#I have seen what the darkness does: Witchcraft | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaleldobrev · 1 year ago

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Coming & Going

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Witch!Reader

Summary: You want Dean to stay, but will he?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Fluff, Vulnerable!Dean, Angst

Authors Note: No cursing for once! Not sure how I managed to do that! | Takes place pre-pilot, during season 5 and the season 5 finale | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

October 2005 — New Orleans, Louisiana

“Do you really have to go?” You asked, your voice sounding of disappointment. You were currently lying on top of Dean, chest to chest with him as your hands cupped his face and his arms were resting on your lower back, wrapping them around your waist slightly.

He gave you a half smile, almost as if he was disappointed himself that he had to leave. “Sorry Sweetheart, I have to,” his tone sounded faintly similar to yours.

You had known Dean barely two weeks, as he only came to New Orleans to work a case in your neck of the woods: The French Quarter to be exact. Your former mentor and friend had gotten corrupted, a certain kind of darkness consumed her; no longer doing witchcraft for good but for evil and out of scorn. At first you didn’t want to think it was her, as you only had the fondest of memories of her, but the people that were dying were her former mentees, your peers — and you were going to be added to that list of the dead if it weren’t for Dean.

“Just sorry uh?” You asked, hoping that he would say more but he simply shrugged. “Don’t you shrug at me Dean Winchester,” you smirked, leaning in and giving him a tiny peck on the lips that he quickly deepened. His hands now cupping the side of your face now.

Breaking away from the kiss he looked at you, smiling and moving some hair that had fallen in front of your face. “You’re beautiful you know what?” He said, and you could feel yourself blushing.

“Careful, it sounds like you’re falling in love with me,” you teased.

“And what if I am?” He asked, his tone coming off more serious sounding than yours had been.

“I’d say you’re crazy,” your tone still coming off slightly teasing in nature.

“To be fair I am a hunter Sweetheart. You need to be a little crazy to be one,” he replied and you honestly couldn’t help but agree with him.

“It’s always the crazy ones who fall for me,” you said, giving him another quick peck before lying down on your back next to him. “Seriously though, think I’ll ever see you again?”

“Careful Sweetheart, it sounds like you might be falling in love with me,” he teased.

“And what if I am?” You asked, turning your head to face him.

He turned to face you, and there was a certain look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “I’d say you’re lying.”

“And why do you say that?” You weren’t in love with him, not completely anyway, but you did feel something for him; but you weren't quite sure what this feeling was.

“Does it matter? I’ll probably never see you again. Hunters never go to the same town twice.” His voice sounded more confident sounding now, very detached of any emotion that he had previously, it was as if he was afraid of being vulnerable.

“It’s okay to talk about your feelings you know,” you stated.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he retorted, and you rolled your eyes. “What?”

He changed positions, switching to his side propping himself up with his elbows on your mattress as you started to get out of bed. The sounds of your feet were smacking hard on the wood — you were pissed. “Nothing,” you lied, your voice coming out passive aggressive sounding now. “You’re right, no need to talk about things if I’m never going to see you again right?”

“Sweetheart —”

“It’s Y/N,” you grabbed your robe that was hanging on the back of your door and placed it around you as you made your way to your on-suite bathroom to take a shower and wash away any feeling or smells of Dean off of you as quickly as possible. “You can show yourself out right?” You asked walking into the bathroom. You dropped your robe, and it was now a puddle on the floor. You were just out of view enough for Dean to just see the robe, not your naked form.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and you shut the bathroom door.

5 Years Later…

You were currently in your kitchen crushing up herbs using your mortar and pestle; the sweet smells of lavender and honey filling the air. There was a beautiful breeze coming in through the open window; additional smells wafted into the house as well (mainly the smells of Cajun cooking).

You heard a knock at your door and you thought about who it could possibly be at this hour of the night, as all your scheduled clients had came and went for the day, your shop already closed for the day as well. Putting down your pestle you washed your hands quickly and started making your way toward the door. The longer you took the more aggressive and loud the knocking had started to become. “I’m coming I’m coming!” You yelled.

Reaching for the doorknob you couldn’t help but notice a familiar silhouette and the smell of gunpowder. It was two things you never thought you’d ever see or smell again. Opening the door the green eyed semi-stranger looked at you, and he looked completely drained and void of energy. “Never thought I’d see you again,” you said, your voice coming out a lot calmer than you had expects it to sound. “What are you doing here? You have a case?”

“Mind if I come in?” He asked, his voice too sounding calm. His energy was different, it was nervous, scared, confused all things you never expected to feel from him.

“Sure,” you nodded, stepping aside to let him inside.

“So let me get this straight,” you started rubbing your face, trying your best to process the information that Dean had just given you. “You’re the vessel of the Archangel Michael, Sam is the vessel of the Archangel Lucifer and the two of you are supposed to do this battle to the death.”

“More or less,” Dean said, more casually than you had expected him to sound.

“So question,” you began.

“Shoot,” he answered.

“I don’t mean to sound rude Sweetie but…what does this have to do with me?” You asked, and Dean found himself slightly smiling at the nickname; it was something he hadn’t heard you call him in almost five years. “I haven’t seen you or even heard from you in five years and we didn’t necessarily leave things on the best terms.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, sounding slightly frustrated. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re…you’re sorry?” You scoffed, finding his apology hard to believe. “It’s been five years, I feel like the apology ship has sailed.”

“I know you probably want nothing to do with me anymore but,” he got up from the couch that he was sitting in across from you and moved to sit next to you. “You’re the only person I’ve been thinking about for years, the only person who…”

“Phones exist Dean. You could have just picked up the phone and called me,” you stated.

“Would you have picked up the phone if I called?" Touché. "That's what I thought," he looked away from you for a moment, slightly rubbing his face before placing his hands on his knees. "I shouldn't have never come here." He got up quickly, his voice frustrated as he started making his way toward the door.

"So that's it?" You asked, getting up from the couch. His hand was on the doorknob, and he looked at you briefly, some hesitation in his expression.

"What?" He asked; he sounded annoyed.

"You haven't changed in five years Dean. The minute we start talking about feelings or being vulnerable you clam up." You stated, moving closer to him now, you were a few feet away from him.

"You don't think I know that?" His tone angry, angrier than you've ever seen him. "You don't think it pisses me off that I have a hard time talking about my feelings?" He looked down at you, the two of you inches away from each other now.

"Dean," you began. "You weren't joking five years ago were you?"

That's when his expression changed, it softened. "About what?" He knew exactly what you were talking about, how could he possibly forget? It might of been two weeks, but it was one of the best two weeks he had in a real long time.

"Being in love with me," your voice was slightly hesitant, almost as if you were embarrassed to say it, despite knowing deep down that you were right. He simply just looked at you, and you reached out for his hand, taking it in yours. "Dean." The look in his eyes now, the feelings that you were getting from him — this man was still in love with you, even after all these years.

"What if I said yes?" He asked, his tone too was hesitant sounding, but he echoed the same words as he once did all those years ago.

"I'd say what took you so long?" You gave him a soft smile, your hands now fisting his shirt as you looked up at him. He looked down at you, giving you a similar smile in return and cupped your face.

"You know, you're the only witch I've ever liked," he whispered before leaning in and kissing you.

A Few Months Later…

You were sitting in your living room putting together the last of your spell bags that you sold in your shop, the smell of roses wafted gently in the air from the candles you had lit throughout the house; soft jazz playing.

A light knocking came at your door, and you had an overwhelming feeling of anxiety crash into you; the smell of gunpowder now hitting your nose. "Dean..." you whispered; it could only be him, as he was the only one that had smelt that way to you.

Getting up from your spot on the couch you made your way to your front door, that familiar silhouette in the shadows of your porch. A sorrowful smile hit your lips as some dread starting hitting into you — a feeling that worried you. Something bad happened, you thought. Opening the door Dean stood there, not saying a word; he looked drained, like he had lost a battle. But if he was the one standing here that could only mean..."Sam he's..."

"In the pit," Dean said. You weren't entirely sure what that meant but you didn't want to press further as you could feel and see the extreme sense of loss. Without a warning that's when he moved toward you, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace. The embrace was tight, like he was making sure you were real.

You started rubbing his back and gently started to hum, hoping that it would soothe him in some way. "I'm here," you said softly between hums.

"Can I stay here for a while?" He began, his voice sounding as if it was about to break. "I don't...I don't want to hunt anymore not without...I can't do it without him." You didn't need clarification on who Dean was referencing, you knew that he was talking about Sam.

"You can stay here as long as you want," the words fell from your lips with such certainty, without any kind of hesitation.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @jackles010378 @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @mrsjenniferwinchester If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #dean x you #dean x reader #reader insert #female reader

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berryjammer7 · 6 months ago

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Why So Blue?

Alright, Baby Varian writes about a lot science stuff in my Crescent Moon TTS comic (exemplified on this page and the next: https://berryjammer7.tumblr.com/post/637645850521272320/crescent-moon-pg-01 ), so now I am going to extrapolate excessively about it to provide you all with even more needless details--specifically about the science of blue! (This will be a long one and a lot of text, so grab some tea or something)

Firstly, let’s talk about what most fans know about Varian’s blue hair streak. The blue streak does exist. He’s had it since he was a baby as seen in a photo from the show, and the color eyedropper tool in my art app tells me that is blue (NOT green, you colorblind fools). Then there’s the whole theory that Varian’s dad Quirin absorbed some of the moonstone while working with the brotherhood after it exploded a little bit (as one does). Then he passed that on to Varian. All of which is well and good.

But let’s talk about the SCIENCE!

Ironically, this is not the first time I’ve dealt with blue hair [insert artist backstory]. Before TTS even came out, I created an OC I named Blueberry (my user-name-sake) who also has blue hair:

(Don’t judge the anatomy, I was a baby artist)

Blue, as it turns out, is actually very rare in nature, and this sci-show youtube video https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9cdoPD51bng provides a pretty good summary of why that is (and how pigments work in general).

So while I had long since determined Blueberry had a plant based pigment that made his hair blue (anthocyanin), Varian clearly had some sort of mineral based pigment from the moonstone. I’m guessing he only ever had enough passed on from his dad to turn his hair slightly blue (until he snatched the moon shard in my comic, that is).

But I’m going to take this one step further. Varian’s hair is black, and if you’ve ever tried to dye dark hair, you’ll know that it is hard for any color to stand out without bleaching it first. And that’s where Poliosis comes in.

If Varian has a single strand of hair that produces no melanin, then the blue pigment can show more clearly. I find this to be a really cool option because I actually have poliosis (or something similar.)

(Kinda like reverse Rapunzel, amiright? My blonde streak is somewhere on the back of my head though, so not as cool.) This is also called a Mallen streak, but because that term is more modern coming from a book series set in the 19th century, using it in the comic is a bit anachronistic. The condition has been associated with witchcraft for a long time though, which seems fitting for someone dealing with the magic of the moonstone (whether he ‘works with magic’ or no.)

So yeah! That’s it! Seriously, go watch that sci-show episode, blue is SO COOL! I do wanna add a disclaimer though—if I am wrong on any of this science stuff let’s just all pretend it’s due to the limits of scientific knowledge at the time the comic is set rather than my own fallibility.😅 Maybe people already know all this stuff, but I just never see it talked about!

+++++

Bonus, this Wikipedia link for Al-Jazari: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ismail_al-Jazari Guys, this fellow is credited with making all sorts of automata (!?!), as well as the first flushing toilet—he deserves your respect!

#tangled the series #varian #varian comic #moon varian #varian fanart #rapunzels tangled adventure #tangled #tangled comic #tangled fanart #varian the alchemist

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romancefranaticstay · 8 months ago

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𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼

𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓻𝔂: 𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯, smut

Lee felix x devil reader

ミ◦❧◦°˚°◦.¸¸◦°´❤•.¸♥♥¸.•❤´°◦¸¸.◦°˚°◦☙◦彡ミミ◦❧◦°˚°◦.¸¸◦°´❤•.¸♥ ♥¸.•❤´°◦¸¸

As a devil, you shouldn't fall in something called 'love'. Like it was thought on your side, love was a trap for poor souls to fall into. It didn't excist on your side. You were 'The Devil'. Not the honor or the highest devil of them all, but your father was indeed the devil. You were extremely dangerous, but there was something. Something only you knew about. A side of yours that has a weakness, a weakness no one else has. A weakness of those beautifull white wings...

Others called you the perfect example, of the death nouns. You liked to be evil, to have the cruelity personality of a devil. To have the guts to make others eyes bleed. To make the soul bleed for enternity, and not to feel any guilt. To cut a wound that would stay forever and never heal, how much others would try to reach your level, you would be the only one with the cruelest soul.

One day you were like the others on earth. You were undercover on earth. Nobody regonized you as the cruel. Nobody ever does, nobody ever has, and nobody ever will. Observing poor and weak souls from a distance. Seeing through them, without even noticing. People walking by, trying to discover your new victim.

Suddenly a person walked by, you though it was a person. A boy, with perfect white skin, perfect blond hair. You couldn't look through him, it felt weird. You tried to lead his eyes towards yours, because everyone knew the eyes are the door of the soul.

The eyes you looked in, were one of a kind. It didn't feel like a human, didn't sound like one. His dark brown eyes falling into a place, a place nobody ever has been. His gaze gave you a weird feeling in your stomach. People describe it like butterflies, you describe it like thorns. Thorns of a red rose.

His gaze counting in seconds, his gaze lasting forever. Your eyes binding together like one. The feeling got lost when his eyes left yours, alone in the dark. You weren't letting this slide, this was like witchcraft.

He was walking away, but ofcourse he couldn't escape you. You gave him a couple of seconds to walk further.

....

Time to hunt him down. You had the feeling it was an angel. His soul felt to pure. He was walking around into a crowd of people. All of a sudden he went left, into a dark erea. The perfect time. You followed him into the darkness, untill you felt someone grab your arms.

You couldn't see what happend into the dark. Your hands pinned above your head. Looking into the darkness of the space. Suddenly seeing two eyes staring into yours, those angeleyes.

His face coming closer to yours, untill your two noses touched eachother. His breath smelled like flowers and heaven. You may ask how i know how heaven smells... No questions, for now...

'Your prescence is making mine heart beat to fast.' he said.

'It isn't mine fault your heartbeat can't handle the heat.'

'You should have stayed in the flames of hell.'

'You should have stayed behind the gates of heaven.' you hissed back.

He stopped pinning your hands on the wall. You placed your hands on his shoulders. Looking into his eyes, knowing the other side wants it to.

The thing with devils and angels are they can sense heat-feelings. Heat feelings aren't anger or frustration. Heat feelings are sexual feelings between two.

He opens his wings and embrace's you with them. Holding close to his body. Feeling every inch of it. Feeling everything you want to feel. He holds you close as he launche's himself in the air. Ofcourse the people eye sight were so terribly bad, they never could seen through the 'wall'.

He was flying towards a space, a space nobody ever knew excisted. Only God knew it excisted, but God can't stop true love. The place was somewhere in the universe. A place were everything was like a bed, so soft.

'Gosh, you are driving me insane Y/N.' his hands wandering around your body. His lips smacking on yours. Moaning in eachothers mouth. Your tongues interwining with eachother.

He pushed you on the ground, his arms around your body. You moaned out his name. His hands found a way in your panties.

'Alreaddy so wet for me, devilly.' his two fingers playing with your clit.

'G-go faste-.' you couldn't make any sentencen's anymore, it was to difficult. The feeling of pleasure was to overwhelming.

'Devilly, devilly, so needy.' his finger going faster, faster and faster. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

'I- am going to c-cum.' suddenly he stopped.

'W-what? Why did you stop?' he smirked. He undid his belt and lowered his pants. He took out his length. It was big and veiny. The thoughts of him inside you made you dizzy.

He placed his lenght by your entrance. He slamed his hips into you. You choked on a moan. He interwined his hand with yours.

'You are doing great devilly.' his other hand he placed on your cheek. Softly touching it. Your cheeks were bright red because of the heat. He found it adorable to see you under him.

His pace started to go faster. Sounds of moans, skin slapping and sweet little words filled the space. He was pumping fast into you. Looking straight into your eyes.

'Angelly, i-am going to c-cum.' you moaned out.

He started to pump into you fast, faster and faster. Untill you couldn't hold it in anymore. You screamed the biggest moan. Felix stayed pumping into your, untill he came with a moan.

'You did so well devilly, so well.' he whispered. You felt his sweatty body on yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him into a sloppy kiss. His arms embracing your body.

Both of you stayed laying in eachother arms. His wings embracing and hiding you both.

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A wonder happend with you both. It is impossible for a devil and an angel to pro-create, but because the love between you two, were so strong. God gifted you a beautifull baby boy and girl. A twin boy and girl.

The boy was called: Cupide (Cupido) and the girl was called: Amora. They both represented the love between you two. And those two, would become one of the most powerfull people in the univserse.

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chasingshadowsblog · 2 months ago

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"I've seen suffering in the darkness. Yet I have seen beauty thrive in the most fragile of places." - History, Culture and Identity in Cartoon Saloon's Irish Mythology Trilogy

Written accounts of Irish history and culture only begin to appear from the 5th century onwards and what came before we are left to piece together from archaeological remains whose meanings and motivations we can only guess at. What is clear, though, is that during that broad stretch of time between the Early Mesolithic and Late Iron Age, a distinctly Irish identity had been established and cultivated through by the craftsmen, artists, hunters, foragers, farmers and warriors that populated the country through their housing, weaponry, metalworks and stone monuments. The development of the Christian church throughout the Early Medieval period brought its own beauty to the art and architecture of the country, but also adapted its culture to suit the needs of an integrating religion and sites and ceremonies of pagan worship were amalgamated into the Christian calendar. Following this were Viking raids, Anglo-Norman settlement, English conquest, plantation, oppression, rebellion, famine and civil war. From the Early Medieval period to the present day Ireland has experienced an almost constant shift in leadership and identity with little time in between for the dust to settle. Culturally, a "Celtic Revival" in the late 19th and early 20th centuries sought to re-invigorate the arts and history of Celtic Ireland (a broad, problematic concept in itself) as an expression of nationalism and to bolster a distinctly Irish artistic and literary identity. All of this is to say that wading through Ireland's history of social upheaval, religious and political conflict, and loss and confusion of identity is no mean feat. To take those threads and conjure up original stories for modern audiences, embracing the suffering and celebrating the beauty, is impressive. To do it three times is witchcraft.

In their films depicting Irish history, culture and mythology, animation studio Cartoon Saloon have approached their stories with a respect for the past, both fact and fiction. By evoking the artwork, legends and real history of Ireland's past and combining it with their own fresh, unique visual style, Cartoon Saloon brings some much needed authenticity and vibrancy to the depiction of Ireland in mainstream culture. Absent are the twee figures of backwards island folk or the commercialised idolatry of a St. Patrick's Day parade. What we get instead is something more personal, recognisable on the surface to every child and adult who learned about Fionn, the Fianna and fairy circles in primary school and with nuggets of information and visual cues for explorers of Ireland's broader history.

"I can't tell you which parts of this story are true and which parts are shrouded by the mists." - The Secret of Kells and the line between history and mythology

Set roughly in the 9th century AD The Secret of Kells is the earliest depiction of Irish culture in the trilogy. This period saw the introduction of Christianity and the eventual integration of the religion among the native Irish, a relatively smooth transition when compared to later events as noted by historian Jo Kerrigan: "And so the people of Ireland combined the new ways with the old…not bothering too much that the names had changed." Although the main character, Brendan, comes from a Christian monastery and carries those beliefs, The Secret of Kells does well to capture this balance between a new religion and old beliefs with the inclusion of Aisling and Crom Cruach, and without dismissing them as a childish or archaic. "Pagans. Crom worshippers. It is with the strength of our walls that they will come to trust the strength of our faith." The threat of Viking raids is what spurs Abbot Ceallach's desire to build a wall around his monastery, but, underlying his actions is another aspect of a monk's work - converting the natives. In The Secret of Kells the abbot's wall not only protects them from invaders but cuts them off from the forest beyond - the domain of shape-shifters, wild animals and pagan temples, a world that Brendan can only glimpse through a crack in the wall. A staple of the entire trilogy is this depiction of wilderness in some form and its association with Ireland's symbolic wilderness and pagan ancestry. When Brendan enters the forest for the first time it is dark and frightening until Aisling, an ethereal Sídhe figure who can shape-shift into a wolf, shows him how to navigate it. Brendan's fear is eliminated and Aisling quickly becomes his friend, each amused and fascinated by the other.

Hidden throughout Brendan's trek in the forest are old, moss covered ogham stones and stone circles, allusions to native practices, but deeper in, the colour palette changes from bright greens and natural browns to a wash of dark greys and black when Brendan stumbles across a temple to Crom Cruach (a deity who, in Irish mythology, is eventually destroyed by St. Patrick). Aisling tries to warn him away, "It is the cave of the Dark One," but Brendan dismisses her worries, "The abbot says that's all pagan nonsense, there's no such thing as Crom Cruach." At the sounding of the deity's name, black tendrils emit from the cave and pull on Aisling as she stops them reaching Brendan. Later, Brendan returns to the cave to steal Crom's eye - a magnifying crystal that will help Brendan and Brother Aidan with their illumination. In a beautifully animated sequence Brendan battles Crom Cruach in his cave by trapping him in a chalk circle and stealing his eye. Crom Cruach is depicted as a never-ending snake (in a geometric pattern reminscent of both pre-Christian art and the knotwork of Christian manuscripts) possibly in reference to the 'snakes' (demons) banished from Ireland by St. Patrick. What's most fascinating about this sequence is that Brendan experiences it at all. Although the experience is supernatural it is never implied as anything other than real. Brendan is a committed monk in training who will spend his life in service to the monastery and creating the Book of Kells; even after meeting Aisling and battling Crom Cruach he never questions his faith or his elders and when he returns to the monastery with the eye no one disputes the story of how he came by it, "You entered one of the Dark One's caves?" At this time, at the edge of a growing monastery and with a direct reference to the abbot's desire to convert the natives, there is still space for pagan ideas to exist. Whenever Brendan is punished by Abbot Ceallach it is for disobedience not a lack of faith. Similarly, Aisling using Pangur Bán's spirit to free Brendan has an effect on the real world. There's an argument to be made that this is a film and anything can happen, but for problems to be solved by magic, the way Aisling frees Brendan, firm world-building rules must be established; in this world, 9th century Ireland, spaces exist in which otherworldly figures reside and actions beyond the mortal realm occur and these spaces exist alongside this film's version of civilisation, the monastery.

"I have lived through all the ages, through the eyes of salmon, deer and wolf." As an animated feature, there is a lot the film can tell us through visuals alone, and The Secret of Kells does a wonderful job capturing an Ireland in transition. The prologue opens with a close-up image of the Eye of Crom with abstract shapes swimming around it, followed by a glimpse of Aisling hiding in a tree as she narrates over these images in an eery whisper. Following these we see a salmon, deer and wolf, three animals important to Irish mythology, identity and history; the salmon, related to The Salmon of Knowledge, represents mythology, the deer is the national animal of Ireland, and wolves (in the world of Cartoon Saloon) represent its wildernes and history (the elimination of the wolf population became more active in Ireland during times of English occupancy, a theme that is explored more deeply in Wolfwalkers). Even the waves crashing around Iona as Brother Aidan escapes morph into wolves, futhering their symbolism as something wild and dangerous, yet they are never associated with the Viking raiders; the wilderness is as equally affected by change as the people are. The monastery is littered with Iron Age motifs existing alongside Early Christian imagery. Spiral motifs occur in trees and plants, in the ropes that bind the wall's scaffolding together, and circular, semi-circular and zig-zag shapes continue to appear with knot-work patterns and religious figures - even the snowflakes during the raid are strands of knot-work. The monastery itself is accurate to the period with its round tower, beehive shaped structures (called clochán) and the town growing around it, while outside its walls Brendan crosses a stone circle. We even see a game of hurling, the ultimate unifying bridge between pagan and modern Ireland. The walls of the abbot's cell are covered in his own drawings of plans for the monastery's construction. These are exquisitely detailed and clearly a plan for the future but drawn in a style that cannot escape the past; zig-zags, spirals, circles, semi-circles, dots, triangles, sun and star motifs and something that looks like an alignment chart. The style is evocative of the insular La Tène that preceded the arrival of the monks in Ireland; a combination of abstract and geometric, seemingly random, but clearly symbolising something greater.

"You must bring the book to the people." In their last interaction as children Aisling helps Brendan recover the pages of his manuscript as he flees the Vikings. In this gesture Aisling aids Brendan on his religious journey - during the montage later on she even guides him home. Faith never comes between these two, their relationship is one of mutual curiosity and sharing their differences. In Irish mythology, female figures (particularly shape-shifting ones) are often symbolic of Ireland itself and to have the support of these figures is, for kings and heroes, a mark of validation. At this time, these two worlds still live alongside each other and Aisling is allowed to support Brendan's work as a monk while maintaining her own natural way of life. Although Brendan's final journey home shows the spread of Christianity across the country we get one final image of Aisling, changed to her human form in a flash of lightning, that shows us she hasn't disappeared just yet. Brendan, now an adult, returns to Kells and although Abbot Ceallach is old and sick, the monastery stands strong and Brendan brings with him the completed Book of Kells, ready to continue the abbot's work.

"This wild land must be civilised" - Wolfwalkers and the taming of Ireland

Set in 1650, Wolfwalkers occurs roughly 800 years after The Secret of Kells and presents a vastly different universe. The monks' Christianisation of the natives was a far more gentle affair and one founded in a desire to educate people. Ireland under the Lord Ruler (a stand-in for Oliver Cromwell) is a world of service, punishment and fear. By chopping down trees and employing hunters to cull the wolf population the Lord Ruler is attempting to 'tame' the countryside and, most importantly, the people themselves. References to "the old king" and "revolt in the south" place us, historically and politically, in the Cromwellian Conquest, when Cromwell was sent to Ireland to quell uprisings against the newly established English Commonwealth. Heavy stuff and this is a simplification of a period of major conflict in Ireland but Wolfwalkers impresses on us the feeling of living under the thumb of an active oppressor on a much smaller, more personal scale. The Lord Ruler wants the people of Kilkenny afraid and complacent so that they support his efforts to cull the wolves and cut down their forests. Although the wolves pose no threat to the city, people have been made to fear them, resilting in the loss of their connection to the forest outside the town walls. Any reference to a world ouside of the current mode of conduct is cause for immediate punishment and suppression. Even Bill and Robyn, loyal English citizens, are punished. When one of the woodcutters talks of "pagan nonsense" he is confined to the stocks and Robyn is forced to work as a maid in the castle when she does the same. When Bill fails to cull the wolf population (and control his own daughter) he is stripped of his rank as hunter and forced into the role of soldier, robbed of the little freedom he had.

"This once wild creature is now tamed, obedient, a mere faithful servant." Although this line is spoken in reference to Moll, held captive in a cage in her wolf form, it is the human characters who suffer the most from this ideology - even the nameless background characters are confined to the walls of the city. What comes to mind when hearing this line is Robyn in her maid's uniform, once lively and imaginative, now returning home with lines under her eyes after a long day of hard, monotonous work, and Bill, shackled at the neck and forced to march behind the Lord Ruler's horse ("we must do what the Lord Ruler commands"). Although Moll is held captive too, it is in the form of a humongous wolf; she is locked away in the Long Hall for fear of the danger she represents because the Lord Ruler is aware of how poweful she is and so he must keep her locked up to show the people of Kilkenny just how much control he can wield, quelling any potential notions of power they might have held in themselves. In the case of Moll, Robyn and Bill, each time they are held captive by the Lord Ruler their captured bodies submit to the wolf form to escape: Moll uses its strength to break free of her chains, Robyn leaves behind her human body to launch an attack against the soldiers with the rest of the pack, and Bill, who had no idea what being bitten by Moll would do to him, submits to a primal instinct within him to protect his daughter and attacks the Lord Ruler. The Wolfwalkers are able to draw on this power but the people left behind in Kilkenny have no such escape.

"What cannot be tamed, must be destroyed." The ending of Wolfwalkers is bittersweet. Robyn, Médb and their parents are safe after defeating the Lord Ruler and his soldiers and ride off, not quite into the sunset, but onto horizons new. "All is well," Bill and Robyn tell each other and the family appear content, but, before now, leaving the forest was not on the agenda; leaving the forest meant retreating from a threat, as Moll desperately wanted Médb to do, and this is still the case. Médb wanted to save the forest, but, after everything that's happened, the family are no longer safe on the borders of the town. Robyn, Médb, Bill and Moll all save each other but they can't save their home and their retreat from Kilkenny is just that - a retreat. The Lord Ruler may have been killed but that doesn't mean the end of his conquest. Historically, this period saw Ireland amalgamated into the Commonwealth and Irish Catholic landowners ousted by English colonists, as well as a high level of deforestation and the elimination of the wolf population. By having the family leave their home, together and with a bright sky and grassy hills ahead of them, Wolfwalkers' coda balances the narrative conventions of a story by giving the viewers their satisfying ending without sanistising the history it's based on.

"Remember me in your stories and in your songs" - Song of the Sea and loss:

If Wolfwalkers is the taming of Ireland then Song of the Sea is Ireland tamed. Set roughly in the 1980s it is the closest depiction of a modern Ireland in Cartoon Saloon's ouevre. In contrast to The Secret of Kells and Wolfwalkers, which represented Ireland's native identity in the forest, here it takes the form of (drumroll) the sea, but while those other films depicted the battle between the wilderness and civilisation Song of the Sea depicts its defeat. The last of the Sídhe live in hiding in a rath disguised as the centre of a roundabout and use a sewage system to get around. In their diminshed forms, Lug, Mossy and Spud also resemble more closely what we might think of as 'fairies' in Ireland today, not the imposing figures of mischief and chaos the Sídhe really are in mythology. Still, Lug, Spud and Mossy wear torcs, brooches and earrings of gold and strewn about their home are ogham stones and hurls; in a nice marriage of modern and ancient tradition, they play the bodhrán, fiddle and banjo, singing a version of the Irish language song 'Dúlamán'. Only in this one pocket in the middle of the city do different aspects of traditional Irish culture survive.

All throughout Song of the Sea we see iconography of modern Ireland. Conor drinks a pint of Guinness (unlabelled but unmistakable), the front of the pub he sits in is decorated in proto-typical Irish pub fashion. On the wall in Granny's house sits proudly a picture of Jesus with the Sacred Heart lamp as she warbles along to the classic Irish children's song, 'Báidín Fheilimí'. Ben and Saoirse take refuge in a shrine to a holy well with a rag tree outside that is bursting with religious iconography as well as a toy sheep. Symbols that are as much a part of the national identity as those pre-historic and mythological ones. There are also references to the assimilation of pop culture outside of Ireland in a Lyle's Golden Syrup tin, the Rolling Stones poster on Conor's old bedroom door and Ben's 3-D glasses and cape, an emulation of a superhero costume. These images are, ultimately, harmless but have overtaken their native counterparts. Although we see statues of the Sídhe in the background, these are not shrines but detritus, and they lie forgotten, covered in plants and moss, in the company of bags of rubbish and old televisions. The diminishing of one era of Ireland's history to make way for a newer more powerful and modern identity is just one kind of loss that is portrayed in Song of the Sea, but each character experiences their own version throughout. The loss of Bronach that has affected Ben and Conor; the potential loss of Saoirse as she grows sicker; the loss of Mac Lir that drove Macha to such despair she literally bottled her emotions and those of others until they turned to stone. All of this comes to a climax at the end of the film when these tragedies are laid bare. As in Wolfwalkers the greater connotations of this theme are presented on a smaller scale: Ben and Conor's pain by the loss of Bronach.

Ben and Conor are representative of the human world and so suffer her absence more visibly than Saoirse who approaches her mother's world with curiosity and ease. In contrast, Ben, although he misses Bronach, rejects the sea (her home and symbolic identity) and his sister, a physical as well as spiritual reminder of what's been taken away from him. He turns his back on his past as much as he mourns its loss. We see it less obviously in Conor who wallows in his own memories and grief and tunes out Ben's references to his mother "It's as though I've been asleep all these years. I'm so sorry." Ben's grief is more expressive compared to the inwardly focused Conor and even towards the end of the film when Ben is trying to help Saoirse, Conor brushes over his insistence that only her selkie coat can save her. It's only when Saoirse is finally wearing the coat and wakes up from her sickness that he finally engages with Ben on the subject of Bronach, "She's a selkie, isn't she? Like Mam." "Yeah." (Which looks like a weak conversation written down but it's the happy smile on his face and the emotion in his voice that give the single word weight). "Please don't take her from us." During the film's final sequence, when Saoirse sings her song and wakens the sleeping Sídhe, Bronach returns but only to take Saoirse away. With tears in her eyes she begins to lead Saoirse along until Ben and Conor stop her, not forcefully but pleadingly, "she's all we have." All they have is Saoirse, all they have is a thread connecting them to Bronach's world and their memories of her.

"All of my kind must leave tonight…" As the Sídhe are wakened by Saoirse's song we watch them rise joyfully to form a glowing processional in the sky as they make the journey across the sea to their home. This scene is so beautifully animated and so filled with a sense of magic and wonder that we are charmed into believing this is a good thing. The Sídhe are returned to their noble forms and going to their home "across the sea"; they fill the sky with a warm, mystical light, but they are taking that light and their magic with them. As Bronach quotes in the film's prologue, "Come away, o human child, to the waters and the wild, with a fairy, hand in hand, for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand." This is a world that can no longer bear the force of two identities. Unlike The Secret of Kells where Brendan and Aisling were allowed to live alongside each other without compromising their beliefs or ways of living, Bronach, a spiritual being, is forced to leave, while Ben and Conor have no choice but to stay and Saoirse, who walks both worlds, is made to choose between them. Although this is a happy ending it is still being depicted on a personal level. On a grander scale, the country has lost something that isn't coming back and this is depicted as a relief for the ones leaving it behind. On the other hand, Saoirse's decision to remain shows that, in small pockets of the country, the magic remains.

It is fitting that Song of the Sea, as a representation of modern Ireland, draws on loss; Ireland has been experiencing loss on a grand scale for centuries. Although the march of progress is mostly positive, in some cases it has altered our respect and interest in the past. Today there is a nihilism attached to Irish heritage; the spirituality that is associated with airy fairy hippies dancing naked in a moonlit field; the language that is almost universally despised by every secondary student forced to grapple with the Tuiseal Ginideach; its disappearing and continually exploited ecological landscapes; traditions and tales that grow more twee and archaic with every tourist bus that passes by; the preservation of archaeological sites in frequent battle with the progress of industry. In the interest of leaving behind the worst of our past we are at risk of losing the best. The writer Manchán Mangan suggests that this desire to forget lies in the pain we feel when we consider our history. Some, like Conor, try to push all reference to this pain out of their lives, others, like Ben, divert their pain into misplaced anger. Mangan cites the Famine as a source of generational pain and its effect today on our use of the language, but really it can be attached to many events and periods of time, "English was the future; Irish would only bring suffering and death." This is a sentiment that carries through to this day; despite encouragement from schools, local councils and the government, Irish remains a least favourite subject for most people who dismiss it as unuseful for success in the wider world. By proxy, anything to do with the notion of "Irish", the language, history and culture, is old-fashioned (suffering and death) while success and the future lie outside of the country. Mangan goes on to suggest that only by confronting the pain of our past can we unlock an ability in ourselves to engage more fully with our identity, "We might stop blaming our failure to learn on teachers, or the education system, or Government policy, and realise that we have no difficulty learning any other subject…" Ben and Conor are given the opportunity to say goodbye to Bronach before she leaves, allowing them to carry on with their memories of her and the last strand of their connection to her as represented by Saoirse. More and more people today are looking to Ireland's past, ecology and language for whatever it is they need or want to find. It isn't necessary to convert to paganism and live on the shores of the Connemara coastline to achieve this connection, but actively disengaging from your past can only hurt more than it can help. In their respective stories Brendan does not compromise his beliefs but still builds a friendship with Aisling, while Robyn and Bill integrate fully into Médb and Moll's world. There is no right way to engage with this side of our history and identity, but in contrast to Ben and Conor, Brendan and Robyn have balanced and fulfilling relationships with their native counterparts - the threats to their world come from outside sources. Ben and Conor were stuck in their pain over Bronach's loss and it is only after getting to see her one last time that helped them to move on and heal. Conor tells Bronach that he still loves her, he will carry his love and memories of her forever; Ben lets Saoirse into his life and is able to move past his grief and fears of the sea. Here, the threat of loss and destruction in modern Ireland comes from within, and can only be treated by engaging with the past - its rich heritage and tragic history - and moving on with all of the wisdom and experience it provides.

#another late post because my laptop charger broke #cartoon saloon #the secret of kells #song of the sea #wolfwalkers #irish mythology #irish movies #animated movies #animated films #animation #essays #film analysis #movie analysis #i do go on and on don't i

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ravenloop · 2 years ago

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Hey! I was wondering if I could request for GoW Freyr? Something like the reader is a witch whom Kratos and Atreus rescued from freezing at the start of Fimbulwinter, and she joins them on their journey — and when they travel to Vanaheim, she meets Freyr, who is quickly smitten with her?

—Admiration and Much More—

Pairing: Freyr x Female!Witch!Reader

[Picture not mine]

AN: WRITERS BLOCK IS A TERRIBLE THING FOLKS! But I'll trying to push out requests every week now. Enjoyyyy! <33

—————————————

Travelling to Vanaheim was something you always longed to do, hearing stories about the realm... Sadly realm travel to it hadn't been an option for a long time.

That was until you met Kratos, and his wonderful son Atreus. When you had so idiotically went out during Fimbulwinter for too long, a blizzard making you lose your way home... Until they found you, and took you in (not without Atreus begging his father a little) Which now brought you here. To the realm you've been anticipating to visit for so long.

Vanaheim.

You also got to meet Freya's brother: Freyr. Or Yngvi as she calls him. The god and his little group of loyal followers weren't so welcoming of you at first, all of you. But you tried not to hold it against them, you cannot imagine what it would be like to live such a life in hiding, knowing the very people who called for "peace" betrayed you.

They were scared to trust again, but Freya's assurance of the alliance she had made with Kratos seemed to lighten things up. Thankfully.

All that brought you up to here, tending a wound of Birgir. There was a recent run-in with a group of Einherjar soldiers. Everyone got out alive but not without a few casualties.

"There. All done." You offered a smile to the large man. He gave his own kind one back, bowing his head slightly as he left.

"Well, Realms be damned. If I knew you were this good of a healer I would have probably begged you to join my group." Freyr appeared next to you, his usual smug smile on his face.

The presence of the god was a little surprising, but you chuckled, "Would you?... I'm honoured to know my witchcraft managed to gain the attention of a Vanir god... So much."

Whilst you busied yourself with a bowl of herbs, Freyr shrugged. "Well, I mean—I'm just speaking the truth. From what I've seen so far, you're a really great uh... Witch. Ally. I would dare to say... Aesir-ass-kicking companion, even?" He asked, raising a brow with a smile.

Shaking your head amusedly, you replied, "What about friend? Or does... 'Aesir-ass-kicking companion' fall under that category?"

You started walking. Freyr looked at you, as if the word 'friend' was almost offensive. "Uhh... Yeah, sure. Friend? Hah! Friend." He followed you as you walked around the camp.

As you continued to work, he watched you closely. His gaze taking you in, before lingering on the torn section of your clothing, where a wound had been. Now ow a dark scar took its place. "I'd uh..." He cleared his throat, leaning against a pillar, "I'd like to apologise for that too. Hope there's... No hard feelings." He chuckled lightly.

Finally you looked at him. Following his gaze, you looked at the scar on your arm where a gash had been. "It's fine, really. I don't think either of us expected to see each other." There was an amused tone in your voice as you smiled at him. The memory of Freyr attacking you coming back. Though when he saw your face, and soon came to know you were allies with his sister—he froze up almost.

"Oh trust me... I really didn't expect you." Pushing himself off the pillar, he walked around as you continued working—probably on some healing drink he imagined. "But hey! That turned out to be a good thing." He stopped again, looking at you, "Didn't it?"

Your eyes met his dark gaze. By the Realms, you were something else.

"I guess it did." You approached him slowly. He crossed his arms, leaning back. Calmly.

"Freyr?..." You called his name. He looked at you, "Yeah?" He asked in a normal voice.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and he felt his heart speed up. He watched your face intently as you gave him a small smile, your brows raising.

"You're um... Kinda standing in front of the herb shelf. And I need a few things from there—"

He blinked, turning around to see he was, indeed, standing in front of the herb shelf. "Oh."

—————

"He's actin' stupider than normal... Ya know what I'm thinking, dont'cha?" Brok said.

Kratos grunted lowly as they watched you and Freyr speak, "Do not tell me."

"Why don't I tell you in song form? Cause there's this beautiful song of love I've heard before!"

Mimir cleared his throat, "Oooh—"

"Quiet."

—————————————

AN: This entire thing was really just Freyr getting friendzoned by the reader- BUT HOPED YOU ENJOYED! (And big apologies for the long wait)

#god of war #god of war ragnarök #reader insert #god of war x reader #gow x reader #gow #Freyr #gow freyr #gow freyr x reader #freyr x reader #god of war freyr

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hard-core-super-star · 1 year ago

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Are there any writers you like who also write for Kate that you recommend?

i'm so happy you asked, lovely anon! there are so many talented writers on this hellsite so allow me to shout them out

@scmg11 has a TON of fics that i absolutely adore. she writes for hailee and all her characters so there's a lot to read.

@unholyhelbig also has a ton of kate fics + mini series that i can't recommend enough

@midnightmayhem13 mainly does headcanon sets but they're a delight to read so check them out for sure

@katebishopshands doesn't have as many fics as the ones listed above but check them out if you haven't because wow

@anninastv is just starting out but her ideas and her writing are amazing. she's also just a lovely person in general!

these writers all have strictly 18+ blogs so minors do NOT go over there or we're all going to have problems

@caroldantops i would be a massive asshole if i didn't start off this list by shouting out silver. everything they write is incredible, their kate fics especially!!! they're also kind of the reason i decided to venture into smut writing so do with that information what you will :) [also, they have the most creative anons i've ever seen, idk what kind of witchcraft they did for that]

@belovaskitkat is an incredible writer in general but her kate fics obviously have a special place in my heart. also, she's just an absolute delight to follow.

@kitmoas mainly writes dark!fics so beware of that but her writing is out of this world

@cthulhus-curse doesn't write as much for kate but i still 100% recommend [also, they get a bunch of unnecessary hate anons so i just wanted to bring them up because their writing deserves nothing but love]

i'm 119% sure i'm forgetting more lovely folks so don't hesitate to reblog if you guys have more recs!

#rubix replies #rubix recs

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midnightmoodlet-art · 14 days ago

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What more dark headcanons do you have for Affogato? I'll go first.

The next time he meets Cacao (and in the ensuing fight) he has a severe mental breakdown that is so bad even Cacao is concerned for him.

OOoooo I have quite a few but most are so intrinsically linked to a storyline I have but I'm not sure if anyone would be interested apart from me and like 3 friends lmao (it's oc x canon that's why) BUT I have a few that could be independent from it maybe??? UTC because heavy themes of like *gestures everything*

TLDR he is not straight up having a good time

TW child abuse (neglect) and self harm (eating disorders)

❧ I've alluded to it in another post, but I think Affogato is secretly deeply insecure and doesn't outwardly show it ever, to the detriment of his physical and mental well-being...

❧ Like those issues stem deep in childhood, growing up basically shunned by everyone at the camp for being a "half-blood" - tangent, but Latte by contrast (whom I also hc as mixed-race, but coffee and milk tribe instead) would have grown up among the milk tribe and in turn wouldn't have faced the discrimination like affogato did - Like we are talking getting the worst section of the tents, the scraps after everyone also ate, and had very little possessions of his own as it would have been immediately taken from him. So he resorts to hiding them wherever he can, even in abandoned burrows in forests. - Since others (even other children) in the tribe avoid him like a plague, he has resorted to just leave camp and walk around the forests nearby. He'll even stumble on other settlements and be incredibly envious of the other children playing together. - It's because of this that he finds it so difficult to trust others, as he's been subjected to more childish malice than kindness

❧ I'm still deciding on this aspect, but it's during his teenage years that he leaves the camp for good... Either by running away or being the reason the coffee tribe is the way it is in present times... if you catch my drift. He already felt more wanderer than anything else so might as well. It's at this era that he picks up on witchcraft and realized that he has an affinity with pharmaceutical skills like medicinal potion brewing and the like.

❧ You know how some kids are pretty/cute in a child way? (not sure if it's the right word for this ngl) Well he was called that once and it stuck to him to the point of obsession. He was seen beyond his lineage for the first time in his life and he's going to make it damn sure to stay seen.

❧ So he strives to not just be pretty, but to be beautiful. Because being beautiful is to be acknowledged. And so he does everything in his power to alter everything about his looks to enhance that very aspect, because deep down, he believes that the moment he stops being beautiful, he will be forgotten and ignored, thrown away like a useless broken plaything.

❧ He was an incredibly shy and unassuming child, so he carefully crafts a mask of a cookie who came from afar and had everything going for him; a prodigy whose confidence ooze at every step. It's a masquerade, and he moulds himself to the strongest cookie in the room: because as long as he's among the strong, he'll always be acknowledged in a positive light. That's how he rose up so fast to become the king's right-hand man.

❧ His true self does break through occasionally, but it manifests as deep emptiness, a longing for a connection beyond his skills, beyond his appearance, but being unable to. Being acknowledged is just so ephemeral if nobody cares enough to remember you... - His disciples might love him, but he genuinely believes that their admiration towards him is as shallow as his is towards others. - He gains a short temper that is felt by his disciples and becomes particularly nitpicky in his appearance when under the weather... - With his mask, he inadvertently hinged his entire self-worth into being beautiful, so "imperfections" become so much more apparent and in need of immediate fixing, no matter how painful it is to do such a fix. - He has a secret stash of sweets hidden in his room. Part of it is because he loves them, but also because it's so comforting. So unfortunately, on darker days, he'll binge at night in a desperate search for warmth, to fill the emptiness in his soul, until he's physically sick. It distresses him deeply, knowing full well this type of behaviour will ruin years of hard work being valued "beautiful", he without fail takes drastic measures to "undo" the over-eating... - 👆This goes without saying, but he has a really distorted sense of "beauty", so his standards have become increasingly unrealistic over the years, which eventually makes him think that literally anything can ruin years of hard work, no matter how insignificant it is in the bigger picture. - It's an endless vicious cycle he's stuck in, and not wanting to confide in anyone as he doesn't trust anyone to fit that role, it's basically inevitable that he'll reach a breaking point...

❧ He sees Caramel Arrow being applauded for her skill and he forces a smile congratulating her, all the while his ribs squeeze tight in his heart.

He sees Dark Cacao being showered with praise for how good of a ruler he is and Affogato is just standing there, still smiling, looking at a distance, frustration bubbling.

Oh, how he longs to have that praise given to him as well. Something for others to point out how proud they are of him! Tell him how great he is at what he does! Just don't forget about him...

Maybe if he were king, he would finally have that love and praise he so desperately craves....

#affogato cookie #mio #midnight writings #tw child abuse #tw neglect #tw eating disorders #tw ed #tw self harm #please tell me if there's a tw missing and i'll add it #not main tagging due to the subject matter #I'M SO SORRY I ZERO'D IN SO HARD AND NOW I YAPPED A NOVEL #Joining the cod will fix him and help with his insecurities right?? RIGHT???#also I agree with you that no matter what this man is bound to have a severe mental breakdown

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kushblazer666 · 2 months ago

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I know I will probably experience some hate on this post, but it’s okay. I don’t live to please man 🙌🏼

If you can look at this photo and NOT see the demonic agenda of Halloween, you are blinded. 😵

I was walking through Michaels yesterday and saw all of this as I was checking out.

Witches, ouija boards, demons, the dead, fear, supernatural, ghosts, monsters, magic, spells, curses, mediums, palm reading, witchcraft, potions, all seeing eye…

These are things that NO follower of Christ should compromise with. Period

It’s a sad thing when you have churches doing “trunk or treats” while the members are even dressing as witches and passing out candy with monsters and demons on the wrappers… where have we gone? The church needs help. God help us.

“Chelsea, I saw you celebrating Halloween before!! Don’t be a hypocrite!” 🙄

Oh I know I used to! I used to be all about it. I used to dress up, go to the parties, and haunted houses…. But then the Lord opened my eyes and now I can’t compromise with the world. I just can’t.

“But Chelsea you’re ridiculous. It’s for fun and kids go out and get candy. Come on now..”🙄

Listen, go look up the history of how passing out candy on Halloween came about. Go look up how the costumes came about. While you’re researching, look up the Celtic history of Oct 31.

Then ask yourself, “does this glorify God?”

I understand that so many like to celebrate and try to “sprinkle Jesus on top“, I used to do the same, but the unfortunate fact is that you can’t.

This holiday is demonic. Just because you dress up your child as a Bible character does not make it of the Lord.

We have to be set apart. We are called to be set apart. How are we set apart if we look exactly like the world?

“Where are your scriptures Chelsea?? You can’t just talk all this talk and leave with nothing!!” 🙄

I’m glad you asked, here are just a FEW. 👇🏼

1 Corinthians 10:21 📖

You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons; you cannot partake of the Lord’s table and of the table of demons.

1 John 1:5

This is the message which we have heard from Him and declare to you, that God is light and in Him is no darkness at all

3 John 1:11

Beloved, do not imitate what is evil, but what is good. He who does good is of God, but he who does evil has not seen God.

Romans 12:2

And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.

1 Thessalonians 5:22

Abstain from every form of evil.

Ephesians 4:27

Neither give place to the devil.

2 Corinthians 6:14

Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness?

-Don’t be upset with me. This is Gods Word. Speak to Him. We can’t twist it. We have to be fully committed to Him and without compromise. I know this can be hard when we are so used to it, but it’s time to say “enough” to Satan and not even allow him one day.

I tell you all of this because I love you.

Shared from Chelsea Covell.

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marzipanandminutiae · 1 year ago

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Can I ask some random headcanons for our blorbo(lucille, obviously) for no reason?

Does she keep a diary? What's inside it? How many hours does she usually sleep a day? In modern AU, what's her favorite movie or theatrical piece? What are some significant objects in her room, other than what we already saw in the movie(like butterflies, books, wood carved animals)?

Sure!

I don't think she keeps a diary, but I can see her writing out her whole sad, sordid life story over and over, tearing it up each time, and scattering the pieces to the winds. A la the movie Byzantium. Because she can't tell anyone. She can't even tell Thomas everything; that wouldn't be Shielding Him from the worst of her pain and darkness (how well does she actually do that otherwise? shhhh). So she gives her story to the howling winter tempest instead.

On a good day, eight. On a bad day- and they are not infrequent -two if she's lucky. I don't think she slept at all the night Edith and Thomas were at the depot.

Modern-day favorite movie...not sure I've seen enough movies to say! I definitely don't think she's a horror fan, though the more lyrical side of the Gothic might appeal. She's seen enough horror in the real world, thank you very much. Something beautiful and sad- weirdly, I can see her enjoying Titanic or something similar. Thomas (and Edith, in OT3) is totally baffled by this. Meanwhile Lucille just doesn't understand why such a bittersweet tragedy about True Love has the reputation it does.

Significant objects in her room? You covered a lot of the bases, I think! I can see her having a very fantastical jewelry-box made by Thomas, though. Are there like four items in it? Maybe. But that's not the point. She deserves things like this, in his mind- beautiful, exceptional things to make her happy after so much darkness.

(the novelization version of her room, with definitely-not-in-the-movie preserved animal fetuses, and witchcraft paraphenalia from all over the world- the actress said she doesn't believe in ghosts; why would she have any interest in that? -can fuck off)

#ask #lucillesharpeismybaby #crimson peak #headcanon

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deathsconsort · 7 months ago

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this is important to how i write nesta, so if you plan on writing with me you will have to read this unfortunately lmao i tried making it short i really did...

i’m going to make this canon for my nesta bc i’ve been wanting to write out a thorough post about her being seen differently from other fae and her powers since sarah had a bunch of opportunities lined up and still didn’t give us much so…this was like the perfect excuse to write all that now.

how she emerges from the cauldron, what she looks like, the otherworldliness that ripples off of her is still the same as the book. honestly not much needs to change in that aspect since nesta has always been described as being different even as a human and that she should have been born on the other side of the wall. what i really want to focus on are her powers, what she’s able to do, and how she is death.

nesta does find out she’s a witch, this is going to be post acosf because i believe that’s when she gets more acclimated with her powers and starts accepting them and herself as this being. before she wanted nothing to do with her powers, she could feel how dark they were and how it was affecting her internally so she never wanted to touch it or delve deeply into it. killing briallyn and saving both feyre and nyx ( rhys as well ) gave her the confidence and motivation to look more deeply into what she’s capable of. especially when in the birthing room she was able to sense and see death lurking waiting to take the three. i like to think because of who/what she is and her death powers, she’s the one able to use all three pieces of the death trove at once and live and in turn is able to control death that way. ( i talked about this on my old blog, but idk if i talked about it here ) nesta has a connection to the mother, the voice she hears through acosf, the voice that guides her stays with her post acosf. nesta stole from the cauldron and it has it out for her, but the mother adores nesta and took a liking to her, so in turn the mother protects nesta.

if you read tog then you know about moonfire, this is what i’m going to be referring to nesta's silver flames as. when she unleashes that power it’s not just her eyes that change; her hair turns white as the moon and an aura surrounds her that looks like moonlight. we know her powers are capable of reversing aging because of what she did to briallyn and is able to snuff out a life, turning them nothing to ash. when she is in control of her powers she can reverse someone to a certain age, as well as doing the opposite and aging them. the moonfire can destroy entire worlds and wipe them from existence if nesta wishes it.

nesta can perform necromancy. with the mask, yes, but she is able to do it without the mask as well which is why she is the only one who has been able to wield the mask and live, bc she already has this ability. it’s not only a corpse she can summon, but a soul/spirit. she can communicate with the dead as well as the dead can communicate to and through her. nesta can sense when others are close to death and she is capable of helping them pass, she can guide them to the afterlife, whether that’s the ‘immortal land of milk and honey’ or the underworld. in a sense she can watch over the dead.

nesta is able to do witchcraft using spells, curses, sigils. some of her powers include channeling, divination ( scrying and using the dead specifically ), projection, healing ( thinking about how in acowar feyre notes cassian doesn’t look as bad as before and wondered if nesta unknowingly healed him), possession, and resurrection though it is not without a price. she can perform magic whenever, but it’s the strongest at night. the moon is a big part of her magic and when performing rituals she goes by the moon and what phase it’s in. she can also have familiars and prefers them to be dogs.

just like she has the ability to make ‘made’ objects and embed them with moonfire, she can create a life if she wishes. though they wouldn’t be human and would be more creature-like than anything. because of the harp nesta can control and manipulate time as well as world walk ( aka traveling between realms ).

post acosf i like to think it’s gwyn and emerie that help nesta explore her abilities and see if they library can provide any information that would help her understand them more. nesta wouldn’t trust the inner circle to help her or would even want to seek their help so she would turn to gwyn and emerie. emotions play a large part in every aspect of her power/magic, so nesta trying to get her emotions under control is v important when delving into her abilities. i mean we’ve seen what happens regarding her powers when she’s angry/upset in the books. my nesta did NOT lose any of her powers after saving feyre, rhys, and nyx ( sorry i’m not letting sarah get away with, once again, letting powerful women lose their powers even if it’s a little bit ) so yes nesta is still more powerful than rhys, so this too can be a reason why she’s not open about exploring her powers to him or the ic.

a lot of my inspo when thinking about her powers and how she’s associated with death is hecate. also how valkyries are referred to as angels of death.

#☾ ‘ queen of queens ‘ ( hc )#if this seems jumbled i'm sorry i was working on this since like 2 am #i need to link this in my pin

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wingedblooms · 2 years ago

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Herbs she planted

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution.

“The point is that this is all gardening. The garden runs through our lives like a river through a field, like air in our lungs. The garden does not end in space any more than it does in time. The flowers grow as much in our minds as in the soil. There are very few nights when I do not lie in the dark, everyone else sleeping inside this dark, creaking, bony house, and go through the garden, seeing it with the clarity of a dreamer, taking it to pieces and putting it together again, mending everything in my head.” (Montagu Don, My Roots: A Decade in the Garden)

Like the threads of an intricate tapestry, Elain weaves a variety of plants together in her gardens. She creates living art, even at the worst of times:

I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” (acowar)

Feyre casually mentions that Elain is planting herbs in the town house garden after she drops some unsettling information on Cassian (which, as an aside, is one of my favorite scenes; I love it when Elain, the gentle gardener, unnerves 500-year-old fae). @offtorivendell posted a headcanon that Elain has a garden full of useful plants, which makes sense for a practical forest witch, and this quote suggests she is on the right track. We don’t hear about her herbs specifically again, but we do see glimpses of her work on the town house garden where she started planting them:

…peering out the kitchen window at the garden beyond…Elain had already readied the garden for winter, veiling the more delicate bushes and beds with burlap. (acofas)

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. (acofas)

Herbs are used by witches and healers in the Maasverse for a variety of purposes, such as flavoring cuisine, enhancing divination, and healing the body. All things many of us naturally associate with Elain.

Cuisine

Manon gives us a glimpse of Crochan witches going about their domestic tasks, including cooking with dried herbs at their cauldrons:

At least two dozen other witches tended to the several fire pits scattered amongst the white tents, all of them halting their various work as Manon passed. She’d never seen Crochans going about their domestic tasks, but here they were: some tending to fires, some hauling buckets of water, some monitoring heavy cauldrons of what smelled like mountain-goat stew seasoned with dried herbs. (koa)

This image makes me think of other witches (and suspected witches) who have engaged in similar domestic tasks, such as Hypaxia offering tea to Ruhn in the medwitch clinic, or Elain carrying herbed potatoes that she helped the twins prepare near the winter solstice. In our world, traditional witchcraft is founded on a deep bond with the land; many of the holidays on the Wheel of the Year align with the agricultural year. It is no surprise then that witches in the Maasverse are also deeply connected to the bounty of the land. And even though it does not involve witches exclusively, the Great Rite in Prythian honors this bond and is performed to ensure balance between the the land and those who benefit from it. It’s very witchy.

This also helps put into perspective the gravity of Queen Rhiannon's curse on the land:

But the last Crochan queen had cast a spell to ensure that as long as Ironteeth banners flew, no bit of soil would yield life to them. (com) “Rhiannon swore on her last breath that we would win the war, but not the land. That for what we had done, we would inherit the land only to see it wilt and die in our hands. Our beasts would shrivel and keel over dead; our witchlings would be stillborn, poisoned by the streams and rivers. Fish would rot in lakes before we could catch them. Rabbits and deer would flee across the mountains. And the once-verdant Witch Kingdom would become a wasteland. […] Every few decades, they would send groups to try to work the land, to see if the curse still held. Those groups never returned. We have been wanderers for five hundred years—the wound made worse by the fact that humans eventually took it for themselves. And the land responded to them.” (eos)

Manon’s half-sister, who is named for the last Crochan queen, has earthy eyes that are described exactly like Thesan’s, which are rich and warm like Elain’s (who I have long associated with healing light and Dawn).

The Crochan witch, her eyes the solid color of freshly tilled earth, looked up at Manon. How those eyes were so bright despite the horrors written on her body, how she didn’t collapse right there or start begging, Manon didn’t know. (hof)

Every Crochan witch also has an hearth that travels with them, and they can use it to communicate when they are scattered across the world:

Glennis jerked her chin toward the tent flaps, to the fire pit beyond. “Every Crochan family has a hearth that moves with them to each camp or home we make; the fires never extinguish. The flame in my hearth dates back to the Crochan city itself, when Brannon Galathynius gave Rhiannon a spark of eternally burning fire. My mother carried it with her in a glass globe, hidden in her cloak, when she smuggled out your ancestor, and it has continued to burn at every royal Crochan hearth since then.”

“What about when magic disappeared for ten years?”

“Our seers had a vision that it would vanish, and the flame would die. So we ignited several ordinary fires from that magic flame, and kept them burning. When magic disappeared, the flame indeed winked out. And when magic returned this spring, the flame again kindled, right in the hearth where we had last seen it.” Her great-grandmother turned toward her. “When a Crochan Queen summons her people to war, a flame is taken from the royal hearth, and passed to each hearth, one camp and village to the other. The arrival of the flame is a summons that only a true Crochan Queen may make.” (koa)

The Crochans carry hearths—the heart of family and domestic life—with them as they travel, which reminded me of Elain’s rose:

It was a fire. Not her father’s neck. Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d place on the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.

Another log cracked, and Nesta flinched. But she remained sitting there. Staring at that carved rose. (acosf)

Nesta found Elain’s dark rose on the mantel in their old cottage, and then felt the need to place it on a mantel in the House of Wind, just above the hearth and next to a figurine of a primal goddess, likely the Mother. It moves from mantel to mantel and hearth to hearth until she places it on her father’s gravestone in the final scene of her book. This rose may be yet another hint of Elain's connection to witches, divinity, and roses, as well as the gift of healing, which I’ll get to later. Roses are associated with love and death (among many other things), and have a rich history in folklore; they are a common ingredient used in herbal magic. I could see Elain possessing her own portable hearth to accompany dried herbs from her town house garden as she sets out on various adventures. That way, no matter how far she travels, she'll always have her home with her like a lovely Crochan witch.

Divination

Some herbs are used to amplify divination or dream magic. As @offtorivendell mentioned in her post on Elain’s Sight, seers in Erilea use bloodbane (which, as a drug, may contain herbs) to see spirits from other realms, and mystics use bloodsalt to focus their search across worlds. In Midgard, the Oracle's Temple is full of incense and the sphinx breathes in the fumes that are smoldering in her chamber.

...the domed onyx building of the Oracle's Temple veiled in the mists that had rolled in over the river.

Even at midday, the Oracle's Park was near-empty, save for the hunched, slumbering forms of the desperate Vanir and humans who wandered the paths and gardens, waiting for their turn to enter the incense-filled hallways. (hoeab)

She blinked, wings rustling as if in surprise, but settled herself. Breathed in the fumes rising from the hole. Minutes passed, and Hunt’s head began to throb with the various scents—especially the reeking sulfur.

Smoke swirled, masking the sphinx from sight even though she sat only ten feet away. [...] A rasping voice slithered out of the smoke. “To open the doorway between worlds.” A chill seized Hunt. (hoeab)

@offtorivendell theorized that, like others gifted with Sight, Elain could use substances to amplify her powers if needed. It's possible she might be able to use herbs from her garden to pierce the veil and see clearly. She even smells like jasmine, a plant that—among many other things—induces prophetic dreams.

Healing

What can cure can also kill. (Rebecca Beyer, Wild Witchcraft)

In Midgard, we're told witches are seers, warriors, potion-makers, and healers. Healers, also known as medwitches, are the most visible and they have their own herb gardens. Their healing magic is even more powerful than the fae.

They were a strange, unique group, the witches. Though they looked like humans, their considerable magic and long lives marked them as Vanir, their power mostly passed through the female line. All of them deemed civitas. The power was inherited, from some ancient source that the witches claimed was a three-faced goddess, but witches did pop up in non-magical families every now and then. Their gifts were varied, from seers to warriors to potion-makers, but healers were the most visible in Crescent City. Their schooling was thorough and long enough that the young witch before him was unusual. She had to be skilled to be already working in a clinic when she couldn’t have been a day over thirty.

[…]

She gestured to the hall behind her, where sunlight leaked in through a glass door at its other end. “We have a courtyard garden. The day is fine enough that you could wait out there.”

[…]

Ruhn followed her down the hall, trying not to breathe in her eucalyptus-and-lavender scent too deeply.

Don’t be a fucking creep.

The sunlight tangled in her thick night-dark hair as she reached the courtyard door and shouldered it open, revealing a slate-covered patio surrounded by terraced herb gardens. The day was indeed lovely, the river breeze making the plants rustle and sway, spreading their soothing fragrances. (hoeab)

We now know this graceful healer is the Witch Queen, Hypaxia. Elain seems to share parallels with Hypaxia and her half-sister, the Hind (and her story about the forest witch). Hypaxia smells like plants that are used for healing and shows Ruhn out to their courtyard herb garden. Like the witches, Elain is gifted magic from an ancient source (the Cauldron, which is also part of a magical trio: Mother, Cauldron, Fate) and plants her own herbs in a courtyard garden. She smells of jasmine and honey, which have medicinal properties: one is used to improve sleep and the other is used to treat burns.

The wise and peaceful medwitches in Midgard remind me of Crochan witches in Erilea, who were scattered to the winds and used healing to hide their heritage:

They were still out there, the self-righteous, insufferable Crochans, hiding as healers and wise-women. (hof)

We also witness extensive healing magic from humans blessed by Silba in Antica, and as I mentioned in forbidden secrets, they seem to share some pointed parallels with Elain as well.

It was broad, more of a keep than anything, but still rounded. Buildings flanked its sides, connected on lower levels. All enclosed by towering white walls, the iron gates—fashioned to look like an owl spreading its wings—thrown wide to reveal lavender bushes and flower beds lining the sand-colored gravel walkways. Not flower beds. Herb beds. (tod)

We learn that Maeve surrounded herself with healers because of the threat they pose to the Valg, and in the scene below, a Valg princess calls the healers Maeve's secret army:

“Why do you think Maeve has hoarded her healers, never allowing them to leave her patrolled borders? She knew we would return. She wanted to be ready—to protect herself. Her prized favorites, those Doranelle healers. Her secret army.” Duva hummed, motioning with the dagger to the necropolis. “How clever those Fae were, who escaped her clutches after the last war. They ran all the way here—the healers who knew their queen would keep them penned up like animals. And then they bred the magic into the land, into its people. Encouraged the right powers to rise up, to ensure this land would always be strong, defended. And then they vanished, taking their treasures and histories beneath the earth. Ensuring they were forgotten below, while their little garden was planted above.” (tod)

The fae healers bred magic into the land, into its people…then they vanished beneath the earth…forgotten…while their little garden was planted above. THEIR LITTLE GARDEN?! I've wondered elsewhere if Elain might heal the land, but what if, like Doranelle healers, Elain is weaving magic into the ground because of something she has Seen? What if she is endlessly toiling in her little gardens not just to restore life, but to cultivate the right magic to rise up and bloom, in defense of her family and the realm?

@offtorivendell has theorized that Elain might weaponize plants, like Ents, which would be so much fun to read. I would love to see her use (or sing to) living things around her, as @silverlinedeyes theorized, to uncover secrets and protect others (like a forest witch would). There are so many possibilities for how gardening will come into play in her story. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see her little gardens become secret weapons that are critical for the future. At the very least, we know that it has a symbolic purpose, as the quote I started this post with suggests: it is the lens through which we see Elain's evolution and role. Feyre starts the series believing this about her sister:

It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty. (acotar)

Then she sees her sister come alive in her garden, where she is able to exert control and create beautiful art with blooms. Her joy is infectious.

The little garden beneath the window was hers: every bloom and shrub had been picked and planted by her hand; she would allow no one else to care for it. Even the weeding and watering she did on her own. (acotar)

And we also see the moment when Feyre’s perspective shifts, and she begins to wonder if Elain prefers to get her hands dirty; if it's proof of her work.

“Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy. (acofas)

We’re then reminded of this evolution in the Feysand bonus chapter:

I glowered at Rhys. “You think Elain’s boring?”

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.”

“And torn up by thorns,” I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free. (feysand bonus)

It’s interesting that Feysand discuss Elain’s hands in their bonus chapter: gardeners often get their hands dirty for a pretty result (living art). And then, in Azriel's bonus, he thinks about how Elain couldn't possibly know how his hands have been sullied far beyond their scars (by his deadly art). Sully is a synonym for soil, which means to make dirty. Soil is often used to describe the upper layer of the earth where plants grow, bringing us full circle.

Sarah could run with this hand imagery in a few different ways, but it reminds me of someone else in another world who also bloodies their hand on a rosebush…

Dorian held up his bloodied hand. “Thornbush.” Rosebush made his cuts seem that much more pathetic.

“The hand is—very complex,” she murmured at last, studying the cuts. “I just wanted to make sure that nothing was damaged and that there weren’t any thorns lodged in there.” She swiftly added, “Your Highness.” (com)

Why do I keep coming back to Dorian? Although he is heavily involved with the witches in tog, he is not a witch. So what is he doing here? It will lead back to healers and witches so stay with me. Dorian evolves over the series and becomes a force to be reckoned with; his raw magic allows him to learn other types of magic, including how to shift and wield magical hands.

His hands trembled—and not just with fear. No, there was some force still running through him, begging him to unleash it again, to open himself up … Dorian crammed the last book back onto the shelf and took off at a run. He could tell no one. Trust no one. (com)

Chaol stared at Dorian in mute horror as his friend’s eyes glowed a deep, raging blue, and the prince snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch him.” The ice spread across the room, up the legs of the shocked guards, freezing over Sorscha’s blood, and Dorian got to his feet. He raised both hands, and light shimmered along his fingers, a cold breeze whipping through his hair. (com)

Anyone else think Dorian’s snarl sounds a lot like Elain’s snarled don’t touch my sister? Yeah, me too. In Seed of power, I wondered if Elain possessed raw magic like Dorian, and before I’m accused of giving her excessive powers, I think this might be the case for all three witchy sisters. They are blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match Rhysand whose power is described as raw. When Rhysand uses Feyre as a conduit in acowar, her magic comes out as raw, brutal power to weld the Cauldron back together. It reminds me of this:

"Once, the High Fae were more elemental, more given to reading the stars and crafting masterpieces of art and jewelry and weaponry. Their gifts were rawer, more connected to nature, and they could imbue objects with that power." (acosf)

Feyre welded the Cauldron and Nesta hammered swords, creating her own trove of nightmares. Elain will likely craft something with her magic as well, and it may be the other side of the coin to Nesta's nightmares: a trove of dreams. It could be witch mirrors hidden in ordinary jewelry, or even herbs with the power to heal and kill, if she can weaponize plants.

Now back to Dorian and the reason I mentioned him in the first place. He uses phantom hands, as @ladynightcourt3 has pointed out before:

Then those claws were pinned in the wood beneath phantom hands as Dorian sauntered over, face so unyieldingly unmoved. The Bloodhound thrashed, those claws trying to wrench free— The creature screamed as those invisible hands crunched down on bone. Then through it. […] It was not flame or wind that snapped the Bloodhound’s neck. But invisible hands. (eos)

Interesting. This reminds me of another phantom hand, albeit a bit gentler:

And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore. A bargain. With the Cauldron itself. Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether. (acosf)

This gentle, glowing hand intervenes on Nesta’s behalf, and it seems to be connected to the wise, soft voice.

A soft, familiar voice whispered the words. As they had been whispered to her long ago. As it had warned her in Oorid’s darkness. A lovely, kind female voice, sage and warm, which had been waiting for her all this time. (acosf)

This gentle hand and voice also seem like the Other Yrene bargains with in an important healing. The Other is most likely Silba, the goddess of healers and bringer of peace and gentle deaths, in Erilea. The one who is associated with owls and purple and healing magic.

A woman’s voice that was both familiar and foreign. A voice that was both Hafiza’s and … another. Someone who was not human, never had been. Speaking through Hafiza herself, their voices blending into the blackness.

[…]

A daughter of Fenharrow will pay the debt of a son of Adarlan?

Yes.

She could have sworn a gentle, warm hand brushed her face.

[…]

The Other said, You offer this of your own free will?

Yes. With my entire heart.

It had been his from the start, anyway. Those loving, phantom hands brushed her cheek again and faded away.

[…]

The Other said, I chose well. You shall pay the debt, Yrene Towers. And I hope you shall see it for what it truly is.

Yrene tried to speak. But light flared, soft and soothing. (tod)

The Other is not named, but it says it chose well and we know that Yrene was blessed with powers by Silba, so it seems likely that this is Silba’s voice. Interestingly, one of the healers also mentions Death:

Before Yrene could answer, Chaol demanded, “What cost?”

A stillness crept over them, and even Yrene looked to Hafiza as the woman extracted herself from Eretia’s care. The Healer on High said quietly, “The damage was too great. Even with all of us…Death held you by the hand.” (tod)

This scene shares so many parallels with the Feysand rescue; it is a powerful healing with a high cost. We learn through Yrene that healers can sense when death is near, which is one of their less savory abilities. Death lurks near Feyre before Nesta uses the Trove, and that is when an otherworldly being looks out from her eyes. The Feysand healing would have taken place after the gods were banished from Erilea, and we did not actually witness their deaths. Is it possible the Mother is connected to Silba?

There is also a place beneath the Torre called Silba’s Womb where healers soak in natural spring waters in the form of dozens of tubs. The darkness Yrene senses in this underground cavern is connected to creation, rest and unformed thought, reminding me of Elain’s iron mental gates that are covered with sleeping buds, leaves, and thorns. This sleeping garden could be a hint for a dormant power like Dorian’s; when his sleeping power is awoken, it is described as something ancient and slumbering deep inside of him, and it opens an eye.

And the darkness above her … it was different from what she had spied in Lord Westfall’s body. The opposite of that blackness. The darkness above her was that of creation, of rest, of unformed thought. Yrene stared into it, into the womb of Silba herself. And could have sworn she felt something staring back. Listening, while she thought through all Lord Westfall had told her. (tod)

Silba’s dark womb of creation is also eerily similar to the dark womb that Nesta senses in the depths of the library:

There was night, and there was the darkness of extinguishing a candle, and then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but … a womb. The womb from which all life had come and would return, neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. […] Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. […] The darkness pulsed, beckoning. (acosf)

The healing magic we see in tog reminds me quite a bit of the Cauldron, which is that dark womb Nesta mentioned. Healing light not only weaves things together, but devours darkness:

More of the world faded away. I am not afraid of you, Yrene said into the dark. And you have nowhere to run. Duva thrashed, trying to unseat Yrene's grip. Yrene pressed down harder on her chest. Time slowed and bent. She was dimly aware of the ache in her knees, the cramp in her back. Dimly aware of Sartaq and Kashin refusing to offer their position to someone else. Still Irene sent her magic flowing into Diva. Filling her with that devouring light. [...] "Utterly pathetic," Yrene repeated, her magic rallying behind her in a mighty, cresting white wave. "For a prince to prey on a helpless woman." The demon scrambled back against the wave, clawing at the dark as if it would tunnel through Duva. Yrene pushed forward. Let her wave fall.

Yrene's tidal wave of light devours the dark of the Valg like the thread of Hope piercing the Void. The language is similar to the wave imagery of the Cauldron and Elain’s white void when she is overcome by despair and strange new powers. If her void is not the typical dark nothingness but white, could her healing power be opalescent light that devours the darkness? As bright as the sunstone palace of Dawn that holds the light of a thousand suns, piercing the shadows of night each morning?

If Silba and the Mother are connected (one and the same, or part of the same consciousness of formless, higher beings), could Elain—a seer with theoretical raw magic that can heal and destroy and everything in between—act as their watchful guardian, an otherworldly bird of prey?

Even though it perched atop a gnarled branch of iron that flowed across the door itself, wings flared wide as it prepared to leap into the skies, it seemed … alert. Aware of all who passed that door, who perhaps gazed too long in the direction of the workshop. (tod)

Perhaps time and space also work differently for her, as they do for the Ancients.

Next: The Ancients, or Elain’s connection to ancient witches.

Series: seer. wise woman. witch.

#witch elain #witchy elain #herbs she planted #herbal magic #raw magic #Elain’s little garden #it’s all gardening #witchy archeron sisters #acotar witches #tog witches #crescent city witches #maasverse witches #elain archeron

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erimeows · 2 years ago

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Of Pride & Conviction

Hermione Granger is beautiful.

It’s a fact that Draco Malfoy doesn’t mind admitting to himself. He didn’t mind admitting it to himself back then, either; back when they were in school together at Hogwarts. The real issue was getting him to say it out loud, which he never would. His pride held him back from doing the right thing, just like it always has. So, he was mean to her instead.

They’ve since graduated. It’s been about ten years. He still sees her regularly. She’s the Minister of Magic while he’s simply one of the aurors who serves her and the head auror, Harry Potter. It was admittedly worrying to have Hermione in charge of him at first, as it gave her ample opportunity to get revenge for all seven years of torment that he put her through, but for whatever reason, she chose to be merciful instead of taking advantage. Hermione treats Draco like any other employee of the Ministry of Magic. It shouldn’t bother him, but it does.

Then again, there’s a lot of things that bother him about Hermione that shouldn’t bother him at all. For example; the fact that she’s engaged to marry Ronald Weasley, or the fact that he tries his best to get her attention with his work every day, and most importantly, the fact that he’s been in love with her since their fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

There’s nothing he can do about it.

The two are stuck together in Hermione’s office, drafting some paperwork. Something about legislation to better the treatment of house elves… Or something. Draco doesn’t know. He hasn’t been paying enough attention to have any idea what’s going on. Hermione’s rambling, which he normally listens to rather intently when he gets to hear it, falls upon deaf ears. Hell, he doesn’t know why Hermione wanted his help in the first place, to be honest. He isn’t educated in legislation regarding magic, let alone house elves. He’s much less qualified than her to review such a matter. She should’ve picked Potter to be here, if anyone. But for some reason, he’s here instead.

Hermione’s office is about what you would expect. It’s clean and immaculate, a little bed for her cat in the corner and a large cage for her canary in the center of the room. While the orange cat she owns lies lazily in its bed, fast asleep, the bird is settled on a floating perch set up by the windowsill. The floors are made of dark wood and adorned with a gold and red rug, while the walls are painted crimson and lined with bookshelves that are stuffed to the brim with different magical texts. On Hermione's desk is a large lamp that bathes the room in an ambient warmth, as well as a framed picture of her, Weasley, and Potter.

“So, what do you think?” Hermione asks, snapping the auror out of his daze.

Draco blinks.

“I, erm,” Draco catches himself before he can stammer too much, clearing his throat. He knows that Hermione is intelligent enough to see through his facades, but he makes an attempt regardless, lest he have to admit that he wasn’t listening to a thing she was saying. “I think it sounds good.”

“You weren’t listening to me at all, were you?” The brunette sighs and shoots him an exhausted glance.

Her big brown eyes pierce straight through him. Draco shifts uncomfortably where he stands by her desk. There’s a chair across from hers, but he’s never been comfortable enough in Hermione’s presence to sit with her in her office like they’re equals. They’re most certainly not, and it’s something he has to remind himself of frequently.

“I was not,” He confesses, steely eyes avoiding her coffee brown ones like they’re the plague. The first thing that catches his attention is her hands, which are intertwined with each other. Her elbows are resting on the desk. Something looks different, though, and he spends a few seconds trying to figure it out before it finally clicks. Hermione isn’t wearing the gold band with the large ruby stone that Weasley proposed to her with. Her engagement ring is gone, nowhere to be seen. Draco hopes that they’ve ended things, but he suspects that she’s not wearing it for a different reason. Perhaps she needed to get it resized or altered somehow, or maybe she decided not to wear it to work anymore in fear of it getting damaged. Hermione and Weasley have been together for more than a decade. There’s no way that they broke up… Right? “You’re not wearing your ring.”

“Well, Malfoy, I’m not engaged anymore. If I’m not engaged, I don’t need to be walking around wearing an engagement ring, now do I? I’d hate to give anyone the wrong idea,” The brunette says with a tight smile and a matter-of-fact tone. Draco’s heart drops and he’s not sure why. Hermione being single is an opportunity he’s fantasized about for a long time. Now that it’s happening, however, he’s struck with a pang of unshakable guilt. No wonder Hermione appears so exhausted; no wonder she’s asked for his help today. She probably figured he’d be the one person who wouldn’t care to ask about her personal life, as his romantic feelings have been the one thing he’s successfully hidden from her over the years. “Now, let’s start again. This law will require anyone who owns a house elf to only have them work a maximum of ten hours a day each day for five days a week and to pay them a minimum of two galleons per hour. House elves will be given a system where they can report any violations through aurors that will visit them once a week and ask them about their working conditions, and anyone who has a house elf that isn’t following these guidelines will have their privileges revoked if they’re found to be in violation more than twice.”

“I don’t think the board will pass that,” Draco sighs, though his mind is as far away as possible from house elf rights. His mind is on Hermione, who looks pale and tired and a little lighter than before- whose soft red dress is unusually wrinkled, whose hair appears unwashed and even more unkempt than usual. “People have been using house elves for centuries and no one is going to want that taken away or drastically changed. You should start smaller; a maximum of twelve hours instead of ten, seven days a week, at a galleon per hour.”

“That’s not-”

“I know, it’s not fair,” Draco cuts the minister off and rests a palm flat on the desk. He takes in a sharp breath through his nose. The room reeks of alpine and butterbeer, no doubt from the lit candles that line Hermione’s office shelves. “No one except for you cares about whether or not things are fair, Granger. Not everyone is as morally righteous as you. I guarantee you that ninety nine percent of the population doesn’t give a damn about house elves.”

“You-”

“I’m not saying it’s right. I’m just telling you that’s the truth. You can’t get everything you want all at once. Pass the altered version, then once that’s settled, give it some time and alter the law to make it however you want. People need time to adjust, and compromise is imperative.”

“Fine, I’ll amend it,” Hermione relents and casts a spell to erase the written words on the paper. Draco watches her start to rewrite them with steel grey eyes full of confusion and uncertainty. She doesn’t look okay. Why the hell is she working if she’s just gone through a break up with Weasley, her boyfriend of over a decade and close friend of nearly twenty years? “Thank you for your input.”

“Granger… Are you-?”

“Don’t,” Hermione insists with a pained look and a shake of her head. She won’t even look in his direction, pretending to focus on the magic legislation even though she stopped writing a solid thirty seconds ago. She sets her pen down and holds her head in her hands. Draco wants to reach out, to take her into his arms and make it all better, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t want her to snap and push him away like he knows she should were he to do such a thing. So, Draco stands there, frozen, unable to remove his eyes from Hermione’s now-shaking form. “Have a pleasant rest of your day, Malfoy.”

“You as well.”

With that, Draco nods and excuses himself.

‘What a day…’

When Draco goes to Hog’s Head Inn in the middle of Hogsmeade later that evening, he’s surprised to see no other than Hermione herself, sitting at the counter with a cheap-looking glass of butterbeer clasped between her delicate hands. She’s still in the same wrinkled dress that she wore in her office even though it’s freezing cold and disgustingly dry outside. The dress appears to have no tights underneath and is a simple short-sleeved garment. Though the Minister of Magic looks gorgeous in everything, Draco’s worried about it not being weather appropriate.

Most of the time, were he to see Hermione in public, he wouldn’t talk to her. One, he doesn’t think he deserves her attention or her affections. Two, he knows- or at least strongly suspects- that she’s smart enough to avoid any relationship with him outside of work after everything he’s done to her. Three, and arguably the most important thing, he has no idea what to do or say and doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself in front of Hermione, whose opinion matters more to him than life itself. Tonight is different, though. Hermione appears to be struggling for once and now that Draco has developed a conscience, he wants to help if he can.

So, he makes the approach. He walks to the counter at the bar, sits in the stool right next to Hermione’s, and looks over at her.

The engagement ring is still gone.

She doesn’t spare him a glance.

He talks to her anyway.

“Granger, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I can’t say I was expecting to be here tonight either,” The brunette sighs and shakes her head, seemingly at herself. Then, after what feels like forever, she looks at him. “What do you want from me, Malfoy?”

“...I don’t know,” Draco shrugs, unsure of what he wants as well. It’s understandable that Hermione would be frustrated with him. Still, he can’t help feeling somewhat bitter about it. “I’ll leave if my approach is that much of a bother to you.”

Draco starts to stand up from the stool, only for Hermione to put a hand on his shoulder and interject. Her touch on his clothed skin practically makes him shatter into tiny little pieces on the bar floor.

“Wait, you can stay… If you don’t mind. I’ll even front you a drink. What would you like?”

“Hm,” Somewhat uncomfortably, Draco sits back down on the stool he was sitting in before. He struggles to keep his posture straight underneath the weight of his nagging anxiety about this whole Hermione thing. Lectures from his mother about how a ‘good Malfoy’ should sit up straight with their elbows off the table ring through his ears incessantly. “I suppose I’ll take a daisy root draught.”

“Very well,” Draco hums and dares to rest his elbows on the table. His eyes remain on Hermione, who awkwardly raises her hand to get the bartender’s attention so she can order for him. Draco isn’t sure how he feels about that. “One daisy root draught for this gentleman, please. Put it on my tab.”

“Thank you, Granger.”

“We’re not at work and we don’t despise each other anymore,” Hermione points out with a roll of her coffee brown eyes. Draco finds himself slouching a little. Apparently, even after all these years, Hermione has no issue calling him out. “Why do you still insist on addressing me by my surname?”

“It’s only fair,” Draco responds casually as the bartender serves him his daisy drought. He hadn’t thought about it before, but he figures calling Hermione by her last name is just another defense of his. If he keeps up all the walls of formality between them, she won’t be able to see his true feelings for her. “You address me by mine.”

“You’re not wrong,” Hermione sighs into her class of butterbeer and finishes it in one solid swig that makes Draco’s steely grey eyes widen.

The name thing bothers her more than Draco would’ve initially suspected. He can tell by the bright red dust that blooms like roses across her cheeks, by the downcast look she focuses on her empty drink.

“Hermione,” Draco murmurs between sips of his daisy root drought. It’s a little sweeter than he usually prefers it to be, but he doesn’t complain. “You may call me Draco.”

“Okay then, Draco. Are you happy?”

“Are you?” Draco asks with a quirked brow, more in reference to her mental state following whatever happened with Weasley than anything. The offended glance he receives as an answer has him backtracking quickly. “Ah, never mind.”

“I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?” Hermione’s voice wavers. She refuses to look at Draco any longer, simply standing, grabbing her brown purse, and slamming a handful of money on the table- more than enough to cover their tab and a decent tip. “I need you in my office again first thing in the morning.”

Briskly, Hermione walks away. Draco stands up so he can follow the witch and catch her by the wrist before she exits the building.

“Ah, wait, are you walking?” Draco asks and lets go.

Hermione looks back at the blond and answers.

“Well, yes. I’m not drunk, but I really prefer not to try and use magic when I’ve had even the slightest amount of alcohol.”

“It’s late,” Draco points out with his eyes flickering to the clock on the wall of the bar. It’s almost ten o’clock at night, and while Hermione is more than capable of taking care of herself, it’s freezing cold and there’s tons of people on the street. Draco doesn’t feel comfortable with her walking alone. “I’ll accompany you.”

“I don’t need that,” Hermione replies and exits the building with Draco following close behind.

“I know you don’t need it, per say, but I’m offering. Will you accept my offer or not? I don’t care either way,” He snaps even though he does care, a little impatient.

Hermione is just as prideful and just as stubborn as ever. Though unsurprising, it has the wizard disgruntled.

“I think you do care. I think you’d rather be with my company than without it, and I think you’re feigning indifference to protect yourself,” Hermione calls him out.

“Well, you’re thinking incorrectly and making baseless assumptions,” Draco tilts his nose up at the brunette as they start to walk in pace with each other, side by side, perhaps a little closer than two people who are merely co-workers should be.

“Is that any way to talk to your boss, Draco?” Hermione laughs, which has Draco looking at her with wide eyes. She’s never pulled rank on him like that. Before he can say anything, however, Hermione offers a dismissive wave and continues. “I’m just kidding. I’ll accept your offer.”

“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

“And I didn’t know you cared enough to walk me home.”

“It’s cold. For you to not wear another layer within your office is one thing, but it’s far too chilly out here for you to be in a short-sleeved dress and heels with nothing else,” Draco points out and shrugs his coat off of his shoulders. He’s cold, but he tries not to pay it any mind. He offers Hermione the heavy green garment. “Here. Take my coat.”

“I don’t need your coat. I feel just fine.”

“You won’t feel fine two days from now when you catch a cold, so take it. I’m not asking.”

“And what happens if I don’t meet your demand?”

“Nothing, really,” Draco responds, and to his surprise, Hermione takes his coat and slips it on over her body. It’s a little too big, but not ridiculously so, though it clashes with the dress she’s wearing quite horribly. He doesn’t mention that, instead furrowing his brows when Hermione suddenly stops in front of a home he doesn’t recognize. “Is this it? Did you move recently or- oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then…” Draco awkwardly trails off, standing just off the edge of Hermione’s porch. He watches her unlock her door. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Hermione.”

“You best.”

Draco turns, ready to go back to Malfoy Manor. Before he can get very far, however, he’s being grabbed by the wrist and whirled around. He’s chest to chest with no other than Hermione, who gently rests her hands on his face.

They’re close. Too close. Despite the panic that ensues from the Minister of Magic holding his face like he’s made of some sort of fragile glass, Draco has a moment of clarity. Hermione, even with her know-it-all, temperamental nature, is bright and warm like the sun. She is what inspired him to become a better person, to live a life beyond the death eaters and the dark mark- beyond the fact that he’s a Malfoy. Hermione is nothing less than enlightenment itself, and Draco could not be more enamored by her.

Obsessed with her.

In love with her.

Hermione’s touch melts the icy cold that has been nipping at his face since he left the bar at the same time that her lips adorn his with the taste of rich butterbeer. She’s kissing him. She’s kissing him in a way that’s soft and sweet, lips moving gently against his. Draco freezes initially. What if his breath is bad? What if his lips are too chapped? After a little too long, he decides he can’t throw this opportunity away. It’s fleeting. So, he wraps his arms around Hermione’s waist and tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

Then, as fast as it starts, it ends. Hermione is pulling away and turning to go inside her home. Draco objects with an awkwardly outstretched hand. He wants to reach out for her desperately, to wrap his arms around her and pull her back.

“Wait, I-”

“Do you mind if I keep this for now?” Hermione questions in an unreadable, even tone that makes Draco think he might be going insane as she pulls at the coat on her small frame.

Did the kiss even happen, or did he just imagine it?

He licks his lips to remind himself of the taste of butterbeer and honey chapstick.

It was definitely real. Hermione Granger kissed him and is now choosing to pretend that it didn’t happen. For now, Draco follows suit.

He blinks, then answers.

“Not at all.”

“Alright, then. Thank you,” Hermione nods and takes a step back. Draco’s outstretched arm falls to his side. “Goodnight, Draco.”

“Goodnight, Hermione…”

The next morning, just as he was instructed to, Draco shows up in Hermione’s office. He isn’t sure what to expect.

An apology? A love confession? A pink slip?

None of it happens. When he walks in, Hermione looks better than ever, almost as if she hasn’t both suffered a terrible break up with her best friend and partner of over a decade, moved houses, and kissed her former enemy within the span of one week. She’s dressed in a striped pantsuit with her hair tied up and her face full of energy again. It’s almost as if none of it happened- the break up, the bar, Draco. If Draco hadn’t worked so hard to burn the image of what occurred between them last night into his occipital lobe, he would swear the whole thing was a dream based on the way Hermione is treating him- so nonchalant, almost as if it didn’t happen.

She dares to smile and invite Draco to sit across from her, but he doesn’t. He does what he’s used to and stands across from the Minister of Magic, twiddling with his thumbs.

“So, today I need your help with-” Hermione starts, to which Draco cuts her off by placing his hands on the front of her desk and speaking.

“Are we not going to talk about what happened last night?” Draco demands.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione ignores his question and continues what she was trying to say before Draco interrupted.

“-this proposal I’m working on for the board of magic-”

Draco debates whether or not he should allow this to continue. On one hand, Hermione seems pretty determined not to talk about the kiss. On the other hand, Draco can be determined, too, and after a sleepless night resulting from what happened between the two of them, he’s determined to get to the bottom of this.

“Seriously, Granger- Hermione-”

“-for a new policy that will-”

“You kissed me,” Draco finally raises his voice- loud enough to make Hermione finally look him in the eye but not loud enough for anyone outside of her office to hear him. “Why in Merlin’s name did you kiss me?”

Hermione’s eyes flicker to the floor, then back up to Draco’s face.

“Did it upset you?” She asks.

Draco blinks.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Did that offend you?”

“No, I’m just… Dumbfounded. Are we going to talk about this or not?”

“I suppose we can if it’s bothering you that much,” Hermione relents, then stands up from her chair so she can stand in front of Draco, just inches away.

“I have to ask this first, how long has it been since you and Ron separated? What even happened?”

“Six months,” Hermione states plainly, as if it doesn’t matter.

“Six months…!?” Draco manages to whisper out the words between the gasp that falls from between his lips.

Six months. Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley have been broken up and separated for nine months, and somehow, Draco had no idea of that until now. For whatever reason, Hermione neglected to make it apparent until this week. Almost as if she’s reading his mind, Hermione explains.

“I’ve only made it known in the past couple weeks to anyone who wasn’t Harry or immediate family, so it’s understandable that you’re shocked, Draco, but as the Minister of Magic, I have a reputation to uphold. Breakups don’t look that great, so I was putting off the inevitable for as long as I could. Ron and I split mutually and amicably; he got the home we bought together, I took most of what was in our savings account since I’m the one who contributed the majority of it, and we went our separate ways.”

“But- but why? Everyone always said that you two were perfect-” Draco argues, to which Hermione interrupts once again.

“Well, we weren’t. He apparently needs someone less bossy, less stubborn… Less powerful,” Hermione murmurs. She leans back against the front of her desk and taps her fingers against the wooden surface. “And I need someone who can take care of my needs and listen to what I have to say without whining about it. We should’ve stayed friends, to be honest. I don’t have any ill will towards Ron, and he will always be a good friend, but we weren’t ever meant to be anything more than that.”

Draco doesn’t know what to say. He wanted to talk about the kiss initially. Now, he’s getting information about Hermione’s break up, too. Though he’s the one who asked about it in the first place, it’s proving to be overwhelming. He doesn’t know much about Ron or about their relationship struggles. Really, it’s not his business. He knows he shouldn’t ask anything else, but he doesn’t want to just stand there silently either.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then-

“I don’t know why I kissed you.”

Draco pauses. He isn’t sure of how to respond. He opens his mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out until he forces two words off of his tongue.

“You don’t?”

“Well, I suppose I do, logically. Part of me has always had a spark for you, and I think you feel the same way- you kissed me back, after all,” Hermione starts to ramble. “But back then, I couldn’t say anything. You were my childhood bully, it would’ve been humiliating to put my pride aside and tell you the truth, only to get rejected and made fun of. I didn’t think I had real feelings for you, anyway, I just assumed that I was so enthralled by you because you were forbidden and exciting, but even after all these years… I thought that the friendship Ron and I had was true, romantic love. I thought that you would never amount to more than a fling, even if I did act on the feelings I harbored for you. Somehow, though, with all this time that’s passed, Ron and I have fallen apart, and my feelings for you have only grown stronger.”

“So, you love me… And you’ve loved me for years,” Draco slowly talks as he puts the rest of the piece of this complicated puzzle together. Meanwhile, Hermione nervously paces around the office, walking circles around Draco. “And that’s why you kissed me last night.”

“I suppose that would be the case, yes.”

“I’m not just a rebound for Weasley?”

Hermione firmly shakes her head with a furrowed brow.

“Absolutely not.”

“Do you really not hate me?” Draco asks, just to be sure.

Hermione stops pacing to look Draco in the eye and shake her head once more.

“I don’t.”

“After everything I did to you, I don’t deserve your love. You should hate me,” Draco reminds her.

“I know, but I don’t.”

Admittedly, Draco is insecure, untrusting, and terrified. He expects to wake up from this dream any moment now. He expects for Hermione to laugh in his face and tell him that this is some sort of cruel scheme she’s concocted to get revenge for everything he did to her back when they were in school, that she never loved or even liked him, that she’s still engaged to Ron and doesn’t plan on changing that any time soon. He expects Hermione to get scared, change her mind about all of this, fire him, and demand that he never speak to her again.

After all these years, Draco still expects Hermione to loathe him. Yet, she doesn’t.

“Would you not be embarrassed to be seen with me? Draco Malfoy, the vain, cruel, narcissistic, death eater, trust fund baby?”

“No, I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with Draco Malfoy, who has changed quite a bit since he attended Hogwarts,” Hermione answers in a very matter-of-fact tone without so much as skipping a beat.

Draco gulps.

“Very well, then.”

“What does this mean for us?”

“As if I have any idea?”

“You seem much more sure of yourself in this situation than I am,” Hermione huffs and moves to sit on the front of her desk.

Draco, daring to be bold, takes a few steps forward and slowly takes Hermione’s hands in his. She doesn’t object- rather, she intertwines their fingers. Both of them stare at their locked hands, then at each other’s faces.

“Hermione, I don’t think you understand. I’m falling apart from the inside out right now at this- this idea that you could love me, that to you, I’m somehow lovable after everything I’ve done.”

“As prideful as you are, I thought you’d have more confidence in yourself,” Hermione says with a small chuckle.

“The pride is a shield. You know what that’s like, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then let’s stop pretending.”

“Let’s.”

Draco lets out a sigh of relief. All of this- the kiss, today’s discussion, their laced fingers- it’s proof that this is very much real and that Hermione is genuine in these feelings that she has for him. He has so many more questions to ask, so much he wants to know.

“Is that why you’ve been calling me in here to help you with paperwork? Because you have feelings for me?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you worried about what people will think about you having moved on within weeks of making your break up known?”

“Of course. Just not worried enough, you might argue.”

“Certainly.”

“Where do we stand, then?” Hermione stares up at him, her coffee brown eyes burning into his steely grey.

“I think we should take things slow and keep this private considering your circumstances, but… Would it be wrong of me to say we’re officially dating now? Or is that too fast?”

Hermione just smiles.

“Not at all.”

Then, she’s kissing him again. This time around, it’s much warmer. Draco immediately allows himself to lean into it, whatever worries he may have about this chased away by Hermione’s lips molding into his.

#harry potter #hp #hermione granger #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #dramione #dramione fanfiction #oneshot #oneshots #drabble #drabbles #past hermione granger/ron weasley #don't @ me for writing harry potter i hate jkr i JUST like the worldbuilding/characters #this is not directly supporting jkr so if you don't like me writing it feel free to block/unfollow

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bunnymajo · 2 years ago

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6 Magical Girl Titles to Try if you've only seen "Shonen"

So I've been seeing more and more battle shonen anime fans interested in more female lead characters, stronger female friendships and less objectification of women in general and that's great! When they get told that such a thing does exist, the Magical Girl genre, the unfortunate response is hostility.

And I get it, MG anime can be unapologetically feminine. Frilly, pink & sparkly and full of cute boy drama OR ....it's full of fanservice.... and if none of those things are your cup of tea I can see why that'd be a turn off if that's what you're expecting from the get go.

But! What if I told you that the magical girl anime genre has been going on for almost 60 years and it's not all the same! (wow!)

So here are 6 titles (3 part of the shonen demographic & 3 part of the shoujo demographic) that might change your mind. Also all of these are safe for viewers 13+

Under the cut because this one's long

Granbelm - The most recent entry here, Granbelm is a “Battle Royale” style mecha show where 7 girls duke it out to win the coveted title of the “Princeps Mage” where they’re able to shape the world as they’d like with all the magic they can control. The mild-mannered Mangetsu finds a new genuine excitement in this tournament she’s been thrusted into and her newfound friend and mentor, the lone wolf Shingetsu, is happy to teach her the basics about magic as the two of them try to hold their own. The mysteries behind Mangetsu’s magic power and the bloodied histories of the other 6 contestants unfolds in each episode. Also magic robot fights

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2. Genmu Senki Leda - A direct to video movie from 1985, Leda tells the adventure of 17 year old Yohko who’s transported to another world to defeat the evil Zell. Zell becomes interested in obtaining Yohko’s powers for himself to cross dimensions to invade. A very simple fantasy movie premise with some stunning animation and music. Has all the 80’s staples: robots, side ponytails, sword fighting in armored bikinis, artistic music video sequences, you name it! The performance of the late Hiromi Tsuru as Yohko is also very sincere and lovely. If you’re a sakuga buff don’t overlook it!

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3. Little Witch Academia (TV Series) - Yeah witches totally count as magical girls! The genre started with witches after all. But anyway: the over-excitable Akko joins the Luna Nova magic academy to learn witchcraft to follow in the footsteps of her idol Shiny Chariot the witch. Magic in this world is treated like it’s been alongside the modern world this whole time but is seen as archaic, unimpressive & useless compared to the breakthroughs of technology. Practicers of “old magic” are a dying breed and trying to find ways to stick to their roots but still be relevant, and the enthusiastic but pesky Akko might just be what they need. Animated by the always impressive Studio Trigger

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4. Magic Knight Rayearth - More magical fantasy worlds & giant robots! Taking story & aesthetic inspiration from 90’s Fantasy RPG games, Rayearth is about 3 normal schoolgirls chosen to save a princess held captive by the dark lord Zagato. Our leads Hikaru, Umi & Fuu become unlikely friends that always have each other's backs no matter what the untamed land of Cephiro has to throw at them. Original manga by CLAMP & animated by TMS.

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5. Revolutionary Girl Utena - This one’s a bit of a doozy but I think it’s a critical darling for good reason. Utena is a new student at Ohtori Academy but has already gained the reputation for being a rule breaking tomboy determined to become a prince that always defends others. After getting into a fight with a student council member to stick up for her friend, Utena is thrusted into Ohtori Academy’s sword fighting duels to win the hand of The Rose Bride Anthy and her mysterious power that’s said to hold the key to “Revolutionize the World”

A very allegory heavy work that also deals with heavy topics such as abuse, homophobia, incest, sexual assault but in a way that’s intrinsic to the work itself and it’s characters. I’d say the overall theme of Utena is about the struggles of teen adolescence and it doesn’t shy away from whatever those struggles are and what it may stem from. A bit polarizing but I think if you give it a chance you’ll be incredibly rewarded

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6. Futari wa Pretty Cure - Wait come back! I know you’re thinking this was all a trap just for me to say “Watch Precure!” but I genuinely think the 1st season is a great magical girl show for someone who’s only used to action anime. Directed by Daisuke Nishio of DBZ fame, Pretty Cure was incredibly risky & experimental for its day giving it’s heroine’s hand to hand combat moves and more dangerous stunts & enemies from week to week and finishing off their enemies with a grand lightning attack. Beyond that, Nagisa & Honoka have an “opposites attract” dynamic with Nagisa being a jock with insecurities about herself & Honoka being an outspoken & adventurous lover of science. The bond that grows between these two is really heartwarming and genuine.

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#magical girls #magical girl chat #anime recommendation #all but one of these is licensed in the u.s but they're all pretty easy to get ahold of imo #also could work as a general 'what magical girl anime do you recommend to a newcomer?'#because i think they're all solid

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420thewritersroom · 1 month ago

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Warhammer/Horus Heresy Kinktober 2024

Day 10: World Eaters/Psykana: Telekinesis/Sthenolagnia

Summary: Hehe, he has sex in his name

ok, this one, just like the prior one, isn't very explicit. Not very proud of this one, but I've been working on this til 1 in the morning and didn't have the energy for full blown smutty smut. I once again focused heavily on the body worship of this prompt than the telekinesis. Very dialogue heavy too, hope you enjoy this prompt. Hopefully next prompt I'll put the kink back into kinktober lol

TW: Sthenolagnia, cock touching

Sextus stares impassionately as one of his World Eater brothers snaps his opponent's arm in half, bone protruding from their lower arm where it would've been connected with the elbow, the challengee hollering in pain as they kneel involuntarily. The other World Eaters cheer, rustling the steel cage as they chant in unison for blood, for death. The victor Astartes places his opponent in a chokehold, a sick, jagged-toothed grin plastered on their face as they came close to choking his opponent before snapping their neck, the body going limp under their arms. He wasn't done.

Sextus watched as the World Eater yelled and shouted in victory, circling the inside of the caged pit while the rest of his brothers celebrated his victory. He slams his rough, bloodied fists into his bare and scarred chest as he approaches a strayed, jagged-teethed shortsword. The victor approaches the fresh corpse, raising the weapon and descending it upon the broken arm; flesh, muscle, and bone. Sextus watched as the mad World Eater sliced and hacked into the body, muscles flexing as he applied more and more pressure and force before finally wrenching the arm from its socket.

The caged Astartes throws the sword away, replacing it with the detached arm and proceeding to beat the body with the arm, sending the crowd into an encore. The World Eater mindlessly desecrates the corpse, but he stops. Or, moreso, he feels a force that halts his movement. He snaps his head this way and that; he recognizes this power. Power of the Oracle. His eyes wildly search the crowd until he notices the lone Astartes sitting in the darkness, away from the concentrated light beaming upon the pit. Dimly glowing eyes were in his vision for a second before they die out within the hood of the interested party.

"I've been chosen," the warrior thinks to himself, a grin crossing his face as he slams the detached limb to the ground, exiting the training pits.

Sextus eyes the naked warrior before him, lingering on the scars that painted the World Eater's body. Some were exceptionally fresh, only having scabbed and healed 10 minutes ago. The warrior purposefully flexes his muscles, both for show and also to better his chance of a portent.

Sextus has always been branded as "The Oracle." The rumors among his brothers were that he could see unknown possibilities in the blood of their brothers, in the seeping scars of their damaged bodies. All because the Psyker saw a possibility where their genesire would run rampant and where they could rendezvous to ensure they captured him in time before he fell off the deep end, covered in the blood of his own brothers in the middle of the battle the moment he received this vision of the future. Sextus has stopped trying to dissuade the rumors, having accepted his new title as the Oracle, even though he's only seen the future once in his career. It was a better reputation than being shunned by the ones he would call brother.

"Well, Oracle? You wouldn't have used your witchcraft if you didn't see a possibility for me," the naked World Eater poorly veils his impatience. "Was the blood I spilled today not satisfactory enough?"

Sextus does not answer him. He approaches his fellow brother, stepping around him as he takes in his physique. He knows this one swells when given attention. He's always seen at the pits, challenging anyone and everyone to brutal combat, proving himself a capable warrior.

"What is your name?" Sextus asks.

"Decentius. Figured you'd already know that, Oracle."

Sextus ignores Decentius's arrogant tone, stopping in front of him and tracing his finger across his muscular chest. Each scar told a story of victory, loss, battles won, perseverance, and loyalty. He doesn't need to see the future to know this. Sextus feels Decentius's chest rise, the World Eater puffing out his chest.

"So why have you summoned me, witch?"

"I did not 'summon' you, Decentius. You invited yourself to my quarters."

"Then what was that stunt you pulled earlier?"

"I grew tired of you brutalizing our expired brother," Sextus returns a cold look and straightens his lips. "You won; he was dead; you didn't need to humiliate his corpse."

"So, I'm to be lectured for entertaining the crowd?" Decentius emits a low growl. Sextus pauses his wandering finger at the midsection of his stomach, feeling the way his body rumbled with Decentius's animalistic sound.

"You could've avoided this 'lecture' if you decided to entertain someone else with your presence."

Decentius snatches the Librarians' wrist, pulling him closer and seething fire behind his eyes. "I'd watch your tongue, Oracle. I could blow any minute, and I doubt you would survive a minute in this room with me."

"You speak as though I did not endure the same trials to serve our lord as you did."

"I speak with the blood of our enemies staining my hands and the blood of my own spilling from my mouth. I have yet to see your glories splayed across your body as it does mine," Decentius lowers his eyes toward Sextus's figure, a hungry look apparent on his face.

Sextus knows better than to prove his pride to anyone, let alone an upstart like Decentius. He's trying to get a reaction from him; that much is clear. But Sextus also noticed the growing erection of the fellow World Eater.

"Show me, witch. I wish to see your glories as you see mine. I wouldn't lay myself naked before you, if I didn't want to display my prowess," Decentius tenses up, bludging his muscles to enunciate his strength.

The Librarian huffs, dispassionately removing his upper attire to reveal the scars he had obtained. They were not as numerous as Decentius, and the most prominent scar slashed across his chest from his right pectoral down to his ribcage. It was now Decentius's turn to touch, running his battle-scarred hands across Sextus's chest, squeezing his breast and humming slightly.

"I still expect to leave with a portent from our resident witch, Oracle. If I have to bleed it out of you, I will," Decentius leans in, huskily speaking in Sextus's ear as he runs his hands down to his waist.

"Are my brothers now rumoring that fucking me brings a greater success of fortune telling?" Sextus gives the air of being annoyed, but that does not deter him from sliding his right hand down his stomach and cupping the underside of Decentius's cock in his hand.

"Heh, no," the naked World Eater bites at Sextus's shoulder, his moans being muffled into his battle brothers' skin. "But, to gain the attention of the resident soothsayer has me thinking I'm destined to receive something from you."

"hm," Sextus licks his lips, dipping his voice as he strokes Decentius's member, "And aside from a vision of the future, what did you hope to receive?"

"Flesh"

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Here's the Kinktober lists for anyone who wants to partake! Let's be extra horny this lovely October

#warhammer 40k #warhammer/horus heresy kinktober 2024

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