The knighting of Sir Cornix the Celerity Knight (photo credit to FLNT/Sawyer Richardson; pictured is Syr Talon proceeding over the knighting as Sir Cornix kneels. Creek is presenting Cornix with a spear as his knighting weapon.)
This was the moment I officially stepped into my squireship! I had retained under Cornix during his squireship for a little over a year, and I was still really nervous to step into squiring - what if I’m not good at being a leader? What if I fail?
But the truth is that I am going to fail - maybe not entirely, but I’ll have moments where I fail at tasks. And I’m not gonna be a great leader right from the start. Being a squire is the start of my dedication to learn though - learn how to better communicate, how to listen to others, how to provide a safe space for people in the community.
So will I mess up? Absolutely. But the goal isn’t to be perfect. My goal is to grow. My goal is to stumble and pick myself back up and keep trying. My goal is to learn about my community and work towards making it even better.
I am Squire Creek of Dur Demarion and this is the start of my journey! ⚔️
Mood board for the Goddess Holle or Holda. She is a deity of hearth and home, of spinning, magic, snow, and winter. She is also the leader of the Wild Hunt and the Queen of witches and alves.
Dirtgoblin Community Center game release day! Today it's Hearthlight, a solo journaling game where you prepare a last meal for a dead video game character and bid them a meaningful farewell before you attempt a new play through.
Every first and third Monday of the month, I release a small game on my Patreon, in addition to early access playkits, a library of all my work to date, an ongoing connected path game, and so much more. The Dirtgoblin Community Center is how I'm making my base income this year, and now is a great time to join!
y’all heathens made me have feelings so i wrote a thing. hurt/comfort, angst, all sorts. Tagging some folks who inspired this with their emotional dashboard shenanigans/that I feel would Appreciate the content. @exiledelain @confused-as-all-hell @asteria-of-mars @ratabrasileira @ladyvanserra @vanserrasvalkyrie @rarephloxes @queen-hypaxia
Title: Ardere
Length: 3.3k
Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse, given Lady Autumn’s situation
Summary: Set during the High Lords meeting in ACOWAR. Canon compliant, I suppose, but do any of us care about that anymore?? Hestia, the Lady of the Autumn Court, seeks her oldest lover and comfort Helion for a stolen night of love and reconnection. Helion POV, emotional hurt/comfort, bit of angst.
Teaser:
‘" Hestia," he whispered, with the same reverence he'd speak the name of a goddess in her holiest temple.
Instinct bade him go to her, and he did not fight it. He didn't even try.
For a moment he thought she might refuse him, might insist upon caution. But the next she was in his arms, and as he held her close and breathed her in, he knew he hadn't been truly warm since last he'd been able to embrace her.
"Helion," she murmured into his chest.
The sound of her voice wrapped around his name was the sweetest torture he'd ever known. All Hyben need do to break him was ask him to defect in her voice and he would obey without a thought.
AO3: Link
"I cannot spare long."
The book he'd been flipping idly through dropped at once from his fingers at the sound of that voice.
Before he'd finished turning to her, her scent hit him. So warm, so inviting, it nearly knocked him back into his chair.
Then he beheld her.
The first time he'd clapped eyes on her, all those centuries ago, she'd left him breathless and stunned.
Like an Autumn storm that had ravaged every part of his being and left him, naked and awed, before its power and majesty. She had blown into his life with an unexpected abruptness as yet unmatched.
He'd been an arrogant prick at that age. Cauldron, he was still an arrogant prick. But he'd been used to everyone's eyes, male or female, following him as he moved through a room.
Those gazes found him and they didn't leave. He was High fae. He was a High Lord's heir. He'd been made to rule Day and to look damned good while doing it.
He'd been accustomed to being wanted, to inspiring lust and envy by simply existing.
Never, before her, had he been on the other side.
He'd never seen someone so beautiful. So consuming and captivating that he hadn't been sure of being able to win their lust and love with a simple smile and an effortless word.
She'd shaken something in him that day. She had entered his world and unmade him with a glance. Then reconstructed him, exactly as she'd found him, with one stark difference. At the core of the man she had rebuilt was a need for her. Not merely her beautiful body, but her heart, her soul. He'd known, in that moment, that she had him. And always would.
The years had taken much from her. And holy gods, did he know it. But they had not taken this, her ability to so thoroughly destroy him that he was reborn at once as her servant in but a single glance.
" Hestia," he whispered, with the same reverence he'd speak the name of a goddess in her holiest temple.
Instinct bade him go to her, and he did not fight it. He didn't even try.
For a moment he thought she might refuse him, might insist upon caution. But the next she was in his arms, and as he held her close and breathed her in, he knew he hadn't been truly warm since last he'd been able to embrace her.
"Helion," she murmured into his chest.
The sound of her voice wrapped around his name was the sweetest torture he'd ever known. All Hyben need do to break him was ask him to defect in her voice and he would obey without a thought.
For all that he made a show, and tell, if he was fair, about what the Cauldron gave him with regards to his body, particularly his glorious thighs, that wasn't his true pride.
No, the thing he held most valuable was his mind which contained the knowledge of a thousand libraries and more.
He didn't earn his name by clearing through spells with his thighs. Fuck no. His wit, his cunning, his intellect, that was where his true power, his true strength as a High Lord came from.
That was why Hestia had always managed to claim him so thoroughly. All these centuries later and he still couldn't think around her. Couldn't form a single coherent thought while her scent filled his lungs. It travelled from there directly to his brain, and filled it with stolen afternoons and illicit nights spent in the only place they truly belonged.
Drawing away, in itself an agony, but one he was rewarded for, as it let him look into her face.
He cradled it between his hands, so careful. so delicate. She was not a fragile woman, he knew that well. She was of the forge, with fire in her veins, and iron in her bones.
The world saw the silence, the frailty of her body, and the resignation of her fate and mistook that for softness, and docility. He knew better.
This woman put the heroes of the War to shame. Her strength, her courage, her will - if they had any idea they'd have written epic poems about her resilience and ballads to her spirit.
Drakon wouldn't have lasted an hour in her place. Had she been in his, the damned War would have ended so fast they wouldn't have been able to call it one.
Yet he held her with all the gentleness that was in him. Not because he feared she might break without it; but because he knew she would find none elsewhere.
His fingers tenderly brushed her hair from her eyes. Like her, their, son's it was a red as sure as blood. But hers spiralled from her in a cacophony of raucous curls. They were contained, now, with a thick leather band around her head. He would always remember them wild, and free, as she was meant to be.
As he moved them aside, he saw the shadow of a bruise around one of her beautiful russet eyes. Hidden well, but...
His body went taut, jaw clenching instinctively. She felt the tension coiling in him, and laid her hands gently over his.
"Don’t," was all she said, voice soft, but unyielding, like the sun’s gentle rays as it rose each morning.
"Not a heartbeat has passed for me since that day," he rumbled, voice deeper and darker than his usual light, playful timbre." That I have not thought about the choice that was made, and begged the Mother to let me change it."
She faced him steadily and said, " You know I made the choice that was available to mem" she moved closer, her body melting against his, like the hot metal of a blade folded around itself to create something more, "Not the one I wanted."
"I know, my hearthlight,” he whispered softly, sensing her smile at the old pet name he used for her, “And I would never blame you for that. But as for myself-"
A coward. This woman. This holy, burning creature. This caged forest fire... She loved a coward.
Hestia placed a finger to his lips, silencing him, " What good does it do," she murmured the rich warmth of her voice caressing him like a thick blanket on a cold winter night, “To dwell upon the past? To linger, in misery, and shame in a single moment of your immortal life?”
He opened his mouth to answer her, but she knew him too well, and silenced him with but a single look.
"Will your regret force back the sun?” she demanded with that quiet spirit he loved so keenly, “Will your sadness take us back? Will your guilt rewrite the pages of the history books which have been gathering dust in your libraries for centuries?"
She was such a small thing. She always had been. And seemed more so, held between his muscular arms. Yet she dwarfed him now.
Like the flicker of a candle flame catching and summoning a raging inferno to remind him she was but a fragment of a force of nature, bound in skin, but never truly caged.
"If I could have," he said at last, voice a little hoarse as though he'd inhaled thick smoke, “I would have done so a thousand times over. And paid any price to do so."
He had tried. He'd never confess it to another soul, not even to the Mother herself upon his deathbed, but he had tried. Tried to rip apart the fabric of all reality with nothing but his bare hands and love for her.
A part of him was still surprised that it had not been enough. Because it was. Reality had simply not accepted that particular facet of its existence.
"I know you would have, lucky fluke," all these years and still she called him that.
A name she'd hung on him to tease the first day they had met. He'd baldly called their meeting the Mother's own ordained fate. She'd laughed, with a sound like falling leaves, and named it, and him, lucky fluke.
Then, the words had been edged with mockery. Now they echoed with all of their history, with all of their fondness, and all of her love.
"But time goes on. That sun of yours still journeys East to West, and we still live with the decisions we made upon a summer's night a million fireflies' lifetimes ago."
" Hestia-" he began, but she quietened him once more.
"When I wish to look back, Helion, I shall find myself a mirror,” she said, with the strength that had held her together all these decades of pain and misery, turned upon him now to remind him that she would not yield.
“I will not live my life wading through times I have already endured,” she said, voice softer now, but no less intent, “I have no wish to allow him to cause me pain in the few and rare times that are my own. I shall make pleasant moments here, with you, and that is what I ask of you. To be with me. Here. Now. And to love me while we can."
"I am yours, Lady,” he breathed.
With the same breath he’d first pledged that to her centuries ago. Before the world had taken the freedom she craved so much, and given him a power he’d never wanted. A tattoo of her heart had etched itself over his own, in a vibrant red, a marker of the bargain he’d made. Unintended, but not regretted.
“From now until my sun fades from this world unto the next," he promised her once more, one hand over his heart.
"Until I find you there as well," she replied, as she had all those years ago, leaning up, while drawing him down, and touching her forehead to his.
He loved her. Oh, Cauldron, he loved her, and whatever the Mother had used to make her, he loved that too.
"Come," she said softly," Let us make the most of what time we have."
So they did.
"What do you want from me, Hestia?" he whispered, pressing the worlds into her thick hair, his face buried in the crown of her head.
She looked at him, and answered as she did each time with aching certainty, and absolute truth." Everything."
"Then take it." he whispered, a devoted priest at last within the presence of his deity, “All I have, and all I do not. Take it all."
So she did.
They had no need of words in that hallowed space when bodies and beings connected, skin to skin, and soul to soul.
The breath it would have cost to provide a vessel for their thoughts would have only felt like a barrier between them.
They had no wish for that.
He knew her thoughts. And she knew his. They did not need to share them with the air and fireflies.
For themselves, they gave voice to those thoughts in the lost language of lovers. Spoken in the gasps of breath and sweating palms.Thundering hearts, and hungering lips. Gasping lungs, and grasping touch.
And every thought the same: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Then came the quiet. The gentle tangle of limbs. Eyes closed, heartbeats aligned. Willing the dawn to wait for them.
They did not sleep. They would not waste time on dreams when they already had everything they could ever hope to find in that untamable oblivion already contained within their embrace.
"It has been some time," Helion said at last, loath to break the spell of the silent commune of their souls, but such was his nature,"I thought the most of you I would ever make love to again was the echo of our last time, the memory of you."
He shifted slightly, so that he could see her face, all peaceful lines and soft curls, her eyes still closed.
"Why now, Hestia? With him," his jaw tightened at the mere mention of that excuse for a male, "So close the risk-"
"Is minimal," she interceded smoothly. Still without opening an eye, she continued." I drugged his wine. He shall sleep until daybreak. At least."
Helion opened his mouth, then closed it, refusing to be drawn off course "You didn't answer my question."
"I thought the answer would be obvious to you, lucky fluke," she murmured.
"You know you reduce me to the wits of a mere mortal, hearthlight," he said, half burying the words in her thick hair.
" Hmm," she hummed, thoughtful, "Must I spell it out for you, then, brightheart?"
"If you would be so good, my lady."
She was quiet so long he thought she might have succumbed to sleep, despite their pact.
At last she said, quiet as an Autumn breeze, " Each morning, when I open my eyes, and watch the sun rise beyond my window, I prepare myself for pain."
He flinched, but she seemed not to notice, continuing calmly.
"This has been my burden to bear through all my years of marriage And I have borne it well, without falter, or complaint.
"I have known pain in many forms, and I have carried every one. But upon the horizon, I saw a new pain. One I had not confronted for so long. And I knew, in my soul, that I was not equal to it. That, at last, I would meet a battle I could not win. And so I found a way to avoid fighting it altogether."
"What did you foresee, hearthlight?" he forced himself to say.
"This war," she murmured, her ever-steady voice cracking in a way that made him pull her closer still. "This war came. And it claimed you. It took you from me when you had not been mine in centuries. And I could not abide that."
"I am always yours," he whispered fiercely.
"Peace, brightheart," she soothed, "I know that. But I had to feel it. I had to erase the idea that last time was the last. I had to have you, and hold you, and love you once more before the end. Or else I knew I could not face this war. Not alone."
He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and held it, eyes closed, heart pounding, fighting every urge not to speak the words batting past the lump in his throat. But he had never been as strong as her.
"I cannot let you go this time, Hestia," he groaned, " I cannot sit idly, and smile, and tease while I've willingly let you go again."
"If I can find the strength to do what must be done," she said, with iron in her words, "Then you must find the strength to let me."
"I can't," he said, voice breaking. She found his hand and squeezed it, "I am a High Lord in my own right now, Hestia." he breathed to her." I could-"
"No, you could not." she said, firm, unyielding, a rock in an icy stream, with waters all around, that had not moved in centuries, and would not now.
"There is a war coming, Helion. Win or lose in a fight for me, it would shatter this fragile alliance, and any hope for Pythian. So you will do no such thing." she went on, before he could protest, "For we must win this war. For our courts. For our people. For our freedom. And for our son."
For the first time her voice broke. Before they fell, his fingers had already lifted to wipe her tears. the only ones she would shed. Not for herself. Never for herself. But for her, for their, son... She had never confronted him with it so boldly before.
He closed his eyes, unable to deny her. Unable to even deny her.
"We have to tell him, Hestia," he said, so softly.
"We must," she agreed, "But I have not been allowed to see him in almost three hundred years. And I will not have you tell him alone. As much for his sake as for yours."
He nodded, head bowed.
"Together, then. If I make it through what is to come."
Reaching up she took his chin between her fingers and drew his face down to meet her eyes.
"You will not die this war, Helion," she told him.
Her words flared with that fire she was forced to hide from everyone, everyone but him.
"Because if you try, I will drag the Mother by her hair to your grave and force her to dig you up for me."
He smiled at those words, at the certainty that she would do exactly as she said.
"That almost makes me want to try it, you know," he purred, tracing vague patterns into the bare skin of her shoulder with his thumb as he spoke, "Just to see you do that."
She actually growled at him which, from her, was enough to utterly dissuade him from the notion.
They lay in gentle silence together, until the velvet blackness of night bled to indigo, as the careless artist of time spilled the white she used to craft the stars into the sky itself and melted its darkness.
"I've always found it ironic," he mused, "That being High Lord of Day hasn't blessed me with the power to halt the sun, and stop the day from intruding."
"That is your duty, brightheart." she replied with a soft smile." You must assert yourself upon the land, its sleepy lovers, and restless thieves alike, and force them to make haste and more. Without you there would be no growth, no change, only stagnation and decay."
She cupped his face in her hand, a hand now lined, to show the life she'd lived. Without him. His heart lurched at the thought.
But her voice drew him back to her as she said, "And without Day, the nights would not seem nearly so precious."
He pressed a gentle kiss to her waiting mouth, silent thanks for her words, the feeling behind them. He held her eyes a moment more. spinning out this last bit of thread, like a frugal weaver making the most of fate's allotment.
Then he said, irritably, "I'm still going to have words with Thesan later today."
She laughed as he said that, but she laughed as she withdrew from him.
How fittingly ironic that the sweetest sound he'd ever heard paired in this moment with the bitterest sorrow he'd ever felt.
He watched her as she withdrew the new gown she'd thought to bring. At a silent glance from her he rose, still naked, and helped to seal her back into her cage of cotton and lace.
He combed and braided her hair, as he'd done a thousand times before. Then, heart aching, as it had a thousand times before, he spun a ward around her, to mask his scent where it mingled with hers. She could carry no reminders of this night save fragile memory.
Then, like the night, with one final kiss, she was gone. The chamber felt cold, even as it was bathed in his light.
Wordless, he pulled on a robe and strode onto his balcony to greet the rising of his sun.
It was a hollow warmth, compared to her, and brought him little comfort.
As he gazed ahead into his eternity. Alone, once more. Lonely in a way only she would know. For the world saw the friends he surrounded himself with, and the lovers he brought to his bed, without ever knowing the gaping void in his soul that he could never fill with them.
Closing his eyes, he drew in one last breath of her, of them, their scents still mingling on his skin, then banished it.
He turned towards the light, facing this new day, and begged the Mother to lend him even a fragment of his heartlight's strength that he might face it.
Disenjangle (VERB):
The process of stripping your belt of favors, pouches, bells, tokens, drinking vessels, weapons, etc before visiting the toilet. Necessary to avoid piddling on one’s accessories while wearing garb.
Visual Journal 9.30 - 10.1.2018 - Some choice picks from the Great Rising in Tir Asleen. It was great weekend and it's always wonderful to see so many friends #hearthlight #larping #larp #justvikingthings https://www.instagram.com/p/BobuPfPHDnn/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=hka7ladqxosz
