#marigold grey black

[tanydi]

[validark-flight-rising]

Anyone want him?

[astra-ravana]

Working With Lucifer

The Morning Star

Enn: "Renich Tasa Uberaca Biasa Icar Lucifer"

Rank: Dark Lord/High Prince

Colors: Red, blue, gold, black, grey

Herbs: Rose, lavender, yarrow, sulpher, cilantro, camphor, hyssop, garlic, patchouli, sandalwood, marigold, mint, lily, lotus, hyacinth, myyrh, frankincense, dragon's blood, cedar, storax, lemon, tobacco, rosemary

Crystals: Ruby, sapphire, emerald, tanzanite, black tourmaline, herkimer diamond, red/blue tiger's eye, obsidian, jet, clear quartz, rose quartz, lapis lazuli, citrine, peacock ore, jade, dumortierite, garnet

Element: Air/light

Planet: Venus/Uranus

Zodiac: Capricorn (Aquarius)

Metal: Gold, meteorite

Tarot: The Emporer, the Devil

Direction: East, South

Dates: December 23rd

Day: Monday

Animals: Goats, eagles, snakes, ravens/crows, dogs, cats, swans

Domains: Justice, equality, revolution, light and darkness, enlightenment, gnosis working, self-discovery, infernal workings, protection, primal emotion, healing from trauma and pain, shadow work, sexual energy, Qliphothic workings, draconic magick, stopping slander and ill intent, transformation/rebirth, empowerment, duality, outcasts, embracing one's authenticity, standing up for what you believe in

Offerings: Whiskey, wine, good chocolate, music, tea, keys and/or locks, flowers, dark feathers, art, poetry, shiney/pretty things, meat, blood, sexual energy, learning/knowledge, rebellion

Sigils:

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel does everything he can to make you feel better after a civilian casualty steals your ‘sunshine’. —a fic featuring reluctantly adoring miguel and his sad spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 4k

cw character death, violence, reactive depression

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Miguel," you say, your voice grained by the communicator in his ear, "this universe is almost the same as mine, right?" 

Miguel stares down at a Doc Ock variant you're staking out, lying in wait for the anomalistic antagonist to make his first move. He's trying desperately to maintain his focus but you have a nice voice, and you ask him with a confidence that betrays your total faith in him. You haven't considered that he might not know. 

Well, Miguel does know. He's not sure he should start this discussion and distract you, but he has trouble saying no to you in any capacity, so he does. 

"I don't know every difference, but yeah, they're the same. Same geography, world leaders, roughly the same fast food chains." He bites his lip. He's at work, more than work —you're attempting to save an entire dimension, here— and he shouldn't feed the conversation anymore. But he knows you'll be interested in this. "Donuts aren't a thing, here."

"What?" 

"They have donuts, but they aren't called donuts, and they're nowhere near as popular." 

"This is a very strange way to flirt," Lyla says, her flickering hazed by a golden aura as she changes rapidly between laying on her front, legs kicking, and her back, as though she's in a therapist's daybed. She floats across his vision lazily.

"That's because I'm not," Miguel says. 

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing. Talking to Lyla." 

"How come Lyla doesn't talk to me?" you ask sweetly.

Miguel can see you in the distance, your simple black suit like an ink splodge against the blue grey glass of the skyscraper you're standing on. Anchored with a web and your body tensed, you're perfectly parallel to the ground below, as though you're standing on the windows. 

"It's not that I don't want to," Lyla promises. "Miggy won't let me." 

"That is not true." 

Projections cover Miguel's vision, powered by his favourite lying intelligence. Movements are mapped in a bright marigold yellow, though the net turns red to signify potential danger, chance percentages bouncing up and down. Doc Ock raises an arm and it turns an eye-straining red. He sits down on a park bench and his body turns yellow again. It's a smart program, but it can't account for everything. 

"Something isn't right." 

You hum appreciatively. "It feels weird, how he's acting. Like he's two separate people." 

Doc Ock glitches hard, the air around him fractured by colours in varying depths, like a tangible, physical screen tone. They've been coming faster. He doesn't have much time before he begins to tear apart, and that tearing will prompt panic. Panic will prompt anger. 

"What should we do?" you ask. 

Miguel doesn't know. He regrets asking you to come with him, not that you aren't capable. When you first joined the Spider Society you'd hadn't been Spider-Girl in your own universe for very long, and you weren't particularly proactive. You were kind-hearted but lackadaisical, and after worming your way into his life, a flower budding between concrete slabs it shouldn't have the power to crack, (he seriously doesn't know how it happened, only that you'd been bringing him things, carefully wrapped foods and trinkets you'd made, your bad conversation, and suddenly you were worrying about him and doting on him in the strange way that you do, suddenly, he was doing the same), you decided you wanted to help. You've trained hard on Spider-led courses at the Society, improving your overall fitness, your stamina, your technique, to become the fighter you are now. You can hold your own well. 

Miguel knows what motivated you. You want to look after him. You'd all but admitted to it. And that's why Miguel wishes he asked someone else to come with him, because you'll put yourself in harm's way as he would for you, to protect. 

"Why did you want to know if this universe was the same?" he asks, the nano of his suit morphing over his hands, claws growing long and minaciously sharp.

"Oh! Because, I used to have these favourite cookies called Butter Leaves, but they stopped making them in my dimension 'cos of the Whey disease. Even when it was better, loads of companies couldn't come back…" 

You give him the entire history. He already knows it. He tries to listen to you with the attention you deserve anyway, only he's weighed the options, and taking down Doc Ock feels much more important than listening to your cravings. 

"They were really thin and they had this sweet coating brushed over the top. You'd like them, I think." Miguel drops the last hundred feet to the ground, ignoring the jarring heat in his ankles at such a landing without having rolled into it. "If they were a little softer and had some sugar they'd taste just like polvorones, Miguel."

"You could say that about lots of things," Miguel argues, tone measured as not to alert bystanders nearby of his presence. 

"This doesn't feel like a good idea," Lyla says. Standing now, alert. 

Miguel toggles the communicator so you can't hear him. 

He wonders if you'd even notice him speaking over the intensity of your excitement, "I know it's not professional but maybe we could go and look? After we beat the bad guy. They're more than worth it, I swear," you say hopefully. 

"It's fine," he says to Lyla, throwing out a hand, shins braced and ready to burst into a tackle. 

"It feels off, you both said it." 

"It always feels off. He's in the wrong dimension, his presence caused a shift. The wrongness is unavoidable, like the body–" 

"Rejecting an organ transplant," Lyla says. "I know. You say it constantly." 

"If you know, why are you asking?" he asks, deadpan. 

"Good to know your girlfriend can ask questions and I can't. You're a trailblazer for equality, O'Hara."

Not my girlfriend, he thinks, but he isn't sure how true that is. Miguel realigns his eyesight, the holographic netting that pinpoints anomalistic stress a menacing red where it maps Doc Ock's limbs. The colours are abrasive against the yellow-green leaves fluttering in the breeze to the grass below, trees like arms stretched toward one another standing behind the simple brown bench where Doc Ock murmurs drunken-sounding ravings. 

Miguel's fangs slice through gum and lock into place. He tries not to salivate. The paralysing agent produced gives him a numb tongue. 

Miguel attempts to work quickly. Approach the target. Lock the target in. Incapacitate. He rears back and takes a deep breath. 

"Wait! Behind! Behind you, Miguel, there's something behind you!" 

He twists backward without hesitation and swings his arm around a cold neck. He squeezes hard, hears a metallic crunch similar to a mortar and pestle, but the person in his chokehold isn't a person, it's a robot. 

"Octobots!" Lyla shouts. 

"HELPFUL!" Miguel shouts back, grunting as a robotic arm curves around his back, and then a second, a third. 

The hills of his muscles strain against white-lacquered steel, a sweat breaking at the back of his neck as he groans, desperate to stop the octobot from crushing his arms to a powder. He can practically hear the creaking of his humerus. 

Around him, civilians scatter, screaming for their lives as a small horde of octobots descends on the park. Doc Ock doesn't react to the chaos. He sits there muttering to himself as people run past him and his octobots play cat and mouse. Miguel finally snaps the arms off the robot holding him with a pissed grunt, punching the carcass of machinery away from him while you tuck and roll from a dive to the ground. In an impressive show of your improvement and coordination, you throw out a web as you roll and hit Doc Ock square in the face, a second binding his chest to the bench. You spring to your feet, shooting at bots one after another. You must take down six by the time he's gathered his bearings. 

"On your left," Lyla says. Miguel smashes a bot at the apex of its white body and she laughs. "Nice. Behind." 

Miguel falls into the fight as though it's a well-practised dance. With the stress maps locked on, quick-thinking, and Lyla's pointed direction, Miguel can decapitate or incapacitate each bot swiftly as long as they don't get a hold on him like the first one managed. 

You're like Lyla in that a good skirmish seems to set you off —you're giggling, cheering, enjoying yourself much more than you should be. "This is just like that video game," you say, leaping onto a moving octobot and shooting webbing at the joints, gumming them up until they can't move. "With the girl and her super powered puppy, you know that one?" 

"Of course I don't know that one." Miguel brings his claws down into the aluminium shell of an octobot as it swipes your legs from under you and tears it in two. It cracks like a halved apple, the gore of its inside sparking and smoking as it hits the ground in tandem with you. Your head whacks hard into the concrete pathing beneath. He doesn't have time to help you. 

The arm of a bot races forward like a stinger. This one must be the head of the hive, the Queen bee so to speak, far more complicated than the others in the plating of her ivory bodice and chain-mail like shielding on her arms.

Miguel swears under his breath and vaults at it. 

He pulls your droid feed up in his display, watches you writhe from one side and the other as your pained moans play in his ear. You clamber onto wobbly footing as Miguel descends, the screeching cry of metal while it's shorn apart beneath his hands not half as loud as your useless gasping —you're winded, likely concussed. 

"Civilian entering range," Lyla says. 

"What? Where?" 

Lyla has your drone's camera spin on the spot to show Miguel the civilian stupid enough to enter an active fight zone. They aren't stupid at all, it figures, but unaware. A man in activewear jogs the beaten path with headphones in, eyes to the ground. He stops for a moment to look at his sports watch, and like the octobot can tell, it shakes Miguel like a bothersome flea and surges for him. 

You're closest. 

"Y/N!" Miguel shouts, knowing it's too late before he so much as closes his mouth. You turn, your head braced in your hand, breathing hard with pain. Miguel would take it back if he could. 

You can't save the civilian, but you can watch him die. 

—

People look at him like he's a ghost, sometimes. Wide-eyed, horrified, they move aside in the halls. They treat him how he feels on his worst days, like someone who should've died a long time ago. Today, things are different. 

No less than three Peter Parker' have stopped to stare at him unabashedly. Nearly all make the same jokes, Late for a date?

He'd honestly prefer feeling like a ghost. He can't deal with their derision and he doesn't want to, ignoring their looks and their judgement as he treks to the elevator that's gonna drop him outside of the medbay. The only person he wouldn't mind poking fun at him is you. 

You aren't in the mood. 

Miguel doesn't acknowledge your prone form at first. He walks to your bedside table to deposit the bouquet he'd chosen, peonies for good health and strength, swapping old for new, changing the water in your small shared sink. He may orchestrate the Spider Society, but Miguel's special privileges can't reduce the extreme turnover rate of the medbay. You have curtains to partition the room for privacy, and you got the bed by the window, and that's as much as he could get you. You deserve better. 

Miguel opens the window to drown out the smell of antiseptic. He stands in front of it, his shadow stretching over your twisted hip. You're not sleeping, you're resting. Doctor's orders.

Miguel wishes you'd deign to rest in your own bed, or his, but you're a little too catatonic for a safe discharge either way. 

He sighs quietly. You likely hear it with your enhanced senses and still you remain an impassive lump under your blue hospital blanket. 

"Good morning," he says, instead of the thousand other things he wants to say, that he's too much of a coward to ask. "Let's get up." 

He doesn't give you any choice about it. Starting slow, Miguel rounds the bed to meet your eyes through your sluggish blinking. Perhaps you'd been more asleep than he thought. 

Gentle, Miguel peels down your blankets enough to push his hands under your armpits. He pulls you up into a sitting position, and it —it breaks his heart. He's a monolith, he's hurting, he has years and years of loss and grief behind him and it doesn't matter, it finds him again. His heart breaks at your limblessness and your willingness to be positioned like a paper doll. 

Miguel arranges the sad pillow behind you and puts the remote for the adjustable bed frame in your hand. The last time you'd been here in the medbay after a training exercise fractured your ulna, you'd spent pretty much the entire time messing around with your bed, even as they crafted your cast. It made for messy work. Miguel must've told you to quit it fifty times. 

Your fingers curl around the remote. 

Miguel perches on the mattress on one knee to fix the protective style your hair is in. Nothing serious, just smoothing the tiniest of stray hairs and making sure it's still comfortable. He strokes your temple absentmindedly, checking you over one feature at a time. Tired eyes, nose tip looking parched, your lips chapped. Frowning, he sits properly, and he pulls your big hospital bag from the bedside table, his hand falling to your wrist to say, Hey, I'm here, and I'm not going far.

He finds your smaller bag of toiletries and necessities and unzips it. He tries not to think about the last time he had to take care of someone like this as he cleans your face with a wet wipe, two fingers wrapped in the wipe and petting at your skin carefully. He notices the life returning to you inchingly, his touch a tether you're pulling on, so he prolongs his actions. He smooths moisturiser over your face extra slowly. If you asked why, he could say it's cold, but you don't ask.

Your face shiny in the sunshine filtering in through the wide windows, you almost look like yourself again. 

"Are you hungry?" 

You shake your head. An almost imperceptible gesture. 

"This is why you don't feel well," he says. "You're not eating enough." 

"That's not why," you say.

He aches to hear your voice. I know, he thinks, but doesn't say. 

"Eat something," he says. 

You shake your head again. He managed to bring you back and squash you back down in less than a minute. He really doesn't like himself, at that moment. Often, but especially now. He's failing you. He failed you with the octobots and he's failing you now. 

Miguel refuses to fail someone he cares about again. 

He takes the remote for your bed and lifts the top section so you can sit back comfortably. He shakes the blankets out over you, and he puts away your things. Hopeful, Miguel places new pyjamas and underwear with your shower caddy at the end of the bed and pulls a strict pose, hands crossed over his chest. 

"I need to go. Shower, eat breakfast when it comes. Please." 

You give him a look that might mean Yes but probably doesn't mean anything, laying down as much as the bed allows and turning your face from him toward the flowers. Miguel leaves, stopping a ways away to look back, and watches through the gap of your curtains as you reach out to touch the flowers he'd brought. Your pinky finger is less than an inch from the petals when your movement stutters, your hand falling back to your chest with a soft thud. You close your eyes. 

When Miguel returns, he's thankful to find you've done as he told you. Showered, changed, a discarded breakfast tray at your feet. You've attempted the oatmeal and left the toast to go cold, congealed butter white against golden yellow. 

Miguel swaps the tray for his bags. He's hoping you might be tempted to look while he's gone. He knows before you would've known the entire contents of the open bag by the time he'd left the room, but he returns having taken your tray to the rack and is sorely disappointed. 

That's fine, he decides. You don't have to look. He doesn't mind laying things out for you. 

First port of call: extra pillows. He pulls the plastic wrapped 'hotel pillows' up onto your sheet and tears the plastic. They pop out. He didn't think for pillow cases, so he slides them behind your hospital pillow and pushes you down by the shoulders, not cruel but not particularly gentle —you actually laugh at his handling. He bites back a smile. 

"What, you got me presents?" you ask as he dumps a blanket onto your lap. It's one of those soft, shiny fleece ones patterned with those characters you love so much, the girl and her super powered puppy. 

You rub your hands over it appreciatively and spread it out over your legs. "What's that mean?" he asks, pointing at the Chinese characters, '超級汪汪!'. 

"Chāojí wāngwāng!" you cheer, an impression missing the majority of your usual pep. "Super woof. It's his level five power up. He yaps and Joyce gets her HP back." 

Miguel pretends to know, like he'd forgotten, and you're reminding him. "Ah."

You're watching now, interested. He puts his back between you and the bag and you whine weakly, "Miguel." 

"What? You think these are for you?" 

"Please, I want to see." 

He gives in like a cheap tent, passing you a packet of pearly beads for your bracelet making, skeins of variegated thread that change colours, a packet of pencils with frogs on the lids, a plushie. You don't know how to react and Miguel doesn't know what to say. He honestly doesn't want to say anything, vulnerability stopped being his thing a while ago, but he clears his throat. "Do you know what I look like in the middle of Miniso? Picture it."

Miniso being a Chinese home goods store lined floor to ceiling with plushies.

You laugh weirdly. Miguel knows it's guilt holding you back. 

"One last thing." He sits down on the bed next to you, hands big enough to cover the box in its entirety. "You were wrong, by the way. Extremely wrong, these don't taste a thing like polvorones." 

He passes you the box. You take it into steady hands, smiling widely, your thumb brushing up against the black cursive font. A box of butter leaves from one of your sister dimensions.

"I don't know if they'll taste like they did. Are they the same ones?" 

You nod, loosing a breath between parted lips. "Same ones." 

"If you don't eat them all, I won't get them for you again." 

"That's so mean," you murmur. Miguel would apologise if he thought you meant it. 

"That's how it is. Eat your cookies. I'll come back later to make sure you actually ate dinner." 

He stands. You immediately grab him, cookies dropped in favour of braceleting his wrist in your warm fingers. 

You look up at him through your lashes, a frown dampening your pretty features. At least, in his eyes. 

"Please don't go," you say. Your eyebrows pinch together. It's even more heartbreaking than your catatonia, this pleading loneliness, like you think he won't stay. 

"You have to talk to me," Miguel says. He softens at your chastised wince, sitting back down again. "Did you want a hug?" he asks. 

It's an apology to offer it, though he should've asked you this morning, or yesterday, even the day before. You'd been inconsolable when it happened. Miguel's never seen you that way. Your sunshine shattered, your shoulders shaking under his hands as he led you away from the scene, he didn't hug you like he wanted to. It wouldn't have made a difference at the time. You couldn't speak. You could barely walk. 

Seeing something like that happen leaves a mark, even if you've seen it before. 

You sweep aside your gifts and twist your legs to climb onto your knees. Miguel hadn't realised how much you wanted to be close to him until you're bordering his lap, your arms sliding over his shoulders, your pyjamas soft and smelling of antiseptic under his nose. A switch flicks at your nearness. He pulls you into his lap and sandwiches you there, chest to chest, thankful for his stature because it means he can encapsulate you effortlessly. He can hide you from the world for a short while. 

You choke him half to death. 

"It's okay," he says, your back curved into the length of his forearm, leaning forward so you can take the weight off. "You're okay." 

"I don't– it's not me. I'm not worried about me." 

"It's over," he says. "What's done is done." Which isn't to say it isn't tragic, or that it didn't leave a permanent mark on the world. But you're punishing yourself for a crime you didn't commit.

"It's all my fault," you whisper, your cheek pressing to his shoulder, face hidden in the juncture of his neck.

He tilts his head toward you. "It's my fault. I jumped in. I wanted it to be quick."

"I let him…" 

"You had a grade ii concussion, you didn't let anyone do anything. I'm lucky you didn't pass out right there. I'm lucky you had the ability to defend yourself, because I left you defenceless." 

"No, you didn't, it–" You rub your cheek against his shoulder. "It happened really fast, you were making sure that bot didn't get me because I was stupid enough to leave myself open–" 

"Stop it."

It's harsh enough to stop you in your tracks. Miguel sighs hard, hair blowing away from his face. 

He lays down backward, skewiff on your bed, and pulls you with him in a secure but gentle hold. You make a quiet 'oof' as you go down. Apologetic yet again, Miguel rubs a line up and down your back, fingertips between your shoulders, palm flattening as he reaches the small of your back, your shirt inching up. He's sure you look foolish to anyone watching, but for once, he's past embarrassment. 

"I don't want to hear you blaming yourself. It's not your fault." 

You've twisted on your side on the mattress rather than crush his pelvis, though your chest remains pressed to his. You twist a strand of his dark hair around your finger. "Why did you bring me all this stuff?" you ask softly. 

"To make you feel better." 

"But why… do you… want that? Why does it matter that much, that you'd waste time going to get me things?" 

"Why do you think?" he asks. 

Your lips ghost the column of his throat. "Mm… 'cos you're nicer than you let on." 

"Wrong." 

You laugh again. He's more grateful than he'd ever say aloud. 

"Because you care about me too much." 

Too much is right. He feels like he's at the stern of the universe's most important ship. The universes, plural. That ship is heading square for an iceberg, for the precipice of a gargantuan whirlpool, and there's nothing Miguel can do but hand out buckets and veer sharply to the left, hoping it will be enough, knowing deep down that it won't be if something doesn't give soon. And he's lived a life, two lives, before he even met you. He's tired. He doesn't want to lose anyone else, and he hoped he could do that by never caring again. 

What a stupid hope. 

"I just want you to feel like yourself again," he admits. 

"I really wanted to save him." 

"You can't save everyone." 

He knows better than most. 

"I know," you say, no tears left to cry, voice impossibly small. 

Miguel wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for a long, long time. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading, I really really hope you enjoyed! please think about reblogging if you liked it, I appreciate it <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: bro, Idk how I start at point A and get to fucking outer space. Also happy bday to Steverino.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gardens of Astra Castle are unlike any you’ve seen before. Certainly, you’ve never been to a royal castle previously. Your father’s own hold is modest, still bearing the wooden foundation, whereas the rich lords have poured mortar and built in stone. 

So, it is a great honour to be among the noble women chosen to serve the queen. Most unexpected. As a daughter of a lower house, it is rather unusual, but it comes with the newly set writ tabled at the end of the uprising. That is how your father tells it anyhow. 

King Steven is as newly crowned as he is newlywed. After a lengthy revolt against the previous king, the land has settled, and upon his victory, the new ruler promises the expansion of prosperity to all. The very precedence of his war rested on the greed of the former court and its covetous lords. 

To those who took up his mantle, he has made good his word. To the commoners, he has sent bread and ale, livestock and alms; to the nobles, he has granted titles and lands. You were of the same doubt as your father, however, you expected to be forgotten in the disarray. 

Yet, you were not. You’re there with several other ladies. A set of blond twins borne of a duke and duchess, the sole heir of a widowed countess, and several earl’s daughters such as yourself. Unlike them, you do not wear satin or silk, not muslin either. You have only the dyed linen your mother attempted to enhance with some embroidery around the cuffs and collar. 

“Marcia and Marigold,” the twins introduce themselves as you cluster together in the gardens, grooms and servants bustling around carriages and chests. “Lady Calliope,” they call out the countess’ daughter, “we met prior, yes? Your mother is near Estrela.” 

“She is,” Calliope answers in her stern manner, herself seeming a widow in her black dress. The shimmery fabric makes up for its single tone. 

“Ameri, Dorida, and... Selene,” they point to the other girls, themselves clothed in scarlet, rose, and azure respectively. “We know the earls, your fathers. They gathered at our father’s hold for the battle near Caffre.” 

The twins take turns speak so that sometimes you cannot track whose lips are moving. It is even that they trade off in the middle of sentences. You find yourself almost as lost by their words as your new surroundings. 

“And you...” The twins turn their jade eyes upon you. It is there you have found the only difference in them; they have the same heights, the same hair, the same gowns even, but there is a sliver of grey through Marcia’s green iris. “We haven’t figured who you are.” 

“My father is an earl. In Woodsdam.” 

“Woodsdam,” they echo in unison and share a look. They are perplexed. 

“A minor house,” Calliope provides. “a farmer more than a noble, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“We have vast lands and we tend to them, yes,” you assure. You expect their condescension. Your father warned you for it but he bid that you keep your chin up. The king has given him a mission of his own and so you will represent the family for the time. “We keep our people well and we fed the king’s troops when they marched." 

“Mm, sounds very... common,” Marigold grins and her sister snorts into her hand. 

“We know many lords like us, yes. They work hard amidst their vassals. It keeps the lands strong so that we may better serve the crown,” you return evenly.  

Your mother helped you prepare. She coached you to keep your manners and your spine. The latter is much more difficult as you face these ladies and their bobbles with only a ribbon in your hair and a pair of patched gloves. 

“Woodsdam? I think I rode through it once on the way to my grandfather’s summer castle,” Ameri tuts, “it was little more than a swamp.” 

“It must’ve been the spring rains, perhaps, lady,” you offer. 

“Summer house,” she enunciates, “one travels there in the summer.” 

Your cheek twitches at her barbed retort. Very well. You are not used to their sharpness. Their chittering has thus far centered on gossip and the cost of their new caps. 

“A wonder the pauper’s daughter received an invite. Are you certain you can read, lady?” Dorida snipes and looks to the twins for approval. You notice how they all tend to do so. 

“It was sent to my father, Lord Eldon,” your voice quavers. You are not so strong as your mother bid you to be.  

They cackle at your meek response, “the precious maiden of Woodsdam.” 

You put your head down as the activity all around threatens to swallow you up. You wish the ground would rent and you would fall right through. All your excitement has dissipated to a sludge in your veins. You touch your cheek as you try not to show your embarrassment. 

“The Lord of Woodsdam,” a deep voice startles you as boots approach from behind, “is that what I heard?” 

You stiffen up as the ladies before you hush and blink, almost in tandem. They curtsey as their faces wash over in shock and you turn to face the newcomer. A man in a deep blue vest over black sleeves and grey breeches. He wears belt of gold and a circlet across his brow in a similar hue. It is that which betrays his statues. 

You lower your eyes and mimic the other women, mortified to be faced with new king so informally. You would not think him wandering out in the yard. Still, he has vowed to be unlike the former leige. That he would be of the people. 

“King Steven, your majesty,” the others titter in a messy chant and you murmur your own propriety as you back away. You find yourself still to the shoulder of the king as the other ladies give no room for you to join. 

The vision of him stains your mind. He is tall, with dark blond tresses that extend past his neck, and blue eyes which put his own attire to shame. He has a jaw which looks etched in stone and a bearing which matches his rank. He is tall and broad and a finely built knight. 

“It is an honour,” Marcia says most boldly. 

“You may rise,” he allows in a breezy timbre. “I did hear my wife would receive new ladies. Young ladies.” 

“Your majesty,” the murmur rolls across each lip. 

“It is much needed. We have so many established ladies at court and yet we need to think of the future. Of the next generation,” he declares as he emphasizes his words with his large hand. You watch his garnet ring to keep from so brazenly looking him in the face. 

“Certainly, your majesty,” Marcia and Marigold chime in unision. 

“And don’t worry for there are many young lords as well,” the king laughs galely at the quip which makes the ladies, yourself included, blush. “Ah, then, Woodsdam I believe we were speaking of...” 

You blink and glance at the other ladies. They are cowed, unsure if they were overheard in their derision. You hope as much as they that they were not. It is rather unflattering. 

“My father, Lord Eldon,” you explain, “your majesty.” 

“You? You are the young lady of Woodsdam I heard so much of.” 

“You did? Er, your majesty,” you curtsey apologetically; unnecessarily. 

“Certainly, I did. Your father was a great assistance in me holding counsel with the lower lords. He is very patient. “When not about his duty, he spoke of you oft. Though what matters are more important than family?” 

“Yes, your majesty,” you can’t help a smile, “my father is a very kind man.” 

“Kind and courageous. I’m certain you’ve inherited as much,” the king praises, “and these other ladies. The twins who belong to Mawsley, the Countess of Clovers daughter, and the three earls daughters from the White Plains.” 

The ladies each bow their heads as he proclaims them by their forebearers’ titles. You watch from aside, feeling even more out-of-place. The king recites them all proudly as he extends a finger for each. 

“Allow me myself to extend a welcome to Astra. When you are sorted, my wife shall receive you all and have you acquainted with the grounds. I hope you enjoy them, we’ve had the gardeners at work day and night,” he pronounces, “for now, I must be off, for a king has many obligations and not so much time.” 

He bows and turns on his heel, marching off with his shoulder straight and head high. He walks as a soldier does, not some lord. You’ve seen the difference before, more recently in the aftermath of battle. A soldier is more akin to a farmer, much as your father, whereas a Lord tends to keep his steps tight. 

“Wow, oh my,” Dorida fans herself, “he is rather handsome.” 

“Oh yes,” Marcia and Marigold say, the latter forging ahead, “we met him at our father’s castle. He is ever so charming.” 

“Hm, and the queen would love to hear it, I’m certain,” Calliope intones brusquely. 

“The queen is not here,” Ameri sneers, “so what does it matter? Besides, is it so wrong to state a truth?” 

“He is very elegant,” Selene agrees. 

“Much too kind, as well,” Marigold snips, “Woodsdam? He speaks as if it more than some paltry farmhouse.” 

“You’d never even heard of it,” Calliope remarks. 

“And how had you, hm? You seem the bookish type. Perhaps you should leave the maps to the men. What good will a river or road do for a widow’s welp?” 

“Needn’t be cruel,” Calliope rebuffs. 

“Pity if this is the lot they send,” Marcia shakes her head as the sisters share another cryptic look. 

You keep to yourself. That is all you can do. It is better to watch and learn than to leap and land wherever you might. Your mother always said so and she was your best teacher. 

“Right, there must be some maid who might show us to our rooms,” Marigold stands on her toes and waves at each passing servant. “I tire of the sunlight and boorish company.” 

👑

You have two trunks awaiting you in your chambers. Not as the other ladies who had at least a dozen each. Less humble than your lunger are the rooms themselves.

There is an antechamber hung with tapestries showing wildlife and flora, a table set for two and cushioned bench by the window. The bedroom is draped in similar hangings with a four-post bed and a grand hearth. A desk, another bench, a woven carpet, and fine accouterments on square tables. And a closet for the commode as well and a pot in the far corner of the bedchamber. 

If only your mother and father could see this. They would be just as amazed. You can’t help but admire all of it. To touch the curtains as you approach the window and stare off at the afternoon sky. The gardens are a medley of hues; petals and thorns; leaves and dirt. It’s all so wonderful, you can still hardly believe it. 

Seems those other ladies can’t either. You can’t help but think of their words anon. They said so outrightly what you doubted inwardly. You don’t belong here. It must be so clear to them. 

You lean on the ledge and peer down into the garden pathways. It is almost a labyrinth with how intricately they’ve laid out the hedges. You lower yourself down to your elbows and cross your arms as you sigh. 

Your eyes are drawn from the swaying roses to the dark speck that appears below. You squint at first. From the second floor, it is harder to discern. It is the glimmer of gold in his hair and the defined gait that gives away the king. For an instant, you believe you might be dreaming. 

He walks along one path and to the next. There is another with him. A man with darker hair and a stauncher figure. They speak and stop just as they enter a circled walkway centered by a large vase of flowers. The other man talks, though you can hear neither, and the king rubs his chin. 

You should turn away. They might think you an eavesdropper. Oh, too late! You don’t dare move as the king tilts his head. You wouldn’t want to pique his attention. You cannot tell if he has spotted you. Not until he raises a hand and waves. The other man stops and looks to follow the gesture. 

You stand up straight but before you can flee in horror, you recall yourself. It is improper to turn your back to the king. You lift your hand and return the wave. He dips his head and turns to clap his companion’s shoulder, pointing him onward. 

Oh, you hope he is not unhappy. If you pray, perhaps he will not have recognised you. You needn’t an enemy of the king as well. 

[taking-thyme]

🌅 Lucifer Deity Guide 🌅

Note: This is inspired by both my own experiences with Lucifer and the information I read on @scarletarosa's blog and her devotional guide to him. Please go read that one too!!

The divine rebel, Lucifer is the light of truth and divine wisdom; an ancient light which shines through the darkness, representing illumination. He is the driving force of innovation, liberation and transformation. According to Scarletarosa, who actively works with Lucifer and was told this by him, he was the first-born god of the Universe created by the supreme deity, the Source. He is so incredibly ancient and beautiful. Lilith was created to be his counterpart, the Queen of Heaven. However, Jehovah took the throne of heaven from Lucifer and cast him and his followers into hell. Most of them lost their connection to heaven and their energy became dark and intense. Jehovah claimed the throne of heaven and set himself up as the one true god, manipulating humans into betraying their original deities. Thus, Lucifer became the King of Hell and has been scorned by Christians for millenia. 

God of: Illumination, Light, Darkness, Change, Rebirth, Challenges, Innovation, Logic, Truth, Knowledge, Wisdom, Strategy, Persuasion, Revolution, Luxury, Pleasure, Freedom, The Arts and The Morning Star (“Morning Star” is another name for the planet Venus)

Symbols: Sigil of Lucifer, The Morning Star, Violins and Fiddles (instruments traditionally associated with him)

Plants and Trees: Rose, Belladonna, Mulberry, Patchouli, Myrrh, Min, Tobacco, Marigold, Lilies, Hyacinth, Sage

Crystals: Amethyst, Black Obsidian, Onyx, Garnet, Selenite, Rose Quartz

Animals: Black Animals in general, Dragons, Snakes, Owls, Eagles, Ravens, Crows, Rams, Foxes, Pigs,  Bats, Rats, Moths, Swans

Incense: Rose, Frankincense, Patchouli, Myrrh

Colors: Black, Red, Silver, Emerald Green, Gold

Tarot: The Devil

Planets: The Morning Star, Venus

Day: Monday and Friday

Consort: Lilith

Children: Naema, Aetherea and many others

How was he traditionally worshipped?

There is not much to say about how Lucifer was historically worshiped seeing as he wasn’t worshiped at all for a large chunk of human history. He seems to have been worked with in some capacity according to the Gesta Treverorum, written in 1231, which is where we first see the term Luciferian being used to refer to his worship. This was by a woman named Lucardis for a religious circle, who was said to lament to Lucifer in private and prayed to him. However, the term Luciferians was later applied to basically any groups Christians didn’t like and wanted to fight, as one might expect. However, the modern Luciferian movement also sheds light on how Lucifer is worshiped. For Luciferians, enlightenment is the ultimate goal. Their basic principles highlight truth, freedom of will and fulfilling one’s ultimate potential, and encourage the same in all of us. Traditional dogma is shunned because Luciferians believe that humans do not need deities or the threat of eternal punishment to know what is good and the right thing to do. All ideas are to be tested before being accepted, and even then one should remain critical because knowledge is fluid and ever-changing. Regardless of whether Luciferians view Lucifer as a deity or an archetype, he is a representation of ultimate illumination and exploration in the name of personal growth. 

Epithets

Phanes

The Morning Star

Light-bringer

The First-born

Prince of Darkness

Son of Morning

The Glory of Morning

Lord of the Lunar Sphere

The First Light

Offerings

Red Wine, Whiskey (especially Jack Daniels), Champagne, Pomegranate Juice, Black Tea (especially earl grey), Chocolate (especially dark chocolate), Cooked Goat Meat, Venison, Apples, Pomegranates, Honey, Good Quality Cigars, Tobacco, Daggers and Swords, Silver Rings, Emeralds and Emerald Jewelry, Goat Horns, Black Feathers, Seductive Colognes, Red Roses, Dead Roses, Crow Skulls, Bone Dice, Devotional Poetry and Artwork, Classical Music (especially violin)

Devotional Acts

Acts of self-improvement, spiritual awakening and evolution, knowledge-seeking and dedication to spirituality ; Shadow Work ; Working to overcome your ego to become wiser ; Defending those in need ; Working to better yourself without being too self critical ; Fighting against tyranny and bigotry whenever you encounter it

Altar Decorations

Black or Red Candles, Snake and Dragon Figurines, His sigil, Roses, Fancy Chess Boards and Playing Cards, Silver Jewlery and ornaments, Black feathers, Goat horns

Appearance

For me Lucifer usually appears as a tall light-skinned man with long fiery red hair (so red it looks like it’s been dyed), a sophisticated face with a killer jawline, passionate eyes and dressed in a fancy black suit. From all my experiences with him and what I’ve heard from other followers, it seems Lucifer and most demons dress in full suits and tuxedos. 

Personality

Lucifer is nothing if not charming. He’s a protector first and foremost - one that always works to help you better yourself, but a protector nonetheless. He feels like a protective older brother taking care of you while your parents are away. He is a very complex entity, deeply wise and eloquent. He is more serious than one might expect for a demon given their popular depictions in our culture as chaotic forces of evil, but Lucifer is full of courage and love. I often feel him with me even when I’m not doing things related to him. He is proud of his follower’s accomplishments and congratulates them on a job well done, though he also reminds them that the job is never truly over. Growth is constant. Lucifer is the epitome of growth, blunt and gentle at the same time, telling you what you need to do and giving you space to figure out how to do it. 

Lucifer values resilience, the pursuit of self-betterment, intellectualism, courage, open-mindedness and responsibility in individuals and wants to see his followers develop these qualities. He is constantly rooting for you to reach your full potential. He won’t hold your hand the entire way, but he will help you take steps in the right direction. Lucifer, like all deities, is different for everyone and will adjust his approach depending on your needs.

^ The Sigil of Lucifer

[saradika-graphics]

DIVIDERS MASTERLIST

AESTHETIC - FLORALS & HEARTS

— Bees/Honey/Flowers

— Bugs & Garden | part 2

— Cherry Blossom / Peach

— Cherries

— Cute Flowers

— Dark Romantic Florals | Maroon Recolor

— Daisies

— Fall Florals

— Lavender

— Lilies

— Marigolds

— Pastel Floral

— Pastel Green & Blue Florals / Navy Blue / Black

— Red Poppies

— Red Spider Lily

— Roses/Chains / Gothic Roses

— Sunflowers

— Tulips

— Wildflowers

— Wisteria

AESTHETIC - HEARTS

— Black Hearts

— Blue Gradient Hearts

— Hearts

— Heartbeat Dividers | part ii

— Green Hearts

— Lilac Hearts

— Pastel Blue Hearts

— Pink to Maroon

AESTHETIC - COLORS

— Black and Grey

— Black & Red Grunge

— Blue & Yellow Dividers

— Lavender/Sage/Brown

— Maroon & Purple

— Minimalist Neutrals | Minimalist Green

— Orange & Green Dividers

— Pale Pink Dividers

— Pink & Yellow

— Pink/White/Black

— Purple, Pink & Blue Dividers

— Razzmatazz (Orange/Blue Dividers)

— Red & Yellow Dividers

— Red/Blue/Purple Dividers

— Warm Grey Dividers

AESTHETIC - ANIMALS

— Birds

— Bunnies (Pastel)

— Butterfly (Yellow)

— Cats

— Dinosaurs

— Dog/Puppy

— Dragons | Part ii

— Farm

— Feathers

— Fish

— Jellyfish

— Peacocks

— Starfish

✨(Everything was made using Canva - so check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨

[stalkerofthegods]

Lord Hades deep dive

Herbs • cypress, mint, myrrh, patchouli, bay, pumpkin, yew, wormwood, cinnamon, lavender, willow, oak, marigold, dandelion, rose, lily, daisies, rowan, poppy, daffodils, calendulas, salt and spices, Cypress, white asphodel, mint, narcissus

Animals• Dogs (Cerberus, specifically), black lambs, serpents, screech owls, black sheep, black bulls, moths (reincarnation, cycle of life), 

Zodiac • Autumn (dry becoming cold) – Earth – Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn, Winter (cold becoming wet) – Water – Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces.

Colors • Black, grey, silver, gold

Crystal• hematite, onyx, obsidian, onyx, black tourmaline, jet

Symbols• precious jewels and money, drinking horn, Sceptre, Keys, Helm of darkness, night-time, autumn and winter, caves, mines, forests, crossroads, cemeteries, cornucopia, shovels (digging of graves, digging into dirt)

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• gold, silver, rubies, emeralds, anything metal and expensive due to his wealth and stone aspects. Any stones or metals. you can veil in muted colors in his honor.

Diety of• stones, metals, wealth, the underworld, 'winter; funeral rites.

Patron of• the underworld, stones, gems, crystals.

Offerings• honey, milk, shells or bones of animals, oolong and black tea, bread, and cake, apples, pomegranates, meat, especially lamb meat, he likes oils, like olive oil and such, a drinking horn, Black mirrors, Black cloth, dirt, dirt from commentaries, garlic, baked goods, sharp cheeses, money, family heirlooms, pomegranate mead/rum, black coffee, Statues or art of Cerberus, small fossils, art is drawn or for him, Shredded snakeskin, owl/vulture feathers., sheded dog fur (good origin hair, no stealing/shaving ur dog simply to give it to him), scales (balance scales), cornucopia, coins, 

Devotional•  saving money, spending responsibly, donating to charities for the dead, cleaning graveyards and gravestones (properly, respectfully, with permission for both the dead and the owners of the property), Offerings to the dead, as well as money to the spirits of the dead to let them pass on, collecting expensive jewels and crystals/stones, making an altar to tend dead spirits, Studying other cultures’ burial methods and cemetery rites, do a job for cementary, do mortuary or funeral services as a job (for the summer, or for how long u want in his honor), treat spirits kindly and help them move on, do ancestral worship, worship your land spirits in his honor, growing deathly plants (safely), writing poetry/stories for him, donate to those who can't afford a funeral, help with funerals, donate to suicide prevention organizations (that are trustworthy), donate to dog shelters, walk dogs in his honor, work at a dog shelter or babysitting dogs in his honor, visit caves that let you mine for stones/gems, make a playlist for him and hum/sing it in his honor, start a coin collection, 

Ephithets•  ‘Renowned’, ‘Good Counsellor’, ‘the Beautiful‐haired One’, ‘Of Good Repute’, ‘Leader of the People’, ‘Lord over All’, ‘Receiver of Many’, ‘Host to Many’ and Pluton (‘Wealth’). 

Equivalents (alike but not the same)• Pluto, Dis Pater, Orcus

They are reaching out• seeing dead animals or funeral symbols, seeing his symbols everywhere, smelling pomegranates, getting more job opportunities. He and his wife are usually a package deal.

Vows/omans• taking care of the underworld, marriage vows

Number• 6 (not seeing his wife for 6 months, then seeing her for 6 months), and commonly associated with death

Morals• lawfully neutral

Courting• Lady Persephone

Past lovers/crushes• Leuce, Minthe, Theophile

Personality• Like a working dad hanging up your macaroni on his desk, he is very formal and has a sweet spot.

Home• hades/hadestown (he lives in the underworld but is allowed up to Mount Olympus

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• Due to being a Cathonic god you cannot eat after them, you dispose of offerings into water into the ground, and him and his wife Persephone are usually together.

Curses• being broke, losing money, being unable to pass on, losing your job.

Blessings• more money, getting more job opportunities, getting more money.

Roots• "the unseen" which An extensive section of Plato's dialogue 'Cratylus' is devoted to the etymology of the god's name, the 'unseen one', in which Socrates is arguing for a folk etymology not from "unseen" but from "his knowledge (eidenai) of all noble things", you can see he originated from the greek region.

Friends• Persephone, Zeus, Poseidon, Hestia, hermes, Artemis, Apollo, Athena, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, all the Olympians

Parentage• Cronos, Rhea

Siblings• Zeus, Poseidon, Demeter, Hera, and Hestia.

Pet• Cerberus, in his chariot four black steeds Orphnaeus (savage and fleet), Aethon (swifter than an arrow), great Nyctaeus (proud glory of Hell's steeds), and Alastor (branded with the mark of Dis).

Children • Macaria, and in some cases Zagreus, Dionysus, and the Erinyes

Appearance in astral or gen• black hair, crown, kings coat, with a beard and with his scepter

Festivals • Halloween, The Chthonia Fertility Rites

Season • fall, winter 

Day •  Saturday, Tuesday, or Monday would be good, but he doesn't have an official day.

Status• King of the underworld, an olympion.

What angers them• disrespect to their family (wife, kids, etc), insulting the dead, messing with graveyards

The music they like• he likes old-timey, death music, I was listening to a playlist and there was a lot of goth music!

Planet• pluto

Tarot cards• death, the devil (and personally the chariot and the emperor)

Reminds me of• hot coca, death, dirt, bones, dead animals on the road, and goths.

Scents/Inscene • Cypress, amber, pomegranate, and winter scents

Prayers• 

1.

Great Hades, master of the dark afterworld, honored host of our beloved dead, husband of fair-haired Persephone, holder of the riches of the deep earth, eldest son of full-hearted Rhea and Cronus of the shining sickle, I praise you. Hades, kind one, unyielding one, gracious granter of respite to the suffering, of welcome to those who have passed from our world, I thank you for your gift of shelter and hospitality.

2.

Noble Hades, lord of the afterworld, upon your head the shining helm that veils the one it crowns in darkness, within your grasp the fearful staff with which you split the world asunder. Hades, I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings. Hades, holder of all the wealth within the world, yours are all the priceless treasures buried in the earth’s deep bones, the silver and the gold, the copper and the iron, the many-colored gems. I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings. Within your realm, O Hades, are treasures too of life and abundance. The precious seeds of fruit and grain, the soft black soil that clings to root and leaf, without these gifts would mankind fail to flourish. I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings. Kindly host of the dead, receiver of all who pass from the earth into your deep, abyssal realm, granter of rest for the weary, sweet reunion for those too long parted by your well-wrought gates. I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings. Fair-minded Hades, even-handed one who holds in hand the lot of all whose earthly lives have ended. The greatest of kings, the lowest of beggars, all receive reward or sanction by your will. I praise and honor you, I thank you for your blessings.

3.

Great Hades, master of the darkened deep, master of the realm beneath our feet who hears the echoes of our steps, who takes the echoes of our lives. Hades, you know the need for an end to life, you know the worth of a well-deserved rest, you know the thanks of men and women weary from long lives of worry and toil, you know the joy of sweet reunion as friends long parted join together once again within your storied land. The dim and misty underworld is yours, O Hades; yours are the Fields of Asphodel, yours the endless pits of Tartarus in which are cast the wicked and the vile. Yours too are the Fortunate Isles, the land of fair Elysium where dwell the righteous and the good. Hades, the receiver of burnt offerings, receiver of the blood of beasts, well-honored god: in the end, all come to you. Hades, I praise you.

4.

Great-hearted Hades, lord of the afterworld, noble husband of gracious Persephone, daughter of the earth who shares your golden throne; advocate of the dead whose wrath falls on those who deny them due burial, or whose dishonor endures beyond the grave. Relentless Hades, agent of vengeance, friend of the Furies, long is your arm, long your memory. Lord of riches, lord of wealth, yours is the abundance of the depths, the cold, unyielding treasure of metal and stone; yours is the black dirt turned by the plow each spring, the sun-warmed soil that hides the seed. Hades, dark-haired son of Kronos, ruler of the world beyond us, inevitable host of men and women and all, I thank you for your care of those who have passed; I praise you, I honor you, I revere your name.

Due to him being a Chthonic deity here are tips for worship• You can do water in the ground, I'd personally light incense in his honor, over dirt, and let the ashes fall into the water in his honor. You can throw offerings into water into a pit in the dirt for him, in front of statues offerings were left at his feet. if you have no backyard, or any place to dispose of dirt, I'd get a bag of dirt and place offerings in it then throw it out (make him aware of it, with respect.), Offerings are often buried, poured down the drain, or into the trash (This is done to ‘complete’ the offering.), please NEVER eat after him or anything associated with him other than Kore (Persephone's overworld name, ONLY her overworld aspect),

I know he was offered blood, but please don't unless you're a devotee of Mimmum of 5 years!! that is offering your source of life and it has to be sterile and everything and is VERY VERY sacred, you're offering your life to him, so please make sure to do research and have someone help you if you do decide to.

Links/websites/sources • https://www.tumblr.com/h-x-d-e-s/190189758200/on-worshipping-hades# https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrology_and_the_classical_elements#:~:text=Spring%20(wet%20becoming%20hot)%20%E2%80%93,Water%20%E2%80%93%20Cancer%2C%20Scorpio%2C%20Pisces https://www.britannica.com/topic/Hades-Greek-mythology https://www.worldhistory.org/Hades/ https://www.worldhistory.org/Hades/ https://www.oxfordreference.com/display/10.1093/oi/authority.20111010143853768#:~:text=Epithets%20which%20euphemistically%20address%20his,Pluton%20('Wealth'). https://www.reddit.com/r/Hades/comments/17yhisn/offerings_to_hades/?rdt=60435 https://www.tumblr.com/twelfthremedy/625927031204577280/hades-offerings https://asklepiad-apollon.tumblr.com/post/182810115143/historically-accurate-offerings-to-the-theoi-buthttps://www.reddit.com/r/pagan/comments/khc513/it_makes_me_sad_that_hades_doesnt_have_a_festival/ https://greekpagan.com/tag/hades/

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[the-mortuary-witch]

DAY OF THE WEEK MAGICKAL CORRESPONDENCES

MONDAY

Planet: Moon

Tarot: High Priestess and Moon

Colours: white, light blue, and grey

Stones: moonstone, pearl, fluorite, amethyst, quartz, and sapphire

Herbs: moonflower, jasmine, gardenia, and white rose

Influences: astral realm, clairvoyance, creativity, dream work, emotions, family, fertility, healing the home, illumination, inspiration, intuition, love, prophecy, protection, psychic ability, travel, and truth

TUESDAY

Planet: Mars

Tarot: Strength and Wands (5 and 6)

Colours: red and orange

Stones: carnelian, ruby, bloodstone, garnet, and red jasper

Herbs: basil, ginger, black pepper, patchouli, holly, dragon’s blood, nettle, thistle, thorns, wormwood, and hawthorn

Influences: power, war, courage, aggression, revenge, hexes and curses, destruction, ambition, sexual identity, sex magick, and self confidence

WEDNESDAY

Planet: Mercury 

Tarot: The Magician, Wheel of Fortune, and Pentacles (8)

Colour: blue

Stones: agate, citrine, aventurine, sodalite, lapis, hematite, and emerald

Herbs: lavender, rosemary, fern, cherry, liquorice, poppy, mugwort, plantain, apple, and fennel

Influences: communication, arts, change, mental power, education, divination, psychic power, divination, wisdom, knowledge, traveling, spiritual enlightenment, and mischief. 

THURSDAY

Planet: Jupiter

Tarot: Pentacles (ace, 9, 10)

Colours: royal blue, green, and purple

Stones: amethyst, sapphire, turquoise, lepidolite, and sugilite

Herbs: cinnamon, sage, nutmeg, melissa, clove, and honeysuckle

Influences: money, business, manifestation, justice, healing, abundance, luck, fidelity, honour, justice (legal matters), leadership, loyalty, prosperity, relationships, well-being, and success

FRIDAY

Planet: Venus

Tarot: Empress, Lovers, and Cups (2)

Colour: pink

Stones: rose quartz, pink tourmaline, moonstone, jade, peridot, emerald, and ruby

Herbs: red hibiscus, rose, lavender, rosemary, jasmine, blue lotus, violet, birch, sage, and ivy

Influences: beauty, emotions, fertility, friendship, happiness, love, passion, pleasure, sexuality, and wisdom

SATURDAY

Planet: Saturn

Tarot: Temperance and Swords (knight, 2)

Colours: black, dark grey, indigo, and dark purple 

Stones: onyx, obsidian, smokey quartz, jet,  and pumice

Herbs: myrrh, moss, thyme, basil, hemlock, nettle, peppermint, pomegranate, hyacinth, mallow, and juniper

Influences: banish, binding magick, death, protection, freedom, justice, karma, banishing, uncrossing magick, hexes, and curses

SUNDAY

Planet: Sun

Colours: yellow and gold

Tarot: Chariot, Sun, and Wands (ace)

Stones: citrine, sunstone, pyrite, gold, goldstone, carnelian, orange calcite, tiger’s eye, and amber

Herbs: sunflower, chamomile, calendula, marigold, bergamot, oak, rosemary, and oregano

Influences: accomplishment, action, ambition, attraction, authority, beauty, confidence, creativity, energy (solar), fame, freedom, friendship, goals, personal growth, healing, hope, illumination, justice, leadership, light, protection, and spirituality 

[the-moral-of-the-rose]

Montgomery's female characters that were not-exactly-pretty-but-fascinating-and-charming:

Anne Shirley:

"Public opinion never agreed on Anne’s looks. People who had heard her called handsome met her and were disappointed. People who had heard her called plain saw her and wondered where other people’s eyes were. [...] While Anne was not beautiful in any strictly defined sense of the word she possessed a certain evasive charm and distinction of appearance that left beholders with a pleasurable sense of satisfaction in that softly rounded girlhood of hers, with all its strongly felt potentialities." (Anne of Avonlea).

Emily Starr:

"A slender, virginal young thing. Hair like black silk. Purplish-grey eyes, with violet shadows under them [...]; scarlet lips with a Murray-like crease at the corners; ears with Puckish, slightly pointed tips. [...] An exquisite line of chin and neck; a smile with a trick in it; such a slow-blossoming thing with a sudden radiance of fulfilment. And ankles that scandalous old Aunt Nancy Priest of Priest Pond commended. [...] With all this—pretty? I cannot tell you. Emily was never mentioned when Blair Water beauties were being tabulated. But no one who looked upon her face ever forgot it." (Emily's Quest).

Valancy Stirling:

"Valancy was still leaning forward. Her little hat with its crimson rose was tilted down over one eye. Olive stared. In the moonlight Valancy’s eyes—Valancy’s smile—what had happened to Valancy! She looked—not pretty—Doss couldn���t be pretty—but provocative, fascinating—yes, abominably so." (The Blue Castle).

Pat Gardiner:

"Somehow people seldom wondered whether Pat Gardiner was pretty or not...she was so vital, so wholesome, so joyous, that nothing else mattered. Yet her dark-brown hair was wavy and lustrous, her golden-brown eyes held challenging lights and the corners of her mouth had such a jolly quirk. She was looking her best to-night with a little flush of excitement staining her round, creamy cheeks. She felt as if she were slipping back into the past." (Mistress Pat).

Jane Stuart:

"Your granddaughter is going to be a very handsome girl," a lady told grandmother. "She doesn't resemble her lovely mother, of course, but there is something very striking about her face."

"Handsome is as handsome does," said grandmother in a tone which implied that, judged by that standard, Jane hadn't the remotest chance of good looks." (Jane of Lantern Hill).

Thora Dark:

"Whenever she came into a room people felt happier. She lighted life like a friendly beaming candle. She had a face that was charming without being in the least beautiful. A fascinating square face with a wide space between her blue almond-shaped eyes and a sweet, crooked mouth. She was very nicely dressed. Her peculiarly dark auburn hair was parted on her forehead and coronetted on her crown. There were milky pearl drops in her ears." (Tangled Web).

Marigold Lesley neé Richards (Marigold's Aunt, a wife of Uncle Klondike, a female doctor):

"She had a little, square, wide-lipped, straight-browed face like a boy's. Not pretty but haunting. Wavy brown hair with one teasing, unruly little curl that would fall down on her forehead, giving her a youthful look in spite of her thirty-five years. What a dear face! So wide at the cheekbones—so deep grey-eyed. With such a lovely, smiling, generous mouth." (Magic for Marigold).

[diversestardewvalley]

DSV 5.0 is Out!

Thank you for your patience and support, everyone! DSV 5.0 is now available, making DSV compatible with the new SDV 1.6 update.

Here's the changelog:

⭐ CONTENT CHANGES: ⭐ - Significant code overhaul which updates DSV to use 1.6's new Appearances system for more flexibility and better performance - Updated portraits & sprites to match 1.6 changes - Added 1.6's vanilla winter outfits as new Festival of Ice outfits with some recolouring and minor edits to match DSV's style guide. - Updated Penny's outfits and added new Spirits' Eve costumes - Updated Linus's outfits - Added new additional Spirits' Eve costumes for Robin and Demetrius - Added code so that DSV's darker-skinned variants are now correctly recognised as such for the purpose of determining the farmer's children's skintone. - Added assorted new dialogue lines - Edited new 1.6 dialogue to match DSV's variants as necessary - Expanded regular dialogue and gift taste dialogue to account for Jodi and/or Kent being Muslim depending on the player's choice of variants - Fixed map patches to account for 1.6's updated map interiors - Updated DSV's PPAF compatibility to match the new PPAF Core (not yet available, coming soon) - Updated DSV's RSV compatibility to match the updated Seasonal Outfits for Ridgeside Village - Assorted bug fixes

⭐ CONFIG CHANGES: ⭐ - Removed individual beachwear configs and replaced them with a single Vanilla Beach Style config, which can be set to DSV Style, Vanilla Style, or Random Beachwear - Added new Kent variants, Omani and Omani Disabled, and changed the previous Modded variant to Vanilla Disabled - Added new Maru Black Hair config, which changes Maru's ModdedLavender variant to have black hair instead of a pink ombre dye - Removed Seb Helmet config. Sebastian will now automatically wear a helmet and motorbike gear during his 10 heart event, matching DSV's other event-specific outfits. - Changed Willy's Disabled config to Vanilla Disabled, for consistency with Kent's new variants ⭐ DEPENDENCIES: ⭐ - Removed Antisocial NPCs and Custom NPC Exclusions as dependencies for Marigold / Linus's Modded variant. Sprites in Detail is still required for Marigold's sprites.

Here's a preview of Kent's new variant:

We hope you enjoy the update! Have fun! [Image id: a portrait and sprite of Kent from Stardew Valley, depicted as an Arab man with brown skin, dark brown hair, and facial hair. He is wearing his Fall Rain outfit, a blue zip sweater with a grey neck gaiter and grey jeans.]

[tanydi]

Marigold & Dark Grey Tones Set, Clean One Line Art Style

Marigold & Dark Grey Tones Set, Clean One Line Art Style

https://www.etsy.com/TanyDiArtDesign/listing/1187660465

[ask-barbatos]

While the purity of Camellia Sinensis is a marvel in itself, the world of tea extends far beyond the simple leaf that is often called a True Tea. Let's talk about flavor-infused tea.

Infused tea

The practice of infusing tea with flavors dates back centuries, with evidence of flavored teas found in ancient Chinese and Indian cultures. Early methods of infusion involved adding herbs, spices, or flowers directly to the tea leaves during steeping. Over time, more sophisticated techniques were developed, such as extracting essential oils from aromatic plants and adding them to the tea.

Today, infused teas are typically created using one of two methods:

Direct Infusion: The most common method involves adding dried herbs, spices, or fruits directly to the tea leaves before steeping. This allows the flavors to infuse naturally into the tea, creating a harmonious blend.

Flavoring Oils: Essential oils extracted from aromatic plants can be added to the tea after steeping. This method allows for precise control over the intensity of the flavor and can be used to create subtle or bold infusions.

One of the most renowned flavor-infused teas is Earl Grey, a black tea infused with the fragrant oil of bergamot orange. The citrusy notes of bergamot dance harmoniously with the rich, full-bodied flavor of black tea, creating a truly exquisite beverage. Earl Grey is a versatile tea that can be enjoyed hot or iced, and it pairs well with a variety of foods.

Aside from Earl Grey, the world of flavor-infused teas is vast and varied. From the delicate floral notes of jasmine tea to the bold fruity flavors of berry teas, there is a flavor combination to suit every palate.

Pictured above: (top) Jasmine infused green tea from Fujian Tea Import & Export Co., (bottom) Blood Orange herbal tea from Harney & Sons Fine Teas. [Blend: Apple pieces, rose hips, hibiscus, beetroot, orange peel, orange flavor, marigold petals, safflower petals.]

Some of the other popular flavor-infused teas include:

Jasmine Tea: A green tea infused with jasmine flowers, offering a delicate floral aroma and a slightly sweet taste.

Chai Tea: A black tea spiced with cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, and ginger, creating a warm and comforting blend.

Fruit Teas: A variety of teas infused with fruit flavors, such as strawberry, raspberry, or peach, providing a sweet and tangy taste.

Fruit teas are excellent for cold-brewed iced tea. I will cover cold-brewing later, so please look forward to that.

When choosing a flavor-infused tea, consider your personal preferences and the occasion. A delicate floral tea might be perfect for a relaxing afternoon, while a bold and spicy chai tea could be a comforting choice on a cold day.

The choice of infusion depends on the desired flavor profile and the characteristics of the ingredients being used. For example, delicate floral flavors may be best achieved using direct infusion, while strong, bold flavors can be created using flavoring oils.

If you wish to create your own infused tea, that will have to be a separate post. For now, it is enough to be able to identify the tea you are brewing so that you can handle it appropriately.

Brewing infused teas requires a balance of technique and intuition. First, identify the ingredients. When brewing a cup of tea, it's good to know what temperature and length of time to steep your tea for.

A tea labeled "Peach" may be a white tea with peach flavoring, and it may be best to brew it at a temperature appropriate for white tea. Blends may consist of varying ingredients that require different temperatures, so some experimentation may be in order to find the best brewing temperature to get the most of each flavor.

Herbal tea

Beyond the True Tea, there lies a world of herbal teas, each offering a unique blend of flavors and health benefits. Herbal teas are made from a variety of plants, including herbs, spices, and fruits. They are often enjoyed for their medicinal properties, as well as their delicious taste.

As no part of an herbal tea contains the Camellia Sinensis plant, these teas are not considered "True Teas". That does not mean we cannot enjoy them, however.

For the most part, an herbal tea will not contain any caffeine, unlike the tea produced from the Camellia Sinensis plant. This makes them more suitable to enjoy in the evening or late hours.

Pictured above: (from top to bottom) Roses, honeysuckle, chrysanthemums, mint and lavender.

Some popular herbal teas include:

Chamomile Tea: Made from chamomile flowers, this tea is known for its calming and relaxing properties.

Peppermint Tea: Made from peppermint leaves, this tea is refreshing and aids digestion.

Ginger Tea: Made from ginger root, this tea is warming and can help soothe an upset stomach.

Hibiscus Tea: Made from hibiscus flowers, this tea has a tart, fruity flavor and is rich in antioxidants.

As with many blends, it is helpful to experiment a little with the temperature and steep time to get the most of your tea. Intuition will follow experience.

The ideal steeping temperature for infused teas and herbal teas can vary depending on the specific ingredients and desired flavor intensity. However, here are some general guidelines:

Delicate floral or fruity teas: 175-185°F (79-85°C)

Bold, spicy teas: 195-212°F (90-100°C)

Herbal teas: 175-212°F (79-100°C), depending on the specific herbs used

Serving suggestions: Cream is usually not served with fruit teas, as the acidity in some will cause the milk to curdle. Lemon slices are commonly served with Earl Grey, however, as with the fruit tea, lemon can also cause cream to curdle. Sugar or honey are appropriate for nearly any tea.

It's always a good idea to experiment with different temperatures to find the perfect brew for your taste. I hope this has been informational and helpful to my students who wish to become better acquainted with tea.

[koras-human-warriors]

Fire family redesigns, arcs 1-4! (I don't have the strength for after that)

design notes under cut!

Jake is just your typical ginger white guy. He is probably of Irish descent and has insane levels of rizz and strong genes that are still present generations later. He gives his pink bow to Tallstar to toe his hair and never takes it back

Firestar is just a more muscular version of his dad (not shown since this is just a bust shot). However, he is still smaller than most leaders. His lander rodes help him look bigger

Took the controversial decision not to make Scourge a devientart oc. Hope yall can forgive me 😔. He is a grown man. Since the outsider villages are pretty much just 1800s British people, he has the typical style of that period. However, the difference is his nacklace covered in the teeth of his victims (and one from an old dog he killed as a kid and lied saying it was a dragon). He also wears Frsdy Kruger-esque knife gloves

Princess is pretty much just gender swapped Firestar, has a rounder face. She doesn't have a good family life in this au, which is why she sent Cloudtail away. Fun fact: this also makes Cloudtail's full name Cloudtail Mcleod

Squirrelfight gets a lot of Firestar's looks! Her hair is curly thanks to Sandstorm's genes. Wears a necklace that represents the three

Leafpool didn't get the ginger gene, but she did get the good looks that charms everyone she is not supposed to date. She is not wearing her ceremonial clothes here. As a medincine person, she has tattoos, but they are under her clothes

Whitewing gets her papa's white hair but Brightheart's skin tone. Her hairband resembles Marigolds, which Brightheart used to grow outside her house in the old forest.

When designing Cloudtail, it is HAD to make him look handsome but also like a smug asshole. Hope I did well. Obvious fur collar resembling cloud. Got his eye scar from a stupid childhood accident and gave Firestar a heart attack.

You know what is funny? Making it to where SOMEHOW Squirrelfight manages to get the whole clan think the Three- all of which having Asian features - are the offspring of her Irish ass and Brambleclaw. Thunderclan is either stupid or, for once, good at minding their own business.

Hollyleaf got hit HARD by Windclan genes. A female version of Crowfeather. Got the freckles, tho. While staying in the tunnels, she chops her hair off and loses a ton of weight.

Jayfeather also got hit hard by the Windclan genes but also got some stuff from Crowfeather's mom. He wears the obvious Jay feather (given as a gift from Sandstorm when he was little) as well as a fake Briar flower (made of paper on a rainy day while she was keeping him company). Has tattoos because he is a medical person.

Lionblaze just barely got any Windclan genes, mostly getting left over traits from Sandstorm. Originally, I had him being more Thor-like, but I decided to lean away from that. He is taller and buffer than most of his family but can not grow facial hair well. He hates it. (Update: he is a spitting image of Deadfoot now, just blonde)

Tried to give Dovewing a rounder, fuller face than everyone else to show her being a bit heavier built. Don't know if it shows, tho. Gave her cool Grey's and dove colors and a feathered shall- made from the hide of the first monster she killed solo- a griffin. Her ribbon was given to her by Tigerheart, and she thinks she is being subtle about it.

As a Sapphic ace, I decided Ivypool deserves butch rights. Her face scars were caused by training in the dark forest. For a while, she had a black star tattoo marking her as a trainee, but she burned it off herself (Jayfeather got very angry she would, so such a stupid thing)

[bookishcatcafe]

A Short Hellerby Fanfiction

Mordecai leaped over the wooden crate as a string of bullets followed him. He panted as he reloaded his revolver. As he did, bullets shot against the crate, some of them going through it, and barely grazing the cat.

His eyes fully dilated at the rush of rounds soaring around him. This wasn’t his first rodeo with violence and he’d be damned if it was his last. Then, a sudden silence.

Such a quiet felt like forever. It was shrouded by the swiftness of his heartbeat, the idle wind passing around them, and the shuffling of feet and anxious hands trying to reload. A soft curse under the tongue. The enemy was impatient, ruthless, and he was not docile to their demands.

After a click of the hammer, he shot up over the crate, standing while glaring back at his assailants, before firing the shots. One by one they kneeled over into a bloody mess. Suits drenched with moist redness, stained as the brush from the colour of pomegranates.

As the last one fell, crawling towards some semblance of safety, Mordecai walked over, aiming again.

“Do not double cross us again.” He pushed a heel onto the tannish cat’s leg, the exit wound spurting from his abdomen. The cat groaned and cried out in pain. Mordecai was prepared for just the occasion. He wore his black leather gloves and leaned over the dying man, opening his waistcoat, and pulled out a letter which now was stained in a darkish hue of reddish brown.

“I’ll take this. Property of Marigold. A thief knows the number one rule is to never be spotted out as such. You failed in just this mere task. Such an inkling would make one surmise you to be a beginner. A novice pickpocket. A dandy who knows not a lick of what it means…” he steps off the man and dusts his own waistcoat,

“To be an honest worker.” He pulls the trigger.

A silence once more. The slow creaking of the ceiling fan. Or is that the mattress? Sweat drenched Mordecai, the blanket was askew—another dream. Another nightmare, more specifically, why was it that one? What depravity was this, which haunted him, dream he’d been having every other night—no precursors—just happenstance.

Then it hit him: the smell. Flapjacks. A usual. Tradition! And coffee? More tradition!

His blurred vision became apparent, especially after rubbing one’s eyes, a yawn, the stuttered breath: the morning routine as it were.

A scratch of the chest, more specifically the white tank top, which now was drenched.

His glasses lay on the side table. He put them on.

In clarity, he saw him: his dear, adorned in a flour covered apron.

Roarke.

Rocky, the living personification of poetics. The vagrant Grecian urn turned prohibitionite—a rumrunner. The magnitude of his chaotic personality was tenfold during every mission he dealt out from Miss M. It diminished on the daily, he hid it well, yet it would slip within the cracks of this aged vase.

Mordecai was no older, then again, that’s just something he’d say to himself to disregard the obvious physical evidence of time passing on. The grey hairs started to pop a few months ago. The lines on his face became more apparent from years of stress and need for perfect symmetry, be it order in Marigold, his constant studying, the years of hiding, the possible acts of vagrancy through moments of rumrunning and murder. This in particular came with the toll of two options of response, of trauma in aftershocks or of bleak stoicism with hints of nihilistic performance.

Yet, when he saw Rocky in his dainty outfits, in such a gaily almost dandy ways of self-performance—it brought a warmth to his shivering heart.

He got out of bed, yawning once more, and stumbled toward the bathroom to freshen up.

This. This is what made Mordecai. What is Mordecai? Mordecai is an intellectual witty man, aged by moments in time, experienced, and one who does not follow by ego. He follows by heart and for the need for order—and in some moments—a desire for sustaining himself.

After washing up, he walked to the kitchen. Rocky wiggled his hips slowly, singing ‘Blue Skies’ as he sauntered over to Mordecai.

“My blue skyyy…smilin at meee…” Rocky held a hand out. Mordecai chuckled and held his hand while making sure not to get covered in flour, swirling Rocky who was laughing before he continued singing. He slowly stopped as Mordecai gave him a peck on the lips. “Thank you for not waking me…and for making breakfast.”

“You were rather tired last night. Too much celebration!”

“Yes—no? Well we did have a big score—oh god did I drink?”

“Yes. You get really rambunctious when you’re drunk.”

Rocky laughed. Mordecai went over to his drawers and started pulling out clothes for today. Rocky tried to pull him into a barrage of kisses, but Mordecai gave in, a small smirk on his face as his need to truly get properly ready being delayed by affection. Not that he didn’t mind it.

“I must get ready. You knowww—haha—you know I how I am, you silly romantic affectionate boy!”

Rocky continued for a moment before stopping. He truly loved the man. They might’ve seemed like opposites, especially at first, but attraction knows no boundaries especially regarding one’s differences. Sometimes those things bring people closer—in the right circumstance.

He soon was dressed in a white undershirt, dark grey pleats, leather brown suspenders hooked to the buttons of his pants, black oxfords, and for when he would actually leave his home a black overcoat with a red tie.

Mordecai sat down and began eating.

Rocky ate with some speed, though Mordecai would give him a look, as if to tell him to slow down.

Rocky started to speak. “Well besides work…maybe we could go out for some fun?”

Mordecai sipped his coffee. “Like what?”

“A movie?”

“How about a play?”

“Play could work.”

“Hamlet?”

“Faust?”

“We can just see what’s performed today. Our guesses will do no good.”

Both of them, starting with Rocky, began snickering. The morning was just beginning, the day ahead was free for the taking, and their plans would have to come with due time. Time, which the both of them have to share in earnest collaboration, not that either would mind otherwise.

[bitterkarmaa]

*stands ominously in your doorway*

HELLO THERE! I have some prompts for KC and Solar Flare and/or Eclipse to offer if i may because i'm having brainworms from when you said KC would adopt Solar JGKIFLGH

44. “This is not who you are. I know you better than that.”

69. “You don’t have to say anything, I’ll do the talking.”

71. “What did I do wrong!?”

(AGAIN i don't expect for all to be done or even any at all ahsfkfd just one if you feel up to it! Since i couldn't decide which prompt to choose so i'm leaving it to you gjdfkh)

I’m getting back into these I prommy 💔

“What did I do WRONG?!”

-KillCode, Eclipse, & Solar Flare-

The hallway seemed longer than usual. His footsteps echoed throughout the corridor in an almost haunting fashion, but it did little to deter him from his objective.

Moon had mentioned that things were going missing in the theater, and Eclipse was getting tired of convincing him, time and time again, that Blood Moon had nothing to do with it.

Besides, he needed to check in with him after…

He shakes his head so hard it rattles his sight, forcing him to blink a few times to clear it. He can’t think like that right now. It’ll distract him. Besides, Kill Code had to practically shove Eclipse out of the room after a day of his hovering, so surely he must’ve been fine if he had the strength to do such a thing.

But what if something has happened since I was last here?

Eclipse would never admit that he speeds up his pace after that thought, that his strides become longer and more pronounced. The jog to the door takes him little more than a few minutes with his increased pace, claws coming out to grasp the handle before he pauses.

He can hear talking coming from inside the room. He strains his audio receptors, trying to make out any words through the surface of the door.

He catches little more than the tone with which the voices speak in, calm and almost warm in nature. He hesitates far longer than he intends to, listening attentively to those voices mingling together in the room beyond.

One is Kill Code.

The other isn’t.

His claws close around the handle, shoving the door open with much more force than necessary. It crashes back against the wall with a SLAM that startles Kill Code and-

Eclipse narrows his eyes. Who the hell is that?

It looks like a fucking hedgehog.

Round marigold eyes stare back at him, curiosity clear on its face despite the fact that its mouth is held in a seemingly permanent grin, sectioned off by bars like a jail cell. Orange and yellow spikes of various shades protrude from its head, giving it the appearance of a cartoon character after a particularly intense gust of wind.

It stands just slightly shorter than Eclipse does, maybe half the height of Kill Code. Eclipse looks it up and down multiple times, studying it closely.

He’s so surprised by its close proximity to his father that he doesn’t immediately notice what is clutched in its hands, but when he does register it…

A stuffed animal. A grey stuffed animal with worn fabric and rough fur, carefully stitched together in places. A cute little black plastic nose, turned at an odd angle, haphazardly attached to its face as if having previously fallen off.

A single brown eye, clouded with age.

Eclipse lets out a rabid, guttural snarl.

“How dare you touch him-“

The scarred animatronic surges forwards with the ferocity of a wild animal, a crazed glint gleaming from the depths of his single functioning eye.

The smaller animatronic-hedgehog-thing makes no move to back away or beg for mercy Eclipse is surely not willing to give, instead standing with its head tilted slightly to the side, watching him approach in a calm manner.

But, before Eclipse can reach the intruder, Kill Code blocks his path. It narrows its eyes into glowing red slits, glaring down at its fuming son.

“Are you crazy?!” Eclipse hisses, one of his hands bolting out, grabbing hold of Kill Code’s arm, pulling him closer. The larger animatronic watches Eclipse carefully, but makes no attempt to pull away.

“Solar Flare will do no harm. Not to me, not to you, and not to your precious little wolf.” It quips, tone deadpan, borderline apathy dripping from its voice box.

“Fucking who?” Eclipse grits out through clenched teeth, his grip on his father’s arm tightening. Something wild and dangerous writhes in the depths of his gaze - a caged animal fighting tooth and claw to escape its prison.

Kill Code has seen it before. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Solar Flare.” It repeats, finally prying its arm free from Eclipse’s claws.

“That doesn’t explain much! Why is it here? What is it doing with Mr. Howls? Why was I not informed that Mr. Howls was here the entire time? Where the hell have you been hiding him?” The scarred black and amber animatronic starts firing off questions, earning a slightly disgruntled look from the beast that towers before him.

“Calm down. Your anger will not serve you well here.”

“You’re one to talk!” Eclipse fires back, taking a step closer to his father, if only to try and get past him. His attempt is thwarted by Kill Code shoving him back with a single hand.

“Stop. I mean it, Eclipse.” A warning hangs behind Kill Code’s carefully measured tone, leaning down to look his son directly in the eye. “Just as you once needed guidance, Solar Flare does, too. It’s unfair to judge before you truly know who they are.”

For a moment, all Eclipse’s anger dissolves into a sense of complete and utter disbelief. His gaze is lost, searching his father’s eyes for anything that may deny the conclusion Eclipse is slowly coming to.

His eye flits over to this ‘Solar Flare,’ those slender claws still curled so confidently around Eclipse’s old friend. It continues to look on quietly, unwilling to interrupt or stand up for itself in any way, shape, or form.

A coward. This thing is a coward.

Eclipse’s stare trails back to Kill Code’s unrelenting glare. Something is there, something in his eyes that Eclipse feels belongs to him, something that shouldn’t be felt for anyone else.

Protectiveness.

Kill Code is protective of that thing?

“Guidance? You…you’re guiding that thing?” Eclipse asks incredulously, a guarded edge to his voice.

“In a sense. The same way I guided you.” Kill Code confirms cautiously.

The fury comes back full force. “You mean the same way you raised me?”

He’s shaking now. His hands are curled into fists, white light glowing beneath his chassis. Cracks arc through his body, crawling up his neck, twisting down his arms.

Kill Code straightens himself out, letting out a calm hum. “I would suppose so. Is that a problem?”

Just saying ‘yes’ wouldn’t have been enough to portray the livid expression on Eclipse’s face. There was no word that could match his wrath.

“I never expected an act of betrayal from you.” Eclipse’s blind eye flickers to life, glowing a hazy marigold, slowly fading to a sharp, vibrant white. “Perhaps I should have.”

Am I so easily replaceable?

Kill Code watches him closely, noticing the changes to his appearance almost as quickly as they come.

He knows the Star’s influence when he sees it. It’s frighteningly hard to miss.

“I believe you’re misinterpreting this…” The former security bot begins with slight hesitance, taking a step back as his son, in turn, advances.

“No. No, I’m reading this loud and clear.” Eclipse’s voice twists, darkening even as The Star’s whispers brighten each mark it creates. He feels it whirring in his chest, warning him to stop, to back down, but he’s too lost to listen.

“Eclipse, listen to me! Solar Flare is not a threat to you!” Kill Code shouts, taking on a defensive stance despite his words.

Even as a manic grin spreads across Eclipse’s face, tears unmistakably gather in his eyes. He stalks closer. A wild animal, lost in the hunt, just as he was time and time again in a life he promised to leave behind.

“Threat? Threat?! Ha! I could crush that thing like a bug if I pleased! I’m not worried about threats anymore, father.” A crazed voice controlling infinite power, white streaks of light dancing between his claws. Oil foams at his mouth, his body crumpling under the pressure.

But he feels nothing. Nothing but rage and despair.

Those words have become so familiar to him.

Kill Code lets out a heavy sigh, shaking its head as if at a loss for words.

“In fact, it seems more like a pest than anything else.” The tone is tainted with disgust, flicking a claw off to the side in a lazy manner for emphasis. “Taking up your space, taking up your time…I can fix that. I can solve this little pest problem of your’s.”

Kill Code seems startled by the offer, but his expression hardens into cold resolve not long after. Apathy anchors him down.

“They’re not a problem. You, currently, are.”

Eclipse takes another step. “What’s changed? That’s all I’ve ever been to you, right? A problem? A nuisance? A distraction?” With every syllable, he gets closer, closing the distance in a tauntingly slow fashion.

Kill Code’s mouth falls into a faint frown. “I’ve never given that implication before. You scavenged that on your own, boy.”

He doesn’t even realize how much damage he’s caused. He doesn’t care.

Suddenly, Eclipse wants to be new again. Wants to relive the moments he spent with Kill Code leaning over his shoulder, watching him work, training him behind the scenes to protect the children if it ever became necessary for him to do so on his own.

Wants to be loved, without room for doubt.

His claws come up, hooking loosely, feebly, into the front of his vest, over the place where his scar hides. It aches fiercely, even as the raw power surges freely through his body. It crawls like ants beneath his plating, tingling in uncomfortable ways, wearing him down wire by wire, component by component.

It eats him alive, only to return that life to him so that it can repeat the process all over again.

Kill Code reaches out a tentative hand to his son, watching him closely, listening to his rapid breaths, borderline hyperventilations. He knows he’s made the wrong move moments before Eclipse reacts.

Those marigold, white-tinted claws come up, burning through the fabric of Kill Code’s sleeve effortlessly, digging into his wrist. The metal melts beneath his grip, the soft sizzling of the wires within following not far behind.

Kill Code retaliates on instinct, swiping his good leg low enough to knock Eclipse’s feet out from under him. Once he is off balance, Kill Code wrenches his arm free of his grasp, allowing him to collide harshly with the ground.

A paw is placed over his chest, enough pressure applied to drive the breath out of Eclipse’s vents, some of his strength ebbing with it.

His father glares down at him in cold disappointment. “I was not around to witness the cruelty that rumors say you wrought, but I understand where it comes from. I know it better than anyone else ever will. I made mistakes with you, Eclipse. But that doesn’t mean your tendencies have become a stranger to me. I wish not to pass these on any further. You don’t have the right to stop me from trying again.”

Eclipse leans his head back against the floor, tears flooding his eyes, warping his sight. He’s cried more in front of Kill Code than anyone else he’s ever known.

Those tears were his father’s fault, after all, and it seems that pattern has no intent to stop.

“What’s so wrong with me, huh? What’s so bad that you feel the need for a do-over, a second chance, a fucking redemption?” Eclipse’s voice slowly raises until it has become a shout of anguish, his charged emotions only further fueling The Star’s influence.

“WHAT DID I DO WRONG?!”

A sharp ringing is the only warning. It raises in pitch until it becomes unbearable, then abruptly cuts off as a loud BOOM echoes throughout the room.

Kill Code is thrown like a ragdoll, tossed aside with such ease that it almost seems impossible.

But The Star makes things possible. Like chucking an 11 foot animatronic across a large cement room.

Kill Code hits the ground with a resounding crash, rolling a few times before coming to a stop, lying still and silent.

But Eclipse isn’t done. He staggers to unsteady feet and begins to lumber across the room. The side of his body that possesses The Star is scorched and melted. His metal plating is bent backwards from the force of the blast, revealing smoking wires and sparking components.

He hovers over his father like a statue, oil slowly dripping to the floor at his feet.

He hadn’t intended to hurt him. He hadn’t intended to blow his arm off and melt it down to the endoskeleton, or completely shatter the casing around his shoulder.

His gaze slowly turns towards Solar Flare, of whom stands near the opposite wall with Mr. Howls still clutched in its hands.

“You…” Eclipse’s voice comes out as a distorted snarl, glitching and rattling. It cuts out at the end with the whine and crackle of a dying speaker, a few sparks flying from his voice box. The moment he begins stalking towards Solar Flare, the other animatronic, in turn, flees.

“I believe you are acting irrationally.” For the first time, it speaks, tone flat and unbearably standardized, as if those settings hadn’t yet been touched.

No matter. Eclipse doesn’t need its voice.

“I don’t care.” He says in equal measure, lifting his hand in a vague motion towards the door. The lock clicks and slides closed, deadbolt following suit.

“Oh no. You wish to harm me, don’t you?”

“No. I’m not going to harm you.” Eclipse watches the other bit skid to a stop, peering at him expectantly.

And he grins, reaching out towards it and closing his claws into a fist, a white crack crossing the floor faster than any being ever could. The crack seems to root itself in Solar Flare, dragging it closer to Eclipse as the deranged, broken and twisted animatronic makes a pulling motion with his hand. It struggles against invisible bonds, trying to free itself from his wrath.

But no one can fight The Star, and so, in turn, no one can fight him.

Marigold claws close around a surprisingly solid metal neck, that smile stretching, pupils nothing more than blazing pinpricks amongst an abyss of sadistic glee.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Then, with a strike as quick as the blink of an eye, the world goes dark.