#Pride's Folly

[findingthespark]

Pride’s Folly (Part 1)

He felt the blast from miles away, his heart constricting knowing its exact cause. The power of it throbbed in his veins, an ache and a thrill. It did not fade, and a tendril of hope curled out of him. Maybe it was still intact. Maybe he had a chance to fix the mistake.

He set off in the direction of the throb, girding himself for the chaos he was sure to encounter.

Sure enough, swords were thrust into his face as he neared the first ring of templars frantically trying to find something to do in the face of the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the Conclave that had been the hope of the continent.

His hands went up, and he kept his face a studied neutral.

“Just a moment,” he said softly, but clearly. “I mean no harm. I’ll even hand over my staff to prove my good will. I only want to talk to whoever is in charge here. I am an expert in the Fade and the ways it interacts with our world.”

They did not sense him wrapping an aura of tranquility around himself that clouded their senses. He reached slowly to his back and removed his staff, laying it at their feet and even taking a step away for good measure. Despite the urgency tugging at him, he waited patiently for his charm to take effect.

The templars exchanged looks, confusion warring with their anxieties. But his magic did its job. Their swords lowered, and they acknowledged his request with slight nods. One picked up his staff.

“We’ll see if the Lady Cassandra has time to speak to you, but we can make you no promises. She has her hands full.”

“I have no doubt about that,” he agreed.

As they escorted him through the camp, he took the opportunity to observe the damage that had been wrought at the Temple. Where it had stood, there was only the hulk of a ruin. It had not quite been leveled, but it resembled a crater more than a building. High in the sky above it, the Fade bled into the world from a massive tear in the Veil. Well, bled might be a sedate description for it, he mused. Clawed into might be a closer approximation. This was bad.

He heard the Lady Cassandra before he saw her.

“Has the forward camp been established yet?! We have to secure a place against these demons, or they will overrun us! I know we are hemorrhaging troops, but we can’t afford to fail in this! “Where is Leliana’s latest report? Has there been any response from the elf recovered from the Temple?”

That caught his attention.

“Was this elf a survivor of the explosion?” he interrupted the commander.

She turned sharp eyes on him.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“My name is Solas,” he bowed slightly from the waist. “I am a mage expert in all matters relating to the Fade, and I want to help. Was there a survivor in all this?” he gestured his head towards the destruction above them.

“You think that is enough for me to trust you?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

“No, I suppose it is not. What do you need from me to prove my intentions?”

She gazed at him with pursed lips, knowing a challenge when she heard it, although it was also a fair question from someone wanting to approach them. What to demand, though? He had come in peacefully, and she didn’t know enough about the Fade to quiz him on his knowledge. She caught the glint of amusement in his eyes and fought off a growl.

“You will have to prove yourself in doing,” she conceded. “You will need an escort until we can feel comfortable knowing you are not a threat. I will allow you to see the prisoner, but you will do so under the watch of Sister Leliana. I will send for her to meet you at the healer’s quarters. You will not enter until Sister Leliana is with you. Understand?”

“Thank you, Lady Cassandra.”

“Do not make me regret this. I fear you will somehow make this all worse, but then, I’m not sure that it can get any worse than what we are facing now.”

He waited twenty minutes or more for the arrival of Sister Leliana. To pass the time and to quiet the impatience flitting through him, he quizzed his guards about all that had been happening since the explosion. They were reluctant to give him any information at first, but even in the things they did not say he learned something. Fear filled the air, and further away, carried in on the wind, the smell of sulfur, blood, and rot lingered. Cassandra had done a commendable job of rallying from the disaster, but everything hung by a thread.

The good Sister Leliana was a great deal quieter than her compatriot, but no less fierce for it. Solas saw the calculations being done in her head every moment she breathed, saw the way her eyes ranged over him and the mental cataloguing she did of him. He smiled amiably, but she did not return it. Instead, she gestured to the door of the cottage the healer was shacked up in.

“You do anything that threatens the lives of those here, and I will personally make sure your last breath is spent on my blade,” she murmured softly to him before they entered.

He knew she wasn’t posturing.

He merely nodded, knowing anything he said would sound like hollow reassurance.

The interior of the healer’s rooms was dim after the glare of the snow outside. Blinking away the spots in his vision, his eyes adjusted, and he could make out a gleam of green light playing on the wall. Every few moments came the sound of soft whimpering and muttered elven.

On a bed lay a pale young woman of the Elvhenan, one of the People, slicked over in a sheen of sweat. The brown lines of her vallaslin were the only color in her skin, besides two bright pink spots on her cheeks. At a glance, one would surmise she suffered from a fever, but the pulsing mark on her left hand dispelled that notion immediately. He felt the tug of the Fade through it, and the sheer amount of energy that it wanted to suck away from her. Somehow she was continuing to resist it, although he didn’t know how long she could.

With careful steps, he approached the bedside and peered down at the mark. He needn’t have feared startling her; she was insensible to the world. He couldn’t discern any particular shape to the magic on her hand. The skin was maybe puckered like a scar, but the fluctuating light made it difficult to make out. And he couldn’t quite be sure, but yes, yes he thought he saw that it might be beginning to creep across her skin. Very few would be able to notice this, but in another day, maybe even another hour, it would be noticeable to everyone.

“You may need to fetch some chairs,” he turned back to Leliana. “I’m going to be sitting here in study for a little while.”

“Do you have any ideas as to what it might be?” she asked.

“I can tell you that it is absolutely connected with the hole in the sky,” he said. “I can feel the Fade’s work in this, though I do not know how it came to be on her hand, or what it’s use might be in helping to fix...have we got a name for it?” He tilted his head towards the door.

“Most around here have been referring to it as the Breach.”

“As good a name as any. This may be some kind of key to sealing the Breach, but it remains to be seen how. Perhaps if she recovers, she may be able to act out an experiment.”

“You may have to help our good healer in that task,” Leliana sighed. “She has not been looking well.”

He looked back to her tortured face. He just noticed the snowy white of her hair, her eyebrows, even her eyelashes. Had she been born with it, or had it been the result of the catastrophic event? Though it only seemed to emphasize her paleness, it was also lovely.

Her eyes shot open as he looked, startling him enough to jump, and she babbled incoherently, desperately, for several long moments before she slipped back into unconsciousness. Trying to regain some composure, Solas discovered his hands wrapped around hers, as if he had meant to reassure her or comfort her. The mark flared hotly against his skin. He found himself reluctant to let go and was grateful when Leliana nudged a chair behind him so he could sit down. He sat there in stunned silence for several minutes, musing on the deep blue that was her eyes, with just the smallest flecks of gold near her pupils.

She had an impressive strength of will to survive this far. He’d find a way to make sure she fought her way to consciousness.

[sic-vita]

The Sandman | Morpheus awkwardly trying to apologise

I did not mean to imply that your efforts beyond the library are without value. I really wish to relieve you of your responsibilities, with which, had I been here, you would never have been burdened. 

[thebibliosphere]

I'm editing a chapter in the next Hunger Pangs book where Vlad mentions his Grandfather having three wives, and my brain is so rotted from Dracula Daily memes I immediately said, "Ah yes, the three weed-smoking grandmas" out loud.

[wlwbookshelf]

MORTAL FOLLIES - ALEXIS HALL

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐⭐️⭐️

 I want Robin the Hobgoblin to narrate my life (or I guess not, since that would mean some bad stuff is going down haha). Going into this I was expecting a recency romance but what I got instead was a funny book with curses and characters I want to adopt (looking at you Miss Bickle) with a generous side of sapphic regency romance. 

I definitely recommend it and in fact have started talking it up already to anyone who will listen. 

Thanks to Random House/Del Ray for the eARC via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. 

[pridepages]

🌈 Happy Pride! 🌈

This June, good things come in sets of six as I spotlight some of my favorite rainbow reads.

✨Category is: Shakesqueer✨

From Viola to Hamlet to the mysterious Golden boy and Dark Lady, readers of the Bard know there’s nothing straight or narrow about these texts…

Learn more about them under the cut

Besides his collected works, here are some other titles for Shakespeare fans!

Loveless by Alice Oseman (YA): Uni first year Georgia Warr has learned all about love from stories…including Shakespeare. As she and her friends perform snippets of several plays, Georgia discovers more about her identity and all the forms love takes Rep: aromantic/asexual mc, sapphic scs, nonbinary sc, BIPOC scs

Mortal Follies by Alexis Hall (Fantasy Regency Romance): Shakespeare meets Austen in Hall’s latest romance between Miss Maelys Mitchell and Lady Georgiana Landrake. Fans of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” will recognize the narrator, who’s clearly been up to antics since wreaking havoc in the forest…Lord what fools these mortals be! Rep: F/F sapphic mcs, queer scs

Lady Hotspur by Tessa Gratton (High Fantasy Reimagining): Gender-bend “Henry IV” and fill it with sapphics? Yes, please! While it is a sequel to “The Queens of Innis Lear,” this one can stand on its own. Rep: F/F, sapphic mcs, queer scs

Golden Boys Beware by Hannah Capin (YA reimagining) What if you set “Macbeth” in high school and put Her Ladyship front and center? A lurid, poetic reimagining of a timeless, horrifying tragedy. Rep: sapphic scs trans sc, BIPOC

If We Were Villains by ML Rio (Mystery/Thriller): Once an actor, now a convicted killer, Oliver Marks reveals what really happened the night one of his fellow Shakespearean troupe members died. “One sin I know another doth provoke; Murder’s as near to lust as flame to smoke” Rep: questioning/unlabeled queer characters, M/M

[ankapistan]

Rightunity holding Hands

[sarahcarapace]

Death Spiral Mimic Corpse Dollified commission fer @scranqueen >:3

[mariniacipher]

i do love the chemistry elizabeth and wickham have in talking badly of lady catherine altho im going to say that them coming closest when talking badly about others is not exactly a good sign-

it reminds me of mr bennet in the worst way, seeing people as objects to be judged or used for one’s amusement, and i think elizabeth should keep in mind that this judgement could fall unto her at any moment too

just because she and wickham are of a mind now doesn’t mean they would be so forever

[voicesagainstliars]

Marinette, when did you first realize you had feelings for Luka? You two are my favorite couple out of the Phantom Thieves!

Marinette: I already liked him even when I was chasing after Adrien, but when he and Kagami got together the day of Miracle Queen, Luka comforted me. I needed that more than anything that day.

Luka: It was a tough day for all of us... knowing what we know now, I wish we'd asked M. Tom and Mme. Sabine for help sooner.

[deweydecimalchickens]

The sky and ground outside my house said fuck the government, trans rights now.

Don't @ me I know a pride flag when I see one.

[findingthespark]

Pride’s Folly (Part 2)

She walked through a world of nightmares. Every step she took brought a new horror before her. First came the twisted, desiccated bodies circled around her, frozen into whatever shapes death had caught them in. Not just a few, but hundreds, maybe even thousands as she picked a path through them. Their agony had a uniformity, the terror and pain stretched across their bones so achingly familiar, made all the worse knowing each body had contained its own person, complex and multitudinous, living an entire life, now nothing but a husk of their death.

When she finally stepped past the last ring of them, a pain flared up in her left hand and an eerie green light emanated from the source of the pain. It tore into her nerves, sharp like fire, and simultaneously draining, as if it would consume her. She fell to her knees with a cry, cradling her hand against her until the pain subsided. Relief she had, but she could still feel the echo of it in her flesh. She couldn’t be free of it.

Looking closer, she saw a distinct mark left on her hand where the pain had flared. It was a curious thing. It looked like a tear in her flesh, warped like a scar, but it seemed as if at any moment, it might split open, a hungry mouth where none should be.

“Help!” someone shrieked in the murk ahead of her.

She knew that voice.

“Please! Anyone! Help me!” they called again.

She took off running for her clan mate, for Suviel.

She came upon her in time to see a huge, burly human man snatch Suviel by the hair and drag her back towards him. He locked her in against his chest with one meaty arm and then brought a knife up to her throat. He held his stance, easily resisting Suviel’s frantic struggles, as if he were made of stone. He looked her in the eyes, challenging her to stop him, daring her.

Suviel caught sight of her and cried out, “Fiacha! Help me, Fiacha!”

She rushed forward, not knowing how she was going to save her friend, especially when she had no weapons to hand, but knowing she had to try. But as soon as she reached them, as soon as she threw her hands out to try and wrench the man’s arm away, she found they passed right through both of them. Fiacha looked at them flabbergasted and reached out again. And she passed through again.

Suviel’s pleading eyes were locked on her.

“Fiacha, please!”

The man began to slowly bring the knife to her throat. Fiacha kept trying to grasp at his arm and pull him away, but she was helpless. She was forced to watch the inexorable moment of the blade opening Suviel’s soft skin, the desperate fear in her eyes, the disappointment in Fiacha, too. Would she not do anything for her friend?

Suviel’s body was dumped at her feet, the man just staring at her without coming for her. She had only a moment to begin to process the whole event when new screams reached her ears.

She turned around and other members of her clan were being pursued by humans hunting them. Some had knives like the first, others had torches, while still others only used their hands to wreak havoc, crushing bones and snapping necks. Each time she turned to help, she faced the same helplessness over and over. Her fingers slipped through every time, and she had to witness the extinction of her clan one by one as they called her name and begged for her help.

After everyone she knew lay dead about her, the pain in her hand flared up again. Her stomach roiled with the intensity of it and the scene of brutality laid out for her benefit. What kind of hate was this? What had she done to merit this kind of revenge?

Dazed, she looked around and noticed the edge of a forest had appeared only a few yards away. She stumbled for its cover, though none of the men were pursuing her. They only watched her as she left them behind.

For a breath, Fiacha could almost be lulled into thinking that she had finally come home. There were the tracks the rams and deer had staked out, the tracks the halla liked to wander when given the freedom to roam. The elfroot was plentiful, as were the wild tubers they often gathered for their meals, and the fish glimmered visibly in the streams. Everywhere she looked, everything blossomed and grew to abundance. She breathed in the cool scent of moist earth and decaying bracken.

Had everything been a bad dream?

As soon as she questioned it, the whole of the forest began to rot from within. The trees, vines, shrubs, anything and everything green or alive blackened and shriveled, cracking open, trailing mold. The streams choked with the decay dropping into them and the fish popped to the surface, belly up, already beginning to molder. Rams trotting along in the depths stumbled and bleated cries of misery before they fell, flailing. Flies and worms gathered on them as if they were three days dead.

Bile rose in her throat. Fiacha searched for a way out, any sign of untainted wilderness, but she found no avenue that was not sick and decomposing. She closed her eyes and could only see the mangled bodies of her clan. Sinking down, a sob finally escaped her. Tears poured out of her, a broken vessel.

And then, after an impossible span of time, something shifted.

The air was no longer clogged with rot. It was the fresh air of the forest again, a soft breeze lifting her hair, and birdsong calling out from the depths of the trees. And beside her, a presence.

It was immense, almost titanic, but nonthreatening in spite of that. A chill rolled off of it, but it was the cool of deep stone or the high mountain, simply a part of its nature, not an indication of its mood. It drifted around her, but did not settle into her bones.

Opening her eyes, she was stunned to find only a man next to her, a shaft of sun illuminating him. He was an elf, unmarked by vallaslin, but he didn’t give off the air of the city-dwelling kin she had encountered from time to time. His green and neutral toned clothes were too well-suited to living in the wilderness, wrapped up in thick wool, practical fur lining his vest. His head was devoid of hair, not even a hint of fuzz to suggest that he might shave it off himself.

Feeling her gaze, he looked down at her, fully revealing the sharpness of his features. His eyes had a piercing quality to them, as if they could search out every secret she had ever hid, every thought flitting through her mind. He offered her a warm smile.

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know,” she stammered.

“An honest answer. Do you know what’s happening?”

“Not at all. Who are you?”

“I am Solas,” he told her, reaching down to pull her to her feet.

“I am Fiacha,” she said in return, savoring the touch of his skin.

“You are in the Fade right now, Fiacha. The things you have been seeing are your fears playing out. The Fade molds itself to your will. If you can shift the focus of your mind, it will remain peaceful as it is now.”

“So you...?”

“I am projecting my will onto our surroundings. If I wished to see something else, I could command it to materialize. But your forest is lovely, and familiar, I believe?” There was just the slightest lilt to his voice.

“It was one of the ones my clan frequented in the Marches.” She looked about and marveled at how much it was like the one in the waking world. “Thank you for setting it to rights.”

“You can do it, too,” he protested. “Here.”

A portion of the trees began to undergo the same decay that had eaten at them before Solas arrived. Her heart picked up speed, panic gripping her as the thought of walking through that nightmare world again.

“Steady your breathing,” Solas advised. “Remember, it is reacting to you. You can return it to the shape you know. Or you can mold it into something else, if you wished. You need not get exact details right. Just the feeling of it.”

Fiacha frowned, completely unsure of herself. But Solas stood there with an expectant expression, as if she were actually capable of what he described. She sighed and shuffled a moment, then squared to face the portion of forest that he allowed to be affected.

The thrill of fear zipped through her, but she recognized it and closed her eyes to slow her breathing. She let the fear writhe around for a moment longer before recognizing that she was safe. Nothing was chasing her. Nothing was tormenting her. She called to mind the comfort she drew from the wild places she had seen with her clan, the homes they had conjured with nothing but a campfire and the shelter of their aravels. She remembered the joy of the stars and the moon on crisp nights that seemed to sharpen the light of them. The tales and songs they shared with their meals.

She opened her eyes again and the blackness was gone. Life flourished before her. In fact, it seemed as though the entire area around them sparkled with fresh energy. It contained a vibrancy she had never known before.

“You have a strong will,” Solas smiled again. “You will manage well.”

He inclined his head to her and began to disappear into the trees.

“Wait!”

He paused.

“Won’t you stay here?” Fiacha asked.

“I’m afraid there are things I must take care of, but I am confident you can fend for yourself. I hope you will join us in the waking world soon.”

Before she could say anything else, he left her to her own company. Gods, why could he have not taken her with him?

[pocket-size-cthulhu]

All the time i think about Mr Bennett in Pride and Prejudice saying "he may turn out to be no more of a black-hearted villain than your average rich man"

Because like 1. He really gets it huh 😅 and 2. Every time someone is like "xyz is an asshole" I'm like is that all?? Bc if so he's already better than a lot of celebs. Like he's just rude? Good for him ig as long as he's not doing any disgusting crimes, abusing people or commiting tax fraud idk

[novlr]

The symbolism of flowers

Flowers have a long history of symbolism that you can incorporate into your writing to give subtext.

Symbolism varies between cultures and customs, and these particular examples come from Victorian Era Britain. You'll find examples of this symbolism in many well-known novels of the era!

Amaryllis: Pride

Black-eyed Susan: Justice

Bluebell: Humility

Calla Lily: Beauty

Pink Camellia: Longing

Carnations: Female love

Yellow Carnation: Rejection

Clematis: Mental beauty

Columbine: Foolishness

Cyclamen: Resignation

Daffodil: Unrivalled love

Daisy: Innocence, loyalty

Forget-me-not: True love

Gardenia: Secret love

Geranium: Folly, stupidity

Gladiolus: Integrity, strength

Hibiscus: Delicate beauty

Honeysuckle: Bonds of love

Blue Hyacinth: Constancy

Hydrangea: Frigid, heartless

Iris: Faith, trust, wisdom

White Jasmine: Amiability

Lavender: Distrust

Lilac: Joy of youth

White Lily: Purity

Orange Lily: Hatred

Tiger Lily: Wealth, pride

Lily-of-the-valley: Sweetness, humility

Lotus: Enlightenment, rebirth

Magnolia: Nobility

Marigold: Grief, jealousy

Morning Glory: Affection

Nasturtium: Patriotism, conquest

Pansy: Thoughtfulness

Peony: Bashfulness, shame

Poppy: Consolation

Red Rose: Love

Yellow Rose: Jealously, infidelity

Snapdragon: Deception, grace

Sunflower: Adoration

Sweet Willian: Gallantry

Red Tulip: Passion

Violet: Watchfulness, modesty

Yarrow: Everlasting love

Zinnia: Absent, affection

[wereballs69]

One question.

Fyodor had full access to the control room. Why didn't he take five seconds after he knocked out Sigma to check Dazai's heart monitor?

You've failed at killing him TWICE. You know that man is a roach.

[kdmiller55]

Falling in Love with the Sound of Your Own Voice

1 So these three men ceased to answer Job, because he was righteous in his own eyes. 2 Then Elihu the son of Barachel the Buzite, of the family of Ram, burned with anger. He burned with anger at Job because he justified himself rather than God. 3 He burned with anger also at Job’s three friends because they had found no answer, although they had declared Job to be in the wrong. 4 Now Elihu had…