#many-names

[despair-tea]

Design sketch for The Witch's hat and cloak

[paintedface-eu]

@the-blog-with-many-names HEY YOU.

[elsewhereuniversity]

[Right, so. P sure I’m officially obsessed lmao. Anyways here’s the third and probably final part of the tale of The One With Many Names, also known as My Blatant Self Insert. Hope it doesn’t break canon too much, please enjoy, and sorry for spamming! (also i still have No Idea What I Am Doing ahahahaha.)]

—-

Eventually, as everyone knew ce would be, The One With Many Names was Taken.

Spectator, the junior who watched people and noticed patterns, sharp-eyed behind the shadows of their hoodie, collected their bet. They placed a pittance of their winnings on Many-Names coming back.

It was mostly out of pity.

~~~

Your memories are doing The Thing again, and you cannot for the life of you remember the sequence of events that led to place you in the Elsewhere. But you know you are without iron, and your backpack is missing, and you should be terrified. Except They took you Elsewhere early in the morning, when you were stumbling your way to your eight am class, and you are far too tired to really care.

(You still have your dog tag necklace. Putting it on is too deeply ingrained into your morning ritual for you to forget it. This is a small comfort.)

You stare up and around at the Elsewhere despite knowing that you shouldn’t. Your eyes settle on something with too-sharp teeth like needles, shades of blue like ice and ocean, vaguely humanoid in shape but with proportions defying normal physics. You close your eyes and take a shuddering breath. Your eyes hurt. It’s too fuckin’ early for this. You consider the questions you could ask, from the informative (‘why have you taken me’) to the Actually Helpful.

You go for the latter.

“If I tell you a story,” you say slowly, carefully, “will that work as payment for my freedom?”

The fae hisses, and you flinch, wishing that you had your notebook with you, or at least another hour of sleep on your side. “You presume?”

“I, I, I have heard your–the, the stories humans tell of you,” you say, stumbling over your words, “the stories the students tell of you. They say you will free us if we bargain.”

“And you come,” the fae says contemptuously, “and bargain a mere bedtime tale? Stories have power, child, but I have heard so many before. You would have to pay something more than a paltry rendition of a well-worn path to return to your realm.”

“If you don’t want my stories,” you say in return, “then why?”

You blink, and the shades-of-blue creature is upon you, cupping your chin with icicle fingers. “You shift,” it says, “You are not fixed. You have a touch of us in you. Thus, you are ours.”

You squeak, and cower, and cover your eyes. You take deep breaths until the frostbite of the creature’s fingers fades. Then–your fear carrying you beyond terror and out the other side, knowing you are dead or worse than anyways, you speak.

“If you have not taken me for my stories,” you say, and pause, and swallow hard, “th-then y-you, you don’t–” You stop. Collect yourself. Attempt to speak with confidence. “You do not know of my skill. I would not tell you a mere bedtime story. It may follow a similar path as others, true, but…”

The fae tilts what passes for its head at an unnatural angle. You breathe in deep and make your bargain. “A story. A tale. If it pleases you–if it pleases an audience, mayhaps–I am to be released. Sent back to my realm. If not…” You swallow hard, knowing your next words would seal your fate. You are not willing to speak them. You hope the fae will speak for you.

It does not, of course. You close your eyes and damn yourself. “If not, I accept the fae–the touch of You I have inside me.” ‘Do with me what you will’ is not said, but you both know They will if you lose.

“Deal,” the fae says delightedly, “Begin telling.”

“If it pleases an audience,” you repeat. Perhaps a variety of opinions would be what damns you, but relying on the tastes of a single fae…if the story you have in mind displeases it, then you are lost. Better to have a security net of varying opinions.

The fae narrows eyes dark as ocean abyss and hisses. You flinch. “An audience,” you repeat anyways, “I said, if it pleases an audience.”

“You said mayhaps.”

“My stories are my talent,” you say, “if this is the last one I tell, I want it to be remembered.”

Amazingly, this works. You get your audience.

You stand in front of the fraction of a Court, wishing you could write or type the words rather than say them. You are afraid.

But you know your talents. You know your stories, you know your characters, and it is not the first time you have told this tale. If all else fails, you have the phrase ‘but there is always more to the story,’ a gimmick you can pull out to expand and continue if the fae do not like it quite as much.

If you are honest with yourself, you will probably pull out that “gimmick” anyways. You love your stories and characters too much to not expand on them. You close your eyes.

You gather your thoughts. You take a deep breath.

“This,” you begin, “is the story of Phoenix Song.”

~~~

It is nearly a year before Many-Names stumbles back into the normal world. Ce comes back somewhat confused and half-glowing, as though some internal light has given cer an aura of confidence. For all that, the glow is entirely human and largely metaphorical. Cer changling leaves as ce moves back into cer dorm, all smiles and laughter. The kind of smiles and laughter that covers deep, deep relief.

People ask how. Ce replies with a grin. “They love a good story, didn’t you know?”

Spectator attempts to get a fuller explanation, because for all their perceptiveness this has still totally blindsided them. Many-Names explains about the world ce’d spent five years in the making.

“I picked the one that I thought would appeal the most to Them,” ce explains. “Well, that and I actually had it figured out to the end.” Ce says maybe ce’ll show you cer old notes. “If they still exist, anyways,” ce adds thoughtfully, “I think I might have given the story to the F–Fair Folk. It’s a worthy trade.”

Many-Names leaves out drawings with cer ice cream and milk now. Sketches, colored with pencils, sharpie-lined, printed digital art in full color and shading. All labeled with names. They are always gone in the morning. Spectator thinks, to their great disbelief, that Many-Names has managed to create a fandom.

This is bad for cer. This is very very bad.

“They aren’t going to let you leave, you know,” they tell cer, “Not if you keep giving them content.”

Many-Names pauses in the middle of a sketch. “Well,” ce says eventually, “there’s always the internet.”

“You’re not getting it,” Spectator decides, and tells cer, “You can’t leave, Many-Names. Can’t go home. Can’t see your mom. Can’t go out and get another job. You’ll have to stay. Become a teacher, or whatever. You have to stop talking to Them.”

Many-Names considers this. “I can’t just cut off,” ce tells them, “That would be rude. I mean, they’ll forget soon enough. Or I’ll get tired of drawing stuff. But as long as we’re both interested, well, they get art, and I get these things.”

“These things,” Spectator repeats. Many-Names flicks a hand at cer windowsill. There is a bright red feather that almost glows, an image of a hammer, a glass crafted phoenix that seems to burn internally, a music box, and a crude, human-like figure.

“It’s like fanart,” ce says in a delighted tone, and Spectator gives up. They’re graduating this year, they don’t have time to pull a delusional freshman out of cer dealings with the Gentry. Ce seems happy, anyways.

~~~

And life in Elsewhere University carries on.

[x]

[elsewhereuniversity]

[ahahaha i’m back with more for the kid i just sent you i am so so sorry but i am In Love this place is so cool. I still have no idea if i’m doing this right or if this contradicts canon ahaha i hope u like it anyways]

—-

There are sometimes whispers of The One With Many Names. There are whispers of lots of students, of course, even among the Fair Folk occasionally–but by ‘occasionally,’ you mean rarely, and when the Fae start whispering about a student you’d better damn well pay attention to which student it is.

You know who The One With Many Names is; that one freshman who wears a dog tag (“aluminum,” is the answer you got when you asked what it was made of, “at least, I think it’s aluminum? Pretty sure, yeah.”), a dog tag with the genderfluid symbol and the pronouns ‘CE/CER.’ The freshman who came in pale and mousy-haired and turned into someone tall and dark and with too-bright hazel eyes. The one who went through six names in cer first semester before settling on cer current one. The one who draws people with wings and markings and pointed ears in the margins of cer papers and journals and, if someone asks, whispers that they’re fae.

If (when, rather) someone questions further, or scoffs at her (and one of the two always happens, or else ce’ll get self-conscious and explain it cerself), ce hastily adds, “Not the Fae, not our Fae, these are my–mine. They’re very different.” Then ce looks around as though ce’s worried someone (or something) is listening and changes the subject.

It’s a reasonable fear, that the Fair Folk will take offense, and Many-Names (you keep calling cer that in your head, and even though ce hasn’t changed cer latest name this other one keeps seeping into conversations in reference to cer) is scared stiff of offending the Fair Folk. Ce carries around a notebook filled with the Rules in cer backpack, right next to cer salt packets, and ce shares it with other freshman in need. Ce never lets it out of cer hands, though, instead huddling furtively with those who need it in places lined with salt or iron or protective woods, flipping pages and explaining and elaborating to the ones who need it. You don’t think ce’s realized it, but ce’s slowly but surely starting to make (yet another) name for cerself as one of those precious students who explain how things work around here–without asking for anything in return.

Ce doesn’t realize it, but the upperclassmen see it; slowly but surely, those freshmen who don’t know the rules and thank cer unthinkingly are amassing a debt to her. Ce doesn’t realize it, and neither do those others, but ce is gaining power from these tiny acts of kindness. Even if the easy words of “no problem!” ce throws out absolve them of that debt, the “happy to help!” ce’ll say just as easily is one that does not, one that implies they owe cer later.

Many-Names does not pick up on this. Ce has a degree of obliviousness about cer, but whether that obliviousness is damning or protective has yet to be determined.

Then there are the ones who never got the memo when ce changed to another name. There are some who still call cer by the first name ce used, and no matter which of those past five they use, ce still responds automatically to cer past names before a panicked expression flits across cer face and ce corrects them to the one ce uses now.

Ce responds to Many-Names, too, though.

The Fair Folk watch cer. You don’t know if it’s because ce’s one of the creative-type majors, or because of ‘cer fae,’ or maybe just because something caused cer to change cer appearance with each name, shifting like They do, if at an admittedly slower pace (and you still don’t know what kind of deal Many-Names made to pull that off), but they watch cer. You’re not sure how aware of it ce is, either, but you think ce must have some idea, because cer dorm room has twice as much salt lining the door as it ought to (but at the same time, ce leaves out more vanilla ice cream and milk than cer dorm-mates), and ce wears almost as much iron as ce can get (but ce will freely give some of it to anyone who’s forgotten some). Or maybe this is just paranoia and fear and uncertainty and kindness.

Either way, The One With Many Names is someone to keep an eye on, especially when ce gets that light in cer eyes and starts Asking Questions. Questions to close loophole and make painfully clear every facet of a phrase. Questions about the Fair Folk, and how to “make friends” with them (and then, when you say ce wouldn’t want to make friends with Them, “then at least how to stay on their good sides”), and how to ward them off, and what they do. Questions about Elsewhere.

You have a sizable bet that one of these days, when ce’s not careful and gets caught out alone, without iron and salt, Many-Names is going to be Taken.

You have your doubts on if ce’s capable enough to make cer way back.

[glitterbark]

Huge fan of your thaumatale fics and your art is very cute! I like your designs! It's a little funny though because I kept picturing Many-Names as Bones from Star Trek for some reason and they're not like that at all, it's great. :) Can't wait for what you have next!

LOL I LOVE THAT IMAGE FOR THEM I’m giggling

I’m glad you’re enjoying what I’m serving up! I’ve actually been trying to draw Many-Names as pretty round n soft, in part to contrast with the Primus (who is a salty reed of a man) and to compliment a… certain somebody.

[glitterbark]

eXCUSE YOU MANY-NAMES IS ADORABLE AND I WANT TO HOLD THEIR HAND HOW DARE U

you are in luck anon, many-names is eventually getting a small spin-off story when Papyrus Dates a Bird is closer to done

where they drink too much, get into shitty misadventures with Sans, and try to figure out how to be a dad again.

[glitterbark]

slapped some color on these losers!