grand-master-of-the-british-rite

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

SO.

I was finally done with Dorothea's name card a few days ago, and was waiting to finish Arno's as well.

BUT.

BUT.

I couldn't resist, and I HAD to share with y'all my beloved brainchild in all her KINDRED GLORY. ♪(^∇^*)

So allow me to present to you Dorothea Morgenstern of Clan Ventrue, Lady of Swords and Sorrow and current Prince of London (or in the process of regaining her domain because SECOND INQUISITION, WE AIN'T SCARED OF YOU FML).

(because YES. the crossover I am working on is with another HUGE passion of mine, Vampire the Masquerade <;3),

So, I hope you will like this <3 I cannot wait to present all others' name cards and in depth info as well <3 (and OMG i cannot *wait* to share, Lucia, Federico and Ezio!!!)

--Nemo

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

Monday Draft - The Witches of Månenshavn

*hello hello! decided to reupload my small drabble about my very super self indulgent AU. Blame the weather, but autumn just brought all the witchy vibes in me! Enjoy!*

(.......)

Sitting on the cozy couch, Dorothea looked out of the huge glass window of the sunroom. From the distance, she could see the city lights, twinkling against the black of the night like diamonds kissed by sunlight.

The first thing that made her feel like she wasn’t in England anymore was the quiet, warm stillness that lingered in the air.

Their house was sitting far enough that the lights would not pollute the vision of the sky above her.

Through the glass roof, she could see so many stars twinkling, and the moon herself with her silvery light - only a thin sliver showing, as she prepared to hide from view in the nights ahead.

She took a velvet pillow from the other side of the couch and put it behind her back, before tugging her blanket tighter around her shoulders: it wasn’t cold at all, despite the first signs of autumn that were starting to peak through the days. Still, she always liked to be cocooned.

The couch was as cozy as she remembered it being, so soft I felt like sinking in a cloud. With a low chuckle, Dorothea caressed the ridges of the threads Colette had used for the embroidering on the backseat of Dorothea’s favourite spot: silvers and gold and white against a midnight blue velvet, a star shining alone against the immensity of the night sky.

“I must say, I love what you have done to the sofa,” Dorothea said, turning to look toward the shadows of the adjacent room.

“I knew you would have approved,” she heard a low velvety voice chuckle back at her. “Can’t sleep, Sugar Plum?”

“Not quite,” she answered with a smile, turning to look. Even if the woman was still concealed in the shadows, she didn’t need her eyes to know where she was. “ You would think that the journey had worn me out, and by now I would be snoring like Lucia. Yet, I cannot. The Moon must be in my blood tonight,”

“As she always is, bichette. She never seems to leave you; much like the stars themselves, I dare say, considering the amount of stardust I always find in your trail,”

Dorothea’s laughter filled the room, accompanied by Colette’s own husky one, as the tall dark-haired woman finally entered the sunroom, the light of dark candles kissing her skin. Dorothea saw that she was looking at her with unmistakable affection, leaning against the door frame, wrapped in the same pajama of dark silk she always remembered her having.

Colette De Beaumont was a woman of rare beauty but, Dorothea thought, that beauty didn’t come just from her bright happy eyes or her chiseled features.

It came from her soul and such a splendid one it was.

She had never known a kinder woman, a more generous one.

Even now, as she was looking upon her, she was beaming, as if the sun itself was shining from within her, her tender face and her kind eyes filled with such soft light that Dorothea always felt at peace when she looked at her.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Colette finally asked,

“Not at all,” Dorothea answered, patting the spot just beside her.

Colette plopped on the couch, tucking her feet under her own legs. With a small gesture of her hand, directed toward the kitchen, she had her own cauldron bubbling away in minutes, and a fragrant perfume filled the air.

“Mmm, Lavander…” murmured Dorothea, scooting a little closer to Colette and enveloping her in the same blanket she was using.

“Freshly harvested this morning, bichette. Your wind alerted us of your arrival, so I thought you would appreciate”

Dorothea chuckled, cheeks turning red from joy.

“Was Lucia miffed?”

“That you almost made her fall from her hammock? Just a little,”

An impish smile appeared on Dorothea’s lips, mirrored by Colette. She leaned against the back of the sofa, taking in a deep sigh of relief, nestling her head in the pillows.

“I missed all of this. These smells, these colours, you and Lucia…it had been immensely hard being away from you two,” she murmured, taking Colette’s hand in hers and giving it a little squeeze.

“Did you at least find what you were looking for in London?”

Dorothea sighed, raising her eyes toward the sky.

“Not entirely. I tried to make contact with the Coven presiding over London, but no one could help me decipher the dreams. Or rather, they did, but the answers were… inconclusive. I still do not know what to think of it,”

“Could it be that this time your dreams were only that? Dreams?”

Dorothea sighed again, murmuring a small “thank you” when a cup of freshly brewed tea floated in her hand. She smiled when she noticed that Colette had used her favorite set of china.

“I know not. I cannot be sure. And I hate not having answers," she whispered, pursing her lips in a thin line.

Part of her wanted to agree with Colette.

Part of her, the most irrational one, kept believing that there was something interwoven in the weft of her dreams, a warning of some sort.

Against whom, she didn’t know.

Colette remained silent, as she looked at the younger woman lost in thoughts, and sad to see that the melancholy hadn’t left her eyes.

“Well, at least you had this handsome rugged fellow keeping you company, am I right?” Colette said, gently caressing the feather of the crow that was sitting on the back of the couch. The raven gave out a deep croak, his hackles fluffing up as if to show how the shine of his feathers. “If I didn’t know any better, I would assume that your little friend here is rather pleased with my compliment,”

Dorothea rolled her eyes with a small smile.

“Tell me about it. We almost lost the proper current that would carry us back home, because Belial here was too busy preening at his wings,”

As if to answer her, the raven let out another croak, jumping on her shoulder to peck at her hair. But the pecks were light and the familiar had no intention of hurting her.

“Did you call for him?”

Dorothea shook her head, her short curls bouncing with the movement.

“He found me. I was sitting on top of the Big Ben, just taking in the view of the City, and he arrived to keep me company. He has been with me ever since,”

“Sounds almost like someone sent him to watch over you,”

Dorothea turned to look at the bird, his dark eyes shining with a playful light. She scrunched her nose as she smiled, stroking her nose against the bird’s shiny beak.

“Sounds like it,” she giggled.

Then, she turned serious again, looking outside the window that faced the seaside.

“I will miss the rain,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she remembered all the nights spent awake, when her dreams kept her awake and insomnia got the best of her, and all she could do was stay up and read a book. The pitter-patter of the raindrops against the windows of her room in the old manor that was her residency while in England had always felt like gentle company.

“Månenhavn is not that bad,” Colette murmured, caressing her hair and landing a kiss on top of her head. “You’ll see, with autumn coming soon, you will feel at home again in no time. And with Lucia now joining us for good, our powers will keep this place safe and sound,”

“I was so happy when you wrote me about her return. I felt so bad about leaving you alone to protect the city-”

Colette pinched her lips between her fingers, smiling that warm smile that made everyone feel at home.

“I won’t listen to another word, Dorlé. You needed to follow your path, and I am honestly happy that you did. Besides, your banishing spell was strong enough that it kept all the Banes at bay. Not even the clouds managed to pass through - which caused a little problem with the local climate, but my brother came to lend me a hand and we solved the problem before it could turn into something more serious,”

Dorothea giggled, muttering a small “sorry” before asking: “How are Antoine and Mathias faring?”

Colette faltered a moment, before answering, and Dorothea noticed her moment of hesitancy.

Something had happened, she could see it in the woman's amber eyes.

(…)

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Dear mutuals, how are you all doing????

After so long since my last WIP Wednesday, allow me to share with you a few words from all the chapters I have been working on while I was without WIFI!! <3 I truly hope you will like them!

(...) “I dare beg your pardon, mademoiselle,” Mathias murmured, his hands leaving the keys of the piano as if they had suddenly turned scalding hot. “It was not my intention to cause you torment,” With a quick gesture, he put on his soft gloves again, hiding away his scars, feeling the shame he always felt at the sight of them.

When Dorothea raised her face from her own hands to look at him, eyes were swollen from all the crying or her nose and cheeks splotched with white and purple stains, Mathias felt mortified for having been the cause of such heartbreak.

What caught him off guard and caused him to feel washed over with sympathy for her was the absolute emptiness inside those gray irises. That void, that absolute desolation, he had seen it and known it, times and times over, every single moment his dark eyes had the misfortune of landing in a mirror, after the great fire, when he thought there was no hope for a better day, no consolation in knowing that the dark of the night would soon end and the sun would kiss him again with his rays.

He stood there one moment longer, apprehension growing in his chest for he felt unfit in how to approach her, not knowledgeable in what to do or say to bring whatever comfort he could to that strange woman.

Had she been one of his sisters, he would have taken her in his arms and embraced her until all tears had left her; he would have jested, suggesting her that they could go for ride outside of Paris or pick up some flowers that he could braid in their hair.

But this woman was different, more akin to how his Lady Mother was in the way she carried herself. He tried to recall how his father would console his mother, but couldn’t.

He bowed his head, standing awkwardly next to the piano and considering if to take his leave so not to inconvenience her any further when she finally spoke.

She whispered something barely audible from the tightness of her throat.

“Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle, I…I am afraid I didn’t hear what you said,”

“It was my father’s favourite,” she repeated with broken voice, her eyes looking at the piano with desperate affection.

She stood up, the gown that Colette had given her almost creating a tray behind her for how much bigger it was, it almost made her look like a ghost.

“I was afraid I would forget it, afraid that whatever happened to me - whatever made me lose my mind - might also take away whatever memories I had of the people I loved the most. So, I wrote the song down,” she started to say, heavy tears started to roll down her cheeks again as she caressed the keys with gentle hand.

Mathias could understand only partially what she said, but the pain behind her words was unmistakable.

“Your father played the piano, mademoiselle?”

She nodded, as a tiny smile full of bitter regret touched her lips.

“He did. He does. Splendidly so,” she hiccuped, heart squeezing in her chest. “As a child, I could always hear him playing at night. I would sneak out of my bedroom and sit just outside his solar door, listening. My mother used to sit beside him, there, always there, always at his right, and they would sing and sing and sing to one another, laughing. Byron would find me asleep in the corridor, and tuck me away in bed, and then I would dream of songs and laughter and dances and happiness,”

She sat at the piano bench, pressing one or two keys, before lowering her head to give her tears way to fall in silence once more, staining the light fabric of the nightgown as they landed on her knees. Her chest heaved, the only sign that she was sobbing, holding within all of her pain.

Mathias’s eyes turned down in sadness in seeing all that suffering.

Gently kneeling at her side, he looked at her, offering his most comforting smile.

“I do not pretend to fully comprehend what happened, Mademoiselle, nor am I so presumptuous to say that I know what you must feel. But I promise, on my honour, we will discover what happened to you, and if there is a way to bring you back to your family, if there is a path, we will find it. You have my word. As an Assassin.” Dorothea raised her eyes, furrowing her brow for a moment. Assassin? (............)

(......) “Kill him.” Byron murmured. “But Lord Harrison-“ Byron walked up to his face. “If you think Lord Starrick would allow any piety toward our enemies, you have no wits to yourself whatsoever. Kill him, Master Barclay. I won’t ask it again.” Markus’ whole face transformed, body reacted almost against his will, and with hands trembling, he made the mistake of looking for one moment into the eyes of the Assassin sitting on the floor. The silent plea of mercy was there, all written in watery blue eyes. The gun went off with a deafening boom. Byron looked once more to the desolated rest of the two Assassins, his face not letting transpire a single emotion. If anyone were to look upon him, one would have thought him bored by the whole ordeal. But this would have been the furthest from the truth. He looked at Markus, whose face was pale and covered in sweat as if he was about to either retch or pass out. Byron narrowed his eyes as he walked just by him, his footsteps heavy as if to underline the solemnity of his pace He stood by the Master Templar without so much deigning him of a glance. When he spoke, he saw the man flinching. “I do not take insubordination kindly, Markus. Defy my order again and I will make sure that no one will ever find you ever again. You have taken an oath. You were given a second chance and I will make sure that you follow through with it. I will see you abide by it by any means necessary, or I swear on what I hold most dear in this life, I will make you regret the day you have set foot inside the Manor. Understood?” Markus turned to look toward the man that was towering over him, his voice a squawk that died in his chest before it could pass through his lips. A shaky nod was all that he could muster. Satisfied with the response, Byron walked past him, never turning to face either the Master Templar or the slaughter of the room. As he walked past the entrance door, he saw Victor reaching out to him, his dark eyes looking just past his shoulders with worries. “Mylord,” “Yes, Master Dorian?” “I received a message from Master Starrick the Youngest. You are needed in White Chapel as soon as you can,” Byron nodded, as he took the short telegram from his pupil’s hands. He skimmed through the message with careful attention: even if the words were written with great economy, the urgency of its tone couldn’t be denied. When he raised his eyes to meet Victor Dorian’s apprehensive gaze, his lips were thinned in a grimace of almost satisfaction. “Your Commands, My Lord?” “I shall answer the Young Master Starrick’s call. I will go alone. Keep Markus with you. And before you head back to London-“ Byron turned to look at the small house, hatred seeping into all his being like a poison spreading in his veins with every heartbeat.”- Burn everything and then spread salt upon the soil. I want to see this place erased from the face of the Earth,”

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[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

"A firestone forged in flames The wildest card, run the game, run the game Can't stay the same in this world of change Don't fear the pain, just break the chain

Lookin' out, she calls "Lai, la-da-di-dai-da Who will conquer all, all?" Her name is

She, Queen of the Kings, runnin' so fast, beatin' the wind (hey) Nothin' in this world can stop the spread of her wings She, queen of the kings, broken her cage, threw out the keys (hey) She will be the warrior of North and Southern Seas"

"Queen of Kings" - Alessandra Mele

afternoon afternoon!

I managed to find some wifi earlier this morning, and decided to upload this artwork that I managed to finish during my "forced" leave of absence.

I have been working a lot on Dorothea in the past few days, because I honestly missed my Victorian Queen 🌹💓 (I had a bit of a rough few days, mental health-wise, and my Queen is my go-to find some dopamine lolol)

I am quite happy to finally finalize her Grand Master look (one heck of upgrade from her old design, tho I still very much love the old version as well), because this side of Dottie is one that I don't speak enough about, and I truly need to.

Well, I hope you will like it, and I hope I will be able to share soon more artworks (please cross your fingers that my whole wifi situation get solved soon, thank you <3).

Be safe everyone!

--Nemo

#Assassin's Creed Syndicate #Dorothea Starrick #Grand Master of the British Rite #my oc #my art #nemo sketches

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

Soooooooooo.

I had this artwork sitting in my wips for at least a year now, and the only thing that was missing was the rendering (and if you have been with me for a while, you know how much I ABHOR rendering lol).

So today, after taking a break from the Mermay!Jottie artwork I was working on in the morning, I decided to just put POTO on as background company and finish this.

And let me tell you, I am actually really happy with how it turned out, and I am SO LOOKING FORWARD to drawing more POTO for Jacob and Dottie, considering how much Christine, as a character, has influenced me in the creation of Dorothea (and more POTO fanart in general, because gods, I do miss drawing Erik and Christine <3).

Well, I hope you will like this :)

--Nemo

#The Phantom of The Opera #Erik #Phantom of the Opera #Christine Daae #POTO #Assassin's Creed Syndicate #Jacob Frye #Dorothea Starrick #Crossover #my art #my oc #nemo sketches

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

---Queued Post---

Finally finished Part 1 of this AU. Honestly, I had too many artworks to put in just one post, so I might do part 2 as well (I genuinely want to show the Coronation dress, and the kiss, and them bickering like the two lovebirds that they are, with Jacob teaching Dorothea how to behave like a Romanov. I have a dozen more sketches for this AU, I was indeed on fire when i sketched them all. lol).

It was honestly such a fun project, I loved having Dorothea portray Anya and work on her design, trying to make it resonate with Anya's original design. Also, I loved drawing Crawford as Nicholas II, it suited the part so well, in my opinion.

Well, I hope you will like this :)

--Nemo

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

Ok, as I said earlier this afternoon, I will share all the Anastasia!AU artworks in one post.

So, for now, I cannot help but share just a tiny preview of the artwork of Dorothea with Anastasia's Opera Dress.

OF COURSE IT WAS THE ONE I WOULD FINISH FIRST.

Gods, this AU has me ON FIRE.

BUT THIS IS ALL I WILL SHARE FOR NOW.

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

Where are you, Tom? Hm? My big brother? You know you used to stop sometimes and laugh. Do you even remember this place? You walk into the Garrison like a stranger and you sip fucking water. But I’m alive, Ada. Yeah. And you’re still looking for trouble big enough to kill you.

#emmett starrick-frye #my oc faceclaim #cillian murphy #thomas shelby #peaky blinders

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

Ana de Armas by Thomas Whiteside for Vogue Spain (2020)

#ana de armas #Lily Frye

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

‘We need to forget the idea that it has to be Arthur that pulls the trigger. Tradition will just fuck us up.’

#cillian murphy #tommy shelby #Emmett Frye-Starrick

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

Cillian + smoking 🚬

#cillian murphy #Emmett Starrick-Frye

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

Thomas Shelby in every Episode of Peaky Blinders. Gifset [2/36]

#Thomas shelby #Emmett Frye

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

#Emmett Starrick-Frye #the eldest child of Jacob and Dottie #I have his whole bio ready #I need to finish Gabriel and Eva #gods I have too any things to do

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

Natalie Dormer

#Dorothea Starrick #Faceclaim #my oc

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

The Young Martyr (detail, 1856) Paul Delaroche

#this looks eeriely like a painting that could represent Dottie #but i love it #oh so very much #dorothea starrick

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

So I have read several people complaining that they can't be expected to know the "unwritten rules" of fandom. So here's what I wish people knew:

Fanfiction is fiction.

Fictional people are not real.

Fictional people do not have rights.

Fictional people cannot be abused.

Reading or writing about something does not mean the desire to do or support it in the real world.

If I find art upsetting/triggering/disgusting/outraging/unpleasant/squicky/distressing/offensive, it is on me not to read it, not the creators and hosts to remove it.

Curate your own experience. The back buttons exist for a reason.

If you don't trust yourself to do that, get someone you trust to do it for you.

Fandom is an adult space. Adults create and own and host fandom spaces. If minors want to participate, then the onus is on them and their parents/guardians/trusted adults to ensure they participate appropriately, not on strange adults to stop being adults.

You often don't know the assault status or mental health status or neurotype or race or nationality or religion or gender or sexuality or age of a creator or consumer, and they do not have to disclose to you to justify their fantasy.

AO3 is not a safe space. It is not intended to be a safe space. Proceed accordingly.

Just because you don't like something or find it offensive doesn't mean it is a "problem" that "has to be dealt with".

Most characters in anime are not white.

There is no onus on you to reblog or share anything.

Everyone makes mistakes in fandom and is less than their best self sometimes.

Persistent pseudonyms encourage long term relationships.

Ship wars are stupid.

Someone else enjoying things does not impact on your own enjoyment of other things.

Tagging and warning is a courtesy, not a requirement. Assume any fic might contain untagged content.

Rating is an imprecise art, not a science.

Don't hassle IP creators.

Most people who are in fandom are hoping to make connections based on a shared passion.

Trying to profit from transformative fanworks puts us all at risk.

No one is obligated to share your head canon or fanon.

Being kind rarely fails to pay off.

It is okay to block and remove people who make your experience unpleasant. You don't have to placate them. (Learn from my mistakes).

Britpicking is a good thing.

You don't have to justify why you like a canon/pairing/trope/kink. Sometimes navel gazing is fun, but you don't have an obligation to explain yourself, especially to strangers. I share the overwhelming desire to refute an unfair accusation, but the people accusing you are rarely doing so in good faith, so you're batting a losing wicket.

I'm not your Mum. (Well, okay, a very few of you can call me Mum or Mom, but if you are one of them you already know who you are ❤️)

If you aren't mature enough to take responsibility for your online experiences, you aren't mature enough to be in fandom spaces.

[grand-master-of-the-british-rite]

1860s female archery outfit with pocket diary hanging from the belt

(source)

#like YES #Dottie would so wear soemthing like this #pronto