#thank you to whichever deity blessed me with this happening

[fallenrayvens]

Hey hello I’d like to say that after years with only having watched the anime, after they announced S4 I was so hyped that I went and read the whole manga in like. 3 days.

So, suffice to say I guess I’m back to this fandom.

[pomefioredove]

Saw you took specific requests. Here's mine:

Jamil with a religious reader who gives him a protection talisman.

Fun fact, prayer beads are used in multiple religions as they help count prayers (Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc).

So let's say reader comes from a world where magic exists but it's exclusively on religious grounds. Meaning if you wanna do magic you gotta pray to the right god or make a deal with some form of mythological creature.

Reader knows that Jamil's is always in danger due to the constant assassination attempts on Kalim, so they make a set of prayer beads and ask a diety to bless it in order to protect their boyfriend (could be Allah, Indra, Shiva, Buddha, Susanoo, whichever). Jamil accepts it and heads back home appreciating the sentiment but not really believing.

Except any form of danger keeps getting thwarted. Drink/food he's trying is poisoned? Conveniently spills over/has a whole in the bottom. Accident happens? Conveniently pushed out of the way. Someone tries to hurt him/kill him? Struck by lightning and straight up dies.

Not even his own parents are safe. They try to slap him to "discipline him" then they get zapped (lightly tho).

you know!!! I love this prompt so much... I'm a religious studies major so this kinda stuff is so ^w^ to me I get so excited.

summary: giving jamil a protection spell type of post: short fic characters: jamil additional info: reader is gender neutral, the existence of religious beliefs in twst is. confusing. so we're keeping it vague, not proofread, reader is yuu

Perhaps it was because your world was still considered "magicless" by Twisted Wonderland standards, or perhaps Jamil was never superstitious to begin with.

Either way, he wasn't exactly as excited as you'd been hoping for.

"It's nice. Did you make it yourself?" he asks, inspecting the beads. "A bracelet?"

"Prayer beads, actually. And yes, I did,"

"It's well made. What's the purpose?"

You hesitate. The nature of religion in this world is still confusing to you, although you can surmise there's got to be some kind of belief system. It's best not touching on for now.

Besides, Jamil has never been much of a believer in higher powers. For good reason.

"For protection," you explain. "Not that I think you can't handle yourself. But I worry about you over break, you know..."

He's quiet for a moment, inspecting the gift in the palm of his hand. And then he tucks the beads away in his pocket and smiles.

"I'll keep them with me, then. Thank you,"

Even if he's not exactly keen on the idea that these things will make his life any less terrible, they're from you.

And so he keeps his promise, and tucks them away after you part.

By the time he's "home" (back in Kalim's family home) he's all but forgotten about the little blessing at the bottom of his pocket. Not that you can really blame him- "vacation" is more of a title than a reality when he's back.

The first incident happens not even a day after.

The al-Asim summer mansion is certainly nothing to scoff at. Though it's only one of many, this one in particular houses a large sum of physical treasures, line with gold and ivory, stuffed full of spices and all the makings of a feast that could feed thousands, a shining jewel of the desert.

Jamil is not all that impressed.

Especially when it comes to navigating such an ornate building on orders. The polished-to-perfection floors present a challenge when you're carrying three crates worth of grain to the kitchen on the lowest floor.

Damn these stairs.

Though Jamil may not be a religious man, he still asks whatever deity may be up there to smite the slippery spiral staircase he's descending.

His arms strain to uphold the weight of the boxes, and his legs strain to keep a good footing on one of the many long and elaborate and narrow servant passages designed specifically so that the unwanted workers of the family can slip by undetected.

Quiet, diligent, and he has to be quick, too. Kalim is expecting him for a game in one of the many lounges soon.

Another unfortunate "vacation". How he'd much rather be spending it with you...

For a brief moment, Jamil swears he can feel the beads in his pocket warm against him, reminding him of their presence.

And then he slips.

The crates free themselves from his careful grasp and tumble down the stairs, creaking and thudding but mercifully staying intact.

Jamil, however, isn't made of wood. He winces as he feels himself tilting forward- and then... somehow, a strong draft pushes him on his back.

He lands just shy of his tailbone, luckily not hurting anything, except for his pride.

What a turn of luck.

The next happens at dinner.

Jamil keeps his earlier blunder to himself. His pride is damaged enough as it is, after all, and so he tries his best to conceal how shaken up the experience left him by moving swiftly across the kitchen.

"We have a dish ready for you to test," someone shouts.

He sighs. How many more evenings of this will he have to endure?

Though, he reminds himself- this may always be his last.

The thought makes Jamil chuckle as he's handed a hot dish and a clean fork. He can only stop to smell the roses for so long, so there's no chance of savoring such an exquisitely prepared meal before he's off to another part of the kitchen.

Just as the fork digs into the food, the dish slips out of his hand and shatters on the kitchen floor. Everyone falls silent.

His eyes widen. "How- ugh. My apologies,"

Now this is just getting ridiculous. How clumsy can he get in one evening? He's usually much more careful...

"Look," the head chef says, the whole kitchen crowding around the food as it dissolves.

Jamil's stomach lurches. Cyanide. It has to be. If he'd eaten that dish right there and then...

The kitchen is swiftly cleared out, and he's sent back to the lounge.

it only gets stranger from there.

What Jamil initially wrote off as clumsiness and luck seems to become a pattern-

a flying arrow at the archery range just narrowly misses him when he bends down to fix his sandal.

The al-Asim family tiger (because of course they have one) chooses to toy with a visiting prince rather than him in the courtyard.

A strong draft pushes him on his rear end seconds before a sandbag falls from an under-construction part of the mansion.

He would call it fortune if he believed in such a thing.

By the end of the vacation, everyone is absolutely perplexed by his string of good luck. Jamil isn't unfamiliar with how dangerous his family's position in life is, and he's had his fair share of injuries as a result, but this time all he has to show for it is a slightly lesser sense of annoyance than usual.

It's only the end of the trip where he ponders (unfortunately aloud) about the string of coincidences, and the beads in his pocket.

Kalim goes on to babble about Jamil's "good luck charm" to anyone who will listen, much to his annoyance.

"Oh, I want one too! Can you ask them to make me one, too?" he says, folding his hands in a pleading motion. "It's so pretty!"

"It was a gift. But... I suppose I can ask..." he sighs, and then smiles to himself.

Of course you'll come up with some excuse to say no. Because, for once, this charm is all his.

[stingslikeabee]

size, sender measures the size of their hand against receiver's. // whichever verse u want 👁️

actions speak louder than words prompts . accepting

It was curious that for a being representing something as incorporeal as light, Melissa found herself craving more tangible mementos in the form of physical touch from the Sun-God. Maybe it was a sign of weakness - to need something that the priestess could hold onto instead of relying on the faith that nurtured her soul and served as the foundation for the life she had known so far.

But for every single moment where Rhayeon held out a hand to her, his faithful follower took it without hesitation. Every gentle brush of shoulders in a narrower hallway, the embrace that he sometimes offered her when they shared a bed, the soft trail of fingers pushing hair behind an ear - these were all treasured memories now; dutifully engraved into Melissa's heart and mind as proof that the Sun-God lived.

And perhaps, more important than that - that Rhayeon, in his infinite kindness and generosity, had seen fit to share his radiance with the high priestess.

The way Melissa's pulse quickened and how her breathing turned shallow during these moments was an indication that something was not quite right with the woman - but then again, to be face to face with divinity had not crossed her mind until a few weeks before, when all she had was impenetrable darkness surrounding a lost and forgotten body.

And it all happened again - when Melissa found herself engaged in conversation with the Sun-God only for him to suddenly pick up her hand, placing an open palm against hers as if comparing them. The gesture was so simple, so likely to be deemed common by anyone else - but not when it came from him and to someone like her. As if Rhayeon was breathing life into her form all over again, giving her a shred of his own essence by allowing mankind to take that shape. The creator and the creature - Melissa only able to be alive thanks to his blessing and his many gifts.

And yet - it was Rhayeon that looked at the brunette as if she was some sort of miracle when it was clearly the other way around.

"I do not presume to know what My Lord thinks or feels, but sometimes it does appear as if something troubles Your Radiance," her voice was low, almost like a murmur - they were close enough for Rhayeon to hear Melissa, but perhaps the woman had chosen to be quiet only because her claims were so bold. How did she dare to question him?

What sort of high priestess was she if such queries needed to be asked?

"Forgive me for being out of line, My Lord, but why look at me as if surprised I exist? I should be the one constantly thanking you and returning your blessings tenfold for rescuing me from the pits of despair that Ravina locked me in," the brunette sighed adoringly, moving to support herself on both knees while Rhayeon remained lying on his side, as he had been. His gaze followed Melissa, of course - the golden sunshine of his left eye never straying too far of the figure of his follower, even as she used both of her hands to once more press his palm against her chest, over a heart that fluttered wildly in the face of the intimacy of that act.

"I exist only because you willed it, My Lord. And I will never be able to convey how grateful I am for this miracle."

Suddenly bashful, the woman lowered her head - and the honey-like irises were hidden behind semi-closed lids, voluntarily depriving herself of the sight of Rhayeon as if he was indeed the sun himself, too bright and too powerful to look at. Lost in her own faith and contemplation, Melissa never knew just how painfully accurate her words had been to someone who was no ancient deity to a lost civilization - but a mortal like any other.

[aajjks]

you’re getting so much better!!! 😆

TPOL!JK

you’re a mother to a now 2 month old baby and you aren’t sure how to feel because it feels like yesterday he was just a month old (which he was). you include as much tummy time with jaemin as possible and help him improve on his hand-eye coordination/motor skills any chance you get. despite his young age, he still tries to use his motor skills and babbles a little more than usual.

everyday you grow more appreciative of motherhood, thanking the universe and whichever deity for blessing you for the opportunity to raise and love jaemin. of course when ji-ae wants to take him someplace, you take that time to love up on jungkook in more ways than one.

while these endearing moments are happening in your life, every now and then you entertain namjoon. he sends you good morning texts and you reply the same, nothing too serious. he even started sending you funny memes like he used to and they always made you smile and laugh.

namjoon: how was work?

you: not too bad. pretty easy day

namjoon: same

namjoon: when you gonna let me take you on a coffee date?

namjoon: JUST ONCE!!

you: so you can talk about how the earth is flat? hell no

namjoon: 😂😂 that’s cause it is!!

you let out a laugh and continue wandering the grocery store for the items you need with a content jaemin who is chilling in his travel carseat. all he does is smile when you look at him and sucks on his fingers, specifically, his pointer and middle fingers.

“y/n?” says a familiar voice and when you turn to see who it is, it’s namjoon. what a coincidence.

“hey, you shopping around too?”

“yeah, just came for a few items” namjoon is then interrupted by jaemin’s happy squealing and he nervously asks if he can take a peek at yours and jungkook’s son.

“he’s adorable” coos namjoon after you give him permission to see jaemin who is staring at namjoon with a confused look. “damn, he looks just like jungkook” and you definitely agree with him because jaemin is jungkook’s exact replica with subtle features belonging to chaeyoung.

“i’m sure you’re enjoying motherhood, huh?”

“definitely. i absolutely love it. i love him” you admit and smile at jaemin who reveals his gummy smile back at you and before you know it, you and namjoon are grocery shopping together.

once you both arrive at the self-checkout, namjoon pays for everything despite you telling him, BEGGING HIM not to but he insists. he walks you to your car and puts your groceries in your trunk while you click jaemin’s seat in. “thanks so much, namjoon” you say and he shrugs it off because he doesn’t mind helping you. he’s sure that deep down inside, you still have a place for him in your heart but in order for you to realize that, he has to move jungkook out of the way, which is easy. jungkook is self destructive as is and if there’s anything that will get you to leave him for good is if he gives the impression that the two of you rendezvous behind his back especially when jin revealed to him that he might propose to you soon.

so when you arrive home, you notice jungkook’s car in the driveway and you text him to help you out with the groceries. you open the rear car door and detach jaemin’s car seat to take him inside and since he’s asleep, you take him out, remove his hat and coat, and lay him in his crib to sleep.

**buzz** **buzz** **buzz**

and as much as jungkook tries to ignore the buzzing of your phone, he can’t. since your phone is connected to your car he’s easily able to read the messages that show across the screen and see just who is texting you and the messages he reads don’t make him happy in the slightest.

namjoon: we should definitely do that again

namjoon: i had a lot of fun with jaemin too

namjoon: i think he likes me, haha 😅

He feels sick to his stomach right now. And after coming inside the house with groceries in his hands, he has to follow you to your shared bedroom- of course he’s got your phone in his hands.

Jungkook had a really bad day at work today and this just makes his day a lot a lot worse, for a second he was really happy to see you come back home after hours, but now his excitement has turned into a sick feeling

Jungkook walks inside the bedroom and you’re probably in the bathroom, he decides to sit on the bed while he’s staring at his baby in the crib, sleeping peacefully.

The sight warms his heart because he’s adorable. But then his eyes go back to your phone. And he’s feeling all angry.. so he takes his time to go through all of your chat with your ex.

Jungkook bites the inside of the cheek out of frustration as he sees the text where he’s asked you out on a coffee date, charming bastard.

And no, he doesn’t feel bad at all for going through your private conversations, not when you’ve hidden this from him, when you could’ve told him that you’ve been texting namjoon all along.

So the question remains in his head, why didn’t you tell him?

 Due to all of the frustration and jealousy, he’s feeling right now. He stands up and starts walking in circles. Waiting for you to come out of the bathroom so he can demand the explanation He so fairly deserves.

And he doesn’t even have to wait for long because now there you are, with a towel on your head and you are even wearing a Lilac bathrobe.

That distracts him for a moment, he stands there, crossing his arms across his chest and clenching his jaw. “you hung out with him?! And he even met Jaemin??! AND HE’S BEEN ASKING YOU OUT ON A DATE?!” His voice gets louder and louder with each word that comes out of his mouth and he cannot help it.

He’s too angry to care right now, and he feels a little bit betrayed and blindsided. You didn’t even care to tell him that you’ve been texting him and- now you met him today?!

What else are you hiding from him?

“ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!”

[rickety-rhyme]

So…

This contains small traces of Foolsamponk, which really can’t be avoided when talking about these three unless you take great care in doing so. Which I have not. Like, at all.

However! None of the following headcanons/mini stories focus on Foolsamponk (in this part anyway… I have plenty of headcanons for almost every ship in the MCYT fandom, including Foolsamponk, so if you want that, I have it, let me know). So there’s that. 

And! Because of my new obsession of Foolish Underscore Underscore Gamers, the Eternal Duo, the Puffy family, what new manipulation is happening with the citizens (and leader) of Las Nevadas, and whatever the fuck Sam, Ponk, and Foolish got going on, most of this will center on Foolish’s relationship (both platonic and romantic type) with Eret, Ponk and Sam, Puffy, and the other people of Las Nevadas. Also, I exploit the fact that Foolish is a god. 

Let’s do this!

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Who's the Deity of What

The way I see it, Foolish is the god of life, the oceans, and the skies (inspo from this post).

Opening a world of possibilities. Kristin is the goddess of death (and I guess love? Maybe travel, or family? Unsure, but probably love if I had to instantly decide), the twin deities, DreamXD is the god creation and the universe and Drista, who is the goddess of destruction and balance, Herobrine's (He's here too) the God of mischief and the dead (different from Kristin, kinda like the confusion between Hades (Herobrine) and Thanatos (Kristin)… look it up), Steve, the god of the living (Once again, there is a difference between Foolish and Steve) and magic, Alex is the goddess of order and chaos as well as the Earth (Mother Nature is Alex let's goooooooo), and Entity 303 (He is also here) is the god of time. Fun, fun. 

That’s the basics.

Inspo from this post

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Fruits of the Gods (This one's long)

Quick background for this: Foolish lived among the gods for a long time before the Dream SMP. He would, like, pop in, check how the humans are doing, bless some heroes/champions, and go back to seclusion with the other deities.

So he never really paid attention to the small things in the human world. 

Where the gods lived was basically their own, entirely different server, with different foods, different animals, and different things from the human world. Things like apples, oranges, and bananas weren’t a thing in their world. 

Now onto the little interaction.

When Foolish, Sam, and Ponk were just chillin’ together, Foolish mentioned he was hungry, and that he didn’t have any food on him. So Ponk (or Sam, whichever fits, I guess) offered him a fruit. Foolish thanked and accepted the fruit. 

Now, what Foolish wasn’t expecting, was to be handed a round, orange ball. 

When Sam and Ponk realised that he didn’t know what it was, they explained that it was an orange. They explained how to eat it. They also told him about apples, bananas, and other fruits. 

Foolish then explained that where the gods lived, there were different foods from this world. He got all excited, saying that he should get his two favorite fruits from the land of the gods. So he told them to stay put, and that he’ll be right back. 

Foolish popped into the gods world, grabbed three ruxupayas and three pouches of sea dates. (Basically, Foolish teleports in and says "Hi, Kristin Herobrine Alex Steve 303 Drista and XD." As they play, I dunno, cards or something. He grabs what he needs to and goes "Bye, Kristin Herobrine Alex Steve 303 Drista and XD." And teleports away.)

So when he gets back, he hands Sam one ruxupaya and a pouch, the same with Ponk. Foolish explains that ruxupayas were his favorite fruit, and sea dates were one of the many fruits grown in his domain that he really enjoys, and urges the others to try them. Sam ends up really liking the sea dates, claiming they tasted like peaches. Ponk, however, preferred the ruxupaya, saying it reminded him of a mix between a lemon and a blueberry. Foolish is just happy they liked the fruits. 

Inspo from this post

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

Family Secrets

Puffy knows that Foolish is a god, just not what of. Dream doesn't know anything at all, and Foolish took great care in making sure he never found out. He asked Puffy not to say anything.

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The More You Know

Technically, Foolish can't see the future. However, he knows when someone is born and when someone dies, as well as their life span. (This will contribute to another headcanon later in this post)

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

Close Friends

Sam and Ponk (and Bad and Ant), like Puffy, know Foolish is a god. The only thing different is they know he's the god of the seas, but not anything else.

Also, Sam, Ponk, and Puffy know more about the gods than they probably should, so if they get smited, it would be the gods' form of a joke. More on that later.

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

Old Pal

I believe that reincarnation is what's behind Erets memory issue. He is reincarnated every time he dies. (This is when The More You Know comes in) When Eret is reincarnated, Foolish knows, so he travels to find and befriend him, and help him remember. Eret usually remembers his past lives, but his memory is taking a bit longer to restore itself this time. 

Inspo from this post

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

Past and Reasons

The reason why Foolish is so hesitant about connections with mortals is because he once had a family, before Junior and Finley. A mortal wife, and three mortal children, two sons, one daughter. 

But humans, once they found out who Foolish was, slaughtered the wife and the kids. Leading Foolish to hate humans and go into his 'Totem of Death' phase.

Foolish then realized that he shouldn't hate all mortals upon meeting Eret (their story of how they meet is in this post)

Here's an extention of this headcanon

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

So, I think this post has lasted long enough. There'll be a part 2 eventually, so expect that. Sorry if you wanted something that wasn't in this post. Look for it in part 2. 

Also, thank y'all for enduring my long 'parenthesis talks', as I call them.

Basically my mood lately.

Alright then! We are done for the time. Goodbye.

[highqueenofelfhame]

far away from sane - one

i’m going to preface this by saying that nobody has read this over so i don’t know if it’s good or if i just think it’s alright, who knows. only time will tell. I looked over this twice for grammar and editing and stuff but i’m sorry if i missed anything.  Thank you @starborn-faerie-queen  for your genius prayer to anneith. I owe you one. Not sure what the ‘one’ is but like certainly something let me know when you’d like to collect lmao.

TW: blood mostly. // 2435 words

Celaena had said it before, and she would likely say it again: the lying in wait before a job was the worst. Some people relished in it, seeing it as something religious almost. In fact, she knew a handful of assassins that worshipped their chosen deity in the moments before pouncing on their prey. Celaena wasn’t particularly religious herself. Too much had happened to her in her twenty four years to really believe that anyone up in the sky was looking out for anyone but themselves. Sometimes she felt like the sun was shining on her a little brighter than it did on other people. When she was a child, her mother had told her she was Mala blessed. She was not inclined to agree.

Still, when she slipped up the alley by the temple, she paused. A quick glance to her watch told her she still had an hour before she needed to be at the warehouse. An entire hour to kill, and what better way to spend her time than giving some old religious bastard a heart attack? She couldn’t think of anything, so she silently slipped through the front door of the small temple, splashed some holy water at the tapestry of the gods, and made her way toward the small confessional booth. 

Celaena settled inside on the uncomfortable, hideously upholstered bench and waited quietly. After seventy-two seconds, and just as she was about to leave and give up on spooking a foolish old man, the divider on the priest’s side of the partition slid open with a heinous screech that sent a shiver sprinting down her spine. Dim, warm light peppered over her lap through the grated holes of the window. Never too careful, Celaena adjusted her hood to be sure that ever defining feature about her was swallowed up in darkness. 

“Anneith, goddess of wisdom, we beseech you. Hear our prayer,” she recited, eyes looking to the little holes that separated her from the priest on the other side of the booth. A low, humming voice accompanied hers as she spoke and Celaena found herself slightly annoyed that he didn’t sound as ancient as she had hoped. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been… gods. If I’m being honest, like sixteen years since my last confession. I… I don’t know where to start, actually.” 

Celaena tapped her finger against her watch and made a mental note of the time while she contemplated what she should confess, exactly. It wasn’t like she had a shortage of sins, but if she came on too strong straight out the gate, it would be hard to slip out of the church and into the night unnoticed. She sighed heavily and looked back up at the partition as she twisted her mouth in thought. The holes in this particular confessional were too small to see even a hint of the man that sat on the other side of the booth. Good. That meant he couldn’t see her, either. 

“I haven’t been in one of these things since I was a kid. My mother and father would take me to temple and I would fall asleep leaning against my father and wake up when he lifted me into his arms after it was all over. Church happens so early in the morning for young minds, you know. You should consider pushing back the time.” When the priest said nothing, she huffed an impatient sigh. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure the last time that I was in here it was for shoving my cousin down the four steps that lead up to our front door because he’d taken my ice cream. If you ask me, he should have been the one repenting. He stole -- and from a little girl no less. But I was the one in trouble.” She snorted, giving him a moment to say anything at all but the man was made of stone and said nothing. “I’m here now because I have a long, long list of sins, father. Longer than anyone else that has been in this crumbling building. Well, that isn’t true. There is one man, I think, that would top me. But I doubt he’s ever stepped a single toe into a church, much less tried to atone for the things he’s done.”

Celaena glanced down at her watch again, then settled back against the chair and dropped the bomb to end all bombs: “I’ve been killing for as long as I can remember. Well,” she shrugged to herself, “since I was eight.”

“Killing?” The priest finally asked, a trace amount of surprise laced in his tone. 

“Animals. People. Animals first, because that’s how they train you. The people come second once your technique isn’t so shoddy. And if I say so myself, and I do, my technique has been flawless for the last ten years. There’s a learning curve, but, well, that isn’t why I’m here. I’m not here to brag about my perfect skill or about the secrets that I’ve heard whispered in the dark. I bet you’ve heard your fair share of secrets, haven’t you, father?” Celaena glanced down one more time, already working the door open slow enough that it wouldn’t make any noise. The man didn’t say anything, likely at a loss. Or maybe he was already calling the police on his cell phone. “Anyway, what do you think my penance would be?”

“For killing people?” He finally answered. Celaena smiled to herself as she opened the door enough to slip through.

“Yes,” she said, and then disappeared through the small opening she’d made and disappeared into the shadows of the church, then the shadows of the street. She wasn’t a complete maniac, she didn’t begin cackling as soon as she was out the door. Though she did wish more than anything that she had been able to see the look on the man’s face when she revealed such dark truths. Wished he had been able to see the smile pulling at her lips while she spilled her secrets to him in the dark. 

Instead she weaved up and down the streets and alleys, climbed onto roofs and hopped from building to building when they were close enough. She didn’t stop moving until she reached the warehouse that she knew the stupid fucks were hiding in. She could see all three of them sitting around a shitty metal table, taking turns throwing down cards. Celaena was too far to hear anything that they said beyond a low murmur of voices, not that it mattered. They had all signed their deaths away to her when they’d had whatever part in killing Sam. It was made worse by the fact that they sat around a table now, playing games mere days afterward. She had hardly been able to eat since his blood had been splattered across her face, and they were playing stupid card games? They could beg and plead all they wanted under her knife, but it didn’t matter. Every single one of them would cease to breathe in the next eight minutes or less. 

It hadn’t been hard to figure out which of the safe houses they would be at that week. The men of the Assassins Guild had never been smart. Smart enough to get away with murder, yes, but not smart enough to beat Celaena. They could call her a bitch all they wanted, but growing up with the lot of them she was always Arobynn’s favorite, always the most skilled assassin of them all. Arobynn had crowned himself the king of assassins, but Celaena had earned her title as the assassin queen, had fought for it in violent shades of red over the years. The student had become the teacher, and tonight she would school all of these idiots for thinking they could take Sam from her and get away with it. 

After waiting another two minutes, Tern and Harding both stood from the table and began their laps around the property. Mullin stayed seated, idly shuffling his cards while Celaena snuck inside and up behind him. With a simple flick of her wrist, her favorite daggers had extended into her hands, and moments later a blade was at his throat. The assassin queen didn’t bother with pleasantries, didn’t inconvenience herself by trying to go easy on the rat beneath her fingertips. She pressed the blade into his skin and fought off a grin when a bead of blood dripped down his flesh. 

“Which one of you did it?” Her other hand twisted into his oily hair as she pressed the blade harder against his neck. “Normally I wouldn’t give you any credit, Mullin, because you could never out run me. But since I was in a little bit of shock, whichever one of you did it had a few minutes time to get away. You can tell me who it was and I’ll consider letting you live, or I can slit your throat right now and let you bleed out before your friends get back.”

“They were your friends once, too,” Mullin grit out, to which Celaena snorted.

“None of you were ever my friends. I could counter your shitty argument with the same one, he was your friend, too. He still lived with you, for gods’ sake. And you or one of your nitwit friends shot him in the head like he didn’t matter. So, I will give you one more chance, Mullin. Which one of you stupid fucks ki—”

She was violently cut off by someone yanking her head back by her ponytail. While part of her wasn’t surprised that someone had found her, she also knew they had found her a little too soon. Their fifteen minute patrol hadn’t been nearly long enough. Neither of the men should have been back yet, but here she was with one at her back and two at her front. Mullin now held her dagger in his hand, the one she’d had at his neck but dropped from the surprise attack. Harding stood beside him, which left Tern  keeping her hands in a vice-like grip behind her back, his knife pressing into the throbbing pulse in her neck. 

Stupid. She had been so rutting stupid.

Her eyes slid to Harding, who was kneeling to open and rifle through a wooden crate beside the table. When he stood he was unravelling an iron-tipped cat-o-nine tails. She refused to give any of these bastards the satisfaction of being afraid, so she kept her jaw locked and her eyes clear. Mullin approached her, pulling two pairs of handcuffs from his pocket that he used to lock her arms behind her back. Just as she poised herself to bring her knees up into his groin, her feet were knocked out from beneath her and she was helpless to catch her fall. Instead, she ate the concrete, teeth singing as her chin knocked into the ground and blood pooling in her mouth because she bit her tongue on contact. Celaena spit in the direction of Mullin and Tern, her blood splattering across the ground. It didn’t take long for her to feel the warm stickiness of blood dribbling down her chin while one of them unzipped her suit from neck down to her waist. 

And then they began whipping her. And whipping her. And whipping her.

Until black seeped into her vision and threatened to pull her under. A set up. It had been a set up. Killing Sam had likely been part of that set up. Arobynn had been mad at her for leaving the guild and had killed Sam to make her angry. He knew she would be reckless and a little stupid after losing the one person that meant absolutely everything to her and he had been right. And now she was going to die face down on the floor of a dirty warehouse in the slums of Rifthold, in a pool of her own blood. Poetic. 

“Just leave her,” she registered someone saying, but she couldn’t tell which voice it was. Everything sounded the same with the loud ringing in her ears. Someone was kneeling down beside her, looking at her face but she was seeing double and couldn’t figure out who was who. 

The man’s head snapped up as she heard a second set of ringing that sounded an awful lot like sirens. 

“What the fuck? The cops?” Vaguely, she registered blue and red lights flashing in the windows,  clearly getting closer as the vibrancy became hard to look at in her state of distress. Footsteps ran away from her followed by a lot of shouting. Gods, she wished they would shut up. Her head was hurting, her tongue hurt from biting it when she’d been kicked to the ground earlier. As footsteps ran toward her this time, she tried to focus on anything that wasn’t the mind-numbing pain. 

Tried and failed, until someone was crouching beside here and a set of bright, livid green eyes was in her line of vision. 

“I’ve got her! We need a medic!” The man yelled over his shoulder, leaning down a little closer to her. Celeana’s eyes moved down to where his pinky finger had dipped into the edge of her blood pool. A hard shiver made her body begin to tremor and she realized just how cold this room had become since she’d first entered it. The man rose up a bit, ripping his coat off and draping it over her body. She wanted to scream at the pain, at the raw sensation the jacket rubbed into her mangled skin, but she didn’t. “Can you hear me?”

She blinked once for yes, unsure if he would understand her code until he said, “Yes? One blink for yes?” She blinked again in silent confirmation. Once, she had known this man’s name. The man with the silver hair and bright green eyes that had been tracking her like a hawk. He had always been close, but too far. Celaena had always been a few steps ahead. Now, bleeding out onto the cement she couldn’t even remember what letter his name started with. “Stay with me, Celaena. Stay with me.”

She tried. She really did. 

But the darkness encroaching the edges of her vision was a lullaby and with one final blink at the man, it dragged her down and sang her to sleep.

@starseternalnighttriumphant @highladyofthesith @scarznstars @court-of-glass @tintinnabulary @musicmaam @awkward-avocado-s @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @clockworkgraystairs @shyvioletcat @westofmoon @the-regal-warrior @ame233 @empire-of-wildfire @thewayshedreamed @singme-t0sleep @royalsqueeze @stupendousslimepeanutcroissant @katelynchang @damebadwolf @wingsway @i-love-all-books @musicdreamer003 @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @mu-si-ca-l @3am-reading @stardustsroses @booknerdproblems @prettygalsread @angelofmusic81 @sleeping-and-books @cool-ish-nerd @noodlecatposts @meltalgel-ig @fancysludgeshoelamp @greenbriaars @wifeofchrishemsworth @ccrtana @cityofsuns @rowaelin-fireheart @sunsummoner @spyofthenightcourt @joyceortiz13 @brokenbutnotquiting @emilyrose111294 @feyresarrow @tangledraysofsunshine @silvermindwarrior @superspiritfestival @maastrash @ashleyfroberg @cursebreaker29 @moondancer-204 @jesstargaryenqueen @januarystears @vasudharaghavan @city-of-fae @firedoorcinemaclub @rowaelin-cressworth @annejulianneh111 @blackjacks-donuts @crackedship @runawayrowan @that-other-pineapple @mynewdreamwasyou @highlordswhores @abookishfreak  @tottenhamboys20   @empress-ofbloodshed @morganofthewildfire @starborn-faerie-queen @b00kworm @musicdreamer003 @bamchickawowow @ireallyshouldsleeprn @booksofthemoon @ashlynn231 @mariamuses @sanakapoor @harrymoncheri @ladywitchling  @smalltddygothgf @booksbqueen​

[azvolrien]

Fifteen Years at Dun Ardech

Like the little series about Asta in Stormhaven, this is more a collection of slice-of-life vignettes than a single story; unlike them, it didn’t end up quite as long in total, so I’m posting them in one big lump.

I’ll upload a little cheat-sheet for the names of the months tomorrow.

~~~

           12th of Sirakithi, AI 2740

           Asta set the pencil aside and lifted the knife. The edge was sharp, and the point fine enough; it would do. Perhaps she could neaten it up later, once she had determined whether the principle of her idea was sound. With her tongue between her teeth, she laid the knife point against the stencil and made the first cut: a circle as perfect as she could manage, forming a ring around the centre of the piece of wood, itself a hand-sized disc as thick as her thumb and still with bark around the edges. She ran the knife around the stencil a few times until the circle was inscribed deeply into the surface.

           Movement in the corner of her eye and the creak of the bench told her Roan had sat down beside her, but she didn’t look up from her work and Roan did not speak.

           Time for the second cut. Asta put down the circle stencil, lifted a metal ruler instead, and scored a line across the wood and through the exact centre of the ring, then a second line dividing the ring into perfect quarters. She nodded, sheathed the knife, and checked her notes.

           “What are you doing?” asked Roan.

           “Well, it’s a bit of an experiment, really,” said Asta, tapping a fingernail against the runes neatly written in dark blue ink. “I’m not completely sure if this will work – and I’ll need a little help from you a bit later on.”

           “Mm-hmm. So what are you trying to do, then?”

           “One minute, my love.” Asta picked the knife back up and, with the point, carefully carved out the first of the required runes in the middle of the first quarter.

           “I have a proper chisel you can use for that,” offered Roan.

           “Maybe for some later refinements,” said Asta. “This is working for now.” Roan nodded and sat back, folding her arms and crossing her ankles.

           More runes joined the first, one in each quarter of the circle then more outside the rim, on either side of where the dividing lines crossed it. Asta held it up to eye level, blew away the wood shavings, and nodded again. Finally, she reached down to her feet and picked up a small pebble, the perfect white quartz worn into a smooth oval about an inch long and slightly flatter on the underside, then took a pen from behind her ear.

           “I haven’t seen you with that pen before,” said Roan. “Looks fancy.”

           “It’s a Constructist’s pen,” explained Asta, uncapping it and carefully drawing over all the lines she had carved, before just as carefully drawing more lines onto the surface of the pebble and dividing it into quarters like the circle. The greyish ink glittered oddly on the white stone. “Calburn – you remember I told you about him – gave it to me as a present for my last birthday.”

           “When is your birthday?” asked Roan with sudden concern.

           Asta grinned at her. “You haven’t missed it if that’s got you worried. The eighth of Rivedi – not for a while yet. What about yours?”

           “Twenty-sixth of Voynithi.”

           “Ha!”

           Roan frowned, not angrily. “Wh-why is that funny?”

           “Well – by the traditions up here, as a berserker you’re called a Child of Torravon.”

           “The old Sea Loch war goddess, yes.”

           “So it’s interesting that that was when you were born, since – well, the twenty-sixth of Voynithi is usually right in the middle of the festival of Voynazhret, the festival of the Kiraani war god.” Asta shrugged. “Whether or not Torravon and Voynazh are just different aspects of the same overarching war deity is something for the priests to argue about, but if that’s when you were born, maybe you really do have their blessing.”

           “I… couldn’t say,” said Roan thoughtfully. “So what’s special about that pen again?”

           “Oh, yes. It contains a special metallic ink. You see, for constructs and associated magics, pretty much any medium – well, not any medium, but you know what I mean – will work in the short term. You can turn an ordinary kite into a messenger construct if you know the right runes to draw, but wood and cloth just don’t hold the enchantment properly and it’ll wear off after a while, anything from a couple of days to a few weeks. For a long-term enchantment you need to work in metal and stone – specifically crystalline stone, very solid with low porosity. Which is where you come in!” Asta held up the pebble. “Crystals are fantastic at holding magic. So – if it’s all right – I’d like you to put a little bit of magic into this stone. Not a lot, just, say… as much as you’d use to summon a witchlight for reading.” She handed it over. “Don’t worry about smudging the ink; it dries quickly.”

           A faintly uncomfortable look had appeared on Roan’s face, but she clasped the pebble between her hands and closed her eyes in concentration. Nothing visibly happened.

           “I… think that’s it,” said Roan.

           Asta nodded and took the pebble back. “The moment of truth, then.” She placed the pebble in the centre of the wooden disc and rotated it until the lines matched up. Immediately the pebble began to glow with a soft white light. Holding her breath, Asta moved the pebble again so the markings were out of alignment, then back again. The light faded and reappeared accordingly. “Yes!” Asta punched the air, making Roan jump. “It worked!”

           “You were making a lamp?” asked Roan, smiling.

           “The broch’s very cosy,” said Asta, “but it also doesn’t have any windows. I can’t always be pestering you for a witchlight when I want to do some reading, but candles don’t give a very good light for it. Hence: pebble light!”

           Roan leant in to plant a kiss on her hair. “The gods were brutal not to give you magic of your own.”

           Asta shuffled closer and rested her head on Roan’s shoulder. “Whichever gods they were.”

          ---

           18th of Sirakithi, AI 2740

           After the seventh time Roan came down the stairs, ran out to her workshop, and rushed back upstairs with various materials in her arms, Asta closed her book with a snap and sat up on the couch.

           “What are you doing up there?” she asked. Roan stopped with one foot on the bottom step. “I’ve never seen you so full of beans.”

           Roan started climbing the stairs again. “I’ll show you in a wee while!” she called from halfway up them, out of sight. “I’m nearly done.”

           Asta smiled, shook her head, and went back to her book. After another ten minutes, Roan’s heavy booted footsteps clumped against the wooden boards overhead and – far less excitably than before – descended the stairs. She crossed the room from the stairway door and sat down at Asta’s feet at the opposite end of the couch, wringing her hands.

           “Are – are you all right?” asked Asta.

           “Oh, aye, aye. I was just thinking about something… Something you said earlier.”

           “…Roan, if anything I’ve said upset you, I’m sor-”

           “No, it’s nothing like that,” said Roan, brushing the apology aside with one hand. “But – you remember when you made your wee lamp?” She pointed at it on the end table beside Asta, with no sign of deterioration to the pebble’s glow.

           “Of course.”

           “When you got me to put the magic in the stone, you said to use as much as I would for a reading light. Well, I… I don’t. Conjure lights for reading, I mean. Because I don’t… I don’t read.”

           Asta blinked. “But – I know you went to university. How could-”

           “It’s… Look.” Roan picked up another book Asta had left on the couch – High Master Rathlean’s The Making of Constructs – and opened it to a random page. “What does the first sentence on this page say?”

           Asta glanced at it. “‘The exact ingredients and proportions of spell-fluid will vary depending on the size and purpose of the intended construct.’”

           “See, I can’t do that. Just… look at a page of writing and see what it says. Something just doesn’t click in here.” She prodded her forehead with a fingertip. “I have to go through it slowly, one word, sometimes one letter at a time, or it just… doesn’t make sense. So I can read, yes, but it doesn’t come easily to me, so it’s not something I do for fun. But you do! You brought your books with you when you came back here, and if there’s nothing else that needs your attention you’re always reading even if it’s a book I know you must have read before. And you… probably don’t want to just leave them in a stack all the time, so I…” She bowed her head until her chin touched her chest and mumbled something unintelligible.

           Asta leant closer. “Sorry, what was that?”

           “I said – well, just come upstairs for a minute.”

           Asta marked her place with the dust jacket, put the book down, and followed Roan upstairs to the bedroom. She had rearranged it a little, moving aside some rugs and the laundry basket to make room against one wall.

           Roan leant on the wardrobe and pointed across the room, looking at the floor. “I built a bookcase for you.”  

           There were four shelves made of flat, neatly-sanded wooden boards, evenly spaced by supports made from pine logs stripped of bark but still fragrant. On the top shelf, Roan had placed two little statues of polished stone – one a seal, the other an otter – to act as bookends.

           “You – you can rearrange the books any way you like,” said Roan as Asta knelt beside the shelves for a closer look. “I wasn’t sure what order you’d want them in, so I made sure the shelves are all far enough apart for the tallest book to stand up, and that it’ll stay steady even if you put the heavy ones on the top shelf.” Asta didn’t reply; Roan frowned, straightened up from her slouch against the wardrobe, and crossed the room to stand behind her. “Asta?”

           Trembling slightly, Asta took a deep breath, got to her feet, turned to face Roan, and tackled her onto the bed.

           “Well,” gasped Roan when they came up for air a few minutes later. “I think there was a ‘thank you’ in there somewhere.”

           ---

           6th of Gracilis, AI 2740

           Roan was singing to herself in her workshop – an old Sea Loch folksong about bringing in the catch of the day. Asta paused on the path to listen. Roan had a good singing voice, a warm, clear alto similar to her usual speaking tone, but even after months together Asta couldn’t persuade her to sing with any sort of an audience. She waited until the song was over before she steeled herself and rapped her knuckles against the door. It wasn’t latched, and swung open at her touch. She held a precautionary sleeve over her nose, but it didn’t stink as much as it sometimes did.  

           “Something the matter?” asked Roan, looking over her shoulder. “You don’t usually come in here.” She was scraping the flesh off a large fox pelt stretched out on a board, and while a leather apron protected her clothes, her hands were red to the wrists.

           Asta dragged her eyes away from the blood and sat down on a chair by the door. “Nothing’s wrong, no – but there was something I wanted to ask you about. A couple of somethings, actually.”

           “Something so urgent you made yourself come into my workshop?” said Roan. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

           “I thought I should ask before I forgot about it… or lost my nerve.” Roan gave her an encouraging nod and turned back to the pelt. “So, first something… Will you teach me to fight?”

           “What brought that on?” asked Roan.

           “I – look, I know I don’t exactly have what you’d call a… a warrior temperament.”

           “You don’t need to say that like you’re ashamed of it,” said Roan, still scraping.

           “I’m not, not really. But I – I’d like to be able to protect myself a bit better. So – will you teach me?”

           “Aye, I’ll give you a few self-defence tips.” She glanced back over her shoulder and grinned. “Tip number one: if you can, run.”

           “Well, that’s a good start.”

           “We can do some more later, once I’m done with this pelt for today.” Roan paused and considered it. “This should be a good one once I’ve finished preparing it. I was going to sell it out at the market, but would you like a new hat for the winter?”

           Asta sat up slightly. “That would be nice, actually – but please don’t leave the mask on it.”

           Roan gave her a thumbs-up and kept scraping. “What else did you want to ask about?”

           “This might be a taller order, but… The next time you go hunting, not just checking the traps but taking your bow and going up into the hills for a few days… Can I come with you?”

           “If you’re sure you want to, but – why?”

           Asta sighed and laced her fingers, looking down at her hands. “It’s not that I enjoy hunting – I don’t really have an outdoorswoman temperament either – but I… I don’t like being left on my own here with just the chickens for company.” She raised a hand to her forehead and dug her fingers into her hair. “It… gives me bad thoughts. And – and if I came too, you’d be able to use Pardus to carry more stuff!”

           “We’re going to have a chat about that ‘bad thoughts’ comment later,” said Roan quietly. “But of course you can come too. To be honest with you, I don’t like leaving you here either – not since I came back to find you’d been kidnapped, and I’d only been gone for a couple of hours that time! I hadn’t planned on going hunting for another couple of weeks, but – aye. We can set up the chicken feeder and head out together.” She paused again and cast an eye over Asta’s clothing. “You’ll need to wear trousers, though. Skirts aren’t very practical up on the hills.”

           Asta looked down at her skirt. “I don’t think I have any trousers.”

           Roan laughed. “You can borrow a pair of mine. I love you, but – picking ticks off your legs is not a task I’d look forward to.”

           “Oh. Yes, that’s understandable.” Asta turned her gaze to the fox pelt, curiosity taking over now that the shock of the blood had passed. “So… What’s the next step once you’ve finished scraping it?”

           “The skin? Well, first I buff it up a little with that stone there,” Roan nodded towards a smooth lump of granite sitting on the nearest workbench, “and then it’s time for the first coat of, um, oil.”

           “Why did you hesitate there?”

           “The oil is made out of… its brain.”

           “Oh, eurgh,” said Asta, half laughing. “Really?”

           “Aye, it makes for a nice soft pelt. And the amounts work out pretty evenly at one brain per skin, so nothing’s wasted.” She grinned over her shoulder again. “Still want that hat?”

           ---

           10th of Messis, AI 2743

           Asta crawled out of the tent and straightened up, stretching out her back. The camp was sheltered among some huge boulders on the high, windswept plateau above Loch Gorm, and a small copper kettle was already boiling on the campfire. Asta rescued it and poured out some water for a morning cup of tea. “Roan?”

           “Up here.” Her hushed voice came from the top of one of the boulders.

           Asta circled the boulder and clambered up to join her, by some small miracle not spilling any of her tea on the way. “What’s the matter?”

           Roan pressed a finger against her own lips, staring intently to the north-east where a high, steep-sided ridge rose up, its craggy summit rounded by the same long-gone glacier that had smoothed the plateau and dropped the boulders. In the far distance beyond it, the higher, sharper peaks of the Dragon’s Teeth were just visible on the horizon, black and white with stone and snow. Though it was only early autumn, a few patches of snow still clung in sheltered hollows on the ridge, and the wind from the north cut like a knife; Roan had the hood of her cloak up against it, the seal skull resting on her head. Asta pulled her coat tighter and wished she hadn’t left the fox-fur hat in the tent.

           A pair of binoculars sat on the stone between them. Asta sipped her tea as quietly as she could. “What are you looking at?” she whispered.

           “On the ridge over there,” said Roan just as quietly. “Towards the left, about halfway up, there’s a wee tree sticking out at a funny angle. You see it?” Asta nodded. “Just above that tree – on the rock face.”

           Asta shaded her eyes. “There’s – something moving?”

           Roan picked up the binoculars and held them out without looking away. Asta took them, found the tree through the lens, and slowly pointed them upwards until the moving object came into sight. Then she almost dropped the binoculars.

           “That’s a-”

           “Yup.”

           “But they’re supposed to live-”

           “Uh-huh.”

           Asta cleaned the lenses on the hem of her woollen jumper and lifted the binoculars back to her eyes as if that might change the view. “…What is a snow leopard doing this far out of the Dragon’s Teeth?”

           “No idea. Maybe it’s lost. But isn’t it beautiful?”

           Asta watched through the binoculars as the cat picked its way across the cliff face, leaping nimbly from one tiny ledge to the next until finally it reached the top and disappeared over the ridge. “Yes,” she breathed. “It is. The menageries in Kiraan and Stormhaven had tigers, lions, southern leopards – but until now the only snow leopard I’d seen was stuffed in a museum.”

           “I’d never seen any cat bigger than a lynx up here,” said Roan, shaking her head. With a faint sigh of effort, she got to her feet and offered her hand to Asta. “Mind your mug there.” She looked to the north, narrowing her eyes. “We left enough in the feeder to last the hens another couple of days, but I don’t like the look of those clouds on the horizon. Best we start heading back down to the broch.”

           They broke camp and loaded the packed-up tent, the kettle, and the gralloched carcass of yesterday’s red stag onto Pardus’s back.

           “It’s an older beast,” said Roan as she wrapped the antlers in cloth to protect Pardus’s smooth fur from the points, “so it’ll need to hang for a while, but we’ll get a good bit of venison out of it. Should last us a while if we store it right.” She caught Asta’s eye and pulled her in for a hug, leaning down a little to touch their foreheads together. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you help with the butchery.”

           “I think I had too genteel an upbringing,” said Asta as she led Pardus along the narrow deer trail through the heather.

           “Oh, aye?” said Roan, up ahead; the trail was too narrow to walk side-by-side.

           Asta paused to button up the ear-flaps of her hat. “It – well, you know it’s not a moral objection. You don’t let them suffer and nothing goes to waste – and I love being out on the hills with you. It’s just, watching the process of it…”

           Roan stopped walking to let her catch up. “You don’t need to worry about it,” she assured her. She beckoned Asta nearer and drew in close to her ear. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she murmured. Asta nodded. “The first time Granda took me hunting and I saw him gralloch a deer… I just about sicked my own guts out.”

           “Oh, Roan!” Asta laughed and pushed her away. Roan just smiled and started walking again.

           As the trail reached the edge of the plateau and wound down through a forested glen towards the sea, it gradually widened until they could walk two abreast again. It was warmer beneath the sheltered trees; Roan had to lower her hood, while Asta tucked the fox-fur hat into one of Pardus’s saddlebags. The sun cast a shifting light through the leaves, which were only just beginning to turn.

           Then, down the slope to their right, towards the sound of the river that had carved the glen, something moved among the trees – something huge. Roan stopped in her tracks and flung a protective arm out in front of Asta, readying her spear in her other hand. Twigs snapped and branches rustled. The creature emerged into the open, turned, and froze at the sight of them. One ear flicked.

           “Well,” said Roan softly, wide-eyed. She slowly lowered the spear. “Isn’t this a day for wildlife.”

           The great elk stood completely still. It was even taller than an ordinary elk with broad, flat antlers tapering out to long, sweeping points along the leading edge, each antler almost as long as Roan was tall, but its muzzle was more like that of the stag tied over Pardus rather than an elk’s comical drooping snout. It lowered its head a little as if considering a charge. Roan groped blindly for Asta’s hand and held it tightly; Asta squeezed Roan’s hand hard in reply. Neither of them took their eyes off the deer.

           Roan swallowed, let go, and took one sudden step forwards, flinging both arms up with a wordless yell. The great elk bolted like any other deer, bounding away down the trail and back into the trees and out of sight.

           Asta allowed herself to breathe again. “I thought they were extinct in the Sea Lochs!”

           “They are rare,” said Roan. “I’ve found tracks and the odd carcass, but that – I’ve never seen a live one before.”

           Shaking a little as the tension eased, Asta edged closer to Roan and wrapped both arms around her waist. Almost absently, her eyes still fixed on the point where the great elk had disappeared, Roan gathered Asta in against her chest and kissed her forehead, smoothing down her hair with one hand. “You all right?”

           Asta nodded, breathing deeply. “You?”

           “Aye. Aye, I’m all right. Not gonnae let any daft stag mess with my wife, even a stag as big as that one. Whew. Let’s get this other one home, eh?”

           “You remember the last time we were in Auchtertan?” asked Asta as they began to follow the trail down once again. Roan nodded. “I picked up an interesting volume in that little bookshop near the mercat stone, written by a wizard with a background in hunting and farming. There were some diagrams that might be useful – runic arrays he used to stop meat from spoiling, or slowing it down at least.”

           “We wouldn’t go through as much salt,” said Roan thoughtfully. “Aye, we can give them a try.”

           “Roan?” said Asta a couple of hours later, as the trees thinned out and the glitter of sunlight on seawater came into sight up ahead.

           “Mm-hmm?”

           “You called me your wife earlier.”

           “I did, aye. We’ve been together long enough for it – suppose it’s a wee habit I’ve got into. Nice habit, though.”

           “Do you… want to make that official?”

           Roan stopped dead and stared at her, eyebrows raised and a faint smile on her face. “Asta zeDamar, was that a proposal?”

           “Not a very romantic one, I know,” said Asta ruefully. “But I thought – we could maybe ride up to Duncraig for a few days. Book a hotel room, go to the registrar’s office… Make a little holiday of it.”

           Roan lifted her off her feet and kissed her soundly.

           “Was that a yes?”

           “It was, aye.”

           ---

           15th of Gracilis, AI 2743

           Pardus galloped over the massive Kingsferry Bridge, leaving Duncraig further behind with every step. Asta tried to concentrate on riding, but every so often her eyes were drawn to the brand-new silver ring on her left hand, and a small smile appeared on her face.

           “Maybe we should have tied a ‘just married’ sign to its tail,” laughed Roan, seated behind her on the construct’s back with her arms snugly around Asta’s waist. “Hey, Asta?”

           “Yes?”

           “When we get to the crossroads at the far end, can we go straight over?”

           “What? The road home is to the left.”

           “I know, I know – but there’s something I want to show you first.”

           Asta didn’t answer. Her smile faded, and Pardus slowed to a sedate jog.

           Roan leant forwards to try and see her face. “Are you all right?”

           “The road straight over goes to Castle MacArra,” said Asta quietly.

           “Ah.” Roan held her a little tighter and kissed the side of her neck. “We don’t need to go that far – there’s just a house I need to visit, well outside the estate borders.”

           “Really? Why?”

           Roan hummed for a second. “It’s a surprise.”

           “So mysterious,” said Asta, the smile creeping back. “Well – all right. But we might have to stop overnight before we get home.”

           The house in question was a sprawling single-storey building with a slate roof and walls of warm red sandstone, placed in the middle of a huge garden with plenty of shrubs and winter-bare trees among the flower beds and patches of long grass. To one side, a carriage with two constructs in harness sat in an open-ended coach-house, while a little pointed turret above the main door was decorated by an iron weathervane with a silhouette of a running dog above the points of the compass.

           “Roan, what is this?” asked Asta as she climbed down from the saddle.

           Roan took her hand and led her over to the door. “I – I wanted to get you something really special for a wedding present. So I started asking around at the markets, and went to the library in Auchtertan…”

           “You went to the library for me?” Asta touched her heart, eyes wide.

           “The librarians were very helpful. And I found out about this place! The woman who lives here breeds rough-coated wolfhounds, and she has a good reputation. I – I’ve never had a dog. But the books said that they’re a clever, affectionate breed that take well to training, and that they’re very long-lived for dogs – almost twenty years!”

           “They’re also very big,” Asta pointed out.

           Roan’s smile was only a little embarrassed, and she clasped both of Asta’s hands between her own. “I still worry a bit about leaving you alone in the broch,” she said. “Even if it’s only for a few hours, I worry. In case something happens while I’m away. I know it’s daft, I know you look after yourself just fine – but I still worry. So if we’re getting a dog, I… I want it to be one that can keep an eye out for you.”

           Asta freed one hand and reached up to brush Roan’s hair out of her face, stroking her forehead with one thumb. Her fringe was getting long. “That wasn’t an objection,” she said gently. “It won’t hurt to give your self-defence tips some backup.”

           Roan smiled and rang the doorbell.

           A stout, motherly woman answered it with a smile. “Yes, you’re here to see Whisky’s litter, right?” she said when Roan introduced herself. “I got your letter – I’m Siobhan. Through here, through here – the pups aren’t old enough to leave her yet, not for another couple of weeks, but I can introduce you and you can see if there’s anyone you get on with.” She opened a door into a pleasant, airy room, its floor covered with straw and newspaper, and waved them through. Asta paused, her path firmly blocked by an enormous dog with a rough, shaggy, grey-brown coat.

           “This is Whisky,” said Siobhan, stroking the massive wolfhound’s ears. “Each of you hold out the back of your hand to her, let her have a sniff, and she’ll settle right down.”

           They did as they were told. Whisky took her time inspecting them, snuffling at their hands, but she seemed satisfied by whatever she found and, tail wagging, lay down on a wide, somewhat chewed cushion in the corner of the room. In her place, half a dozen boisterous puppies wobbled over to say hello.

           Asta sat down on the floor with a bump.

           “I’ll leave you to it for a while,” said Siobhan, smiling. “Would you like some tea? I’ll go put the kettle on.”

           “I’ll give you a hand,” said Roan, trying not to laugh as the puppies swarmed Asta under Whisky’s experienced eye.

           “Yes, we can have a chat in the kitchen – I like to have an idea of the homes my dogs are going to.”

           They returned to the dogs’ room a while later, half-finished mugs of tea in hand.

           “Well, it doesn’t sound like there should be any problems,” said Siobhan. “You ought to have plenty of room out there, and I know there’s a good vet working out of a surgery in Auchtertan. But if you’ve no objections I’ll send one of my daughters out for a wee inspection in a few days, just to be on the safe side.”

           “We don’t have a spare room for her,” warned Roan. “She’ll have to sleep on our couch if she ends up staying the night.”

           “Och, there’s a wee inn near the vet’s place she can use,” said Siobhan, waving a hand. “Let’s see what your wife has to say.”

           Roan opened the door, took in the scene, and closed it again. “Can you give her a minute? She’s completely covered in puppies.”

           “Ah.”

           Roan let herself back into the room and knelt down. Asta lay flat on her back on the floor with a look of delirious happiness on her face. One of the puppies had made itself comfortable and fallen asleep on her stomach, while its siblings joyfully wrestled each other across her legs.

           “So, ah…” said Roan. “Have you chosen a puppy?”

           Asta managed to lift a hand and laid it over the one using her as a bed. Her smile somehow grew even wider.

           Roan laughed and leant down to kiss her. “I’ll tell Siobhan.”

           ---

           8th of Nivalis, AI 2754

           “Any plans for today?” asked Asta. “Other than the usual chores, I mean.”

           Roan stirred a spoonful of honey into her porridge. “I thought I’d take the boat out and go fishing,” she said. “See if I can catch something more substantial than the river traps can take. It looks like it’ll be a nice day for it – bright for this time of year and not too windy. Want to come?”

           “No, I’ll let you wrestle fish by yourself,” said Asta. “I think the chicken feeder’s timer needs a few tweaks – I was going to see if there’s anything I can do with the clockwork. Can you make sure you’re back before dark, though? I’ll need your help if the runic arrays need refreshed.”

           “I’ll see to it,” promised Roan. “Bramble can keep you company in the meantime – won’t you, Bramble?”

           Bramble’s attention was focussed on her morning biscuit, but she wagged her tail at the sound of her name.

           “That was a yes,” translated Asta, reaching down to scratch the back of the huge dog’s neck. “Do you think Riabhach will help out again?”

           “Aye, he usually shows up outside the mating season,” said Roan. “He’s quite good at chasing fish onto my line – not sure why, when he can catch them just fine by himself.”

           “Maybe he just likes your company,” said Asta.

           “Maybe. I’ll set a fish aside for him anyway.”

           With the morning’s chores out of the way, Roan packed herself a lunch, kissed Asta farewell, and jogged up the coastal track to the boat shed on its beach. Asta watched from the wall top until she was out of sight, smiled, and went to inspect the chicken feeder with Bramble trotting at her heels. Fully-grown, the top of her head reached slightly past Asta’s waist.

           There was nothing wrong with the chicken feeder that a little grease to the gears couldn’t fix, but the arrays on the feed container that halted rot and deterred pests were getting worn and scuffed. Asta freshened the runes with some metallic paint, but anything more would have to wait until Roan came back from fishing. She washed her hands and glanced up at the sky. The earlier clear blue was gone, replaced by ominous shades of grey. Asta sighed and whistled to Bramble, collecting her harness and leash from the hook by the door. “Time for a walk, eh, girl?”

           Bramble wagged her approval.

           The rain started on the way back from a long walk up the coast of the loch. Asta muttered a curse and pulled up her hood, breaking into a run that Bramble easily kept pace with, but the downpour only grew heavier until she was soaked to the skin before she had even reached the broch. Trees thrashed in the rising wind; somewhere behind her, the creak of wood rose to a scream as a branch tore off and was carried away. Had the sun set? It was hard to tell – black clouds shrouded it completely. Asta reached the gate and rushed through. The outer wall held off the worst of the wind, but even so the hens had already taken shelter in their coop. Asta closed the hatch and bolted it to keep them safely inside, then let herself and Bramble into the broch.

           “Roan?” No answer. Nothing to worry about – she must have taken the boat into some sheltered cove to wait out the storm. “Stay,” Asta added to Bramble, who had just given herself a vigorous shake in the middle of the entrance passage. Bramble sat down to wait by the door, licking the water from her whiskers, until Asta returned from upstairs with an old towel for her. “There we go, that’s better, isn’t it?” said Asta, untying Bramble’s harness and drying her fur as well as she could. “Who’s a good dog? Yes, you are, you are! No, don’t – don’t lick me. Let’s get the fire going so you can lie down and dry off properly. Then…” Asta looked down at her sodden clothes. “Then I’ll try to dry off.”

           Changed into dry clothes and with the rest draped over a frame by the fire, Asta settled down on a couch with a book, firmly nudging the still-damp Bramble back down on the rug with one foot when she tried to climb up beside her. She was far too big to nap on Asta’s stomach any more, but she never quite seemed to understand that.

           They waited.

           Asta got up to fill Bramble’s bowl and heated a couple of leftover fishcakes for herself. The wind shrieked outside and did not let up until long after Asta had dozed off on the couch, one hand resting on Bramble’s shoulders.

           The storm had passed by morning, leaving a clear sky and still, cold air, but Roan had not returned. Asta climbed to the broch’s rampart and looked in all directions for any sign of a tall red-haired figure in a sealskin cloak. Still nothing. Asta let the hens out and collected the eggs, then boiled a couple of them for breakfast; one for herself and one for Bramble as a treat. After another silent hour, she buckled Bramble’s harness, clipped on the leash, and set off towards the boat shed. It stood open and empty on the deserted beach.

           Asta’s nails dug into the palm of her hand. She let Bramble off the leash and climbed to the top of the rocks past the boat shed’s beach. Still nothing – wait. She called for Bramble to follow and began to run, along the coast and over the uneven rocky pavement, stumbling on patches of seaweed and splashing through shallow rock pools.

           She slid to a halt and almost lost her balance at the edge of the rocks, staring down into a deeper channel carved where the sea had found a point of weakness. It was like a miniature gorge, about as wide and as deep as Asta was tall, and as the tide ebbed it left white sand bare at the landward end.

           White sand covered with spars of shattered wood. Treated boards, not loose branches, smoothed and curved into the proper shapes. Some were still nailed together; most just ended in a mess of splinters. One loose board still carried some decoration: patterns based on the carvings from the ancient symbol-stones, and writing in a hand Asta recognised as her own.

           A name: Each-Uisge. Asta’s breath shuddered in her chest, harder and harder until it almost wouldn’t come at all. Bramble whined and licked her hand, leaning against her hip.

           Asta fell to her knees and screamed at the waves until her voice died.

           ---

           Light-Through-Waves’ 34th Winter

           Sometimes, Light-Through-Waves really wondered why he bothered. Seal-That-Walks was quite clever for a human, and he was rather fond of her and her mate Black-Mane, but she often couldn’t understand even the simplest things without a flat shape to look at. Any foal could tell the storm was coming, could taste it in the wind and the water – the rest of the herd had gone to ride it out in the south coves – but when he had tried to warn Seal-That-Walks she had just taken it for a game and kept floating out on the hollow log. He had thought that if he helped her catch enough fish, she would go back to her tower on the shore before the storm hit, but no. She had eventually realised he was worried – just before the storm hit, by which point it was far too late. The wind had ripped away the log’s wing and raised waves that crushed the wood to pieces.

           Light-Through-Waves had tried to help. Every foal knew it – if you couldn’t make it to a cove, then you should dive deep below the waves for as long as your breath would hold. He had grabbed Seal-That-Walks’ front flipper in his jaws, careful not to break her fragile human hide with his teeth, and dragged her down to a safe depth, but the foolish creature had fought him, battering at the soft skin around his nostrils with the tiny claws of her other flipper until he had to let go and she shot back to the dangerous surface. In a storm! Seal-That-Walks was a strong swimmer for a human – so, not very strong at all by any proper standard – but even a grown stallion like Light-Through-Waves had trouble at the surface in such weather, and the sea had carried her away. He had tried to follow at a safe depth, only resurfacing when his lungs could no longer bear submersion, but the current had her and she was out of sight in the space of a heartbeat. Light-Through-Waves pinned his ears back against his skull and swam with the current.

           Slowly, the storm above weakened, and as the sun rose Light-Through-Waves lifted his head from the water, trying to catch any scent on the wind. There – a faint breeze from the west. He ducked back below the surface and bared his teeth as he swam, letting the water filter across his tongue without going down his throat. Beneath the salt was the sharper taste of human blood.

           The water was getting shallower; he could feel it in his whiskers. There was an island up ahead, one he knew; the Whale-That-Was-Not swam there whenever it left the loch by Seal-That-Walks’ tower. Not much good for hauling out – the rocks were steep and any beaches big enough for a herd were always busy with humans – but there was a reef off the coast that was all right for a quick rest. He would be coming up on it soon.

           The taste of blood grew stronger. Light-Through-Waves lifted his head from the water. The reef was just up ahead – and it was occupied. Seal-That-Walks hung from the rough stone, half in the water, bashing against the rock with each wave, and limp except for one clutching flipper. Light-Through-Waves drew up beside her and gripped the rock with his own claws. The edges were sharp, but his hide held up better than hers and none of his blood clouded the water.

           He barked softly and nuzzled her face as he would to encourage one of his foals. Her face was almost white beneath the streaks of blood and her odd blue markings, but she breathed. One eye was bruised and swollen shut, but the other opened a tiny crack. She coughed, water splattering from her mouth, and made the sounds she used to mean Light-Through-Waves: a small growl behind her teeth and a hiss at the back of her throat. Alive. Good. Light-Through-Waves drew back and shoved his long head beneath her foreleg. With vast effort and little strength, Seal-That-Walks released her grasp on the stone and clung to his neck. Light-Through-Waves pushed off from the reef and swam for the beach. It was too close to where the Whale-That-Was-Not rested for his liking, too near the humans that cared for the Whale, but humans were what Seal-That-Walks needed.

           He hauled out on the beach, tired after the long swim. Seal-That-Walks lost her grip on his neck and collapsed to the sand, shivering and exhausted. One of her hind flippers did not look right. Light-Through-Waves gave it a nudge, and she flinched away with a strangled cry. Injured, then.

           Humans had less blubber than a newborn foal, nothing to keep them warm but the extra skins they wore over their own. Next to useless. Light-Through-Waves curled around her and lay down to wait for help.

           The sun climbed higher, casting a warm light over the beach, and his fur fluffed out as it dried. The Whale swam out from its den and away towards the mainland. Then – human voices up the beach. Light-Through-Waves raised his head. There was a large group of them coming down the sand, picking through the debris along the tideline. He roared to get their attention. It worked – they began to run down the beach towards him, shouting and waving their arms. One young female with a red mane like Seal-That-Walks drew ahead of the herd and flung out one arm, throwing something that stung Light-Through-Waves’ snout. He flattened his ears and backed slowly away from Seal-That-Walks, baring his teeth. The young female showed her own and he reared back in surprise – since when did humans have fangs? – but it wasn’t a real threat and she knelt on the sand beside Seal-That-Walks, her shoulders up as if she was trying to make her mane bristle.  

           The rest of the herd caught up, all of them fully-grown or near enough. None of them carried blades, but the air shimmered where they raised their arms and more unseen wasps struck at his muzzle and shoulders, painful but without drawing blood. They thought he was the threat! But they didn’t want to hurt Seal-That-Walks; as far as he could read human expressions, there was concern on their faces as they gathered around her. He retreated into the sea, watching as the odd shimmers disappeared and one human ran back along the beach. More of them arrived, lifted Seal-That-Walks onto a strange flat log, and carried her away.

           There was nothing more that Light-Through-Waves could do. He dived beneath the water and began the long swim to the mainland. His herd would be wondering where he had gone – and Black-Mane would want to know her mate was safe.

           Quite how he would explain to Black-Mane that her mate was safe… He would have to give that some thought.

~~~

To Be Continued! ain’t no bury your gays over here

Some notes:

Asta originally mentioned the bookshop being near the mercat cross, that being what they’re called in the real world (here); however, since they don’t have Christianity but are aware of crucifixion, the cross has a rather different cultural meaning for them and I changed her line to a more neutral ‘mercat stone’. 

Bramble’s breed isn’t just referred to as a rough-coated wolfhound because they don’t have an Ireland; while they were the main inspiration for how she looks, she isn’t an Irish Wolfhound. For one, they generally don’t live for more than about eight years compared to Bramble’s expected twenty.

As you might expect for a wild animal, Riabhach doesn’t actually call himself that. However, both Roan’s name for him and his own refer to his markings: riabhach means ‘brindled’, while ‘Light-Through-Waves’ comes from the patterns you get on a surface when light shines on it through water. He also, despite his intelligence, has a rather unrealistic idea of human lung capacity.

[borisbubbles]

ESC2019 Preshow #04

04. PORTUGAL Conan Osíris - “Telemóveis” SemiFinal 1, #15

 🎼 NONG / NANG 🎵/ NONG 🎶

Thus clangeth the dulcet sitar tones which introduced us our Lord and Savour, Pharaoh Conan VIII of House Osiris. Harnessing the powers of Saudade, contemporary dance and tons and tons of goldleaf, He has come to deliver a message most grave. 

ENTRY ANALYSIS

Let us dive in immediately with the clarion of praise Cona deserves, for “Telemóveis” is nothing but a stunning piece of art. It’s really isn’t as much as a song, as it is an experience and although the fado/oriental punk fusion was an acquired taste for me at first, I was #AllAboard once I saw this: 

I think you can tell how *much* I loved “Telemóveis”  by the fact that I bothered DL’ing the vids (plural!) and making gifs, yes? I mean, why shouldn’t I? “Telemóveis” is a brilliant dirge mourning the loss of saudade to acute iPhoneitis; Saudade which longs for a return to the halcyon days where people went to café’s to have conversations over a cup of coffee and some brigadeiros, instead of resulting to incessant hunchbacked texting. In other words, IS THERE A MORE QUINTESSENTIALLY PORTUGUESE SONG IN EXISTENCE THAN THIS ONE? I don’t fucking think so. 

Of course our Lord and Saviour blessed us not only with song but with an epic act to go with it. I think the best way to put it into words it by saying that “Telemóveis” is clever... in its cleverness. The act is drenched with symbolism that matches the lyrics but also triggers my inner history nerd (the egyptian beardmask is an amazing touch). The exploding rose backdrop is show-stopping and man, so is that death drop

(and Conan somehow improved on that by showing up in the finale with like... spoon fingers which clicked together into a wee gilded crossbow <3 <3 <3)

It may seem weird cutting Conan now, as opposed to later, (especially since I don’t have any fancy gifs of my top three), but of the four remaining entries, His the act I’m actually the least invested in lol. Don’t get me wrong. I never stopped loving Conan and memefying the shit out of Him, but He’s not as consistently good as the top three are. Largely because I still cannot figure out what “Telemóveis” is. Is it a masterpiece and a hallmark of free artistry, or is it just, you know, random insanity that spawned from a marihuana-addled brain. Probably both? Whichever the case, ConanGOD’s reprise after winning FdC is probably the best thing i ever seen in my life. I’m saving my bandwith for the NF Corner though, so these gifs will have to do instead: 

Yes he actually got *THE ENTIRE LINE-UP FOR FDC*, including the crew members *AND* presenters who were also on the stage (one of them being the phenomenal Filomena Cautela), to death-drop en masse. 😍 If the world of Our Lord be a fair one, this is what precisely will happen in Tel Aviv in four weeks’ time. 

NF CORNER

Here’s another sentence I never expected to write down in a post ever:

Festival da Cançao was fucking awesome this yea

r. It might’ve been the best NF of the entire year? It’s definitely top three with EMA and Vidbir, in some order.

Holy shit though. So MANY amazing indie songs owning shit left and right (Except for "Perfeito”, which is a walking cauchemar, but that one was murdered by the national juries before it could become a threat. 🤗)

Anyway; I *AM* going to spend 4 vids on this because any less would be a disgrace to this wonderful NF.

Conan’s biggest competition was NBC who was pretty awesome in his own right:

This feels like the sort of song that would do well in San Remo? (It fits the charming aged indie rocker ballad vid I get from some of its participants), except NBC is also a HILARIOUS OVERREACTIONS DEITY 😍 (exhibit A: see gifs above) and thank fuck he was because it meant he could finish a ~long~ distance behind Conan (in second because lol ofc He was a blowout winner)

Probably the weirdest performance of the entire season (and perhaps, in life) belonged to SURMA

Lol this just straight-up performance art and not a song, but I’m happy she was there anyway. “Pugna” makes “Telemóveis” appear normal and well-adjusted by comparison and that’s an impressive feat 😍

Fave #3 was this beautiful, moody, ambient powerballad by Ana Claudia: 

"Inercia” a poor man’s ZalaGasper song, but I really looooooooove ZalaGasper, so I obviously love this one as well. Sadly she had to perform directly after Conan and it neutered her beyond repair, but when even your last place delivers, you know you have a great NF!

I think I’ll close with another wonderful Fado fusion, in this case with bluegrass country pop: Meet Madrepaz

YESSSSSSS the facepaint is about 70.3% of their appeal 😍 😍 😍 but the song slaps as well.  What a beautiful, desolate ambient sound. Am I deluded to think this could qualify in a Eurovision semifinal? (well some of them, anyway)

All in all an amazing selection, and definitely in contention for The Best NF of 2019 (I’ll decide once I’ve posted Slovenia’s entry, I guess)

Qualification Odds: Borderline (-)

Ugh, this BREAKS my dark chocolate heart, but Conan isn’t at all safe. Conan’s main problems rise from the fact that he tries to be artistic and humorous at the same time, and the two cancel each other out somewhat. 

It’s same problem Gabbani had really, except this is Portugal, not Italy, so the stakes are much higher here. There’s a very high chance “Telemóveis” highbrow message will  fly over the heads of the audience and there’s an equally high chance it will backfire on Conan when it does. Portugal faces severe competition from the other acts. They compete with Slovenia for the “This Is High Quality” value-seeking vote, with Iceland and Australia for the novely vote and with Czech Republic and Greece for the “yeah this is actually really fucking clever” highbrow vote. He even competes with Serhat somehwat, both being OTT acts that are on later in the semi. It could very well mean death by a thousand cuts for Portugal.

The draw, which is usually brought up as the main justification for an NQ, doesn’t bother me though. Coming on before Queen Katerine, the Elegant and Supreme, isn’t a gift if she finds her voice, but she’s hardly consistent and coming after Estonia, which has the same flavour and texture asa wad of chewed gum will make any song after it a fucking revelation by comparison. Overall, I think BL- is the correct call. There are several high odds Conan needs to overcome, the biggest of which probably is Conan fans breaking their Telele’s before actually voting for him! WAIT UNTIL AFTER THE SEMIFINAL, people. Our Lord and Saviour NEEDS your support. 

Projected Placement: 6th-15th in the SemiFinal. If he qualifies, 12th-23rd in the Grand Final. 

Link to the masterpost

[snapperbear]

The Monastic Life

A bit of a timetable for how the Order of the Children of the Earthshaker go about their day. Useful notes for myself when writing, and I suppose a framework for any of you that may want to riff off my Lore for any baby you’ve had from me :) Lore interaction is welcomed and appreciated if any of you would like to chat with me.

Lightening Sky (approx 04:00):

Those of the brethren that sleep are roused as the sky first begins to lighten towards dawn, though well before the sun itself approaches the horizon. Most will undertake personal ablutions before all gather in the Great Chamber for the first service.

Hymns of Awakening (approx 04:15)

The gathered brethren sing hymns of awakening to the Earthshaker; calling as his children to awaken their Father from his slumber of sorrow. Reminding him that his children remain in his love, even though his kin have departed him. It is ultimately an uplifting service, meant to put the sorrows of the night behind, and will normally last for about an hour.

After the Awakening

Time is set aside here for personal study of the histories. Those of the brethren with young children will also spend this time bonding and playing with their families.

Celebration of the Joy of the Earthshaker (sunrise, approx 06:00)

Is a joyful service calling to mind those things that bring the Earthshaker happiness, and thanking Him for the gift of life that he gave to his children. It normally lasts for around half an hour.

After the Joy

The brethren will gather in the refectory for a light breakfast (though the refectory will remain open for some hours to serve guests and the lay community that may not wish to eat this early). They are encouraged to share the Joy of the Earthshaker with one another at this time, and to strengthen the bond of family among themselves. After breakfast the brethren will be expected to return to their studies of the histories, although again those with children are excused study to spend time with them.

The Blessing of the Family (mid morning, approx 09:00)

Generally regarded by the lay population as the ‘Main Service’; this is always attended by the teachers and students at the school, and also by most visitors. Here the brethren give thanks to the Earthshaker for his gift of the family, celebrating the love that binds the community together. There is also a call to remind all present that the family of the Earthshaker extends to all dragonkind, and that every dragon should be treated as family. The service finishes with a specific blessing over all those present, asking the Earthshaker to keep every dragon safe in his love.

During a working day this service will last for approximately an hour. On rest days the service may often be longer, as on those days the Blessing of the Family will include welcoming new Hatchlings into the family and blessing any Partnership Unions that residents enter into.

Work (approx 10:00)

The brethren now go about their first appointed tasks of the day. This may include teaching lessons at the school, tending to the vegetable gardens, cooking, cleaning or administrative work. Some of the brethren may also work with the lay craftsdragons of the Monastery, or spend some time with any guests that may be visiting. Novices and Initiates of the Order will generally have lessons at this time, although some may be tasked to engage in personal historical study.

Memorial of the Ancestors (middle of the day, approx 12:30)

A service of remembrance for the honoured dead, keeping alive in the memories of the brethren those of the wider draconic family that have gone before. This is the only service to include readings, a chapter from a historical text is read as part of the service, as is a list of the names of deceased members of the Order. There is no sorrow to this service, as the ancestors are still considered to live in the hearts and memories of those that attend. The service lasts for about half an hour.

After the Memorial

The brethren gather together in the refectory for lunch. This is the main meal of the day at the Monastery, and all those resident (lay and ordained) will normally gather to take it together. The brethren will sing a short grace before and after the meal, and the Abbott may also take a moment to address the full community if there is anything of importance to share.

After lunch the brethren have around an hour of free time. Some of those that sleep may choose to take a nap at this point, others may read, take walks or indulge in hobbies.

Celebration of the Season (mid-afternoon, approx 14:30)

Often informally known as “The Sibling Service”, this is a short service of whichever Deity the month is dedicated to. It may be partially led by the relevant ambassador, and is often held outside (where it is appropriate for the particular Deity). All are celebrated in their turn, with an emphasis on their relationship to the Earthshaker. During the month of Rockbreakers, and the fallow month that follows, this is a service of Thanks to the Earthshaker. Regardless of the Deity to which it is dedicated the service lasts for about a quarter of an hour.

Work (approx 14:45)

Similar to the morning period of work, the brethren once again attend to their appointed tasks.

Lament of the Sorrow of the Earthshaker (early evening, approx 17:30)

Their tasks finished for the day, the brethren gather to recall that there is sorrow in the life of the Great Father. This is the most solemn service, as it reminds the brethren that there are divisions within the wider draconic family, and that the sibling Deities are separated from the Earthshaker and from each other. This service always includes prayers for reconciliation, the brethren taking to heart and earnestly expressing their desire to bring the family of dragonkind together once again in love. The service lasts for about half an hour.

After the Lament

Time is set aside for personal prayer and for historical study. This is the only study period of the day that brethren with children are expected to partake in.

Supper (approx 18:30)

Is a smaller meal than lunch. As with breakfast the refectory remains open for a wider period of time to accommodate the lay community and guests.

After supper the brethren again have some free time. Most spend this time bonding as family; with each other, with their children, or with a particular partner.

Chapter (approx 19:30)

Around an hour after supper, fully ordained brethren gather in the Chapter House. Matters of religious concern will be discussed here, requests for time away to walk the Pilgrim’s Path may be made, appointments to specific duties may be given out., and the progress of Novices may be discussed. The Abbott will also pass on any specific prayer requests that have been made, and any notices that are of importance to the ordained community alone.

Hymns of Thanksgiving (after Chapter, approx 20:00)

The brethren sing hymns of Thanks to the Earthshaker, showing their appreciation for the day and the life He has given them. They reassure Him that, although the night brings silence or sleep, they remain his loving children. It is a calming and reflective service, in which each dragon is asked to bring to mind those things they are most thankful for. The service lasts for about half an hour.

After the Thanksgiving

Those of the brethren that require sleep now go to their beds. The others are expected to remain in silence for the hours of darkness (although this restriction does not apply if one needs to speak to a child). The brethren that do not require sleep will spend the night in quiet meditation or study.

The Vigil of the Pillar (when the night is darkest, approx 00:30)

This is the only service that most brethren requiring sleep are not expected to attend, although some will ask to be awoken for it and it is required of those about to take Holy Orders. It takes place outside, on the Moors above the Monastery, with all present turned to face the Pillar of the World. The brethren reaffirm their commitment to Stand Watch beside the Earthshaker in his eternal hope that his kin will return. The Vigil lasts for about an hour.

As a sign of the eternal Watch one of the Ordained brethren will remain on the Watch Tor above the Monastery for the next 24 hours, standing down only when they are replaced at the next Vigil. All of those Ordained will be expected to stand the Watch at least once in a year. There are ceremonial forms for what to do should one of the Earthshaker’s divine kin return to Dragonhome, although to their sorrow this has not yet happened.

After the Vigil

The brethren return to meditation and quiet study. Those that asked to be awoken for the Vigil will normally return to sleep for a couple of hours. Silence is again expected of all until after the Awakening.

[witchyfox93]

Fertility/Conception Spell

PSA: This spell utilizes bodily fluids. Always take the proper precautions when dealing with bodily fluids!

This is a spell that just came to me while I was reading an article on blood magick. Now, I know blood magick gets kind of a bum rep, but I don't think people understand how powerful an ingredient blood, semen, and saliva truly are. Keep in mind that a little goes a long way. The essence of you is powerful stuff, so treat it like it is.

Ingredients:

1 candle (Preferably green for fertility, or whichever color symbolizes fertility to you)

1 tablespoon of menstrual blood (from the female hoping to conceive)

1 tablespoon of semen (from male hoping to conceive)

1 tablespoon of anointing oil (if desired)

You may also add any crushed herbs you feel are necessary for dressing the candle.

Steps:

Bless the candle and channel your intent of conceiving, having a strong healthy child, etc.

Inscribe any sigils you would like to include, and dress the candle with a combined mixture of the blood, semen, and anointing oil, making sure to fill in the cracks of any carvings. Continue channeling your intent. Let the candle rest until dry.

Before sex, light the candle in a safe space in the room, letting it burn down completely while you baby make.

Afterwards, thank any Deities/The Universe, and continue channeling good energy.

I should note that this spell is untested. I plan to use it in a year or two when my husband and I try for a child, but if anyone happens to try before I do, I'd ove to hear your results.

Again, Blood and semen magick are highly potent stuff, so be careful when using them as ingredients in spells, and PLEASE make sure any ingredients used are clean and safe to do so.