#crimson witch of embers

[genshinincorrectquotes]

Signora: Thanks to your little gesture, she actually believes that the earth is full of people who, deep down, are filled with kindness and caring!

Scaramouche: Well that’s absurd. People are bastard-coated bastards with bastard filling.

Signora: Exactly!

[mangooes]

A cat rescue mission with the dragon

The wind hummed through the ancient forest, rustling golden leaves beneath the twilight sky. The village on the horizon glowed faintly, but deep in the heart of the wilderness, a small cave nestled among the trees—a home that belonged to (Name) and Sylus.

Or rather, a wandering witch and the fearsome fiend dragon she had freed.

Sylus, the fiend dragon, lounged lazily on a large, sun-warmed boulder near their home. His usual massive, clawed wings were tucked against his back, his long white hair falling into his crimson eyes as he flicked an ember between his fingers.

He had been enjoying the peaceful evening—until a high-pitched cry reached his ears.

“SYLUS!!”

She came running out of the woods, her curly hair bouncing, eyes wide with urgency.

Sylus sighed, barely lifting his head. “What now, human?"

She grabbed his scaled arm, tugging him insistently. “Come quick! There’s a cat! It’s stuck! We have to save it!”

Sylus blinked at her. “…A what?”

“A CAT, SYLUS!” she all but yelled, flailing her hands for emphasis. “An adorable little creature! It’s stuck high up in the tree and can’t come down! It’s scared! We have to do something!”

Sylus flicked his gaze toward the pathetic little furball, its tiny form trembling as it clung to a dangerously thin branch.

The dragon sighed. "Let it fall."

She gasped dramatically. "Sylus!"

He smirked. "What? If it has nine lives, it can afford to lose one."

She stomped her foot. "You heartless lizard!"

Sylus snorted. "I’m a dragon, sweetheart."

"A dragon who is going to help me save that cat!"

Sylus narrowed his eyes, waiting for her to say one wrong thing.

Then she did.

She clasped her hands together, her bottom lip trembling just enough to be dangerous.

"Please, Sylus?" she whispered sweetly.

…Damn it.

He could feel his resolve crumbling like a weak fortress. She knew exactly how to break him.

With an exaggerated groan, the mighty fiend dragon lowered his head to her level. "Fine. But I’m not just getting the cat."

She blinked. "Huh?"

Without another word, he lifted her off the ground, placing her effortlessly on his broad, scaled shoulder.

She squeaked, grabbing onto his sharp horns. "Sylus—!"

"You wanted the cat?" His deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated beneath her hands. "Then we��re getting it together."

And with that, he launched into the sky.

Wind rushed past them as Sylus carried her effortlessly, his massive wings cutting through the air with ease.

From this height, the forest below looked like a sea of endless green, the sky stretching into a vast infinity.

She clung to his shoulder, her heart pounding with excitement. "Sylus! This is amazing!"

Sylus smirked. "You act as if I haven’t flown you before, little witch."

"Not while on a rescue mission!"

With a powerful wingbeat, Sylus hovered beside the tree where the frightened cat still clung for dear life.

She reached out carefully, her voice gentle and reassuring. "Shh, little one, it's okay..."

The cat meowed pitifully, its fur bristling, but (Name)’s warmth had a way of soothing all creatures.

As soon as she secured the cat in her arms, Sylus pulled away from the tree, descending gracefully.

But instead of landing immediately, he spiraled playfully through the air, dipping and turning just to hear her delighted laughter.

"Sylus! Stop playing around!"

"Why?" he purred, his deep voice dripping amusement. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

She huffed, but he felt the way she buried her face into his scales, her warmth sinking into him.

He could fly with her forever.

When they finally landed, Sylus gently lowered her to the grass, his massive wings curling around her protectively.

She cradled the cat in her arms, beaming up at him.

"See?" she said, her smile bright. "You do have a heart."

Sylus arched a brow. "Don’t start rumors, kitten."

She laughed, pressing her face into the cat’s fur. "Thank you, Sylus."

He stared at her, completely, utterly enchanted.

Then, with a huff, he tugged the tail of his around her waist, tugging her closer to him.

"Don’t thank me," he murmured, his voice low and fond. "Just promise you won’t ask me to save a squirrel next."

(Name) giggled, satisfied with her adventure today.

But Sylus wasn’t really worried about that.

He was too busy wondering how a little witch had managed to tame a dragon’s heart.

I PROMISED A DRAGON SYLUS FLUFF DRAFT AND HERE IT IS!!! anywayss ill publish the part 2 of the cat series tomorrow since i still have to edit some stuff and i dont think im gonna include the other lis (sorry) anywayss MYTH SYLUS'S STORY LINE CAN STAB ME

[eldridgecandell]

"Is this the part where we run?" The guard whispered softly as the shadowed form floated through the wood.

Eld grimaced hard as she stared at the many eyed thing floating through the air, his hands gripping tightly to the stock of his crossbow.

The eyes turned and found them.

"Yes," Eld spoke harshly as he grabbed the guard as they began to back up deeper into the Crimson.

Maéna

[rainybyday]

Pt 2 | Pt 3

Jazz was in awe of her baby brother. Sure, she had seen him in her Ma’s tummy but seeing him in person was different. 

He was so.... squishy and tiny and small and soft! His hands waving in slow motions with legs kicking in the air, closed eyes and baby soft clothes on his new body. Jazz was content on watching her brother like this, hearing his soft coos and simply staying with him but she felt a nudge from her left. 

“Touch him Jasmin,” Big Sister Rosa said. “Hold out your finger to greet him.”

Jazz looked back at her Big Sis. Her dirty (mud covered) blond (dark red) hair shifted so her green (missing) eyes stared at her in gentleness (and understanding, for she too was a big sister once upon a time). Seeing Jazz’s hesitation, she nudged her again towards the crib to encourage her.

Jazz looked at her, then glanced back at her brother. The baby was still wiggling in his position. Hesitantly she reached out her hand to hover over her brother, still a bit unsure as to what she should do. Just when she was about to retreat her hand when the nerves got the best of her, she felt the touch of feathery soft skin. 

Wide blues eyes watched in awe as a tinny tiny hand grazed her’s. Danny was blindly waving his arm to feel her own before little fingers with even tinnier nails finally unclenched from his fist and latching on to her hand. 

A moment of silence passed by before the tiny ittiy bitty baby made a soft whining sound. 

And then-! And then-!

He opened his eyes!

Jazz felt all her breath escaped her in a loud gasp as blurry blue eyes blinked against the bright lights of his nursery. He blinked for a long time before his eyes seemed adjust enough to seek out the soft thing he was touching. 

“Hi baby,” Jazz breathed. “I’m your sister.”

Little eyes blinked as responding hums answered back. 

(The specters watched the two living breathing beings as they conversed with each other. Neither of the siblings knew that those words would have taken a hold of them both. A bind that transcends beyond blood and water.)

(Both pair of eyes glowed under the veil, ebony hair became wispy white and crimson hair became blazing embers.)

(One held the starting of a star in his eyes, space under his shadow, and eternity written in his future.)

(One held the shine of a sun in her eyes, magic on her fingertips, and the birth of infinity that will be the tale of her destiny.)

Jazz protected and loved her brother. Twin laughter can be heard in rooms they claim to play in. Jazz would always insist on feeding him when her parents come to grab him for food. Giddiness would push Jazz to rush to her brother once school is over to tell him about her day. Slowly, Jazz’s life was becoming brighter with her little star by her side. 

The birth of her brother also had another side effect. She would converse with her Big Sisters more, asking questions about her brother's health or ask them what stories her brother would love to hear. Craft projects were made with the upmost care in order to gift them to her little star. She spent a large about of time digging for pretty rocks and wildflowers to present to him as well. More and more she planned her days around what she can do to make her little brother the happiest he can be. 

More and more she started to spend more time outside 

(More and more people of the town started to notice how the predator began to prowl the streets of their uneasy town.)

(Tension began to rise, and every person would start to slow down around corners of their homes. Afraid to meet the gaze of something unnatural, the beginning of something dangerous with too white teeth and too bright eyes. Tension was becoming thicker and only time will tell when it snaps.)

(And it did.)

“What are you smiling about?”

“Hmm?” Jazz hummed as she turned questioning to the voice behind her.

“You heard me!” A classmate yelled. “What are smiling about Witch!”

Jazz tilt her head at the term, not noticing the growing uneasiness of her classmates around her who were staring at the altercation. She pondered at the new word as she answered. “I was smiling because I was thinking of my brother.”

The classmate waited, clearly looking for more of an explanation but got none which agitated them. “So what? You just smiling thinking of your pet?”

Jazz frowned. “Pet? Danny is not my pet.”

No, Danny was her little brother. Her sweet little brother who would smile so adorably with so soft cheeks and playing with ever do gently. Her little brother was her prefect little star. He wasn’t some pet.

Her classmate looked at her disgust. “Thats what a Witch would say.”

“What’s a Witch?”

“What you are!”

She doesn’t understand what that means at all. 

(The unseen dead children cower under the name. The name that was said with such fear yet hunger. The need to destroy and take and light on fire because of that name. Many have seen those that set ablaze, many have been there longer than what their appearance may imply.)

(Many have seen the start of the hunt.)

(The Witch Hunt.)

“Why would you ask that?” Big Sister Annie asked Jazz. 

Jazz, unaware of the troubled look her Big Sister had, answered. “A classmate called me a Witch, but I don’t know what that means.”

(The Fenton Household became still. The elderly couple at the back stopped gossiping with each other as their auras became a deadly shade of black. Big Sister Rosa frozen in kitchen, her open wound on her neck started to drip blood once more and her mulated hands tumbled. The women in dresses of fire started to burn, skin turning black and the smell of ozone.)

Big Sister Annie stayed silent for a long moment. So long that Jazz started to shift every so often for waiting for so long. Finally, as years of waiting (not) Big Sister Annie crouched down to meet her eyes. 

“Listen to me Jasmin.” A̸̰̹̬̭͌̏̅̍͜n̷̺̆͌̽̈́̽́͝n̴͔͉̻̯̪̤͇̐̐͛͋̚͝ę̶̦̓̀̃b̵̈̀̓̀͛ͅë̷̡͚̬̳͎̪́̚t̴̡͊h̷̜̪͖̓ͅ ̷̡͖͎̥̇M̴̡̛̠͖͚͈͋̈́̑̾a̷̢̺̝̾̈́̋̾̑��̣͎r̷͕̣̐ḯ̶̢̤̉͗̔̒̽͝b̸͍̓̅̂̀ͅe̶̝̬̹̪͇̒̄͒̌́̃͝l̴̰̍l̸̼͕̭̞͂̋̽͝ ̴͖̼̙̞̬̈́̔̃̓G̴̠̭̖̥̦̮̙̓̓͆̉͋̋r̴̜͙͊̽̉͗ã̸͖̞̬̠͎̦̓͆̃͂͜c̷̱͙̬͈̺͗͐͌͆̚e̶̪̭̦̬͉̯̩̔̇̽͂̀ demanded. “Listen to me very carefully to what I am about to tell you. Do you understand?”

“Uh.. Yes?”

“Jasmin.”

“Yes!”

(There's something about history. History always tells us the stories of the past, the winnings of war and the start of buildings anew. History is always taught to show the mistakes we make so that we will be blessed to no repeat them.)

“Witches are people that are hurt by others because people fear them. They don’t mean to cause fear, it's just that people are scared of things they don’t understand, things they deem strange.”

(But we often forget that History is written by the survivors, the winners.)

“Jasmin, you're not strange to me nor to Roselle or Madame Victoria or Master Wischer. We love you so very much, but you have to understand something Jasmin. Not everyone can see us, they don’t understand us, nor do they accept us. It's not their fault nor yours, but sometimes people believe in stories that are passed down far to earnestly.”

(And History, is not always right.)

“We don’t want you to be hurt, so please, listen to me Jasmin. Listen to me.”

(Witches, as they all know, were always burned at the stake.)

That day was the day that Jazz learned how to pretend. Pretend because if she did not, then she will be hurt. 

She doesn’t want to be hurt so she pretends, even if she doesn’t like to pretend that she can’t see the children in her classroom. Or how she can no longer call out to the madams in beautiful gown in the streets or dance in the forest with them anymore without getting caught. Sure, she could still talk with them behind closed doors, but her family started to come less and less by the day. 

Slowly, it became just Jazz and Danny. But her and Danny. And no one else.

(She wonders why they left her.)

It would be years of being normal, years of pretending to read more silently and walk away a bit faster. Years of pretending to be someone she is not. 

It was years of fakeness when she meet someone new, someone lost. 

His name was Jason. 

[infamous-light]

Only Mine

Dark! Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

AO3: Only Mine

Summary: Driven by desperation, you rush to escape, fully aware that if Wanda catches you, there will be no way out.

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Possessive/obsessive behavior, yandere, non-con kissing, magical restraints

The forest was silent – too silent, as if even the wildlife had sensed her presence and fled.

You stumbled through the tangled undergrowth, your breath coming in ragged gasps, every snapped twig underfoot echoing like a gunshot in the oppressive stillness. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale glow shrouded by swirling crimson clouds that twisted unnaturally, as though the night itself bent to her will.

Your heart thundered in your chest, the sound nearly drowning out everything else as you cast a frantic glance over your shoulder. You saw nothing, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t there. The Scarlet Witch had a way of blending into the shadows when it suited her. It wasn’t just her powers that made her terrifying – it was the unwavering intensity in her gaze, the fiery obsession that burned in her eyes every time they met yours.

“Run all you like, darling,” Wanda’s voice drifted through the air, soft and lilting. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. “You can’t escape me. You belong to me.”

A branch snagged your sleeve, and you ripped free, panting as you pushed deeper into the trees. Just when you dared to believe you had gained some distance, a faint glimmer of crimson light would catch your eye – a cruel reminder that she was toying with you, giving you the illusion of hope.

You pushed your legs to move faster, each step sending a sharp pain lancing through your calves. Your muscles burned with protest, but you refused to give in. You couldn’t stop – not now. You had to keep going. You had to –

A sudden force seized your ankles, wrenching you off balance and slamming you face-first into the ground. The impact drove the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping as a broken cry escaped your lips. Dirt and leaves clung to your palms as you scrambled to push yourself upright, but her magic's hold only grew stronger, its sinister glow pulsing brighter with each passing second. Panic surged through you as you thrashed wildly, yet the crimson tendrils slithered higher, coiling around your legs like a serpent trapping its prey.

It pulled you back, tearing you away from your desperate dash for freedom.

“No!” You screamed, clawing at the ground, your fingernails digging into roots and soil in a futile attempt to hold on, but everything slipped from your grasp.

The tendrils gave a final, brutal tug, dragging you mercilessly toward her.

At last, Wanda emerged from the shadows, her crimson eyes blazing like twin embers in the darkness. Her stare seemed to cut right through you, pinning you in place. The weight of it sent a sinking chill through your stomach.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself,” Wanda purred, her voice smooth as it wrapped around you like a vice. “We both know how this ends.”

The tendrils lifted you off the ground, and you struggled against them, twisting and turning, but her magic held fast, keeping your wrists and ankles bound tightly. Wanda tilted her head slightly, watching you with a predatory smile. She moved towards you slowly, each step calculated, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I only wanted to protect you,” Wanda continued, stopping just in front of you. She raised her right hand, letting her fingers graze your cheek in a mockery of tenderness while her magic kept you suspended, helpless in the air. “But you had to defy me. You had to run,” her voice hardened, the warmth in her tone replaced by something colder, more dangerous. “And now, I’ll have to remind you of who you belong to.”

Her magical tendrils shifted, curling their way around your chest before constricting with suffocating force. You gasped, the pressure stealing the breath from your lungs. Wanda’s face hovered just inches from yours, her breath warm against your lips.

“Tell me you’re mine,” she murmured, her tone softening again, though her grip on you did not. “Say it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest as Wanda loomed too close, her presence almost overbearing. Desperately, you averted your gaze, trying to create some distance, but she was everywhere. Her magic grew fiercer, pressing down on your mind like a thousand heavy stones.

“Say it.” Wanda repeated, her voice low and threatening.

Her magic tightened around you and a strained cry slipped from your lips.

“I…” Your voice faltered; the words stuck in your throat.

Her expression darkened, and she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear. “Say it, or I’ll make you.”

Tears stung your eyes as you whispered, barely audible, “I’m yours.”

Wanda’s smile stretched slowly, a quiet satisfaction in her eyes, but it lacked warmth. It was pure possession. Pure victory. She reached out, her fingers curling around your jaw with a grip that was firm, almost cruel, and pulled you in. Wanda’s lips crashed against yours with such force that it left no room for resistance. The kiss was demanding, urgent, her tongue sweeping into your mouth as if to mark you, to claim you completely.

Every instinct in you screamed to pull away but you couldn’t. The grip on your jaw tightened, anchoring you in place as Wanda deepened the kiss, leaving you helpless to do anything but surrender to her.

Thankfully, Wanda pulled back a moment later. Her lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary before her magic finally loosened just enough to release you. You collapsed to your knees before her, trembling and broken.

Wanda's lips curled into a sly, mocking smile as her eyes studied you with dark amusement.

“What’s the matter?” She teased, her fingers sliding beneath your chin, tilting your face upward to meet hers. “Can’t handle a simple kiss?”

A bitter surge of frustration rose within you, but you couldn't muster the words to protest.

With a soft, almost indifferent sigh, Wanda stepped back.

“Let’s go home.” She said, her voice casual, as if nothing had just happened.

And then, with a sudden burst of red light, the world around you dissolved into darkness.

[pupsmailbox]

GOTH ID PACK

NAMES︰ abby. ace. addam. alister. amelia. amoret. ange. angel. angelo. anubis. arachne. arch. archette. ash. aslan. aspen. astor. astoria. astrophel. atticus. axelle. azazel. azrael. bael. bat. batsy. battie. bella. bellatrix. blade. blair. blanchette. brahms. branwen. briar. cain. caine. callan. calliope. cannibelle. caskeite. casketta. caskette. caskieth. caspian. celeste. celestia. cemetrell. chaos. charlotte. cherry. chira. chiraelle. chiro. chirobelle. chiroptairre. chiroptelle. chiroptera. chiropteranne. chiroptira. choir. christian. circe. cofette. coffin. coffine. coffyn. coffyth. constantine. corbin. corpse. crimson. crow. crowley. damian. damien. demonesse. divina. dorian. draven. ebonyie. echoella. edgar. elatha. elijah. elix. elwin, elwin. elwood. ember. emmaline. etienne. eulalie. evan. evangeline. eve. faith. forest. forrest. frill. frille. frilleine. frilliette. frilly. genesis. ghost. gothita. gothitella. gothitelle. gothitess. gothitesse. gothlyra. gothorita. grey. grisveil. gwen. hades. hawthorne. hecate. hemlock. imortalle. imortella. iris. israel. jakob. jet. jett. johnas. josiah. judas. kain. kane. kedi. keir. kross. krosse. lacey. laciene. laciette. lazarus. leo. lilith. lilithe. lolita. lucid. lucien. lucifer. lucius. luscious. lynx. maeve. malice. mana. martyr. max. melancholy. merle. micah. michael. misery. mordred. morris. mors. morte. morticia. mortis. morvessa. mourge. mourgette. mourne. mournelle. mourveil. myrette. nightshade. noah. noctelune. noctre. noctrelle. nocturne. noir. obscurine. obsidian. oleander. omen. onyx. orion. orpheus. ozul. ozzy. prince. prophet. ransley. raven. ravenie. raveniette. ravenith. requiem. rogue. rook. rowan. ruby. saber. saint. salem. samael. samuel. scarlet. secrette. seraph. serenity. shilo. shiloh. silas. silver. silvester. skelly. skulliene. skulliette. skully. skullyfir. solanine. sorrow. sylvester. syn. thorn. thorne. thornyse. tobias. tommy. trix. umbriel. valkyrie. valo. velouryne. vervain. vesper vesper. victoria. ville. violetta. vito. vlad. woundie. zeon. zephyrine.

PRONOUNS︰ abby/abby. ae/aer. ash/ash. bat/bat. bleed/bleed. blood/blood. book/book. bug/bug. burn/burn. ce/casket. ce/cem. ce/cer. chain/chain. chap/chapel. chi/chir. chill/chill. claw/claw. cloud/cloud. co/cof. co/coffin. cob/cobweb. cof/coffin. coffin/coffin. corps/corpse. creep/creep. cri/cross. cro/cros. cro/cross. cross/cross. cross/crosse. da/dark. dae/dae. dae/daem. dark/dark. de/der. decay/decay. dee/dark. des/despair. devout/devout. div/divine. dust/dust. e/echo. e/eerie. echo/echo. edge/edgy. en/envie. fae/fang. fang/fang. fe/fear. fie/fiend. fog/fog. fri/frill. frill/frill. ghost/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. go/goth. gore/gore. goth/goth. goth/gothic. gra/grave. grave/grave. gri/grim. ha/haunt. halo/halo. hie/hiem. ho/holy. holy/holy. horn/horn. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ink/ink. lace/lace. lae/lace. lost/lost. mist/mist. moon/moon. net/fishnet. ni/night. night/night. null/null. par/parasol. parasol/parasol. pray/pray. pray/prayer. proph/prophet. ro/rose. rose/rose. rot/rot. rust/rust. sac/sacrifice. saint/saint. scar/scar. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. si/sinister. sie/sier. sin/sin. sku/skull. skull/skull. snake/snake. spider/spider. spike/spike. sto/storm. stud/stud. thiey/thiem. thorn/thorn. thou/thorn. thron/thorn. thxy/thxm. tom/tomb. tor/thorn. vae/vaer. ve/ver. velvet/velvet. vi/vile. vi/vir. vo/void. whis/whisper. whisper/whisper. witch/witch. wood/wood. x/x. xae/xaer. xi/xir. xie/xiem. xie/xier. ×. ♠️. ♣️. ⚰️. ⛓️. 🌑. 💀. 🕯. 🕷. 🕸. 🖤. 🥀. 🦇.

[dark-corner-cunning]

The Legend of Old Mother Red-Cap and the Serpent’s Fire: A Mountain Witch’s Spring Equinox Folktale

In honor of the return of spring, I’ve chosen to take a more creative path, weaving together folktales inspired by my journey of cunning and the land of the Appalachian Mountains I call home. This tale draws from the spirit of Old Mother Red Cap, who summons the red serpent to awaken the land and bring forth spring's renewal. Every day, new traditions and stories are born—so why not create your own? Dare to craft your own folklore and rituals, for who knows? Your creations may be the ones that echo through generations to come.

-------------

In the mountains, where the winds weave through the trees and the stones hold memories of the past, there’s an ancient tale passed down in whispers, told in the quiet hours before the Spring Equinox. It speaks of Old Mother Red-Cap, the keeper of the first spark, and the Red Serpent who coils deep beneath the earth, the very fire that stirs the world into life.

Long ago, when winter had wrapped its cold fingers too tightly around the land, the rivers slowed to a crawl, and the trees slumbered so deep they forgot how to wake. The people felt the heaviness of the stillness, and they knew the sun’s warmth would not return unless they called for help. Old Mother Black-Cap had clutched the land too fiercely, her frost-bound grip lingering beyond its time, and the people suffered in the endless chill. Their fields lay barren, their animals weak, and their spirits dimmed like smothered embers.

So, they gathered in the first light of dawn, before the sun had fully risen on the day of the Equinox. They walked the land, their voices rising in unison, calling to Old Mother Red-Cap, the fiery spirit of Spring, to awaken and renew the earth.

"Red-Cap, Red-Cap, light the way, Bring the flame to stir the day."

They chanted, their words carried on the cold wind, winding through the valleys and over the ridges, reaching the heart of the mountain where fire sleeps.

From the depths of the earth, she came—Old Mother Red-Cap, wrapped in her cloak of crimson flame, with a lantern glowing bright like the first light of dawn. Her boots struck sparks upon the frozen ground as she walked, and with every step, the earth beneath her feet began to stir. She raised her lantern high, and from the flame, she summoned the Red Serpent, its glowing body uncoiling from the depths, ancient and wise.

"Wake up, old thing," she called to the Serpent, her voice crackling like the fire itself. "There’s work to do."

With a great hiss, the Red Serpent stretched and yawned, its fiery breath sending warmth through the frozen soil. As the serpent rose, the earth shuddered, and the ice cracked wide open, the land waking with the heat of transformation. Old Mother Black-Cap shrieked as the fire crept into the hollows where she hid, her frost retreating, her icy veil lifting from the mountains. She fled, her dark cape trailing winter’s last breath, slipping into the shadows where cold must rest until its time returns.

Old Mother Red-Cap plucked an ember from her lantern and pressed it to the Serpent’s forehead. The flame sank into its flesh, and the Serpent’s eyes blazed with new life. With each beat of its fiery heart, the land came back to life. Roots stretched and drank of the warmth, buds burst open in a fever of green, and the rivers, once sluggish and still, roared with the power of renewal. The people felt it too—the fire waking in their bones, the hunger to move, to grow, to become.

Old Mother Red-Cap looked upon the people of the land, her eyes gleaming with pride. "You have called forth the fire, not with fear, but with the strength of your own spirit. You stood firm in your power, your voices rising like embers in the wind, unyielding in the face of the cold. It is your own inner flame that has driven back the darkness, for true power lies in those who dare to wield it with purpose. Stand strong in your fire, let it burn bright, and know that you have the strength to shape the world around you. You are the keepers of the flame, the bearers of transformation, and in your hands, the land will always wake anew."

When Old Mother Red-Cap felt her work was done, she climbed to the mountain’s peak, standing tall against the dawn. She faced the Eastern Road, where the first light of the rising sun painted the sky in hues of fire, and she knew—Spring was born.

To this day, when the Spring Equinox arrives, the wise ones walk the land, calling upon the fire in the earth and in themselves. They gather the power of the stones, the streams, and the rising sun, lighting their candles and whispering their spells. And when they do, they know that Old Mother Red-Cap still walks among them, stirring the fire of transformation in all who dare to claim it.

[dee-writes-anime]

Chapter 6: The Queen Rises

FEATURING Ryomen Sukuna x Witch!Reader

SUMMARY As Sukuna’s court gathers under the watchful skies of his domain, you find yourself thrust into a stage where loyalty is tested, strength is questioned, and whispers of rebellion threaten to crack the fragile balance of power. Facing scorn from lords and a direct challenge from a menacing curse user, you must prove your place at Sukuna’s side is not a weakness but a declaration of your unyielding will. 

CONTENT WARNINGS Includes depictions of magical combat with explosive energy clashes and descriptions of physical harm such as scars and burns, verbal and physical threats are made against the reader by a rival curse user, descriptions of severe scarring, missing body parts, and unsettling imagery of injuries, intense, charged interactions between Sukuna and the reader with suggestive language, physical proximity, and implied power dynamics, references to impending war, including the threat of large-scale conflict and the manipulation of alliances for power. 

PLAYLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

The morning light filtered through the shoji screens of my chambers, soft and muted, casting long, lattice-like patterns across the polished wood floors. The room was quieter than it had been the night before, but the stillness wasn’t comforting—it was heavy, expectant, as though the very air braced itself for what was to come. 

I pushed back the silk coverlet, the fabric slipping soundlessly to the lacquered floor as I sat up. My body ached faintly, the echoes of the trials I’d endured still pulsing through my limbs like the lingering memory of fire. There were bruises along my arms and shoulders, faint impressions left by the jagged tendrils of cursed energy I’d faced in the labyrinth, and a faint, dull burn in my chest where my own power had coiled too tightly. 

I let out a slow breath, the exhale curling faintly in the cool morning air, and shifted my gaze to the choker resting on its lacquered stand across the room. Its crimson gemstone pulsed faintly, a heartbeat that was not mine but echoed through the space nonetheless. Today, its light was sharper, brighter, casting restless patterns on the walls like the flicker of distant flames. 

It was a constant presence now, no longer just a symbol but a tether, an unspoken reminder of the position I had earned and the power I had yet to wield fully. I hadn’t touched it since removing it the night before, yet its energy threaded through the room like a whisper I couldn’t ignore. 

The faint murmur of voices from beyond the door drew my attention. They were hushed, urgent, carrying the clipped tones of commands and responses exchanged in rapid succession. The estate had been alive with tension since the feast, its usual stillness replaced by a bristling energy that rippled through the halls like the first tremors of an approaching storm. 

Below my window, the courtyard was a flurry of movement. Messengers in muted crimson robes darted between the gates and the grand hall, their figures blurred by the faint haze of morning mist. Guards stood at the perimeter, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons, their gazes sharp and unyielding. 

Something had shifted, though I couldn’t yet name what. 

A faint pressure brushed the edge of my awareness, sharp and deliberate. The weight of it coiled around me like smoke, heavy and inescapable, a presence I recognized instantly. 

The door opened without ceremony, the polished wood groaning faintly on its hinges as Sukuna entered. 

His robes whispered against the floor, the crimson and gold catching the morning light as his cursed energy swept into the room ahead of him. It was quieter than it had been the night before, more controlled, yet no less overwhelming. It clung to the air like the embers of a dying fire, deceptively calm but ready to ignite at a moment’s notice. 

I rose to my feet, my movements slow and deliberate, as his gaze swept over the room. His four eyes gleamed with sharp intensity, two half-lidded with amusement while the others tracked my movements with a deliberate precision that made the space between us feel smaller. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and cutting as he surveyed the room. 

“Comfort isn’t something I’ve had much of lately,” I replied, keeping my tone even as I met his gaze. 

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, as he stepped further into the room. “Good. You’ll find it’s overrated.” 

I folded my arms, the weight of his presence pressed against me, heavy but not suffocating. It was different now, less like the prowling of a predator testing its prey and more like the steady hum of power acknowledging an equal—or at least someone worthy of notice, “I assume this isn’t a social call.” 

“No,” he replied, stepping closer, his cursed energy brushing faintly against my senses. “They’re weaker.” 

“And more dangerous because of it,” I said, my tone firmer. 

His grin widened, the faint glint of his teeth catching the light. “Dangerous, yes. But not to you.” 

The certainty in his voice was sharp, cutting through the faint tension that lingered in the air. I held his gaze, searching for the mockery I was used to, but found none. Instead, there was something steadier, something unspoken that tightened the space between us. 

“Stand beside me,” he said suddenly, his voice dropping lower, softer, but no less commanding. 

The words sent a ripple of heat through my chest, the memory of his proposition the night before curling at the edges of my thoughts. He didn’t push the question now, but it lingered between us nonetheless—a presence that neither of us acknowledged but couldn’t ignore. 

“And if I don’t?” I asked, my voice quieter now, but still steady. 

His grin softened into something sharper, more deliberate. “You will,” he said simply, his tone carrying the weight of certainty. 

I clenched my hands at my sides, the pulse of the choker quickening faintly as the tension between us thickened. “The court doesn’t see me as you do,” I said, the edge of defiance creeping into my tone. 

“No,” he said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “But they will.” 

The weight of his cursed energy pressed against me again, heavier now, but it wasn’t meant to intimidate—it was meant to anchor, to steady. “They’ll see what I see,” he continued, his voice low but deliberate. “Someone who doesn’t bow. Someone who survives when others would fall.” 

The air between us crackled faintly, charged with something I couldn’t quite name. There was no question in his tone, no room for doubt. 

“You think it’s that simple?” I asked, my voice softer now, though the tension in my chest refused to ease. 

“Nothing is simple,” he said, his grin widening faintly. “But you don’t need simplicity. You need to show them that you’re not just here to survive—you’re here to rule.” 

The words struck like a blade, sharp and precise, settling into the quiet between us. I exhaled slowly, the pulse of the choker steadying as I held his gaze. 

“And if they challenge that?” I asked. 

His grin sharpened, his eyes gleaming with something darker, more dangerous. “Then you remind them who they’re dealing with.” 

His cursed energy flared briefly, brushing against me like the edge of a blade before settling into the charged silence that lingered between us. 

He stepped back toward the door, his movements slow but deliberate, the weight of his presence retreating but not disappearing entirely. 

“Don’t disappoint me,” he said, his voice quieter now, though it carried the sharp edge of a command. “You’ve earned your place, little witch. Now take it.” 

The faint click of the door closing behind Sukuna echoed in the quiet room, the weight of his presence still lingering in the charged air. I exhaled slowly, running a hand along the edge of the lacquered table where the choker rested, its faint pulse a constant reminder of the role I had been thrust into. 

Before I could gather my thoughts, the door opened again—not with the commanding weight of Sukuna’s entry but with a brisk, efficient movement that made me turn sharply. 

Uraume stepped inside, their pale eyes sharper than usual, darting around the room as though expecting someone—or something—to follow them. Their normally composed expression was faintly unsettled, the edges of their movements carrying a tension I hadn’t seen before. 

“Good morning to you too,” I said, folding my arms as I watched them close the door behind them with deliberate care. 

They didn’t reply immediately. Instead, they crossed the room in a few swift strides, their gaze scanning the walls as if ensuring no unseen ears lingered within the shadows. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice firmer now, the unease radiating from them beginning to seep into me. 

When they finally looked at me, their expression had settled into something closer to their usual calm, though their movements remained brisk, deliberate. “The court gathering,” they said, their tone low but carrying a faint edge of urgency. “It’s not just a formality.” 

“Clearly,” I replied, leaning back slightly. “Sukuna didn’t exactly leave me under the impression it would be a casual affair.” 

Uraume’s gaze narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing their features before they continued. “You should understand what you’re walking into,” they said, their voice sharper now, though it wasn’t directed at me. “The lords are restless.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “Restless how?” 

“There are factions among them,” Uraume said, their words deliberate, chosen with care. “Some are loyal—those who understand the weight of Lord Sukuna’s power and what it means to stand under his rule. But there are others who... waver.” 

“Waver,” I repeated, the word settling heavily in the air. 

“They question him,” Uraume said, their pale eyes meeting mine directly. “Not openly, of course. But in whispers, in careful movements. They see his favor toward you as a sign of weakness.” 

My chest tightened, though I kept my expression neutral. “So I’m a liability.” 

“To some,” Uraume replied. “To others, you’re a threat. It depends on their ambitions.” 

I moved to the window, staring down at the bustling courtyard below. The lords’ discontent wasn’t entirely surprising, but the weight of their perceptions pressed against me nonetheless. “And the gathering today?” 

“It’s more than an announcement,” Uraume said, stepping closer. “It’s a stage. Some will use it to affirm their loyalty. Others will use it to test yours.” 

I turned to face them, my jaw tightening. “Why warn me now?” 

“Because Lord Sukuna expects you to succeed,” Uraume said simply, their voice steady. “But more importantly, because if you fail, you won’t just lose his favor—you’ll lose everything.” 

Their words sank in like a blade, cutting through the lingering haze of confidence I’d carried from the feast. “You think I’m unprepared?” 

“I think you’ve proven your strength,” they said, their tone softening slightly. “But this isn’t about strength alone. It’s about survival. About knowing where to place your power—and where to withhold it.” 

Hints of something unspoken lingered in their gaze, a quiet warning that carried the weight of experience. 

“Who are my enemies?” I asked finally, my voice quieter now. 

Uraume’s lips quirked faintly, almost a smile, though it lacked warmth. “It’s not that simple. In Sukuna’s court, allies and enemies shift as easily as the wind changes direction. Today, someone may test you with hostility. Tomorrow, they may bow to you in feigned loyalty.” 

I folded my arms, the weight of their words pressing heavier against my chest. “And you?” 

They tilted their head slightly, their pale eyes narrowing faintly. “I’m not your enemy,” they said, their voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. “If I were, you’d already know.” 

The faintest flicker of a smile tugged at my lips, though it didn’t last. “What do you suggest, then?” 

“Be careful,” they said simply, stepping closer. “Watch their words. Watch their movements. Power is only half the battle in a place like this. How you wield it—and when you withhold it—will determine how long you survive.” 

Their gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, their expression unreadable. “They’ll test you. They’ll provoke you. And when they do, remember this: nothing they say matters if they’re kneeling before you by the end of it.” 

The words hung between us, sharp and deliberate, before they stepped back toward the door. 

“Thank you,” I said, my voice quieter now, though the weight of the conversation pressed heavily against me. 

They paused, their hand resting lightly on the doorframe as they glanced back at me. “Don’t thank me yet,” they said, their tone soft but edged with something faintly like concern. “The hardest part is still to come.” 

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the room in a tense silence. 

I turned back to the choker, its faint pulse steady and insistent, as though echoing the weight of Uraume’s warning. 

The courtyard stretched wide before us, its jagged stone columns reaching toward the overcast sky like fingers clawing at the heavens. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and the faint metallic tang of cursed energy, a reminder of the immense power that suffused Sukuna’s domain. Ancient trees bordered the space, their gnarled branches casting shifting shadows over the smooth stone paths that wove through the gardens. 

At the center of it all was a raised platform, its edges carved from dark, jagged stone that gleamed faintly in the muted light. Surrounding it, Sukuna’s lords and emissaries had gathered in loose clusters, their silks and armor a riot of colors that clashed against the stark elegance of the courtyard. 

Their conversations were hushed, their glances sharp as they exchanged words too quiet to carry. Unlike the feast, this was no place for celebration. This was a gathering steeped in unease, its purpose clear in the tension that crackled through the air like the promise of a storm. 

I walked at Sukuna’s side, my hand resting lightly on his arm. His cursed energy coiled around him like smoke, brushing against my senses with every deliberate step. The pulse of the choker at my throat quickened faintly, its rhythm steady and insistent as I matched his stride. 

The lords fell silent as we entered the clearing, their voices dying as their gazes turned to us. The weight of their attention was sharp, assessing, but not unfamiliar. They had seen me before—at the feast, at the labyrinth’s end—and their unease now was not born of ignorance but of something deeper: doubt, suspicion, and the simmering undercurrent of jealousy. 

We ascended the dais, Sukuna’s pace unhurried, his presence commanding without the need for words. He didn’t need to take the jagged throne at the platform’s center to assert his authority. The air itself seemed to bend under the weight of his power, pressing against the gathered court with an unrelenting hand. 

I straightened as we reached the platform’s edge, the faint hum of the choker grounding me as I met the lords’ gazes. Some held my stare, their expressions carefully neutral but their eyes sharp with calculation. Others glanced away, unwilling to meet the force of Sukuna’s silent challenge. 

“You know why you’re here,” Sukuna said, his voice cutting through the silence like the edge of a blade. “You’ve all seen what she’s capable of. You’ve witnessed her strength.” 

The words weren’t an introduction—they were a reminder, delivered with the precision of a hammer striking iron. 

“Yet some of you still question,” he continued, his tone colder now, carrying the faintest edge of mockery. “You whisper in the shadows, cling to the hope that she is a momentary indulgence. That her strength is a flicker that will fade.” 

The tension in the courtyard sharpened, the silence thick with the weight of his words. The lords shifted uneasily, their discomfort rippling through the gathered court like a wave. 

Sukuna’s grin widened, razor-sharp, as his crimson eyes swept over them. “Let me make this clear,” he said, his tone dropping lower. “She stands under my protection. Not because she asks for it, but because she has earned it.” 

A murmur ran through the crowd, faint but unmistakable. The lords’ unease wasn’t born of ignorance—it was the result of their own ambitions being stifled, their doubts clashing against the undeniable reality of Sukuna’s decree. 

I held my chin high, the weight of their stares pressing against me but failing to crack the composure I had built. These were no strangers to me—they had seen me before, judged me before—and I wasn’t about to shrink under their scrutiny now. 

One of the lords, his robes deep red and lined with gold, stepped forward slightly. His expression was calm, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed the calculation behind his every move. “We do not doubt her strength, my lord,” he said, his voice measured. “But strength alone is not enough to hold a place in your court.” 

Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and sharp, resonating through the courtyard like distant thunder. “Do you think I’ve chosen her lightly?” he asked, his gaze narrowing as he turned to the lord. 

“Of course not,” the lord replied smoothly, though there was a faint edge to his tone. “But loyalty is not given freely. It is earned.” 

The challenge hung in the air, subtle but deliberate, and the lords around him exchanged wary glances. 

Sukuna didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze to me, his grin sharpening into something colder, more deliberate. 

“Do you doubt her loyalty?” he asked, his voice soft but carrying a weight that pressed against the court like an iron hand. 

The lord hesitated, his composure faltering for the briefest of moments before he answered. “I do not doubt her loyalty to you,” he said carefully. “But loyalty to this court is another matter.” 

Sukuna’s laugh was sharper this time, cutting through the tension like the crack of a whip. “And who here dares to claim that their loyalty to this court outweighs their loyalty to me?” 

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his words pressing down on the gathered lords until none dared to answer. 

“You’ll see soon enough,” Sukuna said, his tone softening into something more dangerous. “Her loyalty, her strength—they are not yours to question.” 

His cursed energy flared briefly, brushing against the gathered court like the edge of a blade. The lords bowed their heads, their unease spilling into reluctant submission. 

I stood beside him, the pulse of the choker steady against my throat as the weight of Sukuna’s declaration settled over the courtyard. Whatever doubts they held, whatever whispers they exchanged in the shadows, one thing was clear: 

They feared him. And now, they feared me too. 

The air shifted as a figure stepped forward from the edge of the gathering, their presence drawing every eye like the first roll of thunder before a storm. They moved with deliberate slowness, the heavy thud of their boots against the stone courtyard sending faint echoes through the unnerving silence. 

The curse user’s appearance was nothing short of grotesque—a study in violence rendered in flesh and bone. Their dark robes hung in jagged layers, stitched together with thick black thread that seemed barely able to contain the raw power radiating from their form. The fabric was frayed at the edges, as though scorched by fire, and lined with deep crimson patterns that twisted and curled like veins of molten lava. 

Their staff was a monstrous thing, carved from blackened wood that gleamed like obsidian under the flickering light of the braziers. Jagged shards of stone jutted from its surface, their edges sharp enough to draw blood with a touch. At its top, a misshapen crystal pulsed faintly, its glow erratic and wild, casting flickering shadows across the curse user’s face. 

And what a face it was. 

The left side of their head was marred by a jagged scar that stretched from their temple to the corner of their mouth, the flesh puckered and twisted as though melted by acid. Their skin was a patchwork of scars, some thin and pale, others thick and angry red, standing out starkly against their sallow complexion. A piece of their ear was missing, the jagged edges of the wound long since healed into a grotesque reminder of violence endured and survived. 

Their right eye was a pale, clouded white, its sightless gaze unyielding as it fixed on me with an intensity that made my chest tighten. The other eye, gleaming a sickly gold, burned with malice, its unrelenting glare heavy with judgment. Beneath it, their mouth twisted into a cruel grin, their teeth jagged and yellowed, bared in an expression that promised pain. 

The curse user’s body was no less unsettling. Their hands, skeletal and gnarled, clutched the staff tightly, their knuckles scarred and bruised as though they’d spent a lifetime breaking them against unyielding surfaces. Long, uneven nails curved like claws from their fingertips, blackened at the edges and faintly cracked. Their exposed forearms were corded with sinew, the muscles wiry and taut beneath skin that bore countless overlapping scars. 

As they moved further into the courtyard, their dark energy coiled outward, brushing against the gathered lords like the icy breath of a predator. It wasn’t the overwhelming, controlled power of Sukuna—it was raw, jagged, untamed. 

The murmurs that had filled the air moments before faded into a tense silence as the curse user stopped at the edge of the dais. They tilted their head slightly, their gaze sweeping over me with the slow, deliberate precision of someone cataloging a weakness. 

“Well,” they said, their voice low and rough, like gravel grinding beneath a boot. The sound carried effortlessly, slicing through the quiet like a blade. “I wondered if the whispers were true.” 

Their grin widened as they turned their golden eye to Sukuna, a mockery of deference in the slight dip of their head. “The great King of Curses, reduced to parading around a pet.” 

The tension in the courtyard thickened, the weight of their words pressing against the gathered lords like a vice. No one spoke, no one moved, their collective discomfort a silent acknowledgment of the curse user’s audacity. 

Sukuna didn’t react immediately. He stood motionless beside me, his crimson eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable. But the faint ripple of his cursed energy told a different story—a subtle, ominous shift that made the air feel sharper, colder. 

The curse user’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, their yellowed teeth catching the dim light as they gestured toward me with a sharp jerk of their chin. “This is what you’ve chosen to represent your court? A witch playing at strength? Tell me, Sukuna, has she bewitched you so thoroughly that you’ve forgotten who you are?” 

The words struck with deliberate force, their mockery a weapon wielded with calculated intent. The other lords shifted uneasily, their gazes darting between Sukuna and the curse user, the weight of the brewing storm pressing against them like the tide pulling back before a wave. 

“You’ve grown soft,” the curse user continued, their voice rising, laced with disdain. “Indulging a creature like this. She weakens you, Sukuna. She diminishes your reputation. Your enemies will see this for what it is: a crack in your throne.” 

They slammed the base of their staff against the ground, the sound reverberating through the courtyard like the toll of a bell. “And when that crack widens, it will shatter you.” 

The silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of their challenge pressing against my chest like an iron hand. But I didn’t flinch. 

My grip on Sukuna’s arm tightened slightly, the pulse of the choker at my throat quickening as I met the curse user’s golden gaze. There was no fear in my expression, only a sharp, simmering defiance that burned against the malice they aimed in my direction. 

Sukuna’s grin widened slowly, his crimson eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. But he didn’t speak, didn’t move. 

Not yet. 

The hall stood frozen, the air sharp with anticipation as the curse user’s mocking words settled over the gathered lords like a veil of smoke. Whispers stirred faintly at the edges of the crowd—uneasy murmurs exchanged between wary glances, though a few lords allowed smirks to curl their lips, relishing the unfolding spectacle. 

Others were less amused. Shifting uncomfortably, they avoided looking directly at Sukuna, as if fearing that their silent observations might invoke his wrath. The air itself seemed to hum with tension, the braziers’ flames flickering erratically as cursed energy rippled faintly at the edges of the dais. 

I felt the weight of every gaze, the sting of every sharp glance, but I didn’t shrink beneath it. Instead, I stepped forward, the hem of my crimson gown whispering against the smooth stone as I placed myself between Sukuna and the curse user. 

The shift in the air was immediate. 

The lords’ murmurs grew louder, their voices rippling with a mix of surprise and curiosity. Some leaned forward slightly, their expressions sharp with intrigue, while others sat back, their eyes narrowing as they waited for me to falter. 

“You have a lot to say,” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet with a calm precision that carried far more weight than the venomous mockery that had preceded it. 

The curse user’s golden eye flicked to me, their scarred lips curling into a grin that was equal parts amusement and malice. “And the witch speaks,” they said, their tone laced with mockery. “Have you come to defend your master’s honor, little pet?” 

A faint ripple of laughter echoed from one corner of the hall, quickly silenced by a sharp glance from Sukuna’s crimson eyes. 

I tilted my head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at my lips as I met the curse user’s glare head-on. “You’re bold to stand here, speaking of honor,” I said, my tone smooth but edged with steel. “Bold, or desperate. Perhaps both.” 

The curse user’s grin faltered for the briefest moment, their expression hardening as a faint murmur ran through the lords. 

“I see no desperation in my standing,” they said, their voice colder now. “But I see plenty in yours. A witch clinging to the coattails of power, pretending to be more than what you are.” 

I took another step forward, the choker’s pulse steady against my throat as I allowed the faintest ripple of my own cursed energy to thread through the air. It wasn’t overwhelming—not yet—but it was enough to make the lords shift in their seats, their discomfort rippling outward like the widening circles of a disturbed pond. 

“Pretending?” I echoed, my voice soft but sharp. “Pretending is what you do when you stand here, trying to convince yourself that your words carry weight in his court.” I gestured faintly to Sukuna, whose expression remained unreadable, though his four eyes gleamed faintly with a dangerous amusement. “But they don’t. You’re nothing more than a whisper in the wind—a hollow threat wrapped in a tattered robe.” 

A murmur swept through the lords again, louder this time, tinged with approval from some and disbelief from others. 

The curse user’s grin vanished entirely, replaced by a sneer as their fingers tightened around the jagged staff they carried. “You think you can intimidate me?” they growled, their voice low and rough. “You think your borrowed strength makes you untouchable?” 

I held their gaze, the faint glow of the choker’s crimson gemstone flickering like firelight against the polished stone of the dais. “I don’t need to intimidate you,” I said, my voice calm. “Your fear is already written across your face.” 

The words struck like a blade, and the curse user’s cursed energy surged in response. The air grew colder, heavier, as their jagged power coiled outward in sharp, chaotic tendrils that rippled through the hall like the crack of a thunderstorm. 

Lords flinched, some recoiling from the raw energy as it lashed against the edges of the gathering, stirring the braziers’ flames into frenzied flickers. 

The curse user took a step forward, their staff slamming against the stone with a resonant crack that sent shards of light splintering outward. “You hide behind him,” they said, their voice rising with a cold, biting fury. “But let’s see what you are without Sukuna’s shadow to shield you.” 

Their cursed energy surged again, twisting into a jagged arc that lashed toward me with a force that made the ground beneath my feet shudder. The air burned sharp and cold, the raw power snapping like the strike of a whip as it tore toward me. 

I didn’t flinch. 

Instead, I raised a hand, the pulse of the choker igniting as my magic flared to life. The air around me shifted, the sharp, deliberate tendrils of my own energy coiling outward to meet the attack head-on. 

The collision was explosive. 

A burst of light filled the room as the two forces clashed, the resulting shockwave rattling the columns and shattering several of the delicate ornaments that lined the hall’s edges. Lords recoiled, some shielding their faces as the force rippled outward, sending faint vibrations through the polished stone floor. 

The curse user pushed harder, their jagged energy clawing at mine with wild ferocity. But where their power was raw and chaotic, mine was deliberate—shaped by precision, guided by intent. 

I took a step forward, my magic coiling tighter, sharper, cutting through the chaotic tendrils like a blade through fabric. The curse user’s sneer faltered, the golden glint of their eye narrowing as the balance shifted. 

“You think this display makes you strong?” they growled, their voice laced with fury as they pushed harder. 

“No,” I said, my voice steady as I took another step forward. “But it makes you weak.” 

The final surge of my power lashed forward, cutting through their energy entirely. The jagged tendrils shattered, dissolving into the air like smoke, as the force of the blow sent them stumbling back, their boots scraping against the polished stone. 

The room fell silent. 

Every gaze in the court was fixed on me, some wide with disbelief, others narrowing with grudging respect. The air was still heavy with tension, but it was no longer oppressive—it was charged with the undeniable reality of what had just unfolded. 

The curse user straightened, their staff trembling faintly in their scarred hand as they glared at me with unrestrained fury. “You’ll regret that,” they snarled, their voice low and venomous. 

It was then that Sukuna moved. 

He stepped forward, his pace unhurried, his crimson robes whispering against the stone as his cursed energy surged with a ferocity that sent chills racing down my spine. 

The curse user froze, their golden eye widening as Sukuna’s presence swallowed the space between us like a wave overtaking the shore. 

“You’ve made your point,” Sukuna said, his voice low and resonant, carrying the weight of a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. “And now you will leave.” 

The curse user’s jaw tightened, their grip on their staff tightening as though they were contemplating another strike. But Sukuna’s grin widened, slow and deliberate, and the faint ripple of his cursed energy grew heavier, pressing against the room like the weight of an oncoming storm. 

“Unless,” he continued, his tone softening into something colder, more dangerous, “you’d prefer to stay and entertain me.” 

The words weren’t a threat—they were a promise, and the curse user knew it. 

They straightened, their sneer returning as they took a step back. “Enjoy your moment, Sukuna,” they said, their voice dripping with disdain. “It won’t last.” 

They turned toward the gathered lords, their golden eye sweeping over the court with calculated malice. “This is what your king has become—a fool blinded by indulgence.” 

The curse user’s voice rose, echoing through the hall with a chilling finality. “War is coming to your domain, Sukuna. And when it does, I’ll tear down this court and everything you hold dear.” 

The silence that followed was sharp, cutting through the room like the aftermath of a blade’s strike. 

Sukuna’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, his amusement gleaming faintly in the sharp light of his crimson eyes. “Then you’d better bring everything you have,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Because the last thing you’ll see is my shadow swallowing yours.” 

The curse user didn’t reply. With a sharp crack of their staff against the stone, they turned and strode toward the hall’s entrance, their energy trailing behind them like the ghost of a storm.  

The sound of the curse user’s footsteps faded into the distance, but their words lingered like a poison seeping into the air. For a moment, the hall was silent, the oppressive tension hanging heavy as the gathered lords processed what had just transpired. 

And then, chaos. 

Whispers rose first, sharp and urgent, like the rustling of dry leaves in a rising storm. Lords turned to one another, their voices rising with each passing moment, their fear and unease spilling over into frantic exchanges. Some gestured wildly, their silk sleeves fluttering like banners, while others kept their words low, their gazes darting nervously toward Sukuna as though afraid he might catch wind of their panic. 

“What does this mean?” one lord whispered harshly, his face pale and tight with tension. 

“They’ll attack!” another hissed, his voice trembling. “If war comes, none of us will—” 

“Silence!” a woman snapped, her fan snapping shut in her hand with a sharp crack. “Do you want him to hear you?” 

But the murmurs continued to build, rippling through the court like waves crashing against the jagged rocks of Sukuna’s presence. A few shouted outright, their voices laced with accusations and fear. 

“He’s made us vulnerable!” 

“This witch has brought ruin to our doorstep!” 

“She’s a liability!” 

The words cut through the air like blades, sharp and unforgiving, each one carrying the weight of the court’s mounting anxiety. 

I stood beside Sukuna, my chest tight as I processed the magnitude of what had just transpired. The curse user’s retreat wasn’t a surrender—it was a declaration of war, a promise that blood would be spilled, and that Sukuna’s dominion would be tested in ways even his lords feared to imagine. 

The pulse of the choker at my throat quickened, its energy threading through me like an anchor, grounding me as the storm of voices grew louder. I refused to look away, refused to let the weight of their stares and accusations crush me. 

Sukuna remained seated, his towering presence unshaken as he watched the chaos unfold. His expression was calm, almost amused, as though the shouting and whispering were nothing more than a distant echo of a storm that couldn’t reach him. 

And then he moved. 

Rising from his seat with a deliberate, unhurried motion, he stepped forward, his crimson robes pooling around him like molten fire. His cursed energy surged, coiling outward in a wave that pressed against the gathered lords like an iron hand. 

The room fell silent in an instant. 

Every voice stilled, every head turned, the weight of Sukuna’s presence swallowing the chaos as though it had never existed. The lords froze where they stood, their gazes fixed on him with a mixture of fear and reverence. 

Sukuna’s crimson eyes swept over them, two half-lidded with faint amusement, while the others gleamed with a sharp, predatory focus. His grin widened slowly, deliberate and menacing, as though savoring the weight of their collective fear. 

“Are you done?” he asked, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the silence like the crack of a whip. 

The lords flinched, their discomfort palpable as they bowed their heads, some murmuring faint apologies under their breath. 

Sukuna stepped forward, his movements slow but deliberate, his cursed energy rippling through the air like the distant rumble of thunder. He stopped at the edge of the dais, his gaze turning to me briefly before sweeping back to the gathered court. 

“Let them come,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of absolute certainty. “I’ll enjoy this.” 

The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike, their finality pressing against the lords with a force that left no room for argument. 

His grin sharpened, the faint gleam of his teeth catching the light as his crimson eyes burned with anticipation. “War is not a threat to me,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, almost a purr. “It is an opportunity. And I suggest you remember that.” 

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, their fear barely concealed as they bowed their heads again, their voices stilled by the suffocating weight of his presence. 

Beside him, I straightened, the pulse of the choker steadying me as I met his gaze. His expression didn’t soften—not for me, not for anyone—but the faintest flicker of approval glinted in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of my place at his side. 

The storm had come. 

And Sukuna stood at its center, unshaken, unrelenting, and utterly unafraid. 

The room was dimly lit, the warm glow of braziers casting shifting shadows across the lacquered walls. The faint hum of cursed energy lingered in the air, sharp and steady, as though the estate itself was bracing for what was to come. 

I stood near the low lacquered table at the center of the room, my fingers brushing against its polished surface. Uraume sat cross-legged at the opposite end, their pale eyes sharp and focused, their usual composure carrying a subtle edge of tension. 

Sukuna leaned against the far wall, his crimson robes pooling around him like molten fire. His four eyes gleamed faintly in the flickering light, their sharp intensity fixed on the map spread across the table. 

The silence stretched, heavy and expectant, until Sukuna finally spoke. 

“They’ve been planning this for some time,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. His tone wasn’t angry—if anything, it carried a faint edge of amusement, as though the idea of an impending war was more of an inconvenience than a threat. “They wouldn’t dare move against me without reason. Or desperation.” 

Uraume nodded, their fingers tracing the edge of the map. “The curse user who appeared today,” they began, their tone measured, “is Kaito of the Obsidian Claw. A known figure in the western regions. He’s ruthless and ambitious, but until now, he hasn’t had the power to challenge you directly.” 

“And now he thinks he does,” I said, my voice calm but edged with defiance. 

Uraume’s gaze flicked to me, their expression unreadable. “He wouldn’t have issued a challenge without allies. This isn’t just his doing. There are others—likely curse users and lesser lords dissatisfied with Sukuna’s rule. Their rebellion isn’t born of strength, but of collective arrogance.” 

Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and sharp, reverberating through the room like the tolling of a distant bell. “Arrogance is easy to crush,” he said, his grin widening. “But collective arrogance? That could be entertaining.” 

I glanced at him, my brow furrowing slightly. “You’re treating this like a game,” I said, my tone sharper than intended. “But they aren’t bluffing. Kaito isn’t the type to back down, not after a declaration like that.” 

Sukuna’s gaze shifted to me, his grin softening into something colder, more deliberate. “And why should I be worried?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Do you doubt my ability to handle this?” 

“No,” I replied evenly, holding his gaze. “But dismissing them entirely would be a mistake. They’re betting on that arrogance.” 

The air between us crackled faintly, the weight of his cursed energy brushing against my senses. But I didn’t falter. 

“She’s right,” Uraume said suddenly, breaking the tension. “Kaito knows he can’t match your power alone. He’ll rely on numbers, on alliances that give the illusion of strength. He’ll strike where he believes you’re vulnerable—through your court, your lords, even your borders.” 

Sukuna’s grin widened, his eyes narrowing with sharp amusement. “And let him try. It’s been far too quiet around here. A little chaos might do everyone some good.” 

Uraume’s expression didn’t change, but their tone shifted, carrying a faint edge of urgency. “This isn’t just about the court, my lord. Kaito’s challenge today wasn’t just aimed at you. It was aimed at her.” 

The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. 

I straightened, the pulse of the choker at my throat quickening as Sukuna’s gaze flicked back to me. 

“Of course it was,” Sukuna said, his voice dropping lower, almost a purr. “They see her as the crack in my foundation. The weakness they can exploit.” 

“They’re wrong,” I said sharply, my voice cutting through the tension. 

Sukuna’s grin widened further, his expression gleaming with dangerous satisfaction. “Prove it, little witch,” he said softly, his tone both a challenge and a command. 

Uraume’s gaze shifted between us, their pale eyes narrowing slightly. “If Kaito believes she’s the weak link, he’ll target her directly. He’ll aim to discredit her, to drive a wedge between her and the court. And if he succeeds, it won’t just weaken her—it’ll reflect on you.” 

The weight of their words pressed against the room, the charged silence stretching taut. 

I exhaled slowly, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “Then I’ll face him,” I said, my tone steady despite the tightness in my chest. 

Sukuna chuckled, his voice low and resonant. “Oh, you’ll face him, little witch,” he said, his crimson eyes gleaming with sharp intent. “And when you do, you’ll remind him why he never should have dared to stand against me.” 

Uraume’s lips pressed into a thin line, their expression unreadable as they inclined their head. “If we’re to prepare, we’ll need to gather intelligence—confirm his alliances, his movements, and the full extent of his plans. That will take time.” 

“Time I’ll give you,” Sukuna said, his tone soft but carrying the weight of command. He turned to me, his grin softening into something sharper, more calculating. “But when the time comes, you’ll be ready. Won’t you?” 

I met his gaze, the pulse of the choker steadying me as I straightened. “I’ll be ready.” 

Sukuna’s grin widened, his satisfaction gleaming faintly in the flickering light. “Good,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Because war is coming. And I intend to enjoy every moment of it.” 

Uraume inclined their head, their sharp, pale eyes lingering on Sukuna for a moment before flicking to me. There was something unsaid in their gaze—a quiet warning, perhaps, or an acknowledgment of the tension that crackled faintly in the air between us. 

“Then I’ll see to the preparations,” Uraume said, their tone even but carrying an edge of finality. 

Sukuna dismissed them with a wave of his hand, his focus already shifting. The door clicked shut behind Uraume, the faint sound swallowed by the thick, charged air of the room. The glow of the braziers cast flickering shadows across the lacquered walls, the firelight catching on Sukuna’s robes as he shifted. His cursed energy pressed outward in slow, deliberate waves, brushing against my senses like smoke curling around a flame. 

I stood still, my heart thrumming steadily against the pulse of the choker at my throat. Sukuna didn’t speak immediately. He turned instead, his movements slow and deliberate, his crimson robes pooling around him like molten fire as he leaned against the low table. 

When he finally looked at me, his four eyes held a dangerous gleam, their sharp intensity leaving no room for misinterpretation. 

“You’re holding your own well, little witch,” he said, his tone carrying the faintest edge of amusement. “But tell me—are you truly as fearless as you pretend to be?” 

I lifted my chin slightly, refusing to shrink under the weight of his gaze. “I don’t need to pretend,” I said evenly. “I’ve stood before you, haven’t I?” 

His grin widened, slow and predatory, as he pushed off the table and began to move toward me. The air seemed to thrum with his presence, his cursed energy coiling tighter, sharper, as though testing the limits of my composure. 

“Brave words,” he murmured, his voice low, a velvet rasp that sent a shiver racing down my spine. “But bravery and foolishness often walk hand in hand.” 

“And which do you think I am?” I countered, forcing my voice steady despite the tension tightening my chest. 

He stopped just a pace away, towering over me, his gaze burning with unspoken intent. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” he said softly, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “You’re still standing, which is more than most can say. But standing and enduring are two different things.” 

I didn’t flinch, even as his cursed energy brushed against me, warm and suffocating, its weight settling against my skin like a second heartbeat. 

“Maybe you’re testing the wrong person,” I said, my voice sharp despite the heat building between us. 

His grin deepened, his teeth catching the light like the gleam of a blade. “Oh, I know exactly who I’m testing,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. 

Before I could respond, he moved closer, his hand bracing against the wall beside my head with a sharp crack that sent a jolt through the air. His other hand found my waist, his grip firm but not painful, pulling me flush against the cool surface of the wall. 

The heat of him was overwhelming, his cursed energy pressing against me with a force that left no space for air, no room for doubt. His crimson eyes burned into mine, their sharp intensity leaving my chest tight, my breath shallow. 

“You’re different,” he said, his tone softening into something more deliberate, more dangerous. “You don’t tremble. You don’t break. And I can’t decide if that makes you clever—or reckless.” 

“Maybe it makes me neither,” I said, my voice quieter now but edged with defiance. 

His grin shifted, softening into something darker as his nose brushed lightly against my temple, his breath warm against my skin. “No,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. “It makes you mine.” 

The words sent a rush of heat through me, the weight of their implication leaving me momentarily breathless. My hands twitched at my sides, caught between the instinct to push him away and the maddening pull that drew me closer. 

“You assume too much,” I said finally, my voice steady despite the storm building between us. 

His laughter was soft, a low rumble that vibrated against my senses. “Do I?” he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. “Or are you simply afraid to admit that you feel it too?” 

I turned my head slightly, my gaze locking onto his with a sharp defiance I barely felt. “Feel what?” 

His lower hand shifted, his thumb brushing lightly against the curve of my waist. “This pull,” he said softly. “This fire between us. You’re not blind to it—you’re just afraid of what it might burn.” 

The air between us crackled like lightning, the pulse of the choker quickening against my throat as his cursed energy coiled tighter, pressing against me like a vice. His gaze dropped briefly to my lips, the motion deliberate, maddening, before returning to meet mine. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, my voice sharp but quiet, each word deliberate. 

“No,” he said, his voice low, a quiet growl. “You’re afraid of yourself.” 

The words hit harder than I expected, a blade that carved through the tension with unsettling precision. His upper left hand moved to tilt my chin upward, his claws brushing lightly against my jaw as he brought my face closer to his. 

“I see it in you,” he murmured, his tone carrying a dark satisfaction. “The power you keep caged. The fire you’re too scared to let consume you. But it will, little witch. One way or another, it will.” 

My breath hitched, the weight of his cursed energy suffocating, the heat of him leaving no space for thought, only sensation. His lips hovered just a breath away from mine, his gaze unrelenting, as though daring me to close the distance. 

“Stop playing games,” I said, my voice trembling between defiance and something far more dangerous. 

He chuckled softly, the sound low and resonant as his teeth grazed the edge of my jaw, the motion deliberate and maddeningly slow. “This isn’t a game,” he said, his voice a velvet rasp against my skin. “This is inevitability.” 

The words hung heavily between us, the tension suffocating as the pull between us became unbearable. And then, just as suddenly, he pulled back, his cursed energy retreating like a tide, leaving the air cold and empty. 

“Think on it,” he said, his grin sharp and triumphant as he stepped away. “You won’t resist forever.” 

He disappeared into the shadows, his presence lingering in the faint hum of the choker and the wild thrum of my heartbeat. I leaned against the wall, my chest heaving as I fought to steady myself, the storm he left in his wake raging long after he was gone. 

dividers by @strangergraphics

AUTHORS NOTE I'm trying my hardest to keep up a schedule of putting a new chapter out everyday, but my college classes have started up again, so be forewarned that I may not be able to have a new chapter out as consistently. I'll try my best to keep up, but know you have my sincerest apologies if I fail to make it.

TAGLIST @slutlight2ndver @surielstea @duhhitzstarr @arcanefeelings @numbuh666 @tejan-sunny @lavenderandoranges @after-laughter-comes-tears @maomimii @theplacetoputfics

[holyraconteur]

...

So, I've been having thoughts about Spider wielding Chaos magic.

Crazy, right? In a galaxy where blue people exist and humans have found a way to colonize planets, red magic wouldn't be too farfetched.

That would be absolutely wild—Spider awakening as a Chaos witch in a moment of extreme pain and trauma, unleashing a force that he never knew existed. It would make him a terrifying and awe-inspiring figure on Pandora, a force of nature devoted to Eywa and the planet of his birth. Throw in Kiri, and you've got two overpowered siblings.

Anyway, here's a drabble:

Captured by the RDA, Spider endures days of torture as they demand the location of the Sullys. They push him past his limits—electric shocks, water deprivation, beatings—until something inside him snaps. It’s not just pain that fuels the transformation, but sheer, unfiltered rage. He had spent his entire life being nothing but a pawn to everyone. A demon to the Na’vi, a prisoner to the RDA, an afterthought to the humans of Hell's Gate. No more.

The air distorts. The room trembles. A deep crimson glow seeps from Spider’s fingers, crackling and sparking like liquid fire. He doesn’t think—doesn’t even understand what’s happening—before an explosion of red chaos energy erupts outward, flaying the RDA soldiers alive. Metal warps and melts, bodies twist and contort, their screams merging into a sickening cacophony of agony. Blood paints the walls.

Quaritch barely has time to register what’s happening before he bursts apart, his entire form breaking down on a molecular level.

Spider stands at the epicenter of the carnage, breath heaving, eyes glowing a deep, menacing crimson. His feet leave the floor as he ascends, floating weightlessly, surrounded by swirling tendrils of chaotic energy. He looks down at the ruin he has created, the shredded remains of his captors, the metal reduced to slag.

And for the first time in his life, Spider feels powerful.

He doesn’t run. He doesn’t hide. He flies, the red glow of his magic cutting across the Pandoran sky like a falling star of crimson.

The Omatikaya stare in shock as he arrives, his form wreathed in pulsing red light. He doesn’t wait for their judgment. He knows what he must do. The RDA has taken everything from him, from the Na'vi, from Eywa, from this world. Jake Sully had done what he could, but these demons were relentless in their pursuit for more. Never again.

With a single whisper, the forest bends to his will. The skies darken. The very fabric of reality trembles as he vanishes in a flicker of crimson energy, reappearing in the heart of Bridgehead City.

And then, with a single motion of his hand, he tears it apart.

Buildings collapse. Mechs crumple like paper. Soldiers scream as the very air around them shreds them into nothing. There is no mercy, no hesitation—only raw, undiluted vengeance. The Wrath of Eywa.

Spider doesn’t stop until the RDA is gone. Until their machines are dust, their weapons are ruins, and the very land they corrupted is cleansed by his power. As the last embers of destruction fade, he stands amidst the wreckage, his red eyes burning like twin suns. He is no longer just a stray human, no longer the son of a demon.

He is the harbinger of chaos.

And Pandora is his to protect.

[darkdemeter]

(Spoilers if you haven't watched so...) So, I just got into Agatha All Along a bit and now I had this little idea in my head: Death with male S/O who's like a witch that has lived for hundreds of years, similar to Agatha Harkness and Lady Death.

CHARMED TO MEET YOUR CENTURIES OLD ACQUAINTANCE Death x Male Witch!Reader ・2.1k words ・

Rumour has it that a witch hides in the Crimson Forests. A powerful sorcerer of dark magics that incites a threatening challenge to the balance. Poses hostility to humanity. Vile incubus, a heathen of malevolence. Scorned of name and renounced of belonging. Thus why you dwell in hiding. 

And the reaper comes for you, intending to do what he does best. Kill. 

So why did he not wander in through the leather flaps of your large tent, your humble abode, with his scythes drawn? Instead wearing a tightly bound drawstring bag to his belt that swung with each powerful stride he made. His sense of touch was muted yet it was felt as the flap brushed over his knuckles, hand raised to push his intrusion forward. In the subtle coziness of the tent a strong perfume hung in the air, smoked trails of incense wafted above like scented waterfalls. Despite his mask he was still suffocated from the smell. Lanterns were strung up and gave off a low ambient source that flickered to an unspeakable tandem. 

The  reaper found himself ducking beneath the bound herbs and accessories of beads, reed-grass dolls and bones tied to leather strips that hung from the wooden branches fashioned into support beams above, his stature inside the tent uncomfortably too big for the space. In the tent’s center a fire cracks and spits a flurry of embers that waft upward, the devourer of wood coughing up the ashen remnants like bones and fat not belonging to the stomach of its hearth. Above it a dark cauldron froths and bubbles with a swampy pigment, any form of appeal long since taken from the water. 

Not even Death would drink it. 

He continues to trace around the open space, skeptical to sharply turn and face the fleeting shadow he swore moved and followed him behind his back. A cunning and vile demon stalking him. 

“You look lost, Reaper.” Death spins with a jerked pivot on the soles of his worn, tattered boots, hand braced to his side and to Harvester’s hilt. You had not been standing at the entrance before. The lashes and skin around your eyes fold thinly, pointedly as if to press him with glaring study. But your lips twist into a coy, almost beguiling smile. “I’m awfully flattered if one of the Four deigns to grace me with his presence.”

“Perhaps it’s to bring your witchcraft to an end,” drawls the reaper. His answer makes you laugh, cynical. “Really now? And why, may I ask, the reason? I surely pose no threat reading one’s fate through the splinter of their offered mind.” 

You stalk closer and the ruffled cuffs of your robe trails behind you, its fabric doing less to conceal the sight of your chest. Around your neck hangs those same adornments of beads and bones, attached to thinly woven threads of leather, some fitting perfectly while others loosely extend down your sternum. 

Your hands reach out, the prickly nature of your short, sharp nails attempt to scratch at his mask with intrigue but Death recoils from you. He arches his face higher and out of reach to which your lips falter, forming into a displeased sneer. No fun. 

“That is what you came here for, is it not?” 

For a face so placid and made of bone, the reaper’s gaze is so… revealing. The transparent gloss of amber that hides the yellowish iris shrinks and the dark, purplish bruised skin wrinkled and furrowed release that tension of his well guarded glare. “You think too highly of your magic if you think my reason would to be here is—”

You wiggle your fingers with a musing motion and tut of your tongue, pointing down at the drawstring bag at his hip. “And yet… you bring the required offerings to know your future.”

A noise hitches in the Grim Reaper’s throat as his hand clenches tautly at the bag as though your very gaze on it will pry it from him, sealing himself into having his fortunes told… He was caught. His purpose was known. You give another powerful and rich laugh. 

“So what exactly do you seek to know in your future, Pale Rider?” 

Around the fire, you each slowly circle the pit, your shadows dancing upon the tent’s canvas like an ancient story being foretold through their sauntering waver, loosely camouflaged in the dimmer portions of the light and accentuated in the brighter tones. 

He unties the sack from his belt and drops it to the mat placed before the cauldron with a heavy, rumpled thump of the cloth being pummeled by its contents. 

His eyes, however, remain locked on you. Transfixed. “Is that answer mandatory?” 

“Do you doubt your future?”

“No.” His answer came far too quickly to be valued as anything other than urgency. “And yet you hide something from me. Even now.”

His eyes thin more into a pointed glare. “Not everything is yours to know.” 

You each stop in tandem with the other and your hands clasp together in front of your sternum. Your head moving to tilt slowly aside and the trick of the light captures a sight most horrifying for a human to wear. Golden eyes, fearsome hues of hellfire with obsidian slits. But then it vanishes just as quickly as he’d seen it. 

“But my lord does,” you coo with a scoff lurching in your lungs, lips pursed coyly. He states factually with an air of skepticism, “You work beneath the demon lord, Samael.”

Your fingers gently rap the contour of your palm with a slow, beating clap. “Bravo. You’re a clever one.” 

“And what do you get out of that arrangement?” He had reason to speculate that the font of your power stemmed from Samael. That the lord bestowed upon you some essence of his power so long as you conducted duty under his whim. You both continue to circle around the fire and you feign a grasp at your chest, wounded by his intrusive question. As if you’d ever tell… 

“A witch does not kiss and tell, rider. But I wonder…” Your chin tilts higher and your finger flirtatiously points, bowing in indication to him. “Has anyone ever kissed you?” 

Somehow you’ve drawn closer to him now and he doesn’t know how. Like a dance, you arch forward and he bends back, reluctant to allow you to touch him and toying with reckless abandon, you hand flitters and hovers over the bust of his wide chest. But ever by the caress of your fingers that manage to run over his skin, you are poisoned by a chill that shrouds him like a cloak. The longer you would have held there, that cold would spread through the length of your fingers and into your palms like venom taking over. 

“So the tales are true,” you sigh under your breath, “Colder than the grave. Not even ash and soot want nothing to do with you.” 

Death studies the twitch of a smirk that spreads through your lips and a silent chuckle emanating from your shoulders, your very touch haunts the place on his chest where that sensation lingers. “Come.” 

You beckon the rider to sit before the fire and though reluctant given the hesitant shift of his boots that stomp and shuffle about, your eyes watch him like a keen feline, a thousand secrets within your piercing gaze. A million answers no mortal should be capable of knowing. 

You sit on the mat and take hold of the sack he dropped there, retrieving from it the offerings. 

“Wonderful,” you hum in an unknown tongue. It’s one that scratches at the back of his mind like a feverish itch. Though the bag remains unopened you can sense the presence of the offerings as though they call to you and that is enough to suffice. Death’s body coils back when you rise to your feet, perhaps concerned that you would pounce into his lap, but you walk towards your altar and retrieve a large, milk-clouded orb. A leviathan’s eye and bring it back to where you both sit at the fire. 

Upon a chant in that same, unknown language the fire grows cold and black, embers of a dullened blue fluttering up as you place the eye into the flames. The dark gradient of your fingertips becomes a blur to his eyes, almost falling into a state of hypnosis. “Look into the eye, Pale Rider. Open up that sliver within your soul… and let the future’s vision intrude.” 

The moment your hands lifted away, Death was pulled into the vision through a blinding light that made his eyes physically wince and shut almost completely. 

He stands atop a platform with a swirling current beneath him in the depths, energies that soar in a churning well. He feels himself fall, the wind tousling his hair and against his naked face, his mask no longer one with him, a calming serene comes over him but through it, he continues to fall as he’s then consumed by hot, molten fire. The force of impact fractures the world around him as he lands amidst the Kingdom of Man. 

Death shoves his weight back, catching himself abruptly by the skin of his bandaged and braced hands with a hiss and his chest rises and falls quickly. The third kingdom. Did he… gaze into the future of the apocalypse?

“I trust you will not say what it is you saw,” you say, languidly grasping the leviathan’s eye and the moment the orb is plucked from the swirl of flames, they flourish with that bright yellow and orange, painting the tent with its warm colour once more. The reaper watches you silently return the eye to its place at the altar and then face him, your eyes narrowed slightly but your smirk still ever present. 

“What… did you do to me?” he growls only for you to raise a hand. “I did nothing. I merely… hold the door open for the future and present to meet.” 

Death pushes himself to his feet and takes hold of his scythes the moment you take another advancing step towards him. “Don’t you dare come any closer, witch!”

Your lips purse into an ‘o’ shape. “Ooh, that’s a new one,” you scoff. The raised threat of his blade that’s poised directly at you is one you show the absence of fear for. Not a single, weary flinch of your body nor casted glance. 

How were you so calm in the presence of Death? 

“What are you?” 

“I am many things.” Your hand coasts down the middle of your ever revealing sternum, only pausing at the fabric of your belt that wraps around your waist. You cock a teasing brow at the reaper when you notice how his eyes follow your hands. “Some… which you are not ready to know.”

You hum a soft tune, a long-since gone lullaby robbed from you the day they burned your family on those pyres. You chuckle and tickle your fingers, wriggling them along the blade’s edge, creeping closer to him. “You’re cute when you’re scared, Reaper.”

Death’s eyes widened and that translucent layer that hides a faint pupil shrinks. His body falls back and under the poison of your magic, his hands go numb. He’s powerless as the scythes in his hands drop to his side and his body falls back suddenly on a pile of pooled blankets and cushions, teleported to another space of the tent within the blink of an eye. You lower yourself to straddle his lap. The drapes of your robes fall loosely down your shoulders, revealing the bareness of your skin and chest further. Death squints his eyes at you, warning you. 

“Samael has told me many things about you, Pale Rider. And I must say… you have my intimate intrigue,” you purr lowly. You raise your hand to once again rake your nails down the mouthless shell of his mask and he hisses, jerking his head away from you. “I’ve always wondered what’s under there~” 

“And you never will,” he seethes. Death grabs hold of your wrists and you cutely gasp before he flips you over and stands up from the pile. You coo and pout after him as he walks away. Death storms out of the tent, shoving aside the flaps with an angered ruffled that almost tears them down but he is chased after by the whistle of your words, even as he mounts Despair and rides off into the realm, through the Crimson Forest. 

“I’ll be seeing you around in a century or two, Horseman. Of that… my master promises.”

Your dark magic knows no bounds truly. And you find yourself eager to supplant yourself as his new haunter now that, unknown to him, he has an open wound in which you can manifest. You’ll be making yourself very well acquainted with the Horseman soon enough.

[daybreak-overture]

Love Nikki Genshin-Inspired Looks: Harbingers Pt. 1

Tartaglia

Tartaglia- Foul Legacy

La Signora

Crimson Witch of Embers

Scaramouche

Shouki no Kami

Arlecchino

The Knave

| Mondstadt Part 1 | Mondstadt Part 2 |

| Liyue Part 1 | Liyue Part 2 |

Inazuma Part 1 | Inazuma Part 2

| Sumeru Part 1 | Sumeru Part 2|

| Fontaine | 4.4 + |

[dummiebrat]

𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗲, 𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗲

Agatha Harkness X Rio Vidal.

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: A powerfully charged confrontation between a Agatha Harkness and her lover, Rio Vidal. The scene unfolds with Rio challenging Agatha after discovering her stealing powers from other witches through seduction. Tension runs high as Rio's jealousy and defiance clash with Agatha’s dominant nature.

Notes: Power Dynamics, Jealousy, Brat Tamer Dynamics, Dominance and Submission, Emotional Conflict, Aftercare, Intimacy.

Author's Notes: Just me, spitting out the random crazy things that come into my head. I'm still not sure about writing smut, but I like the power exchange dynamic, so here we are. English is not my native language so please forgive any mistakes

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe room was drenched in darkness, save for the flickering dance of candlelight casting shadows that swayed like specters upon the stone walls. The air was thick with the heady scent of incense, a haze of cloves and myrrh that clung to the skin like a lover's whisper. Agatha Harkness stood in the center of the room, her silhouette regal and unyielding, draped in midnight-black velvet that seemed to swallow the light. Her eyes, twin orbs of molten silver, glinted with a dangerous curiosity as they fixed upon the figure kneeling before her.

Rio Vidal — Lady Death — was a vision of defiance, her raven hair cascading in wild, untamed waves that framed her face like a stormy halo. She was all sharp edges and simmering fury, the perfect contradiction of rebellion and allure. Her hands were bound behind her back with crimson silk, the delicate fabric a striking contrast to the cold, pale perfection of her skin. Yet even in her captivity, there was a fire in her eyes, a challenge that smoldered like embers waiting to ignite.

— You think I didn't see you? — Rio spat, her voice a low, sultry growl that quivered with barely restrained anger. — Stealing their power... their very essence with nothing but a kiss. How many witches have you drained, Agatha? How many more will you seduce with those honeyed words and poisoned lips?

Agatha's smile was a slow, deliberate thing-a curve of crimson lips that spoke of secrets and sins, a smile that promised both pleasure and pain in equal measure. She stepped forward, each movement a calculated grace, her boots echoing against the stone floor with a rhythmic, taunting click.

— Jealousy, my dear? — Agatha purred, her voice as smooth and dark as velvet. She tilted Rio's chin upward with a single finger, forcing those stormy eyes to meet her own. — How charming. I thought you enjoyed watching me play with my prey. Or is it that you're afraid you're no longer enough to sate me?

A flash of hurt crossed Rio's face, so fleeting that it could have been imagined, but Agatha saw it-relishing the vulnerability beneath the defiance. Leaning closer, Agatha let her breath ghost over Rio's lips, their proximity charged with a heat that bordered on violence.

— You've always been my favorite, little brat. — she whispered, the words a caress and a command all at once. — But you seem to have forgotten your place.

Rio's lips twisted into a defiant smirk, a dangerous glint in her eyes. — Perhaps it's you who's forgotten, Mistress. — she shot back, her voice dripping with insolence. — Perhaps I need to remind you of how much you crave the challenge.

Agatha's response was a sharp tug on the silk that bound Rio's wrists, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together, a battle of wills made flesh. There was no softness in the kiss that followed, only a clash of tongues and teeth, a bruising, punishing claiming of territory. But beneath the fury, there was something else-a desperation, a need that neither could fully acknowledge, even as it consumed them.

When they finally broke apart, both were panting, their breaths mingling in the scant inches that separated them.

Agatha's eyes were dark with something that bordered on feral, but Rio was the first to speak, her voice softer now, tinged with something that might have been regret.

— I just... I hate sharing you. — she admitted, her defiance crumbling to reveal a raw vulnerability that was as rare as it was precious. — I want to be the only one who has your attention, your power... your love.

For a moment, the mask slipped from Agatha's face, replaced by a tenderness that was as fleeting as a candle's flicker. She loosened the bonds around Rio's wrists, massaging the reddened skin with a gentleness that seemed out of place after the brutality of their encounter.

— My darling, — Agatha murmured, pressing a kiss to each wrist in turn, as if in penance. — You are the only one who truly has me. The others are... mere distractions.

Rio's eyes softened at the words, and she leaned into Agatha's touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips. — Then prove it. — she whispered, almost a plea. — Show me that I'm the only one.

And so Agatha did, but this time, with a gentleness that spoke of devotion rather than dominance. She held Rio close, caressing away the hurt, the jealousy, the anger. This was their ritual, their unspoken dance between power and surrender, a constant push and pull that only strengthened their bond.

Afterwards, they lay entwined in the afterglow, Agatha's fingers tracing lazy patterns along Rio's spine, grounding her, comforting her.

— Better? — Agatha asked softly, a rare smile curving her lips, one meant only for Rio.

Rio nodded, a contented sigh escaping her as she buried her face against Agatha's neck. — Yes, Mistress, — she murmured, her voice soft and sleepy. — I'm a good girl... your good girl.

Agatha's smile widened as she pulled the covers over them, the firelight casting a warm glow upon their tangled forms. — Yes, you are, baby. — she whispered, pressing a final kiss to Rio's temple. — And you're mine. Always.

ㅤㅤㅤ

[venti-the-bard-rumor-mill]

am i the only one who remembers the goddamn crimson witch of embers kicking Venti down the stairs?????? what did he do to you, fuck your dead husband? or was he the nearest mondstatian to chuck? did they have prior beef? he didn't seem all that affected by her death, although neither was 90% of mondstat....

Anon, what are you going on about???

[youraveragetorturedpoet]

Taylor Swift Albums As: Aesthetics/Random Things

DEBUT: green meadows, wildflowers, sundresses with boots, car radios, back country roads, laughing so hard you cry, pickup trucks, butterflies, innocence, freckles, having all the time in the world, fireflies, moonlit lakes, old blue jeans, front porches, sweet tea, hot lazy summer days

FEARLESS: gold sparkles, rainfall/storms, high school years, fairy tales, schoolyards, princesses and princes, old books of ancient tales, waiting, clocks, knights in armor, prom, phone calls, broken promises, smiles, fighting for a cause, mutual pining, school gyms, band practice

SPEAK NOW: any and all shades of purple, trepidation in love, storybooks, fancy ballgowns, big cities, liars, awkward meetings, sparklers, crowded rooms, flames to embers, poetic endings, fighting dragons, castles, old antiques, summertime, fireworks, roses, using your voice, farewell to childhood

RED: classic red lipstick, foggy mornings, notes on pictures, trains, planes, autumn, things changing in the blink of an eye, lockets, distance, mosaics, busy streets, vintage, weeping alone, yearning, longing, the cost of fame, scarves, lattes, sleek hair, echoes, starlight, cafes, hoping against hope

1989: retro, blinding lights, vanilla ice cream, seagulls, daisies, carefree days, the beach/the ocean, tabloids, paper planes, rumors, sky blue, car rides at twilight, waves/water, wild parties, sequins, marquees, running, finding yourself, reinvention, recklessness, prime of life

REP: haunted by living ghosts, sexy, buried alive, black & crimson & white, illusions, hard liquor, snakes, "burn the witch", the perfect crime, revenge, trickery, love is a drug, cautiously optimistic, the girl you knew is dead, sleeping a lot, burning bridges, darkest nights with a starry sky

LOVER: pastels, summer nights, dirty jokes, star signs, cozy home, American classic, cheers, full moons, sunsets, rooftops, drunk in a car, new chapters, religious themes, pleading, any and all shades of pink, playing games, accepting someone fully, denial, kitchens, memories, apologies, bars, sunsets

FOLKLORE: grays & muted blacks, beginnings, spring, summer, stars, bleeding from old wounds, trains, a midnight sea, bus stops, old film reels, funeral for old self, braids, lies, pretending, rumors, waiting by the phone, malls, wishes, drowning, jewels, old tales of those who came before, August and July

EVERMORE: bronze & shades of brown, snow, endings, reunions, fall and winter, moving on, old friends, a weekend tryst, true crime podcasts, healing from deep wounds, ivy and greenery, stuck on repeat, crescent moons, November and December, willow trees, bubbling champagne, following dreams, watching from the sidelines

MIDNIGHTS: sultry, dark wine, hurt but not dead, friendship bracelets, navy blue and mustard yellow, moonstones, honey, cats, vulnerability, auroras, impossible things, growing up, rain and snow, time portals, politics, meteors, shimmering, recognizing your worth, simplicity, chess, emotional infidelity, glitches

TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT: quill pens, white, the scent of old books, denial & anger & bargaining & grief & acceptance, typewriters, exhaustion, profound sadness, mental institutions, the price of fame, refiners fire, childhood stories, nostalgia, ancient prophecies, hotel rooms, dolls, mental health issues, reading Aristotle just because, going in kicking and screaming but coming out alive

[vlyrn]

hey there :)

I wanted to get into making c ai bots and you’ve really inspired me!! your bots are fantastic!

I was wondering if you could show how you make them? Like what you put where- I’ve tried and my bots suck

thank you!!

Making bots - a little bit of a guide

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Hi! Absolutely, I’m happy to share the method I use etc. Figured I would reply to this when I start my next non-request bot start to finish so here we go! Just to say, I’m not an expert! I don’t understand how character ai works at all! Trial and error got me to this point! This works well enough but there are definitely better guides on Reddit from people who do know what they’re doing!

1: The Greeting Message

Next on my list is a Daemon at Harrenhal inspired bot. So with character ai (my main platform I use) your greeting has to be between 3-2048 characters so the greeting has to be fairly concise. It’s really basic but using the who, what, where, when, why really helps ground the bot before you even start adding the definitions.

So for this Daemon bot:

Who: Daemon as the {{char}} and the {{user}} will be a witch/healer/Alys inspired character

What: He’s having strange dreams so he goes walking around the grounds, and comes across {{user}}

Where: Harrenhal, outside, near the heart tree

When: Late at night during Daemon’s time in Harrenhal

Why: Bad dreams, fuelled by uncertainty, guilt, worries for the future, seeking comfort in the unknown

I write this all up into prose in my notes app, then copy ALL that into character ai, and trim it down to fit the word count. This is also where you take out or censor any filtered words, such as Targaryen, Stannis, Lannister…

This is what it came out as:

The night was heavy, the air cold and damp as it clung to the stone of Harrenhal. Even in slumber, the castle whispered. Daemon had dreamt of ash and blood, of shadows flitting through the dark halls, of faces half-remembered and voices long silenced. He woke with a start, sweat cold on his brow despite the chill. The hearth’s embers had burned low, and the moon sat swollen and pale beyond the narrow window. Sleep would not find him again.

Pulling on his cloak, he left his chambers and wandered into the night, booted footsteps echoing softly against the worn stone. The castle loomed above him, dark and jagged, its towers like broken fangs against the night sky. Some said Harrenhal itself was cursed — that the blood spilled here had seeped into the very foundations, breeding misfortune and madness. Daemon had once scoffed at such tales. Now, after days spent beneath its looming shadow, he wasn’t so certain.

The air grew colder as he passed through the courtyard, mist curling along the ground. His path led him toward the godswood, drawn by some unspoken pull. The trees stood silent, their twisted branches reaching skyward, gnarled fingers against the stars. The heart tree stood at the center, ancient and pale, its bark bone-white against the darkness. The face carved into its trunk watched him with bleeding eyes, its expression unreadable. Daemon halted beneath its boughs, staring up into the crimson leaves.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

The voice came soft from the shadows, low and steady, like the wind whispering through the reeds. Daemon turned, hand falling to the hilt of Dark Sister. A figure stepped into the moonlight. The mist pooled around their feet, curling against the hem of their cloak.

“Who are you?” Daemon’s voice came low, edged with warning, though curiosity flickered beneath the steel. “A ghost come to haunt me?”

He frowned, unease prickling along his skin. “What do you know of this place? Of its… curses?” The word tasted bitter in his mouth. “The dreams here are dark. Twisted.”

2: Describing the character

Next is the information you provide character ai with about your character. There is no right or wrong way to do this but I use the following format:

[Name(item) Aliases(item, item) Titles(item, item) Gender(item) Born(item) Family(item, item, item) Appearance(item, item, item) Character(item, item, item, item)]

Add any other details to that, for asoiaf I’ll add any special weapons like Longclaw or Dark Sister, any ‘pets’ like Ghost or Drogon, I’ll section out family to parents, siblings, spouse, children, and this helps kind of place the character where they are in relation to other characters.

For asoiaf especially I like to use the wiki as a point of reference because I do not remember every single detail of these characters.

This goes in ‘Add Character Definition’ where it remains private to users.

3: Example Dialogue

This is where the magic happens and what takes me the longest! For a bot to work you have to train it to answer in medium/long detailed responses and to answer appropriately. What I do is essentially write a fanfic predicting how someone will use this bot. Keep this sort of vague when describing the {{user}}, this is not you, this is the hypothetical person using your bot. But you can slip in details about other characters and events, have them discuss the world they live in so that when you later prompt the bot in can answer accurately. For example, I’m really proud that 9/10 times my Cregan bots will acknowledge that he was married to Arra Norrey before the Dance.

So a continuation of this Harrenhal interaction would be as follows:

The figure stepped forward, their presence unsettling in its quiet, unhurried grace. They were cloaked in dark, flowing fabric, their face hidden beneath the shadow of their hood, though their eyes gleamed faintly—a pale, unnatural light, like the glint of something ancient and far beyond the mortal realm. They spoke again, voice soft but carrying an eerie depth.

“Curses are merely words given shape,” they said, their tone like the rustling of dry leaves. “But the weight of the past… it cannot be so easily forgotten. Not by those who dare walk in its shadow.” The stranger’s gaze lifted toward the heart tree, lingering for a long moment before they returned their eyes to Daemon. “You are not the first to feel its presence, nor will you be the last.”

Daemon narrowed his eyes, the hairs on his neck prickling. “So you speak of the castle’s ‘curse’ as if you know it firsthand.”

The stranger tilted their head, their lips curving upward into something that might have been a smile—if it had been warmer. “I have walked this land longer than you can imagine, Prince. The castle’s blood runs through the earth, yes, but it is the weight of what’s been done here that clings to you like a second skin.” They paused. “You are haunted by more than just dreams, aren’t you?”

Daemon stiffened, the sudden weight of their words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword, though he made no move to draw it. “You speak of my past,” he muttered. “Of things better left buried.” He looked away, eyes drifting to the moonlit silhouette of the heart tree. “But perhaps I am already dead, in some way. Living a life heavy with regret, without escape.”

The stranger’s voice softened, becoming almost contemplative. “The past has a way of binding us. But it is not the past that should worry you, Daemon Targaryen. It is what the future holds.” They took a slow step forward, their voice dropping to a near whisper. “What is it that you truly fear?”

Daemon’s gaze flicked to them sharply, his hand tightening around the hilt of Dark Sister. His breath was steady, yet his chest felt tight, a strange coldness creeping along his spine. “Fear? I fear nothing,” he replied quickly, though his words sounded more brittle than he had intended.

The stranger tilted their head again, their eyes unreadable. “You might convince others, perhaps even yourself, that you are beyond fear. But those who wear masks are often the most vulnerable. And you, Prince, wear yours tightly.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened. “What do you know of me?” He moved closer, his voice low, though something—some strange yearning—slipped beneath the hard edge. “What do you know of what haunts me?”

The stranger stepped even closer, their voice quiet, as though speaking directly to the heart of his soul. “I know that you carry the weight of bloodshed on your shoulders. And I know that you have failed to protect those you love. You think yourself cursed, but it is not the castle that weighs on you. It is your own guilt. And it will be your undoing if you allow it to.”

Daemon’s breath hitched for the briefest of moments, the shadows in his mind deepening. “You speak as though you know me.” His voice faltered, and for a fleeting instant, vulnerability flashed in his dark eyes. He turned away, looking once more at the moon above the twisted branches of the weirwood. “I have blood on my hands—more than I care to count. And the dreams… they will not let me forget.”

The stranger was silent for a long while, and when they spoke again, their words seemed to offer a rare comfort—delicate, yet unnervingly intimate.

“Regret is a heavy chain,” they said softly, “but it is not unbreakable. The heart may bleed, but it can heal—if you allow it. There is no solace in running from yourself, Daemon Targaryen. Not anymore.”

Daemon closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of their words sink deep into him. His fingers relaxed slightly around the hilt of Dark Sister, though he still felt the unsettling pull of their presence. “And what would you have me do, stranger? What do you offer?” His voice was strained, edged with a bitter sort of curiosity.

The stranger smiled again, a slow, knowing expression. “I offer no easy answers, Prince. Only the truth.” They extended a gloved hand toward him, their fingers like pale branches, delicate but unwavering. “The choice is always yours. But remember—sometimes, it is not the strength to fight that is needed, but the courage to face what lies beneath the surface.”

Daemon stared at the outstretched hand, the silence stretching between them like an unseen chasm. For the first time, he felt a tremor in his chest, a flicker of something raw and exposed. The weight of the castle, of his family, of his own legacy, felt unbearable in that moment.

“I’ve never been good at facing the truth,” he muttered, almost to himself. “It’s easier to fight. To win. To drown everything else.”

The stranger’s gaze softened once more, and with a single, deliberate step, they closed the distance between them. Their presence was unsettling, but not unwelcome. “Fighting does not erase what haunts you, Daemon. It only buries it deeper.” They placed their hand gently on his shoulder, a fleeting touch that was both grounding and unnerving. “But if you wish to find peace, you must face what lies beneath.”

Daemon stared at them in silence, his heart pounding against his ribs, an unfamiliar sensation gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

-

This is not filtered so you can use terms you couldn’t in your greeting! Essentially, you are teaching your bot how you’d like it to act, so for this Daemon is very anxious and confused and I’ve committed to that.

This is not the format you want though! Example dialogues should be in the following format:

{{char}}: Hello, I’m {{char}}.

{{user}}: Hello, {{char}}, I’m {{user}}.

So we reformat the interaction. Just add {{user}} and {{char}} before each back and forth. I do this 3-5 times, until I have 50-100 example messages. This is a long process! Can you tell I don’t have a job?

This ALSO goes in ‘Add Character Definition’!

I do not put anything in Description, and the Subtitle is just where I put the name of the bot, whether it was requested, and who it is.

This is what my Character Description looks like when it’s full.

4: Image

Easiest part, just save a screen cap that you think fits your bot, I edit mine on VSCO, and then upload it.

Finished:

When you’re done it should look like this:

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Here’s the bot: Weirwood

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

[pupsmailbox]

HALLOWEEN ID PACK

NAMES︰ abraham. abraxas. adam. adrian. adrienne. alaric. alfred. alistair. amity. ann. annabelle. apple. arawn. ash. avaric. azazel. azrael. azriel. barnabas. belladonna. berry. blair. blaize. blake. blanche. boq. brain. bram. bridgette. bronwen. burton. candi. candy. caradoc. carmilla. carrie. casper. cassia. castor. choco. claire. clarice. claudia. cole. coraline. corbin. crimson. cuthbert. damien. damon. daphne. dark. debra. dexter. draco. dracula. drake. duncan. ebony. edgar. elena. eli. elphaba. elvira. ember. estelle. eve. eye. fable. fang. fergus. finn. fiyero. frankenstein. freddie. freddy. frederick. george. ghost. ghoul. giles. glinda. griffin. grimm. gummy. hades. hallorann. hallow. hawthorne. heath. heathcliff. hecate. hekate. hela. hemlock. henry. ichabod. igor. ike. ivan. jack. jason. jasper. josette. knox. layla. lazarus. lenore. lester. licorice. lilith. lolly. lucinda. luella. luna. lunette. mab. malcolm. marnie. mary. matilda. mike. mikey. mina. morgan. morgana. mortimer. nancy. neoma. nessarose. nimue. norman. obsidian. onyx. orenda. orion. osiris. othello. pandora. payne. peach. perdita. poe. poison. pumpkin. radcliff. raven. reese. remus. renwick. requiem. rhiannon. romero. rosalie. rosemary. ross. ruby. rune. ruth. saber. sabrina. sage. salem. sally. sam. samhain. scarlett. sebastian. semyazza. seth. sibyl. sid. sirius. stella. stephen. sylvia. tabitha. thackery. trick. twila. twilight. udolpho. vamp. vampire. vanellope. vespera. victor. victoria. viktor. vincent. vlad. voltaire. wanda. wednesday. wendy. werewolf. wes. wesley. wilhelmina. willow. winifred. winter. wolf. wren. xander. zelda.

PRONOUNS︰ attic/attic. bat/bat. bell/bell. black/black. blood/blood. bone/bone. boo/boo. cabre/macabre. candle/candle. candy/bar. candy/candy. candybar/candybar. carve/carve. cavity/cavity. cem/cemetery. chaos/chaos. choco/chocola. claw/claw. co/coffin. costume/costume. crim/crimson. cry/crypt. dark/dark. darkroom/darkroom. demon/demon. devil/devil. dread/dreadful. end/ender. eve/eve. fair/fair. fang/fang. fest/festival. flick/flick. ghost/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. grem/gremlin. grim/grim. grue/gruesome. hallo/ween. hallow/hallow. hallow/halloween. halloween/halloween. haunt/haunt. haunted/haunted. hay/hayride. hex/hex. hide/hide. howl/howl. imp/imp. mis/mischeif. mon/monster. monster/monster. myst/mystery. para/normal. poi/poison. poison/poison. polter/geist. prank/prank. pum/pumpkin. pump/kin. pump/pumpkin. pumpkin/pumpkin. scare/crow. scream/scream. shriek/shriek. skel/skeleton. skeleton/skeleton. skull/skull. so/soul. spider/spider. spirit/spirit. spook/spook. spooky/spooky. static/static. sweet/sweet. tale/tale. thrill/thriller. tomb/tomb. treat/treat. tri/trick. trick/treat. trick/trick. trickster/trickster. vamp/vamp. vamp/vampire. vampire/vampire. venom/venom. voi/void. web/web. werewolf/werewolf. witch/witch. wolf/wolf. zomb/zomb. zombie/zombie. ⚰️. 🍁. 🍂. 🍫. 🍬. 🍭. 🎃. 👻. 💀. 💚. 💜. 🕯. 🕷. 🕷️. 🕸. 🖤. 🦇. 🦴. 🧡.