#o foul witch

[daylite-writes]

Welcoming Legacy (It welcomes you) - SAGAU ft. Foul Legacy Tartaglia

Ever since you woke up in Teyvat, you’ve been… confused. The memories of your previous life fading, leaving you to wander. One thing was for certain though, the people here despised you for the face you wore. That was, until waking in the Snezhnayan wilderness after another death, a certain abyssal harbingers saves you from the cold.

cw: imposter au SAGAU shenanigans, temporary death, hyperthermia, passing out, not very yandere (but from his perspective it definitely would be), hurt/comfort, Capitano cameo! Written to be x reader ish, but it’s vague and ur kinda cold so can be read as Romantic or Platonic! Will be tagging as both lemme know if it shouldn’t be.

1.5k words

~~~

It’s almost funny, you think, how he’s the one who reconsized you first.

No. Not recognised. This was the first time you’d met any of them. The vision holders, the ‘characters’ that you once fawned over and held very dear. They wouldn’t know your name, your face—except for the fact they did. And they hated you for it. “Impersonator”, “Heretic”, “Damned”, “Witch.”

They all looked at you as if you’d committed a grave crime. A slight that could not be forgiven. But how could you have? You were given this name, and born with this face.

And yet you were hunted. And yet you were killed. Arrow through the heart, spear through the back, claymore to the ribs. The pain was unbearable, but death wasn’t the end. Each time you closed your eyes, hoping for an end to the nightmare, you awoke somewhere new.

You recognized the landscape from hours spent playing the game, and quickly learned to avoid settlements, villages, and most importantly, vision holders. The pain of death was too much, leaving your body trembling with sobs and quietly pleading to whatever force put you on Teyvat to just let you go home.

After the fourth death—at the hands of an electro charged spear, courtesy of a certain mahamantra—you woke up, shaking uncontrollably. Only this time, not from phantom pains or the emotional toll of death. This time, is was due to a heavy, bone deep, unnatural cold.

Snezhnaya.

Of course it had to be Snezhnaya.

You whimpered, cursing your luck. This would be a slow, painful death if you couldn’t find shelter and fast.

Stumbling to your feet—bare, the clothes that stayed with you after death did not include them—you looked around pitifully. A snowy forest. Beautiful, but useless, and hard to see far in. You’d never been to Snezhnaya in game either, so there was no way you’d be able to find shelter. Pitifully, you dragged yourself under a tree, curling into yourself under the pine’s branches, hoping it wouldn’t be too painful. Achingly, you let your eyes close, waiting for the next place.

Only, before the cold took you, a rumbling call broke through the tranquil silence of the forest.

Blearily, you opened your eyes. Some kind of beast? It wasn’t like you were familiar with the creatures of Snezhnaya. But it didn’t sound like a normal enemy monster. It was sad, keening… longing.

It called out again. You… would rather die quickly to a beast than slowly to hypothermia, you supposed.

“Here,” you called out weakly. You clicked your tongue a few times, as if luring in a cat. “Come on.”

You laughed slightly. Had delusion from hypothermia set in so quickly? You were making kissy noises at the monster in the forest. Luring in your death with soft sweet noises.

The forest was still for a moment. And then it wasn’t.

Snow crunched underfoot of what was undoubtedly a large creature. You were pretty sure you heard the waning bend of pine trees as it shoved pass.

Was this a mistake? Probably. You were too cold to care. Maybe its claws would be warm as it tore you apart. Ha. Wouldn’t that be nice?

At some point your eyes had slipped closed again, but it was close now. You could hear it. So close—you waited for the sink of claws into your flesh—

It came to a stop in front of you, inches away, maybe, if the warm breath on your skin was any indication.

In a raspy, warbling tone, it spoke English. “Creator?”

What?

You opened your eyes again, and gasped as you saw… Tartaglia? No, not him, exactly. But, his Foul Legacy. The rough plates of armor adorning his limbs, the red mask with a singular clouded pearl eye in the center, the sheer size of him.

“Ajax?” You mumbled.

“Creator!” It said again, rough, desperate, as if it had a throat not made for speaking.

“Hi.” You said simply, before your eyes slipped closed.

~

Warmth.

There was warmth.

A lot of warmth.

Fire.

You sighed, not daring to open your eyes for fear it might disappear. That you might still be laying in the snow, your blood crystallizing in your veins.

A smooth, clawed hand cupped your cheek, then your jaw, tilting your head back. Was this when the pain would come? You stirred a bit, but little nothing happened. The thing holding you sighed, gently pressing the sides of your cheek to open your jaw. What? What was happening? You hardly had time to panic before something warm was poured into your mouth, and his inhuman hand latched around your mouth to keep it shut.

You whimpered, eyes still closed—gods you really didn’t want to open them. You really couldn’t mentally confront what was happening. For now, it needed to stay invisible, it needed to not be real—as the liquid sat in your mouth. You refused to swallow, but it tasted like broth? Was it broth? You decided you didn’t care, not so long as you were being forced to drink—

That was, until its other hand came up and began to massage your throat. You sputtered, the rough finger pads gently rubbing against your throat forcing you to swallow after a moment.

It’s… nice. Warm but not hot, and definitely just some sort of broth now that you think about it. The next time the edge of a bowl is set against your lips, you drink of your own volition.

Whatever was caring for you seemed happy, as its rumbling chest, reminiscent of a cat's purr, seemed to indicate. Honestly, you were too, going slack against it, hiding your face in what you think is it’s neck, lined with a mane of fur, as it rubbed circles into your scars. The old aches of death soothing under its fingerpads.

Sleep came easy.

~

The next time you woke up, you weren’t so afraid to open your eyes.

Strangely calm, you didn’t even jump at the sight in front of you.

Probably seven feet tall, with thick, armored plates running up his body, a mix of purples, blues, blacks and reds coloring his body. His mask was a dull red, and an abyssal blue, almost jewel like eye was set in the center.

Foul legacy. Tartaglia’s abyssal form. This was Childe, no—

“Ajax?”

He practically melted, wrapping around you at the raspy croak of his own name.

You sighed, snuggling into the small fur mane around his neck.

“What are… what are you doing here?” Wasn’t he out of the country? You weren’t sure what point in the story you arrived during, but none of them had him in his homeland for long. “Isn’t being in that form for too long dangerous?”

He smiled. Well, ‘smile’ was a bad term. He curled back his lips and opened his plated maw, one you didn’t know he had. It was hidden among the red armor of his mask, which you were now convinced were just, ya know, his face when in foul legacy. His maw, black and almost a void inside, lined with row after row of sharp, shark-like teeth. He yawned, wide, before snapping his mouth shut with a little clack.

You couldn’t help the small giggle that bubbled up from your throat.

He seemed to like that, purring as he set his chin atop your head.

Your giggle faded away, and your face fell. You gave a soft sigh, body aching slightly. With a quiet voice, you could help but ask what’d been gnawing at you since you woke.

“Why… Why are you helping me?”

“Because the ones who hurt you are fools.”

That was not Ajax.

You turned your head, towards the entrance of the cave Ajax had holed the two of you up in.

When you saw who it was, you shied into the arms of Foul Legacy, who was happy enough to wrap his arms around you.

Capitano’s intimidating figure blocked the entrance of the cave, mask glinting in the fire light.

“I apologize for the late arrival, I was combing the west side of the valley for you. Tartaglia seemed to find you first.”

“I…” What?

Capitano stepped deeper into the cave, his steps were confident, but the closer he got, he lowered his head. It almost looked like a sign of respect.

A mere few strides away, he reached a hand out—to greet you? Touch you? You were sure, as before he could do anything, Ajax dragged you closer and responded to Capitano with a guttural growl.

“Quiet, eleventh.” Capitano commanded. Despite his unhappiness, Ajax obliged, letting Capitano closer.

A cold metal gauntlet approached your face slowly, before cupping your face. Gently, it tilted your jaw up, forcing you to meet the void of his mask.

You didn’t know that when the firelight hit your irises, they glittered with constellations, or that the veins barely visible against the white of your eyes were gold.

What you did see through, was the way his heavy shoulders dropped, and you heard a reverent sigh of relief. He dipped his head lower, and you swore crystal blue eyes blinked slowly down at you.

“Welcome to the waking world, dear Creator. Celestia has kept you asleep and unseeing for far too long.”

~~~

Omg this had so much more but the plot got out of hand so I just took the first bits and left the rest out. TECHNICALLY there’s lord and explanations but I know I’d never finish a cohesive plot so here we are! My first attempt as SAGAU!

Gonna update my ask specifics soon as well as answer one!

ALSO IVE BEEN TRYING TO FIND THIS SOULMATE AU SCARA FIC WHERE HE FINDS READER LIKE TIED OUT AS A SACRIFICE AND FINDS OUT SHES HIS SOULMATE AND HE LIKE BRINGS HER ALONG WITH HIM AND SHE IS LIKE SICK FROM THE COLD AND HES ALL WORRIED AND LIKE “FORGET THEM THEY BTRAYED TOU” AND I CANT FIND IT AGAINNN AAAA anyways if you’ve read it and know pls tell me

[maestro04yayyy]

maestro04yayyy, maestro04yayyy I need, I need to tell you something, cos a Chloleka thought just burned itself into my skull and I have to share it , please forgive the ramble but like!

The time time Juleka officially declares CHloe is her girlfriend, that they are dating, is right in front of their class, in a public event, when meeting Audrey.

Specifically, its Style Queen day and before the death drama starts, Chloe tries introducing Juleka whom she had managed to get some official modeling shoots for.

Audrey's suitably impressed, not quite "Most exceptionally thing I have ever seen!" impressed, but definitely, "hmm, yes, those were exceptional shots, you have potential" impressed.

However things turn sour the moment Chloe tries to keep particpating in the conversation, because:

"& what do you have to do with her Cloaco, besides sharing I assume an age demographic."

"W- Well I arranged Juleka's shoots?"

"Even a stopped clock is right once a day, digital not analog, why are you bothering her now?"

Juela, having had enough of this, "She's also my girlfriend."

Class (Gasps) Rose (Complicated feelings!)

Audrey just gives her an appraising look before saying, "You can do better."

Choe: I'm trying mommy-

"Hush Clorox, Juleka was it? Don't tether yourself to a sow on pedigree alone," She sends Andre who is approaching a scathing look, "Trust me me on that."

Chloe has to physically stop Juleka from acting up, but the seat drama starts and its all lost in the hubbub.

When Audrey storms off, Chloe races to go after her and like, my mind goes in two directions.

1: She has to pull away from Juleka who is trying to keep her there but its clearly like pulling teeth and motivated by a mixture of, "Got to make mommy happy, & she will destroy Adrien's career over this, ETC."

Juleka doesn't follow, though maybe only cos she's physically stopped, but she is snarling about tearing out the heart of a foul witch.

2: Or, Juleka tells Chloe to stop, as in the firm, clear commands and Chloe does, but tries not to and is just like, clearly struggling, cos she can't do what Juleka says and make mommy happy, but she can't ignore Juleka and-

She kind of nearly starts disintegrating on the spot as she tries to find a solution and is basically half escorted, half carried away by Juleka.

Whatever the case,

Style Queen happens, Chloe manages to reason herself & probably Juleka out of being dusted if she's close by or Juleka had otherwise left the room and wasn't hit.

Adrien's still out of the fight, but Marinette decides with Chat absent she needs fire power as well as stopping power & takes both tiger & bee!

Who ends up with wat how is still up in the air, cos again it could go many ways.

Like, she may still want Bee for Alya, but want to give Juleka the tiger to work out some of her anger. Or she may even be debating Chloe as she'd have adjusted a decent amount of her behavior at this stage, or at least some if Juleka told her to or helped her socialize, but maybe not.

It could go just like canon but two Miraculous boxes are lost, or only one, or Juleka finds one and trans forms to go fuck up Audrey or her office and possessions at a minimum, or Chloe is the one to find it. Or they both find one, possibly knowingly stealing said Miraculous is Juleka was with Chloe but not turned to dust like her.

Its fucked up Chloe's mother killed her, right? Like, she tried to several times & then did. She murdered her daughter.

Or Juleka manages to basically drag Chloe back to her place where one or both of them open Miraculous, hell, Marinette may not even go with the Bee if she thinks the Horse could get the job done!

There's so many options, but yeah, broad strokes, those are some vibes.

Also like, one one hand Juleka declaring Chloe as her girlfriend and in a protective manner, YES, o the other hand, that means the way they became official will always be when Audrey was tearing Chloe down and not a happier moment, NO!

So yeah, feels!

Also Chloe basically disintegrating cos of her ingrained penchant to listen and obey her loved one's to get them to love her lead to some kind of shut down or disassociation cos she can't please two people at once and like, she is such a fucking mess. Like a figurine made of glass with sharpened edges, cutting, difficult to hold, a work of art and exceptional presentation, but oh so breakable.

Ok fist pf all never apologize or asl for forgiveness when rambling!!!!(at least to me).

Second, I love this!!!!!! All of it!!!!!!!

Got that's such a good moment to actually bevome official!!!(well in a story at least, because loke you said that day won't be a happy memory)

Also I literally adore the second option, the one of chloe wanting to please both and just freezing, not knowing what to do and like taking a step forward and then a step back, like a broken toy or robot.

(And yeah juleka is going to murder audrey, or at least her akuma self, and it is very fucked that aidrey killed chloe)

As for the miraculous, yeah you can do so manu things depending on what ypu want to do or tell!!!!! It's amazing!!!!!! The potential is limitles!!!!

[windvexer]

do you have any advice on finding active people on here who aren't wiccan? so far i'm just seeing you and a handful of other big accounts

Tbh I don't really use Tumblr search features, I just hang out on the dashboard with my friends.

Here are some active people from my follow list who I'm pretty sure aren't Wiccan (but I could be wrong):

(I set it to no reblog, let me know if you're tagged and you don't prefer your name on this list)

@serpentandthreads

@stormwaterwitch

@snowy-equinox

@cottageshadowwitch

@cauldron-chatter

@battythewitch

@maddiviner

@will-o-the-witch

@powderandclay

@lailoken

@river-in-the-woods

@lazywitchling

@samwisethewitch

@crazycatsiren

@graveyarddirt / @msgraveyarddirt

@luc3

@zarya-zaryanitsa

@pagan-stitches

@wildwood-faun

@asksecularwitch

@stagkingswife

@elminx

@sewceress

@buddyblanc

@fernthewhimsical

@crimsonsongbird

@christowitch

@friend-crow

@orriculum

@teawiththegods

@pinkiewitchcraft

@afrocentric-divination

@fair-is-foul

@trollkatt

@coinandcandle

@jasper-pagan-witch

@satsuti

@rose-colored-tarot

@nightshade-storms

@teawitch

@mamaangiwine

@liminalwings

@cu-taibhseil

@neon-slime

(I got half way through the list and quit so yeah here you go)

[louissatturi]

Im seeing a lot of qsmp fans want to watch ordem and support the project witch im very happy for

But since ordem is more of a 16/18+ show i decided to do a important thing

ORDEM PARANORMAL TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING LIST

(Everything that heppend along the seasons that could heppen in the one-shot from the "lest" problematic thing for the "most)

• Severe Cursing- cellbit and the cc that participate in ordem have very foul mouths (beamon lol) i know its kinda silly to put in here but i think its necessary since its not everybody that likes cursing or is okay with cursing

• loud screams and loud music

• intense flickering lights in O segredo na ilha

• vomiting scenes

• people drinking

• mentions of teenagers/minors using drugs (weed)

• "positive" wiews on weed on sinais do outro lado

• child neglect

• teenagers torturing and killing each other

• 2 explicit "suicide" scnes (one heppens because of mind control)

• Gross out monsters

• mentions of child abuse (spanking)

• mentions of child torture

• mentions and explicit child death

• animal torture

• explicit animal death

• protagonists torturing and killing

• major character deaths (its commun to at least two protagonists to die)

• school abusing children

• men harassing woman

• genocide and genocide mentions

• explicit torture

• explicit and gorey death

• gore like a LOTE of gore (its descriebed but still very intense)

• one racist?.comment is made against joui but it inst adressed

• teenagers cursing

• demonic pacts

I think there is more but thats what i can remenber (please rb with more tw you think i should add)

[the-trans-folk-witch]

The Red Devil Stirs The Boiling Pot: A Red Apple Turns Man Wicked

Autumn is in full swing as I write this. The fresh apples of September have become the yellow and red leaves of October. Soon they will become the woolen blanket of leaves on the cold earth in November.

My devil has shifted as the seasons have. From the Boogey man came the Foul One. The red devil of the west.

The devil wasnt always red. He was traditionally green, black, or blue in Europe. It wasn't until the protestant reformation that he became popularly known as red in the United States and soon the world over. The red devil was commonly depicted as a silly little thing who was quite imp like. He was said to stir the pot metaphorically and physically. As if the souls of the damned were boiling in his cauldron of torture. It was his job to take his staff (wand?) and stir, whip, beat, and prod condemned souls. Just as one stirs, whips, beats, and prods in the kitchen.

His imagery is toted in the west during the fall and he remains somewhat a god of Halloween, the dead, hell on earth, and wicked celebrations of the veil thinning. He is the apple bobber, the bonfire, the hard cider, and the fornication of lovers in this romantic and chilly time. He is the suffering we endure when white girls tout their pumpkin spice lattes. He is the cause of the season. The Great Pumpkin if you will. He is the flame of hell made man and stored within the jack-o-lantern. He is the commander of demons and unruly spirits. He is the butchered face of a gutted pumpkin. His seed is toasted and eaten warm with spices of cinnamon and nutmeg. He beckons the witch to bake poisoned apple cobbler or pumpkin pie filled with urine. He is the altering of foods for blessing or bane. The great chef, the burning man, the roasted imp. The season is fully his as are all who celebrate it. Halloween is truly a demonic holiday.

[magicalgirlagency]

Hello! Do you know any comprehensive list of magical girl webcomics? Or alternatively some that you recommend?

I'm gonna go for the ones that have caught my eye, visually and/or otherwise (in a randomized order). Hope you don't have anything to do, you'll be staying here for a while.

And I might even update it if I see something new!

Cloudy Wondrous, by Kaninchenbau;

Glitter & Guilt, by RockyBloo;

Star Warrior Cosmos Leo, by Sailorpossum;

Magical Warrior Diamond Heart, by Pyon;

Kid Chrysalis: Butterfly Warrior, by Gabriel Joy Reid;

Supersonic Girl, by Sandra Diaz (okay, this one's more superhero-y, but it follows some MG tropes, and therefore still counts!);

Stardust Slammers, by Brian Wolf;

Angel Blue, by LaurenceL;

DolceCubed, by Sunsetfork;

Pretty Heart Bouquet, by E. Hetrick Jackson;

Mistral, by Amy;

The Tale of Crystal Teresa, by RainicornDraws;

God Has Spite, by Isaac;

In Your Dreams, by Kakathain;

Miracle Sakura, by Aurora Dordain;

Heartful Masquerade, by HANNAHP0CALYPSE;

Magical Package - Lilaca, by Tsunyandere;

O Grimório Perdido, by Guibley;

Starhop, by Cuttles;

Defend!!, by Peachieevee;

Business Magical, by Pizza Paper (this one here's a novel rather than a comic, but it can be found within Tapas, so it goes here too!);

Pepper Pixie, by Soffy;

The Amazing Mirna, by TinyBabyGhost;

Sweet Little Resistance, by Peachchild;

The Good, The Bad, & The Magical Girl, by Failmonger;

Star Savior Bunny, by Kendell and Kay;

Starry Eyed, by Mahoupeach;

Eternal Guardian Kanae, by Edea;

Crossed Stars, by Nyxalwitch;

Pretty Witch!, by Max i mystic;

Foul Maiden Inez-chan!, by alchykiller;

Seasons of Avallen, by Gem.i.ni;

Celestial Princess, by Saint Bree;

Magical Girl Academe, by War Bunny;

Pokey! The Unicorn Magical Girl, by CherryRoseum;

A Magical Girl's Guide to Adulting, by Patrick McCabe;

SuperChic: Rosemary!, by CaptainHAHA;

Honey and the Moon, by Meadow;

Brownie & Barebones, by BubbiBrownie;

Lupe Mágica, by RoninYorch;

Magical Girl Grim Reaper, by Kimo_Neko;

Manual Prático da Garota Mágica, by HeitorPC;

Wimp Witch, by C. Cameron (it's even an indie animated series on YouTube and Newgrounds!);

Retired Magical Girls Support Group, by Hairballdraws;

CMYQ~n: Magical Girl Project, by Marikyuun;

High Spirits Neoma, by Oroor0;

Ghostly Tales, by Hey Izzy;

My Boyfriend is a Magical Girl?!, by IMTHEJOHKE;

Lola Magica: My Grandma is a Magical Girl, by SUPRPRETTYGENIUSMIKI;

Modern Magical Girl, by Replaythepun;

Saffron Wave, by Kellerybird;

Magical Girls in College, by Jay-Taku;

Archmage Ascending, by Magicmooshka;

A Magical Girl's Day Off, by Grant Newbold;

How I Loathe Being a Magical Girl, by Nomnomnami (unfortunately, with the end of Smackjeeves, this one has become most likely a Lost Media);

My Life as a Magical Girl, by Vickycreator1;

Magical Girl Institute, by Portia Hightower;

Magical Boy Troubles, by Red_Mend;

MAGICAL GIRLfriend, by Thisisshaetae;

Anomique: Magical Girls Must Die, by Crayaks;

Dame Daffodil, by Sakura-rose12;

Maho Shonen, by Yana & Nat;

Hover Girls, by Geneva Bowers;

Princess Love❤Pon!, by Shauna J. Grant;

Star Rangers: Magical Space Cadet Squad, by Kagura-kun;

Strawberry Seafoam and Vampire Magicka, by Bryan Golden;

SpectraSpell, by Lisa Harald;

Magical Boy Basil, by Fireside Stories;

Kakkikomi Magical Girls, by HachiwareHouse;

Magical Girl Initiative, by Ika;

Eldritch Magical Girls, by Marighoul;

Magical Mom, by Prinnstar;

Magical Boy, by The Kao;

Magikats!, by Eilie Astara;

Magical Printing: Magenta Ink, by Chicinlicin;

Agents of the Realm, by Mildred Louis;

Shattered Starlight, by Nicole Shartrand;

Mahou Josei Chimaka, by KAIJU;

Brujaha, by Acersecomic;

Mahou Shounen FIGHT!, by Scuttlebutt Ink;

Magical Girl Problems? Magical Girl Solutions!, by Veronica Agarwal.

And this is all I have so far. I wish I could tag the bloggers/creators (those who can be found here on this social, anyway), but I believe that I've exceeded the post's limit to do such a thing, lol. Plus, some of them might be even discontinued.

[wonderfuldeath]

.o| Bad Temptation : XXIII |o.

Warnings : Violence, injury, graphic depictions, sex

Please, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi ! ♥

It was much more serious than they had imagined. Taehyung looked at the big seats, where Yoongi had led him and Elyzabeth, indicating that they were going to have to have a big talk with everyone Jungkook was surprised to see his lover, as were Seokjin and Namjoon, who looked at each other without knowing what to say. However, the witch didn't seem surprised by the secret hiding place, in fact she was delighted to be granted access at last. Without waiting, she settled into the small seat just to the right of where Hoseok usually sat. The seat, perfectly sized for her, clearly indicated that it had originally been designed for her. This was all becoming far too strange for Taehyung, who didn't really dare move. None of it made sense. It was too many emotions in one lifetime. Jungkook came over and indicated that he could sit on his lap. He didn't hesitate, finding comfort in his lover's protective arms, which made him shiver softly. He took deep breaths, trying to calm the panic attack that enveloped him, threatening to suffocate him.

“- Can we find out what this charade is?

- It's time to put an end to all this. Don't you think so, Elyzabeth?

- I agree.”

Everyone was surprised. Yoongi and Elyzabeth stared at each other, probably deciding who would speak first. Finally, Yoongi decided and spoke first, settling comfortably on his throne where his stone had ceased all activity, like those of the others.

“- A thousand years ago, a similar situation arose. And we had to deal with it.

- What are you talking about? I'm only two hundred years old.

- You only have two hundred years of memories. No reality.”

Jungkook wrinkled his nose, obviously angry and ready to retaliate, but Taehyung stopped him by gently pressing his fingers against his arm. Rather than lash out at the specter, Jungkook preferred to inhale Taehyung's sweet smell. Everyone remained silent, as if the first person to speak would trigger a cataclysm. Finally, this time, Elyzabeth spoke after carefully weighing her words. Taehyung could calm the vampire down easily, but she didn't want Seokjin or Namjoon to jump down her throat. She wouldn't be able to defend herself in such a situation.

“- Heisukei Damarro is not a real sorcerer. He proclaimed himself a great sorcerer to take power, having absorbed some of Jimin's powers. And those of Taehyung's mother.

- Nonsense! Taehyung is human! We'd know if he wasn't! Vampires can only marry their own race or humans!”

Namjoon slammed his hand down on the table, startling the poor witch, while Yoongi was already preparing to intervene if necessary. Against all odds, Seokjin laid a hand on Namjoon, turning gently to the witch and Yoongi, clearly convinced by their tale. A question was burning his lips, and he couldn't wait to ask it.

“- If all this is true, what happened a thousand years ago, and why don't we remember anything?

- Heisukei Damarro. By stealing Jimin's powers, he also took his unique ability to bend time. Among the most powerful sorcerers, the real Park family practiced neither metamorphosis nor animal creation. Their specialty was traveling or returning in time without leaving a trace.”

Elyzabeth pinched her lower lip and lowered her head, a little ashamed. She'd always known. Their childhood memories, their moments in life, everything had been altered by this foul being. For Elyzabeth, the revelation had come one morning. When she opened her eyes, she realized it was all a lie. All those years spent with Heisukei had been nothing but hot air. He had lied all this time, hoping to steal her divinatory function and thus change her destiny. She shook with rage at the thought, but a warm hand calmed her. Jimin, as surprised as the others to be there, said nothing for the moment and simply took the seat next to Yoongi, where Yoongi had told him to sit. Like everyone else, he found it hard to believe the information that had been revealed to him.

“- Let's assume you're right. What happened a thousand years ago? He stole spells and then what? It takes more than simple sleight of hand to affect beings as powerful as us.

- He also stole the vital essence of a Mystic, taking their life in the process.

- And what was that?

- Your last seat. Angels.”

Angels… Taehyung felt an enormous weight at the mention of this word, as if something were trying to escape from his insides. He bent double, his breath caught, while Jungkook panicked, trying to figure out what it all meant.

If such creatures had existed, there would be records, documents. They were just legends, nothing more. No one had ever proven their existence. Beings so luminous they could light up Hell itself, with divine power. Everyone was at their service. Their laws were nothing but gentleness and compassion. They only wanted a world where everyone loved and helped each other, but they had disappeared centuries after their appearance, leaving only a seat hidden deep in the catacombs. Taehyung felt his head spin. Everything became a blur before Elyzabeth placed her hand against his forehead. The pain evaporated like tiny flakes, and he blinked several times. The white jewel reacted to its owner, glowing so brightly as to blind the assembly. The room, previously gloomy and dark, was transformed into a magnificent mixture of white and black, each crystal regaining its vivid color under the stunned gazes of all.

“- Taehyung didn't become a vampire, because he's the only Mystic capable of such feats. Just like Lily and Miyako, the first and only Mystics never to mix. He's their direct descendant, his blood already mixed with that of vampires and angels.”

Yoongi nodded, as if to confirm everything Elyzabeth had just said. He looked at Jimin. Everyone seemed lost between confusion and reality. Now that the last throne had regained its owner, the whole assembly had to regain its memories too.

They were going to give themselves time to analyze everything and answer all the questions that would be asked, unfiltered. Taehyung was the first to speak, still groggy from everything around him. He moistened his lips in an attempt to speak normally.

“- Heisukei attacked us. He almost killed Jimin, but Granny Park barely saved him… Thus piercing all sense of reality… I… What does a being like Heisukei want?

- Power. Which no one has ever wanted to give him. Lily, your mother, was an incredible woman. She refused to marry him, so he wanted to marry my mother. He couldn't do it either. Born human, he couldn't tolerate it. So he decided to create his own race. If a human like him could become a sorcerer, others could go even further without blood ties. He succeeded in creating hybrid vampires. But also, as you've seen recently, ghouls and zombies.”

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, glancing at Jimin to see how he was holding up. He was rather pleased that Elyzabeth was telling all, although she was surprised at Taehyung's reaction. He should already have known.

“- The potions we made you drink, which made you sick, should have made you understand.

- You poisoned my husband?!

- We had no choice. For him to understand and get his blood back, his real blood, he had to die! If we hadn't, then Heisukei would have won.”

Silence fell again, the information hitting them like heavy clubs. Finally, to avoid any drama, they took the tacit decision to leave the meeting. Everyone realized the extent of the lies they had been living. But that didn't give them any way of fighting Heisukei, or even of knowing what to do. After all, now that he was mayor, it was going to get complicated. Apart from waiting and keeping a low profile until they found an opening, there was nothing else they could do.

The decision was unanimous, but Taehyung felt his heart tighten in his chest. He'd lived in this house a century before, with Jungkook as his husband. The couple would have some catching up to do, that was for sure.

[mostremote]

If I could undo just one misreading of a Shakespeare play it would be the idea that Sycorax is native to the island in The Tempest. She's not: she's from Argier. Like Prospero, she was banished to the island. She, too, is a violent coloniser who enslaves the actual native inhabitant (Ariel).

PROSPERO [...] Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her? ARIEL  No, sir. PROSPERO Thou hast. Where was she born? Speak. Tell me. ARIEL Sir, in Argier. PROSPERO   O, was she so? I must Once in a month recount what thou hast been, Which thou forget’st. This damned witch Sycorax, For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Argier, Thou know’st, was banished. (1.2.307-319)

[buyospudlin]

Them. Them. We are not too keen of them. They see us wrong. “It is no good,” they say, “Banish it,” they say. But it, like us, is beautiful. Them. They cannot see it.

The majesty it portrays, but they will not see. They shun and scream, oh, how they scream. Loud and bright and full of emotion. Why they scream at it, we will never know.

It is nothing wrong, yet they see it wrong, they cannot see, they scream. If only they could see it the way we do. The beauty of the natural. The usefulness.

—

They followed. Came to our doorstep and banged, screamed, but this time did not shun. This was different, not good. The door unlocked, we heard the hinges creak, we saw their faces. Oh, their faces, how horrid they were. If only we could remember what they looked like.

Footsteps, heavy and jarring. Creaking of wooden flooring, shouts and grunts. They come in to our house. Our house. Not theirs. They come into our house and stomp and shout and grunt. They are not beautiful, they seek out it's destruction. They seek out it's exposure. They seek to ruin it.

—

We sit. We are sitting. We have sat. The time is gone, so is the sun. Darkness, comfortable in silence, in which we sit. Stinging throbs of pain, our body aches. They came and they went, but what they did still remains. This is not beautiful.

Foul. That is what they are, that is what this is. Foul and horrid, never beautiful. Our body writhes with the acts, the remnants. We wish they would only respect it. We wish they would see the beautiful. See it and be beautiful too.

—

It brings me joy. It brings me awe. It brings me sorrow. It brings me disappointment. It is beautiful, like me, like we. It and we, me and them. They speak, we silence ourself. I speak, we listen. I would like to show them it again. They will not scream today. We are sure of it.

—

Candles. Useful. We use them to tell stories. In the dark of our room, we would light candles. The candles would sit in front of us and flicker. Beautiful, much like it is now.

We would tell stories. Grand stories. Each candle a story to tell, each story end a candle blown out. We had four candles. Four stories. Four nightmares.

Mouths on walls with stretchy tongues. Bathrooms on street intersections. Beating hearts in hampster balls. Talking box fans and wall paintings. Tonight we have one candle. Tonight we will tell a story to it.

—

Them. They returned. Their screams and grunts and footsteps louder. It is not safe.

—

—

—

—

—

Where did it go? We have been searching. It's gone. It's gone. It's gone. It's gone. We love it. It is beautiful. So where did it go?

—

They came back again. They were quiet. They stared and stood. What did they do to it?

—

—

We are scared, we cannot see, we cannot understand. They all just stand and stare. They do nothing, say nothing, they don't blink, they don't eat, they do nothing. We want them gone. They took away it and now they sit and stare and dont blink. This foul, foul feeling we despise. We hate it.

—

We found it. It is back. It is safe in our arms. But. Them. Them. They are still silent. We try to talk, we are not there. They do not scream, they do not stomp, they do not grunt, but. We do not know if they are shunning or not.

We talk and talk and talk. Our talks turn into yells. Our yells and yells and yells turn into shouts. Our shouts shouts shouts screams. Screaming, we scream, they are silent.

Lip quivering, we backpetal. They gave it back to us, why have they not gone back too?

Did it do something?

Did we do something?

—

Little glittery black cats and purple witch's hats and orange construction paper. Glue and safety scissors. Many stacks of decorative cardstock sheets. An origami book and marble pets and paper bowls and gliding dragons. Little window stickers and mini dinosaur figures and little toy cars.

Books. Thick books and thin books and big books and small books. Books with lots of tiny words. Books with big and colorful words.

Our favorite books were ones of dragons and cats and dinosaurs. The ones with many sequels and complex plots and amazing world building.

—

It is here. It sits. We love it. It is still very beautiful. But now, it's different. Just a little. They must have changed it. It must have changed them.

—

Gone. Not it this time. No, everything else. The books. The bed. The wooden trunk. The only things left; us, it, the Bible, and the collegiate dictionary.

We have read the collegiate dictionary and the Bible many many many many times. Every time everything disappears.

We know the stories and the words. The Ten Comandments are scratched and scratched and scratched on our wall. We can recite definitions of words on a whim and flip to a page to point at a word.

We want more.

- 🕯Wick, Writing Prompt Day 1

[shebeafancyflapjack]

The Sacrifice

Quick mini fic inspired by @idiotwithanipad 's HS artwork of her oc Amy and Humphrey's body, ft my oc Silver.

-

Silver had been drawing sygils with her finger on the door of Room 8 when she'd heard the noise. Focusing her intent being channelled into her digit and then released by visualising a black, sparkling ink leaving the tip of her nail, she called to her gods to enchant the door to ward off that Reform MP prick from returning here again.

The sudden rumbling of chunky boots on the floor nearly ruins her hard work as she struggles to keep her finger straight.

"Hey! Trying to focus on protecting the house from bigots here! Let a witch work!" She barks with irriation before turning to see what wildebeest decided to charge down the hall.

Her tone instantly softens at the sight of her friend and she's no longer bothered at the thought of starting from scratch.

Amy was nearly tripping over her boots as she turned the corner, short breathed and sweat glistening on her forehead.

"Ooh, what's happening? Is Robin chasing us again?!" Asked Silver, already bouncing on her toes.

Amy shook her head, pausing briefly before doing a double take to check behind her.

"No...Not....Robin...." She leant forward to catch her breath, "Humphrey. Body."

"Really?" The witch's surprise came from that whenever they 'played' with Humphrey's body there was little running involved compared to the caveman with a bloodhound nose. It was much easier to hide from the body, given no sense of smell or sight or sound. It was more of a hide and seek, wait till he feels you out, sort of play.

"Yes, really! I dunno what's got into it...him, I mean, but he's like feral, dude! He must be learning how to feel vibrations when I walk or something, he won't let up! I was in the kitchen, ran all the way to the lake, and he still caught up to me!"

"Holy Hera. And what does he want?"

"A hug."

Silver blinked.

"Oh no. The horror. We should totally call the ghost police." She replied in the flattest tone she could.

"It's not funny, Silv!"

"Kinda is." She was struggling to keep in a chuckle; "You're running for your life from your dad giving you a cuddle. Like a two year old. It's adorable."

"Shut up."

Now she laughed. It was only the assurance she knew that she was only one of a rare few people who could get away with winding Amy up without her exploding into a foul mouthed rage that kept her going.

But there was something off, that much Silver could see. The way Amy kept checking over her shoulder and awkwardly padding at her hoodie made it seem like there was a pinch of fear there.

"If you want him to stop, just let him hug you! It's not rocket surgery."

"I know that but....Rocket surgery? What you-?" Amy shook her head, "I can't let him hug me, all right!"

"Why not?"

Amy only had to throw her a look, her right hand rubbing close beneath her armpit.

The witch's mouth formed an 'O'.

"HS?"

"Yep."

"Massive flare up?"

"Yep."

"Humphrey's body has no ears so he can't hear you explain why you don't want cuddles?"

"Got it."

Silver nodded. It was all coming together, just as another pair of footsteps began to beat their way, unsteady, up the staircase.

"Shit, he's coming!" Amy gritted her teeth.

"Okay, chill. I got a plan. Humphrey's head is down at the tennis court with Julian and Captain. Don't get mad - he volunteered." Silver explained; "Maybe if you reach him then he can try to get his body to calm down or you and the boys can try to put him back together. Better than just running."

"That's if I can get there before he squishes me!" Amy grizzles.

"Well that's part two of the plan, gotta do part one first."

"Which is?"

"Trust me. You don't be a devotee of the Goddess Artemis without learning a few tricks about a hunt." She boasted.

A fumble came from down the hall as the Tudor's body came to the top.

Silver stood behind Amy and - carefully - held her arms.

"I got her! She's right here! C'mon Mr Amy's Dad's Body, nice lovely father-daughter cuddle right here!" She called out, tapping her foot and hoping he could feel the tremple.

"Silver! What the shit?!"

Two arms cloaked in red stretched their way forward like Frankenstein's monster towards the two girls.

Silver kept Amy from dodging away.

"Like I said trust me. Just a little closer and..." She waited until Humphrey's body's hands were six feet from grabbing Amy's head; "Switch!"

In a single fluid motion, Silver twirled Amy to behind her where she was stood and moved in front.

Almost immediately she was swallowed up into the arms of the Tudor who at first only felt a short, skinny, female form. Daughter Shaped. Silver was surprised by the strength of the headless being as it crushed her to his front, nearly lifting her off her feet, convinced for a brief moment that it had finally found its prey.

"What the..." Amy whispered.

"I bought you several seconds maybe until he figures out it's not you, now go!" Silver encouraged, her words slightly muffled by thick red cloth against her mouth.

An amused and grateful smile stretched across Amy's face.

"I owe you one, you fucking goddess!" She laughed before running for her life; "Next time tell me about the plan to use me as bait before hand! Thanks!"

"No proble- Oof!" Silver was silenced as the arms held her even tighter, hands feeling over her shirt, probably trying to figure out why "Amy's" hoodie felt so different and her hair shorter.

The body had a big heart but clearly little brain. Silver endured the crushing bear hug, the likes of which she hadn't had as intense since before her second mum had moved on.

Relaxing a little, she thought to herself that it wasn't actually too bad.

[ryuuthefluffybunny]

< ~crossroads~ 2 of swords: choosing to be better >

there’s going to be 2 piles and i’m using the ethereal visions illuminated tarot deck by matt hughes. ill do a little channeling first and then ill go into it more in depth

Pile 1

3 of wands, 2 of swords, hermit

nights crying in bed hurt alone and scared of what's to come anxiety unconscious negativity underlying conditions revelations under attack eradicating karma you are on a path of chaos and you don't know where to go next at this crossroads you look out or in and not both and you cant see which is right logic or emotion the future or your past experience do you keep hope or dwell in the mud of despair that is holding you down only

you are having a hard time with balance. your past experiences hold you back immensely when new opportunities present themselves to you. your emotions are tied to the past. you understand the future can only present itself when you put yourself out into the world and explore it, but the thought of it makes you sick to your stomach. normally people have difficulty accessing the deep insides of themselves but not you. you in fact, may have been dwelling in this for far longer than needed, to the point where its hindering you. you look for the meaning in everything. you spend your mental energy trying to put together the puzzle that is your life when the pieces were never meant to fit. instead of looking for the right pieces, you try to finish with the wrong ones over and over. its time to step out of your hermit robe and bare yourself to the world. there will only be productive thought in hermit mode if you continue to take time to intake stimulation from the outside world. without stimulation, you will continue to process the same things over and over again. there is a new experience that has been offering itself to you, if you stay grounded in the present you may finally notice it :p and when you do, take that opportunity with open arms. i know you like being a hermit, so think of it as the faster you do this the faster you can go back :^) keep the wheel of fortune turning in your life, remember that stagnancy leads to death. aware or not, your actions during this time in your life are related to past life or generational karma. you may have opportunities or experiences that are healing on a soul level. 

Pile 2 

chariot, two of swords, king of pentacles

magic realizations science fiction library butterflies mating call coincidence levetating flying piloting cadence canine foul red card scheme tv eyes liquid nitrogen crushing crush crush crush dahlia daisy kain deluxe

i strongly get that this pile is a person who would like to or already identifies as a witch. not only is the first word magic, which i admit is a little on the nose, both of these pictures happen to depict an individual holding a wand. the first thing you must be thinking is “i dont practice enough” or some variation of that. and its true, you dont really take control and take things into your hands. the thought of staying grounded and letting things come to you makes you feel not only powerful, but it makes you feel like it really MUST be for you if it came with no chase. but, there are some things that you NEED to chase if you want. some opportunities are just waiting for you to find them. you are powerful at manifestation with a strong energy of the magician, and i have a feeling you not only have heard that before you kind of scoff at it or dont take it seriously. this is because you havent actually used it :o youre like sure im so good but how would you really know? its funny because you do have parts inside you that want to believe but then your mask is so opposed to all things magical. you may call yourself or be interested in being a witch but then you also find it ridiculous and impractical. there are some who can practice witchcraft once in a blue moon and still feel and know they are a witch but you are definitely the type who would benefit emotionally from practicing on a more regular basis. some moon water every full moon would be a good start, because once you have it then you have to figure out what to do with it. you have more creativity about how you'd like to practice than you realize, and you'll only discover it if you start actively pursuing this. there may be something you immediately know you want to do or are interested in. or you may be dumbfounded with what to do. if this is the case, a spell you could start off with is writing or speaking an affirmation of something you desire a x number of times for x number of days. it could be as simple as writing i am confident 3 times a day for 3 days or if you want to put more effort you could write i am a radiant being full of confidence and inspiration 33 times a day for 33 days. the point is that you are actively working towards things consistently. it doesn't have to be grandiose, just consistent. magic is definitely calling to you, and you should follow it like a dog following a butterfly, or like alice with the rabbit. there's been enough foreplay between you guys already, gosh! get a room and solidify that bond already :p there was also an extremely heavy scorpio energy in this pile, so if you have any scorpio placements im calling you out rn. lastly idk why i got crushcrushcrush which makes me think of the paramore song so there might be something there for you or just confirmation. 

[cafffine]

Thank you to this tiktok for reminding me of the 2018 RSC production of Macbeth in which the three witches were played by little girls in pink pajamas.

{video ID: a tiktok by user @/shakespearedude. It is a production recording of the 2018 RSC production of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. The video is one minute long, and is a section of Act 1, Scene 3.

Banqou, played by Raphael Sowole, and Macbeth, played by Christopher Eccelston, are dressed in modern, mostly black clothing. The three witches are played by three young girls of grade-school age wearing matching pink pajamas. The children each rock a babydoll in their arms as they speak. The stage is dark, sparsely lit, and very foggy.

transcription of lines:

FIRST WITCH: A drum, a drum. Macbeth doth come.

[Enter MACBETH and BANQOU]

MACBETH: So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

BANQUO: How far is't called to Forres?

[The WITCHES emerge from a cloud of fog, advancing on MACBETH]

ALL WITCHES: The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about, Thrice to thine and thrice to mine, And thrice again to make up nine. Peace, the charm's wound up.

BANQUO: What are these? That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you or are you aught That man may question?

MACBETH: Speak, if you can; what are you?

FIRST WITCH: All hail, Macbeth. Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis.

[FIRST WITCH shakes a seated MACBETH's hand]

SECOND WITCH: All hail, Macbeth. Hail to thee,

/video ends}

[dhr-ao3]

Years of Your Madness

Years of Your Madness https://ift.tt/lo3ABzn by Shelbetreble91 Told through vingettes over the course of 5 years we follow our Brightest Witch of Her Age... As He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named continues to gain power, Hermione Granger is determined to learn everything she can to protect her friends and family. Hermione is aware that there are mysteries beyond what she's learned in books. Questions that the Golden Trio has in the face of rising evil and strange happenings. This story begins in their 6th year at Hogwarts and follows Hermione as she races to unravel the confusing web of lies, misinformation, and danger before it's too late. And for the love of Merlin, why does Draco Malfoy always seem to ferret his way in to her missions? They aren't even on the same side of this growing conflict... so why does it seem that all the answers she wants involve being forced to tolerate the loathe-some...foul... oh honestly! Disclaimer: I do not own any of the source material used for this alternate ending/alternate universe work of Fanfiction. It is illegal for myself or any other party to ever financially profit from this labor of love. Please report any illegal distribution of my works to this account. This is my first time. ;) Words: 3667, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Omegaverse, A/B/O, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, WIP via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/72qCWEB July 18, 2024 at 08:41PM

[chaosprinceundivided]

The Truth

The Focal Point of Rulek's victory and where the Warp twisted and split:

Her chains rattled in each step, they burned her for her sin of existing as a daughter of the Motherland. The lore that was so interweaved into her being was locked deep within her breast, fists clenching tight in a furious restrain. Even humbled and beaten as she was, Tzarina Katarin Bokha of Kislev was a woman of pride. Her shoulders broad and fallen hair graced her porcine pale face sculpted in a mask of hard disdain. The radiance of white-fire that normally burned her pupils were gone, reveal only an icy pale blue that reflected the hellish forge that sat far beyond the mortal realms. 

And she, a meager mortal, was in constant threat of Chaos’ malevolent influence if it wasn’t for the carefully weaved spells placed upon her by her escort. A tall mutant of a snow leopard that dared to dress like one of the Ice Maidens, crowned by burning frost horns. The back of her attire askewed to reveal the mirror-like sheen of her broad shoulders and in the perfectly arranged fur, Katarin could see the faces of men and women...her own soldiers, kindred-in-arm, screaming and begging silently in a prison they could not escape. 

A cruel position to put her in and the only thing keeping the Tzarina from attacking the foul beast was mere common sense. The softest hope that she will find a way to escape. A way to end this nightmare, only if she could get-

“Stop it.” A voice said.

That brought Katarin’s thoughts to a halt and her mask cracked oh so slightly in a blink. The felinid flickered its tall ears and glanced back with eyes similar to her own, the lore they both shared having that same effect of power. “Don’t do anything foolish, my Tzarina or the suffering you’ve felt before will not-”

The fact that Katarin could clearly take in the Kislevite accent hurt her so and with bared teeth, she commanded, “Silence, creature. Do not speak to me as if you are apart of my Kislev. It is obvious you abandoned it a long time ago.” 

The beast looked at her a moment longer before facing forward. “When you have seen what we have, you would too…” 

“Nothing would bring me to such lowly depths, creature. I would rather die.” The Tzarina hissed. “As they all say. As we have said...and what the ones after you will say, Katarin. I am sorry for you.” 

“I don’t need nor want your sympathy!” 

With a hateful snarl, Katarin lunged and snatched the long short-sword hanging off the mutant sorceress’ hip. The witch-blade whistled with its icy length exposed, boiling of its cold heat. Quick as a whip, her escort glanced down at the Tzarina and smacked her expected lunge before ironclad hands grabbed the smaller woman’s shoulders harshly. Ironically, Katarin snarled and fought like a wild cat  with her legs kicking and newfound weapon swinging with nothing but the mad passion of someone who’ve lost everything. No skill. No finesse. Just desperate and sorrowful hate. She didn’t even care who she hitted, all she wanted was to kill.

With a holler, she rammed her shoulder against one of the daemon-charmed Ice Guard, throwing the traitor off her feet and when the other came, Katarin slammed the back of her head into the other’s nose before spiralling to plunge the whole frost blade under armored ribs. The woman gasped, hands immediately grabbing the Tzarin’s wrists and looked down at first. 

And when the two met eyes, Katarin looked and saw the glazed look washing away to a painful clarity. “M-My Tzarin…?” The last words to leave those lips before frost glassed those same eyes and whitened the meat under the guardswoman’s skin. Her whole body stiffened to internal freezing. Katarin took a moment, frozen in horror at what she had just done and the condition that her murdered victim was in. Letting go and watching the body fall back. 

CRASH!

Shattering like a glass figurine what was once a living, moving person. She has done it countless times against countless enemies, whether of the court or the monsters in the shape of daemons and men beyond Kislev’s bulwark. Katarin has never flinched to the power of her frost nor the state that her enemies had crumbled into, but this – the loss of Kislev, the loss of her people, the torture of their very souls – all manifested into this one moment and Katarin was in a moment of vertigo.

All of her fury became a momentary sickness in her stomach, gagging without anything, and stumbled into the hands of the other recovering guard. A yank of chains and Katarin found herself tripping over a short step, crashing onto the floor with a cry.

No, not a cry but she cried with her long-held emotions. It was a quick moment that she couldn’t hold back, even as the leopardess commanded her slaves to pick her up and drag her onwards through the Forge of Souls, just a walk longer before the great doors opened to reveal a place full of mists. Soul-residue that whispered and shaped sorrowful spirits that swam and gripped to flesh that they no longer possessed, helpless and woe heavy. 

“W-why did you bring me here, you monsters?” Katarin’s drying voice questioned, finding no reason to be here. Was it her time now, to be melted of flesh and meat till only her own soul-stuff was left to the nefarious evils of the Ruinous Powers? One of the countless innocent and delusional that were caught in their selfish trap? 

“To show you the Truth.” A voice said, great and terrible. 

Katarin shivered at hearing it. She knew it too well know, how it tortured her even now and for the first time since her last great defiance to this monster – the Tzarina looked up beyond her fallen black locks at her greatest mistake. 

The shape of that massive bat-winged abomination, how it dared to have its vague man-shape if it wasn’t for the twinned tail and bowed legs. From the black shape, there were its glowing gold eyes staring down at her from its alcove. “Of what, that you are nothing but a black-hearted monster? That you were always a treacherous opportunist seeking nothing but power? Were you always a slave to Them?” 

Those eyes stared down at her for a long moment and it walked forward. “No…” 

The thick mist twisted and reached towards her with ghostly claws, Katarin did not close her eyes. If she was to die, she will make sure she glared into the eyes of her murderer. Instead,  a warm hand gently cupped her chin. Fingers curling and thumb over, what should have been a great daemon that once was a man. There was just…

The man. 

His strong face was framed by the loose black locks of an otherwise tied back mane, fierce browed and lip crested with a trimmed mustache. His sun-kissed skin had become pale as if he never left the cold hell that she sent him to. Those eyes. Those once dark eyes glow with the same malevolence of a man that went into that evil place and devoured damnation. 

“Yuri…” 

“Kat…”

Even though she refused it, the Tzarina’s eyes stuck and watered. “Oh, Yuri...you traitor...why you?” She croaked finally. The question that burned her mind over and over since the revelation was given to her by a seer’s letter but she refused to believe that same man could do all of this. The same noble, sweet-hearted man that she knew since they were nothing but simple children caught in the webs of parents’ political games could turn into such a horrific monster. She refused this was nothing but an evil game by the daemons. They killed Yuri. They killed him and wore his name and skin as another weapon against Kislev. Against her but here he was. 

“Oh Kat…” He said, cupping her face. For the briefest moment, he allowed himself to feel beyond the constant burning of hatred and spite that became his ichor. “If only you came with me and saw what I saw. The Wastes...is not a place for mortal men but mortal men must come to truly face their worst daemons and become more. Maybe things would be been different, but nothing would have changed the Truth that saw our Motherland suffering.” 

With his gentle voice and care, Yuri stood up. The man that slew Ursun, the Bear God himself, stood in his regalia. Tattered cape flowed to the eldritch wind as he turned away. “Release her.” He commanded and the seduced slave obeyed, roughly so and that lack of care was rewarded with Yuri suddenly turning and turning the ice guard into a blown pillar of warp-burned sulfur by nothing but a disgusted flick of his hand. 

That same hand scolding of its fell magics, clawed and scales crawled along its fingers and knuckles. His sneer akin to a bear before turning to wave the mist away. “Behold, Katarin! See why our Motherland suffered!”

Katarin squinted, trying to see what this daemon was raving about this 'Truth' and there it was...and her horror and hope fell into the abyss.

There, what was something so great and majestic, was now nothing but a humbled corpse held by slithering barbed chains against jagged rocks like a poor trophy. White fur marred by scars and dried god's blood. Jaws drooped with a blackening tongue...

Ursun, the Great Bear. The God that brought spring was dead. A God was dead.

"N-No...no, no."

"Yes, look at him. Look at our god."

Yuri hissed with so naked loathing as he pointed at the corpse. "I found him long ago. Pitiful. Pathetic. Weak. That is what we hung our very hopes and love for! A god that couldn't stop a daemon whilst we suffered and fought in his image, throwing ourselves as that same evil for all our lives and survive."

Katarin stared with lips opening and closing, unable to conceive what she was seeing as cold tears rolled down her face. "Ursun!"

"Scream his name, Katarin! Scream his name as so many of our kinsmen did! As we froze on that eternal field of ice and fire! As we starve and crawled! As we fought and bled! Scream his name, scream it with me!" Yuri insisted, as mockingly cruel as he was cruelly pained as she, and turned to scream at the corpse,

"URSUN! OUR GOD, OUR SAVIOR FROM THE STORMS!" Yuri screamed with the bellowing wrath of the monster that he became, echoing through the Forge of Souls' cackling mimicries of the aethers that died for Kislev's god. His arms wide as if to embrace the divine cadaver. "WEAKLING BEAR! BLED TO ITS LAST DROP! BE'LAKOR'S CARRION! MY TRIUMPH! MY FREEDOM!"

Yuri spun on Katarin with disgusted eyes crying black ichor. "This is what we wasted our lives and belief on. A corpse that will be martyred like our heroes before. Like your father. Martyred, but even that - I don't think he even deserves that. Don't you think?"

Katarin's mind was spiraling and soul writhing. So many, impossibilities truly made a nightmare's possibility, and she could do nothing but stare up at the thing that was Yuri as he came closer. For the briefest time, he looked like a bear to her. A man-eating, tainted bear prowling closer with unbreaking eyes. So great and terrible.

[studying-space-of-annie]

Some important macbeth quotes!

"Fair is four, and foul is fair" -witches

"The instruments of darkness" -Banquo to the witches

"My dearest partner of greatness" -macbeth to lady macbeth

"Yet I do fear thy nature: it is too full o'th'milk of human kindness" -lady macbeth to macbeth

"Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear" -lady macbeth to macbeth

"Come, you spirits" -lady macbeth

"Unsex me" -lady macbeth

"Look like th'innocent flower But be the serpent under't" -lady macbeth to macbeth

"Our honoured hostess!" "Fair and noble hostess" -Duncan to lady macbeth

"When you durst do it, then you were a man" -lady macbeth to macbeth

"Is this a dagger I see before me (...) Come, let me clutch thee" -macbeth

"Infirm of purpose!" -lady macbeth to macbeth

"Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No" -macbeth

"O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!" -macbeth

"Thunder" -stage directions

"A devil more damned in evils to top macbeth" -Macduff

"Malicious, smacking of every sin that has a name" -malcolm regarding macbeth

"But I must also feel it as a man" -Macduff

"Out, damned spot: out, I say!" -lady macbeth

"Those he commands move only in command, Nothing in love" -Angus regarding macbeth

"The Devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!" -macbeth to servant

"Cure her of that" -macbeth regarding lady macbeth

"Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand" -malcolm to others

"Out, out, brief candle!" -macbeth to (dead) lady macbeth

"Worthy uncle" "right noble son" "Worthy Macduff" -malcolm

[bakedbakermom]

Stained

Chapter 5: Sacrifice // start at the beginning

tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

sacrifice verb 1. to give up for a greater cause 2. to kill in order to propitiate a deity -- So that something dead may be reborn into life.

They performed the ritual, fittingly, in an abandoned graveyard chapel, a crumbling holy place among the dead where weather-worn angels watched the proceedings with their eternally weeping eyes. Willow and Tara placed braziers at the compass points and filled them with herbs of cleansing and banishment; their smoke wafted out through the holes where the ceiling had fallen in, vanishing quickly in the moonless sky. Scully winced when they drew a chalk pentacle on the floor around the altar; she felt an involuntary twinge of sympathy for the nuns of her childhood, for how deeply scandalized they would have been to see this casual blasphemy, to witness her being a part of it.

They chanted as they worked, a lilting song in many languages, somewhere between summoning, a plea, and a lullaby. Scully recognized enough from church hymns in Latin and Greek to understand the refrains, “Mothers have mercy,” and “grant us your peace,” but the rest swirled around her in a blur. The air thickened with the weight of their words, growing hazy and shimmering like a heat mirage.

“The idea,” Giles had explained the night before, “is to summon the spirits of three holy women. The spell calls them saints, and invokes some early Christian iconography, but it’s more likely that these are some of the more ancient female spirits of great power that appeared in pre-Roman pagan rites of the area.”

“Christmas trees, birthdays, female empowerment spirits—is there anything those guys didn’t steal?” Anya grumbled, rummaging through the drawers in the magic shop for herbs. She had built a pile of dried and fresh greenery on the table, and the air smelled like a mix of hospital and florist: sweet and earthy, but with the tingling, medicinal promise of healing. She passed each bundle to Xander, who bound them with braids of white ribbons.

“The spell sometimes refers to them as one, sometimes as three,” Giles continued, undeterred by the interruption. “If I’m right, and I usually am, we’re to invoke the aspects of the Morrígna, a triple goddess of the Tuatha Dé representing birth, life, and death.”

Mulder nodded. “So that something dead may be reborn into life.” He sat next to Scully, looking over the pages that Giles had translated into English while she had been cajoling a rather austere nun named Mary Clarence into surrendering nearly a gallon of holy water—and also conspiring with the slayer. He bumped her knee with his and gave her a reassuring smile. “Presto, change-o, I’ll be a real boy again.”

“Precisely. We sanctify the air with herbs and summon the spirit in her three forms with an appropriate sacrifice: Buffy’s blood for the birth aspect, as she is the protector of the innocent; a heart burning with flame, for the life aspect—”

“Almost done with that, by the way,” said Tara, who was mixing a foul-smelling and brilliantly green potion in a cauldron the size of a sugar bowl. She handled it with the reverence usually afforded to grenades and precious relics; in a way, it was both. “Just need some gold flakes and ground rat-snake scales.”

“Top shelf, third drawer over, and then the scales should be in the teeny jar next to the chicken feet,” Willow said as she breezed through the door, carrying a small bundle wrapped in butcher paper. Her pale skin had a slight greenish cast, and there was a speck of blood on her sleeve, but she looked otherwise fine as she stopped to kiss Tara on the cheek before stepping into the back room, to place a stolen human heart in the fridge as casually as if she had just picked up milk at the corner store. Scully made a mental note to never, ever get on the witch’s bad side.

“Right, yes, and then of course, for the death aspect, the dust of the vampire who sired you.”

“You’re welcome for that, you know,” said Spike, who watched the preparations from the corner with a carefully manicured disinterest. “Hate going down to that part of the underground. Even the creepers get the creeps down there.”

“Yes, Spike, thank you again for enduring the terrifying ordeal of taking a walk and wielding a dustpan.” Buffy rolled her eyes and picked up the jar he had returned with, turning it this way and that in the light. The matte gray dust inside shifted sluggishly, almost grudgingly, as if it was too dead to even bother obeying the laws of gravity. “Perhaps you’d like to be next in line for canning? I’m sure there’s a dingy shelf somewhere where we could forget about you until you started growing mold.”

Spike shoved away from the wall and stalked toward the door. “Oh do piss off. Forgive a guy for doing you a favor.” He stopped to put a hand on Scully’s shoulder. “Best of luck, Red.”

He leaned down to whisper something in Mulder’s ear, then vanished into the night. Scully lifted an eyebrow at him, but Mulder only smiled and shook his head.

Now Scully turned to him, studying his profile as he watched the two witches painting a great looping symbol in the center of the pentagram. With no moon in the sky, the only light in the space came from the circle of candles on the floor; it flickered over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the edges of his brow and chin. He saw her staring and cocked his head in silent question.

“Just wondering what Spike said to you last night.”

He reached down and took her hand, twining their fingers together and then pressing a soft kiss against her skin. He gave a gentle pull and she moved into him, smooth as a dance, and he tucked a loose strand of crimson hair behind her ear; his fingers lingered on the smooth curve of her jaw. “He told me… He told me to be worthy of you.” He huffed a small laugh and glanced away; if he’d been alive, he would have been blushing. “Underneath all that leather and sneering, he’s kind of a sentimental guy.”

Scully smiled at him through the tears stinging her eyes. After going over the plan a half dozen times at the Magic Box, they had returned to the motel and abandoned all pretense of separate rooms; neither of them spoke as she curled up beside him in the small, rumpled bed. She had watched him for hours as he slept—with no pulse and no breath, he might have been carved from stone, and she studied him like a piece of fine art, committing each detail to memory.

She spent the day in his arms. She spent the day saying goodbye.

She arched up onto her toes and he met her halfway, touching their foreheads together. “You are worthy,” she told him, the words twisting like a knife in her heart. “You always were.”

“Scully, I—”

“Guys?” Buffy called, gently, from inside the circle. “It’s time.”

“After,” she whispered, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She had to swallow past the lump in her throat to get the word out. “Tell me after.” Because if you tell me now, I’ll never be able to go through with it.

Hand in hand, they stepped into the circle.

Willow closed it behind them, touching her fingertip with the blade of a knife and letting a single drop fall onto the chalk line; immediately it began to glow with a gentle, pulsing light, white and cold and pure as the stars. A chime rang through the air. The flames in the candles dropped low, as if the air had been pulled from the space, and then began to pulse in time to the rhythm of the summoning song.

Only Mulder, Scully, and Buffy stood inside the ring of candles and starlight. The others paced outside, continuing the lyrical chant. Their voices came through muffled and distorted, the words blurring into a hum; the rippling in the air took on the same cadence as the chant, and Scully realized with a start that she could feel it in her chest. It beat alongside her heart.

Mulder pulled off his shirt and stood before the altar; he had already been anointed with holy water, leaving looping symbols burned into the flesh of his torso like he had done a poor job applying sunscreen. Scully had painted them on herself, carefully following the illustrations from the journal, as Mulder had ground his teeth and bitten back his moans of pain. His back arched off the table, tendons bulging in his neck, the wood beneath his hands screeching like a living thing as he gripped the table’s edges. She apologized with her eyes and her hands with each stroke, smoothing his hair and squeezing his hand when the pain became overwhelming. “Keep going,” he would hiss between clenched teeth, over and over, until his stomach and chest and the tops of his arms were red and raw with whorls and loops and symbols in a language all but lost to time.

He dipped his finger in the jar of his sire’s ashes and traced them over the symbols on his stomach, hands steady despite the revulsion twisting his face. “Badb, crow and crone,” Mulder intoned, using the words Willow and Giles had taught him. “Red-mouthed, white-eyed, accept my offering: dust beyond death, end of the endless.”

The thrum in the circle quickened, and she felt it in the soles of her feet like the footsteps of some great beast—distant, unseen, but approaching steadily. It rumbled through her ribs, her heart speeding to match its tempo. She glanced around; no one else seemed affected by it, and she swallowed hard to center herself. She felt the magic brushing against her skin, circling her like a curious cat. She willed herself to relax, to open up to it. I’m here, she told it. I’m ready.

Mulder picked up the ritual knife from the altar; it gleamed in the strange light like an oil slick. Buffy held out her arm and he cut her just where Scully had told him to, the thickest part of her forearm, where it would bleed well but heal quickly. “But in the movies they always cut their palms,” Buffy had protested, but Scully told her that was half dramatic effect and half for the easy concealment of a packet of fake blood.

“Macha, maiden of the flood,” he chanted, “daughter of the waters clear and new, accept my offering: the blood of the protector, she who keeps the innocent from harm.”

He traced Buffy’s blood over the marks on his shoulders and upper arms, as if drawing armor over himself. The pulse beneath Scully’s feet and in her chest ramped up again, and she couldn’t tell if it was her frantic heart driving the beat or the spell pushing her heart into overdrive. She could hardly hear over the rush of it, hardly breathe past its thundering beneath her sternum. Light from the circle began to bleed into her skin, pulsing in time, as if the moon had left the sky to throb beneath her skin.

She reached for the heart Willow had harvested, lying in a bowl of green potion flickering with emerald flame. She half expected it to lurch to life in her hands, to be caught in the same roaring storm of magic rattling her own heart inside her body like a caged animal desperate to escape. But it just lay there, because it was not this heart the magic required.

Buffy was already binding the wound on her arm, and gave Scully the barest of nods. She moved closer in slow and deliberate steps, smooth and silent as a jungle cat.

Scully tried to still her trembling as she held the heart before Mulder’s blade.

“And to Danu, mother of mothers, the great and phantom queen.” He lifted the knife with both hands, casting rainbows of throbbing light through the circle. The chanting outside reached a fever pitch. “I offer you a heart burning with flame. May the life inside it pass into me, may its flame banish the darkness inside my heart, may I be restored and reborn to myself.”

His blade flashed toward the heart, and time slowed to a crawl; Scully saw everything unfolding in slow motion, helpless to stop it, unwilling to even try.

Buffy stepped fluidly between them, her hands wrapping around Mulder’s with an inescapable strength. The confusion in his eyes morphed into horrified understanding as she twisted, redirecting the arc of the knife.

This was the part of the ritual none of them had understood, the meaning behind the burning heart—drawn on yellowed pages by the hand of a man long dead, the tear mark smudging its edge speaking volumes untold by the texts itself. Had it been his wife, husband, lover? Whose heart had he inked there, wreathed in the flames that had transformed him back into a living man, only to find that he had no one left to share that life with? She hoped, whoever it was, they had gone willingly to the knife, as she did; she hoped the flame in their heart had burned brightly enough to outshine the fear.

The light in her skin leapt toward the blade like a strand of lightning, pulsing down the length of it, up his arms, and then spiraling through the symbols toward the center of his chest. For just a few panicked beats of her galloping heart she felt his pulsing alongside hers, beating in both bodies and in the light that bound them.

Mulder tried to wrench the blade away, but Buffy had both Slayer strength and the cruel, implacable mistress of momentum on her side. He caught Scully’s eye at the last moment, pleading and terrified. She tried to tell him I’m sorry . She tried to say Forgive me . She tried to beg him to live, to carry on, to take this sacrifice she was giving him and make something true and beautiful out of it. She tried to say those last three words they had never spoken. The tears that fell from her eyes glowed like pearls.

And then the Slayer slammed the knife into her chest.

A/N: Not me cackling as I write this, torturing characters and readers alike. Don't get discouraged; we're only halfway there!