#musings / blood in the water

[baileycatarina]

[savrenim]

.

I've got to say wrt writing and plotting and Boy Do I Like Nonlinear Narratives so that I can Maximize The Narrative Impact Of When Information Is Revealed is that, like. there is a very interesting aspect that is "how obvious do you make The Timeline vs how much do you expect your readers to Figure It Out based on context clues" and I tend to be pretty firmly on the 'eh my readers aren't idiots they can figure it out' side of things but that's not ALWAYS the case and just. interesting to think about Should I Be A Bit Nicer or is My Readers Aren't Stupid always appropriate to assume

[blocdinthewater]

♛ → THE CROWNLANDS & STORMLANDS present AENOGAIA QOHERYS, the LADY of ROSBY / COURT SEER TO JAEHAERYS II TARGARYEN. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-FOUR year old FEMALE who was PECULIAR & WILFUL before they saw the first of the flames, is now RUTHLESS & VINDICTIVE after seeing the last. they’re often associated with strange symbols traced into dust, the feeling of being watched in a dark place and high pitched, echoing screams from far away. ( thea sofie loch næss )

BIO:

( tw: animal death, death of a child )

From a very young age, Aenogaia was aware that she was cursed.

Not in that very capacity. Early on, she would have called it bad luck. Her favorite cat passing far before its time. A close friend succumbing to a long illness. It wasn't until she'd reached her fifth nameday, that the bad luck spread from targeting those around her, to targeting her. Cuts and bruises, more so than the children she ran with, played with. The peculiar way she carried herself with, that she knew things instinctively that others did not, that she had flashes of visions, abilities, did not leave many of the same age to play with, and yet she found friends. Those who were not afraid of a little strangeness, who emphasized, even.

It was one of those precious few that would be the first Gaia would see die. Bloody and hopeless. Gaia stood over a boy who had just laughed and challenged her, and who now bled from a wound in his head onto the very rock he'd smashed it against. A slip on slick ground, softened by rain. And then- Gaia hadn't known a person that small could bleed so much. It seeped into the earth, satiating something nobody could see. The young Lady Qoherys' hands had been stained red from trying to stop the bleeding. It was useless. Aenogaia stared, tears sticky on her cheeks when the last breath shuddered from her friend's chest.

Finding new friends was difficult after that. After returning to the courtyard in Dragonstone blood smeared, trying to get someone to listen long enough to tell them where her friend was lying lifelessly. Even those still alive, who had been fond of her before, kept their distance.

Instances just like this one continued as she got older. And as she developed and learned of her family's history, she put a name to that bad luck.

Curse. Cursed by brick, curse by stone. Cursed by never ending greed and ambition. Cursed by melted metal and cursed by screams of pain long faded in mud and rain and sunshine.

Harrenhal had dug its claws deeply into her family's bones, wormed its way into their very being to where there was no way to distinguish where they ended and the curse began. There was no end to an immortal curse. Only to their very mortal lives. Over a century of being rid of the place, and yet it held on. Perhaps it was because of her mother's desire to return, to make it the great seat of the House Qoherys once more. No longer dragon riders, but of Valyrian decent nonetheless. Important. Made of fire and blood. Perhaps it was in her sisters's insistence to ignore that anything was wrong. Curses were proud things, Gaia thought. If they did not get the respect they were due, they acted out. Left devastation in their path until they could no longer be dismissed.

The suffering never ceased, never stopped for even a moment to allow her to breathe.

Aenogaia would seek an end to it. Threw herself into her ability to see things few others did. Dove head first into rituals many objected to. Sacrifices, counter curses, obsession, morbid fascination.

She would find a way to end that curse.

No matter what it would take.

No matter what it would cost.

[oculusxcaro]

🍳 ( for a hangover after a night of crying in da club )

Send a 🍳 and my muse will cook something for you

It's hard not to wince in sympathy when Dewey groans, clearly still suffering from the aftermath of a heavy hangover. Khare bites her lip to refrain from saying something like asking just how much Dewey had for her to be smelling of a brewery. Clubbing she'd been, from what Khare could make out between slurred words, at that club owned by... she shook her head. That didn't matter, only the here and now and what mattered was that Dewey got something substantial in her belly to soak up the booze flooding her system. "I'll be right back. You just sit tight and we'll see about getting you something solid," Khare said once she'd left Dewey with a glass of water and a slice of buttered bread. It might have been too late to save the other woman from getting hammered but a timely breakfast might help curb the worse of the nausea that had yet to raise it's ugly head and with how light Dewey was, Khare did not relish how rough she had to be feeling right now. It was easy to empathize. She'd been there before, drinking one too many though that had been when she was younger, desperate to fit in with the crowd and friends she'd had at the time. Who was Dewey even partying with? Clearly they weren't here now, only her but maybe when her new friend had sobered up somewhat, she could get some answers. Khare grimaced when she set some bacon aside to fry. American bacon just wasn't the same as British, long overly crispy strips that reminded her way much of recipts and rent bills instead of actual meat. Anyway, this wasn't the time or place to get into what she deemed a 'proper' fry up instead of the disappointments that Americans called their fried breakfasts. A sausage joined the bacon, cooking quickly as a few mushrooms, a spoonful of beans and a slice of tomato was added before an egg was cracked into the pan, all cooked together in one skillet since Khare doubted that Dewey's stomach could handle that much food on a good day let alone after an all-night bender at the club... "There you go, one... continental fried breakfast." Khare said while setting the plate down before her hungover friend. It wasn't a proper Full English by any means but it was salty and greasy enough to kick a hangover to the curb, moreso than a hash brown could at any rate. She frowned, feeling like she'd forgetted something. Maybe she should refill Dewey's glass? Breakfast was almost certainly going to make her want more water.

[nyxbeasts]

Quick tag dump~

[horrifichaunts]

Claire and Rosemary Winters tag dump

[loveswayed]

tag dump!

[my-t4t-romance]

wish I could communicate to my nervous system that when I’m standing on a rather precarious wooden platform and trying to deliver my lines off-book for the first time is NOT an opportune moment to suddenly go blind and forget what the hell is going on

[musings-on-wisteria]

A Year of Initiations

So, for context, I've been a witch for 3 years, and this October will mark the 4th anniversary of my practice. With four being a particularly auspicious number in my practice ("4 for a blessing," the elements coming in 4, the cardinal directions, the seasons...), I felt that it would be a good anniversary to mark with something special.

Now, around the end of this past Autumn, I started wondering- would I ever want to "initiate" myself? I was immediately captivated with the idea, both because I've never really done anything like that before, and because the lack of tradition/social recognition of my practice makes celebrating my practice somewhat rare. I don't have a tradition to guide me on this path, so this would be symbolic of my efforts to create my own way.

I immediately could picture the kinds of things I would do- what I would wear, what I would say, what I would hold in my hands as I spoke the sacred words. I knew what I would need- a lot of stuff consecrated heavily under each element, lol- and I knew that it would be ambitious. The only problem was that I needed a full year of seasons to consecrate all the things I would need- consecrating things on the full moons of January, April, July, and October- and I was pretty sure I had missed the last opportunity for an October full moon before the 4th anniversary would come. Ah well, I thought, the sixth anniversary will be special too. Maybe I can do something more laid back for the fourth.

But then I checked my calendar, and ~coincidentally,~ the full moon of October 2025 is before my witchversary. BEFORE the deadline! Immediately I knew: I could make this work. I could actually do this.

So, I got to planning. I knew that what I wanted was going to be ambitious; oil consecrated on fire's day to anoint the ritual candle, Moonwater made on water's day to anoint the face and hands, seeds gathered on earth's day to plant, words consecrated on wind's day to read. I wanted powerful representations of the elements, and of my past workings with them, for this to really hold the weight of my path.

The chance to challenge myself while also formally marking and celebrating this aspect of my identity- an aspect that has become increasingly important to me, despite how little I share about it with others- is what's motivating me here.

My practice occupies my brain for at least a third of my waking hours, but I haven't taken the time to really celebrate it or formally mark my progress in a rite of passage. I never really had a "start point" when I said, "this is it, I'm a witch." I want that for myself, both to build a solid understanding between me and the spirits I work with, and to boost my own confidence and remind myself that I've taken the vows. I've done the work. My path, and if not witchcraft, these values and ideals, will be with me unless something drastically changes- unless I drastically change.

I started with fire's day last week, a day on which I made the blessed oil (which had been charging since the new moon before, but I shan't boast), and tackled a number of other devotional and magical activities, but I also made another choice. I wrote a pledge of initiation for the path of fire specifically, and consecrated it, undertook it, signed it in blood, etc, so that I would have less work to do on the Big Day. The idea is that I'll initiate myself to each element on their sacred day, before the anniversary, so that on the anniversary I can focus on the ritual as a whole.

The initiation itself felt electrifying. It felt just a little risky, which is how I know it made a difference. At the same time, after I said the words, I felt an immediate sense of gratitude and gladness. I'm excited to make the other pledges.

So I've just casually (it wasn't casual) signed myself up for 3 more extremely big workings this year! Luckily my class schedule seems to be permitting.

In other news, I'm extremely happy to be initiated on the path of Fire. I think my promise suits me well :)

Anyway, I'm realizing that the amount of detail I've shared about my practice on here is highly insufficient context, so if anyone's feeling curious, let me know! I'm in the mood to infodump.

[thumperking]

I also think about the king family a lot - and how essentially two sets of siblings ( who are all cousins ) were raised very differently from each other, and how different their lives were. thumper and his siblings didn’t know anything about the supernatural until after Taylor died. sage and Christian were raised into it and knew about it at a very young age, they were hunting as early as 11 , and going on partnered trips as early as 17. their family was well known within the hunting … community but thumper didn’t find that out until way later in life ( and usually doesn’t like telling other hunters his last name for this reason ) he doesn’t know who were enemies of his grandfather, aunt or his dad and doesn’t want to unknowingly bring more danger to him or his brothers ..

[blocdinthewater]

aenogaia qoherys. shop owner. esoteric. enduring mystery.

age ; 24

height ; 5'7

occupation ; shop owner ( her business sells crystals, herbs and various other things that have inadvertently gone viral on social media during a rise of spirituality )

traits during school ; peculiar, willful, steadfast

traits after school ; mysterious, distanced, witty

; about

gaia did not have many friends during her time in school, but those she did have, she cherished. she did not mind being on her own at times, though she did detest being lonely. and nothing was worse to her than being in the company of people she couldn't connect with.

after school, freshly graduated, she started her own business, selling things she had always fancied - crystals, herbs, books that specialized in the topics and other things.

on social media, her shop went viral for matching the aesthetic of things that trended for a while. it brought influencers in troves and promotion opportunities. the latter, aenogaia rejected. her lack of desire for establishing her business as a big online brand brought with it a reputation of mystery, and inadvertently, more traffic to her store.

[phoenixduelist]

@winters-club

- It could be the last sunset on Earth and I'd still be looking at you

[zaldrizescrowned]

What are you the patron saint of?

patron saint of blood

patron saint of the life that flows through our bodies. patron saint of violence. patron saint of love. something that does not watch over but exists within: not for protection but for vitality. there is no passion without a beating heart at its core. when that heart breaks open, someone has to be responsible for what it bleeds.

tagging: whoever wants to

[thcsedorks]

evelyn tagsss

🧪 / evelyn / ic // i'm not a quack ; i'm a mad scientist ! 🧪 / evelyn / musings // what you gonna do when there's blood in the water 🧪 / evelyn / about // i've got sunshine in a bag ; i'm useless but not for long 🧪 / evelyn / likes / aesthetics / even though i wasn't there he said i was his friend ; which came as a surprise 🧪 / evelyn / music // please don't stop the music 🧪 / evelyn / visage // now i’m waiting for the last hurrah ; dying like a shooting star 🧪 / evelyn / starter call // we can celebrate the death of the dawn

[invinciblerodent]

Y'know, now that I think about it, I do wonder whether the reason I have so much fun laughing at Cazador's expense is

1.) because I actually took him seriously based on how Astarion always spat his name with such loathing and spoke of him with such fear, like initially I was actually kinda spooked, and overall it's just very cathartic and emotionally satisfying to utterly dunk on someone who has potential to be scary, is not cartoonishly evil in their every action (affectations included), AND they also caused incredible suffering to a character to whom one is emotionally attached,

2.) because the first time I tried fighting him, I was unaware that he could just ascend mid-fight, so when he did it, it provoked in my mind a reaction I can best summarize as "alright, you slimy fucker, if you wanna get disintegrated in two rounds instead of having a nice, lengthy, epic, narratively significant battle with me, I can fucking do that" that just... struck around,

or 3.) because in my native language, his last name literally means "Shit", which is... a bit difficult to take seriously past that initial impression.

[pyramultimuse]

That seagull on the dock trying to taunt him was really pissing him off. If it wanted his attention so bad then they'd have it! Once more Diaval used his magic and flapped his wings to create another strong gust. A fast and precise gust that sent the gulls flying so hard into the ship's hull the bird was unrecognizable smear of blood and feathers.

There was one more close that the raven swooped down and stabbed with his beak. It dropping down like a sack of bricks into the water, dead. The last seagull dove in for another attack but Diaval was ready, little feet grabbing onto the smaller gull. They flapped and pecked at each other until the pair both hit the water.

Diaval was the one to come out on top and floated on the surface of the water. Wings stretched out as he tried to flap, but his feathers weren't waterproof and he couldn't fly out of the water. He kicked his little feet as hard as he could, not being webbed propelled him very slowly over the water as he tried to get closer to the dock.

"Help?" Dia called out, not distressed but just needing assistance getting out of the water. "Up!" He didn't want to have to change back just to climb out of the water.

ᒥ🎲ᒧ—         The second seagull squawks when his buddy is attacked, crying out at the loss of his flock. still not very smart birds however, still attacking despite the danger. It goes for a beak attack on Diaval and manages to hit, but still very little damage.

The fifth gull taunts again from it's spot on the dock, but Diaval doesn't fall for the awful noise trying to distract him.

The fourth seagull moves in to attack, and succeeds. However, these creatures don't do much damage and minimal damage is done to Diaval.

Edward watches, rubbing the figure. He didn't enjoy watching Diaval be attacked, even if they're weak to the familiar. Izzy stands and walks over, "He's causing just as much trouble as you do--"

"Hush, mate." Edward shushes the other, watching the avian battle closely.