#i know next to nothing about modern witchcraft

[yuri-is-online]

Well damn now I want to tell them about witchcraft.

Ruggie: what the hell are you doing?

Yuu: money spell.

R: *looks at the weird jar of random shit that yuu is currently sealing with green wax* ... what?

Y: just trust me bro

And like a week later they randomly get a promotion or a 1000$ art commission or something or just straight up find a stupid amount of money on the ground and rugginald bucchiland is like

Azul comes knocking at their door the next day with the aura of an eager salesman and the intentions of an FBI interrogator

rugginald bucchiland is his official name now, mickey mouse told me himself.

Something I have always wondered about isekai settings is if magic from one world would even work in another because like. Would the forces you are attempting to invoke be able to respond? I like the image of the universe tapping on the window between worlds separating you to try and get your attention because they have some good luck they want to send your way but being unable to make it through.

But assuming it does work I feel like Yuu would need to be in witness protection from Azul. Or like to successfully reverse psychology him into thinking that it wouldn't really be his money if he made it off their spells because he didn't really work for it and strike at his ego a lot little bit.

[samwisethewitch]

Book Review: Freya: Meeting the Norse Goddess of Magic by Morgan Daimler

I just finished a reread of this book and realized I've never talked about it on this blog, even though it ties into a lot of my content.

I've talked about my relationship with Freyja here before. She is the deity I have worked with most consistently in my personal practice, and she's been a strong presence in my life since I was a child. Even before I was interested in witchcraft or paganism, I was drawn to stories and images of Freyja.

Unfortunately, quality books about Freyja are hard to find in English. A lot of the wonderful work being done by Scandinavian scholars and heathens is only available in their native languages. A lot of English-language resources are either very academic and prohibitively expensive, or they are books about goddess worship more generally that only mention Freyja on a few pages. Freyja, Lady, Vanadis: An Introduction to the Goddess by Patricia M. Lafayllve is a pretty good beginner's resource, but it's only available in paperback, which can be a barrier for some readers.

All of this is to say, I was very excited when Morgan Daimler put out this book. I've talked about how much I love Daimler's work before on this blog -- I think they do really great research AND do a really good job of making all that information accessible for a beginner. I have several of Daimler's books on Norse and Irish deities, and all of them are resources I reference often in my practice.

This book follows a similar formula to Daimler's other books on deities, like Odin or the Morrigan. Daimler presents Freyja's mythology, folklore, associations, and relationships. There is also an entire chapter dedicated to Freyja's connection to seiðr, which explains what seiðr is and why it is important in a very straightforward way. There is also an entire chapter dedicated to connecting with Freyja as a modern worshiper.

I like that Daimler includes a section at the end of each chapter about their own experiences with Freyja. I also like that they talk about the importance of actually experiencing the gods and trusting our experiences. It's easy to fall into the trap of thinking that anything that doesn't match up with primary sources is wrong, and I like that Daimler takes time to shoot down that idea.

I also really like that Daimler does not tell you how to interpret the lore. Daimler presents a story, explains the different ways it could be interpreted, and leaves readers to make their own conclusions. This is a style of teaching I try to use in my own work, and I love seeing it done well here.

If you know next to nothing about Freyja, I think this book is an excellent place to start. Everything you need to make that initial connection is here.

Even as someone who has worked with Freyja for years and done lots of my own research, I found a few things I didn't know here. This book also gave me a new perspective on certain aspects of Freyja's lore. This is why it's always great to compare notes with other people.

If you're interested in connecting with Freyja or just learning more about her, I highly, highly recommend this book!

[sapphire-writes]

Lessons (modern!HOTD)

Second installment of Teacher's Pet

pairing: professor!Aemond x student!Reader

summary: After your rendezvous with your former professor, you haven't heard from him. Desperate times lead to desperate measures.

word count: 4.2k

rating: Explicit (detailed warning under the cut)

Warnings: mature themes, power imbalance, pussy slapping, face-fucking, slight degradation, edging, begging, oral f-receiving, fingering, anal fingering, p in v, creampie, cock warming

note: felt silly and wrote a long-awaited part 2!! hope you enjoy it loves!!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

It’d been a few weeks since your office encounter with Aemond Targaryen. You don’t know what you were expecting, a text, a phone call? It wasn’t like you had exchanged numbers after accidentally flirting with him at the bar.

No. He made it clear that he was in a position of power, and that what happened between you should be a one-time thing. 

Should be.

The phrase you’d been pondering since he fucked you silly. He could have easily told you it wouldn’t happen again, giving you a definitive answer.

But he didn’t.

So you held onto that hope as you made your way through the last leg of your semester. You’d seen him around campus a few times, spared some pleasantries that left your stomach fluttering, and your cheeks flushed. But nothing more than that. Still, it was enough to keep you hopeful. You just needed to find the right opportunity again.

Well, maybe after your final for Social and Cultural Perspectives on Witchcraft and Sorcery. Dr. Rivers was one of your favorite professors, and this elective was clearly where her passions lay. But her weekly quizzes preparing you for your final were about to kill you. 

You sighed, making your way to the lecture hall, removing your AirPods. You nearly trip when you see Aemond standing next to your professor outside of your classroom. You force a smile on your face and continue. 

“Dr. Rivers,” you greet your professor and glance at Aemond who stands at the front of the door, handing out papers, “Professor Targaryen.”

Professor Alys Rivers smiles kindly at you, as Aemond hands you a packet. He says nothing, just nods to acknowledge you. It sends a jab of pain slicing through you, the ease at which he ignores you. 

“Professor Targaryen has kindly agreed to proctor this quiz while I attend an important meeting,” Dr. Rivers tells you, placing a manicured hand on his forearm. You glance at her expression, the sly smile she gives him. 

“Fuck me eyes, girl, don’t forget what they look like ever again,” is what Sara had said to you when you’d call her spilling all the details about your dirty rendezvous in Aemond’s office. 

Dr. Rivers was definitely giving Professor Targaryen that look. You found yourself pulling your shoulders back as you took the paper from him, his fingers barely brushing against yours. Dr. Rivers is a beautiful, older woman; tall with flowing dark hair that matches her eyes. She always looks her best when teaching, red bottom Louboutins making her appear even more graceful. 

She’s wearing a form-fitting forest green dress today accentuating her curves. She’s got that perfect Marilyn Monroe hourglass shape; Aliandrawould be foaming at the mouth and calling her mommy if she saw her. I mean, you’re practically on your knees as well, but the feelings of jealousy suppress your adoration for her. 

You move your gaze to Aemond. He briefly meets your gaze, before smiling politely, lifting his hand to usher you into the classroom. You flick an eyebrow up at his dismissive behavior. Aemond’s face remains neutral, and Dr. Rivers glances at you, as though you’ve been standing there too long.

“You’ll do fine, Ms. Y/L/N,” she encourages, assuming you’re nervous about the quiz. 

You force a smile back at her, adjusting your bag before heading inside the classroom, brushing by Aemond. You move to your seat and drop your bag, reaching for a pen. So he’s ignoring you now? How typical of a man who finally gets some pussy. 

The door slams shut as Aemond walks down the aisle; you can’t help but admire the suave way he saunters between the desks toward the desk at the front. You’re barely listening as he instructs what to do when you’ve finished the quiz, eyes trained on the curve of his lips, the definition of his jaw. The veins on the back of his hand as he writes on the whiteboard.

Fuck. 

You wish he didn’t fuck so well, didn’t dress so well, wasn’t so smooth, and easy to talk to. You shake your head before beginning your quiz. Aemond Targaryen was not going to distract you anymore today.

Fucking liar. 

You wish you dressed up and wore a sexy little skirt like you did that day in his office. You glance up from your desk. Aemond is mindlessly flipping through papers, tongue darting out to wet his forefinger as he turns a page. His attention is focused on the task at hand. Annoyance creeps up your spine at his indifference. 

Had you known he would be here you would’ve taken more time picking an outfit. You had pulled your hair out of your face, utilizing a claw clip, and had settled on a spacious, baggy sweatshirt. At least you wore shorts so you could show some leg, but that’s doing little good right now. You nervously chew the back of your pen, cracking your neck as you attempt to focus on the questions in front of you. 

Your eyes flicker back to him. He doesn’t spare you a fucking glance. 

Your annoyance quickly turns to irritation, liquid fire burning through you at his indifference. You can feel your face heating up, becoming almost uncomfortably hot when an idea strikes. You place your pen on the desk. You grab the edge of your sweatshirt, pulling it slowly over your head, revealing the skimpy tank top you have on underneath. You didn’t wear a bra with it, you hadn’t planned on removing your sweatshirt at all.

The cool air flowing from the vents causes goosebumps to appear on your arms and you fight the urge to shiver. You let the sweatshirt drop with a thump on top of your backpack. Aemond glances up at the noise, eyes trained on your discarded sweatshirt, not looking at you. He lets his gaze rest there a moment before returning it to his papers. 

You lean back in your seat, nipples hardening in the cool air, straining through the thin material of your top. Oscar Tully sits beside you at a neighboring desk, propped on his elbow leaning his face against his hand. His eyes widen as you reach for your claw clip, shaking your hair loose. Oscar’s jaw slacks slightly as you cross your legs, raising your arms over your head in an exaggerated stretch. 

You glance at him, noticing the auburn-haired guy staring at you, awarding him a small smile. At least someone’s paying attention. Oscar gives you a lazy smile, eyes falling to shamelessly look at your chest. You run a hand over your hair, twirling some around your finger while reaching for your pen once more. You can’t help yourself and let your eyes glance at Aemond. 

He’s looking at you now. 

Violet and blue eyes stare back at you as you place the back of the pen in between your lips, gently nibbling on the tip. You tilt your head to the side, before leaning forward, making sure to rest your chest on your forearm, letting the top of your cleavage spill, before returning to your quiz. 

Oscar Tully’s mouth has fallen open in a wide grin as he appreciates the sight in front of him; his eyes trained on your chest that rises and falls with each breath. You answer the next question before glancing at Oscar again. He’s handsome, in a frat boy way. You recall hearing he once signed up for this class because he’s into crystal girls. You give him a sultry smile, running a finger down the side of your neck, over your collarbone and the top of your breast. Oscar raises an eyebrow at you and you stifle a giggle. 

“Ahem,” Aemond’s voice flows from the front of the classroom.

To make a point, you don’t look at him, letting your gaze fall from Oscar back to your quiz. You finish early, grabbing your things and bringing them to the front of the classroom, depositing the quiz in front of Aemond. He doesn’t say anything, just glances up at you as you turn away, heading for the door. And yes, make sure you swing your hips as you do so. Maybe that will get his attention. 

“You did not,” Aliandra Martell snickers as you tell her about your shenanigans from earlier that day. 

You were happily seated in your shared apartment, splitting a copious amount of Chinese takeaway with Aliandra as you recounted the tale. You’d been friends with Aliandra since freshman year and had to fill her in on your scandalous hookup with Professor Targaryen.

“And look,” you tell her, showing her your phone, “Oscar Tully has been messaging me all afternoon.”

Aliandra inspects the messages before clicking on his profile. You grab a crab rangoon, biting into it as she squeals with delight. 

“He wants to meet up!” she says, handing you back your phone.

Still chewing, you read the message Oscar just sent. 

“Drinks,” you say nodding, “Yeah, I could do drinks.”

Aliandra can see through you easily, and she frowns at your lackluster reaction.

“Girl, he’s cute!” she encourages, “And it’s just drinks, you don’t have to suck him off of anything.”

“Ali!” you scold, but she merely shrugs.

“Look, all I’m saying is you’re hot, you’re funny, and you’re all-around awesome. If Professor Orgasm can’t see it, then find someone who will,” she finishes, reaching for the spring rolls. 

“Professor Orgasm?” you ask, “Not your best work in the nickname department.”

“I’ll work on it,” she assures, “But, how many times was it again?”

A shiver rolls through you at the memory, all the way down your body and straight to your clit. 

“Like four times?” you recall, cheeks blazing red.

Aliandra’s eyes are wide.

“Damn. I think I’d be dick-whipped too then,” she tells you.

“I’m not dick-whipped,” you tell her. 

“Then prove it,” she challenges, eyeing your phone.

Though your stomach flips and flops, you respond to Oscar’s messages, telling him you’d meet him at the Silk Street Tavern in an hour. Plenty of time to get dolled up. 

You go for something simple and sexy; a little black dress to do the trick. You fix your makeup and hair just the way you like it and settle on your best heels for the occasion. You look good. And Aliandra is totally right, you’re hot and deserve the attention.

You tell Aliandra goodbye; she’s wrapped up in blankets on the couch preparing for a much-needed night in, as you leave the apartment. 

As you make your way out of the apartment and down the front steps you notice a familiar sleek black car parked outside. You slow your steps, as Aemond exits the car walking around to the passenger side. He’s still wearing his button-down, but a dark jacket has been paired over it, matching his slacks. You release a small, breathy laugh as he watches you.

“Are you following me?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. 

“Thought you might want to go for a drive,” Aemond tells you, leaning against his car. 

You fold your arms across your chest, jutting your hip out at him. Your heart beats erratically in your chest as you force yourself to stare back at him.

“I have a date.”

He opens the passenger side of his Mercedes before walking to the driver’s side.

“Get in the car,” he instructs, not turning around.

His tone suggests he will not ask again. You glance at your phone, greeted by an excited message from Oscar that makes you wince. You look up at Aemond, who waits with the driver-side door open. 

Sorry Oscar.

The drive to Aemond’s apartment took little to no time at all, he flies down the streets like a man possessed, going well over the speed limit. His right arm lays lazily on your lap, fingers curled into the meat of your thigh as though he’s worried you’ll leap from the vehicle. 

He lives further into the city, pulling in front of a tall skyscraper, a doorman standing in front. Aemond throws the car in park, holding out his key. 

“Fiftieth floor. Number 531,” he tells you, voice a low growl, “Go inside and wait for me.”

You look at the key he holds out to you, then back at his face.

“What should-”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he cuts you off, “You’re a smart girl. Figure it out.”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat, take the key, and exit the car. Aemond speeds around the corner, presumably parking his car. You walk toward the building on shaky legs, not meeting the doorman’s eyes as he holds the door open for you. 

You walk through the lobby and towards the elevators, heart in your throat. You barely register the time it takes you to get upstairs, finding his door. Nervous anticipation curls in your belly as you walk into his apartment. 

It’s as you expected; clean, and modest, with sleek black furniture and stainless steel appliances in the large kitchen. A black marble counter that matches the modern fireplace in the living room. It’s dangerous, yet inviting, much like Aemond himself. You take a few steps inside when you hear a loud hiss. 

Glancing down the hallway you spot an old large tabby cat, with its tail completely poofed out in anger, ears flattened against its head. 

“Don’t mind Vhagar,” Aemond tells you, appearing from behind and shutting the door, “She’s an old grump.”

“I like cats,” you tell him softly, and Vhagar hisses again, showing all her pointy teeth. 

Aemond hums, moving to stand directly behind you. He brings a hand to your arm, letting his fingertips trail a path up toward your shoulder. Your breath catches in your throat. 

“You live here?” you ask, wetting your lips. 

Aemond hums in confirmation. His long fingers play with the thin strap of your dress, slipping underneath. You can feel his breath on the side of your neck, and smell his cologne. It's dizzying having him this close to you. He brings his free hand to rest against your waist as he presses a soft kiss to the crook of your neck. Your eyes flutter shut at the sweet gesture. 

“That’s the only kindness you’ll get from me tonight,” he murmurs against your neck. 

Goosebumps break out across your skin and your eyes snap open in confusion. You turn your head slightly to look at him, feeling his grip on your waist tightens. There’s a dangerous glint in his violet eye, as his lip tugs upward into a small, satisfied smirk.

“You think you can behave like that, and be rewarded?” he asks, before tutting softly, “We could have had a lovely night together, a little continuation of our last encounter.”

Aemond spins you to face him, bringing his hands to cup your cheeks. Eyes wide you stare at him, lips parted in shock. 

“But someone is a bit greedy, isn’t she?” he asks.

You don’t answer, feeling as though your heart may burst from the confines of your ribs.

“I asked you a question,” he tells you, “It’s rude not to answer.”

You swallow, lower lip beginning to tremble. 

“Yes,” you answer quietly, “Yes I was greedy.”

“Hmm, and what do you think happens to greedy little girls?” he asks, letting his thumbs stroke your cheeks. 

Holy shit. Is this really happening? You can feel yourself growing wetter with every word he speaks, the ache between your thighs becoming almost unbearable. You shift on your feet, lashes fluttering against your cheek as you avert your eyes from his. 

“They need to be taught a lesson,” you answer him, beginning to chew on your lower lip.

“And I’m a good teacher, aren’t I?” he asks, bringing his thumb to your lip, releasing it from between your teeth. 

You raise your eyes to meet his once more.

“Yes professor,” you tell him, face set in a pout. 

Aemond squeezes your chin before releasing you, dropping his hands to his belt. 

“On your knees,” he instructs while unbuttoning his pants.

You sink to your knees in front of him, reaching up to assist him with his undressing. Aemond swats your hands away. You frown but wait for him as he removes his hard cock from his trousers. Your mouth waters at the sight of him; long and thick, slightly curved, and just as pale as the rest of him with a tuft of silver curls around the base. He strokes himself a few times, enjoying the sight of you on your knees before him. 

Aemond brings his hand to the back of your head, fisting it in your hair and tugging harshly. Your head snaps back and Aemond taps the head of his cock against your bottom lip. 

“You want to act like a little slut, I’ll treat you like one,” he says, shifting his hips, “Open up.”

You widen your mouth as he eases his cock in, trying to remind yourself to breathe through your nose as you gag around his length. Your eyes water as he rocks his hips, thrusting himself down your throat. 

“Fuck that's good,” he says, the grip on your head unrelenting with each roll of his hips.

Saliva pools in your mouth, dribbling out the corners and down your chin. 

“Look at you making a mess,” Aemond comments and you hum around him.

You try to move your head, but it's hard with how tight his grip is. He’s completely controlling the pace, relentlessly fucking your mouth for his pleasure. You bring your hand up to cup his heavy balls, rolling them in your palm and squeezing gently. 

You’re rewarded with a throaty moan, as Aemond’s jaw slacks with pleasure. You look up at him through tear-soaked lashes, admiring his expression hazed with pleasure. His eye is on you, watching his cock slide in and out between your lips, watching as your throat constricts every time he thrusts in. 

“There’s my good girl,” he murmurs, cock twitching in your throat. 

You choke around him as you feel his release; warm and salty down the back of your throat. He pulls out suddenly, leaving a string of cum and saliva dangling from your lips and his cock. 

“So pretty like this,” Aemond comments, doing nothing but admire the sight of your swollen lips. 

He helps you to a standing position, before lifting you up and seating you on the counter. Aemond’s hands disappear under your dress, looping around your panties and dragging them down your legs. He leaves your heels on as he discards them, pushing your dress up to your waist. 

You lean back against the counter on your elbows, breathing ragged as he spreads your legs. 

“You think that silly little boy could satisfy this pussy?” Aemond asks, pinching your inner thigh when you don’t respond, “Answer me.”

“No,” you breathe.

“No, what?”

You bite your lip, earning a sharp slap to your throbbing center. 

“No sir,” you tell him, barely a squeak. 

Aemond hums at your words letting his long fingers part your soaked folds. He tilts his head to the side, admiring your glistening sex before delivering another harsh slap. You can’t help but cry out, abdominal muscles contracting together painfully.

“No sir,” he mimics, shaking his head, “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Aemond sinks two of his long fingers into your tight, wet heat curling them upwards toward your sweet spot. Fire pools in your belly, every curl of his fingers bringing you closer and closer toward the precipice of your orgasm.

“Please,” you beg, “Please sir, please-”

“Already?” he mocks, “That didn’t take long at all, you can do better than that.”

Aemond removes his fingers, the sudden emptiness causing tears to form in your eyes. You whimper pathetically, feeling him spread your juices lower, toward your puckered hole. 

“Have you been touched here?” he asks, swirling his forefinger over the ridges of your asshole. 

You nod slightly. You’d explored anal fingering before with other partners, and by yourself. 

“Yes,” you tell him, “Yes sir please.”

Aemond presses his lubricated finger gently into your tight hole, easing into you slowly and with care. No matter what he said earlier, he’s being gentle, making sure you can take what he gives you. Your belly tightens as he leans forward, pressing his mouth against your soaked cunt, as your ass completely takes his finger. 

“G-gods,” you stutter as his tongue flicks against your sensitive clit, “Oh my gods.”

The words come out as barely a squeak as Aemond dips his tongue into your dripping center, finger fucking your ass in tandem with his tongue. It’s so fucking good, your hands bury themselves in his hair, nails digging into his scalp hard enough to draw blood. 

Aemond moans against you as he continues his movements. 

“Please sir, please I need to come,” you tell him, and that’s all he needs to slow his movements.

You cry out in desperation, begging him not to stop though he continues to do so, easing his finger from your ass and peppering your soaked mound with feather-light kisses. You flinch at each kiss he presses against you, far too overstimulated.

“I knooow,” he murmurs, condescendingly, before rising from between your legs and heading toward the kitchen.

You hear the water of the sink and turn your head, watching as he washes his hands. Aemond turns to look at you. 

“Have you learned your lesson?” he asks, shutting off the water and drying his hands. 

You frantically nod, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes. 

“Please,” you beg, voice cracking with desperation, “Please sir, please!”

Aemond tilts his head to the side and appears convinced by your broken cry, the way you tremble on his countertop. He walks over to you, moving some hair from your face before lifting you into his arms, and cradling you against his chest. You nuzzle into him desperately as he walks down the hallway and into his bedroom. 

He deposits you on the soft silk bed sheets, discarding his pants, and unbuttoning his shirt. You rise from the bed, hurriedly removing your dress with shaky limbs. Aemond sinks to his knees before you, undoing the straps of the heel on your right foot, then your left. He places kisses up the side of your calf as he makes his way back to a standing position, finally letting his mouth meet yours. 

You’d missed kissing him, moaning into his mouth as his tongue slips past your lips. His thumbs tease the hardened peaks of your nipples, before tugging on them, sending more wetness pooling between your legs. His arms then wrap around you, pulling you onto the bed with him. 

Aemond lays on his back, motioning for you to straddle him. Eagerly you climb onto him, legs on either side of his slim waist. The head of his cock nudges your slick folds and you lift your hips before sinking down on top of him. You throw your head back, crying out at the delicious stretch as he bottoms out in your warm pussy. Fuck his cock is perfect, it's not fair truly. 

You roll your hips, nails digging into his pectorals as you begin to ride him, chasing the high he denied you so far. Aemond’s hands rest comfortably on your hips, his eye never leaving your face. He soon grows tired of your languid pace, placing his feet against the mattress and thrusting upwards, meeting you as you slap back down onto his thick cock. 

Wet slapping noises fill the room along with steady whimpers and moans you are unable to silence. 

“Please,” you beg, desperately grinding your clit against him, “Please professor I need to cum, please let me cum, make me cum-”

You continue to babble as you ride him, warm pleasure leaking into your limbs, but never quite enough to let you reach your peak.

“You’re going to behave now, aren’t you?” Aemond taunts, laughing slightly as you nod, eyes squeezed tightly shut, “Let me take care of you, baby.”

You open your eyes as Aemond flips you onto your back, his cock never leaving you. He slings your leg over his shoulder and pounds into you desperately. The fire in your belly ignites, abs tightening, toes curling from pleasure. 

“Cum all over my cock pretty girl,” Aemond tells you, snapping his hips furiously against you.

The coil inside you snaps and your pussy tightens around him, constricting him as your orgasm shatters through you. Aemond fucks you through it, prolonging your pleasure until he finds his release inside of you. He doesn’t pull out, simply lays beside you, with his cock inside your warmth. 

“I think I’m going to keep you,” he murmurs, lips ghosting across your cheek, “Keep you right here, would you like that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, drunk with pleasure and wanting nothing more than to stay right in the position you’re in.

Aemond hums, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder. 

“What kind of breakfast do you enjoy?” he asks, after a moment of comfortable silence.

“You’re letting me stay the night?” you ask.

Aemond’s arms tighten around you.

“I said I’d like to keep you,” he tells you, chuckling. 

You snuggle closer to him, keeping a leg wrapped around him so he can stay inside you as long as possible. 

A meow comes from the doorway, causing you to lift your head. Vhagar watches you, less defensive than before. Perhaps she’s warming up to you as well.

note: as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are GREATLY appreciated (but never expected) though you will receive an internet kiss on the forehead from me if you do so, okay love you bye!!

[god-blog]

My connection with Artemis (so far)

This is going to be a long post but I just wanted to get this all down somewhere

I had been experimenting with Hellenistic paganism and witchcraft on and off for years, but over the last year particularly I've been researching modern and historical witchcraft and getting better at using my tarot cards. All of my recent readings had been coming up scarily accurate and then this happened.

About four months ago, I was walking in the woods by my house and found my name on a rock with a heart next to it. The rock was purposely placed in a hollow of a tree that lined up with the setting winter sun.

(yes, my Greek mythology obsessed self named myself after Hermes) While I was there, I felt a huge overwhelming amount of love. Like I haven't felt in years. I almost cried. I felt so incredibly loved and valued.

I asked all my family and friends but they all denied writing on the rock. There are about 150,000 people in my neighborhood so someone else could have the same name, but I've never met anyone else named Hermes. It could be for the actual god Hermes; I've never seen this rock again but I am 80% sure that this tree is someone else's worshiping spot as well. I've found sticks and logs strategically placed around the tree and today I found a plank propped straight up by four rocks across from the tree.

Going back to the second time I went to see the tree, I got an image of a glowing stag meeting me at the top of the hill even tho deer don't live in these woods anymore.

When I got back to school, I did a tarot reading (I left my cards there while on break) and asked if there was a deity trying to contact me. I pulled the four of pentacles (control/stability), the ace of cups (new spiritual beginnings), and the prince of wands (assurance). So, I took that as a yes lol I asked if whoever it was was with me at school even tho it's in another state or if they were tied to the woods. I pulled the high priestess reversed (isolation) which I took as they were stuck in the woods

I thought it was a local nature spirit or Dutch folk god (bc the Dutch settled in those woods and my family is Dutch) but my research didn't find much that aligned with what I was seeing.

At the same time, I was doing things Artemis followers do wo even knowing it: I painted a deer on the mason jar I've been using as my altar bc it felt right and made it easier to worship (also that image of the stag from the tree), I bought a moonstone for my altar bc it felt right, I've been tracking the moon phases, and for the last two years I've been regularly spending two to three hours outside a day learning abt/rescuing local nature

It wasn't until I came home for summer that I realized that deer, moonstone, woods, wildlife, the practices I was already doing were ALL associated with Artemis. I was a bit slow lol So, I did another tarot reading asking if Artemis was the person trying to contact me and I pulled the eight of wands (sudden positive growth/breakthroughs) which I took as a yes. I asked what I could expect if I worked with her, and I pulled three major arcana! The empress (strong female energy), THE MOON (uncertainty vs creativity, also nothing is more moon than Artemis lol), and the world (completion, fulfillment)

so those were all pretty good and I've been collecting stuff to make my altar bigger than a single mason jar lol

[littlewitchygreen]

The Commercial Witch

This post is a little unlike my others, but it is one that I find interesting and have been wanting to make for a while, if simply to talk about it as more of a think piece. Since I began actively practicing witchcraft, I've been seeing a rise in companies and brands promoting and selling things related to witchcraft, as well as a host of social media influencers making witchy aesthetic posts with elaborate altars and setups. While there is nothing inherently wrong with either of those, it has led to a side effect that I've seen mentioned offhandedly but not really talked about much: the commercialization of witchcraft.

Influence

While I love the aesthetic posts as much as the next witch (both because they are pretty and organized well, and because it sometimes sparks ideas of my own), I don't so much love the implications such posts give about the nature of witchcraft in the modern day.

I've seen many new witches ask what crystals they have to buy, and what plants they should start with, and how to make a grimoire look picture perfect, and where to buy the best tools, and is a drawer full of divination tools enough or do they need more? All perfectly valid and genuine questions for those still learning, that deserve full and honest answers. But I've also seen just as many posts from people wanting to learn witchcraft that lament that they could never afford it, and that is where the problem I feel lies.

Posts from witchcraft influencers and those who simply like the aesthetic and are not actual witches imply through what they show that it is the things that make the witch rather than the person themself - and that the only way to harness magical ability is through items rather than practice and skill. So, not knowing any better, new witches pick up on that and believe the same.

To be clear: material goods are not a problem. If dozens of tarot decks make you happy, go ahead. If collecting crystals adds value to your practice, do so. If you find a box full of A-Z herbs useful, absolutely get it! My problem comes with the fact that none of these collections are necessary to becoming a witch, and it is often presented as such. The earliest witches we have records of did not have access to the wide range of spices and herbs we do. They did not have crystals, minerals, and stones from around the world to harness energy. They often did not have libraries of books to learn from - and likely, many would not have been able to read even if they did. They (usually) did not have specially made tools for their craft. They used what was available, they used what they knew and made and grew themselves, they learned from each other or practice or observation, and they used items that they already owned.

And so can we.

Capitalism and Witchcraft

As the other half of this topic, the relationship between capitalism and witchcraft is also concerning to me for a variety of reasons. I have noticed an increase in regular stores selling witchcraft goods in kits and little box sets and the like, and upon inspecting them, most are... inadequate, at the least. Generally, they are either very surface-level or very appropriative - neither of which should be something we should be thrilled about.

From selling white sage for 'smudging' and a cheap tarot deck in Sephora's Starter Witch Kit to TJ Maxx selling herb kits, mini mortars and pestles, and cheap divination decks as a Halloween gimmick, large companies are trying to cash in on the renewed interest in witchcraft. The increase in interest itself is not offensive - many witches I know appreciate the more open acceptance of a practice many of us have had to keep hidden for fear of judgment and safety. However, with large brands treating it like a trend without doing research or marketing it appropriately, it can cause harm.

I made a post recently about cultural appropriation in witchcraft, and two of the signs of appropriation are lacking respect for a practice and commercializing it. Large brands marketing things like tarot decks as fun games to play with your friends ignores the rich historical and cultural context attached to the cards, as well as the spiritual significance they take on for many readers. By giving surface-level books on how to read them, or failing to provide books at all, they encourage a lack of knowledge in the subject - another red flag for appropriation. By selling herb kits for 'smudging' containing things like white sage or palo santo, they are taking from closed practices and traditions that were often made illegal to those from whom they originated (yet another red flag), and teaching newcomers to as well.

This isn't to say a new witch cannot buy their first items from brands like this - many do not have the option of locally sourcing their materials from small businesses that put in the work to sell items respectfully, as these are still often far and in between. There may also be safety reasons or other reasons why they are unable to acquire tools in any other way, and my intent is not to pass judgment on those who do for whatever reason. My intent is to urge new witches to look beyond the surface of what these companies present, and to critique the companies for selling these items the way they do to begin with.

Some of these companies have removed their items due to backlash - as Sephora did with their kit - while others simply do not care. And, there is nothing we as individuals can do to stop the companies from trying, without organized collective action; and I do not believe our communities are at a place where that effort can be made in earnest just yet, though hopefully in the future they will be.

Moving Forward

So, from where I stand, it is up to us as consumers of both media and materials to think critically about what we are consuming. Whether that be questioning assumptions we make based on what we see online, or questioning the ethics of what we are purchasing and where it comes from.

Our lines will look different depending on where we are, what we practice, and the resources available to us. All I urge people to do is to do what they can to be intentional in their choices, and that if consuming from large companies and social media to put in the work to deepen the surface-level understanding they offer and grow on your own.

[cupcakemolotov]

Feel Like Home: Chapter Three

When your date night goes weird, sometimes you gotta SOS call your BFF. Particularly when you wake up with a slight case of amnesia and no idea where you are or who you where with. (Even if the bed is super comfy and the sheets smell nice. It’s still an emergency.)

Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Alternate Universe - Fantasy; Dragon!Klaus; Human!Caroline; Temporary Amnesia; Witchcraft; Canon-Typical Violence; Magical Shenanagins; Bonnie is the best; Caroline's Date Goes Sideways

Apologies for those not on A03, I have recently had to lock my account due to AI Scrapping. For everyone else, you will need to be signed in to see my stories.

-

“Well,” Caroline said carefully, her mouth dry as the desert. “That is… definitely a dragon.”

Next to her, Bonnie made a slightly choked noise, but Caroline couldn’t look away from the creature that lay draped along the tunnel in front of her. She’d never thought of a subway tunnel as small, even these old, abandoned ones that were no longer in use, but she had no idea how he fit.

How had they gotten him in? More importantly, how was he going to get out? Swallowing, she took in what she could see in the low light: the long, sharply wedged shape of his face, a sinuous neck that smoothed into shoulders that were almost too large for the walls to contain. His scales were dark in the dim light, the rasp of his lungs heavy and deep over the pounding of her heart. He was gorgeous and terrifying, and she didn’t know if her fingers were trembling from adrenaline or fear. Enzo had said Klaus was sixty feet in length from nose to tail, and right then, Caroline believed it.

“Teleportation,” Enzo said.

Finally breaking her gaze away, Caroline glanced at him. “What?”

A quick grimace. “They teleported him here. It must be one of the reasons they needed the unicorn, they’d never have managed it otherwise.” His jaw clenched for a moment, a sharp shift of muscle that spoke of a deep anger. Caroline couldn’t tell if the flush was from that anger, or the steadily increasing heat they’d been wading through for the past forty-five minutes. Dragons, even dragons who were being used like batteries, produced a lot of heat.

As soon as they’d snuck into the tunnels, the temperature had gone from frigid to the hot, balmy humidity of the tropics. The closer they’d gotten to where Klaus was trapped, the hotter it had become, to the point that even concrete beneath their feet had become uncomfortably warm though the soles of their shoes. They’d been forced to risk Bonnie magicking them some heat resistance before their shoes started melting.

Bonnie made a low noise. “I hope he eats them.”

Caroline almost choked on her gasp. “Bonnie Bennett!”

Her jaw jutted out. “You’ve never seen an unicorn. It didn’t deserve this.”

“Nothing deserves this,” Enzo said. “What our Dragon Overlord will do to the witches for this?” He paused and shook his head. “His cities have always been safe for unicorns.”

Caroline thought about that as she shoved at the sleeves that were slipping down her forearms, the lightweight material too warm. She’s already lost her jacket somewhere in the tunnel, the material too heavy to knot around her waist, and she was trying very hard not to think about the dull ache that has started in the arch of her feet. No matter how comfortable originally, no high heeled shoe was meant for this kind of adventure.

But not even the physical discomfort could distract her from the fact that she’d tossed a drink into the face of the human form of the dragon in front of her face. Past her had had some balls, and she was going to have to find them again, because Enzo said she had to touch him to activate whatever he’d left on her skin.

Touch the sixty foot, massive dragon that left her hind brain screaming in terror. Who protected unicorns and had apparently spent weeks charming her into forgiving him well enough that she’d spent the night. Planned to spend more than one, based on her bag. When this was over, someone was going to owe her a drink.

“How do we get to him?”

There was a pause, and Enzo glanced over his shoulder and gave a little shrug. “We run.”

Caroline’s eyes darted around the tunnel. It was wide open and the perfect place for an ambush. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Invisibility isn’t a spell I have in my toolkit, and unless my favorite good witch has been tinkering with new magic, it’s not in hers either.” Enzo spread his hands and ignored the glare that Bonnie shot in his direction. “There is what, two, three hundred meters between us?”

“Have you looked at the floor?” Caroline hissed. “Old tunnels are not made for sprinting, much less in heels.” She jabbed a finger towards the area around the dragon, which was shimmering like the desert sky in the hot noon sunshine. “Let’s not forget Mt. Doom over there. How is he not melting the walls?”

“Magic,” Enzo said with a shrug. “Another couple of hours and it’ll be colder than Hades down here.”

The heavy implication that it would then be too late hung between them and Caroline grimaced. “Bonnie?”

“I can’t see any magical traps, but that doesn’t mean much,” she rubbed her forehead. “There is too much magic to see anything clearly.”

Blowing out a breath, Caroline wiped at the sweat on her face. “So, to recap: we have to clear whatever the hell distance three hundred meters is so I can hypothetically break the spell on the giant sleeping dragon by touching him, without tripping on any of the grates or the uneven floor, and we have to do all this while hoping it’s not booby trapped or someone who can go invisible isn’t going to kill us?”

Bonnie and Enzo exchanged glances.

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately.”

The rest can be found here on AO3.

[creature-wizard]

Next in The Satan Seller, Mike claims that Sue invokes the blood and resurrection of Jesus to banish a demon that attacks Mike and allegedly throws him off of his bed. (Good thing the demon didn't decide to inflict more lethal damage, right?)

Then Mike soon gets sent off to Vietnam, and it's horrible, and it strains his faith. He comes home, undergoes therapy (which of course doesn't do much for him), gets back to religion (which of course does do something for him), and then for the first time he learns about baptism in the Holy Spirit. At first he resists the idea, but then he accepts it and prays for Jesus to give him the Holy Spirit.

(We're developing a bit of a pattern here - Mike Develops A Problem, Mike Discovers A New Jesus-y Solution, Mike's Problem Gets Solved.)

Also, it's More Misogyny Time:

“I LOVE YOU, honey!” I grabbed Sue around the waist and hugged her the next morning. “I forget whether I told you I loved you or not last night. I was so excited about receiving the Baptism in the Holy Spirit. But—gee, I wish you could have, too . . .” “But I did, Mike,” she said, squeezing me. “Oh, you're putting me on, baby. You didn’t say anything.” “It was your show, Mike. Anyway, one at a time.” She giggled. “But I received right beside you. And I spoke in unknown language, too.”

So Mike and his wife Sue both undergo a vital (according to this book) religious rite together, but it's just Mike's show??? Like, either...

He basically had his own wife convinced that he's the Christian Faith's Main Character, or

He's making up shit to position himself as the Christian Faith's Main Character.

Apparently a side effect of getting the Holy Spirit is wanting to speak out about the occult even more, which again, there is literally no evidence that Warnke was ever seriously involved in. Does he show some knowledge of the occult? Sure, yeah. But it's about as much as anyone might know from some casual dabbling. The rest is all conspiracy theory that has nothing to do with actual occult practice or belief except insofar as edgelords adopted some it after the ideas entered into the public consciousness. The conspiratorial designs he ascribes to his Satanic Illuminati are lifted straight from early modern witch hysteria and antisemitic conspiracy theories.

So anyway, here's what he claimed that he and a friend went around claiming about the occult:

“The problem is that too many people think witchcraft is fun and games—completely harmless but, it is not!” I told them.

“That’s right, Mike,” Dave said. “We discovered that occult practitioners open themselves to mental derangement, criminal tendencies and possible self-destruction or the destruction of other persons.”

“Yes, you're right,” I said in agreement. “I saw that first hand when I was involved in the occult.”

“You know, many witches say that only Satanists and black arts practitioners go off the deep end and kill people or commit other crimes,” Dave added. “But we researched eleven recent major criminal cases in this country which resulted in thirty nine deaths. Occult practices were directly or indirectly linked to each case. We discovered that these cases were not traceable just to Satanists but were linked to specific occult practices, such as tarot cards, astrology, witchcraft, reincarnation, astral projection, ESP, thought transfer, and mysticism.”

“Well, that certainly debunks the witches’ case,” Sue pointed out. “But which practices are considered occult and which are not?”

“In America, about eighty different occults are practiced. Some of the more popular ones are those we just mentioned, plus Ouija boards, spiritualism, table tipping, levitation, hypnosis, clairvoyance, numerology, reading tea leaves, phrenology, colorology, water divining, automatic writing, clairaudience, psychokinesis, pendulum healing, crystal gazing, dream analysis, person programming, mind control, fortune telling, materializations, voodoo, palmistry, meditation, white — magic, I Ching, telepathy, fetishes, talismans, seances . . . ”

So essentially, if you practice literally anything that isn't Pure Wholesome Christianity™, you're a murderer waiting to happen.

Literally all modern magical practitioner take note - it doesn't matter what you practice or not, it doesn't matter if all you're doing is tarot readings, the Satanic Panic targets you. Always has.

[gebder]

I was planning to only talk about Ash themself in propaganda for @original-character-championship but, fuck it ! world lore time, since I want to explain why her name is that and give context for his story so lore is needed.

The entire story is about Ash fucking around and sticking her nose where she shouldnt. Btw. So if any of this intrigues you, you're identifying with him

There's one goddess. She herself doesn't know how she came to be. *Why* she came to be. She tried to make things, to fill this void she was in. First were the angels, in their own little village in space. They look like this. and their petals are more open the closer they are to the goddess

and they were entirely... unsatisfying. Boring. Angels are satisfied with how things are and never try to create anything of their own and it drives the goddess mad. She made them this way because she didn't want to give other beings too much power, didn't want to accidently mess something up, but now she can't understand her own creation. She keeps them to be messengers for her in cases of emergency.

Next were humans. Two things stand at the basis of humanity, to set them apart from the failed civilization. Those things are the want for knowledge, and the ability to create. Now, her way to not give too much power was the concept of mortality.

She wanted mortals to want to live. So she made demons, the guides to the afterlife, to look scary to them on purpose.

Humanity is basically a reflection of the goddess, made for her to help herself figure out what she wants by seeing what we end up wanting.

Once you die, you have three options:

1. live in your own little pocket of reality where everything in there is in your control- for better or for worse- forever, in a sort of goddess simulator. She likes to watch these guys to gain inspiration.

2. Remain a ghost, watching the world whilst being basically unable to affect it. Most people who choose this are either people with family they want to see what happens to, or just any type of grudge or attachment they want to see play out. Ghosts can possess objects and only objects, and might then get stuck in these objects. There are people who can see ghosts, it's a recessive gene that's incredibly rare and it's basically an accident. I have a character who's a ghost possessing a robot body that was made for her as a loophole.

3. Nothing more for you, ever. Sleep. An entirely valid choice.

Magic's all around this world, especially in nature. Witches are scholars who study how to use it. Maybe wizards would fit better but I just like the aesthetic and the sound of witches. I also like the connotation to modern witches. A big point of my oc world is it's urban fantasy, modern and all, and there aren't any modern wizards.

Witchcraft is a respectable career path in my oc world these days. It's seen as another branch of science atp. It's even figured out empirically, experiments sometimes held to figure out how witchcraft works, since it's just part of how the world works. It's like physics

Many hospitals have a resident witch who does what they can to help people. Since witchcraft is tied to nature, giving traits of an animal is a safe process. That's why Ash was made a parrot, to also get parrot lungs

Witchcraft is a respectable degree and has special schools for it. It used to be done by pretty much anyone who could comprehend it, but these days it's systemized so pretty much all witches are pressured rich kids

With how the world's magic is from nature, both flowers and gems have huge cultural significance. I chose a lot of motifs for characters with google open on meanings for gems and a floriography dictionary I downloaded.

Angels can actually watch humans through flowers around.

Ash's name, besides being there to be an opposite to demonboy Frost's name since they're meant to be total opposites in the narrative, is after an ash tree's flowers. Those flowers, in floriography, represent grandeur- standing for how all her story follows him seeing all sorts of grand things on accident.

LOOK at my notes we have motifs

don't ask why Juno gets three flowers. hes privileged

Ash working in a flower shop represents how they're surrounded by knowledge of this grand world all the time, but never are able to decipher it and are never truly aware. And also as an excuse for him to be able to recognize flowers easily so he can say the names so the audience can find the meanings easily 👍

that's all, folks ! hehe infodump

[frannyj]

A Mixture of Confusion & Precarity

My hands were locked in a grip around the steering wheel of my car as the AC softly blew against my frayed hair. I did not know what to think or why I did not get out of the vehicle. It was hard to differentiate whether the anticipation I felt was because of my appointment, or the preparation for stepping out into the sweltering heat. For a moment, I could imagine myself frozen in the winter, cooly but peacefully crystalized like the leaves, even if I was sat against my warm, cushiony seat. The heat itself wasn't what I was wary of, but the chain of events that would start once I left the comfort of the cold. I predicted that each step I took away from the car was like putting my hand over a fireplace when I was a child; naively splayed, seeking warmth but eventually getting burnt as comfort came with pain. Still, I got out of the car and made my way, finding my fixation on temperature out of character and, frankly, a little embarrassing.  

This anxious reflection would make someone think that I was frightened about a damning doctor's appointment, however, I was just going to a psychic reading. In my mind, I knew that psychic readings held more merit than a simple card selection or trace of the lines in my palm, but I did not know what exactly it was. I felt very anxious, even before stepping through the door. Subsequently, I realized my confusion was linked to my family. Growing up, my father was very fearful and forewarning about anything related to witchcraft. A mere glimpse of me playing cards (e.g. go fish) would invoke a scolding on magic and the devil. Though I rigorously opposed his beliefs from my mind, maybe out of spite, the lingering fear of what if always remained. Still, the danger of witchcraft was essentially shoved down my throat for years; pacifying my existing dread as it was replaced with annoyance. My father attributed this perspective to the opposition of God and his will. In a mixture of resentment and interest in academia, denouncing his beliefs and the whole practice itself was much easier for me. In my opinion, God and magic seemed unlikely as science could explain the world's phenomenons, and behaviours were based purely on cynicism. So, ultimately, I was uncaring and cold towards those who directly expressed different views to me. 

Suddenly, I saw myself encircled by modernity — upholding reason, logic, and science as the absolute truth in society. I was unsure if I displayed Max Weber's inattention to religion and mysticism, or agreed with Charles Taylor's deduction that religion was eradicated, and magic forgotten through scientific advancements (Josephson-Storm, 2017, p.4). Or, on another latter, was I opposing my upbringing similar to an old definition of modernity? I felt as if I attempted to "[designate] a break over a passage of time, [creating a] combat [with victors and losers]" to detach myself from my family (Latour, 1993, p. 10). Arrogantly, I felt more intelligent and in tune with the world than my father, essentially winning a fight that should not have been created. My ignorance overwhelmed me, making me feel more embarrassed than I did over the inconsequential thoughts of the cold in the car. Though I did not know much about mysticism, I knew that modernity could not take over my entire mentality and refused to stay ignorant. 

Within my ten minutes of uneasy contemplating, I had finally made it to the door. I tried to clear my mind before stepping in, taking deep breaths and listening to the cars zoom by next to me. There, I wished to gain a different mindset or at least some information to dispel my confusion through the session. I was aware that the psychic was as human as I was, so nothing could be solved right then and there, but I still desired to change my perspective and will.

In connection, I later learnt that tarot cards — deemed by ceremonial magicians of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn — are potent instruments to develop a "magical will" and spirituality (Gregory, 2012, p. 278). This let me feel better about my intentions when going to the reading. Additionally, Karen Gregory notes that tarot cards are "essentially limitless and open to continual personal and intuitive speculation," allowing me to keep an open mind throughout the session (Gregory, 2012, p. 278).

The psychic was a very kind woman, greeting me energetically and bringing me to the room. Walking in, I first noticed that she had the same chairs as me. It seems very mundane to register, however, I became fixated on it, relaying my discovery to the psychic. She smiled and noted the nice coincidence, but I could not stop thinking about it. The red chair offered some familiarity, a glimpse into my own reality while still existing in hers. To be clear, it reminded me of Gregory Bateson's findings — stating that what we perceive and believe constructs the world around us (Greenwood, 2009, p. 146). In turn, this leads to the assumption that every individual lives in the same reality and truth, making us ignorantly unaware of different possibilities in life (Greenwood, 2009). The chair left a tremendous impression, but perhaps because I had come to the realization about my exact behaviour minutes prior.

It presented as a bridge between two worlds: the scientific (my mind) and the magical (the psychic). This reminded me of Susan Greenwood's use of Gregory Bateson's ideas of ideation — imagining ideas through mental maps and categories — and abduction  — recognizing patterns to organize information through analogies (Greenwood, 2009, p. 151). The chair acted as the "connective pattern for understanding the world," showing me that multiple strands of knowledge and familiarity are real, "expressing and explaining realities through metaphor" (Greenwood, 2009, p. 152). To put it simply, the chair allowed me to a mental categorization — ideation — and the relation of our objects let me see how both the magical and rational world can connect — abduction.

After a bit of small talk, the actual reading began. To start, she instructed me to shuffle the deck of cards with the purpose of thinking about what I wanted to hear or come forward. This struck me as odd. I did not think I would have a hand in actual participation; instead, I was prepared to sit and listen to anything she uttered. When I inquired what the purpose of this was, she noted the disclosure of information and personal energies. She then explained that many clients did not want her to mention certain things or for them to come forward, and that could be the same for me. I quickly told her that any topic could be mentioned.

It did not make sense that particular things could be omitted, especially since evidence — or at least a belief — in this practice could be found there. However, was this a modernist thought? I was unsure that this proved that "the social order never [corresponded] with the natural order" because of people's unwillingness to be completely vulnerable to tarot cards (Latour, 1993, p. 42). Instead, I felt as if I was trying to purify evidence away from the spiritual experience rather than encountering them together; essentially "rendering mixtures unthinkable" to mediate any future effects (Latour, 1993, p. 42).

However, this can also be interpreted that I wished for all thoughts to be accessible, in order to gain the full supernatural experience rather than evidence. I was attempting to meld two categories together, which funnily reminded me of Latour's comment: "The less the moderns think they are blended, the more they blend" (Latour, 1993, p. 43). I was not entirely as modern as I thought, agreeing with Latour that these (and my) narratives cannot be divided.   

I recognized the "potential capability for magical consciousness" and agreed that the "human experience must be incorporated into the wider picture" of society (Greenwood, 2009, p. 157). Essentially, the Not Only but Also model — that Greenwood presented — was at the forefront of my mind for the success of this reading. I needed to remind myself that multiple webs of knowledge interconnected and existed within this room, even if disparate, to gain a fuller perspective (Greenwood, 2009, p. 146). 

The reading itself heavily spoke about my prosperity — in terms of money and connections in my life. Surprisingly, she noted the trip to the States I was about to embark on, which made my jaw drop. I could rationalize that multiple people would be travelling since it was the summer, however, this was a prominent stressor in my life, so the predicted success of it left me optimistic.

She noted that I had a very healing energy, stating that pursuing a job that highlighted this quality would make me very successful. Repeatedly, she told me how she saw success and fortune in my life, which conjured a mixture of feelings. My nails curved deeper and deeper into the flesh of my hands each time money was mentioned.

Here, I was fully expecting a center on my feelings or perhaps even love, but money kept taking the forefront. It was laughable, really, the way it connected a rational, capitalistic world through a mystical tool. To be frank, it was frustrating. The reading was not modern as it noted the aid of my "healing energy" with success in society — dispelling any separation I found comfort in. It left an overwhelming and strenuous view of my future, leading with the same question Latour notes: "[How can I] aspire enlightenment without modernity? (Latour, 1993, p. 12). After leaving the reading, I wanted a separation of my spirituality from rationality as I became irritated and devastated. I hated that my suspected future centred on money (something I have sparsely now) and wished to escape this stressor.

Where was I to turn to? It reminded me of the constant manifesting practices on social media. Did I have to pursue that? The mere thought made me wary as it seemed like a capitalistic tool; falsely promoting that it was "more than money — it is about spiritual fulfillment too" (Kieffer, 2020, p. 81). In a basic form, the Not Only but Also framework can be identified in Kieffer's comment — by interconnecting different frameworks — but I still felt uneasy (Greenwood, 2009, p. 157). My "healing energy" felt associated with a new form of capitalism, as how the psychic spoke was as if my merit was solely that, and I needed to utilize it (Kieffer, 2020, p. 85). 

Though it seemed like this on the surface, Kieffer notes that practices of manifestation and spirituality can offer a different application. Through the "[emphasis on my] own agency in employing spiritually enriching practices," a new path can be taken with higher enrichment (Kieffer, 2020, p. 86). However, what was holding me back? Specifically, what made me urgent to set separations in things like spirituality and modernism?

This pointed to an overwhelming sense of uncertainty around me. The psychic noted this as well, not with my life as a whole, but with my job (which I loathed). Karen Gregory reports this perpetual state of precarity, remarking how fear can latch to enchantment amidst the daunting state of our realities (Gregory, 2012, p. 276). Her findings directly linked to my mentality and downward spiral, especially after the reading. Regardless, maybe I needed to change my perspective again. Gregory notes the use of tarot, stating, "in tarot [a] decline is also [suggests] that other elements are at work and that transformation and rebirth will follow (Gregory, 2012, p. 265). With this, it is clear that I need to — like Kieffer recommends — find the agency to transform myself and my life. By utilizing my precarity instead, I can "come to feel [new possible] connections and [develop] despite the realities that continue to present themselves" (Gregory, 2012, p. 276).

All things considered, my psychic reading conjured many unexplored feelings and reflections about myself. Though I do not know what I truly believe now, I wish to put in the effort to change with the aid of the many researchers I mentioned above.

[tunaafishyy]

Plato & Genshin’s Khemia

It’s not actually a theory, it’s just a lore reference rabbit hole.

1. Plato’s Timaeus begins with a tale from Sais, Egypt

Per the story, the city of Sais happens to contain the histories lost to the rest of the world because it’s protected by the Nile from periodic calamities from Heaven. Some interesting quotes from the tale below.

Timaues Quote 1:

"And from this calamity the Nile, who is our never-failing saviour, delivers and preserves us. When, on the other hand, the gods purge the earth with a deluge of water, the survivors in your country are herdsmen and shepherds who dwell on the mountains, but those who, like you, live in cities are carried by the rivers into the sea."

Timaues Quote 2:

Periodic destruction of civilization leading to history being lost … nice

"Whereas just when you and other nations are beginning to be provided with letters and the other requisites of civilized life, after the usual interval, the stream from heaven, like a pestilence, comes pouring down, and leaves only those of you who are destitute of letters and education; and so you have to begin all over again like children, and know nothing of what happened in ancient times, either among us or among yourselves.”

Timaues Quote 3:

The fair and noble race here is referring to the Athenians… remember how Enkanomiya had a Greek theme 🤔

"In the first place you remember a single deluge only, but there were many previous ones; in the next place, you do not know that there formerly dwelt in your land the fairest and noblest race of men which ever lived, and that you and your whole city are descended from a small seed or remnant of them which survived. And this was unknown to you, because, for many generations, the survivors of that destruction died, leaving no written word."

The tale also talks about Atlantis and stuff… but those quotes are for a future post… maybe…

2. Timaeus also mentions how the patron goddess of Sais is Neith

Neith was an Egyptian deity attributed with the creation of the universe, and the governing of how it functions.

She’s actually the goddess of a lot of things… including fate, wisdom, the cosmos, hunting, and weaving.

Fate... weaving... cosmos... setting laws of the universe... 🧐

Oh, and she was also commonly depicted wearing a deshret… the namesake of King Deshret

Also worth noting that Neith was often interchangeable with Isis and Athena per certain accounts.

3. In real life, the city of Sais supposedly had a statue of Neith with an interesting inscription

Per Plutarch, a statue of Neith/Isis (called the Veil of Isis) had an inscription stating:

"I am all that has been and is and shall be; and no mortal has ever lifted my mantle."

A different account by Proclus claims the inscription contained a third line:

“…The fruit of my womb was the sun”

4. The inscription led to…

The "lifting of the mantle/veil" came to represent the "discovering of truth", and later became incorporated in modern witchcraft / esoteric practices in a ritual called the Rending of the Veil.

And 'rending' (tearing something into two or more pieces) just so happens to be the description, per the Pale Flame artifact set, of what ushered in 'divine wrath' against Khaenri'ah.

“So too did I fail to stop them from tearing away the veil of sin, ushering in a tide of divine wrath, destruction, and foolishness…”

While trying to find specifics on the ritual itself, I came across a reference saying the ceremony originated from "Khem", which they stated was an ancient name of Egypt…

5. Etymology of chemistry

According to the "Etymology of chemistry" on Wikipedia, one of the etymology connections for alchemy mentions Kimiya (the name of the Sumeru NPC), Khemia (alchemy of Khaenri'ah), and Khem = Ancient Egypt.

It also references how the term alchemy is interchangeable with “Egyptian Art”

Which sounds very similar to Dainsleif referring to Khaenri’ah alchemy as “The Art of Khemia”

6. The Art of Khemia

… Don’t these look a lot alike?

The End

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

Charles x Reader, Erik x Reader, Logan x Reader One Shot

A/N: Here is the one shot requested by my lovely anon! I do hope you enjoy this one! 💕💕💕 I was literally listening to a Harry Potter classroom ambience while writing this for some odd reason haha. Also there will be a part 2 and feedback is greatly appreciated lovelies! 💕💕💕

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. You became close friends with Logan during the civil war and he has been like a father figure for you ever since. During the recent years you were discovered by Charles and Erik, and after finding out your identity, Charles recruited you into being a professor at his school. But though you became close with the trio over the years, there are some things you wish to keep hidden.

Warnings: language, angst

“Okay class.” You stood up from your desk to face the chalkboard behind you as you moved on to your next lesson, “Does anyone know what the six popular types of poetry are?” You felt a sudden rush of wind behind you, making your hair blow towards your face as you rolled your eyes, turning around to face the young silver-haired teen who displayed a proud smirk on his face while sitting in his seat as if nothing happened. “Peter Maximoff, if I catch you doing laps around my classroom one more time…………..I’m going to turn all your band shirts into bands you hate.” 

“What? Aw come on Ms.Hekate.” Peter slid down in his seat with his head thrown back, exasperating as he did so. “Not my band shirts.”

“Keep it up and you’ll start to see Madonna and Abba on your shirts.” You smirked. “Now, since you oh so greatly volunteered to answer, what are the six popular types of poetry?”

“I don’t know, the ones that rhyme.” Peter shrugged at the question, causing some of the students snicker in response.

“Well,” you chuckled at his answer “there are some poetry that have rhymes, but there are also some that do not necessarily have to rhyme, like blank verse and free verse. Blank verse for example, is a poetic form that features rhythmic rules, such as iambic pentameter, but no rhymes.” You faced the class as you leaned against your desk, using your telekinetic abilities to grasp the chalk and write the info down on the board, a violet mist forming around your fingers and around the piece of chalk. “Free verse on the other hand, is an open form of poetry, which in its modern form arose through the French vers libre form. It does not use consistent meter patterns, rhyme, or any musical pattern and thus tends to follow the rhythm of natural speech. Now, does anyone else know what the six types are? Anyone?” You looked around before picking on the red-haired girl in front who had her hand up. “Yes Jean?”

“Um the six popular types of poetry are Haiku, Diamante, uuuhhh Cinquain, Ballad, Sonnet, and Limerick.”

“Excellent Jean! That is correct.” You grinned, the chalk behind you hovering in the air and moving rapidly as it wrote down the different types along with a short description beneath them.

“Ms.Hekate?”

“Yes Peter?”

“Why do you only teach literature and folklore and mythology classes? How come you don’t teach us magic witchcraft and potions and stuff, you know?”

The students perked up at his question, their eyes sparkling up at the idea as they whispered to each other words of excitement.

“That’s a good question Peter. You’re welcome to ask professor Xavier about it or start a petition. Now, I want you to open up your books and turn to page 394. I mean 36! Sorry! Please turn to page 36. We will be doing a reading of the poem ‘To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick.”

“Virgins huh?” Peter snickered, making you glare at him lightheartedly.

“Quiet now Peter before I make you read the whole thing in front of the class.” You grabbed the leather bound book off your shelf before hoisting yourself up on your desk and standing upright on it, straightening the black turtleneck sweater you wore and smoothing down your gray plaid pants.

“Uuhhh Ms.Hekate.” You heard Scott speak up.

“Yes Scott?”

“Why are you standing on your desk?”

“A different perspective you might say. Something all of you will be trying tomorrow.”

“Wait what?”

“Alrighty.” You cleared your throat before speaking loudly, holding your book out before you with one hand while your other hand was shoved in your pocket. “To the Virgins!-“

“What’s this talk of virgins?”

You stopped, your eyes widening at the voice that just now spoke while your own became trapped in your throat as you saw a man enter your classroom, lingering in the back as his piercing blue eyes bore into yours.

“Ch-Charles.” You blinked. “I-I didn’t expect you here.”

The students looked between you and Charles with amusement painted on their faces as they giggled at your flustered expression, some of them leaning over to whisper in each other’s ears.

“Well don’t let me stop you from whatever it is you’re doing.” Charles smiled politely at you, his eyes lit up in curiosity from your stance on your desk. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be……quietly observing.”

“Well thank you for joining us Charles. But, you know better than anyone else, that there are only participants in my class, not observers. So if I ask you a question you best be ready to answer it.” You snarked, smirking at the puzzled look that now masked his face before clearing your throat once again, holding your book out before you and reading off the page you had turned to.

“To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time. By Robert Hedrick.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today

Tomorrow will be dying.”

You glanced up from under your lashes to see Charles’s eyes still glued to you as he listened to your every word. Such a simple action made your cheeks heat up and your stomach spin as you held the book higher to cover your flushed face.

“The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he’s a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime,

You may forever tarry.”

You closed the book back up, setting it aside as you sat down on your desk and faced the students. “Now, can anyone tell me what the biggest element of this poem is? Yes Kurt?”

“Ummmmm………Carpe Diem?”

“Correct!” You smiled at Kurt as the piece of chalk behind you wrote Carpe Diem in large letters with a line underneath. “Carpe Diem is in fact the biggest part about this poem. Now….Charles, can you tell me what Carpe Diem means?”

Charles straightened up in his seat as he looked up at you confounded, surprise hidden behind his eyes on the fact that you kept your word on having him participate. “Well it means seize the day.”

“Yes, true. Carpe Diem is a Latin term most commonly known as ‘seize the day’, but, the term originally means ‘to gather or pluck the day’. It was originally used by the Roman poet Horace to express the idea that time is limited and we should enjoy life while we still can. His full directive was ‘carpe diem quam minimum credula postero’, which is translated as ‘pluck the day, trusting as little as possible in the next one’. Now, for all of you night owls out there who can’t stand the sun like me, Carpe Noctem is perfect for you because it translates to ‘seize the night’.”

You briefly glimpsed up at your clock, hissing and nearly falling off your desk once you saw that you had only a minute and a half left of your class. “Alrighty my little poets! Today’s word of the day was Carpe Diem or Carpe Noctem! I want you all to ingrain that into your minds! Write it down, paint it on a canvas, make an artwork out of it, tattoo it on your forehead I don’t care! ACTUALLYDONTDOTHELASTONE! Please, for the love of all things holy, do not tattoo your foreheads. We will finish this lesson tomorrow and discuss some more themes. For homework, I want you all to pick a poet and one of their poems and try to analyze some of the themes we have already discussed. I will be having you read those poems aloud to the class. Extra credit will be given to those who decide to come in costume, dressed up like their chosen poet. The more dramatic the better! Fake beards are welcome, fake phalluses are NOT! For the love of the gods, please choose something PG. We are not learning about Greek Satyr plays, let’s keep that a thing of the past thank you very much and kindly. You will all be respectful to each other’s performances! There will be no snickering, no laughing, no chastising, and I will not have you behaving like a babbling, bumbling, band of baboons! Those who choose to do the things I have specifically said not to, will receive a very friendly spirit with a penchant for grabbing the bare feet of problematic students at the foot of their beds during the stroke of midnight.” You stopped to take a breath after having to ramble everything just as the bell rang.

“Thank you all for being a lovely bunch and I will see you all tomorrow! Good day! Hasta la vista! Fare thee well! Fly, you fools!” You shouted over the bell ringing as everyone got up from their desks and bustled about, getting ready to go to their next class.

“Did you really just threaten the students with necromancy?” Charles quirked a brow in amusement as he slowly made his way over to you once all the students left your classroom.

“Ehhhhh an empty threat really.” You shrugged, playing it off though you failed to truly disguise the smirk that pulled at the corner of your lips.

“Right.” He chuckled, “And whatever was the issue with the phalluses? You seemed to be really adamant about that.”

“Well…..long long time ago, way back in the lands of ancient Greece.” You leaned back on your hands as you began to explain the story behind your dislike for satyr plays and their rather vulgar uses of the phallus, swinging your loose legs over the edge of your desk. “When I was just a wee teen, or you could say 15 in human years, my sisters Athena and Artemis took me with them to roam the markets of the mortals. Being the rebellious and angsty teen that I was, I didn’t want to be dragged along for their shopping, so I separated from them in search of food and something new to discover.”

“And? Did you find food and something new?”

“I did discover something new, though to be honest I wish I didn’t. But I disappointedly did not find any kolokithopita, which I was extremely craving at the time, it’s like a flaky pastry dough filled with zucchini and feta cheese and it is soooo good, you have got to try it.” You gestured with your hands as you tried to describe the food. “But anyways, back to the story. I heard some laughter coming from afar so I followed the sound and found a group of people gathered around a stage. Being the curious teen that I was, I tried to get a good look at whatever the hell these people were laughing at. Lo and behold. Turns out, I accidentally stumbled upon a Satyr play, which I’m sure you’ve heard about. And let’s just say, I have never u-turned and bolted so fast in my entire life and never have I ever been more traumatized.”

Charles laughed at your storytelling, his frame shaking with mirth as he shook his head at the thought. “You poor thing.”

“Yeah, I wanted to scoop my eyeballs out after seeing that. And I think I might’ve puked on someone on my way out.” Your voice became barely audible at the last part. “But also because one time during a poetry reading I took part in way back, some asshole thought it would be funny to wear a fake phallus on full display and try to reenact one of the scenes from those kinds of plays.”

“Well then that explains your dislike for them.”

“Yes, very.” You chuckled. “You know, your students want me to teach witchcraft and magic.”

“Do they?” Charles tilted his head at your words. “Let me guess, was it Peter that mentioned it?”

“It was. How did you know?”

“He may have tried to…..nonchalantly bring it up in my class. Hypothetically, is there a possibility in being able to teach such things?”

“Just really basic spells and potions. Most of the things that I can do are my natural abilities though. Waaiiit…….is that a possibility?”

“Possibly. If there’s no harm in it and none of the students have to sell their soul to you to learn your tricks.” Charles teased.

“Oh definitely not. But they’re welcome to make sacrificial offerings in the form of food.”

Charles laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his boyish laughter rung out through the room, causing you to chuckle along with him.

“So…….are you serious though?” You stopped, turning your head to look at him with eagerness hidden behind your eyes at the prospect of having your own magic class. “Will I really be able to teach magic to the students? Like my very own Hogwarts?”

“I’m sure I can make some arrangements.”

You nearly jumped off the table in excitement, clasping your hands together between your knees and biting the bottom of your lips to hold back a squeal before breaking out into a big grin. Charles smiled softly at your reaction. A tight pressure like feeling formed within his chest, not one of pain, but of adoration as he took in the pure cheerfulness that painted your features. Your irises which resembled the galaxies in hues of purples and gold, now sparkled from your emotions against the sunlight that managed to hit them at the right angle.

“How could I ever thank you?”

“You don’t need to. The students enjoy having you, that in itself is enough.” Charles smiled before looking up at you intently. “You know. All this poetry and you never read me any.”

“Maybe because you’re not special.” You teased.

Charles feigned a wounded expression, dramatically throwing a hand over his heart. “Ouch. You really do know how to break my heart y/n.”

“Oh please.” You rolled your eyes before grabbing your poetry book and shoving it at him lightly. “Here, you read one then.”

“Me? For whatever reason? Is it because you fancy my voice?” He smirked, poking fun at the time that you admitted you found his voice to be soothing.

“Well don’t go tooting your own horn. You’re no Christopher Lee.” You scoffed, trying your best to hide the blush that crept onto your cheeks, cursing yourself and wishing you had never told him that. Now you were never going to hear the end of it and he was to make sure of that.

Charles chuckled softly at your statement as he opened up your book and flipped through the pages. You stared at the dark wooden wall at the other side of the classroom, listening to the crisp sound of the turning of pages until Charles paused at a certain one and scanned the contents on the page, his eyes lifting to briefly glance up at you before clearing his throat.

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!”

“She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron.” You noted, recognizing the same lines that you became fond of when the piece itself came out. “I’ve always loved that one.”

Charles closed your book back up, his blue eyes lingering on the distant look that was held in your eyes like the stillness of the air that accompanied the dark clouds of an oncoming storm. The room had started to cast a shadow on your face, deepening the small scars that lined your face from the many battles you had once fought. And though he had come to recognize those, his gaze became fixed on the dark circles under your eyes, knowing they weren’t there a day ago.

“Y/n is everything alright?” He asked, his voice quiet and soft, and his brows creased in worry. He didn’t need to read your mind to know that something was deeply troubling you.

“Hm? Oh yeah I’m fine! I just…….been having trouble sleeping, nothing major.”

“Are you sure? You know if there’s anything upsetting you, you can tell me, I’m here.”

“I know.” You smiled at him, reaching over to hold his hand. “I’ll come to you if I need anything. Thank you Charles, for everything.” You slid off your desk to place a soft kiss at the top of his head. “Now, I’d hate to leave you and all, but I don’t have any classes for the rest of the day and I’m feeling a bit tired so I’m going to go rest.”

“Of course. You take care of yourself darling.”

“I will thanks. See you later Charles.” You smoothed your hands over his soft hair before leaving the classroom and heading up to your room. A tugging sensation bubbled within your chest from having to lie to him, filling you with feelings of guilt. But you had to. You didn’t have the heart to tell him about the nightmares, or the searing sensation that coursed through the skin on your back whenever you woke up from them, the vividness of your dreams and the excruciating pain a constant reminder of your past.

Charles watched you leave the room in silence with a small frown on his face that only grew deeper the further away you went. He knew you spoke the truth about not being able to sleep, but he couldn’t help but feel there was a more chasmic layer to your explanation. And though he dared not to read your mind to find out the truth and instead trusted you to tell him when you found it in yourself to do so, something told him that whatever was slowly eating at you would soon consume you whole.

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing 

Masterlist | Next 

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

[90spumkin]

A Dash of Truth

Summary: Reader is a witch but doesn’t want everyone to know, especially Spencer.

A/N: This is a fantasy AU which is a new concept for me. I hope you all like it. Thank you @the-queen-of-moons​ for helping me! Also the amazing graphic is by @spencers-beanbag ❤️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Witch! Reader

Warnings: swearing, details of spell casting, mentions of a case, reader is a little rude at times

Word Count: 1.9K

Paperwork days were most of the time quite except when Derek Morgan had worked for the BAU, there was never a moment of silence. Today however there was a different sound filling the office.

“I swear on everything good and cuddly, if this headache doesn’t go away, I may get one of you badass agents just to shoot me.”

I looked up from my work to make eye contact with my curly haired coworker, Spencer, across our desks. Then a groan brought our attention to the blonde walking towards her ‘bat cave’ holding her head. I looked back towards Spencer who only shrugged and returned to his files. I glanced back towards the way Penelope had gone and hoped she felt better soon.

It wasn’t long till my hopes were crushed. “I swear if I could name this headache, it would be called Luke Alvez.” This exclamation of pain brought out a “Hey!” from Luke himself and giggles from everyone else. Penelope just winced at the loud sounds, finished making her coffee, and made her way back into her office. I contemplated offering her help and sharing my secret before deciding helping a friend was more important.

When I reached the entrance to the dark corner of the building I gave the door a light knock, not wanting to cause Penelope anymore pain. A faint permission to enter was the only sign of life I was given. The room wasn’t filled with the normal luminous light of computer screens. Instead, the human embodiment of sunshine was submerged in darkness.

“Penelope? I brought something that may help?” I kept my voice slightly above a whisper. The poor women turned on her desk lamp and turned to look at me. “Hi buttercup, what do you have for me?” I smiled at her attempt to still be cheery even though she wasn’t feeling quite so cheery herself.

I laid a crystal and a vial on her desk and explained, “This is a clear quartz crystal it helps in healing and pain relief. I also brought you some peppermint oil, apply a small amount to your temples and it should help sooth the headache as well.”

“Oh honey, you are a life saver. I will definitely give this a go! Thank you!” Penelope gave my hand a squeeze and I bent down to give her a gentle hug and a soft kiss to her head. “I hope it helps.”

When I returned to my desk, I found Spencer there leaning against it, waiting for me. I blushed a little when he gave me a smile. I couldn’t help the fact his presence made the butterflies in my stomach erupt.

“Where did you disappear to?” Spencer questioned as I took my seat. I looked towards the way I had just come, “I tried to help Penelope with her headache. I was getting worried.” I looked back at Spencer who was staring at me with a small smile playing on his lips, “Y/n you’re ama- a good friend.” I could feel my blush deepening as I mumbled a “thank you”. With a nod, Spencer returned to his desk.

It wasn’t but a few hours before Penelope was returning the crystal and oil I had given her. She leaned against my desk and asked, “So spill. How’d you know that stuff would work?”” I couldn’t help but to look away from her piercing eyes shyly before replying, “I- I practice modern witchcraft, nothing extreme just charms, crystals, oils, excreta.” I looked back at her before adding, “I don’t really advertise it so please don’t say anything.”

Penelope smiled at me and grabbed my hand and gave it a light squeeze, “Oh honey, I won’t say a word, but only on one condition.” I gave her a questioning look in which she responded, “You have to teach me your witchy ways.”

Over the course of a few weeks Penelope and I had spent countless hours together after work and between cases. It was mostly nights filled with small castings and gossip. Penelope was a fast learner, so it left plenty of time for the two of us to talk and catch up.

On one particular night we were in the middle of brewing a few healing oils when my phone rung. It was Spencer. Penelope may not be a profiler, but anyone would notice the way my whole body froze up and a smile grew across my face. Penelope giggle and nudged my shoulder reminding me I actually have to answer the phone.

The phone call didn’t last long it was just Spencer letting me know I had left my jacket at my desk and that he put it in his to go bag for safe keeping. Of course, this only excited Penelope and she unleashes a sea of questions: “He totally likes you. Do you like him? Are you going to tell him? You should totally tell him.”

My response to her was simply, “I could never tell him. It would ruin everything.” My best friend gave me a pointed look as she said, “You have to be honest with him, you never know what magic could unfold between the two of you.” I couldn’t help but snort at her choice of words.

The same night as the random phone call from Spencer, there was a Phone call from JJ. We had a case. This case took almost a week to solve, and it was particularly hard. Our prime suspect was good with his words and was constantly trying to lead us in the wrong direction. Lucky for us we have a genius who’s good at solving riddles.

On the way home a thought kept running through my mind: What if I made an oil and cast a truth spell over it. I finally decided I was going to do it and started writing down what I would need: 4 ounces of grape seed or jojoba oil and one ounce of sandalwood oil.

I was missing an ingredient and couldn’t think of what it could be. That’s when someone to my right cleared their throat and said, “One ounce of pure vanilla extract.” When I looked up to see who helped me, I was met with a small smile and a wink from Emily.

As soon as the jet landed, I rushed home only slowing down to tell Spencer goodnight. Luckily, he didn’t ask why I was in a hurry, which I am grateful for.

Once I was home it didn’t take long for me to gather all my ingredients and begin my spell. While swirling the blended oils and extract gently in a clockwise motion I chanted, “Truth be told, no more lies. Now it’s time for honesty. Telling the truth will set you free.” I carefully poured the oil into a bottle, concentrating on not getting any on my skin which would activate it.

The next morning everything seemed fine until I got to work. It wasn’t strange of me to greet my coworkers in the mornings. What was strange was the thing I said after my greetings.

When I walked in I saw Tara first and my greeting to her went something a little like, “Good morning. You look tired.” Tara only laughed and responded with, “Well thanks y/n so do you.”

I was lucky that Tara didn’t take offense, but I didn’t mean to say that. I rushed to Penelope’s office and was blessed to fine Emily there as well. My intensions where to say, “Hi guys. I have a problem.” And then explain but what actually came out was, “Why is it always so fucking dark in here.”

Penelope and Emily both just looked at me and then giggled. Emily however seemed to know why I was saying these out of character things, “Y/n I think you may have gotten some of that truth serum on you.”

My response was, “Well shit.”, while Penelope’s was, “What truth serum? Emily how do you know the witchy ways? Wait you told her and not me?”

I took Penelope’s gasp for breath as a chance to explain what happened. This took a little longer than necessary because every time I would talk about one thing what I really thought would pour out like word vomit. Especially when I started explaining the whole situation with the suspect and why I wanted to do the spell.

When I finally stopped talking the door opened right on cue and Matt stuck his head in to let us know it was five minutes till briefing. He looked a little confused when a panicked looked crossed my face and I said, “Do you not know how to knock.” I instantly apologized and looked to Emily and Penelope for help.

Emily nicely dismissed Matt and turned to me, “We need you on this case since Rossi took personal time. The spell will most likely take 24 hours to run through your system. Until then we’re going to have to come up with a good excuse on why you’re being mean.”

Penelope chuckled when I started to pout, “This isn’t fair. Stupid Rossi, stupid psychopaths.” Emily shook her hand as she led me to what was going to be the longest day of my life.

I had never been more right in my life. The whole time we were on the case every thought that ran through my mind escaped through my lips. I was never one to challenge anything about a profile or standup to local cops who were being pigs. Until now. The team never really got upset just more concerned and any time anyone asked if I was okay my response was always, “No I’m a fucking idiot and can’t do anything right.” And would walk away.

It wasn’t until we had made it back to the BAU that Spencer asked what was going on. “Y/n what has gotten into you? You’ve been acting out of character all day.” It was like Spencer talking to me was all it took for every thought I had about him and my situation to come spilling out.

I told him about the suspect and the spell, I even went into detail about my lessons with Penelope which led to me confessing my feelings because of course I had to say something about that damn phone call. When I realized everything, I had said to him I practically started sprinting away from him, ignoring his calls for to wait.

It wasn’t long after I had gotten home that my phone started to ring. Penelope’s name lit up across the screen and when I answered she instantly began to interrogate me. When I didn’t instantly tell her what happened or what I was thinking, I knew the spell had worn off.

I sighed into the phone the same time there was a knock on the door. I looked through the peep hole and was met with the sight of curly brown hair. All I said to Penelope was “I have to call you back” and hung up while she was still asking questions a mile a minute.

When I opened the door I was greeted with a small smile. Instead of a proper greeting I asked, “Spencer, what are you doing here?” Spencer took a step closer as he said, “I don’t need a truth spell to tell you I love you too, y/n.”

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Permanent Taglist: @brooklynxnicole​ @the-queen-of-moons​ @imdefinitelyfloating​ @muffin-cup​ @theintimatewriter​ @averyhotchner​ @spenxerslut​ @spenciegoob​ @april-14-blog​ 

[booksandwitchery]

Part VI: The End of the Beginning

It is some time after I started Simply Wicca by Lisa and Anton Stewart that I decided--I can get behind witchcraft and paganism as a meditative practice of ritual, visualization, self-responsibility, and as a celebration and worship of nature. It excites me and interests me like nothing else ever has. But did something like this already exist for non-theists? I couldn’t be the first person. And I found the answer soon after.

I did some online digging this time, and happened upon a website called NaturalisticPaganism.org. 

The subheading on the homepage says “Paganism firmly rooted in the empirical world.” They see magic and deity differently than other Pagans--they understand magic as a psychological technique, and understand gods as metaphors for natural phenomena, as archetypes, or as symbols for all that is beyond human control. 

Ex: A naturalistic pagan may offer a prayer to the Egyptian god Ra, or the Greek god Prometheus, seeing them not as literal personalities, but as metaphors for the life sustaining power of the sun or the human drive to discover.

The site author John Halstead says “Religious humanism posits that human experience and reason are sufficient basis for ethical action, and religious naturalism posits that a scientific, empirical understanding of the material universe is a sufficient basis for awe and reverence. Together, Naturalism and Paganism can balance each other out. Naturalism keeps Paganism true to the empirical world around us, while Paganism can enrich Naturalism with symbolism and myth. Naturalistic pagans do not seek to reconstruct the ways of ancient Pagans, but instead draw inspiration from their myths and rituals to create a religion that is both intellectually and emotionally satisfying to modern people.”

If that was not enough already, Halstead goes on to say this:

“Many ancient Pagans embraced naturalistic, allegorical interpretations of the gods and myths. Even the most dogmatic Naturalistic Pagan should admit that there are many things science has yet to discover or explain. The difference between the supernatural and the natural-but-undiscovered-by science? We know it when we see it.”

Finally all my sleepless nights of research were paying off, I suppose--I’d finally found my “something,” and it truly did feel like I had found a home in the universe, like someone had squeezed my hand and whispered, “You’re not alone.”

My next step was to formulate a plan of action, which is as follows:

1. Continue to use many sources to learn about the natural world and Paganism in conjunction. Write down everything with the understanding that you are practicing as a non-theistic nature worshipper who believes in the power of visualization, meditation, and personal responsibility. Some terms synonymous with Naturalistic Pagan are Druid Naturalist, Atheopagan, Secular Witch--the list goes on, and they are all pretty much the same thing.

2. I will begin practicing at my own pace, but I will never stop researching or learning. Witches should always be learning.

Now you’re all caught up on my journey, which really is just beginning. This blog shall be a record of my spiritual progress as a practicing naturalistic pagan witch, or whatever the hell you want to call it--it doesn’t matter too much. And I am terrified, and also excited. Welcome to my becoming--I hope you follow my journey.

[magnificent-monsters]

My thoughts and opinions on the recently released Monster High: The Movie pictures

Starting off with our main wolf, Clawdeen, I wanna say that her look is really great and stays true to the vibes that Clawdeen had in the original animations.

It feels like something she would have designed and wore in the og show and I really think it suits Miia Harris!

She has a confidence and sass that is perfect for someone playing a character like this.

The only thing that really bothers me is that I’m not a big fan of the purple hair, it makes the whole thing feel very disconnected from how Clawdeen typically is portrayed.

Other than that, I think she is perfect for what I feel like the movie is going to be!

Next in this lineup is Frankie Stein, who looks amazing from head to toe! The entire costume is exactly what I imagined her looking like in a live format.

From the pops of color in her various accessories to her getting to have her trademark stitches, this is the perfect outfit for the daughter of Frankenstein.

Ceci Balagot seems to be able to pull off the super sweet personality of Frankie in the perfect way while still bringing a fresh new take to her story.

Ceci has a very charming feel to their portrayal and while I don’t normally like Frankie all that much, I truly believe they will rock as Frankie and perhaps change my mind about the character..

The one thing I don’t like for Movie Frankie is that she doesn’t appear to have the signature bolts in her neck but other than that, I’m very excited to see what she is like in the film!

The next ghoul we have Is our favorite vampiress, Draculaura! She looks very cute and modern in her outfit while still having the flair of cartoon Draculaura.

The various shades of pink used throughout her costume are so pretty and the earrings with her initial are iconic

Nayah Damasen has the potential to be an amazing version of Draculaura that has a lot more seriousness to her character than we’ve been able to see in the cartoons.

I do, however have a few more nitpicks about Draculaura than I did with the first two ghouls.

Foremost, while I do like the split-dye of her hair, I do wish that they had put it into her famous pigtails, even if they were lower down on her head or turned into Wednesday Addams-esque braids.

I also think making the choice to make Drac interested in witchcraft makes her feel like a new character rather than a- forgive the pun- revamped version of a character we know and love.

But digressing from all that, Nayah is looking to be a wonderful actress for our best vampire girl!

Next, We have the one and only Cleo De Nile! Wearing clothes that look very reminiscent of her “Boo York, Boo York” clothes, I think she looks very pretty and semi-regal.

I actually think she looks like a mix of Evie from Descendants and Nefera than herself, but I actually like it and don’t think that it’s necessarily so much of a bad thing for a live movie.

The champagne colored jewelry and strappy details make up for that by adding a very Cleo-like feel to the outfit.

Jy Prishkulnik definitely seems like she has the attitude to be a very good adaptation of Cleo, adding a bit more of a grown up sensability to the character than we’ve had before.

I don’t like that she doesn’t have a lot of bandage wrap imagery but that is a very minor thing to not have.

I can’t wait to finally see more of Jy as Cleo when the movie comes out!

And finally the last of the Ghoulfriends for the moment, Lagoona Blue. I’m just gonna come out of the gate and say that this looks nothing like Lagoona should.

Besides the fins on her legs and the fish scale print on the shorts, this does NOT resemble Lagoona in any way, shape or form, and it makes me sad to see  (even though I don’t like Lagoona at all.)

I was really hoping that the live Lagoona would be as sporty and energetic as cartoon Lagoona is and possibly get me to like her.

Seeing as we have yet to see anything of Lagoona in the teaser trailers so far, I’m hoping that Lina Lecompte’s performance of her makes up for the crummy costume design.

For the first of the other characters revealed, we have the Manster himself, Deuce Gorgon! He looks super cool and trendy.

While I am a little disappointed that he doesn’t have any true gorgon details to his costume besides his eyes and a few little flesh colored scales, I think the entire look is actually very well suited to Deuce’s personality.

We haven’t really seen much of Case Walker as Movie Deuce, but from the snippet we got in the teaser, I think he will be just as laid back and chill as his animation counter part.

The next Manster we have is our fiery friend, Heath Burns! He looks very similar to the animated Heath but still different enough to look new and stylish.

The way Heath looks in this picture makes me think that he will be framed as more of an antagonist rather than the goofball we’re used to which would be an unexpected but not terrible idea, per se.

This is the only teaser we have of him so far, but I think Justin Derickson could be a really neat Heath under the right circumstances.

We now move on to the first of the Monster High Faculty, Headless Headmistress Bloodgood! This look is perfect for a live adaption of Bloodgood, from her hairstyle all the way down to her boots!

She truly looks like the horse-riding principal we all love and it’s so refreshing to see.

I believe Traci T. House will be so good as the Headmistress and will be sort of the wise woman in the Ghoulfriends’ lifes.

Last but not least, we have the all new character, Mr. Komos! I like the typical, teacher-y sweater-vest and the fun checkerboard socks that he wears.

Komos kind of reminds me of Dracula in the 2016 reboot series and it honestly works for this adaptation of Monster High.

He could have done with a couple more monstrous features than just the horns, but other than that, I think he’ll fit into the MH universe very well.

Kyle Selig and Mr. Komos could turn out to be a good addition to the overall lore and feel of Monster High.

And with that, so ends my thoughts on the first bit of teaser images for Monster High: The Movie! Despite some of the flaws it has with costuming and characterization, I think that the film will be fun to watch and think that it could become really popular!

[marigoldwitch]

Let’s Talk About Elitism in the Witchcraft Community

It always seems to come back to this but I want to talk about witches in the community who give confusing, and often times misguided, advice to new comers in an attempt to separate themselves from the “soft” or “baby” practitioners.

I’m on witchtok (a community on an app called TikTok, in case you were unaware of what I’m talking about) alot and there’s something I noticed about the witches there; something I’m sure alot of you have noticed too. There’s 2 major groups of witches on the app. The ones who post “easy” and “simple” spells and information, and the ones who post up reactionary spells and information.

There seems to be this need for witches who feel better than or more educated (in their opinion) to posts videos in response to or in direct opposition of other witches. Usually these other witches are seen as newbies to the craft. And if they aren’t new (as in they’ve been practicing for a while) they’re considered uneducated or unwilling to learn.

The “why aren’t witches reading books anymore?” and “I think it’s them being more worried about aesthetics than actually learning.” comments are frustrating and reveals a huge disconnect and sense of privilege within our community. I’ve also seen comments / videos specifically criticizing the popularity of spell jars in recent years. The funniest thing though is that a lot of them are suggesting doing charm bags instead... as if that’s not just another form of a spell jar.. except it’s in a bag... not a jar :/ They want so badly to be “other” and “better” that they’re actually giving advice that’s basically saying “hey instead of using X container to hold your spell, have you tried using Y container instead?? If you read books and not just get your info from Tik Tok blah blah blah.” As if they’ve suggested something grand or much different than what someone is already doing.

Let’s Talk Privilege 

First lets be clear that privilege doesn’t mean you haven’t had “hard times” in your life. And being privileged in one way doesn’t make you privilege in every aspect. You can have class privilege while also experiencing hardship in relation to another aspect of your life. I am white, I have white privilege. I’m also a poor high school drop out. Which means I don’t have class privilege. It’s important that I make this clear because I know some people are gonna identify in someway with one or more of the under privileged groups that I’ll be talking about and that’s normal. That doesn’t mean that you can’t also identify in someway with one or more of the privileged groups that I’ll be talking about. 

Why don’t you just read more books? / Why don’t you just experiment with more tools, supplies and options like crystals, candles, herbs, tarot etc? / Why don’t you just invest in better tools and supplies? 

This falls under class privilege. Not everyone can afford to spend money on these things. “Well the library is free” not everyone can afford to spend time on these things. And I know, to someone who has the money and has the time, these sound like excuses to just not work “hard enough” (which we’ll get into why this statement is ablest in a minute) but it’s legit the reality for a lot of people. Let’s also remember that public libraries in underfunded poorer communities are.. well under funded and don’t offer the same selection that a well funded library would. Also the cost of going to and from that library (or a much better one with a better selection). Personally, I live in what is known as the bible belt and my local (underfunded) library has 5 books on witchcraft. 3 are reference books and can not actually be checked out. The other 2 require a 10 dollar deposit to check out. I kid you not. You have to pay to check out those books.

I saw a comment that said “crystal grids and crystal magic is very beginner friendly and easy, why don’t more witches do this?” And I want to shake them and scream “crystals cost money you doodoo head!!” LOL.

Supplies and tools are expensive. Yes, there’s plenty of information online about how to use what you have on hand... and those same witches sharing cheap and easy alternatives to supplies and tools are also sharing cheap and easy alternatives to spells and rituals. Hence how spell jars became so popular.

“They just don’t want to put in the effort” / “They aren’t working hard enough” / “They’re just in it for the aesthetics”

This falls under ableism. 1. Expecting other witches to match your energy and effort is hella ablest and you should stop. Not only is it unrealistic to assume we’re all on the same page, it’s unhealthy to project your own expectations on to {most likely} complete strangers just because you share one interest [witchcraft] with them. 2. Some people are visual practitioners (whether they’re ND or not) and so they need to and work better with seeing what they’re doing. It’s obvious that the type of witchcraft lots of ND people use is the type that is overly criticized in our community. (ND = Neurodivergent)

Physical disability is also something to keep in mind. Not everyone is physical able to do all the things you can do. Personally I experience hand tremors. Basically using an herb bundle to do a smoke cleansing is a huge ass mess for me and is more headache than it’s worth. So I opt out of smoking cleansing that way. It doesn’t mean that I’m not trying hard enough or that I’m not putting in the effort to make it work... it means I have a disability that makes it more difficult and I’ve found other ways to do these cleanses.

Also, witches are allowed to like pretty things. Like pretty things and valuing the beauty in your practice is all perfectly fine. There’s nothing wrong with wanting your space, yourself or your practice to look “pretty.” 

I Need To Mention Cultural Awareness

Another reason something might not make sense to you is because it isn’t for you, literally it has nothing to do with you or your practice and so you’ve chosen to put it down rather than mind your business. That’s really all I can say about this as I practice a fairly common form of folk magic and the practice, as well as the culture in which it’s derived from is open. So there’s nothing I do that’s really considered for specific cultures only. I’d rather someone else with more experience talk about this in more detail. 

Misguided Information and Superiority Complex 

When sharing information and experiences it’s probably better to do so without needing it to be in reaction to someone else’s information and experiences. I don’t think there is anything wrong with sharing other forms of magic or witchcraft. I think most of us want as much information to be as easily accessible for as many people as possible. The issue comes from only sharing this information and experience because you think the oppositions is/are wrong. Not because you want the help people learn. And actively putting down certain information because it was shared via social media, while also insisting that your information is the actual correct information.. while also sharing it on the same social media platform.

“Don’t believe everything you see on the internet.... except me. You can believe me.” Is what it feels like. And I think what gets to me the most is the amount of UPG that is sprinkled into a lot of the information that these “I know better” witches share. Thinking you know better or know more because you’ve been doing it longer or doing it different, doesn’t actually mean you do. 

I’ve said this before: No one is sharing their entire practice online

“Why are you only doing spell jars?” why do you assume that the only time they practice witchcraft is for a video / photo that they post online? 

Better yet, why are you demanding they share more than they’re comfortable with sharing? Why do you feel entitled to know everything about their practice? 

Just because a witch’s Tik Tok, Instagram, Tumblr etc is only filled with pretty spell jars and aesthetic photos of teas, doesn’t mean that’s their entire practice. That’s the part they’re willing to share with the world. And even if it was their entire practice, why do you care? Why is it your business? When did they ask you to tell them what you thought of their practice?

In conclusion

Before you make that post or make that video about how X witches aren’t doing Y thing right because I did it Z way, remember we’re all different. Times change. And something being popular doesn’t mean it’s not effective or useful. Something being mainstream doesn’t make it bad or stupid. And witchcraft becoming more and more modernized doesn’t mean it’s losing it’s roots or that the next generation of witches are gonna be “sissy babies with nothing but a bunch of pretty jars.” and even if they are, it’s non of your business.