#Witchcraft: A Graphic History

[atthequillsmercy]

Lenni Reviews: "Witchcraft: A Graphic History" by Lindsay Squire

(Image Source) *This book was given to me in exchange for an honest review. Told through a young girl named Lindsay visiting Biddy, a the early 19th century Irish witch, this book tells the history of witchcraft through the ages. First off, the art style if perfect for this. It captures the beauty of nature and magic; even gives biddy a knowing glint in her expressions. It’s exposition heavy in…

[rosieandthemoon]

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

Summary: Theodore Nott came to learn that an inciting incident can alter the course of history. Lucius Malfoy’s fall led to Draco’s dark mark and the death of Dumbledore. The rise of the Dark Lord urged Harry Potter into hiding and Death Eaters into prominence. And then there was Amycus Carrow, with his tainted hands on Y/N, who forced Theodore Nott to do the unforgivable.

Warnings: Sexual assault, attempted rape, graphic description of violence, panic attacks

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Non-Slytherin!Reader

Genre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 5.8K

All Masterlists | Theodore Nott Masterlist

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐬. The lines between the two flow steadily, each following its own cadence. And yet, despite their distinct course and the light years between them, they somehow find a way to draw parameters of joint space. Somehow, someway, they eventually overlap—meeting each other at the apex of catalysts and the twists between junctures to shape history and write the present.

Today starts like most stories do: quaint and subtle, setting the tone for an inciting incident that will tip this fable on its axis.

It’s a typical day, or as typical as it could get during Y/N’s last year at Hogwarts. She’s sitting at the far end of her Defense Against the Dark Arts class, donning the same apprehensive expression as all her classmates. The turmoil that governs the halls is a jarring contrast to the flourishing and effervescent school of witchcraft and wizardry Hogwarts once was.

In this mangled reality, there are specks of the idyllic tales she’s heard about, and witnessed, growing up. Slytherins and Gryffindors sustain their infamous rivalry while in search of their individual purpose, purebloods hold themselves on par with Merlin himself, and more often than not, students find refuge in a forgotten nuke in Hogwarts when the burden of magic becomes too heavy to bear.

In the first drafts of the story, Hogwarts held its students under one embrace. But now, as we’re nearing a hazy end, an isolating veil drapes over the school, fracturing it into fewer than four houses and dividing it more than ever before.

“Now, as Barty Crouch Junior has so tirelessly shared, you have already been acquainted with Merlin’s three most formidable spells,” Alecto Carrow, one of Voldemort’s trusted Death Eaters explains. Her heels dig into the marble floors of the classroom, their screeches ricocheting across the walls in warning. 

“The Unforgivables,” her brother Amycus eagerly finishes. His yellow teeth wither under the dim light of the darkened sun as his arms open wide. It’s unsettling how he and his sister welcome such misfortune so openly.

As it happens every single time the Carrow twins revel in the darkest boulevards of magic, Y/N shifts in her seat until she’s nearly imperceptible. Each time, her eyes rove the expanse of the classroom, seeking out the comfort of peculiar hazel eyes. Within just ten seconds, her wandering gaze comes to rest on the idle brown walls, a weight of defeat settling upon her.

Upon her reluctant return to Hogwarts this year, Y/N was met with a torrent of unimaginable changes, starting with students being separated not only based on their house but also their blood status.

Purebloods became a procession of peacocks—majestic, refined, otherworldly. Only allowed to flick around with students of the same upper class. 

Half-bloods, on the other hand, belong to inconsistent ideologies. They teeter on the precipice of honor, waiting for Death Eaters like Umbridge and whoever else is in the Ministry to decide their fate. 

Muggleborns, it's best not to get started.

Y/N doodles a few meaningless shapes, swirling her quill around the parchment as she thinks of Theodore. Lately, it's become increasingly difficult to talk to him, let alone spot him, with all the changes in place.

Her classmates know she’s not paying attention and that she's only pretending she has her nose buried deep in her notes. Her quill, which scratches against the parchment, is nothing but a ruse to get the Carrows off her scent. 

This class truly has nothing to offer except for a modicum of nostalgia and a barrage of abuse, so if the Carrows are so gullible to believe that Y/N is actively listening, then so be it. 

By now, she takes it a step further, looking up to meet the eyes of the young children brought forth by the Carrows. She’s mastered the art of stoicism to a T, gazing at their expressions without showing a measly emotion. But every single time, she finds herself transported eons back to a time when things were drastically better.

Her memories vary, depending on whatever catalyst she encounters. She recalls seeing a girl with ginger waves once, and her mind acted on autopilot, bringing her back to the times she and her friends would huddle in their common room to animatedly talk about the latest Weasley prank. 

At the previous hints of pink, she remembered Umbridge when she was finally escorted outside of Hogwarts grounds. 

And today, her memories are not too different. Bittersweet at best and wistful at most. 

She finds a boy biting down on his lower lip. He’s a Gryffindor, judging by the color of his tie, more so by his audaciousness when he decides to lift his head and contain his fear. His eyes are hazel, edging closer to honey brown underneath the dim light of the classroom. And her mind is cruel enough to conjure the image of Theodore hovering above her naked body with lustful hazel eyes and abused fiery lips. 

Theodore doesn’t particularly fancy his eye color—he doesn’t quite fancy much about himself. He’s not oblivious to his popularity, but unlike Draco Malfoy, who shines like the stars, Theodore Nott glows like the moon in a dance of subtlety and intensity; a paradoxical luminosity that always leaves Y/N in awe. 

He never particularly bothered her during their first couple of years at Hogwarts, which explains why they never interacted until their fifth year. Back when Umbridge was foul toward the student population, especially vile toward anyone of lesser blood. 

Dennis Creevey, who had been a first-year at that time, fell victim to her malice. His penance for being born to muggle parents was bloodily etched on his hand. Y/N tried to help him, even though her own hand was hurting just as badly. The healing spells didn’t counter the dark magic infused in the quills, and while she could handle the pain, the poor eleven-year-old couldn’t. 

"May I?" a voice softly breathed from behind her, causing her to jump slightly. She turned to see the unexpected sight of Theodore Nott, dressed in an emerald green tie and an aura of pristine silver. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, and her hands trembled, a reaction heightened by the delicate hints of cinnamon swirling in the air.

When Theodore pulled out his wand, Dennis cowered. And to her surprise, Theodore’s face fell. Yet he quickly covered his crestfallen expression with a mask of pure stoicism.

Y/N’s gaze meandered away from the Slytherin and settled on the young Gryffindor. “It’s okay, Dennis,” she recalled herself saying at the time, even though she hadn’t mentally given her words the green light to tumble out of her mouth. Both Dennis and Theodore seemed equally surprised, turning their heads her way. “He’s not going to hurt you.” 

Maybe it was the softness of Theodore’s hazel eyes, or maybe it was how he abstained from touching the boy's bruised hand and elected to kneel to his level. To this day, Y/N doesn’t know what exactly made her fall for Theodore at that exact moment in time. 

Yet, all she knows in certainty is that she’s in love with Theodore Aurelius Nott. Pureblood, Slytherin Elite, Son of Darkness. But what can she do if one glance at his hazel orbs leaves her drowning in the depths of his moonshine?

“Miss Y/L/N!” 

Y/N’s head jerks when a protruding voice disturbs her reverie. She chances a glance at the front of the classroom, finding Alecto Carrow’s lidded eyes on her. Bright and sage, a stark contrast to the malevolence nestled within them.

“Yes?” Y/N wonders aloud.

“Given your diligence in recording the theoretical aspect of The Unforgivables, I believe it’s time for you to engage in the practicalities of said lesson,” Alecto announces with a tone that leaves no room for negotiation or refutation. 

With a sharp nod, she ushers Y/N out of her seat, beckoning her over until she's two steps away from her. Y/N stands idly, unaware of whether she's going to role-play as the tormentor or the tormented. But her internal questions are answered the moment Amycus Carrow shoves the Gryffindor boy with hazel eyes into her line of sight.

"Go on." Alecto wears a sinister expression as she levels Y/N with a taunting smile. "Demonstrate your aptitude to the class.”

Y/N doesn't step back nor does she shy away. She clings to the apathetic front she's adopted from her boyfriend, her gaze falling on the young boy, and her thoughts drowning out Alecto's sharp voice. By the time Amycus asks her to draw out her wand, she's mustered up enough confidence to answer with a terse "no."

“What do you mean no, you insolent brat!” Alecto bellows, being the first to succumb to her temper. For a snake, she is known to be as hot-headed as a lion. 

“I refuse to perform any curse on anyone,” Y/N clarifies, purposefully refraining from calling her “professor.” And if she had half a brain cell, perhaps she would’ve figured it out. 

“Is that so?” Alecto challenges. 

“Yes.” 

“Very well, despicable half-breed. You know the rules. You’re either the rodent or the snake. Guess you’ll always be the former.” 

She's calm and aloof on the outside, but Y/N is dreading what’s coming next. She’s never fallen victim to the Cruciatus, though she has heard all about it from Theodore and his friends—even once from Harry. 

She watches with steady eyelashes as Alecto draws her wand and points it at her. Although the curse is released, and screams reverberate across the walls, both Alecto and Y/N remain silent.

To Y/N's horror, the young Gryffindor boy thrashes on the ground with clenched fists and agonizing wails. Above him, Amycus stands like a conductor, his wand beckoning the crooked notes of the boy's voice to rise to a crescendo.

Finally, the screams die down, extinguishing and feeding the anguish of every student at once. Amycus turns to address the class, dismissing them all except for one. “You go ahead, Alecto,” he directs toward his sister. “If the little mouse wishes to squeak, then she’ll have to suffer graver consequences than what you have to offer.” 

Whatever Amycus has in mind seems to appease Alecto. Her expression is mirthful as she grabs the robes of the young Gryffindor boy and sweeps him out of the class, using his body as a cleaning broom. 

The students all file out, their glances lingering on Y/N. As the last of the students leaves, Amycus turns to the young girl. 

“Your wand, Miss Y/L/N,” he demands. Y/N debates not giving it to him, but she knows if she doesn’t, he’ll come and collect it himself. So, she reluctantly hands it over. “Ah, pretty little thing. What’s the core?”

“Dragon heartstring.” 

“Fitting for a spitfire like you.” 

“I thought I was a meek little mouse,” Y/N counters, making Amycus grin. 

“You are a lot of things, little girl,” he replies as he twirls her wand in his hand. “The wood?” 

“Larch.” 

“Enlighten me, Y/L/N,” Amycus voices out. If Y/N’s a mouse, then he seems to enjoy being a cat. His long and calloused fingers trace her wand while he circles her, trying to break her resolve. “What does the wood say about you?”

The question strokes her ear, carried by Amycus’ ghastly voice. Y/N stills, not seeing where he’s going. She jolts as Amycus taps the wand against her thigh, particularly the exposed skin between her skirt and stockings. 

“It’s best paired with wizards and witches who possess hidden talents,” she replies tersely. 

The hum coming from her side indicates that Amycus is listening—paying attention, though, not so much, considering he’s rather preoccupied with poking her skin with her wand while rotating around her. 

He’s playing with his food, Y/N tells herself, knowing this is just another trick of his. Somewhere in his sadist brain, his senses are sparking with delight at the prospect of Y/N’s discomfort, relishing the power he has over her.

A part of her wants to jam her wand in his eyes, pluck his eyeballs out, and proceed to stuff each in his nostrils. But another part of her stands idle, not even blinking as he keeps up his ministrations. 

Amycus smiles, taking up more of her personal space. Y/N’s senses are lit on fire as he traces her wand across her body. “Is your mouth a part of those talents, filthy witch? You don’t talk much, but rotten girls like you must know how to use their mouths.”

“To scream, I presume,” Y/N breathes. Her quip hits Amycus right in the face, and the maniac grins. His face is painted with a nefarious glee, that of a predator eager to feast on its prey. 

SA and Attempted Rape Content Begins Here. Skip Through This Scene by Scrolling to "Scene End."

The unsettling sensation against her ribs dissipates when Amycus pulls the wand away, but the apprehension still lingers. As she mentally prepares herself for the inevitable pain that comes along with the Cruciatus, Amycus’ hand cups her chin, and his molten lips crash against hers. The sensation is so crippling and unfavorable it sends her tumbling back into the table.

The pressure on YN’s cheeks intensifies until it becomes sharp and metallic. Fingers dig into her flesh, paving a path for Amycus’ tongue to follow. Though her hands slap against his chest, legs flailing around, he continues his exploration in the depths of her throat. 

It feels like he’s finally thrown her off a cliff, yet with all the energy Y/N can muster, she pushes his body away and slaps him across the face. 

He looks at her with unadulterated rage. Y/N forgoes reading his face in favor of bolting toward the door. But before she reaches the handle, she’s yanked back by her robes. The fabric tears, as does her heart. Amycus then throws her on top of the teacher’s desk and catches both her wrists in his hand. 

“Pitty your blood is impure, little witch. If you had to match your filthy mouth with something, I’d rather it be your pussy than your blood.” 

“Get off me,” Y/N enunciates with a quiver in her voice. It seems to feed Amycus’ wicked desires because she suddenly finds him nipping at her neck in pure delight. 

“You’ve disobeyed my direct order. When witches are bad, they’re punished.”

“You’re sick!” 

“And you’re delicious.” 

Y/N takes a deep breath, burying his face further in the junction between her neck and shoulder. His kisses are filthy, heavy, frigid. They make her body feel like ice—they make her feel as if she's been snatched and thrown into the depths of the Dark Lake. 

Amycus' hands grab her waist and flip her over until her gaze meets the darkness of the desk’s wood. If the sensation of the wand against her thigh left acid in her mouth, then Amycus’ fingers left her with bile overwhelming her senses.

“What a pretty little ass you’re hiding under here. It was made to be ruined.”

Y/N doesn’t have time to panic. In fluid movements, Amycus lifts her skirt, rips off the shorts she typically wears beneath, and spanks her ass. 

She yelps, struggling against the hand against her back that’s keeping her on the desk. She’s hit one more time and then two and three. The slaps are forceful and fiery, leaving her skin scalded and singed. 

A roar erupts from the depths of her soul when she feels a finger easing her thong. The force of her scream catches Amycus off guard, enough for Y/N to elbow him and dive to the ground for her wand. 

“Cruc—”

“Oh, so now you want to cast it!” 

With ease, Amycus manages to slap Y/N’s wand away. He ruthlessly places his palm against her stomach, pushing her back to the ground. 

Her head aches from the force of the blow, a scream barrelling through the space between her lips when Amycus towers over her, digging his obsidian nails into her skin. 

“It’s a shame that the most delightful toys happen to be the filthiest. Maybe this will teach you and your kind that you will forever remain beneath us.”

Y/N cries as Amycus incapacitates her lips. She squirms underneath his body, vaguely aware of the fabric he’s tearing in half, though oblivious to what clothing item it belongs to. 

She tries to non-verbally cast a spell, but her mind is too distracted to focus on the incantation. All she knows is that she needs to get Amycus off her. And yet, no amount of strength in her hands or her spells manages to draw him to a stop. 

His spit traces her lower lip, tantalizingly closing the distance between her mouth and collarbone. Y/N shudders, bellowing at the thought of his saliva trailing her skin. 

She wails, screams, and shouts until she realizes that Amycus probably cast Silencio without her knowing. Though futile, she tries to push his body weight off her, even resorts to kicking his ribs. 

It doesn’t work... until by some miracle from Merlin himself Amycus’ body flies toward the back wall, releasing her.

Scene End

Y/N gasps, pushing her palms against the tiled floor and lifting herself to a sitting position. Her chest heaves as she looks at the discarded fabric of her skirt, the scattered buttons of her shirt, and the remains of her robe that are haphazardly strewn across the room. 

Faint sounds register at the back of her mind. A heavy breath, mirroring her own, emanates from behind, accompanied by an erratic heartbeat that matches hers. Amidst it all, she picks up on Amycus’s forlorn groans, muffled by the surrounding darkness. Resilient ropes now bind his hands and feet, rendering him completely motionless.

“Get Y/N out of here,” a voice orders. It’s far away—at least, Y/N thinks so. But despite the fog around its edges, she can somehow sense the enmity lacing it. 

Before she can process the shadows creeping closer to her side, a robe is draped over her shoulders as arms wrap securely around her.

She thrashes against the man holding her, trying to repel his hands from her body. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says in a low octave. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I promise you. He can't touch you anymore.” 

The voice carries a bit of an edge, yet it’s the most soothing sound she’s heard all day. Her lips quiver as she internally fights with her thoughts, head spinning and shaking in defeat. 

The halls around her move fast, time seemingly irrelevant at this point. She’s crying and mumbling incoherently, burying her face in the fabric of this stranger’s clothes, which smell like a familiar blend of mint and citrus. 

The robe is wrapped tighter around her shoulders, and she receives a faint squeeze as she’s brought up a staircase. Words are whispered, a door is opened, and voices mingle with one another until a delicate tone enters her headspace.

“Draco, who’s that you’re carrying?” 

“It’s Y/N,” the male voice, the one belonging to Draco, replies. Draco kicks open a door and places Y/N on the bed. She wails even more at the action, curling herself into a ball—at this point, she doesn’t know if she should be relieved or terrified.

“What the hell happened to her?” 

“Lower your voice, Pansy! Can’t you see she’s scared enough?” 

Pansy stutters for a few seconds before asking again, “Who did this to her?” 

Draco hesitates, looking between the two young women. “Amycus,” he replies. And though it’s barely a mumble, it’s enough to send Y/N spiraling. 

Pansy’s jade eyes tread carefully as they peer over Y/N’s frail body. She sees the red marks on her hands and the blood that seeps from the cuts on her face. “Cruciatus?” she asks, but something in her tone makes it obvious that it’s just wishful thinking. 

“No,” Draco answers. Y/N’s sniffles and shudders fill the air as Pansy and Draco exchange silent glances. Y/N clutches her throat, rubbing it to try and get herself more oxygen. 

“What do we do?” 

Draco's footsteps echo as he retreats toward the door. “You're going to her clean up. If Theo hasn’t killed Amycus yet, I’m going to join him in his pursuit.”

There was something in that last line that clamped agony around Y/N’s heart, squeezing like a vice. She wept, only vaguely conscious of Pansy’s soothing touch in her hair and the remnants of Draco's anger looming around the room.

The mirror in the bathroom captures two girls in its glassy frame. One of them is put together while the other looks worse for wear. Y/N stares at her wild reflection, moroseness painting her irises. A tiny sob escapes her barely parted lips, and Pansy decides to tear Y/N’s attention away from the broken girl staring at them through the mirror. 

She softly holds Y/N's hand and helps her to the shower, turning her head when Y/N undresses and then carefully cleans her blotched skin. Once they’re done, she lends Y/N some pajamas and underwear, giving her the privacy and space to change into them before helping her dry her hair.

Wordlessly, Pansy leads Y/N away from the mirror. Her grip is firm as she swings open the bathroom door. Y/N squints against the sudden invasion of light from the room beyond. Her gaze takes in the expanse of her surroundings and the rich emerald hue of the Head Dorm's walls. Then, her eyes lock on two men. One with platinum blond hair and the other with brunette locks, both embracing the shadows with deadly intent in their fiery eyes.

She bristles, caught between shying away and clutching the attention she’s receiving from them. Y/N doesn’t dwell on their appearance for too long, afraid to develop the ability to read their eyes and stumble across the shame and pity possibly nestled within them. 

Pansy whispers something under her breath, which Y/N fails to hear under the barrage of despondency she finds herself in. She feels Pansy’s hesitant touch on her forearm, briefly catching her and Draco retreating away, the door to the room closing behind them in a soft thud. 

Silence runs freely around the room, undeterred by the confined space. Its loudness disturbs Y/N, forcing her to wince. She wills herself to say something, but all the words are lodged in her throat, searing it from the inside out.

Theodore takes a deep breath, the sound piercing the stillness in the air. But his words don’t leave his mouth the same way his gaze never paces beyond a fixed point on the ground. 

“Why are you not looking at me?” Y/N asks. She’s surprised that she’s articulated her thoughts even though she doesn’t have enough strength to speak.

Theodore shakes his head. “I can’t”. His words have finally forced his gaze away from the ground, although he’s refusing to settle it on her.

“I wouldn’t look at me either. I get it.” Y/N sniffles. Darkness clouds her sight. She’s tired and aching, barely finding her grip on reality. 

She wants to scream, and she wants to cry, but it’s like she doesn’t know how. Like her mainframe has been hijacked and forced to shut down. 

Something in her periphery catches her attention. Theodore is now standing before her, hands trembling by his sides. They move to embrace her waist, to hold her shoulders, to cup her face; but they never do. They only trace invisible lines that mirror her figure. It’s then that she notices the fray in his gaze. Instead of the rejection and the indifference she expected to find, there’s dejectedness, misery, and pain. 

“I would look at you forever if you let me,” Theodore answers with his hands hanging in the space between them. “If you would still allow me.”

“Touch me,” Y/N retorts. Hold me, find me, fix me, love me.

And Theodore does just that with unprecedented gentleness. He traces her cheeks with his thumb and pulls her by the waist closer to his side. His nose nuzzles her neck, breathing in her scent. His lips press against the shell of her ear, his warm breath penetrating her soul and sending a fond tingle down her spine. 

He touches her, not like she’s a porcelain doll or a bomb about to detonate. Theodore touches her like she’s the most precious piece of art he’s ever encountered, and he’s afraid that even one stumbled breath could force her colors away.

“I love you,” he confesses. A loan tear accompanies his declaration, inscribing the words on the fabric of Y/N’s soul. “And I am so sorry. So sorry, my love, for what my absence and negligence have put you through.”

“Theo…”

“No, Y/N. Don’t. Don’t try to say anything.” 

Theodore wipes her tears, gently tucking some loose strands of her hair behind her ears. Y/N nods, allowing her boyfriend to hoist her in his arms and carry her to bed. She hides her face in his neck, absorbing the lingering traces of his sandalwood perfume. 

When he places her on the bed, she notices the change in his demeanor as soon as she tangles her legs with his and rushes to press his hands against his chest. Her eyes fill with tears, and she fails to prepare herself for the rejection that she’s afraid might be rushing her way. 

To her astonishment, Theodore pulls her into a tighter hug, as if seeking a connection beyond the surface, binding together not only their skin but also the intricate layers below—souls, hearts, atoms.

“Did he…” Theodore pauses, choking on unspoken words. “Did he go far?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. You and Draco came just in time.”

“Barely,” Theodore denies. A stolen glance gives Y/N a clear view of his clenched jaw and crestfallen expression. The war may be looming, yet to find its way to the Wizarding World, but it has already made a dominion in Theodore’s features. 

“Just in time.” Minutes pass while Y/N is cocooned protectively in between Theodore’s strong arms. They encase her, filling her being with the placidity and the tenderness that was robbed of her some time ago. Her eyes close, darkness not as fearful as it seemed now that Theodore’s hands are weaving through her hair, and his voice is carrying a tender lullaby. “How did you know?”

Theodore’s hands falter and the lullaby ends on an abrupt note. His arms pull Y/N closer to his chest as he ruefully explains what happened, “A Gryffindor boy found me. He was frightened and jittery. At first, I thought it was because Draco and I were standing together. Then he said something about Defense class, the Carrows, and the Cruciatus. Your name got suddenly tangled in the gruesomeness of it all, so I rushed to the class as far as I could." 

“They wanted me to hurt him,” Y/N whispers in a small voice.

“I know.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

Theodore looks at her with glassy eyes. “I know you would never.” 

His hands sooth Y/N, featherless touches easing the altercation in her soul. She meets his gaze, heart shattering at the pain he harbors. She knows it’s not easy for Theodore to be a silent witness to torture and heartache, understanding his unconscious pursuit of absorbing pain and rooting it in his very being.

“Please,” she begins, “please, Theo. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I’ve failed you.”

“You haven’t.”

He declines vehemently, “I promised to protect you from the darkness, within me and beyond me. And I have clearly done neither.”

You had no way of knowing! Y/N argued in her head. You, alone, cannot stop this madness! So many rebuttals swarmed her head. She wanted to pelt Theodore with every single one of them until some sense got knocked into him. “Darkness,” he says so loosely as if he’s ever exposed her to any of it. 

All her memories of Theodore exuded radiance, softness, and peace. He’s only ever steered her away from the darkness, whether it was from Umbridge’s rage back in their fifth year or Bellatrix’s terror at the end of their sixth. 

To hear him speak of himself like this, as if he’s one of them, a shadow branded by the mark of death, hurts her more than everything Amycus did to her. 

“What did you do to Amycus?”

The name causes Theodore’s heart to falter beneath the palm of Y/N’s hands. Her eyes trace the veins of his neck, astounded by the voraciousness of their color as his anger escalates. “Do not say that vermin’s name.” 

Darkness, Theodore would call it if he sees himself now. And yet, all the world is witnessing according to Y/N is a darker shade of love and concern: just as sincere, a lot more warm. 

“Carrow,” she concedes. “What did you do to Carrow?”

“I wanted to kill him,” Theodore answers, studying Y/N’s face for a reaction. “I almost killed him.” If he was looking for disgust or worse, fear, he couldn’t find it.

“And why didn’t you?”

“Draco called for Snape.”

Y/N hums, absentmindedly reaching for Theodore’s hand. He hesitates when he feels her fingers entwining with his, his entire body tensing up. Y/N whines, and he takes a deep breath. His fingers lace hers, squeezing her hand before bringing it to his lips. 

“Are you in trouble?”

“No, treasure. No one but that scum is. Snape said nothing. He bound his hands and escorted him to his office.”

“Good,” Y/N replies.

“That’s not all,” Theodore intercedes, catching her attention. She shifts in his arms, waiting for his next words with a bated breath. “We’re getting out of here.”

“What?” came Y/N’s question, loud, sharp, and clear. It resonated across the room, its intensity surprising her.

“I didn’t kill him,” Theodore admits. He’s moved now, body peering away from Y/N’s hold to better study her features. She keeps them the way they are, with no sign of the acrimony or the resentment she suspects Theodore is looking for. “But I uttered the curse. Draco countered it somehow, and it rebounded. Hit the wall instead. It cracked it, the same way I cracked every single bone in his body and watched him bleed.”

As the words fill the space between them, Y/N rushes to grab Theodore’s hands. She inspects them, surprised to find them bruising. How did I not notice this? She whimpers at her late realization—her neglect. But now that his marred skin is beneath the scrutiny of her gaze, she notices that the blue and purple hues are rather dull in comparison to his story.

Almost as if Theodore understood her silent concerns, he says, “Cruciatus.” Y/N bristles, though her body is traitorous. It jolts, feeling the residue of the invisible needles and acid-laced knives. “Sectumsempra and a number of other curses that flew out of my mouth without thought when I saw you lying on the ground, bloody, bruised, broken. Torn apart by a mediocre middle-aged man, who deserves nothing but to be decapitated, torn limb by limb, until there’s not even a speck of his ashes left on the—”

“Theo,” Y/N calls. Her voice quivers, mirroring the tremble in her body provoked by those words. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Theodore sniffs, head bending down. 

Y/N rushes to answer, shaking her head violently. “No. I can’t… I can’t watch you tear yourself apart over something you had no control over.”

“I—”

“Listen to me! Listen to me and not the lies inside your head. Does it hurt? Yes. Does it burn? More than a Fienfyre cast by the Dark Lord himself. But you weren’t there—no, Theo, come back to me and stop traveling in time inside your head.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” Theo defended. “Merlin, Y/N. I was supposed to be there! To stop all of this from happening. You’re in pain more than I am. So, stop subduing my anger!”

“I’m subduing your self-deprecation! I’m not blaming you, and I will not fan the flames of your anger. You had no way, no way, of knowing Carrow would do this.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he answers with a little less fight and a lot more shame. 

“And you did, Theo,” Y/N assures, bringing herself closer to his side. “You got me out. You saved me. In time.”

“Barely!” Theodore screams, a deluge of tears running down his cheeks and burying his resolve in their undertow. “But I will save you this time. I’ll get you out. Both of us. I’ll take you away, somewhere you won’t be judged for your blood or your mistake in choosing me.”

“You’re not a mistake,” Y/N refutes, begging him to see. “Look at you. You call yourself a vision of darkness when your love and care are shining through.”

“My love is darkness, viciousness, and cruelty.” It’s almost as if he’s the one begging her to understand.

Tears cascade down Y/N’s cheeks, the saltiness and bitterness of them incomparable to Theodore’s words. “Your love is fierceness,” Y/N professes, taking Theodore’s breath away, “seamlessness, and warmth.”

“I made you live through pain,” Theodore pleads, hoping she agrees. But she doesn't.

“And I will live after it. With you.”

The confession shatters the last of Theodore’s resolve. He pulls Y/N closer, resting his chin atop her head and enveloping her in a secure embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he cries. His fingers weave through her hair, gripping the back of her head, anchoring himself in her presence—convincing himself that she’s here. “You are so strong, treasure. Stronger than life and death, brighter than light, and fiercer than shadows. I love you, my Y/N. And I swear on your head and on my mother’s last breath that I will protect you even if I have to do the unforgivable. No one will ever hurt you ever again.”

“I know,” Y/N nods as Theodore kisses the crown of her head. Each breath he takes, every word he utters, stitches through her soul, mending the threads of herself. “And I love you all the more for it.”

“You’ve endured a war. I’ll be damned if I let you face another,” Theodore promises, capturing Y/N’s lips and seamlessly merging his soul with hers.

Tomorrow remains uncertain, and control extends only so far across the horizon. Yet, with Theodore by her side, Y/N finds the darkness considerably less formidable. Even if he's willing to commit the unforgivable to shield her, forgiveness is a given. His love is the tranquility that follows the tempest, and she's ready to navigate through destruction with Theodore.

I never expected to write about a topic as painful and sensitive as SA or rape.

Hearing the multiple accounts of women around me made me see how these experiences are prevalent yet scarcely communicated. When I wrote this piece, it was with no intention to diminish the seriousness of the issue but rather use this platform as a conduit to raise the matter and bring it to light. Whether you’ve been personally impacted by this disheartening situation or witnessed someone close to you go through this, I want you to know that you are not alone. You are incredibly brave for enduring this, and there is no reason to feel ashamed. You lived through it and will live after it with even more fierceness and courage than you've ever had.

If you ever feel like talking, please know that I am here to listen, without judgment or reservation. 🤍

All-Fandom Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

[sleeplesssmol]

Reverse 1999 Connections to History: Wandering Womb & Hysteria

Isolde, Evangeline, and many other women were diagnosed with these "afflictions". This is a SFW run-down of Wandering Womb & Hysteria. I won't go into graphic details about anything, but its still one of the darker aspects of history. If this makes you uncomfortable, please skip over this post or stop reading!

For those who read on, we have a special historical figure with a last name you should all be familiar with! I'm excited to share my findings with you! All sources will be listed below.

Please feel free to add on or correct anything I got wrong. I left out A LOT for the sake of brevity and sensitivity but there is a lot to chew on in this topic.

Wandering Womb Concept:

Definition: Belief that a displaced uterus caused various medical issues in women.

Description: Aretaeus (2nd century AD) described the uterus as moving freely within the body, reacting to smells, akin to "an animal within an animal."

Scent therapy: Like an animated creature, the uterus was believed to be attracted to sweet and pleasant perfumes and repulsed by foul smells.

However, future generations would move away from blaming the womb and pin the blame on women's "weaker" minds and bodies. It's one of the "illnesses" used to demonize or claim superiority over women. The way this illness was weaponized is extremely sinister but I'll leave it to the reader to look further into that if they want to. A Victorian woman going through menopause was often considered to be emotionally unstable. During this 'climacteric period', she may well have been prescribed leeching or bloodletting from the ankle. Her doctor would have advised against reading novels, going to parties and dancing. For a 45 – 50 year old Victorian woman, an onslaught of instability and madness was considered inevitable. Interesting how the "curse" on the women in Isolde's family killed them before they passed the age of 40.

The bullshitters (There's more well-known men with opinions but I'll keep this short and relevant to Reverse 1999):

Aretaeus: Advocated the mobile uterus theory. The origin of bullshit.

Edward Jorden: Popularized the concept in the 17th century through his treatise "The Suffocation of the Mother" (1603), linking it to hysteria and witchcraft. The spreader of bullshit. The Suffocation of the Mother connected the phenomenon of hysteria with actions like singing, laughing, crying, and choking.

Hysteria:

The idea of hysteria linked to the wandering womb, evolved from ancient Greek "hysterical suffocation." It was described as exhibiting a wide array of symptoms, including anxiety, shortness of breath, fainting, nervousness, sexual desire, insomnia, fluid retention, heaviness in the abdomen, irritability, loss of appetite for food or sex, even sexually forward behavior, and a "tendency to cause trouble for others". It is no longer recognized by medical authorities as a medical disorder. Its diagnosis and treatment were routine for hundreds of years in Western Europe. Even though it was categorized as a disease, hysteria's symptoms were synonymous with normal functioning female sexuality. In the context of hysteria, every symptom and negative thought was linked to sex (also it was problem if you didn't want sex either). Essentially, you were "sick" because you were a woman. Woman disease. How dare females exist 😰

Hysteria was thought to affect only women until the early 1600s. Thomas Willis' concluded Hysteria originated in the brain, not the uterus, implying it could affect men. Despite Willis' findings, hysteria remained a common diagnosis for women, particularly in Victorian times.

Franz Anton Mesmer advanced the theory of hysteria, influencing John Elliotson and James Braid. Elliotson believed mesmerism was particularly effective for hysteria, noting it was not exclusive to women and also affected boys and men. Mesmerism is hypnotic induction held to involve animal magnetism, but we usually use the word "hypnotism". This man appeared in an old journal I was skimming and jump scared me!

Freud's Influence:

Freud shifted focus from physiological to psychological causes. He moved away from Charcot’s hereditary theories, emphasizing psychological rather than genetic or physiological triggers (mind rather than body). Repression is the basis for hysteria. Traumatic memories must be repressed to cause hysterical symptoms. Freud’s therapy aims to bring repressed memories to consciousness to alleviate symptoms. We can see Kakania using this method on Isolde.

Seduction Theory: Freud initially believed that actual childhood sexual abuse caused hysteria but later revised this to include fantasies. This shift was influenced by public resistance and scientific criticism.

Freud's Contributions to Hysteria Theory

Etiology based on nurture, not heredity.

Pubescent experiences as triggers, not causes.

Hysteria redefined as a psychological, not physiological (this one is a very big deal. He was quack, but this shift in perspective is why we've progressed so far in caring for people with PTSD, depression, and so on).

Emphasis on sexual infantile experiences and repression.

Gender distinctions in hysteria based on psychological attitudes towards abuse.

Modern Diagnoses and Connections: Symptoms previously labeled as hysteria are now diagnosed as:

Somatic Symptom Disorder: Characterized by physical symptoms that cannot be explained by medical conditions.

Dissociative Disorder: Involves a disconnection from reality, often linked to trauma.

Conversion Disorder: Involves neurological symptoms without a neurological basis, often linked to psychological factors.

However, there are many other potential diagnosis since hysteria is so broad and vague.

Sources

[sillysparklygal]

Greetings traveler! Welcome to my blog!

This is (an attempt at) a fashion blog, as well as a personal blog! I love jfashion and alt fashion, especially harajuku street fashion and gyaru! Some things I like to add to my blog are web graphics, such as blinkies and stamps. My page is very decorated, or at least I try to make it lol

I’m autistic, and my special interests are BoJack Horseman and paleontology!

Some things I like are paleontology, history, horror, BoJack Horseman, musicals, The Mountain Goats, digital art, shiny shit, and witchcraft

I’m a practicing pagan, and I align with kemetic practices and theistic satanism

DNI: MAPs, AAPs, “transabled” or RCTA individuals, TERFs, homophobes, transphobes, anyone alt-right, Mormons (/hj), vivsiepop fans, proshippers, ai “artists”, countryhuman fans

PLEASE INTERACT!!!: neopronoun/xenogender users, jfashion enjoyers, pagans, queers, neurodivergent folk, bjhm fans, artists, etc

[wormwoodandhoney]

quarter three favorites. oops, nearly two months late! look forward to quarter four in just a couple weeks! oops! not a super strong quarter for me, but let's gooo:

The Eyes are the Best Part by Monika Kim: a new weirdgirl staple, the origin story of a young female serial killer who becomes obsessed with eyes.

Horror Movie by Paul Tremblay: look, this is a girls that get it kind of book. It's incredibly slow and weird and ends just as it gets good. But what can I say, I liked it!

I Was a Teenage Slasher by Stephen Graham Jones: my favorite horror author just gets me!!!! he's the best and I love him!!! If you want to explore slashers and final girls and what they mean to each other, this is the book for you. graphic here.

The Spellshop by Sarah Beth Durst is a cozy fantasy about a librarian and her assistant (a sentient spider plant) who flee with forbidden magic books from the destruction of their library, and find themselves in a welcoming and loving small town.

A Sorceress Comes to Call by T Kingfisher: A very loose retelling of the Goose Girl (there is a horse and there are geese lol), and it's awesome. Kingfisher just writes such interesting and unique to fantasy women.

Someone You Can Build a Nest In by John Wiswell: A shapeshifting, human-eating forest monster transforms into a human woman to escape hunters, and is nursed back to health by a kind and beautiful human woman who has no idea of the monster's true nature. As the monster begins to fall in love with her, it's revealed her savior is from a family of, you guessed it, monster hunters.

Witchcraft: A History in Thirteen Trials by Marion Gibson is a nonfiction book exploring the world history of witches through an examination of thirteen different witchcraft trials. Some really interesting stuff in here.

Dallergut Dream Department Store by Mi-Yee Lee, translated by Sandy Joosun Lee: a delightful cozy fantasy about a young woman at her first week working in a dream department store, and the sleeping visitors looking for the perfect dream.

[clonerightsagenda]

#recently read April 2025

House of Bone and Rain by Gabino Iglesias. Five Puerto Rican teen boys swear to get revenge on the local drug lord after he kills one of their mothers. *Pretty relentlessly brutal, lovely prose, will seek out more by this author

Hunchback by Saou Ichikawa. A disabled woman venting her frustrations and desires online makes a fraught deal with a male nurse. *Would have liked more to this novella, but I appreciated the disabled rage.

Feeding Ghosts by Tessa Hulls. Graphic memoir where the writer grapples with her family's traumatic history and her own mixed race identity.

The Sea Gives Up the Dead by Molly Olguín. Strange and magical short stories from one of the writers of the beloved Pasithea Powder!

Witchcraft for Wayward Girls by Grady Hendrix. In the 70s Fern is sent to a home for unwed mothers to have her baby, but she and other girls frustrated by their treatment discover witchcraft as a way to fight back.

Sister Snake by Amanda Lee Koe. Su and Emerald are sworn sisters and animal spirits who've taken human form, but Su tries to be a perfect wife while Emerald lives recklessly, until their lives clash in Singapore.

[witchtwig]

Made some very silly graphics for a social media AU I am doing on tweeter/bluesky.

history 226 - intro to witchcraft and wives || agathario smau Every semester, Dr. Agatha Harkness spins a new tale about her (ex, dead, estranged) wife to a classroom full of distracted, disconnected students. Except for two Maximoffs, determined to uncover if said wife exists.

[artschoolglasses]

9 books I plan to read in 2025

Tagged by @aeide 🖤

Meant to do this sooner, but, well, life... 🙃

Most of these are non-fiction because I have to be in the right mood to read fiction. And they're all books on my shelves because I should probably actually get to those first before borrowing anything more from the library... Therefore, have pictures:

Don't know who has or hasn't been tagged in this, so if you see this post, congrats. You've been tagged. What are 9 books you want to read in 2025?

No, you don't need to take photos, I just felt like it.

Proper list (and more pictures of books) below 👇

The Complete English Poems - John Donne

Someone has been very slowly chipping away at this for ages and should probably actually finish it one day...

2. Courtiers: The Secret History of the Georgian Court - Lucy Worsley

I don't think anyone following my blog should be surprised I like 18th Century history? And this one has also been sitting on the shelf for a while now...

3. The Georgian Town 1680-1840 - Joyce M. Ellis

Recent Christmas gift. Again, 18th Century history, or, more specifically, the Long 18th Century, covering the end of the 17th and beginning of the 19th Centuries as well. Fairly small book, too, so possibly a quicker read?

4. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

My dad bought me this edition when the family was in Rome. And I'm due for a re-read anyways...

5. the Last Witches of England: A Tragedy of Sorcery and Superstition - John Callow

As well as reading about the 18th Century a fair bit, I also like reading about witch trials, the belief in witchcraft and magic, occult history... This is another Christmas gift that I should get to before it sits too long on my shelves like other books.

6. Jane Austen at Home: A Biography - Lucy Worsley

Another Worsley book I've had sitting on the shelves a bit too long. And, of course, some more Georgian/Long 18th Century history.

7. The Book of Magic: From Antiquity to the Enlightenment - Brian Copenhaver

A book with a series of excerpts that mention magic/witchcraft/witch trials/occult history, from the bible to the Greek Magical Papyri to mentions of magic in literature from the likes of Shakespeare and Spencer. Once again, it's been sitting on the shelves for a bit... (It's a little long and dense.)

8. March: Book Three - John Lewis, Andrew Aydin, Nate Powell

Have obviously already read the first two books of the March series. Honestly think graphic novels are an excellent way to tell stories like these. And all three are very much worth picking up. Will probably be reading this relatively soon.

9. Jane Austen's Wardrobe - Hilary Davidson

More Jane Austen? More Regency/Georgian history? Shocking. But yes, would like to get to this soon. Hilary Davidson's other book, Dress in the Age of Jane Austen, was very good, and I recommend picking it up if this sort of thing interests you.

[whats-the-word-again]

◯ ◊ Alec's Intro ◊ ◯

🪦☁️💧 confused melancholic emotional 💧☁️🪦

Hello hello! My name is Alec or Kimon, feel free to call me either, [he / him], I am a hellenic poltheist and have been for just over three years now.

This blog is a place for me to express, learn, and document my spiritual and religious journey - feel free to stay a while!

My practice is a little all over the place, but it brings me comfort and joy. I have been (on and off) practicing witchcraft for five years now, though it's not as prevelent in my practice as it used to be, I would still consider myself a witch. Aside from hellenic polytheism and witchcraft, I have recently (within the past 6 months) gotten into both demonaltary and angel work / worship, these are still new to me though and currently only consists of King Paimon and Archangel Cassiel. Baby steps.

-> This blog has signed and supports the Xenia Declaration. <-

[ This is a side blog! ]

My main: @thefantasyvoid <- will follow back / like from here

Dev. blog: @the-banks-of-lethe <- devotional blog to Hypnos

A few things about me

—–◇ my favourite colour is a dark burgundy ◇–—

—–◇ I love paranormal / supernatural things ◇–—

—–◇ speaking of Supernatural - that's my favourite show ◇–—

—–◇ I am learning (modern) Greek ◇–—

—–◇ I LOVE spicy food ◇–—

—–◇ summer sucks, I'm a winter person ◇–—

—–◇ I take photos of clouds and trees a lot ◇–—

—–◇ little trinkets are life ◇–—

—–◇ I love all kinds of history and plan on it being my major ◇–—

—–◇ I have been dubbed by many an 'old man' ◇–—

More about my practice

Things I'm into:

Astrology ◇–—

Divination ◇–—

Herbal + kitchen witchery / magic ◇–—

Sigils + symbols ◇–—

Intuition ◇–—

Dream work + meditation ◇–—

I have altars set up for:

—–◇ Lord Hypnos + Lord Thanatos (joint altar) —–◇ Lady Aphrodite + Lord Ares (joint altar) —–◇ Lord Apollon + Lord Helios —–◇ Lord Dionysos + Princess Ariadne (joint altar) —–◇ Lord Hermes —–◇ King Zeus + Queen Hera (joint altar) —–◇ Lady Demeter - not really an altar, but I've dedicated my garden to Her

—–◇ I would love to have more altars up for the other deities I worship and venerate, however space is limited. —–◇ As stated earlier, I also worship / work with King Paimon and Archangel Cassiel.

Interactions + My Tags

I'm fine with anyone interacting, just please be respectful! I won't tolerate any hate; constructive criticism, suggestions, questions, respectful debates (not arguements) are of course okay. Hate is not.

If anyone wants to strike up a conversation with me - go for it! I'm totally open to just chatting or becoming moots, I just ask that you don't go straight to DM's.. asks, reblogs, comments are places you can talk to me until we know each other a bit better - then dms are cool.

Also, feel free to ask me any questions! Whether about my worship or just who I am as a person! Tags:

#wordless diary -> just me talking really, rambling even #house of words -> me sharing any of my writing. poetry, short stories, prayers, hymns, etc. #letters of the past -> where I'll keep all my research, info posts, etc. I will tag both my own personal research and others' whom I reblog #song to the theoi -> any devotional post, me speaking about my worship, sharing experiences, sharing eofferings to the Theoi #words for the angels -> where I'll post about my work / worship with the Angels #words for the demons -> where I'll post about my work / worship with demons [ may add new tags in the future ]

Top divider by: @/cyberangel-graphics Star divider by: @/cafekitsune User boxes by: @/messywitch

I hope whoever is reading this is having a wonderful day / afternoon / night wherever you are! You are all so dearly loved, more than you probably know.

Khaire friends, and welcome home.

[miknyu]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Nice to meet you

‎‧₊˚✧[Before starting]✧˚₊‧

Hi everyone! I just wanted to present myself before starting this blog! English isn't my first language and I'm not used to Tumblr yet so please be nice :) I've tried to shift for 5 years now and wanted to start this blog after experiencing shifting. What would I do here? I don't exactly know yet but certainly some things like motivation, tell of my journey, etc.

‎‧₊˚✧[Learn about me]✧˚₊‧

You can call me Mikuu ❁ 18 yo ❁ European

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: Graphic design student ❁ Beginner streamer

✦ Like : animals, nature, music, art, video games, flowers, astronomy, apple pies, carbonara pasta, coke 0, pizza, witchcraft, night walk, sleeping, bed, friends, reality shifting, daydreaming, history, 70s, victorian era, WW I & II, films & series, creating stories, oc inserts, traveling

✧ Dislike : school, vegetable, insects, feet (idk), asmr, capitalism, this society, working, why can't people be nice and comprehensive to each other I mean giirl

♪ Song of the moment ; Talk is cheap - Oracle Sisters

♫ Fav song of all time : Doing all right - Queen

‎‧₊˚✧[More about my shifting experience]✧˚₊‧

As I already said, I've been trying shifting realities for 5 years now. Yeah I'm a victim of 2020 shiftok :^ But it doesn't discourage me. I know I am able to shift like everybody. Because, yes, you CAN shift and you WILL shift. You just need to discover how you will do it. I'm a very slow person (in everything) so it takes me more time to know my way to shift.

The first time I tried to shift realities I had a lot of symtoms, tbh I think it's the time I had the most symtoms in 5 years. After that I tried, tried and tried. I took a break of 1 or 2 years idk, but I never abandoned the idea of shifting. I know my time will come, I just need to be patient. During this break, I had a dream where one of the characters of my DR ended to lead me to a door. Unfortunately, I woke up before even arriving in front of this door. Dang.

Not long ago, I started shifting again but differently from before. With symptoms or not. One night, I had a dream again where one of the characters of the same DR told me I was welcome to their universe. It made me so happy and cheered me up so much haha.

For now, I just let go. I know my subconscious knows I want to shift and will make me shift when the moment will come. I keep trying methods when I have time for it, but I don’t have it currently.

It’s been 4 years now that my motivation is my friend. We cheer each other and it’s the best thing I ever know in this shifting journey. I’m not an expert or anything, but I can tell you to find a friend, a group of friends, a community that can keep you motivated about shifting.

‎‧₊˚✧[This blog]✧˚₊‧

I don't really know what I'll do in this blog before experiencing shifting. Maybe some motivation posts or what comes in my mind at the moment.

As soon as I shift, I'll tell my experience here like journaling yk, do motivation posts ig, informative posts, etc.

If this post reaches people (i don't think it will tbh) who have questions or anything I can try to answer them, but I think I'll know way more things about it after experiencing it. There's a lot of things I don't know about even after 5 years tbh.

‎‧₊˚✧[Social media]✧˚₊‧

You can find my other social media here. Click on the link to see my linktree. I don't really talk about shifting on my other socials and I speak French on the majority of them, but if you want to talk with me you can join me there ! I'm way more active there than here.

You can find : some art on my Instagram, Cara, Tiktok ❁ my streams on Twitch, sometimes clips on Tiktok ❁ my stories ( & their aesthetic ) on Pinterest, Instagram, Tiktok, Cara,,, I hope one day on Wattpad who knows ❁ music on my Spotify ( I think I'll do shifting playlist one day )

[celestialspecial]

Vibrantly Hidden

Synopsis: Lydia has been forced to return home to live with her sisters. The well of magick runs deep in her family, despite her best efforts to avoid that aspect of herself. But strange things are afoot in the town of Crystal Falls and in order to figure out these bizarre happenings she must work alongside her enemy from a rival coven-Billy Russo.

Authors Notes: This story has been my passion project as of late and something that I maybe hope to turn into something real and tangible one day. As a special thanks for all your support I want to share it with you first :) The title is still in the works as I explore other options- input is very welcome on it!

Warnings: 18+, Witchcraft and Magick, Some horror elements, graphic descriptions, smut (use your own discernment)

Chapter One: Click your heels together three times

There were few things I’m certain of in life. 

Never conjure when angry or when the moon is waning.

River spirits never forget a bargain spurned.

The Russo Coven couldn’t be trusted.

It was the near end of august, September rode in on the back of a cool breeze and yellow tinged leaves. 

Sipping a slightly-too salty margarita on a wine bar patio, the glass sweating despite the soft breeze. 

While most people were excited about autumn and all the treats the “-Ber months brought I couldn’t help but feel a pit of sadness at the thought of summer ending.

Ignoring reality had been my personal goal for the season and I’d done it so well. Books by the pool, painting sessions on the beach(with all the retired folks), hikes along trails covered in moss and jagged stones.

Sipping cocktails on patios like this, savoring the complex flavors and picking at charcuterie boards with cheeses whos names I butchered while ordering.

I was living the life. But with each passing day I knew I couldn’t ignore it for much longer. 

After budget cuts, my position at the local art museum was no longer “essential”. Having a background in art history left one wanting for jobs in a bad way.

I should be grateful for the job posting my older sister Elizabeth had sent but when I saw it conveniently was at the local college back home I couldn’t conceal the anxiety taking root in my chest.

I’d applied haphazardly, fully anticipating another, “thank you for your interest- we’ve decided to move ahead with other candidates.” 

But when I saw the “we’d love to have you come on board!” Intro line I knew my fate had been sealed. 

I needed this job.

It wouldn’t be so bad living back at home for a little while until another opportunity came along, right? 

My younger sister Emily was ecstatic. It almost broke my heart a little to imagine telling her I didn’t quite feel the same amount of eagerness.

I’d moved away because I wanted to feel free, to see what my life could be outside of the confines of my hometown. Outside of what I was.

I had needed space. Space in the form of multiple hundreds of miles away. 

Most people grow up playing on swing sets and eating peanut butter sandwiches. Growing up in a family of witches, is something entirely different.

When you’re young and impressionable the idea of having powers, knowing there’s more to life than what most others know. It can feel feel empowering. 

To me it was daunting. Exhausting. It’s not all hocus pocus and fun spellbooks or brewing potions.

I didn’t want to be me. I wanted something else.

Something normal.

The Dawson name was well known and revered in the town of Crystal Falls. We’d been here since the town was christened along with a few other families.

There’d been a Dawson Mayor, Head of the newspaper, a few doctors, even a sheriff. 

If only the upstanding community was aware that the Dawson name was a coven. Not just your run of the mill one, but powerful witches, dating back centuries.

The town today had no idea that witches had laid claim to this land so many years ago.

It’s not something one can post on social media. After the debacle in Salem all the smart actual witches branched off. Some migrated to the Midwest, others searched for the west coast. 

The Dawson’s had gone upwards along the east coast, becoming almost nomadic in nature until settling into a small village, close to the ocean but gently tucked into a blanket of forest.

A river cut through town giving a grand display of multiple waterfalls that ended at the nearby beach. 

If you caught one of the large celestial events of comets or a grandiose full moon the river and falls seemed to glimmer and glow, taking on an ethereal hue.

Hence the name- Crystal Falls. 

Our family had helped imbue protective barriers around the town alongside the Russo coven. Another family of warlocks that had also managed to stumble upon this area.

It was beautiful and charged with an uncontained wild nature that must’ve called to our ancestors in some way. And above all else- it was home.

Me and my sisters had been raised by our aunt and grandmother after our parents died when we were young.

It had been labeled an accident. Driving through the mountainous terrain to reach town was dangerous even during the brightest of days.

But there had been signs, too many for our families liking, to chalk it up to merely an accident. There were too many “magickal” elements at play to ignore.

The brand new car losing control, the large tree having conveniently fallen, after the too conspicuous lightning strike and torrential storm appearing on an otherwise clear meteorological prediction.

I tried not to think of it too long, for fear of losing myself in the grief. Too afraid of falling into the whirlpool of those feelings and drowning, never to be seen again.

“Would you like another?” The waitress asked, taking away my now empty margarita glass.

“Yes please, actually do you have anything remaining from the seasonal menu?”

“Sorry, we just finished the last of the summer sangria but we do have our fall menu out! Fig spritzer with sugared thyme and a pumpkin spice bourbon.”

Another nail in the coffin. Summer was over and I needed to face the reality of my impending trip back home. Whether I liked it or not.

Picking some random Chardonnay off the menu in silent rebellion to their fall drinks I feel a tingle in my left pinkie.

I recognize that feeling. It appears when I’m sad. Or stressed. Or angry. Sometimes when I’m happy. 

I’ll be watching a Netflix show and laughing so hard on my sofa and then I feel the tingling sensation in my fingertips. 

Like dipping my fingers into super icy water then immediately into hot boiling water. I catch it and breathe into the feeling.

Willing it to stop. 

Some tries take longer than others. Over the years I’ve managed to muffle that part of me that yearns to escape.

A rabid dog locked in a basement waiting for the caretaker to get sloppy, lazy. Bursting past the seam of the door and bounding freely into the night.

Not today. One day perhaps. I shudder thinking about it. Or maybe it’s just the breeze, goose bumps break out along my arms and chest.

Eventually after some practiced breathing I feel the tiny reverberations cease. Returning from whence they came.

Boy how I am not looking forward to going home.

The drive back home was a scenic four hour trek through mountains and forestry that could make any camper or hiking enthusiast’s mouth water. 

I’d lost count over the years how many scenic overlooks dotted the area and if there was a drinking game involving shots every time a quaint picturesque New England type village popped up on google maps one would quickly die of alcohol poisoning.

“What do you want for dinner?” Elizabeth’s text pinged on my phone that was propped on the dash hastily.

“So excited!!!!” Emily responded not two seconds later. The age dynamics were far too apparent.

I couldn’t help but grin, I loved my sisters I really do, but it’s been so long since I’d lived with them. 

Elizabeth came into her magic first- understandably so, being the oldest. Grandma was so proud, seeing Lizzy carry on the Dawson legacy.

“Easy Em” 

“Sorry! Sorry! Drive safe!”

I rolled my eyes, chuckling a little as I turned onto another mountain path. This added time to my trip but I just …couldn’t bring myself to take the other route. Not yet.

After another hour or so of driving I finally saw the sign for Crystal Falls, keep right for 30 miles. 

A crusted slab of wood with paint peeling off of it. Emerald green and white swirls of paint beckoning any passerby to stop.

It didn’t pass my notice that a handful of trees had leaves tinged in orange, a few scattered red bursts.

Traitors.

It would be beautiful. The kiss of death to summer and its green tinged warmth. I’d even miss the bugs.

Turning down the Main Street there was a constant stream of activity. People walking in and out of shops, visitors milling around the welcome center, campers clearly here for the upcoming fall foliage unfurling comically large maps of the cave systems.

There was a gazebo at the town center, a la Gilmore girls Stars Hollow that was always decorated according to season. 

I said a silent prayer of thanks seeing the sunflowers still adorning it and not hay bales and pumpkins.

Festive mums sat in fat glazed pots in front of the stores. I rolled my windows down to inhale the smell of home.

Wondering if it’d smell like how I remembered. Fresh flowers, sweet honeysuckle and that tell tale pinch of chill.

Tree branches swayed overhead with the seasonal breeze. Yellowed leaves broke off of a nearby oak and scattered into the street. 

I watched as a gaggle of school girls walked over them, crunching them into the pavement without a thought.

Turning off the main causeway and into the more scenic countryside where a few vineyards with their adjoining wineries sat.

Moon Brew Farm with their delicious peach wine. Cats Tail Vineyard that created a bubbly moscato with hints of fresh blackberry. 

I could feel my mouth water just imagining it, that full mouth feel. Fizzing bubbles popping on my tongue and chasing it with a panini whose sides runneth over in pale cheese.

My stomach gurgled, begging for food. I had only stopped at a Wendy’s on the way since the McDonald’s drive through had a line longer than I cared to sit in.

The remnants of a devoured chicken sandwich rested on my center console. The paper still flecked with grease and a loose pickle that somehow managed to escape my mouth.

I passed a large estate off to the left. A high arched gate cutting the drive off at the main road. The stone pillar at the end read, “Russo.” Engraved into a black marble plaque. 

I drove by, right hand on the wheel, left out the window in an honorary “one finger salute ” at the disgusting excuse for a castle marring our town.

Dirt billowed behind my rickety Subaru as I finally ambled onto a gravel driveway. The popping sound of rocks being shot out from underneath my tires like rapid shrapnel alerted the ladies inside. 

“Lydia!” Emily was the first to run out, screen door slamming shut into Elizabeth’s face as she jumped the porch steps completely.

Lizzy scowled, pushing the screen door out of her way like it owed her money.

“Em, what the hell?” 

I tossed my car in park just in time to see Emily’s grinning face and fists tapping at my window like a madwoman. 

“Can you give me like a second?” I managed a laugh, popping the door open only to be tackled in a rib cage smushing embrace.

“I missed you! So-o-o-o-o much!” Each ‘o’ was accompanied by a sway of our bodies back and forth. 

Elizabeth finally reached us, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Bet you missed this.” She joked, gesturing to Emily who had wedged her face into my shoulder.

“Shuff-Upf” came Emily’s muffled response as she refused to let go. Maybe she was afraid I’d disintegrate, that I was some clever illusion instead of actually being here in the flesh.

“Missed you-“ I gave a genuine, albeit weary smile to my older sister, somehow untangling a limb to motion her into the bear hug going on.

“So glad to see you.” She relented, easing into the sister shuffle.

It felt nice. I hadn’t stopped so much to reminisce on these things when I was away. I did miss them. I did miss home. I just didn’t miss what home had meant to me for so long.

Eventually Emily peeled herself off of me and dragged me into the house, not pausing even when I nearly tripped on the porch steps.

“Luggage can wait for later!” She had stated. Dinner was ready and honestly I just wanted to unwind and zone out into a pile of amazing food.

Elizabeth and Emily got the cooking gene from our mother. I got my fathers gene of enjoying said cooking.

Chicken pot pie with a flaky crust, yams coated in golden butter, green beans sautéed with almonds and pepper and a peach cobbler with succulent fruit from the local farmers market.

“I still can’t believe you’re home and not just for a vacation but like, for good.” Emily twisted her fork into the leftover cobbler morsels, licking a crumb from her thumb.

“Not for good, just…for now.”

Elizabeth nodded sagely, catching my hesitation and being kind enough to change the subject. 

“How was the drive?”

“Not bad.” I spooned a piece of chicken coated in sauce onto my plate as Elizabeth took another bite of green beans. “I see tons of campers are already here. Don’t they know it’ll be weeks until fall foliage actually appears?”

“The mayor has been trying to push for more summer into fall events to draw in the crowds.” 

“Yeah Elizabeth’s boyfriend has really been overhauling the event planning thing.”

“He is NOT my boyfriend.” Her cheeks turned almost as red as her hair. “It’s about time we had a member of the council actually give a shit about our town and its livelihood.”

Emily dramatically sighed, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead and fluttered her eyelashes. “Yes whatever would we do without dear Sebastyan.”

“The crab?” I smirked, reaching my fork towards another yam. Lizzy pulled the plate away giving me that older sister, raised eyebrow look. It spelled out “watch it” clear enough for me to relent.

“Don’t you start with me.”  

Dinner wraps up with each of us carrying a Handful of dirty dishes into the kitchen. Piled high into the sink with an unspoken agreement to get to them tomorrow.

I watch the two of them joke and share inside info about their planned week ahead. Things I’d know if I lived here. Schedules that would make sense to me but are now new and unknown.

The two of them continue their conversation as I teeter my messy plate on top of an empty glass that once contained a milkshake. It feels weird to hear their voices in person again. The last time I was home was maybe two years ago? For Christmas?

Elizabeth is just as elegant as I remember. Tall, long red hair swept up into a modest pony tail. Barely a smudge of makeup on her but soft pale skin with a dash of freckles across her high cheekbones.

I remember standing on my tippy toes when we were little, getting measured against the doorframe, hoping and praying I’d grow as tall as my older sister.

Fate didn’t pay attention to my pleas. My body threw in the towel the minute I struck 5’3”. Cruel, if I’m being honest. She whisks about the kitchen making a funny face at something Emily said.

It feels like I’m in a fishbowl, hearing noises, knowing someone is speaking but it just sounds muffled and foreign to me. Like I’m not really here.

Emily makes another comment that pulls a laugh from Elizabeth. Emily has always been a lightning bolt. Even when she was a child. Her hair is cut into a blunt bob with thick heavy bangs. It’s dyed a dark brown that almost matches her hot chocolate colored eyes. 

She’s maybe an inch shorter than me, a rarity in our family that the oldest sibling is actually the tallest. My younger sister however has a face full of makeup. It never looks to be too much, always tastefully done and complimenting her features.

They’ve changed so much and not at all from when I last saw them. From the pictures I’d had hanging in my apartment that now sit in a storage facility. 

I feel the bubbling tightness in my chest and I’m yanked from my misty eyed staring. Being around them, their energy, I can feel parts of me clawing to get out. Like taking a spray bottle to a pesky cat, I shove it down.

Emily turned in first, working at a bakery requires her to be up before the sun. She gives me a quick hug once more.

“I really am excited you’re home…for however long.”  Before starting up the stairs, sounds of the shower turning on and soft lilting singing to some show tune carries throughout the halls.

“Wine?” Elizabeth holds a glass up with a bottle of cherry wine, the deep scarlet liquid looks intoxicating. 

“Please.”

We retreat to the porch as the last rays of sunset disappear behind the trees leaving that unsettling light blue that comes before navy then black.

The old rocking chairs groan as we take our seats. The sound the cork popping makes echoes throughout the woods surrounding the house. 

I never forgot how quiet it gets. The crickets had just started their nightly serenade and a few owl hoots call out from a distance. 

She pours me a hefty glass of the wine, handing it to me as we both delicately lean forward in our rickety chairs, balancing bottle and glasses.

Dozens of long shadows climb out from all around us. Reaching towards the front steps and skittering along the warped floorboards.

If I close my eyes it feels like I can even hear them calling out to me. Where have you been? Why have you been gone so long?

Every leaf, branch, blade of grass blending together to create large charcoal swaths against the forest floor. It both chills and excites me. 

“It is nice, ya know? To have you home for more than four days at a time.”

I feel myself shaken from my stupor. Mind slowly drifting back to where it’s supposed to be in the present. On the porch. With my sister. 

For the first time in years.

“You say that now since I’ve only been here for a few hours.” I take a long sip of the wine and let the fruity flavors dance on my tongue. 

“I’m serious.” I hear her rocker stop creaking, her eyes focused on me. Like burning sapphires. I’d always been jealous of her eyes. “I think this…this will be good for all of us.” 

I watch her take a drink before continuing, “We have a lot to catch up on.”

I ponder in silence, running my fingertip along the wine glass’ lip. For a little there’s only the sound of our rockers moving back and forth. 

Occasionally I’ll hear the sounds of Emily getting ready for bed upstairs. A single car drives past on the road, far enough we can’t make it out save for the headlights.

The vibrant ripples of yellow cutting through the trees then fading into the distance. The trees gobble up the remaining light.

“How’s work been?” 

Elizabeth smiles, pouring a little more wine into her cup. I notice as she sips deeply, letting her eyelids drift shut, pondering how to respond.

“It’s been good. I travel a little for work more now than usual but it’s ok. Rewarding.” 

“I couldn’t do it. Be a midwife.” She nodded thoughtfully at my comment, staring off into the ever darkening tree line.

The moon is out, but I watch as it quickly becomes obscured by passing clouds. 

“It can be tough, but I have this gift. It feels selfish to not use it. At least in a way that brings purpose to my life.” 

I found myself nodding and staring off as well. Elizabeth is a healer, ever since she was little she had a knack for it. Never getting colds, being able to concoct awful tasting potions that somehow worked and cured a multitude of things.

Every witch can do basic magic but more often than not, there’s a specialty. A gift that is unique to that person. 

Some people get lucky with theirs. Others not so much.

“You can go on the road with it. Really explore your options.” 

“I do have over a hundred 5 star yelp reviews.” She grinned toasting her glass to the air.

“Elizabeth Dawson-“ I held my hand in front of me, punctuating gestures as if reading a headline, “Midwife To The Stars!” 

We both giggled and took another sip after sloppily ‘cheers-ing’. 

“Ahhhh I don’t know if California or New York is for me.” She chuckled, twisting a strand of her dark red hair held by her ponytail. 

I settle back into my seat, rocking back and forth, pushing with my heels and feeling the entirety of my foot flatten then pitch back.

“Soooo Sebastyan?” 

“Don’t start with me already.” Liz smirked at me, dipping her fingers in the wine glass and flicking a few drops in my direction.

Maybe this was ok. Maybe this would be ok.

How silly and naïve I was.

After half an hour of sitting on the porch and enjoying the entire bottle of wine, the sky had fully morphed from navy to inky black. The local owl continued to hoot, a rhythmic sound that I could feel myself drifting off too.

Elizabeth had already placed her glass on the counter by the sink, turning in for the night. Flipping the porch light off and only on occasion would the motion sensor light by the back door turn on.

Squirrels, chipmunks, raccoons maybe even a coyote or two always liked to wander up by the back door and sniff around our trash bins. I sat up reading in the living room a while longer, not quite ready to face my old room.

Instead choosing to inspect the first floor, wondering what new things I could pick out from the décor. A small painting of Emily’s rabbit, Artimus that was clearly done on a wine and paint night.

Large bookshelves lined the backwall surrounding the TV, so many books from Elizabeth’s studies, health magazines spread along the coffee table.

A wreath with some greenery bearing white berries and red bow, a few old coffee tins and tea containers holding either flowers or some assortment of pens and paintbrushes.

So much was the same and yet I still felt like an outsider.

Surrendering to the reality I did need to go to bed I gathered my phone, book and flicked off the last of the remaining lamps to ascend the stairs.

Our gallery wall floated along the steps. Photos of almost every generation of our family lay plastered against the drywall that desperately needed repainted.

Our parents wedding day, their smiling faces. Moms bright blue eyes and Dads goofy grin in his tuxedo which was so chic in the eighties. Then came photos of Grandma and Aunt Cora.

I quickly shuffled past them. I had weeks, no, months, to look at these and let the waves of guilt wash over me. Not tonight. Not before bed anyways.

Padding across the plush carpet to my bedroom, the door ajar and bedside lamp on. No doubt from Elizabeth. It didn’t escape my notice the bundle of lavender and dill laid on my pillowcase.

For protection. I hold the small bundle in my lap a moment, searching my mind for the exact spells its used for. My grandmother would have a fit if she knew it was taking me this long.

What can I say? I’ve been living life as a normal human for the past ten years to the best of my ability. Ignoring anything magickal or otherwise. I’d even avoided palm readers at the local county fairs I’d gone to.

I wanted little to nothing to do with magick. Regardless of how deep it ran in our family. I lay the bundle down on the end table right next to my phone.

Please protect me from bad dating app messages.

A stack of clean towels and beauty products rested on the toilet seat in the bathroom. I pulled my hair back into a low bun, splashing water onto my face and rubbing some milky cleanser that I knew had to be Emily’s onto my skin.

It smelled fragrant, like lemons and a sweet sugary after scent. Glancing up to survey the damage from the long day on my face, expecting to see dark circles, dull dry skin, but instead I looked fine. I looked normal.

Turning the cleanser over in my hands wondering if it had some “extra” properties in it that I wasn’t aware of but my younger glamorous sister did. I couldn’t see anything outside the ordinary.

I didn’t sense anything off.

Shrugging and placing it back on the counter, before returning back to my bedroom. Allowing myself to fall heavily against the mattress, a comical ‘huff’ escaping my lips. This was it. I was here.

For however long I needed to be. My fingertips ran up along the hem of the quit on my bed. Feeling the bumps of stitches along the pads of my fingers, the different textured fabrics. My eyes felt heavy.

Sleep called to me, sweet and deep. The edges of my vision blurred and darkened. With the last of my remaining alertness I turned the lamp off. I felt that deep heaviness fall over me.

In the far-off distance I could hear the owl once more. Then it was truly silent.

The back-sensor light came on. I whined as my room was immediately filled with a bright fluorescent light.

“What the hell...” I rubbed at my eyes, still not adjusted to such a bright searing light all of a sudden. Then I heard something knock against the garage. It didn’t sound like a skunk, or a raccoon.

Unless it was a huge raccoon.

Doubtful.

Pushing off of the bed I crouched down, making my way to the window. The curtains were sheer and the blinds were up. Peering around the side I craned my neck to see what was out there.

It was quiet. So startlingly quiet. No fauna chirping or calling out into an otherwise peaceful night.

The light was still on, but there was nothing in the yard. No animals, no creeps. Nothing.

I felt the hair on the back of my neck perk up. A green spark tickled the end of my fingertips and I didn’t even attempt to shove it away. My body knew there was something out there.

We’re so used to being the predator, never the prey. My eyes continued to scan back and forth, wondering if I needed to let one of my sisters know something was up.

Maybe this was normal? Did the light just randomly turn on from time to time? Ya know- technology? So efficient.

If that was the case why did I feel so…off? Something, isn’t right. Then I see it.

A flicker so fast that I’m half certain my mind made it up. Back in the tree line by the back of the garage, a different kind of darkness.

Not the shadows I had seen earlier from the trees on the porch. This is more opaque. It seems to undulate as it moves along the back of the yard. It doesn’t glide but rather jerks.

I feel my heart begin to race.

Its pace is slow, unseemly. Shadow against shadow and yet I can see it clear as day. Blackness that swallows the night whole. It’s form shivers and writhes against a large oak.

I must be dreaming. Yes. I’d fallen asleep and now I am dreaming something up that isn’t there. What a funny story I’ll have to tell my sisters in the morning.

But to be sure…

I grab my phone, sliding my finger across the screen to bring up the camera, pointing it out the back window. Somehow in the few moments it took me to grab my phone its gone.

The shadow isn’t where I last saw it. I am dreaming. I set my phone back down and then I see it.  Or rather, it sees me.

It sees me, seeing it. And my body goes rigid.

Black malformed nothingness creeping along the garage and staring at me. Its featureless, save for cold pinpricks of red where eyes should be.

Red and beady, almost like light reflecting against an animals eyes.

It glows, but maybe anything would look glow-y against such a stark backdrop. The blood in my body runs like ice. The goose bumps have moved to my arms as well.

I don’t know how long we stare at each other. Maybe three seconds, maybe five minutes. I blink for the first time in I don’t know how long and when I stare back its gone.

Really gone this time.

I must have scanned the backyard and the fence and the woods and the garage multiple times for over ten minutes. I see nothing. My head feels fuzzy. Like I’d taken a large sleeping pill and have been fighting the effects for too long.

I hoist myself back into bed, because I am too afraid to go out there and check. Too tired to wake my sisters. It feels like my limbs have been replaced with sacks of flour.

Heavy, soft, the weight bringing me down. Pushing me against the mattress. I’m exhausted and alert and my body doesn’t know which to indulge more.

Eventually sleep wins and I drift off into a fitful night filled with dreams of sharp shadows following me. And one with red eyes leading the chase.

[theidioticspirit]

now loading idiotic.comᯓ★

meet idioticspirit !!

hello there, I’m spirit and use he/fae! :) i am 17, genderfluid and queer. i've been on tumblr since December 2021! i have no clue what i post but i try to make it a bit goofy!! my msgs r open so if you're bored/looking for moots send me a msg :D also heres my carrd :3

my main fandoms: doctor who, good omens, baldurs gate 3, what we do in the shadows, sinjin drowning, monster high, bbc ghosts

other interests: reading, writing, video and photo editing, painting, cosplay, playing video games and dnd, witchcraft, history, snakes

shifting !!

i have been shifting since mid-August of 2020 and i joined the shifting community (as a creator) in October 2021. if you have anything negative to say about my DRs/DR selves or just my beliefs just scroll and block my acc :) feel free to send me questions, stories, etc. its vv fun interacting with shifters! if you have any questions just ask me i’ll try to respond :D

ANTI RESPAWNERS/PERMASHIFTING DNI!!

current main desired realities:

Doctor Who DR

Monster High DR

BBC Ghosts DR

Waiting Room

feel free to send asks ab my drs or shifting in general, i love talking ab it still even if i dont post abt it much :>

script templates masterlist posts about my drs masterlist

art/graphics !!

i've been making graphics in general for almost 3/4 (ish?) years (since 2020/2021 i thinkers!!). i mainly use photopea and ibis paint :]

tho ive only recently gotten back into drawing since may 2024 and i mainly use ibis paint or draw traditionally!!

intro updated: november 17 2024

[poets-and-potions]

Meanwhile, at hogwarts...

“When darkness seeks eternal reign, A fellowship of souls shall gain The power that he knows not, Together, they shall cast the lot. Marked by trials, bound by fate, They stand to seal the Dark Lord's state. United hearts and magic's might, Shall quell the shadow, restore the light.”

Plot Hook:

Summer's end comes with an unexpected letter—an invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For most, it’s the start of a magical education, but for you and your newfound companions, it's something more. Whispers of a dark power stirring in the shadows, strange disappearances, and an unease creeping through the wizarding world hint at something dangerous looming on the horizon. Some dismiss it as rumors, others as fearmongering—but you? You are part of something bigger. Whether by fate or chance, your steps will lead you down a path where legends are forged, where destinies intertwine, and where the return of a name long unspoken may shape the course of history. The only question is: will you be ready?

Making a Character:

This campaign will take place in your first year! Whats your name? heritage? think up a first year Hogwarts student and upon joining I'll pass off the custom Character Sheet and Player Kit! I love character backstories so the more you have in mind the better! All of you are 'The Chosen One' so I'll be more then happy to hear about/help in regards to making your characters! Experience is not at all required for this game! I'm new to GMing and this game is using an unfamiliar system to me so we'll be learning together!

About Me as a DM

I've been a player of DnD and Pathfinder for about 5 years or so now! I recently got into GMing homebrew worlds, Court of Blades and Now Hogwarts: an RPG! I adore Rule of Cool as a style, rather than rules as written, and believe DnD is a great way to both make friends and I need a reason to do a couple of impressions so this campaign is going to be my excuse to do so

What to Expect from the Game

This game will be about 75% Roleplay and 25% Combat

This game is essentially going to follow the books with some fun changes to fit a party of 3-5

Discord is required for play

Rules of my Table

18+

LGBTQ+

Friendly Adult language okay

No graphic murder of children

No Sexual assault

If this sounds interesting please send me a DM with:

Your name (discord name is perfectly fine)

Experience with these sort of games (No experience is required!)

A brief idea/ideas about a character you may want to play.

[hopeforkitten]

a sketch of how Raphael coos and pays too much attention to a lazy but gifted enchantress

In the form of a blue illusion, the three battlements of the citadel of Zariel rise above the open book. Tav's head and hands lie bored on the Table, lazily looking at the illusion and almost not listening to the voice of the narrator sadly telling about the greatness of the fallen angel.

The door opens and Raphael's voice reaches her.

- I think I told you to just read the book.

He walked up to the table and dispelled the illusion of a fortress. Tav lazily straightened up and finally gave him her attention.

- "A picture is worth a thousand words", and information is better absorbed in graphic form.

- Tell me, what did you remember?

This question somewhat complicated Tav. The last thing she thought about before Raphael's arrival, there were all sorts of winged little hellish creatures that were racing very merrily between the battlements of the flying fortress. This is definitely a valuable thought for Raphael.

Tav looked around guiltily, pursed her lips and returned her gaze to the owner of the house. He sighed in frustration and shook his head.

-What an unreasonable child. The most gifted and ignorant wizard I've ever seen. Magic power can be squeezed out of you, but you don't want to lift a finger to curb it.

Raphael took her hand palm up and a shimmering sphere of magic appeared on it.

- Imagine, my dear, with your talent and a drop of my patronage, you will stand on a par with the greatest sorcerers of our time.

Tav was not at all encouraged by his words.

-How will my knowledge of Averno's history allow me to harness my magic, and how will even the most powerful sorcerer help you take over hell?

- First of all, you will know one of the enemies by sight. Secondly, a powerful sorcerer has at least a chance to move around the expanses and fortresses of hell himself, and not be metaphorically tied to his lord.

- You would be a very caring father.

This comparison did not please Raphael.

- The patron of the most disreputable subordinates

Raphael pressed her hand to the table.

- Little mouse, if you signed a contract and took part of my power, I wouldn't worry that the spark of your potential would be extinguished in another senseless good deed.

- Are you worried about me?"

Tav smiled fearlessly into his face. Raphael snorted to the side and picked up a book from the table.

- The next book should offer you a collection of fairy tales and lullabies for devils. Here she is.

At the behest of his hand, one book went to the shelves of the closet, and the other flew out of them and flew into Tav's bag lying on a chair by the door of the room.

- Are you letting me go?

- You can always leave, a wizard with your power, even as a child, is able to decide which dimension to be in.

Tav stood up, straightened her witchcraft robe, and picked up her battered book bag.

- Let your gifted child do so, and I will use a stable portal in the hall.

Tav was about to leave.

- I hope at our next meeting you will be ready to practice not only reading, but also writing, preferably in blood on parchment paper. What do you think, little mouse?

- Hope, devil.

* strangled inarticulate sounds *

I'm thinking of giving her a collection of fairy tales and lullabies, it's really a brilliant idea from Raphael. (who would doubt) because she will understand the infernal people better, and there it is already possible to move on to more complex matters of history. (as happens during a person's lifetime)

Tav really likes to read this book before going to bed in his tent, and sometimes have nightmares after reading it. The sweet-talking devil actually found an approach to the hapless enchantress, despite the external coldness.

their relationship:

[mediamixs]

Top 10 horror movies about historic moments

Here are ten notable horror movies that draw inspiration from historical moments, illustrating how the genre can reflect and dramatize real-life events.

The Nightingale (2018) Set in 1825 Tasmania, The Nightingale follows Clare, an Irish convict seeking revenge against British soldiers who have wronged her. The film addresses themes of colonialism and racism, showcasing the brutal realities faced by Aboriginal people during British colonization. Its graphic depictions of violence serve to highlight the dark chapters of Australian history.

Witchfinder General (1968) Loosely based on the historical figure Matthew Hopkins, this film explores the witch hunts during the English Civil War. Vincent Price stars as Hopkins, who exploits the fear of witchcraft for personal gain, leading to horrific consequences. The film's portrayal of religious fanaticism and its brutal violence resonates with historical accounts of the era.

Ravenous (1999) This film blends elements of cannibalism with historical events such as the Donner Party tragedy. Set during the Mexican-American War, it uses dark humor and horror to critique American expansionism and greed. The film's unique take on folklore and survival adds depth to its historical context.

Pan's Labyrinth (2006) Set in post-Civil War Spain under Franco's regime, Pan's Labyrinth intertwines fantasy with the harsh realities of war. The story follows a young girl who discovers a mythical labyrinth while navigating the horrors of her oppressive environment. The film serves as an allegory for innocence lost amid political turmoil.

The Devil's Bath (2024) Inspired by the tragic phenomenon of "suicide-by-proxy" in early modern Europe, this film delves into the dark motivations behind individuals committing crimes to avoid damnation. It highlights the grim realities of religious zealotry and despair during that period, providing a chilling backdrop for its narrative.

Overlord (2018) Set on the eve of D-Day during World War II, Overlord combines war drama with horror elements as American soldiers uncover a terrifying secret involving Nazi experiments. The film effectively uses its historical setting to enhance its horror narrative, creating a unique blend of action and fright.

The Amityville Horror (1979) Based on the true story of the Lutz family, who experienced paranormal events after moving into a house where a mass murder had occurred, this classic horror film explores themes of trauma and haunting legacies. Its chilling premise has led to numerous adaptations and sequels over the years.

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) This iconic film is loosely inspired by real-life murderer Ed Gein, known for exhuming corpses and crafting keepsakes from their remains. Set in rural Texas, it portrays a group of friends who encounter a family of cannibals, reflecting societal fears about isolation and violence in America.

The Exorcist (1973) Drawing from the reported possession of a young boy known as Roland Doe in the 1940s, The Exorcist explores themes of faith and evil through its chilling narrative about demonic possession and exorcism. Its basis in purported real events adds an unsettling layer to its horror.

The Babadook (2014) While not directly based on a specific historical event, The Babadook reflects on grief and mental illness through its story about a mother and son haunted by a sinister presence linked to their traumatic pasts. This psychological horror film resonates with audiences due to its exploration of personal demons against a backdrop that feels painfully real.

These films demonstrate how horror can serve as a lens through which we examine our history, confronting uncomfortable truths while engaging with deep-seated fears and societal issues.