#Abode Hex

[cherryslyce]

Amalfi Coast | Theodore Nott

Synopsis: The end of your years at Hogwarts brings about stirring changes: the unveiling of your betrothal to Theodore Nott and an all-expense getaway to Italy for alone time with your husband-to-be.

PAIRING: Theodore Nott x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT + NOTES: 4.5k. I am so weak for Theodore.

The shards of glimmering light that dance across the soft peaks of water distances away seem to speak to you as you drift into your thoughts. Crowded between cliff-hanging abodes and the frothing shore, you’ve never felt so insignificant until that moment. 

Your hand absentmindedly brushes against the fine grains of sand below you, the microscopic beads emanating a pleasant warmth against your palm. You hear a soft thud from beside you just as a comforting presence graces you, the uncomfortable stir of disorientation washing away with the drag of the waves. 

“The unit should be prepped soon. We can grab some food after Mitzy brings over our luggage.” Theodore’s smooth voice hums out, eyes clambering to drink in the sight of the sea as well. 

You smile softly at the mention of the boy’s house-elf, remembering how she had been keen to help you pack for the trip. Nodding, you unconsciously shift closer to the boy as you glance at him, “Sounds like a plan.” 

Theodore looks completely serene much to your confusion. A large part of you was grateful that Theodore was chosen to be your betrothed, but another chunk of your heart twinged painfully at the thought. It was no secret that Nott Sr. was a strict man, and you couldn’t help but spiral into a web of thoughts about how Theodore was likely forced into being with you. 

It had only been a few months since you both graduated from Hogwarts, but you distinctly recall how close Theodore was to Millicent Bulstrode. Your brain sifted through your memories of the girl, remembering her calculative eyes and pin-straight posture. 

You just hoped the girl wouldn’t hex you for swooping in and stealing her boyfriend. 

You and Theodore weren’t exactly close friends, but you both sought out each other’s company during exam season, enjoying the comfortable routine of silence that you both fell into during those days. Outside of the library, interactions with the boy dwindled into nods and occasional smiles. Despite the distance between you both during school, you held onto hope that your familiarity with one another would serve as a stepping stone towards a smooth relationship. 

Conversation with Theodore is sparse for the hours that follow, the both of you mulling over thoughts of pleasantries and faltering topics of chatter. The fervid wind settles the farther you trek from the shoreline, now teetering past assortments of clustered buildings, all mottled with bright colors. 

Your wand presses stiffly against your side as you tuck it into the waistband of your bottoms, concealing it from view as you both approach a swarm of people. Theodore keeps beside you, donning black sunglasses that keeps his searching gaze hidden as you both bask in the foreign environment. 

It was lively and bright, the antithesis to the perpetual gloom and blisters of humming that was encroached in every stone of Britain. White verandas and endless shrubbery adorned the collection of shops around you, catching your eyes every so often. 

“Here we are.” Theodore mutters, throwing you a small smile as your mouth drops into a vague o-shape. 

The restaurant is stretched open with white beams of wood streaming upward to a flat wooden ceiling, the entirety of the seating area is squared away by the side banisters instead of proper walls, letting in the cool wind and seaside view. Theodore steps forward to speak with the hostess, hand lifting up to tug off his sunglasses as a blanket of shade envelopes you both. 

You’re entranced by Theodore’s rapid-fire speaking, wondering if he had chosen Italian for his language lessons in order to strengthen his friendship with Blaise. With Theodore’s fluency and the restaurant’s expansive array of tables, you’re both seated in a matter of minutes. 

The speckless table cloth drapes past your legs like a waterfall, effectively providing a shield against the breeze as you take your spot across from Theodore. The boy plucks his menu up and shoots you an indecipherable look from above the booklet as you remain motionless, seeing as your elementary understanding of Italian begins and ends at Ciao and Grazie.

Theodore’s lips flicker up momentarily before he lays his menu down and shuffles it over to you, “Do you want pasta? Or salad? They also have pizza, if you prefer that.” 

Your lips split into a small smile of relief, a warmth blossoming in your chest as the stiff atmosphere around you both seems to wash away. Theodore reads off of the entire menu for you, eyes occasionally shifting to your concentrated face as you pedal between a few options.

When you finally decide on a dish, Theodore offers you a light hum and shining eyes, paralyzing you for a few moments. Perhaps, and to your relief, your relationship could work out after all. You just needed to clear the air between you both first. 

The meal continues on without a hitch, but you have to make a conscious effort to not stare at the boy in front of you when the sun begins to sink behind the basin of sea water. 

The swirls of orange and pink of the sky illuminate his sharp features, complementing his already striking complexion. A tamed buzzing of conversation wafts through the air, spurring you to word-vomit the thoughts that were plaguing you since your first joint dinner with Theodore and his father weeks before. 

“I’m sorry,” You begin, looking away from Theodore when he meets your gaze with furrowed eyebrows, “about our marriage.” 

Silence ensues after your vague words, and when you finally work up the courage to glance back at Theodore, confusion settles into the etches of your mind as you see his frown and penitent gaze. You had expected false platitudes of reassurance, or bitter resignation—hell, maybe anger—but certainly not the look he was giving you right now. 

Clearing your throat, you sit up and lean forward, “I mean, I know that you would rather not be betrothed to me, so I’m sorry. My parents are quite lenient people, so I should have fought against it since I know your heart belongs to someone else already.” 

“What?” Theodore wheezes out, reeling back to process your words. 

Feeling heat creep up your neck, you falter back with quiet words, “Maybe, if I had refused vehemently, my parents could have convinced your father to not force you. I just wanted to apologize because I don’t want any lingering awkwardness or expectations for each other.”

Before Theodore can respond, your waiter paces over, giving you a polite smile before turning to address Theodore. The boy in front of you distractedly answers the waiter, eyes flickering back to your rigid figure amidst his words. 

Once the waiter parts from your tableside, leaving behind a quaint black tray for your sum, Theodore seems to fall into a silent daze as he robotically composes himself and leaves the money on the tray. When he pushes his chair back, you follow suit, ready to play catch up if he swept away and down into the streets without you. 

To your muted surprise, Theodore stops by your side and holds out his hand for you to take. Hesitantly clasping his calloused hand in yours, you are only able to await his words with bated breath, distracting yourself by focusing on the feeling of his rings against your fingers. 

Theodore leads you yards away from the restaurant, only falling to a halt once you both reach a secluded area beside a blocked-off cliffside. The sound of crashing waves tangles into the air as Theodore’s eyes run around your face for a few moments. 

“Do you want to call this off?” Theodore whispers, eyes steely with resolution as his other hand moves to lightly grip your arm. 

You gape at his blunt words, swallowing thickly as your gaze falls to the ground, “If that’s what you want.” 

“But what do you want?” He mumbles, stepping closer to you as another chilly gust of wind flies around your unguarded figures. 

Peering back up to him, you frown before divulging, “I don’t want to call it off.” 

“Good. Me neither.” Theodore nods, eyes softening at your honesty. 

“But what about Millicent?” You mutter, head tilting with visible perplexion. The poignant reminder of her existence evokes a storm of doubts in your veins, and your head starts spinning with the culmination of the day’s events. 

Theodore cranes his head back to assess you as he plainly responds, “What about her?” 

This time, it’s your turn to survey his confused face with a mirrored look, “What? She’s your girlfriend? I can’t in good conscience do that to someone, arranged or not.” 

Theodore’s mouth parts as he stares at you, and for a moment you’re disconcerted by the thought that he perhaps only just remembered her, but then, the most remarkable thing happens—Theodore starts to chuckle. His shoulders quake faintly with every muffled sound, and after a few moments, he throws his head back to let it out toward the darkening sky. 

Before you have a moment to question the boy’s sanity, he turns back to you with a wide grin, “Is that what you were talking about earlier? You caught me from left field. I was worried that you were displeased because your heart belonged to someone already.” 

Seeing your inquiring eyes, he shuffles closer and shakes his head, “I’m not dating Millicent, silly one. Where’d you get that grand idea from?”

“You guys were always together, and all the rumors–” Your words come out borderline defensive, neck blazing from embarrassment. 

Theodore huffs and squeezes your arm, softly cutting you off from your spiel, “Just rumors. I wouldn’t have agreed to any sort of arrangement if I was with someone else, my father knows that much.” 

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” You nod, scratching at your neck to dispel the humiliation that would live on in your head until your last moments on Earth. 

“Silly.” Theodore hums, letting go of your arm to tap at your forehead, “Let’s head to our place before we freeze, yeah?” 

Your rental unit was quite spacious to your surprise, and you were almost too enraptured with touching every inch of furniture to notice that there was only one bed in the entire space. Almost. 

Theodore is cognizant of the same dilemma, clicking his tongue dryly as he murmurs quietly under his breath. 

“I can take the floor.” You speak up almost zealously, easily masking how the prospect of waking with a sore back was killing you on the inside. Theodore and you had barely started building a thin understanding for your relationship, and you’d be damned if a single bed would stir up tension again. 

Theodore swivels to look at you, “No need, we can share the bed. If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll take the floor.” His voice leaves little room for argument, and he runs a hand through his locks as he nods reassuringly at you. You’re touched by his consideration and understanding, glad that you weren’t in such a position with someone like Crabbe or Goyle, both of whom would likely grunt inaudibly and leave you to your ministrations. 

“Let’s share, then.” You concede, heart thrumming fervently in your chest. 

Theodore smiles softly at you and beckons you closer as he sits down on the bed, hand reaching out for you as you slowly tread forward. When you gently place your hand in his, he gives a faint tug, eyes darting down to the empty spot beside him. 

Once you’re snug on the plush mattress, you turn to him with a wry grin, “We’ve skipped pretty much every single conventional step to get here. From study partners to life partners.” 

“I suppose you’re right,�� the corner of his mouth slants up, “from barely knowing my name to taking my surname, hm? Quite unorthodox.” 

Shaking your head, you flop back onto the bed, keenly aware of how Theodore tightens his hold on your hand as it begins to slip away. Peering up at him, you raise an eyebrow, “Who said I’m taking your last name, Nott? You’re taking mine.” 

“Hyphenating, it is.” He murmurs as his eyes trail toward the balcony ways off across the room. 

You chuckle and stare into the abyss of the dim ceiling, “Any excuse to have a ridiculously extensive name.” 

“Never as ridiculous as Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” He muses, slowly lowering himself to lay beside you. 

A few tantalizing beats pass before your jumbled mind seems to take away any semblance of restraint from your mouth, “I never thought it would be you, to be frank.” 

“Yeah?” Theodore hums, head now turned towards you. 

Nodding, you run your free hand along the edge of the bed as you continue, “My parents had been considering Crabbe for a while. I mean, they know nothing about him, but I can just imagine how that dinner would have gone once they realized just who they were shipping me off to.” 

Theodore continues to study you, hand squeezing yours again before he mumbles, “I knew it’d be you.” 

Snapping your head to the side, your eyes widen at his hooded gaze, “Really?” 

“My father knew it too. That I wouldn’t have anyone but you.” His admission knocks the wind from your lungs, and you almost want to throttle yourself off the bed to ensure that you weren’t dreaming. 

“Yeah?” You ask dumbly, heart stuttering against your ribs. 

Theodore shifts to lean on his elbow, bringing his face closer to yours as he whispers, “Want to know a secret?” 

All you can do is nod, trying to blink away the dizziness coiling around your head from the close proximity. 

He hums and slowly retracts his hand, bringing a finger to trail the bedding beside your shoulder, “I was the one to ask your parents for permission to court you. Now, I’m going to wash up first, I promise I won’t be long.” 

Without a hitch, Theodore swiftly clambers off of the bed, leaving the mattress to gently recoil against your back as it expands to its original form. You’re only able to grapple for a coherent thought once the bathroom door shuts with a click, barring you from staring at Theodore in wonder. 

Once you hear the stream of the shower head emit from the bathroom, you slowly prop yourself up and trudge towards the balcony, swinging the glass doors open and allowing the whistling wind to zip through the newly exposed aperture. The biting breeze nips at your cheeks as you stare into the sky, surveying all the twinkling stars as you recount the day’s events. 

You aren’t exactly sure what you’re going to say to Theodore, or if you’re even going to be able to look him in the eyes once he emerges from the bathroom, but you supposed that the turn of events unfolded more pleasantly than you could have hoped.

The distant clamoring of partygoers ways away from the balcony lulls you into a loop of idle daydreams, and you aren’t sure how many minutes have passed since Theodore’s departure from your side, but the whirlwind of your elusive thoughts dissipates when a warm hand grazes your arm. 

“You alright? I’ve been calling your name for a bit now.” Theodore mumbles, eyes glazed with worry as he searches your blank expression. 

Blinking slowly, you nod and offer a faint smile, “Fine, just lost in my thoughts.” 

“It’s a bit chilly out here,” He glances to his right, evidently hearing the faint pulsing of music as well, “why don’t we head in?” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling at him, “I’ll try not to wake you when I get out of the shower.” 

As you make your way to weave around the boy, body feeling weightless despite the fatigue drenching your muscles, you can feel his eyes following you until you’re swallowed by the shadows of the room. 

The numbing balm of the night’s wind melts away from your face as you peer up into the shower head. The swath of steam that swirls around your body, cloaking the mirrors and walls, seems to inhibit the taunts of your overactive brain. 

Your getaway would continue for another week before you’d begin wedding arrangements, already feeling the splintering headache emerging at the thought of sitting down and picking between a plethora of cloth samples. Unions between pureblood families were a big deal for the elite circle of families as the event would serve as the perfect opportunity for pretense and business transactions between different houses. 

When you crack the bathroom door open with a muffled pop, dismissing the rush of steam that flees hurriedly into the cool room, you vaguely make out the figure of Theodore propped up against the headboard. The hues of moonlight peek through the bare panes of your window, curtains swept aside, faintly illuminating the silhouette of the furniture. 

“Still up?” You whisper, padding over to delicately arrange yourself beside the boy. 

As you shuffle under the plush covers, dragging the edges under your arms, you turn to peer at Theodore’s profile, watching as his throat bobs down as he slowly turns to you. 

“Didn’t want to sleep without you.” He mutters, slowly sinking to lay down beside you. 

You suppress the tender smile threatening to peel across your face and nod, “I see. You’re not a restless sleeper, are you?”

“Are you?” He quietly intones, voice growing fainter as sleep begins to grip at his consciousness. 

“No, I’m not.” You hum, resisting the urge to sweep your fingers forward in search of his, “Goodnight, Theodore.” 

“Goodnight.” 

You both fall asleep facing one another, inches apart as the glow of the moonlight chases away the gulfs of darkness that slink in the corners of your room. It is in this position that your slumber is torn away from you mere hours later, moonlight now dispersing into small shards that nearly blend away against the white covers. 

The foggy film that clouds your senses and sight reel away as you hear a small grunt from beside you followed by incessant shifting. Blinking away your drowsiness, you slowly shift up to survey Theodore, slowly comprehending his distress. 

Theodore huffs out, a muffled groan blooming into the quiet atmosphere around you. Carefully reaching over, you shake the boy’s arm, eyebrows furrowing when he simply shifts again. 

“Theodore, hey,” You feebly call out, shaking his arm more frantically as he remains trapped in the desolate rapids of unconsciousness. 

Leaning down you bring your other hand to softly pat his cheek, you wait with bated breath as his ministrations quell before ceasing entirely. Eyes now accustomed to the veil of midnight darkness, you see his eyes slowly blink open, a light sigh escaping his lips as he begins to claw back into reality. 

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re alright,” You softly murmur, bringing your fingers up to gently card back his waves, any semblance of fatigue evaporating from your bones as you focus on comforting the boy. 

Theodore brings his hand up to yours, eyes beginning to sluggishly droop again, “Y/N?” 

“Hm?” You hum out, readjusting your position as sickly soreness jolts up your arm. 

“I guess I am a restless sleeper.” He mumbles, nudging against his pillow before he emits another sigh. His voice rumbles lethargically, and you sense that he is about to slip away into slumber again when he tightens his hold on your hand. 

“Hm. What’s up?” You whisper, moving to lay down as well. 

Theodore is silent for a few seconds before he tersely whispers back, voice nearly drowned out by the thumping of your heart in your ears, “Can I hold you?” 

You shift closer to the cocoon of warmth batting off of him, steadily bringing your arm to wrap around him, “Of course.” 

Theodore wraps his arms around you and drags you towards him, a content hum buzzing from his throat as he tucks you under his chin. For the few grand moments that pass afterward, you are left to contemplate the consequences your position would entail for when the sun rose, and you fervently hoped that no awkwardness would ensue. 

Your close proximity to Theodore allows you to hear the faint thumping of his heartbeat, now undeviating in its rhythm. Bringing your free hand forward, you tuck it in the nestle of warmth between your bodies, trying to conjure inklings of sleep as a dense pressure burrowed itself in your eyes. 

The lull of concentration fades into blind navigation in the crevices of your mind, and when your pulsing thoughts dwindle to incomprehensible echoes, slumber greets you once again.

When your mind blisters into stark clarity, it is with recognition of the orange hues flashing in your vision and the traces of aimless lines on your back. Your body instinctively pines for the cushion of bliss that mutely calls for you: a mixture of aftershave and pear. 

For a few moments, it is completely tranquil. Until you realize that your pillow had a heartbeat. 

The revelation is enough to jumpstart the discombobulated wires of your brain. Your eyes crack open to greet the rays of light that crowd your vision, an unpleasant stinging causing you to squint as you huff out. 

“Good morning.” Theodore’s voice is gravelly, barely above a whisper. 

“Hi Theodore.” You mumble out, remaining motionless against him. 

His chest vaguely rumbles and you feel him splay one his hands against your back, “Theo. Only my father and Blaise call me Theodore.” 

“Blaise?” You tiredly repeat, cheek squishing against his shirt. 

“At his insistence, honestly. He thinks it’s fun.” Theodore hums, and that reminder has your hazy brain blinking with a sudden memory. 

“Wait. Theodora, right?” You raise your head up, a wide grin plastered on your face as you remember the one night when Blaise dragged him away from your study routine using that nickname. 

Theodore blinks before he groans into the air, bringing one of his arms up to throw over his eyes as he grumbles, “Merlin, I was hoping you’d forget or even mishear that.”  

“Oh, I almost did, but Blaise’s ruckus was far more interesting than a Potions essay.” Theodore hums tiredly at the mention, and his reaction only spurs you on, “So, does he make it a habit to say Theodora, or is Dora better?” You say cheekily, shrugging innocently when Theodore peers down at you with a playful glare. 

“Enough about Blaise,” Theodore mumbles, poking your ribs with his fingers as he maneuvers to sit up, dragging you to lean into his side as he did so, “I have something planned for today.” 

“You’re being frighteningly vague, should I be worried?” You hum, muffling a low yawn. 

Theodore shakes his head and dryly huffs , “Actually, I was planning on testing a few levitating charms on you.” His fingers dance lightly against your back as his voice drops into a feathery tone, “Have some faith in me.” 

“I trust you.” You murmur, exhaling through your nose in amusement before you grow serious, “Anyway, did you sleep okay?” 

Theodore doesn’t answer you, and you slowly raise your eyes to meet his face in confusion, “Theo?” 

“Hm?” He hums distractedly, face craning closer to yours as he seems to almost stare through you. 

Your heart collapses into the void of your ribcage for a split second before it begins to thrust violently against your chest, spurring a sea of warmth up your neck and ears. Theodore’s eyes flicker across your face as his hands begin to absentmindedly draw patterns against your sides. 

You aren’t sure you’re breathing properly. Or at all. 

One of his hands trails up to your arm, sliding to rest on the junction between your neck and shoulder as he muses, “Before we get up and go on about our day, I have something for you.” 

Your eyebrows wrinkle at his words, eyes not straying away from his unwavering gaze. This time, it’s you who gives a small hum, patiently waiting for his next words. 

“Just a small gift,” He whispers, slowly slotting his other hand on the small of your back, “It’s been a long time coming, really.” 

His eyes drop down to your lips and that’s all you really need before you’re leaning towards him with anticipation, hands steadying themselves on his chest. Theodore’s lips part and he gazes at you for confirmation, jaw clenching imperceptibly as words become lost between you both. 

When you remain resolute, he swiftly connects his lips to yours, mouth moving feverishly against yours. His hands press against your body, keeping you grounded as he begins to lean over you, lips never ceasing in their frenzied dance against yours. 

Grasping the sides of his neck, you tug him impossibly closer to you as he hovers over you, one of his hands moving to run soothingly along your waist. 

A few more heated moments pass before the tug for air becomes too great to ignore, causing you to break away from him, head tilting to the side as your lungs tinge with a faint tightness. Theodore grunts at your escape, chasing after you as he tries to satiate his desire, only opting to leave heavy kisses against your cheek and jaw when you tap his neck. 

Closing your eyes, you bring your fingers to card through his hair as you attempt to halt the dizzying stars spinning across your eyelids. Amidst your fruitless efforts, a sudden tug has your eyes flying open, a bemused hum echoing through the air once you realize Theodore is guiding you to sit up. 

He remains silent as he glides down from the side of the bed, hand drifting to lace with yours as he pulls you to sit at the edge of the mattress. Reaching towards the bottom drawer of the white dresser, Theodore only briefly glances away as he fishes out a small velvet box. 

“Theo?” You mumble, eyes widening as he drops down on both of his knees. 

“Ring.” He answers quietly, deftly opening the box and pulling out a thin silver band. 

He drops kisses to your knees as he gazes up towards you, bringing one of his hands forward in muted questioning. Smiling softly, you place your left hand in his outstretched one, holding your breath when he slips the ring onto your ring finger with ease. 

His hand continues to hold yours, thumb rubbing against your skin as he stares at the band. 

“Thank you.” He finally says, lifting his face up to survey yours, his position leaving him at your complete mercy. 

Your hands instinctively reach out to cup his face, bringing him in for another kiss as a newfound contentment curls into your chest. Theodore remains on his knees as he leans forwards, hands chancing a light slide against your hips as he reciprocates your affection.  

“Fuck, how mad do you think everyone will be if we just eloped?” He grunts out before diving forward again to meet your lips. 

Pulling back with a small laugh, you shake your head, “My parents would have your head.” 

“I’m willing to pay that price, love.” He grins against your lips, nose nudging against yours. 

Patting his cheek, you narrow your eyes playfully, “Well I’m not, so behave.” 

“Yes, dear.”

masterlist

[indierpgnewsletter]

New Itch Games From August and September 2024

Earth Mother, Sky Father: A two-player game based on Maori creation myth exploring the relationship between the two deities, people, and the world. (takataapui)

Blackacre: A noir game based on Fate with British gangsters and occult magic. It features beautiful black and white line art and a unique-sounding world. (Symberzite)

Wacky Race RPG: A narrative party-game where you adlib as sportcasters and play out wacky Contestants trying to outdo each other. (DeReel)

Dwellers Under the High Grave: An Ironsworn setting inspired by the folklore and history of Ukraine. (Mendercap)

Band-Aids & Bullet Holes: A card-based game of debts, vendettas, and revenge among a society of professional assassins. Basically, John Wick. (S Dunnewold)

One Last Dollar: A hack of Trophy where you play desperate people doing jobs in a weird, wild Great Depression. (Mynar Lenahan)

The Song of Eastlake: A really interesting group project where every hex is a multiversal reworking of the same prompt. I love that each location has the same monsters by name but each time, they’ve been completely reimagined.

Hirelings: You play a hireling climbing a tall tower on behalf of a hero. You also build a tower out of cards and answer prompts. (Armiger Games)

With the Cult of Crimson Revelers: A light-hearted OSR adventure of debauchery and drugs with art by Mun Kao and Dwiz. (Directsun Games)

Abode 2e: A gothic game of family and lineage where you build out a family tree and tell a story of inevitable doom. You know, ruin has come to our family, that kind of stuff. (Crackerjackalope)

This first came out in the Indie RPG Newsletter

[pinchofhoney]

Hiii, could I please request post-azkaban sirius x reader while they're staying in Grimmauld Place, the reader is an Auror and is part of the Order of the Phoenix and comes home from working all day to find Sirius drunk and depressed. Thank you!

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧' 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

post-azkaban!sirius black x auror!reader

world count: 1.8k

warning: no use of y/n, fluffy angst, hurt/comfort, loss of hope, mention of drinking alcohol, slight signs of depression

summary: Maybe there are wounds that prove resistant to the time.

a/n: hello, and thank you for your lovely request! i hope you will be satisfied with what i have written for you!!<33

taglist: @wolfmoonmusic @lonelywitchv2 @alexxavicry

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

"Bye, Aidan. I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled kindly at your coworker and adjusting your bag, which had slipped off your shoulder, you started down one of the corridors in the Ministry of Magic.

Walking away from your office door, a tired sigh escaped your lungs. Being an auror had always been the realization of your biggest dreams, but today marked one of the worst days in your entire career.

The day began with a jarring summons from the Ministry's emergency line. A sorcerer, suspected to be a Death Eater, had resurfaced with a newfound malevolence. Dispatches arrived, delivering grim news of a series of brutal attacks in a one of the small wizarding village. And of coures, as one of the seasoned aurors leading the brigade, the mantle of responsibility to untangle this dark puzzle was firmly draped across your shoulders.

Arriving at the village, you were met with scenes of devastation that could make even the bravest witch or wizard falter. The ominous insignia of the malevolent magician was etched indelibly onto the slate-gray sky, casting an eerie luminescence over the vicinity. The villagers were visibly scarred, bearing not only the physical aftermath of the onslaught, but also the emotional wounds inflicted. Hours were spent meticulously extracting tales from shaken witnesses, weaving their stories into a tapestry of dread. The narratives were harrowing – curses and hexes had been hurled with a chilling precision, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake.

The physical remnants found at the scenes of the crimes painted an equally distressing picture. It was abundantly clear that the wizard had honed their craft, preparing a deadly amalgamation of spells that left victims scant chances for survival. The results of these assaults lingered in your thoughts, each grim picture etching itself into your mind as an unrelenting reminder of the horrors this dark conjurer could unleash.

Yet, the challenges presented were far from over. The Death Eater seemed perpetually a step ahead, expertly setting snares and diversions to obstruct your progress. The dynamic transformed into a vexing and exhausting chase, where each lead seemed destined to culminate in a frustrating impasse.

As the day marched onward, the strain on your team became increasingly tangible. Tensions escalated, nerves grew taut, and the fervor to apprehend the wizard intensified. Your team pressed forward, unwavering in their determination, even in the face of the adversary's guile and potency. A mounting sense of desperation took root, fueled by the fervent desire to deliver justice to the afflicted and bring an end to the grip of terror.

And now, the weariness that had been slowly encroaching had deepened into a bone-deep fatigue. The lack of headway and the emotional toll of the day weighed heavily on your spirit. With steps heavy, you navigated the halls of the Ministry toward the exit, your stomach's protestations reminding you of your hunger. Breakfast had been but a fleeting memory, enhancing the anticipation of a shared dinner with Sirius in the comforts of your Grimmauld Place abode.

The thought of recounting your day to him, knowing he'd offer comforting words, wrap his arm around you, and gently press a kiss to your forehead—reassuring you that tomorrow will hold the promise of progress—made you feel impatient.

Since Sirius's managed to escape from the nightmarish walls of Azkaban, you both became inseparable allies, always ready to lend each other a hand. Well, mostly it was your role to help him. His grim tenure within the prison had inflicted wounds far deeper than the physical; the bars and Dementors had taken a heavy toll on his mental strength.

The scars left by Azkaban's haunting existence marked him in ways that went beyond the surface. The ceaseless shadows cast by the Dementors had gnawed at his spirit, causing wounds that cut to the core of his mind. The years of isolation had turned his thoughts into a maze of torment, an unending cycle of despair that seemed insurmountable. His own thoughts, compounded by the Dementors' soul-draining presence, had eroded his sense of self and purpose.

After his release, returning to the world was like an awakening filled with confusion. The noise of life's complexities clashed with the monotony of his prison life, leaving him adrift amidst a sea of overwhelming emotions. It was as though he was trying to put together a puzzle with many pieces missing—confused, fragmented, and unsure.

Your warm companionship offered a lifeline, a connection to reality that he desperately needed. Your constant presence gradually broke down the walls of solitude he had built within himself. After all, you were someone he knew as well as he knew himself—his love from long ago, from his school years, and your paths reconnected by complete coincidence. Through patience, empathy, and countless conversations, you helped him slowly navigate the turbulent waters of life after Azkaban. You became the guiding light that led him through the maze of his fears, showing him that life still held moments of beauty and purpose worth cherishing.

Day by day, moment by moment, you were there to listen, to comfort, and to remind him of his intrinsic worth. The scars left by the prison might have been permanent, but your unwavering support had a way of easing the pain and helping him rediscover the parts of himself that he believed were lost forever.

Stepping out onto a gray London street, you took a look around, briefly studying the faces of people as they passed by. Sharing a smile with a stranger in a coat who met your gaze, you turned in the direction of the flat. On your way, you made a quick stop at a nearby shop, procuring an assortment of snacks for a leisurely evening shared with Sirius, and as the tune of your favorite melody danced on your lips, you headed towards Grimmauld Place.

Upon entering, the familiar scent of dust enveloped you, and an unusual hush pervaded the space—a silence rarely encountered in this residence. Not even the creaking of the wooden floor beneath the begrudging feet of Kreacher reached your ears. Lowering your shopping onto the floor, you shed your damp coat, which had captured the essence of London's air, and, retrieving the bag once more, ventured deeper into the depths of the Black's house.

“Sirius?” you called out as you proceeded down the corridor, your voice carrying a note of hopeful expectation. Yet, the silence that answered was deafening, and a sense of concern began to creep into your thoughts. He was meant to be waiting for you at home.

Curiosity propelling you forward, you navigated the dimly lit spaces, the house seemingly holding its breath. Eventually, your steps led you to the kitchen, where you found him. He was sitting by the table, like a solitary figure amidst the shadows, his gaze fixed emptily on a distant point with a glass of alcohol in his hand.

“Sirius?” you addressed him once again, this time softly, your voice infused with a mix of tenderness and apprehension. As you drew closer, you noticed the distant look in his eyes, a reflection of a mind caught in the grips of haunting memories. The weight of his past seemed to hang heavily upon him, leaving his usually vibrant spirit, that you were familiar with, dimmed and worn.

With a sigh that carried a hint of sorrow, you reached out to touch his arm gently. “Are you alright?” The question was simple, but it held layers of understanding, a recognition of the battles he fought within himself.

He turned to you, his eyes finally focusing on your presence, and a fleeting smile graced his lips, though it was faint, like a star struggling to shine through the clouds. “I... I just had a rough day,” he admitted, his voice tinged with a mixture of exhaustion and vulnerability.

Stepping closer, you closed the physical distance between you sitting next to him, your concern palpable. “Are these voices returning again?” you asked softly, already knowing the answer. Azkaban had left scars that ran deep, and there were moments when those scars resurfaced with a vengeance, tormenting him with the worst moments of his past.

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. “Yeah. They... they were louder today, more vivid.” His admission was accompanied by a sigh, a sigh that carried the weight of the pain he couldn't quite put into words.

Gently, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his. “You don't have to go through this alone anymore, you know,” you said, your voice unwavering. “I'm here for you.”

A mixture of emotions flickered in his eyes – gratitude, relief, and a lingering hint of the darkness that still clung to him. With a shaky exhale, he set the glass down on the table, his hand finding its place in yours, seeking the connection that grounded him.

“I just... I didn't know how to cope today,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. “The memories were too much, and I thought... I thought maybe alcohol could numb them, even if just for a little while.”

You squeezed his hand gently, your heart aching for the pain he carried. “I understand, Sirius. But you don't have to face this alone, and you definitely don't have to numb the pain with alcohol.” Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, a gesture of comfort and reassurance. “We'll face this together, okay? I bought some snacks, we will cook dinner, as we planned, yeah?”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. Then, as if finally allowing himself to let go of the burden he'd been carrying, he nodded. “Yes, alright.”

The faintest of smiles tugged at the corners of his lips, a testament to the strength he drew from your presence. With a deep breath, he let go of the glass, leaving behind the fleeting comfort it provided. Your touch, your words – they were the lifeline he needed more than anything else in that moment.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze once again before letting go, your fingers interlacing for just a brief moment. Then, with a small grin, you stepped back, your resolve unwavering. “Great. Let's start with dinner then. I got all our favorites.”

A spark of interest ignited in his eyes, a flicker of the Sirius you knew and loved. “All our favorites, huh? You spoil me, you know that?”

You chuckled softly, the sound carrying a touch of playfulness. “Well, someone's got to take care of you, right?”

With a playful wink, you turned towards the direction of the kitchen, beckoning him to join you. “Now, let's see if we can create a masterpiece out of these.”

[scarlet--wiccan]

Since Witchcraft itself is a universally abstract entity, does that mean there are witches from other planets?

Yes, which I think I made abundantly clear in my previous breakdowns of witchcraft, the Witches' Road and Witchcraft entity.

From Scarlet Witch (2016) #14:

Natalya: "This is farther than anyone-- any witch-- has been... the abode of she we serve with our art and hex. And not just the witches of Earth, but throughout the universe." Agatha: "Even I sometimes forget that magic can exist on any planet where there's life."

Agatha and Natalya clearly state that magic, and witches, exist on other planets. I suppose we don't know whether or not they would call themselves witches, or if we can expect witchcraft on other worlds to follow the same rules and worldbuilding elements as what we've seen on Earth. But we know they exist, and we certainly have seen that alien cultures have magic and religion.

This is a bit of reading between the lines, but here's my interpretation:

Most of the magic we see on Earth or in any of the connected Inner Planes is derived, in some way, shape, or form, from the Elder Gods, and the Elder Gods were born from the Earth itself. If magic and mythology exist on other worlds, then presumably every planet goes through a similar cycle-- the rise and fall of the Elder Gods, born from the planet's own life force, leads to the genesis of sorcery and religion. If "witchcraft" is a form of folk magic, then it-- or something like it-- must exist in virtually every society.

Taking it one step further, we learned in Contest of Chaos that chaos magic is a naturally occuring, entropic force that was bound within in the Earth by ancient witches. The connection between witchcraft and chaos is represented symbolically by the Witchcraft and her consort, so if that is also a universal concept, then perhaps this form of chaos is also something emerges, naturally, on every planet, at must, at some point be bound or balanced out using magic. If that's true, then it would stand to reason that this moment in history marks the emerges of "witches" and "witchcraft" as distinct forms of magic on every planet.

But that's just speculation-- I'm taking one small concept that's only been shown in a small number of issues, and trying to apply it to a much larger picture. Marvel has never been clear on whether or not these sort of cycles actually take place on every world, but I think it'd be cool. I'm definitely pulling the concept from my favorite fantasy books, the Young Wizards series by Diane Duane, which has a lot of aliens doing magic. So, that's my reading recommendation this week.

[home-of-renn]

Sam loved spending time at the Addam's abode. She loved the shadows that lurk at her back and the dark gloomy clouds that perpetually linger. She loved the sound of the creaking staircase and the murder of crows that nest in the cemetery out front.

She loved Thing's stash of macabre poetry and uncle Fester's giddy sense of humour and Lurch's talent for playing the piano. She loved Morticia's grace and allure - the exact opposite of her own mother's saccharine poise.

But out of all the members of the Addams family, it's Grandmama Frump who's got a special place in the depths of Sam's inky black heart

She positively adored the batty old witch, who had a wide array of hobbies and interests. From cooking and knitting to witchcraft and candle making, she was a woman of many talents.

Sure, she had one or two screws loose, but Sam had been hanging around the Fenton's since second grade and the Addamsses don't store ghosts in soup thermoses.

Grandmama Frump kept marbles and mothballs in her pockets and was a serial collector who loved showing off. She'd once shown Sam her collection of prosthetic eyes, and when asked where, why and how, she'd replied that many of them had been gifted to her by a long-distance ex-boyfriend who'd lived in France.

She had piles and piles of books, many of which were coated in dust and at least a few centuries old. She had books on farming, sewing, child-rearing, sword fighting, fencing, herbology, sailing, tragedies and more. She had books on hexes and curses and brewing potions and poisons. Sam was particularly entranced by an ancient book bound in leather and filled with detailed drawings of plants, little creatures with pointy teeth and rhymes that could cure boils and headaches. It had been written by a young woman who'd been burned at the stake and Grandmama Frump claimed to have traded for it with a pair of good shoes and a bezoar from the stomach of a goat.

She was a fountain of knowledge, insisting upon teaching Sam how to whittle and speak in tounges. Most times Sam would find her hunched over a bubbling cauldron with fistfuls of dried herbs and an array of ornate daggers at her disposal.

She taught Sam how to wrap a broken bone, treat a rotten tooth and make a poultice to soothe blood blossom burns.

She had a tendency to lose her dentures and howl during full moons. She wore rings on every finger, each one of them carrying a different family curse.

She'd sit the whole family down by the fireplace and regal them with absurd tales and grim encounters, most typically dissolving into nonsense and rambles around halfway through.

She had a habit of slipping things into people's pockets when they weren't paying attention. From hard candies wrapped in parchment to little coloured vials filled with lethal concoctions. Sam once found a green vial the of colour jade, no bigger than the nail on her thumb, nestled into the folds of a scarf she had worn the entire afternoon and hadn't taken off once. Now she has an entire windowsill lined with odd little trinkets and colourful little bottles with corked lids and murky contents - the only pop of colour in her dark and dreary bedroom.

Tucker complained about the smell of incense and smoke, but Sam still carried around the bundle of twine and wax that was tied tight with a blood red string - a protection charm for her and her friends. She took it wherever she went and it never left her pocket, for Grandmama Frump had made her swear to never be without it.

[nyaagolor]

diversity win! your fandom blog moderator has been hexed by an ao3 fanfic. birds 20ft radius of them have human eyes and whisper the lord's prayers, they can no longer taste mayonnaise, and the faucets of their abode run thick with live salamanders and horseflies!

like and reblog to lift the curse! please. Please. Please. the first letter of every sentence on the last coffeeshop au I was reading spelled out the date of my death. help

[bridgertonbabe]

Bridgerton Drabble - Harry Potter AU Edition #6

As quietly as possible Sophie descended down Aubrey Hollow's winding staircase until she reached the ground floor and padded her way into the moonlit kitchen. She stopped by the window above the sink that looked out onto the garden that Colin and his siblings had shown her around earlier, observing a movement in the hedge from which a gnome emerged as he snuck his way back towards the turnip patch Eloise had proudly informed her she had planted with her father. Turning away from watching the garden pest, Sophie went to fetch a glass only to come to a hesitant halt.

Despite Colin's parents telling her to make herself at home and insisting she helped herself to any food or drink without needing to ask their permission first, she was still plagued with the apprehension that had been caused from years of having to share a house with Araminta. Sophie was so accustomed to being scolded for merely existing that it felt almost unnatural to roam about the Bridgertons' humble abode and exercise basic actions like getting something to eat or drink, or to even use the bathroom without anxiously having to ask permission to do so. She knew she had to shake off the hang-ups caused by her wicked stepmother and accept the warmth and kindness that the Bridgertons had welcomed her with, knowing that Araminta's cruelty wasn't the way in which most people treated others.

Once she consciously shook off her anxiety-induced apprehension, Sophie opened a cupboard to grab a glass and then proceeded to pour herself some water from the tap (and purposefully ignored the irrational scenario that played out in her mind of Edmund Bridgerton storming into the kitchen with a face of thunder and hexing her for daring to quench her thirst without asking). While she sipped her drink, she looked around the homely kitchen to study it's smaller details that she had yet to notice, not having had time during her first day at Aubrey Hollow as Colin and his siblings eagerly coveted her attention.

There were well-used cauldrons laying on the draining board in lieu of cooking pots, a small blackboard hanging on the wall with a scheduled menu of the week's dinners (as well as some doodles which varied in skill), and carvings around the edge of the table courtesy of Colin and his siblings marking their territory from the seats they always sat in. Littered on one of the kitchen walls was a sea of framed photos of the Bridgertons and their extended family throughout the years, all perpetually moving as people waved and beamed for the camera. The lone hanging that wasn't of a framed photo on this particular wall was what Sophie had initially thought to be a clock at a quick passing glance, but on closer inspection there were eight additional hands in contrast to a timepiece's typical two, and each of the hands was inscribed with a family member's name. Instead of numbers, there were various phrases such as "home", "school", "work", "hospital", "travelling", "lost", and "mortal peril"; and Sophie realised the clock functioned as a means to indicate the status of each of the family members, seeing as all ten hands were currently pointing at "home".

Sophie smiled as she admired the Bridgertons' kitchen and how starkly it contrasted to the one back home because even though the room was empty of people except her, it was so clearly filled with love and warmth by just how lived-in it evidently was. She just felt so inherently comfortable and at peace even though it wasn't her own homestead, and it was all down to the abundance of affection that radiated through the walls of Aubrey Hollow from all those who inhabited it.

She then noticed how one of the hands on the clock suddenly moved; Eloise's hand had just switched to "no good" at the same time as Sophie heard a door creak open from upstairs. She could have sworn she heard a distant ribbit before another door was creaked open. A few seconds later she heard a squeal, followed by a naughty giggle and the running of footsteps before a door slammed shut, and Eloise's hand clocked back to "home".

"Those hands strike "no good" more often than you'd think living here."

Sophie let out a gasp and jumped, managing to keep a firm hold of her glass of water as she whirled around to see Benedict Bridgerton.

"Sorry, sorry!" he apologised in a hushed tone and immediately held up a reassuring hand to her. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh no, I'm sorry." she responded instantly. "I didn't hear you come in, is all." she cringed, feeling momentarily stupid for somehow missing any sound of him moving about the house.

"Don't be sorry." he scoffed and waved off her returned apology. "I just know how to move about without making any noise - unlike some of my siblings." he remarked and pointed upwards just as a door creaked open.

"Eloise!" they heard who Sophie was sure was Daphne hiss indignantly (as the hand bearing her name ticked to "no good") and a door slam after her before muffled squeals started up a couple of floors above them.

"I hope their antics didn't wake you up."

"Oh not at all." Sophie replied.

"Ah, so Colin's snoring woke you up?" Benedict smirked.

"He doesn't snore!" she gently giggled.

"Soph, I know you're an incredibly nice person but there's no need to lie for Colin's benefit. He's fallen asleep on the sofa enough times to prove the fact that he does snore."

"Be that as it may, it didn't disturb me." she said truthfully; her best friend's snoring was gentle enough that it hadn't kept her awake - in fact she found it comforting, knowing she wasn't alone and she had actually fallen asleep quicker as a result. "I was just thirsty."

Benedict nodded in acknowledgement with an easy smile aimed at her. Sophie was just grateful that the dim source of light was able to hide the blush that spread across her face as a result of his smile (not to mention just being in his presence in general).

"Were you grabbing a bite a to eat too?"

"Oh, no!" Sophie shook her head quickly. "No, no; just water."

"Soph; you are allowed to help yourself if you did want something to eat." he said, his gaze softening at her. "You know that right?"

"Oh, yes. Of course." she nodded agreeably. "I'm just not hungry, is all."

"Ah. So you wouldn't be interested in joining me for a midnight chocolate feast?" he asked, cocking an amused brow.

The mention of chocolate instantaneously piqued Sophie's attention, which got a laugh out of Benedict from the way in which her eyes lit up and rounded with curiosity.

"Well... if you're offering." a small smile played on Sophie's lips.

Glancing back and forth from the two empty doorways that led out of the kitchen to assure the coast was clear, Benedict then took a couple of steps forwards until he was practically toe to toe with Sophie (which caused her to worry that he was now close enough to hear the sound of her heart racing due to their narrowed proximity).

"Can you keep a secret?" he whispered.

Sophie successfully managed to restrain the gulp she wanted to swallow as she answered with a nod - after all, she had successfully been keeping her crush on the boy stood in front of her a secret since she had met him.

With an approving grin he then stepped over to the brick wall covered with photos and took off a frame containing a picture of a younger Violet Bridgerton with a baby boy in her arms.

"Oh my goodness, is that you?" Sophie gasped as she noticed the finger paint dirtying the little boy's hands that he used to grab a hold of his mother's face and plant a kiss on her cheek, much to Violet's heart-filled amusement as she laughed.

"Yeah." he confirmed, exhaling affectionately as he glanced at his infant self nuzzling into his mother's face.

"Aw, you're adorable!" she cooed, taking the frame from him and fondly watching the moving photo as baby Benedict pulled himself away from embracing his mum long enough to give his trademark lopsided grin to camera.

"Eh, my parents say Colin was the cutest baby." Benedict shrugged off and nodded to a nearby solo photo of Colin at six months. "The chubbier the baby, and all that."

Sophie glanced at the baby photo of her best friend, who indeed was undeniably adorable with his chubby little limbs and giggle-filled smile; but then all of the baby photos hanging on the wall proved that that the Bridgertons simply produced exceedingly adorable babies. But as ridiculously cute as chubby baby Colin was, Sophie couldn't help but be drawn back to the photo in her hands of baby Benedict, the sight of which melted her heart as she watched him kiss Violet's cheek again. The image only fuelled her the various fantasy scenarios she harboured, the ones she came up with in bed at night that she had been nurturing for the last year, fantasies that primarily involved Benedict reciprocating his love for her, marrying him and starting a family with; and the visual image of having a baby identical to Benedict to be bestowed adorable kisses from with paint-stained hands only made her heart flutter and her feelings for Benedict deepen.

"Okay?" Benedict uttered to regain Sophie's attention.

She nodded, holding onto the frame but watching intently as Benedict touched a brick that had been hidden by the photo that had previously been hanging there. He then touched a few more bricks in a specific order and touched the first brick again, and then much to Sophie's amazement the series of bricks he had touched momentarily glowed before moving away to reveal a hole in the wall. She watched as Benedict reached in and then casually extracted a box of Honeydukes chocolates.

He turned back to her and smirked at the awed expression on Sophie's face. "Mum magicked it up for me." he explained. "Since Colin has a tendency to swipe snacks regardless if they don't belong to him, mum decided to create a hidey hole for me to stash my sweets in."

Sophie peered into the newly formed hole in the wall and cast her eyes across the stash of snacks Benedict had stored away from Colin's greedy prying eyes, captivated by the use of magic Violet had used to create the pocket in the first place.

"So only you and your mum know about this?"

"And now you."

Sophie looked to him, her heart skipping a beat as he caught her gaze and winked at her.

"Honeycomb truffle?" he said, offering out the chocolate tray he had just opened.

Together they indulged in the array of chocolates Honeydukes had to offer, with Sophie trying her best to restrain herself from making any sound effects as she savoured the delectable flavours she tasted, not wanting to embarrass herself in front of her crush.

"I hope my siblings didn't overwhelm you too much today." Benedict remarked as he sized up which chocolate to have next.

"Oh, not at all."

After resting for a few hours following her dramatic escape from her bedroom-turned-prison, and once Violet had ensured she had eaten a full breakfast, the younger five Bridgerton siblings were all keen to garner Sophie's attention. For the entire day, despite Colin's best efforts to hog his friend all to himself, his sisters and little brother refused to leave Sophie alone and trailed after the pair from room to room, indoors and outdoors.

"It's fair enough if they did; they overwhelm me at the best of times." he snorted.

"I mean, it was a lot all at once, but it made for a nice change." Sophie replied in earnest.

She was so accustomed to a home where she felt an innate sense of loneliness that it was nothing short of welcome relief to be surrounded by so many people chatting away incessantly and tugging on her arm to get her attention. Especially after ten days locked away in a bedroom with only Posy briefly talking to her from the other side of the door when Araminta wasn't around to yell at her.

"I should warn you, after today you're now Hyacinth's new favourite person."

Sophie grinned as she reflected on how the youngest member of the family had instantly taken to her when Edmund brought her down to the breakfast table. The two year old had spent the best part of the meal staring wide-eyed at the new person, utterly intrigued by everything Sophie said and did. Then as soon as Colin announced he was going to give Sophie a tour of Aubrey Hollow, a tiny hand had slipped into Sophie's and she had looked down to find Hyacinth smiling coyly up at her. The toddler had been attached to her since then, never letting go of her hand for the entirety of the tour, and when Sophie sat down Hyacinth proceeded to sit on her lap and babble away nonsensically to her. The little girl had even thrown a tantrum when at dinner Colin insisted his friend sat in between him and Benedict, only calming down when Edmund sat her down in the chair directly across from Sophie. And finally when it was time for bed, Hyacinth had marched over to Sophie and handed her the bedtime story she wanted to be read to her, and Sophie happily obliged, sitting by the little girl's bedside and reading to her until she had fallen asleep.

"I'm sure she'll have lost interest by tomorrow." Sophie shrugged off modestly.

"Oh, no." Benedict shook his head and chuckled. "That's not how Hy operates. When you're her favourite person, she's obsessed. She pretty much imprints on you and refuse to leave your side."

"Who was her favourite person before?"

"She goes through cycles. She's definitely a daddy's girl but whenever Anthony's home for the holidays she's permanently attached to him. She goes through phases with Daphne, she's on and off with Greg, and whenever El's friend Penelope comes to visit she refuses to leave her alone no matter how much El shouts at her." Benedict elaborated. "But I can tell you now, until we go back to Hogwarts, she's going to be your little shadow. Don't worry though, we'll all try to rein her in,"

"Oh, that's not necessary." Sophie assured him. "I'd be more than happy to spend time with her. I always wanted a baby sister." she said sincerely, having wished for so long for a younger playmate when it was just her and her dad.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" Benedict smiled at her (oblivious to how his words directly caused the rosying of his companion's cheeks). "Probably the sweetest person to ever grace Aubrey Hollow, actually. I can't remember the last time someone walked into my room and actually apologised for disturbing me."

"I am really sorry if I did." Sophie added immediately.

"Don't be silly." he waved off. "It wasn't even you who barged in."

During Colin's tour as he led Sophie and the gaggle of younger siblings through the house, she had been shown everyone's bedroom with the younger siblings eager to show her every last toy and poster and miscellany possible. She hadn't expected Colin to then march right into Anthony's bedroom, who had immediately barked at them all to get out and stay out (though the eldest brother had then stuck his head out the door and told Sophie he wasn't aiming any of his anger at her), only for Colin to then barge right into Benedict's bedroom as well. Unlike Anthony, Benedict hadn't chastised the uninvited guests to his room and had happily sat back as Colin and the rest of his younger siblings showed Sophie around the bedroom which was situated the highest in the house. She had tried her best to play it cool the most during the tour of his bedroom; her eyes perusing intently over his artwork, scanning over his desk cluttered with sketchbooks and paints and ornaments, and giving Clement a stroke as he dozed in his cage by the window overlooking the countryside that stretched out around Aubrey Hollow.

"And besides, you think I'm not used to my family barging into my room at any given moment?"

"I know. I just wouldn't want to bother you and disturb your peace."

"Soph; you could never disturb my peace." he told her in earnest and nudged his shoulder against hers. "In fact, I exclusively give you permission to disturb me as and when you feel like."

Sophie giggled and even though she was sure Benedict was joking, it still made her giddy that he was being so kind and welcoming to her.

"And after saving me from my stepmum, I give you permission to disturb me too. If you so choose to." she returned in kind while trying to ensure she didn't cross any line which he might interpret to be flirting (as she would be mortified if she ever gave any suggestion to the true depth of her feelings for him).

There was a beat of silence where Sophie chewed on a particularly sticky toffee chocolate and she assumed Benedict was similarly munching on an equally tough bite of toffee to explain the silence between them.

"Has she always been like that?"

Sophie turned to him, mildly confused by Benedict's line of questioning that had soured his light jovial tone into a more serious one to match the newly drawn frown on his face.

"Who?"

"Your stepmum."

"Oh." Sophie uttered as she realised Benedict's question was referring to the way Araminta had gone to strike her before he had inadvertently intervened. "Well... she never liked me. She always argued with my dad about it."

"About what?" Benedict's frown deepened.

Sophie gave a small shrug. "My existence, I guess. I don't know. It's like the second she saw me, I instantly got under her skin. And no matter how hard I tried I could never win her round. Even though I was always good, I never misbehaved, I always tried to please her... I don't know, she just never liked me. Or even tried to like me."

Benedict shook his head sympathetically as he listened. "Did your dad know? About her... hitting you?"

"She never did it while he was alive. It was only after he died that she hit me at will. Not all the time, to be fair. Only when she was really mad at me."

"But why would she be mad with you?" Benedict asked, his jaw clenched the further Sophie expanded on the subject.

"Rosamund would make up stuff about me, like I had finished the last of the sweets or had played dress up with her clothes and spilled stuff on them when it was actually her. It didn't matter that Posy tried to back me up, she'd still hit me. And basically anything that went wrong in the house, for some reason she'd blame me and attack me for it."

"I'm so sorry you ever had to go through that." Benedict said after a beat of silence.

"It's not your fault." Sophie shrugged.

"But Sophie, you shouldn't have suffered any of it. And you're a child; even if you did anything remotely wrong it doesn't give her any right to hit you!" Benedict shook his head with frustration. "And the fact that she disliked you from the off... I just can't wrap my head around it. How anyone could not like you or even reach a point of hating you?"

"But that's just life, right? Not everyone you meet is going to like you."

"No, Sophie. You're the sweetest, kindest, loveliest person I've ever met." he told her, causing Sophie's heart to clench from the glowing perception he had of her. "It's literally impossible for anyone to meet you and instantly dislike you - and it's a reflection on how awful a person someone must be if they do."

"Well, Araminta is a pretty awful person."

"Not just awful. Nasty. Vile. Horrible. Wicked. Cruel. She's detestable."

"Can't argue with you on any of that." Sophie replied light-heartedly.

"It's just... it genuinely upsets me to know that you endured any of that, Sophie. That anyone could ever physically hurt you or make you feel bad about yourself. You don't deserve it, any of it. You're far too wonderful to have someone like her in your life. She's just a monster - and you know what, I don't even regret accidentally using magic against her."

"It's okay, Ben." she said, reaching out and squeezing his hand as she realised just how emotional he was getting. "I'm safe now. You and Colin and Anthony made sure of that, and I'll be forever grateful to you all for saving me and to your family for taking me in. It means the world to know that I have a family as caring as yours looking out for me."

She hadn't expected it when he then hugged her tight, and just like she savoured the chocolates they had been sharing, she savoured the sudden embrace for all it was worth, indulging in the feeling of his arms wrapped around her and just how safe, protected, and cared about he made her feel. She tried to squash any feelings bubbling away in her heart that tried to get her hopes up by making her believe that this was a sign he might like her just as much as she liked him; instead she focused on relishing the fact that he was clearly very fond of her, even if it was just platonic on his part.

"You're one of the family now, Soph. You always will be." he told her before pulling away. "You're stuck with us now, I'm afraid."

"Hey, so long as you're willing to share your stash of chocolate with me, I'll happily stick around." she teased back and finally the mood lifted as she managed to get a chuckle out of him.

Benedict then replaced the chocolate box back in it's hidey hole before closing the wall back up and putting the photo back where it belonged. Together they then walked up the stairs until they reached Colin's bedroom on the floor below Benedict's.

"Thanks again." Sophie whispered. "For everything."

"Don't mention it." he smiled back. "We could meet again tomorrow night, seeing as we didn't finish the box."

"Sounds like a plan." she smirked back, schooling her face to veil just how thrilled she was to plan another tête-à-tête with him for the following night.

"Goodnight, Soph."

"Goodnight, Ben."

With one last parting smile, he continued to ascend the staircase and Sophie slipped back into Colin's bedroom. Her friend had remained utterly undisturbed as his gentle snores continued while Sophie got back into her bed. She turned on her side and closed her eyes, her mind filled with the midnight meeting she had just had with the object of her affections. With a smile on her face she indulged in one of her many fantasies, one which now included an adorable baby identical to the photo of Benedict that she cuddled as she shared a box of chocolates with her husband; a fantasy which squeezed at her heart as she blissfully drifted off to sleep.

[justkeeponsimming]

Whilst surrounded by magical beings, Ashe still needs something to keep her humanity. 

Technically, Ashe is half spellcaster, half alien. Perhaps that’s why her powers are so strong. Being a hybrid occult is tough, but an honour in some ways too! However, she wants to keep herself grounded sometimes and not get constantly swept away by the magic.

Ashe spent most of her teenage years looking after her younger siblings, Thorne and Hex, whilst her mums went on tour with their band. She had to grow up fast, and part of her misses taking care of someone. Her little home can’t support a family right now, but she could get some furry friends to fill the void. 

The next day, Ashe puts in an application to adopt two adorable kittens! As soon as the adoption inspector turns up and she sees their little faces, she scoops them up and adopts them straight away!

She names the little white kitten Coven, and her brother, the ginger kitten, Cauldron! They’re the perfect fit for a magical abode!

[coffeedrgn87]

December 1st Drarry Drabble: "Number 12"

Tags: Draco's POV, Getting Together (sorta), Frenemies to Lovers (hopefully), brief mentions of sex acts but nothing detailed, rated: teen & up, Harry is looking hot, Draco is besotted (although he'd probably hex you before he'd admit that), Auror Harry Potter, 12 Grimmauld Place, Unspecified Ministry Position Draco Malfoy

It all started with that blasted note if one could even call it that. Potter had torn a quarter of a page from his fancy black Auror's notebook, scribbled something on it, folded it in half and handed it to Draco.

Too stunned to reject the scrap of paper, Draco had taken it, shoved it into the breast pocket of his green waistcoat and wandered off in a befuddled daze.

And now?

Well, now he stood in front of 12 Grimmauld Place because that was precisely what the note had told him when he'd finally unfolded it over tea much later that day. Deciphering Potter's hideous scrawl had taken some effort, but the moment the message had become clear, it had destroyed itself, burning to ashes in the palm of Draco's hand. The sud had taken forever to wash off. To be quite honest, Draco was still annoyed about it, but he tried not to dwell on the matter.

Draco wasn't stupid; he knew a thing or two about ancient protective charms. Potter's abode was, no surprise there, under a Fidelius Charm. It figured that the bastard wanted a place away from prying eyes, a safe haven. Draco could understand; it was reasonable, really. What flummoxed Draco was why he was here, watching as an entire building slowly appeared between 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place.

The magic didn't bother Draco. He'd seen weirder things in his life, things he'd rather not recall at this point or at any time. What bothered Draco was his decision to visit Potter. Sure, they'd been fucking for a little over a year, but up until this point, things had been extremely casual. A quick hand job in the pub's restroom between pints, a back alley blowjob, a hurried fuck in Draco's locked office, and once or twice a bit of a prolonged make-out session (with an unreasonable amount of kissing) in the privacy of the broom closet in the part of the Auror Department that was currently under renovation.

The strange frenemy relationship suited Draco just fine. It didn't require any thought, only his and Potter's sex organs. Up until now, it had been a no-brainer. But apparently, that was about to change--

Draco glanced up and down the deserted street of the unfamiliar Muggle neighbourhood. Strictly speaking, there was still time to leave; he didn't have to go through with this madness. Except, Potter's wards had, in all likelihood, already alerted him. This meant Potter knew he was here, and walking away now would make him look like a complete twat. Huffing out a deep breath, Draco climbed up the stairs and positioned himself in front of the door.

A biting cold gust of wind blew through him, making him shiver. He clenched his teeth together and was about to raise his hand when the door opened, revealing Potter. Draco's jaw dropped in an instant. Potter wore a tight-fitting black t-shirt and a pair of snug boxer briefs. His arms and legs were bare; he wasn't even wearing socks… Draco swallowed hard, shoved any and all reservations he still had into the furthest corner of his mind and stepped across the threshold into the cosy warmth of Potter's home. He was doomed, that much he knew.

[daylightisminetoconsume]

"Sia Dastudr, there has been... an incident." Calamity's voice floated to him before the mare herself made presence. "I recieved the oddest of parcels, and assumed it to be troublesome. A black rose, left in the entry to my abode. I burned it with salt and wormword to cleanse curse and hex from it, but i wanted to know what you thought of such a thing?"

"A black rose?"

Gunmar's mind retreats briefly, diving down through the centuries to the books he'd raided from the Library of King Arthur and collections of pact trolls.

"What state of bloom was it in?"

He gestures for her to come to his side, more briskly than normally. He wants her near.

[valiant-if]

📙 For everyone, if it's ok? Thank you :)

Hi, anon!

📙 What kind of subjects (of conversation, of discussion, in school or whatever) does your OC find interesting or engaging or that they can talk for hours about? What kind of stuff do they just find fun?

For CAIT, technically the sky is the limit. The core idea of her creation was an information-gathering and learning program. As long as she has access to a limitless amount of information, she could talk about anything forever. She doesn 't really have a preference for what she finds interesting; anything could be interesting.

One of Anton's great loves is his work. Not the mercenary work from a broad viewpoint, but being the captain of a mercenary crew. He could probably talk for hours about the ins and outs of maintaining certain business relationships and managing the crew. He also appreciates food, even though he's not a great cook. Good restaurants is another topic he could carry a conversation about.

Switch's particular background has served to tailor her interests, and one of the subjects she could probably go on and on about is weaponry, specifically ballistic weapons. She could also probably talk at length about militaristic operations, but she wouldn't.

Zero is well-versed in both mechanical and computer engineering, and not just because it's part of her job on the Valiant. She really likes both—especially as those fields relate to robotics—so that's the subject she'd be able to talk most about.

Path is a pilot right down to his very core. He loves piloting all different types of (mostly space-faring) vehicles and could go on for hours about it provided he was talking to someone who actually showed interest in the subject.

Though Kiran could go on at length about many different subjects that they are extremely knowledgeable in, that wouldn't necessarily be because they are interested in them. One of the main conflicts of her personal character arc is that she's all about routine and duty and severely lacking in any sense of self. For Kiran, the answer to this question is one that will be discovered with him over the course of the story.

Yulia loves her job as an astrobiologist and could talk nonstop about her findings and theories and questions. The problem would be making it a conversation rather than her rambling for several hours.

Hex is one of the few characters who is very good at what he does but isn't crazy about talking about it all the time like much of the rest of the cast. He loves cooking, beer, cue sports/billiards, and beautiful scenery and will talk about any of them at great length if he has a good rapport with someone.

A2 is a bit of an enigma, even to her long-time business partner, Hex. There is very little that she will talk about at length with anyone, even someone she's close to. That being said, the thing she enjoys the most in her free time is kicking back in the privacy of her own abode and watching a film or two, so movies are probably the thing she could talk about the most.

Regarding Ebrahim—I leave him out of a lot of character asks mostly because his regular appearance in the story is far enough down the road that he isn't on my mind hardly at all right now, but I'll answer for this question. He's very used to his trade as an information broker. He won't talk about anything at length unless the price is right, even where it concerns his personal life.

Thanks for the ask, anon!

[poem-today]

A poem by Karyna McGlynn

Halloween in the Anthropocene

& Memphis is out in Full Fang! Skeletons skip down our pitted streets. Whole families with matching hobo stipple roam tragicomically through the sprawling candy deserts: polka-dot bandanas on sticks, flapping Chaplinesque shoes.

Unclaimed pumpkins pile high behind razor wire. The air's thick with caw & trouble. Our porch light's out but we stay in, listening to the festive cackle of semiautomatics in the autumn night.

Some faceless Handmaids do a spooky hopscotch in a Walgreens parking lot. Two drunk men in tiger masks loll from the window of a passing truck to tell some Handmaid she's "thicc as shit." Anyway,

Witches are back! They straddle plastic brooms—streaming across the moon's bright knuckle: hedge witches & wicked witches. Waves of Sabrinas: blonde bobs, black headbands, whole hexes of freckles! Here come the Elphabas & Endoras, the Elviras & Elsas. Even a couple of Baba Yagas—bewitched huts strutting forth on sexy chicken legs!

So what if it's a bit more wink than Wand.

We've stopped scaring ourselves on purpose, stopped wearing our Weirds on our Outsides. My sweetie's spilled on the couch as Melted Clock. I park myself on the dark stoop as Empty Pyrex Bowl.

According to the Post-it Note on my face, my nickname is No-Treats-for-the-Wicked. I'm a weird white lady on an unlit porch. No one dare approach this childless abode— not for phantom candy. Certainly not for clarification.

Karyna McGlynn

More poems by Karyna McGlynn are available through her website.

[laplaceatelier]

Acacia's Black Book of Beasts - INKTOBER Day 21: PILGRIM ASH FEY

"On winter nights, when the moon is high in the sky, some questions are best left unasked. For your own safety, child... I suggest you do not pry further into the business of fey."

Name: Pilgrim Ash Fey

Description: Tiny sprites with jet black features. They are usually about six inches tall, with impossibly dark skin and shining white hair. They are wingless compared to pixies and other comparable fey, although they have great skill in jumping to aid in their travels. Whenever possible, they dress well, choosing comfortable yet formal clothes to wear on their travels.

Lore: Pilgrim Ash Fey come from the places of deepest shadow within the fey realm. There, in their tiny abodes, they conduct their own business for most of the year. Yet, as winters wear on and nights lengthen, they emerge from the fey realm to make pilgrimages. There are many subcultures of Pilgrim Ash Fey within the fey realm, each with their own traditional destination. Yet nearly all Pilgrim Ash Fey groups strive to reach the highest point in their area, be it a mountain, city in the sky, ancient tower, or something else. As especially secretive fey, there is little in terms of records as to why they make these journeys, or what rituals are conducted once they arrive, and most who attempt to eavesdrop or follow them find themselves horribly cursed in the process.

Motive: To travel to a high point each year.

Environment/Habitat: The darkest places within the fey realm. Interaction: Pilgrim Ash Fey are very polite creatures to those who treat them with respect. However, they are also incredibly secretive creatures who absolutely hate being eavesdropped upon or being asked any sort of questions about their lives. They have little in terms of physical strength, but can cast horrible hexes and curses upon any unfortunate enough to pry or prod into what they have done, intend to do, or are doing.

[digitalenergy001]

Blog Week 12

Reflection

After reviewing the seamless nature of my project, I addressed the dissimilar elements within my work. The consistent switches in colour made the shifts between shapes more blaring. To combat this I changed the colour hex to #C317DF being purple. Aside from this having white and grey tonal shifts all the elements were within this colour hex, making the project more visually seamless. After this a lot of the workload consisted of creating the seamless transition between the motion graphics, I did them mostly with playing within keyframes of the position, scale and opacity as well as keyframing multiple distortion effects.

Research

Academic

In Naz Kaya’s research piece ‘Relationship between color and emotion: a study of college students’ delves into the emotional relationships people have with certain colours. This piece ensured me of the color to pick when choosing a consistent color palette for my exhilarating abstract video art. Purple was seen within the principal hues and seen to be “stately and dignified”. It was stated that the “ positive aspects of purple are tended to mainly be associated with children and laughing”. As a lot of my previous research discusses the importance of fearful play to create exhilaration in children this quote made me feel drawn to pick the color purple as my primary color in my project.

Creative practice

For my creative practice I have been watching back my project multiple times and really pinpointing the areas that needed polishing. Here are some stills from my after effects composition of my finial motion graphics.

( some of the comps that are being used)

Technical

This week technically consisted of finalising the master timeline of my project within After Effects and rendering it. My internal RAM seems to be quite full on my laptop which has created some slower processing issues and caused the media encoder to stop working but I was able to troubleshoot these by clearing some other abode disk caches. For the next week forward as I am presenting a version of my project with my triangular shapes of mad mapper I will need to go in on Monday and glue them all together. With the open studio classes and curating the digital exhibitions, I have been post poning putting more of the shapes in the black box until this upcoming Monday.

Progress

Overall as this project comes to a conclusion this week has consisted of final renders and completing the presentation regarding a reflection of the final assignment. Overall I feel happy with my work there are definitely aspects I am not as proud of but overall this process has helped me enormously better understand working in motion graphics, projection mapping and working with music. I tend to get very ambitious about projects at the smart so the slow process of troubleshooting every week allowed me to come to terms with the importance of creating an achievable project within the deadline required.

Bibliography

Kaya, N. and Epps, H.H., 2004. Relationship between color and emotion: A study of college students. College student journal, 38(3), pp.396-405.

[ananka-fasteners]

Ananka

Q1) What materials are hex bolts typically made from?

Ans) Hex bolts are crafted from a diverse array of materials, with selection driven by factors like intended use, environmental conditions, strength prerequisites, and resistance to corrosion. A variety of materials are employed in the production of hex bolts, including:

1. Carbon Steel: Carbon steel hex bolts are prevalent due to their cost-effectiveness and versatile strength. Varying grades offer escalating tensile strength, though susceptibility to corrosion prompts zinc or other protective coatings.

2. Stainless Steel: The appeal of stainless steel hex bolts lies in their durability and resistance to corrosion. Distinct stainless steel grades afford differing levels of corrosion protection, rendering them apt for corrosive settings or scenarios valuing aesthetics.

3. Alloy Steel: Alloy steel hex bolts, enriched with diverse elements, elevate mechanical attributes like strength and hardness. These bolts are often heat-treated to attain specific properties and commonly populate high-strength applications.

4. Brass: Brass hex bolts thrive where corrosion resistance and aesthetic charm are vital. They often shine in decorative or marine applications.

5. Bronze: The durability and commendable corrosion resistance of bronze hex bolts earmark them for marine and submerged deployments, effectively countering saltwater corrosion.

6. Titanium: Lightweight titanium hex bolts feature remarkable corrosion resistance. This makes them fitting for weight-sensitive domains that demand corrosion prevention, such as aerospace and medical equipment.

7. Aluminum: Lightweight aluminum hex bolts present good corrosion resistance. They fit snugly in applications prioritizing weight, although their strength falls short of steel bolts.

8. Galvanized Steel: Galvanized hex bolts undergo zinc coating, augmenting corrosion resistance. They're at home in open-air or exposed environments where staving off rust is crucial.

9. Plastics and Polymers: Specific contexts, necessitating electrical insulation, minimal weight, or non-corrosive attributes, warrant hex bolts composed of diverse plastics or polymers.

Ultimately, the material chosen hinges on the unique demands of the application, spanning load-bearing capacity, corrosion resistance, temperature resilience, and financial feasibility. The prudent selection of material is paramount to guarantee the effectiveness and endurance of hex bolts over time.

Bolt Manufacturers in India

Q2) What materials are hex nuts typically made from?

Ans) Hex nuts are fabricated from a diverse array of materials, each selection rooted in factors like the intended application, environmental context, requisite strength, and corrosion safeguarding. Various materials find application in the creation of hex nuts, encompassing:

1. Carbon Steel: Carbon steel hex nuts are widely favored for their budget-friendly nature and versatile strength. Graded diversely, they extend a spectrum of tensile strength. Nevertheless, these nuts are susceptible to corrosion and are often shielded with coatings for protection.

2. Stainless Steel: Treasured for their resilience against corrosion and lasting robustness, stainless steel hex nuts encompass different grades offering a gamut of corrosion fortifications. This adaptability renders them apt for corrosive settings or domains valuing visual appeal.

3. Brass: Brass hex nuts thrive in scenarios demanding both corrosion resistance and aesthetic allure. They shine in applications that lean towards decoration or architectural pursuits.

4. Bronze: Offering durability coupled with commendable corrosion resistance, bronze hex nuts excel in marine and submerged environments, countering saltwater corrosion effectively.

5. Alloy Steel: Alloy steel hex nuts merge with varied elements to augment mechanical qualities like strength and hardness. These nuts often undergo heat treatment to procure specific attributes, finding abode in high-strength applications.

6. Aluminum: Lightweight aluminum hex nuts boast favorable corrosion resistance. They seamlessly integrate into domains emphasizing weight reduction.

7. Galvanized Steel: Coated with a zinc layer, galvanized hex nuts augment resistance to corrosion. They readily inhabit outdoor or exposed arenas where precluding rust takes precedence.

8. Nylon: Nylon hex nuts, lightweight and offering electrical insulation, serve admirably in scenarios that hinge on vibration resistance and non-metallic attributes.

The material elected hinges on determinants such as the hex nut's intended use, its exposure context, and desired traits encompassing corrosion resistance, strength, and insulation.

Eye Bolt Manufacturer in Mumbai

Q3) How do you determine the appropriate size of a plain washer for a bolt or screw?

Ans) Selecting the suitable plain washer size for a bolt or screw involves a thoughtful evaluation of various factors to ensure an optimal match and effective performance. Here's a systematic approach to ascertain the right size:

1. Corresponding Washer and Fastener Size: Align the hole diameter in the plain washer with the diameter of the bolt or screw. For instance, if you possess a 1/4-inch bolt, a 1/4-inch plain washer is requisite.

2. Outer Diameter: The outer diameter of the plain washer should harmonize with the dimensions of the component or material being fastened. This provision ensures sufficient coverage around the bolt or screw's head/nut, facilitating equitable load distribution.

3. Thickness: The thickness of the plain washer bears significance. It must be substantial enough to distribute loads appropriately and forestall the fastener from embedding into softer materials. Simultaneously, it shouldn't impede the fastening process or create undesired gaps.

4. Material Compatibility: Contemplate the material of the plain washer vis-à-vis the bolt or screw material. In cases of differing metal compositions, verify compatibility to thwart galvanic corrosion.

5. Application-Specific Needs: Tailor the washer's size to the particular application. For instance, when necessitating gaps or spacing, opting for a larger washer might be prudent.

6. Load Distribution: If the joint will encounter substantial loads, selecting a thicker washer becomes advantageous to ensure effective load distribution.

7. Ease of Assembly: Guarantee that the inner diameter of the washer comfortably accommodates the bolt or screw without causing friction or binding during tightening.

8. Vibration and Mobility: In instances where vibration or movement is prevalent, consider incorporating lock washers or spring washers alongside the plain washer to deter loosening.

9. Adherence to Standards: Depending on the industry or application, adhering to specific washer size standards or guidelines might be essential.

It's imperative to consult industry standards, manufacturer recommendations, and engineering guidelines to pinpoint the appropriate plain washer size for a bolt or screw. In certain cases, seeking input from professionals or consulting technical resources can bolster the decision-making process and ensure an optimal choice.

Stud Bolts and Nuts

Q4) What materials are stud bolts typically made from?

Ans) Stud bolts find their composition across an array of materials, each meticulously selected in alignment with considerations such as intended application, environmental context, requisite strength, and corrosion resilience. Several materials are commonly harnessed in the fabrication of stud bolts, encompassing:

1. Carbon Steel: Carbon steel stud bolts, appreciated for their economic viability and versatile potency, stand variedly graded, offering an assortment of tensile strengths. However, their vulnerability to corrosion often prompts safeguarding through coatings.

2. Stainless Steel: Noted for their imperviousness to corrosion and enduring sturdiness, stainless steel stud bolts exhibit diverse grades that extend an array of corrosion protections. This adaptability renders them fitting for corrosive settings or scenarios where visual aesthetics hold sway.

3. Alloy Steel: Alloy steel stud bolts, interlaced with assorted elements, elevate mechanical qualities, such as strength and hardness. Often undergoing heat treatment to cultivate specific attributes, these stud bolts commonly find their niche in high-strength applications.

4. Brass: In scenarios prioritizing both corrosion resistance and visual allure, brass stud bolts thrive. They shine in applications that lean toward decoration or architectural undertakings.

5. Bronze: Coupling durability with commendable corrosion resistance, bronze stud bolts excel in marine and submerged contexts, adeptly countering saltwater corrosion.

6. Titanium: Lightweight titanium stud bolts flaunt extraordinary corrosion resistance. This renders them apt for domains emphasizing both weight curtailment and corrosion prevention, such as aerospace and medical equipment.

7. Aluminum: Lightness and respectable corrosion resistance hallmark aluminum stud bolts. Their niche lies in applications spotlighting weight reduction.

8. Galvanized Steel: Cloaked in a zinc layer, galvanized stud bolts amp up their resistance to corrosion. Their habitat encompasses outdoor or exposed realms where staving off rust assumes primacy.

The material cherry-picked for stud bolts hinges on the specific exigencies of the application, encompassing load-bearing capacity, corrosion resistance, temperature tolerance, and financial considerations. The judicious selection of material is quintessential to ensure stud bolts deliver adept performance and maintain their structural integrity over the passage of time.

Hex Nut Suppliers

[cryalgar]

My r/writingprompts response to:

[WP] You thought your self as a normal person living a normal life. That was until your house was destroyed during a fight between a superhero and a supervillain. The look of terror in their eyes when they saw you changed that notion.

(If you like my writing, follow me here and on my reddit u/Superpuft)

Alex went about their usual routine, sipping coffee while glancing at the morning news. Unbeknownst to them, a hero, Omni-Blaze, and his bitter rival, Dr. Hex, were entangled in a fierce battle nearby. From the safety of his living room, Alex observed the awe-inspiring display of powers clashing in the sky, unaware that their fight was inching ever closer to his abode.

As the battle escalated, Omni-Blaze and Dr. Hex's forces collided with unimaginable intensity. With bated breath, Alex watched on the television, witnessing the dazzling spectacle of heroism and villainy. But as fate would have it, the climax of the battle took an unexpected turn, and a powerful surge of energy sent the hero and villain crashing through Alex's living room window.

The duo of supers quickly picked themselves up from the debris to once more charge towards one another, but their concentration broke with the clanking sound of Alex dropping his coffee mug onto the floor. In that tense moment, Omni-Blaze and Dr. Hex found themselves face-to-face with Alex, whose eyes widened with shock and disbelief. The room seemed to freeze in time as a charged atmosphere enveloped them. Omni-Blaze's fiery aura started to wane, while Dr. Hex's dark aura exuded less malevolence than usual. Both hero and villain were momentarily taken aback by the sight of the ordinary person standing amidst their chaos, seemingly unaffected by the carnage they had just wrought.

As seconds stretched into eternity, the hero and villain exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of surprise, comprehension, and wariness. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the crackling embers and the smoky aftermath of the battle. Alex started to feel awkward. Not because two supers became aware of him, but because they were staring at him in silence. He felt like it was somehow his fault they were being weird, even though they were the ones who crashed into his home.

Omni-Blaze was the first to break the silence with the clearing of his throat. Dr.Hex’s head twisted towards Omni-Blaze and hissed quietly,

“What the hell, Blaze!? Do you want to get us killed?”

“Wait, this really the guy? THAT guy? Was trying to place him this whole time since he looked like “you-know-who”, but it’s really him?” Blaze quickly whispered out of the side of his mouth. Dr.Hex met Blaze’s eyes and slowly nodded while sweat dripped down his forehead. They both slowly looked back to Alex with worry visible on their faces.

As the silence lingered, Alex's bewilderment began to wane, but his curiosity heightened. Amid his curiosity, deep in his memory stirred fleeting dreams, a glimpse of something larger and inexplicable. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his existence than the life he’s always known, but the déjá vu dissipated as quickly as it came.

With a deep sigh, Alex gathered his composure and met the eyes of the two supers. "Are you both alright?" he asked, concern lacing his voice as he surveyed the aftermath of the clash.

Omni-Blaze and Dr. Hex exchanged glances, their expressions now a mix of relief and apprehension. They had fought countless battles, but this encounter with the one being they knew to avoid at all costs had shaken them to their core. They exchanged unspoken glances, each wondering if the other had sensed what they did.

As the tension dissipated, they both smiled awkwardly at Alex, trying to regain their composure. "We're... we're fine," Omni-Blaze replied, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty as he looked towards Hex to confirm that they are indeed fine.

"Apologies for the abrupt entrance," Dr. Hex added, his usual air of arrogance momentarily subdued. "We didn't mean to cause you any harm."

Alex nodded, still unsure of what to make of the situation. He couldn't help but feel that there was something unusual about this encounter, something that lay just beyond his grasp. Then he quickly dismissed those thoughts. He casually raised his tentacle to wave off their worries,

“No harm done, love watching you guys fight! Im sure my insuran-“, Alex had finally noticed that his hand was now a tentacle, “-ce…uhh…huh?”

The faces of the two supers twisted into extreme fear as they both rushed towards Alex, arms outstretched to try and stop whatever was happening. It was too late though. Alex’s memories started to return to him and the world around him fell away.

“I remember now. I’m more than Alex.” spoke the being named Az’gathul, the first words he had spoken in eons while floating along through the oldest depths of space.