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thefisherqueen · 9 months

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Reading Letters from Watson's The Norwood Builder now! Here we go :)

“From the point of view of the criminal expert,” said Mr. Sherlock Holmes, “London has become a singularly uninteresting city since the death of the late lamented Professor Moriarty.” You literally killed him, Holmes, then faked your own death and spent years in hiding because of him, and now you're complaining that he's dead and you're bored - to the very one who's still recovering from the shock that you're alive? I diagnose you with some major Readjustment Issues and should consider therapy instead of just trying to cope with inappropriate humor. Watson is very valid in calling you whimsical

"At the time of which I speak Holmes had been back for some months, and I, at his request, had sold my practice and returned to share the old quarters in Baker Street." Of course. No news here

“I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes,” he cried. “You mustn't blame me. I am nearly mad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane.” Quite the introduction! By the way, why are so many of Holmes' clients young men on the verge of a nervous breakdown?

"Familiar as I was with my friend's methods, it was not difficult for me to follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, the sheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which had prompted them. Our client, however, stared in amazement." Character growth! Well done, Watson. I'm proud of you. Freemasonary, by the way, is so broad a movement it barely means anything. This quote prompted me to do some research into the symbols of freemasonry. The watch in itself isn't the symbol, a combination of a builder's square and compasses (used to draw perfect circles) with the letter G was the most common one. I guess Watson is referring to the fact that this gentlemen's watch has an added engraving or something similar with this symbol. Also, I wonder about the connection between freemasonary and the murdered man being a builder in this case.

“Arrest you!” said Holmes. “This is really most grati—most interesting. On what charge do you expect to be arrested?” Omg. Barely caught himself there

"My companion's expressive face" Oh, the contradictions in Holmes' character writing. Is Sherlock Holmes that expressive suddenly, or is Watson just able to read him really well?

"He was flaxen-haired and handsome in a washed-out negative fashion" Watson was that judgement really necessary

"For some years he has practically withdrawn from the business, in which he is said to have amassed considerable wealth." Not working, yet amassing wealth. I'd say that's suspicious but, really, under capitalism the only people who are able to gain wealth are those not working - either exploiting or investing (likely both)

"It is known that Mr. Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon that night, and the stick found has been identified as the property of this person, who is a young London solicitor named John Hector McFarlane." Inviting young sollicitors into his bedroom at night. Creepy behaviour. (can't help but think about Dracula's Jonathan Harker). Also, I'm glad the openly naming of suspects is restricted nowadays. No opportunity of a fair trail otherwise

"The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left in the experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, who is following up the clues with his accustomed energy and sagacity.” Yay, we'll get to see Lestrade again!

"One moment, Lestrade,” said Holmes. “Half an hour more or less can make no difference to you, and the gentleman was about to give us an account of this very interesting affair, which might aid us in clearing it up.” “I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up,” said Lestrade, grimly. Power struggle. Bless Holmes for working independent and not afraid to tell the police off

“‘Here is my will,’ said he. ‘I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to cast it into proper legal shape. I will sit here while you do so.’ “I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishment when I found that, with some reservations, he had left all his property to me." Strong Jekyll and Hyde paralell here. I wonder, is murder conviction a legal reason to exclude someone from a will? I guess that doesn't even matter anymore if McFarlane would be executed. And who will the inherentence go to then? The next in line family member? Strong motive for framing McFarlane for murder, then. Next line of inquiry, I guess: who else knew about the will?

Already really liking this story! Protect this poor young sollicitor from injustice, Holmes

"He was a strange little, ferret-like man" Comparing people to animals again. Did McFarlane really say that, Watson, or was that one of your fancy additions?

“You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour to refuse him anything that he might ask. He was my benefactor, and all my desire was to carry out his wishes in every particular." Dosing so might cost you your life, McFarlane. *mutters about power imbalace*

“Not until I have been to Blackheath.” “You mean to Norwood,” said Lestrade. “Oh, yes; no doubt that is what I must have meant,” said Holmes, with his enigmatical smile." Oh, Holmes is delightful here! Wasn't Blackheath where McFarlane lives? My guess is that Holmes wants to know what the connection between Oldacre and McFarlane's parents was. Were they both in a same freemasonry community? That would tie it neatly together

I don't trust Oldacre's motivation in leaving his inherentance to McFarlane. Seems a bit like whitewashing of ill-gotten money to me. Then, again, he wouldn't have arranged his own murder. Or - wait - is he really dead? Since there's only some blood and charred remains found. Easy enough to fake. I have a Theory. I feel Clever (likely wrong but who cares)

"You are too many for me" Love that expression. Going to use that

"It is curious—is it not?—that a man should draw up so important a document in so haphazard a fashion. It suggests that he did not think it was going to be of much practical importance. If a man drew up a will which he did not intend ever to be effective he might do it so.” He did not ever intend the will to be effective. I think we have our villain! *Points to my theory* And - did he hide McFarlane's walking cane on purpose? Motive still not entirely clear to me. Fake your own death for life insurence, sure, but not to claim an inherentence that is currently already your own. Something most be up with that money to devise an elaborate, dangerous plot like that

“Well, it is quite possible; but the case is not clear to me yet.” “Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what could be clear?" Oh, Lestrade. You started so well by being picking up that Holmes had Thoughts and being willing to listen to him. But now...

Holmes thinks a bypassing third person did it. I'm not buying that. And, after Lestrade's remark that no papers were taken while a third person would have done that, I don't think Holmes is convinced anymore either

"But it is evident to me that the logical way to approach the case is to begin by trying to throw some light upon the first incident—the curious will, so suddenly made, and to so unexpected an heir." Yes! Investigate that!

"There is no prospect of danger, or I should not dream of stirring out without you." Awww! Also, famous last words, Holmes

I had to look up what black-guard means. According to the cambridge dictonary, apperently a word for someone who has no moral principles.

Holmes did you really just call a human being 'fluffly?"

Yet another murder victim who was a terrible person and is not mourned. This is really a repeating theme

“‘You knew him at that time?’ said I." “‘Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. Thank Heaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a better, if a poorer, man." Oh, it's personal! Good for her for getting away from him

"She rummaged in a bureau, and presently she produced a photograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife. ‘That is my own photograph,’ she said. ‘He sent it to me in that state, with his curse, upon my wedding morning.’ What the fuck. Please let Oldacre be the villian of this story

"I crawled about the lawn with an August sun on my back, but I got up at the end of an hour no wiser than before." Another very amusing image

"Unless some lucky chance comes our way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will not figure in that chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patient public will sooner or later have to endure.” Holmes! Be more kind to your chronicler!

"But I fear, my dear fellow, that our case will end ingloriously by Lestrade hanging our client, which will certainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard.” Don't give up Holmes! *points to my theory, somehow it all still fits*

"I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them." Now I'm feeling sad :( Please, Watson, cheer him up

"Take your breakfast, Watson, and we will go out together and see what we can do. I feel as if I shall need your company and your moral support to-day.” Awww

“At present I cannot spare energy and nerve force for digestion,” he would say in answer to my medical remonstrances." Damn it Holmes, that not how that works. Please take care of yourself

"He led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond. “This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get his hat after the crime was done,” said he." Wait, didn't the housekeeper say that McFarlane left his hat behind?? *beep beep* tempered with evidence?

“What a providential thing that this young man should press his right thumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg! Such a very natural action, too, if you come to think of it.” Holmes was outwardly calm, but his whole body gave a wriggle of suppressed excitement as he spoke. “By the way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable discovery?” “It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who drew the night constable's attention to it.” This is hilarious. Holmes is so ready to tear this 'evidence' to treads

"The fact is that there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to which our friend attaches so much importance.” “Indeed, Holmes! What is it?” “Only this: that I know that that mark was not there when I examined the hall yesterday" Yes :) Now just find the evidence to convince the police. I also wonder how Oldacre attained McForlane's thumb imprint? Perhaps he just asked for it, since McForlane was not in a position anyway to refuse even an odd request?

"And now, Watson, let us have a little stroll round in the sunshine.” I'm making a lot of awww-sounds while reading this story. This is just so cute. I love them going out for walks!

"Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. He laid down his pen and looked curiously at him. “What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?” “Only that there is an important witness whom you have not seen.” “Can you produce him?” “I think I can.” I'm excited! Is this where Oldacre is shown to be not dead at all? Hiding in one of those attic bedrooms, is my guess?

"Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer who is performing a trick." Of course Holmes can not help but be Dramatic (TM) about this. What is he going to do? Smoke the man out?

"A door suddenly flew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of the corridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it, like a rabbit out of its burrow. “Capital!” said Holmes, calmly. “Watson, a bucket of water over the straw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to present you with your principal missing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre.” Can't believe I got it right! A fake door, no less. Such a fun, dramatic reveal

"It was an odious face—crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-grey eyes and white eyelashes." *Sigh* There we go with the criminal faces again

Lestrade really owes Holmes a lot this time

“And you don't want your name to appear?” “Not at all. The work is its own reward. Perhaps I shall get the credit also at some distant day when I permit my zealous historian to lay out his foolscap once more—eh, Watson?" Now this is just flirting. I approve

“There's the advantage of being a builder,” said Holmes, as we came out. “He was able to fix up his own little hiding-place without any confederate" Nice tie-up. I wonder about the other loose ends? Will the freemasonry still come up?

"I thought he had not the nerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire. We could, of course, have gone in and taken him, but it amused me to make him reveal himself; besides, I owed you a little mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in the morning.” And this is 100% Holmes. I love that man

"It was amusing to me to see how the detective's overbearing manner had changed suddenly to that of a child asking questions of its teacher." I adore Watson's narration here. He is just shamelessly laughing at Lestrade

"He determines to swindle his creditors, and for this purpose he pays large cheques to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, I imagine, himself under another name. I have not traced these cheques yet, but I have no doubt that they were banked under that name at some provincial town where Oldacre from time to time led a double existence. He intended to change his name altogether, draw this money, and vanish, starting life again elsewhere.” So that was how he intended to do it. Clever scheme.

It takes a special kind of evil to be angry at a woman for rejecting you and then, as revenge, frame her child for murder. Wow.

#letters from watson #the norwood builder #sherlock holmes #catching up after holiday

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vic-the-bookdragon · 2 years

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Violets-Ianthe. Ocyrhoe. Persephone. A crack theory and how Koschei might be able to trick Azriel.

Disclaimer : Everything in this post is just a reflection of my thoughts and opinions. I don not claim anything as a fact when I theorize. Also, I am certain others have commented on those things as well, but I just wanted to add my own interpretation. Keep in mind, when I discuss different mythologies I just do it because it's fun to try and guess where SJM might have been inspired from, since we know she uses mythology and legends in her books.

This a very long post, I'm sorry. I hope everything makes sense.

Violets, their symbolism and Ianthe.

We all know that Feyre drew something on the drawer they shared, to represent each sister. The night and stars for her, flames for Nesta, and flowers for Elain. I've seen theories that claim that each drawing represents a sister and her potential love interest, and while I do believe that, I mostly agree with the theories that suspect that there might a deeper meaning. That the symbolism behind them reflects the journey/story of each sister.

I won't get into detail about Feyre and Nesta's drawers, because their stories have already been told and there are other amazing posts out there that analyze them perfectly. I won't get into great detail about Elain either, because, like I said it's been done before. But, I want to point out that the description we get about Elain's drawer is ever-changing and I want to give you the reason why I believe it's a representation of her journey.

ACOTAR

I slung off my outer clothes onto the sagging dresser - frowning at the violets and roses I'd painted around the knobs of Elain's drawer...

What I want to talk about is the violets.

They are said to represent "innocence, everlasting love, modesty, spiritual wisdom, faithfulness, mysticism, and remembrance."

What stuck out to me in particular is innocence and then something clicked in my brain, because in the next book Elain's drawer was mentioned violets were gone :

ACOMAF

I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer. [...] Little roses and begonias and irises.

Now, I know that in the beginning Sarah didn't intend for Feyre's sister to have a major role, but in ACOMAF things started to change and I wonder if she paid closer attention to things associated with Nesta and Elain. Sarah is known for her foreshadowing, which sometimes is truly good and other times terribly obvious. And that brings me to the violets, Ianthe and Elain's innocence.

At first I had assumed the 'innocence' thing was associated with Elain being a virgin and then losing her virginity with Greysen and that's why the violets where gone in ACOMAF.

But then I remebered Ianthe and what her name means.

In Greek mythology, Ianthe was one of the 3.000 Oceanids (water nymph, naiad) and, also one of Persephone's companions. Her parents were the Titans Oceanus and Tethys, and her name means "violet flower" (it also means "she who delights").

That made me believe that the virginal innocence wasn't the reason violets weren't mentioned again, but Elain's innocece as a whole.

Ianthe was the one who sold them out to King of Hybern, she was responsible for the sisters going into the Cauldron and being made into High Fae.

Elain's innocence died that day. After that she was forced to see a new side of the world, a darker side. From that moment forward, after her autonomy was violated, she couldn't be as she was before. She was "forced" (not really, it was her choice, but essentially turning into high fae sort of forced her) to participate and play a great role in a war. No one comes out unscathed from something like that and the price Elain paid was her innocence.

Violets are also a symbol of untimely death in the young (Elain's human body died that day) and melancholy (in ACOWAR Elain is struggling and is described as catatonic) and are identified with the natural cycle of life, death and rebirth and as a catalyst to transition. They are also among the flowers Persephone was said to have been picking when Hades kidnapped her.

All of these things make me believe Elain's flowers depict what will come to pass in her life and it's also quite symbolice if you think about it, since she is a seer.

2. Ocyrhoe.

Ocyrhoe was another Oceanid in greek mythology, her name means "swift-flowing" and she, too, was one of Persephone's companions/playmates.

“All we were playing in a lovely meadow, Leucippe and Phaeno and Electra and Ianthe, Melita also and Iache with Rhodea and Callirhoe [420] and Melobosis and Tyche and Ocyrhoe, fair as a flower, [...] we were playing and gathering sweet flowers” - Homeric Hymn to Demeter.

There are 5 characters she refers to :

One of the 3.000 Oceanides.

Chiron's daughter.

Daughter of Imbrasus (a river god) and Chesias (a maiden).

Mother of Caicus, son of Hermes.

Mother of Hippomedon (defender of Troy).

As I was scrolling absentmindedly through the internet looking at this and that, I came across Ocyrhoe and her story might have inspired Elain's character. (I repeat, it's not canon. Just my opinion)

In the story as Imbrasus and Chesias's daughter, Ocyrhoe became Apollo's object of desire, and while trying to flee from him she asked for help from a seafarer and an old friend of her father, Pompilus. He took her on his ship, but eventually Apollo reached them. Apollo took Ocyrhoe and turned the ship into stone and Pompilus into a fish.

In one version of the story where she is Chiron's daughter, she was a centaur and she had the power to see the things concealed by the Fates. One day, she revealed Chiron's fate to him (that he would give up his immortality to be spared the agonizing pain of a serpent's poison). For that transgression the gods punished her by taking her voice and turning her into a mare.

"...became Apollo's object of desire..." Elain has become L/cien's "object of desire" in a sense. I don't think he truly wants to be with her. I believe it's just the bond forcing these feelings on him.

"...trying to flee from him..." She wants nothing romantic to do with him and avoids him as much as she can.

"...she had the power to see the things concealed by the Fates..." She is a seer.

"...turning her into a mare..." She'd shown curiosity about whether Amren could've chosen a different form and we speculate that shapeshifting of some kind might be one of her powers.

What led me to research the possible connection between the two, was the fact that Ocyrhoe was present when Persephone was kidnapped to the Underworld, just like Elain was present when Feyre (the og Persephone in the ACOTAR series, but I believe Elain is also associated with her, and not just because of the flowers) was taken to Prythian. Ocyrhoe was also referred to as "fair as a flower" in Homer's Hymn to Demeter. It's not much, but...I thought it was interesting.

Also, as Chiron's daughter her mother was Chariclo. In another myth Chariclo was a nymph and Tiresias's mother. Tiresias became blind when he saw the goddess Athena naked. His mother begged her to lift her curse, but she couldn't. Instead she gave him the gift of sight. He is often portrayed as Apollo's oracle. And that made me think "What blinds an oracle?" and that Athena, the goddess of wisdom, is often depicted with an owl - Elain is shown to have owl like mannerisms.

Then we have Apollo who was said to be the god of "divine distance, who sent or threatened from afar; the god who made men aware of their own guilt and purified them of it; who presided over religious law and the constitutions of cities; and who communicated with mortals through prophets and oracles his knowledge of the future and the will of his father, Zeus."

3. Persephone.

I've seen a lot of posts claiming that Elain and Persephone have nothing in common except flowers.

Well, I beg to differ.

I know that Rhysand and Feyre are a loose retelling of Hades x Persephone, but I think Elain and Azriel are one too, only more heavy on the light/dark theme.

So, there are two versions of the myth.

In one version - the one I think Feysand got - Hades is said to have fallen in love when he first saw her in one of his rare visits from the Underworld and decided to form a plan and take her away. - Rhysand met Feyre when he crashed Calanmai and it was rare for him to be able to leave UtM. Even though he wasn't in love with her yet, he felt a connection.

Zeus helped him with his plan. When she was out picking flowers with her friends, the naiads, they made the ground split beneath her. She fell and Hades took her to the Underworld and made her his wife. - Mor helped Rhys free Feyre, when Tamlin had locked in the mansion. He took her to NC and the two slowly started getting to know each other.

At first Persephone was sad and unhappy, but after a long while she eventually fell in love with Hades and was able to live happily with him in the Otherworld. - After Feyre was surrounded by people who didn't suppress her and cared about her mental state and trauma, she slowly begun to heal, along with Rhys. The two fell in love, Rhysand made her his High Lady and they lived happily ever after in the NC.

The other version has Demeter in it and Persephone was lured away from naiad friends by a narcisuss flower, planted by Gaia who was following Zeus's orders. The earth opened as she pulled the flower and that's how Hades was able to abduct her.

In the Az's bonus chapter, we could say that Rhys had taken the role of Demeter by commanding Azriel to stay away from Elain (Not because he doesn't want them together or values L/cien's happiness more than his brother's, but because of the consequences. I also do not think Rhys will keep that stance forever. I believe many people who will be against Elriel will take the role of Demeter or even the difficulties the couple will face will represent her). In the myth Demeter in her despair and desperate search for her daughter abandoned her duties, starvation reigned and people died. - Elain and Azriel coming together while she's still L/cien's mate could either cause L/ucien demand the Blood Duel or a civil war between the courts, since tensions are high already.

Hades agreed to let Persephone leave once a year for six months and live with her mother, but the rest of the year she would stay with him (although Persephone ate only 4 pomegranate seeds) - I believe, and hope mostly, that's the reason why SJM mentioned that Azriel owns a place called Rosehall and his mother lives there. I think they will split their time between Rosehall and the NC.

Also, the flower narcissus (daffodil) represents rebirth and new beginnings.

Fun fact : In the myth, Demeter was the one who turned all the naiads into sirens because they lost her daughter.

Ok, and now it's time...

4. A crack theory.

Papa Archeron promised Koschei to give him Elain and Nesta.

The Archerons' father didn't give Koschei his soul or spirit in exchange for Vassa, but instead gave him his two remaining mortal daughters. This possibility is something I've been pondering for quite a while.

“Where is Briallyn?” Azriel demanded, Siphons flaring like cobalt flame.

“I spend so many months preparing for you,” Koschei crooned, “and you don’t even wish to speak to me?”

This quote right here suggests that there is indeed a connection between Azriel and Koschei.

If we assume that some theories out there are correct, about how Az's shadows could be made somehow, that Az could have an even deeper connection to him and that Koschei has a connection to the Cauldron, I think Koschei knows how powerful Azriel really is and what a fine weapon he would make in an upcoming war. I don't think he wants him to find the 4th Trove. Better yet, I don't think he wants him just for that.

“Certainly.” Vassa peered at her hands, fingers flexing. “I fear what may happen if he ever gets free of the lake. If he sees this world on the cusp of disaster and knows he could strike, and strike hard, and make himself its master. As he once tried to do, long ago.”

We know Azriel is very powerful and he can "winnow", something not many powerful fae can - although, I believe this ability has to do with him being able to control shadows. We also know that he is the only known living shadowsinger and that they are very rare. Also, we don't know very much about his past in general.

What if Koschei was the first shadowsinger or had the ability to control shadows as a death God? What if Azriel is his descendant and some that's were his shadows come from? What if Koschei's essence lives inside of Azriel, but not enough to control him completely? What if now Koschei has found a way to overcome that problem? - I'll circle back to that because I think there may be some truth there. And I know that's a lot of what ifs, but this is a crack theory.

In the original tale, Koschei using spells has hidden his soul inside nested objects to protect it. It may be hidden "in the needle that is hidden inside the egg, the egg is in the duck, the duck is in the hare, the hare is in the chest, the chest is buried or chained up on a far island."

Couldn't Koschei in ACOTAR, who is also a sorcerer, do the same? But instead of keeping it in nested objects, he split it in two, kept one piece inside the onyx box - which I suspect might be wyrdstone - and hid the other in the Cauldron?

It is said that "It (the Cauldron) fell into the wrong hands and great and horrible things were done with it". Could it have fallen to Koschei's hands? Could he be the one who created the original Dread Trove, and so parts of his soul are in these objects? And that's why people can't remember it, because he spelled it to keep it safe? But now that he found a way to be free from the lake he wants it back, to be complete?

The Cauldron is, also, called The Bowl of Life and Death, but is there a chance that at one point it was just The Bowl of Life, since it gave life to Prythian, and the death part was added later, when Koschei meddled with it? Koschei, being as powerful as he is described to be, could have manipulated everyone into thinking that if something happens to it then all life would end, to ensure that no one would try to destroy it, and by extension him, completely.

Let's talk about the Book of Breathings for a second, because it might seem like plot hole in this scenario. The Book of Breathings was created from the last of the molten ore used to forge the Cauldron, not in the Cauldron, therefore not by the Cauldron itself. So, the way I see it, it could still cause damage to the Cauldron and Koschei himself, if part of his soul was indeed there

Everything I'll talk about from now on are based on the assumption that Koschei's soul is in the Cauldron and in the objects of the Dread Trove and he is somehow Azriel's predecessor or that his shadows contain Koschei's essence.

What Vassa suspected is true. The death-lord Koschei has been whispering in Briallyn’s ear. He remains trapped at his lake, but his words carry on the wind to her. He is ancient, his depth of knowledge fathomless. He pointed Briallyn toward the Dread Trove—not for her sake, but for his own ends. He wishes to use it to free himself from his lake.

From this quote we know that Koschei has the ability to communicate with people, even though his trapped at a lake. That leads me to assume the wind whispers back (and maybe it does in canon, but I don't remember). If that is so, then he heard about Feyre, the human girl who died and then was reborn made into High Fae. He must've also heard that when the 7 High Lords brought her back to life, a piece of them, a piece of their power, transferred to her, making her as powerful as Rhysand.

And he thought he could do the same, if he pulled all the strings right...

He manipulated Papa Archeron to travel to the continent to meet with him and trade away both himself and his daughters. And He manipulated the King of Hybern to have them thrown in the Cauldron...

...to be made into weapons - Amren had mentioned that the sisters might be as powerful as Rhysand after being Made, just as Azriel might be on the same level of power as Rhys - and to bear a part of his soul so he can get it back.

We later learn that the sisters accumulated power/powers from the Cauldron. Nesta took hers forcibly, while Elain's was a gift. And I believe there's a reason for it.

The Cauldron/Koschei sensed Nesta's resilience and that she could not be easily fooled, - remember how she broke through Tamlin's glamour in book 1? - but she stole from it nontheless.

Elain, though, the gentler, kinder, more naive of the two, was perfect. We know that she became a seer, but we don't know what else. I think, Elain is immensly powerful, even though we haven't seen it yet. I think she is more powerful than Nesta was, before she gave her power away.

And that leads me to what I speculate Elain's other power might be. Being associated with dawn is not a coincidence, not just for the Dusk Court theory, but also about her hidden power. A meeting of light and shadow. Beside the shapeshifting - which is not a sure thing, but it might have been foreshadowed - I think Elain has shadowfire, like Kaltain Rompier in ToG, or more accurately shadowlight and that power was triggered when Azriel offered her Truth Teller and she accepted it. When she touched TT she tapped into it and that's one of the reasons Feyre highlights that scene between them. Light. And dark. A bridge of connection. I'll cricle back to that because there's something more I want to add.

I also believe that the Cauldron/Koschei thinking Elain would be more easily manipulated was not the only reason it gave her gifts and purred in her presence.

The Bone Carver mentions :

"...Had I been braver, I might have bided my time—waited for their power to fade, for that long-ago Fae warrior to trick Stryga into diminishing her power and becoming confined to the Middle. Koschei, too—confined and bound by his little lake on the continent. All before Prythian, before the land was carved up and any High Lord was crowned.” Cassian and I waited, not daring to interrupt. “Clever, that Fae warrior. Her bloodline is long gone now—though a trace still runs through some human line.”

That human bloodline could potentially be Vassa's. But what if there's another one though in the Archeron line? And that's why the Cauldron/Koschei has shown so much interest in her? Because that trace runs stronger in her blood and she could be made into a more lethal weapon and not just because she is beautiful? That also makes me consider the fact that Elain being a seer has nothing to do with her going into the Cauldron. That it's just simply the dormant magic in her blood being activated and that she can't sleep because a type of "bond" was created between her and Koschei and he's messing with her, not in a fun kind of way. I think he's preparing her, just like he said he did with Azriel.

Now, let's move on to parts Koschei's soul/essence-heritage (in Azriel's case) being inside Elain, Az and other objects.

“No one really knows the full scope of the Trove’s powers. Beyond freeing him from his lake, Koschei may very well know something about the Trove that we don’t—some greater power that manifests when all three are united.”

What Koschei might know, that other's don't, is that the Trove is in its core him, and that with it he will be truly unstoppable, a real God of Death, with his full powers and maybe something extra, since the objects were created in the Cauldron, thus restoring his soul in his body he will be some type of Made too.

It is said that the Trove has been used by Fae rulers as a way for them to establish and secure their rule (this seems like a plot hole to me in SJM's books actually or I wonder if it's actually misinformation started by Koschei and he was the only "ruler" who used them and none of the fae were made, at least, if they were it is not mentioned. Koschei, though, could be able to use them since part of his soul was in them, but not fully. Now, I'll continue building on the fact that they were indeed used by other fae rulers). What I suspect is that even though they were able to use these objects, they couldn't unlock their full potential, and neither does/will Koschei, because none of them are made. He might be able to access more of their power because his soul is in them, but he will still need someone Made.

Someone like Elain or Nesta.

In my line of thinking, Koschei needed people to go into the Cauldron, to be changed, made into something that combines both him and it, in order for them wield the Trove succesfully and free him from the lake. He may have tried it in the past with other humans, but was not successful, because in order to survive the person would need to already have magic in his blood. Maybe that's why Briallyn was turned into a crone, because she didn't possess magic.

I suspect that when Nesta gave back her power in order to save Feyre, the piece of Koschei's soul was guided back to him by the wind, or at least a large part of it. The same goes for Bryallin, but the whole part went back to Koschei because she died. And I do believe someone has to be dead, for him to get it all, and not leave behind a sliver.

Amren is also someone who went into the Cauldron, but I don't think she counts as something made, because she went as something other than human inside and gave up her own power instead of something she took/recieved from it. I could be wrong though. (In my mind, that scene with Amren is literally life, death, rebirth.)

Azriel, too, can only wield some part of the Trove and not the Trove as a whole thing, because he is not Cauldron-made.

*Again, this is just based on the assumption that there is a connection between him and Koschei. And that Elain has and the Trove have parts of his soul. I do not believe either Azriel or Elain are evil or will turn evil. So if someone who doesn't like Elriel and reads this, please don't twist my words out of context.*

The only one that remains is Elain.

She can locate the 4th Trove and wield it to its full power. She is the only one who can help Koschei and that's why he will target her and may have already started.

As for the objects, I think they have to be destroyed in order for Koschei to get his soul back. But maybe he doesn't want the soul back inside him, he just wants to have it back, hide it and control it to come back to his god-like status.

A thing that needs clearing up is what is L/cien's deal in all of this. Is really Elain's mate? I do not think so.

I think that Koschei manifactured the mating bond with L/cien to keep Elain and Azriel away from each other. I think he knew or could somehow sense that Az and Elain are mates, true mates, soulmates, and that if they accepted it, their bond would be stronger than his magic. What I didn't highlight before is that Feyre's mention of the Elriel painting makes me believe they're carranam. That scene is too significant to either be nothing at all or something of little importance.

Also, the Cauldron's power in the battlefield when it almost blasted Cassian in ACOWAR is described as "burning-light". That also factored into thinking that Elain has shadowfire/shadowlight.

And finally, what I think is the reason Koschei found a way to manipulate/trick Azriel.

From ACOWAR :

"Again, the Cauldron sang its siren song."

"You hear it?"

A shake of the head. "No - but the shadows, the wind...They recoil."

Did you read that? If that's not foreshadowing, I honest to god will scream my lungs out.

Azriel's shadows reacted to the Cauldron's song. Something that only those who are Made can hear. There might be some truth after all that a deeper connection between Azriel and Koschei exists.

Siren song. Siren. Song.

What new species were we introduced to in ACOSF? Lightsingers.

Who, for all intents and purposes, are described as what? As the modernized version of SIRENS.

Who do we know that has a strong, strong, strong assossiation with lovely singing, that puts people in a trance? And lures them in? Made people? People who one way or another Koschei wants to use? Who blabbed to Merill about the Trove? You guessed it! Gw/n.

This might be nothing, but it can also be everyhting.

It's not that farfetched to imagine Koschei having something to do with the Cauldron. Not what I said, but anything. And it's also not farfetched to say that G/wn is a lightsinger and Koshei is manipulating her (I actually believe that).

I claimed that there might be a part of Koschei's soul in the Cauldron, but he might be connected to it in some other way. It doesn't really matter right now. Let's continue with the assumption that indeed he controls it, where was one of the Cauldron's three feet hidden? At a temple in Sangravah. Who else was there? Gw/n.

If there is a link between Koschei and Cauldron, he's been whispering in Gw/n's ear since she was at the Temple. Otherwise, Merill is acting like a mediator or he found her another way. Her singing, that canonically put Nesta in a trance-like state, might be what Koschei uses to trick Azriel.

“I spend so many months preparing for you,” Koschei crooned, “and you don’t even wish to speak to me?”

He spent months preparing him? How? What is the one thing that changed in Azriel's life when we read about him? He started training Nesta and her friends. Maybe Gw/n was supposed to do something to him. Maybe she already did it. Maybe she has his shadows in dazed and hazy state. Or she will.

“Eyes can be blinded,” Nesta said.

“Not the ones under my command,” Azriel said with soft menace.

Was that quote Sarah telling us that his shadows - his eyes - will be outsmarted and fooled? And that he will find a way to break whatever "curse"/"spell" that is?

Before anyone asks : No, I don't hate Gw/n. No, I don't think she will be evil. Yes, I do believe she's a lightsinger. Yes, I do think Koschei is using her. No, I don't have to hate her to think that. Yes, I actually like Gw/n, canon Gw/n, not the other one that lives on Tumblr, Twitter, IG, and Goodreads.

For the antis out there : the Cauldron sings too, maybe that's Azriel's mate, because you know...singing...

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hekateinhell · 2 years

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Vamptember, Day 2

Armand/Daniel | Rating: M | Prompt: Reverse AU | Word Count: 1600

Getting really AU here! Daniel is a vampire created in the 1970s, immediately left by his maker to struggle and figure things out for himself. Fifty years later, he meets a college student in NYC. A story in four months.

This is what he did to pass the nights. Every decade or so, he uprooted to a new city. Got to know the local culture, the fabric of the community. Attended evening classes at the colleges and universities. Collected stories—always itemizing, memorizing, documenting. He’d never stopped chasing the next best thing, the hot lead; it changed every night.

His creator hadn’t had much use for him before or after the fact—a blond-haired demon in the night that vanished almost as soon the deed was done. No matter, Daniel had made his own way over the past fifty years, since that damp evening in New Orleans in 1973.

What choice did he have?

He’d never made another, didn’t know how to. Never met another of his kind either, not including the one who’d abandoned him in the dark. His companions were the people he met along his trips, those that hankered to spill their guts to a handsome, violet-eyed stranger with a young man’s earnest, trustworthy grin.

—

September

It’s an art class at NYU. First class of the semester. The air warm and compressed with the scents of perfume, product, caffeine, nicotine, all the scents dragged off the streets of Manhattan—and of course, blood. Young and innocent and excitable.

But Daniel won’t feed from these youth, not in this decade anyway. He has never been able to stop before the point of no return. With no mentor, it was trial and error—much, much error—to realize that the ones he identified the most with, the ones he wanted to take into his arms to cherish and embrace, weren’t the ones he could connect with in the most intimate expression he had left.

He was never able to bring them back.

—

Daniel hears him before he ever sees him.

A loud laugh, almost childish in its uninhibition and audio frequency, the sound echoing throughout the classroom as he walks in, looking over his shoulder at a classmate.

Just a kid, Daniel thinks, because he himself is easily five decades older and at least two generations removed.

“Armand, come!" the kid's companion urges.

Armand.

It’s a pretty name. French in origin. Daniel tries it out without opening his mouth, feeling his tongue try to curl around the R.

Uncommon, but this was New York.

Daniel takes in everything, from the cascading dark auburn curls to the black combat boots. Seeing each feature separately and then combining them into the whole again.

There's a delicate androgyny to the face that would have had Daniel puzzling over the kid's gender—if the bossy friend hadn’t elected to use the masculine pronouns when referencing him to someone else in their little group. It corresponded with what Daniel can see outlined in Armand’s skin-tight leather pants, like he’s been sewn into them—trends from Daniel’s era had become new again. Shorter than average for a man his age then, the top of Armand's head would barely clear Daniel’s shoulder.

Almost as if he's hearing this descriptive analysis of his person, Armand whips his head around and catches Daniel's stare head-on. Smiles and makes his way over, chin tilted upwards.

His eyes large—too large—brown, and playful. And yet, there's an overwhelmingly melancholic quality to them that makes Daniel’s chest clench, in the same inexplicable way the sound of a train whistling in the distance once broke the heart of a lonely country boy in the Appalachians each night the Norfolk Southern freights passed through.

He wants this kid’s story.

“Hey, I'm Armand," the voice is low, breathy, “Is this seat taken?”

—

The kid, Armand, becomes Daniel's new friend for the season.

He’s talkative, and Daniel’s enquiring. He enjoys being the center of attention, and Daniel enjoys watching him in his element. He's sweet and sensual, liberated, and expressive in a way the homosexual men of Daniel’s era could never have been in the mainstream culture of the time period.

Daniel finds himself in Armand's apartment in Greenwich Village after class; first two, then three times a week. It's right there—a ten minutes walk away from campus.

Dangerous, frightening, how quickly Daniel fell into a routine with this one.

It’s easy.

It’s too easy.

Just get the stories and go, Daniel told himself.

But when Armand poured him the booze Daniel was never going to drink, opened the window to climb out onto the fire escape three floors up, laughing at the hesitance he saw written on Daniel’s face—misreading it entirely—coming to nuzzle comfortably against his collarbone, “What, are you scared of heights all of a sudden, Danny?” Daniel knew.

He wants to tell the kid to stop, knock it off, toughen up, man up—that he’s too sympathetic and enthusiastic to go out into the world behaving this recklessly, this trusting.

There’s dangerous people out there.

You’re gonna get hurt.

—

October

Armand leans against the railing, exhales a vape cloud into the sky, the strawberry scent cloyingly artificial.

"Kiss me," he says, his mouth smiling while his dark eyes issue the challenge, masking the plea Daniel can hear as loud and clear as the siren wailing in the distance.

He’d dropped two before going to class. He should be able to manage this, an innocent kiss. Tells himself this is the limit; he’ll enjoy Armand’s company until the kid eventually gets fed up when Daniel can’t offer him anything more and moves on. Sure, he might sulk for a week or two, but he'll soon land on his feet.

He's twenty-one; what does a twenty-one-year-old know about life?

Daniel won't ruin this one. He'll eat before, as many as it takes. Swears he'll never let things escalate to any form of physical intimacy anyway, beyond this.

Meeker, more submissive than expected, and Daniel's grateful for it. His mouth is warm, pliant, and giving, just like the rest of him. It allows Daniel to take control and prevent him from nicking himself on a fang. He’s placing a tremendous amount of trust in the belief that his instincts won’t win out this time, but he’d rather not test it after…

If Armand thinks Daniel feels wrong, he doesn't react, and his thoughts are calm and subdued enough that Daniel can't pick them up.

He pulls back, sees the kid's black lashes fluttering in the muted glow of Manhattan at night, dusting his cheekbones as he struggles to catch his breath, looking up at Daniel like he'd just hung the goddamn moon.

Fuck.

The sky has begun transitioning from black to violet when he lies about being late for work.

Armand’s exhausted, delirious. Jittery from the stimulant comedown, the night chill, the incessant surge of endorphins and hormones.

He trembles in Daniel’s arms, a whisp of a thing. Lips swollen from hours of making out, cheeks pink from cold, his heartbeat so loud and erratic—Daniel imagines it bursting out of Armand’s chest cavity, bathing them both in the delectable red warmth he can feel pulsating right beneath his fingertips. His throat aches and his mouth opens involuntarily, as if anticipating the arterial spray.

Armand stands on tiptoe, pressing one last kiss to his hard jawline.

“Text me later?”

“Later,” Daniel promises.

—

November

Armand calls Daniel his boyfriend now.

Dating has become much more complex and somehow more informal since the last time Daniel did it.

There's an expiration date on this "relationship." Seeing it looming in the distance, a flashing neon sign to an exit ramp in pitch darkness, makes him restless and agitated—which in turn, produces the inevitable natural consequences.

Armand screaming in Daniel’s face, no longer sweet-tempered and soft-hearted. Hurt and rage bringing about the most exquisite flush to his face and neck, the valves of his heart slamming open and shut, his jugular emphasized from the pressure building in his young chest. Completely unaware he may as well be laying himself down on a sacrificial altar.

More tempting was this display to Daniel’s basest desires than any of the nights he’d spent working the kid open, whispering sweet nothings in his ear as Armand buckled and shuddered against him, wailing Daniel’s name in the dark bedroom.

His insides searingly hot as he locked around Daniel’s three fingers, the sweat on his thighs tangy and salty—all of it a tease, a mockery of the red elixir coursing just below the paper-like skin.

And still, it paled in comparison to the passion and intensity of his fits.

—

December

Three unwelcome truths started to arise unbidden after each explosive quarrel, after each of Armand’s tearful outbursts—why can't we go out during the day? are you ashamed of being seen with me? what are you hiding? why can’t I touch you? why don’t you want to fuck me? what’s so wrong with me, Daniel? say it, I dare you, just fucking say it!—after each argument that Daniel stormed out, convinced if he stayed a second longer, he'd slaughter him right where he stood. Armand cursing his name loud enough for all of New York City to hear.

First, he was never supposed to get this far.

Second, he’d gotten the story he’d come for, and it was as tragic as he could have predicted. A tale to be shelved and revisited at a later date once the attachment had passed.

But last, and most importantly, Daniel had been this for so long, fixated on avoiding the literal and tangible collateral damage, he’d forgotten… until the damning pile of evidence couldn’t possibly be ignored any longer…

There was more than one way to ruin a person.

#y’all didn’t check on me all day & this is what I did #I actually had to cut it down RIP #if brevity is the soul of wit… well ;-;#vamptember #prompts #vc

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whitewolfdown · 7 months

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Name: Emma Kay Hill Gender: Female Sexuality: Bisexual Nationality: American Age: 129 Date of Birth: Feb. 26th Place of Birth: Denver Colorado Places of residence: Cold Spring, New York, and many safehouses located around the US and Canada thanks to May. Languages: English, ASL (American sign language) Species: Human turned werewolf Hairstyle & Color: Blonde, usually down and wavey Height & Weight: 5' 7", 135lbs Former Occupation: Part-time sales associate in retail

ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪:

Initially appearing arrogant, Emma adopts the persona of a party-loving sorority girl in order to maintain emotional barriers between herself and those she has developed affection for. However, if someone quickly identifies her facade and challenges her, she will readily retreat in a rather timid manner. Emma deeply regrets her actions during the loss of her pack, and she is willing to go to great lengths to safeguard and support others in need, even if it means protecting them from herself. Her pursuit of redemption is driven by her desire to compensate for the bloodshed endured by her former pack, and it has instilled within her a protective instinct when it comes to those she cares for, as she fears losing them. The unexpected encounter with Cara and Becca ignites a newfound obsession in this young wolf, prompting her to travel from New York to Denver, Colorado just to ensure the well-being of her friends and family. Emma's loyalty knows no bounds, and she tends to remain steadfastly by the side of those she holds dear, regardless of their rightness or wrongness, even if it places her in perilous circumstances. Inherited from her mother and father, Emma possesses a compassionate nature and an immense capacity for love. She wears her heart on her sleeve and is willing to get her hands dirty for the sake of her loved ones.

𝔹𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪:

"I had a comfortable and privileged upbringing in Denver, Colorado. I grew up with a loving family and lived in the suburbs. My mother, older brother, and older sister were my role models and I even tried to emulate them. As I got older, I developed new interests and decided to pursue a career in paleontology. I excelled in high school and achieved the highest score in my classes for the SATs."

This would be the lie Emma would share with everyone she met, that she had a good life full of love and laughter. However, the truth was that she struggled to gain attention from her parents due to her older siblings' achievements. She lived in the shadow of her siblings and their accomplishments, leaving the young blonde consistently envious of her siblings throughout her elementary and middle school life. Her relationship with her parents would not be any better, as she would catch her mother being unfaithful at age seven. During one of her mother's trysts with a strange man, Emma, who was at home due to a fever, walked in on her mother. Emma was immediately rushed out by her mother and was blamed for her mother's disloyalty towards her father while being told to never tell him about it in order to keep the child silent. Emma then distanced herself from her father because of her mother's infidelity all while keeping her mother's dirty secret through the remainder of her childhood.

During her high school years, the young lady forms a strong bond with her closest companions, Rebecca Byrd and Cara Zimmermen. The trio quickly become inseparable and spend a significant amount of time together. However, all good things must come to an end, and Emma eventually leaves her hometown to pursue her education at Cornell University. This decision proves to be life-altering for her. In a fateful encounter with a female werewolf, the blonde is viciously attacked and bitten on her shoulder. She spent the following weeks healing and recovering from her injuries. But could never shake off her flu-like symptoms, Emma experiences a transformation, becoming the very creature that had harmed her. After unintentionally attacking one of her dear friends from college, she decides to abandon her studies and live a solitary existence. Fully aware that she can never return to her beloved family.

After several months, the youthful werewolf discovers a group of fellow creatures and eventually settles in, although she never establishes a strong connection with any particular member of her newfound "family". Deemed an outsider, Emma experiences isolation and detachment from much of the pack's communication, feeling even more solitary than she had before. However, her life takes another turn as the fair-haired werewolf aids in defending their territory against a rival pack. It then appears as if her pack is finally beginning to accept her. Yet, this moment of tranquility is abruptly shattered when the wolf pack is once again targeted in an attack. This time, the wolf remains hidden during the confrontation, observing as the intruders annihilate her entire pack. Left with little choice, Emma must once again abandon her home. Upon arriving in New York, fate intervenes as she unexpectedly encounters her long-lost companions from a time she believed was beyond her reach. Immediately, she begins to follow them, hoping to reunite with them. Her only lingering concerns: How will the girls respond to her "new life?" And why did they seem so... Different?

Upon her emotional reunion with Rebecca and Cara, she learns that they too are werewolves. Revealing why she had disappeared and what had become of her, the group swiftly decided to stick together and get into contact with a witch named May. After deciding that the safest place for the three would be with May, they settle with the witch, however, it doesn't take long for trouble to find them once again. Having discovered Eric's presence in town Emma and Becca wind up butting heads and she cautions the young brunette Lycan that she may not be ready for such an encounter. However, her words go unheeded resulting in the death of two human hunters the group had managed to befriend.

Emma, who had developed feelings for one of the hunters, seemed to hold some resentment toward her long childhood friend, regardless of Mayleen's forgiveness. Emma's frustration was further enhanced when Cara announced that she planned to turn Mandy so that she could join the pack just three months after the incident with Eric and everything they had been through with Stratus. Concerned about the consequences of her friend's actions, Emma speaks against the changing of Mandy only for the two wolves to get into a fight. Angered by Emma, Cara snaps at the blonde and reminds Emma of her leaving when needed most, then suggests she does it again, resulting in Emma "wolfing out" and lunging at Cara who had already become a wolf to counter her assault. The two stopped only due to Stratus ripping them apart, she then lectured the two on being more of a unit before sending them in their separate ways with Emma's word going unheeded. Ultimately resulting in Mandy's death.

Still upset and emotionally wounded from both her fights with her childhood friends and that neither had heeded her words, the white wolf takes off on her own deciding she needs the space. She now resides in the woods on the outskirts of a small town in South Carolina called, McConnells.

"It sucks... You know? I could never go back... Never see my friends, my sister... My dad... My brother... So, I do this... I just watch and hope eventually... They'll move on and forget me somehow."

ℍ𝕆𝔹𝔹𝕀𝔼𝕊

Emma doesn’t have too many hobbies, besides obsessing over her old life, she doesn’t really make time for herself. However, there are some things she enjoys doing. Reading is one of her favorite pastimes, though curling up and watching movies is a close second. And she’s not one to go against any form of mischief, in fact, it's one of her favorite things to do. However, if there’s one thing this girl loves to do more than anything… It’s digging. Digging up bones from an ancient past.

ℍ𝔸𝔹𝕀𝕋𝕊

Emma has a tendency to pace when she is anxious, stressed, or restless. She is known for being quite open about her emotions, and her numerous habits are a clear indication of how she is feeling. Whenever she is extremely happy or excited about something, she tends to express it loudly. This typically involves consuming alcohol, which she frequently relies on more than she should. As mentioned earlier, Emma has a tendency to fixate on her past life, particularly the individuals who were a part of it. It is difficult for her to let go, and she often travels extensively to check up on people she used to know. However, she never strays too far and prefers to remain close to those who have remained in her life.

𝕎𝔼𝔸𝕂ℕ𝔼𝕊𝕊𝔼𝕊

Wolfsbane || Silver

Self-critical || Anxious

Fire || Naive || Perfectionist

Highly Emotional || Liar at Times

𝕊𝕋ℝ𝔼ℕ𝔾𝕋ℍ𝕊

Determined || Persistent

Kind || Loyal || Generous

Superhuman Strength/Speed/Senses || Resourceful

Self-sacrificing

#Emma Hill

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sinemaveriteofficial · 1 month

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My Life Story

I was born to a middle-class family in NYC in 1899, the second of four children. I had a quite normal upbringing; my parents were very kind and understanding, and I was close with my siblings despite our occasional quarrels.

I've always had some concept that I seemed to experience the world differently than my peers. My interests and preferred conversation topics were considered too advanced or boring to relate to classmates and neighbors. I did endure a bit of bullying in elementary school, but Lewis put a stop to that very quickly.

I did reasonably well in school, graduating high school in 1918. During my senior year, I told my parents about my discomfort living as a female, and desire to create a more authentic life for myself. My parents were wonderfully supportive of my wishes, and helped me as much as was possible.

In spring of 1919 I finally had everything prepared to move. Once I left, taking my new documentation we had created, my parents held a funeral for their eldest daughter. They buried an empty coffin in a grave with my birth name.

I wrote a lovely eulogy under my new identity, with the pretext that I was a man that the deceased had been courting, and my parents saw me as a son because of this, giving an understandable reason for us to maintain a close relationship rather than severing ties.

Knowing I wanted to pursue a career as an actor, I moved to New Orleans, Louisiana. The film industry was smaller there than in New York, but still a very viable opportunity for a young actor. The environment was perfect for me; lively, and populated enough that I could blend in with the crowd. I was able to rent an apartment on my own, finally fully independent.

However, with so many people packed so densely, there were always those who were looking to take advantage of the unaware. They lurked in every shadow, waiting for someone they deemed an easy target. Everyone knew they were there, and everyone sober enough to remember knew to avoid them. But eventually, in 1924, one bastard made the last mistake of his life.

I had spent the evening on the town, drinking and dancing with a couple of friends. Our darling Lily was quite the lightweight. She loved partying, but the girl couldn't hold her liquor no matter how much she tried. We had left her alone for a moment; I had gone to get another round of drinks while the others danced, leaving sweet Lily, too drunk to dance, to hold our table.

That was the last time I saw that gentle girl. When I returned to the table she was no longer there. I asked one of our companions to check the washroom while I stepped out to see if she had gone for fresh air, only to see her leaving in a taxi. I never saw anyone with her, so I assumed she was calling it an early evening and going home safely.

However, the next day, the news broke, her name in the headlines. She had been found by her roommate, assaulted and slaughtered in her struggle to save herself. The night after her funeral, I swore to all things holy and otherwise that I would make the bastard that did this pay.

And make him pay I did. He never harmed anyone again, after that. Neither did my next target, or the next after that. It was incredibly therapeutic, really. Their begging, their screams… It makes the results all the more satisfying, the more they fight to live.

I know, so many have said it's tragic, a waste of human life. But these pieces of shit were far more useful in death than in life. I promise you, I'm not one to be wasteful. I only left enough to identify the dead, as their families and victims should receive that closure. I allowed the first one to be found, though; that was a message, on Lily's behalf. It was the only warning I allowed for the others.

Unfortunately, it seemed that I began getting credit for deaths that were not my doing. There were announcements about a serial killer, listing off those I had killed as well as others I had not. Either the news was getting trigger-happy over every unconnected death, or I had a counterpart in the city.

I suppose it was inevitable, really. If I believed in a higher power I'd say it was fate. We first met in a dingy speakeasy, drinking and dancing the night away. We ended up dancing together, then talked for hours, into the small hours of the morning.

We parted at closing, presumably strangers never to meet again. I found my next dinner on the way out that night. He was incredibly bold, pressing me for a proposition in clear public. So, I decided to allow him to follow me home. He was a bit lean for my preference, but a poor dish is an small sacrifice to get him off of the street.

I was just getting started taking care of him, when I realized my window had been opened and someone had entered. I went to check on it, leaving the creep tied in my kitchen. When I returned after finding nothing, I saw the man from the speakeasy standing in front of the creep, holding a knife and smiling but looking rather surprised.

After several awkward minutes, I found out that he was responsible for the deaths that had been confused with my work, and vice versa. He stayed that weekend with me, helping me dispatch and clean up our shared interest. We found we had even more in common than we realized, and a friendship formed.

As I write this I find that it sounds incredible cliched and corny, but after that night he was always part of my life. Neither of us trust or care for others easily, so there were several months of tentative friendship and testing the waters. But within the year we were as thick as thieves. Be it working up a target, a night out on the town, or a quiet dinner at one of our homes, we found ourselves happy and comfortable together like neither of us had been before.

With all this given, is it really so surprising that we ended up in a committed partnership? We both knew that we weren't the romantic sort, but it was very logical to make the decision to work to maintain such a rare relationship as what we had. Eventually we moved into a nice little house together, a close pair of bachelor friends as far as any outsiders were concerned.

That arrangement worked beautifully for years, the closest thing to domestic bliss that a pair like us are prone to. But it came to a terrible end in 1933. He had made a kill, and left to dispose of the remnants while I cleaned up at home. He was always prompt, always precise, but that night he was late returning.

I waited, assuming that an acquaintance had stopped to talk to him on his way home. But as the hours passed my dread grew. I fell asleep by the door, still waiting and hoping to wake to him walking in with a smile and a cheery explanation of the delay. But that never came.

What did wake me was a sharp knocking, so harsh and unlike him. When I answered the door I was met by a policeman, asking to speak to me. He asked me questions about Al, about his work and his hobbies. Eventually the reason for his visit came out.

Al was dead. Found burying human remains, and shot by an elderly hunter in the dim light mistaking him for a deer. I never thought that one could experience heartbreak without romance, but I learned otherwise that day.

I carried on for years, always doing everything I could for his memory. I was more ruthless than ever. I kept my mask in place for my daily life, always the actor. But I was slowly losing control of myself in my extracurricular activities.

I believe the only reason I was never caught was because I had become so erratic. My methods changed so drastically that law enforcement assumed I had to be a different person. I made kills outdoors, picked up targets in far too public places, even left behind tools. But eventually I would rejoin my dearest in the grave.

In March of 1938, nearly 5 years after the greatest pain of my life began, I found my peace. I finally slipped up; I discovered too late that the target I had just killed lived with his police officer brother. The brother came home as I was beginning to work up the body, drawing his pistol, and… I woke up in a strange place, with a different body.

Once I realized I was in Hell, I was able to find Alastor easily enough as he was already making a name for himself as a rising overlord, a story most everyone knows well. There's little to tell beyond that; Hell has been much the same for the near century we've been here, the only real changes being the rise and fall of overlords as newcomers make their way.

Alastor made his way to the top, every new soul he owned bringing more power. At some point, I'm not sure how many decades ago now, we decided it ebe prudent to legalize our partnership as a failsafe in case misfortune were to befall either of us. As part of our marriage contract I signed him my soul, and took partial claim of those that he owned then and in the future.

We were once again content for many years, until his recent unannounced sabbatical. Again I found myself left behind, picking up the pieces of our life and managing a small empire without him. With him gone his souls and responsibilities fell to me, which I dare say I handled dutifully for the better part of a decade.

I was beyond ecstatic when he returned, however. I am not fond of being an overlord myself, and everything besides those responsibilities I had let fall away. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was a broken man, being the one remaining for the second time.

But, he did return this time. And together we are rebuilding our status, reminding the masses why we were so feared. We've also been investing a great deal of time into our new project, helping young Princess Charlie Morningstar create and run her Hazbin Hotel.

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verdantlyviolet · 3 years

Text

Sapphomanteia (or ‘Sapphomancy’) is a divination system performed by casting dice to identify one of sixty-four possible number combinations, each referencing a fragment of Sappho’s lyrical poetry. This line of poetry can then be interpreted to answer the posed question, or as a guide to think over.

I have carefully selected sixty-four fragments from various translations of Sappho’s work – Diane Rayor, Anne Carson, Aaron Poochigan, and Mary Barnard. The end of each fragment is marked with its relevant reference number as per E. W. Voigt’s numbering system.

To perform Sapphomanteia:

Roll 3 four-sided dice (or roll one dice three times) and use the three digits rolled to reference the corresponding fragment in bold below.

(Online dice rollers here or here).

As with many forms of divination, you could say a prayer to Sappho or another god for guidance in your reading before you start.

111 - Yes, we did many things, then - all beautiful (24a)

112 - Golden-crowned Aphrodite, may I draw this lot (33)

113 - I hunger and I struggle (36)

114 - In the dripping of my pain may winds and anguish take him who condemns (37)

121 - You scorch us (38)

122 - To you I sacrifice on the altar a white goat and I will leave for you (40)

123 - My lovely friends, how could I change towards you who are so beautiful? (41)

124 - Their hearts grow cold and their wings fell slack (42)

131 - As long as you want (45)

132 - On a soft cushion I will lay my body down (46)

133 - Without warning as a whirlwind swoops on an oak, Love shakes my heart (47)

134 - You came and I was crazy for you, and you cooled my mind that burned with longing (48)

141 - The gorgeous man presents a gorgeous view; the good man will in time be gorgeous, too (50)

142 - I don't know what to do - I am of two minds (51)

143 - I don't expect to touch heaven (52)

144 - Having come from heaven wrapped in a purple cloak (54)

211 - Dead you will lie and never memory of you will there be (55 partial)

212 - I think no woman of such skill will ever again see the light of day (56)

213 - What country girl seduces your wits wearing a country dress not knowing how to pull the cloth to her ankles? (57)

214 - Yet I love the finer things … this and passion for the light of life have granted me brilliance and beauty (58)

221 - Because the blessed Graces grant gifts to the garlanded and snub the worshipper with no flowers on her head (81)

222 - I will love you ... as long as breath is in me … will care (88a)

223 - Clothed her well in delicate linen (100)

224 - The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars (104b)

231 - The sweet apple reddens on a high branch, high upon highest, missed by the applepickers: No, they didn't miss, so much as couldn't touch (105a)

232 - Like a hyacinth in the mountains, trampled by shepherds until only a purple stain remains on the ground (105b)

233 - Superior as a singer from Lesbos to those of other lands (106)

234 - We shall give, says father (109)

241 - I can best compare you to a slender sapling (115)

242 - Come, divine lyre, speak to me and sing! (118)

243 - I have no spiteful temper but am calm in mind (120)

244 - A delicate young girl plucking flowers (122)

311 - I myself once wove garlands (125)

312 - May you sleep on the breast of a tender companion (126)

313 - Come close, you precious Graces and Muses with beautiful tresses (128)

314 - But you have forgotten me (129a)

321 - Once again Love, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet and inescapable, crawling thing, seizes me (130)

322 - I conversed with you in a dream Kyprogeneia (134)

323 - Messenger of spring, nightingale with enticing song (136)

324 - I want to tell you something but good taste restrains me (137)

331 - Stand before me as a friend and flaunt the charm in your eyes (138)

332 - Ambrosia mixed in a bowl that Hermes, flask in hand, poured for the gods (141)

333 - Golden chickpeas grew on the shores (143)

334 - Don't move piles of pebbles (145)

341 - Neither the honey nor the bee for me (146)

342 - Someone will remember us, I say, even in another time (147)

343 - Wealth without virtue makes a dangerous neighbour, while their blend holds the pinnacle of happiness (148)

344 - When nightlong celebration closes their eyes (149)

411 - For it is not right in a house of the Muses that there be lament, this would not become us (150)

412 - As the full moon rose, women stood round the altar (154)

413 - Far sweeter in song than a lyre, more golden than gold (156)

414 - When anger spreads in the breast, guard against an idly barking tongue (158)

421 - Now I will sing this beautifully to delight my companions (160)

422 - With what eyes? (162)

423 - The Moon and Pleiades have set - half the night is gone. Time passes. I sleep alone (164b)

424 - Gaia, richly crowned, adorns herself in many hues (168c)

431 - I would lead (169)

432 - A vine that grows up trees (173)

433 - Easy passage (181)

434 - I might go (182)

441 – Danger (184)

442 – Honeyvoiced (185)

443 – Mythweaver (188)

444 – Manyskilled (190)

This has been a project of love and devotion, and I am very excited to share it with you all. Many, many, many thanks to @ofhoneyandflame and @thegrapeandthefig for all their help, guidance and input through this process <3

#Sappho #Sappho worship #divination #bibliomancy #stichomancy #hellenic polytheism #hellenismos #hellenic paganism #paganism

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life-of-an-asexual · 2 years

Note

Um hi, this is my first ever ask on Tumblr but I’ve been really struggling to figure out if I’m aroace or just ace so I’d really appreciate some advise I guess? I did some research and talked about it with some people I trust, but it’s kind of come down to something that I need to decide which is totally understandable but I’m just feeling a bit unsure if I fall under the aro category so to speak. I’ve had romantic relationships in like middle school and my freshman year of high school, along with a few fleeting crushes, but I’ve started noticing lately that when I think back on those relationships I wasn’t overly attached to any of them. I definitely cared about the person I was with but when the relationships would end I didn’t really get sad like other people in my school or any of my friends. I was just kind of indifferent? I fully identify as an asexual person though the specific term I go by (i.e. Demisexual, Grey-sexual, etc.) is a bit more complex than the umbrella term for the spectrum. Anyway, I’m just kind of wondering if I could also be aromantic because I don’t particularly like things that would be considered “normal” or “typical” of a relationship. I feel repulsed by the idea of kissing, and anything besides hand-holding, cuddling, or hugs freaks me out and makes me SUPER uncomfortable. Not to mention that I haven’t really been interested in seeking out a romantic relationship for about 6+ years now, and I’m pretty content to not have one in the future. I also think that I sometimes confuse romantic love for platonic love because I get really excited about new friends or people I have really good connections with and I tend to develop something similar to a “crush” on them until I eventually calm down and come to the realization that what I’m feeling is just platonic affection for them (this happens a lot unfortunately). My parents have said that I’m just too young to worry about love and relationships like that (I’m 20) and that I’ll find the “right one” eventually and that I’ll fall in love and may even want to be sexually intimate with them when I fall in love but I don’t share that belief. I feel like I’m open to the idea of romance but I don’t crave the intimacy that usually comes with it beyond hugs and handholding to be honest, which could easily be gained platonically. I’m also not really afraid of not falling in love with someone or possibly being “lonely”, I could always get a dog if I want a lifelong companion or just hang out with my best friend. So I guess I’m just wondering if I would fall under the aromantic umbrella based on the info I shared in this ask? I don’t really know, but I’ll gladly take any advise or reassurance anyone has to give me. Sorry for such a long ask, and thank you.

if you're looking for reassurance, then i can say that your experiences definitely fit with aromanticism. many of them are similar to my own and what i've heard from other aromantic people

i know plenty of people who cared about relationships before 20 (pretty much all of my friends in high school) so you're not too young to know this about yourself

no need to apologize for sending long asks, that's what we're here for. and if you have any more questions, we're happy to get them!

~Mod Q

#answered #anonymous #aromantic

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ask-the-lgbtqs-of-lovestruck · 3 years

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To the beautiful ladies of L&L, I was wonder if I could ask you about something I've been struggling with for a while. I've been struggling with figuring out if I'm asexual or not (I would still like to have a romantic relationship but...). Whenever I try to talk to my parents about it, they always shut me down. Sorry if this is too much, feel free to ignore.

“I am disheartened to hear that those who are raising you will not listen. They may not be ready for such a discussion now, but I do hope that will change. As for this struggle you describe, please know that it is not unusual to question one's sexual identity. It is also not uncommon for one without sexual desire to also have loving, romantic relationships. Whatever questions you may have, I would urge you to share them with a close, trusted friend, or a mentor. You may, of course, ask any of us as well, if it better suits you.”

“Sorry I got this message late, but the shop has kept me busy. It isn’t unusual to question your sexuality. I went through a period where I thought I was lesbian, then straight, before I realized I was bisexual. Thankfully my mother was supportive. I suggest you talk with a close friend or perhaps an old teacher. Of course, you can ask us or any of the others here, not just us Legends ladies.”

“It is never too early or too late in one’s journey in life to question things like attraction and romantic relations. I knew fairly young I was drawn to women, and even lacking experience did not change that truth for me. Take however long you need, my friend. There is no need to rush these things. With lots of exploration and research, you could come to your own conclusion. Best of luck!”

“It’s perfectly normal to question where you fall in terms of sexuality, gender, and/or romantic relationships. Sometimes you have to be comfortable enough to live in uncertainty until you figure out what is right for you. There are lots of online resources you could look up. I know for myself, being able to talk to MC about being Pansexual meant so much to me. I also joined a few groups on social media to find other people I could relate to and was lucky to find many people willing to answer my questions. They also shared their own stories, which made me realize how similar and different all of our situations are. The beauty of finding what suits you, is that there isn’t a right or wrong way to go about it. There is also the comfort of knowing that you can always change your mind and find something more applicable for you over time. It’s your life, find what fits you best, even if that changes or evolves into something else.”

“I am sad to hear that your parents aren’t receptive to your request of their support. My child Imohn had discovered many things about themselves in their adolescence. They identify not only as Nonbinary, but also as Aromantic and Asexual. I supported them every step of the way, as I do with all of my children. I hope that you can find the answers for yourself and have trusted companions or perhaps another member of your bloodline that might be willing to help along your path. If your parents continue to not support you, know that I support you as a fellow Mother. Come to my kingdom anytime you need a reminder of that.”

#answered #love and legends #lovestruck #anonymous #ask helena #helena klein #Ask L&L MC #ask mc #ask altea #altea bellerose #ask sophie #Sophie Lawrence #ask ishara #Ishara Idreis #asexual #ace week #ask the lgbtqs of lovestruck

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nirikeehan · 2 years

Note

Happy Friday! For DWC, might I suggest "Smoke, Fog, and Haze" for Blackwall & Cole?

Thank you for this prompt! Aaaah I've never written Cole before and I hope I did his precious little face justice.

@dadrunkwriting

The Pain of Being Real

Word Count: 2102

CW: Discussion of suicidal ideation

***

Fog surrounded him on all sides, pressing in with a cold, wet embrace. Ever since he had gotten below the frost line in the mountains, it had dogged him, making the winding path all the more treacherous.

With every step of his horse’s hooves, he put distance between himself and Skyhold. Relief and guilt compounded within him, but at least he had slipped his leash. He hadn’t been sure the Inquisition would allow him to leave, given the stipulations of his continued employment. However, with the threat to Thedas eliminated, keeping around a wanted fugitive was apparently more liability than asset. Josephine had signed for his release with little fanfare, though he noted a tightness around her mouth as she avoided his gaze.

It was less animosity than most had given him, and for that he was grateful. He had tainted the Inquisition with his presence for far too long. It was for this reason — aside from donating the wooden toys he’d made over those long months to Mother Giselle, to give to the war orphans — he hadn’t bothered his companions with goodbyes.

The trees beside the path became vague sentinels in the misty gloom. The man once known as Blackwall tightened his grip on the reins, feeling the trepidation in the horse beneath him. Something had spooked her; she looked up and around, as disoriented by the fog as he.

“Easy, now,” he said to the horse, though the eeriness seeped into him also. The forest was thick with sounds, few he could identify. Any manner of nasty creatures could be lurking. He edged the horse forward and glared at the opaque wall of white.

Something whooshed behind him. The horse panicked. She let out a terrified neigh, bucked, and galloped ahead. As he struggled to regain control, spindly tree branches raked their claws from the abyss, scraping his beard, hair and cloak. One came at his eye, and he wrenched his whole torso down to avoid it. When he straightened, the horse was coming up on an apparition emerging from the fog, ragged around the edges and with a misshapen head.

He pulled back on the reins with all his might, staying the horse before she could trample whatever the thing was. He reached for his sword. The figure spread its arms — human arms, with human fingers — and flailed at him. The deformed head lifted; it was, in truth, the brim of a large floppy hat. Beneath it, stringy flaxen hair obscured wild eyes. The narrow mouth grimaced at him.

“What are you doing?” shouted the spirit-boy. “Stop. You can’t leave!”

“Andraste’s third nipple, Cole!” Anger flashed hot through him. “I could have killed you just now, do you realize that?”

Cole didn’t seem to care. He was pacing back and forth, blocking the path. “You can’t just leave. That’s something Rainier would do, not Blackwall. You’re Blackwall.”

“Not this again.” Ignoring a headache coming on, he frowned at the half-feral young man. “I told you, I can’t just choose who I get to be.”

“Yes you do. You did. I did too. If I get to be human, you get to be Blackwall. That’s the deal. But only if you keep up your end.” Cole turned watery blue eyes upon him, narrowed with righteous fury. “She. Needs. You.”

The boy might as well have shoved a dagger between his ribs. He gritted his teeth to shut out the pain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” Cole stared him down, an impressive feat for being the one on the ground.

“Cole, please, just get out of the way.”

The boy shook his head stubbornly.

“What do you want me to say? That I’m strong enough to deal with their petty derision? The stares and the whispers, the insults to my face?” The way Thalia and Commander Cullen looked at each other, her face filled with tenderness once reserved only for the man she’d believed to be Warden Blackwall? “Well, I’m not. I’m sure you and the others would say it’s a bloody low price to pay for what I got away with, but I can’t do it anymore. There’s only so much public humiliation one man can take before he wishes she’d’ve just let me hang.”

Cole listened with his head canted to the side, his chapped lips parted. Something about the boy had always scared him — that intensity which straddled the line between compassion and cruelty. (And the mind-reading. That most of all.)

Cole said nothing. He looked troubled, and Blackwall felt pleased. No, actually, it was Thom Rainier who delighted in inflicting pain, in paying the world back for its arbitrary injustices. The boy was barely even of age, barely even human. How dare Cole presume to tell him what to do?

“Is that why you’re here?” Blackwall sneered. “To put me out of my misery?”

“No.” Cole’s answer came slowly. “I don’t do that anymore. I can’t…” He let out an anguished breath. “You don’t really want to die, do you?” He sounded unsure, staring up at the older man for confirmation.

“What? Can’t you look in my head and see exactly what my intentions are?”

Cole stared at his feet. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “I can’t see the way I used to,” he admitted. He sounded ashamed. “It’s too hazy.”

Blackwall frowned. “I think you ought to leave now, Cole.”

Yet Cole stood, spools of mist swirling around his ankles. He stamped the ground once, twice. His chin trembled. When he looked up again tears tracked down his gaunt face. “Can’t make people forget me, can’t even help, or— or move. Why can’t I…? This is all wrong. It’s not supposed to go this way!”

“Can’t do your vanishing act anymore, eh?” Blackwall asked, though his heart was no longer in the jape. “Shame it’s such an awful long walk back to Skyhold.”

Cole dropped to the ground and hugged his knees with a ferocity that tugged at something deep in Blackwall’s chest. The boy buried his head in his arms; his shoulders shook with the strength of his sobs.

Blackwall sighed. “All right, we’re on the road to Sulcher’s Pass. Past that’s the Imperial Highway. It’s a major traffic hub. There’s an inn not far from here where I was planning to stop for the night. There’s bound to be Inquisition agents going in and out. We go there, you can hitch a ride back with a scouting party or caravan, easy.”

Cole sniffled and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “We?”

“Yes, we.” He leaned down and stretched out a gloved palm. “You ever ridden a horse, lad?”

“No.” Cole frowned uncertainly at the horse’s muzzle.

“Well, seems like it’s time you learned,” Blackwall said, “if you’re to get around like the rest of us mere mortals.”

Cole watched him for a long moment. Then he stood up and grasped Blackwall’s hand as if for dear life.

***

As they reached the Strong Arm Inn, nightfall overtook the fog. The lantern above the entrance seemed barely more than a faint orange orb. Blackwall was grateful to board his horse in the stables and get down out of the saddle.

Cole had been subdued for most of the journey, and followed him meekly inside. The inn was a stout wooden structure, an A-frame that extended high above their heads, criss-crossed with exposed rafters. Smoke drifted from the fireplaces blazing at either end of the common room. The atmosphere was lively enough for a roadside inn: a few merchants discussing business, travelers slumped over their dinners, off-duty Inquisition soldiers playing cards. One of those gave Blackwall the evil eye, but didn’t seem in the mood to start trouble.

“Here,” Blackwall said, “you find us a table while I inquire about rooms. You eating food yet, or are you still subsisting on spirit energy or some such?”

“Hungry,” Cole mumbled, which Blackwall deemed good enough.

He returned with a frothing mug of ale in each hand to find Cole at a corner table, staring into the fire. He had removed the ridiculous hat and tugged absently at handfuls of pale hair.

“Got two rooms for the night. Barmaid said a caravan headed up to Skyhold is due in tomorrow morning.” He sat across from Cole and pushed the mug in his direction. The boy regarded it with apprehension. “Thought you could use a drink.” Blackwall took a stiff pull of his own. “Bowls of pottage will be out shortly, with some hard cheese.”

If Cole had an opinion of the dinner menu, he gave no indication. His fingers left his hair and curled around the mug’s handle. He sniffed at the ale, hesitated, and took a gulp. “Blech,” he cried, setting it down hard. “I don’t like it. It tingles.”

Blackwall cackled. “Yeah? Be thankful I didn’t order you the Antivan sip-sip. You’d be on the floor in minutes.”

Cole frowned hard at the mug, as if waiting for it to come to life. When it didn’t, he picked it back up and took a smaller swallow, grimacing. “Why do people drink this?”

“Gets better the more you drink,” Blackwall said. “But truthfully, not everyone drinks for the taste.”

Cole took a few more hesitant sips. He licked a bit of froth from his upper lip, where, framed by the firelight, Blackwall noticed the faint fuzz of facial hair.

“Look at that,” Blackwall said, pointing it out. “So you are a real boy after all.”

Cole flushed and clapped his hands over the lower half of his face.

“Don’t hide it,” Blackwall said, smirking into his mug. “The ladies like a man with some scruff.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being nice to me. You were angry before.”

Blackwall hesitated. He’d been trying not to examine his reasons for bringing Cole along. “It’s not right, leaving a kid alone on the road in weather like this.” He shrugged.

“But you’re still not coming back.”

Blackwall said nothing.

Cole tilted his head. “Why do you want to die?”

Blackwall glanced out the window at the thickening night. “You’ve got to learn some tact if you want to make your way among the living, boy.”

“Is it so you can be with your sister?”

The old grief stirred somewhere deep within him. Of all the things Cole had plucked from inside his head, hearing about Liddy had been the hardest. Flowers left on the windowsill, flowers dropped into the sea. He shook his head. “She’s been gone so long, she wouldn’t even recognize me.”

“She would,” Cole said softly. “But she wouldn’t want to see you too soon. Not before you’re ready.” He rocked in his seat. “Thalia wouldn’t want you to go, either.”

“Please, Cole.” Blackwall closed his eyes. “Not now.”

“You love her.” It wasn’t a question. “I don’t understand why you’re leaving her.”

Blackwall took a ragged breath. “You will when you’re older.”

Cole looked skeptical. He ran a finger along the sweating mug, drawing shapes in the condensation. “I thought becoming human would fix me. I thought I would stop hurting. But I didn’t. Now I just hurt in different ways.” He looked up with the innocence of a child. “Is that what you’re feeling? The pain of being real?”

“I suppose.” Blackwall took a hefty swig of his drink. “When you’re human, Cole, you don’t get do-overs. You can’t forget and start over. You’ve got to live with the choices you’ve made. That gets real heavy for some people.” He sighed. “Too heavy.”

Cole’s big eyes watched him. “Not for you.”

Blackwall quirked an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“You’re big and strong.” Cole nodded.

Blackwall barked out a laugh. “All right. Next lesson is metaphors. After that, girls.”

“So you’ll stay?” Cole asked hopefully. Blackwall couldn’t tell whether he meant with the Inquisition or on the earth.

“Nobody can see the future, Cole,” he said quietly. “Not even you. I’ve got to sort out some things, and I can’t do it in the Inquisition. You told me once I killed Rainier, but that isn’t true. You’re looking at him.”

Cole swallowed hard, his eyes filling with tears. Or maybe they only watered from the smoke. His own had been stinging since the mention of Liddy.

“There’s no way to be two people. And you only live once.” The man who wasn’t Blackwall raised the glass to his lips. “Tell me you’ll remember that. Please.”

“I’ll remember,” Cole whispered. “I promise.”

He lifted his mug too, and they drank.

***

Notes: I confess to having almost no idea how Cole’s spirit powers work and whether he retains them as he becomes more human. I took a lot of poetic license with them here for the sake of the plot. Hope you liked!

#blackwall #cole #fics #dragon age drunk writing circle #dragon age inquisition

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commonwealthoccurences · 3 years

Text

Companions React: Masked, Teenager Sole

Note: Deacon has a full imagine due to it being the original request, which can be found under the title “The Kids From Yesterday.” Enjoy!

Cait:

Nosy about Sole’s identity

The fact that they’re so secretive makes her extra suspicious about their motives, especially when she first becomes their companion

Will probably straight up start arguments about it, and it honestly does become a barrier in her trusting them

(Maybe it’s just an excuse she’s using not to trust them)

Eventually it settles into an unspoken agreement that they agree to disagree; Sole knows she doesn’t like their secrecy and Cait knows they don’t fully trust her either due to how guarded they have to be

Doesn’t appreciate it when other people push to find Sole’s identity, though

She can yell at them about it but no one else can, that’s her job

When she eventually has to remove Sole’s helmet due to them getting injured, she’s outwardly horrified

They remind her of herself when she was younger; young and vulnerable and put in dangerous positions no teenager should be a part of

She’s terrified for them and that shows itself as anger, considering that’s the only way she really knows how to show emotion

When they wake up they argue, but eventually she gives them her reasoning

She becomes extremely protective and is more ready than ever to spill blood over someone threatening Sole

No one was around and willing to protect her when she needed it as a teenager; Sole doesn’t have to deal with the same if she’s there, though

Curie:

Doesn’t particularly let the anonymity bother her

She notices, of course, how closely they guard their identity and the fact that they never show their face, or any part of their body, but that doesn’t hinder their efficiency so she doesn’t think much of it

Finds them to be delightful company and doesn’t need a face to know that

That’s about it. She may ask the occasional question about their background out of curiosity or ask their reasoning for hiding identifying features, but other than that she doesn’t really react to the hiding

When Sole gets injured and she finds out their identity she’s definitely surprised

She asks them what led them to taking up the mantle they have (General, Railroad recruit, etc) when they shouldn’t have to have that responsibility at such a young age

They’ve clearly proved themself capable, so she doesn’t tend to question them so much

However she does make sure to sneak in ways to let them be a teenager and not the Sole the Commonwealth knows

She asks them to join her on short walks, help her cook, etc

Makes sure to help them stay anonymous to others

Danse:

Absolutely not impressed

A security threat he doesn’t want to deal with

How is he supposed to verify they’re decent and vouch for them if he doesn’t even know who they are

Not to mention the potential for someone to pretend to be them and gain access to the Prydwen

Makes a begrudging exception if Maxson requests so or they turn out to be a fantastic asset

Doesn’t really stop prying, though (A small part of that is his own curiosity)

After they’ve known each other a while he gets defensive over other people prying into Sole’s identity

“They’re highly respected for a reason, I don’t think their appearance is any of your business, now is it?”

When he has to remove their helmet he’s shocked but doesn’t fully react

Sure, the situation’s unfortunate, however many Brotherhood recruits start young

Does have doubts as to whether or not a teenager can handle the workload and make the decisions required of Sole, but realizes eventually that they’ve already been making those choices

Is wary of them overworking themself but it isn’t a big conversation

Gage:

Struggles a bit with not being in the loop, but plenty of raiders don’t show their faces

If they get their work done and don’t fuck things up, he doesn’t particularly care what they look like or where they come from

Sure he’s curious and makes small attempts to find out what they look like but it’s not a big issue for him

Does ask about their past every now and then just to see if they’ll slip up

When he finds out their age and what they look like he finds himself more upset than he’d expected

The things he’d required them to do weren’t pretty and yet they hadn’t hesitated, even seemed to be trying to surpass his expectations

They lived in a shitty world but things like this really hit him in the gut and drive that point home

Goes a little easier on them afterwards but doesn’t make a discussion out of it and no longer pries

Also uses the respect angle as a way to get raiders to stop asking questions

Hancock:

Unashamed prier

Doesn’t hesitate to try and get them to expose their past

It’s playful teasing to him so unless Sole draws a line or seems extremely uncomfortable, he’s not gonna stop

Doesn’t really think there’s anything to their anonymity other than maybe them having a situation similar to Mac; someone hiding from raiders or the Gunners

Once they earn his respect his jokes get a little less invasive and he starts letting them have their secrets

When he sees they’re a teenager he’s pretty upset

They’ve been travelling the Commonwealth fighting things that no sane adult would go up against in their dreams and they’re just a kid in his eyes

Doesn’t really know what to do

Has a talk with them about letting him protect them a bit more

He doesn’t feel right having a teenager try and take bullets for him

He’s not upset at them he’s upset for them and all they shouldn’t’ve had to do

Haylen:

Another believer in the security risk issue

If they prove themself loyal, though, she doesn’t have too much of a problem

Does ask questions about their past but not to pry, more because she genuinely wants to get to know them

As long as they’re capable, though, she leaves anything regarding their appearance and past alone

That’s about it before they reveal their face

Afterwards she’s somewhat upset

She doesn’t often question Maxson, but he’s sending a teenager on dangerous missions that should be completed by the upper ranks of the Brotherhood

Mostly just angered by the fact that they have no one to stand up and protect them when a bunch of adults are asking them to do dangerous things for their own benefit

MacCready:

Respects the anonymity

Honestly a little jealous he didn’t think to go anon

Doesn’t ask anything in the beginning; he’s getting paid to protect them not for small talk

Does suspect they’re running from something

As they get closer he asks a few questions but doesn’t really pressure them to talk about their past

When he finds out Sole’s a teenager he’s possibly the most effected out of all the companions

He feels sick and immediately thinks of Duncan; this was somebody’s child. What if it was his kid in this position, with all these expectations on his shoulders?

Immediately activates dad mode, to the point where Sole might find it a little suffocating

“There has to be someone out there missing you, kid. Why are you out here doing all this dangerous sh- stuff?”

The dad mode thing doesn’t really switch off unless they’re in public; implying a familial connection could make things more dangerous

He does protect them in combat situations more, though, and usually has an eye on them at all times

Nick:

A little wary of their unwillingness to be identified, but can’t be too annoyed about it

There’s plenty of tactics to stay alive in the Commonwealth and theirs seems to be working for them quite well

Does wonder how they manage to avoid slipping up and revealing something about themself so well (he is a detective after all)

May make sly comments to see if they do mess up but other than that he leaves the identity situation alone

They’re respectable and they respect him, so that’s enough in his eyes

When he finds out they’re a teenager he, like Gage, is reminded of just how much the world has changed

He’s disgusted that a teenager has been put in a situation where they feel they need to make theses sacrifices for everyone

God knows the adults aren’t really doing it

Becomes a lot more defensive of them but not to the point Mac goes to

Checks up on them a lot more often, too

Makes sure they take breaks from the difficult tasks

Piper:

She’s a reporter; you really expect her to do anything other than pry?

Seriously does everything she can think of to get them to slip up and reveal something about themself

Even tries to bribe them

When it doesn’t work she sulks a little and mulls over her next plan

Eventually she isn’t so forthright with it but she never really stops trying

Makes it clear that she does respect Sole for their personality and what they do, though

When she finds out it all makes sense to her and she feels guilty for being so persistent

Becomes a bit protective over them as well; she couldn’t imagine if Nat was put in their position

Tries to make it clear through her actions that they have a home with her and Nat if they need somewhere to go or a family, since it seems like they don’t have one of their own

Preston:

Are they efficient? Do they respect the settlers? Do they have a good heart and want to help the Commonwealth? Good enough for him

He doesn’t have the time or energy to try and dig into why they don’t want to show their face

He’s admittedly a little curious but it’s none of his business and he makes sure that they know he knows that

A little more reluctant to just let it go once they become General considering there’s more at stake, but what else is he gonna do

It’s not like anyone else was willing to lead, and they seem to be doing a damn good job at it

When they get injured and he finds out why they hid their appearance, he’s somewhat upset

At himself for putting so much pressure on a teenager, at Sole for not being straightforward and allowing him to push them so much, and at the world for putting them both in a situation where there’s no other option

Moving forward he asks a little less of them and tries to step up even more to take some of their workload

Definitely helps quell the settlers asking questions about Sole and their identity

Sturges:

Pretty similar to Preston

Doesn’t ask too many questions as long as they’re a respectable leader

When he finds out he takes a minute to be frustrated with the situation and then moves on

Their armor and weapons are always priority for repair, however, and he asks them quite often if they need his assistance with something

X6-88:

Internally he’s quite unwilling to believe they’re good enough for the job the Institute’s given them, but he doesn’t express this other than with a few snide comments

They could be a major security risk but the decision has been made and he’s not in much of a place to protest

He does try to investigate them on his own, without asking them questions directly, but comes up empty handed, which irritates him further

When he finds out he’s alarmed

The fate of the Institute, and therefore the Commonwealth, as been put in the hands of a teenager

His reaction to protect them even more isn’t quite out of concern for their wellbeing, and more out of concern for the Institute if they were to die

Isn’t impressed

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 companions react #fallout 4 headcanons #fallout 4 hcs #cait #curie #paladin danse #deacon #gage #hancock #rj maccready #scribe haylen #nick valentine #preston garvey #sturges #x6-88 #piper

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carbo-ships · 3 years

Text

This one is also from before Sol and I were technically together. He protecc, he attacc. Full story under the cut.

Part 8 [Soldagand/Carly Masterlist]

“You can’t run forever, girlie!”

Three highwaymen were chasing Carly through the valley. She knew she needed to get somewhere safe as soon as possible. She would start getting tired soon, and they all knew it. Thankfully, she knew exactly where she was going—a rare occurrence, but she had traveled this way before. Two of the men noticeably slowed the moment she crossed the edge of the forest.

“What’s the holdup?” the tallest one asked, pausing to interrogate his companions.

“Haven’t you heard? The next village over’s got a dryad protecting these woods!” the second responded, jabbing a finger in the forest’s direction.

“Yeah, I— I don’t know about this,” the third piped up. “I don’t think it’s worth it. Sun’s almost down.”

“You don’t actually believe those stories, do you?” the first yelled, bewildered at their sudden cowardice. “She ran in there! And since when were you two scared of tree nymphs? C’mon!” He charged into the forest, and his companions reluctantly followed suit. The brief pause they made was almost enough for them to lose sight of her. She wasn’t any faster of a runner than they were, but she weaved through the trees with an effortlessness that suggested familiarity. The three men frequently found themselves blocked by thick branches whereas she seemed to know a sure path. She gradually pulled away from them until they were only guessing her direction based on the rustling of the leaves.

They managed to follow her into a small grassy clearing, not realizing she was no longer alone until it was too late. She stood cowering in front of a hulking man with pointed ears and green skin—easily identifiable as a dryad. He had one hand on her shoulder, the other caressing her face gently. His head snapped to the three men the moment they broke through the tree line, his eyes flashing bright orange with the reflection of the evening sun. The sight sent a shiver down the second man’s spine. All three stopped in their tracks. The dryad said something to her that was too quiet for them to hear before giving them his full attention.

“You fellas wanna tell me why you’re chasin’ this nice young lady?” he asked calmly as he stalked towards them, his voice unsettlingly deep with a slow drawl. As the distance between them quickly closed with his long strides, they realized just how massive he was—easily seven feet tall with tremendous arms and the legs to match. He was scowling underneath his thick green beard. It was clear to them that he had already appointed himself both judge and jury, and had every intention of also making himself the executioner. Before any of them could even attempt to come up with an insufficient excuse for chasing a girl through a forest, he grabbed the tallest one by the neck with one hand and lifted him off the ground over his head effortlessly. The man clung to the dryad’s wrist, sputtering for air. His companions looked terrified, frozen in place even though they wanted to run.

“I’ll be straight with you, yeah?” Soldagand said, staring down their leader. “Only reason I haven’t beaten the shit out of each and every one of you is that I don’t wanna scare my lil friend here. So how about this: if I ever catch you in these woods again, the bottom of my boot’s gonna be the last thing you ever see. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes—Yes, sir!”

Soldagand let him struggle for another moment before releasing his neck. The man plummeted back to earth and hit the ground hard. He scrambled to his feet, gasping for breath, and the three men took off running the way they came.

As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to face Carly. His demeanor immediately softened. “You okay, darlin’?” he cooed, gently resting his hand on her shoulder. She nodded, but tears still began to form in her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart...” He pulled her into a hug, and she clung tightly to him. His heart sank when she started crying into his chest.

“Thank you,” she whimpered.

“C’mon, let’s go home.” He bent down to scoop her up into his arms. Nodding, she hugged him around his neck as he started walking back to his tree. “I’ve gotcha, sweetheart,” he murmured as she cried.

“Soldagand,” she sobbed, clinging to her savior.

“I know, darlin’, I know. I’m right here. It’s okay. Ain’t no one gonna hurt you, not while I’m around.” As he walked, he began to hum softly in her ear in an attempt to calm her down—songs he had heard in town, songs of the Fae, songs she had once sung for him that he couldn’t remember the words to. She rested her head on his shoulder, her exhaustion from the chase finally taking hold.

The sun crossed over the horizon just as they reached his tree. He stepped through quickly, knowing the space between tended to make her dizzy. Once inside, he carefully reacquainted her feet with the floor. “Go ahead and set your stuff down,” he said after kicking off his boots and hanging up his coat. “I’ll draw you a bath, lay out some pajamas for ya. You hungry?”

She nodded silently, wiping stray tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands.

“I’ll make us somethin’ while you’re cleanin’ yourself up, then. Stew alright?” Again, he received a silent nod in response. He sighed to himself, partially wishing he had killed those men while he had the chance. He knelt in front of her and gently took her hands in his. “Hey, look at me. I know that was real scary, darlin’. But I’ve got you now, okay? You’re safe here. I won’t let anything happen to you. You trust me?” He reached up and brushed a rogue tear away with his thumb.

“I trust you,” she finally said.

“Alright, gimme a hug.” He returned to his full height and opened his arms. She closed the space between them and hugged him tightly. He rubbed her back comfortingly. The two spent a silent moment in each other’s embrace before he finally let her go. “I’ll get that bath ready for ya,” he said before walking out of the den.

She sat down to wait, her legs still feeling like jelly from running for so long. After opening her bag and making sure nothing had gotten jostled too badly during her sprint through the forest, she busied herself with ridding her aching feet of her boots.

Before long, Soldagand reappeared in the den. “Ready when you are,” he said. She stood with a small grunt and followed him into his washroom. “Take as long as you like. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done.” He kissed her forehead gingerly before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged wearing the old t-shirt he had lent her. The hem nearly reached her bare knees and the neckline was determined to hang off one of her shoulders. The pants he had left out for her were folded neatly in her arms.

He couldn’t help but grin from his spot in front of the stove. “Pants too big for ya?”

“They kept falling down, so I gave up,” she laughed.

“You look so damn cute, y’know that?” He smiled at her warmly and she bashfully mumbled her thanks. “Just leave ‘em on the couch, I’ll put ‘em away later. Dinner’ll be ready in a minute.” Soldagand returned his attention to the pot on the stove, but soon felt her rest her cheek against his strong back and hug him around his waist.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

“No need to thank me, honey.” He rested his free hand over both of hers, rubbing them gently with his thumb.

“If you hadn’t come along—”

“You’d have kicked their asses yourself. I’ve been trainin’ you. So has Ani. But I was there, so you didn’t have to. I just saved you the trouble.” Sol spoke confidently, trying to give her a sense of security. He set the ladle down and turned around to see tears returning to her eyes. With a sigh, he pulled her into his arms. She nuzzled her face into his chest, and he kissed the top of her head. “Now don’t you start cryin’ again. You’re safe an’ sound now. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Let’s get some food in ya, yeah? You’ll feel a lil better.”

Carly nodded. Sol kissed her forehead again before releasing her and grabbing some bowls. He poured a small helping into one—he knew she never ate much—and a heaping portion in another. He took a couple spoons before bringing the bowls to his table. “Careful, it might still be a little hot for you,” he warned. She thanked him and sat at his side, eagerly accepting the warm meal.

“Did you know those men?” he asked, shoving a spoonful in his mouth.

She shook her head before blowing on the stew to cool it down. “Just ran into them on the road.”

Soldagand nodded silently, doing his best to conceal his seething anger. “When you were comin’ back from Ithea?”

“Yeah.”

“They from there?” he asked calmly.

“I dunno. Why?”

He shrugged casually. “Jus’ curious.” He was already envisioning himself choking the air from their lungs. “I doubt they’ll be botherin’ you anymore, but you’re free to stay here as long as you like.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to impose.”

“Of course. I don’t want you bein’ scared. Not over some assholes like that. Not when there’s somethin’ I can do about it.”

“I... Thank you. Really. You always take such good care of me.”

“Ain’t no trouble.”

“I know you always say that, but...” She looked down at her stew. “I want you to know I really appreciate you. I don’t want you to think I take you for granted or anything.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I know you don’t. Darlin’, you tell me you love me just about every time I see ya. And I love you, too. That’s why I do this. I don’t like people messin’ with what’s mine—and that includes you.”

Mine. Her cheeks flushed and she refused to meet his gaze.

He laughed again. “Sorry, was that too much? Just don’t let Ani know I said that—he and I are a lil territorial by nature,” he admitted.

“What do you mean?” she asked with a small tilt of her head.

“Are you really tryna tell me you haven’t noticed him and I fightin’ for your attention?” he asked with a laugh.

Her eyes widened. “Uh… No?”

“Hmm. I thought we were bein’ pretty obvious about it.”

“Why would—I—I don’t understand.”

“Ani found you first, but I think you’re adorable, so I want you to like me more than you like him,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s been a bit of an uphill battle against the man who saved your life, but you seem awfully fond of me, so I’d reckon I’m doin’ a pretty good job.” He grinned and winked, which she found herself largely unable to handle with any sort of grace.

After dinner was finished and the kitchen had been tidied up, he took her hand and led her to his old couch. He patted his lap. “Right here, you know the drill.” Once she was settled in his lap, he hugged her tight against him. “You feelin’ a lil better?” he asked, and she nodded. “Good, good. Well, how was Ithea—other than the way home?” The two chatted comfortably for hours, talking about her travels and how things had been going in his village. She’d giggle at how enthusiastic he was when he talked about the mead he was brewing and sit captivated as he talked about close encounters with bears. He was about to start up another riveting tale when he caught her trying to stifle a yawn. “You tired?” he asked with a grin. “Don’t let me keep you up, sweetie, we can keep talkin’ in the mornin’. You must be exhausted after all that.”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “It’s been a long day.”

“Alright, let’s get you to bed. I gotcha.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bedroom. After he set her down, he opened a small closet to get more blankets for her. He set them on the bed before dimming the ambient light of the room with a wave of his hand.

“I’ll be in the den if you need anything.”

“Wait, Soldagand, uh—”

“Hmm?” He paused in the doorway.

“Could you— Can I— Could we sleep together? Just for tonight?”

He smiled softly. “Of course. Let me just change real quick.” He slipped out of the room and she sat down on the edge of his bed.

He returned a few minutes later wearing the soft pants she had set on the couch before dinner, the small doll of himself in his hand. Carly’s face flushed as soon as she realized. “Saw this lil guy poking his head out of your bag. Do you usually bring him with you when you travel?”

“You— You said it was for when I missed you and... that’s always.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed, an amused grin tugging at his lips. “D’you sleep with it?” She averted her eyes as she nodded. Soldagand was beaming with pride.

“Sorry if that’s weird,” she mumbled.

“Not at all, honey. I was kinda hopin’ you would. Means you miss sleepin’ next to me,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows. She involuntarily let out an embarrassed squeak and he laughed. “Well how about you hold him tonight, and I’ll hold you, yeah?” He handed her the doll and she squeezed it tight against her chest with a nod. “Now c’mon, let’s go ahead and get in. I can already see you’re gettin’ goosebumps. Sorry about how cold it is in here, but you know how I am.”

They both got into bed and he tugged the covers over them before pulling her back into his warm chest. “This good?” he murmured, and she hummed in response. He sighed pleasantly as they made themselves comfortable, wrapping his arms around her in a secure hug.

“Thank you,” she mumbled again, his sudden warmth sending a pleasant shiver down her back.

“Will you stop thankin’ me and apologizin’?” he chuckled. “Has it ever even occurred to you that I miss you too when we can’t see each other? I know I tease ya about how fond you are of me, but it goes both ways, kid. You’ve got me feelin’ jealous of a damn doll just because it’s with you more than I am.”

“Really?” she asked bashfully, tightening her hold on the miniature Soldagand.

“Really. But if I say any more, you’re gonna get all embarrassed; I know how you work. So, let’s get some rest, yeah?”

[prev] / [next]

#carbo draws #carbo writes #selfship #self ship

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alluringjae · 3 years

Text

[ 23:45 ] ⮕ END

part of my collection of cookie cuts from all i do is wait

in order to understand, read the main story first here.

pairing: ghost!doyoung x female!reader

genre: angst, sum fluff if you really squint

warnings: death, grief

author’s note: someone asked me how i would interpret this scene, so here it is. this hurt A LOT. have fun though!

leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Mid-1953

At long last, the Korean War has ended after 3 years.

Over 5 million people dead, and to be one of the lucky survivors was a miracle.

The remaining soldiers who’ve fought through it all could return home, whilst civilians can properly rebuild all that was devastatingly destroyed in their cities. Their own normal lives included.

The fiercest 3 years of your life must you say, too engaged with self-studying your history books saved pre-war while dealing with the bargaining stage of your grief towards Doyoung. Every day, you couldn’t go on without overthinking the what-ifs. On top of that, your toddler Areum was at the stage where she loved creating a mess on the walls with her crayons. No matter how many times you’ve corrected her because it wasn’t your house, she continued anyway.

Now, she’s full-blown crying after you confiscated them and you’re on the verge of it. Thankfully, your mother stepped in to take her out for a walk in the neighborhood so you could unwind for a bit.

Since news broke out that the war ended, everyone from every street cheered and danced on the streets. You hailed with praise along with them, positive that things were going to get better. Yet deep down, you’ve selfishly wished that he was one of the lucky few to come home.

If only you didn’t chicken out so easily after he told you he was enlisting so you had a few more seconds with him.

If only you compromised him to join another field.

If only you told him about Areum earlier so he could go home.

These thoughts revolved your mind the most, instantly getting you to break down wherever you were. Even photos of him and you together were enough to tear down your walls. So, they remained hidden until the day you’re in a much better state of mind.

Dear god, you longed for him. Everything that consists of him.

In hopes to forget this tremendous loss in your life, you poured hot tea in a cup and started on this new book from this ongoing series, The Chronicles of Narnia. Getting it during this harsh period was tough, bartering it with old books you’ve owned in the market.

Fully preoccupied in the fantastical universe, flipping the pages quickly, you almost missed the continuous knocking on your door. You let out a tiny gasp and made your way to the entrance. As delusional to think it was Doyoung, you knew it wasn’t your mother and Areum either because they would’ve simply walked in. Opening it anyways, you were met by two young tall men. One had a bandage on his cheek while the other had a cast on his right arm. Noting their growing hair, they must’ve fought in the war.

Oh, if Doyoung was one of them.

“Hello, may I know who you two are?”

The one with the bandage spoke up, bowing first. “Hello, I am Lee Taeyong and this is my friend, Kim Jungwoo. We were good friends of your late lover, Kim Doyoung.”

Late lover.

Haven’t heard that since people in the neighborhood gossiped about your taboo pregnancy, but it’s not like they knew anyways. But from the letters exchanged with Doyoung before, he talked about these two highly. Whenever there were times of ease while serving, Doyoung was always up to mischievous things with these two. In a situation where they had to man up, they brought out his inner child.

“Oh, yes! Doyoung used to talk about you two in his letters, but I had no clue how you guys looked.”

By instinct, you invited them inside for tea by the patio. You’ve always wanted to meet them despite the circumstances. Bringing in a tray with a teapot and treats, mostly you were inquiring about their lives. Aside from knowing their positions in the team, you learned of their new plans moving forward.

“I want to return to university to finish my studies in mechanical engineering, maybe travel the world too.” Jungwoo stated, blowing on his cup before sipping it. He’s said to be an organized man according to Doyoung, always cautious of his surroundings. It balanced out his liveliness.

“Me too! I want to complete my major in finance, then marry my childhood sweetheart after a few years.” Taeyong expounded, his round eyes glowed in wonder. He must’ve been looking forward to this day, and you were content for him. Meanwhile, it processed to Taeyong what he said, realizing that it may have been insensitive.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” He burst out instantly. “I got stuck in my feelings there.”

“It’s okay, nothing to worry about. You shouldn’t apologize for how you feel.”

“I do think we should feel worried about you though.” Jungwoo interrupted, sighing heavily. “What happened with Doyoung-hyung all those years ago, we’re really concerned for you especially.”

At the mention of the painful memory, this wasn’t the right time to crumble. You weren’t capable to show your vulnerability to anyone but yourself. Plastering a wrenching pretend smile, “I appreciate the concern, truly. But I’ll be okay again. I’m planning to return to university too, then proceed to law school. A shared dream of mine and his.”

Taeyong and Jungwoo transparently viewed you like glass, coping with the grief of it. They were on the same page as you, and unaware to you, they knew his final words. With their interpretation, it only felt right to reach out to you. Befriend you, aid you in any possible way.

At the end of the day, three of you equally shared the suffering over the death of a loved one.

Sitting in peaceful silence, the front door creaked open followed by a tiny, high-pitched voice squealing.

“We’re home!” Your mother shouted.

“I’m at the patio, we have guests over!” You replied, pouring more tea for the two quiet boys.

From such a low-spirited atmosphere only did it liven up when an energetic Areum came into your setting. She had pigtails this time, satisfying herself with fresh bungeo-ppang from the neighborhood. No matter what you’re feeling, it took a single glance of her with her small moon-like eyes to recharge you.

“Mom, who are your friends here?” She pondered cluelessly.

The two boys exchanged looks at each other first, then to you in one breath. Their expressions of perplexity by how one’s hand was on their mouth and the other boy couldn’t stop staring at Areum, you identified exactly what they were thinking of.

“Areum, these are your dad’s friends in the army.” You animatedly confirmed. “The one with that tiny bandage on his face is uncle Taeyong, and the one with the white cast is uncle Jungwoo.”

Doyoung’s death was already so heavy to take in, but upon discovering this hidden surprise, Jungwoo wiped his tears on his sleeve. But you were fast to hand him some tissue. He was younger than you, so your older sister instincts kicked in.

“This is unjust, (Y/N).” He murmured across you so Areum won’t pick up his words. Your lips pressed against each other, maintaining a straight face at him. He was right.

With Taeyong, his arms spread out wide for the small girl who willingly walked to him. He loved children, having a nephew back home. He caressed her smooth hair down to her jaw. The first thing he distinguished was her pretty eyes followed by her squishy cheeks, resembling so much of his late friend.

“You’re so pretty, Areum. Did your mom tell you that you mirror so much of your dad?”

“Yes, she does! But I’ve never met him and I don’t when I will, uncle Taeyong.”

A tragedy how the splitting image of his best friend doesn’t see what everyone sees. But again, she’s only 3 and she can only process so much. She doesn’t know the real truth behind her father’s location, except that he was working far, far away. There are days she’d ask if he’d come back soon, yet your only response is not now. This isn’t the right time for her purity about life to stain.

“Well Areum,” Jungwoo gathered his senses again, crouching down to her level. “As his friends, we know that you look just like him! Prettier even.”

“Really? Tell me more about him, uncle Jungwoo!”

It’s about time someone else shared stories about your late lover because yours was short-lived. It’s even more intriguing to listen to what other people have to say about Doyoung that weren’t his parents. Some stories told by Taeyong and Jungwoo were new to you too, giggling along to their ridiculousness when they’re not training or fighting. Loving their presence, you invited them to stay for dinner with your family, which they couldn’t reject.

What started as a tense conversation transformed into a heartwarming experience. These two boys earned a spot in your life, aspiring for longtime friendships with them. The tender way they cherished for Areum like they’re own after meeting for the first time, it’ll fill in bits of her void. In exchange, they insisted to chip in for you and her lives so it wouldn’t be just you and your family. Struggling already with the consequences of the war, it only felt proper to do so.

“Doyoung has always been there for us, now let us return the favor and be there for you and Areum.”

Your protests were deemed useless, so you allowed them to do so. Once you finished law school and take the exams, you could pay them back. It’s phenomenal how Doyoung’s good influence towards others multiplied even after his passing. Maybe if you began to view things this way, you’d recover sooner. Although he’ll always be in your thoughts, it wouldn’t be as sensitive as it is now.

For now, you’re just going to enjoy the bliss Taeyong and Jungwoo brought, retelling old tales of a drunk Doyoung on the dining table.

From behind your garden fence in secret, Doyoung secretly observed as his treasured companions interacted at last with positivity. His only daughter mirroring his adored smile, he lived in that moment vicariously through her.

What a good time to visit today, truly.

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asktheheirofslytherin · 3 years

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yeah, so... er... ok, i'm just going to be blunt, i need advice. when i was a kid, i went through a phase that us girls like to call the 'not like other girls phase' (search it up if you want to) and in that phase i acted really bluntly rude to a lot of people (my friends, my acquaintances, etc) and i really want to apologize to them but i just don't know how. everytime i think of saying sorry, my mind turns up blank. how i can approach them? without being rude?

I have two minds about this. One is that it is good you have become self aware, and that it is generally good to smooth over any potential lingering resentment with one's allies, and the other being that they have clearly chosen to remain your allies through this, if you refer to them as current friends. I am certain they are aware you have changed, and many would likely not be expecting an apology. Social behavior is a skill like any other - you would laugh at the idea of reaching out to your childhood professors for struggling to learn sums, no? But I do understand that social errors may be a bit more...harmful than mathematical errors - which renders the memories of how you acted as signinifcantly more cringe worthy than any low-marks exam. So perhaps it depends.

All adolescents go through a phase of trying to define themselves. They try on different identities, so to speak, through varying interests, hair styles, aesthetics, and so forth. As we age and become more comfortable with ourselves, we keep the things we find have suited us well (dueling, the dark arts, an impeccable sense of style) and losing things that no longer fit (gobstones, poetry composition, hair).

All young people also try to differentiate themselves from others as they come into their own sense as a unique individual. This can be done rather dramatically (see: emo fashion, bizarre nicknames, starting a cult, being "not like other girls"). The good news is that people, especially allies, tend to be forgiving of their companion's phases of differentiation. Indeed, groups of young people tend to take on these traits collectively - it is how trends start, and why there were a bunch of youth ironically saying "rawr" in the mid 2000's. If your friends all adopted the same mentality during these years, is likely something you all can now laugh about.

If you have truly harmed someone during this phase - started rumors, stole property, cut someone out, framed someone for a wrong doing, or otherwise betrayed them, and are looking to make amends and/or regain their favor, then an apology is indeed necessary.

If you are not in much contact with this individual, a simple message on a social media platform may do. Make it sincere and brief (no 2 pages essays). Identify what you have done wrong, do not add disclaimers "but/I only did it because/ etc," apologize, and let it be. They are not obligated to respond - do not get upset if they do not.

If you are still in great contact with this person, you can slip it into conversation. "Remember that time we all went to the seaside! Ah, that was great. That giant hot dog you got from that vendor - oh, but I was a total jerk that day, dragging you down to those caves and traumatizing you with blood magic. That was super shitty. Sorry about that. Your next hot dog is on me."

I do hope this helps, and do not feel too terribly bad about your path to self discovery. No one starts out an expert at anything, and this includes conducting oneself and ones relationships.

Best of luck,

Lord Voldemort

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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....Ok so I know that wwx & lwj are hardcore soulmates, but I honestly want too see what would happen if lwj loved jc instead? Like if he saw jc pet a dog or something, while at the same time protecting his brother? Idc but I’ve had the idea in my head for days

Donghua verse

Lan Wangji didn’t have much of an impression of Jiang Cheng at first, during his time at the Cloud Recesses.

He was supposed to have joined in the first round of lessons with him, in fact, but he’d instead chosen to remain in seclusion a few extra months, focusing on strengthening his will and his heart. This had meant, according to his brother, that he’d missed a truly epic showdown between Jiang Cheng’s unruly shixiong and his uncle – something Lan Wangji was grateful for, to be honest. He knew too well that if he was there that his uncle wouldn’t be able to resist comparing them, or requiring Lan Wangji to watch over him, or something like that, and honestly this Wei Wuxian fellow seemed like he’d require a great deal of effort and forbearance.

Instead, Lan Wangji came out only after Wei Wuxian had been sent away and Jiang Cheng left behind, and he found Jiang Cheng to be a serious and earnest young man, which was much more to his taste. He was diligent and hard-working, talented and intelligent and a little bit gullible, and it was a relief to learn next to someone who was neither as silly and frivolous as Nie Huaisang – who was so devoted to being useless that it routinely amazed Lan Wangji – nor as arrogant and self-absorbed as Jin Zixuan. The only flaw Lan Wangji could identify in Jiang Cheng was that he was a little chatty sometimes – always looking over his shoulder as if he expected someone to chime in – but in some ways that was good, too; he could sit next to him and let Jiang Cheng fill the silence, and having a regular companion made his brother stop looking so worried about him all the time.

Still, they were only classmates, not true friends. He thought he was nice, but nothing to really trouble himself over – and that was a relief, too, given how much his yang qi had been out of control around that time. Adolescence truly was a burden.

It wasn’t until later that he started appreciating Jiang Cheng.

Perhaps it was at the indoctrination camp, when Jiang Cheng had quietly passed along his condolences but didn’t burden him with too much company – he was too busy trying to keep the famous Wei Wuxian from starting trouble with the Wen sect, which honestly pissed Lan Wangji off; it was as if the other boy didn’t realize that they were representing their families as well as themselves, and that whatever nonsense he got into would be paid in blood and tears by them. If even Lan Wangji were willing to set aside abstract questions of justice and righteousness in favor of protecting those he loved in the only way he could, couldn’t Wei Wuxian do it too, even if only for a little while?

Perhaps it was only that he thought if he were clever enough about it, they would blame only him.

It was the tired expression in Jiang Cheng’s eyes, the burdens of the sect that Lan Wangji recognized from his brother’s face merging in with the familiar mix of love and mild irritation at an older sibling’s ridiculousness that Lan Wangji knew was often in his own, that had drawn Lan Wangji over to him – he couldn’t do much without threatening what was left of his family, his still-injured uncle and his dying father and his missing brother, but he could sit near to Jiang Cheng on the nights that he couldn’t sleep and offer him the silent support of company, if nothing else.

He found himself wishing that he could play the guqin for him, though of course he wasn’t allowed an instrument; he ended up drumming his fingers against a convenient log to create a calming tune, and Jiang Cheng would smile at him from across the flames of the campfire; sometimes, it even felt as if they were back in their quiet schooldays, sharing with a glance their mutual amusement and frustration with their classmate’s ridiculousness.

Jiang Cheng was someone who understood the burden of duty, while Wei Wuxian looked only at the burden of sacrifice, Lan Wangji had thought to himself then, and he would later be proved right even if he wouldn’t know about it for years on end.

Perhaps the indoctrination camp was where it started, but it was during the Sunshot Campaign that the spark finally caught, kindling in his heart. Jiang Cheng had lost everything, just the way Lan Wangji had, and his beloved shixiong had gone missing as well, just like Lan Xichen had after the burning of the Cloud Recesses; Lan Wangji at once volunteered to go help him in whatever way he needed.

It was good for sect unity, and safer, too, so Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren had agreed, but in his heart of hearts Lan Wangji wondered if he hadn’t gone just because he wanted to see how someone else was handling the same pain that he had.

The answer, to be frank, was badly, but – but Jiang Cheng was still that serious and earnest young man, diligent and hard-working, and armed with nothing more than his own determination he managed to resurrect a fallen sect and turn it into one of their most deadly weapons against the Wen sect.

Lan Wangji played him the guqin whenever he could, and listened to Jiang Cheng when he spoke – still looking over his shoulder for Wei Wuxian, an instinct he couldn’t seem to break – and found to his surprise that he had, somewhere along the way, grown quite fond of this man, grumpy and bitter and always trying so very hard to do his best.

It wasn’t what he’d thought love would feel like, the way his father had suffered from it: a sudden explosion in his heart that overwhelmed him and swept him away, a flood that consumed him and destroyed all self-restraint, a sudden single-minded selfishness, a single person becoming the light of his life to such an extent that it cast all else into shadow, with no room left behind for anything else, not self, not sect, not family.

No, this was – quieter. A recognition that his days were richer for having Jiang Cheng filling his eyes and ears, the feeling of comfort and familiarity that before had only been associated with his family, the slow realization that he wanted this to be his every day: this companion, by his side, working together.

The realization that he wanted more than this.

He wanted to have the right to take Jiang Cheng into his arms when he was sad, to take him to his bed when he was happy, to be greedy for those rare soft smiles and proud when others admired him –

Lan Wangji had long ago come to terms with the fact that he was a cutsleeve (it had been struggling to accept that realization, in fact, that had kept him in seclusion those extra few months), and he knew that there was a greater than average chance that he would be rejected, but he knew Jiang Cheng well enough by now to know that following his first instincts to keep his feelings hidden within his heart would only hurt Jiang Cheng more later on.

After the fall of the Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng had learned to despise things outside his control – it was what he didn’t know that terrified him, the hidden motives in people’s hearts of which they never spoke, and he hated most of all the idea that people were making decisions on his behalf.

(He spoke of that hatred, sometimes, when the other sect leaders or remaining Jiang sect elders tried to order him around for what they believed was his own good, and his hands would always rise up to rub his arms as if he were cold; it was only after Lan Wangji heard the full story of how he had been bound by Zidian and forced away to save his own life, his parents overriding his desires and treating him as a child for the final time, that he understood the source of it.)

Lan Wangji knew that if he broke Jiang Cheng’s trust, his dreams of a future would never come to anything, and so he stiffened his spine and told him.

Well, he wrote him a letter, knowing his own lack of eloquence would trip him up if he tried to say it out loud, but he handed him the letter and waited while Jiang Cheng read it. The letter contained a myriad of assurances that Lan Wangji would never take any action if the feelings were unwelcome, that he was fine with being rejected and that nothing would change, that he merely wanted Jiang Cheng to know.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes went soft when he read the letter, and for a moment Lan Wangji had hope, but in the end he was rejected – but not for the reason he’d thought.

“You haven’t met Wei Wuxian yet,” Jiang Cheng said, casting his eyes down. “One archery competition and a few distant glimpses during the indoctrination camp don’t count. You can’t – I know you think you like me, but you haven’t met him yet. And you will, one day, when we find him again, and that’s why I can’t agree.”

Lan Wangji hadn’t understood what Wei Wuxian had to do with anything.

“It’s like a man who’s only ever seen the moon suddenly encountering a sunrise,” Jiang Cheng tried to explain. “I can’t let you make a mistake that you’ll regret later on.”

In the end, Lan Wangji did get a chance to meet Wei Wuxian, and he understood a little of Jiang Cheng’s fears: Wei Wuxian was indeed a rising star, his utter brilliance in all aspects too-easily eclipsing Jiang Cheng’s not inconsiderable talent. He was witty and charming, charismatic without trying, a clever and imaginative thinker that refused to take no for an answer – he took the Jiang sect motto of ‘attempt the impossible’ as if it were a challenge that he were capable of living up to, and perhaps it was because of that no one noticed the dozens of impossible acts that Jiang Cheng quietly did every day.

It had been the same before, Lan Wangji suddenly thought to himself; in the cave of the Xuanwu of Slaughter, Wei Wuxian had energetically challenged the creature, and nearly come to grief – if Lan Wangji hadn’t turned his back away from him, irritated for no reason in particular, he might have missed the shaky-handed disciple that would have undoubtedly shot Wei Wuxian himself instead of the beast, and the blood would have sent the creature into a frenzy from which they might not escape.

Jiang Cheng had been the one to lead the disciples out, finding a way out through the murky water while Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had fought the Xuanwu, but it was only Wei Wuxian’s brilliant idea of having Lan Wangji use Chord Assassination while he lured the creature in to be beheaded that anyone ever remembered; it had been Jiang Cheng who had put the injured Wei Wuxian on his back and walked seven days without rest to get him to the Lotus Pier for treatment, evading the Wen sect the entire time, but it was Wei Wuxian’s righteousness and witty challenge to Wen Chao that people recalled.

Wei Wuxian was as bright as the sun in the sky, but his light was blinding, the heat of it scorching those that came too close. Lan Wangji could have loved him, Jiang Cheng was right about that; Wei Wuxian had a way about him that was nearly irresistible. If he had been the first light that Lan Wangji had seen, he could have been blinded by it, unable to see any other, swept away the way his father had been – an explosion of love, a flood of it.

He hadn’t been, though.

Lan Wangji’s greatest achievement in his life, he would later think, would be that he had caught Jiang Cheng in a private moment shortly before Jin Ling’s one-month party and told him that he found that he preferred the quiet pleasures of stargazing by moonlight over the brilliance of a sunrise; it meant he had seen Jiang Cheng’s wide-eyed expression of utter delight, uncomplicated by sorrow or bitterness, for what may have been the very last time it appeared on this earth.

Later, after everything, Lan Wangji came to live in the Lotus Pier. He did not speak of love, for Jiang Cheng could not bear to think of such things at the beginning, and he only offered his company and his music, the way he had before. He helped Jiang Cheng learn the limits of his grief all over again, the line between righteous anger and merely lashing out; he helped guard against Jiang Cheng descending into nothing but bitterness and anger that would consume the rest of his life.

He stayed, and Jiang Cheng, who had started to doubt if anyone ever would, slowly grew to love him for it.

(It was Lan Wangji who realized that something had been off about Wei Wuxian’s demise, and started investigating it privately, although oddly enough in the end it was silly, frivolous Nie Huaisang who figured it out first – even if the way he went about it wasn’t something Lan Wangji would ever approve of.)

After Wei Wuxian returned in Mo Xuanyu’s body, after the three of them travelled together to investigate what had happened to Nie Mingjue, Jiang Cheng turned to Lan Wangji with old doubts he hadn’t seen in over a decade, and said, “You’re not going to –”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng smiled.

“Ugh, you two are so married,” Wei Wuxian whined, as if he wasn’t still very firmly in Lan Wangji’s bad books for the whole revelation regarding what he’d done with his golden core without telling Jiang Cheng about it. “Why aren’t you married, actually? Jiang Cheng! For shame! Be a man and do your duty!”

“Get lost,” Jiang Cheng said, but there was a lightness in his eyes that Lan Wangji rather liked. Even with all his secrets and his lies, having Wei Wuxian back was good for Jiang Cheng, and what was good for Jiang Cheng was something Lan Wangji approved of, even as troublesome a thing as Wei Wuxian. “We’re not married.”

“We could be,” Lan Wangji said, and predictably Wei Wuxian started whooping in joy even as Jiang Cheng turned bright red. Lan Wangji ignored the troublemaker and reached out to take Jiang Cheng’s hands in his own. “I am yours. First and foremost.”

Jiang Cheng’s hands tightened on his, and even if he turned his face away to hide the fact that he was crying, Lan Wangji knew that he’d won his prize – that future every day that he’d dreamed of for so long – at last.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #lan wangji #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #Anonymous

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