#the wine has a heart in it for the human sacrifice thing

[gotta-bail-my-quails]

i gave up on this version so here's my unfinished masquerade ball toland submission like. ten months late

yes i do not know how to draw pants, yes he is wearing his chains from prison around his neck to a ball presumably filled with people who would love to put his ass back in prison. he's funny like that

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- kisses + the 13 flame-chasers

summary: what it says on the tin!

tags: flame-chasers x gn!reader, griseo's is platonic of course, fluff, lots of kissies.

i. kevin kaslana

kevin’s last try at love had left him unable to touch anything living, his body now colder than ice. he craves the contact he once was able to give and receive freely, but to sacrifice his own body in pursuit of the MOTH’s goals was something he was more than willing to do. but even the icy-hearted first flame chaser has his moments of weakness. in those moments he’ll grab your tie, or the end of your skirt and bring it up to his lips, inhaling the scent he was never close enough to know, and wonder how warm your skin felt underneath.

ii. elysia

elysia adores everything about you, and she wants you to know how much you are loved every moment she is with you. she places kisses to any place she can reach, but more than that she loves watching your reactions. so human, so beautiful. it’s not rare to end up with her rosy gloss all over you.

iii. aponia

aponia likes listening to you breathe. underneath a tree in the tall grass, your head in her lap. it’s one of the few times she feels she can live in the present. the future is the farthest thing from her mind as she leans down and places a kiss to your forehead, telling you to go to sleep. she doesn’t command you to do it so, but with her soft humming, you soon drift off. aponia kisses your eyelids, then, and prays for your dreams to be pleasant.

iv. eden

her lips taste of the finest wine; how could you not get intoxicated after kissing her? the high of eden’s performance doesn’t wear off for hours, and she loves to perch you up on her vanity and kiss you until she’s satisfied… and eden is hard to satiate. out of all the endless riches she has amassed, you are her favorite treasure of all.

v. vill-v

the great magician loves to woo you with her performances. look down into their hat and when you see nothing inside, she’ll tilt your chin up and give you a quick peck.

the expert likes to ramble off her ideas for projects — you’re the only one allowed in their lab. it’s not often they get excited about things, but with you there she finds that old passion for inventing return in spades. when you aren’t looking, she’ll place a lingering kiss to your temple, whispering out her thanks.

vill-v loves you wholly, with every part of themself.

vi. kalpas

you’re one of the few who has gotten to see under kalpas’s mask. his skin is fair, sunken pale eyes tired and angry. it’s the first time he lets you see underneath that you finally get to kiss him. his teeth are bared, and he threatens to kill you for standing so close. but when your lips touch his own, all feigned malice melts away, and he pulls you into him hard.

vii. su

his kisses are featherlight, as soft as a summer breeze. as busy as he is with his work, he will always find pockets of time to spend with you. even if it’s just as small as kissing your cheek before he leaves for work, he will remember your loving eyes, the way the morning light made your skin glow, your small smile… yes, this is one memory that will follow him forevermore.

viii. SAKURA

SAKURA always looks for you after battles. she is covered in bruises and cuts that will leave ugly scars later, but she needs to know you’re okay; that the one person left that she loves is still there. she ushers you someplace quiet and hums, a familiar song that she once sang to RIN and patches you up. you tell her of an old superstition that you once heard, and she takes it to heart. SAKURA doesn’t let you go until she’s placed her lips against every future scar, promising you that next time, she’ll keep you safe.

ix. kosma

try as he might, he will never be able to figure out what you’re thinking. when you reassure him that you like him, he wonders if you mean in a way that he can sit close to you. it’s easier show him what’s on your mind, tilt his chin up and plant a sweet kiss to his lips. kosma will think about your touch for a long time, one hand touching his lips and the other balled into his tunic. he hopes you’ll kiss him again and again.

x. mobius

mobius tastes sickeningly sweet, you sometimes wonder if her lipstick is laced with poison. when mobius kisses you, it is needy, her lips moving hard and fast against your own, pressing you against her lab table. when she pulls back, you’re seeing stars, and she grins at you like a predator. you can’t help but think if this is where you die, it wouldn’t be so bad.

xi. griseo

mama aponia tells griseo that kisses are reserved for people she loves. and so she gives mama aponia a kiss on the cheek before she goes to look for inspiration. today, you are her muse, and you sit for hours as she paints every color that she sees in you; each one unique to you. once you’re done, she tugs your sleeve and tells you to come look. you tell her it’s beautiful, and she kisses you on the cheeks as thanks.

xii. fu hua

hua fights with her fists, and so the bruises left on her knuckles are forever rosy, never allowed to fully heal. when she spars with you, she never goes easy, and you’re face down in the dirt after only one round. she notices the deep purple of fresh bruises on your hands, and places a kiss to each one, praising you for trying so hard.

xiii. pardofelis

pardo loves all things shiny, but she’s found she doesn’t mind being paid in kisses from time to time. she purrs as you take her cheeks into your hands, kissing her all over the face. felis can’t help but laugh at the way it tickles, falling forward into your lap and nuzzling into your neck.

[shanellaveh]

so long, fontaine

— wriothesley x reader

You were just a kid when exposed to the duanting reality. Knowing your place. It didn't felt quite right, you were just as bright—just as human as they were. Lesson learned, life was not fair.

As you grew, a facade of happiness bloomed through you, maybe you could've gotten in that med school if money wasn't tight, but it was. A thirst for you to prove something-to love, to be, maybe it was just hopeless dream.

Looking through the stars, your hand has never felt so small. Too high to reach, yet so bright, enough to torture you so fully as you watch friends be the things you have always wanted to be. With you jailed for something you never did, you knew desires can just be gruesome nightmare—a demon telling you what could've been. Another chapter earned, the world isn't fair.

And then you met him, a fair and just man, the duke with a signature smirk. Your life was in shambles, and as his hand reached yours, he became your only hope.

You have finally reached the stars.

Sharing the troubles that loom your head, the tearjerker stories of the past. Everyone knew how much the duke was in love with you, this affection reached through his desire to set you free-in every sense of the word.

And as his reconsiderations for your case be finally put into the courtroom-to your relieve sigh as you have been deemed a free man. He expected for you to finally spend your life with him. To finally love him back, to end his lifetimes worth of yearning.

But life wasn't fair, remember?

You pack the childhood toys and worn down clothes of worth decades full of tales. And there he was, panting and running to stop you to see you- to love you one last time. He didn't ponder at thoughts that you used him.

He just needed you, all of you. The world didn't see your smile worth thousands of sacrifices nor did life hear the yearning of your heart—to deep for anyone to comprehend. You had the duke on his knees, as if you were the archon he prays to. Stay. Stay.

Eyes were pleading, hands clasped together, words slipped as hope lightens his system. It wasn't enough. Although even the hardest rocks can break at this sight, you were already broken, no longer wanted to be fixed by his love.

And as he reached your face, so near yet so far. It was too late, minds have been made. So long to the boy who loves you so.

"Here's a goodbye to the kisses and lies," you pause

So long to the memories that bruised you.

"to the cherries and wine," a smile made.

So long to the good old days.

.... and to you Wriothesley."

@shanieveh's vault mwa

[llondonfog]

I've been obsessively OBSESSIVELY thinking about it all day and I need to say it to you as well, it is so desperate. Meleanor and the Knight of Dawn as soulmates... Not in the sense that there could ever be love between them, but bonded at the soul to inevitably clash and kill one another. Just imagining a world where marks of a soulmate are celebrated as beautiful signs of love, and the death mark is a wretched omen. Both have them covered up from birth, hiding the secret from even their closest loved ones. There are rumors, however, of stolen glimpses. Of a speared dragons wing and a shattered sword...... god, imagine if Lilia has no idea about it, but Meleanor does. He's begging her with everything he has not to sacrifice herself, but she already knows, has already known for so long, since before she can remember, that there was no other way this could end!!

Thinking about Lilia with only one mark, a strange bejeweled crown that perches like an omen over his heart— it's a death mark, there's not a bone in his body that believes otherwise. the crown bears no resemblance to the ornate diadems of the briar valley royalty, and he spares himself one bitter, twisted smile at the foolish whims of a heart that he thought had stopped dreaming a long time ago.

He makes his peace with it, the cold truth a strange comfort in the face of a life marked by hardship and an aching loneliness. To die on the battlefield in the name of his princess and her consort, even if it is at the hands of their enemy, will serve as the culmination of a love that he could not realize— he can't think of more fitting an end for an unwanted and lowly creature such as he.

So when Meleanor dashes all of his morbid plans with a knowing smile that turns his blood to ice floes and fills him with a gut-wrenching despair, when she orders him far away from the battlefield to play nursemaid to an egg that can only hatch by the will of her love, he refuses to even consider the reason why.

The concept of her death is as foreign as the moon tumbling out of the sky, as unlawful to the natural order of things as water to wine. She is a dragon, a Draconia, a great and terrible force of nature unto her own who calls the lightning to heel and the mountains to tremble from her rage and might. Her death, should it ever come, shall creep to her meekly, cowed and apologetic that it might ever think to claim a being as magnificent as her. She cannot do this, for what is the point of Lilia's meager existence if not to serve her even in the act of his death?

(He does not understand, but for this she cannot blame him. Her brave and steadfast General, her most loyal and trusted friend— there was no other way for her story to end, as much as she wishes to reassure him that she will not meet her death whimpering. If she is to die, then it shall be as magnificent a battle as any could have ever imagined. She is a dragon, and she will show those foolish humans just what that means.)

[bloodybigwardrobe]

the how is quiet, a deserted place full of dust and low-burning fires, the cheer of hard-won battle left lingering on the threshold of this ancient place.

in front of a long-cracked stone, caspian falls to his knees before the high king of old. he breathes narnian wine out into the dim light, and stares up into amber-blue eyes that hold every shade of the narnian sky.

freshly calloused hands reach out to hold up his chin, to push back at his hair. the very life of narnia hums where kingly skin meets his, where fingertips brush over bruised jaw and cheek, over cut and bleeding lip. a soft smile with the very world in the corners of a cracking mouth lets the fires around them burn anew.

"you must learn to stand rather than kneel," peter says, amusement a melody that burns caspian's skin. "a king cannot stand on buckling legs at every turn."

"i will learn," caspian whispers, too afraid to break whatever spell has come to rest on them. "i swear."

sword-weary hands tug at his head, then brush down to his shoulders to pull him up. "then you ought to start tonight. the throne does not wait."

peter's voice is gentle, yet feels like teeth atop his ribcage. caspian wishes nothing more than to be pried open by the king-turned-boy and back again. he wants nothing more than for narnia to consume him, heart and all. but he is afraid.

"can't i start with the rising sun?"

peter laughs, turns them ever so slightly, and pushes caspian to sit where the legends saw aslan sacrifice his body to the creeping ice. caspian's body turns tense, awe a potent paralysis, when his tired, wine-drunk eyes watch a myth come true slowly get on his knees before him.

"what are you doing?"

peter's night-and-morning eyes crinkle at their edges. his teeth seem bloodied and sharp. "you must learn to be kneeled to."

caspian wonders if his heart will break through his chest like the fleeing bird it seems to be. "i have been kneeled to my whole youth."

peter shakes his head, reaches out a hand to settle on caspian's shaking knee. "it is not the same."

and caspian knows it can't be, because there is a weight pressing down on his shoulders that he's never felt before. suddenly, it feels as though an enormous beast is bearing down on every inch of him, snapping teeth at his neck and talons digging into his thighs. caspian gasps. in front of him, peter looks on with a smile.

"learn to stand," peter repeats, his voice a blade beneath caspian's chin, "weather the strain." his mouth is stretched wide with teeth that do not belong to the image of a boy, his presence a wall before caspian's trembling body. there is blood where his eyes ought to be. his stare remains unrelenting.

a beast in front, and a beast behind. caspian shakes. "it is too much."

peter laughs, then, still kneeling but looming above like an ancient tree, a cavern stretching far beyond what caspian can see. "stand," he commands again, his voice coming from all around. "stand, caspian, or fall."

there are fangs scraping down caspian's spine, something hard prying its way beneath armour and skin. he takes a breath. something growls.

when he stands, his legs tremble. he doesn't dare to take a step for fear of losing his balance on what suddenly seems like a sword's edge beneath his feet.

but he stands. he doesn't fall.

when peter laughs this time, it is a soft, comforting thing, like the setting sun over the laughing crowds outside. his eyes are once again blue-amber in the firelight, his teeth sharp but human where his lips pull back.

"there you are," he hums, pride and satisfaction louder than the words themselves. caspian laughs full of relief, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

he stands where he was kneeling, and he doesn't fall. he holds out shaking hands and twines them in golden hair. "thank you," he says, even as his shoulders burn under the weight.

peter—the very weave of old narnia, a king of times long past and yet breathing the same air as those that only know him from washed-out carvings and whispered songs—only smiles.

[gabebrodudeman]

"we worship God from a place, not for a place" this quote (I heard in a devotional this morning) goes hard because I don't worship God in the hopes I can earn a place in heaven, I worship him because he promised me a seat in heaven.

Romans 3:20 NLT

[20] For no one can ever be made right with God by doing what the law commands. The law simply shows us how sinful we are.

Romans 3:23-25 NLT

[23] For everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God’s glorious standard. [24] Yet God, in his grace, freely (Isaiah 55:1)makes us right in his sight. He did this through Christ Jesus when he freed us from the penalty for our sins. [25] For God presented Jesus as the sacrifice for sin. People are made right with God when they believe that Jesus sacrificed his life, shedding his blood. This sacrifice shows that God was being fair when he held back and did not punish those who sinned in times past,

Over and over God tells us the same thing:

"do not be afraid," and "have faith."

Too often in this beautiful weird little app I see too many people getting caught up in the wrong and irrelevant details (Luke 10:38-42, Matthew 11:15).

Luke 10:25-37 NLT

[25] One day an expert in religious law stood up to test Jesus by asking him this question: “Teacher, what should I do to inherit eternal life?” [26] Jesus replied, “What does the law of Moses say? How do you read it?” [27] The man answered, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind.’ And, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself(Proverbs 19:8).’” [28] “Right!” Jesus told him. “Do this and you will live!” [29] The man wanted to justify his actions (Genesis 4:9), so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” [30] Jesus replied with a story: “A Jewish man was traveling from Jerusalem down to Jericho, and he was attacked by bandits. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him up, and left him half dead beside the road. [31] “By chance a priest came along. But when he saw the man lying there, he crossed to the other side of the road and passed him by. [32] A Temple assistant walked over and looked at him lying there, but he also passed by on the other side. [33] “Then a despised Samaritan came along, and when he saw the man, he felt compassion for him. [34] Going over to him, the Samaritan soothed his wounds with olive oil and wine and bandaged them. Then he put the man on his own donkey and took him to an inn, where he took care of him. [35] The next day he handed the innkeeper two silver coins, telling him, ‘Take care of this man. If his bill runs higher than this, I’ll pay you the next time I’m here.’ [36] “Now which of these three would you say was a neighbor to the man who was attacked by bandits?” Jesus asked. [37] The man replied, “The one who showed him mercy.” Then Jesus said, “Yes, now go and do the same.”

This. This right here is why Jesus hated the Pharisees so much. Because they couldn't understand this, this important but basic commandment. Compassion (Luke 11:46).

Let me put it this way, a person shouldn't be telling you what you should be doing, but instead Jesus should be speaking to you through that person (Matthew 12:33), this is why Proverbs encourages advice and council but in the same breathe God warns you to be careful of who you take that advice from because people are human and only those who have Christ in them are to be trusted.

[lepertamar]

Since it was buried deep in a long esoteric fandom post, i kinda want to extract and expand on this comment as its own post

There is an ancient, global, historical and cultural meme: a ton of christian concepts of Satan, and of Hell, and satanic-ness, is based on antisemitic interpretations of jews. but also, and i mean this in the coolest possible way, as a Jew, much of it is based on real actual Jewish imagery -- in particular, it is based on Jewish G-d.

take the explicit, overwhelming, absolutely ubiquitous association of G-dwith fire, to the point where it is the overwhelmingly primary attribute of G-d, and any invocation of fire in the jewish tanakh hints at connotations of G-d. Blood dashing and blood marking, and flesh sacrifice by slaughtering and burning of offerings is religiously jewish, throughout the jewish Tanakh, especially in Exodus. The frightening imagery of fire and brimstone that in the tanakh marks G-d’s presence (in Sodom, at Sinai, at the red sea, in the ark of the covenant) has entered basic western vocabulary in the opposite direction, where this imagery -- imagery that in the sources characterizes all of G-d's and the Jews' presence and religious behavior in Exodus and throughout the rest of the Tanakh -- is casually described as hellish and satanic. Volcanoes' lava fields are 'hellish', fires of natural gases producing pillars of flame and smoke (that led the tribes in the desert and out of egypt in exodus) are 'hellish'. rituals of fire and blood and burning and heavy costumery and ancient crumbling scrolls hidden in arks embossed and engraved with strange tongues (all according to direct unsubverted tradition and commandment) are satanic. and the devil is given a characterization echoing judaism’s depiction of jewish G-d: as a challenging and frightening and alluring figure who straddles fae-adjacent borders between tricksterish disruption and extreme legalism, who makes deals and bargains (covenants, even) with humans.

In christianity it's usually a distancing game -- a forcible identification of all these recognizable attributes of G-d and judaism with the non-god, christian figure of the devil; and simultaneously a forcible identification of jewish g-d with christian god (after all these attributes are stripped out), and of christian god with extremely different attributes, or at least opposition to the devil. But not always.

It's found in exactly as many words in foundational Gnostic theology that had a great amount of influence on the development of early christianity: it explicitly and actively (rather than the implicit coding above that mainstream christian imagery does) identifies Jewish G-d, as in the exact God of the Jews who is depicted in the Torah, as a false god, the archon and demiurge, who should not be, who is responsible for creating the material world as an illusory, fallen, sinful, inherently corrupted world as an intentional prison, rather than an incomplete starting point a la grapes-but-not-wine, and whom Jews evilly or deludedly follow to maintain the existence of this sinful world rather than escaping to the neoplatonic purity of true forms, where the True God, the New Testament god who includes Jesus Christ, rules instead.

It's pretty ~normal as a process goes! (it in fact totally mirrors some stuff in judaism, where we identified various things as treyf because they had connotations of a canaanite pagan thing LMAO. semiotics using ingroups and outgroups in this way is very very common, and normal! and our g-d, of course, with Its troubled, complex heart, in many ways comes from folding the hearts of many different canaanite gods into one person). but in this case it's maybe unique in scope and subtlety, for contingent historical reasons: a case of the sign outstripping the signified to an incredible extent and also of trying to backdoor-in identification with the god in question (eg the designation of gnosticism as a heretical sect by christianity, because mainstream christians preferred to recontextualize/repurpose jewish g-d, rather than break from It and allow jewish g-d to be defined by/identified with jews, even if in the gnostics’ explicitly evil way).

it does also have a weird consequence more modernly, among ppl who backlash to christianity with eg [demonic imagery is cool] stuff and don't realize what it looks like to people who have a slightly larger camera aperture: just skipping over the entire existence of judaism in terms of why the hell-stuff exists or is a hell-thing in the first place (there are a few reasons, and this is the big one). like, it DOES feel bizarre when there's like, ppl trying to be edgy and subversive by embracing christian demonicness that [checks notes] is just aesthetics and attitudes that are just very traditional jewish imagery and ritual. yk it just feels a bit....'hm....do they....uh.....know...'. when the old satanists 'inverted' the jesus pentagrammaton with uh, just the sigil of baphomet, as if the hebrew lettering etc is originally christian. like….

as most peopel know, the association of judaism with satanism is both extremely a longstanding Thing in antisemitism, but also smth jews are Super dystonic and jumpy to disclaim for obvious reasons.

now ofc jews's flat statement that this association is just fake is like, 'true', in that while judaism certainly developed in the past 2 millennia with an awareness of christianity and in the same world as a variety of other cultural influences, judaism is obviously not about christianity. as in, it doesn't categorize its elements and framework of the world according to christian elements and frameworks. reversed or otherwise. but 'it's fake' is not like...a complete answer i guess. (like, it implies hell aesthetics were totally independent and preexisting and judaism was only associated with it post-hoc); it's also kinda, giving up ground? in the going straight to 'hdu say we're freaks! we r normal!' rather than 'is that supposed to be an insult? being a freak is cool and also your instinct to categorize us this way is telling and interesting'

this isn't unique, similar reactions happen alot where there's a marginalized culture trying to avoid violence lol, but it's sort of. lame. why not lean into this attempted dunk. the material universe as a delicious as well as incomplete and perilous mass of bursting universeness, whose materiality is what brings about both fortune and misery, brought to material existence by jewish g-d who is scary and bizarre and fiery and has a great deal of weird opinions/ideas about a bunch of detailed specifics about this-worldly life and the this-worldly material of the universe, who makes deals with the particular people who engage with them -- who is a recognizable germinating seed of the surface of christian hell and satanic aesthetics and ideas, is metal and interesting!

and it's not like. idk. a set of frames that are incompatible with christianity either, afaict some traditions lean harder than others, but i'm jewish and obviously not exactly an expert in those aspects of christianity lol.

a friend of mine regarding their conversion to judaism said:

like g-d as a... person, for lack of better terms. g-d who is a bit of an unknown quantity? sort of devilish, smirking at you when They offer a deal and you are not aware of the legalese (or maybe you are! ) and it's just like. this is how g-d is. g-d is just being g-d, g-d is this rascal who is quite particular but also endlessly enamoured with what people will do...

i didnt (& still dont!) care for satan in the christian sense because ....i don't find a god who is unchangign and eternal and sort of... impersonal.... in any way interesting. & thus an anti-god who is.... there and personal but like just to "tempt" you or w/e is also boring in comparison.

but g-d who is playful, who is tempting and trying to seduce you and be seduced, who you can bargain w and get into a contract w which might seem "unfair" in some ways (fucking halakhah right wwww) and like bullshit legalese but it's like....you are agreeing to it! you are taking that on bc you find that worthwhile. like how someone sells t heir soul to the devil, because they think it's worthwhile; but ig in this case you're not rlly getting like, "be able to play the fiddle better than any mortal" type just a... you have the option and you want to take it! that is all far more compelling to me and far more godlike. bc it transforms g-d into an active participant

[zodiactalks]

Zodiac Signs RANKED from Most to Least rebellious

Some people seem to be happy fitting the mold. They hate to complain and prefer to go under the radar, avoiding making a fuss.

And then, there are these types of characters that live to point out injustices and go against standards. Here are the Zodiac Signs ranked from most to least rebellious.

#1. Aquarius

Aquarius comes to this world to break the mold. They go against the establishment, as their creative mind comes to deliver the future.

They take into account social concerns and are in favor of the most vulnerable.

For this reason, they are the first to break the rules and fight against obsolete traditions.

#2. Aries

Aries treasures independence and freedom. They won’t tolerate anyone going against their urges and impulses.

Therefore, they will fight for their rights and go against the rules if required. They are brave and not afraid to stand up to authority.

#3. Gemini

Gemini is a natural communicator. They live to voice injustices and to move around different spaces to point out what privileged parties are taking advantage of. They are not afraid to tell the truth and explain to everyone the importance of fighting against authority.

#4. Sagittarius

Sagittarius is faithful to only one truth: the one that comes through their experiences and gut feeling. They won’t tolerate others imposing their rules, and will be confident in defending their beliefs. Also, their positive mindset encourages their peers to follow their hearts before blindly accepting authority’s will.

#5. Leo

Leo has a very strong personality. They love to stand out and make themselves notice, which is why they won't adapt to blend in and go unnoticed.If they have to break a few rules to make a point, so be it! They will risk whatever it takes to prevent their brightness from fading.

#6. Scorpio

Scorpio is mysterious and cryptic, but that doesn’t mean they will put up with people imposing conditions on them.

They need to have their environment under control, and will not hesitate to use their power for that matter. Although they are patient and may let some things pass, they unleash their rage when they reach their breaking point.

#7. Cancer

Cancer is more of a private person. If people don’t interfere with their personal life, they probably won’t care about following instructions.

But as soon as they have to sacrifice some of their comforts, they will use their hard shell to defend themselves.

#8. Taurus

Taurus is quiet and very much against conflict. They appreciate a peaceful environment and will do their best not to stir up trouble.

The only time you will see them fighting will be if some rule restricts them from their cushy lifestyle.

If someone forbids them to buy any of their fancy wines or imported cigars, they will be first to generate an uproar.

#9. Libra

The thing about Libra is not that they avoid fighting injustices. It’s just that they hate to disagree with others, or make them feel uncomfortable.

For this reason, they often hide their opinions when most people think differently from them. However, if authority comes to treat a friend or partner badly, their righteous spirit will become the greatest advocate ever seen.

#10. Pisces

Pisces live in their own fantasy world. Sometimes they’re not really aware of what’s going on in the human dimension, as they are more in tune with the spiritual realm.

But without them noticing, their art expressions and healing powers often help others to rebel and fight injustices.

#11. Virgo

Virgo loves doing their job right. They are comfortable fitting into the system and knowing their work is helping the world function properly. They are unlikely to rebel as they are not keen to have their routine and schedule ruined because of it.

Maybe if they are faced with a huge injustice, they will ask someone else to take action.

#12. Capricorn

Capricorn is pretty much the authority, so it’s not very keen on going against it. They love tradition and responsibility, especially when it comes to working. They often see rebellious people as lazy individuals who do not want to make an effort to sustain themselves in this world. They will prefer to stay on the safe side rather than risk losing everything for an act of insubordination.

[alifeasvivid]

A Feast for the Fae; a ukus faerie tale

:D this was commissioned by @ok-scans. They asked for smut and the supernatural with virgin Alfred, so here it is. Thank you so much!!

Rating: Explicit Warnings: major age gap: centuries old immortal faerie + 18 year old human Tags: fae!Arthur, human!Alfred, smut, intoxication, ambiguous non-modern fantasy setting Summary: Alfred has been selected as his village's sacrifice to the Fae King, to be eaten at the Beltane Festival. It's up to Arthur to stop it from happening. Word Count: ~3200

“What is your name?” the hushed words slide into the boy’s ear and down his spine as easily as the wine had slid down his throat. Arthur leans in close enough to see the summer sky in the human’s eyes, though it is the witching hour now, in the glen, with the full moon sighing softly on them.

The boy grins. “Alfred!” he declares as if it’s a surprise even to himself. He drinks greedily from the goblet full of Arthur’s wine. The two of them are sat on a large, flat rock before a crackling fire, though Alfred is at every moment about to topple off of it.

Arthur’s glittering emerald eyes flash as he surveys the sun-drenched fields that are the boy’s body, rich and ready for harvest. Alfred is far less a boy now than when they met, for certain, but that smile will always first belong to the little human child that had fully enchanted Arthur thirteen years ago. He hadn’t known the truth about Alfred back then.

Alfred giggles and grins and swirls his cup, he blushes, but it’s certainly not with embarrassment. He’s naked as the day he was born, after the head mage of the village led him out here.

Arthur pours him some more wine and kisses Alfred’s forehead. He has no right to do any of this, yet nothing in the world is going to stop him from doing it. Only last year, when Alfred had turned eighteen, had Arthur learnt that he had been chosen at birth to be his village’s sacrifice to the faerie king upon the Beltane following his eighteenth birthday. Being a summer child, Alfred is nearly nineteen now—and that is fortunate because Arthur had needed the time.

Perhaps Arthur really has become soft. He has spent several centuries with humans at this point, more time than he has spent in Fae, namely with witches and mages, which is how he met Alfred. The witch with whom Arthur lived and worked hired Alfred’s mother as a live-in maid in an arrangement which benefitted them both greatly.

Supposedly, faeries cannot feel love, but if these feelings—the urgent compulsion to save Alfred from being eaten at the Beltane feast, the way he withers at the thought of never seeing his smile again, the desperate want to keep the boy all for himself and make sure he is always happy—are not love then Arthur does not really know what else to call it.

But he is not the faerie king. He is one of the faerie king’s subjects—and a low born one at that, so he has spent all this time, this grace period as it were, trying to find some way to save Alfred.

He has found out there are several criteria that must be met, having much to do with time and place of birth, of parentage, of innate magical energies… nothing can be done for any of those.

But the sacrifice must be un-taken, that is to say, still having their true name so that they can give it to the faerie king… and, to also say, they must be a virgin.

Beltane is three days away and the fae court will come to collect him at dawn, so Arthur has only until the end of the witching hour to… to—oh gods… is it a terrible thing? not that Arthur doesn’t want to claim him. Alfred has grown up so well and he is such a good hearted lad, but that’s what makes it worse. He would rather have Alfred come to him freely.

Perhaps that crush Alfred seems to have been harboring for him signals deeper feelings. The situation is still not ideal, but needs must. “No, pet. I want your true name,” Arthur says, cupping Alfred’s face in his hands and lacing the words with the appropriate spell of taking.

Alfred hiccups. “Can’t give ya that, Arthur, You’re not the king! You’re just a faerie witch.” The situation was only partly explained to Alfred: the part about being made the centerpiece of the Beltane feast being left out.

Arthur winces, knowing Alfred doesn’t mean that how it sounds. Arthur knows well enough that he isn’t “just” anything to Alfred. “Oh?” he says. “How do you know I’m not?” he says in a suggestive tone. It’s not a lie at all, just a question. “What if I had been all this time?”

Falling for the trick perfectly, willing to believe more than anything else that he is meant to belong to Arthur, Alfred’s eyes widen in glee. “Wow! Really!? That’s so good, oh that’s so good, I’m really glad. Yeah! You can have it, it’s Alfred Franklin Jones.”

Arthur’s palms and the back of his neck and the tip of his nose all tingle with energy. It has been quite some time since he has taken anyone’s true name. There hasn’t been one he wanted or needed in so long. Alfred is his now, forever… and can never be truly free again, but it’s certainly better than spending eternity in the bellies of the members of the faerie high court. Arthur can’t help himself then and he surges forward and kisses Alfred deeply.

Alfred responds ecstatically, pulling himself into Arthur's arms. He giggles and whines as Arthur kisses him, tossing his head back as Arthur’s lips paint his cheek, his neck, and then his shoulders. The wine sparkles in his brain and he’s so relieved that Arthur has been the one for him this whole time—just as he has wanted for so long.

Arthur enchants a bed of soft leaves and sweet grass for them and wastes no time in pitching Alfred into it. Seeing the human splayed out in it, the firelight dancing on his skin while the moonlight gently caresses him, Arthur is more enraptured than ever. He kneels between Alfred’s legs and smooths his hands over the boy’s body. Alfred is tall and most of his chores had been rough, manual labor, leaving him tan and well-muscled… with a little bit of softness in his stomach since he was often compensated with food and Arthur only wants him more the more he is able to touch.

A Beltane feast indeed.

Alfred squirms and laughs as Arthur’s palms traverse his body and leave tickles in their wake. The tickling sensation soon reveals something more urgent: his cock hard and twitching and aching for Arthurs pale, elegant hands. “Arthur…”

Arthur leans down and kisses his forehead again. “Yes, love?”

“Am I your bride?” he asks with a bit of a slur due to the fae wine. “Is that why I was promised to you?”

Arthur laughs fondly. “Silly boy. Is that what you want?” He drags his finger along the underside of Alfred’s cock, pressing it just below the head and rubbing. “Do you want to be my bride?”

Alfred wriggles in pleasure and nods, feeling warm and happy as he does. “Yes.”

Arthur won’t completely dismiss the idea that it’s just the wine talking, but even still, he feels a possessive, toothy snarl deep in the parts of him that are still feral and truly fae, despite the many years he has spent with humans. “Shall this be our wedding night, then?” he purrs, magic making short work of removing his own clothes.

Alfred nods again, more emphatically this time. He shifts and spreads his legs wider and can’t help but wrap his hand around his cock, stroking it and smearing pre-cum all over. Seeing Arthur undressed, Alfred releases himself in favor of petting at Arthur’s flawless, fair skin that nearly glows in the moonlight. He smiles giddily as he wanders into Arthur’s eyes, which still flash green in the firelight as if lighted from inside.

Not once does he pause to consider any concerns, the fae wine has driven them all from his mind. And it doesn’t matter anyway; this is what he has wanted for so long. The wine may have freed him from inhibition, but it certainly did not cause him to desire Arthur. He had been besotted with Arthur since they first met and with the first blossomings of maturity, the infatuation deepened… and darkened. But Alfred has never feared it.

Since childhood, Alfred has noticed the way other humans regard Arthur warily, but everything about him that has always unnerved so many others—his pointed ears; his piercing eyes that see through everyone; his fair and flawless skin accentuating fine, almost intolerably beautiful features; and, of course, the unsettling sharpness of both his incisors—are all the things that draw Alfred to him. He has never once felt unsafe with Arthur.

He certainly doesn’t feel unsafe now.

Arthur purrs as he pours his body flush against Alfred’s, claiming the boy’s mouth with his tongue and nips from his fangs. He rolls his hips against Alfred’s, groaning and drinking in Alfred’s wanton gasp at the same time. His wings, which he so rarely has cause or energy to manifest, spring outward, delicate and shimmering green-gold, pulsing with sparks of glittering red in the firelight to indicate the flush of power from taking Alfred’s name as well as the arousal coursing through him.

Alfred catches Arthur off-guard when he leans up, the bed of grass following him, supporting him. Arthur is stand on his knees, the perfect height for Alfred’s mouth to pull him in from this angle. He wraps his arms around Arthur’s hips and nuzzles his cheeks against the faerie’s cock, then kisses the tip of it over and over. “You’re so beautiful, I’ve wanted you so bad forever,” Alfred murmurs with heart-wrenching sincerity. He continues kissing lightly, flicking little kitten-licks in the slit of Arthur’s cock.

Alfred is clearly operating off of whatever simply feels good to him and that gives Arthur every reason to do the same. He grabs the base of his cock with one hand and the back of Alfred’s head with the other, carefully guiding himself into Alfred’s throat. It feels even more wonderful than he had imagined it would. Combing one hand back through Alfred’s hair, Arthur uses just a little magic to make sure he stays relaxed. “Yes,” he huffs, “yes, good boy.”

Alfred moans in bliss as Arthur rocks into him just barely. The head of Arthur’s cock knocks gently against the top of Alfred’s throat and with the heaviness settled on his tongue, it feels amazing. He does his best to rub his tongue along the underside of it while learning very quickly how to suck it in just the right ways to make Arthur make the best sounds.

A century or so of celibacy has done just enough to increase Arthur’s sensitivity and the way Alfred looks up at him, adoring and also hungry, along with just how utterly enchanted he is with the human all compel him to pull away. Letting Alfred pleasure him with his mouth is not enough; Alfred must experience orgasm from stimulation by someone other than himself in order to no longer qualify as a virgin.

Whining at being denied, Alfred is placated by Arthur’s fingers caressing him, gently pushing him back down. “Arthur…” he pleads softly, shifting and spreading his legs further still, not even knowing exactly what it is he’s asking for, just that he wants Arthur closer.

“Gods, you are so lovely, Alfred,” Arthur praises, beginning to follow his hands with his lips, more and more until he laces his fingers with Alfred’s and kisses him everywhere he possibly can. Alfred gasps and sighs now, but doesn’t laugh anymore from ticklishness.

Alfred writhes, instinctively lifting his hips, and spasming around an emptiness he’d never realized he’d had until now. He cries when Arthur strokes his tongue along his cock and throws his arm over his face, since seeing Arthur do it is too much to bear.

“Look at me, pet,” the faerie insists, using a bit of magic to compel Alfred to do it. “That’s it, good boy.” Arthur only takes Alfred into his mouth all the way once and then repositions himself to lie between the human’s legs. The bed of flowers and leaves raises Alfred’s hips to give Arthur a better angle while Arthur easily lifts Alfred’s thighs up and out. A fang-baring grin spreads over his face as he rubs two fingers at Alfred’s entrance; those fingers conjure a slick, honey-like substance from out of thin air to help Alfred relax and make him easier to open.

Alfred arches and cries out as Arthur presses one finger into him. His hands pull at the leaves and sweet grasses beneath him, which hold fast. Arthur pushes it in and out for what seems like ages before he adds another, stretching Alfred open. There it is, the emptiness he hadn’t felt until now and only Arthur can fill it. “More,” he sobs. “More, Arthur, please.”

Alfred is well known for being impatient and ordinarily Arthur would take great pleasure in denying him, in teaching him how to move slowly, but there is a tickling clock on their tryst. Arthur has scarcely more patience than Alfred at this moment anyway. He nuzzles Alfred’s cock as he continues to open him, inhaling the scent of a human, green and fresh, but musky with arousal; he has almost never been close enough to Alfred to revel in the scent of him like this. He has three fingers inside Alfred now, as far in as they will go, and he makes certain that Alfred is slick, each stroke of his fingers producing more lubricant.

Alfred’s eyes are squeezed shut as Arthur works him open and he releases his grip on the plants that are their makeshift bed to weave one hand in Arthur’s soft hair, holding on tightly. He wriggles around the wetness now inside him, around Arthur’s fingers. He twists enough that Arthur’s fingers start massaging his prostate and— “AH! Oh Arthur, Arthur, please more. Right there, more.”

Arthur’s wings flutter rapidly as he watches Alfred come apart so freely under his touch. The fire has burned to its embers, giving the moon unbound license to Alfred’s perfect skin. Arthur thrusts his fingers in and out, faster, a frenzied need to make Alfred come just from this pricking at the edges of his mind. He wants to see Alfred come. He pumps in and out, faster, far more dexterous than a human could ever be. “There?” he asks, knowing the answer already.

Alfred nods, biting his lip hard and drowning in a sea of fae wine and moonlight and utter devotion to the faerie he has loved since he was a little boy. “Yes, there, please—I—!” That sea takes him under and his body pulls taut and he comes, begging broken syllables of Arthur’s name for more, to never stop.

Arthur must stop, reluctantly, and only does so once Alfred’s body is quivering from the exertion. He’s trembling a little himself from merely being privileged to witness Alfred’s pleasure. It is delicious, both magically, and, as he leans down to lick Alfred’s cock clean, physically. Alfred is now wet and loosened well and the terms of taking his virginity have been satisfied, but Arthur still wants.

“Arthur,” Alfred slurs, “I’m… I’m…nnnnnggh empty. Please.”

Something powerful and sure and dark at the edges curls around Arthur’s mind and forms a heart where he had nothing before. “Yes, you are. Fear not, pet, I’ll take care of you.” Leaning up and over Alfred, wings beating softly, Arthur kisses his forehead, then his cheeks and his nose and then his mouth, deeply, drinking more magic from the pure, pulsing sunlight that suffuses Alfred’s every cell and earned him the “honor” of being the Beltane sacrifice. With one decisive move, he sinks is cock into Alfred’s entrance. It is absolute bliss: Alfred is loose enough that he yields wonderfully, but so tight, squeezing Arthur with warmth and undiluted desire.

Alfred sighs, hums, moans contentedly as Arthur fills him. Of course, Arthur fits perfectly inside him, it could never have been otherwise. When his body pulses now, it is to pull Arthur in, to hold him, and there is no more emptiness. In the aftermath of his first orgasm, he is pliant and sweet and welcoming. He wraps his arms around Arthur's neck, feeling more in love with him than ever, and doesn’t even notice his own cock getting hard again.

Arthur moves slowly at first, letting the moon rock him against Alfred like the tide. He kisses Alfred over and over and reaches down to stroke his cock. “Good boy,” he murmurs next to Alfred’s temple. “Such a good boy for me.”

Alfred’s eyes roll back as the head of Arthur’s cock strikes his prostate again and again, accurately, but far too languidly. Arthur doesn’t pull out very far, but it’s enough that Alfred can feel and hear how slick Arthur made him. “I love you,” he sighs.

At that, Arthur drives into him harder, a little faster. “I know, pet. I’m so very glad you do.” He watches Alfred’s face, but the human shows no distress at his confession not being reciprocated, if anything, he seems more blissful than before. He begins thrusting in and out of Alfred’s willing body even faster, pumping the boy’s cock and letting the pleasure build up between them. “You are so lovely,” he says; it would be breathless except that Arthur doesn’t breathe.

Alfred orgasms again in no time at all, being young and inexperienced and sensitive, he cries out, begging Arthur for more, to move faster, to never stop.

Arthur rolls his hips in a staccato rhythm, melting at the way Alfred’s body grips him and pulls him in, holds him tightly. Whatever magic forms his makeshift heart receives Alfred’s unadulterated love and feeds on it. This is how Alfred should be feasted upon, Arthur thinks distantly. He comes, plunged all the way inside Alfred, quivering violently due to his own sensitivity, and he buries his face in Alfred’s neck as he fills him with cum. “Beautiful,” he groans, scraping his fangs against Alfred’s skin when he kisses and sucks marks into it, without drawing blood. He’s careful not to draw blood. They might smell blood.

Alfred arches and squirms as Arthur fills him in hot spurts that seem to be endless. But eventually, Arthur falls into the leafy bed next to them—the leaves and sweet grasses having morphed into ferns, royal and maidenhair. Alfred tucks himself against Arthur, head under his chin and admires his wings for the first time, though he dares not touch.

The witching hour is nearly over. Arthur holds Alfred protectively, though Alfred’s body has already been blessed with a spell that cannot be undone to make him ready for Beltane and it cannot be taken back just because he no longer has his name or his virginity. Arthur knows there will be consequences for himself. They can’t kill him and he is bonded to Alfred, so they can’t keep them apart. They could, however, curse his feet to burn with each step or make him feel stabbing pain when Alfred touches him or any number of other cruel and capricious things.

Or they might do nothing at all. The high court fae are fickle and strange like that.

It doesn’t matter. Alfred is safe and whatever happens, Arthur will keep him that way. He will keep him forever.

[orthodoxadventure]

Eucharistic Living: A Life of Gratitude

The Tradition of the Church describes the Eucharist in many ways. It is "the Lord's Supper" (1 Corinthians 11:20). It is "the marriage supper of the Lamb" (Revelation 19:9). It is about communion with God, that we may become sons and daughters of God the Father; that in eating bread and drinking wine set apart and consecrated by the Holy Spirit we are participating in the crucified, risen and glorified Body and Blood of Jesus. It is about fulfilling Old Testament sacrifices: as the Paschal lamb was sacrificed, its blood put on the doorways of faithful Jews hoping for the shadow of death to pass over their household as described in the Book of Exodus, so we put the Body and Blood of Christ, our Paschal lamb, on the doorway of our heart. It is about partaking in what St. Ignatius of Antioch (c. 115AD) called "the medicine of immortality," which we, who are sick and dying, need for eternal life. It is about receiving a purifying and divine fire, which burns away our sins.

Ultimately, the Liturgy summarizes the life we are called to live in communion with God and is, among other things, a school for Christian living. Within the liturgy we come to know God, the world, and ourselves, because the liturgy communicates the meaning and purpose of life and helps us to understand and internalize both the tragedy of the human condition as well as the limitless expanse and potential of the new life in Christ offered freely to everyone. It is only when we recognize the rich network of connections between the Eucharist and our daily life can our lives be truly Eucharistic and lived with a grateful heart. Living in a Eucharistic way has everything to do with seeing life as a gift, a gift for which we are forever grateful. What would it be like to live every moment of our lives as a gift -- even those moments that are difficult and painful? It is in seeing our life as a gift -- "from the Giver of all good things" as we say in the Liturgy -- that we acknowledge the Giver of our life, discover the meaning and purpose of our life and then can live accordingly. There should never be a Liturgy that we attend in which we do not come away with this insight for living. There should never be a time in Liturgy when there is not a movement of our heart: from a hardened heart to a grateful heart, from a heart of stone to a heart of flesh, from a heart often filled with resentment or anger or self-righteousness to a heart filled with gratitude, compassion, faith, hope, and love.

[Source of text: The Divine Liturgy of our Father among the Saints John Chrysostom (with Commentary and Notes)]

[readerbookclub]

Hello everyone, I finally have a new book list! So sorry this is so late, I've started uni again this month, and things were a bit hectic. Anyway, this theme has been requested for a while, so I hope you enjoy!

As always, please vote for your favourite book using the link at the end of the post :)

Still Life, by Sarah Winman

Tuscany, 1944: As Allied troops advance and bombs fall around deserted villages, a young English soldier, Ulysses Temper, finds himself in the wine cellar of a deserted villa. There, he has a chance encounter with Evelyn Skinner, a middle-aged art historian who has come to Italy to salvage paintings from the ruins and recall long-forgotten memories of her own youth. In each other, Ulysses and Evelyn find a kindred spirit amongst the rubble of war-torn Italy, and set off on a course of events that will shape Ulysses's life for the next four decades.

As Ulysses returns home to London, reimmersing himself in his crew at The Stoat and Parrot -- a motley mix of pub crawlers and eccentrics -- he carries his time in Italy with him. And when an unexpected inheritance brings him back to where it all began, Ulysses knows better than to tempt fate, and returns to the Tuscan hills.

With beautiful prose, extraordinary tenderness, and bursts of humor and light, Still Life is a sweeping portrait of unforgettable individuals who come together to make a family, and a richly drawn celebration of beauty and love in all its forms.

The Bone Maker, Sarah Beth Durst

Twenty-five years ago, five heroes risked their lives to defeat the bone maker Eklor—a corrupt magician who created an inhuman army using animal bones. But victory came at a tragic price. Only four of the heroes survived. 

Since then, Kreya, the group’s leader, has exiled herself to a remote tower and devoted herself to one purpose: resurrecting her dead husband. But such a task requires both a cache of human bones and a sacrifice—for each day he lives, she will live one less.

She’d rather live one year with her husband than a hundred without him, but using human bones for magic is illegal in Vos. The dead are burned—as are any bone workers who violate the law. Yet Kreya knows where she can find the bones she needs: the battlefield where her husband and countless others lost their lives.

But defying the laws of the land exposes a terrible possibility. Maybe the dead don’t rest in peace after all.  

Five warriors—one broken, one gone soft, one pursuing a simple life, one stuck in the past, and one who should be dead. Their story should have been finished. But evil doesn’t stop just because someone once said, “the end.”

In the Lives of Puppets, by T. J. Klune

In a strange little home built into the branches of a grove of trees, live three robots--fatherly inventor android Giovanni Lawson, a pleasantly sadistic nurse machine, and a small vacuum desperate for love and attention. Victor Lawson, a human, lives there too. They're a family, hidden and safe.

The day Vic salvages and repairs an unfamiliar android labelled "HAP," he learns of a shared dark past between Hap and Gio-a past spent hunting humans.

When Hap unwittingly alerts robots from Gio's former life to their whereabouts, the family is no longer hidden and safe. Gio is captured and taken back to his old laboratory in the City of Electric Dreams. So together, the rest of Vic's assembled family must journey across an unforgiving and otherworldly country to rescue Gio from decommission, or worse, reprogramming.

Along the way to save Gio, amid conflicted feelings of betrayal and affection for Hap, Vic must decide for himself: Can he accept love with strings attached?

Author TJ Klune invites you deep into the heart of a peculiar forest and on the extraordinary journey of a family assembled from spare parts.

Empress of Forever, by Max Gladstone

A feminist Guardians of the Galaxy—a smart, swashbuckling, wildly imaginative adventure of a rag-tag team of brilliant misfits, dangerous renegades, and enhanced outlaws in a war-torn future.

A wildly successful innovator to rival Steve Jobs or Elon Musk, Vivian Liao is prone to radical thinking, quick decision-making, and reckless action. On the eve of her greatest achievement, she's trying to outrun those who are trying to steal her success.

In the chilly darkness of a Boston server farm, Viv sets her ultimate plan into motion. A terrifying instant later, Vivian Liao is catapulted through space and time to a far future where she confronts a destiny stranger and more deadly than she could ever imagine.

The end of time is ruled by an ancient, powerful Empress who blesses or blasts entire planets with a single thought. Rebellion is literally impossible to consider--until Vivian arrives. Trapped between the Pride, a ravening horde of sentient machines, and a fanatical sect of warrior monks who call themselves the Mirrorfaith, Viv must rally a strange group of allies to confront the Empress and find a way back to the world and life she left behind.

A magnificent work of vivid imagination and universe-spanning action, Empress of Forever is a feminist Guardians of the Galaxy crossed with Star Wars and spiced with the sensibility and spirit of Iain M. Banks and William Gibson.

The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches, by Sangu Mandanna

A warm and uplifting novel about an isolated witch whose opportunity to embrace a quirky new family--and a new love--changes the course of her life.

As one of the few witches in Britain, Mika Moon knows she has to hide her magic, keep her head down, and stay away from other witches so their powers don't mingle and draw attention. And as an orphan who lost her parents at a young age and was raised by strangers, she's used to being alone and she follows the rules...with one exception: an online account, where she posts videos pretending to be a witch. She thinks no one will take it seriously.

But someone does. An unexpected message arrives, begging her to travel to the remote and mysterious Nowhere House to teach three young witches how to control their magic. It breaks all of the rules, but Mika goes anyway, and is immediately tangled up in the lives and secrets of not only her three charges, but also an absent archaeologist, a retired actor, two long-suffering caretakers, and...Jamie. The handsome and prickly librarian of Nowhere House would do anything to protect the children, and as far as he's concerned, a stranger like Mika is a threat. An irritatingly appealing threat.

As Mika begins to find her place at Nowhere House, the thought of belonging somewhere begins to feel like a real possibility. But magic isn't the only danger in the world, and when a threat comes knocking at their door, Mika will need to decide whether to risk everything to protect a found family she didn't know she was looking for....

Please vote using this link.

[nottivaghes]

FULL NAME: Cassandra Rosalind Hawthorne SPECIES: Witch AGE: 39 BIRTHDAY: December 12th GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis-woman she & her FACECLAIM: Janet Montgomery OCCUPATION: Head Librarian at the James Family Library (Coven Elder in training)

CHARACTER INSPIRATION: Morrigan (Dragon Age Origins), Prince Zuko (ATLA) Rosa Diaz (Brooklynn 99), Yennefer of Vengerberg (The Witcher), Tasha Ozera (The Vampire Diaries), Morgana (Merlin), Claudia (Dragon Prince)

Cassandra makes you think of... black lace laid with tiny pearls, lilac & gooseberry perfume lingering in a hallway, biting your tongue so hard it bleeds, elderberry wine, a frosted over window pane, the scent of old parchment and the leafing of pages, the long night of the winter solstice, eyes rolling back in your head, a silver pendant against a racing pulse, hatred sewn in every line of your brow, warm wild berry pie on samhain morning, chant-casting for so long you lose your voice, walking barefoot into a lake at midnight, feeling so hungry you could devour the world whole.

And it's my whole heart weighed and measured inside, and it's an old scar trying to bleach it out.

The old house up on Hawthorne hill has a folklore all its own. The elements-stained stone statues seem to be weeping in the sprawling garden, ravens sit vigil atop the lilting stone walls behind the vast metal gates. A historic house, fallen somewhat into disrepair, perches atop the hill like a gnarled beast daring human teenagers to wander up its winding path to touch the terrifying brass hobgoblin doorknocker, fangs and serpentine tongue included.

A witch lives there, they say, it's a witches house. Wryly to herself Casssandra thinks: The witch's house. The Hawthornes have been in town as long as anyone can remember, including the first rise and fall of Brant Hacke, they have several relics from the war that are in prized cases in dark woods giving the air of a museum, deep in the bowels of the house that eats you up in its labyrinthine corridors.

The matriarch resides in the West Wing, ground floor, as the stairs are a thing long past for her. Dianthe, a guardian, 96 years old and blind... in the scientific sense. Though Cassandra would swear her grandmother were lying The Hawthornes were said to be descended from the Brahan Seer, there sits a hagstone pendant around Cassandra's neck. Dianthe can see people as clear as day, or what she says are their auras, though she goes tight-lipped when Cassandra asks what hers looks like.

Dianthe never has a kind word to say about her granddaughter and orders her around like a servant.

Unbenkownst to those bar the most unfortunate of intruders upon the house Dianthe is quite paranoid and there are magical and non-magical traps all around. The portraits will snitch on you and doors will jam you inside of rooms, plus the literal pitfalls of the areas where the floorboards have rotted away in spots.

There is a large greenhouse vivarium at the very centre of the house where the family keeps poisonous and venomous animals whilst also growing exotic plants for spells.

The vampires have their version of events and the Hawthornes keep theirs. A huge tome, inset with an eye with a trap set to immolate any vampire it sees. She loathes and is drawn to vampires in equal measure, absolutely fascinated by them as she has been conditioned to respond with disgust. Almost the entire family was decimated during the war aside from two survivors, though local legend reports they made an equally devastating blow to the vampire ranks.

Three days ago in the family crypt, Cassandra discovered books of blood magic, hundreds of years old and kept by her family to this day. Every spell requiring a devastating cost on a sole caster... or a proxy. Then it clicked, that's why the family had been suffering so much in recent years, they'd been doing sacrifices to ensure prosperity and Dianthe was too ill to carry it on without involving other coven members. Or Cassandra. Is that what awaited her in a few short months when she became an elder?

To be burdened with such a curse, even by a guardian who had the secrets of the universe and as such, knew better and were always above reproach.

She couldn't... could she?

And it's my whole heart: deemed and delivered a crime. I'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out.

Cassandra was an only child to a mother who left the Cove to teach History at Oxford, causing a bristling scandal amongst the coven ranks and besmirching the Hawthorne name forever. Cassandra is still paying for this of course. Her father was a very minor noble in England who never had a job or an interest in her but a bottomless wallet in exchange.

Cassandra herself taught History at Crestle Cove High for six years. Age 25-31. Known to be stern and sometimes cold, she had a reputation for being extremely fair.

Raised by her slightly unhinged grandmother in the middle of the woods, her grandfather lived until she was fifteen but all he ever did was read the newspaper and mind his own business or give her a slightly linty toffee candy now and then.

A bit of a revolutionary in the coven, caused some problems by having ideas 15 years ago when she was young and naïve about how things should be done and that tradition sometimes had to evolve. Cassandra has nary spoken up once since.

She isn't actively planning a coup but...

In recent months Cassandra has started dreamwalking. She can't control it at all and it feels akin to sleep paralysis yet as tiring as being awake, she feels as though she never sleeps. All she does is very slowly float on random paths around the town with no direction or pattern in the dark, confirmed when she saw a tourist's car had dented a lamppost during the night and it was damaged in the same way when she walked down there that morning. It's probably just vivid deja vu... deja vu that gives her nosebleeds every time she wakes up.

Who's a heretic, child? Can you make it stick, now?

[barbieavi]

poppy + domain / hedonism.

hedonism, while typically associated with sex, is the overarching pursuit of self - indulgence and associated with the philosophical idea that pleasure is the highest good and aim of human existence. presiding over hedonism, it is essentially poppy's domain to offer humans their deepest desires from a neutral standpoint.

poppy does not, has not and will not influence people into wanting things. it's not her m.o. what she does do, however, is support and encourage people to confront and pursue these desires. sex, money, power, glory. generally, she will not assist directly with these goals so much as influence those she interacts heavily with to achieve them.* she does not accept blame for any losses or failures they incur in their pursuits - nor does she accept any credit for their successes, though a little gratitude is always nice.

it is not uncommon for her encouragement to go awry, for someone to realize that they need to sacrifice to gain and turn the blame and pain of their losses into her fault. she will accept someone acting out only once - she understands the difficulty and fragility of human emotions. anything past that and the offending party is cut off from her entirely, desire itself taken from their soul, leaving them often listless until she decides ( or remembers ) to give it back.

*which leads me into a related point -

poppy + deals and summoning.

poppy santos is a god you can touch. she exists nearly everywhere. as soon as desire sparks in your heart, a piece of her is there and it now becomes a matter of connecting with her. offerings are a nice, quick, easy way to get her attention and giving one is as simple as setting it on an altar, pouring one out or simply claiming it in her name. doing your research and using something like sigils or symbols related to her.

her preferred offerings include, but are not limited to: wine, vodka, burning candles in her associated colors, jewelry ( particularly gold or pearls ), seashells / sea glass / anything ocean related, dark chocolate, olive oil, make up or perfumes, food, flowers or blood ( especially if it's your own ).

non - material offerings include, but are not limited to: meditation, dancing, reading/writing poetry about her, orgasms, caring for rabbits.

you can cut a deal with her for plenty of things, though she works best for baneful magick, beauty or love magick, fertility magick or money magick. she won't ask for your soul, it's really of no use to her. all she asks is for a little respect and maybe to make a meal of your energy.

[mercysought]

REPOST AND LIST 6 SONGS THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE (focusing on Elgar'nan and Mythal):

that unwanted animal by the amazing devil

Oh, and you rip my ribcage open and devour what's truly yours / And our screaming joins in unison, I cry out to the Lord / 'Cause if we join our hands in prayer enough / To God, I imagine it all starts to sound like applause.

blood in the wine by aurora

I was given a heart / Before I was given a mind / A thirst for pleasure and war / A hunger we keep inside / We fell from sky with grace / And life gave us a sweeter taste / You can drink, you can feast / There's beauty in your beast

the horror and the wild by the amazing devil

I steal the hours and turn the night into day / Day by day oh lord three things I pray / That I might understand as best as I can / How bold I was, could be - will be - still am, by God still am / Fret not dear heart, let not them hear / The mutterings of all your fears, the fluttering of all your wings / Welcome to the storm, I am thunder / Welcome to my table, bring your hunger.

sacrifices must be made by dan bull

No one wants to show their hands / For fear of knowing that we've only laid out hopeless plans / Life's a thankless slow advance / And no advantage shall suffice / To satisfy chance's appetite requires sacrifice.

eat your young by hozier

I'm starving, darling / Let me put my lips to something / Let me wrap my teeth around the world / Start carving, darling / I wanna smell the dinner cooking I wanna feel the edges start to burn

artemis by aurora

What will you do when she drinks the sea? / Drown her in sorrow or let her be free? / When she's upset, all of her heart is cold / What will you do when she eats the moon? / Make her return it or give her a spoon? / When she is full, all of her heart is warm 

& LIST 6 QUOTES THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE:

"THEN TELL ME WHAT JUSTICE IS! TO FORGIVE THE ONE WHO MURDERED YOUR BELOVED FRIEND? THAT CERTAINLY WOULD BE VIRTUOUS! IT’S BEAUTIFUL! BLINDINGLY BEAUTIFUL! BUT IS JUSTICE A VIRTUE?! NO! TO LIVE IN PEACE WITHOUT AVENGING THE DEAD IS VICE!" — bleach by Tite Kubo

"He didn’t even look angry; he looked like an ending given human form." — harrow the ninth by tamsyn muir

"You have referred to yourself and your fellow mortals as our children. You are not our children. You are… a bad first draft." — asmodeus (brendan lee mulligan) in fire and ruin (exandria unlimited: calamity)

"what is it that you contain? the dead. time. light patterns of millennia opening in your gut. every minute, in each of you, a few million potassium atoms succumb to radioactive decay. the energy that powers these tiny atomic events has been locked inside potassium atoms ever since a star-sized bomb exploded nothing into being. potassium, like uranium and radium, is a long-lived radioactive nuclear waste of the supernova bang that accounts for you. your first parent was a star." — weight: the myth of atlas and heracles by jeanette winterson

"Eu não vejo o copo meio cheio, eu vejo o mar." — carolina deslandes “I don’t see the glass half full, I see the sea.”

"preserve the past, poison the present." — the existential horror of david cronenberg’s camera by acolytes of horror

tagged by . @thomasrainier (thank you ✨)

tagging. @valheri @prvtocol @weptfreedom @soveraign (Cersei? mayhaps?) @harringtontm

[irmimimi]

Sacrificial Lamb 🕛

Tears. Lots of tears dripped down the boy's rosy cheeks, staining his white shirt.

He whimpered, choking on his own saliva, unable to mouth a single proper word from the horror. He can't do anything else but watch the short -pitch black- creature's deranged faces and hear their ugly laughs as they drag him deeper into the forest.

Two of them painfully hold his legs up and two his arms, treating him more like a child would treat its dolls than an actual human being.

That's when you know that you're very much fucked up.

The creatures -whom most of them wore an old maid dresses- dropped him to the ground, on top of a very suspiciously shaped rock. He gasps as he hits his back hard. But that shouldn't be bothering him now.

He should be more bothered that they're tightly tying his hands with a rope, spreading his limbs apart with no way of ever breaking out.

He should be more bothered that their leader, Irmi, is following them from behind and has now reached them.

Show no mercy!

Show no mercy!

They're whispering -or at least try to, because some of them speak unknown words and make animalistic sounds- in sync as they make a perfect circle around the terrified man.

Irmi raised her hands and smiled blissfully towards her little -but rather strong- creatures, giving them the permission to light up their torches and stick them in the dirt in front of them.

Smoke filled the man's lungs causing him to cough continuously and slowly lose his consciousness to a point that he almost passes out. His head feels heavy as if he had been drinking and smoking blunts for hours straight.

Show no mercy!

Irmi looked up the clear black sky. No clouds just stars, a perfect summer night. A perfect night to perform a long bloody sacrifice to yourself.

She turned towards the creature beside her, calling it by its hypothetical name -Chiros- and asked for the time. And hypothetically, it answered back in fluent English. "11:58"

Irmi nodded playfully and petted its head, holding it close to her like a child.

She must really love her maids...

Before the man could gain back control of his mind and make the whole procedure hard for them, Irmi pulled out a knife. It was shahin Kris dagger type with painfully clear curves and was close to six inches long. The man -even though dizzy- saw it and let out an exhausted grunt.

Irmi tantalizingly sharpened the blade in front of him, spreading as much fear as possible. "11: 59" the other thing said again and everyone grew even more excited and desperate to see him die than before.

She came closer and sat on her knees, -leaning as close to him as possible- almost on top of him. Quickly, she tears the man's shirt off, leaving him bare-chested for easy access. She quickly shifted the blade, curving a sigil in the middle-to-left part of his chest's skin.

With that done, she wrapped her hands around the handle of the knife and brought it up, positioning it just above the place where the man's heart should be. If his drowned cries aren't motivating enough then the thought of his poor soul becoming your possession in a few seconds definitely is.

"12:00"

The moment the clock struck twelve, the knife was pledged into his flesh, pierced right through the heart.

The guy's scream was completely muffled by the applause, loud cheering and bells ringing by them in the middle of the night.

The man surrendered, the life faded from his eyes and the last thing he saw was the creature's clapping, happy grins and his heart getting ripped out of its original place. For a brief second, he watched his heart being out of his body, stabbed by the knife and yet still beating in agony.

🍻

That's how it always ends for the pitiful, unlucky people that she decides to sacrifice to herself. After that, all of the creatures would perform a sick shedule where they would collect the person's blood and mix it with fresh wine. Some is drunk during the ritual and some is kept. Usually they would eat parts of the body while ritualistically dancing around the sacrificed 'lamb' as a sign of excitement and satisfaction.

Good feasting.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible by J.R. Miller

A Multitude Converted (Acts 2:32-47)

Everyone had a theory of the strange things that had happened. Some accepted the events as divine manifestations. Some mocked and ridiculed. Some said the disciples had been drinking wine too freely. Peter spoke to the throng and explained the meaning of the wonderful event. He brushed away the thought that the disciples were drunken, by reminding them of the early hour. He suggested the importance of the matter by saying it was something an old prophet had foretold, and then declared that it was the work of the Messiah.

Jesus had been crucified and had risen, and “he has poured forth this, which you see and hear.” Jesus told His disciples it was better that He should go away, for if He did not go away, the Comforter would not come; but if He departed He would send Him unto them. It seemed strange to the disciples that anything could be better to them than the staying with them of their Master. But now, when the promise had been fulfilled, they began to understand it.

If Jesus had stayed on the earth with His disciples, not going to His cross, there would have been no atonement, no Lamb of God bearing the sin of the world. There would have been no resurrection with its glorious victory over the last enemy. There would have been no intercessor in heaven pleading for struggling souls in this world and offering evermore the blood of His own sacrifice for sin. There would have been no Holy Spirit coming to stay with believers and to live in the heart of every Christian. Pentecost made it plain, that it was indeed better that Jesus should go away.

In the plainest, clearest way, Peter declared the full, glorious meaning of the events of the past seven weeks connected with Jesus Christ. “Let all the house of Israel therefore know assuredly, that God has made him both Lord and Christ this Jesus whom you crucified.” The Jews had killed their Messiah! This would seem to be the defeating of God’s purpose of redemption. Yet that was not the end. Though the Son of God was dead, God’s plan of love for the world could not fail. Jesus was raised up and exalted to be Lord and Christ. The Jewish people had missed their chance, had lost their Messiah but Jesus was still the Messiah for all the world. God’s purpose was not allowed to fail. The blood shed upon the cross by the rejecters of Christ, became the very blood of eternal redemption. The love of God is greater than human sin.

Peter’s words went to the hearts of the men to whom he was speaking. The Holy Spirit gave divine power to the words. “When they heard this, they were pricked in their hearts!” It was as if their hearts had been pierced with sharp iron. Their souls were filled with remorse. They saw now what they had done. God had sent His Son to be their Messiah, and although they had been looking and praying for the Messiah yet they had killed Him! No wonder they felt the power of remorse. Jesus comes to each one of us now personally, as He came to the Jews. If we reject Him as our personal Savior we crucify Him afresh. What have we been doing with Jesus since we first heard His Name? People sometimes say they are not great sinners; they have done nothing very bad. They forget that the greatest of all sins is unbelief, and the rejection of Jesus Christ as Redeemer and Lord.

The people asked in their great distress, “What shall we do?” They saw their sin and cried out to know what they must do to be saved. Could they undo the terrible crime they had committed in crucifying their Messiah? They were in sore perplexity, and they did just what they ought to have done they asked Christ’s apostles to tell them what they should do. If we have been rejecting Christ, we should ask the same question. We cannot change our past; we cannot undo our rejection.

A soldier lay dying in a hospital. A chaplain was passing through the ward, and seeing the dying man, knelt beside him and asked him, “Can I do anything for you?” The soldier opened his eyes and looked up with despair in his face, and cried, “Oh, sir, can you u ndo?” They followed a sad confession of a wasted life. The young man had not only ruined his own life but had also been a tempter to many others. “Oh. Sir, can you un do these things for me?” he cried again. No! there is no possible undoing. What is done cannot be undone. But although the past be wasted, the future remains. God is ever giving us another opportunity to be saved. We shall see in Peter’s answer, what we must do.

Peter put his answer in a few plain, clear words, “Repent, and be baptized everyone of you in the name of Jesus.” There was still a way of salvation, though they had so dealt with their Messiah. Repentance was the first step. What is repentance? It is more than dropping a few tears over a wrong life. The wrong must be given up, turned away from, forsaken forever. There must be a change of mind, and that change of mind must show itself in the conduct.

A little way outside of Dayton, a young man met an old gentleman one day and asked him, “How far is it to Dayton?” “Twenty-five thousand miles,” was the answer, “if you keep on as you are going now. But it is a quarter of a mile if you turn square about.” If an impenitent sinner, facing away from God, asks how far it is to heaven, the answer is “Millions and millions of miles, if you go on this way; just two steps if you turn right about.” We never can be saved if we keep our sins. We must repent. Baptism implied that the penitents had received Jesus Christ as their Savior and accepted Him as their Lord. If we would be saved we must do the same give up our sins and receive Christ.

The penitents were baptized unto the remission of their sins. It is sin that is the trouble. Our sins have destroyed us. But there is one way of being saved from our sins. It is through Jesus Christ. Remission is more than mere forgiveness. It means sending away, dismissing forever. This tells in a word what God does when we come to Christ. Merely to remit the penalty would be a poor blessing. In our heart the old sin still would live, with all its old power. The only way really to be freed from our sins is to have the sins themselves cleansed out of our life.

God’s forgiveness is complete; He remembers our sins against us no more, forever. Then He sends His Spirit to live in us. He breaks sin’s power and gives us a new master. Christ says, “Take my yoke upon you.” The final result is the lifting of the life up to glory. One summer day the sun found some foul, stagnant water lying in a gutter. It lifted it up and the winds bore it on their wings through the air, and on a mountain top, far off, it settled down again upon the earth, no more foul and stagnant but cleansed and pure now, white, spotless snow, as radiant as an angel’s garment. So Christ takes souls stained and defiled by sin, lifts them out of the foul corruption of earth, and brings them at last to the mountains of glory, whiter than snow.

Peter assured the penitent people before him, that they need not despair. There was hope for them. “To you is the promise, and to your children,” he told them. Although the Jewish people had crucified Christ, the offer of salvation was still made to them. Even hands, which had been stained with blood of the Messiah, were washed white in the very blood, which they themselves had shed!

The gospel was not for the Jews only but for all the world; it was for “all that are afar off.” The circle widens out, as when a stone is dropped in the center of a lake and little waves roll in circles wider and wider, until they splash on all the shores, even out on the farthest bays and creeks. The promise was given first to the company that stood there and heard Peter, and then it reached out until it came to those who were afar off the farthest off in space, living at the ends of the earth; the farthest off in time, down to the end of the world; the farthest off in character, the worst and the guiltiest.

Those early followers of Christ “continued steadfastly in the apostles’ teaching.” Continuance and steadfastness are essential. It is not enough to begin a Christian life; one persevere unto the end, through all discouragement, through all temptation, through all trial, faithful unto death. These first believers kept themselves in the school of Christ, coming continually to the meetings to receive instruction from the apostles.

The Christian life must always be a growing life. There must be growth in knowledge. Young Christians will never grow, however if they feed only upon trashy novels and newspapers. They must get the apostles’ teaching, God’s good bread for souls. They kept themselves also in the fellowship of the apostles. We would say they attached themselves to the Church and made Christian people their friends. They went regularly to the communion breaking of bread. There were faithful in attending the meetings for prayer. Thus they took up the new life with great earnestness and faithfulness.

At once love awoke in their hearts for fellow Christians. Some of these were poor, and those who were rich shared their plenty with them. “They sold their possessions … and parted them to all, according as any man had need.” That is, they were large-hearted and generous. They gave to Christ not only themselves but all that they had. They understood that the strong must help the weak, that the rich must help the poor. They lived together as one family. Whatever there was exceptional about the condition of things in the early Church, the principle is always the same. Those who have blessings, must share them with those who lack. Those who are strong, must help those who are weak. Those who have abundance, must share their plenty with those who are in want.

The result of such beautiful Christian living was that they greatly increased. “The Lord added to them day by day.” This is the way a church should grow. The Lord added those who were added; only the Lord can truly add souls to His Church. Men’s converts do not amount to anything, if that is all they are. There is no use in our urging people to join the Church, until they are first joined to Christ and have been renewed by His grace. We might as well tie green branches to a bare pole, and think we have a living tree. It is interesting, also, to notice that the Lord added “day by day.” Converts were not made merely at communion seasons or at revival times; day by day men came to Christ and took His as their Master. In every true, living church there should be continuous revival.