#reliable record keepers

[thebookkeepersrus-blogs]

 What Are The 5 Ways By Which Record Keepers Help Achieve Business Success? Record management is not a company’s primary task, but it is a procedure that must not be neglected or underestimated. However, business owners may sometimes find it too difficult or are too busy to handle it themselves. Read on our blog!

#best blog #business tips #smallbusinesstips #small business solutions #reliable record keepers #bookkeepers #full service bookkeeping #healthcare bookkeepers #business success tips #top experts #los angeles #california

[thebookkeepersrus]

Do you have a healthcare business? Are you a Healthcare Manager? This is how you achieve success in business! Call us!

#reliable bookkeeping #bookkeepers #record keepers #healthcare bookkeeping #Los Angeles #California Services #small business accountants #full-service bookkeeping #thebookkeepersrus

[focsle]

have you written anything about tattoos? is that relevant? don't know how your niche lines up with generic "sailor" tradition, but wikipedia simply says on knuckle tats that deckhands may get "HOLD / FAST" as a charm to support their grip on rigging, and i thought that was kind of cute.

I haven't written anything myself, mostly cos if you throw a stick out in the internet you'll find any number of articles about the symbolism of sailor tattoos, like hold fast and pigs and roosters and swallows and all that!

In my narrow window (the middle decades of the 19th century), I don't see tattoos mentioned all too often, compared to late 19th and throughout the 20th century where they became more common. For instance, this register of seaman's protection certificates (which are admittedly limited in the scope of things, since they're only from a few specific ports) from 1796-1871 rarely list tattoos as distinguishing marks, beyond the odd mention of being marked with an inked anchor, eagle, or letters here or there. Here's a neat jstor article (if you have any more of your 100 free monthly articles to read with a google account) that goes into late 18th-early 19th c tattoos that has some tables and visuals. The research was also done using seaman's protection certificates, with the following stat:

"The SPC-A records start in 1796 and include tattooed men born as early as 1746. There were 979 tattooed men out of a total of 9,772 men whose records survive from 1796 through 1818.26 These men were marked with a total of about 2,354 separate designs."

So, not a large number, but also 10% isn't insignificant. The protection certificates while a reliable source, also only describe the man in one specific moment. I'm sure a few of those men who just have their moles and scars and crooked fingers listed eventually picked up a tattoo or two in their time. Most journal keepers perhaps didn't think it important to mention who had tattoos or what of, though the typical motifs of anchors, nautical stars, girls, religious & patriotic imagery, etc. were certainly a part of the visual language at this point. Whaler William Abbe who sailed in the 1850s, devoted considerable attention to describing the physical appearance of some of his shipmates. In one instance, he wrote about the tattoos of one 'Johnny Come Lately' or 'Jack Marlinspike' (Real name, John Hewes of Buffalo NY)

'from beneath this cap his face looms out - while beneath supporting his comical head is a bare neck and breast — hairy + brown —the upper timbers to a stout hull of a boat that boast a pair of arms all covered with India ink tattooings — the figure of American Liberty — Christ on the cross — an American Tar holding a star spangled banner in one hand + a coil of rope in the other — a fancy girl — + anchors, rings, crosses, knots, stars all over his wrists + hands — the memorials of different ports he has visited — for Jack has been in all kinds of vessels from a man of war to a blubber hunter — + has consequently been to many ports.'

From the logbook of another whaler who sailed in the early 1840s, James Moore Ritchie, he had a page of his drawings with prices included. This potentially may have been a tattoo flash sheet for his shipmates:

American whalers also noted the tattoos of indigenous people who had signed on to whaling vessels, particularly in the South Pacific. William B. Whitecar, whaling in the 1850s wrote: "Several New Zealanders in the respective crews of these vessels attracted my attention from the tattooing on their bodies" making mention of "figures on their face and breast".

I'm too sleepy to have a conclusion lol. Tattoos! They existed! Though perhaps not as ubiquitously as the pop culture sailor designs would imply, at least prior to the late 19th c.

#asks #anonymous #awhalin

[ovaruling]

no one asked, but here’s my detailed bird seed update since this blog has become not only a record keeper of my fitness but also my bird friends:

adjusting my budget severely for the elaborate bird feeding i’ve got going on. to recap, i feed about 200+ wild birds per day, mostly doves, grackles, blue jays, cardinals, catbirds, warblers, mockingbirds, and woodpeckers. sometimes i get a rare painted bunting! the number may possibly be more, my counting when they swarm is not reliable.

when i first started feeding, the birds were all terribly thin—the development in my neighborhood has been devastating to the general health of the bird population, as well as the sweltering heat of recent years. growing up, i remember it being a common sight to see birds milling about on the ground, scavenging for food. you almost never see it anymore, bc there IS no more ground. if its not paved, then it’s all tightly mowed grass with no chance for food to even have a chance to be there. based on the cityscape, my guess is that they have had to fly further and further distances in search of somewhere to forage. which, in this climate, must be utterly sapping them. they haven’t moved away, they still nest right here bc there are still thankfully lots of sheltering trees. but they are having to go further and further for food—not good.

the adjustment is worth it. i did find one store online that sells very cheap whole corn kernels by the pound, which the squirrels and jays love.

there is a female squirrel who is very obviously and very definitely nursing some babies. i am trying to keep supporting her bc she unfortunately picked a very bad place to give birth (landscapers and horses and vehicles nearby tear through almost daily on the other side of my hedge).

i don’t want her to have to go far, especially with the heat getting more intense, and so i’ve been making sure she has corn cobs every day at the base of her tree. but those get expensive, so i’m excited to have found whole corn kernels so cheap.

also found one decent price for halved peanuts which all the birds are absolutely obsessed with.

and the rest i’m still reliant on Tractor Supply for. i’d love to stop giving their murderous animal agriculture supporting asses money, but i’d need to find a better priced Fruit and Nut seed than they offer, and i haven’t yet.

as for seed cakes for the woodpeckers—which, the vegetable gelatin ones i buy are the most expensive per unit that i’m spending on rn, bc there is absolutely no way i’m going to conscience animal gelatin—my experiment in making them myself is ongoing. i used too little agar agar powder in my last batch (and also didn’t get it boiling enough) so it just ended up being a sticky crumbly treat that i put on the ground for the scavengers.

i’ll try again this week bc i’d really love to keep supporting my native red-bellies, especially as it gets hotter and hotter into the summer and the birds get more exhausted at a much faster rate.

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

THE DREAMERS IN THE DAYLIGHT: HIGH LADY

Scene: Feyre takes the Stand

WARNING: This fic is strongly Feysand-critical, and contains OCs who do not have their backstories described in the below scene. This is a scene from my fic, the Dreamers in the Daylight, which is in drafting stages. I've made efforts to tag properly here on Tumblr but please be forewarned when you read.

With the chime of a bell, the court was now in session.

Feyre sat up straight on the stand, recalling her lessons with Rhys. Look only at Eunomia - not the Night Court. Here, against her, it would be no good to show vulnerability. The Keeper of Laws and Scales had no feelings - a heart of pure stone - and she would take Feyre's natural desire to seek her mate's support and guidance as a weakness to exploit. She must only be the High Lady of Night, seated above everything and everyone.

Eunomia thumbed carefully through her stack of papers and files. Feyre spared a glance for the assembled Courts in the galleries above then. As expected, Tamlin was seated near the rail, flanked by his young sentry. He watched as Eunomia, satisfied now with her organization, straightened her back and approached the bench. The Keeper's golden robes swished softly around her sandaled ankles as she stepped lightly across the mosaic floor.

Feyre drew her eyes to Eunomia's just as Tamlin shifted his gaze to the bench. To her.

She schooled her face unto cool neutrality, despite the surge of anger she felt.

They really were two little peas in a pod, Feyre thought.

She expected the sound of Rhys's dark, melodious laugh at her remarks - but there was only silence.

The spell - the invocation of Truth - it had blocked their abilities. For the first time in years, Feyre was utterly alone inside of her own head.

A pang of unease struck as she instinctively dug down for that bridge, that bond - but there was nothing. Only quiet and memories. Her own memories, and nothing of Rhysand.

Feyre risked a glance at the assembled Night Court - her sisters, her family, her mate. Nesta was busy caring for Nyx, but Cassian had arrived, seated on Rhysand's right side.

Her mate locked eyes with her, and nodded.

"My lady, I have asked you a question. "

Feyre emerged, into reality. "Repeat it, if you please."

No apologies. Not for this female - not now. Eunomia repeated, "I have asked you to identify your name for our record."

"Feyre Archeron, the Cauldron-Breaker, High Lady of Night, Defender of thr Rainbow."

"Strike the High Lady's additional titles," Eunomia said, with a glance towards the shifting quill scratched notes on an endless roll of parchment. The quill immediately drew lines through its previous work. "In future, my lady, please use only your name and your official titles for identification purposes."

"If you insist."

"I do, thank you. Do you understand your duties here?"

"I am to tell the truth."

"That is correct. You swore an oath. Do you also understand why you are here?"

"I am here," said Feyre, "to correct a great injustice and misunderstanding that you seem to have about my Court."

Eunomia didn't rise to the taunt. "Can you elaborate on your point?"

"The Night Court has not always been a steadfast or reliable ally and friend to the peoples of Prythian," said Feyre, putting a hand over her heart as she addressed the assembled lords and ladies. "However, your accusations - your crusade - is in vain. You seem to have some strange ideas about our role in the tragic events of the past. I believe that we will be able to correct your misunderstandings today."

Silence was to be expected, but Feyre decided that she had made a decent show of it. The trick was not to be overly flashy - trying to make herself more eloquent never served - but to be sincere, and she was. They had to remember that Eunomia was at fault. She had called this trial for revenge. The Night Court's mistakes were their own.

Eunomia merely raised an eyebrow. "Very well. Let's begin, then. Can you describe your duties as High Lady of Night?"

Feyre replied, "I manage correspondence and arrange meetings. I also preside over the Hewn City on occasion. I listen to and hear our people’s concerns, and alleviate them. I organize and find solutions to our problems. I find it best to interact personally with our people – to meet with them as individuals, rather than as a faceless mass of subjects. I also teach in Velaris.”

"What do you teach?"

"Art. I'm a painter."

"I see. And what else?"

Feyre blinked. "I'm sorry?"

And winced - that was too close to an apology, even if she hadn't meant it as such. She should have said, "I beg your pardon?" or "Excuse me?" or something else more - High Ladyish.

"What else is there?" Eunomia asked. "Do you have any other responsibilities?"

Feyre's gut suddenly clenched. "I don't like what you're implying."

"I am not implying anything. It is important, before we proceed, that we have the most accurate information. I am asking if you have any other responsibilities that you may have neglected to mention."

Inhale, exhale. Her explosion of temper had saved her once, but not now. Not now. "No, that's all."

"I see. You have described some managerial duties. Can you elaborate on this more? Do you manage any of the Night Court's correspondence with foreign nations?"

"No."

"Do you manage anything with regards to trade, either between foreign nations or the other sovereign Courts?"

"Not directly, no."

"Do you manage anything with regards to the Night Court's military - for example, do you train and manage units of soldiers?"

"No."

Feyre winced again. She'd gotten into a rhythm and answered without thinking. She was a fighter. A warrior, like her mate. She should have said yes - even if, technically, Eunomia's question was not about her own fighting prowess.

But the Keeper merely continued, "Do you manage any diplomatic relations between the other sovereign Courts of Prythian?"

This was a trap. This was a trap. Without her bond with Rhysand, filling the emptiness inside of her, she might as well have been that teenage girl in the woods, freezing and alone again. Eunomia's eyes were as gray as the skies above the barren trees. Always, the winter, in her memories. "No," said Feyre.

"I see. So, you have now described for us your duties. You are High Lady, and in that capacity, you interact personally with the people of the Night Court, and manage certain tasks – but you are not involved in trade, diplomacy, the military, or international relations. Am I understanding correctly?”

Damn her. This was her goal - to make Feyre so small, and weak, and flushed with shame. "That's not right."

"I am repeating what you have told me. Recall that you swore an oath to speak the truth."

"I haven't lied, but you -"

High Lady of the Desk. She'd made that joke to Rhysand, privately, in their own bedroom, and yet, Eunomia had somehow aired it out in front of everyone. She'd minimized it. There was no High Lady in Prythian, until her. No females who ruled as equals with their mates, until her. And yet, Eunomia made it so insignificant.

I don't think I could handle it... if they called me High Lady.

She felt each pair of eyes, watching her, as if they could see what was under her skin. As if they could see what was in the mirror, lurking just beyond her subconsciousness. Her true self, which only Rhysand really knew, which she had done so much to conquer. To accept.

When she didn't answer, Eunomia replied, "That's fine. We can move on. Perhaps you may clarify some other things for me."

She went back to her table and drew up one of her files.

"As you know, I have spent a considerable amount of time speaking to witnesses and constructing a timeline of the relevant events. I am going to read for you the timeline that I have constructed. Please stop me at any point if I have something incorrect. To my understanding: the curse upon this land was broken in midsummer. Six months passed, and you began planning your wedding to Lord Tamlin –” Here, Eunomia pointed to where he was seated in the gallery, “– and presumably, began to assume the duties of the Lady of Spring. However, your wedding was interrupted due to a bargain that was struck between you and Lord Rhysand –”

Here, again, she pointed, and Feyre seized the opportunity to look at him again. Her beautiful, perfect mate. She ached for his voice in her head, his dark power flooding through her, soothing her as it always, always had. His sparkling eyes were full of emotion, and Feyre heard the echoes of him, telling her to be strong. Be strong. Be brave.

She could do it, if he was here. This was only another obstacle that they would overcome, as she and Rhysand had always overcome everything - together.

I love you, Feyre thought. She let it shine out of her. I love you more than life itself. More than anything. She knew that it would reach him, even though her thoughts were shielded from his.

Eunomia was still speaking. “You spent intermittent periods in the Night Court, as a result of this bargain. However, in the winter of that year, there came a point when Lord Rhysand did not return you after the expected week was past. Two months later, you returned to Spring, after the bargain was severed by King Conand the Second of Hybern. Is this timeline correct, to your estimation?”

Feyre lifted her chin. Nothing would break her. Not even this. "That's correct, yes."

"Very well. At what point, then, did you become High Lady of Night?"

The silence in the courtroom was utterly complete. Feyre felt her hard-won confidence teeter, standing on the ledge of that old insecurity. Two months - but Velaris was home. The Night Court, her family. They were hard months, to be sure, and all the work that had come after - no. No, she couldn't take this away, too. She couldn't reduce the love that Feyre's family shared. She had spent so long trying to forget those dark times, and yet -

"My lady," Eunomia prompted. "Do you need me to repeat the question?"

"It was just before I was taken back to Spring.” Not returned. Feyre wouldn’t give her that, wouldn’t pretend that she’d gone back willingly. “We went before the priestess – Rhysand and I, after I found out that he was my mate.”

"Were there any witnesses, apart from the priestess?"

Feyre felt a chill run down her spine. "We have a certificate. It's notarized properly."

For a horrifying moment, Feyre waited for Eunomia to say, "But how could you possibly know that, since you are illiterate?"

But Eunomia merely replied, "Yes, I have a copy in my records. I am asking if there were witnesses."

"It was a private ceremony," said Feyre, and by the fucking gods, there was no way to sound confident now. Not when she saw so clearly the path that this was treading down. "We intended - later - to invite our family."

"So, there were no witnesses at your marriage and mating ceremony."

Feyre closed her eyes. "No. There were no witnesses."

"And when you ascended your throne, did Lord Rhysand give you any official responsibilities?"

"No. I wasn't made High Lady for any official agenda. I was made High Lady because we love each other, and because we are partners."

Eunomia simply nodded, not reacting to her words. “So, you were made High Lady in a secret ceremony, with no witnesses, and you were then returned to Spring with no official responsibilities.”

"I just told you it wasn't secret. With Hybern on our doorstep, attacking us, kidnapping my sisters -"

"But it was a secret," said Eunomia, pinning Feyre in place with her sharp voice. "You had no witnesses, and didn’t tell anyone. In fact, no one outside of the Night Court knew that you had become High Lady until after you had left the Spring Court a second time, after months had passed. You were not debuted formally before the High Council until well after the invasion of Prythian had begun.”

There it was - the crux of the argument. Feyre bit her tongue, and said nothing, so Eunomia moved on.

"In your current capacity as High Lady, you do not directly or individually handle any matter relating to foreign relations, trade, military, or inter-court diplomacy. Yet you immediately returned to Spring upon your ascension as High Lady of Night. Can you explain to me why that is?”

"It wasn't immediate - it was because of Tamlin. Because of what he did with Hybern -"

"Forgive me, but I'm not sure what you're trying to say. Are you suggesting that you became High Lady before your mating ceremony, because of Lord Tamlin's involvement with Hybern?"

“No.” Feyre felt – heavy. Stupid. Stupid, stupid ignorant human. Unworthy. Unimportant. "I became High Lady because I love my mate."

"Then, why did you return to Spring?"

She was utterly ruthless, immovable. Worse than Nesta. Conspiracy, sabotage, and insurrection. Justice and revenge. Feyre stared in amazement at the Keeper, who merely folded her hands behind her back to wait for her response.

"I didn't do anything wrong," said Feyre. "When I was taken back to Spring, I did what was necessary."

"Necessary."

"Yes."

"Define necessary," said Eunomia.

Feyre repeated, "I didn't do anything wrong."

"I am not asking if you think you did wrong. I am asking you to define what actions you took in Spring that you deemed necessary. What was your goal?"

Tamlin's eyes - so watchful, even from beneath his golden mask - were on her now. Feyre felt them most of all. His eyes had always been on her. Watching, but not seeing. Not until it was too late. Him, and now Eunomia - this was all their fault.

"He had made some sort of truce with Hybern," said Feyre, deciding that she wouldn't even spare him a glance of contempt. "I assumed that he cared more for his people than he did - that they would be safe."

"This does not answer my question. What, exactly, was your goal when you returned to the Spring Court, despite having been mated, married, and ascended upon the throne of the Night Court? What, exactly, did you deem it ‘necessary’ to do while you were there?”

Thrice-damned she-devil, Feyre thought, barely leashing her fury. Eunomia was going to force her to say it out loud, as if it wasn't in her precious timeline of "relevant events." As if they didn't know what the justice of Night looked like.

“I tried to tell – Tamlin,” said Feyre, stumbling somewhat over his name. She’d rarely spoken it aloud since the end of the war. “I tried to tell him that I wasn’t going back to the Spring Court, but he didn’t listen. He never listens. So, I had to return – so that he wouldn’t hurt me, or my family.”

"Did you tell him that you had become the High Lady of Night?"

"No." Of course not.

Eunomia, for some reason, didn't push her on this. "What was Lord Tamlin's reaction, when you returned to the Spring Court?"

He'd held her. Feyre remembered how devastated she'd been, to be away from her new mate. She recalled how much she'd wanted to rip Tamlin's arms from his body, to break the hands that were touching her, since they didn't belong to Rhysand. She also remembered that there had been tears in his eyes. Tamlin had always been a surprisingly emotional creature. He had only ever wanted to keep her safe, regardless of how it made her feel.

"He was relieved, I think," said Feyre. "He seemed to think he was rescuing me." Then, remembering herself, she added dismissively, "I wouldn't know for sure. You'd need to ask him."

"Rescuing you? From what?"

"From my family. My mate."

"But you didn't tell him that you had been mated to Lord Rhysand. You told no one that you were High Lady of Night."

"I couldn't."

"Why?"

Feyre stared at her. Tamlin had been cursed to hold a heart of stone, but this? This was another degree. "I wouldn't expect you to understand that kind of situation."

“Then please, my lady, enlighten me,” said Eunomia, “as to why you would formally join another Court, in its second-highest position of power, and fail to disclose that information to your former fiancé, after he believed – as you say – that he was rescuing you from your own Court. You have to understand that this strains credulity. And furthermore, you still haven’t answered my original question. What actions were necessary, after you returned to the Spring Court?”

The audacity of her. The sheer arrogance.

"I did nothing wrong."

Eunomia sighed. "I request the court's permission to treat the witness as uncooperative."

The spells lining the edge of the room flared slightly, and Feyre felt as the magic crept into her throat, twisted around her vocal chords and pull. She gasped.

"My apologies, High Lady," said Eunomia, without so much as an ounce of sincerity, "I realize this may seem harsh, but I must say that you are being extremely vague in your responses. Please, speak as clearly as possible, and provide relevant details to the court going forward. Otherwise, I dare say that we might be here all day."

Feyre had never hated anyone more than she hated Eunomia, in this moment.

The command from the Keeper of Laws and Scales was absolute. Feyre could not, dared not refuse anymore.  The binding spell – the Authority of Truth – was strong, and there was no ability that she possessed that allowed her to bypass this. Even Helion’s sharp magic, latent within her, yielded before Truth. Feyre felt the memories rise to her mind, unbidden. Her secret, innermost thoughts, her feelings, her dreams and her fears –

"I needed to punish them," said Feyre. "For what they did to me."

"Who is they? What happened?"

"I was drowning."

"In a lake? Please, my lady -"

“No,” Feyre snapped. “I was suffering – after what happened Under the Mountain – and no one in that entire damned Court lifted so much as a finger to help me. Tamlin was making it worse, smothering me, lashing out with his magic – and even when I’d escaped, he couldn’t let me be happy. So when he came to drag me back, I decided to show everyone the kind of monster that he really is. I showed them all his true self.”

Eunomia paused, just a moment. She regarded Feyre, but was as inscrutable as ever. Then, she said, "So, you felt that the Spring Court had become inhospitable to you. You left for the Night Court, became High Lady – and did not tell anyone that you had formally renounced your ties to Spring, or to Lord Tamlin. Then, you returned to Spring, to punish them – all the while failing to disclose your true intent. Am I understanding you correctly, my lady?”

Saying it like that was - wrong. Wrong, somehow. Feyre bit her cheek, trying to resist.

"I was only -"

"It is a yes or no question, my lady. I will remind you again that you swore an oath."

The Authority of Truth was squeezing her throat. Feyre choked out, "Yes."

When the pressure was relieved, Feyre coughed, and added, "But – it was to protect Velaris. They couldn’t know about Velaris, not back then. I wanted everyone to be safe but our people –”

Eunomia waved her hand dismissively, and turned to face the assembled gallery.

"The court appreciates and thanks you for your testimony today. This concludes my presentation of the evidence on charges of conspiracy - "

"It wasn't my fault!"

She rose to her feet, the shout in her voice causing Eunomia to turn right on her heels.

“My lady, I will not ask you again. You will show respect to this court and these proceedings, or I shall treat you as hostile. Please, sit down.”

"You don't get to do this." Feyre's voice was breathy to her own ears. Her blood pounded. "You don't get to rewrite the narrative of what happened."

"My lady -"

"You have no idea. No idea what it was like for me - and you don't get to brush my suffering aside because it's convenient for your political agenda -"

"Political agenda?"

For the first time, Eunomia's face revealed a flicker of emotion.

And it was rage.

Pure, incandescent rage, a mirror to Feyre's own. So, there was a heart, after all, somewhere in Eunomia's chest. But she couldn’t be satisfied that she’d gotten a reaction out of the Keeper of Laws and Scales. Not when Eunomia marched back to her banister, reached into one of her many files, and drew up a set of papers.

"My lady, do you have any idea how many children died during Hybern's invasion of the Spring Court?"

Feyre grimaced. Not my fault. Justice. "No."

“Six hundred and thirty-seven,” said Eunomia. “The Spring Court’s records are better intact than most, due to their circumstances during the reign of the so-called High Queen. However, many of their villages were completely flattened, reduced to ashes, and their records along with them. So, given the fluctuating nature of refugee populations, and the expected gap in recordings – we shall say that six hundred and thirty-seven children of Spring died during the invasion of Hybern, that we know of. I suspect that the true count is much, much higher."

Block it out. Forget. Remember - it was not her fault. Feyre closed her eyes.

“So, earlier, you said that you assumed – rather than directly ascertaining – that Hybern had made some deal with Lord Tamlin, wherein the rights and dignities of the Spring Court’s people would be respected even if he lost his authority,” said Eunomia. “You assumed that an invading army would spare the females, elderly, and the children, is that correct?”

No. Not like that. Feyre didn't want to think of it. Didn't want to believe.

"I made an error in judgement. I didn't consider whether we'd need the Spring Court's armies - to fight Hybern, later."

"Just the armies," said Eunomia, dryly.

There was damnation in her tone. I am a murderer. From the moment she'd become fae, there had been blood on her hands. From the moment she'd entered Prythian, in fact. But the Spring Court - no, it was different. It wasn't like Velaris. It wasn't her home, even when Feyre lived there. It was Tamlin. Tamlin was Spring, and he was the Court. He was the one that she'd braved the Mountain for, the one she'd cared about. He was the one she'd wanted to destroy.

So, she hadn't thought about the Spring Court at all.

"Do you have anything else that you would like to add to the record, or shall I conclude the proceedings now?"

When Feyre did not answer her - there was nothing that she could say, to that, anyway - Eunomia approached the bench and handed her the sheets of papers. Feyre was too stunned to do anything except take them, with numb fingers, and regard the list. Names, ages, places of birth and residence. It was a thick packet.

"Since you were unawares before," said Eunomia. "Here. You may wish to inform yourself of the facts before you return to this court."

And with that last condemnation, Eunomia once again faced the gallery.

"My lady, you may step down from the bench. The court thanks you for your time and testimony today. This concludes the presentation of evidence in regards to charges of conspiracy against the Spring Court. We are now adjourned for today."

The spells flared one last time, and the bell chimed. The magic dimmed and receded like a tide, and Feyre felt the threads of her own magic resurface.

Darkness flooded her - sweet night. Darling.

Silently, she reached across the bridge for her mate. Feyre exhaled shakily, relieved when she found him. He filled her head with warmth, with stars, with love. She had survived, though she felt now that she may have been skinned alive.

Rhys, tell me everything is going to be okay.

For the space of one heartbeat - two - three - four - she received no answer.

Rhys?

At last, Feyre looked up.

She saw Eunomia carefully folding her papers, and tucking them under her arm before she bustled out of the doors. She saw the Courts of Summer, Autumn, and Winter rising to depart. She saw Thesan lean over to engage Helion in conversation - and at his side, Daphne, looking satisfied.

Footsteps approached - her Court. Her family. Feyre smiled, relieved for just a second - until she saw the looks on their faces.

Rhysand surged forward, extending a hand to help her down from the bench. Feyre squeezed his cold fingers, and did not let go as she stood, and stretched. He quickly seized the packet from her hands, and handed it to Azriel, who tucked it away just as quickly, out of sight. Cassian was looking pale, but extended his wings just so, as if to block them all from sight of the others. Elain was wringing her hands, half-turned away to where Eunomia was already disappearing out of the court's main entrance.

Worst of all was Amren.

"What were you thinking, girl?" she asked, low with disappointed. "What happened?"

"Not now, Amren."

Rhysand's voice was harsh, his face tight as he drew Feyre against him, to his side, rubbing her arm.

"What is it?" she asked, looking around at them. "I thought -"

"Not now," Rhysand repeated, gentler, but he still did not look at her. "We need to rethink our strategy. Mor -"

"I'll go," Azriel said.

He half-glanced at Elain, who was not looking at anyone. Her eyes were still on the gallery, eyeing the faeries who were slowest to depart. The Day Court, especially - Feyre realized that she had not seen Lucien all day, had not even looked for him. But Azriel showed now reaction, and turned to stride quickly out of the courtroom.

Rhys, what did I do?

Feyre gazed up to him. Her mate, her great love, the father of her son.

Amren's gaze simmered with unusual contempt, gazing at her High Lord.

"If we coddle her," she said, "then she will never learn."

Rhysand growled, "Not here, Amren."

"No," Feyre said, blood pounding in her ears. "No, Amren - tell me. I need to know."

Rhysand's distress made itself known to her through their bond, feeding Feyre's own - but he said nothing when Amren glared at Feyre and hissed:

"You admitted to the charges. She asked you if you hid your true intent from the Spring Court, on behalf of the Night Court. That is conspiracy. You said 'yes.'"

It wasn't her fault. She'd done nothing wrong. Those dead children, dead faeries - that wasn't her. It was Hybern who had killed them. Tamlin, who had failed them. Feyre had survived everything, and gotten justice for the harm done to her. Justice.

But the spell must have had an aftertaste - because she couldn't admit it. It would be a lie.

Rhys...

It's alright. The dark rumble of his voice still soothed her. We'll figure it out, darling. We'll fix this.

Together.

My fault.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar #my fanfic #the dreamers in the daylight #anti feysand #tamlin #my ocs #the spring court #adding uhhhhh #anti feyre #to be safe #anti rhysand #acotar critical

[vampiremommyinquisition]

Day 4 - Ritual

I can see the worlds unseen Songs of ruin They whisper and they call to me Closer now I can see the worlds unseen Songs of ruin They whisper and they call to me Closer now I am a seeker on the trailI am a keeper of the tales There is no wall I would not scale For those I hold so dear Over the borders I will ride Over the waters I will glide Searching the trees and deserts dry My path becoming clear I'm heading for a new frontier I'm letting go of all my fears I'm heading for a new frontier So far from here I'm heading for a new frontier I'm letting go of all my fears I'm heading for a new frontier My path is clear | New Frontier (Miracle Of Sound feat. Karliene) |

I can't say anything better than this text. Allaros has been collecting elven legends since birth, as an inquisitor he collected knowledge and returned it to his people, He is the keeper of this knowledge. Allaros records and sketches everything he finds. Solas used to help him with all this, but now… Drinking from the source and becoming a slave was his considered decision, he knew the results, but he needed to have at least some reliable source of knowledge. The price was too high, but who better than the Inquisitor to make this sacrifice, in the name of ancient knowledge and the salvation of the world

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age #lavellan oc #digital art #art #fanart #lavellan #artists on tumblr #Challenge #ArtChallenge

[thommi-tomate]

Holger Badstuber Column

Hello football fans!

New Year's Eve is just around the corner and the Bundesliga presents us with a few nice surprises when we look at the table. Bayer 04 Leverkusen with coach Xabi Alonso in first place, VfB Stuttgart in third, Union Berlin close to the relegation zone, BVB 15 points behind the leaders - I watched a lot of games, I was at the Allianz Arena and visited my former club in Stuttgart.

I've seen good football, exciting football, thrilling football. This season offers much of what I have loved about this sport for decades. Time for an interim assessment with four highlights and three weak points, and of course I won't let the championship prediction get away from me. How do you think the race for the championship will go? You can read my assessment in the text below. First the highlights.

Leverkusen enjoys winning

First place for Leverkusen is no surprise in principle. Coach Xabi Alonso's team plays consistently and has not yet been defeated. The style of play is clear, structured, sometimes ruthless. It's well-rounded, harmonious. It shows me that the coach's idea is being implemented consistently.

What's more, they have slowly taken a liking to winning. They're really up for it! That makes them extra dangerous for the competition. With his skills, Florian Wirtz stands out for me among a number of top players such as Boniface, Xhaka, Hofmann, Frimpong and Grimaldo.

The star, however, remains Alonso. As a player, he used to have everything under control on the six, but now he has managed to impart his knowledge as a coach. He combines competence with authority. Xabi Alonso will be coaching a really big team sooner rather than later.

Soothing calm in the Bayern environment

The leak at Säbener Strasse seems to have been plugged. Hardly any disagreements or disputes have been reported. For the club, this is a welcome development after the constant unrest surrounding the club in recent years

A number of positions have been filled - the decision to bring Christoph Freund on board as sports director was absolutely the right one. He is a good man with a good eye for talent and experience in developing players. Together with coach Thomas Tuchel, whom I hold in high esteem, I trust him to set up a framework that is Bayern-like again. The seed has been sown.

Harry Kane: More than a 9

25 goals in 22 competitive games, plus eight assists: WOW, what a record! What makes Harry Kane so valuable is his versatility. Compared to Robert Lewandowski, for example, Kane is not "just" a goalscorer, but also a ten-man who often plays the decisive final ball.

Kane combines the numbers 9 and 10, which is what makes him so dangerous, he also lets himself drop at times and is therefore less tangible for defenders. Every cent of this immense investment has already paid off for FC Bayern. I can only congratulate him once again on this transfer.

VfB Stuttgart: A very strong block

I once experienced how much the region lives and shakes when VfB plays, both as an active professional and as a guest in the stadium this season. These fans, this club and its environment deserve a stable season. The people in charge speak with one voice, the squad has been super strengthened in terms of positions with Stiller, Mittelstädt and Undav. Coach Sebastian Hoeneß has established a gallant power football that perfectly suits this dynamic club.

The players also look fresh and fit. With keeper Nübel, the back four and the two back sixes, there is a very strong block, a real unit. That creates consistency and reliability and, last but not least, defensive balance. I hope that VfB don't lose any top players in the winter and simply see the season through in this constellation. Then at least fifth place is certain!

Squad gaps at FCB: Transfers are needed for titles

First of all, a big compliment from me to Aleksandar Pavlovic. I liked what I saw of him. He has potential. He'll get his chance to really gain a foothold at Bayern in the future. But he's not the solution to achieve the goals now. Experience is the trump card in this position.

If FCB still want to win titles, which I logically assume they will, they need to bring in quality reinforcements in the winter. A physically strong, tall, simple-playing six-man and a right-back are urgently needed. To a certain extent, the season hinges on the winter transfer window. I can't say whether Bayern will be able to close the gaps in the squad. We'll have to be surprised.

Too fast, too much at Union

It's a bit of a shame, but it was also a bit predictable. Triple the workload, mixing it up with transfers, that's what messed up the team. It even got to the point where coach Urs Fischer had to go.

I didn't expect that and that Union would slip so far down the table. I still like the club, it has established itself in the Bundesliga with a well thought-out style of play and unity. Recently, it seemed as if the "Irons" had regained their composure. Please keep it up!

Köln's fall from grace

It had already become apparent in the summer that coach Steffen Baumgart's energy-sapping philosophy was continuing to wear thin. Added to this were crucial departures such as Ellyes Skhiri. Now the team has not only lost its greed, but also its balance. The quality is no longer sufficient.

Baumgart is now gone and his successor will not get any new players because the International Court of Arbitration for Sport has confirmed FIFA's ban on transfers for two transfer periods. Fear of relegation is rampant in Cologne - and rightly so.

And who will be champion?

In January, many professionals from the Bundesliga will be at the Africa Cup and the Asian Championships. One team that will be particularly hard hit is Bayer 04 Leverkusen. They could be missing up to six players. At Bayern, Minjae Kim and Noussair Mazraoui are likely to be traveling. Eric Maxim Choupo-Moting was surprisingly not nominated for Cameroon's national team.

Depending on which team compensates better for the losses, the second half of the season will start with a boost. There will be a duel between Leverkusen and Bayern right up to the last matchday. But FC Bayern will always be my favorite to win the championship.

#holger badstuber #xabi alonso #bayer 04 leverkusen #harry kane #fc bayern münchen #vfb stuttgart #fc union berlin #fc koln #holger badstuber columm

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 6: Wisestone

MASTERLIST

Summary: Naera visits the dragonpits with Daemon, Rhaenyra and Laenor, and settles on a conclusion. The day does not end sweetly, however.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: nothing, really

Princess Naera Targaryen had had a dragon egg chosen for her before her birth, as is Valyrian custom. Her father, King Viserys I, had chosen for his second child, one from the very last clutch laid by Visenya’s Vhagar. By the accounts of the court and verbal anecdotes, the egg had been the most ordinary of Vhagar’s last clutch, which was surprising when considering that, of the five eggs of Vhagar’s final clutch, two had never hatched, one had birthed a creature which burst into flames and died immediately after, and the last had been terribly diseased.

The egg given to the young princess was as ivory pale as her Valyrian descended hair, circled and tinged with silver and gold, and had hatched when the Princess was a nameday old. She had taken the young beastling to Dorne following her betrothal to Prince Raiden Martell and had escaped Dorne, after Prince Raiden’s death, on dragonback also.

She had named the silver-white wyrmling Wisestone, acknowledging his wisdom and his stone-like scaling. She described the dragon’s behaviour and habits at length in her journals, pointing out how it adored jewels and gold and anything that shone and glimmered at all, and his preference for human flesh over animal meat. She also noted of the dragon’s personality, stating how Wisestone was aloof, and that he reminded her of a pale-furred wandering Cheshire cat in the Water Gardens named Godred. Wisestone never yearned incessantly for the Princess’ attention, and while both ride and rider held great love for the other, neither needed the other at every passing moment, unlike some others, such as Princess Rhaenyra and her mount, Syrax, both of whom had had a very strong attachment to the other. 

Wisestone had been her constant companion throughout her journeys in Essos, for better, or for worse. Following her journals left at the Citadel post demise, the Princess had suffered in the Dothraki Grass Sea because of her dragon, as the horse riders had been intent on naming her a witch to be burnt or hung, and her dragon a horse-eating beast to be slain. Their attempts at burning the Targaryen princess had not concluded well for the Dothraki, however, and she had left the seas unscathed once her business had concluded.

In pure opposition to the troubles she faced in the Grass Sea, the Princess had never been more glad of having Wisestone by her side as she had while she explored the reaches of the Shadowlands. As a land of death and dragons itself, Asshai was a region Wisestone had immediately, in Princess Naera’s words, “almost declared home”, and had formed itself a lair by the sea also, adorned with carcasses of sailors and wanderers as well as the stolen fineries and gold of merchants.

A few moons past her arrival on Dragonback to the capital city of King’s Landing, Wisestone had made himself a home in the Dragonpits, adorned with the usual bones and gold, but with a surprising number of jewels also. The keepers of the Pit are on record as having made it a rule to remove all gems and gold from themselves before making their way to feed Wisesetone, for the twinkle of rubies could break the dragon’s control within seconds.

Just days before the wedding of Princess Naera and Prince Daemon, the keepers record the silver dragon as having gone missing, as his lair had been discovered empty during the evening meals. This record is conflicting because although the proceedings of the Small Council on that date record a discussion of the missing silver dragon as having taken place, there were no comments by Princess Naera in any of her journals. Thus, the most reliable and important source of information in this matter is absent, and the details of the situation are up for speculation.

The dragonkeepers are said to have blamed the princess herself for her neglect of her companion, as she had failed to make hours for visitations.

Every dragon of Valyrian heritage knows some inkling of its unlived past. Balerion the Black Dread had been borne in Valyria but brought to Dragonstone soon after, and in 54 AC, had fled back to the cursed lands with its then rider, Princess Aerea Targaryen. The keepers had probably recounted the tale to Princess Naera, who, by all evidence, would have staunchly refused her dragon as having ties to Valyria past blood at all.

- An excerpt from ‘The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife’

by Maester Creyolin of the Citadel

The Dragonpits were shrouded in darkness, the stench of rotting flesh, and iron, and blood, and flame thick and matted in the humid air. There were chains on the floor, Naera could see their dark shadows, but she did not wish to learn who suffered its misfortune. She walked half a step behind the old dragonkeeper who spoke only her mother tongue, as he led her, and Daemon, and Laenor, and Rhaenyra down to the lair of Wisestone.

The stone floor was damp and sticky, perhaps with urine, or blood, or both, and it was all so terribly dark. There was only ash, coal, pitch black, and Naera saw little swirls of blue and violet dance in the darkness. Perhaps it was the reflection of the fire held by the man to lead their way on a matted pane of darkness, perhaps she had simply fallen past the brink of insanity. Or, perhaps, those changing shapes that resembled whips and kneeling men were another vision of her making. The darkness made her chest feel heavy, pushed a weight down on her and made her gasp to catch another lungful of the wet air.

Naera could hear hissing, and breathing, from every direction, and she could feel warm air brushing down her neck. Sweat pooled at her forehead, little crystal-like droplets that glimmered in the flames of the torch the man held. She stared at the fire, at the cackling swirls of yellow and gold, and its very core that glowed blue, and she could have sworn that she saw a glimpse of silver scales. Wisestone.

The keeper stopped on dry ground, lighting a second wooden torch and handing it to Naera, who held onto it with uncertainty. She could see something sparkle in the near distance, a changing glitter which called to her. The fire burned warm against her skin, and she took two, three, four steps, until her feet hit something solid, and the sound of dropping metal alarmed the group.

“Tyne dārilaros,” the dragonkeeper was an aged man with wrinkles gracing every last inch of his face, but Daemon was more confused by what he called Naera. Second princess, in the brashest of translations, and the disdain in the old man’s voice did not go unheard by any. “Sylvie dōrenka…”

“Wisestone,” Naera corrected absently, eyes glossing at the sight of jewels and gems and gold scattered by her feet, “ñuhyz zaldrizes Valyrīhy issa daor,” my dragon is not Valyrian. Her dragon had never seen Valyria, never breathed its air, never laid talons on its ashen, cursed soil. Her dragon was not Valyrian, not to her, who believed that heritage is chosen and not assigned at birth.

Wisestone’s lair in the Dragonpits was new, barely lived in, but already adorned with bones of sheep and men licked clean and jewels snatched carefully from their decaying bodies. Naera stared down at the place he had made home—at the emptiness of it, besides the jewels—diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and more rubies. There were so many rubies, and carcasses, and took slow, careful steps despite the absence of a warm, deadly beast sleeping by dusk.

Naera stared at the cavelet adorned with gold and tinged with blood, at the little crack on the ceiling that let the light of the setting sun pour in, making every silver chain and coin twinkle in the darkness.

“Aōha zaldrīzes sōvegon naejot Valyria kostos,” the dragonkeeper refused to speak the name chosen by Naera, instead saying, your dragon may have flown to Valyria.

Naera shook her head. Wisestone—her Wisestone would not travel to a land unknown, not without her. He would not call that place his home, which he had never seen. “Daor,” she refused, “Ēza daor.” No, he has not.

“Naera when did you last visit him?” Rhaenyra knelt by the gentle scratches against the stony ground where Wisestone would have slept, running her hand along the longest of dents. Naera could not recall.

“Ēza issare bōza,” she admitted, it has been long, “but he wouldn’t…no,” her companion would not have abandoned her this way, she knew. Wisestone did not require frequent visits and loving embraces. Wisestone did not require her constant mind and thought.

“Pār konir sagon se drīve, dārilaros,” the keeper answered, clinking his staff against the floor. Then that is the reason, princess.

Naera closed her eyes, shaking her head, relentless, “Emagon ao eptan pōnta qilōni gaomagon ry Zaldrīzesdōron?” Have you asked the keepers at Dragonstone? Naera picked up a ruby dripping with blood, circular, encased in gold, and clear as glass, with a broken tooth stuck to its back. Next to it was another ruby, a sharp shade of carmine or pepper that shone orange in the firelight, as large as her hand, and matted with browning claret. How?

“Issa, konīr iksis daorun arlie konīr,” Yes, there is nothing new there. “Valyria iksis se mērī udligon. Ziry zȳho iksis lenton.” Valyria is the answer. It is his home. No. Valyria is not his home, Naera knew. A place one has barely seen can never be one’s home. King’s Landing was not his home, neither was Dragonstone, or Valyria.

No. No.

Sunspear?

Wisestone had grown up in the fields adjoining the Dornish capital. He had flown through its desert grass and fed on its wildlife. He had grown there to his towering height, taken flight there, he had lived there. He had also lived in Essos. He had lived with her, in the Grass Seas and in the lands adjoining the Slaver’s Bay when she had fought alone for her life. He had flown her to Naath, to Lys, and Qarth—he had lived in Essos for as long as she had.

Suddenly, the rubies made sense. The flaming, blood-soaked rubies made complete reason and sense, as clear as the crystal waters of a Northern stream when summer broke their ways.

She hadn’t been the only one to yearn.

“Sȳndorion.” The land of shadows, “Ēdas iā lenton isse se Sȳndorion.” He had a home in the Shadowlands, by the stony ports where he preyed on rich merchants and fleeing maidens alike, where he was worshipped for his fire by the priests and priestesses of R’hllor, and she had left him to his art, whilst she learned another for herself.

“Ahsī?” The dragonkeeper sounded unsure.

Naera stood, dropping the rubies on the gold with a clatter, hand now stained with red, “Asshai. There is no place else.” Was this the answer? Was she to journey to Asshai now that she knew Melisandre was no longer there? It was absolutely the kind of cruel joke the Lord of Light would play, she knew.

There was only one way to get some answers.

She raised the torch to level with her eyes, staring at the lapping flames and charred wood at its core. She could feel Laenor’s confusion, Rhaenyra’s curiosity, Daemon’s irritation and the dragonkeeper’s annoyance. She brought the flame down. Later.

“Naera,” Daemon took her free hand, the bloody one, despite the darkness, and asked, “Do you—will you go to Asshai?” Concern, certainly, for if her uncle cared for anything, it was his dragon, Caraxes, and he expected her to worry the same. She couldn’t travel to Asshai. It would take weeks to reach by sea and if she failed to find him, several other weeks to return. She couldn’t.

Naera shook her head. “I shall write to a friend in Asshai,” Eraine, or Velaena, or Aertha, or any of the other Red Priestesses she had known who still resided in the lands of death.

“To Melisandre?” Naera flinched at hearing her name from Daemon’s mouth, and the memory of that afternoon in the Godswood, when he had looked o’er her portrait and asked her about the language of Asshai descended on her. She smiled, broken, and shook her head.

“Someone else,” but did not tell him why she couldn’t write to that Red Woman. She followed the keeper out of the pits, her heart a little lighter as her mind grew heavier with the possibility of Wisestone being safe and glorious in Asshai—yes, that was enough. The thought of her companion safe and revelling was sweetness.

Laenor and Rhaenyra left them there, claiming to take to the Small Council to inform the king of Naera’s theories, and she was left alone with the disdainful dragonkeeper who grumbled something along the lines of 'never leave a dragon alone,' before departing for his works.

Daemon stared at her, at her lilac eyes that had reddened and dried, and she stared back at him also, at the way he bit the fine skin on the inside of his mouth, right under his lips and to the left, how his nose flared every fifth breath as he searched for words, how he ran his tongue over his teeth, lips still closed, as he found no words. Waiting, waiting, tarrying, and no thoughts came until he settled for a sentence.

“Naera, nyke…” and her uncle embraced her, warmly, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and resting his chin against her forehead. “Ziry kessa mire sagon syz,” It shall all be fine, and yes, he was worried, and fearful, and sweet, almost, but Naera did not care. She knew her dragon, knew his attitude. If he had left her side, it was not her fault. If her had left her side, it was to do someone’s bidding, perhaps even his own.

Naera told him so, “Gaomagon zūzagon daor, kepus,” Do not worry, uncle, “Kostōba nēdenka issa.” He is strong and brave. She held onto Daemon’s waist, feeling warmer, and warmer, and a dizzying spell of sleep washed over her. She let her eyes flicker close, but in the darkness, she saw, clear as a glowing moon on a black night sky, gold. She saw gold, liquid, boiling gold, and she felt its heat, the warm air being blown off a pot of melting gold over a fire she couldn’t see.

Then, it moved, it was picked up by strong, scarred arms, which held its weight with ease and dragged it through the air and tilted it over. Like honey that pours with a glossy temper out of a jar made of quartz, slow, shiny and delightful, the gold poured out of the blackened vessel, and as it fell down, and down, she saw hair—white, silver, but golden under the light—Targaryen hair, she saw, and the head that bore it, as molten gold poured over him, and down it went his eyes, and into his ears, and caked his head of white hair as it charred his skin red. A Prince, perhaps, but no more, for as his silent screams were sung, the gold had hardened thus, and he fell to the floor, dead.

Naera backed away in a step, eyes clenched close to hold onto the sight. A crown for a King, were the words that echoed in her mind. A crown men shall tremble to behold, and she knew, by the depth of the voice that resonated, by the silent screams of the dead prince she never knew, she knew, that if she turned, just a step and another, she would see the Conqueror again, watching.

An ache, sharp, yet dull at the same instance tore through her head, her vision blurring until she only saw the gold again, but its heat had all disappeared. There was pain, hot, blinding, white pain, more urgent than any wound she had suffered, and Naera clawed helplessly at her eyes which burned and ached even more, and tears ran down her face as she tugged at her hair. No, she wanted to beg, as all her sight melted into blinding light.

The last thing she felt was Daemon’s arms holding her up again, as her knees collided with the ground at the Dragonpits, clutching her head in cries. Something warm trickled down her neck, her chin, and her face, but she couldn’t dare open her eyes.

No.

Melisandre sat alone, in a cabin given to her by a Pentoshi merchant. She ran her hand absently over the ruby at her neck and shrugged off her red cloak. It was long past dusk outside her cabin, and she had lit every torch, and every lantern she could find to brighten her room. She wanted no darkness, not even as she undressed, for the night is dark and full of terrors, and any who chooses the darkness is a fool.

She pulled off her boots and layers, and sat again, on the rocking, polished, creaking, wooden chair, caught in just a thin, silken chemise, the very colour of her ruby, and she let her copper locks fall to her shoulders.

She had seen something in her flames three days ere—more flames, lapping up, and down, and sideways along a silken blue fabric, reflective glass and flames there too, and then she had seen his face. A burning home, and after her warning, the merchant had saved half his estate. In whatever remained, he had allotted her a chamber with a promise of any facility he could provide, and she had accepted.

She lit candles, one, two and another two by the windows, three by the bed, another by the mantle above the fireplace, and she had the home servant prepare a blazing hearth for her also. She sat on the floor, sighing at the drag of silk and satin against her knees, as she knelt in front of the fire. Placing her hands on the stone mantle above, she harmonized her balance, with grace, and calm, and began a song to her God.

“R’hllor, I have done your bidding,” she gazed into the fire, unblinking, “Show me once more—show me what I must do, for the night is dark and full of terrors, but your light burns it all away.” She looked into the flames, at the swirling gold and carmine and red, and she saw. She saw faces, one, that split into two, and two, that split into four, then eight, then more, and more, and more, until every face, distinctly different from the last, opened its eyes, and crumbled away.

Melisandre looked closer, eyes narrowing slightly, and she watched as the crumbles morphed into creatures with hammering legs and furious trails—stallions, and they ran, and ran, hundreds at a time, and they ran, until the drumming of their feet against grassy lands faded into chants around a house of hay. Chanting, chanting women, whispers, men, women, children with no faces, just bronzed skin and braided hair. They circled another, standing above them all, a woman with silver hair, gagging, bleeding from the face, no eyes, no nose, just blood, and grime and flesh, and her form rippled and crushed away.

She saw the waves of the fire that burned too blue to be flame—the sea. She must sail, perhaps? She saw those waves collide against each other, and as they met, the twinkling, shimmering, sunlit tops morphed into jewels, intricate and delicate all the same, but the gold turned to silver, and the silver glowed brighter, and brighter until she saw luxury, embroidered silver and iron on ivory skin, silver hair, silver blades, and blades clashed, pouring blood.

She blinked, tears flooding her eyes to keep them from dying out. On, and on, red, hot, thick, delicious, decadent blood poured down, and down acres of ivory, before it all crumbled away with the flicker of the flames.

There, she saw, in the very core where the flames were pale blue, she saw two violet orbs dotted with black, streaked in radius with brown, and blinking eyes that consumed them both, and those clashing steel blades again, and steaming food, and red wine, laughing people in gorgeous dresses, and luxury, and bodies moving in rhythm, syncing, writhing in pleasure, and then red, red, red—red silks, red gems, red blood, red skies, and it all darkened to brown, then black.

Yet, that darkness burned away, the light took its place, and she saw the sea waves, morphing, clashing, colliding, flowing against stone, and rock, and sand, and salt, and a golden orb descended down into the pale, pale waters. She must find Naera.

“I praise you, my Lord, my God,” Melisandre sang, “I shall do as you show me.”

I shall find my Princess.

MASTERLIST

[trickstarbrave]

i hate most veganism conversations bc it always no argument against them is ever enough despite how "compassionate" they say they are and it usually goes back to being western "humans are separate from nature" ideologies or racism or pure ableism

"factory farms are bad which is why you shouldnt use animal products"

thank you for education about factory farms, but i feel there is a middle ground between "no animal products ever" and "actively supporting factory farms". stuff like sustainable bee keepers also help plant based ethical agriculture that you need for your food systems. stuff like backyard eggs and sustainable honey are ethical sources of food without death and i also dont have a moral issue with a living animal dying because that happens in nature all the time

"no. thats not good either. no animal LIKES dying and you dont HAVE to use animal products, therefore you dont get to. and honey and eggs are still bad because the animals have been domesticated and bred for these purposes which makes it unethical because humans had a role in it"

you misunderstand the processes of domestication and that if a species wouldnt benefit from it as well it simply wouldnt happen. domesticated animals in ethical, non-factory settings do live longer or safer lives than their wild counterparts. and also no, because of my various health conditions a fully plant based diet is not doing to be possible for me. for example i can't absorb omega-3s from seeds and nuts very well at all and i need to take a fish oil supplement to have any hope of absorbing it well.

"well not everyone in society should have to live according to YOUR needs. fine, you can keep your shit since you apparently "need" it but we should just do away with it otherwise because its bad for everyone else, morally wrong all the time, and bad for the environment"

removing it for everyone else means policing other people's health and bodies to determine whether or not you think they "deserve" it or not because they have no choice or if they should be forced to make due with subpar nutrition because of your moral principles. it will ultimately cause more harm, remove education on nutrition, and make it harder to access these things for someone like me who needs it. and also a lot of cultures have used animal products like eggs and meat and milk for thousands of years without destroying the environment, and trying to ban it for them too is blaming them for western factory farming based agriculture and destroying their cultural heritage in the process.

"no one's culture should involve eating meat"

well it does because humans have been eating meat longer than recorded history. in a lot of places meat is a more reliable source of protein and calories and other essential vitamins and minerals than plants. your lack of respect for other cultures outside of your own makes you a bit of a dick

"okay but that was BACK THEN. we dont HAVE to eat meat anymore. things can change"

you're right, but that abundance of plant based food sources is due to unsustainable agriculture. the same model that made factory farms also makes unsustainable mono-crop fields and run offs of pesticides and over-uses farm land and harms and exploits workers. it causes as much damage as factory farmed meat and the two industries are heavily intertwined with cheap grain bi-products humans cant eat going to feed livestock and livestock manure used in farms or cycled back to feed fish. if you want to truly end exploitation in the agricultural industry and save the environment that will involve giving up the conveniences of having whatever fruit and vegetables you want year round regardless of weather or where you live because shipping that produce from exploited workers is also causing real ethical harm and pollution in the world and is contributing to climate change. where you live it might be easy to sustain yourself only on a plant based diet because you have a wide variety of things you can cultivate for a balanced diet, but for other ppl it will involve some animal products or even a good amount of meat sources ethically and the animal used as much as humanly possible from organs to bones to skin and fur.

this is also usually supplemented with claims and facts taken out of context (like saying livestock eat way more grains than people do in the US especially--when livestock are eating grain by-products from ethanol production or stuff human beings cant or wont eat), or a false equivalency time and time again of factory farms = all animal agriculture or hunting ever, or insisting you are having cognitive dissonance because "its human nature to love and care about animals therefore if you kill and eat them you're a psychopath"

anyways tumblr stop with the "BASED ON YOUR LIKES" thing youre making me mad

[terra-tortoise]

light flight has a faction of librarians called lore keepers. theyre divided into three subfactions. one is tome keepers, the actual librarians and custodians of history and documents. another are relic keepers, who care for, organize, and study artifacts recovered from the many ruins in light territory. the final are record keepers, a more professional-sounding term for what are commonly called priests. these priests recieve and interpret prophecies, the most vivid and reliable visions recieved by the priest of the sun and stars, a position currently held by a veilspun called entos.

#flight rising #scribes #light flight #entos #writing sales bios today so im getting all my terms straightened out

[dyelixr]

Concept of fate in Scaramouche’s terms

To start of, the usual word used for fate used in genshin is the term 命运 (mingyun). 

The simplest way to define someone’s destiny, ming is the dictated future and yun a future that can be dictated by one. 

mingyun in concept are two combinations of the definition of fate: 

Ming: A predetermined future that cannot be changed. 

Yun: A future that can be decided and is flexible. 

Yae Miko talking about Scaramouche

[ Omnipresence Over Mortals Chapter: II Act: III ]

At the very end of the Archon Quest, we get to learn about Raiden Ei’s past before putting herself in solitude inside the Plane of Euthymia. Yae Miko talks about the Shogun puppet’s origins along with Scaramouche, he was only a prototype puppet, a concept plan for Raiden Ei to use, as Yae Miko says. Though something stopped her from destroying him completely. 

At the end of this dialogue, it is revealed now that the prototype puppet is none other than Scaramouche and is on the run with the gnosis. 

CN based translation: Yae Miko asks:

 “Can it(Scaramouche) just be a chance and a coincidence or fate” 

This may look normal but in Chinese they used an unusual definition of fate, It’s not 命运 (mingyun). 

It’s 天命(tianming) 

A Chinese term that can be translated as "Mandate of Heaven" or "Divine Right." It refers to the belief that people derive their authority and legitimacy from a divine source, often associated with the will of heaven. 

Note that the “Mandate of Heaven” in Genshin is none other than the Heavenly Principles themselves. 

To get a better notion, we could revise Yae Miko’s dialogue as: 

“Is Scaramouche’s existence only a coincidence or could he be authorized by the will of god?” 

Which led me back to the puppet being able to dream right after Ei had completed the process of creating him. 

Again, as we all know, Scaramouche only served as a concept plan and a base for making the Shogun. She only wanted to test if this option was plausible for her plan.

->  It was not necessary for her to give it feelings nor even give him the ability to dream. Ei did not intend on making him sentient, he was not supposed to feel anything, he was not supposed to have any sort of emotions. He was only a vessel, a keeper of the Gnosis, a tool. Whatever happened to him in this very moment was not part of Ei’s plan nor was she aware of it.

If Ei isn’t responsible for his sentience then what or.. who is? 

The second setting/event of his slumber, was included in Pale Flame’s Surpassing Cup set. 

It was from a dream that he cried, and this is where Ei noticed that he could feel. He was then sent inside Shakkei Pavilion to continue his slumber, that dream long occurred until the unknown error.

“due to an error that cannot be known, he roused himself from slumber.” So.. 2 things.. 

An error is suspicious enough, the fact we can’t even comprehend what and where this error emerged from makes it super mysterious. 

“roused himself from slumber” means that he was the one who woke himself up. It was not the error itself that directly woke him up, it was the one who drove Scaramouche into rousing up from his supposedly long deep slumber. 

He witnessed it, he saw it right before his eyes, he saw that ‘unknowable error’ in his dreams. 

Keep in mind that this dream is the same dream that caused him to cry, so

Could the error also be the cause of his sentience? 

Dreams in genshin are considered as one of the big factors when it comes to lore. 

Inversion of Genesis showed that if the irminsul is altered, so is the history of teyvat. the people's memory of it and every written record of it --and even by themselves, as Al Haitham points out, even books are not reliable sources of knowledge, but neither is the irminsul. 

The irminsul, in this sense, can be a collective unconscious humans are hooked up to that can be modified, and with it so are people's memories and their written records (Rukkhadevata and Scaramouche/Wanderer proved this by erasing their existence from the tree).

Is the irminsul good for teyvat? When it basically alters history into an illusion. But regardless, whatever kind of alteration happens, it does not entirely take out the truth (we learn this from Inversion of Genesis). 

Wanderer learns that even if history is erased, the truth is still present. 

“People can find ways to forget, but they can’t undo what they’ve done and there’s no escaping the past. The Wanderer learned this the hard way.” 

Alice; Collected Miscellany - Wanderer

The Wanderer’s connections and actions from the past are still there, even if people forget, even if the records were altered (everything influenced by the irminsul, they’re all illusion, lies) 

the truth stays as it is. 

Nahida was able to save Scara's memories by hiding them in a dream behind an allegory, a symbolic representation of the truth.

which means the only reliable source of knowledge in teyvat is dreams.

Truth? Dreams? Illusion? Hey, I've heard that before.. 

Scaramouche was affected by the meteorites causing him to fall asleep, though he did not receive the same dream, it was not leonard that he dreamt of, instead it was a truth hidden by irminsul. 

Can it only be a coincidence that these two specific courses of Scaramouche’s life go on similar terms? 

Scara witnesses an error -> he wakes up 

Scara witnesses the truth -> he wakes up 

If Irminsul erases a part of history and that part of history becomes known again, then it could be a form of an error could it not? If dreams are truly the only source of knowledge..

Could the error from his very first dream also be a form of truth? 

Perhaps this error that is a hypothetical truth is that of the 

 天命(tianming) Yae Miko speaks of? 

Perhaps a Mandate of Heaven warned Scaramouche? Gave Scaramouche sentience? and guided Scaramouche to wake up? Perhaps that Mandate of Heaven wanted Scaramouche to know the truth? 

Wanderer’s journey right now is to find his true self 

Saṃsāra in sanskrit means “wandering” 

“cycle of aimless drifting” to move from place to place without no purpose at all

hm these descriptions sound just like 

The Wanderer, but.. 

“Though Wanderer is his name, Aimlessness is not his game”

Alice; Collected Miscellany - Wanderer 

As I've said, his journey is to find himself, everything that he lacks from the start, a definition, a purpose, a name. 

Wanderer certainly isn’t going to be his last incarnation because he has yet to find himself, this is really just the beginning. 

Maybe Wanderer can find who he truly is through his journey, his travel, his wandering, along with ‘that’ truth that this hypothetical person, the error, wants him to find. 

I don't know? Does it come off as baseless? It’s just really neat to me how the things i’ve compiled in this specific speculation aligns and compliments each other. ^^

[thebookkeepersrus-blogs]

It is crucial to keep accurate and current accounting records. You may assess the performance of your company with these trustworthy financial reports. It is also advantageous to keep thorough records in case the IRS conducts an audit.

#bookkeepingservicesla #los angeles #california services #thebookkeepersrus #guide to bookkeeping #CPAs #bestbookkeepers #reliable record keepers

[thebookkeepersrus]

May Easter prayers bring you renewed hope and faith! Celebrate the joy of #renewal with #TheBookkeepersRUs! 😀😇

#eastertreats #celebratelife #hopeforsuccess😊 #bookkeeping #reliable bookkeeping #record keepers #smallbusinesssolutions #events #easter sunday

[dark9896]

Polar opposites [Zapp x Reader]

This wasn't normal, it wasn't natural! He knew he could do better than that stuck-up, pristine, everything-in-its-place a$$hole!

Zapp was stuck, laying in bed and wondering why the ever-loving f&%k he was thinking about them when he should be out drinking and partying. The new intel core operative was just a little b*tch!

And no amount of tight pants was going to change his mind.

~~~~~

Unfortunately, you didn't have a beef with Zapp, not yet anyways. You were doing your best to get along with everyone you could considering you would be a temp in the office. Being reliable and tidy was just second nature for you. Honestly, you were hoping to become a more permanent member of the team. Though you didn't have much fighting experience.

A full-time record keeper position would suit you just fine.

But, for whatever reason, Zapp was skirting you today. Whenever you got even remotely close to where he was, he would jump up and act like he needed to be somewhere else. It was getting on everyone's nerves, and hurt you a little just thinking about it.

"Trust me," Chain said, "This is a blessing in disguise. The last thing you want is that Monkey Brained idiot flirting with you."

"It isn't about flirting." You sighed, "It seems like all I have to do is look in his general direction and he's bolting to the next room. And I know it isn't my body spray, no one else is bothered by it. They've even commented on how Zapp tends to wear it himself so..."

"You are still lucky that he's like this." Leo piped up from the other end of the couch, "Given his pension for bullying the living daylights out of anything that moves."

The little Sonic Speed Monkey on the table in front of you made a noise as if he were agreeing, as well as nodding. You couldn't help but feel like it was impossible to explain why this hurt so much. Popular opinion around the office said Zapp was public enemy number one.

But you thought he was kinda cute.

There was no getting out of it this time sadly. Zapp was assigned to be your bodyguard during a mission, and he wasn't able to weasel his way out of this one. This was the seedy part of town, and you needed someone who both knew the place, and could fight properly in tight corners.

God Zapp was gonna regret this.

"Just stay outta my way when sh^t hits the fan, alright Noodle?"

Zapp was being more pushy and rude than normal, in all honesty, you didn't know what to think. You just shrugged and decided not to let it bother you. Certainly made Zapp less cute.

Sneaking around in the alley with someone this close should have been more thrilling, but with Zapp constantly bickering at something or other... You just had to hold out until you could hear what was going on inside this building. It wasn't long before you realized you had circled the entire outside of the building and still not found a decent entry spot. And with Zapp grumbling in your ear, it wasn't going to be a fun day.

"Will you shut up?" You hissed, "I can't f*&king concentrate with the endless hopeless commentary from the peanut gallery."

Zapp blinked, straightening up and holding both hands up in surrender on instinct. But he shut up. You stared up the side of the building, unaware of how Zapp was looking at you.

Had he been wrong this whole time? Or was this just stress-talking? He was known to be grating to most people, and he had been wrong about things before. It was all too likely he just didn't-

"In!"

Being suddenly shoved into an even tighter corner by you only strengthened his suspicions about just being wrong. Then the footsteps hit his ears. About as hard as your heartbeat actually. That level of rapid thumping was pumping Zapp's ego. If you were that scared, then if he did something to protect you...

Things could go very differently then he even thought was possible.

"Don't-"

Zapp was yanked even further into the dark corner before he could even take half a step.

"Are you insane?" You whispered, "They have guns! You'll be down before you can even draw a drop of blood for your own sword. Just lay low for a sec."

"Just gimme a sec to prep and..."

"Look, just because you don't like me doesn't mean you get to walk all over me dumb*ss." You half glared at him, "Just hold on 'cause they'll round the corner in a few seconds. And then we can sneak into that low window right there."

Zapp blinked down at you, "What gave the idea that I don't like you?"

"You avoid me, you keep calling me Noodle, you have been grumbling ever since we left today, and you refuse to give me the time of day to just listen to the simplest of requests like stay put for a minute so we can do our f&^king job."

Looking away and rubbing the back of his neck proved more difficult than he expected, but of course you'd be right.

"Okay, okay. So I haven't been the nicest." He admitted, "But to be fair, I thought you were just another stick in the mud."

"Because I want to do a good job and maybe not be stuck as a temp?"

Your voice was starting to raise, but Zapp covered your mouth. He knew you were right, but the footsteps had stopped at an odd time. While the grumbling was inaudible, there was a chance that those apes could hear you.

"Okay, so I made a bad judgment call." Zapp breathed in your ear, "It happens, I just. I'm kinda used to being the office punching bag, so another suit-wearing snob was the last thing I wanted to see. Once this is over with, why don't I make sh^t up to you with drinks? Deal?"

You pulled away, almost hitting your head against the wall, "Alright, deal. Now help me up into that window so I can plant a bug in the empty room."

"And remind me," Zapp was easily able to lift you by the leg, "What good does leaving it in an empty room do?"

"It'll seek the target like a living bug." You just needed to drop a small bug and crawl out the window, "And stick to him like a bad fart."

"Nice."

#bbb #kekkai sensen #kkss #blood blockade battlefront #zapp renfro

[frenchiefitzhere]

The Hoodie Song (Angel @ Davey) Music & Lyrics by Frenchie 9/3/22

You’re never gonna get your hoodie back

In fact I’m planning thefts galore 

If you’re expecting ever more menacing behavior 

Then I won’t let down the leader of the pack

Verse 1:

Unsuspecting werewolves are a figure out of myth

When we met you sussed out in record time

Just how true it is that I’m a little shit

Oh Davey, you’re reliable

(Reliably grumpy)

I can count on you to make a fuss

One, two, three… [Spoken: Yep, there it is!] That grumble of disgust! [Spoken: So cute!]

What I can’t count are the good things

Like how you let me drive you nuts

And now all your hoodie are belong to us

Bridge: 

Life is loud and frightening

Home is our escape

And wrapped up in your sweatshirt

[Spoken: Or your arms, I guess, as a backup] is where I feel safe

Verse 3: 

When you walked in last night 

You may have thought you found me dreaming   

The truth is–no surprise–your Angel

Schemes even when sleeping

Imagining a way to get a 

Smile across your face and 

How to spend more time with you

In our domestic space

Sometimes your so-called logic really strikes me as quite silly

You’ve got some wrong ideas about vestimentary property

Just because the shirt has words that read ‘Shaw Security’

You must know: all your hoodie are belong to me

The rule is finders keepers, and you took me for a creeper

But you found me and you’re stuck with me

And I wish you good luck with me

Sorry, Davey, them’s the breaks

It’s terrible but true: what’s in this hoodie is belong to you

But you know I stole your sweatshirt

Because it feels like love and trust

And now all your hoodie are belong to us *****

LYRICS AND CHORDS:

Intro: C    F    Dm   Gsus4  G

Prologue:

C F

You’re never gonna get your hoodie back

     Dm         Gsus4    G

In fact I’m planning thefts galore 

   Dm         G   Am     Am/G    D/F# 

If you’re expecting ever more menacing behavior 

  Dm                       G     F  C   Am G

Then I won’t let down the leader of the pack

Verse 1:

C F       Gsus4        Am

Unsuspecting werewolves are a figure out of myth

Dm7            F/C                           G/B

When we met you sussed out in record time

(G)      

Just how true it is that I’m a little shit

       F           G

Oh Davey, you’re reliable

     Dm      G

(Reliably grumpy)

            F               F/E

I can count on you to make a fuss

G

One, two, three… [Spoken: Yep, there it is!] That grumble of disgust! [Spoken: So cute!]

          F                                C/E       //

What I can’t count are the good things

                      Dm                     F   G

Like how you let me drive you nuts

                F                      G                  C

And now all your hoodie are belong to us

Bridge: 

Bb

Life is loud and frightening

F

Home is our escape

G

And wrapped up in your sweatshirt

                F7     G   F/A   G7

[spoken]:(Or your arms, I guess, as a backup) is where I feel safe

Verse 3:

C F

When you walked in last night 

Gsus4     Am //

You may have thought you found me dreaming

        Dm7     F/C    

The truth is–no surprise–your Angel

G/B   G

Schemes even when sleeping

F           G

Imagining a way to get a 

Dm       Am

Smile across your face and 

F           C/E

How to spend more time with you

     G         G/A      G/B

In our domestic space

         F       C/E      Dm C

Sometimes your so-called logic really strikes me as quite silly

           G                         G/F              Em               G   //

You’ve got some wrong ideas about vestimentary property

F         C/E                      Dm             Am

Just because the shirt has words that read ‘Shaw Security’

    F                     G                    C

You must know: all your hoodie are belong to me

      F         C/E                     G                    Am

The rule is finders keepers, and you took me for a creeper

  F Bb

But you found me and you’re stuck with me

      G

And I wish you good luck with me

Am G

Sorry, Davey, them’s the breaks

     Dm             F   // //

It’s terrible but true:

           (F)                  G                   C

What’s in this hoodie is belong to you

               F       C/E

But you know I stole your sweatshirt

                   G Am

Because it feels like love and trust

    F       G     C

And now all your hoodie are belong to us

#redactedverse #redacted asmr #redacted music #redacted fanart #redacted fanfic #redacted david #redacted angel #was this my fastest turnover yet? #not actually sure /g #keep unspoilering for chords if you want to play the song yourself #David shaw loml #Frenchie makes music and stuff #frenchie makes musical fan art

[pwlanier]

1949 Bentley Mark VI Shooting Brake

Coachwork by Rippon Brothers Ltd.

From the 1920s onward, it was not uncommon to see Bentley cars commissioned for work on wealthy owner's estates, their rugged, reliable and yet sporting poise being perfect mounts for their owners and friends to be escorted to the farer realms of the land. Frequently vehicles were converted to this more commercial purpose in their later life, when, rather than parting with a trusted old car, the 'family friend' was shipped off to a coachbuilder for repurposing.

More unusual was for cars to be commissioned this way from new, and in this respect the Bentley we present here is something of some rarity. It was ordered by its first owner in the form that we still see it today. The coachbuilder was Rippon Brothers, a house that could chart its history back to the carriage building days of the late 1890s and then the incubation of the motorcar. Based in the North of England, and originating in Huddersfield, at its peak it could count showrooms in various locations including Bradford, Leeds, Sheffield and West Riding although after the war, they were predominantly concerned with selling cars rather than building them. In the wealthy textiles industry of Yorkshire and the Midlands, they found a burgeoning clientele and were well patronized by their local market.

The factory records on file confirm B91FU to have been built as a 'Shooting Brake' and the original owner of the Bentley fitted that mold perfectly. Colonel George Hammond Aykroyd was part of the family dynasty that ran the huge carpet business of T. F. Firth and Company in Bailiff Bridge in the West Yorkshire county of the United Kingdom, as they would have said 'a stone's throw' from Rippon. Most likely reflecting the extreme costs of such an exercise in the conservative postwar Britain, he was one of only two people to have one of these cars built, and curiously enough today both have found themselves to the USA.

As a Master of Foxhounds, Col. Aykroyd's Shooting Brake would have been most likely been used for the type of work its name suggests, hunting. Sensibly, the spare tire was moved to free up space in the rear of the car and placed on the front right fender, while its rear seat could be folded forward for further storage if necessary.

It is believed that the trusty 'Brake remained in the family for some years, no doubt having seen routine service at hunting parties on the Moors. In 1961 the Bentley moved south to the Bristol area and became the property of R. Acheson Crow. This is the last recorded British owner, before the car migrated to the US in 1980 and arrived in the distinctly different climate of California, with its next custodian Michael R. Clark, who maintained the car for nearly a decade. The next keeper was noted collector Warren French, in whose care the car was a frequent sight on Rolls-Royce Owners Club events. Records on file depict and note how appropriate the car looked at a Winery tour!

After some years of Mr. French's ownership the Shooting Brake began a new chapter of its life on the East Coast with the much respected collector Henry Petronis of Easton, Maryland. Mr. Petronis' status as a true connoisseur of the automobile was well founded for his garages at his Normandie home at one time housed such serious machinery as Alfa Romeo 8C 2300, multiple Bugattis and the famed Captain Hewitt 8 Liter Bentley.

The present custodian of this charming 'wagon' acquired the car publicly from noted collector Craig McCaw in 2016. On arrival it was sent to Automotive Restorations to work through the technical aspect and to put it into a more satisfactorily reliable condition. Since when it has been used periodically on trips to the golf club and other such excursions.

An exceptional rarity, the 'Brake' would make a refreshing alternative to your Wrangler or Hummer at any beach, or indeed race circuit paddock.

Bonhams

#bentley #shooting brake #station wagon #woody wagon #preppy #i love this