#ostrei

[sasster]

well what would you call it

"Commander of a fleet reeducation crew and various other psionics in the Empire's system."

[sasster]

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!

he break u like siberian bear @sasster HEHEHHE HAPPY BIRTHDAY STINKY BUTTTTTTT

LOVE U LOVE U LOVE U

[zevampirex]

Non pascat vestra cattus ostreis. Et placueris aadvark

[fantrollology]

alaska, who inspires you to be better?

"Better at what? My job? Photography? Board games?"

"Knowing I can be better tends to be enough. And that's always true, for anyone."

"So, someone should tell Ostrei he can ease up on me a little when we play backgammon."

[jensik]

Listening to the newer Dresden Files audiobook way later than I intended to. Live-ish blogging for a lack of better things to do.

So far? Mouse continues to be the best. Baby knowledge spirit is fucking adorable. All the old people need to calm the fuck down. Ostrey seems cool, which means something’s probably going to happen to him. Always happens when there’s new character early on that seems cool when he shouldn’t.

[wingedscribe]

"Lost their voice from screaming!" Because. You know

This was a good excuse to write a background scene from my upcoming novel project, so thanks! If anyone else wants to send a prompt, please go for it!

tw: blood ritual, mistreatment of a child, attempted ritual child murder (does not succeed), narrator who is the one who instigated all of those things and does not regret it

Lost their Voice from Screaming - 850 words, Original fiction

The Volodya girl didn’t speak anymore.

It was a shame, Kiryl Pavlik supposed, because he would like to get a statement from the child regarding her experience. Obviously, something had gone wrong; the child was still alive, after all, and the Light Eternal remained stubbornly beyond the grasp of magecraft’s mightiest minds. But certainly something had happened to her, because her eyes had not been that shade of gold before, and when she became upset things...happened.

It wasn’t the ritual, Kiryl was sure. He had followed that precisely, following Ostrei’s notes to the letter until she realized he was looking, started hiding them better, started encrypting them. All he had done for her, and she denied him this-

-but she would get what was coming to her, in time. Whatever the flaw in the ritual, Kiryl was sure it was her fault. But he had drawn the circles, had called the spirits of the land and the wind to them by name, binding them into every word, every piece of the room until it was, at last, a fit abode for a god. He had reached deeper, always a strain, and named the older spirits--the ones left from before the First Era, the ones who thrummed with power and had names that burned on his tongue. The girl had spoken then, or started to--always dutiful, Mislav had described her, and the man seemed to be right. The child had stood in the center of the circle, clearly terrified, and had spoken the invocation in a shaking, shuddering voice.

It was when Kiryl had named the chiefest spirit, when he had invoked the Light Eternal, that the screaming had started. The child, who had once been so obedient, dropped to her knees and screamed as Kiryl continued the invocation. It wasn’t as though some noise would harm the ritual, after all, and he had a job to do. The child had done her part.

Still, the sound had grated on him, caused him to speed through the other readings he had to do, the invocations in Old Diamantine, the binding of the name. Asya Volodya. It wasn’t a fit name to be bound to such a powerful entity, but one must work with what they had. When the last syllables fell from his lips, when the light in the room brightened so far as to be intolerable, he had expected it to be over.

The screaming did not stop.

The Volodya girl was still on her knees in the center of the room, the light wrapping and coalescing around her, keeping her within the circle Kiryl had drawn. She was screaming, a continuous drawn-out sound that resonated on a level that...unsettled him. Pain had been expected--the ritual did warn that the subject should suffer cessation of existence, in return for the control of the Light Eternal--but not something prolonged, something continual. And the sound...wasn’t human.

It was then he saw it, the light pouring from her and not only around her. It clawed its way out of her mouth, golden and too bright to look at, shone from her eyes. Kiryl had felt every hair on his body raise as the sound continued, and remembered a theory he’d heard proposed, that light and sound were merely the same thing in different forms. Perhaps, then, the scream and the light and the child were all, now, the same, and the ritual had worked after all, and soon the child and the screaming would be gone and there would only be the light, there and ready and willing to aid Kiryl in his discovery of the truth.

Kiryl is unsure how long he stood there--others say hours, but he is certain that something that the ritual did interfered with time, because surely not hours. All at once, the light vanished, the screaming stopped, and the child crumpled to the ground like a marionette, their strings cut. Kiryl stormed from the room, irritated at the failure of the ritual, at the time wasted. It was only later that one of the aides--one of his men, not Alieh or Volodya’s--informed him that the child continued to live, and that her eyes had turned gold.

And that when she tried to speak, nothing came out, but that when she had seen her father she had tried to say something, and light had curled around her like a shield, like a cage, like hands holding her close and--

And then something had happened, and nobody was clear enough on what, but Kiryl had gone in person to investigate the twisted mass of metal and dust that had been the chair the child was seated on, and could guess on some of the specifics.

As much as Kiryl hated not having the child’s input, he couldn’t argue that it was safest for everyone to keep her confined, at least until she wasn’t a threat to everyone around her.

And as long as she could not speak, he reasoned, there was no chance he would have to endure that scream again.

[desperatlytryingtowriteabook]

Fathers’ Day

It’s Fathers’ day here in Belgium! Happy day to all the dads, dad-figures, and others in your life!

As I wrote a Moms’ post (here), I made a Dads one :)

TW: abuse (marked by a *)

Primum Sanguis

Galeazzo Maria Sforza: Cat and co’s dad. A good dad. If you do what he asks you to. He enjoys teaching his children about warfare and fighting and the occasional bit of politics.

Rafaelle della Rovere: The Good BeanTM. Loving and kind, the dad who will tell you stories, take you to walks and beheadings (not much on TV during the Renaissance...), and will scold you a little when you come back wasted from a night out.

Pietro Riario: Bianca’s husband and father to her many children. Who he never cared about.

*Piero Landriani: Lucrezia’s husband and father to her two eldest children. His son Gian Piero is his pride and joy, while he despises his daughter and his step-children. Also a low-key abuser.

Ijandia - Arson, High Sea Piracy, and Other Activities

Morwen Westfall: Teyrn of Armadeis (Astos Orthra) and High King of Idhilwhon. Husband of Meriagan, who bore him two children, Morwenna and Baldwin. As High King, he didn’t spend much time with his children but ensured they’d have the best education possible.

Heregil Westfall: Morwen’s eldest brother and father to Soren and Sigryn. Commander of the Armies of Idhilwhon, he is power-hungry and blood-thirsty despite his parents’ teaching. His only redeeming quality would be his uncoditional love for his children.

Thaddeus Westfall: youngest son of Alda and Renth and the only one with some sense. He acted as Idhilwhon’s Ambassador for a long time and always sent gifts to his nephews and nieces. Now that he’s back from his travels, he wants to make sure his niblings don’t murder each other.

Harrow “Row” One-Eye, the SeaFarer: captain of the Sea Mist. He sees himself as a father to his crew and is an adept of tough love, even if his heart melts sometimes.

Saiyth Avaleis: Counsellor to his brother the Emperor, he is a stern man who sees his children as pawns in a game. He almost opposed Thyia’s going to the Academy but yielded when he understood she might find a good husband there and advance their family’s position.

Renth Terondvar Athior: King Consort of Indhilwhon, husband of Alda Westfall and father to her three sons. He loves his children and grand-children and spent a lot of time with them. He was the first to encourage Morwenna’s love of the sea.

Ijandia - Ellerin’s Inheritance

Ewald Terondvar Athior: Lord of Belriz and Ruler of Imyslaën. He is Alda’s father-figure and helped raise her. They were very close when she was young, but grew apart when she was a teenager. Their relationship is now friendly, but they both ache for the old days.

*Beathan Highhorn: King of Leharion and Teyrn of Astos Let, husband of Madge Highhorn and father of her children. Very close to his second son, Drinian, who is everything a dashing prince should be, Beathan is less enthralled by his heir, Damiel, and by his three other children.

Eroan Highhorn: King of Ellerion and father of Essylt, who is his only daughter. Eroan and his wife struggled so much to conceive a child that they were elated when Essylt was born and Eroan has been overprotecting and spoiling his daughter ever since.

Morvan Westfall: Former King of Ellerion and Alda’s father. He died when she was a child and she barely remembers him. But he loved her very much.

Ijandia - Aisling (to be renamed)

Vladji Westfall (He needs a new name): High King of Idhilwhon, who fell in love with a naïad. He is a good father to his three children - Bash, Aisling and Nolan - and would do anything to keep them safe.

Zoltan Mordrak: Valon’s father. The Bad Guy. But a surprisingly ok dad.

Edwin Greengrass: Kaherdin’s uncle, a farmer who raised him. A good man, who just wants to feed his family.

Ijandia - To Be Named WiP

*Torkan Avaleis: Ruling Emperor of the Archipelago. Father to Kaël, his eldest son and heir, Swanhilde, and a few more kiddos I still have to name! He never really cared for his children, seeing them mostly as necessities for his rule, but which prevented him from bedding his lovers.

Ijandia - The Way of the Gods

Ieva’s dad: the Last King of the Ostreis Dynasty and father to many children, most of whom were killed during the Helioson’ invasion. A wise and old man, who share his knowledge with his children.

Taho Helioson: Ieva’s husband and father of her children. A sanguine, ambitious, hot-headed man, who is a good leader and a strict but loving father.

Father Stone: the Dwarven Deity, who watches over the mountains and their dwellers.

Don’t hesitate to share informations about the moms of your WiP! And to ask questions about some of mine if you want to know more about them!

Like what you read? Consider becoming a Patreon, follow me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

[silence4k]

Ostrey Nest. Bird Feeds His Chicken With Fresh Fish. Wildfowl Cam | Huma...

[igorbat-blog]

Ostrey Nest. Bird Feeds His Chicken With Fresh Fish. Wildfowl Cam | Huma...

[sasster]

You got plans for after work Mantle?

"Only ones I'll regret in the evening."

[sasster]

sorry, shucks like crazy

"Best way to open an oyster is to get them all nice and warm. Pop them in the oven or on a grill, once they're all steamy and hot they just open up for you no hassle."

[sasster]

mantle fucks crazy confirmed

"Language."

[sasster]

Mantle do you have any opinions on aliens?

“Find me a single member of the Alternian Imperial Fleet that doesn’t and I’ll eat my coat.”

[sasster]

mantle 🗣️ retcon

Send me a (🗣️) + two muses on my blog, and I’ll make them have a conversation whether they know each other or not!

--

Since he’d been placed on Mantle’s crew, Retcon has made it a point to not be on the ship for longer than needed, especially if there was not a memory wipe on the itinerary. Because why would he? It’s weird to him how much like a family the commander and the rest of his core re-education crew act. He’d even seen some of the other non-core psions drift in and out of the ship just to say hello or hang out.

It’s so strange to think of a leader in the Alternian military that didn’t just turn into a dictator the second they got their own crew. Stranger still that despite all of this, Retcon sits across from the man himself, watching him finish his turn in the game of Mancala that he brought upon himself.

When the violet blood ends his turn, dropping a stone into an empty store on his side, opposite to one housing seven or eight stones, Retcon scoffs.

“You’re not going to go easy on me?”

“Hm?” Is the simple response Mantle gives as he slots the stolen points into the cache on his side. “Easy?”

“I told you I haven’t played in a while. You only just retaught me the rules.”

“And?”

“I thought you’d go easy on me,” as he speaks, the disgruntled purple blood makes his move. By the way Mantle’s brows shift, he can tell that the move he makes is a bad one to make. “Because, y’know, it’s been a while.”

“What you said when you came over,” the commander starts, voice steady as he moves a single stone from his store into another empty one yet again sitting across from a full one. “Was ‘Hey, Smallfry, I wanna play Mancala.’ Play being the operative word.”

“Yeah?”

“If you’d said win, I would have gone about it differently.” He deposits the stones into his cache. “Are we done playing, then?”

“No, damn it! Not until I beat your ass!”

“Alright.” Mantle says, separating the stones from his cache to set up the game again, and a small smile breaks through his usually disinterested facade.

[sasster]

Message Received

Now lets all pretend that I didn’t JUST post Reassignment eight hours ago. Really, don’t even worry about it. Time is an illusion. [Doc] —

It was Retcon’s first assignment since his last blow out, but more importantly, it was the first one he’d work with his shiny new babysitter. As they were escorted onto the base that the prison was located in, Mantle only looked up from his magazine to take in the scenery a handful of times, and never once when he was addressed. In the perigees worth of time he’d known the man, Retcon has learned that this is not unusual — The violet blooded commander simply never delegated too much of his attention to a single troll or conversation.

If anyone bothered to ask Retcon about it, he’d tell them that he found the whole act incredibly pretentious. Who did he think he was?

“‘Ey, Mantle,” he called, talking around a handful of cashews casually tossed into his mouth.

“Mhm?” As expected, the commander did not tear his gaze from the magazine. In fact, he even turned a page after his response.

Asshole.

“How many guys did they say this one was?”

“Fifteen today, your max tomorrow or the following, depending on how you feel. Forty, total. We’ll be back to address whatever they have left over once you’ve had time to recover.”

“How I feel?” Retcon spit back, his words contorted into a chortle that nearly made him choke on his snack. “They don’t care how I’m feeling.”

“No, that’s my job.”

“Aw, you care about how I’m feeling?”

Mantle didn’t answer, he only turned a page in his magazine.

—

When they arrived, Retcon was separated from his babysitter and put in some sort of psychic holding cell while they talked shop. He was no stranger to this treatment, so many fleet officials lack trust in psions, willing participants or otherwise. The guy who runs this place must be superstitious about psions and their nature.

Understandable.

No skin off Retcon’s nose, he much preferred not to hear or talk about the numbers involved with the job.

It was always a drag. He didn’t feel the need to be in the room when the number of wipes needed jumped up or the times table was changed. His new commanding officer would have to learn how reality works the hard way.

He rested his head on the table he sat at  and soon sleep found him.

--

Retcon did not wake up until he was pulled to his feet by the collar of his shirt and walked out of the room by a purple blood that had entirely too much protein in her diet, way stronger and heavy handed than she needed to be.

“Hey,” he offered, yawning as obnoxiously as he could. “You know I’m not one of your prisoners or whatever, right?” In case she didn’t see it, he emphasized his point by indicating the fleet emblem on the uniform he so loathed to wear.

“Precaution.”

“Right, manhandling potentially volatile psions usually makes them more cooperative. I forgot.”

She only shoved him harshly in response.

“Cool, thanks. Where’s my plus one?” He asks, moving his hand to about waist level in an exaggeration of his supervisor’s height. “About yay high.”

“He’s indisposed right now.”

“Big word. Got it, your boss ordered a distraction on my boss so you can tell me the real number you want done.”

She seemed surprised that he caught on so quickly, but let up as soon as the words left his mouth just as they were coming up at the end of a corridor. Everyone really seemed to think that this was his first rodeo.

Retcon rolled his eyes. “And that number is…”

“Seventy? Eighty? Numbers aren’t my job.”

The purple blood couldn’t help but laugh in response.

That is a ridiculous number! It’s almost like they wanted him dead!

She shoved him into the room and he came face to face with the blue blooded warden who’d thrown it all together.

“Hello there, welcome!”

“Too jovial for a prison warden.” He groaned, twisting a pinky finger in his ear to drive home his disapproval of their loudness.

They shrugged it off with a laugh and gestured over to another door opposite the one that he came in, Retcon took a chance at peeking in through the window at the very top of the door and found way more than fifteen trolls, packed into a room that was way beyond capacity.

“Just happy to finally have the help I needed for this one. Your old handler was remarkably inadequate at getting back to people about their requests.”

Retcon cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed up into the glass to get a better look at the sea of prisoners in the glorified closet. Poor assholes.

Poor him, he would surely sustain a bit more permanent damage as a result of a job like this.

“This is going to suck.” He mused, facing the warden again.

“I hear you have a great medical team on call.”

Somewhere down the hall someone shouted, “Commander, wait!” And the warden turned to the sound of the door clicking shut behind them, only to be on the receiving end of the mother of all right hooks in the same instant. The contact of the punch sounded with a sickening crunch.

The warden, for all the strength the indigo cast is said to have, crumpled to the floor groaning.

“Fifteen,” the violet blood, newly returned from his hiatus, enunciated as he took off the brass knuckle he must’ve equipped on his way in and shook his hand free of a few specks of blood. “Pick fifteen.”

Oh, this wasn’t his first rodeo either.

[sasster]

What’s on your collar there Mantle?

“Some sort of metal hoop, it came with it.

Perhaps some sort of fashion statement? Beyond me.”