#Color Measurement Instruments
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the-bar-sinister · 13 days ago
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Baby, I am wallowing in prose so purple that scientists will have to invent new instruments to measure it on the color spectrum.
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g0dlyunsub · 9 months ago
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under pressure.
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getting strapped up to a lie detector as part of a bet wasn’t exactly in your plans, nor was exposing your deepest secret to spencer reid.
pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader
warnings :: fluff! confessions, coworkers to lovers, cheesiness overload 
word count :: 1.6k
author’s note :: three weeks since i last posted a fic?? absolutely unacceptable *presses post button*
accompanying song :: more than friends by aidan bissett
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“there’s a reason why that thing’s admissible in court,” you murmur to derek, watching as the officer packs the polygraph back into a cabinet.
derek chuckles.
“you think you can beat it?”
“i know i can beat it.”
you cross your arms and look up with a challenging smirk.
“there’s actually a lot of skepticism surrounding the validity and accuracy of polygraph testing, especially since it’s only an instrument that measures physiological changes like heart activity and perspiration. people often mistakenly assume they’re trying to deceive a machine, when really it’s all about the polygrapher, who oversees and administers the examination.”
you don’t even have to turn your head to know it’s spencer who’s just made his way into the room, derek’s lifted brow a confirmation of his presence.
“ah, look who’s finally found us. i was starting to miss you a little, kid.” 
“what are you guys up to?” spencer asks in return, his gaze shifting from you to derek, before slowly making way back to you. 
“l/n thinks she’ll pass the test with flying colors.” derek points at the cabinet and looks at you with a winsome grin.
“i won’t even have to try.” you shrug, placing your hands on your hips confidently.
“wanna bet on it?”
“loser pays for dinner. reid, you in?”
“i uh, i think i’ll just watch,” spencer politely declines, his hands nervously burrowing deep into his pockets.
derek bursts into laughter. “oh come on, kid, it’s free dinner for the both of us.” 
spencer chuckles quietly. “we’ll see.”
you make your way over to the cabinet, kneeling to retrieve the bulky device, and set it down on the table behind you. 
taking a seat, you lift your arms to secure the straps above and below your chest, and attach the blood pressure cuffs to your right arm. 
“nuh-uh.” 
you hear derek tut a sequence of disapproving clicks.
“hey kid, check to see if it’s around her securely.” derek tilts his head at spencer before nodding in your direction, adding, “don’t want you deceiving us in other ways.”
you roll your eyes before raising your arms in surrender. “go ahead, i’ve got nothing to hide.”
spencer slowly approaches you, hesitant steps overtaking his stride as he moves to stand in front of you. positioning a hand on your back for support, spencer sticks a finger between the gaps of the sides of your chest and the straps.
the straps tighten ever so slightly, causing your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. almost like an unconscious reflex, you release a breathy exhale.
“is that too tight?”
it’s barely a whisper, and he’s close, so close — his lips hover practically right beside your ear that you can feel his breath tickle the hairs on your neck.
“no,” you let out, “it’s good.”
your heart’s pounding now, and you’re thankful that you’re not hooked up to the monitor rate, at least not yet. 
“just slide your finger into the clamp,” spencer instructs, his hand guiding yours into the plate where the electrodes lightly pinch your fingertips.
“is that comfortable?” spencer asks once again, his furrowed brows an indicator of marked concern as he searches for any signs of discomfort.
“yup.”
you bite your bottom lip as spencer hooks the cords to the monitor. his attentive eyes gloss over your strapped arm and flick downwards, stopping once they take note of your bouncing legs. you still your legs almost immediately.
“alright l/n, here’s a tester.” derek approaches you and lays his hands on the table, leaning forward. “have you ever lied to get out of trouble?”
you don’t even need to think twice. with a daring grin, you respond, “yes.”
“it’s stable,” spencer nods.
a mischievous smirk plays on derek’s lips. 
“have you ever lied to hotch before?”
you huff an amused chuckle, one laced with throaty disbelief. “no.”
derek rolls his eyes, but spencer nods in your direction. “steady.” 
“oh come on, not even once?”
you raise an eyebrow as if to challenge him. “why… have you?”
“this is about you, remember?” derek wiggles a finger disapprovingly. “next one… have you ever had any romantic feelings for anyone on our team?”
it's a question you were most definitely not expecting.
it’s only a brief pause, but it’s long enough to have you doubting – are your eyes widening? are your parting lips betraying you? is it actual sweat that’s starting to coat the tips of your fingers or are you imagining it?
“no, i have not.”
you feel heat start to creep into your cheeks, but try your best to remain unfazed as you await spencer’s judgment.
“give me… one second.”
the air suddenly feels ten times heavier.
a nervous chuckle escapes from your lips as you glance around. 
“try not to bounce your leg up and down,” spencer finally calls back, and you have to physically restrain yourself from sighing in relief. 
“alright, let’s try again,” derek announces as he finally takes a seat across from you. “have you ever had feelings for… doctor spencer reid?”
your instantaneous scoff overlaps with spencer’s. before you can respond, however, spencer chirps up first.
“y/n, don’t – don’t answer that.”
you, too, try to dodge the question with a dismissive wave. “come on, derek.”
thankfully, he rests the question aside. “fine. have you ever passed your files to someone else without them knowing?”
“yes.”
“to who?”
“to you, actually,” you boldly assert, leaning back into your chair.
“oh, she’s a rebel,” derek slyly retorts back, his gaze unflinching as spencer affirms your claim.
“did you, at any point, lie during this test?”
“no.”
“alright,” derek continues, “last question.”
“bring it.”
“do you currently have any romantic feelings for spencer reid?”
“seriously?” you swivel your head back and forth between derek and spencer, your eyes widening in disbelief at the fact that he’s repeating a previous question, merely adjusting a couple words.
it’s a question that you can’t answer. no, that you shouldn’t answer.
but this time, spencer’s quiet.
“you’re kidding me,” you laugh, “we are not being for real right now.”
“oh i’m being very real right now.” 
your heart thumps like a wild drumbeat, your pulse echoing through the veins marking the side of your neck. 
you start to lace your fingers together nervously as a thin layer of sweat covers your palms. the more you think about your moist hands, though, the more you start to sweat. it’s a constant feedback loop, feeding off of your deeply-buried secret.
slowly, you take off the straps and set the electrode in front of you, on the table. 
radio silence falls over the air disturbingly, like the entire room’s tuned to the wrong frequency. 
then, “reid, did you get that?”
it takes another five seconds for sound to fill the room once again, but the gravity of the silence is almost too heavy for you to register – your wordless confession strikes the back of your mind like an unpleasant storm, raining down on your thoughts with regret and humiliation.
“y/n, um, there’s a lot of environmental factors that can impact physiological response-”
there’s no going back anymore. 
if you don't say it now, it'll linger in the depths of your mind forever.
“i do like you.”
when there’s no response, you decide to fully commit to your confession. “you said so yourself, this isn’t about fooling the device, it’s all about the polygrapher. so, spencer, what’s your judgment?”
you swear you can hear your own pulse drumming against you and shaking your body. with the faintest whisper, spencer utters, “i think you’re telling the truth.”
after hearing his response, you shove your hands into your pockets and prepare to leave, but not without throwing a glance at derek, who’s guiltily tracing the edges of his beard.
as you approach the door, however, a hand hooks around your elbow, stopping you dead in your tracks.
spencer’s hand.
“that’s it? you’re not going to hear my response?”
you don’t look up. “no, i… fine, tell me.”
if only you knew about the collective swarm of thoughts swimming in his brain, the thoughts that are denaturing all his senses of rationality and self-control. he has so much to tell you, words that he’d spill almost instantly if he’d been better prepared.
his hand moves down to envelop your own. 
you do nothing to stop him. 
slowly, he drags your hand upwards, until it rests against his chest.
against his speeding heart.
“spencer?”
the glow in his eyes is unmistakable – his dewy orbs gaze into yours lovingly, the exchange almost a confession in itself.
“i don’t think that either of us can beat the test,” spencer softly murmurs, his breathy chuckle sounding like music to your ears.
you don’t know how to describe it – it’s a bittersweet concoction of emotions that continues to spread throughout your body the more spencer nuzzles up against you.
“no,” you voice after a pause, “i don’t think we can.”
“very cute guys, but i’m waiting on my victory dinner, so if you two can-”
“oh shush, derek, you’re ruining the moment,” you say as you break into laughter, and bury your head against spencer’s chest when you fail to recover your composure.
“and you’re gonna have to pay me extra if you want me to keep my mouth shut in front of all the others,” derek retaliates, his smug grin causing you to roll your eyes. 
“i think i can wrap the straps around his mouth if you hold him against the door,” you start while looking up into spencer’s eyes, speaking loud enough to draw derek’s attention.
spencer returns with a wide smile, one that tugs at your throat to release another hearty laugh.
“yeah, i’ll grab his arms first.”
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nasa · 1 year ago
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Sharpening Our View of Climate Change with the Plankton, Aerosol, Cloud, ocean Ecosystem Satellite
As our planet warms, Earth’s ocean and atmosphere are changing.
Climate change has a lot of impact on the ocean, from sea level rise to marine heat waves to a loss of biodiversity. Meanwhile, greenhouse gases like carbon dioxide continue to warm our atmosphere.
NASA’s upcoming satellite, PACE, is soon to be on the case!
Set to launch on Feb. 6, 2024, the Plankton, Aerosol, Cloud, ocean Ecosystem (PACE) mission will help us better understand the complex systems driving the global changes that come with a warming climate.
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Earth’s ocean is becoming greener due to climate change. PACE will see the ocean in more hues than ever before.
While a single phytoplankton typically can’t be seen with the naked eye, communities of trillions of phytoplankton, called blooms, can be seen from space. Blooms often take on a greenish tinge due to the pigments that phytoplankton (similar to plants on land) use to make energy through photosynthesis.
In a 2023 study, scientists found that portions of the ocean had turned greener because there were more chlorophyll-carrying phytoplankton. PACE has a hyperspectral sensor, the Ocean Color Instrument (OCI), that will be able to discern subtle shifts in hue. This will allow scientists to monitor changes in phytoplankton communities and ocean health overall due to climate change.
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Phytoplankton play a key role in helping the ocean absorb carbon from the atmosphere. PACE will identify different phytoplankton species from space.
With PACE, scientists will be able to tell what phytoplankton communities are present – from space! Before, this could only be done by analyzing a sample of seawater.
Telling “who’s who” in a phytoplankton bloom is key because different phytoplankton play vastly different roles in aquatic ecosystems. They can fuel the food chain and draw down carbon dioxide from the atmosphere to photosynthesize. Some phytoplankton populations capture carbon as they die and sink to the deep ocean; others release the gas back into the atmosphere as they decay near the surface.
Studying these teeny tiny critters from space will help scientists learn how and where phytoplankton are affected by climate change, and how changes in these communities may affect other creatures and ocean ecosystems.
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Climate models are one of our most powerful tools to understand how Earth is changing. PACE data will improve the data these models rely on.
The PACE mission will offer important insights on airborne particles of sea salt, smoke, human-made pollutants, and dust – collectively called aerosols – by observing how they interact with light.
With two instruments called polarimeters, SPEXone and HARP2, PACE will allow scientists to measure the size, composition, and abundance of these microscopic particles in our atmosphere. This information is crucial to figuring out how climate and air quality are changing.
PACE data will help scientists answer key climate questions, like how aerosols affect cloud formation or how ice clouds and liquid clouds differ.
It will also enable scientists to examine one of the trickiest components of climate change to model: how clouds and aerosols interact. Once PACE is operational, scientists can replace the estimates currently used to fill data gaps in climate models with measurements from the new satellite.
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With a view of the whole planet every two days, PACE will track both microscopic organisms in the ocean and microscopic particles in the atmosphere. PACE’s unique view will help us learn more about the ways climate change is impacting our planet’s ocean and atmosphere.
Stay up to date on the NASA PACE blog, and make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of sPACE!
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calmcoldevening · 10 months ago
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Back at it again with a prompt idea!
What if the slasher/s are trying to kill a victim but they are immortal and keep coming back
And the victim keeps following the slasher only to annoy and be a little menace to them >:3
(maybe they fall in love later O.O)
What ever slasher you choose is fine for me ;)
Art the clown x immortal!reader
Tw: blood, murdering, torturing? well, yeah. Art is an ass sometimes
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• Art has always been a fan of violent and noisy 'games' that chilled the blood in his veins. That was his sadistic nature, and the whole of Miles County and people for hundreds of miles around had already heard a lot about it. A strange man in a clown costume, who sent at least a dozen unhappy teenagers and adults to the next world. He loved blood and horror, and no one would dare stand in his way, not wanting to become another victim of brutal violence.
• Maybe it was fate's will, or maybe it was just your bad luck or an accident, but one day Art saw you in one of the cafes late at night. He was watching you from a dark alley, so it's unlikely that you would have seen him even if you really wanted to. He clutched his garbage bag in his hands, and a cruel grin appeared on his face. You were a good little thing and you definitely could have brightened up this cold night for him.
• Without thinking for long, Art hit you on the head at the most unexpected moment and took you to one of his 'game rooms', which in fact was just a room of one of the old factories in the city. He wasn't in the mood to hunt you down and catch you in your own house for a long time. This game was supposed to be fast but colorful.
• The clown involuntarily licked his lips, watching you slowly regain consciousness and open your big innocent eyes. He walks around you like some kind of fancy Christmas tree. You're sitting on an old wooden chair, badly scratched and already soaked in blood from past victims. Your limbs are tied in wooden material with strong leather straps, and thick barbed wire with rusty, blunt teeth is wrapped around your neck, chest and abdomen. There was a smell of dampness and fear in the air, which made the Clown giggle noiselessly.
• Finally, Art stopped right in front of you and gestured at the trash bag to your right. Making a playful, almost pretended sweet expression, or reached into the bag as if looking for a Christmas present for a small child. In the flickering light, a long thin tool with a convex handle and a bizarrely curved metal tip appears, more like a sharply sharpened blade. A man comes behind you and caresses your tense shoulders with almost uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers are rough and rough. The clown's palms slowly descend lower, sliding along your clothed back through the open part of the back of the chair. The movements are slow and measured. Suddenly his movements stop and in the next moment they are replaced by acute pain. Sparks dance in your eyes and you emit a strangled cry, reflexively your body gives way forward, blunt spikes painfully dig into your tender flesh. Art laughs soundlessly, continuing to press the blade deeper into your spine, and then abruptly moves his hand down. With a nasty creak, the fabric of your T-shirt is torn, and at the same time your soft flesh is torn. Art rejoices, seeing how his hands and white gloves are stained with maroon lingonberry liquid, flowing in a thick stream onto the concrete floor. Tears are pouring from your eyes as you desperately bite your lower lip in an attempt to control yourself. Your back, which was once a flawless canvas of pale skin, is now covered with a network of terrible red lines, each of which testifies to the cruelty of Art's tools and his relentless thirst for suffering. There is a pungent smell of iron in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that remains on your sweat-soaked skin.With deliberate slowness, I pick up the razor-sharp instrument again, its sinister curves gleaming in the dim light. Your body is trembling, every muscle is tense with fear, while the man is preparing to inflict even more torment on you.In the flickering shadows, a grotesque smile appears on his painted face, a silent promise of future torment.
• Suddenly, the blade hits the blood-soaked concrete with a ringing thud and bounces off somewhere to the dark wall. Art goes back to his "magic" bag and takes out some kind of leather strap. With a deft movement of his hands, he hooks the clips connected by a strap onto your wet cheeks, the gloves wet with blood rub unpleasantly against your face. Art smiles his creepy smile and gently touches your chin with his fingers. Your eyes were swollen and your cheeks were wet from tears and saliva flowing from your open mouth. But not that you can complain here. All you had to do was mumble something, barely moving your limp tongue.
• An unpleasant crunch filled the half-empty concrete room. With a strong crack, Art broke off a piece of your tooth with pliers, the fragment unpleasantly scratched the already bleeding gum. All you had to do was mumble something indistinctly, to which Art just grinned madly and jokingly grabbed your tongue with the edges of the pliers, watching the despair in your eyes. He broke off tooth after tooth until a dozen teeth had been pulled out in his hand.
• Your throat burned from screaming, and your eyes burned unpleasantly from the tears you shed. You wanted it to be over as soon as possible. Realizing that Art won't get the right reaction from you anymore, noticing your exhaustion, he snorts soundlessly, clearly losing interest. With a graceful movement of his hand, Art deftly takes out an old battered pistol from a trash bag. He slides the edges of the gun over your cheek, drawing uncomplicated patterns. His movements are slow and upward. One. Two. Three. Finally, his hand reaches your head, the muzzle of the gun is pressed against your painfully throbbing temple. You wearily close your eyes, feeling a leaden heaviness in your limbs. His arms and legs were already blue from lack of blood.
• Art blows on the smoke coming from the shower of the gun and throws the weapon back into the bag. The man steps back, admiring his work and your smoking wound on his temple for a couple of moments. After that, he carefully removes the straps from the dead body and puts them in a bag, slowly leaving the building.
• Art pinned a young man to the ground, slowly cutting the meat from his face and putting the skin in his mouth. A soft laugh was heard abruptly behind him, and another pair of hands, softer and softer palms, covered his hands. The man raises his eyebrows questioningly and turns back, meeting your satisfied gaze. Your face still looked tired and tear-stained, and there were bruises and streaks of blood on your neck, but overall you looked almost.. normal?
• Without thinking twice, you grab the scalpel from his hand and with a sharp movement stick the blade into the clown's eye. He screams soundlessly, raising his hands to his face. You step back, watching his agony with a satisfied expression on your face. "You didn't think it would end so easily, did you?" You purred, folding your arms over your chest. The clown frowns, baring his sharp black teeth, and jumps up from the lifeless body. He walks towards you with quick steps and grabs your throat with his cold hands, lifting you off the ground. No matter how thin he looks, the guy has plenty of strength. You giggle, covering his hands with yours. You can already feel the air leaving your lungs, being replaced by an unpleasant burning sensation. Without thinking twice, you reach out your hands, touching the clown's face with your fingers, and scratch his painted face, mixing the paint with the blood from his wounded eye. He presses harder, enjoying the crunch of your airways.
• It quickly turned into a constant game of cat and mouse. Wherever Art was, you were always there. And I was in his way. Art was angry, cursed, and killed you. But you were coming back. Each time, your body was still decorated with old scars, but the man added new ones. He realized that the old scars would disappear. He had to make new ones. It was as if he was celebrating his favorite, best victim in this way. He can't be uninterested in your natural stubbornness and immortality.
• Over time, the clown really begins to look forward to your recovery and return, despite the slight irritation that you cause in him. He feels it in the pleasant piercing of his fingers. His hands crave you, your body, his fingers want to touch your scars and leave new ones.
• Your constant presence in Art's life begins to gradually change his thinking and thoughts, your image has settled in his head like a damn poison.
• Your immortality and lack of fear make you a really worthy partner for Art, he realizes this on an unconscious level. There's something about you. Something that makes his blood boil in his head. He's falling in love with you. Yes, in his own way, but he falls in love. Despite your initial maniac-victim relationship, Art is starting to see you as almost an equal. This is surprising. He loves you in his own twisted way.
• Art and you are in a love-hate relationship, constantly joking and arguing with each other. Despite the constant quarrels, you are united by a deep connection and understanding, which becomes apparent in your communication. You both feel extremely comfortable in such a relationship in your own perverted way (this is especially damn noticeable in sex..)
• Art begins to crave your company and gets annoyed when you are not around. There's something nice about knowing that after a bloody murder, he can properly combine his anger and passion on you. Especially in your intimate moments. Playing with blood, strangulation and other elements of bdsm is an integral part of your pleasure. You are a perfect match for each other, you are feared by all the states in the district.
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agathasfamiliar · 5 months ago
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you better make me better (pt. 4)
agatha harkness x fem!reader (+ rio is here now)
A strange woman, who clearly shares a sorted history with Agatha, interrupts your moment together. Agatha asks for your help to deal with Death, and you're more than happy to oblige.
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other parts: 1 2 3 4
word count: ~4800
warnings: 18+ MDNI, dehumanization/objectification, exhibitionism/voyeurism, fingering, "good girl" and "pet", tiny bit of degradation and praise, jealousy, mention of death, brief description of a corpse, smut
author's note: it has been a bit! sorry for the delay but i hope you enjoy this part and let me know if you'd like more. also thank you for all your help, you know who you are.
tag list: @lanfear-is-my-darkmistress
You’re still catching your breath, Agatha’s eyes making a meal of your every coy adjustment, when a sudden strident sound overwhelms your senses from all sides.
It’s akin to a ringing in your ears, but with a bassier root noise that vibrates your jaw in its sockets. The higher pitches seem to claw the inside of your brain causing every hair on your body that isn’t already at attention due to the chill in the air, to stand on end. Punishing blares somehow surround you while also feeling like they are coming from inside your skull, making it clear that this isn’t simply some terrible musical instrument foreign to your ears, but rather something of an otherworldly origin.
Confirmation that you’re not alone in this strange experience comes with Agatha’s head whipping to face the clearing behind her. Her long curls sting your cheek with the force that they slap against your face in the proximity, but you don’t mind. The scent of her hair meets your nose fully in the process and you inhale the biting of a citrus peel that teeters on bitterness, but remains mouthwatering, mixed with something deep and earthy like black tea leaves with a hint of peppercorn.
Another rush of wind disrupts your analysis as it carries the overpowering smell of juniper into your nostrils that causes you to chase after the retreating scent of the woman before you. Juniper, you find odd, as you hadn’t observed any such trees in your trek through these woods.
“Shit!” Agatha swears, eyes scrunching up as if suddenly remembering, upon arriving home from the market, that she’d forgotten to buy the milk she needed.
“What is it?” You ask worriedly, trying to draw the woman’s attention back to you, to no avail.
Rather than a proper answer, you instead see the feminine silhouette of a figure clad in a long black bombazine mourning dress, trimmed in a deep green shade. She steps from the treeline opposite the two of you, a long torch in hand that roils with bright green flame, casting harsh shadows against the delicate features of her face. 
Some preternatural awareness tells you that the ringing in your ears, which has only minorly subsided, as well as the new scent added to the already woody air, has come from her. A pit settles in your stomach as you scan black hair and dark eyes from a rapidly closing distance. You can’t put your finger on what about this seemingly innocent woman, witch rather, if her colorful flame and entrance “music” was any indication to go by, is sending such bolts of doom into the core of you with a single glance. 
A glance from you, that is, as this woman, in all her approaching, has not spared a flicker of her vision for anything but the one that still brackets you against the tree.
Just as the awareness of Agatha’s maintaining hold crosses your mind, she is releasing you, instead turning to face the other witch head on, as she now only stands feet from you both. You glower to yourself at the loss of contact for a split second before Agatha’s hand comes up to hold your left hip in place, as if making sure you stay behind her. The small gesture of protectiveness sends a thrill through you as well as worry at the prospect of what could possibly cause Agatha Harkness to show any measure of fear.
“Agatha,” the green clad woman speaks her name like a blessing and a curse.
“Fancy seeing you here. Not like you to stick around at the scene of the crime…anymore, that is.” The black haired woman says like the two are sharing a secret you are definitely not privy to. 
Though you can’t see Agatha’s face, you can feel the slight twitch of her fingers against your hip at the final phrase before she speaks back.
“Seems I lost track of time, you know how that is.” She returns in a ridiculing tone you’d watched her use with your coven, though now with a more personal intent that stabs the words into the air.
The woman holding the torch nearly pouts at the response, completely nonplussed by whatever secret message is being communicated.
“Shame, here I was thinking you wanted to have a bit of fun.” The stranger replies teasingly, such that you feel both a twinge of jealousy in your gut and utter fascination at the history between the two witches.
“Ha! Actually, we’ve already had quite a lot of fun.” Agatha retorts with a laugh, the hand not holding you gesturing playfully over her shoulder to where you stand. You flush with pride at what borders close enough to praise, as well as the thought of her using you as some sort of brag to this woman she clearly has some significant past with.
Your mouth runs dry as you move your eyes from where they have been fixed at Agatha’s back to gaze at the woman whose name you still haven’t caught up close. She’s looking over you like she truly hadn’t even noticed there was a third living person in the general vicinity, though you find that hard to believe.
Her eyes case you in an instant, running over every visible inch and lingering for a moment over what you know is an already forming bruise that sits in the dip of your right collarbone from Agatha’s earlier exploration. The spot almost burns at the attention and you wonder if it’s just in your head or truly some magical product of the other woman’s glare. In all her searching though, deep brown pools never lock to yours. Not in a shy or anxious way, but rather in the way one might not think to look into the eyes of an animal, feeling no need to address it as conscious. 
With every near pass of her gaze to yours, your heart pumps faster in your chest and you’re not entirely sure why. Part of you wants desperately for this woman you don’t even know, to acknowledge your personhood, while another loathes the potential loss of the tension forming around her continued neglect. 
“What is this?” The woman asks, clearly referring to you, but looking to Agatha as she starts to further close the already small distance. Her eyes, which you haven’t been able to look away from, blaze slightly and nostrils flare in resentment as she does. 
“Not of your concern. She’s alive.” Agatha fires back pointedly and the statement causes you to internally quirk an eyebrow, trying to deduce the exact implication in it. She gives a half step to her left in order to guard you more fully from the other woman’s advance. 
This doesn’t seem to deter the darkly dressed witch at all as she steps up to Agatha and peers over the shorter woman’s shoulder to get a better look at you, her face now only inches from yours. A tickle spreads along your hairline and cheek where she scans your features, though she does not touch you. One hand remains at her side while the other extends behind her to keep the flamed torch at bay.
“Hm,” she starts thoughtfully, “it’s pretty.” The sweet word takes the shape of an insult in her mouth.
“Don’t you have a job you’re supposed to be doing?” Agatha asks accusatory, once again causing your mind to run wild chasing after its meaning.
“Can’t shirk your duties now.” She continues, the words being spit out like poison in her mouth.
The final word is heavy as lead and files itself away in your head as a possible piece in the boundless puzzle that is the dynamic between these two women. Two dark eyebrows lace together for a split second in what looks like a hurt expression on the stranger's face before she schools her features back to that of contempt and shifts to her heels to meet Agatha’s gaze again.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Especially after you’ve left such a gracious offering.” She replies with a wink and a wicked smile that you feel causes Agatha to tense even more in response to.
An offering, you wonder to yourself, images of altar gifts and tithe collections spring to your mind along with the memory from minutes ago of that purple halo surrounding Agatha’s head. You’re unsure how long you’re lost in thought, but before you know it the odd woman is stepping away from the two of you and approaching the splayed, grey-ish corpse of your coven leader at a casual stroll.
“What’s she-” Your question is cut off by Agatha’s interjection and another squeeze to your hip, still not having turned from her position facing away from you.
“Quiet, pet. You’ll see.” She responds in a tone that is half harsh and half very far away, gaze following the black-haired woman’s movements as she stoops down to the face of your former superior and traces the sharp, black nails of her free hand along the side of her hollow cheek, lazily.
From this angle, you can no longer see the faces of your coven leader or the one who leans down to touch her, but your breath seizes in your throat as a stirring starts to come from the body that has been lying still and lifeless for some time now.
Her crooked limbs twitch and spring to life as though waking from a fitful dream; it’s all you can do not to let out a yelp of fear at the apparent resurrection. Agatha’s nails digging into your hip are no longer enough to ground you to the situation, and before you can decide otherwise you are wrapping your arms around her waist from behind and burying your face into her left shoulder blade to shield you from the horrible sight.
A grateful calm washes over you when the witch doesn’t push you away and even relaxes marginally into your embrace, especially after her previous chiding. The irony isn’t lost on you that this image is somehow more frightening than that of all the bodies of those you’d known most of your life dropping motionless to the grass not too long prior. 
It isn’t until the previously diminished oppressive sound creeps back into your senses that you’re able to tear your eyes back open and peer over Agatha’s shoulder at the view before you again. The reverberating noise that rattles your skull and presses on your eardrums blocks out the details of the conversation that is clearly being had between the two witches who now stand several yards away. Even from this distance you can see your coven leader’s face has been returned to its former health and fullness. She doesn’t seem to notice you, despite you standing in her direct eyeline. 
All of this feels suddenly surreal again, as if you’re moments from waking from a dream due to your realizing its falsehood. That is until your eyes travel down the bodies of the pair to the ground below, where you see the clear image of your coven leader’s form still drained and stiff in the same position you’d remembered her in.
Your breath starts to come quicker as your eyes flick rapidly between the version talking to the darkly dressed woman and the one with sallow, sunken features unmoving in its permanent rest. Panic starts to well up within you and stinging tears brim at your eyes in your confusion, that growing sound turning from a droning to a screeching in your ears that you would claw at if you thought it might help. The burn you feel growing across your brain might very well be your neurons firing in succession to try to make sense of what it is you are looking at.
The answer doesn’t snap into place until a darkened doorway appears between two trees at the wave of the strange woman’s hand, spilling fog the color of jade onto the ground in front of it. She sends one last glance over to Agatha before stepping through it after the retreating lively version of the inexplicably dead woman who once led you and your fellow witches. 
Your panicked breaths cease completely at the reveal of the sudden change in her visage as she turns. What was just moments ago the elegant, if slightly languished features of a woman have now been replaced by a shadowy and vacant skeletal structure; bone white brow and cheekbones protrude over exposed teeth and a jaw that fixes her expression into an unrelenting mockery of a grin that strikes the identity of the formerly nameless woman into your heart.
The ringing in your ears reaches a fervor that seems will not let up until you admit what it is you now know to be true. The words leave you without your express permission, but as if breathing and releasing them are cosmically tied actions.
“She is Death.”
“Yes, very good.” Agatha responds, louder now that Death and the ghostly figure have vanished into the summoned portal, or perhaps it just seems that way with the sudden pause in the ambient noises that seem to follow the primordial being. 
The way she draws out the vowel on the confirmation brings a condescending tone to the perceived praise at your deduction skills, as if she’d been waiting impatiently for you to put two and two together. This interaction feels completely divorced from before, when she’d lit up at your realization of what she wanted, your pleading. It takes the wind out of your sails momentarily as you cast your eyes down to the dirt in shame.
“Oh, come on, don’t pout. It doesn’t look good on you.” She twists in your grasp before placing a hand on either side of your cheeks to roughly raise your face back to look at hers. You reluctantly meet her eyes and find them still slightly put-upon, but more satisfied with your following of instructions. They search you with a consideration, as if weighing her options. 
“You want to help me with something?” She asks, almost patronizingly in the way she clearly already knows the answer. You would feel shame if it weren’t overridden by just how much you do want to be useful to her. You nod, measured and desperate, and the smile she gives you melts away your fears and is well worth whatever it is she’s going to demand.
“Good girl.” She admires, hands supporting the weight of you melting into them at the title. Maybe, you think, you can endure the bite of her admonishments for how much sweeter they make the taste of her following commendations.
Her hands release your head once you’ve gained your composure back enough to return to an upright posture. Luckily, there’s not even enough time for you to mourn the loss before they have grazed down your sides and are maneuvering you around by the waist.
Agatha silently walks you the few paces back over to the center of the clearing where you had shared your first kiss such a short time ago. The determination on her face is fascinating but you think better than to ask her too many questions, especially after her response to the latest one. 
You stand with your arms awkwardly at your sides, letting her shift you a step to the left or right, a glance over your shoulder allowing you to deduce that she’s trying to find the perfect angle directly in view of the still-swirling doorway that Death has left behind. The witch hums in delight when she’s found the perfect spot for you; you bite your tongue in favor of mentioning that you’re almost certain this is the spot you started in. 
“Perfect!” She declares, clapping once to seemingly applaud her own curious work. 
“Now, lay down.” 
“What?” Your mouth asks before your brain can remember to nix any questions. 
Jumping into action before she can answer, or more likely scold you for the inquiry, you drop to the soft grass and fan your skirt around you to cover your legs from the chill of the blades swiping along them. You try to maneuver your hair to do the same, but the poking sod snakes its way along your neck and face and you already feel somewhat itchy. You push the need to fidget away and focus every thought on being still, being good.
Agatha watches you get comfortable with a smug sort of grin and you can tell the pieces of whatever plan she has brewed up are coming together.
You admire her for a moment from your worm's-eye view. The contrasting light cast by the starry night and sickly green magical fog strikingly paint her already stunning features and that fear you’d noticed at Death’s arrival has somewhat quelled with the giddiness in her at this mysterious plan. You’re happy for it, even if you have no idea what to expect next. 
She must catch your trailing stare that now dances shamelessly along the taut column of her neck, because the toe of her right shoe starts to playfully ghosts along your ankle to shift your legs further apart and ride up the hem of your dress just slightly. It’s an innocent enough action, but so soon after the previous events of the evening makes it enough to send shockwaves through your core in anticipation. It does little to tamp down the improper thoughts that the image of her long, exposed neck have already started brewing as well.
Your eyes drag up to Agatha’s face in delighted curiosity, only to find her staring off into the portal. It’s almost as if she hasn’t even noticed her own toying movement against your leg. 
She looks like she’s waiting for something, and you’re about to ask her what it is when your train of thought is cut off by action behind and in front of you. 
Having thought her request for help would involve some sort of ritual or spell, you’d been silently mourning the more pleasant section of the evening that seemingly came to an end with the arrival of the lady of Death. However, when said umbra-clad woman finally steps back into view through the magical vessel just ten feet from your head and Agatha drops to her knees between your spread legs at the arrival, you know it has only just begun. 
The facial expression upon the returning woman’s face, whether it’s surprised or even there at all, is lost to you as your gaze is locked on the one kneeling between your legs and the way that the cloth covering you ripples as her cool, searching hands crawl up your body from beneath it. The chill of her fingers causes you to inhale sharply through gritted teeth, your lower half still damp with sweat and furnace-hot from your earlier activities. Your eyes flick between Agatha’s face and her moving hands in delighted confusion, whatever she is doing now at least taking the shape of something you desire. 
Perhaps, you think, you do hear the faintest intake of breath from behind you at the obvious bulge in the fabric as Agatha’s left hand briefly hovers just over where you want her most, and it’s the only sign of this display having any effect on your newfound company until she speaks. It won’t dawn on you until much later that Death herself taking a breath is probably about as shocked of a reaction as they come. 
“Agatha.” Death uses her name now as a warning, as if cautioning a child from playing a cruel trick. 
Does that make you the trick? 
The thought of it should, you know, breed a certain amount of indignity in your heart. The way Agatha’s looking at you, however, like you’re just the suit she needed to pull in a high-stakes game of cards, causes any humiliation you’d have about the scenario to evaporate. While she may be using you, she's using you.
“Rio…” Agatha’s mocking return of the woman’s name trails off, so pointedly not looking at your only other living company, if you can call her that. Instead, her eyes rake over your body as your muscles tense and roll against both her hands that finally settle to grip your bare hips beneath your clothing. Her strong fingers work to still the slight rocking against nothing that you hadn’t even realized you’d started doing.
Rio, you think. At learning what you assume is the more human name used by the entity, you can’t help but turn over your shoulder to finally take her in once again with your new knowledge in mind. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief at the confirmation that you’re not being met with exposed bone, but a very human face looking on to the scene before her in intrigue mixed with simmering fury. 
The fact that she still actively avoids meeting your eye as you lay before her makes you run both hot and cold at once. She surveys you like one might regard a piece of furniture in a room and her gaze only reaches as far as your exposed, flushed neck before making a path right back down your supine form. It’s a level of supposed disinterest that can only be achieved through truthfully great curiosity.
“You don’t w-” You hear the beginning of Rio’s continued attempts at reasoning but they are lost to the sound of your own loud gasp that tears from you unexpectedly. 
Before you know it, there are two fingers buried in your wet heat for the second time tonight, the remnants of your first orgasm still enough to allow little resistance for Agatha’s reentry. You hadn’t even noticed her left hand leave your hip in your contemplation over the spectator in your midst, giving you no time to brace for the intrusion or try to stifle the loud noise that came of it. 
Her fingers don’t let up as they set a slow, but deep, curling pace that has you making a concerted effort not to instantly start writhing on the ground beneath you. A hot blush fills your cheeks when you find Agatha grinning at you as her hands work you over, your brows knit up and teeth sink into your bottom lip in your effort to keep some semblance of your composure. 
Of course you’d realized some aspect of Agatha’s intentions moments ago, but the actual experience of having her buried up to the last knuckle inside you as a near perfect stranger watched on, was something else entirely. Especially when that stranger was Death herself. 
“Sorry, what was that?” Agatha cheerily asks Rio, finally turning to meet her eyes as if she is simply knitting a sweater and not dragging you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy with every thrust of her hand. 
“Couldn’t hear you over the…” The casual chuckle in her voice and the way she raises her eyebrows once in emphasis as if to say ‘you know’ almost makes you want to laugh right along with her in your delirious state, having gone from quiet contemplation to whimpering mess in mere moments.
“Oh, my mistake! Should I talk louder!?” Rio replies, much louder now and with a naked anger in her voice.
Agatha’s pace quickens right along with the volume of the other woman’s exclamation, slamming that spot inside you in such rapid succession that you can’t help but let out another loud moan that trails on longer than you intend. This only seems to delight the woman fucking you all the more.
“That was a bit too much, honey!” Agatha fires back amusedly, matching Rio’s theatrical shouting. For a moment you think she’s referring to your moans and you flush with embarrassment before realizing her true intent.
Something about watching the two of them argue, both with focus locked on the other so intently that Agatha’s ministrations between your legs are the only indication that either of them even know you’re there, has somehow brought you hurtling towards climax much faster than before. She isn’t even touching your clit, but that doesn’t seem to matter at the moment. A little bit more of this and you’ll be gone.
The thought of coming apart around Agatha’s fingers like this, while she might not even notice it’s happening, somehow strikes both a feeling of dread and carnality through every inch of you. 
“Oh, you think?” The woman standing just a few yards behind you questions with irritation that now meets your ears with an undeniable elation laced within it. This is thrilling Death. 
You rock your hips even harder at the thought, partially involuntarily and partially to try to signal to the otherwise engrossed women that you’re moments from release. You’re torn at the concept of interrupting the display, canines digging so deeply into your lip to stifle your moans that you taste iron on your tongue. 
Agatha’s earlier teaching also springs to the front of your mind, but you can’t muster any “please”s at the moment. In fact, you’d rather drag this out longer than beg for more. The dark haired witch driving into you clearly has other plans, though, ones that involve her yanking you down even harder onto her fingers by your right hip all while she continues looking past you and maintaining her conversation. 
Your eyes roll and your head drops back at the somehow redoubled pleasure coursing through you. You can’t even moan now, mouth open in a silent scream. If this isn’t Agatha giving you the signal of her permission then you’re not sure of anything anymore.
“Yeah, I do.” She says with a sarcastic pitying tone and nod of the head.
The way she drags in and out of you, her rhythm and angle never faltering in her performed passivity, feels almost too good. The growing pressure below your belly is going to snap at any second. As much as you want to hold onto this deliciously sinful feeling for a while longer, with Agatha’s permission granted and your body screaming at you for its much needed release, you give yourself over to its whims.
“Better than not enough.” Rio bites back in a way that you know is meant to strike you, despite your back being to the woman. 
And it does, a spike of shame lances your heart in the exact same moment that you utterly come undone. If your first orgasm crashed over you, this one tears out of you. You can do nothing else but let the warm liquid gush from you to coat Agatha’s waiting hand as you release a string of guttural groans and high pitched gasps of pleasure, as well as embarrassment, that mingle in your brain to create an intoxicating concoction. 
Agatha’s fingers don’t cease for several more seconds, aftershocks causing your hips to jump and force her even further into you for a moment. You start squirming at the overwhelming sensation, words failing you as you bat her hand weakly. She stops her movements, but leaves the digits within you for the time being as you come down.
This is not an out of body experience like before, but a thoroughly grounded one. You feel the heaviness of satiation in every limb like gravity has suddenly become stronger around you and you figure if you weren’t already laying down you would’ve collapsed by now in pure fulfillment.
“See, it’s done already. Shame.” Death tuts dismissively down at you, eyes floating somewhere around your middle.
“Don’t worry, Agatha. I’ll just get finished up here and we can have some real fun.” She continues.
Agatha laughs darkly at that, but even you can hear the thread of longing within that threatens to rear its head.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. You go ahead and do your “work”, we’ll manage just fine.” Agatha starts, releasing your hip to make air quotes with her right hand while the other remains inside you.
At Rio’s assumption of your inadequacy and Agatha’s signal for more, you find a renewed vigor throughout your body and push up on your elbows into a more upright position.
“Please.” You plead in the most desperate voice you can muster, and you know from the look on Agatha’s face that you’ve done the right thing. 
Just out of the corner of your eye you can see Rio, who must’ve taken a few paces forward in the time you were otherwise occupied with your waves of euphoria, as her eyes flare at your word and Agatha’s gleeful reaction to it. She turns pointedly away and starts towards one of the other five bodies. 
It sends a chill down your spine that, in this moment, Death is jealous of you.
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yeloenk · 9 months ago
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grins mischievously and rubs my hands together like a fly
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i think human ink would frequently get bored of his hair color and hair style, trying out lots of different things!! he would definitely forget to maintain the dyejob tho so his white roots get REALLY bad until he dyes it again LMAO
while his dads aren't japanese (zephyr is french and idrk about undertop), they enjoy ink showing them japanese culture and participating in traditions and such :-)
ink, since they're immortal, decided he would dedicate his freetime into learning a bunch of different cultures and languages! this always tends to surprise others, since ink's short-term memory is absolute garbage. nobody understands how he remembers EVERYTHING about EVERY culture 😭😭🙏 you CANNOT keep a secret from this mofo no matter what language you speak
i think they would keep a digital diary with a camera! he records important events/moments so they can always look back at them, since he forgets a lot. his camera is mostly filled up with memories with their dads 🫶
ink LOVESS to bake!! he enjoys trying out different recepies and pastries from all around the world, but his favorites are macarons. he enjoys cooking as well, but moreso appreciates baking because of the exact instructions/measurements. (he is autistic like me and needs clear instructions or he will combust real and true trust me on this)
he has WAY too many hobbies for a normal person to keep up with. flute, baking, drawing, painting, writing, dancing, crocheting, knitting, embroidery, singing, gardening, you NAME it. any form of art, they know how to do and are surprisingly good at it
ink struggles with keeping up with his own very very busy mind. they have so many projects he wants to execute, but can only push out a few at a time. he hates having unfinished projects, and will stick with something until the end—for better or for worse.
he loves to paint over his vitiligo spots, or just painting on himself in general. they think it's fun & interesting to see how the spots shift and change on his skin, never growing bored of them.
-> his spots shift whenever code for a new AU is created, soo it's never really consistent LOL
he loves all forms of music, but holds a special place in his heart for songs that include lots of different classic instrumentals, like violin. he loves artists like fish in a birdcage and sparkbird (yes im projecting and you can't stop me)
he sometimes will drink paint out of the blue in front of others just for their reactions. they are priceless to ink and ALWAYS make him crack up so bad.. and then he has to explain that "nonono my paint specifically is okay for me to drink guys im not gonna die dw" ☠️☠️
ANNDDD i should probably stop there.. this post is so long LMFAO 😭😭 honestly most of these are just my normal ink headcanons, human or not, so take these as you will 🗣️🗣️
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celestialmazer · 5 months ago
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"A cyanometer (from cyan and -meter) is an instrument for measuring "blueness", specifically the colour intensity of blue sky. It is attributed to Horace-Bénédict de Saussure and Alexander von Humboldt. It consists of squares of paper dyed in graduated shades of blue and arranged in a color circle or square that can be held up and compared to the color of the sky."
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Cyanometer art work
A monument to the blueness of the sky
by Martin Bricelj Baraga - Ljubljana, Slovenia
Atlas Obscura article
Archimedes-lab.org article
Wikipedia
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tiredandoptimistic · 6 months ago
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TSC Fandom Survey Results
The time has finally come for me to share my data! For those unaware, I've spent the past week running a survey in which people ranked TSC books, characters, and ships. In the end, 50 people filled out my survey, which is way more than I expected! About 23% of the people who looked at the survey filled it out, and everyone who started finished it.
First off I'll post the simple rankings from each category, and below the cut I'll show the more complex results with explanations for why people voted the way they did.
Best series: 1. The Infernal Devices 2. The Mortal Instruments 3. The Dark Artifices 4. The Last Hours 5. The Eldest Curses 6. The Wicked Powers 7. The Secret Treasons
Best main girl: 1. Tessa Gray 2. Clary Fairchild 3. Emma Carstairs 4. Cordelia Carstairs 5. Dru Blackthorn
Best main couple: 1. Will/Tessa/Jem 2. Will/Tessa 3. Clary/Jace 4. Jem/Tessa 5. Julian/Emma 6. James/Cordelia 7. Dru/Ash
Best side couple: 1. Magnus/Alec 2. Simon/Isabelle 3. Thomas/Alastair 4. Kit/Ty 5. Kieran/Mark/Cristina 6. Charlotte/Henry 7. Sophie/Gideon 8. Gabriel/Cecily 9. Helen/Aline 10. Grace/Christopher 11. Gwyn/Diana 12. Lucie/Jesse 13. Ari/Anna
Best side character: 1. Raphael Santiago 2. Lily Chen 3. Maia Roberts 4. Ragnor Fell 5. George Lovelace 6. Catarina Loss 7. Livvy Blackthorn 8. Jessamine Lovelace 9. Luke Graymark 10. Jocelyn Fairchild 11. Maryse Lightwood 12. Eugenia Lightwood 13. Jordan Kyle 14. Robert Lightwood 15. Jaime Rosales 16. Michael Wayland 17. Amatis Graymark 18. Camille Belcourt 19. Nate Gray 20. Charles Fairchild
Best younger sibling/child: 1. Max Lightwood-Bane 2. Rafael Lightwood-Bane 3. Mina Carstairs 4. Max Lightwood 5. Tavvy Blackthorn 6. Alex Lightwood 7. Zachary Carstairs
Best villain: 1. Sebastian Morgenstern 2. Valentine Morgenstern 3. Annabel Blackthorn 4. Malcolm Fade 5. Axel Mortmain 6. Asmodeus 7. Shinyun Jung 8. Benedict Lightwood 9. Tatiana Blackthorn 10. Belial
Best side book: 1. Tales From the Shadowhunter Academy 2. Ghosts of the Shadow Market 3. The Bane Chronicles 4. Secrets of Blackthorn Hall 5. An Illustrated History of Notable Shadowhunters and Denizens of Downworld 6. The Shadowhunter's Codex 7. Better in Black 8. A Sea Change
Huzzah! Putting this all together has been so much fun for me, and I want to quickly thank everybody who participated! I also want to remind everyone that this was just for fun, and no reason to get mad at anybody. We're obviously never gonna agree on everything, we just need to respect each other's opinions.
If you want to know the nitty gritty of how every character was ranked, how the different series measured up against each other across categories, and why people like or dislike various books and characters, then keep reading below the cut! I made a spreadsheet, please come gaze upon my beautiful spreadsheet.
Here we go, time for the real shit!
Be warned, you will probably read mean things about characters you love and nice things about characters you hate. Angry rants about how you can't believe anyone would think that way belong in DMs to your friends, not the notes of my post. I do welcome discussion, just nothing that's targeted at other people. Also, I will be doing my best to explain people's opinions, that doesn't mean that I agree with them. I'm just trying to document. If I'm sharing my genuine personal opinion on anything, I'll make that clear.
You'll be seeing screenshots from my big spreadsheet throughout this thing. Here's your key: Columns represent characters/ships/series, rows represent a ranking. Each cell shows how many people assigned that rank to that character (for example, the intersection of 3 and Sizzy will be the number of people who voted Sizzy as their second favorite side ship). At the bottom there will be the average rank this character received, which was calculated by the program I used for the survey. I have all the columns color coordinated by which series each character/ship belongs to, and each column will have one box outlined which shows the rank that character received most often (as in, the intersection of Sizzy and 3 is outlined because Sizzy got more #3 votes than #1 #2 #4 or #5). Some columns have multiple boxes outlined, in the case of ties.
Make sense?
Alright, let's go!
First off, it's everyone's favorite series. As you can see, TID was significantly ahead of all the others. TMI and TDA were neck and neck, frequently switching back and forth for that #2 spot. TLH was a bit lower than the other three, and TEC, TWP, and TST all ranked dramatically lower.
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To explain why they liked TID, people talked about finding the series nostalgic, enjoying how the characters are woven into the plot, the historical setting, and how it expands the worldbuilding of TSC while still working as a contained story. People also mentioned enjoying specific characters like Will, Jessamine, and Gabriel. By far the most common comment though was just that people love Herongraystairs. The only negative comments came from people who said that they didn't find the concept interesting, and were disappointed by the lack of their favorite modern characters.
Talking about TMI, the most common positive comments were that the series was fun, nostalgic, and had the best cast of characters (specifically Alec, Magnus, and Simon). People also enjoy the modern setting, the interpersonal relationships (especially Malec), and how the world is seen to develop from where it was in the historical era. TMI has the fewest haters, but some people said that they just didn't find it as captivating as later series, or that they were put off by the incest plotline. I also received the criticism that the characters are annoying, and that the story could have been compressed into fewer books.
For TDA, a lot of people mentioned finding the characters relatable, enjoying the plot, and liking the Blackthorn family dynamic. The characters and ships who got specific shout-outs were Blackstairs, Kierarktina, and Mark. People also like the modern setting, found it to be emotional, and think that it effectively juggles a large cast of characters. Plus, people appreciate getting autistic representation from Ty. It has a solid number of detractors too, who say that they don't like Blackstairs (especially Julian), Thule, the Cohort, or the focus on Faerie politics. They also say that it has too many plotlines, takes itself too seriously, and that the last book (Queen of Air and Darkness) made them drop the series.
While TLH was ranked last of the main series, I'd like to point out that it has the same number of #1 votes as TDA, signaling that it has a similar number of intense fans. The difference really comes in with the lack of #2 or #3 votes, showing that people don't tend to be casual fans of the series. By far the most popular thing brought up by TLH enjoyers is the characters, and how they build an interconnected web with lots of fun dynamics (including developed family dynamics). People also like the number of queer and POC characters, the cozy vibe, the historical setting, the drama, and the ships (especially Herondaisy). The most common critiques all come back to the plot; that the main story is weak or even incoherent, and the series is stretched too thin across a number of side plots. People also dislike the lack of communication, and think that the characters don't feel like friends. Another complaint is that the world doesn't feel like a natural extension of TID, especially because the characters are so invested in mundane social structures like balls and reputations.
TEC is our first truly controversial series, and the main divide seems to be between people who think it's unnecessary fan service, and fans who feel serviced. The reasons I was given to like the series are the additional page time for Malec and the TMI gang, and that it fleshed out the TMI timeline. On the negative side, people say that it feels like a cash grab and that LBOTW didn't live up to the expectations set by RSOM. Overall though, the biggest reason that people ranked it so low was just that they hadn't read it.
Here's where we get into the series that were doomed to fail in the rankings because none of us have even read them. While TWP has a solid number of prospective fans ranking it in their top three, most people left it at the bottom because it hasn't come out yet. The people who expect to enjoy the series are the ones who enjoyed Dru, Kit, and Ty in TDA, and the ones who expect to dislike it are the ones who didn't enjoy those three in TDA.
So, TST was probably not fair to include in this list because I got a solid number of respondents who hadn't even heard of it, but I'm convinced that if it were ever to come out it would be in my top two series overall, and I want to see what the people think. While it didn't get anybody voting it #1 based on potential like TWP did, there were still some people saying that they would be excited to read it because of Waywood, the Luke/Jocelyn/Valentine drama, and the morally gray characters. On the other hand, there's the people who just don't care about the Circle and don't want to read about them.
For main girls, Tessa, Clary, and Emma were all pretty close in the average rankings. Cordelia and Dru fell a bit behind, but also had their share of committed fans.
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When talking about Tessa, people brought up her intelligence, maturity, and their nostalgia for her character. They also like that she's a book lover, has cool powers, isn't annoying, starts out messy before maturing, and is strong-willed. By far though, the most common comment was that they found her relatable. The downside to this relatability is that her detractors say she feels like an obvious reader insert, and is overshadowed by more interesting characters like Will, Jem, and Jessamine.
Clary had the most positive comments, and people love that she's funny, creative, blunt, fearless, iconic, and handles all the bullshit the world throws at her. (My personal favorite comment was the person who called her "my beautiful unhinged princess"). More than anything though, people love Clary for her development. She starts out as a relatable 15-year-old, but over the course of six TMI books and all her later appearances, she grows into a hero. She's also of course incredibly nostalgic, since most TSC fans were introduced to the world by either her or Tessa. On the downside, people say that she works better as a side character than a protagonist, and that she's overshadowed by the rest of TMI. They also think that she made bad choices throughout the series, and find her annoying.
What people love about Emma is that she's strong, funny, complex, badass, and a bit of an asshole. They like that she's allowed to have an attitude and still be treated as a cool and compelling woman by the narrative and the other characters. Plus, she comes across as having a clear voice that makes her feel like somebody they could be friends with in real life. Most of the people with specific complaints about her either didn't like TDA overall, or thought she was treated as an extension of Julian who never fulfilled her individual potential. Some people also found her badass bad bitch persona to be more exhausting than endearing.
Cordelia is probably the most controversial character in this category, with long lists of both positive and negative traits given by the fandom. On the bright side, she's fierce, badass, kind, and relatable. People also like to see a woman of color thriving in 1903 London, and how she embodies the concept of a warrior. Looking to the negative, people largely just don't find her particularly engaging. They say that she's inconsistant, flat, and had no development after Chain of Gold. They also complained about her making bad decisions and having a weak relationship with Lucie.
Everybody had the least to say about Dru, and most people said that they ranked her last just because they don't know enough about her to like her more than the established characters. What her fans do enjoy is that she's relatable, blunt, sassy, and a fat goth girl who's giving 2015 tumblr emo. The only real complaint people had was that they found her annoying in TDA, but everyone who left comments like that also acknowledged that she was 13 in TDA and will probably be more engaging once TWP gives her time in the spotlight.
Moving into the main couples, TID continues to sweep as Herongraystairs takes the top spot (and came incredibly close to taking the entirety of the top three). After that, the couples are spaced out pretty equally and follow the same pattern established by the previous two categories.
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Now, Herongraystairs received arguably the most bonkers majority in this entire survey. Nearly half of respondents ranked it as their #1, and only a couple outliers put it in their bottom three. What everybody loves about this ship is the angst, how willing they were to sacrifice for each other, the raw emotions, how perfectly the three balance each other, and the ideas about fate. They also like how all three of them are compelling characters on their own, have unique relationships in pairs (Wessa, Jessa, Heronstairs), and work even better as a complete unit. Will and Jem already loved each other, but they could only fully develop once they had Tessa; creating this tragic yet beautiful cloud of possibility. People also like the polyamorous aspect, and wish that they were a canon three way relationship. More than anything else though, what was commented again and again was simply "they loved each other so much." What else can you say? Well, I can say why a couple of people dislike the ship. The only reasons I was given was that the person didn't like TID overall, and that they prefer Jem and Will with a purely platonic parabatai bond.
Moving on to Wessa, people like their banter, the crazy build up to their relationship, and how they bonded over books. They also love how gutwrenching the relationship is, especially once you get to the epilogue of Clockwork Princess. The only complaint anybody had was that they aren't Herongraystairs, and the relationship is incomplete without Jem.
People of course love Clace for the nostalgia factor and how it's the relationship that introduced them to TSC, but most importantly people like how the two of them are just so horribly down bad for each other. They're cute, fun, and have good chemistry; forming the heart of the TMI gang and of the Shadowhunters world. What people don't like is that they're basic, getting overshadowed by other couples in their own series. The upside is that they get better in their appearances that came after TMI. There are of course also the people who don't like the incest plotline and felt uncomfortable reading about that era of their relationship.
Jessa was solidly in third for most of this survey, but Clace pulled ahead of them in the last day. Though they came in behind the other TID ships, they're still beloved by the fandom. People like their dynamic and enjoy Jem as a character. The downside is that the ship makes them sad because of the tragedy of their situation, doesn't include Will, and gets overused in the modern series.
As for Blackstairs, people see their relationship as beautiful, a good example of friends to lovers/forbidden romance, and worked in well with the plot of TDA. People also like the soulmate aspect. Their haters sure had a lot to say to counterbalance that though, and complained about how the relationship is melodramatic, overly intense, toxic, and codependant. I also got a few respondants who said that they just dislike Emma and Julian as individuals, and that Julian's behavior towards Emma is alarming.
Herondaisy is continuing TLH's grand tradition of coming in near the end while still maintaining a dedicated team of fans. The good stuff is how much James loved Cordelia, and that he spent so long unable to say anything, but once he was free from the Gracelet he never let her forget his devotion. Their love was powerful enough to break a hellish enchantment, but still felt like a friendship built on a shared interests like books and stories. The most common complaint about this relationship was miscommunication, dislike of James or Cordelia as characters, and not understanding why the two like each other (other than mutual attraction). There's also people who just don't like TLH and generally aren't invested in their story. The other main complaint was that the James/Grace and Cordelia/Matthew subplots felt unnecessary and overly drawn out (which of course connects back to the miscommunication issue).
Morgenthorn suffers from the same issue as the other TWP representatives, and largely got low marks because their books aren't out yet. Some people think they're shaping up to be iconic though, while others still aren't sold on the premise.
The side ships are where things start to really heat up. Based on their average rank, the pairs form a couple distinct tiers. First, is Malec, Sizzy, Thomastair, and Kitty (the fan favorites), next is Kierarktina, Chenry, Sophideon, and Gabrily making up the middle of the pack, then we have the less popular Haline, Gracetopher, Gwynburn, and Ghostwriter, and in dead last with by far the lowest score there's Arianna. (Sorry to the u-haul lesbians). I think it's quite interesting how most of the ships are clumped together with other ships from the same series.
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I'm guessing we all knew that Malec was gonna come in first. People love the nostalgia factor, of course, and they also love how the ship is queer, iconic, and just generally sweet. It's a case of opposites attract where the two of them help each other grow and reach for things they never thought possible. Both Alec and Magnus believed that they'd never be truly loved for who they were, and yet together they were able to create a life and family. Not a single person had a bad thing to say about these two.
Continuing the popularity of the TMI gang, Sizzy came shockingly close to beating Malec for first. They didn't get as many #1 votes as the other top ships, but they were still voted highly by more or less everyone. On the surface this couple is cute and funny, but what people really love is how perfectly they match each other. While they look like opposites at first, they're actually incredibly well-balanced. Everyone expected Isabelle to break Simon's heart, but he's able to stand up to her without being a dick and he sees her for who she really is under all her defensiveness. Plus, they're great individual characters and encourage each other to grow. They only negative comment they got was one person who finds them annoying.
Next up, Thomastair comes in to prove that there are at least some parts of TLH that are pretty universally adored. People like how Thomas saw the good in Alastair from the start, and watching his schoolboy crush develop into a mature romance. They like how Thomas helped Alastair accept love into his life, and Alastair encouraged Thomas to become confident in himself. The two of them were able to create their own world in Paris, which allowed them to escape the roles they felt trapped in. The characters are of course loved as individuals, and people got especially attached to Alastair and think that he deserves good things. People also like their communication skills, in contrast with other TLH couples. The only real complains people had with the ship was that it's connected to a series they dislike overall, and falls into the bully x victim trope.
Kitty is another ship that anybody who spends any length of time in the fandom will not be surprised to see in the top quarter of this list. They're beloved as characters, and even people who dislike TDA say that they were some of the best stuff in it. Fans enjoy how Kit understood Ty from the start and Ty felt truly comfortable with Kit. They also like how Kit can't make amends with Ty but still keeps his secret (shout-out to the person who described them as being in "doomed yaoi purgatory"). People also say that they have great chemistry and a lot of potential. What people dislike is really just that they haven't had time to fully develop, since TWP hasn't actually come out yet.
The next top ship is Kierarktina, which is where we exit the "pure adoration" tier of this list. People like the characters and all their different dynamics, and think that there's a lot of potential for growth with them. They also like the fact that they're a canonically polyamorous ship. The complaints I got were that the relationship feels rushed, and that Cristina seems to fetishize Kieran and Mark's relationship.
Getting into the TID ships all nicely chunked together in the middle of this list, people like Chenry for their arranged marriage setup, where both of them love each other but saw their feelings as unrequited for years. They also like Charlotte and Henry's combined autistic swag. What makes people hesitate is their lack of pagetime.
For Sophideon, people of course love the individual characters, and especially appreciate how Gideon adores everything about Sophie. The only downside is how little of them we get on the page.
Gabrily came in lower than Sophideon but did receive more #1 votes and fewer #13 votes, proving that they have a higher number of committed fans despite being less popular overall. Those fans like how the two of them loved each other for what they were and always had each other's backs. Nobody had any negative comments about them.
Haline is another mid-tier ship that didn't get many comments. What I did hear is that people like how their struggles were worth it because they had each other, and ranked them low because of their lack of page time.
Gracetopher is probably the most controversial ship on this list. If we were just going off of who received the most #1 votes, they would be fifth overall (that order would be Malec, Kitty, Thomastair, Sizzy, Gracetopher). Unfortunately for them though, we are also factoring in all the people who ranked them dead last. As this form received more and more submissions, I watched this couple gradually climb from second-to-last to the dizzying height of fourth-to-last in the overall rankings. First off, what people like is how they truly see each other. Christopher was overlooked by his friends for his intensity and Grace was only ever treated as a weapon and a seductress, but they genuinely respect each other and bond over their shared enthusiasm for science. Looking at the negatives though, most people saw their dynamic as underdeveloped and unnecessary. Lots of people dislike Grace and don't believe that she should have received any redemption, and even people who are sympathetic towards Grace still dislike that Christopher was so quick to forgive her after how she treated one of his best friends. A few people also said that they like Grace and Christopher's dynamic when it's platonic, but ranked it low as a romance. People were also upset by Christopher's death, and feel that it ruins the relationship for them.
For Gwynburn, the only positive comment I got was a couple people saying they're cute, and the only negative one came from somebody who didn't like Diana because they felt she was an irresponsible guardian to the Blackthorn kids. Most people ranked them higher than the other ships at the bottom of this list, but unfortunately they just didn't have enough extremely high votes to pull them ahead.
Ghostwriter didn't get any specific positive propaganda, though some people clearly do enjoy them. Most of the negative sentiments came from people who just found them uninteresting and generally didn't enjoy TLH. They also see the pairing as having wasted potential, and felt frustrated by the lack of consequences for Jesse's resurrection. They saw Lucie as boring and dislike Jesse for his mistreatment of Grace.
Despite being ranked last, Arianna fans still came in to share what they liked about the couple. They enjoy the characters and Anna's butch swag, and some people who don't like them together still enjoy the concept. What people largely dislike about the two is Anna as a character, and how she treated Ari and all the other women she had flings with. While not everyone was ready to give up on them because of Anna's flaws, they were frustrated by how she didn't resolve her issues or try to be better by the end of the trilogy. There were also people who thought that the ship didn't get enough page time, or who didn't connect with Ari as a character. People were also disappointed in how Ari was punished by the narrative and by Anna for not being ready to come out of the closet when she was seventeen and dependent on her bigoted parents.
Oh boy, time to dig into the biggest category (which still feels incredibly cut down, my original list was over 50 characters). Side characters are obviously a point of hot debate, since everybody has their favorite guy who the narrative forgot about. The most popular overall characters were all old favorites introduced in TMI, then there's George, Catarina, Livvy, and Jessamine (who all swapped around a fair bit), before we get into a large chunk of characters who either inspire mixed feelings or get forgotten entirely, and bringing up the rear is two of the most hated characters in TSC.
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First up, we have what I think is the biggest sweep of the whole survey; Raphael Santiago. He got about a third of the #1 votes, which isn't quite as dramatic a majority as Herongraystairs in their bracket, but far more impressive when you consider the sheer number of characters competing against Raphael for the top spot in this section. People think he's funny, iconic, and relatable. They love his sarcastic and grumpy sense of humor and his begrudging responsibility for the people around him. They also like his relationship with Magnus, as explored in "Saving Raphael Santiago" in The Bane Chronicles. The most common comment I got though was that people appreciate him being canonically aroace, and they remember him as their first experience seeing an aspec character in media. He received no negative comments (and few people left him out of their top ten).
Our second place goes to Lily, who got points for her iconic sense of humor, haunting backstory, and compelling relationships with both Alec and Raphael. She received no negative comments.
People like Maia but apparently don't have much to say about her. The only comments I got were that she's hot and a bad bitch, plus she overcame her difficult past.
Ragnor is appreciated how grouchy and melodramatic he is, and how he fits into the warlock friend group with Magnus and Catarina. I'd also like to shout-out his friendship with Raphael, since I love seeing them bond over their haterism. He received no negative comments.
George also didn't get many comments, but people grew attached to him very quickly and felt strongly affected by the tragedy of his death in TFSA, except for the person who said he felt like he got killed off for shock value.
People like Catarina's relationships with the other warlocks. I also want to point out her incredible selflessness and how she's even committed to helping people who hate her. She received no negative comments.
Livvy got the second most #1 votes after Raphael, and yet she's only #7 overall (ranked choice voting strikes again), and it looks to me like people either love her or don't care about her. What they love about her is the tragedy of her death and her relatable sense of responsibility towards her siblings, plus the continuation of her story in TWP. The only negative comment I got about her was from someone who didn't feel sad when she died.
Jessamine is seen as a fascinating and tragic character with a lot of potential depth who deserves more love. She got some low marks from her lack of page time though, and from people who found her attitude annoying.
Moving into some TST characters, Luke is noticeably higher than all the rest of his high school/fascist cult buddies. People like him for his dad vibes, and dislike him for his holier than thou attitude towards other members of the Circle. (Shout-out to my IRL friend who called him a DILF this morning).
Jocelyn didn't get many comments, and none that were positive. I'll chip in to say that I like how fierce and strong-willed she was when she decided to betray her abusive husband and raise Clary alone in NYC, and appreciate that she always tried to do what she thought would protect her daughter (even if it often wasn't actually what Clary wanted or needed). The people of the survey think she's a bad person and don't think that Clary should have forgiven her so easily for the way she lied to her. She moved up pretty far in the last day of this survey, but that was mostly due to other characters dropping in the rankings.
Maryse was behind Robert for most of the time this survey was gathering data, but her fans came in at the end to bump up her score. They like her relationships with her children, especially Jace and Alec, and are curious about her life before TMI when she had to deal with a loveless marriage and losing her brother to the mundane world. The only negative comment I received for her was someone who disliked how she treated Jace while he was being unfairly accused of working with Valentine.
While Eugenia is generally liked by TLH fans because she's funny, feisty, badass, and has a compelling relationship with Thomas; she scored fairly low overall because most people don't feel super attached to her due to her lack of page time.
The only positive comment I received about Jordan was that it was funny when he spent time with Jace and Simon. Mostly, people think that he was a toxic boyfriend to Maia and an awful person overall. They especially disliked that he and Maia got back together, even though he'd previously assaulted her after their breakup. Despite that, he's managed to make his way up from the bottom five of this list.
Robert is more controversial than his ex-wife, receiving more negative and more positive votes than her. People like his relationship with Michael as explored in "The Evil We Love," and how his personal issues with queerness bled into his relationship with his son. They enjoy both the angst of his difficult relationship with Alec, and the hopefulness that comes from his ability to grow as a person and try to be better for the sake of his kids. Folks who are less compelled by the angst just flat dislike him for his bad parenting. His ranking dropped dramatically in the last twelve hours, since I guess the people who can't forgive shitty parenting all showed up at the end.
People who like Jaime enjoy his attitude and see him as complex, and all the negative comments were about the age gap between him and Dru.
Michael is a character who seems to suffer from being nobody's favorite. No one had anything negative to say about him, but the only positive comments were in regards to his relationship with Robert, and the highest anybody ranked him was #4.
Amatis is somebody else who I believe suffered from not having any real fans. The only comment I got about her was that they ranked her low because they don't know much about her. The highest anybody ranked her was #6, and only one other character on this list has a highest rank that's lower than that. Nobody got mad at her like they did with Jordan or Jaime or Camille, but no one loves her like they love those three, so she ended up lower than them overall.
Camille got a fair number of high votes from people who enjoy her dramatic diva energy, and a lot of low ones from people who think she's just an awful person.
And here we have the first of the two most hated characters in this list. While he was dead last for almost an entire week, Nate finally managed to claw his way up to 19th place. Nobody had anything nice to say about him, and nobody ranked him higher than #7. I'll say that I find him interesting as an extension of Tessa's character and arc. People didn't have particularly complicated complaints, they just think that he's selfish, mean, awful, a traitor, a liar, an asshole, and completely irredeemable. Oof.
Even though he ended up in last place, Charles is distinct from the rest of the characters ranked this low because he actually does have a handful of fans who put him at #2 or #3. They think that he's an interesting character to study, even if he's an awful person. They also find his relationships with Alastair and Matthew to be compelling (though unhealthy) and relate to his place as an older sibling burdened by high expectations. As for the negatives, there's a whole laundry list. People see him as gross, annoying, selfish, awful, and boring. They hate his predatory relationship with Alastair in-universe, and which he was handled better by the author out of universe. I got one comment that said he felt like he was written by a straight woman, and in general people don't like how his arc was written.
Now that we're through with two of the largest and most controversial categories, let's move onto the one nobody cares about. I will admit that I included the children in this survey purely out of an interest in hearing if anybody had reasoning for preferring one small child over another.
Also, since we have two Max Lightwoods, I differentiated them using their middle inititals; Max M for Max Michael Lightwood-Bane, and Max J for Max Joseph Lightwood.
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Okay, so what I have in the positive column for every single kid on this list is more or less just their association with their parents. People like the Lightwood-Bane siblings because they like Malec, they like Mina because of Jessa, Tavvy because of the TDA Blackthorns, Max J because of the TMI Lightwoods, Alex because of Gabrily, and Zachary because of Cordelia and Thomastair. Negative comments were also often linked to parents, like ranking Mina low because they dislike Jessa, or disliking the Lightwood-Banes because their existence feels like fanservice and they don't believe Alec would be a good father at age 20. Rafe did get the positive comment that his story in GotSM made the respondant cry.
Positive comments for Tavvy focused on people feeling like they know him better than other kids on this list, and being excited to see more of him and his relationship with Dru in TWP.
Max J got comments talking about how much more character he has compared to the babies, and how the tragic end to his story strongly affeced people. People got attached to him from his love of manga, and appreciate how he symbolized the innocence that Alec, Isabelle, and Jace needed to fight for.
Alex and Zachary were ranked last by almost everyone, though they all made it clear that they bear no ill will towards these kids. Zachary did get one committed fan who loves the way he brings Alastair's arc to a close, and is excited to see more of him on Thomastair's BiB story. I think it's noteworthy that they have the same number of #1 votes, Zachary got more #2 and #3 votes, and Alex got more #4 and #5 votes; showing that once you discount the people placing them in the bottom two, Zachary is in fact more popular. (I'm assuming that most people who put them in the bottom two don't actually prefer one over the other).
The villain category was particulary interesting to me, because reading everyone's comments made it clear that many of us are working off of different definitions of what makes a good villain. The biggest question was whether a character being sympathetic made people see them as a great villain or a terrible one. The other cool thing about this category is you can see that almost all the villains from the same series stayed next to each other in the ranking.
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For as high as Sebastian ranked, he got relatively few comments. What people do like about him is that he was more relatable and redeemable than other villains because of how Valentine raised him, and yet he still went on to do unjustifiable things. They also think he was funny. The main complaint he got from several people was that the demon blood storyline made him a boring and badly constructed villain, since he had no free will in his own evilness. Also, y'know, the incest thing.
Valentine may not be ranked as highly as his son, but he did get far more specific compliments from people. They love to hate how logical, strategic, and pure evil he could be; as well as the way the story built up to him by showing the impact he had on the world. He was a skilled manipulator who convinced people to sacrifice everything in the name of his twisted values, and worked as a chillingly accurate representation of fascism. He also served the greater themes of TMI by allowing the leads to deny the violence and hatred passed down by their parents. Some people also just enjoy the Circle era characters. The only bad thing anyone said about him was that he's generic, one of a million bigoted middle aged white men in fiction.
Annabel and Malcom switched back and forth in the rankings a couple times while data was being gathered, since most people voted for the two of them as a unit. People like how tragic their storyline was, and how they served as foiled to Blackstairs because they too were people who loved each other enough to burn down the world. Ultimately, it was their sympathetic anti-Clave motivation that got most people to love them. The two points people held against them was that they're too sympathetic and thus not really villains, and that Annabel's potential was wasted in Queen of Air and Darkness. The folks who dislike TDA also dislike them on account of their association with the series.
Mortmain is our solidly mid tier villain. People across the board saw him as a simple pure evil force that the heroes had to win against, and the main question was whether people loved him or hated him for that simplicity.
The only reason anybody gave for enjoying Asmodeus was his association with Alec. The few negative comments he got were all about either his lack of page time or how his motivation being centered on his inherent evil made him uninteresting.
Shinyun is a more complicated character, and her reception was complicated as well. People like that she's associated with Alec through TEC, and that she showed how evil she was by rejecting redemption when it was offered to her. There were also some mixed feelings expressed about her place as a cult survivor, since that's a very human trauma that was not given enough dignity by the narrative. Negative opinions all came down to her lack of page time, and people who either never read or actively disliked TEC.
Benedict Lightwood might be the lowest anything from TID scored in this entire survey. People who enjoy him mentioned how he created realistic angst for Gideon and Gabriel, as a manipulative father they needed to learn to rebel against. What people think makes him a bad villain is that he's not a villain at all, just a generic shitty dad. Also, multiple people commented "worm" with no explanation.
Sadly for the villains of TLH, this isn't the way they were supposed to be the worst of the worst. While some people enjoyed Tatiana for her chaos and irredeemability, especially the way she abused her own daughter for years, overall she was seen as a boring letdown who could have been interesting if the narrative didn't treat her as pure evil. Maybe she could have had potential if she was allowed to be the main villain or if the story acknowledged the ways in which she felt abanoned by the Clave, but that's not the story we got.
As for Belial, nobody had anything positive to say about him. They thought that his plan was stupid (especially for a Prince of Hell), and that he was boring, annoying, and just generally underwhelming. He also received the same complaints as Asmodeus about how demons are uniniteresting villains because their only motive is their own inherent evil.
And here was have our final category: the side books! It's no surprise to me that the short story collections came in first, and that the unreleased books don't have a lot of fans yet.
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Our most popular pick was Tales From the Shadowhunter Academy, which people love because of how it followed up on TMI storylines while also expanding upon the world. It gave readers a look into characters they enjoy like Alec, Mark, and James, and of course the most popular comment I got was people gushing about getting time with Simon. They love the Sizzy moments too, as well as Simon's friendship with Clary and the rest of the TMI gang. It also got points for George's heartbreaking death, and for how much fun it was to read when it was serialized in 2015. The two stories people mentioned as their favorites were "The Evil We Love" and "Nothing But Shadows," showing how people enjoyed getting to look at points in the TSC timeline that aren't explored by other series. The only negative comment it got was from a person who finds Simon and Isabelle annoying.
Coming in at a close second, Ghosts of the Shadow Market is beloved mainly for its connection to Jem and Jessa. People enjoy that it served a purpose in the overall TSC plot, and showed how love can be born of tragedy. The stories people brought up were "Every Exquisite Thing," "The Land I Lost," and especially "Cast Long Shadows." It received no negative comments.
While The Bane Chronicles was the least favorite of the anthologies, it still clearly won the love of the people. They enjoy it mainly on account of Magnus, especially for his friendship with the other warlocks and his romance with Alec. They like how funny it is, and feel like it has the same charm as the early TMI books. The only negative comment I got about it was that it's boring.
Secrets of Blackthorn Hall got points for the wholesome and iconic vibes, and the interesting format of being published through tumblr. Someone also described it as a home renovation show in a haunted house, and people brought up being glad to see characters like Mark and Mina and ships like Kitty and Blackstairs. Some people just didn't find it interesting though, and others disliked it because it had so much Julian and Blackstairs.
An Illustrated History of Notable Shadowhunters and Denizens of Downworld probably got the fewest comments in this category. The people who love it appreciate the stunning art and interesting details about the characters, and all the low votes came from people who haven't read it.
The Shadowhunter's Codex is the oldest companion book on this list, and clearly didn't hit like the later additions to the canon. The only positive comments I got were from people who enjoyed Simon, Clary, and Jace's comments written into the margins. Generally people just didn't find it interesting, and saw it as a textbook that didn't even provide new information about the the world of Shadowhunters. There were also people who either didn't read it or couldn't finish it.
Better in Black of course hasn't been released, but people are excited to see their favorite couples back in action. In this survey, I got specific comments from people talking about Herondaisy and Thomastair. It still ranked pretty low overall, mainly because none of us have read it yet.
A Sea Change was most people's bottom pick, just because it isn't out yet. (My theory is that it ranked lower than BiB because BiB got everyone hyped through fandom engagement when we all debated which couples would be included, and that BiB appeals to fans of ten different ships while ASC only has fuel for Matthew fans). Predictably, the people who expect to love ASC are the ones excited to see the next chapter of Matthew's journey.
And with that, we're done! I'd like to once again thank everybody who participated, especially the folks who gave long or detailed comments. I had to simplify and summarize a lot in this post, but I truly enjoyed reading everything you all had to say.
I also want to take some time at the end here to address some questions I got about why stuff in this poll was set up the way it was. First, I got a lot of people saying that Kitty should have been considered a main couple, either in addition to Morgenthorn or instead of them. I get that we (so far) have a lot more Kitty material and that most of the fanbase is far more invested in them, but I'm counting the "main couple" as the one that includes the main girl. I also got some people confused by my choice to include unpublished works like TWP and Seasons of Shadowhunters, and while I understand that perspective I still stand by my decision. I know it's not fair to the series and that people can't accurately rate things they haven't read, but I wasn't trying for that kind of accuracy; I was curious about how much people love or hate things that aren't out yet. I'd love to see how TWP and SoS factor into these rankings once we've all read them, but for now I'm happy just hearing what people expect to think about them.
Also, everyone who left random silly comments or told me their favorite characters and scenes, y'all are the real ones. I did this whole project out of my love for this series and my interest in learning why people think the way they do, and I've been amazed by the positive response. This series and world is so incredibly expansive, and I love that all of us are able to find the different niches of TSC that make us happy.
If you actually read through all this, you're awesome and thanks for supporting my passion for turning emotions into numbers. If anybody has any additional questions, I am here to chat!
Taglist:
@edwinspaynes @helenofblackthorns @whaliensdream @iovelaces @darcyolsson @sankta-wraith @magnus-the-maqnificent @blue-silver-hammer @ineedmoremalec @kingslayerzzzz @thevagabondexpress @cara0765 @uncertified-shadowhunter-14 @elytrianemrald @thomasslightwood @starrieshq @blackthornobsessed @alastaircarstairsismybff @angeldaisies @dissapointmentsrus @bananacakepie
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Masashi Kishimoto Naruto Art Book (part-6)
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This is a piece where I was able to really show Naruto's personality in his pose and expression. I'm super pleased that I managed to draw something truly Narutoesque. The tension in the arrangement of Kakashi and Obito is also great. It isn't often that the entire composition works this well, so it's my favorite.
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It was fun drawing all of them as kids. I really like the contrast of adult Obito and child Obito facing different directions, indicating that his path and focus changed.
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I like this one a lot, because you can really feel Nine Tails' immense size and Naruto's mischievousness. I had fun drawing it because of the visual gimmick. I had forgotten that if you look closely, you can see Kakashi, Sakura and Sai.
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Enough people told me this was good that I started thinking so myself... Yeah. (LOL) But it was nice to illustrate a scene of family life, particularly because I didn't have many opportunities to draw something like that.
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I thought that Naruto was still too young to wear banana hammocks, so I ended up with this. When I actually tried to draw it, it creeped me out. Making Sakura wear a bikini was kind of embarrassing, so I opted for the shorts for her too.
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I drew this picture of Naruto, Kakashi and Sakura lined up to show how much each of them have grown
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This picture of Sasuke appeared as part of a composition for a Shonen Jump front cover alongside images of Naruto and Gaara. Due to space considerations, I ended up drawing Sasuke in a long, vertical pose. One problem here was whether or not the sword Sasuke's holding would fit in the scabbard--- I remember I had to carefully measure the length of both the sword and the scabbard. Also, the picture appeared somewhat plain alter coloring it, so I made Sasuke's sash red. Because of that detail, this may be a pretty rare picture of Sasuke.
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Cherry blossoms in full bloom...it's springtime in Kanohagakure. My concept for this picture was the characters having a cherry blossom viewing party, so I gave them some objects to suggest that. Naruto has a drinking cup, Sasuke has a Japanese musical instrument, and Sakura has a bento box containing rice dumplings and other foods. Fun, lots of fun. Kakashi was...actually kind of a distraction in this one. But I felt bad for him and decided to leave him in (laugh). And I showed that there's a breeze by drawing the cherry blossom petals as if they are being blown. It feels good when I can make the wind blow in a picture.
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I wanted to keep this picture looking like a pencil sketch. I lightly colored in the already fully shaded pencil drawing, I tested out a method of using two similar colors for each character's hair, skin and clothes, and another similar-toned pair of colors for the background. I tried to make the picture look three-dimensional by changing the level of contrast in these colors. I made one large mistake though I forgot to draw Ino's earrings (laugh).
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Team Asuma was the main focus in this volume. It makes Naruto look like a side character...
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6schoolsin6years · 4 months ago
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ah yes the clancy track list
take excessive measures in attempting to correct or make amends for an error, weakness, or problem
next half-year term in a school or college, typically lasting fifteen to eighteen weeks
relapse into bad ways or error.
northern central area of the mainland United States a color between blue and violet in the spectrum.
sequence of actions regularly followed; a fixed program in the period of darkness in each twenty-four hours;
a brief evocative description, account, or episode
the powerful desire for something
sumptuously rich, elaborate, or luxurious.
plan and direct the route or course of a ship, aircraft, or other form of transportation, especially by using instruments or maps
break or cause to break suddenly and completely, typically with a sharp cracking sound the rear surface of the human body from the shoulders to the hips.
an old song, film, or television program that is still well known or popular a place or building where a specified activity or service is based.
at the situation involving exposure to danger of an emotional state or reaction dumb
any of the twelve peers of Charlemagne's court, of whom the Count Palatine was the chief narrow passage of water connecting two seas or two other large areas of water
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anumberofhobbies · 6 months ago
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Jupiter: 10 Years of OPAL Observations by NASA Hubble Space Telescope Via Flickr: Hubble's sharp images track clouds and measure the winds, storms, and vortices, in addition to monitoring the size, shape, and behavior of Jupiter's Great Red Spot (GRS) storm. Hubble follows as the GRS continues shrinking in size and its winds are speeding up. OPAL data recently measured how often mysterious dark ovals — visible only at ultraviolet wavelengths — appeared in the "polar hoods" of stratospheric haze. Unlike Earth, Jupiter is only inclined three degrees on its axis (Earth is 23.5 degrees). Seasonal changes might not be expected, except that Jupiter's distance from the Sun varies by about 5% over its 12-year-long orbit, and so OPAL closely monitors the atmosphere for seasonal effects. Another Hubble advantage is that ground-based observatories can't continuously view Jupiter for two Jupiter rotations, because that adds up to 20 hours. During that time, an observatory on the ground would have gone into daytime and Jupiter would no longer be visible until the next evening. These two views of Jupiter showcase the wealth of information provided by the spectral filters on the Hubble Space Telescope's Wide Field Camera 3 (WFC3) science instrument. At left, the RGB composite is created using three filters at wavelengths similar to the colors seen by the human eye. At right, the wavelength bounds are widened beyond the visible range to extend just into the ultraviolet (UV) and infrared regimes. Humans cannot perceive these extended wavelengths, but some animals (such as mantis shrimp, whose eyes function similarly to certain sensors on some NASA missions) are able to detect infrared and ultraviolet light. The result is a vivid disk that shows UV-absorbing lofty hazes as orange (over the poles and in three large storms, including the Great Red Spot), and freshly-formed ice as white (compact storm plumes just north of the equator). Astronomers, including the OPAL team, use these filters (and others not shown here) to study differences in cloud thickness, altitude, and chemical makeup. For more information: science.nasa.gov/missions/hubble/nasas-hubble-celebrates-... Image credit: NASA, ESA, Amy Simon (NASA-GSFC), Michael H. Wong (UC Berkeley); Image Processing: Joseph DePasquale (STScI) Find us on X, Instagram, Facebook and YouTube
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wheelsgoroundincircles · 1 year ago
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Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible
This 1953 Muntz Jet convertible underwent a three-year custom build under previous ownership, and it was purchased by the seller in 2021. The car is powered by a fuel-injected 5.7-liter LT1 V8 engine paired with a four-speed automatic transmission and a Ford 9″ rear end, and it is finished in Apple Pearl with a white Carson-style removable top over gray snakeskin-style Naugahyde upholstery. Features include custom bodywork, an Art Morrison frame, power-assisted steering, four-wheel disc brakes, airbag suspension, Painless Performance wiring, and more modified and fabricated details. This custom-built Muntz is now offered with a copy of Rodder’s Journal magazine featuring a story on the build and a clean California title in the name of the seller’s business.
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Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible
The steel, aluminum, and fiberglass body is mounted on an Art Morrison ladder frame that was boxed and finished in semi-gloss black, and the floor was raised 3″. The exterior was repainted in a Sherwin Williams two-stage Apple Pearl mixed by the late Stan Betz. Features include a chopped Duvall-style windshield, 1950 Chevrolet headlights, dual Appleton spotlights, 1951 Ford Victoria side windows, and a white removable Carson-style top fabricated to match the height of the chopped windshield. Additional equipment includes color-matched rear fender skirts and chrome bumpers. Wear from fitting the top is noted on the rear deck.
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Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible
Steel wheels sourced from a 1976 Dodge measure 15″ and are mounted with Cadillac Sombrero-style covers and whitewall tires. A matching spare fitted with a BFGoodrich Silvertown tire is mounted within a rear-mounted Continental-style chrome carrier. A Mustang II front end accommodates power rack-and-pinion steering , and the car rides on an electronically-adjustable Air Ride Technologies airbag suspension system along with 2” lowered front spindles, Strange Engineering tube shocks, a rear Panhard bar, and front and rear sway bars. The seller reports that the front control arm bushings were recently replaced.
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Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible
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Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible
Braking is handled by GM G-body-sourced calipers matched with Ford Granada discs up front and Ford SVO-specification calipers and discs at the rear.
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Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible
The cabin was customized by Jim’s Auto Trim of San Diego, California, and features Glide bucket seats and a rear bench trimmed in gray snakeskin-style Naugahyde upholstery, along with matching treatments for the dash trim, headliner, and door panels. Additional equipment includes a 1952 Lincoln steering wheel mounted to a shortened Lincoln steering column, gray cut-pile carpet, and a Pioneer stereo housed within a custom center cubby.
The engine-turned “Hollywood” instrument cluster houses Stewart Warner gauges consisting of an 8k-rpm tachometer, a 160-mph speedometer, and auxiliary readings for fuel level, battery charge, oil pressure, and water temperature. The five-digit odometer displays 25k miles, though total chassis mileage is unknown. A Lokar pedal assembly was fitted during the build.
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Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible
The Corvette-sourced 5.7-liter LT1 V8 features a polished fuel intake manifold along with billet aluminum valve covers, and additional features include an Opti-Spark distributor, a Griffin aluminum radiator, and a wiring loom sourced from Painless Performance Wiring. A set of long-tube headers are connected to a 2.5″ exhaust system equipped with dual Dynaflow mufflers. The seller reports that the oil was recently changed.
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Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible
Power is routed to the rear wheels via a four-speed 4L60E automatic transmission and a Ford 9″ rear end with with 3.55:1 gears and Strange Engineering 31-spline axles. Additional photos of the underside, drivetrain, and suspension components are presented in the gallery below.
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Custom 1953 Muntz Jet Convertible
The car was featured in issue #36 of Rodders Journal magazine
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horeformilfs · 1 year ago
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Searching for Home
Dimitrescu Family x Gender Neutral Autistic Reader
TW: Bullying, Mention of Parental Death
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As the sun dipped behind the towering peaks of the Carpathian Mountains, casting a golden glow over the quaint village below, Y/N trudged out of the orphanage gates, shoulders hunched against the biting chill of the evening air. For seven long years, they had called this place home, but it had never felt like home. The laughter of other children echoed in the distance, a cruel reminder of their own solitude.
Y/N's steps faltered as a sudden cacophony of noise erupted around them. Startled, they instinctively covered their ears, heart pounding erratically in their chest. The world seemed to spin, the sounds blending into a nightmarish symphony of chaos. The older kids, faces twisted with malice, stood nearby, wielding an array of makeshift instruments to amplify the din.
"Look at the freak! Can't even handle a little noise," one of them jeered, his voice laced with cruelty.
Y/N's breaths came in short, ragged gasps as panic seized them, every nerve on edge. Desperate, they stumbled backward, eyes wide with fear, seeking escape from the overwhelming onslaught of sensory input.
"Leave me alone!" they cried, voice raw with emotion, but their words were lost amidst the clamor.
With a strangled sob, Y/N turned and fled, feet pounding against the cobblestones, tears blurring their vision. 
The village blurred past in a blur of colors and shapes, each alleyway a potential dead end. But Y/N pressed on, driven by a primal instinct to flee, to outrun the demons nipping at their heels.
Finally, as their legs threatened to give out beneath them, they stumbled upon the village church, its weathered stones looming like a beacon of refuge amidst the chaos. With one last burst of energy, they pushed open the heavy wooden door and stumbled inside, heart pounding in their chest.
As Y/N cowered behind the heavy wooden door of the village church, their heart still racing from the chase, they felt a sense of fleeting safety wash over them. The sounds of their pursuers grew fainter as they rounded a corner, their frantic footsteps fading into the distance.
Breathing heavily, Y/N pressed their back against the door, eyes darting around the dimly lit interior of the church. Shadows danced across the walls, casting eerie shapes upon the worn stone floor. With trembling hands, they reached out to steady themselves, fingertips grazing the rough surface of the doorframe.
Frantically, they scanned the room for any sign of movement, any indication that they were not alone. But save for the faint flicker of candlelight and the soft rustle of fabric, the church remained eerily silent.
Their gaze came to rest upon a faded photograph hanging on the wall, illuminated by the dim glow of the candles. It depicted a stern-faced woman, her eyes fixed in an unwavering gaze, her presence looming over the room like a silent sentinel. Mother Miranda, the villagers whispered, a figure of reverence and fear in equal measure.
Though Y/N had never been one for religion, in this moment of desperation, they found themselves drawn to the image before them. With a shaky breath, they bowed their head and clasped their hands together, fingers intertwining in silent supplication.
"Mother Miranda," they whispered, the words feeling foreign upon their lips. "Please... please help me. I don't want to go back there. I just want to be safe."
Closing their eyes, Y/N rocked back and forth, a soothing rhythm born from years of seeking solace in moments of overwhelming sensory input. They pressed their palms against their ears, willing the world to fade away, to grant them respite from the tumultuous storm raging within.
Unbeknownst to them, in the shadowed recesses of the church, a figure stirred. Mother Miranda herself, her presence as silent as a whisper, watched from the darkness, her gaze softening as she beheld the child huddled before her.
As Y/N's eyes widened in shock at the sight of Mother Miranda approaching, a wave of fear and uncertainty washed over them. Their instincts screamed at them to flee, to put as much distance between themselves and this enigmatic figure as possible. But as they pressed back against the solid wooden door, they found themselves trapped, with nowhere to run.
Miranda, sensing their distress, moved forward with slow, deliberate steps, her expression gentle yet unreadable beneath the mask that obscured her features. But as she drew nearer, Y/N's panic only intensified, their heart pounding in their chest like a trapped bird.
"Please, stay back," they whispered, voice trembling with fear, as they instinctively tried to shrink away from her looming presence.
Miranda paused, her keen gaze softened with understanding. She could sense the fear radiating from the child before her, could see the tension in their trembling form. With a silent nod, she halted her approach, giving them the space they so desperately sought.
But Miranda knew that mere words would not be enough to quell their fear, not when faced with the unknown. And so, with deliberate care, she reached up and began to unfasten the mask that obscured her face, revealing the woman beneath.
Y/N's eyes widened in surprise as the mask fell away, revealing features softened by compassion and empathy. It was unheard of for Mother Miranda to show such vulnerability, to strip away the veil of mystery that shrouded her every action. And yet, here she was, kneeling before them with a tenderness that took their breath away.
Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as Miranda brushed a gentle hand against their cheek, her touch as light as a feather. But as they flinched away, overcome by a lifetime of mistrust and uncertainty, Miranda's heart ached for the pain that lay hidden within.
"It's alright, child," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm against their frayed nerves. "You're safe now. Tell me, what has happened? How can I help you?"
Y/N hesitated, their gaze flickering away as they struggled to put their feelings into words. But Miranda was patient, her presence a comforting anchor in the storm of their emotions. And as they finally found the courage to speak, halting and hesitant though it may be, she listened with an open heart, ready to offer whatever solace they sought.
As Y/N poured out their heart to Miranda, recounting the cruel prank and the years of loneliness and ridicule they had endured, Miranda listened with a compassion that spoke volumes. Her eyes softened with empathy, mirroring the pain reflected in Y/N's own gaze.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, my child," Miranda said softly, her voice carrying a weight of understanding. "No one should ever have to feel so alone."
When Y/N mentioned their parents, Miranda's expression shifted, a flicker of sorrow crossing her features. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss," she murmured, her voice laced with genuine sympathy. "Lycan attacks can be devastating. Your strength in facing such tragedy is admirable."
As Y/N hesitated at Miranda's offer of a hug, Miranda respected their boundaries with a gentle nod. "Only if you feel comfortable, my dear," she assured them, her tone warm and reassuring.
With cautious acceptance, Y/N leaned into Miranda's embrace, feeling the comforting warmth of her presence envelop them like a protective cloak. Miranda's touch was gentle, her movements slow and deliberate, as she wrapped her arms around them in a gesture of comfort and reassurance.
As Miranda stroked their hair with tender affection, Y/N felt a sense of peace wash over them, a fleeting moment of solace amidst the chaos of their world. And as they pulled away from the hug, a hesitant smile tugging at their lips, they found themselves trusting this woman in a way they never thought possible.
With a soft rustle of fabric, Miranda replaced her mask, the enigmatic facade once again in place. "Come, child," she said, her voice gentle yet commanding. "I have a place where you will be safe."
As they walked together in companionable silence towards Castle Dimitrescu, Y/N couldn't help but notice the grandeur of their surroundings, the imposing walls of the castle looming overhead like silent sentinels. But though questions tugged at their mind, they remained unspoken, for now content to follow Miranda's lead.
Entering the castle, they were met by a maid, whose eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Miranda. "Are you here to speak with Lady Dimitrescu, ma'am?" she asked, her voice deferential.
Miranda nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Yes, please inform her of our arrival," she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.
As the maid scurried off to relay the message, Y/N glanced up at Miranda, curiosity and uncertainty warring within them. "Where are we going?" they ventured to ask, their voice barely above a whisper.
Miranda's smile was gentle, her eyes filled with a promise of sanctuary. "You'll see, my dear," she replied cryptically, her hand resting reassuringly on Y/N's shoulder as they ventured deeper into the heart of the castle.
As Miranda led Y/N to the second floor of the castle, their heart hammered in their chest with each echoing step. The air felt charged with anticipation as Miranda knocked on a door, the sound reverberating through the quiet corridor. A muffled voice answered from within, and Miranda pushed the door open, ushering Y/N into the room.
Inside, a woman adorned in a cream-colored dress, a striking black hat perched upon her head, and leather gloves adorning her hands, turned to greet them. It was Lady Dimitrescu herself, her presence commanding attention as she rose from her seat, towering over them with an imposing stature that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.
Y/N's eyes widened in awe and trepidation as they beheld the formidable figure before them. They instinctively took a step back, their breath catching in their throat, but Miranda's reassuring presence at their side anchored them in the moment.
"It's alright, my dear," Miranda murmured, her voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of fear. "Lady Dimitrescu won't harm you. She just wants to talk."
Slowly, Lady Dimitrescu approached, her movements deliberate and measured as she knelt down before Y/N, her gaze gentle yet penetrating. "What is your name, child?" she asked, her voice carrying a warmth that belied her intimidating exterior.
Y/N's gaze dropped to the floor, their fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of their shirt. They mumbled a response, barely audible above the rush of their own heartbeat.
Miranda interjected, her voice calm yet firm. "Their name is Y/N," she said, her eyes meeting Lady Dimitrescu's with a silent understanding. "I would like to speak with you privately for a moment, if you don't mind."
Lady Dimitrescu nodded, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment longer before turning to Miranda. "Of course," she replied, her tone betraying none of the curiosity that flickered in her eyes. "We can speak in the study."
As Y/N waited alone in the room, a strange buzzing sound began to fill the air, growing louder with each passing moment. Their heart raced with apprehension as they turned towards the source of the noise, eyes widening in surprise as three figures materialized before them.
The first, with flowing blonde hair and piercing yellow eyes, stepped forward, her presence exuding an air of confidence and elegance. "Well, well, what do we have here?" she purred, her voice smooth as silk as she regarded Y/N with a curious gaze.
Y/N's breath caught in their throat as they tried to find their voice, the weight of the three women's scrutiny bearing down upon them. With a shaky breath, they managed to whisper their name, barely audible above the hum of uncertainty that filled the room.
The blonde woman smiled, a predatory gleam dancing in her eyes. "Ah, a visitor," she mused, her tone laced with amusement. "Well, little one, allow me to introduce myself. I am Bela."
As she spoke, Y/N took in her features, noting the drained mascara that framed her eyes, the bloodstains that adorned her lips like a twisted smile. Despite her ethereal beauty, there was something undeniably unsettling about her presence.
Beside her stood two other women, each bearing a striking resemblance to Bela in both appearance and demeanor. Daniela, with her fiery red hair and intense gaze, and Cassandra, with her dark locks and stoic expression, completed the trio, their presence looming over Y/N like silent guardians.
Together, they formed a formidable trio, their allegiance to House Dimitrescu evident in the flower tattoos that adorned their foreheads. And as they regarded Y/N with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, the air crackled with an unspoken tension, a silent invitation into the mysterious world of Castle Dimitrescu.
As the conversation flowed between them, Bela and Daniela peppered Y/N with questions, their curiosity piqued by the presence of this newcomer in their midst. Cassandra, however, remained aloof, her gaze flickering between her sisters and Y/N, uncertainty etched upon her features.
As the evening wore on, Y/N's exhaustion became palpable, their eyelids growing heavy with weariness. Sensing their fatigue, Bela gently inquired about Miranda and her mother's departure, her voice tinged with concern.
Y/N blinked owlishly, trying to recall the details of their departure. "I'm not sure," they admitted softly, their gaze wandering around the room until it landed on a clock hanging on the wall, its hands pointing to the late hour of 10 pm.
With a sigh, Bela guided Y/N to the couch, settling them between herself and Daniela. Daniela, ever the nurturing sister, retrieved a book and began to read aloud, the sound of her voice a soothing lullaby that washed over Y/N like a gentle breeze.
As the words of the story wove a tapestry of dreams, Y/N's eyelids drooped lower and lower, until at last, they succumbed to the embrace of sleep. Their head lolled to the side, coming to rest against Bela's shoulder, and she adjusted their position with a gentle touch, ensuring their comfort as she stroked their hair with tender affection.
Across the room, Cassandra watched silently, her expression unreadable as she observed the scene before her. But beneath her stoic facade, a flicker of something akin to warmth stirred within her, a newfound curiosity kindled by the presence of this enigmatic stranger in their home.
As Bela and Daniela exchanged whispers, their voices hushed with a mixture of curiosity and concern, Cassandra remained silent, her thoughts swirling like shadows in the depths of her mind.
"Did you notice anything strange about them?" Cassandra interjected suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet of the room like a sharp blade.
Bela and Daniela exchanged glances, their brows furrowing in contemplation. "Not particularly," Bela replied, her tone thoughtful. "Why, did you?"
Cassandra nodded, her expression grave. "There were a few things," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "They seemed... different somehow."
Bela's brow furrowed in concern. "Different how?" she pressed, her gaze searching Cassandra's face for answers.
Cassandra hesitated, her words carefully measured as she recounted her observations. "They had intense interests in specific topics, and their speech lacked inflection," she began, ticking off the points on her fingers. "They also displayed signs of anxiety, fidgeting, sensitivity to light and noise, and various tics and stimming behaviors."
Bela's eyes widened in realization, her thoughts racing as she considered Cassandra's words. "Do you think... they might be autistic?" she ventured, her voice soft with uncertainty.
Cassandra shrugged, her expression unreadable. "It's possible," she conceded, her tone cautious. "Perhaps we can ask them about it when they wake up."
Just then, the door opened, and Miranda and Alcina returned, their presence filling the room with a sense of calm authority. Miranda's gaze softened as she beheld Y/N asleep against Bela, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Bela turned to Alcina, her brow furrowed with concern. "What's going to happen now?" she asked, her voice tinged with apprehension.
Alcina's expression softened as she regarded her daughters. "If Y/N decides to stay, they will be welcomed into our home," she explained gently. "But if not... well, we'll deal with that when the time comes."
Bela nodded in understanding, her thoughts racing with the weight of the decision that lay ahead. As she gently roused Y/N from their slumber, their eyes fluttered open, confusion etched upon their features as they took in the sight of Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu standing before them.
Miranda's voice was gentle as she explained the situation, giving Y/N time to process the offer that lay before them. And as they took a moment to consider their options, Alcina posed the question that hung heavy in the air.
"Would you like to stay with us, Y/N?" she asked, her tone soft with genuine concern.
After a moment of contemplation, Y/N met Alcina's gaze with a determined nod. "Yes," they replied, their voice steady with newfound resolve. "I would like that."
As Miranda reassured Y/N of their safety and well-being, a sense of relief washed over them, tempered by a lingering hint of hesitation. But as Miranda made to leave, Y/N's eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, a silent plea for reassurance.
"Remember, my dear, you are in good hands," Miranda said, her voice soft with genuine care. "I will return in a few days to check up on you, and I'll come by weekly to see how you're adjusting."
Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of their lips. "Thank you, Miranda," they murmured, their gratitude evident in every word.
With a nod of acknowledgment, Miranda took her leave, her departure leaving an echo of quietude in her wake. Alcina stepped forward, her presence a comforting anchor in the sea of uncertainty.
"Come, Y/N," she said gently, her voice warm with reassurance. "Let me show you to your room."
But before they could move, Cassandra interjected, her voice filled with a quiet determination. "Mother, I have a question for Y/N," she said, her gaze fixed on her mother's face.
Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the prospect of yet another interrogation, their anxiety bubbling to the surface like a turbulent storm. But Daniela was quick to offer a reassuring smile, her voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of panic.
"Don't worry, little one," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "It's nothing bad, I promise."
With a hesitant nod, Y/N braced themselves for whatever question lay ahead, their mind a whirlwind of uncertainty and apprehension. 
As Cassandra posed her question, a heavy silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sound of Y/N's quickening breaths. Their muscles tensed, every nerve on edge as they grappled with the weight of their answer.
Cassandra's gaze was steady, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern as she awaited Y/N's response. "Are you autistic?" she asked, her voice gentle yet direct.
"Yes," they whispered, their voice barely above a whisper, but it echoed loudly in the quiet of the room. "Yes, I am."
Instantly, a torrent of nervous energy flooded through them, their words tumbling out in a rush of panicked apology. "But if that's a problem, I can leave, I'll find somewhere else to stay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause any trouble, I-"
But before they could spiral further into self-doubt, Alcina moved with a grace born of years of experience, kneeling before them and gently lifting their chin with a touch as light as a feather. She smiled reassuringly, her eyes warm with understanding.
"Shh, child, it's alright," she murmured, her voice a soothing melody that calmed the storm raging within Y/N's mind. "Just breathe."
As Y/N's frantic apologies subsided, Alcina listened patiently, her daughters and Cassandra gathered around in a circle of support. And as Y/N poured out their fears and insecurities, recounting the hurtful reactions of others in the past, Alcina's heart ached with a newfound understanding.
"You are not most people," she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. "You are here with us now, and we are here for you. Your identity is not a problem; it is a part of who you are, and we accept you for it."
Moved by her words, Bela and Daniela stepped forward, their arms open in a silent invitation. "Are you okay with a hug?" Bela asked softly, her eyes filled with empathy.
Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at their lips as they leaned into the embrace, feeling the warmth and acceptance of their newfound family enveloping them like a comforting embrace. And as they stood there, held in the embrace of those who now stood by their side, they knew, in that moment, that they were home.
With Y/N enveloped in the warmth of their embrace, Bela and Daniela exchanged glances, their expressions soft with empathy. Cassandra approached cautiously, her movements tentative as she joined the circle, her gaze meeting Y/N's with a newfound sense of understanding.
"Thank you," Y/N whispered, their voice tinged with gratitude as they leaned into the comforting embrace of their newfound family.
Bela's smile was gentle as she tightened her hold, a silent reassurance that they were welcome here, just as they were. "You're part of our family now," she murmured, her words echoing the sentiment shared by all.
As the embrace lingered, Alcina's gaze swept over her daughters and Y/N, her heart swelling with a sense of belonging that she hadn't felt in years. "Let us show you to your room," she said, her voice warm with affection.
Together, they moved as one, a united front against the uncertainties of the world beyond. And as they ventured down the halls of Castle Dimitrescu, Y/N felt a sense of peace settle over them, a quiet reassurance that they had found their place in this enigmatic world.
As they reached the threshold of Y/N's new room, Alcina turned to them with a smile, her eyes soft with motherly affection. "Welcome home," she said, her voice a gentle promise of the love and acceptance that awaited them within these walls.
As Y/N took in the sight of their new room, a sense of wonder filled their heart. The soft glow of candlelight danced across the walls, casting shadows that seemed to whisper tales of centuries past. It was a room filled with history and mystery, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the world beyond.
As they turned to thank their newfound family, they found themselves alone in the quiet of the room with only Alcina present. The echoes of their footsteps mingled with the hushed whispers of the night, a symphony of solitude that enveloped them like a comforting embrace.
Just as they were about to settle into their new surroundings, Alcina's voice broke the silence, her presence a comforting presence in the dimly lit room. "My room is right down the hall, dear," she said softly, her words carrying a sense of warmth and reassurance. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."
With a grateful nod, Y/N watched as Alcina approached, her movements graceful and deliberate. Cupping Y/N's cheek gently in her hand, Alcina leaned down to press a tender kiss to their forehead, a silent promise of protection and affection.
"Goodnight, my child," Alcina murmured, her voice a soothing melody that echoed in the stillness of the night. "Sleep well."
With a smile tugging at their lips, Y/N settled into their new bed, their heart filled with gratitude for the family that had welcomed them with open arms. And as they drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth and love of their new home, they knew, in that moment, that they were finally where they belonged. 
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therogueflame · 3 months ago
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The Bronze Reign Chapter 9 - By the Old Gods and the New
omg hi!!
this chapter was also supposed to be shorter, but gwayne is soooo sweet. he's just a baby. dis is the wedding chapter.
The song for this chapter is Turning Page (Instrumental) by Sleeping at Last.
✨ My Masterlist ✨
🖊️My AO3 🖊️
📝 My WIP List 📝
❄️ My ASOIAF/GOT/HOTD Discord Server 🔥
Summary: Vows are spoken, a bed is shared, and a new life takes root. But in the quiet hours after, not all bonds feel unbreakable.
WC: 10.2k
Warnings: 18+, underage sex: p in v, wedding consummating, angst (a little?), teen pregnancy, uhhhh fluff I guess bc Gwayne is literally just so sweet and gentle
Vysaria Targaryen (fem!oc) x Gwayne Hightower
previous chapter
MDNI!!!!
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The days before the wedding passed in a blur, a haze of silks and whispered prayers, of seamstresses measuring fabric against her skin, of servants weaving pearls into her hair. She was no longer a princess. She was a bride, something softer, something meant to be adorned, admired, offered. The distinction was small, but it was there in the way they spoke to her, in the way even her father watched her with the contentment of a man who believed a difficult task was now completed.
Viserys was pleased. There was a lightness to him that had not been there before, as if securing her match had lifted something from his shoulders. He was not cruel, nor was he indifferent, but he was set in his decision, his every word carrying the finality of a king who saw no reason to reconsider. Otto Hightower did not gloat, but there was satisfaction in his eyes, in the careful way he measured every moment leading up to the wedding. He had planned this well, maneuvered each step until there had been nowhere left for her to go. He did not rush his victory, did not linger in triumph, but it was there all the same.
Alicent was quieter than usual. She did not linger at her side, did not speak unless spoken to, did not reach out in any of the ways she might have once thought to. If she was pleased, she did not show it. If she had wanted to say something, she never did. Daemon was gone.
Not a word. Not a glance. Not even a sighting in the corridors. She had waited for him, had looked for him, had listened for the sharp sound of his voice in the halls, but he was not there. He had not come when the final details were set, had not spoken when the guest lists were made, had not appeared when she stood before the mirrors, draped in the colors she would wear when she was wed. She wanted to be angry. Wanted to curse his name, to pretend that his absence did not carve into her as deeply as it did, but the truth was colder than anger. He had left her to do this alone.
She let them dress her, let them pin her hair, let them prepare her like something meant to be given away. She let them believe they had won. She endured.
Later, when the halls had quieted and the last of the attendants had gone, she sat before the fire, its warmth barely reaching her where she rested. The air smelled of myrrh and lavender, the faint trace of burning wood curling through the dim light of the chamber. Aemma sat beside her, fingers working through her hair with slow, familiar movements, her touch careful, steady.
"You will survive this," she murmured, smoothing a strand of silver between her fingers, letting it fall back into place before reaching for another. "But you must decide if you will simply endure or if you will live."
Vysaria stared into the flames, her fingers curling against the fabric of her nightdress. "Is there a difference?"
Aemma's hands stilled for a moment before resuming their task. "Yes," she said. "One is a life shaped by others. The other is yours to claim."
She was not offering comfort. She was not making promises she could not keep. There was no pretending that things would be different, that marriage to Gwayne Hightower would be anything less than what it was meant to be. But she was offering something else, something steadier, something that felt like a warning as much as it did a lesson.
Vysaria exhaled slowly. "I do not know how to live within this."
Aemma did not look at her, only gathered the last strands of her hair, twisting them together between her fingers before letting them go. "Then you must learn."
The words sat between them, heavy, unmoving.
"You do not have to love him," Aemma said at last, her voice quieter now. "You do not have to love any of this. But you must not let it break you."
Vysaria turned to look at her then, taking in the faint lines at the corners of her mother’s eyes, the way the firelight caught at the curve of her cheek. She had endured. She had done as she was meant to do. But had she ever lived?
Aemma reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You are a Targaryen. No ceremony can take that from you."
Her throat burned, but she did not let it show.
Aemma pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering for only a moment before rising to her feet. "Sleep, my love," she said, voice soft now. "Tomorrow will come, whether we wish it or not."
Vysaria watched her mother move to the door, saw the way she hesitated for just a breath, her fingers resting against the wood.
"You are not alone," Aemma said, then she was gone.
Vysaria sat there long after the door had shut. She did not move, did not shift, did not turn from the fire. Daemon was not coming. Her hands curled into fists against her lap.
Fine. She would do this on her own.
The fire burned low, its embers pulsing like the slow breath of something dying. She watched until the glow blurred, until exhaustion pulled at her limbs, until the weight of the day settled fully upon her shoulders. When she finally rose, the chamber was silent, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric as she slipped beneath the covers. Sleep did not come easily, but it came.
Morning arrived in a hush of golden light, slipping through the cracks in the heavy curtains. The air was cool, still heavy with the scent of sandalwood and frankincense. A quiet knock came at the door, then another, more insistent this time. The soft creak of the hinges followed as her attendants entered, their movements efficient, their voices low.
The morning air felt different, heavier, pressing down on her chest as she sat still while the attendants moved around her. The wedding day had come, and with it, a quiet sort of finality that settled deep in her bones. She had always known this would happen. She had told herself she was ready. Yet, as deft hands brushed fragrant oils over her arms, as they lifted her nightgown from her shoulders and guided her into the wedding gown of white silk, laced with red and gold, she felt something unfamiliar curl in her stomach.
She was nervous.
Not in the way she had been before a grand feast or a court appearance, not even in the way she had been before her first encounter with the dragons. This was different, sharper, more uncertain. By the day’s end, she would no longer be simply Vysaria, daughter of Viserys. She would be a wife. She would stand beside a man she barely knew, and whether she belonged to him in truth or only in name, she would be bound all the same.
She focused on her breathing as the laces of her gown were drawn tight, as the layers of silk settled around her like the last touches of a binding spell. The mirror reflected a woman she did not quite recognize, regal and composed, the crimson embroidery along the bodice and sleeves forming the illusion of dragon wings. Beneath the careful arrangement of braids and the delicate fall of her sheer veil, her heart thrummed too fast, too loud.
Gwayne Hightower was not a cruel man.
That thought had been lingering in her mind for days now, creeping in when she least expected it. He was not unkind. He did not gloat the way some lords might have, nor did he make a spectacle of his position in her life. He had been careful with her, measured, always ensuring that she was not pushed too far, that his presence never overwhelmed her.
And yet, despite all his patience, despite the way he had made it clear he would not force anything upon her, she found herself more unsettled by him than she had anticipated. Because he was not the enemy. Because his gaze, when it settled on her, did not feel like a victory claimed, but something else entirely. Because he was gentle. Because he did not look at her as if she was something to be taken, but as if she was something to be learned.
The realization made her chest tighten, and she exhaled slowly as another attendant adjusted the fall of her sleeves, murmuring quiet approval at the way the silk draped over her arms. She did not know how to feel about him. That, more than anything, made her nervous.
Her hands remained still in her lap as they fastened the last of her jewelry, the weight of gold pressing warm against her collarbone. The final touch was the veil, light as air, resting along the crown of her head. She had seen other brides in this same position, had watched them take those last measured steps before they were given away, had listened to them speak of their future husbands with either devotion or resigned duty.
She had always told herself she would never be like them. Yet here she was.
A soft knock at the door broke the quiet hum of preparation, and the attendants quickly stepped back, lowering their heads as Aemma entered the room. Her mother’s gaze swept over her in quiet assessment, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before she gave a small nod of approval.
"You look beautiful," Aemma said, her voice softer than usual.
Vysaria did not immediately respond. She let her fingers press lightly against the fabric of her gown, feeling the texture beneath her touch as if grounding herself to the present. "Is it time?"
Aemma’s lips pressed together slightly before she stepped closer, reaching out to adjust the edge of her sleeve. "Yes," she said, her tone steady.
The weight in her chest grew heavier.
Aemma’s hands were warm when they took her own, her grip firm but not unkind. "It is all right to be afraid," she murmured. "It is all right to be uncertain."
Vysaria swallowed, keeping her voice steady. "I do not know what I feel."
Her mother’s expression did not change, but her fingers tightened just slightly. "Then feel it," she said simply. "And when the time comes, decide what to do with it."
The words settled deep, threading into the knots of tension coiled in her chest. She had never been one to hesitate. She had never been one to let uncertainty take root. But as she sat there, dressed in white and gold, waiting for the moment she would step forward and take her place at Gwayne Hightower’s side, she realized that this was the first time she did not know if she was walking toward something she would endure or something she would come to accept.
Aemma squeezed her hand one final time before letting go. The halls of the Red Keep were nearly empty, the courtiers and lords already gathered at the Sept, waiting for her arrival. The only sound was the rustle of her gown as she moved through the corridors. The courtyard was silent when they stepped outside, the carriage waiting before them, the gold trim gleaming in the morning sun. The guards straightened at her approach, their armor catching the light, their expressions unreadable.
Beyond the gates, the city was alive.
She could hear them already—the smallfolk gathered, their voices a low hum of anticipation. They had come to see her, to watch the Targaryen princess make her way to the Sept, to witness the moment she was bound to House Hightower. Aemma walked beside her, silent but present, her grip still warm where it rested on her arm.
Vysaria hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward. The wind lifted the edges of her veil as she climbed into the carriage, the silk brushing against her skin like something fleeting, something fragile. The doors shut behind her, the wheels groaned against the stone, and as the horses stirred and the carriage pulled forward, she closed her eyes and let the weight of it settle. The Realm was watching.
The carriage moved slowly through the streets, its wheels rolling over stone as the voices of the gathered crowd swelled around it. The smallfolk had come in droves, pressed into the winding streets that led toward the Great Sept, lining the steps, the balconies, the rooftops. They craned their necks, eager for a glimpse of her, of the Targaryen princess draped in white and gold.
She did not look at them. She kept her gaze forward, her hands folded lightly in her lap, her breath steady even as her heart betrayed her with its restless pounding.
The Sept loomed ahead, its towering domes and soaring spires gleaming in the morning sun. The great doors stood wide, the air thick with the scent of burning incense, the soft murmur of prayers echoing from within. The front two-thirds of the seating were filled with the royal family and nobles from all corners of the realm, their rich attire a sea of color and prestige. Behind them, the smallfolk packed the back of the Sept and spilled out the doors, their voices rising in quiet whispers, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for what was to come. The weight of the assembly hung in the air—lords, ladies, and the people of King’s Landing, all gathered under the gaze of the gods.
The carriage slowed, then stopped. Aemma stepped out first, then turned back, offering her hand.
Vysaria hesitated for only a moment before taking it. The noise beyond the gates did not fade, but it grew distant as she stepped onto the stone, her mother’s grip steady in her own.
The entrance of the Sept yawned before her, shadowed and vast. Inside, the ceremony had already been set in place.
The murmur of the gathered court fell away as Vysaria reached the altar, the hush settling over the Sept like a heavy shroud. She kept her chin lifted, her steps steady, feeling the slow, deliberate release of her mother’s hand as Aemma stepped back to stand beside Daemon. The weight of the moment pressed against her ribs, deep and unrelenting, but she did not falter.
At the highest point of the altar, Viserys watched, his presence fixed, unmoving, as the ceremony unfolded beneath him. To his right, Otto Hightower stood with quiet satisfaction, his gaze sharp beneath the serene mask he wore. Beside him, Gwayne waited, his stance unwavering, his expression calm. His eyes followed her as she came to stand before him, but he did not speak, did not move beyond what was expected of him. He had the stillness of a man who knew he had already won, yet did not treat victory as something to be brandished.
Alicent stood just beyond him, her hands folded at her waist, her gaze fixed on the altar but not quite present. She did not fidget, did not turn to meet her father’s glance, but Vysaria saw the tension in her shoulders, the careful way she kept herself composed. To Viserys’s left, Daemon stood apart from the others.
He was dressed in black, the dark fabric cutting a sharp contrast against the pale marble of the Sept. His presence was an intrusion among them, an unspoken challenge to the carefully orchestrated display of unity unfolding before the gods. But he did not speak, did not step forward, did not break the silence stretching between them. His violet eyes remained steady, unreadable, watching her as she took her place, as she turned to face the two figures before her.
The High Septon, draped in embroidered cream and gold, lifted his hands in quiet invocation. Opposite him, the Valyrian priest stood clad in crimson, his robes edged with the sigil of Old Valyria, his voice deep and steady as he murmured the first words of the rite.
The ceremony was a delicate balance between the gods of Westeros and the faith of her ancestors, a compromise struck between Viserys and Otto, between blood and tradition. The Sept was the domain of the Seven, the weight of its faith resting upon her shoulders, but the presence of the Valyrian priest was a quiet reminder that she was still of fire and blood.
She felt the shift of expectation settle over her as the Septon’s voice rang through the chamber. "We stand before the gods this day to bear witness to the union of Princess Vysaria of House Targaryen and Ser Gwayne of House Hightower, bound by duty, by faith, and by the will of their families."
The Valyrian priest lifted his chin, his voice carrying just as steady, just as commanding. "By the will of their ancestors, by the flame of Old Valyria, and by the blood that still runs through their veins, they stand before us."
The words echoed through the vaulted space, two faiths woven together in careful symmetry, one of duty, one of fire. She forced her breathing to remain steady as the ceremony unfolded, as Gwayne took her hand when instructed, his grip firm but not unkind. The Septon wrapped their hands in a length of white silk, a sacred binding in the eyes of the Seven, while the Valyrian priest traced the edges of the fabric with red, marking it in fire and blood.
"The Father will judge this union," the Septon intoned.
"The ancestors will guide it," the priest answered.
"The Mother will bless it."
"The flame will keep it."
The silk felt warm where it rested against her skin, the embroidery soft beneath her fingers as Gwayne’s grip remained steady beneath her own. She did not know what she expected to feel in this moment—resignation, acceptance, regret—but there was something steadier beneath it all, something calmer.
Gwayne had not spoken yet, had not so much as shifted beneath the weight of the ceremony, but when she glanced up at him, she found him already watching her. His green eyes, steady and unassuming, carried none of the weight she had felt from others before him. There was no gloating, no quiet victory, no expectation of ownership. Only patience. Only something that unsettled her in a way she had not expected.
The silk binding was secured, the last knot pulled into place, and as the final words were spoken, the weight of the moment settled. The Septon and the priest stepped back.
"You may seal your vows."
Gwayne lifted his free hand, brushing the veil back from her face with deliberate care. He did not hesitate. He did not linger. When he leaned in, he did not claim her. He kissed her softly, the barest press of lips, a touch meant for the eyes of those watching rather than for them alone.
The silence inside the Sept stretched for a breath, heavy and expectant. Then, the roar of the gathered crowd rose like a wave. The smallfolk had waited for this moment, had come to see the Targaryen princess wed to the son of the Hand, had pressed against the steps of the Sept for hours just to catch a glimpse of her veiled form. Now, with the vows spoken and the union sealed, they cheered, their voices echoing through the city, carrying the weight of their approval across King’s Landing.
Viserys exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing, the tension he had carried for weeks finally lifting. This was done. His daughter was married. The alliance was forged. His smile was small but genuine, relief settling into his features.
Otto Hightower gave no outward sign of satisfaction, but there was something knowing in the way his hands folded behind his back, something sharp in the quiet nod he gave toward his son. Gwayne, for his part, only inclined his head in acknowledgment, his expression betraying nothing beyond the composure he had held from the start.
Alicent’s lips pressed together, her gaze flickering toward her father, then back to the newly bound couple. Her hands remained clasped in front of her, her posture still and unreadable. If she was pleased, if she was uneasy, she gave no indication of either.
Aemma, standing at the edge of the altar, was not smiling. Her hands, folded neatly in front of her, were still, her expression carefully schooled into something neutral. Only her eyes, sharp and knowing, moved between Vysaria and the man who now stood at her side, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before shifting to Viserys. And Daemon had not moved.
He stood as he had before, silent, unmoving, his gaze locked onto the space where Gwayne’s lips had touched hers. His jaw was tight, his fingers curled loosely at his sides, the muscle in his cheek shifting just slightly before stillness overtook him again. He did not look away.
The ceremony was over. The Realm rejoiced. And Daemon watched in silence.
As the final notes of celebration from the wedding ceremony faded into the evening air, the grand feast awaited. The Great Hall of the Red Keep was alight with the glow of a hundred candles, their flickering flames reflecting off the polished silverware and golden goblets overflowing with wine. The scent of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and exotic spices wafted through the cavernous room, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.
The lords and ladies of court filled the long tables, draped in their finest silks and velvets, their jewels catching the warm candlelight. Servants weaved through the gathered nobility, refilling cups and carrying platters piled high with the richest fare. Musicians played softly in the background, their melodies weaving through the air like a spell meant to hold the night in place.
At the high table, where the royal family and the honored guests were seated, goblets were raised in endless toasts, voices ringing in cheerful revelry. The Targaryen banners hung high above, their crimson and black a stark contrast against the deep stone walls of the Red Keep. This was a night of celebration, a night meant to cement the union between House Targaryen and House Hightower in the eyes of the realm.
And yet, as the festivities unfolded, amid the clinking of goblets and the murmured courtly pleasantries, the air at the high table remained thick with something unspoken, something charged beneath the polite words and practiced smiles.
Vysaria sat poised at the high table, her goblet untouched, her expression composed as lords and ladies around her raised their cups in endless toasts to House Targaryen and House Hightower. The warmth of the hall pressed in around her, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine heavy in the air, but the food before her went unnoticed. In the center of the table, Viserys beamed, clearly pleased with the display of unity, his contentment evident. Aemma sat beside him, her expression softer, her gaze carefully measuring the room. Otto Hightower, seated beside his son, wore the quiet satisfaction of a man who had secured his victory.
In the middle of the table, Gwayne sat beside Vysaria, his presence solid and quietly constant. Beside him, Vysaria couldn’t ignore the weight of his proximity. Her husband.
He had been polite, composed, endlessly pleasant. Every inch the knight, every inch the man a princess was meant to wed. He had leaned close at times, murmuring quiet remarks about the lords and ladies before them, about the extravagance of the feast, about the way the court had never been so lively. And she had responded where necessary, had offered the smallest of smiles when the moment required it, had lifted her goblet and let the wine linger on her lips, though she barely swallowed. It was a game, after all.
The only person who had not played it was Daemon.
He sat at the far end of the table, a goblet in hand, his face carved from stone. He did not partake in the revelry, did not toast alongside the others, did not acknowledge the spectacle before him. He only watched. And when his gaze did find hers, it was searing. Vysaria did not look away.
A sudden burst of laughter rang out across the hall, the sound sharp, carrying above the hum of conversation. A group of lords, already deep in their cups, called for more wine, their voices loud, filled with the kind of mirth that only came from watching the realm celebrate.
"Quite the feast," Gwayne murmured beside her, his tone easy, as if he had not noticed the tension in her shoulders, as if he had not seen the way Daemon had not looked away once.
She turned slightly, meeting her husband's gaze. His green eyes studied her, calm, steady. He had been watching, but not with scrutiny, not with suspicion. Only awareness.
"I suppose I should expect nothing less," she said smoothly, lifting her goblet once more.
Gwayne hummed in agreement, reaching for his own. "If this is how the realm rejoices, I can only imagine how they will celebrate when the first heir is announced."
The words landed too heavily, too sharply, too soon. She stilled, her fingers tightening slightly against the goblet. Gwayne, to his credit, did not press. He only took a sip of wine, his expression unreadable. The conversation moved around them, voices rising and falling, plates being passed, laughter spilling into the air. The musicians struck up a new tune, the sound of strings and drums filling the hall as the first of the dancers began to step toward the center of the room.
"Will the bride and groom honor us with the first dance?"
The voice rang out, clear, expectant. The court turned, waiting, watching.
Gwayne smiled, setting his goblet down as he rose. "Shall we?"
Vysaria let the question linger for only a moment before slipping her fingers into his offered hand. His grip was warm, steady, guiding her smoothly as she rose. The court watched with quiet anticipation, eyes following their every movement as they stepped onto the polished floor. The musicians played a lively tune, the strings bright and quick, the melody meant to charm and delight, a song for celebration.
Gwayne led effortlessly, his hold firm but easy, his palm pressing lightly against the curve of her waist, his other hand clasping hers as he turned her into the first step. There was no hesitation in him, no nerves, no stiffness. He moved with the confidence of a man well-accustomed to both the battlefield and the ballroom, unfazed by the weight of the eyes upon them.
"You are light on your feet, princess," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"And you are practiced," she countered, allowing him to turn her in a smooth, elegant motion. "I imagine you've had no shortage of partners."
He hummed, tilting his head slightly as if considering. "A fair few, though none quite so determined to make me work for it."
"You call this work?"
Gwayne smiled, eyes glinting. "I do believe I am the one leading, and yet, it feels as though you are testing me."
Vysaria lifted her chin, feigning innocence. "A test? You wound me, Ser. I was under the impression this was merely a dance."
His fingers tightened ever so slightly at her waist, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "A dance, yes. But tell me, should I expect to leave this floor with my pride intact, or will I find myself bested before the night is through?"
She allowed herself the faintest hint of a smile. "That depends, Ser Gwayne. Are you as skilled in conversation as you are in dancing?"
"That depends, Princess. Are you testing that as well?"
The music quickened, and so did their steps. He moved with her easily, adjusting his hold as the dance shifted pace, pulling her into a closer turn before guiding her back out again. He was close, but not too close. Polite, but not distant. She knew courtly charm when she heard it, but there was something else beneath his tone, something almost playful.
"You carry yourself well," he mused, watching her closely. "Perhaps I should be the one testing you."
Vysaria smiled faintly, her eyes narrowing in playful challenge. "Testing me? I thought we were simply dancing, Ser Gwayne."
Gwayne chuckled, tilting his head as if conceding the point. "Then allow me one question—does the princess of Dragonstone enjoy herself, or is this all purely duty?"
She let a pause linger just long enough to keep him guessing. "You may decide that for yourself."
"Ah, and here I thought you had warmed to me."
"Warmed?" she repeated, amusement curling at the edges of her voice. "Have I been cold, Ser Gwayne?"
He turned her with ease, pulling her back into step with him before answering, his voice dropping just slightly. "Not cold, but a bit elusive."
"A mystery keeps things interesting."
"And am I to spend the rest of my days unraveling this mystery?"
Vysaria met his gaze, lips curving ever so slightly. "If you are clever enough, perhaps."
The final notes of the song rang through the hall, and with the last step of the dance, he pulled her into the closing movement, his grip steady, his posture poised, a picture of knighthood and elegance. The moment hung between them, the court erupting into applause, goblets raised once more.
Gwayne released her hand only after a pause, his fingers brushing lightly against hers before he stepped back, inclining his head. "A fine match," a voice called from the crowd, followed by another, and another, their words spilling into the air like a well-rehearsed chorus.
The next song began, the melody shifting to invite more dancers onto the floor, but Vysaria remained where she stood, her pulse steady, her breath even. Gwayne did not move immediately, did not step away as quickly as custom might dictate. Instead, he lingered, watching her, studying her, something thoughtful beneath the polished exterior.
"If I did not know better," he murmured, his voice quieter now, "I would think you expected to hate this more than you do."
Vysaria tilted her head slightly, her voice smooth, measured. "And if I did not know better, I would think you expected me to hate this less."
The corner of his mouth quirked once more, something almost pleased flickering behind his eyes. "Perhaps," he said, offering his arm once more. "Shall we rejoin the table?"
She did not glance back toward Daemon, did not turn to see if his gaze was still on her, did not look to find the reaction she knew was waiting. Instead, she slipped her fingers over Gwayne’s offered arm and let him lead her away.
The night blurred into a haze of music and conversation, wine flowing freely as goblets were lifted in endless toasts to House Targaryen and House Hightower. The feast stretched late into the evening, the formal tension fading as the court indulged in drink and celebration. Laughter filled the hall, voices growing louder, movements more relaxed. Then, unexpectedly, at the high table, Vysaria laughed. The sound surprised her, one she hadn’t meant to make and certainly hadn’t expected. But Gwayne had drawn it from her—a genuine laugh, something she hadn’t experienced from anyone outside her family in a long time.
It wasn’t the shallow, polite laughter required in court, nor the carefully measured amusement she had perfected. It was real—light, unguarded, slipping past her lips before she could stop it. Gwayne had a way of telling stories, weaving humor into the smallest details with effortless timing. It started with an offhand remark about the ridiculousness of Lannister fashions, making fun of gold-threaded cloaks that trailed behind like a tapestry. Then, a tale of a drunken lord nearly drowning in a fountain, convinced he’d seen a mermaid. And then, something so absurd and unexpected that she couldn’t hold back.
She laughed, harder than she had in as long as she could remember, her shoulders shaking, her hand briefly resting on Gwayne’s arm as she tried to compose herself. He grinned at her, pleased but not smug, offering a slight shrug before raising his goblet in a silent toast to his own wit.
The court noticed. Aemma smiled softly, relief flickering in her gaze as she watched her daughter ease into the evening. Viserys, already warmed by wine, seemed pleased enough, his laughter joining the others as he shared words with the lords nearest him. Even Otto, ever composed, looked on with quiet satisfaction, the picture of a man who had orchestrated the perfect match.
But Daemon noticed most of all.
From the far end of the table, he watched. His goblet rested loosely in his fingers, turning slightly, the dark wine within rippling with each movement. His expression did not shift, but his grip tightened, his fingers curling just slightly. The muscle in his jaw twitched once, twice, before stillness overtook him again. His violet eyes did not stray from her.
Vysaria felt it. She felt his gaze pressing against her even as she smiled, even as she leaned slightly toward Gwayne when he spoke, even as she let herself laugh again. Daemon did not look away.
Gwayne caught the weight of her silence between words, tilting his head slightly, something knowing in his gaze. "Something wrong, princess?"
She blinked, shaking her head as she lifted her goblet. "Not at all."
His lips quirked slightly, as if he did not quite believe her, but he let it pass. "Then I shall consider it a victory. I had not expected to make my bride laugh on our wedding night."
She smirked, lifting her goblet slightly in a mock toast. "Then your expectations were far too low, my lord husband."
He chuckled, mirroring the gesture before taking a slow sip. Daemon exhaled, setting his goblet down with a quiet, deliberate thud. Vysaria did not turn to look at him. She only smiled, as if nothing in the world was amiss.
The night carried on, the music rising and falling, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine thick in the air. Laughter spilled across the hall, goblets clinking, conversation weaving through the celebration like a tide that never quite receded. Vysaria remained at the high table, her goblet in hand, the warmth of the wine lingering on her tongue though she barely tasted it.
The feast had stretched deep into the night, the weight of it settling in her bones. The lords drank freely, their voices rising with each passing hour, some leaning too far into their cups, others giddy with the thrill of a royal wedding. It had been inevitable, the way the murmurs turned into chants, the calls rising from the lower tables, laughter spilling into expectation.
“Send them to the wedding chamber!” one voice called.
“Let them be properly wed!” another added, a chorus of cheers following.
The hall stirred, men knocking their fists against the wooden tables, their voices thick with wine and encouragement. Vysaria’s grip tightened around the stem of her goblet. Her stomach curled, the air pressing heavy against her ribs. She did not look at Gwayne, did not shift her gaze to see his expression. The moment stretched, the noise growing, a wave threatening to crest.
Then, Viserys lifted a hand. The command was effortless, barely a flick of his wrist, yet it silenced the hall like a blade drawn across the throat of the celebration. The laughter stilled, the calls faltered, and one by one, the lords lowered their goblets, their smirks fading into quiet understanding.
“That is enough,” Viserys said, his tone light but firm, the weight of kingship settled in his voice. “There will be no need for that.”
A few murmurs lingered, hushed protests drowned in the finality of his decree. A handful of men exchanged knowing looks, some grinning behind the rims of their goblets, but none dared push further. The king had spoken. Vysaria inhaled slowly, steadying herself, letting the tension in her shoulders ease just slightly. Viserys, for all his faults, had spared her this. That, at least, she could be grateful for.
Instead, the expectation shifted. There would be no raucous escort, no stripping of clothes amidst the leering eyes of half-drunken lords. Only the quiet, inevitable walk to the wedding chamber.
Viserys exhaled, lifting his goblet one last time, signaling the official end of the feast. “My daughter and her husband will retire for the night.”
And just like that, the night reached its conclusion. The guests did not argue, did not press for more. The music softened, the court adjusting as if on instinct. Servants moved to clear the remnants of the meal, lords and ladies rising to bow, some lingering in quiet conversation as the celebration slowly unraveled into its final moments. Vysaria rose from her seat, feeling the weight of a hundred eyes upon her. Gwayne was at her side, offering his arm, his expression unreadable but composed. There was no leering grin, no smug expectation, only patience. That, at least, was something.She did not hesitate.
She placed her hand on his arm, and together, they walked toward the wedding chamber. The air shifted as they stepped away from the high table, the clinking of goblets and murmured conversation dimming behind them. Vysaria’s grip on Gwayne’s arm was light, barely there, yet he did not tighten his hold, did not press her to move faster than she wished.
The hall stretched ahead, lined with watching eyes—lords and ladies feigning polite disinterest, though their hushed whispers betrayed their curiosity. The walk to the wedding chamber was not far, yet it felt unending, each step measured, each breath carefully drawn.
The silence between them thickened.
Vysaria kept her gaze forward, her heart steady, her expression unreadable. But her stomach curled with unease, with something tight and lingering in the back of her throat. The weight of expectation hung over her like a shroud, pressing against her ribs.
Gwayne exhaled slowly, a quiet, measured breath. He didn’t turn to her, nor did he seek her gaze, but his voice dropped to a low murmur, careful not to carry beyond their shared space.
"You needn’t look as though you are walking to an execution, Princess."
Vysaria’s fingers twitched against his sleeve. A slow blink, a steady inhale.
She tilted her head ever so slightly, side-eyeing him without fully turning. "Am I not?"
His lips twitched, just barely, as though amused by her sharp tongue. But there was no mockery in it, no true humor. Only understanding.
"I assure you," he murmured, his voice quiet, "I have no intention of making this unpleasant for you."
Vysaria did not answer immediately. The torches lining the hall flickered, casting shifting shadows along the stone walls. The scent of wine and candle wax still clung to the air, thick with the remnants of the feast. Gwayne did not push her for a response. He did not try to fill the silence with meaningless reassurances, did not play the role of a man desperate to win her favor. He simply walked beside her, his pace even, his presence steady.
Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than before, though no less firm.
"You would be wise to remember that."
He huffed out a breath—something between a quiet chuckle and a sigh. "Noted."
The great doors to the royal wing loomed ahead, guarded by two knights in white cloaks. One of them, Ser Harrold Westerling, stepped forward to pull them open, his gaze respectfully averted as they passed. The corridor beyond was quieter, emptier. The weight of courtly eyes faded behind them, yet the air between them remained taut, stretched thin with the unspoken.
Vysaria exhaled slowly, shifting her gaze forward once more. "You do not seem eager."
Gwayne hummed in thought before answering. "Should I be?"
She tilted her head, studying him briefly, catching the way his expression remained measured, neither expectant nor reluctant.
"A man in your position might be," she pointed out.
He smiled then, but it was small—something knowing, something calm. "And yet, here I am. Not forcing you into your chambers like some beastly brute."
The corner of her mouth twitched. Just slightly.
"You think that makes you honorable?"
He glanced at her then, just for a moment. "I think it makes me patient." She held his gaze, violet meeting green, searching for something beneath his carefully composed demeanor. She found no malice, no arrogance, no gloating sense of triumph. Only a quiet understanding.
A strange relief settled in her chest, though she would not acknowledge it aloud.They reached the doors to the wedding chamber. The guards stationed outside did not speak, did not react, only pushed them open with silent deference.
Gwayne stepped forward, guiding her in without force, without hesitation. But before she could fully cross the threshold, he leaned in, lowering his voice to something only she could hear.
"I am not your enemy, Princess."
The words lingered between them. The heavy doors shut behind them with a dull thud, leaving only the flickering candlelight and the quiet sound of their breaths. The wedding chamber was warm, scented with rose and sandalwood, the sheets on the grand bed freshly changed, the hearth still glowing from the fire set earlier in the evening. It was a scene carefully prepared, as if to soften the sharp edges of expectation.
Vysaria turned slightly, the weight of the moment settling over her, pressing into her ribs like a slow, steady hand. Gwayne did not move immediately. He remained near the door, his posture relaxed but watchful, as though waiting to see if she would flee before he dared to take a step. She inhaled, slow and measured, then turned to face him fully.
Gwayne watched her carefully, his green eyes thoughtful but unreadable. He had been patient all night, never pushing, never reaching too far, never laying claim to something she had not yet given. He had no reason to be gentle—no one would have stopped him if he had been eager, if he had been careless—but he was.
"You don’t have to be afraid of me," he said softly.
Vysaria’s spine stiffened on instinct, though there was no mockery in his tone, no amusement at the idea of her being unsettled. He was not Daemon—he was not the fire that burned her, the chaos that consumed her, the hands that took without asking because he knew she would give in the end.
Gwayne did not take. He waited.
"I am not afraid," she replied, and it was not a lie.
He tilted his head, studying her, then let out a soft hum. "Then I am relieved."
A small flicker of something unfamiliar twisted in her chest. She did not know this kind of intimacy. She knew fire and want, teeth and hands that left bruises in their wake, passion that was a battle in which neither wished to yield. But this,this quiet patience, was something else entirely.
Gwayne took a step closer. Not looming, not pressing, just closing the distance enough that she could feel his warmth, could see the steadiness in his gaze. He lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, and traced his fingers along the edge of her sleeve, not yet touching skin, only waiting, only letting her decide.
"You are lovely," he murmured, and the words did not feel like flattery. They were a truth he spoke simply, as if there was no reason for her to doubt it.
Vysaria exhaled. Her hands tensed at her sides for a moment before she lifted them, pressing lightly against his chest, feeling the steady, unhurried rhythm of his heart beneath the layers of fine linen.
"You do not have to rush," he said.
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze fully, and for the first time that evening, she allowed herself to breathe.
"I know," she murmured.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t fire, but warmth—steady and soft, a touch that didn’t demand or claim, but simply gave. He kissed her like she was something to be cherished, not conquered. Vysaria’s eyes fluttered closed as Gwayne’s lips met hers, the kiss gentle and unhurried. His hands rested lightly on her waist, offering no urgency, no insistent pull. He simply held her, his mouth moving slowly against hers, giving her time to adjust, to decide.
She found herself leaning into him almost without realizing it, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. Gwayne made a soft sound of approval, deepening the kiss just slightly, but still maintaining that careful restraint. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was a bit quicker, but his gaze remained steady.
"Alright?" he murmured, searching her face.
Vysaria nodded, surprised to find her own breath coming faster. "Yes," she whispered.
Gwayne's lips curved into a soft smile. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch feather-light. "We can take this as slowly as you need," he said quietly. "There's no rush."
Vysaria found herself leaning into his touch, her eyes closing briefly. When she opened them again, she met his gaze with newfound resolve. "I'm not made of glass, Ser Gwayne," she murmured, a hint of challenge in her tone.
His smile widened slightly, something warming in his eyes. "No," he agreed, "you most certainly are not."
This time when he kissed her, there was more heat behind it. His hands tightened at her waist, pulling her closer as his mouth moved more insistently against hers. Vysaria's fingers curled into the fabric of Gwayne's tunic as the kiss deepened. There was a quiet intensity to it now, a slow-burning heat that built with each passing moment. His hands were warm against her waist, steady and sure as they drew her closer.
When they parted for breath, Gwayne's eyes were dark, his chest rising and falling more quickly. "May I?" he murmured, his fingers brushing the laces of her gown.
Vysaria nodded, her own breath coming faster. "Yes," she whispered.
With careful movements, Gwayne began to unlace her gown, his touch reverent as he slowly revealed more of her skin. He paused every so often, his gaze seeking hers, silently asking permission to continue. Vysaria found herself oddly touched by his consideration.
As the laces loosened, Vysaria felt the gown slip from her shoulders. Gwayne's hands were warm as they skimmed over her skin, his touch light but sure. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her neck, then her collarbone, each touch gentle but deliberate.
She found herself reaching for the fastenings of his own clothing, her fingers working to undo the clasps of his doublet. Gwayne pulled back slightly, helping her remove the garment before reaching for the hem of his tunic. As he pulled it over his head, Vysaria's gaze traced over the lean muscles of his chest and arms. He was well-built, as befitting a knight, but there was a grace to his movements that spoke of more than just brute strength.
Gwayne's eyes met hers, a flicker of heat in their depths. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and sincere.
Vysaria felt a flush of warmth spread across her cheeks. She was no blushing maiden, but there was something in the way he looked at her that made her feel truly seen. Not as a princess, not as a political prize, but as a woman.
She stepped closer, letting her hands rest on his bare chest. His skin was warm beneath her touch, his heartbeat steady but quickening. Gwayne's breath hitched slightly as her fingers traced a path down his torso.
"So are you," she whispered, surprising herself with the admission.
Gwayne's eyes softened at her words, a small smile tugging at his lips. He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone. "May I?" he murmured, his gaze flickering to the bed.
Vysaria nodded, her heart quickening. Gwayne lifted her easily, carrying her the short distance to the bed and laying her down with care. He followed, bracing himself above her, his weight a warm presence without being overwhelming. His lips found hers again, the kiss deeper now, more heated. Vysaria's hands roamed over his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath her fingertips. Gwayne's own hands were not idle, tracing reverent paths along her sides, her hips, her thighs.
Vysaria locked eyes with Gwayne and saw the question written in them. She nodded, granting him unspoken approval.
Gwayne entered her slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving hers. Vysaria gasped softly at the sensation, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. He stilled, giving her time to adjust.
"Alright?" he murmured, his voice strained but gentle.
"Yes," she breathed.
Gwayne began to move, setting a slow, steady rhythm. His touches remained reverent, his kisses deep but unhurried. Vysaria found herself responding, her hips rising to meet his, quiet sighs escaping her lips. There was no frantic urgency, no desperate race to completion. Instead, pleasure built gradually between them, a slow-burning heat that spread through her limbs.
As they moved together, Vysaria felt something shift within her. This was not the frenzied passion she had known before, not the clash of wills and burning need that left her breathless and aching. This was gentler, a slow burn that built with each careful touch, each reverent kiss.Gwayne's movements remained steady, his eyes never leaving hers as he rocked against her. His hands traced paths along her skin, mapping every curve and plane of her body as if committing it to memory. When he lowered his head to press kisses along her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast, Vysaria found herself arching into his touch, quiet gasps escaping her lips.
The pleasure built gradually, a warmth that spread through her limbs, coiling tighter with each passing moment. Gwayne's pace quickened slightly, his movements more purposeful as he sensed Vysaria's growing need. His breath came faster, warm against her skin as he pressed kisses along her neck and shoulder. Vysaria's fingers tightened on his back, her body arching to meet his thrusts.
"Gwayne," she gasped, the name falling from her lips before she could stop it.
He lifted his head at the sound, his eyes dark with desire but still watching her carefully. "Tell me what you need," he murmured, his voice low and slightly strained.
Vysaria met his gaze, seeing the genuine care there alongside the passion. It stirred something in her chest, warm and unfamiliar. "Just...don't stop," she whispered.
Gwayne nodded, cupping her face with one hand and pressing a deep, lingering kiss to her lips. His hips shifted slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, and Vysaria's eyes widened as a new sensation rippled through her, a delightful tension coiling tighter in her core. Her fingers curled into the firm muscles of his shoulders, her nails grazing his skin as she moved with him, synchronizing her rhythm to match his. Each movement brought them closer together, their breaths mingling in rapid succession, bodies entwined and moving in perfect harmony. Vysaria felt herself ascending, each moment bringing her closer to that elusive peak of pleasure. Gwayne's movements became more urgent, his focus never wavering as he remained attuned to her every reaction, adjusting his pace and pressure with meticulous care. When release finally washed over her, it was like a wave cresting and crashing gently upon the shore—powerful yet tender, intense but not overwhelming. She cried out softly, her body arching beneath him as waves of pleasure rolled through her in rhythmic pulses. Gwayne followed soon after, his breath hot against her neck as he buried his face there, his body shuddering against hers in the aftershocks of their shared ecstasy.
For a long moment, they lay together, hearts racing, breath mingling. Gwayne's weight was warm and solid above her, his face still pressed against her neck. Vysaria's fingers traced idle patterns along his back, feeling the slight tremors that still ran through his muscles. Slowly, Gwayne lifted his head, meeting her gaze. His eyes were soft, a mix of satisfaction and something deeper, more tender. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle.
"Are you alright?" he murmured, his voice low and slightly rough.
Vysaria nodded, finding herself unable to look away from his gaze. "Yes," she whispered.
Gwayne smiled softly, leaning in to press a light kiss to her lips before carefully rolling to the side. He didn’t move far, keeping one arm draped over her waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her skin. Vysaria found herself turning toward him, drawn to his warmth. For a long moment, they lay in silence, the only sound their gradually slowing breaths. Her mind whirled, trying to process the unexpected tenderness of what had just transpired. She had braced herself for duty, for discomfort, perhaps even for pain. Instead, she felt cared for. Cherished, even. It was unsettling in its unfamiliarity.
The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the chamber. The warmth of the fire had faded, leaving only the residual heat from their bodies beneath the heavy coverlet. Vysaria stirred before she truly meant to, reluctant to leave the comfort of the bed, of the warmth pressed against her. Gwayne had not moved much in the night, his arm still a steady weight across her waist, his fingers now resting still where they had once traced idle patterns along her skin. She had turned toward him in sleep, though she could not remember doing so, unconsciously seeking him out even after the haze of their wedding night had passed.
She blinked, the softness of the moment creeping into her bones, foreign but not entirely unwelcome. She had expected to wake to emptiness, to the chill of the morning air against her bare skin, to the stiff formality of duty completed. Instead, there was warmth, steady and constant. A presence that did not demand but simply remained. Gwayne was awake. She knew it without looking, the way his breath had shifted from the steady rhythm of sleep to something more measured, more aware. Still, he did not move, did not rush to acknowledge the newness of the morning after. He only waited, allowing her the space to decide how this would go.
Vysaria finally let out a slow breath, shifting just enough to glance up at him. His green eyes were already on her, watchful but not overbearing. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he said nothing, only brushing his thumb absently against her hip.
"Did you sleep well?" His voice was rough with the remnants of sleep, softer than she had ever heard it before.
She hesitated, not because she did not know the answer, but because she did not know how to give it. Yes. She had slept well, better than she expected to, better than she thought possible after everything. But saying it aloud felt like acknowledging something more than a simple truth.
So instead, she hummed, tilting her chin slightly. "Well enough."
Gwayne’s smile deepened, as if he could hear the truth beneath her guarded response. He shifted onto his elbow, his weight propped against the mattress, his free hand brushing a stray strand of silver hair from her cheek. The touch was light, easy, as if he had every right to do so.
"You don’t have to look so troubled," he murmured. "It was only a wedding night."
Her lips parted, but she found no immediate retort. Only a wedding night. The words lingered in the air between them, hanging heavy with something unspoken. It should have felt like an obligation fulfilled. And yet, it didn’t.
Vysaria lowered her gaze, watching the way his fingers traced along her forearm, featherlight but certain. She did not pull away. After a beat, she lifted her eyes back to his, searching. "You are very... patient," she admitted, the word feeling oddly clumsy on her tongue.
Gwayne chuckled, though there was no mockery in it. "Would you have preferred impatience?"
Her expression remained unreadable, but he caught the flicker of amusement in her violet gaze before she turned onto her back, exhaling toward the ceiling. "I do not know what I prefer."
The honesty of it surprised even her. He did not press her, did not make her feel as if she owed him any more words than she was willing to give. Instead, he simply nodded, accepting the truth as it was. "Then we will figure it out," he said easily, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
For a moment, they remained like that, half tangled in the sheets, neither rushing to rise, neither feeling the weight of the world just yet. The Red Keep still stood beyond the chamber doors, waiting for them to return to duty, to expectation, to the scrutiny of their union. But here, in this quiet moment, there was only them.
The seasons turned, as they always did, shifting from one to the next with a quiet inevitability that left no room for pause. Time pressed forward, relentless and unyielding, and with it, the whispers of court continued unabated. They had not ceased after their wedding, nor had they quieted after the consummation. In the months that followed, the court’s curiosity had only deepened, as eyes lingered a moment too long on her at every feast, searching for any sign, any hint, that her role had been fulfilled. The speculation had been unspoken but constant, a weight that hung in the air. There were questions, rumors swirling behind veiled smiles, and subtle glances exchanged between the ladies of the court. But now, those whispers had fallen silent. There was no longer any need for speculation or hidden hopes. The truth had made itself known.
Vysaria stood in the royal apartments, bathed in the soft golden glow of the afternoon sun, her hand resting against the swell of her belly. The weight of it was undeniable now, pressing into her spine, slowing her steps, making every movement feel heavier than before. Her once effortlessly graceful stride had been replaced with something slower, more deliberate. She had never been one for idleness, but now, even the simple act of standing for too long left her feeling weary.
She exhaled through her nose, smoothing her palm over the curve of her stomach as the babe shifted within her, stretching against her ribs. It was an unfamiliar sensation still, one that was neither painful nor wholly comfortable. It was simply there, a reminder of how much had changed.
Her marriage had been no great love story, but it had not been a prison, either. Gwayne had proven to be exactly what he had promised on their wedding night—patient, steady, kind in ways that did not feel like a performance. He had not demanded more of her than she was willing to give, had never treated her like a conquest or a prize to be won. He had given her space to be herself, and that, perhaps, was the greatest gift of all. But there were moments, quiet moments stolen between the duties of the court, when she caught him watching her with something softer, something that made her stomach twist in ways that had nothing to do with the child inside her.
He had never told her he loved her. And she had never told him that she could not love him back.
A shadow passed over the doorway, and she did not need to turn to know it was him.
"You're on your feet again."
His voice was warm, laced with amusement, though not unkind. She could hear the disapproval beneath it, the quiet concern he always tried to temper.
Vysaria let out a slow breath, tilting her head slightly. "Should I be confined to a chair for the next month, then?"
Gwayne chuckled as he stepped further into the room, crossing the distance between them with measured ease. "You would never tolerate that."
He reached for her then, his hands settling gently on her waist, just beneath the swell of her stomach. His touch was familiar now, unhesitant, absent of the careful hesitation he had carried in the early days of their marriage.
"You should rest," he murmured, his thumbs brushing small circles against her hips.
She sighed, letting her head tip forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "I tire of resting."
"You tire of everything lately," he teased, though his voice was softer now.
She smirked against his tunic. "I tire of you most of all."
Gwayne chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I don't believe that for a second. You'd miss me far too much."
Vysaria did not answer. He did not press her. Instead, they stood there, wrapped in the stillness of the moment, neither speaking, neither pulling away. The world outside would not wait. There would be courtly duties, expectations, and the endless game of alliances and maneuvering, but none of that mattered in this quiet space they had carved for themselves. There were no whispers, no watching eyes, no weight of expectation pressing down on her shoulders. Only the warmth of Gwayne’s touch, the steady rhythm of his breath, and the life growing within her. In this fleeting silence, she allowed herself to forget everything else.
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All roads lead to war. Read ahead on AO3 (Ch 1–22).
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zoesblogsposts · 1 year ago
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o 625 words to know in your target language o
There is a really interesting blog called "Fluent Forever" that aids foreign language learners in tricks, tips and techniques to guide them to achieving fluency "quickly" and efficiently. One of the tricks is to learn these 625 vocab words in your target language, that way you have a basis to start delving into grammar with ease as you can understand a lot of vocab right off the bat. Plus this list of words are common across the world and will aid you in whatever language you are learning. Here is the list in thematic order
• Animal: dog, cat, fish, bird, cow, pig, mouse, horse, wing, animal
• Transportation: train, plane, car, truck, bicycle, bus, boat, ship, tire, gasoline, engine, (train) ticket, transportation
• Location: city, house, apartment, street/road, airport, train station, bridge hotel, restaurant, farm, court, school, office, room, town, university, club, bar, park, camp, store/shop, theater, library, hospital, church, market, country (USA,
France, etc.), building, ground, space (outer space), bank, location
• Clothing: hat, dress, suit, skirt, shirt, T-shirt, pants, shoes, pocket, coat, stain, clothing
• Color: red, green, blue (light/dark), yellow, brown, pink, orange, black, white, gray, color
• People: son, daughter, mother, father, parent (= mother/father), baby, man, woman, brother, sister, family, grandfather, grandmother, husband, wife, king, queen, president, neighbor, boy, girl, child (= boy/girl), adult (= man/woman), human (# animal), friend (Add a friend's name), victim, player, fan, crowd, person
• Job: Teacher, student, lawyer, doctor, patient, waiter, secretary, priest, police, army, soldier, artist, author, manager, reporter, actor, job
• Society: religion, heaven, hell, death, medicine, money, dollar, bill, marriage, wedding, team, race (ethnicity), sex (the act), sex (gender), murder, prison, technology, energy, war, peace, attack, election, magazine, newspaper, poison, gun, sport, race (sport), exercise, ball, game, price, contract, drug, sign, science, God
• Art. band, song, instrument (musical), music, movie, art
• Beverages: coffee, tea, wine, beer, juice, water, milk, beverage
• Food: egg, cheese, bread, soup, cake, chicken, pork, beef, apple, banana orange, lemon, corn, rice, oil, seed, knife, spoon, fork, plate, cup, breakfast, lunch, dinner, sugar, salt, bottle, food
• Home: table, chair, bed, dream, window, door, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, pencil, pen, photograph, soap, book, page, key, paint, letter, note, wall, paper, floor, ceiling, roof, pool, lock, telephone, garden, yard, needle, bag, box, gift, card, ring, tool
• Electronics: clock, lamp, fan, cell phone, network, computer, program (computer), laptop, screen, camera, television, radio
• Body: head, neck, face, beard, hair, eye, mouth, lip, nose, tooth, ear, tear (drop), tongue, back, toe, finger, foot, hand, leg, arm, shoulder, heart, blood, brain, knee, sweat, disease, bone, voice, skin, body
• Nature: sea, ocean, river, mountain, rain, snow, tree, sun, moon, world, Earth, forest, sky, plant, wind, soil/earth, flower, valley, root, lake, star, grass, leaf, air, sand, beach, wave, fire, ice, island, hill, heat, nature
• Materials: glass, metal, plastic, wood, stone, diamond, clay, dust, gold, copper, silver, material
• Math/Measurements: meter, centimeter, kilogram, inch, foot, pound, half, circle, square, temperature, date, weight, edge, corner
• Misc Nouns: map, dot, consonant, vowel, light, sound, yes, no, piece, pain, injury, hole, image, pattern, noun, verb, adjective
• Directions: top, bottom, side, front, back, outside, inside, up, down, left, right, straight, north, south, east, west, direction
• Seasons: Summer, Spring, Winter, Fall, season
• Numbers: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 30, 31, 32, 40, 41, 42, 50, 51, 52, 60, 61, 62, 70, 71, 72, 80, 81, 82, 90, 91, 92, 100, 101, 102, 110, 111, 1000, 1001, 10000, 100000, million, billion, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, number
• Months: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December
• Days of the week: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday
• Time: year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, morning, afternoon, evening, night, time
• Verbs: work, play, walk, run, drive, fly, swim, go, stop, follow, think, speak/say, eat, drink, kill, die, smile, laugh, cry, buy, pay, sell, shoot(a gun), learn, jump, smell, hear (a sound), listen (music), taste, touch, see (a bird), watch (TV), kiss, burn, melt, dig, explode, sit, stand, love, pass by, cut, fight, lie down, dance, sleep, wake up, sing, count, marry, pray, win, lose, mix/stir, bend, wash, cook, open, close, write, call, turn, build, teach, grow, draw, feed, catch, throw, clean, find, fall, push, pull, carry, break, wear, hang, shake, sign, beat, lift
• Adjectives: long, short (long), tall, short (vs tall), wide, narrow, big/large, small/little, slow, fast, hot, cold, warm, cool, new, old (new), young, old (young), weak, dead, alive, heavy, light (heavy), dark, light (dark), nuclear, famous
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grey-sorcery · 2 years ago
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Title: Mirrors: Portals and Uses
Recommended Reading
Altars: Uses & Design Dimensions & PlanesDualities in Witchcraft Researching Witchcraft Spiritwork: First Steps Basics of Spellcasting Basics of Warding Basics of Banishing Energy Work Fundamentals Intermediate Energy Work The Subtle Body The Wellsource Correspondences: Research, Creation, & Use
Please note that some information on this post comes from personal experience as well as conversations with my elders and other practitioners.
Introduction
Mirrors harbor a unique and paradoxical role, often existing at the intersection of clarity and obfuscation. Throughout the annals of history, these reflective surfaces have been the subject of mystic fascination and contemplation. Shrouded in a mysterious aura, mirrors are an integral component of various mystical practices across diverse cultures.
A seminal instance is observed within the African Yoruba tradition, where mirrors are emblematic of Oshun, the deity of beauty, love, and prosperity. Here, these reflective surfaces serve as conduits to divine insight, manifesting the ethereal into the perceptible. Parallel to this, in the indigenous cultures of the Amazonian Shipibo-Conibo people, mirrors - often represented by reflective surfaces of water - are perceived as gateways to understanding the complex layers of the universe, thus embodying a significant spiritual tool. Moreover, in many East Asian practices, mirrors carry deep symbolic significance and are fundamental in rituals aiming to ward off malevolent forces. Among the Ainu people of Japan, for instance, mirrors function as amulets, protecting the holder from supernatural harm.
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Mirrors as Portals
A ubiquitous yet perplexing facet is the concept of mirrors functioning as portals. These reflective surfaces, more than mere decorative elements or vanity tools, hold a quintessential place in mystic and magical practice, extending beyond their ordinary use to become intermediaries between the unknown and the practitioner. Diving into the understanding of mirrors, one might read about their role as gateways. The duality of mirrors, both reflective and transparent, presents a tantalizing paradox: what they display isn't a mere reflection, but an alternate universe or spiritual plane. This dichotomy positions mirrors as a connective threshold, an aperture between the observable and the unknown, the physical and the mystical. Despite their allure, mirrors necessitate careful handling within a magical context. It is a common misconception that mirrors only function as portals during explicit rituals. However, their latent potential as conduits should not be overlooked. Consequently, it's paramount that mirrors remain shrouded or safeguarded within consecrated spaces to prevent inadvertent connections to unwelcome energies. Approaching this aspect with a measure of respect and precaution is instrumental in maintaining the equilibrium of such spaces.
Historically, the mirror's role as a portal is discernible across a myriad of cultural contexts. In Greek mythology, Narcissus fell victim to his reflection in a pool of water, demonstrating an early symbol of mirrors as deceptive portals to the ego. In Chinese folklore, the mythical creature Nüwa repaired the heavens using a seven-colored stone, comparable to a mirror, again associating these reflective surfaces with cosmic transitions.
Mirrors often represent truth, knowledge, and self-awareness, owing to their reflective properties. However, their potential as portals imbues them with added dimensions of mystery, transformation, and transition. The mirror, in this context, becomes a metaphor for change and personal evolution, presenting a liminal space where the known meets the unknown, thereby offering new possibilities and perspectives.
Given the energetic properties inherent in mirrors, they should always be treated as portals. Their constituent materials - silica and silver - interact in such a way that a subtle, yet potent, energetic field is generated, a field potentially capable of bridging multiple planes. To ensure safety, mirrors should be handled with respect and caution. They should be appropriately covered or warded when not in use, especially within sanctified spaces. It is also recommended to cleanse mirrors regularly to reset their energetic state and prevent any residual energies from accumulating.
Energetic Interactions & Metaphysics
Energetic Interactions
Amid the energetic symphony of the universe, each object reverberates its unique energetic signature, contributing to the collective composition. Mirrors, with their paradoxical and captivating nature, have often been the center of esoteric investigation. This intrigue is rooted not only in their physical attributes but also in their nuanced energetic interactions.
To comprehend the energetic interplay of mirrors, one must first examine the properties of its constituent components. Primarily, mirrors are composed of glass, a substance formed from the supercooling of molten silica into a quasicrystalline structure. Coating the back of this silica-based surface is a thin layer of reflective metal, usually aluminum or silver. 
Silica is very insulative, and negentropic, meaning that its natural energetic state eventually resets regardless of influence. It is also Attractive, meaning that it slowly pulls other energetic compounds to itself. Due to the quasicrystalline structure, glass is refractive and enthalpic, meaning that it becomes thermal under pressure- or releases energy. Silver is conductive and repulsive in nature. Due to how silver atoms prefer to arrange themselves (a face-centered cubic lattice) it also tends to be very metastable, meaning that its natural energetic state is not prone to change regardless of energetic interactions. Because the two are constantly next to each other, because of the silver backing, the negentropic nature of the silica causes an energetic cycle of attraction and repulsion, this oscillation combined with the conductive nature of silver and the entropic nature of glass generates a small energetic field. While this is normally negligible, it creates the perfect environment for the propagation of connections between spaces or planes that are out of phase with our own. 
The unique composition of mirrors implicates a distinct effect on the ambient energy. Mirrors, with their inherent vibrational resonance, can both pull and push energy, thereby influencing the surrounding energetic atmosphere. The capacity of mirrors to manipulate energy finds practical applications in the sphere of spellwork and energy transmutation. Through their reflective properties, mirrors can serve as effective tools in spells that involve redirection or amplification of energy. They can be used to create energetic boundaries, return energetic influences, or focus and multiply ambient energy and energetic projections. 
Common Metaphysics of Mirrors
The mirror, with its intrinsic capacity to reflect, serves as a potent symbol of the Jungian 'Shadow' - the hidden aspects of one's psyche that are often suppressed or ignored. Through the act of looking into a mirror, one is invited to confront and acknowledge these facets, facilitating a journey towards holistic self-awareness. The mirror, in this respect, catalyzes self-reflection and introspection, propelling an individual towards self-understanding and acceptance. Delving into the sphere of mirror magic uncovers its profound connection to personal transformation. The reflective nature of mirrors encapsulates the principle of change, embodying the potential for alteration and transformation. As such, mirror magic can be utilized as a tool for self-development and evolution, offering a means to focus energy towards constructive change. Beyond symbolism and transformation, the metaphysical properties of mirrors warrant exploration. Mirrors, by their construction and function, are potent energetic entities. The amalgamation of silica and metallic elements results in a unique vibrational resonance, enabling the mirror to absorb, store, and emit energy. This energetic characteristic, coupled with the mirror's reflective capacity, amplifies its metaphysical potency, making it an influential tool in various mystical practices. Moreover, the reflective nature of mirrors aligns them with the principle of 'as above, so below', a concept found in various esoteric traditions. This principle speaks to interconnectedness, suggesting that what occurs on one level of reality also happens on another. Mirrors could, therefore, serve as a solid physical replacement for any correspondence necessary.
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Divination, Spells, & Ritual
In the enigmatic arena of divination, mirrors command a distinctive presence. Among various techniques, scrying - the act of gazing into a reflective surface to perceive spiritual messages - emerges as a common method of introspection and foreknowledge. This practice unfolds as a tripartite process, encompassing the scrying ritual, technique, and subsequent interpretation.
Scrying, an ancient form of divination, leverages the reflective properties of reflective surfaces, like mirrors, to delve into the psyche, unveil hidden knowledge, or prognosticate future events. This technique transcends conventional sensory perception, engaging instead with subconscious and/or spiritual entities. The mirror functions as a medium, harnessing and focusing the widened attention in order to project images or symbols onto the reflective surface. These visual constructs carry messages from the spiritual domain, providing insights that range from self-understanding to predictive revelations.
Techniques & Rituals for Scrying
Executing mirror scrying necessitates a meticulous approach. Often, the process commences with the preparation of the space and the individual. Creating a tranquil environment, devoid of disruptive elements, facilitates a deeper, unhindered connection with the spiritual plane. Personal preparation includes grounding and centering exercises to align the individual's energy with the ambient energy of the environment. They then place a light source between them and the reflective surface. Once prepared, the practitioner enters a meditative state, allowing their gaze to soften and unfocus while looking into the mirror. This passive observation invites subconscious impressions to surface and be displayed on the mirror. Maintaining an open mind and a receptive state is crucial, as the visions or symbols may not be immediately clear or might require subsequent interpretation.
Interpretation of Images & Symbols in Reflections
Post the scrying experience, the practitioner embarks on the task of interpreting the observed symbols or images. This phase is intrinsically subjective, as the significance of the symbols often rests within the personal context of the observer and their held convictions and correspondences. However, there are common archetypes and symbols that carry collective meanings, which can provide a starting point for interpretation.
For instance, water-themed images might signify movement, emotions, or the unconscious, while an image of a bird might symbolize freedom or spiritual elevation. However, these interpretations are not rigid, and the practitioner must trust their intuition to derive the true message from the symbols. Being able to pull specific concepts from abstraction can be an invaluable tool in this practice. Moreover, it's worth noting that the absence of specific images during scrying does not indicate failure. Sometimes, the experience might be more of an energetic shift or a feeling, which are equally valid forms of divinatory communication.
Examples of mirror spells for different applications
Harnessing the power of mirrors, one can devise a multitude of spells tailored for diverse purposes. One such example pertains to protection, where a mirror can serve as a shield to deflect negative energy. Here, the mirror is positioned facing outward, symbolically repelling unwanted influences, thereby safeguarding the individual or space.
Another practical application can be found in the realm of healing. A mirror, due to its reflective nature, can be utilized to channel and focus healing energy towards a specific target. For instance, an inscription or symbol associated with health could be drawn on the mirror surface. Subsequently, this healing symbol is then "activated" by focusing one's concentration on it, allowing the mirror to magnify the healing intention.
Mirror spells also prove instrumental in the domain of self-improvement. One may write or speak affirmations into a mirror, thereby employing its reflective capability to reinforce positive change. The mirror's surface serves to amplify the affirmation, aiding in its internalization and materialization.
Ritual Practices Involving Mirrors
Mirrors, acting as tools for focus, protection, and transformation. One common ritual involves the use of a mirror as a portal for spiritual communication. In this practice, the mirror is treated as a gateway, a connection point between the physical and spiritual planes. Practitioners may engage in meditation or trance work in front of the mirror, seeking to establish communication with spiritual entities or access deep layers of the subconscious.
Another ritual entails the use of a mirror in a consecration ceremony, where the mirror is "cleansed" of any residual energy and "charged" with a specific purpose. This process involves elements like incense, candles, or natural elements like moonlight, leveraging their specific energetic signatures to cleanse and empower the mirror.
One must, however, proceed with caution when interacting with mirrors in a ritualistic context. Given their potent properties, mirrors must be handled respectfully and carefully. Always ensure that the ritual mirror is properly stored or covered when not in use to prevent any unintended energetic interactions.
Example Ritual That Incorporates Mirrors
Ritual of Mirror Reflection
Objective: This ritual aims to promote self-reflection, growth, and self-awareness. It harnesses the unique properties of mirrors to aid participants in seeing and understanding aspects of themselves more clearly.
Optimal Circumstances: Conduct this ritual during a new moon, a time known for introspection and new beginnings. A quiet, dimly lit space with minimal disturbances is ideal.
Ingredients and Correspondences:
Mirror: Acts as the primary tool for reflection and introspection
(Optional) A bowl
White Candle or electric candle: Represents purity and clarity.
(Optional) Lavender Incense: Used for relaxation and heightening awareness.
(Optional) Salt: Represents grounding and protection.
(Optional) Incense for grounding
(Optional) Offerings for your spirits
Preparation:
Create a clean, sacred space where the ritual will take place.
Place the mirror on a flat surface.
Practice the incantation until you can recall it without breaking your train of thought: “Show me, guide me, reveal the truth inside me.”
(Optional) Place the salt and lavender in a bowl and then set the candle in the bowl, cradled within the mixture to support it.
(Optional) Place the candle between you and the mirror before lighting it.
If the bowl, salt, and lavender is omitted, just place the candle between you and the mirror. Be sure that the candle is in a glass container for fire safety.
Procedure:
Creating and Engaging the Headspace:
Ensure that your space is free from distractions by turning devices off or on silent, taking measures to get pets quiet and happy, notifying other residence that you require some quiet, putting on headphones with music, and setting comfortable lighting.
Use the flame from the candle dance. Let its clarity inspire your mind to remain focused and clear throughout.
(Optional) Affirm to yourself, “Today, I seek a clearer understanding of myself.” if you think it will aid you.
Maintain this headspace by repeatedly returning your focus to the candle's flame and the points of gnosis whenever your mind wanders.
Entering a State of Gnosis:
 Light the incense and take a few deep breaths, inhaling the calming scent.
Sit or stand comfortably before the mirror, gazing deeply into your reflection.
Allow any extraneous thoughts to flow out with each exhale.
Gradually move your awareness inwards on your own psyche. While maintaining equal awareness of each component, break up your psyche into subsequent parts by whatever categorization feels most optimal for you.
Include awareness of your subtle body in your gnosis, as it also plays a role in the psyche.
Take steps to ensure that your state of gnosis is unbroken throughout the spell.
Programming the Energetic Body:
Within your gnosis, move your center of consciousness into your subtle body.
Incorporate your Wellsource into your awareness and how it feeds energy into your subtle body.
Begin to radiate Wellsource energy out of each energy point radially. Be sure that the amount of energy per second is unilateral for each point. 
Energetic Constructs:
While maintaining gnosis, reach out and sense the energetic properties and projections from the mirror. It should be a rapidly oscillating field that projects roughly 10 cm -1 m away from the mirror relative to its size. If you’re using a black mirror, stone mirror, or any mirror that doesn’t have a silver backing it will have a different energetic sensation.
(Optional) Incorporating Spirits:
To integrate spirits, whisper a humble request for guidance from trusted spirits and give whatever offerings they prefer. To identify them, look for sensations of warmth, a gentle pressure, or feelings of serenity.
Ensure that you do not demand, but gently request their presence.
Understand that they will help you if they desire, but do not rely on or expect their assistance.
Ritual Action:
Gaze into the mirror, allowing your eyes to defocus slightly. As you do, softly chant or whisper, “Show me, guide me, reveal the truth inside me.”
With each repetition, delve deeper into introspection, understanding the various facets of your being.
Sink your awareness into the components of your psyche. Try not to label them, and just observe them. Trust that your subconscious will bring back what it is you need from the working.
Concluding the Ritual:
 Collect the energy you released and send it into the earth.
Thank your spiritual aids, if you called them, and invite them to leave.
Extinguish the candle and clear the space, ensuring to store the mirror safely.
Cleanse the space using whatever means are more comfortable to you.
Note: Always cleanse the mirror after use to reset its energetic state. This can be done by washing it with salt water or vinegar. If you’d like to seal the mirror, draw a sigil on it and/or cover it with a black or white cloth.
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Spirit Work
Mirrors, in their multifaceted roles within various esoteric traditions, exhibit a powerful capacity for spirit work. This encompasses a wide spectrum of practices ranging from entity banishment to spirit communication. The exploration of these applications, while deeply intriguing, also necessitates an attitude of respect and careful handling given the potent nature of this work.
Examples of Mirrors in Use for Spirit Work
In several indigenous cultures, mirrors are employed for spirit work, acting as conduits between the physical world and the spiritual realm. For instance, among the indigenous Huichol people of Mexico, mirrors are often integrated into shamanistic practices to facilitate communication with ancestral spirits. This specific usage is chronicled in "The Huichol: A Culture Walking Towards the Light" by Susana Valadez and "Shamanism and Spirituality in Therapeutic Practice" by Christa Mackinnon.
In Asia, particularly within the indigenous Ainu community of Japan, mirrors, known as "Iyomante," are considered sacred objects that bridge the gap between humans and "Kamuy" (divine beings). Details of this practice can be found in "The Ainu and their Folklore" by John Batchelor and "Ainu: Spirit of a Northern People" by William Fitzhugh and Chisato Dubreuil.
Using Mirrors for Banishing
Mirrors also play a role in the banishment of unwanted entities. The rationale behind this practice is that the mirror's reflective surface 'returns' the entity's energy back to itself, which can prove disorientating or repelling for the entity. It can also act as a portal to another spiritual plane through which an entity can be sent to. A particular method involves placing the mirror with the reflective side facing outwards towards the direction from which the negative energy is perceived to originate. During this process, the practitioner maintains a focused state, using projections from the subtle body to direct the unwanted energy into the mirror. 
Using Mirrors for Spirit Communication
The reflective nature of mirrors has led to their usage as tools for spirit communication, serving as a medium through which messages from the spiritual realm can be received. This practice often involves mirror gazing or scrying, where the practitioner enters a meditative state and focuses on the mirror's surface, inviting communication from spirits.
One notable example is the "Psychomanteum," a mirrored chamber used for contacting spirits of the departed, popularized by Dr. Raymond Moody, author of "Reunions: Visionary Encounters With Departed Loved Ones". This technique requires a carefully controlled environment and preparation to facilitate spirit communication. It's recommended for only experienced practitioners or under the guidance of a seasoned professional. It is important to note that while mirrors can be effective tools in spirit work, some methodologies may not work for everyone due their vagueness or whether they’re writing from a personal narrative. 
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