#corruption verse

[writingsofwesteros]

Who would be the perfect corrupt officer pulling someone over for a ticket as they beg to get out of it ?

!!!!!!

For sure Daemon, like he is the embodiment of corruption, its delicious.l

Larys of course ! Such a perverted man he is ;)

Ramsay, he would be the worst to be pulled over. He'd fuck you in front of your bf oopsie

Joffrey being Daemon's little apprentice

[definitelynotshouting]

Saw your tag on the post about devotion corrupting and the absolute need for more corruption verse kicked me in the head. So may you please spare some breadcrumbs about corruption verse :looks at you with big, wet eyes:

EODNWODKW HELP I DIDNT SEE THIS UNTIL JUST NOW...

oh gods idk what to even say abt corruption verse bc i genuinely intend on writing it... Uhhh i can talk abt Grian ig!!! Grian is super fucking cool, im kinda obsessed with him and the powers i gave him in this au

Basically, Grian is an ancient trickster spirit of corrupted power-- explicitly power that corrupts. He has a LOT of it at his disposal, and a few thousand years ago he regularly made deals with people who wanted that kind of thing. New rulers, martyrs for a cause, rebellion leaders. People who were desperate enough to come looking for him and strike a deal. And if you were foolish enough to do that, he'd grant you his power.... but it would poison you slowly, twisting you into someone unfamiliar. Kings became tyrants. Martyrs became pariahs. Leaders grew harsh and were turned on by their friends. Everyone he ever gave power to met an untimely and usually very gruesome death, which was why he was ultimately sealed away by a team of powerful magick users, in a tiny artifact that was passed through generations until it was donated as an old historical trinket to the Academy of Natural Magicks.

Idk i just think he's a neat lil morally grey guy >:] i really cannot wait to write his and Scar's first meeting bc its SOOOOO good.. thats gonna be such a fun encounter. But yeah in case your wondering, Scar and Grian did end up striking a deal prior to a little victimless crime, but Scar knew abt the effects up front and didnt care, which is why Grian thinks he's the most interesting guy on the planet. Thats his babygirl and he is soso mad the Academy hurt him<3 rip to them bc the both of them are abt to watch the world burn

[definitelynotshouting]

prompt for you: Devotion,Corruption, Fire

HI ANON FROM SEVERAL MONTHS AGO I HOPE THE WAIT FOR THIS WAS WORTH IT<3

ao3 link here

Conversion is a mangled corpse between the damp, moldy cracks of the Academy of Natural Magicks' stone basement; seconds dribble into hours, sloughing off time in snake-shed beats. Behind him, water drips from the ceiling– a slow, inexorable rhythm drifting forward to echo over waterlogged high beams. Each pass distorts them further, until the background patter fades into nothing more than a canvas of blank, white noise.

Scar's own whispers rustle within this gentle static. Tone soft, quiet– just low enough to parse over the filmy acoustics. Any louder and they too will warp, and this ritual requires more precision than his clumsy tongue can afford to fumble.

On a technical level, the rite he’s performing is paltry compared to what he executed all those heady months back– chalk-powder in concentric circles, a matchbook, the potential for flame. Simple. Too simple; any of his old professors (Academy-trained, tried, and true) would have failed him for presenting such a stripped summoning spell. But half the magic lies in intent– with enough bull-headed, scrabbling belief, you can claw anything into a shape of your choosing.

Grian had taught him that.

That belief is what brings him here now, sliding open his pilfered matchbox and drawing out a single stick. Scar shivers, chants through it with chattering teeth; they took his warm Academy robes when they cast him out, stripping him of all but a pittance of hard-won power. He suffers the indignity with raised gooseflesh, gritting his teeth against the urge to rub heat back into his bare arms.

Instead, for one long, slinking moment, Scar's eyes trace pockmarks in the match's head. Trails over its dips and curves, lungs fluttering, stomach clenched around a cold, bitter pit. Splinters dig beneath his fingernails as one last sibilant breath rushes from his lungs, carrying with it the final syllable that will mold his heart into an anchor. The Academy's basement wavers in response, as the weight of Scar's belief sinks into stone, wood, and skin alike.

One breath. Two. No room for doubt– no room for second chances. Scar strikes the match and, with a deft flick of his hand, tosses it into the chalk-powder.

A boiling wreath of fire bursts from the circle all the way up to the ceiling, licking hot and red as it kisses the high beams. Scar flinches– an ingrained response as heat sears against his skin in one sizzling wave– but roots his feet to the floor, straining against the urge to step back. Instead, he raises both hands, palms out in supplication, and threads his intent into the fire.

Scarlet flickers to gold; Scar's breath shudders to a halt as the flames twist in on themselves, molten and writhing. Shadows spin against the ancient stone walls, forming wild, manic shapes that spit and hiss as the water surrounding them evaporates. Scar pays them no mind. In his heart is an icy, begging chasm; he has never been inclined to pray before, but just this once–

But– there. Deep within the fire, a shiver; a conflagrant tongue splits off, forking into the crude mimicry of an elongated star. Scar's lungs hitch as the flames coalesce, forming thin, brilliant shapes. A head, neck, and torso. Stocky legs. Muscled arms. Gilded hands and feet. Until at last, the broad stretch of shimmering wings flares out from its back–

With a deafening rush, Grian steps forth into the basement.

The world, once hazy and undefined, sharpens: colors saturating, contrast blooming as his eyes adjust to the new, softer luminescence of the spirit before him. Grian is unchanged from the day they were separated; his hair is just as tousled, eyes just as dark and obsidian-deep. Behind him, his wings– pulsing with the inner fire that birthed them– unfurl, extending to only half their width before the tips of each primary brush the walls. Then they retract, trails of light following in their wake– a cascade of ribbons that dance before Scar's eyes.

The breath Scar sucks in is more tremor than actual inhale; layering beneath his pulse is an echo, razor sharp and burning, layering neat, barbed wire lines around his heart. It's done. It's done. The warm prickle of Grian's presence once again winds between his ribs, igniting his veins and crawling under his skin with the insistent thrum of power. And of Grian himself…

Grian's eyes are fathomless and ancient, but inside them is the vicious strike of flint and steel– his lips tug into a wild grin, honed teeth on full display. "Hello, Scar," he says, warm and fond, and at last, the ice that had crystallized beneath his sternum three months ago shatters.

Scar's rushing forward before the last syllable even rings out, arms open and reaching. They tumble into each other with the force of an earthquake; Grian snakes his own arms around Scar's back, clutching so tight his bones threaten to creak. The gooseflesh over Scar's arms dissipate– Grian is a solid line of heat against him, hair soft where it tickles his chin. Scar buries his face in it, breathes the charcoal, ashen scent of him; when Grian pushes his nose into Scar's clavicle, they both shudder, pressing impossibly closer.

"Y'know," Scar whispers at last, lips brushing the crown of Grian's head, "I was a little scared that wasn't going to work."

Grian pulls back to bark a raw, manic laugh that bounces off the walls around them. "That was genius, actually," he says, tilting his neck back to peer into Scar's eyes. Sparks of electricity jolt through him as the gravity behind that uncanny gaze once again drags him past the event horizon. "I should've known you were going to try something like this– I just didn't think it was possible."

"I didn't either!" An answering giggle tangles in Scar's throat; his lungs have filled with bubbles. "That was really nerve wracking, to be honest. I think I almost messed up a few words there, but–" he breaks off, too entranced by the golden shimmer of Grian's curls to continue that line of thought. It’s done; that’s what matters. With reverent fingers, he traces the curve of Grian's cheek, pushing back an errant strand of hair before tipping forward to fold a kiss into the supple skin of Grian's jaw. A sparkling tingle hums through his lips with the contact.

Grian clicks his tongue, one hand shifting up Scar's back to tangle in the long hair at his nape. "Risky," he murmurs, but threads of admiration weave between the notes of his voice. Scar sinks into it, eyes slipping shut as Grian's clever fingers begin massaging hypnotic circles into his scalp. "You're a crazy man, using a summoning ritual instead of rebreaking the seal. How on earth did you manage that?"

"Oh, with a little bit of this, a little bit of that." Scar keeps his voice light, airy, but the effect crumbles as his balance wobbles, swaying him on his own feet. Every sleepless night, every desperate plan, every biting grudge he'd tucked away in the interim between his expulsion and Grian's return to his arms rises up, snapping at his ankles– threatening to unspool him at his fraying seams.

Grian's arms tighten, steadying; with a gusty, tremulous exhale, Scar bends down to rest his head against Grian's shoulder.

For a long, simmering moment, silence holds court in the basement. Even the water plinking from the ceiling has volatilized; only the low beat of Scar's pulse, slowing from its hummingbird pace, remains.

"Did they hurt you?" Grian asks without warning, voice hoarse.

Scar stills. The memories of that night are etched into his bones, boiling within his marrow– it takes no effort to bring back the mocking bite of the shackles, the way every nerve had exploded in firework bursts as they stole the magick from him. Humiliation lingers in the cracks between memories, growing in thick, ramshackle vines– but this moment is too fragile for anything less than truth.

"It wasn't exactly pleasant," Scar admits, and shivers when Grian's hand flexes sharply in his hair.

"They'll pay for that," Grian says, bordering on a snarl that singes the air around them. Danger hisses along its edges; the thrill that shoots up Scar's spine is a familiar spike of jittery adrenaline, flooding his synapses with crystalline clarity. "For hurting you, and putting me back in that cage– never again, Scar. I won't be letting them get away with this."

And these are the words of a promise, spoken with scintillating power, sinking into the foundations of every brick and stone on the Academy's campus. Scar raises his head from Grian's shoulder, reaching up to cup his cherished, timeless face. Leans in; his lips mold to Grian's in a soft slide that firms from chaste to hungry within seconds, nipping teeth chased by the gentle swipe of a tongue.

"We'll kill them all," he breathes against Grian's mouth, and this too is a vow, painted against the soft, malleable flesh of Grian's lower lip. "Every last one of them."

"I'll hold you to that," Grian murmurs, and reels him back in for another heady kiss.

[definitelynotshouting]

hello its me the paranormal instigator writer in your spice cupboards you wrote about evil wizards and now i must know everything about your magic systems

THERE IS A GOOSE. LOOSE. IN MY SPICE CABINET

hello friend its very good to see you in my inbox!! :D

Oh gods okay so full disclosure: the magic system in corruption verse is very much taken from my personal interpretations and practices of modern witchcraft

Let me explain. As a practicing pagan and witch for ten years, the way ive always seen magic is about both bending probability and also Rules. I've had a lot of baby witches come to me over the years, asking for advice on spell recipes, what herb or ingredient they should use, what corresponds to what, etc etc. And the first thing i always tell them is "the rules are made up dude, you can form your own associations. If you believe in it hard enough, it'll work."

This line-- "But half the magic lies in intent– with enough bull-headed, scrabbling belief, you can claw anything into a shape of your choosing." -- comes directly from that line of thinking.

Corruption verse is, however, a fictional world, so there is a little more structure put into it. The academy mentioned in a little victimless crime is the Academy of Natural Magick, which definitely implies... Some Things. And its meant to, right there in the name!! The Academy is a big stickler for natural magicks, aka magic that comes only from you and your own natural pool of power-- the size of which varies from person to person. There's a lot of emphasis on catering towards students (its like a college of sorts, though not strictly for typical college age like we would think of) with naturally large pools of magic in their bodies, students who can do more right on the outset just from that advantage.

(Scar, for the record, is not one of these students.)

For the Academy, what i picture is that they have some very rigid standards, especially for focus tools such as specific herbs and crystals, geometries, etc etc. Basically anything you could use as a "focus" to help direct your magic pool. The spell Scar mentions in the fic is a "stripped down summoning spell," which i think would, if presented by an Academy professor, look something like several layers of warding, lots of bindings, big fancy runes that correspond to words considered to hold a lot of power, and lots of different dried herbs ground into the chalk powder. While effective (and technically good practice for when you're summoning something that might not like you very much), it's not nearly as flexible as what Scar is doing in the fic. That doesn't make it wrong, per se, but it is very limiting. And Scar isn't here for limits-- something that i hope to really show and explore in his first meeting with Grian if i get the time to write it out :]

[bruteforceandignorance]

Some obnoxious idiots in love/lust

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66001402

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66001402

[hvbris]

@candere​ / plotted starter for Harry

When the Dark Lord had begun realizing the connection between him and the boy, it had sent him in a cold and blinding fury. Oh, it was infuriating. That there could be a link between someone as great and terrible as him, and someone as pathetic as the weak Potter boy... Not to mention the repulsive idea that the “chosen one” could see in HIS perfect and impenetrable mind.

But then, it had hit him.

Potter was feeble, nothing but a boy, a boy with a malleable mind. And now, the Dark Lord had a perfect access to it. 

And so, he had simply whispered in his mind. Poisoning him slowly but surely, using every pathetic little moment of frustration against him. It had been ridiculously simple. Harry Potter was young, impressionable, and it seemed that even Dumbledore had grown tired of him. Voldemort had plunged his hands into his mind with more ease than he thought. Corrupting, defiling his thoughts. 

It was getting easier and easier, too.

“They despise you,” he murmured in Harry’s mind as the boy was falling asleep, “they don’t understand you... How could they? You’re an outcast, you’ve always been one. They don’t love you, Harry, they simply love that you had to lose everything so they would be protected...”

[ask-modern-demon]

//Just a little image that kind of goes along with the corruption verse? Long story short the corruption verse is actually a continuation in Moderns vision of a story that I was writing on one of my other blogs that featured not only Modern but many other characters that I have portrayed or created and as the story progressed I released these little images here (Some of my followers probably know about this sense they may have followed the blog where I told the story) 

[aldezofhyrule]

"No, they ripped you into pieces - I recognized you!"

She could not help but smile at his shock, and the smile turned into a grin and the grin into a laughter of a thousand suffocating voices.

“… I died and I was reborn as a god.”