#dusky meadows

[stardustinternational]

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[sosuperawesome]

Sword Pendants // Dusky Meadow on Etsy

[passionpeachy]

ur trademark to me is beautiful floral meadows, vintage dusky pinks, bug girls, and mischievous little ethereal guys. I see any of these on the dash and I'm like ah, it's azul !

hjdfgfhnhjk I love that…….thank you vincent. I DO like mischievous little ethereal guys. thank you for always being so niceys to me

[bipolar02]

✦ Bacterial contamination NPTs. Requested by someone who wants to remain anonymous!

Elspeth. Comet. Morven. Áine. Enigma. Eremia. Solène. Celyn. Melancholia. Maura. Calliope. Prism. Cricket. Noam. Kirke. Corvus. Mirage. Psyche. Monarch. Violet. Monica. Caleta. Kiara. Bee. Deidre. Vex. Arachne. Tethys. Cassia. Dusky. Meadow. Cecilia. Malaise. Raine.

Kei kier. Ru ruse. Sou somber. Wie wist. Glou gloom. Crie creepy. Si sick. Mau murder. Ba bac bacteria. Cou contam contaminant. Da dark. Vi vir virus. Pae path pathogen. Fue fungus. Tou toxin. Par parasite. Die dim demise. Mou mor mortue. Di die disease. Dou doom. Rea reap. Sou soul

The bullied girl. Her infection. The girl who's hurt. Her hatred. Her misery. She who hurts everyone. Her demise. The girl who died. The lonely girl. She who was bullied. The dead girl. The one who seeks revenge.

[ewesie]

𝙲𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐

Words: 1260

cw: PTSD

Astarion/gn, 3rd POV

The images flashed through his mind. No matter how hard he tried to force them away, they were a persistent plague on his thoughts. He grimaced. Only twice had they indulged in the pleasures of his body. During both encounters, their expression had been one he’d seen countless times. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, sweat on their brow… His throat clenched.

He watched them from beneath the awning of his tent. His eyes scrutinizing their movements as they brought a spoonful of stew to their lips. Such a mundane and mortal activity and yet— why? Why was he so invested in them? There was a sinking pervasive feeling in his gut as they noticed and turned their attention towards him.

A wave. Just a little wave, so friendly and unguarded. That was the tipping point. Despite returning it with a practiced, friendly smile, Astarion shut the book in his hands. He set it down carefully on the small table he’d pilfered from one of the abandoned houses in Moonhaven, taking great care to stage it to be most appealing. With the outside of his tent carefully manicured, he slipped away into the shadow of the woods.

It wasn’t prey he was after, no, he couldn’t put a single shred of focus into hunting. Instead, Astarion wandered down game trails and across meadows dotted in vibrant little flowers. All that wandering however, couldn’t shake the images from his mind. Hells! Was this what madness felt like? …no. He knew madness, well acquainted with it actually. No, this was something else altogether.

With them, it had felt different. Those two nights stuck out like a beacon in an endless sea of silken linens and dusky taverns. They were guiding him towards some unknown place in the night, his mind battered by white tipped waves of seduction and manipulation. 

He stumbled, the toe of his shoe catching on a root and cursing to no god or goddess in particular. When his hand landed on the rough bark of a tree, bile rose in his stomach.

He retched.

Nothing but bile and saliva spattered the grass and rocks. It wasn’t long after that an overwhelming sense of hollow emptiness crashed over him. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees at the base of the tree. Only when his legs grew numb did he shift to lean his back against the strong, silent tree. How resilient it must have been, Astarion thought as he gazed, unseeing, at the overcast night.

Time was the least of his concern and he had the faintest idea of how much of it passed. Not even thoughts drifted through his mind. Only fleeting, hollow emotions as he was distant and unconnected to the vibrant night around him. At least the ground was comfortable enough.

A twig snapping sent a wave of goosebumps down his spine. On instinct, Astarion stood, his hand hovering near the handle of the ornate dagger at his side. Cautiously, he peeked around the tree and spotted a familiar outline. He dropped his hand to his side and relaxed his shoulders, then fixed a smile on his lips before stepping out from behind the tree.

“Darling, did you come looking for another romp in the woods?” he asked so casually, he could taste bile again.

They turned and squinted in his direction before they opened their mouth to say something.

Astarion didn’t want to hear it. He made his way over to them with all the grace he possessed. “Sh-shh, you don’t need to say a word. I already know how you feel, how your heart flutters and your cheeks flush. I know what you seek and I am more than happy to oblige. After all, we both know that you can get lost in the pleasure only I can give.”

Their brows knitted together and a frown twisted its way onto their lips. Despite his internal shock at their response, his visage remained unchanged, his smile plastered and honeyed as ever. After all, they couldn’t resist it.

“Are you alright?” they asked, ignoring his previous statement.

“Me? Of course, my sweet, never better. I was just out for an evening snack. All of your… eating, worked up my appetite as well.” His gaze wavered in his attempt to hold theirs.

Just as he had, they scrutinized every detail and every inch of him. Astarion felt bare beneath their gaze. It was as if they could see right through him… and perhaps they could— because as much as he tried to deny it, his act was slipping little by little. Those little looks, jests and sweet laughter when they’d speak had gotten to him and gotten under his skin.

The staring match went on for many long moments until finally they relented with an exasperated sigh. They ran a hand through their hair before they asked, “walk me back to camp?”

Astarion hesitated, his mask slipping for a moment.

It felt then that all his insecurities laid out for them to see in the space between them. He swore his fingers trembled, his hands growing colder and clammy as his brain tried to register the question. The only witnesses were the forest and the silvery moonlight just barely veiled behind a wisp of cloud.

His name fell from their lips. It was gentle, as if spoken by a lover— Astarion’s stomach clenched. He slipped back into his visage and felt his body relax to the comfortability of his role.

“Of course,” he replied. They held out a hand but he pretended it didn’t exist, instead, he fell into a comfortable step beside them.

The moonlight guided their path as the clouds melted away into the starry darkness. It took him a couple minutes to realize that it wasn’t the camp they were leading him to, but a cliff on a rise that overlooked the entirety of it.

A gentle wind ruffled his curls as he stepped out from behind a prickled evergreen shrub. The sap clung to his clothes but he paid it no mind. All of his focus was on them as their features were highlighted in silver. They flashed him a knowing smile before motioning for him to stand in the space beside them.

Astarion moved to their side and swept his eyes over the camp.

It was alive without their presence and it stung. Their traveling companions laughed and drank without them, as if they’d never existed in that space.

“I said we were going to spend some time alone and not to wait up,” they paused and bit their lip, “you can talk to me, you know.”

Astarion turned to them, his ruby eyes searching their own. There was a sadness within them that he too recognized. Something that they too didn’t know how to express-- just like him. Maybe it was then that his plan fell apart. Maybe it was back at the Tiefling's party or the second night that followed. Maybe he was just doomed from the start.

He sat down first and they followed. While they tucked their knees against their chest, Astarion leaned back, his eyes following the steady stream of smoke pouring into the endless star studded sky. There were no words, just a comfortable silence that settled between them.

There wasn’t any one word he could put to the things he felt as he sat on that rocky cliff. But he was alright with that. For now, he was content to sit beside them as they watched the camp below and the stars above. Talking could wait.

[wytchoftheways]

Horned God Invocation: ⛦

By the flame that burneth bright

O Horned One!

We call thy name into the night

O Horned One!

Thee we invoke by the moon led sea

By the standing stone and the twisted tree

Thee we invoke where gather thine own

By the nameless shrine forgotten and lone

Come where the round of the dance is trod

Horn and hoof of the goat-foot God

By moonlit meadow on dusky hill

When the haunted wood is hushed and still

Come to the charm of the chanted prayer

As the moon bewitches the midnight air

Evoke thy powers, that potent bide

In shining stream and secret tide

In fiery flame by starlight pale

In shadowy host that ride the gale

And by the fern-brakes fairy-haunted

Of forests wild and wood enchanted

Come! O Come!

To the heartbeats drum!

Come to us who gather below

When the broad white moon is climbing slow

Through the stars to the heavens height

We hear thy hoofs on the wind of night

As black tree branches shake and sigh

By joy and terror we know thee nigh

We speak the spell thy power unlocks

At Solstice, Sabbat, and Equinox

Word of virtue the veil to rend

From primal dawn to the wide world's end

Since time began---

The blessing of Pan!

Blessed be all in hearth and hold

Blessed in all worth more than gold

Blessed be in strength and love

Blessed be wher'er we rove

Vision fade not from our eyes

Of the pagan paradise

Past the gates of death and birth

Our inheritance of the earth

From our soul the song of spring

Fade not in our wandering

Our life with all life is one,

By blackest night or noonday sun

Eldest of gods, on thee we call

Blessing be on thy creatures all.

🕯️🐐🕯️

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

[violetsandfluff]

She Can See We’re Lonely Down Here 🛰️

summary: maybe curiosity knows where y/n is

tw: loss and sadness??

a/n: i did sob while writing this…

wc: 938 🪐

•••

“Look up, Stomper,” Harry breathed wistfully. Even after months of coming out to the field, the sight of the stars illuminating the night sky took his breath away. He didn’t need to tell Stomper to look up. “She’s up there somewhere,” he continued. “She knows we’re lonely down here, but she’s watching over us from above.”

A soft breeze rustled the tall grasses the duo lay in, bringing Harry back to reality for a split second. “It’s pretty late,” he admitted reluctantly, “and I’m sure your battery is getting low. Let’s go home.”

Stomper revved his wheels defiantly, but Harry picked him up anyway, bringing him to his car and setting him down in the front seat. “You really like the stars, don’t you, buddy?”

The small robot nodded, unable to divert his gaze from the glistening pieces of art floating above the ground.

Harry’s night progressed as usual. He poured himself a glass of milk and downed it before plugging Stomper in, allowing him to take a few laps around the house to get out his last bits of energy. Then Harry brushed his teeth and turned on the living room television, to produce a little bit of noise in an otherwise silent house. He ducked into his bedroom just before midnight every night, only for another restless sleep to begin.

Since Y/N had vanished, Stomper had watched Harry fall into a pit. He found it hard to eat for weeks after the fact, and he still barely slept. The few grey hairs which Y/N so loved had multiplied exponentially. Every night as Stomper charged in the kitchen, he could hear Harry’s pleading, mournful, heaving breaths as he wished back the one thing he couldn’t have.

It broke Stomper’s heart to see Harry, his person, incessently distressed. He remembered a time when Harry spoke to him with a glimmer in his eye and a smirk on his dimpled cheeks. When Y/N vanished, she took the dimples from his cheeks and the glimmer from his eyes.

Stomper lowered his head in defeat, feeling helpless towards fixing Harry. Just as he was about to fall asleep, something on the television caught his attention. His head snapped up to see a video of the Curiosity Rover navigating an alien terrain. Stomper was instantly captivated as his mind began to whir with ideas. Could he escape to Harry’s meadow and ask the rover to bring Y/N home before dawn?

As soon as the charger beeped, signifying he was fully charged, Stomper set out. The first obstacle in his way was the charging cord, but that was easily conquered. After he broke free, he pushed his way out of the front door and began his journey. Feeling the pavement beneath his wheels wasn’t something he experienced often.

Even though it was night, the streets were riddled with cars. The small, naive robot navigated the danger-ridden streets tensely, only relaxing when he turned down the final side street. It was no problem for him to get to the meadow. The final part of his mission was to communicate with Curiosity and beg him to find Y/N.

The sky began to glow a dusky pink in the east as Stomper tried fruitlessly to communicate with Curiosity. The sun rose over the horizon before Curiosity responded.

Stomper spent the day rolling around in the grass as if pacing back and forth. His wheels left matted down tracks behind him. While he rolled, he brainstormed ways to communicate with Curiosity. He could make audible sounds such as beeps and whirs, or he could try telepathy. Either way, he had to get his signal to the rover.

That night, he was ready. As soon as the evening star rose and the sun sank back beneath the horizon, the robot’s about face was on. He stared up at the sky, spattered with stars galore and located Mars. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, he attempted to communicate with the rover with every ounce of his being. His concentration never broke for a second.

Harry never came to the meadow that night. When he woke up, there was no Stomper to greet him. Upon further examination, Stomper’s charging cord was wedged in the door that he had exited through.

By the end of the night, Stomper knew his battery was running dangerously low. He spent the day, cowering in the shade, using as little energy as possible. By the time the stars came out, he rolled slowly back into the open field and gazed up at the star he assumed to be Mars and attempted to connect with it one final time.

He didn’t notice Harry’s car pulling up in the distance. His battery was running too low for him to focus. He lowered his head to the ground in defeat until he sensed footsteps approaching through the long, wispy grass. Harry laid down on his back in the grass, feeling the familiar texture on the back of his neck. Stomper could hear the heartbroken sobs he wasn’t bothering to muffle anymore. He felt guilty because he had failed for three continuous nights to bring Y/N back where she belonged; with Harry.

Without lifting his head from the ground, Stomper spun his wheels once, hoping that the sound would startle Harry into recognizing his presence, but the sound was drowned out by a heaved breath. Using every last ounce of his being, Stomper whirred to life.

Harry looked over at the robot speechlessly.

Stomper tried to roll over to him, but he lowered his head one final time, sapped of all of his strength.

taglist: @madybeth21 @groovychaosavenue @fishingirl12 @sortingharryshairclip @mrspeacem1nusone @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cayleyhannha-blog @whitemancumslut @xxrosebunny @hsdaydreaminghaze @daisyharry @madeintheniamh

[spicedrobot]

maybe something with omeluum and a peculiar (sex pollen) mushroom from the underdark?!

(tumblr ate this ask, but I still had the email of it so here you go !!)

this also has blurg in it because I love them together I hope that's ok 🥰💖🙈 there's also slight spoilers for act 1/underdark/myconid colony content!

-

Tav returned to the myconid colony more quickly than Omeluum had anticipated. Normally, it would attribute Tav’s expeditiousness to his competency, but as the half-elf withdrew the requested specimen from his bag, Omeluum gave pause. Tav's movements were jittery and clumsy compared to the capable, dexterous ranger that it had observed previously. 

It wanted to inquire about the specimen’s procurance—it had only learned of the mushroom from a half-rotten journal which gave only vagaries to the fungi’s location—but Tav didn’t appear in good health. His dusky complexion was splotched all the way to the tips of his ears, and his skin glistened with a sheen more commonly found on illithid than humanoids. For a moment, Omeluum worried that his transformation had begun. Though the other telltale symptoms had not yet manifested, and Tav requested no assistance with the tadpole as he had done before. He simply stumbled away after payment was exchanged, his large druid companion tailing closer behind him than the rest. 

Curious, indeed. But if Tav’s condition was not an immediate cause for alarm, then Omeluum could turn its attention to the strange new specimen.

Unfolding it from the cloth it was wrapped in revealed an innocuous mushroom with a dark blue stem and supple, rounded caps. At first glance, it would seem at home with the other species nestled in the colony’s meadows. Omeluum wondered at its properties: the journal had been as vague about them as it had its location. 

It retreated to the small dwelling that constituted as the Society’s residence within the colony, away from the prying receptors of the myconid who may look poorly upon such a rarity dissected for research. Omeluum donned gloves and eyewear before handling the specimen directly. Overly precautious, perhaps, as few of the more dangerous Underdark fungi affected illithid in the same manner as its native denizens. 

As it turned out, Omeluum’s precautions had not mattered in the slightest.

After a few hours of inspection and initial observational notes, a dreariness began to overtake Omeluum. It may’ve suspected something was amiss, but it was past its normal time to rest, so it retired with little resistance.

It woke some time later to a hard grip on its shoulder.

“Omeluum, are you well?” 

Blurg was leaning over it, shaking it awake. Omeluum sat up in its bedroll and looked blearily at Blurg. His brows and mouth were pinched with concern, and his face was oddly colored in the dim light.

Strange… as strange as how Omeluum was feeling. Its skin tingled, felt as slick as it did after a proper and sumptuous meal. There was an unusual softness to its thoughts as well, as if they were a viscous solution being filtered by mere gravity. And the warmth—no, the heat—radiating in curious places—along its tentacles, beneath Blurg’s grip, and lower, much lower—

Omeluum meant to speak. Instead, it released a quiet, throaty rumble that shivered down to the tips of its tentacles. 

Impossibly, Blurg’s complexion darkened further, rich purple blooming over his cheeks and nose. He released Omeluum and began to pull away, but Omeluum grabbed his wrist.

They both froze. Omeluum hadn’t meant to do that. 

“That new specimen. It’s done something to you,” Blurg breathed.

Omeluum could find nothing to protest such a claim. It had been in perfect health before. “That would also explain the strange state of our infected companions.” It spoke slowly, each word rising soft like a bubble that was apt to be forgotten as soon as it popped. “Where is the specimen?”

“I’ve placed it in a more suitable container outside. Speaking of…” Blurg kept looking down at where Omeluum was holding him, then to his own feet, unwilling to meet its eyes. “... you should get some fresh air. Well, fresher. That mushroom’s spores have permeated the dwelling. Smells like a brothel in here.”

“A nice brothel, or a poor one?” Omeluum said as carefully as it could. It could not smell, at least not in the ways that other beings did. Its tentacles began to curl in on themselves, dragging along their own lengths restlessly. 

Blurg laughed. The comment seemed to ease him, and he looked at Omeluum properly. “A fine one.”

“And what aromas comprise of a fine brothel?”

Blurg’s gaze dropped to its tentacles. His shoulders tightened again. Omeluum felt the tension in Blurg’s wrist, his throbbing pulse, but he didn’t pull away. And Omeluum didn’t let go.

“It smells… good. Honey-sweet like a sussur bloom. And like sex, of course.”

Omeluum’s mind supplied what its olfactory senses lacked. It had tasted honey before, and it had felt the soft petals of a delicate sussur. Sex, it barely remembered; it hardly ever considered such acts as an illithid. But at its mention, Omeluum tightened its grip on Blurg’s wrist. Blood thundered under its palm, and the heat within itself grew to a fever pitch.

“I do not think… I should be outside in my current state.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? The affects may lessen—”

Omeluum shook its head. It pressed Blurg’s hand to its chest. Tentacles parted to make way for it, then drew closer again, sliding along his exposed forearm. There was a sensation, almost like a current, where their bodies connected. Omeluum closed its eyes, felt them cross in its skull, felt its lower half quiver.

“Omeluum,” Blurg choked out. His hand flexed against its chest, his claws digging into its tunic, scoring covered flesh. His voice was closer. He was closer. “Are you in pain? What should I do?”

“I…” Omeluum swallowed, shifted. It was humid inside and out, wet skin and heat. It was leaking through its tunic. “Will you touch me… offer succor?” It was almost too easy to ask, with its eyes closed, with Blurg so close, sharing its breath. “It… it will help.”

“Touch you.” Almost a question. His voice rose, cracked. 

Omeluum opened its eyes. Blurg was staring at Omeluum, staring hard. His nostrils were flared, his eyes bright. He was inhaling the spores, scenting Omeluum. 

He was interested. In an academic or sensual sense, Omeluum had no preference. It just wanted, burned. Its trousers were slick with it, its tentacles writhing, clutching what it could of Blurg’s arm, weaving between his fingers, leaving warm, damp trails in their wake. 

Things proceed quickly, then. Omeluum shifting over on its bedroll and Blurg all but falling into it. Its tentacles never quite freeing Blurg, dragging relentlessly over him until his hand slipped into Omeluum’s trousers. Then its tentacles clung. 

Omeluum tossed its head back and groaned at the touch. It had felt hot, and with fingers pressed against it, it was unbearable. The pressure it hadn’t been able to identify rose—desire, desperation—in organs that were all but vestigial. It throbbed and grew against Blurg’s hand, twisting and pulsing as something emerged from its body. Tentacles of some kind, Omeluum hadn’t even known that about itself, its dormant physiology normally so forgettable, so unimportant.

Blurg swore, his head half-tucked into Omeluum’s shoulder. He was embarrassed, and Omeluum knew it was asking too much of its companion. But shame wasn’t enough to make Omeluum push him away.

As the uniqueness of Omeluum’s body unfurled to Blurg’s touch, he groaned, leaned in closer, began to observe the mystery between Omeluum’s thighs. There was no way to tell him how to do it. Omeluum didn’t know itself. Yet, they were learned men, weren’t they? Blurg tested the external appendages first, stroking over them, petting along and between.

 Omeluum clutched at him. “Perhaps… internal stimulation?”

Blurg went purple in the ears, then he pressed a finger inside, careful with his claws. There wasn’t much room for it, but it was better like this, hotter, deeper. As he grew more confident, he hooked two fingers within, ground his knuckles against something firmer than the surrounding soft, twitching muscles. Omeluum began to rock into this touch instinctively, felt its insides seize and swell, tender and more sensitive than it would’ve dreamed. The sensation was incredible. Its external appendages agreed, dripping and twisting, curling around Blurg’s wrists, pulling him closer, trying to draw more inside.

“Blurg, I—” Omeluum whispered. Its hands clasped the back of Blurg’s tunic, claws nearly rending the fabric in its desperation. 

Blurg’s words, though gruff, were little more than a moan.“Well, get on with it.” 

He shifted his hand harder, circling against something new, something deeper, that spotted out Omeluum’s vision. Its tentacles were acting on their own again, salacious, twisting around Blurg’s throat, slipping against the edges of his ears. It wanted to push inside Blurg somehow, his mouth, stuff him full, have him choke—

Strangely, it was that thought that undid Omeluum, had it writhing as wildly as its tentacles, spilling in a hot rush over Blurg’s hand. The motions were uncontrolled, and it felt Blurg’s nails against it, but it was not enough to put off its ardor, in fact, it only seemed to enhance it.

When Omeluum’s thoughts dared to drift outward, it realized its tentacles were twisted around Blurg’s jaw, their tips trailing around his mouth. He was wet with Omeluum’s touch, marked. His breath was shallow, his pupils dilated. 

“I think I’m also in need of… assistance,” Blurg said. 

The spores, Omeluum thought belatedly, and looked down. 

Blurg’s trousers were tented with desire. A desire that Omeluum had never dealt with before. But Omeluum felt certain that, between them both, they would be able to figure it out. 

[talonabraxas]

Pagan Gods from Across the Ancient World

From Zeus and Jupiter to Poseidon and Geb, there were many pagan gods around the world. The word “Pagan” derives from the Latin “Paganus”, which was reappropriated by Christianity, first in the fourth century AD, to alienate those who did not adhere to the Christian religion.

Invocation of the Horned God by Doreen Valiente

By the flame that burneth bright O Horned One! We call thy name into the night O Horned One! Thee we invoke by the moon lit sea By the standing stone and the twisted tree Thee we invoke where gather thine own By the nameless shrine forgotten and lone Come where the round of the dance is trod Horn and hoof of the goat-foot God By moonlit meadow on dusky hill When the haunted wood is hushed and still Come to the charm of the chanted prayer As the moon bewitches the midnight air Evoke thy powers, that potent bide In shining stream and secret tide In fiery flame by starlight pale In shadowy host that ride the gale And by the fern-brakes fairy-haunted Of forests wild and wood enchanted Come! O Come! To the heartbeats drum! Come to us who gather below When the broad white moon is climbing slow Through the stars to the heavens height We hear thy hoofs on the wind of night As black tree branches shake and sigh By joy and terror we know thee nigh We speak the spell thy power unlocks At Solstice, Sabbat, and Equinox Word of virtue the veil to rend From primal dawn to the wide world's end Since time began--- The blessing of Pan! Blessed be all in hearth and hold Blessed in all worth more than gold Blessed be in strength and love Blessed be wher'er we rove Vision fade not from our eyes Of the pagan paradise Past the gates of death and birth Our inheritance of the earth From our soul the song of spring Fade not in our wandering Our life with all life is one, By blackest night or noonday sun Eldest of gods, on thee we call Blessing be on thy creatures all.

Pan 'The Horned God' 'Pagan Gnosis' Talon Abraxas

[peppershark]

Could we please get a snippet for the next Wolfed update? 🥺

Yes—plz forgive me, non this update is way later than I promised but it’s gonna be a banger. 😏

Presently, the trees open to a larger meadow where a sea of dusky brown cattle spread out across the green embankment, browsing among colorful dots of wildflowers. About as many stout little calves wander or lay in groups, strewn about the grass.

Their bells clink in a chime-like sound that pangs in Hermione, a haunting nostalgia that can’t be placed.

The high peaks gloam down at them, their granite faces like stern, rough-hewn kings crowned with snow.

Tom loops around the path, Black’s legs hock-deep in the grass, and he brings Nagini’s lead rope to Hermione.

“Just hang on to her and stay here. You’ll block the wrong end of the trail.”

He has a severity to his movements as he gathers up the reins, so serious. Black picks up on his energy, stepping quickly and quivering his nostrils at the cows. Eager.

Without looking backward, he urges Black into a gentle canter toward the edge of the trees, hemming around behind the cattle.

A murmuring low echoes across the pasture, and the bells start to clank together. 

A ripple of cows move like one brown phalanx toward the trail. Flurries of starlings and grasshoppers shoot up from the grass around their legs.

Hermione grips Nagini’s rope.

All she has to do is stay here, he said, and the cows will turn away from her and go up the trail.

The mule swishes her tail, bobbing her long, cinnamon-speckled head. It’s as if Nagini can pick up on Hermione’s lack of confidence like a strong scent. 

Dread plunges through her.

The cows approach ponderously. 

Some veer up the trail, but others stop a few yards from Hermione. Their long-lashed gaze and whuffing snorts make her fear they’re planning to rush her hesitant barricade.

Nagini tosses her head, jerking on the rope. Has the mule chosen this time to test her on purpose?

“No you don’t!” Hermione says in her boldest voice.

But when it comes to hoofed creatures, she knows she has no clout.

Giving her a malicious eye, Nagini stretches her strawberry roan neck and arches like a cat. The baggage on the pack saddle bunches precariously, listing at an alarming angle.

All at once, a horrible, metal-clattering sound bellows from the mule, loud as the wail of a steam engine. Its sheer volume beside Hermione obscures any familiarity she has with a ‘hee-haw’ sound and instead nearly bowls her over. 

With another trumpeting call, Nagini launches into a series of fierce bucks and kicks, rolling the pack saddle askew. The rope strains in Hermione’s fingers, and she leans heavily on her left stirrup to keep hold of it.

The ground rushes at her before she can think, knocking the wind out of her lungs.

Hermione squirms on the dirt, gasping. Fighting to take in air.

There’s a vibration resonating through the packed soil of the trail and a chorus of anxious moos. 

She braces herself up on her elbow to find Crookshanks trotting off toward the grass while Nagini bolts, flailing her back legs in the air and rolling her spine like she has a burr under her saddle.

The cows scatter from the mule like oil from water. 

A flank of cattle stamp toward her, snorting wildly. Hooves thunder the earth. 

Hermione opens her mouth to cry Stop! but her lungs are wrung out.

She gags on air.

Hand shaking, she reaches for her wand but her sleeve holds nothing but her trembling arm.

Nothing remains but for her to watch the cows fill her vision, only feet away now. Their smell is sweet, sodden grass and animal musk. Eyes white around their edges.

Turning away, she shields her face with her arm…

…Next weekend I will have the chapter done! I’m just one scene away from turning over to @seollem-tm my beta!

[stardustinternational]

Page 17 | Dusky Meadows

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[sosuperawesome]

Moonlight Rings // Dusky Meadow

[amaurotine-daydreaming]

Remember Me As 'Bos (Prompt 10 - Stable)

"I take it we’re borrowing these chocobos to get to the memorial?”

“Oh, we’re here. It’s the kind o’ memorial we can always carry with us. Thought they’d like that.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

---

“These are your chocobos? They’re beautiful.”

“Yep, them’s me and my mates’. The lamb’s-wool white one is from a La Noscean breeder. Supposedly the lowlands are especially good for raisin’ ‘bos, what with the meadows and the sea breeze.” 

“Do you think so?”

“Never seen a chocobo travel more malms in a day. Ye need to have care the birds don’t slip on the rockier terrain and break something, ‘specially when they’re young, but it makes ‘em hardy and quick as levin on gentler roads.”

“What of the dusky purple one?”

“A real beaut, isn’t he? A bit showy lookin’, but gifted in healing magicks.”

“Such a wondrous color for a bird of burden.”

“Meals o’ pickled Doman Plums and O’ghomoro Berries is what gave him that feather color. Had to import the plums from Othard. Good thing Tataru is an unbeatable negotiator when it comes to price.”

“Dropping your name certainly helps, I imagine.”

“Aye.”

“And the last one?”

“The one with the charcoal plumage is a classic Ishgardian flyer. His master has no need to carry a bedroll, his plumage is so warm. And he can handle high altitudes like he was birthed by Bismarck himself.”

“Well, now. These are all certainly impressive. I can see why you’ve taken a moment to show them off. I take it we’re borrowing these ‘bos to get to the memorial?”

“Oh, we’re here. It’s the kind o’ memorial we can always carry with us. Thought they’d like that.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Here’s a hint… Ye never asked for the ‘bos names.”

“That’s a shite-eating grin if I ever saw one. Go on, then.”

“We’ll go in the same order as they were introduced. This one’s Kwehlidibus.”

“…Twelve forfend. You’re not serious.”

“Serious as a Garlean in the presence of his legatus.”

“After the Emissary?”

“Who else? He was an all right sort in the end. And it’s fittin’, too—white robes, white plumage. See?”

“...Gods be good.”

“Now that you got an idea o’ the nomenclature, what do you think Mister ‘Wondrous Plumage’ here is called?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Too late, ye get to know. We call him Kwehmet-Selch.”

“His namesake is rolling over in the Aetherial Sea as we speak.” 

“Only because that Ascian blighter got no sense of humor! ‘It’s a compliment, take it!’ Ain’t that what he said once?” 

“I suppose he did.”

“All right, last one. This here is…would ye like to take a guess? It’s yer last chance.”

“I beg you to leave me ignorant.” “His name is Zodiwark– Oi! Quit rollin’ yer eyes and sighin’! Emet-Selch asked us to remember him and the others, but he never said how. Now that’s his mistake!”

[hbowardaily]

Amid fair meadows, dusky in the night,

The mists fell back upon the road below;

Broke on our tired eyes the western light;

The very graves were for a moment bright:

And this was Death.

-> The Pilgrims, John McCrae | caps by @tvserie-s-world

[p-isforpoetry]

"This Lime-tree Bower my Prison" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (read by Sir Ian McKellen)

Well, they are gone, and here must I remain, This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost Beauties and feelings, such as would have been Most sweet to my remembrance even when age Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile, Friends, whom I never more may meet again, On springy heath, along the hill-top edge, Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance, To that still roaring dell, of which I told; The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep, And only speckled by the mid-day sun; Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock Flings arching like a bridge;—that branchless ash, Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still, Fann'd by the water-fall! and there my friends Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds, That all at once (a most fantastic sight!) Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge Of the blue clay-stone.

                                          Now, my friends emerge

Beneath the wide wide Heaven—and view again The many-steepled tract magnificent Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea, With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad, My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined And hunger'd after Nature, many a year, In the great City pent, winning thy way With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun! Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb, Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds! Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves! And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood, Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem Less gross than bodily; and of such hues As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes Spirits perceive his presence.

                                                       A delight Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad As I myself were there! Nor in this bower, This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath the blaze Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see The shadow of the leaf and stem above Dappling its sunshine! And that walnut-tree Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue Through the late twilight: and though now the bat Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters, Yet still the solitary humble-bee Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure; No plot so narrow, be but Nature there, No waste so vacant, but may well employ Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes 'Tis well to be bereft of promis'd good, That we may lift the soul, and contemplate With lively joy the joys we cannot share. My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rook Beat its straight path along the dusky air Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing (Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light) Had cross'd the mighty Orb's dilated glory, While thou stood'st gazing; or, when all was still, Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a charm For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom No sound is dissonant which tells of Life.

Source: The Poetry of Coleridge, 2006

[regulus-cannot-swim]

Snowfall Serenade - wolfstar

Warnings: none

AN: i was looking through my drafts and found this. i wrote it a while ago. hope you enjoy it!

Once upon a time, in a quaint little cottage nestled in a picturesque valley, winter had settled in the most enchanting way. The landscape was cloaked in a pristine white blanket, with delicate snowflakes falling like confetti from an overcast sky. Amidst this ethereal scene, Remus and Sirius found themselves lost in the breathtaking beauty of it all.

Inside their cozy abode, the crackling fire in the hearth provided a gentle warmth as Remus sat by the window, gazing out at the snow-draped trees. Sirius, clad in his warmest attire, admired the scene for a while before joining Remus by the window.

"Merlin, the snowflakes almost seem like they have a dance of their own," Sirius marveled.

Remus smiled and turned to face his friend. "Indeed, Padfoot. Winter has a way of painting even the most ordinary things in a magical hue."

Sirius moved closer to Remus, their arms brushing against each other. "You know, Moony, we should go outside and experience this enchantment firsthand."

Remus looked at Sirius, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "What are we waiting for? Let’s go!"

They wrapped themselves in coats, scarves, and mittens and ventured out into the winter wonderland. The sky was a magnificent canvas of dusky blues, adorned with countless twinkling stars. Remus and Sirius trudged through snow-covered meadows, hand-in-hand, creating their own footprints as they went.

They found themselves in a clearing surrounded by towering evergreens, the moon casting an iridescent glow over the snow-covered ground. Delicate snowflakes landed softly on their hair and shoulders like gentle caresses, eliciting gleeful laughter from both of them.

"They say wishes made in the snow come true," Sirius whispered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Is that so?" Remus replied, his voice layered with intrigue.

Without another word, Sirius knelt down and started drawing a large heart in the snow. Remus watched him, a mixture of curiosity and anticipation spreading across his face.

When Sirius finished, he turned to Remus and said, "Make a wish and step inside the heart, Moony."

Remus felt his heart race as he stepped into the heart-shaped outline. Looking at Sirius, he carefully articulated his most fervent desire.

"I wish for us to be free, Sirius. To be able to show the world the truth of our hearts."

Sirius's eyes softened, overflowing with a depth of emotion. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and cupped Remus's face tenderly.

"My wish is the same, Remus."

Their lips met in a passionate and tender kiss, each brush imbued with the longing they had kept hidden for far too long. As they pulled away, their foreheads gently pressed together, they felt an amalgamation of emotions: joy, serenity, and an electric sense of liberation.

Together, they stood in the middle of that snowy clearing, locked in an embrace, knowing that the world would eventually witness the beauty of their love. In this secluded haven, bathed in moonlight and illuminated by the ethereal snowflake symphony, they shared a heartwarming melody that would forever resonate in their souls.

As the snow continued to fall around them, Remus and Sirius exchanged whispered promises amidst the silent yet thunderous backdrop of their love, etching their intentions into the very fabric of the winter night.

They had found their serenade among the snowflakes and, from that moment on, they were unstoppable—melting hearts and breaking barriers with their story.

And so, they danced amidst the falling snow, their hearts forever united, embracing the magic of winter's embrace, and rewriting their own fairy tale, one shared winter at a time.