#auspicious visitor

[wanderingskychild]

I know I’m a bit late for Days of Fortune, I was just really tired on release day. But things are looking good, though I haven’t gotten to experience everything today. I’ll try later, but for now here you go.

The decorations in Aviary village are enchanting, so glad I got to see them at night. The Auspicious Visitor (a.k.a. Gratitude Guide) is also selling a bunch of mask. I have enough to buy two & I really want the tiger & rabbit ones. Though that might change to one.

Valley of Triumph being the event’s hub area definitely fits. The performance spirits & guide siblings are some of my favorite spirits & I know many of y’all’s too. They even hug & high-5 me, I love them so much 🥰. Theatre Forever 🎭!

The dragon spell chain is such a cool concept. I haven’t joined one yet though, nor have I seen the dragon race yet. I’ll capture it when I can. What an event. Happy Year Of The Dragon! Happy 2024! 🐉

[thebrightgroups]

[talonabraxas]

St. George with the Swastika Gustav Adolf Closs (1937)

The Swastika – A Pure Spiritual Symbol

As rightly said by H. P. Blavatsky, the swastika or svastika is “the most sacred and mystic symbol in India.” It is a pure spiritual symbol which can be found on the historical remains and records of almost every nation, originating initially in India, the ancient Mother of our modern civilisation. It was also an important and much cherished symbol of the early Christians, who called it the “crux dissimulata” and often accompanied it with the inscription “Vitalis Vitalia” – “Life of Life.” They used the swastika for centuries, long before the crucifix form of the Cross was ever invented.

The symbol of the cross with the crucified Jesus on it did not exist until 700 A.D. or later, just as the doctrine of vicarious atonement and salvation through the blood of Jesus did not exist in its present form until the beginning of the Middle Ages.

It must be repeatedly emphasised that the swastika was never thought of in any way by anyone as being an evil or “dark” symbol until Hitler misappropriated it as the symbol of Nazism. Tragically the image of the swastika continues to strike fear and horror into the hearts of many, due to their not knowing its true spiritual origins and meaning. Despite its modern negative connotations, Hindus, Jains, and Buddhists all over the world retain their right to the use of the swastika as a spiritual symbol.

It’s true and unspeakably tragic that millions of Jews were “slaughtered under the sign of the swastika,” as a visitor to the site unnecessarily reminded us, but why should millions of Indians and followers of Indian religions be denied the right to use the symbol which is theirs by right? Should Hitler still be allowed to triumph over the minds of men, even in death?

He also misappropriated and misrepresented the word “Aryan” – using it to mean a so-called “perfect race” of blonde haired, blue eyed, fair skinned people – whereas in its actual and historical sense, which is the sense in which the term is used in Theosophy, the word “Aryan” means “Indian.” Ancient India was called Aryavarta and the Aryans were the inhabitants of this land. The swastika symbolises and represents:

(1) Auspiciousness, since the true and literal meaning of the Sanskrit word “Swastika” is “All is well.”

(2) The continual motion and revolution of the invisible forces of the universe and the cycles of time, represented by the four arms of the cross being bent at right angles to signify motion and rotation.

(3) The Seal of the Heart or Heart’s Seal of Buddhism. It can be seen engraved on the chest of Buddha in many statues of him around the world.

(4) Fohat, cosmic electricity.

“Applied to the Microcosm, Man, it shows him to be a link between heaven and Earth: the right hand being raised at the end of a horizontal arm, the left pointing to the Earth. . . . It is at one and the same time an Alchemical, Cosmogonical, Anthropological, and Magical sign, with seven keys to its inner meaning. It is not too much to say that the compound symbolism of this universal and most suggestive of signs contains the key to the seven great mysteries of Kosmos. . . . It is the Alpha and the Omega of universal creative Force, evolving from pure Spirit and ending in gross Matter. It is also the key to the cycle of Science, divine and human; and he who comprehends its full meaning is for ever liberated from the toils of Mahamaya, the great Illusion and Deceiver. . . . So ancient is the symbol and so sacred, that there is hardly an excavation made on the sites of old cities without its being found.” – H. P. Blavatsky, “The Secret Doctrine” Vol. 2

There is a need for articles such as this, in order to let people know the true origins and nature of things. The swastika is undoubtedly still very taboo in the Western world but spiritually educated people can help to bring about something of a reclaiming of what is originally, initially, and inherently a pure spiritual symbol and what is still such for followers of Eastern religion.

[tyrantisterror]

No Small Feat Art Pt. 6 - Chaos at the Menagerie

By request, I’m gonna show off some of the artwork for No Small Feat, a Midgaheim story my friends and I told through the TTRPG system Fabula Ultima. I drew a lot of characters and monsters for it, and my friends - in particular, @dragonzzilla, @scatha5, and @dinosaurana - helped line and color them so we’d have cute little sprites to use on our online battlemaps, which really helped sell the whole “we’re playing an oldschool turn based RPG” vibe that Fabula Ultima’s system is going for.

In this part, we’re gonna look at the many NPCs introduced in the campaign’s fourth arc, Chaos at the Menagerie!

All the way from session 0, my player characters had heard rumors of a fabulous menagerie of arcane beasts kept by Sir Peter Hammerschmidt, a merchant who possessed so much wealth and influence that he was knighted and made part of the nobility for it. Some of my players, being nonhuman (or transformed into nonhumans at any rate), were almost poached for the menagerie, in fact, so when they finally got to the town of Sumerlie, they had some idea of what they were getting into when asking Peter whether or not he had a crown jewel in his possession too.

They came on an auspicious day, as Peter was finally opening up his full menagerie for visitors from the creme de la creme of Engelsex, including Prince Huxley Monbatten, the eldest son of the previous king of Engelsex who would be the frontrunner in the competition to become the new king if the crown hadn't been destroyed. Peter was also assisted by Clara Saddel, his trusty chief maid and assistant, as well as Ranzacor, the wizard who designed all the magic safeguards meant to keep the menagerie safe and secure.

The first floor of the menagerie did contain several arcane beasts, but most weren't particularly noteworthy as menageries in Midgaheim go - a couple designer griffins (very trendy, but everyone rich enough to have a menagerie can afford them), some drats (cat/puk dragon hybrids that are heavy on the feline and light on the dragon), flederwyrms (bat/lizard chimeras), one very ill-looking bonnacon (fire breathing and/or shitting oxen), a hoogah (related to dragons but far less vicious), a grotesque (arcane agamid lizards that superficially resemble dragons as a defense mechanism), a hunkypunky (big nasty-tempered arcane tegu lizards), an amphibaena (arcane serpents that are born as conjoined twins), and some sprinting basilisks. Impressive to commoners, sure, but nowhere near the show Peter promised.

But then, in the center of the first floor, there was the first true wonder: a truly wild catoblepas, one that had never been domesticated and subjected to years of selective breeding for docility by human beings. Enormous and magnificent, it was a taste of the wonders that lay below.

While the cockatrices nearby, with their quick two-legged sprinting and devious minds, were a preview of how it would go wrong.

The second floor contained far more dangerous beasts. They spanned different countries, from a knucker wyrm with hydra syndrome from Mediterra to a waterhorse from Celpict. There was a bonafide Chimaera, which Peter had been assured was made to be a perfect replica of the first Chimaera created by Typhon and Echidna in the times of antiquity, and a largemouth wyvern dragon with talons capable of crushing a man in their grip.

But perhaps most telling on this floor were a trio of beasts denied their purpose: a gorgon whose eyes had been gouged out to deny her the ability to turn men to stone, a unicorn whose horn was shattered in its capture, and a Questing Beast - a creature whose entire existence is built on being impossible to catch and imprison - that was born in captivity and never knew life outside the menagerie walls.

The third floor had fewer residents, but for good reason, as it held not only the most valuable creatures, but the most deadly as well. There was an Afanc, an enormous crocodile whose mastery of water magic allows it to create deadly sea storms and floods. There was the Ox Dragon, an enormous and powerful greater drake with a notorious temper. There was a peluda, a lesser drake whose armored hide was covered in thick, sharp spikes.

But they weren't the deadliest beasts in the menagerie.

The most valuable creatures imprisoned in Hammerschmidt's menagerie were, oddly enough, local finds - tatzelwyrms, specifically, a variety of two-legged dragon that normally doesn't get particularly large by dragon standards. The clever tatzelwyrms that lived in the first paddock of the third floor illustrated this well, with each being roughly the size of a wolf. But there were a few exceptions, and one of them was the aptly named Terror Tatzelwyrm, a fifty-foot long dragon with powerful jaws and an astounding running speed for its size. One such tatzelwyrm was a local celebrity in Sumerlie, and Peter had caught the creature in a moment of weakness - namely, sleeping in her den over a nest full of eggs that she had been guarding for weeks without finding food for herself. He caught her and imprisoned her while she was too exhausted to fight back, and sold her eggs to make the funds to get the rest of his prized specimens.

The Terror Tatzelwyrm was, mechanically speaking, the Villain of this arc, though like some of the previous Villains, she was far from unsympathetic.

I imagine by now you've figured out the "joke" of this arc. It's Jurassic Park. Which, of course, is not a fairy tale, but listen, we had to make sure 100 monsters appeared somehow, and isn't Jurassic Park a modern day fairy tale in its own right? A rich merchant, believing his wealth gives him power over nature itself, employs the best wizards he can find to bring impossible nightmare monsters to life so he can show them off as prized possessions, only for the monsters to break free and tear him to pieces. There's a nice tight little moral in there, tell it to your kids!

Gonna post the sprites in a followup since tumblr has an image limit per post.

[vacantgodling]

PARAMOUR CHAPTER 1: WEDDING PREPARATIONS

WIP: the fall of galere book 1: PARAMOUR

SUMMARY: an hour before the ceremony that will wed hyacinthus shrapnel to The Keeper of Chateau aux Aisles D'or, he receives an unwanted, but unfortauntely necessary visitor.

tw(s): implied murder, mentions of character death/patricide, a lot of footnotes lmao.

There were many preparations that one must think about to host a proper Galerian wedding—arrangments thankfully made without the bride to be, Hyacinthus Shrapnel’s, input.

He hadn’t had to go through the priests and clergy to secure an auspicious Temple for the ceremony. No, the prominence of his bridegroom was a weight hefty enough that it was preemptively arranged to be lofted to the most grandiose of heights: The Sanctuarie D’Orage¹, in its main, intimate nef². He hadn’t had to gather or oversee the étoiles or poisson³ to rehearse, nor even send out the illustrious invitations to announce his union with the head of the chamber, and perhaps true lord over all Galarian society even above the reagent, The Keeper of Chateau Aux Aisles D’or. The only responsibility that Hyacinthus had, in fact, in the undertaking of this grand occasion, was the procurement of his wedding gown and making sure it was presentable to his personal liking. A truly arduous task, as red was never his favorite color. 

Thus, here he sat, on the precipice of his wedding march, staring down the gown he’d purchased on his elder sibling’s dime with the same glower of hate that a chained dog bore towards it’s master. He had been painstakingly pampered for this occasion: a long bath run, with milk, honey, and all the usual exfoliants; his long, luxurious black hair was steamed, straightened, freshly trimmed; his nails gilded with pure gold… the list goes on. And as a denizen of the chapel applied powder and lipstick to his handsome, dark, chiseled face—entrée was granted to one he wasn’t particularly looking forward to seeing. The one who was the mastermind behind this betrothal arrangement, and the one who’s money Hyacinthus had no qualms about spending like water: the eldest of the damned and wretched children of one long dead business vulture Clematis Gunn—Vermassen⁴ Tagetes Gunn de Beneaux.

Their own weaseled wedding to the fifth prince of Galeré had taken place only several years prior to this date, but the royal manner of their current state was definitely going to their overgrown head. Hyacinthus scowled when they pulled back the curtain to reveal themselves, even more, perhaps, when he noticed the two flutes of bubbling champagne ferried in their gloved hands. 

“Come now Cinthy, don’t look so delighted to see me.” 

Sarcasm dripped from their treacherous tongue, disguised by the visage of a sinister, mustache-laden smile. They strolled leisurely across the room, easily elbowing the church denizen out of their way without a single thought. The poor girl stumbled, but she said nothing; knowing to yield to her betters. Tagetes set the champagne down on the vanity before Hyacinthus. 

“Even after all the trouble I went to procure you some liquid courage.” 

“I should think it’s poisoned, knowing you.” Hyacinthus sneered, but Tagetes only chuckled, and caught their younger brother’s chin in their hand. 

“Careful little dog; do not fully sever the hand that feeds you with those golden teeth.” As if queued, Hyacinthus bared his teeth at Tagetes, the golden hue of his canines glinting in the dimmed light. “Were it not for my intervention you would be left to the streets. Some gratitude for my interference is in order, yes?”

Hyacinthus yanked his jaw away, glowering further still—yet wisely, perhaps, said nothing. Neither to thank them, nor deny the accusation; he instead let his gaze wander away to the gown awaiting his figure to wrap around. 

“This isn’t my style.” He said. Tagetes followed his eyes, laughing softly. 

“No, I suppose you’d prefer to wear a white ball gown enmeshed with gold. Shoulder pads too, of course? Not that you need any help accentuating your shoulders—they are quite broad enough as is.”

If Hyacinthus was one to do so, he’d have upturned his nose. But he simply said, “It’d look less tacky.” 

“I hardly think it looks tacky—it is tradition. Even I wore such a gown on my wedding day.” 

“The tackiness of your own gown was in mostly due to whom was wearing it.” 

Tagetes tutted darkly. They gestured back towards the champagne that they bought. “Drink some.” 

“I told you—“

“And if I drank some first?” Tagetes gingerly plucked one of the flutes of champagne from the vanity and drew some of it from its glass prison—only until it was nearly half. Then, they set it back down again.

“The other as well.” Hyacinthus remarked. Tagetes shook their head. “You truly think I want you dead, Cinthy? With all the effort I have furnished in you? Truly, if I wanted you dead—you would be.” Still, Tagetes obliged and gingerly lifted the second champagne glass to their lips. As they sipped at it, Hyacinthus murmured, “Such as father, I presume.” 

He received no answer for that; though he needn’t one. Anyone who looked closely enough at the dynamics of the Gunn family knew that Hersieur⁵ Clematis’s death was no accident. Who was responsible for it… anyone’s guess. But if Hyacinthus had to bet money—and he was not of a gambling sort—he would put money on Tagetes. 

The saccharine smile he received for his accusation was sinister enough as it were.

Once Tagetes had leveled the second glass to equal fullness of the first, they set it back on the vanity before Hyacinthus. 

“Tell me, dearest brother, does this glass of champagne appear to you as ‘half empty’ or ‘half full’?” 

Hyacinthus scoffed and stood abruptly from his chair, sweeping towards the gown that he ought to have donned by now. Seeing as it was their cue, an assortment of servants scurried to his aid; first affixing the tight, red bodice that pushed his pectoral muscles up as a proper bosom, tying its laces tightly so it would not come undone. Next came the garter and stockings, then the first layer of skirts—a sighing orange color akin to the sun at dawn, growing increasingly deeper in color with each layer until the heaviest and most saturated top layer was laid over the underskirts. A beautiful vermillion in color, adorned with delicate golden beads like stars dotted across the entire body of the skirt, tapering off into golden flames that licked the bottom hem, to mirror the sun’s rays. 

As one servant affixed the veil, Tagetes saw it fit to continue; “If I were in your shoes, the glass I have presented to you is best viewed half full.” 

“I know you well enough to smell your schemes, Tagetes. I have no interest in being grateful for being a pawn.” Hyacinthus rolled his eyes, stooping gracefully in a near curtsey so a shorter servant could fuss with the laying of his bangs. “The streets.” Tagetes rebuttled with a sing song voice. “I could’ve easily married you off to an old, decaying lord, with old, dying money. You would struggle to find a richer husband than The Keeper. Nor one so well connected.” Tagetes’s dark eyes were practically gleaming when they said, softly, sinisterly, “The Keeper is more than your botched birthright should even afford you.”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Hyacinthus snapped, but it was easy to see how the words gnawed at his skin. He shooed the servant attending him away roughly, casting them to the side like a wet rag. 

“Now, now.” Tagetes tutted. “Behave Cinthy. I can’t afford to have you mess this up.” 

“I should strangle you within an inch of your life.” Hyacinthus snarled. 

“But then you’d lose access to your pretty dowry. Think of the storeroom I’m sure your bridegroom has.” 

“Money is—”

“Worthless? Perhaps. But with your expensive tastes, I doubt you believe that.”

“You—” Hyacinthus was cut off by the loud chime of bells overhead; The Sanctuarie’s clock tower alerting all of those far and wide in La Castra that it was nearing the auspicious hour—the time of the wedding to be spoken of for years and years to come; another Union of The Keeper of Chateau aux Aisles D’or—head of The Chamber, who benevolently ruled all of Galeré, even above the reagent themself.

“It seems as though the curtain’s draw is upon us.” Tagetes astutely observed. When they turned their eyes back to Hyacinthus, the look within them made something with Hyacinthus wither. 

“I do mean it. Behave. At least until the curtain falls. Remember your glass.” 

As quickly as they’d come, they swept out of the room, leaving both flutes of champagne on the vanity, and with a final wave of adieu, they were gone. Perhaps out to the nef, or perhaps to mingle. 

Hopefully to hang themselves, Hyacinthus thought.

But there was no turning back now; within the hour he should become a wife—whether he wished it or not. He regarded the two champagne glasses before him. Then seeming to make a sudden decision, he grasped one in his hand and downed it, without much other preamble than that.

FOOTNOTES:

¹ = Sanctuaire D’Orage or Temple of the Storm is the largest temple in all of Galeré located in the center of religious leadership La Castra. It is a large, foreboding structure with a catacombs underneath and stretches high into the clouds as though it were trying to touch the sun. It features the largest statue of The Shepherd in the country.

² = nef — referring to the central most part of a church or temple; ie: a nave.

³ = the étoiles and the poisson are the bride and groom’s wedding precession. in a Galerian wedding, there is no such thing as a maid of honor or bridesmaids/male equivalent—the bride is to take the role of the Sunset and the groom the Ocean. in old Galarian folklore, the earth was made via the union of the Sunset and the Ocean, and so traditional wedding garb is reds for the bride and blues for the groom. the étoiles and the poisson represent the stars and fish present at this union, and in a wedding they dance before the bride and groom as they enter horizontally, then meet at the central altar. the bride is accompanied by The Moon who leads them to the altar, and the groom is accompanied by The Coral who leads them to the altar.

⁴ = a Galarian honorofic, referring explicitly to a married wife. Husbands and Wives are not gendered in Galere; for husbands simply are breadwinners and managers of the external household affairs and wives are the managers of finances and the internal household estate. Hyacinthus Shrapnel, once he is wed, will become a wife as well.

⁵ = a Galarian honorofic, referring explicitly to a married husband.

[thatskynews]

🚨 Known Issues Update 0.24.5 🚨

We are aware of the following issues:

🔹 The Shard events cannot be activated/completed when sitting at the meditation pad

🔹The horn instrument is missing from the Lookout Scout’s cosmetic tree

🔹Players may experience a crash if they try to use the Lookout Scout’s horn in Harmony Hall

🔹Using some prop spells can result in an incorrect prop being placed

🔹The Auspicious Visitor prompt may be present in Home

🔹Lighting and brightness seem dimmed

🔹Problems interacting with the Friendship Constellation

Thank you for your patience as we work to resolve these in a future update.

[lost-seal]

Introducing…

Sky Cotl + Rain World AU

Basically it’s “What if spirits were slugcats?”

And our first one is…

The Visitor

Name is based on one of their titles, Auspicious Visitor.

Lore: An Iterator from far away, none the wiser about what’s going on in the main campaign, is sending holiday cheer across the lands.

Gameplay: The bag you lug around has many goodies. Give one to a creature and they will be more friendly towards you while also raising your karma. Killing a creature lowers your karma because you’re here to spread joy, and killing does the opposite. But you get the average amount of pips.

Goal: Give a goodie to every species. Every different colored lizard count as a different species.

Notes:

The food doesn’t actually have names yet, those are the things it’s based off of

Completing the goal ends with a picture of the visitor and their friends celebrating with their iterator. The ascension route shows them giving a goodie to a void worm.

Has the mark. Don’t know if the other gratitude slugcats will

Basic stats

Didn’t add the antlers because I didn’t want the sprites to be too complicated

5 pips to hibernate, 3 pips can be stored for the next cycle

Starts at 3 Karma

[venus-haze]

Mr. February (Driller Killer x Reader)

Summary: You get an unexpected visitor while looking through the February issue of Playgirl, whose centerfold of the month is doing absolutely nothing for you. Lucky for you, he’s willing to give you the real thing. At least, you think it’s the real thing.

Note: This is a ridiculous, raunchy, and extremely self-indulgent fic that I wrote mostly in three hours so take that as you will. The reader is a cis woman but no other descriptors are used. This was so fun to write because the Driller Killer in SPM2 is nothing if not outrageous. Shorter than what I usually write, but there’s very little plot to this. Do not interact if you are under 18 or if you post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), hair pulling (m. receiving), finger sucking (m. receiving), light choking (m. receiving) brief daddy kink. Dubcon to be safe since through most of the fic it's intentionally unclear whether it’s a dream or not. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Mr. February was not doing it for you. Blond hair, muscular build, and a boy-next-door smile as he leaned against the door frame of an auspicious suburban house with nothing but a toolbelt on—no matter how many different ways you tried to imagine the scenario, you couldn’t get into it. When your good friend Brenda had a girls’ night at her place, you lamented your sexual woes over glasses of wine. To your comfort, the other women present also weren’t particularly impressed with Playgirl’s recent offerings.

A little after one in the morning, you called it a night, heading upstairs to the guest bedroom Brenda was letting you crash in. Your other friends lived close enough to walk home if they wanted to and decided to stick around longer. Carefully shutting the door behind you, you looked at the centerfold that the group of you had bemoaned. How could it be possible that a man could be simultaneously so hot and so sexless?

You hoped the half bottle of wine you’d consumed would help get your imagination going, not that you hadn’t gone that route before. Undressing down to your bra and panties, you laid down on the guest bed. You grabbed the magazine yet again, as if staring at the nearly nude handyman would somehow make you suddenly attracted to him. 

Huffing in frustration, you glared at the magazine by your side. Brenda had given you the advice to cancel your subscription and try to find something raunchier, more tailored to your tastes than the generic guys in the safest porno mag you could possibly buy. The more you stared at Mr. February, the more annoyed you felt, his perfect smile mocking you as you slid your hand between your legs, trying to find some way to picture the guy in a scenario that would actually get you off.

Minutes went by, and nothing. He was too clean, too sterile, too perfect. You couldn’t picture him being able to do anything besides a pleasureless and mechanic missionary position that plagued the pill-popping housewives of old. Jesus. You’d have better luck with a fully clothed missionary at your front door than the schmuck on the glossy pages of the magazine. 

You threw your arm over your eyes, thinking instead about how much you’d like to kick Mr. February in the toolbelt. Sleep caught up with you more quickly than you expected, because your frustrated, horny brain seemed to conjure up a man that was far more to your taste. Your limbs felt odd as you sat up from the bed upon hearing a low whistle come from his lips as he stood on the other side of the room.

“This all for me?” he asked.

Black haired and leather-clad with a smile that made you squeeze your thighs together, he stalked closer to you, his tongue darting out from between his sharp teeth. His wild eyes took you in with an intensity that was nothing short of famished. He wanted to eat you alive. Finally.

Leaning back in the bed on your elbows, you gave him a confident smile as you pushed out your chest, welcoming the attention. It was your dream, after all.

His hand ghosted your arm as he picked up the magazine at your side, looking it over for a moment. Shaking his head at the centerfold, he hit it with the back of his hand as if in solidarity with your disdain. This guy, am I right? He closed it, his attention on the cover.

“Playgirl,” he read aloud, before bringing his gaze to you, an amused grin spreading across his dangerous face. “Is that what you wanna do? Play, girl?”

Girl rolled off his upturned lips in coils that wrapped around your throat, rendering you incapable of answering. Girl was demeaning, mocking, as if you didn’t have a full time job that paid for your own apartment. Girl went straight to your pussy as you nodded in response to his question.

He licked his lips, tossing Mr. February aside as he caged you onto the bed with his body. You tilted your head up to kiss him, not bothering with any pretense of testing the waters. It was your dream, and he’d kiss you back how you wanted him to, pent up and passionate with the sweetest hint of desperation. Without hesitation, he parted his lips for you, allowing you to slip your tongue in his mouth, the warmth and taste almost making your head spin at how real he felt. 

Still supporting yourself on your elbows, you threw a leg over his hips, pressing his body closer against yours, only exacerbating the flush of heat that’d spread across your skin. His touch made you feel like you were burning, kissed by invisible flames that left you needy for more. 

Reluctantly, you pulled away, dazed and breathless, though his lips followed yours, starving for another taste of your strawberry glossed lips. His were soft, though yours wouldn’t stay that way for long as he nipped at your bottom lip with his teeth, clearly reveling in the whimpers you barely managed to let out. You were almost disappointed when he showed you mercy and gave you a gentle kiss before drawing back.

“Goddamn, you’re something else,” he murmured.

“What about you? Who are you?” you asked, searching his face for an answer. You must have known him from somewhere, unsure if your subconscious could conjure up someone like him on its own.

“I’m the man of your dreams, baby,” he crooned. “I got the tools to give you everything you need.”

He took your hand, placing it over his crotch, his hard cock straining against his tight leather pants. Your breath caught in your throat, he certainly wasn’t exaggerating. Squeezing his erection, a jolt of electricity rushed through you at his groan, deep and unapologetically loud as he jerked his hips against your hand.

“Not so fast, baby,” he said, his smile almost mischievous, like he was letting you in on a secret. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

He hissed through his teeth when you pulled your hand away from his pants, pride bubbling in you for eliciting such a reaction from him, and over his clothes no less. Still, he wanted to take the lead, and after so much frustration on your end trying to make Mr. February fulfill something other than a wonderbread fantasy, you were more than happy to lie back and let your dream lover do the work. He shed his jacket, kicking it to the edge of the bed.

Rough hands glided across your skin, a shiver racing down your spine until he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulled them down until he threw the garment on the other side of the room. He pushed your thighs apart, and you released a shaky breath in futile preparation for how his tongue would feel on your pussy.

He sure as hell didn’t beat around the proverbial bush, his tongue teasing your clit as he slid his index and middle fingers inside you, as if it’d at all be comparable to what you’d felt in his pants earlier. That wasn’t the point of it, though, not when he relentlessly lapped at your pussy, the sound of your own arousal on his tongue almost embarrassing you.

No one could hear it, not in a dream, so you indulged yourself, grabbing a handful of his greased hair and pulling him closer. He groaned against your sensitive cunt when you tugged on his hair, the sensation making your pussy clench.

“You like that?” you asked, your voice light as you tried not to moan out your question.

He lifted his head for a moment, a fucked out expression on his face as if you’d been giving him head and not the other way around. Your wetness glistened on his lips and chin, as he looked up at you. “Fuck yes, do it again.”

You tugged on his hair again, your fingernails scraping his scalp. He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Damn, he looked almost…pretty.

His voice was close to a growl when he praised, “Just like that, baby.”

His face disappeared between your legs again, and you choked out a gasp as he licked up your juices before bringing his attention back to your clit with a desperate pull at his disheveled locks. He held your legs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as if to steady himself as he brought you closer to orgasm.

You could’ve sworn you heard a loud bang followed by muffled screaming. It almost sounded too real to be a dream, and for the first time since this mystery man arrived in your bed, the twist in your gut wasn’t from pleasure.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice soft as it trailed off into a moan.

“Nothin’ but a good time, baby,” he answered slyly. “You just focus on me.”

With a curl of his fingers inside your wet pussy, you couldn’t do anything but whimper in response, pulling at his hair again. You struggled to keep your eyes open, and with no protest from him, allowed them to shut as pleasure crept up on you. 

Your hips bucked as he flicked his tongue on your sensitive clit, and with that you were gone. Your moan sounded almost pained to your own ears, but you’d never felt an orgasm so intense before, one that made your toes curl and your pussy ache as it clenched around his fingers. 

When you were finally able to open your eyes again, he was still eating you out, as if to see whether or not he could make you cum again on his tongue. You whimpered, sensitive and breathless as he didn’t let up. 

His name. Fuck, you didn’t even know his name, and your brain was too fuzzy to come up with anything besides an almost pathetic sounding, “Daddy.”

“Say it again, baby,” he groaned.

“Fuck daddy, more,” you pleaded.

Gripping the sheets for some kind of leverage, you came, harder this time as you let out a moan that seemed to echo throughout the room. In the back of your mind, you were wondering if you were moaning so loudly in real life. Would they wake you up? Would they even mention it?

Licking up your pussy again for good measure, he lifted his head, looking to you for your direction. Weakly, you shook your head. He smirked a bit, crawling back up to you and pressing his fingers that had been inside you against your lips which you mindlessly opened your mouth and began sucking.

His eyes were wild again as you sucked your cum from his fingers, dragging your tongue along each one as you looked at him through hooded eyelids. He pushed his fingers further back in your mouth, his knuckles brushing against your lips. 

“You think you can take more, girl?” 

Your whine was muffled from his fingers in your mouth.

“Don’t tell me I wore you out already,” he teased.

Slowly, he pulled his fingers from your mouth before sticking them in his own, to your shock. It didn’t last long, though, because his lips were soon on yours again. You kissed him more passively this time, considering why you felt so exhausted, as if it were real. In a dream, you’d be able to last longer despite your pent up frustration thanks to Mr. fucking February, couldn’t you?

You felt too good to question it, and brought your hand to the side of his neck, caressing the skin with your fingertips before moving them ever so slightly to squeeze gently. He moaned into your mouth, and you smiled a bit, squeezing again. Placing his hand over yours, he guided you to put more pressure, and with the way his hips jerked when you did so, you were sure he was going to cum in his tight leather pants. It was a wonder he could even move in them, even if he were just a figment of your horny subconscious.

“Aren’t you hot with all of that on?” you asked as you moved your head back slightly, noticing the sheen of sweat on your own bare skin.

He grinned. “I’m hot with it off too.”

You laughed, until you heard the screaming again, but didn’t pay it any mind. Weird things happened in dreams all the time, and you wanted this one to last as long as it could. If not, you hoped you dreamed about him again, that it wouldn’t be something you’d have a fleeting memory of when you woke up, only to forget it the moment you got out of bed.

Unfortunately, he had other plans, as it seemed like you blinked and he was standing next to the bed, fully dressed again, his hair looking like you’d never even touched it. Licking your lips, you took in his appearance. The next time you dreamed about him, maybe you’d have him do something more interesting with the leather. He cracked a grin, as if he knew what you had been thinking.

He picked up the discarded magazine, looking at it once again in amusement before throwing it into the garbage pail by the nightstand. “You’re not gonna need that anymore. Not that Mr. February was doing you any good anyway.”

“Nope,” you agreed. “It’s all you.”

“That’s what I’m here for, baby.”

You tilted your head, unsure of what to expect next. If you were lucid dreaming, couldn’t you wake yourself up? Though, you weren’t sure exactly how to do that. The clock in the room read a normal time, you knew enough that in dreams they’d be distorted. Sighing, you supposed you’d just wake up on your own naturally.

Your dream man leaned down, regarding you with a tenderness that seemed odd on him. He caressed your cheek, the cool leather of his glove giving a slight reprieve to your warm skin.

“See you tomorrow night, sweetness,” he said, giving you one last kiss before you blacked out.

You woke up, a cloud of grogginess still in your mind, a whisper of soreness in your limbs. You looked down at the wet spot on your sheets, brushing it with your fingertips and bringing them close to your nose. It smelled of you and something vaguely familiar, though as much as you wracked your brain, you couldn’t identify it. What a weird dream. At least, you thought so, until you noticed your panties on the floor, right where he’d thrown them.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi ! I really really love the way you write, especially dark scenes.

Do you think you can write something about a very matrixed by the Clave Alec sent on a hunt to kill the High Warlock of Brooklyn but falling in love instead ? 💕

hahahahahaha oh gosh let me tell you how excited i am about this prompt because i have a backburner thought about this and hahaha yeah i jumped on this prompt like Nightshade on a moth. thank you and i hope you enjoy

lumine

-

Alec dresses with a solemnity that befits his mission, but not his rank.  He is a warrior and a diplomat by trade, a leader forged of his own making, but a darkened blade by the Clave’s demand.  

There was no real choice —there has never been a choice— in whether or not he takes the missions given him.  

What the Clave asks of him, he gives and while he knows all the laws and loopholes of the Accords and can twist them as eloquently as a seelie could twist the truth.  

This had no loopholes.

It is a command from his leaders, and he will follow through. 

As he always does.

Whether he wants to or not. 

Because Alec is a weapon and weapons cannot argue with those who wield them. 

His target's address is not a physical thing, nor even actual knowledge, but the remains of a confiscated and fading tracking spell that Idris sent to him.  

Alec leaves the institute quietly and unquestioned —long before the nightly patrols have begun to put on their gear— sinking into the growing shadows that he has been born and pledged to hunt within.

The first whisper of wards from his target’s domain brush against him with an almost intelligent spark. Once again, he wonders just what his parents did for the deeds to restore their honor to require this. He wants to know so badly, how upholding the Lightwood name turned to his blade being soaked blood and his soul battered with deaths on orders he’s not allowed to question.

The entire building is warded so thoroughly that it feels almost alive. Alec shouldn’t be able to see the magic without his spiritum rune activated, but somehow, he can.  It’s beautiful and Alec feels the tiniest pang of regret before he pushes it aside and leaps up.  Somehow the magic doesn’t hinder him, even when it sparks against him, and it is the work of an infant nephilim to make it to the top.

Alec uses the roof to take a rare minute of rest.

He breathes in the cold night air as he checks the tracker.

And then he throws himself off the roof, rolling to soften the sound and settles into the shadow of the balcony he lands on, letting the darkness swallow him back up.

His quiver shimmers into existence against his back and Alec strings his bow as he centers himself. 

Alec learned archery to protect from afar, but he was also trained to kill.

There is no room for Alec Lightwood on this mission, for now, he is but an instrument of the Clave.

He is a weapon of his people and nothing less… but also nothing more.

—

Magnus lets his uninvited guest get as far as his roof before he begins to dress himself.  It’s an auspicious occasion after all, and he does pride himself on being a good host. 

His wards spark about him as his guest moves and Magnus has to admit that there is something truly unique about his unexpected visitor.  If not for the strength of Magnus’ wards, he might not have noticed them at all.

As it is, Magnus’ magic has found and clung to his intruder since they first touched Magnus’ wards. Magnus finishes buttoning his cuffs and straightens his vest, and he waits. 

He finds that he’s almost charmed by the interruption.  

It’s been at least six months — or possibly six years — since the last blatant assassination attempt and this one is already much more promising.  The fact that he can literally feel and taste nephilim blood ensures it. 

It’s been a long time since the Clave was willing to risk another attempt on him.

He tilts his glass to the ceiling, admiring the blood red hue of it and turns with a smirk on his face, ready to greet his would-be-assassin.

His drink falls as his grip loosens in shock. Glass shatters and liquor and crystal shards cover his shoes as his mouth clenches in a snarl of surprise.  

The arrow that pierces his chest leaves no burning pain behind, just a tingling ache.  None of his once holy but now twice damned royal blood spills, the only evidence of the wound ever existing is a sizzling hole in his shirt.  

His shadowhunter assassin growls, a low rumble in his throat, but before he can notch another arrow, he’s pulled through the glass of the window he shatters and thrown into Magnus’ wall. 

Magic presses against him. 

Covering every inch of him as Magnus stalks forward.  He gives the tiniest twitch of his fingers and his magic, as if apologetic for its misstep, quickly deposits the arrow into his hand.  

He rolls it between his fingers, studying it.  

Not even during the uprising had a nephilim blade ever truly pierced his skin.  He wonders what reward he should give the wielder for this particular wound. 

What punishment would be most fitting?

His wards, which have been gently chiming since the beginning, ring with a final, ominous toll as Magnus presses glowing, blue fingers to the intruder's chin and lifts up.

Oh.

Well now. This changes everything.

— 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty thing,” Bane murmurs, his fingers a strong pressure on Alec’s jaw as he speaks.  

Even with the limited information on Bane that he has access to, there was nothing that could have prepared Alec for Bane’s response to the attempted assassination. 

Nor was he expecting Bane to be quite so... magical.

“No?” He asks, because of all the things in his life that he’s been called, pretty hasn’t been one of them. 

“You intrude on my domain, ruin one of my favorite outfits and now you lie to me? Truly appalling behavior from one of the Clave’s beloved.”  Bane tells him and his thumb presses higher on Alec’s face in what is probably meant to be a threat but feels much more like a caress.  

The words themselves make him roll his eyes and a scoff escapes him.  He’s not one of the Clave’s beloved and even if he was, his hidden but very real desires mean he never will be.  

Alec opens his mouth to object, to ask what is going on, anything to figure out exactly why Bane hasn’t already killed him, and Bane’s other hand comes up.  Two neatly painted fingers press to Alec’s lips and tap against them in warning.  His words are stifled — not by magic — but by the mere touch of Bane’s smooth calluses against his mouth.  It’s a mindless act, to lick his lips and they both stiffen when his tongue flicks against hot skin and magic.

Energy crackles around and over him and Alec bites into his bottom lip, surprised by how it doesn’t hurt — and by how good it feels.

When it’s done, Bane steps back.  He looks faintly surprised, but mostly pleased, and Alec wonders at just what he’s learned. 

What Alec did that’s betrayed him enough to put that look on his target’s face.

That much glee on Bane’s face can’t mean anything good for Alec, even if Bane looks gorgeous when he smiles.  As it is, he can barely resist the urge to lean forward and chase the fleeting warmth of Bane’s touch.  It is surprisingly soft, for an enemy.  In fact, it’s lot gentler than Alec’s experienced from most of the allies in his life.

“I think we can be a bit more civilized about all of this.” Bane offers and his fingers curl in a flourish and when Alec blinks his eyes open — startled to realize he’d closed them at all — it’s to see two new chairs in the room.  Bane sits in one with an odd smirk and points to the empty one. 

“To start with, what exactly have I done in the last two decades that warrants a kill order from the Clave?  It’s been at least a century since I last earned one of those pesky things.” 

Alec swallows, wrong footed by the question.  He’s never heard of anyone surviving a kill order by the Clave before, much less thriving and flaunting their existence after one was placed.  However, it makes sense, in a strange way, that of all the beings in the world Magnus Bane would be the one to accomplish it. 

He hesitates to move, but Bane’s magic doesn't give him a choice and a moment later he’s comfortably seated.  Well, as comfortably as one can be when magically bound to a leather chair.  

“The Clave—” he starts, because as with most things, this is the fault of the Clave. But he pauses, “the Accords—” because he’s hoping that will somehow be better and finally, he grits his teeth.  His eyes close and to his relief his hand is allowed to come up, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I don’t know why they want you dead. Probably because you’re a threat.”  Alec finally admits.  Perhaps it’s magic, or his situation, but the truth flows easily past his lips.

“The Clave doesn’t like threats.  It’s been years since the Uprising, and they still haven’t fully regained their strength.  New York is one of their strongest Institutes and yet it’s you who holds the power in our local region.”

Bane blinks at him, as if astounded and then laughter rings through the air.  

“A political threat.  They are doing this because of politics? And they sent you, sweet innocent cherub for the reaping. Darling, I’m not simply the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”  And here Bane rises back to his feet, “I’m a king.  In some ways, all the important ways even.  I’m your king.”

— 

Magnus stares at his would-be-murderer and magic coils around him, ready to strike and drag him so close that they can never be parted.  The magic of his soul dislikes his restraint and the dominion magic that lends itself to his service wants to claim and take now. 

All of Magnus’ magic demands that he takes what is rightly owed to him, to bind the counterpart of his soul to himself.

Magnus wants that as well but knows that he needs to err on the side of caution, as much as he doesn’t wish to. 

His own personal magic, however, has other ideas.  Which is clear from the protective blue sparks still coming off of his soulmate’s skin, the hole in Magnus’ shirt and the phantom ache of a wound that doesn’t truly exist. 

Magnus never expected to meet his soulmate like this — never expected them to truly exist.  But his lips curl into a smirk as his magic dances along his boy’s body and he remembers the elegant stance and fearless way he’d tried to kill him.

It’s delightful and new and Magnus knows that when he’s done with this, his shadowhunter will be not a sword at his throat but one at his side. 

The Clave has done what Magnus’s own father hasn’t been able to accomplish for centuries, given him his soulmate.

It’s only fair that Magnus pays them back, tenfold for the gift given.

[boyslit]

not sure if i shared this bit but i keep writing Bluocha parts for the prohibition au that don't really have much to do with the main plot because they're my special little princesses and i have a huge section of my brain cordoned off for the bluocha brainrot lol

» in this au, 'Blade' is an English code name he uses for illicit activities and working with Wildfire, and Ren is his chosen name. He left his birth name (Yingxing) behind him when he fled home and left for America with Luocha 👍 Luocha has also technically abandoned his birth and family names, and Ren was the one who gave him the nickname "Luocha" to refer to the way he could twist himself into whatever he needed to be to convince, cajole or threaten their targets. From this he derived a pseudonym with which to do business in America as an apothecarist: Louis Chandler 🤭

anyway that's all fluff, here's the meat <3

-

Clearing Things Up (Luocha, Ren)

Ren sighed, letting go of some of the annoyance balled in his chest. "This was a waste of our time," he growled. He warmed his hands around his teacup, hoping the warmth would soothe some raw nerve of irritation.

Neither of them liked the self-styled but now deposed "Bourbon King" of Tennessee, but business was business and they had to get imports up to Penacony from somewhere. Bathtub hooch didn't bring in the big profits and distilleries with vaults of years-aged amber gold sitting useless on their shelves itched to sell.

"I'm sorry, my dear," Luocha said tiredly, sitting at their low table across from him. "I'd had no idea he'd be bringing anyone along, much less his… lovely, daughter." There were wrinkles of irritation in his own usually flawless countenance, and Ren noted with some relief that it wasn't just his own regular annoyance with visitors. The two visitors together had been a social nightmare.

They'd made it out alive without either tripping into a marriage arrangement or breaking their trade agreements, but it was a close thing. Luocha rubbed some tension out of his wrist absent-mindedly.

"I didn't come this far out from under my father's thumb just to cave to some drunken troll of a peddler," he murmured.

Ren choked on a gulp of tea, coughed, and began to laugh. Luocha smiled at him fondly. Ren held his gaze and then lowered his own, staring through the table. "There's only one person I'd consider marrying."

Luocha nodded, sobering. His long-ago betrothed, Dan Feng. They should, by now, have been married for some time, had Dan Feng not perished in battle before the wedding. The two living men both carried ghosts, and Luocha could hardly begrudge Ren a torch carried for someone who was no threat to him.

Ren reached across the table, taking Luocha's chilly hands in his own, rubbing some warmth into his palms gently. "What are you thinking of?" Ren murmured.

"I'm grateful to have met you… but if your Dan Feng had lived, I would never have gotten the chance. I suppose I feel guilty for thinking I prefer having met you."

Ren gave a little scoff under his breath. "Things can't be changed by wishing. If they could, I'd be a warlord's wife by now." He held Luocha's hands tighter, and looked at him pointedly. "I like things as they are now."

Luocha smiled again, but faintly. They'd had this conversation several times since Ren had told him of his past.

Ren peered at him carefully, then sighed. "You still don't understand. I wasn't speaking of Dan Feng. I want to marry you, you ridiculous man."

"Oh." Heat gathered in Luocha's cheeks, and his smile widened. "I'd…" He cleared his throat. "I'd like that very much."

"Good." Ren's smile was small, but there was a sparkle in his eye that belied some giddiness. "I will find an auspicious date to make the proposal properly, then."

"I look forward to it." Luocha couldn't pull the beaming grin from his face. Ren wasn't as far out of his reach as he'd feared, after all. Maybe he could have something he wanted, at long last.

[wanderingskychild]

🐉 Drum! Drum! Drum!🥁

[burningpapergiver]

In Orissa state, there was a king named Indradaman. He was exclusively devoted to God Shri Krishna Ji. One night Shri Krishna appeared in king’s dream and said that get a temple of mine built by name Jagannaath. Shri Krishna Ji also said that idol-worship is not to be done in this temple. Only a saint has to be left in it who should impart knowledge according to Holy Gita to the visitors. He also showed the place on the seashore where the temple had to be built. On waking up in the morning King Indradaman told his wife that last night I saw God Krishna Ji. He has instructed to build a temple. The queen said, “Why delay an auspicious task? The entire wealth has been given by him only. Why think in offering it to him?” The king got the temple built in that place which Shri Krishna Ji had shown on the seashore in the dream. After the temple was built, a cyclone arose and demolished the temple. Not even a trace was left that there was a temple here. Like this, the king got the temple built five times. On all five occasions, the sea demolished it.

.

.

[big-nerd-boi]

Kill the crown/ jttw headcanons!

Foreword: this takes place in my universe— Au— storyline whatever thing! Which is inspired by/ a sequel ( highly debatable lmao) to journey to the west! So enjoy with that!

( also I’m not finished with the books so some information maaaaybe wrong until I yknow- finish ALL FOUR VERY LONG BOOKS)

Demon run kingdoms are uncommon, but not unheard of. Most humans will casually just avoid those kingdoms even if it causes travel delays. The Kingdom of The Eastern Sun & The Crescent Moon Kingdom are the two most well known examples of an openly demonic kingdom and civilization.

The Kingdom of The Eastern Sun ( KES) is rather welcoming to human visitors, a few even being permanent residents under the Emperor’s watchful eye. Since humans are rare, they aren’t a primary food source in the kingdom compared to animals like pigs. ( it’s said that pork is surprisingly close to human, just sweeter!)

The sister kingdom, Crescent Moon Kingdom… is not so kind to human travelers.

All the spiritual primates are born from rocks. Of course the type of rock is variant from monkey to monkey, but they all go under the label of stone monkey.

Heng, the immortal baboon was “hatched” from a stone smoothed from centuries under a waterfall.

Min-Yáng, the celestial gibbon ( she prefers this to “long armed gibbon”) was hatched from limestone at the break of dawn, the auspicious light hitting her stone-egg just right after years of her stone sitting a top a hill in the middle of a field.

The six eared macaque, Luhan broke free from his mountain-rock egg during an eclipse, the sun blacked out from the sky and the world hushed. Climbing down the mountain was easy, so was finding shelter.

Luhan has narcissism.

Fun fact! Narcissism is caused by trauma!

Sun Wukong, the most infamous stone monkey of all: was born from the same rock that his home was made from, the same type that lush green forests fill, and fertile soil lays on: basalt. Filled with holes, but basalt.

Heng is the oldest stone monkey, and tries his best to act like he is very mature.

Luhan makes that very difficult.

Luhan is the youngest stone monkey.

Yue (Min-Yáng’s second eldest daughter) is a half demon. Along with all her siblings. This means that instead of having a diet like a monkey like the other primates— she and her siblings all have a demonic diet.

Yue has never eaten a human, instead eating pork or venison.

Luhan and Wukong are the only two spiritual primates who have eaten human.

Heng cannot eat meat, his stomach only able to handle vegetarian foods. ( Geladas are strictly vegetarian monkeys).

During his time in the furnace and mountain, Wukong was “purified” from eating human— allowing him to preform magic that he couldn’t otherwise do.

Luhan was purified from eating humans and cannibalism after he was brought back from the dead.

Tripitaka for my own sake is named Tang Sanzang.

He is 18 when he starts the ✨journey to the west✨

He is 32 when the journey ends.

He is a very stressed man.

HE MEETS AND HAS TO DEAL WITH WUKONG AT 18!

Wukong told him about the three ( now two) other primates and he fainted.

The idea of more monkeys like Wukong was just too much for him, especially after just dealing with Luhan beating and robbing him.

Luhan adores theater in any form. He loves preforming, telling stories and the attention of an adoring crowd. Whether villain or hero, even the love interest- he could play any role and enjoy it; drawing the crowd in.

Guanyin is a surprisingly good mentor despite technically kidnapping Red-son and that bear demon allllll the way back. / lh

Guanyin is above gender concepts, especially when she can change into literally any form: man, woman, child, probably animal. Whatever form helps a person learn the dharma, the bodhisattva will take that form.

Heng loves insects, especially beetles. He’s the kind of baboon who will pick up a random bug and show it off to his family and tell them fun facts about said bug.

Li —Yue’s youngest brother— finds this cool as heck. Like all four year olds.

Yue prefers learning about plants.

Bojing, the emperor of the Kingdom of The Eastern Sun, hates bugs. He’d much rather his brother in law keep those nasty creatures out of his palace walls.

Min-Yáng deals with spiders if they somehow make it into their room.

Red son is actually surprisingly calm, enjoying his time with Guanyin as his teacher. He even keeps his bracelets on, as a reminder of where he had started.

He still visits his parents when he can, mostly his mother.

If a Buddha is killed, they have the choice to go to nirvana or reincarnate. At the expense of having to reach enlightenment again… which can take lifetimes.

And let’s end it on that note!

A very non-ominous note, of course. I’ll be sure to drop more proper lore soon!

[theseusernamesarehard]

Stuck on the puzzle: Chapter two

previous | next | masterlist

pairing: Luke Castellan x Olivia Messer (daughter of Apollo oc)

word count: 2,9k

summary: Two best friends are starting an auspicious summer. Set the summer before part one (almost a year earlier).

The clock was ticking slow. So. Fucking. Slow. Luke felt like someone was slowing it down or purpose. And who knows, maybe someone was. Some god he had pissed off without knowing. But he didn't ponder too much. Only five minutes and he'd be free. His thoughts were already moving forward towards the idea of summer. Summer campers were arriving at different times, but most of them would be there today already. He could do more exiting sword fighting lessons, now that he once again had more participants and best of all, the Apollo cabin had a new camper who seemed very gifted at healing which meant Olivia would get some extra time off this summer.

They'd planned it all out. A morning swim at least once a week, some time to lay on the pier and sunbathe and most importantly, they would absolutely wreck anyone and everyone at capture the flag.

The bell rang and he gathered his stuff, ready to walk out, when Sheila Widows fell into step with him.

"Excited for summer?" she asked.

"Like you wouldn't believe", he sighed.

"I don't get how you can be so happy when you don't get to see any of us", she pouted.

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder", he joked.

"What kind of a foster home doesn't let the kids leave or have friends over though?" she persisted.

The year round kids at Camp half-blood were distributed across different schools in New York to avoid the threat of too many demigods attracting monsters. It didn't always work, per the 'empusa at a pep rally' incident, but it was safe enough. The cover story they all used to explain why they lived together and weren't (usually) related was that they stayed at a foster home in upstate New York.

"The kids there are going through a lot especially the small ones. They can't really handle visitors. And I can leave-"

"You just don't want to", the pout was back.

"I just have a lot of responsibility there. The kids need me."

"It's cute how much you care about them."

"I'll see if I can come, but we might be a bit busy with-"

He was interrupted by someone jumping on his back. He didn't have to wrack his brain much to figure out who it was. The yelp of joy was enough of a hint.

"We're fucking FREE!" Olivia yelled.

Luke laughed and did a twirl, holding onto the arms she'd wrapped on his front. She let out a yelp and hopped down. He squeezed her into tight hug.

"Although my excitement is slightly dampened by the mountain of summer reading Ms. Hobbs gave us", she sighed.

"That was the dampened version?" Sheila meant it to come out teasing, but her tone was just slightly too serious.

"Which is probably for the best. Can't have you blowing the roof off this place", Luke laughed and let her go, leaving his arm to rest around Olivia's shoulders. "And lucky for you, Ms. Hobbs religiously recycles the readings. You can just copy off mine from last year."

"The day just keeps getting better", she beamed up at him.

"You'll owe me though."

"I most certainly won't. You're the one who owes me."

"You've got it all wrong. Remember when I-"

"Let's settle it later", Olivia cut him off with a quick glance to Sheila.

"Anyway, we should probably find Chris, right?"

"He's off with some friends, Argus is picking up some new kids for the summer first so he'll be another two hours. Which means-"

"Luke has time to hangout?" Sheila butted in. "Perfect."

Olivia and Luke looked at each other.

"Uh...yeah", Olivia said awkwardly.

"Were you going to suggest we go to that ice cream place?" Luke was still looking at Olivia.

"No, no! I mean...yes, but you can go with Sheila."

"Exactly, you two will see each other for the entire summer!" Sheila mused.

"You sure?" Luke asked Olivia once more, expression unreadable.

"I'm sure. Callie and Meredith were going to go to central park anyway. I'll get to join them now", Olivia subtly shook Luke's hand off her shoulder. "I'll see you here at five."

She walked off, hiding her face.

"Be safe", Luke yelled after her.

"You too!"

He tried not to frown. It's not that he didn't like Sheila. She was nice, pretty and when he was with her he wasn't reminded of the responsibilities he had at camp or the dangers lurking behind every corner. Besides, Sheila was right, from here on out he could spend pretty much every day with Olivia if he wanted to. He decided he wouldn't try to figure out why Olivias smile didn't fully reach her eyes when they said goodbye and went on with Sheila.

Luke returned to the school where Olivia and Chris Rodriguez, who had arrived to camp two months ago were waiting for Argus. Luke wanted let out a sigh of relief when Olivia said she was dead tired and leaned on his shoulder to nap for the ride back to camp.

At camp they were almost immediately separated. As counselors, their first job was to help the summer campers unpack in their cabins and after that they were almost immediately rushed to a counselors meeting about the summer itinerary. Once that was settled, it was already time for dinner, which also required them to do some policing around since the amount of kids had almost doubled from the day before. From there it was directly to the campfire where Olivia and Luke managed to sit together for an entirety of five minutes until they had to stop a marshmallow fight that was about to turn real between the Ares and Hephaestus cabins. That put a bit of a quick stop to the bonfire and after the debacle that was trying to get the youngest kids to brush their teeth properly (a task that mainly Olivia took seriously) it was finally time for a bedtime story and lights out.

Which meant that it was time for the older campers to go to their start of summer party. Olivia let her siblings go first, straining from the path to the lake to someone waiting for her on the front stairs of the Hermes cabin, holding two cans of red bull and a small bottle of vodka.

"That's so incredibly bad for your heart, Castellan", she sighed as she sat down.

"I don't think you get to chastise me when you drink them yourself, doc", he chuckled.

"Everyone has their vices."

"I'll cheers to that."

"I'll cheers to Mr. D for vodka red bulls."

They clinked their cans together, their own little pregame.

"I considered skipping out, you know", Olivia sighed. "My bed has never looked more appealing."

"You know I couldn't have let you do that. I would've dragged you out."

"And woken up half the camp in the progress, undoing everything we worked so hard for today."

"I don't know how we do this every year."

"And yet we do."

With their red bulls half drunk, they filled the rest of their cans with vodka.

"How was your date", Olivia asked after a few sips.

"Wasn't a date."

"What makes you think that?"

"I would've known if it was a date."

"It was so obviously a date."

"We're just friends, we've hung out before."

An eye roll.

"Never just the two of you, though."

"Still. It wasn't a date."

"Fine. I'll give you that, but that doesn't take away the fact that she definitely likes you."

"Maybe. But no use thinking about it now. I'll see her again in the fall."

"Will you two go on a date then?"

He shrugged.

"Like I said, no use thinking about it now."

"I suppose so."

"Got any predictions for tonight?"

This was Luke's favorite game. Olivia was gifted with the tiniest bit of prophecy, nothing that's ever going to change lives, as she put it, but sometimes she had vague inklings of things before they happened.

"Lots of strong emotions, although I feel like that describes every start of summer party ever. Reunions, anger and...love. That's what I'm getting, anyway."

"And you've never been wrong."

"I feel like one of those women's magazine that has the daily horoscope predictions in it. Anything can come true if it's vague enough and you have some speck of imagination."

"Or you're always right about everything."

"Are you getting absolutely wasted on one shot of vodka or are you having a stroke?"

Luke grabbed her shoulder and pulled her into him dramatically.

"Revel in it now, 'cause I'll never repeat it but you, Olivia Messer, are a genius and I'm proud to call you my best friend", Luke declared.

She laughed into his neck.

"And I don't care who knows it!"

"Shh, you're going to wake up the cabin!" Olivia gasped from laughter. "And you're also such a lightweight."

"No I'm not!"

"You're drunk!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Better get to this party before you fucking black out", she teased.

Olivia made a motion to get up and stumbled a bit, swaying to the side when she stood up.

"Well it's nice to know I'm not the only one", Luke laughed.

"Yeah well...race you to the party!"

They stumbled through the woods, hand in hand, for safety reasons obviously, although they were supposed to be racing each other. A lot of the older campers were gathered around a tiny, makeshift fire drinking cheap beers smuggled in by the Hermes cabin.

"Oh great, the narcs have arrived", a fairly new Ares kid, part of the crowd starting the marshmallow fight, groaned.

"Not right now, dude", Luke grinned. "You kids are going to have to sort out your own issues."

"And no one's allowed to get hurt", Olivia declared, taking another sip "Or better yet, get hurt all you want, see if I care, 'cause I'm not on duty tonight!"

"Wow, is that caffeine? After 4pm?" Travis Stoll, one of Lukes brothers, gasped.

"Mom and dad are going fucking crazy tonight", Connor Still, Travis' identical looking not identical brother, continued.

"Damn right, so crazy, I won't even correct you on the fact that I told you to stop that mom and dad shit", Olivia said.

"With a threat of immense violence, if I recall correctly", Luke said and ruffled the boys' hair as they walked past them.

Luke and Olivia went to sit on little logs by the fire with some friends. Chris was there, he smiled when he saw them. Next to him was Meg, a new camper who'd arrived with Violet, a daughter of Aphrodite just that day. Poor girl still looked a little confused by everything, but she was nursing a cup of something that looked like it might make the whole thing more digestible.

"How you holding up? Meg, right?" Luke asked.

You can take the man from the cabin, but you can't take the cabin from the man.

"You know, everything is absolutely insane."

"It doesn't get any less crazy, you just have to get crazy with it", Olivia said. "You'll fit in just fine."

"We should do an ice breaker!" Violet gasped.

"Truth or dare! Truth or dare!" the Stolls started chanting.

Which is why, after a few rounds of people making out or admitting when they'd last peed their pants, Luke and Olivia were now standing on the pier, debating whether or not they should keep their clothes on.

Technically it was only Olivia who had been assigned this certain task, but Luke said someone has to stop her from drowning, with all the vodka she'd drunk (he'd had more).

"I think we go full skinny dip", Luke said.

"Of course you do. You'll be fine with any excuse to take your shirt off."

"I'd think that as a doctor-"

"I'm not a doctor."

"-you should know that walking around in wet clothes is extremely dangerous and could cause you to catch a cold."

"Underwear."

"Excuse you?"

"We'll strip down to our underwear and jump."

"Alright professor boring", Luke sighed.

"I'm just saying that us jumping in the lake buttnaked and drunk off our minds right at the beginning of summer will take away any respect or credibility we might have for counselor meetings. Or capture the flag."

"Our credibility is reliant on the fact that we kick ass at everything we do. And people finding out we also kick ass at being naked-"

She sighed, he was so drunk.

"-will not take that away."

"Underwear."

"Still requires you to take some clothes off, you know."

"I'm aware."

"That rhymed. Aware, underwear. Should you be getting to it?"

"I'm getting to it right now."

And with that, she pulled her camp shirt off, shorts soon going down with it.

"Your turn."

Luke chuckled and discarded his garments as well. Although the two had been friends, best of friends for a few years now, they'd been clothed throughout it, despite what Travis and Connor liked to suggest. They both tried not to stare, but with a bottle of vodka in their systems, it wasn't entirely successful. Eventually it took someone, probably the Ares kid, yelling 'Are you going jump or start banging?' for them to plunge in the cold-ish water of the lake.

Their swim ended quickly though, when a nymph started raging at them for 'disturbing her sleep with flying cans and having the gall to swim in her afterwards'. Luke apologized profusely, while Olivia had a different agenda.

"Who's throwing cans?"

The nymph shrugged, said it didn't matter to her, it was one of them. Olivia stumbled out of the water, five feet six inches of pure annoyance, while Luke carefully got out after her.

"Who's. Throwing. Cans?"

Nobody answered for a second.

"It's not that big of a deal", the Ares kid said.

He hadn't spent much time in the Hermes cabin before getting claimed, so she didn't recognize him. Luke clearly did, though.

"Bryce, there's no need in throwing the cans in the water, we'll take care of it", Luke sighed.

"Man, you really have everything figured out", Bruce rolled his eyes.

"You know, Bryce, you really haven't been here long enough to catch a fucking attitude", Olivia said, voice low and dangerous.

"You're cute doc, but you could really relax. Maybe with me, by the stables in a few minutes."

He had no shame in the way he checked her out, eyes stopping at the scar on her waist before coming back up. Luke wanted to punch him, but he didn't.

Olivia beat him to it.

The last thing you want to do is get in a fight with a healer. Because they know which part of your jaw to aim for.

Not that it was much of a fight. All that ego and yet Bryce didn't take an effort to get up. Just complained that she'd broken his jaw. Another problem with pissing off a healer; they're the one that's supposed to heal you. She grabbed his chin (right in the spot she'd punched it), told him it was fine and he should just sleep it off, quit being a baby and start caring about the fucking environment.

"You don't want to make an enemy of me", he tried, but was losing most of his valor.

"I don't think that's going to be a problem. I could argue that I'm going to be a much worse enemy than you'll ever be. So I suggest we sober up, sleep this off and act like it never happened. How's that sound?"

She didn't wait for an answer, just got up and went to get her clothes. Luke followed her grinning, Luke always, kicking sand in Bryces way while he went 'by accident'.

They got dressed and without really saying it, agreed that it was the end of the party for them. Usually when someone gets punched at a party, the puncher or the punchee has to go. In this case Olivia decided it would be the puncher. Mostly because she was dead tired. They walked in silence for a while, but when Luke hugged her goodbye in front of the Hermes cabin, Olivia didn't want to go.

"Luke", she said into his neck.

"Liv", was his response.

"I haven't been sleeping."

"Nightmares?"

"Nightmares."

"About what?"

"Nothing, really. Or nothing visual. Just feelings; sadness, danger, loss. I don't know what it means. Or if it's even prophetic. I think that's what makes it worse."

"I have nightmares too. But more of the same-old. Monsters, ancient creatures crawling out of Tartarus and me dying over and over again."

She didn't know if it was the vodka, sleep-deprivation or coldness that was now seeping into her bones, but she couldn't help asking.

"Can I sleep with you?"

She felt him tense a little around her. It wasn't as if they hadn't fallen asleep together before. They usually went by the pier when they couldn't sleep and had woken up there more times than they could count. But they'd never spent the night in each other's cabins. Or arms for that matter.

"It's just that I always feel better with you there and I don't know maybe it's stupid, but I feel like the nightmares would stop. Maybe. It sounds dumb when I say it."

"No, I-I think it's a good idea too. Anything to get a good night's sleep would be nice", Luke agreed then.

They let go of each other and Luke led Olivia to his cabin where she borrowed a shirt and shorts. They did their best to be quiet and hopefully no one woke up when they crammed themselves into Luke's bed. Luke's twin bed. Which of course meant that there was no space unless they cuddled, which was a little awkward at first, but eventually they relaxed and it felt like it was were they were meant to be. Facing each other with their arms wrapped around and legs tangling together felt like peace.

Luke could tell Olivia had fallen asleep quickly from the way her breaths slowed down on his neck, but he took awhile. He wanted to will her nightmares away, make sure that nothing ever bothered her and he was so concerned with that that he fell asleep not even thinking about the next day. When he'd have to explain to his friends and the younger campers why he woke up with the Apollo counselors hair in his mouth. And why she was lying on top of him in the first place.

But that concern was for tomorrow because now he was only hoping that she could find peace in her sleep. And secretly wishing that it was because he brought it to her like she did to him.

[southeastasianists]

The Peranakans, also known as the Baba-Nyonya in the Malay Peninsula, are descendants of the first-wave Southern Chinese settlers in Southeast Asia. Their culture, now endangered, is prevalent in the old streets of Malacca—the port city that once flourished from foreign trade.

Located on Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock, the Baba & Nyonya Heritage Museum is housed in a preserved two-story Peranakan mansion built in 1861 for the wealthy Chan family. Since its public opening in March 1985, it has been run by their descendants and showcases the lavish lifestyle of the Baba-Nyonya in their heyday.

Inside, the rooms are gorgeously furnished in the style of the late 19th century, highlighted throughout with gold leaf carvings of vines and auspicious birds. It adds to the place an almost palatial feel, along with the paper lanterns, porcelain dolls, and antique thingamabobs.

Tradition has it that the heart of a Peranakan house lies in its kitchen. The women of the Chan household spent much of their time here, sometimes catching up with the latest gossip in the local dialect called Baba Malay. Today, it is maintained in a state as it would have been back in the day, with blue-and-white ceramic dishes laid out on the long table in the adjoining western-style dining room.

The farthest the Chan family women could venture without the accompaniment of a man—within their own house, that is—was the so-called Dark Hall, adjacent to the grand reception hall. Diving the two halls is a wooden screen with slits, from which the women could take a peek at the visitors.

On the upper floor is the Wedding Room, where the patriarch of the Chan family and his wife once slept in. Wedding garments are displayed on mannequins and preserved in glass cases today. Other everyday objects and contemporaneous paper money are also on display, giving visitors a glimpse into Malacca’s past.

The heritage house-museum’s highlight is quite possibly its staircase, leading from the chim che (airwell) to the private residential section upstairs. The only one of its kind in the city, and perhaps even in all of Malaysia, the staircase boasts a beautifully gilt railing with reliefs depicting the weapons of the Eight Immortals of Daoist mythology.

But its real centerpiece is the lockable baby gate, a 19th-century recreation of a 9th-century Chinese invention. Not only does it prevent children from accidentally falling down the stairs, it could also shut out burglars as well as husbands who stayed out too late drinking and philandering.

[computer-knowledge27]

Navratri is a nine-night Hindu festival celebrating the goddess Durga It involves fasting, feasting. 🌟 Happy Navratri! 🌟

Navratri is a vibrant Hindu festival celebrated with great fervor and enthusiasm across India and by Hindus around the world. The word 'Navratri' literally translates to "nine nights" in Sanskrit, and the festival spans nine nights and ten days, dedicated to the worship of the Hindu goddess Durga and her various forms. Navratri typically falls in the Hindu lunar month of Ashvin , which usually corresponds to September or October in the Gregorian calendar.

Here are some key aspects and traditions associated with Navratri:

Worship of Goddess Durga: Navratri honors the divine feminine energy, particularly Goddess Durga, who symbolizes courage, power, and victory over evil. Each of the nine days is dedicated to one of her different forms, known as Navadurga. These forms include Shailaputri, Brahmacharini, Chandraghanta, Kushmanda, Skandamata, Katyayani, Kalaratri, Mahagauri, and Siddhidatri.

Fasting and Feasting: Fasting is a common practice during Navratri, where devotees abstain from consuming certain foods or have strict diets. Some may observe complete fasting, while others may abstain from specific food items like grains, onion, garlic, and non-vegetarian food. The fasts are believed to purify the body and mind and enhance spiritual practices. At the same time, special Navratri delicacies are prepared and shared among family and friends, including dishes like sabudana khichdi, kuttu ki puri, and singhare ka halwa, made with ingredients permissible during fasting.

Garba and Dandiya Raas: One of the highlights of Navratri celebrations is the vibrant and colorful Garba and Dandiya Raas dances. Garba involves circular formations where participants dance gracefully in traditional attire, often accompanied by devotional songs praising the goddess. Dandiya Raas, on the other hand, involves energetic and rhythmic dance performances with sticks (dandiyas) held in each hand, symbolizing the playful combat between Goddess Durga and the demon Mahishasura.

Golu or Bommai Kolu: In South India, particularly in Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, Navratri is celebrated through the tradition of Golu or Bommai Kolu. During this custom, dolls and figurines representing various deities and mythological characters are displayed on steps or shelves adorned with colorful decorations. Visitors are invited to homes to view the display, and it's considered auspicious to offer prayers and seek blessings during this time.

Vijayadashami: Navratri culminates on the tenth day with Vijayadashami or Dussehra, which marks the triumph of good over evil. This day is significant for various reasons, including the victory of Lord Rama over the demon king Ravana in the epic Ramayana. In many parts of India, effigies of Ravana, Megh nath, and Kum bhakarna are burnt to symbolize the victory of righteousness.