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satanachia666 · 4 months ago

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Astaroth's Menstrual Moon Ritual

Astaroth’s Menstrual Moon Ritual uses the powers of lunar energy and menstruation to manifest specific intentions and desires. In this ritual, one gives offerings of menstrual blood and rose petals to Astaroth in exchange for the manifestation of intentions and desires. This ritual has helped me deepen my connection to the Great Duke/Duchess of Hell, and I hope it does the same for anyone interested in performing it on their own!

Perform this moon ritual with Astaroth while menstruating and feeling well enough to actually do the ritual. Some of us experience more severe period pain and discomfort than others, including myself. I speak from experience when I say that doing a ritual is usually/often not doable when one is experiencing severe PMS and menstruation symptoms. I intentionally made this ritual short so I could do it while operating with lower spoons. I’ve found that making rituals accessible according to my needs leads to the most effective ritual performance and better results. Feel free to adapt this ritual according to your specific practice and needs, regardless of whether those needs are physical or spiritual.

This ritual is best performed under a moon in a Venus-related zodiac sign, but feel free to perform it during any moon phase. The best times to perform this ritual are at night, sunset, and sunrise. This ritual has only 8 steps, so it’s flexible enough to do on its own or incorporate into a larger ritual.

Items:

A rose gold, red, or pink chime candle

Dried rose petals

A cauldron or burning bowl

Astaroth’s seal drawn on a piece of paper - Feel free to write your intentions on the back!

Most Importantly: Menstrual Blood!

Carve words or symbols related to your intention(s) into a rose gold, red, or pink candle.

2. Light the candle and say the following invocation and incantation:

Hail Astaroth! Demon of love, lust, beauty, creativity, and friendship! Great Duke of Hell! I’ve lit this candle in your honor. By your infernal powers of the _____ moon in _____, I call upon you with full love and respect: Please bless, charge, and empower this candle so as it burns, my intention(s) of _____ manifest to full fruition for me in my life. So mote it be!

3. Hold up a cauldron or burning bowl with flowers in it and say:

Hail Astaroth! I offer these rose petals to you as a gift and sacrifice from the bottom of my heart. These rose petals represent your star-kissed beauty, power, passion, and prosperity. Please accept these rose petals as an expression of my love and esteem for you. As these rose petals intermingle with the elements, my intention(s) of _____ become my lived, tangible reality. Thank you, Astaroth, now and forevermore. So mote it be!

4. Meditate and/or chant as the candle burns. While doing so, focus on attuning to Astaroth’s energy and receiving her/his messages.

5. Hold up a paper with Astaroth’s seal on one side, with or without your intentions written on the other side. While holding Astaroth’s seal on paper, state your intention to offer menstrual blood to Astaroth:

Hail Astaroth! As a final gift and sacrifice to you, I shall anoint your seal with my menstrual blood and burn it so you receive its smoke in this realm and all others realms beyond it. By your infernal powers of the _____ moon in _____, my intentions of fully manifest for me in my life. Thank you, Astaroth, now and forevermore. So mote it be!

6. Anoint the seal with menstrual blood. Once the paper dries, burn it with the rose petals present in the cauldron. Once it’s done burning, thank Astaroth verbally or in your thoughts.

7. State your intention to scatter the rose petals nearby, outside, and/or somewhere dear to you:

Hail Astaroth! Thank you for accepting the offerings I’ve extended to you with love. I shall scatter these ashes upon the earth so my intentions become my lived, tangible reality. By your infernal powers of the _____ moon in _____, my intentions of _____ fully manifest for me in my life. Thank you, Astaroth, now and forevermore. So mote it be!

8. Scatter the ashes outside while saying a personal prayer to Astaroth. Keep an open awareness of signs, dreams, and visions from Astaroth.

🌕 Pearl Satanachia 🌕

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youremyheaven · 7 months ago

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IT’S ME GLAMOUR MAGIC ANON I AM BACK!!

Tbh my routine isn’t anything flashy like what you see on social media. I don’t have a lot of money or space to be using fancy materials, but I do have quite a few candles. I like using candles in my rituals because they’re quite commonplace (a lot of mine are gifts from other people), affordable and take up minimal space.

I have this one big cherry scented Yankee candle I got for my birthday a couple years back which I use strictly in my Friday ritual. If I’m doing glamour magic at another time then I use a different candle. The ritual isn’t that complicated, every Friday I light the candle with a specific intention and proceed to meditate on it. It’s largely psychological because I believe visualisation is more important than physical materials, but I usually listen to ocean sounds or music.

Ocean sounds are very nostalgic for me and help me relax so that I can focus on the mediation. Those frequency videos are good too

Personally I think music really helps but it has to have a certain vibe? This is individual preference but I try and find more slow paced stuff. I lovvveeee folk music from different cultures/my culture for this purpose. “La llorona” is a really beautiful Mexican song that I like, but I like listening to folk music from my culture and I advise others to try it out.

I prefer this kind of music because it helps me connect with a more deep and cultured beauty rather than the Instagram micro trend beauty than relies on you looking a certain way. This is just my preference though and different things will work for difference people!

After sitting in front of the flame for a while, I’ll usually do some kind of self maintenance. I have this cool vintage hairbrush that I’ve delegated as my “ritual brush” and I usually just really carefully brush my hair with it with intention.

I used to create sigils and write them on my face with my moisturiser 👀 I also used the Venus symbol

But yeah most of it is connecting with “the energy of beauty” if that makes sense? I don’t really focus on looking a certain way, I just try and put myself on a certain alignment and the rest (magnetism, attention from others, glamour,etc) just comes after that.

80% of my “rituals” is me sitting in my room imagining myself entering orbs of light and thinking about beautiful moments in my life LMAO

Lmk what you think though bc I want to hear other ppl’s experiences

oOOooh you sound vv Venusian, do you have 9h placements by any chance??

its similar for me in the sense that i focus on channelling the energy as u said. im also big on visualising light and surrounding my whole being and aura field with it hehe, i also like qigong because i reallyyy feel the "qi" / energy and i love working with it, it makes me feel clear and beautiful from within. i always do it at night and in the morning. its a great tool. i also love visualising light or a "glow" emanating from my body, ngl its almost orgasmic doing that 💀i feel such powerful bodily sensations in a good way.

Marilyn Monroe also did glamour magic. She once said:

“I daydreamed chiefly about beauty. I dreamed of myself becoming so beautiful that people would turn to look at me when I passed. I dreamed of myself walking proudly in beautiful clothes and being admired by everyone and overhearing words of praise. I made up the praises and repeated them aloud as if someone else were saying them.”

Marilyn had Sun & Mercury in the 11h (the house of manifestation) and Venus in 10h which makes you known for your beauty/sensuality. I feel like affirming, visualising etc is strongly tied to these houses

#glamour magic

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mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 1 year ago

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Part 2 to this ficlet here

Jiang Yanli pours him a cup of tea, her movements elegant and smooth as she angles the kettle and pours the hot, perfumed liquid into the ceramic, not even a drop spilling.

Wei Wuxian watches her, keenly. She isn't sluggish or uncoordinated, she doesn't seem to be struggling - she isn't at all like a fierce corpse.

And yet, much like a fierce corpse, she always responds to Chenqing's call, or gets tempted to speak by Inquiry.

"I know what you've come to talk to me about." she says, in the same kind, soft voice Wei Wuxian is used to. "And I will tell you, but you must promise to keep it a secret. Nobody is allowed to know, not even A-Cheng, okay?"

Wei Wuxian nods, fingers nearly burning around his hot cup of tea.

"I was five years old when my golden core manifested. I'd been looking forward to it for as long as I could remember. I kept asking everybody what it would feel like, whether it would hurt, how I'd know." a smile, "I did know... but not in the way that everyone else did."

She sipped at the tea, seemingly unreactive to its heat. "I woke up one morning, a week or two after I turned five, and went into the training grounds to prepare for when my core would burn alight, like mother instructed... Except, as I went in to attack the disciple that had been teaching me self defense, there was a sudden glow to my hand, it felt warm almost as if I'd burnt a candle on my palm, and then she fell over screaming in pain."

Yanli closed her eyes, "I got scared and started crying, and mother rushed over to see what was going on. She paled when she realized, and whisked me away immediately. It wasn't a golden core that I manifested..." her eyes open, slowly, then all at once, "it was the ability to melt golden cores."

Wei Wuxian drops the tea cup from his lips right as he was about to drink it, spilling the hot liquid all over the fragile skin of his hand and the cheap material of his robes. He feels the burn, distantly, as his hands begin to shake. No, no way... there is no way...

"My father is... was Wen Zhuliu. My mother had hoped I wouldn't inherit his gift, but fate had not been on her side. I do not know whether father - uncle Jiang - knew about mother's infidelity, because he never spoke of it. But I've later learned he had been the one to spread the rumor in Yunmeng that I've been kidnapped." There is an expression on her face that Wei Wuxian can't read, but he figures he matches it as well. All those gripes about uncle Jiang and Wei Wuxian's mother, all the while knowing...

"I remember mother sealing my lips and taking me to Meishan.." Jiang Yanli smiles, like she always does, but it looks haunted now. "That is the place where I died."

Wisps of resentful energy curl protectively around Wei Wuxian's legs, much like overprotective, affectionate cats. He usually waves them away, but this time he allows their presence, the ghostly touch grounding him through the earth-shattering information he's receiving.

"My mother's relatives performed a forbidden spell on me, which forced my soul out of my body and... well, I died." She's done trying to be soft about it, her features come together in a frown as she remembers the experiences. Wei Wuxian thinks it must not have been pleasant.

"They trapped my soul and then cut half of it away, to get rid of my ability. Then, they forced my soul back in through a summoning ritual, and I came back... but only by half."

"So... you're only..."

"I'm half alive. Or, rather, half dead. I have a small golden core, despite the ritual that's been performed on me, but mother was afraid to let me cultivate it, so I have not." A sad smile. "I wish I had."

Wei Wuxian stares - at her, through her. She's here but she's not. She's always been, she's never been at all.

"This is the truth. I respond to songs for the dead because I am." Her smile appears lopsided now, uncanny, "And I know you've been too."

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #writing attempts #wwx #jyl

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thedragonagelesbian · 4 months ago

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12. candles

Micro Story Prompts

It's the same tonight, as it is every night. Candles and vein dripping scarlet. An altar, an offering, a predator's prayer for more prey, not to satiate his starving Urge--how very selfish to enjoy the feast--but to make more beautiful worship of the bodies.

But it's different tonight. Back stiff, knees sore, words he's whispered like breathing now strangled in his throat as his mind wanders. He ought not dwell on anything else bent before his Father's shrine, but his thoughts flit across his body (not his, not a body, Bhaal's implement and nothing more) and catalogue its aches. Tastes again how he acquired them, not in the pitch of battle but the throes of pleasure.

However narrow the distinction. Teeth and nails and rope and leather and a wicked gilt gauntlet. Memory tender in every sense of the word.

"My Chosen child."

Cyrus flinches.

"Father." He dares to look up just long enough to glimpse the unholy symbol of Bhaal floating above the altar, its eyes bleeding crimson. He ducks his head again. "You honor me in gracing my evening prayers."

The question of why rattles against his ribcage so hard that his voice wavers, despite himself.

"I come to reward you, spawn. The plans you have laid with the other Chosen will yet reap a slow and bloody harvest. It seems only appropriate that I bestow a gift upon you worthy of your purpose." Cyrus does not let himself exhale, and yet his breath is forced from him as Bhaal continues: "I will grant you the mantle of one of my avatars: the Slayer."

"No." The gasp leaves him before he can stop it, and something tenses on either side of his spine. The serrated steel of his wings--Bhaal's first gift to him--threatening to break through his skin. "I-- I mean only to say, Father, that I am unworthy of such a blessing as this. I have not yet earned the-- the honor of wearing one of your guises."

The wings burst. Cyrus' back wrenches and arches, forcing him to look upon the amulet. The candles snuff out in the gust of his puppeted body, and in the darkness, the skull's eyes gleam. Somewhere in their ruby depths, Cyrus can almost see a throne. A body. An outstretched hand folded into a claw.

"And yet you think yourself worthy of rejecting my benevolence?"

"No!" Sharper this time as Bhaal bows him like he means to snap his spine. It wouldn't be the first time. "No, please, Father, forgive me my ingratitude. Please, I forget myself, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Bhaal holds him there long enough to wick tears from his eyes, burning at the limits of a pain tolerance that Cyrus otherwise prides himself on, and then the hand relaxes. Cyrus slumps forward. Presses himself as low to the ground as he can. Stammers more senseless apologies. Tries to retract his wings, but they remain distended and bloody above him, their constant pressure at his scapula.

A warning, Cyrus knows, like the Slayer form. Threat. Reminder.

"Son, am I mistaken in believing that you do not desire this most loving of my boons?"

"Yes, Father."

"You will accept it, then?"

"Yes, Father." A beat. "Th-thank you, Father."

"Good."

Bhaal purrs, and Cyrus' blood--Bhaal's blood, wrought anew--stirs with sympathetic contentment. This is what his body (not his, not a body) truly wants. To be twisted into whatever form of devotion most serves his father.

So why is he sick with terror as he is strung in the air once more? Bones cracking, tendons splitting, skin calcifying, teeth and spines and claws and limbs rupture in so many different directions that he loses himself to a haze of red.

But his heart keeps galloping, trying to outrun this new form.

"In time you will come to see the beauty of the Slayer," Bhaal intones, sermon and symphony to accompany his rearrangement. "You keep your Urge--your birthright--on too tight a leash, in the name of piety, no less. Unslaked, your desires manifest themselves where there should be none."

He can't breathe. Can't feel anything beyond the cloying taste of copper and the pain. Can't think through the growling of his stomach, craving and empty worse than the most unruly hungers of his Urge. But something flashes at those words. A golden spark of an idea. A comfort.

Cyrus cries out his name with a mouth he no longer has: Enver!

"The Slayer will be another means by which you express my will. A better one."

#not the direction i was expecting to go with this! but!!#durge!cyrus #body horror cw #abuse cw #the best part about basically not interacting with any durgetash stuff personally is i get to pretend all of my ideas are /super/ original

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just-gonna-write · 2 years ago

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Branwen (a short story)

this is the short story i wrote in class that inspired the play Branwen! the assignment was to write a tragedy, so i wanted to write a main character who was right, but her stubbornness and pride lead to her downfall. a lot of aspects get changed in the play version, but this is the original story :)

The full moon was shining in the sky, putting a harsh, cold light on the earth. Owls hooted from within the dark branches of trees that had just begun to shed their leaves. It was a perfect night for a witch to be lurking in the woods.

While the townspeople of Sanwilken were fast asleep, Branwen Bobbit had important things to do while the moon was still high in the sky. She walked the unpaved trail with practiced ease, dodging sharp tree branches, dangling spanish moss and glistening spiderwebs that blocked her path. Finally she arrived at the picturesque clearing, trees framing it in a perfect, almost unnatural, circle. It gave her a perfect view of the silver moon, casting its light on her and the basket she brought of all the materials she would need.

She sighed, extending her arms into the sky and closing her eyes. Her face was serene, like a cat sunbathing in an open window. An involuntary smile tugged at her lips.

“I’m back,” she whispered to the air around her. “Did you miss me?” A silent yes was spoken by the wind in the way it caressed her cheek. I missed you deeply, my dearest child.

“I know, but I am back now for the full moon. I must get to work, stay calm in this area for a little while. I have candles I would like to keep aflame and upright.”

She set to work, first laying out a green lace tablecloth on the bare dirt, a patch that hadn’t had grass growing in years. She lit candles of white, green, and brown atop ornate little candle dishes painted with pentacles. She drew runes in the dirt with her athame, a dainty red little dagger that was used for rituals.

Are you sure about this, my child?

“Why wouldn’t I be sure, friend?” She spoke a bit louder than before, her clear voice venturing above a whisper. She had laid everything perfectly in place and the air was charged with magical energy, it was time to utilize it.

The kind of spell you’re planning to do is loud, it will bring attention to you.

“Why do you think I came to the woods to do it? I know it’ll be loud, but I promise it will be fine. Nothing bad will happen,”

That is dangerous, young one. People will hear you and know there is a witch among them.

“Let them find out, it’s ridiculous I have to hide anyway! I’ve never done anything wrong or cruel, I didn’t make a deal with the devil, all I’ve ever done is use the gift I was born with to help other people! If they don’t want my help they can kill me!”

Those are bold words, Branwen. It would be a shame to see you buried so young. If you were to use some tact, you could perhaps usher in peace between humanity and witches such as yourself, but to frighten them is a horrible way of going about it.

“I don’t care what you think, wind. I will do this my own way. I will bring peace and understanding to Sanwilken and I will do it as loudly and abrasively as I so desire! There is nothing wrong with witchery, and I’m tired of people saying there is! My existence is not a sin, it is not a curse, and it is nothing to be ashamed of,” Despite the wind’s protests, she lit the candles. They burned hot and bright with her anger, their flames as tall as the candles themselves.

In the center of the circle Branwen stood, arms extended toward the moon, drawing its power to use as her own. She let her head fall back completely, silky black and purple hair tickling her back. She furrowed her brows, her thoughts racing with all she wanted to manifest this month. Good harvest, peace, financial prosperity, it all raced until she couldn’t catch a single thought in her head. Her arms began to tremble, her knees knocked each other, but nothing could break her focus.

BOOM!

The sound exploded through the air, sending Branwen stumbling backward. Her head felt like it was full of lead, but in her foggy daze she could see that all her flames had been extinguished and had left behind thin lines of deep gray smoke, billowing up into the air.

She did it. Before she could celebrate her victory, she heard panicked voices far away.

“What on Earth was that?”

“We have to find out, what if it’s dangerous?!”

She jolted, going into a tizzy trying to collect everything she could. All she was able to grab in time was her basket and athame, everything else laid discarded at the scene as she fled back to the safety of her home.

“Branwen? Bran? Brannie? C’mon, wake up Bran,” She felt her body being shaken by two strong hands. She blinked away the exhaustion from her crystalline blue eyes, fixing them on a dark face in front of her. After a moment of confusion, she identified the face of her dear friend and roommate, Veronica Wiggs.

“Five more minutes,” Branwen grumbled pathetically, only to begin a coughing fit the moment the words left her mouth. Her throat felt as if she’d swallowed thorny cotton.

Her friend rushed to the other side of the bed, using one hand to feel her forehead for a fever, the second to grab a white mug with a little cartoon sun on it.

“I made you some tea, how are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” Branwen growled, sitting up to take the tea.

“You look like it. Was it maybe because you got caught performing a spell last night?” Veronica’s warm face shifted to a hard one, anger laced in every crevice.

“I did not get caught, no one knew it was me.”

“Yeah, well while you were getting your beauty sleep the entire town has been talking about it. People are scared, Branwen, that was really irresponsible to do.”

“It was not irresponsible of me! You don’t have any faith in me, do you?” Instead of a verbal answer, Branwen received a pointed look from her roommate. “It’s not my fault things exploded! I put a little too much energy into it, that’s all. It’ll all blow over in a week.”

“No. No it won’t. Search parties are assembling to find out who the witch is, I heard people are even going door to door.” The urgency in Veronica’s voice almost alarmed Branwen, but she shrugged it off. No one would suspect her of all people to be a witch.

“I’m not taking this right now, get out, I need to get dressed. Thanks for the tea.” She said dismissively, turning away to head towards her walk-in closet.

“We’re talking about this later. You go out and hear it for yourself, people are practically rioting. And I want to hear a very sincere apology when you realize how grave the danger you’re in is.” Veronica spoke slowly, from the deepest parts of her chest. If you listened closely you could hear the way her voice trembled and her lip wobbled as her eyes became glassy with anxious tears.

“Whatever you say Ronnie.”

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and to the outside eye it would seem like a lovely day. All sorts of people roamed the streets, from well-dressed businesspeople to sleepy teens in sweatpants. When you zoomed in on the idealistic picture however, you would hear the whispers of those people buzzing in the air. The same topic was on everyone’s lips.

There was a witch in town.

“Good morning Branwen, how are you this morning?” A teenaged girl dressed in her grocery store uniform chirped as she began scanning her items.

“Good. How are you?” Branwen responded. Her black hair, streaked with different shades of purple, from lavender to plum, was neatly curled into loose waves by her shoulders. She wore a long purple skirt that flowed when she walked, covered white and black lines that created dainty floral patterns. Her top was lacy and black, cropped at her stomach with lovely bell-sleeves, paired with velvet black heeled boots. She looked perfectly put together, and perfectly fashionable. Nobody could see the storm brewing underneath the pretty exterior, like a fizzing soda ready to explode all over your hands.

“I’m good, have you heard there’s a witch on the loose?” The younger girl asked with a smile.

“What kind of silly gossip is that?” Branwen asked, her breath catching in her throat. Was it possible that Veronica was right?

“No, it’s true! They found her whole setup for this weird ritual clearing in the woods. My friend sent me photos, it’s really creepy. Candles everywhere, tons of pentagrams, symbols drawn in the dirt. Cash or card?”

“Card. But I’m sure it’s not that bad. I don’t think witches are inherently evil,” Branwen said calmly, training her eyes intently on the card reader.

“They’re the devil’s spawn!” The cashier blurted, looking aghast, her hand pressed on her heart as if it would leap out from her ribcage.

“They’re just people,” Branwen scoffed, grabbing her bags.

“Miss Bobbit, you’re gonna ruin your good reputation if you keep talking like that. Witches are awful creatures. They only exist because the devil got his evil hands on easily corrupted people. I respect you a lot, don’t go interfering with witches,” The girl’s anger blazed in her eyes, but she shook her head and calmed herself. “Have a nice day ma’am, God be with you!”

Branwen looked down at the ground, her heart pounding in her ears. Could it be true? Could the town be ready to turn against her if she said so much as said a word defending her own kind? What kind of world was she living in?

“Death to all witches! Death to all witches!” A voice rang out. Branwen looked up, eyes wider than the moon. The beautiful town square, decorated with lush greenery surrounded by old fashioned brick buildings, was currently occupying a large crowd of people holding poster-board signs reading all sorts of heinous phrases. Death to all witches! Burn in hell! The Devil is in Georgia! Protect children, banish the witch! Burn her!

Bubbles of anger and fear rose in Branwen’s chest, threatening to burst through her throat and suffocate her. Her entire body felt hot and weak, like she would melt at any moment. Tears flooded her eyes, and in that moment she knew what she had to do. Straightening, she walked to the crowd as any human citizen would. She tapped someone on the shoulder, some middle aged woman she saw in the store with her children sometimes. The woman’s pale, unruly hair framed her face, which was twisted into an angry frown.

“Excuse me ma’am, what’s going on here?” She asked politely as she forced deep, even breaths. The woman looked startled for a moment, but her aging face settled into one of polite sympathy.

“Haven’t you heard, there’s a witch in town! We want to have her removed for the safety of our children,” She explained before turning back to the main speaker. A younger man, maybe around his mid-twenties. He held a megaphone and chanted into it, rallying the crowd that had gathered before him.

“Death to all witches! Death to all witches! This woman, whoever she is, is a threat to our children and our lives! Who knows what she could do, or has already done? Have any of our coincidental misfortunes ever been coincidences, or were they all planned by her? Wake up and take action. The police need to search every house in this town, they cannot rest until they find the witch! Nobody is safe in Sanwilken until every last witch is dead! Who’s with me?!” The crowd screamed and cheered, like drums battering Branwen’s ears.

All she wanted to do was protest, cry out that they were all wrong. The words were on the tip of her tongue, begging to be let out. Why would she be evil? What would she gain by hurting her beloved town? Why would any witch want to harm them? All she wanted was for Sanwilken to prosper. Month after month, year after year, she spent her full moons bringing about good fortune.

She stood, statuesque, for a moment. Deep down, it was a horrible idea. She’d die on the spot, no one would allow her to live until suppertime if they knew who she was, what she was.

Branwen, in the end, made the decision to turn heel and leave without a word, briskly pacing her way back home.

Breathe, my child. Breathe.

The familiar voice of the wind whispered to Branwen. She looked around wildly, her breath accelerating.

Shhh, my dearest, it is just me. Go home, you need to go home now. Stay safe now, I beg of you.

She looked at the sky for a moment, as if for reassurance. She nodded. Branwen needed to go home, she could feel it. Something bad was going to happen.

When she got home, Branwen saw an exemplary scene of serenity. Monarch butterflies resting on the flowers, the sun shining warmly on the house. It gave her a moment of peace, before she glanced toward the kitchen window and noticed Veronica pacing the floor.

Feeling her stomach drop, Branwen put on a phony smile and opened the door. When she reached the kitchen, setting the grocery bags on the counter, Veronica’s head snapped toward her.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

“Out getting groceries, why?” She asked carefully, grabbing some of the cold food to put in the fridge. Behind Branwen’s back, she could hear Veronica’s loud sigh.

“Is your safety never a concern for you? Do you not have a will to live?” Veronica demanded.

“I told you, it’s all going to blow over.”

“No it’s not! You can’t stay in denial any longer! You’re going to die if you don’t get your act together, Bobbit! Do you think I want to watch you die?”

“No need to be so dramatic, Ronnie,” Branwen chastised. She turned back, only to see Veronica hovering over her with more rage than she’d ever seen in her life.

“Dramatic? Dramatic!? Am I the only person with a brain in this house?!”

“Quit being so condescending. Nobody would ever suspect me of all people to be a witch. Besides, it’s so ridiculous having to hide so much anyway! Do you think I’m happy about having hidden who I am since I was four?!” Branwen retorted, raising her voice.

“I agree, it is ridiculous! But if you wanna survive, you can’t just play by your own stupid rules! People have been searching every house in this neighborhood, and this house is full of things that will pin one of us as a witch. And they’ll figure out it’s you pretty quickly once they find the stash of old potion bottles in your room. Go hide your things if you want any chance of living until tomorrow,”

“No! I will never, ever hide who I am in my own HOME! This isn't fair, I can’t do it! I am a witch and I am proud!”

“I DON’T CARE THAT YOU’RE PROUD, I CARE THAT YOU’RE ALIVE!” Veronica screamed, tears welling up in her deep brown eyes.

“I WOULD RATHER BE DEAD THAN HIDE A MINUTE LONGER!” Branwen hollered back. Tears started to cloud her vision, blurring everything to simple blobs of color.

Knock. Knock.

“That’s them. Go. Hide. Be a witch any other day of the week, but today I need you to be alive. That’s all I want, okay?” Veronica pleaded.

“I’m going for a walk,” Branwen declared with a glare, stalking out the backdoor. There was silence for a moment, then footsteps.

“Hi everyone, yes, you may come in. I’m sorry it’s so messy.”

The sun dappled the forest floor with warmth, streaming in through the trees overhead. Branwen was perched on a boulder she’d found, surrounded by moss and bushes. The air was clear and quiet, and she felt her shoulders slumping forward.

“What have I done?” She whispered, holding her head in her hands. “This is terrible. I’m going to die, the deed is done.”

I’m sorry, Branwen.

“Wind? Is that you?”

Yes, my child, it is just me. I wish I could have done more to protect you.

“No, it’s not your fault at all. I messed up, I messed up really bad. God, why am I so stubborn? Why couldn’t I just accept that I have to hide, that’s just the way things are.”

But you were right, it shouldn’t be. Humans fear what they do not understand, and they never tried to understand you.

“I can’t blame them, someone with magic powers does sound kinda scary.”

May I give you some advice, my child?

“Of course, I’ll do my best to listen, I promise.”

Hold your head high. Do not let them see that you’re frightened, or that they’ve hurt you. You are a very strong soul, and I believe you can do it. Go out with courage. If there’s anything I know you can do, it’s that.

“I will, for you. I’ll embrace death. At least then, I don’t have to hide anymore.”

Good. Thank you, dear friend, for keeping me company.

“Of course wind, thank you.” Branwen nodded, steeling her nerves. Her head knew what she had to do, if only someone could teach this bravery to her poor heart.

“Branwen Bobbit?” She whipped her head up. Her executioners, they were here. “Please come with us.”

It was a somber scene in Sanwilken, Georgia, that night. The sun had begun to set, and in front of the brilliant golden sky, stood the silhouette of a woman, and the noose that would kill her. Without so much as a trial, Branwen Bobbit had been sentenced to execution by hanging. She held her head high, her stony face unreadable to the large crowd before her. People were sprawled around the lush green ground on picnic blankets. After all, it was dinnertime.

The woman, the witch, the dead girl walking, looked around at the crowd. Toward the very back, she caught the gaze of a teary, horrified woman all on her own. Veronica. She was dressed head to toe in black, layers and layers of it despite the hot sun still beating on everyone. Her inky parasol cast shadows on her face, leaving only her mouth and chin visible, but anyone could see the tear-tracks that glistened in the golden sun. She mouthed “I’m sorry,”.

Too late.

“People of Georgia, today we witness the execution of Branwen Bobbit, for charges of witchcraft and consorting with the devil. Any last words, Bobbit?”

Branwen took a deep, shaky breath. She closed her cloudy blue eyes, feeling the pit grow in her stomach. Her voice came out faint, barely a whisper.

“I love you all.”

With that, she stepped onto the platform, where an executioner situated a scratchy rope around her throat. She fixed her eyes on the crying Veronica, willing her to keep it together, to carry on without her.

I’m so sorry, child.

The wind blew the hanging woman’s hair in front of her face, as if to shield her from the watchful eyes of the people below. The hill that was silent only moments before, anticipation hanging like a thick fog in the air, erupted in raucous cheers and laughter. Few stayed silent to mourn their all dear friend, wallowing in what, to most, was a joyous scene.

“YOU MONSTERS!” A rough voice rang out from the back. “YOU MONSTERS! YOU MONSTERS! YOU HORRIBLE MONSTERS!” The shrieking shocked the crowd to silence, as people turned to the grieving woman. Veronica Wiggs. She stormed up to the stand where the body of her dearest friend hung in the air.

Veronica choked on her sobs, feeling her throat closing in on itself. Her chest felt like it was a black hole, the horrible emptiness growing by the moment until it drowned her.

“YOU DISGUSTING CREATURES. SHE LOVED YOU. SHE LOVED YOU ALL. SHE DID NOTHING BUT WORK FOR THE GOOD OF THIS HORRID TOWN. EVERY SPELL, EVERY RITUAL, EVERYTHING SHE DID WAS TO BRING US PROSPERITY, AND WHAT DID YOU DO? PUT HER IN AN EARLY GRAVE.

BRANWEN WAS THE KINDEST PERSON I KNEW. SURE, SHE WAS A WITCH, BUT TO BE A WITCH IS NO CRIME OR SIN, IT HAS NO MARK ON YOUR CHARACTER. LOOK THROUGH HER STUFF, LOOK AT HER BOOKS. THERE IS NOTHING ON HOW TO BRING HARM. ALL SHE WANTED WAS FOR THE PEOPLE AROUND HER TO BE HAPPY. BUT SHE WAS SO TIRED OF HIDING, THAT SHE WAS WILLING TO DIE SO SHE COULD HAVE ONE MOMENT OF LIVING AUTHENTICALLY. I WISH YOU ALL NOTHING BUT THE WORST!” Veronica wailed. Her voice echoed through the hills, as if the grass and the wind itself were crying alongside her. Her entire body visibly shook, and with every new sentence her voice cracked. She looked like a scared little girl.

Something about her agony and the words she screamed struck a chord within the people of the town. Perhaps she was right, perhaps witches were nothing but people with a beautiful gift.

But if that were the case, they had committed a horrible atrocity, hadn’t they? Watching an innocent girl executed, ignoring her plight in favor of watching, eating picnics at the death place of a kind person? If that was the case, they watched an innocent life be taken and looked on with glee.

And nothing could be worse than watching a horrible thing happen whilst doing nothing to stop it, could it?

Branwen’s books were buried with her in the clearing she had used on the night that brought on her fate. And soon, Veronica would be buried right next to her. No one may be righteous and loud without paying the price.

After all, who would tell the tale of the kind witch who was wrongfully murdered, if no one was alive to do it?

#writing #short story #author #witch #witchcraft #story about witches #dark #hanging #public execution #death

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the-astronomial · 2 years ago

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Hey, y'all! Sorry, that I haven't posted in a while. Been dealing with some stuff. Anyways, happy holiday season! Hope, it's a good one. 😆

Have some new spells for you guys, today. I'll put it in a list. Here goes!

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1.) "Gift it Back" Spell: A spell where you don't want to return to sender, but still want to return it (for better or worse). Basically, it's like a Christmas present you get. Obviously, can't return a gift (without being rude). So... Give to them as a present. Like, a re-gift! So, whatever sender(s) sent you, you send it as a re-gift. A perfect loophole, for when return-to-sender don't work! ;)

The incantation:

"What [name of sender] sent to me, it's time to gift it back, three times three! (Repeat three times thrice/9 times).

[This is my will/as above/what ever you use].. So, mote it be!".

It's easy, right? No ingrediants, just words and intentions. You can you this to send back positive or negative energy/magick/things.

2.) Candle spell for a "Golden Year": it's done before the new year, starts! All you need is a gold candle. LED/artificial is fine!

So, cleanse your space and candle, first. Then dress your candle, as long as it represent luxury and new beginnings. You could even make represent the things you want to bring into the new year. Once you're done, it's time to start the ritual. Write down a list of 11 things you want to manifest, during the new year. Even better, if you have gold or green paper! Could even use colored ink.

Once you do it, fold it away from you. Then, put it under your candle. Now at this part, you can get creative! All you need to do is say what it is your bringing into your life, during the new year. Put power and energy into it. When you're done saying this, say your staking your claim to the manifestations and that you're ready to receive.

Light or turn on the candle, immediately. Pay attention, to your flame/light. It'll reveal how your spell is working. If something catches fire and the light disappears, stop the ritual! That means something evil/negative is trying to stop you from bringing these things in. Do your protective measures, if this happens (salt circle, prayer, etc.). Wait, until later to try this ritual, again. If nothing bad, happens leave the candle or candle-light on until it goes out.

Note: It's okay if your list is covered in wax. It needs to do that, so, gives your list power.

Lastly, forget about the ritual and enjoy your New Year! Knowing you'll get what you want ftom it. ^_^

3.) New Job Talisman: As implied, this will bring in new jobs and job opputunities. All you need is a piece of jewelry/accessory you would wear daily. Even better if it's a job savvy accessory (ex.: a watch, reader glasses, etc.) Do this during a waning moon, new moon, or even when the sun is out. I did it during noon hours! The sun is perfect, for this type of intention. Let's get started~! First, cleanse the jewelry/accessory. You could do a salt bath, like I did. Table salt works fine, for that! ;)

Secondly, hold the jewelry/accessory in both your hands. State your intention to turn it into a talisman. A talisman to attract jobs and business oppurtunities. Think about and vizualize the jewelry/accessory being surrounded by a green light with golden sparkles. Visualize yourself putting on or carrying it. Imagine job interview, money, and work-related themes being pulled towards the jewelry/accessory. After your done getting a clear visual, put energy from your hands into the jewelry/accessory. You can make and use your own incantation to use, whilst doing this.

Continue this until you feel you it pulse, vibrate, or tingle. It won't be big, but it will be noticeable. That means its ready. For the final step, leave near the window overnight. The next day, it'll be ready to use.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welp, that's it guys! Thanks for reading. I hope, these spells will help you guys out! See ya later, for now and Happy New Year! I'll try to post more, but no promise. Bye, sayonara, and ciao!

#magick tips #witchblr #witchcraft #christian witch #green witch #candle witch #candle magic #list #spellwork #spellcraft #tutorial #tutorials #spell tips #magic #magick #goodvibes #talisman #incantation #how to

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dreidful · 5 months ago

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REID PRAYS TO HIS MOTHER, HINENUITEPŌ [ #02 ]

SPIRITS MANIFEST. COME TO MY AID, GRANT MY GUIDANCE, GRANT ME POWER. it was a mantra that reid had repeated to himself as he decided to attempt another prayer to his mother again. it was concerning that he hadn't or could not hear her. with the egg being incubated, a questionable relationship with a city of dragons and the threat of invasion — reid was after amassing power so that he could stand on his own as well as with his allies to defend what was most sacred.

it had only been a month that they had been at the ark but it felt important. a mixture of cultures, a blend of polytheism that honored the world and its cultures. they could be the beacon, the guiding light in this storm forward. reid truly believed that and he wanted to help.

the world was so much bigger than him and he knew that, the optimism that rang true in everyone's next steps were stalled at the pressure they faced but he would return soon ; he was destined and committed.

so another alter, kukui candles and sea salt from the pacific in a ring as he stood center with arms open and facing the dirt beneath his feet as he stood there barefoot to commune.

" hinenuitepō, mother of the underworld and guardian of rarohenga. please answer my prayer, i offer you the fruits of aotearoa and gifts for your favor and to honor you and your name. i wish to be your champion in this time and we are at a precipice of a fight. lend me your power of the underworld and i shall defend and do as you need in the mortal realm. "

and with that ; he awaited a sign.

#「 💀 」 » REID TŪWHARE. ⋮ ━━ ˗ˏˋ moderation ˎˊ˗#( prayer 02 )#prayers

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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years ago

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A light snow began to fall in Deadwood just before sunset but most were already tucked away in saloons, whore houses, homes and tents in observation of the eve of the holiday. Seth pulled his coat tighter around him as he moved with purpose through camp to the small house on the outskirts, a wisp of smoke rising from the chimney indicating the occupant was inside. He stepped up on to the porch, knocked, and waited.

When Rebecca opened the door he stepped forward to clasp her face, the kiss he bestowed hungry for the taste of her. After time all too quick yet forever and not long enough all the same, he broke from her with a soft intake of breath. "Forgive my impertinence but I could think of naught but your presence as a gift on this night," he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek lovingly.

~*~

Berries for a Kiss || -

Had she stayed back east, the holiday would have been a different affair. The maids would have seen to the decorations, the cooks would have churned out table after table of feasts, the house would have stood out a beacon of light and conviviality to last the winter through. And Rebecca herself would have been one more decoration on display. Her house here in the camp, at the doorstep of her grandmother’s land, was far from decadent though it was constructed well enough to keep out the cold of the day’s new falling snow. In keeping with the old tradition, there’s greenery in the windows, and candles glowing; a welcoming beacon to light one’s path home. She doesn’t expect anyone in the camp to recognise the meaning except perhaps the coarse wretch that is Al Swearengen, it’s a hold over from the auld sod. The hearth is lively and the air warm, full of the smell of baked bread and fruit tarts, a modest roast of beef and vegetables. Holly boughs lay in a splash of colour, deep green and red, to liven up the beige and grey of newborn winter.

At some later time she will lament not being moon-eyed at the window to watch him approach the house. Long and lithe with the grace of some large feline predator, there’s always a sense of unwavering purpose about Seth Bullock that is magnetic. She might also say that she knew his coming by the sound of his boots as he steps up onto her porch, by the sharp rap of his knuckles on her door. Perhaps foolishly she cannot help but to let hands fly up to ensure her coiffure was pin tight, any wisps tucked away. She’s no need to pinch her cheeks, there’s colour in them at the rush of pleasure in anticipation. She makes herself take slow steps toward the door.When it opens, she’s stricken by lightning. His rough-worn hands take hold of her face before she can so much as bear him greetings. His mouth hastens to hers and she can do so little than to lay her hands at his hips, above his low slung pistol belt. There’s a hint of coffee on his breath, a touch of whiskey, too and while she doesn’t particularly care for the spirit as it manifests in camp, she can’t help but chase the smoky sweetness across his lips, his tongue.

And when he breaks it?

Lashes flutter upward to reveal fever-glazed orbs though she’s no host to sickness. No, that fire is put there by Seth and she feels no shame in letting him see its conflagration. The passage of his thumb earns him a smile. One as sweet and doting as she can make it. “Would it diminish your respect for me if I said I’d hoped you’d pay me a call?”

Her hands slide slowly from hip to coat lapels and as she takes several steps back, she pulls him into the house, noting belatedly that he kicks the door closed with the heel of his boots. “Even at such a risk, be welcome and warm, full of this holy night.”

She glances at the mistletoe hung jovially from the rafter above his head, and using her grip on his coat, she pulls herself up onto the tips of her toes to steal another.

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motherswrath · 2 years ago

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Honestly, figuring out the Primalists during Xarentia’s reign has me think some more on just what exactly happened when she took over and how long it’s been since then. Because it’s been /at least/ a few centuries, which means a few generations of humanity, but races like elvenkind - and fellow dragons - are likely to have people who were there when it happened.

So there’s this... disconnect? Between generations and cultures regarding views on history and their imperial majesties, especially because the elves were particularly close to one of the Aspects and now work together with the remaining green dragons. Which is another thing I have to write / find my meta about : the other dragonflights. It’s where some of the unsavory topics on this blog come into play. Not all of them work under her willingly.

I’m playing with the thought that she awoke the Incarnates in the early days ( alongside or instead of Chromatus ), which has me thinking that because of their aggressive stance, and as a natural result of overturning an entire planet, non-draconic races in particular saw an insurmountable loss, to the point where Xarentia and Rakarion decided that they might as well make it clean cut, resulting in what could potentially be considered a culling of the mortal races, leaving only the younger generation.

However, based on what we know thus far, I do believe they would inevitably have to deal with the Primalists as well, because I do not think they would stop. The Incarnates would be content to upturn the entire planet.

And a part of Xarentia definitely agrees, on account of the corruption, grief and need for retribution, but she also thinks ahead and is prone to inaction / being too careful. So when posed with the question of “why does she not just raze the planet” it comes down to 1) how much unnecessary risk would this be to my children, 2) what if the mortal races are still needed, and 3) let them cultivate the planet in dragonkind’s stead. So the rational reason, the one that would have her actually protect the remaining mortals ( within reason ), comes down to the safety of her children and mortalkind’s usefulness; how they might serve her brood.

But at its very core, beneath all that sludge of eldritch corruption, it is definitely a sentimental decision ( as was the return of the Incarnates ). It is “the best she can do for them” in her madness; to rationalize with herself in such a way that the races she had sworn to protect may yet rebuild. The same way she rationalizes that bringing back the Black Empire would harm her children, and thus she will not do as the Old Gods desire her to, keeping the world save from an even greater evil.

It’s one of those things I struggle to explain, because it definitely isn’t as clear cut as it sounds. I often liken it to a tiny candle of sanity flickering amidst the darkness, which is a poetic way to say that her habits and compassion manifest in such a way that it keeps her from being a mindless puppet on strings. She does not consciously look for an excuse / rationalization, and is not truly aware of how she is tricking herself. It’s just the culmination of her nature, one that is much closer to her pre-corruption self than she herself will ever realize.

This also means if she were to ever loose her children and consort, she would do exactly what the Old Gods intended and become yet another Deathwing, except at a much greater scale, now that her empire spans the cosmos.

And though she has room for sentimentality, it won’t save the individual person. She has murdered her own children for endangering the brood. The best way to survive Xarentia is to reason with her; find a way to be useful. The trick is to find something one such as her might value. ( ‘ what do you gift someone who has everything ‘ ) It is very nuanced, of course, depending on the offense, but her whims are much more consistent than people think, and she is quite lenient with unintentional slipups. Minor offenses are forgiven for as little as some musical entertainment, storytelling, or favoured sweets.

There is a good reason why newcomers and younger generations view her as a benevolent empress, rather than the tyrant and eldritch monster she truly is.

Rakarion, in the rare instances where he takes to court, is much more rough around the edges and less predictable / harder to appease, but is ultimately on a similar wavelength regarding more severe punishments in correlation to an offense, even if their methods and attitudes differ. Meaning if Xarentia would not kill you for an offense, neither would Rakarion - with exception of insulting one to the other’s face. Xarentia is more likely to let you live at the end of it, but Rakarion has a reputation for his temper when insulting the brood.

I have more thoughts, but this is getting long, so I’m forcing myself to Shut Up.

#long post /#going insane about dragonmom on this fine [ checks the time ] afternoon.#there's so much here that needs its separate post but.#head empty.#❛ ♛ ∣ 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 ∣ history ‘pon her spine like a book .#❛ ♛ ∣ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 .

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fouralignments · 6 months ago

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Have another!

It based off of this:

youtube

The House of X for some background and Charles's catsuit outfit and helmet Cerebro

Burning Essence of the Heart (title subject to change)

Nova VI was a world drenched in sunlight, where once it was a rouge planet bound by none. No star lit its way. A cold barren world, trapped in infinite darkness. A darkness that it knew all its life.

‘yehi 'or’ His father said of him. ‘Let there be light.’

Separating the darkness from the light becoming day and vanquishing the darkness.

Reached forth beckoning nebulas full of dust gas closer, the pillars of creation. Gravity compelling them to follow. Through great wonders.

Hyrogdren, a simple single atom.

That bond water and fueled the likes of super giant stars that swallowed planets whole. Life in one. But many in the one. Connected in an endless dance. A cycle. To give life. And was given life in the beginning of the universe. The bang that started it all. To build life. It was the essence of life itself. The building block where all life found its heritage in. From one electron circling one proton.

It interconnected and weaved the fabric of reality of life; in countless patterns, infinity complex.

Without it there would be no life. No mutation to bless them with the gifts giventh to them. To seed new life into the tomb worlds. To explore the very depths of their powers, to expand their very reach to know no bounds, to find just what they could do.

The cloud became thicker and swirled, at its center a glowing ember ball, hot and glowing, pulling more matter toward it; smatching gas and dust particles generating heat until jets of burst forth from it poles. The winds pelt against them temping them to leave and let go to leave this process to the universe. They did not relent, doing the work of millions of years in seven days; a young star crowned by pillows of dust as it danced around the core.

Sweat poured from them, giving everything, every ounce of contrantion; heaving breaths. They faced together hollowing winds of hunts traveling the great cosmos, it flapped capes that threatened to snap, it whipped them in defeants of not what it wanted to be but what would become of it if it didn’t escape from instructive gravity, it pulled and pulled, compressing harder and harder none could escape from its maw. They stood firm. As the young star grew warmer and warmer and swept into itself enough material to begin a new process: fusion.

Catapult energy a sunder, dispating the cloud

The closest thing to immortality.

But they gave birth to a living, breathing star.

Star makers.

Brought light to this world. They lit a star with their souls, breathed life into it. An enduring light. An internal candle. Truly magnificent to behold.

Every edifice of the sprawling city beyond it made to capture the eminence of light and heat; a living breathing Dyson sphere; its living abundance to useable energy. The intense heat manifested as streets of lava. Radiating incivile heat waves shimmering

There would be no need for the extraction, exploitation of the dead’s planet resources.

No ruling class of above or below.

For mutantkind this place was to meditation and study of their powers and of themselves.

“Erik, how can we colonize Arakko, seed dead worlds, give life to stars and yet, we cannot give Peter confidence?”

“I’m sure he’s doing fine.

“It isn’t like there’s going to be a mutli-universe crossover event that’s going to happen in like the two and half hours while you’re gone.”

“You could imagine dealing with multiple versions of me?”

A visible chill went down Erik’s spine “Hashem Yishmor!” Erik said. “Dealing with one of you is enough.” Holding his face his fingers pitching his nose; beleaguered, muttering to himself: “Shelo neda. shelo neda. shelo neda.”

Charles just patted his husband’s shoulder his telepathy picking up on the many, MANY

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,”

“Pietro, isn’t time to come home? It’s been eight months,” Erik said

“Dadneto---you made this place, for the dedication and learning of one’s mutation, in all aspects. I don’t want to hurt anyone again. Here I can focus. I need to stay here,”

“To what end, Peter?” Charles said

“I need more time…Every time I look out, I see what you can do. I need to understand what I can. Not just copy what you did or you, Lorna; I need to find my own way.”

“Peter self-isolating isn’t heathy.” Lorna pointed out, “neither is punishing yourself.”

“So? Do you know how my powers work?!” “What do you want me to say?

“This was meant to be a show of what I could. Something I’m proud of. All you can think of is yourselves? Why is this any different?”

A universal language of all humans, rather that be baseline or a mutant: creativity.

Peter just had a creative

Patterns, colors, shapes all rendered down to zeros and ones, pixels really, with no anntiate soul to truly understand for what the image or art was; that no sentinel research could discover and not for a thousand lifetimes or until the sun itself burnout.

Harden steel flowed into water

Revealed inner weakness.

The skill

Stagnation; to be a mutant was to change and want to grow: evolve. The act was a spiritual experience; to connect with those long after you; a refuge to rest from conflict, the wars, the anxious and chaotic of the world and just forget for a moment…transcending into otherworldly of the unknown experience that they had not been to before and into another’s life. To see and to hymn, to connect to all through there’s or not there’s, or through directions that could be held all at once; to draw ire for what it was or was not; to define it delphically.

It was to the very essence, the soul,

Flowed like rain and water with wind blowing against it, sweeping into sheet of music of arm motions; delicate fingers giving subtle nuances; Peter lived with the winds. He could feel it. He could sense it. Every breath an act of defiance.

Every moment of movement was a work of art; form, technique, beautifully kinetic.

Lost in the movement, the moment, he got into something it was all freedom. Winds and waves and everything in between of near and far. Escaping the oppression of perfection. Self- liberation.

The liquid metal, solid for a moment and glass the next, burning and smelting turning as viciously hot and unforgiving, intense as the color of lava; cooling down just as fast into banks of currents of rivers rushing toward to sea to empty.

So um...listen. I need cute dadneto shit right now to distract myself because my mom just died like an hour ago.

Also um...hi

First

Mermay Cherik fic idea for 2025

Pod---this based on the cool fact that I learned from Tumblr that Sharks can reproduce asexually, so Erik after spending so much time alone without a pod, he becomes pregnant with Pietro and Charles finds and helps him to a mangrove nursey and helps him recover by feeding him mouth to mouth Princess mononoke style

Kelp---Kid! Pietro playing hide and go seek in a kelp forest with his Dadneto and stepdad! Charles

Glass---Teenage! Pietro goes to the beach to pick up sea glass for his Dadneto, which makes his Dadneto angry born of worry that he would so such a thing---believing Shaw got him or something or other, ending in a hug

Midnight and migration--- Erik and Charles go up to the surface to study the stars so Pietro can learn the routes for his first migration

This is a rough draft of Beyond the Fallen Dark Moon that you can read. Its not done yet.

It was a world Pietro had not seen. Frozen ice islands fallen off the land in thunderous uproar, pushed off the contienant shelf, craving out the land leaving behind boulders, lakes, tearing through high mountain. To where the currents took them. Beyond what he knew. Kept between the two across the outer islands of ice beyond the tip of twin

The warmth from the ball of fire becoming a night never ending

To where

Weaning sun.

Erik kept his trident by close to his body. His eyes () They stopped on occusion, Erik used his triadent and dug out a window into ice, loosen by the tides, into a deadly above world that could freeze

If they stayed too long. Before freezing over, forcing them to coutinte on, navigaiting delosute

Weaving

Many migrated away

Whole mountain ranges of ice towered above them. Shifting in moans, crackling, chirping and wooping emiaited. Sharp clicks, and booms. Songs flowing downward in carvens of painted layerd obrea blues. Shattering light. As so below as so above, Sweeping winds carrying with a stampede of snow racing across the frozen land trapped by the many moons of darkness, light was all but fleeting and gone away not to be seen until the breaking of the ice during the time of sun and moon helding hands regarding each other with equal measure flirting before growing apart again and leaving to go back to their unknowing partners. Yearned for each other. The Great Night. Charles told him during their lessons.

Highly concrreated salt water seemingly invisible vented out from the ice above freezing the

Their hands reaching down to touch the sea floor. The touch of the death. It was a cold, that Pietro hadn’t know existed. Spreading

Bringing with it sharp spears of ice

Seastars and those dewling on the floor fleeing for their lives

Spreading like icy veins invesiting the lower grounds

Wreaking havoc and despair

Taking with it part of the floor, trapped sea stars who were most unforitnaiute to be wound up caught, stuck to the ceiling of ice.

Heaving walrus, sunbathing in huddles, molting off old parasite laden fur. The clicks of seal war anthem clashing over breathing holes and mates for the coming of spring.

Of twilight dark

Ice crystal trees.

Breath out

Pietro thought they stopped little to rise and greet the

Forgotten gods in the deepest dark, unfelt by lights touch, in caverns old. In worlds unseen lurking…***

Moons of darkness.

Their tails swimming their scales like rain, shimmering as they danced together in sea above, circing their kingdom, protecting

Breathing holes

Imprisoned

Lavender

“We are paying respects to a long-forgotten god. It was said

It’s a prilage not taken by many any more, The tradition fell out of favor for many pods.

“It was a remainding.” Erik said.

“But why are we here?”

“Because you need to see with your own eyes.”

I hope this helps!

#Youtube

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knightofhylia · 2 years ago

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Basic Spirit Contact Etiquette

We’ve all seen some sort of ghost-hunting show in our lives, whether you were an avid Ghost Adventures fan or looking for scary things to watch on Halloween.

Here I’m whipping up a guide based on my 10+ years working with spirits on how to approach spirits respectfully and conduct yourself during contact whether in your own home or another location. This is focused on the types of spirits you may encounter while on a ghost investigation.

Before Contact

Consider who you are bringing with you. Take into account the location you are going to. If you are in the south investigating a plantation with a crew of all white men it might get a little tense and spirits will probably not like to respond, or respond harshly. Most of the time when shows actually think about this is if they are going to a prison or something and they bring girls to attract ghosts. Think about the spiritual background of the people attending. People of different backgrounds will react to and attract different types of entities.

Bring an offering. No one wants to do anything for free, so, give a little ‘thanks’ for the spirit's time and energy by bringing a gift. This can be almost anything! Do your research if you are investigating a specific location. Time periods, regions, specific people, and general areas can give you a clue on what to give. If you really don’t have much info, there are some good (generally) universal offerings.

Energy

Spirits need energy to manifest like I need energy to manifest myself out of bed sometimes. There are a couple of different ways to do this.

Candles are a great, cheap, easy way to offer a little energy to the spirits. PLEASE USE CAREFULLY. Make sure it has a stable support such as a holder if its a tapered candle or bowl if it is a pillar candle. Place a plate underneath to catch any wax runoff. I’m not going to go deep into candle colours, but the ones I personally use are purple for psychic boost, white for general and cleansing, black for protection, or blue for insight.

Crystals and rocks are a very common offering as well. This doesn’t have to be fancy, honestly a little quartz goes a long way sometimes. I personally have a pouch that has my stones for spirit contact specifically that I take with me to help me connect. I’m not going to go super extensive into the meanings of the crystals, you can find that other places, but these are my go to:

Labradorite: good for intuition and heightening senses

Spirit Bomb Quartz: I’m gonna be honest, I bought this mainly because it looked like a kidney stone I had, and it's one of Yusuke Urameshi's powers. But! It’s quartz so it’s always good to have around.

Azurite: good for mentality clarity and receiving messages.

Lapis Lazuli: My favourite stone <3. Good for connecting with inner guidance and intuition.

Music is great for bringing in spirits. Music is this incredible source of energy that carries over despite language, time period, or place. We all love music! Music can change a room in a minute. With music you are transported to a different time and place. This is great especially for spirits from older periods as it brings out a lot of nostalgia and emotion. Music also helps you get into the right headspace for communication as well.

Special objects are used all the time in ghost shows. Personal belongings such as jewelry, books, or clothes work well. Toys and crayons for children have been known to get them to come out and play. Things from the person’s time period or hobbies they did can help draw them in as well.

Food

Food is what gives us energy, and that doesn’t change much in the spirit realm either. Some good basic foods to bring are things like bread, fruit, baked goods, tea, or alcohol. I've found unless there is specific trauma around it, most spirits accept alcohol/cigarettes. Consider the time period or region of your location.

If you are investigating an old house or mansion, what food was popular at the time? What food was popular in the region? Try and give something that is familiar or would be a treat for them. Crack open a cold one for the spirits in your haunted bar, maybe offer up some peanuts or chips to bring the people in. Invite the lady of the mansion some nice tea or cakes and a chat.

If investigating a hospital/mental ward/prison, consider bringing something from the outside world. From my personal experience there is nothing someone wants more after a long stint in the hospital than a big burger. These people died eating the blandest shit imaginable (if they weren’t starved) so try something they wouldn’t have been able to have before. You don’t have to cook a wagyu beef steak, but cookies or sweets could go a long way in winning the favour of more shy or angry spirits. Bring milk and cookies to the children’s ward for a treat! Give the kids the sugar they couldn’t have in this realm!

What do spirits do with food?

Think about all the energy you put into cooking! All the stirring, kneading, heating, cooling, oils, herbs, meats, water, all has energy that gets combined and condensed when food is made. In my mortal opinion, spirits can feed off of this energy like we eat food. This is why I think some food offerings shrivel quicker. The energy from the cow used to produce the milk is carried down through the milking, pasteurization, packaging, distribution and receiving of one single bottle, gaining more energy each step of the way. Machinery used to make food feeds into that energy as well as the people who make it. You ever buy food and can taste the energy of the overworked underpaid worker who made it? Homemade items are usually the best, but store bought works just the same.

I also believe that the spirit can manifest to physically eat the food. This could either be an apparition or manifesting in the form of an animal.

If the food is store bought I might suggest cleansing it spiritually before offering it.

What to do with the food?

There are a couple options here. The easiest one is just leave it and let nature take its course. Liquids are usually poured on the ground or drain. If you are not on your own property I would suggest other methods such as burying(if it won't harm the wildlife) or (SAFELY) burning. I would use a big fireproof bowl such as a glass or metal mixing bowl (probably best if it’s not the one you use in the kitchen). If you are able to leave it overnight and come back to it, take note of any changes to the food! I like to keep my offerings out overnight but if it is going to spoil or stink then whenever you are done/they are done is fine.

Incense

Fire is an amazing element! Prometheus ain’t getting his liver eaten eternally for nothing! Fire can turn herbs and resins into magic in a flash. There’s a reason incense has been used for centuries in ritual practices all over the world. This can be done with sticks, cones, resins, bundles or loose. If you are going to burn incense PLEASE do this carefully as well.

Herbs and plants I usually burn are mugwort, wormwood, damiana, sandalwood, lavender, and cedar. This can be done either as a blend or individually. These are usually burned on a charcoal disk or as a stick if I can find one.

Resins are also common for rituals and spirit contact. There’s a reason Christians love to hotbox themselves with frankincense and myrrh. Shit works! These take a little more work so I suggest planning ahead if you are going to use these.

If you’re a cop you have to tell us!!! Ok now that the cops are gone this might sound wack, but in my experience, ghosts love drugs. I have yet to encounter a spirit who did not like weed. I have been told specifically to smoke weed with my spirits to help charge and cleanse them. Taking a rip from a bong invokes all four elements and helps center yourself. I wouldn’t suggest toking up in a haunted mansion, but a sprinkle of flower or kief on a charcoal disk can work as well. Use tobacco wisely as it is sacred to many Native cultures. Use Native grown tobacco and treat the herb with the respect it deserves. White supremacy and capitalism have tainted tobacco to be what it is now. If offering cigarettes, I suggest using the more organic ones. That being said, if you know a specific brand the spirit likes, opt for that one. I would suggest burying this offering as burning it may cause health issues, set off fire alarms, or leave a harsh smell.

Consider the type of haunting or spirit you are going to interact with. What do previous reports say the activity is? What type of location is it? What was this land before something was built here? I will briefly cover different types of hauntings and spirits that are common for ghost investigations. This is by no means all-encompassing but I’ve gathered this much from observations.

Active haunting. Classic ghost haunting. This type of spirit is aware of their surroundings to a degree. Usually conscious of the fact they are dead but not always. Common characteristics are:

Footsteps

Lights flickering

Feelings of being watched

Temperature drops

Hearing voices

Apparitions (full body, partial, shadow beings)

Mild physical activity (touching, doors closing/opening on their own, minor movement of objects)

Residual haunting. More common for places of tragedy, this type of spirit is usually not aware of their surroundings and instead are repeating moments of their life. Most characteristics apply from active hauntings to residual as well. The main difference is activity is done in a pattern. Common characteristics are:

Activity that comes in cycles or patterns i.e. specific times of day/year, specific places

Footsteps

Movement of specific objects

Voices or audio that does is not in response to the living word

Apparitions seen around same place/time

Poltergeist. This is the more active type of haunting. Most horror movies are based on this type. This type of haunting usually happens when a spirit is very powerful, usually angered or annoyed. The spirit is very aware of its surroundings. Common characteristics are:

Apparitions of all kinds

Footsteps

Doors slamming

Wall banging

Intense physical activity (things being thrown, moved, broken, or disappearing)

Physical presence (cold rooms, being able to push or grab people)

Behaviour change in people (more aggressive, sad, or just strange behaviour in general)

There is a lot of bleedover in regards to the categories, but it is usually determined by intensity and frequency of objects.

During Contact

Ugh, nothing pisses me off more than people back-talking ghosts when they are trying to make contact. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar folks. Here’s quick do’s and don'ts of making contact with spirits.

Do:

Bring an offering

Announce your presence when you come in and state your business. Be polite and introduce yourself. Spirits are more likely to warm up to you if they know what your doing.

Explain your equipment as you set it up or use it. Show them where to talk on recorders, I can almost guarantee someone from the 1800s probably doesn’t know about REM pods, EMF detectors, and video cameras. Explain using simple language but remember you are not talking to a child (unless you are). Demonstrations of equipment can help you test out your gear and get the spirits used to it. Evidence doesn’t start when you turn off the lights, record as you set up in case curious ghosts have things to say

Thank the spirit when it responds! If you ask for a sign and they bang the wall, thank them! Even if it’s scary stuff like slamming doors it’s still good to thank them.

Don’t:

Provoking the spirits by taunting isn’t going to do shit but get you cursed. Y’all know what I’m talking about. Early seasons Zak Bagans shit. ‘I’m not scared of you! Come out and face me! Show yourself coward! Attack me!’ Okay dude good luck with that attachment!

You are a mere mortal in the presence of something you don’t understand, don’t be an asshole about it. Talk to them like they are people because they probably were once! Talk in a respectful tone and be humble.

Don’t get mad if they don’t respond. Be mindful of where you are and what you’re talking about. If you are asking a spirit about a horrific event, accept that they may not want to talk about it. The type of haunting may not be fit for the type of investigation you’re doing.

NOT EVERY GHOST IS A DEMON OR EVIL. I’m so tired of every time someone has a negative interaction with a ghost it’s a demon. Maybe they’re just pissed off you’re in their space? Don’t throw around random labels just because you’re uncomfortable.

Debunking is always good to try but disregarding unexplainable things discourages spirits from trying. Or they may try harder and you might not like what they do!

Ending Investigation

Show your gratitude. Dispose of your offerings properly and thank the spirits for their time and energy. Clean up any mess you may have left.

Cleanse the space. Everyone likes to cleanse differently so I won’t go into it too deeply. Personally, I like to burn incense and use sound. I find ‘cleansing tones’ on Spotify and turn my bluetooth speaker upside down so the speaker is directly touching the surface. I believe this helps dispel negative energy. Other ways are using a bell, using cleansing water, visualization etc. Take only pictures, leave only footprints type of deal. This is especially important for places of violence or negative energies.

I advise walking out of the space backwards so nothing can follow you and cleansing yourself when you are done. Too often people go into these spaces, rip the bandaid off the spiritual wounds and then leave. It’s cruel to keep these spirits bound to these places for our entertainment.

Only YOU can prevent spiritual fuckery!

Note: the source leads to an outside blog that is co-run by me. Some of the words may have been changed in this edition, but this is not plagiarism, i wrote both! The URL is randomly generated for now but it is still a legit website. Feel free to check out the other posts!

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windvexer · 3 years ago

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Building spirit houses and shrines for your household spirits

I believe one of the best way to begin cultivating a relationship with any spirit is to build them a small house or shrine.

Creating a physical space for them in our world begets them allowing us into their spiritual reality.

It's reciprocity: I will make space for you, and I hope you make space for me.

You don't need to be able to see or hear spirits, or engage in two-way communication, in order to begin building a relationship with those spirits.

You also do not need to have clearly identified the spirit.

A shrine to a household spirit is very simple. All you need to do is devote a physical space - like a shelf, a box, or even an actual dollhouse - to that spirit.

It is ideal to build the shrine in a place where the spirit seems to spend the most time. If you don't know where a household spirit likes to spend its time, it is worthwhile to attempt to find out.

Some spirits may like the peace and calm of a cozy little shelf in the pantry. Other spirits may want to be right near the front door or the busiest rooms.

Before you begin building the shrine, inform the spirit of your intent. This does not need to be ceremonial and you do not need to be able to receive messages back from them. Make some general occult fussings - light a candle or incense, ring a bell, rap on walls with your knuckles - you know, stuff that gets their attention.

If you are building a shrine for all spirits in your home, just tell them that. "Everyone, I want us to be friends, so I'm going to make a space for you to rest and enjoy yourselves."

Perhaps this is for only one spirit. You don't need to have them fully identified. Try something like this: "I've noticed a shy spirit that seems to hide in the bathrooms. I want to make a shrine just for you."

Trust that you have been heard. In this day and age, oft-neglected spirits are usually delighted that someone is paying attention to them.

Once you've told the spirits of your intent, you may begin receiving intuitions. Perhaps you thought one shelf would be best for the shrine, but you keep feeling a nagging sense to build it somewhere else. You may feel feelings of curiosity or excitement that don't quite seem to be your own.

Use of a pendulum may be of assistance if you'd like to make communication ongoing, but it never does to let divination subsume action.

An appropriate surface, box, or container does not need to be large. Don't put yourself out by over-spending space. The materials also do not need to be expensive or grandiose. A cardboard shoebox will do. A large quart jar makes a fine spirit shrine. Even an origami box!

What you should try to do is find something with enough space to leave small, delightful objects and gifts. It is a good idea to include a space to leave temporary offerings, even things like glasses of water. For example, you could use an old pickle jar as the primary spirit house, and simply have a dish next to it where you burn incense.

Spirits also sometimes like dark and quiet places. If you are using an open shelf or a clear jar, consider including something with opaque walls, or a divider.

Spirits can move through even the tiniest cracks. A spirit can enter and exit a cardboard box at will, even if the lid is on. Be mindful of sealing jars with airtight lids.

Whatever surface or container you use, ensure it is very clean. I do not mean spiritually cleansed. A pickle jar is fine and well, unless it still smells like pickles. Please remember that many strong scents can be offensive to the spirits.

Also remember that Wortcunning teaches us plants may have specific effects on spirits - your essential oils may just smell nice to you and an infographic may list them as "cleansing", but their inherent spiritual essences may actually make your spirit home suitable for the wrong kind of spirit, increase manifestations beyond a level you're comfortable with, or otherwise make the spirit home uncomfortable for the spirit you want to invite there.

Here, less is more - wash, clean, and dust items as you normally would.

The concept with spirit shrines and houses is that the spirits can make actual use of the objects you put there.

Ideally, the spirit home should have comfortable things so the spirits can be cozy and rest.

Gather and place very comfortable, cozy objects on the shrine or in the container. This might be a bit of flannel or a knitted/crocheted swatch for a blanket, a small sewn and stuffed pillow, or even miniature furniture like a dollhouse chair.

These things do not have to be arranged as if they are a diorama bedroom. You can just layer soft fabrics into a box or surface.

Once you have a clean space set aside with a few comfortable objects, and something like an offering dish, the spirit house may be complete.

Make more occult fussings to get the spirit's attention (although you may sense that the spirit is hovering over your shoulder, so to speak). Tell the spirit that its space is ready. Tell the spirit that it should make use of the space as it pleases. At this time, consider giving a small offering to celebrate the occasion.

However, many other things can be added to the spirit shrine. Be careful when giving non-disposable gifts. Your spirit may very much enjoy its collection of coins and cigarettes, and be upset with you if you need to clear them away because too much space is taken up.

If a spirit is being troublesome around the home, building them a little home may be helpful right away. You can also put things there that they will enjoy playing with. Strings of shiny beads and crystals, windchime charms, colorful tangles of threads, kaleidoscopes (come back and turn them from time to time!), and other colorful, interesting trinkets are often much-beloved by bored household spirits.

You do not need to constantly clean the spirit's space. Consider that the space is like the spirit's bedroom - they do not necessarily want you invading their space in order to clean it. A quarterly cleaning (perhaps on each solstice and equinox) will suffice. The spirit home should not collect "negative" energies.

You also do not need a regular offering schedule. An offering even once a month will suffice.

Pay attention to any nagging little thoughts that the spirit house ought to change or be moved. Use a pendulum to help confirm these notions.

#spirits #spirit houses #shrines #witchblr #spirit keeping

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souyaszn · 3 years ago

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MIDAS TOUCH! ⁂ [ ryūguji ken ]

18+ content! minor, ageless and blank blogs will be blocked if they interact with this work.

﹡come getcha fics!

﹡synopsis: gold is a dangerous thing for someone like draken to have, especially when it’s in his mouth.

﹡wc: 2k+ words.

﹡includes: female reader. use of petnames (princess) use of the word cunt. car sex. public sex (parking lot) cunnilingus. fingering. spit. dirty talk but not much. clit stimulation. allusion to multiple orgasms. implicit mention of spanking. overstimulation. draken with his hair down. nuff said.

﹡xtra! repost from my old blog w a few changes. we back. see visual. and godspeed.

“One more time.”

“Babe.” Ken groans, head thrown back into the headrest of the carseat as he drags the sound. “This is the sixth time you’ve asked, y’know.”

“I know but-”

He cuts you off. “In the last fifteen minutes.”

“I know. But this is the last time, I promise! Seventh’s time the charm, just show me and I won’t bother you again. Pleaseee?”

You don’t even have to pout. It’s not like he has the mental fortitude to deny you of anything you asked of him, although he should be the least bit used to this by now, being together as long as you have.

“Last time,” he says, but it’s spoken more toward himself than it is to you. Neither of you believe it.

Slacking his jaw, Ken obliges you and lets his mouth fall open a fraction, bottom lip separated by its top counterpart by about two inches. Two inches is as far as his generosity goes. He’s granting your request with two measly inches for ten measly seconds before he’s trying to snap his mouth shut again, but you’re quicker. Two fingers beneath his chin bring his face closer to yours with gentle force while the thumb works at his lip, pulling it downward so you can feast your eyes on what you want to see— for as long as you want to see it.

You strike gold… literally. The whites of his teeth have been replaced entirely with the stuff, weaving his entire bottom row in the opulence of real karats, shaped to fit every dip and curve of his teeth to the letter. You almost forget you’re holding his mouth open, bewitched by his tongue as it swipes over the gold-plated canines, rose pink leaving the metal lustred in spit. That’s when it hits you—the gravity of what you’ve done.

There isn’t anybody in this world more influential than you. No billionaire, president, or popstar that could ever hold a candle to the flame of power you possess. You were the one who got Ken Ryuguji to wear grillz. Could Jeff Bezos say the same?

It was a hedonistic gift to yourself from yourself, a concept manifested from a I think they’d look good on you, Ken that you just had to see through to the end. Your belief in the idea was so strong, it made Ken a believer too. He felt persuaded as he accompanied you to the jeweler to pick out a design. Curious as he spared time out of his day to get his teeth molded. And while he’d never admit it aloud, excited as he hand-delivered said mold to the jeweler alone because you were too busy gleefully bouncing on the balls of your feet to be of much help to him.

He could barely get you to sit still when the call came in informing you that the finished product was ready.

“Starting to regret my decision to make you wear this for the rest of the day,” you tell him, angling his jaw from left to right. “Feels like I’m punishing myself.”

“I feel like I look stupid,” he confesses with a shrug, unaware of how offended you’d get when he said it.

You’re bug-eyed, staring at him incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” He leans into his rearview mirror and pulls his cheek back with his fingers, surveying the piece fully before letting go with a soft pop. You, on the other hand, can’t believe your ears.

“Ken, smile.” He listens. You nearly moan. How could a man be so dense? “Babe.” You start laughing, really laughing, because the innocent hilarity of Draken— out of everybody on this fucking planet, Ryūguji Ken—thinking something had the capability to make him ugly is too good to ignore. “Ken you just- you have no idea.”

He truly doesn’t, brows pulled together as he regards you with visible confusion. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about them all day.”

This, he knows. You’ve been at his side the entire day, but he can list on one hand the amount of times you’ve looked at him without your gaze falling to his mouth and lips. “You don’t think I know that?”

“About you eating me out while you’re wearing them,” you clarify.

That… changes things.

“Wow.” The shock lasts only for a second. “That’s what you’ve been thinkin’ about?” Reaching up, he holds your face the same way you held his earlier, but it feels different. More forceful from the strength he has over you. He leans into your face, taking notice of the hearts in your eyes and how they’re lidded. “Yeah, there isn’t shit in that pretty head of yours but my tongue, huh? Want me to make you cum on it?”

Your answer is a meek nod of the head, but he won’t accept it. You were too bold a second ago to chicken out now. “Use your words,” he commands, authority in his tone reminding you that any power you hold over him is what he allows. That any power you hold over him can be stripped away. Easily.

“I want it, Ken,” you whisper back to him. “I want you.”

So said, so done.

You’re under him before you know it, his head nestled between your legs like he was drowning and your cunt was the only source of oxygen left. He’s had you every way imaginable: on your back with your legs wrapped around him like a necklace, from behind where he spat in your ass, slurped the wad up when it started to drain down to your cunt, and laughed when you twitched and a reverse where he’s the one lying flat and you’re on top, riding his stiffened tongue like it’s a job you get paid for. It’s baffling how many positions he can mold you into, cramped up in the backseat of your car like that, but it’s nothing to him. With Ken if there’s a will, there is a way.

The way right now is on your back, one leg haphazardly propped over his shoulder with your toes folded against the car door, and the other dangling precariously off the edge of the seat, the towel he placed beneath your ass out of respect for the leather seats useless since you’ve soaked it through completely. And Ken? Ken’s sandwiched between both of your hickey-littered thighs, smiling up at you like an idiot.

“Still with me, baby?” He doesn’t expect you to answer; you’re busy using what little brain power you have left for motor function, rolling your hips greedily to the lazy pace his index and middle fingers set. But before you can even think to, Ken taps two fingers of his freehand against the hood of your throbbing clit roughly, laughing at the speed in which you wet the pads. “There you are.” His wide grin grows wider at your reaction to the gold in his mouth, knowing that they’re the cause of the fresh wave of slick gushing from your messy hole. “So fuckin’ nasty,” he whispers and then dives in, because he’s not one to waste a meal when it’s prepped so nicely.

It’s hard to tell whether your boyfriend loves you or hates you when he goes down on you.

Sure, there’s traces of devotion in the way he kisses your clit, but you can’t deny the menace present in his attention when he gives the nub harsh sucks, grazing its swollen skin with the bluff of his teeth. Trying to run from him and his affection is futile too; your ass and thighs carry the dull sting of what happened when you tried that. Your best bet is to receive what he gives you—no matter how he gives it.

“Ken!” The sound that comes from your throat is a toss between a mewl, a moan and a whine as his tongue laps at your puffy folds, fingers twitching limply at the feeling of the hot muscle working its way through your slit with vulgar finesse. And when his tongue isn’t moving you can count on his fingers to, large digits building a mind-fogging rhythm within you.

And just when you start to think it’s over, that maybe, just maybe, he managed to tire himself out between your legs, you prop yourself up on your elbows and peer down at him as he slides his fingers out of you completely, calluses sodden with your arousal. “Baby?”

“Hm?” Ken won’t even look at you, eyes locked wholly and unmoving on your cunt. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing, but you find out soon enough when he puckers his wet lips, allowing a fat wad of spit to pour out on his fingers and fucks them right back into you, relishing in the loud squelch that comes from it, as well as the way your walls clench filthily around him. “Lie back down, princess. Haven’t had my fill yet.”

“Oh,” you moan weakly, falling back into the seat like he told you to.

The reward for your obedience comes fast when his hand shifts, sending him up against that spot inside you that makes you squeal, writhe, then thrash as he hits it again. And again. And again.

The fourth time tells you this is no fluke, the fifth (unfairly accompanied by the return of his mouth on you) tells you to find something to hold onto.

That’s how you reach for his hair, weaving through the black strands and tugging a fistful upward, though you’re not sure whether you’re trying to pull him closer to you or farther away. Either way, your boyfriend doesn’t budge, pain turning him on more than it’s supposed to deter him. He moans face deep into your pussy, sending an overkill of vibrations to an already oversensitive bundle of nerves.

You won’t last long—no way you could think to with him scissoring your cunt like this, tongue circling around your clit as he licks, sucks and spits on it. It all makes for a cohesive kind of messines. The sloppier he makes you, the easier his fingers can move, always lubricated by a flurry of spit, cum or a mixture of the two. Every slosh coming from between your legs is louder than the last, the sound eventually trumping all others in the car.

It’s obscene, it’s lewd and it’s.. going to make you cum.

“Ken, I-oh fuck-I!” Words evade you, but you don’t need them.

Not when he’s there to pick up every cue you give and meet you halfway, thumb reaching up to rub quick circles onto the hardened nub he’s been toying with all day. “I know, baby. Just give it to me. Cum pretty on my tongue like you always do.”

Your hand shoots to his wrist, but you don’t have strength to do much else, face and body locked in a pleasureful chronostasis that a few more swipes brings you right out of. Back arched, legs jerking, hips bucking, walls fluttering—both around his fingers and his tongue—you cum into Ken’s awaiting mouth, sobs rising and dying while he swills down every bit of your juices that come streaming from your spasming hole. He even goes as far as to put his lips to your pussy and suck on it, as if you were somehow holding out on him and he was coming to collect the full thing himself.

It’s not until you intervene and push his head away that he actually moves, your leg sliding off of his shoulder as he hauls himself up to hover over your shuddering body. The smirk on his face is shit-eating.

“You were right,” he admits, teeth slowly creeping out from their hiding place behind his plump lips, gold overcoming the prominent pink in increments. “These don’t look so bad on me after all.” Sunlight filters through the car glass the same time he speaks, breaking through his hair and enveloping his body in an ethereal glow like a spotlight.

There’s nothing on him that it doesn’t catch. His chin completely drenched by your wet, his hair matted down to his forehead from the thin sheen of sweat covering his body, and of course it doesn’t miss his golden grin, competing with the smile for the right to blind you.

By the time the sun retreats into the clouds, your thighs are clamped shut, the slick spread thickly between them completely new as you gaze up at your lover, stunned dumb by his beauty.

Devilish men really shouldn’t look so angelic.

#ryuguji ken smut #ken ryuuguji x reader smut #ken ryuguji x reader smut #ken ryuguji smut #ken ryuuguji smut #ryuguji ken x reader smut #ryuuguji ken smut #ryuuguji ken x reader smut #tokyo revengers smut #tr smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tr x reader smut #tokyo rev x reader smut #tokrev smut #（ ⌖ ）— draken.

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