#Witchy writings

[aleximustd13]

Touch starved/cuddle curse

This with Terror Twins. I would be cool if like Nikki can't be touched for whatever reason (superpowers, curse, non supernatural reasons) and Tommy seems the only one to care or break it

[i feel like this isnt exactly what you asked for but here you go bestie <3]

It all started when Nikki was trying to summon a demon. The reason why he would do that is unknown even to him, probably because he thought it would've been cool or funny, for shits and giggles as one would say.

Nikki didn't manage to bring a beast from the underworld in the kingdom of the living, as in he didn't see the monster in flesh and bone, but it must've disturbed some dark presence or energy, since strange things began happening after he started his demon summoning shenanigans. Forks and knives were raising from the cutlery drawer and flying towards him, to name one; black cats seemed to have taken a liking to him, following him everywhere; but the strangest thing was definitely the fact that whoever Nikki tried to touch, even by mistake, those who had contact with him fell sick.

As soon as Nikki realized what was happening, he started getting very nervous and paranoid about human contact, becoming more and more aggressive towards others in order to keep them a good distance away from him, bringing great tension between him and his band mates and the girls they would take to home sometimes. Little did they know, he was trying to protect them.

But there was one person who was brave and careless enough to go past Nikki's hostility: Tommy. The drummer, very attached to the bassist and always looking for an excuse to snuggle him, knew that something was up: Nikki has never been the cuddly type, but whenever Tommy offered him a hug Nikki wouldn't say no either; lately, though, Nikki seemed to be very unfriendly even to him, which was very suspicious to say the least.

On the latest attempt of Tommy to get a hug from Nikki, to which he responded with a “Don't touch me!”, Tommy had enough of that behavior.

“Can you tell me what the hell is your deal, man? You've been avoiding me for weeks now!” Said Tommy.

Nikki turned his gaze up from the smutty magazine he was reading and raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, dude?”

Tommy came closer. “Don't play dumb with me, Nik! Did I do something to you?”

Nikki sighed, visibly annoyed, and returned to read.

Tommy teared the magazine out of his hands.

“Hey, give it back – !”

“Not until you tell me what is wrong with you!”

Nikki frowned, throwing his arms in the air. “Do you want a list or what?”

“I didn't mean in general!” Exclaimed Tommy, rolling his eyes. “You've been acting super weird lately, and I know something's up.” He added.

Nikki hesitated. “Fine.” He said in the end, “But don't tell anyone, okay? Especially Mick, he'll be all like I told you so for the rest of my life.”

Tommy nodded.

“Do you remember when we tried to summon Satan?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Well... I think I've been cursed.”

Tommy widened his eyes.

“You gotta believe me, man! Everyone I touch seems to get sick, or become very unlucky all of a sudden. And I don't want this to happen to you...”

“Alright, that makes sense.” Said Tommy pensively, sitting down on the couch next to Nikki. “But I feel like I've touched you many times since then, and I'm fine!”

“You almost burned the house down three times.”

“That's because I can't cook!”

“How do you burn cereal?!”

Tommy inclined his head to the side, as to think about it, then he raised his index finger: “Okay, that one was an outlier, for sure.”

A pause.

“Do you think... Do you think that I am immune because I was with you when you did the summoning?” Asked Tommy after a while, turning towards Nikki.

The bassist shrugged. “Probably. You're still alive, so that has to count for something. Although...” He brought a finger to his chin.

“What?”

“Maybe you've been cursed as well but with the opposite. A cuddle curse, if you will.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't think I haven't noticed. You crave affection all the time, hugging Vince and Mick whenever you can.”

“Well, uhm...” Tommy hesitated. “Maybe.”

“So I'm not the only one who got cursed, huh!” Nikki sneered. “You lied to me!”

“I didn't lie! I just didn't tell you!”

“That's even worse!”

“Whatever!” Tommy was sick of arguing, and his skin was itching for human contact. “How do we break the curse?”

Nikki shook his head. “I have no idea...”

“Well, I have one, but I don't know if it's gonna work.”

“I'm all ears.”

“What if we kissed?”

Nikki raised an eyebrow. “A kiss...?”

“If you think about it, every fairy tale ends with like, the curse being lifted by a kiss. What if it's the same for us?”

Nikki raised both eyebrows.

“Just hear me out for a second, dude!”

“Alright, alright, I'm willing to try. Hell, I'll try anything at this point.”

Tommy came closer to Nikki and cupped Nikki's face with his trembling hands. Their lips touched, and the world around them seemed to dissipate.

Nikki recalled that they already kissed maybe once, while drunk and emotional, so it wasn't as shocking. Tommy's lips were warm and soft, like a summer breeze. Then, they quickly separated and exchanged gazes.

“Felt anything? Like a curse leaving your body?” Tommy asked in between breaths, as if he ran a marathon.

“Don't think so.” Replied Nikki, his heart racing. “Have you?”

Tommy shook his head. “Well... Apart from the fact that now I feel... Like a weight on my shoulders has been lifted.”

“Yeah, me too... Maybe that was it, but I expected something more striking and obvious, like the heavens would open up above us or something.”

Tommy looked at Nikki and shrugged. “I dunno man, I have never been cursed before. I don't know what's supposed to –”

“We should try again.” Suggested the bassist, all of a sudden.

“Wait are you sure –” Tommy didn't have the time to finish the sentence that Nikki pulled him closer and planted a kiss on him. As soon as their lips came into contact again, a warm rush ran through their bodies, as if they were made of fire, feeling their lips burn to the touch of one another.

They distanced themselves and looked at each other.

“Dude...” Whispered Tommy. “Have you felt it too?”

Nikki nodded. “It was like...”

“Like a fire coming out of our bodies?”

“Exactly!”

Tommy looked at his hands, then back at Nikki. “I don't feel the urge to touch everyone anymore. Y'know, I always felt like an itch going through my body before, but now it's gone.”

“That's a good sign.” Said Nikki, pensively. “I, too, feel like the dark presence that was following has disappeared.” He added, instinctively looking around.

Tommy could finally hug his best friend. “We did it, dude!”

Nikki hugged him back, squeezing tightly, realizing how good it felt being touched again.

Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt!

[kentnaturaltribrid]

Some more pages for the larger scale project. There’s at least 5 and these are two of them.

🪻🌕🌿🔥🧂

Though, still somewhat difficult to figure out something to write for the pages so went with these due to sense for the most part and besides there’s a lot more sense with these than there is with just random pages filled with random ideas.

🗝️🪞🌻🧹🍀

Regardless, still thinking for the most part to fill the rest of the pages. Of which there’s at least 103 , at the left end in there.

[khajiithaswitchywares]

Go hiking. Fake your death. Become one with the forest. Elevate to forest god. The simple things.

[naffeclipse]

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 2

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

Whoo! The darling @jackofallrabbits has all my thanks for the continuation of the DCA Hocus Pocus AU! The boys want every piece of the historian reader, and they have no time to lose! The sun is rising, and they must prepare the ceremony, and you realize that your dear friend Michael has arrived at the witches' home. Very poor timing, on his part. Enjoy the flirts and curses!

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, heavy touching, injury, disturbing imagery, and fear.

———

The witch carries you across the room, clasping you tightly within a cage of his claws. You’re frozen in his embrace. His towering height and lithe, long limbs make you feel incredibly small, like a mouse before a hungry cat. His extra set of arms disappears into the shadow of his dark cape. How did he summon them so effortlessly? You tilt your head back to gaze up at Eclipse’s face, the eldest brother of the hanged brothers. They should still be dead—they were for almost four hundred years.

His face is inhuman. The markings and color stain his visage in a midnight-red crescent, and a blackened shadow swallows it. His eyes, bright yellow and predatory, glance down at you. A grin splits his lower face with wicked teeth. He runs his tongue over his bone-white fangs.

Your stomach flip-flips within you.

Candlelight flickers ominous over the colonial home as the cauldron continues to bubble in the fireplace. The other two, Sun and Moon, watch you. Their wide eyes gleam in the firelight: one of pale pools of feverish desire and the other glint in scarlet, roiling with appetite.

You cling tighter to Eclipse’s shoulder. A childish desire to bury your face in the crook of his shoulder almost takes hold of you.

“Where are you taking me?” you whisper into Eclipse’s cape.

“To the parlor,” his voice is soft as dusk, and the vibrations through his chest sink into you with a gentle rumble. “The main hall is hardly a place to hold a ceremony.”

Your eyes widen. He strides past the tables with the many candles aflame in a thick, waxy cluster. His claws flex against your shoulder and around your thigh.

“What ceremony?” your voice climbs into a squeaky pitch.

A chuckle echoes behind Eclipse’s shoulder. You turn your head to catch Sun and Moon following behind, and the latter’s lips curl into a sinister smile as his shoulders shake with amusement—as if he finds you utterly adorable.

“Little mouse, there’s nothing to fear,” Moon soothes, almost in a sing-song voice.

“It will be wonderful,” Sun clasps his hands together. Eagerness streaks through his face like falling stars at sunrise. “You’ll see, sunshine.”

A thickness coats your throat. When Eclipse asked you to stay, did you agree to something far more sinister? Do they intend to use your soul or your life to grant them greater power or something else just as nefarious? 

“Wait.” You tremble. “Wait.”

“Little comet, we still need you,” Eclipse says firmly but gently. His yellow eyes narrow in the slightest, glancing at the black ribbons on his wrists. “The bells will ring for us at dawn unless we perform the ceremony. You must be part of it. You must speak the vows.”

Your heart scampers within your rib cage.

“Wait,” you say again, panic slithering up your spine. He continues onward.

Eclipse easily unlatches an almost hidden door in the back of the main hall while balancing you in his arms. Cobwebs tear apart as it swings open and he enters a smaller but no less intricate room. A window overlooks part of the road cutting through the thick forest. A few shelves are covered in dusty bottles of glass and woven baskets. Ancient and dried fronds, stems, thorns, and petals are stored on wooden tables.

In the corner of your vision, the white rabbit darts inside the room. The one that spoke with a woman’s voice. She bounds across the space, knocking into a small stand that topples over a jar of powder. Sun curses, his voice growling demonically. The claws holding you tense as Eclipse glowers. You shiver under sharp talons pricking into your sweater.

Moon leaps forward and cuts the rabbit off in her destructive path. His eyes, glinting with bloodlust, follow her like a hound eager to tear apart a fox. He steps across the room, into her path, and forces her to correct her race. Her hind legs kick out. Her fluffy body arches smoothly through the air but she lands too close to the door and clips her front foreleg. She topples over, sliding across the hard floor and back into the main room. 

With a flick of his wrist and a dark murmur, Moon casts the door shut without laying a finger upon it. It slams close, rattling the walls and causing you to jump in Eclipse’s arms. 

“It’s alright, little comet,” Eclipse purrs. 

“We now have privacy,” Moon declares with a rasp. He eyes the door with a branding glare as if daring the rabbit to intervene again. 

A faint scratching is heard at the bottom of the door.  You clutch your hands into small balls of anxiety.

“I’ll rid us of the little beast after the ceremony,” Sun promises as he steps closer, laying a hand upon your arm. “As for you, my little ray of sunshine, we must get you ready.”

“With haste,” Eclipse speaks, and his brothers listen. You snap your head from one witch to the other. Gently, Eclipse sets you back on your feet. You sway, clutching your chest and twisting your fingers into the knitwork of your sweater.

“This is all happening fast,” you say, breathless. The room spins slightly in your exhilarated state. You start to inch away, back to the door with the soft sound of claws gouging into it.

“We apologize, mouse,” Moon whispers as he steps to a black wood cabinet and pries open one low door. “But necessity calls for it.”

“When we have the luxury of time,” Eclipse speaks while approaching a small table where a stack of books resides. His black claws draw slowly down the spines, “We will have a proper ceremony, with all the decorations you desire and a feast that could gorge a village.”

A shudder falls down your back. The chill sinking into your bones is numbing, and fear creeps deeper into your mind, plucking at every wild and frantic thought. Are they going to cook you up and eat you? Are they going to cast a spell to turn you into a toad? This wasn’t part of the fabled story of their return, was it?

You’re not certain you want to find out any more. Are your questions worth your life? They’re being so cryptid, so rushed.

You shuffle further back, away from the focused witches and their enchantments. What are they capable of? If only you could make them stop for a moment and answer you.

“Sunshine, darling, where are you going?” Hands slip down your arms and over your wrists.

A gasp falls from your mouth, quiet and quick. The hands, pale and yellow, with scarlet ribbons tying golden bells to his wrists, lift your hands into the air. You’re not so different from a little ballerina figurine being posed, forced to dance endlessly in a music box.

“I’m not sure I want to stay,” you breathe, frightened. The rate of your heart picks up in tempo, banging like a drum against your sternum.

He leans over your shoulder. His wicked smile fills the corner of your vision. Eyes, pale and gray like mist, hold you captive.

“There’s so much we can show you,” he says. He trails the tips of his claws down your sleeves, and the layer of separation causes your eyelids to flutter. “There’s so much we can do for you. What would you like, my poppet?”

You’re locked in his spell. Did he cast magic or is it simply his touch? Your arms stay in the air as his hands fall down your sides, rubbing slowly over your ribcage before settling on your waist.

“I want to know.” You stare ahead at Eclipse and Moon as they set a blackwood altar in the center of the room, before the window. “I want to know everything about you and your lives.”

Sun’s teeth graze the curve of your shoulder. His breath is warm against the side of your neck, and the air rattles out of your throat.

“You will have it all,” he answers, and whisks you off your feet in a spin. The room blurs before he stops you, hands holding your own as you’re locked in a dance with the witch. His cape shifts over his shoulder, revealing the deep opening of his flowy, white shirt. Your cheeks burn. Flustered, you jerk your head up, tearing your eyes away, and almost become ablaze as you find his cheeky smile.

“I do mean all,” he winks, coquettish and wicked.

You balk.

He takes your hand and presses it to his chest, right above where his heart would be. His skin is smooth and pale, split into two colors of yellow and off-white down the middle of his torso. You feel a strange hum instead. Not a beat, but a constant buzz of energy. Magic, perhaps.

His footwork guides you around the room in a sweeping circle. As he twirls you, one hand on your waist and the other holding your arm above your head, you catch a glimpse of old and age-stained pages fluttering open. Eclipse sets the book on the altar. He bows over it, his eyes roaming over the archaic writings.

Beside him, Moon holds a silvery veil in his arms. He murmurs something to his elder brother, who dips his head in agreement.

You almost stumble as another shock of fright seizes you.

“What is that?” you ask as Sun reclaims you, pulling you flush against his torso—your middle bubbles at the contact. 

He simpers with a low hum.

His mouth opens but before he can speak, bright headlights cut into the room from the window. The diamond-patterned panes slice the room into shapes of light and shadow, and you inhale sharply. 

A car. Who’s here? The owner of the property? 

“What is that?” Moon hisses, his hood falling deeper over his face as he slinks into an alcove of shadows.

“It’s like the sun.” Eclipse lifts his arm to shield his eyes, peering around the blinding high beams. 

“No.” Sun’s brow narrows. His arms lower around you, tightening around your waist until you gasp. “It’s unnatural.”

You peek over Sun’s shoulder, pushing up on your tiptoes to see a familiar build of the vehicle just behind the lights. Michael’s car.

What is he doing here? Did he suspect you would come here alone, against his advice?

What will the witches do when they realize your friend is here?

Your gut clenches. You have to warn him. He has to stay away before they try to throw him into their cauldron or turn him into a fox.

A shiver falls down your back and down to your toes. You turn your head to find Eclipse’s wide eyes cutting into you, and you freeze. He couldn’t know it’s your friend, could he?

“We have an unwelcome visitor,” Eclipse declares. The corners of his mouth tug downwards and he promptly slaps the book close with a heavy, dusty thud. “Brothers, what shall we do with him?”

“Let’s cast him into a carrot and feed him to the rabbit,” Moon suggests.

“No, no, I was of the mind that we could make a new rug out of his skin,” Sun muses, his fingers stroking the small of your back, much to your terror. 

Michael’s voice rips through the house. Muffled by the door, his shouts turn quick, frantic. You clamp your mouth shut. A horror so cold slips into your veins, and you tremble. He can’t be here. 

Eclipse lifts his hand, a hum filling his throat as he stares down the door. You cry out a soft, “Please, don’t!”

His wide yellow eyes turn back to you, surprised. The next moment, the jarring thud hits the wood of the door and cracks it by the wrought-iron handle. Splinters fly outwards. 

Michael shouts your name, then commands, “Don’t make any vows!”

Your mind turns blank. What?

A snarl rips from Moon’s mouth. You flinch, the sound right at your shoulder as you realize the hooded brother has joined you and Sun. His clawed hand falls to your shoulder, talons almost digging into your collarbone.

“Who is that?” Moon’s scarlet eyes flash in demand. “How does he know?”

Another kick flies into the door. The entire house shudders as the wood buckles and a boot chops through it. Immediately, you watch a familiar hand snake its way inside and throw open the mangled frame of the door. In the threshold stands your friend.

“Michael!” You stare, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes widened upon the scene. His dark jacket catches splinters of wood and his unruly hair is extra ruffled from the effort of breaking the door down. Immediately, a white rabbit darts inside. Michael lands on the witches and their snarling, teeth-bared expressions before finding you. His fists clench at his sides.

“Get away!” He dips a hand into his jacket pocket and hurls a handful of small, dried lavender petals. 

As if struck with a blade or bullet, the witches all recoil as the flowers rain down. Sun’s and Moon’s hands disappear from you. Backing away, Eclipse almost stumbles into the altar before he rights himself. A hiss, furious and demonic, roll off his tongue. You flinch. Lavender flowers litter the floor.

The white rabbit rushes for you, stopping only to stand on her hind legs and press a foot to your shin. Her green eyes shine with desperation. “Stop standing there and run!”

There’s no thought but of terror. You reach down and scoop up the rabbit just as Michael steps towards you. He grabs your arm and half dragging, half guiding you through the witch’s house, the three of you rush for the exit.

“Little comet!” Eclipse cries. His voice tugs on your heart, but you twist and refuse to be pulled back into his orbit.

A growl follows from Moon, and a mumbling of something wicked and furious slips from Sun’s mouth, but you can’t look back. Through the candlelit main room and out the door, Michael races. His grip almost crushes your elbow.

“I told you not to come here! I told you not to come here without me!” Michael boils. You shrink slightly as he reaches for the passenger side door, uncaring for the rabbit you clutch against your sweater.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know,” you say quietly, defenselessly. 

The rest of your rebuttal doesn’t leave your mouth before a familiar and haunting voice shouts, amplified like a poltergeist screeching into your ear. Michael immediately forces you to duck, pushing your shoulder down until you’re crouched behind the car, him protecting you with his own body. Gravel shifts underneath your shoes.

Michael’s car begins to groan. You lift your head tentatively, then gape. The frame of the vehicle begins to twist and rust, curling at the edges and darkening with burnt-orange marks. You hear a strange, hissing sound, then realize the tire you’re hunched beside is leaking air. As the car withers, glass cracks then pops. You yelp under a shower of shards but Michael’s jacket shields you from the sharp edges. The rabbit in your arms struggles for a moment.

“We have to keep moving! Go to the cemetery,” she demands.

“Right,” Michael mutters. His eyes land on the rabbit you shield in your arms, and his expression only shifts in the slightest at the human voice emerging from the rabbit’s mouth.

Likewise, she stares back at Michael. You pet her fluffy white fur as your fingers tremble. Her hide is soft and her body is warm and comforting.

“You’re an Afton, aren’t you?” she says softly, almost as if she were seeing an old friend.

Your brow furrows. How could she possibly know his last name? Is she a witch too?

“I am.” Michael stares down at her, his grip shifting as he looks forlorn to his car and then back to the house. His mouth twists in a grimace. “I read about you in my ancestor’s journal. You’re Vanessa. I thought… I hoped it wasn’t true.”

“Vanessa?” you echo in your whiplash confusion.

The rabbit’s white ear flops back slightly before she presses a foot to your chest.

“We can’t linger.” Her green eyes flash to you, scathing as she remarks. “The witches want the virgin for their ceremony. We can’t let them complete it.”

Michael’s grip tightens upon you, and you make a sound of discomfort. His nostrils flare, his breath running harsh and heated. You’ve never seen Michael so upset, so close to violence.

“What is going on?” you gasp, clutching Vanessa tighter to your pounding heart.

“I’ll explain later.” Michael moves away, shaking glass from his jacket and jumping to his feet. He surveys the house. You can hear footsteps, curses, and something sweeping the floor. “Follow me. Run as fast as you can.”

“Michael—” you start but he’s already pulling you back to your feet. Vanessa leaps from your arms. She bounds across the road and into the tree line. Michael follows the white rabbit, and you try to catch your breath as the darkness becomes absolute as you try to keep pace.

You have to trust him. He and the talking rabbit. You follow, your feet pounding over pavement and then dirt and leaves. Branches scratch at your sleeves; you’ve long forsaken your poor sweater to being snagged and ruined.

Laughter cracks overhead like black lightning. The echo isn’t too far away, and you shudder at the thought of what spells will allow them to catch you. Witchy howls of both amusement and anger snake through the half-dead canopy of trees. The midnight air hangs heavy. Michael bursts through the treeline to an open field of dead grass with you hot on his heels before you spy what he’s running you toward.

An old wrought fence spans the length of a reclusive cemetery. It’s ancient, by the shape and crumbling aspect of a few of the headstones you spy on within the space. Your mind races to date the burial ground but Michael urges you forward just as a breeze cuts overhead.

You turn your eyes skywards just as Michael finds the corner of the overgrown and neglected corner of the graveyard property. A streak of movement interrupts the constellations of the night sky, and you almost stumble in dawning horror.

Flying just above the near leafless and dark trees are the witches. Brooms, elegantly carved and sleek, carry them effortlessly in the air. Their capes and cloaks billow like black manes to dark beasts behind them, and claws clutch tightly at their flying vessels. Teeth sharp, eyes glinting, their gazes meet yours. Eclipse. Sun. Moon.

Under their harrowing eyes, you feel no more than a mouse running from a cat’s pounce.

“Keep going,” Vanessa urges. Her white form dashes onwards, but she comes to a sharp halt and turns back, ears pricked.

Two stone pillars, cracked and faded from years of standing as sentinels mark the entrance to the burial ground. Michael ushers you into the cemetery. For one desperate moment, you wish you could study the history of this place, find out its name, who lies here, but you are torn from your brief musings.

“I know you.” Eclipse’s voice carries over the field. His black cap settles onto his shoulders as he sinks in the air to hover just above the threshold of the graveyard. “Your kind are all the same, witch hunter.”

Michael stands between you and the witch. His gaze is hard, unyielding. You clutch at his jacket, fearing the lack of barriers.

“What did he call you?” you breathe out. “Michael.”

He huffs at Eclipse as Sun and Moon settle on his flanks. Moon turns his hungry eyes upon you, glinting like blood. Sun strums the staff of his broom. His claws catch on starlight.

Eclipse tilts his head and bares his fangs in a taunting smile. “Do you really think you can keep our lovely little virgin from us?”

You shiver violently. What do they want?

“I’ll watch all three of you return to dust and ashes,” he promises. Vanessa slips against your ankle, pressing close as if she were a guard dog instead of a rabbit.

All three of the witches burst into laughter, wicked and harsh before they rise and fly over the gate, deeper into the cemetery.

Michael pushes you further down an unmarked and overgrown path. “It’s alright. They can’t set foot here. I’ll take care of them.”

“Wait,” you gasp. You stumble as Michael urges you onward. “Wait, don’t hurt them!”

“They’re witches,” he snarls so viciously, it makes you jump. He stops, finding a row of headstones with tall and web-cracked faces. “You have no idea how dangerous they truly are. I will explain everything once they’re gone. Stay here. Vanessa?”

The rabbit hops up beside you. Michael again pushes you down by the shoulders until you curl up in the shadow of a colonial headstone. He stands over you, glancing this way and that to the sky. A few large and overgrown trees cut into the skyline through the burial grounds.

Vanessa noses her way onto your lap. You open your arms and she hops on, her small feet pressing on your jeans. 

“Listen to him,” she speaks sternly. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“But—how? Michael? Where are you going?” you call, your voice cracking, but he’s already rushing away from the grave you’re hunkered near. He rushes into a flat, open plot of land filled with weeds and dead grass. Michael looks to the midnight sky.

You peer over the headstone. Vanessa hits your shoulder until you slink back down, but you catch a glimpse of Eclipse emerging from behind a black, dead tree and sailing through the air. He bows low upon his broom, eagerly stalking Michael. Your friend withdraws a cylinder from his jacket pocket. Popping it open, Michael quickly sprinkles something white around him—salt. 

Your heart climbs into your throat. You long to call out, to beg Eclipse to spare him, but Michael whips out what appears to be an old charm made of leather. Upon it are scratched archaic symbols you have never once glimpsed before in your historical studies. A few small bones dangle from where the leather is tied with cord.

Your eyes widen as Michael holds it high. Eclipse stops, leaning back and tilting the broom away until he comes to hover. Then, he laughs. Michael remains unmoved, though his brow furrows in the slightest.

A disgusted sound leaves Vanessa’s voice.

With a point of Eclipse’s finger, the charm ignites into flames. Michael yelps, dropping it to the ground and clutching at his hand, no doubt burned by the spontaneous combustion.

“Little mouse, where are you hiding?” A low voice calls, rasping out like a lover searching through the dark. Moon.

You stiffen. Vanessa’s ears pin flat against her skull. You press your back against the headstone, hiding yourself in its shadow. A soft breeze touches your hair, tugging strands across your face.

“We can play so many games when it’s only us.” Moon’s broom appears just a row down, scanning the fallen leaves and grave markers. He perches low, his shoulders shifting under his cloak like a tiger ready to leap upon prey. “Come on out. Let me take you home.”

Your blood runs cold. The ghost of his hands is still upon you, and you wonder if it would be so terrible to return with them. They would leave Michael and Vanessa alone, wouldn’t they? 

Moon slips slowly through the air, his broom black as night and silent, and his head lifts. He inhales deeply. Under the brim of his hood, his eyelids flutter. 

Then his entire head snaps to where you hide. You squeak in fright.

“There you are.” His jaws split into a ravenous grin as he reaches out a hand, flying over a gravestone just to where you kneel on the ground.

“No!” Michael shouts. “Get back!”

You jerk your head to him and watch as he steps away from the salt he just spilled. 

“Michael, don’t!” Vanessa warns a moment too late.

Eclipse sneers. Extending his hand, he speaks. His voice becomes of tongues, lapping and overtaking, but mostly devilish. The air turns sharp and tangy, and the wind picks up, twisting leaves around Michael’s feet. His eyes widened at his mistake. 

A flash of horror cuts through you just as Eclipse hurls out a curse.

Michael drops to the ground and begins writhing. You can only catch glimpses of him between rocky headstones, his body twisting and his flesh turning dark and rancid. His body convulses. 

A scream tears out of your lungs. You jump to your feet, clutching a hand over your mouth as you witness Michael suffer. Eclipse’s eyes immediately snap at you. Close beside you, a hand brushes your sleeve, cool and blue. Moon. You can’t move.

“Oh, how I’ve yearned to curse your ancestor.” Eclipse leans low, lording over Michael’s writhing form with little more than a delighted glint in his gaze. “He forced my brothers and I upon the gallows. He let us hang slowly. We convulsed and gagged for air, and then we died.”

Eclipse leans closer, hanging over Michael in a taunt. “This is the least I can bestow upon you. Never fear, there is far more punishment to be delivered.”

You’re rooted to the spot. Ice water flows in your veins.

“Come here,” Moon murmurs close beside you. His hand begins to circle your wrist.

“Don’t let him take you!” Vanessa’s voice cuts through the hazy terror fogging your mind, and you jerk back to alertness. You shake off Moon’s hand. His sharp breath of frustration follows as you take off over the graveyard towards Michael.

“Stop it! Whatever you’re doing to him, stop!” you cry out, reaching one hand out. You’re not sure who—Eclipse or Michael. 

Eclipse straightens upon his broom. His expression brightens into a pleased, unholy smile.

“Little comet,” he purrs, opening his arms.

“Eclipse, please—gah!” Arms grab you from behind. You hear Vanessa’s voice calling out, furious and demanding, but your feet leave the ground and in a heartbeat, you’re airborne.

“Sunshine, there you are!” The cheerful voice falls over you. Sun continues, “The wretched rabbit is getting her fur all over you! I never did like her, not even as a vermin.”

Large hands maneuver over you, pulling you onto his lap and balancing you in his hold while the broom rides faster, racing over the cemetery and away from everyone else. You gasp. You immediately twist and cling tightly to his shoulders. His hands surround you. His palms rub slowly along your back.

“I’ve got you now,” he declares. His breath, warm and misty, tickles your cheek. “One would think a person would be lonely and bored watching our home for all of these years, but that was what she did when she was mortal at her master’s request. So really, isn’t our curse just a lovely gift for her?”

“Sun!” You tremble. The wind tears at your clothes. You watch the ground become a blur underneath you, and a sickness stirs. “Please, set me down.”

“Not yet, sunshine.” The air changes, and the broom gains speed, pressing you deeper against his chest. “I want you for only a moment. You can say ‘I do’ can’t you? I’ll do the rest.”

“What—wait, wait,” your fingernails dig into the fabric of his cape hanging over his shoulders. The flight is far too fast and you feel far too vulnerable, seated upon his legs as your only insurance you won’t fall to your death. 

“Although,” Sun’s fingertips slip under your chin and tilt your face up, “it’s not fair that Eclipse kissed you and I haven’t. We can steal one before the ceremony, can’t we?”

Your tongue becomes heavy in your mouth. You can say little, caught in the torrent of the breakneck speed of the broom as well as the Sun’s sultry eyes devouring you whole. He lowers his mouth to your neck. His other hand caresses your thigh, fingertips touching your flesh with reverent want. Heat waterfalls into your middle. He lowers himself to your shoulder and grazes his teeth against your neck.

You inhale, your breath rattling at the touch of a warm and wet tongue dragging over the tips of your collarbones in the hollow of your throat.

“One kiss,” he half pleads, half demands. His lips brush your jawline in their climb upwards. 

“Too fast,” you utter. The world spins and blackness swoops in on your vision.

“I can go slow,” he assures, but when he lifts his head, his smile drops from his lips. “Sunshine!”

The world tilts, and you think of very little as hands grasp at you, but the broom rocks and you slide out of Sun’s hold as a curse rips from his throat. A wretched call rattles your darkening visible, and then, you’re falling.

Your eyelids flutter, and you hardly have a second to scream before a second pair of arms catch you and pull you against a cool chest.

“You buffoon!” Moon snarls right beside your ear. “You dropped our virgin!”

A numbness clings to your limbs. You’re still reeling, slumped in his lap as he rides on his broom at a much safer speed.

“I would not have let death take away our chance at happiness and life and love,” Sun shoots back, not unlike a sibling retort in an argument. 

“Go help Eclipse deal with the vermin!” Moon demands in a low growl. Sun snarls something back, but his voice fades in the distance.

You feel the wind shift, slowing down until you’re left to hover in the air. Eyes closed against Moon’s chest, you breathe rapidly. Your shaking hands press tight to his white shirt.

“I will keep you safe,” he murmurs softly into your air. “Step here, little mouse. This mausoleum wasn’t blessed, and it lies outside of the cemetery's boundaries.”

“Okay,” you murmur listlessly. You lift your head, trying to stop the spinning from within. Your legs shake like a newborn fawn but you feel dead grass underneath your shoes as Moon holds you up on your feet. His broom lowers gently to the ground and falls still as if there were no magic to the black wood staff at all.

“Breathe.” He moves you slowly, carefully pressing your back to the solid brick of a small, gray mausoleum. “Apologies for my brother. He is eager to make you our bride.”

Perhaps it only houses a small family. What is their history? Your brain churns over senselessly while the oxygen returns to your head. 

Did he say bride?

His hands find your shoulders and pin you in place. Chest heaving, you gaze up at the witch now hovering over you. There is no escape. You smell midnight and something herbal and sharp upon him.

“The vows,” he says. His eyes hold you captive. “You can say the vows to marry us.”

“Marry?” You’re breathless, but you ask all the same, “Why am I marrying you?”

“To have us,” he says, low and husky. He presses closer, caging you with his body and holding you hostage against the cool stones at your back. “You will know everything soon. There is so little time—the witch hunter and the rabbit are trying to spoil everything. Little mouse, look at me.”

You try to avert your gaze, turning your cheek, but his command causes you to buckle. 

“I will begin the vows.” Moon presses in closely. His chest is flush with your own, and you fear he can sense the wild fluttering of your heartbeat. You are not cool and suave, and you are still falling, falling, falling. 

“Will you take me to be your husband?”

“Moon,” you whisper. “I… I… I…”

His teeth flash. Then, he leans in, pressing close to your ear. A soft flick of his tongue against your cheek draws out a breath from you, just before he begins nibbling on the soft flesh of your earlobe. You gasp. Your hands find him, clinging tightly as flutters begin in your middle.

He releases your ear from his teeth but his mouth remains pressed close to the shell of it.

“Will you take me, so I will obey, serve, love, honor, and keep you in sickness and in health?” 

Your knees sink deeper but he refuses to let you slip out of his grasp. His claw hooks the collar of your sweater and stretches it, exposing your shoulder to the starlight.

His mouth lowers there. The press of his lips is soft and cool like a stone smoothed by a river. Your stomach burns with a flame you cannot name. He slowly opens his jaws, first licking your sensitive flesh until goosebumps run down your arms, then ever so delicately pressing his teeth into your shoulder. The tease of fang marks. The promise of more. He does not break the skin, but you mewl under his controlled bite.

He releases you. His hand cups your cheek as he straightens. 

“And forsaking all others,” he rasps, “keep you only unto me and my brothers, so long as we both shall live?”

Your bottom lips tremble from emotion. Confusion spins you.

Can you say ‘I do?’ Should you?

Moon softly caresses your cheek with his thumb. His eyes are gentle like pools in the starlight.

“I swear to love and cherish you,” his voice softens.

Your fingers curl around his wrists. He lowers himself to you, and your eyes flutter as his lips brush against yours—

“Get away, witch!”

Your eyes flash open. Moon’s gaze narrows into slits as he turns his head, pressing harder against you and trapping you against the mausoleum until you squirm. 

“Michael?” you gasp, peering over Moon’s shoulder, only to choke on your breath.

Over the slight hill from the true cemetery, a creature shambles. Purple flesh clings to bones, arms extended. Shuffling over the gnarled, dead grass, you watch as flesh splits and hangs by threads across his cheeks, exposing his molars. His nose is little more than a nasal bridge and two dark holes. His hair is dark and greasy, and his eyes are sunken, barely left save for black orbs and a single pinprick of light in each, like a lone flame of candlelight. 

“What did Eclipse do to you?” You feel faint. “No, no, no, change him back! Moon, please!”

“No need,” Moon steps forward to face your zombified friend. You almost drop to the ground when Moon’s hands leave you. A cold fury radiates around the witch’s cloak.

Bounding over the top of the hill, Vanessa appears. Her white fur is now smeared with dirt and her breaths are sharp and quick. She hops over to you. 

“Get up! Michael’s lavenders won’t keep the other two back for long!” Vanessa pushes against your leg, her tiny bunny body doing little to bring strength back to your limbs.

“Michael,” you whisper, clutching your mouth where the witch almost kissed you. “Eclipse has to take away the curse. He has to.”

“He won’t.” Vanessa’s eyes are dark, and hard. “We have to go.”

Your chest is hollow and your head swims. You watch Moon approach Michael in swift, sure steps. Michael’s arms are stiff and crooked, but his rotten fingers curl into a fist. Moon strikes and gouges his claws into Michael’s throat. You watch in muted horror as Moon rips away purple flesh and sinew. A rancid smell spills into the air. You gag, then scream out Michael’s name. The pale, bony column of his throat is exposed.

“You’re interrupting my wedding,” Moon hisses slowly at Michael before lifting his other hand.

Unphased, Michael throws a punch at the witch, and it hits with a burst of lavender petals. A screech drawls out of Moon. He falls backward. You hear the faintest sounds of Moon’s wretched snarls as Michael then awkwardly runs. His leg drags at the shin as if it were broken. You realize it is. Moon howls, clawing at the petals and trying to remove them from his person.

The witch calls out your name. You look back. His red eyes are furious, then desperate as Michael cuts in between the two of you. He brings his good foot down hard on Moon’s broomstick, and it snaps.

Moon screeches and writhes on the dried grass.

“Go,” Michael croaks. You stare at his gaping open neck but he takes you by the arms and hauls you back up to your feet. The scent of death is thick. “Now!”

You stumble, tears filling your eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry. I’ll make them change you back.”

“Just run,” Michael huffs, half decayed and struggling. “We have to get to town. We have to lose them. They only have until sunrise.”

Sunrise.

And a ceremony they wish to perform. 

[seraphinesaintclair]

“Song of the Wood Witch” by Seraphine Saintclair

[maribellablack]

Dancing around the bonfire somewhere deep in the woods equals therapy to me...

Ah, I can't wait for Halloween 🩸

[apolline-lucy]

i am beyond thrilled to share the cover of my fantasy novel, THE HOLLOWS 🗡️💀🖤 coming out November 29, 2024!

Hollowing or rotting, such is the fate of Misttown’s witches.

With its eerie, unfading fog, enchanting shops selling cures in the forms of pastries and flowers, and its crystal market, Misttown is the perfect witchy haven. But when the fog vanishes, replaced by a strange green smoke, and ghosts begin to roam the streets, everything changes.

For Brume, a witch whose modest talents include being haunted by ghost cats, baking heartbreak-soothing treats, and uprooting moss and weeds, her uneventful life takes a dramatic turn. Not only is she the only one able to see the ghosts, but when she loses someone to the smoke, she has no choice but to investigate.

Accompanied by a half-demon, a bone witch, a seer, a necromancer, and a herd of ghosts, Brume embarks on a journey that might do more than solve the curse; she might find herself and the magic she has always been too afraid to embrace.

preorder for THE HOLLOWS is now live on Kindle Unlimited!

*only for ebooks; if you’d like to order a physical copy (paperback or hardcover) please wait until the release✨

Amazing art design by Makomeri

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Obsidian Salt III

Summary: Demon!Rhys' plan for the Solstice comes to a head

Content Warnings: Dark!Rhys, Mental Manipulation, DubCon, Slight NSFW; a dash of slut-shaming/body issues; mentions of blood and burns, nothing super graphic.

Part One / Part Two

-------

There is only one thing I can be absolutely certain of: I have no control of my body. Flames dance from my fingers, the color and shape of them wrong. It’s not the orange and yellow hues it should be, but shades of blue and purple that don’t burn, no matter how much pours from my fingers. My skin doesn’t blister. The heat doesn’t touch me. Stranger still, I can’t feel the pull in my chest that tells me I’m using too much energy, even though I should. The words on my lips are a spell in a language I know I don’t speak, but they flow off my tongue as if it is all I have ever known. 

Worse still, I can’t remember what it is exactly that I do and don’t know. There is only this thick darkness in my skull and the flames that glitter around my fingers like tiny Sprites. There is nothing before this, and nothing ahead of this. Only now, watching the pile of tomes and old books burn on the charred forest floor. A blood moon rises swiftly ahead of us.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Witchling?” My companion’s voice is a lover’s purr, rich and silky next to my ear as he watches from over my shoulder. I can’t remember where or when I met him. All I know is that I want more of his approval. I think I might do anything for it as his hands settle on my hips. My head feels strangely empty of everything except him and the strange fog, but I don’t entirely mind the quiet, as long as I get the reward of his lips and body against my own.

“Mhm,” I hum, leaning back against the firm planes of him. 

His hands slide under my shirt and skim higher, his claw tipped hands drifting with enough pressure to make me shiver without drawing blood. “We’re almost free of them.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth and bite down against the whimper threatening to slip out of me as his hands come up to cup my breasts. My body is not my own because it’s his.  I crave every bit of affection he’ll give me, every touch and kiss and whisper of breath against my flushed skin feels like a gift. 

“Why start by burning books?” I ask, trying not to sound so needy by moaning like I want to when he gives my nipple a harsh tug. My body betrays me in the end, chest arching into his touch, practically begging for more.

“No spells to counter us,” he replies. I know he can feel my desperation, know he’s egging it on by rocking the hard length of his erection into the supple flesh of my ass, but his hands slide back down my body, robbing me of the pleasure I so furiously crave.

 His hands stop at my hips, claws dipping into my skin as he holds me in place. “Not yet, Little Witch. You’ll have your fun once we’re done here.” 

I tilt my head back against his shoulder, pouting, hoping he might change his mind as I rock my ass back into him. 

One of his hands leaves my hip to grab me firmly by the throat. “Don’t be greedy. You’ll take what I give you, when I decide to give it to you.”

My body freezes, held by some invisible grip even as he releases me. The loss of contact makes panic swell in my chest. “I’m sorry! I’ll focus.”

The hard lines of his face, distorted in the firelight, soften just a bit. “Good girl.”

The panic settles in my chest as the invisible grip on my body falls away. That’s better, even if he doesn’t put his hands on me again as he motions me away from the dying embers of our book pyre. At least I have him close. 

Rhys walks with his hands in his pockets now, wings tucked tight behind him. His gate is unhurried, as we stride through the quiet woods, the blood moon lighting the way. I think its arrival might be important, but I have no memories of why. 

“The witches will be gathering soon,” he says. “They’re expecting you.” 

Violet eyes glance over my attire and he adds, “You’ll need to change.”

I don’t question him as he steps onto a well worn trail and follows it all the way to a house. My house. The memory of it comes back into focus as if it had been lifted out of a fog, though it looks strange to me now. The runes along the foundation look like they were made by children, the wards they cast are flimsy at best. Strange, I’d always thought they were the best in the neighborhood.

“You see them as I see them,” he explains as he lifts a clawed hand and tears right through the glittering ward. “Key is in your pocket.”

Right. I slide my hand into the pocket of my jeans and find the key along with a couple crushed pieces of dried rosemary. What the hell was I doing with it? 

I slide the key into the lock and step into the dark house. It’s utterly silent, all the lights off. When I reach for the light switch, Rhys bats my hand away. “The neighbors don’t need to know we’re here.”

I somehow know my way around in the dark, even as the memory slowly returns, slipping out from the fog like a frightened prey animal. My room is the smallest, crammed into the attic, my footsteps echo on the stairs as we walk, but Rhys makes no sound. If anyone was in the house they would have assumed I was alone. Every once in a while I have to glance back over my shoulder to make sure he’s still there.

He only lets me turn the lights on in my cramped bedroom once he’s sure there are no windows to give us away. The sight of him having to duck to not slam his head against the slanted roof is amusing enough to make the risk worth it. He settles himself on my bed after a moment of knocking things around with his wings, long legs folded beneath him on my worn quilt, a frown crossing his handsome features.

“I’ve seen prison cells with more space,” he huffs.

I go to the wardrobe jammed in the corner, the old oak doors hanging on by a single, rusted hinge that squeaks when it opens. I wince as I start pushing old sweaters and jackets around, unsure of what I’m looking for. “What’s the dress code for this?”

The apex talon on his left wing scrapes against the wall, slashing through the worn wallpaper, and he huffs as he wraps the leathery membrane around himself like a cocoon. “Fucking witches. All so godsdamn small!”

Once he’s sure he’s not going to wreck anymore of the decor, he turns his attention back to me and I feel heat rush through me once more as those violet eyes roam over my body. “You’ll look good in black.”

A blush works its way up my cheeks as I start pushing pastel sweaters and multicolored t-shirts out of my way, looking for anything black. There’s a small, lacey thing tucked in the back and I have a distinct memory of someone telling me not to wear that to some function or another but the details or fuzzy. All I know is that someone, somewhere, made me feel small the last time I’d worn it. And I will never let anyone make me feel like that again.

I pull it out of the wardrobe and hold it out for Rhys to see. Something about him heightens all my worst emotions. My anger feels tenfold. My insecurities have tripled. I need him to quiet one and use the other, that much I do know.

His fangs glint in the witchlights the bob from the ceiling as he takes it in. “Certainly not the attire of a virgin sacrifice.”

A shadow from within the fog lets me see my grandmother’s threat from yesterday and I ball the dress in my hands up in my fists. “I’m no one’s sacrifice!” There’s something… different in my voice, and whatever it is makes the witchlights shutter. 

Rhys only grins triumphantly at the sight. “That’s my girl.” 

I take a shuddering breath to calm the pulsing of something I feel in my veins, something I can’t identify, something I don’t remember possessing before. Something that belongs to Rhys just as much as I do. It starts with a buzzing feeling in my spine, where his sigil sits. 

“I’m going to go change.” A tendril of shadow snakes out from underneath his wings and snags me by the wrist, pulling me towards where he sits on the bed before I can even take a step towards the door. 

“Why so shy?” He teases, wings unfolding enough for him to reach out a clawed hand and brush it against the buttons on my jeans. “What are you afraid I’ll see?”

I shiver at the contact, my legs moving on their own accord until my knees bump against the bed frame. He has such complete control over me, I don’t know if he even knows it. “I’m not afraid of anything!” I try to protest but my voice shakes when I speak.

He grins as his claws retract to let him pop the buttons open, large hands slowly pushing the loose fabric down my hips. It is an effort to stand still, to not climb into his lap and straddle him right here in my ratty bedroom. 

Once the fabric is past my thighs my jeans fall to the floor in a pool around my ankles on their own accord, his callused hands now stroking up my exposed flesh to reach for the hem of my sweater. I am no blushing virgin, but I have never been this aroused by a simple action before either. I find myself biting my lip as I watch the way his hands move over my body. I’m scared if I move too fast or make too much noise he’ll stop, just like he did earlier, leaving me empty and cold in the loss of his touch.

He leans forward on his knees, wings parting just enough to let him lean forward without batting into the walls, to brush his lips over my stomach as he removes the sweater inch by inch. Every second passes by like an hour, his kisses slow and unhurried as if we have all the time in the world. 

I squeeze my eyes shut as his lips ghost over my ribs, nose brushing up against the band of my bra. His lips are so plush and warm, I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like wrapped around my nipple. The thought makes heat pool between my legs and I instinctively clench my thighs together, looking for some form of friction to take the edge off.  

He nips teasingly at the valley between my breasts, but leaves my bra in place as he finally pushes the sweater over my head and onto the floor. “Aren’t you pretty,” he purrs.

I can’t stop myself from leaning forward, one hand braced on his muscular shoulder to keep myself from falling directly into his lap. I need to kiss him. I need to have his lips back on mine.

He chuckles wickedly as he stops me with a hand on my throat, squeezing just enough to halt my movements. “What did we talk about earlier, hm?”

“Please, Rhys,” I whimper.

“After we’re done,” he promises, unbothered by the effect he has on me, knowing I’m so totally at his mercy and desperate for any attention. I think he likes keeping me here. Likes knowing he can dangle pleasure within reach and then rip it away from me before I can truly have a taste. It might be the most effective way to keep me from looking into what we’re doing and I am a fool who keeps falling for it, but anytime I start to question why I allow it, the fog returns in my head and all the questions disappear in a rush. Just as they do now.

My eyes feel heavy and my head empty as I nod, the movements of my body foreign, like a puppet being jerked around on a string. 

He pulls the dress over my head with the same slow, teasing pace as he’d taken off my clothes, and it only makes the heat beneath my skin all the worse. The dress halts on my upper thighs, just long enough to cover all the important bits, and his hands linger on the hem, fingers tracing strange shapes on the inside of my thighs.

I might be desperate enough to try begging one more time, were it not for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Rhys dissolves into shadow and smoke and dives underneath the bed as the door opens and my Mother strides in, broom still in hand from the flight over.

“What are you wearing?” She says in greeting.

That pulse of anger that had made the lights flicker returns and she glances at it with one, manicured brow raised in surprise. 

“I thought it looked nice-”

“You look like a whore,” she returns, hands smoothing over the green cloak dusting her shoulders. If she cares about the new display of power, she doesn’t mention it. Probably thinks it's a fluke. Or perhaps an errant flair of her own magic, she certainly has enough to spare. “Change before you head out. I’m sure your performance tonight will be embarrassing enough as it is without you being seen by everyone in that awful outfit.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment. 

“You told me you were going on a diet,” she continues to chastise. “That dress certainly proves that a lie.”

I run a hand over my stomach self-consciously, but I can’t think through the fog to find an argument. 

“Honestly, Y/N, is all this a joke to you?”

“No!” I protest but she cuts me off.

“You certainly could have fooled me! Our family name is on the line here, you understand the reputation you have to uphold, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mother,” I try again, but she continues on like I hadn’t.

“Our family holds the front line against both the human world and the demon one. Do you know how much work that takes, to keep the demons leashed to their dimension and keep those stupid humans in the dark? Do you have any idea the sacrifices we’ve all had to make? The work we’ve all put in?”

“Yes-”

“Do you know how many Sisters I have lost? How many I had to decide to sacrifice to preserve our coven’s strength?”

“I understand-”

“To show weakness is to invite our destruction. This peace you have gotten to grow up in has come at a terrible price. It is not a game.”

“I know-”

“No, you don’t!” She hisses. “Because if you did, then you would have taken your lessons seriously. You would have studied harder. You wouldn’t be an example of weakness today.”

My hands are clenched so hard at my sides my fingernails have left indents in my palms. “I will not disappoint you tonight, Mother.”

“You only have one shot to prove yourself, because if the Salem girl beats you, you’re the sacrifice, you understand that don’t you?”

Rhys’s sigil on my back burns. “I know. She won’t beat me. I’ve been practicing.”

She frowns as she shifts her broom to her other hand. “I wish I believed you.”

She might as well have hit me. 

“I have to hunt tonight, there are too many humans on the border.”

And as powerful and proud as my Mother is, she can’t stand there and watch me make a fool of myself. As always, the Coven provides a perfect excuse for her to not be around while I “disgrace the family name”  and “make her wish I was never born”. The instances in which she said those very words flood my mind at a feverish pace, spinning round and round like a whirlwind movie performance. The burning at my back spreads all the way to my fingertips and I swear I feel the flicker of a flame between my clenched fists again.

“Do you really think so little of me?” I ask, my voice a lot smaller than I mean it to be.

“I stopped expecting big things from you a long time ago,” she retorts, straightening her cloak again. If she feels any remorse for the words or concern for my wellbeing, she doesn’t show it. I am as expendable as any other witch in the Coven, maybe more since she thinks so little of me. “Just try not to die tonight, ok?”

“I won’t be dying tonight,” I say through my teeth.

She nods, turns towards the stairs, then glances back one last time over her shoulder. “Change before you go.” Those are her parting words for my impending doom?

The door shuts behind her and I lash out and slam my fist into the wall in frustration; the first movement of my body all day that has felt distinctly mine and not so terrible intertwined with Rhys.. The wood groans under my burning knuckles, but worse still, the fading wall paper smolders, the edges burning and crinkling, the smell of melting glue filling the air. I glance down at my hands long enough to see a flicker of those blue flame disappear between my knuckles through the tears brimming my eyes. 

Rhys materializes from under the bed, looking annoyed that he can’t stretch out his wings. “That was harsh, even for a Witch.”

I stretch out my hands, palms splayed, no more flames to be seen, even if the wallpaper still smolders. “Is this from you?”

“It’s the amplification of what’s already inside you,” he says.

My Mother’s words still ring in my ears. “There’s nothing inside me.”

He reaches out a hand and tilts my head up to look at him. “We both know that’s not true, Darling.”

I wish I could remember how he came to me; remember which god I needed to thank for bringing him to me. No one understands me like he does. He makes me feel seen, like I’m not entirely a burden. The fleeting moment of control I had over my body disappears, dispelled by this new touch of his hands against my face.

He wipes the tears that slip down my cheeks with his thumbs. “Ready to show them exactly what you are, Little Witch?”

I’m not going to change the dress. And I’m not going to die today either. “Yes.”

He grins wickedly, eyes going all black again. “Then let’s give them a Solstice no one will ever forget.”

Those words are the last thing I remember before the fog takes me completely. There is only darkness and shadow, floating and swirling so intensely around me that I lose sight of everything. I am not a person, I am a thought, tossed around in the dark. Dully, I am aware of sounds. Of a flash of heat on my skin. Of the distant sound of screaming. Terror becomes a companion, but it is never an emotion that comes from me, only something that walks alongside me in the dark. Through it all, there is never a moment that I am not aware of him. His being is as intertwined in the darkness as I am, I think he might very well have been its creator as well as its caretaker. Even here, the brush of him is enough to keep me from thinking too hard about it. The darkness is good and soothing and nothing to fear, no matter what sounds come from outside it.

When he finally sets me free from the darkness, it is in a world once again on fire. What looks like a celebratory parade now lays in cinders, the charred remains of a skeletal figure clutching the melted wheel on the front. The air is heavy with ash, the wind blowing embers across the blood red sky. 

There is more screaming. Underneath what once might have been a floral arch, twisted in the burning ribbons are people… no witches, fighting for an escape that doesn’t come as the winged death god that has followed me all day stalks towards them with his claws out, chuckling at their plight.

Something in me recoils, fights against the invisible hands that hold me, just enough to let out a scream of horror as the witches meet a bloody end, the gore splattering across Rhys’s wings. He turns to look at me then, grinning wickedly, no violet in his eyes to be seen, only endless black pits.

The shadow in my skull parts just enough to remind me what he really is: Demon. Prince of Hel.

My hands shake at my sides. My back aches and burns like someone had tried to set me on fire, but I am wholly unscathed compared to the carnage and destruction around me.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

But the fog in my head closes in tighter, sharper now, like talons digging into my skull. I scream as I fall to my knees, but the hands that hold me won’t let me reach for my head. Blue flames still dance from my fingertips, flames I don’t remember unleashing. 

“What?” Each word is a battle to get out. “What did I do?”

The blood on his hands is cold as ice as he brushes a hand over my cheek. “What you were meant to do, Little Witch. What they were always scared you could do. Don’t you see? You’re free!”

Free? Whatever the Solstice celebration was supposed to be is irrelevant now, there is only death and fire and it’s all at my hand. The moment guilt starts to creep in, the fog rips it away from me, replaces it with that same need to please him.

“You freed me?”

Invisible hands help me stand again. He braces a hand on my hip to steady me as he brushes his lips over my forehead. The fires seem irrelevant like this. “They’ll never hurt you again. They’ll never hurt us again.”

I can’t remember what he was saving me from. Before I can ask the question, a false sense of gratitude worms its way into my chest. Another gift from him. The more gifts he gives me, the more hollow and cold I feel my insides becoming. My head doesn’t know reality from the world he creates inside my mind, but my heart is another matter. There is something very, very wrong with him. With me. But I am not strong enough to fight it. The sigil at my back burns when I try.

“What now?”

Plush lips brush against mine. My body moves for me, chasing the heat of him. Chasing the blissful pleasure of emptiness that comes when he touches me. His wants are mirrored through me somehow. 

“What would you like now, My Little Witch? The rest of the Coven? A throne perhaps? There is nothing in your way. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

I don’t know that I want anything. Nothing feels real. Nothing but him.

“Want you,” I say, voice a little breathless, as if conjuring up anything of myself from within the fog is a tremendous effort. It certainly feels like it. I don’t know if that’s another gift from him or not. Everything is becoming so very muddled again. 

The demon grins as he asks, “And then?”

Images swirl around my head. Each carefully planted by those invisible hands. I am powerless to resist their influence. “No more witches.”

“I couldn’t think of anything better, Darling.”

-----

Tag List:

@girl-math-aint-mathing / @hjgdhghoe / @gloomy-hag / @barb00235 / @scxrletwitches

Thank you for all your patience! <3

[breelandwalker]

Okay so here's a thought.

If I were to write a book of witchcraft exercises, like that post I've got floating around, would anyone be interested?

I'm tapdancing around the idea of a book that has SOME stuff for beginners, but quickly moves into intermediate territory, something like a Witchcraft 201 style book. It would include expanded versions of all the exercises I've posted here, plus a whole bunch more that I've put together for workshops or used in my own practice.

It wouldn't just be stuff like "oh here's some fun crafts or activities you can do once or twice at the start but won't seem like much use later." It would be like my other books, where there's skill-building activities, tutorials for things that can be used long-term, templates for creating custom practices, and thought exercises and reflection prompts the reader can use periodically even after they move beyond the "beginner" stuff. It would also include practical topics like critical thinking, finding resources and materials, self-analysis, and safety measures.

And yes, like my other work, it would be secular and accessible for all paths and practices, only this would be designed as something to help the reader grow over the course of their journey, rather just giving them a jumpstart.

So...any takers?

[cabinetofquriosities]

The Ritual

Agatha x Reader || Warnings: Smut, violence

Done for an exchange with @marril96 who made this gifset as a preview for my upcoming detective Agathario fic. Check her stuff out!

Agatha hadn’t been able to use her magic for months.

She couldn’t sense a hex or a binding spell. If there was one, it was intricately done. No, there was a block. Regular people had the flu, witches had blocks. It wasn’t often and it typically never lasted more than a few days.

It was sometimes brought on by being near overpowering magic while your own was unstable. Other possible causes were new overwhelming emotional changes, mental torture, or lack of practice for more than a few decades. It was often psychosomatic, caused by the mind rather than anything external.

Agatha had never suffered from it, given that her major life changes were almost immediately followed by absorbing the powers of a coven. Nicky died, she created the con of the road. Rio left her after brief reunions, she would find more witches to use. The pair had finally let go of one another decades ago, so it couldn’t have been Rio.

When she met you, though, her entire world shifted. She was finally feeling grounded by someone who wasn’t running off for a greater purpose like her ex did. You both made each other your purpose.

She had plunged the depths of her mind to figure out what the cause of her block was, but couldn’t find anything. She researched every text on the subject of blocked magic. All it said was to find the cause and make peace. Agatha had always considered peace to be overrated.

Agatha had moved in with you a few months prior, right around the time of her magic freezing up. You both lived in an old victorian at the edge of the woods. You found yourself holding her at night, whispering words of comfort in her ear. You would help her look for answers while reading up on your own healing magic. You supported her the best you could. She was happy with you, but incomplete without her purple. It was a new thing for Agatha to feel happy and to feel powerless. Both were unnatural states for her.

One day, you were working on a new healing salve as the sun set outside. You plucked a bloom from the dried flowers you had hanging over the kitchen island amidst the pots and pans. You dropped it into the boiling water, watching the color change.

A crash yanked you out of your focus. You froze, conjuring a ball of energy in your palm as you listened for a possible threat. Instead, you heard a familiar groan. You extinguished the orb before running to the source of the sound.

Agatha had collapsed after opening the door. Blood poured from a wound in her side. She had bruises and cuts all over her form. You knelt down, moving her onto her back so you could get a better look at the damage.

“What happened?!” you asked in a panic.

Agatha let out a pained wheeze. Your heart raced and your chest tightened.

Agatha coughed up some blood before saying, “A warlock… he followed me from the magic shop in town… he knew who I was. Wanted to… be the killer of the witch killer.”

As if she had summoned him herself, a tall man appeared in the doorway. He was unable to come inside due to the sigils surrounding the house. He smiled and laughed.

“A healer? Oh, this is going to be far too easy. I am surprised the great witch Agatha Harkness couldn’t find a protection witch to keep her s-“

You cut him off with a powerful beam of destruction shooting out from your palm. So many mistook healers for being peaceful or having passive magic. They didn’t realize that such witches also held command of the opposite end of the spectrum. While you could heal, you could also harm more harshly than other types of witches. It was the balance of magic that some so easily forgot.

The warlock landed in the dirt like a ragdoll. You stepped out onto the porch, looming over him. He winced, opening his mouth to say something before you shot him with another blast, holding this one until it left him a blackened husk of meat.

Once your were assured of his demise, you ran back to Agatha’s side. She wasn’t doing well. You knelt down, having a second look at her injuries. She gasped sharply in pain as you moved her shirt up enough to see the wound. It was definitely one that could prove to be fatal with how much blood was being lost. You were too far from any hospital, so you would have to find a way to somehow heal an injury that was damn near impossible to do with magic.

You were a healer, yes, but you were a healer of witches. You could only help so much with fixing regular people, especially when they were harmed by a witch or warlock. With witches, she could channel her magic into theirs to heal their bodies. The fact that Agatha no longer had access to her power meant that you couldn’t save her life without going to extreme lengths. Even then, there was only a chance of success.

You stood up and ran to the kitchen, leaving Agatha on the floor in the entryway.

“Oh no… it’s fine… I’ll stay right here…” she called.

You would have smiled if not for your fear. As long as she was being her sarcastic self, she was still alive. You already had half of the concoction done since you had been working on healing salves already, but the substance itself wouldn’t be enough. It needed a ritual to go along with it.

You threw in more ingredients and let them boil as you ran to the living room to retrieve candles. You rapidly and clumsily set them down in a circle around your girlfriend. You noticed her eyes had drifted closed. Your stomach dropped and you bent down, shaking her awake. Agatha woke, groaning in pain.

“Owww! Damn it!” she scolded.

“Good! Keep yelling at me. Keep your eyes open. I’ll be right back,” you said before running off.

She did just as you said, finally following orders for once. You ripped a page out of one of your spell books. She loudly complained about everything she could as you brought the serum, gemstones, matches, and chalk out. You set them all down and got to work. You drew sigils in chalk between each candle before lighting it. The gemstones were placed in a specific order.

You consulted the torn page that detailed the ritual. You had never attempted this ritual before. It was too risky for both parties involved. If it went wrong, your own form could be drained of life along with hers. Agatha, who had been bitching just a moment before, recognized the preparations.

“No…” she said.

“Yes,” you said back while lighting the final candle.

“No… there has to be another w-“

“This is the only way.”

“My love, you can’t…”

“I can and I will,” you said with an assuredness that you weren’t sure you completely felt.

You moved into the circle with her, stripping her clothing from her. She gasped and winced, but neither of you had the luxury of being delicate. You carried on, taking the serum and pouring it from the pot over her torso, coating the injury. Her back arched as she screamed out in pain. You hated that you were unable to let it cool properly. The salve instantly healed the burns caused by the boiling temperature. She passed out from shock, but you slapped her awake.

“Agh! What the fuck?!” she yelled, “You couldn’t have BLOWN ON IT or added ice before giving me THIRD DEGREE BURNS?!”

“Oh, hush, they’re already gone,” you chided.

You began chanting in Sumerian as the energy around them shifted. The ritual was older than most, something that was created before Latin. The candles would be the first measure of how it was working. The flame shrank to nearly nothing, signifying a lack of effectiveness. A second passed before the wicks re-ignited with bursts of fire. You felt your body relax slightly as you kept chanting.

You then changed your chant, moving to her wound. You hovered your hands over it as they glowed. The imbalance of power created a vacuum, with Agatha’s lack of magic causing your own to begin breaking down. Your face began to lose color and your arms shook. The gemstones vibrated against the wooden floor as a warning that you swiftly disregarded. Agatha realized what was happening, watching your lips turn blue as her own body began going cold. You doubled over, your face close to her shoulder.

“S-stop,” she whimpered, wanting at least one of you to survive the ritual.

You simply kept chanting, even as your voice constricted. Agatha brought her hand up and cupped your cheek. You turned your head to face her, knowing in that moment that you would rather die with her in an effort to save her than sacrifice her to save yourself. The only way out was through, for better or worse.

You leaned into her touch as your skin began to warm again. You watched pink returning to her lips and cheeks. The wound was also beginning to heal slightly. You could tell from Agatha’s smile that you looked better as well. You finished the chant and looked back at the page showing the steps of the ritual. A sly smile tugged at your lips.

“I doubt we will have an issue with this part,” you said.

“What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer as you hiked up her loose skirt. You said an incantation before bending Agatha’s legs. You leaned down, your eyes gazing into your girlfriend’s as your tongue slipped inside of her. Agatha whimpered before arching her back. She shook from the shooting pain of the wound, but the pleasure outweighed it.

You slid two fingers into her, curling them with every thrust. You needed to bring her to the peak of pleasure to essentially give her body a jump the way you would a car. It would give Agatha a magical influx on par with adrenaline in combination with electric shocks to the chest. With nothing to work off of on Agatha’s side, you had no clue if you would survive this. Her climax could restore her or it could drain you both depending on what the universe allowed.

Although you would never tell Agatha for fear of giving her a fatal case of performance anxiety, Agatha was familiar enough with the ritual to know the stakes. She looked down at you with so much love. She had been so terrified of having someone who she loved like this in her life, but this risk you were taking for her cemented what she should have already known. You were devoted to her more than anything and would never leave. As that realization clicked into place, something finally changed within herself.

Just as you were beginning to feel another drain, Agatha’s body began to emanate energy. The magic rushed through her, finally flooding in after months of being blocked. Her acceptance of you as a constant in her life sparked it.

You could taste the power restoring itself as you devoured her. You sucked aggressively on her clit as your fingers thrusted faster. Both of your eyes locked, your magic balancing with hers. The wound healed with a blinding glow, closing completely with her orgasm.

She had never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment with her energy visibly engulfing her. Shades of purple licked at the outline of her form. Her eyes shone with violet and gold. Her walls clenched and pulsed around your fingers.

One candle flame extinguished itself after another. The stones stilled. The aura of Agatha’s power absorbed back into her. She took a shaky breath, lifting herself up on shaking arms. You crawled over her before kneeling, straddling her lap. Your palm rubbed over her now unharmed skin. You couldn’t believe it had worked.

Her hands held your face and guided you to look at her. You beamed at her like you had fallen for her all over again without knowing.

[aleximustd13]

if you still do these 48 + vinikki pls pls pls i’ll love you forever

“So…” began the butler, as he extracted the sword out of its scabbard, making the sunlight bounce on the sharp blade, “shall we begin your training, Vincent?”

Vincent pulled out his weapon as well. “That’s master Wharton to you now, Nicholas.” The young man snickered, as he gripped the hilt with both hands. A flash of rage and determination lit up his hazel eyes as he slowly but confidently made his way towards his servant, who began walking forward too.

As much as Nicholas saw Vincent's birth and always took good care of him, they despised each other. Well, at least Vincent hated Nicholas, that’s for sure. There was something about the way the butler treated him like a child, despite being well over that phase of his life, that got on Vincent’s nerves.

But today, the day of his 21st birthday, would’ve been the day Vincent showed him, and everyone else, what he’s made of, he would’ve shown the man he had become.

“Oh come on, Vince,” grinned the older man, raising his sword. “we’re friends by now, aren’t we?”

“No, we’re not.” Responded the blond nobleman, through gritted teeth. The nobleman tried to stay calm, to not raise his voice, to not let his adversary win. Nicholas was found by his family when he was still a hungry urchin living in the London slums, so who the hell did he think he was? That day, Vincent thought, his father should’ve minded his business.

They stopped a few inches from each other, with their blades touching, in a guarding position.

“May the best of us win.” Said the butler, flashing his teeth, his green eyes glistening with calm confidence.

“En garde, old bastard.”

The metal clangors quickly followed one another. Whenever Vincent tried to strike, Nicholas was ready to deflect his attacks, almost as if he could predict Vincent’s every move. Slash, slash, lunge. Vincent only managed to cut a strand of the older man’s jet-black hair. Their swords crossed, the blades slipping, and now it was a matter of who was going to get the best of the other. Vince was losing his balance, but he refused to give up. With an effort and a scream of rage, the nobleman pushed away his adversary, making him almost trip on his own feet. Almost. But Vincent had already let his guard down, not having the time to react when Nicholas sweeped his blade, leaving a thin, bloody gash on the young man’s cheek. Vincent held back the hiss of pain.

“Oh, that’s gonna leave a nasty mark!” Snickered the butler.

Vincent decided to ignore him, determined to not get distracted by Nicholas’s babbling. The fact that he got hit even once, it was already one too many. He managed to deflect another blow, but barely. Their swords crossed again, but this time Vincent lost his balance and fell over, making him lose the grip of his weapon.

“Well, well, well.” The butler pointed his sword at the nobleman’s neck. “Rule number one: never let your guard down.”

“Are you gonna kill me…?” Muttered the blond, raising his head ever so slightly, in order to take a glimpse of Nicholas’s face.

The other let out air of his nose in amusement. “It would be very hard to explain your disappearance to your family.” He diverted his armed hand away from the young man, and reached out with the other, to help Vincent get up.

“Right…” said Vincent, a bit hesitant at first to accept his help. “The butler is always the prime suspect.”

The older man let out a hoarse laugh. “Wait here. I’ll go grab some bandages.”

---

“How was I?” Asked Vincent. He didn't know why he wanted to seek Nicholas's approval, yet that question slipped out of his mouth.

“Not bad.” Said the other, concentrating on dabbing the wound with a bandage. "Not bad at all for your first time.”

The blond frowned, both from physical and emotional pain. “I feel like you’re lying to me.”

“I would never. " Responded the butler, calmly. "I mean it.”

"One day I'll be able to defeat you, you'll see." Mumbled the young man. "Then you're finally going to respect me."

Nicholas stopped what he was doing to look at his young master in the eyes. He smiled, thinking that Vincent was just like his father. "Here's the thing," he began, "respect is not given unconditionally, it is earned." He then put a hand on Vincent's shoulder. “This is my gift for you for today: a humble piece of advice. Happy birthday, master Wharton.”

Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt!

[kentnaturaltribrid]

Keyes contain at least one hidden element, though some of them are mostly 12 elements. Keyes with magic however, tend to be in many different locations and have at least one element that is of chaos or vanoid. There’s at least 31 keyes which are of magic, even if the highest forms of magic. Some of them are physical and peralicanic (of a reality). Others are minor Keyes.

[emly-seppele]

ok you can buy ONE thing. One.

[apolline-lucy]

✨THE HOLLOWS is officially out now in paperback, ebook, and hardcover!✨

If you’re into sword-wielding witches, haunting ghosts (including 27 ghost cats 🐈‍⬛), and tempting demons—all wrapped up in a sapphic love story—this one’s for you!

With its eerie, unfading fog, enchanting shops selling cures in the forms of pastries and flowers, and its crystal market, Misttown is the perfect witchy haven. But when the fog vanishes, replaced by a strange green smoke, and ghosts begin to roam the streets, everything changes.

For Brume, a witch whose modest talents include being haunted by ghost cats, baking heartbreak-soothing treats, and uprooting moss and weeds, her uneventful life takes a dramatic turn. Not only is she the only one able to see the ghosts, but when she loses someone to the smoke, she has no choice but to investigate.

Accompanied by a half-demon, a bone witch, a seer, a necromancer, and a herd of ghosts, Brume embarks on a journey that might do more than solve the curse; she might find herself and the magic she has always been too afraid to embrace.

grab yourself a copy here

happy reading!

[tranquiltears]

Crystalline dreams ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

🪷

[aleximustd13]

44 mickvince something mafia related plbs ill love you forever sorry for being so demanding 🥺

[not sure if this is what you intended but here you go]

---Two weeks before the wedding---

While the whole city of Naples was asleep, Michele was sitting at the pier under the crescent moon and cloudless sky. The night was unusually quiet, and all that could be heard was the sound of the waves lazily going back and forth against the shore.

“How does it feel, Vincé?” Asked Michele in monotone, after Vincenzo sat down next to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Your wedding with Arianna. Have you already forgotten?”

“No, I haven't.” Vincenzo looked up to the sky, spotting a few stars. “But I'm not really enthusiastic about it, you know? I barely know her.” He added, shrugging, turning towards Michele, staring at his icy blues.

The other man turned around and sighed.

“I think she feels the same, too.” Continued Vincenzo, gazing at the sea. “We're getting married just to please our parents, after all.”

Michele stayed in silence.

“What's wrong, Miché?”

“Nothing, it's just...” Michele exhaled. “I don't know what I'm going to do after you get married and move there. Maybe I should just... Get it over with already.” He suddenly got up, but Vincenzo stopped him, seizing his arm.

“Don't even try to think about it!” The blond raised his voice.

Michele stared at him, saying nothing, the corners of his eyes filling with tears.

Vincenzo moved his hand to Michele's. “Ti amo, Miché. I always will.”

The raven-haired man brought his fingers to Vincenzo's cheek, before the blond got closer and pressed his lips against Michele's.

---One week before the wedding---

“Ciao.” Said a boyish familiar voice.

“Ciao...” Michele sighed, without diverting his gaze from the sea. “How's the nose, Vincé?”

“Not as bad as the other day, I think it's healing.” Informed Vincenzo, sitting down next to Michele.

“It's all my fault.” Murmured Michele. “I'm sorry.” He turned towards the blond, whose hazel eyes were glistening under the moonlight.

Vincenzo frowned. “No way! Why would this be your fault?”

“You got beaten up by your father because he saw you hanging out with me! The real question is, how is this not my fault?” Michele's blue eyes began to become watery. “I should just... We should just stop seeing each other, before one of us ends up dead!”

Vincenzo exhaled. “Miché, don't say that...” He rested his hand on Michele's shoulder. Michele took Vincenzo's hand on his and squeezed it.

A gunshot was heard in the distance.

“We should go home. Now.” The dark haired man said, looking at the blond boy in the eyes.

---Two nights before the wedding---

Michele was feeling restless: it was three in the morning and Vincenzo still had to show up. He was shivering, despite it being a summer's night in Naples. He felt like something bad had happened to his lover.

He shot a glance back at the coast: he never felt so happy to be proven wrong, as he realized that Vincenzo was running towards him.

Michele got up and pulled the blond boy in his arms, hugging him and kissing his face all over. Vincenzo squeezed him just as tight. “Sorry for being late. I was worried someone was following me and I took the longer way.”

“Grazie a Dio you're here, Vincé.” The other whispered.

“Listen,” Vincenzo detached himself from Michele, “I am so tired of living like this.”

Michele blinked, a worried expression painted on his face.

“I don't want to get married to Arianna, I can't take being a criminal anymore...” Continued the blond, “and more importantly, I can't stand being away from you for just one more minute.”

“Vincé, where are you going with this?”

“I want to run away with you, Miché!” Vince took Michele's hands in his.

“But where?! You know they're gonna find us no matter where we go!”

“Not if we take the cargo ship to America.”

Michele widened his eyes.

Vincenzo grinned.

“You're crazy, you hear me?” Michele threw his arms up in the air. “Pazzo!”

“So, are you in?”

Michele hesitated. “If I had to choose between staying here without you and the possibility of dying at sea with you…” He said in the end, smiling. “I still would choose you.”

---One night before the wedding---

The first sun rays of the morning had still to come out as Vincenzo and Michele embarked on the first cargo ship to the United States of the day, hoping for a new chance at life.

Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt!