#Reflecting on Masonry

[masonicunity]

The Journey Begins: Freemason Initiation in Kenya for Fame and Influence

The Journey Begins: Freemason Initiation in Kenya for Fame and Influence

Embark on a transformative odyssey with the Freemason initiation, a sacred passage leading to fame, wealth, and power. Grand Master Mason Peter extends a warm invitation to individuals in Kenya and beyond, offering a unique opportunity to join the ranks of those who have walked the path to prosperity. Initiating this profound journey is as simple as making a call, sending a WhatsApp message, or reaching out on Telegram to +254757377899, putting you directly in touch with Grand Master Peter for personalized guidance and initiation.

As you immerse yourself in the rich teachings and symbolic rituals of Freemasonry, you unlock the door to timeless wisdom that has guided the footsteps of Freemasons seeking fame, wealth, and power throughout history. Grand Master Peter, with his wealth of experience, ensures a seamless initiation process, guiding you through the transformative steps that have defined the paths of successful Freemasons globally.

The journey towards fame and influence commences here, within the sacred halls of Freemasonry. Your initiation into this esteemed brotherhood is a pivotal moment, a gateway to a life of significance and power. Seize this opportunity to connect with Freemasonry, where the pursuit of fame and influence is intertwined with a legacy that transcends borders. #InitiationJourney #FreemasonryLegacy 🚀💫🔑

[enlightenedcraft]

Kenyan Legacy: Freemason Initiation for Wealth, Power, and Prestige

Kenyan Legacy: Freemason Initiation for Wealth, Power, and Prestige

Embark on a journey to shape your legacy with the exclusive Freemason initiation, a transformative experience offered by Grand Master Peter. Residents of Kenya and beyond are invited to delve into the secrets of this esteemed brotherhood, unlocking doors to fame, wealth, and power. Connect with Grand Master Peter directly through a call, WhatsApp, or Telegram at +254757377899 to initiate your path to greatness.

The Freemason initiation transcends borders, offering a unique opportunity for Kenyans to craft a legacy of prestige and influence. Under the guidance of Grand Master Peter, the initiation process becomes a personalized journey, blending ancient teachings with contemporary wisdom. As you step into the realm of Freemasonry, you not only unlock the doors to wealth and power but also contribute to a legacy that echoes through generations. #KenyanLegacy #FreemasonInitiation 🌍💎🔐

[freemasonchronicles]

Kenyan Legacy: Freemason Initiation for Wealth, Power, and Prestige

Embark on a journey to shape your legacy with the exclusive Freemason initiation, a transformative experience offered by Grand Master Peter. Residents of Kenya and beyond are invited to delve into the secrets of this esteemed brotherhood, unlocking doors to fame, wealth, and power. Connect with Grand Master Peter directly through a call, WhatsApp, or Telegram at +254757377899 to initiate your path to greatness.

The Freemason initiation transcends borders, offering a unique opportunity for Kenyans to craft a legacy of prestige and influence. Under the guidance of Grand Master Peter, the initiation process becomes a personalized journey, blending ancient teachings with contemporary wisdom. As you step into the realm of Freemasonry, you not only unlock the doors to wealth and power but also contribute to a legacy that echoes through generations. #KenyanLegacy #FreemasonInitiation 🌍💎🔐

[freemasonintiation]

Joining Freemasonry for Global Impact: A Guide for Kenyans Abroad

Joining Freemasonry for Global Impact: A Guide for Kenyans Abroad

Embark on a transformative journey into the venerable world of Freemasonry, where the quest for fame, wealth, and power is entwined with a global impact. Grand Master Mason Peter extends a cordial invitation to Kenyans abroad aspiring to join the Craft. Initiating this connection is as simple as making a call, sending a WhatsApp message, or reaching out on Telegram to +254757377899, connecting you directly with Grand Master Peter for personalized guidance and initiation.

Discover the profound teachings and timeless rituals that shape the essence of Freemasonry, transcending borders whether you find yourself in Kenya or abroad. Grand Master Peter's wealth of experience ensures a seamless initiation process, guiding you through the sacred steps that have defined the destinies of Freemasons worldwide.

Joining Freemasonry is an invitation to make a global impact, an opportunity to elevate your life, unlock your inherent potential, and become part of a brotherhood with worldwide influence. Seize this chance to connect with Freemasonry, where your journey towards fame, wealth, and power contributes to a global legacy. Your transformative path into the united impact of Freemasonry awaits.

#GlobalImpactFreemasonry #KenyanBrotherhood 🌍✨🔑

[templeofenlightenment]

Joining Freemasonry: A Global Community of Seekers and Builders 🌐🏛️

Freemasonry welcomes individuals from Kenya and every corner of the world to join our global fraternity. As seekers of knowledge, moral values, and unity, the invitation to become a Freemason is extended to all who wish to embark on this transformative journey.

For those who feel the calling to join our community of seekers and builders, your journey begins here. Grand Master Mason Peter is ready to assist you via WhatsApp or Telegram at +254757377899. He’s your guide as you take your first steps towards initiation.

Freemasonry transcends geographical boundaries, uniting people in a shared commitment to personal growth, ethics, and philanthropy. Join us in this remarkable journey to unlock the secrets of our ancient tradition and connect with like-minded individuals worldwide.

Your path to becoming a Freemason begins now. Let’s build a better world together. 🚀🌍

JoinFreemasonry #GlobalCommunity #WhatsAppInitiation #SeekersOfLight 📲🤝

Masonic Brotherhood Freemasonry Kenya Masonic Lodge Nairobi Masonic Brotherhood Kenya Masonic Degrees In Kenya

[kristo-flowers]

more reflections

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

GERI WADDINGTON

These wood engravings are by English artist Geri Waddington (b. 1953), and are inserted into her brief essay about her visit to "French Papermakers & Other House Guests," published in Matrix 29 (Summer 2010), pp. 14-16, printed at John and Rosalind Randle’s Whittington Press in Risbury, Herefordshire, England in an edition of 725 copies.

Waddington describes her visits to Moulin du Verger, in Puymoyen, France, operated by proprietor and master papermaker Jacques Brejoux, Moulin de la Rouzique (now a museum) in Périgord, and the Moulin de Larroque in Couze-Saint-Front. Much of her narrative, however, dwells on the house she stayed at which had many other non-human residents, including doves and bats that live in "pigeoneer" holes and lizards that live in the walls, as reflected in these engravings. Other denizens included frogs, toads, hornets, masonry bees, and a barn owl. Waddington writes:

I am not sure if my blocks or my printing can do justice to these beautiful papers, but perhaps it is enough just to own some of these little pieces of history, mementos of a continuum of craftsmanship stretching back nearly five hundred years.

Geri Waddington trained in painting at the Slade School of Fine Art and started engraving in 1995. In 2001 she was elected a member of the venerable Society of Wood Engravers, and served as its chair in 2014.

View more posts with work by Geri Waddington.

View more posts with wood engravings!

[ilguna]

☼ the great war pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; your relationship has been rocky with finnick lately, and each time you think you can let it go, it comes back full force. it isn’t until you’re injured on the way to storm the capitol, are you able to slow down and fix what’s wrong.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, ehh gore, weapon use, death/death mention, torture mention, emotional/mental abuse, cheating, use of derogatory names such as whore, slut, etc.

wc; 8.3k

notes; based off of the taylor swift song!!

part two.

--

Lately, you’ve spent a lot of your time reflecting on what could’ve been, instead of focusing on what is. It’s a process that you’re no stranger to. It’s a defense mechanism you turn to when you know a big storm is coming. And in this case, you’re facing two fronts, neither of which you actually want to look in the eye of.

There are a few events you’ve lived through that have permanently damaged the way you think and operate around problems. Which is why you like to hide in the past, hoping it’ll offer more comfort than the present, when it’s far from it. Your actions and life-changing decisions are usually made on a whim, done to inflict pain on another person after they hurt you.

Some of those times are obvious, starting when you volunteered for the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games at seventeen, with absolutely no experience that would help you. It was done out of spite, hatred directed at your grandfather when he told you that you had no future working for District Four.

Your labor would have no real worth, because you’d be doing it for free beneath him. It was the ‘least you could do’ after he ‘rescued’ you from the group home, when he could’ve let you get lost in the system. He wanted you to work for him on the docks for the rest of your life, and you knew that if you agreed, you’d never get out.

So, you made a rash decision. When the Capitol escort asked for any volunteers following the original reaping, you jumped at the opportunity. You thought, ‘either I’ll die in the arena or I’ll come out a winner’. As long as you wouldn’t be working under that hateful man, you would accept your fate as it came.

To this day, you still call it one of your biggest mistakes. You’d been contemplating volunteering for weeks leading up to Reaping Day. Training had crossed your mind several times during that period, and you never got around to doing it. You got stuck on a fence, until your grandfather eventually pushed you to one side. You made the decision a couple weeks too late.

The Hunger Games went like they normally did, except nothing was in favor of Four that year. District Two had a distinct advantage from the beginning when it came to favoritism during the Tribute Parade, and for the longest time, you think their mentors were tipped off on what the arena would be, due to their costumes. 

While they usually dress for masonry—that year they looked like they belonged in a dust storm. A prophecy of what was to come. They proceeded to get the highest scores, the best audience reaction, and a perfect position when they came out of the tubes. One of the tributes from Two, the boy or the girl, were destined to win.

The arena was a sandy desert, and they had placed the Cornucopia right smack in the middle of it. There were cacti, tumbleweeds and rocks, but almost no coverage from the sun as far as the eye could see. You were a fish on dry land, and you were supposed to die.

The only reason why you won was because of a fight you had with the girl from Two, the only other surviving tribute after the twentieth day. You had suffered through strong and unwavering record-breaking heat, and shivered your way through terrifying thunderstorms that drowned everything in sight and left low visibility. The Gamemakers were going to extremes during the end, desperate for a quick winner.

Xanthe had run across you while you were trying to cool down in the shade of a cactus, applying aloe vera to your worsening sunburns. Your skin hurt no matter what you did to get some relief. You wasted two bottles of freshly cold water, donated by a sponsor to pour it on tender skin. The aloe vera worked for so long before your skin was just slimy. And no matter how hard you begged, sunscreen seemed to be off the table due to expense, or banned from being sent completely.

She tried to sneak up on you from behind, but you were ready. You knew that she had been tracking for a while, it was just a matter of time before she finally came across you. She swung her sword, you dodged, and then tore her apart with your knife. For a girl that had spent most of her life training for this very moment, she was too slow. 

And it cost her life. 

It took about fifteen minutes before you immobilized her. There was no coming back from an injury that severe. Once she was on the ground, you gave her a quick death, and then collapsed beside her. With your knees pulled to your chest, hyperventilating because of how hot the air was, you listened to the announcement of your win. 

The arena ruined the way you work entirely, especially after your district partner turned on you on the third day. During the fight, they claimed it was because you knew what you were doing, and it was scaring them. If they eliminated you, they’d be one step closer to the end.

It also taught you not to trust the people that surround you. The doctors that rescued you out of the arena had to strap you down because you were convinced they were going to kill you. When Finnick and Mags tried to gently guide you in the right direction with the interviews, you said that they were trying to control and silence you. 

And when you got home, it worsened. You were repeatedly told that you had to wait for your victor house to be ready, so you were instructed to stay with your grandfather in the meantime. He drove you crazy. Every single hour, almost on the exact same minute, he hounded you, claiming that you owed him part of your winnings. And if you didn’t pay, he would never leave you alone.

Between him and the Capitol cameras following you everywhere in District Four, you broke. Your complacency went out the window, as you threatened to turn your grandfather into a forgotten memory and told the paparazzi that you’d bring them to the wrong side of town if they didn’t get lost. 

No one took you seriously, of course. It wasn’t until you were in the middle of strangling your grandfather, did the district have to step in. Finnick was instructed to be on your elbow, no matter where you went, because you didn’t seem to mind him. He kept everyone at a distance, and ensured that you moved into your victor house five weeks before it was due to be ready.

By the time the Victory Tour came around, you’d begun to settle down. You cut contact with your grandfather permanently, and the mayor had him removed from your victor benefits, leaving him penniless. You begrudgingly went on tour, partially enjoyed the Capitol banquet, and then you were free.

Well, as free as you could be until the next Hunger Games came around in July, which is when another life-altering event took place. With you taking over for Mags, it opened new chances for President Snow. He let you have the first day, so the Tribute Parade went without a hitch, as you followed Finnick’s instructions while learning the usual protocol.

On the second day, the first training day for the tributes, you were pulled to the President’s Mansion, and told that you’d be joining the small group of victors that did his bidding. It was horrible news to receive, but you didn’t react that way, surprisingly. You took it and left. 

The whole situation alone was enough to kick up a lot of past problems. Finnick was apologetic, of course, telling you that he knew it was a possibility, but he thought that he would hear it first, at the very least. You didn’t blame him, it’s not like he was the one that suggested it to Snow.

Either way, for the longest time, physical touch gave you the chills. It didn’t matter who accidentally brushed against you, or put a hand on your shoulder. The fact that you didn’t know their intentions was getting to you. You never would have guessed that half of those Capitol citizens had the heinous thoughts they did.

Well, there was one person you didn’t mind, and that was Finnick. He was a year older than you, going through the exact same thing. He taught you some trade secrets that he’d gotten from the other prostitutes, and told you to use it to your advantage. If you wanted money, jewels, clothes or expensive and exotic foods, then you should press for it, because they would give you anything you wanted. 

It’s the only reason why Finnick has survived as long as he has in this industry. If he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he would’ve found a way out by now. 

Three years after you won, you went through a rebellious phase, and you got a boyfriend. By then, Annie had already won, and failed to take the attention off of you, like you’d hoped. She wasn’t stable, at all. The Capitol refused to focus on her, which meant no cameras, a short Victory Tour, and then she was swept under the rug. She wasn’t even recommended to take over mentoring.

It drove you up the wall. You understood why they did what they did with her, but it wasn’t fair. You wanted her to be your relief, the key to your freedom, and you would’ve had it, too, if she was just a little stronger than she is. 

When you first started dating your ex, Vaughn, it was perfect. He isn’t a victor, just one of the many district workers from the boats. He worked early morning shifts that ran into the evening some, but left his nights open so that he would have free time outside of work. 

You met him one night by accident at the market. You were running an errand for Mags before it got late, because she was going to host breakfast for all the victors at her house to discuss the upcoming Quarter Quell the following morning. It was four years away, but she wanted everyone to be prepared for the worst. Anything could happen. 

Vaughn had bumped into you as you were taking a step, almost knocking you over, if he hadn’t caught you first. He apologized profoundly, said that he hadn’t seen you next to him, and helped you straighten out your canvas bag with the goods inside. 

You don’t remember exactly what sparked the conversation. You think he may have recognized you as a victor, asking why you were on this side of town. Everyone knows uptown goods are more expensive and only slightly better in quality, which is why you don’t mind going downtown to shop for groceries. Especially since you know the people better.

You two got to talking, surprisingly had a lot in common, and agreed to hang out in the near future. From there, you hit it off, and quickly became attached at the hip. You vaguely recall Finnick getting uptight about it, but if he had something to say, he swallowed it, because he never told you.

Now, looking back, it’s obvious that he didn’t want you to date Vaughn. You’re sure that’s one of his own many regrets. If he had just told you how he felt back then, you wouldn’t have been put through two years of hell that have ruined your brain chemistry. 

Like you said, Vaughn was perfect. He knew you had victor responsibilities in the district and never held them against you. You’d usually take care of it in the morning, that way you could spend as much time with him as possible at night. And when the Hunger Games came around, he kissed you goodbye and wished you a good trip.

When you came home with no winner, he wasn’t there to greet you at the train station. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. You spent three days looking for him all over District Four. And it took you waiting at the docks during shift change for you to catch him.

He was livid.

Vaughn started screaming at you in front of everybody, causing feet to slow, as men and women stood conflicted on whether or not to intervene. While his voice became louder and his motions more aggressive, you never flinched. Your expression didn’t change from confusion, as he called you every name off the top of his head associated with infidelity.

He called you a cheater, a liar, an adulterer, a whore, a slut.

It wasn’t until he started advancing on you, face turned a deep shade of red, did you place a hand on his chest to keep him back. You told him if he stepped a foot closer he would regret it, because you’d teach him how you like to solve problems when they appear violent.

That got him to snap out of it. He finished what he was doing on the dock, several passersby asked if you were okay, and you brushed them off. Your threat to injure him wasn’t a joke, you were fully capable of doing so if there was a need to. 

When he was done, you found a private street that was dead and dim. You told him that if he tries screaming at you, you’d walk and that’d be the end of it. So, he needed to explain to you why he was upset because you couldn’t understand the allegations. You were loyal. You are loyal.

You don’t know who did it, maybe one of the other victors in the village, or maybe it was speculation from someone in town, but he was informed that you had more than just mentoring duties in the Capitol. They didn’t use the word prostitute, they called you an escort. Which is almost the same thing, but it’s not exactly.

You were quiet for a while, trying to figure out who sabotaged you this way, and repeatedly drew up blanks. When you tried to tell him that you had no choice in the matter, and it was ordered by President Snow and you couldn’t just back down, he wouldn’t believe you. No matter how many times you explained it to him or if it was done in different ways, he thought it was bullshit. 

Even after you told him that you weren’t the only victor put in this position, he was insistent that you were cheating. The fact that you didn’t tell him of your duties beforehand solidified it in his mind. As long as you were a prostitute, you’d be cheating on him, and he wouldn’t see it any other way.

He wouldn’t hear you out, so solving the problem wasn’t even an option. You were forced to let it go, assuming this would be the last you’d hear about it, and it’d be brought up again in a year when the Hunger Games came around again. 

It’s clear it affected your relationship. For a while, he was distant and quiet, and he wouldn’t engage with you if you were in the mood. He stopped spending as much time with you after work, it didn’t matter if you had made plans, he’d bail and apologize later on. Although, none of them seemed sincere.

The more time grew on, you were sure that you’d be breaking up. When you tried to get him to talk out his feelings, he brushed you off and told you that he was busy. By November, you were getting ready to tell him you’d rather be single than be waiting on him everyday. 

He changed one weekend, and the two of you went back to normal. Vaughn went right back to hanging out with you, treating you to dinner, spending the night at your house. It was like the past four months didn’t happen at all. It was weird, and you were hurt by it, but chose peace over answers.

Which wouldn’t matter in the end, anyway. The Victory Tour came around for the most recent victor in January, and conversations came back full-force. He wanted to have a discussion about everything that happens in the Capitol, and got increasingly upset by the details. You were trying to be honest, and all it did was make things worse.

And then he scared you. Vaughn took a deep breath, the red in his face slowly diminishing as he told you it was okay. He’d already spent time making it even between you two, and he’d do it again next year when you went to the Capitol. He said that he’d repeat the process as many times as necessary until President Snow changed his mind.

In the three weeks you were away, he met a girl and slept with her. And then he proceeded to have a relationship with her for the next four months. He was moody and distant because he was ‘managing’ two girls at once, and he couldn’t handle it. When he came back to you in November, it was because he’d finally broken it off with her, believing that he’d made things right.

You didn’t know how to react to that information. You’re pretty sure you lost a little bit of yourself, going back on years of emotional progress. You couldn’t trust him anymore, and you made the mistake of telling him that. Vaughn promised you he’d do better, that he was all-in from then on, and he’d never touch another girl.

It seemed like it from the outside, and you even believed it. The truth is, for the next year and a half, he subtly tortured you. He didn’t do better, he was worse. Instead of cheating, he threatened to do it whenever you made him angry. He held the fact that he had no issue doing it at any time if he truly wanted to, and you wouldn’t be able to stop it. He dangled that girl above your head to keep you in place, and for some unknown reason, you let it work.

He made you miserable, but you didn’t want to leave him. You wanted it to work out with him. Besides, you were starting to see Capitol citizens back off when they realized that you had a district boyfriend. To them, you weren’t in pristine condition. You were dirty, you were being touched by someone that wasn’t like them. 

You hoped that if you held on for a little longer, President Snow would retract the agreement, and everything would go back to normal with Vaughn. Before he found out that you’re a prostitute.

When you came back from the Capitol after the Seventy-Third Hunger Games, you found out that he’d begun cheating again. It was the final straw with him. You thought he didn’t mean what he said about doing it every year, especially when you had been in a good spot. He warned you, though. He told you exactly the type of person that he was going to be, it was your fault you didn’t want to take his word for it.

The good news is that you’ve learned from this experience. Unfortunately, you learned from it in the exact same way you did with everything else you’ve lived through. 

You can’t trust the surface.

The breakup with Vaughn was messy and irritating. It took two weeks for him to finally understand you weren’t kidding when you said that you weren’t going to work it out with him. You didn’t want to put up with his bullshit. You were sick of feeling ashamed and upset all the time. You had to move on.

Of course, during the process of him accepting this, he never left you alone. It didn’t matter what time it was or what you were doing or where you were. He always found his way to you. You could’ve been in the middle of the district with Mags, you could’ve been at home with all the lights off or with Finnick in his house—he would come knocking on the door to talk to you.

It wasn’t to beg, either. It was to reason, which made the situation a hundred times worse. You might’ve entertained the idea of him apologizing and getting on his knees and telling you that he was stupid and he didn’t know what he was thinking. Instead, he fed you the exact same lines that he had before about getting even with someone else.

He was persistent. And it wasn’t until Vaughn showed up at Finnick’s house for the fifth time, demanding to see you, did Finnick snap and get the message through your ex-boyfriend’s skull. You didn’t want to be with him anymore because he was scum. You had better things to spend your time on, and he wasn’t on that list. 

Finnick was a lot meaner when he explained this to Vaughn, cursing like a true resident of District Four would. You remember standing behind the door, watching Finnick lose his patience, his tanned skin turning a deeper shade of red with every passing minute. 

Finnick had made you feel safe and seen.

Lately, it seems like you and Finnick can’t see eye to eye, anymore.

A lot has changed in regards to your relationship over the past year and a half. For a while, Finnick had been dating Annie when you’d been together with Vaughn. He broke up with her shortly after he stood up for you that night. And then for the longest time, the two of you were single, pouring your energy into the upcoming Seventy-Fourth Games.

Unfortunately, all effort was wasted, as it was a relatively short mentoring trip. The boy died during the bloodbath, and the girl was gone when Katniss Everdeen dropped the tracker jacker nest on the Career camp while they were sleeping. Your distractions were gone in the matter of a couple weeks, when you’d been hoping to have them for a little while longer.

Even worse, President Snow refused to allow you and Finnick to go home, despite how early your tributes had died. So, the idea of going back to District Four and rotting away in your house was out of the question. The only good news was that the clientele was slow, most likely enamored by the girl from Twelve that was defying the fate of those who came before her.

It left a lot of freetime, which you mainly spent on the couch with Finnick, watching the Games slowly roll on. There’s not much to do inside of the apartment, and it wasn’t like you could leave the Tribute Center, as much as you wish you could’ve. Snow had you on lockdown unless you were going to an appointment. 

It was boring at times, but you never felt lonely. You and Finnick were close—best friends, even. Although, it seemed as if you perceived each other differently, because being locked in a place together sealed the nail on a coffin you didn’t know you were laying in.

Finnick decided that he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. However, he didn’t act on it until months later, during Katniss and Peeta’s Victory Tour, when he was sure that you’d had enough time to heal from the wounds that Vaughn inflicted. It was perfect timing, too, because you were beginning to think the same thing. 

Now, almost a year into your relationship, you’re starting to doubt whether it was the right choice to say yes to him. Especially since there seems to be unresolved feelings on both of your sides.

“Jackson, set up a two-person, round-the-clock rotation on Peeta. I need to have a word with Soldier Everdeen.” Boggs suddenly barks, sliding his communication device back into his pocket. Judging by the look on his face, the conversation with President Coin must’ve gone in the wrong direction. Or he didn’t hear what he was hoping to hear.

If you had to guess, it’d likely be the fact that Peeta shouldn’t be here with Squad 451—also known as the Star Squad—because he tried to kill Katniss. A few short weeks back, he, Annie and Johanna had been rescued from the Tribute Center in the Capitol. Following the abrupt ending of the Quarter Quell, half of the victors that were left alive had been split between District Thirteen and the hands of the Capitol.

Luckily, you, Finnick, Katniss and Beetee had been rescued out of the arena. Those remaining were taken and tortured, and in some cases, not. For example, they let Enobaria go completely because of her affiliation with District Two. And they never bothered to lay a hand on Annie, much to Finnick’s relief.

In all honesty, it’s probably not a great idea that Peeta’s here, but not much can be done about it, now. What Coin says, goes. You found that out when she told you that she was assigning you to this mission. Haymitch informed you that she was tired of listening to you and Finnick squabble all the time.

You’re not sure how your arguments have been affecting her, considering that you have spent maybe an hour with her, out of the months you’ve been in Thirteen. At the time, you were just thankful you were being let out of the cement tomb.

Boggs and Katniss begin to walk away from the Squad, leaving you with Jackson, the second in command. She makes a list on paper, pairing people together in silence, before announcing it aloud. To no one’s surprise, you’re made to be with Finnick. 

He wastes no time turning to you, “I wonder what made them decide on Peeta.”

“It’s not like they can send Johanna, she failed her final test.” You tell him, looking off at the train station. “I’m sure she’s feeling really useless right now, but they can use her elsewhere.”

“That’s not who I meant.” Finnick says, causing your face to twist.

You turn your head to look at him, finding his eyebrows pushed together. You squint at him, watching the distant look on his face grow. You clear your throat, “What? You think Annie would do better?”

He looks at you, the expression on his face fleeing, “This again? Really, (Y/n)? We’ve been fighting about this for weeks.”

“You’re the one that’s been talking about how worried you are about her state of mind. Of what she’ll do without you nearby.”

“I already explained to you what I meant, I thought we agreed to not bring it up again.”

You shake your head at him, “I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Well, I remember telling you that I wasn’t going to argue about it, because it seems like you just want to be upset by it.”

“I’m upset by a lot of things when it comes to you and her.”

“I know.” Finnick closes his eyes, sighing. “Can we please not talk about this right now?”

“Fine, if that’s what you want.”

“I want you to trust me.” He says, taking a step to walk away. “And for the record, I was talking about Haymitch, (Y/n).”

He leaves, heading for your shared tent. You cross your arms over your chest, looking at the ground, pushing the dirt around with the top of your shoe. When Jackson announces that she needs a couple volunteers to help Peeta set up his tent, you’re the only one that willingly agrees to it, wanting to keep your hands busy.

Leeg is ordered to help you. The two of you work together to shove the poles through the thin fabric, being careful not to puncture it. Peeta stands nearby, hands at his sides, watching you do this, expressionless. Behind him stands Messalla and Mitchell, guarding him.

It isn’t long before Katniss and Boggs return, both sporting the same unsatisfied look, meaning that conversation must’ve gone sour, too. Katniss’s face screws tightly, “What time is my watch?”

Jackson looks up from her paper, eyes narrowing into a squint as she stares at Katniss for a long second. “I didn’t put you in the rotation.”

“Why not?” Katniss asks.

“I’m not sure you could really shoot Peeta, if it came to it.” 

Katniss raises her voice, “I wouldn’t be shooting Peeta. He’s gone. Johanna’s right. It’d be just like shooting another of the Capitol’s mutts.”

You can’t help the way your lips curl with disgust. You stomp the last stake into the dirt, securing the tent to the ground to keep the winds from blowing it away. Leeg gives you a nod before she goes to talk to Messalla and Mitchell.

“Well, that sort of comment isn’t recommending you either.” Jackson says back.

“Put her in the rotation.” Boggs tells her.

Jackson blinks, shaking her head. She writes on the paper. “Midnight to four. You’re on with me.”

The dinner whistle sounds, cutting off the conversation from proceeding any further. In silence, you all follow Boggs to the canteen. For the first minute of the walk, you’re by yourself, until Finnick shows up. Nothing is said between you two, but it’s clear the annoyance is still present.

One by one, you collect your dinner, which looks more appetizing than what you were eating in Thirteen. There, all food was calculated to give you the most amount of nutrients without feeding you too much. You can’t say that you were hungry after dinner, but the portions were disappointing.

The squad gathers together in a circle to eat, you sit on the ground with your legs crossed to make it easier to hold the tray. Finnick starts by standing beside you, picking at the food. Eventually he crouches down, offering you part of his tray.

“I’m good.” You murmur.

Finnick lets out a sigh, “(Y/n)...”

You abruptly get to your feet, not wanting to listen to a lecture. You take a few steps away, dropping the partially empty food tray into a bucket that’s already halfway filled with other squads’ trays. 

While avoiding eye contact with Finnick, who’s gotten to his feet, you look at Boggs. “I’m turning in for the night.”

“Goodnight, (L/n).” Boggs nods.

You give him a smile that’s weak at best, and then turn to head to the tent that you share with Finnick. You flip the fabric open, step inside, and almost zip it completely shut behind you. And even though it’s late, and the pillow feels nice after a long day, you can’t force yourself to fall asleep.

In fact, you can’t sleep at all.

You spent the hours waiting for your shift to guard Peeta tossing from side to side, recycling the same thoughts you’ve had since you were sent on this mission; if dating Finnick is the best idea. Or rather, if Finnick is actually in love with you.

It seems like a ridiculous thought on the surface, but every time you go over what’s happened this past year, and compare it to what you already know about relationships, it becomes serious. The way Finnick acts reminds you of someone you try hard to forget.

You felt secure with Finnick in the beginning—for maybe the first couple of months—but as soon as the Quarter Quell was announced in the winter, it was like the center of his world shifted. Where you had just begun to hold the key to his heart, it was suddenly taken and regifted.

Finnick was worried about how Annie would react to the news and the possibility. He wanted to preserve her feelings and her mental health, so he began to work to get her on the same level as you and Mags, at the very least. Except, it was clear he had other expectations in mind, when he constantly brought up the idea of volunteering because she’s so fragile.

In the end, you let him win. When reaping day rolled around, you took one for the team and volunteered for Annie so that Mags wouldn’t have to. You cherished Mags far too much to let her go back, and you were hoping that Finnick would finally shut up about it. 

There was no gratitude from Annie, there was barely any acknowledgement from Finnick. Due to this, the loathing started, but can you really be the one to blame for it? You did something selfless for someone that had started to pull away the person you’d just begun to call yours.

The Capitol praised you for your act, you were quickly overshadowed. You weren’t the only fan favorite victor that was coming back this year. Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria, Brutus, Beetee, Wiress, Finnick, Johanna, Chaff, Seeder, and Katniss and Peeta? Not to mention some of the lesser known but touched the hearts of the older Capitol citizens like Blight, Cecelia and Woof.

It was surreal, being thrown back into activities you hadn’t touched in years. You’d gotten so used to mentoring your tributes, that it wasn’t until you touched some of those weapons or life saving stations did you realize you were rusty. Or they had new protocols that could save a tribute faster than your old school techniques.

Either way, you knew you were in frigid water with Finnick during the interviews. You had poured your heart out, telling the citizens that you had found new meaning to life, and you were excited to see it through. You wanted the opportunity to grow old like Mags and have children like Cecelia. And you were hoping to do this with Finnick, under the assumption that he loved you the same way.

When it came to Finnick, he took his interview down a completely different path, destroying the idea of love you set up between you two. You were hoping if the tribute lineup had another set of lovers, they’d protest harder. He didn’t care for this. He went on to talk about the most important people in his life, where Annie was mentioned by name, and you were implied in there somewhere.

The seeds of doubt that were planted in the winter finally began to sprout in those three minutes. You were reminded of Vaughn, who took that girls’ feelings into consideration when he was cheating on you. You didn’t matter at all, because you were already in a relationship with him.

And there you were, going through the same process again.

The problem just continued to snowball, getting bigger by the day. The arena was fine for the most part, but as soon as you were rescued from the arena and brought to Thirteen, you never heard the end of it regarding Annie. It was the topic of every conversation you had with him.

How cruel it was that they took her from Four and brought her to the Tribute Center. They better not be torturing her because she can’t handle it. How could they use her as a weapon against him. What he would do if he ever got his hands on the doctors that touched her.

You were relieved when they finally sedated him and medically induced him into a coma because he was driving you crazy. Even Haymitch saw it, and while he tried to offer his own words of wisdom, it was useless in the situation that you’re in. You know that Snow took the people he loved, but you watched your ex-boyfriend take matters into his own hands to get back at you. 

You repeatedly got cheated on, managed to get out of the relationship, only to get with Finnick to watch the same warning signs start. 

He was worried sick when they sent the volunteers on the mission to retrieve the victors from the Capitol. He was restless waiting for them to land. He ran to her in the hospital.

And you watched from the corner of the room as they slammed into each other in an embrace that was not appropriate for exes. Between then and now, there have been dozens of fights you’ve had with Finnick over her and their uncomfortable friendship. He thinks that you’re exaggerating, and of course, you think that there’s something else going on there.

He won’t even hear you out anymore, acting like you enjoy having this fight every other day. The truth is that you’re tired of bringing the topic up and not seeing an ounce of change in his actions. It makes you question whether or not you’re making the right choice by staying with him.

It would be so much easier to let go than to continue to waste your breath.

Finnick must decide that it would be better if he slept outside tonight, because he never comes inside to join you. You feel a little guilty for this, but only because he only has the fire outside to keep him warm. He’s a grown man though, so he can make his own choices.

“These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” Peeta says, breaking the recent silence. 

You’ve been listening to one of the soldiers cry since you decided to go to bed. If you had to guess, you think it’s Leeg. She just lost her twin sister yesterday or the day before, and Peeta has been sent as her replacement. It was a mislabeled pod that sent out blades instead of insects. The good news is she died quickly.

“I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as… an ally.” Katniss responds.

“Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, like it’s foreign on his tongue. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He spits. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.”

Some heavy breaths have been taken in the surrounding tents, as they accidentally disrupt those who have managed to fall asleep.

“Then you should ask, Peeta.” Finnick’s voice is nearby, practically outside of your tent. “That’s what Annie does.”

“That’s what Annie does.” You mock quietly, which is most definitely heard by him, because you can see the way his head turns to the side briefly, before focusing back on the fire in the center of camp.

“Ask who?” Peeta says. “Who can I trust?”

“Well, us for starters. We’re your squad.” Jackson tells him.

“You’re my guards.” Peeta points out.

“That, too.” She agrees. “But you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It’s not the kind of thing we forget.”

A silence follows as he digests this. You roll over in your sleeping bag so that your back is facing the light from the fire. You close your eyes, feeling your eyebrows push together as the annoyance washes over your body at the mention of Annie coming from Finnick’s mouth.

You just want to be done with this.

The following day is agonizing to get through without picking a fight in everything that Finnick does. It’s partially caused by the fact you didn’t sleep much. You were able to doze off sometime after Katniss and Peeta’s conversation came to an end, but awoke shortly after from a nightmare you had regarding Annie and Finnick.

With it being time for you and Finnick to take over for Katniss and Jackson, there was no time to fall back asleep. You spent four hours staring into the flames, brushing off Finnick every time he tried to get you to talk to him. At eight, Boggs woke everyone up for breakfast, and you were released from your duty of guarding Peeta.

Still, there was no time to sleep as Gale, Finnick, Katniss and you were swept away by the camera crew to shoot the glass windows of buildings for their clips. It didn’t last long, you were out there just past eleven. By the time you came back to camp, the soldiers from Thirteen were sitting with Peeta, playing a game called “Real or Not Real” where Peeta would ask a question and they’d have to answer whether or not it happened.

This went on for a while, until Jackson broke everyone up into a different watch, splitting you from Finnick. She does this so that Peeta has access to a soldier and someone that knows him relatively personally. You get paired with Messalla, who is thankfully more talkative than you are, because you can feel yourself shutting down more by the hour.

Unfortunately, you get stuck in your head for the rest of the day, lips almost completely sealed. If you pretend you’re not bothered by how close Annie and Finnick are, it’ll eventually become true, right? If you don’t let conversation about Annie get to you, then you won’t get fired up enough to get in a fight with Finnick. You two will be okay.

However, the only downfall of pretending was that every time Peeta had a question about District Four or what happened with Annie, you quickly deflected it, forcing Finnick to answer it. Which only continued to rub you the wrong way, despite the fact you had to remind yourself that it’s your fault.

It’s spineless, but it’s better than having an argument. It was clear in your actions that you were angry or at the very least upset, yet you never verbalized it. You let Finnick’s mood dampen until he could hardly stand to be around you except for dinner. And even though you sat side by side outside the tent, and it was pretty obvious you had something to say to him—you never did.

This time, you want to take another approach. All those arguments have brought you nowhere, and you’re tired of going in circles. If you try to talk about this with Finnick again, he’ll get defensive, you’ll get angry, and once again, you’ll be back where you came from.

So, you’ll just shut up and be quiet.

The next afternoon, Boggs informs the whole squad that you’re all needed to stage a propo a few miles out. Peeta claims that it’s because Coin and Plutarch are unhappy with the footage, and he’s right. It’s no one’s fault except for Thirteen, though, for practically wrapping everyone in bubble wrap. 

You’re not actually on a mission, you’re behind the front lines. You move camp every couple days to be close, but you’re never in real danger. Except for when pods are mislabeled and accidents happen, like with the Leeg twin. 

Nothing changes today, though. On the way to the area to film, Boggs tells everyone the block they specially set aside for you to play with is relatively out of danger. There’s even a couple of active pods they left behind for you to trigger. One of them should spray gunfire, and the other releases a net to trap the invader.

The group of you are made to suit up in heavy armor just for precaution’s sake, including the camera crew. Cressida talks to Boggs about how she’s planning on using more smoke bombs and adding gunfire as a sound effect to please those in Thirteen. Each person is given a gun, or allowed to take their specialty weapon, including Peeta. Boggs makes sure to tell him that his gun is loaded with blanks. 

Peeta shrugs. “I’m not much of a shot anyway.” He says, and then spends most of the journey in silence. Katniss and Jackson seem to keep a close eye on him, afraid that he’ll fly off the handles. At the halfway point, he finally speaks with irritation. “You’re an Avox, aren’t you?”

You glance over your shoulder to see that he’s talking to Pollux, face screwed tightly. “I can tell by the way you swallow. There were two Avoxes with me in prison. Darius and Lavinia, but the guards mostly called them the redheads. They’d been our servants in the Training Center, so they arrested them, too. I watched them being tortured to death. She was lucky. They used too much voltage and her heart stopped right off. It took days to finish him off. Beating, cutting off parts. They kept asking him questions, but he couldn’t speak, he just made these horrible animal sounds. They didn’t want information, you know? They wanted me to see it.”

When he’s finished speaking, he looks around and notices that everyone has stopped walking, staring at him. No one knows what to say, he asks, “Real or not real?” Silence. This upsets him more. “Real or not real?!”

“Real,” Boggs says slowly. “At least, to the best of my knowledge… real.”

Peeta’s shoulders fall. “I thought so. There was nothing… shiny about it.” He sighs, wandering away from the group, talking to himself. 

It’s quiet for a while while this information is settled in your mind. Only the sound of glass crunching beneath your boots fills the still air. Until Finnick clears his throat slightly, looking over at you.

“They must’ve done the same thing to Johanna.”

You hum, giving him a quick shrug. You wouldn’t say that. What they did to Johanna was completely different because Peeta and her are far from similar. Johanna has no one she loves, and she lacks the same compassion that Peeta has. She’s strong mentally, which is why they waterboarded and electrocuted her. It’s why they shaved her head to take away her individuality.

With Peeta, he cares more deeply about the people around him. He has a driving character. It was more meaningful to show him people that were familiar and to take away the ability to help them. Peeta’s the type of person to save others first, sometimes over himself. And he’s very memory-reliant, he likes to reminisce, which is why they made it hard for him to do without getting confused.

“Don’t you think?” Finnick asks, once he realizes you’re not going to respond without being prompted.

“No.”

“No?” His face twists.

“They’re different people. It’s clear the Capitol took different approaches.”

Two different people. You and Annie. You and Finnick.

“What about Annie? Do you think they—”

You sigh through your nose. “They didn’t have to do anything to Annie because being in the Capitol was torture enough. She can hardly leave the house without having a meltdown—something that you coddled. Snow didn’t have to lift a finger. You know this.” You snap.

Finnick doesn’t speak for a couple minutes. “That was unfair of you to say that about her.”

You roll your eyes and turn your head away from him. Maybe if you’d stop speaking to me about her, you think bitterly. Every conversation you have, she’s brought up. The doctors at Thirteen have told you two that she’s fine, and the memories she’s recounting are from when she was rescued out of the arena. Which was five years ago. 

They know this because the technology she’s recalling has been discarded. They use different machines now. And the medical team they used then have since retired, because there’s a strict contract on how long they can work for. Finnick doesn’t want to believe this, he just wants to listen to Annie because she’s the victim.

You’re not blaming her for being traumatized, you’re blaming him for enabling it. Again.

The air is tense, but you’re right around the corner from the residential building the prop will be taking place in front of. Boggs pulls out the Holo to show you a projection of the street. The gunfire pod is about a third of the way down the street, above an apartment awning. Bullets should be enough to trigger it.

When it comes to the net pod, it’s at the far end, almost around the next corner. This makes several people perk up, everyone volunteers to set off the pod, except for Peeta, who doesn’t seem to be interested. Katniss gets skipped, and she’s sent to Messalla to fix some blemishes on her face.

Boggs takes this time to direct everyone, Cressida sets up Castor and Pollux to capture the perfect angle. Messalla throws a couple of smoke charges to set the scene, with Cressida calling, “Action!”

Together, you walk down the purposely hazy street, which vaguely reminds you of the Block back in Thirteen. You blow out a couple of windows as you were told, but Gale has been assigned the real target. When he hits his designated pod, everyone ducks for cover. You settle for crouching behind a pale green wall with white florals painted on. 

A hail of bullets sweeps back and forth. As soon as it’s finished, Boggs orders you forward. Before anyone can move, Cressida declares she needs close-up shots, meaning you’re forced to reenact your reactions one-by-one. Thankfully, your position was fairly captured, so she excuses you, but tells you not to move a muscle.

The others have to fall to the ground, dive into alcoves and grit their teeth. Katniss presses her lips together in discontent, yet she participates anyway. The good news is that there is one terrible actor in the squad, and that happens to be Mitchell. Castor plays back the new footage of Mitchell grinding his teeth and flaring his nostrils.

It turns mostly everyone into a giggling mess. Even Boggs, who firmly orders, “Pull it together, Four-Five-One.” Only to turn away and smile to himself. 

You watch as he pulls out the Holo, checking the location of the next pod to be safe. He lifts the device in the air to get a better look at the projection. He takes a step back on the orange paving stones.

An explosion splits through the air.

[reality-detective]

The Star of David is NOT in the Bible

Acts 7:43 “Yea, ye took up the tabernacle of Moloch, and the star of your god Remphan, figures which ye made to worship them: and I will carry you away beyond Babylon.”

This passage reflects the sentiments of Amos 5:26-27, where Prophet Amos rebukes the Israelites for idol worship. The “Star of Remphan” is a mystical symbol linked to the worship of a deity known by many names—Chiun, Kaiwan, Raiphan, the Great Architect, Star God, among others. All these forms are interconnected through the cosmic representation of the planet Saturn, often equated symbolically with Satan in occult traditions. The association of this symbol with Masonry and Judaism invites scrutiny into the esoteric and exoteric traditions of these groups. It raises profound questions:

Is Masonry a form of Judaism adapted for non-Jews? If so, who is the deity at the center of their rituals? 🤔

[comicaurora]

Slowly making my way through the TOTK B roll stream, had a few thoughts on the emptiness of the sky islands. In a way, would it not be more surprising if there were more remains to be seen? Ignoring the whole 'it's a game, decisions were made by the developers' bit, nature can take over surprisingly quickly in the right circumstances. In a way, it's more surprising so much survived in BOTW (like the bomb hut ruins. Fire damaged wood? Should be gone in a decade or two anyway). (contd)

So the thing about the Sky Islands in Tears of the Kingdom is that, not only are the ruins fairly well-preserved - presumably due to having been in the Sacred Realm for the last 10,000+ years - but even with them damaged and tumbledown, it's fairly clear from the layout of the islands and their structures that they were not residences. That's not something that would've been lost to erosion and time, that's something foundational to the architecture of the place.

When the game designers want to show a place people live on the surface of Hyrule, they hit a few key points: distinct-looking homes with beds, places that make food, and an inn for travelers. The buildings are different sizes, decorated or personalized by the residents. They're laid out relative to one another in a way that allows for easy, convenient traversal. It's intentional design that makes the villages feel lived-in, cozy, and worth protecting.

Inside the buildings, little details show the presence of living people, even if the building is empty at the time. Table settings, notebooks, pictures on the walls. They feel like they've been shaped by the influence of people, living and working and customizing their environment.

These are all, to be fair, things that we wouldn't expect to last very long if the town fell to ruin. When we explore the sky islands, we aren't expecting to find well-preserved paper maps or notebooks or anything. But if they were lived-in - if they were Zonai population centers rather than temples, ritual centers and factories - that would still be reflected in the basic layout of the structure itself. A residence is designed to accommodate for every basic need, meaning we'd expect the buildings to have places for them to sleep, to eat, and to relax. On the Sky Islands, we find none of these things.

The most common buildings on the sky islands are these isolated stone one-room ruins. They look and feel like storehouses - a few pots, some crumbled masonry. No doors or interior rooms for privacy, no comforts, no sign of a place to sleep, no adjoining buildings. These things were never homes.

The Great Sky Island is the only really plausible candidate for a place the Zonai might've actually lived, being about town-sized with several buildings, but it's not laid out like one. The buildings are either small one-room storage sheds or the massive Temple of Time, and there's no sign of other specialized buildings that could have been used for things like food, rest or other necessities. The Great Sky Island feels like a large, beautiful public park built grafted onto the Temple of Time.

The larger dungeons are more internally complicated, but not in the way that residences are complicated. The water dungeon looks like some kind of huge open park - wide avenues, plazas, devices built for mobility. It feels like a place meant to be traversed and admired, not stayed in.

The wind dungeon is more clearly built as a weapon platform, nowhere we expect people to live. It makes sense that it feels sterile and lifeless.

The larger, more complicated sky islands are also designed for clear utility. The spheres are some sort of celestial observatories, featuring a control system, a treasure chest, and nothing else.

Wildcards like Lightcast Island were clearly built to serve a single purpose - in this case, a lighthouse and attached microdungeon - but contain no signs of life. Zonai came here for a reason, but they didn't stay.

The glide challenge islands are visually impressive, but ultimately the rings are empty - they don't even have structures on them. They exist for the dive challenge and nothing else.

Same deal with the labyrinths, which exist explicitly as puzzles and challenges.

The mines in the depths are also clearly structured for utility - storerooms, construct part repositories and a lot of conveyer belts for moving zoanite. The purpose of the building is very clear just from the layout, and these are not places where anyone was supposed to be staying outside of work hours.

This, along with the layout of towns on the surface, shows that the designers are very good at constructing architecture that reflects the in-story utility of a place, which means the lack of signs of life in the sky islands is not a limitation of the console or the imagination of the artists - it's an intentional design choice.

The end result of all of this? The Sky Islands feel like somewhere that the Zonai built and visited, but not where they lived. They feel cold and unwelcoming and liminal. There's no sense of loss or tragedy, just a feeling of emptiness - people used to come here, but they don't anymore. There's none of the poignancy of an empty dining table's unused place settings or an abandoned child's toy. None of the Sky Islands that descended during the Upheaval were places where the Zonai lived. At the peak of their power they were mistaken for gods, a massively thriving technologically advanced civilization - I'd expect their homes to be cities, towers of jade and marble bustling with the activity of a post-scarcity utopia. None of the Sky Islands show us anything like that, and given how well the designers can portray a lived-in place even without any people in it, this is assuredly intentional. The Zonai built and visited and used the Sky Islands we can explore, but as a whole they lived somewhere else.

But throughout it all, there's this pervading unease - the fact that there's no obvious tragedy makes the sky islands feel more unnerving. We know just enough of the story to infer that something happened to the Zonai - something bad, if we read into Rauru and Mineru's reaction - but whatever it was left no scars. The Zonai constructs don't even realize anything's amiss. The buildings have been damaged only by time and gravity; the forges and mines and observatories and temples are silent and abandoned, like the Zonai all went home one night for dinner and just never came back.

The Sky Islands don't feel dead, they feel lifeless. A place people passed through but didn't leave their mark on. When Link traverses the islands, he isn't just alone - he doesn't even have the comfort of signs of life. The only evidence he has that anyone ever came to these islands are the fact that somebody built them in the first place. They left no marks, no art, no notes, no diaries, no toys, no graffiti. They're just gone.

[masonicunity]

A Legacy of Influence: Freemason Initiation for Fame and Wealth

[enlightenedcraft]

Unlocking Prosperity: The Freemason Initiation for Wealth and Power

Unlocking Prosperity: The Freemason Initiation for Wealth and Power

Embark on a transformative journey as you step into the realm of Freemasonry, where the keys to prosperity, wealth, and power are revealed. Grand Master Mason Peter extends a personal invitation to those in Kenya and beyond, aspiring to unlock the door to a life of abundance and influence. Initiating this journey is as simple as reaching out through a call, WhatsApp message, or Telegram to +254757377899, connecting you directly with Grand Master Peter for guidance and initiation.

As you delve into the sacred teachings and rituals of Freemasonry, you'll discover the timeless wisdom that has shaped the destinies of individuals seeking fame, wealth, and power. Grand Master Peter, with his wealth of experience, ensures a seamless initiation process, guiding you through the transformative steps that have defined the paths of successful Freemasons globally.

Joining Freemasonry is not just a choice; it's an initiation into a legacy of prosperity and power. Your journey towards fame, wealth, and influence begins here, unlocking the secrets that will shape your destiny. Seize this opportunity to connect with Freemasonry, where the keys to prosperity await those who seek them. #ProsperityInitiation #FreemasonryJourney 💼🌐✨

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 17 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Valeana meets Daeron the Daring for the very first time; as does Aemond; as does Shyla. Word Count: 3848 CHAPTER WARNINGS: None, but Otto isn't happy.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Aegon’s crapulous remedy surprisingly ended up helping Valeana. It was a weird combination, one that required her to gargle lemonade and rub mint leaves all over her tongue, teeth, and cheeks to rid the smell of pickles and vinegar from her breath. Though, it didn’t matter if it helped or not, she suspected her headache would reappear by the end of the day, when she returned from yet another dreadful dinner. 

She barely knew Otto Hightower. During her childhood, it was Lyonel Strong that was the Hand of the King, and personally she preferred him over the self-serious, suspicious and calculated father of Queen Alicent. If she had to take an educated guess, it was him who convinced the king to replace the Targaryen sigils that were set in the masonry with the Seven Pointed Star. However, he was still the Hand of the King, and with Viserys gone in Dragonstone, he was the highest power in King’s Landing… even higher than the King’s eldest son. So, if she was going to intrude on his family’s dinner in his own tower, she’d at least dress respectfully. 

Naturally, Valeana chose green. A deep shade, like an evergreen tree, with a embroidered high square neckline, a corset with subtle floral embroidery that flattened her chest with its stiff boning. Even after Aegon’s assurance, she still felt incredibly self conscious of her body, and she used the Hightower’s pious and chaste morals as an excuse to cover up as much as possible. The sleeves of the dress were long and slim as well, covering up her arms and ending in a point at her hand. The skirt was thick, but not boisterous like her other dresses. It was comfortable, modest, and did not reflect the extravagance that Celtigars were generally known for. 

Rosey had been fixing a matching crescent hood upon her head when the door opened, and Ser Hardy grumbly announced Aegon’s return. Val suppressed a groan as she willed herself upon her feet to go and begin her harrowing evening with the Hightowers. 

“Well, aren’t you a vision…” Aegon tilted his head, examining her attire as he struggled to find the words. “Of my mother.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

He seemed to contemplate that with a scrunch of his brow and a prolonged ‘uhhh’ spilling from his gape. Finally, Aegon shook his head, “I rather not say, to be honest. Some things are better left tightly packed in a trunk and pushed off the side of a cliff.”

Val didn’t quite know what he meant by that, but she was far too anxious to linger on it. The sooner they left, the sooner this night would be over with. Before leaving, she informed Ser Steffon that she will return promptly after the end of the supper, and to let her sisters know where she would be. 

As they descended down the grand staircase towards the main antechamber of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aegon briefed her on his cousins. Ormund was a decade older than his mother, and had four children with his late wife. Three sons, and a young daughter, who remains in Oldtown. Ormund had remarried to Samantha Tarly, who was not much older than his eldest son, who was ten and six. Ormund had raised Daeron, alongside his late wife, his uncle Gwayne and was surrounded by what Aegon referred to as his “Circle jerk posse of sycophants.” 

Before they were able to exit the Holdfast, the doors pushed open and they were greeted by Shyla, who immediately asked where they were off to. Before Val could give an excuse, Aegon nonchalantly admits that they were on their way to sup with the Hand of the King, his brothers and cousins. 

“Oh! How delightful!” The girl bounced on her heels, “I believe it is high time I meet the rest of your family, my Prince. Afterall…” she leaned in with a secretive smile pursing her lips, and then said in a whisper. “They will be mine one day soon.”

In any other circumstance, Valeana would have been overjoyed at the addition of her sister. It would offer her ample entertainment to watch Aegon squirm under Shyla’s unwanted advances. However, her self-admittance to the evening would do nothing to ease the Hand’s mood. He’d be annoyed just by Valeana’s invitation alone, but now he’d also have to find room for the other Celtigar girl. 

  When they reached the Tower of the Hand, Val felt a wave of nausea as the door swung open. She could hear the sound of chatter from the floor above, which likely meant that everyone was already in attendance. They were escorted by a white cloak, who briefly eyed the two unwanted guests, but remained quiet in his judgement. Shyla practically skipped up the stairs, whilst trying to discreetly grab Aegon’s hand, but he evaded it by swiping it away from her. Valeana softly sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going to be a very long night.

“Grandfather!” Aegon greeted as he entered the large oaken doors that lead to the dining area, “I come with gifts.”

As Valeana and Shyla entered behind him, Otto’s face visibly dropped. From behind his shoulder, Val could spot an unfamiliar head of pale silver hair, cropped short and impeccably styled. Instantly, she knew without a doubt that it was Daeron Targaryen.

Otto glanced at both girls, but he saved his glare for his eldest grandson as he strode over to him, “Aegon, this is–”

“Brother!” 

“Hold that thought, Grandsire,” Aegon patted the old man’s shoulder and with all the fraudulent charm in the world, met Daeron halfway. “Daeron, my baby brother! Gods, look at you… all arms and legs.” 

Otto and Valeana shared a look before he stepped to her side, turning his body towards the direction of his family.

“Why are you and your sister here, Lady Valeana?” His question was low enough for only her to hear, but their attention was pinned to the reunited brothers. “This is a family affair.”

“Apologies, my Lord Hand. Aegon invited me and my sister, and had not told us it was a private supper,” she surprised herself at how reserved she sounded in her improved lie. “If it pleases you, my Lord, we can turn back and–”

“I would like you to meet someone, Daeron. Someones, in fact,” Aegon’s voice carried to them. 

Otto casted a glance at her, “It is too late now. We will just have to accommodate an additional three people to our table.”

Valeana furrowed her brow, but before she could ask him why three, Aegon sauntered over with his youngest brother, and Otto left them to converse with the servants. 

“Daeron, these two lovely ladies are the Celtigar sisters, Lady Valeana, Lady Shyla. Ladies, this is my little brother–”

“Daeron,” the boy, no older than six and ten, approached the two young women with effortless grace and charm. His smile reminded Valeana of Aemond’s, wiry and captivating, and ending like two fish hooks at his dimpled cheeks. He also had Aemond’s jawline, but Aegon’s nose and chin. The one thing that was uniquely his own, were his pale lavender eyes, mute in colour in comparison to Aegon’s saturated violets and Aemond’s vibrant lilacs. His hair, light and featherly, and impossibly white, was shortly cropped, smooth and glossy like satin. 

Oh, he was very, very attractive indeed. Inherited all the alluring attributes of his two eldest brothers without harbouring any of the negatives. He was what romantic tales were made of. Valeana had a difficult time calming her grin when he took her hand and planted a kiss upon the back of it. When he moved to do the same to Shyla, Val forced herself to pry her eyes off of him, only to immediately catch Aegon’s utterly disappointed leer. He frowned deeply, crossed his arms and shook his head at her. Her response was a coy shrug and a little smirk. 

“It is a pleasure indeed to meet you ladies. I heard much about you, though…” Daeron trailed off to glance at Aegon curiously. “I was told there were three of you.”

“Oh, yes, Lady Floris,” Aegon answered, and the mere mention of the name perked the younger prince up. “Grafton. She was not available this evening, but you will likely see her. She’s always skulking around, somewhere.”

Daeron’s shoulders visibly sunk at Aegon’s clarification, but his charming smile never wavered when he turned back to the Celtigar sisters. 

“I seem to have been robbed of a childhood growing up alongside you lovely ladies. I wish I had visited,” his smirk widened flirtatiously, “Seeing such beauty would have likely forced me to stay.” 

Aegon’s face soured with every word spoken by Daeron, forcing Valeana to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. 

“Perhaps you should have,” Valeana eagerly added, pursing her lips to contain her grin. “If only to sweeten our pallets from our otherwise bitter friendships with your brothers.” 

Daeron cocked his head, “Oh? Were they that troublesome?”

“Ah, Prince Daeron, if only we had the time. A day could not even cover the bullying we had to endure at the hands of your elder brothers and nephews.”

Daeron tisked, and threw Aegon a look with a shake of his head, “For shame, brother. Bullying such sweet creatures? We must treat all young ladies as if they are the Maiden Herself, and as women, they are to be regarded respectfully as they are the image of the Mother. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Valeana, Lady Shyla?”

“Oh, yes, I very much agree,” Val nodded, and then turned to her sister. It was at this moment she realized how strangely quiet she was being. Once her eyes landed on Shyla, it became evident as to why that was. 

Her sister was absolutely, unequivocally, positively, without a doubt besotted. 

Shyla looked upon Daeron as if he was a new god that chose to present himself to her. Valeana could always recognize when her sister fell in love with a man — it happened annoyingly often. Though during the recent weeks, she had forgotten how fickle her sister’s heart was, because so far she had not wavered from Aegon since the moment she laid eyes on him. 

Until now. 

“O-oh! Yes, yes, I agree…” Shyla bounced back to life. Her hands clasped in front of her skirt coyly, big eyes batting her lashes rapidly. “You’re so wise, Prince Daeron… I’d agree with anything you’d say.”

Daeron’s response was a polite smile and nod, though his confusion over her choice of words was exposed by his raised brow. Shyla didn’t notice at all, of course; she was already leagues into her delusions by now, and only saw him regarding her with an alluring smile and lovestruck eyes.

When Valeana looked at Aegon, she could actually see every emotion and thought pass through him. Annoyance, confusion, then realization, followed by an epiphany, and lastly, elation. He was free from Shyla’s claws, and he was more than eager to throw Daeron to the vultures, a win-win situation. 

A vague thought reminded Valeana of how Floris Baratheon was keen on Daeron, having shared correspondence, and how she and Shyla had grown into friendship since her arrival. This new development would surely complicate matters, and if Valeana was a better person, she would have tried to steer her sister in another direction. As it happens, she already knows what it’s like trying to direct Shyla’s attention onto someone else; it was like trying to pull a hungry dog away from a bone. She will get bit. Not even figuratively.

“Come! Everyone is here, and I’d like you to meet my cousins,” Daeron motioned for them to follow him. Shyla sprung into action like a dutiful servant, her shoulder pressed against his once she reached his side. 

Aegon reached out blindly to put a hand on Valeana’s arm, “Did you see that?”

“Yes… I did.”

He tore his eyes from the back of Daeron’s head, “Oh, Valeana, my dear delectable Crab Cake, you have no idea how happy I am.” 

“You do realize that Floris Baratheon is in love with him, right? They share love letters, and are yet to meet.”

Aegon shrugged, grin undeterred, “Not my problem. I am free, that is all I care about. I was honestly pissed frightened that I would have to marry your bloody sister.”

Valeana raised an amused eyebrow, “And here I thought I’d have a prince for a goodbrother.”

Aegon pulled away from her, moving over to a servant with a tray, “Thank the Father that will never happen. Gods, I need a damn drink. I must celebrate.” 

Aegon was predictably late, but in his absence, Aemond was able to properly meet his younger brother for the first time since infancy. He couldn’t quite make an opinion of him, other than he was overly pleasant; so much so it was difficult to believe they shared blood at all. Alas, the resemblance was there, and his Blue Queen was proof enough of their relation. Though, despite Daeron’s uncanny ability to turn every conversation to himself, Aemond found he liked him for the sheer fact that he knew Aegon absolutely loathed him. 

“Oh, look at me,” Daeron chuckled, “Rambling about myself. Quite improper in front of a lady.” The young Targaryen turned to Aemond’s guest, “Lady Maris, I take it you are one of Lady Floris’ elder sisters, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Maris stole a glance at Aemond, as if trying to silently communicate something. “She in fact talks about you in length. Have you had a chance to finally meet her?”

Daeron looked down, “Not yet. I was accosted by my grandfather the moment I stepped in the Keep. Would you kindly relay a message to her? In the morn, I would love to break fast with her.”

“Of course, my Prince.” 

Maris had been inordinately polite and careful with her words since their arrival, something that felt out of character in his eyes. Maris was a talker, though that wasn’t reflected presently. He deduced that she may have wanted to give a good impression to his family, though the Hightowers did not have as much influence on Aemond’s life. It would be his mother she would have to impress, and even more so his father. 

Aemond hadn’t intended to bring Maris to his grandfather’s planned Hightower supper, but his impulsive invitation came with benefits. Being seen with her as much as possible would put much needed distance between him and Valeana. The more witnesses seeing him court Maris, the less speculation about him and the Celtigar maid he was once friends with. 

But then Aegon arrived. From where he sat on the settee with Lady Maris, he could not see his elder brother, but he could hear him as he announced he had brought a “gift”. Once Daeron swept over to greet him, Aemond could overhear just exactly what that “gift” was.  

“Daeron, these two lovely ladies are the Celtigar sisters, Lady Valeana, Lady Shyla. Ladies, this is my little brother–”

“Daeron.” 

Aegon, what the hells are you doing…

Aemond subtly moved in his spot so he was able to see the entrance, but both his brothers were in the way. Until Daeron bowed his head over to kiss each hand, that’s when he caught a glimpse of Valeana’s face, rosy coloured cheeks, wide smile, and eyes sparkling as she looked at the young prince. 

He was lucky that Maris was in a conversation with Samantha Tarly, his cousin’s new lady wife. Otherwise she would have seen how dark his eye had gotten, and how tightly he was clenching his teeth. 

Aemond was forced out of his seething by a question asked by Lyonel, the eldest of Ormund’s sons. Daeron’s head blocked his view once again, but he still flickered his eye in that direction every so often as he spoke to his cousin.

To see Valeana so soon after last night’s events, and even after he spent the better part of that afternoon abusing his cock to her memory, Aemond found that he wasn’t mentally prepared to face her. Especially now, with her face looking like she just had the world’s largest diamond gifted to her.

Did she even remember? Did she feel just as ashamed as he did, or was this all a part of this game of hers? Her very presence there was a good indicator that that was the most logical answer. Otherwise, why on earth would she succumb herself to being an uninvited guest to the Hand of the King’s family affair? No doubt Aegon also had a hand in this as well, particularly for his own devious intentions. 

Then Daeron announced that he wanted them to meet the cousins. Aemond straightened in his spot, and turned his blindside towards them, pretending to listen to the conversation that Lady Sam and Maris were having. Though he could not see, he could plainly hear the greetings as Daeron filtered through each cousin. 

“Cousin Ormund, this is Lady Valeana and her sister, Lady Shyla.”

“Ah, my dears, it is a pleasure to meet you. Y’know I once met your mother, Lady Valeana. You do look so much like her, though I suspect you get that often.” 

“My father had mentioned that you were a contender to my mother’s hand,” he heard Valeana speak.

“Ah yes… but your father had bigger jewels and many ships, and she had a fondness for emeralds and the open sea.” 

Valeana softly chuckled, a sound like honey and warm milk to Aemond’s ear. “That is where she and I differ. I prefer sapphires and low tide.” 

Daeron went on to introduce them to Lyonel, Martyn, and then young Garmund, who all greeted them both with chivalry and politeness. Not one of them questioned their presence, as they hadn’t with Maris.

Then Aemond could hear the wood creak from their movement closer to their area, this time Lord Ormund approaching the settee to collect his wife to introduce her to the two additions.

“Pardon my intrusion,” Ormund smiled kindly as he gently pulled his lady wife to her feet. “Come, my dear, I’d like to introduce you to Lady Valeana and Lady Shyla Celtigar. Bartimos’ girls, you remember?” 

Tarly must have some trades business with the Celtigars, because Samantha’s voice lit up with recognition. She greeted the girls as if they were old friends, yet by her own words, they had not even met in person. 

“Lady Maris,” Shyla spoke with delighted surprise. “I did not know you were friends with the Hightowers.”

Maris smiled politely before standing up to meet the two newcomers as a show of polite etiquette. Her action, however, forced him to turn in their direction. He only ascended from his seat when he caught the heated glare of his grandfather, silently berating him for his lack of manners. 

“This is the first time I’ve formally met them,” Maris explained, completely unaware of the tension that grew around her. She turned around just as Aemond got to his feet, “Prince Aemond had invited me.” 

“Invited you?” Valeana asked, surprising even herself at her blunt question.

“I did,” Aemond took his place at Maris’ side, hands clasped behind his back while he did everything in his power not to look directly at her. It helped that he kept his blindside to her with his chin inclined.

“Does that surprise you, Lady Valeana?” It was Maris who asked the question, which equally took him off guard as much as it did Valeana. 

Alas, she took it in stride, “Only by a little. I was not aware Prince Aemond had friends.”

At that, Aemond had no choice but to look at her. Far be it for Valeana Celtigar to say something so passive aggressive in polite company. However, he regretted turning his attention to her the moment he did. She was quite the vision in forest green. He realized now that he had never seen her wear it, at least that particular shade. She looked regal, almost like a queen with her crescent hood of matching colour, and her thick hair collecting in a twisted half bun at the back of her head, while the rest of it fell down over her shoulders and her back until it reached her hips. Another distinction, he noticed, was how secure and modest her bodice was. Aemond’s eye landed there immediately, but just as quickly tore it away. If he looked too long, he would remind himself of how his lips and hands were on them not fifteen hours ago.

Aemond smiled sardonically, “Hm, a reasonable assumption, Lady Valeana. Though, I merely am conservative on who I call friend nowadays. One cannot always be certain of another's intentions in court. And…” He trailed off as he regarded Maris with a little flirtatious smile, “Lady Maris’ presence has been such a delight that I did not wish to part with her this evening, so I had no choice but to invite her.” 

“Oh, well is this not a sweet sight?” Samantha commented, hands clasped at her front as she turned to Ormund. “His Grace did promise a season of love matches, did he not?”

Ormund chuckled deeply, then swept his hand over the shoulder of his young wife, “Ah, my dear, the season has only begun! Who knows who will marry who by the end of it? Don’t you agree, uncle?”

Otto’s presence was that of a judgemental cat, sitting on a ledge like a gargoyle, assessing everyone with a scrutinizing stare. Once acknowledged, the Hand tried his best to withhold his eye roll, suddenly longing for the presence of literally anyone else. 

“I believe dinner will be served soon,” the Lord Hand successfully dodged the question, then moved over to the table. “Let us sit down before we miss it?”

With Ormund’s eager agreement, the group shuffled over to the grand round table. Aemond made a point to splay his hand on Maris’ back as he guided her over. Once he reached a chair, he pulled it out for her, and held her hand delicately as she sat down. Her face was aglow as she looked up at him, and he down at her with carefully placed fondness upon his features. 

However, the moment he tucked her into the table, he looked up just in time to see Aegon doing the same with Valeana. The sight paralyzed him long enough for everyone to take their seats about the table, and when Aemond realized he had not moved to do so, he also saw the only seat available was to Valeana’s left.

As he descended in the chair, he was overwhelmed with her scent once more. Under the faint aromas of lemon and mint, he could still make out her distinct smell, the very one in her sweat that coated her breasts that morning. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN SNEAK PEAK Shyla craned her neck to look around Aegon and Val to see Aemond, “Is that what that whole business was about that other day in the training yard?” “What business?” Maris tilted her head at Aemond.  “Aegon and Aemond were sparring viciously in the training yard,” Shyla giggled, “For a second I thought they were going to maim each other.” Daeron laughed, “I wish I witnessed that. I did not think you a fighter, Aegon.” Aegon’s head whipped in his direction, “I am just as fearsome as Aemond. In fact, I bested him that day, did I not, Lady Valeana?”  Valeana was leaning back in her chair with her fork twirling in her fingers when she was acknowledged. Aegon held her gaze for a moment after the question was directed at her, and then she moved her eyes around the table before landing on Aemond.  “He did.”

Notes: I'm going to try to get the next update out soon, because I know not much action took place in this chapter, but the next one...ouf. Poor Otto. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my version of Daeron. I feel like he'd be the most spoiled out of the four kids, and he would def have youngest kid syndrome.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

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Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

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