[mosvani]

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WHEN I CHOSE GREEN, I thought it was so heroic—The Battle Ajah... warriors trained to defend humanity from the dark one at the last battle. but I never thought I'd see it myself. ALANNA MOSVANI from prime's the wheel of time. beloved by lea. 21+

written in affiliation with @graveflwers , @cascality

ⁱ﹚ 𝓘NFO.     ⁱⁱ﹚𝓟INBOARD.     ⁱⁱⁱ﹚ 𝓟ROMPTS.

while my portrayal is influenced by aspects of the books, my alanna is pretty strictly show-based as they are written as completely different characters.

don't be weird. communicate like adults.

for my own personal comfort, I can not follow people who post excessive negativity

I prioritize friends and plotted threads.

you can always always send prompts. they're a great way to start something with me <3

verses pages/info pending but I intend to write out a more general fantasy verse as well as aus for elden ring and tes (among others)

pinned audio is ha vay

[mosvani]

— Jacqueline Harpman, I Who Have Never Known Men

aAAH !!!

[fremiya]

Chani finds her gaze constantly returning behind her, narrowing in exasperation at the space between their bodies. @mosvani notes this, and whispers ‘ something you want to say? ’

‘ You move too slow. ’ Chani hisses, ducking beneath the shade of rock. The sanctuary of night grows weak, surrendering to the tilt of the axis, the pull of the sun. They had only a mere hour or two now, else they’d find themselves stranded in the garish light. Victim to the infernal temperature. Already the air around them has begun to sharpen, and she can feel the heat begin to tease her exposed flesh, coiling itself around her. Chani, however, remains measured in each movement, calm as the drifting sand.

‘ Stay close. I will not drag your body with me if you fall. ’

[mosvani]

for a sliver of a second, she is all teeth—indignance her native response. it bows up in her chest. the set of her jaw. a flash of derisive smile she swiftly snuffs with a hard exhale. another, softer. and turns her head, tracing and retracing their wilting path as the sun encroached. she was right. for however much progress she made on her own two feet, chani's surefooted grace rendered them clumsy by comparison. uncertain. precarious.

"then I'll be sure not to fall," she muses, ego—stubborn creature that it was—unwilling to be eaten entirely, and pushes on.

[mosvani]

thank you for your contribution pinterest

[mosvani]

I keep wanting to write something longer on alanna as a somewhat radical, if subtle, figure within the white tower in a multitude of ways but a lot of it just kind of boils down to being an egalitarian in a pink-washed/inverted patriarchy.

[pyrlspite]

due to personal reasons I will be cheating death

[mosvani]

if he expected some display of white-knuckled stoicism,   chin stubbornly lifted as she grit her teeth through ribbons of pain,   alanna gave him none.   @4uts dabs what she dimly identified as some kind of poultice along the slash that’d unlaced the blade of her shoulder into agony and alanna finds herself more and more grateful for the iron anchor of his grip as her body reeled in jags away from this blistering contact.   childish was the common refrain for a warrior with no love,   nor tolerance,   for suffering.   but if he echoed it,   she cared little,   regretting only that she wasn’t more help in this endeavor.  

she is better,   but not completely still,   for the bandage he secures with methodical precision.   her startled cry at contact muffled in the turn of her head, teeth clasping her bottom lip as she balled her hands into tight fists at her thighs.

“this has been a far more exciting reunion than I would have preferred,”   she manages in a threadbare voice.   too mangled for her meager attempt at levity to take any recognizable shape.   her debt to the warrior’s deadpan honor ever steeper.

"I thought you were long gone by now."

[mosvani]

latent and unnamed or lavished upon her,   she was no stranger to another woman’s admiration or body.   loved to drink in even the faintest of impressions left by a glance that landed just right or the brush of limbs,   as much a servant to ego as she was connection.   simply put,   alanna loved freely;   openly and gluttonously so.   @cascality’s,   not so quiet as to sneak up on her but subtle all the same,   was no less treasured.

as casca’s mouth found hers,   her soft lips embroidered in that same certainty she seemed to carry into every uncertainty,   alanna couldn’t help but wonder if she’d often thought of kissing her.   it is as gauzy and fleeting as everything else between them:   there and gone again so swiftly (too swiftly) that she’d only her own surety that it’d happened at all.   chaste and tender, like a lover's.   alanna feels herself softly list toward the space she’d held just a moment before and beams.   she touches a hand to the other woman’s face,   tracing the curve of cheekbone with her thumb.   they sat huddled together on the floor of her tent.   bathed in the amber wash of her lantern.

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to do that,”   she muses,   fingers mapping down her face to her jaw. exploring for the sake of it, as if she might catalog every inch of her. appreciating the cut of light against her skin.

[mosvani]

how long amber had held her perch, announcing her presence with the tap of her fingers, alanna couldn't say. she stills but does not startle (not for lack of surprise), barely moves at all except for the languid cant of her head, catching amber in her peripheral and holding her there.

the early morning had veiled two rivers in a thin mist, the chill of which she'd reluctantly bartered for its quiet. a blouse, what remained of one, sat in her lap as she attended to mend its shoulder—a fool's endeavor, maksim had been too eager to inform her—and wore her frustration nakedly across her face. it'd crept into her fingers, rendering what should have been even tension into jagged swipes and clumsy knots. peppering the morning air with the intermittent hiss or gasp or curse as she jab her thumb with the needle or further tangled the thread.

im her present company, alanna tries to temper her face but, as it was want to do, her body rejected this exercise in restraint.

"good morning, @motleyd " she says, balling the tattered fabric. she resists the impulse to shake out her hand, eyes skimming her fingers where blood might have beaded before she clasps them tightly together. and turns her head fully to the other.

[mosvani]

such a companionable quiet comes to lie between them—nightsong in gentle chorus with the murmur of his blade, interjected only by the indignant pop of the fire as pockets of moisture burst free—that she is almost hesitant to break it.   alanna sits atop the spread of her cloak,   her legs neatly folded,   and leans back on either palm to watch the dense smoke of their fire tumble upward into the star-drowned sky.   she speaks skyward,   her voice weightless. his remained firmly on the ground: deflective, to little affect. she heeds his insistence no more than if he'd denied the sun. she laughs. a quizzical frown pinching her features.

were she still just a girl, it might have been insulting—so personally had she taken each and every turn of the world around her—to be so swiftly dismissed. as it was, it struck her only as odd.

"you are too modest," alanna says, regarding him with a renewed interest. but not wholly incorrect; she could hold her own fine enough, but calling any kind of magic in a land that deemed it heresy courted its own dangers. more than her life, he'd spared her considerable risk. alanna rolls her shoulders, a gesture almost indolent, and relieves him of her eye.

"nevertheless, I am grateful, @4uts" she says. and desired or not, she'd repay it.

cont.

[cascality]

“ knights all make the same oath, ” casca said, resolutely.

she graciously accepted the apple slice with a brief incline of her head, fingers brushing alanna's just long enough to appreciate the warmth before withdrawing. she brought it to her mouth without hurry, heeth breaking cleanly through the ripe flesh. it was sweet and bright, startingly simple, yet rich at the same time.

for a moment, she recalls her hours spent in the marketplace earlier in the day. merchants haggling over coin, fisherman boasting of their best catch of the day, the low murmur of lives discussed over hearty meals rather than campaigns and politics stringing them together. it was dirty business that was unnerving, and she hated feeling out of an element that affects her and those of her people. there was something enviable in the simplicity of the normal, everyday life.

“ no matter the cost, ” she continued, “ we are meant to protect those who cannot protect themselves. ” a faint smile touched her mouth, softer than her guarded disposition shared.

“ it would be a poor oath, ” she said, a shift of warmth entering her tone, as she teased, “ if it didn’t account for the people foolish enough to stand beside me. ”

“ so yes, ” she nodded once in alanna's direction. “ i worry. i'd be worth very little if i didn't. ”

@mosvani

[mosvani]

theirs was an affection negotiated with an almost ephemeral awareness: like drawn to like. touch as natural as a smile. a smile as natural as breath.

in another life, casca might've been right at home in arafel with a seat of her own and an army at her back. or a table flush with family, the air comfortably full of laughter and idle chatter. the clatter of flatware. her heart as big and red as she wore it now, only half as guarded.

"knights all make the same oath," she says, and alanna finds herself snagged, like a hand bangling her wrist.

not so, she thinks. and with the apple, swallows it, popping another sliver into her mouth. if this was part of the armor she so deeply encased herself within, far be from alanna to pry it from her.

"fool or not, single-mindedness makes that a great deal simpler," she says instead, smile twitching broader, as if around a private punchline. sacrifice was easy when there was no other option. alanna chews thoughtfully.

"I mean," she says after a moment. "is there something in particular on your mind?"

[mosvani]

I love you alanna mosvani

[ohisms]

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄    (a  series  of  nonverbal  prompts .   mature  themes  present ,   ‘ my ’  muse  belongs  to  the  one who  posted  the  meme  -  send   “ + REVERSE ”   to  reverse  the  prompts .)

→     𝐈 .    GENERAL

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse . ❛   sit .   gesture  for  my  muse  to  sit  down . ❛   door .   hold  a  door  open  for  my  muse . ❛   tap .   tap  my  muse  on  the  shoulder  to  garner  their  attention . ❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . ❛   cook .   present  my  muse  with  home - cooked  food . ❛   brush .   work  a  brush  /  comb  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse . ❛   hand .   hold  out  a  hand  for  my  muse  to  take . ❛   dressed .   help  my  muse  put  on  an  article  of  clothing . ❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   [ content ] . ❛   amplify .   turn  up  the  music  in  the  car .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    ANGST

❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . ❛   night terrors .   hold  my  muse  after  they  wake  up  from  a  nightmare . ❛   company .   silently  sit  with  my  muse  to  comfort  them. ❛   hospital .   my  muse  is  told  that  yours  is  in  the  hospital . ❛   revelation .   show  my  muse  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope . ❛   downfall .   find  my  muse  collapsed  on  the  ground . ❛   console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry . ❛   nurse .   give  my  muse  company  in  the  hospital .

→     𝐈𝐈𝐈 .    AFFECTIONATE

❛   wink .   wink  at  my  muse .  ❛   wrap .   wrap  an  arm  around  my  muse’s  [ shoulders  /  waist ] . ❛   caress .   gently  caress  my  muse’s  face . ❛   tousle .   mess  playfully  with  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   chest .   place  your  head  on  my  muse’s  chest .    ❛   comb .   comb  fingers  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   grasp .   run  to  my  muse  &  jump  into  their  arms . ❛   lean .   lean  on  my  muse’s  shoulder . ❛   tender .   kiss  my  muse  on  the  [ forehead  /  cheek  /  nose ] . ❛   abrupt .   kiss  my  muse  out  of  the  blue . ❛   chaste .   chastely  kiss  my  muse . ❛   good morning .   kiss  my  muse  the  morning  after . ❛   volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

→     𝐈𝐕  .    VIOLENT

❛   strike .   [ slap / punch ]  my muse in the face . ❛   gun .   wield  a  gun  at  my  muse . ❛   twist .   twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back . ❛   throttle .   aggressively  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   parch .   burn  my  muse  with  a  hot  object . ❛   take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . ❛   gouge .   wield  a  sharp  object  at  my  muse . ❛  shunt .   shove  my  muse  backwards . ❛  stickup .   yell  at  my  muse  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air. ❛  shoot .   [ fatally  /  non-fatally ]   shoot  my  muse . ❛  stab .   stab  my  muse with a  [ knife / other object ].

→     𝐕 .    NSFW

❛   surprise .   send  an  unexpected  nsfw  image  to  my  muse . ❛   pin .   push  my  muse  against  a  [ wall,  table,  other ] . ❛   go down .   go  down  on  my  muse . ❛   choke .   intimately  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   belt loops .   pull  my  muse  closer  by  their  belt loops . ❛   skinny dipping .   go  skinny  dipping  with  my  muse . ❛   rip .   tear  a  piece  of  clothing  from  my  muse’s  body . ❛   mark .   leave  a  mark  on  my  muse’s  body  [ specify where ] .

[pixistic]

a rusted tin lantern holds vigil over bonnie’s cottage door. the light is dim, dying. as something always is around her. alanna is shielded in shadow on the porch, the type of bleak darkness in a night still young only found in winter. bonnie steps outside, barefoot, onto the damp cedar planks. it looks colder than it feels. fog blankets the treeline on the verge of the property.

“depends on the day,” bonnie replies. intended as a jest. and not. “and whose ghost.” rarely her own. though, there’s been a few times, can count them on one hand. but one hand has five fingers, doesn’t it?

“you came all this way. did you miss me, alanna, or did you need something?”

[mosvani]

bonnie's jest that isn't earns a minute frown. she hides it, the gesture there and swept away again, in the turn of her head. feigning an interest in the thin line of coast between encroaching fog and the woods beyond. feeling at once the weight of how unbearably, inexorably, isolating the space was. like a sheet of snow atop her shawl, it slumps over she shoulders. cold and unyielding. she absently pulls the wool tighter about her arms and steps forward.

beneath the penumbra of the cottage door, alanna dimples, "I see no reason several truths can not coexist. we're on our way home from a village a bit farther north of here." and none too eager to return to the calamity of the tower. "now have is it been so long alone here that you've forgotten your manners?"

[mosvani]

I have only really touched on it in plotting with people, but alanna's perspective and choices [compared to common opinion within the tower] are kind of radical if not a little treasonous. she effectively, repeatedly, abandons the tower to first support moiraine and then to build an army in the middle of nowhere. and while it ultimately serves the light, and she is objectively correct, the way she goes about it is kind of insane

[graveflwers]

' oh, darling. ' he says, not quite tenderly, not yet cruel. firelight limns their bodies titian, but it does little to keep the burgeoning frost from his voice. ' i suspect we’re long past the point of peace. '

maksim. alanna swallows; what she attempts to suppress, to bury in the loam of her chest, catches in the back of ziya's throat. it hangs there, festering with every other half-interred emotion that passed through alanna and into him: another wound in her heart, another wound in his head. yes, yes—maksim. one more body in his wake, though he cannot place his part in putting it there.

what had he done? or rather, what hadn't he?

the impassive vestige of his expression falters and fails. his shoulders slump inward; he screws his eyes shut and rubs at his temples. there were so many feelings, so many vague motivations and regrets and memories, that he could not parse which belonged to him or to the gatekeeper, to daji or to alanna.

he whispers something unintelligible to himself, shivering. when the fit passes—this one longer than the last but not quite so long as the next—his eyes have taken on a glassy sheen.

' you shouldn’t be here, ' he mumbles. here, his mind; here, their camp; here, this journey. she shouldn't be here. his fingers hover around his ears; occasionally they tremor and twitch, fending off a barrage of incessant, invisible gnats bearing maksim's face. ' you should be tending to your ghosts. they wish to be mourned rather than buried. '

tend to your ghosts, alanna sedai, and leave me to mine.

[mosvani]

in her grief, in a desperate scramble for purchase in what felt, more and more, an impossible hand, she'd traded an empty house for one overflowing. so loud—too loud—she couldn't help but be drawn in, bobbing along on the unpredictable tides, doing her best to hold herself in. he was probably right, she thinks. it wasn't tenable. couldn't be. but she preferred it to nothing.

"that didn't answer my question," she gently says, waiting for the predictably mercurial thrum of satisfaction or irritation; any suggestion her words might have landed among the undulating sea of ghosts he entertained in his head and other things she could not fully parse. figures she caught only in periphery. half-felt feelings and whispers. daji, or so she assumed, and something—someone else. she couldn't shake the feeling of wading into unknown waters. waiting for something to bump her leg. to pull her under.

"this conversation has grown cyclical," she says, ignoring the chill it sends up her spine. when she sighs, a puff of breath she half expects to see rise in front of her in a white plume, it is a trembling half-sound she regrets to recognize as her own. and, irrespective to her body's wishes, alanna pushes herself to her feet.

she circles the fire, kneeling in front of jiang as her hands hovered, uncertain, above his own. they settle atop his knees, feather-light. "what's wrong?" she asks, in a low, coaxing, tembre, "what is happening?"

[shakespearesdaughters]

― Raymond Carver