#prayer circle for the green green dress

[absolutedoorknob]

WAKE UP BESTIE THIS IS URGENT

So it’s late at night and I’m scrolling through the simplicity pattern website when, this is not a drill….

I saw House of the Dragon sewing patterns!!

Technically they’re not licensed or anything but if you know anything about sewing patterns for costumes, you know it gets pretty dang obvious.

Ok so it’s a pretty basic shape, and it looks like we’ve got an Alicent and a Rhaenyra dress based off of the styling of the models and the colours of the garments. They are not accurate to one single dress either of these characters wear, but it’s a great start, open to plenty of relatively easy modification (take this opinion with a grain of salt I have never modified a pattern) for creativity and maximum cosplay potential. I wish they’d make a Green Green Dress pattern, but I do know that designers and companies are limited to what pieces they can fit inside an envelope (this is the reason why in View B of Simplicity 1009 there isn’t a separate underskirt).

So let’s do some examination!

Starting with View B because it’s on the left, I said it looks like a Rhaenyra pattern mainly because of the color— young Rhae wears a lot of these dull golds (a desert gold if you will?) and beiges when she’s younger, when she’s not wearing red or her dragon-riding fits.

The neckline on the pattern could be easily adapted to either be higher like on the right or more angular like on the left.

The sleeves, however, are reminiscent of two other gowns, with these pattern pieces being good for both Rhae and Alicent.

I love a good open sleeve, and so do they. Also I swear there was another Alicent one with more open sleeves but google images was not kind to me.

Now on to View A! It’s pretty clear from how the neckline is with the trim plus the belt that this dress is modelled after this blue dress Alicent wears, which may or may not be her mother’s.

Now unfortunately the sleeve patterns do not have this amazing “ladder detail” but that would be pretty early to modify in, as well as to cut the neckline lower to add the top “ladder bit”.

This pattern also has Princess seams, like the other view, because it is a relatively simple way to get a good fit around the bust. Now, if you were making a “100% accurate with paper silk and I get the cops called on me because they think I stole it from HoTD’s wardrobe department” cosplay, these would have to be drafted out, because no dresses in the show have Princess seams, most likely because they are a relatively modern fitting technique and the shows in Westeros have historically influenced/inspired costuming. To get the fancy bodice like Alicent’s dress, the easiest way I could think of would be to trace the pattern piece twice, then chop one tracing up into sections with the sections being drawn on the other tracing (so you have a guide on how your puzzle fits together) and remember to include seam allowance if you do this, otherwise you will regret it.

Now this?? This is Daemon. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. Because most of the men on the show (or at least Daemon, Hardin when he’s not in armour defending his lady love— i mean Alicent, and Aemond) wear something similar to this, it’s a great bass with plenty to work with. The vest comes with pattern pieces for either no skirting or longer skirting, as seen in View B vs View A. Also, fun fact, the jacket under the vest/jerkin? It’s a crop top.

There’s a joke to be made here but I just can’t think of it.

These are McCalls patterns, and I have had fit issues in the past with them. Before picking out and cutting your size, I strongly recommend double checking the finished garment measurements, which should be printed on the back of the envelope. This will save you a lot of trouble and from having to buy the same pattern twice in case you cut out a size too small… I speak from personal experience.

Many way, that’s all folks! Personally, I can’t wait to see what Simplicity comes out with in the next few months (they release their new Halloween patterns in like September or something, and suffice to say I’m gnawing at my drywall), and I am praying for a Green Green dress pattern!

#costumes #hotd costume #hotd cosplay #pattern analysis #prayer circle for the green green dress #petition to name the colours for young rhae’s dresses desert gold #if someone could draw aemond in that crop-top jacket that’d be wonderful please and thank you #house of the dragon

[pin-k-ink]

ephemera // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, implied age gap, dub-con, pet names, alcohol consumption, body worship, fingering, dirty talk, mutual pining

wc ⇢ 4.6k

a/n: i still have no idea how to describe what being intoxicated feels like

Gojo stared intently at the calendar, jaw tensing as he circled the quickly approaching date with a vibrant red pen. It was marked simply with your initials, but he knew the significance behind those two unassuming letters all too well.

Your birthday. Specifically, the one that would officially bring your transition into adulthood.

A strange feeling twisted in his gut, part anticipation and part...something darker, more fraught. For years now, he had forced himself to bury the undercurrents of forbidden attraction simmering between himself and his brilliant, beautiful student. With the power differential between you, it would have been unforgivably unethical to act on those urges, no matter how they ran molten beneath his skin when your eyes met across the training dojo.

But now, with your impending status as a legal adult, all of those previously steadfast barriers were suddenly rendered moot. You would be a woman grown in the eyes of society - fully autonomous to make your own choices about relationships and intimacies.

And Gojo would finally be free to pursue the longing that he'd ruthlessly shoved down year after year, fight after defiant fight of your ceaseless vibrant energy and fierce determination fueling his darkest fantasies.

He imagined you garbed in the finest evening dress money could buy, back baring and skirt slit high over shapely thighs as you gazed up at him with invitation in those captivating eyes. You'd be poised, every inch the elegant woman he'd watched you grow into over their time together. Except for the promise of sin smoldering in your heavy-lidded stare, all focused solely on him.

A low growl vibrated up from Gojo's sternum as he envisioned pressing you back into crisp hotel sheets, satin and lace pooling around your ankles as you arched shamelessly up into his questing hands and scorching mouth. He could almost taste the hot whiskey burst of your cum on his tongue as he spilled your name like a prayer between body-wracking tremors.

With a forcible shake of his head, Gojo dispelled the graphic fantasy. It did him no good to get carried away...at least not yet. First, there was the little matter of arranging a proper celebration for your coming of age. He had a solid six weeks to plan something suitably memorable and utterly unsuitable all at once.

The grin that split his features could only be described as wicked as the beginnings of a daring scheme crystallized in his devious mind. Oh yes, your first foray into adulthood under his tutelage was bound to be one for the books.

Little did you know just how intently Gojo had been preparing for the evening of your birthday. One month out, he'd finagled reservations at the trendiest new upscale restaurant in the city's downtown district. Only the week before, an utterly decadent hunter-green dress had been carefully wrapped and stowed away to be your celebratory gift.

From the very first moment you slipped the sumptuous material over your head, he knew it would be impossible to resist you. The plunging neckline balanced perfectly on the precipice of modest, skimming the lush upper curves of your breasts while flaring out in soft gathers over the swell of your hips. It was classically elegant, accentuating every lush, feminine angle in the most tantalizing way.

Until you turned with that bashful, pleased smile so completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Then the thin racer-back exposed the flex of shapely muscles and downy-soft skin that fueled so many of Gojo's most arduous meditations in the dojo showers. His jaw clenched hard enough to grind enamel as he simply drank in the sight before offering a low, approving hum.

"Stunning," was all he trusted himself to murmur, afraid anything more would betray the molten lust already licking at his composure like an insistent flame. "Shall we get going, birthday girl?"

The ride to the city center flew by in a blur of heated silence, the two of you existing in a strange kind of limbo as the barriers between student and teacher began their ponderous dissolution. Gojo struggled to keep his burning stare from wandering into forbidden territory, but it was a losing battle with you seated beside him, lean legs casually crossed and the musky cloud of your perfume swirling enticingly.

That dizzying, feminine scent and the hypnotic sway of your throat as you swallowed was his undoing. Before the errant thought could take root, Gojo found himself leaning infinitesimally closer, scrutinizing the delicate juncture where your jaw curved deliciously...imagining mouthing open kisses along the thundering line of your pulse and--

He cut the fantasy off with a hard shake, tamping down the visceral need with decades of practiced control. One tremulous breath, then another, and he was able to look anywhere but directly at you for fear of being drawn back into wanton temptation.

Thankfully, your arrival at the restaurant staved off any further lascivious ruminations. As you glided through the elegant double doors in your emerald splendor, the bulk of Gojo's focus narrowed to polished professionalism once more. He was the picture of urbane charm as a tuxedoed maitre d' ushered the two of you to a secluded table near the back.

It was clear the maître had been alerted to expect them, judging by the subtle glances he kept shooting Gojo and the ultra-exclusive corner booth he led you to. But you were predictably oblivious to the weight of deference as you admired the intimate nook done up in rich crimson and onyx finishings.

"This place is incredible! What a view," you exclaimed, breath catching as you leaned over to gaze out the sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows towards the twinkling city skyline. Gojo clenched his fists under the table as the motion stretched the bodice of your dress taut across your chest, the shadow of cleavage darkening enticingly.

Sweet torture, every minute aspect was calculated to eat away at the gossamer threads of his restraint. He'd chosen this place specifically for the plush seclusion and unapologetic indulgence the setting evoked. The wine you both sipped from chilled crystal stemmed from rare vineyards, the food artfully composed from organic locally-sourced fare.

He wanted you to experience the finest that decadence had to offer. To let the slow-building seduction of flavors and textures relax your carefully maintained guard so his appreciative scrutiny might go undisguised. But most of all...he yearned to watch the first exquisite foray into unabashed surrender drift across your beautiful features.

By the end of your shared five-course indulgence, the flush dusting your cheeks and the inviting sprawl of your posture indicated Gojo's private mission was well on its way to success. You toyed idly with a fresh bloom of arousal as he signaled for the check, absorbing the casual confidence you exuded now that your inhibitions had begun to erode.

The warm heaviness of your stare was nothing new to his extensively-trained sangfroid. But with the knowledge that you'd officially achieved the age of majority? Your heated looks took on an entirely different tenor - one of open invitation and smoldering promissory notes about the night yet to come.

Unfortunately, you were still very much in public. Which meant Gojo would not give into the piquant cravings sparked by your every bashful glance and tongue-swept lip. Not yet, anyway.

That, however, did not preclude him from discreetly stoking those taunting embers once the stylized leather folio containing their exorbitant bill had been whisked away. The musky timbre of his voice was pure sin when he leaned close to brush his mouth along the delicious fan of your lashes.

"You've been such a good girl for me tonight," he husked, reveling in the delicate shudder that betrayed your body's rapt response despite your prim lack of reaction. "I think it's high time you got to enjoy the...full pleasures of being an adult, don't you?"

The dark, visceral promise woven through those purring words was almost enough to shatter your ingrained sense of decorum. As it was, Gojo had to suppress a devilish grin at the lilting catch in your breathing - a crystal clear indicator that his seduction was rapidly bearing fruit.

And so the hunt continued, him guiding you from the posh award-winning restaurant towards the pulsating nightlife district with a carefully choreographed set of lingering brushes and searing glances. Your bemused acceptance of his chivalrous arm swiftly morphed into dazed gratitude for the stabilizing pressure of his palm at the small of your back. It was only a matter a time before the crescendo of temptation reached its peak.

The moment that broke Gojo's steely control finally came several drinks past when-you-should-have-stopped at one of the city's most notorious bachelorette haunts. The hollers and joyous whoops of just-this-side-of-wasted revelers created the perfect storm of chaos and low lighting, sensual bodies gyrating as far as the jealously hooded eye could see.

It was exactly the sort of strobing, no-holds-barred den of sin designed to buckle the sternest of moral foundations at the knees. And from the second he ushered you into the heart of it, every baser instinct flared up like a bonfire whipped by high winds.

Between the sleek, gender-inclusive poles erected around the main dance floor, a panoramic spectacle of undulating hips and taut torsos welcomed voyeuristic eyes. Plumes of crystalline perspiration dappled glistening expanses of skin while enthusiastic strangers hooted their lurid approval.

Gojo's jaw clenched until his temples throbbed as he absorbed the intoxicating atmosphere. He could feel the evening's steady buildup of pheromones and liquor blossoming headier and richer with each passing second as you gravitated towards the seductive pulse of music.

It was only the barest reflexes of experience that had him seizing your hand before you went stalking off into the fray alone, turning to pin him with blown eyes and a rapturous grin bleeding sin. Even inebriated, there was no mistaking that look - the confident, carnal promise that would replicate itself on thousands of willing bodies before the night was done.

You were made for sensual surrender. And Gojo felt his control slip another few tenuous notches, picturing you wreathed in honeyed light, raven tresses tossed free as you worshipped the holiest of rituals that simmered in the darkness all around them.

Gruffly, he pulled you close enough to inhale the smokey remnants of whiskey and woman's lust from between your parted lips. "Where do you think you're going, pretty girl?" he growled, fingers clenching almost painfully around the generous swell of your hip.

Your answering laugh was liquid sin, bitter and emboldened by the rich burn of alcohol unfurling through your system. "Don't tell me you've gone all...responsible on me, sensei," you taunted, eyes glittering with honeyed challenge. "You didn't strike me as the type to pass up a little adult fun."

He hissed out a rough breath at your brazen defiance, torn between lashing you to his side or stalking away before he succumbed. Cruel implication laced your every syllable, a seductress unknowingly wielding weapons that could topple the strongest warrior.

"I'm not saying no," he finally rasped, letting the reassurance sink in before his hands meandered over the lush curves of your back, thumbs digging in deeply enough to short circuit coherent thought. "In fact, I want you to go have...all the fun an adult celebration like this has to offer. Just..." He paused to claim your mouth in a predatory glide, igniting a bonfire from the rawest flint of contact. "Don't make me regret giving you that permission, baby girl."

You shuddered violently at the naked demand threaded through his tone, flesh stippling with raw longing as you instinctively swayed into his scorching proximity. And it was all the encouragement Gojo needed to breathe a final molten warning against your gasping lips.

"Show me just how wild you can be. Do everything you want to do, take whoever and whatever you desire. But at the end of the night?" His fingers curled in the thick mass of your hair, tugging just shy of painful as azure fire bored into yours. "You'll be coming home with me, pretty girl. So save a little energy, hmm? I have plans for you..."

With that provocative parting shot hanging betwixt you, Gojo forcibly released you from his bruising clutches and watched with eyes of banked hunger as you spun away into the seething crowd. The spectacles of debauchery playing out all around did little to dissipate the feverish anticipation streaking through his blood. Indeed, it only made his vigil seem that much hotter, filthier.

Because who better than the teacher to appreciate each wanton display to its fullest, he mused, dragging a burning stare over the mouthwateringly sinuous path you carved into the throngs of gyrating bodies. Every lascivious roll and flirtatious glance from you only poured more kerosene onto the infernal blaze of need within him.

At one point, you even deigned to grant a long-haired, leather-clad youth a private demonstration of exactly what sort of unholy talents you were honing all these years under Gojo's watchful gaze. Up on the raised stage, working a pole with arched spine and legs wrapped in a scorpion-lithe grip, you rolled and thrashed in ethereal beauty - an incandescent vision of feminine sin unbound.

Gojo was beyond enthralled, beyond the point of return as your eyes met and held across the churning sea of drunken catcalls. Sweat trickled in liquid platinum rivulets from your hairline, weighting those silk strands to your flushed skin as the burnished gold of stage lights played sacrilegiously across acres of exposed dewy flesh.

You moved with unconscious artistry borne from decades of training and muscle memory - from the rebellious lick your tongue swiped over those sin-bitten lips to the deliberate circle of your hips as you remounted the pole upside down to the euphoric cheers of those gathered around the impromptu stage.

Reality narrowed to the carnal exhibition you presented, flayed bare and wanton, until the moment the hollow ring of the pole clanged emptily. And then Gojo was sliding from the shadows to collect you in his arms, relishing the trembling aftershock of exertion and pure, unchained bliss thrumming through your body.

"That's enough teasing for one night, pretty girl," he growled, scattering the rings of smitten voyeurs with one scathing sweep of his gaze. You whimpered in protestation, tangling damp fingers in the silk of his shirt to anchor him closer as you pleaded for his acquiescence.

"Please..." You slurred, voice husky and lush with the unnamed wantings that oozed from your every motion. "Please, I want..."

He sealed your plea with a claiming brand of lips, summoning a maelstrom of heat and friction that consumed your senses completely. Abstractly, you registered the distant howls and jeers of those witnessing your unrestrained depravity. But none of it mattered beyond the scorching ecstasy of his hands, squeezing and kneading territorial swathes across your exposed curves.

"Soon, baby," Gojo promised when you finally broke apart, his forehead cradled against yours as you both panted harsh reclamation of oxygen to your burning lungs. "Let's go home. You've been such a good girl...opened yourself up so pretty for me tonight. Now it's my turn to give you what you've earned."

Hazily, you clung to those molten words, trusting in them utterly even as Gojo swept you up into his arms like you weighed no more than a dream. The world tilted and spun with vertigo, but his presence was the anchor keeping you tethered - safe within the haven of his strength as he carried you out into the cool respite of the night.

At some point, the comforting haven of Gojo's granite chest and sandalwood cologne lulled your overtaxed senses into a state of blissful half-consciousness. So it came as a complete shock when you resurfaced some timeless eternity later, cradled in his arms on the precipice of a painfully familiar threshold...your dorm room's doorway.

As if splashed with a bucket of ice water, all the traces of syrupy drunkenness dissipated in one sobering rush, leaving you wide-eyed and incredulous as a horrible realization began to set in.

"Wha...what's going on?" you rasped, hastily prying yourself out of Gojo's embrace with as much detached dignity as a woman still panting from bone-deep arousal could muster.

You blinked dazedly, trying to make sense of the surroundings. But the usual anchors of time and place were hopelessly scrambled in the face of this man's penetrating stare and the phantom vestiges of smoke and revelry still haunting your senses.

"Hey now, it's alright," that deep, rumbly baritone soothed as you flinched from his proximity. "You're safe, pretty girl. Just let me get you inside and I'll explain everything."

He stepped into the washed-out hallway light and your breath stuttered in your lungs as a painfully familiar detail finally slammed into focus - the distinctive gleam of a pendant you knew better than your own name glinting from the hollow of his throat.

It all came rushing back in one headspinning epiphany - the decadent restaurant, the escalating tension, your uninhibited behavior as liquid courage set your baser instincts free...and through it all, Gojo's devotion to stoking that smoldering burn between you until neither could ignore the inevitable consummation hanging so tantalizingly close.

Your mouth dropped open in a soundless exhale as the missing pieces clicked into place. This wasn't some stranger - it was your enigmatic teacher himself, the object of your most scorching fantasies brought terribly, gloriously to life as he pinned you against the door with his signature brand of wicked provocation burning in those cobalt depths.

"Satoru..." you breathed, something like awestruck reverence lacing the name even as fresh heat bloomed across your cheeks.

One dark brow arched in wordless challenge, sensual lips still curved in that maddeningly familiar half-smirk. Almost absently, his free hand lifted to brush the pad of his thumb over your lower lip in a scorching caress.

"I'm listening, pretty girl," he purred, gaze dropping pointedly to the kiss-swollen pout before skating hungrily over every bared inch. "Why don't you tell me all about those dirty little fantasies that had you grinding away on stage like a dream?"

You shuddered hard, knees going watery at the explicit reminder and the intoxicating combination of sin and power radiating off him in waves. Despite your addled state, you knew there was no mistaking the naked challenge, the molten confirmation that Gojo returned your forbidden desires with equal fervor if the brand of his cock trapped snugly against your hip was any indication.

Which meant you could finally, blissfully unleash every scrap of wanton longing you'd been forced to keep confined behind useless layers of propriety and restraint for years. Here, now, with the man himself stoking your deepest wellsprings of lust and silently giving you leave to indulge like the wanton creature you'd always ached to be for him.

"Would you believe...that I've imagined this very moment more times than I can count?" you murmured in a rapturous rush before he could rescind the depraved permission.

You swayed helplessly into his solid weight as images from your most ardent daydreams began spilling freely - fevered scenes of his commanding, chiseled figure looming over your sweat-slicked body, mouth trailing liquid heat in its wake as he whispered the filthiest supplications against your neck.

"I've imagined you finding me like this before," you confessed in a breathless tumble, hands roving shamelessly over the crisp fabric of his shirt as you bared your darkest fantasies. "Completely messed up and desperate for you to touch me, use your mouth all over my body."

One of Gojo's hands fisted in your hair, tugging your head back to allow his tongue to blaze a scorching path over the throb of your racing pulse. You bucked shamelessly against his restraint, giving voice to another shattered fragment:

"I dream about you taking me again and again once you see how filthy I really am, until I'm out of my mind from the pleasure..."

A rumbling growl against your sensitized skin had you dissolving into a full-bodied shudder, hips grinding wantonly against the delicious promise pinning you to the unforgiving surface of the door. Gojo pressed you tighter into the cradle of his hips, allowing the impressive ridge of his cock to catch torturously in the molten apex of your need.

"Fuck, baby...don't stop," he rasped hoarsely, shredded composure bleeding through every syllable. "Was this what had you so turned on for me tonight? The thought of me disgracing that pretty little body until you've been utterly ruined for anyone else's touch but mine?"

You whimpered through your nod, rendered incoherent by the liquid heat of his filthy words alone. He seemed to swell further at your reaction, one large palm trailing up your torso to cup your breast possessively as he rolled and kneaded the sumptuous weight. His thumb plucked and strummed at the pebbled peak in time with the scorching grind of his hips, every whisper of contact a blasphemous supplication to drag you higher into sin's rapture.

"Satoru, please..." you finally managed to whine, hands fisting in the crisp fabric of his collar to keep from flying apart at the seams and dissipating into the ether. "I need...I need you to--"

In a swirl of movement and shredded restraint, you found yourself engulfed in the sanctuary of his arms, weightless and adrift as he carried you towards the bedroom like you were made of fine-spun glass. The world narrowed down to his lips claiming yours in a wildfire of devastating possession while long fingers blindly worked the door open under your combined weight.

One desperate backwards stagger later and you tumbled together over the threshold of the sanctuary he'd frequented in your most explicit imaginings. Your mouths were fused, twin points of incandescence that warred with the scorching need to drink in every gasp and keen your lover wrung free from the deepest, most sacred parts of your core.

Gojo slanted the searing brand of his kiss to swallow down an especial wrecked whimper as you rolled and writhed in his unforgiving embrace, shameless in your quest to chase more blinding friction.

"Every night since I first realized my obsession with you, I've fantasized about this moment," he rumbled against the sensitive juncture of your jaw, stubble scraping with delicious friction over your overheated flesh. "I've wanted this for too long - finally getting you naked in my bed, my ruin."

On the next insistent rock of his hips aligning you like destined celestial bodies, his clever fingers finally delved beneath the scandalous drape of your skirt to trail liquid heat over your drenched pussy and the lust-soaked array of lace and satin still shielding your innermost petals. He drank in your shattered moan like a man dying of thirst.

"Tell me, baby," Gojo husked urgently, punctuating each scalding inflection with another maddening push of his fingers into your drooling cunt. "Is this as good as you always dreamed? Has it lived up to your filthiest fantasies about me?"

You were beyond intelligible speech at this point, pathetic mewls and whimpers the only coherent sounds able to punch past the miasma of ecstasy clouding your mind. Still, you nodded frantically, arching feverishly into every scorching caress of his hands and mouth as Gojo slowly divested you of the flimsy cloth barriers separating you from total rapture.

The heat in his reverent stare as he laid your trembling form bare before his searing brand of appreciation was like an animating force unto itself. You bloomed under his ravenous focus like the most exotic of orchids, petals unfurling in welcome of the summer storm about to consume you utterly in the sweetest of drownings.

All too soon, the last scrap of modesty was shredded away on a zephyr's breath, leaving you panting and laid bare in the erotic aftermath of his sinful touches. Gojo drank in every quivering arch and sumptuous hollow for a long, molten moment - pride and pure masculine satisfaction warring behind his smoldering stare as he committed every line and plane to memory, every seam and shadow.

"My sickest, filthiest desires made flesh before me at last..." he growled in sublime rapture, unbridled awe and molten reverence dripping from each seared syllable. "Been craving the chance to savor this forbidden pussy."

One of those broad, calloused palms trailed up the tender inside of your thigh, urging your limbs wider in a silent entreaty for maximum exposure. The other swept along the feminine flare of your hip and lower abdomen, mapping every flutter of anticipation as Gojo crept closer to his prize.

"Now at last I get to fuck you like I always wanted..." His fingertips glided upwards, utterly unhurried and indulgent until blessedly, he cradled your scalding pussy in the scultped cradle of his palm as your hips jerked off the sheets with a punched-out cry.

No fantasy, no fevered imagining could have prepared you for the sheer bliss of your first full-bodied contact with the man who had haunted your dreams since that first day under his tutelage. Gojo rendered you utterly insensate with just the elemental slide of skin against slick, swollen folds - one languid stroke after another swiftly calcifying into that most exquisite of tortures as he utterly mastered your pleasure centers.

"Gorgeous little slut," he purred in hushed reverence, pouring every ounce of sin into his touch as twin points of searing azure bored into your hooded stare. "Let go for me, pretty girl. Let me hear those filthy noises that have tortured me for years."

You shattered on the next lazy curl of his fingertips into your syrupy core, back arching like a bow from the mattress as a clarion call of pure rapture was punched free from that deepest most sacred wellspring of feminine bliss he'd awoken. Over and over, Gojo sent you spiraling into blessed oblivion with just the barest brush of his ardent touch and the fathomless depths of desire blazing from every line of his commanding frame.

Eventually, the shockwaves of ecstasy subsided, leaving you an overwrought tangle of boneless satisfaction amidst the erotic aftermath. Still, his grip was inextricable as Gojo anchored your trembling form to his chest, brushing lingering sweeps of reverence over your damp brow and along your sides.

"I've wanted this for so long," he rasped, voice still raw from unleashing the full depths of his passion. "To cherish and worship you as the rarest of treasures that you are, pretty girl." He pressed scorching brands of kisses along the curve of your neck and shoulder, lingering over the marks his ravenous mouth had laid down to signify your joining. "There will be no more hiding how much I want to wreck you after this. You are mine now...and I will let the whole world know. Tonight was just a teaser - now, you’re mine to fuck and lay claim to your body over and over again, whenever I want."

That molten reminder of his intent to satisfy his hunger over and over throughout the endless, intimate hours still to come sent anticipatory shivers cascading through your core. This night had merely been an appetizer, a sinfully delicious prelude to all the raptures your mysterious mentor intended to introduce you to now that the shackles of propriety had been thrown off for good.

Unable to conjure any further words of import, you simply allowed yourself to melt back into his granite embrace as the cosmos outside bled away entirely. Because in this sacred chamber of reverent sin and endless exploration of desire's profane mysteries, nothing mattered beyond giving yourself over mind, body and soul to the sensual devotions of the only man who had ever dreamed of mastering you completely.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru smut

[benevolenterrancy]

When Xie Lian and his bad luck stumbled in and broke that vase Hua Cheng thought his every prayer had been answered -- he now has an iron-clad excuse to keep Dianxia close, dress him in nice clothes, feed him nice food… ideal! He did not stop to calculate the fact that it would mean watching Xie Lian flirt with Literally Everyone. Except. Him. Yin Yu did caluclate this but no one listens to him.

additional Ouran AU thoughts...

yin yu gets more requests than you'd expect, specifically around exam season. he's just a pleasant, solid sort of person who handles people having exam stress breakdowns very well

he xuan is also here due to a debt he refuses to elaborate on. he could have paid it back already but he quickly realized the best food on campus is here and eats enough to dig himself deeper and deeper in debt

50/50 shot if you'll find shi qingxuan as male or female, it's a real lottery for guests that have a preference

feng xin and mu qing are both here. they are not prepared to meet xie lian again after all these years, especially not in this context. he is REALLY not prepared to meet them like this either. he'd prefer no dress, thanks.

what on god's green earth is feng xin doing in a host club when he can't handle women At All? everyone would like to know this. the only reason hua cheng hasn't kicked him out is because he finds his discomfort HILARIOUS

pei ming is a VERY enthusiastic guest to the general dismay of every host. lately though he's been having a good time eating snacks and watching hua cheng and xie lian circle around each other in a very pathetic and no-at-all-subtle way. ho ho.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #ouran high school host club #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #shi qingxuan #he xuan #yin yu #beefleaf #shi qingxuan will always be determined to get his friends to play with gender with him and ouran has gnc baked into its dna #my art

[silent-dark-entries]

Something I’m in the middle of writing !!!

Word Count: 1175!!

Warnings: Still proofreading so maybe some mistakes! Also my first Wizarding world fic so its probably not accurate ._. This also will be a smut but I’m just plot building :))

Oh!!! And seizure warning!!

Birdie looks herself in the mirror for the fourth time. Was her dress too short, too tight? She can't breathe, so she loosens her ribbons...for the third time. Maybe a muggle designer wasn't the brightest idea, but it's too late. Birdie can feel her friends, Nerissa and Imogene, growing impatient waiting outside in the Slytherin common room. They never have troubles getting dressed for these types of things. They're the exact same body type, if it looks good on one of them it'll surely look good on the other.

Birdie looks one more time. A green plaid slip dress, and shiny Mary Jane platforms  Final decision.

Birdie takes a swig of the smuggled in firewhisky as her and her fellow Slytherins make their way to the Gryffindor common room. The burn is dreadful but nostalgic nonetheless.

Birdie listens to her friend's talk but doesn't give them a second thought. She feels guilty of course. She had ignored their letters all summer holiday scared they would've known what she was up to. Scared they knew what her Mother had done. She didn't even sit with them during the sorting ceremony. In fact, she hid in the toilets when the food had come out. But they found her and cornered her asking if they had done something wrong. She denied it and just blamed it on an upset tummy.

Someone in the front of the line of students does the secret knock making the fat lady creek open. The students move through the silenced, glowing green, stone tunnel into the common room full of students. Birdie takes another swig of the fire whiskey before it's swiped by Imogene.

"Pace yourself Birdie." Nerissa says as they find their designated corner to stand in. Imogene throws her sandy Blonde hair behind her tiny shoulders before taking a hefty sip. She screws her face as the burn leaves her throat.

"Fuck's sake Birdie! They weren't kidding when they named this shit." Imogene rasps out. The three girls laugh before taking more tiny sips each.

Birdie floats towards the dance crowd as muggle hip hop blares through the speakers, her friends following closely behind her. Birdie throws her arms up along with the firewhiskey as she yells along to the lyrics of Rump Shaker. Birdie shakes her ass to the beat and occasionally drops to the floor as she's sandwiched between the two girls.

The crowd cheers as the song ends. Birdie opens her eyes that she hadn't realized were shut tight. The room spins beneath her feet as she makes her way towards a group of people sitting on the floor in a circle.

"What is this? huh, some kind of prayer circle?" Birdie snorts out. Birdie hates being seen as a mean girl but it's what people expect from her.

"It's kiss or drink." A gravelly voice from below her says. Birdie looks down at the familiar voice that she usually has great talent in ignoring to see none other than Fred Weasley staring back at her. He smiles up at her before blowing out the smoke from the joint he held between his lips. "We'd ask you to join us, but I'm sure you wouldn't want to tarnish that niminy-piminy attitude you keep up."

Birdie's jaw dropped. Her first thought is to take her bottle she has clenched in her hand and smash it against his head. But instead she sits where she stood inbetween Fred and some nobody sixth year. She keeps her eyes straight ahead ignoring the stares coming from the rest of the group.

Hannah Abbot, a geeky blonde girl leans forward and spins the green translucent bottle that sits in the middle of the circle. The groups hoops and howls as it lands on Neville Longbottom. Hannah giggles as she crawls across the circle closer to Neville before feverishly locking lips with him. Birdie bites her tongue trying desperately not to gag at the sight of the spit string between them as they part. Neville spins the bottle awkwardly fast.

Birdie takes the last swig of her fire whiskey instantly regretting it for it finally sent her over the tipsy versus drunk threshold. She wipes the dribble from her mouth before putting the bottle down between her thighs. She looks at the bottle in the middle to see who it landed on and it's of course her. Birdie looks up to see Neville moving towards her slowly.

"Take the drink Longbottom." Birdie says through her teeth. Neville nods defeatedly before throwing a shot from the bottle back. Birdie rolls her eyes before clumsily leaning in to spin the bottle. She looks around the circle to see if there's anyone worthy enough to kiss but sees no one she actually cares to kiss. Which works out for her for the bottle lands on herself.

"Well I can't kiss myself." Birdie picks up her shot.

"It's on Freddie." George cheekily says. "You have to kiss Freddie!" Birdie looks back down at the bottle. Certainly it's slightly pointed to the left, straight at Fred.

"Just let her take the shot! I told you she's too priggish to kiss anyone here." Fred sneers. Birdie slams her shot glass down and gets on her knees. She throws her arm around Fred's neck and the other hand on his cheek. Pushing him closer to her face until their lips finally meet. Soft and innocent first until Fred dips deeper snaking his arm around her body pulling her closer and slipping his tongue against hers.

Birdie breaks first scooting back on her knees leaving Fred's body cold next to her. She takes the joint from his hand whilst standing and stumbling away to find her friends, leaving the the small circle speechless

"Well" George says breaking the silence. "I don't know how we could continue after that."

Birdie finds her friends in the corner with their arms crossed staring back at her. She takes a hit of the joint and offers it to her friends in which they partake.

"What the hell was that shit, Missulena?" Nerissa says blowing the smoke into the air.

"It was hot!" Imogene says. Birdie shrugs lazily.

"She's pissed. We should get back to the dorms before she gets sick." Nerissa says gesturing them towards the door.

Birdie follows behind her friends before feeling a sharp pain it the middle of her forehead. She shakes off the pain before searching for her friends in the crowd. Birdie stumbles forward but before she could catch her balance she feels her legs give out beneath her making her fall straight on her back. Her arms become stiff against the sides of her sides as her back arch towards the ceiling. Birdie's eyes rolls eerily to the back of her head as her gaped mouth lets out a ghostly howl.

Nerissa and Imogene push pass through the crowd surrounding as Birdie's body rattles violently against the old rug beneath her body. Birdie looks up at her friends through her tear filled eyes. Until her eyes finally closed.

#fred wealsey fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley smut #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley fanfiction #fred and george #draco #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco smut #draco x reader #draco x y/n #harry potter #draco malfoy smut #hogwarts #hp fandom #Spotify

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 10: A Wedding

MASTERLIST

Summary: A wedding. A joust. Some simping.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: nothing, really

The Sept. Sept – Hept – Seven, referring to the Seven New Gods that prevailed over the Faith. It was filled with people, nobles, high merchants, children old enough to not disrupt the proceedings, and guards. There were a lot of guards.

Princess Naera Targaryen stood behind a mostly closed door in the most prominent Sept in King’s Landing, running her fingers over a clear red ruby within an iron crest that dangled from her neck, as she pondered the customs. It was the door behind the Crone and the Stranger, though she did not know the reason. The Crone symbolised time—the future, perhaps? The Stranger held little significance to her.

Her father stood beside her, looking the best at his health than he had in a very long time. His maesters had outdone themselves, it seemed.

The High Septon’s quiet, drawling voice echoed through the Sept within, reading some prayers and extracts from the Seven-Pointed Star. It did not help that it was the same book which had been cited to Princess Alysanne before she married her brother who later came to be known as King Jaehaerys the Reconciler—there were none more deterred by their ways than those who held Faith in the Seven Gods. Naera did not understand why her family agreed with the commoners and their beliefs in this regard, when the commoners so rarely hid their dismay over the marriage of brother to sister as done in he Targaryen family. 

House Targaryen had been fueled to stray above the petty crowds, as it was obvious in the height of the Iron Throne above those who stood on the grounds, as it was obvious in the soaring might of the dragon riders above the main populace. They were above them—as they had been, for a hundred years, and a thousand years before that also.

She stared through the inch-thin parting of the doors before her. She could see solemn light, and crowds, and the High Septon leaned over his book between the statues of the Mother and the Father. A stair below and to the right stood Daemon, dressed in black, arms clasped calmly as he struggled through the prayers—struggled, yes, for she knew him better than to think he felt no irritation or ire. She recognised faces by the statues—Aegon, by his height, Helaena, by the dress, Rhaenyra and Laenor, and her two older sons, and Aemond by the black spot of his eye-patch—she almost pitied the boy, were it not for his crime—and a woman in Green, extravagantly dressed, with a gleaming golden Seven-Pointed Star at her neck. Queen Alicent. Yes. That is why the dragon dared heed the wishes of the sheep. Her weak father was the reason.

Naera made an effort to not frown but pulled her arm away from her father. Not for long. Yes. House Hightower of Oldtown shall soon fall. She shall ensure it. The Greens shall forever be defeated, as Aegon’s enemies had been. The dragon does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep, and it was time they returned to a reign ruled with Fire and Blood, and not compromise and faltering diplomacy. 

Naera ran her fingers along the edge of the cloak on her back—ash black, as the remnants of a most disastrous fire, with a blood-red dragon—a dragon has three heads—inscribed in a circle. Fire and Blood, but perhaps she just needed to rediscover her fire—perhaps the man, her uncle, her blood who she had never really known, who stood irate, about to wed her would help her. Perhaps, he’d warm and rekindle her lost flames with his own fire.

Before she guts him, of course. Although, perhaps the pyre of his funeral shall burn her with a delight so strong, a kind of joy which would burn through her blood for all her life. Perhaps.

The doors were heaved open by priests from within, and Naera gave her father her arm. The crowds hushed silence as the King walked in his daughter, his Visenya Returned, down the aisle to where the High Septon stood. Every step felt numbing on her feet, a strange anticipation boiling in her throat—the urge to destroy, surely, but she did not like the sensation. It felt like she had seconds before she had been enslaved for the first time, with no hopes for escape, the way she had felt every second in Stygai before the world came crashing down, the way she had felt when Raiden had first taken to illness. Nothing good came of this feeling.

Naera did not look down; she did not dare blemish the rites and her family. No, she wore the Targaryen cloak with pride, despite the implication, despite the sighs of contempt and aversion at her blood. It had not been her choice, she thought. This was the crown’s disdain to bear and it was an insult to the King to ignore.

Naera looked up to the blinding morning sun that gleamed through the windows, and her own regal lilac eyes caught those of nourishing soil brown. Elysabeth Tyrell stood in a gown of gold and pink, as the rose she was, a teasing look stuck on her beautiful face as she stood closer to the Septon than the rest, ready to receive her cloak.

Her father grasped her arm a little tighter as they ascended the stairs to the Septon—to Daemon, who stared down at his struggling brother with a shielded stare of pity, and then looked upon his Valyrian bride, and smiled. Viserys settled to the side, standing on the left, behind his dear daughter, besides the Queen, and their children.

Naera ascended the final stair alone, her footsteps echoing in the silence, and she stood before her smiling uncle—smiling, still, at her decorated face, her silver hair, and at her silver gown, her black cloak, and he refused to stare between her breasts where the red ruby dangled. He would not let himself be reminded of that ordeal, tubis daor—not today.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” and Naera turned with mincing steps to face the statues behind her. She felt Daemon lift up her cloak and saw Lady Tyrell accept it with glee, and he spread another fabric—near perfectly identical—across her shoulders, and yet it felt heavier than her maiden’s cloak, as though a symbol of the weight that came with the ties of marriage. It crushed her from within, and without. Naera turned once the cloak was secure, trying her best to keep herself from frowning.

Suffer through this night, and relish in what comes after.

“My lords, my ladies,” the Septon drawled on, “we stand here, in the sight of gods and men, to witness the union of man and wife,” and Naera thoroughly frowned at his words. Man and wife—not husband and wife, then it should be man and woman. To denote a woman by her man is the simplest form of enslavement. “One flesh, one heard, one soul, now and forever.” No. It would not be forever, Naera knew. Nothing is forever.

She turned to face the Septon, as did Daemon. She held out her hand, and he covered it with his own, as the Septon wound a white ribbon round their joint hands, once, twice, thrice, until he approached seven loops. The Septon spoke as he wound the ribbon around their hands, “Let it be known that Naera of the House Targaryen and Daemon of the House Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” His hand over hers felt warm, comforting, caring.

“Look upon each other, and say the words,” and Naera turned to Daemon, their hands still held.

They spoke the names of the New Gods of the South, in unison, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” and never breaking their flow and rhythm, never cracking their unison, Daemon spoke, “I am hers, and she is mine.”

Naera spoke in a voice quieter than Daemon’s, but heard nonetheless, “I am his, and he is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” he finished.

“From this day, until the end of his days,” and the threat in Naera’s voice went unnoticed by all—by the Septon, by Elysabeth Tyrell, by her father, and her step-mother, and their children, and Rhaenyra and her family. It went unnoticed by every man and woman in the Sept, other than Daemon.

He tightened his grasp on her hand, smiling fake yet again, but she knew the joy of finally attaining his Valyrian Bride outweighed the possibility of losing her by the worth of a thousand lives. Soon enough, his eyes twinkled with the spark he must hold for a lady wife he has wanted for very long, and he still refused to glance at the ruby and all it represented.

“With this kiss,” and his voice adopted a dulcet tone she had never heard in it before, “I pledge my love.” And the destruction of House Hightower, was that which he did not voice. They knew—oh, they knew the promise very well. Naera couldn’t resist a smile, oh, to watch the perfect Alicent cower and weep to her false gods after all she holds dear is gone, and Naera yearned for the kiss that would promise it all. Daemon leaned forward, tilting his face to the side, the heat that radiated off his face, his eyes, his hands adding up to be too much, and pressed his warm lips against hers for a moment only—a moment of fire and storm that sent a chill down her spine, before pulling away. Yes.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” In perpetuity. Naera blinked, as the High Septon unwrapped the white ribbon. Daemon’s eyes smiled down at her, as did his lips, but Naera heard, in the euphonious voice of the woman from her dreams, or do I have my facts wrong?

I wasn’t there, your grace, a deeper, lower voice answered, quieter, smaller, inferior.

No, of course not, the voice of the Conqueror, the Targaryen Princess, the Breaker of Chains echoed in Naera’s mind, but still, an oath, is an oath, and an ounce of guilt ran down Naera, and in perpetuity means…what does in perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?

Forever, surely, Lord Tyrion, whoever he was, spoke.

Forever, and the voices faded away. Naera blinked. No. This was a sham wedding—it was not binding, it was not a promise—valar morghulis, all men must die, and she held no obligation to them all. Didn’t she?

“Are you alright?” Daemon asked her frozen face, concern colouring his joys.

No. No, no, no.

“Of course.”

There was always a portion of theatrics that came with tourneys. The cheers of the spectators, the clink and clutter of gamblers handing their silver and gold to barterers, the whispers amongst high nobility all boldened the knights. The thrumming of drums in a rhythmic setting boiled anticipation. To feel the heave and weight of one’s armour, to hear the hammering of one’s horse’s hooves against the mulch-ridden ground, and to stare into the eyes of your opponent, all those feet away, through the cages of one’s helm, was brilliance.

Daemon rode out on his horse—midnight dark, to match his obsidian armour. He heard the crowds and their cries and their praises, and it cemented a sort of pride he couldn’t source elsewhere. There were a series of knights lined up, bearing the emblems of houses on their chests, their horses lined up in a row—He always chose first. A man dressed in red and black announced his ordeal, as he rode past each and every mounted knight to find one worthy.

The first he faced was Jason Lannister, with his silken cape of red and gold and a lion that roared within. Dragons didn’t duel with Lions—no. The next was a Stark, and a Bolton, and Daemon had no desire to fight a man who stood no chance—no. Baratheon, Hightower, but he had already injured them before, so no. He passed by the Tyrell rose who dared have his beauty tainted, but oh, Targaryen.

With her wedding gown still in place beneath gleaming silver armour, and it made sense why she had chosen one with wide ankles—his lady wife, his beloved niece, his Naera had been serious about the tourney. The cloak he had settled on her shoulders just hours ago now acted as a cape, though hidden behind a sheer white cape that glowed in the sun, and when Daemon passed his horse by her, he saw a lilac eye wink through the bars of her helm. Well, he decided, as he turned his horse and lowered his lace to her shoulder.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, has chosen his opponent…” and the man was certainly confused beyond words, but he found them nonetheless, “It is…Princess Naera Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and, uh, the Silver Knight!” The crowds roared aloud, about to witness a match that wouldn’t be seen for another two hundred years at the least.

The man backed away thus, as Daemon approached the King’s bracket, his black stallion clucking its way to the front. “I request the favour of the Heir to the Iron Throne—Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,” and if his old love did resent him for caving up thoughts and memories she had buried away, she did not show it.

“Good fortune to you, uncle,” she announced with a diplomatic smile and threaded a wreath of green leaves and yellow blossoms through his lance. He heard claps and excitement of those who watched, and wondered if he should be gentle—what would they think of him, if he disarmed his lady wife. Surely, that he was cruel and merciless, Maegor Returned, as she was Visenya—nothing they did not already believe.

Naera’s grey horse approached the bracket also, as Daemon took his place by one edge of the track. He saw the irritation on her face as she flicked off the visor of her helm, for he had known without a doubt that his niece would have asked the favour of her own sister.

“I ask for the favour of his grace, King Viserys,” and the crowds took a minute to register her request before they cried out in approval—this was hardly a conventional match, of course. “Shall I have your blessing, father?” Naera used her words to coax her laughing, joying, priding father off his chair. He fetched a wreath of gold and twine and dropped it through her iron lance.

“I wish you victory, Silver Knight—my Visenya Returned,” said the King, after which, he returned to his seat, and the happiness was evident on his ageing features. Naera let her horse neigh and directed it to turn and take its place on the opposite end of the track. The drums were beaten with vigour, with a rhythm long imbued into Daemon’s mind from all the tourneys he had won, and as the beats came to a still stop, he reined his horse to stagger and run forth, aiming his spear at an angle meant to disarm—to not hurt his lady wife at all.

Naera, at the other end, rode faster than he did, for she understood that the strength she did not possess would come with the speed her lord husband could not gain, and angled her spear further out into his space—to harm, and not just disarm.

Her armour caught the glow of the noon day’s sun, but her momentum made it all blur into a streak of silver, and as the cape of red and grey-black that hung off her back caught wind in the air, they clashed spears with a brassy, deafening blast of metal and wood.

Daemon’s spear cluttered against her wooden shield, splintering the wood and streaking the symbol of the dragon. Naera’s spear caved in a metal place near his shoulder, throwing him off his balance, and she turned, as her grey stallion blared past, to watch her uncle’s midnight dark horse cry out and run, throwing him off its back and down to the muddy, mulchy ground.

His arm collided against the fence pole, sending a crackle of pain through his shoulder.

There were at least a thousand men and women—and as the Rogue Prince was demounted by his new lady wife, every single man, woman, and child shored up a riotous, thundering uproar. Daemon pushed his way to his feet, gasping and groaning.

Oh. She was not bluffing, it seemed.

Naera turned her stallion, and shouted, “Get him a sword!” Happy.

A squire approached Daemon, holding out the sheathed Black Sister. Oh, he had been wrong—how terribly wrong. He watched Naera dismount her horse, tugging off the heaviest of her armour around her shoulders and arms, and dropping it to the ground, but leaving the breastplate in place. He watched her remove her jousting helm, letting her silver hair fall across her shoulders.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister with a shrill sound, throwing away his helm, making his way towards Naera as the man from earlier announced their intentions. Naera held a thin blade, not very strong or sturdy, but he did not know what to expect.

“First blood,” he named his terms, and she hummed her approval above the noise of the people.

“Very well,” but neither of them failed to notice the panic in the King’s eyes as he leaned against the veranda, face contorted in worry. Eh.

Naera held her blade in her high hand, extending it straight, as though it was a part of her arm. Daemon lunged at her, his sword aimed straight, and she leaned away, stepping back, not daring to try her hand at a straight clash. No, Naera instead leaned away, stepped back, whipping her grey gown against the wet mud, and swiped her sword against dark sister as it heaved down, and again, and again—three quiet hits and her sword pointed at Daemon’s face. Ah.

He drew a long breath, whipping around and slashing at her, but Naera—his Naera, leaned away, again, and again, and she managed to catch him off guard with a drastic flip of her hair, and pushed down her leg against his chest. Daemon slipped against the mulch, colliding against the ground yet again, and Naera pointed the thin, flimsy blade at him, at his neck, and the fear of the nights before returned.

A man has lost to a girl, he almost heard her say, but with the fear turning to singed panic, and the panic being the fire that fueled his blood, he kicked her down onto the mud, staggering to his feet, and Naera had already twirled back to her feet—agile, elegant, quick. He watched the silk and silver of her gown tear and screech at the hems, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered—not when her eyes were smiling unlike he had ever seen them do.

Naera clashed her sword against his armour, against his Valyrian Steel Blade, and it clattered off into two pieces. She hissed at the loss, taking a large step backwards, and lunged at Daemon with the broken blade, aiming at his neck. Daemon pulled the blade out of her hands, throwing it somewhere near the shouting man who informed the people of their deeds.

Daemon heard the pitched sliding of metal against metal, as Naera unsheathed the dagger he had once gifted her. Oh, she was being sentimental, in a way.

He gasped a laugh, clutching Dark Sister as hard as he could, and he slashed at her again, and she knelt down to avoid it, piecing her second blade through the joint plates of his obsidian armour. Daemon groaned out in pain, and Naera was again throwing him down with her weight, her Valyrian Steel dagger striking across his cheek in a blur of grey and silver.

Daemon faced the skies, and he watched Naera raise her dagger, coated in his blood, smiling, happy, almost ecstatic, he’d even dare word. He felt warm blood pour down his face, and the sting of a wound well cut spreading through his mind.

Every woman in the crowd—Rhaenyra and Elysabeth in particular, screamed out their joys at her victory, but the face of King Viserys, clapping at his daughter’s victory shone through the rest.

“Well, husband?” Naera held out a hand, silver hair settled down on her shoulders, as she replaced the blade by her waist. Her lilac eyes gleamed brighter than her hair, and her breastplate shone with the light of the sun. The lines on her face had settled, a suppressed smile eating away at her face, Silver Knight. Daemon accepted her hand, unable to fight a smile. He had never enjoyed losing—who did?

He did not leave her hand once he stood but instead raised it above their heads, despite the ache in his leg and on his face. He left her arm hanging high, and wrapped both his arms around her waist, and raised her up higher. The shadow of the tracks escaped her, and the tilted sun illuminated her. The shimmer of her armour blinded him, but he looked on, at her blooming high-set cheeks, her rosy, smiling lips and her eyes—oh, her eyes, which he was sure were amethysts worth more gold than this world could own. She was perfect.

Naera laughed as she did, like a shower of crystal rain after a decade-long drought, like a wakening light in the darkest of hells, and like a little child after receiving praise or a maiden after receiving a flower from her long love. He couldn’t resist—did not wish to resist the grin that befell him.

He had lost.

He loved it.

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

[whispersinthedawn]

The Last of a Dying Breed (2)

She should have sung paeans, should have recited poems glorifying Apollo. She should have sacrificed a bull and not half a litre of her own blood. She should have spoken ritual words that she didn’t know.   

Instead, all she had was the strength of her own conviction, the power of her desperation.

“Phoebus Apollo, Apollo Alexicacus,Apollo Iatromantis, Apollo Didymeus” she started hoarsely, uncertain as to why these names dropped off her lips, but willing to accept it as divine providence. “Lord of Delphi, Protector of Youth, please accept my plea. All I wish for is to be your Oracle. I promise to devote my life to you, to swear off any attachment but you. To speak your words as the only truth in the world, to lay myself at your feet and see only that which you wish me to see.”

Percy’s heart raced inside her chest, simultaneously terrified and strangely comforted by the almost ritual cadence of her words. These … were the wrong words for the Pythia, she knew that as soon as they left her lips. But these were the words she’d spoken, and so this was the promise she’d keep.

As long as Apollo accepted.

Percy looked down at the face reflected in the blood pooled on the floor. For a second, the strangest sense of disorientation struck her. Was that pale, stressed thing really her face? It looked dead already, like she’d been chewed up and spat out by the Minotaur whose horn lay on her bed.

As she waited, the same quiet refrain ran through her head.

If he couldn’t even do this, then what good was Apollo?

If she couldn’t even do this, then what good was Percy?

Like the quietest of sunrises, the room gradually lightened. The presence that filled the chamber, however, was anything but gentle.

A searing heat blasted Percy’s skin, threatening to roast her alive. Had her eyes been anywhere but at the floor, the sheer brilliance of Apollo’s appearance would have burned out her soul.

As it was, she instinctively slammed her eyes shut, rainbow dots sprinkling the back of her lids like confetti on a cake. Unwilling to present herself as a cowering child, however, Percy transitioned the act into a bow of subservience.

“Lord Apollo,” she murmured.

Only now that he stood in front of her, did Percy register just how badly she’d wished Apollo to ignore all her prayers as her own father had done her pleas.

Only now that he’d deigned to show up did she realise just how much trouble she was in.        

“So, you are the intrepid soul who seeks to become my Pythia?” the god purred.

Percy dared blink open teary eyes, incongruously surprised to find a Greek god dressed in Celestial Bronze. Somewhere deep inside, she’d almost expected the gods who were so busy with the war to be garbed in the camouflage raiment utilised by the soldiers. But no, at least from the knee down, Apollo wore gleaming bronze armour and leather sandals.

His shoes clicked sharply against the wooden flooring as he circled her, but Percy kept her eyes on the ground. Her efforts to avoid giving offense for as long as possible didn’t last long, though.

Quick as the snakes that were his sacred animal, fingers of steel gripped her chin and wrenched her head up.

Percy gasped, shocked out of the terrified complaisance she’d fallen into.

Furious golden eyes caught ever-changing sea-green.

Percy’s heart stuttered.

She'd never before seen a god so radiant he’d moved straight past ethereal into inhuman. But even if she had, she rather thought there would never be another Phoebus Apollo.

“The audacity,” Apollo whispered.

Percy took in burnished gold curls, tanned skin, high cheekbones, sharp nose, and wide eyes, all shaded in an unreal light, and had the disconcerting realisation that rage suited gods.

Her father had never seemed so real in all their affectionate moments together as Apollo did now while on the verge of smiting her.

“Is it audacity to wish to devote my life to the spirit of Delphi?” she breathed out.

“It is when you don’t even know the correct words,” he snarled.

“Is ritual more important than true sentiment?” she demanded. “Would you rather I recite a few unfeeling, memorised verses … or that conviction forms the core of my words?”

He dropped her chin, rearing back like she was the cobra about to strike.

“Such bold words,” he said after a moment. “But is your conviction not directed solely towards your fellow demigods? What devotion will you afford me when all that runs through your head is how you may be of use to them?”

“All that is left in me,” Percy answered desperately.

Apollo laughed, a scathing denigration of her statement and existence in one. “And you believe one girl’s devotion is enough for me to accept just anyone who throws themselves at me?”

Percy shook her head, mind whirring through the possibilities, discarding one answer after the other at the speed of light. “It is not me you’re accepting,” she finally informed him far more calmly than she felt.

At Apollo’s quirked eyebrow, she continued delicately, “Your Oracle died today.”

At the growing thunderstorm on his brow, Percy hurried to ask, “Apollo Iatromantis, how many more of the people you have claimed as yours will die if you don’t accept me today?”

Previous | Next

#pjo #fanfiction #percy jackson #apollo #perpollo #Oracle Percy #fem percy #percy x apollo #the last of a dying breed

[paladinbaby]

[Image Description: A digital drawing of my pc Nettle from the home game Library of Lensa in washed out pastel colours against a dark blue background. Nettle is a white woman with long white hair and a full sleeve of tattoos on her left arm. Her eyes are glowing white and she’s looking directly forward. She wears a plain green dress and a long blue green veil, pinned into her hair with yellow flowers, that falls to the bottom of the image. Her hands are together in prayer. There are several glowing yellow circles in the background radiating off of her. The second image is a close up of her face showing the layers of colouring around her eyes. End ID.]

#dnd5e #d&d art #d&d character #d&d character art #d&d 5e #personal #my art #my art described #nettle :) #c:lensa #lensa art

[adelitaflores]

Prep for Summer Solstice celebrations

Open starter

Where: The Hallowed Forest, near the edge

When: Late evening

For the High Priestess of Helka’s Own to be found in the Hallowed Forest, casting spells or prepping for ceremonies, was a common occurrence. Throughout the year, her coven and other witches who practiced similarly, would celebrate the passing of time, the changing of seasons by attending  ceremonies in the town’s forest. About a mile or so away from the edge lay the ruins of the Helka’s Own oldest suspected first of worship. It had long since become a depraved place for teens to hang out, drink underage and so on. The graffiti that covered the half walls and clumps or old marble, had given the once holy place a garish kind of aesthetic. This was of course, transformed once Adelita inherited her title thirteen years prior and took over the coven.

At once, the original coven’s place of worship was washed clean by spells and potions, blessings bestowed by the coven’s priestess and advisors. One of the covens most proficient spellcasters assisted in the cleansing and created spells that kept anyone or anything with anything but pure intentions from entering the hallowed space. The combinations of spells, cleansing, prayer and of course hard manual labour had transformed the rubble and mess of beer cans and fire pits into a tranquil and serene place to practice witchcraft and cast spell circles.

The coven did not attempt to rebuild the place of worship, instead it was left open to the elements, what was left of the walls glistened white and silver in the moon and sunlight. A stone table sat nestled between the debris of the original building was often adorned with herbs, spices, ingredients and candles. It was here where the middle aged Priestess stood twisting and manipulating green leaves into the form of the Holly Royalty’s face. That evenings all night celebrations would include the dance battle between the Oak Royalty (an entity representing the light side of the year) and the Holly Royalty (the dark, winter side of the year) and Adelita was working on the masks to be worn by the coven members involved in the display.

Sure, as jobs go, this was definitely one the Priestess no doubt should have delegated to another person, her time more efficiently being spent elsewhere, but the single witch had reserved this little task for herself. The familiar, the traditional and mundane felt good to the woman who lived in a permanent state of stress, anticipating one disaster and one success to the next. She was not alone however, she was as usual accompanied by two guards, a witch and a werewolf who stood at a distance, giving the Priestess some space.

Dark, curls hung loose, and she was dressed immaculately as always, though a little more relaxed. She wore an olive V-neck, wide legged jumpsuit that complimented her complexion wonderfully. White five inch strappy heals were left discarded amongst the brambles and dirt of the forest floor, and she stood barefoot, toes pressed comfortably into the soil beneath her. She looked on her task with a look of determined concentration, but there was a look of such genuine calm on the witch’s face. In that place, Adelita was just a witch, making a pretty mask for a dancer, hell, even the tell tale signs of age about her eyes seemed smoothed out, making her appear more youthful.

#adelitaflores #hallowedforest #open starter #opulencestarter

[kathyprior4200]

Heavenly Boss S2 E1: Hearing Homilies

“In the glorious expanse of the seven heavens, there exists infinite amounts of incredible phenomena. The third sphere of Heaven where those who love God and humanity dwell. The twelve wise men in the fourth. The warriors in the fifth sphere and the righteous in the sixth. The golden ladder in the seventh for those who devoted themselves to prayer. But in the higher spheres of the Fixed Stars, you may see Mary and other saints. The highest sphere of all is the Empyrean, where angels dance in circles of light around the Light which is God Himself. Divine white roses flourish with life and positivity. Although Seraphim sing around God’s throne, seeing the Empyrean and its angelic guardians is just as spectacular. One the sabbath day, on the 7th day of the seventh month, our corner of reality is treated to an incredible sight. For it is said that Jesus Christ Himself will appear from a shining beam of light, bringing together souls from all corners of Heaven together. A divine sermon takes place in the sky, where Jesus and the Holy Spirit Dove will give each of us a divine message from God about our futures. This advice will give us much to think about in our long prosperous lives. Anyone can attend…” Yeshua’s Gist.”

Azrael, the Angel of Death, narrated the scene, a Bible in front of him. The images showed the Virgin Mary and the saints talking to various angels and souls. It showed Jesus with long brown hair and a white face and him wearing a worn white robe with a dove over his head. The sun, the moon, and all the planets aligned and formed the seven heavens, while the stars and angels brightened the higher spheres. Azrael curled up his hand and the images faded. An open Bible hovered in front of him, surrounded by gold magic.

“Well, at least it’ll be fun for the outgoing folk,” he mentioned.

He tucked in little Quartet Enoch, the swan princess who giggled. Quartet had white feathery hair and a dark face with green eyes. She wore a blue dress with halos on it. Her mother, Flora, had long black feathers; she was an avian nature angel.

Quartet’s room was white with blue trim on the ceiling. She had a princess bed with a gold sparkling canopy, and a gold crown design on the headboard. An overhead mobile showed an angel playing a trumpet, a star, a harp, and a flower.

“Daddy, can we go see it someday?” she asked, eyes wide in wonder.

“Of course,” said Azrael. “I promise. When the day comes, nothing will be able to keep me and your mom from seeing it with you. Goodnight, my angel.”

“Goodnight,” called Quartet with a yawn. The Bible followed Azrael as he closed the door. Quartet wiggled in her bed and giggled with excitement.

0 0 0

Many years later, a teen Quartet woke up, excited. On her calendar, she had drawn a Christian Cross and the smiling faces of her and her father and mother. She put on her green dress with black skulls on it, her gold crown, white jacket, and white boots. She greeted some golden singing roses that were in pots along the hall.

“Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad!” she called. The kitchen was empty. A halo flickered above her head.

“Mom?”

She looked on the balcony. Black onyx pillars held several dome-shaped gazebos in a garden below. There was a tricking of a gold fountain with a statue of a raised sword with water gushing from the tip. No one save for a groundskeeper elf was present there.

“Dad?”

Quartet walked all throughout the palace, her hand on a golden rail decorated with eye designs.

She finally spotted them out front in the courtyard. They were speaking in hushed tones.

They turned to her. “Oh, hello ‘Tet,” said Flora, brushing a flower from her black feathery hair. Her dress was various shades of green and made of feathers. Her angel wings were folded back, and a halo hovered above her head.

“Are you ready to go?” asked Azrael.

“Yes!” said Quartet.

“Go change into this,” said Flora. She showed Quartet a beautiful golden dress with diamonds on the front shaped like a Christian Cross between two white angel wings. There was also a pair of white high heels and gemstones to attach to her wings.

“Huh,” said Quartet. “I didn’t know it was that fancy. Still very nice.”

Quartet snapped her fingers and lifted herself magically into the air. In a flash of light, the fancy dress moved toward her and was on her. Her original clothes were back in Flora’s arms.

“Better,” said Flora.

Quartet lowered to the ground and smiled, but then spotted her dad walking away.

“Dad, where are you going?”

Azrael turned to her with a somber expression. “To attend to my usual duties.”

A bloody scythe appeared in his hand and his dark wings stretched outward as thunder crashed in the background for effect.

“But I thought you were coming with us?”

Flora sighed. “There has been…a slight change in plans.”

“Let me know how it goes,” said Azrael before vanishing into the darkness.

Quartet gasped. “The ceremony isn’t canceled, is it?”

“No,” said Flora. She waved her hand and a portal appeared. Both of them stepped through it and it closed behind them. They stood before a large gold palace with Hebrew letters engraved into the ornate double doors.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Quartet asked.

Flora gave her a look. “I should’ve told you this sooner but…”

“But what?”

“You know that you visit your father for the weekend once every month, right?”

Quartet’s eyes went wide. ‘Sugar honey iced tea!’ she thought. ‘I completely forgot!’ She slowly nodded.

“Well, it’s that time again.”

The double doors opened and there stood a tall, elegant swan angel. His eyes glowed dark green and his black feathery hair was in a tight bun. He wore a white suit with a high collar trimmed with gold with his sigil on his suit. Two swan heads looped around his neck. A red necktie was in the middle of his suit, and he also had a red cape behind him. Hovering above him was a halo with a red carnelian crystal in the center. His face was feathery white, and he had a hooked beak-like nose.

He revealed a small smile. “Hello, Quartet. It’s great to see you again.”

Among other rooms in the palace were other angelic members of the Shem HaMeporash. Some were humanoid but manly angels who had features of lions, lambs, doves, swans, eagles, and other heavenly animals.

Quartet awkwardly waved back. “Hello father.”

“I see Azrael has let you slack off again,” Menadel muttered to Quartet as he strode forward. He briefly looked at Flora. “You know, Flora…if your daughter ever wants to fulfil her role better and spend more time with me…”

“That is, if you’re not preoccupied with the angelic council and half a dozen other things,” Flora remarked coldly. “I’ve said it before…Quartet stays with me and Azrael the most. He’s married to me.”

“Which is a big mistake,” he seethed. “Falling for the angel of death who’s so unlike yourself.” 

“He loves me for who I am. He didn’t hesitate to care for Quartet.”

“You were supposed to raise her during the time I was gone,” said Menadel. “I wanted to be there with you and her. But my duties to answer mortals’ prayers and monitor the inferior race of the Goetia demons was paramount.”

“And you called yourself a breadwinner husband,” Flora scoffed. “Just because we’re rich doesn’t mean you can go off and put more things on all our plates! I’m surprised you’re not on duty right now!”

“I wouldn’t miss this ceremony for the world,” he said. “And neither should you and Quartet. You were supposed to remain my faithful wife. If you were a mortal and cheated on me like you did…well, just be glad you aren’t one.”

“How low of you to suddenly degrade the very beings you try to help,” Flora narrowed her eyes. “Mortals were made in His image too, not just us angels.”

“Sinful mortals are like sinful demons…just as bad and more often than not, they become demons themselves. Hence why we need Quartet to be diligent with ensuring that no threats…”

“The only threat I perceive is your overbearing, straight and narrow attitude,” Flora spat. “She’s still a young teen!”

 Quartet hid her face in her hands briefly as she watched the argument. Quartet knew whenever she was with her dad, she witnessed his detachment from her and his preoccupation with rules. She hated when her parents didn’t get along.

Hence when he said to Quartet, “I hope you’ve been practicing for the ceremony. There’s much to do.”

“Sorry, Quartet,” said Flora. “But you’ll be spending the weekend and ceremony with Menadel. I’ll meet you at the ceremony later.”

Quartet glared at her mother, who gave her an apologetic look.

Flora vanished through a portal, leaving Quartet alone.

Half an hour later in the ornate living room, Quartet’s back hurt as she stood rehearsing her lines for the ceremony. Being a princess, if she decided to attend, which she was, Menadel reminded her of her important role to inspire her people. Quartet enjoyed singing and praising to her Lord…but eight times in a row was getting tiresome.

“He is Elohim, our benevolent, all-knowing Creator. Jesus the Christ is His extension, the savior of the human race and of Earth. Archangel Michael, He Who Is Like God, is His angel general and supreme protector, sword of flame the bane of all evil. Before there was only darkness, but God brought light and life. For all who are lost…for mortals lost in sin and for the denizens of Heaven seeking answers, you can always go to Him. Obey, pray, and serve each day…for He knows all of us best. His light is brighter than a thousand suns, the whole of this universe created by Him. Jesus devotes his life to Viv…”

Menadel raised his eyebrow. Quartet cleared her throat.

“Um, I mean to give, all He has to help rich and poor alike…”

“More passion. More faith,” Menadel pressed.

“Father, I’ve done this so many times now…” Quartet groaned. She flopped on a couch made of velvety red satin.

“It must be perfect, if you are to attend,” he said. “Heaven counts greatly on the influence of the Shem HaMeporash family. The ceremony starts in a few hours.”

‘Still cares about status over his own daughter,’ Quartet thought. She never thought she would have to recite a speech.

“Can I take a break?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “After you finish your closing lines.”

Quartet sighed and continued.

“Don’t forget your choir song and pyrotechnic display afterwards,” Menadel reminded her.

After she finished, Quartet raced to her room upstairs. This room was vaster and more spacious than her other mansion room…not as homey. White pillars supported a large, curved balcony that was all her own. A gold chandelier with teal glowing crystals hung on the high ceiling. The ceiling itself was painted with Adam reaching out to God. (A replica of a famous mortal work of art). White marble swan statues were everywhere around the room and throughout the mansion, with Menadel’s symbol on them. Her bed was queen-sized, no signs of her familiar nature posters. But there were some posters of Jesus, clouds, and the Ten Commandments…almost like her father set up this room for her (he did.) When she was younger, Menadel was comforting in subtle ways, like when he sang the Lord’s prayer to her as a lullaby. Or the times when he said he was proud of her after teaching her some magic and flying. But Quartet figured that Menadel only saw her as a valued potential member of the Shem HaMeporash…not who she was deeper down. The weekends she spent with him were a tedious nuisance.

Azrael may have been gloomy and distant, but he had a softer, understanding side that seemed to be absent in her real father. Azrael also didn’t emphasis the religious aspects all that much. He mostly let Flora nurture her but was there for Quartet as much as he could.

At least, Quartet hoped Azrael was trying.

Quartet picked up her blue backpack with stars on it and slung it over her shoulders.

She then picked up a Bible on her dresser and flipped open the pages. There was no way she’d be dragged along to the ceremony by Menadel. She could already see Menadel parading her around just to make Azrael and other misunderstood angels uneasy. She looked much more like her avian mother and father than she did to the humanoid Azrael. Azrael was an archangel, similar to Samuel…important, but not always liked. 

Quartet looked at her scroll of paper that read “Change Is Holy…the Benefits of a more Inclusive Christianity.”  She absentmindedly opened a small portal and tossed the wrapped-up scroll through.

Then she concentrated.

“Take me to see my savior,” she said, visualizing Jesus in her mind. Then her mind got distracted.

The Bible glowed golden, and a white spinning cross appeared under Quartet. Tendrils of white spun and danced around her. Quartet’s eyes briefly glowed white, and she walked through the portal. The portal closed behind her.

0 0 0

At E.L.F. headquarters, a calendar hung on the wall. On one square, Docile had written, “Samuel?” with a drawing of a dark moon and a whip and a sad face. Others read “Jesus ceremony,” “Calm Sunday,” “Choir Practice,” “Good Friday For Coffee,” “Eww, Horses,” “All Complaints Day,” “Three Wing’s Day,” “Cash Wednesday!”, “Lent Rent Pay Day,” “All Sols Day,” and “Symphony.” In several squares, Docile had written “Have Them Talk.” That was circled in red on the current date. The calendar had a picture of Docile and his friend Veronica together at the beach.

Docile wasn’t having much luck in getting “them to talk,” a.k.a. Tirred and Timmid. They were still sour after their breakup at Camael’s Corner in the Chasity Halo.

Tirred and Timmid were sitting on separate couches, arms crossed.

“Now guys,” Docile said nervously. “You know that both of you still have to work with me to save lives…”

The elves glared at each other.

“I brought you two here for a reason. We need to solve this dilemma so we can move forward. Let’s take turns telling each other’s sides of the story,” Docile said. “Who would like to go…?”

“I will,” Tirred grumbled.

“You didn’t even let our boss finish!” Timmid piped up.

“Who cares? I’d like to apologize and get it over with.”

“You’re gonna need to do more than apologize for spreading that nasty rumor about Docile!” she said.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? You let yourself be punished by Samael?”

“Yes, but there was no other choice,” Docile said. “His Bible is what allows us to get into the human world. The only reason why I haven’t fired you is that I’m giving you one more chance to prove yourself.”

“How so?”

“By not spreading any more rumors. By being nicer to your ex-girlfriend and co-workers. By…going on one more mission with us.”

Tirred smirked. “You’re always gonna keep me, aren’t you? You need me as a healer and fighter.”

“Well, I…I could always replace you!” Docile mentioned.

Tirred growled. “Replace me?! With whom?”

Purring came from the doorway.

Tirred fumed when Sunna skipped into the room. She wore white pants, a sky -blue blouse and little blue gems on her long brown braids. Her eyes were round and sky blue, her furry brown cat face lit up.

“Wha…no, not…not her! Are you joking?”

“Uh…” Docile looked over to Timmid who gave a thumbs up.

“No, mister!” Docile spat. “I’m not! It’s time for some tough love. Sunna’s a fantastic healer…her purrs are enough!”

“She’s a ditzy hippie and high on catnip,” Tirred scoffed.

“Go…back to your desk!”

“Urgh!” Tirred yelled as he stomped off.

Sunna swayed with a mystic air as she sang,

“All souls come from the land of love

The land of love, the land of love,

All around us and above

All souls come from the land of love”

“Before time, a realm sublime

God made us all divine

Sent us down to explore

To create and love and do it more”

“Make friends, make amends

Our journey never ends

We do what we will

And we’re all loved still

All loved still, all loved still”

“Success to enjoy, errors to solve

God is change, we all evolve

We are harmony, we are one

All shall return when our lives are done”

“All souls come from the land of love

The land of love, the land of love,

All around us and above

All souls come from the land of love!”

Sunna sat happily at her desk as the three elves sat with open stunned mouths.

“She’s getting worse,” called Tirred, making a crazy “coo-coo” sign.

“You know, sir,” said Timmid. “Adding someone new might be the right thing to do. It’s not good for business with customers that depend on us saving lives for them to have a…”

She raised her voice, “…selfish, inconsiderate bratty sadist in our office!”

Tirred seethed. “That does it!”

Timmid and Tirred stomped toward each other, Docile getting ready to separate them.

“Oh look, you have a visitor!” Sunna called to Docile, pointing to the doorway. The elves paused.

Walking through a golden portal was none other than Quartet. She froze as the portal closed behind her.

The elves turned to look in silence.

“Um…hello,” Quartet said nervously. “I don’t think this is where the ceremony is.”

“Are you…Menadel’s daughter?” Docile asked.

Quartet stepped back. “Please don’t mention to him that I’m here! Sorry to bother you guys, I gotta go.”

She looked at her Bible pages, waved her hand again and another portal appeared. Her eyes turned white and gold energy swirled all around her. The elves stepped back and covered their eyes. Sunna looked on in curiosity.

‘Please let it be right this time,’ she thought.

“Wait,” Docile called, arm outstretched, “Maybe we should call…”

Quartet vanished and the portal closed.

“…Azrael…he’s not gonna like this,” Docile finished.

Docile grabbed Sunna’s fish-shaped rotary phone.

“Hello…Lord Azrael? Your adopted daughter just took a Bible and teleported to heaven’s knows where. We’ll find her as soon as we can, but we’ll need some help. Okay, bye.”

Seconds later, the office door opened by itself. There stood Lord Azrael, scythe and all. He was not happy.

“How did this happen?” he asked as he ducked under the short doorway. “She was supposed to stay at Menadel’s.”

“She just appeared in our office holding a Bible out of nowhere,” said Timmid. “Said she was going to a ceremony.”

“Hold that thought,” said Lord Azrael. He vanished into black flames and headed to the ceremony. Minutes later, he teleported right back, looking concerned.

“She’s not there,” he said. “She’s not back at the mansion either. Where could she have gone?!”

Sunna padded over and sniffed the air. “N.Y.”

“Huh?” asked Tirred.

Everyone looked at her.

“What?” she asked. “I have a good nose.”

“N.Y. Wait…New York?!” Azrael suddenly cried. “That’s in the mortal world! She could be in danger!”

“What are we waiting for then?” asked Docile. “Let’s go find her!”

“Disguises first,” mentioned Azrael. He chanted something and waved his hand. Teal light enveloped everyone in the room, and they floated into the air. After several flashes of light, they appeared standing on the ground in their new human disguises.

Azrael appeared as a tall man with thick long black hair, a black goatee, sullen eyes and wearing a fancy all-black suit. He wore a skull ring on one of his pale fingers.

“Hello, Grimm Reaper,” Docile remarked as he stared at his form. He wore his usual uniform but now had white skin and short black hair and blue eyes. Tirred had white skin, thin black hair and darker eyes. Timmid had slightly messy white hair and blue eyes. Sunna, now an African American woman, admired her beautiful dreadlocks and brown cat-like eyes.

Azrael opened a portal and the group walked through. The portal closed behind them.

“Whoa,” the disguised elves said as they stared at the high towering skyscraper buildings around them. The Statue of Liberty stood radiant in the distance as people went on boat tours. The usual crowds of people were heading off toward Times Square for work, music, and shopping. Cars honked and yellow taxis maneuvered through the busy streets. Several gift shops were selling “Big Apple” and “I Love New Yok” shirts.

“The city that never sleeps,” Docile said. “Entertainment, everyone always moving and moving. Not so much different from Heaven.”

Timmid flinched at several thugs smoking and spitting in nearby alleyways. “Except for all the bad stuff.”

“And the misspelled signs,” Tirred grumbled, observing the “Welcome to New Yok!” signs everywhere.

“Sunna, sniff,” Docile said with a smile, marching forward.

Sunna intently sniffed a bag of catnip she had brought with her. She opened it and poured bits of it onto her tongue. Her eyes darted and her smile was one of bliss. A purr rumbled in her throat. The other E.L.F. members gave her sideways looks.

“Not that smelling!” Docile glared.

“Oh, right,” she said, pocketing the bag. “I still can’t smell anything in this city.”

“Can’t you do anything right?” Tirred spat.

“Can’t you be anything other than a nuisance?” she retorted. Timmid snickered.

“The next person I hear arguing will get a reduction in pay,” Docile warned. “Let’s go.”

The group walked by hot dog stands and men playing guitars on the ground. They visited “Rockiseller Center” where a beautiful Christmas tree was on display. Many people were laughing and ice skating around in circles. Holiday music played from the speakers.

“Christmas in July?” Timmid wondered. “I’ll take it.”

Timmid looked around and spotted a guy selling art. “Oh cool!” she said.

“Get some art over here!” called the bearded man. There were pastel oil paintings of dolphins and sunsets. There were keychains of the Statue of Liberty, Oscar award statues, palm trees, and a cartoon smiling glasses-wearing Vivziepop with blond hair and pink highlights in it.

Tirred rolled his eyes. “We’re on a mission, remember? That stuff is rubbish.”

“No, Tirred! I’m buying these!” she said in excitement. She handed the man some dollar bills and took several art and keychains with her.

“I’m a star at the Oscars,” she sang, pretending to use the Oscar keychain as a microphone.

Tirred rolled his eyes again and mentioned ahead of him. “Thanks to you, we just lost the group.”

“You’re no fun,” she said. “Let’s go find them.”

0 0 0

“Hey guys!” Docile called. “Check out this crazy costume!”

Azrael and Sunna snickered at Docile’s outfit. He wore a black jacket, a fake red pointed tail and fake stripped horns on his head. His mask over his face was an imp face painted red and white with fake sharp yellow teeth.

“This outta scare the pants off of any thugs around!”

A nearby woman screamed in happiness.

“Oh my gosh, everyone! Look! It’s New Yok’s Star, Blitzo!”

Docile glared. “What the buck is a Blitz…oh.”

In his costume, Docile glanced up at a billboard. An ad was displayed, showing a menacing imp with a pistol and an open-mouthed grin. Flames were in the background and the imp was riding on a brown horse. The title read in black, “HORSING AROUND: HOW TO GET AWAY WITH MURDER! ™”

Docile was soon surrounded by a large crowd, lifting him up. “Help!” he cried as fans screamed and cheered around him.

“I’ll handle this,” Azrael grumbled.

“No killing!” Docile cried to him.

Crew members and guards held the crowd back as a white van pulled up. A director with black hair and a black beard was eating a granola bar.

“Blitz!” the director called, flanked by towering agents. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! You were supposed to be on set five minutes ago!”

Docile took one look at the director’s upside-down pentagram necklace and flinched. “No way! I’m not going with you!”

“Very funny,” he said. “Now get in the car.”

“No, put me down!” he cried as one of the muscular agents picked him up. One of his fake horns fell off and several fans fought over it. A boy tore off his shirt and his chest read “I LUV HB!”

“I’m Blitz’s…agent,” Azrael mentioned. “And I demand you…”

Azrael was also picked up and both were tossed into the back.

“Sunna! Find Quartet!” Docile called. Sunna nodded and leaped over the crowd.

 Docile leaped forward, but the doors closed in front of him.

Before long, they were both dragged into the studio. Makeup artists began working on Docile.

“Let’s get him ready! He’s on in five!” called the producer.

“Five what? I can’t be on a sitcom!” Docile cried to no avail.

Docile was soon ready and standing next to Azrael.

“Alright, you’re on in 10…9…”

The producer vanished through the curtains.

“Why am I doing this? I can’t be on stage!”

“Just blend in so we can find Quartet,” said Azrael, pushing him gently forward. “Good luck.”

“And action!” called the director as the lights came on. Guitar theme music played, and the red curtains opened.

Docile was on a stage that looked horrible. It appeared to look like a desert with cactus plants and fake dead bodies near his feet. There was an animatronic brown horse off to the side with one eye missing.

An actor with a demon mask was pretending to groan in pain. “Oh…Blitzo you horrible scum imp…you have any last mocking words?”

Docile froze on the spot. Sweating.

“Say something,” whispered Azrael as a teleprompter appeared.

Docile then read his lines half-heartedly. “Oh yeah, uh…no, the ‘o’ is silent you…fucking…asshole.”

After a moment, the audience laughed as screens overhead displayed “LAUGH” in green. Azrael laughed under his breath.

Docile improvised. “B-but don’t worry…God will take you where you need to be, away from your suffering so you can repent for your sins!”

After an awkward pause, the screens prompted the audience to laugh again, so they did.

Soon enough after half an hour, the audience began to get bored with the show.

“Oh, Kniffty,” said Docile, holding up a one-eyed black cat animatronic and reciting his lines. “You’ve done it again! You’ve cleaned up every mouse in this here Hell hotel! Very nifty of you to do so!”

The audience laughed half-heartedly. The cat animatronic let out a meow. “It’s nice to meet you! I’ve always wanted to make new friends!”

“Me too, kitty!” Docile said with a smile. “In fact, it is time I give you a new home. Find someone to take good care of you!”

“We could take care of her,” said an actor dressed like a tall red man with antlers. He was followed by people dressed in black. “I always can provide a smile for those in need!”

Docile stared at the kitty animatronic…and a flashback came to him.

0 0 0

Back in Heaven, he was at a “HeavenCat Adoption Center.” There were kitty condos and fenced in yards for them to play in. Docile stared at a humanoid black cat girl with angel wings that looked like the animatronic. She only had one eye. Her furry siblings smiled at him from inside a box.

“They’re all so cute. And so…content. But…lonely.”

“Maybe you could adopt this one here,” said a fat cheetah lady, pointing to another open-window condo. “Long-lived, lanky and very low maintenance.”

Docile peered into the adjacent condo and spotted a hairless pink cat with bent whiskers and a fish bone in its mouth.

“Uh, no thanks,” Docile said. “Someone more family friendly?”

“No problem.” said the cheetah lady. “We have a nice selection of other felines.”

“Who’s that?” Docile asked, pointing to another condo.

“Oh her?” asked the cheetah. “That’s Sunna. What a crazy little thing.”

Sunna was bouncing up and down and playing with a live mouse, much to the distaste of the quiet cats.

“Serious hyperactive qualities. I hate to say it, but once she turns eighteen next month, she’ll be off on her own,” the cheetah mentioned.  “We have food stamps and shelters though, so hopefully it won’t be too bad. Menial work is just as important, so…as long as she behaves, she won’t go homeless…”

Docile freaked out at the word “homeless.” He adopted her on the spot.

0 0 0

“No, no, no, no,” he said, back in the present. “You can’t have her. She’s my kitty and I love her!”

“The audience went “AWWW” as the signs flashed the message.

“Alright, Blitzo,” said an actress with a cigarette in her mouth. “Let’s finish up this show so Hell can get more ratings and sinners…”

She grabbed the animatronic but Docile held on tight.

“Let go of her!” he cried. He cradled the cat in his arms. He tossed off his mask, tail, horns, and costume, leaving his regular clothes on. The audience gasped as his human disguise fell away as well.

“Ahh!” a kid in the audience cried. “It’s a booger elf!”

Docile narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

The animatronic cat scampered out of his arms.

“Wait, come back!” he cried.

The crew and producers tried to grab him, but Docile sent them back with light blasts from his scepter. Azrael shoved more people aside and grabbed hold of Docile. “Let’s go find our daughters.”  

The animatronic cat laughed evilly and with a paw swipe, cut one of the wires near the curtain. The prompting screens changed from “LAUGH” TO “AWW” to “FUCK,” in red.

To Docile’s horror, everyone in the audience stripped off their clothes and pounced on anyone nearby. Moans and groans and the sticky scents of semen and sweat filled the space.

It was pure chaos!

“I think I’m gonna barf,” Docile groaned as Azrael carried him outside the door into the blissful fresh air.

Docile jumped out of Azrael’s arms and hurled onto the pavement. He accidentally slammed the end of his scepter down onto the street.

The studio building erupted in a set of flames and explosions.

Docile and Azrael stared at the burning building in disbelief. After making the sign of the cross over their chests, Docile and Azrael hurried on.

0 0 0

Quartet looked around at the vast city she now found herself in.

“Where am I?”

“Hello!” called a man dressed like a duck. “Great costume!”

“Uh…thanks?” Quartet blinked, before brushing herself off and following the crowd of people. 

“Excuse me?” she asked, several people who ignored her and walked on by. “Can anyone tell me where to find Jesus?”

“In Heaven, sinner,” replied a gruff old man who bumped into her on purpose. “The unworthy have no hope of seeing him.”

Quartet asked around some more. “Where can I find Jesus?”

“In your heart, of course,” said a blonde woman wearing a Christian Cross necklace and a red shirt.

“Where can I find Jesus?”

“He will come on the final days of Earth,” said an elderly woman. “He’ll save us all…I hope. Just be patient.”

“Where can I find Jesus?”

“Jesus? He ain’t real, bitch,” said a black guy. “Get your religious propaganda out of my space!”

“Where…can I…find…Jesus…” asked a tired Quartet.

“He’s over at this church of Latter-Day Saints,” said a red-haired man. “They do sermons every morning.” He handed her a church pamphlet.

“Thank you!” Octavia called. She raced over toward the church building and sat on a bench. A child next to her gave her a weird look.  

“Don’t stare at the creepy bird lady,” said the child’s mother, pulling her child closer to her.

The sermon and lecture went on and on…but still no sign of Jesus.

Thoughts raced through Quartet’s mind as the pastor talked and talked.

“What kind of sermon is this? No music, no standing and clapping. No loud and proud ‘Praise Jesus!’ and harp playing like in Heaven! This is church, not a high school lecture! You humans are so boring.”

“Ugh, talking about funds for the church again? Don’t you people realize there are hundreds of starving and homeless humans out there? You have plenty of money…use it!”

“I already know my Bible verses and history. You don’t need to repeat the same thing three times.”

“Enough with the talks about Hell! Positivity is what makes people want to get closer to God. God is perfect and good; thus He should not be feared! No, don’t you dare teach children under five about Hell…heck teens can get traumatized by that shit.”

“Whoa…did I just swear in my head? Without it being censored? I guess it only gets censored in Heaven.”

“Politics again. Abortion is bad? No gays here? Modern up, Christianity…Jesus accepts everyone!”

“You keep saying ‘Jesus will come!’ Well, where is He? I’ve been sitting on my feathery bum for hours…”

Quartet covered her mouth as everyone glared at her. She had accidentally said her last thought aloud.

She spoke nervously. “Heh, heh. May the Lord be with you, amen.”

Quartet scurried out of the church, groaning in frustration.

She continued walking until she spotted Altar-P, a Christian-themed clothing store. There was a beautiful art print of a swan resting in a golden fountain. A cross stood in the background on a hill as golden rays of the sun lit up the whole area.

Quartet admired the art and took a selfie. She posted on Gracebook, Heaven’s version of Facebook:

“Found this amazing art print in the window of Altar-P. Whoever made this masterpiece rocks! #earththings.”

The locations on her phone were Earth, Chasity Halo, Patience Halo, Humility Halo, Kindness/Loyalty Halo, Charity Halo, Temperance Halo, and Diligence Halo.

About half an hour after Quartet left, Sunna spotted the swan art print. She happily took a selfie and posted her picture on Gracebook:

“What a beautiful piece of art! You never know what you’ll find in the mortal world! #earththings.”

Sunna scrolled through the posts on her phone. Her username was “Sunlightpurring777.” Her “friends” were Veronica, Portal99, and Cool Cat. When she saw an identical post from Quartet, she gasped. She looked at Quartet’s profile. “Tet,” “Happy,” “Lover of Life” were her profile descriptions with angel emojis. She had 77 followers and followed 256 profiles.

Sunna noticed Quartet posing in front of a mansion that looked like a castle with towers. She headed over to it, but Quartet wasn’t there.

She traveled all over “New Yok,” looking at Quartet’s posts, trying to figure out where she was. She read Quartet’s posts and traveled to the various places.  

“So, this is the Statue of Liberty! Wonder why it’s so green? #earththings.”

“It’s Christmas in July! Saw some beautiful lights and Christmas trees on display. Went ice-skating today, tried to do a spin…gotta see if I can magically heal my bruised knees. #funearththings.”

Sunna thought she saw Quartet ice-skating. She carefully went onto the ice but let out a cat-like yowl as she stumbled and waved her arms. “Whaaaa!” She slid on the ice on her belly…seeing the figure as just a teen girl with a wig and large glasses.

Sunna laughed nervously and got up on shaking legs. She had forgotten that she briefly didn’t have her supportive cat claws anymore.

Another post from Quartet:

“Why is New Yok called the Big Apple? I don’t see any apples around…save for that rotten one that guy is holding over there. #grossearththings.”

Sunna hissed at a hobo-man who had tried to snatch her catnip.

“What a weirdo,” several people muttered at Sunna.

Sunna spotted a Bastet figure on display at another store. She was tempted to buy it…until she spotted a smiling Jesus figure with sunglasses near it. Knowing she could only honor one, she decided to skip it. She tossed several coins and dollar bills into a homeless man’s cup. He promptly used the money to buy cheap beer.

Quartet’s next post:

“The people who destroyed the Twin Towers are probably sulking around as demons in Hell. Nice memorial wall, though. #sadearththings.”

A picture of a tired Quartet sitting on a bench:

“This city could use a proper clean-up and noise cancellation. Lots of crime, too. This world NEEDS Jesus, y’all! #whyearththings.”

Several dogs on leash barked loudly at Sunna, causing her to jump in fear. “Ahh! Stay away!” she hissed.

“Scaredy cat! Or should I say, scaredy bitch!” several men laughed as Sunna darted away from the growling dogs, her hairs on end.

Sunna was panting in exhaustion by the time the sun had set. Under an indigo sky was a golden church with a water fountain in front of it. The fountain had a spinning globe in the center, supported by two statue hands. She raced toward the church and turned a corner. Sunna arrived at a curved flight of stairs.

Sunna glanced at Quartet’s final post:

“Apparently, Jesus is supposed to make an appearance at this gold church, where he will come down and do His speech. Don’t want to use my Bible and accidentally travel to somewhere else unknown again. As a resident of Heaven, He should be able to see me.”

Sunna looked at the church in the background of Quartet’s picture…and it was the same one!

 Just then, Sunna spotted a figure at the top of the stairs in a prayer position. The moonlight highlighted a familiar figure with feathery hair!

Quartet!

Sunna sighed with relief and transformed back into her normal cat form.

“Hey,” said Sunna, walking up the stairs.

Quartet turned around, tears in her eyes. “Hey. How did you find me?”

Quartet stood up as Sunna walked over.

“Your Gracebook,” Sunna replied with a smile. She held up her phone and scrolled through the church pictures. “Nice pics by the way.”

“Oh, thanks,” Quartet sniffled.

“Are you okay?” Sunna asked.

Quartet sat on the ledge as Sunna did the same. Quartet’s Bible and bag were next to her. “I can’t believe I was so stupid! I’ve been wandering all over New Yok City to find Jesus! I thought that I could find a spot where it’d be easier for Him to travel down to Earth. Now I’ve probably missed that fancy ceremony! And all I have now is this…smog-filled busy city!”

“Well, it’s not that bad,” Sunna replied. “It may not be like Heaven, but it’s unique in its own light. I mean,” Sunna shrugged, “It was kind of fun exploring around outside of home for the first time.”

“Yeah…you’re right,” said Quartet. “Oh, my dad’s gonna kill me!”

“Um…which one?” Sunna asked.

“Menadel for sure,” Quartet grumbled. “I’ll probably have to repent for my sins and stay grounded for a century! And…”

Quartet sniffed again.

“What?”

“My other dad…Azrael…he’s so busy with work like Menadel, he doesn’t even care! I’ve waited for years to go to this ceremony, but now I won’t get to go with dad and mom.”

Sunna put a comforting paw on her shoulder. “Let me tell you something. Azrael may be busy a lot, but he is very worried about you. He’s here.”

“Here?”

“Looking for you right now,” Sunna mentioned. “Your mom probably is wondering where you are as well.”

“Urgh, now I feel so bad,” Quartet sighed.

“We all make mistakes, it’s okay,” said Sunna. “Azrael, Flora…and yes even Menadel…they may not always get it right when it comes to parenting. But I assure you…all of them are trying.”

“Y-you sure?”

“I know it,” Sunna said. “Divorce…meeting Heaven’s rules and expectations…not always easy at all. But love always wins in the end. You know my song?”

Quartet shook her head.

Sunna’s eyes lit up and she sang a slower softer version of her previous song:

“All souls come from the land of love

The land of love, the land of love,

All around us and above,

All souls come from the land of love.”

Quartet’s eyes lit up as she heard the glorious sound of a choir from inside the church. The vocals supported the rest of Sunna’s song. Quartet leaned in for a hug and was further comforted by Sunna’s purrs. Her eyes closed.

“When you feel like the world breaks

Know that God forgives all mistakes

There is always love around you

Your soul family has found you

Let the loving universe guide you

to the truth that’s always inside you

The souls and stars are your friends

In a sea of love that never ends

That never ends.”

The girls hugged for a while, then separated.

“Thank you, Sunna, that was beautiful,” Quartet sniffed. Sunna felt like a comforting sister.

Sunna held out a paw and Quartet took it. “You ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s get you home,” smiled Sunna.

Both of them opened the portal together, appearing in Central Park.

Docile gasped in happiness. “Sunna!”

Sunna and Quartet walked through, hand in hand before it closed behind them.

“Oh Dad!” Sunna raced over and hugged Docile. “Thank goodness you’re alright.”

From the shadows, a gang member pointed a gun at the turned heads of Sunna and Docile…

Slash!

Azrael waved his scythe in an uppercut motion. With a scream, the gangster’s body tore in two and the two halves landed in a gory thud onto the grass.

He turned around, making his bloody scythe vanish.

“Quartet!” Azrael exclaimed.

Quartet lowered her head. “Hey, dad.”

Azrael pulled her into a hug. “Your mother and I were so worried about you!”

“I’m so sorry,” said Quartet.

“Why did you run away from Menadel’s? You know he was counting on you to be at the ceremony. And you know I haven’t taught you spells like that yet.”

“I didn’t want to go with him! I wanted to go with you and mom! I tried traveling to the ceremony but…heh…it didn’t seem to work out…”

“Yeshua’s Gist! Oh, Quartet I’m so sorry…I thought that you going with Menadel was the right thing to do…since…he’s your real dad…”

Quartet hugged him again. “You’re my real dad! I’m just glad you’re here!”

They stood and hugged, tears in their eyes.

Just then, under the moonlight, a man dressed like Jesus was surrounded by a crowd. He had a guitar in his hands and was singing “New Yok.” A bold “I’m J#1!” tag was on his chest along with a red apple sticker. A band sign read “Jesus and the Three Kings”, with a drummer, a keyboardist and a bassist playing beside him with crowns on their heads.

Several fireworks shot into the sky.

“If I can make it there, I’m gonna make it anywhere, it’s up to you! New Yok! New Yok!” he sang.

The crowd clapped and sang and danced along. Soon, Quartet and Azrael found themselves dancing to the music.

“It’s Jesus!” Quartet smiled in amazement at the guitar-playing saint. “It’s a miracle! I can’t believe He had time to come down to Earth for a visit!”

Azrael chuckled with a bit of an eye roll. “Still want to ask him about your future?”

“You know what? I’m happy knowing about the now,” Quartet said, staring into her dad’s eyes with love.

Sunna and Docile smiled happy tears and danced as well. Docile did a mental count and froze.

 “Hey, where are T and T?”

0 0 0

Meanwhile in an alley, Tirred tapped his foot impatiently in front of the portal. Timmid was dragging a heavy bag full of CDs, art, Oscar statues, medals, trophies, and the like.

“Art is heavy,” she grunted.

“March, miss!” Tirred spat.

His eyes then went wide as he spotted a shadow figure point a gun at an oblivious Timmid. It appeared to be a gang member. From his scepter, Tirred fired a bolt of light at the figure and the figure dropped dead. More angry footsteps were approaching. Timmid looked around. “What was that Tirred?”

Tirred grabbed Timmid and carried her through the portal. She cried for her merchandise, but the portal closed.

0 0 0

Menadel tapped his foot impatiently. His eyes widened as Jesus gave out future advice to the last person.

“It’s an honor to see you again, sir,” Menadel said. “Perhaps you could grant me your wonderous wisdom?”

Jesus chuckled softly. “Sorry Menadel, but that’s all the time I have. I only get to the people that I feel called to.”

“B-but I’m the most prominent well-respected member of the Shem HaMeporash!”

“There were lots of children who needed my advice more. Even I can’t read everyone!” Jesus responded.

“Please, sir, I am worthy to be read!”

Jesus paused. “Say…it’s a shame your daughter couldn’t be here. I heard she had a great speech planned. Something about “a more inclusive modern Christianity?”

“Um…that’s the wrong script…”

“Is it? Because I think she sent me a draft earlier today.” He held up Quartet’s scroll. “I, for one, am super impressed! She’s truly a tremendous force…born under a great celestial alignment like Octavia from Hell. Here’s hoping she can make Heaven an even better place for all. Anyway, have a good day, Menadel!”

“Wait, sir…!”

He vanished.

Menadel stood in disbelief. He growled and seethed. “Noooooooo!”

#heavenlyboss #2phelluvaboss #2phazbinhotel

[h3ll0d34rfri3nd5]

Things I’ve Noticed About The For The Future Promo Art

okay, so here’s what i’ve got:

the star on the cliff on the right side.

the stars are circling around The Collector and King

Theres a Titans horn(thats what its called right-) on the left

also on the left, does it look like theres an eyeball in that tower? if it is an eyeball, its watching Luz and Camila

Kings eyes look purple. maybe its just shading or whatever, but i just want to point it out.

King is also dressed as The Collector.

Luz is also still in her Halloween Costume. will her and her friends be dressed as they are currently for the rest of Season 3?

Luz appears to be looking at, or trying to look, at something, hence why she’s holding light.

those lights around the Collector. what are they?

the obvious glob monster under Luz and Camila

now let me discuss some of my theories for these details.

*i have not seen the leaked episode on Itunes. i have only seen two leaked scenes on youtube.*

1. now, that star. i want to say its a “fallen” star, but i don’t think thats how real stars would be drawn to be honest. i think it has something to do with the Collector. it looks awfully similar to the stars on his face, doesn’t it?

2. the stars around King and The Collector remind me of the end of S2 when the Collector started tearing everything apart and it was surrounding him. i don’t have much to theorize but thats what i thought of when i saw it.

3. whats going on with King? why is he dressed as The Collector? what i like to think is that the “dollhouse” theory may be true. you know, the one where The Collector is actually controlling people and essentially “playing dolls” with them, and King is his own character.

or, The Collector likes matching outfits <3

also, i didnt point this out, but is King holding something? does he just have his hand up to his chest, expressing emotion? or does he have his hands in something almost like a prayer?

AND (cause theres so much to talk about with King), are his horns…. there?? if theyre slanted back under his hood that would make sense, but usually theyre more upright are they not? im probably so wrong but if King has lost his horns i WILL riot.

4. a lot of people think the monster is The Titan. but i personally don’t think so. my theory is that that monster is Belos, and somehow he’s gotten worse.

i mean, theres the green goo. the eyes aren’t Blue though, so obviously whatever Belos did changed the eye color. whatever he is now, he’s far from human. the point of no return.

i think that’s all i have for now!! bye <3

#the owl house #toh s3 #the owl house promo #toh theory #the owl house theory #KING PLEASE STAY SAFE #king clawthorne #the owl house season 3 #for the future #the collector toh #camila noceda #luz noceda

[jadebomani]

Chapter three: panther goddess pt.2

-Shuri-

In Wakanda, when the five tribes fought for control of vibranium the first black panther and king Bashenga received a vision from Bast, which led him to the heart-shaped herb. It granted him the power to become the king and the first black panther.

There were many other legends and religions when it came to Bast. When a man‘s soul reaches the afterlife they're brought by Bast and Sekhmet to a mythical green valley where he can run freely and be in peace for all eternity.

She is also known as an ennead who alongside Thoth, Kokou, Mujaji, Ptah, and Nyami are the orishas(Yoruba/African deities). Bast inherited her father Ra’s life-giving solar heat making her a fertility goddess and Sekhmet inherited Ra’s fiery destructive fury.

In Egypt, the city of Bubastis(lower Eygpt) and Memphis(capital) worshipped bast and she was known as a goddess of pleasure, dancing, and music. Also the goddess of the home, domesticity, women’s secrets, cats, fertility, and childbirth. In her lore, she was associated with the eye of Ra(The all-seeing eye) which played a part in her birth. She was also known as the distant goddess(a female deity who leaves Ra and returns to bring transformation).

Bast name comes in many forms such as Bastet, bsst, Ubasti, Ubaste, etc. They were speculated to mean “She of the ointment jar” as she was associated with protection, protective ointments, perfume, and sweet smells(associated with Nefertum who was thought to be her son).

Her offerings consist of Cat statues and pictures, Sweet liquids like wine, honey, milk, perfume, in the form of salves, beer, and whiskey, catnip, fish, a sistrum to ward evil, red candles, moonstone, tiger’s eye, and mint.

The random information poured through my mind melded together in a mindless mumble I pity anyone who would read my thoughts and facts in this time-constricted moment. As I got out my items and looked them over in contemplation.

‘This has to work if I don’t get answers soon my mind might explode and I’d have gone completely crazy given everything.’

I stepped aside and looked at my work I created a space/altar to reach her and get my dreams clearer. With a bit of science, I constructed a strain specifically of the new herb to get a connection to the ancestral plane and pinpoint her location here goes.

===========

A few hours later

I looked at my handiwork I made a decent altar with a statue of bast egyptian avatar and one of wakanda’s depictions of her. I laid the forementioned foods and perfume before it and place some candles in a big circle around me.

“Alright let’s do this Bast…please see this” I sat down and uncorked the strain of the herb.

‘If this works I’ll finally be able shove it in the elders face that the girl who lacked tradition pulled off a meeting with our god scientifically with a dash of tradition point shuri.’ I thought in anticipation as I felt the effects immediately. I got into a meditative position and said the prayer.

“Panther goddess bastet hear me now I seek counsel”

I sat in dread please work please work. My vision soon started to blur and change a flickering of two realms my place in haiti and the ancestral plane.

“I am here now daughter of the golden tribe” I felt that warmth once again and a blinding light filled my sense my soul trajecting into the ancestral plane.

My vision finally cleared and I found myself in my lab in wakanda and instead of being dressed in white clothing I wore something akin to my track suit. Ehn what is this.

“Hello little panther” the voice said and my head snapped in the direction to see Her.

Dressed in an traditional egyptian garb she stood poised in welcome purple red eyes gleaming. Bast.

I could have fainted, my mind racing in probabilities of how it just couldn’t be. She was not real her appearance a ruse, illusion but there she was The panther Goddess Bast.

‘What should I say Hello, my goddess, took you long enough’. I contemplated the last one mother’s and the whole of wakanda’s voices echo in my mind in a reprimand of Shuri.

If Bast didn’t smite me for the slight disrespect mother would have clawed her way out of wherever she was with our family in the royal wing of our afterlife to do it herself.

“Why my lab? Last time we met we were in your…home?” I opted to say instead.

“I wanted you to be comfortable in a setting your used to for this. It’s nice to meet my new panther and ward”. Wait, ward.

“As part of the mantle a part of my soul shadows you as my duty”

#bastet #black panther #talokanil #wakanda forever #black panther wakanda forever #bast black panther #black panther fanfiction #namor x shuri #princess shuri #attuma x okoye #riri x namora

[prairiesongserial]

20.1

Cody was sick. His stomach rolled with the steady motion of the ship; no matter how big and fancy the thing was, apparently there was nothing the captain could do to mitigate the effects of the waves rocking it about. The glittering lounge felt too hot, with twenty-some people clustered inside. Beads of sweat rolled down from the nape of Cody’s neck to below the stiff, pressed collar of his shirt. 

There were a couple of different card games going at the tables, but a number of passengers had arranged their chairs into a circle in the center of the room for drinks and conversation. Friday was perched on an armchair in the middle of the party, telling a raunchy joke, but Cody couldn’t follow it. Not just because of the seasickness–there was an inner circle and an outer circle on the Demeter, and he was on the outside, standing ready with the other valets to pour more tea or refill a plate with cucumber sandwiches and cake. Cody had never heard of a cucumber sandwich before. He assumed by the face John had pulled after biting into one that he wouldn’t have liked it much.

“-and he says, ‘Oh, you mean my wife?’” Friday capped off her joke to full-throated laughter and scattered applause. The sunlight pouring through the windows caught on pearly-white teeth and jewelry heavy with gemstones, bracelets and earrings probably worth more than the ransom on Cody’s head. 

Val and John were the only ones not laughing. Val smiled thinly, politely, playing the part of a husband suffering a joke his wife had told a hundred times. John didn’t even bother to smile. He caught Cody looking at him, frowned slightly, and looked away. Cody looked away too, embarrassed, fighting down the bile rising in his throat.

“Seasick?” someone asked. It took Cody a moment to register that he was being spoken to directly; no one on the ship had done that yet.

“I’m alright,” he said. The social hierarchy here dictated that he reply, but he didn’t feel like discussing his current struggle to keep down his lunch with a stranger.

“You’re practically green.” 

The speaker was a man seated on the outskirts of the inner circle. He sat at an otherwise unpopular table, close enough to hear the conversation, far enough away that he didn’t invite small talk. He was a little taller than Friday, dressed in an elaborately patterned shirt and white, wide-legged pants, coiffed black hair curling down over one eye. His feet were propped up on the table he sat at, and he was drinking a cup of tea with the saucer resting on his knees. That, and the boyish lopsidedness to his smile, made Cody more inclined to like him.

“I’ve never been on a boat this big,” Cody admitted. One of the other party-goers had started telling a joke to follow Friday’s, so he barely had to lower his voice to keep from being overheard. “I didn’t know how sick it’d make me.”

“Happens to everyone. Well, mostly everyone,” the man said. He had an accent Cody couldn’t place. A lot of the guests on the ship did. It reminded him of Marc Waters’s accent, but it wasn’t quite the same. “You want a sip of my tea? It’s ginger. Settles the stomach.”

Cody was sure that a valet being seen drinking from a passenger’s teacup would be scandalous. He was so nauseous he almost didn’t care.

“I’ll ask around the kitchen for some later,” he forced himself to say.

“Ask for green apples, too,” the man suggested. “Good for seasickness. Most ships keep them onboard. You’re here with the surly one, non?”

Cody almost smiled. “Which surly one?”

“The blonde.”

“John Graves,” he said. The fact that they were using their real names on the ship, relying on expensive costumes and a prayer to sneak their way aboard, was absurd. But Judith’s associate at the docks had promised them that no one aboard the Demeter would recognize them–this was a class of people Cody had never encountered before. Even if they’d ever seen a ransom poster, none of them would care enough to hand anyone over to Hemisphere. Why turn the ship all the way around and go back to America for such a pittance of a reward?

“I’m his valet,” Cody added, as if the man hadn’t already assumed. The cuffs of his sleeves suddenly felt too tight around his wrists. 

He’d offered to take this role to spare John from having to play-act the part of a manservant. They’d been limited by the outfits and room assignments Judith’s associate had been able to arrange for them at the last minute: a man and his valet, a husband and wife. Val and Friday had taken husband and wife, which had seemed obvious at the time, though Cody had since gotten the sense that Val had changed his mind about volunteering himself and Friday for the double cabin. Or had changed his mind about everything they were doing, more broadly. Val had been silent and haunted since they’d left Maine; there was a part of him still back at that barricade, looking for Johannes.

“What’s your name, valet of John Graves?” the man asked Cody, drawing him back to the present. The others in the inner circle were laughing again. Cody hadn’t even caught the punchline to the joke.

“Cody.”

“Enchanté, Cody,” the man said. He stuck out the hand not holding his teacup. His nails were finely manicured and filed down to the quick, polished black. “Je suis Sacha Fortune.”

He looked almost expectant, like his name was one Cody should have recognized. It wasn’t.

“Okay,” Cody said. “Nice to meet you, Sacha.”

“Believe me, the pleasure’s all mine,” Sacha said. He hadn’t yet taken a sip of his tea, though the cup was still dangling from his fingers. Maybe it had gotten cold.

“Sacha!” one of the women in the crowd around Friday and Val called. She was dressed much more practically, almost like one of the valets, without the bright makeup or jewelry of the people who surrounded her. “C’mere and hear this one. You’ll laugh yourself sick.”

Sacha smiled again, the expression a little more wan than before, and hopped to his feet. He was made shorter by a slouch when he stood, hands jammed into the pockets of his pants once he had dispatched his teacup and saucer to the table.

“I think that’s my cue,” he told Cody. “Ask the kitchen about the apples.”

Cody nodded as another wave of nausea rolled through him, the ship still steadily rocking underfoot. His face felt hot. He wondered if Sacha had a valet who would clean up the cup and saucer after him, but none of the valets in the outer circle had stepped forward. Sacha hadn’t even mentioned having a valet of his own.

“Cody,” John said, from behind him.

Cody turned, doing everything he could to stop from swaying unsteadily on his feet. He didn’t like feeling this off-balance, but he also refused to lean on John for stability, so he was stuck standing still and alone. His face probably betrayed how bad he felt. John’s face betrayed a lot, too–he was frowning bemusedly, his eyes rapidly filling with concern the longer he and Cody stared at each other.

“I’m fine,” Cody muttered, because he could see the question in John’s face. “Just need to ask around for some apples.”

John frowned deeper. “Apples?”

“For my stomach. Are we leaving?”

“Yes,” John said, and didn’t elaborate. Cody got the idea that John had simply had his fill of taking tea in a bright room full of loud people. Fair enough.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Val and Friday coming?”

“No,” John said, and shook his head. He started walking out of the lounge without any of the social pleasantries that were probably expected of him; Cody followed without being told or gestured for. “Friday’s making friends.”

“Flirting, you mean.”

“A little.” John jerked his chin slightly towards the woman who had called Sacha over. She was leaning familiarly on Friday’s shoulder, still laughing. “The first mate likes her.”

“Great. Just what we need,” Cody sighed, exhaling enough air to blow a stray piece of hair from his face. He felt better as soon as they’d passed through the lounge’s side doors and onto the deck of the ship. “Isn’t she supposed to be married?”

John was quiet for a long moment as they walked down the deck, breathing in the sharp stink of salt that came off the ocean. Then, he said, “Not happily.”

It was the first joke Cody had laughed at all day.

Previously on Book 2 || 20.2

#story

[milksakex]

  - BAAL AND NARINDER -

                                                   •   milksakex   •

It was a windy night. The dark sky stretched on in an endless black. Its silver and gold stars flickered in and out, signaling the end of their short life. A tall black cat sat, perched on the top of a church, looking down at the cult. He had red camellia flowers on both sides of his head and a white cloak with a black heart pendant on the side of his neck.

 Underneath was a black shawl with beads at the end. He had a long tail that faded into red and his paws were the same. On top of his head was the skull of some ancient creature, not much bigger than him. The cat had piercing red eyes with black slits that caught every moving thing. This cat was named Baal. 

 Baal scanned the cult, with watchful eyes, taking in the beauty. There were plenty of houses lining the right side of the cult with a large garden and barn in the back. On the left side was a medical area with red camellias growing all around it. Beside the garden were six boxes, two bigger than the others were holding seeds, and the other four held manure.

 There was a giant ivory-colored path going four ways in an X shape with a circle in the middle. It was made of bricks are sparkled in the night. In that circle stood a giant statue of a ram. It was decorated with gold blocks, wind chimes, bells, flowers, and paper slips containing prayers. Around the statue were four smaller statues mimicking the bigger one. In between, there were cushions for all to sit on. And there were a lot. 

At the end of each path though, lay one small pedestal each with different colored crowns on them. these were also decorated. The first, closest to the entrance of the cult was purple and dressed in spider silk, the next was beside the church and was yellow. Mushrooms were growing from that one. The next one beside the houses and garden was blue and had fish carings on it, and the last one next to the medical area was green, dawned in vines and flowers. 

The trees around the cult were also decorated, in a similar fashion to the ram statue. Baal sighed, grabbing the skull on his head before his eyes snapped onto a shadow. His eyes perked at the familiar noise of someone creeping about. His eyes squinted at the cult much more closely. 

Everyone was supposed to be inside their houses, fast asleep. He had checked the bushes, roofs, and inside the church. Plus the lamb was out... Apparently, Baal was wrong. With a burst, a short, dark gray, clumsy-looking, no-tailed cat, jumped out of a bush. It was busy trying to catch spiders around the cult. It wore the usual clothing but with more flair. A tight red shirt with white markings, fitted red shorts, and a white jacket with a red stripe in the middle on both the back and front.

 It had shackles on his arms and neck that were decorated with gold lines, dots, and colors of red flowers. Taking a closer look, Baal could see colored eyes on the shackles as well. They were purple, yellow, green, and blue. Ironic. The cat had two big red eyes with a hole in its forehead. 

 It would trip over pieces of stone, his feet, and even air, leading it to land roughly on his face. Baal couldn't help but choke down a chuckle at its pitiful attempt at hunting. He may have not gotten much training at a young age, but even he could’ve done better than that. The cat got up and dusted off its clothes, before picking up the net it was using. It scanned the patchy land before spotting the spider again. This time it was cleaning its mandibles nearby, completely unaware. 

The cat trotted over quietly and hid in the nearby grass. Unfortunately, like an untrained kitten, it moved too quickly and stepped on a twig. The spider quickly turned around, noticing the cat. For a second, it was quiet before all hell broke loose. The spider scurried over the cult with the cat in tow. It dodged and weaved the swinging net, before sliding over to a manure box and running between the cat's legs. The cat, however as ungraceful as it is, stumbled and fell into it. 

“FUCK!” It shouted before landing and digging its face out of the box. There was a large lump of brown on its head and face that slipped off and landed on the ground. It held its arms in an arched position and slowly turned around, wiping the poop out of its eyes and mouth. 

To think this was the man that taught him how to better coordinate his feet when fighting, made Baal shout in laughter. His quick chuckles broke the night's silence. Quickly, he covered his mouth but that did little to muffle his laughter. When Baal finished, he noticed the smaller cat glaring up at him. Its red eyes burning. 

Baal hopped down and walked over to the cat, catching the stench of the manure covering its face. Some of it was already dried on. Baal wrinkled his nose as much as he could. “You seem to be having a lot of trouble, Narinder.” Baal couldn't help but hiss out the name with disgust. After all, he was his- No. No. Not anymore. He doesn't have to call him that anymore. Narinder scoffed, glaring harder at the taller one. “Watch it, child.” It hissed back. Its ears were pointed back and its fur was lifted. “You know nothing of the pain, I deal with.” Baal smirked. “I do, you put me through it after all. Plus, I just wondering if you needed help. Maybe I could help you hunt. Properly.” At the last sentence, Baal smiled, keeping a playful demeanor.

Narinder grumbled a bit and hissed, before going silent. His fur looked like it wanted to get away from him with how high it was. “No. I don’t need your help. You betrayed me. Both of you. I don’t need help from a traitor.” Baal glared back at his old master, mulling over his words carefully, all with a smile. He knew they his m- Narinder looked like he was ready to pounce, but Baal couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. He wondered how light Narinder was now.  

Flicking his eyes back to the smaller, Baal took a deep breath, slightly bowed his head, and patted down his fur. “My apologies. I’d rather not bother a wondrous god like you with my presence in catching spiders. You very clearly have it under control.” He looked down at the smaller cat with a smug look in his eye. Just as it was about to screech his ear off, Baal- with a swift flick of his wrist, teleported away. 

                                                           • End •

#cotl baal #the one who waits #cotl au #cult of the lamb #practice #baal wants to watch the world burn #i know hes not like this cannonly but i thought it be funny to have him as the kinda guy to piss of ex-gods #like what are you gonna do to me? #send me to hell? #with what powers??

[the-astronomial]

Hey, y'all! Sorry, that I haven't posted in a while. Been dealing with some stuff. Anyways, happy holiday season! Hope, it's a good one. 😆

Have some new spells for you guys, today. I'll put it in a list. Here goes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1.) "Gift it Back" Spell: A spell where you don't want to return to sender, but still want to return it (for better or worse). Basically, it's like a Christmas present you get. Obviously, can't return a gift (without being rude). So... Give to them as a present. Like, a re-gift! So, whatever sender(s) sent you, you send it as a re-gift. A perfect loophole, for when return-to-sender don't work! ;)

The incantation:

"What [name of sender] sent to me, it's time to gift it back, three times three! (Repeat three times thrice/9 times).

[This is my will/as above/what ever you use].. So, mote it be!".

It's easy, right? No ingrediants, just words and intentions. You can you this to send back positive or negative energy/magick/things.

2.) Candle spell for a "Golden Year": it's done before the new year, starts! All you need is a gold candle. LED/artificial is fine!

So, cleanse your space and candle, first. Then dress your candle, as long as it represent luxury and new beginnings. You could even make represent the things you want to bring into the new year. Once you're done, it's time to start the ritual. Write down a list of 11 things you want to manifest, during the new year. Even better, if you have gold or green paper! Could even use colored ink.

Once you do it, fold it away from you. Then, put it under your candle. Now at this part, you can get creative! All you need to do is say what it is your bringing into your life, during the new year. Put power and energy into it. When you're done saying this, say your staking your claim to the manifestations and that you're ready to receive.

Light or turn on the candle, immediately. Pay attention, to your flame/light. It'll reveal how your spell is working. If something catches fire and the light disappears, stop the ritual! That means something evil/negative is trying to stop you from bringing these things in. Do your protective measures, if this happens (salt circle, prayer, etc.). Wait, until later to try this ritual, again. If nothing bad, happens leave the candle or candle-light on until it goes out.

Note: It's okay if your list is covered in wax. It needs to do that, so, gives your list power.

Lastly, forget about the ritual and enjoy your New Year! Knowing you'll get what you want ftom it. ^_^

3.) New Job Talisman: As implied, this will bring in new jobs and job opputunities. All you need is a piece of jewelry/accessory you would wear daily. Even better if it's a job savvy accessory (ex.: a watch, reader glasses, etc.) Do this during a waning moon, new moon, or even when the sun is out. I did it during noon hours! The sun is perfect, for this type of intention. Let's get started~! First, cleanse the jewelry/accessory. You could do a salt bath, like I did. Table salt works fine, for that! ;)

Secondly, hold the jewelry/accessory in both your hands. State your intention to turn it into a talisman. A talisman to attract jobs and business oppurtunities. Think about and vizualize the jewelry/accessory being surrounded by a green light with golden sparkles. Visualize yourself putting on or carrying it. Imagine job interview, money, and work-related themes being pulled towards the jewelry/accessory. After your done getting a clear visual, put energy from your hands into the jewelry/accessory. You can make and use your own incantation to use, whilst doing this.

Continue this until you feel you it pulse, vibrate, or tingle. It won't be big, but it will be noticeable. That means its ready. For the final step, leave near the window overnight. The next day, it'll be ready to use.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welp, that's it guys! Thanks for reading. I hope, these spells will help you guys out! See ya later, for now and Happy New Year! I'll try to post more, but no promise. Bye, sayonara, and ciao!

#magick tips #witchblr #witchcraft #christian witch #green witch #candle witch #candle magic #list #spellwork #spellcraft #tutorial #tutorials #spell tips #magic #magick #goodvibes #talisman #incantation #how to

[paint-lady]

Exalted Secret Santa 2022

Happy Calibration Everyone!

This year my Exalted routine has changed a lot. I’m still a player in a chronicle as Cathak Red, but now my partner and I are Storytellers for 5 newbie solars! So this year I offer two major NPCs in the chronicle:

1. K’Tai the sidereal, chosen of Journeys 2. Jinora, human (voted by my players)

K’Tai

Chosen of Journeys

Age: Mid 40s in appearance

Gender: Female, she/her

Hair: Greying at the roots with dark brown curls. Her curls are so tight they keep her hair appearing shoulder length. She has two long, thin braids that come in front of her ears. They always have some sort of star iconography or jewelry braided into them.

Eyes: Her left one is a soft hazel green. Her right is a similar tone with a silvery scar running through its center- severing her pupil. Its likely she cannot see out of this eye.

Distinguishing Features: A scar of 3 claw marks across her face. The damage has healed long ago, but the indents in her skin are lined with silver. It cuts through the center of her right eye.

Expressions: A soft genuine smile when she is proud of someone. Covers her mouth when she laughs. Will give you some of the strongest side eye if she disapproves of something. In her eyes is fear- fear that there’s always something she can’t spare her loved ones from.

Body Build: Ktai has carried children to term and does not hide how it has altered her body. Her arms are toned and accustomed to holding a crying toddler til they fall asleep.

Clothes: Lots of jewelry, extremely well polished. K’tai wears a lot of golden items. Her favorite are ribbon like bracelets. Her braids are adorned with gold as well, but these include starlight iconography. She is typically seen wearing a comfortable robe dress, adorned with delicate patterns and deep colorful dyes. She likes being barefoot, feeling Creation under her own two feet, but has a set of fashionable sandals for tougher terrain.

Weapons and Gear: K’tai is a practitioner of Obsidian Shards of Infinity Style- her jewelry hides twin daggers she keeps exceptionally well polished. She carries a bag full of useful items- ranging from first aid supplies to candies to her hand-crafted prayer strips.

K’tai’s most common resplendent destinies are The Gull (a character called Bardo), The Mast (Dori), and The Rising Smoke.  

History: (If you are one of my players reading, spoilers ahead.)

K’tai is old. So you’d think she’d have more sway in Heaven. You’d think she’d have delegated the field work of concealing brand new solars. But instead we find her guarding the circle her first age self betrayed.

K’tai was swept up by her elders at a very young age, and grew up training rigorously- a story many sidereals share. Her purview was beginnings and new starts- which Creation desperately needed after surviving the Great Contagion. She spent her early decades doing field work, message delivering, and caravan watching. There was little free time, her sifu also had her studying hundreds of parables and history of the First Age, but she spent her remaining minutes with her lover, Gadarra.

Over the course of centuries, she and Gadarra formed a sidereal circle, consisting of her sifu, Geari (Serenity), and Sonnak (War). The five became more than a circle- they were a family. Despite their different colleges and disagreements on specific politics, all five worked together harmoniously. 

However, terrible omens and luck began to accumulate. When their sifu died, they could not find his new incarnation. The new star that glimmered in the loom of fate suddenly vanished. Other sidereals couldn’t find them- even Lytek, god of Celestial Exaltation, stopped being petty (though he is completely justified in his pettiness) for three seconds to offer his condolences and confusion to the shattered family. 

Shortly after his passing, K’tai began to dream of the First Age- relentlessly. Whenever she shut her eyes, she would see flashes of the solar circle her past incarnation served. They had made Creation so beautiful. Anger festered. Her teachings were true- these sweet memories and dreams are harsh reminders of what they were- not what they’d become.

In her waking hours, K’tai spent a lot of time searching for her sifu’s new incarnation. She’d spend hours looking at shattered mirrors of fate. Finally there was an answer- a thread in the loom she could pull on- and she leapt to follow it (despite Gadarra’s warnings and attempts to stop her). This led her to the edges of Creation, where the snow and ice from the North met the unending vines of the East.

The boy lay bleeding in the snow. The greater sign of Jupiter flickered weakly in the sky above him. Before K’tai could stop the bleeding, his assailant emerged- a chosen of Luna old enough to remember what the sidereals had done. The fight was gory and vicious, but K’tai escaped with her sifu’s new incarnation and a scar that would never fade.

Image Refs:

Jinora

Age: 13

Gender: Female, she/her

Hair: Pale White/Lavender Tones. Its tied back into two loose braids that extend a little past her shoulders.

Eyes: Ice Blue

Distinguishing Features: Jinora wears clothing that is typical of Marukani folk, but her features are distinctly Northern. She can be easily spotted among the White Company with her pale features. She has a noticeable gap between her front two teeth.

Expressions: A toothy grin. She sticks her tongue out when she is concentrating. She seems at her most free riding horses.

Body Build: Scrawny. This is a child that has seen a few rough harvests and survived them.

Clothes: Jinora has the smallest deel the White Company Riders could offer. Deel are traditional Mongolian clothing- and plenty of herders still wear these today. Its a vibrant blue.

Weapons and Gear: Jinora is an incredibly skilled rider for her age. She usually is carrying a bridle for her horse, Saffron (aptly named for the mare’s yellow mane). She also frequently hides snacks- for her and the horse. These are typically carrots and apple slices. Since she has joined the White Company, she has begun some spear training, though she is showing more promise with a bow.

History:

Jinora was born to a family of ranchers along the Grey River in the Scavenger Lands. Life was fairly mundane, until the night she awoke to the sounds of desperate combat. Before the sleep was cleared from her eyes, her father was bundling her onto his horse.

“Ride Northeast. Find the White Company. Warn them: Zombies on the Road to Lowhill.”

He pressed a bag of coins into her hand and kiss on her forehead, then shouted to the horse, “Saffron! Go!”

Those were the last words she heard her father say.

The White Company’s leader, Valere, would exalt 24 hours later, defeating the Abyssal that Jinora led them to.

Since then, Jinora has joined the White Company as their first...errr... squire? Valere of the Dawn is not entirely sure what to do with their new charge. But Jinora is eager to learn, and the entire company has excitedly taken up training her. What fate has in store is unclear, but a Solar Exalt’s first protege is surely destined for greatness.

Image Ref:

#exalted secret santa #exalted #steph plays exalted

[reachlovenheal]

Unveiling the Colors, Rhythms, and Joys of Navratri Festival and Garba Dance

Festivals / By lovenheal

Introduction

Navratri, a vibrant and enchanting festival celebrated in India, holds a special place in the hearts of millions. With its roots in Hindu mythology, Navratri is a nine-night festival dedicated to the worship of the goddess Durga. It’s not just about prayer, though; Navratri is a time for cultural celebrations, delicious food, and the mesmerizing Garba dance. In this blog, we will delve into the captivating world of Navratri and the Garba dance, exploring the history, significance, and how to make the most of this incredible festival.

The Origins and Significance of Navratri

Navratri, meaning “Nine Nights,” is celebrated in the honor of the divine feminine energy, Shakti. These nine nights are divided into three sets of three days, each devoted to a different form of the goddess Durga: Durga, Lakshmi, and Saraswati. The festival usually falls in September or October, coinciding with the change of seasons.

The significance of Navratri is profound. It symbolizes the triumph of good over evil, as it marks the victory of goddess Durga over the demon Mahishasura. During these nine days, devotees engage in prayer, fasting, and meditation to cleanse their bodies and minds.

The Colors of Navratri

Each day of Navratri is associated with a specific color. Wearing these colors is believed to bring blessings and positive energy. The colors are as follows:

Yellow: This color signifies the beginning of the festival and the presence of goddess Shailputri, the daughter of the Himalayas.

Green: The second day is dedicated to goddess Brahmacharini, who is worshipped in green attire.

Grey: This day honors goddess Chandraghanta, symbolized by the color grey.

Orange: The fourth day represents the goddess Kushmanda and the color orange.

White: Devotees wear white on this day, dedicated to goddess Skandamata.

Red: The color red is associated with the goddess Katyayani, whose blessings are sought on the sixth day.

Royal Blue: This day is dedicated to goddess Kalratri, who is worshipped in royal blue attire.

Pink: Goddess Mahagauri is celebrated on the eighth day, and devotees adorn themselves in pink.

Purple: The final day of Navratri is marked by the color purple, which represents goddess Siddhidatri.

The Joy of Garba Dance

One of the highlights of Navratri is the Garba dance, a traditional Gujarati folk dance that symbolizes unity and devotion. Garba, meaning “womb,” is a dance that celebrates the circle of life. Here’s how you can enjoy and participate in this vibrant dance:

Dress in Traditional Attire: Garba attire typically includes chaniya cholis for women and kediyu-dhoti for men, often adorned with mirror work and vibrant colors.

Learn the Steps: Garba dance steps are graceful and rhythmic. You can join local classes or find online tutorials to master the moves.

Celebrate with Music: Garba music is melodious and lively. Traditional instruments like dhol, dandiya sticks, and electronic music create an electrifying atmosphere.

Participate in Garba Nights: Many communities and cities organize Garba nights during Navratri. Join these events to experience the joy of dancing with others.

Respect the Traditions: While enjoying the dance, remember the cultural and spiritual significance. Garba is not just a dance but a form of worship as well.

Navratri is a festival that brings people together, celebrating the diversity and unity of Indian culture. The colorful attire, the melodious music, and the joyful Garba dance make it a truly unique experience. By understanding the history and significance of Navratri and embracing the dance, you can fully immerse yourself in the festivities and create lasting memories. So, join the revelry, dance your heart out, and experience the magic of Navratri and Garba. Happy Navratri!