#inner circles overlapping

[mafaldaknows]

Instagram: johnp.shanley

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. + 1

“What is going on?” Batman asked the group as he swept into the room.

John stayed focused on the circle, not wanting to mess up now. It would be a lot of faff for nothing if he did.

“Constantine believes he has a contact to help us with our current issue,” Superman explained. “He is working on the summoning circle now.”

“Is that safe to do on the Watchtower?” Batman asked, as cautious as ever.

“Yeah, mate,” John answered for himself. “This one is a good one. Haven’t met them myself, but real helpful sort of fellow from everything I’ve heard. Or at least real helpful for the things that they can help with.”

Careful not to smudge any lines, John moved backwards out of the circle and gave it a good look over. The rest of the lot were talking about something, but if Batman hadn’t stopped him yet, John figured he was good and intended to keep working. A little slice to his finger, a few drops of blood, the right words, and it was done.

The white markings of the circle seemed to shudder and warp, like the lines on a desert street. Then they snapped a bright green and the inner lines seemed to fall away into an endless void. The void rippled and suddenly a hand reached out of it. The claws made the worst sound as they gripped into the metal floor.

Another hand joined it.

And then the being pulled themselves out of the summoning circle.

John knew better than to try and comprehend what he was seeing. It was all shadow and green flames and fear anyways.

“Who dares to call upon the Ghost King?” the being asked. The voice echoed through the room, through John’s head, through his soul. It sounded like a thousand screaming voices of the dead speaking all at once.

Toxic green eyes in the black mass swept over the group. It was like they were being seen; their souls, their very beings, every aspect of them flayed open and on display for this other worldly entity. John swallowed reflexively when the eyes paused on him for a moment. He wasn’t scared, but there was still a primal part of his brain that said he should run.

Then the gaze landed on Batman and stayed there. Superman stepped forward, slightly, as if to shield Batman from the being’s view.

The being didn’t seem to care and leaned forward up to the edge of the circle. “B?”

Batman inclined his head slightly, “Phantom.”

“Shit. This Justice League approved, huh? Sorry about the dramatics. Usually I only get summoned by cultists who want Pariah Dark, the old king, to give them power or cleanse the world of life or blah blah blah. Best to show up and put the fear of me into them,” the being said, motioning to themselves and all their horror. The reverb of their voice had settled some, now only like a few voices overlapping.

“Understandable,” Batman agreed, seemingly unaffected by it all.

John could only shrug incredulously at Superman’s questioning gaze. Fuck if he knew. Sure, Bats was unflappable, but everyone knew he avoided the supernatural stuff if he could.

The being pulled the last of itself out of the portal which sealed with a sickening squelch. “You could have just called though. Like, I get summoning is a quick way to travel, but it's a little painful."

“Painful?” Batman asked, turning to stare at John, who swallowed nervously at the cold tone.

“Yeah. This was a pretty clean circle though, props to the maker—”

“Thanks, I think?” John mumbled at he watched the being start to shift. It was like watching a black hole collapse in on itself.

“—so it's not that bad, but still it feels like ripping some duct tape off my skin or something,” the being continued. They were much more human shaped now, though they still smiled with an alarming number of very white teeth.

“We'll keep that in mind in the future. I was unaware of who, exactly, they were summoning.”

The rest of the roiling darkness settled on their shoulders like a half cape— one that seemed to hold the infinity of the night sky inside it. The vortex of flames settled into a crown of fire that floated above a head of stark white hair. They flexed their claws and the limbs settled into normal hands that they tucked into pockets of their three piece black suit with its sharp white accents. Then they stepped over the live of what was supposed to be an unbreakable summoning circle.

Like it was just waking through a door.

Like it was nothing.

John took a reflexive step back. This kind of rule breaking shit was exactly why he liked to avoid the Infinite Realms when he could; they were too chaotic to easily manage.

“All good,” they said with a shrug and a fanged smile. “So, what did you need the Ghost King for?”

-

Bruce watched Phantom scan the meeting room as they entered. Their eyes caught, just for a moment, and a million thoughts ran through Bruce’s head. Did he want to do this? Was it time? He trusted the Justice League. They had issues and conflicts, like any group, but they were heroes through and through.

Revealing this also did not mean revealing either of their civilian identities.

The nod was barely any movement at all, but Bruce knew that Phantom had caught it and understood. After so many years together, they hardly needed words, which Bruce often appreciated. Words had never been easy for Bruce. He worked on it for his family. He had to after…

Bruce forced himself not to think about that. Danny had saved Jason, even if the resulting years without Danny there were some of the hardest for the family. They were together again and better for it. Bruce let out a careful breath and took his normal seat.

“Thank you for your assistance, King Phantom,” Wonder Woman started. Phantom held up a hand.

“I didn’t say I could assist. I’ll listen and help if I can and see fit, but there are a great many things that are not mine to aid in,” Phantom said sternly, though his voice was carefully kind. “My influence is only over those closely tied to death and of the Infinite Realms. The living are outside of my jurisdiction.”

“Of course,” Superman said quickly as he could without rushing the words. “Listening is a great start. If you’ll take a seat.”

Phantom nodded and strode right past the indicated seat. With a casual ease that Bruce had always envied, Phantom sat on the arm of Bruce’s chair.

“Um, King Phantom, your majesty?” Flash started nervously. “Batman doesn’t really like to be touched?”

“Really?” Phantom asked innocently. Bruce couldn’t see it, but knew exactly the smirk Phantom had as he leaned back to lounge against Bruce’s shoulder. (Bruce loved that smile.)

Bruce schooled his expression as he watched Flash and Hal exchange looks and frantic hand signs to each other.

J’onn tilted his head curiously as he took his own seat. Bruce could see J’onn come to an understanding as his eyes flickered down the the black metal brand around Phantom’s ring finger in the shape of a flying bat.

“Ah,” J’onn said softly.

“Ah? Ah what?” Flash asked, his words almost a whine. “What do you know?”

Bruce rested his hand lightly on Phantom’s hip, well aware that the motion was in sight of both Superman and Wonder Woman.

“Ah,” Wonder Woman said with a little smile. “J’onn knows something we all know, though not in this context. It is good to meet you, Phantom.”

“Good to meet you also, Wonder Woman. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Phantom said as she sat down next to them.

“I wish I could say the same,” she said with a teasing smile directed Bruce’s way.

“Hn.”

Phantom just laughed, the sound echoing like a ringing bell. “It’s okay, I know what B is like. Trust me, that you know anything at all is a big deal. He’s just bad at doing things the normal way.”

Bruce held back a sigh and just pinched Phantom’s side again, making the other squeak and backhand Bruce in the chest.

“Holy shit!” Hal jutted a finger at Phantom. “You’re Batman’s husband!”

“Guilty as charged,” Phantom said.

“Wait, no, you’re what?” Flash asked and zipped closer to the table. “Huh. You are so not what I expected. I mean, I guess ghost plus Spooky works but you’re so… lively! Wait— is that like, offensive to call the dead lively?”

Phantom laughed again and shook his head. “No, but not everyone in the realms will take it as a compliment. I don’t mind and besides, I’m only half-dead.”

“Half-dead?” Superman asked with his brow furrowed worriedly.

Phantom just waved the concern away. “It’s complicated. Mostly it just means that I still get to live out my human life as simply a human. Ghosts move slower, having eternity and all, so there’s not too much for me to do as the king other than attend to summons and make slow changes.”

“So,” Hal started, ignoring Bruce’s glare and sliding into a seat finally. “You’re married to Batman in your civilian form as well?”

“Of course, it would be silly otherwise,” Phantom said and then added, “and no, I won’t tell you who B is. That’s for him to choose.”

“Okay, but like, we can talk to you, right?” Flash asked, eager as ever.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? But work first. What do you think I can help you all with?”

Bruce moved his hand to rest on the small of Phantom’s back and watched his husband command the room like the king he was.

--- AN: and here's the last part! The JL finally meet Batman's husband, or at least once side of him!

[highladyandromeda]

Shadows of the Heart

Prologue

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions. 

Y/n’s powers are inspired by Scarlet Witch from Marvel. She is a sorceress living in Vallahan, with her family hailing from the night court. 

Word count: 1k-ish

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, but nothing particularly graphic

Azriel stood off to the side, quietly observing the cozy scene in the House of Wind's living room. There was Feyre, nestled comfortably on Rhys's lap, her giggles echoing softly as she leaned in to catch his whispered words. In the corner, Amren made an art out of lounging, a smirk playing on her lips as she peered over her wine glass. Cassian had wrapped an arm around Nesta, her head bent together with Gwen and Emerie, engrossed in a lively discussion about their latest read. The ambient buzz of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses filled with Rhys's impressive wine, created a backdrop of contented harmony.

Azriel tried his best to shove aside the twinge of jealousy that crept up on him, watching his brothers and their bliss. He didn't want to feel like just an onlooker, basking in the warmth of their happiness, yet here he was. His mind wandered to Elain, who had opted for an early night. Would her presence have allowed him to drift away from this feeling, to find solace in her gentle smiles and tender gazes? It seemed chasing fae after fae with hearts as bright as the sun was his lot in life. Yearning for a sliver of light in his shadowed existence, a beacon like Elain, or Mor, someone to take him out—that's when he noticed it—his shadows, usually so still, began to stir anxiously around him.

In danger, in danger, they whispered, urgency threading through their murmurs.

In pain. Falling, falling, the ones closest murmured, their voices escalating into a desperate shout.

Springing to his feet, Azriel scanned the room, brushing off the puzzled glances thrown his way. Then, a sharp thud echoed, quickly followed by a cry that cut through the relaxed chatter. In a heartbeat, he was dashing towards the balcony, with Rhys and Cassian hot on his heels, all three propelled by the sudden urgency to uncover the source of the disturbance that had just intruded upon their peaceful evening.

Bursting through the balcony doors, Azriel was met with a scene that defied all expectations. Chaotic runes smeared across the floor in hasty, overlapping strokes forming an intricate magical circle. At its heart lay two figures: a faerie kneeling, her skin so pale it shimmered with almost ethereal light, ebony locks sprawling untidily about her. Her eyes, aglow with an intense crimson, matching the runes surrounding her, pierced through the night. Dark stains marred her robes—wounds, he realized, still seeping blood from her arm and leg. She cradled Mor’s head in her lap, their gazes locking in a moment so profound, that Azriel felt the world around him come to a standstill. He swore he felt his heart stutter, a memory long forgotten trying to urge its way out. Mor, his attention snapped to, was equally pale, her lips tinged a sickly shade of blue.

“What did you do to–” Just as Azriel began, he saw the female look behind him, exclaiming, “Rhys! 

“Y/n?” Rhys ran to her, his hands frantic, unsure of whether to hold her or lean for Mor. 

“Rhys” She began again, her breaths coming out in spurts. She grabbed his hand as he leaned down to hold her, “Poison…she’s been poisoned, needs tonic–”

Barely finishing her sentence, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed, Rhys’s hands halting her from hitting the floor. 

“Call for Madja” Rhy yelled. “Mor’s been poisoned and perhaps Y/n as well.”

Before Azriel could react, Cassian stepped up, carefully lifting Mor, while Rhys carried Y/n, both moving swiftly back into the sanctuary of the house.

They found a bedroom with two twin beds, laying one on each. 

Madja, a whirlwind of expertise, raced around both, focusing her skills on stabilizing Mor's precarious state. Meanwhile, Rhys was tasked with a grim duty, pressing down on Y/n's wounds, which despite the salves and a plethora of cloths, continued bleeding relentlessly.

"It's the runes," Amren interjected, her voice slicing through the turmoil like a blade. All eyes, save for Madja's, who momentarily lessened the fervor of her tonic mixing, turned to her.

"She utilized ancient magic," Amren stated, her declaration hanging in the air, dense with implications, yet devoid of further explanation, prompting Rhys to press for clarity.

"And that means?" 

The urgency lacing Rhys's voice caught Azriel off-guard. Who was this female, who seemed so familiar and why was she so important to Rhys? He felt a spark of anger at the way Rhys held her, despite knowing Rhys's heart belonged to Feyre.

"It means she offered her blood as a sacrifice. Likely to transport herself and Mor here. Inspect Mor for runes," Amren directed without pause.

Before Amren's words could fully settle, Madja cut through the sleeves of Mor’s dress, revealing an arm ensnared by crimson runes, mirroring those that marred the balcony. 

It was then that Azriel's senses sharpened, recognizing the scent that pervaded the air—a metallic tang he had initially overlooked in the chaos. Blood. Those runes, those symbols, all wrought from blood. Recollections of the massive circles they had traversed to enter this scene played back in his mind, causing his stomach to churn. It was reflected in Feyre's gasp as she rushed to aid Y/n, while Rhys was overtaken by a wave of nausea.

The room, already tense with fear and uncertainty, was engulfed in a silent horror as Madja's voice, though trembling, broke through the silence. "She's correct. The blood serves as an anchor for Morrigan's soul. The runes must bind Morrigan to..."

"Y/n's," Rhys provided, his voice steady in the thick silence.

"Yes, to Y/n's very essence," Madja concluded. "This means Y/n will continue to suffer, to bleed, until Morrigan shows signs of recovery. In exchange.”

A heavy silence settled over them, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of Madja grinding her herbs, as the gravity of their situation unfolded.

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

Author's note: Hi everyone! I’ve been a lurker in the acotar fandom for ages, this is my first time writing, so do let me know what you think. I'm not totally sure how far I want to take this series, but I do have longer chapters planned ahead.

[milllersfae]

perverted loser bff!ellie headcanons

content warning: perversion, teasing, intoxication mention

a/n: your girl is BACK(?)! again i wont be posting as often, but be assured you'll see me atleast once a month. enjoyyy!

sfw

ɞ when you walk through big crowds, she puts a hand to your back to guide you through the traffic. "i gotcha" she whispers, hand drifting to your waist.

ɞ likes ordering the same thing you get at restaurants, just to feel for the things you like.

ɞ always opens your door for you when you get in her car, wanting to make sure you get in easy.

"i'm not six you know!" you joke, nudging her arm as you close the door.

"i don't want you fucking up my door is all." she was lying bad. she thrived on treating you like hers.

ɞ when the two of you hang out, she always asks you how her outfit looks. "well—what do you think?" she stammers, awkwardly twitching her fingers as you stared at her. you smile, wrapping a shoulder around her. "you look great, el."

ellie nudges you off playfully, resisting the hugest urge to kiss you.

ɞ everyone already thinks the two of you are dating. it’s hard to change anyone’s mind, not with the way with she reaches for your hand in public with awkward reassurance.

nsfw

ɞ loves asking to come over just to be in your presence, being in your bed. she’s daydreamed about parting your legs and eating you passionately as you clung to your own sheets.

ɞ loves when you ask her what clothes to wear. her cunt grows hot as she watches you try on skirts and shorts, the frilled pink thong you wore hypnotizing her waking thought. “i think those shorts look nice…” she utters out, awkward grin hiding her arousal. she loves your reaction to her approval, smoothing the shorts over your hips as she stares at the curve of your ass as you bend down to pick up the remaining bottoms from the floor.

ɞ offers to drive you everywhere; making you her private passenger princess. she’ll reach over to get your seat-belt, face flushing red as she catches a glimpse of your chest to fasten you in. she can’t seem to help to linger her free hand onto your thigh on long drives, thumb rubbing the inner, laying a thick, flushing stroke of heat into your core.

ɞ she gets off work one night, coming over to ease the ache of her long day. you let ellie stay the night, the two of you squishing into your cramped queen bed. you know how she gets into the habit of laying a kiss on your shoulder, gripping you close with the overlap of her forearms. ellie eases a hand under your tank top, pinching the bud of your nipples, making you her own little stress reliever.

ɞ she likes to take you to slummy parties, nervously showing you off to anyone in her sight. the taste of flavored vodka eases down your throat, intoxication lingering on your tongue as ellie slowly inches her way toward you on the velvet-couch. her eyes dart against the sheer of your sundress, putting a securing arm behind your back. you can smell the hot of her alcohol-ridden breath as she rests her drunken face against your cheek.

“you’re so clingy when you’re drunk.” you laugh, face warming at the soft press of rouging skin. her face closes in on yours, lips millimeters apart.

“yea, ‘cause can’t stop myself around you.” she whispers, the press of her upper lip wrapped around yours, a slippery kiss bringing the both of you closer. her hand can’t help but inch under your skirt, a fidgety hand kneeling circles into your clit as your cling your thighs together to hold her in.

taglist | @zahraaziza @millersaurora @ccinnamongrl @ellabsprincess

want to be tagged? go under my masterlist and post reply below!

[anjaelle]

Hello darling 💙

Would you consider writing for Count Vronsky from Anna Karenina?

Pairing: Count Alexei Vronsky x Foreign Socialite!Reader Warnings: Borderline Toxic Infatuation, Vintage Slow Burn, (almost) Infidelity Summary: A foreign born socialite/heiress visits a friend in Russia and meets a straight up demon. For @bettytaylorversion (AU where Anna doesn't go back to Vronsky and chooses to stay with Karenin.) Word Count: 2.3K a/n: I remember that Tolstoy made this character so straightforward that you can kind of play around with him as much as you like without changing much about who he is at his core. I can't be left to my own devices. That being said, I don't want purists yelling at me. So I hope everyone takes some of my choices here with a grain of salt.

--x--

Everything about Russia felt intimidating to you: the language, the size of the country, the power of its military, and the show of their aristocratic wealth. You were wealthy. But this was a different kind of wealth. You came to visit your close friend who was another socialite that you met through overlapping inner circles. It'd taken you a while to accept the invitation as you weren't sure how kindly they'd take to a foreigner.

You understood some of the language based on what your friend taught you, but you still weren't confident enough to converse in just Russian. Instead you opted for French, which seemed to work well enough. You knew your native language was a lost cause. While some people in the parlor were polite, others had no interest in speaking with you. A small number seemed interested in you and your home country. Or maybe they just noticed your Very New and Very Parisian wardrobe with your collection of gifted jewels. They decided you were important enough to talk to.

When she introduced you to Count Alexei Vronsky, an officer in the army, you felt her grip on your elbow tighten just the slightest bit. You knew about him. She told you all about his affair with the married woman from Saint Petersburg. You weren't sure how you pictured the man. She said he was handsome, but you lived in a world full of beautiful people. How much different could he be?

That was a terrible miscalculation. The minute he met you, he watched you with the intense interest of a fox stalking its prey. You felt your cheeks warm and your heart thud when he pressed his lips to your gloved knuckle. You averted your eyes when he rose from his bow, not really wanting to convey anything uncouth about the interaction.

The first time he found you alone, you were in your friend's library looking at a map pinned to the wall. He told you about every country he'd lived in, every country he'd traveled through, and which ones he'd be eager to see soon. When you pointed out your country on the map, he licked his lips and an easy smile graced his beautiful face.

"I suppose I have no choice but to come see you now." He said in his thick accent.

You realized, then, that he reminded you of angels you'd see painted on the walls of grand, gilded churches. You told him that you and your fiance would be happy to invite him to your engagement party.

"Hmm." he said, eyeing the map. "Fiancés..." he finished the statement in Russian, so you couldn't understand him.

Before you excused yourself to go find your friend, his fingertips gently grazed the back of your hand, stopping you in your tracks. "Your fiancé is incredibly lucky to have such a beautiful, clever woman."

The second time he found you alone, you'd been exploring the estate and decided to rest in the garden among the wildflowers. As you raised your face to the summer sun, he made his presence known by clearing his throat, causing you to jump to your feet in surprise.

"Good afternoon, startled rabbit." He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"How long have you been standing there?" You warily asked, anxiously adjusting your skirts and brushing the grass from your hair. He cocked his head, studying you, "Long enough to notice that your beauty in parlor candlelight cannot compare to how alluring you are in the light of day."

It was interesting to see him dressed so casually compared to the night before. You wondered what he was still doing at your friend's estate when you knew he had a home of his own. You quickly glanced at her window to see the curtains still closed.

When you boldly asked him if he'd been watching you, something akin to amusement danced across his face, "You like the idea of that? Me watching you?"

"I have a fiancé."

He took a step closer, "That doesn't answer my question."

“You didn’t answer mine.” You countered, looking him square in the eye.

That wasn’t particularly ladylike, and you weren’t sure how anyone would react if they happened upon you and Vronsky standing so close in the garden without a chaperone.

As if reading your mind, he glanced down at your lips, then his eyes fell lower to your bodice. Your engraved gold locket rested on the top of one breast, with your fiancé’s initials glittering under the sun.

“I wasn’t watching you. I was…preoccupied.” His eyes met yours again and you felt like you’d been splashed with icy water. “Your husband—my apologies—your fiancé…he is a man of means? That necklace of yours is exquisite.”

You weren’t stupid. He didn’t care about the necklace. “That is a very inappropriate question to ask.”

“So he is not a man of means.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Who gave you that necklace?”

“Why does it trouble you to know?”

“You deserve a better one.” He murmured. You were unsure if he was still speaking about the jewelry. His fingers ghosted over the exposed skin of your forearm, "I could do that for you. If you wish." You took one large step back and glanced again at your friend’s window to find her watching you both suspiciously.

For the remainder of your stay in Russia, your friend treated you coolly. Though she was kind in private, she wasn't as warm in the company of others. Specifically, in the presence of Count Vronsky who seemed eager to appear more often during your stay and even more eager to get you alone. You reminded yourself that it was a temporary trip, and that you'd be back at your father's estate--and back in your kind fiancé's arms--in no time.

"It's truly fortunate that you're betrothed," your friend said as you gathered your belongings to meet the carriage in the courtyard, "or it'd be a shame to see your name added to the Count's incredibly long list of jilted lovers." There was an edge of bitterness to her tone, but you chose not to bring it up. Instead you marked it as an incredibly odd ending to an otherwise enjoyable trip.

A month later, you nearly fell down the stairs when your father called you down to the foyer to greet his newest client who arrived that morning from Russia. Count Alexei Vronsky bowed as you descended, but you could see the mirth dancing behind his eyes when he righted his posture behind your father's back.

"He says you spoke extensively about my craftsmanship. He felt compelled to come by the shop for his own fitting while he was visiting!" Your father exclaimed merrily, pulling you in for a kiss on the forehead, "My brilliant girl. This will do wonders for us. I knew I could count on you."

Sure, you had spoken highly of you father's tailoring and shoemaking, because as popular as your father was it never hurt to expand the reach of his influence.

That being said, you were sure Vronsky wasn't there for that conversation, and you never continued any form of contact after you departed Russia. You assumed he learned about where you lived through mutual friends. You swore under your breath when your father left you alone to get his sketches from his workshop in the east wing of the estate. Vronsky eyed you briefly, then redirected his interest to the art and artifacts decorating your home. Ever the son born of Russian ice and stoicism, he looked out of place in the warm atmosphere of the home you grew up in.

"Your country is beautiful," he said, arching a dark brow, "a bit too hot for my liking. Though, it is nice to see you in your natural element. I don't think wildflowers like you belong in the comparative cold of a Russian summer."

You felt like you were being tested, but you decided that there wasn't much he could do in the confines of your home. He was, after all, in your territory. Your shoulders relaxed and you chanced a small smile his way, "You'd be surprised to know how resilient I can be."

Surprisingly, he laughed, "I don't think I'd be surprised at all. I know you better than you think I do."

You felt like you'd regret it, but you decided to ask anyway.

"What do you mean by that?"

He began to stroll through the hall of your foyer, pausing every so often to examine a portrait or vase as you trailed behind him.

"You attended your fiancé's nameday feast a few years ago. Of course, he was not your fiancé, then. He was merely your father's apprentice and a quite talented shoemaker from my country who moved and quickly fell in love with...your country." He chuckled to himself at a joke only he seemed to know. "I remember you. I remember that you were an absolute vision in white, and you danced with everyone in the room. Though you were incredibly quiet when you weren't wrapped up in the melody of the orchestra." He glanced over at your confused expression, fighting a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Like I said: startled rabbit. Always quiet. Always watching. I remember the way your dress hugged the delicate slope of your shoulders, and the way your necklace caressed your neck. That may have been the first time I craved to exist within the confines of a jeweled pendant. And though I was otherwise...occupied with someone...I do remember the way you consistently laughed when he whispered things to you. A kind gesture, as he's never been that funny."

"So you know him. You were there that night." You whispered, feeling chills running up your arm.

"I was," he shrugged, stopping again at a more recent portrait of you and your father, "as was my duty as his elder brother."

You felt your heart stop in your chest and your brain short circuited. Your fiancé never told you about any siblings, let alone an elder brother. You knew your fiance's father was possibly dead, and that his mother raised him alone in Russia. Was he lying about his life? You weren't sure what was conveyed on your face, but Count Vronsky turned to address you directly.

"My father was not an honorable man. He forbade us from speaking to my half-brother or acknowledging him. Of course, Father is dead now, and God hasn't struck me down for disrespecting the wishes of a dead man. This also isn't the first time I've ever sinned." He grinned widely at you and took a step closer, though you were too shocked to move. "From the minute I saw you, I knew I had to have you. And every time I've seen you since, I regretted not stealing you away for myself."

"That doesn't make any sense..." you murmured, hiding your anxious hands behind your back, "I've never met you before. I'd know. I'd remember."

"You make your presence known at those silly little soirées the ladies have. I never stay for very long, but I've always..." he took another step closer and you realized you'd been backed against a pillar, "I've always noticed you. Dancing. Laughing. Drinking. Sometimes smoking. Does your father know you smoke?"

You glanced down the hall over his shoulder, and in a small voice that surprised you, you whispered, "I don't always do that."

"Mhmm." He reached out to run his warm, slightly calloused fingers along the chain of your necklace, stopping just before the pendant that rested in the valley of your cleavage. Your chest involuntarily heaved, and your knees felt weak, "What other bad things do you 'not always' do?"

You parted your lips to attempt something sharp, but instead you swallowed hard and said, "I'm to be married."

"But you are not married." He was so close, "Do you know how badly I've wanted to come see you since you left?" You could smell the sweet wine of your country on his tongue as he whispered lowly to you, "The thought of his hands on you made me want to abandon all of my obligations to cross the sea. Did you think of me?"

Your gaze fell to his lips, slightly stained red, and then back up into his piercing blue eyes. God, he was beautiful. He caught the action.

"You did."

"I didn't."

"Your eyes betray you, wildflower." His hand grazed your hip above your skirt, and his lips ghosted over your own, "I thought about you every night. I think about how you'd look spread out for me on those expensive sheets your father bought you. Waiting for me. And you're wearing that charming necklace my brother gave you while my tongue is deep in that sweet little--"

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Vronsky swiftly turned away from you to examine the nearest vase again, as if nothing happened. You hadn't realized that your hands were grasping your skirt in your fists and that you were squeezing your thighs together.

You realized then that it'd been so long since you were last touched.

When your father entered the hall, he shot you a curious look before handing Vronsky his latest sketches.

"Here you go, young man. Let me know if these are to your liking. We can begin as early as tomorrow afternoon."

The blond shot your father a charming smile and bowed graciously, "Thank you for taking the time to help a stranger on such short notice."

The conversation sounded like white noise in your ears as you willed your heart to slow down. Even as you composed yourself and released your skirt from your hands, you still felt out of sorts.

When he turned to you and bowed again, he rose and allowed his eyes to trail down the length of your body.

"Always a pleasure to see you again."

[rainbowd00dles]

video transcription:

start by drawing a guideline.

on the guide, draw a series of squished circles slightly overlapping.

using an eraser that is about 2-3 pixels smaller than your drawing brush, erase half the inner circle alternating sides as you go down the line.

then erase the rest of the inner circles the same way, but in smaller sections.

adjust the size of the eraser depending on how thick you want the inner lines.

--

i hope this helps and i hope it's easy to understand! using chain brushes can be helpful, but they sometimes look too stiff, so i find doing it this way can look more fluid

Edit: I'm just using a basic round brush with min size up to 100% brush size varies depending on canvas size

[mariacallous]

The tragedy of New York Mayor Eric Adams, who’s facing a dizzying number of investigations targeting him and his inner circle, was foreseeable. Indeed, it was foreseen. 

“We all know you’ve been investigated for corruption everywhere you’ve gone,” a rival candidate said to the then-Brooklyn borough president during a mayoral debate in 2021. “You’ve achieved the rare trifecta of corruption investigations.”

That didn’t deter Democratic voters, and Adams — an ex-cop and native son of the city who ran on his biography and a promise to restore public safety after crime rates and fears shot up during the pandemic — eked out a victory in the party’s closed primary, which made him a sure thing to be the city’s 110th mayor and just its second Black one. 

nce that was official, Adams proclaimed himself the “future” and the “face of the new Democratic Party.” He also started publicly partying all night at clubs, sometimes with felonious friends, when he wasn’t talking about how God had told him 30 years ago he’d be the mayor in 2022 and should share that good news with the world — something he’d never publicly mentioned before winning the election. 

The new mayor immediately brought in a crew of cronies with sullied records, including a deputy mayor for public safety overseeing the NYPD, Phil Banks, who’d abruptly retired as the chief of department in 2014. 

Banks left that post about a year before it came out that he’d been an unindicted co-conspirator in a case involving two guys who went to prison for bribing the previous mayor. One of them testified they’d treated the police chief to plane trips around the world and the services of a prostitute when they weren’t smoking cigars and storing their diamonds in the chief’s office at One Police Plaza. 

Banks, who’s denied any wrongdoing but says he regrets the association, had his home hit and his phones seized in the FBI’s synchronized early-morning raids last week. Again, he said through an attorney he’s done nothing wrong. 

Those raids, though, are a sign that this new probe is far enough along for prosecutors to go public with it — and get a federal judge to sign off on their concerns that the deputy mayor for public safety and the police commissioner might destroy evidence if given the opportunity. 

Last week’s raids were reportedly distinct from earlier raids of top Adams allies in two previously reported probes being conducted by two different federal prosecutors, who both needed sign-off from Justice Department bosses in Washington, D.C., to go after the mayor of America’s biggest city. 

There’s the ongoing investigation into Adams’ travel and ties to Turkey, along with campaign cash that appears tied to the Turkish government. And the ongoing investigation into Adams’ travels and ties to China, along with campaign cash given through secret donors. The mayor had his cellphone seized by FBI agents last year as part of that case. 

And now two new investigations that appear to be about influence schemes involving Adams’ appointees at the highest levels of his police department and administration steering public money to family members.

In just three years, Adams has bested his old corruption probe trifecta: There are now four separate, though possibly overlapping, federal investigations targeting his inner circle and the mayor himself.

No one has been charged with any wrongdoing in those investigations, and Adams says he always follows the law while asking the public to respect the process and withhold judgment. 

New Yorkers might know more soon, as the feds have already impaneled at least one grand jury. With the city’s primary next June, prosecutors are up against long-standing Justice Department guidelines about not having cases interfere with elections.

But New Yorkers are already rendering a verdict in the court of public opinion. Adams at the end of last year hit the lowest approval rating ever recorded for a New York mayor as voters have been choking on all this smoke, also including the corruption trial of his former buildings commissioner, the guilty pleas from members of a crew including another ex-cop and old friend of the mayor’s for their own straw-donor scheme involving his campaign, and the guilty plea of a Chinese billionaire who also sneaked money into his campaign, as well as those of other American politicians. 

Tim Pearson, another ex-cop and old friend of Adams’ who now runs a shadowy new mayoral oversight agency, also had his phones seized by the FBI last week. Pearson has been accused in multiple civil suits of ruining the career of a police officer who wouldn’t sleep with him and the supervisors who tried to protect her while hunting for “crumbs” of his own from city contracts. Taxpayers are covering his legal bills at the mayor’s behest and over the objections of the city’s former top lawyer, who was then pushed out. 

So many of Adams’ problems seem to involve the gap between his mantra of “stay focused and grind” and his need to swagger and test limits. 

Polling shows New Yorkers still like much of his agenda but don’t like him or how he’s executing it. He keeps repeating “crime is down” but not saying down from when or how much, and the data is mixed and most New Yorkers don’t really believe him. 

It hasn’t helped that Adams’ police department is increasingly unhinged in its public communications, with one reporter at the cop-friendly New York Post getting attacked this week as a “f---ing scumbag” and the official NYPD account even giving me the wannabe Trump-y nickname “Harry ‘Deceitful’ Siegel” earlier this year. 

No wonder Democratic challengers are lining up to take on Adams next year, assuming he’s still there, in what would be the first contested primary against a Democratic incumbent since David Dinkins upset Ed Koch in 1989. 

Asked at a news conference Tuesday what he would do if he were indicted, Adams said he intended to remain as mayor and run for re-election before adding that he wouldn’t engage with hypotheticals.

The tragedy of Eric Adams is that he’s done this to himself.

[ethelcainlvr]

Wicked Game Pt 2 - Armando Aretas

Armando Aretas x Black! OC (Helena)

Part 1

After each fight, he’d sit down at the bar, cuts and scratches littered on his face and arms, discoloring his perfectly tan skin.

They’d exchanged naught but a few words since he popped up three months ago, most of them pertaining to whatever drink he ordered, his low raspy voice sending shivers down her spine all the same.

That all changes one evening.

It’s a few hours before Spades opens for the night. Despite the fact that she’s off for the day, Helena makes her way through a back entrance. She waves to the bartender in her place once she’s inside, along with a few of the dancers she’s come to know, all getting ready for the long night ahead. 

Javier’s “office” (she’s yet to see any work being done) is crowded like usual. His posse is gathered around the pool table, playing, drinking, talking. 

Helena notices him first. His reserved demeanor is a stark contrast to the crew he’s with. 

Helena watches Armando, settled on the arm of a chair right beside Javier. His eyes find hers quickly, as they tend to do, like he can sense her or something. He smiles, raising the bottle of beer to his full lips. 

The sound of her own name breaks Helena out of her trance. Javier’s in front of her all of a sudden, blocking Armando from her view. He’s staring at her expectantly, a question in his furrowed brows, giving Helena the impression she’s completely ignored something he’s said.

“I got what you asked for,” she supplies, taking her best guess. 

In lieu of a response he steps her out with her into the hall. The overlapping chatter and underlying music dim, and they're out of earshot of anyone still in the room.

Javier looks around the empty hallway, then stretches out his hand.

“What did you find?”

Helena places the slim thumb drive in his open palm. 

“Everything you asked for.”

Javier closes his fist around the drive, rubbing his thumb across its surface thoughtfully as he nods, his sharp jaw flexing. 

Helena’s come to know Javier as a relatively quiet man. Most of their conversations are just like this one, consisting of few words and many gestures. 

“Thank you.” His voice is grim when he replies finally.

Helena’s good with computers. In a way that allows her to blur the lines between public and private information.

In places like Spades, to people like Javier, information is invaluable. 

When Helena, a 23 year old grad student, moved to this city, she’d needed money badly. She was more than grateful for the job, but bartending simply didn't cut it, when you factored in school, and the medical expenses her type one diabetes racked up. 

Watching the kind of people that flowed in and out of Spades, from low level drug runners to the most powerful politicians in the state, she’d quickly learned the signs of status, the value of taking in information from all around her, and how and when to use it. 

Javier, with his similar skill of discernment, had quickly taken notice of her, and they soon fell into a simple sort of arrangement. 

Cash, for information. Names, addresses, bank statements, even blueprints like the ones on the flash drive she’d just handed over. The most important part of this arrangement is that, however tempted she may be, she never asked questions, never asked what he needed the information for, who it was going to.

 It kept her from falling in too deep, allowed her to keep what she did at this club in a small compartment of her life, kept her from having to ask herself the tough question of what exactly she’d be willing to do for money.

“He workin’ for you now?” 

It’s likely the reason, when she asks this, Javier stops in his tracks and shoots her a quizzical look.

Helena has been around long enough to have somewhat of an understanding of how Javier operates. He keeps his inner circle tight, and from the looks of things, Armando has managed his way in, in just a few short weeks. She tries to convince herself this is the extent of her curiosity, but Helena doesn’t need to turn her head to know Armando is staring, she never does, and she’s felt his eyes on her for weeks. She wants to know why exactly he’s so interested in her.

 She nods subtly in his direction for Javier’s benefit.

He glances inside, following her lead. 

“Something like that.” He replies, as cryptic and dismissive as ever.  

Helena takes him turning away as a sign the conversation is over and despite the fact that her question remains unanswered, she turns to do the same. She should have known better than to expect a straightforward answer from Javier.  

She’s all the way by her car, after stopping to grab some things from her locker when she stops in her tracks. 

There’s no reason, scientifically at least, that you should be able to feel someone looking at you. 

And yet, inexplicably, when she turns around he’s there.  

Leaning against the back wall of the bar, arms crossed over his chest. 

There’s a beat. Just a moment of the two of them watching each other. Then he stands, nods to the right, and steps out of the light, gradually disappearing in shadow of the rapidly disappearing sun.

She waits until the curiosity overcomes her, before she follows him into the quickly expanding dark. 

[irvingcoded]

freed some rambling litving thoughts from earlier off my priv and figured i might as well share them here as well... (transcribed below the read more + cleaned up slightly for readability!)

something about the li(t)ving dynamic to me is just so... LIKE jirv is probably one of the very few people on either ship who unreservedly seems to respect and value little's leadership and instincts (the amount of times the two of them exchange Significant Eye Contact alone...!) , probably in a big part because it seemed as if crozier during that period of time mostly relayed any real info/orders thru his inner circle which, of the lieutenants, only really included little (& jopson of course). compare that to how we mostly saw hodge & irv getting tasked with gruntwork and relatively simple errand boy tasks while little otoh regularly got shouldered with 3 lieuts worth of responsibility instead, INCLUDING having to basically be hodgson & irving's de facto command in lieu of crozier ever communicating much with either them directly or trusting them with tasks they'd absolutely have been capable of.

so anyway yes, imo jirv would very likely follow him anywhere if it came down to it. and as a ship i am always Thinking About like... sub top little and jirv very gently domming him by just being very nice to him and telling him how handsome and special and good he is, but also taking over the decision making if/when little is too stressed to focus... but at the same time still trynna encourage him to express what he wants and what he's thinking (yes yes, pot meet kettle etc) because maybe other people don't really listen to him or take him seriously enough but jirv does...

(& then also the reverse too because little is surely more aware than anyone that's kind of how crozier(/command in general) treats hodgson and jirving for most of the expedition as well)

AND YES MOST OF THIS CAN SIMILARLY APPLY TO ANY COMBINATION OF LIEUTENANTCULE TBH but thats why they're so great...!! they definitely share some overlapping weaknesses here and there, but put the 3 of them (or even just any 2 of them!) together and they balance each other out almost perfectly because when one of them is struggling then the other(s) can and usually will step up to compensate

[talonabraxas]

The Flower of Life

There really is some deep rooted symbolism behind this captivating image. Some say it’s representative of the union of the sacred Masculine and the Divine Feminine, the connectedness of all living things, and others see it as the cycle of life, death and rebirth. Let’s explore the depths of the topic.

Origins & Symbolism The origins of the Flower of Life trace back to the dawn of civilisation, where it is believed to have emerged as a symbol of cosmic order and divine harmony. Its precise origins are shrouded in mystery, with some attributing its creation to ancient cultures such as the Egyptians, where it was found in the temple of Osiris and said to contain a ‘secret code’ (underpinning the basic building blocks of the universe), and also the Sumerians, and the Greeks.

At its core, the Flower of Life is composed of multiple evenly-spaced, overlapping circles, forming a mesmerising geometric pattern reminiscent of a flower in full bloom. Within this pattern lies a myriad of geometric shapes, including triangles, hexagons, and pentagons, each imbued with its own symbolic significance.

The Flower of Life is often associated with sacred geometry, a branch of mathematics concerned with the study of geometric forms and their spiritual, philosophical, and symbolic meanings. It is believed to represent the interconnectedness of all living beings, the fundamental unity of existence, and the underlying order of the universe.

Spiritual Significance In spiritual traditions around the world, the Flower of Life holds profound significance as a symbol of creation and interconnectedness. It is often regarded as a visual representation of the divine blueprint of the cosmos, with each circle representing a stage in the process of creation.

Within the Flower of Life, one can find various sacred symbols, including the Seed of Life, the Tree of Life, all 7 Chakra systems, and the Metatron's Cube, each carrying its own symbolic meaning and spiritual power. These symbols are believed to hold the keys to unlocking higher states of consciousness, facilitating spiritual growth, and connecting with the universal source of energy and wisdom.

Healing & Transformation Beyond its spiritual significance, the Flower of Life is also associated with healing and transformation. It is believed that meditating upon the pattern of the Flower of Life can help to harmonise the mind, body, and spirit, promoting health, balance, and inner peace.

In recent years, the Flower of Life has experienced a resurgence in popularity, with many people incorporating its imagery into their spiritual practices, artwork, and jewellery. Its intricate beauty and profound symbolism continue to inspire awe and fascination, serving as a potent reminder of the interconnectedness of all things and the infinite possibilities that lie within the universe.

Modern Interpretations In the modern era, scientists, mathematicians, and artists have continued to explore the mysteries of the Flower of Life, uncovering new insights into its geometric properties and mathematical significance. Through computer simulations and mathematical algorithms, researchers have gained a deeper understanding of the complex patterns and symmetries inherent in the Flower of Life, shedding light on its underlying principles of order and harmony.

Furthermore, the Flower of Life has found its way into various fields beyond spirituality and art, including architecture, design, and technology. Its geometric principles have been applied in the construction of sacred buildings, the development of advanced engineering techniques, and the design of innovative products and structures.

The Flower of Life: Mysteries of Sacred Geometry:

[mafaldaknows]

Forgot to add:

[statistically-spencer]

Fortunate Dream PT. 2

Summary: Your dream of joining the BAU was becoming more and more real. How will you handle sharing a private jet with your favorite characters?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (eventual), BAU members x reader(platonic)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this one! I finished Calculus 1 in 4-weeks while also being in a musical so I ran out of time there for a bit. Enjoy!

w/c; 783

Part 1 here

As confused as you were, you were having a great time experiencing the relationship that dream-you had with the members of the BAU. Everyone seemed to like you just fine.

On the jet, you found a place to sit in the window seat on the opposite side of the isle, where Derek sat, leaving an empty seat next to yourself. Derek gave you an assuring smile. You wondered how many traits that you, and this version of you had that overlapped. Did the team know about your fear of flying? Did they know about your raging crush on Dr. Spencer Reid? Did they know that you had absolutely no idea what you were doing and that you totally should not be there right now?? 

Glancing up, you made eye contact with Spencer, who seemed to be walking suspiciously close to your row.

Oh.

You tried to act natural as he took a seat next to you. 

You didn’t have to act natural for long, though, because in an instant the jet began to roll forward, faster and faster.

You swallowed deeply.

“Are you okay, Y/n? I know you never like flying but you seem like something is really off.”

“No, I’m okay.” You lied,��“I’m just... I just didn’t sleep much last night and I’m really tired.”

“Oh, well you know, there’s no need to worry about turbulence. If anything, we should really be concerned about-”

“Spencer, no offense, but if you’re about to tell me about how what we should really be concerned about is the onset of a thunderstorm, contributing to the possibility of microbursts, I’d rather not hear it.”

You heard a chuckle and looked up to see Derek standing next to you. 

“Oooh, she’s got you figured out, Reid. Better be careful.”

You blushed. You were only remembering something Spencer had said in an episode of Criminal Minds. Had that episode happened yet in this timeline? 

“Oh no... I was just... I just don’t need to be any more freaked out than I already am right now.” You cleared your throat. 

Spencer smiled at you, “We’ll be fine.”

You were trying to think of something to say to the man. Anything. This was your chance to talk to the love of your life and you were drawing a blank. You couldn’t think of one clever thing to say to him. You just kept looking up at him, and whenever you looked, it seemed like he was looking, too. Which was probably a good sign, right? Instead, it was mostly silent. With you making the occasional attempt to look fine whenever there was turbulence. 

In the midst of everything, you forgot that you were, for the time being at least, a real FBI agent. And, you were in fact, actually dealing with criminals. However, those facts became extremely apparent when Garcia phoned in with details about the case. 

It was hard to focus when Spencer was sitting next to you the entire time. Being so real. So cute. So... Good smelling somehow. 

“-Well, we know hardly anything about the suspect.”

If you had been in a laughing mood after hearing all of the gruesome details of the case, you would’ve laughed at Emily’s statement.

“Male. Thirty-five-”

You froze, realizing that you and Spencer were saying the same thing.

“...Keeps within his inner circle.” You finished, looking Reid up and down slowly.

A quick glance around the jet told you that this was not an uncommon event. In fact, the knowing looks that were being shared by the rest of the team said quite the opposite.

Spencer blinked, trying to come up with more information.

“Also he definitely has children.”

“Obviously.” You blinked, looking around.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Luckily, the look on Spencer’s face wasn’t disgust like you expected. He looked... Proud? Happy?

Wait a minute. You were so caught up in information about the case that you didn’t stop to wonder how you came to that conclusion. Was that normal for you? Were you also a super genius? Perhaps. It was highly plausible, now that you were thinking about it. You were obviously young like Spencer was. Why else would you be on the team at that age? Huh. You liked being smart. It was cool.

“We’ll need to split up upon arrival-” Hotch interrupted your thoughts, “Prentiss you’ll be with Morgan, you’ll share a room at the hotel as well. And Y/L/N, you and Reid will be staying in the other room.”

Oh.

You stole a quick glance at Spencer. The over-confidence you had both been showing had disappeared in an instant.

“You got it, boss.” You tightened your lips.

Why would you say that?

[a-ladyman-in-waiting]

Ceramics Vase!!

I've kept this project on the back burner for quite some time because I didn't want to showcase the mess that was the vase prior to painting.

Plus, I didn't keep a good track of it...

Lore below

The ceramics professors taught the class how to start making a vase, where she first demonstrated using a large metal roller to flatten a large clay pile into a flat slab.

However, the clay pile that I picked up had a tear near the inside, where I struggled to cut a decent circle on top of a turn-table thing. The misalignment forced me to redo it once.

Next up, the professor rolled up a thick piece of clay into a relatively thick string of clay. She wrapped the clay around the circular base and overlapped one end over the other. She then cut into the top end into the bottom end to link the two cut ends together. The professor called them coils, or coil.

I struggled so much with making them and it didn’t help that I was arriving pretty late.

The professor also demonstrated how to properly stick the coils together; she gently pulled pieces of clay downward from the inner side with the tips of her fingers on one hand, while she supported the overall shape with the other. (It’s to prevent the coil from moving around).

Sticking coils together with the tip of my fingers was a tedious process where my hands were uncomfortable.

—

At some point in the class, the professor introduced us to the process of widening the vase by wrapping longer coils on the outer side of the previous smoothed out coils.

It was at this point that my vase turned out to be asymmetrical in shape. My coils were inconsistent because I had very little space on the table that I worked in.

But the main reason as to why my vase was asymmetrical was because I continued to struggle with rolling coils, as they clumped into flat shapes and dried up from overuse.

But I had to press on, especially since I made the rookie mistake of making the thing as wide as possible. The professor had to help me carefully shape it into an upward curve to prevent it from falling apart.

—

Not gonna lie, I was stuck with this shape for a long while. Plus, I had to make a side project where I cut a shape into a slab. Hexagonal plate/bowl 😎

Occasionally, I worked on it as much as I could within the next week.

—

Now I don’t have an image for the final shape because I didn’t take a picture of it.

I managed to shape it past 9 inches of height, but before I could paint on it, I had to smooth it out.

I spent minutes flattening out bumps and smoothing out grooves, often going over the same spot more than once.

Once I was done, I made a quick sketch of the vase decorated by clouds and a moon on the large part and a city on the small part.

I then colored the night sky, dark blue.

With only an hour or so left, I started painting the scene on the vase. I started by applying blue paint on the top, making sure to cover enough of the area, then I added white on the bottom.

But once I started painting simple clouds and a moon, it was weird at first.

—

Then I painted the black skyscrapers on the white bottom.

But as I painting the clouds, a familiar painting habit reawakened, a habit that allowed me to define the volume and space of a subject.

I borrowed grey paint and defined the shadows, gave depth to city, and then applied excess black paint to the buildings before I gently painted the clouds to give them most volume in their respective space.

Once, I was nearly done, I placed little ‘yellow’ stars (yellow paint didn’t show yellow tho).

Then another idea struck me, ‘this reminds me of my old art’, so I drew a silhouette of Madeline and then carefully painted her silhouette on the clouds.

After a few finishing touches, I had finally done it, I painted a scene.

It received a bunch of compliments from the other classmates and the professor.

For now, I pray that the vase will survive the kiln and not explode.

[wingedblooms]

Flower of life

The flower of life is part of sacred geometry, which is the underlying form or geometry in nature (mindbodygreen). It symbolizes the balance of male and female energy in creation and contains the secrets of the universe.

The flower of life is another sacred geometric form. It is the symbol of creation. It is created by forming a circle then moving to the edge of that circle and forming another one. Each circle begins one radius away from the surrounding circles and is of equal size. (uoregon)

-

The striking visual is meant to represent creation, the sacred masculine and divine feminine, and cycles of life, death, and rebirth. Some believe the flower of life is also a key that can unlock hidden knowledge of time and space within its petal-like structures. (mindbodygreen)

-

“It is thought that the flower of life holds a secret within it—a circle, which in many cultures, is considered the 'zero point' or the 'origin' of us all," Dale says. "This is the Oneness that ties us together.”(mindbodygreen)

Sacred Geometry in the Maasverse

In the Maasverse, Sarah also uses sacred geometry to create balance between opposing forces and characters use this balance to channel power. Sometimes it’s a symbol, like the six-pointed star @silverlinedeyes highlighted in this post. She connected the six-pointed star to the three brothers and three sisters in theory because they bring together opposing forces—light and dark and female and male energy—and create balance.

“Ithan angled his head. “A six-pointed star,” he said. Like the one Bryce had made between the Gates this spring, with the seventh candle at its center.

“It’s a symbol of balance,” she explained, moving away a foot, but keeping the dagger at her side. Her crown of cloudberries seemed to glow with an inner light. “Two intersecting triangles. Male and female, dark and light, above and below … and the power that lies in the place where they meet.” Her face became grave. “It is in that place of balance where I’ll focus my power.” She motioned to the circle. “No matter what you see or hear, stay on this side of the candles.” (hosab)

When they come together, as we saw with Feyre and Rhysand in the original series, they may be able to channel their combined energies to achieve powerful creation or healing (e.g., reforging the Cauldron, creating a baby who’s named for a deity and is probably going to be unique, etc.). As Rhys said in acowar, the sisters are in his court for a reason, and Mor might have hinted this long before as @lesolehabitantdelalune pointed out in relation to the six-pointed star:

Mor stayed overnight, even going so far as to paint some rudimentary stick figures on the wall beside the storeroom door. Three females with absurdly long, flowing hair that all resembled hers; and three winged males, who she somehow managed to make look puffed up on their own sense of importance. I laughed every time I saw it. (acomaf)

The three Made sisters and the three winged brothers are all blessed by fate and seem to be even more important together. Six is a perfect number and seven—the point where they all meet—symbolizes completion.

So, how does this relate to the flower of life? The flower of life contains circles that create a six-pointed star (see below) and there is a circle in the middle where they all intersect.

Source: uoforegon

The flower of life also contains other symbols Sarah has used across worlds:

Throne of Glass Series

Aelin wore an amulet that warned and helped her when needed. It was called the Eye of Elena, which Manon corrects as the Eye of the Goddess. It is the symbol Blueblood prophets tattoo on their hearts to indicate that they are Goddess-blessed.

A large circle—and two overlapping circles, one atop the other, within its circumference. “That is the Three-Faced Goddess,” Manon said, her voice low. “We call this …” She drew a rough line in the centermost circle, in the eye-shaped space where they overlapped. “The Eye of the Goddess. Not Elena.” She circled the exterior again. “Crone,” she said of the outermost circumference. She circled the interior top circle: “Mother.” She circled the bottom: “Maiden.” She stabbed the eye inside: “And the heart of the Darkness within her.” (eos)

A Court of Thorns and Roses Series

The Bone Carver drew interlocking circles to represent the death-god siblings, two of whom were worshipped by the fae before they were trapped. Two out of three siblings helped Prythian in a bargain with Feyre and Rhys.

The Carver traced three overlapping, interlocked circles in the dirt. “You have met my sister—my twin. The Weaver, as you now call her. I knew her as Stryga. (acowar)

Crescent City Series

Bryce wears an Archesian amulet with entwined circles that keeps her hidden from those searching for the Horn.

Bryce zipped a tiny golden pendant—a knot of three entwined circles—along the delicate chain around her neck. (hoeab)

In the space between, I discussed all of these interconnected trios, including the sacred trio which I believe this all stems from (Mother, Cauldron, Fate) and the rose amulet chosen for Elain. Although it is not described in circles, Elain’s amulet glows with three colors—red, pink, and white—in the Faelight, mimicking Azriel’s observation that she glows like the dawn in the Faelight earlier in that scene. We don’t know if it contains any protective properties or whether it will even make a reappearance. But out of all the symbols we’ve seen with the divine number three, it is the only one in the form of a flower…except, that is, for the Cauldron.

The Cauldron as the Flower of Life

In hosab, the Under King hinted that Urd, the goddess of fate, might be Mother, Cauldron, and the Forces That Be all in one.

A pyre smoked atop a black stone altar in the center of the temple. A stone throne on a dais loomed at the rear of the space. No statues ever adorned Urd’s Temple—no depiction of the goddess had ever been made. Fate took too many forms to capture in one figure.

-

The Under-King rose, black robes drifting on a phantom wind. “I thought the Fae bowed to Luna, but perhaps you remember the old beliefs? From a time when Urd was not a goddess but a force, winding between worlds? When she was a vat of life, a mother to all, a secret language of the universe? The Fae worshipped her then.” (hosab)

As I’ve explained with help from @silverlinedeyes in this post, mother to all = Mother, vat of life = Cauldron, and a force = Forces That Be (which seems to be used interchangeably with Fate in acotar). Mother, Cauldron, Fate. Three interconnected parts of a whole.

If we’re to believe the Under King, the goddess of fate isn’t actually a goddess. It is the Cauldron, which moves like a force, is a mother to all, and possesses the secrets of the universe. The Cauldron is Sarah’s flower of life.

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower—and then she came. (acowar)

And it can be controlled through spells in the Book of Breathings. Those spells must be uttered by someone who is Made because like calls to like.

“When the Cauldron was made,” the Carver interrupted, “its dark maker used the last of the molten ore to forge a book. The Book of Breathings. In it, written between the carved words, are the spells to negate the Cauldron’s power—or control it wholly. But after the War, it was split into two pieces. One went to the Fae, one to the six human queens. It was part of the Treaty, purely symbolic, as the Cauldron had been lost for millennia and considered mere myth. The Book was believed harmless, because like calls to like—and only that which was Made can speak those spells and summon its power. No creature born of the earth may wield it, so the High Lords and humans dismissed it as little more than a historical heirloom, but if the Book were in the hands of something reforged … You would have to test such a theory, of course—but … it might be possible.” (acomaf)

The pieces of the Book seem to contain void, or cold cunning, and chaos.

Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn.

Love me, touch me, sing me.

Madness. Where the first half had been cold cunning, this box … this was chaos, and disorder, and lawlessness, joy and despair.

Light and dark and gray and light and dark and gray (acomaf)

And these seem to be the same beings (forces?) that Apollion mentions in his own creation.

“Do you not know where I come from? My father was the Void, the Being That Existed Before. Chaos was his bride and my dam. It is to them that we shall all one day return, and their mighty powers that run in my blood.” (hosab)

If the Cauldron contains both Void and Chaos, which I believe it does as a bowl of life and death, then the Book of Breathings allows the wielder to control those forces. In the tog series, higher beings are forces that are part of the same consciousness. They are interconnected parts of a sacred whole. And we’re told early on, and repeatedly thereafter, that the Cauldron is the origin of everything.

Inside the Cauldron was nothing but inky, swirling black.

Perhaps the entire universe had come from it.

Azriel and Cassian tensed as I laid a hand on the lip. Pain—pain and ecstasy and power and weakness flowed into me.

Everything that was and wasn’t, fire and ice, light and dark, deluge and drought.

The map for creation. (acomaf)

Feyre put together the two pieces of the Book and as Amren predicted, there was a great, noticeable blast.

“You put the pieces together,” she clarified when Rhys gave her a questioning look, “and the blast of power will be felt in every corner and hole in the earth. You won’t just attract the King of Hybern. You’ll draw enemies far older and more wretched. Things that have long been asleep—and should remain so.” (acomaf)

So, it’s also probable an old and powerful enemy might come calling (ahem, Koschei and/or the Asteri). Does that mean someone might need to wield the Cauldron again, but to help and protect Prythian instead this time?

If so, that someone would need to be Made. All three sisters are Made, so I personally dream about all three of them wielding it together like the witches they are. But I also think it would make sense for Elain to wield it on her own or with her love interest. When she emerged from the Cauldron, Sarah described her appearance in detail—pale, delicate, beautiful, glowing.

More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. […] Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again. Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

She has been described as wise, gentle, and kind, but doesn’t hesitate to do what is necessary to protect life and restore order, like a gardener whose glowing hands won’t hesitate to get dirty for a pretty result.

A Gardener’s Hands

It began with a cauldron. A mighty black cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night. Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid pouring out over the lip. No—not sparkling, but … effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. Whatever was written there, whatever it was, the contents of the cauldron were dumped into the void below, pooling on the earth to form our world… (acotar)

Elain isn’t just connected to a flower amulet. She is a blooming flower in an army camp, a bloom of color and sunshine even in the middle of winter. She is Hope shining in the Void on the longest night of winter.

The River House had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the Faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. […] He knew he’d be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he’d remained down here by the dying light of the fire. […] Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. (Azriel’s bonus chapter)

Tell me, who is better positioned than the Cauldron-blessed gardener and seer to wield the flower of life? Sarah essentially set her up to defy Nesta’s command below, meaning she will not stay away from the Cauldron and might tend to a garden on a greater scale as a result.

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.” (acosf)

The issue, of course, is that the Book of Breathings is now in Midgard under the care of a sorceress whose past is a mystery and the name we know her under, Jesiba Roga, isn’t the only one she possesses. Now that the two worlds are connected, though, it seems like only a matter of time until the Book is (re)discovered. But will it find the right hands?

There are more immediate ways for Elain to defy Nesta’s order and engage the Cauldron even without the Book. In hosab, mystics combine energy from a male, female, and the space where they meet—both male and female—to achieve perfect balance. It is perhaps this balance of power that allows them to become the Eye of the Goddess, mapping the secrets of the universe and influencing others from afar. Mysticism involves achieving a higher level of consciousness and uniting with the divine. Similarly, the flower of life can be used as a tool for meditation and enlightenment.

Elain seems to have used mystic ability on her own when she located and appeared to the Suriel across the world, and it’s possible she could use Rhys’s orrery as to expand her map in future books. Since these are romance books, I think it’s important to mention that we’re told Azriel is fascinated by the orrery. And like a sacred vision as @offtorivendell, @merymoonbeam and @psychologynerd have pointed out, Feyre witnesses perfect balance between Azriel and Elain: her immaculate hand meets his scarred one in the space between where light and dark, life and death, and female and male combine.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection…that knife. (acowar)

Elain may not need anyone to navigate the space between with the Cauldron. But I have a feeling she will need something or someone to help keep her grounded as she expands her Sight and maybe even peers into Hel. If she does need to form a sacred trio to move beyond their world, then she, Azriel, and the Cauldron (which is both male and female), would suffice. As Feyre’s vision of the lovely fawn and Death seems to foreshadow, they would create perfect balance together. And maybe, just maybe, their bargain tattoo will represent that balance in the form of a blossoming flower where the Eye of the Goddess, her heart of darkness, remains half-hidden in the shadows with the secrets of the universe.

Read more about Elain’s arc and powers here.

[papikyoo]

(Same with the latest anonymous discussion) There's no need to be sorry! My gf and I approached fandom with our personal experiences and then somehow developed a connection to its story TOO MUCH but It's fun this way tho who cares?

100% agree at first, I didn't understand him but my gf, who loved Falin, tried to unpack Kabru's persona for me. And I just 'Oh...' sounds like this mf doesn't has anyone like his truest friend (with Rin is totally diff, he's a guy GUY towards her so much...poor Rin) and now I love this character so much. Mind you, the only thing I can relate to Kabru is the control freak?????? part of him too??????

One last thing before I shut up lol do you have any other fav  duo/trio dynamic in this series which no romantic feeling between them? I thought Falin-Kabru's interaction would be fun. The way they treat people around them very well but also have something they're gatekeeping for themselves with their priority connection or their ideal relationship or Rin-Shuro they'd be embarrassed to see themselves in each other lmaooo

Also, hope everything is going well for you and your gf!

My exact same thoughts lmaooo after I read all his interactions with his own party... I'm like... "damn this guy is so friendless", my gf also said so. yeah, we can say he doesn't have a "true friend".

It's not like he doesn't have a rich social life, he has meaningful relationships with many people. He's just judgemental and distrustful, you can see in his relationship chart.

People always say something about Mithrun's relationship chart, "he only sees his own party members for their practical use." My guy, so is Kabru. His opinions of them are mostly "neutral" as he put them in a stereotype, sorting them into a box based on interactions and impressions. these answers are also kind of distant, like something he'd answer without actually thinking lol (like, Awwww rin :-) , Dia's cute, Holm is a spirit guy, Mickbell is a bitch, well Kuro is... a kobold)

and it's so funny, because yes he cares about them, he just don't think they'd understand him deeply so he put a distance between them, he's already decided how trustworthy these people are. But don't mistake that for him not being genuine, that's who he is when he's having fun, he just have a specific use of different friend circles. The party also knows him well as there's already a joke that they go "this fake ass bitch" every time they see Kabru approach strangers. At the end of the day, Kabru just don't think these people are really for him in a sense that he'd share his inner world to them.

Back to the question, I have a lot of other fav platonic dynamics in this series. So true... Falin-Kabru / Rin-Shuro would be so interesting to see. it's a shame that we don't get to see much about Falin, because yes she also has a rich intimate personality and values that she only keeps them to herself, so I really like her conclusion. I think Falin and Kabru can have a deep understanding talk with each other but they won't keep each other in their close friends list lol... Like, having that one talk and go back to your friend circles which don't overlap, that's beautiful...

one of my favorite platonic dynamics are Pattadol and Mithrun... and my gf once said that Mithrun has more friends than Kabru and that's so true lmao, I like that Pattadol genuinely cares about him that she cries when Mithrun is moving again and he also seems to like spending time with her in the modern AU. I also like Hien and Benichidori's interaction in the extras although it's a shame that we don't see much of Toshiro's party.

I also think Marcille and Kabru would be a great entertaining workplace friendship.

Actually, I think a lot about Kabru-Rin, I really like their relationship... Kabru is protective of her, she's one of the plot points which Kabru takes a duty to ensure safety to people he cares, it was assigned to him since he's a kid that he must comfort her. she is his first girl friend, so yeah I think he doesn't know better and he's immature towards her lol. imo Rin affected who Kabru is as a person, it's a meaningful relationship to him. but then I don't want to overestimate their romantic feeling because it's like... something that's already established to both of them that this is how it is and Rin knows it. She's also protective, she's very worried about him, the nagging comes from her own self preservation. and with someone like Kabru, that can make him feel trapped. He's stubborn in his own way and only listens when there is a reasoning presented to him. (like how Mithrun reflects to him that telling his story to Laios wouldn't work.) So like, yeah I think if they mature enough in the future, they can be a family to each other or drift apart to have their own life...

I'm yapping so muchh lol, thank you for the ask, I hope things are good to both you and your gf too! :D have a nice day

[blodgmonster]

Thoughts while rereading ACOSF. The first half of the book so that my post isn't a novel in itself.

-- Nesta falls into one of my favorite categories of female characters. Spiky, hurt, hiding their wounded hearts behind extremely high walls. I adore her. Always have. Even more now that we get her point of view. Though I sort of wish it was in first person like Feyre.

-- It's terribly ironic and funny that Feyre's solution to her sister spiraling out of control is to LOCK HER UP against her will. Gee, didn't someone do that to her and we all hated him for it? Who was that again? Oh, yes, Tamlin. "You will not be a prisoner" but there is like...no way out. Why doesn't the fae world have therapy?

-- "My Nesta. Elain will marry for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen...You shall wed for conquest." What the fuck was Mama Archeron's deal?

-- Mor comparing Nesta to Kier and the others in the Hewn City is bullshit.

-- Nesta's relationship with the House is so cute.

-- Nesta's self-hatred makes me cry. I've had the same thoughts that she's had. And when Cassian tells her that everyone hates her and it rings in her head like a bell...it's like a punch to the stomach.

-- Merrill is researching "the existence of different Realms -- different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it....if it might be possible for worlds to overlap." Oh my God. "Some philosophers believe there are eleven worlds like that. And some believe there are as many as twenty-six."

Me:

-- "Maybe you'll become interesting at last, Elain." SICK FUCKING BURN, NESTA.

-- "I'm pissed off that you can't seem to believe even one good thing about her. That you REFUSE to fucking believe one good thing about her." Yesssss, Cassian. Where was that attitude in HOFAS when Rhys treated Nesta like SHIT and Cassian just...stood there and let him?

-- I know Nesta was drinking to excess, but so does everyone else in the Inner Circle. Hypocrites.

--' "Her trauma is..." Rhys's throat bobbed." Yeah, bud, yeah. Stop being a dick to her.

-- pretty fucked up that "you always have a choice" and "no secrets between us" Rhys won't tell Feyre about the risk the wings pose. Also, how is it that magic can REGROW WINGS, REVIVE THE DEAD, and heal someone who's GUTS ARE HANING OUT but a C section is beyond their healing capabilities. Make it make sense, SJM.

-- NESTA CLAIMING THE MASK, RASING THE LEGION, AND KILLING THE KELPIE!!! FUCK YES, LADY DEATH!!!!!!!