#candle vessels company

[sunnyglassware]

(via Wholesale Custom colorful style glass jar with round bottom Soy Wax candles gift scented candles ,sunny Glassware)

[getasbf]

Stay | Emperor Geta x male!reader

@.smallratboy: ooo it would be so cute if you did a geta x servant reader where the servant like catches him mid-breakdown abt. being an emperor and like comforts him and they both lowkey fall in love!!

Pairing: Emperor Geta x male!servant!reader

Summary: Geta is tired, confused, fed up. The garden is his safe place and he discovers who is the reason why he loves the garden so much.

Notes: English is not my firts language. Slight angst (from Geta). Canon divergency. Not mentions of y/n's looks, but masc pronouns are used.

Word count: 1.3k

The empire was falling, or so Geta told himself, only to not accept the fact that he was the one who was falling into nothingness

The nights were dark, lonely. His thoughts were his greatest and worst company.

The cold of his chambers settled in and ran through every fiber of his body, making him feel uncomfortable, useless, a failure.

Power slowly eats away at him, he is completely aware of that. However, he knows how things are going, what he has done right and wrong, but he is not going to say it. Not out loud, it would be admitting that he is weak.

Memories of his father whip his mind, unpleasant words, beatings, screams. Everything travels like a memory from yesterday through his mind.

Unconsciously he ran his left hand over his other forearm, feeling the relief of a scar: the only one he has left from his father's abuse. It was not the last wound, but it was the worst he had. He remembers the dagger: fine silver cutting his skin, blood sliding over his young skin.

The headache was present. In the crown of his head he felt every beat of his heart. He felt his blood running through his body, his bones against his muscles, his muscles against his skin.

He hated the feeling of appearing so weak, he was not weak. There was no way on the planet that he was inferior, he was the vessel of the Gods, a gift that only a few had. He was unique, there was no one like him.

He went out to the royal garden, the times he went there were only when he felt like nothing made sense. It was his safe place.

A marble and travertine fountain was the main feature of the courtyard, the water falling slowly, not making enough noise to be annoying or uncomfortable.

The soft light of the candles made the moment feel intimate, just him and no one else. They gave a soft touch to the darkness that was looming over Rome at that time of night.

He glanced at the garden, closing his eyes as his breathing calmed down. But his thoughts ran through his head anxiously.

He walked to the back of the yard, a place no one ever visited. It was full of Adelphi and Lantanas. He didn't know who took care of this part of the garden, it was supposedly "dormant." But still someone planted flowers and took care of them, even he didn't want to admit it, the flowers are his favourite part of the garden.

He sat on the stone bench in the center of the garden. Surrounded by them.

Peace returned to him, though not for long. The anxiety didn't go away and a stomach ache along with a lump in his throat made him remember what he was doing there.

He wanted to scream, but he had to stay calm. He was still in the palace and the late hours of the night did not allow him to do what he wanted, although he hesitated for a moment, but he was able to resist the impulse.

The minutes passed and passed. Geta stared at a fixed point, absorbed in his thoughts. His mind was a battlefield, where the voices of the past and the present clashed without respite. He did not feel the footsteps approaching, nor the soft breeze that brought with it the scent of someone else. It was not until he heard the slight crunch of gravel under cautious feet that he woke up from his trance.

"My lord..."

The voice was low, respectful, but not fearful. Geta turned his head slightly, meeting him. It was one of his servants, a familiar face in the multitude of shadows that surrounded him daily. He did not know him well, he had never cared about it, but tonight, his presence seemed different.

The servant did not look away when he noticed Geta's tired face. He did not flee, he did not cower, he did not become invisible as others often did when the emperor was in one of his dark moods. Instead, he stepped forward, with studied restraint.

"Can't sleep?"

Geta let out a humorless laugh, bitter as the wine he had left untouched on his table that night.

"It seems that rest is a luxury even for the incarnate gods."

The servant did not respond immediately. He knew that any careless word could cost him his life, but he also understood that the man before him did not seek mere empty comfort. Then, with a softness that surprised them both, he said,

"Perhaps the gods need to be heard, too."

Geta looked at him, the sneer dying on his lips before it was uttered. That answer was not what he had expected. In the silence that followed, he felt something new: a sense of being seen. Not as an emperor, not as the son of a violent and ambitious lineage. Just seen.

“If you were looking to be alone, I can leave,” the servant offered in a neutral tone.

For a moment, Geta thought of nodding, of letting the loneliness continue to gnaw at his soul. But his lips formed another response before he could stop it.

“Stay.”

The servant obeyed, sitting on the floor at a safe distance, not challenging the emperor’s personal space. Time passed without any more words between them, only the sound of the water in the fountain and the night breeze stirring the flowers. But in that shared calm, Geta felt his chest lighten slightly, as if a part of the weight he had always carried became less unbearable.

And in the darkness of the garden, for the first time in a long time, the emperor did not feel completely alone.

The minutes continued to slip by, and Geta felt a strange tranquility in the presence of his servant. It was a new, unexpected sensation. Without thinking too much, he let his gaze wander towards him, detailing his posture, the way the moonlight outlined his face.

"Why do you take care of this garden?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

The servant took a while to answer, as if he were measuring his words.

"Because someone has to. It is a forgotten place, but it is still alive.”

The words resonated in Geta's chest in a way he could not explain. Something in that answer seemed eerily familiar, as if it were a reflection of himself.

"And you, my lord," the servant continued, "why do you come here?"

Geta looked away at the flowers, his expression hardening for a moment before softening.

"Because I feel forgotten too. But I am still here."

The servant nodded slightly, understanding beyond words. The wind blew again, ruffling Geta's hair and the servant's simple tunic. Without realizing it, the distance between them seemed to shorten, not only in space, but in something much deeper.

The silence returned, but it was not uncomfortable. Geta closed his eyes for a moment, his head heavy, the pressure in his chest not entirely easing. A slight dizziness forced him to bring a hand to his temple.

The servant noticed his discomfort, leaning slightly towards him.

“Are you alright, my lord?”

Geta pressed his lips together, unwilling to admit weakness, but the slight tremor in his hands betrayed him. He did not need to answer. Carefully, the servant moved closer, placing a firm, warm hand on his shoulder.

“Take a deep breath,” he suggested in a low tone. “Your body is exhausted.”

Geta reluctantly complied, letting out a shaky sigh. The other’s presence, his calm voice, gave him an anchor in the stormy tide of his mind.

“You should rest,” the servant insisted. “I can bring you something to help you sleep.”

Geta shook his head, but the gesture was more a reflex than true determination. Still, he allowed the servant to stay, his closeness easing the heaviness of the night.

“Just… stay a little longer,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

And the servant obeyed, no more questions, no more words. Just being there, being the anchor Geta didn’t even know he needed.

I can do part 2 if someone just asks me to!

[yanderes-galore]

Mm, what about a scenario for Chemach where she kills her darling? :0 Maybe in a sudden fit of insanity, maybe to turn them into relic or maybe she kills her defiant! darling in order to transform them into her follower like the ones we see in her shop? There's a lot of potential~

I can try, sure! I hope this is alright-

Fledgling

Yandere! Chemach Oneshot

Pairing: Dubious

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Murder, Grotesque descriptions, Blood, Delusional behavior, Dubious intentions.

"Ah! Yes, yes, you look so pretty for Chemach. You belong here like all the rest!"

The stained glass in the temple glimmers despite the dark atmosphere of the room. Candles illuminate the old stone temple, showing its many imperfections. The atmosphere is old and reeks of dust and... blood.

Black ichor drips from the ancient bird like the blood from the many gods she's killed. The many eyed crown on her head seems to pulse with barely contained power. The smell of rot permeates the air the most...

Giddy giggles come from the chained bird, ones born from hysteria. The crown's power had rotten her mind long ago. Her own siblings think she is dead, or at least dead to them.

Oh, but she isn't...

Chemach still has many more gifts to give.

Chemach has made many gifts in her lifetime. All sorts of old relics that still hold a god's power. She cherishes them all, hung by the ceiling and on podiums.... They're all her treasures.

But there is one she cherishes above all the others... perhaps not as strong... but its value is priceless.

Chemach remembers when she first met you. It was a long time ago, perhaps decades? She's given up on the passage of time....

However, she never forgot your visits.

You had often visited her temple deep in the woods. You came searching for power, like many of Chemach's other visitors. You were a fledgling god... one not very strong but clearly ambitious.

Chemach adored your presence! You had so much potential, a tiny vessel capable of so much power. You just needed Chemach's gifts!

Chemach would always give you her gifts.

Chemach has never had such persistent company. Even her siblings left her in her chains after she went insane. Chemach's only company has been her followers...

The rotting effigies in her temple supposedly hold that purpose... they're her followers.

Chemach felt almost... infatuated with you. She adored how you look, your confidence, and your power. Such a young god trying to survive in this world...

Unfortunately, gods do not last long now that the Old Faith has come into power.

Chemach could not just stand by and allow yourself to perish! The Bishops are not worthy of tainting you. You mean too much to Chemach!

You are meant for Chemach!

Poor fledgling god... Chemach had more power than you thought. You had come to her temple for aid, wishing to fight against the Old Faith. You were determined to fight against those stronger Bishops who call themselves gods...

But Chemach merely locks her temple with her chains, similar chains locking around your neck to anchor you.

"Poor young god... You should know that you'll die like the rest of Chemach's visitors. Your age is finished... Yet Chemach wants to preserve you for herself!"

It's a one-sided battle, this temple serves as Chemach's territory. Your first mistake was trusting the insane bird in a place such as this. Your second was your own greed and ambition....

Chemach felt you would die one way or another. She originally kept you in her temple alive, chained to the ceiling for her own viewing pleasure. Alas... your body continued to wither... Chemach hated that you weren't meant to last.

Now, in the modern day, Chemach holds you close to her heart.

More giggles echo through the old building as crazed bloodshot eyes stare longingly at a relic from the ceiling. In the very same spot where you once were, a relic made from you occupied the space.

Blood still drips from the chains, a reminder of the suffering you once endured.

"It's better this way! Better for you, better for Chemach!" The old bird coos, gaze never once leaving your remains. She always looked back on those days fondly...

Yet her concentration is broken when she hears footsteps echo through her temple.

"Ah! Little lamb, have you come for Chemach's wares? Many gifts for lamb! Many to choose from!"

A new young god takes your place. A lamb, last of their kind. Said lamb reminds Chemach of you... an ambitious and confident god who comes for more power.

Chemach intends to help this one too, just as she did for you...

Then, maybe once their own power wanes...

She can keep them to herself too, after all, they remind Chemach of you....

[bug-game-blogging]

Hey guys, what if Hornet and the Vessels inherited the Pale King’s foresight?

Ghost is haunted by visions of a massive deity composed of pure darkness, and they only grow in frequency and intensity the closer they get to defeating the Radiance.

Hornet grows up having nightmares of her mother comatose and alone, with only lit candles for company. She seeks out her mother after waking up, unaware that these are not mere nightmares.

Hollow hears the creaking of chains and their father’s footsteps growing farther and farther away. Their vision is tinted orange during these moments.

The Broken Vessel sees their own death. The Greenpath Vessel hears the crack of their mask splitting open. The Deepnest Vessels see gnashing teeth and claws that tear and a face that is their own, but not their reflection.

None understand until it’s too late.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Heirs to Empty Thrones (ao3)

In the absence of the king, Nesta finds herself carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and there's only one knight in the world that can take her mind off it. (For @cassianappreciationweek day 5. We're playing very fast and loose with the term 'lionhearted'...) (psst, @c-e-d-dreamer)

The gold circlet at her brow was heavy.

Heavier than before— heavier than it had been that morning. It was a burden, a chain around her neck, and it didn’t matter how fine or gilded it was— the hammered band was a mantle she did not wish to bear, and now there was an invisible weight crushing and pressing and bearing down on her as the strain worked its way into her very bones. It curled up around her veins and grew tighter, squeezing until it felt like the cold, thin band was constricting, determined to make her bleed.

It ached.

Everything ached.

Her father was gone— abandoned them a decade ago to wage holy war in lands so distant they seemed like another world, and now every day that dawned brought a horde of dissatisfied noblemen to her door, in their fine clothes and gold rings, horses hooves clattering in the courtyard every morning as the gates to the castle were thrown wide. The same men who had decades ago refused to accept a woman’s rule now crowded in her hall, begging her to write to her father and bring him home, as if her words could do anything, as if they were of any value at all.

Nesta shivered, the nighttime chill seeping through the stone of the central keep, and through the thick-paned and lead-lined glass she saw the torches glowing on the curtain wall, flames stark against the night sky, devouring the dark.

Beyond the light of those torches, in the distant miles outside that high stone wall, the realm crumbled. The roads were filled with bandits and rebels, taxes went unpaid, and as each day gave way to night, the laws of the realm seemed ever more breakable, no stronger than reeds swaying in the wind. Her father had left her uncle as regent, charged him with the protection of the crown and its lands, and yet unrest had never been so widespread. There were rumours of men in the forest stealing from the rich to give to the poor, tales of children starving, and with no king to call on there was no solution to be had, nothing to be done.

Nothing— and Nesta dropped her head into her hands now, wondering when exactly she’d been the one to pick up the weight her father had dropped ten years ago. She had been a child when he left, the eldest daughter he’d gotten in place of a son, and for so many years she had awaited his return, watching for his ship on the horizon, counting the sails of every vessel that came to port. In vain— she had waited in vain, and when her mother and sisters had returned to their estates in France, Nesta had stayed behind, a woman now, all alone and bearing the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders. 

Weary, she sighed.

The hour grew late, the darkness deepening, and yet Nesta didn’t move. She remained sitting alone in the small chamber branching off the great hall with only the silence for company. A single candle cut the dim, sweet wax scenting the air as night descended, the flame flickering in the draughts that crept through the stone.

Already, she knew sleep would not find her tonight.

Her head began to throb, the coronet she wore unbearable. Her people suffered, her realm burned, and what was she but a princess in a world that didn’t hear the voice of women, powerless and vulnerable until her father returned? She shook her head, and with a steadiness that surprised her, she lifted her hand and removed that God-forsaken band, casting it onto the thick wooden table before her, leaving it to sit in a pool of candlelight, gold and shining and bright with something she had once thought to be promise. The jewels winked, garnets and emerald and sapphires, cut stones set into the band, and oh, once Nesta had looked at the diadem and thought it pretty.

Once she had thought it beautiful.

She didn’t think so any longer.

And with her head resting in her hand, she sat alone in that chamber, lost, only waiting for somebody to find her.

It didn’t take long. 

Soon enough a knock sounded at the door, echoing through the silence, and Nesta almost opened her mouth to ask for peace— but before her lips could part the door was opened, iron hinges creaking as old wood slid across even older stone. Footsteps sounded, muffled by the rushes scattered across the floor to fight the chill, and as Nesta looked up, fingers still resting against her temples, she glimpsed the bulk of a man slipping around the doorframe, a silhouette against the candlelight.

Somebody had found her indeed, and as she straightened in her chair, she realised that perhaps she didn’t mind so much that out of all the souls in this castle, he had been the one to seek her out. 

Cassian.

The man who had helped her off her horse so many months ago, when she’d first arrived at this particular castle, so close to the coast. He was her father’s knight, a broad span of hardened muscle with hands no strangers to the hilt of a sword, and yet when he’d lifted her down from her horse at that first meeting, when her hands had slid down the length of his chest, his fingers had curled around her waist and brushed her spine, and she’d felt a jolt go through her that had her suddenly wanting to ride every day, if it meant he would be the one to lead her horse to stable when she returned.

When her feet had hit the ground, his hands had lingered at her waist as hers had tarried at his shoulders. He had dipped his head as he took her horse’s reins, wrapping the leather around his fist, and when he’d glanced up at her from beneath thick eyelashes, he’d murmured welcome home, princess— and Nesta had known then that she was in trouble, swimming in dangerous waters, at risk of drowning.

He’d been knighted by her grandfather before the late king’s death, earning his spurs fighting rebels, and daily he could be seen in the courtyard practising with his blade, so lethal it was a wonder her father hadn’t ordered him to lead the armies fighting in the Holy Land. Silently, secretly, Nesta was glad he hadn’t. Cassian was confident, arrogantly so, but loyal to a fault, and since that very first day he’d worked his way into her good graces, slipping so easily among her thoughts it was though he was always supposed to be there, taking up space inside her head. 

And now she prayed for meetings on the turrets stairs, chance encounters in darkened halls, where his hand might brush hers, or his smile might make her heart race.

“You should be in bed,” he said now, looking at her across the candlelit chamber, over the long wooden table surrounded by empty chairs. “It’s late.”

His familiar face eased the ache that had plagued every part of her, and as his eyes dropped to her circlet lying discarded on the table, Nesta tipped her head up to see his face, raising an eyebrow as she rested her hands on the arms of her chair.

“Are you my nursemaid now?”

Cassian let out a small laugh as he stalked closer, prowling through the darkness as his eyes studied every inch of her he could see, as if searching for injury, looking for strain. As her father’s household knight, he was honour-bound to protect and serve her, but as he raked his gaze across her face, Nesta knew with certainty that it wasn’t honour that had him closing the distance between them with even, determined strides. Slowly, he tilted his head, giving her a brazen smile.

“Would you like me to be?”

He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword as he came to a halt, standing on the other side of the long table. His silhouette was stark in the golden light— broad shoulders lined with muscle were covered with a simple linen tunic dyed a watery, washed-out red, the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms. Golden brown skin shone almost bronze beneath the glow of the candles, and his wrist lay idle atop the pommel of the sword hanging at his hip. Nesta dragged her eyes over him, from his leather boots to the silver bracelets at his wrists— a matching pair, each studded with a single large garnet. They glimmered, deep crimson stones shining like molten rubies, and even though they were far from extravagant, Nesta’s eye caught them anyway. Cassian lifted his wrist from his sword as he crossed his arms over the wide span of that chest, his gently curling hair spilling over one shoulder and brushing his collarbone.

He was…

He was everything she shouldn’t want, and everything she couldn’t have.

And yet still she met his eye, his hazel gaze a delectable blend of gold and green and brown— rich and warm and sweet. Cassian didn’t blink, and just as she always did, she felt stripped by the intensity of his gaze. He looked at her now, expectant.

“I can’t sleep,” she admitted at last.

Cassian frowned. “You seem troubled.”

Nesta barked a laugh, one that was bitter and as sharp as shattered glass. She shook her head, and even without the golden circlet around her temples, she felt the pressure still there, pushing in on all sides. 

“Do I?”

“You do,” Cassian nodded, taking another step forward until he stood directly behind one of the chairs tucked beneath the empty table. He reached out and braced his hands on it, fingers curling around the wood as he leaned down to her level, canting his head to the side and sending his long hair tumbling over the other shoulder. Something thick and heady stirred in his eyes, something that seemed like concern mixed with something… something else, something she couldn’t recognise. His face softened as he let out a breath, tension seeping from his jaw as his fingers loosened on the chair.

“Tell me,” he said after a moment. “Tell me what burdens you.”

Nesta blinked. “It’s your brother that’s advisor to the crown,” she said, thinking of Cassian’s adopted brother— Rhysand, the one who was, even now, with her father in the Holy Land, kept deep within the king’s confidences. “Not you.”

Cassian shrugged. “I don’t want to be an advisor to the crown.”

“Just advisor to me, then?”

His lips split into a grin, one that made her heart ache. 

“If you’ll have me.”

Nesta shook her head again, dipping her gaze to her hands, just to stop herself from dragging her stare over every inch of him, over the forearms where his exposed skin shone in the candlelight.

“I can guess,” Cassian continued, his voice a drawl through the otherwise silent chamber. “What it is that brothers you— I can guess. Your uncle is causing chaos outside these walls, princess. Soon there will be riots.”

A chill gathered at the base of her spine. Nesta knew this already— had spent hours being lectured on it by the very men who her father had trusted to keep his lands safe. And now they looked to her, as if she could fix it— as if she had any sway at all over the man who had left when she was a child. The king had become a stranger to her, hardly a shadow in her memory, and she was naught but the princess of a failing kingdom, the daughter of an absent father. What did she have— what power did she hold at all?

“The law means nothing anymore,” Cassian said with a wave of his hand, lips pulled downwards in distaste. “Your grandfather I respected, but his sons leave him a poor legacy. Your uncle takes what he wants when he wants, and his retainers are worse. The taxes he levies are brutal and—”

Nesta let out a sound, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “I don’t want to think of it anymore,” she said, tired. “I want to forget about it— about all of it, for just one night.”

She looked up, at the warrior on the other side of the table. His words died on his tongue, and the silence stretched for a beat too long as he met her gaze. Her heart seemed loud enough for him to hear, and as the night pressed against the windows and the candle flame flickered, Nesta looked at him with a challenge - a plea - in her eyes. She blinked, but he merely looked at her the way he always did, like he knew her down to her bones.

“I want to forget,” she repeated, a whisper as he pushed away from the chair and took a step towards her, bringing him close enough to touch, now. “Let me forget, Cassian.”

Silent, he nodded. In the gathering dark he reached for her, lifting her hand from the arm of her chair and bringing it, reverently, to his lips. His mouth was warm against her skin, his hand tightening around hers, holding her against him as though he wanted to keep her there forever, and though this ought to have been a knightly gesture, something chivalric and gallant, there was something in the way he held her that made it deeper, made his kiss something far more than a show of loyalty from a knight to his lady.

Something far more meaningful— and something far more dangerous.

“I can help you,” he murmured, his voice little more than a breathless whisper in the darkness. Nesta found her eyes drifting closed, and even though he lifted his lips, he didn’t drop her hand. “I can make you forget all of it, princess. Just for tonight.”

Her eyes fluttered, and oh, it was a kind of treason— to let him touch her, to let him press such a lingering kiss to her skin, to let him speak to her as though he knew her, body and soul. With effort, Nesta forced herself to remember where she was— who she was, because with that raw heat dancing in his eyes… oh, yes. It was treason to touch the king’s daughter the way he did.

“My father…” she began.

“Is absent, princess.” Cassian let her hand slip from his, and the absence of his warmth was jarring. “Your sisters are in France. There’s nobody here but you and I, and no king on these shores to object to anything.”

“Treason,” Nesta breathed, her voice soft. To speak against the king, to speak of him with such disdain… that was treason too, or as close as one could get without lifting a sword. But Cassian only let a grin curve his lips, crooked and charming as he pulled away just enough to draw his sword an inch from its sheath.

“Will you end my life here, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Brave, Nesta thought wryly, looking at the hand wrapped tight around the hilt of his blade. They called her father coeur de lion, but it was Cassian who had a lion’s heart. A foolish heart— but brave nonetheless. He smirked a little still, even as he unsheathed his sword all the way and set it on the table. The steel was bright, polished, and the hilt was simple— wrapped in leather with a silver pommel. Her father’s was decorated with gold, vines engraved down the blade, a groove down the middle to wick away the blood he shed. Cassian’s was far simpler, but no less sharp— no less deadly. It lay between them as he nodded.

“Go on, princess.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes dark and daring. “Attaint me. Have me stripped of everything I own, take my name and ruin it.” His voiced dropped lower, his gaze turning heated. “Because even if your father were here, my loyalty would be to you. I wouldn’t go to the edge of the courtyard for a man that abandons his realm for ten years. But for you— for you I’d go to the ends of the earth, and you’re right princess, that’s all kinds of treason, so you should do everything that I’ve just said. Have me attainted, confiscate my lands, and then have someone slit my throat, because death is the only thing that could stop me from doing this.”

With an unwavering gaze, Cassian lifted a hand.

Slowly, purposefully he cupped her cheek, his touch far too bold and far too brazen as his fingers strayed across her jaw, sliding into her hair— braided and bound and up. His rings snagged on her braids, the plain silver bands he wore with swirling engravings reminding her of the woad tattoos she’d once heard about the ancient Scots decorating their skin with, and as his lips neared hers, her heart began an off-kilter beat inside her chest. His touch was one of devotion— unyielding and unshakeable and so very, very treacherous.

She didn’t move— couldn’t. His eyes roamed her face, searching, as her lips parted he looked at her like he’d just found whatever it was he’d been looking for. He risked his life, his neck, and yet something thrummed through her as she felt his callouses against her skin, rough from all those years with a sword in hand. The cool metal of his rings pressed against her cheek, and it felt all kinds of forbidden and yet— she didn’t pull away.

The gold circlet on the table was all the reason in the world that this was a bad idea, but outside the world was already going to Hell, and Nesta just wanted one moment of peace— one breath of it, no matter how brief. Cassian looked at her like she was the closest he would ever come to Heaven, like he’d already resigned himself to his damnation, and she knew without needing him to speak that she was the only thing he’d kneel for, the only altar he would worship at. 

“You can’t,” she whispered as he tilted his head. Those eyes - those damned eyes - were afire, blazing with a kind of heat Nesta had only ever heard about in songs and chansons de geste— epic, lyrical poems. They were certain to be her undoing, those eyes. Her unravelling. But as the candlelight glowed, reflected in that unwavering, steadily burning hazel… Nesta longed to fall, to let herself come undone.

“And why not?” Cassian asked with a rueful smile, daring to drag his thumb across her cheekbone.

“Because I—“ she began, but her breath faltered as he moved his thumb to her lips, tracing the bow in the centre before dropping to her chin and circling beneath her jaw. Nobody had ever touched her before— nobody had ever dared. “My father is the king,” she forced out.

“Your father hasn’t been here for ten years, sweetheart.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” she said, forcing her eyes open even as they threatened to drift closed. 

Cassian let out a breath, and when he spoke next his voice was firm. “Princess, your great-grandmother sank this country into a civil war to get the crown. You could too, if you wanted.” He didn’t waver, and his touch didn’t slow, exploring the planes of her face with a gentleness that contradicted the sword on the table, the scar through his eyebrow. Treason danced on his tongue, but he spoke of war and bloodshed as if it were nothing, as if he’d serve up this realm to her singlehanded if only she’d ask.  “And I will cut down every single person who stands in your way, if I have to.”

“That really is treason,” she whispered. 

“I care not,” he murmured, dipping his head until his lips were barely an inch from hers. She felt his breath on her cheeks, felt her heartbeat grow wild.

“Fool,” she said softly, but there was no ire there, none at all. He only hummed, nodding in agreement.

“Only for you,” he answered, and it seemed, somehow, like a promise. Like a vow. “Only for you would I draw that blade— only for you do I kneel.”

The candle flame flickered in the corner, and with the moonlight drifting through the windows, she let herself, for just a moment, lean into his touch. She turned her face into his palm, and he hummed again, daring to let his other hand curl around her hip. 

She felt herself slipping, falling. With the golden light dancing on his skin and setting his hazel eyes aglow, she felt herself forgetting all of the turmoil outside of these walls. Tomorrow— she’d deal with it tomorrow. For tonight she only wanted this— the man who looked at her like she was the sun and the moon and the sky itself, who offered her the sharp end of his blade, hers to command as she wished.

“No one can know,” she breathed. “About this— whatever this is.”

He smiled softly. “I always have been exceptionally good at keeping secrets.”

Nesta smiled too, and with every beat of her heart catching, stumbling, she reached for the hand he had rested at her hip. She tangled their fingers together, his rough against her smooth, and Lord have mercy on her— she melted at that touch, felt herself sinking into it and letting it enfold her, engulf her. His thumb moved across the back of her fingers, his lips parting on an exhale, and with all of the weight and authority that she could muster - every ounce of regality that circlet gave her, that her royal blood gave her - she lifted her chin and sought out those eyes of burning, burning hazel.

“Kiss me,” she said.

Cassian smiled, his fingers squeezing hers, tightening his hold. Nesta longed to feel the curve of those lips against hers, yearned for it, and just before Cassian pressed his lips to hers - just before he gave her everything she had ever wanted - he let out a soft breath, one hand moving behind her back, resting between her shoulder blades to pull her closer, to hold her pressed to his chest. As Cassian’s lips brushed the corner of her mouth, he smirked.

“As you wish, princess.”

[manyothermusingsofmine]

Secret Of The Trade || D&D AU || Drabble

Fandom: Xmen

Warnings: attempt to use alcohol to cope, feelings of isolation and feeling invisible, plus actively making yourself invisible through potions which can be read as an abstract form of suicide ideation

Wordcount: 1620

Summary: Late night conversations at the bar with the bartender can be just as revealing as talking to a priest in a confession booth. ----------------

“Now, stop me if you've ever heard this start to a tale before, mes amis; a rogue walks into a bar...”

"Can I get you anything?"

Miranda looked up from her million mile stare at the tiefling behind the bar, his gentle and warm voice interrupting the buzz of nothing rattling in her head and fogging up her mind. For the past hours she had been trying to fall asleep in her hired room at the inn, but her mind refused to let her rest. Instead it kept her awake with many whispers of things long since passed, that she couldn't change now even if she wanted to. And where else would someone with a restless mind end up but at the bar of the tavern?

"... Whatever ale you have left on tap, please," she eventually settled on.

"Coming right up."

She watched as Kurt tossed the towel he had been using to dry some glasses over his shoulder, following his actions until he placed a tankard in front of her and went back to what he was doing before, his tail lightly swishing after him in every movement. He seemed so... content.

"Thank you. .... Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." glowing yellow eyes turned her way as the tiefling casually leaned back against one of the ridges in the bar, giving her his full attention, "what's on your mind?'

Miranda threw a quick glance around the inn, comforting in its silence aside from the soft ambience of the fireplace burning to keep the place warm and cozy. It was just her and the man at the bar; all his other patrons either fast asleep or out doing all the things adventurers did. She turned her gaze back to him.

"I don't think I've ever seen a bar open this late. Why would you.."

"I'm practically nocturnal; I love working nights and sleeping in the morning," Kurt said as he moved closer to her, leaning his arms on the bar right beside her, "but more importantly, because there's always someone like you. Someone who's mind won't let them find rest, someone who wanders around the tavern aimlessly looking for something- and sometimes they don't even know what that something is. I want to be there for people like you; people in need of company."

"And what if they don't want to talk about what's on their mind?" Miranda asked, a hint of skepticism to her voice as she tilted the tankard towards herself a little bit to study the liquid inside.

"Then I'll just sit here with them, instead. No talking required to be good company."

He made true on his word; fixing himself a drink and joining her on the other side of the bar, silently sitting on the barstool next to hers. Miranda looked at Kurt from her peripheral, the glow of the candles and fireplace keeping the place lit putting a soft orange glow on his blue skin that made him look as warm as he sounded while also reflecting off the gold jewelry he wore on his horns.

"I will have to admit, sometimes I scare the ones who wander around the inn at night. It can be so dark that they see nothing of me but my eyes; that's how I earned the name Nightcrawler," he laughed softly, the sound of it pleasant enough that it eased her heart a little bit.

Miranda took a sip of her drink, hoping the buzz of the ale would drown out the fog in her head. For what felt like forever, she stared down into her drinking vessel at her reflection in the drink, wondering if the answers to her feelings could be found on the wooden bottom of the tankard. ‘See nothing of you, huh?’ she thought to herself, ‘I sure know how that feels.’

"I've...” she started, softly, her voice shaking just a little bit, “always felt like I've slipped between the cracks of everything, unnoticed, like the Gods had forgotten to assign me a grand plan like they did for everyone else. For everyone else life seemed to change in far more meaningful ways. They went on adventures, found friends and family, fell in love, got married, had kids... all while I never seemed to move beyond pickpocketing the rich that won’t share their wealth otherwise and cashing in gold for odd jobs around town. No one ever noticed me in any meaningful way.."

Her hand went to the necklace hiding under her clothes, only noticeable by the fabric of her tunic falling over the pendant. A potion pendant, there so she could keep her favorite potion close by for whenever she needed to use it.

"So... might as well be fully invisible. Not like there was any difference if I was truly there or not. Until one day, some traveling Bard comes to town, and he and I take on the same quest for the same price money. He keeps wondering why his specialty arrows go missing, and he casts detect presence to find me. We both decide that the problem we picked up is way too big to handle, so we deal with it together. And... he splits the price money with me, despite being the one the mayor of the town gives the cash to because he's a better talker. Says it’s because without me he wouldn’t have gotten out of that job alive."

Silence fell between the tiefling and the red haired woman for a moment, as she sloshed the ale around her tankard a bit, finding at least some comfort in the warmth of the bar while it slowly started to rain outside.

"Gambit's been at my side ever since. I haven't needed my invisibility potions all that much since I started traveling with him- the man knows how to set up a distraction.”

"That he does," Kurt agreed, watching her set her drink back down with a sigh. He observed her for a moment, watching as her wine red hair glowed in the soft light around the tavern, her off white tunic having a neatly, closely tied up neckline so the skin underneath was hidden- the rest of it fit so loosely around her that he wasn't entirely sure if it wasn't the right size for her, or if she was wearing one technically meant for men. It broke his heart a little that her dark green eyes were shimmering with the wetness of tears she was holding back.

"He's fine," she muttered, "he's a fine man, I mean. He's going to make someone very happy someday, if he stops being dumb about it. I already knew from the moment we met that someone wasn't going to be me, and I didn't want it to be so either, but for what it's worth... I'm glad he's in my life because that life is a little less miserable with him around... Don't tell him I told you that, he'll never let me live it down."

"Never. Trade's secret. I only send adventurers to the odd jobs in town," Kurt said softly as he placed a supportive hand on her shoulder, "whatever my patrons tell me in the middle of the night is between them and me."

Miranda just stared at her tankard again, the swirls in the liquid almost hypnotic to her mind as she felt her throat tighten up. Oh, it had been such a stupid idea to dredge up all these old feelings when she wasn't nearly drunk enough to cope with them. But she looked at Kurt, getting caught in the yellow tones of his glowing eyes that reminded her so much of the burning fire in the fireplace, and between her sleep deprivation and the mild buzz of being tipsy taking away her filter, she blurted out

"Would it be out of line if I asked you to hold me?"

He blinked, once, clearly not expecting that out of her. But before she had the chance to regret her request, he turned towards her; arms slightly opened as he gestured for her to coms closer, ultimately leaving the decision up to her.

Something cracked. She leaned in, silently accepting the embrace by putting her arms around him and pressing her face into his shoulder. Mere moments after her wrapped his arms around her in return, gently running a soothing hand back and forth over her shoulder, her tears broke free.

She sobbed into his shoulder while he just held her, silently riding out the storm with her 'til she pressed her cheek to his shoulder and took a slow, deep breath.

"... Sorry. I don't think I'm finishing that ale."

"There's no need to apologize," Kurt assured, something telling him it wasn't the ale she was apologizing for. He gently wiped away a few of her tears as she pushed herself out of the embrace, "would you like something else? I have a chamomile mix drink that people say helps when they're feeling restless and upset."

"That sounds lovely, but I don't know if I can-"

"It's on the house. Both your drinks are."

"Won't the inn keeper be upset about you giving his stock away for free?"

Kurt just smiled at her as he got up to prepare the new drink for her, and one of her eyebrows raised ever so slightly at the hint of mystery she could see in his soft smile.

"I know the guy," Kurt simply said as he put her new drink in front of her and took away the tankard, before joining her on the other side of the bar again, "it's fine, honest."

"... Thank you. For everything."

"No problem."

“and finds solace with the bartender.”

[pigeonflavouredcake]

I'm procrastinating my grimoire section on baneful magic so I wrote about salt instead

Salt is another incredibly common tool used by practitioners, second only to candles. Salt is often referred to as a pure element by practitioners due to the harvesting process. This makes salt the basis for many spells and rituals, using it to cleanse vessels, represent earth or given as offerings. Because it doesn’t go off or get mouldy it is a great tool to have in your arsenal.

Types of Salt

Black Salt: There are two types of black salt, witches black salt; a mixture made by the practitioner using their choice of salt and ash from coal or incense, this type of salt is inedible and is an option for banishment spells and baneful magic. The other type is kala namak or Himalayan black salt; a kind of rock salt with a dark red/purple hue harvested in northern India and Pakistan around the Himalayas. Kala namak is composed of sodium chloride, iron sulphide which gives the product its purple colour and hydrogen sulphide which gives it its strong smell and savoury taste. (Krishna, K. 2021) 

In cooking, kala namak can be used to replace regular table salt. The hydrogen sulphide can result in an eggy flavour so it is best used sparingly in savoury dishes. You can find it online or from Asian food or health food markets.

Pink Salt: Pink salt or Himalayan salt is a type of rock salt mined in Pakistan near the foothills of the Himalayas. It gets its pink colour from the trace minerals of potassium, magnesium and calcium. Like regular table salt, pink salt contains 98% sodium, because the additional trace minerals are so small there are no proven health benefits to using pink salt over table salt. (Leonard, J. 2018.)

In cooking, pink salt can be used in replacement for regular table salt but due to the larger surface area of the granule compared to table salt granules I recommend using slightly less than required. Pink salt typically has a stronger flavour with a slight metallic after taste. It is often used in love spells because of its pink colour. You can find it in your local supermarket in the 'continental' section. 

Red Salt: Red salt, also called Alaea salt or Hawaiian red salt, is a bright red and unrefined sea salt rich in iron oxide it gets from being rolled in alaea clay found in the Waimea mountains of Hawai'i. Alaea salt is used in traditional Hawaiian practices for blessings, purifying and healing, the religious/spiritual use of Alaea salt is exclusive to Hawaiian culture. Because Alaea salt doesn’t meet U.S food grade requirements it is not commercially sold. (University of Hawai’i)  

Rock Salt: Rock salt (not edible) is typically produced through blast or drill mining; the process is done in stages, first a cut is made in the face of the rock to allow space for drilling and blasting, the next stage, holes are drilled into the face that are then filled with explosives and fired. After the blast the resulting roof is scaled to remove any potential loose debris. The fragments of salt are then hauled on to trucks to be transported to a crushing plant. When they are crushed they’re mixed with anticaking agent to prevent the salt from recrystallizing, it is then stored and shipped. (Irish Salt Mining)  

The salt produced is not safe for consumption and is instead used to grit and de-ice surfaces in the winter, it can also be used for grounding and protective spells like sprinkling it at your front door. You can find it in your local supermarket or hardware store under rock salt, road salt or de-icing salt. 

Sea Salt: Sea salt is the name given to salt harvested from sea water via evaporation. Depending on the climate of the company’s farm, the evaporation process can either be man made or entirely solar based, sea water is collected, filtered for impurities and left under a heat source to reduce the water level and saturate the brine, the brine is then moved to be crystalised where more heat is applied, as salt crystals star forming, they’re harvest and separated, some are then processed with an anticaking agent before being packed and shipped, some are left alone. (Cornish Sea salt Co.)

Sea salt production has been around since the 5th Century BC, being mentioned in the Buddhist scripture, Vinaya Pitaka. (Prakash, O. 2005. p 479) 

The religious use of sea salt varies widely depending on the culture but in general neo-pagan practices sea salt is often given as an offering to the gods. In cooking, sea salt and table salt can be used interchangeably as they have the same nutritional value.

Table Salt: Table salt is your standard refined salt that is typically mined. Table salt production requires turning salt from chunks, to flakes and then finally to granules followed by anti-caking agent to prevent it from recrystallizing.

The standard use in cooking is to reduce the sweetness of dishes, salt also helps create a stronger flavour by decreasing the water content as you cook, concentrating the flavour.

Everything is great in moderation so take care of how much salt you consume on a regular basis. The NHS suggests adults should be eating no more than 6g (1 teaspoon) of salt per day, a diet high in salt correlates to high blood pressure and increases risks of heart disease and strokes. (NHS. 2021)

---------------------------------------------------------

References

Cornish Seasalt Co. (DNA). How is Sea Salt Made?. Cornish Seasalt Co. cornishseasalt.co.uk [Webpage]

Irish Salt Mining & Exploration Company LTD. (DNA). Process. Irish Salt Mining & Exploration Company LTD. irishsaltmining.com [Webpage]

Krishna, K. (2021). Kala Namak/Black Salt: How It Is Made, Nutritional Values, Benefits for Health, Skin and Recipes. NetMeds. Netmeds.com [Webpage]

Leonard, J. Olsen, N. (2018). Does Pink Himalayan Salt Have any Health Benefits?. Medical News Today. medicalnewstoday.com [Web Article]

NHS. (2021). Salt: The Facts. nhs.co.uk [Webpage]

Prakash, O. (2005). Cultural History of India: Food and Drinks (800 B.C. to 300 B.C.). New Age International. India [Book]

University of Hawai’i. (DNA). Exploring our Fluid Earth. Teaching Science as Inquiry: Traditional ways of Knowing: Salt Harvesting. University of Hawai’i. manoa.hawaii.edu [Webpage]

[siiinfully]

@inadxquacy [ x ]:

Didnhe think she despised it? He wasn’t certain. Eleanor had been the most beautiful expecting mother he had even seen, when they expected their child he’d never felt more blessed and feeling it kick for the first time was short of a miracle. But he knew what he’d been taught, the pain and effort of pregnancy and labour was God’s punishment to Eve and her daughters and for two months he lost his wife due to the care she needed. He’d never been more terrified. During the Crusades he’d witnessed women losing their unborn due to injury or distress, he’d heard how some women had bled to death after giving birth. It was the fear he had of losing Eleanor and his child. “All a man can do is pray for God to protect his wife and child, and protect her from harm. But the burden, it was all yours.” It didn’t seem fair.

And he couldn’t deny he desired her flesh, hear her soft sounds as he claimed her. The kiss on his hand was almost cruel, she knew her softness and love was his weakness. And feeling her breast with his hand his mouth grew dry and he looked at her, able to see her desire. Kissing her Thomas’ hands fell to her waist and then to her hips, pulling her closer against his body. Breaking away slightly he looked at her, “I am your husband, body and soul, if you ever need me or desire my company all you have to is say so.” As traditional as he was he saw her above him. She was his queen and as the mother of his child she was vessel of their bloodline. Pleasure was sin but denying his wife her needs would be sin against her, something he could not allow and would seek forgiveness after her needs were fulfilled. And now his, he wanted her and another child. Looking at her for a moment his gaze darkened slightly, body overcome with lust as he watched her. Reaching for the laces of her dress he began to undo them gently. As much as he desired her he would not resorts to ravishing her, she deserved to be treated with care and gentleness.

It was ‘dangerous’ for him to give her all that power over their desires. She was a passionate woman by nature, sometimes driven by her intense emotions, but when it came to her husband, she had to remind herself that he wasn’t the same in that aspect. So, she sometimes denied herself of his company, his intimate embrace, believing it would help both of them. And so far, it worked, considering he never really shut her out when she wanted to be affectionate. However, his words opened a dam of yearnings and desires she had previously kept locked up, and she moaned, her entire body suddenly hyperaware of what was going on. Feeling him gently undo the laces of her dress, she closed her eyes and leaned towards him a little, a hand on his arm to keep herself from falling forward all the way. “Thomas,” she whispered, her chest tightening when she felt his hand brush over the swell of her breasts, but she let him finish his task, slow yet gentle and loving, before she focused on helping him remove his clothing.

She had taken over his squire’s duties in helping him dress often enough to know how take off certain pieces of clothing. Undoing the belt that held his tunic together made it easier for her to tug the fabric off; it had barely fallen to the ground when she was pulling him in for another kiss and pressing herself against his bigger, firmer form. Her soft, unmarked flesh brushed over his rougher, battle-scarred one, but she had seen it often enough that she remembered where every scar was and what it felt like beneath her fingertips. They hadn’t been this intimate in a while, and she didn’t mind going slow: it helped her enjoy every single second. Eleanor broke the kiss to catch her breath, looking up at him and then taking a few, slow steps back, towards the bed. She remembered their wedding night, from the way he looked under the glow of the candle lights to the gradual intensity of their coupling. It was with that thought that she sat down on the edge of the bed and sliding over to the middle, leaving room for him to join her there.

[jofdiamonds]

Wrote this for the Drug Cartel AU @cheshire-shuntaro created. Aki is a hired murderer (and well, anything else as long as the pay is good) working for the same organization as @j-ofspades ~

Aki wasn't a careful killer.

And that's about as much as anybody could say about him, closed as he was; he had left clues in every murder he had ever committed, confusing ones, yes, that didn't quite follow a pattern. Enough to continually play a game of cat and mouse with the police who were looking for him but not to get caught.

What could he say? Was there a way he could justify himself? He loved the adrenaline. It was a change from his usual way of feeling: he was continuously numb, like a body buried underwater, sounds and images blurry to him. His only companion? His thoughts and prayers. One would think oh, probably, he's hoping for a way out. A change of life, of scenery. Giving up on a life of stabbing, hanging, poisoning, breaking legs and arms, collecting money from people who don't have any... and they'd be wrong. Although, not completely.

He wanted to get caught. Destroyed, weathered to nothing.

He wanted to be able to wash away the blood of his hands.

He loved to show-off. Speak with his contracts before delivering the final blow. A sort of inside joke between him and the person whose life he was ending, an unbreakable bond he would treasure forever. Simple statements like beg for your life, somebody wants you dead, sleep now and forever... nobody said that being a good murderer had to come with a creative imagination, now, did they? Perhaps, secretly, she was hoping one of them was lucky enough to survive and go to the police. But, such a shame I am so good at this job.

He was sitting in a hotel room in the darkness, his only company as well as source of light the candles he had lit hours ago, and the wax dripping from them to the wooden surface of the table. A rhythmical sound. Tap, tap, tap. Like droplets of blood falling to the ground from a severed neck... Outside, wind hollowed incessantly. Sometimes, a little bit of it came through the old, tattered window, making the candles flicker. Like in horror movies, before something big happened. An ill omen.

A ringing, annoying, sound, all of a sudden. A phone call.

If Aki's calculations weren't wrong, it was around four in the morning. Who had decided to interrupt his slumber? Unknown call. Only could be one person, then.

The Ritual.

'Sir?'

'Go to Mar del Plata and accompany Vessel. He has a mission and it can't go wrong.'

I'm not anybody's nanny. Plus, the masked creepy man and I don't get along and don't work well together. Have you already forgotten about the job in Barcelona?

There was no point telling any of that to the chilling voice on the other line. So, with a simple yes, Aki hung up the phone.

He prepared to leave.

He blew out the candles.

[mercurygray]

“the third time” for whoever’s sparking muse for it atm ! xx

More Naera! I put the first two chapters of her story on AO3, here!

You can read more of Naera on tumblr here.

Wordcount: 1421 words.

It was always warm in the nursery.

Naera remembered sleeping here, as a child, curled up between the braziers. She had hardly needed a blanket then, and after all these years she was used to the warmth by now. Beside her Gaela was pushing up the sleeves of her tunic, more than a little uncomfortable in the heat.

"Do you know why we keep the room warm?"  Naera asked, resisting the urge to roll Gaela’s tunic sleeves up herself. 

"Because dragons like fire?" the little adept asked, looking around.

"Well, yes," Naera allowed, "but it is more than that. When a dragon lays her eggs, she picks a place that is calm, and dark, and lays them in a caul that hardens and keeps them warm." She brushed a hand over the lid of one of the warming pans, the iron just barely able to be touched. "Wildborn dragons break out of that covering themselves - we do a little of the work and then keep them warm in braziers until the time is right."

"And some of them never hatch?" Gaela asked, her eyes tracing the runes and signs on each one of the carefully crafted iron vessels, resting over the steady bank of coals.

"There are eggs here laid by dragons who came with the Conqueror," Naera said, glancing around at the circles of pots, old and new. "And yes - some may never hatch. Even the dragonmasters cannot say why." But they still dream, she wanted to say. I have seen them, flying with their mothers.

There was a noise at the door of the nursery, and Naera looked to the door to see the Princess Helaena, Varra standing in her shadow. Alicent's daughter always looked a little out of place in the Dragonpit, though whether that was her pale dresses or her dream-eyed gaze Naera could never tell. She was wearing a traveling cloak, despite the warmth of the room, her pale hair glowing alongside the clay lamps and coals.

"I dreamed last night of three candles," the princess said, without preface or greeting. "I should like to see the eggs."

"Of course, Princess," Naera responded with a short bow. (She knew by now it was unwise to ask for explanations - the Princess rarely gave them and when she did her reasons were vague and strange. Far easier not to ask. Dreaming was like that, sometimes.) "Was there one in particular you wished-"

"I will know it when it comes," Helaena declared, and Naera nodded, stepping out of her way so that she would have free rein of the room. "This one will help me," she said, pointing to Gaela, and the girl nodded and dipped a bow, falling into the Princess's shadow. Seeing that the Princess had what she needed, Varra stepped away, revealing another person in the passage - a tall, long-haired man in a white cloak.

Naera inclined her head in greeting. "Sir Erryk." 

"A third meeting is a lucky one," he said with a slim smile. "Or so my mother used to say." Naera only stared at him, and his face fell a little. "No Aegon today - the Princess needed an escort and a Kingsguard must go where he is bid."

Well, that's a small blessing, at least.  Strange, though, that you would come and speak to me. But perhaps beating a man until he bruises and helping with his armor after means that we're allowed, now. "What will the Prince do without you?"

"I'm sure he's happy to see the back of me," Erryk said with a shrug. "The prince does not care often for company - Flea Bottom's more fun without a nursemaid, he says."

The thought made Naera's skin crawl. Yes, I suppose it would be, if you were bound for places like Jotho Whyte's, with its fighting pits and strong beer and children who’ve grown up too quickly. And yet you still go with him - to be his nursemaid, as you say. Another thought occurred, worse, somehow, then the first - How bad is he when there is no one to mind him? She decided to ask a different question - something she'd been thinking about since she’d met her first Kingsguard and seen who and what Aegon was. "Why do you serve a man like that?"

It was obviously a question Erryk asked himself often- his face hardened a little. "Why do you?"

"I am no man's servant," she corrected, her blood fairly boiling at the assumption. "I am a dragonkeeper, vowed and sworn. It is in my blood - a clear line back to Valyria, and just as old as the King's."

Her sharpness did not seem to trouble him, but when he spoke he was defensive, too. "My family's roots are with the First Men. We have always served the lords of these lands - Storm Kings and River Kings and Dragon Kings alike. I serve for my family's honor, and the Crown entire - not just a single king. My oath is for life - like your own, I think."

"I swore to serve the gods," she corrected. "Why would you take such an oath, if you did not know what kind of man you'd serve?" 

"It is a great honor to be named to the Kingsguard - a sign of your skill as a warrior. My father was never more proud than when my brother and I gave our oaths. As was yours, I'm sure."

Naera scoffed. "I do not know my father," she said, knowing it would discomfit him. Wasn't that the way of these Westerosi, with their bastards and base-borns? "That is the custom here. Who knows what dragon sired any of these eggs?" She cast her hand around the room. "But we know by whom they were laid. That is all that matters to us. I am my mother's daughter, and none other." And she knows my worth very well.

Truth be told, she’d never asked her mother about her father - whether he was a man of the Keepers, or some lover she’d taken from the lower city. The Keepers were not confined to the Dragonpit, by any means, though they kept their own customs there, the ancient gods and the old tongue of Valyria. We would have died out long since, if we’d been ordered to find a mate here among the brethren, she’d heard her mother’s friend say once. Anyone who’s bred goats knows that too well. Why should it matter who the child’s father is, as long as it is born and raised with us? 

It would be easier if we kept the old ways - the inheritance of the female line. But they do things differently here, and sons come after fathers. If Aegon's sisters had been allowed to rule and had daughters to come after them - but Rhaenys and Visenya bore only sons. 

But what the knight thought of that she never heard - Helaena reappeared in the doorway, Gaela in close step behind her. There was a softness in her face again, and her hand was resting gently on her belly - a sign Naera recognized at once. Three candles, in a dream - she's having another baby. Her heart sank a little, thinking of what the Princess had said before about being looked at by her brother-husband. It's horrid work, after you're looked at. "You will put aside the egg I've picked," she announced. "For when it is time." She gestured to Gaela. "She knows."

Naera nodded, bowing again as the princess passed, and letting Erryk leave without another word or a gesture of goodbye. What do I care for Kingsguard knights? “Show me which egg the Princess picked, Gaela, and we’ll move it so it can be watched.”

The younger girl nodded and moved quickly back into the other nursery chamber, Naera following slowly and deliberately. Gaela pointed it out amidst the dozens of others - pale green with veins of silver down its sides, the color of a newly-turned out leaf. Naera pulled the egg carefully out from among the others, feeling the familiar scaled surface and its subtle warmth. They would have to check the records for which dragon had laid this one - it was too large, she thought, to be one of Dreamfyre’s, and her eggs were usually bluish in color. And just like that, its fate is cast - a mount for a royal baby. It will be cosseted and crowed over, but a dragon is only ever a dragon. It has no oaths to take or break. 

And who knows? The egg may never hatch, and all those dreams will be for naught. Who ever knows if dreams come true? It's easy enough to snuff a candle out.

[just-another-star-47]

Holidays in Hogsmeade 🌾

It's the first winter that Luscinia experiences in Scotland - the first winter solstice that she's not celebrating with her little brother Alcedo.

But gladly Corvus, Sebastian and Poppy keep her company.

I tried to research about Irish and Scottish, but it's harder to find good sources, than I thought. So please don't hate me, if I made some mistakes in my writing - I tried my best.

(If you know some good sources, please let me know.)

The warm glow of the lanterns lit their way through Hogsmeade. Sebastian had insisted that they take the path through the village to the farmhouse so that he could show Luscinia the festively decorated streets.

His expectations were exceeded when she looked up with shining eyes at the garlands of holly and fir, to which golden nuts and apples were attached.

Metal vessels harboured fires that dispelled the darkness until the deepest nights, the windows of the individual houses were decorated with candles. No longer able to contain her joy, Luscinia ran with bouncing steps to a colourfully decorated Christmas tree.

"Ein Weihnachtsbaum!"

She clapped her gloved hands and stretched her nose closer to the branches, admiring the little golden stars.

"Huh?" Sebastian exchanged an amused glance with Poppy before stepping closer and carefully lifting one of the stars to scrutinise it from all sides.

"Ein Weihnachtsbaum" repeated Luscinia with a wide smile.

"A craobh na Nollaig."

Luscinia watched Sebastian closely as he pronounced the name and tried it herself after, eliciting a broad smile from him. Shortly afterwards, they both turned to Poppy and she understood immediately.

"Crann Nollag."

Laughing, the three of them strolled on through the village, Luscinia buying two bags of biscuits, one of which they emptied together, before they reached the farmhouse.

Inside it smelled of cinnamon and roasted apples, and Luscinia quickly slipped off her shoes and jacket, hurried to the stove in the parlour and opened the small hatch above the fire.

"Oh, Corvus!"

At the sound of the door, the man addressed had stepped out of the kitchen with a towel, greeted Poppy and Sebastian with a wave and entered the parlour with a grin.

"I've done my best."

He pressed plates into Luscinia's hands and used the towel to pull the baked apples out of the oven. The wintry smell intensified and Poppy and Sebastian came closer.

"Oh, they look delicious."

Luscinia praised her brother and couldn't take her eyes off the apples, which were now placed on the plates. The cold cheeks and stiff fingers of the three students slowly thawed again in the warmth of the oven, and they listened excitedly to the latest gossip Corvus had to report as they spooned up the flesh of the apples together with the walnut and honey filling. Leaning back contentedly in his armchair, Corvus patted his stomach and then got up to fetch the surprise he had announced in his letter.

"I've asked Auntie and Uncle to send us something for the house. And I managed to find the rest in and around Hogsmeade. Unpack it."

Luscinia tilted her head, smoothed her skirt and sank to the floor in front of the box. She glanced at her brother again and held her breath as she lifted the lid.

"No..."

What awaited her brought tears to her eyes - a fact that caused everyone present to join her on the floor. While Poppy cradled Luscinia in her arms and laid her head on her shoulder, Sebastian stood back and hastily stroked her hand with his fingertips before having a look at the contents of the box. A wooden pyramid stood in the centre of the box, wrapped in thick layers of fabric, with woven and braided stars made of straw and fabric ribbons on either side.

"If I'd known you were crying, I wouldn't have bothered," Corvus teased, freeing the Christmas pyramid from the layers of fabric and placing it in front of Luscinia's lap.

"Here. Auntie had it specially made. Look, you can even see the house on the bottom floor."

A closer look at the carved figures made Luscinia's tears overflow and, sniffling, she stroked the smooth wood and the gentle curves of the replica of her family's house until they got stuck on the little men who were up to all sorts of mischief on the second floor. A smile slipped between her tears, and she bit her lower lip to stifle the trembling in her voice.

"Thank you..."

Without another word, Corvus pulled his little sister close and held her tightly against his body.

"You know I love spending winter solstice here with you, Linni? There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

Before her sobs could get any louder, Corvus turned her round and pushed her down, back in front of the pyramid.

"Now, before your friends start crying too, you'd better show them what the lovely Muggles have come up with here."

Luscinia nodded weakly, put the four candles into the pots provided for them with shaky hands, and lit them with a flick of her wand.

"Oh how beautiful!" exclaimed Poppy as the wings began to turn and with them the figures on the different levels.

"And Muggles made this?" Sebastian bent down to the pyramid and stared at it so intently, as if the secret magic inside would reveal itself at any moment.

They fell silent for a moment, the wings of the pyramid rotated constantly, the figures whirled in circles, while the flames of the candles bathed the surrounding wood in a warm orange colour.

"Dear ones," Corvus slapped his thighs and straightened up again, "I had actually planned to decorate the house. So I can come back to a festively decorated home during the week."

He grinned and carefully lifted the pyramid to place it on the table in the centre of the living room. He then placed a wicker basket filled with fir branches in front of the three pupils and gestured through the air with a sweeping motion.

"Let your creativity run wild."

While they decorated the farmhouse with fir branches, golden nuts and apples, Poppy began to sing. With words emphasised differently, Sebastian then launched into the songs he knew, making first Poppy and then the Plonbraw siblings laugh. The melody of one of the songs also sounded familiar to Luscinia and Corvus, and soon the same song rang through the rooms in three different languages.

Finally, they fished the little stars made of straw and fabric out of the box, and Luscinia turned them thoughtfully in her hands.

"They could almost be from Alcedo."

"I'm sure they're from him," Corvus tousled her hair, "and the little crooked ones are from our sweet cousin."

With a grin, Luscinia tried to push down the sadness that wanted to sprout inside her again and with a shake of her head, she joined Poppy and helped her tie some of the stars to the fir branches. Humming and laughing, they both focussed on their tasks, meanwhile Sebastian joined Corvus as he lit the candles in the windows.

"I take it Alcedo isn't coming to visit you on the winter solstice?"

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he watched Luscinia with his jaw clenched.

Corvus shook his head: "Our little one isn't so rebellious as to go against our parents' wishes and come here. And my hands are tied in this matter too."

He shrugged his shoulders before turning to the pupil.

"And yours even more so."

Sebastian stared at Luscinia's older brother with a furrowed brow, but he just grinned and patted him on the shoulder.

[sunnyglassware]

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[muutosarchive]

vanessa / interpretation of fnaf lore part 2. (therapy logs / Fazbear Funtime Service - transfer to mega pizzaplex & beyond)

Going back to Vanessa's time as a beta tester in FNAF VR: once she found out about the player character of the VR experience, she lied about her family history to her mandated therapists in preparation for the day she encounters Afton. She feeds a sad story to whoever would listen, about her evil father bill, & how he manipulated her into causing her mother's suicide. this way, once it's in the system - glitchtrap could access it, & assess her as the perfect 'target' for his manipulation. rebellious side, hidden to resemble his daughter more. to become a sympathetic guise for the evil afton to corrupt. But, little does she know... She's always wanted him in her head. She wants to help him, and she wants to be with him. She loves him.

Im not suggesting Afton hasn't, and will not continue to manipulate Vanessa. However, Afton's selective empathy locks onto Vanessa. She represents new life, and the rebirth of his dreams. That of bringing Fredbear to life. His creativity and drive, meeting the skills he's learned next to Henry's robotic creation. Those which couldn't hold a candle to the type of things William could craft. She means ending his suffering in the VR experience. It's clear William cared about his children, his former wife.. His creations, or the bonnie suit at the very least. He is not hollow, in fact it is grief that has warped his sense of self.

now to preface this, In the unused E-Mails, Vanessa was an employee of Fazbear Funtime Service. A Service she & Afton launched, as a better attempt to soften the old reputation of Fazbear Ent. This is where she and Afton began their plans, as her correspondences with Afton are clearly referenced during these therapist logs. She began to change. I can prove that she began to show proficient skills in things she shouldn't, which is supporting my theory that Afton is using her as a vessel, which will also bleed into her transfer to the pizzaplex. but I'll get into that later. I'm just trying to set-up my wish to prove that afton, without a shadow of a doubt, had reason and motive to be controlling Vanessa even into the events of Security Breach.

(following therapy sessions are all taking place during her time at Funtime, unless otherwise stated)

We get, rather early evidence of Vanessa's projection of her own manipulation, as she knows their logs will be public knowledge. She wants to have their sympathy. So, she appears mild mannered at first & cooperative in the mandated therapy. However, they also mention anxiety - which could appear aggravated from someone looking in from the outside. Especially considering her erratic behavior, but i'm getting ahead myself. This is the first time her conversations with Afton are referenced, while she's still working at Fazbear Funtime:

Bringing up these chat logs, or Afton, will prove to be a fatal mistake for her therapists. But we'll also get to that. She has about five during the course of the logs, and they switch near & around the time that they begin to discuss her personal activity during business hours.

This timeline aligns with my theory of their planning to acquire the land, & rebuild the plex atop of the old fazbear location while she bides her time working at the new, smaller company under the new Fazbear Entertainment LLC. All they needed was a cheap office space at first and enough animatronics to start rolling out the characters to events. also allowing Afton to collect more remnant from the children to experiment with animating the robots by injecting their circuitry with the living metal.

All the while, Afton has all public information still relevant to Fazbear entertainment, while they're using the Fazbear Funtime revenue to fund the plans for the pizzaplex. business is booming, so things are taking less time than either of them expected. First expanding the animatronic skin line for each of the core characters, before starting construction on the mall.

i also assume that the conversations are in code, which is a written code that appears to be one thing but really is another. easy for glitch to teach her, easy for them to talk through each other with no incoming source. evidence of that, later.

she's very defensive about who she's talking about despite having no reason to be as far as i'm concerned. there's nothing concerning yet, & besides -- she controls her fate at the company. but even if she didn't, there's no evidence of her doing anything. so, this just confirms it's Afton, as she would not feel the need to jump so quickly to anyone else's defense. Cagey in particular, because she knows how valuable Glitch's CPU would be in the wrong hands. she mentions a co-worker but that doesn't explain it away.

now, my next point is the clear evidence that William or Glitchtrap (Afton) is possessing her during some of these sessions. the ones she refuses to talk in, & is seemingly bothered by the simplest things. things that wouldn't make sense, nor will later. such as here: she'll appear to have an aversion to bright light... but later on, vanessa expresses that she likes the blue sky. whether afton is just more present WITH ness, or whether he's completely in control.. that's up for debate. though, i take it he's not in complete control as much as one might think, based on my theory.

mind you, i'm not cutting out v's lines. she only says No.

why would vanessa care about being in a cubby or a cave? she wouldn't. afton would. the man who spent up to 3 decades trapped in a suit, in a sealed off room that was invisible to even the robots. the VR experience... fazbear frights. the fact that he's not used to having human eyes, anymore. of course he has an aversion to light. of course he's more comfortable and happier in the darkness. because that's all he knows, now.

this same thing also happens with flowers, later on.

.... but later, she doesn't have the same aversion to those flowers. i'll get to that in part 2 because i ran out of photo posts!!

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[jaysthea-warhammer-blog]

Jay reads The Ravanwing by Gav Thorpe part 5

In his experience there had been three categories of interaction. There were enemies, allies and civilians.

Lovely way to view the world

the Dark Angels were not alone amongst the Adeptus Astartes to house the remains of their heroes in reliquaries beneath their fortress-monastery

Thats good to know

‘One hundred thousand bolter kills is a remarkable achievement, brother,’ said Amanael. ‘It is a privilege to fight alongside you.

Good job Telemenus but also Jesus

The blade felt light compared to his bolter, flimsy and weak. It was no weapon for a true warrior, more useful for cutting into rations containers and prying open ammunition crates. ‘Needs must when the Lion turns a blind eye,’ he muttered to himself, launching himself at the orks as they closed with the squad.

That an interesting phrase

He allowed his othersense to strengthen, his mind flowing from the confines of his head, his soul detaching from its mortal vessel to seek the truth.

He felt the warp opening up like a gulf beneath him, the ground shifting to a maelstrom of energy under his feet. Like quicksand sucking him down, Harahel felt the warp drawing him in, trying to drown him

The whirling gulf narrowed as Harahel exerted his will, drawing together the edges of the ravine that sought to topple him into the immaterium. Leaving only the tiniest cracks in his mind, through which the power of the warp could pass into real space, the Epistolary focused on the tower.

All thought, all emotion, all life made ripples in the warp. The lives and thoughts of a normal human were brief flickers that barely registered. The minds of psykers were like candle flames or bright bonfires depending upon their power.

Amazing imagry

The Dark Angels’ purpose was like an iron curtain across the warp, forged from faith and courage. It was a near-impenetrable barrier.

Great self-confidence buddy

Some had descended further than others, though, and there were some Fallen who gratefully accepted the judgement and mercy of the Chapter. Many of the Fallen were simply renegades, but also many of them had turned to the worship of the Dark Powers of Chaos. So far, every Fallen who had been a psyker was in the latter category.

'gratefully accepted'

It would be prideful to assume that my mind is strong enough to resist or defeat a foe that has access to the raw power of… of the Empyrean Dwellers to draw upon. Against such energy my psychic hood might prove insufficient defence.’ ‘What do you suggest we do?’ asked Sammael. ‘Should I alter the attack plan?

I like how theirs some humility here. As well as Sammael being willing to ask for advise

Void shields utilise warp energy to create a defensive barrier, in effect an omni-directional warp portal that displaces incoming matter and energy.’

Science!!

Honour is the reward of dutiful service.

Similar to Lion's "Loyalty is its own reward"

Excessive interest in external cultures breeds doubt, and doubt brings dereliction of duty

And were back to the brain washing

Perhaps it was Amanael’s dedication and focus that made him such a good candidate for leadership. A warrior with his honours and history should have been promoted to the First Company half a century earlier, but Amanael steadfastly remained a sergeant in the Fifth and seemed not only content but proud of that fact. He revelled in his strict adherence to the Chapter codes, and although he always gave fair hearing to the opinions of the battle-brothers, Amanael also countenanced no lack of discipline or dispute.

Not everyone is ambitious Telemenus. Amanael seems happy not knowing shit

[themadscene]

Revelation 18

And after these things I saw another angel come down from heaven, having great power; and the earth was lightened with his glory.

2 And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird.

3 For all nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath of her fornication, and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth are waxed rich through the abundance of her delicacies.

4 And I heard another voice from heaven, saying, Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.

5 For her sins have reached unto heaven, and God hath remembered her iniquities.

6 Reward her even as she rewarded you, and double unto her double according to her works: in the cup which she hath filled fill to her double.

7 How much she hath glorified herself, and lived deliciously, so much torment and sorrow give her: for she saith in her heart, I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no sorrow.

8 Therefore shall her plagues come in one day, death, and mourning, and famine; and she shall be utterly burned with fire: for strong is the Lord God who judgeth her.

9 And the kings of the earth, who have committed fornication and lived deliciously with her, shall bewail her, and lament for her, when they shall see the smoke of her burning,

10 Standing afar off for the fear of her torment, saying, Alas, alas that great city Babylon, that mighty city! for in one hour is thy judgment come.

11 And the merchants of the earth shall weep and mourn over her; for no man buyeth their merchandise any more:

12 The merchandise of gold, and silver, and precious stones, and of pearls, and fine linen, and purple, and silk, and scarlet, and all thyine wood, and all manner vessels of ivory, and all manner vessels of most precious wood, and of brass, and iron, and marble,

13 And cinnamon, and odours, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and fine flour, and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men.

14 And the fruits that thy soul lusted after are departed from thee, and all things which were dainty and goodly are departed from thee, and thou shalt find them no more at all.

15 The merchants of these things, which were made rich by her, shall stand afar off for the fear of her torment, weeping and wailing,

16 And saying, Alas, alas that great city, that was clothed in fine linen, and purple, and scarlet, and decked with gold, and precious stones, and pearls!

17 For in one hour so great riches is come to nought. And every shipmaster, and all the company in ships, and sailors, and as many as trade by sea, stood afar off,

18 And cried when they saw the smoke of her burning, saying, What city is like unto this great city!

19 And they cast dust on their heads, and cried, weeping and wailing, saying, Alas, alas that great city, wherein were made rich all that had ships in the sea by reason of her costliness! for in one hour is she made desolate.

20 Rejoice over her, thou heaven, and ye holy apostles and prophets; for God hath avenged you on her.

21 And a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone, and cast it into the sea, saying, Thus with violence shall that great city Babylon be thrown down, and shall be found no more at all.

22 And the voice of harpers, and musicians, and of pipers, and trumpeters, shall be heard no more at all in thee; and no craftsman, of whatsoever craft he be, shall be found any more in thee; and the sound of a millstone shall be heard no more at all in thee;

23 And the light of a candle shall shine no more at all in thee; and the voice of the bridegroom and of the bride shall be heard no more at all in thee: for thy merchants were the great men of the earth; for by thy sorceries were all nations deceived.

24 And in her was found the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth.