#i am simply out here lighting candles and casting manifestations for their HAPPINESS

[saltpepperbeard]

everyone stop what you’re doing and picture ed laughing hard enough that his nose crinkles up, and stede fondly kissing said crinkles because he finds them so endearing and lovely and feels blessed to witness them

[eliss-ey]

stuff the witches were talking about i didn’t fully understand

Here I am, trying to explain some things I didn’t really understand myself before. Hope this will come helpful.

THE LAW OF ATTRACTION

Now that I looked into it, i understand it at least a bit. I’ll try to explain it to you.

The Law of Attraction is the ability to attract into our lives whatever we are focusing on. The Law of Attraction is the thing, that materializes our thoughts into reality. All thoughts turn into things eventually. Etc. If you focus on the negativity, and bad things you will keep on feeling sad. But if you focus on the good parts of the life, become ambitious of what you want to achieve, and you believe in yourself, at the end, you can do it. It is like witchcraft- witchcraft is basically a big law of attraction. See, you light a candle, etc. red for love, with the intention of attracting love into your life. If you write a spell or if you just say your intention with the most powerful words you can find, you are great to go. It is basically speaking or writing down your intentions, being clear with them and they are send into the universe like a bunch of vibrations. Yet somehow, they come back and they manifest, so you reacieve the love you were looking for! Not a lot of people understand it fully, but, if it works, there is no need to really bother. 

so, you basically attract whatever you think about. 

MANIFESTING

if you are new to withcraft, you might be already confused. So here I am again, trying to explain it all to you.

Manifestation is basically the result of the Law of attraction. Etc. You send out vibrations with the intention “i attract money and wealth” and manifesting is basically you getting what you let out, so you recieve more money.

Manifestation works alongside the Law of Attraction, a universal rule which is that thoughts can become things.(as i explained above).

You have done a spell, and it doesn’t work. Remember the law of attraction? You have used that just now to make the spell. And you are using it maybe even right now, unconciously. It works like this- if you keep on worrying about your magic, doubting the spell and thinking that it won’t work, it won’t. Try focusing on what you love and on what makes you feel good and happy and alive. Soon you’ll be attracting more of THAT. Manifestation is a magickal way of getting what you want, and the easiest and most powerful way to do that is to feel it. You can also use visualization to aid in manifesting. What I also do, is that i forget. I just forget when I did a spell and let it work for itself. The only thing i tell myslef when i think about it is “It is going to work, my magick works.” 

A quick spell to get rid of anything what is blocking you away from manifesting:

You will need a piece of paper, pen, a candle (or just matches).

Center yourself. Take a few deep breaths and focus on what you are doing right now. You can  burn some herbs or an incense to get rid of unwanted energies that are trying to interrupt your spell. Ground yourself by keeping your fett on the floor, imagining roots coming into the ground from you.

The first step to manifesting is to let go. So think of what’s holding you back from what you want. Whether it’s an unhealthy relationship, self-doubt, or money troubles, focus on what it is that you want to release. Write down what you want to let go of at the top of a piece of paper, focusing the energy and feelings you have as you write. Be intentional. You can write something like “I am done living in a place of fear” or “I release any self-doubt I may have” or “I am done living from a place of scarcity.” Again, this should feel right to you.

Now, burn it. Either put it in a fireproof bowl, fireplace or burn it by a candle, imagine the fire sending your intentions to the universe. Do it as many times as you like, until you know that it works and you have no doubt. Now ground yourself again.

Oof. This was hella long. I hope you understood at least a bit. 

WHAT ARE ALL OF THOSE HERBS, CRYSTALS AND CANDLES FOR?

If you are a beginner witch, you might be wondering: Do I need all of this? Mugwort for this and that, incense, candles and a lots of shiny crystals? Why do all of the witches use these? What are they good for? 

First, no, you don’t need any of these. All you need is yourself and a clear intention to work your magic. A lot of witches burn candles while doing spells. Why? Because candle magic is really simple, all you need is a candle and matches.  “ Candle magick is a kind of alchemy, where all elements are represented — fire of the flame, air to feed it, melted wax for water, and solid wax for earth” so the candles empower your intention. You can also choose a colour of the wax, essential oil, herbs or carve a sigil into them. Candle magic is really great way to start.

All of those herbs, witchy tools, colorful candles are here to only strenghten your intention with their own energy. When you look at a rose, you might start thinking about romance, love, peace... these are the magickal properties of a rose. See, every item gives off an energy. You can keep your magic as simple as with only yourself and your intention, or you can add in various crystals or herbs only to strenghten it, But why herbs? How do you use them while just saying out your intention? You can burn them (pls be careful when doing so) if you are doing a spell for focus or memory, try burning some rosemary in a fireproof bowl, or lighting a rosemary incense. You can also add crystals around yourself while casting a spell to empower it with their energy. So if you are casting a money spell, try surrounding yourself with citrine, aventurine, anything golden, tigers eye... or of course, just some programmed clear quartz will do. 

Both of crystals and herbs can be incorporated in witchbottles also. And jars are simply for storing these herbs.

If you are a beginner witch, there is no need to go off and buy tons of crystals like i did and go broke (like i did). A clear quartz is a substitute crystal for any you would need. As well as is rosemary for any other herb/plant, and aswell as is the color white for any other color of candles. And of course, you can find tons of herbs and spices in your own kitchen cabinet already. Cinnamon, nutmeg, thyme, rosemary, basil... these might already be in there. 

AS ABOVE, SO BELOW

you might have seen this quote or rather a saying somewhere before. I did a longer research on it, there is not much of  a content out there.

(I will update this in a while, pls wait) 

WHAT THE HECK IS BINDING MAGIC?

if i had to tell you right now, i wouldn’t know myself. Here i am to research it and give you some information!

A magical binding is simply a spell or working that restrains someone , preventing them from doing something. It is often used to keep the individual from causing harm to themselves or others. It is usually done in a positive way of preventing the person from doing harm themselves or the others. It’s like stopping them from doing bad stuff.

haha i think this is enough, you got it, right?

WICCA, WITCHCRAFT AND PAGANISM 

final question. Which is which? what am i?

WICCA

is a religion, a belief. All wiccans are pagan, and they are also witches (basically pagan witches). They practice magick and witchcraft alongside with believing in divine energies. They follow the moon phases, that each moon phase has a different magical meaning. They celebrate 8 holidays- sabbaths, or either called pagan holidays. And since it is a religion, wiccans believe in a God and a Goddess, or multiple deities which is called eclectic wicca. 

WITCHCRAFT

a witch is someone who works with herbs, potions, casts spells, crystals, natural healing... someone who does energy workings. Witches can be Muslim, Christian, whatever religion they choose to believe in, or they don’t have to be religious at all. 

PAGANISM

is a wide  variety of beliefs, in which is the nature worshipped. Pagans follow religious guidelines drawn out by nature- seasons, moon phases, weather... There are maaaany gods and Goddesses, they usually represent a part of nature or a celestial body. They can choose to wroship Celtic, Greek, Hindu, Chinese, Egyptian deities and many more. Pagans believe that we should not be superior to nature, she is the one who created us afterall. It’s like an umbrella of religions, under which are Hinduists, Wiccans, Shamanists...

IN CONCLUSION

All wiccans are pagan, but not all pagans are wiccan.

All wiccans are witches, but not all witches are wiccan.

boom. Period. 

I hope you understand it all now, if you notice any mistakes, feel free to correct me. 

[delldarling]

made of dreams | spiros ii

a commission for an absolutely wonderful anon!

male deity x female reader 5k words lemon | mild angst, changes, happy ending

————-　✵　————-

Your dream begins under dark, unfamiliar skies, wind whispering through trees like the rush of water over the shore. You’re laying flat on what feels like sand, but you don’t get up, you don’t even try and move, other than to twitch your fingers, to dig them into the warm sand.  You haven’t seen Spiros in nearly two weeks. 

It’s hardly the longest amount of time you’ve spent, yearning for him, mourning the lack of his company. But after all his talk of ask me tomorrow, it’s still painful, still.. Angering. You rub the sand between your fingertips, unable to be anything but amazed, even after all this time, when things here feel real. 

“Having trouble sleeping?” Spiros asks, sitting down next to you in the sand. His arrival seems to herald moonlight, because suddenly you can see just a bit more clearly. The leaves overhead are large and heavy looking, and shaded a purple you’ve never seen on a plant in your waking life. And Spiros? He looks perfect, as handsome and gentle as ever, limned in a gentle golden light, hair soft around his stubbled cheeks. Save for the guilt in the downwards curl of his mouth.

“Were you truly so busy that you couldn’t come, or did you make yourself busy?” You ask. Damn it all, you have to bite on your lower lip to keep the tears back. Even when you feel this hurt, you still want to reach for him, to feel his skin against your own. You still want him, even if he’s having second thoughts about becoming tangible.

“Both,” Spiros says, eyes falling closed. Regretting. You can feel it in the air, can taste the salt of it. “But I’m here now.”

You take a deep breath, finally pushing yourself up so you can sit next to him. “Then I’m asking now. Can you find a way to manifest? To stay with me?” You face him, unsurprised to find that he’s already reaching for you, fingers gentle along your shoulder and down your arm.

“I… have found a way to manifest,” he confesses, looking down at your hand as he twines your fingers together. His eyebrows lower and his lips thin, like he doesn’t quite want to continue. 

Your heart skips a beat. “...Is that why you were gone?” You ask, squeezing his hand when he doesn’t respond. “Spiros? Is that why you didn’t come back?”

“Partially,” he says and finally lifts his gaze back to your face. The wings sitting at his temples flare, catching the breeze. You wonder if that’s his way of straightening up, of digging into himself for confidence. “It’s not a guarantee,” he tells you, searching your eyes for something he’s apparently not finding. 

“Will it kill you?”

“No,” Spiros says, nose wrinkling. 

“Then why wouldn’t I-” 

“You have to understand,” Spiros pleads, fingers trembling in his grip on your hand. “That this,” and he gestures to the surrounding landscape, the heavy purple leaved trees straight out of a fantasy novel, the gleaming moons in the sky, “all of this is me. Dreams are what I am. This form,” and he takes your hand, presses it to his cheekbone. The arch of it is familiar under your hand, the faint stubble along his jaw pricking at your wrist. “I am made of dreams. If I manifest, we’ve no idea what I will look like-”

“You think I care about appearance?” You ask, indignation winding about your heart. You love him, not what he looks like, not the faces he can wear on a whim.  

“That isn’t the problem,” he insists, taking your hand from his face and pressing it to his chest. “I will not be the same. Perhaps not in looks, perhaps not in temperament. All of my siblings who have tried have lost themselves. They were changed wholly until they returned to the realm of dreams. I could not- I cannot bear the thought of disappointing you. So think on this, because after- After we choose, there will be no going back.” 

“...Do you want it?” That’s the real question. Spiros is.. Eternal, unending. Or at least he will be, if he stays in the realm he’s meant to. Are you being selfish, asking him to- “Do you?” You ask again, chest aching.

Spiros squeezes your hand gently, as if to reiterate that his beating heart is beneath it. “If I didn’t want you - want this - I would have refused already.” His mouth twists. “I could have simply stayed away, no matter how much it pained either of us, but I would not have done that. You mean too much to me. A… A life with you means too much to me.” He kisses you then, warm and lingering, and you lose time, golden moons slowly passing overhead. It’s near morning when you finally put a stop to it, recognizing the flickering, the broken moments starting to bloom into consciousness. 

“Then tell me what to do,” you insist, some of the hurt finally easing from your heart. You tug on an errant feather in his hair, mirroring the smile on his face. “Tell me what we need to do to make it happen.” Because you want to fight for this. You can’t imagine a future in which you spend the rest of your time yearning for him. You dread the day that your heart might think it’s time to move on, or the day when someone tries to set you up on dates you’ve no interest in. How can you explain to anyone that your lover is a dream deity without them convinced that you made everything up all on your lonesome?

Spiros starts to talk, haltingly, awkwardly, and relieved, you quiet your thoughts to listen.

Unsurprisingly, it turns out that helping a dream deity manifest sounds like a horribly complicated business. You have a month and a half to gather an esoteric grocery list of items. Some of them are simple, like unburned candles and mugwort tea, others are stranger, like special vellum and fresh ink made from pennyroyal blossoms. You’ll have to perform an archaic sounding ritual and burn the prayer, written in the pennyroyal ink, to make a paste to smear over your head and heart. And amidst all of this, you’ll need to be in a place where dreams are strong. It takes two straight nights to get all the details, with you jumping to your feet as soon as you’re awake to jot down instructions. 

“I still don’t know what that means,” you tell him one night, trying to keep your thoughts on the ritual and not his arm, warm and heavy around your shoulders. “Where are dreams strong? Temples? Places of worship? And I don’t know why we need the dreams of others anyway. We’re only going to be using mine, aren’t we?”

“I cannot take strength from you alone,” Spiros insists, bringing you to a stumbling stop. “To use only the strength of your dreams- I fear that is where my siblings made mistakes. I’ve been told what they did sometimes.. Changed the human, as well as themselves.” For half a second, you can almost see how his siblings would have come through in days long past. Sacrifice? Perhaps possession? Both are things that neither of you want, and you’re not willing to sacrifice someone else, no matter how much you love him.

“I would not ask that of you,” he says with a secret smile, eyes tracing over your face with reverence. “And so a place strong in dreams will help. It will not hurt those other dreamers, will not take much from them, not if there are many-”

You blink up at him, a thought suddenly occurring to you. “Would... a hotel work?”

Spiros tilts his head, contemplating the words before nodding, once and then again, a bit faster. “I believe so. Dreams are in abundance there for both waking and sleeping. Dreams of places to be, things to do- Yes. That will work quite nicely.”  

“Hotel then. There’s still the prayer though. Maybe I should go searching for a coven,” you mutter, changing the subject because.. There’s still one thing that’s bothering you. Spiros spoke of his siblings being unable to stay. Even if you do everything right, even if Spiros manifests as nothing more than himself, lacking his power over dreams - why is he so frightened of his appearance changing? You let it go, following him through a covered market that smells of heavy spices and cooking foods. You wake up that morning starving for things you can’t quite name and get to work. The days are fast fading away, and you haven’t yet asked about his worries. Before you continue with more than just buying these things, you need to know exactly what it is that you’re in for. 

Drawing the reason out of Spiros though is like drawing poison from a wound.

“You deserve to know,” he tells you with a sigh, watching you manipulate a teapot into spinning through the air. The past few weeks have done wonders for your lucid dreaming. The solid amount of time you’re spending together - that he’s even helped to teach you some tricks he believes humans can master- You’ve felt satisfied in more ways than one. The teapot tips, and the liquid you imagine pouring out solidifies into a china cup. Not quite as ornate as you’d first imagined, but so much closer than you ever would have come on your own. 

“I know that you deserve to know. And you cannot go into this safely without knowing, but… Telling you this, my love, makes me ache.” Spiros gestures and the teapot is taken from you, set carefully down on a table that you hadn’t realized was there. The cup follows, and spins, taking on the swirling patterns you’d first imagined. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to point out his help, but the seriousness in his eyes makes you halt your words.

He takes your hands in his, tugging you close until you’re half sitting on his lap and he can slip his arms fully around you. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s frightened of telling you, and being caught in a dream with a frightened dream god is nothing to laugh at. The sky starts to darken, cast over with stormy looking clouds that crackle with lightning. The wind spirals around you, almost stealing your breath, and part of you wonders if he took you in his arms to keep you anchored, to keep you from being blown away by the storm inside his mind.

“Then tell me quickly,” you insist, speaking over the rushing wind, tucking your face in close so you can kiss his cheek. “Rip off the bandage, or you’ll never get through it.”

Spiros hums, lapsing into silence while you stroke through his hair. Your fingers are careful along the sleek arches of his temple wings, and much slower than he usually prefers, but your attention is split between listening to his voice and watching the clouds overhead grow darker with each passing moment. “Those tales you’ve read of strange, half formed creatures, things out of nightmares?” Spiros lifts his head and gestures to the side. A frightening looking serpent with multiple heads sits beside you, baring silent fangs. A… a hydra, you realize. Following after is a large lion with a scorpion tail and jagged wings. A manticore. “Many of those were born when my siblings decided to manifest without aid. Without-” His eyes dart to yours. “The truth, then,” he breathes out, “is that you too will be changed.” 

Not may be, as he’d said before, but will be. 

“Folktales hold many versions of what happens to humans who are changed by contact with us. Perhaps you would become as frightening as myself. Perhaps we would only be partially changed - me without my powers, and you… You without solid form. Many of the humans who were my siblings partners-” He hesitates for just a moment before plowing through. “They feared the change that it wrought in them. They gave up and let their hold on the dream realm falter.” Spiros’ descriptions of what you may become sound frightening, yes, but you put on a brave a face as you can manage. You still love him. If you don’t attempt this, then what? You’ll spend the rest of your life lacking his physical presence. Perhaps… Perhaps you’ll join him in the realm of dreams when you die. It’s probably very human of you to think it, but you don’t want to wait that long. And you? You are not going to falter. You’re going to keep a hold on him, you’re going to finish the ritual.  

“If this… Fails?” You ask, stroking a hand down his spine. "If we both change, if we aren't- aren't ourselves?"

“Then I’ve two options. Stay here as… something else. Perhaps a beast or a warped version of myself. Or I may return to the realm of dreams, and you will be normal once more. And I cannot promise that, once having seen me differently, I won’t always appear in that form to you thereafter, that your vision of me won’t be forever changed.” As soon as he gets the words out, as soon as he sees that you’re still here, not trying to leave him for fear, not cringing away, his realm stills. Storm clouds scatter back into the barest wisps of paleness against the sky. Spiros melts against you, lips pressed against your throat, clutching tightly to your back before the tension finally leaves him.

“Maybe I am being selfish, asking for this,” you confess. “But I want you in the waking realm, not just my dreams. I love you. If you feel the same-”

“I do,” he hastens to say, straightening, reaching for and clinging to your hands, drawing them close to his mouth so he can pepper kisses across your knuckles. He’s meeting your eyes now, though he still looks nervous, and the sight only hardens your resolve. You want this. You want a life beside him, not in stolen moments. Not in dreams that you have to wait weeks for.

“Then what are we waiting for?” You ask, shivering with pleasure when the golden sun begins to shine, matching the warmth of his mood. “We’re going to do this, and we're going to get it right."

With every day that passes, you get a little more nervous about the ritual. All the candles and ingredients are in your possession, or they’re on their way. You can write the prayer down perfectly. You’ve practiced making the ink until you can do it without looking at the recipe. Making a paste out of the ash won’t be particularly difficult, and you’ve booked the hotel. Now all you have to do is wait for the last of the items, and wait for the correct night. Curious, you’d looked up star charts for the evening Spiros has decided on, but nothing special seems to be standing out to you. No meteor showers, no eclipse. 

One afternoon you take an unexpected nap and find yourself wandering over the crest of a blue grassed hill, pale flowers darting the expanse like stars. A gust of wind makes the grass shine golden for a few seconds before it settles back into darkness. You pluck at one of the blue strands, examining it closely before smoothing it over in the palm of your hand, concentrating. The blade of grass shifts and melds with your touch until it looks very much like a feather now, one that had been left on your pillow months and months ago. 

“Is there a reason that you chose that night for the ritual?” You ask aloud, knowing that Spiros is near, even if you can’t yet see him. You twirl the feather in your hands and then tuck it behind one ear, feeling like you’re carrying something special, even if it’s just something else you’ve managed to shift about in a dream. It’s easier for you now, all the time. Sure enough, less than a second later his arms are circling you, mouth finding a tender spot behind your ear, stubble prickling at your skin. He curls as close as he can, like he can’t quite get enough warmth and clasps his hands over his own arms in front of your middle. You let your hands stroke over his forearms, enjoying the immediate closeness. You didn’t even have to wait for him this time. 

“I decided it would be a good number for my birthday,” he teases, nipping at your earlobe before he sighs and shakes his head. He leans his cheek against you, his hair falling into your face. “No.. That was the date of the night I first stumbled into your dreams.” His reasoning has you smiling out at the empty field, feeling ridiculously touched by the gesture. “But I also thought,” he starts, and when you turn your head to the side you catch sight of him licking at his lower lip, nervous. “I thought it would give you ample time to change your mind, if you ever wanted to.” 

Your hands spasm where they’re resting on his arms, but you can’t find it within yourself to blame him for the thought. He’d been worried, and for good reason, but the knowledge still smarts, just a bit, that he might have ever thought you would turn him away. Instead of arguing your case for being steadfast, you simply tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder. There’s no need for it. You’re here, both of you are, and that’s not going to change. You just need to have faith that the ritual will work for the two of you, that you'll keep a better grip on things than the other people who've used it before. 

You can do that. Can't you? 

The days dwindle, but Spiros, for the first time, stays near every night. Moment by moment, it feels like all those hours of pining and yearning are finally behind you. He’s been taking you through a whirlwind tour of his favorite dreamscapes - though he hasn’t exactly said as much - and each dream brings something new to try or a place to explore. You try tea that looks like it’s made of liquid moonlight, skate over ice that glows orange, like magma is trapped beneath the fragile surface. You wander through a forest that looks like it’s been made of cast off bits of metal and delight in the breeze that turns the whole forest into one giant wind chime, ringing in waves that vibrate the soles of your feet. 

It’s almost hard to find anything to worry about, though your brain seems to chime in with last minute thoughts at the most inopportune moments. 

“Are any of your siblings going to come looking for you? Will they try to stop you?”

Spiros pauses, hand lingering on a crystalline vine that he was picking some strange fruit off of. You’ve had more than enough of it, it reminds you of fragile rock candy, crumbling at the slightest pressure of teeth, sweet enough to stick with you for hours. 

"Dreams are many, and there isn't exactly a place we regularly keep company," he explains, leaving off picking another fruit. "By the time one of my siblings has even noticed, hopefully…" Spiros trails off, the words left unspoken.

Hopefully, the ritual will be over and done with, and the two of you will be together. 

“Will you tell them, then? If we succeed?”

Spiros closes the small space between you, drawing you into his arms so he can press a kiss against your cheek. “When we succeed,” he corrects, and his bright mood has you laughing at the correction.  

“When we succeed then,” you say, leaning your head against his shoulder, “will you tell them? The other dreams. Would they.. Follow suit and try and seek out their own manifestations?”

Spiros hums, leaning his chin on the crown of your head. “I cannot even begin to guess. Some, perhaps. If one happens to come to me, asking for advice after this? I don’t know that I would turn them away.” Spiros shrugs and then holds you at arms length, arching a brow as he changes the subject. “But first I must show you the view at the top of mountains here. You were fond of that tea, yes?” And with that you’re off, subject left behind. 

For how tricky it was to get everything together, for how long it’s taken to practice the ink making and how insurmountable everything seemed at the beginning of this - it all feels simple now. You arrive at the hotel with two bags, feeling both nervous and excited in spades, and set up hours before you really need to. Part of you is tempted to nap, because you desperately wish you could talk to Spiros now, to ask questions even though you’ve been over all of this fifty times at least. Instead, you get to work. 

It doesn’t take you nearly as long as you’d like, and the last hour or so, waiting for the sun to set is torture. Your brain keeps jumping back to all the moments you’d been frightened of Spiros being a figment of your imagination. Of all the things that could possibly go wrong, you’re fairly sure that waking tomorrow morning and finding nothing would break your heart for real. Even if you’re both changed into… Strange beings, at least it’s evidence, at least you won’t be left mourning. 

You wonder if Spiros’ family members and their partners or worshippers felt this way. This nervous, this elated. Even when you drink the mugwort tea, to aid sleep when you’re finished with the ritual, you’re not sure it’s going to truly help. You’re worked up in more ways than one, but… Everything goes off correctly. You light the candles in the correct order, you make the ink and write the prayer down on a small piece of special ordered vellum and burn it to ashes while you speak the words aloud. You spare a happy thought for the probably faulty smoke detectors - even though you should bring that up to hotel management - make a paste out of the vellum ashes and spread it over your forehead and heart. The ritual… It’s finished. 

You know you need to lay down now, but you’re still so wired- and then it hits you. A tingling drowsiness washes over you in a wave that has you seeing double. You just barely make it to the hotel bed, shedding clothes as you stumble. You push the blankets and sheets down to the end of the mattress, stars gathering in the corners of your eyes. As soon as you lay down you let your eyes fall closed, halfway to sleep, breathing in deeply, body drifting- and then you feel him. At first, it’s the faint warmth of breath against your lips, and then strands of his hair falling against your face and pooling onto your pillow. You fall deeper into near sleep, caught on that teetering edge as Spiros’ lips brush over yours, and then he’s kissing you, in both realms. It’s like being in two places at once, trying to match a traced image up with the original, but the paper is just slightly too thick. Spiros is wisp thin at first, but growing stronger as your hands slide over his arms and along his shoulders, reaching up to tangle your fingers into the messy locks of his hair. You breathe in, savoring the swift burst of spice and sweetness on the air before you start to shiver. Spiros is growing warmer, almost hot to the touch, and the first press of his cock against you has you arching your hips upwards. 

“Spiros,” you whisper against his mouth, breath coming faster as his hands become heavy, sliding down your bare body and parting your thighs. As soon as his hands have weight, as soon as he settles himself fully between your thighs and the bed starts to dip, you forget everything about the ritual. Nothing matters anymore but keeping him with you, keeping hold of him. You hook your legs around his waist to be sure, while your fingers dig a little harder into his scalp. Spiros groans into your mouth though, enjoying the pressure, the reality of it, hips rolling into yours, though he isn’t at the proper angle to press inside. The friction still has both of you aching, and your teeth catch at his bottom lip when his hands curl around your hips.

You still feel half asleep, like every movement you make leaves an afterimage behind you, but for every traded breath and gasping kiss, Spiros’ body seems to settle in the human realm. As soon as he adjusts, as soon as the head of his cock presses into you and he slides in, light bursts behind your eyelids. His lips grow cool and sweet and then he’s rolling, pulling you with him. The change of position has you panting, balancing yourself against his chest as you adjust to the feeling of fullness.  

“Hold on?” He asks, and your eyes finally seem to clear. Spiros is here, and growing warm under your hands again, eyes still full of stars, temple wings still tangled with his hair. You brace yourself as he thrusts upwards, one of his hands clenching tight to your thigh to keep from unseating you. It takes a moment before either of you find a rhythm, but as soon as you do, heat starts to build in your chest. He’s not going insubstantial anymore, he’s solid and warm, like he’s just come from laying in a pool of heady sunlight. He reaches down, fingers sliding over your clit as your hips rock to meet his thrusts and pleasures zips through you. Spiros gasps your name as you tighten around him, his eyes falling closed, and for a split second, his temple wings fade away, leaving his hair dark and human looking. 

Your orgasm starts small, just a flicker of satisfaction and then Spiros is rolling again, cock hitting so deeply that your back arches as the pleasure builds. Your eyes close, mouth falling open as he sucks at the tender skin of your throat, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. He doesn’t let up, even when you’re whimpering, thighs shaking around his hips. 

“More?” He asks and grins when you nod your head, still wordless as his hands stroke over you, soft as feathers, before his fingers tweak at your nipples. You jolt, and laugh and then bite down on a moan when his hips pull away and then thrust forward, slapping gently against the backs of your thighs. “I’m here with you,” he whispers against your skin, kissing against your collarbone. “I won’t- I won’t be leaving,” he murmurs, bracing his forearms on either side of you. 

You hook your legs around him again, stroking over faint freckles that shift between human dark and gleaming starlight as the drowsiness starts to ebb. Pressed so close to him, the aftershocks of your orgasm still spiraling through you, it almost feels like you’re melding. The closer you both get to coming, the more it feels like you’re slipping half into dreams. You can- you can feel him, like an echo in the back of your mind, soft and dark and full of starlight when he speaks your name aloud. You’ve been assuming that you’re just being flowery, thinking of him in terms of light and gentle feathers, overwhelmed with having him tangible - but then you remember that you’re supposed to be changing too. 

Spiros exclaims in wonder, thrusts losing rhythm, his eyes widening and then chokes out a laugh before he buries his face against your neck, coming in hot spurts that push you back over the edge. You clutch to one another, fingers digging into skin just shy of too hard, almost overcome with the fact that you’re still both here. 

When Spiros finally catches his breath, pulling back so he can meet your eyes, all you can do is smile at him, near tears you’re so happy. He’s here, he’s real, he still looks like himself - full lips and dark eyes, chin dotted with stubble - but his temple wings are still arched smoothly through his messy hair. That- that is a bit of a surprise. You’ll have to best discuss how to hide it out in public, but you don’t care. That’s something you can worry about later.

“You won’t be leaving,” you say, repeating his declaration. You smile at him, amazed and happy and- “And you’re still you.” You stop when he taps you gently on the chest, fingers pressed just over your heart.

“Yes,” he reassures you, gaze gone soft and sweet, tracing over your mouth and eyes. “I won’t be leaving. Now, my love, you should see yourself.” He glances down at his fingers and you’ve little choice but to follow his gaze, heart caught fast in your throat. 

He’d warned you, had said that you would change, that the ritual would change you both, and that people in the past had balked, had let loose the tether they held to the oneiroi. You’d been prepared for some kind of shifting. Maybe your hair would change color, or you would have to hide a form as strange as he claimed his fellow dreams had once worn, maybe things wouldn’t work out - but you never would have imagined this.

Between one blink and the next, you find your skin shifting from a bright metallic shine to smooth crystalline - inhuman looking, made… Made of dreams. Spiros laughs, tears gleaming in the corners of his eyes, and then another blink has you both solid, tangible and human, and together. Entirely.

————-　✵　————-

...turn the page?

[sick-spooky-sara]

💫MANIFESTATION RITUAL💫

I wrote this ritual for a specific goal of mine, but it can be used for anything with adjustments! Before beginning the ritual, perform a bay leaf wish spell (wish for what you are manifesting of course) and save the ashes for use in a spell jar.

You will need:

Purple candle

Silver or white candle

Red candle (optional)

Agrimony

Bay ash

Catnip

Cayenne

Chamomile

Cinnamon

Ginger

Lavender

Mugwort

Nutmeg

A jar

Matches/lighter

I am setting out offerings for Hecate and Aphrodite before performing this ritual and incorporating incense offerings during.

Start by preparing your space. Gather all the items you will need and make them easily accessible.

Prepare yourself eat, shower, smoke etc. I personally went outside and cleaned up litter from the creek behind my apartment and then showered.

Now is the time to start your pre-spellwork. Whether that means casting a circle, saying a prayer, or doing nothing is up to you.

Once you feel you are ready, begin raising your energy. Imagine you have already gotten what you want and feel the happiness flow through you. Dance, sing, simply think about what you want it doesn't really matter. Just do what works for you and get that energy up! Dancing and singing can also be offerings for your deities if you are calling upon any.

When you feel you are ready, sit or stand where you will be putting your spell jar together, and light your candles. While lighting your candles, you may want to call upon your deities. You may also want to write a spell for this part beforehand or simply say your affirmations aloud. I also sprinkled some myrrh over my candles and called to Hecate and Aphrodite.

Now you can begin your spell jar. I like to say what the purpose of each inclusion is as I feel it makes it more powerful than blindly mixing herbs up. The uses below are simply for the purpose of my specific manifestation, and most of these herbs have other correspondences not included here.

Agrimony for dispelling negativity and internal blockages, overcoming fear, and increasing the effect of healing spells.

Catnip for good luck.

Cayenne to repel negativity and enhance the other ingredients.

Chamomile for love, healing, and to increase success.

Cinnamon for healing.

Ginger to add speed and strength, and for health and success.

Lavender for healing.

Mugwort to increase power & clairvoyance.

Nutmeg for luck.

Rosemary for healing.

Finally, add in your bay leaf ash from your wish spell.

Seal the jar up with wax from any of your candles and then begin the tarot manifestation spell.

https://easytarotlessons.com/manifestation-101/ this is the one I used, it's basically creating your own Celtic cross reading to map out your manifestation as your future. It is a very detailed guide. Take a photo of the finished spread and keep it somewhere you will see it often.

Notes

Be sure to relax and decompress after performing this, let your energy return to normal naturally and allow yourself to return to the flow of things

Keep an eye out for synchronicity

Repeat your affirmations often! Be sure to use phrases such as "I have" or "I am"

Don't focus too hard on the exact way you will get what you want, just trust in the universe and yourself

You are powerful!!

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 06

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

-/

Her steps are far lighter those of the man beside her. Though it has become Autumn, the evening breeze is warm and carries hints of Summer still within it. It billows her robes, makes her pull them tightly to her. Gives away the true shape of her curves beneath the blue and black blend of reinforced cottons.

Instead of leading him to his post, she opts to dart down a service corridor and onto a catwalk below the main level. She does not desire to draw the attention of her brethren. Beside her, Ghost hovers, his optic watching her, impatient for her to speak.

Zavala's eyes bore into the side of her head, similarly waiting for her to begin. She can sense his impatience - though mild it may be.

She thinks for a moment about what to say, how to present it. All the things she'd practiced saying, ways she'd hoped to tell him are white static in her mind. It’s frustrating, seeing as she’d had plenty of time to prepare. A moment passes. She takes a deep breath and exhales, nervously.

“I had a vision,” She says, softly. “I think-” He leans in - whether it’s interest or her being too quiet, she can’t tell. He clenches his jaw as she breathes, “I think the Traveler was speaking to me.”

There's mostly silence as he processes. The wind is buffeted here, so only a small breeze tousles her hair and makes it sway much like the mark on Zavala's hip.

“During the training,” He queries, “When?”

“The meditation you guided them through. I adapted it to my own purposes, but…”

“What did Ikora have to say about this?”

Miyu shakes her head. “Commander, if I may be completely transparent…” 

He nods, his intense gaze never leaving her face. She meets it, her eyes narrowing, glowing silver-white irises bright in the dim light. “Ikora is not listening to me. I feel more comfortable talking to you.” She looks away, then, hoping he sees through her words. She hasn’t told Ikora. She does not want to tell Ikora.

His posture straightens more, if that's possible, and he untucks his hands from behind his back. The snappish bloom of anger in her chest that she's been holding back, that she feels toward her Vanguard, is the only thing keeping her from blushing at the confession.

He doesn't say anything, and Ghost bobs intently next to her. Encouraging. She sighs. “The visions,” She chances a glance back to at him and he's still watching her intently, “They were both similar. The first was more intense. The second was, but… it was not... at an opportune time.”

“I see.” He looks down for a moment then takes her left hand - her sword hand - in his gloved one. Her fingers twitch when he gently turns her hand over, looking at the pads of her fingers, her starlight-laiden, unblemished palm. “Nerve damage?” He asks.

She shrugs. “It doesn't hurt, really. I think we retain some imprint of our deaths. Although, I don't always require resurrection, so perhaps my Light is unwilling to heal me completely.”

He’s shaking his head when she gazes up at him. She can read sympathy in his gaze. She does not want his pity. She will figure this out. She has to. Just… on her own time.

“Don’t pity me,” She murmurs, gazing out at the Traveler. “Please.”

“I do not,” He assures you. “I simply wish I had a way to relate.”

“No,” She says, the smallest quirk of her lips into a gentle smile. “You do not. That’s alright, Commander.” She turns away from him then, pacing across the small expanse of catwalk unoccupied by crates and storage containers. “So,” She says, redirecting as she paces. “My visions. Both times it started as one candle that turned into a bonfire.” She closes her eyes, recalling it as she spins back to face him, pacing back. “The second time? On Mars? I was mid-cast. The vision was the same, but the flames hurt me. I’m sure it was because I was casting Dawnblade as it happened. But-”

She makes a small ‘oof’ as she collides with his side, eyes still closed. He braces her without thinking, large hands wrapping around her arms. Her eyes open then, the color of snowflakes and starlight very close to his cerulean gaze. She’s too deep in thought to be embarrassed, her eyes locking on his.

Black brows furrow, and her nose scrunches, as she recalls, “The sword felt heavy. Like I should have used two hands, or maybe I wasn't supposed to throw it at all.”

“How does that instance relate to the first?” He queries softly, his voice low but just a touch louder than a whisper.

“I think that I was onto something. The books you lent me-” Her eyes widen and she takes a step back, “I never thanked you,” She says almost breathlessly, speaking fast. “They were a huge help.”

Zavala’s eyes do something strange then, when he tips his head down just fractionally to hold her gaze. It makes her feel warm. It isn’t strange, but rather different. She can see an endearing sort of amusement in his gaze. It’s as though he’s smiling but without moving his mouth.

“I am glad,” He tells her, sincerely so. Then, he redirects her, setting their conversation back on track. “You said you were onto something?”

She nods, eagerly enough. “The Ward of Dawn. Would you… show me again?” She cocks her head to the side. “Perhaps, up close? … If you don’t mind?”

“As it stands, I have some free time tomorrow.”

“Before I’m thrown head-first into the Crucible?” The tiny, rueful grin on her face falls at his serious gaze.

“Not that early, no.” She looks a way in a clear attempt not to convey her disappointment. “Another time, though. Soon.”

Her head swings back around, and she leans in. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Co-”

“There’s no need to be so formal, Miyu. I am happy to help, in any way that I can.”

She beams at him, then, throwing her arms around his midsection in a hug. He clears his throat around the same time she realizes she’s just embraced the Vanguard Commander like they’re long lost friends. Her cheeks stain a rosy pink as she panics, withdrawing quickly.

She almost misses his hand patting her shoulder gently, sliding down her arm as she steps back.

“I appreciate this,” Miyu says bashfully. “More than you know.”

“I can tell,” He replies with just a touch of mirth. She dips her head, her blush so red hot she thinks her face might actually go up in flames. “But enough of this for now. It is getting late and you could use some rest.”

“Yes,” She agrees, her eyes darting back to him. She hears the chitter of Ghost off to the side, and wonders if he’s been lingering all along. She rarely loses track of him, but she’d been so engrossed in their conversation... “I should get going,” She mumbles, barely audible. She offers him a mild bow. “Good night, Zavala.”

His lips curl up into a polite smile. “Oyasumi, Miyu.”

She positively glows at his farewell, relishing the use of her native tongue. It’s like a balm on a battered piece of her soul. “Oyasumi!”

It’s only halfway down the lift that leads down to the City below that Miyu realizes that Ghost is chuckling, swaying side to side in an impression of a head-shake.

“What?” She asks him, tapping a finger to the side of her jaw.

Ghost swivels around her. “It’s nothing. You’re cute, Yu-mi.” She makes a disgruntled face and swats at him. He erupts into sparks and transmats to the other side of her, just shy of laughing at her curled lower lip and puffed cheeks. As the lift lurches and the doors open with a metallic squeal, he continues quietly enough that she doesn’t hear him. “You’re cute, and I’m starting to think I’m not the only one who noticed.”

[onemilliongoldstars]

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter four

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

4/25

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book 1: Chapter Four

Lady Clarke is something of an enigma to her. As her bannermen had drifted away, back to oversee their smallfolk and livestock, bored of the new arrival to the castle, they had stopped hosting feasts every few evenings. Instead, they eat at a long table in her private quarters several times a week. The lady had inched closer to her up the table, until she was only separated by a few people. At this proximity, Lexa can freely observe her without being accused of playing favourites, and she takes the time to watch the noblewoman. Her time is so taken up by affairs of the kingdom that she sees Lady Clarke only at mealtimes and occasionally catches glances of her across the courtyard. Aden provides her with regular updates, but he is more concerned with what they did rather than what the lady is feeling. At the very least the letters from her mother have stopped, which leads her to believe Lady Clarke did what she asked and wrote her.

The fair haired girl sits a few seats down the table from her, and has been pushing her food around her plate for as long as Lexa has been looking. Though she has fire when she and Lexa converse, Lady Clarke appears drawn and sad whenever Lexa catches sight of her at the table, or in the castle. Whenever she thinks no one is looking. According to Aden, Lady Clarke has managed to befriend Octavia and a woman from the blacksmith’s forge, but she cannot seem to find any happiness in Winterfell. Lexa imagines it must be very different to Highgarden, having never visited herself, and though she grew up in the cold of the north, eating rabbit and venison, she wonders whether Lady Clarke had a childhood different to her own.

“- and so, your majesty, the crop supplies will simply have to last until next year.” Beside her, Titus is talking, and she gives him a sage nod, as if she is listening.

Around the table, close to her feet, the direwolves sit. Honor is at her side as always, Patience lounging upon her feet. She lives up to her name, happy to wait for Lexa to toss a bone her way, rather than fight over it as her siblings Valour and Liberty are doing in the corner. She clicks her tongue and the two wolves break apart, still growling. Valour, victorious, snatches his bone up to gnaw it in the corner, while his sister whines and settles near Lexa’s chair. Faith, she has noticed, is at the other end of the room, closer to Lady Clarke’s seat and though she sits a good pace back, she is clearly watching the noblewoman closely.

The time drags on, Titus monopolising the conversation despite all polite attempts to dissuade him, and Lexa is so focused on Lady Clarke that she barely realises the sun is long set, the night drawing its dark curtain about the castle. With a slight clearing of her throat, Lady Clarke looks down the table at where Lexa sits at its head and says, quietly.

“I hope you’ll excuse me, your majesty. I am very tired.”

“Of course,” Lexa stands as Clarke does and it causes a flurry of movement around the table as everyone hurries to follow her lead. Lady Clarke stares at her in surprise, and Lexa tries to cover her embarrassment by nodding her head when the noblewoman curtseys. “Good evening, Lady Clarke.”

“Good evening, your majesty.” Lady Clarke steps uncertainly around Faith, eyeing her with caution, but the wolf merely watches her go with big, blue eyes and Lexa feels similarly enamoured, somehow unable to pull her gaze away from Lady Clarke’s departure. It is only when the door is shut behind her that she falls back into her seat, the rest of her table hurrying to do the same.

“How rude,” Titus mutters below his breath, and before he can say anything else, Lexa asks him.

“Titus, how is negotiation with the Iron Bank going?”

“The Iron Bank, your majesty?” Titus blinks at her in surprise. It’s not often that she wants to talk to him about their relationship with the largest bank in the known world, across the sea in Braavos, and he almost bites her hand off at the opportunity.

When their meal is over she stands, nodding to her guests and thanking them for their company. She watches them leave her quarters, but instead of retreating back into her chambers she steps out into the corridor. Lady Clarke’s plate had been left full, and the thought of her going to bed hungry and lonely drives her onwards until she is in the warm, cosy kitchens of Winterfell. The smell of the kitchens is warm bread baking, and wood fire, and a great meat stew cooking. It is as familiar to her as her own name- as the child of a lord for most of her life, not the heir to a throne, she had spent much of her childhood between the courtyards training and the kitchens begging for scraps. Her Master Cook Leanne looks up and at the sight of her frame in the doorway clears her throat. The rest of the kitchen staff startle up at the sound, and offer her hurried bows as she moves inside.

Leanne waves a hand at them. “Carry on,” Meeting Lexa’s eyes, she smiles and bobs a small curtsey. “What do we owe the pleasure, your majesty? It’s been some time since you visited.”

Lexa thinks of tugging on Leanne’s apron strings and feels a pang of heartache. “It has, I’m sorry.”

Leanne shakes her head, goes back to kneading bread as they talk. “You’re busy now, your majesty. What can I do you for?”

She hesitates, wondering how to explain. “I am… concerned about Lady Clarke.”

“The Tyrell lady?” Leanne’s eyes run over her, curiously. “Yes, she sends back everything I give her almost untouched. I’ve tried everything- venison, beef, mutton- she’s havin’ none of it.”

“She is sad,” Lexa only feels comfortable admitting this to the woman she has known for so many years, with only loyal ears around her. Though it is no crime for Lady Clarke to be sad, there is something telling about her concern for her feelings. “I think she’s not eating because of it.”

“Mayhaps you should try to make her happier then, your majesty.” Leanne suggests, with a raised eyebrow and Lexa sighs.

“I'm trying my best but I can't do that if the girl starves to death.” She casts a hopeful glance to Leanna, whose eyes run up and down her curiously.

“You want something to give her.”

“Please,” Lexa’s shoulders sag with relief and Leanna thinks for a moment, kneading the dough beneath her hands with rigour.

“Lemon cakes oughtta sweeten her up,” She gestures to one of the kitchen hands, “Freddy, a plate of lemon cakes and a cover.”

“Yes, that's a good idea,” Lexa can feel her lips turning up in a smile.

“I'll have Freddy take them up your majesty.”

“No,” The word is out of her mouth before she can stop it and under Leanna’s gaze she feels compelled to continue. “No I mean, I can do it.”

Leanna’s eyebrows shoot up and her chest rises as it does when she's preparing for a lecture. “You certainly may be capable of it your majesty, but it's not your job to-”

“I know, I mean-” She draws in a deep breath, “I want to.”

Leanna looks at her for another second, before nodding and reaching for the plate to pass into her arms. She accepts it gratefully, fumbling for a moment until it is steady and making her way to Lady Clarke’s rooms. They are up the spiral staircase, at the very top of the east tower. Lexa chose them personally, as the warmest rooms in the castle they offer the most protection from the northern winds, the hot springs warming the walls. A luxurious suite of rooms had been set up for the Lady of House Tyrell, with heavy fur pelts and beeswax candles set about the rooms. At the top of the stairs, Lexa find Octavia Snow stood beside the doors. The girl plays with her dagger absent mindedly, until she spots Lexa and startles to attention, sliding the dagger back into its scabbard on her thigh.

Lexa hesitates, unsure how to approach the girl. She is well trained, and keen to prove herself- or so Indra says- but most valuably she owes Lexa her life, and so it was on Indra’s recommendation that Lexa had appointed her to protect the Tyrell girl. Though the castle is safe, there is many who still bear ill will to the southerners.

“Your majesty,” Octavia bows so low that her nose almost touches the ground. When she leans back up again, her eyes flicker curiously to the platter in Lexa’s hands. “Can I be of service?”

“I…” She isn’t sure how to explain herself, isn’t quite sure how she even arrived here, but the platter is heavy in her arms. “I brought these for Lady Clarke. I was hoping you could deliver them to her.”

“Deliver them to her, your majesty?” Octavia’s brows are furrowed, obviously unsure why Lexa would walk all the way up these stairs to not give her gift in person.

“I must… attend to other matters,” Before Octavia can see any further through her mask, Lexa shoves the platter into the girl’s arms, and marches back down the stairs at a pace that brings sweat rising to the back of her neck.

---

The mare before her is a docile, gentle beast. With a coat speckled with brown and white, and a long mane and tail, she looks nothing like her lithe, white mount from Highgarden, but as Clarke circles her thoughtfully, she admits that there is something in the horse’s stance and gaze that is pleasing to her. The mare whickers softly, and she smiles, pausing near her head to stroke a hand down her long face, laughing when the mare nuzzles at the folds of her cloak and mouths at her hair.

“She’s hopin’ for an apple,” The stable boy supplies, and Clarke’s fond smile doesn’t leave the horse. There is something about her that is warm and comforting in the heart of the frozen north, and she rubs at her nose apologetically.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of any help, perhaps next time.”

“Is the mare acceptable, m’lady?” The stable master asks gruffly and she nods once, deigning to look over at the tall man.

“Perfectly acceptable,” She admits, hands reaching to rub between the mare’s ears. “She seems to be of great stock.”

“She is,” The stable master reassures her, patting the horse’s flank affectionately, “Bred from one of the queen’s own warhorses.”

“Really?” She is impressed despite herself, gazing down at the horse’s strong legs and back. The mare doesn’t like her inattention and swings her great head around to nuzzle at her ears and face again, snorting. Clarke laughs, rubbing at her nose again. “Alright, you impatient beast.”

She nods to the stable master, “Have her saddled and ready for me promptly, I’d like to see how she handles.” Glancing back at where Octavia waits a few paces away, she rolls her eyes and adds, “And I suppose you ought to have a horse saddled for my guard, as well. It doesn’t seem fair to make her keep up on foot.”

Octavia gives her a painfully false smile and says, her voice too sweet. “Very kind of you, my lady.”

They wait as the horse is readied, Clarke sending a boy running to her room for her riding gloves and a warmer cloak, and the activity around them bustles, horses led out into the courtyard, saddled with fine leather and gleaming as if they have just been newly brushed. Clarke watches them all, her annoyance rising as the boy returns with her cloak and Octavia helps her shrug into it. As she pulls on her gloves, she catches the arm of the stable boy rushing past and has the pleasure of seeing his eyes widen at the sight of her.

“Boy, where is my horse? I asked for her to be saddled an age ago.”

“I- I’m sorry, m’lady, the horses are being- I mean to say, not your horse but other horses-” The boy stumbles and trips over his words, his cheek darkening under her unimpressed gaze.

“Spit it out,” She demands, after listening to him garble for a few moments, but the voice that answers her comes from behind, and is infinitely smoother.

“I apologise, Lady Clarke, the fault is mine.” Clarke turns, so startled that she almost jumps, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of the queen behind her. Queen Lexa is dressed in a dark jerkin, embroidered with silver wolves, and diamond pins glitter in her hair, keeping it pinned neatly out of her face. Her cloak sits about her shoulders, dark with fur lining its edges, and a single dagger strapped to her side are the only weapons Clarke can see. To her side stands Aden, who is smiling at her welcomingly, but his friendly presence is sharply contrasted by Lady Anya, gazing down at her with cold eyes from the queen’s left. Several direwolves linger at her feet, in grey and black, but the white wolf is nowhere to be seen.

“Your majesty,” Clarke bends her knees just slightly, her curtsey more of a dip than anything else, and keeps her eyes on the queen. Though their interactions have been few, she isn’t sure how to act in front of the queen in light of the lemon cakes Octavia had delivered to her only a few days ago. It had been startling, and Clarke had almost wondered if they were poisoned, before tossing the ridiculous thought aside. The gesture, though thoughtful, had sat strangely with her and she’d eaten the treats with a mixture of delight and disgust that made her stomach curdle. Despite her initial joy at having her favourite meal presented to her, further thought, alone in her tower, had left her wondering at the queen’s kindness and by morning she had almost convinced herself that it was a plot to undermine her in some unseen way.

Regardless, since their conversation in the library, the icy tension between the two of them had eased just slightly.

“I called a hunt, you see,” The queen is explaining, and Clarke forces herself to focus. “It will have kept the stable boys all very busy. You there,” She calls out to one of the stable boys pleasantly, and the lad snaps to instant attention, bowing so low that he almost prostates himself in front of her. “Fetch Lady Clarke’s horse at once, it is the priority.”

“Of course, your majesty,” He takes off at a run and Clarke watches him go in amazement.

“You are welcome to join us on the hunt, Lady Clarke.” Lexa offers, kindly and Clarke startles at the words, her brows creasing.

“Oh I- no, no thank you. I do not enjoy hunting,” Her nose wrinkles a little, “While I appreciate the boar on my plate, I take no pleasure in seeing it run down and slaughtered before my eyes.”

The queen’s mouth seems to twitch in amusement, but she bows her head before Clarke can fully read the expression. “That is fair.” Her attention turns away as Clarke’s horse is led out. “Ah, is she to your liking?”

“Yes,” Clarke admits, reluctantly, unable to stop reaching up to touch the mare’s nose when the animal immediately begins nuzzling at her cloak and hair in search of treats. “I’m afraid I’m as empty handed as I was before,” She tells the horse, who ignores her entirely.

There is a soft laugh, and it takes a moment for Clarke to realise it is coming from Lexa. It seems almost incongruous to her personality that she should laugh so beautifully, and the thought makes her cheeks flush.

“I think she is searching for this.” Lexa produces an apple from the pouch at her side and passes it over into Clarke’s surprised hands. The mare whickers and immediately begins to crunch at the treat, spraying juice everywhere.

“Thank you,” She offers, haltingly and the queen simply shakes her head, turning as her horse is brought forward.

“It will do him good not to have any further treats from me,” She looks at the horse with an affection that Clarke has not yet seen before. “The stable master is always telling me I shouldn’t feed him so,” She rubs at the horse’s flank tenderly, “Or he will get so large he’ll look like a broodmare.”

Clarke smiles despite herself, and nods. “I think she appreciates it.” She says, as the mare finishes the apple and immediately begins searching her for more.

“Unfortunately that is all I have,” Lexa swings herself onto her horse, and Aden moves forward to place a hand on the horse’s flank.

“If Lady Clarke will have me, I think I should like to accompany her on her ride today, sister. If you will excuse my presence from your hunt.” Something passes between the siblings, an expression that Clarke can’t quite identify, before Lexa nods.

“If Lady Clarke would like your company on her ride, I think we can do without your skills.”

Lady Anya snorts from her place on her own horse, and Aden gives her an irritated look. Clearly, his absence will not damage the Winterfell stores too much.

“What do you say, Lady Clarke? I can show you the ruins of the old Holdfast, where the stained glass window still stands.” Aden offers her a charming, wide smile and she can’t help but nod at the sight of it. Aden beams, “Excellent, I will get my horse and we shall be off.”

“We shall,” Clarke watches him go with amused amazement, before she turns back to the queen. “Happy hunting, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Lady Clarke,” The queen dips her head in acknowledgement, clicks her tongue, and her horse falls into a quick walk, wolves trotting along by her sides. At the sight of her leaving, Lady Anya follows behind, and the rest of the mounted knights and squires, and Clarke is left in the eerily quiet courtyard.

---

“Why my lady, you must learn the rules of this game or you will lose all of your family’s fortune,” Raven Reyes grins at her from over the table, happily scooping up her winnings from their game of dice and Clarke regards her with annoyance, glowering at her smug expression.

The inn is warm and spinning just slightly, filled to bursting with the folk of Winter Town. Clarke is grateful for Octavia’s presence at her side, her hand on her sword, because she can feel the gazes of the smallfolk lingering on her, the leering of some of the men, and the women too. They watch her jewels, the movement of her silk dress and the purse at her belt, and it is only the crest of the queen at her side that keeps her from being robbed at knife point, she is sure. The mead in her blood keeps her from worrying too much about it, instead she is frowning at the blacksmith’s apprentice from across the table, watching her gold be scooped away.

“Another game,” She demands, her speech slurring just a little, but Octavia is at her side in an instant.

“No, my lady,” Octavia insists, “It is long past time that we returned to the castle.”

“Come on Snow,” Raven gives her a smug smile, “I’m paying for a new cloak with this money.”

“You don’t need a new cloak,” Octavia snaps, furiously, and Raven rolls her eyes.

“Wealth is not about need, it’s about want- isn’t that right my lady?”

“Exactly,” Clarke agrees, absent minded, as she collects the dice to roll again. They fall from her palm with a clatter, but Octavia snatches them up before either woman can see the numbers. “Snow-” Clarke begins to protest, but Octavia cuts through her firmly.

“I am insisting, my lady.” She cuts a pleading, furious gaze at Raven and the blacksmith sighs, world weary, but her eyes dart out to the side and she seems to see something that Clarke cannot, because she nods.

“I’ll accompany you back to the castle,” She tells them as Octavia ushers Clarke out of her chair, a hand catching at her waist when she sways. Chivalrously, Raven steps up to her side and offers her an arm, but Clarke looks at the way she leans on her cane and shakes her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” She tells her, sharply and takes the girl’s arm to wrap it through her own.

There is a beat of silence between the three and beneath the mead Clarke feels vaguely ashamed that the two would look at her with such astonishment at the sight of a kind gesture. To cover her flushed cheeks, she starts to push their way out of the tavern and into the cold night air.

Her thick cloak keeps her warm, Raven on one side, leaning against her, and Octavia on the other and they walk in silence for a few moments, before Octavia asks.

“Why are you coming back to the castle, Reyes?”

“Perhaps I couldn’t get enough of her ladyship’s company,” Raven offers, offering a flirtatious smirk Clarke’s way, but the Tyrell lady only shakes her head, amused. She has long grown used to the blacksmith’s wiles. “I left a boy looking after the forge, I’m working on something new.” Her voice grows in excitement, before dropping again. “But I’m sure the damned creature will have let it gone cold in my absence.”

“What are you working on?” Clarke asks, with interest, and Raven looks at her curiously.

“I wouldn’t have thought a highborn lady would want to know about my work,” She tells her, surprised, but when Clarke’s expression doesn’t waver, she presses on. “I’m working on a new mechanism for our crossbows- a lever that will pull back the bowstring back rather than having to crank it. It will make reloading it faster.”

“But,” Clarke’s voice wavers just slightly, “Crossbows are only used in war, we are at peace now.”

“There’s always a threat beyond the Wall, my lady,” Octavia tells her, quietly.

“And peace can only last for so long,” Raven says, adding darkly, “Winter is coming.”

Octavia echoes back the Stark words, and Clarke feels a chill run down her spine, before Raven speaks again, naturally easing the dark tone back to something more cheerful.

“What are your Tyrell words again, my lady?”

“Growing strong,” Clarke says, and the words seem to warm her core. “They’re for the roses that grow around Highgarden.” The silence of the two women on either side of her, and the warmth that talking about her home brings ushers her to continue, “There are roses everywhere, sometimes the climbers grow through the windows and into the castle. The water smells of roses and the dancers who come to Highgarden wear dresses made of their petals.”

“Dresses?” Raven interrupts, “Made of petals? Sounds damn cold to me.”

The words pull a laugh from her as they pause for Octavia to hail the gates opened, and she explains once they move into the courtyard, “The weather is far warmer down in Highgarden. One needn’t even wear a cloak in the summer, and the dresses are rather more… revealing that they are here.”

“I can imagine,” Raven gives her another flirtatious smirk and she laughs freely. “You’re near to the sea, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” She answers eagerly, “You can get on a pleasure barge down the Mandler and be there in a day.”

“A pleasure barge?” Raven’s eyes light up with interest, “Perhaps we should visit Highgarden Octavia.”

“Of course that would spark your interest,” The guard rolls her eyes, before adding darkly. “I want nothing to do with the sea.”

Instead of teasing her, as Clarke has seen her do before, Raven only hums her understanding and untangles her arm from Clarke’s, giving a flourishing bow. “Thank you for your company, my ladies, but here I shall have to bid you farewell, for I can see that the boy hasn’t kept the forge alight. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Clarke calls after her, laughing still and Octavia accompanies her into the castle. They walk in silence down the corridors, empty but for a few guards. Torches burn in the sconces in the wall, lighting up their way and Clarke feels dizzy and heady and certain that Reya will have to persuade her very kindly to get out of her dress, rather than simply sleeping in it.

The sound of footsteps is their only warning that they are not alone, before they turn a corner and find the queen walking towards them, talking quietly to her measter. Clarke feels Octavia straighten beside her, and her own footsteps stutter when she meets the queen’s surprised gaze. By the time they have met, the queen has schooled her features back into a pleasant mask of neutrality, but Clarke’s own mask doesn’t seem to be slipping into place as well as it usually does. They pause beside each other and Clarke bobs a curtsey, grateful of Octavia’s hand on her waist when she wobbles just slightly.

“Good evening, your majesty.”

“Good evening, Lady Clarke,” Queen Lexa echoes, curious eyes jumping over them. “You are up late.”

“As are you,” She answers, and feels Octavia stiffen beside her. The queen’s measter raises his eyebrows, dark eyes sweeping down her form with suspicion.

The queen only smiles though, tilting her head and saying with almost a sigh. “Matters of the country do not work to the beat of the sun and moon, I am afraid. Have you been… out of the castle?”

Clarke opens her mouth to answer, but Octavia’s elbow nudges her harshly and she shuts her mouth with a click, as Octavia says. “We’ve been for a walk around the battlements, your majesty.”

“I see,” Lexa’s gaze sweeps along them both again, and suspicion lingers at the edge of her gaze. “As always, Lady Clarke, let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay here more enjoyable.”

“Actually, I-” The words spill from her mouth before she can stop them, the mead loosening her tongue enough, “I would like something to draw with. Some parchment and charcoals, if the castle has them.”

“Draw with?” The queen blinks at her in surprise, “I see. Of course, I’m sure that could be arranged.”

“Thank you, that would be… excellent.”

“Of course,” Lexa nods, the surprise bleeding away to be replaced by another smile. “I will see to that, goodnight Lady Clarke.”

“Goodnight, your majesty.”

---

The next morning, charcoals and parchment are delivered to her room, as requested and Clarke thinks of the lemon cakes. Overcast and rainy days in Winterfell keep her in the castle, but she entertains herself by dragging Octavia across half of the castle in search of a place in which the light is strong enough to draw by. Having the charcoals and parchment within her grasp make her fingers itch to sketch, and when the thin light streaming into her room proves unsatisfactory, she searches for another place to draw.

Measter Titus stumbles upon her in the hallways, and upon her insistent questioning eventually recommends the library between clenched teeth, clearly eager to see her on her way and out of his line of sight.

When she first steps through the thick door of the library tower, she thinks that she will find it deserted. Unlike Highgarden, where their proximity to Oldtown and luxurious library leads to scholars frequently descending on the castle, there is only Measter Titus in Winterfell, and so the library has been empty the few other times she has entered. Today, however, she startles as she walks to the table in the middle of the room and realises that it is occupied by a familiar figure, bent over scrolls and parchments.

The queen looks up just as her feet falter to a stop, and her surprised expression makes it clear that she had not heard them enter, so wrapped up had she been in her studies.

“Lady Clarke,” She does not stand, but offers a small smile and Clarke feels some of the tension ease from her shoulders.

“Your majesty, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Please, you didn’t,” Her eyes flicker down to the goods held in Clarke’s arms, close to her chest like a babe, and her smile grows, her expression warm. “You received the parchment and charcoals.”

“I did,” She looks down to them, somehow unable to face this soft, kind version of the queen. “Thank you, I’m very grateful.”

“I meant it when I said we wanted to make your time here comfortable,” Lexa tells her, quietly and Clarke nods again, “What were you looking for in here?”

“A place to draw,” She answers, honestly, and tilts her head to a large window, through which the daylight streams, “I was thinking perhaps there, but there is no surface.”

“Allow me to move this table closer to the light for you.” Lexa nods at the table she is using, and Clarke’s eyes widen, her stomach flickering with some unfamiliar feeling at the offer.

“Oh no, I couldn’t let you-”

“Nonsense, you must have somewhere worthy to test out your new equipment,” Over the sounds of her protests, Lexa beckons over Octavia and together the two of them lift the old oak table. Clarke can tell it is heavy by the way they strain and stumble a little to get to the window. She follows, feeling helpless and still protesting the move.

“But you were using this table, your majesty, I can’t take your workspace.”

“Well,” Lexa glances down at the parchments spread over the library table, and hesitates, seeming uncertain for a moment. “I will use one end, and you can use the other, if you do not mind?”

“No, no of course not.” The atmosphere between them is tense, just as it always has been, but the queen’s unexpected kindness has thrown Clarke into disarray, unsure how to respond to this strange side of the woman she thought she had come to know.

They sit together in the otherwise quiet library, working silently side by side. It takes a while for Clarke to truly forget that the woman is there, intensely aware of the sound her charcoal makes against the parchment, but as Lexa continues to work steadily, making notes from parchments, she begins to forget about the ruler on the other side of the table. There is a quiet camaraderie about the scratching of quills and charcoal against parchment, in a room where only the books and Octavia can see them, and Clarke soon finds herself lost in her work. It has been a long time since she was able to draw anything, and the peaceful activity reminds her so intensely of home that she feels a pang of loneliness in her heart which she tries to press away.

After a while, she begins to sense eyes upon her. When her gaze flickers up, she sees the queen’s fingers begin to scribble again, her cheeks darkening. For a moment, she gazes at the dark, bent head, and wonders whether she was imagining things, but when she turns back to her sketch again, she finds that after a while the sensation of being watched returns. This time, she keeps her charcoal moving, but glances at Lexa from beneath her lashes and finds the queen’s eyes set on her paper, watching with fascination as the image takes form beneath her fingers. She continues for several long moments, allowing her image to take a true form, and when she is happy with it- and is sure the queen’s eyes are about to fall from her head- she looks up and offers.

“Would you like to see it?”

“Oh,” Lexa flushes furiously, her cheeks heating at being caught and says, “I’m sorry Lady Clarke, I shouldn’t have been staring.”

“It’s alright,” She answers, honestly, and pushes the parchment her way. As if against her volition, Lexa’s eyes flicker to it. “You may look if you wish.”

“Thank you,” Tentative fingers reach out to pull the parchment closer, and the queen looks at it for several long moments, her eyes taking in every last detail, before she finally says. “It’s wonderful. Is it Highgarden?”

“Thank you,” She tries to ignore the way her cheeks warm under Lexa’s praise. “It is, yes.”

Lexa looks down at it again, her mouth opening as if she means to say something, before snapping shut again. She is silent, eyes roaming over the image. “It is an excellent likeness.” Their eyes meet for a second, and when the queen slides the parchment back across the table she says, quietly. “It is good to be reminded of home when you are far away.”

The words touch somewhere deep in her chest, and Clarke has to tear her gaze away, afraid that the queen will see the emotion in her eyes. “Yes,” She agrees, softly. “It is.”

---

[oldsunshineysoulwitch]

Journal time!

Did a major personal cleansing tonight! Followed by redefining what I called my "personal aspects". It took about 2.5 total hours (not counting physically deep cleaning the bathroom yesterday), left me slightly tipsy but with super smooth moisturized skin, and is definitely something I will do again!

It was a bit of a last-minute thing so I hadn't planned out anything and that actually worked well for me. Here's the short version of what I did:

::Prologue::

Yesterday I got real pissed at the SO and rage cleaned the bathroom (yay, spite!) I've been wanting to take a hot bath (and try out my new floral mix bath salts) for a while and well the bathroom was clean...

I started hot water running. Added (lots of) body oil cause it makes my skin feel super soft for days after, then went to pick a book to read. It was at this point that the idea of doing a cleanse solidified. I decided to pour me a drink and drive I didn't want straight whiskey and I had sage in the pantry...

so with some sage infused whiskey (note to self: strain sage out before drinking!) and my witch pouch and journal I returned to the bathroom to start my cleanse!

::The Cleansing::

I did most things below in threes because for me number 3 is symbolic of completion. If you do something only twice it may not work not to mention you're leaving it open for unwanted energies to come in. Doing something once is fine as well, I wanted to COMPLETELY cleanse though, thus 3.

It's also worth noting that while cleansing I did everything counter clockwise or left to right. This was to banish the existing energies that I was carrying. Later while setting my aspects I did things clockwise, right to left to manifest the new energies.

1. Ring a bell - I rang my bell 3 times to cleanse the room of negative energies and other presences.

2. Light a candle - circled the candle counter clockwise with the match 3 times setting the intention to banish negative energies/to cleanse the space and myself before lighting.

3. Smoke cleansed the room - lit a match and turned counter clockwise around the room 3 times setting the intent to clease the space and myself/to banish negative energies

4. Added everything I wanted to the bath - these didn't end up meaning anything special cause I don't have lots of bath goodies so I just added things that made me happy.

5. Turned on cleansing music - just a genric youtube pagan forest witchy vibe music. Had some bell sounds in it.

6. Got myself ready for the bath

7. Set intention into bath water - stirred the bath water counter clockwise until content my intention had been set. With each stir I stated the things I wanted to cleanse myself of. Some examples:

--- guilt over past mistakes

---anger at my SO

---desire for perfection

8. Standing in the bath I turned (carefully so as not to slip) counter clockwise 3 times to instill in myself the desire the to cleanse my spirit/banish negative energies.

9. I sat in the tub for a bit to relax.

10. Physical Cleansing I - as I washed I stated different things I wanted to cleanse myself of. There were a few times that something would really... react... to me trying to cleanse it. It was always something super personal and deep for me. I would get the shivers when that happened. So I would stop and pay special attention to that item. I'd specifically set tthe intention of cleasing that into my drink and take a drink. I would ring my bell three times to drive away anything holding it to me.

11. Physical Cleansing II - after I had thoroughly scrubbed I really wanted to get all that now nasty (mostly with emotion not with dirt) water off me. So I drained the tub. Stood and VERY carefully did 3 counter clockwise cirlces to reinforce that I was banishing the things that had been washed into the bath water. And then turned on the shower and rinsed them off.

12. Post shower - I needed to cut my nails badly and it ended up fitting the mood really well. Starting with my right hand and moving to the left, as I cut each nail I stated something I was banishing from my life. There were again a few that needed some extra oomph to banish and I made use of my drink and bell as needed.

::Setting my Aspects::

13. Warding - so maybe I should have warded when I started (though I didnt want to trap the negative energy in there with me so I don't know) but I didn't so I decided to ward now. I believe that when you remove something from your life it leaves a hole that wants to be filled. If you aren't intentional in filling the hole yourself something else will eventually wander in and fill it. This was a really deep clean and so left a big hole. I didn't want the wrong things coming in and filling it so I felt it important to ward at this point. I lit a match and turning clockwise 3 times I declared this a safe space. I then cast my own personal protection spell to reinforce the ward.

14. Determining my Aspects - This was really just meditating on the type of person I want to be for my own happiness. I tried to focus on positve descriptors (so instead of "not angry" i would put "happy") and I wrote them down as a sort of manifest in by book of shadows. Sometimes I would get distracted with making sure they were the "perfect" aspects, or obsessing over who I would tell about this process and how, or feeling guilty about not already having these aspects. When I caught myself doing this I would do a miny cleanse of those things using my drink and bell.

15. Reviewing my Witchy Journey - I took some time to think about what I'd learned of witchcraft over the past 6 months and how I wanted to apply those things moving forward. I considered the path I was currently on and how I might want to change it in the future. Specifically I told all the different dieties out there that I was open to learning about who they were and how they worked but from a safe distance. I made sure to emphasize that I was just seeing knowledge about them and not (yet) inviting them into my life. I took some deep breaths after that to make sure nothing unwanted had come into my space and blew out any unwanted energies I found.

16. Affirming the Aspects - I simply couldnt focus long enough to get through all the aspects I wanted. So I spent some time meditating on the aspects I had chosen and did some yoga. I wanted to solidify the aspects I had already defined into the core of my being.

17. Closing Up - When I was done I lit a match and turned clockwise three times and affrimed that "I am my own" ie. No other being can come try and fill whats left of that hole. I then took my time to put everything away, clean up any mess I had made, and finish getting ready for bed. I made sure to put to practice each of the aspects I had written down in some small way. Finally I blew out the cleansing candle and released my protection spell (because of the way its written it really needs to be released before you leave a room) and now I'm here writing this down before I go to sleep and forget half of it!

I will probably come edit this tomorrow morning to fix any spelling/grammar mistakes (I know for a fact my numbering is off). I will also eventually post more information on what I was cleansing (none of the real personal ones) and what I set as my personal aspects (once I finish working through them).

EDIT: So I've finally felt up to editing this. I fixed the numbering and restructured the "prolouge." I also added some more detail to the "aspect" section and explained some of the symbolism I used.

Again, I'll be posting more information on the aspects I chose as I solidify each one.

[renegadesrpg]

Dark Angels: Creation, Part 35. Paths of Choice. Sin

I am immune to my senses, so deep in thought am I. The waves lapping at my feet, the sound of sea birds, the scent of salt and ozone in the air…all of it simply does not exist for me. Adrian’s news was indeed an indicator that the time to move was upon us but there is a growing sense of unease within me. Finally rising from the sand, I walk back to the lanai. It is time to look to the future. Or rather, the possible futures.

Adrian has his precognitive ability but it strikes at its own whim, not upon request. I, however, have other methods. There are advantages to having walked the corridors of power for the last 35,000 years and one of them is that I have learned a great deal of magick. There are all sorts of sources for magicks. The angels have their ethereal version, mortals their earth magick, and Zav and Bryn have begun to mix the two for this battle we face, but I am a law unto myself. Death has its own brand of magick, one that is intimately tied to the Fates and the Creator. It is what lets reapers walk between the worlds and bend space and time to do our jobs. In my hands, it is even more. Study with the fae in Tir Nan Og has combined with the innate power I hold and the more general magick of the reaper to allow me to walk the paths of time. It is the only way to see what choices the Fates may put before me, and it is likely even those will be shrouded in mysticism. But I feel compelled to try.

Calling to Declan, I bid him to watch over my body in the physical realm while I allow my spirit to walk other planes. Though a reaper’s body is simply the physical manifestation of his or her soul, the power I hold allows me to maintain that corporeal form while I separate a bit of my own soul from the whole to seek answers from the unknown. This is not the first time I have used his talents thus, even though I know he finds it unnerving to watch, to know the shell no longer houses the spirit.

“It will be fine,” I sooth. “If aught goes wrong while I am occupied, contact Sean. He does not have the power to walk where I will go for this, but he will know what to do.”

Declan’s frown tells me what he thinks of this plan. I have no doubt he would prefer we go directly to Brazil and move forward. Finally, he simply folds his arms and nods, then steps back into the doorway to stand guard.

Maintaining an outward calm but heaving an internal sigh… it is wearing to deal with such unyielding concern from my people… I ignore his recalcitrance and go to the chest I keep at the end of the lanai. Kneeling before it I open it. The fragrant scents of various herbs and resins waft from it as I remove a soft circular rug and smooth it out. An ancient brass brazier follows, along with sage, rosemary, vervain and myrrh. The sage is to bring me wisdom, the rosemary to ground my spirit to this realm and the vervain to protect my spirit as I roam. The last, myrrh, is a resin that when burned will cleanse my mind and my home of any lingering darkness and help me to sink into a deep meditation. In that state I will sever that part of my soul that needs to travel the trails of time.

 All will find their way to the brazier when the time is right. Though it would be a simple thing for me to add them to the bowl with a thought, adding them by my own hand is, as is the careful storage of them physically rather than simply materializing them at need, a nod to the ancient magicks of the fae. A sign of respect for the power, if you will, and one should always respect power if one wishes it to be an ally.

 Sitting back cross-legged on the rug, I place the brazier before me, with the herbs laid out beside it. With a thought white candles ring the rug, declaring my purity of purpose in this endeavor. They flare to life simultaneously at my bidding as I lay the myrrh in the bowl before me.  Extending my hand over it, I murmur “lasair”. It bursts to life, a gold and orange flame dancing above the brazier before settling to a steady burn. One by one I add the others, the fire leaping at each addition and then settling again.  When the flame has receded to stability, the gentle crackling no longer emitting sparks, I settle my hands, palms up on my knees, close my eyes, and begin to speak softly.

 “Cad iad na todhchaíochtaí a scríobh na Morai?

Cad iad na cosáin atá leagtha síos acu dom?

Cad iad na roghanna a thabharfar dom?

Glaoim ar na Fates chun ligean dom a fheiceáil.

 Is ar mo roghanna féin amháin atá an t-iarmhéid crochta,

Is trí mo ghníomhartha amháin a bheidh an domhan saor.

Taispeáin dom cad a chaithfidh mé a dhéanamh.

Glaoim ar na Fates chun ligean dom a fheiceáil.”

 “What futures have the Morai written?

What paths have they laid for me?

What choices shall I be given?

I call the Fates to let me see.

Only on my choices the balance hangs,

Only by my actions will the worlds be free.

Show me what I must do.

I call the Fates to let me see.”

 The sounds and scents of the outside world recede and I feel myself rise above the physical form I maintain. I see myself seated on the floor of the lanai, a body only. Declan is watching from the doorway, his frown gone now, his face impassive, his body rigid as a stone warrior guarding a tomb entrance. And then even that fades away and my essence coalesces on a plane far removed from the mortal one. A wide, raised stone walkway serves as my platform as I survey my surroundings. Around it an ocean of blue flames roil and flicker, a storm of turmoil seething beneath my feet. Sensing that I am not alone, I whirl around, prepared to do battle even here if I must, but relax at the three lovely female forms behind me.

“Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos…” my hand to my chest as I bow my head to them, “I did not expect the Morai to attend to this personally. Why am I so honored?”

 It is the raven-haired Lachesis whose laugh trills across the plane. ‘Why would we not come, Sin? We have grown,’ she shoots a sly smile at her sisters, ‘fond of you.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Atropos adds as she pushes her wavy auburn tresses from her face, ‘you never disappoint. Throughout the eons you have always chosen the door that we would have wished for you. For which I am appreciative. I would find no happiness in cutting the thread of your life. Your existence since becoming Death’s first has provided us with much more pleasure. ’ She smiles at me knowingly.

 ‘Enough sisters,’ the fair Clothos gently reprimands. ‘The time for those recollections has passed. It is the future he needs to see. It is the future he /must/ see if he is to understand.’ She turns her azure-blue eyes to me and takes both my hands in hers. ‘There lies before you only one possible door, but there are two paths behind it.  Both lead to darkness, but the darkness is not always the enemy of the light. It can be the balance and it is that balance upon which the destinies of not just the worlds lie, but of the Creator himself. We came because you must see the results of your decision clearly. We cannot tell you what you must choose or which path it will lead you down. ‘ She smiles lightly, ‘Your free will is still the determiner of all our futures. ‘

 There is a sadness to her smile that I cannot fathom. Gently I reach out to caress her cheek.

 “Clothos, will you not tell me what is on your heart?”

 She simply shakes her head, her enigmatic smile unchanged. ‘I can only tell you whatever you choose, we shall never again be as we were. Whether we become allies or enemies is still to be determined. But we can only go forward.

 “Can fond memories count for nothing, then?” I murmur. She catches my hand and removes it from her cheek. I can see the immortal in her rising as her shoulders firm and her chin tilts. It was always a trait I had admired in her, that ability to put duty to power over emotional frailties. It was one we shared.   

‘The past has been written, Sin. Memories are a wisp in the wind, ephemeral and influenced by what we wish could have been, not necessarily what was. The future is still to be dealt with, an avenue for growth and stability. We cannot let what was dictate what will be.’

 I laugh softly. “And there you have the source of all the disagreements I have ever had with the Morai. The past /has/been written and because of that the memories we hold are the foundation of the future. They are solid and form the basis for the choices we make, the way we grow.” The laughter dies from my face as my need to understand what that future might be reasserts itself. “Come, show me what I need to see.”

 ‘You must go forward from here alone. Your future is yours to determine. We will watch over you and maintain a mental link,’ she answers and then Atropos adds solemnly, ‘Regardless of which path you take, my golden scissors /will/ be used. The only question is upon whom. I have my preferences, but the choice will be yours.’

 I look each of them in turn. Their expressions are impassive now, no teasing, no easy flirtation. They are once again the immortal Fates.  “We have come to the heart of it now, have we not? Who lives and who dies.” Once again dipping my head to them, I turn and walk forward until I come to a door in the pathway. As I open it I can see the path split into two. The roiling blue flames pitch and roll around them and I have to wonder at the significance of this. The flames have meaning and their prevalence around the walkways must symbolize something that will remain constant regardless of the path I choose.

 ‘You must walk through the door, Sin.’ It Is Lachesis voice echoing in my head. ‘You need not walk down far down either path to see what you must.  But you must look.’

Inhaling deeply, I steel myself. Both paths are shrouded in a darkness that the tumultuous fires illuminate only partially.  I choose the right hand path first, walking down it for a few yards until I can see what lies at the end. My jaw sets at the image. I see myself on a throne carved of black marble against a backdrop of fire, the orange flames casting shadows around me.  My face is dark and brooding as thousands kneel before me, my black leathers stained and my bloody sword lying across my legs. Freya, Danu and Kali are in chains before me. An armed guard with spears crossed bars the way to my throne and disembodied souls shimmer on the steps leading up to it. And nowhere do I see the ones whom I now call family.

 “NO. I do not want this!”

 It is a shout in my mind. For before me I see all that I have ever despised. Power without compassion. Strength without mercy. Narcissism and greed. I see a despot leaving bodies in his wake. I see the Horseman of Death as he has always wished to be.

 “I will NOT walk this path, Clothos. I will die by my own hand first!”

‘That is not an option, Sin. The door you went through is one of inconceivable power. It has no limits. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. It is a human truism that holds for the immortal as well. And it is a door you have already chosen to walk through. Nothing can stop it now, but without the influence of the ones whom you hold as family, that monstrous god is what you will become. And you /will/ lose them all if you choose this path. But it is not foregone that you will. Go back now. Walk the left hand path. It has… we’ll call it more creative options.’

 My face is stony, my body rigid with tension as I backtrack my steps to the original fork in the walkway. This one, too, leads into a darkness dimly lit by the blue flames around it, but again, a few yards in I can see the scene at the end. The ebony throne is still there, but my leathers are clean and I am smiling, descending with my hands out to greet those I love. I can make out Sean’s face as he approaches me, and that of his female. I hear Bryn’s laughter somewhere and Zav is there at my left, his dark wings lifted behind him and a teasing smile on his face as he looks down at a small dark-haired female in the crowd, Declan and Celia on either side of her. And there /is/ a crowd. Smaller, mingling, people coming and going with purpose but not fear.  My future self looks up, as though I hear my name called and then I see her. It is my battle angel from the alley in Caldwell. She comes from behind the throne, clothed in leathers, her own silvery, shimmering wings visible now. She smiles at me as I turn to greet her with a kiss. She has a young male of perhaps four years holding her hand. I lift him up and settle him on my hip, kissing his cheek, then pointing to another child in the crowd. He wiggles down and runs to greet her and I laugh at Sean’s disconcerted look of concern.  There are no disembodied souls hovering, no guards with spears. My own sword, clean and shining with glints of fire shimmering along the sharp, curved edge, leans against the throne, an indicator that my future self is not done with it, but it is not bloodied.

 “Clothos…Lachesis…Atropos…” my mental voice cracks with emotion, “What is this you are showing me?”

 Again it is Lachesis voice that comes to me. ‘This is your other future Sin. You cannot escape the power, you cannot escape what you will become. You can only choose how it will be wielded. These are the results of a choice you will make. It will be one or the other. I cannot tell you what you must choose between but I can say that the first will be the result of a choice made out of ego. The second is the result of a choice made from love. You have always had a healthy ego. Do you have the ability to put love over ego?’

Before I can answer, SHE looks at me. My battle angel looks down the long walkway and meets my eyes. I swear she sees me. Not my future self, but me in this time and place. I hear her voice in my mind.

 ‘What will you choose? Will you choose vengeance as you once did or will you remember love and choose a different path?’ 

 #TBC

 #DarkAngelsCreation #PathsOfChoice #CROSSOVER #PhoenixRisingFromTheAshes #RRPG #Renegades #BDBAU #Reapers #Vampires #Angels #Wolven #Ghosts

[anhed-nia]

10/30/16 - WE ARE STILL HERE

There exists a handful of movies from recent history of which I inordinately fond, and apparently, rather alone in this fondness. I’m trying to pick apart the reason for my unusual reaction to figure out What They Say About Me, often with limited success, except in this case--I am senselessly attracted to upstate New York realness, and WE ARE STILL HERE has it in spades.

In the newish tradition of near-past period pastiches kickstarted mainly by Ti West, this supernatural thriller takes us to a remote upstate town in the winter of 1979, where Anne (Barbara Crampton!) and Paul (who?) have moved in a misguided attempt to start a new chapter after the car crash death of their son Bobby. Instead of getting a second wind from her new surroundings, rooting through their collective belongings only breathes new life into Anne’s memories, and soon she is convinced that she feels Bobby’s spirit in the house with them. Getting no support from her skeptical husband, she reaches out to her new agey friends Mary and Jacob (Lisa Marie and, thank god, Larry Fessenden) for spiritual guidance. The craggy old hippies are happy to help, but their intervention only agitates, not Bobby, but something much older and profoundly evil festering in the house’s very foundation. Soon they find themselves trapped between this eldritch horror, and the cultish townsfolk who must regularly feed it a family for their own protection.

The story itself is not much to write home about, with too many potential layers of meaning that turn out to be red herrings. It’s unfortunate, because Barbara Crampton’s portrayal of a woman deranged with grief is intense; she looks like she’s been crying for days the first time you see her, and she maintains at least this baseline of rawness throughout, so there’s something disappointing about the fact that her profound loss is a mere coincidence. The real “evil spirits” of the building’s supposedly-evil former inhabitants turn out ALSO to be misidentified, having been victims of the cult themselves, so their bit of lore also turns out to be pretty pointless, leaving only the vaguery of the shoggoth monstrosities living beneath the land, and the self-serving assholes who feed them. That’s a pretty simple idea, and yet, somehow, this tale never seems to stop telling itself, with a montage of gruesome newspaper articles from various decades threatening to outlast the ending credits.

But, there are plenty of movies that I love, that I don’t care what they’re about. I find plenty left to like about WE ARE STILL HERE, including the excellent performances from all four principles, the perfectly pitched atmosphere, and some pretty fabulous violence. The film begins in an effective Old Dark House mode, heavy with a miasma of unhappiness and attenuated fear; slow, bloodless scares, like a clear but insistently silent presence holding unwanted vigil outside Anne and Paul’s door, made me wish I had waited for my boyfriend to come home before pressing play. When The Great Larry Fessenden holds a seance to get to the bottom of things, the movie suddenly downshifts into a gory high-impact version of EVIL DEAD for adults, unleashing an onslaught of smoldering, sadistic demons to ravage the entire cast indiscriminately. I love it when a cast is able to blend real dramatic misery into foul splatter movie circumstances, and the central foursome are more than capable of matching the intensity of the violence with their own emotional output, an achievement that helpfully undermines the nonsensical premise.

Although Larry Fessenden appears only as an actor here, it feels like he’s stepped into the world of one of his own movies. As with some of his directorial oeuvre, WE ARE STILL HERE evokes the rural environments of New York State with razor acuity. The cold smoke, the shitty bars, the social atmosphere that’s the very opposite of southern comfort in spite of the cozy rusticity, these are all presented with extreme authenticity--but the thing that really seals the deal is Fessenden himself, alongside Lisa Marie. There’s a certain kind of person who flees NYC, maybe when they run out of money or possibly because their projected art careers fail to manifest, or maybe it’s because the streets have lost that magical patina bestowed upon it by the likes of Factory superstars and the Velvet Underground and now that slice of Manhattan is just encrusted with lonely-looking babyboomers with flaking leather jackets and bandanas over their thinning hair who cackle and curse in a way that is simply not as becoming to the broke and aged as it was to hungry, ambitious youth. A lot of these people, who I have known or at least frequently seen in the normal course of city life, take all the energy they once poured into the goal of “making it”, and redirect it into empty spiritual pursuits, making fetishes and lighting candles and incense in the service of their cherry-picked, colonialist, fusion cuisine-style religious rites whose sole purpose is wish fulfillment. They never stop talking about their allegedly star-studded pasts, or how their future contains all the lovely things that the Universe will surely Manifest for them because of their Intentions. Some of these folks stay in the East Village, willfully ignoring the encroaching chain restaurants and Supercutses. Some of them instead move upstate, which is a strange place. Heavily republican suburbs and dark primordial forests occasionally part to reveal rusty, penniless little burgs, or bohemian enclaves full of no-name galleries, artist retreats, homeopathic apothecaries and other outlets for alternative therapies. Fessenden and Lisa Marie absolutely embody these sorts of people, festooned with dreamcatchers and crystals and constantly making uncomfortable assertions about their own magical powers whilst reminding you that they still consider themselves part of the rock’n’roll rebellion. Classic behavior of once-privileged people who absolutely refuse to admit that they have reached the very end of their rope, these pot smoke wraiths who insist, long after the party is over, WE ARE STILL HERE.

[phynxrizng]

SURRENDER TO LOVE...

What if you just surrendered to love? You ARE love, after all. You are made from it, you are a channel of it, and you dwell in a sea of it. Beneath the seeming chaos, love flows through and animates all like a gossamer web: birthing everything, holding everything together, and (if you look with clear eyes) causing everything to shimmer and glow. No matter how it may seem, there is never a shortage of love. That's why it feels best when we surrender to it. When we allow ourselves to be what we already are in truth: pure love in temporary human form. But how do we surrender to love? There is a soft surrender in the breath. When we place our attention on the in-breath and the out-breath, again and again, the breath goes deeper into our being. It taps into the hidden caches of energy that have been posing as tension and blocks. Will your mind wander from the breath? Yes. A thousand, a million times. Every time, no matter how long its been - even if it's been months or years - bring the attention back. Over time, like water dripping on a stone, an open space will be created, and rivers of pleasure and light will begin flow through you endlessly: clear, joyous rivers that can never be drained or depleted. And whether you are in a relationship or not, or whether your relationship presently feels harmonious to you or not, you will never want for love. Because you will be love. Other ways to surrender to love? Dance. Make yummy food for people. Walk in nature. Have a garden. Sing. ...As always, thank you for being here and for the magical light you shine in the world. Love and Blessings, P.S. Happy Valentine's Day! The NEW BOOK is here! Check it out on Amazon and order your copy here. ...And after you read it, would you please write me a review? (You can review it here or here.) Sunday, February 26, 8PM Mountain Time (7 Pacific, 9 Central, 10 Eastern) Free New Moon Ritual Live on Facebook Let's virtually gather for this watery new moon to set intentions for the fresh new lunar cycle ahead. To prepare, light a blue or a white candle, and compose one or two intentions in the present tense, as if they're already true. Optionally, obtain a sea shell or watery crystal (such as sea opal, moonstone, aquamarine, or labradorite) to set on your altar afterwards as a symbol of your intention(s). LIVE at facebook.com/ Every Tuesday, 6:30 PM Mountain Time (5:30 Pacific, 7:30 Central, 8:30 Eastern) As a part of our Good Vibe Tribe membership program, we convene live every week to do rituals and meditations together. Participants can send in questions and comments. A recording is provided after the event. These events are available to basic members at just $10 per month. ...and you can try an entire month for only a dollar! Flower Reading for February 6-12, 2017 A Message for Survivors of Sexual Abuse 4 Secrets to Manifesting Abundance (For a digest of the newest blog posts delivered to your inbox every Monday, subscribe to the weekly newsletter!) Simple Sandalwood and Rose Love Spell Super Powerful Romance Ritual 8 Ways to Make The Most of the Year of the Yin Fire Rooster Simple Love Spells for Every Situation I know I'm not the only one who likes to keep my spells simple. It's not about memorized invocations or hard-to-find ingredients after all, but about the heartfelt intention you bring to your magical work. When it comes to love spells, there are all kinds of conditions we may like to draw in. (Or cast out!) Scroll down until you find one that matches your romantic goal. Please note that this Friday (tomorrow!) is an excellent day for any of these. Friday is ruled by Venus, and this one happens to be a full moon eclipse! Valentine's Day would also be a good choice. If you want to... Attract Lots of Fun Romantic Attention Maybe you're not quite feeling the one-and-only life partner thing right at this moment - but you are in the mood to meet some folks and have some fun. If this is the case, find yourself some lingerie or intimates that you feel amazing in. Take them home, lightly anoint them with rose absolute, put them on, light some candles and incense, and dance to music that makes your body want to move. While you do, feel that you are activating a magnetic force and dazzling light within your body and energy field that will cause you to be an irresistible force of romantic attraction. Call in a Beloved Life Partner Clear clutter from your bedroom and wash all your sheets, as well as your duvet, mattress pad, and any other bedding. Do all of this with the intention to energetically clear the way for an ideal life partner to make his or her way into your life experience (and, eventually, bedroom). Replace the bedding, make any changes you feel called to make in your room to make it more conducive to romance, and then scatter the petals from 6 pink roses and 6 red roses across the top of your bed. Leave for at least 4 hours. Love Yourself More The more we love ourselves, the more harmonious our romantic relationships become and the more attractiveness we exude. This spell starts at your favorite perfume counter, herbal apothecary, or fragrance shop: take some time to find a new fragrance for yourself: one that you absolutely adore. Then wear it every day, reminding yourself with each application that you are an exquisitely lovable and beautiful being, deserving of every wonderful thing. Clear Challenging Relationship Karma Whether you want to cut the cords to an old relationship, clear limiting thoughts or beliefs related to love, heal a broken heart, or release a painful relationship pattern for good, this spell has got you covered. Light your bathroom with one or more white or off-white candles and draw a warm bath. Dissolve 1 cup epsom salt, 1 cup sea salt, and 1/4 cup baking soda in the water. Stand outside the tub and say, "Great Goddess Aphrodite, foam born, Goddess of water and the sea, I call on you. Thank you for cleansing away old relationship karma, and transforming it all into the golden light of love. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Blessed be. And so it is." Then soak for at least 40 minutes. Create More Harmony in an Existing Relationship Of course, magic works best when we have the ongoing intention to get into our most positive possible flow. This means that when an intention is not actually for our truest good, it gets overwritten by what is for our truest good, even if we don't consciously realize it's for our truest good at the time. To work magic in any other way is to invite disharmony in the long run. Now, when it comes to love spells, this means that working magic on a specific relationship will only create more harmony in the relationship if that relationship is for our truest good. Otherwise, it's likely to accelerate its dissolution. Also, harmony in relationships sometimes demands the appearance of disharmony for a time, when previously unarticulated feelings come out into the light. All that being said, to create more harmony in an existing relationship, obtain or print out a small picture of the two of you together. Put a small amount of honey in the bottom of a small, attractive jar with a cork stopper. Place the photo face up at the bottom of the jar, on top of the honey. Cover the photo with even more honey, filling the jar to the top. As you do so, envision the two of you surrounded by sweetness, harmony, and golden light. Close the jar with the stopper and place it on your altar. (Or, if you want to keep it hidden, you can place it in your lingerie drawer.) Announce to the Universe That You're Ready for Love Take a shower. Before you dress but after you dry off, safely smudge yourself thoroughly with the smoke from a bundle of dried white sage. Extinguish the sage. Dress simply and comfortably and sit in front of your altar or somewhere secluded that feels right. Write a note to the Universe, speaking from your heart about the fact that you really and truly are ready for romance, and all that comes with it. If it feels right, you could simply write, "I am ready for love." (You could even write it in glitter glue if you're feeling crafty.) Place it on your altar or somewhere special. Then anoint your belly, heart, and forehead with essential oil of sandalwood diluted in Jojoba oil. SOURCE, TESS WHITEHURST.COM Tess Whitehurst, PO Box 3352, Nederland, CO 80466-3352 SafeUnsubscribe™ nastynancy20@yahoo.com Forward this email | Update Profile | About our service provider Sent by info@tesswhitehurst.com in collaboration with REPOSTED BY, PHYNXRIZNG