#a vintage + witchy store

[how-ll]

actually stopped by some stores to ask if they were hiring today

👍

[cashmerecrow]

"𝔓𝔬𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔑𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔞𝔩 ℌ𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶"

[dizzy-n]

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🔮DEAL OF THE DAY💕

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[stonesbyhaille]

[keeksandgigz]

the love witch

modern!eddie munson x fem!witchy!reader

summary: Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend. Hell, he's not even sure how he was able to get you interested in him in the first place. Despite him not really believing in your witchy practices, he's incredibly supportive, but that doesn't come without his cheeky digs. He agrees to a tarot reading for shits and giggles. You don't like that he doesn't take it seriously.

cw: no y/n, reader's nickname is 'witchy' , talk of the occult, wiccan practices, description of r's clothing, but no body description, reader has female anatomy, oral (F receiving), face sitting, sub!Eddie, dom!Reader, choking, slight biting, dirty talk, honorifics, unprotected piv (pls don't do that), ending leans towards the whole witchy vibe

word count: 4.8k

this and all my works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker. 

Living in a small studio apartment in the Haight-Ashbury of San Francisco, which he got a damn good price on. 

He works at one of the many vintage record stores in the neighborhood, which pulsates with raw musical energy, almost as if he steps in the 70s every time he gets out of the front door of his apartment building.

Sometimes he just sits on his fire escape to fuck around with his guitar, inspired by the smells of incense coming from the crystal shops, the music coming from the vintage clothing stores and the pungent smell of lingering weed at all hours of the day.

And with the shaggy, long, brown curls, bullet belt and chains, his black cutoff band t- shirts and heavy lace up boots, he seems to fit right in- for the first time in his life. 

Next to his record store there is one of the many crystal shops on the high street, a tiny little nook he always walks by on the way to work and snickers to himself. There’s no way people believe in all that.

He stops doing that once he meets you. 

Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker because he crosses paths with you.

He meets you while he is on his lunch break, using those thirty minutes of peace to walk around and usually pick up some prerolls from the dispensary a couple buildings down, or he lingers in front of the guitar store on the other side of the street, ogling at a B.C. Rich or an Ibanez, spending his break in there, fucking around with a cool amp. 

He meets you on an off day. A day where he doesn't feel like walking around, so he just stands in front of his store smoking a cigarette. You're walking a longtime client out of the crystal shop next door. 

“Thank you for that dried lavender, Janice! I’ll set aside some of that incense for you when we get the shipment” he hears you say. He turns around, snickers at your words while Janice passes in front of him, disappearing in the Saturday afternoon crowd. 

“Something funny?” you ask. Your voice feels smooth like honey wine. He turns around, and suddenly he doesn't feel like snickering anymore.

You look so pretty, the kind of pretty that is almost otherworldly. Like you could’ve come up in his head while planning a DnD campaign. Purple bell sleeve top, a long, black, flowy skirt and lace- up boots. Dressed like his own elven high priestess. 

He realizes he’d been staring at you for a good silent minute. He nervously breaks eye contact to put out his cigarette on the sole of his Docs. 

“Sorry– heh, just don’t really believe in all that stuff” he says, shrugging. In doing that, his evidently too- short shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of the skin of his tummy, which doesn’t go unnoticed to you. 

You lean on the doorframe of the store “What’s your name again?” you ask, a feline smile creeping on your lips. 

He swallows “I um- haven’t told you my- It’s Edward- Eddie!” he corrects himself, you got him flustered “Nobody calls me Edward” he remarks. 

His stammer makes you smile, like he's a wounded puppy dog. 

“Alright Edward Eddie, see you around” and with that you disappear back into the store. 

It takes Eddie a week to learn your name, asking the owner of the crystal shop you work at with no luck, then running into Janice a week later, who kindly tells him your name and then raves about you for a good ten minutes. Quite the hypewoman. 

It takes Eddie another two weeks to ask you out on a date. You're wearing a long mauvish dress under a white cardigan when he sees you walk into the store. Your hair is pulled back from your face and he swears he sees stars in your eyes. 

You say yes and agree to meet at a coffee shop, and by the end of the day, he asks you for a second date. And then a third, and a fourth, and by the arrival of fall, Eddie Munson has a girlfriend.

Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend.

He even jokes with his friends that his witch girlfriend put a spell on him. Made him drink a love potion, because he can't justify him being so obsessed with you.

Another thing he can't justify is you actually liking him. Sometimes he still needs to pinch himself to make sure it's not all a joke.

A pretty girl that looks like she's straight out of his DnD fantasies is dating him? There's no way shit like that happens to Edward Munson.

Although his apartment is right above the record shop, which means sneaking away for a quickie whenever you guys have matched up work schedules, he loves your apartment.

Twenty minutes away from Haight- Ashbury, in Twin Peaks, there lies your apartment. In an old building from the sixties or seventies, you have it decorated with tapestries and sun- catchers and rugs and pillows and cushions. It's a joy for Eddie's senses.

And with dating you, came Circe, your black cat who seems to have taken an almost immediate liking to Eddie.

Your apartment always smells like incense and candles, a smell you bring with you wherever you go. A smell Eddie loves. There are plants hanging from the ceiling and a big purple couch in the living room.

Everything is antique, lucky finds from thrift stores or flea markets. The table, chairs. The bookcases that hold your witchy books and your crystals.

The first time he comes over he picks one up. A carnelian.

"So, these pretty rocks are supposed to... what?" he asks, toying with every bit and bob on your bookshelf.

"They're crystals, Eddie. And each different one has a purpose. That one you're holding is a carnelian" you say, pouring him a cup of loose- leaf herbal tea, and pointing at the crystal with your nose.

"Okay, and what's it do?" he asks, toying with the smooth surface and going to sit on the ground next to you. He blows on his tea and takes a sip. He isn't a tea enjoyer, but for you he could be.

"Well, a lot of things, but primarily carnelians help boost sexual energy-" you get interrupted by Eddie sputtering out his tea. Some of it lands on you, which causes you to let out a shriek.

The ridiculousness of the situation is both endearing and hilarious. The poor guy probably didn't expect you being so blunt about your use of crystals to aid your sex life.

A giggle escapes you while Eddie tinges a deep shade of crimson from the embarrassment. He shakily sets down the teacup and saucer.

"Shi-shit sorry, lemme help you clean it up" he says, scrambling for the napkins on the coffee table to clean his mess up.

"You got some on me, Eddie" you say as you move your hair from your face to let him clean up the spit- out tea from your cheek.

"Oh my god, sorry lemme get that" he repeats, flushed.

He's shaky in reaching for the napkin to wipe your skin, afraid that he might have ruined his shot at dating you just because he cannot keep his mouth shut.

"It's honestly not a big deal, Ed. It was just funny for the most part" you smile at him, reaching your hand to lay his head on your shoulder. He breathes again.

Once he's calmed down he continues his curious interview.

"So what, do you put it up your pussy or something?" The idea of it makes Eddie's blood run slightly hotter. You laugh.

He blushes at your reaction, feeling slightly embarrassed once he registers what he had just said.

A sheepish "sorry" escapes his lips.

"No, no it's fine" you chuckle "not exactly. You just kinda charge them and set intentions. Then you can take it with you on, like, a date, if you wanna hope for something more" you say. He becomes very aware of his hard- on when you say that.

There is a thick sense of expectation in the air once those words leave your mouth. It could be the thick incense smoke floating around the room, or it could be the way you're looking at him like you want to eat him whole. Your faces get closer.

"I brought one with me today, actually" you admit. And he has never taken his shirt off so fast in his life.

So every time you hang out, he carries a piece if carnelian in his pocket, in hopes to repeat what happened at your apartment.

With time, he learns to carry a rose quartz with him, too.

Soon after, you begin gifting him crystals and bracelets to carry with him. He likes his black tourmaline beaded bracelet the best.

"It's for protection" you had said. It's just very metal to him.

He never really believes in it, but it's sweet, seeing you show up to his apartment with little colorful rocks to put on his windowsill. You teach him how to recharge them and set intentions, but after the second or third time he just can't be bothered.

He quickly learns it's not just pretty rocks you're interested in. You're, like, a full- fledged witch. Hence, the nickname 'witchy' he'd given you.

You ask him for the time and place of his birth. He scrambles to text his uncle Wayne to ask if he remembers what time he's born.

After a couple days of searching, Wayne comes across Elizabeth Munson's old diary. Indianapolis, Indiana, December 21st, 1997 at 3:47 AM.

Eddie Munson has a birth chart.

Sagittarius sun, Scorpio moon, Aries rising.

Whatever that means.

You try to explain it to him, but to no avail. He doesn't really care much for the stars. Except the ones in your eyes.

He swears he can see them twinkle every time you're laying on your brocade rug in the candle lit living room. He learns you don't really use your couch, rather, you just lay on the floor, among a pile of pillows.

Sometimes you're watching TV together. You're sat in between his legs, leaning against his chest, while Circe lays on your lap. And you look at his palms, tracing the fine lines and ridges of his calloused hands.

"You have lines on the top of your hand" you whisper, kissing his fingers.

He blows the cigarette smoke out the open window, careful not to make your house smell.

"Yeah, no shit. We all have 'em, witchy" he places a kiss to the crown of your head.

"No, look right here" you say, tracing the faint lines right where his callouses are "lines like this means you're gonna have a long life" you kiss that spot on his hand. Coarse, but warm.

"Thank fuck, imagine if i just got hit by a cable car tomorrow?" he chuckles, going back to watching TV.

You trace a deep line that goes across the palm of his hand, you smile to yourself.

"Whatcha smilin' about, witchy?" he says, eyes still glued on the TV.

"You have a double heart line. Means you love a lot" you turn and give him a smile. One of those that make your eyes sparkle in the candlelight.

"If I have a double heart line, does that mean I love you more?" he asks, sickly sweet. He cringes at himself for swearing he wasn't going to be that guy, but when you look at him like he just hung the moon for you, he can allow himself to be disgustingly sappy.

You think about it, because he does have a point, but you don't want to make him win this two- month long game you've been playing, so instead you take his palm once more.

"Look, Ed" you say, pointing at a random prominent line "this line tells me you're an asshole" you laugh, as he pinches your sides and you try to squirm away, but his hands are holding you firmly while planting sloppy kisses everywhere he could reach.

Cheek, neck, shoulder. He inhales the curve between your neck and shoulder, and you swear your feel a bit of tongue poke out between his lips. Then he stops.

And you feel it. Deeply seated at the bottom of your back, pressing against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants.

Eddie loves the way you smell, intoxicated by the smell of lavender incense and some kind of berry perfume you wear.

He's convinced that perfume is actually just a pheromone concentrate, because he cannot stop the blood rushing to his dick everytime he catches a whiff of the sweet berries, nestled in the crook of your neck, behind your ear.

"And where's the line that tells me I'm gonna get a kiss?" Eddie asks, voice low and gravelly, a voice that fills you with need, makes your breath falter from your lungs, replacing it with water. But you kiss him nonetheless, and maybe him getting a kiss is written in the stars, after all.

He softly grabs your hair as he slips his tongue in your mouth. Honey- wine whimpers falling from your lips, as you try and get Circe off your lap and in literally any other room. The cat seems to be unbothered.

"Ed... she doesn't want to move" you whine, high pitched voice expressing annoyance, but also overwhelmed at how cute your cat is.

"She's the biggest cockblocker in history" he mutters annoyed, you laugh. A groan leaves his mouth.

"Leave her alone she's just a baby! Us having sex tonight just wasn't in the stars" you shrug, light and airy as you go back to leaning on his chest and petting Circe.

Fuck the stars. He huffs, accepting his fate

He waits for you outside of the shop when he's not working. Guitar case slung around his shoulders, so he can practice at yours, he picks you up and you take the train to your apartment.

"How was work today, witchy?" he asks, roping a hand around your shoulders and giving you a tender kiss on your head.

"Meh, a. bunch of wannabe Tiktok witches, a bunch of old ladies booking tarot readings and threatening to leave bad reviews because I told them their husband is cheating on them or something" you shrug getting on the bus "Janice came, though, she brought me some jasmine flowers so I can make love tea" you say, sitting down. He sits next to you.

You take out the small satchel of dried jasmine flowers, taking in the sweet scent of citrusy flowers.

"Love tea?" he asks "that what you give me when I come over to your apartment every time?" he dips his nose in the satchel, giving it a sniff.

"Yeah, you wish" you laugh "just peppermint tea. Don't want you accusing me I put a love spell on you" Eddie smiles and lays your head on his shoulder while you play with the tassels of your bag, letting you close your eyes for the twenty minutes of the train ride.

Once you're home he slings the guitar case off his shoulders and takes it out, sitting at the stools of your breakfast counter, while you empty the contents of your bag.

Herbs, oils and a new card deck.

"So, what do you need to do now?" he asks, pulling out his phone, looking for guitar tabs to practice on.

"'kay, so" you begin "I need to make tea blend, then putting stuff together for this new project I'm working on, and then break out this new deck I got from work" you say, lost in the mysticism of your to- do list.

Sometimes he finds it funny that the stuff you have to worry about is totally otherworldly to what he usually worries about.

He watches you break out the mortar and pestle while you measure a teaspoon of dried rosebuds, a teaspoon of dried lavender buds, a teaspoon of jasmine and a pinch of cinnamon. He mindlessly plays a couple chords from a song he heard at the record shop.

"What's the cinnamon for?" he asks, pointing at the jar.

"Spicing things up? Cinnamon is a spice, so could be. I'm trying out this new recipe" you say, grinding the flowers together.

"So what you're saying" he begins, looking up from his guitar "is that you're making sex tea" and the feline grin plastered on your face is enough to make you wanna smack him in the head.

"This is not sex tea, Edward" you interject sternly while pouring the contents of the mortar in a new jar.

You light an incense stick, a rose infused one, to set your intentions for this batch, then putting it to rest on your windowsill for the night.

"What are you doing, witchy?" he asks, following your gaze as you set down the jar.

"It's for the moon. Charges the tea" you say, nonchalantly "can you pass me that deck on the counter, please?" you sit on the carpet legs crossed, while Eddie reaches for the card deck and tosses it at you. You catch it.

He sets down his guitar against the counter to goes to stand in front of you as you take the tarot cards out of the deck and start shuffling them.

"What's that baby?" he asks, he swears he can never stop learning from you.

"My new tarot deck, I need to break it out. Want me to give you a reading?" you ask, hoping he'll say yes.

He truly thinks about it, because he doesn't believe in any of this stuff, but saying no to you and watching your eyes darken with sadness is something he doesn't want to put himself through.

He is a weak, weak man.

He shrugs. "Alright then" he says, sitting down on one of the cushy pink pillows on the floor of your apartment "gimme a reading, you little witch"

Your ringed hands shuffle the gold filigree cards.

"I'm gonna do a regular spread, 'kay? Just past, present, future" you look at him, and he swears he sees your eyes twinkling again in the light of the glass lamp on the side table.

You fan out the cards on the carpet and let him pick three cards.

He's reluctant about this, all he really wants is to cook dinner together and spend the evening with you.

You spread the three cards out and unveil the first one.

"Okay, so that's The Empress. Means you have a significant female figure in your life. It usually represents feminine beauty, abundance" you say, explaining it to him.

"You got some abundance, alright" he huffs a laugh, quickly silenced by a deathly stare. You didn't like it when he made fun of what you liked. You roll your eyes at him.

"Sorry, witchy. Keep going" he smiles, like he's about to crack another joke.

"Yeah, okay." you flip the middle card "what luck. You got the lovers" you say, unenthusiastically.

Eddie's eyes light up at the possibility of a joke "Is that the card that tells me I'm getting some sick pussy in the next five minutes?" he asks, his tone makes you want to throw the empty box of cards at his head.

"It looks like you're not taking it seriously, so what's the point" you go to stand up, but he stops you.

"Sorry, baby, please don't leave. I'm enjoying this, Sorry, I won't make any more jokes, I promise" he pleads, and a wicked idea sparks in your head. He sounds really pretty when he begs.

You let out an annoyed groan as you sit back down and you unveil the last card, his future.

Ace of wands. Sex really was in his cards tonight.

"What's that, baby?" he asks.

"Ace of wands. Looks like you're gonna get some 'sick pussy' after all, Munson. Lie down." You command.

He flushes red. "Huh?" you reach under your long skirt to remove your panties.

"I said lie down, I'm giving you what the cards said" you stare at him, expectation in your eyes as he lays down on the brocade carpet, unsure if he should feel afraid or like the luckiest motherfucker alive.

"Better put in the work, pretty boy" you say, crawling on top of him, he looks at you, eyes blown as you lift your skirt, climbing the length of his body. You reach a resting place right on top of his mouth.

It takes him a second to register that you're sitting on his face, and his tongue darts out of his open mouth, to shyly have a taste.

"C'mon now, Eddie, where is the passion? You seemed really passionate about cracking jokes earlier, didn't you?" you cooed, holding up your shirt to look at his eyes, twinkling and darkened as his tongue begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

He gets the hang of it as your hips begin to grind on his face, his tongue darting in and out of your hole as his nose bumps deliciously against your clit.

"Mmm fuck" you gasp as you raise your hips to let him breathe, but he just pulls you down harder. A gasp escapes your mouth as the sound of your moans and Eddie's slurping fills the room.

Even he hears it, because you can see his eyes roll to the back of his head as a resounding hum escapes his lips, vibrating against you, wet and sensitive.

A whine leaves your mouth as you begin to get more desperate, grabbing a handful of his hair, grinding your hips harder against his tongue.

"Doing so good for me, Ed." you say in a feeble attempt to keep the reins controlled, but his tongue works magic on you, making your brain turn to mush.

"There you go don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop" you command, and his tongue flicks against your clit, catching it between his teeth to begin to suck at it.

A mewl leaves your lips, feeling the familiar warmth in your belly begin to form as you pull harder on his hair, moans becoming more high pitched and strained as Eddie makes quick work of his tongue on you.

"'mgonna cum on your face, you want that?" you ask, a rhetorical question, because of course he wants you to gush all over him.

And so you do. You come with a silent scream, riding the orgasm out with the last few snaps of your hips, as your breathing stills and your vision goes white.

Eddie's also panting like a dog under you, aching in his pants for you to make him cum.

You get off his mouth, his chin coated with your fluids as he gathers them on his fingers and sticks them in his mouth. You can't help but mutter a "good boy" as you reach for the belt of his pants.

"Sit up" you command, as he goes to straighten his back and lean against your purple couch.

You take off his shirt "I'm gonna ride you, yeah?" he looks at you like you've just discovered that aliens are real.

"God, yes please, please" he says, looking up at you as you unzip your top off, and you swear his eyes grow bigger at the sight of your chest, your bra still on. A longing sigh leaves his mouth.

You unbutton his jeans and lower them to his mid thigh along with his boxers as his cock slaps against his tummy. He hisses at the feeling as he watches you align yourself on top of it.

"You want it, Ed?" you question, an aura of cool, calm control exuding from you.

He whines. "Please, I want it so bad. Please put it in" he begs, and you've never realized how pretty his voice sounded when begging. Whiny and high pitched, nasal, almost as if he were about to cry. A prayer for you to fulfill him, make him whole.

Like he is nothing without you.

Is that what it felt like for him to see you crying on his cock every night? A rush of power washes over you, as you motion to sink down on him, but quickly going back up.

He lets out a whiny cry, a bratty child without his candy.

"Uh- huh. Beg me to fuck you, Ed" you say. You swear you can feel him shiver, his cock jumping from underneath your skirt.

"F-fuck, please. Please fuck me. Please my love, my witch, my high priestess" he rambles, your hand creeps up his thick neck, wrapping around it "fuck mmm please, I'll do anything. I'll give you everything" a frenzied speech, his words speed up at the feeling of your nails scratching the skin of his neck.

He'd let you sacrifice him to the devil if you asked him.

Feeling his pulse point with your nails as you begin to squeeze the sides of it, a needy gasp escapes the pretty boy's mouth.

Flushed a pretty red, sweat clinging to the base of his neck and forehead, hair curling and sticking to his feverish skin as you begin to sink down on him.

Inch by inch, slowly feeling him fill you up, as a quiet "oh" escapes you once you've taken all of him.

His breath is quick and labored, quiet pleas rolling out of the sweetness of his tongue, where the taste of you lingers. The love potion you'd been administering him all along.

Eddie Munson is not a religious guy, but if he needs to pray to his goddess to get you to fuck him he'll do it.

But you start moving. A slow, feline movement of your back, almost as if you and Circe were the same creature, a shapeshifter from another world. A goddess, an empress of his body and mind. He was wrapped around your finger.

Your hands tighten around his neck as you grind yourself down on him, he whimpers.

"Mmmm, so big" you mutter against his ear, biting his lobe. And everything you do makes him whine and buck himself deeper inside you, hitting the spongy walls deep inside you, needing more of you. Needing you to swallow him whole.

And you comply, raising your hips and lowering them, bouncing yourself on him as if you were only using him to chase your own pleasure. The thought of it makes Eddie shiver and moan, a strangled sound coming out of his constricted throat.

He hopes your hand leaves a mark on his neck, so people know he's yours. So people know that the witch next door spelled him and he is now in love with her. He never wants to get away from her.

"You- you're so good" he whispers, hips rising and falling on his cock, head lolling as you feel yourself get close again.

"Yeah, baby? Thank me, then. Thank your goddess for making you feel so good" you command, and his hands travel through every inch of your body, feeling every ridge and crease and bump. Wanting to feel you, wanting to worship you.

"F-fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you." a prayer to his goddess, for making him feel so good. "Please more, I- I'm so-"

"You're close aren't you?" you coo, cradling the back of his head with your free hand. Making him look at you.

"'M so close, please let me let me let me please" he begins to chant, too far gone from the feeling of your nails digging on the sides of his neck, scratching his sweaty scalp, tongue tracing the outline of his lips as quick and labored breaths escape him.

"C'mon, cum for me" you whisper in his ear, letting go of his neck and latching your lips onto him, leaving a few purple bruises on his milky skin.

You feel him spill inside you with a whine, shivering, while you ride him for all he is, chasing your own release.

You follow him soon after, biting down on his shoulder. The taste of his sweaty skin lingering on your tongue.

You stay clung to him for a few minutes after, quiet and panting as he revels in the post- orgasmic feeling you've just given him.

"Never thought I would've been the submissive type" he huffs out with a laugh as you climb off of him.

"Well, you're welcome. Gonna go have a milk bath, be right back" you stand, reveling in the feeling of his spent spilling out of you.

He hears the shower turn on and as he's getting dressed, Circe comes to nuzzle on his lap.

He raises an eyebrow.

Where has she been the whole time? The rooms of your apartment were all open when you got back. She was probably just taking a nap in your bed.

He shrugs as he delivers a couple pets to her head.

Meanwhile in the bathroom, a spell book is suspended mid air as you look a spell to get rid of a hickey that Eddie had left on your neck.

mini taglist: @strangerstilinski, @stuckonthefiction, @elegantkoalapaper, @gravedigginbbydoll, @eddiesxangel, @reidsbtch, @bangaveragewhitewine, @chaoticharrington, @hideoutside, @monstxrteeth, @the-local-pendeja, @thornsnvultures, @strangerfreaks, @unverifiedmeatsuit, @strangerfreaks, @starlitlakes, @thebejeweledwatercat, @aphrogeneias, @chrrymunson, @amira0303, @paradise-summertime, @onegirlmanytales, @piecsesrising, @feralamdtiredrat, @m0llygunn , @angel-upon, @lavendermunson, @cowboylikemunson

[unhealthyfanobsession]

WIP Wednesday: Timeless

To celebrate the end of the Eras tour I have tentatively roped a few fellow Nessian’s into a bit of an informal “Swiftmas”. I won’t speak for anyone else or spoil other song-fics that ✨might✨ be coming, but here’s a little teaser for mine 💜

Something felt strange here. Not wrong, exactly, but … uncanny. Familiar, in the coldest, strangest possible way. Like her memory was a puzzle and this thrift store in Portland held pieces she didn’t even know were missing.

Get it together, Archeron.

There was nothing strange here. She’d just been swooped up in Gwyn’s witchy tour of Portland since they arrived that morning. Sticking a pretzel in a jelly donut did not cause paranormal activity.

Just one weekend, and then Nesta would be back in Seattle with her grey skies and moody, black coffee people.

“Nesta, come look!” Gwyn clearly felt nothing strange as she jumped up and down, waving a black and white photo around.

“Look at what?” Nesta flattened her brows, “The way people’s kids give their prized photos away to be sold for 25 cents to some weirdo.” Nesta scoffed as Gwyn held the photo up so she could see it better. “I mean seriously, who buys these things?”

“Look,” Gwyn insisted, leaning over the box containing what looked like a thousand vintage photographs. “Doesn’t she look like you?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, staring down at the woman in the photograph.

She was beautiful - victory rolls in hair that looked too blonde to be Nesta’s. Her nose was too thin and her lips too wide, but -

“It’s the eyes,” Azriel said. And suddenly that tingling along her spine had returned. “The guy kinda looks like my brother.”

Nesta ran her thumb across the still image of the man in question without realizing she had even moved.

“No he doesn’t,” Gwyn wrinkled her nose.

“Not Rhys,” Azriel shook his head. “Cassian. The one we’re meeting for dinner. You’ll see tonight.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Nesta studied the man in the photo. His pointed jaw and All American smile didn’t do much for her, but …

The eyes.

Even in black and white there was something about his eyes. Some empty space inside of her chest twitched and tugged like a spider was spinning its web along the empty caverns between her ribs.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

Is it ok to ask for hurt-comfort with shu based on this tweet?

https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1617931636687122434?t=_32nzHkqmlCRZZfbknSZBg&s=19

You used to look up to him but suddenly he grew colder and you didn't know why. So you chose to be a brat and make him your rival, only to find out you broke his heart due some misunderstanding

Thank you so much (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

trading a heart

woaaaa. WOAAAAAA, anon. that’s such a good prompt i’m gonna lose my mind. woaaaaaa. i could snap wood between my teeth that’s such a good prompt. WOA. it was so good that i wrote over… 11k words… if you’re not going to read it all in one sitting remember to like/rb so you don't lose it

tags: friends to enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, kinda slow burn? i guess it counts as slow burn for a tumblr post

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You are a witch in a small town. The paranormal comes naturally to you in divinations, and your tarot readings are well-received among the superstitious. One way or the other, your readings herald the inevitable, and you’ve more than earned your reputation as one of the best diviners in the area.

Spellcraft, however, was a learned skill, though one you’ve honed for a long time. Your best friend in both life and magic taught you his techniques in return for some of your future sight. You were no slouch, and you had a repertoire of other practitioners’ wisdom in your book of shadows, but at the end of the day, there’s a reason why your clients come to you for tarot rather than talismans. 

Still, it doesn’t mean you aren’t willing to flex your muscles and try something new! You regularly scrounge online stores for spell components on discount. Usually you expect a bushel of nightlock here and a dubious animal remain there, but today was the Powerball of witchy bargain bins. One of the most reliable online stores you’ve ordered from just sent an email to their newsletter advertising a tinted glass jar with a preserved object and liquid inside. 

USED, PURIFIED - Genuine Organic Sorcerer Broken Heart - Fresh Vintage Natural Human Heartbreak Essence, 100% Ethically Sourced from Licensed Sorcerer for Cleansing, Blessing, Cursing, Hexes, Spellcraft Witchcraft Sorcery Wizardry, 1-CT Solid Preserve 8.4 oz Sustainable LIMITED EDITION LIMITED STOCK, the caption said.

So like, HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

You glanced at the $19.99 USD price tag and didn’t even hesitate to click ‘Buy Now’. Thank God your browser saved your information. If you lost the race for such a valuable material at such a low price, you would never forgive yourself. You wait in anticipation as the website processes your purchase.

Of course, the heart was a necessary organ for the body itself to function, and to rip it out of a human would be just plain organ trafficking. Magic practitioners, however, have discovered spells and rituals to force the soft essence of the heart- the soul of a person and where their emotion takes root- out from the body while keeping the physiological heart in tact, often to be used as a powerful amplifier to spellcraft. A human heart is hard to come by, but considered one of the highest quality, most luxury components a practitioner could use, especially if the emotions captured from the heart essence matches the intended final result of the spell. The more intense the emotion, the more impressive the effects of the product.

Not only that, but the hearts of magical humans were even more potent than an average person. Their metaphysical studies grant them more awareness of their heart essence in order to connect themselves with the universe and its forces at large, and allowed them to understand their emotions with awareness. More awareness means the emotion is stronger without some of that pesky doubt, and stronger emotions mean powerful ingredients. Magic literally courses through the essence of the sorcerer’s heart, meaning it’s easier to use than the typical dose. If you were a collector you’d be even more delighted. After all, no magic practitioner in their right mind would sell their heart, so their power is only exceeded by their rarity.

You’re taken to the receipt page, and you silently cheered at your computer. You’re about to have a blast experimenting on all sorts of rituals with this bad boy.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The next day is a relatively quiet one at your sanctuary. Open from late morning to evening, the sanctuary sells oddities, spiritual goods, and spellcasting materials, but anyone who’s seen your little establishment knows the real draw is the owner and their fortune-telling, always too eerily accurate to dismiss as just coincidence. 

You can easily sum up your clients of the day in just a few breaths. You had your usual handful of newcomers: most of them asked about their love life’s latest emergency, but a small percent wanted readings on wealth, and just one person asked for a reading on the health of their mind, body and spirit. Some of your frequent stay-at-home mothers visitors came in for fortunes, and as always you loved listening to them titter and gossip about the latest PTA drama. To cap it off, you were beginning to get close to a new regular, a young university student trying to navigate the workload as a straight-A student in high school as well as courting with a girl in one of his classes. 

All in all, a good day of work. A few minutes before closing, you figure there won’t be any other customers for the rest of the day. You make use of your time cleaning the tables and reorganizing a display case of crystals- early that afternoon a horde of preteen emos entered your store noisily, ogled over the pretty rocks, and left it a mess, and you’re hoping none of them stole anything- when the wind chimes by the door clattered against one another, signaling a last-minute visitor. You speak before you turn to look at the person. “Hello. Welcome to-“

You glance at a pair of blocky sunglasses, then your eyes meet bright amethyst. The sorcerer in the threshold takes the sunglasses in his hand, and they disappear in midair with a snap of his wrist. 

You aren’t used to seeing him in street clothes rather than his usual ritual garb. He wears his hoodie over dark hair accented by pink, purple and golden blond, and keeps his hands in his pockets. His eyes don’t waver. He’s focused. 

You feel a chill crawl up your spine as you utter his name. “Yamino.”

“That’s me,” he says. There’s no joking tone to it. “I came here to speak to you.”

“And I said, my sanctuary is closed. I’ve got things to do.”

“Like watching Wednesday over a pint of ice cream?” Shu Yamino still has a sense of humor, but time has worn the warmth in his words away. Without it, his wit feels scathing to you. So what if Netflix and snacks were calling your name? That didn’t give him the right to call you out like that, whether he intended to or not. After all, you had too much of a history with him to consider intention anymore. 

You evade discussing your post-work plans. “Like closing my sanctuary and going on with my day. Besides, I’m set to close in a minute. Better talk fast before I lock you out.”

“I came here for a reading-”

“Then you should’ve come here earlier-”

“-As a friend.”

The ice in your veins burns into hot anger. “We are not friends,” you spit. “You and I mean nothing to each other.”

“Then for old times’ sake, when we were.” He slaps a wad of cash on the counter, and as petty as you are, you’re just a little greedier. You count the bills. It’s way more than your rates for a single reading. Your eyes divert from the cash back to Shu’s face, trying to figure out his angle. 

“Reader, I know our bond is…” Shu pauses, trying to think of an appropriate word. “...Strained, but you’re a gifted witch. I trust you and your abilities.”

You cross your arms. “Cool story, bro. Got any other cliches you want to tell me?” 

“Think of it as a favor. I’ll be in your debt.”

“I’d rather eat my own foot than talk to you again.”

“Then I’ll get out of your sight after this reading. Keep the cash and call on me if you need anything in return, but until you do I won’t seek you out again. You have my word as a sorcerer.”

Your face is set into a grim frown. Shu’s presence alone was enough to irritate you, and his audacity to consult you was revolting. 

However, the forty dollars extra on top of your usual fee alone is enough to persuade the cheapskate in your heart. The favor would be excellent if you were ever in a pinch, too- after all, as much as you disliked him, Shu was one of the most powerful magic casters in the area, and an esteemed sorcerer in his own right. You could ask him to perform feats average practitioners could only dream of. 

Also, he’d stop bugging you. Thank God. 

“I’ll do it if I keep the change,” you say.

Shu’s lips break into a smile. All these years and his smile still hadn’t changed at all, a pointed V-shape that reminded you of a cat. “Deal.”

He shakes your hand. That smile never changed, but the joy behind it did. When you used to call Shu your best friend, it was like a warm sunbeam, but the years whittled down the light, and all that was left was an unreadable, cold shade. 

You place his money into the cash register, flip the door sign to read CLOSED, and enter the back of the sanctuary. Shu trails behind you without a word. 

As much as you hated to say it, he had a point about ‘old times.’ Growing up, you two were inseparable. He came from a family of sorcerers and your lineage had the gift of foresight. Your magical origins branded you the outcast among your peers whether they knew of your abilities or not, and Shu was the only one that could relate to you for a long time. He was the one that taught you about conjuring and curses, and you helped him hone his own intuition. Intuition is the gateway to the magic of foresight, after all. 

Even once you started networking with other magic practitioners, you’ve never met anyone quite like Shu. He was insightful and smart, with a good nature that can take a joke and keep a conversation going. He cared about others, but knows how to stand up for himself, and even though his specialty in curses can get macabre, you’ve never seen him lose sight of what he wants. 

If you had to look back on your friendship, that was what attracted you to him for so long: even in his weakest moments, he stayed true to himself.

But that was then, and this is now. You don’t know what happened to him, but two years ago it was like a switch flipped somewhere in Shu’s head. The kind sorcerer you knew and (you were ashamed to say this now, but it was true then) loved began to act like nothing could touch his heart anymore. He was emotionless and dry whenever you talked to him, and talked to him, you did; you gave him every opportunity to let you know how you could help him, if something happened, if you did something wrong. 

He never did. You snapped at him one day for insisting everything was fine while acting so callous. To be fair, you aren’t proud of how immature you acted. You should’ve just let your best friend drift away, as much as it pained you, but instead, the rift forming between your friendship turned into a chasm the day you fought. 

Ever since, interacting with Shu Yamino was like planning moves in a cold war. Detaching yourself from your best friend since childhood was hard enough, but the feelings you held for him made it even harsher. The few times you spoke with him afterwards, you resorted to anger when he showed apathy, and the resentment grew even more. 

After the initial arguments things just went silent. You focused on your career, opened a sanctuary all your own, and tried to forget about the hole Shu left behind. It worked, but only up until a few weeks ago. He’d been trying to get in contact with you for a few weeks now, and though you would’ve been relieved to hear it years ago, you were done with pretending like that friendship was salvageable, and tried to avoid him as best as you could.

You cast a curtain aside, revealing your private consultation room. The walls are covered in tapestries and drapes, and the corners are lined with short tables full of candles. One side of the wall is covered by a giant shelf with rows of divination tools, and sundried herb cuttings hang by the window before you shut the curtain and cast the room into dimness. In the center of the room was a table. Shu sits at the table on the side closest to the door, and you sit opposite from him, a deck of tarot cards in your hands.

You internally pray to any spirits nearby to grant you the strength to pretend like Shu was just another client and resist the urge to punch him in the face. Either they listened or you perfected your customer service voice, because your voice only sounds a little fake-happy. “So what shall I be looking into today?”

If Shu was feeling any negativity he was doing way better at hiding it than you. He wastes no time in asking his question. “Am I doing the right thing by pursuing love?”

A bitter thought dredges up to the front of your head. Of course he’d ask about love. Anyone would do anything for love, including talk to their loathsome old friend.

But you push out the thought for the sake of professionalism. “Let me clear the room.”

You close your eyes and your mind goes blank. You place trust in your sight and channel upon the abilities of your bloodline. 

Outside your mind’s eye, candles alight the color of your magic, illuminating the contours of the room and the faces of the practitioners inside. You make a sign with your hands and utter an old blessing to cleanse negativity and encourage your intuition. As you do so, an otherworldly feeling descends upon the room. You did your best work when this blessing did its job, and you welcome the familiarity. You’re in the zone now.

You open your eyes. A veil of awareness casts over your vision as you shuffle your tarot cards. “Allow me to see with clarity and speak with conviction. Soul of the world, tell me: Is Shu Yamino doing the right thing by pursuing love?”

The cards spread under your hand face-down in a steady line. You know what to expect. Choosing the cards appeals to your instincts, but only after observing the energy the deck offers the client. Before long you pick out three cards and place them in a horizontal line across from Shu, then wave your hand to the remaining deck. The unchosen cards levitate and place themselves in a neat stack on your command.

You flip the first card. An armored knight atop a white horse beckons. “Death.”

The next was an angel, a graceful figure that pours water between two goblets. “Temperance.”

Finally, you reveal the last card. A judge in red sits atop her throne, a double-edged sword in her hand. “Justice.”

You breathe in the story the cards tell you, and begin your analysis. “Death heralds the end of a journey and the birth of the new. It’s no bad omen. Either you’ve changed as a person-” and you try to hide the bite of your tone- “-or you’re soon to enter a major change. I’m inclined to believe the former, since it’s the first card in your spread. That position denotes context and the matter at hand. Know who you are, and where you’re trying to go. It’ll be your driving force to keep moving as you navigate your love life.”

You clear your throat. “Are you single?”

Shu nods.

“And you love someone?”

“Certainly,” he says. That’s the most assertive you’ve heard him all day.

“Then trust them,” you say. “Your second card is in the center of the spread, and indicative of your actions. Temperance is moderation. She is calm and rational, and declares patience as a mark of diligence. She invites you to take the middle path, and avoid any rash decisions. After all, she knows that good things come to those that wait, and those that make the choice to wait are biding their time rather than being held back by inaction. 

“In relation to love, her advice means that you need to take a step back and examine your past actions, as well as the ones you’re about to take in your love life. Love is a two-way street, after all. This is not the time to make big moves; instead, let the object of your affections come to you. They have their own choices to make, too. What will be, will be. Temperance is patience. Remember that. 

“Should you continue down this path then Justice will greet you at your destination. Soon comes the reckoning where you can bear the fruits of your labor. I hope you have good karma saved up, because this is where it can reward you or ruin you. Whatever choices you inflicted upon others will return to you, and you had best be accountable for it.”

You cast your eyes upon Temperance next to Justice. “Justice also calls for a decisive choice in a moment of uncertainty. In this case, I’d imagine heeding Temperance’s advice is what will grant you a merciful resolution when Justice delivers. After all, in love readings, Justice can represent a need for you to trust your partner. I’d imagine that’s only strengthened by how Temperance encourages you to trust the person you care for. Honesty is key here. So is that trust. When you accept that the object of your affections has their own life to live, and give them the room to live it, they’ll realize their own feelings about you. Be ready to accept them whether or not they reciprocate. Wherever your bond goes after it, it’s going to be built upon a foundation of understanding, faith, and truth between you.”

You exhale, and you and Shu sit in the silence of the room. 

Shu’s face is as unreadable as ever. He looks down at his spread, his lashes covering his amethyst eyes. He silently moves his lips as he thinks, totally lost in thought, but you can’t pinpoint anything about how he’s taking the reading.

“So is Death my past?”

“In a sense. The position also represents your current self. Something must ‘die’ in order to move on from one phase of your life to the next- namely, the phase that your reading foresees. That can include a death imminent or one that you’ve already accepted and moved past. That’s up for you to determine.”

“How do I know what needs to die?”

“I can’t tell you. You have to reflect and figure out what you need to let go of yourself.”

His mouth lowers into a frown. “That sounds inconvenient.”

“Uh, I read fortunes, not minds. It’s not like I know what’s going on in your head all the time.” Dealing with you would be much easier if I could, you add on in your thoughts.

Shu mumbles to himself. “I wish you did.”

“You know what? Me too,” you retort. Shu’s been pushing too many of your buttons, and you can’t even hide your irritation anymore. “Are we really about to get into this again?”

He meets your glare. You can’t even tell if he’s angry, but those eyes are so bright and pointed, it makes you feel like you have a sniper laser pointed in the center of your face. “Reader. Things happen. I thought we were over it.”

“Clearly not! Even after all this time you’ve been so unresponsive whenever I talk to you.” Your face tenses into a grimace as you speak. The candles around the room flare tall and flick in your colors. “Look, if we’re still talking about how I reacted? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked so much about it. But I was concerned, and you have no right to just look at me like I’m subhuman! I just did a reading for you that by all means I could’ve refused and you’re going to complain? I thought I taught you better than that.” 

At that, Shu sits up a little straighter. That’s the most surprise you’ve seen him express since your first argument. You’re high on getting a rise out of him, now. You want to see him squirm. Or do anything other than that stupid unreadable front. Your voice grows in volume as you rant at him. “You know what? I should’ve refused. I can’t believe you. You have the nerve to come into my workplace and make me stay back late because we used to be friends and- and I don’t even know you anymore. We’re not friends. And I guess what we used to have doesn’t mean anything to you now, because if you do then you wouldn’t be bitching about my readings the way you just did.”

He speaks up louder, but it’s barely a whisper compared to your unleashed anger. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it? Does it matter? Is ‘what you mean’ going to fix everything? You’re ridiculous if you think so. After all we’ve been through, you stepping foot into my space was disrespect enough, and now you have the utter indecency to pretend like my readings are meant to stump you-”

“I never said that-”

“‘-I wish you did,’” you mock, and he bristles. “When you of all people should know that it requires thought! It’s self-reflection, not a quick fix! You dare disrespect me like that! In my sanctuary!”

Shu stands up. “I think I need to go.”

“Congratulations, you finally used your intuition correctly! I’m sooo proud,” you sarcastically say. You snap your fingers. The remaining tarot cards flick to the deck in time as all the candles in the room blow out, except for one. The consultation room goes pitch black, but one thick pillar candle by your seat illuminates your face through a ball of flame much too powerful for its wick. “Get out. Never talk to me again, you piece of human trash.”

You feel a brisk tailwind behind you as Shu awkwardly leaves. You try to revel in how uncomfortable he must be, but the discomfort spreads to you and gnarls at you in your chest. 

Everything about Shu makes you feel like rot, but the gnarl is new. You stay in your chair, lit only by the candle beside you, and slump. You stare straight ahead in the dark as the gnarl runs through your body and the white-hot rage subsides into resentment. 

You think back on how his apathy broke during your spat. To see him break his apathy was what you’ve been waiting for over all these years, and inciting it was like feeding the hungry monster that thrived on hate. In that moment, you were alive. What frozen feelings you had turned to lava, but now, there isn’t even a temperature attached to the monster gnarl.

You let out a grumble that doesn’t even begin to express the gnarl. 

“Is this hate?” You wonder out loud. At this point, you know there are three inevitabilities in the known universe: death, taxes, and Shu Yamino being the human incarnation of dirt. Like a fact, the emotion behind the argument is gone, and for a moment you think that this is what it’s like to be the emotionless Shu, empty and hollow save for the gnarl of negativity deep inside, biting through your core, dyeing your mind gruesome colors and spreading down the system like watercolor.

You can’t deny it at this point. Over the last two years you gave him all the time in the world to rethink himself, from the arguments to the silence to even the reading he so rudely walked away from. It’s his own choice now to brush you off and act so high and mighty and cold. 

It seeps into your skin like water on a stone statue. The feeling is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Raw and unfiltered, you realize it in a steady rhythm. Never in your life have you felt this way. You hate Shu Yamino.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You return to your home seething. You’re completely done with everything the last two years threw at you, and the only thing on your mind is the newly discovered hatred. 

You brood over the evening, and by the time it’s your day off, you’re just as grumpy as you were the day you read Shu’s cards. Netflix be damned, nothing can turn your brain off from the boil and churn of the gnarl. What you wouldn’t give for him to learn a lesson or two. 

No. You scratch the thought out. Shu had more than enough time to get his act together. If anything, it’s about time he understands exactly how much pain he’s put you through. 

You think about possible revenge plots when your mind drifts over to the rare, potent ingredient you bought on a deal one night. You still haven’t used your sorcerer’s heart. 

The monster gnarl takes over. 

You enter your office, a wide room with a clear floor and spell components all along the shelves. A cauldron sits over an unlit hearth, and blackout curtains give you just enough light as needed for certain spells. The decorations in this room are plain, but nothing is out of place. You put a lot of effort into making a workplace you can concentrate in. 

A bookcase stands next to the door, and you run your finger along the spines of spellbooks. It stops at a grimoire labeled Unconventional Curses for the Discerning Practitioner. You smile. This was a book Shu gave you years ago before your friendship soured. It would be awfully ironic if his undoing was a curse just like his specialty, invoked by his enemy from a book he gifted to them when they were friends. 

You slide the book out and place it in the center of the room’s floor, where you intend to sit. But first, you dig through a storage container of your finest components. You don’t need to rifle through it too hard before you find it: a jar made of dark glass to hide the preserved object inside from the light. 

With utmost care, you pick the sorcerer’s heart out from the container, and place it in front of you as you sit down beside the grimoire. You kept the label when the sorcerer’s heart was delivered for easy identification. The retailer sold it as a ‘broken heart,’ which referred to immense negative emotion when the essence of the soul was removed. However, that was all the information they provided. It would probably be a good idea to use your foresight on it. The last thing you want is to waste some of the essence on an incompatible curse because its emotions contrasted with the curse’s foundations. 

You chant your favorite blessing and feel the veil cast over you, just as you did during your last tarot reading. “Allow me to see with clarity and speak with conviction.”

That familiarly otherworldly feeling comes again, and already you can feel the basics of the sorcerer’s heart. The negativity invested in it, for example, lived up to the name. Misery dominates the heart.

You crack open the jar, and lift the lid by the tiniest amount, enough to get hit with the chemical smell. It reminds you of a hospital. “Show me what this heart has been through.”

The scent carries you through the misery, and breaks it into smaller chunks. Hope must have existed here once, because if not, then how do you explain the overwhelming regret?

You identify some core values the heart holds. Whoever sold their heart must have treasured their loved ones a lot. You close your eyes and see visions of the original seller from their point of view. You watch them continually give themselves away for the sake of others. 

Sure enough, the seller was a sorcerer. You recognize the magic they cast as curses to those that scorned the ones they care about, and conjurations to those who need them. Additionally, they were likely a professional practitioner as opposed to a hobbyist, considering how often they cast.

As you meditate, you file through the memories. The most recent before the heart was removed were all punctuated by inactivity. Perhaps a moment of depression or loneliness before the heart was sold? The memories get foggier the further back you go, but they all summarize into isolation. The root of the misery, you presume. They’re too lost in thought that they don’t interact with the world itself.

“What were you thinking so hard about?” You muse. 

The heart dissolves your vision. Loneliness is the first thing you identify, and you’re not surprised. The hands of the sorcerer are young, but you watch them age before your eyes into prominent veins and thin bone. They’re afraid of living their entire life alone, you conclude. 

You hear laughter and voices around the sorcerer, old and haggard in a blank void, and recognize it as celebrations. Strangers and their joy of milestone landmarks, grand events like renewed vows and children, to even simple things. You hear the pop of a cap removed off a marker and know on instinct it’s an important test graded perfectly, and in another a song of a student practicing by themselves. That loneliness is so stifling they’re missing out on basic joys of life. They’re too worried about a hypothetical future far away from now.

Your breath hitches when you recognize one of the voices. It’s Mrs. Yamino, Shu’s mother. You hear the pride in her voice as she describes her son, and the sorcerer’s heart pulses in uselessness. Unease sets in, but your curiosity just needs to know, and you focus in on Mrs. Yamino. 

The heart leads you in the direction of treasured people from the life of the sorcerer. Shu’s parents are both close to it, and things start to fall into place when you realize you recognize most of these blurry faces. There’s not many, and you don’t know them like the back of your hand, but you can connect the dots. You’ve exchanged words with a handful of these people, or heard mention of them over time. 

Your own heart freezes when you meet the eye of yourself. A perfect copy of your face. The copy is soft over the blurry vision but you recognize the details of yourself, from the rise of your cheekbones to the slope of your nose, the way your brows quirk and the flecks of individual color in your eyes. You clock the shirt you wear as one from- from two years ago.

The copy of yourself doesn’t open their mouth, but you hear their detached voice drive icicles under your skin. “Disaster comes.”

You snap out of the vision. You feel your own heart beat in your chest.

You seal the jar and take in your surroundings. You’re back in your office, and the chemical smell dissipates away. You’re breathing heavily, and feel a trickle along your forehead. You brush it away, and realize you were sweating.

“What the hell,” you say out loud, because what else is there to say? There’s no way. This couldn’t be any worse, but you need the confirmation. You feel gross, but- there’s simply no way you can believe it unless you hear it from the heart itself.

Your hands wrap around the sorcerer’s heart, and you open the lid once more, even more cautious than the first time. You take a deep breath in hopes of steadying your own beat. “Heart, please be honest. Do I know your owner?”

As your vision goes dark, the black is only brightened by marks of pink and purple magic. Your heart sinks when you recognize the insignias they form. Pink curves into geometric heart-like shapes, and the purple spurts out from it in flame. A single shikigami from white paper brushes against the hearts.

You close the jar of the sorcerer’s heart- Shu Yamino’s heart- as tight as you can. 

All thoughts of gnarled revenge go silent as you desperately start looking through your contacts. You never had the guts to delete his phone number, but now you’ve never been more grateful to have it available.

Reader 7:48 PM: I figured it out

Reader 7:48 PM: Why we always fight over nothing

Reader 7:49 PM: We need to talk about it

Reader 7:50 PM: Call me ASAP

He doesn’t respond. You don’t even know if he opened your texts or not. You try to be patient and distract your mind, but this is just too big to ignore, and you blow up the messages of his social media next. 

Over half an hour passes without a response from Shu, and the time only makes the dread stronger. Everything makes sense now. Of course Shu would be so apathetic about everything for the past two years, he literally cut out his own heart. Anyone without the essence of their own heart would ignore their own emotions, because they don’t have emotions to experience! 

However, one thing is nagging at you. Why on Earth would Shu sell his heart? He was more accredited than you, and you were doing just fine financially managing your sanctuary. Surely he couldn’t be in a tight enough spot to sell his heart for cash. He’s single and in love, and you didn’t get the vibe that he was going through a bad breakup, especially since it’s been over two years since he removed his heart. How do you stay in love without a heart? How do you pursue love from before selling your heart? And why was his heart’s vision of you so clear, God, you were one of the clearest visions you saw in an ocean of blurred faces!

More time passes as you desperately research what to do, and you notice Shu hasn’t read a single one of your messages, even on the platforms with read receipts. Even when he isn’t in the room, he still finds a way to tick you off. 

The gnarl tries to rise, but you stave it off. By all means, you shouldn’t care so much about him after all you’ve told yourself, but he really is someone you’ve never found a replacement for. You’ve spent so much time in your past with him that it feels wrong to just keep his heart as some kind of object. You think about all your arguments, and… you wonder exactly how much of it was affected by the fact that he lived without a heart for so long. You never felt good about standing up for yourself, but you were justified, and you weren’t going to regret it at all, but you’re wondering about how much of a hero Shu is in his own story, and if he really sees you as the enemy you imaged him as all this time.

You stand up, still a little shaken, and take his heart in your hands as you look around for a bag, a jacket, and your keys. Even if he’s not the person you once knew, even if he always makes the choice to hurt you… He’s still a person. And the gnarl feels nightmarish, and you don’t want to be ruled by it anymore. You can’t leave him out to dry like that, and you deserve the closure even if you never talk to him again.

You lock the door behind you, and book it to Shu’s place.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You rap on Shu’s door one, two, three times. No response.

You pout at nothing, and knock another three times. “Yamino! Shu Yamino, I know you’re in there-”

The door opens before you finish your knocking and your sentence. 

Sure enough, the man of the hour is on the other side of the threshold. The nicest way you can put it is that he looks like a doll that was left under the bed for too long. His eyes are so bright, but you can see the slight redness underneath his eyelids, and it strikes you that he hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s wearing a different hoodie than the one you saw him wear earlier that week, but it’s a far cry from his usual outfits, even when he’s relaxing at home.

Shu cocks his head, and you realize you’ve been silent this entire time. You jostle your head and muster up your courage. “I need to talk to you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” he says.

“I did, but then I found this.” You rifle through you bag and shove the jar of the sorcerer’s heart against his chest. His body curves at the light impact. “We’ve got a lot to discuss. Let me in, please. For your sake.”

He stares at the preserve of his own heart for one, two, three seconds, before moving to the side and inviting you inside.

His home smells like patchouli burned and on the edge of fading, and despite everything, it’s as organized as ever, but that doesn’t stop him from saying “Sorry about the mess.” The house is small, but full of open spaces as you remember it, and you both sit on cushions in one of the emptier rooms. You can already feel the tinge of magic in this room, and you assume this is one where he practices his magic.

Sure enough, you blink and in front of you is an empty glass. Small licks of purple fire surround it, a mark of Shu’s magic. You bring it to your lips and you don’t even need to imagine your favorite beverage in order to taste it. When you lower it, sure enough, the drink is inside the cup without a trace of flame. This was one of Shu’s favorite welcoming conjurations whenever you visited in the past, and it lends you more comfort than you’d like to admit. Some things really don’t change.

Despite the familiarity, you set the drink down, and look straight at Shu. His preserved heart is to the left of you, out of his reach. You start your story. “I bought a practitioner’s heart on a bargain site ages ago. It was advertised as a sorcerer’s broken heart. The site’s words, not mine.”

You elect not to mention how you almost cursed Shu’s name into his own undoing. “I was about to use it for a spell, but I wanted to do some identification on it so I knew exactly what to expect from it. You deserve an apology for that. I saw a lot. I always knew you were hiding something, and I’m sorry that it came through magic after you sold your heart, instead of you telling me directly. But that’s how I figured out that it was you. I saw so many people I recognized, and the common factor between all of them was that they were all important to you.

“I checked the receipt email from when I bought it. Yeah, I was surprised I still had it too. But both the date when I bought it and the date when the site said it was extracted checks out with about the same timeframe you started to act so weird around me. So that’s why, isn’t it? I always got so mad at you for being so callous. I still do. But it’s because you’re missing your own heart. I’m not going to apologize for defending myself when you were acting like a prick, but I don’t think I can fault you for it. Or at least, not entirely. 

“But all things considered, whether you intended to hurt me or not, you did. A lot. I’m going to remember the things you told me for a long time. But I’m also going to remember our past friendship for just as long, and you’re very lucky for that. What I want is closure. You always told me everything was fine, but you sold your own heart. Clearly things weren’t. And I don’t want to force you to tell me everything, but I just need to know. Were all our fights because I never knew you lost your heart?”

You observe Shu carefully. He closed his eyes as you recounted your story, and his chest slowly rose and fell in time with his breathing. He hasn’t taken a single sip of his enchanted cup, and the purple fire dances around the brim, waiting to fulfill its purpose. He looked serene as a painting, and you’d even believe it if it wasn’t for the grisly truth in a jar.

“Well, I do want to explain,” he finally says, after much deliberation that looks like nothing. “I should’ve been less of a coward and just told you. It’s always been you, after all. I sold my heart because I love you.”

What.

“What,” you say. 

Then the shock sets in. “I mean. What? Like- you just- I mean- what?”

“I said, the reason why I sold my heart was because I was in love with you. Still am.” He averts his eyes and scratches the back of his head, but his serene apathy doesn’t change. “It was too much to bear, so I removed my heart.”

“I heard that.” The blood rushes to your head. The perfect answer to the mystery shatters. “I just don’t understand. I don’t get it at all. Are you messing with me?”

“I would never. Not over something as important as this.” “Then what am I missing? Why would you remove your heart because you’re in love? And- and with me! What the hell do you mean, you’re in love with me?”

“I figured it out about three years ago,” Shu said. “But I remember how I viewed you way before then. Things change, whether you want them or not, and it takes you a lot longer than you’d expect to realize it. I look back on what it was like growing up together as friends and compare it to how I saw you years ago as functioning adults, and there’s movement there. Feelings get stronger over time, and it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. You’re an amazing person, Reader. I hope you realize that. Even through all our fights, I always thought the world of you for being able to simply hold your own. You don’t give up on the things you care about, and even when we did fight, I knew in the end you were in the right, even when you weren’t correct. I never could be. I didn’t have a heart, after all.

“I digress. I felt the warmth and the lightness way before that moment three years ago. I figured it was a crush then. Who wouldn’t? You have an energy all to your own that just gravitates people to you. I guess it makes sense I’d be affected.” Shu’s eyes cast downward. “But we’ve been such close friends for so long then, and for a crush? I wasn’t about to throw it all away for something as insignificant as that, especially when all my crushes before cleared themselves up quickly enough before they could get me into trouble. I made peace with ignoring it and just being happy as your friend. 

“That worked for a while. The crush faded, and I’ve never been so relieved, until weeks or months later when it returned. Rinse and repeat. Every time I thought my crush was over for sure, it would only be a few more days until everything just comes back in droves, and over time, I realized I wasn’t even getting over it like I thought I was. It comes in waves of intensity, but it’s always constant, and always just a reminder that you’re one of the people I care for the most. That was three years ago. I realized that much time and that much care, even when you went through your lows, could never be something superficial like a crush. That’s when I realized I loved you.”

You have to admit, you’ve been hanging onto his every word but still have trouble wrapping your head around it. That long? And you had no clue?

You place your hands over your mouth and cheeks, and hope it hides your hot blush. All of it is so unexpected. You speak up. “That’s where everything went wrong?”

“Almost. That was when I was starting to make a name for myself as a sorcerer for hire. Lucky timing. We didn’t talk as frequently as we used to because we were both paying more attention to our careers, and for me, made less time to think about my love life. It was easier.” Shu finally takes a sip of his enchanted cup. When he places it down, you smell espresso and a hint of chocolate. “It’s so stupid. I visited my parents for dinner one evening, and everything was fine, but they mentioned that I need to get out more. Find a partner to introduce them to and all that. It was just another subject when we were talking, but I laid in bed that night thinking I couldn’t just move on after so much time stuck on you. I had to make a move.”

Shu raises his wrist and curls his fingers. The coffee spirals out of his cup and dances in the air just a few inches out of the mug, but not a drop spills as he bends the stream into patterns. You recognize this as one of his old nervous ticks. “But let’s be real. I’m a pretty spineless guy. I spent ages agonizing over how to tell you.” The coffee curves into a heart, just like the ones that generate whenever he performs a spell. “You and I both know my intuition’s pretty bad. I was so sick of wussing out, I tried divining my own future so many times to figure out what I need to do. Tarot cards, runes, tea leaves… none of it made sense to me. I couldn’t muster up the courage to ask anyone else for advice, either. You were the only person I could ever trust, but you were also the only person on my mind. And then I realized, of course. The best person to ask about confessing to someone, is that person themselves. I requested a reading.”

An epiphany dawns on you. “I remember that. It was the last time you asked me to read your fortune before this week, just over two and a half years ago.”

“I remember my spread so viscerally.” Shu lowers his hand. The coffee plops into the cup obediently. “I didn’t have the courage to mention my love life, so I asked you-”

“‘Will I be happy with the choices I plan on making?’”

You both say it at the same time. Shu’s lips form into a small smile, but the look behind his amethyst eyes is bittersweet. 

He continues. “The Hermit, the Tower, and the Moon. The Hermit explained that I’ve spent so much time being introspective that I became too much of an introvert. And the Tower, that disaster comes. The Moon only confirmed that my future outcome would be full of trickery. Pretty gnarly reading. Plus, it came from you, and even if we didn’t know each other so well, I’d be an idiot not to heed a warning like that from one of the best divination witches in the city, if not the best.

“By the time I left your sanctuary, I resolved to get over my feelings for sure this time, but it just sent me into a depression. I isolated myself so much from the world outside and the things I used to enjoy because that reality was so crushing. Which was to be expected, but not for as long as it was. The more time I spent alone, the more time I had to think about how none of this was your fault. It was because of these emotions of mine.”

Shu places a hand over his chest. Even at home, he wears a pair of white gloves. His nails scratch through the fabric and against the skin. “I tried fighting the urge, but after six months, I gave up.”

His hand curls into a loose fist. “It’s the greatest regret of my life. I still feel, but it’s all mechanical, and my brain processes it like fact. I can look at a cat video and smile, but it doesn’t give me anything, and I’m sure we all know it looks fake anyways. I don’t remember the last time I laughed genuinely. I haven’t been properly afraid of anything ever since the soul was extracted out of my heart. I have a sense of danger, but no anxiety. No thrills, either. If anything, it made me even more cautious. No reason in doing things the risky way anymore if there’s no fun in it.” He leans back and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t process anger or sadness anymore, either. I thought it was amazing at first, but now I’m just bored at best, miserable at worse. Without any emotion to fuel me, my life’s in disarray. I don’t even get access to motivation anymore. And worst of all, the depression and love is still there.

“I think you can piece together what happened next. You were concerned over me, but I always brushed you off because, well, how do you talk about your feelings without having any? Whenever we fought, I’d spend the next few days beating myself up for what I’m missing. I can’t pick up on a lot of emotional cues anymore, so it got even easier to say the wrong thing, and whenever I did, I didn’t have the empathy to see where I went wrong. It became easier to just ignore you, and when you stopped talking to me so much… I can’t really fault you for taking the easy route either.”

 Shu downs the rest of the coffee, and you realize just how small he looks right now. He slouches over the cup, and his legs are folded over his thighs as he sits. You don’t think he realizes that he’s trying to take up as little space in the room as possible. Now that you’ve been able to actually pay attention to Shu’s demeanor and his story, you’re starting to pick out the tiny details of feeling that show through, even when the sorcerer himself can’t access the raw emotion. Case in point: his lowered eyes and subtle frown makes you think he just got back from a funeral. 

You poke him in the bicep. “You’re pretty clueless.”

His brow furrows, like a mourner disturbed.

You continue nonetheless. “No wonder intuition is so difficult for you to channel. Life isn’t black and white, and divinations come in shades of gray way more often than any other category of magic. Remind me; what was your reading all those years ago?”

“If I’d be happy with the choice to confess to you. Hermit, Tower, and Moon.”

“Hindsight is 20/20. The Hermit represented how much you reflected on your feelings and trying to avoid them by the time you came to me for a reading. You got that much right, I’m sure, but the Tower is a tumultuous change. You’re right that it’s disastrous. In fact, I think the reason why you got so tripped up in the reading-” you playfully roll your eyes- “that I analyzed for you, was because it has such a reputation for being disastrous that people forget that the Tower isn’t suffering for the sake of suffering. In fact, the Tower falls because it’s built upon a weak foundation, and its destruction warrants necessary change. It’s often that the changes predicted by that card are only so hard because the recipient is caught off-guard by the possibility that it could happen, or by playing right into the future that would cause such a major change to happen. I think you can figure out what kind of change the Tower was predicting, and exactly how disastrous it was.” Shu lowers his gaze to the empty space underneath his chest, and that’s about as well as either of you can put it.

“Finally, the Moon may warn of trickery, but more importantly, it refers to complexities. The card art itself is full of similarities, from the buildings to the canines in the center, and that symbolizes difficult choices ahead that require a lot of forethought. Avoid deception, especially deception from your own doubts. The night is dark, and the Moon’s light is how you navigate through with trust in your gut feeling.” You try to keep a cool head as you continue explaining the reading. “And when it appears in readings about love, it represents uncertain or complicated feelings. That’s a pretty apt description of the fallout when you sold your heart. You did it because you were tired of all your conflicting feelings, then dealing with the removal of said feelings, and I know I didn’t make it any better by acting so immature and lashing out at you.”

“It was a self-fulfilling prophecy, wasn’t it?” Shu asks.

“Any divination is a glimpse into a possible future. No path is certain until you embark on it,” you say. “I’m sorry to say it, but you went down that path.”

Shu hums in response. “I really am an idiot.”

“A lucky idiot.” You reach for Shu’s preserved heart, and hold it in your hands. “A lot of practitioners would pay top dollar for this thing. I bought it for $19.99.”

Somehow, that was the most insulted you’ve seen Shu yet. “It sold for that little?”

“Bargain hunting has its benefits.” You shrug. “Every single human heart for sale has some kind of story, and if you buy one, then you have to be at peace with that. But when I figured out it was yours, the idea of keeping it creeped me out. I have to be honest, most of the reason I came here was for closure, and I’m glad I got that, but you don’t have any at all. You really deserve it, though.”

You take Shu’s hand in yours, then press the jar into his palm. “Want your heart back?”

He stares at it. His face is totally blank. “More than anything.”

“It was a twenty-dollar bill and some change. All I ask is that you swear that you won’t be a jerk when you get your heart back. And dinner.” 

“You’re giving it to me?” 

“You need it more than me.” You take your hands off the jar. Shu’s hands keep it secure instead. “Get yourself together. Put your heart back where it belongs.”

“But it’s removed. How do you just put it back?”

“I did some research. There’s a ritual we can do together.”

“Together?”

“Technically, it’s more of a solo conjuration thing. But I’m not totally sure how good replacing the heart on yourself is going to go, so if you need anything, you can count on me. I brought some pages on common procedures about the soul of the heart.” You sift through your bag and produce a bunch of papers. Each one is a photocopy of a tome from your personal collection, or a verified practitioners’ site. “Lore doesn’t state any limitations on practitioners nor witnesses involved. And just to be sure, I did a ton of research on the active components and method. It’s safe. But of course, I don’t want to pressure you into doing this if it’s not something you want to do.”

“Let me look through some of these myself,” Shu says. “But, Reader, I’ve caused you nothing but hurt because of my own selfishness. Are you really serious about letting me have this?”

“Listen to me, and everything I’m about to say.” You place your palms over Shu’s and look straight in his eyes. “Nothing is going to change the past, but we’re not bound by it. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You screwed up, big time. But that was a bunch of mistakes, and everyone makes mistakes. That’s only human. You put your heart back where it belongs and make amends for yourself, then that’s redemption. Everyone deserves redemption just as often as they make mistakes.”

You sort through the papers on the floor, and separate the ritual procedure from the rest of them. “Also, you gotta realize how weird it is to own your heart and not even be your friend. Take it. Don’t let me be one of those weirdo witches,” you joke.

The sorcerer scans through the ritual’s instructions in silence. After he’s done with it, he picks up each piece of paper you brought with you, and reads those too. He brushes his finger against the text as he reads, and you look over his shoulder. Whenever his finger scrolls along an important passage, a pink highlight remains on the paper.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” he says.

“You aren’t.”

Shu takes a breath, but his eyes don’t leave the ritual instructions. “You remember where I store my components, right?” You hum in agreement. “You have every right to deny it, but Reader, is it okay if you help me replace my heart?”

“About time you finally realize you need help. Nothing wrong about asking for it.” For the first time in years, you smile at Shu himself. “I will.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“I invite what may be returned to me, and to my soul, I beckon thee. Allow the severed to be healed and the heart to be sealed. On my heart, so I declare it be.”

Shu sits in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of purple candles blooming in brilliant magenta flames. You sit across from him enclosed by the fire, and the jar containing his heart is fully open. As Shu chants the final words of the incantation, the preserve inside of the jar evaporates into a smoky gas that curls around the air before embedding itself directly into his chest.

The flames break into ash and dissipate when the remnants of the preserved heart erases itself, and all that’s left is the liquid it came in. A shikigami breezes across Shu’s closed eyes, heralding the end of the ritual. The magic still hangs in the air like residue, and so does the silence after the plume and crackle of fire. 

Shu’s eyes flutter open, caught in the haze of sorcery, and blink. With each blink those amethyst eyes grow brighter and waver as he takes in the world around him. His lips part, and his irises search around as he presses a hand to his heart. You notice the fabric of his hoodie fold around his fingers. 

You don’t even need to study him carefully to recognize the way that the corners of his mouth slowly upturn. You catch a flash of teeth, and his cheekbones rise enough that his eyes squint.

“Did it work-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Your breath hitches in your throat as you’re enveloped by a strong hug.

“Reader!” Shu calls your name, and his voice is so light, almost musical in tone, pure relief and joy. “Reader! Reader, it’s back. Everything is back.”

You didn’t have any time to react, but your head is propped up against Shu’s shoulder, and you listen to his high voice, almost childlike in wonder. “Everything’s back.”

His chest rises and falls against your body, and you realize he’s crying. He hiccups. “I’m so happy. I never thought I’d feel happy again, but- but I am, and I feel…!”

You finally comprehend the situation as Shu weeps, and let your arms wrap around his body. You pat his back and rub circles against his spine as you close your eyes and lean into the crook of his neck, tightening the hug. His raven-black hair brushes against your face. It’s soft.

Shu finally parts from the hug when his tears start to dry, and you’re struck by the absence of his warmth. He paws at the remaining tear tracks on his flushed cheeks with the back of his sleeve. “I’m so sorry for everything, Reader. I’m sorry for getting you roped into this mess.”

“What are friends for?” You say.

His forehead raises. “We’re friends?”

“Now that you’ve figured out your own problems, sure. I stopped considering us friends because I thought you hated me.”

“I could never.” Shu’s face falls. “Even when we fought, I always thought you were too good for me. You deserved better than how I treated you.”

“But I always flew off the handle with you. I wish I could’ve understood you, or at least acted reasonably. I’m sorry I was irrational.”

“You had a point.”

“It’s in the past anyways. I’m not forgetting this, but I’m going to forgive you. And by the way, I don’t want to overwhelm you right after you got your heart back, but are we going to talk about how you’re in love with me?”

“Oh my godddd.” Shu’s hands collapse over his face. He lets out a long-suffering groan. “I can’t believe I said all of that.”

You shuffle into a more comfortable position next to him. “Were you just never going to tell me?”

“I didn't want to after the reading. I was afraid, and then right when I removed my heart I didn’t see a point. Being able to see you happy was good enough, but then you were never happy when you were around me, and then I didn’t see you at all. I mentioned that I don’t- I used to not feel fear, right? I thought we’d never see each other again. So when you showed up at my doorstep and just started asking questions, I didn’t even blink before I answered them.” Shu sighs again. “I’m so embarrassed. This whole heart thing was the worst way you could’ve figured it out, and you weren’t even going to reciprocate.”

You stare at the floor. “How did you figure that?” You ask.

“There's no way I'd have a chance. That reading ate me alive, it was so bad. Or I just made it bad because I misinterpreted it…?” He trails off in thought, and his hands drag down his face. His amethyst eyes are puffy, and sparkle with dried tears. He looks like a kicked puppy. “I don’t know, just that I messed up hard. Don’t make it sound better than it actually is.”

“I mean, it kind of is. Better, I mean.” You’re very interested in the grain of the hardwood at this point. Anything to distract you from the heat rising in your face and how admitting this feels like pulling teeth. “I, um, really felt something more than friends for a while. I liked you. A lot. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and so is the feeling.”

Shu grabs your arm in surprise. You feel your body tense. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m serious,” you mumble. 

In a moment Shu realizes he’s touching you, and jerks away awkwardly while his hands slap over his mouth again. All he can manage to say is a stuttery “O-oh.”

You both sit in the silence of your blush. Your own thoughts pile onto each other with such frequency that you begin to forget where all of it is leading until you force yourself to calm down. Each thought paints one picture: The feeling was mutual for so long.

“I need to be honest with you,” you say. “The feelings for you? They’re a jumble. I know that they’re real, and I know that I liked you before we stopped talking, but when we did, I was hurt. Everything I feel for you is so strong, but I don’t even know if I’m still mad or attracted or what after the last few hours, and- ugggh.” You quietly growl as your thought process hits a wall. You throw your neck back and look up at the ceiling. “I have a lot to figure out, and it’s late. But let’s stay in contact this time. I want to know you again, and I want to know if the feelings are still there. If this can happen.”

“I’d like that,” Shu says. His arm drops to the side, and he exhales as he does. His body relaxes. The corner of his eye still shines from when he cried, but his lips bear a smile of awe. You see him as he is, a man exhausted but euphoric, a hiker at the apex of a mountain. “You liked me too. I can’t believe it. I must be dreaming.”

“If you still think you’re dreaming…”

Courage possesses you as you thumb away the last of his tears and press your lips against his cheek. 

Shu turns to you as you back away from him, and watches you like a deer in the headlights. It takes him a second to raise his fingers and brush where you kissed him, but when he does, his face blooms in shocked color.

Then he jumps. “Ow!”

You giggle a little as he reacts to you pinching him. “If you were dreaming, that would’ve woken you up.”

Shu’s eyebrows knit together in frustration, before he remembers where he is and what just happened. Now that his emotion is back, his face is a journey from pouting to surprise to amazement, and when he takes you and your own nervousness in, he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out one tiny, high-pitched squeak from pure happiness. 

“That’s adorable.” You laugh again and stand up. You pick up your bag as you walk away, but stop before you leave. “By the way, we agreed I’d trade your heart back if you bought me dinner. I’ll close my sanctuary early on Friday, so go think of somewhere nice to eat together.”

“Wait.”

Before you turn the doorknob and leave Shu’s home, the sorcerer approaches. You cock your head, signaling him to speak. “Reader, can I kiss you?”

You close your eyes and nod.

Shu places one hand on your shoulder and the other behind your head. His gloved fingers stoke your hair when your lips meet. 

You lean into the kiss while Shu holds your head at just the perfect angle, and you feel all the ennui from the past two years crumble.

Longing, respect, faith, love; it all comes through the way he presses against you. You feel against the muscle of his back and relief floods through the kiss.

Enchanted, he smooths down your hair, and shivers when your hands trails up his back and along the nape of his neck. Shu holds you close and flush to his chest, and you swear you can hear his heartbeat crying out in satisfaction. This is where he’s meant to be, after all. All of the puzzle pieces fit together like lips locked. 

You part when you run out of breath, and rest your head against his chest. His heart thrums in time with yours.

“Let me escort you out,” he says, and you let him lead as he takes your hand in his. The door shuts behind you. “I’m grateful for everything.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad you’re back to yourself again,” you say. “I’ll be looking forward to Friday.”

“Wait. Is it a date?”

A hidden slice of your soul smiles. You squeeze his hand. “It’s a date.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

[mermaidsirennikita]

Collecting books has really become a dedicated hobby for me, and it's such a great replacement for the thing I collected before (makeup) because a) it's harder to find vintage copies in the wild (and in some cases online) and therefore MUCH more satisfying when I do find them b) I'm not racking up credit card debt to get Pat McGrath.

(Which... I love Pat. And it was stupid. And I now DO buy her products still... just secondhand, and not as often, because a $50 secondhand palette is still way more expensive than a $5 secondhand clinch cover.)

And there are so many people who don't know what they have, or don't care. I got a first edition copy of Tender is the Storm (yes, THAT cover, don't look it up at work) at a local used bookstore for like... $2. And when people DO know what they have, you're often interacting with fellow collectors, supporting people who care about what you care about. Making friends, maybe! I got a first edition copy of Lord of Scoundrels from an Insta friend recently for a RIDICULOUSLY good price.

Yes, it takes up space. But for me, I'm circulating out copies of books that I don't want and getting credit at my local stores... or donating copies that aren't worth taking to those stores to thrift stores (and maybe shelters in the future)... or leaving them in Little Free Libraries... or hey, I'm probably going to make a Pango store soon.

Plus, I live in a little apartment and all the bookshelves DO add to my witchy aesthetic, so.

I'm someone who does tend to impulse buy when I'm sad (or hypomanic lol), and I'm not saying that there aren't issues with impulse buying books. But it feels more positive and low-risk, and it's been hugely beneficial for my mental health. Not all of the books I'm collecting are "special" either. Some are just books by authors I love.

Don't know why I'm posting this, just felt the need to JOURNAL a little.

[missoneminute]

Combing my two biggest interests - The Libertines and perfume, recalling the scents which defined that era for me.

Libertine by Vivienne Westwood - Notes of Pineapple, Lily-of-the-Valley, Oakmoss, Labdanum and Musk. Released in 2000 and sadly discontinued. (A tester strip from this perfume was pasted into one of Peter’s early journals.) There are many perfumes that have had this same name since, but only one that smelled exactly like the year 2000 - mossy, earthy but soapy and clean, playful and lively, wiping off the grass stains of grunge and soaring into a new millennium, determined to cause trouble before it had consequences.

Stella by Stella McCartney - Notes of Rose Oil, Peony, Tangerine and Amber. Released in 2003. The syrupy rose jam scent of nights spent losing your mind - sleepless weekends, the eye of the storm of a cultural shift. Everything is alive, everything is exciting, everything is happening, and you can’t stop pressing your nose to your wrist, or a lover’s neck, to breathe it in, the hint of sour among all the flowers.

Prada Amber by Prada - Notes of Bitter Orange, Patchouli, Benzoin, Sandalwood, Labdanum and Tonka Bean. Released in 2004. A little sexy, a little dirty, things were getting messy. Sold via the cleanest of clean girl advertisements that were a total lie. This is the scent of a skanky cult - filthy and addictive, sweetness left on skin days after a kiss. An almost incoherent blend of vanilla and knees caked in mud - an ad for clean sheets when the bottle contains what went on between them.

Anglomania by Vivienne Westwood - Notes of Cardamom, Rose, Violet and Leather. Released in 2005 and also sadly discontinued. Where Libertine smelled of 2000 this smelled of 2005, the height of indie sleaze - leather jacket rock ‘n’ roll, hats and suits and ties and ironic nationalism, the celebration of all things British, driven at least in part by the explosion (and implosion) of The Libertines in English music and fashion culture. Weaved in with the spice of Brick Lane, the bootleg band shirts of Camden, the incense burning in the corner of your ashtray-scented flat.

Youth Dew Amber Nude by Estée Lauder - Notes of Cinnamon, Ginger, Carnation, Amber and Sandalwood. Released in 2005 and discontinued. The amber era for perfume, and the start of Tom Ford’s reign with ingenious collaborations that took dusty heritage brands into the modern age with their glamour intact in a time where we looked back to look forward. All the trash gathered up and made beautiful, injected with new life and resold at a premium. But didn’t it smell delicious, just like history, just like old money.

Belle d'Opium by Yves Saint Laurent - Notes of Jasmine, Incense, Tobacco, Peach, Rose and Patchouli. Released in 2010 (and yes, also discontinued). Rich and bold and witchy, the end of an era creeping in, all things indie drifting away, diluting but leaving their indelible mark - one last gasp of the rock star girlfriend, clad in her vintage faux furs and laddered tights, the messy glamour, the scent trail of a fearless era falling away, all those heightened, drunken memories of dollar store incense and roll-on oil remade into its final form.

[thelambliesdown1974]

We checked out like a “gay” vintage/art fair today but it was just a little bit too much self proclaimed witchy frog lover for my personal taste so we went to the moth infested secondhand store and I bought a 30$ fur beret

[cyberpunkonline]

The Best Halloween-Themed Games on the Spectrum 48k: 8-bit Frights That’ll Have You Scream “LOAD”

Alright, Spectrum warriors, it’s time to slip on that vintage ZX hoodie and celebrate Halloween the only way we know how—by loading up some good ol’ 48k games for this year’s #CyberSamhain event! Now, if you thought the Commodore 64 had some strange horror gems, wait until you see what Sinclair’s little wonder has in store. The Spectrum 48k was the king of quirky games with more bugs than a haunted house, but that’s what we loved about it, right?

So buckle up and grab that cassette tape because we’re about to dive into the best spooky, Halloween-themed games on the Spectrum 48k. Hold on to your joysticks, folks—it’s going to be a creepy, pixelated ride.

1. Cauldron (1985) Witches and pumpkins, what more could you want for Halloween? Cauldron is a proper retro classic, and this witch ain't your typical broomstick-riding pushover. You’re on a mission to collect ingredients to take down the Pumpkin King (yes, you read that right). The game’s got it all: flying, platforming, tricky jumps, and enough frustration to make you cast a spell on your Spectrum. Those pixel-perfect jumps? They'll have you pulling out your hair faster than you can say, “Accio controller!” But trust me, it’s worth every frustration-induced rage quit.

Resource: For a full witchy breakdown of Cauldron, check out Spectrum Computing’s archive—they’ve got all the juicy retro details to keep you spellbound.

2. Dark Star (1984) Not strictly Halloween-themed, but when the word dark is right there in the title, you know it belongs on this list. Dark Star is part space shooter, part survival horror—well, at least in that classic 8-bit "I'm all alone in this terrifying void of space" way. You’re tasked with stopping an alien invasion, but the tension? That comes from the eerie, oppressive silence of space, plus some incredibly tricky enemies. The sparse graphics make it feel even creepier, like you’re fighting aliens in a haunted arcade cabinet. Yeah, it’s a stretch, but if space horror is your thing, give this one a whirl.

Resource: The World of Spectrum database has a deep dive into Dark Star, so hit that up if you want to explore more of the game’s spooky sci-fi vibes.

3. Nosferatu the Vampyre (1986) When it comes to classic horror, you can’t forget about vampires. Nosferatu the Vampyre on the Spectrum 48k might look like a jumble of pixels and questionably animated sprites, but hey, that’s part of the charm! You play as Jonathan Harker, trying to survive your encounter with the infamous Count Dracula himself. The castle is dark, full of traps, and you’re constantly on the lookout for bloodsuckers. It’s got the kind of campy, eerie atmosphere perfect for Halloween, with the added bonus of feeling like you’re starring in your own 80s horror flick. Just remember to keep that wooden stake handy!

Resource: Spectrum Computing has the lowdown on Nosferatu, so grab your garlic and head there if you want to learn more about this vampire-slaying adventure.

4. Atic Atac (1983) If you’re in the mood for some top-down spooky fun, Atic Atac is the way to go. Set in a haunted castle, you’ve got to find the pieces of the Golden Key to escape, while avoiding all manner of ghouls, ghosts, and creepy-crawly creatures. The game’s classic ZX Spectrum charm comes through with its minimal color palette and basic graphics, but that’s what makes it so iconic. Plus, the haunted house vibe, coupled with the eerie sense of isolation, makes it perfect for a Halloween gaming session. You’ll be running in circles, screaming “where’s the key?!” in no time.

Resource: Check out Lemon64's counterpart, Spectrum Computing, for a proper throwback guide to Atic Atac—they’ve got all the tips you need to survive the haunted castle.

5. Jack the Nipper (1986) Okay, so Jack the Nipper isn’t exactly a Halloween game, but what’s creepier than playing as a naughty toddler causing chaos in a town full of unsuspecting adults? There’s something unsettling about this game, from Jack’s weird, smiling face to the mayhem you cause. Whether it’s releasing animals from a zoo or chucking food at people, this game is all about trickery and a bit of mischief—like the ultimate Halloween prank. Plus, the cartoony graphics have a weirdly spooky vibe if you play it at midnight…alone…with the lights off. You’ll see what I mean.

Resource: If you’re feeling nostalgic for more toddler terror, Spectrum Computing has a deep dive on Jack the Nipper.

6. Alien 8 (1985) If sci-fi horror is your jam, then Alien 8 will scratch that itch. This isometric survival game sees you exploring an alien-infested spaceship while trying to reactivate the ship’s cryogenically frozen crew. Sounds easy? Think again. The game’s got atmosphere, tension, and puzzles that will make you want to throw your Spectrum across the room. And those aliens? Creepy little things. It’s the kind of slow-burn suspense that’s perfect for Halloween, when the line between space and haunted house blurs into one massive pixelated nightmare.

Resource: Hit up Lemon64’s Spectrum archive for all things Alien 8—they’ll guide you through the maze of alien-infested corridors.

7. Splat! (1983) Alright, let’s get a bit weird, shall we? Splat! is one of those bizarre Spectrum games that kind of feels like it was made for Halloween but without really trying. You’re in a maze, trying to avoid being crushed by giant bricks while creepy, abstract monsters chase you around. It’s fast-paced, weirdly stressful, and the abstract graphics make it feel a little unsettling in the way only early 80s games can. Perfect for a Halloween night where you just want to feel off.

Resource: If you’re up for some weird arcade action, check out World of Spectrum’s breakdown of Splat! and get lost in the bizarre fun.

Final Thoughts So, there you have it, retro gamers—the spookiest, most bizarre Halloween-themed games you can play on the Spectrum 48k for #CyberSamhain. Whether you’re chasing vampires, flying on a broomstick, or causing trouble as a tiny toddler (seriously, that game’s still weird), these titles will give you that creepy, nostalgic feel with the added bonus of feeling like you’re back in the 80s. Dust off that Spectrum, load up your tapes (or hit the emulator, we won’t tell), and enjoy the ghoulish, pixelated glory. Because nothing says Halloween like battling vampires with nothing more than your joystick and a load of patience.

[dizzy-n]

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🔮Original Lenormand and Tarot decks available online.

(78 cards + original tuck box, 78cards only, 22 major arcana only, available.)

(78cards + original tuck box)

[de-fright-ful]

Stealing it from a discord conversation, but Amity is always holding SOMETHING, and from a distance, it almost seems like she's pulling a Grimsley and has a personal 'good luck coin,' which I can't lie to y'all. That would look REALLY sick, a witchy goth woman with a signature coin that she flips? That's cool! That's like Shojo Protagonist, levels of cool with a capital C!

But Amity? My beloved, my darling, my sweet? She is not capable of being THAT cool, not intentionally, let alone unintentionally. I'm sorry.

Amity is always holding something, but it's not a coin or a chip; it's a button—a large, probably plastic or wood, vintage, textured button like these.

She enjoys running her thumb around its surface or passing it between her knuckles—she can even do a few tricks—which is impressive given that they have less weight than the average coin.

But Amity doesn't keep buttons for luck or to remember someone—they're more like a stim for her. You see, the sensation of holding a button in her palm or between her fingers and running her fingers over its surface is comforting, soothing even. It calms her (especially in unfamiliar, stressful situations) and helps ground her.

Hell—because of this habit, she's even started collecting buttons and has tins of them stored away in her home—each one with a story attached and fond memories!

Some people have their snow globes, others have stamps and bottlecaps, but Amity has buttons, and she's never without one! It's sweet but so, so dorky (affectionate) and that's really the Amity way!

If she likes you well enough, she'll gift you one that reminds her of you!

[keeksandgigz]

thinking of eddie helping you braid your hair when you’re getting ready to spend the night

made this about eddie and witchy because i cannot stop thinking about them- this is also for the anon who said they can't stop reading it (thank u hehehe)

fluffy fluff below the cut, witchy being jealous and thinking of hexing his exes <3

He had to drag you into his apartment.

In a hilarious turn of events, due to some kind of San Francisco strike, all metro routes were suspended and there was no way you were going to walk in heeled boots all the way to Twin Peaks.

"Why call an Uber, baby? You can literally come upstairs at mine" Eddie says, watching you huff as you read over the e-mail about the strike.

"No Eddie you don't understand. I need to be home. I have a whole ritual! And silk pillowcases! Why can't you just drive me?" you whine, hoping he'll fold to your requests like he always does.

He grabs you by the shoulders, giving you a tender look.

"Because, my lovely witchy, metro routes being down means there will be absolute pandemonium in the streets. And I'm not trying to stay fifteen minutes stuck in downhill traffic" he laughs as you follow him around the store.

He's still working, you got off an hour before and after walking around the vintage stores for an hour there wasn't much else to do. It's just him in the record shop, working the closing shift. You follow him around trying to convince him to drive you back as he puts back the vinyls in the milk crates, folds band t- shirts, and rearranges patches in the display case.

"C'mon, witchy, just go up. I have Chinese takeout from last night or spaghetti if you wanna cook, I'll stop by the hair place across the block to get you a silk pillowcase. Promise" he says, leaning over the counter to kiss your forehead he opens up the cash till.

"But Ed-" you whine, you've never slept outside of your apartment before.

"No buts, I'm sorry witchy. Now get your cute butt out of here, I've got money out" he says, puckering his lips, ready for a kiss.

You lean over the counter and give him a quick kiss before he hands you the keys to his apartment.

"Don't forget to call Lorraine to get her to feed Circe!" he exclaims before you're out the door. You roll your eyes, of course you'll call Lorraine, your neighbor, if Lorraine existed.

But he doesn't have to know you can feed Circe with a snap of your finger whenever you forget to leave food out in the morning.

So you groan and you go through the backdoor of the store to reach the small, dingy courtyard of his apartment. Second floor, apartment 5C.

This building is so old it doesn't even have an elevator. You reach the door and open it, the rattle of keys falling over the counter is the only sound that can be heard, along with the clack of the short heels of your boots.

You take your shoes off and go through his fridge. Day- old Chinese takeout, a carton of eggs and milk. Three cans of Sierra Nevada, a half- drunk bottle of Coke Zero. You open his freezer.

Honey walnut shrimp and fried rice from Trader Joe's, a bottle of vodka, and a tub of ice cream from the last time you were craving it.

You roll your eyes and pick up the phone.

"Hey Ed, you have jack shit in your fridge. Can you stop by the Greek place down the block? I’ll have a gyro with chicken and falafel on the side” you request, hearing his groan at another chore he has to do post closing.

“Baby the Chinese food in the fridge is pretty good, it’s from the place we always go to” he’s not very convincing, but he’s tired and now lost count of the cash he was counting.

“‘kay i’ll put an online order for it so you just have to go pick it up, sound good?” you ignore him.

“Ugh fine but I better get, like, the biggest kiss in return.“ he groans, but it’s true. He is a weak, weak man when it comes to you. “Get me the pita wrap with lamb and fries, and lemme also get seasoned fries on the side. Thank you witchy, love you gotta go” he says, hanging up the phone.

So you order the food and then sneak in Eddie's bedroom to change into something comfortable. Getting rid of that fine line when clothes felt too much like clothes, the stitching pressing into your skin, the cuffs of your sweater feeling a bit too tight against your wrists, your jeans too tight on your legs.

So you venture in his closet and steal a pair of sweats and a ratty black t- shirt. One of his many. You go to the bathroom and notice there's no mirror. This dude.

So you tie your hair away from your face and use the nice face wash you got him- which you're sure he rarely uses- and wipe the makeup off your face. You go look for a clean towel, 'cause God knows you will not be wiping your face with the hand towel sitting on the rod on the wall.

After your face is clean you plop yourself on the couch and watch TV to pass the time.

Thirty- odd minutes later a rattling of keys startles you. Eddie walks through the door with his arms full of plastic bags. He places them on the counter.

"Hey witchy, I see you've made yourself at home?" he says, as you walk towards him and bury yourself in his arms. At least he smelled nice.

"Hmmm missed you, Ed" you mutter against the fabric of his t- shirt.

"You missed me?" you give a little nod, followed by a hum. His heart beats a bit faster, it's nice knowing you think of him when he's away.

"Aw, witchy. I missed you too, are you hungry?" he says, giving you a sweet kiss on the head as he detaches from your grip and reaches for the bag with the food, taking out the boxes.

"Also stopped by the hair place, got you that silk pillowcase and some shampoo and conditioner to keep here. Doubt you'll wanna use my three in one shit" he snickers, and you blush timidly. He's not sweet in the way that he'll kiss you in the middle of the street, but he is for sure sweet in the way he thinks about you an embarrassing amount of times a day.

"Thanks Ed, you didn't have to do that" you say, and he blushes, the boy tinges himself pink because you appreciate him.

"Y'know, anything for you" he says, giving you a kiss on the forehead as he brings the takeout boxes to the coffee table.

You follow him and plop down on the couch "I was watching 'Sex and the City' while you were gone" you explain, biting into your gyro.

"Was Samantha being her usual crazy self?" he doesn't even know who Samantha is, but he thinks it's funny to ask you every time. You giggle as he puts on a random show for you to watch.

After an episode Eddie stands up and stretches.

"I'm beat, I think it's time for bed" he says "c'mon, witchy"

You rise from the couch and follow him into the master bathroom.

“I have a toothbrush here for you, I kinda uh-“ from his tone you can tell he’s embarrassed “I got one for here the first time you came over, in case you ever, y’know, wanted to sleep over” he says sheepishly, while you wrap your arms around him.

He offers it to you, it’s pink. Your favorite color.

“Aw, Ed. You’re so sweet, thank you” you say and you swear you can see him blush as you place a delicate kiss on his warming cheek.

This slice of domesticity taken away from the mystic vibe of your apartment really makes you wonder. It makes you think about a normal life, with him.

The way he washes his face like a madman (without face wash), letting the water wet his bangs instead of pulling his hair back, the way he ties his hair up before brushing his teeth.

You take the toothbrush out of your mouth "Ah shtill don' undestand why you don' have a mirrah" you sputter, mouth full as you spit the toothpaste in the sink.

"Why I don't have a mirror? Previous tenant broke it and my asshole landlord still won't fix it" he says, taking off his shirt. Your eyes linger on the lines of his back a little too long, bordering the line between looking and staring.

So you turn around and you try to braid your hair without a mirror, but to no avail, every strand seems to be three different sizes.

You groan in frustration as Eddie approaches you.

"Lemme help, witchy" he says, standing behind you and tending an arm out for a hair tie.

He divides the hair into three strands. Your hair is so soft between his fingers.

He wishes he could stall so that he could caress it for longer, but an impatient yawn escapes your mouth as his hands deftly get to work. Over, under, over, under-

"Where did you learn to braid hair?" you ask, feeling the way he softly holds each strand, making sure he's not pulling at your scalp. You don't see him, but a smile forms around his tongue, peeking out of his lips in concentration. Over, under.

"I had girlfriends before you, witchy. They taught me to braid my own hair" he chuckles, as you try to tune out the word girlfriends. Under, over, under.

He can see a pout form on your lips, he smiles.

"Why'd you need to braid your hair?" you huff, thinking of going on a spiraling rampage and hexing every one of his exes. Over.

"Well" he begins "one time, an ex braided my hair and it came out super curly, so I wanted to try it myself. Turns out it needs to stay in the braid for a while for that to happen" he shrugs.

Under, over, tie.

"All done," he announces, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Thanks, Ed" you examine the braid, flinging it over your shoulder "looks really nice" you say, and give him a small kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He gets himself into bed. His bed is oddly comfortable and his sheets smell of laundry detergent.

"I might have been washing my sheets every other day in case you wanted to sleep over" he confesses, blushing, as he lifts his arm, opening the warmth of his chest to you.

"You" you give him a kiss "are literally" another kiss "the sweetest guy" another kiss "in the history of always" last kiss.

He gets flustered when you call him sweet, because under the hardening exterior of black chains and shirts with exploding heads and hooded skeletal figures, there's just a sweet guy who loves you and wants you to like him for being himself.

"Just want you to, you know, have a good experience with me" he says, caressing your head.

"You get an 11/10 Yelp rating, can't recommend to anyone, though. You seem to be preoccupied with a really cool girl, and it seems it's going to go on forever" you giggle, as he smiles and gives you a kiss.

"Go to sleep, cool girl. Goodnight, love you" he says, before turning off his lights.

"Goodnight, Ed" you say, turning over so he can spoon you.

"You have to say it back" he whispers in the quiet of the dark room.

"Right, sorry. I love you too, Ed" you correct yourself and close your eyes, falling into one of the best sleeps you've ever had in your life.

The morning after, Eddie wakes up to his landlord bringing in a new mirror, his hair extra curled and all his exes blocked on his social media. But he doesn't have to know about that last one.

[emeraldbabygirl]

@witchy-weve-monbebe I moved my dresser and bookshelf like I wanted but I’m not really happy with it. I really want to get rid of my desk but there’s so much random crap in it that I wouldn’t have any place to put that stuff if I did get rid of it

I want something that I can use as a bookshelf and a desk that’s big enough to store all my odds & ends in. Anyway I just took some pics of things I have I wanted to share also also @atinystaypixie cause I have some things you might like to see uwu ~

My bookshelf is less cluttered now but it’s still annoying. Anyway the buffalo I got from my grandma on my birthday one year and the my little pony with the pink hair is vintage and was my grandma’a and it still has the same smell of strawberries after all these years and every time I sniff it it reminds me of when my grandma bought me my first Barbie, she called them baby dolls and she’d play with me and I played with the horse too. And then the Freddie Mercury music box looks to be laser cut maybe but it’s really cool my brother bought it for my birthday last year and finally the Levi and Eren plushes and the Sebastian and I also have a Sebastian funko pop and lil figure. I also have this bed bag that my grandma got me one year for Christmas when I was little and I actually found an old picture from when I got it and it’s the cutest bag I’ll ever own ~ I just have a lot of cute stuff :) it’s more fun to show in person but meh.

[mychaotic-academia]

So I have an idea, what do you think?

I used to own a crystal and metaphysical shop, and I still have inventory.

Only now I feel like I’m a different person, but I still technically have a business.

So here’s what I’m thinking:

I re-group and re-brand. I become a dark/witchy academia shop and sell the stuff I used to sell as well as art I make, thrift/vintage clothes, custom pieces, oddities, etc etc

So what do you think? Hit the like if you’d buy from an online store like that!