#Iridescent Passage

[madcat-world]

Arkham Horror Card: Iridescent Passage - Nele-Diel

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Arkham Horror Card Game - Iridescent Passage by Nele Diel

[girlrotterr]

Milk Of The Siren.

captain!abby x siren!reader Summary: Captain Anderson is among the most skilled, effortlessly navigating countless ships. Yet, even the finest sailors aren't immune to the lure of sirens' hunger. a/n: new series for you angels!!! super excited for this one!! (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) ⇢ part two𓈒ㅤׂ 𓇼

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ˳༄꠶ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

A human laid before you, unconscious.

Her milky skin glimmered under the soft moonlight, her body reflecting the silvery glow. She was drenched, her clothes soaked through with seawater. Sand was plastered around her face, sticking to her skin like a constellation of freckles.

what a disturbance..

It was already past midnight, the only illumination coming from the moon and stars above. Their light dancing on the surface of the water, and the gentle glow of jellyfish drifted the sea. You had sought this place for solitude, yearning for some time alone. The cave lagoon was your sanctuary, a place where silence was a constant companion and disturbance was a foreign concept.

But now, that tranquility was shattered. The human's presence was an intrusion into your sacred space. This lagoon, with its crystal-clear waters and echoing silence, had always promised peace. 

You emerged from the water, your movements graceful and deliberate. Your sleek, iridescent tail shimmered, casting ethereal patterns on the cave walls as it parted the waves. Each movement sent ripples across the surface, water cascading down your body. Your hair, the color of the midnight sea, clung to your back,  your eyes. deep and mesmerizing, locked onto the human with irritation. 

The soft sound of waves lapped against the shore, the only noise in the otherwise still night. You hovered over her, studying her face. She looked peaceful, almost serene, despite the obvious turmoil that had brought her here. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and you could see the faint pulse at her neck, a sign of life amidst the stillness.

Hovering down, you brushed a strand of wet hair from her face, feeling the softness of her skin. She was fragile, a stark contrast to the strength you felt coursing through your own body. This human had no place here, in your sanctuary, disturbing the delicate balance of your world. But there was something about her, something that stirred a feeling you couldn't quite name.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the salty sea air, and let it out slowly. 

───────

"Captain Anderson," Isaac said, shaking Abby's hand in a formal greeting.

Abby returned the handshake firmly, "Isaac," she replied with a nod, taking a seat opposite him. "What brings you to seek me?"

Isaac smiled, a hint of admiration in his eyes as he leaned forward. "You've earned quite the reputation, Captain. Your skill and courage on the seas are well known,." He paused, leaning back in his chair. "I have a proposition for you. We have a cargo that needs to be sailed out to Europe, and I can think of no one better suited for the job than you."

Abby's expression remained composed, though inwardly, she felt a flicker of intrigue. Sailing across the Atlantic was no small effort, even for someone as experienced as herself. "Europe, you say?" she mused, tapping her fingers thoughtfully against the arm of her chair. "That's quite a journey..."

Isaac nodded. "Indeed, it is. But I have every confidence in your abilities. The cargo is valuable, and I trust only the best to ensure its safe passage."

Abby inclined her head, acknowledging the compliment. She had earned her title through years of hard work and determination, rising through the ranks from a young deckhand to a respected captain known for her sharp instinct. Her ship, The Siren's Call, was renowned not only for its speed but also for the loyalty of its crew.

"As always, Isaac, I'm honored by your trust," Abby replied finally, her tone reflective of the weight of the responsibility he was offering. "When do we sail?"

Isaac smiled, relieved by her acceptance. "The Siren's Call leaves at dawn. I'll have the crew and provisions ready."

───────

Abby stepped aboard The Siren's Call at the break of dawn, greeted by the familiar salty breeze. The crew bustled about, preparing the ship for departure.

As Abby made her way to her quarters to stow her belongings, she felt a hand clap down on her shoulder. Turning, she found herself face-to-face with Ellie Williams, a fellow hunter and friend from her days ashore in jackson. Ellie's auburn hair was tied back, her piercing green eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Well, well, if it isn't Captain Anderson herself," Ellie teased, flashing a mischievous grin. "Off on another grand adventure, are we?"

Abby chuckled, giving Ellie a playful shove. "Always."

Ellie nodded knowingly. "Oh, I know all too well. Heard you're sailing for Europe this time. Quiteee the journey"

Abby nodded, "It'll be a challenge, no doubt. But Isaac trusts me to get the job done."

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Isaac, huh? That old son of a bitch is at it again!" She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Any chance you'll find a European lady out there?"

Abby rolled her eyes with a smile. "Not likely.”

Ellie laughed, her laughter echoing through the corridor. "Well, you let me know if you change your mind. I've got some contacts who could arrange a meeting."

“I'll keep that in mind.” Abby shook her head,  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ship to prepare."

Ellie grinned, stepping back to let Abby pass. "Don't forget to send me a postcard!"

With a wave, Abby continued on her way, her mind already shifting back to the tasks at hand. She settled into her role aboard the Siren's Call, overseeing final preparations and ensuring everything was in order, she couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. 

The sea was waiting. 

───────

As the Siren's Call cut through the Atlantic waves, Abby kept a vigilant watch, her eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. The journey had been smooth thus far, the ship sailing true under her expert command. But just as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, a haunting melody began to drift through the air.

At first, Abby dismissed it as a trick of the wind, but soon, the melody grew stronger, more intoxicating. It was a song unlike any she had heard before — ethereal and enchanting, weaving through the air like a delicate thread. A chill ran down her spine as she realized what it was: 

The song of sirens.

Glancing around, Abby saw her crew entranced by the music, their eyes glazed over, their movements sluggish as they were drawn toward the source of the melody. Panic surged within her as she fought against the mesmerizing tune, her hands tightening on the wheel to keep the ship on course.

"Keep steady! Fight it!" Abby shouted, her voice cutting through the enchantment like a knife. But the sirens' song was relentless, its allure growing stronger with each passing moment. The Siren's Call began to veer off course, its sails catching the wind erratically.

The ship was now beyond her control, rushing dangerously through the waves. The laughter of the sirens echoed hauntingly in the air, mocking their victory. 

“Captain, we're losing control! The ship won't respond!"

"Damn it!"  Abby gritted her teeth, her mind racing for a solution. 

She knew the tales of the sirens, their irresistible songs luring sailors to their doom upon jagged rocks. Abby steadied herself against the wheel, trying desperately to steer away.

But it was to no avail. 

The ship's structure collided with rocks, splintering wood and tearing sails. The world began to whirl as Abby was thrown overboard, the icy waters enveloping her in a shock of cold. Debris and bodies floated around her, the cries of her crewmates drowned out by the relentless roar of the sea. With a desperate stroke, she struggled toward the surface, fighting against the pull of the sinking ship.

Moments later, Abby's head broke through the surface, gasping for air as she scanned the scene…

The Siren's Call was rapidly disappearing beneath the waves, its masts jutting awkwardly into the sky before vanishing into the depths. The sirens' laughter echoed in the distance, a cruel reminder of their deadly allure.

“no...” Abby weakly whispered as darkness crept on the edges of her vision.

───────

“Ngh..” Abby jolted slightly awake, her eyes fluttering open as she groaned softly.

You instinctively backed away, giving her space to gather herself. She looked around, disoriented and clearly in pain, her body stiff and bruised. Confusion clouded her expression, and her gaze struggled to focus on you through eyes still adjusting to the dim light.

You remained cautious, observing her cautiously as she blinked. 

"What has brought you here?" you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of anger. The disruption she had caused to your sanctuary was annoying enough. 

Abby didn't respond immediately, her eyes still trying to focus on you. She seemed caught between fear and fascination, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she struggled to find her voice. The bruises on her skin stood out starkly in the moonlight. 

"There is no place for you here, human," you snapped, your tone firm. 

The rules of your world were clear — humans were outsiders, their presence a disruption to the delicate balance of your existence beneath the waves. 

"You're... one of them," she whispered weakly, pointing a trembling finger in your direction. Her voice trembled, her gaze fixed on you.

Yes, you were one of the creatures of the deep, Your kind had legends woven around them—stories of enchantment and danger that humans whispered. For centuries, your kind had existed in harmony with the sea, guardians of its secrets and mysteries.

But Abby's presence had disrupted that harmony.

A debate stirred within you, a conflict between duty and desire. On one hand, your instincts urged you to follow the rules of your existence—to remain hidden, to protect your kind from the intrusions of humans. But on the other hand, there was a temptation—an urge that whispered of a different kind of need.

Abby's voice broke through your thoughts, her plea tinged with desperation. I don’t mean to intrude.."

Her words hesitated, exhaustion and pain in every breath. You could sense her vulnerability, her body moving with fatigue as she struggled to maintain her composure. The moonlight bathed her in a soft glow, casting a shadow that danced across her features.

In that moment, you saw her not just as an intruder, but as a fragile soul in unfamiliar waters, seeking refuge from the storms. A flicker of empathy stirred within you, a longing to ease her suffering and offer her safeness Yet, there were potential consequences—disrupting the balance that kept both your worlds apart.

With a conflicted sigh, you made your decision. "I will return," you said.

Abby's eyes widened slightly, a mixture of hope and fear flickering across her face. You could see the relief in her eyes, but you knew your reasons for helping her were far from kindness. If she recovered, she would leave your lagoon, restoring the peace and solitude you so cherished.

You slipped back into the water with effortless grace, your body merging seamlessly with the liquid embrace of the lagoon. The cool water flowed around you as you swam deeper, your mind racing with thoughts of what resources you could gather to help. Food, water, perhaps some herbs to tend to her wounds—all necessary for her recovery.

The underwater world welcomed you, its familiar sights and sounds a comforting balm to your conflicted heart. Radiant creatures lit your way, their soft glow illuminating the path through the darkened depths. You swam swiftly, your movements a blur of silver and blue as you navigated the corridors of your aquatic home.

First, you headed to a nearby kelp forest, where you knew you could find nutrient-rich seaweed. With practiced skill, you harvested a generous bundle, tying it together with a strand of your own hair. Next, you sought out a freshwater spring that bubbled up through the ocean floor, filling a small, hollowed-out shell with the precious liquid.

Eventually, you made your way to a hidden grove where medicinal sea herbs grew in abundance. You carefully selected a variety of leaves and stems, each one known for its healing properties. The weight of your decision still hung heavy on your heart, but the act of gathering these resources gave you a sense of purpose, a way to channel your inner confusion into something useful.

With your resources secured, you turned and began the journey back to the cave. The moonlight still shimmered on the water's surface as you emerged, carrying the gathered resources in your arms. Abby was where you had left her, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady. She looked even more fragile than before, a difference to the strength you could sense within her.

You approached quietly, setting the bundle of seaweed and herbs beside her.

"I have returned," you said, your voice a whisper. Abby's eyes fluttered open, and she looked at you with a mixture of gratitude and lingering fear.

Gently, you handed her the shell filled with fresh water. "Drink," you said, guiding her hands to the makeshift vessel. Abby complied, sipping the cool water with obvious relief. You could see the color returning to her cheeks, a sign that she was beginning to regain some of her strength.

You showed her the seaweed. "Eat." you instructed, tearing off a small piece and offering it to her. "It will help you recover." Abby hesitated for a moment, then took the seaweed and began to chew, her expression softening as the nourishment began to take effect.

You turned your attention to her injuries. You crushed the medicinal herbs between your fingers, releasing their healing juices, and gently applied them to her cuts and bruises. Abby winced at first, then relaxed as the soothing properties of the herbs took hold.

You backed away, observing her. Abby's eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was a spark of trust in their depths.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of the waves.

You stared at her for a moment, torn between your desire for solitude and a new connection that could bloom. Her presence was a disturbance, yes, but also a reminder of the world beyond the sea, a world you had long ago distanced yourself from.

You nodded, “The sea will watch over you."

Abby finally began to take in her surroundings. The beauty of the cave lagoon struck her with a sense of awe. Moonlight filtered through the entrance, casting a silver glow over the water. The walls of the cave were adorned with vibrant corals and sea plants, creating an otherworldly atmosphere that felt both magical and serene.

Her gaze shifted to you, the mythical being who had both frightened and saved her. You were a creature of ethereal beauty, your scales glistening in the dim light, your movements graceful and fluid. There was an undeniable allure to you, a magnetism that drew her in despite the fear that lingered in her heart.

But with that awe came a profound conflict. The sirens, your kind, were responsible for the tragedy that had striked her crew. Abby’s thoughts turned dark as she remembered the screams, the chaos, and the horror. Her shipmates, her friends, had been lured to their deaths by the enchanting songs of the sirens, and now here she was, under the care of one of those very beings.

How could she feel anything but hatred for the creatures responsible for so much pain? And yet, as she watched you move with such grace, as she felt the gentleness in your touch, she couldn’t deny the complexity of her feelings.

You noticed her conflicted expression, the way her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. 

“You helped me...” Abby spoke, her voice tinged with suspicion and curiosity. “Your kind... they killed my crew. Why didn’t you just leave me to die?”

You hesitated,  “I seek solitude,” you replied, “Your presence here disrupts that. If you heal, you will leave, and I will have my peace again.”

Abby’s eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a hint of understanding in her gaze. “It’s for your own sake.” she murmured, more to herself than to you. “Well, if that's the case, thenn you will have to help me leave." 

"I have helped you enough," you replied, your voice tinged with reluctance.

Abby's expression hardened "I can't simply swim to land," she insisted, her voice growing firmer. "I need to construct a boat—a small one, quick to build yet sturdy enough to carry me and the supplies I'll need until I reach safety."

You grumbled to yourself, the request catching you off guard. Helping Abby construct a boat meant prolonging her stay—something you had hoped to avoid. 

Reluctantly, you nodded. "Very well," you conceded, your voice resigned. "I will gather what you need."

A faint smile tugged at Abby's lips, teasing and amused. "Good," she replied, her voice teasingly soft. "I suppose I should rest now. It'll make you grumble less."

Perhaps you should’ve eaten her.

[noctiilio]

🌙MUGETSU AND GENGETSU CHARMS!🌙

I decided to make charms of the dream world twins! The dream children™ are on the loose and there's no way you can stop them from trying to become your friends.

Grant them safe passage into your home, and they will accompany you in your daily life!

>✨Get them here✨<

These charms:

are 3cm tall! (that's 1.1 inches!)

have different clips! Mugetsu has a moon crescent, Gengetsu has angel wings!

have an iridescent rainbow finish! try reflecting light through them! are double sided! none of the usual "blank white side of the charm"

on these!

are 15€ each!

can ship worldwide! there's no limit to the twins' friendship!

and if you get both of them, you'll get a unique, one of a kind marker doodle of them in the package as well, as a thank you for not separating the family and tearing their little hearts apart!

[roguesnezblog]

Did a fic for a change, woo hoo! And some art. I been practicing some writing lately. 642 words. A very short fic. But Im just testing the waters right now.

As Demetrius, the storm giant, roamed through the ancient woods, the ground trembled beneath his feet. He moved with an imposing yet graceful presence, He was a force of nature, towering among the trees. The sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows across his massive form. As he walked, his foot struck a cluster of mushrooms nestled in the underbrush, the impact releasing a cloud of iridescent spores that shimmered in the light they swirling into the air, dancing around him like a glistening fog.

The impact sent a cloud of spores inhaling deeply, he took in the spores without a thought, only to be met with an overwhelming irritation in his enormous nasal passages. The moment they touched the sensitive membranes, an irritation flared to life within him. A deep, insistent buzzing ignited within, spreading like wildfire. The tickling quickly intensified, forcing him to fight for control as it built with every passing second. His nostrils flared wide as the sensation grew, a primal urge that took hold of him. A powerful tickle that made his breath hitch unexpectedly. Each breath became a long, torturous hitch, desperate and shaky, as the irritation twisted through him. "Hh-heh!" His nostrils expanded, the delicate skin turning a shade deeper as the sensation became almost unbearable.

His body responded violently to the building pressure; muscles in his massive frame spasmed and twitched, almost reeling with stimulation. The sensation was relentless, pulling rigid every fiber of his being. Each hitch drew in more air, filling his lungs as he fought against the onslaught that threatened to consume him.

“Hh…h-hEh...”

He felt his chest swell with the intensity of his hitches, a rhythm of longing mixed with frustration.  He could feel the sting radiating throughout his sinuses, like static electricity crackling just beneath the surface. Each hitch of breath drew in more spores, further stoking the heat behind his eyes. His chest heaved with desperation, each inhale longer and more strained as he tried to stave off the inevitable.

“H…Hdh HhehHDh!”

The world around him blurred as he focused solely on the urge to sneeze coursing through his body. Demetrius could feel the tension coiling within him, and his eyes began to water from the overwhelming sensations.

“Hh…HEHdh!…”

His muscles tightened, rippling under his dark skin as he struggled to hold back the inevitable release. But it was futile. The pressure continued to roil threatening to explode. He clenched his jaw, resisting, but to no avail. His breath came in sharp, wavering gasps, each one a prelude to the monumental release that was incoming. The air crackled with energy and the longer he resisted, the more the torment clawed at him, pushing him to the brink.

“Hhuh…HhEH!…hHHedHH!”

The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, until at last, the dam broke. He could no longer contain it. With a final, involuntary, drawn-out intake of breath, The world erupted around him and Demetrius let out a tremendous sneeze:

“HhrEH'RSSHHUhHh!!!!”

The sound rolled through the forest like a cataclysmic roar, shaking the very ground beneath him, a force of nature that reverberated across the landscape. Lightning arced from his explosion in a brilliant flash that illuminated the forest in stark contrast, the magic of his release scorched the landscape, splintering wood and igniting foliage in a fierce blaze. The air crackled with energy, and the dirt cracked below his feet as the raw power of his sneeze surged forth.

In the aftermath, Demetrius stood panting, the echoes of his loud sneeze fading into the air and trees blackened, seared and plants around him smoking in a spectacular display of destruction. His body trembled with residual energy. His breath slowly returned to normal as he blinked at at the charred remnants of the forest a testament to the raw power he possessed—a storm unleashed by a single, desperate moment.

[dadsbongos]

the ogre problem

moots that aren’t oxy… LOOK AWAY LOOK AWAY LOOK AWAY pleas please please

1.3 k words / warnings - anal (least scary), non-con, monster fucking, body horror?, mind break, choking x-treme, size difference, uncomfortable amounts of drool, zombie fucking?, muscle kink? muscle emphasis?, bros in yo guts!!

summary - You’re just a little guy in the dungeons of Fear & Hunger, hopefully you don’t run into any big scary prison guards…

~~~

The cobblestone has been laid with little care; jagged, raised lips with wide grouts begging to be tripped in. Buzzing thin, restless flies’ wings ring around each corner with gossamer webs shining iridescent once caught in torch light just right. Layers of dust cling along each stone wall and crate and barrel. And aside from those tiny wings, and the distant, thudding footsteps of nightmarish creatures far larger than you -- it is silent. So silent, you can hear the blood thrumming through your ears, and the tingling bubbles of your saliva being swallowed down, and the soft breeze of your breathing.

So silent, the cork popping from your bottle of ale echoes down the dungeon’s sprawling, vacant passage.

Raising the bottle to your dry, cracked lips, you note how the ale itself is bitter and borderline undrinkable; and the bottle’s chilled glass gnaws at your palms. As you drink, you think -- despite drinking to avoid the unnerving process of planning and scheming for survival. The longer you loom within the dungeon’s shadows, the more impossible it is to stop thinking. Currently, you wonder if the bottle, once emptied, will make a sufficient diversion.

Or, if you’re truly desperate, a weapon of its own.

Fire rages down the narrow canal of your throat, a more soothing warmth spreading through your chest and swirling into your gut. Mixing there with thin, spindly mushrooms and dried meat strips to settle the shakiness of your hands (if only for the following hour or so).

Prickles of goose flesh serrate your skin as your body nestles against the frostbitten, lumpy, carelessly laid stone that compiles this miserable dungeon. One large, thumping mass of mangled flesh and dried, blackened blood with a single mind. Death clings, the scent of rot perpetually clogging the back of your throat.

Terrible.

Rags do little to protect you from the wafting freeze. Or from the destructive, overpowering blows of grayish creatures with bulging, tumor-esque, crowded lumps for muscle.

You clutch the bottle, cursing each God -- old and new -- as the once faraway footsteps creep towards your secluded hall. Scrambling off the floor, the soft dizzying sway of alcohol is scrubbed sober as you search for any protruding column or statue to crawl behind. With not even a large crate to duck inside, you are left to cram yourself flat against the deadend hall.

The song of droning wings and swallowed spit is replaced with your heartbeat jumping up into your jaw, throbbing behind your eyes, and the harsh suck of air between clenched teeth. You swirl the bottle to judge how much ale remains and pat yourself down for a match. A single match.

Echoing, heavy footfalls pause, and your knees wobble. Lavish jelly replacing bone and tendons. The measly mix of minimum nutrients and ale now punching back up from your stomach -- scorching you alive from the inside.

An hour cut down into mere seconds. The bottle of ale rattles in your trembling hold.

Your sweat-slicked fingers curl around a single match, deep, deep in your ragged pocket amongst loose herbs and bread crumbs.

The ogre stands at the opening of the hall. Piercing, white eyes shrouded by a thickened brow bone pin you to the wall. A sickly golden shine peeks over the edges of its shoulders from surrounding torches, but your hall is dark.

Your hall is cramped.

Your hall is terrible.

The ogre’s rusty, chipped meat cleaver glints against firelight. Browned blood staining the cloth wrapped around its ankles in splotches. Flecks decorate the ruffled, short material of its loincloth. You don’t dare look beneath the flint-hued cloth, between those daunting legs.

Faint, varying shades of reds and pinks persist in the joints and curves of the ogre’s large body -- blood, most definitely. Whose, you aren’t sure (you only pray to the Gods you previously swore off that yours doesn’t join the mix). Blue wires vastly unfurled, barely visible, beneath the ogre’s stiff skin. There must be crimson there. There must be life.

But shadowed, searing pale eyes tell you otherwise.

It resembles every cadaver you’ve passed in these corridors. Devoid of color, devoid of spark and light and blood that drums in ears.

Your grip on the ale slips from moist fingers, but you fasten your grip before it free falls and shatters across the floor. The ogre steps forward, then again, and again, and again, until it's walking in a full, swift cycle. Its speed shocks you further back into the bumpy wall -- shocks you into momentarily forgetting your shoddy, desperate plan for escape.

Fear jumpstarts your heart -- you fling out the remaining half of ale over the guard and hurriedly swipe your single match to strike against the wall.

The match spits a lone spark.

Your wrist is enchained by the guard’s thick hand.

You cannot hear yourself breathe. You cannot hear the flies. You cannot hear your spit. As blazing sunfire eyes absorb your frame in a single, unblinking stare -- you cannot even hear your heart.

You forget you have one. You look between its legs.

The stinger twitches against the widely gapped cobblestone floor.

Ale rolls down the beast’s face. It drops the meat cleaver with a tingy clang and lifts you, already turning down the long, dank hall towards the cells.

Terrible.

…

Overbearing heft skewers you to the nipping cold floor, heavy hands pressing your spine into a low bow. The flesh of your rear plush around the obnoxious imprint of the ogre’s stinger. Swollen sagging firm meat squishes between your thighs, nudging impossibly into your legs through the thin material of your trousers before they’re ripped off completely. Threads snapping and shredding apart sings through the stuffy cell, you spot the torn pieces of dark fabric in the corner of your vision.

Maybe your brain is melting itself down into mush to preserve what scraps of sanity remain, but your initial thought is how the cloth could make for a good tourniquet. Or perhaps ample wrapping for a torch.

Cold hands stretch open the cheeks of your ass. One hand leaves.

Your eyes take in the stone wall directly in front of you.

A surly bulb pushes against your tight rim. The hand returns, fingers curl around the curve of your hip and the rippling rotund masses of the ogre’s chest muscles sink into your distended back.

You are punctured by the ogre’s stinger.

“Ggh- !” sputum webs out over your lips, streaking the floor, as you choke on air. You fling an arm back, beating at the sturdy arms holding you down.

The ogre only displays vague irritation, easily shoving an arm under your chin and around your pulsing neck, yanking you against its dense body. Oxygen flows thinly, you rasp for it in a panic when the ogre’s arm tightens. Your pulse vibrates through your entire body, even down to your groin.

Terrible.

Worst of all, however, is the fullness. Fullness that makes you squeal between strangled gasps, thighs twitching and hot. Your instinct is to hide the gushy evidence between your legs, but you realize quickly when the ogre pays this defiant arousal no mind.

Those glassy eyes and icy skin. You realize now, the ogre cares not for anything past the warm hole it fucks.

As the ogre’s stinger repeatedly spears your smaller body slobber gums down your lip and chin, muscles lax and pliant under the barbarie. Your thighs clench, knees scraping against the cellar floor, the pressure’s relief is fleeting. A garbled, boorish whine stutters through your cinched throat and fastened jaw -- you’re embarrassed. Mortified, even.

The ogre smashes its ballooning, obtrusive hips to yours. A strange warmth unfamiliar from the swathe of ale glows from the back of your thighs - mingling with the ogre’s. Warmth blazes across each charged jam of flesh over flesh.

Drool strings down over the ogre’s arm, rivaling the weepy valley of your thighs. All of which the beast ignores to tighten bruisingly around your throat, securing you between the floor and its back.

The ogre cares for nothing, except the warm hole it devastates.

Terrible.

~~~

:3

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Gunpowder

<<< Prev (The password) (Tattooed kisses) Next>>>

Pairing: Buggy x female mermaid!reader

Warning: none

Word count: 2000

Content: Just some domestic fluff

Not sure if these are any good haha but I crave the fluff 😩

---

You were lounging in the bath tub that was set aside for you in your quarters, the fresh water making the scales on your tail shimmer with life. The scented candles around you made your room smell like the island that was near the cove you had inhabited long ago. Now buggy makes a point to get you things any time his ship passes that port, which for some reason has become often.

Wearing one of his tank tops that you stole from his deck, which he knew about but never asked for it to be returned. You were reading up on the other possible sea routes you could take, new monsters to be aware of and ship passages that you never criss cross because everyone was on a look out for mermaids. Not that there were many of your kind left because of the poaching and hunting, it had caused your people to be so far from the sea that many most likely had died on land.

Even though the water was warm a shiver ran down your spine, your mind going back to those dark days in the cove, trying your best as a young girl to hide away and scrounge for food when Buggy found you. As much as it was a part of you, your tail was often the reason why people began to hunt your kind down.

Circulated my myths that your scales could have healing properties or how owning one could bring good fortune to your house, the iridescent colour that thrum with every breath you took, it scared you. Where you saw beauty another saw opportunity. So you only took your mermaid form when you were alone or when you were on a mission, it wasn't for everyone to see.

Here on the ship though, you were safe, you could relax, no one was going to harm you. So you sank deeper into the tub and turned the next page in your book when the door bust open. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. His squeaky shoes gave him away.

“Now what do you think about this new costume?”, he stood in the middle of your room with his arms stretched wide. You gave him the pleasure of letting your glance linger a little longer, that made his smile grow a little wider before you got back to your reading.

He was dressed in an extravagant over the top outfit, with multiple colors, rings on all his fingers, an even bigger hat and rhinestones catching the light so effortlessly. You tried to hide your smile behind your book but it was as though he could sense it.

“You don’t like it?”, he whined as he got closer to you, to sit down near the edge of your tub.

“No, no, it works well for the show. What is tonight’s story about?”, you asked as you continued to read, your eyes ever so often catching his.

“The prince and the mermaid princess.”, he leaned closer, his eyes taking in your features that you could feel the electric touch on your skin.

But you huffed a laugh which seemed to bother him. He pushed your book away to get your attention.

“Why is that funny?”, he asked in a more serious tone.

You took a second to analyse him, the sudden change in his demeanor, all your favourite colours on his suit, he knew you liked precious stones, so he had all of it on his hat. It was endearing, no one had taken time to get to know you.

“Mermaids don’t like princes.”, you told him, his face fell even further.

He dipped his fingers into the water to play with edges of your long dark hair. You wanted to bring back the zest with which he had entered, but before you could try to make amends, his eyes found yours again.

“What do mermaids like?”, he asked to which you continued your act of looking away lost in thought. Your theatrics bringing back a smile to his face.

Princes would never consider what you liked, they only wanted to hold onto you like a valuable possession. But Buggy wasn't like that at all, in fact he was the opposite in every way.

“In general?”, you asked unable to hide the fuzzy warmth that was filling up your body the more you got him to relax.

So he rephrased his question.

“What do you like?”, he asked but looked away as though your answer was the only thing in the world that could truly break him apart.

“I like clowns.”, you said quietly, placing your face in front of his so he had to catch your gaze again. He pursed his lips, nodding with confidence and joy.

His energy was back, the glimmer in his eyes, the certainty in his smile. Not many knew the man behind the mask, the man who was insecure about his nose, that he only wanted attention because he never received it, to have had been a part of a crew and then be betrayed. So you were protective of it, his happiness. Just the way he was protective of your freedom.

“But you do look good as a prince.”, you smiled as kissed his cheek, which with the way he was tapping his fingers on the rim of the tub like a happy puppy, let you know that your mission was accomplished.

“I’ll raid a kingdom and give you a castle.”, he beamed, swiping away a wet strand of hair from your face.

“No castle can amount to your ship. I feel happy here.”, you told him and watched his eyes widen. He knew what it meant when you said a place wasn’t constricting. He knew what it took for you to truly find comfort.

“I’m glad.”, he said tenderly, his calloused thumb tracing the rise of your cheek.

“Then tell me what you want and I’ll go steal it for you.”, he said, his soft gaze was easy to get lost in, making you feel like the only woman to exist because it was only reserved for you.

“I have everything I need right here.”, you replied, pulling your hand from the water to showcase your room but finally placed your pointer finger on his chest, right above his beating heart.

Maybe it was the gesture, or the scent of the room but as you smiled at him, you knew that these moments were the ones you could never trade off. You were tied to this ship just as much as he was, and if it went down, you would go down with him. But your hope wasn’t placed on someone who thirsted after power like many who dwelled on these open seas, it was on a boy who loved the spotlight with a little rough edges.

You saw him for who he was, sure he was still working on trying not to be greedy, to not put all his best efforts on unknown treasure, to make sure his crew was treated well. He still had a long way to go but it was how you stood by him, his most coveted spy that no one knew about was also the only woman who knew him well enough to see there was still a little good left in him. You deserved a better man and so he vowed to become one. For the first time in his life, he had to work hard for something that he truly wanted, he had to earn your love and every step of it was well worth the pain. So if you were so generous with being vulnerable with him, he could be too.

He leaned over to kiss your forehead and heard you hum softly but as he pulled away he noticed how the paint on his face had tainted your skin, so he furrowed his brows as he tried to wipe it off only to leave traces of gunpowder from his finger tips having dealt with cannon balls through the day. He frowned and you caught sight of it.

“What is the matter?”, you asked, holding his hand in place even though he tried to move away.

“Nothing, I’m prone to making a mess.”, he said as his eyes looked away out the little window but you understood the deeper meaning behind it.

So you took both his hands and placed it on the sides of your face even as he tried to hold it away, you didn’t listen to his words as he tried to convince you otherwise. You held his fingers tight, to feel the grit of his palm against your skin and holding you in his hands seemed to silence him, his eyes now filled to the brim with affection.

“The favourite thing about this man I like is that his hands smell like gunpowder.”, you said as you trailed your fingers over his, to close your eyes and inhale deeply the smell of flint from his hands when you opened your eyes, the edges of his eyes were glistening.

But he cleared his throat as he gave you a sweet smile.

You let go of his fingers and as he pulled them away, black residue was left behind on your cheeks.

“And the thing about messes is that,”, you paused as you submerged your head under the water and when you broke to the surface, your face was clean.

“There’s always a way to fix it.”, you raked your hair back as you let the water drip away from your face but your action had caused from him to watch you, his eyes now heavy lidded and dark, the smile on his face saying he wanted you.

He gave you a curt nod but as he did it he began to pull away his costume, till he only had his shorts on. His chiseled back catching the candlelight that the raised bumps of scar tissue were more evident now, he got closer to the tub and in moments like these, you knew he was the one in charge. From afar he looked lean but up close, his shoulders were broad, his constant training made him a much bigger build in contrast to your nimble form.

He gave orders and did as he pleased, so he held onto the edge of the large tub, the muscles on his arm flexing as he lowered himself into the warm water, letting out a sigh of delight. But that was only till he waded towards you, the water cleansing his hands clean, deeming him worthy of holding you properly this time. His eyes spoke a language only you understood and now you knew he only had one thing on his mind.

But before he could get to it, he reached for your hand and placed it on his face, guiding your thumb across his lips, the water began to wipe away the paint on his face. You understood what he wanted you to do so you go to it. He positioned himself below you, such that you could sit on him, your tail draped across the lower half of his body, to use your fingers to wipe away the paint on his face till finally you caught sight of his bare face.

Vulnerable and afraid as his eyes flitted away from you, as though you were going to reject him. But if he loved you for who you were, you did the same. You tilted his face up to the light and his eyes bored into yours, there was no more paint or gunpowder to get in the way or cause a mess. It was only you and him. The girl who was lost and the boy who had found her. His hand steadied your hip as your tail flipped joyously at the end of the tub. He held onto your with adoration, his touch over your scales pushing your over the edge of desire. You placed your palms on his bare chest and felt the rhythm of his heart that beat rapidly the more he got close to you.

“You’re the best treasure I’ve ever found.”, he said quietly as though it was a truth he could no longer hide.

Your eyes fell to his lips as your fingers traced up his neck to pull back his wild wet blue hair. He pulled you to him, a low chuckle escaping his mouth as his lips found yours as if you were the answer to his life, to his loneliness, there was a passion in how held you but the slow and sure manner of his kisses made you feel that he was in no hurry. He didn’t have any another place to be or another attack to strategize.

He was yours first and he wanted you to know it so you let him, let his lips tell you without words all the ways he loved you. You drew him closer, his head fit into the crevice of your neck as though he was made for you.

The night was young and for the first time, in each other’s arms, you began to feel young and alive too.

[vera27]

Black and white and colored. I've included a little fic below. It's my first attempt at tomarry or harrymort.

Temporus Secare

Summary: When Harry accidentally travels to the past, he takes up the alias Henry Dursley, parading as a squib employed at an enchanted machinery shop. There he keeps himself out of trouble and stays in the shadows, all while working on a device that will take him home. Sometimes he struggles with the pureblood patrons but Harry is quick to apologize and nothing comes of it in the end. A year into his struggle, and he's completed the necklace. But when an unexpected visitor appears, someone that's been watching from the shadows, Harry has no choice other than to fight and irrevocably change the future.

The peat and dirt below Harry chilled his knee, bringing frost to his skin. All of this…. His chest heaved, fatigue from the day baring down on him in chains. Laboured breaths fogged the air. He felt hopeless, desolate.

Happiness was elusive. A thing that could never be tangible, leaving it to slip through his fingers. He’d had it back home, back years—decades—into the future. Picturing nights at the Burrow or evenings at Grimmauld place surrounded by Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys came easily and accompanied by infinite warmth. Yet now, all that happiness—love and family—was gone.

All of this…. Harry’s fist tightened. He ground his shoe down. The tissue beneath gave until he felt the harsh grind of bone. The man under him grunted, his eyes glinting dangerously in the dark of night.

‘You already have me at your mercy, Dursley. I did not take you for a man of violence,’ the other said.

Black hair that mirrored the surrounding night, pale skin, and eyes akin to blood reflected. On his face, flaunted smug satisfaction. Harry felt anger rise, noxious and acidic. The man beneath was human—enough to make his hand twitch with the killing curse—and yet not. A wax doll with no heart. A monster that had split his soul thrice. He wanted to purge this vile man. Rid the world of him, if only to prevent what was to come. But killing him wouldn’t accomplish anything. It couldn’t bring Harry back home, and Voldemort would rise again.

Harry looked away. On his neck, the iridescent gemstone dimmed to a dull grey. The luminosity, the pathway, lost. Above, the moonlight shone red like Voldemort’s eyes. He shut away the sight, taking in the dead silence of winter’s end.

All of this…for nothing.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

Harry had planned everything, had his movements down to a bulleted list that would make Hermione proud. There were rules. Stay quiet. Don’t involve yourself in raids, attacks, murders. Anything brash, Gryffindor, could change the timeline irrevocably. Past that, find a way home. And he did. Not through Albus Dumbledore, not through the Ministry and the unspeakables, but through the author of an informative research parchment on time travel and time rifts.

Evan Nerian Prewett had been integral in the development of the Temporus Secare. A time turner of sort. One that, rather than turning time backward, created a rift to an exact point in the future. A fickle device that could posit multiple realities but only allowed passage to one through a series of rituals, star alignments, and lunar cycles.And there was but one future that Harry was interested in.

‘An interesting necklace. Prewett holds a rather brilliant mind. A pity he’s been diagnosed with a terminal ailment,’ Voldemort continued.

Something sick roiled in Harry’s stomach. Prewett lying on the bed at St. Mungo’s, there to stay as his illness progressed, flashed in his mind. The man had little more than weeks left, but he’d poured all the effort he could into helping Harry get here.

Harry ground his heel into Voldemort’s shoulder. ‘Shut it,’ Harry hissed, still not meeting the other’s eyes.

‘Touchy,’ Voldemort said.

What a bastard. But Harry didn’t snap back. Silence sunk back in as he scrambled to think. Options. Plans. He could play it by ear. It wasn’t far from the usual, after all. They’d ended up improvising time and time again, as things had tended to go awry. This wasn’t any different. Harry took a calming breath. He could Obliviate him and—

‘I’m guessing that rather dull colour it has transitioned to isn’t what you’re looking for,’ Voldemort continued.

Harry bit his lip.

‘Thought not,’ he said.

Harry could hear the sly smile in his tone. Resentment prompted him. He dug his wand into Voldemort’s chest, sneering down.

‘One more word and I’ll split you sternum to hip,’ Harry spat.

‘Promises, promises. However, if you were going to kill me, I imagine you’d have done it earlier,’ Voldemort smiled, cruel and manic.

‘Who’d have thought the quiet, bumbling clerk at Le Voile was such a cold-hearted sadist? So clumsy in the store, but here you’ve bested me. Did you have fun hiding in plain sight? Did you enjoy acting as if you were nothing but a worthless squib, catering to the most arrogant of purebloods?’

His wand dug into the other’s chest, the tip sparking noxious green flecks across clothing.

Harry didn’t hate working for Le Voile. It was a tiny establishment, quaint and filled with magic. The owner—a Soul Seer—had taken up the obscure business of attaching the departed souls of familiars to mechanical bodies. The work performed was worth it. But there was some truth to what Voldemort said. Harry hated working the counters, being subjected to scrutiny day in and day out. He’d tuck his magic tight to his chest, smothering his power so it couldn’t stretch, breathe. Dimming it day after day. But the small shop checked off his list. A business that didn’t exist in the future, that wasn’t in Knockturn Alley, and that was niche enough that few customers stopped in.

‘The fire in your eyes speaks for itself. But you certainly fooled Malfoy. Grovelling with your head to the floor, murmuring apologies in that obedient tone. A talented actor. I wonder, is Henry Dursley even your real name?’

Harry flinched at the accusation.

‘Such an accomplished liar. Possibly even better than I, but the cracks are there. Bowing like you’ve been cowed since birth, but you fight like you have been fighting all your life. I do love that undaunted bravery. However, I must say the sight of your submission was quite...enticing. How I’d love to see it, you, kneeling between my knees.’ Voldemort smirk turned salacious.

Harry reeled back. His stomach turned and twisted. What the fuck?

‘D-do you ever shut up, you psycho?’ Harry cursed his stutter, cheeks both pinking and paling at the thought.

Voldemort laughed. It was loud, not nearly as high and shrill as he knew from before. Harry blinked, stunned. Then, as fast as a snake, Voldemort struck.

A red curse spelled from his wand. Rouge rolled over Harry’s skin. He felt his muscles tense. Immobile from the stunner, Voldemort flipped them round. His tall, lean body loomed over Harry. The expression on his face was obscured by the night’s shadow. Light from the moon lay hidden behind clouds.

Harry cursed and writhed but was bound from inside his mind.

A hand, much too cold to be human, hovered over his brow, touching his scar and sliding to his cheek. Dabbling in dark magic had already made its mark. Red eyes glinted in the dark of his face. They looked hungry, ravenous. Harry would’ve shivered if not for the binds that held him.

‘You’re an enigma, Henry,’ Voldemort said almost playfully. ‘To others, you seem to be nothing but a pebble in a river of gold, but I can see it. I’ve known since the moment your eyes met mine. Your value, your power. It calls out to me as if an old friend. I feel it’s warmth, it’s raw strength, and I know you can’t be anything further from ordinary.’

His thumb trailed down Harry’s face and to the hollow of his neck. Sharp nails cut against the buttons of Harry’s shirt, tearing it open and allowing in the cold. Gooseflesh rose on his skin, either from the winter air or Voldemort’s icy touch. Harry couldn’t tell. But the hand continued on its path, sloping over his collar and to his chest. Trepidation filled him with a terror he’d never felt.

What was Voldemort doing? Why was his hand on Harry’s chest?

Its slow drag came to a pause above his heart. On his core.

Harry’s body resisted the cold of Voldemort’s touch. It felt stomach-churning, disgusting, yet at the same time, Harry felt oversensitive, vulnerable to its lazy movements. But then, something sparked. A magic unlike his own reached through the tips of those fingers to Harry’s core and caught fire.

The air escaped his lungs, everything coming into picture. Colours flared to life, bright and vibrant. Sounds heightened, sharp and full. Harry could feel the trickle of sweat drip down his nape. He could hear the ragged breaths of Voldemort above him. Senses heightened to overstimulation. It was too much and too little at the same time. Pain and pleasure. A wholeness to Harry’s soul that he didn’t know he was missing settled in. His finger twitched.

The stunning spell was coming loose.

Voldemort moaned to the sensation. Above Harry, the man’s eyes were blown in arousal. Harry’s breathing caught. The moon shone through the clouds, illuminating them. Red painted Voldemort’s face in a flush, melting waxy features to something much too human.

Harry shivered, trying to move, but was still bound by magic.

Voldemort laughed again. This time low and deep, a strange sort of mania rolling with every hitched chuckle. He leaned into Harry’s space; face much too close for comfort. Hot breaths ghosted Harry’s cheek. The hand on his chest rose to his nape. Fingers toyed with the chain of the artefact, teasing it forward.

‘What a precious thing. One that I almost let slip by,’ Voldemort whispered.

Then tugged.

The chain snapped. Links broke. Golden rings rained down in the dark. Voldemort rose from him. He held the item—Harry’s only way home—and inspected it. Would he take it, steal it away? No. Harry wouldn’t let him. This was something much too dangerous to let fall into Voldemort’s hands.

‘Ut te ad mundum,’ he read the words carved into metal.

To take you to your world. The golden bands around the greyed gem glinted. Harry’s heart pounded. His wrist twitched. The magic binding on him loosened further.

Voldemort took one look at Harry, rose his wand. But not towards him, and spelled.

‘Deletrius.’

His yew wand pointed to the device. The Temporus Secare shown one last flaxen gleam before it turned to dust, the gem falling inert to the ground.

Harry howled. A raw scream tore from his chest as magic flared from his core. A scorching wind rose and tossed Voldemort off him. He stood. Voldemort grunted from the burns on his hands. Harry towered over him once more. His wand aimed at the other’s chest, heel digging into his clavicle.

‘Why? Why did you destroy it!?’ Harry demanded.

Voldemort smiled, that manic expression still on his face despite his palms—red and blistered from burns.

‘I won’t let something of such value slip past my grasp,’ Voldemort said.

Harry stared at him in confusion. Valuable? He’d destroyed the device. It wasn’t a vanishing charm or a displacement spell.

‘What are you talking about? You destroyed the necklace. You aren’t making any sense,’ Harry said.

‘Yes. A steep price. But it’s worth nothing in compare to you.’

His brows furrowed. He observed the blood red that tracked his every move, twitch, and the dark glint of his eyes that seemed to look with… with....

The burned, blistered hand snaked out to grab his ankle. Fingernails dug into his flesh.

‘ “You.” You’re referring to me?’ Harry said in a breathy voice, like it had been punched out of him.

‘Yes,’ Voldemort said, his voice sibilant as if speaking parseltongue. ‘I’m drawn to you. I won’t let you go.’

Harry’s heart dropped. His hopes trickled away—sand between his fingers. Eyes that darkened with obsession bore into him.

‘My magic sings to yours. My soul longs for you.’ Such horrible promise lingered in the air. ‘Your mine as much as I’m yours.’

And Harry knew he was never going home.

[thescarlettbitch]

Worshipping Inanna / Ishtar

This is an informative post about how Inanna was worshipped, or believed to be worship, back in her time, and at the end I'll share how I worship her.

Ritual sex - her high priestess would have ritual sex (whether it was true sex or symbolic is unknown) with the new king to ensure his fortune.

Gender non-conformity - her cult was primarily composed of those outside the binary, and shows men and women adopting the opposing dialect and engaging in sex with each other.

Music and art - most of her myths are in the form of Hymns, and most of her followers were artists, musicians, or dancers. Specifically, war dances would be done in her temple.

Libations - a libation is the ritualistic act of pouring a liquid offering straight from a container onto the earth. In depictions, the person doing the offering was naked.

Unfortunately, due to the passage of time, many specific rituals have been lost. I've scoured and this is really all I can find about her ancient original worship, and a lot of it is disputed because no one knows what was a metaphorical ritual or an actual ritual.

That being said, here is how I worship her in the modern day.

Self-confidence - Inanna was not one to be meek, it is said by many experts and proven in her myths that she was headstrong and didn't care how she was perceived. To honor her, I wear whatever I want. I have a very alternative style and I used to fear people looking at me. She has helped silence my worry and in turn, helped me gain confidence.

Non-conformity - I'm nonbinary, and although my femininity is a major part of my identity, so is masculinity, and so is androgyny. Learning that she had a queer cult following was so liberating, as before learning that I felt like it was wrong of me to work with her. So every little thing I do that isn't in the social construct of the gender binary is for her.

Libations - lucky for me, this is one area of her ancient worship that can be done in a modern setting. I don't have a "proper" container, I just use a normal glass. I've done it with water, coffee, tea, lemonade, and even kool-aid.

Honey/Butter cakes - in, I believe, Inanna and The God Of Wisdom, Enki welcomes her with honey/butter cakes and alcohol. I have only made a honey cake once before and it was shit, but I plan on trying again soon to combine both into a honey bourbon cake. I know they didn't have bourbon back then, but it's a local good I can find and adds a personal touch.

Self love - my fiancé lives across an ocean, so some things we can't do together (both living with family and thin walls), so to honor and worship her, self love is a great way for those in similar situations and she enjoys it from what I've seen.

Offerings - usually dates, sometimes cherries, often lemonade or tea, and more recently honey whiskey. These offerings might not be "traditional" in style, but they work for me and her. I have a small glass from an old Costco tiramisu and an iridescent bowl I got half off at our local grocery, both have an 8pointed star on them. Usually I sit them out for days at a time, or at least over night, and then either ingest them or just toss it in the trash (any other alternative isn't doable in my current situation)

Music - I listen to a variety of music with her, songs about sex, love, anger, fighting, injustice. She loves it, and if you want more detail on this I have a post about the songs on her playlist here.

Driving with the windows down - I love driving, and I feel like doing so with the windows down is an easy multitasking way to cleanse myself and invite good vibes in. Usually I do this while playing her playlist.

Making posts - it may seem a little silly, but a way I honor her is keeping her and her family alive. They are old deities, their civilizations and worshippers lived about 6,000 years ago, and some of her family have had their names lost to time. Making posts about them helps get word out, and keep them "alive".

Digital temples - I play the sims 4 and I saw someone talk about how they wanted to make a temple to their goddess in the game, so... I'm making my own. And will probably have my sims "worship" her via a club. Some people don't see this as an act of worship, but I do. As @thrashkink-coven said in this post, the gods are as modern as they are ancient. I know she enjoys it.

I will go through and make a full post detailing specific UPGs (personal practice things not backed in historical fact) with her, for anyone interested.

[quillthrillswriting]

ever since @antizutara (via this post) put the idea in my head of a kataang wish AU, i haven't been able to stop thinking about it.

the following excerpts are from my draft of "if happiness were a tangible thing, it would be you," hopefully coming out later this week! :)<3

---

Ozai strode forward into the passage, beckoning to Katara as he did, and she obliged, careful to maintain several paces of distance. After a few moments of marvelling at the detail of the carved wood panels that lined the passageway, the two finally emerged into a larger room, lined with bookshelves and rolling ladders, intricate carvings, detailed spells on scrolls tacked into walls of ancient wood. A thick scent of cinnamon, and soft rain, and morning dew, smells that seemed as though they  shouldn’t have fit with the space, but did so perfectly.

And the room’s light.

Spirits. It was lit with a glow that felt familiar, and yet, entirely foreign, the likes of which she had not yet known. Stranger still, it didn’t seem to have a source, or at least, not until she tipped her head skyward.

There you are. It was the only thought that seemed logical, as if she were greeting an old friend. There you are. 

Wisps of wind. That was the only way she could think to describe them, although putting mere words to the purest embodiment of hope and dreams felt rather silly and diminutive. Swirling iridescent colours, glowing from within, overlapped and danced with one another. She felt homesickness tug at her heartstrings alongside the flicker of recognition, a memory of sitting nestled alongside Sokka back home as the two watched the Northern Lights flare across the sky. Each and every one of the phantom winds overhead carried possible futures, carried sounds and scents of what could be, what a heart wanted more than anything. Wisps of wind, more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen.

The wishes. They had to be.

---

On the day of the funeral, it rained. It was a good omen, for those of the Water tribe, to have the water spirit La bless one of their people even in death. Katara knew this, and yet, the rain still seemed to make it all feel worse. Drenched, shuddering from the cold and her own sobs, Katara looked away when her mother was finally lowered into the ground. She squinted at the castle, at the balcony lit by candlelight on the very highest floor.

And perhaps it was a trick of the light, perhaps it was her grief warping her sight, but Katara swore that she could see Ozai there, looming in the windows of his study.

Smiling at her.

---

And maybe it was naive hope, maybe it was stupid, but looking up at the stars flying by overhead, Katara closed her eyes and made a wish. She didn’t have the power to stop Ozai and his army. Neither did Sokka. But the Avatar…

The Avatar could save the world. 

And so, she wished for him. She wished for peace, she wished for his return, she wished for a way to prevent the oncoming battles and slaughter. 

And for a moment, it felt as though the stars spoke back. 

---

Once the glow had subsided enough for her to lower her hands, she blinked at the sudden motion as the little orb-thing zipped around her, leaving a trail of stardust. She reached out on instinct with her waterbending, suspending the creature in a bubble in front of her as she leaned in to inspect it. 

“Awe,” She sighed softly as a smile spread across her lips. “You’re kinda cute-”

All at once, another beam of light speared the sky, sending clouds of gold billowing around the two like smoke. Katara thrust her water upwards instinctively to protect them, but when the smoke cleared, the little star-ball was gone.

No, not gone. Different.

Because standing in front of her was perhaps the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen.

He levitated slightly off of the ground, glitter and star-dust trickling from his sandals. He looked to be around her age, but she thought perhaps he was older, from the almost-foot of height he had on her. She would have found him rather imposing, with lean muscles rippling through the thin fabric of his one-shouldered robes, were it not for the teasing grin he wore on his boyish face.

“You think I’m cute?”

if you want to stick around for this to come out, it'll be on my ao3 (hopefully) this week! ->

[starsreminisce]

Helion's description:

The sun personified. Powerful, lazy with grace, capable of kindness and wrath. Nearly as beautiful as Rhysand. And somehow—somehow colder than Kallias.

Lucien's description:

He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

Like Rhys, he usually opted for words to win his battles, but I’d seen him and Tamlin in the practice ring. He knew how to handle a weapon. How to kill, if need be.

When Feyre described Helion, she used specific wording that harkened back to how she described Lucien before meeting Helion. Feyre described Lucien as powerful, with a lazy grace, and handsome. In another passage, she noted that Lucien is capable of kindness and wrath, showing that while Lucien prefers words, he knows how to kill, as demonstrated when he killed Brannagh and fought his way to get to Elain.

What's different is that she also described Helion as colder than the High Lord of Winter. However, Lucien has his mother's powers to counterbalance this description of Helion's coldness, as Rhys explained that the powers Lucien inherited from his mother are strong enough that he can contest for the Autumn Court High Lord seat.

Lucien has also shown similar powers to Helion. He spellcleaved through the King of Hybern's chains, alluded to spellcleaving the wall, and has shown the ability to find people quickly, as Helion described gifts that allowed him to sense such things (Vague kinda sorta like Lucien's explanation of his mechanical eye).

Helion also possesses fire as a power. Feyre described Helion’s flame as a pure, blinding white, which echoes Lucien flaring with light and a gag of white, iridescent magic in Tamlin's mouth after Lucien's spellcleaving.

Spellcleaving isn't a power of the sun or daylight. Is healing associated with dawn? Is water manipulation connected to summer? Shapeshifting and wind manipulation to spring?

Rhys uses shadows, mind control, and can mist people, yet he's the Night Court High Lord.

Powers derive from the court they belong to, which Lucien has demonstrated. Lucien even said he doesn't have court-affinity powers because his powers are not of Autumn—they're from Day.

It feels nitpicking to say that Lucien isn't being described as the sun when his powers, personality, and looks point to him being the Heir of the Day Court, son of Helion Spellcleaver.

But it is interesting that Elain is associated with the sun, given how her smile and demeanor are described, despite her not displaying powers associated with the Day Court thus far.

In the same book where Lucien showed he is capable of using High Lord dominance and his capabilities of being a leader is being foreshadowed.

Then again, I expect nothing less from the mate of the Heir of the Day Court who does not belong in the Night Court.

Because, once again, Like Calls to Like.

[fairy-verse]

Nightmare x ink more please

Nightmare was a respectable fairy, one who kept his back straight and his face controlled when around his autumn fairies, rarely cracking near them despite the toils they’ve seen him go through before, yet they respected their queen and would forever honour his wish to remain at arm’s length when it came to close relations. What never failed to flabbergast them, however, was the way Ink would occasionally find his way into the underground nest for the sole purpose of… slumping against Nightmare.

He wasn’t necessarily clingy, just suddenly needy for touch, and that of Nightmare’s in particular. He would come from nowhere, out of a passage in the roof or from some hidden root in the walls, but always it would end with his flushed cheek nudging or rubbing against Nightmare in some way, often as a silent request for them to move somewhere privately where he could nuzzle and play without crossing Nightmare’s boundaries concerning his public image.

“You never fail to find me at the most improper of times,” sighed Nightmare, yet his demeanour softened as lips tasting of fresh blood met with his own, and his eye closed as Ink’s long fingers delicately touched both ecto and bones, admiring like one would a precious work of art.

“I am not sorry,” laughed Ink, and clicked their foreheads together. “I was lonely and wanted to meet you, and you’ll always find time to appraise your fairies’ tapestries at a later date,” said he, and trailed nimble fingers over Nightmare’s collarbone to his silken dress. “This one is new; one of your works?”

“No,” said Nightmare with a smile and a soft laugh, “It is Nightlight’s, actually. He’s taken to trying his hand at dressmaking, though he seems to prefer sheer silk, as you may tell,” said he, and fingered the fabric as Ink laid his skull to rest at his breast. “It is most beautiful. The colour is faint iridescent, hardly noticeable less the light hits it perfectly.”

“It suits you well,” hummed Ink, and sighed contently as his wings twitched and fluttered behind him, casting colourful specks of light throughout the room. Few were the moments where he wished to remain at ease and enjoy the silence, but Nightmare was a fairy of mysterious powers, even to him and the other firstborn, and he simply had his ways of making those around him wish to… settle down and relax.

[hyper-lynx]

Two Cats Attend the Blue Moon Ball

Chapter 1: Dusk

Featuring @wizblr-blue-moon-ball's Lurien and @flowers-the-sun-witch, along with Hemi and Liam of course. This is the first chapter of probably several that I will make for some of the prompts. Character appearances will vary and can be removed on request!

A calm wind blew over Wizard Island Island’s coastal region, bringing a mild warmth over the old stones and dozens of pointy-hatted towers dotting the landscape. The sky was overcast, but it was clear despite this that the sun was near the horizon. The shimmering line of the ocean adorned the horizon. Along a path of well-trodden cobbles, the air bent and tore, until, with a burst of chromatic power, two felines landed onto the earth. Hemi, wreathed in the gentle fabric of his deep indigo dress, felt the lukewarm air suddenly about his legs until the dress behaved itself. The emblem of the moon was dim in the low light, but still plainly visible. Shortly behind him, Liam practically flowed out of the rift. His gown had the general design of the lunar hibiscus -- pink and, in Hemi’s opinion, somewhat bulbous, but still quite elegant. He held the corners of the dress in a way that suggested he had experience landing from a dimensional vortex in such attire. Once both cats exited the distortion, reality was quick to mend itself.

“Aha, we’re-- um.” Hemi looked around, then let his head tilt. “Where’s--”

They stood at the long-forgotten gates to a property that was seemingly completely absent. There was not a trace of any building -- in its place, an immense crater marred the landscape. The only thing that remained was a tarnished silver archway and a few mana crystals that poked out from the ground at the edges of the place.

Liam gasped. “Did something--?”

“Impossible. If something this big was -- gone, I’d have heard about it. Besides, that gate… must have been abandoned for a hundred years.” Hemi closed his eyes and tried to visualize the route on the invitation he’d been given, but he was certain it led to this general area, and there shouldn’t be any other large estate in the vicinity. Were all his days of anticipation really --

“Oh--! Hemi, look!”

Hemi opened his eyes to the sight of what looked like an angelic being descending through the clouds. He plummeted rapidly and then came to a sudden stop in the air just beyond the gate, not displacing any air or showing any discomfort in the process. An elf with radiant wings, blue into yellow, clothed in shining white silks. Despite his short stature, the elf had a golden power behind his eyes that commanded respect. The emblem of the Blue Moon shone in iridescent stone, adorning his crown.

“Greetings! Hyperlynx Hemi, I presume?” The elf spoke with a quiet tone that nonetheless carried through the emptiness. “I see you’ve found our ‘back entrance’.”

“Oh--! Um, hello, sir--?” Hemi stammered in response as both cats approached the gate.

“Lurien is fine. In any case, I’ve arranged transport for you and your partner. Please proceed through the gate.”

Hemi tilted his head to the opposite side and gazed into the spiky, terrifying chasm just beyond the rusted passage. “Um-- I ah, don’t have any flight spell active…” He glanced at Liam, who shook his head silently.

“That’s fine, sir. I assure you there are accommodations for all creatures at the Blue Moon Ball.” He looked down at some kind of brass handheld timekeeping device. “Although, I would insist you move swiftly. The event will be starting momentarily.”

Hemi huffed softly and looked to Liam, who took the lead. Liam gathered his gown about his feet and cautiously stepped through the gate. He half expected the world to suddenly burst into light and color around him, but no such thing happened. Instead, his foot met with a soft resistance, an invisible surface. It felt a bit like walking across a mattress. Seeing the leopard defy gravity, Hemi followed suit.

“Impressive spell, but where is--” Hemi was cut off when the platform was suddenly thrust skyward. The earth fell away, and waves of amber light emanated from the invisible surface above them as it blocked the wind. Lucien cracked a soft smile -- the emblem across his chest shimmered softly as the three beings were brought up. Even the clouds broke around the barrier above them, until--!

The sun, from its place ever-lower on the horizon, lavished golden light across a wondrous skyscape. A great layer of clouds the size of mountains formed the base, speckled with tiny sections of floating stone -- likely pieces of distant floating islands that came in the wind across the sea. Beyond the shelf of clouds, the light glinted on the water. Above it all, though, a grand estate was situated. The main island consisted of an immense floating mansion. In a way, it was almost more like a town  -- the lower section was something of a hull, with docking ports for flying ships and tiered gardens protruding from openings in its sides. Atop, the mansion sprawled across a massive expanse of once-natural earth, with what must have been hundreds of rooms and halls. Near the center, the peak of a wizard’s tower wis visible, adorned with the same lunar emblem.

Lucien watched the two cats take it all in as he platform moved in a grand circuit through the air above the venue. “Sunset really is wonderful at this altitude, isn’t it?” He noted. The light cast off everything, and the shadow of the floating manor lengthened forever across the clouds. Hemi took a moment to glance down at Liam, whose eyes were literally wide with wonder. 

Their dutiful invisible chariot let them down in the plaza just before the main gates. It seemed nearly everyone else was already somewhere inside, since this courtyard was otherwise occupied only by a trio of gnomes who seemed to pay the cat-men no mind. Lucien directed their attention to a statue of a human woman, depicted 20 feet tall in marble stricken with veins of some shimmering blue mineral. Water flowed from small slots below the woman’s feet into small channels that fed this section of the gardens.

“This is the original owner of the manor, Mistress Areth Lunacai. It’s said she discovered the arcane properties of lunar sapphire, and therefore mastered the art of permanent levitation. In her time, her genius was not recognized, so she wrested her family’s estate into the skies, where it still remains.”

“Wow…” Liam looked up at her. Hemi, however, was already distracted by looking at the venue itself. As the light of dusk began to fade, Hemi crossed his arms over his chest.

“Lucien, sir?” He interjected. “Are we late for-- anything?”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “You accuse me of being late to my own ball?”

“Um--! Well, no, I--”

The host smiled. “No, it’s understandable. You are actually somewhat early. While most attendees have made their way to the main hall and its waiting rooms, the formal schedule will not commence for half an hour at minimum. Plenty of time, no?” Hemi nodded and looked to the side. He thanked the gods for the impenetrably thick fur that hid his now-red cheeks from view, then took a deep breath. There was no great rush. This was an event for fun, after all. The sleepless night before preparing… the weeks of anticipation… It all led to this night, where everything was arranged for him. He walked closer beside Liam.

Lurien turned over his shoulder, towards a figure in a blue dress who had appeared amidst the gardens. “Ah, I see a new guest has arrived. Excuse me.” Lucien bowed and began to gracefully stride towards the newcomer.

“Hey Hemi, do you want to go meet them? The person over there, I mean?”

Hemi looked to the newcomer, then back at the red wisps of frozen clouds high above. “I think I’ll watch the sunset for now. You go ahead -- we’re all going to the main hall anyway, right?”

Liam nodded and followed Lurien’s path through the gardens as quickly as he could without letting any dirt get on his outfit. By the time he arrived, the host was already leading the other person back up a scenic route along the terrain’s edge towards the fountain. Their long brown hair -- adorned with red flowers -- was tied into a set of four pigtails that dangled about elven ears and onto the shoulders of a truly cute blue dress, tied with a red belt bearing a once-live sunflower. They looked up at the approaching beastman with only momentary confusion. Lucien, without even looking in Liam’s direction, nodded. 

“I’ll allow you two a moment to become acquainted. There’s a matter I’ll need to attend to.” Lucien announced. A moment later, a great eagle flew dangerously close to the edge of the island and began circling the courtyard. Lucien sighed and, with a subtle movement of his wings, lifted off to redirect the bird’s rider.

“Oh gosh!” The witch put a hand against her mouth and giggled.

Liam shook his head. “Some people…” He turned his attention back to the immediate environs. “Well-- ah, greetings!” Liam gave a curtsy. “My name’s Liam.”

The witch returned the favor. “I’m Flowers, the Sun Witch. It’s nice to meet you! I like your dress.”

“Thank you~!” Liam twirled around a little. “Yours is very cute.”

The witch smiled, but didn’t reply verbally. The two watched for a moment as the now distant eagle followed Lucien -- from this range, a point of light -- towards the arcane beast stables on the lower levels. “I’ve not seen a dress of that style in a while. Lunar hibiscus, right?” Liam’s head tilted slightly. “How did you--”

“I don’t call myself ‘Flowers’ for no reason. The color’s pretty accurate, too. Though, those flowers are pretty rare on the island…”

“Ah, I’m not actually from here. I’m not even properly a wizard -- that title belongs to my partner. I’m his plus-one.”

“Oh!” Flowers looked along the rim of the floating landmass. “Is that him?” She pointed out Hemi, sitting alone on an outcropping, watching the redness leave the sky as night took over.

“Yeah…” Liam put his hand behind his head. “He’s a little shy. I’m sure he’ll warm up when things kick off.”

“Flowers nodded, then tapped her foot. “I hope the host is back soon… I hope everything’s alright with the bird situation.”

As if on cue, on a beam of light, Lucien appeared next to the two guests. “I apologize for the wait, Mx. Flowers. I hope you’ll forgive  my cutting your tour short for the moment, as the floor will open momentarily. I suggest you both make your way to the main hall and meet some more of the guests in the meantime.”

“Ah-! Of course, thank you.” Flowers began to walk down the garden path towards Hemi. Lucien, apparently satisfied, vanished into light.

“Um--” Liam trotted after her surprisingly quick gait. “The fastest path is to the right.”

“We need to collect your partner, don’t we?” The sun witch glanced back at him. “Besides, I need to compliment his dress, too.”

By the time they arrived, the sun had completely set, so Hemi was just staring off into the swirling expanse of the clouds below. His ears were somewhat askew-- when Liam approached, they swiveled to face him.

“Hey, we’re supposed to go inside soon.” Liam let a gentleness into his tone.

Hemi stretched and stood. He used a quick gesture to disconnect the dirt from his dress’ fabric, so it became fully clean in an instant. When he turned around, he started at the sight of the witch who accompanied Liam.

“Oh--! Um--” Hemi gave a clumsy bow. “Hello-- I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you.”

The witch extended her hand. “I’m Flowers. What’s your name?”

“...Hemi.” He said, and shook her hand with his paw. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well. I like your dress~!” She told him. Hemi’s ears flipped, but he smiled in response.

A latch sounded at the main door. “Ah, it seems it’s time to enter. Have a wonderful time, you two--!” Flowers curtseyed again, and was off.

Liam looked at Hemi with a soft grin..

“What? I was surprised…”

“Nothing, nothing.” He took Hemi’s hand. “Another adventure, right?”

“--Right.”

The two cats proceeded towards the gathering group of wizards and the great oaken doors. The blue moon shone bright overhead.

[sicutpuella]

Desiderium [Tom Riddle x Original Character]

Chapter 0: Grim Old Place

Within the somber confines of 12 Grimmauld Place, an ancient dwelling tinged with an air of mystery, Harry Potter stood with his senses heightened, attuned to every whisper and rustle that permeated the shadowed halls. This place, steeped in the ancestral legacy of the noble House of Black, seemed to hold secrets within its very walls. It was in this hallowed abode, at the dawn of a new chapter in his extraordinary journey, that Harry heard a voice—a voice that beckoned to him from the depths of the unknown.

Harry Potter, the fabled wizard of renown, turned swiftly, his emerald eyes scanning the room in search of the enigmatic voice that had addressed him. To his astonishment, he found himself beholding a woman, whose ethereal beauty captivated his senses. Claudia Rosier, a bewitching figure, stood before him.

"Harry Potter, finally in the flesh!" she uttered, her voice resonating with a blend of anticipation and delight. The words, a mere handful, hung in the air, carrying with them a weight that stirred within Harry an inexplicable mix of curiosity and fascination. Her tresses, a resplendent cascade of dark crimson, differed from the ginger hues known to the Weasley clan. It was as if her hair possessed a bewitching charm, casting its spell upon all who dared to gaze upon its allure. Yet it was her eyes that held Harry transfixed—a striking shade of electric blue, vibrant orbs that seemed to penetrate the depths of his very soul.

Though the passage of years had marked her countenance, Claudia's allure remained undiminished. Her visage bore the traces of a life well-lived, etched with lines that added a touch of elegance to her graceful face. Towering above most in the room, she possessed an imposing stature, her regal presence exceeding the height of Harry himself. It was evident that she hailed from a privileged upbringing, a scion of the uppermost echelons of society.

As she uttered his name, her voice carried a gentleness that caressed his ears. Yet her refined accent hinted at a pedigree steeped in refinement and opulence. Every aspect of Claudia's being exuded an air of meticulous grooming, while a captivating fragrance enveloped her, enchanting those within its proximity. Her posture, straight and commanding, radiated both power and wisdom, as if she had long mastered the arts of authority.

In this extraordinary encounter, Claudia Rosier embodied a mesmerizing presence, a tapestry woven from the threads of ageless beauty and refined sophistication. Harry found himself spellbound by her very essence, the allure of a woman whose charms transcended time itself. Claudia Rosier's presence did not go unnoticed by Harry's faithful companions, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. As if summoned by an invisible force, they gravitated towards the enchanting figure that held their friend spellbound.

Ron, with his hair as fiery as the sun's golden rays, and Hermione, her countenance bright with intellect and determination, approached Claudia with a mix of curiosity and reverence. The twins, Fred and George, ever mischievous and quick-witted, joined the gathering, their eyes widening as they beheld the radiant beauty before them. Claudia's captivating aura transcended the boundaries of age, captivating all who gazed upon her with a mystifying allure. Her dark crimson locks cascaded like a silken tapestry, captivating even the mischievous twins, whose gazes momentarily faltered under her bewitching spell. Her eyes, an iridescent blue, seemed to hold within their depths a wellspring of wisdom and secrets, whispering untold stories to those who dared to look deeply enough.

Ron, his freckled countenance flushed with a mixture of awe and admiration, struggled to find the words to capture the essence of this ethereal presence. Hermione, her eyes sparkling with an inquisitive light, observed Claudia with an astute curiosity, her mind working tirelessly to unravel the enigma that stood before them. As the companions stood in the presence of Claudia Rosier, her allure resonated with an undeniable magnetism, evoking a symphony of emotions and intrigue. The air crackled with an undercurrent of anticipation, as if destiny itself had woven its tapestry around this meeting, entangling their lives in a web of unforeseen possibilities.

In this sacred gathering, amidst the aged tapestries and ancestral secrets, Claudia Rosier cast her spell upon the hearts and minds of those who beheld her, leaving an indelible mark upon their souls. The threads of fate intertwined, as the companions embarked upon a journey that would forever be intertwined with the enigmatic presence of Claudia, a woman whose beauty transcended the realms of mortal comprehension.

Sirius Black, with his boisterous laughter, shattered the silence that had settled upon the room, drawing the attention of the spellbound teenagers. His voice boomed with mirth as he spoke, bringing forth the revelation of the esteemed presence that had graced them all.

"Ah, I've seen you've met our special guest!" Sirius exclaimed, his jovial tone resonating through the ancient halls of 12 Grimmauld Place. "The honorable Claudia Rosier! The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Head of Magical Artifacts!"

At the utterance of the name Rosier, a collective recognition flickered in Harry's mind. It was a name that bore significance, for it was etched in the annals of infamy, belonging to those who had sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord. The Rosiers, notorious for their unwavering devotion to blood purity, were revered amongst the ranks of the Death Eaters. Yet, there was a complexity to their lineage—an undeniable wealth and influence that flowed through their veins. The noble Rosiers, as they were known, had established themselves as pillars of the wizarding elite.

With a graceful inclination of her head, Claudia Rosier acknowledged the young ones before her. A subtle air of dignity surrounded her, as if the weight of her position and the legacy of her name lent her an aura of quiet authority. With measured steps, she made her way toward the beckoning dining room of Grimmauld Place, joined by the other venerable members of the household.

In the wake of her departure from the hall, a mingling of emotions stirred within the hearts of the young wizards and witches left behind. A tapestry of intrigue and curiosity unfolded, woven with threads of apprehension. The presence of Claudia Rosier, a living embodiment of the complexities that entwined pureblood heritage and dark alliances, cast an enigmatic shadow upon the path that lay ahead. As they prepared to partake in the familial feast, the air thickened with unspoken questions, and the companions found themselves drawn further into the intricate web of secrets and destinies that bound them together within the hallowed chambers of Grimmauld Place.

In hushed tones, Ron Weasley leaned toward Harry Potter, his voice barely above a whisper, as if fearful of disturbing the delicate balance of the room. "A Rosier, Harry? Is she not of the same kind as... you-know-who's followers? One of those staunch believers in blood purity?" Hermione Granger, ever the fountain of knowledge, displayed a similar reaction, her expression etched with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

The trio, accompanied by the mischievous Fred and George Weasley, advanced into the opulent dining hall of Grimmauld Place, where Claudia Rosier occupied the seat of honor. There she sat, an embodiment of elegance and poise, her back held erect with a refined grace. The atmosphere seemed to shift, charged with an air of anticipation, as if the very room itself acknowledged her presence and yielded to her authority.

Their footsteps faltered for a fleeting moment, halted by the weight of their contemplation. The mere mention of the Rosier name sent ripples of unease through their collective consciousness, for it was synonymous with allegiance to the dark forces that had threatened their world. The Rosiers, a family entangled in the web of you-know-who's gang, had long espoused the ideals of blood purity, their beliefs steeped in tradition and exclusivity.

And yet, even in the face of their reservations, the trio pressed on, curiosity mingling with caution as they approached the table where Claudia held court. The resolute determination that guided their steps belied the doubts that churned within. Inwardly, they prepared themselves to navigate the intricacies of this encounter, to glean what truths lay concealed behind the veneer of elegance and power.

As they drew nearer, the allure of Claudia Rosier's presence intensified. Her poised countenance, an embodiment of regality, invited admiration and respect. Every line and curve of her figure spoke of confidence and authority, a testament to the depths of her experience and knowledge. The trio, accompanied by the ever-watchful twins, took their places at the table, the gravity of the moment hanging heavy in the air.

Amidst the resplendent atmosphere of the dining hall, an air of reunion pervaded the space, embracing all who gathered within its opulent confines. Nymphadora Tonks, the ever-capricious metamorphagus, regaled the younger attendees with her remarkable talents, effortlessly transforming her countenance into a succession of creatures—a duck, a pig, a lion—eliciting peals of laughter and delight. Even Claudia Rosier, a paragon of grace and refinement, found herself captivated by the whimsical display. Meanwhile, a distinguished assembly had formed on the side of the table, where Claudia sat alongside Sirius Black, Harry Potter, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Engrossed in earnest discussion, their attention focused upon the pressing concerns plaguing the Ministry of Magic—specifically, the obstinate denial of Lord Voldemort's resurgence by the deluded Cornelius Fudge.

"What purpose does it serve to sugarcoat the truth?" Moody interjected brusquely, his words reverberating through the hall and punctuating the conversation. The room fell into an uneasy silence, as the weight of his statement hung heavy in the air, casting a somber pall over the gathering.

"Alastor," Claudia chided gently, her voice a soothing balm that sought to quell the mounting tension. But Moody, unyielding in his resolve, persisted. "Show him! The boy will discover the truth soon enough, one way or another."

As if in response to their exchange, a gentle hand extended toward Harry, bearing a newspaper with the front page emblazoned by a striking headline: "The Boy Who Lies." The words cast a shadow over the young wizard's countenance, stirring a mix of emotions within him—an amalgamation of defiance, frustration, and an unwavering determination to confront the harsh realities that lay ahead.

Amidst the distinguished company gathered within the walls of Grimmauld Place, the weighty matters of the day weighed heavily upon their minds. Cornelius Fudge, a figure of authority wielding power and influence over the Daily Prophet, had employed his position to suppress any claims of Lord Voldemort's menacing return. Sirius Black, his voice resolute, interjected with an air of defiance, breaking the silence that enveloped the room.

"Why?" Harry Potter, his disbelief palpable, queried in a tone laced with incredulity, his faith in the integrity of those in positions of power momentarily shaken.

Remus Lupin, a sage presence amid the assembly, endeavored to shed light upon the perplexing matter. "The Ministry suspects that Dumbledore seeks to usurp Fudge's position," he explained, his words tinged with a hint of weariness. "They harbor a deep-seated fear that compels them to perceive threats where none exist."

"But that’s insane! No one in their right mind could ever—" Harry retorted, his disbelief tinged with a note of righteous indignation. The flagrant incompetence of Fudge and the Ministry's willful ignorance stretched the bounds of reason, testing the limits of their patience and resolve.

"Indeed," Claudia interjected, her voice carrying a measured tone that bespoke wisdom earned through the passage of time. "Fear possesses the power to distort minds and drive individuals to commit unspeakable acts. Fudge's faculties have been compromised, clouded by the very dread that should impel him to action."

With a somber gaze fixed upon Harry, Claudia continued her discourse. "The last time Lord Voldemort seized power, our world trembled on the precipice of destruction. We cannot afford to dismiss that grim reality, nor can the Ministry, in their misguided attempts to pacify the masses, ignore the imminent threat that looms before us."

Sirius, unwavering in his resolve, added his voice to the somber discussion. "We believe that Voldemort seeks to rebuild his formidable army, just as he did fourteen years ago. His followers included not only dark wizards and witches, but creatures of all kinds." Remus, ever the embodiment of insight, continued, "He has been aggressively recruiting, and we too seek to gather our forces. Yet, in the face of the Ministry's hateful and ignorant gaze, our efforts have been hindered at every turn."

"And yet, there is more," Remus stated with a measured tone. "We suspect that Voldemort's motives extend beyond the mere construction of an army. We believe he harbors unfinished business, a desire to complete what he failed to achieve in his previous bid for power." As the words lingered in the air, the gaze of Alastor Moody, Claudia, and Sirius converged upon Harry, a shared understanding etched upon their faces. The gravity of the situation had deepened, casting a shadow upon their hopes and filling their hearts with a sense of foreboding.

As the weighty revelations continued to pour forth, a voice pierced the air, cutting through the rising tide of information. Molly Weasley, her tone filled with maternal concern and protective instincts, interjected with a fervor born of love and apprehension. "No, that is enough! He is but a boy, barely of age! If we delve any deeper into this dangerous path, we might as well extend him an invitation into the Order!"

Harry, emboldened by his newfound resolve and a fire that burned within him, seized the moment to make his proclamation. "If Voldemort seeks to gather an army, then I’ll come with you!”

Claudia, her vibrant spirit undimmed by the gravity of the situation, found amusement in the audacity and courage displayed by Harry. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, mirroring the playful spark dancing in Sirius's eyes. They recognized in Harry the same indomitable spirit that had guided them in their own battles against the encroaching darkness.

With Molly's intervention, the evening slowly began to regain its semblance of a joyous reunion. Conversations flowed freely, laughter mingled with whispers, and the atmosphere regained its familiar air of camaraderie. Each segment of the table formed pockets of dialogue, their words and laughter intertwining, as friends and allies found solace in the presence of kindred spirits. Yet, amid the din of jovial chatter, Harry's mind remained fixated on the enigmatic figure of Claudia Rosier. Her presence, though known to him by virtue of her position within the Ministry, seemed peculiarly timed. Questions formed in the depths of his inquisitive mind, a desire to unravel the mysteries surrounding her newfound association with the Order of the Phoenix.

As the evening progressed, Harry's curiosity simmered beneath the surface, a flame that threatened to consume his thoughts. The allure of Claudia's presence beckoned him, urging him to seek answers and uncover the truth that lay hidden within her crimson hair and electric blue eyes. In this union of destiny and circumstance, Harry resolved to delve deeper into the enigma that was Claudia Rosier, for he sensed that her presence held significance far beyond what met the eye.

As the night began its descent towards the late hours, Claudia Rosier, ever conscious of her responsibilities, gracefully excused herself from the gathering. With a gentle smile upon her lips, she delicately maneuvered through the clusters of conversation, offering her farewells to each individual in turn. Her departure elicited a collective murmur of appreciation and respect, for her presence had brought an air of wisdom and elegance to their midst.

Pausing momentarily before the trio, Claudia's eyes gleamed with a genuine interest as she addressed them. "You find yourselves embarking upon your fifth year, do you not?" Her tone carried a warmth that embraced both familiarity and curiosity. Hermione, ever respectful and poised, replied with a deferential nod, her voice laced with a measure of reverence towards the seasoned witch.

"Ah, the fifth year—a truly magical time," Claudia exclaimed, her laughter bubbling forth like a melodic symphony that echoed through the grand hall. Her words carried a hint of nostalgia, evoking memories of her own youthful adventures and trials within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

The brief interlude drew to a close, as Claudia's obligations beckoned her away. With a final gaze that held a promise of future encounters, she addressed Harry directly. "Tomorrow, Harry, we shall meet again at the Ministry. Until then, I bid you all adieu!"

Masterlist : Next Chapter

[cog5]

Brute Force Adventure Writing?

I’ve found success lately by writing my 1D6 tables as 1D8 tables, then cutting the two least interesting options. Even if I write just one extra option and make a cut, it tends to make a stronger encounter table. A 1D4 table? Write five options, review and cut the most boring or repetitive one. Write lots, keep what’s best. Is this brute force adventure writing? Or like just, normal editing? I don’t know. I’m not a professional. But it works.

In one of my latest dungeon rooms, players can encounter a giant urn full of nanomachines. The Nanites can combine into several forms. I went for a 1D4 table in this case, wrote five options, then cut one.

Nanomachine Gestalts

1. Statuesque Humanoid: From a distance, the swarm appears human. Tall and graceful, gleaming with reflected light. Up close, the figure takes on an alien appearance, its proportions exaggerated, its face grotesque.

2. Kaleidoscopic Lattice: Arrays of Nanomachines chain together, rapidly filling the room with a complex matrix of crushing fractals. Passage through the area becomes increasingly dangerous.

3. Electric Amoeba: An amorphous shape, its iridescent volume warps and quivers in all directions. Appendages appear and disappear as it blindly probes the room. 

4. Monolithic Geometry: Cubes and other angular shapes form a mass of intersecting surfaces, reflecting the world around it. New structures erupt like animated pyrite, extending to unexplored passageways, while trailing offshoots reconstitute into the primary locus.

5. Simulacrum: The Nanomachines appear as a cloud of iridescent dust. Several are inhaled by a member of the adventure party, entering their bloodstream and brain. The remaining Nanites will fill the room, creating a space based on the adventurer’s memory, for all to see.

I ended up cutting #3 from the available options. It was too similar to option #4 in form and function. Plus I wanted to push the “machine” aspect in nanomachine. Really, #3 inspired me to write #4 – a classic blob monster, but more mechanical? Of course. Giving the encounter a more organic bent could have been interesting? But I thought the humanoid form in option #1 filled that niche well enough. Given every other option, #3 didn’t have a lot going for it. Overall, I think the table is stronger without it.

And I just want to say…

Why’s it gotta be so hot? I’m so unproductive in the summer. Any amount of heat seems to sap my motivation. So, a perfect time of year to wrap up a mega-dungeon. And yet, progress has been made. I just cracked 200 pages on my latest project, The Electric Triptych of the Tetric Necromancer. By the end of next month I should have all 12 (out of 12) areas laid out and edited. After that, I’ll want to draft an introduction, a timeline of events, a few adventure hooks and such, but the entire dungeon will be playable from start to finish. That’s something.

Stay cool, people.

[hretoprvdthepltnx]

would you please write a fic about being (fully platonic) roommates with Loki? I want to see just how much chaos would happen between the literal god of chaos and a chaotic ADHDer

Mx. Mischief

Loki x gn!reader

Summary: In the years of old, when both Loki and y/n were still young and welcome in Asgard, the prince and the forgotten one had a game they liked to play during the dark hours. During the night, while the golden heir slept peacefully in the chambers next, they played their game until the night they were caught. It was then that they decided to move on to bigger prizes. Prizes shaped in the form of realms. Here is one of their stories from Before.

Content: platonic soulmates, inseparable pairing, young Loki x young reader, they/them pronouns used for reader, Loki is genderfluid, brief non-sexual nudity,

Rating: 14+ || 600+ words

The raven perched on a shoulder clad in the darkest of green silks. The iridescence of its manicured feathers glimmered in waves of blue-purple-green in the drifting light of the hanging torches. Their gown made no rippling sound as they slinked through the palace, silent-like, with the raven for companion.

"Are you sure it's this way?" They whispered, and the wind drifting through the open corridor killed the sound before it could reach any unintended ears. Sharp nipping and the scrape of a beak against metal rings carried an assault on their ear, and they turned that way in to the dimly lit passage. "Stop it," they hissed, batting at the raven so that it flew up off of its shoulder perch and into the night sky. "You know this place gets confusing sometimes."

The raven squawked and the human cursed its feeble existence, but they both carried on deeper into the grounds, until human feet touched mossy stone and the raven found a branching perch. "So, it was the way." They spoke under their breath, giving the garden a quick look over for guards. There were none.

"I told you," said the raven, its eyes a marbled emerald green, "I know my palace." The human scoffed, pulling a worn leather pouch from the abyss of their silken robes and an identical set for their companion. "You don't know shit. You're just lucky that you can fly."

Loki, now in the shape of the godchild that he perhaps truly was, and unfazed by his arrant nudity, swung himself down from his branch with impeccable grace. His pale and lanky frame shinning as beautifully in the moon light as his feathers had minutes before. He accepted the green silks from the outstretched palm of his beloved partner in crime as he had time and time before.

"You're lucky that I don't loathe your company." He retorted, the threat every bit as empty as his smirk was twisted up in smugness. He was charming, this trickster. The rightful heir of Asgard. He was a cunning little bastard too. "So, who shall be our victim tonight?" They asked him, eyes gleaming with violent excitement. "Why my oaf of a brother, of course. I thought that was clear."

The pair sat down on the soft bedding of grass beneath the tree, a sacred monument, and spread out the contents of their fraying bag of schemes. "How shall we do it?" Y/n asked, flipping through the pages of the spell book they had stollen, together with Loki, from Frigga's library. "Like this," Loki told them, thin, black painted fingertip stopping the progression of their flipping pages. The page had been marked already, and Loki wore a beaming smile of malevolent intent. "We'll use this."

Y/n fixed him with a look and Loki, persuasive as ever, started to defend his case. "It won't be permanent. It might just interfere slightly with his courtship to the lady Sif." Loki watched the sly grin creep up his best friend's face and replace the uncertainty in their eyes with mischief. "How will we get in?" They asked, leaning over the open book to look at him with worshipful glee.

They always made him feel like the god he knew he was, like the king he was destined to be. They trusted him. They loved him. Loki smiled, beautiful and deadly, and leaned in towards his friend as well. The wind rattled the sacred branches overhead and Loki's eyes sparkled green in the reflected glance of his favored companion. "We'll use magic. How do you feel about being a bird?"

|| masterlist ||

story by hretoprvdthepltnx©

Loki copyrighted by Marvel©