#broom handle materials

[maretriarch]

is there anything more bullshit and useless than those anxiety and depression 5 question forms

[yueyimold]

double mold plastic shovel

China 2k mold maker, offer bi injection dustpan with rubber lip, double broom dustpan mold, pp tpr foldable dustpan 2k mold, multi color long flex handled dust pan

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Can you write where Ethan as Ghostface kidnaps reader to keep her from the reveal because he loves her and doesn’t want her to get hurt but she falls in love with his masked self so he ends up revealing himself anyway

kinda had to change this a tiny bit, but still got that stockholm syndrome vibe. also I've never done this trope so this might not be great, i tried.

masterlist

“shit. it’s a trap!” chad yelled as he paced around the floor. the lights in the theater cut off cloaking the space in an ominous darkness.

arms stretching in front of you, trying to keep yourself from running into cabinets or people. your heart was hammering against your ribs, quick uneven breaths leaving your mouth. “guys? guys!” not hearing anything back from your friends.

“anyone-“ a gloved hand covered your mouth and it muffled your horrified scream. ghostface got you, you’re already dead. you tried jerking away from them as they dragged you away and further in the abandoned theater. the scratchy material of their robe rubbed at your throat and tickled your stomach.

you could feel the muscle of the stranger beneath their costume, physically telling to you that you were out matched. your harsh breathing from your nostrils filled the hallway along with two steps of footsteps. their hold was tight but not restricted, if you could just kick or swing maybe-

“i wouldn’t try anything, sweetheart.” a low voice whispered in your right ear. they didn’t have the standard ghostface tone, but it sounded like they were trying to disguise it. an involuntary shiver racked your spine and hitched your breath.

continuing in their rush to drag you away they brought both of you to a cluttered closet, sneakers bumping into fallen bottles and soft rolls of towels. practically being shoved into a metal shelf and causing a wooden broom handle to clatter noisily to the linoleum flooring.

"help! help-"

"shut up! i'm trying to save you!" your captor growled and their clunky boots carried themself into your limited space. their towering stature staring down at you through those empty black eyeholes.

"save- save me?" you stuttered, "you've been trying to kill us for a week! sam! chad! help me-" scratchy fabric covered your mouth and part of your nose causing your breathing to be short and panicked.

ghostface leaned in closer, "well you seem like the only good one so I'm being generous and deciding to spare your life. now, i have to go after your friends, but you're gonna stay here until i come back and everything will be okay." waiting for a beat before rushing out back into the light and leaving you to sub come to the dark.

did it make you a bad person, or a bad friend if you were relieved that a serial killer decided you were worth keeping alive? you'd be willing to play their little game for however long until you were ready to run free and disappear, they seemed to have a sort of liking to you. maybe an obsession, they would've been stalking you if they knew your every move and location.

it kinda made you feel a certain way. a romantic, unhinged sort of way. you've heard of people saying how their partner is obsessed with them, but having a stranger being so obsessed with you they're willing to kill everyone else to keep you...

maybe your ex's were right. you were a bit sick in the head.

you weren't sure how long you were locked in the closet. could've been ten minutes could've been an hour, but when you heard rushed footsteps outside the door and the lock turn you rushed forward and threw your arms around your kidnapper.

"let's go before the cops arrive." was all they said after a minute of your hug. your dropped your arms, but they reached for your left hand and dragged you behind. you followed like a lost puppy.

when an exit sign came into view they halted to a stop causing you to bump into their back, confused by their decision. "what's wrong?" rounding to stand in front of them, hands still locked.

"i- i have to stash the costume. don't- don't want you to see my face." they almost seemed worried, concerned about your reaction to their identity.

"hey," you stepped closer, hand reaching to caress the mask, "it's okay. i'm not gonna run. i- i want to stay with you, you saved me." voice dripping in seduction and honey. eyes doeing to further convince them of your alliance to them only.

with their free hand they gripped the chin of the mask and slowly lifted it away until to came free and you were greeted by the shocking sight of- "ethan?" his sweaty curls shading his eyes.

he didn't say anything, just bit into his bottom lip while watching you closely waiting for that inevitable switch that always happens when the killer is revealed in movies. but all he got was a creeping smile changing your face and you saying, "when we're safe i'm gonna make out with you so hard, killer." before he rushed to stripe the black robe off and you both rushed out the deserted building.

hand in hand. grinning like the psychos you are.

[urgardenandmine]

alone yet free ☾ - j. suh

summary: the new night guard is a cutie patootie genre: fluff/non-idol au pairing: m!reader x johnny suh word count: 2.9K

i guess the time has come. we have to go. 

as the sun began to rise over the horizon, you stared out the glass window from your place. from your feet, you could feel the pain of the cold hitting you. it was the usual, due to the museum’s weird angled vents. as your eyes scanned the wooden floor, you looked at the paintings as the pain had rose further and further up to your torso. grunting softly, you tried not to acknowledge it yet you could feel your eyes water. your toes felt frozen, as if someone had placed them in dry ice and then held you in suspended animation through cryosleep. 

feeling the sun’s warmth now on your chest and left side of your face, you took in a quick breath as you stood still. you had felt the hairs on your face stand on end, reacting to how your nerves felt being gently cradled by the glowing yellow star. whimpering due to the cold, you plastered on a face of curiosity, staring towards a corner in the ceiling. it was the same corner you had stared at for a while now. the ceiling was peeling, the missing paint patches revealing the ceiling's original material which was mahogany wood. the beams were littered with chandeliers and as well secretively due to the makers of them, cobwebs. you had seen maybe one spider always in the same dusty corner, feeling somewhat jealous due to it’s freedom and being able to express its creativity. 

listening to the wind pick up, you remembered it was spring and that the weather was cooler now. you had heard someone mention where you were last night. the word “london” happens to pop out a lot from people’s mouths, yet you had no idea what that meant. you also heard the word “spring,” which you knew as you weren’t a heathen to the seasons gifted upon you. the birds chirped, flapping their wings as they soon went to begin their chores for the day. 

feeling the coldness reach the crown of your head, you stood in place, unmoving and unwavering in both the physical and emotional. as your ears became muffled, you did your best to decipher. hearing the sound of the door handle wobble, you heard another sound. it was similar to the windchimes yet less majestic, more mechanical. they were getting louder, and more aggressive as the door handle turned. 

key. the word was key. the keys went into the handle. 

pushing open the door was a stout man, adorned in a simple black tee and mustard yellow puffer jacket. his bottoms were a simple brown, nothing too describe due to his uncaring attitude towards his looks. your eyes were blurry yet you could see his outline. it felt like you were watching through stained glass, the objects now appearing like blobs of color. it was as if you had rubbed your eyes, the vision now staticky as well. 

the man let out a booming sneeze, followed by a hard snort as he mumbled words. due to your current hearing situation, you didn’t make out anything that was said. you saw his body disappear into a room that was labeled “storage.” you had no idea what it was but you knew that it must’ve been vast as everyone had placed so many items inside. you had seen a broom, a water broom and even the broom’s companion which was called a “dustpan.” you had seen the man reappear now in the room, bringing out the green broom as he swept the dust into the orange dustpan. it was almost like an opera, seeing him dance around the room and around the other people you were always around. he had begun his usual routine before getting the place ready to accommodate his usual group of friends. 

during his chores, you could hear the faint ticking of the clock. you could see the hours past yet didn’t budge, simply in place as usual. during the passing hours, three people had come into the building during different increments. the first came an hour after the man had come, while the other followed presumably thirty minutes after. the third had come in another hour. the latter had  opened the doors to the building.

as the doors opened, you could hear the small pitter patter of footsteps and growing voices. slowly creeping into your blurred vision, you had seen groups of children, all dressed warmly and in bright color. one girl (you assumed was a girl) was wearing a brightly colored hat. it was almost a bright pink, yet you felt it was too loud. you couldn’t see any of their faces, only their silhouettes and the colors they had chosen for the day. you had seen as well a bunch of other adults, watching over the children and eyeing those around you. in front of the group were those who had appeared in the morning, helping the man clean up, now wearing a black sweater as they seemed to have been talking to the groups. 

you stood still, looking at those as you had seen your comrades also in position. you made eye contact with your friend amara, as she held her dress in her left hand and re-positioned her diadem with her right. she had the same half-smile as usual. looking at her, you felt a small feeling of relief, seeing that she was in-place unlike your last friend, christos. last week, he had decided to switch his positioning, which was funny to you two yet he had earned three days in the other “storage” room. luckily, it was documented that he was known for changing once in a while. 

as the group had passed by you, you had seen the one person you were expecting. he was wearing a forest green “cardigan,” which you had learned from your friend george william burdenell-bruce. the cardigan had a small patch knitted on, which was a small white bunny. you had always wondered what the bunny was named, considering it looked like he always talked to it. he wore gray baggy jeans, with his white tank top tucked into his waist. on his shoulder was the strap that led to a woody, chunky bag. the bag had things attached on it, such as small cute and colorful trinkets. you were always fascinated by the idea of them as they had their own voices when touched, unlike you. 

seeing him eyeing you, you were somewhat intrigued on what part of you had caused them to linger around you every day. oh, i had forgotten to mention. he was always here. he was always eyeing you, intaking every piece of you. he was your secretive yet not so secretive admirer. whether the weather be warm, scorching, soggy, freezing, he was always here in this building. 

one of the workers of the building had approached him. they began to conversate, yet it was hard for you to understand due to the speed of how they were talking. trying to listen in (which was rude yet you had no choice as you couldn’t move away), you tried to break down what they were saying.

“hello there! what’s your name?” the worker asked, doing their job as they had to assist everyone here.

“oh, hey! i’m johnny.” he replied.

johnny. 

jonathan. john. jon. the many variations of that name have yet one base. the name john meant “graced by god” and here he was, gracing you with his presence. 

“hi there, johnny! well, welcome to the alistair museum! i see you found a piece you enjoy.” the worker teased, nudging him ever so slightly. johnny scratched the back of his neck, chuckling as he nodded and looked at them. his eyes then slowly followed to you. another thing i forgot to mention…

you were a simple sculpture.

you didn’t remember much on your home, knowing only the story you were told from your creator and the days and steps leading up to your being.

it was a simple day in your hometown. you lived in a village, well, technically, your creator lived in a village so you did too. you had no idea what continent it was nor what side of the planet, whether it was day or night. as you being made, your creator had mixed the clay that made you with certain “properties.” he had purchased an elixir from the local apothecary, hoping it had made the clay more “lifelike.” what he didn’t know was that the simple elixir was made of blood, which was mixed with herbal water placed in a silver bowl, soaked in the light of a lunar eclipse. 

your creator had mixed the elixir with the simple clay, not realizing they were making life in a bowl to make a simple sculpture. they had taken their time with you, making each crevice and simple limb lifelike, wanting to be known as an artist that people could revere. they had one thought in their mind, to be the best, and with you being made, they were. 

it was after your first transformation, for a lack of a better term. your eyes had opened as soon as the sun had fallen asleep, allowing the moon to awaken everything else in it’s path. you could feel the coldness slowly lift from your smooth skin, almost like a newborn baby’s. your eyes were immensely blurry, as similar to the morning dew on a clear glass. you blinked, clearing them up as you could see your surroundings. you were in a small hut like house, the roof being coned and made of straw. the walls were supported with wooden rods and straw as well, acting as the insulation. you could see specks of clay through the loose yellow strands of stray. next to you were other sculptures, yet half-made or barely started. 

a small gust of wind had caused you to shiver, making you look for a small sheet to cover yourself with. making your way towards a sheet under pottery, you yanked it from under them, causing them to somersault off the table and onto the floor. the sound of five pieces shattering had caused your maker to jump out of their slumber, rushing to the source of the ruckus. in front of their eyes was a living, breathing man, draped in a clay stained sheet. their initial reaction was that of fear, then slowly becoming realization as they had seen you off your stand. approaching you, they recognized their handy work. in the next hour, you were being taught on what the things in life were, as you had taught them that you were a child in the body of an adult.

throughout the years, or centuries, you were passed around owner from owner, being a piece of art with an alluring history. you remember the places you were placed before, such as countries like greece, parts of asia and more. following the never ending changes in location, you began to get lonely, making friends with the animals and the other inhabitants yet seeing either destruction in the days to come or being stolen due to your value. now in this time, you weren’t as lonely as you were now in this place which was labeled a “museum.” though some of the pieces weren’t like you, you enjoyed their company, yet some were like you and that didn’t bode well for them.

the ones not like you were the ones you had labeled the “living,” as they could experience the gaze and warmth of those around them. though it was ironic, you had called them the “living” because of how much people knew of them and how much their stories would live on in history. those like you, you all (such as you, christos and more) decided on the name of the “lifeless,” being stuck in time during the day and yet while alive at night, had nowhere to go. though you as well had stories to your own names, you felt like you were in a prison, unable to leave due to your curses and unable to really experience life due to the chains that were placed upon you as your duty as works of art. due to the immense pain of never being free, the other “lifeless” had chosen to never shed their stoney skin, simply staying in the cold. you, however, had a new reason to live.

the man in front of you was that reason.

he was here weeks before, the week before, and now he was before you. his eyes scanned you, studying every part of you. you felt seen, you felt alive.

now, on this day, he was back again and communicating with the worker, learning more on you. seeing him smile at the small pieces of knowledge that the worker knew, it was almost as if a partner was listening to their partner’s parents brag about their child. he had turned to look at you, smiling as the worker walked away. stepping closer, he chuckled as he whispered softly.

“you’re my favorite piece.” 

hopefully this man was what the kids “single.”

⋆｡°✩

as time passed, you had been kept company with the man. he had seemed to never leave, being here in the museum for almost the whole day. feeling the time get closer, you hoped for him to leave, knowing that though if you were no longer stuck in this cocoon, you would either run to him or he would do the opposite. you could see the sun rays slowly exit the room, as the workers followed suit. the man, johnny, still didn’t budge and was nowhere near exiting, as he had made his way to another possible “storage room.” it was weird, but he must’ve gotten confused on how to leave. 

with the sun now gone and the moon over the horizon, you could feel all the pieces of stone and clay remove themself from you, allowing your skin to breathe. the feeling of the museum’s cool air made you feel relief. the cold from the AC was different than the creeping cold of the stone, almost more comforting. stretching, you let out a small exhale as you smiled, looking at your surroundings. hopping off your platform, you made your way to a potted plant in the corner. digging through the dirt, you had slowly pulled out a pair of trousers. you were now getting more accustomed to the new world’s rules. 

slipping on the bright pink trousers, you sighed and took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the musty museum. 

“nothing like the smell of dirt and dust.” you stated happily. you soon made your way to your friends, informing them that the man you had fallen for had been back again. making your way down the hall, you waved at the paintings that you had talked to for years, complimenting them on how today they looked “prettier than usual.” turning the corner, you had immediately froze.

on a bench, in front of your friends was the man you were coming to talk about. johnny. sucking in a short breath, you didn’t know what to do. eyeing him, you noticed his clothes had changed. he was now in a navy blue uniform, his belt accessorized with things such as two metal hoops, a black stick and what the people called a “flashlight.” you had no idea what it did but it looked fun. as you gulped, his head turned towards you. he shot up, removing his stick and the flashlight, shining it on you.

“hey! stop!” he barked, causing you to jump. looking at him, you had never seen this side of him. it was authoritative. it was very alluring.

“oh, i’m sorry. i was coming to see my friends.” you explained. he inched forward, holding the stick tight in his left hand. he furrowed his brows, looking you up and down.

“friends? you’re half-naked!” he exclaimed. you look down at your body, confused on what he meant. looking back at him, you titled your head to the right, showing your confusion. as he approached slowly, his face had softened. 

“wait, you look familiar.” he stated, now an inch from you. you blushed softly, looking up at him and into his brown eyes. 

“oh! i’m from here!” you answered, walking back as you made your way back to your platform. you could hear his heavily padded feet follow behind you. reaching your stand, you sat on it and looked at him. you smiled and waved. as you looked towards him, his mouth had fallen open as he began to dance. 

“i knew it! i knew it! the stories were real!” he happily sang, jumping up and down as he looked at you. after realizing he was now talking to a living fairytale, he stopped in his tracks and got closer. he sat beside you, smiling.

“uh, i’m johnny. what’s your name?” he spoke softly, slyly taking off his button up vest and wrapping it around you. 

“no one’s ever asked me before. my name’s [y/n].” 

“it’s pretty.” he complimented, causing you to smile gently. he looked at you, eyeing every part of you. it felt like how he did when you were stone, his eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

“so, how are you real? and what’s the story? and like what’s your favorite color?” he spewed questions like a leaky faucet, making you giggle. he blushed, looking away as he scratched his neck.

“sorry, too much?” he asked, now embarrassed by making himself seem a little needy. you shook your head, slowly grabbing his hand and holding it tightly.

“not at all. we have all night.” 

⋆｡°✩

inspired by the opening line of kiss of life's "te quiero" and the performance video (stan KIOF!)

sorry if it's not so good! halfway through this writing, i started getting dizzy and light headed TT

i hope y'all enjoy!

[moralesluvr]

Hii. So I had this idea where it’s (e-1610) miles saving Reader from something and when he finally looks at her he immediately becomes attracted towards her (like love a first sight thing) and gets all shy and cute

love at first sight ft. miles morales

♡ pairings & aus: miles morales x fem!black!reader, college au, cafe au. ♡ summary: after getting hit on after walking home from work, your friendly neighborhood spiderman is here to save you-- and he‘s stunned when he sees you. ♡ warnings: none jus fluff! ♡ a/n: this is so extremely self indulgent because i wear glasses and i was just visualizing this the whole time LOLLL ♡ got a request? | masterlist ♡

YOUR SAGE-TINTED FINGERNAILS PINCH around the soft material of your apron, a broken sigh tumbling off of your reddened lips as you placed it on the coat rack in the back of your workplace. Another huff leaves you, this time of relief, eyes darting to the clock that resides on the wall. It reads, it digital numerals, '10:22.'

You should've closed twenty minutes ago, but of course, some of your avid regulars insisted that they needed a coffee or slide of banana bread right as you had grabbed the broom from the back, ready to shut the cafe down. But you couldn't complain because you were at least happy that you had the next couple of days off, so you let your worries roll off of your t-shirt clad shoulders, grabbing your purse and keys from your work cubbie and switching off the lights.

Keys jingling as you step outside, you stick a golden one into the hole that's below the door's handle, locking it and beginning your walk down the street.

A shiver courses through your veins, your body not quite adjusted to the sweet, yet wintry cold that summoned goosebumps on your bare forearms. You hugged yourself and tucked the sides of your coat in, throwing your Coach bag over your shoulders as the pretty lights of Brooklyn advocated for your lack of vision.

The cafe that you worked at was the only place you could earn money and also enjoy. Your boss was one the upperclassmen that you knew from your university, which really helped because she always gave you days off and flexible work hours. All your co-workers were just close friends or classmates-- plus, you loved to bake, so it really was a genuine place of interest.

You're humming one of your favorite songs down the block when you reach a strip of shops. There's a pub nearby and you always hold your breath when you pass it-- because it's not so much a bar, but more of a place where teenagers hang out and smoke or drink ill-tasting beer. Usually you're safe passing through, but that wasn't necessarily the case tonight.

A boy that you recognize from your university stumbles out of the place, eyes reddened and droopy as he stopped you in your tracks. He smirked at you, "Why're you walkin' all by yourself? Need some company?"

Pushing a curl back behind your ear, he beams a smile at you, one that makes your stomach feel uneasy as you slowly moved his hand back down to his side.

"No, Aaron, I don't. I...have a boyfriend." You lied through your teeth. You definitely didn't, but you needed a valid excuse as to why you didn't want this creep taking you home.

"I think you do need some company, though, pretty thing." He insists, pushing himself closer to you, a laugh sounding from his throat. "I don't see your boyfriend. What kind of man would leave his girl alone at night, walking down the streets of New York?" His hands find home on your waist and you let out a squeal, "Stop!"

Although it's no use. He continues, trying to learn into your lips as you fight his tight embrace. But he's stronger, and you genuinely think that you're a goner until a tall figure in a-

Spider-Man?

He comes literally out of nowhere, standing in front of Aaron as he grabbed both of his arms, removing his grip on you. The masked vigilante twists his hands behind his back and he screams, biting his lip, "This your pathetic boyfriend, huh? Some idiot playing around in a mask?"

Spider-Man says nothing to that, except he just shoots a web at Aaron's hands, pinning them behind his back. He then flips him around and webs his mouth, moving closer to him. He whispers against his skin, "Shut up."

Aaron's eventually pinned to the brickwork of the pub's walls, when Spider-Man finally turns to look at you. You're smiling, even though anxiety is still pumping through your blood, "Thank you, Spider...Spider-man?"

He just stares at you.

You're so pretty, curls tucked back in a ponytail with some loose ones hanging against your dark glasses frames. You're clad in a leather jacket and a pair of ankle-high boots, a pretty skirt resting on your thighs. The moonlight glows against your brown skin, and he finds his mouth dry because it's wide open.

You cock an eyebrow at him, "Spider-Man? Are you okay?"

And although he longs to say something, to get the words out, he can't help but give you one last glance as he finds himself webbing to a wall, swinging away without saying a word.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 ☻ thank you for reading!

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓🕷️: @queenesther996 //@sukunas-slutty-bitch // @c3f21 // @wydney // @rinnyisnothere // @brieryann // @moisttowllet // @Dee-m-cee // @liliummz // @starhrtz // @daisydark // @randomhoex // @solanawrld // @whore4hobie // @tanakaslastbraincell // @simp4miguell // @nyrovi3 // @my3tumbles // @aziulsworld // @enchantingfoxsparkles // @mancerseedu // @cafehyunji // @personofyou // @mcdvsr // @kopiivie // @ellatienesuscosas // @venuswash3re // @calliarlerte // @pr0wlerpunk // @tzuyuzzs // @wisepoetrycheesecake // @clearskiiiess // @d3atht3hek1d // @vienreina // @pixqlsin // @caulifloweron // @aizawassimpblog // @stvrgrl // @zerosinterweb // @ishqani // @mookiebut // @urmotherswhor3 // @cumbermovels // @asmobeuses

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✎: @Dee-m-cee // @euphorichappiness10 // @adoree-kaelynn // @mhadnirb // @mmst4rz // @iris-theflower // @fleurrieerecs // @kenlani // @kala2022 // @ilyless // @milesmolasses // @laylasbunbunny // @all444miles // @thecoloredpages // @bl00dsuccker // @evacowan // @popeheywardssecretgf // @adoremvney // @anikaluv // @qtdenks

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @enj4i // @chrissytalia // @chaoticevilbakugo // @motheroffae // @luci1fer

[gaybirdnerd]

Medical Attention

Note: this is 2009 Ghoap inspired by a conversation with @spottlessspectre. I think it’s fitting I listened to El Tango De Roxanne during the angsty bits :3

It was supposed to be easy. The mission was meant to be easy.

Captain Mactavish and Lieutenant Riley were meant to get in, get information, maybe plant a bomb or two, and get out.

They got in perfectly fine but found that their intel on the base they were infiltrating may be a slight bit wrong when presented with the tens of guards and plenty of weapons that the base had. Something they severely underestimated.

They made a mistake going in there.

They were in a snowy climate, dressed as heavily as possible yet still able to comfortably wear their tac vests and necessary equipment and be able to move around, thermals helping wonderfully with that.

Getting in was easy, getting to the main room of the warehouse and seeing approximately 50 more people than they were expecting nearly gave Captain Mactavish an aneurysm right then and there.

In the act of trying to leave and calling the mission a bust, the two got discovered and a shout was given before bullets were flying.

Riley and Mactavish tried to give themselves an opportunity to retreat, killing those behind and to the sides, making a break for it at every chance they can, hiding behind crates of unknown materials.

They’re almost at the door to the hallway out before it goes tits up.

Mactavish runs towards the door as Riley covers him, then takes shelter to cover Riley’s retreat.

They don’t notice the grenade thrown before it goes off.

It pushes Riley closer to the doorway, taking his breath but seemingly not touching him as he bounces up from where he was thrown and hightails it, grabbing Mactavish and pushing him in front of him.

The corridor is filled with footsteps cutting off their escape route, around a bend they need to pass to get out the door and to the RV site.

With a quick breath and a whispered “in here” Mactavish drags a heaving Riley into a small supply closet barely big enough to fit them.

Hushing Riley and purposefully calming his own heavy breaths, Mactavish listens as those that were chasing them and those that had been coming towards them meet in the middle and debate where he and his lieutenant went. One suggests their supply closet only to be berated by at least five others who tell him it’s stupid to go into a supply closet barely fit to handle the brooms and mops they had shoved in there.

To his relief, none of them choose to check the closet and instead split off to check the warehouse top to bottom, debating who goes where long enough for his adrenaline to lower itself and his breath to calm remarkably.

Once those outside of the closet retreat to go check, Mactavish turns around to tell Riley they should leave only to be met with a pale, shaking, and still heavily breathing lieutenant.

“Mate, are you ok?” His concern rises when Riley meets his eyes and gasps “I’m sorry” only to collapse forward into his captain’s arms, shaking and gasping out repetitive “I didn’t realize”s.

”Riley? What’s wrong? Lieutenant?” His panic rises as he maneuvers them to sitting in the stuffed closet against the door, pulling the string for the light as he pulls Riley onto his lap.

“My back” is all that’s muttered between gasps as Riley lets himself collapse into his captain, trusting him to help.

Losing his words and getting Riley to bring his arms around his neck, Mactavish looks over Riley’s shoulder to what of his back he can see. He’s confronted with a slowly spreading red spot on Riley’s jacket and a rather large piece of wood from the blown up crates from earlier on his lower back, thankfully missing the spine.

“We have to take off your vest, I can’t see well past it. Your jacket too, there’s a rather large piece of wood. Can you do that for me? Help me take your vest and jacket off?”

His words are met with a couple of gasps of pain and a nod against his shoulder.

He gets Riley up, helping him position his hands on Mactavish’s shoulders for stability. Looking at him up close, Mactavish concludes that he’s far too pale, but not enough for significant blood loss yet.

Unclipping the tac vest and taking it off is the easy part, it doesn’t take much moving on Riley’s part. The jacket becomes a problem as soon as Mactavish unzips it and tries to get it off of his lieutenant’s shoulders.

Trying to be as helpful as possible, Riley tries to move his shoulders downwards to make it easier to relieve him of his jacket, only to be met with pain flooding through his already tired body from the movement.

With a whimper of pain, Riley collapses against Mactavish’s shoulder and nearly blacks out, tiny whimpers joining the now heavy gasps as his captain cradles his head and shushes him, apologizing for the pain.

After Riley catches his breath and stops making such painful noises, Mactavish tells him not to move and just let him do it. Getting the jacket off his shoulders is hard to do without him moving, but they get through it without tweaking the injury again until it comes to getting the jacket off from around the shrapnel.

Mactavish grabs the small but packed first aid kit Riley stores in his vest and grabs scissors, apologizing for ruining the jacket before he cuts around the shrapnel.

Once the jacket is away from Riley, Mactavish gets him to put his arms around his neck again by pulling them up towards where they were earlier. Riley goes with no complaint or comment, to the concern of Mactavish who also notes his shakes turning into shivers of cold quickly due to the lack of his jacket.

“I’m going to feel it, see if it’s safe to pull out so we can patch it up, yeah?”

It’s a simple whisper and said right next to Riley’s ear. It causes him to bury his head between his own arm and Mactavish’s neck, nodding.

Prodding the wound and seeing what he can of it from his position while cursing the size of the closet, he determines it to be safe to pull. Relief pulses through Mactavish at this because a wound like this would have been hell to try to get Riley out with. And he would be getting him out no matter what.

Mactavish tells Riley what he’s doing as he prepares to pull the wood and prepares gauze to pack the wound until they can get out far enough for what stitches may be necessary.

Giving his last warning, Mactavish pulls the wood as quickly but softly as he can, making sure it doesn’t tug too painfully. Easy enough with the blood soaking it to his chagrin.

As he pulls, Riley buries gasps and whimpers of pain into his neck, instinctively pushing his body closer to Mactavish’s to try to escape the pain, only to find nowhere to go.

Once the shrapnel is cleared, Mactavish takes what smaller pieces out that he can see from his position with sterilized tweezers, ignoring the tears sliding down his neck and tickling his chest and back as they pool under his shirt from Riley’s position buried deep to keep himself quiet.

He shushes him every once in a while with assurances that it’ll be ok.

After getting what he could see, Mactavish packs the wound, cleaning up what blood he can see around the wound and packing more gauze above the skin to keep a thick layer between the wound and the air, Mactavish grabs bandages. He has Riley put his hands on his shoulders again and starts wrapping them around Riley’s torso to keep the gauze in place, ignoring how badly he’s shaking and the redness of his eyes beyond the mask.

Once he’s done with that, Mactavish packs up and lets Riley pull himself together, helping him put his torn jacket and tac vest back on. Mactavish pulls a stim out of his own vest and holds it up for Riley to see. At a nod from the now composed man, he injects it into his right thigh and drags them both into a standing position to wait for it to kick in fully.

Hearing nothing right outside the door and determining it to be safe to move, Riley back to his old self with his gun in his hands, ready to go as the stim hits him, Mactavish gestures for them to leave, turning off the closet light right before they exit it.

To their relief, they make it to the RV point with no more sightings of those from the warehouse and get a medic to take a look at Riley. The medic chooses to pack the wound again and fix it properly at the hospital back on base.

They get their information two weeks later when they take more people in and demolish the forces within the warehouse, taking the information freely then blowing up the place to cover their tracks.

[rottenpumpkin13]

ngl each time you mention cloud using a broom i'm imagining one of those old straw and wooden handle ones instead of something modern.

like yea both can be used to shoo off a raccoon from the attics, hit reno from outta arms reach, smack maliciously intentioned entities brought forth by attempts to control that which is outside of the expertise – let alone knowledge – of mere mortals outta the buildings, wrangle up idiot soldiers en masse, wrangle up trippin soldiers en mass, wrangle up drunk off their arse soldiers en masse and sweep the godsbedamned floor for once in your life, stevens, by fenrir! ...but organic just seems to work best. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ gives it all a weight to it i guess.

The great thing about using household items as weapons is that when Cloud retires from saving the world, and settles into a peaceful life with Tifa and the kids in Edge, he's still prepared for any situation.

*Cloud is sweeping the kitchen*

*Sephiroth materializes out of nowhere*

Sephiroth: Cloud, your end is inevitable.

*Cloud starts beating him with the broom*

Sephiroth: What—Hey—HOW DARE YOU—

Cloud: DON'T MAKE ME GET THE VACUUM!

[the-merry-otter]

Beginner Sewing Equipment

So! I’ve seen enough of you in my notes now going “ooh I wanna take up sewing”, so I thought I’d start giving some tips for how to do that. And the thing that comes first with any hobby is equipment. It can be a bit of an outlay at first, which is daunting when you’re not even sure you’ll enjoy it. However you honestly can get away with the bare-bones amount of equipment - further tools make it easier, but aren’t necessary straight up.

If you start on a small project, the only things you’ll really need are:

Pack of basic needles

Dressmakers pins

A spool of thread

Seam ripper / unpicker

The fabric/material you’re working with (for the love of all that is holy don’t start with velvet or faux fur they are the devil incarnate in textile form).

Then once you go “yeah ok I’m kinda enjoying this”, I recommend adding:

An iron!! This is not only to keep fabric flat, but to press seams, and help with edges. Hopefully you already have one as a household item. (If you don’t have an ironing board, lay some towels down on a table).

A pair of fabric scissors. I cannot stress enough that if you can you should buy the expensive ones it makes such a difference. (In the meanwhile, paper scissors can *technically* work they just don’t work WELL).

Dressmakers tape (before you have one of these, use a piece of string and a common ruler to do the measurements)

Tailors chalk / some kind of washable pen (a normal pencil can do the trick at first - the area where you’re marking often ends up on the ends of a seam, and can’t be seen on the finished garment).

A thimble (good for hand sewing thick wools or other dense fabrics)

A long ruler for patterning (a broom handle is an acceptable substitute for a while though)

That’s it, those are the items I use for 90% of my projects! Any other equipment will likely be specialised, which you can then buy on a needs-basis.

(The only other thing is a sewing machine, but that’s going to be a personal means thing; they are not a cheap piece of equipment! See if you can borrow one from a friend or family member to start with).

[sailtomarina]

In the Spirit of Competition

Your competitive streak was going to be the death of you. You’d heard as such from countless people growing up: your mother as she bemoaned the state of your clothing after playing outside all day, your brothers when you just had to one-up their record times holding your breath underwater, your best-friend Ginger after you stayed up consecutive nights studying to outscore Hermione Granger just to prove you could, and, now, the Weasley twins for celebrating Gryffindor’s win before the match had even begun.

Fred and George had mad skills–that you would never argue. Together, the two were formidable Beaters who could communicate silently in that way only twins ever could, even high up in the sky with the wind whistling in their ears. They moved like extensions of the same mind, creating a nearly insurmountable defence against their opponents.

Nearly.

As Ravenclaw’s up-and-coming Chaser, you had several of your own tricks up your sleeves. You’d poured yourself into studying the sport and running drills with the team far outside of usual practice hours. If there was anyone who could fly circles around the twins, it was you.

You demonstrated as such with a perfectly-executed Sloth Grip Roll, the Bludger that had been knocked your way flying harmlessly past the empty space.

“Nice try, One!” you yelled.

“It’s Fred, you witch!” he threw back, but the stretch of his grin proved him just as entertained as you.

The next close call forced you to twist the broomstick in a tight twirl to avoid yet another Bludger. The move saved you from a smashed handle, and you threw an arm out like some sort of Rodeo star with a loud whoop.

“We’ll get you next time,” your opponent hollered.

“In your dreams, Two!” You knew perfectly well it was George this time goading you, but it was too much fun needling them with numbers instead of names. 

Ravenclaw’s lead widened the longer the match went on, and the opposing team was getting desperate. You grunted as Angelina practically threw herself at you in her attempt to steal the Quaffle. Her fellow Chaser, Alicia, made to pin you between them, but you quickly dove to rob them of the opportunity. Their bodies made it so that you didn’t notice the Bludger coming at you until it was too late.

You registered the sound of your name a split second before pain exploded in your arm. Then, you were falling, wind rushing all around you and your mind scrambling to make sense of what was happening and how to react. 

Your wand. Where was your wand?

You fumbled past the flapping fabric of your robes to where you kept the stick strapped in a holster at your side. The damnable material and pain in your shoulder blocked the attempt, and, looking down, you realised you were much closer to the ground than expected. If only you hadn’t dived, then you might have had a bit more time.

There was a technique to falling, but, no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t get your legs to swing around underneath you. You needed to roll into it, or, at the very least, land on your side instead of your back.

I hope my broom’s okay.

That thought was the last thing on your mind before your body froze less than a metre from the ground. Despite the save, your ears continued to roar with ragged breaths and a heartbeat that continued to drown out any other sound. 

You floated gently towards the grass, the soft surface and scent comforting and bringing you back to your senses. Now you heard your name past all the shouting. Then you were engulfed in more robes, only these ones were red instead of blue, and gentle hands cupped your face. Your muscles relaxed as the stopping spell released you from its hold and was replaced by the telltale tendrils of healing magic spreading throughout the source of your pain.

“Shite, oh shite! Sorry, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

“Fred–”

“I should have protected you, should have paid attention–”

“Fred!”

“I’m so stupid, aiming for you when you couldn’t have known, couldn’t have–”

With a sharp jerk to his robes, you yanked him down to cover his babbling lips with yours. You would have laughed at the startled squeak that escaped him, but were too preoccupied panicking that you, yes you, had actually gone and done what you’d been wanting to for months now. He tasted sweet, and you wondered if you were tasting one of their prank sweets or if this was all him. His hands landed in your hair and against your back, pulling you into him as he deepened the kiss, bending further over you as everything else around you faded away.

“Oi!”

You ignored the interruption, wholly focused on the taste and feel of Fred Weasley, his softer than expected lips, the delicious prickles of his stubble, the weight of his hand squeezing your waist and making you want to do obscene things to him, with him–

“We’re in the middle of a match, you gits!”

The kiss broke off as you both staggered from the slap of a hand against Fred’s back. George’s reminder was the splash of cold water you needed to look around and realise he was absolutely right. Both teams looked down on you in amusement from their brooms, while a non-nonsense Madam Hooch waited with one eyebrow raised and her wand still partially extended.

“You alright, there? We good to start, or do you need a swap?” she called out.

Reluctantly, you extracted yourself from Fred’s hold to wave both arms and kick both legs to indicate their readiness. “All good! Thanks for the save, Madam Hooch!”

The woman nodded and jerked her chin. “Up you go, then. Quidditch waits for no one!” The cheers of the crowd around them supported that statement, the roar only increasing as both you and the twins mounted back up on your brooms.

Fred lingered nearby, his brows still furrowed in concern. He bit down on his now swollen lip as he stared.

“I’m okay, Fred. Promise.”

The assurance relaxed him and brought back the twinkle in his eye you adored so much. “So you do know my name.”

“Consider it a temporary lapse of sanity,” you teased.

“Would you be willing to relapse after the match?” he asked, the beginnings of a smirk emerging.

“Only if you win.”

Now he openly grinned, relishing in your unflagging sense of competition. “And if I lose?”

The whistle sounded, and you darted straight for the Quaffle. 

“Then I’ll call you whatever I like,” you called over your shoulder, before a burst of speed put you far ahead of your opponents and straight towards the goalposts in the distance.

You had a specific term in mind, and a game to win.

Written for Lauren’s Kitchen Friday ficlet prompt: I should have protected you”

WC 1152

Cross-posted on FB, Tumblr, and AO3

I’m in a bit of an overwhelmed slump right now, trying to balance four separate fest works that are all due roughly around the same time. What was I thinking!? I obviously wasn’t, which is why I’m now here, writing a prompted ficlet instead of working on what I should be focusing on 😛

[the-mortuary-witch]

COMMON WITCHY TERMS / TOOLS

ATHAME: a ritualistic knife, typically black handled with a double-edged blade. You use it to cast a circle around the altar before commencing a spell and to direct energy. 

ALTAR: a place where you do rituals or spells. It is often a special table or shelf where your ritual tools are kept.

AMULET: an object that is carried or worn on a person or placed in a location in order to draw specific energy or luck toward that person or location.

BOLINE: the witch's working knife, a white-handled ritual knife that has several magical tools. Such as being used to carve candles and cut herbs. 

BROOM: used to purify and sweep away negative energy. 

BOOK OF SHADOWS: a Book of Shadows is a Witch's journal. It contains notes on experiments, information they picked up along the way, spells, recipes, correspondences, chants, traditions and more.

COVEN: a coven is a community of witches who gather regularly for religious and/or social occasion.

CAULDRON: a cauldron is used to build a ritual fire or concoct magic brews. 

CHALICE: a chalice is used for drinking ritual brews and magic potions. 

CANDLES AND INCENSE: essential ingredients in many spells, can also be used to cleanse objects and your space.  

CRYSTALS: typically used as batteries of energy in spellwork. 

DIVINATION: the metaphysical work of finding the truth of an issue by using symbols and objects to interpret messages from the collective unconscious or from communication with spirit beings.

EVOKE: to call or summon a spirit, entity and/or deity.

FAMILIAR: afamiliar is a magic-user's spiritual helper manifest in animal form.

GRIMOIRE: a magical manual or a magician's instruction book. It is much more formal than a Book of Shadows.

HEX: referring to an unfriendly spell meant to bring about mischief.

INVOKE: to summon or draw a spirit being into your own body. This is usually done to encourage communication between the spirit world and the material world.

JARS AND BOXES: used to store ingredients and can be used for spells. 

MORTAR AND PESTLE: a mortar and pestle used to grind herbal mixtures for spellwork. 

PENTACLE: used to symbol the five elements and for protection. 

SACHET: a small bag of herbs, crystals, or other objects that is meant to bring about a desired effect; essentially acts as a charm.

WARD: a protective barrier may be maintained by a spell, a talisman, a symbol or some other physical or energy object.

[newbornwhumperfly]

with a minimum of interference...

this was a very exciting project for me, so i had to make it so, so sad 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 for this @whumpmasinjuly prompt - day 28: fill a whump prompt - i chose this beautiful prompt (self-imposed sleep deprivation) by @teine-mallaichte 😍😍😍 please forgive me in advance for turning into some heartbreaking backstory material for my boy morja...💔💔💔

CW: sleep deprivation, childhood neglect, accidental parentification trauma via latchkey kid syndrome, childhood poverty, oops it's all so sad folks please proceed with emotional caution <333

title insp. by this concept art quote by jenny holzer - “when you’ve been someplace for awhile, you acquire the ability to be practically invisible. This lets you operate with a minimum of interference.”

~

Makuahine was supposed to be home already. 9 PM, maybe later. She said it would be at nine. I'm sorry, Morja, I hope to be back as soon as I can from work, okay? It is eleven, beaming in the dark of the kitchen, and Morja is still waiting. 

It isn’t bad that she isn’t here at ten. Sometimes…it takes longer, sometimes. That’s what jobs are like. Morja knows that the buses are long and that sometimes work is longer than Maku thinks because bosses say stuff that's different, all the time, and that's a job. 

He’s not stupid. He’s able to understand. He's smart and responsible and knows money has to happen.

And still, even with money and obeying and jobs and taking care of the apartment and of Lehua, his eyes are itchy and burning. 

In the small walls, the hum of wires is quieter, the lights off, the small space all shadows. There’s so little space to walk around, just seven steps to the wall, seven steps to the other wall, where he can touch the buzzing fridge, the cold tiny sink, the table squished into the corner. 

Walk to the door. 

The latch, closed. The lock, turned. The other chair pushed under the handle, jammed up tight, secure. 

Morja walks to the corner by the door and, quiet, slow, rearranges the toys again. The little squishy floor-mat of blue and yellow stars was folded small, the little plastic basket had every toy stacked up. But maybe the trucks should go on the bottom and the soft toys on top. 

Trucks. Then the beanbag toys, laid in a row, little bunny, little cat, little dog. No, f-o-x. The two squishy stars. The big plastic ball on top. Neat, nice. Maku will be happy the corner is clean! He swept the floor with his little broom and got all the dust, even the tiny gritty bits, in the can. 

Morja likes when it is clean too. 

Stand up, knees and shoulders making the crackle noise, sore neck, rubbing his eyes again and his back hurts from bending. Walk quiet, so quiet, to the bedroom to check on Lehua. She cried and cried and was mad that Morja wasn’t Maku. Needed to be carried, wailing, until his arms hurt too much to hold her, hearing thumps and yells from the wall behind the kitchen at very loud screams. 

Morja doesn’t scream. He could. He could scream if he wanted but he’s too old for screaming. 

Lehua’s face is pink and clean on her tiny pillow, because Morja played and played and read and read the little book with its cracking spine and bright pictures and by the time she fell asleep, her cheeks were scrubbed from the snot and tears by the washcloth, snuggly and soft, and Morja did a good job.

The light through the blinds makes orange stripes over the tiny body, snuffling, curled around her blanket. Morja is extra quiet when he kneels next to the mattress to touch her head. 

Not hot.

Morja blows out, soft, cause that’s good. This mattress is so soft, bigger than his, with springy bounce. He knows he’s small for his mattress but this one is just nicer, wider, more room for stretching. 

Morja pillows his cheek on the mattress, his nose just so close to Lehua’s balled-up fist, and her chest rises and falls. Sometimes Morja lays awake and watches, when he can’t fall asleep. Watches Maku breathe, the weird rasping wet noise it makes, like a gasp. Watches Lehua breathe, so small it’s sometimes hard to tell it’s happening. 

Morja doesn’t like that kind of breathing, the air that happens when you’re sick. 

The mattress is soft under his cheek. 

Not so scratchy. 

No, c’mon, get up. Keep watch. It’s not Morja sleep-time.

Morja wants to keep the lights on, because, well, he knows he has work. Brightness will help. But it’s so important not to keep the lights on too much cause of money. He chews his lip, thinking. The school has given him pages to practice his language skills, he thinks the tall pale man with a pale shirt and pale hair said. Pale sheets of paper in his hands and so, so many lines. 

Even when it’s dark and there’s a throb behind his eyes, Morja can still be helpful and finish these lines for tomorrow. If he shoves himself into the very corner of the wall, where the bad-wet-smell of the room is strongest, a strong streetlight pokes through slats of window-blinds. 

It’s orange and white and burns in a way that thumps the inside of his head. But it’s bright enough to see the paper. Black lines thump against his eyeballs, neck sore as it bends low to the paper, one fingertip tracing.

What is the right answer to a stranger asking “how are you?” 1. “I am good, thank you.” 2. “I am good, how are you?” 3. “I am good.”

The clock on the top of the stove beeps, red and gleaming through the grills. 

12.00 AM

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhh.” 

Morja huffs through his teeth and rests his head against the wall. The stink and the hum makes his head throb harder but it keeps him up. Pangs shoot through his belly and his hand, sore, thumb and finger raw and indented-red from holding his pen, rubs over his stomach. Hungry is good, it keeps him- he can stay awake if he thinks about eating and how Maku will have maybe a snack from one of the late-car-places.

Dry noodles and powder rattling in a box.

S-t-a-t-e.

Meat in strips, hard and dry and hot.

R-a-e-t-e-a.

Chocolate in shiny wrapping, crunchy nuts and sweet goo and soft fluff, that is so rare.

N-e-w A-t-h-e-n-s.

Salt and sugar and butter and stuff that isn't on the list of what's allowed that Maku takes to the store.

1:00 AM.

Swimming black letters. Orange paper. Icky smell. Head hurts.

Maybe if he closed his eyes for a second.

But what if- Morja grunts and digs his fingers into the burn, sniffing hard. What if the door’s locked and Maku can’t come in? What if Lehua rolls off the bed? What if there’s a fire? 

What if something bad happened?

It’s the ache, like being hungry but worse, that keeps Morja up, more than his head hurting or his eyes itching or his butt and his legs getting sharp prickles. The what if thudding in his small chest, keeping his heart fast and his eyes watery. The worry keeps him awake, keeps him doing a good job, the worry helps.

By the time the sky gets oranger than the streetlamps and the chain rattles in return, Morja has learned how to keep the stomachache constant. By the time it is safe to lay down, he passes the hours to school with his hands over his stomach, the sharpness in his belly, in his chest, pressing, pressing, pressing. By the time he doesn’t need it anymore, it sticks. 

By the time he turns in his papers, clean and white and perfect, Morja learns more than one lesson to be perfect at.

~

so sincerely hope you enjoy what i've done with your excellent prompt, @teine-mallaichte!!! 😭🥰💖🥺

taglist: @much-ado-about-whumping @haro-whumps @whump-tr0pes @whumpzone @i-eat-worlds

@whumpthisway @whumping-every-day @whump-me-all-night-long @liliability @stoic-whumpee

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whatgoeswhumpinthenight @whumpster-draganies @scoundrelwithboba @kixngiggles

@redwingedwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @straight-to-the-pain @wolfeyedwitch @tears-and-lilies

have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly everyone! 💖💖💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[milowren29]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday!

Thank you so much for the tag @sophie1973!

Here's another little snippet from my wip whumptober series...which is really turning out to be more of a vamptober series so far!

---

When he looks up, Henry is standing about ten feet away, visibly shaking from the effort of staying in place.  His eyes are still dark and veiny, fangs prominent beneath his top lip.  

“This isn’t you, Henry!” Alex shouts, scooting backward on the floor.  “You don’t want to do this!”  

“You think I don’t know that?”  Henry’s restraint suddenly breaks, and he moves so quickly that he seems to just materialize right beside the janitor’s cart.  He snatches the broom out of the cart, snapping it in two over his knee, and before Alex can even begin to register his intention, Henry jams one end of the wooden handle into his own stomach.  

Blood immediately blooms on his shirt as Henry doubles over in pain.  Alex looks on in horror until Henry jerks his head up to meet Alex’s gaze and growls, “Go.” 

---

Open tag with a few no pressure tags below!

@read-and-write- @clockwrkpendrxgon @theprinceandagcd @anincompletelist @kj-bee @inexplicablymine

[yueyimold]

double mold rubber edge dustpan

China 2k mold maker, offer 2 color long handle broom dustpan, pp tpu edge bar dustpan mold, 2 component rubber strip shovel, multi shot soft plastic strip dustpan

[ad-caelestia]

Common magical tools and their uses (& the elements they're associated with)

Athame - Fire - Traditionally, a black-handled blade (much like a dagger) used to invoke entities, cast circles, and channel energy. Modern uses include trimming herbs, cutting cords for knot magic, and carving symbols into candles.  

Bell - Air - Traditionally silver in color; used for cleansing, banishing negative energy from a space, or designating the beginning and end of a spell. 

Broom - Air - Crafted from wood and twigs or feathers; used for both physical and magical cleansing.  

Cauldron - Water - Traditionally cast-iron; commonly used for burning herbs/incense/oils, holding candles, etc. 

Censer - Air - Used to hold and burn incense. 

Chalice - Water - Traditionally used to hold wine but can be used to hold any liquid to be consumed during a ritual.

Pentacle - Earth - Commonly seen as the center-piece on some altars; said to give the space increased magical energy.  

Staff - Air - Can be crafted from wood, ivory, and various metals, and adorned with an orb or crystal at the top to accent its inherent power; used to direct/channel energy; a larger version of the wand. 

Sword - Fire - The larger version of an athame; used to direct/channel energy on a greater scale.  

Wand - Air - Can be crafted from any material and decorated with various crystals and metals to accent its power; used to direct/channel energy.  

*these items can also be used to represent their associated element on an altar*

© 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟺 𝙰𝙳-𝙲𝙰𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙰

[aria-malfoy]

Hogwarts shifting content!!!

Wiltshire

I spend most of my childhood in Wiltshire, in the Malfoy manor. I suspect my mom and Narcissa were planning of me and Draco being together, since we were small. Maybe that was the reason that she send me to spend time with the Malfoys.

The most everyday things, like throwing rocks in the lake, or going for a walk, felt the most magical when I was with Draco.

I remember one time when we were about ten and Narcissa, with her typical queenly air, gave us a list of errands to run around the village. Draco and I protested, of course. He said it wasn't proper for "a Malfoy" to run errands, and I just didn't feel like carrying bags all the way back. But Narcissa was unwavering.

"You'll be useful," she said in a firm tone, though with a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Also, Draco, don't forget that this is the village that supports our home. Showing a little face won't hurt you."

So there we were, walking down the cobbled path that led to the center of the village. Draco was carrying a list written in his mother's elegant handwriting, and I was holding a small purse of galleons that Narcissa had entrusted to "my responsible hands," something Draco kept mocking the whole way.

“Responsible hands?” he repeated with a smirk. “I’m pretty sure you lost your wand twice last week.”

“And I found it faster than you did when you forgot your broom, Malfoy,” I replied, nudging him as he rolled his eyes.

The Wiltshire town was quaint, with narrow streets and vine-covered stone buildings. There was a bakery that always smelled like heaven, a potions shop, and an open-air market where locals sold everything from fresh flowers to rare artifacts.

The first mission on our list was to purchase some ingredients for dinner. At the market, a kindly older woman greeted us with a smile.

“Draco Malfoy, is that you?” she asked, leaning in a little to get a better look at him. “My, you’re looking more like your father every day.”

Draco stood up a little straighter, with that haughty air that seemed to have been born in him.

“Thank you, Ms. Paddock.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, because the moment she mentioned Lucius, Draco automatically changed his posture, as if he were in an official meeting. Now that I think about it, it wasn't that funny, but I usually laugh at everything.

After purchasing the ingredients, we headed to a shop. There was a tall, hunched man there who always gave me the creeps, but Draco handled him naturally, ordering the materials with a precision that only someone accustomed to perfection could achieve.

Everything was going well until we got to the last errand: picking up a package at the town bookstore. It was a special edition of Narcissa's favourite book. We entered the small shop, where the air smelled of ancient parchment and fresh ink. As Draco spoke to the shopkeeper, my eyes wandered to a bookshelf full of old, dusty books. One of the titles caught my eye: Crystals and Magical Legends. I love crystals.

I pulled out the book and began flipping through it. The pages were filled with detailed drawings and notes in tiny print.

“Are you going to read all of that now?” Draco’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. He was standing behind me, the package under his arm and one eyebrow raised.

“It’s interesting,” I replied, carefully closing the book. “And, it's beautiful.”

I glared at him, but before he could respond, the clerk stepped in.

“That book is part of a rare collection. If you’re interested, I can offer you a discount.”

Draco sighed dramatically and looked at me.

“Please don’t. We’ve got enough to carry around.”

Ignoring him, I set the book on the counter and paid with Narcissa’s purse.

“You know you’re going to have to explain this to my mother now?” Draco murmured as we left the store.

“Oh, Cissy loves me. I’m sure she will understand.”

Draco didn't answer, but there was a small smile on his face. Walking back to the manor, with bags full and tired feet, I couldn't help but think about how lucky I was to share that type of moments with him. And I loved Wiltshire.