#Ancient death spell

[profwemakapo]

death spells call +27719567980

[yunmeng-jiang]

every day i wish there had been a better solution for the qin su marriage problem.

in my fix-it fics i either have some other sect leader claim that he was actually madly in love with her this whole time and sweep her away for jgy's sake, have her mom confess earlier, make jgy decide to tell her for her own good and have them work together, or not give them a chance to meet and fall in love in the first place (i guess i could also make qin su have a miscarriage, but that's really sad and awful and not my preferred option at all), but all of those require tweaks to the circumstances, sometimes early on so they don't meet or jgy feels safe enough to talk with her or another confidant, or sometimes later like madam qin finding out they're pregnant before the marriage prep is too far along and telling one or both of them right away so they can make other arrangements.

with the situation being what it was, jgy didn't find out soon enough to do anything that wouldn't involve either marrying her anyway (and he didn't think telling her about it would do anything except make her upset and depressed) or leaving her essentially a ruined woman with no prospects and an illegitimate child who would inevitably grow up fatherless, which is pretty much exactly what his dad did to meng shi. this would be a crueler option than pretty much anything else, and given that he clearly still cares about her, he couldn't do that in good conscience. jgy tries his best to protect the people he loves, unless there is literally no other way for him to survive.

it's one more example of jgy being faced with a situation where the only choices are bad ones, and making the decision that he thinks will hurt the fewest number of people. metatextually, it's one more example of women in fiction being shoved aside and not given agency in their own lives, and getting killed off instead of surviving and growing as people like the male characters are allowed to do. it's just a tragic situation all around and i wish there had been something they could have done.

[casiavium]

Everyone on the program: omg cool mummies!!!

Me, literally holding back tears: they are so far from home. Are their souls scared? Has anyone even offered them bread in the afterlife?

[claire-starsword]

Shining Force Data Collection - May 1992

These are from a special on japanese magazine Beep! Megadrive. I haven’t translated most of it because it’s your typical character stat analysis and item/magic list, but there were some fun character tidbits as well.

Protagonist

Leave the finishing blows to him

Character: A typical man, doesn't talk much. Many warriors admire him and join his force.

Special skills: He's the only one capable of ordering the wild members of the Shining Force to retreat.

Mae

Daughter of the Knight Captain, running through the wide fields

Character: Super harsh. Though that's what you can expect of a knight that was also raised like a princess.

Special skills: Her father was the Knight Captain Varios. Her bloodline is as good as it gets for a knight.

Ken

This model apprentice is a guy that grows stronger real fast

Character: Honest. To the point where he comes off as rude to other people. Though it's also a good thing.

Special skills: His youth is his strength. As a knight in training, his growth upon getting real battle experience is extraordinary.

Arthur

The hidden power of a laundry worker

Character: Extremely earnest. His weak point is that he's quick to worry.

Special skills: He's a unique knight who can learn magic. Is that a given when you work on the laundry in Manarina?

Pelle

Are mercenary knights immortal?

Character: A hothead. Perhaps that's why he's easy to deceive, he's completely helpless when it comes to surprise attacks.

Special skills: Has the sheer determination to climb up from a precipice. His strong will beyond that of regular mercenaries isn't just an act.

Vankar

Never stops drinking

Character: Loves alcohol and freedom and fighting. Has an adult charm to him.

Special skills: Fights head-on, one-on-one, a fair clash of power versus power. He's a knight for hire with a lot of pride.

Earnest

A knight of the shadows living for revenge

Character: A man of conviction who won't turn back at any danger in order to attain his goals.

Special skills: Skilled at guerilla tactics, seeing how he penetrated a fort leading only a small bunch of soldiers.

Luke

A brat charging onward with a dumpling of a nose!

Character: A natural-born fighter who loves battling, However, he's usually a kind man.

Special skills: Great physical strength. Shows a fighting style distinct from the knights.

Gort

A hot blooded grandpa unmatched in the battlefield

Character: A kind warrior who loves his family and homeland. Has the charm of an unassuming master.

Special skills: Relies on skill more than strength, contrasting with the young Luke.

Hans

Talented archer who hates fighting

Character: A pacifist. Does things on his own pace and whines a lot, but when he decides to act he does it well.

Special skills: Precise as a machine with the bow. Never misses a target.

Diane

Sniper woman raised in the mountain country

Character: Having been raised as a hunter since a young age, she is very self reliant. Also full of vitality.

Special skills: Runs through hills and fields like a wild beast, chasing after her prey through any distance.

Lyle

Heavy firearm guy with a terrible sense of direction

Character: He's careless, but the kind of guy that's hard to hate. Even he admits his sense of direction is poor.

Special skills: Certainly strong. Carries around that heavy cannon without a single complaint.

Guntz

An inventor’s soul running through the battlefield

Character: A sensitive guy despite his appearance. Seems to be very watchful of his surroundings.

Special skills: Has dexterous hands. Does maintenance of the steam suit by himself.

Tao

The burning woman was devoted

Character: Seemingly meek, but strong on the inside. As expected of a fire mage.

Special skills: Cooks the undead of monsters well-done. A monster chef.

Anri

The princess is a silver haired mage

Character: She is a princess yet has lived in Manarina for a while, perhaps she's good at adapting to other environments?

Special skills: A princess who attacks with ice magic, it's a bit of a scary image to conjure.

Domingo

An impertinent creature since the day he hatched

Character: Talks way too much. Perhaps his egg was hatched in a bad way.

Special skills: His gelatinous body is hard for enemies to damage. Very resistant.

Alef

The magician of lightning attacks hates Lowe?

Character: A woman (?) with a unique adult vibe among those in the force. Quite attractive...

Special skills: The Bolt magic that makes one's fur stand on end and summons lightning. Its power is outstanding.

Lowe

The one who saved a life is a priest in training

Character: Very nosy and curious. Yet has a vibe that's hard to dislike.

[idk book did you read the previous character]

Special skills: Being a priest, that is healing magic of course. Especially eager to treat the girls' wounds.

Khris

Has hidden strength very unexpected of her looks

Character: Because she has served a princess for a long time, she's mild mannered and very quiet.

Special skills: With experience she becomes quite strong, even in close combat. She also looks kind of lonely.

Torasu

The best when it comes to Aura

Character: The eldest in the force. Has a surprisingly funny face.

Special skills: Thanks to his long life, he has learned plenty of healing spells. Very knowledgeable.

Gong

The peak of body training

Character: He wanders about while training himself. A monk with strict discipline.

Special skills: Summons the healing fairies with a strong proper fist. You have to see it.

Balbaroy

Dances like a butterfly, stings like a hornet

Character: Has a deep sense of honor. Fought to protect the priest in Shade who took care of him.

Special skills: A valuable member who can fly. Can't anything be done about his kinda low strength...?

Amon

Do you understand how to use the birdmen couple?

Character: A gentle wife who cares dearly for her husband. You want to answer her pleas no matter what.

Special Skills: Another flying member along her husband. You can leave the battlefield scouting to them.

Kokichi

Flying is his life

Character: He has persisted for fifty years on experiments with flying machines. That says all you have to know about his personality.

Special skills: Kokichi is the only human in all of Rune to have flown. It's an amazing feat.

Bleu

Is this a legendary Sacred Dragon?

Character: He's a crybaby, but his care for his friends might be beyond that of humans. Likes Karin.

Special skills: Bleu is still only a child. He's just starting to develop his powers as a sacred dragon.

Zylo

The only option when it comes to forest battles

Character: While a beastman, he is the king of Bustoke. A noble and kind ruler.

Special skills: A forest spirit. In a forest, no one can match his power.

Adam

Robot given a duty

Character: Loyal servant to the protagonist. He was created for this role. A long. long time ago.

Special skills: His whole body is weaponized. By getting experience, he may be able to unlock its abilities.

Musashi

A strong warrior visiting from an eastern country

Character: The embodiment of the samurai code. He cannot ignore evil, no matter how small.

Special skills: With a single swing of his katana he can tear apart even air! Such skill might be above even the protagonist's.

Hanzou

This user of ninja arts holds his sword in a backwards grip

Character: A complete mystery. His nature, his personality, all unknown. A literal fighting machine?

Special Skills: The secret art of hiding in the shadows. Now, let's look out for him thoroughly.

Yogurt

Why does he fight?

Character: "I don't get it..."

Special skills: He runs. Has a helmet. Tumbles down. Apparently has a lot of unexpected skills. Really unexpected.

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 6: 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

title: haunted bang synopsis: when you decided to explored a haunted mansion, all you wanted was to gain more knowledge for your grimoire. you never expected it to be habited, even less for all the residents to agree that sharing is caring. [1.8K] cw: wizard!reader, teratophilia, monster fucking, gangbang, voyeurism, size difference, manhandling, mind connection, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), pet play, pussy drunk, overstimulation, you know that post about "would you fuck your clone?", f in v, monsters included are a eldritch creature, a werewolf, a vampire and a shapeshifter.

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There is so many rumors about the mansion. Some believe it to have been built on top of an ancient cemetery, ending the ghost’s slumber. Others, that a coven filled every room with protection runes to preserve the soul of the late owners. A journal published a profile for an architect that died a day after the construction was completed, but quick research showed he had nothing to do with it.

Lies and gossips spread easily, but those brave enough to walk into the dead-end street can see the truth by themselves. Whoever chained those doors did so sensibly, since nothing sane could ever come out of them. A darkness spreads from within the house.

After making your way in with an old pliers, you explored the first floor. There were many chances of turning away, all of them ignored willingly. At the end, all you had were two options: to stay at home safely, or possibly learning a new spell for your collection.

Wizards aren’t known for making the obvious, easy choice.

Since the moment you sensed the darkness this mansion casted, nothing would’ve convinced you of not coming back to explore the secrets within those walls of bricks and stones. You feel it even better now, this great deal of mana. It isn’t a cursed mansion, only a heavily enchanted one.

A relieved smile appeared on your face when you finally found a library. You invoked flames in the remaining candles on the chandeliers and sat down on a large armchair. With the books floating from their shelves and surrounding your body, you analyzed them quickly in search of something worth your time.

In a few minutes, you found it. Holding an old grimoire in your hands, you blew the dust away. Walking through the library, your excitement blinded you. You put the book down on a table, opening your own to copy any fun spell.

As you begin to read the grimoire, your eyes widened. It takes strength from great old forces, eldritch entities incomprehensible to the average mortal. Based on entropy, it alters the fabric of reality itself.

Ancient magic. Its use is highly forbidden, and usually punished with death. Cleaning your glasses on your skirt, you bended over the table and read every line with an unending curiosity.

The first touch went unnoticed. A soft, quick brush against your arm. As your thigh got pinched, you assumed it to be the work of a hungry insect. But when a cold aura surrounded you, embracing your body and soul, there was no doubt left.

Whatever old force empowers this place; it was right here. Right behind you.

Your quarterstaff materialized between your hands. Your grimoire floated, pages turning as you recite your strongest protection spell. Changing your posture, you were ready to fight.

The quiet nature of this threat shifted.

Something forced its way inside your mouth, putting an end to your attempt of using radiant magic. An invisible force, but not less palpable because of it. As you bit down, trying to stop it, you felt it pressing down on your tongue.

Intruder, a voice spoke inside of your head. Low and strident, all at once. Thief in the night.

A limb embraced your waist, leaving a gelid trace as it fit beneath your shirt. A hand grabbed your left thigh so roughly you had no reaction but to whine with your mouth full. Little by little, there wasn’t a muscle of your body free to fight back.

It lifted you from the ground, forcing your hands open. The quarterstaff disappeared in the air before hitting the floor. Higher and higher in the air, your body trembled. Fully involved by this coldness, you had no way of moving.

Usurper, she hissed inside your mind. Or was it a masculine voice? You couldn’t quite picture it. But thinking back about it, didn’t it groaned and roar? Was it even human? Nothing will harm my home.

Nothing will, you thought. If you could hear its voice, then it could hear you too. You hoped. I mean no harm. I swear.

LIAR.

I want to learn, you tried to bargain. I have no intentions of hurting anyone. I didn’t even know there was someone in here to harm. All I desire is to know more than others. Nothing more, nothing less.

The silence gave you an opportunity to look for your grimoire. Alone on the ground, it was so close and yet so far away. Even if it was near, with you unable to speak or move there were few spells you could cast. And none of them would be of any real practical help now.

A soft caress on your cheeks took you from your hushed thoughts. As your feet touched the floor, you stumbled trying to regaining your balance. It held you in place, the feeling soft and rough.

I can teach you everything I know, it whispered. For a cost. This time, the voice came with pictures in your mind. Do you want that?

In them, you saw yourself. Lips hanging open, forehead covered in sweat, eyes half-closed. You saw tears running down your face, legs spread and trembling, fingers closed tightly around the same table you used before.

And in them, you saw glowing eyes still hidden by darkness.

Yes, I want that.

The same careless limbs bended you over the table, but this time it was gentler. Less worried about safety, more worried about you. Holding your hands behind your back, it placed your legs apart.

Something cold touched your inner thighs. It moved against your skin, lingering. Once more, you invoked flames. Contorting your body, a gasp broke the silence. Kneeled down, eyes fixated on your thighs, you found a werewolf.

“Your scent”, he groaned. His face rubbed against you, inhaling shamelessly. His yellow eyes raised to yours, and in them you saw desperation. His muzzle went away from you and he smiled, displaying his sharp fangs. “Hold her still.”

Once he closed his mouth, you tried to move away. Not because you wanted for him to stop, but because how couldn’t you when he says that? You were forced down, back caressed and head scratched. Like a pet, you were kept still and quiet.

Your skirt was thrown away from your body and he… sniffed you? Half of you bare to whoever there to witness, with a monster between your legs. To know that you’re being watched only makes you desire this more. A huge tongue licked your pussy, you moaned. It was real, just a tad louder than it needed to be.

Putting on a show, it laughed inside your head. Keep on this good work and I might not let you walk away.

Your eyes closed as he continued to ravish you. Restless, he simply continued. Tongue deep into you, teeth sinking into your skin, lips sucking around your clit. Your legs were covered in drool, and you could feel it dripping from your aching core.

A hand grabbed your hair, forcing you to look up. A real touch this time. The candles showed you the tall woman in front of you, nails so long they could be mistaken by claws. Looking into her red eyes, you felt a primal urge inside you.

Everything inside you told you to run.

Nature is such a disappointing force. It is not your fault that you were born a prey, that ancient being spoke. Its voice oscillated, as if it was too far away and suddenly right against your ear. And it is not hers to be turned predator long ago.

“This delicate sparkle in your eyes”, a velvet voice made to your ears. Elegant, but sharp. She smiled, and the fangs weren’t a reason to act surprised. “You won’t allow it to dissuade you, will you? Don’t struggle. There is no use.”

Her free hand closed around your neck. A movement faster than you could see, but delicate enough for you to know she didn’t want you to break apart.

“You are mine now, puppy”, she smirked. “Put your mouth to use.”

As she put her knee on top of the table, moving the black dress enough for you to see her strong legs, the vampire pulled your hair again. “Yes, mistress”, you said.

Satisfied, she forced your head between her thighs. As the werewolf continued to torture your poor pussy, you treated hers like a wine you had to enjoy every little sip. It was easy to get eager, to get lost on your own never-ending pleasure, but you made sure to treat her nicely.

Every whimper of hers made you weaker. Every bite from him made you weaker. Every hold onto your skin, whispers inside your head, made you weaker.

It was no surprise your orgasm would break you in pieces. It was no surprise every single one of you would continue despise it.

As you breathed in, trying to get your legs to work, a hand came back to stroking your skin. It put you on top of the table as if you weighted nothing. Before you could flutter your eyes open, those skilled fingers were inside of you.

Touching in the right place, with the right pressure, at the exact right moment. It was perfect. Did this creature read your mind in a way or another? Or is this fate, and in this wretched place you find someone that really knows exactly how to fuck you properly?

“What a delight”, the vampire spoke. “May I drink from her now?

The werewolf hummed. “Look at her legs. Those pretty lips”, you heard him doing just that. “You can’t. Not yet. I need my plaything strong and capable for the night.”

“But do you really, old dog?” She argued. “No one will judge you for admitting you need to rest. No one but me, of course.”

Her mind is far more interesting, it spoke again. Apparently, everyone could hear it. Her memories taste even sweeter. What a fine thing found us this evening.

“How luck we are”, you said.

But you didn’t.

Opening your eyes, you saw yourself. Fingers deep into your cunt, mouth displaying the most annoying smirk. Eyes glistening with fake innocent.

“Fuck”, you babbled.

The smirk seemed to grow. “Your mind is a interesting place”, that thing said. Even her voice was the same as yours. “But I need to say, your body if far more comfortable.”

Looking into your eyes, all you could do was take it. Let this being have its fill of you. Watch for your tits move. The strechmarks on your waist. Your soft thighs. Those freckles on your skin.

Being used, watching yourself, its voice came back. You want this to stop?

You giggled. “Don’t tell me it’s over already?”

Not at all, the voice came back. Let’s move to the next floor.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi

© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[theplotmage]

Fantasy Royal Hierarchy & Government Explained for Dummies

👑 The Royal Hierarchy:

High King/High Queen: The ultimate ruler of all the lands. Addressed as “Your Majesty.” They oversee multiple kingdoms and have the final say in all matters.

King/Queen: The rulers of individual kingdoms. Addressed as “Your Majesty.” They manage their own territories, make laws, and lead their armies into epic battles.

Prince/Princess: The children of the king and queen. Addressed as “Your Highness.” They’re next in line for the throne and often have their own mini-kingdoms to practice ruling.

Duke/Duchess: High-ranking nobles who control large regions within the kingdom. Addressed as “Your Grace.” They’re like the regional managers, handling local governance and military affairs.

Marquess/Marchioness: Nobles who oversee border territories. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They’re responsible for defending the kingdom’s edges and often have a mix of military and administrative duties.

Earl/Countess: Nobles who manage smaller regions within the kingdom. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They’re like the middle managers, ensuring everything runs smoothly in their areas.

Viscount/Viscountess: Nobles who assist earls and countesses. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They’re like the assistant managers, helping with local governance and administration.

Baron/Baroness: The lowest rank of nobility. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They control small areas of land and are responsible for local justice and order.

Lord/Lady: A general title for nobility. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” Lords and ladies can hold various ranks and responsibilities within the kingdom.

Government Structure:

🏛️ The Council: A group of high-ranking nobles and advisors who help the king or queen make important decisions. Think of them as the board of directors.

🧙 The Wizard: The royal advisor with magical powers. They provide wisdom, cast spells, and sometimes meddle in politics.

⚔️ The Knight Commander: The head of the royal army. They lead the knights and soldiers into battle and ensure the kingdom’s defense.

📜 The Chancellor: The head of the kingdom’s finances and administration. They manage the treasury, collect taxes, and oversee the kingdom’s bureaucracy.

🎭 The Bard: The kingdom’s storyteller and historian. They spread news, sing songs of heroism, and keep the royal family’s image sparkling.

Other Classes:

🌳 Elves: Graceful and wise, elves often serve as advisors, scholars, or elite warriors. They have a deep connection to nature and magic, making them invaluable in both court and battlefield.

🌾 Peasants: The backbone of the kingdom. They work the land, pay taxes, and sometimes get caught up in the schemes of the nobility. Despite their humble status, they can be heroes in their own right.

💀 Necromancers: Masters of death magic. They can raise the dead, drain life energy, and command undead minions. Often feared and misunderstood, they can be powerful allies or dangerous enemies.

📚 Scholars: Also known as sages, librarians, or loremasters. Scholars are the kingdom’s intellectuals, possessing encyclopedic knowledge. They study ancient texts, advise on matters of history and magic, and often uncover secrets that can turn the tide of events.

⚔️ Heroes: Brave individuals who embark on epic quests. They can come from any class—knights, peasants, elves, or even necromancers. Heroes are defined by their courage, skill, and willingness to face danger for the greater good.

🙏 Priests/Priestesses: Spiritual leaders who serve the gods and goddesses of the realm. They perform rituals, offer guidance, and sometimes wield divine magic. Addressed as “Father,” “Mother,” or “Your Holiness”.

🐉 Dragons: Sometimes pets, sometimes pests. Always epic. They can be guardians of treasure, wise advisors, or terrifying foes.

Servants and Other Castle Inhabitants:

Steward: Manages the household and estate. Addressed as “Master Steward.”

Chamberlain: Oversees the private chambers and personal needs of the lord or lady. Addressed as “Master Chamberlain.”

Marshal: In charge of the stables and the training of knights. Addressed as “Master Marshal.”

Cook: Prepares meals for the household. Addressed as “Master/Mistress Cook.”

Maid: Responsible for cleaning and maintaining the castle. Addressed as “Mistress Maid.”

Squire: A young noble training to become a knight. Addressed as “Squire.”

Falconer: Takes care of the hunting birds. Addressed as “Master Falconer.”

Gardener: Maintains the castle gardens. Addressed as “Master/Mistress Gardener.”

Where They Dwell:

🏰 Castle: A fortified structure built for defense and residence. It includes towers, walls, a keep, and often a moat. The castle is the main residence of the king or queen and their court.

🏛️ Court: The royal household and the place where the king or queen holds court. It includes the throne room, great hall, and various chambers for the nobles and advisors.

🏡 Manor: The residence of a noble, usually a lord or lady. It’s less fortified than a castle and focuses more on comfort and domestic life.

Pro Tips:

Royal Drama: Expect lots of intrigue, secret plots, and power struggles. It’s like a medieval reality show.

Magic: Always a wildcard. It can solve problems or create new ones.

Quests: Royals love sending heroes on epic quests. It’s their way of handling problems without getting their hands dirty.

---

[drenched-in-sunlight]

one thing that i find interesting is that even though we never get to interact with Marika directly, only knowing her via obscure cutscenes and other characters' dialogue... she actually displays a wide range of emotions as much as any other NPCs.

her statues depict her as having a warm, gentle smile:

the Mimic veil description points to her playful, mischievous side:

(it's a popular theory in the JP/Asian side of the fandom that it's sth from her childhood - hence the "Marika's Mischief", not "Queen Marika's", and she used it to escape the grisly fate befalling her family.

additionally, its equivalence in Dark Souls is also something described as "the mischief of a young girl who sought relief from the solitude of the woods at dusk", aka Princess Dusk who hails from "Oolacile, land of ancient golden sorceries", but i digress)

her portrait, the story trailer's "Queen Marika was driven to the brink" and Gideon's dialogue after the player defeated Malenia pointed out her sorrow:

(back when i first played the base game, this is the portrait that drove my eyes most in Roundtable Hold. i kept gazing at her - the Queen with permanently lowered eyes, and thought "there is a girl in there")

The bat lady's song, Messmer's entire Crusade, all those conflicts to establish the Erdtree, shows her anger, and the cruelty she's capable of:

Then there's Shaman's village, the clinic underneath Shadow Keep, the golden braid, the Minor Erdtree, the sealing of Death - that points to grief, trauma, survivor guilt, kindness, and the ruinous drive for revenge that results in the above path down hell:

(there's also a theory for the Crusade's headless statue being a reminder for the Hornsent of what they put Marika's mother through, but it's not concrete canon so here is the link if you want to check it out)

The fact that all of Erdtree's incantations are heal and protection spells (with only one exception of Wrath of Gold spell which was found after the Elden Ring was shattered), the Capitol's Perfumers originally being blessed healers, and that all Erdtree blessings come in the shape of tears give the picture of Marika's gentle wish at the beginning: to heal everything and everyone.

(and to me personally, there's a kind of vulnerability and honesty in showing your tears to the world and let it be your power to heal at the same time.)

the eye she blessed Messmer with (i do think the Eng translation at some part lost the sentiment of the JP text - that the eye is always referred to as a blessing)

the blessing flask that - unlike its Dark Souls equivalent (which ranges from 6-13 flasks), only have 4 available to us player, heal all ailments and status effect, and specified as sth made for Messmer.

the Marika's soreseal in the Haligtree + the waterfall near Godwyn's final resting place

the Regal Omen Bairn (that was fashioned after the Jizo statue - sth made by grieving parents wishing for protection for their deceased child in the afterlife)

the blessing, gifts, equipment that Messmer and Godwyn's personal knights all get

the fact that Marika's bedchamber and the Impaler's Catacomb (which is the only catacomb in the base game to have the spike trap mechanic used in catacombs in the DLC) remain the proof of Messmer's existence in the base game

how Godwyn's ending is the only ending where the mending rune is placed on the position of Marika's womb (the lower arc or the Elden Ring - also referred to as the basin in which its blessings pool)

that's a whole barrage of motherhood. the love, the fear, the postpartum depression, the guilt and anxiety, (the occasional scheming for revenge with her son). and despite how flawed and tragic that love ends up being for all of them, it is there.

(there's a whole subplot about how Messmer is the only demigod to be called ugly in-game (Hornsent npc dialogue) while Boc's questline is about how his mother being the only one to always assure him he's beautiful, despite everyone else calling him ugly. and how each NPCs questline does reflect a wider theme seen in Marika and her children. but again, i digress)

every time i think of her, Marika is a constantly shifting kaleidoscope, holding everything from within (the beauty and the malign, light and dark, birth and death, she's warm and gentle, she's cruel and unjust, she's strong and kind, she's weak and resentful, she's sweet and she's bitterness made flesh)... and i could only stand there and admire it all.

[theetherealbloom]

TAKE ME DOWN TO LIFT ME HIGH

Summary: In the grand city of Rome, you, a senator's daughter, are entangled in a world far removed from your aristocratic upbringing. Your chance encounter with General Marcus Acacius, a renowned gladiator and war hero, changes your life forever.

Paring: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, AU, PWP, Some Plot and more smut, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Fingering, PIV, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, Canon Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism (it’s ancient rome, babe), Sneaking Around, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, Boobs,

Word Count: 6k

A/N: The amount of research I had to do for this was insane. I was more obsessed with Greek Mythology than Roman so I needed a refresher. Hehe, there’s not a lotttt of drama, but it leans more into the smut side and just cheesy over all plot lol and a little fun ceremony in the end. Everyone say thank you to @wheresarizona for listening to me go feral over Marcus. Go send her some love cause she deserves it :>

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Song: Selene by NIKI

| Main Masterlist |

The return of General Marcus Acacius was an event of grand opulence. The streets of Rome were alive with screams and celebrations as he rode his golden chariot, smiling and waving at the throngs of admirers. It was as if the bloodshed and death that marked his victory were distant echoes, easily forgotten by the jubilant crowd.

"Long live General Marcus!" someone shouted.

"A true hero of Rome!" another voice rang out.

You weren't supposed to be in the crowd. Your place was at home, learning household chores such as cooking, cleaning, and weaving—the essential skills expected of a Roman matron. Yet, here you were, hidden beneath a hood, blending with the common folk as you watched the celebrated general parade down the street.

As the parade came to an end, you discreetly followed behind the procession, your eyes fixed on General Marcus Acacius. He was dressed in white and glittering gold, a stark contrast to his usual attire of blood-stained armor and weapons. Even though he was smiling and waving at the crowds, you could see the disdain in his eyes for such a grandiose display.

You had heard stories about him, rumors whispered amongst the noble families of Rome. They spoke of his ruthless acts on the battlefield, of his unwavering loyalty to Rome, and of his preferences. Yet here he was, parading through the streets in all his glory, hailed as a hero by everyone.

You couldn't help but feel drawn to him despite everything you had heard. There was something about him that intrigued you, something that made your heart race and your cheeks flush.

Your mind was filled with thoughts of General Marcus Acacius, wondering what kind of man he truly was beyond his reputation as a war hero.

As you stood there, trying to remain inconspicuous, your eyes met his. The connection was electric, almost as if the gods themselves had intervened. Marcus’s gaze was so intense that it seemed to pierce through the crowd and find you alone. He noted every feature of your face, his expression betraying a hint of fascination.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat and quickly looked away, breaking the eye contact. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned and began to scurry home, the thrill of the encounter leaving you breathless.

Your pulse raced as you made your way through the bustling streets of Rome, trying to push aside the image of General Marcus Acacius's piercing gaze. You couldn't understand why you were so affected by a man you barely knew, but there was something about him that drew you in.

You managed to sneak back into your room, just barely slipping past the household guards. Being the daughter of a senator afforded you certain privileges, including an education that many girls your age could only dream of. Your studies typically included reading, writing, and arithmetic, equipping you with the skills necessary to manage a household and participate in society. You were also taught music, dancing, and literature, for understanding and appreciating poetry was considered a virtue for a Roman woman.

As you settled in your room, the memory of Marcus’s gaze lingered in your mind. The image of his rugged face, scarred from countless battles, and his piercing eyes was etched into your thoughts. There was something about him that was both terrifying and captivating.

A soft knock on your door interrupted your reverie. It was your handmaid, Lydia, her expression curious.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

You hesitated, then sighed. "I went to see the procession."

Lydia’s eyes widened. "The general’s return? You could have been caught!"

"I know," you admitted, "but I had to see him."

"Why? What could be so important?"

You bit your lip, unsure how to explain the inexplicable pull you felt towards the gladiator general. "I don't know, Lydia. It's just... when our eyes met, it felt like something changed."

Lydia shook her head, her expression a mix of worry and understanding. "You must be careful. The world outside is not as forgiving as the walls of this villa."

The days following the procession were filled with a whirlwind of emotions. You couldn't shake the image of Marcus from your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his intense gaze, felt the inexplicable connection that had sparked between you.

The grand villa of your father was abuzz with preparations for the evening’s banquet. Slaves hurried to and fro, setting tables with fine silverware and arranging elaborate floral displays. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers.

Tonight, your father, a respected senator, was hosting a dinner in honor of General Marcus Acacius. The entire house was a flurry of activity, with guests arriving in their finest attire, their laughter and chatter filling the atrium. You stood near the entrance, feeling the weight of your responsibilities as the senator’s daughter.

Your mother approached, adjusting the drape of your stola with a critical eye. “Remember, you must be on your best behavior tonight. This banquet is crucial for your father’s alliances.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. Ever since you had seen Marcus in the parade, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The memory of his piercing gaze had haunted you, and now he was here, in your home.

"Come," your father said, his hand on your back guiding you through the crowd. "I want you to meet someone."

You followed, your heart pounding in anticipation. As you approached, you saw him standing there, taller and more imposing than anyone else in the room. Marcus Acacius, the hero of Rome, the man who had invaded your thoughts and dreams.

"General Acacius," your father began, his voice carrying the weight of his status, "allow me to introduce my daughter."

Marcus turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, but his gaze remained unwavering. "My lady," he said, his voice like velvet, "it is an honor."

General Marcus was the most strikingly handsome man you had ever seen. His chiseled features were framed by dark brown eyes beneath thick, black eyebrows. His long, aquiline nose and firm mouth, accentuated by a sensuously full lower lip, completed the picture of rugged masculinity. He stood tall, towering over most men, with a lean, muscular body and broad, powerful shoulders.

His hair, a captivating mix of salt and pepper, was cut short and fell in loose curls around his head, with distinguished grey patches in his beard that added to his allure.

"The honor is mine, General," you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed.

"Please, call me Marcus," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We are, after all, in more intimate surroundings."

Your father chuckled, clearly pleased with Marcus's easy charm. "I will leave you two to get acquainted," he said, patting Marcus on the shoulder before moving away to mingle with other guests.

The moment your father left, the air between you and Marcus seemed to crackle with electricity. He took a step closer, the heat of his body radiating towards you. "I must confess," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "I have been looking forward to this moment."

You swallowed hard, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. "As have I," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Marcus's eyes darkened with desire, and he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your knees weaken. "You are even more captivating up close," he said, his voice husky. "I find myself drawn to you, like a moth to a flame."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hand slid up your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you feel it too?" he whispered.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response. The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, his scent, his warmth, the sheer power of his focus on you.

As Marcus's hand continued to caress your arm, you felt your heart race with a mixture of excitement and nerves. You had never been this close to him before, and the realization that he was interested in you sent a wave of exhilaration through your body.

His lips brushed against your earlobe, making you shiver. "I want to know everything about you," he murmured, his voice sending sparks down your spine. "Your hopes, your dreams, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry out for mercy."

You turned towards him, meeting his intense gaze. "I want to know about you too," you said, feeling bold in his presence.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer. "There is not much to tell," he said modestly, though the way his eyes roamed over your face suggested otherwise. "Just a soldier who has dedicated his life to serving Rome."

But there was something more behind those words, something hidden beneath the mask of duty and honor. You could sense it in the way he held himself, in the intensity of his gaze.

"I don't believe that," you said firmly. "There is so much more to a person than their profession."

Marcus's smile widened into a grin as he took another step closer to you. "You are wise beyond your years," he said appreciatively.

The room around you seemed to fade away as you became lost in each other's gaze. It was as if there was no one else in the world but the two of you.

Suddenly, a loud noise broke through the moment – someone had knocked over a vase nearby. The sound jolted both of you back to reality and Marcus stepped back slightly.

"I should go check on that," he said regretfully.

Marcus's lips lingered on your skin for a moment longer before pulling away to look into your eyes. "I promise, we will continue this conversation another time," he said softly.

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. You couldn't wait to spend more time with him and get to know him better.

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but watch him walk away, his confident stride and broad shoulders filling you with a sense of admiration. You sighed dreamily and turned back to the feast, only to be greeted by your handmaids with teasing grins.

"What was that all about?" one of them asked, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively.

You feel your cheeks heat up, trying to hide your excitement. "Nothing," you said coyly. "Just a conversation."

As the guests were seated in the triclinium, the air was filled with the sounds of conversation and the clinking of goblets. You found yourself seated across from Marcus, who looked imposing in his formal attire. His presence commanded the room, yet his eyes frequently strayed to you, a subtle intensity in his gaze.

The evening progressed with toasts to Marcus’s victories and speeches praising his valor. You tried to focus on the conversations around you, but your mind kept drifting to the man across the table. Finally, you could bear it no longer. Under the pretense of needing fresh air, you excused yourself and slipped out into the garden.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as you wandered through the manicured paths, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating your way. The garden was a haven of tranquility compared to the lively banquet inside. You found a secluded bench and sat down, letting out a sigh of relief. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of voices from the villa created a serene backdrop as you tried to gather your thoughts.

As you sat there, the faint sound of a conversation caught your attention. You turned your head slightly, realizing that a group of senators had gathered nearby, their voices low but urgent. You recognized the voices of some of the most influential men in Rome, including your father.

"I hear that Emperor Caracalla is eager to stage a grand spectacle," one senator said, his tone conspiratorial. "He wants to solidify his power and win the favor of the masses."

"Indeed," another replied. "I heard he plans to pit some of the finest gladiators against each other. And there are whispers that General Marcus Acacius himself might be forced to take part in the games."

You felt a pang of concern at the mention of Marcus's name. The thought of him in the Colosseum, fighting for his life, was almost too much to bear.

"Emperor Geta is not pleased with this idea," a third senator interjected. "He sees it as a waste of a valuable military asset. But Caracalla is determined. He believes a victory in the arena will elevate Marcus to legendary status, securing loyalty from the soldiers and the people alike."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed their words. The political machinations of Rome were ruthless, and it seemed that Marcus was caught in the middle of it all.

As the senators continued their discussion elsewhere, their voices drifting away back into the villa, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to see Marcus emerging from the shadows, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He moved silently, his powerful form cutting through the darkness like a predator stalking its prey.

"My lady," he said softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "It seems we both seek refuge in the quiet of the garden."

"Marcus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. "I overheard the senators. They plan to have you fight in the Colosseum."

His expression darkened, and he closed the distance between you in a few swift strides. "I know," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The emperors play their games, and I am but a pawn. But tonight, I do not wish to think of such things."

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within you. "Tonight, I only want to think of you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a tantalizing softness. The kiss deepened, his hands roaming over your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His touch was both possessive and gentle, his need for you evident in every caress.

"Marcus," you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair. "This is madness. If we are caught..."

"Let them find us," he murmured against your lips. "I would rather face the lions in the arena than be without you."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you responded with a fervor that matched his own. Your bodies pressed together, the heat of your passion driving away the cool night air. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other.

"Promise me," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "Promise me you will come back to me, no matter what happens."

"I swear it," he said, his voice filled with determination. "No matter what the emperors or the gods throw at me, I will return to you."

With those words, he captured your lips again, sealing his promise with a kiss that left you breathless. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

His voice, a velvety whisper, sent a wave of desire flooding through you as he murmured, "I want you. Here. Now."

The moon was high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the garden, as Marcus pressed you against the wall. His hands roamed over your body, igniting fires with each touch. You could feel his desire for you, and it only fueled your own.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you up and pressed you against the garden walls. His body hovering over yours as he trailed kisses down your neck and along your collarbone. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and you couldn't contain the moan that escaped from your lips.

With a growl of need, Marcus captured your lips once again while his hands began to explore under your dress. The feeling of his warm skin against yours sent shivers down your spine as he traced patterns along your thighs.

"Marcus," you gasped between kisses. "We shouldn't-"

"Shhh," he whispered, gently sliding your white cotton robe off your shoulders. "I can't resist you any longer.”

Marcus unexpectedly reached out his large, rough hands and cupped each one of your breasts, weighing them in his palms. Your body jolted at the sudden touch, your skin tingling under his warm heat. You could feel the calluses on his fingers, hardened from years of wielding swords and other battle weapons, leaving tiny marks on your delicate skin like a trail of fire.

As he squeezed and rotated your breasts gently, desire surged through you, igniting a deep longing within. You wanted to surrender yourself completely to him, to offer up not just your body but your very being to his every whim. The sensation was so overwhelming that you yearned to throw your head back in abandonment and give in to the all-consuming pleasure he evoked.

The protests that had escaped your lips now transformed into guttural moans of pleasure as his skilled fingers worked their magic on your most sensitive spot. Every touch sent electric shocks through your body, making you shiver and writhe against the wall. As Marcus trailed his fingertips over every inch of your slick flesh, you felt yourself becoming more and more lost in the overwhelming waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each stroke, your body arched further off the wall, desperate for more of his touch. It was like a symphony of sensations, building and crescendoing until you were completely consumed by the intensity of it all.

He slid a finger between your legs and pushed it deep inside you. Pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch and writhe as he expertly stroked your tight passage.

"My lady, you have an incredibly tight cunt," he grunted out, his voice strained and revealing his own growing arousal. His features twisted in pleasure and his eyes glinted with a primal lust.

He firmly grasped your aroused nub and slid another finger into your tight, welcoming entrance. "We have to be quiet or we'll risk getting caught," he whispered in your ear.

You nodded eagerly, pleading, "Yes, anything. Please."

As his skilled fingers gently rotated over your sensitive clit and his other digit pumped inside your wet, pulsing core, you couldn't help but surrender to the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. From the moment his eyes locked on yours, you knew you were his to be used however he pleased, your body a vessel for his insatiable desires. With each expert movement of his fingers, you felt yourself spiraling into a dizzying state of pure ecstasy, completely at his mercy. Your flesh responded eagerly to his touch, begging for more as he claimed you as his own.

The General's gentle touch on your skin was electrifying, bringing a growing pleasure to your body that felt almost overwhelming. You could feel yourself getting too hot, too tense, and you were afraid of releasing the intense climax that was building inside you with just a single touch. 

"Oh Goddess," you gasped, tilting your head back against his shoulder and shutting your eyes as your desire became sharper and more urgent.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as his long finger penetrated you, rotating and rubbing inside your core while his other fingers worked relentlessly on your sensitive clitoris. Your body squirmed against the intense pleasure, your hands grasping at his muscular arms to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming sensations. He chuckled softly as you began to move your hips in a circular motion, still continuing to bring you pleasure with his skilled touch for several minutes. Just as you were about to reach the edge of climax, he eased off slightly, keeping his movements quick and light.

But eventually, your body tensed up and convulsed, your movements erratic and desperate, your breaths coming in short gasps. As the tension in your loins grew tighter and tighter, you let out a high-pitched wail and reached the peak of ecstasy. Your walls pulsated around his probing finger, which was now coated in even more of your warm juices.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Marcus gently turned you to face him again. His white robe and short toga were cast aside, leaving him naked in front of you. He stood tall and proud, his lean and muscular frame on full display. But it was his erect penis that took your breath away. It was massive, thick and much longer than average, standing rigid and red above a nest of dark pubic hair.

His impressive and exposed physique took your breath away as you gazed upon it. "Oh, my Goddess!" you exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed by his sheer size.

Without hesitation, Marcus reached out and grasped your thighs, pulling you closer to him. He leaned over your body, closed his fist around his member, and guided the tip towards your still-dripping entrance.

He managed to get the thick bulbous tip of his penis through your opening. You immediately felt stretched and full. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling in an effort to accommodate him. “You big brute, you’re tearing me apart.”

He clenched his teeth, sweat starting to matt his silver and grey hair at his forehead. The pleasure of being inside such a tight flesh was almost dizzying, and he had to pull in all of his control to prevent himself from plunging completely inside of you. 

That would come later, he promised, once you had been well oiled by him. He pushed again and managed another inch, and slowly continued to advance his penis inside your channel. 

“You’re so tight,” his voice was harsh and strained, as if in pain. It wasn't too far from the truth; she felt tight around him, almost like a vice grip. But despite the discomfort, she was so warm and smooth inside.

With a groan, he slid the thick bulbous tip of his penis into your opening. A sharp pang of fullness shot through you as your body stretched to accommodate him. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling and contorting in an effort to ease the pressure. "You big oaf," you playfully scolded, though there was a hint of pleasure in your voice.

He clenched his teeth, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he fought for control. The sensation of being inside such tight, warm flesh was almost overwhelming, and he had to take deep breaths to calm himself. He promised himself that he would give in completely once you were well-oiled by him.

He pushed with all his strength, feeling the resistance of your body as he slid deeper and deeper inside. The walls of your channel were smooth and slick, clenching around him like a vice. He couldn't hold back the grunt that escaped his clenched teeth, a mix of intense sensation coursing through his body. It was a pleasurable pain, like being held in a fierce embrace by someone who loved you too much - an exquisite torture that he never wanted to end. But with each slow and deliberate thrust, he knew that the pleasure would only intensify, building to a climax that would leave them both breathless.

Slowly but surely, Marcus eased his penis deeper into your body. With each inch of progress, you both felt the intensity of your connection grow stronger. Your entire body trembled with each thrust he made. When he was halfway inside you, Marcus used his fingers to stimulate your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your core throbbed with ecstasy as Marcus took advantage of your relaxed muscles and thrust deeply inside you until he was fully engulfed.

You and Marcus both groan at the same time. He quickly covers your mouth with his hand, gently hushing you. "Shh, my Carissima... I know it feels good, but we must be quiet. We can't risk your father catching us in this compromising position." The General continues to stimulate your sensitive spot, using his fingers to tease and moisten it further.

Your hips continued to rock and push against his manhood, your desire growing with each movement. You leaned back and moaned as General Marcus Acacius took full control of your body. He held onto your hips tightly as he thrust deep inside you, the pleasure intensifying for both of you. It was clear that neither of you was far from reaching the peak of ecstasy.

You let out moans and contorted your body as the large, broad, man moved back and forth between your legs. As your face twisted in pleasure and your head thrashed about, you experienced this unfamiliar sensation called sexual pleasure. Your climax came quickly and intensely, feeling like it lasted for several minutes. You threw your head back and let out a scream as the intense pleasure broke through between your thighs. A hot wave of pleasure spread throughout your body, causing your hips to writhe against Marcus'.

As your body trembled and released into an intense orgasm, you felt Marcus' muscles tighten beneath you. A deep, primal roar escaped his lips as he too reached the peak of his climax. The sound echoed through the gardens blending with the rhythmic pounding of your heart and breath. It was a moment of pure, raw passion that left you both gasping for air and tangled in each other's embrace.

As the intense pleasure slowly subsided, you became aware of the small droplets of blood trickling down your thighs and onto the grass. It was a sign that your virginity had been taken, marking the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.

General Marcus Acacius carefully pulled out of you and helped you to sit up. You could see his concern in his eyes as he looked at the blood staining his robe on the ground and your thighs.

"Are you hurt, Carissima? I didn't mean to be so rough..." he asked, his voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "No… I'm fine," you managed to say.

He let out a sigh of relief and gently wiped away the blood with a nearby cloth. You winced slightly at the slight soreness between your legs but it was nothing compared to the intense pleasure you had just experienced.

Marcus held you close, his strong arms wrapped around you protectively. "You were amazing, my love," he whispered in your ear.

A flood of emotions washed over you as you realized what had just happened between the two of you. You had shared an intimate moment with General Marcus Acacius, someone who was forbidden to you because of your status as a daughter of such nobility. And yet, in that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the overwhelming feeling of love and desire that consumed both of you.

Your mind was spinning, knowing all too well what would happen if anyone found out about your relationship with the General. Your father would surely punish both of you severely and possibly even sell one or both of you off.

Even with the knowledge of what had just happened, and what could, it was difficult for you to feel remorse or embarrassment. Instead, you felt a sense of contentment and fulfillment that you had never experienced before.

Marcus chuckled warmly and gave you a soft kiss on your lips. "You are truly something special, Carissima," he said with adoration in his eyes.

You blushed at his words, feeling a surge of happiness wash over you. Despite the risks and consequences, being with Marcus felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But as the reality of your situation sank in, a sense of worry crept into your mind. How would you continue this relationship without anyone finding out? How could you possibly be with Marcus when your father would never allow it? Or worse, your father having you marry someone else?

Marcus brushed his fingers against your cheek, and it felt like he could read your mind. "We will find a solution, my love. I promise I will marry you and make you my wife," he whispered to soothe your fears.

The weight of Marcus' words settled heavily in your heart. The thought of being married to the man you loved filled you with joy and hope, yet the reality of it all seemed impossible.

"How could we possibly make that happen?" you asked, your voice laced with worry.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of doubt. How could someone as powerful and respected as General Marcus Acacius be able to marry someone like you? You were just a daughter of a nobleman, while he was one of the most influential men in the kingdom.

Marcus spoke with unwavering assurance, his gaze locked onto yours. As you looked back into his eyes, all your doubts and fears dissipated. You were certain that he would do anything to keep you safe and by his side. "We will find a way, my love. I will do whatever it takes to make you my wife."

"I believe in you," you said softly, placing a hand on his chest.

Marcus smiled and leaned in to kiss you again, his lips gentle and loving against yours. In that moment, everything else seemed to fade away except for the two of you.

"But we must be careful," Marcus reminded you, his tone serious once again. "We cannot let anyone find out about us until the time is right."

You nodded in agreement, understanding the risks that came with your relationship.

"We must also gain your father's approval," Marcus continued. "It won't be easy, but I am determined to prove myself worthy of you and your family."

You couldn't help but admire Marcus' determination and love for you. Despite the challenges ahead, he was willing to do anything to be with you.

As the sun began to rise, you woke up in your room with a smile on your face. Today was the day that Marcus would finally meet with your father and ask for your hand in marriage. You could hardly believe the moment had arrived, the day you had dreamt of for so long.

Ever since he had first confessed his love for you, the two of you had been meeting in secret, stealing moments together whenever possible. The clandestine nature of your meetings had made your bond even stronger. The thought of being with Marcus made every challenge worth it.

You dressed carefully, choosing your finest gown, and adorned yourself with simple yet elegant jewelry. Your heart raced with anticipation as you made your way to the garden where the betrothal ceremony would take place. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle rustle of leaves created a serene atmosphere.

In the garden, your father stood with Marcus, deep in conversation. The sight of them together filled you with a sense of pride and hope. Marcus, in his formal attire, looked every bit the honorable and powerful man that he was—a general respected by all of Rome.

Your father turned to you, his expression warm. "My dear daughter," he began, "today is a momentous day as the gods have blessed us. General Marcus Acacius has proven himself to be a man of honor and valor. It would be a great honor for our family to be united with his."

Marcus stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "It is my greatest wish to make you my wife," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise to honor and protect you for all the days of my life."

The betrothal ceremony commenced, a formal ritual between your two families. Your father and Marcus exchanged respectful bows, symbolizing the joining of your households. Gifts were presented, and the dowry was discussed and agreed upon. A scribe stood by, ready to document the agreement in a written contract.

Marcus then produced a small, ornate box and opened it to reveal a beautiful finger ring. "This ring," he said, "is a symbol of my commitment to you, a tradition that stretches back through the ages."

He took your hand gently and slid the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a thrill through you. The ring was exquisite, a delicate band adorned with intricate engravings that spoke of ancient craftsmanship. 

"You honor me with this gift, Marcus," you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion.

Marcus smiled, his eyes full of warmth. "The honor is mine, my love."

With the ring in place, you turned to the scribe, who handed you both the written agreement. You signed your name carefully, your hand steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. Marcus signed next, his signature bold and confident.

Finally, the moment came to seal the betrothal with a kiss. Marcus stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, sweet kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that perfect moment.

As you pulled away, you saw the approval in your father's eyes and felt a rush of joy and relief. You were now betrothed to Marcus, the man you loved, and your future together was set.

"Let this day be the beginning of a lifetime of happiness," your father declared, his voice filled with emotion.

Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Together, we will face whatever the future holds," he promised.

And with that, your hearts intertwined, you knew that your love would endure, growing stronger with each passing day. The journey ahead was full of promise, and with Marcus by your side, you felt ready to embrace it all.

[mask131]

Another reminder that Greek mythology is always somehow symbolic, metaphorical, allegorical, since we are dealing with anthropomorphic personifications and other embodiments of cosmic powers.

For example: Demeter has sex with both Zeus and Poseidon. Something-something about the relationship of the Earth with the Sky and the Sea (or the celestial and chthonian powers). ESPECIALLY since these relationships are said to happen at the beginning of the world, in the primordial times during which the world settled itself for what it is now.

Herakles' wedding with Hebe, the personification of youth, checks in with when he becomes an immortal god (aka, an eternally young entity). What better way to symbolize a hero escaping the clutches of death than by him becoming the husband of the spirit of eternal youth?

Why is Hestia never leaving Olympus? Something-something about her being the literal personification of the hearth, which is at the center of the house/community and does not move.

Why is Ares getting his ass kicked by Athena? Because Athena is civilization, and Ares savagery, and in the Ancient Greek mindset intelligence, wisdom and craft will always be above brutality, bloodlust and random cruelty.

Do I need to spell it out that the myth of Persephone-Hades-Demeter is about the cycle of the seasons, and how the earth renews itself and brings back life after a time of death?

And I wonder why Ares' companions during his mass-slaughters are called Phobos, Deimos and Eris - Fear, Panic and Discord... Why would the goddess that breaks harmony and sows feuds and chaos be depicted as the close sister of the god of the ravages of war and of the brutality of conflicts, what a strange mystery!

And I can go on, and on, and on. Remember, the Greek gods aren't just super-heroes or wizards (that's more in line with more "humanized" mythologies, like the Irish or Nordic ones). They are embodiments of concepts and ideas, personifications of natural forces and cosmic powers, they are living allegories and fleshed metaphors. Zeus wields the lightning because he IS the lightning and thunder. Dionysos is both the bringer of joy and madness because he IS alcohol. Hades is both the name of the god of the dead, and of the realm of the dead. Hestia's name is literaly "hearth" in Greek, Hebe "youth", Nyx "night", Gaia "earth", Eros "desire". You can write "Eris met Helios at Okeanos' palace" or you can write "Strife encountered the Sun at the palace of Ocean" and that is the EXACT SAME THING!

[Mind you to limit the gods to being JUST allegories is also a mistake not to make. Greek deities are much more than just X concept or X idea... But one part of the myths will always be, down the line, some weather metaphor or some natural cycle motif]

[sanguinesmi1e]

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 (you're here)

Full fic on Ao3

Art of LBM

Pt. 4: An Unexp-ectoed Party (not on Ao3 yet)

Constantine was quietly freaking out. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected that the ghost who had turned itself into a cute little tatzelwurm to avoid answering questions might be something far beyond his capabilities to deal with. Everything it said and did suggested it was way outside his scope of experience. While Tim used a shoelace to play with it like a rambunctious kitten, John mentally catalogued the things that threatened to give him a panic attack:

Before the ghost even arrived, the blinding power flowing through his spell array nearly knocked him flat. It had felt like being swatted in the eyeballs by an eldritch god.

The ghost appeared in human form, fully alive, before being transformed by the summoning magic. John had only ever heard whispers of legends about a being who could do such a thing. The legends were vague and grandiose, but some epithets included The One Who Walks Between, He Who Straddles Life and Death, Twilight Walker, Shroud Danger Child, and The Halver. 

The ghost could not only see his soul at a glance, it could perceive all the damage he had done making deals with demons.

The ghost implied it was on casual, friendly terms with the Ancient of Time aka Chronos, Kala, Father Time, etc. And that it had altered the timeline at least once already.

It could age. Despite what the ghost said, only Neverborn should be able to age. The dead were static, and given the death that he could feel sustaining the portal, this ghost had definitely died.

It was brilliant enough to pinpoint a weakness and successfully distract Tim by transforming into a shape that could manipulate his protective instincts. John did not want to admit that he also felt protective of the cute little blighter.

It had hopped out of the summoning circle as if it were just chalk scribbles, despite John working in some of his most powerful containment spells as a matter of what he had thought was excessive precaution.

Shite, the list had already reached seven items. The tatzelwurm (had Drake really just named the thing Little Baby Man?) glared at him and called him “Gross!” 

“Seriously!? This cloaking spell should be more than sufficient.” John grumbled. “Did it really have no effect?” If so, that was gonna be item number eight.

Little Baby Man tilted his head. “It worked.” Then he huffed with amusement. 

Thank fuck for small blessings. 

A quickly muttered spell turned his burning cigarette into a makeshift sort of laser pointer, and Constantine distracted Little Baby Man while he tried to think of what to do next.

“Hey kid, this is a problem.” He kept his voice low, and watched to see if the tatzelwurm appeared to pay any attention to him. It dedicated all its attention to the glowing dot, and ignored the two men.

“I assume this isn’t the normal direction your interrogations go.” Drake wound his shoelace around his hand and pocketed it. “It’s certainly a first for me.”

“Ditto, in so many ways.”

“Any idea what to do now?”

“We should probably return him where he came from, and wait for Zatanna to get back from wherever she’s disappeared to now.” John would really like a second opinion. He would also like to dump this mess in someone else’s lap and be on his way. 

Although to be fair, watching the tatzelwurm careen around after his lazer dot was actually pretty fun. Not that he’d ever admit it. Still, the creature was done answering questions and John wasn’t prepared to bind the thing because he didn’t think he’d need to pack the tools to bind an eldritch god when Batman called him to do a “quick consult.”

Danny couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun. The CEO person played with him! He did feel a bit bad for hurting his foot, but it was difficult to dwell on regrets or worries when he could attack the string instead. And now there was a red dot to chase! It was very fast and sneaky, but he was faster and sneakier.

Is this what Paulina felt like when she wished herself to be a giant chibi version of herself to be loved and worshipped by everyone? Because he felt adorable. And fierce. He was going to kill that red dot so hard when he finally sunk his claws in it!

Frustratingly, it seemed to also have intangibility powers. Well, Danny knew what to do about that! He concentrated ectoplasm into his paw and bapped it down hard on the dot. This scorched the floor a bit, but when he lifted his paw, the red dot was skewered on one of his claws. It tried to tug away, but he clung tight. Apparently its size belied its strength, because it started to drag him across the floor. 

Danny tried to release the dot, but his claw was firmly snagged, so he resigned himself to being dragged back into the chalk circle. He tingled a bit as he crossed the perimeter, but it wasn’t a bad sensation, just a little odd. Then a portal opened up and pulled him through the water filled tube snake toy sensation in reverse and ugh! Just as bad the second time, if not worse.

The spell spat him out in human form under the Specter Speeder. Or rather, it ejected him at speed so he smacked into the bottom of the Speeder before falling back to the ground with a heavy thud. Thankfully he didn’t crack his head against the concrete, but he still couldn’t stifle a pained groan.

A firm hand wrapped around Danny’s ankle and dragged him out, and he found himself staring up at Drake and Constantine for the third time that day.

“Uh, hi,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose I have some explaining to do.”

Being able to create ghost portals would come in real handy right about now. Maybe he should just commit some arson and let these two deal with escaping the basement on their own.

[numbersandstars]

Top 17 Most Mysterious Nakshatras

Purva Bhadrapada: The Dark Magician. Natives' boiling energy and their curiosity about the other worlds make them extreme in their spiritual practices. Depending on their level of maturity, they can fall into harsh malevolent practices. Natives usually have a lot of occult knowledge and most importantly, they can contact otherworldly entities, especially the aliens. They are connected to graveyards and some saints.

Ardra: The Ascetic Monk. Natives' power lies in their intense emotions. Their emotions can make them so tough they can ignore physical pain. They are healers, hermits. They tap into the energy of nature, mostly mountains and forests. They can predict the weather, they are able to bring rain. They can perform extreme spiritual practices.

Ashlesha: The Hypnotic Witch Queen. Sensitivity is natives' power. They can sense anything in their surroundings, hence a strong intuition. They can dive into the human soul and spot any weaknesses. They can read your mind. They are very magnetic. Natives should trust their Vastu/Feng Shui abilities and their healing skills.

Mula: The Exorcist. Natives have a strong root chakra, which makes them invincible. Thus, they are more sensitive to the telluric currents, the caves, the ruins and the ancient temples. They often deal with negative spirits and when they are well prepared, they can expel them. Natives are usually interested in the occult and they often do research in that field.

Shravana: The Wise Wizard. Natives' gift lies in their connection to the Source and their absorption ability. They can get glimpses of their past life memories, which help them in their current lifetime. For example, they can remember some bits of a language they used to speak in a previous life and use it in their job today. They can perceive guiding voices and see spirits. They easily sense their environment.

Shatabhisha: The Druid. Natives' mind is their strength. They are highly connected to nature, hence their healing abilities. They see things people do not: they are excellent at discovering occult secrets through many disciplines, such as medicine or astrology. They can invent new ways in their field, such as healing naturally. They can get involved in secret societies.

Jyeshtha: The Sorcerer King. Natives know the power of the occult too well. If they are scared of it, they cover themselves with protective talismans and do specific prayers. Or, if they do not, they perform strong rituals or they get involved in occult societies in order to gain power... But there is a price to pay.

Magha: The Archmage King. Natives' strength lies in their connection to their ancestors and their knowledge. They can dream of their ancestors and receive their messages. But because they can contact them, they can have out of body experiences, sometimes they can even have a near-death experience. Natives usually chase spiritual knowledge and occult powers and they end up mastering them very well.

Hasta: The Fortune Teller. Natives' power lies in their hands and words. They can be very good at palmistry, tarot card reading, healing (especially with hands)… Their mantras and spells are always highly effective.

Uttara Bhadrapada: The Mystic. Natives' strength lies in their connection to the atmosphere and clouds. That is why they are able to bring rain. They tap into rain and water's energy. Their spiritual practice is deep and their devotion to their Gods make them stronger... And threatening if they choose the wrong side.

Revati: The Psychic. Natives' power lies in their connection to the other worlds. They can have astral traveling experiences; they can contact the dead, the divinities; they can receive messages from beyond and become prophets.

Ashvini: The Healer. Natives' strength lies in their vitality and their connection to the other worlds. When they are in the medical field, they can perform miracles. They can discover secrets on life and immortality. They can be good at channeling spirits.

Bharani: The Ancient Patroness. Natives' power lies in their connection to the other worlds and their raw strength. They can connect to other planes and ghosts. Natives feel linked to the pyramids (in Egypt and/or from other places), some tombs of saints and the primordial feminine energy (shakti).

Purva Ashadha: The Regenerative Healer. Natives' strength lies in their incredible restoring vigor. Their energy is such that they can invigorate anyone around them, as well as crumbling activities. Natives do wonders with a pendulum.

Anuradha: The Seer. Natives’ power lies in their faculty to see and receive light as well as perseverance. In the deepest mud of people’s minds, using a coded chart, natives can find out people’s benevolent nature and their shameful secrets. Natives are hard working and patient. They keep so many secrets. That is why they can be very good at numerology, astrology and other occult sciences.

Dhanishta: The Element Master. Natives' strength lies in the natural elements and directions. They can become experts in Vastu or Feng Shui and fix a home. They are good in alchemy, reading pulses and other more spiritual practices.

Purva Phalguni: The Enchanted Fairy. Natives' power lies in their huge amount of luck. A problem happens, a native smiles and it is gone. They can be interested in the occult, usually the traditional knowledge, such as mantras, astrology, and palmistry.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

THE NECESSITY OF BROOMSTICKS

rio vidal x reader, 938 words

you compromise on halloween decorations with your witch girlfriend. silly stupid halloween fluff w no depth just witches because WHERE are the fluff fics for agatha all along.

Rio looks at the sign with distaste. “What the fuck is witches’ brew?”

You look at the sign you’re hanging in the kitchen, Fresh Witches’ Brew, and smile. It’s decorative, you bought it while you were out today, one of the many Halloween decorations you found to put around the house. “It’s… you know. Potions. Spells. Cauldrons.”

She tilts her head. “No one uses cauldrons anymore.”

You roll your eyes, stepping back from the sign. It matches well with your home, it adds a playful touch you suspect you need in sharing a home with Death. Rio is obviously displeased, though, standing with her arms crossed as she glares up at your decor. She’s always hated the way witches are portrayed in the media this time of year — pointy hats and bubbling cauldrons and, as you love to point out, riding on brooms.

‘I rode on a broom once,’ she reminded you furiously the other day when you had brought home a new throw pillow with a stereotypical green witch with her pointy hat riding on a broom. ‘It was necessity.’

“I bought something else,” you tell her and reach for your bag of decor. She puts on an uninterested expression, but cranes her neck to look over into your bag. This time, you pull out new coffee mugs. Hocus Pocus, they read, in giant orange lettering. You hand Rio one of the mugs.

“Oh,” she looks down at the mug and then up at you — it’s on the tip of her tongue, a remark about how witches aren’t like Hocus Pocus movie witches, but instead she places it on the kitchen counter and with an obligatory smile she thanks you. She gravitates close to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and watching intently as you sort through the rest of your decor.

“I think I’ll go out today and get some decorations, too,” Rio announces and presses a quick kiss to your cheek — you expect to see a black lipstick stain when you next glance in the mirror. She stands up a little straighter, watching you with unwavering resolve. It sounds unnatural and dry when she says, “You’ve put me in the Halloween spirit.”

You nod, though you’re a bit hesitant. She hardly celebrates Halloween like you do — she’s more ancient than your commercialized celebrations, she views them as silly and meaningless compared to those of past centuries. It’s a night that was once viewed with much more reverence, a night that was respected with the severity it demands. Nonetheless, you’re curious as to what she will come up with to use for decorations — it’s hard to envision her trekking through the store for a scarecrow fit for the front porch.

•••

As you are putting up the last of your decorations, Rio comes in through the front door. She hauls something behind her, dragging it in through the door and propping it up on the couch: a life-sized plastic skeleton. Her gaze flits between you and it as she interprets your reaction, and you see the sense of achievement she holds.

“He was on sale,” Rio says, “so I got him some friends. They’re out on the patio sitting around that big cauldron you bought. I covered them in fake blood and drove one of my knives through one of their rib cages.”

Though inanimate, the look the skeleton on your couch wears on its bony face reflects Rio’s excitement. It’s charming, and you can only imagine the way the others she bought look sitting around your witches’ cauldron out on the patio. The vision has a smile pulling at you, and Rio’s pride in her purchases only seems to grow.

“I love him,” you nod to the skeleton on the couch. “Are you going to put him with the others?”

“No,” she digs around in a bag she brought in and pulls out a horror clown mask. “He gets to be a dead clown. You get your witch hats, I get my dead things.”

It’s a compromise you are willing to settle on for her. You know your days of traveling through the house at night for a glass of water have been ripped away until the skeleton is stored for next Halloween, but it’s a fair exchange if it means Rio will be more content in the face of your stereotyped witch decorations.

Rio slips the clown mask onto the skeleton and steps back to examine her work. She pulls out a dagger she keeps on her — you’ve told her that it is unnecessary to carry around knives constantly, but she never listens — and hands it to you. She nods to the skeleton. “Do the honors?”

“What, incriminate myself with clown murder?”

Rio nods enthusiastically. You approach the skeleton, and in a swift motion you drive the dagger into his chest.

“Beautiful,” Rio takes your hand when you come back to stand at her side. She pulls you close, and she leans in to kiss you before she stops and pulls away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, but Rio doesn’t respond, just disappears into the kitchen. “Rio?”

When she comes back, she holds your Witches’ Brew sign. She places it beside the skeleton and together you view the new addition to your seasonal decor.

“There,” Rio says. “Now it’s how it should be.”

A dead murderous clown selling witches’ brew on your couch — an addition to your household that you never would have suspected necessary, but one that makes your fall celebrations feel complete. Now Rio kisses you, peppering your face in more black lipstick stains, love outstanding the transience of autumn.

[obsessedwithceleste]

Theodore Nott and the Fortress of Trust Issues: how to cast a patronus in 3 easy steps

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: Theodore Nott had never been able to cast a patronus. In third year, when dementors were swarming the castle, of course he tried, but was never able to manage more than a whisp of soft silver. Come seventh year, he was painfully unsurprised when his efforts were once again lack luster. Turns out, with the right tutor, casting the formidable charm might not be as impossible as he thought.

word count: 3.8k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Theodore glowered menacingly at the students below him chattering happily amongst themselves in the courtyard. A puff of smoke slipping through his lips as he leaned on the railing of the astronomy tower. Theo knew his life wasn’t exactly one that most would be envious of. Sure his family had money, power, but add on a mother who had died far before her time, and a death eater father whose attention it was far better to avoid? Theo laughed dryly to himself.

Theo knew he didn’t have many happy memories. Truly happy memories. He was painfully, excruciatingly, self aware. Still, nothing made it quite so glaringly obvious that his life was rather pathetic than broadcasting to his entire charms class his bitter inability to force even a wisp of silvery bloody smoke out of his bloody wand. Yes. Flitwick had finally found his weakness. That damned Patronus spell. Being one of the top students of his year, it was humiliating. It wasn’t even expected that most of the class would be able to cast a corporeal patronus, yet even Draco and Matteo of all people managed to produce soft billowy clouds of silvery magic.

Theo shook his head at the thought, trying to clear his mind. His eyes once again began gazing about the courtyard before landing on a lone figure sitting beneath a willow tree, hidden from view unless one was looking close enough. Theo brought his smoke to his lips once more, inhaling deeply as he watched a burst of silver leave the tip of the girl’s wand. His eyes darkened with envy, remembering the words of his professor from earlier that day.

“Wonderful, y/n. Just wonderful! A fox! Withdrawn when necessary, but natural adaptors. Embodying intelligence, independence, mischief, and beauty. A unique patronus indeed.”

His eyes narrowed as he watched the silver creature trot happily through the air before turning and dropping his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it harshly. With one last glance at the girl sitting awestruck with her silvery companion, he descended down the stairs, determined to spend the rest of his night, moping in peace.

Step 1: Find a Pretty Tutor (read: have a tutor forced upon you under the threat of a failing grade.)

“What do you mean a tutor? You of all people?” Matteo laughs mercilessly as Theo scowls at him. “Can’t believe I’m doing better than you in a class, you must be bloody miffed.”

Theo tuned out his friend’s laughter as he continued to glower at the floor in front of him. The two boys currently sat in the Slytherin common room as Theo hastily tried to finish up his ancient runes homework before dragging his arse to the library to meet his supposed tutor. Matteo was making this quite difficult however as he continued to poke fun at the boy, rattling on about how, for once, Theo had had the nerve to not be good at something. The horror.

Snapping his textbook closed and sliding it into his book bag, Theo began gathering his things, choosing to forego the blasted assignment.

“Aww, have fun with you little tutor Teddy. Maybe it’ll be that foxy Ravenclaw you’re always staring at. Bit ironic that her patronus is a fox innit?” Matteo teases as he watches his friend’s jaw clench at the mention of the pretty girl.

While perhaps Matteo wasn’t the most entirely perceptive of the bunch, it would take a blind man to not notice Theodore’s eyes flicker over to the group of Ravenclaws throughout their shared charms class.

“Shut up Matt. Shouldn’t you be shagging Astoria in a broom closet somewhere?” He grunts out.

Matteo smirks, knowing he’d found a tick, but deciding to leave it for another time.

“Not a bad idea mate, see you later. You’ll have to tell Enzo and I all about your tutoring session tonight,” he says with a wink before sauntering off towards the girl’s dormitories.

With a heavy sigh, Theo began making his way slowly towards the library, silently cursing Professor Flitwick as he recalled their conversation from earlier that day.

Class was finally wrapping up for the day and Theo was about ready to bolt out of that blasted classroom, but Flitwick had other ideas.

“Mr. Nott? A word?” He’s called from his grand podium in the center of the room.

The summons had garnered a few raised eyebrows and surprised looks from his fellow classmates, and Theo had trudged solemnly up to the professor.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you appeared to have had some difficulty today,” the professor and stated rather bluntly after all the other students had shuffled out.

Theo blinked back up at his professor.

“You do understand of course, that I cannot grant marks for a spell you did not perform?” He asks finally.

Theo once again stares blankly back at the professor.

Appearing to grow uncomfortable under the boy’s steady, unwavering gaze, Flitwick lets out a deep sigh.

“Mr. Nott. I’m aware that you are quite the talented young wizard, and I simply do not want to have to give you low marks on an assignment I’m confident you could perform well on.”

Still nothing from the brown haired Slytherin.

“I’ve arranged for you to begin working with a tutor until you’re able to cast the spell.” He says finally.

Theo frowns. He’s never had a tutor before. Never needed one.

“Professor-“ he begins to protest.

“The two of you can begin later this evening. 8 o’clock in the library,” Flitwick interrupts before shooing him off to his next class.

Finally arriving outside the library doors, Theo made another look of distaste before pushing through the large double doors. His eyes gazed over the tables not entirely sure who he was looking for as the twat had never actually told him who would be tutoring him. He felt his body freeze momentarily when his eyes locked with another pair of bright eyes and he began silently cursing Matteo. The bloody fucking bastard had jinxed him.

You sat quietly at your table in the library, waiting for the clock to slowly hit 8 as you mindlessly worked away at your essay for ancient runes. During charms today, Flitwick had noticed one of your classmates have a particularly difficult time with the lesson and asked for you to guide them in the right direction. Not one to argue with your head of house, you’d easily agreed.

As the clock struck 8, you began casting quick glances every so often at the library doors, until suddenly you were locked in the gaze of none other than Theodore Nott. Surely he wasn’t the one you would be tutoring? You didn’t know the boy particularly well, but you did know that he was a fierce competitor for top of the class in most of your other lessons. You watched silently as he made his way over to your table, offering him a small smile.

“Charms?” He asks, tossing his bag onto the table with a gentle thud.

You give him a slight nod, eyeing his tall figure as he sat lazily across from you.

“Well I’m sorry to break it to you, but you’ll be wasting your time. Never been able to cast the damn spell. Probably never will,” he says, leaning back on the chair, eyes not wavering.

You purse your lips. Looking at the handsome boy in front of you.

“I suppose you’ll just have to trust me then, won’t you?” You reply, a challenging tone apparent in your voice.

The boy smirks at this, cocking his head as if really getting a good look at you for the first time before finally replying, “I’ve never been particularly trusting.”

“Well then I guess you’ll be learning all sorts of things.”

You take your charms book out of your bag, opening it to the reading you had been assigned earlier in the week. You glance up to see Theodore mirroring your actions silently.

“A patronus, is a concentration of pure happiness and hope, derived from the recollection of a single talisman memory which is essential in its creation,” you read, the underlined section of the textbook was one you had pre-selected as it was the concept most people struggled to grasp.

Watching Theo stiffen and clench his jaw slightly, you knew you were right.

“When someone is unable to cast a patronus, I’ve found it’s usually because they haven’t figured out yet how to focus in on their talisman memory,” you continue.

“And if someone doesn’t have a talisman memory?” Theo’s voice interrupts.

You glance up at him in surprise.

“Everyone has a talisman memory. We just need to find it.”

“I don’t have one.” He insists.

“Then we’ll make one.”

The boy sighs in frustration. Fists clenching as he glares at the textbook in front of him.

“It might not be as complicated as you’re making it. I know when Flitwick was in class, he made it seem like your talisman memory had to be a big, grande gesture, or a clear moment of inexplicable joy. But I think the little moments count too. Everyone has been happy at least once,” you say, watching as Theo slowly relaxes.

“What do you think about?” He asks, before quickly back tracking “You don’t have to answer that.”

“All sorts of things really,” you reply, offering another small smile. “When I got my first wand at Ollivander’s. Honeydukes with the rest of the Ravenclaws. Playing quidditch. Specially that time we beat Gryffindor.”

Theo snorts at that, a small grin reaching his lips.

“Point is, it doesn’t matter how small the moment is, long as it made you happy.”

You’re met with silence, as Theo continues to stare down at his textbook, a look a deep contemplation on his face.

“Think that’s enough for today. Flitwick said to keep up the sessions until you’re at least able to cast an incorporeal patronus, so, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Theo nods his head, still not meeting your gaze.

“Does 6 o’clock on the lawn work?” You ask, only to be met with another nod.

Sensing the boy needed a bit of space, you quickly gathered your things before leaving the boy to his thoughts.

Step 2: Accidentally Fall In Love with Your Tutor (if you weren’t half way there already.)

You sit staring out at the vast lake in front of you, watching as the breeze pushed against the water, forming rolling waves across the surface and taking a deep breath in. You had been meeting Theodore here every day at 6 o’clock sharp for almost two whole weeks now, but you honestly weren’t sure if he’d show up today. Not that you’d blame him.

You felt as if you’d really failed him as a tutor after so many consecutive days of work, with nothing to show for it. On top of that, the two of you had gotten into a rather intense shouting match yesterday, the stress of the whole thing really getting to the both of you.

You lean back, laying down on the soft blanket below you, knees still propped up, and close your eyes, thinking back to the first time the two of you had met out in this very spot. You’d originally picked the spot, because it helped you clear your mind and you thought it might help clear Theo’s too.

That first day had been awkward. Almost painfully so. You had simply wanted to talk. Get to know the boy, pick his brain for any source of happiness or joy he might get out of life. You didn’t get much, so instead you talked about your own life. What it was like living in Ravenclaw tower, the time you and Cho had tried out together for the quidditch team. You told him how you had gone to the Yule ball with a big group of friends, and how you thought it was much better than going with some stuffy date, and how your favorite candies were the purple taffies from Honeydukes, and your favorite flowers were deadly poisonous despite their pretty and innocent appearance.

The second day, you borrowed Cho’s cat and brought her along to the meeting, thinking it might help further relax your brown haired companion. It did, so you brought her along the next day, and the day after that. It wasn’t until the fourth day that Theo broke. Sure he had told you a bit about his time at Hogwarts. Playing on Slytherin’s quidditch team. Sharing a dorm with Matteo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire. But on the fourth day, he told you about his mother. You weren’t expecting it, and it honestly had caught you wildly off guard. Theodore’s mother had been the light of his world, and after she was gone, you could understand why he thought he would never cast a patronus.

It went on like this, the two of you gradually becoming closer, as you carefully began building a sort of trust between the two of you. You thought you might even be becoming friends; which excited you as you’d never been quite able to stop your eyes from wandering over to the group of Slytherins in the back of the class, and stopping on the tall, brunette boy with pretty eyes. You tried every couple of days to cast the spell, guiding him through different memories, trying to focus in on different experiences. But still nothing. You had even tried inviting Matteo and Enzo to a session, hoping they’d help lighten his mood, but it only ended in the four of you skiving wildly off course and getting nothing done. You and Theo had laughed about it the next day, but still not even a whisp of silvery magic.

It had all come to a head yesterday. You could feel the two of you beginning to lose hope, but you were nothing if not determined. The two of you were sitting quietly, skimming the textbook for what seemed like the thousandth time, when Theo suddenly stopped and looked up at you.

“I read something the other day. Bout patronuses. And being able to cast em.”

You looked up from your reading, intrigued.

“Said that there’s a widespread, and justified, belief that witches and wizards who aren’t pure of heart can’t cast a patronus.”

Your mouth slowly formed an O shape, and the book you were holding dropped to the ground, completely forgotten.

“Theodore. You don’t honestly think. That’s ridiculous.”

“It makes sense doesn’t it? Why I can’t even cast an incorporeal charm. Why nothing we’ve tried works. There’s no point,” Theo had said, growing frustrated.

“Theodore stop. That theory is all nonsense. There isn’t even any evidence really to back it up,” you reply.

“Why else would nothing be working?” Theo asks, slamming his book on the ground.

“Theo!”

“No, y/n, honestly. What other explanation could there be. We’ve been doing this for weeks.” Theo’s voice began to rise.

“And we’ll continue until you’re able to get this.”

“What’s the bloody point? We’ve tried everything!”

“And we just need to try a bit harder!” You respond.

“You think I haven’t been trying?”

“Of course I know you’ve been trying! And I’ve been trying to do everything I can to help you succeed!”

“And everything I’ve been doing is for you! I don’t care about the bloody charm, I don’t want to disappoint you!”

Theo’s outburst had shocked you, and your breath hitched as the two of you stared at each other, Theo’s words sinking in.

Then he was kissing you. Hot lips working against yours as he pulled you onto his lap. Your fingers worked their way up to his hair, relishing in how soft his brown waves were as you tugged at them gently.

You let out a soft moan as you felt his tongue glide gently across your bottom lip before diving in at the opportunity you had provided him.

You seemed to get lost in the feeling of his soft lips and large hands around your waist holding you firmly in place. You had no idea how much time had passed by the time you were both panting for breath, foreheads resting against one another.

Seeming to really realize what he’d done, Theo looked down at you, eyes beginning to widen slightly.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he’d said before promptly rising and hastily making his way back to the castle.

Now, your finger tips softly brushed the soft leather of Theo’s book bag that he’d abandoned yesterday in his hurry to leave. You thought that maybe, if for no other reason, he’d perhaps come to retrieve it. Not that he needed to you thought dryly, knowing that with his Gringotts account, he could’ve easily already replaced it and its contents.

Sitting up, you glance at your time piece showing a quarter after 6. With a deep sigh, you fish your transfiguration textbook out of your bag, flipping it open to begin your assigned reading. You’re only a few pages in when a twig snaps somewhere behind you. Whipping around, you see him standing there, handsome as ever, looking down at you.

“Sorry I’m late. And, sorry for yesterday,” he mumbles, dropping down to sit next to you.

You eye him warily as he refuses to make eye contact with you, eyes appearing to be glazed over as he gazes out at the lake like you had been earlier.

Slowly, and ever so carefully, you shift next to him so that your arms and legs brush softly, and you gently lean your head against his shoulder as you join him in looking out at the water. You feel him tense initially before slowly relaxing, leaning in as the two of you sat in silence.

“I won’t give up, if you don’t,” you say finally as Theo’s hand finds yours.

Step 3: Trust

It had been a week now since that day at the lake, and you weren’t quite sure where you stood anymore with Theo. You still met each other everyday by the lake, slipping easily into your usual banter. But now it was eyes meeting from across the classroom and slips of paper making their way back and forth. Your fingertips would brush softly in the hallways, and sometimes, you’d feel a hand reach out, pulling you into a hidden nook, and warm lips would meet your own. But you’d never actually, talked, about it.

You shake the thoughts out of your mind, a shiver running down your spine, as you focus in on the present. That all wasn’t the reason you once again found yourself lying out on the lawn, Theo’s head resting comfortably in your lap.

“Can you cast it?” Theo asks, looking up at you.

“Hmm?”

“Your patronus? Can you cast it? I know yours is a full, corporeal form.”

Looking down at the boy, your fingers weave slowly through his hair as you reach for your wand.

Closing your eyes and taking a breath, you focus in, memories flashing through your mind, a sense of warmth overtaking you.

“Expecto patronum.” The spell falls from your lips and you open your eyes to see a silver fox tumble out of the tip of your wand before trotting through the air around you.

You really did love the spell and it amazed and intrigued you every time. A reflection of someone’s soul, your textbook had said. It could change throughout one’s life, should they experience a shocking event, grow more mature, fall in love. The last one had always been the most curious, the idea of someone loving so much, that a piece of their soul reflected that of their loved one.

You watch as Theo’s eyes follow the the creature in awe.

“You know this is hopeless right?” Theo asks softly, your hand in his hair freezing.

“Theodore. We agreed that-“

“But really what’s the point? So I get one poor mark. When am I ever going to need to use the spell really? No point in wasting time on something that’s hopeless.”

You carefully mull over Theo’s words in your head. You supposed that realistically, he wasn’t necessarily wrong practicality wise. But if you both simply gave up, would he ever want to see you again? You knew in your core that it was selfish, but the last three weeks really had been some of the best during your time at Hogwarts. Which was saying a bit considering you’d been there for almost seven years. You supposed you’d just hoped- hoped. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. Hope. A concentration of pure happiness and hope.

“Theodore?”

“Amore?”

“When you’re thinking of your happy memory, why did you choose it?”

Theo gives you a strange look.

“Because it made me happy at the time, and the talisman memory is supposed to be a happy.”

“Good. But can you tell me why it’s so important to focus on a happy memory?”

Theo blinks.

“Because the spell says so.”

You let out a small laugh.

“Because the whole point of the charm is to create protection from the dark. Something that will keep you safe so that you can continue to feel that happiness. To give you hope.”

Theo furrows his eyebrows and frowns.

“This feels emotional.” He says, his face distorting in disgust.

“Sometimes magic is.”

Theo’s frown deepens. “It shouldn’t be. I’m perfectly content being apathetic and emotionally detached thanks.”

You let out a small snort. “Come on Theo. Try it again. But this time, think about your memory and why you want to feel that again.”

Theo’s face scrunches up in distaste before he sits up lazily, picking up his wand. You watch as he closes his eyes, pausing. His chest slowly rises then falls, once, twice.

“Expecto patronum.”

Nothing. Theo let’s put an annoyed sigh.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can try again. Think about something that you love, make sure you can picture it clearly. Something that made you so happy that you would relive it over and over.”

Theo’s eyes flick over to you, a brow raised before he closes his eyes once again. You watch him closely, perhaps too closely, as a minute passes. Then two. You’re almost worried he’s fallen asleep sitting up when the words fall from his lips.

“Expecto patronum.”

A burst of silver flashes out of his wand, and your jaw drops as your eyes follow the silver creature that had emerged, gracefully moving across the lawn.

Your eyes dart over to Theo, and you reach out to grab his arm seeing that he’d not yet opened his eyes again. When his eyes finally open once more, his gaze immediately falls on the whimsical creature, eyes widening slightly as he stares at his patronus in disbelief before looking at you with bewildered confusion.

“That’s not mine.” You tell him with a small smile, giving his arm a squeeze as you both look up at the silver fox dancing through the air.

[directdogman]

What kind of class would the cast of Dialtown be in DnD? (Ie, Druid, Rouge, Paladin… etc)

Oh, I did a whole DnD Dialtown thing ages ago that conveniently mentions some classes in it with some rewritten backstories for the characters in this new universe. I'll paste it below (preamble is important for the character descriptions, so sorry for the lore:)

The story is set in a fictional landmass, with parts of it based on a fucked up Alaska, parts resembling the Swiss Alps, a desert zone and nuked carnival wastes. In the present era, an evil empire rules over the whole map, ran by an evil necromancer, Callum Crown. Him and his partner, Milton, took over the entire continent in a bloody conquest together that ended with Crown dropping an arcane nuke on the clown territory, ending the war, but turning Milt against him, leading to a civil war, in which Crown destroyed Milt.

Crown has a phone head made from scraps of the metals of the heroes who've failed to vanquish him, and has a lich body, which he reinforces with the same metal he used to build his head, gaining a gradual suit of armor in order to stop himself from physically falling apart. He has a powerful arcane gauntlet which he uses to cast devastating spells. His undead empire sells death to people with a snazzy sales pitch. Basically, you sign a waiver that gives you benefits within his empire while you're alive, but once you die, your corpse is resurrected to serve Crown until your remains degrade beyond use.

The plot of the game is that Crown is trying to unravel reality to remove an ancient arcane law of magic from the fabric of reality as old as life itself: necromancy cannot resurrect a life that has taken itself. Crown, despite presiding over the whole world and everything in it, cannot bear the loss of his friend, Milt, who he beat in the civil war, which ended with Milt drinking poison before Crown could reach his throne room in the final assault of milt's base.

Crown would tell you that he wishes to resurrect Milt so he can finally have Milt answer for his betrayal, but in reality, he just really misses Milt. To revive Milt, because he specifically took his own life, would require the fabric of reality be altered... something that could potentially end the world. Gingi is a non-human monster (not considered a person, starts the game as a low level enemy) who gets caught up in a complex socioeconomic conflict/conspiracy by being in the wrong place at the wrong time and has to travel with a band of companions in order to resolve the conflict and eventually, once powerful entities begin to take notice of you, in order to survive.

The plot involves Crown's pursuit of the final piece of the puzzle: gaining the ability to rewrite universal law, and eventually, Gingi either has to choose to help him achieve this power, prevent the power from being accessed by anyone, or taking it and using it however they decide to. Basically, Crown wants to rewrite universal law because he can't accept that he owns everything, is all powerful, but cannot revive one specific person.

Now onto the companions with classes mentioned:

Randy Jade: You meet him in one of the cities in Crown's empire. He approaches you to ask you for a cigarette, and if you give him one, he then asks you for a lighter too. He explains that he had a string of jobs in Crown's empire, but kept screwing them up and getting fired, and at this point, he's stealing to eat.

If you recruit him, Randy will fight for you. Randy's a rogue, uses small blades (starting item are some house keys he found poking out through his knuckle), he's a glass cannon (good DPS, low health) and is politically neutral.

Oliver Swift: He's a traveling bard/performer who's going on a journey to raise enough money so his old mentor, Mr Dickens, can gift a sword to a young hero in his village and order him to go forth and vanquish Callum Crown (a yearly tradition for the village that always ends with crown getting another scrap of metal for his head/armor)

If you agree to give him a share of the loot to send home, he will join the party. He attacks with blunt weapons (metal lute, wrench). Ironically, despite Randy being the rogue, Oliver has the better lockpicking skill. Politically, he dislikes Crown, and without a high speech skill, will leave the party if you align with Crown.

Karen Dunn: A bureaucrat in Crown's empire. A talented mage, she works in Crown's deathdealers headquarters. She's the person at the line for mages looking to sell their souls to Crown. She really doesn't care for this job, allowing the player to convince her to ditch it + join the party. Karen uses fire magic offensively but starts with a few healing spells too.

Karen is politically neutral, though she has a personal distaste for Crown's empire as an employer.

Bigfoot: Can be admitted into the party. He's a melee tank, but has a few forest magic spells that buff himself and other party members, giving him support capabilities. Bigfoot will become frightened and leave the party during some cutscenes when loud noises/conflict occurs, if you do not equip earmuffs onto him.

Norm Allen: A former sheriff (now fugitive) in the annexed desert territory. Formerly an avid supporter of the order that Crown brought, and one of Crown's enforcers in his home town of [desert zone], Norm is hellbent on putting a bullet in Crown's head and dismantling his empire.

If you become friendly with Norm, you find out that the thing that Norm specifically bolted from Crown over... was the overreach of justice, and selling tyranny to his people as justice. Norm's a tank. His defense stat is middling, but his attack accuracy is locked at 100%, which is valuable in bad weather conditions or if the team gets blinded.

Norm will turn on the player if they do anything BUT prevent universal power from entering anyone's hands.

Mingus: Mingus is Crown's key enforcer/assassin. At the start of the game, she's trying to track down and execute Norm for betraying Crown, and as the plot progresses, eventually targets the player.

A stealthy cat woman, she strikes from the shadows, always, and usually after wetting the tips of her claws with a devastating poison. The poison she uses has no known antidote.

Politically, she's a fanatic, found abandoned as a kitten by Callum Crown many cycles ago. While Crown is cold with her, speaking to her like a tool, he keeps her in his service with his false promise to rewrite reality so other people like Mingus and to erase her abandonment from the timeline. Mingus secretly pines for his approval/kindness above all else, believing that helping Crown achieve her goals is the only way she'll ever feel loved. She's a potential late-game companion, being recruitable during the lategame, if you're doing Crown's ending.

There's more, but that's the gist of it. Hope this was interesting!

[d-z20]

A Lesson in Witchcraft (NSFW)

Pairing: Lilia Calderu x Reader

Summary: You're studying under the most powerful divination witch on the continent—Lilia Calderu. What began as mentorship soon became something far more personal. But knowledge comes at a cost, and under Lilia’s guiding hand, you’re about to learn your most unforgettable lesson yet.

- OR -

Her methods of teaching you to concentrate on tarot turn out to be far more distracting and she ends up fucking you. Like a lot.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, top Lilia, hints of dom Lilia, plot gets abandoned for porn pretty quick, smidge of soft aftercare, R receives: praise, magic strap, breeding, overstimulation, fingering, oral, I think that's it but I could be wrong

Words: 3.2k

A/N: No body means no death 😤😤 requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The villa smelt of aged parchment and burning candles, a mixture that clung to the tapestries and books stacked in precarious piles around the room. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows against the stone walls, as if whispering ancient secrets to those who knew how to listen. This was Lilia’s domain, her sanctuary, steeped in the echoes of centuries past.

In the moment she had thought would be her last, she had fallen—not onto the waiting swords and to certain death, but into the familiar embrace of her old coven’s residence in Sicily. It was then that she made a choice: no more running, no more denial. She would embrace her truth, her power. And in time, the world would know her name as the greatest divination witch on the continent.

And now, years later, you had sought her out. Desperate. Needing to understand the secrets only she could reveal.

“Tell me,” Lilia said, her voice rich and laced with amusement. “What do you see?”

You exhaled slowly, hands hovering over the tarot spread before you, trying to quiet the thrum of your pulse. The cards blurred under the weight of her gaze. You swallowed hard.

“Concentrate,” she chided, shifting in her seat. The movement was subtle but deliberate, the rustle of her robe revealing the barest glimpse of her thigh. “A divination witch must anticipate what’s to come.”

You bit your lip. You knew what she was doing. Lilia was testing more than just your magical ability—she was testing your control. She always did.

A shiver ran down your spine as she leaned forward, her fingers ghosting over yours. “If you were truly gifted, you’d know what I intend to do next,” she whispered, her breath warm against your ear.

You clenched your fists, struggling to maintain focus. The air crackled with energy as Lilia traced patterns over your wrist, slow, deliberate. No magic bound you, and yet you could not move, rooted to the spot by nothing more than her.

The first touch was gentle—a brush of fingertips down your spine, a shift in the atmosphere that sent heat pooling in your core. Then came the control. Lilia’s presence pressing down on you like a weight, her will wrapping around you tighter than any spell ever could.

She started slow, dragging out each movement, each whisper against your skin. Every time you thought you had a moment to recover, she pushed you further.

Your arousal grew with each teasing touch and lingering glance. Heat curled in your stomach, spreading through your limbs like liquid fire. Your thighs clenched instinctively, already aching, already too aware of the way Lilia toyed with you—keeping you on edge without ever giving you what you so desperately needed. The anticipation itself was maddening, your body betraying you with every sharp inhale, every unconscious tilt of your hips seeking friction that wasn’t there.

"You should have foreseen this," she mused, her voice still poised, still so effortlessly composed. "A good witch always prepares."

Your breath had started to come in ragged gasps, your body trembling under her calculated pace. The tarot cards around you fluttered as if caught in an unseen breeze, the room thick with the scent of magic and something far more intoxicating.

Every nerve in your body felt alight, and your skin was hypersensitive to her every movement. The way her fingers ghosted along your collarbone sent shivers down your spine, the barest press of her nails against your thigh making your breath stutter. It was unbearable—this slow, torturous buildup. Every brush of her lips, every teasing stroke across your burning skin only made the ache between your legs more unbearable, the slickness pooling there undeniable.

Lilia smirked as she traced a lazy circle against the inside of your wrist, watching the way you twitched under her touch. "So responsive," she purred, more to herself than you. "You're practically trembling already."

She finally pulled away, leaving you breathless, your skin flushed with lingering heat. But she was far from finished. Reclining back into her chair, she extended a hand, beckoning you forward with nothing more than a commanding gaze.

"Come," she instructed, voice silk and steel. "Show me how much you've learnt."

Your legs barely held steady as you obeyed, every step reminding you just how wet you were. The evidence of your need slicked the insides of your thighs; the cool air against your heated skin only amplified the ache. The anticipation coiled tight in your stomach; the knowledge that she was watching your every movement made the fire in your veins burn even hotter.

It was only when you reached her that you saw it—her enchanted strap, shimmering faintly with magic, resting against her thigh. Lilia’s ringed fingers traced over the length of it, slow and deliberate, her nails raking just enough to make her shudder. A quiet, pleased sigh slipped past her lips, and for the briefest moment, she bit down on her lower lip, savouring the sensation.

You knew she could feel everything. Every stroke, every touch—it all translated back to her. The way her breathing hitched only made the ache between your legs worse; need coiling so tightly in your stomach it was almost unbearable.

Lilia’s dark eyes flickered up to meet yours, knowing and hungry. She gripped your waist as she guided you onto her lap, the heat of her body seeping into yours, her nails pressing into your skin just enough to keep you grounded. “Come now,” she purred. “I can already tell you’re ready for me.”

"Slowly," she murmured, hands firm yet coaxing as she helped you lower yourself onto her. The moment you sank down, a sharp gasp tore from your lips. You were so worked up, so utterly drenched, that the strap was already slick with your arousal, easing the stretch but doing nothing to dull the overwhelming sensation of being filled.

Lilia hummed in satisfaction, her fingers tightening around your waist as she felt the way you trembled in her grasp. "There... take your time," she encouraged, though the dark gleam in her eyes told you she was savouring every second of your struggle to adjust.

The stretch was overwhelming in the best way. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, your body instinctively trying to draw her in deeper. The magic woven into the strap pulsed faintly, attuned to your every reaction, making the sensation all the more intoxicating. You swore you could feel her twitch inside you, the enchantment allowing her to share in your pleasure.

Lilia's smirk deepened as she watched you shudder, her grip firm as she guided you further onto her lap. "So eager," her voice was silk and steel. "And so very, very wet."

She didn’t rush you. She simply watched, her eyes half-lidded, absorbing every twitch, every soft gasp you couldn’t suppress. And when you were fully seated, she hummed in satisfaction, tightening her hold on your hips.

“Good,” she praised, her grip shifting as she guided you into motion. “Now, let’s see if you can keep up.”

You barely had a chance to adjust before she took control, lifting and lowering you with practiced ease. Each movement sent sparks through your entire body, pleasure mounting too quickly, too intensely. Your nails dug into her shoulders as she pushed you further, refusing to let you slow.

“Tell me, young one,” she purred, lips ghosting against your throat, “can you divine how many times I intend to make you cum?”

You couldn’t answer. Words failing you as the pleasure built impossibly high, your body surrendering to her guidance. She only chuckled, her grip tightening as she thrust up to meet you, pulling strangled moans from your lips.

Lilia was relentless. She drove you to the edge of an orgasm over and over, her name slipping from your tongue like a prayer. And when she finally allowed you to cum, it was nothing short of ruinous.

She held you close as the aftershocks wracked your body, her fingers tracing idle patterns over your sweat-slicked skin. But she wasn’t finished. Not yet.

She rolled her hips once more, drawing a sharp gasp from you. “We’re not done,” she reminded you, her voice wicked and indulgent. “You can take more.”

Lilia's words seeped into your blissed-out mind, thick with promise. Your body was already trembling; every inch of you hypersensitive to her touch, but she wasn’t offering mercy. She wanted more.

"Up," she instructed, voice velvet-dark, her hands guiding you as if you were no more than a doll in her grasp. Your legs barely cooperated as you lifted yourself off her lap, the motion making you shudder at just how wet you were and how slick the strap had become from your cum. Your thighs trembled as you stepped away, but Lilia didn’t let you go far.

"Over the table," she commanded.

You obeyed on instinct, pressing your hands against the ancient wood, the tarot cards scattered beneath your fingertips, their meanings lost in the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. The cool air kissed your heated skin, but it did nothing to soothe the ache.

Lilia took her time. She traced her fingers down your back, teasing over the curve of your ass before dipping lower, spreading your folds with deliberate intent. A sharp breath left you as she dragged her fingers through your slickness, humming in satisfaction.

"So eager," she mused, her tone almost thoughtful. "So sensitive."

You jolted when she shoved two fingers inside; the stretch so easy, so effortless after everything she had already done to you. Your body clenched around her as she thrust them deep, curling just right.

"L-Lilia—"

She hushed you, her other hand pressing against the small of your back, keeping you pinned as she worked you open with measured strokes. Each push sent you spiralling higher, your legs shaking beneath you, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

"You will cum again for me," she purred, her pace quickening, her fingers relentless.

It was impossible to resist. The pleasure slammed into you, violent in its intensity, your body locking up as your next climax tore through you. Your cries filled the dimly lit room, but Lilia wasn’t done.

As your body slumped forward, boneless, she withdrew her fingers, dragging the wetness over your inner thighs, marking you with it. And then, a new pressure—her strap pressing against your entrance once more, still slick with your combined arousal.

"One more," she said, voice dark with promise. "You can give me one more, can't you?"

Your only response was a desperate whimper as she pushed in, stretching you once more, filling you so completely that it sent fresh sparks of overstimulation coursing through your veins.

Lilia chuckled, hands firm on your hips. "Good girl."

Lilia didn’t hesitate. She pulled out and then thrust back in hard, burying herself to the hilt in one swift, punishing movement. The force of it sent you forward, your breath catching in a strangled moan as she filled you.

But this time, she wasn’t just toying with you—she was chasing her own pleasure.

Her grip on your waist tightened as she set a brutal pace, her hips slamming into yours with unrelenting force. Each thrust sent increasingly desperate arousal through you, your body twitching, struggling to keep up with the pleasure that had already wrung you dry.

And then her hand slid lower.

Her fingers—cool, adorned with heavy rings—pressed against swollen clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made you jerk in her grasp. The sensation was too much, too intense, and yet you keened at the contact, pushing back into her touch.

"Lilia—your rings," you gasped, barely able to form words between the relentless rhythm of her hips and the exquisite pressure of her fingers. "They feel so good."

She chuckled darkly, dragging her fingertips over you with teasing precision. "Do they now?"

The contrast of the metal against your overheated skin sent a shiver through you, amplifying every sensation until you were practically sobbing for relief. Lilia only hummed, stroking you with slow, knowing circles as she pounded into you, her own breath coming in ragged gasps.

"You were made for this," she whispered, her voice tight and controlled, though her rhythm was faltering, growing more erratic.

Then, with a deep, low moan, her hips stilled against yours. She pressed in as deep as she could go, her grip turning bruising as she came inside you, the strap pulsing in tandem with her climax. The sensation had you whimpering, your body locking up at the heat that filled you.

She stayed like that for a moment, catching her breath and letting the pleasure wash over her. But she still wasn’t done.

"On your back," she commanded, her voice thick with satisfaction.

Your limbs felt like liquid, barely able to function, but you obeyed. With a soft gasp, you turned onto your back, legs dangling off the side of the table, tarot cards now forgotten beneath you. The room spun with the force of your own exhaustion, but then Lilia was between your legs again.

She pressed a kiss to your trembling inner thigh before dragging her tongue over your pussy, lapping up the mess she had left behind. The sensation had you arching off the table, your hands grasping at the air for something—anything—to ground you.

"Lilia—" you choked, a sob ripping from your throat as she sucked at your sensitive clit, her tongue flicking against it with ruthless intent.

There was no escaping it. You were already too sensitive, too raw, and the moment her mouth sealed around you, another orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your body tensed, legs trembling violently as you came again, your cries echoing through the room.

But Lilia didn’t let up. She took in every drop, drinking in your pleasure like it was the finest wine, her grip firm on your thighs to keep you still as she worked you through your release.

And then—one last time.

She pulled away, her lips glistening, her eyes dark with hunger as she stood. The strap between her legs twitched with renewed magic, still ready, still insatiable.

"One more, just one more," she insisted, dragging you upright and pulling you flush against her. "I want to feel you shatter for me again."

A breathless, wrecked laugh escaped you. “That’s what you said last time,” you managed to protest, your body still trembling, nerves alight with exhaustion and oversensitivity.

Lilia only smirked, utterly unmoved. She brushed a damp curl away from her face before she turned you over and bent you back down against the table.

“You can give me one more,” she murmured, her voice thick with promise. “I know you can.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before she was inside you once more, filling you to the hilt in one swift motion. A cry tore from your throat at the stretch, the wet slapping sound of your bodies meeting nearly obscene in the quiet of the room.

At first, her thrusts were deep and slow, forcing you to feel every inch of her inside you. But as soon as she felt your body respond—felt the way you clenched down around her despite your protests—her pace shifted to be rough and unforgiving.

Your overstimulated body had no resistance left. The moment she angled her thrusts just right, pleasure speared through you like lightning, raw and all-consuming. Your climax tore through you with a force that left you gasping, clawing at her back, your entire body clenching around her in desperate waves.

Lilia groaned, her grip bruising on your hips as she buried herself deep, chasing her own release. A guttural moan escaped her as she spilled inside you once more, her hips stilling for just a moment as she let the aftershocks wash over her.

She didn’t pull away immediately. She stayed pressed against you, her breath ghosting over your skin, her fingers tracing slow, idle patterns over your trembling thighs.

Lilia's gaze lingered on you for a long moment, amusement dancing in her dark eyes as she traced her fingers along your jaw. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she gave her next command.

"On your knees," she spoke, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Clean me up properly."

Your limbs were weak, trembling from the relentless pleasure she had wrung from you, but you obeyed without hesitation. Lowering yourself before her, you grasped her thighs for support, your breath ghosting over her strap, now covered with a mix of both of your cum.

Lilia let out a pleased hum as you took the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over it before sinking down further. The taste was intoxicating, a mix of everything she had given you.

"Just like that," she praised, threading her fingers through your hair, her grip tightening as she guided your movements. "Such a fast learner."

You hollowed your cheeks, taking more, bobbing your head at the pace she set. Her fingers curled at the back of your skull, her hips rolling forward ever so slightly, pushing deeper into your mouth. The strap twitched against your tongue, carrying the echoes of her pleasure.

A sharp inhale and then a moan.

"You're being so good for me," she hummed, her voice unravelling as she thrust just a bit deeper. "Now, swallow every drop."

You barely had time to prepare before she came once more, herf cum spilling onto your tongue, thick and warm. The sensation alone made your core throb with residual need. You swallowed obediently, not letting a single drop go to waste, your throat flexing around her as she let out a shuddering sigh of satisfaction.

Finally, Lilia loosened her grip, her fingers stroking over your hair in silent approval. She helped lift you to your feet, steadying your shaking form before guiding you toward the chaise lounge in the corner of the dimly lit room.

"Rest, young one," she said gently, draping her coat—rich in golden embroidery and worn with the weight of years—over your shoulders. The fabric smelt like her, like incense and old books, like the very essence of magic itself. You melted into its warmth, exhaling softly as she settled beside you.

Her fingers ghosted over your forehead, brushing damp strands of hair away with unexpected tenderness. It was a stark contrast to the way she had just ravaged you, and yet it felt just as intoxicating.

Then, without a word, she reached for the deck of tarot cards still scattered across the nearby table. With practiced ease, she shuffled, then drew a single card, turning it toward you.

The Page of Pentacles.

Lilia’s lips curled into a knowing smile.

"How fitting," she mused, tapping the card lightly. "A symbol of knowledge... of boundless potential. Of someone eager to learn, grow, and carve their own path."

She tilted your chin up, dark eyes locking onto yours with quiet pride.

"And I believe, my dear apprentice, that you will do just that."

-----

My only hope is that Patti LuPone would approve of this fic

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taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

[gwens-love]

Not Haunted anymore

<-Part 2 ~ Part 4->

Summary: Driven by love and desperation, you risk everything to bring Agatha back. But some things are not so easily won, and the line between life and death is fragile.

Warnings: emotional themes, loss and grief (kinda but not really)

Word count: 3.2k

~ghost!Agatha Harkness x fem!reader~

~Rio Vidal x fem!reader~

Please don’t copy/steal or translate this work thanks.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The seasons blurred as you waited, relentless in your hope. Green leaves turned gold and fell, the air crisped with the upcoming winter’s chill, but you stayed rooted in your goal. You wouldn’t let go… not like Rio had.

Today, the autumn sun brushed against your face as you sat outside with a familiar book, its pages worn from the weight of your gaze. You’d read it countless times, but it didn’t matter. This was for Agatha, and you couldn’t allow yourself to give up, not when the ache in your chest grew stronger each day.

Rio’s visits had become rare, just twice a week or so, and even then, her presence was hollow. She barely taught you anymore, simply standing beside you with empty eyes, as if all the fire… the life she might have had… had flickered out. Without her guidance, you had to teach yourself. You fumbled, grinding herbs too forcefully, botching incantations with poor pronunciation. But each mistake only spurred you to keep trying.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

Time slipped through your fingers until spring arrived, and with it, a slow, creeping despair. You’d tried every spell, every book, every herb. You’d even sought out real witches, though they’d leave at the mere mention of Agatha’s name. Nothing worked. Each failure sank into the silence of the house, thick and suffocating, leaving you unable to think clearly.

Frustrated, you searched for your headphones, anything to drown out the quiet that had taken root here. And then… a knock at the door.

Your heart leaped. You dashed downstairs, hope clawing its way into your chest. When you swung open the door.

Rio stood there, framed by the soft glow of twilight. You stepped back, swallowing the knot of words lodged in your throat, and gestured for her to come inside.

Rio steps inside, a spark in her eyes that you haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity. She looks almost… alive again. It’s startling, seeing that glimmer, that hint of joy tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“What’s got you so happy?” you ask, confusion knitting your brows.

Rio turns to you, her grin widening, a rare, genuine warmth filling the air between you both. “I found something,” she says, her voice barely containing her excitement. “After all this time, I think I found a solution.”

Your heart races, hope swelling in your chest even as doubt pulls at you. “A solution? You mean…?”

She nods, reaching out to take your hand. “Yes. A way to bring Agatha back. I found something powerful… something no one’s tried before.”

A flicker of caution surfaces in your mind, but the desperation you’ve held onto for so long outweighs it. “What do we have to do?”

Rio’s fingers tighten around yours as she leads you to sit beside her. Her eyes shimmer with a strange, almost feverish excitement as she slips a worn, heavy book from her satchel, bound in dark green leather. The cover is cracked from years of wear, the pages yellowed and fragile.

“I found this,” she murmurs, flipping through the brittle pages. “It’s a rare text, almost lost. The rituals in here…they’re powerful, more than anything we’ve tried before.”

You stare at the book, trying to process her words. “Where did you even find something like this?”

Her face shifts, a flicker of something dark passing through her gaze. “It wasn’t easy. Let’s just say I made some… arrangements. But it’ll be worth it. I know this will work.” Her hand shakes slightly as she finds the page, turning it toward you. The cramped text and curling symbols are written in an ancient language, nearly unreadable. In the center is an intricate illustration of symbols, all intertwining to form a complex pattern.

You feel a pang of unease. “Why hasn’t anyone done this before if it’s so powerful?”

Rio hesitates, her voice softening. “Because it demands a lot. Complete focus, and an unwavering intent. If either of us falters…we might not bring her back at all.”

A chill runs through you as you take in her words. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken doubts and fears. But beneath it all, there’s a longing that eclipses everything else. You can’t give up, not after coming this far.

“What do we need to do?” you ask, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Rio’s lips curve into a smile, one tinged with determination. “The ritual has to be performed under the midnight moon. We’ll need specific herbs, a lock of Agatha’s hair, and our most precious memory of her. Each of us has to bring something deeply tied to her… something that binds us.”

She starts gathering the necessary items, and together you arrange everything carefully: candles placed in a circle, bundles of sage and rosemary, and a small, carefully wrapped lock of Agatha’s hair. Rio’s hands are steady as she lights each candle, murmuring under her breath words you can’t quite catch.

Finally, she looks up, her eyes meeting yours in the dim candlelight. “Are you ready?”

The weight of her question settles over you, and you swallow, feeling the gravity of what you’re about to attempt. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of you take your places across from each other, kneeling on either side of the circle. The scent of herbs fills the air, mingling with the warmth of candlelight that flickers, casting shadows against the walls. Rio instructs you to close your eyes, to focus on Agatha—her laughter, her voice, the warmth of her embrace. Memories rush through your mind: afternoons spent learning from her, her steady guidance, the spark of her wisdom.

“Now,” Rio says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hold onto that memory, and don’t let go. We need to anchor her spirit.”

You nod, clinging to the image in your mind, willing it to hold strong. Rio’s voice begins to chant, low and melodic, as if each word is stitched with power. The air grows thick, humming with energy, and you feel it settling over you, heavy and electric.

The candle flames flicker and bend, stretching toward the center of the circle as if pulled by an unseen force. Shadows swirl around you, shapes dancing at the edge of your vision. You keep your focus, letting Rio’s voice guide you deeper, pulling you through memories of Agatha until it feels as if she’s right there, just out of reach.

Then, the atmosphere shifts, a chill sweeping over you, sending a shiver down your spine. You feel a presence, delicate and familiar, almost tangible. Your heart pounds, each beat echoing in your ears as you dare to open your eyes. Rio’s chanting has stopped, her eyes wide, locked on a faint, misty form beginning to coalesce within the circle.

There she is, Agatha, her form fragile and translucent, like moonlight made solid. Her eyes meet yours, filled with something between longing and sorrow. For a moment, everything else falls away. She’s here. You’ve done it.

“Agatha…” you breathe, reaching out instinctively.

But her gaze shifts, and a faint smile graces her lips. Her voice, barely more than a whisper, reaches you. “I’m… here, but not for long.”

Rio stiffens beside you, her face a mixture of triumph and desperation. “No, we can’t lose you again. There has to be more, something else we can do.”

Agatha’s gaze softens as she looks between you and Rio, the faintest hint of pride in her eyes. “You’ve come so far… but some things are not meant to be tampered with.” She steps back, fading slightly, her voice lingering. “Hold onto what we had. Let that be enough.”

And with that, her form shimmers and dissolves into the candlelight, leaving you and Rio in the quiet, empty space once more. The silence is deafening, your heart aching with a finality you hadn’t prepared for.

Rio reaches for your hand, her fingers squeezing yours. “Maybe… maybe this was enough,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with the pain of letting go. The two of you sit there, fingers intertwined, letting the last traces of Agatha’s presence linger in the air, knowing that she’ll always be a part of you etched in memory, bound in love.

As Agatha’s form begins to fade, a surge of panic grips you. This isn’t enough. You refuse to accept the soft, fleeting memory as all you’ll ever have of her. Agatha deserves more, she deserves life, a real, tangible presence beside you once more.

“Wait!” you shout, reaching into the circle, your hand trembling with determination. Rio’s eyes snap to you, filled with confusion and alarm.

“Y/N… what are you doing?” she whispers, her hand tightening on yours, trying to pull you back. But you shake her off, stepping into the center of the circle as your own magic swells around you, a warmth that’s different from Rio’s shadows and quiet whispers. Your power surges forward, bold and unyielding, like spring itself, a magic tied to life, rebirth, and creation.

“I’m not letting her go again,” you say, your voice steady and fierce. “Not when I… I can bring her back. Really back. She won’t be just a memory, just a spirit tethered to the shadows. She’ll be alive.”

Rio’s eyes widen, understanding dawning as she takes in the intensity radiating from you. “No, Y/N, the spell, Agatha warned us. You can’t use magic to bring someone fully back… It’s unstable. She’d be caught between worlds, between life and death.”

But you don’t listen. Your mind races through everything you’ve learned, everything Rio taught you, and you taught yourself, as you push deeper into your power, calling on the energy that runs in your veins. It pulses through you, responding to your desperation and longing.

You focus on Agatha, feeling her presence, fragile and wavering in the circle. Your fingers extend toward her, reaching into the space where her form hovers like mist. Her gaze catches yours, and for a moment, you see fear and a trace of sadness there.

“Agatha,” you murmur, feeling the magic coil and tighten within you, a warm, consuming force. “I’m not letting you go. You deserve to be here, to live again, to touch the earth, to feel the sunlight. I’ll make it happen. I swear it.”

The warmth of magic..? spreads, spilling out of you and filling the circle. You feel it pull, tugging at the edges of reality, bending the boundaries between life and death. Agatha’s form flickers, the mist growing thicker, denser. Slowly, her outline sharpens, her features taking on a warmth and solidity that wasn’t there before.

You push harder, feeling the strain of it, the raw power searing through your veins, demanding everything you have. Agatha’s form steadies, her gaze wide with a mixture of hope and terror as she realizes what you’re doing. She reaches toward you, her hand solid, her fingers brushing yours for the first time in what feels like eternity. The warmth of her touch ignites something within you, giving you strength to go even further.

But something is wrong. A strange, dark edge creeps into the magic, twisting it, contorting it as you push past the natural order. You can feel the boundary between life and death fraying, splintering under the force of your power. Your breath catches, but you refuse to stop, willing Agatha into full life even as you feel the cost beginning to weigh on you.

Finally, with a gasp, Agatha stands before you solid, alive, and breathing. Her chest rises and falls as she takes in her surroundings, her eyes full of wonder and disbelief as she looks at her hands, her body. She’s here. She’s real.

But the strain hits you like a tidal wave, and you stumble, your body weakening as the energy drains from you. Rio is beside you in an instant, catching you, her face pale with fear. “Y/N… What have you done?”

You barely hear her, your gaze locked on Agatha, who’s staring back at you, her eyes filled with a fierce, overwhelming gratitude. She steps closer, reaching for you, her hands warm and real, and the sensation fills you with joy and relief.

But there’s a heaviness in the air, a sense that something is shifting, that the world itself is groaning under the weight of your defiance. You can feel it in the marrow of your bones, like a tether pulled too tight, ready to snap.

Agatha pulls you close, her arms wrapping around you, and you sink into her embrace, feeling the pulse of her heart against your cheek. But as you hold her, you sense the tremor within her, the fragility in the life you’ve given her. She’s here, but she’s bound to you in a way that feels… unnatural, tethered by a force that defies the very fabric of the world.

And deep down, you realize that she is alive, yes, but at a cost. The magic inside her isn’t stable; it’s restless, hungry, feeding off the very essence that holds you together.

Rio’s voice is barely a whisper. “Y/N… what happens now?”

You meet Agatha’s gaze, knowing that the life you’ve given her is bound to your own, and that the two of you are now entangled in a way that defies the natural order. You know that, in time, this magic may demand a price, a sacrifice you’re not yet ready to name. But for now, Agatha’s here, alive and breathing, and that’s all that matters.

“We take it one day at a time,” you murmur, feeling the weight of what you’ve done settle over you. For now, it’s enough.

Agatha’s solid, warm arms are still wrapped around you, her heart beating under your cheek as you cling to her. But then your knees buckle, the ground tilting beneath you as a sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness crashes through your mind. You try to hold on, but your strength drains away, leaving you weak and barely able to stand.

“Y/N!” Rio’s voice is frantic as she catches you, lowering you gently to the floor. She kneels beside you, her face pale and stricken, shock etched into her features.

“You’re a witch…?” Agatha whispers, her hand trembling as she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “How… I had no idea. You never told me.” Her voice is filled with wonder and disbelief, her eyes wide as if seeing you for the first time.

You try to speak, to explain, but the words slip away as exhaustion claims you, your body numb and drained from the sheer power you poured into the spell. A murmur ripples through the room as Rio hovers beside you, concern written in every line of her face.

“She didn’t just use magic,” Rio murmurs, almost to herself. “She wielded the magic of life, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. That’s not just any spell. That’s…”

“A witch of life,” Agatha finishes, her voice soft with awe, as if saying the words aloud makes them true. “I thought they were a myth.”

“Apparently not,” Rio mutters, but her hand clutches yours tightly, grounding you as the room continues to spin.

You blink up at them, struggling to focus, as the last of your strength ebbs away. The world fades around you, but you catch Agatha’s expression, a mixture of astonishment and fierce pride. “You did this,” she says softly. “You brought me back. Y/N… how?”

But before you can answer, your vision blurs, the edges of your sight darkening as unconsciousness pulls you under. The last thing you feel is Agatha’s hand clasped in yours and Rio’s whispered promise: “Rest now, Y/N. We’ll figure this out… together.”

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The darkness closes over you, leaving their shocked faces lingering in your mind, a moment that feels both surreal and unforgettable, knowing you’ve revealed a part of yourself that you didn’t even fully understand.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the weight of blankets and the soft warmth of sunlight spilling through the window. You blink, adjusting to the light, and try to sit up, but a sharp, aching fatigue pulls you back down. Your body feels heavy, as though you’ve been asleep for days.

As you take in the quiet of the room, you hear muffled voices outside the door. A moment later, it opens, and Agatha and Rio slip inside. Agatha’s face lights up with relief, and Rio’s expression shifts from worry to quiet awe.

“Y/N!” Agatha crosses the room, her hands reaching for yours, her touch grounding you as she squeezes your fingers. “Thank goodness, you’re finally awake.”

You blink at her, struggling to make sense of everything. “How long was I… asleep?”

Rio answers, her tone gentle. “A week. We weren’t sure when you’d wake up.” She takes a deep breath, searching your face before adding, “You used a lot of magic, more than we even thought possible.”

Magic. The memory hits you like a wave, pulling you back to that moment when Agatha’s spirit had shifted to flesh and bone. The spell, the power coursing through you, the almost unbearable force of it all. Your pulse quickens as the realization sinks in. “Wait… I’m not a witch. I don’t even know how to cast spells. That shouldn’t be possible.”

Rio and Agatha exchange glances, as if waiting for the right way to explain. Agatha sits down beside you, her fingers still tangled with yours. “Y/N… you are a witch. Or maybe, you became one,” she murmurs, studying your face. “You’re a life witch, it’s close to a green witch, but you can interfere with not only the life of plants, but with animals and apparently humans too.”

You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around it. “But… I’ve never been able to do anything like that. I wasn’t born a witch.”

“That’s the strange part,” Rio says softly, her expression intense. “The magic, it just… appeared in you when you needed it. Like it was meant to be there all along, waiting for the right moment.” She runs a hand through her hair, disbelief flickering in her eyes. “Y/N, I’ve never seen anything like it. You summoned the magic of life, the rarest, most ancient form of magic there is. Only a few witches in all of history have had that ability.”

A strange, chilling wonder fills you, making you shiver. You stare down at your hands, the memory of that unstoppable power still fresh, almost like a dream. “But I… I don’t know how to control it. I don’t even understand it.”

Agatha’s fingers tighten around yours, grounding you again. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t know everything right now. What matters is that you brought me back. You saved me, Y/N.” She smiles, warmth and gratitude shining in her eyes. “You did the impossible.”

Rio nods, her face softening as she looks at you. “You’ve tapped into something few ever do. It’s overwhelming, I know. But we’ll figure it out together.”

You meet their eyes, still grappling with the reality of it all. The power, the spell, the unexplainable magic that had surged through you. The witch you’d become, without even realizing it. A new part of you, mysterious and powerful, waiting to be understood.

For now, though, you’re not alone. Agatha and Rio are here, guiding you, grounding you. Whatever this magic is, wherever it leads, you’re ready. Together, you’ll uncover its secrets, and maybe, finally, understand the path fate has set before you.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

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Taglist: @midnight-lestrange