#Offensive magick

[astra-ravana]

Easy Curses for Beginners

Here are some simple yet unusual curses for beginners. These curses are low-energy, easy to perform, and require minimal tools. They are subtle and perfect for those just starting their baneful practice, but still pack a punch. Always be mindful of your intentions—curses can carry karmic or energetic consequences. Always start the curse process by protecting yourself and end it by cleansing yourself. Remember to do your own research before using baneful magick.

The Rotting Fruit Curse

Causes a person’s luck, relationships, or finances to decay over time.

Needed:

• A piece of fruit (apple, orange, etc.)

• A slip of paper

• A black pen

• A dark place (cupboard, drawer, or under the bed)

Instructions:

Write the target’s name on the paper. Place the paper inside or beneath the fruit. Hold the fruit and focus on your intent—imagine the person’s life slowly rotting just like the fruit will. Place the fruit in a hidden, dark place and leave it to decay. Once fully rotted, dispose of it far from your home.

The Knotted Thread Curse

Traps a person in misfortune, confusion, or stagnation. The target experiences obstacles, delays, and problems that keep them from progressing in life.

Needed:

• A piece of black thread or string (12 inches long)

• Your voice and breath

Instructions:

Hold the string in your hands and focus on the target. With each knot you tie, say a phrase like:

• "With this knot, I trap your fate."

• "With this tie, your plans fall apart."

Tie nine knots while envisioning the person becoming stuck, unable to move forward in life. Hide or bury the thread somewhere secret.

The Echo Curse

Makes a person’s words return to them, causing gossipers or liars to suffer their own consequences. Their own words work against them—exposing their lies, making people distrust them, or causing them to face social backlash.

Needed:

• A mirror (small handheld one works best)

• A marker or lipstick

• The person’s name (or just "liar," "gossip," etc.)

Instructions:

Write their name (or a word representing their offense) on the mirror. Hold the mirror and say:

"What you say returns to you, every lie and every word untrue."

Place the mirror facing a wall or inside a dark drawer, so their energy is reflected back to them.

The Cracked Egg Curse

Causes a person’s stability to fall apart—relationships, money, confidence, or mental clarity. The target experiences instability, whether emotional, financial, or personal.

Needed:

• A raw egg

• A marker

• A place to smash the egg (outside, near their path, or a trash bin)

Instructions:

Write the person’s name on the egg. Hold it and whisper your curse into it, such as:

"May your life crack like this shell."

Imagine their stability shattering like the egg will. Smash it on the ground or in a trash bin.

The Slipping Shadow Curse

Causes a person to lose focus, forget things, or make mistakes. They struggle with their memory, lose track of things, and make more mistakes.

Needed:

• A black candle

• A piece of paper

• A pencil

Instructions:

Write the target’s name on the paper. Light the black candle and hold the paper over the flame (don’t burn it yet). Whisper:

"Like a shadow slipping through the cracks, your mind stumbles, your focus lacks."

Let a few drops of wax fall on the name, then crumple the paper. Blow out the candle and throw the paper in a busy place (so their energy is scattered).

The Splitting Roads Curse

Causes confusion, indecision, and emotional instability. The target struggles to understand what's happening and make the right choices.

Needed:

• Two twigs or sticks

• A piece of string

• A crossroads or a place where two paths split

Instructions:

Tie the two sticks together at one end, so they form a V shape (symbolizing a forked path). Hold them in your hands and say:

"Your choices split, your path unclear, may confusion follow near."

Leave the sticks at a crossroads or place where two paths meet.

The Ink Spill Curse

Causes a person’s words (spoken or written) to be misunderstood, ignored, or turned against them. Everything they say becomes misinterpreted, loses power, or backfires.

Needed:

• A pen

• A piece of paper

• A cup of water or ink

Instructions:

Write the person’s name and a word representing their harmful speech (ie: “lies,” “gossip,” “manipulation”). Hold the paper and whisper:

"Your words twist, your message lost, what you say will bear the cost."

Drop the paper into the water or ink and let the words dissolve. Dispose of the soaked paper in running water (sink, river, or toilet).

The Cold Shoulder Curse

The person experiences social isolation—people ignore them, avoid them, or lose interest in them. This will eventually lead to profound loneliness.

Needed:

• A small ice cube

• A photo of the person (or just their name written on paper)

• A freezer

Instructions:

Place the ice cube on top of their name or photo. Whisper:

"Like ice, you freeze in place. No warmth, no friends, no welcome space."

Wrap the paper/photo in a piece of cloth or plastic and place it in the freezer.

The Crumbling Foundation Curse

Causes a collapse in a person’s relationships, home life, or work environment. The target experiences instability in their personal life making it harder for them to maintain relationships or stability.

Needed:

• A small handful of graveyard dirt

• A piece of paper

• A black pen

Instructions:

Write the person’s name on the paper. Hold the dirt in your hand and whisper:

"Your foundation weakens, your roots unsteady. That which holds you crumbles already."

Sprinkle the dirt over the paper and then fold it, with the dirt inside, like a little packet. Throw into running water or the rubble of a collapsed building.

[fadingdaggerr]

creatus sanguine (18+, mdni)

pairing: agatha harkness x gn!witch!reader

summary: part two of effuso sanguine | 5.3k

includes: blood magick reader, (not even) borderline obsession tbh

warnings: blood, description of injury, smut, afab reader (no chest description), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), thigh riding (a receiving)

note: blood magick differs from the show’s definition of a “blood witch.” rather than coming from a magical family line, blood mages are more aligned with the physical body and use of what billy would call “analog magick” (sacrifice, blood letting, etc), as well as incantation/spells

April 1749

Your back aches as you rise from your leaf-made mattress, thin blankets falling off like the thin rags they’d become. Heading pounding, you move to pour the last of your water into the small pot over the fire. It had been nearly three weeks since you’d been able to stop to get more food. You’d managed to forage wild flowers for more tea and tree sap to chew on, but the traps you’d set hadn’t proved fruitful.

As the tea steeps, you roll your blankets and shove them into your bag. Transferring the drink to your cup, you throw the pot into the bag as well. Smothering the fire under your boots, you head southeast.

Morning gusts caress your skin as you pass through the forest. The birds chirped through the trees, flying from branch to branch above your head. Rolling up your sleeves, you embrace the warm air. Raised and faded scars litter your skin, some healed cleaner from your growing experience. You made sure none would be as jarring as the one painted across your ribs. It’s taken years for you to be unbothered by their appearance, though the same cannot be said by those you meet.

Removing your attention from your skin, you look to the ground instead. Scanning the grass and leaves, you see impressions of foot prints. Recent enough that the ground still held their mark. Someone has to be close.

Slowing your pace, you try to focus on the sounds around you. Closing your eyes, you hear the birds, squirrels, your own breathing, and the faintest sound of multiple heartbeats. The sound grows, clearer by the moment. Five heartbeats, resting rates sounding human. They are so close, you immediately speed up your pace.

Within minutes, you hear the faint sound of feminine voices. A sigh of relief passes your lips, feeling immediate safety. The crunch of your steps makes all five turn and face you, defensive in stance and expression.

“Good day,” you speak up.

The oldest of the group steps forward, and you match her step. Her hand rises, stopping you from getting closer. Amber eyes scan over you, “only we may enter this space.”

“I meant no offense,” you take a step back, “I only hoped you may know the way to the closest settlement.” Your eyes shift from the woman to the meat on the cutting board behind her. Seeing your stare, the one with an orange skirt moves to stand in front of it.

“And you found us how?” The amber-eyed woman refuses to lose your attention, keeping you from the group. At your silence she speaks again, stressing each word, “how did you find us?”

“I was heading this way before I saw you. I promise I would not harm you, nor your sisters,” you affirm, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. Her brow furrows in disbelief, and you know you cannot pretend with her. You know what she is, she knows what you are. “I am alone, covenless, and entirely out of food. All I require are directions, then I will leave you and yours alone.”

She nods with a hum, eyes moving to partially look behind her. The woman with a soft pink overcoat reaches out, hand grasping your wrist lightly, and tugging you into the protection circle. Forcing you to sit, you watch as they carry on how they were before you arrived. A small plate of turkey and apple slices is placed in your lap.

“This is all we have to spare,” the pink witch says. “I’m Marjorie.”

You give her a soft smile in thanks and your name in return. Listening to their idle conversation, you eat slowly to avoid stomach pains. The ease of their conversation, the way they lean on each other, it’s simply lovely. They speak so surely about their lives and their abilities, even as young as most of them are. With them distracted by one another, you finally take in the space around you.

The protection circle, as even as it was, did little in stopping you. Your fingers twitch with the knowledge that it would never have worked. Despite their efforts, you heard them without their voices. Only the leader knew this, that much was apparent by her apprehension, never trusting the glow of the stones.

You feel the hairs on your neck stand up, eyes going to the source. Eudora, you now know, stares you down with a ferocity. You glance to the stones, then back to her. She nods slowly, warning held within. Nodding back, you eat the last apple slice, standing quickly.

“I thank you kindly for this meal and your generosity,” you never take your eyes off the head witch. “I wish you safety, and may our paths cross again.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t,” Eudora says strictly. From beside her, Marjorie goes to protest but is silenced by a raised hand, “misery follows one who searches.”

Your brow furrows, confusion and anger twirling on your tongue. Keeping quiet, you back out past their barrier. Nodding one again, thankful to the other members of the coven, you turn away. The hard, angry heartbeat fades as you walk away. Their fates with their leader are nothing, desperation for a coven gave them false security. Misery follows, you think to yourself, amused.

Their green witch, Abigail, had told you of the Plymouth settlement, the best option if you found yourself needing to nab something to eat. If any of them survive that imbecile, you hope it’s her and Marjorie. Following the path given, you hope to get there before sunset.

—⛤—

The sun becomes golden as you finally break the trees to a road. Tracks lead south, and now you do too. Promise of a real bed was so close, perhaps if you had enough, even a drink. Food feels futile now, rest is the real virtue. The entire trek back from the settlements in Rhode Island had been on beds of moss, tree bark, and leaves. A thin pad and blanket without tears will likely make you cry with joy.

Closing in, you finally see the town. Houses, market stalls, and various other buildings cover the area. You rush on sore feet towards what you pray is an inn, the largest structure in the center. 

Almost falling in the door, you’re greeted by an elderly woman at the counter.

“Hello, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” she chirps.

You smile, “I’m just here for a few days, hopefully. Is there a chance you’ve got a vacancy?”

“Do you have a way to pay?” She retorts with a cocked brow. You smile at her, digging into the bottom of your satchel. A secret pocket holds coins you’d found in a tavern weeks ago. Offering up most, you look at her with pleading eyes. The woman counts visually, peeking back at you, then counting again. She clears her throat, “this here, this is barely a night. But, I know downtrodden when I see it, so I’ll give you three. But no food, that’s on you. I don’t care how you do it, but no guests here.”

You blink at her incredulously at the insinuation, but thank her anyways. The last room at the end of the hall, tiny with a small bed. A bed. Tears spring to your eyes as you drop onto it, the padded plank feeling like a cloud. Hunger creeps in, but is wholly ignored as you fall into a deep slumber.

When your eyes open, the room is still dark. Sore muscles ache less than the day before as you rise from the bed. Grabbing your things, you step into the hall and go into town. The sunlight nearly blinds your sensitive eyes, glare becoming tolerable as you navigate the space. If careful, you could stretch your money to last these few days. If you are even more careful, you could find something without pinching pennies.

Slumping against a tree, you slice an apple from your bag. Of the many they had, you surely took the only good ones. If the kids hadn’t run back home, you would’ve given them some as a thanks for their distracting of the vendor.

Walking back into the center of town, you hear different speakers going on long rants. Preachers about sin, mothers about sin, a hog farmer about sin, it’s all quite repetitive. Everything sounds like one long drone, it always has. Nearly sixty years and all they had taken out was the focus on witches. Being closer to home than you have been in years felt sickening.

The speeches of hellish sins to be avoided becomes nothing but a monotonous hum behind the rest of the world. The air through the trees, the carts moving over dirt roads, the animals chittering in the pens, it all falls away. Behind it all, a beating. Strong, steady, and there. Your heart starts to beat in time with it, eyes beginning to scan the streets.

Walking quickly, you try to follow the sound. The closer you get, the clearer it becomes. The more familiar it becomes. Moving as fast as you can without drawing attention to yourself, all you can hear is the rhythmic beating. Passing a tavern, you immediately reverse yourself, looking in the open door.

At the counter, a deep purple cloak around her shoulders, sits a woman. Finger resting on her chin, she waits for whatever she ordered. She scans the room, and you feel your face drop, all warmth draining from you.

Angelite eyes land on you, squinting as she feels your stare, but her confident demeanor drops. Scrambling from her seat, she runs from the tavern and crashes into your stiff body. Wordlessly, you stand with your arms at your side, stuck in shock. Leaning back, she looks at you confused.

Prying yourself from her, you grab her arm and drag her towards the inn. Rounding the outside, you find the windows to your room, pushing open the shutters. Climbing over the ledge, you motion for her to follow.

Straightening in front of you, she smiles. It drops at your words, “you are alive.”

“So are you,” she scans you quickly, “and as you were. How?”

“I imagine similarly to your reason,” you answer. “I have spent a near lifetime looking for you. Do not tell me you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Of course not, I only arrived this morning,” she says. Careful hands grab yours, “had I known you were still out here, I would have looked for you.”

You grip her hands tightly, “I was where I told you I would be. Home.”

“Yet you knew I was gone?” She asks, almost knowing.

You pause. It is not the time. “You never showed, it was worrisome. But you were gone, and there they were. I knew what they had done,” you tell her. “I had to find you.”

“And so you did,” she smiles, leaning into you. Her forehead comes to rest on yours, eyes closing. She whispers into the small space between you, “I should never have ran. I should’ve come home to you, my love.”

“Agatha…” you sigh, nose rubbing against hers, “my heart.”

Lips brush against yours softly, testing if she’s still allowed. Pushing into her harder, you press a bruising kiss to her lips. Warm hands side to grasp her face, keeping her as close as possible. Greedily, you run your tongue over her bottom lip, and she quickly lets you in. The moment she does, her hands tighten around your waist, shoving you back into the wall.

Your nails dig into the skin of her neck, letting her take control of the kiss. Fifty-six years of searching, of not knowing, of longing, done with each pass of a masterful tongue. Moaning into you, Agatha’s teeth bare down on your lip. A groan mixed with slight pain and arousal topples into her mouth, body desperate for more of her than you’ll ever get.

Running out of breath, she moves to press wet kisses against the expanse of your throat. The thrumming of your pulse beneath her lips matches her own, each beat falling in tandem.

A shaky breath passes your lips, “Ag-Agatha we can’t, not here at least.”

“I missed you,” she attempts to reason, soundly awfully close to her excuse all those years ago. Then, she spoke for the future, that much is clear now. At this moment, she means it for the present, for the accumulation of time apart.

You gently pull her from her place in your neck, “and I you, more than I’ll ever be able to verbalize. But we are not safe here, you know this.”

“Then we leave. We will find where we may be at peace,” she says, forehead back against yours, “we will make it so, if we must.”

You press your lips against hers, a promise to go with her. All the time you spent, the first ten years, was pure ache. All of it melts away, feeling her with you once again. She feels different, stronger in a way, but time has done the same for you. You’re almost strangers like the day you’d first met in the woods.

—⛤—

December 1749

The candles on the windowsill flicker wildly as you reshelf the books in hand. Sighing, you put the stack back on the table, going to the window to see what the flames do. Out the window, you see the grass parting, a figure racing through. A torch illuminates her face, grinning wide with satisfaction.

Moving to the door, to open it to lean against the frame. Cupping your hands around your mouth, you shout, “Agatha Harkness, it is too cold for this! Hurry it up!”

Shooting through the door, she doubles over in panting breaths, shaking dustings of snow from her hair. Hands on her hips, she stands back up, mouth open to the ceiling as she recovers.

“You best not have anyone behind you,” you say, shutting the door and barring it.

She chuckles, “you know me better than that, my sweet.”

You hum, looking her over. The back of your hand brushes her cheeks, shifting to cup her neck. Shutting your eyes, you feel her heartbeat, quick from her running, but what catches your attention is another sensation.

Eyes shooting open, you rip the thick cloak from her shoulders, tugging the torn material of her dress to the side to expose her shoulder. A long cut across her skin, stretching from the point of her shoulder to just above her breast. Running your finger over the edge, you assess how bad it really is.

“Not too deep,” you murmur, “uneven. Serrated blade?”

Agatha hums, eyes having never left your face since you first touched her, “I hadn’t planned for them to come with weapons over their powers.”

“Perhaps you are too conspicuous, lover.”

She gives you a faux-shocked expression, “why I never! I am nothing if not reserved.”

You try to keep a straight face, but a smile breaks as you break away from her to get a cloth. Knowing the routine by now, she settles on a stool to await your attention. Appearing in front of her, you stand between her legs. Warm water soaks the cloth in your hand, touching it carefully to her wound.

Agatha’s hands creep up your legs, gripping here and there. Trailing up, a hand finds the strings of your shirt, tugging them loose. Your gaze shifts from her shoulder to her face, looking at her through your lashes. Shaking your head, you continue to clean the cut, ever gentle.

Wandering, her other hand slides underneath your loose shirt. Ever so gently, she grazes her fingertips across your skin, feeling every raised mark that you’d healed on your own. It always bothered her how you refused to heal them properly, poultice and bandage, but by your hand. Each mark prominent instead of completely vanished.

Blunt nails pass over your ribs, tracing the harsh, jagged mark there. She pried many times about where it had come from, but you always gave the same answer. They all just blur together.

Agatha is pulled from her mind when you press a kiss to the junction of her neck. Lingering, slow kisses spread, crawling up towards her lips. Finger under your chin, she pulls you into her kiss, short and heavy.

“Never come home hurt again. Do you hear me?” You ask, forehead pressing against hers.

She huffs, “a fluke.”

“Agatha,” you stress, hand curling in her hair, gripping. Pulling her back, you look her in the eye, “I do not make light of harm coming to you. Promise me. I will not allow you to endanger yourself, my heart.”

The hand in her hair holds tighter, forcing her to keep her eyes on you, as if they’d ever looked away. Intensity flickers like fire in your eyes, and Agatha feels frozen in place. A tingling sensation spreads from her shoulder, feeling like hands holding her down.

A heated gleam crosses her eyes, tilting towards you again, “understood, my love.”

“Good,” you whisper, lips falling to hers with intensity. The weight on her shoulders fell, dissipating into a warmth wrapping around her. Free to move again, Agatha stands, tugging you back with her to the bed. Following her, you allow her to take control, sated in your wish to be heard.

Hurried hands work to undress you, lips coming back to yours in bursts as layers fall. Shoving you down on the bed, Agatha tries to straddle your hips, but is stopped by your sitting up. Grabbing her hips, you tug her between your legs, unlacing the front of her dress. Fingers skim over each inch of freshly exposed skin, no matter the rush they are in to take everything off. Before her garments even hit the floor, you’re pulling her on top of you.

Energy twinged every one of her nerves, power absorbed mixing with the molten adoration radiating from you. Your hands drift over her back, attempting to feel every inch of you. Lips drag from your mouth down your chin, nipping as Agatha takes purchase at your neck. Wet, open-mouthed kisses turn to suckling of your skin, teeth grazing over every mark.

Hearing your breaths deepen, she continues down your body. Strong hands take hold of your legs, settling between them. Her pupils dilate at the sight, you glistening before her. A hand buries itself in her hair, scratching her scalp gently. Pressing a kiss to your thigh, Agatha looks up at you through her lashes.

“You don’t know how I adore you,” she says quietly. There’s no second to respond before her mouth descends on you, flat tongue licking up your folds. Small gasps encourage her, stroking more strongly, taking in your taste. Her skillful tongue slides in your entrance, moaning into you as her fingers dig into your thighs. Your free hand goes to your clit, but she smacks you away.

Her tongue slips from you, wrapping her mouth around your bundle of nerves. Moans fall from your mouth, the hand in her hair tugs, the other claws into the blankets. Bucking into her mouth, you try to ride her face, but she anchors you down. Her tongue alternates between suckling and making hard circles against your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, wetter and wetter.

Unclasping a hand from your thigh, it comes to take the place of her tongue on your pearl, harsh, tight circles making you squirm. Her mouth drags down to your slit, tongue making figure-eights through your folds, burying back inside you. With the slightest freedom of only one hand holding you down, you grind against her tongue, desperate for as much of her as possible.

“A… Agatha,” you moan out, gripping tighter in her curls, “please.”

The pressure against your clit grows, tight circles wind the coil in your core more and more. Her tongue greedily takes you in, suckling and stroking, unrelenting in pace. Your hips rut against her, feeling her deeper, feeling her moan. Her own thighs press together, wetness decorating her thighs as she brings you closer to the edge.

Releasing the blanket, your hand grasps her shoulder, keeping her against you. The forceful grip burns, reopening her wound, but it does nothing to deter Agatha. If anything, it makes her work harder, devouring you with a new sense of purpose. More and more, the tightness in your core builds, a single thread still tethering you.

“C’mon, my sweet,” she murmurs, smiling against you, “give me a taste.”

Her words are your undoing, your back arches, warmth spreading through your body as Agatha eagerly licks up your essence. The grip on her hair and shoulder loosen, still holding on to ground yourself. Relaxing back down, you whimper as her tongue still dances against you.

“Lover,” you breathe out, “come here.” Climbing up your body, Agatha’s lips press against your skin. Bringing your hand to her neck, you pull her into your kiss. Wandering, you feel something against your hand, warm, wet. Pulling back from her lips, you see red painting your palm.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. You look to blue eyes, barely visible from dilated pupils, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorr-”

“Don’t be,” she says, pressing her lips against yours shortly. Then again. And again, longer, more sound. Her thighs straddle you, hands pressing down on your chest, holding you in place. You can’t help yourself, clinging to her, hand grasping her face. Blood smears across her skin, soaking into yours, hearts beating in time with one another.

Agatha’s hips grind against you, desperate for friction that she can’t find. Shifting slightly, you press your thigh into her, feeling her arousal coating your skin. Whining into your mouth, she grinds more steadily. Your hands slide down to guide her, pushing her harder against the muscle of your thigh. Moans fall from her mouth, kisses growing sloppy and desperate.

You press her harder against you, wanting to feel her, needing to see her fall apart. Husky moans come from her, eyes screwed shut as she grinds needily against you. One hand slides to her back, pulling her closer to lavish her chest. Your lips wrap around her nipple, tongue swirling around the pebbly peak. Every sound she makes is heaven to your ears, the beat of her heart under your touch an addictive sensation.

Her wet cunt against you makes your own arousal pool again, wanting more of her. Always so irresistible. Hauling her closer, you feel her knee press against your heat, moaning against her chest. The hands gripping your shoulders pull you from her breasts, bringing your lips to her own. Her knee moves away, making your whimper, but is replaced by her fingers, toying with your entrance.

One finger, then two, pump into you, matching the tempo of her riding your thigh. A pitchy whine falls from your lips, walls gripping her fingers, the hand on her waist digging in. Teeth bare against your lip as Agatha feels the shockwaves rolling through her, a metallic taste coating her tongue. Pulling back, droplets of blood appear on your bottom lip. The grinding of her hips slows, thumb brushing over, eyes utterly entranced.

You tug her back to your mouth, hand on her waist guiding her faster, chest rattling with both your moans. The fingers inside you curl, thumb pressing to your clit. The pleasure becomes too much, stealing the air from your lungs with every pump of Agatha’s long fingers. Pulling from her lips, you tuck your face into her neck, licking and biting at the expanse of skin.

Agatha’s head lulls back, songs of pleasure falling into open air. Every sound from her, every motion of her fingers, her arousal on your skin– the tight cord snaps. A strangled groan passes your lips as you cum, fingers inside you slowly, but not leaving. Your head rises from her neck, taking in view above you.

Chest heaving, hair stuck to her forehead, brows knitted together in pleasure, Agatha Harkness is a sight to behold. The slice on her shoulder catches your eye, red and aggravated, drops of ichor gliding down pale skin. Leaning forward, you let your tongue drag up, collecting red, until you meet her tender wound. Lapping over it, you feel Agatha grind harder, husky moans turning whiny.

All you can think of is adoring her. Every inch of you, body, mind, and soul, exists for her. She is your life, your purpose. A tingle spreads down from her shoulder to her core, feeling her skin prickle. The sensation isn’t entirely new, but it has never felt like this before. All-consuming, electric, and hot, but underneath it all, it seems to pulse.

The movement of her hips begins to grow sloppy, almost entirely your own effort than hers now. Her breath stutters as your tongue swipes over raw skin, soft lips passing over tenderly. Unadulterated affection mixes with the pleasure that you can’t help but give her, and she crumbles against you. Lazy motions of her hips continue as she comes down, face buried in your neck.

Panting, she pulls back, retracting her fingers from you. Hand splaying over your thigh, she finally looks at you. Your appearances are one in the same. Sweaty, breathless, and littered in marks and your shared blood. A smile stretches across her face, settling in your lap.

“You are everything, my love,” she says quietly, thumb wiping a rogue red drop from your chin.

Your forehead presses to hers, “you, my heart, are the very reason I live.”

Lips press to yours, soft and loving, silent words passing through her actions. Agatha has never been one for her words, always hiding in her riddles. But here, with you, it’s impossible to pretend. You know her, her heartbeat, her mind. Her power never sparks fear in you, unlike every other in her path. They blast her, try to kill her, to deceive her– but not you. Nothing but devotion has ever come from you. Pure and strong, like there was so much love for her inside of you, that it was always moments away from bubbling over.

Laying down, you bring Agatha with you, letting her curl around you. Tracing up and down your ribs, her nails glide over your scars. Circling the prominent one between your ribs, she props her chin on your chest.

Peering down at her, you brush her hair off to one side. Once angry, red, and bloody, the cut down her shoulder was now a fading scar, as if it had been there for years. A small smile crosses your face, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Blue eyes watch your expression, almost reading your mind.

“One scar will not kill me,” she says, a coy grin playing on her lips, “hasn’t killed you.”

Your brows jump, averting your gaze shortly, “I will heal regardless of what I do, I am simply impatient.” Your hand cups her cheek, “any injury to you is an insult. The memory of it is mockery.”

“Dramatic,” she chuckles, pressing a kiss to your chest before laying her head down.

Your arms wrap around her, keeping her snug to your body, “you do not understand how I love you. I would dismantle every natural law in order to keep you safe, to give you everything.”

There’s a sureness in your tone, something that tells Agatha you meant this. That you will do this, have done this. Her nose bumps against your jaw, “more with you is all I require, my love.”

—⛤—

January 1750

A cool breeze passes over the river, making a chill creep up your spine. Wiping off red hands in the snow, you stand from the riverside. For the first time in a week, your traps worked. Fortunate for you, however unfortunate for the deer that crossed your path.

Home is so close, you can feel it, but the weight on your shoulders makes time slow.  You can see the candles in the window, calling you home to her. The stiffness of your joints means nothing as you finally reach the packed down path. Releasing the ropes of the sled, you abandon your game in preference of the fire inside.

Head resting in her hands, Agatha sits with a blanket wrapped around her. Her head falls back at the sound of the door opening, eyes watching you. Toeing off your boots and shrugging your coat, you make your way behind the chair. Leaning over her, you take in her appearance.

Dark circles under her eyes worry you, sleep has been avoiding her for weeks. The weak smile on her face does nothing to soothe the worry in your chest.

Rounding the chair, you kneel before her. Your hands go to her thighs, squeezing gently, “how are you feeling?”

“Better than this morning,” she murmurs, “the tea helps.”

A little smile crosses your lips, “that’s good. I’ll make more.”

Pressing a kiss to her knee, you try to stand, but she holds you down, “not now. I just want you.”

Sitting up, you press yourself into her. Arms wrap around her hips, head settling against her stomach. Her own hands come to rest on your back, body practically folding over you. Her heartbeat is strong, breathing steady, she feels healthy. You don’t understand what is wrong, why you can’t see, why you can’t fix it. Burying yourself against her, you just breathe her in, comforted by her presence alone.

Your heart beats in time with hers, always the same. Each beat is a reminder of why you live. Relaxing against her, you close your eyes, just wanting to take her in.

As you stay there, you feel your pulse quicken. You stiffen, listening to Agatha, but hers hasn’t changed. Feeling the tension beneath her hands, she squeezes you in silent question, but is ignored.

“My lo-” she attempts to speak, but you shush her, ear pressing more intently against her abdomen. “What are you doi-” Your hand rises to cover her mouth.

Beneath the familiar beat of your lover’s heart, is a second. Quiet, rapid, but there. Your brows scrunch, listening closer. Your own heart matches the beat, almost aching with its speed. Head rising, you look at Agatha, tears welling. Blue eyes dart between yours, mouth open in disbelief at your reaction.

“My sweet, what is it?”

Blinking rapidly, you just stare at her, “two.”

“Two?” She says confused, brows furrowing, “my love, what is wrong? You are worrying me.”

A watery smile grows across your face, “you have two heartbeats.”

Agatha’s eyes rapidly blink, taking in your words. Staring into you, she silently asks you to help her understand. You move one hand to her stomach, the other going to cup her face. Closing your eyes, you focus on the little heartbeat, letting her hear it too.

A shaky smile appears on her face, lashing fluttering as she pushes back tears. Her hand covers yours on her cheek, “how?”

“If only I knew,” you breath out, “I’ve never known a spell or incantation that allows this.”

Leaning down, Agatha’s lips press to yours, slow, hungry. All the love that bubbled within you pours into her, the feeling overwhelming as you listen to two hearts. Tugging you up, she places you on her lap, knees on either side of her hips. Hands bury themselves in her hair, gently scratching her scalp.

Pulling back, you look into her eyes. All you are, all you have been, has amounted to this. Your love for one another becoming personified, beyond order and law. A second piece of your soul, born from love.

title translation: creatus sanguine, latin - the blood made

as always, feedback is soooo appreciated <3 this is very different from what i’ve written previously and would love to hear from you about continuing this. love u my babies

[im-a-dream-wizard]

My Personal Guide to Works pertaining to German, Bavarian, and Alpine Folk Magick

This is not an exhaustive list, just a list of sources that inform my practice. Readers will benefit from being able to read German (and sometimes Bavarian/Boarisch German).

Not all works are specific/exclusive to these folk practices and may include other traditions in addition.

I will be updating this list as I recall or find works to add to it. It is not alphabetized or organized in any specific way. If you’d like to recommend a title for this list, let me know!

Additionally, I cannot speak or vouch for any of the views or opinions of the authors. Some of these sources are certainly outdated and could potentially contain content that is offensive or bigoted, which is not something I endorse. Finally, there are some sources that are of debatable historical accuracy, so take them with a grain of salt.

Books

Pow-Wows or Long Lost Friend, John George Hohman

The Secret History of Christmas Baking by Linda Raedisch

The Old Magic of Christmas by Linda Raedisch

Night of the Witches by Linda Raedisch (a great resource for Walpurgisnacht)

Mountain Magic: Celtic Shamanism in the Austrian Alps by Christian Brunner

Alpine Magic by Christian Brunner

Pagan Christmas by Christian Rätsch and Claudia Müller-Ebeling

Göttin Holle by Gunivortus Goos (also available in English)

Hausgeister! by Janin Pisarek, Florian Schäfer, and Hannah Gritsch

Queens of the Wild by Ronald Hutton

Witchcraft and the Shamanic Journey Kenneth Johnson

Niederbayerische Sagen by Michael Waltinger

Witchcraft Medicine by Wolf-Dieter Storl, Christian Rätsch, Claudia Müller-Ebeling (available in both English and German)

Der Heilige Hain by Christian Rätsch

Von Sonnwend bis Rauhnacht by Valentin Kirschgruber

Witches and Pagans: Women in European Folk Religion, 700-1100 by Max Dashu

Spirit Beings in European Folklore 2 by Benjamin Adamah (I encourage you to read their sources as well, it’s important to find primary sources)

Deutsche Mythologie by Jacob Grimm (English as “Teutonic Mythology”) Please take Jacob Grimm with a grain of salt.

Handwörterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens (There’s a lot of caveats to this, as it is highly outdated, but it is still a handy resource for reference. HOWEVER, good luck finding it. You might find some volumes available online but there are very few complete reprints of this encyclopedia, at least that are affordable.)

Tiefe Wälder, dunkle Legenden by Josef Probst

Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer (This is basically a 15th century manual to “witch hunting” and contains bigotry and and a lot of factual inaccuracies. However, it has some content that can provide some insight into folk magic and superstition of the time. It is very violent and explains the torture process of those accused of witchcraft, so be warned)

Volksmedizinische Botanik der Germanen by Max Höfler

Journals and Scholarly Articles

Holda: Between Folklore and Linguistics by Thomas Leek

Perchten and Krampusse: Living Mask Traditions in Austria and Bavaria by Molly Carter

Divination: Mother Holle as Goddess of Seerdom by Ullrich R. Kleinhempel

Percht und Krampus Felix and Ulrich Müller

The Distribution of The Legends of Frau Holle, Frau Percht, and Related Figures by Erika Timm

Perchta the Belly-Slitter and Her Kin: A View of Some Traditional Threatening Figures, Threats and Punishments by John B. Smith

Holle's Cry: Unearthing a Birth Goddess in a German Jewish Naming Ceremony by Jill Hammer

Content Creators

Ella Harrison

The Witches’ Cookery

De Spökenkyker: A great resource for Silesian-German folk practice!

[distracteddream]

Trick or treat! 🎃

How about another fun Lokius costume moment? This time, it’s Loki dressing up!

“I am not wearing this.”

Mobius relaxed by the Wardrobe Department fitting room. They’d been there awhile already and he’d made himself comfortable in one of the chairs provided. Loki had rejected costume after costume after costume and, at this rate, Mobius wondered if they’d be able to complete this assignment.

Infiltrating a Halloween costume ball had seemed like a fun task at the time.

“You have to wear something,” Mobius told him, though he was fairly certain he’d said that for the last two rejected outfits.

“It’s insulting!”

“It can’t be that bad.”

Loki’s head popped out from the changing room to glare at Mobius. “It absolutely can. This would be much easier if you’d just let me magic my outfit once we’re there.”

“Not gonna happen,” Mobius said, shaking his head. “Just come out and let me see this one.”

Loki’s head disappeared and the curtains swept aside dramatically. Long shapeless robes pooled around Loki’s feet, a weak braided belt wrapped around his waist and did nothing to elevate the ensemble. Worse still, Loki had a bundle of what looked to be gray hair held in a tight fist which he shook in Mobius’ direction.

“I refuse to wear this. I’d rather go naked!”

Mobius pressed his lips together so he didn’t laugh. Not at the thought of Loki going naked (he rather liked that idea, if he was being honest), but at just how laughably bad the costume was. And cheap. It reeked of cheap.

But Loki had to wear something and, as his handler, Mobius had to be positive.

“It’s not that awful.” Mobius stood and attempted to readjust the robes into a more complimentary shape to Loki. “You make a good wizard.”

If Loki could spit nails, Mobius thought he might have done it.

“I am not a wizard,” Loki hissed.

“Well, that’s the point of Halloween, isn’t it?” Mobius gave up on his styling attempt. “To be something you’re not.”

“I understand that,” Loki said, his voice tight with his irritation. “But I will not accept not looking good.”

“I don’t think you could ever not look good.”

The words were out before Mobius realized it. He froze, eyes wide and heat rushing to his face. His gaze jumped to Loki’s, somewhat relieved to find a similar surprised flush on his face. “Loki, I… I mean…” Mobius didn’t have Loki’s silver tongue and he stumbled over trying to explain away his accidental confession.

Instead, Mobius stepped back, pulling his TemPad free. He quickly pulled up a TimeDoor, not even thinking about the risk, and gestured for Loki to go through. “Go. Change. Whatever you want. I’ll keep the door open.”

Loki’s eyes slid from Mobius to the TimeDoor and back. “Are you sure?”

Mobius nodded. “Go.”

The awful wizard costume wasn’t so offensive that Loki minded hurrying through the door and away from the TVA’s magic dampeners. Mobius found himself waiting once again, hoping Loki wouldn’t run, trusting Loki to come back to him. To the TVA.

Mobius groaned, his head rolling back, which meant he missed the exact moment Loki came through the TimeDoor. It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of Loki’s back in the dressing room mirror that he realized he’d returned.

Loki’s bare back.

Well, it wasn’t entirely bare. Thin strands of gold connected the edges of gauzy black fabric falling from his shoulders. The gold drew attention to the muscles of Loki’s back and down, to a pair of perfectly tailored pants sculpted to his ass.

Mobius blinked rapidly, averting his eyes from Loki’s ass and finally looking at him properly. The black outfit clung to his front, the shirt nearly transparent, and Mobius wasn’t sure which god he should pray to but he had a feeling he’d need divine help to get through the mission.

“What-” Mobius swallowed hard. “What are you supposed to be?”

Loki’s wizard wig had been replaced by something black in his hand. He set it on his head and Mobius let out a startled laugh.

After turning his nose up at everything, Loki had magicked himself a stereotypical witch’s hat to finish his outfit.

“How do I look?” Loki asked as though he had any doubts about the answer.

“Like trouble.” Mobius grinned. Maybe this assignment could be saved. He pointed to the chair he’d sat in earlier. “Now go boil, toil, and trouble over there and let me get ready.”

[youngfortunato]

I must concur…a highly inaccurate depiction of Magick, among other things

oooh elaborate on your harry potter hatred🍿🍿🍿

JK Rowling sucks. the whole franchise is overrated and annoying.

[thimbledoll]

A Doll's Defenses

Her armor was spellcraft the likes of which no mundane blade could hope to pierce. Her porcelain shell was fired in the Magicked blaze of her Witch’s kiln, imparting it with steel-like durability. Her core was pure diamond; ancient matter placed under impossible pressures for literal eons. Her Witch’s enemies would find no chink, crack, nor breach in her defenses. She was as impregnable as her begifted name implied. She was Inviolet.

Arrows clattered to the floor upon striking her. Swords shattered against her wards. Spells left the land more damaged than their target. All offense they could muster against her was rendered inert. Still, they broke upon her like waves upon a cliff.

“Your tenacity is admirable,” Inviolet declared to the gathered hunters. Under the clash and clang of their weapons striking her impervious form, her small voice barely carried to those who dared engage her in melee. “But this one must ask that you leave, otherwise she fears she will have to remove you from the premises.”

Her request was answered with a gout of spellflame direct to the face. When at last the flames subsided, the caster was met with the doll’s cold, steely, and unblemished gaze. “Very well. Then you have made your choice known.”

Belladon hummed happily to themself as they rummaged through the cupboards. The sounds of battle that had been ringing out from the courtyard had since died down, meaning their doll was likely going to be walking through the door shortly. Eschewing traditional roles (as they were wont to do), they went about preparing kettle, leaf, and china. “After what she’s had to deal with today, I’m sure she’d appreciate a pot of tea to… unwind when she gets in,” the Witch thought to themself, giggling at their unheard jest.

As if on queue, the porcelain clink of Inviolet’s hand upon the doorknob alerted the Witch to their doll’s return. If not for that, they likely wouldn’t have heard her enter at all. “I’m in the kitchen, dear. Spot of tea? I was thinking the hibiscus,” they called out in greeting.

“Hibiscus sounds lovely. Thank you, Miss,” Inviolet answered from the kitchen doorway, her movements about the house as silent as her entry. She carried such an unnatural ease for one who had just come from battle, the Witch thought. Her demeanor was as impregnable as the body they’d crafted for her. It never ceased to amaze them.

“Perfect. I’ll have it ready in just a few minutes,” Belladon declared, turning away from the cupboard, letting the momentum of the movement swing the door closed with a small bang.

Belladon froze as they realized their mistake, the sound of the slamming door echoing throughout their conscience.

Inch by inch, crack after crack after crack spidered out across Inviolet’s body. What a thousand blades couldn’t manage, Belladon had accomplished completely without intention. It took only mere moments before the doll crumbled to nothing but a pile of porcelain shards on the floor. Her weathered, beaten, and overly chipped diamond core laid atop.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Belladon cried out, as they began carefully picking their doll up, shard by individual shard. “I should know better by now. I’ll-I’ll do better… I swear. We’ll have you back together in no time.”

Though she had no voice with which to say so, Inviolet knew the truth of her Witch’s words.

(I've been hesitating to post this one for a while... It was originally supposed to be part of the second volume of Emptied Spaces, but it seems like that endeavor has sputtered out. It's unfortunate, but completely understandable. Still, I felt bad leaving this one languishing in drafts for forever, so here it is. We'll see if anything else ever manages to leave the drafts... heh)

[astra-ravana]

Working With Tezrian

Priestess Of Vengeance

Other names: Yakalatal, Yakatorigoth, Bakaloth

Enn: "Ezyr Ramec Ganen Tezrian"

Colors: Red, deep purple, yellow, green, silver, black

Herbs: Belladonna, red rose, galangal root, olive, dragon's blood, coltsfoot, damiana, orchid, bleeding heart, rowan, spider lily, saffron, asphodel, purple yarrow, poppy, chive, mullien, bittersweet, devil's claw, golden rod, foxglove locust

Crystals: Sugilite, citrine, Tibetan black quartz, moldavite, garnet, charoite, ruby, blood amethyst, super seven, red eudialite, diopside, golden calcite, auralite, rutilated quartz, tiger's eye, plum blossom jade, lepidolite, strawberry quartz

Element: Fire (Spirit)

Planet: Mars, Neptune, Pluto

Zodiac: Pisces (Scorpio)

Metal: Silver, gold, copper

Tarot: Strength

Direction: Northeast

Day: Tuesday

Animals: Horses, coyotes, falcons, crows

Domains: War, battle, vengeance, justice, bravery, combat, self-defense, weapons, baneful magick, offensive magick, horsemanship, self-transformation, physical strength and wellness, confidence, easing mental afflictions, controlling/harnessing rage, terror upon enemies, clairvoyance, astral travel, protection, planetary/Moon magick, tricks of the mind, managing egregores, kundalini awakening

Offerings: Weapons (especially blades), representations of war, horse figures, shiny things, sharp/pointy objects (thorns, nails, etc.), black coffee, chocolate, skulls, blood, battlefield/graveyard dirt

Sigil:

[odditycircus-2002]

Hi! I loved your Quan Chi x mummy reader! I was wondering if you could do some HCs of him and a reader who is a horror content creator? Makes ARGs, analog horror, reviews novels and movies in the horror community, etc. Maybe even the reader does a face reveal of their beloved necromancer?

A/n: I'm so glad that you did love it so much! Also, since you didn't specify, I hope you don't mind the fact that the reader is a magic user too, albeit an amateur.

A Terrifying Love

Surprisingly, you aren't sinister nor malicious, at least for someone who occasionally dabbles in the Dark Arts. You didn't even practice such forbidden magicks for a lust of Power nor out of grief for a loved one long since passed, but to gain inspiration and material for your projects. You liked to be thorough and efficient and inspire real fear for the ARGS, analog horror. This work ethic has made you reasonably popular among the horror side of the internet.

Because of your work ethic and morbid fascination, you are often found in dark, decrepit places during late hours. While at a cursed burial ground, you met your future otherworldly paramour. He was digging up some bones for artifacts that were supposedly there while you were reanimating some recently deceased animals and filming them for a future project.

The screeching of one of the animals caught Quan-chi's attention, having not expected anyone else to be at this secluded site. When he caught sight of you, his right hand twitched and prepared an offensive spell; Quan-Chi found you wrestling with a recently revived house cat with your recording equipment nearby. He watched you finally pin down the possessed feline before petting it while muttering what sounded like soothing words. Yet, as Quan-Chi strained his hearing, he recognized your words as a magical incantation to bind the reanimated cat to you.

Once you finish, you finally notice Quan-chi's unblinking gaze. You gazed at him with a friendly smile and said hello, remarking that tonight was a fine night to do some magic. Quan-chi agreed that you could be useful to him with your potential. From there, the rest is history.

Whenever you or Quan-chi had the time, you would exchange ideas about how each project was going and give input. Whether that's the latest animation, you made for your analog horror on Youtube or his ongoing quest to study the darkest magicks to overthrow the Creator of your existence, Liu Kang.

In public, you claimed the new and more frightening character designs and story elements were because of how you recently became a fan of Johnny Cage's movies. In reality, it's because of Quan-chi and the knowledge he laid bare to you, including a trip to the Netherrealm. You had never imagined you would see such exciting new sites.

As Quan-chi also suspected, you were eager and open to learning more dark magics from him. He watched with satisfied pride as you swiftly performed each new task he gave you and began to ask more advanced questions regarding them.

However, he finds himself a bit disappointed that you "squander" your talents as an entertainer. It brings him a reprieve that at least you weren't as insufferable as Johnny Cage ( Who you were surprised to learn that all his Mortal Kombat movies and shows were actually based in truth). Quan-Chi also won't stop you from making your "Scary Stories" as to ensure your cooperation and maintain good standing with you.

Yes, it's only out of maintaining a powerful magic user as an ally that he also takes the time between his research to read every silly book you recommend or sit down and watch every horror movie you put on. All right, admittedly, Quan-chi finds himself enjoying some of the things you recommend and even finds inspiration from them, such as the Saw or Reanimator movies. Although he won't admit this to you out loud, you know better by then, judging from how your paramour would become more talkative when bringing them up.

It was only because you were reviewing one of his favorites, and Quan-Chi promised you a HUGE favor that you could get him on camera, and even then, only once. After reviewing the newest addition to Quan-chi's favorite series, while sometimes bringing up his opinion on some aspects, did you finally reveal Quan-chi's face to your audience. He stared unblinkingly and apathetically at the camera as you continued to speak, with him occasionally breaking his gaze when you prompted Quan-chi to give his input, which he did with eloquent words. You thanked him for his opinion before pecking him on the cheek, which Quan-chi didn't seem to react to besides a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Playlist while writing this:

"Hide and Seek" by Lizz Robinett

"Land of the Dead" by Voltaire

"Rule #21- Momento Mori" by Fish Inside a Birdcage

"The Hearse Song" feat Rusty Cage

[unionizedwizard]

OC asks for Irma: bound, hunt, skin?

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

she was made to take part in an attempted primal summoning as a child (as the catalyst), surviving only thanks to hydaelyn's intervention (whisking her away in the lifestream opening cutscene-style before irreversible damage to her soul could be inflicted). sort of like a reverse lightwarden corruption situation (this is a secret tool that will help us later!). her soul was flooded with umbral-aspected aether (lightning, specifically), and she was very notably not meant to survive - the fact that she did, as well as the circumstances in question (the triggering of the blessing of light), were unexpected, but deemed interesting by the ritual's instigator, which is why he let her get away :)

of course, although she lived, she didn't escape unscathed; her soul was stabilised and solidified by the power of stasis that hydaelyn embodies, but it was, as it were, sundered again almost all the way through, so her soul is "cracked". this manifests as an enhanced affinity for black magick & offensive spellcraft in general, but with a rather heavy drawback: she can't wield healing magick (at least not in the traditional way), a condition which she learned about when she tried to train as a conjurer post ARR (whenever she tries to meditate/enter the state that allows the caster to heal, she falls unconscious). (this was somewhat remedied right before EW). also, as a secondary (and minor) consequence, her eyes (which were originally green) turned black. this whole ordeal (as well as the years that preceded it) was wiped from her memory as a consequence of the enormous amount of energy that passed through her body so her earliest (and very hazy) memories are of the aftermath, when she was sent to ul'dah (or smuggled would be the more accurate verb lol), with no idea that the name on her passport was not her original name...

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

two things: the everpresent, looming shade of Duty; and the gnawing belief that she's actually a monster, deep down, because of her combat capabilities (and inclinations). (both are linked and feed into each other). zenos' monologue at the royal menagerie hit her, and badly so, because he expressed his lust for combat in the exact same terms she'd been using - privately, not speaking her mind to anyone, and she's always been terrified of having her most deeply-seated fears be confirmed, and she hates zenos (more than she ever hated anyone) because deep down she's convinced he's right about her, and about the both of them. she's always on the alert and has trouble letting her guard down long enough to fall asleep also :)

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

irma has always favored discreet, highly concealing, multi-layered clothes (fortunately, mage robes are generally fitting for this purpose). she has also never believed herself beautiful so she never really tried to pay attention to her appearance, though she does make a point of personal pride in wearing well-cut, good quality (and more importantly, clean) garments. she owns some perfume but doesn't have many opportunities to use it. if asked about it, she'll say in a very matter-of-fact way that "she knows where her strengths lie and acts accordingly". her only concession to vanity has always been her hair, which is an object of pride and that she takes great care of (as much as she can with the life she leads, anyway...). she almost always wears gloves (worn black leather ones) and refuses to show skin as a rule (she considers it a show of vulnerability). there is a deep, lingering shame about her as a whole, that she masks with rigid efficiency & a stoic mindset

as for the second part of the question: as indicated above, the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of herself has been thoroughly expunged from her memory (until post EW that is). denial and repression ARE her most practised skills at this point!

[downbad4yoongi]

Bound By Magic | Chapter Two

🪄Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

🪄AU/Genre: E2L, Magical AU, smut

🪄WC: 11,698

🪄Warnings: smut, minor character death

A/N: This is for @lo1k-diamonds as a part of @bangtanwritershq Sweet Tricks and Wicked Treats exchange

Your heart pounded in your chest as you raced through the twisted forest, branches clawing at your face, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Namjoon sprinted beside you, his brow furrowed in determination and robes snapping in the wind. The ancient artifact weighed heavy in your satchel, its power thrumming against your hip.

“We have to hurry,” Namjoon panted, his dark eyes flashing with urgency. “If Wooshik gets his hands on this…”

You nodded, not daring to voice the terrible fate if you failed. Images of destruction and uncontrolled magick flooded your mind. You pushed yourself harder, leaping over gnarled roots. The musty scent of decaying leaves filled your nose.

A sharp crack rent the air. You whirled around, your fingers already weaving a defensive spell, magick pulsing beneath your skin. Wooshik’s forces burst from the shadows, eyes gleaming with malice and their hands crackling with arcane energy.

“Scatter!” Namjoon yelled, shoving you out of the way just as a blast of fire scorched the earth where you stood a heartbeat before. 

You landed hard on the ground and quickly rolled until you were sheltered behind a tree, your back pressed against the rough bark. You caught glimpses of your friends locked in desperate battles through the smoke and chaos. In a whirlwind of water and ice, Momo held off three attackers simultaneously. Suzy’s illusions flickered and danced, disorienting the enemy. Namjoon and Yoongi fought back to back, their enchanted blades flashing in the dim light.

Dread clawed at your throat, leaving a coppery taste on your tongue. The artifact in your bag was the key to saving the realm; the weight of that knowledge was almost too much to bear. A surge of panic threatened to consume you. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath fueled by ragged gasps. 

With a deep breath, you steadied yourself and channeled your power, summoning a swirling vortex of wind that tore through the fray. Once the tempest cleared, you found your way to Namjoon’s side, freeing Yoongi to go on the offensive and back the enemy up even further. Your hands moved rapidly, with no time to spare to dig out your wand to help focus your power; you weaved a slew of defensive spells and threw them like barbs at the enemy with all your might. Your magick began to fuse into a devastating force to overwhelm your adversaries.

And so, you fought on in solidarity, your determination unwavering. Every deep breath was singed with the smell of smoke and the metallic scent of blood. But you refused to give up. Just as one side wrangled the upper hand, the other wrested it away just like a pendulum.

Finally, just as it seemed you were about to be overrun, the tide of the battle began to turn. Wooshik’s forces began to falter, their attacks growing weaker and less coordinated. Determined to drive the enemy away, you and Namjoon summoned all the energy you could and launched a final counterattack.

This did the trick because, with a loud whistle, all the acolytes started disappearing in whisps of smoke one by one. 

Namjoon stood next to you, still tense, unsure if he should let his guard down. After several beats, he lowered his sword and turned to you. He reached out and gripped your arm, his touch electric even through the fabric of your robes. "Are you alright?" His voice was low and urgent.

"I'm fine." You met his gaze, your heart stuttering at the intensity you found there. "But the others..."

Relief flooded your veins at the sight of the rest of the group, battered but alive. Momo leaned heavily against Yoongi, her face pale, his gait altered by a noticeable limp.

"Thank the gods," Namjoon breathed, his hand tightening on your arm. "Is everyone alright?"

Yoongi nodded, his lips pressed into a grim line. "We need to keep moving. Wooshik's forces will return.”

Your gaze swiveled around. “Why isn’t Suzy with you? They didn’t take her, did they?”

As if on cue, a figure emerged from the shadows of the trees, her crimson cloak billowing in the breeze. Your heart stopped.

Suzy.

"You won't be going anywhere," she says, her voice like honey laced with poison. "Not with that artifact."

Namjoon steps forward, his body a shield between you and Suzy. "What are you doing, Suzy? Don't tell me you're working with Wooshik."

A slow smile spread across her face, her green eyes glittering with malice. "Working with him? Oh, Namjoon, you have no idea. Wooshik's plan will bring a new order to the magickal realm, where the strongest will rule. And I intend to be at his side when it happens."

The shock of her betrayal hit you like a physical blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. This couldn’t be happening. Suzy, your friend, your confidante...how could she do this?

"You're insane," you managed to choke out, your voice shaking with a potent mix of anger and hurt. "Wooshik's plan will bring nothing but destruction and suffering. Can't you see that?"

Suzy's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a sneer. "You're too weak to see the truth—all of you. But I'm not. I know where true power lies, and I won't let anything stand in my way. Not even our friendship."

She raised her hands, crackling with dark energy, and your blood ran cold. This is it—the moment of truth. You had to stop her and protect your friends and the artifact.

You shoved the satchel into Yoongi’s arms and stepped forward, your magick swirling around you in a shimmering aura. "I won't let you do this, Suzy. I'll stop you, whatever it takes."

Namjoon's hand brushed against yours, a silent show of support. You drew strength from his presence, from the unwavering determination in his eyes. Together, you faced Suzy, ready to fight.

You lunged forward, one hand wielding your wand while the other weaved intricate patterns in the air. You summoned a torrent of elemental magick and sent it in a surge toward Suzy in a dazzling display of raw power. She countered with a wave of her own dark energy, the two forces colliding in a blinding explosion of light and shadow.

The fight is immediate in its force, a fierce dance of spells and counterspells. Sweat beaded on your brow as you poured every ounce of your strength into the fight, determined to outmatch Suzy's formidable skills. Namjoon was right beside you, his precise incantations and swift movements a testament to his unwavering focus.

As you dodge a particularly vicious curse, your heart aches with the weight of Suzy's betrayal. The memories of your shared laughter and late-night study sessions flash through your mind, a bitter contrast to the cold determination etched on her face now. How could she turn her back on everything you've fought for?

"Suzy, please," you pled, your voice ragged with exertion. "It doesn't have to be this way. We can still make this right."

But your words fell on deaf ears. Suzy's eyes blazed with fanatic fervor, her movements grew more erratic and desperate as she was overpowered. With a final, devastating blast of arcane energy, you and Namjoon brought her to her knees, her magick spent, and her will broken.

In the eerie stillness that followed, you stood over Suzy's defeated form, your chest heaving and your mind reeling. Namjoon's hand found yours again, his touch a silent anchor in the storm of emotions raging within you.

"Why, Suzy?" you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears. "Why would you betray us like this?"

She looked up at you. "You'll never understand," she rasped, her voice tinged with bitter resignation. "The power Wooshik promised... it was too much to resist. I thought I could have it all, but I was wrong. So wrong." Her once-vibrant green eyes turned dull and lifeless with one last rattled breath.

Namjoon's grip tightened on your hand, his own pain and confusion mirroring yours. At that moment, as you stood amidst the wreckage of your shattered friendship, something shifted between you and Namjoon. The walls you'd both so carefully constructed began to crumble, your shared grief and vulnerability forging a bond deeper than any magick.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, your eyes meeting Namjoon's. "I never wanted it to come to this."

He shook his head, his voice soft yet resolute. "It's not your fault. Suzy made her choice, and we had to make ours. We did what we had to do to protect the ones we love."

Love. The word hung in the air between you, a fragile yet powerful truth. You saw a glimmer of something more in the depths of Namjoon's dragon-like eyes.

As you stood there, you realized that perhaps this is what it meant to find strength in unity. Even in the darkest of times, love can light the way forward.

🪄🪄🪄

Bone-weary and tired, the four of you trudged on until you found a small inn to stop at for the night. Namjoon briefly disappeared and stepped back outside, two heavy brass keys cupped in his palms. Momo slipped one of the keys out of his hand and turned to you.

“Let's hit the hay,” she quipped, her effort to lighten the mood barely breaking the surface. 

You hesitated, glancing from her back to Namjoon. You rolled your lip between your teeth. “Um… would you mind if I stayed with Namjoon instead?”

You sensed Namjoon stilling next to you as Momo’s eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing a few times before finding her voice again. “Uh, yeah, that’s cool.” She quickly pivoted to Yoongi. “Shall we?”

Yoongi’s lips quirked upwards in a smirk before nodding and silently following Momo inside.

Avoiding his gaze, you looked down at your shuffling feet before gesturing at the door. “Well, after you then.”

Namjoon let out a breathless laugh but led you inside without question. You walked in his footsteps, eyes trained on the broad breadth of his clothed shoulders, following him to one of the rooms he had booked for the night. 

With the clink of the key in the lock, followed by his deep voice, he invited you into the room with a gesture of his arm.

You stepped inside, taking a quick look around. Fully furnished with the bare minimum: a double bed to one side covered in a thick quilt opposite a short chest of drawers. You figured the cracked door in front of you led into the ensuite bathroom.

Shrugging the satchel off, you set it on top of the chest; the click of the lock turned you back toward Namjoon.

You found yourself drawn closer to Namjoon as he leaned back against the solid wood of the door. His eyes only reopened when he sensed your presence right in front of him. You lightly fingered the front of his robes, the adrenaline from the day's events bleeding from your muscles.

His plush lips parted slightly, his breath mingling with yours as the distance between you narrowed. At that moment, the world fell away, and all that remained was the pulsing energy that flowed between you, a connection that transcended the boundaries of your covens and the scars of your pasts.

Namjoon's hand reached up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, yet electrifying. Your skin tingled beneath his fingertips, a sensation that rippled through your entire being. His eyes, once cold and calculated, now held a depth of emotion that took your breath away. In their inky depths, you saw a reflection of your own desire, a longing that had simmered beneath the surface for too long, waiting to be unleashed.

Without a word, your lips met in a searing kiss, a collision of passion and pent-up emotions. Namjoon's arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against him as your fingers tangled in his silky hair. The kiss deepened, a dance of tongues and teeth, a battle for dominance that neither of you were willing to lose. The taste of him, a heady mix of cinnamon and magick, intoxicated you, drowning out the world and its dangers.

At that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the impending threat of Wooshik, not the betrayal of your former friend, not even the ancient rivalries that have kept you apart for so long. All that existed was the fire that burned between you, a flame that consumed and purified, leaving only the truth of your connection in its wake.

As you broke apart, gasping for air, Namjoon rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he savored the lingering sensation of your kiss. "I never thought I could feel this way," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "But with you, it feels like anything is possible."

His words echoed in the silence, raw and profound, etching themselves into the deepest corners of your heart. Your fingers stroked across his hairline, brushing the few locks in disarray back off his forehead. Your electric touch sent a thrill of energy through the both of you.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest. “Namjoon, I -” your voice trailed off, the words getting caught in your throat.

Your eyes connected, and a wave of understanding passed between you - an acknowledgment of the past, a consent for the present, and a longing for the future. You’re both drawn to each other, an irresistible force that created an explosion of passion.

You lifted onto your toes to meet his lips, your hearts thudding in unison. You pressed closer as the kiss deepened, his mouth more demanding as his lips plucked at yours. His large palm cupped the back of your head while his tongue teased at the seam of your lips. With a sigh, your lips parted, allowing him to dive deeper.

Your arms slid up and around his shoulders, pulling him even tighter against you as your tongues danced wildly, yet tenderly, together. With each passing minute, your bodies melted against each other, wrapping each other in the melody of your moans and whimpers.

Your mind swirled as Namjoon’s mouth dragged away from your swollen pink lips and trailed down your neck. His hand slid down your spine, and the heat of his palm singed your back even through the layers of your robes.

A shiver racked your body at the feel of him, leaving open-mouthed kisses across your skin. “Namjoon…” the broken whisper emerged from the depths of your chest. 

Energy crackled around you both, palpable in every pore of your skin. Your fingers laced tightly into the back of his hair as his lips sealed against your pulse, sucking firmly.

His hands continued their path down your figure until they circled your waist, fingers pressing into your hips as his lips sucked bruises into the tender skin of your neck. The influx of sensations made you quiver, and you needed more contact. His hands explored your body with a reverence that caused both thrill and trepidation, leaving you shuddering beneath his touch.

He trailed back up, nosing at the underside of your chin. “Say yes,” his husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

You pulled back, meeting the dark pools of his dragon eyes. Your hands slid along his collar to grip the opening. You nodded your ascent with a swipe of your tongue along your swollen lower lip. “Yes.”

Namjoon’s hands gripped the fabric of your robes, tugging you impossibly closer as his lips crashed back against yours in a bruising, desperate kiss. A moan escaped your throat, swallowed by the heat of his mouth as his tongue delved deep, tangling with yours in a sensual dance.

Your fingers fumbled with the intricate fastenings of his robes, desire making you clumsy. Namjoon’s hands covered yours, helping you slide the heavy fabric off his broad shoulders. It pooled at his feet, forgotten, as your palms mapped the sculpted planes of his chest, reveling in how his muscles jumped and flexed beneath your touch.

Namjoon’s fingers deftly untied the sash at your waist, his lips never leaving yours as he peeled away the layers that separated your heated skin from his. Cool air kissed your flushed body, quickly replaced by the scorching press of Namjoon’s bare chest against yours.

You didn’t resist as he backed you further into the room until the mattress hit the back of your thighs. Your hands clung to his shoulders, pulling him along as he lowered you to the bed. His weight settled between your thighs, the hard evidence of his arousal nestled against your core. A gasp tore from your lips at the contact, your hips rolling instinctively to seek more delicious friction.

“I want you,” Namjoon rasped, his voice raw with need. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Then take me,” you breathed, your nails raked down his back. “I’m yours, Namjoon. All yours.”

The remaining fabric that covered your heated flesh fell away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable before his hungry gaze. His eyes raked over your form, taking in every curve, scar, and imperfection as if committing them to memory.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, his voice rough with want. “So incredibly beautiful.”

With a growl of possessive desire, he claimed your lips once more, his tongue plundering the warm cavern of your mouth. Emboldened by his words, you reached out, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest. Namjoon’s breath hitched as your hands dipped lower, skimming the waistband of his trousers.

With a deft twist of your wrist, you undid the laces, freeing his straining erection. It sprang forth, thick and heavy, the tip glistening with arousal. Your mouth watered at the sight, a primal hunger overtaking you. Namjoon’s eyes fluttered shut as you wrapped your fingers around his length, stroking him with a teasing slowness that drew a guttural moan from his throat.

He captured your lips in an intense kiss, his tongue delving deep as his own hands roamed your body, mapping every inch of your flesh. His mouth wrenched away from yours, leaving you breathless. Namjoon’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

Your back bowed off the bed as he took one pert nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak. Pleasure sparked through your veins, your magick responding to his in a dizzying feedback loop of sensation.

“Namjoon, please,” you whimpered, your hips canting up in search of friction. “I need more.”

You felt his lips spread in a wicked grin against the tender skin of your chest before blazing a fiery path down the center of your abdomen. Each lick of his tongue and nip of his teeth ratcheted you higher, making you eager for more. His journey south continued with a swirl of his tongue around your navel before dipping lower, his breath hot against your core. Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, desperate for the sweet relief only he could provide.

Namjoon obliged your begging moans by delving his tongue into your folds, lapping at your essence like a man starved. Your hips bucked against his face, your head thrown back in ecstasy as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. Just as you were about to shatter, he pulled away, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice a sinful promise. “I want to feel you come apart around me.”

He settled between your thighs, the blunt head of his length pressing against your entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, Namjoon sheathed himself inside you, filling you so completely that you saw stars. Your walls stretched to accommodate his girth, the delicious burn of it making you gasp. He stilled for a moment, allowing you both to adjust to the intensity of the connection, his forehead resting against yours as you shared the same breath.

"You feel incredible," he whispered, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Like you were made for me."

Your heart swelled at his words, the depth of emotion behind them making your magick sing. You rolled your hips experimentally, reveling in the way his length dragged against your sensitive walls. Namjoon groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he began to move.

He set a steady rhythm, each thrust hitting that spot deep within you that made your toes curl. Your nails raked down his back, urging him on, needing him to go faster, harder, deeper. Namjoon obliged, his hips snapping against yours with increasing fervor, the sound of skin on skin mingling with your breathy moans.

The air around you crackled with energy, your magick intertwining with his in a dizzying dance. It pulsed through your veins, heightening every sensation until you felt like you might combust from its sheer intensity. Namjoon's lips found yours once more, his kisses sloppy and desperate as he chased his own release.

"Let go," he panted against your mouth, his hand snaking between your bodies to rub tight circles around your clit. "Come for me, my love."

His words, combined with the relentless onslaught of pleasure, pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your walls clenching around him as you cried out his name. Namjoon followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside you with a guttural moan.

In the aftermath, you clung to each other, your bodies slick with sweat and your hearts racing in tandem. As the haze of passion slowly dissipated, you were left with a profound sense of rightness, as if everything in your life had been leading up to this moment.

Namjoon brushed a tender kiss against your temple, his arms tightening around you. "That was..."

"Magickal," you finished for him, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "In more ways than one."

As you lay there, your limbs entangled and your magick humming contentedly, you knew this was more than just a physical connection. It was a merging of souls, a recognition of the unbreakable bond that had been forged in the heat of the battle and the depths of betrayal.

For now, though, you allowed yourself to bask in the glow of this perfect moment. You lay entwined with Namjoon, your head resting on his broad chest as his fingers traced idle patterns along your spine. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear soothed you, a reminder that you had found a moment of peace and connection amidst the chaos and uncertainty.

Namjoon pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair. “I never thought I could feel this way,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “But with you, it’s like everything makes sense. Like I’ve found a piece of myself I didn’t even know was missing.”

You tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the raw honesty you saw reflected in his eyes. “I feel the same way,” you whispered, your fingers coming up to trace the sharp line of his jaw. “It’s as if our magick, our very souls, were meant to intertwine.”

He captured your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a reverent kiss to your palm. “I think they were,” he said softly. “All this time, we’ve been fighting against each other when we should have been fighting side by side. Our covens, our rivalry… it all seems so trivial now, in the face of what we’re up against.”

You nodded, a flicker of worry piercing the blissful haze. “Wooshik won’t stop until he has the relic...” You trailed off, unable to voice the full extent of your fears.

Namjoon’s arms tightened around you, his strength a reassuring presence. “We’ll stop him,” he said firmly, a steely determination in his tone. “Together. Our magick is stronger when we’re united. I can feel it. We just have to trust in each other and in the bond we share.”

You let his words wash over you, a balm to your troubled soul. He was right. Apart, you were formidable, but together? You were an unstoppable force, your magick weaving and amplifying in ways you had never experienced before. It was as if your very essences were in sync, a perfect harmony of power and purpose.

“Together,” you echoed, sealing the promise with a searing kiss. As your lips moved against his, you felt a renewed sense of hope and determination flood through you. No matter the challenges, you knew that you could face anything with Namjoon by your side.

You broke the kiss reluctantly, your foreheads resting against each other as you caught your breath. The first rays of dawn filtered through the trees, casting a soft golden glow over you. You disentangled yourself from Namjoon’s embrace, your fingers lingering on his skin as you pulled back, not wanting to break contact.

Namjoon sighed, pulling you close with a hand around your nape to have one last lingering kiss. Breaking apart, he rubbed his nose against yours. “Momo and Yoongi are probably waiting.”

Chapter Three

[isabelopaque]

hi katie is kollok worth getting into ^-^ i heard good things about it like 4-5 years ago? and was interested but never got around to it . also imsaying this but just know that there’s a 95% chance i will not actuallyfinish it Sorry

HIII!!!!! i like it a Lot. Its more serious/horror focused and can seem kind of pretentious in comparison to jrwi but i think. Rightfullt so? Its really well written in a way a lot of trrpg shows arent. I compare it vaguely to taz:b as the plot twists in like s2 two years after the first episode theres a plot twist related to it that is planned out entirely in advance and hits hard. Theres also really good rep id say? One of the main 4 pcs from the first ep ends up being a wheelchair user and it doesnt get magicked away and shes still super badass. Also canon aro character! Blowsa kiss to the sky. I love you billy baker. It's prob my favorite ttrpg series of all time ever but its kind of hard t jump into initially. Hopefully this is somewhat helpful. This isnt saying its Never offensive but id say its. Leagues better than jrwi in terms of actual care into its characters

[samhatch]

Tamlin's fight against plant discrimination

I had this idea kicking around in my head that Tamlin really hates the term 'weeds'. Because a weed is just a misunderstood plant who's in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That developed into this little story featuring a future Lady of Spring.

I had always loved gardening. And ever since entering the Spring Court and becoming Lady of Spring, I had more time and resources than I ever could have dreamed of. Not to mention a perfect climate all year round. I was limited to spring crops, but I had no qualms with that. If planted and cared for properly, I could grow a number of herbs and vegetables, including some edible flowers. The only problem was the damned weeds.

I tended to my garden every day, putting my love, my energy, and my magick into the soil. But the ragweed and the dandelions threatened my harvest, reappearing in droves every morning. I dealt with them ruthlessly, pulling them up by the root and tossing them onto the burn pile.

After a long, sweaty morning battle against the weeds, I finally prevailed. I sat for a moment appreciating my flourishing vegetables before heading inside. “My beautiful beets, you're doing so well! And my darling dill and precious peas, I'm so proud of you!”

When I entered the house, I stopped into Tamlin’s study to see what my husband was up to. He was always working away at some kind administrative task in the mornings. He noticed me hovering in the doorway immediately.

“Hello darling, what have you been up to?” he said cheerily, but kept his eyes focused on his work.

“Just weeding in the garden,” I said with a smile, removing my sunhat and loosening my kerchief. “I think the strawberries are nearly ready to bear fruit!”

He set down whatever he was working on, bearing a slightly annoyed expression. “Rebecca, we've talked about this,” he scolded. He only used my full name when he was cross. I sighed and rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what he was going to say. We'd had this argument a dozen times.

“There's no such thing as weeds. It's incredibly offensive to the foliage. Just because a plant is growing somewhere you don't like, it doesn't give you the right to call them names.”

“I know, I know!” I interrupted before he could give me the full lecture. “But what would you have me call them then? They're not just any old plant, they don't belong in the garden. They'll choke off the vegetables!”

“You call them what they are!” He replied, exasperated. “Dandelion, Thistle, Curly Dock, Oxalis. They all have names.”

“Alright! Yes, I understand they have names,” I capitulated quickly. There was no point rehashing the same tired argument I knew I wouldn't win. “But whatever they're called, they have to be removed. They're jeopardizing the harvest.”

“Do you talk to the plants in the garden?” He asked pointedly.

I was confused where he was going with this, but I answered, “Well, obviously, of course.” Even the mortals understood the value of talking to crops. The relationship between gardener and garden was its own kind of magic.

“Mhm,” he hummed as if confirming something he already knew. “And do you talk to the dandelions and thistles?”

That put me at a loss for words, stunned out of any kind of quick response. The thought had never occured to me. “Er, no. I've never talked to them before,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Do you think that maybe the other plants are jealous of the garden’s attention?”

I felt a pang of guilt throb in my chest. “Plants can get jealous?” I asked naively. Not only had I ignored the poor things, but I'd ripped them out by the root and discarded them.

Tamlin's expression softened. He could feel the remorse I had for the havoc I wrought on the poor ground ivy this morning. He rose from his seat and maneuvered around his desk to stand in front of me. “Of course they do, darling,” he said in a consoling tone, wrapping his strong hands around my dirt covered fingers. “There's not a single living plant or creature that wouldn't want to be closer to your warmth.”

I rested my face on his chest. I finally understood why the term ‘weeds’ upset him so. “In all the times we've had this discussion, I never realized the plants were capable of such complex feelings. I knew the chard was always excited to see me, but I didn't know the others might feel the same way. Maybe I didn't want to know.” It's easier to destroy something if you don't acknowledge it as a living thing.

“The blame isn't entirely yours,” he admitted. “I should have done a better job explaining things to you. I hardly ever go into the garden and speak to the greens myself. If I'd been more attentive to the garden, you might have learned from example. I'm sorry I never gave you the opportunity.”

“I'm sorry too.” It finally felt like this old argument would be laid to rest.

Tamlin grasped my shoulders and pulled away to look at me. “I have an idea. Would you like to have a picnic for lunch? We can go to the meadow and visit the dandelions and bittercress. The more we visit them, the more content they'll be to leave the garden alone.”

“That sounds marvelous,” I smiled. “I'll just need a few minutes to freshen up.”

“Wonderful. I'll have the kitchen put something together for us.”

As I left the study, a terrible thought suddenly came to mind, and I turned back to Tamlin. “Tamlin, is it alright that we eat the plants if they have feelings?” I was horrified by the idea that I’d been eating sentient beings.

He chuckled slightly at the expression on my face. “As long as you never harvest more than the gifts they have ready for you, it's alright.”

I sighed in relief, and made my way to the bedroom to change out of my gardening clothes.

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!

[honey-andmilktea]

✎ Welcome to Night Vale: Glow Cloud

🤎𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Scientist!Bang Chan x GN!RadioShowHost!Reader | 🌙𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Fluff, Crack Fic, 1st Person | 🖊️𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,789 Words | ✏️𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Most of the dialogue is from the Night Vale podcast and transcriptions! I recommend checking out the podcast it’s so cool and funny! There's not a lot of Chan in this one but other groups and other group members are mentioned! [Lee Felix, Lee Minho, Choi San, Lee Minhyuk (Monsta X)] | ❌𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of dead animals, more oddities, slightly offensive humor (?)

🍁𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: A mysterious cloud looms over Night Vale plus the change of the Boy Scouts hierarchy, community events, and a PTA bake sale!

“June, July, August. Every day, we hear their laughter. I think of the painting by Van Gogh, the man in the chair. Everything wrong, and nowhere to go. His hands over his eyes.” - Mary Oliver, ‘August’

The desert seems vast, even endless, and yet scientists tell us that somewhere, even now, there is snow. Welcome to Night Vale.

ೃ⁀➷ 🦇🕰️☀️[Monday, 8 am]

I get everything ready for the morning’s broadcast. I sit with my regular cup of coffee in hand as I move my mic close to me and start the morning’s announcements. “The Night Vale Tourism Boards ‘Visitable Night Vale’ campaign has kicked off with posters encouraging folks to take their family on a scenery filled jaunt through the trails of Radon Canyon. Their slogan: ‘The view is literally breathtaking.' Posters will be placed at police stations and frozen yogurt shops in nearby towns, along with promotional giveaways of plastic sheeting and rebreathers.”

I clear my throat as I continue on to the news of the morning. “And now, the news. Have any of our listeners seen the glowing cloud that has been moving in from the west? Well, Lee Felix, you know, the farmer? He saw it over the Western Ridge this morning, said he would have thought it was the setting sun if it wasn’t for the time of day. Apparently, the cloud glows in a variety of colors, perhaps changing from observer to observer, although all report a low whistling when it draws near. One death has already been attributed to the glow cloud.” I raise my brows at that last part feeling it was a little extreme but also made some sense in a crazy predetermined way. 

“But listen, it’s probably nothing.” I turn away from the mic and snort. It most possibly is something, but the listeners don’t need to start freaking out now. “If we had to shut down the town for every mysterious event that at least one death could be attributed to, we’d never have time to do anything, right? That’s what the Sheriff’s Secret Police are saying, and I agree, although I would not go as far as to endorse their suggestion to ‘run directly at the cloud, shrieking and waving your arms, just to see what it does.’” I shake my head but smile with a tiny sigh. I was right though, our community was full of oddities, if we shut down every time something happened, we would basically not exist. I roll my eyes as I read what comes after in my notes.

“The Apache Tracker, and I remind you that this is that white guy who wears the huge and cartoonishly inaccurate Indian headdress,  has announced that he has found some disturbing evidence concerning the recent incident at the Night Vale Post Office, which has been sealed by the City Council since the great screaming that was heard from it a few weeks ago. He said that using ancient Indian magics, he slipped through Council security into the Post Office and observed that all the letters and packages had been thrown about as in a whirlwind, that there was the heavy stench of scorched flesh, and that words written in blood on the wall said, ‘More to come…and soon.’” I scoff lightly as I shake my head and continue to talk. “Can you believe this guy said he used ‘Indian Magicks’? What an asshole.”

ೃ⁀➷ 🦇🕰️🌑 [Monday, 2 pm]

I purse my lips as I go to sit, having noticed something on my little trip down the hall. “Here’s something odd: There is a cat hovering in the bathroom at the radio station here. Seems perfectly happy and healthy,  but it’s floating about four feet off the ground next to the sink. Doesn’t seem to be able to move from its current hover spot.” My smile turns into a little pout at that fact. It must be so lonely being all stuck there. “If you pet her, she purrs, and she’ll rub on your body like a normal cat if you get close enough. Fortunately, because she’s right by the sink, it was pretty easy to leave some water and food where he could get it, and it’s nice to have a station pet.” I smile and coo to myself at the fact that we now have a little pet to call our own in the station. “Wish it weren’t trapped in a hovering prison in the bathroom, but listen, no pet is perfect. It becomes perfect when you learn to accept it for what it is.” I clear my throat and continue with our next segment for the afternoon. “And now, a message from our sponsors: I took a walk on the cool sand dunes, brittle grass overgrown, and above me, in the night sky, above me, I saw. The bitter taste of unripe peaches and a smell I could not place, nor could I escape. I remembered other times that I could not escape. I remembered other smells. The moon slunk like a wounded animal. The world spun like it had lost control. Concentrate only on breathing and let go of ideas you had about nutrition and alarm clocks. I took a walk on the cool sand dunes, brittle grass overgrown, and above me, in the night sky, above me, I saw.” I hum and nod as I read the paper, flipping it over to continue.

“This message was brought to you by Coca-Cola.”

ೃ⁀➷ 🦇🕰️🌑 [Monday, 4:30 pm]

“The City Council, in cooperation with government agents from a vague, yet menacing, agency, is asking all citizens to stop by the Night Vale Elementary School gymnasium tonight at 7 for a brief questionnaire about mysterious sights that definitely no one saw and strange thoughts that in no way occurred to anyone, because all of us are normal, and to be otherwise would make us outcasts from our own community.  Remember: If you see something, say nothing, and drink to forget.” I move my finger from the button, reading over the rest of my notes a small pensive look on my face before I continue. 

“The Boy Scouts of Night Vale have announced some slight changes to their hierarchy, which will now be the following: Cub Scout, Boy Scout, Blood Pact Scout, Weird Scout, Dreadnought Scout, Dark Scout, Fear Scout, and, finally, Eternal Scout.” I used my fingers to count off everything, a small smile spreading on my lips as I continued. “As always, sign-up is automatic and random, so please keep an eye out for the scarlet envelope that will let you know your son has been chosen for the process.”

ೃ⁀➷ 🦇🕰️☀️[Tuesday, 7 am]

I started my day with some interesting news. Well more like everyday news, normal in Night Vale but news is always interesting, isn’t it? I sat myself down with a bagel in my mouth. I took a bite and started the broadcast. “This is probably nothing, listeners, but Lee Felix, you know, the farmer? He reports that the Glow Cloud is directly over old town Night Vale, and appears to be raining small creatures upon the earth.” I nod along to what I read, typical for our lovely little town. Taking another bite of my bagel I continue. “Armadillos, lizards, a few crows. That kind of thing. Fortunately, the animals appear to be dead already, so the Night Vale Animal Control department has said that it should be a snap to clean those up.” I bring my mic with me as I move to make myself a coffee. I’m quite happy that I decided to set up a coffee maker in my little office. “They just have to be tossed on to the Eternal Animal Pyre in Mission Grove Park, so if that’s the worst the Glow Cloud has for us, I’d say go ahead and do your daily errands, just bring along a good, strong umbrella, capable of handling falling animals of up to, let’s say, 10 pounds.” I smiled as my coffee finished walking back to sit down passing by an umbrella I had perched against one of the walls of the office. I sit and take a sip of my coffee with a satisfied hum. “More on the Glow Cloud as it continues to crawl across our sky. And hey, here’s a tip: Take your kid out and use the cloud’s constantly mutating hue to teach them the names of colors! It’s fun, and teaches them the real life applications of learning.”

ೃ⁀➷ 🦇🕰️🌑[Tuesday, 1 pm]

I quickly run to my mic half throwing off my jacket as I get back from picking up lunch. There was a breaking news alert and I had to report on it right away. “Alert! The Sheriff’s Secret Police are searching for a fugitive named Lee Minho, who escaped custody last night following a 9 pm arrest. Mr. Lee is described as a black cat hybrid, about 5’8” in height, with yellow cat eyes, and about 145 pounds. He is suspected of insurance fraud.” I settled in my chair, catching my breath before continuing the rest of the alert. “Mr. Lee was pulled over for speeding last night, and the Secret Police became suspicious when he allegedly gave the officers a fake driver license for a 5’10” man named Lee Minhyuk. After discerning that Lee Minhyuk was actually a black cat hybrid from somewhere other than our little world, the Secret Police searched Mr. Lee’s vehicle.” As I talk I open up the container my lunch was in taking a bite of it since I couldn’t handle being hungry any longer. 

“Representatives from local Civil Rights organizations have protested that officers had no legal grounds to search the vehicle, but they ceded the point when reminded by Secret Police officials that our backwards court system will uphold any old authoritarian rule made up on the fly by unsupervised gun-carrying thugs of a shadow government.” Rolling my eyes a little at that but nodding as that is true continuing to enjoy my lunch as I wrap up the alert for the day. “The Secret Police say Mr. Lee escaped custody by scratching at one of the Secret Police officials. He was last seen jumping and hissing along the Red Mesa. Secret Police are asking for tips leading to the arrest of Lee Mimho. They remind you that, if seen, he should not be approached, as he is an uncontrolled cat hybrid. Contact the Sheriff’s Secret Police if you have any information. Ask for Officer Changbin. Helpful tipsters will earn one stamp on their Alert Citizen Card. Collect 5 stamps and you get Stop Sign Immunity for one year!” 

I sit back and decide to finish my lunch before continuing the broadcasting of the rest of the events of the day.

ೃ⁀➷ 🦇🕰️🌑[Tuesday, 1:30 pm]

I clean up my station humming happily to myself satisfied with the meal I just had. I sat in front of my mic before pulling out the rest of my papers. “And now, a look at the community calendar.” I clear my throat and start to read the next couple events for the week and next week. “Saturday, the public library will be unknowable. Citizens will forget the existence of the library from 6 am Saturday morning until 11pm that night. The library will be under a sort of…renovation. It is not important what kind of renovation.” I make a mental note of that which in honesty I might end up forgetting either way-. I shake my head and continue to read.

“Sunday is Dot Day. Remember: Red Dots on what you love. Blue Dots on what you don’t. Mixing those up can cause permanent consequences.” I shiver at the thought, knowing those consequences are real and to always remember the difference between Red and Blue dots on Dot Day.

“Monday, Choi San is offering bluegrass lessons in the back of Louie’s Music Shoppe. Of course, the Shoppe burned down years ago, and San skipped town immediately after with his insurance money, but he sent word that you should bring your instrument to the crumbled, ashy shell of where his shop once was, and pretend that he is there in the darkness, teaching you. The price is $50 per lesson, payable in advance.” I scrunch my eyebrows at this, shaking my head in disbelief but shrugging. Just another person of good old Night Vale.

“Tuesday afternoon, join the Night Vale PTA for a bake sale to support Citizens of a Blood Space War. Proceeds will go to support neutron bomb development and deployment to our outer solar system allies. Wednesday has been canceled due to a scheduling error. And on Thursday, there is a free concert.” I blink as I look over the paper and tilt my head. “That’s all it says here.” 

ೃ⁀➷ 🦇🕰️🌑[Tuesday, 2:00 pm]

“New call in from Lee Felix, you know, the farmer?” I’m leaning back on my chair absentmindedly throwing a ball up in the air. There is so much that can keep me entertained. “Seems the Glow Cloud has doubled in size, enveloping all of Night Vale in its weird light and humming song. Little League administration has announced that they will be going ahead with the game, although there will be an awning built over the field due to the increase in size of the animal corpses being dropped.” I pulled out a paper squinting at it before perking up. “I’ve had multiple reports that a lion, like the kind you would see on the sun-baked plains of Africa, or a pee stained enclosure at a local zoo, fell on top of the White Sand Ice Cream Shoppe. The Shoppe is offering a free dipped cone to anyone who can figure out how to get the thing off.” I hum as I try to figure out a way to fit in a visit to the Shoppe. Who knows I could win myself a free dipped cone.~

“The Sheriff’s Secret Police have apparently taken to shouting questions at the Glow Cloud, trying to ascertain what exactly it wants. So far the Glow Cloud has not answered. The Glow Cloud does not need to converse with us. It does not feel as we tiny humans feel.” It felt like I was in a trance as I kept speaking. My mouth is just moving and no thoughts in mind. “It has no need for thoughts or feelings or love. The Glow Cloud simply is. All hail the mighty Glow Cloud. All hail. And now, slaves of the Cloud, the weather.” 

ೃ⁀➷ 🦇🕰️🌑[Tuesday, 7 pm]

“Sorry, listeners. Not sure what happened in that earlier section of the broadcast. As in, I actually don’t remember what happened.” I blink a little rubbing my forehead as I try to remember. “Tried to play back the tapes but they all are blank and smell faintly of vanilla.” I take some of the tapes and give them another sniff before my eyebrows scrunch up again. They really do smell like vanilla. Kind of pleasant actually. “The Glow Cloud, meanwhile, has moved on. It is now just a glowing spot in the distance, humming easy to destinations unknown. We may never fully understand, or understand at all, what it was and why it dumped a lot of dead animals on our community. But, and I’m going to get a little personal here, that’s the essence of life, isn’t it?” I hum in thought to myself as I think over my words going off script now.

“Sometimes you go through things that seem huge at the time, like a mysterious Glowing Cloud devouring your entire community. While they are happening, they feel like the only thing that matters, and you can hardly imagine that there’s a world out there that might have anything else going on. And then the Glow Cloud moves on, and you move on, and the event is behind you. And you may find, as time passes, that you remember it less and less. Or absolutely not at all, in my case. And you are left with nothing but a powerful wonder at the fleeting nature of even the most important moment in life, and the faint but pretty smell of vanilla.” I smile to myself as I pull out a sticky note ready to end the broadcast for the night.

“Finally dear listeners, here is a list of things:

Emotions you don’t understand upon viewing a sunset.

Lost pets, found.

Lost pets, unfound.

A secret lost pet city on the moon. 

Trees that see.

Restaurants that hear.

A void that thinks.

A face, half-seen, just before falling asleep.

Trembling hands reaching for desperately needed items.

Sandwiches.

Silence when there should be noise.

Noise when there should be silence.

Nothing, when you want something.

Something, when you thought there was nothing.

Clear plastic binder sheets.

Scented dryer sheets.

Rain coming down in sheets.

Night.

Rest.

Sleep.

End.

Goodnight, listeners. Goodnight.” I end the broadcast with a smile. I move to the couch in the room and decide to do a little gazing out into the night sky. See what else our little strange town can offer me.

✎ @honey-andmilktea - 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜. [2024-2025]

✎ Thank you for reading! Since you've made it this far please consider reblogging, commenting or getting a coffee at the Coffee Corner! [Ko-fi]

✎ Taglist: @armysantiny, @faywithlove, @moonprismo, @iridescentxstars, @monsterhigh-cb, @mo0nbeams

[shaykai]

BG3 characters but it’s what Inscryption decks they would use (Spoilers for BG3)

Shadowheart uses a Magick deck Typically sticks to using only one color of Mox at a time in order to build resources- tends to favor Blue Mox. Used to have a Beast deck, but she doesn’t play with it much anymore. A Selune aligned Shadowheart does mix Beasts/Magick! She notably has a caged alpha card. A Shar aligned Shadowheart uses an Undead/Magick deck

Lae’zel uses a Beast deck Makes use of stacking Beast cards such as the Ants- has a firm belief that the best defense is a good offense. Late game Lae’zel also has Hydras and an Oroboros

Astarion uses an Undead deck He has several brittle cards that he’ll throw out while something like a Mummy Lord grows in the background, trying to keep his opponent busy while stronger cards grow on the side lines. Ascended Astarion has a Beast/Undead hybrid deck- mostly utilizes Goats, Cats, and Wolves from his Beast half- most of which have sigils to supply more blood or bones when sacrificed.

Wyll uses a Beast deck His deck is mostly Bird based to pass by his foe’s cards and attack them directly, though he does have a few Adders as well. A Devil-turned Wyll also utilizes Orange Mox cards alongside his Beasts.

Gale uses a Magick deck He’s very proud of his collection of rare Mox Master cards. He typically has a hybrid deck utilizing two of the three Mox colors, though he has been known to occasionally use all three at once through hybrid cards. Incredibly strategic in his use of sigils and resources- typically low on offense cards, but he’s chalked full of utility and can and will drag his opponents into card starvation

Karlach uses a Beast deck Notably has a few Undead cards from her time in the Hells, but not enough to call it a hybrid deck. She has several high cost hard hitting cards, like the Great White, Grizzly, and Moose, as well as several heavy defense cards (like the Tortoise & Mole Man). To try and balance out the high blood cost of her deck, she has several blood suppling cards- like the Squirrel Ball and a Black Goat.

Halsin uses a Beast/Magick deck He has a lot of high cost powerhouse cards like Grizzlies & a Urayuli, though he typically makes use of smaller cheaper creatures like Beavers and adolescent Wolves/Stags & Mantises. He also notably has a Squirrel Ball & tends to utilize Green Mox (but has been known to use the other two before)

Minthara uses a Tech/Undead deck Almost everything she has comes with a Spike Sigil. Makes good use of energy cards & stim builds, utilizing low cost Brittle cards to buy her time. She also has several dozen Bolt/Bone Hounds

Jaheira uses a Beast deck She makes use of movement based cards, particularly favoring Stags. Notably also has a collection of Mantis Gods

Minsc uses a Beast deck Boo chooses cards, Minsc plays them. Has a lot of defense based cards- like Beavers, Tortoises, and Mole Men- as well as a Grizzly that he says reminds him of Boo.

Orin uses an Undead/Beast deck All of her Beasts are for sacrificing/building up her Undead cards in a quick manner (almost always starts with her Beast cards before switching to Undead ones roughly halfway through the game) Very notably has a Ijiraq card as well as a few Amalgams.

Gortash uses a Tech deck He has a lot of trap cards to whittle down a careless opponent’s deck as well a notable amount of Sentry & Sniper cards. Also those terrible Explode Bots/Bomb Latchers. A lot of his cards are pretty delicate, but he’s not above leveling out the playing field by bombing all of it.

Ketheric uses an Undead/Beast deck Has several cards that give him resources upon death. He relies heavily on hard defenses and stacking attacks- has several Caged Alphas and a Long Elk. He has has a nasty habit of having a Spike Sigil on a lot of his cards, so getting past his defenses can be quite the task.

Bonus!

Durge uses a Beast deck Lots of Blood Cats and high blood cost cards in this deck. Notably also has a few Undead cards in the interest of not letting a resource their Beast’s make go to waste. (Has a few coyote cards that they lovingly refer to as their gnollies)

[thenightling]

Homophobia and transphobia is not "old school" witchcraft

Today on Facebook someone told me a story of how he tried to join a coven of magical practitioners in the 1990s only for the "High Priestess" (I'm putting that in quotations for a reason) told him that because he was a gay man he was outside the cycle of creation since gay men don't have children. She would not let him join her coven. Let me point-blank tell you this. That "High Priest' is no High priest of any real Occult practice. Lots of people like to use "Traditional" or "old school" as an excuse to exclude trans women or gay men from the "Eternal feminine" or other magical practices and concepts. I do not know what kind of coven this is so I'll be covering both Wicca and Hecate-based Neo Paganism in this rant. In the 1990s Wiccan books offered same-sex marriage ceremonies. And LGBTQAI+ magical practitioners aren't something new and "invented" recently. In the fifteenth century there was Doktor Johann Georg Faustus, the basis for the Faust legend. This is a sorcerer from German legend and at least two works of classic literature. The historic version was banished from Ingolstadt University for practicing black magick (N--romancy which would probably be Noirmancy today since though that first half of the word does mean black but is deemed offensive). And he was also banished for being a "S-d-mite" (and old impolite word for being a gay man). As far as i know no one ever questioned his credentials as a magical practitioner. Also would this "High Priestess" also say that those who are infertile, or women past menopause are outside of the cycle of creation? How about a happily married straight practitioner who just chooses to not have children? The excuses that would leave out gay men or transwomen would also leave out a LOT of cis / het women just for not being baby factories. How misogynist can you get? if you think the womb is the extent of what "eternal feminine" means you are no witch or feminist. The thing about Neo-Paganism is the neo part. Neo means new. Wicca is not the only religion cobbled together from remnants of pre-Christian faiths. Most Neo-Paganism was (whether people want to face it or not) invented in the nineteenth century. A lot of the old beliefs and practices were lost. Also I find it baffling that anyone could accept a possible "High Priestess of Hecate" (I assume that's the deity this "High Priestess" worshiped) as being anti-gay. Let's step back and look at the obvious problem here. Someone who worships a GREEK deity being anti-gay. Did... did this "high priestess" think the Ancient Greeks were anti-gay? Do I need to point out what's wrong with this idea? If you stumble across any occult practitioner who claims being LGBTQAI+ means you cannot be a part of their coven or you can't use magick, that is no true High Priestess of anything. That's just a mean girl with a clique trying to reclaim the cruelties of exclusionary factions in High School and giving herself a power trip while possibly offending multiple entities. Real magick is natural as the way you are born. Real magick has always been inclusive. If someone says you are unworthy because of what you are... that person is no true High Priestess and is the truly unworthy person. End of rant.

[pumpkinmagekupo]

Master vs Apprentice

Mizuki rose from the chair and slowly walked towards the barrier around the sparring area. The robes were heavy and the gold of the armour and chest pieces glimmered in the sun. They made her feel like a court mage, someone of importance. Camélia stood proudly at the other side of the area clad in the forum’s robes. 

“The duel between Mizuki Motte and Professor Camélia will commence,” announced Vauquelin.

 Mizuki took a deep breath, readying  her staff.  She had often thought about how to best sages. Nouliths utilised offensive and defensive spells in tandem. Their shields were hard to break, but in her studying of the sage arts, she thought of the easiest ways to best them in a fight- just hypothetically. 

amélia extended her hand, controlling the aether around the nouliths spurring them into life and floated around her, but Mizuki wasted no time in using the aether manipulation spell, and in a flurry of blue aether hurtled towards Camélia before she could react. She appeared just to the left of her, swinging her staff into each of the floating nouliths, using a skill she had picked up from Estinien’s rather brief lance training. Camélia aimed the nouliths at Mizuki as she vanished back to where she had started.  

“What terrible form! I certainly didn’t teach you that” she lifted her hand to direct the nouliths back at Mizuki but the sound of crackling lightning filled the air As a purple glow engulfed the nouliths one by one and they fell to the floor with a thud.

Camélia frantically tried to spur life into the nouliths but they refused to move. “What underhanded trick is this?”

“Simply a matter of overpowering your aether,” Mizuki explained briefly, holding her staff before her as a magick sigil appeared beneath her feet. “You might remember this spell Master, you saw it all those years ago.” Mizuki held her staff up, her eyes shone brightly and the skies darkened.

An explosion echoed around them, the ground trembling  from the roaring flames. When the fire and smoke cleared, Camélia had managed to spur two of the nouliths to life and had conjured a barrier strong enough to withstand the blast, but as she  lifted her arm to point the nouliths in Mizuki’s direction they exploded, falling to the ground in pieces. 

“The duel goes to Mistress Mizuki,” announced Vauquelin, and the barrier protecting the bystanders fell, signalling that the duel was officially over.

Snippet: Tales of a Hero: Chapter 10