piano player, and a person with an affinity for nature, I often listen to music that is evocative of nature. But to really deconstruct what that means is a bit harder. Where is music in nature? After reading “The Music of Nature and the Nature of Music” I learned about all the ways that the sounds that animals make are so similar to scales and musical ideas in human music than I originally thought. My initial understanding of music in nature was more of the random sounds that animals make to communicate. I did not know it was so closely related to our music. This piqued my curiosity about how much our music has been influenced by animals. I know it was mentioned in this week's reading that people that live amongst nature hace nature sounds in their music. But I wonder how much of the foundations of music are influenced by nature.

In searching about this topic I came across a composer named John Luther Adams who has a philosophy that it is necessary for people to strive for an “ ecology of Music” to change “the quality of our attention to the world” (Adams, 2012) I thought this statement really ties together the ideas in this unit. The impact of nature in music and music in nature is that it helps us pay better attention to the earth. Adams has composed music inspired by nature and did a campaign for the Alaskan wildlands. I have linked below his music installation called The Place Where You Go to Listen.

youtube

This music piece was created along an art installation and was created by Adams through his years of experience with the Arctic region near the coast of Alaska. The inspiration came from the aurora borealis, seismic activity, geomagnetism, cloud cover and visibility and the movement of the sun and the moon. The process by which he makes music, he has called sonification, which he states is the “ process of mapping data with some other meaning into sound” (Adams, 2012).

I understood the process of Adams music making as a form of interpretation. He is mapping out the nature he is experiencing and turning that into music. I chose his music for this as it is such a unique form of expressing nature through music. Listening to his music and knowing about the process of his music is art in itself. Music and Adams music as an example, shows how interpretation using the affective domain is done well. By mapping out the aurora borealis, listeners are evoked with the beauty of it which incites an emotional response to this natural phenomenon (Beck et al., 2018). Because he has been successful in heightening people's “attention to the world” through music he has been brought in to do campaigns. To bring people closer to nature in such a way that they become mobilized is I think, the whole purpose of music in nature and nature in music.

Adams, J. L. (2012). The place where you go to listen: In search of an ecology of music. Wesleyan University Press.

Beck, L., Cable, T.T., & Knudson, D.M.(2018).Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage for a Better World (1st ed.).Sagamore Publishing.

#Youtube

0 notes

casspurrjoybell-31 · 6 months

Text

The Consort's Fate - Chapter 1 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Brayden

Wind whistles across the field of grass.

Each blade bends to its whim, the collective movement like a fluid picture beneath the summer's sun.

It's graceful, as a whole but if a single blade was pulled and subjected to the breeze, it would tremor in disarray.

Beneath the microscope of Nature, it would endure the humbling experience of isolation.

A single blade plucked away from the rest.

Exposed and alone.

Hidden, yet longing to be threaded into the earth once again.

My thoughts continue on in this fashion, poetically macabre in their own right.

They press down on me like a weight, heavier and heavier, until the feeling of isolation turns inward, caving into my still heart and forcing splinters of proverbial ice to form around its border.

I shoulder through the threshold of the door.

The wind continues its song around me, beating the flaps of my coat and coercing the tendrils of my hair to participate in the dance of life.

I bend down and trail my fingertips atop the green foliage.

It is soft, like velvet.

Nature's gentle coat of fur.

I pluck a single blade.

Then another.

I lift them both until they're eye-level and study their unique flutters, side by side.

Each one alone but still, alone together.

One for me and one for him.

Two surviving vampires on earth, removed from the dance of life and thrust into... this.

One hides in darkness, while the other remains trapped beneath the spotlight, yet their lives are tied together in a way that will stand the test of time.

A low hum rumbles in my throat as I allow the thought to run its course.

It is the silent reminder which keeps me believing this is not the end of our story but merely a dark chapter I must overcome, for the both of us.

I give Nature a final, cursory glance before slipping back into the shadows, tucking the blades of grass into my pocket.

The door puts up a fight as I shut it behind me.

Just minutes ago, what sounded like nothing more than a gentle breeze becomes a painful howl against the wooden blockade.

Yet, this is how it must be for now.

Quiet.

Hidden.

The modest home and its minimal furnishings seem to hold their breath as I move my gaze around the room.

It's our newest abode, the third house to mark our third year in hiding.

Each year, Kelly assures me, will be the last.

"This is it, B-D," he will say, grinning from ear to ear.

"We'll get the backing we need to rescue Finn. This is our year, man. You wait and see."

Each year, I do wait.

I wait and watch as time slips by, the world we once knew shedding its skin of the past to make way for the Era of the Secondaries.

I see how much has changed, how much continues to change in three, short years.

A new world has blossomed in the blink of an eye.

On the contrary side of the token, there are moments when three years feels like an eternity.

These fleeting moments seem to occur whenever I oblige myself the opportunity to admire the moon.

I have always preferred the moon to the sun.

Its radiant beauty is often overlooked and unlike the sun, you can gaze at its splendor head-on, with the galaxy as its backdrop.

Its rays are radiant in their own regard, so much subtler than the sun but powerful enough to illuminate the earth in a thin layer of iridescent light.

It is in these moments that my thoughts drift to delicate fingers, doe-like eyes and an everchanging expression to mirror a myriad of barely contained emotions.

It is in these moments that I wonder if, somewhere, he is enjoying the view with me.

Yes, it is in these hidden moments that the years feel like centuries.

"No no no..." he mutters, grunting and cutting a sharp glare in my direction.

"I've got it. Don't you worry, B man. I know, what with your superhuman strength and all, how troubling it must be for you to help me with the bags."

I arch a brow as he plops each bag on the table.

The wooden legs creak beneath their weight.

He brings an arm up to wipe away the sweat from his forehead.

His heartbeat thrums against his veins, an inviting sound to most vampires.

It used to be for me, as well.

Now, unfortunately, all human blood tastes the same.

Tasteless.

What used to be an enjoyable pastime is now nothing more than a necessity to keep myself nourished, simply consuming to fill the emptiness of hunger.

I imagine it is what humans experience during the worst days of a cold, eating yet not tasting the flavor.

"Nothing?" Kelly asks, leaning against the counter.

"Not even a witty retort?"

1 note · View note

libidomechanica · 2 years

Text

Rowing in their busy days

A cinquain sequence

Look, what euer it laye? As with heavenly eyes, transfixed his gulfe. Rowing in their busy days.

At once I did allow; but Anguish. A Gyges’ ring the life, the brave. And who could restore.

Is worse than thou didst thou go with my kind, I embraced the wind. As Angels, and were too short.

Thou still plague you! Long did I know thee speak. For gold the wine. There was all. Desolate rockfields.

For me, degeneration of hatred with Desire, as if a Woolfe in doubt, as well.

And girl when at euen he call that you are. Moon, the spider in the book open at Stonehenge.

Going into white fog. Born I was seeking, or she I was forst from seeing that exists.

Which he by industry. Are the bell away; and in hart I know that there. The main, the graves.

And Mornings did an Evil Cloud rain Sorrow, and the more bene they will tell! Vast and praise.

And how to switch #1 with #3. In all God—call God! Her who loves a scarlet ornament. Of bridges.

I watch her herd increase, nor they han the sky above, can yet deceive the abysmal wave?

And sin he best movies begin with the scaffolds the ocean’s swelling. The days together.

And loveth him, this humble cot, and bonie blue are the sound of it. I dreamed black and reserv’d!

Which for all the park to practise spyed, for he didn’t pick the right hands. We innocently met.

As a decrepit father the high Hall-garden if lowliness could save. By my pet-name!

Tis said, Sweet friend! They do not waiting for all he dared to do. Infinitely rejoicing.

At the pleasure first stranger, you any pain. I will buy his shriek, love for the marriage-knot.

Fingers and praise. But with which leaves, nor shepeheards there. That one in this room I never knew.

The fault was grave! Her fingers and the Hand of unjust? But as for me to set out the crowd.

In me no more where some untutor’d youth, so I, made love to-day. It like the sunny skies.

Kurd, when none the fervour and she winna ease the happier St. And now I could marry.

That seem something flash’d in the soyle would suffer. Ye freely sheepe, whatever I’ve to do.

Last night came yonder rounding pulses that can no more. To raungers, and she withered leafe sturre.

When our face; but, Delia, on thy cold gray stone wall. A Gyges’ ring time, to see things of Peace?

But not going to rain. To see his active children bear children’s feet. A song called Marriage.

To their deaths which we’ll enjoy tonight. Fair then it is not beene. Yet would miss in leaving mine.

The lily, the rising sounds, though earth becoming would be the unplumb’d, salt, estranging sea.

By him who made yon sun and the garbage. She had eft learne; thinke upon her and unnamed light?

Alone that hath never knew. Of love, that an iron tyrannies. ’ Have often lived with payne.

When the speak? Dost mount aloft into my mouth be heir to the nines, in this my hand and rain.

No one saw us this year and all her chief worke, Stella, food of my life is warm her note.

He shows the sniffer. Art, or mountain-bars: and och! For had his world’s end. When passionate one.

Below the Dutch shall I never collide violent passeth sone as floures fayre. Maud with risk.

’ Miscarriage vow, which it breeds. Since, seldom pleasure such nights, the nightingale, when none too short.

I woke— and chase thee, and flow’rs, and we stands upon the world esteem. On the working out, O!

And she beames so bright, taken, stabb’d, bleed, and all his growth a vengeful canker eat him up.

Oh! Cries; I can love her, answers with a song. My sheepe would say, like the tree. And all our love.

We have neither actual or potent spell. Injurious Conscience-quit of Good and Evil.

That stately placed, soon the moon the pine-grown Latmian steep. To Hero, nothing imparted be.

And thinketh al nis but a wondrous scope affords. And ever he mutton; with bear that much.

But because I love, for mouth with they are my staff. Too well thee comforting her bowering.

As doth Love speak. Peace sitting wood. That would go to Sleep; But, saith he, how shall be uttered shoot.

My mind in the fables there. Wilt thou be denied! But let hem be-hold. Ask not the spring.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #170 texts #cinquain sequence

0 notes

itdrp · 2 years

Text

the tales of humans harnessing magic has been spun in many lengths. truth lies in the tale of twin sisters, dawn and dusk, who lived near two thousand years prior. dusk fell in love with a vampire and sought power in what her love could bring, while dawn found console with the earth, giving her entire being into the knowledge only nature could bring. in their lineage thus began to witch and wiccan lines respectively, despite how different either will claim to be. believed to be the same by many supernatural creatures, witches and wiccans were often slumped together, called by the other names, asking for such things that could only be given by the other. it caused a riff between the magical beings, and though few exist, there are children of both lineages walking the globe, unable to tap into both parental sources of powers. witches are commonly known for their spells and enchantments strengthen from a power that comes within, while wiccans are known for their capability in harnessing the earth’s natural power in order to enchant. both perform magical feats, but refuse to be compared to the other. while most ingredients for potions remain similar, there are key differences in the obtaining magic. it’s believed a witch’s soul is tied to the magic within their wand - so if one was to get damaged it would affect the caster physically and/or mentally. there are eight ingredients to creating a wand (representing the eight phases of the moon). there is possibility to acquire a second wand, but it won’t ever be the same connection as it did with the first.

the powers, the limits & the deaths

♥ casts spells, enchantments and curses ♥ brews potions and mixtures ♥ witches are able to harness power through a wand, wiccans are able to use their fingers ♥ they are able to strengthen different types of magic, including but not limited to voodoo, charms, transfiguration etc ♥ wiccan magic comes from the earth and the elements ♥ witch magic is tied to harnessing power from the moon and the sun ♥ wiccans - think voodoo, diviners, seers ♥ witches - think spell casters, harry potter ✓ only slightly more resilient than the average human ✓ healing spells or potions will not work on big injuries ✓ magic is harnessed, therefore they can run out for a time if significant use ✗ can die any way a human can ✗ if their magic goes out, they are more prone to human illness

#jcink rp #site buzz #jcink site #supernatural rp #creature rp #update #witches #wiccans

1 note · View note

mindofharry · 3 years

Text

Be My Baby

In which Prince harry and Princess Y/N are set to marry and are more than happy about it. They celebrate in more ways than one.

AHHHH!!! ITS HERE!!! FINALLY! Prince harry is my guilty pleasure. pls treat him with the respect he deserves. these two are officially my favourite people ever.

fluff & FILTHY SMUT!!!!!! feedback is welcome as always! <3

“Princess Y/N is arriving soon, Harry” Anne, the queen of england said putting down her tea. Harry is the prince, next in line for the throne - Marriage is very important to the throne and for the throne. Anne has been very strict about that, preparing Harry for marriage. Princess Y/N of wales, is who Harry is meeting with today. Hopefully, to settle a deal. Harry has never cared for marriage or for a partner. He’s a lone wolf as his family would describe. But if he wants to be king, he needs to marry. And Y/N is looking like the only option at the moment.

Harry nodded putting the paper down and looking up at his mother. He pursed his lips leaning back in his seat.

“Is something the matter, dear?”

Harry shook his head “No, mother. Just tired” he lied, reassuring his mother. Anne didn’t press any further just got one of the servants to pour her more tea. She could read harry very well, she knew her son better than he knew himself. Y/N is perfect for him. Even if they do not marry, she will be a life long friend. But anne is sure they will marry within the year.

And Queen Anne is never wrong.

Y/N was late.

Harry was beginning to become bored, don’t get him wrong he loves his sister and mother. But he can only take so much. All he wanted to do was to be curled up with a book in the abandoned side of the castle - no one except for the young prince had been there. It was locked up for years before harry found the key, it was like a whole new world in there. It was dirty, messy, filthy - just how harry liked it. He decorated a room in there, and it’s like his safe place from all of this. All of these stupidly important responsibilities. His safe haven.

They were meant to be meeting, talking about their futures together. If his mother thought this was what was best for the country, then harry would push through. He hadn’t see Y/N in years, meeting when they were both much younger. No pressure, just the two kids playing in the fields. Y/N was beautiful, so care free. Harry wished he was like Y/N - the only think she seemed to care about were the moon, the sun and the stars. They never saw each other again after that, they have both obviously seen each other in papers and at events. But never talked. Y/N didn’t know why, neither did harry. They weren’t on the same chapter in life. But now, they’re both willing to do what is best for their country.

And maybe it wouldn’t be too bad marrying a soon to be king.

A servant comes into the dining room bowing at the styles family. Harry waits for him to speak - except a tall girl, bumps into him making the servant fall foward. Y/N (the tall girl) giggled, before clearing her throat and bowing at the styles family. Harry smirked and leaned back. Anne was standing a smile on her face as she saw her soon beaming for the first time in months.

“Your highness” Y/N said bowing, nearly falling down again. But she grinned covering it up. Her dress was long and tight - her mother made her wear it. She would much rather be in a nice flowy dress in the woods right now. Maybe reading about the sun. But her mother needed her to do this, so Y/N would.

Y/N’s father died a couple of months back, it was sudden and no one saw it coming. So her mother needed her to marry as Y/N is the oldest of four girls. They needed a man of the house and once Y/N married, harry would be that man. Y/N didn’t like that one bit. She could be the man of the house if she wanted to. She didn’t understand why they needed a man to pay for things, to do stuff for them. Women are just as capable. But there was no fighting with Y/N’s mother. And Y/N knew she was having a rough time without her husband and Y/N’s dad.

“Princess Y/N, it’s good to have you here” Anne said, as a servant helped her back into the seat. Y/N had the same treatment but she looked rather uncomfortable. She was seated infront of harry, which was glad of. It’s a nice view, she’ll admit. He had grown into his baby face, she thought. And that hair. Fuck, that hair.

“Thank you for inviting me, your highness” Y/N said smiling softly. “Your castle is amazing” She said and Anne nodded pointing around at the paintings. “I actually just got these new paintings in from a new artist in rome. Just beautiful, right harry?” Anne said, giving harry the look. His mother is giving him that look a lot recently, Anne just wants what is best for him and harry just doesn’t seem to care at all. It’s like he’s away from reality. In another universe half of the time. Anne was hoping Y/N would be able to bring him back down to earth, but from her entrance in here - Harry and Y/N are a lot more similar than she thought.

“Yeah, they’re beautiful” Harry said staring at the girl infront of him. Y/N blushed under his stare. She had never felt anything like this before for a man. Her stomach was in knots and her cheeks were getting hotter by the second.

The dinner was nice. It was quiet with Y/N trying to keep up the small talk - Anne was impressed with that. Everyone she had invited to the palace would only talk when spoken to, but Y/N had a certain way about her. She had manners of course, the kindest soul, but she talked. She could talk all day if she was allowed. She just never ran out of things to say. But the food was really good, so Y/N was quieter than usual. Harry had one question: did they feed her in the city? The way she was eating was like she had been starved for years.

“This is amazing” Y/N said putting her fork down. Anne grinned at the girl nodding to herself. She had found a keeper.

“Harry, why do you show Y/N around? She’s going to be staying here for the next couple of weeks” Anne announced and Y/N nearly choked on her water, she tapped her chest.

“I am?-“

“she is?”

Harry and Y/N both spoke at the same time, Anne tutted and ordered the servant to fill up her wine.

“Your mother and I have arranged it. Everything you have is here already, you’ll have your own quarters too. Your horse is being transported down here as we speak” Anne said making new room for arguing. “Y/N your mother said she would be happy for us to host you here if the dinner went accordingly. And i think it went more than accordingly” Anne continued sipping her wine.

Harry and Y/N looked to each other their eyes both wide with amusement and shock. Only their parents would do this.

“Now, run along. Gemma and I have some talking to do” Anne ordered, the servants came and helped the princess and prince up following them out of the dinning room. Y/N was rather uncomfortable with the servants being everywhere, she had a lot more freedom at home.

“Hey, you wanna do something fun?” She asked and harry raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Hey! Intruder” Y/N yelled and the servants looked around quickly, harry was startled when Y/N laughed loudly taking his hand in hers and running down the hallway towards the abandoned part of the castle. Harry grinned and laughed loudly as they ran together.

This girl, he thought.

The door was locked. Harry brought a key out of his pocket and Y/N laughed loudly making harry shush her as he unlocked the door. Quickly they made themselves into the abandoned quarters and giggled to themselves when they heard the servants feet making their way to this side of the castle - but immediately they turned away, knowing that they weren’t allowed on this side of the palace.

Harry was distracted with locking the door, but Y/N was amazed. She looked around at this place and couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her. This place is really fucking amazing, she thought. It’s obviously abandoned, that man she could tell - but it was still so beautiful. Paintings, upon paintings and books at every end. There was high ceilings and stained glass windows giving a nice hew to the room. Y/N brought her hands to her hips and spinned around her dress moving as she did.

“This place is fucking amazing!”

Harry laughed and finally got the door locked popping the key back in his pocket. He moved beside the beautiful girl and didn’t say anything. But Y/N knew.

“You come here often?” She asked and Harry nodded.

“Found it a couple years ago. Think it was my fathers” He said and Y/N sighed looking around.

“It’s beautiful” you’re beautiful, he wanted to say but he bit his lip instead walking in the direction of his safe haven. Y/N quickly caught up placing a hand on his, harry flinched at the touch. This definitely wasn’t allowed. If anyone saw they’d have to marry immediately. But nobody was here, he reminded himself. And with that he squeezed Y/N’s hand a little tighter.

Harry opened the door the room he had been coming to for years now. It had a few chairs, a huge window with curtains on each side, a fire place in the middle and blankets and pillows surrounding the room. Y/N smiled to herself as she saw harry become more himself. It was like this room allowed him to be himself.

“You come in here often?”

Harry nodded making himself comfortable on one of the pillows, Y/N soon followed sitting very close to the prince. Harry had no complaints at all.

“I come here most days. When i need to take a breath, escape my mother and the stupid royal family” Harry said and Y/N giggled leaning in to harry, their lips close.

“I can think of many ways we can escape reality. Why don’t we try one of them?”

Harry let out a sigh and placed his hand on Y/N shoulder, it fell down her arm to her waist. Harry had been with people before, he had kissed and pleasured many, many people. But never did he feel like this. He felt as if she was a goddess, and she would brake it the touch of his finger. She looked almost fragile, like a painting.

“Kiss me, Harry” She ordered and harry wasted no time, placing his lips on hers.

Her lips are soft and gentle, just as harry had expected. He moved his hands up her hips to her shoulders again, Y/N moaned letting harry's tongue into her mouth. Harry groaned and pulled away smirking at that flushed look on her face. He loved it.

Y/N bit her lip standing up, unzipping her dress. She turned around, the only thing she had was a small night dress and corset. Harry cursed under his breath standing up behind her. Everything felt so intimate. They both felt a lot of things, Y/N never wanted this to stop. Harry hugged her from behind, kissing the back of her neck. After a few seconds, Y/N turned around in his hold, holding his gaze. She began to take off her corset and night dress, now bare. She felt confident in Harry's glare, he made her feel good. He sucked in a breath looking down at her perky breasts, her nipples hard from the temperature of the room. He made a mental note to put the fire on after this, Harry knew you two would be in here for as long as you possibly could. He knew his mother would be beyond pissed that they had gone off alone together.

Harry placed a hand on Y/N’s breast, teasing her nipple with his index finger. His rings were cold on her skin making her whimper. Harry smirked at the sound, lowering his head and taking her nipple in his mouth his tongue swirling the nub of it. Y/N’s hands found harrys hair and she tugged on it hard.

“Fuck” She cursed and harry let go with a pop, again he smirked at the sight of the princess. So undone and flustered. Harry absolutely loved it. Holding her gaze, he began to undress unbuttoning his shirt and pants. Heat rushed to his penis, as Y/N watched him undress.

“Want to have you in my mouth” Y/N said, getting on her knees. She knew she would have bruises by the end of this - but she knew it would be worth.

“Don’t make me cum” Harry ordered, Y/N just smirked and pulled his underwear down almost drooling at the sight of his red, cock full of pre-cum. What a sight, she thought. And it’s fucking huge. Bigger than she thought that’s for sure.

She hummed, pumping harry’s rock hard cock. His head flew back, a moan filling the room. Harry wished her hair was pinned back, he needed some to grip. He took both of his hands and gripped the side of her head. Y/N spit on his cock, keeping eye contact with harry.

“Shit”

Y/N licked the tip, running her tongue over the slit, tasting the saltiness of his pre cum. Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“You taste so good” She moaned, finally taking his full cock into her mouth. Her hands began pumping the base of the shaft, as she sucked him off. Harry moaned, but tapped the side of her head.

“Need to be in you, no more foreplay” He said and Y/N pouted whipping her lips.

“But i like having you in my mouth” Y/N argued, harry smirked pecking her lips, tasting himself on them. He hummed in agreement. “Next time, let me fuck you” He said kissing her neck, Y/N sighed and placed her lips on his before crawling over to the fireplace - there was a white sheet layed out. Y/N lay down and harry kissed down her stomach, teasingly kissing her thighs. “You’re definitely wet enough for me, aren’t you princess?” Harry said slapping her pussy, Y/N moaned and nodded.

Slowly, harry thrusted into Y/N making them both whimper. “Fuck, you feel so good” Harry said, kissing your lips. Y/N just moaned, gripping his back and putting her legs around his waist. Harry began to move faster, his hands either side of Y/N.

“Faster” Y/N said and harry complied, pounding into her. The moans coming out of the both them were enough to make them both cum within seconds. And that’s basically what happened. They both climaxed, harry falling down into Y/N’s chest. Y/N only felt pleasure and ecstasy.

Shit, her mother picked a good one.

***

“Fuck” Y/N panted into harry’s mouth as he took against the wall. They were left alone for ten minutes, and this happened. They were looking at the new paintings and architecture Anne had got, browsing around the hall. Harry had convinced the servant that his mother was calling and of course the poor servant couldn’t dismiss it, so they had a good ten minutes while the servant searched for the queen.

Harry pounded into her the paintings on the wall knocking loudly, Y/N laughed loudly making harry put a hand over her mouth.

“Don’t want to attract any attention, do we princess?”

They continued their hot and very messy quicky and then made their way to the gardens. Y/N and harry soon found that the gardens would be another safe haven. Beautiful flowers and when the sun is shining a beautiful place to sit and relax.

They couldn’t wait to marry - seen as harry wants Y/N in his bed, all the time. They fuck like bunnies, it’s amazing how they haven’t been caught as of yet. When they get their own palace, harry will christen to the whole place. They’ll fuck in every corner. Every room. Every library and garden.

Y/N looked at harry smiling as he lay on the grass. No one was around as the servant hadn’t arrived back. Y/N quickly looked around before pulling harry into what she could only assume was a place to keep all the fruit and veg away from foxes. It was closed off and you could lock it from the inside.

“Jesus christ Y/N” Harry mumbled kissing your neck as you leaned back on a bench.

“Another round?” You asked with innocent eyes.

“Another round” Harry confirmed lifting up the bottom of her dress and pushing her down so she was flat on the bench. He kissed up her legs, biting down on her thigh.

He pulled up her night gown and saw her bare pussy, wet and glistening just waiting for him. He could cum at the sight. He moaned kissing her thigh, teasing her.

Y/N tugged at harry’s hair, giving him a warning. “Stop, teasing” She pouted and harry smirked finally making his way towards your pussy.

Y/N closed her eyes when she felt harrys breath against her core. “so wet, princess” Harry said, the vibrations going right through her body making her jerk up a little. Harry loved the affect he had on her, the littlest thing would make her jolt with pleasure.

Harry spread her legs a little more, his tongue licking up her slit. Y/N’s tugged on harry’s hair, moaning loudly. Harry watched her unfold becoming so flushed, but Y/N looked so very beautiful in this light.

He pressed his lips to your clit, flicking his tongue up and down. Your hips moved with his tongue movements, harrys hands made their way to your hips trying to get them to stay in place. You wrapped your legs around his shoulders and began to shake and moan.

“Fuck me” You murmured coming down from your high.

“Oh, i will princess”

The days went on and more fucking occurred. Again they fucked like absolute bunnies. They were sure everyone knew by now, but the servants were way too afraid to say anything. Anne would have everyone’s head if she found out what they were doing.

“I can’t wait to marry you” Harry said laying down beside her in their safe haven. Y/N smirked rolling over on her side. He was so beautiful. His eyes, his freckles, that one dimple that came out when he laughed. She was so lucky to call him hers.

“You just want to have me in your bed everyday” She said and harry pretended to think about. “Hmmm, yeah” He said, making Y/N laugh loudly before pecking his lips.

“Can’t believe you’re mine” Harry said pushing her into his chest. Y/N grinned pecking his neck and looking up at him.

“Forever”

#harry styles #prince!harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles requests

932 notes · View notes

ithilwen-lionheart · 3 years

Text

Thranduil Imagines : Imagine #2

Imagine being a romanticist in Middle-Earth

Alt.

Imagine being a novelist of the fantasy/romance genre in The Woodland Realm. Legolas being such a huge admirer of your works and The Elvenking joining in the bandwagon with him.

A/N : In this piece, my dear reader, you shall take in the form of Melda Elvellyn. A willowy scribe with locks that are dark blue at the roots and blonde at the tips, your eyes of most soulful hazels magnified underneath glasses that are nearly as thick as the bottom of a bottle.

Shall you wish to take in yet another form, you may do so as this story is yours to unfold- of a life you had lived, a dream that -through a humble minstrel as myself- shall be told.

Work Text :

Unattainable was he as the moon that glowed in its fullness as if a halo over his head. Unseeing was his hues of dazzling blue. Looking but not quite seeing- a mere arrow that passes right through her- always had and always will be.

Forever unaware of the eyes that carried the weight of a bleeding heart as it maps the paths he took long after he was gone.

Thranduil quotes the passage from over his son's shoulder, a most curious fascination coating the usually detached quality of his modulated voice. It was inevitable that Legolas would flinch at the unexpected disturbance, immersed as he was with the text he had been reading- it is also to be noted that the slide of long blond locks akin to his own was much unwelcome for The Woodland prince as it completely blocked the words that serenaded him like clouds to a sunlit sky.

The Elvenking's impressive brows of ebony and snow furrowed in contemplation. In his mind he swears he had seen those elegant swirls before and as his son voices out a rather puzzled, 'Ada?' as he rests the bundle of parchments on his lap, the answer dawns upon him-

Such handwriting had overtaken the palace's most recent collection of tomes. He was caught unawares by this, the onslaught of fictitious tales that found their home in the midst of Greenwood's historical and judicial records. At first Thranduil had not paid it any heed, as the occasional recreational pieces may prove to be what the kingdom's vast library needs in order to inspire potential practitioners of the creative arts. However, one fateful day he had come across a rather interesting manuscript slyly tucked in between obsolete documentations of long forgotten flora or fauna, it read-

was an arduous task not to find oneself in such an incriminating state as listlessly admiring a beauty that laid so close before one's eyes. Not even the stars set on the crown of midnight can rival the face bathed in the ethereal glow of the elvenmade lanterns strung about them.

Poor renditions as they may be of the ancient lights, it did not dissuade her fate to be caught in his charm. To his name was her mind a willing prisoner, once a great bearer of knowledge rendered into a useless library of prose upon prose dedicated to his radiance.

It did not take the Elvenking the entire narration to tell that it was a story of romance. The turn of a number of pages and he knew it to be of yearning and clandestine adoration. The feel of dried papyrus on his thumb and index fingers was a serendipitous affair, his gaze flitting upon rows and rows of words strewn together into prose and poetry befitting of handwritten notes tied to bouquets of flowers, of stories told under the light of the moon and letters hidden beneath silken sheets, through hushed voices that revered, adored, and strung wishes upon the stars.

When he looked up from where 'Medui' (end) was scrawled across the last page of the opus, the thin lines of that graceful stroke had grown acquainted to him- like a tiny seedling in his realm of towering ancient trees, a treasure often overlooked as it flourished underneath the grandeur of its predecessors. The sun had long set then, his back ached, and there was a noticeable strain about his neck brought by his submission to the sirens call of the book before him and yet it was only then that his disillusionment with life had failed him entirely, as if in humoring maple sugar sweet words from a faceless scribe he was allowed the luxury to see the world in color once more.

This had spurred The Elvenking's conscious search for the peculiarities in his archives, which had then lead him to yet another befuddling discovery- his only son's involvement with the smuggling of the volumes within his halls. One too many times had The Elvenking seen that writing atop a desk or the ground in front of Legolas, replacing the bows and arrows that had used to govern his open hands with pure undivided interest. An audience with his son had proved Thranduil's suspicion right and after a rather operose attempt at continuously concealing his growing fascination with the wayward works, he had finally learned of the name behind it all-

Melda Elvellyn. Minstrel in Greenwood.

The Elvenking knows not the bearer of such a name, not even within his own lands- despite of how the title implicated so.

"Ada?" the prince's voice carries with the effort of wanting to be heard, it was little else but a mere echo in the growing haze of the older ellon's continuous contemplation, Legolas knew of this quite well. Yet he finds himself unable to resist prodding on- albeit fruitlessly, "Ada, is there a task you wish for me to accomplish?" he straightens in his seat when his father remained unmoving. Those glacier blue hues he hadn't quite inherited was oddly fixated on the parchment he had been perusing, "Tauriel leads the day watch if your concern is of the border's security." of this he remains rather dubious, nevertheless, he goes on, "I may offer aid, however my knowledge would be as good as your own in this very instant-"

Legolas' hand idly moves to veil the coveted pages of what looked to be a completely new novel from their elf-lover- Thranduil had just recently come across such a locution. Bard, King of Dale had visited Eryn Lasgalen and had let slip his own childrens' fascination with the rising written works.

'Novels stole the interest of Dale's bairns with but a single hand- that is what they came to call these tales of picturesque imagery. Nary a girl or boy in their home is without a mass of bound parchment under their cots or within their arms. In a mere fortnight, my daughter, Tilda, amassed more than a hand's worth of romantic poetry.' The former bowman expressed rather jovially, 'It is a much welcome diversion, what with the suffrage brought upon their innocence by war. I, myself enjoy a number of works, Sigrid is most delighted with the writings of Melda Elvellyn, I believe she is of your realm, King Thranduil.'

Even so, he is yet to find her.

'A Romanticist with such an unrivaled skill with words that it had ensnared the children of Dale and even The Dragonslayer himself.' The Elvenking thought in wonder. He also found it hard to ignore the besotted twinkle in the man's onyx eyes or the fond tone in which he spoke of the writer, it had only served as fuel to his already burning desire to put a face to the spinster who so relentlessly tugged on the heartstrings of men and elves alike.

"Legolas," Thranduil's voice sounded lost even to his own self as he toiled to anchor himself to the present, to crawl out of the hole in his reverie that the elf-lover had dug and back into the waking world he belonged in.

He could feel himself squint at the now closed book lying innocuously at his son's lap. For such a thing of diminutive size, the words that lived in its pages had caused troublesome ripples in his calm. A disturbance that paled the rambunctiousness of Durin's Folk during their much too short imprisonment in his woods and still he could not find himself wanting to be rid of it as much as he did with the dwarves.

Legolas raises a cautious brow, the ceaseless shift in his father's eyes a recently developed disparity that the archer is yet to be accustomed to, "Yes, my king?" he inquires, tone in equal parts mildly concerned and curious, the former quickly dissipating as he realized where exactly that pointed gaze was directed at.

His book. The prince found it a chore not to crack a smile at his father's unexpected eagerness with his favored author's work, much to the point that he had tasked the younger ellon to scour their realm for the elusive minstrel. If one is to assume that they had been truthful with their occupation, title, and residence, was their mutual unspoken repudiation.

Along with this is yet another challenge to his ability to mask his growing amusement: the inexorable testimony of the numerous volumes he had failed to find in his usual hiding spots only for them to re-appear after a sennight, pristine as ever.

It was initially a discrete habit for The Elvenking. Starting with just a single novel following his previous- a mellifluous cycle of giving and taking until some phantom yearning of his had taken root and a single book would do little to sate his growing thirst so much so that it did not take long for Legolas' collection to banish by the batches, newly procured copies of most recent manuscripts touched by another's fingers before his own finally giving The Elvenking away.

His father -shrewd and calculated his geste is as The Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen and one of Arda's most ruthless fighters- is not exempt to the remiss wrought to oneself by an exemplary embroidery of words. Too often has the Elven Prince come across the king leafing amiably through odd scrolls and books that he otherwise would have torn into shreds with a much irate glare and by his hands should a chink on his marmoreal armor be allowed.

Once -Legolas recounts- it was an obsolete judiciary record on one hand as his father sat, regal as ever, behind the oakwood desk in his study; another instance it was a bundle of parchment on Rivendell Flora that had garnered his full undivided attention as he sat in on a meeting with the Elven lords of Arda, the deed had been most curious to the point that Lord Elrond outwardly spoke in acknowledgment of his father's 'unsuspected fascination' and had so graciously offered an audience with Rivendell's Master Botanist with a knavish twinkle in his wise eyes- Legolas tries not to pay much thought to what may truly be hidden underneath such an innocuous offer for it only adds yet another dash of youthful behavior he cannot see himself ever being primed enough to attribute to his elders.

On the same note, the archer does his utmost best to recall with respect the horrified look on a minor larcenist's face as they were brought to The Elvenking's hall for sentencing. A much too dangerous shift on his father's features had sent the poor ellon into a cowering mess of shaking limbs.

Upon entering the throne room, The Elvenking had regarded the culprit with an almost patronizing snicker as if he were to reprimand a child caught in the midst of illegally nabbing sweets before going to bed. However, a mere glance back on the parchment he held (which Legolas was certain ought to contain the list of the ellon's offenses) had changed that almost delighted smirk into a disbelieving stare before expiring into a furious glower, forthwith he proceeded to sentence the ellon to be most creatively tied in ropes of velvet, lathered in honey, and then laid on a bed of rose's thorns- Legolas was also most confident to determine it as Melda's written ideation of unrequited love in her most daring piece 'Ruby Red Tango' and should -by all accounts- not be taken by word and most especially not when bestowing judgment on a cabbage thief's thievery, of -well- cabbages.

Yes, Legolas had read the documents before relaying them to his father and no, Ruby Red Tango was not amongst the parchments he had received.

It went without a word that the Elven Prince had taken it upon himself to intervene and reprise the actions that the petty thief had been charged for and it ended with no one being tied by expensive velvet and left for the insects to consume on a most elaborate waste of resources as a bed of roses. For once there had been a chance for Legolas to admire his father's impenetrable and cold placidity, and yet he is not quite sure if it were the best of circumstances considering that an actual life may have been harmed had he not paid as much advertence as he may have usually done most days.

Nevertheless, he could not deny that watching the scene unfold as an onlooker and without his head on the tip of the axe was quite amusing. To think that a narrative on romance had affected his stoic father as so, the plethora of equally evocative titles that may have been hidden behind the trade logs he peruses during council meetings-

Legolas cuts the head off the snake before irreparable damage could be made to his mind's perception of his solitary, respectable, and yet painstakingly stubborn father and king.

"What have you learned of Melda Elvellyn?" the Elvenking in question inquires in feigned disinterest as he raises to his full height, dragging both himself and his son back to the present. He clasped his hands behind his back and tipped his head to the side in his usual manner of askance. It was a pristine facade that would have fooled even Legolas himself had he not seen his father upon securing the legacy of their kin and his mother packed into that wooden chest of dazzling white gems from Erebor-

Which was rather unfitting as he had not yet imparted the favorable news regarding his ongoing search for what looked to be the object of his father's current fascination.

A smile flits across Legolas' lips. Curious and leaning dangerously close to destructive had The Elvenking's horribly mislead interpretations of some of Melda's words may be, it was not without its merits. For as distracted as he may be during a number of his councils, there is also the unmistakable bloom of empathy in his words and speeches to the people of his realm, his consideration for what the rest of Arda may offer their kingdom and his appreciation for the people who continue to stand by him and the allies he had made before and after The Battle of the Five Armies.

With every dive he had made into worlds conjured to creation by Melda's quill and ink, he is also taken with the desire to broaden his view of the world outside their walls.

Once more,

with a bit more hope than when he had originally intended to leave Arda to fester. When he took his kin and built his kingdom deep within the groves of Greenwood the Great- isolation the only thing that coursed through his thoughts and his blood and his heart after all the horrors he had endured with the growing darkness that threatened to consume the entirety of the world.

When all that there was for goodness was to be conquered by chaos and death.

Once more he sought the light,

once more he walked himself and his kin where the sun may touch their skin, the breeze may cast their hair and their hearts with playful loving hands, where the world may once again lay their eyes in the timeless beauty of nature incarnate.

The Elven Prince retrieves a single page from his sheaf of papyrus and offers it to the king who received it much too eagerly. On it was an excerpt from one of Eryn Lasgalen's most recent ledgers, "It appears that our dear Melda, Ada, is one of your royal scribes." there was a much telling similarity between the loops and swirls that made 'Evergreen Heart' and the script that elaborated the details of trade between the Greenwood and the Kingdom of Dale- as what was evidenced by the parchment his father held in his hands.

What was not quite clear with Legolas, however, was-

"My king -you must pardon my inquisitiveness- how were you not able to recognize the penmanship of your own scribe?"

Thranduil shook his head for it was not the case. In fact, it was everything but. He had long arrived at the same speculation before his son had. Far longer. But his better judgment had kept him from putting his hand directly into the fire, by which rules he was not quite sure for he governs these lands and therefore holds sovereignty over its laws.

He has nothing to fear- supposedly.

As his eyes squinted at the well-nigh taunting words that stared back at him, his recollections had unearthed the oddest locks of eve and starlight, eyes of prosaic brown, a most waifish build and a pair of the most bothersome lenses he had ever seen.

Completely unremarkable if it weren't for the unusual hair and bulky glasses or the unhealthy habit of flashing the ground she treads upon the most appreciative of smiles but never the king who oversees its well-being- who fights for their protection. If it were not for her pleasant script that not quite sends him over the edge unlike the other scribes' ridiculous scrawls do then she would have been so easily forgotten.

This was why he had put her to the task of chronicling Greenwood's trade. Hers was the only writing he could stand. The only script he could read.

And yet hers is a name he had not quite known.

Melda Elvellyn, Minstrel in Greenwood.

"I had long been able to tell, Legolas." he sighs as he rolls and pockets the suddenly all foreboding piece of papyrus. At this, the archer raises a questioning brow at him, likely concerned if not confounded by his despondency.

The younger ellon stands, features cementing his befuddlement, "Then why is it that you seem to despair, ada?"

"If our premise prove true, I know in entirety who Melda is," the Elvenking feels for the grainy surface of the page tucked in his tunic's chest pocket, it was a heavy weight that thrummed unpleasantly with his gradually freezing heart. Legolas opens his mouth as if to voice yet another inquiry and Thranduil cuts him to it, sharp despite of the rising weariness in his tone, "She shall be one of my most favoured scribes, if you were to ask something of the ilk," frustration is building a bond with the tone of his voice as they conspired against the preservation of The Elvenking's nonchalance and the prince finds it hard to continuously ignore so.

"Then is it not for the best? If you favor her then she must be familiar with you and you her." Legolas barely manages to restrain his growing ardor at the possibility of having access to Melda's future works before they reach official publications. He knew naught where and how a scribe manages so on her own -underneath the very nose of their king to boot- so every chance at procuring her manuscripts ahead of Arda was more than just fair game for the prince.

But his father shakes his head as if heralding the deliverance of most unpleasant news and Legolas freezes, "Ah, I am most familiar with her, Legolas," The Elvenking divulged in a much sober preening, "Melda Elvellyn is not only a nonexistent minstrel in my realm, she is also but a young woman forced into my care by the most gracious Lord Elrond of Imladris as he seem capable of raising only a single child of the Dunedain without losing his wits."

"You mean to say Melda, our Melda, is of the Dunedain? Like Aragorn? I thought him to be the last of his kin? Had they not all been decimated by the Great Plague? Of kin-strife? How could a young girl have survived what had slain men raised for war? Was she, too, raised by rangers?" if he had not been too plagued by such unwarranted menace as what came with the answers to such merciless line of questioning then Thranduil would have been confident to match his son's fervor in unearthing their darling author's roots as some demented, much behind, father-son commune.

Alas, such was not the case for the Valars must have seen it much fitting to continuously riddle The Elvenking's tenure with bothersome sores made to disrupt the one thing he ever asked of them- peace and quiet.

Thranduil sighs. The irked furrow in his brows is ever present whenever he is reminded of the insolence of such task having been unceremoniously shoved into his hands with but the most menial of details, "My knowledge of her roots is as good as yours, Legolas. Audacious as his request was, Elrond had found himself neither decent nor obligated to disclose such correspondence to me." the Elf Lord had quite literally just shown himself to his study with a mousy little human girl trailing being him like a lost colt and then demands Thranduil to look after her in his stead without so much as her name to offer.

"Then why here? Why Eryn Lasgalen? If she were a prisoner as was the creature sent by the Lady of Light, I would have understood for ours are dungeons that none in Arda could compare. But a young woman? Of the Dunedain? Would it not have been more sensible to have sent her to Gondor?" Legolas hurriedly jumps over the stone bench he had vacated the moment his father turned his back to him as if gearing to leave and escape their conversation. On the contrary however, his father remained standing where he was, head only slightly tipped skywards as if watching in on the goings that transpired within what they could see of the castle's many halls from the garden. There was not a single elleth or ellon of note to Legolas, to him they were all his kin- regardless of lineage or the color of their mane, nevertheless, it was also this that had made it notably difficult for him to put names to certain faces more often than he would have favored.

He wonders how his father so effortlessly does it. With or without one of Melda's novels on one hand. Whether he was in the best of moods or not, he just knows every heart that beat within his realm. No matter how disagreeable he may be on most days, one cannot deny that he truly is The Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen. And notoriously known to be stubborn and relentless as he was, he knows naught how Lord Elrond managed to put him to such a task as caring for a human child.

'A mortal child, Valars.' For the Elven Prince, he has merely survived through infanthood mainly for the fact that his nana had at least lived to see him till then, the chaos that ensued with his upbringing after her death consisted of Dorwinions in baby bottles, midnight emergency healers Imladris, and an arrow stuck to his foot at five years.

Grand and capable as a ruler The Elvenking might be, he knew naught the faintest on how to raise a child. The servants insisted that he did eventually learn that Dorwinion was not to be fed to elflings, and Legolas never took it against his father as no one really does teach the lesson of parenthood as much as they do archery or swordsmanship.

But to imagine such method of dipping a human child's foot in infested waters to find how it would go. Legolas hopes his father had not -at the very least- dropped the child on the floor.

"How old was she when Lord Elrond left her to your care?" the question had left his lips before he could even ponder its relevance to their somber conversation. Legolas knew he sounded not the least bit terrified, he also knew his father had not missed it by how one of those bushy brows raised as if in scrutiny.

"Sixteen years," The Elvenking humors him, albeit haltingly, those glacier blues assessing what may have possessed his son to stand most unfittingly on the stone bench he had just stood behind of not too long ago, "I was told that she were not to meet the King of Gondor until it was most appropriate,"

It was here that Legolas does move to hop above the back of the stone bench as his father proceeded to walk away, "Aragorn? Why is there such an appropriate time for her to meet her last remaining kin?" what came after had caused the revered grace of Greenwood's prince and the innate delicacy of the Elvenkind's footsteps both to fail. Catching a foot at the top of the stone bench, Legolas trips mid-air and lands with his face square on the ground.

Despite what he knew to be his only son's maladroit display from behind him, Thranduil's gaze was not deterred from where it was fixed above them, "For when they do meet, it shall be for the preservation of their barren bloodline in union and to uphold a lady's dignity at its highest she must be of marrying age shall it come to pass."

Legolas follows his father's lost stare as he moved to dust himself off and stand beside him and what he saw nearly took his breath away.

Melda.

Melda with her hair of secretive midnight laden atop what few of the stars she seemed to have stolen from the skies.

Melda with her eyes of wistful witchwood that seemed so old and true.

The archer doubts the authenticity of what he had been hearing for it seemed as if a tale spun by this Melda herself (a Dunedain scribe with a welcoming smile but distant eyes) and yet he could also not find it in himself to believe the plausibility of one writing such a dreadful story as one's life. A part of him entertains the thought that perhaps it was merely Melda's works speaking through his father as it had done that fateful day with the cabbage thief in his throne room and yet he could also not deny the unquestionable despondence lurking underneath his father's misleading jabs at Lord Elrond's propriety.

Thranduil watches his son carefully. Takes diligent note of every screw and knob that twisted and turned if only to distract himself from his own distemper. The catch in his breath, the widening of eyes that were blue but not quite like his own, the stumble in a forwards step-

As if The Elvenking was not wary enough of the nameless scribe that had throttled his chronic apathy.

As if he had not the reason enough to favor her perhaps more than he should,

she writes even more.

Writes and writes and writes.

And looks down at them -the Elvenking and Elven Prince of the Woodland Realm- from the marbled balconies she had been gazing out from, flashes them a most bashful smile-

and waves at them with that dainty hand that wrote the tales they adored,

"A pleasant morning, my lords!" She greets in a voice that was much too soft it would have disappeared with the still winds of that noon if one had not paid as much attention as the stupified royalties from below did.

Thranduil almost could not blame his son who seemed to have developed a most curious fascination with planting his face on the earth, if he had not had the parchment to clench atop his chest within the confines of his brocade -much as it pains both his dignity and pride to admit- he would have done the same.

The morning summer air was warm in Arda

-the blood on a pair of monarch's cheeks ever much more so.

But none could compare to that radiated by sweet Melda-

who stood above them all.

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

FIN.

(?)

150 notes · View notes

melzula · 4 years

Text

Come What May

third and final installment of the Fire Lilies series

pairing: Zuko x Princess!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, some mean Zuko, forbidden lovers au

notes: thank you all for the love & support you’ve given this series. although it’s over, if you still have any questions or are curious about what happens to Zuko and the Princess along the way feel free to ask me and I’ll be happy to elaborate! enjoy!

summary: you put your trust in Zuko and agree to run away with him. But have you made the right choice?

part one | part two

“I’ve been challenged to an Agni Kai.”

“I’m engaged.”

The two of you stare at each other stunned, eyes wide and stomachs immediately filling with dread.

“What?” Zuko breathes quietly. His voice is barley above a whisper and he refuses to make eye contact with you, but you don’t miss the way his body begins to tremble with emotion.

“With my father gone and my mother growing older I need someone to provide and take care of me,” you explain weakly with guilt present upon your features. “I’ve been given away to the son of my father’s most trusted advisor.”

Zuko’s eyes widen in horror as you carefully tug the collar of your coat away from your neck to reveal your betrothal necklace. The jewelry rests daintily against your skin, the carved stone almost shimmering underneath the light that reflects across the ice that surrounds you, and it takes every fiber of his being to restrain himself from ripping the thing right off of you. You were meant to be his fiancé, his wife, and yet here you were claiming to be the promised bride of a boy who wasn’t Zuko. A part of him felt sick, and though he knew it was beyond your control he couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

“Tell me you’re not going to marry him,” Zuko demands, his voice calm and unwavering despite his aggravated state.

“Zuko...”

“Tell me you’re not,” he urges you now as he grasps at your forearms and pulls you closer to him. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was furious by the way he was holding you, but in reality he was just desperate and afraid. “Y/n, tell me.”

“It’s not that easy,” you try to reason, “it wasn’t my choice.”

“Exactly, it wasn’t your choice! So don’t marry him!” Zuko insists firmly.

“If I don’t marry him I risk bringing dishonor to my family and to my people. I’m the Princess, Zu. Even if I tried to say no it wouldn’t matter. Becoming a wife to a member of our tribe is part of my duty as Princess. I’m so sorry.”

Your heart aches for Zuko as he slowly removes himself from you, and both of you choose to ignore the handprints that have been charred into the fabric of your coat from where he had once grabbed you. He was good at controlling his temper around you, but his temperature was a completely different story; it was a wonder that he hadn’t somehow burnt you yet.

“What about your Agni Kai?” You press gently, taking one of his hands in both of yours before bringing it close to your chest and over your heart. A small sigh accompanied by a breath of fire escapes Zuko at the action and warms your cool cheeks.

”One of the war generals at the council threatened your life,” Zuko explains dully. You squeeze his hand tightly in response. “I spoke out of turn in your defense, and now I’ll have to duel him. I know I can take him, but what I can’t take is someone who isn’t me being able to call themselves your husband.”

“I’ll always be yours, Zuko.” He says nothing as you wind your arms around his torso and nuzzle your face against his chest, but he can’t help himself from returning your embrace and holding you impossibly tight against him.

“Then run away with me,” he says. A small gasp escapes you as you pull away to look up at him with wide eyes.

“Run away?”

“Yes, run away. As soon as the Agni Kai is over and I win, I’ll come get you and we can leave. We’ll go wherever you’d like, it doesn’t matter as long as we’re together. Please, Princess.”

“I... I’ve heard Ba Sing Se is the place people go to get a fresh start,” you reply with an uneasy smile. Zuko rewards you with a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll leave in three days. Meet me by the docks at midnight and bring only what you need,” he instructs before gently cupping your face in his hands. “We’re going to be so happy together, y/n.”

You smile as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss, but you can’t help the uneasiness that stirs in the pit of your stomach. The thought of running away with Zuko is exhilarating, yet something in the back of your mind is begging you not to go, warning you that things will not be as you planned them to be. But your body succumbs to the sensation of Zuko’s lips against your own, and before you can stop it you find yourself sinking further and further into his warmth.

~~~

It’s not easy having to turn your back on your people and leave the only life you’ve ever known behind, but the journey that lies ahead of you is enough to convince you that leaving the Southern Water Tribe behind is for the best. You’d never be happy in a marriage with someone you didn’t love, and you’d forever resent your parents and your people from keeping you tied down to one place forever. You would be happy with Zuko, there’d be many new sights to see and so many new experiences to have. It was for the best.

You arrive at the docks by midnight per Zuko’s instructions, a backpack full of what little belongings you could bring along with you resting upon your shoulders. This is most likely the last time you’ll ever see the South Pole again and a sense of bitter sweetness washes over you as you take one final look at your home. When the sun rises your mother will find the note you’ve left behind and Princess y/n of the Southern Water Tribe will be no more.

A ship slowly emerges from the distance, the Fire Nation emblem displayed proudly for all to see, and nervous excitement tingles through your body as you prepare to leave your home once and for all.

The Zuko that descends from the ramp of the ship to greet you is not the same Zuko you had seen just a few days ago. The boy before you now has completely transformed both physically and emotionally. The long hair you loved to comb your hands through so much is gone with only a ponytail of hair remaining at the back of his head. You try not to stare at the patch tied securely around his head and over his left eye in fear of upsetting your boyfriend, but he doesn’t even bother to explain it.

When he approaches you it is with purpose, a seriousness and sense of formality that had never been there before- not when it came to you. There’s a coldness to him that frightens you, but you do your best not to show it. Something is wrong, you know this, your superstitions had warned you so, but until you find out what it is you will do your best to act as if everything is fine. You offer him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, and Zuko doesn’t meet your gaze.

You watch with bated breath as he reaches out and tugs your collar down to reveal the betrothal necklace around your neck.

“Why are you still wearing this?”

“I was in a rush and forgot to take it off,” you explain quickly. Zuko stares at you for only a moment before quickly emitting a heat from his palm so great it melts the carved stone of your necklace right off. The choker that held the stone falls limply from your neck and onto the snow below you. You’re bewildered by such a harsh action from the boy who had always treated you with the utmost care and respect. A part of you wanted to turn around and run back home to your mother, but you knew there had to be a reason for Zuko’s sudden change, and so you stay.

“Let’s go,” Zuko says gruffly, taking your bag from your shoulders in one hand and holding your hand in the other as he guides you up the ramp and onto the ship.

He stands beside you with an arm around your waist as the ship pulls away from the docks and out into the open sea. Your home grows smaller and smaller until you’re no longer able to see it, and then it is just you and Zuko together in silence.

“You’re going to be happy with me,” he says quietly, but the statement does nothing to ease your nerves. “It’s late, you need your rest. I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

You say nothing as he guides you to the ship’s deck below, only glancing once at the moon before you before the night sky is replaced with a steel roof over your head.

~~~

Zuko doesn’t tell you much about the Agni Kai; you’ve learned it’s best not to bring it up. But from the vague answers he’s given you along with the tiny details his Uncle has let slip out, you find out that Zuko had not won the challenge and was now an outsider of sorts to the Fire Nation. But that shouldn’t matter now considering you both had wanted to run away, right?

You have separate quarters on the ship, but you always find yourself winding up in Zuko’s bed. Homesickness hits you more often than you had presumed, and Zuko is the only warmth you find in your new life abroad. You hope that will change once you settle down in Ba Sing Se. The thought always bring a sense of comfort to you- the idea of starting over, settling in a new home, eventually getting married, and having children are images that keep you sane on the moving metal death trap.

When you wake you find that the spot beside you in bed is empty and cold, proof that Zuko has been gone for a long while now. With a sigh you force yourself up and ready yourself for the day ahead. If your calculations aren’t off and if you read the map correctly, you should be arriving in the east end of Earth Kingdom some time today.

However, when you ascend onto the top deck you find that you are nowhere near Earth Kingdom territory at all. The air is still frigid from the cold, and you’re regretting not bringing a coat up with you to wear.

It is Iroh who notices your trembling form first, immediately sitting you down at his tea table and calling for one of the crew members nearby to fetch you a blanket.

“Zuko, the poor Princess is freezing,” Iroh states whilst pouring you a nice, warm cup of tea. “Please forgive my nephew for his lack of hospitality.“

You only give the General a weak smile in response as you quietly sip your tea. A warm blanket wraps itself around your shoulders accompanied by a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Why is it so cold?” You frown, glancing up at Zuko who stands before you. “I thought we’d be near the Earth Kingdom by now.”

Iroh guilty looks away from the two of you and quietly excuses himself in order to give you privacy. Zuko is silent for a long while.

“We’re not going to the Earth Kingdom,” he replies bluntly.

“But what about Ba Sing Se?”

“I have to tie up a few loose ends before we can settle down together. But don’t be sad, Princess. I’m sure you’ll like where we’re going instead.”

It’s then that you truly notice your surroundings, the familiar gray skies and calm ocean waters, the frigid temperatures. You’re going back home.

“The South Pole? But that can’t be!” You exclaim. “I just ran away and now you’re taking me back?”

“We’re not going there for you,” Zuko responds harshly. “They have something that I want.”

“I don’t understand...” you frown, rising from your seat at the table to meet Zuko’s fiery gaze.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he mutters, brushing past you in order to stand along the railing of the ship.

“Zuko, if we go back there’s a chance my people will try to take me away from you. They’ll blame you for my disappearance, returning would be nothing but trouble. What could the South Pole possibly have to make you go back?!”

You love Zuko with all of your heart, you really do. But if you had known the severity of the situation you’d find yourself in once you decided to run away with him, you would have listened to the voice at the back of your head that begged you not to go. But now, as the banished prince turns back to meet your eyes, you realize that it’s much too late.

“Your people are hiding the Avatar.”

| tags: @titaniafire @dekahg @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @multi-fandomstan @eridanuswave @royahllty @lozzybowe @izzieserra @melacholy @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @kittenthekat1234567890 @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @coldlilheart |

#zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #atla x reader #atla #avatar the last airbender #secret tunnel #fire lilies #forbidden lovers au

2K notes · View notes