maelcholuim

[maelcholuim]

When I came back I didn’t need a weapon, I was a weapon.

Janet Pluchinsky, Queen of Fillory (via queennmargo)

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aww yes :) Older and wiser Maél. Thank you @theeldritchmortician

(x)

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Mercedes-Benz CLS 63 AMG

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thank you :) Winged Hussars! 

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Thank you @hellishtrickster for this GIF. It is totes Maél in the morning before coffee kicks in.

Before the coffee kicks in…

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Life is currently throwing me some "interesting" curveballs that requires all of my attention. So writing will sadly be minimal to nonexistent for some time.

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Peter in Melbourne. Photographed by the Sydney Morning Herald.

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@thehorsewhisperer thank you for pointing this one out :)

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[maelcholuim]

Diamond eyes, diamond ride.

#MBsocialcar by Peter Mosoni 

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@theeldritchmortician

Lovecraftian Witch aesthetic

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@cassmowett

♞☩ ━

Seeking solitude, he had hoped to be alone in the church, at least at this hour. Now he can see that this is not the case, which is why he hovers by the door, undecided, torn between the desire to spend time in this calm sanctuary and to endure the inevitable tension that always come with the company of strangers. Furthermore, the stranger is a woman, and Maél would hate to make her feel uncomfortable by his presence... it’s just that... few other places than the church offer him a place to clear his mind. Certainly not in the company of his fellow cavalry officers, who are now enjoying the pleasures of the night as soldiers do between battles. Drinking, boasting of feats past, before losing themselves on the soft embrace of beautiful women, trying not to think about battles to come and the horrors war. War. Maél wonders if it is the war that has brought these visions he has had lately. If the injury he sustained during the last battle is to blame for these dreams of light, of white feathers, of flying, where he awakes, still feeling the caress of the wind against his skin.

Wine has not made these visions go away, nor has opium, in fact the latter only seemed to make them worse. The drug induced sleep conjured vivid images in front of his eyes. Some he understood, like a one way mirror into the past. Some however, did not make any sense at all. Like fevered dreams of a London where metal machines crowded the roads and filled the air. Just thinking about all of this make his head hurt and he takes a step forward, needing the peace, willing to endure the company of one stranger. Averting his eyes from the praying woman, he makes his way to the front row, all the way to the right, keeping distance between them to allow her the privacy she needs in this late hour. 

The door creaked softly and coldly old candle smell akm towards her as Cassiopeia entered the small cherry. The dim light didn’t let her see anything at first and so she tapped blindly forward in the hope that she would quickly accustom her eyes to the dark. How naturally her steps led to the altar where she kneeled down and the cross over her chest hit. Unlike most of the English, she was a Catholic, thanks to her French mother. The pearls of her rosary have been slipping through her fingers since she lost her mother, at least once a week she tried to go to church and donated a small amount of money each time. But she never went to confession, the number of Hail Marys she would have to pray would be simply too high in her lifestyle. The black stole slipped from her head revealing her red curls, she sighed and enjoyed the silence. Maybe that was also the real reason why she always came here, the peace and loneliness and not the faith that wasn’t very strong anyway. But there was one thing she always prayed for, the safe return of her brother and the men who served with him. The sea was a dangerous place, but so far her prayers have been answered, he had always come home, sometimes healthy and lively sometimes injured but always alive and in one piece. A sound made her turn around. She wasn’t alone anymore, a man had joined, but because of the light she couldn’t see much, but she noticed that he was looking at her. Her gaze went forward again but this unpleasant feeling of staring remained. was he something a customer… oh god please not, that would be too embarrassing….. A quick look backwards, he was still looking. Her hand went to her thigh where the dagger hung, she hastily put the rosary into her pocket, she just wanted to get out. Maybe she’d get a carriage home right away.

@maelcholuim