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artficlly · 5 months ago

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smog & spirits: spirit-raiser (mini-series)

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

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You did not remember leaving your door unlocked.

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents.

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets.

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense.

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight.

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications.

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would.

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen.

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you.

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice.

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog.

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat.

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal.

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal.

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness.

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash.

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.”

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves.

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink.

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found.

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his.

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots.

“Sit.” He commands.

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you.

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth.

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone.

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery.

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men.

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes.

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers.

Rot.

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity.

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace.

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it.

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine.

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words.

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more.

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them.

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood.

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time.

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle.

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences.

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax.

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper.

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots.

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down.

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table.

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling.

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest.

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.”

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed.

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more.

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger.

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks.

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile.

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin.

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off.

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips.

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails.

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck.

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him.

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place.

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding.

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock.

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet.

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb.

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve.

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns.

“Chaos magic?” He questions.

“Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin.

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain.

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon.

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort.

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes.

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct.

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent.

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly.

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy.

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs.

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things.

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him.

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look.

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders.

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive.

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull.

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon.

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol.

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull.

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours.

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest.

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap.

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh.

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants.

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds.

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm.

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit.

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt.

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him.

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady.

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles.

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted.

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk.

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips.

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully.

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock.

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you.

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers.

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation.

“Please—” you gasp out.

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place.

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit.

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin.

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath.

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy.

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased.

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual.

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre.

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp.

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt.

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain.

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

PONY CLUB (PART 2)

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honestlyboringperson · 3 months ago

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The mean gay and the even meaner bisexuals. And Pearl. (Persona 5 AU)

Also I just realized that Scott’s yellow eye is in the wrong socket. Eh, too late.

Southlanders

Team B.E.S.T.

Fairy Fort

Magic Mountain + Cub

More Information Below!

Scott - “Prism” - The Star Arcana - Dionysus/Sigyn

Sarcastic yet intensely devoted and loyal, Scott is known for his business “Chromia”. He sells dyed goods along with one of a kind clothing, along with the actual dyes themselves. He’s relatively well known throughout town due to his social media presence, and helps the Phantom Thieves with a calling card utilizing social media. Pearl and Scott are notable for their distaste of each other, which differs from their closeness a few years back. According to him, Scott only really joined the Phantom Thieves for his own amusement rather than agreeing with their goals.

Dionysus is Scott’s persona. Dionysus is the god of wine, revelry, orchards, and madness. I mean, Scott did join the phantom thieves for his amusement, so his persona is one of festivities. Another aspect of Dionysus is his Orphic version known as “Zagreus”. If you played Hades, you probably have an idea of who he is. He is the son of Hades and Persephone, and is the god of rebirth. The “rebirth” aspect of Zagreus can refer to the amount of times Scott barely escaped death from SEVERAL people.

Anyways, Scott’s Ultimate Persona is Sigyn, the norse goddess of mercy and compassion, and wife of the trickster god Loki. When Loki was caught and punished after he killed Baldr, he was sentenced to be tied under a venomous snake and have it’s venom fall into his eyes, Sigyn shirked his punishment by placing a bowl or basin above him to catch the venom before it falls into his eyes. However, some venom does get in his eyes when Sigyn goes to empty the bowl and Loki’s pained squirming causes earthquakes.

Pearl - “Carmine” - The Moon Arcana - Little Red/Diana

Pearl is a journalist, who often pulls all-nighters and stake-outs to get her scoops. Although chill and laidback during the night, during the day is a ball of feral neuroticism from the lack of sleep. She often finds herself in odd situations to find her scoops, usually seeking out seedy parts or town to report on the criminal activities. This also led her to meet a strange man covered in sunflowers saying she resembles his god in his religion and some oddball bar performer claiming she pushed him out of some godly realm. She is also one of the Pupil’s victims with false memories implanted in her. In this case, she believes Grian is her younger brother. She owns a little dog named “Tilly”.

Her Persona is Little Red, as in Little Red Riding Hood. More specifically, the version she and the huntsman along with her grandmother feed the wolves rocks after the huntsman cuts them out.It then dies either by drowning in a well where the rocks weigh it down or where the weight is just too much for it to handle and it dies. I mainly chose this for the ✨aesthetics✨, with a red cloak and giant terrifying wolf. I suppose it could represent the two sides of Pearl; the chill and laidback Pearl during the night and the feral (albeit kind of sad) and sleep deprived Pearl during the day.

Anyways, her Ultimate Persona is Diana, the Roman goddess of nature, hunters, wildlife, and the moon. She’s often equated with Artemis, but also has an association with Hecate, god of witchcraft due to both of them having crossroads under their dominion. Pearl could theoretically have any of these goddesses, due to their themes aligning with Pearl during Double Life where she goes kind of stir crazy and lonely. Heck, Hecate is even accompanied by a procession of dogs.

Cleo - “Ghoul” - The High Priestess Arcana - Bloody Mary/Durga

A sculptor known for her ornate, detailed, and beautifully haunting sculptures. She was one of the first people that managed to befriend Etho, most likely due to her similarly intimidating aura. She is roommates with Joe Hills, a strange man who often speaks through a puppet on his hand. She had to become more intimidating due to people with less than favourable intentions often flock to prodigy artists. However, if you have her back, she’ll have yours and will always make sure she fulfills a promise or repays a favour.

Her persona in the metaverse is Bloody Mary. She’s most known for her urban legend, where you can summon her via going into a dark room (usually a bathroom) with only a candle and reciting her name three times. Although there are several different origins she may have had, this version is specifically Mary Worth. She was a woman who lived in the woods who was accused of witchcraft. She was burning on the stake when she cursed the village, resulting in the vengeful ghost we know today.

Durga is the Hindu goddess of protection, strength, motherhood, destruction, and wars. She has the ability to unleash divine wrath on those who oppress and is often depicted riding a lion or tiger wielding multiple weapons and fighting demons. Cleo is both someone able to intimidate those into avoiding her and protecting her allies, represented by the combination of the aspects Durga represents. Also the motherhood aspect is calling back to when she was part of the c(l)ockers as the “mom”.

Gem - “Satyr” - The Strength Arcana - Atalanta/Freyja

Gem, although she may not look or act like it, is a former mercenary. She is retired, but not after making herself known through her feats of strength and her near inhuman fighting abilities. As of today however, she spends her days working as a lyricist and LARPing with her friends, as well as regularly bugging Etho. She can crush apples with her bare hands and is both well liked and feared by the rest of the phantom thieves.

Her initial persona is Atalanta, a famed hunter from Greek mythology. She was raised by bears and is the slayer of the Calydoanian Boar after Artemis wasn’t honoured with a sacrifice. She was also possibly a member of the Argonauts, where she fought along side them at the battle of Clolchis. She was a rare example of a female Greek hero in the frat house of the rest of the Greek heroes.

Her Ultimate Persona is Freyja, the Norse god of love, beauty, fertility, war, and gold. She and Odin equally spilt the soldiers who died in war into two halls, one belonging to Freyja. She wears a necklace called “Brísingamen”, obtained through trickery but was broken when she got so wrathful, the hall shook. Thor utilized said necklace to disguise as her to steal back his hammer Mjolnir.

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meadowtwins · 4 months ago

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Tips for broke witches with a budget of 10$/€:

As someone who started with their craft when they were younger, living in a poor household with little to not money for me available, I know how how it is with a budget so low, that being a "true witch" seems impossible.

Well, I just need to remind you all that for practicing witchcraft, you do NOT NEED everything expensive. In fact you only need so little. Sure, the whole witch aesthetic with all the decorations, the cauldrons etc. looks lovely and most of us would really like to achieve that level of perfectionism, but Witchcraft is much more than that. It is a predominately Pagan practice. Nature is one of the biggest, if not the biggest aspect in it. Sometimes you just aren't really knowledgeable about all the options you're available to.

Tip 1: Nature walks:

As mentioned above, Nature is a big aspect. Almost every ingredient and spell componement is seen outside. Take a walk, go into the woods, get off path, you'll find herbs, fruits, flowers, all kinds of decorations. You can find sticks, bind them in any shape and hang them onto your wall. You can cut off (with Natures permission!) Ivy wreaths and hang them up. Pinecones, pineneedles, treebarks, hazelnuts, feathers, wheats all kinds of grass, everything is out there! Take a look on the ground and maybe you'd be lucky to find a few gemstones (yes, they're just out there!) or if animal bones are something for you even that!

Tip 2: Grimoire/Book of Shadows:

Your witchy journal does NOT have to be that expensive leather bound, old journal that the old antique shop sells for 60 dollars because it has a "magical aura". Yes, how can someone pass on that aesthetic, but your book isn't magick by itself. YOU first put the energy into it and make it something magical to you. Without your journaling and time you've spent, it is JUST a book! Therefore a simple notebook that costs like 1.50 max works completely fine! Mine is a notebook if found in my drawer that has a rainbow reflecting surface, trust me, the aesthetic is the thing you should be least concerned about.

Tip 3: Divination Board:

Self-made is always the cheapest option! Again, like your Grimoire, the board isn't the one with with the magical attributes. It's all you! My first divination board was made out of cardboard paper. You have all the options open, it can just be paper or you could even print one out. The material does not devalue the magical properties.

Tip 4: Pendulum:

A pendulum itself is cheaper than you think, look in the right places and you'll see. But if that is too much you can always make one yourself. You have to keep in mind that the item doesn't come with the magic! You're the one making if something magical. Find a pretty stone on the ground (with luck a gemstone!), tie it to a string and wear it as necklace. There you have it!

Tip 5: Cauldron:

A fire bowl, a normal bowl, a plastic bowl etc.! You can use anything. It depends however on what you do with it. Make sure not to use fire irresponsibly if you plan on burning something in it. Keep a window open and don't burn something in a not substitutional material. There's a reason a fire bowl is differencated from a normal bowl.

Tip 6: Gold, Bronze, Silver etc.

This goes for jewelry, tableware, bowls etc. For example in spells/rituals or offerings to a deity. A plate to put your offerings on or to set the spell on. Look into your cupboards! A glass bowl is a popular one to use since it's neutral in it's symbolic and easy to clean. If you'd prefer something golden or any other other material, ask a grandparent or maybe even parent. They usually have some sort of old tableware that is golden or bronze or anything else. If asked (and you're a closet witch!) tell them it's for decoration or putting a candle on it. The same goes for jewerly. Grandparents (or aunts!) usually have old necklaces and earrings they don't need anymore. Or even brooches with imagery you can connect to a deity maybe.

Tip 7: Tarot Cards:

It depends if you believe in the rule that says you cannot buy yourself a tarot deck. I do! Therefore what I did, was make my own one. It took lots of days but in the end I had a full deck! It's lots of work so if you don't want all that from the start, make yourself only the major arcana. Again it can be made out of cardboard, paper etc. The material really doesn't matter. If you're not familiar with the rule, it says your first tarot deck has to be gifted to you, found, or made by yourself. Infact in my case, all three happened to me!

In conclusion, Nature has ALL kinds of componements. You can find so many things all around you if you just look close enough!

But don't forget, cleansing is important! If you take items off the ground out and about, cleanse them off any negative energy before putting them into your household. If anything you need to know I haven't mentioned, just ask.

Happy witching!

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zzz1gzag · 5 months ago

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4ggravate author au where haikaveh are poets who write poems about each other (beefing)

Au dashboard simulator under cut

🪻paradicing-onions Follow

The huge overlap between kaveh fans and mahaseudo fans is so funny because both works require you to memorise random made up words but only mahaseudo writes majority fantasy

🌅 heeyythams-pen Follow

True fans keep dictionaries in their house. Ok but fr though kaveh's so lucky his works are popular because can you imagine reading the words "cynic" or "lonely" for the first time when it's not mainstream

🐺 mahaseudo nym 🔷 Follow

Real

🪻paradicing-onions Follow

HUHHH??? HELLO SIR HALF AN EYE REVEAL???

🌫️ PartiesDyhai Follow

Mahaseudo fans are like victorian gentlemen seeing a hint of ankle

800.4k notes ♥️🔄

💟 Al-almar-will-rise Follow

I cannot reblog this post anymore. Am i blocked? Pls help

900 notes ♥️🔄

❣️ KavehScribbles 🔷 Follow

@mahaseudo-nym @ForestWatching

Thanks for the pottery date!!!! Lobe u smmmmm

Mas would want you to think his first bowl is on purpose but he needs to be exposed for his lies. And witchcraft. He managed to make a whole other bowl by the time we finished painting and it turned out so well until he ruined it

30 060 notes. ♥️🔄

☠️ sea-yar-har-har Follow

The character designs in mausoleum is genuinely! So! Good! But lets not ignore how whenever Mas has to draw a background character as attractive its the exact same face, and its not even according to conventional beauty standards??

This has been going on for a WHILE now the last one is from his superhero comic days

Who is this man lmfao

💌haikaveh-love-letters Follow

Its like when ancient greek sculptures base their sculpture of aphrodite on their lover/j

🌌 marrysoulem Follow

Hey.. hey letters remember this post

💌haikaveh-love-letters

HUHBBWHAT. OH. OH WHAT. WHAT

🌌marrysoulem

🐢 KavehDarling Follow

Guys we shouldnt speculate about his private life. It's kind of weird that people make these jokes about a straight cis man honestly

💌 haikaveh-love-letters

Booooo its pride month throws ball at you

🌌marrysoulem

Like to charge reblog to cast throw rubber ball

#lmao what cis #what straight

600 notes ♥️🔄

🌄 sillyreal Follow

my college textbook is using mausoleum as an analogy for an agriculture concept. To me they are both fantasy tho lmao

#Prof. T is the biggest mausoleum fan real and true

53 notes ♥️🔄

💟 Callingnamber Follow

Honestly i think the fanartist @/seen0 is incredibly problematic, like hes obviously trying to copy Mas' style and his takes on the characters are always awful. Especially Kaveh's characters. If kaveh could see how hard seen0 is butchering his characters he would cry real tears

71 notes ♥️🔄

🤖 KavehSfeather Follow

Ouuu i just got the handwritten manuscript theres so many tidbits kaveh loves us all even the wine spill is a cute doodle

38 notes ♥️🔄

🏜️ haihaikavehh Follow

Alhaithams new analysis video is 50 percent just about kaveh lmao. We get that kaveh's the creator but thats a liiitttleee bit too much to be anything but suspiciously obsessed

🗾PartOfOrmos Follow

Guys hasnt this crack ship gone long enough

🏜️haihaikaveh

Crack?

#literally writing poetry abt each other but ok

6071 notes ♥️🔄

🌠 dorimon8 Follow

Guys can we talk about how people had to spend so much money on Alhaitham's hand written signed manuscript and midway through theres coffee stains and a wine spill??? Rich people befuddle me

9046 notes ♥️🔄

🖼️ KavehScribbles 🔷 Follow

NEW MAUSOLEUM CHAPTER OUT EVERYONE REJOICE

10k notes ♥️🔄

👁️ seen0 Follow

Rereading palace of alcazarzaray on stream and reanalysing Romiet now that we've seen more of his character. :)

New vtuber!! One for forest too :))

97 notes ♥️🔄

🏕️ ForestWatching Follow

Im sure its no big deal, Mas is particular in the way that he would definitely have asked before posting

👁️ seen0 Follow

Seems like you know his personalitree well

87 notes ♥️🔄

Dr.Tighnari Follow

Whats that

7 notes ♥️🔄

#genshin impact #cyno #genshin fanart #tighnari #art #cynonari #genshin impact fanart #alhaitham #kaveh #haikaveh #genshin memes #nEEDD yall to figure out why cynos pseudoname is like that #actually kind of adore the cynonari concept in this one but yall are just gonna have to figure!it!out!#and tell me what you think it is plsplsplpslpls #unreality #dashboard simulator

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ravenwriter16 · 13 days ago

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Creative Minds Think Alike

Episode One--Episode Two--Episode Three--Episode Four--Episode Five--Episode Six--Halloween Special pt. 1--Halloween Special pt. 2 (Here!)--Halloween Special pt. 3

Happy Halloween!

Come and join me on all the fun the castle is having with our annual Halloween Festival!

Enjoy! ~~~~~~

(POV: Written by @amymaleneart!)

The spooky atmosphere of the Halloween festival is almost intoxicating. Everywhere I look, I am just filled with giddiness seeing the wonderful decorations for all hallows eve. Something about the wonderful autumn colors, along with witchcraft purples and ebony blacks, fills me with such joy that it’s like drinking serotonin straight from the tap.

Hmmmmm…I wonder what that would taste like?

I turn back to the buffet table I have been painting all day to fee all the hungry ghouls and goblins. I open up my blackened hand, as dark as obsidian to reveal my yellow (my favorite color) paw pads that are adapted to my human-like hands. I concentrate and watch as my toe beans go through a rainbow of colors until each pad settles on the palette desire to create this new beverage.

I get to work dipping my claws to sketch out a new punch bowl in the shape of a pumpkin, with its top cut off that’s made out of iridescent crystal. I wait for my magic to solidify it into actual crystal from the wet paint it’s made from.

Next I create splashes of tints and hues of milky oranges and creams. As I watch the liquid fall into the punch bowl, I quickly draw up ice cubes of bats and eyeballs. Each newly formed hardened water plops into the refreshing beverage, quickly chilling the now completed masterpiece.

I reach over to one of the many paper cups to use to dip into the punch for a taste test.

“Color! Are you really going to use your dirty paws to get that drink?” cries my overly concerned golden friend. I roll my heterochromatic blue and green eyes. But he’s right, this would be a bit unsanitary. I swiftly draw up a punch spoon to match the bowl. With ease, I scoop up the attractive beverage to finally taste test one of my creations.

Placing the cup against my lips on my gray face, the citrusy sparking beverage of strawberries and peaches flow down my throat. The sensation of nostalgia, happiness and calm spreads out from my stomach to the rest of my furry body. My black with yellow tip fox hears wiggle in delight at these wonderful flavors.

I hear a deep gruff voice chuckling behind, causing me to look up at my other blue and grey friend. “If I was going to guess based on your reaction, that punch is very delicious,” says the cosmodian alien named Dr. Moontiedea Obquartz, Moon to his friends.

“Why of course it is!” shouts the other cosmodian alien known as Dr. Sunafetia Obquartz, otherwise known as Sun. “Color is the best chef in the entire galaxy. Even the best in this dimension.”

I watch in silence as the twin brothers talk, sipping my drink. I am so happy these two, as well as Captain Dawntitus Eclipseso, aka Eclipse to a very few, had agreed to help me out at the humongous buffet table. This isn’t the first time they have been outside of the canvas. But it always made them feel a little daunting to find out your characters in a story. Thankfully they quickly become okay as the memories from their previous visits return to them.

This is something that always occurs whenever they leave their world thanks to this castle’s magic. It helps keep the characters from losing their sanity thinking they are “not real” But they are always real to each other and that’s what matters.

I take a moment to admire the assortment of colorful dishes I spent all day painting. From snacks of ghost shaped crackers with cheese and meats to baked pizza balls in shapes of mini pumpkins and just about anything else you could imagine, I can create. There’s even a section for the guest that would have some dietary restrictions. And of course all the sweets you can eat.

Because I am not paying attention, I fail to notice that my cup in snatched from my hand by Moon.

“Moonie! That’s not very nice,” Sun yells at his brother. Moon chuckles in response like the gremlin that he is. After taking a sip from my cup, he hums in delight as he says, “This taste wonderful Color. I didn’t realize you put zofifinas in this punch.”

“Oooo, let me try.” Sun says excitedly as he takes my cup from Moon’s hands. I laugh noticing that Sun had indirectly stolen my cup too. He sips the drink and his six ears also wiggles in delight that they look like it’s spinning around his face. “This does taste amazing! But all I taste is the robingreengo.”

I giggle a little bit loudly, my voice sounding like windchimes. They both look at me with an inquisitive look. I settle down my laughter to hand sign to them, -That’s because the drink changes depending on who drinks it and what makes them happy. I call it my “happy juice”.-

“It’s definitely making me happy,” says Sun

“I got to say, it’s still weird seeing you with only two arms. Luckily the magic stones Miss Raven has provided translates you well enough,” Moon comments.

Yes, the magic does help with any translation of any language, real or made up. But I still have my own magic place on my y/n, Stardust. Even in a place like this, the language barrier between them and the aliens is still there. Not even another person can translate for Stardust when it comes to Sun, Moon and Eclipse. I even kept the illusion going by telling them people would be dressing up in many different costumes. And the biggest trend right now is to be dressed as a human that’s also wearing a costume.

I know I’m lying to them. I didn’t think it’s a good idea to completely ruin their reality.

Speaking of, where are Eclipse and Stardust?

I look around the ballroom at the many faces of character and creators. If we were back in my canvas, my aliens and I would be four times bigger than just about everyone here. But thankfully, I was able to shrink us down to be able to accommodate. Even though my aliens are still close to 7 feet tall. Thanks to that, I finally spot the dark calico cosmodian, Eclipse, as he is gathering the little children together for the next activity.

I couldn’t help but smile as I also spotted my harpy chicks, Sundrop and Moondrop, with their Caretaker y/n standing by.

I giggle at how adorable both little cuties are dressed up as little ravens, wearing a cape of black feathers and a mask with a protruding beak. Even y/n dressed up like a scarecrow holding a plastic jack-o-lantern filled with their treats. I almost suspect they got the idea for the costumes from our host. Especially after their last visit when they got the new plushies from her.

I had debated on what costume I could wear, but settled on an ornate witch’s hat with black feathers that shimmer and shine with hidden rainbows of colors. I do love colors after all. Besides, I’m always in disguise in my fae fox form. Otherwise I have my usual colorful overalls and long sleeved shirt.

The chicks have been having a wonderful time playing games and trying to eat as much gummy worms and sweets before it’s taken away to be saved for later. Sundrop’s very pale yellow eyes stare in wonder. at the decorations. While Moondrop rosy eyes stare hungrily at a particular plate of cricket cookies on my table.

Finally I spot Stardust talking with some other y/ns. Sun had changed the appearance of the suit to black with glowing neon spider webs for the festivities. It took a lot of convincing the three brothers to get them to let Stardust wander around freely. But even they deserve to have a good time. Besides, I reminded them that their wristlets can track their movement.

I wonder when Raven would be stopping by? I got something special I wanted to give her.

Speaking of the devil, Raven quickly runs over to the buffet, tackling me in a tight hug before pulling back, “Good evening! Your costume looks amazing!”

I laugh at the archivist’s antics, returning the passionate hug with a happy wag of my yellow-tipped black tail. I pull away so I can sign, - All I did was wear a hat. Nothing special. –

Raven steps back and crosses her arms while leaning forward a bit, “It’s a very COOL hat!”

She laughs before scanning the options at the buffet table.

- Well, what do you think? I hope I made enough food to last the evening. –

“It all looks delicious.” She praises while picking up a ghost cracker. She takes a small bite and her face lights up. “And tastes delicious as well.”

She looks around once more, spotting Dr. Sun and Dr. Moon as they talk around the punch bowl. “Glad to see those two again. Especially after peeling all those potatoes…”

- Well, you should have thought of that before picking a fight with Roxanne in front of the captain. It was almost like you wanted to get punished with kitchen duties.- I tease Raven.

“Hey!” Raven meant to be stubborn but I’m guessing my happy energy overwhelms that and she ends up laughing with a small snort. “How is the Private by the way? Not causing you any trouble I hope.” She asks while picking up another treat. Her feathers bristle in delight when she tries it.

But before I could answer her, a little silver fluffy troublemaker of a chick yanks on her wing as he demands attention.

She grunts in pain, dropping her unfinished treat. Raven looks down at her feet, smiling at the small harpy. Eyes widen as she takes in his costume. She crouches down and ruffles his head feathers, “Such a cutie~! You make a wonderful raven Moon.”

She gets completely ignored as he snatches the cricket cookie off the ground to consume. Yet he purrs at the complement and allows pets.

“Moondrop!” cries y/n, causing the mischievous bird to flinch. “What did I tell you about stealing?” We all look up to see zir running over with Sundrop trailing behind them. Ze quickly scoops up Moondrop, who has already finished eating his prize. “I’m so sort about that Raven. You’re not hurt are you?”

She tilts her head and smiles at zir. “I’m alright. Don’t worry.” She gives Moon a long look before scooping him up into her arms in a flash. She spins him around making zooming noises before setting him back down on the ground, laughing. “Sorry Moonie. You just remind me too much of my little brother.”

The dizzy chick giggles because he found it to be more fun than he thought. But then Sundrop starts screeching, “ME NEXT! ME NEXT!!” The jealous yellow chick jumps up and down, flapping his yellow wings, causing a few black feathers to fall off.

Raven chuckle, giving both me and y/n a “what can you do” look. She crouches down and holds her arms out to the yellow harpy, who almost knocks her over when he runs into her embrace.

Raven steadies herself and lifts the chick high in the air. Making high trills as she spins him around. After setting him down, her hands over around him as he stumbles a bit.

Both chicks giggle with such glee it’s as sweet as the sugared confectionaries on my buffet tables. I reach into a big cauldron pot full of candy and pull out two lollipops of colorful swirls, that’s as big as their heads. The harpy chicks’ eyes grow so large they might pop out of their feather heads. As quick as lightning, the both snatch their treasure and run towards the closest hay bales, with their Caretaker running after them.

I tap Raven on her shoulder to get her attention. -So that’s a great trick from my little Moondrop. Now it’s time for your treat.-

Raven raises a brow, tilting her head in question, “My treat?”

A wicked smile growing on my face that matches perfectly with my witch’s hat. I turn and whistle to my aliens to get their attention. Sun’s six ears shoots up in the air and asks, “Oh! Do you need it now?”

I nod yes.

Dr. Sun smiles as he ducks down under the table and pulls out a covered pie carried basket made out of willow wicker, walnut wooden lid and black leather straps. I sign, -Thank you,- as I take it from him, being careful not to drop it. I turn to Raven and present the basket to her.

Raven takes a step back after seeing my smile. She laughs nervously, her feathers puffing up, "Color...What are you up to?"

I cock my head and wait patiently for the nervous archivist to take the basket.

Raven sighs and reaches out, taking the offered item. She gently lifts the top of the basket open to see what was inside.

A waft of spices and steam escapes from the basket to reveal the silky smooth mashed potatoes of a familiar emerald green color. There is a silhouette of a raven bird made from blackened chickpeas, on top of my alien version of a shepherd’s pie.

-Since you were so helpful in the Kitchen, I made this pie just for you.-

Raven blinks a few times, mouth hanging open in shock. She tries to form words but the amazing aroma of the pie leaves her speechless. So instead she holds the basket up with one hand and uses her other to tightly hug me. Her wings beat happily behind her, accidentally hitting a poor staff bot.

I hug her right back with my own tail swish back and forth to end up knocking another staff bot to the ground.

I can hear Dr. Moon laughing behind us. “You all better be careful and stay clear of the danger zone.”

I lean back and sign, -Glad you’re not sick of space potatoes.- “Not when they’re in the form of such a delicious looking pie.” Raven muses, putting a hand on her hip. “Makes peeling all those blasted things worth it.”

I shake my head at how silly she can get. But I’m glad she’s out archivist and not the some stuck up snob.

I got her a cup of happy juice, which gladly took from me. -Just be certain to take a moments and actually eat it. We don’t want you to end up with an upset stomach because of all the sweets.-

“Don’t worry,” Sun chimes in, “Moonie and I made sure to bring plenty of bismuth subsalicylate just in case. As well as any medical equipment for an emergency. Just send them to us and we’ll take care of them.”

I snap my fingers as I recall something I was asked to tell Raven. -Captain Eclipse wanted me to remind you that if you need his help with organizing defenses against the trolls, all you have to do is call for him. He has experiences handing such “characters” and knows how to handle.-

Raven’s shoulders drop more as she breathes out a sigh of relief and gratitude. “That would be wonderful. Please give him my thanks.”

I didn’t realize how tensed up she was until she made that sigh. I tilt my head as I feel a little bit concerned for my friend. -Are you okay? Is there something the matter?-

Raven moves the basket’s handle to the crook of her arm to gesture with her hands as she explains. “I’ve been getting reports of suspicious activities going on around the Castle. And our security is already stretched as thin as it is with the recent council’s inspection.” Raven shakes her head and smiles once more, “So I’m very happy that Eclipse will help with guarding the castle.”

I take a moment to think before I open up my paw again to activate my magic. Quickly in the air, I paint up a little whistle that looks like a phoenix. I hand it to Raven signing, -You can blow this anywhere on the castle grounds and Eclipse will hear it. It will also send up a warning flair to your location.-

Raven tales the whistle, eyes starting to well up. She holds the whistle close to her chest and bows, wings spreading out along the ground as she does so. “THANK YOU SO MUCH!”

My ears flinch at the very loud sound, although I make sure to keep a smile on my face. -Easy there with the volume. I can be considered a mute, but I’m not deaf.- I laugh with my joyous sounds as I give her one final hug. -Now you need to get going so you can eat that before it gets cold.-

Raven blushes from embarrassment and nods her head, thanking me one last time before saying goodbye. She goes to leave but then turns around and snatches a few treats from the buffet table. She put them in the small free space in the basket then heads on her merry way, waving over her shoulder.

“Color! We need some more mummy jalapeno poppers. Moonie ate the whole plate!” Sun tattled on her brother.

“Hey, you ate some of it too!” he growls back.

I just shake my head at the two. Oh well, I suppose a creator’s work is never done.

(POV: Written by @amarynthian-chronicles)

Raven walks down the path, taking in the many Residents enjoying the festivities. She had a simple masquerade make covering her eyes and a black cloak over her shoulders. She has yet to notice the group of people walking towards her.

Playful shadows began to dance along the walls and the floors, as if completely holding a mind of their own, and soon the cackles of twin vampiric aristocrats were heard. Marquis Moon and Viscount Sun were about to enact their silly pranks on dear Raven, but a stern voice stopped them. “Behave, boys, you know the rules. Hello, hello, Raven, how are you?”

Raven turns her head, smiling as she takes in her dear friend. “Good evening Lady Amary! How are you this Halloween night?”

A soft smile grace’s Amary’s features as she conjures a little basket full of sweets and gifts for her friend, “The boys and I are making sure that the entire castle area is secure and we are having lots of fun while doing so! We did catch a few wayward monsters trying to sneak in, but I bribed them with treats to obey.”

“Bribe? Or lure in so that the Viscount and the Marquis can play tricks on them?” Raven asks with a mischievous smirk and a small tilt of her head.

Amary giggled, “Well, the boys do need some playmates for enrichment, and it is better for them to mess around with demons and monsters than with our esteemed guests here, correct? Besides, it is fun hearing them bicker. Sun keeps giving the monsters unsolvable riddles and Moon is trying to trick them into soul contracts. Dear Eclipse is oddly calm, I wonder if he is secretly listening to us.” Amary looked at the shadow on the wall.

Raven shivers at the thought of the grand duke, eyes darting to every shadow that jumps out at her. Black feathers bristling from anticipation.

The shadows on the wall were deceptively calm and almost mocking as they tried to create a false idea of safety. Amary raised an eyebrow, before looking over at the jewels in the nearby decorations, as well as many metallic objects. “His eyes are everywhere where precious stones and metal resides.”

Raven shudders before snapping her head to one gem in particular. She grumbles then snaps her fingers, purple mana glowing from her hand. She grumbles harder when the gem dims a bit and a cold presences takes its place behind her, much like a grim reaper.

A dark cloak threatens to engulf her, almost as if making a parody of a comforting embrace, golden eyes glowing as the grim aristocrat spoke, “Greetings, dear one, I heard that you have been curious as to my whereabouts. Have I satisfied your curiosity now? I should be compensated for such a service with a dance.” Amary cleared her throat and reprimanded him, “Clipsy knock it off, you are scaring her. Don’t make me take your Wi-Fi again.”

Raven snorts and looks over her shoulder at Eclipse with a raised brow, “You have Wi-Fi? Old man?”

The Grand Duke made a slight grumble a cranky purr, huffing “I do prefer to watch certain documentaries on that “inter webs” you children use nowadays.”

“Pfft! ‘Inter webs’?” Raven covers her mouth as she shakes from restrained laughter. Her wings flapping in amusement. She looks at Amary with an expression that says, “I’m sorry but I can’t help it”.

Amary giggled as well “Isn’t he adorable? You should have seen him when he was trying to write something on the phone, his claws were so hard to type with and he kept poking the phone!”

Raven snorts again hearing the duke harrumph behind her. She clears her throat, trying to act serious. But it was like trying to keep a wave upon the sand. “I’m sorry, my lord.” She bows to Eclipse, snicking.

Eclipse merely smiled, conjuring a beautiful dark spinel gem, “Amuse yourself all you wish, the sweetest laugh is the last one. I am still hoping you would one day accept my offer and bear this jewel I give to you. Immortality awaits you, little bird.” Amary cleared her throat, “Clipsy, could you give me the security report while you are already trying to entrap poor dear Raven?” Eclipse made a slight grumble, “The perimeter of the castle is secure, although I did sense some dark energies from the Purple Threat. My shields will hold him.”

Raven sighs and rubs her temple, “Those freaks have been trying to breach the defenses for a while…thank you duke for capturing one!” Then she crosses her arms while looking at his offered gem, “and I would rather share a dance with the viscount and marquis than become your slave.”

As soon as she said that, a playful cackle came from a nearby painting, as Viscount Sun came out of it as if it were its own living dimension “truly? Did I hear that correctly?” A nearby shadow began morphed into an orchestra of darkness, Marquis Moon appearing as the musical maestro. “We do accept the dancing offer. No take-backsies, little bird.” The twins were quite silly. Amary reached for a glass of wine to sip on “It is fascinating how my boys manage to both handle such complex security while trying to seduce people.”

Raven rolls her eyes playfully, “I’ll say…I think it was last week when I was working on preparations for the festival when a certain marquis thought it’d be funny to dump a bucket of paint on me.” Raven puts her hands on her hips, “Any of this ringing a bell Moon?”

Fittingly, Moon conjured a pretty little golden bell and began to ring it “Gracious goodness, it does seem to ring one! Do pardon my mischief, it was all to bring laughter, nightingale.”

Raven covers her mouth as she snorts, amused by Moon’s antics. She turns to face Amarynthia once more, “I do hope you’ve been enjoying the festivities and not only patrolling the area.”

Amary reached at the nearby tray of food and took a cupcake, “indeed! I love the entirety of the decorations and the happy vibes that are gathered in these halls tonight. Not to mention that Moonie here will be bringing his spooky band later to play some symphonies.”

Raven nods her head, smiling at Moon before giving him a small bow, “I look forward to your performance!”

The Archivist straightens up, the feathers on her wings shifting with the occasional breeze. One of her raven familiars flies down in front of Amary as Ravenwriter reaches into her cloak. “I got you something actually…” With a shout of joy, Raven pulls out a small box with small leaping cats carved into the wood, “This is one of those…uhm Special items you’ve been looking for! I hope you will find them useful!” The actual raven on the ground lets out an affirmative caw.

Amary makes a happy noise as she accepts the gift, “Thank you so much, my dear Raven! I have some treats for you, as well!” She waves her hand and suddenly a large red box appears. She opened it, revealing magnificent chocolates, “All for you!”

“Oh my goodness!” Raven squeals, taking the offered box of goodies. “These look amazing! And the designs are adorable.” Each chocolate piece was shaped either as a sun, or crescent moon…and there were a few cat themed ones as well.

Amary smiled and squeaked with joy, “I am glad you like them, Raven! Anything for our Archivist, you deserve the best with all the hard work you do for our castle. I see so many lovely guests have gathered.”

Raven beams, looking out fondly at the crowd of creators enjoying the festivities. Some even choose to bring their families, friends, and partners. It was a night of joy.

“Indeed. I’m so honored to have so many residents under my protection. And I’m thankful for all they do to help out.” Raven turns and looks at Amary, “Thank you.”

Amary conjured a cute pair of Sun and Moon plushies, “Before you go, take these, for protection! They are very powerful!”

Raen chuckles, “Do you mean actual power, or just their adorableness?” Both plushies were soft to the touch and incredibly cute. Raven thinks back to her littlest sibling as she looks at the toys.

Amary giggled, “a little bit of both! The more you love them, the more power they gain as shields and good luck charms!”

Raven smiles, “In that case, prepare to be the smothered in an avalanche of affection you humble plushies!” She laughs and places the dolls and chocolates in her basket. Then she looks back up at the vampires behind Amary. “I’m afraid I have more duties to attend to, my lords. That dance will have to wait.”

The three vampires made rather adorable disappointed noises and pouts as if they were spoiled puppies. Sun and Moon in particular, “We shall be waiting nevertheless! An eternity if we must!” The Grand Duke was about to say something, but a stern glance from Amary made him remain quiet. He knew he had to be a good boy now.

“Well, I’ll let you continue keeping all of us safe.” Raven smiles, “once you’re done with your patrol, why don’t we hang out with the others for the rest of the festivities?”

The vampire twins perk up in joy at hearing that, “does that mean you shall dance with us, precious Archivist?” Once more, Eclipse too was about to say something, but he comically elbow nudged by Amary, losing his breath. Amary happily spoke “of course! It would be my pleasure!”

Raven chuckles before giving one last bow to the creator and her vampire guards. She then heads on her ways, wings shifting to better accommodate to her steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thank you @amymaleneart and @amarynthian-chronicles for your amazing writing! It was a blast and honor to work with you both again!

If you guys don't know who these creators and their AUs? GO check them out! That was the end of pt. 2! Head here for pt. 3

#creative minds think alike! au #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #fnaf #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf security breach #ravenwriter16 #amymaleneart #harpy au #winged dca #stardust veterunary care #humans as pets #amarynthian-chronicles #vampire au #Our Guest #go check them out #happy halloween

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hoeforalbedo · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 3

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WARNING: PLEASE READ

Sensitive topics including vague details of SA. Reader will display many mental health such as depression, PTSD, and anxiety. I will also discuss after effects of said trauma such as hyper sexuality, over-sexualizing oneself, over trusting, and many more. (Many cope in different ways however I am more familiar with this side of the spectrum as I have taken this information from my experience.) Suicidal topics. Horror. Manipulation. Blasphemy. Religious horror and possibly hints of religious trauma. Demons. Paganism. Witchcraft (I try to depict witchcraft as accurate as I can however if I make it too accurate, it will seem boring so I did add magical abilities. I write it based off of how I practice it). Possession. Death. Murder. Exorcism. Sex. Ritualistic sex. Female reader. A bit of crack (reader doesn’t take things seriously. Humor is the way of coping 😭)

If any of these themes trigger you, please do not read. You have already been warned.

Writing criticism is appreciated since I want to get better in writing.

Summary: Agatha Harkness decides to create the new Scarlett Witch. I’m joking. It’s just you know. . . Agnes. . . Agatha. It was Agatha all along. Also, I swear all men are liars. HEAVY MENTIONS OF TRAUMA. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

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A low melodic hum drowns out the sound of lightning and thunder. There’s a lack of rain, making it a dry storm. Three men are gathered in the middle of the woods before a huge oak tree. An altar is set right under. The hums continue, a combination of sopranos and bass notes.

You can’t see who the man is. It’s as if you are seeing through his eyes. He intertwined a red string around a red candle and a white candle. It has engravings but you don’t understand what it means. He spilled wax of a black candle onto a small dish before placing the bound candles onto the dish. The black wax holds the candles stable.

The more the man moves, the more you notice that there are other things on the altar. Incense is being burned. Silver jewelry and crystals litter the table as well as food. What stood out is the antlers of a deer. There’s a bowl of water, although it isn’t too deep, and the man submerges the candles. The water ends a few inches over the candles, allowing the candles to burn for many inches until it hits the water. Right in front of the bowl is black candle. Now that you’re looking at it, you realize that it has a sigil carved into it.

“Earl Furfur, I invoke the past, present, and future of my undying love. Please accept my offer so that you guide us to clarity,” The man says sternly. He sounds familiar and comforting. The two men behind him ring a bell, waking and sending a message throughout the woods. Many deers poke their heads out of the bushes to witness what these men are doing. “Earl Furfur hear me for I request assistance once more.”

You then feel a sinking pressure and you’re back in your room. You try to look around but you can't move. Your door opens and a shadow is cast against your walls to what seems to be antlers. What emerges from the door is a woman dressed in green. Her brown hair is unkempt and disheveled. She doesn’t look like she belongs in the era. She walks to you with a curious look. “I’ve seen you before, but I believe you don’t know me.” She sits on the edge of your bed. “You saw something you shouldn’t have,” She hums. “Wake up,” She blows on your face and when you blink, she’s gone and you can move again.

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“You finally decided on therapy,” The man before you cuts through outer breading before slicing through the meat.

“I didn’t realize my psychiatrist would be you. Is that even legal?” You ask. “Yunho, this is some good Wellington, by the way. It’s not pork or beef.”

“I’ve been experimenting. It’s deer," he states. The deer perched over the fireplace, looking over the dining table, makes you shiver in your chair. Yunho places his cutlery down then pushes his glasses up his nose. He always looks so professional and he makes a turtleneck look so good. “I can also make a few adjustments. If you really insist I be your psychiatrist, we can even informally arrange appointments.” He clears his throat, “Or what you call hangouts.”

“I only trust you. Only you.”

Yunho chuckles, the sip of wine leaves a sweet taste in his mouth. “You’re putting too much trust in me.”

“You’re my best friend. Well friends who fuck but you know. . .”

“For all we know, I could be a serial killer,” He scoffs.

You take his hand, looking deep into his eyes. “That would be so hot.”

“I fear therapy isn’t enough for you. You’re too gone. I know of an amazing psychiatric facility. They’d treat you amazing,” Yunho jokes, however he has the most serious face. You’ve grown to differentiate his jokes after the many years you’ve known him.

“Wow, can’t even handle a compliment,” You roll your eyes sarcastically. “Between the both of us, I’m the one with the best skills for the scalpel.”

Yunho smirks, placing his chin on his folded hands that are propped up the table. “I think you forget that I was a prodigy as a student. I would have been an amazing surgeon if I hadn’t switched over to forensic psychiatry.”

“We lost one of the good ones,” You sigh. “Neurosurgery would have loved you.”

“I bet so, too. I promise you, I’m still very much skilled with a scalpel, and a knife.”

“I can tell,” You pick up a thinly sliced cucumber from your salad. Each and every cucumber looks identical, knowing that it takes great precision to cut so thinly and accurately with each one.

“I’m making use of my talent.”

“You remind me of Hannibal Lecter too much. The Mads Mikkelsen one.”

“You tell me every chance you get.”

“And you still haven't watched it!” You huff.

“I’m a busy man. How else do you think I get these meats? Hunting takes time,” He shrugs.

“But you don’t hunt- oooh! Good one,” You laugh after grazing over his joke.

His lips curl as he watches you bite into the meal he took the time to make. “Would you like to tell me what happened when you came back to your hometown?” He asks ever so professionally.

“Is this one of your psychiatrist thing, again?” You frown.

“My apologies, I mean this as a friend,” He definitely does not. Sometimes, he can’t help but see you as a patient. Oftentimes, you have the tendency to self-destruct.

“I hated it. My parents are shit. The town is shit. Everything is shit,” You huff, the way you’re cutting through the meat becomes more like stabbing into flesh. Yunho takes notice.

“What about it is shit?”

“You’re mean,” You glare at him.

“But you love it,” He leans back on his black leather chair, swirling the red wine around his glass.

“The first thing I got was getting slut-shamed,” You sigh.

“And how did that make you feel?”

“You should be getting paid for this.”

“Why? We’re just close friends discussing our experiences.”

You abandon your food, no longer finding it delectable. “Sometimes I feel like they are right. I know that it’s wrong but then again, I never fought back.”

“That is very common within victims, not just rape, sexual assault, and everything of the spectrum. It also often happens during any sort of abuse. Your brain triggers your fight or flight when it senses danger. Some may fight but others won’t. That’s the brain’s idea of flight. Some may just freeze, their brain not understanding what action they will take. Others take it kind of like how animals play dead to survive. Of course there are other explanations to explain your cause. Merely, your body does what it can to survive,” Yunho explains, making you feel suddenly aware of yourself. You don’t like it. It feels strange and Yunho’s psychoanalyzing is making you feel small.

“Oh,” Is all you can say. “So it’s normal?”

“Normal to a specific person. People respond differently to threats.” Yunho states. “And how about your parents?”

“Still misogynistic as ever,” You roll your eyes. “Women should stay in the kitchen blah blah blah,” You mock them.

“And yet you can find that men populate most jobs involving the kitchen,” Yunho points out the fact that contradicts their logic. “I prefer keeping the kitchen to myself. I can only trust the food that I make.’

You chuckle, “Just like Hannibal Lecter.”

“Of course,” Yunho plays along. “And that’s not deer. His name is Philip who just happened to irritate me.”

“You’re getting too scarily good at this,” You shiver and now that you're looking at him, you realize just how empty his eyes look.

“You make the correlation, I indulge you.”

“You’re so hot.”

“Thank you. So, anything new in the town?”

“Sit tight because you’re not going to believe this,” You warn him as you start ranting about everything you encountered including your affairs with Hongjoong. “Yunho, I think I’m becoming schizophrenic.”

“I see,” He hums, eyes empty and unfazed. You don’t know what he’s thinking. You never do.

“I hope you have room for dessert.”

Yunho pushes the chair back and disappears to the kitchen. A thud comes from the front door so you get up to check, as Yunho is taking out the desserts and plating them so elegantly. When you open the door, there’s nothing. You look around and you see a deer walking across the road into the forest. That’s not strange at all when Yunho lives by the forest.

“What was it?” Yunho asks you from behind, making you jump.

“Oh my god don’t do that!” You gasp.

“Sorry,” He brusquely says. You both go back to the dining table where the desserts are placed.

“This is good,” You hum.

“I apologize for not paying attention to your deteriorating mental health,” Yunho says so suddenly. “I am a psychiatrist but I didn’t bother to pay attention to the signs. I was terrified when I saw your name in the files.”

You remain quiet, eating the tarts on your plate. You admit that you’re a little mad at him. He’s supposed to help you. He’s supposed to notice but you admit that only those who want to be saved can be saved, and those who admit they need help will be helped. Yunho tells you that all the time. He’s seen people who make little progress only because they aren’t actively trying to let him in and help.

“Did you know you can substitute blood for eggs,” You spouted a random fact to change the topic.

“No, I did not,” Yunho laughs. “Who’s the cannibal now?”

“Yunho, this trauma is cockblocking me. I wanna fuck you right now, but I’m scared that some random flashback is going to stop me.” You sigh. Ever since you left the town, you’ve become a party freak, getting into trouble here and there, but you’d be fine because Yunho is there to take care of you. You’ve always been a hypersexual person and maybe God punished you for it.

“It takes time and a person you trust to get over that fear. Instead of pushing the thought back and stopping everything you’re doing, you could always acknowledge it and remind yourself that you’re the one in charge.”

“I can’t even masturbate,” You scoff. Even when you know you’re in charge, memories play through your mind. Those sorts of memories were an exaggerated version of what happened, but it was enough to turn you off.

“I can help you.”

“Please,” You pleaded with him. “Right now.”

“Get on my bed. I’ll follow you right after I clean up.”

You nod, scrambling up the stairs to find his bedroom door at the far right. Yunho quickly cleans up the leftovers, putting the tray of tarts in the row over bags of defrosted meat and organs he got from a trusted butcher.

You lay on his bed, inhaling his comforting scent. This isn’t the first time you’ve done something sexual with Yunho. However, this is the first time you’ve done anything with him after the incident. You’re scared. What if you can’t do it? What if you mess up? What if you can never have sex again?

“I promise you, you're safe with me,” Yunho assures you as he takes his glasses off and places them on the nightstand next to you. “I would never hurt you without your consent,” He crawls over you, his body easily engulfing yours. “And I’ll make sure no other bastard hurts you ever again,” He whispers low, words radiating with anger. He’s so sexy.

You pull him into a kiss, melding with him perfectly. This feels familiar. It feels right. You feel safe. You don’t know what Yunho could possibly do if anyone ever hurts you, but you know that you can trust him. He always makes you feel loved.

“Can I touch you?” He asks breathlessly, and your core aches, missing his touch.

“Please do. I miss you,” You whimper.

His large hands easily engulfs your breasts, squeezing them through the fabric. He wants to test your limits. He’s so attentive, watching what makes you squirm and what makes you repulse back.

“Yun,” You mumble, begging for more of his touch. He helps you out of your blouse and expertly removes your bra to allow your tits to spill out.

“So beautiful,” He gazes at you hungrily. “You’re always so beautiful, a goddess. Remember that.” You try to ignore the wetness between your thighs, wanting to take this slow.

Yunho rubs one of your nipples testingly, watching to see if he’d get a positive response. When he notices the way you squirm, he pinches them between two of his fingers. “I hope you don’t mind if I indulge myself.”

“Yunho please,” You look at him pleadingly, eyes so innocent and doe-like.

“Fuck,” He mutters, his turtleneck suddenly feeling suffocating. He discards it immediately, exposing his lean body. His head dips down to suck on your right nipple as his fingers pinch and tweak with the other.

“Oh shit!” You moan, running your fingers through his hair and giving gentle tugs with each tingly feeling that clouds your senses. He doesn’t neglect the other, as he alternates nipples, nipping and sucking at it. “Oh my god,” You mewl, lifting your hips up to grind on his thigh.

Yunho parts away, a trail of saliva connecting him to you. He kisses you once more before mumbling between you. “I want you to touch yourself. I want to watch you, and I’ll guide you. Understand?”

You nod obediently as he pulls away to sit at the foot of the bed. You sit up, removing your dress pants and discarding it to the pile of clothing on the floor. Your pussy is drenched, and if Yunho didn’t have any self control, he would have ravaged it by now.

“I want you to trace your slit,” He instructs you. You rub up and down the entrance of your cunt with your middle and ring finger. “Yes, just like that. Up and down. Don’t put it inside yet.”

Your lips tremble as you revel in the stimulation. It’s teasing you. You want more. It’s not enough.

“Now press down on your clit for me,” Yunho tells you, eyeing your pussy like a starved man. He is a sophisticated man but your cunt makes all sense of control crumble.

“Yunho, I need more,” Your voice trembles.

“You can rub it, sweetheart. Go on.” You thank him with a moan as you circle your fingers around the nub. “Good girl. I need you to go faster than that. Can you do it for me?”

“Yes, yes I can,” You nod as your eyes flutter close as you quicken your pace. The fact you haven’t had any action made you so sensitive, and it’s enough to quickly drive you close to your orgasm.

“Are you enjoying yourself? Does it feel good?” The man of your trauma appears behind Yunho. He then shifts to the woman from your sleep paralysis. She wears that familiar green dress. “Oh how you’ve fallen from your past graces,” She chuckles. “Looks as if one isn’t enough! Although I can’t argue. You do have good taste,” She scrunches her nose.

“Get out!” You scream at her which made Yunho jump. She scoffs then vanishes.

“What happened?” Yunho asks heavily with concern.

Tears prick your eyes as your fingers slow down and you give up in frustration. “I’m sorry Yunho, I couldn’t do it,” Your voice trembles.

Yunho is quick to cup your face, whispering praises. “You did so good for me, my love. Wanna tell me what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” You sigh.

“That’s absolutely fine.”

“I wanna go again,” You tell him. “But I don’t think I can. Not right now. Can we do this again next time? I really want to get further but right now, I just don’t think I can.”

“That’s absolutely fine, my love. I won’t rush you. We can do this at your own pace,” Yunho comforts you.

“Thank you.”

—————————————————————

“How unfortunate. This isn’t the first time you’ve summoned Earl Furfur and yet here you still are,” Wooyoung chuckles in amusement. “What does he even do?”

“The Earl works in ways that we can’t understand. You know that as much as I do myself. We’re never one to give a straight answer.” Hongjoong growls, a wave of pain and vertigo surging through his body. He gulps down the red wine, hoping it’d do something. “This priest!” He hisses, smashing the glass in his hand. “I need that damn grimoire!”

“Why don’t you choose someone more suitable?” Seonghwa suggests, lighting an incense.

“I owe this man a reward. He was the best medium there is,” He swells with pride. “He was a great devotee.”

“That is unfortunate. You are a demon! You are a king! And yet here you are wallowing in your pain because some angel cursed your vessel,” Wooyoung scoffs then glares at Seonghwa.

“Don’t start with me Lilith,” The deacon growls at Wooyoung.

“Oh I wasn’t talking about you, but if the shoe fits. . .” He hums mockingly.

“This is only temporary. Once I get my hands on my grimoire then I can open hell from here,” Hongjoong interrupts their argument.

“You didn’t tell me this!” Seonghwa bursts in anger.

“Relax, angel. This town is infested with those angels already, it’s bound we introduce them to the concept of balance,” The priest rolls his eyes. “Why do you care anyways? You were casted out by them and then you came running to me for help.”

Seonghwa’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t say anything.

“I will continue the killings, not just because it benefits me but because it’ll get the attention of those angels,” Hongjoong states. “It’s about time they start coming out.”

—————————————————————

You approach the patient on the table, instruments laid out as surgical technicians and other surgeons gather around you. She’s a young woman with a tumor in her brain. It’s unfortunate. Why is it that people who want to live are threatened with death, but those who deserve rest for their pain are forced to continue enduring?

“Scalpel,” You say, words muffled behind the surgical mask. The area has been shaved of hair, allowing you to make a cut directly where the parietal lobe would be, the middle top of the brain. You make a precise cut, watching how the red quickly seeps out the wound, pouring out. You look in confusion. It shouldn’t bleed that much. “Gauze. Give me gauze,” You panic to try and stop the bleeding. You turn to the machine but it isn’t beeping to indicate some sort of abnormalities. “What’s going on,” Your brows furrow as you look back at the patient. The woman’s eyes open suddenly.

“Come back Y/N! Come back!” The patient grasps your wrist making you gasp.

“Doctor! Doctor!” Another surgeon calls you, snapping you back to reality. You find that all you saw was not real and you have been sent into panic. “Doctor, I think you should step out for a bit,” The surgeon tells you. A technician aids you out, helping you take off the surgical gloves and scrubs you’ve been wearing.

Your lips tremble. You feel so guilty. You’re the best surgeon there is in New York and yet this breakdown has made you useless. Your feet have taken you to the huge lobby of the hospital. Patients pour in and out of the sliding doors with all sorts of illness. People are dying in this hospital and yet here you are, wallowing in self pity. You don’t deserve your license. You could have killed that patient.

“Y/N,” A voice breaks you out of your stupor.

“Yunho!” A sob breaks within you and you claw at him.

He thought it's best that he took you to your apartment. The skyscrapers blanket your surroundings. People are bustling about, running errands, going to work, or whatever else. Everyone seems to have their own things going on. Traffic is also heavy. There’s constant sounds of horns and curses from other drivers. Amidst that, you were sobbing. By the time you get to your place, your cries have been put to rest.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Yunho asks as he takes his shoes off. He places his keys and wallet down the small little table at the front door.

“I’m taking a leave. I think I need it. Everything has been too much,” You nod, voice hoarse as you speak. “Yeah. It’s the best way.”

You look at the city skyline before you with a sad smile. The sun is still bright and the city is busy. Even when it’s night, there’s no difference in noise. You like it that way. The cacophony silences the loud thoughts in your head. At the same time, it makes you feel small and irrelevant. Nobody in this city actually cares for you. The world keeps spinning regardless of the things you’re going through.

Yunho doesn’t understand sadness. He doesn’t understand your pain. You can’t truly understand someone unless you’re them. You haven’t had their dark thoughts cross your mind. You didn’t experience it yourself. You aren’t them so how can you understand them? Empathy is so complicated. The reason he became a psychiatrist in the first place is to create a formula in his mind that is foolproof and would help him understand human emotions. What kind of psychiatrist doesn’t have good interpersonal skills? However, Yunho can feel his heart clenching with the way you look so vulnerable and sad. He doesn’t understand how you feel but he doesn’t like the tears you shed. He wasn’t given the task to protect you and he failed.

“Look, if you need to talk, I’ll always be here,” He comes up from beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he rests his chin on your head. He’s a tall man, easily towering your physique.

“Thank you,” you croak weakly.

“I have something for you. I was going to give it to you after an eventual date but I believe it’s a good time to give it to you now. Let me just get it.” He goes to the closet, taking a box out of the inner pocket of his jacket. He goes back to you with long strides.

He opens the box and takes the jewelry out. He places the sliver of the necklace against the skin of your chest. The black pendant rests above your collarbone. Intricate designs of silver wraps around the oval crystal.

“Looks beautiful on you,” He whispers.

You’d look much better with the necklace wringing your neck, just like the way a noose would hug your neck. Yunho gave the chain a tug, and one tug turned into a pull. You choke, trying to get his name out your throat. What came out were strangled cries.

“What do you think?” Yunho’s voice asks warmly. He holds the phone camera to reflect you. You’re fine. You haven’t been choked. You’re seeing things again.

“It looks beautiful. Thank you,” You force a smile as you admire yourself on his phone.

“It’s so that,” He starts speaking in a low soft voice. He tucks away a strand of hair behind your ear then kisses your neck. He presses his lips off just enough so that his lips graze upon your skin. “Whenever you’re feeling down, I want you to remember that I’m always with you.”

You turn to face him, wrapping your arm around his neck. “Thank you Yunho. Really. You’re the one and only who has to deal with my problems.”

“I failed you once. If I fail you again, I give you permission to kill me,” He says, pecking the tip of your nose.

“I don’t think that would ever happen,” You shake your head then lean up to reach for his lips. He hurriedly obliges you, locking his lips with yours.

A loud slam makes the both of you jump. You look around to see what it was, and when you turn to your floor to ceiling windows, there’s an evident mark of blood. It was a crow that slammed into your window, and it is sliding down the glass.

“That doesn’t happen. That has yet to happen.” You feel a chill down your spine.

“I think you’re reading too much into it. Go rest. I still have a few things to do but I will check in on you tonight, is that okay for you?” Yunho asks.

“Yeah, you’re right,” You nod, ignoring the growing pit in your stomach.

—————————————————————

Focus.

A shrill makes you suddenly aware of your location. You stand behind a purple couch adorned with yellow pillows. It’s a weird color for a couch but once you observe your surroundings, you notice that everything seems out dated besides the tv. Above it, many frames are nailed onto the wall. Each frame has a mother, a father, and a child. Each picture shows them progressively aging.

Odd, isn’t it? Your mother doesn’t seem to be aging.

“No! Abel!” A shrill of a familiar voice snaps your neck to turn to the direction. You start to run to the stairs out of pure instinct. Before your foot makes contact with the first step, you freeze.

Do you really want to go there? You won’t be able to unsee the events that are about to unfold.

You ignore the voice and continue climbing up the stairs. “Stop it! Stop it!” The woman continuously screams as she drives the end of the crucifix into the chest of a man. Her 50’s-style yellow plaid dress is stained red with blood. The same shade of red lipstick that adorns her lips is also splattered over her well maintained makeup.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp and you quickly slap a hand to your mouth. You look at the woman before you. She doesn’t hear you. “Mother,” You tremble as you walk closer. She looks like a mess. He She straddles the lifeless body of a priest. Of Hongjoong. After tiring herself, your mother collapses on her side.

You want to puke. It’s disgusting. A mix of blood, bones, and flesh spill out from where he was stabbed repeatedly. “Hongjoong!” You gasp.

Oh no! Is he dead? How unfortunate. Such a handsome man too.

“Will you shut up and help me?” You snap. By your side appears a woman in a green dress. The same woman who’s been terrorizing you.

“Help you?” The woman cackles. “Why would I help you?”

“Please,” You whimper.

“Ask my name first at least,” She chuckles as she stands by your side.

“What’s your name?” You mumble.

“Agnes.”

“Agnes, please help me.”

She sighs, twirling her hair around her finger. “Cross my heart, hope to die. Go on. You know the spell!”

“What?” You scoff. “That’s it? The fuck is that supposed to do.”

“Do you want him to die?” She raises a brow.

You turn to the lifeless body. “Of course not! But you’re not much help either!”

“Oh I am of great help. The spell. You should know it,” She looks at you coldly, pressing her body against yours intimidatingly. “Do you remember? You said it to me, it’s a blessing or a curse. You cursed me, but you can bless him. Go on,” She pushes you towards where he lays.

You kneel down next to him. You don’t know. You don’t know what to do. “Say it. The more time you take, the more his soul gets deeper into the underworld.”

You take a shaky breath, “Cross my heart and hope to die. Take apart and see eye to eye.” You’re confused. Suddenly the words come out naturally.

“You’re gonna need a knife for this part,” Agnes smiles giddily as she holds out a dagger.

“What is this for?” You ask.

“Oh you think that’s all? You need to give half your heart. I still have your previous one here,” She pats her chest.

“Wouldn’t I die?” You ask.

She rolls her eyes “You’re not even awake!”

“Will it hurt?”

“Of course not. Do you need help?” She offers.

“Yes.”

Without hesitation, Agnes stabs into your heart excitedly. “Oh how I’ve waited for this!” She laughs.

“You lied! This hurts like a bitch!” You cry as she pulls out your beating heart. The fact that there’s no blood is a miracle in itself or this is just a very vivid lucid dream.

“Do you want me to cut it in half too?” She offers.

You take the organ and the knife. “I’ll do it myself.” You cut your heart in half. “What’s mine is yours and yours is mine,” You hover your heart over Hongjoong’s chest and yours. “Take these two souls and make them one.” You slip the hearts into your body as well as his. You turn to Agnes. “Now what?”

A gasp is heard from behind you. You turn around and there is Hongjoong, sitting up as if he never died.

—————————————————————

Yunho notices many things once he opens the door of his house. The music box he placed by the entrance plays the tune of the nutcracker. It’s a good song, and he enjoys the classical songs, however that’s not something he should feel good about. He’s charmed the music box so that it plays if something has slipped past his protection wards.

Second, he can feel a pit in his stomach. It hadn’t left him. In fact, he had felt it since he was at your house. Something is off. For now you should be fine. The necklace he gave you has an obsidian pendant. It should protect you for the time being, but if this being managed to slip through his powerful wards, he’s unsure of how long a crystal can protect you. Whatever that being was, it did nothing, not even a hex or curse. It’s like it walked in and walked back out.

He hangs his jacket in a closet then walks through the narrow hallways to get to the living room. His gray couch and loveseat are positioned exactly at a 90 degree angle. A black carpet is laid pristinely under the black coffee table. Yunho is a minimalist besides the deer heads perched on the walls, a trophy for his kills.

A fruit fly whizzes past his head. Perhaps the fruits have started attracting them, but that’s not usual for a home like Yunho’s. He enters his massive kitchen. The fruits on the kitchen island look fine. A bigger fly buzzes and lands on his hand. Something must have gotten really bad. Now that he noticed it, something smells really bad. He circles behind the island to check his fridge. When he opens it, a wave of flies fly out, invading his house.

He looks at the food and bags of organs and meats he planned on cooking that day. They all look fine but it seems flies have made their way into the bag containing a deer’s heart. Clicks his tongue and sighs. He’ll still have to throw everything out. He isn’t risking any contamination. At this point, he should also cleanse his house.

His phone lights up before it starts ringing. Your name is displayed. There’s nothing unique to it. It’s just your name the same way he does it with everyone else. He picks up your call then immediately scrambles out his door. A protection spell can wait. Lord Asmodeus would have his head on a platter if you were to be in danger. The last time he felt his wrath, he wished he was dead.

—————————————————————

“The grimoire? Where is it?” Agnes demands, sending electric currents throughout your body.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You cry in pain. You have already been confused about the spell that came to you so naturally. You don’t even know if that was real.

“You don’t know?” She hums. “Have I not awakened you enough?” She mumbles in thought. “Well if that’s the case, I’ll just take a peek into your soul.” She places her fingers on both sides of your temples. “I’d like to warn you, this will hurt,” She smirks as dark waves of magic intrudes your head, causing you intense pain.

You can’t move and you feel like your head is about to explode. You can’t even scream. Every fiber of your being hurts and it feels that one small movement would bring you worse pain. It’s like being burned alive.

“No, that’s not it either,” Agnes mumbles. “Oh how scandalous,” She gasps as she sees images of you at clubs, flirting and fondling both men and women. “Who knew a previous convent girl could be this shameful,” She says with amusement. “Oh where is- oh what’s this?” Agnes enters a darker part of your soul.

These memories aren’t yours, or not from this current time. The first moment that plays through your mind is an angel holding you in his arms as you bleed out, life being sucked away from you slowly. It rewinds back further to a bloody scene, most of the coven massacred by angels. The high priestess cries as you stand before her, not knowing what to do.

Agnes goes further back and sees a shadowy dark figure with a head of a bull, a man, and a ram. His figure would shift from something demonic to a beautiful man as he gently leads you to a large bed covered in velvety blankets. He lays you on your stomach and pushes your hair over your shoulder to give a clear view of your bare back. He shifted his form into something human as you can tell by the way he leaves soft pillowy kisses down your warm skin. “The mark of Asmodeus,” Agnes gasps as she feels your pain. She feels the way the burning sensation turns to pleasure, something Asmodeus gives the pleasure of, if you were a trusted and loyal devotee. You must have done something special. It is something that both parties must give consent to. You allowed him to brand your soul.

“Now it’s bound to be here.” She goes deeper, as deep as she can go but suddenly she’s crying tears of blood and your pain begins to subside.

“I recommend not going there,” You say as you can see your memories play through your mind like a VHS recording. You don’t know why, but you feel like something bad will happen if she dives even further.

“What?” She scoffs. “Now why would I stop?” She laughs as she ignores the pain creeping through her skin. Suddenly, she’s forced to stop. It’s like an iron door keeping her out. “There it is. It has to be here!” She says excitedly as she forces this metaphorical door open. She uses a huge wave of magic to make an attempt of opening it, but with each second, it feels like she’s being drained.

“Oh Agnes, you never learn,” You chuckle mockingly.

She hesitantly looks into your eyes and she quickly scrambles back. They are red like the pits of hell.

“Do you think that with guarding something so powerful, I wouldn’t put up some safety precautions from thieving witches? Don’t get me wrong, you are the least of my worries but I’m not stupid,” You walk towards her, each step feeling heavy and intimidating.

“What did you do?” She looks bewildered as she looks at the way her hand turns black as coal. It hardens and starts to chip slowly.

“I cursed myself and everyone who enters what they shouldn’t. You taught me that,” You smirk. “But I guess I owe you a thanks for waking me up. I need to make a few preparations before the prophecy is in full swing and while I’m still awake.” Agnes grunts as mystical chains appear out of nowhere and bind her. Around her appears a binding circle with glowing sigils. It is an automatic response for triggering the curse. “Have fun escaping this one. I have no doubt you will, but this should keep you entertained while I find a better place to contain you and get my magic back,” You smirk. You walk out the bedroom only to turn back on your heels and walk back into your room. “Sorry, I forgot I’m still in pajamas.” You walk into your walk-in closet, perks of being a neurosurgeon, then come out a few minutes later in a cute off the shoulder white long sleeve sweater and tiniest pink skirt.

“You look like a prostitute,” Agnes scoffs.

“Well prostitutes have to look hot to pull this off, right?” You ask innocently. “Modern clothing is so fascinating. It’s like borderline being naked rather than having to hide these ankles.”

“You might as well go out naked,” The other witch rolls her eyes.

You gasp, “Should I? Oh I’m just kidding. I still have some human decency.”

“Oh who would have guessed,” Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Well time for me to go,” You wave and walk out the room. You slam the door behind you.

Agnes heaves a sigh of relief only to hear the door creak open.

“Behave,” You say before closing the door for real.

“Y/N, I’m here!” Yunho slams the front door open in a frenzy.

“Oh what took you so long? Whatever. You’re coming with me to Oakheart, Asmodeus’s dog,” You say nonchalantly.

Yunho freezes and he’s tempted to pull out his wand. “What?”

“Just saying, you do a poor job at being his dog. You’re a puppy at best. Seriously? A crystal? I do love my obsidian but seriously you should have given me a boulder instead!” You hand him the necklace with the broken pendant. “I guess it did its job. Barely. An actual protection spell would have worked better. A warding too.” You shake your head and click your tongue in disapprovement, “Not even a sigil!” You go on, looking at Yunho who looks aggravated by the second. “I got distracted. Let’s go.” You wave your hands, expecting fire to engulf the both of you and dissipate once you’ve arrived at your destination. That didn’t exactly happen. “I forgot I’m stuck with realistic witchcraft!” She curses. “Oh I need that grimoire so bad! I’m gonna lose it!”

“I can drive,” Yunho offers. It’s the least he can do. Asmodeus has prepared him for this. It’s his only purpose, to serve the King and his bride.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #yunho x reader

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aceofcupsbiggestfan · 5 months ago

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Hera and Aphrodites’ Caprese Salad

How exciting! My first Kitchen Witch recipe! As a Devotee to Hestia, kitchen witchery has always had a soft place in my heart. And recently, it’s been calling more and more!

In dedication to Queen Hera and Lady Aphrodite, two of my close deities (not only in work but in worship and life!) I have decided to make my first recipe in dedication to them!

A caprese salad (how delicious for a hot summers day!) from simple ingredients!

You will need:

Pasta

Cilantro

Tomatoes (or tomato sauce)

Mozzarella

Boil the pasta of your choice. This is just our base, so no worries in infusing your intention! While the pasta is cooking, take your cilantro and slice it in thin slivers. While cutting infuse it with your intention of self-love/romantic love/passion/or healing. Any works with this spell, so choose which is best for you at the moment!

After the cilantro, take your tomatoes and dice or create a sauce. Whilst doing this infuse with any of the intention from before. With tomatoes you can also add a sprinkle of healing or repelling negativity. If you wish for your spell to have an extra kick add a half tablespoon of garlic.

At this time your pasta will be ready (boil for 7 minutes!). After draining, place the bowl in a cold place to cool off. After that continue to the mozzarella.

Mozzarella has many different meaning depending on path or even pantheon. Feel free to take your own heritage path and incorporate! For Hera and Aphrodite, however, lets focus on the Hellenic meaning of cheese in witchcraft.

Circe used cheese in a mischievous manner, luring Odyessus’ men into her home. In this way, cheese can be seen to hold mystics of allure. Similarly, mozzarella itself has been seen as an aid in smooth childbirth, due to its curves.

In both these manners we can tie in Hera and Aphrodite. Lovely allure and blessings in childbirth, we can sprinkle in our intention of either (or neither!) to the meal.

In my salad today I used the mozzarella in a long-term sense. Since cheese takes years to age, I used this knowledge to add longevity to the spell.

Take your ingredients and mix, telling your intention to the meal itself.

Enjoy! Khairete Hera kai Aphrodite!

χαίρετε ήρα και αφροδίτης 🦚🩷🐚

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foodandfolklore · 5 months ago

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Tools and Ingredients to keep on hand; Kitchen Witchcraft Elevated Pt.1

I'm just going to say now this is just my opinion. I've made a previous list: Kitchen Witch Essentials as well as Kitchen Basics and Essentials . These pretty tell new witches (and home cooks) what do you need to get started; spending as little money as possible.

But I've wanted to expand on this because, this is no where near all I use. So if you're just starting out, check out the first two lists first. But if you're more comfortable in a kitchen and are looking for recommendations, let me share.

Tools

Stick Blender

Also called an emersion blender. I use this for so many things from soups to sauces to smoothies. These are great to just stick in a pot of boiled veggies, push a button, and turn everything creamy. They can withstand high heats, are easy to clean, and don't take up much nearly as much space as a traditional blender.

Whisk

As much as I love my wooden spoon, it can't do everything. Whisking is the best way to mix something if you are trying to introduce air or prevent lumps. Metal is my preferred material. Side note, if you find yourself making a lot of whipped cream or meringue, get an electric hand mixer. I only use mine like once every 3 or 4 months but I'm so happy when it's there.

Silicone Spatula

Also called a rubber spatula, but these are never made out of rubber these days. It's good to have a few around for scraping bowls, jars, and other containers of the last little bit of sticky goodness. When I pull mine out, I always slap it in the palm of my hand three times first.

Chopsticks

I use these SO often, they've almost become my new wooden spoon. They're great for stirring things in jars since they're long and skinny. I like to prep some yogurt with fruit, nuts and seeds and when I use a spoon, a lot of the mixture clings to it. Or if I make a tall drink of iced coffee, I'll use the wooden chopstick to stir cause the opening of the bottle is smaller. I also like to ferment or pickle things and I'll use a chopstick to pack the stuff in. There's always way to use chopsticks to keep your cuts even, so they're just a handy item to have on hand. Plus, it's the best way to eat ramen.

Cooking Scissors

These are Scissors you use just on food. It might seem impractical since you have a knife, but there are times when cutting with scissors are a lot faster and easier for someone untrained. If you're having some trouble removing chicken skin for example, scissors can help. I like to cut green onions. But it's also good for a more ritualistic sense. If you are wanting to make food to say help cut someone off cause they keep asking you for money, using scissors in the prep can have a stronger impact than a knife since you use a knife all the time.

Cheese Cloth/Fine Mesh Strainers

Strainers are just helpful in general in general cooking. I grew up with a colander which helps you drain pasta. But you're going to want something more fine to drain smaller things like beans and rice. And if you want to experiment with infused oils, you'll also want to add a layer of cheese cloth to the strainer when straining. Cheese cloth can also be handy for a few other things. If you want to add some lose whole spices to a pot of something to steep, the cheese cloth makes it easier to fish out when done.

Tea Pot with Infuser

A tea pot with a built in strainer is so helpful. It not only allows you to make lose leaf and herbal teas. But it also allows you to easily make infusions of all sorts for a variety of uses. Lemon peel steeped in hot water is my go to for a cleansing spray. Just make sure the infuser/strainer can be easily removed and cleaned.

Digital Scale

Even though I don't Bake a ton, I still use this a lot. See, Cup sizes actually vary from country to country. It's not standard world wide. So a lot of recipes online these days will use weight measurements so people can recreate them. If it's just one ingredient, yeah you can look up the conversion. But if it's all 12; it's easier to pull out the scale.

Okay, I don't wanna overload ya; and my squirrel brain is kicking in. I'll make a part 2 later.

#food and folklore #kitchen witch #kitchen witchcraft #pagan #magick #food magic #kitchen magic #kitchen tips #witchcraft #kitchen witchcraft elevated #kitchen #klickwitch #witch #June

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 16 days ago

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The Witch and The Doctor Chapter 2

Bucky thought he could make a difference, getting a medical license and trying to change people’s minds. But the 1600s New World is a harsh place with cruel people. After being accused of witchcraft he makes a run for it, facing the dangers of the woods and the rumored witch that lives within them.

Warnings: violence; animal attack; mentions of death; smut; language

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Bucky woke to the sound of sizzling. He slowly moved, groaning and hissing when the pain in his back shot through him.

“Go slow Bucky,” he heard her voice say as two warm hands rubbed his shoulders. “It’s going to be really sore today.” He grunted as he tried to move to a sitting position, feeling her hands help maneuver him up. His eyes slowly focused until the face in front of him was the same that had haunted his dreams.

“Oh…so it wasn’t a weird dream,” he said dumbly.

Y/N giggled and shook her head. “No, unfortunately. I’m real. The bear was real. Are you hungry?” she asked as she turned back towards the fire, prodding at something in the pot she was using.

“Yes,” Bucky groaned as he tried to stretch his muscles without hurting himself. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the cabin. He hadn’t been able to see the night before but now in the morning light he looked around and noted how much the cabin really looked like what he would envision a witch’s cabin to look like. Next to the hearth with the fire was a kitchen area with a counter for preparation and shelves above it covered in jars holding all kinds of herbs and plants, and some even holding what looked like bones of animals and a snakeskin in one. There were wooden cups and bowls and a stone mortar and pestle with remnants of herbs and food on the counter. Near the wall there was a gap from outside that had a wooden spout coming out of it with a crank of some kind, water drops falling periodically from it into a basin set into the counter. Underneath were baskets filled with cloth, fabric and knitting needles. Along the other walls were flowers hanging upside down and drying out in different stages, a shelf of books, a few knives, the bed, a broom in the corner closer to the door, some other pots and pans hanging from the opposite wall near the hearth and rocking chair, and next to the door a dresser that had a large bowl on top of it with trinkets inside, like rocks, coins, a bright colored piece of soft fabric, a feather, and a tiny stoppered bottle with an amber liquid inside it. There were two windows on either side of the cabin, and next to each of them hanging from the ceiling beams were mobiles made of twine and colored glass, casting bright colors into the cabin as the sun shone through the window. Above the door was a white painted rune.

Bucky found himself smiling as he looked around, admiring the amount of things she had and her impressive stock of herbs. “Alright, here you go,” Y/N turned around holding a bowl and spoon. Bucky gingerly took it from her and looked in to see a stew with cooked meat and what looked like carrots. Bucky thanked her and slowly ate. She handed him a small bowl of berries and got him some water from the pipe in the corner. As he ate she sat in the rocking chair and continued sewing something.

“What are you making?” he asked, trying to start a conversation.

“A shirt. For you,” Y/N said, focusing on the needle and string in her hand.

Bucky looked down and remembered she had to cut off his shirt. “Oh, right. Thank you. I don’t think I properly thanked you last night, so, thank you. For everything,” he said, giving her a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” Y/N said, not looking at him. “Once you’re done eating I’ll need to check on your back and redress you.”

“Right,” Bucky sighed, turning back to his food. When he finished Y/N stood and took his dishes and set them in the basin in the kitchen. She got to work getting a bowl of water and the paste she put on him last night ready, then walked over to him. She stood between his legs again and untied the bandages around him. Bucky lifted his arms to help her reach around him better, wincing at the pain it caused. He felt himself blush again as she was close to him, her breath fanning his face and shoulder as she pulled the bandages away and heaped them on the floor to clean or throw away later.

“Lay down on your front,” Y/N instructed him. He did as he was told and Y/N skimmed his back with her fingers. He was still very sensitive, and as she washed his back with the water he tensed at the pressure she applied. She put more of the paste on his skin then had him sit up again and wrapped fresh fabric around him. When she finished she looked at the scratch on his cheek again. “Don’t worry, you get to keep your pretty face,” she winked at him as she took the old bandages and put them in a basket for washing. Bucky blushed even harder at the compliment. Y/N took a blanket off of the bed next to him and wrapped it around him.

“Thank you,” he said. “What is that paste you made?”

“It’s a mixture of honey, lint from vegetable fibers, and grease from animal fat,” Y/N rattled off. “It’s been the best wound care I’ve found.”

He watched her gather a few things together then asked, “So how did you become the witch in the woods?”

Y/N laughed. “That’s a long story,” she said, continuing with what she was doing.

“I’d like to hear it,” Bucky pushed.

Y/N sighed and looked up at him. She walked over to the bed and sat next to him, angling her body to look at him. “Magic has been in the women of my family for as far back as we can remember. My mother brought me here when I was a child because the village we were in wanted her hanged, and my father rejected her…rejected me,” she said, looking down at her hands. “After she passed I tried to go to a new village, then another one, then another one, but I was rejected and cast out or they tried to kill me. One village almost succeeded,” she said quietly, her hands wringing in her lap. “So I came back home. I still go to the village north of here twice a year for certain supplies, and they’ve been good to me. They will barter and trade and they don’t ask a lot of questions. I’m just the magic lady with the toys and tinctures that helps them get through the winter without too much trouble then disappears until spring.”

Bucky looked at her sadly. She was alone here for most of her life. “I’m sorry people have been so awful to you,” he said, reaching a hand out and taking one of hers. “I had a feeling that something would happen to me when I went to Andover, but I guess I just hoped that maybe they would be willing to learn from me and I could help them. But…” he trailed off and Y/N stroked his knuckles with her thumb. “So what exactly does your magic do?”

“Hm, I don’t know if you’re ready for that yet,” Y/N teased him.

“Oh come on,” Bucky said.

“Are you sure?” Y/N leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

“I’m sure,” Bucky replied, narrowing his eyes back at her.

“Okay, you asked for it,” Y/N shrugged. She stood and walked over to the door. She looked at the cabin and rubbed her hands together. She said something in a different language and cupped her hands together, bringing them up to her lips as she spoke. A light started to glow from inside her hands and Bucky’s eyes widened. She suddenly released her hands and a flash of light that looked like the blue fire from the night before skipped throughout the cabin. Dust was suddenly cleaned up, the dishes magically washed, the rags that needed washing instantly clean, dried and folded into a basket, the shirt she was sewing suddenly cutting and forming itself into a recognizable shirt and then it happening again a few more times with other fabrics that were in her baskets, as well as pants, socks, and underwear. A few pairs of shoes were formed from materials around the cabin and slid next to his feet. The fire grew and warmed the cabin and a soft rumble echoed beneath their feet, making the animals he didn't even know were outside all make noise. A wind whipped through the cabin as the little orb of light bounced from one surface to another. It bounced around him in a fast whirling motion, and he suddenly felt cleaner and more refreshed, the pain in his back lessening considerably. The light zoomed back towards Y/N who caught it and then smashed it between her hands, the glow disappearing.

Bucky looked in awe around the now tidier cabin, a whole new wardrobe folded at the edge of the bed for him and the tinkling of the glass mobiles making the rainbow effect dance on the walls around them. “My god,” Bucky laughed.

Y/N shrugged again. “It’s nice. Helps me get a lot more done. Anything like shadow or dark magic isn’t something I normally dabble with. Too many mistakes can be made,” she said as she went over to the bowl on the dresser and waved a hand over it, making the trinkets inside wiggle. “Do I scare you now?”

“No,” Bucky smiled. “You fascinate me.”

Y/N eyes widened at his words, but she quickly schooled her expression into a smirk again. “Well, you should be scared.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky laughed.

The next few weeks went on about the same. Bucky healed and Y/N showed him around her little plot of land and taught him about what it was she did with her magic. There was a chicken coop out back, as well as three paddocks for a few goats, two cows and a horse. She had created a water system from the well near the house with the wooden pipes that brought the water inside rather than her having to lug it back and forth in a bucket. She knew about most of what he had learned in medicine, and taught him things that she had found or had been taught by her mother.

Bucky found himself very quickly falling in love with Y/N. Not only because she had saved him and taught him a lot of new things, quickly becoming one of his greatest friends, but also for her confidence, self-assurance in spite of having been rejected by many people, her love and respect for nature and her infectious laugh. He found her incredibly attractive and was being pushed to his limits with her physically. They shared the bed every night, and on more than one occasion had woken up entangled in each other’s arms. The first time it happened Bucky had been very apologetic, but Y/N waved off his concern. She didn’t mind, and so he let it be. He loved waking up to her nestled against him, one of her legs in between his legs and her hands resting on his chest. Other times he woke up to his face nuzzling her breasts with her damned nightgown always too low, her hands in his hair and her leg hiked over his hip. She had definitely felt his arousal too many times to count but had ignored it, acting like nothing was wrong and going about the day as usual. He sometimes wondered if she just didn’t find him attractive, and maybe it was just a mutually beneficial sleeping arrangement that they both found comfortable and comforting.

As the wind blew colder and the Autumn leaves fell, Y/N announced one day over dinner, “It’s time to go to the village.”

Bucky nearly spit out his food. “What?”

“I need to stock up on supplies, and I’ve got plenty of trinkets and tinctures to sell or barter,” she continued.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Bucky asked hesitantly. Y/N gave him a confused glance. “Going to the village? The people…” he drifted off, swallowing harshly.

Y/N gave him a sympathetic look. “The people have been kind to me. They expect me every spring and right before winter, it would be no surprise. And besides, the children love me,” she smirked.

Bucky chuckled. “Oh really? And why’s that?”

“I’m the witch in the woods,” Y/N said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m a ghost story. And I bring gifts!” she said, perking up.

Bucky laughed. “Okay, well, do you need help? Or company?” he asked.

She smiled widely at him. “Both would be wonderful.”

#marvel #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #series fanfic #doctor!bucky barnes #witch!reader #puritans #1600s #chapter 2

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thejournallo · 1 year ago

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Explain the basic: The Tools

and here we are again with some basics!

Disclaimer: All the information I have is from books and reviews I did on each topic that I'm going to talk about in this series of "Explain the Basics." I invite you to have multiple sources of knowledge when it comes to learning witchcraft and non-witchcraft. At the end, you will find the books from which I gained information.

Today we are going to talk about the many tools that a witch can use and the variety of functions that they have. (You are not forced to have any of this tool in a specific way; anything you have in handy can become THAT tool; don't waste your money, honey!)

The clothes and accessories: there is no specific dress code what so ever when you practice witchcraft, but it can come to your own advantage when you use your own closet as a tool, even just for fun. I specifically use colors and accessories to present myself in a certain way, or simply because I give those clothes an important role. (ex: I wear yellow when I want to feel adventurous; I have a perfume that I use when I want to make new friends; and I use a choker to feel powerful and confident.)

The book of shadows and/or the grimoire: The book of shadow and the grimoire are often seen as the same thing because they have something in common. The book of shadow is more wiccan, and the grimoire is more for everyone outside of the religion itself. They are both used to write personal practices, rituals, information that can be used, etc., but the grimoire is more of a book already written. You can write your own grimoire, just as you can write your own book of shadows, and they both are good.

Altar bowl: It is not a fundamental object for your altar, but it can be used to make mixtures or squash some ingredients that you may need in a certain way. This is an object that is easily replaceable by a container big and deep enough to contain the ingredients (like crystals, erbs, salt, water, ashes, etc.).

Candles: When it comes to spells and rituals, the color of the candles matters just as much as the candle's durability. Some spells will require a short-term candle, and others will require an hour-long candle. MAKE SURE THE LIGHTED CANDLE IS AS FAR AWAY FROM ANY INFLAMABLE MATERIAL, LIQUID, OR GAS AS POSSIBLE.

Crystals: They hold power and energy that are crucial for witchcraft. Every crystal has a different meaning and effect. For a crystal to start functioning, you have to give it a purpose. Do this by meditating with the crystal, setting your purpose, and connecting it with it. Every crystal has different care and ways of clensing, but this is a discussion for another "explain the basics".

Incense: It is often used as a way to purify objects or environments that may be polluded by bad energy or feelings, even to purify our mind and body. There are two types of incense: fuel and non-fuel. We all know the fuel type of incense, which is the one in a cone or a stick. and the non-fuel type of incense must be lit only by a carbon disc placed on a heat-proof plate; generally, we can find it in dust, a smudge stick, or a bundle of dried herbs.

Witches broom: is used to clean up the sacred space and wander off evil or residual energy from any spell or ritual.

wands and athame: an instrument used to channel and direct the energy. I know it sounds like Harry Potter shit, but it is used this way. The athame and the planchette are used in the same ways. The athame is a witch's knife and was used to cut herbs, etc.; the planchette is the little thing we found on the Ouija board that lets us see which letter is used. (Do not use the Ouija board as a game; it is no game.) be careful.

books for informations: [ambrosia hawthorn-the book of spells] [davide marrè-conoscere la wicca]

As always, I will love to hear your thoughts! and if you have any questions, I will be more than happy to answer them! If you liked it, leave a comment or reblog (that is always appreciated!). and have a wonderful day or night!

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mercury-crux · 2 years ago

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Incorrect Witchcraft SMP Quotes

Prismarina: Hey, you want a tarot reading? Joey: Those are Pokemon cards. Prismarina: You got a magikarp. Joey: … Prismarina: It means 'fuck you'.

Eloise: pulls back the curtain while Lauren is showering Eloise: Hey did we - stop screaming it’s me - did we run out of Cheerios?

Squad reactions to being told ‘I love you’ Lauren: Thanks fam! Scott: Oh no. Eloise: cries I love you too. Shelby: Sounds fake, but okay. Tiff: A flustered mess Prismarina: Can I get a refund?

Lauren: Heyyy Tiff, how’s your… drink?? Tiff: What do you mean drink? It’s coffee. Lauren: You sure?? Looks to coffee maker Tiff: Looks to coffee maker Cement sitting beside the coffee maker Tiff:…I’m on my third fucking drink right now, I should be dead.

Eloise: How does that even work? Joey, mocking them: hOw dO yOu UsE a cOmPUteR aNd KnOw wHaTS GoiNg oN iT DoEsNt mAke SeNSe?! Eloise: Your face doesnt make sense.

Prismarina: When I first met you, I did not like you. Joey: I'm aware of that. Prismarina: But then you and I had some time together. Joey: Uh-huh? Prismarina: It did not get better.

Prismarina: Shelby, why is Tiff intruding on our cuddle time? Tiff: Shelby, why is Prismarina intruding on our cuddle time? Shelby, in distress: Please… I have two hands…

Lauren: They made Shelby cry! Cleo: Shelby always cries! Shelby: That's not true! cries

Shelby: You have to apologize to Prismarina! Joey: Fine! Joey: Unfuck you, or whatever!

Prismarina is casually searching around the room Scott: Hey Prismarina, what’re you looking for? Prismarina: My will to live. Shelby walks into the room Prismarina: Oh, there it is.

Scott: out cold on the ground Cleo: Oh my god, do you think they’re okay?! Prismarina, holding a bucket of ice water: Who cares?! dumps all of the water on Scott’s face

Scott: I'm not creepy. Scott: I'm petty. Scott: There's a difference, ya' know.

Joey: Question, how difficult would it be to bowl in a bee suit? Tiff: Not that hard, I don't think, as long as you can move. Eloise: I'd assume as hard as it is to bowl in a maid outfit. Eloise: Wouldn't be any harder, but you'd get some WEIRD looks. Cleo: Are. Are you speaking from experience. Eloise: No! Eloise: Eloise: ….Maybe.

Cleo, furious: What do you mean we have homework tonight? I have books to read.

Cleo: So… what would you do if you were in bed with me? Lauren: Depends. Is your bed comfortable? Cleo: Yes. Lauren: I'd sleep.

Lauren: Prismarina, don’t go picking a fight with Scott. Don’t forget, they’re powerful, they could make life difficult for you. Prismarina: Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life.

Prismarina: If I was married to you I would put poison in your coffee. Cleo: If I was married to you I’d drink it.

Cleo: I feel like the world would be better if I'd never been born. Joey: Aw… that's not true. Joey: It'd be exactly the same. Joey: You're not important.

Cleo: Seriously, Lauren, how many people would you have killed if we’d asked you to? Lauren: That’s not important Cleo: I DISAGREE.

Cleo: There is no future. There is no past. Don't you see? Time is simultaneous, an intricately structured jewel that humans insist on viewing one edge at a time, when the whole design is visible in every fact. Prismarina: …All I asked was if you wanted to cut your birthday cake first.

Shelby: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses. Prismarina: This knife is actually a magic wand. Tiff: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel. Scott: cocks gun Magic missile. Lauren: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

The Squad when asked about their earlier confession of love Lauren: Yeah, you're lucky. I like you. Tiff: I'd understand if you didn't feel the same way… Eloise: has a panic attack What confession? Prismarina: winks I know, babe. You like me too. Cleo: So what? Are you going to date me or not? Joey: It was a dare.

Cleo: Hey, what are you reading? Eloise: This is my magic book where any ink spilled shows a scripture of the future, however it bears a curse making it broken, and as such in order to make any scripture appears, I have to do it myself. Cleo: Impressive! I must have it for myself! Prismarina: So it’s just a Notebook? Eloise: It’s just a Notebook.

Scott: What’s up? I’m back. Tiff: I literally saw you die. You died. You were dead Scott: Death is a social construct.

Prismarina: We have a problem. Scott: Let me guess, you caused it? Cleo: Gimme a sec, I'm not drunk enough to listen to this yet. Tiff: And it's another Tuesday, your point? Joey: Would shooting you solve this problem? No? Then shut up. Lauren: If you're mean the fire, that's our solution to last week's problem.

#witchcraft smp #wcsmp #prismarina #laurenzside #ihascupquake #joey graceffa #shubble #zombiecleo #soupforeloise #smajor1995 #incorrect quotes

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shouldhavestayedawayfromhere · 12 days ago

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Part 2 of funny stories about how I first got into witchcraft

When I first learned about manifesting things, I found a million different tactics. Idk if you remember, but during the lockdown it was a big trend online. At this point I was really excited to learn more about spiritual things, but I didn't know how anything worked. I just really wanted a fancy ritual. Something that you'd think of if you had no idea about how magic works.

So what I did was take a little bowl and pen and paper and set up my space. I grabbed a random self-made choker, cut out of an old shirt and decorated with a bff-necklace heart. I decided that this would be my amulet. (I had no idea what an amulet is or does at that point.) I brought it all to my bed and did my first "ritual" at night. It might even have been midnight.

I took a golden glitter pen and started writing down my manifestations one by one. They were mostly about me and my best friend at the time. I was obviously wearing the "amulet".

Then I took my moon water (with the "bead crystals") and put some of it on my forehead because it just felt right to do that for some reason (I swear I was never catholic!)

I read out every manifestation and then put them away. Then I ended my little ritual and hid everything away again and waited for the manifestations to work. I lost my best friend, probably for the better, but I found the papers two years later and most of the things I wrote down about myself actually happened.

And that's the thing, when you believe it'll work it doesn't matter how much knowledge you actually have. Obviously that amulet did nothing, but I believed it did. I also didn't know how to use moon water, but I believed that it did something. And that's enough to work magic :)

#witchcraft #baby witch #witchblr #broom closet witch #funny post #personal post

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witchcraftandburialdirt · 2 months ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 / 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 : 𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚞𝚜 𝙱𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎 ━ Triggering Content Ahead: Please Proceed with Caution ━

As the firstborn son to Bran and Palila Baudelaire, Robin was born on the fateful day of June 28th, 1788, amidst torrents that drenched Suffolk ( it was, after all, the wettest day ever recorded in the city). However he was not to stay here within the bustling world of man but in the quietude of a small, unnamed town in the open fields of Northumberland. The world was the same as it always was, and men like Bran rarely found the comforts of family; the Baudelaire household was an oddity to say the least. It was even more infrequent for men of Bran's occupation to ever settle and marry; Sin Eaters were the dredges of society after all — vilified but needed — a necessary evil in the eyes of many within the Northern English countryside. Most would not want to marry a monster. Yet the boy's days were painted with the colors of nature and the woodland — gardening beneath the watchful eye of his mother, hunting in the trees along his father's side, and nurturing a bond with his siblings, Wren and Linette. He did not understand, in his young age, why the world gazed upon them with such scorn.

A sin-eater is a person who consumes a ritual meal in order to spiritually take on the sins of a deceased person. The food was believed to absorb the sins of a recently dead person, thus absolving the soul of the person. Many funerals were attended by a professed "sin-eater," hired to take upon him the sins of the deceased. By swallowing bread and beer, with a suitable ceremony before the corpse, he was supposed to free it from every penalty for past offences, appropriating the punishment to himself. Sin Eaters were not often the study of academia due to their shrouded and often reviled existence; Abhorred by the superstitious villagers as a thing unclean, the sin-eater cut himself off from all social intercourse with his fellow creatures by reason of the life he had chosen; he lived as a rule in a remote place by himself, and those who chanced to meet him avoided him as they would a leper. This unfortunate was held to be the associate of evil spirits, and given to witchcraft, incantations and unholy practices; only when a death took place did they seek him out, and when his purpose was accomplished they burned the wooden bowl and platter from which he had eaten the food handed across, or placed on the corpse for his consumption. ( Funeral Customs by Bertram S. Puckle ; 1926 )

As was tradition, Robin Altus Baudelaire learned his destined profession at the tender age of innocence, when his eyes were still round with light and his cheeks like apples. Bran was a man of unwavering faith and often spoke of the virtues of piety and mercy, imparting the belief that to sacrifice oneself for the sake of others mirrored the divine compassion of Christ. Martyrdom became a beautiful thing to the boy, and while the townsfolk remained blind to their struggles, Robin's heart held firm to the conviction that when the world crumbled beneath time's weight, they would understand the grace that had granted them passage into Heaven’s hold. Perhaps then they would be able to look upon the family without such reckless hate. A lofty dream. Still, despite the leers and glowers, nestled on the fringes of a quaint village, their small home stood as a refuge against the wild forests just beyond the horizon of the ebbing grass sea, of their neighbors' contempt.

Life was peaceful, despite its hardships, and Robin's heart never emptied, even if some days his stomach would. However, a brutal winter in 1800 swept through, and with it came an unseen terror — almost certainly the greatest calamity of his time — riding upon the winter winds was Father Death cloaked in white. One night, Linette, Robin's beloved sister, coughed blood across her pillow. It was the beginning of the end. She would be the first to fall, and as the silver moon waxed and waned, the Baudelaire family succumbed one by one to the relentless grip of the disease, decaying from the inside out. All except their eldest son, who was now tasked with the perilous journey into the town they served — a place buzzing with life and commerce, and worst of all, man. He was instructed by his father to venture forth to the apothecary to fetch cod liver oil and turpentine, remedies with the potential to stave off consumption. For as long as it could, anyway.

But aged only twelve and without the ability to read the delicate labels of the vials lining the shelves, Robin found himself at a loss when crossing through the apothecary's aisles — and in a moment of desperation, he asked the owner for help. But the moment he spoke, the atmosphere shifted and icy fingers crawled their way up Robin's spine. The Baudelaires were a family marked by grief, their hair shimmering like moonlight-woven thread, and as such horrible rumors clung to their presence and haunted their steps. Chatter coursed through the two other clerks quickly, suspicion twisting their gazes as they recognized the boy’s lineage. Unease simmered; for now the question was why the Robin had truly traveled into town. His kin oft came in the wake of death; so what foul omen was he? Fear was always eager to fester within men when confronted with the unknown, and upon hearing the medicines he requested, it ignited within the shop and spread like flame to dry grass. The apothecary provided the boy with the necessary ailments, as he'd very politely asked, but not without paying a heavy toll. For now the men within the village knew that Father Death loomed over the Baudelaire home, ready to ride their gasping moans further into the town and poised to claim what was rightfully His … and such things could not be ignored.

Ultimately, their home was a mere transient stop on the Grim's remorseless journey — a stepping stone marked by the stench of a lingering malevolence; they were diseased rats who had come to chew festering wounds along the shire's wintry and pale pastures.

During one cold December night, the young Baudelaire bairn awoke with a start — but not due to the chill. No, no, something was wrong; he could tell that much, but the specifics were lost on him in the dark. However, a ghostly whisper tugged at his consciousness, urging him to listen closely and to keep quiet, and in his panic, he did.

Outside Robin could hear the hushed and hurried murmurs of men echoing through the thick veil of night, mingling with the soft rustling of hay. He couldn't make sense of it at the time, and being a polite young lad, he quietly went to greet these sudden strangers — but panic seized him when he realized the door was barred. Something, or rather someone, had jammed it shut, but once again … why? A tender chide of the same voice from earlier told him to flee, nevertheless cruel and ravenous flames began to snake around the doorframe, their flickering tongues illuminating the planes of Robin's young face as he recoiled in terror. Each crackling ember seemed as a thousand eyes to reflect the devil's wickedness, soon rolling together to transform the entrance into a gaping maw eager to consume everything within its reach.

Hastily he dashed to his family, trying to rouse them from their infected dreams, but they remained ensnared in a slumber far too deep to wake now. Only little Linny opened her eyes, and Robin practically threw himself at her to try and lift her out of her blankets. Yet, as he grasped her frail form, the weight nearly crushed him. He was not a strong boy — and he struggled, weak and trembling … what little strength he had waned as the choking smoke filled his lungs. With a final, desperate effort, he dragged her halfway from the bed, only to slip and fall to the floor, where the searing heat began to lap at his hands and ignite the fluttering edges of his nightshirt.

The bright orange beast roared to life, and Robin's will to live fought to bring him to his now calloused and bubbling feet; with one final glance towards his weeping sister, he left her screaming and reaching for him. Each step was walking on embers, and the sharp sting of her cries were glass shards in his ears, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and summoned every ounce of endurance he had to reach the rear of the house. His bloodied fingers clawed nothing short of a frenzy on the splintered window frame of the storage room, his nails breaking and his hands raw from the relentless struggle against the cruel timbers blocking freedom from this hell. Each jagged edge tore at him, but in his mindless adrenaline fueled high, he carved a path out, determined to escape the fiery grasp of doom lingering just behind. With each wooden creak Robin felt the delicate breath of winter kiss his scorching skin through the cracks, and with a final surge of will, he shattered the remaining glass and tumbled into a world blanketed in pearlescent shimmer. Each snowflake swirled like a thousand daggers against his burning skin, and the merciless cold gnawed at him and nearly stole his life away, but his body forced him to stand once more — to finally flee from this wretched place. The towering trees looming ahead offered a haven from the hunting dogs and their whistling owners; there were far too many trees and dense underbrush to bother … And so once everything fell silent, Robin went the only way he could: forward.

But for all of his determination, Robin had seen too few winters to withstand the savage bite of the icy chill and decided instead to quietly nestle within the dense thicket, content to surrender to the exhaustion that clawed at his aching limbs and burned in his weary eyes. As the frost crept insidiously into his flesh and bones, he felt a warmth beckoning him, a promise of rest that whispered sweet and soft. Teetering upon the brink of sleep, the familiar comfort of his mother’s arms enveloped him, lifting him up as she had done in his childhood and cradling him against the safety of her chest. The ground beneath him transformed into a soft bed of snow, each flake a delicate touch against his numbed skin, inviting him deeper into dreamless slumber. Yet, a gentle sound stirred the soupy lull of his brain, and the world blurred around him as Robin urged himself to peel open his heavy lids. When he finally managed to lift his gaze, he saw what he thought to be a cloaked man seated on a horse emerging from the swirling white. Fear and fatigue battled within him, but he could no longer run nor resist, and with nothing left, he closed his eyes.

Father Death had come … He should have known better than to run.

He reached neither Heaven nor Hell that day, and by the following evening the boy’s fatigued body, once frozen stiff, began to thaw like the first light of dawn breaking through dense clouds. He awoke to the soothing purr of a small cat snuggled against his chest, and Robin's eyes fluttered open and stared into the glow of a crackling hearth — relaxing as he saw its contained and crumbling state. For a fleeting moment, a fragile hope blossomed within him which momentarily banished the thoughts of despair threatening to stain his mind. Perhaps, he dared to dream; all of his trials were nothing more than a cruel fantasy — a nightmare he was glad to be free from. But as reality seeped back in, it bore the weight of bittersweet truth: his father’s familiar silhouette did not grace the threshold of the room in greeting, and as his vision cleared, he was soon to find that he was not in his home. Still, Robin could not bear to lift his body from its resting place, and with a reluctant heart, he gave in to the gentle lull of his surroundings and let the veil of sleep wash over him again.

It was here, amidst flickering candlelight and aged parchment, that Robin's life would change; whether for better or worse, one could not yet say. The lost child was nursed back to health by that same figure who had found him in the woods that day. His name was Abel. He was a compassionate young priest with a gentle heart who had just come to town to bring a new dawn to the church. Upon his trek through the forest, he had miraculously spotted the boy collapsing into the nearby brush, and once he had bundled the bairn up in his extra jackets, he took him home. Robin learned that he was tasked with filling the shoes of their beloved but long-retired clergyman, and he also learned that Abel's wisdom and kindness knew no bounds. Many people warned the priest of his ward, of the cursed blood in his veins, but it mattered little to Robin's new guardian. He saw the Sin Eaters not as devils but as souls burdened by suffering, deserving of understanding and redemption.

To give oneself for another was Christly.

Under Abel's dark and watchful eyes, Robin found refuge and purpose over the long span of ten years, and he blossomed into a learned young man. He stood proudly beside Abel, acting as an acolyte and loyal aide, delivering assistance to the townsfolk who came seeking guidance from them. To hear their sins and forgive them, but he never once heard anyone over those ten years confess of that night. Regardless, those fickle villagers were touched by his dedication and began to see him not just as a cursed boy raised in the church’s shadow; he was even invited to birthday celebrations!

For once in his life, he truly felt human. For one decade Robin dwelled in peace; he thrived under the azure skies and reveled in the patterns that led his daily duties. The laughter of children oft bounced through the town like a chirping bird, bountiful harvests painted the fields in hues of amber and crimson, and the caress of breezes stirred the vibrant blooms adorning every garden. It was perfect. It should have been perfect, but the Baudelaires were a family marked by grief, and one evening, when the setting sun drenched the sky in a shade of lavender, Robin had to wonder if his nightmares had crawled to life. Winter had come again and brought with it the worst thing to ever meet his ear. It was a soft interruption, something that would not usually stir such dread, but for the Baudelaire boy, it brought him back to being small and scared.

A cough.

With one simple sound, Robin's vibrant world began to fade into a haunting echo of its past glory. As the weeks dragged on, Abel's illness deepened, and the villagers were quick to recall that strange family that had vanished into the woods long ago. Gossip fluttered like moths around the village hearths, spreading tales that spoke of an insatiable White Death. Consumption had come again, and it seemed that even with Abel's blessings, Robin would never be able to escape the horrors festering in his own blood. This was his fault … and he knew he would never reconcile what he had done; he had betrayed Abel to his death, and all those who had given him kindness were, surely, deceived. As that darkness seeped into him, Robin grappled with the agonizing truth: hope was a distant shore, and forever he would wade alone on an empty sea of sullen waters.

On the night of Abel's passing, Robin felt a piece of him die too — and he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse.

Mercifully, the church granted him one week to pack his things and go — for another priest had come, and this one was eager to reignite the strict mortal ethics of the time. Abel's leniency had caught the eye of the papal, and now it was time to return to proper teachings. The heavy mahogany doors that once swung open to greet him now stood resolutely locked, leaving him in a world of shuttered windows and drawn curtains. Through the streets Robin went, and he spoke to no one; he ventured from the village's edge into the depths of the forest alone. No one even asked where he was going. The only willing company the tears in his eyes and the weight of Abel's rosary that hung around the pale column of his throat. His feet moved instinctively along a well-trodden path, winding through the underbrush until the ground under his soles felt familiar and his body carried him to its desired mark. The very place his mind had begged to not be forced into for the rest of his days; yet here he stood.

A soot-covered monstrosity whose wooden edges jutted out like the waiting claws of a great beast; its looming presence instantly lifted a warning in Robin's heart as he gawked in its great shadow. For ten long years he had avoided this forsaken place in both the realms of his dreams and God's blessed green earth. Nevertheless, he beheld its unwavering grim loyalty as if it were waiting for him to return all this time. It welcomed the Baudelaire heir inside peeling, rotting walls. Within this loneliness he stayed, allowing misery to fester and act as a poison to slow his heart; light drained from the world, and in the hues of each lonely dusk he could see the reflections of his old life. But hunger, in its stark apathy, stirred him from his sorrowful reverie to remind him of his mortality, and he knew there was only one path left to tread if he wanted to continue living. And so, Robin damned himself to don the mantle left behind by his late father, a heavy cloak of duty he was sure to suffocate under.

This was to be his fate: ever to dwell underneath the fading trees bound to his mourning, ever to rot.

But fate seemed uneager to arrive. Despite how swiftly his world had turned to sorrow and despair, Robin clung tenaciously to his duty — his silent vow to survive, to continue on. And soon enough the heavy grief that had shrouded his existence so heavily began to lift, and shortly thereafter he found an unexpected vibrancy in the new world around him. Just as in the days of his childhood, Nature's indifference welcomed him; finally there was a place to rest from judgment.

Cool water greeted him in the sweltering grasp of summer, gentle breezes carried the sweet fragrance of wildflowers in spring, autumn draped itself in golden magnificence, and even dark and cold winter seemed to offer him a reluctant mercy. Status mattered not there, where the rabbits looked upon him no differently than they did the petunias in his garden. He was not without burden, however, for when the Death Knells summoned him to town, Robin shuddered and shook. It was a difficult thing to travel into that place and be amongst those people … The world of men had become somewhat lost to him in his seclusion, and their murmurings in his presence brought little in the way of comfort. Robin ignored them, or tried to, in order to remain steadfast in his mission to the deceased. While not undimmed by bitterness or resentment that would otherwise cloud his purpose ( yet ), he did find a strange fear of those he served. Nonetheless, he knew that judgment was not his to wield; it belonged solely to their heavenly Father; and once his duty was fulfilled, he would retreat back into the forest — now quite content with the lack of visitors.

So one could imagine Robin's jolt of shock when, without warning or letter, a stuttering knock hit his door. If it had been only once he would have assumed it to be a trick of the wind, but twice, thrice! Each one more insistent than the last! Curiosity piqued and caution tossed aside, Robin rose swiftly with a racing heart to open the door — perhaps a foolish decision, but the earlier mead with his dinner evinced itself to be very talented in lowering his inhibitions. Now to deal with the fallout of such an action: for standing on his doorstep was a ragtag group of young men from the village. Maybe four or five in number, with movements unsteady and huffing breath like taxed horses. Anxiety skyrocketed, and without thinking, he began to take a step back. One of the boys, his words slurred and tangled, began to explain how they had lost their way, but Robin’s senses were overwhelmed by the cloud of whiskey-laden breath that had wafted toward him. It curled into his nostrils, sending a thousand shivers racing up his spine; he'd never liked the smell and now was not proving to be an exception. He had no idea what to say to remedy how awkward everything had become; and frankly, he was afraid he would gag if he tried to speak.

However the drunken lisps dwindled into a whisper before fading entirely, leaving behind a suffocating silence that summoned the Sin Eater’s attention back. Surely they had not intended to trespass upon his land, nor had they come to him with benevolent hearts; those were reserved for their intended host, which he was most certainly not. As Robin's gaze swept over the group, he became acutely aware of the transformation that had overtaken them. Their eyes, once sparkling in their delirium, now widened in disbelief, reflecting a dawning horror as if they had gazed upon some grotesque abomination from the depths of a sickly nightmare. Mouths hung agape and faces drained of color, each man now a canvas painted with shades of ashen pallor. In that instant, Robin found himself no longer being looked at as a fellow human being, but a manifestation of their most profound fears — a creature born from the dark recesses of Lilith's mind, a descendent of snakes and demons! Robin wished to reach out, he had once known each of them by name, to bridge the yawning chasm of misunderstanding that lay between them but ...

In their eyes, he caught the unmistakable reflection of their revulsion; a mirror to his own self-loathing, for in their horror at him he, too, found reason to recoil.

In the crisp dark night, he stood within the doorway of his weathered home, half bathed in the warm glow of flickering candlelight behind him that danced across his hair and skin. The golden firelight crackled a warning, transforming his moonlit-touched locks into a halo wreathed in a shriek of hellfire. But, o' his eyes, it was his eyes that truly unsettled. They glowed like sickly green lanterns, piercing through the darkness with an unnatural sheen that belied their hollow depths. It was now of little wonder to him why the townsfolk spoke of him in hushed murmurs and chided their children to stay close and avoid the woodland.

Everything was quiet between the accidental gathering, and Robin's soul yearned to escape this suffocating atmosphere; he wanted to leave, to break free from their unrelenting stares, but he found his feet rooted to the spot. He didn't know what to do; he didn't even feel as though he could breathe! With a heavy heart and trembling fingers he silently reached for the door, the brass handle suddenly felt so cold and foreign in his grip. Robin turned the handle, the creaking of the door echoed like the mournful wail of a lost soul, and shut out the uninvited throng that had rendered him a husk. He did not sleep that night, nor would he likely ever rest comfortably again. The weight of the gazes that had followed him pressed down atop his weary shoulders, but he supposed he could not cast too much blame upon them. He now saw that he was too far removed from humanity to seek refuge in companionship.

The next few days offered him no solace from his maddening delusions. Each rustle of a branch, each flutter of a bird, felt like a portent of doom, little reminders of the unseen eyes lurking just beyond the tree line, ever watchful, ever patient. With every reluctant step away from the welcoming hearth of his abode, a frigid tendril of dread tightened about Robin's heart, constricting with a merciless grip that threatened to squeeze the very life from his lungs. Unable to ignore his heart's thrumming admonitions that cautioned him not venture too far; for to do so would invite the abyss, and he would never come home again. Every sun-drenched afternoon melded into endless loops of fevered paranoia. Visions of the men from the night prior loomed large in his mind, their faces twisted into malicious grins as he replayed the encounter in his head over and over again. Were they still out there, ensconced in the shadows, biding their time? Robin found himself checking the handle frequently; once at night and once in the morn, grateful for each time the door was not barricaded. His fingers held too many scars already.

Still, with winter fast approaching, it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain his isolation while the persistent rumble of hunger echoed in the cavern of his stomach; it was the only companion in his solitude. The passing weeks had turned into a monotonous cycle of silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of distant frost, but the sinking dread never left. All the same, that fateful morning had to arrive; an inexplicable urge stirred within him, something far beyond mere hunger, igniting a glint of determination that had long lain dormant. It was a call that resonated deep within, reverberating through the very marrow of his bones — he could not hope to resist it. So, with that single stride, he left his home behind and stepped into the murky depths of a thousand towering trees.

And Robin Altus Baudelaire never returned.

#✧ ── 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐀. 𝐁𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 ... 【 ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ-ᴇʏᴇᴅ ᴍᴀɢᴇ 】#── 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 #── 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐄 - 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒 - 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐍! ...【 ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴇꜱ 】#brozi warning #mother death #familial death tw #blood tw #horror tw #grief tw #parental death tw #implied murder tw #death tw #injury tw #fire tw #tw sui ideation #alcohol ment tw #angst tw #no happy ending #if I missed any please let me know!

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hinatastinygiant · 1 year ago

Text

1 | Crimson Glory

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Fem!Reader

Serpents and Roses

You see George, you really had a wonderful life. Don't you see what a mistake it would be to throw it away?

"You're watching this again?" your older brother, James, grumbles as he opens the front door to your shared apartment and sees you sitting on the couch shoving popcorn in your mouth. "You do know it's only August, right?"

"Yeah," you nod, not letting your eyes leave the screen. "But I like this movie. It's-"

"I know," James cuts you off and you can feel his eye roll from across the room. "It's a 'classic'."

You pause the movie and look over at him, "What's that supposed to mean? Don't you think it's a good film?"

"Sure," he sighs, setting down his stuff and walking over to the small kitchen. "But you watch this movie any time of year. Why not wait until Halloween and watch it then, too?"

You groan as you reach for the remote and once more continue what you were watching. It's not long after that James comes over, sorting through the mail as he sits beside you. "Anything interesting in the post?" you ask, glancing at him quickly between handfuls of popcorn.

"Huh," he replies, piquing your interest.

"'Huh', what?" you say, putting the bowl aside.

"It's a response."

"Ooh," you say, getting a closer look at the envelope. "You think you've actually found a stable job, James?"

"Oh shut up, you," he laughs, swatting at you with the letter before going back to open it. You wait with bated breath, hoping this isn't just another rejection. James has been struggling to find a job ever since graduating high school. And since it's just the two of you, well, there's just that much more pressure on him.

"Who's it even from?" you then question him. "What'd you apply to this time? Gonna go shake some ass at Chix N Dix," you begin to laugh.

"No!" he snaps, glaring at you. "I met this guy... Black, he said his name was, a few weeks back. He offered me a job on the spot but I really didn't think he actually meant it."

"Really?! And you didn't tell me?!"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" he groans. "There was something off about him, I've got to say... I mean, if he wants me then he's got to be desperate."

You roll your eyes at your brother's comment. He always was smart. If only you had money, he'd thrive in college. "Huh, well the letter does look strange... Open it."

James does. But just after he rips the seal, the letter forms into a mouth and begins to speak. Immediately, you let out a scream and grab onto him. James laughs at you as though he's seen this happen a hundred times before.

"I-Is this normal to you?" you ask, gulping hard to still your nerves.

"I must be tripping so hard right now," he shakes his head.

"Idiot," you say, punching him in the arm. "I can see it, too."

"James Bennett, you have been cordially invited to join the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as its newest Muggle Studies Professor. Please report to the school immediately to begin your employment," the letter says aloud.

"Hogwarts? A what kind of school?" you ask him, trying to process everything from over his shoulder.

"Don't know, but it must be a private boarding school or something," James nods.

"This letter's all fancy," you reply, taking a closer look. "That sounds like a really big deal. Are you sure you're up to it? You're barely twenty thr-"

"Please, this isn't just about me. It's a high school. You could attend. It would be great for your senior year!"

"I'm eighteen. It's not like I'm just starting high school. Besides, I don't have the grades to-"

"You can still get in," James says, placing his hands on your shoulders. "They must want us for a reason. We should at least try it."

Before you can object, James replies to the letter, saying that he accepts the offer to work at Hogwarts. Immediately, it deflates like some sort of balloon, leaving the two of you to sit there and stare at each other like the two idiots you are.

"Well, better get packing," James says as he stands up.

"What?! So we're not even going to talk about-"

"Nope. Go and pack your things, Y/N. You heard the letter. Immediately," he tells you as he begins to walk out of the room.

"James," you call out, following him as your bowl of popcorn falls to the floor. "What about our home? Where is this place? We don't have a car."

"This place has housing. Black told me," he insists. "We'll be okay."

"But how do you know that?" you hum.

He lets out a sigh and turns around to face you. With worried eyes, you watch as he drops his hands on your shoulders. "Because I just do. I've got a good feeling about this, Y/N. I promise. And I think you'll like it there, too."

"Fine," you sigh, giving in. "But if you're wrong and it's awful, we're coming right back here and we're done with whatever this is. You have a year to make it work."

"Sounds fair," James grins as he goes back to walking down the short hallway to his room.

In the meantime, you walk back to the main room, turn off the television, and pick up the spilled popcorn. You unload the DVD from the player and carry it to your bed. Then, begrudgingly, begin to back.

"James!" you shout once you've finished. "Hey! I'm all packed! Where exactly did you say this place-"

You stop once you set foot in James' room. He isn't there. "James?!" you call out again, looking everywhere in the small apartment. But he isn't anywhere to be found. "Fucking asshole," you grumble as you reach for your phone. But suddenly, there's a whooshing sound right in front of you and you see a tall man dressed in a black suit staring down at you. In a panic, you scream and drop your phone. But before you can make a run for the door, he grabs you and somehow teleports you out of your room.

"Holy shit," you say once your world stops spinning. You fall to your knees, thinking you're about to throw up. "What the fuck just happened to me?!"

You look around the room, an office of some kind, and see James sitting on a couch nearby. "Are you okay?" he asks softly. All you can manage to do is nod.

"Hello, Miss. Y/N. My name is Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. I do apologize for the way you were brought here. I am quite aware that it can be disorienting. However, it is the best way to enter and exit Hogwarts on such short notice."

You look at the man, standing beside the door. He must have been the one who brought you here. It all happened so fast you can't quite remember his face. You smile at him like a drunken idiot.

"Professor Bennett, Miss Y/N, please do not worry about your things. I will have Scrope, my house elf, fetch them for you," he nods politely.

"House... elf..." you mutter. You must be hearing things.

Finally, you decide to get a good look at what Headmaster Black looks like without your vision completely impaired. He's got his hair slicked back and is wearing what must be a suit more expensive than your home. But his face is kind so it does help you relax a bit.

"Again, I am sorry for the last-minute notice, but this is a new class we're offering as some of our students don't quite understand muggle life and are not very empathetic to them," he explains to the both of you.

"I'm sorry sir, but you're going to have to give me some time to get familiar with your jargon," you hear James say, and it nearly makes you laugh. "Could you explain what a muggle is?"

"Why, it refers to a human who has no knowledge of the magic community. And no magical abilities. Which is why we're bringing the two of you here," he explains. "This is a school for witches and wizards to learn their craft. There are classes such as herbology, defense against the dark arts, charms, transfiguration, and many more."

You're still kneeling on the floor. You can't seem to bring yourself to stand up as you listen to him drone on and on.

"So, what about this new class?" James finally asks for the pair of you.

Headmaster Black approaches you and holds out his hand. You accept it and allow him to walk you over to where James is sitting. You thank him as you fall back into the softest sofa in the world.

"This new class, taught by a muggle, will educate the students on what life is like in the muggle world. Things they'll need to know in the future, as all of them will deal with the muggle world at some point in their lives if they haven't already," Headmaster Black tells the two of you.

"Shit, I must be tripping so hard right now," you shake your head, earning a nudge on the shoulder from James.

"I accept your offer, Headmaster. I'm happy to teach. Though, I'd appreciate if you could explain the jargon," he then says as a woman walks in and steals your attention.

"All in due time my friend," Black bows. "And to you, Miss Y/N, our newest seventh-year student, you will be able to finish out your last school year at Hogwarts, and then you'll be free to pursue a career of your own choosing," he smiles at you.

"Wait, what?!" you gasp, shooting up from your seat.

"Professor Weasley," he continues, ignoring your outburst. "Would you be so kind as to escort Professor Bennett and Miss Y/N to where they will be staying?"

"Of course, Headmaster," she nods. "Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Matila Weasley. I'm sure you're both very confused and overwhelmed, but I'll be happy to answer any questions you have along the way."

"Where's the bathroom?" James immediately asks. "I'm going to throw up."

After a ten-minute break, once James has emptied all the contents of his stomach, Professor Weasley begins to walk the two of you through the castle. "It's quite late now, but tomorrow you'll be able to explore the grounds at your leisure," she tells the two of you.

"So... this is real?" you ask as you guide your hand along a moving wall.

"Quite," Professor Weasley nods. "This is the reality. The muggle world is merely an illusion."

"And what the hell are we supposed to tell our friends back home? That their world is a lie?" James then asks.

"The truth," Weasley shrugs. "But no one will believe you. Most people assume we're a myth. You'd have a better chance convincing them you've met a talking lion than telling them you work and study here."

"Oh please, James," you roll your eyes. "Your only friend is the pillow you kiss every night."

"Shut up," he groans.

"Here we are," Weasley announces. She steps aside, allowing the both of you to get a good look at your new living quarters. "Y/N, this will only be temporary for you. Once school begins in a week, you'll be sorted into one of the four houses and will move into your dormitory."

"Okay," you nod, not wanting to get much more info on that right now.

"James, this will be where you live. I do hope you find it comfortable enough," she adds, turning her head towards him. "It includes a bathroom and a muggle kitchen for you to use at your leisure. As a member of the staff, you have full access to the grounds and all of its amenities."

"This will be nice, thank you," James smiles, taking a few steps inside.

"Of course," she says, returning the gesture. "You two get a good night's sleep. Professor Bennett, I'll see you tomorrow to show you to your classroom. You've got a lot to do in just one week."

"Thank you," he nods, waving her off. "Good night."

"Good night," she says to the pair of you before walking off.

Once the two of you are alone, you let a big smirk grow on your face. "I'd appreciate if you could explain the jargon," you say, mocking the words he had said before. "Please, James, do tell me what you know the word 'jargon' means."

"I swear I'm gonna kill you," he sighs. "You better not mess this up for us."

"I'm sure I'll be fine as long as you don't poison me with your shit cooking," you snort.

"That was one time!" he groans. "Can't I ever live that down?"

"Nope!" you laugh as the two of you head further into the small flat.

"Anyway," James says, changing the subject. "Let's unpack and get some rest."

"Sure," you nod, heading to your room.

Once you get there, you notice all of your things have been brought and neatly arranged inside. It makes you feel a little less homesick. Even though you've barely even left.

"Oh, Y/N, one thing," James calls out, stopping you in your tracks.

"What?" you groan, turning around to face him.

"No fucking the professors, alright?" he smirks, waging a finger at you.

"Oh please," you laugh. "If anyone's gonna have an inappropriate relationship, it's gonna be you. But don't worry, I'll stay away from your little boyfriend, Black."

"God, you're such a bitch," he chuckles, rolling his eyes.

"You love me," you blow a kiss to him. "Night, James."

"Go to bed, you little brat. I'll see you in the morning."

Serpents and Roses

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