#v: bearer of marks

[lantern-lost]

tag dump...

[lantern-lost]

Adair had hardly gotten three steps closer to the bloodied shape in the corner when he felt Vengeance's weight pressing against him again. The feeling caught him off guard; his fingers tightened around the knife, handle digging into his palm, as he felt the hand slip beneath his shirt. His heart felt like a furnace, thudding and shuddering with boiling blood.

He could only swallow dryly as the arm coiled around his neck for a moment, breath hissing and burning his throat on the way up. Were his hands shaking? Was he gasping for breath? Was a part of him enjoying this? He went still as the God spoke to him; lungs locked into place, heart hammering away in his ears, arms and legs numb from the heat.

When Vengenance released him, he almost stumbled forwards. It was almost impossible to focus on one thing; the cheap handle of the knife felt like it was melting against his hand, molding itself against his touch like an extension of his own arm.

"It'll be done," he repeated, gasping. His tongue burned with the effort. It'll be done. It'll be done. He was nothing more than a vessel for it, now. Nothing more. Nothing-

Even in this state, his hands were capable of the delicate work of twisting the eyes out of their sockets, falling neatly on the floor. Less neat were the stab wounds that littered the body; he felt, again, the crack of warped metal against bone, somewhere around the sternum. The blood bubbled into steam and smoke as it splashed onto his skin, the screams lost in the constant thudding of his heart in his head, lost to the fever. Finally, he found himself with his boot lodged in its chest, falling onto his back as he pried what was left of the knife free, collapsing into a heap into the pool of gore.

Neither of them were recognisable as human beings, now. He gazed up, looking at the ceiling- looking at Vengeance, vision blurring, breath still steaming in the air and hands caked in blood.

"What now?" Adair spluttered. Every muscle in him felt wrong. Loose. The edges of his clothes were charred, and embers danced at the edge of his hair. His stomach gnawed at itself. How much more could his body take?

Vengeance shifted his weight, his stature cramped by the short ceilings. He kept his presence pressed against Adair's back, but allowed him the freedom to move away to attend to their business. Initially...

However, with a hum he held back his answer. A smile played on his lips. Yes, he further delayed their work by guiding his hand past the buttons of Adair's shirt and down his chest. He pressed two fingers into his sweat then carefully withdrew.

He leaned down over Adair's opposite shoulder. His arm then around his neck, he placed his fingers in his own mouth, tasting the salt of his flesh. He could taste his worries, his desire for subjugation, and his appetite for more.

"Take whatever you please," he grinned, his hot breath still teasing across his throat, "You've done well so far, Domnhull."

Finally, he released him, "This one can vanish to the public just as he's done to others. I'll take the rest of him."

[littleredspidermod]

My lamb sona featuring @soulless-catss goat

Species: Jacob’s lamb

Gender: Nonbinary - They/Them

Relatives: unknown

Affiliations: Narinder(bishop)

Old faith (formerly)

Aym (disciple)

Baal (disciple)

Forneus(fellow worshiper)

Place of death: Sacrificial grounds

V was a deeply committed follower of Narinder, fully embracing the promises and teachings of old faith. Their loyalty was unwavering, even after the old bishops were cleansed. V's journey through purgatory was a transformative experience. They emerged from the underworld with a broken gold chain around their neck, symbolizing their liberation from purgatory. Found by the Current bearer of the red crown the lamb.

The fleece V wears bears markings and traits reminiscent of Baal, Aym, and Narinder, suggesting a deep connection to these powerful figures.

Despite their devotion to Narinder, V was initially be hesitant to join the Lamb's cult. Questioning the Lamb's legitimacy or fear the consequences of aligning with a new leader. Upon witnessing Narinder's redemption and the Lamb's potential to bring about positive change could be the catalyst for V's conversion. The realization that the Lamb might fulfill the past promises of Narinder swayed them to join the cult. V's unique background and experiences could make them a valuable asset to the cult. They become a disciple and skilled warrior, sharing their knowledge and connections to further the cult's goals. V's past as a follower of Narinder could lead to internal conflicts. They struggle with reconciling their old beliefs with the new ones or face opposition from those who remain loyal to the old order. Overcoming these challenges could solidify V's place within the cult and deepen their commitment to the Lamb's cause.

[withered-tears]

Ok imma just make a new post so i can keep my MD Transformers AU ideas all tidy in one place itdkskgz

J, N and V

Uzi

Tessa and Cyn

Cyntessa

Doll and Lizzy (plus flashback NJV)

Nori and Yeva

AU Lore under the cut!

OKAY SO, BASIC WORLDBUILDING:

Just like MD takes place way in the future, this AU takes place waaaay into cybertron's future.

The Optimus and Megatron are long gone history figureheads, most cybertronians never even heard about them. The primes are also long gone, Optimus was the last bearer of the matrix, so no chosen one either.

Cybertron is ruled by The Senate (*lmao its not. But more on that later ahuhuhu) and "Decepticon" is literally just the official designation for any and all cybetronian who goes against the senate in any way (basically the senate took a name and insignia from the history books that mean "the bad guys" and slapped it into anyone who causes them trouble)

Copper 9 is actually, just like in MD, a small exoplanet with a mining operation going on. The vast majority of the miners are disposables/monoformers minibots (AKA worker drones)

Now, SOMETHING (haven't actually. Figured out what yet) happens on Copper 9, that makes the bots there pretty much uhhh whats the english word for when a colony wants to separate from the country, liberate themselves?

Basically Copper 9 tells cybertron to fuck off and wants to become its own government.

Senate is like uhhh no you fukin dont.

Marks the entire colony as Decepticons, and sents the DDD to wipe them out.

Now on to some more character concepts:

UZI: Uzi is a minibot (around rewind size or so, maybe sliiiightly bigger?) Shes an outcast for a number of reasons, but the main one if because she actually modded herself with an experimental T-cog she designed AND built herself out of trash.

Her altmode is the Railgun (her knockoff T-cog is the reason behind the 30 mins cool down, is she were to try and rapidfire, it would literally burnt out her spark)

Just like in cannon, she thinks that hiding from the DDD is dumb and they should fight them instead.

(Her altmode being a gun is also to emphasize her loneliness/solicitude from the rest of the colony. She has the means to fight but no one willing/she trusts to weild her)

I dont know what to do about khan tho, not huge into cybertronians having parents myself? so, dunno. I'll figure it out later.

NORI: i got two potential ideas for Nori, one, she was actually secretly a headmaster, and thats how she survived the DDD, by leaving her body behind.

Or two, (and the one il most likely go with) she, just like minimus and dominus, was secretly a loadbearing miniMINIbot, her irreducible form being a beastformer (an ant maybe? Some kind of bug most likely)

Dunno what to make of her relation with Uzi tho, maybe she was a beloved mentor/only friend who taught Uzi how to built stuff?

And Khan was her Conjux? And he took in Uzi cuz he promised Nori he would look after her if something happened to her?

Could be, could be.

Now, onto the JUICY stuff, ahuhuh.

The Senate, and the senate's public speaking figurehead, Senator Tessa (dunno if i should change her name to something more cybertronian sounding, Senator Tesseract maybe?)

Unknown to cybertron's population, and to N and V, the entire senate has been dead for millenia.

Senator Tessa's body has been hijacked and controlled by Cyn, who is pretty much the Anti-prime ouo

She was chosen and brought back to life by unicron himself, to spread chaos and gain control of cybertron, with the end goal of devouring primus himself.

Cyn was originally another disposable minibot, but she died with such contempt to the world around her that her spark called to Unicron himself, who saw great potential for chaos in her.

Unicron was right, too right in fact, because Cyn would eventually consume him ouo she eventually ate him.

Once her story is known, cybertron gives her the tittle Daughter of Unicron, God eater.

@inkyprince thats pretty much all i got so far?

Imma doodle Uzi, Cyn And Tessa (and cyntessa) later today uwu

[misshoneyimhome]

I need a passionate holiday fuck, holding hands with Will after hosting your first Christmas gathering with the other players and partners and it’s just too cozy and full of love and joy 🥲

Oh, darling don’t we all ❤️ I’m all in for some passionate holiday lovemaking with our lovely Swede 🎄 Hope you'll enjoy it 🥰

Warnings: 18+ smut; soft, unprotected sex (p in v)

➼｡ﾟ

I Love the Red I William Nylander ✿❄︎

The delightful aroma of a splendid Christmas roast filled the air, accompanied by softly playing carols in the background. And while moving from one side of the kitchen counter to the other and then to the stove, you skilfully navigated between dishes, lightly dancing along to the tunes.

"Looks like you're having a good time," William's voice chimed in from behind, causing you to turn and find a broad smirk gracing his handsome face.

"Indeed, I'm definitely enjoying myself," you chuckled, moving to stand before your boyfriend and gently wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands settled on your lower back.

"That's great, baby," he chuckled lightly, planting a tender kiss on your forehead as you both stood close in the kitchen. "Are you excited about tonight?" he then asked softly.

"Feeling a bit nervous, but definitely excited," you replied, flashing him a sweet smile.

You and William had decided to host tonight's Christmas dinner for the Leafs and their partners, as it not only marked your first time hosting anything as a couple but also celebrated your recent move-in together.

Aryne was usually the host of such gathering, but as she was occupied with her three children and all the charitable commitments, you’d stepped in to assist, and eventually ended up taking charge of hosting along with William. Though having lived together for only a few months, you both though the idea would be fun and exciting. 

And you were more thrilled to do so, taking the opportunity to fill the condo with decorations as well as experiment with new recipes. And William was more than happy to support you and be your cup bearer. While he might have found your meticulous planning a bit over-the-top, he couldn't help but adore the way your eyes sparkled when discussing your ideas. He simply let you take the reins, smiling and chuckling at your enthusiasm.

His credit card had practically become yours, and in no time, you had transformed his condo into a Christmas wonderland, draped in deep reds and vibrant greens colours with sparkling gold shimmers and chains of soft yellow lights.

Initially, William attempted to assist. However, it became evident quite quickly that it was best for him to let you take the lead, as he lacked the creative mind you possessed and didn't quite have the knack for hands-on decoration. Despite his efforts, he ended up stepping back, trying not to get in your way and felt comfortable in merely being good company.

"Seriously, babe, you've really outdone yourself," William beamed, holding you tightly, knowing that his teammates would soon arrive, meaning it'd be hours before he could have this closeness again.

"I know," you sighed softly. "But do you like it, though?"

"I love it almost as much as I love you."

His words were incredibly sweet. You hadn't expected this softer side of him to surface, but as it turned out, this Christmas seemed to have unlocked his inner marshmallow. And you found it all incredibly sweet and charming.

And in that shared moment, William leaned down gently, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. His hand cupped your cheek, while his tongue softly pressing against your lips, seeking permission to deepen the kiss, which you gracefully granted. Amidst the festive decorations and the aroma of cooking food, you responded eagerly, leaning into his touch as the kiss intensified. Your hands softly began to explore his chest, igniting a desire for more before too long.

You delicately moved your hands, exploring the skin under William's shirt, but just as his hands began to sneak their way up under your dress, the timer sounded, prompting you both to pull back.

"Looks like we'll have to continue this later," you teased.

"Oh, we definitely will," William replied with a mischievous smirk, adjusting himself slightly in his boxers.

And with the final meals prepared and cooked, the table elegantly set with fine china amidst your excessive decorations, the doorbell announced the arrival of the first guests.

Soon, the condo bustled with most of the Toronto Maple Leafs players and their partners, enveloped in the joyful Christmas atmosphere.

The food turned out fantastically, judging by the satisfied yummy sounds and compliments from your guests, and the ambiance was warm and jolly, filled with laughter and cheer.

Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time, and before you knew it, hours had flown by, and the last guests were bidding their goodbyes.

"Ugh, as much as I enjoy hosting and cooking, I equally cherish the quietness that follows," you announced, flopping onto the sofa after a quick clean-up, leaving the rest for the next day.

"Well, I'd say we did a pretty great job," William grinned, sitting next to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

"We?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe mostly you, but I was here too," he teased, wearing a proud smile.

"True, you were, and you were the best at not getting in the way," you joked, earning a chuckle from him.

"Oh, you don't think I did more than that?"

"What exactly did you do, Willy?" you laughed.

"Well, for starters, I did taste all your food," he proudly declared.

"Ah, such a challenging job," you teased with a sarcastic chuckle.

"And I provided company — you know, trying to steal a kiss from the hostess isn't always as easy as it sounds. It requires skill to time it just right," he said, wearing a wide grin, eliciting laughter from you.

"Hmm, I don't recall that... When exactly did you manage to sneak a kiss in? You might need to refresh my memory," you flashed a mischievous smirk, shifting in your seat to face him.

"Well, maybe I will," he grinned back, pulling you closer with determination, one hand securing your opposite side and drawing you onto his lap until you were straddling him. "And if I remember correctly, we left some things unfinished."

A light chuckle escaped your lips before William leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss, brimming with the affection he held for you.

It wasn't hurried or sloppy, but it was earnest and intense, stealing your breath away, causing you to pull back momentarily for air.

Yet, William's hands held you close, refusing to let you retreat too far, and your hands resumed their earlier exploration, seeking the warmth beneath the fabric of his shirt, prompting him to take the lead and remove it entirely.

Your hands once more explored his well-defined chest, delicately running through his hair, before leaning in for another deep kiss. Your tongues entwined, creating an intimate connection as you both focused entirely on each other's touch.

As your lips then parted from his once again, his eyes locked with yours briefly while he held you firmly, lifting you while standing, and then gently carrying you to the bed. Meanwhile, your lips trailed along his neck as your thighs wrapped around his hips, before he carefully settled you onto the bed.

The desire between you was intense. Both eager to explore each other's bodies and feel the closeness between you grow.

Your gaze then remained fixed on William as he stood by the bed, slowly removing his trousers and boxers, freeing his proud member, before sensually crawling onto the bed, licking his lips.

You met him halfway in yet another passionate kiss, only to part for a moment as he gently slid his hands under your dress, discarding it and threw it to the rest of his clothes. His eyes intensely roamed over your curvaceous body, admiring how stunning you looked in your lacy lingerie set.

"It's your favourite," you murmured softly, a sly smirk forming on your lips, as William couldn't help but lick his own, captivated by the sight of you in bright red lace.

You were well aware of the effect this colour and fabric had on him, knowing you had his mind spinning.

"It definitely is, baby," he exhaled deeply. "You're fucking hot."

His mouth then found the sensitive spot on your neck, pressing you down onto your back a little more firmly as he kissed and gently nibbled your skin.

The air was thick with pure desire, a craving for a deep, emotionally charged session of sex, while the soft melodies of Christmas music lingered in the background.

William's lips explored every inch of your skin, trailing from your neck down to your collarbone before focusing on each breast. Tenderly, he moved the lacy fabric aside, lavishing attention on your nipple with great intensity, teasing and nipping as he then moved to the other breast.

His kisses had a mesmerising effect on you, prompting you to close your eyes as he gradually ventured further south. Soft moans escaped your lips as your body responded, arching and fully surrendering to his touch.

But just as his lips reached the edge of your underwear, you forced yourself to look down at him and whispered gently, "Willy," your breaths heavy, "Not tonight… I just want you inside me."

"Are you sure, babe?" he asked tentatively, gazing intensely into your eyes with his deep blue ones, prompting you to offer a subtle nod.

As much as you enjoyed William's talented mouth between your legs, in that moment, all you yearned for was to feel him close. His body entwined with yours, and his length filling you completely.

So, with care, William rose from his position to kneel between your legs, maintaining an intense gaze on you as he hooked his fingers under the edge of your bottoms. You lifted yourself slightly, allowing him better access to slowly remove them, tossing them aside with the rest of the clothes. However, your bra remained on. It was perhaps the only piece of lingerie he wouldn't simply tear off, as it was indeed his favourite.

But knowing your body all too well, William aimed to ensure your utmost pleasure. While still kneeling, he entered two fingers in his mouth, coating them thoroughly with saliva, and then gently, he ran them through your folds, tracing against your entrance.

"You're so tight, baby," he uttered in a husky, rough voice, applying a gentle pressure with his fingers against your hole.

"Only for you, Willy," you breathed out, letting out a louder moan as his fingers slowly penetrated your sweet core, gradually stretching your walls with their rhythmic movement.

Feeling his own heartbeat quicken with anticipation, William lightly stroked his throbbing cock a few times, fixating his gaze on his fingers disappearing and reappearing within your warmth.

But despite enjoying William's skilled touch, you yearned for more.

"Willy, I want - I need you inside me," you softly pleaded, beginning to feel intense waves of pleasure coursing through your body. And William eagerly complied.

With a satisfied smirk, aroused by your impassioned plea for his touch, he withdrew his fingers, and sucked them clean of your sweet juices. Then, hovering over you, he once again leaned in for a deep, lustful kiss.

And as his cock pulsated and glistened slightly with pre-cum, he positioned himself, aligning the tip with your entrance before gently easing himself all the way in.

Louder moans erupted from your lips this time, your eyes rolling back in sheer pleasure as you felt him completely fill you. William was rather thick and no matter how many times you'd had sex by now, he always stretched you to the fullest.

Breaking the kiss, he began a gentle yet firm rhythm of pulling out and thrusting back in, relishing every sensation within your walls. The warmth of your cunt heightened his arousal, and with each movement, he edged closer to his climax.

As your hips found a synchronous rhythm, William leaned back down to you, guiding your hands to rest on either side of your head, his forehead resting against yours, as your fingers intertwined, hands gripping tightly.

It was a scene filled with raw passion and tenderness, as your bodies moved as one, moans filling the room in perfect harmony. There was an intensity without force, your sweaty skin touching every inch as you then wrapped your legs around William's hips, urging him to delve deeper.

William's thrusts grew a touch more forceful as he sensed his peak approaching. His grip in your hands tightened, feeling your heels digging into his lower back, sensing your walls beginning to contract around him, and he knew wouldn't last much longer.

But he didn't want to come alone. No, he wanted you to join him.

So, increasing his thrusts slightly, plunging deeper into you, he found that sensitive spot that elicited uncontrollable and incoherent moans from you.

"Yes, Willy – I'm close," you gasped, the familiar surge of orgasm on the brink.

"Me too, baby – come with me," William breathed out roughly, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the air as your intertwined hands held on with a firm grip.

Your faces were close, sharing the same breath as the intensity of an orgasm washed over you, causing your mind to blur, forcing your eyes closed once more, and William's name escaped your lips in a loud moan.

"Fuck," William echoed, feeling your tight walls clenching around him. And then with a few more forceful thrusts, he reached his own climax, releasing everything into your warm depths.

He emitted deep grunts as he slowly eased into a few softer movements before nearly collapsing atop your body. But realising his weight was a bit much, he propped himself up on his arms, releasing your hands before carefully pulling himself out and settling beside you.

A comfortable silence enveloped both of you as you snuggled up to him, finding your spot under his arm, and he gladly pulled you closer, embracing you.

Your head found a resting place on his chest while you idly played with his hair, feeling his hand gently running through the lengths of your own.

With a satisfied smirk on your lips, you glanced at your boyfriend, feeling a sense of relief and contentment.

"Maybe I should wear this underwear more often," you teased lightly, eliciting a soft chuckle from Willy.

"Hmm, maybe, but I do prefer when you wear nothing at all," he quipped with a cheeky smile, his hand gently finding yours once again, intertwining his fingers softly with yours.

"Well, I think I can manage that as well."

William then pulled you up from your position, prompting both of you to lie on your sides, facing each other, his hand remaining intertwined with yours, resting them between your faces as you locked eyes.

A tender smile formed on his lips as he admired your stunning features. To him, you were beyond beautiful, and deep down, he couldn’t quite believe why the hell you had fallen for him.

He saw himself as merely the charming hockey player, filled with cheesy jokes and no serious thoughts besides about his level of games. Whereas you were this incredible, captivating woman, not only talented in the kitchen but also adept at connecting with people. You were incredibly kind and friendly, always ready to help anyone in need. You comforted William when he felt low and matched his high energy when he was excited.

It simply didn't make sense to him.

In his eyes, he was just a joker, and you were a queen.

Yet, despite this perception, you had fallen deeply for him. You had let your guard down, allowed him straight into your heart, and surrendered as soon as you could.

In that fleeting moment, everything felt perfect between the two of you. It was soft and romantic, yet both of you felt drained from the intense passion of your lovemaking, soon drifting close to sleep.

Only a few words managed to escape before the tranquillity of slumber took over.

"I love you, y/n/n."

"I love you too, Willy."

[lantern-lost]

When you're exposed to enough terrible, nightmarish visions, there comes a point where anything starts to feel normal. That should've probably worried him more, come to think of it.

Adair Domnhull was always an observant man, even if he had managed to get himself trapped in a pact with five gods. He knew enough, at least, to figure that few people wandering the streets at this hour had honest intentions. Least of all himself; another night of drudgery-work, another sacrifice to old and hungry things. So the sensible thing to do, having all but stumbled upon someone carrying a coffee in one hand and a roughly human-shaped tarp, would be to mind his own business, turn around and walk away.

"Ah, no, of course-"

Instead, Adair found himself gently reaching out to take hold of a stranger's coffee and standing motionless while they stuffed a body in a tarp. His own posture was tense, even if his expression was flat and vaguely grim. He couldn't smell blood, he realised. Not much blood. No; instead, he could smell the coffee through the flimsy plastic lid.

And something sweet. Very sweet. Caramel? Too much caramel, if he could smell it from here. It should've made a nice change. Instead, it reminded him how absurd the situation was.

A small, unwise part of him wanted to pry. Questions trickled into his mind, one after the other. This wasn't the sort of thing people were usually casual about, was it? Enough to get a coffee during it? Why now? Why here? Criminal associations? Personal reasons? Ones similar to his own? For once, he was grateful to be carrying a knife.

The sensible thing to say would be nothing; or, failing that, ask just what he's doing here. Try to get some answers. Instead:

"I wasn't- I didn't think there'd still be cafes open at this time of night."

Damnit.

❛ ... you look like you could use a hand with that. ❜ (bearer of marks verse)

"With...? Ah...," he looked down at the latté in his hand; caramel ribbon crunch with an extra shot of espresso, almond milk, and additional caramel syrup.

Then he looked at his other hand, dragging a tarp with a not-yet-corpse in tow.

"Ah."

He looked back at the man. He didn't... seem perturbed at his finding: a stranger kidnapping an individual in the middle of the night. Maybe that was worse. Well, he'd soon find out.

"Actually, if you don't mind? Could you hold my coffee while I wrap this up?"

[des-no9]

var'cha // star bearer

a short comic about Kith'rak Voss finding comfort in an unexpected place

4 pages art and words by me

“Z’var’zai.” It almost feels like a prayer. And he wants to kneel. “Should I start writing these down?” she says, half a smile. Half lost to the way it sounds. This one, Voss gives her. “It means just as I said,” the curve of his spine elegance as he dips the lithe angles of his body down, pinching her chin with finger, thumb, “there’s beauty in the way you wound.”

excerpt from "V."

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed.

This was a short comic based on the concept of Voss finding the beauty of the Astral Sea in Vanquish's burn marks, her hair and her eyes. She has an otherly, far away plane touch to her, with her patron being of the Far Realms, and being burned heavily and severely with another Elder Evil's void fire.

The scarring left on her skin is a little different than a standard burn, and Voss sees home in her, feels it on her skin. The coldness, unending power that he'll never forget the first time he looked to the skies as a young, newly named githyanki, freed from the ghaik.

Thank you again.

[fideidefenswhore]

I think the problem with Chapuys is that the ambassadors aren't really seen as "people", if you will, with agency and biases like everyone else, but just disembodied voices narrating the story, and so for a long time historians and writers just accepted reports at face value, because there wasn't "thought" behind it. You should write a book on him as a response to the other one. You've got a lot of interesting observations.

Omg, you're too kind. But thank you ❤️

Yeah, I actually made a similar observation to you, elsewhere, expanded a bit:

Unfortunately, the practice of using Chapuys' dispatches as the emotional blueprint for all these historical people has become rather prevalent. I think he had credible insights at times, but what's sort of forgotten is that while many of his reports are of what these people said and did (according to, a noblewo/man, or Cromwell, or a physician of a nobleman, or a servant of a gentleman, or 'several reliable quarters', or COA or Mary themselves), many others are simply what he's assuming they thought or said or felt, and have no specific incident or quote or source given. One particularly egregious example informed a lot of subsequent portrayals of Thomas & George Boleyn, namely that upon the death of COA in Jan 1536, they "must have said to themselves, what a pity it was that the Princess had not kept her mother company", with the 'must' (ie, speculation, rather than an actual report of what any of his sources claimed to have overheard) omitted.

[To wit]:

"The King’s mistress had from the very beginning resolved that the Princess should act as her train-bearer, and that she would cause her and her mother all manner of annoyances; but considering that her singular beauty, goodness, and virtue, might possibly induce the King to change his purpose, and that if the Princess were to attend Court, and be seen there continually, she might daily gain the hearts and favour of the courtiers, she has not allowed her to come." Jan 1534, Chapuys to Charles V

[Also, literally a month after this report Anne does invite her stepdaughter to court, the first of three recorded attempts, so...awkward.]

Now, as 'resolved' is not 'said' (it's also interesting that his concern seems to have shifted from the report of the year prior, in which making Mary her trainbearer was the least of what Anne threatened: 'I hear she has lately boasted that she will make of the Princess a maid of honour in her household, that she may perhaps give her too much dinner on some occasion [ie, poison], or marry her to some varlet [a low-ranking servant of poor birth, Chapuys would later refer to Mark Smeaton as a 'varlet']), this would be a case of the 'mind reading' I meant; insofar as some explanation as to why Mary was sent to Princess Elizabeth's household, which was a satellite of the the King's court, rather than the centre of everything, the King's court itself. Granted, I think AB fearing her stepdaughter's popularity is more likely, but the likelier explanation overall would be that Mary was not invited to court for the same reason her own household was dissolved; she defied Henry's appointment and determination of her illegitimacy. Youth and beauty and envy thereof was hardly the determinate factor here, considering [...] that Margaret Douglas, of almost identical age and equal in beauty (according to their contemporaries), was one of AB's preeminent ladies and much in favour...the determinate difference was that MD and her mother acknowledged Anne as Queen, and, for obvious reasons, Mary and hers did not. Rich pickings for the narrative trope casting Mary as Snow White and AB as her wicked stepmother, tho......

[maddstermind]

Find the Word!

ehehehehe thank you @akiwitch for tagging me back!!!!

Let's see, I'll reach out to @k-v-briarwood, @stridingwriter, @thoughtofhouses, @saphoblin, and anyone else who wants to join!! No pressure of course (and you're welcome to tag me back!)

grim

     My Lady, Queen Daphné,      I fear I must be the bearer of bad news. Due to recent storms and flash-floods in the area, Mr. Addison Garland is no longer with us. He had ventured into the woods before the storm hit, and never returned. Efforts are being made to find him or his remains, but it has been a fortnight now, and things are looking grim. He is presumed dead.      I await your instructions on what to do next. Please give my condolences to the Princess Rosamund — Addison spoke highly of her — and to his family.      Yours truly,      Violet Fairchild

silence

 "What does it mean?"      "Silence," Addison read. "We use it nowadays to keep loud machinery quiet. It's probably on some of the things in the lighthouse."      "Why would it be on me?"      "Someone's trying to keep you quiet," someone behind the group spoke, and everyone looked over. The air left Rosamund's lungs, and all at once she realized she was witnessing a vision.

web

     Colton offered a hand, and Pip refused it, putting the remnants of his cinnamon roll in his mouth and gently climbing down on his own. He brushed a webbed hand over the inscription on the statue's base, and Colton's eyes traced the movement, as much as he didn't want them too. ALCMENE ARGYRIS HERO OF THE LAND BELOVED BY ALL      The older boy sighed and looked away. "Don't go telling a statue all my secrets."

moon

     He crept along the treeline, looking for any hint of hide, hair, golden eyes — or mischievous teens. He saw none, but the feeling did not leave. Not until a rabbit fell from the trees and landed at his feet, making him jump back in surprise.      He looked up. No sign of any bird of prey that could've dropped it, and certainly it couldn't have climbed the tree itself. He rubbed his eyes and looked back to the treeline before the moonlight could scald his retinas.      The feeling of being watched was gone, now. He crept closer to the rabbit, poking it with the end of his mapaltre. It rolled. He could see no scratches from talons or claws. No bite marks from fangs or beaks. Only a single puncture wound in its neck, with an arrowhead lodged inside.

lies

     "That's the thing about prophecies," he sighed. "The more you try to escape them, the tighter they close on you."      She grabbed him by the collar of his robes. "Where did you find this prophecy? Tell me! I'm sick of the games."      "Did you know you can trigger visions on purpose?" He spoke quickly, but not quickly enough for her to miss the ever-brief reappearance of the red rings in his eyes. "I think it may give you some answers you're seeking."      "Stop changing the subject! You said you wanted to talk, so talk, and quit with the lies!"      "Even if I could speak freely, would you really believe me?" he snapped, the heat intensifying. She stayed silent, begrudgingly admitting to herself that he had a point.

For those who follow, your words are: storm, quiet, secret, prey, collar

[master-john-uk]

30th January 1965 - The funeral of Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill, KG, OM, CH, TD, PC, DL, FRS (30 November 1874 -- 24 January 1965).

Churchill's beloved country residence, Chartwell in Westerham, Kent is very close to where I live, and my grandparents were good friends with Winston and Clementine. (My own claim to fame is that I once took afternoon tea with the great man and his lady wife at Chartwell, although I was only 2 or three years old at the time.)

Churchill first met Princess Elizabeth when she was nine years old, and during his first term as Prime Minister in WWII became a close friend of her father, King George VI. Their weekly meetings often involved lunch and sometimes lasted for several hours.

When Princess Elizabeth became Queen during Churchill's second term as Prime Minister in 1952, he was able to offer the new Monarch support and advice, both "professionally", and at a personal level.

On the day of Churchill's funeral, The Queen broke with royal etiquette by being one of the first to arrive at St Paul's Cathedral. This day was to honour to Sir Winston Churchill.

Following the service at at Paul's Cathedral, Churchill's coffin was carried by a bearer party from the Grenadier Guards to the Tower of London. This procession took 18 minutes, and is the longest distance a coffin had been carried by pallbearers at any state funeral.

From Tower Pier, Churchill's coffin was transported along the Thames to Festival Pier on the South Bank by MV Havengore. As the boat set-sail, 16 RAF English Electric Lightning jets flew over in formation. As the vessel proceeded along the river, 36 dock workers at Hay's Wharf lowered the jibs of their cranes in an unplanned, and unrehearsed mark of respect. Churchill's grandson, Nicholas Soames later said that this unexpected tribute, "undid us all!"

From Festival Pier, Churchill's coffin was transported to Waterloo Station and loaded onto a train to take him to his final resting place in Oxfordshire.

Why Waterloo? There is no direct railway link to Oxford! Waterloo Station was chosen by Sir Winston as the departure point for his funeral train. He knew that General de Gaulle, his French wartime ally would be present. Although Winston and Charles de Gaulle were friends, there was always a rivalry between the pair harking back to the historic conflicts between England and France. Churchill chose Waterloo as a final V-sign to his French friend!

Churchill's original funeral wish was to be cremated, and for his ashes to be buried under the croquet lawn at Chartwell. A couple of years before he died, Winston visited his father's grave at Bladon, in sight of his ancestral home of Blenheim Palace, Oxfordshire. He reportedly tapped the ground with his walking cane and said, "This is my place... Right here!" And that is where the great English gentleman rests today.

Music: "Thaxted" (Jupiter from The planets Suite) composed by Gustav Holst.

[dastiel4ever2111]

First up among my parents/kids are Vince McMahon and Linda McMahon. In my stories, Linda and Vince aren't a couple they are just best friends who have had kids together. Linda didn't really stick around to raise the kids, except for Stephanie whom she raised separately from the rest of the boys. I owe a lot of these ideas to @lchimelightgoddess as well.

In my stories, Vince is with Paul Heyman and Eric Bischoff, ugh those three are always going to be special to me. They didn't get together until after all their kids were grown up though. Vince is happily retired and Hunter and Steph run the business in most of my stories nowadays. In my older stories, that was not the case.

Mark Callaway McMahon is the oldest, he is not biologically related to Vince or Linda. Vince adopted him and Kane after Paul Bearer disappeared.

Glenn Jacob Kane McMahon is Mark's biological brother and Vince adopted him along with Mark. Mark and Kane are only half brothers, Paul Bearer is Kane's biological father.

Hunter Paul Helmsley McMahon, the first one Linda and Vince had together. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GB4Ub7y4r04 is heavily inspired by the whole illegitimate son angle done by WWE.

Stephanie is technically a McMahon but only because Linda adopted her. She and Hunter aren't actually related, they weren't raised together either. She also has no relation to Vince or Linda, we don't know her real parents.

Shane McMahon, I used to have it where Punk and Shane were twins but I decided to drop that.

Phillip Cedric McMahon (CM Punk) - heavily inspired by this segment https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ucR7Dc-0yk thank you, Coachman.

Mark and Phil have always been close. Phil didn't really get along with Hunter, they butted heads a lot. I would say their relationship got better after Punk left WWE.

Hunter and Shane are very close.

I do not own any of the pictures shown, I just found them on Google. I have decided on posting these collages I made and a little background on the families. There are a lot but this is how I've decided on doing it.

I hope you look forward to learning more about my AU and everything.

[lantern-lost]

“Is it the blood, or are you just raving mad?” Vengeance hums in his head, “No! Remind yourself it is neither. We seek the retribution they choose to turn away from!”

[@phantomcurtaincall / from Vengeance]

Working for hungry gods comes with side effects. Unexplained scars, night terrors, a persistent brain fog, strange patterns of behaviour; all of that he had grown used to. He could endure it. But there was one thing he never got used to: possession.

The flourescent light above buzzed and hissed incessantly as he hunched over one of the sinks, the path between him and the bathroom door painted in a red smear across the off-white plasic floor. He grasped at the cool porcelean, shuddering and heaving with breath. It wasn't full possession, not really. Adair was still mostly in control of his faculties, of his movements; he could see and hear and feel every bit of it. He could watch as his vision snapped to the mirror in front of him, staring hard at his own face.

Vengeance was not a gentle presence. Every single nerve in him was alight with pain and heat; his skin tingled, glistening in the sickly light, as every gasp that left him burned in his throat like smoke. The man looking back at him was haggard; collar undone, coat hanging loosely off of him, blood splattered onto his arms and with the sweat on his face. Saliva pooled in his mouth like molten lead, even as he tried to swallow it down.

Adair could feel his blood boiling.

His own eyes burned into him- and there, in the half-mad gaze, a ring of fire glimmered around his pupils. Behind him, he could see the thing he dragged in with him; a twitching mound of fabric and flesh. Something clattered into the sink; a knife? Yes. A knife; the handle half-melted, the blade bent from when it had sunk so hard and deep into the flesh that it couldn't hold. A voice burned in his ear- no, deeper. In his head. At the base of his spine. His mind was racing, his heart surging as he tried to register them, tried to remember them. Tried to remember the crime he was here to punish.

"It hurts," he gasped, breathing still laboured. "I can't remember. Remind me. Please." So this could be over with. So that he didn't have to burn so much. A growl lodged itself in his throat, and hot breath brushed against the nape of his neck. How much of himself was stilll there?

[tabutesakina]

Echoes of the Mountain: Humanity’s Forgotten Schism

Before we dive deep into this exploration, check out our latest video on the origins of humanity after Adam and Eve, where we visually reconstruct these ancient events: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYjgGgoE8uI

The story of humanity is not merely a tale of survival and expansion—it is a history of divergence. A split so fundamental that it continues to shape the moral and spiritual fabric of our existence today. This division was not just physical but intellectual, ethical, and cosmic in scale. It was a schism between those who upheld divine wisdom and those who succumbed to their desires, between those who preserved knowledge and those who weaponized it.

A Sacred Lineage: The Sons of Adam

After the tragic murder of Abel (Habil), Adam (AS) was granted two sons to continue his righteous lineage: Seth (Sheeth, AS) and his twin brother Ayshaan (Ashout). Unlike Cain (Qabil), who was cast out for his transgression, these sons were divinely guided and destined to uphold the legacy of their father. However, their existence was no accident—it was ordained as part of a greater plan, ensuring that humanity would not descend into chaos and corruption.

The critical point often overlooked in conventional narratives is that humanity did not propagate through incest. Rather, divine intervention facilitated the continuation of Adam’s lineage. Celestial beings—Hoors—were sent from the heavens to be wedded to the sons of Adam. Seth (AS) was blessed with 17 sons, while Ayshaan (AS) had 17 daughters, and through their union, the human race flourished. This was not just a biological necessity but a spiritual safeguard to ensure that the progeny retained divine purity and guidance.

The First Great Divide: The People of the Mountain and the Valley

The children of Seth (AS) and Ayshaan (AS) were raised with knowledge, discipline, and reverence for the divine. They lived in the highlands, away from the corruption of the earth, safeguarding sacred wisdom. These people, known as the People of the Mountain, held divine knowledge in trust, ensuring it was passed only to those who were worthy.

But as history has shown, not all knowledge-bearers remain steadfast in their discipline. Over time, a group among them—200 in number—abandoned their oath, choosing to descend from the mountains into the settlements of Cain’s exiled descendants. They carried with them sacred knowledge that was never meant to be wielded by those without divine ethics.

This marked the turning point. What was once a means of enlightenment became a tool of manipulation. Cain’s lineage, already detached from divine guidance, seized this knowledge and twisted it for personal gain—ushering in an era of materialism, sorcery, and control. The once-clear distinction between the righteous and the corrupt began to blur, setting humanity on an irreversible trajectory of conflict.

The Consequences of Betrayal: A Legacy of Corruption

History repeats itself. The great empires of the world—from the first tyrannical kings to the self-proclaimed gods of later civilizations—are the echoes of that primordial schism. Those who were once entrusted with knowledge failed in their duty, and their lapse led to cycles of oppression, deceit, and moral decay.

The wisdom of the Ahlul Bayt (AS) clarifies this reality. Imam Ali (AS) states:

“Knowledge is a single point—the ignorant have multiplied it.”

What began as a singular, pure truth was fractured, distorted, and scattered across the ages. But the original light—the pure wisdom—remains preserved, safeguarded by those who have never compromised it.

The Guardian of Divine Knowledge: The Unreachable Peak

The mistake of the 200 was believing they could wield sacred knowledge without divine authority. But true wisdom cannot be stolen, nor can it be possessed by the unworthy. There exists a mountain that no traitor can descend from, no tyrant can scale.

Imam Ali (AS), the inheritor of divine knowledge, embodies that mountain. He declares:

“I am the high mountain; no bird can soar to my heights, nor can any mind reach my station.”

Unlike the fallen guardians of old, his wisdom remains untouched, and his legacy unshaken. He is the final safeguard, the custodian of truth beyond corruption.

Conclusion: A Choice That Echoes Through Time

Humanity’s test has always been the same: Will we guard knowledge with discipline, or exploit it for power? Will we seek the mountain, or descend into the valley? The choice is not a relic of ancient history—it is the struggle of every age, every individual, every moment.

The echoes of that first schism still ripple through the world, but the path to truth remains open for those who seek it. The question is: Which path will we choose?

[lantern-lost]

As he watched the stranger adjust the body, a wave of absurd dread washed over him. This wasn't the sort of thing normal people did, was it? Anyone else would have a stronger reaction. Shouldn't he be trying to do something about this? Something more than just standing there, gauntless, holding onto a the coffee of a bloody-handed stranger.

Adair shifted his hands and drummed his nails on the paper cup, offering a noncommital hum. He tried to focus on its warmth, trying to ground himself. He really should've been leaving. What sort of person carries a person in a tarp without bothering to hide it? Someone dangerous, obviously- not that he can blame him for that. He'd be a hypocrite if he did.

No. Something worse. Someone indescreet. A little part of him wondered how this reflected on him. If he was caught up as an accomplice, he'd never hear the end of it-

His thoughts stopped, as the other seemed to stare off into the street. For a moment he startled, thinking he had seen someone and forgetting he had started a conversation altogether. No. Nobody there. Nobody. He cleared his throat. "I'll, ah... have to try it. At some point. If I find it."

He watched the dry blood come off on the hankerchief, frowned to himself. Maybe he should offer advice on how to get the stains out. He could clearly use them, now that he looked him over again. Wearing a white shirt was the first mistake; one he had learned earlier on. When he finally handed the coffee over, it was like finally letting go of a particularly sickly-smelling lead weight.

Then he had to go and speak again. He blinked. The earnestness caught him off guard, somehow. "It's... it's no trouble. Really." His gaze kept trying to return to the tarp, now with any suggestion of a human body obscured. Instead, he kept it fixed roughly between the stranger's temple, and reached out his hand for a vague, uncomfortable handshake.

"... Domnhull." Immediately, he regretted giving his name. No, it was- it was fine. The handshake was over. He could step back. He could get out of this mess. "Sorry to cut this short, but I also have errands to run. Good night." Beneath his breath, he muttered a short prayer to the only things he really could. Please. Please don't keep him here. Any fate but uncomfortable small talk with another murderer.

continued from x with @lantern-lost

"All-night shops are a marvel, aren't they?" he set about tucking the body back under a fold in the tarp. It was lost on him how he could go about his business like this and not have anyone care. He chalked it up to the American city. They couldn't possibly-- hopefully-- all be like this, right?

"I got it from... It was a couple blocks down and next to the petrol station," he looks off in the direction, perplexed, "Now that you mention it, I don't really remember it... but the coffee is wonderful. I recommend it."

He stood up and pulled a cloth from his suit jacket to wipe his hands, though dried stains remained. He also took the moment of having free hands to remove his jacket and throw it over his shoulder. He seemed rather lithe to be hauling a body.

"Thank you," he said with a soft smile and took back his coffee, "A stranger's kindness is rare nowadays. I very much appreciate it."

He offered his hand.

"Renfield. And you are?"

[wherevermybiketakesme]

Air

We were born a year apart with a two-week interlude between our birthdays. Mine falls toward the end of January, and V’s in the second week of February, in the same season when the warm wind from the north moves across the sky along the equator line, bringing with it the blessing of rain for the land. As far as astrology goes, this makes us both water bearers under the rulership of Uranus and Saturn.

In the span of time we're together, we have shared 14 birthdays, exchanging gifts that come in various shapes and forms. I remember, in our early years, back when we were college students, I walked into V's room on my birthday to find candles arranged in the shape of a heart, along with a pair of brown pants and a cardigan. When V turned 26, I filled our room with 26 red balloons. I remember ushering her in as she returned from work and seeing her delighted face. She wrote her wishes on each balloon and released them into the air from our second-floor window. We watched the balloons as they drifted into the night sky.

In recent years, V has been outdoing herself with my birthday celebrations and gifts, making it tougher to top each time. Last year, she decided to give me a year-long birthday present: each month she'd get me a book of her choosing and I had to finish it before the next book came in the following months.

A single book alone is a gift that keeps on giving. Now, how about twelve?

For my birthday this year, V took me for an overnighter at a campsite in the highland south of the city. V booked us a camper package that came with the tent, mattresses, pillows, sleeping bags, and a bundle of firewood. We set off at noon and arrived at the campsite just after the light rain had stopped. The host showed us to our tent. It stood in the middle of a savanna, overlooking a small hill in the east. The ground was wet and muddy in some spots. Our tent was pitched on a hardpack ground near a small ditch. As we settled in, the rain started to fall again. We stayed inside, listening to the pattering sound of raindrops against the roof, watching the water droplets roll down on the polyester fabric of the tent.

The sun had set when the rain stopped. After dinner, we spent the rest of the evening huddled by the campfire. The firelight danced across V's face as she told me how much she loved the crackling sound of the flames. In the air, around us, the fog rolled in, shrouding us in mist that dampened our hair and clothes. The crescent moon was faint and pale overhead, almost hidden behind scattered clouds. From time to time, the clouds drifted past. Shining through a small patch of clear sky, the constellation of Orion with its distinctive row of three bright stars that make up its belt. Somewhere in that dark celestial soup, a planetary parade.

The night wore on. We retired into the tent and found a ginger tabby cat curled up in the corner. Where he came from, we didn't know. But his apparition was a delight. We let him stay for the night.

Two weeks later, we drove to the beach. On the morning of V's birthday, we walked along the shore. A man and a small boy played with a kitten. To our left, the waves rolled in and moved out. Same thing they've been doing since eternity.

Transience against the backdrop of the seemingly unbroken.

Looking back at how I felt in those moments of quiet celebration in the open air, I wondered then, as I wonder now, in this cult of relentless progress and productivity, of doing more and earning more, sometimes at all costs: is it so bad to simply feel enough? To be free from want, self-imposed expectations? To just be? Like the stars, the fire, the waves, the grass, the rocks, the trees; taking space and energy just enough to exist to be simply what they are.

Birthdays mark changes worth celebrating. Like all changes, it serves as a reminder of the finitude of our lives. What I look forward to for my birthday now is solely the fun things that V would come up with. Or simply the book she'd get me. But this year I just realized, while sitting by the campfire watching the flame dance, and walking along the shore that morning, that the true gift is those moments when everything feels enough. The gift of presence that comes not only once a year.

Ah, sorry, let me correct myself: no, it doesn't just come as if uninvited. I believe it's cultivated. And as Mary Oliver once wrote:

all eternity is in the moment

[collymore]

Shouldn't vile denunciations like yours Mark Duell, not be supported by clearly verifiable corroboration?

By Stanley Collymore

Harry and Meghan - and very specifically so Meghan - bellows Mark Duell from the pages of the Daily Mail, where else? - literally snubbed from an event, significantly so the Windsor Balmoral gathering. And obviously, discernibly, although actually very conveniently not mentioned, an invitation which the pair crucially, had no intention of accepting or essentially simply quite specifically attending in the first place. How totally dramatic!

(C) Stanley V. Collymore 3 August 2024.

Author's Remarks: Harry and Meghan have actually declined every invitation they've ever received, even from his late grandmother, Liz Windsor, to literally join them at these so-called family gatherings. So this is simply no snub from Charles and his lot, just very self- evidently a clear recognition from these self-entitled lot - both individually and also collectively - that they've finally got the message! However, that wouldn't sound rather good coming from the Daily Mail, nor would it be actually quite pleasing either to the surfeit of Windsor sycophants. So dub it then, as an epic snub to Harry and Meghan! Quite indeed! Lol!

For two people: Harry and Meghan, who're supposed to be so totally irrelevant, isn't it simply absolutely amazing how these very racist, purblind, white Karen and Gammon cunts obviously can't get enough of them! And yet it's these discernible specimens of rather unquestionably lowlife, intellectually challenged and effectively toxic scum, that crucially, distinctly like to see and likewise project themselves, not just simply as the very best Britain has to offer, but similarly as irrefutably, the Aryan standard bearers, obviously delusionally, of the white master race. While the Daily Mail actually exploits them financially and most unscrupulously through Clickbait!

Money which is generated in Britain but never spent or even banked there and when passed on no inheritance tax is ever paid; as it’s all stashed away in numerous overseas numbered bank accounts  while its owners ostensibly masquerading as patriotic Britons live as Non-Dom Brits in places quite ironically like the Bahamas, Bermuda, the Cayman Islands, the Turks and Caicos and the Virgin Islands, which while being Commonwealth countries are hardly, by any stretch of the imagination, ethnically the same as the Isle of white, the Channel Islands or the Isle of Mann for instance, bearing in mind the overt racist and rather imperialist overtones of the Daily Mail’s owners, principal employees and as well its subsidiary workers.

Then effectively adding insult to injury, happily see these gullible and very exploited morons that the Daily Mail and other media outlets like itself use across the length and breadth of Britain having to quite routinely rely on food banks or social security handouts, no problems on their part seemingly, to carry on their pathetic existences. But whoever said such white Britain and Useful Non-white scum who think like them and are happy to jump on any convenient bandwagon because their lives are so nauseatingly dull, immoral and unproductive, aren’t the epitome of Homo sapiens? Lol!  And these are the said ones who have the bloody audacity to spew their vitriolic phlegm at Harry and specifically Meghan; the reasons for which any intelligent person knows full well!

To which I very gleefully add: Roll on World War Three! As this white trash distinctively needs incinerating!