#savery

[itsbylaw]

(via Homemade Egg Rolls - I Am Homesteader)

[baketress]

Cherry cheese cake with a chocolate drizzle and whipped cream rose's.

Strawberry cream cheese cookies with white chocolate chips❤🎂.

[thunderstruck9]

Jan Saverys (Belgian, 1924-2017), Composition, 27 August 1953. Pencil and black chalk on paper, 49.3 x 44.4 cm.

[flowerytale]

Roelant Savery (1576–1639), Vase of Flowers in a Stone Niche (detail)

[oldsardens]

Jan Saverys - Composition abstraite

[psikonauti]

Roelant Savery (Flemish,1576-1639)

Noah’s Ark, 1628

oil on canvas

[laclefdescoeurs]

Landscape with swans near a waterfall, Roelandt Savery

[stayatsam]

August - Jacob I Savery Flemish 1566 - 1603

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Roelant Savery (Dutch, 1576-1639) Landscape with Birds, 1618

[mysterious-secret-garden]

Roelant Savery - Memento mori, c. 1600-09.

[itsbylaw]

(via 25 Best Recipes with Sun-Dried Tomatoes - Insanely Good)

[isfjmel-phleg]

Since you love Tenthragon, have you been able to get your hands on The Memoirs of Jack Chelwood? Now I want to read it but the printing was so limited I can't find it anywhere and don't know anyone's take on it but I know Savery considered it her best novel!

I did manage to get it through interlibrary loan about three years ago. There are about about ten libraries in the US that own it (not to mention five in the UK, one in Ireland, and one in New Zealand), but not all of them circulate it, and most of them do not typically loan for free, although that might depend on your library and where you are.

My comment on it at the time was "Savery apparently considered this one her best work. I would debate her on that if I could, but it’s certainly the lengthiest and most intricate of what I’ve read of hers." But honestly, I don't remember much about it and can't provide further details.

However, I've put in another ILL request and will give it a reread. Sometimes impressions change the second time around. I had read a lot of Savery around that time, which probably didn't give me adequate space to process the book.

[flowers-of-io]

If you're still taking prompts, Sav/Eris #20? :3c

20. on a scar // Read on Ao3

The light in Savathûn's throne world is strangely diffused, one of the four suns having already dipped below the horizon and other two inching their way downwards. The fourth is in zenith right above the palace, framing the tip of the Spire like a halo. It should sting her uncovered eyes, Eris thinks, but this place was tailor-made for a Hive and so she figures it is only fair it accommodated the sensitivities of Hive sight.

They are in the gardens, Savathûn and her, strolling among the lush flower patches and neatly-trimmed hedges. The Witch-Queen's form is... strange, light folding on light and edges blurry, so mach that Eris finds it difficult to tell its exact size. Wonders of the mind, she thinks dryly. Even resplendent in Light, the High Coven is still the kingdom of deceit.

"I'm glad you don't hide yourself from me anymore," Savathûn says conversationally. She has stopped to admire a particularly scenic brook snaking between grass and marble, its surface azure-clear and shimmering in the sunlight. "Or from yourself, for that matter. It's a nice change."

Eris looks at her with a unamused expression. The Witch kneels down and now they are almost level, their shivering reflections side by side in the water.

"Do you interpret everything in relation to yourself?"

"I like seeing my work," Savathûn croons. "You're beautiful."

Anger flares in Eris, mixed with disgust and something else. For a moment she manages to blink away the shimmering veil of Light, and what she sees underneath is so crudely tangible--crusted skin around the eyes and chitin weathered by age, minute twitches of facial muscles. Flesh and bone and strength no greater than her own. Not an elusive queen of mists; a woman, a Hive, a body that will squirm and bleed if she cuts it. There is still a scar on her throat where Eris slashed it open.

She says, angrily, "You did not make me."

The Witch-Queen smiles lazily.

"I know you find the idea abhorrent, but when you think about it, how different has our dance been from the simplest sword-logic invocation of one's opponent? You created me." Her head tips to the side, eyes narrowed in delight. "In your furious search for means to destroy me, you have kept me closer to your heart than anything else you hold dear. You have changed me forever, and as such, by equality of force, you too have been changed."

"Do you feel so lacking as to need to take credit for I've done by my own hand?"

Savathûn laughs, of course she does. "Ah, maybe you're right in diagnosing this as a matter of pride. One wishes all the beauty they see were fruit of their own craft."

Beauty, Eris wants to spit, if only because this was the cost I had to pay to destroy you--but Savathûn's edges blur once again and she is suddenly so close Eris can see the delicate spiderweb of cracks on her chitin.

There is a pressure on her forehead, just next to her middle eye, a lipless mouth brushing again the skin and then murmuring, "But I can still admire the handiwork."

All she can see now is Savathûn's throat, the expanse of calloused, ancient skin and the scar slicing it in half. It is a thick and convex line, like a bank running across a grassy field. It bobs along with every breath.

Physical, Eris thinks, real. Is this what their siblinghood was? Gods to all but each other, intangible concepts with edges defined only by what can be scratched and choked and cut, the only forces in the universe capable of rendering each other real? Invocations hold power, but not as much power as a blade to the gut. Love is war, over and over, the clashing of territories and saying, here I begin, and thus here is where you are not.

She reaches out and traces the scar--first with her fingers and then, madly enough, with her lips. A warning. A gesture that says, I could to this again, and I would do this again, and here is where I define your borders and you must first get through me if you wish to challenge that.

The sharp contortion of the throat against her mouth--whether it is a laugh or a gasp, she is not sure.

[thelonelybrilliance]

Is Tenthragon really going to just ... end like that?????

[flowerytale]

Roelant Savery (1576–1639), Vase of Flowers in a Stone Niche (details)

[oldsardens]

Albert Saverys - Field work with grey sky