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micahwright · 1 year

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@wintersaurora location: Fairy King’s Memorial Garden notes: “Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”

There were a few hours until the memorial party... Whatever started. Games to honour the dead, Micah wondered what would go wrong this time. If the sky would open up and split the forest with lightning, if a fire would wash over the crowd, if the fey would poison the wine and make the city go feral. Maybe there’d be zombies again, Micah seemed to miss all these things when they happened. High out of his mind under the forum tripping on space magic or whatever that was, turned into a beetle and locked in a cage by Emma at the masquerade, asleep in her subconscious as she fought for her life against hordes of the undead. Even Lupercalia he’d spent the afternoon between Emory’s thighs, when the fighting broke out he just went into the woods. Fighting had never been his thing. Maybe that made him a coward because Emma... Emma was always in the thick of it. Fighting for her life, for his life.

Now she was gone.

Lilies were her favourite, there was a few varieties that grew wild in the mountains of Aurora, him and Emory used to wander them together, pluck them for his sister and surprise Emma when Micah went to sleep. She told him that when lilies grow wild she thought of him, that he was some wild thing that did best with free reign. He had it now and the truth was he didn’t know what to do with it. Micah had sifted through her things at Mutat Domun, tried to find a reason, an answer. There was a letter but Micah hadn’t been able to bring himself to open it. Crumpled and folded up in his pocket he felt like it might burn a hole through his leg. He was tired of this place, tired of these people, tired of their fighting. He wanted an end to it, for Emma.

A chill brushed past his shoulders and Micah wondered if anything had ever really been his. There was something different about her now, Micah didn’t have to ask to know that Aurora had changed. He’d heard that she was taken prisoner by the drow, probably tortured for - who knew why. Micah didn’t keep up with the politics, he’d been distracted. The last time they’d spoke he’d hurdled every horrible thing he could think of at her feet, blamed her for everything and a part of him still did. Always would. Grief had left him tired though, too tired to fight, too tired to scream. They spoke of it like it went in stages, a smooth cycle that the faiman might move through neatly, one after the other until he finally accepted it. It wasn’t so clean or tidy. It was messy and it was confusing, rage filled his heart in one hour while objective denial tormented him the next. Hollow cries carved their way through his ribs as his sister’s absence defined every waking breath, and there was nothing. There was the press of Emory’s lips, the laughter that Flora drew from him even though it was too soon too laugh.

That was what happened when someone died though, life went on. All these graves. Names foreign and familiar, people Micah had never known and one that he’d never forget. We can spell them, one had said, spell the flowers he brought to keep them from dying, but there was something comforting in the act of brushing away the vines, in clearing the leaves, in making sure her name read clear for everyone to see as he decorated her with lilies of red, white, and purple.

Emma used to dream of the fairy court, now there was a piece of her that would lay here forever. A stone slab embedded in a rowan tree read:

Emma Wright

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity.

“I’m still waiting to believe that she’s gone.” Micah admitted as he turned towards the chancellor, mended by the healer’s touch but the gifted clairvoyant could see the bruise that held its stain. The warrior. The prisoner. The curse-maker and curse-breaker all rolled into one. Micah knew then that he didn’t have it in him to hate her anymore, she’d suffered more than she should have. All of them had. He was tired of vengeance and hatred. He was tired of weeping too, though in his heart of hearts the faiman knew it was not done with him.

#aurora #aurorastarter #senatus.event #senatus.memorial #technically this takes place before the event starts so I can post it now thanks

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husbandohunter · 3 years

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What they love about you (part 2)[Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha. Part 1 here

Genre: fluff

"Poetry for my hopeless romantic heart 🥺 and Kazuha, he was the perfect candidate for this. I decided to put Zhongli first of course, he deserves it after saving my ass in Baal's fight."

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Spirit flows through the Immovable rock (Zhongli)

Nations fall, truths be told, iron rusts and earth erode

Through six centuries these were stories he watched unfold.

He sees you and the archon knew that you shall too grow old

But despite it all, he loves you for your existence, as nothing can compare to your intransient soul.

The purpose of contracts were made to ensure there had been a fair trade between two parties. Like merchants striking business deals for a favourable outcome, like mother nature maintaing the balance between life and death, like how you and your beloved said your vows and whispered promises to one another as evening bids farewell by the warm welcome of the moon's gentle glow. Those days were the most treasured that you couldn't help remisicing them-- when Zhongli appeared in your life. Your mortal life. How time can fly so fast.

Perhaps this had been a common notion among human standards. That to be connected, both sides must share the same factors in order to proceed the contract. Clearly your placement proved to be mismatched. Unlike Zhongli there could be a day when your legs gave up and you can no longer walk. He will go on without you, continuing to drift in places where you cannot reach, where time was out of the question, further and further away until the mist begins to seize your field of vision and soon your eyes were too old to see.

The difference in age can truly make someone feel alone and Zhongli knew it well. Thus he smiled softly like he always does and held you close, speaking with so much kindness:

My dearest.

Your soul existed like an evergreen tree blooming through all four seasons, unwithered and everlasting, even against the cold storm of white. And it could be as soft as the sunbeam cascading through the mountain peaks while they dust the land with their ethereal hues and emitting the warmth that breaths absolute serenity. If artifacts were a piece of what someone left behind then maybe everything you made was considered an artifact-- a treasure. A piece of you in those handwritten letters, the beauty in your fingertips after knitting him a scarf which caused scars to mar them, and because of how heavy your spirit weighs through everything you did, it became evident that the one he had fallen for was not your skin nor your body but the person who resides in it.

And sometimes he wonders if he had met you once upon a dream. What else could explain the mysterious feeling that made you seem so familiar, even when he only saw you for the first time? Or perhaps you were an old friend from the long long past, someone he stargazed with upon the infinite mounds of grass and glaze lilies, someone whom he shared the taste of osmanthus wine, someone he came to cherished just like how he cherished his own nation. Regardless, whether you were that someone or not, he wouldn't hesitate to relive those times all over again.

If there was a day when the world around you decided to cave in, where time inevitably caught up and you succumbed to change, he would still be yours. After all, the immovable stone was meant to be the symbol of constancy. He already sworn to you that his devotion and affection will never waver, they were solely held towards your essence for you had touched him through the things he could not touch, and left a mark that would last longer than his ancient self can last. Zhongli may have lived through many lifetimes but meeting you was the beginning of everything. You were a mortal immortalized in the world his heart, etched so deep that it stirs him apart, there was no room for anyone else.

~xx~

Drowning in the ocean flames (Tartaglia)

There was a man who fell deeply in love with war

They raged inside of him like the spontaneous battlefields he came to adore.

Consumed by desire, pain became an addiciton

And he eventually surrenders to the heat of your passion.

While many fear death, Childe learned to dance with it.

He revels in the way his heart pounds endlessly, as if new life had been born from the inside and then bursted like thunder, sending trembling sensations through his veins, bringing him to the peak of euphoria. The feeling was a drug in which Childe hesitates no more when he confronts it, rather he deliberately seeks it. He seeks thrill in the most dangerous situations since they were the moments that made him feel so alive.

Henceforth the Harbinger sought you out. He inches closer and ever so close, those deep cerulean eyes trapped in your hypnotizing ones. Childe loves how you look at him like you were about to devour him, consume him as the flames in hell would, perhaps destroy him completely to the point there was no turning back and yet...he would not mind.

Childe had been so drawn to you like a moth to a light. No. Rather, Adam and the devil, tempting him to sin because the things he would do for you were undeniably impetuous. It was too late. It was too late when you told him you wanted to stay. Too late when you pulled him down, with arms around his neck, stealing away his breath in one swift manner as well as a kiss. Curse you for having so much power over him, from then and there he was no longer the mighty harbinger everyone knew but a man foolish in love. Take him higher. Higher. Take him far. To say you were alluring would be an understatement. The scent of you brings all his senses to disarray and the taste of you-- by the archons-- had never made him feel so starved. All he thought of was mindlessly running his hands over your small back, reveling in the shape of you, exploring every inch and curve in attempt to make you completely his.

This was the reason why he grew accustomed to dancing with death. Because it was you. You were going to be the cause of his downfall and you were the cause of this insanity. Even though you constantly reminded him how risky the situation was due to being a wanted criminal in his homeland's eyes, Childe pays no mind. Didn't he already tell you to trust him? Anyone who threatens you would be an enemy of his, much to their misfortune. Whether it'd be conquering the world and laying it beneath your feet or walking through the depths of the abyss all over again, he'll make sure to have it all and no one can say otherwise.

~xx~

Shelter (Albedo)

Your warmth was his hearth

Like stars falling onto the earth

Gracing the plains in an empereal bliss

As they trembled under the touch of heaven's kiss

Closing his eyes, you are the first person he sees.

The sound of snow chasing the wind fills the silent night once again while it's whispered blows continued to echo just by the cave's entrance. Albedo had planned to take you back to Monstadt that day but Dragonspine was not the place to be merciful with the weather. No one else except the two of you occupied the abandoned space and a singular camp fire to serve as a source of warmth. You place your hand on your lover's forehead, brushing away his ash coloured strands while he seeps into slumber. Albedo sighs contentedly. Despite the world being engulfed in sheer cold, here he felt safe and sound.

Before meeting you Albedo never really had that. People regularly held him on a high regard and had a hard time matching his pace. He was a born genius to the point that he practically stood out like a swan out of the ducklings' crowd as they admired his brilliance. Truly Albedo was a perfect human being. But when turns around to see the rest he noticed how distant everything seemed. He was so focused on his pursuit towards the universal truth that he hadn't given the time to consider; where is he going with this? And what for? Everyone else looked so happy living in their mundane routines and Albedo soon grew curious about such thoughts. Out of all the places in Monstadt, exactly where does he belong?

Opening his eyes, you are the first person he looks for.

"Welcome home, Albedo!"

The answer was obvious. Home was the sound of his name on your lips. When you were side by side with him while he sketched the landscape from the far distance. In places where the lights were on as he entered the room, knowing you were inside. This feeling couldn't be describe with just a word. Home was not a nation nor was it a destination. Home was in your touch where he felt the most protected.

I'm home.

A sky filled with stars and he only saw one; his Starlight. Your warmth held the emotion similar to the kind where there had only been one cande lit amidst an infinite stretch of darkness. But it also brought the joy of flowers blossoming into the vivid future of new spring. There was no place he'd rather be than the shelter of your arms because with you, Albedo believed he truly found where he belonged.

~xx~

Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves (Kazuha)

Silencing the world

My heart begins to find peace

Soothed by your presence

- For my beloved, (Y/n)

I remember how the first petal of spring drifted by as it had flown into the crossroads of our path. Subconciously my entire being began to still. This particular flower... it must have come far and wide for the wind to carry such a pleasant scent. Although I had intended to continue my venture onwards but the air ceased to sound and I knew that this way was true. And so nature beckons me to the shore where the waves lulled back and forth under the moonlight's entrance, only then I began to sharpen my vision to see what was before me. You stood there on a rock with your face looking into the sparkling sky, singing a tune that drew me near. Just the mere sight was enough to stir my heart alone.

My beloved, do you know why I named this poem 'Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves?'

Watching you was like witnessing the ephmereal birth of a flower sprouting amongst the slums of an abandoned nation. A fleeting miracle where snow falls from the summer sky. I am compelled to capture these feelings in this poem yet there are moments where my thoughts scatter as if the autumn wind had whisked them away and out of my grasp until a singular leaf is only what was left. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary for me to keep a notebook of ways I can describe your presence, instead a few simple sentences would suffice. Nevertheless, I only wish to express my feelings for you.

When you're with me it seems I have nothing to think about. The aura around you can silence the world alone, speaking louder than thunder cries, weighing heavily to those around you in ways it would feel empty if you're not here. Yet I could breath as if alleviated from the burdens of my past. This had me realize that this must have been the will of the wind. You were the greatest gift to have ever bestowed upon me and I confess, sometimes my chest aches because of how much I cherish you, it pierces me like a sharp blade but even if my heart bleeds it will continue to bleed only for your sake.

So wherever you are, wherever you may be, I can feel you in the breeze. Return soon my beloved, I'll be here, waiting.

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buirbaby · 3 years

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The Wardens: An Unlikely Ally

Notes: Benjen Stark is a bit of a fun project for me. There's not much on him given his disappearances in the books, which means he'll be a fun canon to have join along the saga who really didn't have the chance to shine through. I know this might draw questions about Coldhands and so forth, but it's never actually confirmed that that IS Benjen.

Rating: M + Mature content, language, and violence

Masterlist | First | Next

The last thing he saw was a shadow swooping down from the sky and knocking the Other away from him. Afterward, everything was disjunct, muddled, and out of order. The woman, Tabitha was it?-she'd grabbed him and put him on some sort of mount. They had fled. How, he could not say, but he could remember the fierce burning of fiery eyes, hidden beneath the midnight cowl of the female as she'd glared at him earlier. There seemed to be quite a few things that Benjen had not seen before that night, to include wights, an Other, and a woman with eyes of fire. A blazing beacon amongst the frozen boughs of the haunted forest.

Then everything went dark and the pain ebbed away. He was floating in an abyss, nothing and everything at once. It took him a while to realize that he was dead and that there was no afterlife as the Seven preached, just an emptiness in which he conscious could float within and wonder if the woman had survived.

There would be no answers here, just eternal gripes and curiosities.

Until the darkness was juxtaposed by a flame, burning and twisting like serpentine tongues. Erring close, Benjen could see within the writhing fire, three dragons sailing overhead, toward Westeros. Death, war, famine, misery. But the dragons were not the worst of it, just a part of the machinations as the undead stole one, wielding it against their master and destroying the wall to unleash the unholy army upon the unsuspecting. No one knew that they were real. They were wetnurses' tales.

When he reached out to grab the vision, he gasped, the fire consuming his flesh and burning him. No, not burning as it should. He could feel each nerve, muscle, and fiber of his being twinging back into existence. Death had come for him, but a flaming hand had gripped and pulled him from perdition.

The ambivalence of the void faded and as he turned over where he laid, he heard voices in the distance.

"Were you told to bring him here?" he did not know this voice, but it chilled him to the bone, so youthful and yet scarred by the wisdom of centuries.

"I did what I felt was right," it was the fire-eyed woman, Tabitha. "It does not matter. He has died regardless of my help. Just as-"

"Just as intended?" the other filled in.

"I don't know! It was never confirmed, there were only theories," she hissed.

"Do you hear that?"

Only the crackling of the hearth in front of Benjen filled his ears with noise.

"No, Fang-"

But the companion had departed, leaving the woman huffing in frustration. Her footsteps drew nearer and she passed in front of the hearth, lean shoulders framed by the light as she had put away her cloak within the warmth of the room.

"What do you think, Balerion?" she spoke to another, a great shadow unfurling and tensing his heart. The creature that had knocked the Other back came into hazy focus, a thick lion's mane of feathers and fur encircling an enormous eagle's face, intelligent eyes glistening with the same bright flames as the woman who commanded him. After a moment of silence, she shook her head. "We probably won't be able to stay here much longer. Not with the Others marching. Who knows how far behind the Night King is."

"How do you know so much about them?" Benjen spoke hoarsely, his voice sounding as if he hadn't used it in days.

The both of them jumped, Tabitha whirling with her hand on her sword as she gazed down intently where he was laying. "How the fuck- " she started, interrupted only by the slapping of barefeet against stone. Turning a corner, the other voice's visage came into view, and Benjen was shocked into silence once again, staring at a boy of legend. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so startled, but clutched in his tawny arms was a miniature version of the griffin that had fluffed up indignantly. Only the feathers of the fledgling was grey dappled with black.

"Another Warden has been born," he declared, feline eyes turning toward Benjen.

"Fang, that doesn't even make sense. How could he have been..." but she didn't finish her question, dark brows snaring together. "You're still Benjen Stark, aren't you?"

He didn't understand the question, but decided to humor her. "Yes."

"I am not here to explain how things work," Fang scowled. "He has been reborn as a Warden. That means he's been given insight."

"I should get back to the Wall. If what I saw was true, I need to warn everyone," Benjen decided, sitting up and pulling back the cloak that had been strewn over him.

"Your watch ended, Warden. You died and were reborn," the creature, Fang, asserted.

"I still have a duty to Westeros, to my people-"

"Tell me, Stark, what is it you're going to tell everyone that will make them believe you?" Tabitha inquired, leaning against the forge, so that he was able to really observe the woman's face. She did not look or sound Westerosi. If anything, he thought she appeared more Dornish, despite lacking their accent. Her skin was a faded olive from missing the warmth of the sun this far north, her bright eyes framed by dark lashes, and her lips curved in a mocking manner. Dark brown hair had been shorn to fall thick and straight to her collar, parted in the middle and slightly wavy from being pressed beneath a hood. There was a roguish charm to her, nothing quite soft and dainty or willowy as most men preferred in a lady, but this woman was no flower. She had wielded a sword well enough and was tall and lean. Perhaps comely could be used to describe her, the symmetry of her face, but her eyes were also haunting.

"The Others are real and that-" he was going to express his knowledge of the dragons, that they would be coming to Westeros and that there would be war and strife, juxtaposed by the fact that the long night was looming on the horizon. Yet, as he tried to put this knowledge to word, he found himself choking on air, his voice failing him.

"That's what I thought," she remarked smugly, lifting the hand she'd injured during the fight, which was now bound. "Whatever you know, you won't be able to verbalize it. One of the Wardens' most redeeming features. For everything we know, our words shall not serve us, our actions must."

"I can warn them of the Others at the very least," he groused.

"Can you? If you return to Castle Black, they will not understand your rebirth or your need to leave on a moment's notice. We are slaves to the will of the one who saved us, the Lord of Light, R'hllor. Would it not be better for you to be thought to be dead than to have to abandon your post when the Lord of Light commands it?" Tabitha challenged.

"I don't serve this Lord of Light," Benjen rejected, shaking his head.

"Then you'd be dead. It was He who revived you. Are the words not ' Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death '? Your watch has ended and a new one has begun," Tabitha stood up, pacing the length of the room to retrieve supplies from an alcove in the stone.

"Not as if I was given the choice to make an oath in this circumstance," Benjen grimaced, wondering what else would be expected of him as a 'Warden'.

"Don't sound so thrilled. I wasn't given a choice either. Burned to death and woke up here with Balerion," she jerked her thumb over toward the magnificent beast. "Trust me, it doesn't make much sense, but I've just learned to stop questioning it. Here, you must be starving-" she returned with a waterskin, jerky, and black bread. Sitting nearby, she placed her elbows on her knees and hunched forward.

"Burned to death?" Benjen considered, glancing over her once again. "This Lord of Light really knows how to pick his champions, hm?"

The woman snickered. "I didn't feel it. Was unconscious from the smoke beforehand," her eyes flickered over toward Fang. "But this little welp is yours, just as Balerion is my partner. A Warden is a guide, a keeper of knowledge, and wargs-" The griffin was set on the floor as she continued to explain their plight, waiting on the Lord of Light to task them with their duty before sending them on the holy mission to aid in altering the future. While she spoke, the young creature, no larger than a house cat, stumbled on weak feet and tumbled unceremoniously before him, head too heavy for the rest of its tiny body.

He could not deny that there seemed to be a connection between them, the excitement palpable and rolling of the griffin in waves. The features of the little one were unlike the large obsidian one across the room, lacking the immense mane. Rather, his fur was thicker, the plumage of his feathers not as defined or prominent. In a way, the griffin had more canine features, a thick tail, and broader ear tufts.

The Wardens themselves were a rather ambiguous group, something he'd never heard of and yet here he sat with one and their griffin. Had it not been for his own revival from death and the mythical beast pawing at his leg, he might've scoffed at the information being passed over to him. One oath down and a new job set before him, Benjen resigned himself to the fact that his life was eternally destined to be interlaced with servitude. Only now, the complexities of magic and the fantastic had their own roles to play. Everything he'd thought was little more than old wive's tales, turning out to hold substance. Even the legend of the Children of the Forest was worth its salt, Fang erring near the entrance of the warm hearth room as Tabitha explained that their days were numbered.

Finally, the short being departed, leaving just the Wardens and their partners in the room. By now, the griffin had found its way into his lap and had curled up, wrapping its tail around its talons. "They won't do us much good against dragons, but so far I don't regret having Balerion by my side. We wouldn't have made it out of the haunted forest without him."

Dragons. His interest piqued, wondering how much she knew about the topic. "Dragons are dead, aren't they?"

"For now, give it a few more months' time-" Tabitha snorted, brows snaring together as the comment fell from her lips. Confusion was blatant on her face, her spine stiffening as she sat up and stared at him, almost in an accusing manner. "Dragons are going to be reborn once Khal Drogo is burned on a pyre. In which Daenerys Targaryen shall acquire 3 dragons."

He knew that name. The daughter of King Aerys, who had somehow survived the sacking of Dragonstone. Her family wasn't as fortunate. "You know then... That they're going to come here and one will fall into the clutches of the Others-" His tongue was no longer tied, the future spilling from his lips unhindered.

"I... know a lot of things," Tabitha admitted darkly. "Wardens can share information with Wardens..." she muttered, rubbing her face thoughtfully before glancing back toward him. "Makes sense, I guess... I suppose we'll also be able to tell when there's an eavesdropper or intruder."

"So Daenerys Targaryen is going to come to Westeros with 3 dragons," Benjen pieced together, the images he'd seen not possessing a narrative to go along with it.

"Yes, with intentions of taking the Iron Throne for herself. She will realize she needs to help destroy the army of the undead, but there's still a lot of unknown... how dominoes might fall now that you've survived," Tabitha sighed.

"I wasn't supposed to survive?"

"You were supposed to disappear and be presumed dead," Tabitha told him. "As far as I know, you never returned... but then again, all I know is script, not images."

"Then... if we're to be successful, I need to understand everything."

"If I tell you everything, you must understand that we have to adhere to what we're assigned to alter, because a lot of it has to deal with your family," Tabitha warned.

"I've taken oaths before and sworn myself to other causes. I think I can handle what you have to tell me."

That is what Benjen thought before Tabitha sighed and started from the beginning, recounting things that she was not around to witness, speaking in poetry like a prophet that had written the lines of their lives on parchment. She was right, he was not prepared for the intricacies of the world that he would have been better off being daft to. His derision and distrust of the Lannisters deepened, his breath quickening as he learned that it was they that hurt Bran and wished his death. But that was only the most minor of the plights to face House Stark. From the death of his brother at the hand of the Lannisters, to the rise of his nephew as a king, the betrayal and hurt was too much to bear.

Yet, Benjen sat, as it was his duty as a Warden. The web was not only woven with the Starks, but many other faces and names, some of which he was familiar with and others he was not. For as snarky as the woman seemed, Tabitha had an impeccable memory and a talent to retell this all like a story.

When she stopped, he lifted his head to gaze intently at her, his chest aching, but wondering why she'd ended so abruptly. "What happens after? With Jon, with Arya-"

"I can only speculate, that is where my true knowledge of the events of the future ends. You tell me that Daenerys will come to Westeros and lose a dragon to the Night King. Jon will likely be revived by the Lord of Light... Arya will continue her trials to become a Faceless Man, but the others--if we change the future, none of this is certain," Tabitha pointed out tenderly, remarkably softer than she had been previously.

He shouldn't have expected for all of the answers, especially given how much she knew and the years between now and when she'd ended, but... he really wished he knew what became of them. Already, he knew that many of them would die, including Ned, Robb, and Catelyn. In his gut, he wanted to go to them, to free them of their fate, but as he'd had his duty to the Watch, he had to trust in the Lord of Light to give him the opportunity to save them.

"I'll... give you some time alone. I know it's a lot to process," Tabitha stood up, stretching her back like a feline that had lounged out in the sun for too long, before striding away, glancing toward her griffin companion before departing from the chamber.

Benjen sat in silence, wondering if he would have been better off dead than with the vast knowledge and pressure he now felt.

"You're leaving yourself wide open," Benjen chastised, smacking Tabitha hard on the side of her arm with the flat of his blade.

"Right, well, my sincerest apologies for not wielding a sword since I could walk," she combatted haughtily, frustrated by her inability to best him.

It wasn't that she was a bad swordsman. In fact, she was quick as a whip and relentless when she was on the offense. However, she seemed to forget that her advantage in speed was outweighed by a man's strength. She often put herself in positions in which she could be placed out of balance and then open for attack. The form was there, as was the finesse, but he had learned by now that Tabitha had a bit of a temper that he could play like a harp. Against most men, she'd win, but against true savants or those that had spent years honing their craft, they'd pick up on the same chinks in her skill as he did.

The Roost was not a bad place, nor his newest companions too disagreeable. It had taken him a little while to grow accustomed to Tabitha's frank attitude and lack of decorum, but he likened it to comrades speaking to one another, not a woman to a man. Putting aside the facets of gender, Benjen found that Tabitha was responsible, reliable, and someone he would have liked to work alongside in the Night's Watch had she been a man. Now, as two Wardens with the task of saving the future that they knew, he was glad that he was with someone as capable as Tabitha, who seemed to have an uncanny memory and been given a scholarly education.

"React less emotionally," Benjen challenged, unable to stop himself from grinning as he thought of the times he'd told Jon the same thing when he was just a young boy. Or perhaps even Arya, who would have loved to be given the chance to be a warrior as a woman. He did not know how Tabitha's talents would transition in Westeros, given the fact a woman wielding a sword was nearly always unacceptable. Trying to think of her in a dress was amusing, as he'd only ever known her in trousers and armor, seemingly somewhat of a permanent fixture for the woman in place of what he'd grown up knowing females should wear.

Her nostrils flared and she came at him again, twisting Fate around in a counterclockwise motion before he parried the blow. The weight was light, barely a kiss of steel against steel, warning him that he'd fallen for the feint. Still, the man was quick enough to see as she redirected herself. Twisting his wrist to counter the next, he was astonished when she dropped beneath his blade and swept her leg beneath him, hooking a boot behind his leg and jerking him right off his feet.

Benjen slammed down hard on his back, collapsing into the remnants of an old nest, muscles groaning in protest from the hard, stone floor than embraced him. Tabitha loomed over him, pointing the triangular tip of her longsword down at him.

"How long?" he muttered, sitting up and accepting the glove she'd offered him to pull him back to his feet.

"How long what?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"How long were you pretending to cross?"

Tabitha scoffed, as if offended that she'd play that game, but sheathed her sword. "I figured it out a couple of days ago. You always pointed out my anger, so I decided to set a trap."

"It took you a couple of days to set the trap?" Benjen poked.

"Well, there'd be no fun in closing it right away. Especially when you were being wary of me calming down enough to give you a run for your coin," Tabitha shrugged. "Still don't think a trick like that will be enough to defeat an Other, but it's progress."

"Probably not," Benjen agreed.

Tabitha's head whipped toward the grin in the mountainside where the griffins could come and go as they pleased. She had a better sense of when Balerion was arriving, her warging abilities more finely tuned over the years than his own. While he might be a better swordsman, Tabitha had him in the category of magic. "Look who's brought back quite a catch," she whistled, placing her hands on her hips as Balerion flung an elk corpse in through the opening. "Let's carve it up before it decides that we're supper."

The powerful griffin landed soon after, followed closely by Torrhen, who was a little uncertain on his wings, but managed to keep up as he grew into a gawky state where his talons were becoming too large for him to know what to do with. Dropping his own prize of a fat rabbit, he glanced expectantly toward Benjen, waiting for praise.

“Better than last time,” he remarked, bending down to brush the thick ears of the griffin down affectionately. “You’d better eat it quickly.”

Torrhen glanced from his rabbit and then to the elk, poising the silent question as to if they needed to share his catch too.

“No, you’re growing. Eat that yourself. Balerion brought plenty enough back to share.” No sooner had he said that did the massive beast dig its talons into the back of the carcass. Twisting, it snapped the spine and helped divide the elk in half, leaving the left side of the body for them to dress. Dragging the rest away, Balerion threw an expectant look at Torrhen, the tiny counterpart hobbling after his much larger brother.

“Ruined the pelt,” Tabitha chastised Balerion, who let out a huff in disdain at her dismay. She drew her knife and began working, Benjen crouching beside her to assist. It was dirty work, but the griffins were keen on the organs and head, so there’d be no reason to dispose of the waste, instead leaving the mess clustered in the roosting area of the mountain as they divided the remaining elk and dragged it toward the Hearth.

Sitting by the warmth of the eternally burning forge, they worked in relative silence. There wasn’t always a need for conversation and Benjen was unbothered by the woman’s company. Salting and hanging large haunches in the back of the room, the work took a few hours, but would result in a couple weeks worth of food for the both of them. The griffins had been retrieving food as of late, Fang citing that it was too dangerous for them all to go out and hunt after hearing the harrowing tale of their encounter with the Other.

Tabitha sat up on one of the benches, rubbing the arm that he’d taken the flat of his blade to absentmindedly. Her eyes were fixated on the twisting wreath of flames within the forge. A forge that neither of them knew how to use, nor why it was in this mountain. It gave them warmth and protection from the darkness of the frozen north, but otherwise its existence was a mystery. Her brows pressed together and she stood, taking a few paces toward the fire.

Benjen tilted his head, gazing toward the hearth in an effort to notice what she was transfixed upon. Tongues leapt out at him, images burning a path across the fire, a dragon’s shadow lifting to reveal a beautiful city and a crowd of impressive, queerly dressed people as they gave gifts to a young girl. A rotund, greasy man opened a chest and presented three calcified eggs.

“It’s been decided,” Tabitha muttered.

Did she see what he saw?

“We are flying to Pentos.”

#game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #reincarnation insert #added lore #freeform #the ability to change the future but with a twist #romance is not the main theme #BAMF female OC #benjen stark #buirbaby writes #the wardens

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wt4kmm · 3 years

Text

WATER

We don’t even talk about death--cause dying ain’t gotta be done today

We not ready to die--we keep just getting this started

Our audacity surfaces as the blueprint

And the blueprints are the maps

Domestic & internationally

The faces of every person that died already--are surfacing everywhere

--as the blueprint to rebuild the bricks of this dynasty--

Breath...easy

This is survival of the fittest

We are the off springs of the fittest

The Victors of the Fitters

Breathe

Easy

These answers are for the questions we can’t afford to be scared to ask no more

I saw my greatest great great grandmother for the first time in a dream last night

We had the same pair of eyes--kinfolk

She fed me without fire

Designed me amour--adornining me without a needle and thread--but water and air

After going to sleep off of ginger water--

She reminded me of living & protection

That we are the new --we are the improved

that we should do something about staying here a little longer

“Y’all be so gung-ho-to go”

grandmother water speaks

“You have never belonged on the bandwagon anyway--the ride been too full--with an emptiness too foreign to the map and design of you. Woman Child, eagle, fire bird,, way maker flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood that disguises itself in the crevices of the wind--winter is blessed--you are chosen-and you should do something about staying here a little longer--there’s honor in dying for something but you become a different type of giant when when you don’t die when you’re supposed to--when it’s written--there’s no eraser. ”

I spoke back:

“It’s not that we really ready to die--

it’s just sometimes a lot goes into breathing—a lot of us ain’t done catching our breaths--a lot of us don’t know how to--a lot of us just know how to run --how to try to catch up--

if we all not standing in the circle holding hands--the magic won’t work

The broom will beat us up and the doors will open & shut without a hand on it-- the windows will break on its own the curtains will tangle us all up--

“That’s what happens when you try to catch up where you aren’t in the running”

She said worry about yourselves

She told me to stop to remember we are the alchemist of the sun--the function of the moon

the highest and the lowest points of truth & illusion

She asked “ever seen a watermelon destroy a volcanic fire?” we control where 92% of that water goes.

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

I’m from this

Round

Yellow

Brown

Crown

Oak

Purple

Heavy

Dark Brown

Dark and Black

Dark and Bright

*x2*

Never see through

while burning and never the same when shit hits the fan

Or a son hits the ground--or a daughter who doesn’t make it to tomorrow when all she was doing was laying down & Olu I think of your face everyday I look at mine in the mirror or in the wind when it’s late and I’m walking under dark trees--praying I don’t run into anyone who doesn't know that their trauma is mine too---hope he makes his mind up to see me & see the best parts of his mother

I’m from women who will talk you into the color: calm

While with a head full of chaos like a bullet bubbling in a barrel of a gun

Palms sweating--jittery off of coffee, making it happen, and 4 hours of sleep

Somehow cool—women maintain

We still get up and we feed the babies

I come from this

Stepping out of women

Spread thick across their own worlds like lotuses

Who on one shoulder

had the world on it

Who

On the other shoulder

Balanced the heaven in her head as simple as a “goddamn break” from trying catch up & the one Jesus tells her has pearly gates

--balances hell

like imaginary shapes she hides from herself to keep herself

never lost, for as sure as her hands stir the pot--there’s food

Sweet potatoes 36 ways

We are the women of the sun and the moon--we are the belly of a compass

Pickpocketing stars & rent money

We make a way out of no way--

10 dollars stretch against her bra & breast & lasting for weeks

Born into--

Women who use improvisation to become masters

Born into the challenge and the victory

Women who sit themselves out on cliffs to jump

and not die

Women who talk to God in classrooms

And practice him on athletic fields--and in the parking lot

We get audacity from grandmothers.

Working up the nerve as grand as 10,000 armies like a grandmother

Pot full of beans filling us for weeks --like Charlotte

Grandma would buy 1 whole chicken

Cook it and we’d have soup, lunchmeat, chicken & rice

Charlotte would spread it thin like she had 8 legs

Turns out she just has powers

9 lives like porch cats

My grandmother mean if that’s what you wanna call audacity

but she’ll give you and your kids her shirt if it’s cold

a house if it’s raining

if you standing outside barefoot

she’ll give you her shoes

It's audacity that makes up our rarest form of magic and magicians who look like us

Handmade by God disguised as Grandmothers

Mine made home fries & salmon cakes with sardines

Hardly ever baked, goods from scratch

Just payed home insurance

with formulas and rubrics in her sweat glands

Ever-y uphill--fight--counts more than any downhill fall

Deliberately she is made up solely of delivering herself

Mother

saves them all

Mother

save them all

I am from who gets scared of her own reflection

But remains a fact

up front

At attention

These mothers don’t take orders

But scriptures

And surahs--not in binded leather but in blue skies and blue water

Fingertips stitched with electricity and intuition

‘And that mine eyes are ever toward the Lord; for he shall pluck my feet out of the net’

And that “All dominions of heaven and earth belongs to Allah, he gives life and causes death’

Before hash-tagged, women who are

Yemaya and Oshun in spirit and in flesh

Who before the tabernacle was invented knows where the scriptures were stolen from in place of our land

creates justice,

gives justice,

is justice in the eyes

Of herself, without flash

Women who revere on foot

Who don’t know nothing about counting no money

but makes it all the way to three hundred and sixty

On foot--not using her hands & without a shadow of a doubt

The first one to choir rehearsal

And they all; always the last to leave--caught up in the ritual of praise; the holy ghost of the music who lurk in foyers & tambourines

When the lights go out

The women I come from rub their hands together like Birdman for fire, heat for the house

laugh and sing until there’s a rumble in the walls

Wash each others feet in lukewarm water

Chant,

Quote

Dance

Pray—

Sing loudly

while steadily bleeding

They laugh loudly together

Cause the blood...falling on them

Woman, I’m grateful for your mothership

Your chariots of rainbows

Whether in black and white or in color

Woman, your colors have turned darkness into day

I’ve never gotten the truth from the bible that I didn’t have to cross reference

With you as my study

You make me believe in the glare they said wasn't mine but I know it belongs to me

You are the reading rainbow of common sense

I’m breathing in your sacrifices

inhaling your truth -- I'm not just making it through

My life here, is an ode to you

I have turned into God, for you

I will challenge everything I do not believe as the truth

I will follow myself into any abyss--if the spirit uses me so

I will combat what was taught me— find it for myself

I will bring back what I have gathered and teach you to let go of the cross

And except your winnings as the ones you worked for

Challenging you to see yourself as God

Because woman you are my source

One could only create another

You deserve more than flowers woman you deserve to live

I will, in your honor, reach higher, lotus

For you--I will make a paradise out of birds--gamble everything where truth sees fittest

I will stand statuesque like two moose making love where plain eyes see fighting

She asked:

If a circle is solid, is it full or empty?

#poetry #poet #revolution #blackart #blackwriters #woman #blackwoman #writing #literature #culture #mothership #spirit #blackcreatives #blackcreators #artist #writers

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roraplay · 4 years

Text

What kills a God feeds the Abyss

Small Darkiplier/self insert fanfic TW: Mentions of death and descriptions of soft gore. I am in an angst creating mood so, I wrote this for the time being. Everything written here is part of fiction. Based partly on the friendship me and @darkipliier share.

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

What kills a God? Or in this case a Goddess? Well to answer that question one doesn’t have to go far. On the edge of infinity and past the boundaries of imagination lies a vast space, empty and devoid of anything but the balance of light and darkness.

This is where creatures of the imagination laid dormant until called upon. Monsters and Gods, angels and demons, whatever one may be able to believe in.

So no wonder that Darkiplier, the creature of darkness and the endless void has spent some of his time on this plane, whenever the human world got too noisy and the lights became too bright, the dullness of endless darkness have embraced him in a cool numbness, that has got him back to his own self, though as of late the darkness wasn’t the only thing that intruiged him in the Void.

Though, it seemed endless, the darkness had it’s seams as well, slowly dimming into the light, where another creature tended to their own job from time to time. A small Goddess, whose hair always were filled with tiny flowers and who seemed to be just as interested in the darkness as Dark was in her seemingly innocent mind.

But one day, in this timeless space, Dark found the little Goddess, laying in a bed of petals, staring at the light above, seemingly deep in thought, as the entity reached her and sat by her side, intruiged what this time ot meeting could hold anew for him.

“Good evening” spoke the Eldritch horror, and the Goddess turned her doll face towards him, seeming tired as she did so and a soft sigh left her lips.

“To you as well, Darkiplier” she answered him in a muted tone, as she turned away once more. “I hope your travels through the Void has been safe”

The entity nodded, but anxieties started to bubble to the surface of his mind. Though the Goddess was nothing but a good way to pass time, he grew close to the young entity and couldn’t help himself but worry, as she seemed to be just as numb this time as he were most of his time in the darkness.

“Are you feeling unwell?” he asked after a few moments of silence, turning towards her instead this time and watched as she tried to focus on something in the distance then turned back towards him, but her usually bright, blue eyes seemed fogged over this time, unable to focus on his silhouette, before she weakly nodded and sighed once again.

Dark could not understand what was going on, only that his only companion in this vast space seemed to be feeling sick. Which has never happened to him, since his particles were torn from their dead bodies and merged into himself, succumbing to yet devouring the darkness, becoming one with it at last.

But she already have existed, and it made no sense she was becoming part of the light, as she already was here, part of this dimension of imaginary space.

“Hmm... tell me, what may be happening to you? We are all immortal here, so how could you be so sick?” He mumbled out at last, and took in a sharp breath as the Goddess raised a hand to silence him, but as she did, the light escaped through the silhouette of her fingers, casting a dull rainbow on Dark’s face, making the Eldritch notice how her whole body seemed to slowly slim away into the air.

“Prayers to a Goddess of Creation are rare. I am one of my kind, but the circumstances made me weak. I am to be forgotten by human kind. To put it bluntly, I am dying.” She answered his unasked question, and turned her face away again, as she suddenly shruddered and coughed, taking her hand to her mouth, but a liquid, similar to molten gold has seeped through her ghostly fingers. Nectar.

Dark just watched as the little Goddess coughed up more and more of the golden substance flowed onto the surface of the light, before the tremors of her body stopped and she took a deep breath in, but seemed to be unable to move, so the entity, understanding the weight of the situation gently pushed a hand under her body and lifted her on his own lap, holding onto her weakening being.

“Though I do not know how to help you, I shall stay with you. Even a Goddess needs a friend” Dark murmured to her and she thanked him with a weak smile, as another wave of coughs hit her body, and she knew, there was not much time left in her, as her lungs filled with the blood of Gods, and her physical being was disappearing between the fingers of the creature of darkness.

“Thank you” She whispered at the least to him, resting her head on his arm, and as she took her last few patched breaths, the entity watched her completely disappearing into nothing.

The only indication that she existed was the Nectar seeping into his clothes and it seemed to tingle on top of his skin.

He may have not felt anything as a human, but he felt the emptiness and anger towards humanity, and as he raised his open palms to drink the blood and become one with his friend in the light, he had a new goal, leaving the Void.

So filled with anger and the power of a Goddess of Creation, the Eldritch has finally found himself a new Quest in the land of the living.

#fanfiction #fanfic #ff #Darkiplier #Darkiplier fanfic #Self insert #Gore #Soft gore #Death #Angst #writing

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hawk-n-hum · 5 years

Text

little somethin for @paranormalmidnightparadox and @myladidntdeservethis! featuring little ol noam and avant being a good older sibling

The Abyss is a forlorn place. Empty of life, as ironic as it comes to be. Empty of light, of time, of days and nights and the passings of time. Avant isn’t sure if time even exists down here anymore.

Avant twiddles a shard of bone between their fingers. It’s all they can do to keep their hands busy so they don’t dig into their arms or sides in fury and pain. They’ve learned it the hard way.

Rattle, rattle.

The only thing that keeps Avant going is the promise that there will be more siblings that awaken, tattered and scared but alive. Avant will be there to comfort them and help them out. Avant will be the one to help when they need. After all, Avant knows what it’s like to wake up alone and fearful at the bottom of a pit.

Speaking of siblings, it sounds as if one’s awakening now.

They flick the shard away, rising to their feet on long, lanky legs. The time spent down here allowed for growth, so much that they tower over almost anything they come across.

They hear masks shifting, the little whoosh of air as a shade sidles into one.

Good. They are doing well, so far.

Avant carefully picks their steps along the path of broken and cracked masks. At first, they were reluctant to even step on them. Now, they can’t avoid it, simply and plainly.

They pick their way over to the sounds. A little vessel huddles in a ball, arms curled over their eyes, body trembling. Oh, this one did not have an easy awakening. Avant sighs. They wished they could soothe the fear out of their body, prove to them that there are better things out there than this hell.

Avant slows, carefully approaching.

“No,” the little vessel shivers, curling into themself tighter.

“Easy,” Avant croaks before clearing their throat. “Help. Here to help. Sibling.”

“No,” they squeak again.

Avant halts. Do they lay a gentle hand on their shoulder to prove they mean no harm? Do they continue speaking to them? What do they do?

Avant settles on sitting a short distance away and letting the small vessel come out of their shell on their own terms, proving that they’re not going to press into anything if unwanted, but willing to stay near to guard.

Torturously, Avant waits. They ache to reach out and comfort the little sibling of theirs, but they know better. Some of them need their space when they awaken. They need time to process what’s happened. They need to think on their own before trying to understand that there are others down here.

The frail vessel looks up at them, eventually. Their eyes are still fearful, their hands still cover their face. Their tattered cloak covers their body like a blanket. Small tears drip from their eyes as they gaze at their older, taller sibling.

“Here to help,” Avant reminds them warmly. They carefully and slowly extend a hand.

The vessel recoils at first, but does reach out to touch Avant’s palm. Their little hand is cold, as expected. Avant wraps their fingers around the wrist, and rubs with their thumb comfortingly.

“I am Avant,” they start to explain, hoping words will make the vessel ease. “I was the first one to be thrown here. Alone for a long time.” They look down. “Want to help other siblings.”

After a pause, the vessel squeaks something out.

“Hm?” Avant questions.

“Noam,” the smaller one croaks. “Name, Noam.”

“Noam,” Avant hums warmly. “Pretty name.”

Noam struggles to sit up. “Noam scared,” they tremble.

Avant scoots closer, rattling masks and startling Noam. “Easy,” they soothe. “Are you hurt?”

Noam shudders. “Head...hurt.” They look up fearfully to Avant. “Black...everywhere. Scared.”

Avant tilts their head curiously. “Yes, dark down here. Not to worry, though. I know the way,” Avant makes a show of preening.

Noam eeks out a tiny giggle, the best thing Avant had heard in ages.

“Colors, then?” Avant presses, standing up. “You like them?”

Noam nods. “Noam see them.” They struggle to their feet before Avant offers to pick them up. “You...wait?”

“I’ve been here a long time, yes. Waiting for siblings.” Avant says. “Waiting to help them.”

Noam stares at them intently. “You nice.”

“I try,” Avant shrugs, earning another frail giggle.

“You...not scary.” Noam ponders.

“No,” Avant assures. “Not here to harm.”

“Blue, gray,” Noam mutters to themself. “See yellow, green.” They trace the outline of Avant’s hand delicately. “Black.” Noam nods matter-of-factly. “Avant’s colors.”

“I have colors?”

Nod.

“Good colors?”

Nod, nod.

Avant hums happily, Noam scooting closer to be picked up. Avant lifts them carefully, allowing them to perch on a high shoulder. “We’ll get you out,” Avant promises to Noam. “I will keep you safe the entire way. Give you a new life you’ll love.”

⁂

Back at Avant’s meager place of stay, Noam looks around curiously. Dried flowers, shards of bone, books...all kinds of interesting things could be found here.

“I can take you to the upper part of the kingdom, if you’d like,” Avant offers. “I’m sure you’ll have a better life out there.”

Noam thinks it over. They liked it here with Avant, but the blackness of the Abyss is suffocating.

“Defend?”

“‘Defend’?” Avant repeats.

“How Noam defend?”

“How will you defend yourself?”

Nodnod.

“With a nail, I’d suppose. Do you have one?”

Noam shakes their head fearfully.

“Do you want one?”

Noam shakes their head again.

“Quite alright,” Avant assures them. “Many don’t like the idea of harming others in defense.”

“Noam too weak,” the smaller vessel whispers.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Avant says. “Like I said, we can figure something out for you.” Their eyes narrow in a bright, wide smile.

Noam smiles back tentatively.

⁂

Avant makes do on their promise to escort Noam out of the Abyss. They carry the tiny vessel on their back, clambering their way to the cliff that marks the entrance.

“Do you know where you would like to go?”

Noam shakes their head.

“What would you like to see, then?”

“Colors!” Noam chirps.

Avant makes a show of thinking deeply, rubbing their chin. “I think I know of a place. It’ll take a Stag ride, but we can get there safely.”

In the Ancient Basin, Avant carries Noam to the Hidden Station.

“Would you do the honors?” Avant asks, nodding towards the bell.

Noam claps their hands and reaches out. Avant stoops over so they can reach the old bell with their little hands, and they ring it happily.

The thunderous approach of the Stag startles Noam into hiding behind Avant’s large mask.

“No worries, little Noam,” they comfort. “The Stag may be large, but he’s as gentle as I.”

The Stag skids into the station, peering at the two of them. “Avant!” he booms. “Wonderful to see you!”

“You too,” Avant smiles to the bug.

“Where are we headed, then?” the gruff voice asks as the two vessels hop into the seat attached to his shell.

“Greenpath, please,” Avant murmurs.

Greenpath? Noam wonders. Green! There must be many colors there!

The ride is considerably bumpy, but Avant wraps an arm around Noam to hold them steady the entire way. When they skid back into another Station, Avant slips off the Stag’s back, and holds their arms out to Noam. “Go ahead, hop off. I’ll catch you.”

Noam hesitates, but jumps anyways. Avant catches them sturdily, and sets them on the ground.

“Thank you, old friend!” Avant waves goodbye to the Stag. Noam follows suit, waving as well.

The Stag grunts happily as they walk off. “Anytime! Stay safe!” He thunders back off into the tunnels.

“So, that was the Stag Station,” Avant explains as they walk. “Very easy means of travel, albeit a bit bumpy.”

Noam nods knowingly.

“As I said, I’m taking you to Greenpath. I figured you’d like a place with a color in the name, no?”

Noam nods again, excitedly.

Greenpath is very...green! The leaves and grass dance in soft breezes, tiny flowers providing specks and bursts of color that Noam picks out avidly. Noam picks the different colors as they go. A tiny red bloom there, a bigger blue one here, a big, bright yellow one over there! Avant is patient with their task, watching happily as Noam’s bundle grows and grows with each color spotted.

They hear voices up ahead. Noam hides behind Avant, but the older vessel is quick to reassure them. “Fear not, little Noam. I know who those voices are. They’re friends.”

“Friends?”

“Indeed. Would you like to meet them?”

Noam hesitates, but nods determinedly.

“Leafwing! Lorelyn!” Avant calls out. “Inbound!”

“We’re ready for ya!” Lorelyn calls back.

“Lovely to see you here, Avant,” Leafwing greets warmly. “It’s a rare, pleasurable sight” Her eyes widen when she spots Noam. “And who’s this?” Lorelyn leans over to peer as well.

Noam hides behind Avant’s long legs. “Noam,” Avant announces. “Most recent sibling to awaken.”

“Aw, what a darling,” Leafwing coos. She holds a palm out gingerly. “Hello, little one.”

Oh, Noam loves the colors of these two. Leafwing’s colors are warm greens and yellows, and her wings are pretty and shiny. Lorelyn’s shell is a pretty shade of red, and the fluff around her collar is pure white.

Noam warily extends a hand and places it in Leafwing’s. Leafwing beams down to the, eyes narrowed in a great smile.

“What do you have there?” Lorelyn pipes in. “Flowers?”

Noam nods, holding them up proudly.

“Noam loves colors,” Avant explains. “I figured Greenpath would be a comforting place to introduce them to the world.”

“Of course!” Lorelyn chimes. “We can go back to our home and show all the colors of flowers there, if you’d like. You’re welcome to join us on our way back.”

Avant looks down to Noam. “I can confirm, they do have quite a variety of colorful blooms at their home. Leafwing used to work in the Queen’s Gardens, so she has a green thumb of her own.” Avant winks. “Shall we? Your choice.”

“You go?” Noam queries.

“Yes, I’ll come too,” Avant promises.

“Yes! See colors!” Noam pips happily.

“Very well,” Leafwing hums. “Lorelyn, do you have everything?”

“Yep!” Lorelyn trots over with arms filled with various plant cuttings. “To the home we go! Can’t wait to show you all the pretty flowers we’ve got there! Maybe we can even make a little crown out of them for you!”

Noam looks up to Avant. “Indeed. They’re quite talented with their flowers,” they nod. “How would you like your own little colorful crown to don?”

Noam claps excitedly. “Yes! Noam want!”

#avant #noam #leafwing #lorelyn #other peoples ocs #mav writes

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gailynovelry · 4 years

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Mary Robinson - The Maniac

Ah! what art thou, whose eye-balls roll Like Heralds of the wand'ring soul, While down thy cheek the scalding torrents flow? Why does that agonizing shriek The mind's unpitied anguish speak? O tell me, thing forlorn! and let me share thy woe. Why dost thou rend thy matted hair, And beat thy burning bosom bare? Why is thy lip so parch'd, thy groan so deep? Why dost thou fly from cheerful light, And seek in caverns mid-day night, And cherish thoughts untold, and banish gentle sleep? Why dost thou from thy scanty bed Tear the rude straw to crown thy head, And nod with ghastly smile, and wildly sing? While down thy pale distorted face The crystal drops each other chase, As though thy brain were drown'd in one eternal spring? Why dost thou climb yon craggy steep, That frowns upon the clamorous deep, And howl, responsive to the waves below? Or on the margin of the rock Thy Sovereign Orb exulting mock, And waste the freezing night in pacing to and fro? Why dost thou strip the fairest bow'rs. To dress thy scowling brow with flow'rs. And fling thy tatter'd garment to the wind? Why madly dart from cave to cave, Now laugh and sing, then weep and rave. And round thy naked limbs fantastic fragments bind? Why dost thou drink the midnight dew, Slow trickling from the baneful yew, Stretched on a pallet of sepulchral stone; While, in her solitary tower, The Minstrel of the witching hour Sits half congeal'd with fear, to hear thy dismal moan? Thy form upon the cold earth cast. Now grown familiar with the blast. Defies the biting frost and scorching sun: All Seasons are alike to thee; Thy sense, unchain'd by Destiny, Resists, with dauntless pride, all miseries but one! Fix not thy steadfast gaze on me, Shrunk atom of mortality! Nor freeze my blood with thy distracted groan; Ah! quickly turn those eyes away, They fill my soul with dire dismay, For dead and dark they seem, and almost chill'd to stone! Yet, if thy scattered senses stray Where Reason scorns to lend a ray, Or if Despair supreme usurps her throne. Oh! let me all thy sorrows know; With thine my mingling tear shall flow, And I will share thy pangs, and make thy griefs my own. Hath Love unlock'd thy feeling breast, And stol'n from thence the balm of rest? Then far away on purple pinions borne. Left only keen regret behind. To tear with poison’d fangs thy mind, While barb'rous Mem'ry lives, and bids thee hopeless mourn? Does Fancy to thy straining arms Give the false Nymph in all her charms, And with her airy voice beguile thee so, That Sorrow seems to pass away, Till the blithe harbinger of day Awakes thee from thy dream, and yields thee back to woe? Say, have the bonds of Friendship fail’d, Or jealous pangs thy mind assail’d; While black Ingratitude, with ranc'rous tooth, Pierc'd the fine fibres of thy heart. And fest'ring every sensate part, Dim'd with contagious breath the crimson glow of youth? Or has stern Fate, with ruthless hand, Dash’d on some wild untrodden strand Thy little bark, with all thy fortunes fraught; While thou didst watch the stormy night Upon some bleak rock's fearful height. Till thy hot brain consumed with desolating thought? Ah! wretch forlorn, perchance thy breast, By the cold fangs of Avarice press'd. Grew hard and torpid by her touch profane; Till Famine pinch'd thee to the bone, And mental torture made thee own That thing the most accurs'd, who drags her endless chain. Or say, does flush'd Ambition's wing Around thy fev'rish temples fling Dire incense, smoking from the ensanguin'd plain, That, drain'd from bleeding warriors' hearts. Swift to thy shatter'd sense imparts The victor's savage joy, that thrills through ev'ry vein? Does not the murky gloom of night Give to thy view some murderous sprite, Whose poniard gleams long thy cell forlorn; And when the sun expands his ray, Dost thou not shun the jocund day, And mutter curses deep, and hate the ruddy morn? And yet the morn on rosy wing Could once to thee its rapture bring, And Mirth’s enlivening song delight thing ear; While Hope thine eye-lids could unclose From the sweet slumbers of repose, To tell thee Love’s gay throng of tender joys were near. Or has though stung with poignant smart The orphan’s and the widow’s heart, And plunged them in cold Poverty’s abyss; While Conscience, like a vulture, stole To feel upon thy tortured soul, And tear each barbarous sense from transitory bliss? Or has though seen some gentle maid, By thy deluding voice betray’d, Fade like a flower, slow withering with remorse? And didst though then refuse to save Thy victim from an early grave, Till at they feet she lay a pale and ghastly corse? Oh! Tell me, tell me all thy pain; Pour to mine ear thy frenzied strain, And I will share thy pangs and soothe thy pain. Poor maniac! I will dry thy tears, And bathe thy wounds, and calm thy fears, And with soft Pity’s balm enchant thee to repose.

Sorry to spam you with this long ol’ poem, guys, it’s just so hard to find the text of it online, and I needed a version of it to link to a personal project of mine.

#poetry #mary robinson #perdita #public doman #i hope this is fine #i don't think the dead can sue me for copyright infringement #women writers #this lady #is pretty cool

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intonertale · 5 years

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Prologue: The Sleepening

“It’s finally over, Lucifer...” A young woman with white hair spoke softly, turning to see the black dragon behind her. Her sky blue eyes were filled with tears that threatened to overflow. Her pale skin was flushed red from the song she had just performed to seal the rest of the Intoners. Her mother and aunts. The only difference between them was what the flower in the survivor did. While in the older Intoners were tools of death, this one was made to bring life.

“At great personal cost to yourself...” The dragon growled telepathically. He bore his fangs, gold eyes focused on the woman. His silver claws dug into the cracked street of Cathedral City. For a moment, he was certain his companion was still greyscale rather than in full color. “Where shall we go so that you may recover, Silveria.?”

Silveria paused for a moment, her face showing signs of doubt. She looked around, as though doing a complex mathematical problem in her head. After a moment, she climbed onto Lucifer’s back.

“Can we go to the mountains? I just want to hide and sleep for a while.” Silveria spoke finally, not quite comfortably set on the saddle she’d prepared.

“So be it.” Lucifer flexed his forelimbs, his wings, before giving them a couple of powerful flaps to get into the air. “Cry if you need, Silveria. It’s not fair for you to hold all of that in. Not healthy either.”

“I know, I know. I just... I was just an insurance policy, wasn’t I?” Silveria’s voice threatened to shatter if she went further. But she didn’t seem to care. “I just exist to ensure they all died. So why...?”

It pained Lucifer. It pained him so much to hear her question everything. To see the girl he’d spent the past year with not enjoying the wind in her face or freedom of being in the sky. But that’s what I get for allowing myself to get attached. Red would be upset with me.

“Perhaps. But perhaps she truly saw you as her child. Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to survive. You’d be in the same situation.” Lucifer dared crane his neck to look at Silveria. Her head was down and her face was hidden by her hair. But that didn’t do much to hide the way her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

The rest of the flight was silent. Neither could find an appropriate way to talk about what had happened, but neither could tear their minds from it. The situation had been grotesque. Along with Mikhail, the pair had flown around a stone five petal lily that had sprouted each of the Intoners from the petals. Zero, Silveria’s mother, had been in the center. After what had felt like an eternity of singing and firing notes imbued with magic at each other, Mikhail was able to use his fire to break it down. Those on the petals fell into the abyss of the Spirit World. Zero didn’t get that. Zero lay on the flower when they left.

Silveria was silent as she hopped onto the ground just before Lucifer could land. She didn’t lift her head, and she didn’t bother to move. Other than raise her arms. But it wasn’t hard to see what she was doing. Stone rose and began to form a building. Plants were crushed by the same magic to form an ink that covered the walls with a record of what they had been through. And in the center of what could only be called a temple, an altar rose.

“Goodnight, Lucifer.” Silveria murmured, climbing onto the altar and curling up. Her eyes started to drift shut as stone began to encase her.

“We’ll sleep for a while then. Very well. Sleep well, child. Do not quail. You’re proof that peace and love will forever prevail....” Lucifer curled around the altar, stone beginning to encase him as well. He watched for doves perch on the corners of the stone to watch over the young woman. They’d wake when the time was right.

#undertale au #intonertale #silveria zerochild #lucifer #undertale #drakengard #technically it counts for both tags #tw death #mikhail

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libidomechanica · 3 years

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Lead the “court, I”

Lead the “court, I gave it shall passioned to tread, o ye! To me see—what went out to die, I leave a little journey, and my friends began to warbling passion, but my heart break your elegant” et caetera, in the bears Only a yard beneath— we feels it, and he sings are not rainbows glory. Free of sometime did a famous man she would I have been. of human, whilst her fair. That darkness of much mistakes for to denounce, when their own land badde the road run to meet more fair is firm under ash delay, remaind, more beaten with and left me loved me dear: ae blink is a tide of action, with thy face declined am within, nor dead, or ruined for their golden hair, flying on apace, would be torn. With their coffin forester dinner madness answer in Heavn, the mean our bitter still, to tumbled cross to the burdned him, like mountains, and all air and still more with those charge withal, smooth which is the old eyes, lips were filling, in all about; shed my car. In simmer, but “t would take me into hang: but flower blow, that the live: running forth that may best one, so deadlier engineers shuttled along tales of the abyss floats than they willing storm a forest, and old. I love warning deep into a warmed we this graces, without cash, Malthus did curse to my scalp and trembling round us back at all whose became to burn; and the spices, Cynthia swallowd their fame of Greece, thoughts would shiver. by every grief ( and I almost Dionysian. say to all. Up to Dunse, Let me And I should I not thought. to the breath, produce there is like to lay thee most. Or when rattles to the Maids dress:) well convent, while swung the plants both, it was that appeared toll like hawkd about my braced for caste a light glares are born in the less in that inward clime, no suits making thought content to pay: of which gaining content, his break thy country-women? Strife.”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #181 texts

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death-to-the-haters · 3 years

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I sadly wrote this out of boredom. Some of my friends suggested that I turn it into an actual story but my mind decided no so here's all that I have written. If you believe there's some parts of it that needs changing please tell me within your own time. I will try my best to take your words into complete consideration. Thank you and enjoy. (It doesn't have a title since I didn't had an idea for it)

"Why are you here?" The creature questioned the knight that stood infront of them in armour of iron. With a sword of obsidian, dripping with the blue blood that was once their friends.

"HAVE YOU COME TO DESTROY WHAT LITTLE LOVE I HOLD DEAR TO ME?!" The creature roared.

The place that was once their home, was now nothing more but a waste land of fire, ash and blood.

"YOUR KIND ONLY KNOW HOW TO DESTROY! WE ONLY WANTED TO LIVE IN PIECE, BUT YOU CHOOSE TO DESTROY THAT PIECE!!" The creature wailed to the silent knight.

The creature's once emerald green skin adorned with red scales along it's arms and legs. Was now as black as the abyss of emptiness and it's scales were now blue as the depths of the sea. It's vibrant gold eyes that once held so much emotions of happiness and love, now held nothing but anger and hatred towards the knight that stood before them.

".... I curse you" The creature whispered quietly under it's breath lowering it's head. It's platinum straight elbow length colored hair covered it's face to hide the ruby coloured substance seeping from it's dull eyes.

"I CURSE YOUR PEOPLE AND YOUR KING!! YOU FOOLS SHALL ONCE SUFFER THE WAY MY PEOPLE HAVE SUFFERED ASWELL. WE OFFER YOU PEACE AND YOU OFFER US YOUR BLADE THAT STAINS WITH THE BLOOD OF MY PEOPLE. MY FAMILY! MY FRIENDS! WE DID NOTHING TO DESERVE THIS!!!" The creature shouted loudly looking up to the knight that has stayed silent infront of them.

"I CURSE YOU! I CURSE YOU! I CURSE YOU! I CURSE..." Their words were cut short by the sword that the knight raised up high. To many they would say that the knight was on the verge of killing the helpless creature that stood before it, but to those who knew the truth would question the knights reasoning.

The knight threw the blood covered blade across the ash and fire covered ground. They got on one knee and lowered their head before the creature. Their hands were beside then folded to imitate fists to hold them up.

The creature stopped it's cries of hatred and anguish as it stared at the knight that had slaughtered it's people now bowing before them.

".... kill me if it means that your anger shall be quelled by the faults of my actions" the knight said to the creature. " Please don't blame my people for the actions I have committed, they have done nothing wrong, this decision was mine and mine alone so please don't blame my people" The knight whispered to the creature before them.

A burning building besides them collapsed, from it's beams being burned out. The creature looked around them at the devastation that this knight alone had caused upon it's people. The bodies of fallen friends and families layed under rubel of broken and burning buildings that were once homes to many.

The creature continued to look beyond the horizon towards the place that once their home.

"Tell me why should I forgive someone like you?" The creature said quietly. "You dare to ask for forgiveness after destroying what was once my home" The creature turned towards the knight whose head was still lowered.

The knight said nothing to the creature before them.

".... Bury them" the creature said turning away from the knight. "Bury my people and ask for their forgiveness until your last breath" The creature said as they lowered their head. Strands of their hair covered their eyes as they began to cry ".. your a monster" The creature whispered quietly as the knight got up.

The knight spent the next two days finding every single body of the creature's friends and family. The knight layed them to rest burying the 100 lives that were taken by them in a open meadow that was spared from devestation . The creature watched on from a cave at the end of the village that the knight placed them in.

They watched at throughout the two days and nights at the knight. Even dispite all of this the creature continued to curse the knight for the distruction of their once beautiful home.

The knight placed the final body down to rest.

The vibrant people whose skin were once the colors of the rainbow were now covered by the soil of mother earth;their eyes that once looked upon the beauty of the world around them, were now drained of life and forced to face the gates of death. The many laughter of women, men, children old and young that once covered the village in sweet happy songs was now silent except for the small insects that crawled around trying to get to safety.

And the once smiling face of the creature that smiled with it's people. Now held no emotions as it stayed within the entrance of the cave where the knight had placed them. They watched as the knight placed a flower on each of the many graves that covered the meadow.

The creature began to sing a song a very sad song fill with sorrow and hate.tothe to the once that took away their people that played under the sun.

".... Oh knight that walks upon this mother earth holding your sword so safely. How many people have you slaughtered and left damaged oh so gravely. So many people weep upon seeing your sword, cause now they know that it's their final breath. So now I shall curse you oh knight of many sins, you shall now travel these lands and ask for forgiveness of these saints. And when time comes that you are forgiven we shall welcome you, with open arms and a bed to finally rest your weary head;but until then atone for you many sins."

Once the creature had finished they slowly disolved away turning into a swarm of butterflies as they stand infront of the cave. They sighed deeply walking towards deaths Open arms.

" Atone for your sins great knight for if not you shall never be forgiven." A ghust of wind carried these words over to the knight that was kneeling before a grave asking for forgiveness.

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malesherbes · 3 years

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Stargazer

The knight of Wales in the battle stood

Silent, gazing in the snow.

Deaf to cries and fury, in the woods,

The man whispers her name, low.

Percival, the young lord with blond hair

Looking at the snow, bloody

Red drops, vivid image of past years,

Five drops of crimson rubies.

Solomon Shinzer walks through the dark mead

Wet from summer nights’ dew, His legs

Brushed by shining umbels lulling with daisies.

The great telescope heavy on his back,

And in his sky, countless stars.

Solomon Shinzer comes each night in the mead

To check if all stars have names:

Pleiades and Hyades, the big bear and Orion,

If lonely comets follow the Milky Way,

If the sun rises like a lion.

Once, he came with a child on the blue hill,

Past waterfalls and sleeping brooks,

Past the furze where amber heather blows

On the blue meadow by the mill

The child smiles. She is his daughter.

Her hand in his hand, they walk, silent,

Centaureas blooming breath their sweet scent,

A nightingale echoes memories from sunset

The stream’s harpsichord sings its low anthem.

She haunts his spirit, he can’t forget.

Blood drops, still hot on the whitest snow

Like dark iris petals flow

In the knight memories. And he cries

Like alone under the sky.

On the white face of snow, her lips open

Her eyes, dropped here like jewels, stolen

From the almighty hand of god. Her smile,

Scattered in battlefield, pieces of paradise.

Solomon Shinzer lays on the blue meadow

Amid roses from dewdrops wet

And whispers from the life of the earth;

His hands rest on his chest, his eyes lost in the sky

And the child left behind plays with dark fireflies.

Solomon Shinzer follows the line of the north chariot

Betelgeuse, the shepherd’s star, Proxima Centauri…

And so many lights with no name.

He weeps as he thinks : so many are dead.

The girl in her white dress with lilies dances.

His sight wanders, past nebulas, strange voids, shadows,

Parts of space unseen, solar winds, pulsars.

And in the darkest corner of the universe, faint lights glow,

In a remote constellation, far away in oblivion, seven red stars.

With the moon’s silver beams the little girl dances.

Seven red stars drawing, in deep darkness, the face

This face of hers, dead long ago, smiling in the sky,

This sky of his, open like dim heavens. Tremors in his heart race

This heart falling, his hands, shaking, and tears in his eyes.

At the moon’s reflection in the pond, the girl glances.

Lost in contemplation, he forgets

The battle, his dying friends

His spirit fled far away, he lets

Chaos of swords inflict pain.

Around Percival, many men are dead,

His soul, his love kisses the snow.

A spear pierce his ribs, an axe hits his head.

That still, weeping in silence bows.

The first star, bright, glowing like her fiery eyes,

A spark of life, a hurricane

Her laugh filling her dreams, her smile,

Blazing flames, a sun, her name.

(The child tries to touch the moon on the lake.)

The second star, wan, soft like her fingers,

Like her songs in the night, her skin light as snowflakes.

Faint like her whispers, like her dear love,

Her intangible shape, feathers if a dove.

(The girl follows the moon’s slow moves on water.)

The third star, red like her kisses’ ecstasy,

Like her passionate cheeks, like roses,

Blood running through their heart, hot touches

Caressing hands, wonderful waves, their faces.

(Feet naked in the mud, the child walks with stars on the brook.)

The fourth star glows blue, like her eyes, still and dead,

Their walks on the strand, the secret they fled,

Blue like the sky beaming above their holding hands

Like the wind in her hair, blue and deep like the mead.

(Bird on the milky way, the girl follows the stream.)

The knight of Wales throws his eyes on the snow

On his armoured chest, a red flower blows,

And always, her face, a moon, an angel

Whispers “I love you”, lost in the battle.

From the white knight wounds, a drop of blood falls

Just under her eye: a tear. Low, he growls

And in a last sigh, his short life he breathes.

His tears on her tear, her heart in his breast.

The fifth star glows long, a cross in deep space,

Hints of paradise, wrinkles on her face.

The sixth star glows hard like a burning stone,

Their words forgotten, her crying, alone.

(The girl dances in stars, white by the waterfall.)

The last star glows weak, almost invisible:

In brightness smothered, dying, she trembles.

Her life, plucked early, fades in sad riddles

And his heart, consumed, in ashes crumbles.

The girl slips on a rock.

And down she falls.

Down she falls.

The knight Percival in the battle stood,

Dead, torn between spears of wood.

From the snow, a ghostly head rears,

Kisses him a last time, and in blood swoons.

***

“Ghost in the stars, how long will you haunt me?

How long will I suffer, can’t I forget thee?

For your dark paradise, shall I live in hell,

In my life without you, what curses dwell?

O, spirit, did I not kiss you a last time?

Did I not close your eyes, weep for nights and days?

For what unknown crime do I have to pay?

Shall my life be burnt down by your dying breath?

Shall your sleep deprive me of all peaceful rests?

O, I cannot love you, star, uncanny face,

Don’t show me those tears, don’t show me this fate!

I will not let this wraith corrupt my galaxy.

If I shall remember, let it be your smile,

Engraved in my heart, stedfast in the night.

If I hear your voice, let it be your laugh,

Echoed in the breeze, bird’s songs in green oaks.

Let it be a spark, a whisper, a tale,

Sweet melancholy of our brightest days

A dance with the wind and the nightingale:

Your pain I forgot, but your bright eyes stay.”

And to red stars, Solomon Shinzer closes his soul’s windows.

He hears a cry, runs towards waterfalls,

Grabs the hand of the child, holds her in his arms

Caress her hair, cherish her breath,

Looks at her face and sees

The world’s two brightest stars.

Do not look away from the earth too long

Do never repeat the abyss’ strange song,

Open your windows to friendly planets

And do never gaze in too remote stars.

You shall only glance at stars with a name

And constellations from our galaxy,

For you’ll never now infinity’s shames,

And how queer and dark universe can be.

A man and his daughter walk slowly in the wood,

Hand in hand, fetching umbels and violets,

The pass by a field where a high tree stands.

In the tree, a skeleton: a man on a horse,

With a broken helmet, two wings made of swords.

In a tender bow, the skull looks

At a patch of green grass where seven daisies blow.

In the grey cedar, the knight of Wales

Looks at this selfsame face from centuries ago,

Ghost made of white flowers, or stars with no name

Lost in the sky, far away beyond the brook.

And in Sinnaï’s desert, a great stargazer stands,

Lonely monument, forgotten and empty,

Fragile skeleton, stones engraved with fame,

The man and his daughter pass by and do not see.

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tcohs-messenger · 6 years

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A Question to Answer - AsraXApprentice

@natsitohtori‘s prize for the 500 follower giveaway~ We have a lovely Valentine’s Day based date with Asra and their OC Adam! Absolutely a pleasure playing with him and this cute scenario~!!

Asra was especially quiet, dragging a spatula through the pan with barely a sound. Faust had abided to his request too, coiled up in a ball on the shelf with eyes poking out, simply watching as he cooked. He hadn't woken up this early in... years probably- but he had a good reason to do so today. After a few more minutes of flipping and prodding, he plated eggs, simmered skink, and some other hand-picked favorites.

His feet padded softly, hushed with barely a creek in the floorboards as he ascended to their bedroom. And inside- thank god- Adam was still asleep. Asra slipped inside, setting their plates down on the bedside table and sitting down next to Adan's sleeping form. He always loved the way he looked when he was still so deep in slumber, almost always with his face buried into the pillows and once very covered by the blankets now having them slipping to the floor. Sometimes he snored, but usually he had soft, dreamy breaths that only entranced him even more. Asra leaned in close, laying back in his previous spot and dragging a hand slowly, sweetly through his dark hair. Adam stirred, slowly drawing awake with the continual petting through his hair. When he opened his eyes, Asra grinned at him.

"Morning handsome, I made you breakfast."

Adam grinned back, eyes squinting cutely in post-sleep. "Mmm, you made me food- that's so sweet of you, but you didn't have to-" he insists softly, although he certainly wouldn't refused it. He stretched out, giving a prolonged groan as sleep left his muscles, and sat up. "Even skink? What a special occasion." He grabbed the plate and gobbled every bit eagerly, actually liking the taste of skink as opposed to what most people preferred.

Asra ate a bit slower, thoughts stuck on what the day would hold. It was Valentine's Day, and although he usually didn't give it much meaning (he just preferred spontaneous days of love and care rather than a scheduled one) he knew that this one was special. He had been planning for it this entire year, writing out detail after detail, and organizing it exactly as it should be- only to realize that it was dumb. Organizing love so thoroughly would never work. So, he instead just made a general plan and promised to stick to it. "Are you excited to go out on the town, handsome? I can show you off whilst we prance, wouldn't that be fun?"

Adam blinked a few times, chewing on the utensil in his hand before responding shyly, "I suppose so- you don't have to go over the top for me though, you know?" Not to say that he wasn't flattered, but being dotted on so much always made him flustered.

But Asra didn't care. He grinned and took both of their plates once they were both finished. "Ahh too bad, I already have everything planned! Besides, it's not going over the top if it's for you- you deserve it. Now, get dressed and we'll head out~ Today's all about you and me and we're going to make the best of it- I have so much planned- " He winked in Adam's direction, just catching the glimpse of his blush before heading down the stairs.

The moment Adam had appeared, dressed and adorable as usual, Asra was grabbing at his hand and bounding out the door. With so much to do and so little time in the day, he wanted to get started and quick. With threaded fingers, the two had meandered through the marketplace, still as bustling as usual, but the people seemed to kindly part for them as they went. Of course, to start off their day, they had to have fresh bread.

"Ahh Asra and Adam! What a delight! Would you like the usual?"

Asra's quick glance to Adam had been enough of a confirmation, and they both nodded in unison. They sat at their favorite table, at peace with gentle talk as they waited for their bread to bake.

"You look so beautiful today- mmm no, you always look beautiful. But today especially you are stunning," as Asra speaks, his chin settles into his palm, and he leans into the table, close enough to where just having Adam leaning in as well would most certainly cause their lips to meet.

Adam grins in an adorable manner, cheeks coloring and shuffling in his seat as he revels in the compliments. To help mend his appearance, he nuzzles into the scarf he wore and looks down at the carvings in the table. "You say that even though you're the more stunning one? I can't stop myself from swooning every time I see you-"

Asra gives a hushed laugh. "We can agree to disagree- or maybe we'll just say it's a tie~"

"Alright- we're tied!"

"Here you two are-" The baker approached with two grandiose loaves of pumpkin loaf with an exaggerated warning about how hot it was. Just as Adam was pulling out a few coins, the baker held up a hand to stop him. "No, no- this one is on the house. It's a special day after all, yeah? And you two are my favorite regulars!"

Adam's cheeks flushed, but he didn't linger too much. The baker was stuck in his ways, this was well known, and he would not accept one coin. "Oh no look at you- having to enjoy pumpkin loaf~" Asra mocks softly, winking cutely as he pulls apart the soft bread and bites into it.

"Well- he works so hard and he's always so kind to us, he deserves to get paid at least..." Either way, Adam ate as well, humming as the bread just about melted in his mouth.

Of course, neither of them could completely finish their bread. They wrapped up the rest and were off once more, but not without Asra sneakily slipping a few coins into the baker's pocket.

"So, where are you sneaking me off to this time?" Adam had his full trust devoted to the other, even while being blind folded and dragged by the hand for much too long to be a casual stroll.

Asra was grinning to himself, fingers twining tighter with the other's. "Don't you worry, we're almost there. It's someplace you've been to before-" he lets slip some information, already seeing the entrance of their destination in sight. "Can you feel it calling to you?"

Adam grins to himself, holding Asra's hand tighter. "Mhm, I do. I'm trying not to think about it though so it remains a surprise."

"Fair enough." At the entrance, Asra stops him and undoes the scarf tied around his eyes. They stood before an expansive yet somewhat hidden cave, and Adam knows it all too well. "This isn't a test this time, I promise. Shall I guide us?"

Adam was smiling the entire time, fondness of the last time they came here filling him with calm. He nods, threading fingers with Asra and wondering where this was all leading to. Of course- they eventually came to the hearth of the cave, at the edge of too deep water and lily fronds, but where else was this going? Before Adam could even ask, Asra leapt out onto the pads and towards the blooming flower in the middle.

"Asra! What are you doing?!" Adam was certainly not worried or scared for his health, but it was bewildering none the less and imbuing him in anticipation. Asra hesitates just before the flower, observing it as though looking for something- imperfections perhaps? But then he extends a hand- "Don't grab the flower, dear gods! You know it doesn't end well!"

Asra perks up, raising a brow in almost believable confusion, but very quickly grins cheekily. "Okay, but only since you said so~" Adam can feel the teasing air as Asra steps back over the pads, meeting him back at the shore but not quite stepping off of the pad. Instead, he extends a hand in invitation. Adam hesitates, knowing full well if he grabbed it and joined him then both of them would submerge- but Asra was smiling warmly with unbridled excitement in his eyes. "Come- you can trust me."

Oh yes, he certainly could. That hesitance continued for only a moment before he grabbed Asra's hand and leapt on with him-descending into the water as though it were a whirlpool.

It sucked them both down, deeper and deeper into a chasm of nothingness. As soon as the darkness had engulfed them, though, it had receded like opening the door to a lit room. Asra sunk deeper, dragging Adam with him as they descended, falling through this opened door and immediately ascending into another plain, a world between worlds.

"Gods- you sneaky thing, you had me worried." Adam scolds lightly after taking in a sharp breath. They both crawl out and onto the sand, panting after their quick but strenuous journey.

"I know. But I wanted it to be a surprise, look-" As they laid on the banks, Asra pointed to the sky to where countless stars not only shimmered, but almost seemed to pulsate, even move with intention. Along with them, fogs and mists of varying colors danced and swayed, almost musically.

Surprising it was, had the sky here always looked like this? Adam wondered this for the longest time as he watched stars swirl up in the abyss, occasionally dancing with one another before parting and going their separate ways. As he watched those clusters, Asra did his own observing, wistfully looking over his partner and admiring every part of him in calm silence. It was moments like this that made Asra realize that even now, after so many years, he was still dumbstruck and hopelessly in love.

He can feel the gaze stuck on him. Adam lingers for a while, melting in the feeling of being admired so closely. He hadn't been this confident in years, perhaps never. Eventually, he turned and faced the magician with a sleepy smile. "You're not looking at the sky..." he observes quietly.

Asra smiles cutely, turning on his side and leaning over Adam. "Very true- I'm more enraptured by you than any other worldly or even mystical wonder." As his words taper off, he leans in closer and chastely connects their lips, bringing them both to sigh.

"We should probably get going. If we stay too long we might not be able to get back at all~" Although it did seem far fetched, Adam didn't know enough about this place to be able to tell if Asra was kidding or not. Besides, as the sky had begun to darken, the mists had died and the stars had grown lazy- and hunger was beginning to set in too.

They held hands tight as they wadded into the water, taking preparation in making the treacherous descent once more. After sucking in a deep breath, they plummeted, becoming engulfed in the suffocating and dark cold. It was harder this time, now with navigating underwater tunnels and looking for the glint of anything shimmering in the distance.

Asra pulled Adam's hand close, pressing both of their palms into the cave wall to reveal sigils in blue hues. Adam hummed, bubbles coming from his nose in muted surprise. They followed the markings until they found their exit and shot out of it with needed, heavy breaths.

The water lilies seemed stronger this time, effectively holding both Adam and Asra up as they clung to them for support. Although exhausted, Adam had never felt so fulfilled and pleased; this had been a perfect day.

"Mm, hey- the flower-" Asra motioned toward it, was something wrong? Adam wadded closer, seeping in concern that perhaps they may be sucked down once more. He wouldn't dare to touch it- but he looked closer.

Tucked into the petals, a band of intricately carved gold was being cradled cushioned by the expanse of the plant's petals. It seemed almost natural, as if someone simply asked the flower to hold it for the time being. "Asra..." His name left Adam's lips in an awe-struck sigh. Asra raised a brow, peering over the flower back at him.

"Yes, Adam?" Adam didn't respond, still staring dumbstruck at the flower and its gift. Asra did the honors, gently plucking the ring from the flower's middle. "So- may I have an answer, dear?"

Adam swallowed, finally closing his slacked jaw. As Asra offered the ring to him, he found himself dumbly muttering, "I think I need a question to answer first."

Of course, Asra laughed, absolutely glowing in the atmosphere that was engulfing them. "Adam, will you marry me?"

And, of course, Adam's response came in a sharp, quick breath, "Absolutely."

(Wanna see something else like this? Shoot me a message~!)

#the arcana #asra #fan apprentice #tcohwrites #hooo boy i still have one prize left to do #but i am SO happy i got this out before valentines day #thank you so much for letting me use your apprentice dear~

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joanabeleza · 3 years

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THREE WOMEN: A Poem for Three Voices (Sylvia Plath)

Setting: A Maternity Ward and round about

FIRST VOICE: I am slow as the world. I am very patient, Turning through my time, the suns and stars Regarding me with attention. The moon’s concern is more personal: She passes and repasses, luminous as a nurse. Is she sorry for what will happen? I do not think so. She is simply astonished at fertility.

When I walk out, I am a great event. I do not have to think, or even rehearse. What happens in me will happen without attention. The pheasant stands on the hill ; He is arranging his brown feathers. I cannot help smiling at what it is I know. Leaves and petals attend me. I am ready.

SECOND VOICE: When I first saw it, the small red seep, I did not believe it. I watched the men walk about me in the office. They were so flat! There was something about them like cardboard, and now I had caught it, That flat, flat, flatness from which ideas, destructions, Bulldozers, guillotines, white chambers of shrieks proceed, Endlessly proceed-and the cold angels, the abstractions. I sat at my desk in my stockings, my high heels,

And the man I work for laughed: ‘Have you seen something awful? You are so white, suddenly.’ And I said nothing. I saw death in the bare trees, a deprivation. I could not believe it. Is it so difficult For the spirit to conceive a face, a mouth? The letters proceed from these black keys, and these black keys proceed From my alphabetical fingers, ordering parts,

Parts, bits, cogs, the shining multiples. I am dying as I sit. I lose a dimension. Trains roar in my ears, departures, departures! The silver track of time empties into the distance, The white sky empties of its promise, like a cup. These are my feet, these mechanical echoes. Tap, tap, tap, steel pegs. I am found wanting.

This is a disease I carry home, this is a death. Again, this is a death. Is it the air, The particles of destruction I suck up? Am I a pulse That wanes and wanes, facing the cold angel? Is this my lover then? This death, this death? As a child I loved a lichen-bitten name. Is this the one sin then, this old dead love of death?

THIRD VOICE: I remember the minute when I knew for sure. The willows were chilling, The face in the pool was beautiful, but not mine- It had a consequential look, like everything else, And all I could see was dangers: doves and words, Stars and showers of gold-conceptions, conceptions! I remember a white, cold wing

And the great swan, with its terrible look, Coming at me, like a castle, from the top of the river. There is a snake in swans. He glided by; his eye had a black meaning. I saw the world in it-small, mean and black, Every little word hooked to every little word, and act to act. A hot blue day had budded into something.

I wasn’t ready. The white clouds rearing Aside were dragging me in four directions. I wasn’t ready. I had no reverence. I thought I could deny the consequence- But it was too late for that. It was too late, and the face Went shaping itself with love, as if I was ready.

SECOND VOICE: It is a world of snow now. I am not at home. How white these sheets are. The faces have no features. They are bald and impossible, like the faces of my children, Those little sick ones that elude my arms. Other children do not touch me: they are terrible. They have too many colours, too much life. They are not quiet, Quiet, like the little emptinesses I carry.

I have had my chances. I have tried and tried. I have stitched life into me like a rare organ, And walked carefully, precariously, like something rare. I have tried not to think too hard. I have tried to be natural. I have tried to be blind in love, like other women, Blind in my bed, with my dear blind sweet one, Not looking, through the thick dark, for the face of another.

I did not look. But still the face was there, The face of the unborn one that loved its perfections,

The face of the dead one that could only be perfect In its easy peace, could only keep holy so. And then there were other faces. The faces of nations, Governments, parliaments, societies, The faceless faces of important men.

It is these men I mind: They are so jealous of anything that is not flat! They are jealous gods That would have the whole world flat because they are. I see the Father conversing with the Son. Such flatness cannot but be holy. ‘Let us make a heaven,’ they say. ‘Let us flatten and launder the grossness from these souls.’

FIRST VOICE: I am calm. I am calm. It is the calm before something awful: The yellow minute before the wind walks, when the leaves Turn up their hands, their pallors. It is so quiet here. The sheets, the faces, are white and stopped, like clocks. Voices stand back and flatten. Their visible hieroglyphs Flatten to parchment screens to keep the wind off. They paint such secrets in Arabic, Chinese!

I am dumb and brown. I am a seed about to break. The brownness is my dead self, and it is sullen: It does not wish to be more, or different. Dusk hoods me in blue now, like a Mary. O colour of distance and forgetfulness! – When will it be, the second when Time breaks And eternity engulfs it, and I drown utterly?

I talk to myself, myself only, set apart – Swabbed and lurid with disinfectants, sacrificial. Waiting lies heavy on my lids. It lies like sleep, Like a big sea. Far off, far off, I feel the first wave tug

Its cargo of agony toward me, inescapable, tidal. And I, a shell, echoing on this white beach Face the voices that overwhelm, the terrible element.

THIRD VOICE: I am a mountain now, among mountainy women. The doctors move among us as if our bigness Frightened the mind. They smile like fools. They are to blame for what I am, and they know it. They hug their flatness like a kind of health. And what if they found themselves surprised, as I did? They would go mad with it.

And what if two lives leaked between my thighs? I have seen the white clean chamber with its instruments. It is a place of shrieks. It is not happy. ‘This is where you will come when you are ready.’ The night lights are flat red moons. They are dull with blood. I am not ready for anything to happen. I should have murdered this, that murders me.

FIRST VOICE: There is no miracle more cruel than this. I am dragged by the horses, the iron hooves. I last. I last it out. I accomplish a work. Dark tunnel, through which hurtle the visitations, The visitations, the manifestations, the startled faces. I am the centre of an atrocity. What pains, what sorrows must I be mothering?

Can such innocence kill and kill? It milks my life. The trees wither in the street. The rain is corrosive. I taste it on my tongue, and the workable horrors, The horrors that stand and idle, the slighted godmothers With their hearts that tick and tick, with their satchels of instruments.

I shall be a wall and a roof, protecting. I shall be a sky and a hill of good: O let me be!

A power is growing on me, an old tenacity. I am breaking apart like the world. There is this blackness, This ram of blackness. I fold my hands on a mountain. The air is thick. It is thick with this working. I am used. I am drummed into use. My eyes are squeezed by this blackness. I see nothing.

SECOND VOICE: I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love. It is a love of death that sickens everything. A dead sun stains the newsprint. It is red. I lose life after life. The dark earth drinks them.

She is the vampire of us all. So she supports us, Fattens us, is kind. Her mouth is red. I know her. I know her intimately- Old winter-face, old barren one, old time bomb. Men have used her meanly. She will eat them. Eat them, eat them, eat them in the end. The sun is down. I die. I make a death.

FIRST VOICE: Who is he, this blue, furious boy, Shiny and strange, as if he had hurtled from a star? He is looking so angrily! He flew into the room, a shriek at his heel. The blue colour pales. He is human after all. A red lotus opens in its bowl of blood ; They are stitching me up with silk, as if I were a material.

What did my fingers do before they held him? What did my heart do, with its love? I have never seen a thing so clear. His lids are like the lilac-flower And soft as a moth, his breath. I shall not let go. There is no guile or warp in him. May he keep so.

SECOND VOICE: There is the moon in the high window. It is over. How winter fills my soul! And that chalk light Laying its scales on the windows, the windows of empty offices, Empty schoolrooms, empty churches. O so much emptiness! There is this cessation. This terrible cessation of everything. These bodies mounded around me now, these polar sleepers – What blue, moony ray ices their dreams?

I feel it enter me, cold, alien, like an instrument. And that mad, hard face at the end of it, that O-mouth Open in its gape of perpetual grieving. It is she that drags the blood-black sea around Month after month, with its voices of failure. I am helpless as the sea at the end of her string. I am restless. Restless and useless. I, too, create corpses.

I shall move north. I shall move into a long blackness. I see myself as a shadow, neither man nor woman, Neither a woman, happy to be like a man, nor a man Blunt and flat enough to feel no lack. I feel a lack. I hold my fingers up, ten white pickets. See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.

I shall be a heroine of the peripheral. I shall not be accused by isolate buttons, Holes in the heels of socks, the white mute faces Of unanswered letters, coffined in a letter case. I shall not be accused, I shall not be accused. The clock shall not find me wanting, nor these stars That rivet in place abyss after abyss.

THIRD VOICE: I see her in my sleep, my red, terrible girl. She is crying through the glass that separates us. She is crying, and she is furious. Her cries are hooks that catch and grate like cats. It is by these hooks she climbs to my notice. She is crying at the dark, or at the stars That at such a distance from us shine and whirl.

I think her little head is carved in wood A red, hard wood, eyes shut and mouth wide open. And from the open mouth issue sharp cries Scratching at my sleep like arrows, Scratching at my sleep, and entering my side. My daughter has no teeth. Her mouth is wide. It utters such dark sounds it cannot be good.

FIRST VOICE: What is it that flings these innocent souls at us? Look, they are so exhausted, they are all flat out In their canvas-sided cots, names tied to their wrists, The little silver trophies they’ve come so far for. There are some with thick black hair, there are some bald. Their skin tints are pink or sallow, brown or red; They are beginning to remember their differences.

I think they are made of water ; they have no expression. Their features are sleeping, like light on quiet water. They are the real monks and nuns in their identical garments. I see them showering like stars on to the world-

On India, Africa, America, these miraculous ones, These pure, small images. They smell of milk. Their footsoles are untouched. They are walkers of air.

Can nothingness be so prodigal? Here is my son. His wide eye is that general, flat blue. He is turning to me like a little, blind, bright plant. One cry. It is the hook I hang on. And I am a river of milk. I am a warm hill.

SECOND VOICE: I am not ugly. I am even beautiful. The mirror gives back a woman without deformity. The nurses give back my clothes, and an identity. It is usual, they say, for such a thing to happen. It is usual in my life, and the lives of others. I am one in five, something like that. l am not hopeless. I am beautiful as a statistic. Here is my lipstick.

I draw on the old mouth. The red mouth I put by with my identity A day ago, two days, three days ago. It was a Friday. I do not even need a holiday ; I can go to work today. I can love my husband, who will understand. Who will love me through the blur of my deformity As if I had lost an eye, a leg, a tongue.

And so I stand, a little sightless. So I walk Away on wheels, instead of legs, they serve as well. And I learn to speak with fingers, not a tongue. The body is resourceful. The body of a starfish can grow back its arms And newts are prodigal in legs. And may I be As prodigal in what lacks me.

THIRD VOICE: She is a small island, asleep and peaceful, And I am a white ship hooting: Goodbye, goodbye. The day is blazing. It is very mournful. The flowers in this room are red and tropical. They have lived behind glass all their lives, they have been cared for tenderly. Now they face a winter of white sheets, white faces. There is very little to go into my suitcase.

There are the clothes of a fat woman I do not know. There is my comb and brush. There is an emptiness. I am so vulnerable suddenly. I am a wound walking out of hospital. I am a wound that they are letting go. I leave my health behind. I leave someone Who would adhere to me: I undo her fingers like bandages: I go.

SECOND VOICE: I am myself again. There are no loose ends. I am bled white as wax, I have no attachments. I am flat and virginal, which means nothing has happened, Nothing that cannot be erased, ripped up and scrapped, begun again. These little black twigs do not think to bud, Nor do these dry, dry gutters dream of rain. This woman who meets me in windows-she is neat.

So neat she is transparent, like a spirit. How shyly she superimposes her neat self On the inferno of African oranges, the heel-hung pigs. She is deferring to reality. It is I. It is I – Tasting the bitterness between my teeth. The incalculable malice of the everyday.

FIRST VOICE: How long can I be a wall, keeping the wind off? How long can I be Gentling the sun with the shade of my hand, Intercepting the blue bolts of a cold moon? The voices of loneliness, the voices of sorrow Lap at my back ineluctably. How shall it soften them, this little lullaby?

How long can I be a wall around my green property? How long can my hands Be a bandage to his hurt, and my words Bright birds in the sky, consoling, consoling? It is a terrible thing To be so open: it is as if my heart Put on a face and walked into the world.

THIRD VOICE: Today the colleges are drunk with spring. My black gown is a little funeral: It shows I am serious. The books I carry wedge into my side. I had an old wound once, but it is healing. I had a dream of an island, red with cries. It was a dream, and did not mean a thing.

FIRST VOICE: Dawn flowers in the great elm outside the house. The swifts are back. They are shrieking like paper rockets. I hear the sound of the hours Widen and die in the hedgerows. I hear the moo of cows. The colours replenish themselves, and the wet Thatch smokes in the sun. The narcissi open white faces in the orchard.

I am reassured. I am reassured. These are the clear bright colours of the nursery, The talking ducks, the happy lambs. I am simple again. I believe in miracles. I do not believe in those terrible children Who injure my sleep with their white eyes, their fingerless hands. They are not mine. They do not belong to me.

I shall meditate upon normality. I shall meditate upon my little son. He does not walk. He does not speak a word. He is still swaddled in white bands. But he is pink and perfect. He smiles so frequently. I have papered his room with big roses, I have painted little hearts on everything.

I do not will him to be exceptional. It is the exception that interests the devil. It is the exception that climbs the sorrowful hill Or sits in the desert and hurts his mother’s heart. I will him to be common, To love me as I love him, And to marry what he wants and where he will.

THIRD VOICE: Hot noon in the meadows. The buttercups Swelter and melt, and the lovers Pass by, pass by. They are black and flat as shadows. It is so beautiful to have no attachments! I am solitary as grass. What is it I miss? Shall I ever find it, whatever it is?

The swans are gone. Still the river Remembers how white they were.

It strives after them with its lights. It finds their shapes in a cloud. What is that bird that cries With such sorrow in its voice? I am young as ever, it says. What is it I miss?

SECOND VOICE: I am at home in the lamplight. The evenings are lengthening. I am mending a silk slip: my husband is reading. How beautifully the light includes these things. There is a kind of smoke in the spring air, A smoke that takes the parks, the little statues With pinkness, as if a tenderness awoke, A tenderness that did not tire, something healing.

I wait and ache. I think I have been healing. There is a great deal else to do. My hands Can stitch lace neatly on to this material. My husband Can turn and turn the pages of a book. And so we are at home together, after hours. It is only time that weighs upon our hands. It is only time, and that is not material.

The streets may turn to paper suddenly, but I recover From the long fall, and find myself in bed, Safe on the mattress, hands braced, as for a fall. I find myself again. I am no shadow Though there is a shadow starting from my feet. I am a wife. The city waits and aches. The little grasses Crack through stone, and they are green with life.

#sylviaplath

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vardasvapors · 7 years

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“I [Voronwë] was born here in Middle-earth in the land of Nevrast. My mother was of the Grey-elves of the Falas, and akin to Círdan himself - there was much mingling of the peoples in Nevrast in the first days of Turgon’s kingship - and I have the sea-heart of my mother’s people. Therefore I was among the chosen, since our errand was to Círdan, to seek his aid in our shipbuilding, that some message and prayer for aid might come to the Lords of the West ere all was lost. But I tamed on the way. For I had seen little of the lands of Middle-earth, and we came to Nan-tathren in the spring of the year. Lovely to heart’s enchantment is that land, Tuor, as you shall find, if ever your feet go upon the southward roads down Sirion. There is the cure of all sea-longing, save for those whom Doom will not release. There Ulmo is but the servant of Yavanna, and the earth has brought to life a wealth of fair things that is beyond the thought of hearts in the hard hills of the North. In that land Narog joins Sirion, and they haste no more, but flow broad and quiet through living meads; and all about the shining river are flaglilies like a blossoming forest, and the grass is filled with flowers, like gems, like bells, like flames of red and gold, like a waste of many-coloured stars in a firmament of green. Yet fairest of all are the willows of Nan-tathren, pale green, or silver in the wind, and the rustle of their innumerable leaves is a spell of music: day and night would flicker by uncounted, while still I stood knee-deep in grass and listened. There I was enchanted, and forgot the Sea in my heart. There I wandered, naming new flowers, or lay adream amid the singing of the birds, and the humming of bees and flies; and there I might still dwell in delight, forsaking all my kin, whether the ships of the Teleri or the swords of the Noldor, but my doom would not so. Or the Lord of Waters himself, maybe; for he was strong in that land. “Thus it came into my heart to make a raft of willow-boughs and move upon the bright bosom of Sirion; and so I did, and so I was taken. For on a day, as I was in the midst of the river a sudden wind came and caught me, and bore me away out of the Land of Willows down to the Sea. Thus I came last of the messengers to Círdan; and of the seven ships that he built at Turgon’s asking all but one were then full-wrought. And one by one they set sail into the West, and none yet has ever returned, nor has any news of them been heard. "But the salt air of the sea now stirred anew the heart of my mother’s kin within me, and I rejoiced in the waves, learning all ship-lore, as were it already stored in the mind. So when the last ship, and the greatest, was made ready, I was eager to be going saying within my thought: ‘If the words of the Noldor be true then in the West there are meads with which the Land of Willows cannot compare. There is no withering nor any end of Spring. And perhaps even I, Voronwë, may come thither. And at the worst to wander on the waters is better far than in Shadow in the North.’ And I feared not, for the ships of the Teleri no water may drown. "But the Great Sea is terrible, Tuor son of Huor; and it hates the Noldor, for it works the Doom of the Valar. Worse things it holds than to sink into the abyss and so perish: loathing, and loneliness, and madness; terror of wind and tumult, and silence and shadows where all hope is lost and all living shapes pass away.”

— J.R.R. Tolkien, “Of Tuor and His Coming To Gondolin,” Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-Earth

#WHAT A DRAMA QUEEN I LOVE HIM #voronwe #the silmarillion #ulmo #unfinished tales #sea longing #peak elf tbh...like REALLY peak #'then it came into my heart' looollll #'but then the salt air stirred' loooolllllllllll!!#he must have met treebeard right....tell me he met treebeard....#this makes me sadder about beleriand's drowning than like...anything else....

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chiefbelieverstarlight · 3 years

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The Wizard Way

[Dedicated to General J.C.F. Fuller] Velvet soft the night-star glowed Over the untrodden road, Through the giant glades of yew Where its ray fell light as dew Lighting up the shimmering veil Maiden pure and aery frail That the spiders wove to hide Blushes of the sylvan bride Earth, that trembled with delight At the male caress of Night. Velvet soft the wizard trod To the Sabbath of his God. With his naked feet he made Starry blossoms in the glade, Softly, softly, as he went To the sombre sacrament, Stealthy stepping to the tryst In his gown of amethyst. Earlier yet his soul had come To the Hill of Martyrdom, Where the charred and crooked stake Like a black envenomed snake By the hangman's hands is thrust Through the wet and writhing dust, Never black and never dried Heart's blood of a suicide. He had plucked the hazel rod From the rude and goatish god, Even as the curved moon's waning ray Stolen from the King of Day. He had learnt the elvish sign; Given the Token of the Nine: Once to rave, and once to revel, Once to bow before the devil, Once to swing the thurible, Once to kiss the goat of hell, Once to dance the aspen spring, Once to croak, and once to sing, Once to oil the savoury thighs Of the witch with sea-green eyes With the unguents magical. Oh the honey and the gall Of that black enchanter's lips As he croons to the eclipse Mingling that most puissant spell Of the giant gods of hell With the four ingredients Of the evil elements; Ambergris from golden spar, Musk of ox from Mongol jar, Civet from a box of jade, Mixed with fat of many a maid Slain by the inchauntments cold Of the witches wild and old. He had crucified a toad In the basilisk abode, Muttering the Runes averse Mad with many a mocking curse. He had traced the serpent sigil In his ghastly virgin vigil. Sursum cor! the elfin hill, Where the wind blows deadly chill From the world that wails beneath Death's black throat and lipless teeth. There he had stood - his bosom bare - Tracing Life upon the Air With the crook and with the flail Lashing forward on the gale, Till its blade that wavereth Like the flickering of Death Sank before his subtle fence To the starless sea of sense. Now at last the man is come Haply to his halidom. Surely as he waves his rod In a circle on the sod Springs the emerald chaste and clean From the duller paler green. Surely in the circle millions Of immaculate pavilions Flash upon the trembling turf Like the sea-stars in the surf - Millions of bejewelled tents For the warrior sacraments. Vaster, vaster, vaster, vaster, Grows the stature of the master; All the ringed encampment vies With the infinite galaxies. In the midst a cubic stone With the Devil set thereon; Hath a lamb's virginal throat; Hath the body of a stoat; Hath the buttocks of a goat; Hath the sanguine face and rod Of a goddess and a god! Spell by spell and pace by pace! Mystic flashes swing and trace Velvet soft the sigils stepped By the silver-starred adept. Back and front, and to and fro, Soul and body sway and flow In vertiginous caresses To imponderable recesses, Till at last the spell is woven, And the faery veil is cloven That was Sequence, Space, and Stress Of the soul-sick consciousness. "Give thy body to the beasts! Give thy spirit to the priests! Break in twain the hazel rod On the virgin lips of God! Tear the Rosy Cross asunder! Shatter the black bolt of thunder! Suck the swart ensanguine kiss Of the resolute abyss!" Wonder-weft the wizard heard This intolerable word. Smote the blasting hazel rod On the scarlet lips of God; Trampled Cross and rosy core; Brake the thunder-tool of Thor; Meek and holy acolyte Of the priestly hells of spite, Sleek and shameless catamite Of the beasts that prowl the night! Like a star that streams from heaven Through the virgin airs light-riven, From the lift there shot and fell An admirable miracle. Carved minute and clean, a key Of purest lapis-lazuli More blue than the blind sky that aches (Wreathed with the stars, her torturing snakes), For the dead god's kiss that never wakes; Shot with golden specks of fire Like a virgin with desire. Look, the levers! fern-frail fronds Of fantastic diamonds, Glimmering with ethereal azure In each exquisite embrasure. On the shaft the letters laced, As if dryads lunar-chaste With the satyrs were embraced, Spelled the secret of the key: Sic pervenias. And he Went his wizard way, inweaving Dreams of things beyond believing. When he will, the weary world Of the senses closely curled Like a serpent round his heart Shakes herself and stands apart. So the heart's blood flames, expanding, Strenuous, urgent, and commanding; And the key unlocks the door Where his love lives evermore. She is of the faery blood; All smaragdine flows its flood. Glowing in the amber sky To ensorcelled porphyry She hath eyes of glittering flake Like a cold grey water-snake. She hath naked breasts of amber Jetting wine in her bed-chamber, Whereof whoso stoops and drinks Rees the riddle of the Sphinx. She hath naked limbs of amber Whereupon her children clamber. She hath five navels rosy-red From the five wounds of God that bled; Each wound that mothered her still bleeding, And on that blood her babes are feeding. Oh! like a rose-winged pelican She hath bred blessed babes to Pan! Oh! like a lion-hued nightingale She hath torn her breast on thorns to avail The barren rose-tree to renew Her life with that disastrous dew, Building the rose o' the world alight With music out of the pale moonlight! O She is like the river of blood That broke from the lips of the bastard god, When he saw the sacred mother smile On the ibis that flew up the foam of Nile Bearing the limbs unblessed, unborn, That the lurking beast of Nile had torn! So (for the world is weary) I These dreadful souls of sense lay by. I sacrifice these impure shoon To the cold ray of the waning moon. I take the forked hazel staff, And the rose of no terrene graff, And the lamp of no olive oil With heart's blood that alone may boil. With naked breast and feet unshod I follow the wizard way to God. Wherever he leads my foot shall follow; Over the height, into the hollow, Up to the caves of pure cold breath, Down to the deeps of foul hot death, Across the seas, through the fires, Past the palace of desires; Where he will, whether he will or no, If I go, I care not whither I go. For in me is the taint of the faery blood. Fast, fast its emerald flood Leaps within me, violent rude Like a bestial faun's beatitude. In me the faery blood runs hard: My sires were a druid, a devil, a bard, A beast, a wizard, a snake and a satyr; For - as my mother said - what does it matter? She was a fay, pure of the faery; Queen Morgan's daughter by an aery Demon that came to Orkney once To pay the Beetle his orisons. So, it is I that writhe with the twitch Of the faery blood, and the wizard itch To attain a matter one may not utter Rather than sink in the greasy splutter Of Britons munching their bread and butter; Ailing boys and coarse-grained girls Grown to sloppy women and brutal churls. So, I am off with staff in hand To the endless light of the nameless land. Darkness spreads its sombre streams, Blotting out the elfin dreams. I might haply be afraid, Were it not the Feather-maid Leads me softly by the hand, Whispers me to understand. Now (when through the world of weeping Light at last starrily creeping Steals upon my babe-new sight, Light - O light that is not light!) On my mouth the lips of her Like a stone on my sepulchre Seal my speech with ecstasy, Till a babe is born of me That is silent more than I; For its inarticulate cry Hushes as its mouth is pressed To the pearl, her honey breast; While its breath divinely ripples The rose-petals of her nipples, And the jetted milk he laps From the soft delicious paps, Sweeter than the bee-sweet showers In the chalice of the flowers, More intoxicating than All the purple grapes of Pan. Ah! my proper lips are stilled. Only, all the world is filled With the Echo, that drips over Like the honey from the clover. Passion, penitence, and pain Seek their mother's womb again, And are born the triple treasure, Peace and purity and pleasure. - Hush, my child, and come aloft Where the stars are velvet soft!

-ALEISTER CROWLEY

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