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apiswitchcraft · 2 months ago

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altars for kemetic/egyptian gods

hi yall, another purely based in UPG, new agey post! historically, deity offerings for the ancient egyptians often took the form of art/sculpture/hymns, incense (like frankincense or myrrh), or offerings of food (especially meat and bread) and drink (wine/ale, mostly). dialogue with the gods was often facilitated through the pharaohs or funerary rites, but your average person had access to daily magic and regular temples as well.

Colors: yellow, orange, red for the sun

Offerings: eye of ra, dates, figs, grapes, apricots, sunflowers, morning glories, chocolate, pastries, orange juice, honey

Crystals: sunstone, yellow/red jasper, citrine, carnelian, honey calcite, angelite, kyanite

Animals: falcon

SHU

Colors: white, blue for the air/sky

Offerings: feathers (especially ostrich), sandalwood, gardenia, anise, paper fans, cornflower

Crystals: white/clear quartz, angelite, selenite, blue calcite, fluorite, blue lace agate

Animals: lion, ostrich

TEFNUT

Colors: white, blue for water

Offerings: sea salt, reeds, shells, water, coral, water (especially dew), lotus root/flower

Crystals: blue calcite, sodalite, lapis lazuli, amethyst, larimar, ocean/blue lace agate, aquamarine

Animals: lioness

NUT

Colors: blue, black for night. white for stars

Offerings: amber, sandalwood, sycamore, moonflowers, morning glories, milk

Crystals: lapis lazuli, star jasper, azurite, obsidian, smokey quartz, black tourmaline, labradorite, sodalite, moonstone (especially black)

Animals: boar, cow, sow

GEB

Colors: green, brown for earth. black for the underworld

Offerings: grain, beans, yarrow, cinnamon, coffee, egg shells, foliage, dirt, rocks, snake shed, milk

Crystals: jasper (various types), aventurine, moss/tree agate, unakite, obsidian, jade, malachite

Animals: snake, goose, rabbit, bull

OSIRIS

Colors: green for renewal, black for death, white for rebirth

Offerings: bandages, dark chocolate, dried fruit (especially oranges or dates), dark chocolate, coffee, cedar, vetiver, bones

Crystals: lapis lazuli, moss agate, jasper (various types), malachite, obsidian, smokey quartz, pyrite, jade, howlite, star jasper (for his astral form)

Animals: heron, ram, cow

ISIS

Colors: white, grey for the moon. blue, black for the night. green for life and resurrection.

Offerings: the tyet symbol, cow horn, milk, sycamore, feathers, dried fruit (such as raisins or dates), pomegranates, nuts, pastries

Crystals: star jasper, moonstone, rose quartz, amethyst, fluorite, bloodstone, red jasper, carnelian, labradorite, aventurine

Animals: birds (especially a kite hawk or vulture), cow, cat, scorpion, sow

HORUS

Colors: blue, purple for insight and intuition. white and red for pharoahship.

Offerings: eye of horus, weaponry/iron, lotus flower/root, feathers (especially hawk or falcon), yarrow, chocolate

Crystals: malachite, aventurine, pyrite, amethyst, lapis lazuli, jasper (various), howlite, sunstone, aquamarine, labradorite, hematite

Animals: falcon

NEPHTHYS

Colors: black for darkness and funerary rites

Offerings: beer, linen, feathers (especially of a crow or vulture), bones, coffee, nuts, milk

Crystals: obsidian, smokey quartz, black moonstone (because of association with Isis), black tourmaline, red jasper, bloodstone

Animals: vulture, crow

SET

Colors: red, black for chaos and storms

Offerings: lettuce, sand, alcohol, dragon's blood, patchouli, yarrow, vetiver, charcoal, dark chocolate, black pepper

Crystals: red jasper, black tourmaline, howlite, obsidian, labradorite, sodalite, bloodstone, malachite, pyrite

Animals: the set animal (which resembles a canine, giraffe, and aardvark), donkey

THOTH

Colors: grey, blue for intuition/intelligence. white for the moon

Offerings: quill, ink, pieces of writing/books, feathers, rosemary, citrus, sage, moon water, lavender, nuts

Crystals: amethyst, lapis lazuli, malachite, moonstone, selenite, howlite, angelite, sodalite, fluorite

Animals: ibis, baboon

ANUBIS

Colors: black, grey for funerary rites/death

Offerings: bones, ash, charcoal, red/black peppercorns, marigold (associated with the dead), linen, yarrow

Crystals: hematite, obsidian, black tourmaline, howlite, jasper (various, but especially red), smokey/rutilated quartz, bloodstone

Animals: canines, especially a jackal

BASTET

Colors: white, red for pharaohship

Offerings: ointments/perfumes of most types, cedar, anything cat related, rosemary, black salt

Crystals: tiger's eye, cat's eye quartz, bloodstone, red jasper, black tourmaline, howlite, milky/smokey quartz, pyrite, carnelian

Animals: lioness, cat

SEKHMET

Colors: red for war. grey for justice

Offerings: sand (especially red), scales of justice, iron, cypress, red pepper, black salt

Crystals: bloodstone, red jasper, carnelian, garnet, ruby kyanite, jade, smokey/clear, hematite

Animals: lioness

HATHOR

Colors: pink, red for love/sexuality

Offerings: dancing, dried fruits (especially figs/dates), pomegranates, sycamore, milk, honey, pastries

Crystals: rose quartz, amethyst, citrine, carnelian, fluorite, jade, aquamarine, garnet/ruby

Animals: cow, lioness, cobra

KHONSU

Colors: white, grey for the moon. blue, black for the night.

Offerings: lavender, sage, mugwort, dried fruit, moon shaped items, moon flower, ash

Crystals: moonstone, selenite, sodalite, obsidian, black tourmaline, smokey/milky quartz, jasper (various), blue lace agate, lapis lazuli

Animals: falcon

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punk-in-docs · 4 months ago

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A song of brides and hounds: part III

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 4.3k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW: for this chapter - mainly violence and some gore, also Caracalla being a nasty little bitch -- enjoy!

The servant girls’ hands are kind.

They undress you softly, and handle you with such reverence. Strip from you the ruined stola and tend your wounds.

They wash your feet, ply your cuts with a herbal paste of yarrow and uva ursi, wrap you in bandages. They rub new sweet smelling oil onto your unwounded skin.

Pick off your old jewellery and finery to be discarded. Slip you out your shoes. Lay you bare. Stood before them in naught but your skin as they tend you.

One is wetting, oiling and combing your netted hair to silky serenity again. Another is cleaning the wound on your elbow. All traces of dirt - and your previous life along with it - slowly removed.

Stood you in a shallow golden tub of warm water that laps at your ankles. Milky with oils and soaps. They put rose petals in the water. You watch them swim and dip.

You beg for one of the girls to keep the fibulae broaches that held your now damned dress to your shoulders. Your very last essence of home. Venus was enshrined in those very broaches. They gave you hope. Carrying a small kind piece of goddess with you. Laying your devotion to the majesty of the ocean on your simple shoulders.

They guided you to rooms draped in blue and gold. Stars moulded on the ceiling with the ornate marble that drips from every wall and corner. Giving the false illusion of a night sky. The flat ceiling between them clouded with bursts and puffs of dark blue that indicated churning night clouds. Boundless skies. Endless seas.

It felt like showing all the maps of the world to a caged bird.

Soft feminine blues befit these chambers. Statues and devotion to goddesses crown the walls and doorways. Urns of large stemmed white flowers. One wall holds a table lined with a huge offering of fruits, dried and fresh. Some bread and cured meats and oiled small fish. And an amphora of wine and goblet for after your bathing.

The air in here is scented all floral herb and clean. Too clean. No hint of sea salt or dried weed that tumbles on the shore to bake in the sun. It’s unfamiliar.

The huge slab of the cushioned bed is draped with silks and gauzy canopy curtains the colour of dove feathers. You don’t want to look at it. You dread thinking what will happen in it tonight.

A large maw of balcony gapes at another side of the room. This shows you the wall of rain outside. The violent tumble of thunder that must be shaking the very hills and peoples of Rome.

You feel as if the sea is raging because you’ve been stolen from it. Now it seeks vengeance on the land. Lashing and storming mercilessly until you’re found. Back where you belong.

Unlikely. It will have to rage on.

You stand, undressed, unseeing. Uncaring for the wealth of the room you’ve been pulled into.

The maid behind you, Oriana, a sweet and silent blonde, is scooping your hair back from your neck to comb and ply it with vanilla and orchid oil. Dark sweet musk.

Geta had specifically requested it.

Your head servant is a maid called Aeliana.

She has an accent you can’t place. It’s pretty, her tone husky. She had wonderful raven hair spilling silky and free over her shoulders, eyes dark as cassia bark, almond shaped. Long lashes. The epitome of tranquil beauty.

The colour of her dress is different to the rest of them. Indicating her higher status. Rusty red and it readily compliments the natural darkness of her skin. She wore golden bangles threaded on each wrist, and her touch is cloud soft.

She has a scar that intersects down from the middle of her forehead, across her left eye and cheek and ends there. Skin twisted and healed shiny. An old wound. It makes her striking to look at.

Worse still; She catches you staring.

Lowers her eyes as she tended you. Layering the sticky wet herbal treatment to your wounded elbow.

“Does my appearance displease you, my lady?” She lapses into silence for a moment or two.

“If you’d prefer I could send for another handmaiden to come tend you-“ She asks. Not harshly. There’s a hint of shame to her tone.

You look to her. Fearful of offence.

“I am not displeased. Forgive me. To stare so openly is rude.” You mutter. Eyes falling to your feet again. You watch rose petals sway on the water. You swallow thickly.

If she’s amused at your asking her, a servant, for forgiveness, she doesn’t show it. She calmly counters;

“You are Empress Salacia of Rome. You are allowed to stare at whomever you wish.” She tells you plainly.

Your eyes water. You bite inside your lower lip before you respond.

Not yet I’m not. And I don’t want to be.

“How came you by the scar?” You ask. Knowing full well you won’t like the answer. She gently washed your shoulder with a cloth.

“The Emperor.” She tells frankly.

At your doe eyed expression of horror she elucidates.

“Not Emperor Geta. His brother, Caracalla. Emperor Geta’s temper may be foul and quick to boil. But, Caracalla he is… far crueler.” She explains.

Your mouth purses into a thin line.

Oriana has finished oiling your hair. Now she was styling it into waves. Decorated with ornaments of netted gold. Geta requested it down as opposed to the normal bridal style. Emperors have what they want.

“What was the reason…” You sought. Fearing the answer.

“I was too slow in bringing his wine one night.” She offers. Plucking a vial of oil from the side table and coming back to rub it into your bare arms.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Ignore the tickle of tears that threaten your scrunched eyelids.

This is the savage world you must inhabit now. Try to navigate with sharper hungrier teeth and deadlier instinct. You don’t feel ready. You must become lionhearted and fierce. Carry knives. Be ruthless.

You hear your mothers reverent voice in your head. Sweet sea child. You were not made that way.

“I am sorry for your pain. Aeliana. But I am grateful for your warning.” You decide.

She nods. “I thank the goddess’ for you. Empress.” She smiles at you.

Before going to the side to fetch your tunica recta, and the belt you’d wear on your waist in a knot of hercules. Which tradition dictated only Geta was allowed to undo.

Your husband.

You wince. Aueliana notices.

“Your majesty?” She seeks. Sensing your unease.

“I am nervous.” You tell her. You confide your worry in this woman with kind eyes and soft hands.

“It is expected of a bride to be nervous.” She awards you.

“I’m not a normal bride.” You confirm fearfully. She can see them shaking in your gaze. Threatening to breach your lash line.

She nods in understanding. You’re sure they all knew. The reason that placed you here. Spread like wildfire on dry plains through the servant halls.

“I know little of managing a husband. Of… starting a family.”

“If I may, your majesty. Your family is a noble one, yes?” She asks.

You nod. You lived in one of the richest houses in Corsica. You were never lacking in money or ribbons and new jewels. But at best you were a senators daughter. Not the ideal stock for an Emperors wife. Not the type to be governing one great nation.

“My grandmother is a well known seer in these parts. A healer. Purveyor of white magic. Many a time she has seen things that have yet to come to pass…” She explains as she wraps the belt around your waist. Speaking as she does.

“She foretold your arrival. Said the future of Rome would be written by rain and storm, when blood spills on the ancient serpent stone.”

Serpent. Synonymous with the Traitor. Two faced and shedding skin. Blood spilling, the death of your Brother. Rain on the rocks- this storm hammering down. You can’t believe it.

“What if Rome is your destiny?” She explains. Her voice kind and brave as the candles flicker and the storm rages on.

“Then I pray the goddess’ convey me the strength to survive it.”

“I will pray too.” She takes your hand. It feels like kinship.

They stepped you out of the tub and began to pat you dry with cloths and then dress you.

With each pass of their hands wiping the water from your skin, it removed you further and further from yourself.

Aeliana rubs a sweet balm like texture onto your pebbled nipples before she robes you. Said it was to increase your fertility. She also lines your eyes with burnt kohl.

They pulled your dress on around you. Let it fall into beautiful waves. You stood sedately and let them manoeuvre you.

Your skin positively draped with as much fragrant oil as it could take. Anointed with your new life as it drips off you in unbearable sweetness. Decorations not of your choosing put into your hair, on your ears, around your neck, on your arms. Strangled by someone else’s finery.

Slid fine golden sandals onto your feet. Aeliana brought a flame red veil and pinned it in place over your head. It floated down to your shoulders. Securing a crown of myrtle flowers over it.

It may have been gauzy fabric; rich and fine. But it felt like iron to you. Iron veil and a crown of thorns.

When they finish readying you, they bow and leave you alone to eat the fresh bread and fruits. Drink the sweet wine. Night closes in around you.

You didn’t ever picture the night before your wedding being like this. Alone and noiseless save for rain. You pictured the noise and gaiety of your sisters, dancing in their fine dresses. How they��d carry golden stalks of wheat to signify your prosperous marriage - how it would bear fruit. Be blessed by gods and fortune.

Your mother would bind your hands to the man you’d marry. To the man you’d love.

And you are here. Miserable in cold indifference. Clothed in perfumed oil and silence. With only your dour thoughts for company.

You pick at your offering of food. Feeling the milky eyes of those female deity marble statues watching you carefully. Judging. Maybe even disappointed.

When the doors next shudder open as the guards outside push them open, a divine older woman comes striding slowly, surely, into the room. Confidence woven into her steps like the very fine lavender purple cloth folded around her shoulders. A beautiful sage green palla. Her hair is dark and braided masterfully on her head. Shot through with bolts of silver.

You recognise her from coins. From statues. The Dowager Empress of Rome. Julia Domna.

She looks wise as Minerva. Goddess of education indeed. All of Rome had heard tale of not only her beauty, but her mind. Sharp as an arrowhead. A gentle mediator between her rabid sons.

Out of sheer politesse and nerves, you bolt out your seat and bow your head to her. Words shrivel on your tongue. Royalty is stood before you. Here you are plucked from the dungeons. You feel unworthy.

“Rise, my child.” She bids you. Holding out a hand laid with jewels on nearly every finger. Standing before you. Close enough to discern some of your beauty through the veil.

She examines you. Not unkindly. The way you’d expect a mother to examine the vessel that will carry her sons legacy. She’s discerning.

“Let me see my sons choice then…” she bids. Hands crossed in front of her, diplomatically, as she lets her deep set, serious eyes become acquainted with all of you.

Choice? Or chattel?

She walks around you. Eyes your hair. Your build. Your hips. The way you’ve been presented like a prized sacrificial swine before the crowds on Saturnalia.

And she doesn’t appear to find you lacking

“Goodness. You really are beautiful.” She says. It sounds mournful. Introspective. As if she didn’t intend on you hearing it.

“He’s made a fine choice.” She lauded

“Corsica, I hear you hail from?”

“Yes, Dowager.”

“I want to know one thing.” She says. Voice hard as newly forged steel. A shiver runs your spine. So she could be terrifying if she wishes.

“Are you a traitor against Rome?” She demands. “There are spies who would conspire to align themselves with this great house, under false guises, to murder my sons.” She speaks, crossly. Eyes aflame.

She has bite after all. Lions teeth and knows full well how to use them.

“I am no spy. I am not a murderer I have no guise. Like you. I only want to protect those whom I love.” You answer calmly. Placid easy waves. Gently now.

She smiles. Though something curious still lurks in her eyes.

“Then we are on the same page.” She awards slyly. You feel as if you’ve passed a test.

Her smile crooks on one side. Relieved.

She turns to the doors. The great sway of her earrings are big as chandeliers as she moves. Stunning gold. Bands of gold also cross her well formed upper arms. Every inch a woman of gentility and riches. She is perfumed with lavender. Oil made from dried plants fetched all the way from purple fields in Aquitania.

“My son grows impatient to see his bride. Come. Salacia. It is time.” She offers her arm to you.

Apparently your destiny lays in wait.

The wedding was a short and simple affair. The Dowager Empress led you to the grand rooms where they were to be held.

Grand, just like the rest of this humongous sprawling palace.

When you see Geta, he is clad in so much gold and armour. A blinding white cloak draped off his form. Armour golden. Carved with gods and victorious hero’s of battle. Golden laurel crown adorns his head. His smile at the sight of you makes you blush with attention.

You are suddenly grateful for the veil. It manages to hide you from every stranger in this room. You can make out Caracalla. Some other senators. Other guests you’ve no idea who.

The celebrant, a rather portly priest, ordered the evil spirits away. Asked for the fire spirits to bless you. He invoked Janus to watch over you from single people to a joined couple. New beginnings.

When it is time, he takes your hand and carefully threads an engagement ring on your finger. It is weighty, pure gold. An imitation of two dog heads joined together. A round sapphire cradled between their mouths. As if they’re fighting for it.

Remus and Romulus. It reminds you of him already.

You dare to meet his eyes as he does it. He looks ravenous. Umbra catching you where you stand. Swallows you whole. You don’t think you can get used to it yet.

“Wherever you go, there also go I, as your wife.” You speak.

The dowager Empress binds your hands together with blood red linen as the rest of the vows are read. The way his fingers turn and grip the inside of your forearm - firm pressing, hot like a brand - it makes you shiver.

Then comes the time for the marriage to be sealed with a kiss. Hands freed.

Your stomach is squirming unpleasantly as your stranger of a groom steps forwards to lift your veil. When he lifts the red gauze from your vision, you keep your eyes lowered until the last moment.

You feel the urging of his eyes. You could hear the fierce nature of his words as if he’d spoken.

Look at me. Salacia.

He looks entirely too boastful. His perfect little nymph. Caught and landed at last.

Hepulled you in by your waist. Locked his hand around your back. Gave you a kiss that was certainly gentler than before. Softness of his lips was maddening when the rest of him was all armour and metal. But you still felt the edge of his teeth on your lower lip. Bursting new pain from where it had split.

It was official. You had been dragged out a golden net cast in the sea. And now property of the Emperor of Rome.

You had no time to let your thoughts wander. There’s been quite the celebration planned for after. He walks beside you as congratulations ripple around you from nobles, senators, generals and high officials of the courts.

You ignore the way Caracalla sneers a particularly vile look your way when you pass him. Plotting.

You are lead to an opulent triclinium. Open to one huge side, guarded by pillars, which overlooked a garden where fountains trickled and plants bloom even in the storm that’s still brewing. Spitting rain on the landscape.

There are torches at the sides of the rooms, huge bowls boasting orange flames that lick at the walls, and freshly plucked flowers, still green branches and fronds sit in urns to the side. Filling the room with petals and heady nectar scent.

There’s a huge swarm of lectus’ in the centre of the room. Bronze laid with cushions. All pointing towards a huge table were bread and wine goblets awaited. You’re not used to how the room echoes. Unused to the sheer amount of people and formality that fills it.

The wine is poured freely by silent servants who sweep in and out. Some of them carrying plates as huge as carriage wheels. A whole roasted boar with grapes spilling out its mouth is brought in. Trays upon trays of cooked moray eels, cod and oiled anchovies. A whole platter of stewed nightingale birds, arranged around stalks of herbs and plums.

There’s fruit and bread the like of which you’ve not seen before. White bowls filled with cut purple figs and waxy oranges. Apples and yellow golden pears on tiered stands. Grapes and dried apricots heaped in dishes. It’s dazzling. So much wealth thrust before you.

You have a cup of sweet honey wine and take some of the unleavened bread. Watching as others around you gorge and toast with their goblets. Drinking strong wine and telling jokes and bawdy stories.

You feel disjointed from it all. You feel the Emperors eyes pass over you. The dowagers too. You are a source of mystery and intrigue.

Plucked from misfortune and placed here at the feet of gods.

You do feel when your new husband slides some pieces of fruit, or fresh breads onto your plate. A small bunch of sweet red grapes. His head may be cocked to conversation in this room. But his attention remains somewhat on you.

“Eat. Wife. I do not wish to force you.” He commands you. Prodding food and more wine in your direction.

Nursing his own cup and barking at the servants when he wanted more. You know his tongue must be stained with the taste by now. Sour purple. You wonder if you’ll taste it later in another of his animalistic kisses.

It feels like there is a boulder in your stomach. You swallow. You sip. You try to breathe. It all feels too restricted.

“Refill my wife’s cup.” Geta demands of the nearest servant. You flinch at his cutting commands.

You meet the servants eyes for a second and flicker them a smile. They look to the ground as they fill your cup. Their poor hands shake. You thank them. They don’t respond.

You’ve a feeling his plying you with wine has more than one ulterior motive. To make you loosen. Make you pliant. Make you slip down easier in his crushing grip.

“I have no appetite.” You admit weakly.

You can’t stomach the way the fat on the meat before you glistens. These poor stewed birds with clipped wings. The gutted boar. Glistening fat and dead meat. Same as the way of those poor flayed men in the coliseum.

Butchered animals. One and the same. The way blood sprayed out on the biscuit brown dirt under the sun. The way viscera glistened bright when spilled free from once living flesh. How these animals looked served on a platter. There’s no difference.

You take some grapes. Pick them from the vine. Bite into some apricots. The fruit rots on your palate. Fine sugary flesh and it bursts on your tongue like ripe putrefaction. You place it gently back on your plate.

“Do they not have fruit in Corsica?” He asks. It’s vaguely mocking.

“We had lemon trees in the gardens. An olive tree in the courtyard. Over 200 years old.” You state quietly. Not taking your eyes off the plate in front of you. You picked and prodded at it.

“You have more now. You are Empress. You have anything you want.” He impressed on you.

“I miss the ocean. The sun on the shoreline. My sisters.” You mutter.

“Don’t risk sounding ungrateful.” He threatens.

Geta followed the path of your reluctant hand with his eyes. He then scans across all of his guests. People of the senate. Rich merchants. Fellow royalty.

They come to snipe and drink wine and watch this new wedded spectacle.

“They are all dull.” Geta decided.

You wonder if the only source of amusement he could delight at was seeing people being beaten to black and blue paste in the coliseum. To have to see the spray of blood to feel something.

“They are intrigued. Their Emperor has placed a traitor in his marriage bed.” You comment.

Geta turned to you. “That sounds like treason to my ears.” A warning.

“Perhaps.” You answered. Boldly.

“But is it inaccurate? It is what they are all thinking.” You add. “You’ve wedded yourself to someone disloyal. Someone who is not their kind. They are curious.”

Geta scans his eyes over everyone again. Their laughter. The flow of wine. The way they stab and cut into food and fruit like they’re half starved. None of them quite meet your eyes.

Perhaps they don’t wish too.

His hand finds the meat of your thigh. Flesh firm and warm.

“They will believe what I tell them too. Wife. You only need worry about your loyal duty to me. Nothing else.” He makes clear.

You go back to pushing bits of fruit around your plate. Taking no more sustenance.

“No doubt you are unused to such finery.” Caracalla pipes up. Seeing you toy with your food. “I wonder what they eat in Corsica. Peasants sea food?”

You meet Caracalla’s eyes across the tables and mountains of rich food.

Getas eyes were dark. Fired by lust for you. That’s what you saw in them when he looked at you.

The same could not be said for Caracalla.

You saw nothing. Just darkness and his love of cruelty. Geta unnerved you. But it was Caracalla who scared you most. It was like gazing into a tomb. A bare skull eye socket. You’re certain nothing but darkness refracted back. Splintered twisted darkness. The purest distilled form of malice.

“Perhaps you are jealous, brother. The fact that I will have heirs meant for the future of the empire. And you will… not.” He snaps. Petulant.

“If she makes it that far.” Caracalla sneers. Daggering a smile right at you. A sneer that make you feel cold. He’s twirling a dagger in his other hand. Eyeing you with sick lustful interest.

He wants your goodness too. He wants it so he can spoil you for himself and ruin Getas legitimacy. By whatever means necessary. Geta has cruelly inserted you into this feud.

“And who’s to say the heir will be yours… who knows where her eyes will stray.” He jabs. Eyes widening as he leers.

Geta stabs into his food. Glaring at his smaller twin all the while. Eyes dark as shadow cloaked black jewels.

When some servants near you move from pouring wine, the sight of the persons impeded by them, slowed your world to a halt, ringing gongs in your ears when you caught sight of someone you recognized.

Macrinus.

The food in your mouth turns to ash which you can hardly stomach swallowing. Your gaze locked on the man as he lays content at your wedding feast. Drinking wine and roaring laughter with Caracalla. Garbed in robes of rich Aquarian blue trimmed with gold pattern.

Exactly the gracious easy way he had been when he dined with you and your father in his home.

His smile remains as he locks eyes with you. And raises his glass in a toast in your direction. You hear him drink to your new name with a blazing smirk aimed your way. “Empress.”

You mumble a pithy excuse. You don’t know if anyone hears you or if they’ll even look up from their plates when you get up and rush to leave.

Caracalla snorts as you race from the room on the verge of tears.

“She’s a flighty one. Your Empress. So full of tears.” Caracalla comments loudly. Cruelly. Turning his head to meet the acid stare of his brother - and the Dowager Empress as she lowers her goblet from her lips. Eyes cool as metal.

“Maybe if you shoved your cock into your broodmare, brother, as you doubtless plan to do this night. Maybe that would settle her down? Or maybe a good beating from the guards will see her right, make her see her place… maybe let a few of the guards bend her over a lectus and see to her first? Loosen her up a little for your uses.”

“Caracalla. Enough.” The dowager snaps. Lightning power in her voice. Tone fashioned from a fury storms could envy. Her dark eyes glow with it.

She turns to Geta and lays a gentle pacifying hand to his arm. “See to your bride, dear. She looked unwell.”

Geta sighs a snarl. Glaring at his brother as he does as mother suggested.

She watches him leave. Turns to her other son with barely concealed ire.

Caracalla snorts into his wine with the other guests. Making sneering, high handed remarks.

“Such marital bliss.” He mocks to the guests. Twirling his favourite silver dagger in his other hand. Laughing as he played with the dead meats on his plate with a sneer. His tooth winked golden in the light.

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

@ceriseheaven @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @gvtosbith @munsonswhoresposts2 @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

#punkwrites #joseph quinn #emperor geta #geta x reader #geta #gladiator #gladiator 2 #violence tw #death threats tw #blood tw #nudity tw #i would die for this man #geta is gross #but caracalla is worse by far

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the-mortuary-witch · 2 months ago

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YULE

DATE: December 21st-January 1st

ZODIAC: Capricorn and Aquarius

SYMBOLS: Yule log, evergreen trees, holly, mistletoe, candles, sun wheel, bells, wreaths, lights, ornaments, snowflakes, and gifts.

INCENSE AND OILS: cedar, pine, myrrh, frankincense, cinnamon, orange, juniper, and orange.

SPELLWORK: renewal, rebirth, gratitude, abundance, inner peace and joy, spiritual growth, enlightenment, and healing.

ANIMALS: deer, robins, bears, owls, squirrels, wren, goats, wolves, foxes, and cardinals.

COLOURS: gold, white, red, green, silver, and blue.

FOOD: roasted meats, grains, dried fruits and nuts, root vegetables, baked goods, cider, pudding, fruit cakes, and mice meat.

DEITIES: Sol Invictus, Loki, Mithras, Apollo, Freyja, Balder, Lilith, and Odin.

HERBS AND FLOWERS: evergreen, mistletoe, peppermint, yarrow, holly, bay leaf, cinnamon, orange peel, rosemary, yarrow, poinsettias, ivy, and winter jasmine.

CRYSTALS AND STONES: red jasper, clear quartz, garnet, citrine, bloodstone, labradorite, moonstone, snowflake obsidian, diamond, and ruby.

YULE SIMMER POT: rosemary, cinnamon sticks, orange slices, cranberries, and bay leaves with or without New Year intentions written on them.

#fyp #fypシ #fypシ゚viral #fypage #fyppage #tumblr fyp #witchcraft #witches #witch #witchcore #witch community #witchy things #sabbats #yule #wheel of the year #information #helpful

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sentoooo · 11 months ago

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[anon: Heyyy can you do a nsfw alphabet for bi han !:) thank you] figured since i was already working on it, i'd just drop it w/ the ask :P i know it's definitely not on par with a lot of people's headcanons, but this is how i see him. no one can convince OTHERWISE, he's MY SCHNOOKUMS, i get to choose the HEADCANONS!

cw: NSFW, amab, soft bi-han cause i said so, blowjobs, he's only slightly possessive, temp. play, he's kind of unfair, not proofread MINORS DNI

ʙɪ-ʜᴀɴ || ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀʙᴇᴛ

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Bi-Han is touch starved. So, he doesn't end up craving affection, actually, it seems like he kind of has an aversion to it. It is only until he fully realizes his feelings towards you that he puts full effort into aftercare. He'll clean you up, obviously. But he's grown quite fond of seeing you in his clothes, so he will always offer his for you to wear after. Or even during. He'll draw a bath for you, with a variety of salts,- Epsom, Himalayan, and Solar salt- he'll even throw some dried chamomile and yarrow in there. He also loves washing your hair for you, not that you mind. He'll then carry you back to bed, which has new, clean sheets. And after all that, he'll hold you close. Real close. He holds you with such a purpose, he'll play with your hair, run his hands down your back, anything and everything that'll send you to sleep. Despite his cold demeanor, Bi-Han prefers to treat you like royalty. You're also something he's afraid will get taken from him. He really cherishes what's his, and he wants to make sure that's especially prominent after sex, since he knows what it's like to feel used.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part of his is probably his back. It shows off a lot of his muscles and a lot of his training. It's also particularly defined, and as vain as it sounds, he does find it particularly attractive. Not that he focuses much on that aspect of his life, especially since he's the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, but it's definitely a thought that passes through his mind. Especially when you run your warm hands down his back.

His favorite body part of yours has to be your hands. He loves holding them, anywhere, everywhere. Although, he isn't much for PDA. He loves how warm your hands are, though. It balances out his naturally cold body temperature. It's something he can never get enough of. He also loves it when you hold his face ever so gently, especially while he's fucking you. And don't forget, he loves to hold hands during sex, especially when he cums.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Bi-Han prefers to cum outside, especially with a condom. He prefers you to be clean, and for there to be less of a mess to clean up. You can coax him to cum inside, but he'd much prefer to keep the condom on. Not that it makes much of a difference.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Just how much he thinks of you. Yeah, yeah, it's meant to be 'dirty', not endearing, but I'm getting there. Any given time, even when he's pre-occupied with combat, he's always thinking of you. He does so as if he's afraid of forgetting your face- which he is, don't get me wrong. And sometimes, just sometimes, he remembers just what you're like in bed. A mess, moaning, drooling, looking at him with those needy eyes, begging him for more. How your hands drift down his body, sending shivers down his spine. Admittedly, he has broken concentration because of this, and he has had to sneak away to find a private place to jack off.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's got an average amount of experience, I like to think. Normally, he doesn't fuck for any sentimental value. At least, until he met you. When he really got into it, he's at your beck and call, so to speak. He knows how to satisfy you, just the right places to touch, how to hold you, how to kiss you, but if you tell him to do something (as long as it doesn't break his boundaries), he'll do it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Lotus Flower. No contest. He loves it because he gets to hold you close, still be in control, and see your face. He gets to enjoy you in nearly all ways like this. And since it's especially close, it makes the encounter feel more intimate, at least to him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Bi-Han's serious, all the way. Sex is a very intimate and sacred act to him, especially with you. And he makes that very clear. Every word he's speaking to you is full of love, no matter how dirty they sound. His favorite thing is getting close to your ear and whispering all sorts of phrases that are so sweet, it's almost uncanny to hear it from him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's fairly smooth. He has some pubic hair, and a beloved happy trail. But not much chest hair, with a little bit of arm hair. He cares little about his body hair, really. Not that you're complaining.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Contrary to his cold demeanor, with you, he's the softest man in the world. Just the words he says makes your legs weak. He treats you like your his, he's possessive, but he's gentle about it. He says just the sweetest things to you, tells you "I love you" in this soft, quiet voice, runs his hands down your body oh so gently, plays with your hair, and can just never take his eyes off you. He also loves calling you his, his darling, his love, anything. And especially when he's cumming, he'll say "我爱你", get real close to your ear and whisper, "那么".

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Bi-Han doesn't really jack off much, once a week, maybe. He doesn't really have the need to, nor the time to. Besides, he has you. He prefers you, over his right hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Temperature play is one of his favorites. I mean, are you surprised? He loves using his powers on you, especially when your blindfolded. He loves all the little gasps and moans you make, watching your body shiver, how you anticipate his touch. He'll still be gentle, don't worry, but it's hard to hold himself back when you're just waiting for him to touch you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers the privacy of his bedroom, or yours. It's the best place for it, he thinks. To be in the comfort of his own bedroom, he gets to have you how he wants. But if he had to choose a place outside of the bedroom, it'd be the woods. As messy and un-practical it is, he enjoys the tranquility of it all.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you tease him. Not in front of the Lin Kuei or anyone else, no, he hates that. But when you tease him when you two are alone. I mean, yeah duh. But he enjoys knowing of your yearning. He particularly loves it when you run your hands through his hair, or even just simply checking him out. Even he didn't think he'd be turned on by something like that, but the first time you eyed him up and down, and bit your lip, fuck. He had a hard time containing himself.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bi-Han cannot forsake his control in bed. While he would not mind doing anything for you, that is one of the things he cannot do. It is a hard no, he has to be the top.

He also hates it when you tease him in public. As long as it's subtle, he doesn't mind it. But don't run your hand down his thigh in public. He hates that kind of display, especially in front of the Lin Kuei.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He will always prefer receiving. Not so big on giving. Like I said, he prefers to be in control. As soft as he is with you, he will never, ever turn down a blowjob. One of his favorite things to do is brush your hair out of your face when you choke him down, he loves just watching you, really. It's hard not to just cum at the sight of you. He'll praise you all the while, too. Of course he will, you're his.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Contrary to popular belief, I think he'd be all sweet and slow with you. Bi-Han's going to treat you like royalty. And he loves making sex last as long as possible. This is all to make sure it's satisfactory. More than satisfactory, really. He wants you to enjoy yourself, to know how much he loves you, all adoring and sweet and sappy. He feels like rough sex would just make you feel used. But, if you ask for it, and you tell him very explicitly that you are sure, he will go rough & hard for you. But he does enjoy taking his time with you. Sometimes he'll go so slow that it'll be excruciating. And maybe, that's what he's going for. As much as he's in this to make you feel like you're the only boy in the world, like you're all his, he does enjoy teasing you a little, too.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hard pass. Again, he feels that if he doesn't take his time with you, that it won't count. And quickies do his love no justice. Even if you two haven't been able to enjoy each others presence in a while. He just can't.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Bi-Han is picky. If it's anything in public? No. If it's anything that could possibly hurt you? Hell. No. Unprotected sex? Maybe. Introducing someone else to the bedroom? No, don't even think about asking. Now, bondage? He'll think about it. Role-play, too. He doesn't turn down those, immediately.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Don't ask. Unless you have what it takes to tame the beast. Like I said, he's touch starved. And with you, I like to think that's the first time he's let anybody in this close, aside from family. But with his training, and how reserved he's been. He could last all night, and maybe even all day. He definitely has a lot of pent up sexual tension.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Bi-Han doesn't own any, no, but if you have some, he doesn't mind using them on you. But he always prefers to just fuck you without them, he thinks it's more intimate that way.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's an asshole. He won't edge you, but sometimes he'll slow down and just ever so carefully bring you to your climax. He likes savoring the moment, but you can always feel him smirk in your neck when he does this. Sometimes, he'll slow down right before your orgasm. While you're begging for more, to pick up the pace a little, reaching to just give yourself that one push you need to cum, he gives you such a sinful look.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Bi-Han is rather quiet. He'll moan in your ear, and obviously he'll praise you every chance he gets. But he likes knowing that it's for you only, so he won't really be screaming for you. Like I said, he likes to keep sex a very intimate moment between you and him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He really loves giving you hickies. At least, in places he knows others can't see. It gives him a sense of pride, he knows you're his, but he feels like he's got to mark you just a little. He especially loves marking up your collarbone, he thinks the noises you make are adorable, running your hands through his hair as his kisses you softly, only to end up marking you once more. And don't worry, you get him back. He always ends up with scratches on his back.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Bi-Han is on the bigger side, and he's a grower. 6.8" in length when hard, 1.9" across. Uncircumsized, leans slightly to the left, and a little bit veiny.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It's moderate. His sex drive depends on yours, really. Especially since he doesn't have much time to really notice it. But he's always happy to fuck you when you ask- as long as you two have proper time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Bi-Han is kind of self conscious when it comes to falling asleep. He also wants to make sure you are comfortable enough, so he worries over you until you fall asleep. He'll fall asleep maybe like 20 minutes after you do, even if you express how much you enjoyed the sex, and even if you fell asleep happy, he's going to mull over it and worry for a little bit afterward.

#⁺◟sentooo #mk1 x reader #mk x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 x male reader #mk x male reader #mortal kombat 1 x male reader #mortal kombat x male reader #bi-han x reader #sub zero x reader #bi-han x male reader #sub zero x male reader

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tiredwitchplant · 1 year ago

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How to Use Herbs: Basil (Sweet Basil)

Hwello again! This time we shall be talking about how to use basil in different forms. If you want more information about basil, please click this link to get to my basil post: Basil Let's get started.

Alchemist Formulas:

*Remember always try to see one part as a teaspoon before going into other measurements. Doing a smaller amount first and then trial and error is better than making too much and a mess.

Mars:

two parts red sandalwood

one part honeysuckle flowers

one part basil

one part ginger oil

one part juniper oil

Health

one part frankincense (Sun; vitality)

one part basil (Mars; energy)

one part cinnamon (Mercury; nervous system)

one part bay oil (Sun; health)

one part sandalwood oil (Moon; Inner Self)

Oils

Basil Essential Oil:

Ingredients

12 ounces olive oil

2 ounces basil, 1 packed cup

Remove basil leaves from stems.

Place olive oil in a pint sized mason jar.

Carefully stuff basil into mason jar and close the lid.

Store on a sunny windowsill for 1 day.

Use a funnel to strain oil and a spoon to smash last bits of oil out of leaves and discard the leaves.

Transfer oil to a decorative jar and refrigerate for up to 1 week.

Prosperity Oil:

1 part mint

1 part basil

1 part cinnamon

1 part pine

Carrier oil of your choice (olive oil, jojoba oil and etc)

Simply take a small mason jar and fill it a 1/4 of the way up with your chosen oil.

Add in your herbs while thinking of your intentions of prosperity and abundance and swirl the jar around clockwise.

Then add a little bit more of the oil before closing the lid.

Awakening Oil:

*This needs to crafted on a full moon

1/4 cup carrier oil

Mason jar

2 drops of basil oil

2 drops of thyme oil

Pour your carrier oil into the mason jar and then added the drops of thyme and basil

Swirl it gently in a clockwise direction so it will mix thoroughly. Say, "I awaken, I listen, I see. Enlightenment come to me. Awareness, mindfulness, clarity. Illumination come to me."

Anoint your temples on your head and pulse points with your oil before doing divination work.

Spells

Basil Growth Spell

Chop fresh basil into fine threads.

Warm honey gently over the stove. (A double boiler or bain-marie is recommended, as honey scorches easily.)

Add the basil to the honey and simmer.

Remove the basil-enhanced honey from the source of heat and murmur over it something like this: "Flies flocks to honey, Customers flock to me, Bears flock to honey, Business flocks to me, Ants flock to honey, Contracts flock to me."

Run a warm bath for yourself.

Rub the honey over your body, and then enter the bath.

Soak in the water for a while. When you emerge, before you drain the water, reserve some of the used bathwater.

Toss this on the grounds of your business.

Sex Worker’s Better Business Spell

Dress a lodestone , a magnetite rock, with essential oils of basil, bergamot, and lavender. (In theory, the lodestones' gender may be coordinated with the gender of the clientele you wish to draw.)

Sprinkle with magnetic sand and a pinch of ground cinnamon.

Carry or wear to charm up added business.

Exorcism Powder

Blend the following ingredients together and grind into a fine powder:

Dried basil

Frankincense

Rosemary

Rue

Yarrow

2. Blend this powder with arrowroot powder.

3. Sprinkle as needed.

Basil Cleansing Bath

Pour approximately one cup of boiling water over one heaped teaspoon of dried basil.

Allow this to stand until the water cools, creating a strong infusion.

Add this to your bath.

Financial Dreams (For Solutions)

Sprinkle either infused basil oil or essential oil of basil onto a lodestone, just before going to sleep.

Get into bed, turn out the lights and gently rub the scented lodestone in a sunwise direction on your forehead. (When you awake, your forehead will probably be dirty. Don’t panic; lodestone dust is lucky.)

Keep the lodestone near the bed, so that you can inhale the basil

Since two of these spells ask for lodestone, here is where you can get some and arrowroot powder. Lodestone , Arrowroot Powder

Kitchen Witch Recipe:

Wisdom Soup

Serves: 4

Prep Time: 30 minutes

Cooking Time: 30 minutes, plus a little bit until it’s just right

1 cup red lentils

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 can coconut milk

1 lime, sliced into thin wheels

Oil Options: Olive oil, toasted sesame oil

Sour Options: lemon juice, lime juice, rice vinegar

1 onion, diced

Sweet Options: Sugar, honey, agave

2 sprigs basil, de-stemmed and chopped

Salt Options: Soy sauce, sea salt, sweet miso (make a paste with miso and water before adding)

2 inches fresh ginger, minced

2 cups water

2 sprigs cilantro, de-stemmed and chopped

2 sprigs mint, de-stemmed and chopped

1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

In a pot, place the lentils, coconut milk, and water, and bring to a boil.

Reduce heat and simmer.

Add the onion, garlic, ginger, cayenne.Stir. Do not cover.

Once the lentils are cooked and not firm (about 15–20 minutes), add one thing from the sour category, one from the sweet category, one from the salty, and some oil (add about a teaspoon of oil at a time). Taste. Repeat with a different item from each category.

Garnish with sliced wheels of lime and minced-up basil, mint, and cilantro.

I hope you enjoy these spells, recipes, and formulas and put them to good use. Use them wisely and bye byes~

Sources

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greenwitchcrafts · 10 months ago

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Yarrow

Achillea millefolium

Known as: Allheal, angel flower, arrowroot, bloodwort, cammok, carpenter's weed, death flower, devil's mustard, Devil's nettle, eerie, field hops, gearwe, green arrow, herbe militaris, hundred leaved grass, knight's milfoil, noble yarrow, nosebleed plant, plumajilo, seven year's love, snake's grass, soldiers thousand seal., squirrel tail, stanch grass, tansy, thousand-leaf, thousand weed, woundwort, yarrowway & yerw

Related plants: Is a member of the daisy family Asteraceae that consists of over 32,000 known species of flowering plants in over 1,900 genera within it such as chamomile, coneflowers, dahlia, daisy, dandelion, goldenrod, lettuce, marigold, mugwort & sunflower

Parts used: Leaves & flowers

Habitat and Cultivation: This hardy plant is native to temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere in Asia, Europe & North America

Plant type: Perennial

Region: 3-9

Harvest: Harvest yarrow when the blooms only when they have fully opened. It should be cut right above the leaf node to encourage the plant to potentially flower again. Many choose to harvest the flowers in the late morning when the dew has dried before so that the plant is not stressed by the extreme heat. Hot, dry spells right before bloom seems to be ideal for producing the most fragrant leaves.

Growing tips: Plant in an area that receives full sun to encourage compact growth and many flowers about 1-2 feet apart. In partial sun or shade, yarrow tends to grow leggy. Yarrow performs best in well-drained soil. It thrives in hot, dry conditions; it will not tolerate constantly wet soil. Loamy soil is recommended, but yarrow can also be grown in clay soil as long as it does not always stay saturated with water. While this plant is technically considered invasive only in noncultivated settings, common yarrow still needs to be planted in an area where you don't mind proliferation.

Medicinal information: Yarrow has a history of being used for fever, common cold, hay fever, absence of menstruation, dysentery, diarrhea, loss of appetite, gastrointestinal (GI) tract discomfort, and to induce sweating. Some people chew the fresh leaves to relieve toothache. Yarrow is applied to the skin to stop bleeding from hemorrhoids; for wounds; and as a sitz bath for painful, lower pelvic, cramp-like conditions in women. Some people chew the fresh leaves to relieve toothache.

Cautions: Yarrow is commonly consumed in foods, but yarrow products that contain a chemical called thujone might not be safe because it is poisonous in large doses. Yarrow is not recommended for use during pregnancy or chestfeeding as it causes risks of miscarriage. Yarrow might slow blood clotting. In theory, taking yarrow might increase the risk of bleeding in people with bleeding disorders. In some people, it also might cause skin irritation & is toxic to cats & dogs.

Magickal properties

Gender: Feminine

Planet: Venus

Element: Air & Water

Deities: Achilles, Aphrodite, Cernunnos, Faeries, Oshun & Yemaya

Magickal uses:

• Add the flowers to a satchet or dream pillow to encourage prophetic dreams

• Hang a bundle above your bed on your honeymoon night to ensure lasting love for 7 years

• Place across your thresholds or plant near doorwaysto prevent negative energies & influences from entering your home

• Burn as an incense before or during divination to increase psychic abilities

• Wear as an amulet to attract love, friendships & give courage

• Place yarrow under your pillow & if you dreamt of your love, it was a positive omen. If you had a bad dream, or dreamt of other people, it wasn’t

• Combine with mugwort as tea to drink before divination to increase psychic powers

• Put near yourself while practicing divination to increase your psychic abilities

• In spells, use to re-establish contact with long-lost friends or relatives & attract their attention

• Braid into your hair to tap into inner wisdom

• The I-Ching divination was originally performed with dried yarrow stems

• Wash crystals& crystal balls with a yarrow rinse to bring about clarity of vision

• Drink yarrow tea & a cinnamon stick to release hidden truths

• Place on a coffin or grave to help the spirit cross over/ let go

•For powerful protection, pick yarrow flowers and charge them in the sun. Once charged, take the flowers and sprinkle them outside your home to prevent negative influences and energies away from entering your home

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

The Encyclopedia of Natural Magic by John Michael Greer

Wild Witchcraft by Rebecca Beyer

Plant Witchery by Juliet Diaz

A Compendium of Herbal Magick by Paul Beyerl

The Herbal Alchemist Handbook by Karen Harrison

The Book of Flower Spells by Cheralyn Darcey

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balkanradfem · 2 months ago

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So! I went home and found myself with hundreds of fall chores, no laptop, and no internet. I love my unpredictable, varied routine; first day back I went foraging for mushrooms and chestnuts, collected beautiful red apples for the kitchen and made my first fall mushroom soup. I cleaned out the fridge and the pantry and checked all my dried goods for moths. Then I headed back out, collecting conkers, walnuts, nettle - I actually had to go on a mission to find nettle! Half of it was destroyed by the flood; the other half cut by city maintenance. In the end I found some near the little house where a woman lives with six cats. I knew it was a cat lady because one time I spotted her coming home from the store, arms filled with bags, and all six cats ran to greet her with their tails up in delight. It was a lovely sight!

I don't think the woman used the nettle, it was strong and untouched, but when I sneaked by to get some, all six cat perked up and watched me. I've never been so observed by cats!

I was late this year to collect yarrow as well, and it would be unwise not to have it, since it resolves stomach cramps. Most of it was gone already, so I had to scour the fields and finally found some on a grassy path near a pumpkin patch. I'll be safe from cramps this winter!

Another big chore I had was to declutter my basement - I was stashing lots of donated clothing in there, and I need the space for all the zuchinni, pumpkins and potatoes. I gifted all the good clothing to the plant lady, and then had to figure out what can be used for sewing, and what was useless to me. This used to be an impossible task for me, because everything can be used somehow, I can sew with anything. And when you buy nothing, it's really hard to throw stuff away! You can't replace it.

But this time I had a new distaste for microplastic and decided I would not own or sew with plastic materials. This easily got me rid of more than half the stuff! I tolerated stuff that was 95% cotton or linen, but anything completely viscose, acrylic or polyester got removed. This is of course, clothing I was not attached to. It's much harder to get rid of an acrylic sweater I happen to love. But! I won't be getting attached to another.

I put all the nice stuff in a bag and left it outside for people to have. If they can tolerate it who am I to deprive them of it. I hope it can get used!

My next tasks are weeding out the garden, transplanting strawberries, sowing some celery and parsley, digging out potatoes, processing all the conkers and walnuts, drying and storing the mushrooms, trying to get rid of kitchen moths. (any advice on that?)

I'm having a good time running around doing various chores! The routine of normal people was driving me insane; every day was exactly alike, lots of sitting around, waiting for food delivery, then doing dishes and laundry. The store was the only place to visit! My quests for food bring me deep into the forests, looking for edible mushrooms, to the tops of hills for chestnuts, and quaint little houses with cats for nettle. Finding food outside is enrichment! I missed interacting with nature and roaming mindlessly trough the wilderness.

#fall clores #decluttering #foraging #food storage #food preservation #microplastics

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dapandapod · 7 months ago

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Reaching

Hello there! You know when you have not an idea, but a mood, and you also have the words, but not the story, and you just wants the mood to translate into paper? Yeah, that is what happened here haha! Thank you very much @magdelanesingerin for helping me beta read <3 well needed! Please enjoy! <3 On Ao3 here

The fire shines like a beacon between the trees.

Most likely because it is, Geralt muses to himself, as he approaches their little camp through the woods. It is late in the eve already, the clouds hanging sullenly between them and the canopy of night sky that is his usual companion during these nights.

It is more gloomy than usual, though, and he has to take care where he sets his feet. Of course there are things he could do about it, but well.

The Cat potion washes out a lot of colors, and despite its usefulness he rarely drinks it. Geralt prefers to witness the midnight blues, the stars, the dusted purples and pinks stretching infinitely far above.

He enjoys watching how the fire gives their tent, their packs, Jaskier’s hair, all a golden sheen, how the sparks of the flames reflect in the bard’s eyes.

Not that he would tell anyone that is the reason.

It is a fairly calm night, almost no wind to speak of, so the smoke twists and curls around itself up between the branches. It’s a familiar smell, the burning wood, the wet leaves, the greenery and the somewhat humid air.

The light calls him home, and he feels himself longing for it, reaching with all his heart towards it. As if you can catch light with your fingers.

Geralt makes sure to announce his presence with some shuffling steps. He learned the hard way how Jaskier reacts to a fright, and as amusing as it is, that one light grey tunic of his will never recover from the fistful of stew that was flung at it.

“Better than gory innards, at least,” Jaskier had said later with a sniff, shaking his hand from the stinging heat of the stew. “Smells better too.”

This time there is no surprise, and Jaskier looks up from the book he is reading and smiles. The shadows and the flickering light gives his face strong angles, like the rough strokes of a painting, and there is a familiar something curling up in his chest, something warm and pleased.

Geralt enters their clearing, noting the slight tilt of the tent that Jaskier set up, and the canvas spread over the saddle and their bags. Roach stands a bit further away, working on the underbrush, her tail swishing away the insects preying on her.

Jaskier returns to his book, his bedroll spread out a safe distance away from the fire, but close enough to let him read comfortably in the golden light it casts.

Their habits are well practiced by now, there is no need to explain himself, no need to break the companionable silence.

Geralt sits down next to him, carefully extracting his finds from the foraging bag Jaskier got him a year or so ago.

Valerian, thistle, an assortment of roots, Yarrow, and other useful, human friendly finds he keeps picking up for Jaskier, although exactly how human he is is up for debate.

Some of them will be tied together to be dried, and some of them needs to be used immediately, so he leans back and reaches for the saddle bag with his mortar.

The heat of their little campfire warm his knees and his feet and the sliver of stomach that is revealed as his shirt rides up.

He already knows Jaskier’s eyes will be on him as he sits up again, and allows them both another few seconds, pretending not to know which pocket of the saddlebag it’s in.

Indeed, Jaskier is watching him over the edge of his book, eyes following the lines of the shirt across Geralt’s chest, the movement of his hands as Geralt rolls up his sleeves to work.

When Geralt pauses before picking up the first herb, Jaskier’s eyes meet his. For a long moment, they just look at each other, and Geralt pretends that the heat on his face is from the fire warming his skin.

The shadows outline Jaskier’s finger around the book, the dim depths plummeting down his neckline where his shirt is carelessly untied, the corner of his mouth, his brow…

“What?” Jaskier asks quietly, a smile tugging at his lips. For a moment longer, Geralt allows himself to look, the contentment and the longing for what is right there squeezing his heart.

“Nothing,” he says back, just as quietly, returning to his task.

He feels Jaskier’s eyes on him a moment longer, until he hears the flipping of a page. He knows that if he really listens, he will be able to hear the bard’s pulse. It feels like an invasion of privacy, but sometimes, like when he is on potions, he can’t help it.

There is something there, something in Jaskier that reacts to Geralt, even if he doesn’t show it. When he catches Geralt watching him, or when their hands brush, or when Geralt comes up to stand behind him, his back inches from Geralt’s chest.

Such is the dance of theirs, the reaching, but never catching. Like magnets, every move pulling them closer and every shift pushing them apart.

The book Jaskier is reading is not very thick, but well loved. They have both read it many times over, and even when the opportunity to trade or sell comes, this one always stays. A story of knights and wonder and hope and magic and loyalty, the longing for belonging and the home they make together.

A fantasy, but a loved one.

The first drops of rain fall just as Geralt is tying the last herbs together. With a swear, Jaskier hurries to put the book in the safety of the tent before helping Geralt to put their things away and dousing their little fire.

Back under the canvas the mortar and herbs go, and Roach shuffles deeper among the trees for shelter.

The small oil lamp is lit inside the tent as Geralt pours dirt and stomps on the remains of the embers, and the shadows of Jaskier moving about inside the canvas makes him stop and look once more.

Wherever Jaskier goes, he brings that beacon of light with him, Geralt thinks, drawing the witcher’s attention to him. He stands there a moment too long, the rain now picking up to a proper drizzle, quickly soaking his shirt, when Jaskier pulls the tent flap open.

“You coming?” he asks, squinting out into the darkness, spotting Geralt.

Instead of responding, Geralt thinks of reaching, and steps into the light spilling from the tent. There must be something in his face, because Jaskier stays where he is, watching him approach, watching him kneel, and with his free hand does the unthinkable.

Jaskier reaches forward and catches a drop of rain from his cheek, tracing the path down with his thumb as another takes its place.

Reaching and catching, Geralt thinks, finally being let inside the tent, kneeling too close to where Jaskier sits, still holding the tent flap open for them.

Jaskier is lowering the tent flap, shutting out the night and the rain and the dark, when Geralt, too, reaches. More truthfully, he is leaping forward, throwing himself over the edge that he has been eyeing for so long.

Leaning into Jaskier’s space, holding his gaze all the way, the smallest of sounds when Jaskier parts his lips to pull in a breath and reaches for him. Geralt, too, is reaching.

His hand is cold against Jaskier’s cheek, exploring where the shadows once were sharp and deep, they are now smooth and glowing in the lamp light.

Their noses brush together, then again with more intent.

“Why now?” Jaskier whispers, and indeed, why now?

“Haven’t we waited enough?” Geralt whispers back and Jaskier gives the smallest of smiles, resting his hand on Geralt’s leg.

“We have,” he agrees, but still they both linger in that between.

The rain is smattering against the canvas, the air in the tent warming up fast with the both of them in there.

“We should tie up the flaps,” Jaskier whispers, tilting his head and their lips touch by accident.

It sends electric sparks down Geralt’s spine, his other hand comes up to cradle Jaskier’s face, his neck, to brush a thumb along the shell of his ear.

“We should,” Geralt agrees, but instead stands a little higher on his knees, pushing a little closer into Jaskier’s space.

The kiss is soft, lingering. Just a press of lips, catching each other’s breaths as they kiss again.

It takes too long for them to notice that the rain is dripping onto the woolen blanket of Geralt’s bedroll, so they part to finally tie up the bedflaps.

The tent was never big, and the distance that felt unsurmountable before is shrinking into nothing now.

Jaskier lays his head on Geralt’s arm and reads out loud from the book they both love, with Geralt’s hand resting on his stomach.

Change is weird, Geralt thinks to himself as he presses his nose into Jaskier’s hair, enjoying the light shiver it causes, the hitched breath in the middle of his reading as he presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple.

When the bard’s eyes droop closed at last, Geralt reaches over him and turns off their little lamp.

Jaskier turns into him, curling into his chest in a way that is familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

This, Geralt thinks, is where he always was meant to end up. The beacon of light that finally led him home.

#the witcher #geraskier #rain #friends to lovers #getting together #kissing #fluff #first kiss #pining #geralt is a poetic little shit #it is just hidden in his own head #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #jaskier the bard #dapanda writes

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marianchurchland · 4 months ago

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I was tagged by @deedala (shoutout to the old BSN) for birthday themed questions <3

And since there's some overlapping relevance, here's my birthday want list from a few months ago, which just happens to contain a little bit of DA fanart (all my dragon age wishes were indeed granted, thank you very kindly).

When is yours? June 15th

Where were you born? Vancouver, Canada

How do you feel about your legal name? Are you using it online and/or IRL? I’m fine with my name – and I definitely use it online. I don't think it's ideal, but I’ve never come up with a handle that I like enough to stick with.

How about your sign? Do you feel it "fits"? No, although my main associations come from people in high school reading me my horoscope out of Seventeen magazine, and it being something along the lines of, “girl, you’ve got the gift of the gab! You’re the life of every party!” Thank you, Seventeen, but wrong on all counts.

What's your earliest memory related to your birthday? My parents hosted a birthday party for me when I was maybe four or five years old, and as soon as the cake emerged and everyone started singing “Happy Birthday”, I buried my head under my arms and refused to come out. And when you think about it, having a bunch of people all staring at you and smiling and singing your name in unison IS, actually, very strange and uncomfortable...

What's one of the best gifts you've ever received? Every shiny that anyone has ever sent or given to me!

How about one of the best you've given yourself? I think that an excellent gift blueprint involves choosing a book that you like (and which you think the receiver might also like), and then collecting a few treats that might pair well with it and turning it all into a small care package. Example selection: your favourite fantasy book plus a box/batch of cookies plus a package of nice tea or coffee plus a stubby beeswax candle plus a random treasure object (nice stone or little animal figurine or dried flower, etc.) And in case I misinterpreted the question, I think it also works well as a gift to yourself. (I made a Patreon post that expanded on this a while back, so I'll link it here, too.)

What's your favourite cake flavour? Dark fruit cake! 2kg of raisins drowned and left to rot in sin.

How about your favourite flowers? All the common weedy wildflowers in my area, like yarrow and foxgloves. I also I stop to smell every rose I see. Personal best practice.

Have your ever thrown a birthday party? If yes, tell us about your favourite one. No, and I pity anyone whose birthday pleasures rely on my party-throwing skills.

What's the ultimate birthday song? I’ll say “Come Undone” by Duran Duran, because “happy birthday to you” is in the opening few lines (and also because I love this song). Beyond that, I’m drawing a blank.

And last but not least, pick a celebrity with whom you share your birthday. Ice Cube!

I'm scared to tag anybody I don't know well, so with zero pressure: @klovharun and @unstablemable, who can at least tell me no in person.

#Thanks for the questions #And happy birthday to the OP

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witchtickles · 1 year ago

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Yarrow

Planet: Venus Element: Water Powers: Courage, Love, Divination, Exorcism, Clairvoyance

Yarrow is often used in love potions or sachets, and when used in wedding decorations or dried and hung over the bed, it ensures a love lasting at least seven years.

Held in the hand, yarrow stops all fear and grants courage. When worn in an amulet, yarrow protects the wearer and wards off negativity.

The flowers can be made into a tea that will enhance clairvoyance and assist in divination magic.

Dried yarrow is often added to exorcism incenses for its protective properties.

#witchcraft #witchy vibes #witchy things #witchblr #flowers #herbalism #magical herbs #green witch #yarrow

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g-h-0-s-t-3-d · 6 months ago

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See My Scars - Ghost x Hawk Scene

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wren "Hawk" Yarrow (Original Character)

A/N: Short scene from later in Simon + Wren's story. Takes place in Russia after the 141 finds out Graves has been smuggling weapons for Makarov. Graves takes Wren hostage and tortures her, Simon comes to her rescue, and Wren kills Graves. Simon and Wren have a heart-to-heart one night following, and suddenly they're confessing. Then they're kissing. Here's what happens next...

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Injuries/Scars, Military Themes (Call of Duty), Mentioned Torture (past, by Graves), Implied Abuse (past, by Graves), Mentions of Simon’s Past, Friends to Lovers, Canon-Typical Swearing, Implied NSFW

It was all a blur when he laid her down, large hands surprisingly gentle with her small, bruised frame. She saw him pause… hesitation? She draws her knees up to her chest and waits patiently, her own nerves beginning to get the better of her.

Shit, this was a mistake, I -

Her breath stops when she meets his gaze. He peers down at her, eyes dark and intense, a great strength suppressed between his taught shoulders. “Y’sure you want to do this, Wren?”

His voice is deep, gravelly. She’d be lying if it didn’t turn her on, but she knows the weight of what they’re about to do - she knows they can’t go back.

Maybe I don’t want to go back, a voice screams inside of her, threatening to burst out her chest as she nods slowly, replacing all the things she wishes she could say with a single, ‘yes.’

He hums in acknowledgement and crawls toward her, hands gingerly beginning to explore. He rubs at her sides, her shoulders, and commits each freckle and blemish on her face to memory. His finger draws a line up her jaw and comes to rest on her cheek, right underneath the gash Graves had just given her. She flinches at the contact, despite how gentle it is, as his finger ghosts over dried blood and traces the shape of the gash all the way from the bridge of her nose to the corner of her eye.

His gaze is cold, unwavering as he studies it. She feels him tense up ever so slightly, and for a moment she’s worried he’s gotten cold feet, but he growls lowly and shifts his deep brown eyes to meet hers.

“Fucker had it coming. If you hadn’t killed him, I would’ve.”

“Simon,” she sighs, bringing her hand up to rest over his on her cheek, tiny fingers drawing in comparison to his. He grunts and shakes his head. She’s still reeling over the loss of him - of Phillip - and he knows that. But that wouldn’t make him forgive what Graves did to her.

“I would’ve.”

“I know,” she murmurs, leaning her head into his hand. His eyes soften, though they keep their dark, almost hungry hue. Then he kisses the bridge of her nose, right where the scar began, and dips his head to her neck, softly mouthing at the exposed skin.

His lips on hers earlier that night had been one thing, but his lips on her body now… a heat she’d long forgotten about rose slowly in her core, her breathing hastening as his hands tug at the bottom of her shirt. Simon moves slowly, carefully, because he knows how fragile she is right now.

He wasn’t prepared for the mess of bruises that adorn her chest and ribs, deep purple tones splotched over skin that was far too perfect to be hurt.

His breath hitches when he sees them - all of them - staining the skin of his woman. He tenses again, repressing his anger. Wren recoils out of nervousness, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, and Simon panics, quickly extending his hand out to her. He doesn’t know how to handle this, how to treat her… and he’s scared.

“Graves did this to you?” Simon utters, frozen in place, a deep hatred slowly bubbling up and conflicting with his fear of scaring Wren off.

“Not all of it,” she replies, voice low and somber. “But, most, yeah.”

“Did he… touch you?” He tries with every fiber of his being to keep his voice restrained, but Simon had never been too good at dealing with anger. He could repress it, sure, but that was what always drove so many people away - he was cold, aloof, unapproachable. And when his feelings were now so strong, so overwhelming, all his instincts tell him to run away, to isolate and compartmentalize.

But he knows, maybe painfully so, that deep down he doesn’t want that. He wants her. So he stays, and he waits with tense shoulders and a clenched fist.

“No. Wouldn’t let him.” Her voice trails off as she tries desperately to read his gaze, cursing each blemish that greeted Simon so prominently. Simon breathes a noticeable sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes softening. If she looks hard enough, she swears she can see the wetness of tears in the very corners of his eyes, mixing with the remainder of the eyeblack he just couldn’t wash off at this point. She sighs. “I know they’re not pretty. If you don’t-”

“Wren.”

Her eyes snap up to watch him wordlessly undress, his huge hands lingering on the hem of his shirt before slowly pulling it over his head. He stops about halfway through, his hand shaking as he holds the fabric just over his ribs and holds her gaze silently - watching, waiting, debating.

Then he hesitantly pulls the fabric completely up to reveal a long, dark gash across his right rib cage that had never quite healed right. The skin was patched with ridges and divots, dark red marks adorning the mottled skin.

“Hung,” he explains. “Mexican cartel. Corrupted an old captain of mine. I won’t burden you with the details.”

“Si…”

“All these burns,” he nods to each red splotch, so numerous and concentrated that there was hardly any untouched skin there, “Field burns. Or cigarette burns… from my father. This,” he opens up his right hand to reveal a long slit with what looked like scars from stitches, “was from digging out. When I was buried alive with ‘em. Used his jawbone and it fucked up my hand.”

She tries hard to hold back tears - Simon never spoke much about his past. She knew things, of course, but not when he was this vulnerable. But he holds her gaze, and it's intense.

“And everything else? Wren, I have been beaten and shot and stabbed and fucked - if you think I’m going to be bothered by some marks, then I’m a goddamn hypocrite and you’re out of your fucking mind.”

She quirks her lips up into a sad smile, reaching her hand out and beginning to trace each mark on his chest. “Si… ‘M sorry all that happened. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t need to say anything, Little Bird,” he grunts, leaning back down and catching her lips once more. “Just have me.”

And she did.

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