#oc: Lysander

[seraphicghost]

my oc Lysander ! he's a messy vampire and you shouldn't ever trust him

[xviistrings]

the crow's nest.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Candle Store

Author’s note: More of Ramiel and Jophiel in Husbandry AU.

Summary: Ramiel and Jophiel wander into a Candle store

Warnings: None? Let me know if I need to add anything!

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis

Ramiel had noticed that they were running low on candles for the private shrine that the Primaris Marines have set up in their quarters. While he could go to the quarter master and request some candles, in exchange for work.

Another option could be to make the candles, but Jophiel had noticed what he was looking over and had said that one of the times that he had been going through Gannet Point, he had spotted a shop dedicated to selling a wide variety of candles.

Ramiel had pointed out to Jophiel that they would need to get local currency in order to buy candles from a baseline shop. Jophiel had grinned at him saying that some people had commissioned him for his embroidery and he'd gotten those commissions done.

He had gotten local currency, among other things, for the needle point work that he'd finished recently. Jophiel was happy to spend some of the local currency on candles. So the pair of them had made plans for during their time off to go to the candle store and check it out.

Ramiel really liked candles, they soft light they gave off, the flickering light that glowed softly in the darkness. The way that they illuminated something, without being overly bright.

The pair of Primaris Marines go to the Candle shop, it's only about a twenty minute power walk away from the Loyalist Base, and still is in Gannet Point.

After double checking, before heading out to the shop, it was rated Space Marines friendly and they headed into the store. It had wooden colored walls. It had a lot of different kinds of candles in glass containers with wooden tops.

Ramiel coughs a little at the strong scent that comes wafting, invading his nose and he quickly puts on his helmet in order to filter out the almost overwhelming smell of all the different kinds of scented candles.

He sees Jophiel stagger a little bit and his eyes water as he puts on his helmet and groans to Ramiel quietly that he might get a small headache from the overpower smell of the different candles.

Despite that minor hiccup, they look around the shop, there are a bunch of base line humans in the store, and some of them are in the candle shop uniform.

One of them is looking at the pair of Space Marines nervously- one of them going into the employees only section of the shop. Ramiel and Jophiel had noticed that, but were very happy to go through the various candles, lightly holding them and assessing the look, smell and quality of the candles.

Discussing the various pros and cons of the different candles, particularly the scented ones. They turn when they hear someone approach them and see a first born space marine in an Astartes-sized version of the candle shop uniform approach them.

He's heavily scarred and neither Jophiel or Ramiel can figure out which Chapter he's from. "Hello there brothers," The first born says slowly, a slight lisp, due to a scar that carves through his lips that has his face in a permanent sneer. "I see you are enjoying the shop. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Oh- we were just looking for some candles," Jophiel says, the more talktive and outgoing of the pair of Scout aged Primaris Marines cheerfully.

"I can recommend you some Astartes-tolerable scented candles, if you would like." The First born marine offers.

"That would be great," Jophiel says with bright smile.

"I go by Lysander," The First Born says. "Can I know your names?"

"I am Jophiel," Jophiel introduces, and waves a hand at Ramiel, "And this is Ramiel."

"It's nice to meet both of you," Lysander says, "Just as a reminder, little cousins, do you have local currency?"

"I do have local currency with me," Jophiel says as he pulls out a hand stitched and embroidered pouch that rustled with local currency in it.

Lysander nods and goes over the various options for candles that are Astartes-safe scented and they decide on half a dozen different candles. The expense for the hand crafted candles is a little surprising to Jophiel- but he's able to cover the bill with an easy smile.

The way that Ramiel had been like an kid in a candy story as they looked around the Candle store had been worth it, well worth it to see the happy expression on his often melancholic brother-cousin's face.

[defira85]

THINGS I HAVE LEARNED FROM TODAY: I can't draw dragonborns. Maybe if I had more than 45 minutes per pic I'd manage better but my thumb hurts. I tried to do some stronger shadows and unnatural lighting shots this time to give myself more of a challenge after yesterday

I'm sorry to @tiefighter @anarchyinplasma @maeglinhiei and @memaidraws for inflicting my particular brand of creative violence on your children. I'm not sorry to @garret-spork because he did this to himself by handing me a dragonborn

[inkberrry]

Lysander Ingellvar, perfectly done by @needlesslycryptic! I'm absolutely in love.

[stagteeth-art]

[ reblogs <- likes | my art, please don't repost | linktree ] [they/them left, he/they right] My partner and I's fursonas, Hemlocke and Lysander on a little winter stroll, now that December has finally rolled in~

[nutmegpoid]

these two are older oc ideas i decided to revisit. Loosely (and i mean very loosely) based on alice in wonderland stuff like literally its just i named her alice and slapped a cat boy with her. His name is Lysander

[semi-good-artist]

its been to long since ive drawn my boy! i keep forgetting to post my art.

anyway, this is a redraw of this drawing i did half a year ago apparently. it felt longer

[zigmatism]

Right I have other OCs I almost forgot

[flushwithdarlings]

my durge is my main bg3 char but I also have a tav who is a cleric of kelemvor and the itinerant mortician who prepared astarion's body for burial and carried out his funeral rites

it was kind of awkward when he ran into him again 200 years later

[dawnbreak81]

What if I be unhinged on the internet for the first time and make a tumblr post

because I'm actually going insane over @maehwajuuuu-chu's art of Lysander and now I wanna scream about him

[charcoalstardust]

forgot that i made this and put it on my pinned post a few days ago but here a post for it too

[xviistrings]

an even better introduction to the crows nest

[iingezo]

Lysander for @raspberrydusk !

[saphirdevil]

mcl the side profile trilogy sorry im used the same jokes twice

[inkberrry]

My take on how my Mourn Watch Rook, Lysander, ended up in the Grand Necropolis as a child.

-

They called him Virarla; the path home. It had been a hard pregnancy, and he came far too early. Small and silent as a grave. His mother held out her hands for him, fearing he was lost before his life even began. But his eyes were open, and wide, and they looked up at her with a color so clear she imagined she saw herself reflected in them. He blinked and the world must have rushed at him all at once, for he started to bawl. 

His mother cooed, her fear momentarily forgotten. She held him close to her breast, and it was then she noticed the mark. Upon the babe’s face was a large, wine-red stain. It covered his right eye, trailing down his cheek and crawling up his forehead. It reached across his nose, splotches of dark that almost resembled the print of a palm and long, sharp nailed fingers. 

“An omen,” the midwife breathed, fear clear in the whispered words. “He has been touched by a Spirit.” 

His mother scoffed, and brought the boy to feed. Whether he was touched by something other or not, he was still only a child, and hungry. Her body remembered from her first born, and she helped the boy to latch. There was a feeling of unease as she watched him, though, her eyes drawn unfailingly to the mark on his skin.

Weeks went by and the mark remained. It did not fade, as his mother prayed nightly to the gods it would. Virarla was silent more often than not, his pale eyes watching the world in a way that sent shivers down his parents' spines. He sees things, his father lamented. Things that are not there. He was a far cry from his sister, who had been a babbling, happy babe, and who still carried the spark of life and magic within her years later. All children are different, his mother insisted. There is nothing wrong with our son. 

Weeks bleed into months. Virarla remained small and weak. He fed, but not well, leaving his mother’s body bloodied and sore. Her eyes soon turned sunken from worry, a deep guilt taking hold in her heart. No matter what she did, how hard she tried, she could not shake the feeling of dread when she looked upon Virarla’s face. The instant love and connection she felt to her daughter never arose, the small babe in her arms more stranger than son. 

Things came to a tipping point soon after Virarla began to crawl. His mother left him in the grass just beyond their home, only for a moment. When she returned from caring for his sister, she found the grass empty. It took her and three clan members to find him at the gravesite. Virarla sat before one of the stones, his eyes bright as he babbled happily, his sweet, small voice filling the air. 

He had never used his voice so much before. His mother hardly knew what it sounded like. Yet there he was, sounds that were almost words, strings of babble that could only be phrases. 

His mother swept him up and returned home, but not before she saw the disquiet in the other’s eyes. 

That night tragedy befell the clan. A spirit rose from the gravesite, its spectral form given substance enough to damage. By the time it was banished, two elves lay dead. 

“He must be dealt with,” the Keeper demanded. “The child is dangerous. He will summon more spirits until there is nothing left of us. He has been irrevocably touched by the Fade.” 

His mother tried to protest, but the bitter, guilty part of her heart tamped down her arguments. Perhaps it will be better when he is gone, it whispered. He has been nothing but hardship. 

In the end, his parents brought him deep into the forest. They found an altar to Mythal, long ruined and abandoned. If anyone can keep him safe, his mother thought, it will be her. There were no tears, her eyes dry and far away. Virarla made no sound, only watched with open, clear eyes. 

They left him there swaddled in a blanket upon the altar, fading fast to sleep. Fate will take care of the rest, his mother whispered. And goodbye. 

Unknown to them all, someone else watched. Not Mythal, who his mother had hoped for. There was no God to take pity on the small child, their attentions’ far elsewhere. Only a Spirit of Compassion, who had been watching over Virarla since the moment of his birth. They summoned what power they could, using each and every shred to transport the boy to a place he would be cared for and understood. 

When Virarla next opened his eyes, it was to the halls of the Grand Necropolis.

-

Just a note because it's an important topic to me - the mother here needed support and help and did not receive it. There is never anything wrong about not having an instant connection to your child. Love takes time.