#V: Moonlit Candles

[bisexualiteaa]

Is it ok to request ? I’m obsessed w/ Gale from BG3. Any loving is wanted / needed. I feel he would be ok w/ a strong partner after Mystra .

Love Within a Moonlit Tower

Gale Dekarios x Fem Reader (fluff and SMUT MDNI!!)

CW: established relationship, slight deviation from the game, slight OOC Gale, nauseatingly sweet fluff, mentions of steamy romance book, mentions of his past relationship with Mystra, established marriage, cursing, body worship, p in v, unprotected seggs, multiple 0rgasms, multiple creampies, slight dumbification, possible grammar/spelling errors.

AN: another one I’ve had in the vaults waiting for the right time to tweak it and drop, I’m so sorry it took me this long to get to Anon! 😭 Thank you for your lovely request, I hope I did it any justice because I too love our resident wizard man. 🥺🫶

The quiet sounds of the birds chirping their mid-day song softly infiltrated through the half opened windows of the library. You could feel the warm rays of the sun flooding in, the gentle breeze washing over you, tousling your hair slightly as your fingers glide amidst the parchment pages of your book. The smell of books new and old filled your nose with its familiar and calming scent, mingling with that of the candles which lit your lovely reading space. You were fully immersed into the story that you were reading, the title of it having stood out to you amongst the others when you found it whilst perusing the bookshelves a few days prior. A slight blush tinted your cheeks as your reading reached a rather raunchy romance scene. The images played out in your mind, built from the well versed description inked upon the pages, every detail recounted as if you were there to experience it yourself. You crossed your legs, clasping your thighs together and biting your lip as you read onwards, finding yourself rather picturing you and Gale in such a scene rather than the two characters within the story. Almost watching as the two characters caught up in each other’s embrace, from well drawn out foreplay to tastefully described sex, you couldn’t help the tingling buzz of arousal that began to drum deep within your core. It left you so bothered, you hadn’t realized the room had begun to grow hot around you, or that a certain wizardly husband of yours had entered the room. You let out a little excited giggle as you read on, your mouth going agape in pleased shock on occasion as you read some of the interesting, and rather thrilling, things the characters were doing with one another. It almost reminded you of the good old days spent adventuring together, finding many a nights a bed beneath the stars and wine not far from reach as your limbs tangled with Gale’s in your best attempts at a romantic rendezvous.

“My, someone certainly seems to be enjoying themselves. I was wondering where you’d run off to. You’re starting to take after me with the way you lock yourself away and read all day” your husband spoke teasingly, making your face turn red as you snapped the book shut in embarrassment and turned your attention to him. “Oh! Hello love! I got so caught up in reading that I hadn’t realized how much time had passed, my apologies” you said sweetly, with such saccharine coated innocence to your tone as you looked up at him, praying your actions wouldn’t raise his suspicions. He smiled at you before his eyes peered down towards the cover of your book then back up to your flustered face. No wonder you reacted the way you did, he interrupted a rather intimate reading. “Ah, I remember reading that one! I had a rather similar reaction upon even my Tryssm entering the room whilst I was nose deep in it. Certainly wouldn’t have been my first guess at what you would pick, but it would be far from me to judge my wife’s tastes in literature” he said, moving closer to you. “Though a part of me deep down has been hoping that you’d stumble across it. Judging by your reactions I’d say you find it quite enjoyable, hmm?” he asked, his suave, deep voice right by your ear, his breath fanning along your neck as he spoke, sending pleasant tingles to your core that fanned the burning embers within you.

You gave a giggle to his response, finding your bottom lip trapped once more between your teeth as you leaned your head to the side, granting him access to your neck as your eyes held a dreamy gaze. “I do. Reminds me a lot of our days adventuring together. The carnage, the battles, the…midnight trysts” you responded, making him chuckle as his lips pressed soft, but tingling kisses to your shoulders, taking note of the dip in your tone that reflected a mood that words had yet to confirm. “I rather enjoyed our late night rendezvous, especially the ones after a heated battle” he replied with a grin. “How we could hardly keep our eyes off of one another while traveling. Then once we’d return to camp, all bloody and adrenaline coursing through our veins, hardly able to keep our hands to ourselves either” you added as his hands smoothed down your shoulders and down the expanse of your arms, the added sensation only fueling the growing fire in your belly. “Perhaps one day we could collaborate on a steamy, action packed story of our own. Recant the epic tales of our concurring of the elder brain! And all the juicy, lascivious bits in between” he excitedly suggested, making you chuckle before turning and placing your hand to his scruffy cheek lovingly, pulling him into a kiss. “Mmm…I rather like that idea. Though I’m afraid if you put it in my hands, I may find myself writing more of our flitting romance and steamy sexual adventures rather than focusing on the biggest victory Baldur’s Gate has seen in centuries” you said into it, a small giggle slipping past you and a smirk growing to your lips as seduction dripped from your honeyed voice. Before you knew it, your once chaste kiss grew a little deeper. “Who would I be to stop you?” He asked, a grin of his own stretching to his lips as a chuckle resonated from his chest, pride swelling his heart that was filled only with the undying love he held for you.

“You know…we’ve yet to break in the library, darling” you stated after your lips parted to allow you both a chance to breathe, your eyes half lidded and holding that mischievous, yet loving gaze of wanting that he loved seeing so much. He only ever wished he could immortalize it in a painting to hang all around the tower, but seeing it every time pointed in his direction because of his doing, was plenty enough to satisfy. He grinned and gave a hum with intrigue at your proposal. “We haven’t yet, have we?” he replied before standing up, grabbing the book from you and placing it aside as he moved in front of you. “That mistake can be easily remedied. IF you’re up for it of course!” he said, making you grin up at him as your hands found his before standing, placing them on your hips to allow him to hold you close. “Gale, my love, has there ever been a time where I haven’t been?” you asked in response, making him grin and chuckle once more. “Certainly none that I can recall, but as gentle as you have been with me, I intend to do the same in return. The last thing I’d wish to do is misinterpret your desires” he responded, making you snake your hands up his chest before resting them on his shoulders. “You haven’t, but I thank you for taking the extra care” you replied sweetly, resting your forehead softly against his as you closed your eyes to bask in the moment together. “Anything for you, my treasure” he spoke in kind, words you knew that held genuine promise behind them rather than empty falsehoods. “Then I say we break in the library, perhaps even relive some old times while doing so” you said, pulling him in for another kiss as his hands traversed your curves. “You mean…like this?” He asked, picking you up and backing you against a bookcase, your legs wrapped around his hips as he held you up. The ever growing smile on your face, paired with the look of pleasant surprise made his dick twitch with excitement from beneath his robes. Gods how he loved you, no goddess could ever make him feel the way you do from just one look alone. “Remind you of the nights we’d spend by the water? Teasing one another as we bathed in the waterfalls and we’d have each other up against the rocks” he recounted as his kisses trailed down your neck, leaving shameless hickies in his wake. “Reminds me a lot of the time where I made you jealous, so you drank a potion of hill giant strength, then proceeded to pick me up and slammed me up against a tree and have your way with me so Wyll, Astarion and Halsin knew I had eyes for only you” you replied with a giggle through your moans as he found every sensitive spot he could, knowing the map of your body like the contents of his favorite book. “Certainly not my smartest use of a potion, but worth it in my eyes to have had you screaming all night” he added as he ground his hips against you, making you tilt your head back against the bookcase as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment in bliss. “Seemed a good use to me. I never was one for being quiet but that night was certainly one I’d never forget” you said teasingly through a fit of giggles before a louder moan escaped you as his hardened cock rubbed against your clothed clit from the confines of his robes. “It’s one of the many things I love about you” he responded. “Fuck, Gale please…” you begged breathlessly.

Your mind was lost on the way that your back had met the hard wood and leather covers of books within the bookshelf you were pressed against. To you, all you felt was the pleasurable stretch of him sheathed inside of you, then the feeling of his tip nestled against your bundle of nerves deep within you, pistoning in and out, nudging the entrance to your cervix. You laid your head back against the bookcase for stability as your eyes shut tight, moans escaping your throat like a symphony to his ears as you cried his name like a prayer. “Fuck, Gale…just like that” you praised as his lips once again littered your skin with soft kisses, as if he was worshipping you. In truth, he was. No goddess bestowed him the kindness you have, no goddess offered him the love and patience you so graciously have given him over the time you’ve spent with him. No one could ever compare to you, no legendary hero, no god above, you were a category of your own. Someone who not only sated, but *saved* him, offering him a life he could have never imagined to become a reality. There was nothing in this world anyone could ever offer him that would even closely rival that of your affections, and with each time he made love to you, he wanted to make that sentiment known to you.

You paid little mind to the dull ache beginning to rise in your back, nor for the thought of how tense or sore you would be later and even into tomorrow for it, what mattered was having your husband in your arms with you, enjoying this tender moment. You two had been going like this for gods only knows how long, your brain muddled from your previous orgasms as his stayed deep within you, only to occasionally drip down to the floor and coat your thighs with his essence. “Just one more. You can give me one more, can’t you love?” He asked, making you nod your head yes in response as words were all but lost on you, your mind effectively reduced to mush as the only words able to leave you were cries and pleas of his name. He loved when he could get you like this, so high from adrenaline, so drunk from pleasure that your usually bustling mind became blank as a sheet of fresh parchment. Before you, he isolated himself from the world, isolated himself away from people where books were his only form of stimulation. While it wasn’t conducive for pleasures of the flesh, he loved the way that he could reduce you to such pleasurable mindlessness. To make you feel good despite his insecurities. Over time he’s only gotten better, memorizing your body inside and out, noting where your most sensitive places lie, what pace and positions you like most. You’ve helped him, not only through physical touch but through everything in between. Where once stood a man who thought the only way to prove his worth to the world was to allow himself to be consumed by the weave, now stood a man with more confidence and happiness than you’d ever seen in him. He only wished you’d see it from his eyes, what all you’ve done for him and how you make him feel, but he would always be more than happy to show you on days where the words just could not explain it.

“I love you” he proclaimed, making you smile as you leaned forward and kissed him sweetly. “I love you too” you answered in kind, pressing your forehead to his as you panted and moaned, finding yourself nearing your end once more. His gaze fell to where you were both connected, watching himself move in and out of you, watching you stretch and the way you coated his dick in your slick. The way you squeezed tightly around him, throwing your head back as you let out a cry of release was what did him in for the final time, feeling your walls milk him of everything he could give you. You both stood there, panting and trying to catch your breath as the pleasurable feeling of your after glow fell upon you, allowing you both to find one another in a soft, loving kiss once more. “The one part I don’t miss from our late night misadventures is certainly the back aches from being had up against any solid thing around” you spoke, your shared laughs filling the otherwise quiet room as you recounted the many times of tree bark practically mauling your skin, or the aches and bruises of rocks once being your only form of stable ground. “A shame, means the stairs are out of the question then” he replied playfully, making you laugh. “At least we can check the library off the list, but I’ll think about the stairs if it fancies you so much, it would be only fair” you said with a giggle. “At least the balcony has a nice love seat” Gale added, making you grin as he helped you down and in getting stable on your feet, helping you clean up before you slid your robe on and he got redressed. “Maybe later we can put it to good use” you proposed with a smirk, kissing his cheek as he grinned. “With an ocean front view like that? Bound to be a romantic night for sure. Perhaps we can have dinner out there as well, have a date night in of sorts with a few glasses of wine and maybe a handful of those decadent desserts you love so much” he added, making you hum with intrigue at the idea, nothing but pure love residing in your gaze as you looked up at him. “Then consider it a date, Mr. Dekarios“ you replied, making him chuckle as he leaned down to kiss you softly once more before releasing you from his hold. “Maybe pull out that dress you’ve been wishing to wear, I’d love to see it on you” he said, making you smile. “Perhaps I will, but first I intend to freshen up. Feel free to join me” you said, leaning up against the doorway as you spoke before leaving to find the bath. He watched as your hips swayed and you sauntered teasingly out of the room, waiting to see if he would trail behind you.

It was little moments like these that he’d never felt more lucky.

[misshoneyimhome]

Better In Time I Frederik Andersen

[Prologue] [Chapter 1]

Summary: In a unique and intimate moment, you and Freddie decide to share a deeply personal experience by choosing to lose your virginities to each other. Freddie, as the caring and considerate friend he is, goes out of his way to ensure that you feel comfortable and at ease about this significant step.

Tropes & warnings: Frederik Andersen x reader, friendship, best friend!Freddie, smut 18+: first times - losing virginities, fingering, protected sex (p in v)

Word count: 2.5K

➼｡ﾟ

October 2007

“Are you absolutely sure you still want to go ahead with this?” Frederik’s voice was soft as he looked into your eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation.

With a gentle smile, you answered quietly, “Yes, Freddie, I’m sure.”

A week had gone by since his birthday, and tonight, the two of you were alone at Frederik’s house. His parents had taken Sebastian and Amalie to the arena for a match, leaving you both to enjoy the rare peace of the house. Although spending time alone with Frederik wasn’t unusual, tonight felt different.

You had shared a cosy pizza dinner, enjoying the warmth and comfort of the meal, along with laughter while watching a few episodes of ‘Taskmaster’. The playful banter from the show mirrored the cheerful energy between you, and eventually, you moved to Frederik’s room. Both of you wore bright smiles that seemed to linger, reflecting the excitement yet nervous anticipation you felt.

And as you entered his room, you almost held your breath, noticing that Frederik had taken special care with the setting. He had dimmed the lights, replacing the usual brightness with a soft, ambient glow. Fake candles flickered gently on his desk and shelves, casting a warm, inviting light around the room, while soothing music filled the air, adding to the intimate and thoughtful atmosphere he had created.

And a sudden thought crossed your mind as you glanced around, ‘So that’s why he took so long in the bathroom earlier.’

Frederik’s careful touch was evident in every detail, from the ambiance he had crafted to the way he looked at you now, his eyes full of anticipation and affection.

🎶

Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance

Silver moon's sparkling

So kiss me

🎶

"Freddie," you breathed out, a mix of surprise and gratitude in your voice. "You didn’t have to go to all this trouble."

But he simply moved closer to you, his presence calming as he spoke softly, “I just want to make you feel comfortable.” His voice was gentle, and as you turned around and looked up at his kind ginger face, even in the dim light, you could see his freckles and a faint blush on his otherwise pale skin.

Your eyes locked in a tender, intense gaze, and you whispered, "Thank you," as you placed your hands gently on his chest. The warmth of his body under your touch was reassuring, and you felt a flutter of excitement.

Frederik’s touch was slow and deliberate as his hands then began to travel down your back, his fingers slipping beneath your t-shirt, brushing lightly against your skin and sending a shiver up your spine. With practised ease, he carefully lifted your shirt over your head, his movements still gentle. And as your shirt fell to the floor, Frederik took a moment to let his eyes take in your exposed body, his gaze lingering on the lacy bra that framed your breasts.

His glare was appreciative and tender as he traced his fingers lightly over the smooth skin of your shoulders, guiding the straps of your bra down your arms with a feather-light touch. Then reaching behind you, he found the clasp of your bra, his fingers worked deftly to unfasten it, and with a soft click, the band fell away, joining your shirt on the floor. His eyes still lingered on your now bare upper body, his expression a blend of admiration and affection.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered softly, under his breath.

You then decided to match his level of intimacy. So, gently you slid your hands under the fabric of his shirt, moving slowly up his torso and pulled the shirt over his head, with a bit of help from him since your height difference made it tricky for you to reach. As a hockey player, his body was naturally fit and toned, and you couldn’t help but gently bite your lower lip as you took in his physique. A feeling of pleasure began to build inside you as your eyes moved up his body and met his deep honey-brown eyes once more. You both then took a deep breath before taking off your trousers and socks, leaving you in your underwear for the first time since you’d both become teens.

You both took a moment to take in the situation. It was definitely pushing the boundaries of your friendship, but oddly enough, it didn’t feel too awkward. You were comfortable around Frederik, even with your breasts exposed and in your lacy knickers, because you knew he was a kind and caring person who would look after you.

Upon undressing, Frederik then sat on the bed, prompting you to join him. And without saying a word, you both lay down under the duvet, you on your back and Frederik half-hovering over you. He then let out a soft sigh, his lips parting slightly before he spoke.

“Let me know if you want me to stop, alright?” he asked, looking for your reassurance and wanting to make sure you wouldn’t regret this later or feel uncomfortable.

“Of course, Freddie,” you merely replied with a gentle smile.

Still with care, he then began to gently caress your cheek, his thumb softly stroking it as his eyes stayed locked on yours. His thumb slowly moved to your lower lip, where he placed a tender kiss. It was your first kiss—not just with Frederik, but with anyone. It was soft and gentle, his lips feeling comforting against yours. And as his lips began to move, gently massaging yours, you simply followed his lead. Frederik took his time, and with each passing moment, you felt yourself relax more, your body sinking into the mattress. Your breathing grew steadier, and your hands started to explore his body, feeling the softness of his freckled skin under your fingertips. And as you became more comfortable with the kiss, Frederik gently touched his tongue to your lips, asking for permission to deepen the kiss, which you happily granted. Your tongues moved together, dancing sensually, while your hand found its way to his hair, lightly tugging on it.

Frederik couldn’t help but smirk slightly into the kiss as he felt you lean into it and your body starting to press against his. Yet, he pulled back a bit, allowing both of you to catch your breath.

Carefully, he then began to trace his fingertips down your neck, and then, ever so smoothly, he moved his hand to touch your breast. His movements were slow and almost teasing, but you knew he was only trying to be gentle and to make you both feel at ease.

Delicately, he bit his lower lip, his eyes still locked on yours, as he started to gently massage your breast. The warmth of his palm felt soothing, and you could sense your breathing beginning to steady as you felt so good under Frederik’s touch.

“This okay?” he asked in a soft, calm voice, receiving a gentle nod in response.

Frederik then placed another tender kiss on your lips, taking his time to stay connected. Meanwhile, his hand moved away from your breast and slowly down your tummy, past your belly button, and lightly teased the edge of your knickers. He could almost hear your heartbeat quickening, and he felt a bit nervous about whether you truly wanted this. But his worries quickly faded as you parted your lips to speak.

“Freddie,” you whispered. “Please, touch me.”

Your eyes had darkened, and his gentle touches were making you yearn for more. So, with a soft nod, Frederik slipped his hand under your underwear and very lightly stroked a finger through your folds, causing you to let out a soft moan mixed with a deep breath. He then stroked you gently again, and another moan escaped your lips.

Your sweet sounds were like music to his ears, and he could feel his blood rushing to his already semi-hard member, making it grow even harder. The way you were already so wet for him made him long to be inside you. But he didn’t want to rush. He wanted to take it slow, ensuring that you felt good and had the best experience possible, without any pain.

Frederik was well aware of his size. Having compared himself to some of the other guys on the team, he knew he was on the larger side of average, so it was important for him to prepare you properly.

So, with a gentle touch, he placed his finger at your entrance, gently circling it before tenderly pushing it inside. Which earned another moan from you, your fingers tucking on his ginger locks. And when he sensed that the sounds you were making were out of pleasure, he then withdrew his finger almost completely before easing it back in, repeating the gentle movements. To his relief, you were very wet, and it pleased him to feel that your body was enjoying what he was doing. And as your moans grew sweeter and your body became even wetter, he then gently added a second finger, making you squirm a little from the pleasure.

His fingers felt different from your own. They were bigger, longer, and rougher, and they made you feel so incredible.

“It’s good, Freddie,” you managed to whisper, feeling the pleasure coursing through your body. Frederik gave you a soft smile as he noticed your walls starting to clench around his fingers, sensing that you were almost ready for more. He then gently withdrew them, covered with your juices, causing you to let out a soft sigh as you felt the emptiness.

Shifting his position slightly, he managed to smoothly remove his boxers, before he turned back to you and carefully took off your last piece of clothing as well. Frederik then had to take a moment to fully appreciate the sight before him, as his eyes traced every curve of your body, from the fullness of your breasts and your erect nipples, to your curvy waist and hips, finally settling on your core—throbbing and eager, completely ready for him.

He could feel his own cock, eager for attention, standing proudly against his stomach. So, taking a deep breath, he moved to grab a condom from the top drawer next to the bed. Your eyes followed him as he carefully slid the rubber onto his large member, and having only felt your own fingers inside you before tonight, you wondered how he would even fit. But you trusted him completely. Frederik had always been so gentle with you, making you feel at ease, and you knew he would never hurt you.

He then positioned himself on top of you, his knees between your legs, causing them to spread a little further. Your hands found the back of his shoulders, helping yourself to remain  steady, while your eyes stayed locked on his, and Frederik watched your breathing, ensuring it was steady and calm.

“Ready?” he asked softly, receiving a gentle nod in response. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes… Yes, Freddie, I’m ready.”

He then aligned his tip with your entrance and, very slowly, eased himself inside your tight, warm passage.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned in pleasure as your walls embraced his large cock.

“Shit, Freddie,” you breathed, feeling his cock fill you up and stretch you further than ever before. The sensation was a mix of slight pain from being stretched and intense pleasure that made your mind feel foggy.

Frederik went gently and slowly, just as promised. And once he was fully inside you, or as deep as he could go, he then held still for a moment, searching your eyes to make sure you were comfortable and still enjoying it. To which, you confirmed with a nod and a gentle smile.

“You okay?” he asked between breaths.

“Yeah, really good,” you smiled back, prompting him to slowly pull almost entirely out before gently pushing back in. And gently, almost tourtingly slow, rocking his hips at a steady pace. 

Your moans harmonised as your bodies connected in this new and thrilling position, leaving you both feeling incredible. The sensation of having Frederik inside you was beyond anything you had ever imagined—indescribable. It felt as though your bodies were perfectly matched. The way he filled you and the tingling sensation with every movement surpassed anything you had expected.

“Oh, Freddie.”

And it was clear that Frederik was also experiencing something extraordinary. Being inside your warm cunt put him in a state of pure bliss. His thoughts were hazy, and he could feel the familiar approach of climax, though it was unlike anything he had felt before. Despite having practised alone, watched porn, and read about the experience, nothing compared to what he was feeling in that moment. 

He knew he wasn’t going to last long, as the feeling of you around him was too intense for him. And unable to contain himself, he instinctively increased his movements, his thrusts becoming more eager as his cock slid effortlessly in and out of your heat. Moans filled the room, blending with the soft background music. Skin slapped together with each thrust, and your breaths grew heavy, while your fingers dug into his skin as the pleasure consumed you. 

“Oh, fu— I’m gonna c—” Frederik groaned loudly as he reached his climax, releasing into the condom.

And for a moment, it felt like time stood still as Frederik held the missionary position, shooting his load before coming down from his intense high and calming his breaths. Meanwhile, you matched your breathing with his, gradually emerging from your own euphoria.

“That was…” you whispered softly between breaths as Frederik gently withdrew from you and lay down beside you on the bed.

“Perfection?” Frederik suggested timidly, and you looked at him with a radiant smile.

“Perfection indeed,” you agreed.

You both lay on the bed, sharing smiles as your eyes met. It felt as if time had paused, and you both forgot all about everything outside the little room you were in.

It truly was perfect.

Frederik had made you feel so good, and nothing felt strange or awkward. It hadn’t been painful like some had described, and you’d shared this incredibly intimate moment with your best friend.

“Thank you,” you said softly as you both turned onto your sides to face each other, still smiling.

Frederik caressed your cheek, gently stroking it, and said, “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he chuckled softly. “At least now I’m not an 18-year-old virgin anymore,” he added, making you laugh lightly.

“Well, it was definitely my pleasure,” you replied with a sweet smile.

You lay together on his bed for a little while longer before Frederik got up to go to the bathroom, disposing of the condom and returning with a damp cloth for you. With smiles still on your faces, you both got dressed. And soon after, Frederik’s parents came home, completely unaware that you had just shared such an intimate experience.

[deetealeaf]

It is well past 2 in the morning for me, but my mind decided I HAD to share with YOU, very specific person that made me have a notification moments before, the lyrics of the song I was listening to.

Make whatever you want of it.

Now the hour has come at last,

The soft and fading light

Has crossed the west horizon

And has bidden us Goodnight,

And what a lovely night it is

To walk a moonlit field,

To see the softer shades

That are by starlight now revealed.

So why is it that now,

When all is quiet and at rest,

When candles glow and all the world

Is at its very best,

The ponies of equestria

Should lock themselves away

To shun the moon and wait instead

For Sister's sunny day?

Am I so wrong to wish that they

Would see things like I do?

And am I so wrong to think

That they might love me too?

Why shouldn't they adore me?

Is it not within my right?

I'll not be overshadowed!

Mine is not the lesser light!

I've waited long enough now

For them all to come around,

And though the Sun may plead and threaten,

The Moon will stand her ground!

Praise Ponyphonic for this song, The Moon Rises

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqNRBs1O_fA

(I have now reached the 3am landmark, praise the moon and may your night be the most enjoyable)

Thank You for the gift of this wonderful song, the lyrics are gorgeous!!!

And please go to sleep! 3am is lateee

🌑☀️✨

[mbti-enemies]

I posted 272 times in 2021

259 posts created (95%)

13 posts reblogged (5%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.1 posts.

I added 631 tags in 2021

#intj - 155 posts

#infj - 101 posts

#mbti - 101 posts

#entp - 61 posts

#enfp - 60 posts

#infp - 57 posts

#intp - 33 posts

#entj - 28 posts

#estp - 19 posts

#enfj - 16 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#little crisis here but ive been through it too many times imma stick with being an infj because ive been through this too many times

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

INTJ: Why are you late?

INTP: There was a biological malfunction that yielded an unforeseen surplus of unconsciousness.

INTJ:

INTJ: You overslept.

INTP: I overslept.

250 notes • Posted 2021-08-24 11:31:01 GMT

#4

271 notes • Posted 2021-10-20 20:14:10 GMT

#3

ENFP: I’m an idiot

INTJ:

ENTP:

INTP:

ENTJ:

INTJ: If you’re waiting for us to disagree, this is gonna be a long day.

289 notes • Posted 2021-08-19 19:42:04 GMT

#2

INTJ: *studiously doing work, listening to classical music, all dark academia, v focused*

ENFP: *upside down on a chair, work made into paper planes* do you think stars have feelings?

354 notes • Posted 2021-07-17 11:30:43 GMT

#1

aesthetics ><

INTJ: staring out through the rain splattered window, rain like stars, with the dark of night beyond. music drifting through headphones on long nights where the sleepiness won't come quite yet, perhaps a book held to lamp-light (or just quality fanfiction by phone light) thoughts floating around, ineffable, unplaceable. daydreams entering the mind that seem to be spoken by the pouring rain... daydreams never to be said aloud but only perhaps whispered to a someone held closer than air.

ENFP: giddy laughs, braiding other people's hair, falling asleep under a tree, holding hands, blowing bubbles, dancing in the kitchen, stacks of pancakes on a monday morning, still in the moood to go to neverland , stubbornly mass consuming chocolate even though they have a dairy intolerance, tangled earphones (and wishes upon a star)

INFJ: drinking hot tea in the mornings, curling into a big blanket, tight hugs, oversized sweaters, wishing you were apart of a fantasy world instead of this one. , coffee , old books and maps, work forgotten..mind wandering to the word of poets, unheard cries and the smell of vanilla, moonlit nights and blue mornings , finding the gemstones in a world of decay, eyes like glowing fireflies and souls wandering through time, dancing to music playing softly in a distance carried , falling asleep to rain wrapped in the arms of someone warm ,waking up with a sense of determination to carpe the hell out of the diem and go find a long forgotten secret garden nearby a lake shimmering with the nostalgic mist of summer memories and whispered confessions left untamed under the cover of night (perfect place for a picnic date),

ENFJ: Loving people and people love you, they look up to you too and you effortlessly strike the balance of love and respect, you know what 'gets' people so automatically you aren't even thinking about it. large friend groups, meaningful conversations, video calls, and lighting up any room you walk into

ISFP: sunkissed messy hair , paint on hands, flower crowns, barefoot on the beach, plants on the window , indie music , tired sighs but bubbly laughter, vintage denim , tote bags , watching the waves take over and wash away the drawings in the sand, finding a delicate gold pendant lost in the grass ,

INFP: caring and kind, red cheeks, hot tea, fuzzy sweaters (sweater paws too), giant teddy bears, hearts drawn in margins, soft smiles, cute coffee shops, warm hands, friendly eyes, fantasy stories, living in a dream and taking you along with them, dimpled cheeks and forehead kisses, admires the little things in life, a butterflies whisper on the last day of spring,

ISFJ: trying their best, warm sunsets, sharing secrets, scented candles, , baking for friends , loud laughs, always prepared , afternoon naps , the perfect pony tail , polaroid photos and mystic crystals, sunbeams through a cloud of dust, scrolling through pinterest for inspiration

ISTP: DIY projects but getting distracted by a different one , surfs on silence and solitude , unexpectedly strong , graphic tshirts , video games at 3am , thinks feelings dont have to be complicated , straight forward approach to life , legs crossed on table, messily throwing clothes on chairs , always tinkering , one could say theyre rather good with their hands *wink wink*

ESTP: Reckless, always one for competition , rough past, full of spirit, bonfires in forests, fast paced, rough hands, random scrapes and bruises, messy hair, wants to be free , ripped jeans and leather jackets, the everyday thrill of riding a new york subway , gets into trouble and drags their friend into it too , no regrets (maybe there should be tho) and the popping sound of opening a champagne bottle, vodka shots , neon lights reflecting of a dragonflies wings,

INTP: two hours on wikipedia , has a pet frog, passion is their fuel , making memes for you is how they flirt , would tRy to make breakfast for you in the morning, lost in a crowd , anime referrnces and non ironic dark humor, epiphanies , trips over own feet and tumbles down a rabbit hole, a glow of warmth under a cold exterior ,

ISTJ : pencils used to hold up hair , trench coats and glares above glasses, shades of grey that bridge between the black and white , small but solid friend circle , calm voices, striped pyjamas, steam on glasses, keeps buying stationary ,

ENTP: witty, loyal to a fault but only with a few , sly smirks and crooked smiles, self preservation, challenges life to keep up with them, smooth voices , bright eyes, hates routine and desires a hurricane, nimble hands and thoughts, passionate debates over anything from anything to the best cereal to the words of Nietzsche,

ENTJ: resourceful, overprotective of people they love, confident , black coffee, piercing eyes , to do lists , neat handwriting , desires peace and will fight for it , blunt pencils and bold fashion, vintage hand watches, silver cufflinks, , empty pens broken into shatters with blood in the form of ink staining your hands,

ESFP: Dancing to music, singing loudly in the car with the windows open, wacky earrings, being Magnetic and Charisma, pulling people along, "vibey", overthinking? why? *just goes along with impulses*, dashing to cross the road after the green man goes away, impromptu plans, grabbing someone's hand and running off into the sunset

ESTJ: Silver flasks for coffee, fountain pens and daily schedules. The confidence that comes with loud footsteps and enjoying its power. Black clothes and minimalism, modern architecture, glasses, and a will of steel that drives you through this world like a helicopter lifting off

ESFJ: smiles at strangers , daisy fields , crowded malls and sleepover plans , curtains thrown wide open with sunlight filtering in , fairy lights and spontaneous redecoration plans, lattes with a sprinkle of cinnamon, the smell of home , the one who goes into every bookstore they see and comes out with a pile of books but ends up rereading their favourites every time (most probably Harry Potter) , charcoal sketches of leaves and loved ones , soft winds and warm pies, freshly ironed clothes with the smell of fresh grass and flowers.

629 notes • Posted 2021-11-12 09:42:18 GMT

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[justbecausewhynot]

Lady Of Sun and Shadows Part 2 {Azriel x Reader/OC}

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8

A/n- when she is playing the piano, she is playing a piano cover of  let her go

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rExcQ5nm_yU&feature=emb_title

Down in the living room, Helion sat with the High Lord and Lady and the two Illyrian soldiers.

"How great it is to see you Rhysand, I must admit I was not expecting your letter." Helion said

"Well, Feyre here has been battering me about seeing your wife, and I thought it might be a good idea to run over some of our agreements. Thought I could kill two birds with one stone."

"And by the way, congratulations on the child" Feyre added

"Took her long enough" Helion muttered. Everyone sat in awkward silence with someone complimenting something or bringing up a new topic only for it to again become silent. Just then, a servant came in and announced that dinner was ready. Relieved, everyone made their way to the dining room. There was a large wood table with a white tablecloth and gold candles all along with it. Chairs and plates were already set up for each member and servants came to seat them.

Aurora was already seated at one end and ushered for Feyre to sit next to her. Servants came in and brought plates of all food. Mashed potatoes, steak, every kind of vegetable you could imagine. Helion moved for everyone to sit and dig in. There was little talk, only the clattering of dishes being moved about. Aurora piled potatoes onto her plate. Because of her pregnancy, in the past few months, she had been constantly famished and craving the strangest foods.

"That's quite enough Aurora." Helion announced from the other side of the table. "We don't want you getting any fatter than you already are." All eyes turned back and forth in disbelief from husband to wife. Neither broke the stare off one another, heat came off their glares at one another.

"Come now, she's eating for two now." Cassian countered making Aurora smile at him and continue serving herself. Helion huffed and started talking to Rhysand one on one about borders and politics. Feyre looked to Aurora and once again saw that same feeling that she had once endured.

"So what have you been up to lately?" She asked

"Oh, you know, nothing much, I spend almost all my time either in the garden or the library. There's not much else to do around here or anyone to talk to. I find myself going crazy sometimes."

A deep voice came from beside Cassian "I've heard the libraries here are quite extensive." Aurora's eyes met those of Azriel's.

"Yes they are, do you enjoy reading?" She responded

"You wouldn't believe how much time he spends in the library at home" Cassian laughs "It's a miracle he has time for anything else.

"Well then, you must visit the one upstairs, I am the only one who ever goes in there, I fear dust is collecting from the lack of use."

"I'll be sure to check it out" he responded, still keeping that curious stare. Helion cleared his throat looking at Azriel, aware of the watch of his wife. All hints of emotion disappeared from his face as Azriel looked down at his plate. Aurora, confused about what just happened, turned to Feyre who looked amused and raised an eyebrow at her tinted cheeks. Not too hard, but aggressive enough to send a message, Aurora kicked her friend under the table. The conversation started up again; Talk of other High Lords and Ladies.

"Now Kallias' wife wants to become a High Lady" Rhysand added, "Feyre has really changed things up." he said grinning at her.

"What about you Aurora, How does Lady of the Day court sound to you?" Cassian said, unaware of any consequences.

Helion fumed. "We will not be having any of that here. My wife is here for an heir, she has no need or idea how to lead an entire court." The room went silent. Heat radiated off of Helion. His eyes became brighter as he stared down the table. Aurora swallowed, not knowing what to do. She felt a familiar comforting stare on her, but it was certainly not from her husband. At that moment she felt something against her, almost like a shadow, holding her hand softly. She looked up to Azriel and the shadow was gone. His face was alarmed and now faced down to his plate.

"Well, on that note, why don't we all head to the sitting room?" Aurora said, trying to lighten the mood

"That sounds like a good idea." Rhysand affirmed.

"No" Helion hollered "I will decide when we leave the table and I will not have you act above your status Aurora." Setting his glass down with a thump causing the glass of Azriel beside him to fall over and spill onto his lap. "Now look at what you've made me do." He glared down "Ingrid...Ingrid! By the Cauldron, what good are servants when they are nowhere to be found?"

Nervously, Aurora replied "I-I gave her the night off"

"What?! Why in the world would you do that?" Helion yelled

"Her daughter was sick and needed to be tended to." Aurora answered with as much confidence as she could muster.

"Well then, seeing as this is entirely your fault, you can show Azriel to his room and ensure he has everything he needs."

"Very well" She said standing up, watching Azriel try to dry the wine off his shirt.

"Get some common sense while you are up there woman." Helion added as they left the room. Everyone at the table stayed as still as possible as Helion threw a glass at the doorway his wife had just passed through.

Leading the way, Aurora moved up the stairs a few paces away from Azriel. As she walked through the marble hallways, her heels clinked until she stopped in front of two giant wooden doors. Aurora opened the doors to a giant library with a loft and books everywhere. There were large windows overlooking the gardens.

"This... is not my bedroom" Azriel said

"Very perceptive," Aurora said cheekily "I figured you might want to know where this is. These books really do need some more attention. I have barely even read half of them." Half of this giant collection is still a great feat, Azriel thought to himself. He walked through the middle of the room to a window sill with a book open, picking it up and looking at it, he looked back at Aurora.

"The art of War?" He mused "And what would a classy woman like you be doing with a book like this?"

"What did you expect? How to be a perfect housewife? Not quite my thing"

"I can imagine." After a few minutes of wandering around, looking at books, the clock chimed 8:00.

"Oh we must go, and I've totally forgotten why we came up here. I'll bring you to your room and let you change, that must have been very uncomfortable."

"Don't worry, I've been through worse than a damp blouse."

"I don't doubt it"

Aurora led Azriel to a large room with all of his luggage already inside and packed away. Azriel closed the door while still keeping his eyes locked on hers. Downstairs, the company had already moved to the sitting room. Dull conversations of wars and soldiers and lots of alcohol were a must with Helion.

"Ah, she is back" Helion said, seemingly undisturbed by the scene a few moments before. "I was scared you had gotten lost, why don't you play us something on the piano dear?" Aurora had been taught to play from a young age. Yet another way she would train to become a perfect wife. Though it was something that added to her state of misery, Aurora loved to play and sing. And so, she went to the grand piano near the window and started playing. In her head, she sang the words she knew went to this melody.

Staring at the bottom of your glass

Hoping one day you'll make a dream last

But dreams come slow and they go so fast

As much as her mind urged her to let everyone know what was flowing inside of her, she saw the promise of regret in her husband's eyes. Once she had sung the same song while the captain's of the guards were here. He said he had never been so humiliated in his whole life. Aurora was singing from the cold lonely place in her heart and it was easy to tell; it was not some simple song, and that was certain. Three nights of lessons for that. Aurora was not about to make that mistake again. Thus, she kept playing. Kept her emotions in check, and didn't get carried away by the music. That is until she again felt the same stare on her from dinner. Those same shadows crept down her arm, only this time she could see them. The shape of a hand brushing her arm. Certainly, this was something to be worried about, but Aurora felt comforted by it and kept playing. She kept playing softer and harder with more affection. And then, it was done. She didn't even notice but the shadow had crept up to her neck. Everyone has ceased their talking and were now watching Aurora. She looked up to see Azriel once again, watching her. This time, his face was betraying him, it had softened into what looked like what could only be described as warmth. Helion cleared his throat which made both of them snap out of the trance and look towards him.

"I think you have delighted us enough for one evening Aurora, it is time to resign to your room." Slowly, she got up off the piano bench and made her way out. Each person held their breath and sorrowful faces as she left. When she strode past Azriel, who was standing by the door, she smiled at him and walked away.

Tag List (open, send me a message if u want in)

@theimaginehotspot

@moonlit-stardust

[forgottencoffeemugs]

t h e  c o v e n  //  bittersweet 1.1

❝  I’ve never been afraid of a little fire, you are no exception❞

draft 1 | 3.5k words | mentions of death, violence, blood

Eternity is meant for the dreamers and thinkers, the explorers and revolutionaries. Someone said that to Cassian once. He wasn’t sure if he agreed--wasn’t sure if eternity was meant for anyone. But he knew it surely wasn’t meant for the bitter and numb, the broken and weary. 

It wasn’t meant for people like him.

He had told this, once, to Theo. And, as a result, had received an hour long lecture on how his argument was flawed, that the very fact that his body had accepted the change was proof that he was built for eternity in some way at least. 

It was useless to argue with Theo on such things. But, as he stared out over the hushed form of a city asleep from his window high above it all, he wondered again if that great pain of the change was truly a test of compatibility with this kind of existence, or if it was simply the price one had to pay to bear the great gift and the great burden of immortality.

His own thoughts were cut short in that moment, his mind suddenly flooded with the sensation of crashing waves and the bite of sea air that signaled that Theo wished to speak. 

Think of the devil, he sent in greeting, allowing the familiar mental connection through his outer shields.

You were thinking of me, Cas? I’m flattered. Theo’s mental voice betrayed his amusement despite the deadpan delivery. His next words, however, were serious, his voice taking on a razor edge. I have received word that our rogue has been spotted on the Eastside. Kassandra and I are nearly there. Join us?

Cassian immediately straightened at that news. They had been on the trail of this particular rogue for weeks, if Theo and Kassandra had a new lead then there was no time to waste. I’ll be there. The waves retreated from his mind without another word.

Cassian turned for the set of stairs that would take him to one of the side exits of the manor that his coven currently called home. He noted the cool kiss of the early autumn air against his skin when he stepped through the door, but he felt no less comfortable than if he had been bundled up against the chill. The moon was bright overhead, casting the surrounding landscape in bright silver and stark shadows. His eyes already having adjusted to the dark, he could see clearly as he made his way to the entrance of one of the many wooded trails that surrounded their land. It didn’t take long to locate the one that would take him east, and as soon as he did, he broke into a run that would have put even the best human sprinters to shame.

At this speed he would arrive at Theo’s location in less than twenty minutes, and he used that time to think about what he should expect. A lead on the rogue came as a surprise. They’d been on the trail of the vampire who decided to go on a murdering spree in their region for weeks already, but they always seemed to be a step behind. The chase was starting to become tedious, and Cassian, for one, was ready to hand all their information over to the council and tell them to deal with it. However, as tempting as the thought was, he knew it wouldn’t work that way. While Theo, Kassandra, and himself preferred to stay out of matters involving others of their kind, it was an unspoken rule of the ruling council that if vampires wanted to lay claim on a region, then they had to also accept a certain responsibility to intervene with matters that threatened to expose the secrets of their kind. And the trail of blood-drained bodies being left behind by their current quarry definitely fell under that threat category. 

In fact, the only reason the humans in the area hadn’t already become suspicious was the revolution brewing on the horizon. Enough bodies were already disappearing across debated borders that a few more added to the mix was nothing to warrant a second look--so far, at least.

On the heels of that cheery thought, Cassian reached the edge of the woods where dense tree cover gave way to open land. He slowed his pace to one that wouldn’t raise eyebrows should any curious human eyes be peering through the windows of nearby homes despite the hour.

Gathered in loose rows, the modest homes clearly belonged to family farmers, as evidenced by the large swaths of land between each residence. The dusty ground, where once stood tall, leafy stalks, now bore only the markings of harvest. Which provided Cassian with a clear view of where Theo and Kassandra stood, searching, at the very edge of the field adjacent to the outermost home.

As Cassian drew closer, he began to pick up the sounds of their conversation. 

“--not enough tracks, but how?”

“The smell should be more than enough.”

Neither vampire was surprised by his approach, having heard or scented him long before he came into view. Kassandra handed him a small scrap of cloth when he came to stand beside her.

Late night? Kassandra’s warm mental voice, carrying with it the sensations of a summer forest in full bloom with notes of citrus, entered his mind a second later.

Very funny. He didn’t spare her a look as he replied, instead examining the rough material in his hands.

The question was genuine. You look tired...or hungry. The last statement held the hint of a question, one Cassian chose to ignore.

“The cloth?” he asked out loud.

“Found it snagged on a broken branch just on the edge of the woods,” it was Theo who spoke. “Scent’s faint, but it matches.” He turned to gesture to the place where the field met the edge of the heavily wooded land just meters away. “We haven’t been able to pick up the scent more than a few feet into the trees, however.”

“There are footprints leading away from that house,” Kassandra nodded at the home nearest to where the three of them stood, picking up where Theo left off in the effortless way of mates. “We were just wondering why they seem to disappear here when you--” she cut off abruptly, her head snapping to her right to look somewhere in the distance. “Do you smell that?”

Cassian and Theo turned at once to face the same direction and each took a deep pull of the air.

“Smoke.” Theo murmured.

“And where there’s smoke?” Kassandra proposed.

They took off at once, heading for the direction of the scent. There was the off-chance that someone had fancied themselves a middle-of-the-night campfire, but there was something off about the scent.

As if it wasn’t just wood that was burning.

The fire was just over a mile away and the run took mere minutes, but by the time they came upon the modest home it was clear they were far too late to do any good.

It was an inferno.

Flames licked up every inch of the structure, throwing off intense heat in waves and casting the moonlit night an eerie orange. Thick, noxious black smoke poured out of the open doorway and several of the windows whose glass had blown out in the heat.

Theo and Kassandra began searching for signs that would point them toward the rogue, because despite the acrid smell of destruction in the air, the scent of the one they were after still clung to the area. He had spent considerable time here.

That realization confirmed what Cassian had expected. That off scent in the fire, it was the scent of burning flesh. Which meant that this was the scene of their target’s latest experiment.

Another failure, it would seem, Theo telepathed grimly, clearly having come to the same conclusion.

Cassian caught movement on the edge of his vision and turned to note Kassandra moving to the treeline. 

He met Theo’s eyes across the yard. Go. I’ll handle damage control. 

Theo hesitated for a calculating moment before giving a curt nod and taking off after his mate.

Now alone in the small clearing that made up the home’s property, Cassian examined the fire once more. There were no nearby structures, which meant a limited risk of spread, but the damage to the house was beyond help. This blaze would simply have to run its course. If the symphony of creaks and groans were any indication, the entire thing would be coming down soon, so Cassian set to work.

The process itself was a familiar one, but reproducing it on a scale large enough to cloak the entire clearing was an exercise of power that Cassian rarely got these days. By the time it was complete, a fine layer of sweat that had nothing to do with the heat coated his skin. It wasn’t strictly necessary to hide the fire from human discovery, but in their inevitable, useless attempts at dousing the flames, they were bound to disrupt any lingering scent trails and corrupt any viable evidence.

It was for those very things that Cassian began to search for while he waited for the fire to burn itself away. There was little of interest, he noted at once. A small wooden shed sat just far enough away from the main building as to be safe from catching fire. It opened to reveal tools for yard work and various odds and ends that Cassian thought might be the playthings of children. 

A family home, then. 

Behind the shed, in a patch of land that had become overgrown with tall grasses and weeds, was a wagon. A wagon that, going by the large crack in the back right wheel, hadn’t seen use in a long time. Judging there to be nothing else of interest in that section, he turned to scan the rest of the land. The only other objects of note were in the middle of the yard. Just a few meters from the back entrance of the home stood a wheelbarrow. And scattered beside it was a large metal bucket, some rumpled fabric, and various gardening tools--as if someone had been planning to return to their work come morning.

Cassian dared to move close enough to take a better look. Vampires were notoriously flammable, with most never daring to come within feet of any open flame larger than a candle. But, Cassian had never been afraid of a little fire, much in the same way that he admired the darkness that so many loathed--he seemed to have a penchant for the things that gave others pause. 

He did, however, pause as he neared closer to the wheelbarrow and noted the curve of pale legs sticking out from the rumpled fabric. Fabric which, he realized now, was actually a nightgown that was torn and stained from more than dirt. The rest of the body had been hidden from sight by the large bucket, but he saw now that there was a woman curled around the legs of the wheelbarrow. He let his eyes follow the slight indentation in the dirt leading from bare feet to the back door of the flaming home. His jaw set as he put together the scene. 

She had crawled for her life, only for it to give out mere feet from the flames. Left to die in the chilled air of the night rather than in the blaze behind her.

Cassian knelt, intending to carry the body back to the flames--an unfortunate but necessary measure. Humans could not be allowed to get their hands on one of the victims of the rogue they were hunting. Missing bodies could be explained away, but too many questions would arise from bodies with their necks torn out, or bodies that had been drained of blood. He was just about to reach under the rumpled bodice of the nightgown when he caught the faintest movement of the fabric.

Breathing. She was still breathing.

Frozen, Cassian drew in a careful breath. His eyes widened before he could stop the reaction. Indeed, there was no smell of even the earliest signs of decay on the body. There was, however, another very distinct scent, one that made his fangs lengthen in response. It had been hidden by the smell of smoke and burning flesh, but there, underneath it all, she reeked of the sickly sweet venom of a vampire. Presumably that of the rogue they were searching for. 

Reaching out, he took her carefully by the shoulder, rolled her onto her back, and brushed her hair away from her face and neck. He frowned at the sight. The swollen, blackened bite was a definite sign of rejection. He doubted she had much time left. He found it difficult to believe that she was alive at all, but there was no mistaking the sound of her heartbeat--faint though it was. Perhaps the chill of the air had slowed the venom's effects. Regardless, it wasn’t enough to save her. Unless--

Cassian rocked back onto his heels with a sigh. Her transition was at a crossroads at the moment and while he knew of something that might increase her chances, he questioned whether he should do so. Newborn vampires can be a handful, and with a recent string of vampires being made for use in the brewing revolution, he wasn’t eager to introduce someone new to this life.

A strangled moan suddenly escaped the woman's throat, causing every muscle in Cassian’s body to tighten. His eyes fell to the subtle twitching of her fingers. Yes, she was still alive, but barely.

Cassian thought of Theo and Kassandra, and of Faustia who was off seeing the world--his coven. They were a close-knit bunch that was entirely contradictory to their nature as vampires, but they had managed to make it work for centuries now. Theo and Kassandra, the only couple among them, acted as the bleeding hearts of the coven; their arms were always open to vampires with no place to go. He knew they would never let him live it down if he let this woman die tonight.

He swore under his breath and glanced again at the woman’s fingers. The twitching had stopped; she didn't have much longer left. As if to accentuate that thought, there was a sudden crashing sound inside the house. He wasted no time in pulling the woman up into his arms. He carried her away just in time for the roof to finally collapse, sending a brilliant burst of red sparks high into the sky. A rolling wave of even more intense heat hit his back a moment later and he hurried to scan the area for a suitable place to put his half-baked plan into action. He settled for laying his unconscious burden down on the flat surface of the abandoned wagon.

He eyed the tainted bite that marred the woman’s neck with wary eyes. The best chance of success depended on him placing a bite of his own as close to the girl's heart as possible. So, despite every one of his instincts telling him to get as far away from the mark of death as possible, he brushed her hair away for a second time. He then lowered his head to the unmarked side of her neck and sank his fangs in deep.

He gagged on the first mouthful of blood. Before he could stop himself, he turned and spit it out onto the ground. The rejection of the other vampire’s venom had turned her blood bitter, but when he returned to her neck he pushed past the corrupt taste and forced swallow after swallow of what little blood the girl had left in order to cycle his own venom through her body.

The exact science of the process was lost on him. Unlike Theo, he never bothered to read up on such subjects. But, he did know that the age of a vampire directly correlated to the strength of their venom, and the likelihood of their success in turning humans. His hope was that his considerable age would allow him to overpower the process of rejection and force the change to complete. However, whether it would actually work was complete speculation. A not so small part of his mind reminded him that this was probably a waste of his time. And his appetite.

Still, he continued to pull blood from the girl. Partway through he managed to note that, under the disgusting acrid tinge, her blood was actually quite sweet and pleasant. A dark part of his mind that lived for blood alone noted, with both amusement and disappointment, that under other circumstances she would have made a delicious feeding partner. 

After a time, he pulled away. Having no way to judge how much was needed, he had to hope that his instincts were good enough. When her blood didn’t begin the normal clotting process that typically kicked in after a feed, he reached up to undo the scrap of silk knotted neatly around his own neck and created a makeshift bandage around the woman’s to prevent further blood loss. Looking at her now, with her pallor and the deep bruising along her jaw and under the hollows of her eyes, he almost didn’t believe the faint sound of her heartbeat. She hadn't moved again since the twitching of her fingers, but still that whisper of a heartbeat remained. Even as the rise and fall of her chest became nearly undetectable.

Cassian dully wondered if it would be a corpse he carried back to the manor rather than a newly-made vampire.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay much longer. The sun was already starting to make itself known over the tops of the trees. With it, his cover of shadows would disappear and the house would once again be noticeable. He couldn’t be around when humans inevitably came to find the source of the smoke. At this point they would find nothing but the charred remains of the home--all evidence of the nefarious acts committed tonight having been either reduced to ash or taken care of by Cassian--but still, he had a certain public image to maintain. One that didn’t include loitering around the scene of arson.

The manor was far, but he would still arrive before Theo and Kassandra. He knew the latter would run the scent trail as far as she could. He might even have time to round up a real meal before he had to face them and explain the stray he was bringing home. The soured blood in his stomach lurched at the thought. Theo was never going to let up about him having a heart after this, but it would be better than the lecture from Kassandra he would have surely suffered should he have left the woman for certain death.

Noting the deathly chill of her skin, Cassian wrapped the woman in his suit jacket before lifting her once again. Her weight was no burden, but her presence prevented him from setting off at a true run. He settled instead for a healthy jog, his thoughts turning to wonder how he would explain the situation to the woman when she awakened. If she awakened, he corrected himself, knowing that the next few hours would put her body through even more hell. 

He shuddered at the inadvertent reminder of his own transition. 

In small doses, the venom of vampires created an incredibly pleasant sensation in humans, a soft buzz of warmth that comforted the body and eased the mind into a beautiful state of euphoria that was better than any drug. But in large, sudden doses--such as those required to initiate the transition from human to vampire--the sensations got heightened to the point of searing agony. The pain would spread through the body like an unquenchable fire that consumed everything in its path--destroying, rebuilding, strengthening. 

The change wasn’t a simple one. The physical suffering sent many humans beyond their mental limits, pushing their minds to the point of no return and leaving them as nothing but a damaged husk with no sense of consciousness. Even more humans couldn’t handle the change at all, their bodies rejecting the intensity of the venom and killing them outright. However, there were the unique few that survived all stages of the transition relatively unharmed--those were the ones that went on to join the ranks of the immortals.

Even the long centuries of Cassian’s existence had done nothing to soften the memories of his own making.

Had he been a religious man, he might have sent up a prayer for the poor woman’s soul. But as it was, he simply continued his course, knowing the best thing he could do now was give her a safe place to either be made or unmade.

[jastenes-league-unlimited]

How A Single Music Can Change The World

There's this someone who told me that "A poetry can't stop a battle nor can stop a war tank." But little do we know that the song Silent Night / Sille Nacht impromptly made a history of ceasefire for a day in World War I and made soldiers sang Christmas songs in the midst of cold night?

In WWI 1914, a German soldier named Walter Kirchhoff sang the said song in top of his lungs, following some of his buddies, his fellow soldiers, and also their enemies. And troops crawled forward into no man's land, shook hands with their fellow British enemies, ended up playing football and giving some souvenirs.

*the original photo of German and British met in no-man’s land*

The day after, soldiers wrote home to their families, wives, and parents...

What was happened?!

"It was a beautiful moonlit night, frost on the ground, white almost everywhere; and about seven or eight in the evening there was a lot of commotion in the German trenches and there were these lights – I don't know what they were. And then they sang  'Silent Night' – 'Stille Nacht'. I shall never forget it, it was one of the highlights of my life. I thought, what a beautiful tune."

- Private Albert Moren of the Second Queens Regiment.

"I shouted to our enemies that we didn't wish to shoot and that we make a Christmas truce. I said I would come from my side and we could speak with each other. First there was silence, then I shouted once more, invited them, and the British shouted: "No shooting!" Then a man came out of the trenches and I on my side did the same and so we came together and we shook hands - a bit cautiously!"

- Captain Josef Sewald of Germany's 17th Bavarian Regiment

"Suddenly a Tommy came with a football, kicking already and making fun, and then began a football match. We marked the goals with our caps. Teams were quickly established for a match on the frozen mud, and the Fritzes beat the Tommies 3-2."

- Lieutenant Johannes Niemann of Germany's 133rd Saxons Infantry Regiment

Then, it ended up in afternoon...

"I fired three shots into the air and put up a flag with 'Merry Christmas' on it on the parapet. He [a German] put up a sheet with 'Thank You' on it, and the German captain appeared on the parapet. We both bowed and saluted and got down into our respective trenches, and he fired two shots into the air, and the war was on again."

- Captain Charles "Buffalo Bill" Stockwell of the Second Royal Welch Fusiliers

The epic story became an advertisement. You may see it YouTube with the title  1914 | Sainsbury's Ad | Christmas 2014 or you may just click this link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWF2JBb1bvM , and ready your tears because you it get eventually emotional to those soft hearted people like me. These are some of the original letters of Christmas truce from soldiers to their families... 

A full summary of Christmas Truce from “Tom” to his sister “Janet”;

Christmas Day, 1914

My dear sister Janet,

It is 2:00 in the morning and most of our men are asleep in their dugouts—yet I could not sleep myself before writing to you of the wonderful events of Christmas Eve. In truth, what happened seems almost like a fairy tale, and if I hadn’t been through it myself, I would scarce believe it. Just imagine: While you and the family sang carols before the fire there in London, I did the same with enemy soldiers here on the battlefields of France!

As I wrote before, there has been little serious fighting of late. The first battles of the war left so many dead that both sides have held back until replacements could come from home. So we have mostly stayed in our trenches and waited.

But what a terrible waiting it has been! Knowing that any moment an artillery shell might land and explode beside us in the trench, killing or maiming several men. And in daylight not daring to lift our heads above ground, for fear of a sniper’s bullet.

And the rain—it has fallen almost daily. Of course, it collects right in our trenches, where we must bail it out with pots and pans. And with the rain has come mud—a good foot or more deep. It splatters and cakes everything, and constantly sucks at our boots. One new recruit got his feet stuck in it, and then his hands too when he tried to get out—just like in that American story of the tar baby!

Through all this, we couldn’t help feeling curious about the German soldiers across the way. After all, they faced the same dangers we did, and slogged about in the same muck. What’s more, their first trench was only 50 yards from ours. Between us lay No Man’s Land, bordered on both sides by barbed wire—yet they were close enough we sometimes heard their voices.

Of course, we hated them when they killed our friends. But other times, we joked about them and almost felt we had something in common. And now it seems they felt the same.

Just yesterday morning—Christmas Eve Day—we had our first good freeze. Cold as we were, we welcomed it, because at least the mud froze solid. Everything was tinged white with frost, while a bright sun shone over all. Perfect Christmas weather.

During the day, there was little shelling or rifle fire from either side. And as darkness fell on our Christmas Eve, the shooting stopped entirely. Our first complete silence in months! We hoped it might promise a peaceful holiday, but we didn’t count on it. We’d been told the Germans might attack and try to catch us off guard.

I went to the dugout to rest, and lying on my cot, I must have drifted asleep. All at once my friend John was shaking me awake, saying, “Come and see! See what the Germans are doing!” I grabbed my rifle, stumbled out into the trench, and stuck my head cautiously above the sandbags.

I never hope to see a stranger and more lovely sight. Clusters of tiny lights were shining all along the German line, left and right as far as the eye could see.

“What is it?” I asked in bewilderment, and John answered, “Christmas trees!”

And so it was. The Germans had placed Christmas trees in front of their trenches, lit by candle or lantern like beacons of good will.

And then we heard their voices raised in song.

Stille nacht, heilige nacht . . . .

This carol may not yet be familiar to us in Britain, but John knew it and translated: “Silent night, holy night.” I’ve never heard one lovelier—or more meaningful, in that quiet, clear night, its dark softened by a first-quarter moon.

When the song finished, the men in our trenches applauded. Yes, British soldiers applauding Germans! Then one of our own men started singing, and we all joined in.

The first Nowell, the angel did say . . . .

In truth, we sounded not nearly as good as the Germans, with their fine harmonies. But they responded with enthusiastic applause of their own and then began another.

O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum . . . .

Then we replied.

O come all ye faithful . . . .

But this time they joined in, singing the same words in Latin.

Adeste fideles . . . .

British and German harmonizing across No Man’s Land! I would have thought nothing could be more amazing—but what came next was more so.

“English, come over!” we heard one of them shout. “You no shoot, we no shoot.”

There in the trenches, we looked at each other in bewilderment. Then one of us shouted jokingly, “You come over here.”

To our astonishment, we saw two figures rise from the trench, climb over their barbed wire, and advance unprotected across No Man’s Land. One of them called, “Send officer to talk.”

I saw one of our men lift his rifle to the ready, and no doubt others did the same—but our captain called out, “Hold your fire.” Then he climbed out and went to meet the Germans halfway. We heard them talking, and a few minutes later, the captain came back with a German cigar in his mouth!

“We’ve agreed there will be no shooting before midnight tomorrow,” he announced. “But sentries are to remain on duty, and the rest of you, stay alert.”

Across the way, we could make out groups of two or three men starting out of trenches and coming toward us. Then some of us were climbing out too, and in minutes more, there we were in No Man’s Land, over a hundred soldiers and officers of each side, shaking hands with men we’d been trying to kill just hours earlier!

Before long a bonfire was built, and around it we mingled—British khaki and German grey. I must say, the Germans were the better dressed, with fresh uniforms for the holiday.

Only a couple of our men knew German, but more of the Germans knew English. I asked one of them why that was.

“Because many have worked in England!” he said. “Before all this, I was a waiter at the Hotel Cecil. Perhaps I waited on your table!”

“Perhaps you did!” I said, laughing.

He told me he had a girlfriend in London and that the war had interrupted their plans for marriage. I told him, “Don’t worry. We’ll have you beat by Easter, then you can come back and marry the girl.”

He laughed at that. Then he asked if I’d send her a postcard he’d give me later, and I promised I would.

Another German had been a porter at Victoria Station. He showed me a picture of his family back in Munich. His eldest sister was so lovely, I said I should like to meet her someday. He beamed and said he would like that very much and gave me his family’s address.

Even those who could not converse could still exchange gifts—our cigarettes for their cigars, our tea for their coffee, our corned beef for their sausage. Badges and buttons from uniforms changed owners, and one of our lads walked off with the infamous spiked helmet! I myself traded a jackknife for a leather equipment belt—a fine souvenir to show when I get home.

Newspapers too changed hands, and the Germans howled with laughter at ours. They assured us that France was finished and Russia nearly beaten too. We told them that was nonsense, and one of them said, “Well, you believe your newspapers and we’ll believe ours.”

Clearly they are lied to—yet after meeting these men, I wonder how truthful our own newspapers have been. These are not the “savage barbarians” we’ve read so much about. They are men with homes and families, hopes and fears, principles and, yes, love of country. In other words, men like ourselves. Why are we led to believe otherwise?

As it grew late, a few more songs were traded around the fire, and then all joined in for—I am not lying to you—“Auld Lang Syne.” Then we parted with promises to meet again tomorrow, and even some talk of a football match.

I was just starting back to the trenches when an older German clutched my arm. “My God,” he said, “why cannot we have peace and all go home?”

I told him gently, “That you must ask your emperor.”

He looked at me then, searchingly. “Perhaps, my friend. But also we must ask our hearts.”

And so, dear sister, tell me, has there ever been such a Christmas Eve in all history? And what does it all mean, this impossible befriending of enemies?

For the fighting here, of course, it means regrettably little. Decent fellows those soldiers may be, but they follow orders and we do the same. Besides, we are here to stop their army and send it home, and never could we shirk that duty.

Still, one cannot help imagine what would happen if the spirit shown here were caught by the nations of the world. Of course, disputes must always arise. But what if our leaders were to offer well wishes in place of warnings? Songs in place of slurs? Presents in place of reprisals? Would not all war end at once?

All nations say they want peace. Yet on this Christmas morning, I wonder if we want it quite enough.

Your loving brother,

Tom

[turquoisedays]

Songs of a Dead Dreamer Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Songs of a Dead Dreamer. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, nihilism, unreality, mannequins, dolls, puppets, and some body horror.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Muse: The one this blog is for? Tagged by: Me, myself, and I. Tagging: @wargod @rubberbodied @sharedpractice I’M TOO SHY TO TAG ANYONE ELSE.

The Frolic

Absolute madness paired with a sharp cunning / an expression of sky-blue peacefulness / the indistinct happiness of the future / a piece of moon above the opulent leafage of spring trees / a broken-down kingdom of miracles and horrors / a Neverland where dizzy chaos is the norm / a cosmos of crooked houses and littered alleys / a slum among the stars / a jolly river of refuse / jagged heaps in shadows / a phantasmagoric mingling of heaven and hell / a moonlit corridor where mirrors scream and laugh / dreamy back-drops / ice cubes in an empty glass / shifting expressions on a lean face / vague suggestions and subtle jokes / an Aphrodite sculpture / the wind, cold and dead / a crumbled piece of paper / black-foaming gutters / the dank windowless gloom of some intergalactic cellar / starless cities of insanity / a bright freezing scream of laughter / a passing anecdote of some obscure hell

Les Fleurs

sorrowful flowers / lilting blossoms for a loved one’s memorial / a florist shop / flowers which open only at night / a hothouse warm smile / night-blooming cereuses / a sleek ocelot / well-preserved old places / plants resembling birds / white picket fences / flower-printed curtains / liqueur tasting of flowers from open fields / cool, clean offices / invisible wings whipping the warm air in darkness / the sounds of black orchids growing / the flower-bedded earth / a ripple of empathetic insight / a gorgeous kingdom of glittering colors / velvety jungle-shapes / contorted rainbows and twisted auroras / hyper-radiant hues / a marvelous arcana / tongue-like floral appendages / tongues flowering

Alice’s Last Adventure

Volatile years when anything might go wrong / the embodiment of topsy-turvydom / pools of rainwater / tarnished mirrors / moonlit windows / a thousand misshapen marvels / a universe handed over to new gods / stoic tolerance of a second-rate reality / two complete strangers gawking at each other / a shiny, pearl-grey casket / black orchids / a strange combination of relief and confusion / a delayed echo with oblique origins / a chain of occurrences with links as weak as smoke rings / a sunny autumn morning / a sense of duty, vanity, and other less comprehensible motives / the seas of the moon / costumed kids / the cries of bedlamites / the clamor of rambunctious kids / a half-cocked oration / jack-o’-lanterns glowing orange and yellow / masked children / a plastic cup of cider / shadows wavering against two-story facades / a lamp with a shade of Tiffany glass / a disciple of the bizarre / an autumn moon hanging in the blackness / demonic giggling / the moon / a clock / shadows in the window

Dream of a Manikin

A mostly tacit but somehow complete biography / a marvelous trick of the mind / jeweled lamps along the walls / lights shining on an intricately patterned carpet and various pieces of old furniture / star-clustered blackness / a starry abyss / an iciness drifting in from a starscape / a horrible truth / a legend written somewhere at the bottom of a dream / echoing voices bouncing here and there around the room / a motto printed on fortune cookie-like strips of paper and hidden in bureau drawers / a broken record repeating itself on an ancient Victrola / an alighting flock of birds / a field of dynamic tension / a dry sibilant voice / people dressed as dolls / shaking with tremors of the uncanny / a manikin dresser / astral ambience / occult studies and depth analysis / delving into speculative models of reality / cosmic static / harassments of the self / the boundaries of the self / a Bigger Self terrorizing its little splinter selves / cosmic ennui / a serendipitous discovery / this dream of flesh / guilty until proven otherwise / valerian and camphor baths / cryptic impudence / softly glowing display windows / the divine bonds of unreality / a medium-intensity shower / display-window dummies / rain-spotted glasses / a car with rain-blinded windows / a moment of self-terror / the mythical conspiracy of a treacherous universe / a galaxy of constellations / a vaporous glowing / a whitened hallway / dolls made up to look like people / eyes shining in the white darkness / a powerful psychic metaphor

The Chymist

Daydreaming in the key of Rosicrucianism / bubblegum and beer / a chalice in a church / a serum vial in a laboratory / the tartness of one’s smile / a very keen appreciation of diversity / decrepitude / the withering heart of the deceased / bastardized nostalgia / the putrescence of things past / arching mirrors / chrome chandeliers / second-hand fantasies and out-of-date distractions / one strange thing next to another / a genius of vulgarity / a lawless paradise /  violence without violation / a smoke-gray sky / city-soiled clumps of snow / fluxing clouds that swirl above the chimneys and trees / alchemical transmutations / the glamour and sanity of former days / a new mask of rats and rot / a hopeless stroll along the path to hypothetically higher worlds / a body whose true outline remains unknown /  the whims of chemistry / the caprices of circumstance / the enigma of personal taste / a leather vessel with a void inside / the skeleton of a dream / lights outlining the different venues and avenues below / a bottle of powdered light / pulverized diamonds / the flesh and blood kaleidoscope of one’s imagination / a prodigious insurrection of entity / a tempest of transfiguration

Drink to Me Only with Labyrinthine Eyes

The full powers of a master hypnotist / a mesmeric wilderness / marked by fate’s stigmata / crystal twinkling under a chandelier’s kaleidoscopic blaze / power and prestige socializing / a pair of metronomes / a glossy black cabinet / two bluish gems in an alabaster setting / a tiny sequined outfit / mesmeric stunts / intact and unbloodied / routines in defiance of death and pain / a jaw-dropping finale / a blare of heavenly horns / a labyrinth of light / a gossamer veil / snow-white wings / the angelic luminary beneath the human beast / the eyes of the audience / mock-death and bogus-pain / sinking deep into a downy darkness / pillows stuffed with soft shadows / a sun at the center of a drab galaxy / vacant and full of grace / a business card with a cloud-gray pearl finish / riotous rococo / a chair of blinding brocade / flowery fabric / a shelf of delicate figurines / tall smoky mirrors / a bottomless pool / a sky wiped clean of clouds / dispassionate elegance / postures and poses like frozen roses / pajama-clad legs dangling / a shiny chrome-plated pen / a very soft but not condescending tone / a mazy wallflower / cartwheels of agony / somersaults through fires of doom / nosedives of vulnerable flesh into the meat grinder of life / serene constellations / sweet nullities / a spell-binding, snake-eyed charmer / high society vulgarians / eyes recessed in their sockets, sunken into a rotting profundity / labyrinthine depths / dancing clothes all clotted with putrescent goo

Eye of the Lynx

Missing girls in Gothic garb / amber going on red / a reddish haze / a crazy purpurean tapestry / a fair-haired girl / denim slacks and a leather jacket / bloody moonlight / a long sip from a can of iced tea / persecutions and imperilments as glamorous as those of any Gothic heroine / violet eyes / the machinations of an evil-hearted malefactor / haunting second-hand shops / a strip of dark velvet seized by a pearl brooch / a frail chain from which dangles a heart-shaped locket / a whirlpooling lock of golden hair / gloves, long and powdery pale / the shoulders of heavy capes lined in satin that shines like a black sun / enveloping hoods / capes with deep pockets and generous inner pouches for secreting precious souvenirs / capes with silk strings that tie about the neck / capes with weighted hems that nonetheless flutter weightlessly in midnight gusts / doll-size in a dark doll’s costume / quivering bones and feverish blood / fear’s funereal plume / carriage wheels rioting in a lavender mist or a pearly fog / nacreous fires twitching beyond the margins of country roads / cliffs and stars / a blur of crimson shadows / vast regions of sublime desolation / mountains hulking in hazy twilight / a rather large animal collar at the end of a chain leash / a light the color of fresh meat / a page in a depraved story book / a single candle glowing through red glass / little zippers and big zippers / a moth-eaten cloak / enthralling cruelties / spangled eyebrows / a brow of glittering silver / glistening with tiny flecks of starlight /  the velvet embrace of one’s favorite cape / the tall candles one lights on stormy nights / chains of raindrops whipping against one’s windows / places where raging storms and brutal subjugations never end / the hardships of traveling to strange faraway places / frail little dolls / wild-wind nights and sadistic villains / corridors of scarlet darkness / a captive of one’s heart and its infinite chambers

Notes on the Writing of Horror: A Story

Something magical / something timeless / something profound / a sooty basement / the putrid members of a man who is decomposing / a plain brown package marked Hope, Love, or Fortune Cookies and postmarked: the Edge of the Unknown / a helter-skelter universe where things are ever threatening to go abnormal and unreal / a normal, real love / impermanence and decay / evils sent out under various covers / sublime and terrifying conflict / fearsome, fantastical, and inhuman / moon-trimmed shadows / lunar landscapes of craggy peaks / skeletal wastelands of jagged ice / a brooding Gothic hero / an ethereal Gothic heroine / a castle-like skyscraper / an extra dose of obsessiveness / the Gothic tale / a militant romantic / waves of bombast / winds of ecstatic hysteria / a partially shattered window, its surface streaked with a blue film of dust / a sublime sense of desolation / the diluted glow of twilight / night’s enveloping cloak / grimy azure dimness / bluish semi-luminescence / tears of confusion / turquoise haze / blue shadows of silence / liquefying legs / an old storyteller / the voice of a tiny insect crying for help from inside a sealed coffin / a piercing, crystal shriek that lacerates the midnight blackness / a haunter of spectral marketplaces / Gothic glory / a horror writer / an ardent consumer of the abnormal and the unreal / a visitant of discount houses of unreality / subject only to the rule of demonic forces / puppet-shadows / a hell so excruciating it is bliss itself / bony wings rising out of one’s back / jaws that are a cavern of dripping silver / rivers of putrescent gold running through one’s veins

The Christmas Eves of Aunt Elsie

Diamond-paned windows / a thick December fog / a serene congregation of colors / holly, both fresh and artificial / a pale purple ribbon / a ritual forever reenacted without hope of escape / a large chair beside a fogged window / crackling logs / a foggy winter’s night / bright Christmas lights shining through the fog / always dead with darkness / always alive with lights

The Lost Art of Twilight

A streak of iodine red / a spattering of flat black / the early autumn sun / silver hair / a gray suit / a long envelope, neatly cesareaned / the charnel house creeps / a silver shield / crepuscular radiance / an offspring of the dead / the progeny of phantoms / the big green eye of an EEG monitor / De Plancy’s Dictionnaire infernal / a rainbow of insects / the science of superstition / the Provencal countryside / a pantheon of gargoyles amid the splendor of a medieval church / a holy soldier of the living / a monster of the dead / the astral banquet of Art / the rotting flesh of rainbows / the sonar screech of a bat / vampiric origins / the oncoming onyx of a storm / shadows and sunshine / glare and gloom / bright clouds and black / iron-red leaves / tentative drops of rain / blue bears and yellow rabbits / neither a blood-warm human nor a blood-drawing devil / oceans of blood / the ravenous life of the undead / an authoritative impatience / eternal life in an eternal death

The Troubles of Dr. Thoss

Pale gray pajamas / thick sheets of paper / a bottle of black ink / a shapely black pen with a silvery nib / strands of blond hair, almost white / a sudden salty breeze / silhouettes and shadows / unreflecting windows / metal hinges squeaking somewhere in the wind / a sleepless night / constellations beyond the window panes / star-filled hours / the pure whiteness of the page / a flung shoe leaning toe-up against a bedpost / nothingness unstained by inner conception / white snow in a white sky / dark lines and vacant spaces / vast expanses of frozen whiteness / a church in a foreign town / assorted devils and demons / ice-mad mountains / a spirit of malicious abandon / nightmarish anatomies / a sickle-shaped scar of moon / sea-licked shores / dark letters / feeding one’s troubles to the sea / brown-leafed trees / a forest of memorials / clumps of crosses / groves of gravestones / dark, cowl-shaped windows / unblemished by shadows / the sound of crashing waves / bending dawns into twilights / static from a broken radio / breaking waves / seaside air / a gleaming crescent moon / a bone-white cicatrix / chronic insomnia / a blade of moon / white night, white noise

Masquerade of a Dead Sword: A Tragedie

The confusions of carnival night / gyrations of squealing abandon / lines between pain and pleasure / a rainbow of rags / a startling length of blade / pale pages elegantly dappled by somber verses / a pair of strangely darkened spectacles / the toneless voice of one who is dead to all appeasement or mercy / mounds of snow that had been sown with ashes / eyes as dark and swirled with shadows as the raving night itself / a constellation of designs / mad games of flesh and steel / a forbidden madness / dense forests of tall pikes planted in the earth / shadows rolling in empty sockets / lacerated mouths / the darkness of dreams / to see the world drown in oceans of agony / visions of butchering the angels / a god of deceit or illusion / chaos at feast / black with scars of madness / darkly clouded glass / the brightest and highest of stars / shimmering halls / unnaturally colored wine / red-smeared forms / many-taloned claws / the velvet fingers of a tightly gloved hand / a pair of leviathan leeches / a lord of the sword made mad / the dark powers which we cannot understand but only hate / rhapsodic voices in the streets / a privileged doom / the face of the soul of the world / the cool marble of the floor / an onyx-black knight / a face flushed with crimson glory

Dr. Voke and Mr. Veech

A scribble of lightning engraved upon a black sky / a long, brightly colored coat / noisy jets of blue-green light flickering spasmodically / life-size dolls hanging suspended by wires / wetted strands of a spider web / shiny satin legs / a beautifully pale hand / pulverized stars / dismembered limbs of dolls and puppets / the repose of ruin / an oily red glare / a well-dressed dummy / a white high-collar shirt with silver cufflinks / a billowing cravat which displays a pattern of moons and stars / wood waking up / a sleep that should have never been broken / something too painful for tears / the false fire of the moon / two faces sharing a single head / faint, hollow screams from high above / a dummy’s silence / leftover tears of berserk laughter / bluish-green irradiance

Professor Nobody’s Little Lectures on Supernatural Horror

Mist on a lake / fog in thick woods / a golden light shining on wet stones / a little trickle of suspicion in the bloodstream / the solar brilliance of a summer day / supernatural horror / a corner alive with cool drafts and fragrant with centuries of must / a rancid world rife with things smelling of the crypt / a sower of vice / mad winds / wan moonlight / pasty specters / the vividness of pain / the lasting effects of fear / natural-born puppets whose lips are stained with their own blood / dead bodies that walk in the night / living bodies suddenly possessed by new owners and deadly aspirations / the sepulchral pomp of wasting tissue / compassion for human hurt / a humble sense of one’s impermanence / an absolute valuation of justice / a demented innocence in the face of gruesome facts / the horrific reprisals of affirmation / the Cosmic Macabre / the shudders of a thousand graveyards

Dr. Locrian’s Asylum

Gray walls pocked like sponges / nights of futile tears and screaming / an expression of almost paternal forgiveness / the supreme delirium of the planets / bright puppets dancing in the blackness / a golden speck of magic / the silent, staring universe / something as pathetic as a puppet and as exalted as the stars / something at once dead and never dying / autumn constellations in the black sky above / harshly brilliant eyes / the remote places where truth had been shut up and abandoned

The Sect of the Idiot

Extraordinary joy / extraordinary pain / the great hollow of dreams / an infinitely secluded place / a world that both menaces and surpasses this one / a holy madness / infinite stillness on foggy mornings / miracles of silence on indolent afternoons / the strangely flickering tableau of neverending nights / deceptive depths of shadow / heaps of clouds like dust balls / a fluorescent map of the cosmos / medieval autumns and mute winters / kaleidoscopic windows / a kind of cataclysm of empty space / an earthquake of the invisible / strikingly clear eyes / a dusty trunk of dreams / a maze of streets / an abyss of stars / a great reaching blackness / a stale gray dimness / an alien order of being / an icy blackness / starry blackness / a great round moon / deep aquatic blue / the voids of astronomy / a state of both paralyzed terror and spellbound curiosity / whispering figures / stagnant moonlight / withered, wilted claws / drooping tentacles / the spinning legs of spiders / the greedy rubbing of a fly’s spindly feelers / the darting tongues of snakes / the triumph of the grotesque / whispering effigies of chaos / putrid arcana / an ecstatic horror / horrific ecstasy / the demonic elements of which all creation is composed / corruption in disguise / a cache of unwonted offerings stored out of sight / currents of fear / dark tremors / splendid scenes broken with malign shadows / the lurid and the lovely forever lost in each other’s embrace / the arch of an old street / tunnel-like hallways / sickly light shining through unwashed, curtainless windows / atmospherics of infinite melancholy and unease / a decayed paradise / the everlasting residue of some cosmic misfortune / a solemn, mechanical intentness / a smooth and solid cube of black glass / a malignant puppet of madness / dazed in darkness / embarrassed throat-clearings / reproving looks / words which could only have meaning in a nightmare / a thing of strange degeneracy / a quintessence of hellish delirium / freakish, echoing laughter / the whispering of strangers / twitching tentacles / a horror which cannot be helped  

The Greater Festival of Masks

The old and new / the real and imaginary / truth and deception / shops of costumes and masks / an incautious curiosity / shredded rags that are easily disturbed by the wind / a poster stuck to a crumbling wall / strange pathways of caprice / the outsized moon / silvery windows / doors which are elaborately decorated yet will not budge in their frames / massive shutters covering blank walls behind them / faces of dreams / sardonically grinning / innocence and excuses / a reddish glow of fire / a wad of bubbling blackness / smooth and faceless faces / the speaker in the shadows / the soft creaking of new faces breaking through old flesh

The Music of the Moon

Breaking the quiet of a moonlit room / enchantments that nearly make amends for one’s stolen slumber / some unusual shape leaping across steep roofs / a bewildering agility / many nights of sleepless hell / a knife / rope / a poison vial / an exploit of uncommon decisiveness / blank nights of insomnia / a handbill / ashes mixed with grease / a door with a faint yellow aura leaking out at its edges / small, shadowlike things moving in corners and along the floor molding / a quartet of musicians / a voice which sounds both exhausted and malicious / pale, ragged clouds of hair / sonic abnormality / an empty shaft of blackness / spherical lamps caked with dust / the silence of a dark, lifeless world / black silhouettes of human heads visible only in the moonlight / slow music in the soft darkness / a single note wavering in a universe of darkness / a incalculable proliferation of slightly dissonant harmony / the light of a quiet gray dawn / completely helpless, and yet content to be so / thick layers of webs / gazing at nothing with bleeding sockets / the moon all fat and pale, glaring down from its gauzy webs of clouds

The Journal of J.P. Drapeau

Unstained by any habits of the human / the ideal of everything alien to living / some molding backwater of the earth / the city of Bruges itself / a corpse of the Middle Ages / bony bridges / the black veins of old canals / a lonely evolution in shadowed streets and beside sluggish canals / the music of graveyards / a resonant chorus that fills the air and sometimes drowns out the voices of those who still live / layers of cobwebs floating about the near ceiling / a burst of resistance / the pealing of church bells / the language of whimsy / the force of stars tugging away at various points / the dark waters of a canal / shiny black hair parted straight down the middle / a low table covered by a red velvet cloth / a world that applauds trumped-up illusions while denying or demeaning those that create the very lives they are living / a spectral thing full of strange suggestion / an untenanted room filled with the echoes of nothingness / the eyes of certain crudely fashioned dolls / a greenish glow from a mirror / placid meandering canals / enwrapped in mist / close crumbling houses / odd arching bridges / innumerable church towers / narrow twisting streets / queer little courtyards / everything gone forever / an empty mist / an eternal twilight

Vastarien

Candles in a cloistered cell / shapes beneath the shadows / tall buildings whose rooftops nod groundward / wide buildings whose facades follow the curve of a street / buildings whose windows and doorways tilt like badly hung paintings / stairways that wander off-course into useless places / caged elevators that urge unwanted stops on their passengers / a sequestered civilization of echoes flourishing among groaning walls / thin ladders ascending into a maze of shafts and conduits / the dark valves and arteries of a petrified and monstrous organism / a desolate serenity / silvery cinders / the mouths of great chimneys / shadow-puppets / cluttered gardens and crooked gates / the purling waters of black canals / faded masks concealing profound schemes / a place of supernatural clarity and stillness / the crystalline glare of a lantern / moonlight through a curtained window / darkened windows / souls who believe that the only value of this world lies in its power—at certain times— to suggest another / a scattering of stars and lights / a coveted paradise / the most gauzy phantom of another place / a shadowy mimic / the anatomy of a great dream / everlasting echoes / a rectangle of smudged glass within another rectangle of scuffed wood / crowded shelves / remnants of a luxuriant autumn / an obscene reality / to dwell among the ruins of reality / shadowed volumes / scripture that would begin with the portents of apocalypse and end with the wreck of all creation / to become the wind in the dead of winter / to howl the undoing of all that would abide in warmth and light / an enticing verse in a volume of esoterica / the dream of attaining some untainted good / a disastrous enlightenment / some hypothetical state of pure glory / the revelation that nothing ever known has ended in glory / some strictly demonic enterprise / something about one’s presence that makes one think of a crow / a scavenging creature in wait / a large, two-headed shadow / the sad frustration of the uninvited, the abandoned / the brilliant rectangle of a doorway / hopes and curiosities of an indeterminable kind / free-standing bookcases / pages and bindings of uncommon texture / abstract diagrams suggesting no orthodox ritual or occult system / a chronicle of strange dreams / an invocation of a world in waiting of genesis / days distilled into dreams and nights into nightmares / a deliverance by damnation / nightmare made normal / a horror uncompromised by any feeling of lost joy or a thwarted searching for the good / a nightmare transformed in spirit by the utter absence of refuge / a utopia of exhaustion, confusion, and debris / a dialogue of mystification, and possibly one of lies / the edge of a dreamless void / a dark and devouring bird / shadows and moonlight / an unbending web of heavy wire / unjust confinement / a slender syringe crowned with a silvery needle

[anyway-i-love-vanderwood]

✿ i was thinking about V so have an unpolished snippet of drunkwriting.

You sat beside him at the side of the lake, your knees raised to your chin and your jacket wrapped tightly around you. The cold chewed at you, nipping at your exposed flesh like a wolf in a birch wood forest, and you shivered, breathing out a puffy cloud of white as you watched the water ripple on the moonlit shore.

V stared absently, and though part of you wished to snuggle up to him in search of warmth, the other half of you felt the great divide cut between the two of you. Those inches felt like a mile, a cavernous expanse carved into the bottomless pits of the ocean, and it frightened you to even think of approaching that endless abyss.

Rika was still in his heart, you knew. Rika was his sun, Rika was the blinding heat that stripped everything away, and in the cold, dark quiet, you felt like nothing more than a faint star reflected in the midnight water.

Beside you, you heard him sigh, lowering his head so his pale-blue hair covered the monochrome of his eyes. It was a sound like a bare branch, like smooth willow-bark covered up by snow. You wanted to reach out and touch it, but you refrained, stopped by this endless, frozen divide.

It was kind of like ice-skating, you though to yourself with an empty shiver. Except, the ice was far too thin, and at any moment, the crystalline surface would shatter and you’d drown in the dark waters below.

“...Are you cold?” V asked, a quiet, ghostly wisp, and you weren’t sure how to answer. Admitting to it would be weakness, would be like shirking your duty as his comfort and protector. And yet, it’d be a lie, and you remembered the night when he’d gotten on his knees and begged you to never lie to him. 

He was so fragile, so worn, yet he wanted the truth so badly that it burned in his soul. 

In the end, your uncertain silence was all he needed, and he surprised you by smiling at you in the dark. You heard a slight shuffle next to you - a nearly imperceptible sound, rather like a shifting leaf in the breeze - but when you looked over at him, you noticed he was just about an inch or so closer to you, and his pale fingers were splayed out within your reach.

You hesitated, uncertain, but slowly, you set your hand beside his, letting your fingertips touch his in the moonlight. Slowly, without either of you looking, he wrapped his pinky around yours, and you both watched the lake, your breathing audible to each other in the cold, empty quiet.

It wasn’t much, but it was something, and that was enough for you. Something was a seed that could grow into a forest; something was an ember that could burst into a flame. Something was a candle-light in the darkness, and you closed your eyes, imagining how something could become something more.

That was still far off, though, like a ghost on the opposite shore. For now, you had this, and you stayed with him in the night.

[shimyereh]

I love Prokofiev’s War and Peace opera so much and it’s been giving me ALL THE FEELS lately. Every time I listen to it, I notice more details. The music is very cinematic, and there are recurring themes that subtly slip in to reference particular scenes and characters. There are vivid musical depictions of a battlefield, a snowstorm, an achingly beautiful moonlit sky… I find it striking how much of the libretto is in prose – versified text seems to go along with characters singing in-universe. And there’s often a feel that the orchestra defines the main theme of the music, while the vocal lines weave through as one more part of the texture. (Which seems appropriate for a story about characters getting swept along by massive historical events.)

Here’s the opening scene. Original Russian libretto here, my translation below the cut. I love how you can totally hear the grumpy old oak tree ~2 minutes in and the sparkling brook ~6 minutes in, and how this whole sequence feels like a warm moonlit night. (Re: that last one – I get some similar feels from this movement of Prokofiev’s “Summer Day” suite.) Also, here’s another interpretation of this scene, from a marvelous production at the Paris Opera. And here’s a beautiful instrumental-only version from an orchestral suite.

SCENE ONE

The Rostovs’ garden and estate. May. A moonlit night. Prince Andrei, having come to see Count Rostov on business, is reading by a window; he puts out his candle and opens the window.

PRINCE ANDREI A luminous spring sky… How is this not an illusion? Is there really sunlight, and spring, and happiness?

Today, I was riding through the woods. Everything was turning green, and the birches and alders were showing new leaves. The first spring flowers were brightly dotted among the green grass.

But at the edge of the wooded path there stood a massive oak, covered in old scars, with gnarled hands and fingers. Like an angry and scornful monster, it stood among the curly-headed birches and seemed to say:

“Spring, and love, and happiness – it’s all a foolish, meaningless lie. There is no spring, no sunlight, no happiness.”

On the floor above, at the window, there appears…

NATASHA I won’t, I can’t sleep. Sonya, Sonya! Oh, how can you sleep! There’s never been a night quite like this. Everything is silent and frozen to stone. Under the dark tree trunks, the damp, fresh grass shines silver.

PRINCE ANDREI Someone above can’t sleep either.

SONYA (from her bed) Natasha, it’s after one in the morning.

NATASHA If only I could crouch down like this, just so, hug my knees to my chest – like that, just like that, and fly away. Just like that!

PRINCE ANDREI And there she is again! And so determined!

NATASHA (at the same time) Sonya, look over here, is that really a garden before our window? That’s no garden, it’s an enchanted kingdom.

PRINCE ANDREI (at the same time) It’s that dark-haired, dark-eyed, strange slender girl. Natasha, I think that’s her name.

Natasha and Sonya sing a duet with words from a poem by V. Zhukovsky.

NATASHA O brook, flowing over the bright sand, How soft your pleasant harmony, How you sparkle as you splash into the river! Come, o blessèd muse!

SONYA In a garland of young roses, playing a golden pipe, Bend dreamily over the foaming water.

NATASHA And, with lively sound, in the misty evening, sing In the lap of drowsy nature.

NATASHA and SONYA As the sun is imprisoned behind the mountains at dusk, When the fields are in shadow, and the groves far away, When from the golden hills the herds run to the river, And their bleating din resounds noisily over the water, And, his nets put away, the fisherman in his light boat Drifts by the shore among the reeds.

NATASHA Oh, my god, my god! What is this! Time to sleep!

She shuts the window.

PRINCE ANDREI And to her I might as well not exist! There’s something so very, very remarkable about her, that girl who wanted to fly away into the sky.

I thought my life was over, that I would just drift on, doing no harm, not fearing or desiring anything.

Where has this unlooked-for spring feeling of joy and renewal come from? No, life is not over at thirty-one, it won’t just go on meaninglessly. You must believe with all your soul in the possibility of happiness. You must believe in spring and joy, to become happy!

[tofnew]

Cobweb, moonlit

cobweb: (if you’ve graduated) do you miss high school? 

in a sense i do?? i went to a v e r y small private school that was made up of 40 students total and i grew up with most of them and made lots of great memories together. college is lame its just high school again but instead youre paying for it and in a class with a bunch of strangers fjdsaf the only good thing about college is that you can choose your own classes, and yoU KNOW my lazy ass chooses tuesday/thursday classes only :^) 

moonlit: are you a neat or messy person? Is your room / house orderly?

hoooo boy im a neat person i don’t like being in a messy room esp my own. i feel like i have No Peace when i’m in a cluttered room, so i clean like ,,, twice or 3 times a week !! the best part is at the end where i light my candle bc its like “ah yes i’m done cleaning” ;u; 

send me some autumn asks!! 🍂

[heiligenscheiss]

FLYING OINTMENTS

Their Ingredients and Their Use

the Wanderling

Below are three examples of the use of Flying Ointments from classical sources followed by a modern day version in the Addendum. Flying Ointment is typically an oily or greasy concoction of herbs and other materials combined together and said, when rubbed all over one's body, to contribute toward one's ability to fly. Early recipes always included some ingredients that were either socially unacceptable, "off limits," difficult to obtain, or were obscure or unclear in what was actually intended. Modern recipes use a variety of substitute materials, hence rendering the ointment ineffective for all practical purposes. In both cases, however, some ingredients remain downright toxic, poisonous and lethal, especially if consumed in quanities unmetered by someone not versed in their safe administration.

You will notice the account of Lucius Apuleius, written in 160 AD and BEFORE the rise of religious strengths of the Middle Ages, that it is fairly straightforward in what transpired in the use of an ointment. The others are somewhat more vague. Somewhere over the centuries as the early European tribes disintegrated, assimilated, or were destroyed, a slow but meticulous coverup and transformation occurred to the beliefs and traditions of Shamanism and practice of tribal magic and socerey into that of a more sinster era of witchcraft. What is most important to realize is that during the Middle Ages the use of certain specific herbs and their power that originally came down from Shamanism is significantly downplayed, and the outcome and power of occult abilities is attributed more and more to evil sources in the form of Lucifer, the Devil, or Satan. You should also notice if you research Flying Ointments that a lot of the ingredients vary between recipes and many of the ingredients seem to be inert or no more than simply filler. However, whether in ointments, chewed, ingested, or used in a broth, brew, or potion certain key elements remain down through the ages, that being tropane-containing plants such as Sacred Datura and various Nightshade and genus Solanum for example. It is cited as a main ingredient right up to today's use by present day men of spells called an Obeah, to others of similar ilk such as a Diablero (a sorcerer said to have evil powers, usually with the ability to shapeshift) and/or more specifically the Diablero female counterpart as found in the sorceress 'la Catalina'. The tropane-like plant extract or derivative found in Sacred Datura is suspected to have been used in the mysterious and possible "flying potion" employed by the Native American tribal spiritual elder in the incident described in The Sun Dagger and explored more thoroughly in Apportation Revisited. Sacred Datura is also cited in both of Carlos Castaneda's first two books for the same or similar reasons. Sacred Datura or other closely related tropane-like plant extract or derivatives may also have been used in 'la Catalina's' infamous morphing into a marauding amorphous blackbird or her reported ability to become a sailing silhouette.

Lucius Apuleius. From Golden Ass, Book III, Chapter Sixteen (160 AD):

"On a day Fotis came running to me in great fear, and said that her mistress, to work her sorceries on such as she loved, intended the night following to transform herself into a bird, and to fly whither she pleased. Wherefore she willed me privily to prepare myself to see the same. And when midnight came she led me softly into a high chamber, and bid me look through the chink of a door: where first I saw how she put off all her garments, and took out of a certain coffer sundry kinds of boxes, of the which she opened one, and tempered the ointment therein with her fingers, and then rubbed her body therewith from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head, and when she had spoken privily with her self, having the candle in her hand, she shaked parts of her body, and behold, I perceived a plume of feathers did burgen out, her nose waxed crooked and hard, her nails turned into claws, and so she became an owl. Then she cried and screeched like a bird of that kind, and willing to prove her force, moved her self from the ground by little and little, til at last she flew quite away."

Abramelin The Mage. From The Book of the Sacred Magic of Abramelin The Mage (1458 AD)

The First Book of Holy Magic, Chapter VI:

"She then gave unto me an unguent..." (Flying Ointment)

"At Lintz I worked with a young woman, who one evening invited me to go with her, assuring me that without any risk she would conduct me to a place where I greatly desired to find myself. I allowed myself to be persuaded by her promises. She then gave unto me an unguent, with which I rubbed the principal pulses of my feet and hands; the which she did also; and at first it appeared to me that I was flying in the air in the place which I wished, and which I had in no way mentioned to her.

I pass over in silence and out of respect, that which I saw, which was admirable, and appearing to myself to have remained there a long while, I felt as if I were just awakening from a profound sleep, and I had great pain in my head and deep melancholy. I turned round and saw that she was seated at my side. She began to recount to me what she had seen, but that which I had seen was entirely different. I was, however, much astonished, because it appeared to me as if I had been really and corporeally in the place, and there in reality to have seen that which had happened."

Giovan Battista Della Porta. From De Miraculis Rerum Naturalium, Book II, Chapter XXVI (1558 AD)

Lamiarum Unguenta (Witches Unguent):

"Although they mix in a great deal of superstition, it is apparent nonetheless to the observer that these things can result from a natural force. I shall repeat what I have been told by them. By boiling (a certain fat) in a copper vessel, they get rid of its water, thickening what is left after boiling and remains last. Then they store it, and afterwards boil it again before use: with this, they mix celery, aconite, poplar leaves and soot. Or, in alternative: sium, acorus, cinquefoil, the blood of a bat, nightshade (Solanum) and oil; and if they mix in other substances they don’t differ from these very much. Then they smear all the parts of the body, first rubbing them to make them ruddy and warm and to rarify whatever had been condensed because of cold. When the flesh is relaxed and the pores opened up, they add the fat (or the oil that is substituted for it) - so that the power of the juices can penetrate further and become stronger and more active, no doubt. And so they think that they are borne through the air on a moonlit night to banquets, music, dances and the embrace of handsome young men of their choice."

NOTE: Again, just as a reminder, according to many scholars, the use of mind-altering plants in witches' flights, such as certain species of the genus Solanum, etc., was underemphasized or even suppressed during the rise of religious strengths during the Middle Ages because plants, rather than the Devil, would thus have wielded the power. Their brews or ointments, with their transformative plant alkaloids, were indeed capable of inducing at the very minimum, visionary flights through the vast and uncharted night skies.

ADDENDUM: Flying Ointment and Ingredients Thereof:

Recently a no small amount of flack has been directed toward me regarding what has been suggested as a glossing over of facts pertaining to ingredients oft cited in flying ointemnts. Namely the the criticism revolves around the perceived playing down or lack of my emphasis regarding the use of the "fat of an unbaptized baby or child" (listed above as a certain fat) as a primary constituent in the ointment, a point that may need some clarification.

The plain truth is I have no personal experience using flying ointments. My experience circles around the use of a "warm tea-like broth" as outlined in the Wanderling's Journey and in the fashion given me left unsaid in the Sun Dagger. The first, under the auspices of a man of spells called an Obeah; the second, a Native American tribal elder. Both situations lean more closely toward Shamans and Shamanism and perhaps tribal sorcery or magic than the media accepted view of European style witchcraft. In neither occasion was any sort externally applied body grease or oil based ointment of any kind involved. My interest is in how the use of tropane-containing plants seems to run through ALL potions and ointments alike when "flight" is involved (Sacred Datura, Nightshade, Solanum, etc.).

Tropane-containing plant and herb-derived ingredients show up from the dawn of time in India, Europe, and the indigenous populations of the Americas as well as elsewhere. The "fat of an unbaptized baby" only starts showing up as an ingredient in Europe with the rise of the Middle Age religious persecutions. Those being persecuted did not have access to publishing or pushing the ingredients off on an unknowing populace...those in power did. How could those in power accomplish their end other than convincing those who they were trying to subjugate that those using occult powers were in league with the Devil --- or that those so accused might snatch and kill your baby or child so they could use the fat?

It should be noted the equivalent of baptized or unbaptized does not show up in the original Latin text. "Puerorum pinguedinem" meaning boy, young man, or child, joined with the word for fat does. In Appendix V of Margaret Alice Murray's rather extensive book on witchcraft The Witch-Cult in Western Europe (1921), A. J. Clark has analyzed three recipes used for making flying ointment and, quoting Pennethorne Hughes researching Clark's works in Witchcraft (Penguin Books, 1952), Hughes comes to the following conclusion:

Discounting the bat's blood and the baby's fat as picturesque accessories, oleaginous if otherwise ineffectual, he (A J Clark) finds that the remaining ingredients do carry important qualities.

Carlos Castaneda writes about his experience using the Datura plant in both his first and second books, the same plant suspected as employed by the Native American tribal spiritual elder with the Wanderling in the incident described in The Sun Dagger. Castaneda is not said to have drank the root extract in a "warm tea-like broth" as in the Wanderling's case, but instead, rubbed himself with paste, a paste or ointment we can pretty much be assured did not have the fat of a baby as an ingredient, baptized or not. Even so, the ointment DID contain fat, or lard, as the case may be. Castaneda, quoting here his Yaqui Indian sorcerer, Don Juan Matus writes:

"My benefactor (i.e., Don Juan's teacher) told me it was permissible to mix the plant with lard. And that is what you are going to do. My benefactor mixed it with lard for me, but, as I have already said, I never was very fond of the plant and never really tried to become one with her. My benefactor told me that for best results, for those who really want to master the power, the proper thing is to mix the plant with the lard of a wild boar."[1]

What followed was in his words "an extraordinary experience." Later, on Friday July 5, 1963, as the afternoon wore on, he and Don Juan Matus discuss the experience and lessons learned. In conversation Castaneda says there was a question he wanted to ask all day and finally, before the evening wore out, he asked, as found in his first book, THE TEACHINGS OF DON JUAN: A Yaqui Way Of Knowledge (1968) Chapter Six:

"There was a question I wanted to ask him. I knew he was going to evade it, so I waited for him to mention the subject. I waited all day. Finally, before I left that evening, I had to ask him, "Did I really fly?," don Juan?" (see)

"That is what you told me. Didn't you?"

"I know, don Juan. I mean, did my body fly? Did I take off like a bird?"

"You always ask me questions I cannot answer. You flew. That is what the second portion of the devil's weed is for. As you take more of it, you will learn how to fly perfectly. It is not a simple matter. A man flies with the help of the second portion of the devil's weed. That is all I can tell you. What you want to know makes no sense. Birds fly like birds and a man who has taken the devil's weed flies as such [el enyerbado vuela asi]."

"As birds do? [Asi como los pajaros?]."

"No, he flies as a man who has taken the weed [No, asi como los enyerbados]."

"Then I didn't really fly, don Juan. I flew in my imagination, in my mind alone. Where was my body?"

"In the bushes," he replied cuttingly, but immediately broke into laughter again. "The trouble with you is that you understand things in only one way. You don't think a man flies; and yet a brujo can move a thousand miles in one second to see what is going on. He can deliver a blow to his enemies long distances away. So, does he or doesn't he fly?"

"You see, don Juan, you and I are differently oriented. Suppose, for the sake of argument, one of my fellow students had been here with me when I took the devil's weed. Would he have been able to see me flying?"

"There you go again with your questions about 'What would happen if...?' It is useless to talk that way. If your friend, or anybody else, takes the second portion of the weed all he can do is fly. Now, if he had simply watched you, he might have seen you flying, or he might not. That depends on the man."

"But what I mean, don Juan, is that if you and I look at a bird and see it fly, we agree that it is flying. But if two of my friends had seen me flying as I did last night, would they have agreed that I was flying?"

Paste, root extract, or otherwise, interestingly enough Castaneda had written, again in his first book, THE TEACHINGS OF DON JUAN --- from information gathered in the field from Don Juan Matus in 1961 --- and covered more thoroughly in The Ally In Shamanism, the following:

The idea that a man of knowledge has an ally is the most important of the Seven Component Themes, for it is the only one that is indispensable to explaining what a man of knowledge is. In my classificatory scheme a man of knowledge has an ally, whereas the average man does not, and having an ally is what makes him different from ordinary men.

An ally is A POWER capable of transporting a man beyond the boundaries of himself; that is to say, an ally is a power which allows one to transcend the realm of ordinary reality. Consequently, TO HAVE AN ALLY IMPLIES HAVING POWER; and the fact that a man of knowledge has an ally is by itself proof that the operational goal of the teaching is being fulfilled.

In reality, the "full use of power can only be acquired with the help of an 'ally'," that Castaneda speaks of, like the use of medicinal plants, drugs, or herbs (Aushadhis) --- which he used intially, but denied the necessary use of later --- is a second level of use between the Shaman and the actual power source, the same source the "ally" would draw upon for power.

In the world of spells and the world at large the use of herbs in tea, broth, or flying ointments is really not much more than a step to initiate the actual outcome. Even though the results can be the same, in Hinduism, Buddhism and Zen there are supernormal perceptual states called Siddhis that for the most part do not incorporate, require, or use any sort of plant, potion, ointment, or drink such as implemented under the auspices of the Obeah or the tribal elder. However, if such outside ingested ingredients are used to actually accomplish results or simply used as a placebo to placate the recipient is not always clear. A lawyer that shows up in court in an expensive three piece suit will probably garner more success than if he shows up in a wrinkled tee shirt, shorts, and flip-flop shower shoes. Perhaps an Obeah or tribal elder might incorporate some sort of ritual or substance to convince a non-initiate to such a level that the expected result would transpire --- OR perhaps even, and possibly in a combination of both, some part of the substance's ingredients could be such that it would replicate, trigger or mimic an untrained, albeit short term, shortcut path to the same mind-strength ability of a person versed in Siddhis. As stated in The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, Chapter IV, verse 1:

Verse 1: janma-osadhi-mantra-tapah-samadhi-jah siddayahsamadhi.

"The power of Siddhis can come because of previous Karma and genetics (janma), from herbs (Aushadhis), the use of Mantras, the kindling of the psychic fire (tapas), and/or from Samadhi."

The key word for our discussion here of course is HERBS..."The power of Siddhis CAN come from herbs..." that is, Aushadhis in Sanskrit (aushadhi Sk = medicine, herb, plant which has a quality of appeasement, relief from disease), but the effects will be of limited duration.

THE ZEN-MAN FLIES

Let Me Travel Through the Air Like a Winged Bird

THE BLACK CONDOR: THE MAN WHO COULD FLY LIKE A BIRD

(please click)

DO YOU THINK FLYING IN

THE SKY IS MAGICAL?

(click image)

SEE ALSO:

THE VULTURE AS TOTEM

ZEN, THE BUDDHA AND SHAMANISM

THE WORD OBEAH: WHAT DOES IT MEAN, HOW DOES IT WORK?

THE WANDERLING'S JOURNEY

(click image)

SEE:

BOOK III, Chapter XVII (4)

SEE:

BOOK II, Chapter XXVI

CARLOS CASTANEDA'S JOURNEY:

FOOTNOTE [1]

According to Castandea, in his first book, THE TEACHINGS OF DON JUAN: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge (1968), on Thursday, July 3, 1963, he and Don Juan Matus, starting out with Sacred Datura, set about making what could be called none other than a "flying ointment", the use of which ended in Castaneda's infamous metamorphosis into a crow --- including the full ability of flight. One of the key ingredients in that ointment was lard, more specifically the lard of a wild boar. Below is how Castaneda presents it from the words of Don Juan:

"My benefactor (Don Juan's benefactor being HIS teacher, said to be one Julian Osorio) told me it was permissible to mix the plant with lard. And that is what you are going to do. My benefactor mixed it with lard for me, but, as I have already said, I never was very fond of the plant and never really tried to become one with her. My benefactor told me that for best results, for those who really want to master the power, the proper thing is to mix the plant with the lard of a wild boar. The fat of the intestines is the best. But it is for you to choose. Perhaps the turn of the wheel will decide that you take the devil's weed as an ally, in which case I will advise you, as my benefactor advised me, to hunt a wild boar and get the fat from the intestines [sebo de tripa]. In other times, when the devil's weed was tops, brujos used to go on special hunting trips to get fat from wild boars. They sought the biggest and strongest males. They had a special magic for wild boars; they took from them a special power, so special that it was hard to believe, even in those days. But that power is lost. I don't know anything about it. And I don't know any man who knows about it. Perhaps the weed herself will teach you all that."

Don Juan measured a handful of lard, dumped it into the bowl containing the dry gruel, and scraped the lard left on his hand onto the edge of the pot. He told me to stir the contents until they were smooth and thoroughly mixed.

I whipped the mixture for nearly three hours. Don Juan looked at it from time to time and thought it was not done yet. Finally be seemed satisfied. The air whipped into the paste had given it a light- gray color and the consistency of jelly. He hung the bowl from the roof next to the other bowl. He said he was going to leave it there until the next day because it would take two days to prepare this second portion. He told me not to eat anything in the meantime. I could have water, but no food at all.

On July 4th Don Juan gives him directions on the use of the ointment:

He took his bone stick and cut two horizontal lines on the surface of the paste, thus dividing the contents of the bowl into three equal parts. Then, starting at the center of the top line, he cut a vertical line perpendicular to the other two, dividing the paste into five parts. He pointed to the bottom right area, and said that was for my left foot. The area above it was for my left leg. The top and largest part was for my genitals. The next one below, on the left side, was for my right leg, and the area at the bottom left was for my right foot. He told me to apply the part of the paste designated for my left foot to the sole of my foot and rub it thoroughly. Then he guided me in applying the paste on the inside part of my whole left leg, on my genitals, down the inside of my whole right leg, and finally on the sole of my right foot.

Then the transformation began, followed by Castaneda's experience of flight:

My legs were rubbery and long, extremely long. I took another step. My knee joints felt springy, like a vault pole; they shook and vibrated and contracted elastically. I moved forward. The motion of my body was slow and shaky; it was more like a tremor forward and up. I looked down and saw don Juan sitting below me, way below me. The momentum carried me forward one more step, which was even more elastic and longer than the preceding one. And from there I soared. I remember coming down once; then I pushed up with both feet, sprang backward, and glided on my back. I saw the dark sky above me, and the clouds going by me. I jerked my body so I could look down. I saw the dark mass of the mountains. My speed was extraordinary. My arms were fixed, folded against my sides. My head was the directional unit. If I kept it bent backward I made vertical circles. I changed directions by turning my head to the side. I enjoyed such freedom and swiftness as I had never known before. The marvelous darkness gave me a feeling of sadness, of longing, perhaps. It was as if I had found a place where I belonged -- the darkness of the night. I tried to look around, but all I sensed was that the night was serene, and yet it held so much power.

Suddenly I knew it was time to come down; it was as if I had been given an order I had to obey. And I began descending like a feather with lateral motions. That type of movement made me very ill. It was slow and jerky, as though 1 were being lowered by pulleys. I got sick. My head was bursting with the most excruciating pain. A kind of blackness enveloped me. I was very aware of the feeling of being suspended in it.

The next thing I remember is the feeling of waking up. I was in my bed in my own room. I sat up. And the image of my room dissolved. 1 stood up. I was naked! The motion of standing made me sick again. I recognized some of the landmarks. I was about half a mile from don Juan's house, near the place of his Datura plants. Suddenly everything fitted into place, and I realized that I would have to walk all the way back to his house, naked.

Compare the above experience of Castaneda's with that of the Wanderling's Journey.

AND NOW THIS:

ABOUT THE WANDERLING AS THE AUTHOR OF THIS SITE:

Over and over people ask why is it that they should accept what I have written about either Castaneda or flying ointments and/or Castaneda AND flying ointments as having any amount of credibility?

For one thing I personally knew, met and interacted with Castaneda many times --- however, it was done-so long before Castaneda became Castaneda. Matter of fact, he was still a nobody student trying hard to obtain an AA degree from Los Angeles City College, working at Mattel Toy Company. During that period he considered himself mostly as an aspiring artist rather than anything that remotely resembled an author or shaman. Secondly, and unrelated to Castaneda and I knowing each other, my uncle was the Informant that is so widely mentioned in Castaneda's works both by him and others that introduced him to the rituals and rites of the use of the plant Sacred Datura. If you remember from Castaneda's works, it was Sacred Datura and NOT Peyote that first sent him into his initial experiences of altered states. Third, in an attempt on my part to confirm, clear up, or have any number of things that have shown up or been said about Castaneda and his life that should be discounted, things that have taken on a life of their own as fact because they have been repeated over and over so often, I personally interviewed, talked to, or conversed with a number of individuals that were prominent in his life --- especially so in areas that raise conflict when people read one thing about him and I write another.

Originally, when I first started writing about Castaneda it was for one reason only. It had to do with help substantiating an incident in my life that revolved around what are known in Buddhism and Hindu spiritual circles under the ancient Sanskrit word Siddhis. Siddhis are supernormal perceptual states that once fully ingrained at a deep spiritual level can be utilized by a practitioner to initiate or inhibit incidents that are beyond the realm of typical everyday manifestation.

In that the incident that occurred in my life, although bordering on the edges of what is generally conceived in the west as Shamanism or possibly the occult, was actually deeply immersed on the eastern spiritual side of things.(see) To bridge the understanding between the eastern and western concepts I brought in for those who may have been so interested the legacy of one of the most well read practitioner of such crafts in the western world, Carlos Castaneda. Although highly controversial and most certainly not the fully unmitigated expert in the field, he is widely read and a known figure when mentioned, by camps both pro and con. So said, Castaneda has the highest profile in of all individuals to have claimed the ability through shamanistic rituals the ability to fly --- thus, for reasons as they related to me I used Castaneda in my works as an example. In doing so it opened a virtual Pandora's Box of never ending controversy, causing me to either ignore or substantiate what I presented. Hence, as questions were raised by me in my own writing or raised by those who read my material more pages were created to explain who, what, when, where, and why.

The following people were all major movers in the life of Carlos Castaneda, and at one time or the other I met and talked with them all, which is more than most people who write about Castaneda has ever done. And I only did so on and off over time primarily to clarify questions about Castaneda that I had read that just did not make sense. Most people who question what I have presented about Castaneda simply gather their information from the standard already in existence party line. Some of the people I've talked to in reference to Castaneda who, following some rather extended discussions, clarified a lot for me --- after Castaneda himself of course, others are people like C. Scott Littleton, Alex Apostolides, Barbara G. Myerhoff, Edward H. Spicer, Clement Meighan, who Castaneda dedicated his first book to, and Castaneda's ex-wife Margaret Runyan.

Interestingly enough, my interview with Runyan came about because before she married Castaneda, she had been engaged to another author, the cowboy and western writer, with over 100 books to his credit, Louis L'amour. It just so happened my uncle who, if you recall, was the Informant in Castaneda lore, just happened to know L'Amour. My uncle took me with him one day he went to see L'Amour. When I had a chance to meet Runyan years later I used me knowing L'Amour as the wedge to talk with her. As it was, and not many people know about it, my uncle, who was influential with Castaneda also, along with another man deeply seeped in Native American spiritual lore by the name of H. Jackson Clark, worked together funneling Native American spiritual facts to L'Amour used as a theme in two of his books that borderlined much of what Castaneda wrote about, titled The Californios and Haunted Mesa.

MARGARET RUNYAN CASTANEDA

In the form of a Crow

(or Raven).

(click)

[my-gray-mane]

Late night bath

at times that i’ve been feeling a little somber this is what i like doing.

late at night when i’m the only one awake and it’s still dark out i’ll draw myself a bath, i usually listen to music that fits my mood to embrace the feeling.

sometimes i’ll light a candle but i’d prefer using a wax melter to there isnt any excess light.

what i do is run the water, grab my laptop or ipod, whatever i’m using for the music and set it on the other side of the bathroom, melt the wax or candle for the scent and turn off all the lights, i’ll sit in the bath for say half an hour and just revel in the darkness and kind of somber feeling i have, sometimes it will be when i’m feeling sad or a little bit empty and i do this to bring out a feeling of being completely alone.

having a bath with the lights off feels great because the water is blackened in the darkness and even after my eyes adjust it’s still dark in the tub.

one candle/wax melt i would recommend if you do this is the “moonlit night” scent by yankee candle. it really ads to the feeling

i can’t really explain why but some music just makes me feel really intense emotions, they are difficult to describe, it’s like empathizing with a character who lost their best friend or lover.

even though its a kind of sad feeling just experiencing it makes me feel so content.

here i will include two music mixes that really help me to embrace this and one song which i have cherished for years and is really the spawn point of all of this:

https://youtu.be/YVCud7GFi6Q -  'Runaway' Beautiful Chillstep Mix

https://youtu.be/coo0t513Tek -  Best of EDEN & The Eden Project | A Chillout Mix

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJpeNf9LRnE - Let It Burn by RED