#c:cassian

[theoforestgrayson]

It had been an incredibly slow morning. Theo wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. The paint tubes resting on the shelves had all been Charmed appropriately, he had tidied ot the point of dusting the ceiling and the small delivery that had arrived a few hours prior was now safely in the back storage room. He had taken to sitting behind the tills on days like these, more often than not he painted or sketched on a small pad he kept hidden beneath the desk, but today he had decided to paint sunflowers to line the edge of the countertop. It suited the airy and brightly coloured aesthetic and it gave him something to do that felt productive. He was so lost in his work, his back to the door as he attempted to reach the perfect angle, that he almost didn’t register the sound of the bell. It took a few seconds before he stood, pushing his blue hair back away from his face, turning to the customer knowing full well he had yellow paint across one of his cheeks. His smile faltered the moment he recognised the figure standing in the doorway though, silhouetted by the light from outside. There was a clatter as his paintbrush hit the ground, spraying paint over his battered Converse. For a moment he felt sure he had lost the ability to speak. His chest felt tight, his eyes stung with unshed tears. But they couldn’t stand in silence, so he forced the words from his mouth. “Rhys?” He breathed, his voice barely louder than a whisper. As though he was afraid the sound of it might scare his brother away. “Why.. what are you doing here?” @ofgrxyson​

[ancgnorisis]

continued from here @drakuletka

He feels the familiar instinct—to correct, to caution, to draw a clean line and stand firmly behind it. Discipline rises in him like a reflex, scripture assembling itself neatly at the back of his tongue. Rules are safeguards. Vows are shelter. Order is mercy. And yet. Her words linger, unsettling in their ease, in the way they refuse to kneel. “I’m not saying they’re designed to be broken,” he says finally, voice low, careful. Measured the way he measures everything. 

His eyes flick, briefly, to the chalice in her hand before returning to her face. There is something about her composure that unsettles him—how little she seems threatened by consequence, how lightly she wears conviction. He cannot name why it troubles him, only that it does. “The Church would argue,” he says calmly, “that exceptions are not indulgences. They are discernments. Made with fear of God, not appetite.” A pause. He folds his hands together, fingers lacing as if to still them.

[ancgnorisis]

“I like seeing the Christmas lights on the homes.” For Cassian from Siobhan, unprompted

The air smelled of frost and chimney smoke.

Cassian walked beside her at a careful distance, hands tucked into the sleeves of his coat, the hem of his cassock brushing his calves with each measured step. The town lay quiet in that peculiar December hush—shops closed early, streets softened by the promise of snow, the dark stitched through with scattered points of light.

The woman walking beside him lifted her gaze to the houses they passed, each one bearing its own small act of devotion: white lights tracing window frames, colored bulbs knotted through hedges, a glowing plastic angel planted in a lawn gone brittle with cold. The lights pushed back against the darkness with a fragile, stubborn insistence.

“I like seeing the Christmas lights on the homes,” she said.

Her voice was calm, reflective—not idle observation, but something closer to remembrance.

Cassian inclined his head at first, the reflexive agreement of a man practiced in gentle responses. It took him a moment to find words that felt like his own.

“They remind people to hope,” he said at last. “Even when there isn’t much reason to.”

They passed another house, modest and careful, its lights taped along the windows with visible precision. Inside, a family moved around a Christmas tree, their shadows stretching and warping against the curtains. Cassian looked away quickly, a familiar ache settling beneath his ribs.

“You’re not from here,” he said. It slipped out before caution could stop it. ''Are you?''

[ancgnorisis]

STARTER FOR @cannibr4t

The confessional was always colder than the rest of the church. Father Cassian stepped inside anyway, letting the wooden door close quietly behind him. The faint scent of incense still clung to the air—smoke and sanctity, the two things that seemed to follow him everywhere. He adjusted his cassock, smoothing the fabric over his knees as he sat. The seat was familiar, almost unforgiving in its hardness. He welcomed that.

He touched the crucifix at his chest, feeling the metal already warm from his skin. Strength, he prayed silently. For them… and for me.

Outside the thin screen, he could hear the low murmur of the church as the last candles guttered. Footsteps. Someone shifting their weight. A soft cough. Cassian folded his hands, knuckles pale with discipline rather than tension. He leaned slightly forward, careful, patient, that quiet gravity settling over him like a mantle. He never rushed anyone. Never pushed. But he offered the first invitation, the one that eased shoulders and drew breath from trembling lungs. “You may come in,” he said, his tone warm but steady. “I am here to listen.” Another pause—another heartbeat suspended. He looked toward the lattice screen, eyes dark and calm, braced for whatever truth might cross that boundary between shadows and grace.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Cassian added softly. “Confess your sins.”

[reicientlvpvs]

@cassianmalfoy​

“Hello, Cassian.” Faith was unsure of how her cousin would react to her presence, but he needn’t worry. She wasn’t sticking around here too long. “Been busy?”

[dax-dixon]

Teach me how to make a latte with a heart on it sometime ok? Happy Valentine’s Day, Dax~

- Cassian

CAS, MY HEART, MY SOUL, THEY’RE AS FULL AS MY STOMACH AFTER DEVOURING THESE.

Thank you so much, and I definitely will, man. Happy Valentine’s Day! ;_; <3

…and here’s a little something for you cause "I ♥ YOU A LATTE"…

[dax-dixon]

❤~

I would kill for you*. • I would make love to you. • I would fuck you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you ( friendship-wise ). • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I want children with you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically - a little crush ) • I love you like family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you . • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.

*he probably can’t, but will try

[dax-dixon]

💭~

“I should bake Cas something. Probably not a soufflé, though. Remember last time? Wait, no, that was a dream. Okay, but pizza. I could do pizza. Or coffee cake! Perfect. Great, but now I’m hungry. For soufflé. Goddamnit.”