285 | fannish events, poetry, & a fic rec

[straightforwardly]

► I signed up for pokepodproject today! Rather last minute—sign-ups end tonight and I'm going to be spending much of the day away from home—but I’ve been wary of overcommitting myself. A part of me really wanted to offer to write three fics, but I don’t want to overdo it, so I just offered two, chosen from four potential Pokémon. I’m telling myself that I can always pick up pinch hits if I find that I can and want to do more!

I was also careful to brainstorm concepts that I thought could fit into the 100-1000 wordcount limit while choosing which Pokémon to offer. So hopefully that will help too, in the spirit of not overdoing it/not overloading my personal stress levels. I just think this is the coolest concept and I’m very excited for it.

► justmarriedexchange revealed recently. I didn’t participate, and I haven’t actually looked through much of the collection beyond throwing a few fics in my marked-for-later list, but…! There is one exception to that, and that’s this fic, which I just had to read immediately. And I’m glad I did, because I really liked it!

lips for a god to worship (Greek Mythology, Artemis/Iphigenia, 1.5K)
Iphigenia submits.

To the ropes passed about her thin wrists that chafe at the skin. To the cloth, fragrant with dust and her own scent, forced into her mouth and kept there to prevent her speaking a dying curse. To the cool touch of a blade rising from her belly to her throat, the peeling back of her saffron robes like the butchering of an animal.

She is the animal, a sacrifice to stir the winds.

Truly gorgeous prose, and I enjoyed the dynamic between Iphigenia and Artemis here.

► The above fic references a poem (always a winner, in my book)— “Iphigenia” by Edwin Arnold. I had to look it up immediately, of course, and I rather liked it, so I’m copying it over here for my own records.

Rapt she stood!
Beautiful-but so very,-very still,
That but for some light quivering of her lip,
And the quick tremble of her lifted eye,
She might have been of stone. The very wind
Seemed silent in her sorrow, and stirred not
One of the golden locks that, like a glory,
Circled her angel face. Her soft, blue eye
Was fixed on vacancy, and nothing saw,
Or nothing heeded. From her parted lips
(Lips for a God to worship) the warm breath
Came fast and tremulous, and her bosom fell
And rose and fell again, like a sea-wave
When the storm wakes it from its sleep. The blood
Left its sweet home upon her virgin cheek,
To tremble to the heart; through all her being
The fearful pang-the untold agony
Of the wild death-dread ran.

It passed-she seemed
All her sweet self again-a Grecian Princess;
And with a quiet step and tearless eye,
And a proud sorrow that she might not hide,
To die so young:-she moved to Dian's shrine,
Spotless and fair as Dian.