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woozisnoots · 4 years

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hi alex this is an emergency request 🥺 i haven't been feeling well at all today (and in the past 3 months) and i was wondering if you could write something small where they're your annual ball date? the member could be anyone that pops into your mind as soon as you read this 🥺 thanks again!!

awe babes i’m so sorry to hear that! 😭 hopefully the your situation dissolves and you’ll be more at ease :c 💓 the first person i actually thought of was actually jeonghan! very princely if i do say so myself :3

update: i realized halfway that this isn’t quite what you asked for 🥺 hopefully you still like it but i can re-do to you’re liking!!!

𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙨

° pairing: prince!jeonghan x maid!reader ° genre: fluff(?), romance, royalty!au ° summary: where you run away to the garden. ° word count: 905+ ° warnings: slightly suggestive towards the end ! ° a/n: may or may not allude to a future fic i have in store ! thank you so much @cha-lan , @minghaocouture , and @sanshiine for beta-reading this for me, you guys are the realest !!! (*^‿^*) <333

masterlist!

you would think that every ball that the royal family hosts within these castle walls were the exact same, though for different occasions comes different drapings and fine china.

but tonight, as you diligently clean the ballroom floor, only to have it dirtied by the dukes and duchesses, you notice the crown prince and his elder brother more cautious than ever before. you don’t encounter them often, for you are but a castle maid that serves the lower quadrants of the palace. rarely do royalty ever go down there unless they are forced to send someone to the dungeonous depths below.

you shake your head, telling yourself to mind your business. though you can’t help but steal a single glance the elder brother with his back facing you, comforting the younger. you’ve heard the talk around the castle grounds, not just between royalty, but the workers as well - how incredibly breathtakingly handsome they both are. and the day you laid eyes on prince jeonghan for the very first time, you undoubtedly had no choice but to agree. in the maze of hidden flowers just outside the back of the castle, he walked through the bush windows, surrounded by white roses where his eyes met yours for just a second.

it was like a match that was ready to ignite a fire within you but unfortunately blew away too quickly before it even began.

you were to attend the ball as a server, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice to begin with. within a few minutes of higher society flooding the premises, news circulates hard and fast. soon enough, knowledge comes to you about the purpose of tonight’s festivities - answers to the princes’ troubles, hours prior to the start of the event.

an engagement. a proposal. a marriage.

it was no wonder that all the ladies were dressed in their finest gowns and expensive jewelry. while the men were on their guard, protective just like how you thought they’d be.

you scoff under your breath, away from anyone that could possibly see or hear you - a technique to disguise the slight hurt you felt picturing a marriage between a lovely princess or duchess, and prince jeonghan. though it should definitely look and feel right, you shake the thought out of your head.

throughout the night, you feel eyes on you. in any other instance you would be on your toes; however, these stares are like gentle touches softly palpating your back, region by region, each time making your heart race a little faster than the last. again, you brush the notion away, thinking that it was just the mere comfort of being in the castle for so long. this is just a causality at this point; maybe it should feel like that.

as the night drags on, you leave before meeting ends with the party, confiding yourself within the maze that only you and a few others know the ins and outs of. you wander aimlessly, finding yourself in the same place where your feet always take you.

the garden of roses.

yet this time, you notice a notable difference: white rose petals scattered on opposite ends of the bush walls, creating a narrow pathway leading to the single picnic table shielded by pillars, laced with ivory vines. looking ahead, you hold your breath.

there stands yoon jeonghan.

“i am so sorry, your highness,” you try to keep your composure, but surely he can hear the rambling in your voice as you bow in front of him. “i will take my leave.” grabbing handfuls of your uniform now sprinkled with soil, you begin to turn away until your back is facing him.

“as the prince of this kingdom, i order you to halt,” such an informative command but masked with a sweet voice, almost dripping honey at the last syllable. “although, as a man merely trying to escape the ball, like yourself,” the prince continues to speak, the louder his voice, the closer he gets. “i ask you to stay,” the words hang from his mouth as he brakes behind you, feeling mere centimeters apart.

to this day, you’ve never heard the princes insist on something so mundane. much less to someone of your status. yet at this moment, the prince stands behind you; streaked in vulnerability scented with a fragileness you’ve never witnessed before.

suddenly, you feel a light albeit icy object touch the surface of your skin right above your wrist. from the corner of your eye, you quickly make out the outline of a flower. slowly, the object glides up your arm, sending the cool sensation up your shoulder and meeting the tops on your collarbone. the process sends waves to your spine; goosebumps dance across your skin.

“turn around,” shots of hot air tickle the insides of your ear.

your breath hitches, almost forgetting the powerful being behind you. blinded by the situation, you fail to realize how much the prince has already closed the gap between the two of you.

you know how wrong this is; what everyone might say. but it’s a thrill. the butterflies in your stomach are overlapping with jesters doing cartwheels over this newfound excitement. all your life, you were faced with hardships and the inevitable faith that came with your status. so if this was a sign from the heavens-

who were you to refuse the orders of your prince?

#seventeen #jeonghan #seventeen fluff #jeonghan fluff #caratwritersclub #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #jeonghan imagines #seventeen scenario #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen au #jeonghan au #jeonghan fanfiction #💓.asks

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 3 years

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Trinkets, 38: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A worn mercenary banner consisting of one rusty old spearhead atop a long wooden shaft. Five feet down from the head there rests a cross-piece four feet long tied to the shaft. From that hangs flag itself; A field of scarlet with nine hanged men in black and six yellow daggers in the upper left and lower right quadrants, respectively, while the upper right quadrant features a shattered skull and the lower left boasts a bird of prey astride a severed head. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize it as the Standard of the Black Company a free mercenary company who can trace their history back hundreds of years through their well-documented archives.

A corrupted magic charm made of the skull a human who died in terror and with regrets. The bone is wrapped with dried kelp and algae, and the skull’s forehead and dome is inscribed with strange sigils made from flower pigments. The entire bonecharm hums with power, creating a faint but distinctive ‘song’ that the spiritually perceptive can hear.

A scroll covered with depictions of constellations.

A shattered mask, once belonging to an ecclesiastic of the occult. Though broken this mask still retains a trace of its original purpose. It hums with faint whispers when worn. They demand an offering.

A one gallon cask of Brewer's Pudding, an alcoholic “drink” so thick that the bartender needs to cut it like a loaf of bread to serve it. Bartenders typically put it in a bowl with lager poured over top, which slowly changes the "drink's" consistency similar to that of pudding. More squalid taverns sometimes serve it between slices of bread as a sandwich.

A gnarled pipe smells strongly of cinnamon and fish, disturbing your digestion. Its bowl has constellations etched around it.

A small, ragged figure crafted from human bone and hair, posed as though shading its eyes to see a long distance.

A charm bracelet of silver chain with five shield-shaped charms. The shields have various religious icons for luck. It's covered in dried blood on it, suggesting the previous owner wasn't that lucky.

A shifting monochromatic geometric, glass prism.

An ironwood skeleton key inlaid with spiraling lines of silvery mithril, and etched with flowing Sylvan script that reads “May this world know some measure of my skill as I depart to the next.”

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A scroll covered with depictions of constellations.

A gnarled pipe smells strongly of cinnamon and fish, disturbing your digestion. Its bowl has constellations etched around it.

A small, ragged figure crafted from human bone and hair, posed as though shading its eyes to see a long distance.

A charm bracelet of silver chain with five shield-shaped charms. The shields have various religious icons for luck. It's covered in dried blood on it, suggesting the previous owner wasn't that lucky.

A shifting monochromatic geometric, glass prism.

An ironwood skeleton key inlaid with spiraling lines of silvery mithril, and etched with flowing Sylvan script that reads “May this world know some measure of my skill as I depart to the next.”

A smoking pipe made with a stem of gnarled wood and a deep bowl made of yellowed bone. The bowl has mystical lettering and runes carved into it.

A porcelain teapot inscribed with ancient symbols. A blue snake-like dragon coils around the pot, its body forming the handle and its mouth forming the spout.

A psaltery made from the darkest ebony wood. Its back is slightly curved with an indentation in the base so that it sits nicely on the player's lap. Inlayed in its face is a twisted branch covered in beautiful cherry blossoms. As the instrument is played the blossoms seem to fall away to reveal that the branch is not a branch at all but the bony hand of a skeleton.

An ornate lacquered box containing a set of spoons, thirteen in number. Each is topped with a tiny figure that represents one of the Immortal Heroes of an eastern cult that is thought to be extinct. In that cult, the spoons are considered a valuable prize that proves the courage and skill of its members. The set would be decently valuable to a collector or otherwise interested buyer.

An alabaster vase that has bas-relief figures of goddesses in skimpy clothing in provocative poses. Knowledgeable PC’s can identify the goddesses are in fact the handmaidens of the Martyr Prophet and even to depict them clothed is a right arrogated to the Prophet’s priesthood. The vase itself would be counted a blasphemy by the Prophet’s followers.

An oil lamp no larger than two cupped hands that’s both delicate and fearful. Unlike more common lamps of brass or even common earthenware, the lamp is forged of hair-thin and glittering black iron, cool to the touch. It bears a single looped handle, and is covered in finely rendered etchings of arabesques and stylized wings.

A number of sealed oval tins containing fillets of true monkfish in brine. The fish’s bland pale flesh travels very well and is an imperishable as a saint’s, hence its name. The fillets are filling an nourishing and there are enough tins to equate to 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A large, cracked, spiral horn of some great beast, bound in silver and caked in blood. When blown, hot winds and swirling sands erupt from the mouth. All who hear the horn’s call are urged to fight with the unrelenting fury of desert storm.

A cerulean-blue semi-solid stone that is nearly translucent, and shines with an internal blue light.

An onyx hair pin topped with a golden sphere accented by ivory flowers. It's covered in dust and the sphere is a bit oxidized, but with some proper cleaning it might be a suitable gift for the daughter of a noble.

A black-green beeswax candle decorated with carvings of birds. The wick seems to be made out of gold threads. It faintly smells of ash and seawater.

A constantly-shifting jigsaw puzzle made of of muscle and viscera.

A dull green glass bottle, filled with transparent oil that rolls about like the sea's tides. Its label, written in Undercommon, reads "Immortality." It is sealed with a deep black cork, and if opened reeks of skunk spray.

A small stone that ticks evenly like a finely wound clock. Everyone who hears the stone becomes convinced that the stone must remain locked away or something very bad will happen.

A commemorative porcelain plate of the last royal wedding.

A jigsaw puzzle consisting of occult symbols that when fully completed opens a portal to that which the user desires most in the world. There are three pieces missing.

A black robe covered in tattered and worn crow feathers, almost giving the illusion of wings when the arms are raised.

A flexible skin tight, black-silk mask that covers the bearer’s face with just a slit exposing the eyes and perforations at the nose and mouth.

A wide iron-studded dog collar.

A sealed one gallon cask filled with a smoky, spicy spirit akin to weaker tequila. This aperitif is made from a flowering cactus found deep in the deserts heart. When drunk, it causes memories to flow more freely to the drinker's minds forefront, often sparking intense feelings of nostalgia or regret. If overindulged, it could even dislodged repressed memories, forgotten dreams, and other things forgotten (deliberately or otherwise).

A gilded wineglass fashioned from a human skull and set with lapis lazuli.

A set of seven humanoid shaped obsidian pendants.

A dark green egg-shaped stone has been worn away on one side to reveal a rough, vivid purple interior. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as a geode.

A metal mask resembling a deformed man with a protruding tongue, often worn by wrong-doers before they are paraded through the streets as punishment.

The "alchemical" recipe and blueprint for a "Big Mama", a strange series of nested barrels filled with gunpowder and nails and designed to detonate from a fuse.

A bloodstained scrap of parchment with a list of several names, including a couple of the PC’s. All but one of the non-PC names are crossed out.

A small silver bracelet fashioned in the style of a serpent with two small cyan-colored stones for eyes.

A beautiful, multicolored glass sculpture that seems to take different shapes depending on the angle it is viewed from. From one angle, a mother and child, from another a proud warrior, all in vibrant color and exquisite detail. There are eight distinct scenes visible, one from each cardinal direction.

A delicate tea set made of beautifully shaped glass. Each cup has been blown to look like a pair of child-sized hands clasped together, and the tea pot itself has the appearance of a cloaked human female kneeling in offering. Her hands reaching outwards act as the spout for the pot, and her pulled back hood acts as the lid. No liquid ever flows out of the teapot unless one of the cups in the set is directly beneath the spout.

A medium sized hourglass fashioned from dark walnut and brass. Inside, the sands shine in a variety of iridescent colors. There is a slight tinkling sound as they fall, almost like the sound of a music box, carried on the wind.

An exquisite scrimshaw design of dueling dragons made from a harpy claw.

A scepter made with scorched wood, that has an orb of solid, coagulated blood on it's edge.

A floating spherical chess board that when opened, reveals intricately crafted pieces inside it. The pieces magically adhere to the sphere as it floats, and allows you to play without the chessmen falling off.

A small, golden chime, tied with a red ribbon around the handle, that rings softly of its own accord with a bittersweet melody. It makes those who hear it think of sunlight on a coastline that they've never seen, holding the hand of someone they’ve never known.

A battered tin kettle, slightly warm to the touch. Any liquid placed into the kettle will become something almost, but not quite, exactly nothing like tea.

A pair of goggles that allow the bearer to see from the point of view of a random reef fish in some far off sea.

A black and purple scale of some enormous horror of the far realm.

A thick piece of leather on which was branded a prayer of contrition. It says that it is not enough to ask for absolution, penitence must be forced upon the impure. Some sins can only be forgiven with consecrated flame.

A stoppered, green glass bottle wrapped in grimy stained leather and cord. It is filled with an inferior moonshine containing alcohol distilled in the worst possible conditions. The liquor tastes worse than it looks, but provides a small degree of resistance to the horrors of daily life

A rather intricately filigreed belt buckle featuring a stylistic rendering of a heroic figure standing in defiance of a formless darkness looming above it.

A wine bottle sealed with wax containing a rolled vellum scroll.

A burlap pouch containing a handful of wooden tokens marked with a skull and crossbones on one side and "One Grog" on the other.

A jade carving of a flying fish, inexpertly done and with poor detailing.

An invitation to a charity ball rewarded for substantial devotion and contribution to community and individual well being.

A royal decree ordering all land-holding families to send one armed soldier to an official army muster. Any family that fails to respond is in danger of having their ancestral land titles revoked.

A leather plague doctor's mask with silver frames and buckles.

A copper-plated tin badge of a winged heart.

A wooden flute made of red wood with etchings of leaves around part of its base

An oddly shaped curved wand with elven writing carved within. When held at nighttime it helps its owner sleep peacefully to the sounds of nature.

A large wooden chest with many unique pelts, wrapped one inside the other. In the center a small jade figurine of a humanoid with a fish-like face. It is extremely cold to the touch.

A fancy gold coin with two crowns on both faces. It is literally embedded in a small cube of clearest crystal.

A bright red square tablet of unknown material about three inches to a side with a metal plate that slides to open a tiny window through the tablet that reveals a sheet of black material within. It is lighter than stone, metal, or wood and bears no markings other than a rectangle of gummy residue on one side and a small circular metal coin on the reverse.

A rose quartz paperweight shaped like a crushing fist.

A toy horse carved from bone.

A letter with the following written inside "We only need 300 more gold until we can bring her back and live peacefully once again as a family."

An ivory spoon with teardrop handle.

A miniature portrait of a young chestnut-haired beauty set in a silver frame. She appears to be set against the skyline of a metropolitan city on a sea, as though the portrait was painted from a tall building or hillside.

A tin box decorated with an embossing of a ship in a bottle, containing precision woodworking and knot tying tools with telescoping handles.

A fist sized ball of melted copper coins.

A bronze statuette of a chariot, with horses and charioteer.

A child’s painting framed beautifully. The art itself is fairly lacking but the frame is worth a decent amount, even more to someone who appreciates the juxtaposition of incredibly classy and messy.

A silken caul hair net decorated with small semiprecious stones.

An ebon walking stick with a monogrammed silver handle.

A bone pipe carved with intricate crimson sigils; its smoke appears as writhing shades of the damned.

A scrap of dirty parchment bearing a list of names, some of them crossed off. Investigation reveals all of the names on the list are dead people, mostly buried in the Gilded Graveyard. Those who have been crossed off have recently have their graves’ plundered, their bodies stolen. Further investigation still reveals that these were all jurors in the trial of Isabella Rasping, a necromancer convicted of using a zombies as murder weapons during the infamous “Meatpuppet Murders” two centuries ago. She was executed for the crime by her own creations. Isabella has returned as a revenant with unfinished business; she maintains her innocence and believes she can now prove it, and so is gathering the previous jurors for a kind of “retrial."

A ceramic dining plate edged with copper.

A bandolier from which hang a half dozen small securely stoppered flasks. Each is filled with a noxious substance, preserved at the height of its foulness: Human diarrhea, spoiled milk, vomit, cat urine, skunk stink glands and rotting fish. The flasks are flimsy and designed to break apart when they hit something solid and each stopper has a small eye-hook screwed into the cork. They can be thrown, shot from a sling or flask launcher (A modified light crossbow) or a length of twine has be tied to the eye-hook, creating a tripwire trap.

A brass bust of a famed scholar and medic.

An anklet of braided gold and silver worked with small carnelians.

A set of bagpipes made from the skin of a displacer beast, with the drones and chanter carved from its bones.

An antiquated torture device designed for mutilating hands and fingers.

A leather eyepatch with a turquoise stone surrounded by white agate resembling a crude eye.

A stuffed cockatrice clutching a sculpted marble hand in one talon.

An egg, roughly the size of a goose egg but navy blue with mottled flecks of gold leaf, mounted on a round wooden base with a tiny placard that reads "Imaskari Sun Hawk". When touched, the golden flecks on the egg gently glow that grows brighter and softer in time with the heartbeat of the one touching it and there is the sensation of rustling movement from within.

A fragment of a painting torn from a larger canvas depicting an unfamiliar princess.

A family portrait of an infamous noble house whose eyes seem to follow onlookers.

A pale gourd with ornate glyphs painted in black around the cork at its apex and twine braided about it. Try as one might, nobody has ever been able to open the stopper. A thin metallic clinking can be heard when the gourd is shaken.

A delicate pink flower, carefully preserved with magic and will not wilt or break yet preserves its natural beauty.

An old withered hand, no more than skin drawn taut across bones, and tarnished rings hanging loosely from the fingers. The bearer can rattle the rings on the hand which causes the smell of lilies to fills the air around him.

A small metal top seems like an everyday child’s toy except for the skull engraved into a button in the middle.

A sturdy wooden travel case containing a popular board game known as Roundels. It has similar elements to chess but is played on a circular board with a stylized keep. The game is abstract and is supposed to loosely simulate a siege. There is an attacking player and a defending player and each side has some unique pieces in addition to their common pieces. The etiquette of playing Roundels requires players to participate in two games, one as the attacker and the other as defender.

A horse femur that is as light as a feather.

An old yellowed skull that in spite of its lack of eyeballs, seems to be constantly eyeing the bearer.

A length of ivory shaped like a bone, covered in small onyx spiders that look all too real. The arcane rod can be used as an magical focus and is a grisly sight to behold.

A burlap bag large enough to hold a coconut. It is smooth to the touch and found in the color purple with a golden strap.

An arcane wand that is rough to hold and twists like a wild vine.

A translucent green stone the size of a fat grape. The item is sea glass, a fragment of a bottle that washed around the world and back, until it had no sharp edges.

A satyr statuette which increases the libido of everyone within line of sight of it.

A bewitched letter which appears to be addressed to whoever is currently holding it, describing their features and personality in adoring terms.

A small crystal which, when peered through, appears to show alternate universes. Actually a fragment of a much larger crystal, part of a complex device deep in the Old City.

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starwarsplanets · 4 years

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"What I saw... I don't think we were the first ones on this planet."

Belsavis, also known as Plawal, was a planet in the Ninth Quadrant, a region of the Bozhnee sector. Ice-covered, its average temperature was in the -50s. It was located on the edge of the Senex sector, at one end of the Belsavis Run. At some unknown point in the past, the planet became one of the many worlds that belonged to the Rakata Infinite Empire. During that time, the Rakata made use of the world as a prison colony, where they placed many dangerous prisoners that remained trapped for the millennia. It entered an ice age around 5000 BBY. Its inhabitants dwelt in three volcanic jungle rifts. Later, during the Great Galactic War, the Republic used Belsavis' prison, The Tomb, to confine dangerous Sith Lords and war criminals. By the beginning of the Galactic War, theresurgent Sith Empire discovered Belsavis' location from the imprisoned crime lord, Ivory, through use of a Rakata transmitter, and sought to perform a mass prison break, including freeing the imprisoned Dread Masters and discovering Rakata secrets. At the same time, the Sith Emperor dispatched Executor Krannus to destroy Belsavis, which would have sent shockwaves into hyperspace that would have destroyed adjacent systems, fulfilling the Emperor's intended galactic genocide. It was only through the intervention of the Hero of Tython that Belsavis was saved. A community by the name of Plett's Well was settled in 88 BBY by Jedi Master Plett, and came to be called simply Plawal. The main Republic colonization of the planet occurred in 20 BBY, with many plants and animals being imported from Ithor. The bounty hunter Jango Fett was once captured and imprisoned in an underground labyrinth on Belsavis. Although pursued by kretch insects, he managed to escape by figuring out the internal logic of the maze.

#belsavis #swtor #star wars #star wars: the old republic

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ineluctablehere · 3 years

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To Achilles, the sky would always turn grey

The sky was grey. A vivid dark grey with clouds that resemble smoke. The air smelled like blood and dust. It smelled like flames .. Like agony. It smelled like war.

The white blood trickling flag tied high on the pole was seen far away . Too small to be noticed .

A white flag, splotched with browning red was tied high on a pole, a long way away from her castle. But they were here already. Their metal clicking , clanking swords dripping blood onto the soil that reeked red. The piles of bodies created a pattern nobody would want to trace and yet the queen was calm in her castle.

Her armour was loose and detached as the last left huddled around her. Their heads bent low in shame and fear. This was the end . This is what they feared the most. The ending where they would never return home.

Nobody dared to speak a word. There was nothing else to do. Their queen would have to surrender. She would be beheaded or worse-become a slave. They had heard of the King of the North. The atrocities people suffered in his prison. How women would plead to be killed than be graced with morning’s light. Mercy was something he had long forgotten.

The silver shields crowded in the room reminded her of her coronation. Except the blood sticking to the wounds and the fear that hung low in the air, sticky and suffocating. Her knight speaks up , his voice too bold.

“ I’ve prepared the west wing, my Queen. They are well equipped. The swords , the cannon , we have plenty-” he is interrupted.

“ We will still lose.” her words are sharp and painful ,like the final breath leaving the living.

“ We have the archers given swords too , I think if we try to attack from the south quadrant-”

“Achilles .” The queen gently places her hand on his bruised knuckles . He looks up, too fragile to be viewed at the moment. He had lost hope.

“Why do you lie, Achilles? You hated liars when we were young. Have you changed perhaps?” There is a small smile that grazes the queen's face. Her green eyes searching the golden sea. He blinked before standing straight. “ That’s all we can do .”

“ Is it ?” her smile falters a little. Carefully looking at the torn boy in front. “ My Queen the south quadrant is fully-”

“ Achilles , I’ll come to the foreground.” The golden eyed man looked shocked , betrayed. tell himself this was a nightmare , a terrible terribly cruel nightmare he would wake up from. He would wake up and be 10, a child with loose flowing tangled ebony hair. He would run across the halls of the castle hoping to see his best friend . He would smile at his best friend, grass green eyed girl with juvenile mischief.

“Prepare to clear the entrance, I want no civilians , no soldiers . No one . Bring me the chariot.”

“My Queen-” the murmurs erupt , the walls rumbling .

“ I have sworn to protect my kingdom and that is exactly what I shall do. This is an order. You are my army. You will listen to me and nobody else.” her voice bounces, ricochets off across the crystal sheets of the ceiling , erupts into the ash sky and the sun gleams ,pouring his vessel onto her.

The queen in all her majesty sat on her golden throne , engraved with carvings of silver and ivory. Her sword firm in her hand . the white gown sprawled across the floor. She looked powerful.

She was the ruler and nobody else. The dark blue streaks slightly danced across the tips of her hand. Achilles stood emotionless beside his queen. Witnessing something he never wanted to.

“ Now leave. Do not fear them. Fear can kill you before death. -” There is a loud sigh.

“ I hope I've been a worthy queen.”

There was pain in their eyes. The fear is long gone. There is guilt . There is remorse .They look at their queen one last time before leaving the hall , determined to fight for her. But she was determined to die for them. They chose her and here she was giving away her life for her kingdom, the same that might forget her in years. The men and women adorned with weapons swore to never forget her. They swore to build temples to celebrate her, and promised to chant hymns to praise her. Carve her name over and over again on the walls of the kingdom. The children will sing about her to their children. Their children to theirs.

The wind would cry her story and the trees would listen.

But in the end she is a child. A child forced to wear a crown , forced to rule a kingdom. A child who lost her childhood. They wish to see her smile again. Dance across the halls of the castle, sing during festivals and grant the wishes of the children that cross the doors .

It’s too late now.

Achilles waits for her to explain herself. Tell him to not lose hope. Tell him the fight has just begun. He stares at her. Watching her lips curve into a solemn smile.

“ Some days come sooner than we think they would. There is nothing to mourn here Achilles-”

“ What do you mean ?!” The boy roars. “ You are going to ..die” his sword clatters onto the floor. The tears finally streamed down his tanned face. He sobs. His head safe in his palms, his body trembling.

“ Do not cry , you need to accept reality. This is what I’m born for. This is what the people want. They want to live and I'll let them live.”

“ Do not deny me the right to cry! You are going to die and there is no-thi-ng I can do.” he looks at his empty hands.

“ There is a lot you can do , you can stand with your men and women, with your kingdom. You can be the greatest knight in history.” the queen steps down from the podium.

“Rise dear Achilles, I wouldn't want our farewell to be this way. Lead me to the battle will you?

Stay with me till they come.” It was a silent plea. A small consideration for everything they shared.

“ We could ask for help from the West-”

“Achilles, do not lie to your queen. You know this better than me. We all will die. I cannot sacrifice my people, not anymore. I can't be selfish. A queen can never be selfish.” She walks past her dear companion.

“Do not blame yourself , do not be guilty. This is my choice.” There is an uncomfortable silence that settles. The wind was heard slow and humming beyond the long glass windows.

The queen is afraid to look back, afraid she might break seeing him. If she had to choose, it would be to turn blind. “ Can I hold you, before you….go?” The voice is too faint to be heard. It's not a request , it was a plea.

“I’m afraid not.” The queen's voice is cold and she regrets her words. Like thorns pricking her fingers or nails digging into her flesh. There is pain and remorse but there is duty and responsibilities.

She wasn't afraid to die. She was afraid of what she would leave behind. She was afraid that if she held him, she wouldn't want to let go.

“Achilles,” the queen looks ahead “ They need you right now. The people , the kingdom. Do not waste your tears on me.”

“I love you.” The words are louder and clearer echoing softly. There are no staggering waves of confrontation . She wondered if it killed him to say it out aloud. She remembers repeating the same words to him over and over again. But they were 10 then and he called her a fool. He reminded her who she was and who he was. They both were fools.

“ I know.” The queen leaves him behind.

*************************************************************************************************************

As she walks across the shining marble hallways of a castle she won't ever enter again, she feels empty. The slow blue light draping across her hair, her armour tightened, her sword replaced, there is a power that flows through her. The blue light flickers between her fingers. Slow and light waiting to destroy everything.

And as the tall , heavy ivory doors of the castle push open, she smells the death that approaches. She hears the scream of her name , echoing in the empty hallway a little distance away followed by quick footsteps. It was her brother , the boy with the huge wondrous eyes and cheerful laugh.

“Prepare for coronation Edmund.” She orders the General.

“Your highness-”

“This is an order!” The queen proclaims looking past the crowd of fighters left.

He bows , tears staining his ashen face.

“Two days from today you will have a new King.”

They bow.

“Also do me a favour Edmund, don't let him see this . Lock him up for all I care but don’t let him watch me die.” The older man drenched in war responded with his gleaming eyes. The prince was ordered to be locked up right away.

There are screams and shuffles of resistance heard. Her brother shouts her name over and over again, trying to tackle the soldiers.

“Close the gates as I leave. Everyone stays inside.” The man confirms.

“Thank you. For everything.” She pats his shoulder. The older man watches the tall girl with a pale face. “Your Highness.” They bow down.

If God is who saves you then their queen was their God.

She had twenty full moons to 24.

24 was her favourite number. Sometimes what you need the most are things you could never have.

The blue flames rise slowly , seeping into her skin.

She was alone in the barren land. This isn't a curse for sure. To die for what you love, it never was a curse. As the blue slowly dripped into her blood, she knew she was a grenade. A ticking a bomb that would kill them all.

The castle was so far away. She wondered if Achilles would ever speak of her to his children . tell them about the queen whose hair would sparkle blue fire. About the queen who tried too hard to not love.

She yields her sword like a feather in the wind and the blue bursts into the sky, the land burns in blue fire. There are screams of agony and the land mourns behind.

She saves the day and never herself.

Achilles had lied, his favourite was blue but as the land burned blue and indigo , he hated it so much.

He always loved green.

#oc inspo #tumblr writers #writersofinstagram #story ideas #mystical #knightcore #queen #writers on tumblr #writerscafe #story #original character

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vanityloves · 4 years

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sn0wman, ivory, and ms.paint filling slicks quadrants

#IM SORRY IM NOT BUT I AM. NOT. YES ❤#THIS VIDEO KILLS ME THO UHHHH #i fell asleep for like 3 mins n woke my ass back up for this Jjsjsjs #MY FUCKIN HELLBRAIN *SHAKES MY FIST*#slick: finally *fucking explodes*#hs rambles #video #brainworm ivy #im wheezing #theyre all in the same photo: sn0wman and ivory have 'we are going to beat you to death' energy. paint is just standing there. i love her.

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plaidshirtjimkirk · 5 years

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“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” for Chahura if inspiration strikes.

Pairing: ChahuraSeries: Star Trek TOSRating: MSummary: Two things are certain for Christine Chapel: Starfleet is a bureaucracy and Nyota is simply gorgeous. [AO3]

.*Universal Constant*.

Christine wasn’t sure what boggled her mind more: the expanse of the Alpha Quadrant alone, or that Starfleet could secure a runner-up position for most bureaucratic organization this side of Antares. It was a staggering achievement, given the vast amount of fascinating politics (to put it politely) in the proverbial starry seas.

That wasn’t to say she was a woman of anarchist philosophy, though—no; standards and regulations, rules and directives were of sure necessity where the complexities of space exploration were concerned. The calling of these formal social parties in luxurious locations, however…well, that was a different story.

Red Tape Events were how they’d been described by anyone without their backside weighing down a chair in San Francisco. In theory, a starship captain always wanted to receive an invitation to one, because it meant their crew’s valiant efforts were recognized by the top brass—and standing out as an individual from the entire fleet was no minor triumph. On the other hand, there were very few captains who relished the reality of actually attending, and those who did simply weren’t in the know of the grander implications.

Opulent scenery, alluring music, rivers of liquor: entertainment and good times to be had abound, and all under the watchful eye of executives just looking for either mistakes or recruits for operations…or both. Blackmail was a hell of a compelling thing, after all. It was a conundrum, hosting an affair to laud best behavior so the very same honorees could be scrutinized and coerced down different paths because Admiral So-and-So needs a new Title-of-the-Week. Absurd.

In any case, Andorian champagne was similar to its pale ale cousin, just with more effervescence and sparkle as one might imagine. Her half-filled glass cradled by graceful long fingers, Christine glanced around the venue, taking in the view of crew mates outfitted as much to the nines as she, herself, was.

Flowing dresses, stark tuxedos, the best of both worlds captured in vest tops blended down into cascading ruffled skirts, and a whole array of formal attire in between filled the space with color and vibrancy, while individuals from all walks of life cavorted about each other and their ever-observant brazen overlords.

She’d already made her rounds tonight, served her time. The rest was up to the good graces of the captain and first officer, and not to mention one very grumpy Chief Medical Officer who was expertly hiding his annoyance over a tumbler of Saurian brandy on the rocks.

Unable to keep the smile from hinting at the corners of her lips, Christine let her gaze drift through the hazy pearl lighting, slowly taking in the sight of the people she’d grown so close to over the last four years.

There were Hikaru and Pavel in their stylishly coordinated suits, side-by-side as ever and brushing arms while they laughed softly through quiet conversation. And Scotty, who was putting on just as impressive a show as McCoy for someone who would damn definitely rather be holed up in a Jefferies tube than having his ear talked off by Admiral Nogura—the poor man. Naturally, Janice was flawless as ever in a coral dress of twining silk and lace, set off by another extravagant updo.

And then…there was her. And not for the first time, Christine’s heart pounded its ribbed prison a little harder.

As expected, Nyota was surrounded by others, conversing and her face alight with joy while her company chortled in kind. She was in her element, a star in her own right as birth name suggested, and looked downright stunning amid the dewy atmosphere of the hall.

Their eyes met then and one of Nyota’s fell in a slow, flirtatious wink while her lips pursed. Christine exhaled through her nose, and with a small shake of the head, couldn’t fight the grin which pulled outward to her cheeks—or the blush, for that matter.

Two could play this game, of course, so she broke visual contact with a graceful turn and floated toward the open balcony doors, as light as the sash curtains framing them.

Moonlight spilled silver over an ivory stone floor—nothing short of storybook glamor, and complete with a faint scent of jasmine permeating the air.

With her elbows braced against the balcony ledge, Christine’s fingers entwined lazily together over the side as she took in the view of a rolling valley that stretched to the glittering horizon. And when the familiar pointed taps of stilettos informed her of approaching companionship, she tried to maintain the hard-to-get facade to no success.

Who could resist the presence of a living, breathing goddess, after all?

The mauve dress danced with elegance about Nyota’s curves as she closed in slowly, her eyes half lidded as Christine straightened her spine and pivoted to receive her.

“Nurse Chapel,” Nyota purred with a regal tilt of her face. She reached out to Christine’s forearm and took gentle hold, the pads of her fingers massaging in small back-and-forth motions. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Funny, how this woman could steal the very words from her mouth before they even had a chance at leaving her tongue. Christine covered Nyota’s hand with her own, her digits folding in and coaxing it free; she brought it to her lips. “Lieutenant Uhura,” she replied with the same level of sensuality before bestowing a kiss there, “It takes one to know one, wouldn’t you say?”

A soft chuckle fell from Nyota and her eyes fell closed with an exhale. “What’s with all this flattery?”

“Flattery nothing. You’re stunning, Nyota,” Christine insisted without pulling her attention from her girlfriend’s ravishing features. “I thought for sure you’d choose the tux tonight, but this dress…” A soft hum followed. “It was definitely the right decision.”

“Let’s just say I was dressing to impress someone,” Nyota began matter-of-factly, and after a beat added, “…and we’ll leave it at that.”

“They’re very impressed, I promise.” Before releasing the hand she still held, Christine peered down to admire the intricacy of nail art adorning the tips. “These are so pretty. Did you put them on after I left to meet Leonard? I like him just fine but I still wish we could’ve arrived together.”

“Mm, that’s right.” Nyota lifted her pointer finger in the air and beckoned Christine closer. “And what’s more, let me tell you a secret.”

She leaned forward—felt Nyota stroke a lock of curled hair behind her ear before breath feathered lightly over her sensitive skin with a whisper. “They’re coming off again tonight.”

Blinking, Christine went to pull back and meet her gaze, but not before Nyota placed a small kiss to her cheek. “Just a little FYI, Nurse Chapel,” she declared in an airy, sing-song voice and stepped back. “A little…something to think about, right?”

Exasperation was in the subsequent reply. “Nyota…!”

“If you’ll excuse me now, I have to get back in there to manage those admirals.” With another wink, she purred, “I’ll see you later.”

And like the breeze, she turned to resume her task, nodding gracefully at McCoy passing by her on the way.

“Nyota,” McCoy drawled with a kind smile and tip of his head. He repeated the greeting when he arrived at Christine’s shoulder. “Came out to escape the heat from inside but it’s damn warm here too.”

“I’d say…” Christine exhaled, agreeing for more than one reason. “You have to admit, there’s a lot of hot air in there for a place that’s supposedly air conditioned.”

McCoy chuckled and lifted his glass before indulging. “Amen to that.”

Oh, it was going to be a longer night than expected…

It was after much too many hours when they finally, finally, found themselves back in the hotel room. Christine braced herself impatiently at the edge of the bed as Nyota knelt on the mattress behind her and undid the lacy bodice ties of her dress—slowly.

“Nyota,” she uttered in a half whine, half whisper.

“Yes, Christine?”

“Could you…” A moment so she could swallow. “…hurry, please?”

Nyota dropped the ribbons and took hold of Christine’s shoulders, leaning in with mock concern. “I’m sorry, are you in a hurry for something?”

A groan came forth and Christine let her lashes fall.

“Oh, I suppose I should stop being cruel, huh?” With that, Nyota made quick work of unbinding the rest of the material. “I don’t know why everyone hates these parties so much, Chris.”

“Red tape, Nyota.” Christine stood and let the garment fall free, slipping down her body to pool at her feet.

“Yeah? And I love unraveling you from it.”

Drawing a deep inhale, Christine’s eyes widened, and with burning cheeks she turned quickly on her feet to pounce at Nyota. “Oh my gosh, shut up!”

Nyota fell back against the soft bed, her chin tilted up while she laughed heartily. Upon stopping, another huff left her as she looked into Christine’s eyes. “Make me.”

Their lips met once, twice, and remained locked until the necessity of breathing pulled them apart again. They shared those same breaths before diving right back in, hands entwined and hearts beating to the same metronome: a universal constant.

#bisexualpirateheart #asks #chahura #long post #writing on plaid paper

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raitrolling · 5 years

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💝 Amarys

=> You’ve invited Amarys out to lunch today, knowing that with her job and current living situation it’s difficult to find her on her own. It seemed that neither her nor her boss had any other plans, since she responded almost immediately. You picked a quaint but fancy little tea shop that doubles as a cafe, one that Amarys has mentioned a couple times so you know it’s somewhere she likes. It’s very quirky, filled with tea-related decorations on every surface including the owner’s gigantic teapot collection, as well as more flavours of tea than you thought existed.

=> While you always like to arrive to these dates early, Amarys had somehow managed to get here even earlier than you. You find her staring at a teapot shaped like a cow. She glances over when she hears you approach, and when she recognises you, gives a friendly wave.

Heyyy! How are you?

You’ll be pleased †o know †ha† I have scoped ou† the premises and found no immedia†e †hrea†s! Bu† I diiid find †his cu†e †eapo†!

=> She gestures towards the aforementioned cow teapot. It’s honestly a little creepy looking.

I wan†ed †o find a shark one for my boss, buuu† †here’s so many in here! I migh† be looking for days!

=> You laugh, and suggest that the two of you can look together after lunch. Amarys agrees. You both head to the cafe area and order drinks, then grab a table. Amarys checks every available table for possible��‘dangers’, such as a wobbly table missing one of the feet or a chair with an uncomfortable cushion. You suppose it’s just second nature for her, being a bodyguard for highbloods and all. Once a secure seat has been located, the two of you have a chat while waiting for your order. Amarys goes on about some of the last couple events she’s attended with her boss, including a chocolate tasting session. Conveniently, that’s a great segue for you to present the gift for her.

Oh! Are †hose chocola†es? Buuu† my wriggling day is s†ill perigees away?

=> You explain they’re for Quadrants Day. Amarys pauses, and then it hits her.

Ohhhh! I never †hough† †o give ou† friend gif†s for Quadran†s’ Day! Guess I’ve been a real dummy, huh?

=> She sticks out her tongue in a joking manner.

Weeellllll, looks like I’ve go††a †rea† you in re†urn! Good †hing †his cafe is also a †ea shop. Sooo, how abou† you pick any†hing you wan† and I’ll pay for i†? I’ll even ask for i† †o be gif† wrapped so we can pre†end I didn’t forge† †o give you a presen† †oo!

=> You get the feeling she’s completely missed your intentions for the gift.

=> You obtained: Quadrants’ Day Tea Set!↳ (A gift set consisting of an ivory teapot with pastel pink hearts and gold accents, a matching teacup and saucer, a small bag of chocolate hearts, and a selection of teas themed around Quadrants’ Day. The box has also been wrapped in theme-appropriate gift wrap, and Amarys has written her name in the ‘love from’ section of the heart-shaped gift tag. You tried to pick the most obviously romantic tea set, but somehow she still didn’t get the point.)

#amarys viridi #shes so dumb.............#scrambledtrolls #asks #quadrants day drabbles

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bambamramfan · 6 years

Link

Sharing this, again from the SSC linkpost, because I respect anyone who seriously attempts to find what foundational principles people care about, cross them against each other, and then map different groups into various quadrants. It’s an interesting exercise and the author has given it real thought.

(Read the whole thing, but in short, he suggests the two axes are “decoupled vs coupled” (whether we see existence as individualized or enmeshed with others) and “survive vs thrive” (whether we think society first needs to prioritize anything necessary to not collapse, or we’re doing okay and need to make the costs of a society less onerous.) He then says the Left is in the quadrant “coupled, thrive” and the Right is in the quadrant “decoupled, survive.”)

Despite the exercise, this seems pretty clearly wrong. I will admit that it is somewhat *less wrong* if you are only talking about elected policymakers and the bills they propose - the officials of the Democratic Party and the Republican Party do focus on these quadrants more than the many activists and media organs, and there’s something to “your actual politics is the policy and everything else is advertising slogans”, but that still fails to capture the majority of political activity and beliefs. (And proposed bills only *somewhat* fall into these camps, not always.)

For instance looks at the left out quadrants: Coupled, survive? Well that sounds like a small subsistence community, or a military chain of command, or even a small business. Those are not only Republican voting groups, but they are the ideal images that sentimental right wing writers praise so very much. To look at the right and say there is never any sense of shared obligation or cultural unity, seems to miss most of what motivates the base, especially if you are low class enough to not benefit from tax cuts.

And the opposite quadrant: Decoupled, thrive? That sounds like left-libertarians, classical liberals, SF bay tech types, and eccentric artists and academics (Ivory Tower is a very on the nose term for decoupled-thrive). They may not agree with other leftists all the time, but certainly they overwhelmingly vote Democratic, and are responsible for much of the cash of any Dem campaign.

So you could say “well actually, it’s Left is thrive and Right is survive, and the (de)coupled thing is interesting but used contextually either way by both sides (maybe in a Horseshoe theory sense.)”

Maybe. There’s non-zero correlation between thrive/survive and Left/Right probably, but they don’t line up exactly. Certainly many left activists know how to use the rhetoric of survive to talk about how their marginalized group is at risk of utter destruction if the world doesn’t change immediately (all the way from microaggressions up to global warming, and they aren’t always wrong either.) And it’s hard not to imagine suburban Reaganism as Right-thrive rhetoric: we’ve done as much as we can for those who are not us, time to give us a treat too (starting with a tax cut.) I suspect more any survive or thrive rhetoric is opportunistic, based on what will be effective in any particular fight. (I also am biased to think Left wing policy sees a thriving world, because both are correct.)

So it ends up not being a very useful grid for predicting where people will end up politically. Which is okay though, since it’s a good start for asking “what empirical perspectives underlie political ontology?”

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xiinzhan · 5 years

Note

" I will endure it. by now I am used to suffering - at sea and in the war. let this come too. "

meme.

SENTENCE STARTERS: MYTH.TXT

@prdigy • not accepting !

He’s kept time of his loss—of every month, week, day, hour, second since he’d seen him last— with the stubbornly metronomic thrum of a splintered heart, and a vigilant recall that’s more vivid than it has any business being.

If he closes his eyes, he can remember the last time he’d seen Sephiroth: half obscured in the darkness of his apartment, backlit by the the garish neon cityscape of Midgar at midnight, which shrouds him in a corona of sideral light. A single wing stretches behind him, flourishing once before it cloaks his shoulders at the sight of tseng installed in the threshold of his door, as pale as a pilgrim, and stilled with wonder that inhibits any sense but a complete and abject numinity.

He can’t see his expression for the darkness, but Tseng recalls the sharp shadows that cut the quadrants of his face, all part and parcel to a terrifying beauty that he would worship before for the rest of his life, given half the chance. But he sees the arm that rests at Sephiroth’s side, unconcealed by the wing, wrapped in hastily-wound bandages from wrist to elbow upon which a darkness blooms, spreading like sin.

And when Tseng steps back from the threshold, retreating into the darkness of the living room and out into the quiet of the sleeping city, it feels like defeat.

It is defeat.

There had been no words between them after. Tseng remembers how many myriad times he’d compulsively turned his phone over to find no alert from him—no text, no call, no voicemail asking after him. That night, the twilight air had resolved him to have one of those difficult sorts conversations with Sephiroth, the kind of talk of uncertain terms and uncertain ends. But every second, every hour, every day without him proved a deprivation that ached, his heart inhabiting the old adage about absence and fondness and whatever other foolishness came with the imprudence of falling in love.

And then he was off. On another mission, of such great importance that his victorious return had merited a celebration of unprecedented magnificence, to fete his triumph and consecrate his efforts. It isn’t where he’d prefer to see him again, amidst a gala of the glitterati who would designate him a god where Tseng would rather find flesh and blood in the form of a man he’d known in the veracity of darkness.

The ballroom is lavishly decorated, pristine white marble walls illuminated by hundreds of slender candles. White. Tseng always thought Shinra’s preoccupation with white was more than a little mordent. Black swallowed sins. White exhibited it. But it is a thought beyond his ken to reason.

Garlands of exotic white flowers ornament towering pilasters edged in gold, velvet curtains the color of deepest crimson frame stately windows that opened to an inky night sky. It is a magnificently ostentatious display, and one expected of the aristocrats that luxuriated in the comfort afforded to those who lent their support to the conglomeration.

Tseng’s eyes sweep the hall by rote, knowing full well they would not alight upon the sight he wants so desperately to find. Sephiroth is not here.

It’s nearly another hour until he does show, his entrance invoking the usual rush of an unabashedly curious throng of bodies that never fails to overwhelm. The general enters to chorus’ swell of gasps, to a crescendo of footsteps, admiration hummed in concert at his arrival. Tseng watches as he forces himself to smile as warmly as he can at a gaggle of silk-clad young women who peek at him from behind the coquettish obscuration of their gilded fans. Beset upon from all sides, crystal flutes of expensive champagne are pushed into Sephiroth’s hands, trays of delectable finger foods called to his vicinity. Tseng is acutely aware of the irritation that flickers invariably in Sephiroth’s gaze, even from this distance: he dislikes being the center of attention at these things. And yet it is his job to be just that.

The Turk weaves his way through the crowd to his lover’s side, fingers pressed lightly to the small of his back. It’s an offhanded gesture intended to be a custodial one, reassuring and encouraging. But a small flood of panic washes over him as he feels Sephiroth shift away from his touch and let himself be led away, leaving Tseng’s fingertips reaching uselessly after him.

Bile rises bitter at the back of his tongue. Maybe Sephiroth hadn’t seen him. He’d come in from behind, out of his line of sight. A part of him forms an astringent argument that Sephiroth had always known his touch. Another part of him fears that he had.

From his position against the wall, Tseng notes the meandering of Sephiroth’s path, watches with eyes slit with what feels like jealousy. What had any of these people done to assume the right to Sephiroth’s time? His attention? What possible contribution could any of them have made to merit the general’s recognition?

Nothing. But they’ve likely never failed him.

It’s a consideration that sends his stomach roiling, to join the freneticism of his heart, the scatter of his thoughts.

And when the general finds an opportunity to slip away, so does Tseng.

He expects to find him rushing to the sanctuary of the bathroom, but when Tseng finds the hallways curiously empty, it takes a moment to regroup. He only hears the piano as he nears the antechamber door, plaintive chords struck with a resolved hand, reverberating through the marble hall, high to the cathedralic ceilings. Like an invocation, a call to worship that draws Tseng in like a siren’s song.

Sephiroth sits at a white grand piano, his argent hair spilling over his shoulders, swathed in moonlight that paints him pallid and pale. His head is bent to regard the ivory graced by his elegant fingers, which play with an unceremonious perfection. And when he raises his gaze to mind the moon, Tseng braces the frame of the door as his lips part to sing:

And I’m a shadow of a ghostIt’s feeling as if somebody has taken hostBabe, I don’t wanna make a sceneBut I get self-destructiveAnd it’s driving you awayIt’s driving you awayPiece by pieceDay by day

Baby, tell me if I’m being strangeAnd if I need to rearrangeMy particlesI will for you …..

He sings with a timbre so velutinous that Tseng shivers, as though the back of his neck is graced with the taunt of eiderdown. And how his voice soars stratospheric, high and holy, with an abstracted effortlessness that seems transcendent. Like he’s witnessing some aniconic simulacrum, a wonderment beyond words.

And when Tseng is close enough for his hand to alight upon the shelf of the grand instrument, tears shine crystalline in the corners of his eyes. It’s hubris to assume that the song is about him. But he feels it, in the marrow of his bones, the castigation and concession both heavy in the consonance of his voice

Tseng sinks to his knees like a prodigal found, hands in his lap as he sits back dejectedly upon his heels. “Do you think that?” he asks, in barely a whisper, looking up at cerulean eyes slit narrowly with black, that had once softened at the sight of him. How vacant and vacuous they seemed now. “Do you think there is anything you could do short of telling me to leave, that could impel me to abandon you?”

“If you must go, go,” came Sephiroth’s adjucation. He says it simply. A simple truth. And for all the delicacy he says it with, it destroys Tseng all the more. “I will endure it. By now I am used to suffering - at sea and in the war. Let this come too.”

Desolation marks the curl of his shoulders, sorrow describes itself in the curve of his spine. It is the pronunciation of defeat, like a sentence, like a verdict. Like a maledict. Tseng’s eyes slide shut, in depuration of this unique misery. “My hesitation had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me,” Tseng announces, with a quiet finality. “I’ve been to war, same as you. I’ve seen terrors and tragedies and weathered them all. I’ve dealt with the aftermath. I’m not scared of what it takes to find slivers of peace. But god, the burdens you carry are atlantean in magnitude, and I’m at least smart enough to know that I could never fathom the scope of the shit you go through. I’m not …. I’m not equipped …. To understand the depth of everything you’re going through. I want to. But that’s where I fail you. Because no matter how encompassing, how completely and unwaveringly I love you, it won’t be enough. It’ll never be enough.”

His hands alight upon Sephiroth’s thighs, following the line of sinews and muscles up to the terminus of his hips. Tseng moves between the spread of the general’s knees, settles between them to incline his lips to where the scar vivisects his ribs, and kisses it over the perfectly pressed linen of his shirt. “But I am sadly as loyal as the dog they take me for. And even if you sent me away, ordered me away, I’d still love you. I’d still watch over you as best I could. From the wings, where i’ve always belonged.”

He rests his forehead against the ballast of his sternum and sighs with a profundity that aches. “I remember the shape of your mouth when you told me the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard. How you told me I ground you. How I keep you human.” How you loved me. “You cycle through medications that wane in their efficacy, with an exponentiality that frankly frightens me. You hurt yourself to whatever end—to purge yourself, to punish yourself, to prove something to yourself …. What the fuck could I possibly offer you, that wouldn’t end up useless eventually, too?”

He’s quiet after that confession, and allows an ineloquent silence to sit thickly between them. He swallows and tries to find his words, his thumbs finding the jut of Sephiroth’s hips and circling idly as he gathers up the courage to speak. “It’s alright if I’m useless. I thought maybe …. I wouldn’t waste your time. I shouldn’t, at least. You’d be better off without having to worry about everything that haunts you, and me on the side. But it turns out I’d rather exist as an afterthought to you, than nothing at all. I’ll live out my usefulness to you. But until then, I’m here. I’m yours. To do with what you will.”

#prdigy #this is literally the longest response for no reason #but u dared tell me this scene #and i had to write it #fuck u #hi im gay and i missed u and missed writing u shit so here's some sad shit

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chuckling-chemist · 6 years

Text

You’re A Kind One, Miss Elsker (11/14)

((Aside from “Dance of the Fuchsiablood Fairy, this is my most clever title. Doesn’t get better than this. And if bad friendships are a squick or trigger for you, please skip.))

Some trolls lived the high life. Swinging off chandeliers with seadwellers, drinking the finest Faygo with clowns, feather boas and pretty trolls lounging on pianos as servants in tuxedos played rhapsodies on the ivories. This was true of Atenic’s friends, all of whom adored it. Pereon loved the dark, slinky dresses in elegant masks where she’d take business partners for mysterious affairs. Siroet loved the colors and entertainment scattered abound for her to find. Careen reveled in the atmosphere, the dancing and overall aesthetic of flaunting her infinite wealth. She didn’t know much about Dontoc, but anyone who comes from the underwater City of Twinkling Lights must enjoy the high life. And Pothos...well...Atenic mostly avoided thinking about him.

Did Atenic enjoy the high life? That’s a hard question. On one hand, not only did the high life enjoy Atenic; but she also hated all the boisterous, drunken, bloody parties found among lowbloods where she couldn’t even wear a pretty new dress from Kordof. She loved going out and enjoying time with her beautiful friend, Careen, which made these events fun despite the crushing anxiety that occupied her thoughts the minute Careen went away. A shame that was guaranteed at any socialite event. And when Careen was absent, Atenic felt a crushing emptiness in her bones unlike no other. It made the same nights she’d adore now impossible to enjoy. Trolls like Siroet or Pereon didn’t fill the hole the same way Careen did. So at best, she’d file her answer down with little more than a solid maybe.

This also meant tonight was no exception to the rule. This time, Careen finally managed to convince her unwilling matesprit to go out and actually enjoy the night with her for once in his life. Judging by their lack of return to the table, he succeeded at such. Siroet already left off in one of her usual Siroet-tantrums some time ago. And Pereon disappeared some time after Careen to discuss business with well-to-do highbloods in snug outfits. Only Atenic remained at the table to sip expensive punch and pick at crumbs of triple moobeast milk crumb pastry. Unlike the rest of them, she’d prefer to stay in the VIP room away from general populace lowbloods. Lowbloods meant trouble. They jeered at Atenic, despite her caste, when she couldn’t hear. Careen was adamant of such.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, pushing around crumbs in complete silence to keep away her dejection, before a chilly hand rested on her shoulder. She looked up to see Pereon standing behind her, smiling politely down. Another troll, a rather toned and meek-looking indigoblood who stood taller than Pereon’s own hair, stood next to her. The indigoblood’s arms rested behind her back. “Atenic,” Pereon said sweetly, “you should enjoy the ball. It’s not every day you’ll see a landdweller host like this.”

Atenic glanced down at her food, nodding absently. She liked Pereon, but Pereon didn’t understand. No one here did. None of them understood the impossible challenges Atenic experienced when Careen wasn’t around. She was...what was the word? Antisocial. Atenic was antisocial.

She craned her neck up again. Pereon was dressed as beautiful as ever, dressed in a two piece dress with a long, two tiered purple skirt and short, lacy halter top. “I am enjoying the ball. The food is very good. And I love wearing this dress! It makes me feel like an eight pointed snowflake!”

Had she been standing, she may have swished her dress for emphasis, but she settled for squirming around in her seat. It might’ve been a shorter dress, but the cute snowflake pattern on the skirt, pale blue ribbon and sheer, sparkling cape made Atenic feel like a true lady of winter. Kordof never failed in making her feel she danced around in other troll’s daydreams.

The indigoblood next to her snickered behind her hand. Pereon, though, she was too respectful for that. She merely quirked her arched eyebrow high enough to blend into her hairline. “Atenic, you do realize snowflakes have six sides, right?”

“Oh.” Where did she learn that? Must’ve been from some cheesy novel. “Sorry Pereon. You’re so smart.”

Pereon patted her shoulder. “It’s fine, little one. Anyone in your position would’ve made the mistake.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” Pereon ruffled Atenic’s hair, right between the small, curved horns on her head. “Perfectly normal mistake for landdwellers. It’s why Careen took you in out of the goodness of her soul.”

“Yeah...she did.” Atenic smiled bashfully as warmth flooded and added the barest amount of blue to her face at the memory. Long ago, probably at least ten sweeps at this point, Careen found Atenic hanging around the lower castes and brought her in. Careen brought Atenic into the light of seadwelling society. Atenic learned everything Careen put in front of her, lapped up the praises and criticisms in equal fervor, remembered and internalized every facet until she perfected it to get where she stood now.

“And I’m sure Careen would appreciate if all the help she gave you was put to use.”

She frowned, kicking her legs underneath her chair as Pereon’s hand disappeared. She didn’t like it, but Pereon did have a point. Standing around here waiting for Careen disrespected the hard work she did, not just for the work Careen did in the past couple perigees for her, but for all the work Careen’s done for her in her life up to this point. “Yeah…maybe you’re right.” Atenic stood up, smoothing the skirt of her dress down. “I think I’ll go out on the ballroom.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” She patted Atenic’s head a couple more times before taking the indigoblood’s hand. “You’ll know where to find me if you need me.”

Atenic nodded silently, eyeing them as the two sauntered back toward the orchestra. She wouldn’t need them. Atenic was an adult troll, long past her seventh sweep ordeal and everything. Anxious tendencies or not, she didn’t need Pereon’s help just to go find a specific troll, especially when she knew exactly where that troll would be.

Atenic scuttled her way into the main ballroom in a hurry, rushing past all sorts of lower casted trolls flitting in her way. The music’s quick tempo spurred her footsteps faster, faster toward her eventual goal. She had to be here somewhere important. Find someone important. But where was she? Amid the twirling capes and glittering adornments, she couldn’t make anything out. Nor could she find an easy way in. Not with the sheer volume of trolls. If she wanted to do anything without making a scene, she would have to wait until they thinned out.

“I simply cannot abide this betrayal of my sensitivities!!”

The voice rang out above everything else in the room, clear as day. Atenic didn’t have to see the source to know who it was.

Careen.

All worry of causing trouble washed away. She squeezed between a couple greenbloods doing some odd dance to get into the dance floor proper, frantically darting her head around to look for the voice’s owner. Surrounding trolls, mid and lowbloods mostly, danced on, blocking off Atenic’s line of sight. The curse of being a smaller troll: even when the trolls were distinctly younger and lower casted, she couldn’t see past them. But then again, she knew Careen. She knew Careen better than any other troll knew her. She knew how Careen needed to stay in the public eye in these difficult times, what with that other tyrian pink troll making a calculated effort for Empress.

She pushed her way toward the orchestra. A few trolls resisted, but she was a cobaltblood. No reason not to take advantage of such. Especially when the trolls who pushed back looked like nosy tealbloods thinking they deserved better for being a higher midblood. Someone had to remind them of their standing. May as well be her.

When she arrived, she found herself standing on the edge of what looked to be some kind of standoff. On one side stood Careen, in all her beauty, next to a tall highblood in a rather fru-fru FLARP suit. On the other side was Dontoc in that odd suit with some rust dressed in blacks and bright reds Atenic didn’t recognize. Despite the lack of trolls paying attention to them, none of the four appeared to notice her arrival to the scene unfolding in front of her.

“I just can't fucking fathom why you're being possessive over the pale quadrant!” the brownblood exclaimed. She threw her arms in the air for emphasis as she added, “ The hell do you think you are?”

“Last I checked, I am the Heiress--”

“Yes, Careen. We know.” Dontoc sighed in exasperation. He looked tired. Moreso than before they left, anyway. “That being said, heiress or not, I am allowed a dance or two with my moirail of five sweeps.”

“I was your first quadrant!” Careen stamped her foot on the floor. “I deserve to have him for the event. It's what I deserve after everything I've given him.”

With a shudder, Dontoc looked down at the floor in silence. He almost appeared to curl inward on himself, drooped fins and all.

At the same time, every aspect of brownblood bristled. Her posture straightened, her gaze angry and hateful, the fingers at the side of her body that didn't take his hand twitched violently. “If I'm being honest, I think you deserve to have me shove my boot up your frilly waste chute but you see me parading around like I own the place,” she said darkly.

Finally, the indigoblood standing next to Careen registered the conversation. He pointed at Dontoc and said, “Control your moirail! She should realize who she speaks to.”

With a huff, Dontoc pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ignoring how wildly inappropriate you are every time you speak, especially now, why are you here? This does not concern you.” He jerked his head up. “Unless you are attempting to get something from us.”

The brownblood seemed to mutter something under her breath, but Atenic couldn't make it out over the indigoblood sputtering, “I would never do such a thing! I feel only that I give my Heiress what she deserves!”

Careen craned her head up to the indigoblood with a particularly indignant look. “What I deserve is my matesprit and I don’t know why you’re so insistent on anything otherwise.”

Atenic frowned. She deserved so much better than Dontoc. She deserved a troll to be there for anything and everything. Dontoc didn’t have the emotional energy to live with her full time and be there at any minute when she needed him. He lacked the patience. The gentle temperament she showed towards those lower than her needed to be returned to her in full.

She cautiously nudged herself out of the edge and into the center of the four of them. Her focus fell only on the Heiress. She didn’t care about any of the other three of them. “Hey, hey Careen?”

She didn’t have to look at the other two trolls to feel the daggers on her back. Careen though, Careen watched her with curiosity. “Atenic, I’m surprised you made it out,” she said. Her gentle tone soothed Atenic, calmed her anxieties the same way a good cup of hot chocolate does. “What is it you need?”

“I just want to say I agree with whoever the big scary blueblood is. I think you deserve better too!”

Careen sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “That’s great you feel that way, but really Atenic what I deserve is well...you know.” She gestured toward the two trolls behind her. “Someone like Dontoc.”

“A damn shame that what he deserves--”

“I would silence your tongue before I cut it myself,” Careen sneered. “Remember who you speak to, rustblood.”

“Bold words for someone trying to look pretty and nice for the cameras,” the brownblood threw back. “If you want to fight me, actually come over here and do it. Otherwise? Just shut the fuck up.”

“Oh please I have a sense of self respect. Unlike yourself,” Careen scoffed. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “Truly, Dontoc should have a troll who actually cares about what he wants.”

“That’s rich considering--”

“Valeba,” Dontoc sighed in defeat, “stop.”

Atenic whipped her head around behind her to Dontoc and the other troll. The lowblood looked upset, but the glint of murder in her eyes faded into a general glare directed toward her moirail. Dontoc took her hand as he leaned over to whisper into her ear. She frowned deeply, but the her expression softened into...something. Or maybe it didn’t so much soften as return to a neutral state. With the resting bitch face, Atenic couldn’t tell. “Right. Yeah. You’ll know where I’ll be,” she said quietly, quietly enough Atenic could barely hear it. She looked up to Careen with a scowl and before she left, growled, “Do understand though, if it weren’t for the restrictions put upon me for tonight and tomorrow, I would have culled you here and now. She sharply turned on the heel of her foot and walked out before anyone could stop her. The sea of trolls nearby them parted like an ocean as she moved.

Careen made a motion toward Dontoc, but he stepped back. “Careen? I suggest you let me go talk to her.”

“But Dontoc, this is your fault! You let that nasty lowblood into your life, and see how it’s turning out? I should just end it--”

“I don’t think she cares,” he snapped. His fins grew, making already large fins take up a good chunk of his face.

“Well maybe I care!”

“And perhaps, the last time you cared that I danced with a troll who holds no interest in women, you got possessive despite cavorting with…” he looked over to the indigoblood with a raised eyebrow “...numerous curiosities. So do what you will tonight, but understand unless you plan on making this drawn out, you are rather limited to tormenting me like last sweep, and such is a bullet the both of us know I will take. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to speak to her and calm her down proper before you must deal with the beloved kismesis of the only other Heiress competing. The same one looking for an excuse to cull you. Who is also here tonight.”

She stepped closer, seemingly unaware Atenic was in front of her as she only focused on her matesprit. “And what about everyone else? About--”

“Then maybe this time, you should have thought about someone other than yourself. Because I have. And this is, quite frankly, possibly the path of absolute least resistance for you, and yet you still threaten me. This will take a whole five minutes, and then I shall remain with you for the rest of tonight and tomorrow.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Do you not understand that?”

Atenic looked frantically between the two of them. Should she...should she do something? She’d heard Careen complain about Dontoc before, but she’d never actually seen them fight. And what did Dontoc mean by threatening? Careen hadn’t threatened him. She hadn’t threatened anyone.

“Uh...Careen, maybe you can spend some time with me!” she blurted out. “Until Dontoc’s back, at least.”

Dontoc’s fins shrunk as he stared at Atenic, flabbergasted. “Um...if you wish, I suppose? Erm, thank you. Assuming it is, ah…” he looked up at Careen. “Is that a suitable compromise?”

She released her crossed arms with a huff. “That can work, yes. And if this doesn’t come back to me, Dontoc, I guess I’ll make sure your little quadrant doesn’t get thrown out.”

He nodded, and as he turned around to walk away, Atenic could have sworn she saw him roll his eyes. “Of course, dear. Always so forgiving,” he remarked dryly. “I will meet you in the VIP room when I’m finished.”

Careen’s face brightened up. Dontoc was right: she was just so forgiving. ��Okay darling! See you there! Come on Atenic, we shall dance in private. I know how you dislike crowds.”

Dontoc nodded, but Atenic wasn’t sure he completely heard, otherwise he might be happier about the whole state of affairs. Their fight was over, and Atenic managed to solve it herself! Maybe she could even slide into being an actual quadrant with Careen. Moirail? Or... auspistice. If it was possible to auspistice a matespritship.

But when Careen shooed away the rather confused-looking indigoblood and took Atenic’s hand, she realized she didn’t care. For this one moment, she was the Heiress’ world. It was all she needed.

#12th perigee ball 2018 #fantroll #homestuck #fanfiction #long post #not a starter #my writing #careen #dontoc #valeba #atenic #a tale of 12th perigee

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