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siriuslylantsov · 12 days ago

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morning glory

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: following the events of drunken confessions. the next morning after spencer tells you he loves you, albeit drunk and half asleep, you don't know if he means it.

tags: fluff, gn!reader, hangover but i dont dwell on it, whiny!spencer (lol), so so soft, r is so unsure but she just needs reassurance.

a/n: omg my first pt 2 as per popular demand (3 people asked), happy reading!

wc: 1.6k

i love you.

three words that bounce from one end to the other in your head, like a pendulum, reverberating across the hard surface of your skull. it echoes through the small space of your ear canal, taking up entirely too much space. it repeats with the beat of your pulse, heart thudding in a steady rhythm.

suffice it to say, you barely slept. running the words over and over for some kind of clarity. instead you preoccupied yourself with watching spencer sleep, like you are now.

with the sunrise, came light. light that filtered through the curtains just enough that you could see his face. his lips are slightly parted, soft puffs of air that don’t quite reach you. they’re pulled down minutely, in a little frown, seemingly how his face falls when he's unconscious. it's sweet. his eyebrows twitch, creasing momentarily, you wonder if he’s dreaming, or if it's a nightmare.

your fingers itch to reach out and touch him, soothe the line. but he's so peaceful, you don't know if you want to wake him up. you never get to see him like this, without the weight of the world on his shoulders, unthinking. so you stall a bit, let the wave of serenity pass before it comes crashing down in the form of a violent hangover.

you probably stay like that for an hour, an hour spent admiring his features. it's easier than confronting what he said. he’d stayed in the same position all night, curled up on his side, facing you. you’re leaning on your elbow now, looking down at him from above. his face moves, nuzzling into the pillow beneath his head. it causes that same stubborn strand of hair to fall loose.

you give in and touch him this time, tucking the piece behind his ear. you trace a finger over his brow bone and then down the slope of his perfect nose. this causes him to stir, eyes fluttering open as he takes in his surroundings before they land on you. they instantly soften.

“morning,” you whisper, wary of your volume.

“hey,” he croaks, voice riddled in sleep. all his features pull up, twisted in a grimace as his head throbs. he rolls onto his back, bringing his fingers up to his temple, rubbing the pads of them in between his eyebrows.

“where's your aspirin?”

he hums in thought, or in pain, it's uncertain. “the um- drawer,” he points beside him aimlessly, eyes still closed. he's about to move to get it but you stop him, leaning over his body to reach the bedside table next to him. you reach over him, hovering awkwardly over his body. you shiver imperceptibly when his hand settles on your waist for support, an unconscious action, you suppose. when you find it, you give him a pill and he swallows, his hand falls back to his side.

“what time is it?” he grumbles.

“quarter to twelve,” you respond, barring a quick look at the analog clock that sat on his dresser.

he harrumphs, something of acknowledgement. you didn’t think he’d be this grumpy waking up but you don't mind, it's awfully cute.

“it’s so bright,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut further, if possible.

“your eyes are closed.”

“my retinas are burning,” he whines, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield him from the sunlight in a thespian flourish.

“so dramatic,” you huff as you get up to close the curtains, the smile in your voice irrefutably evident. you peek out the window first, your car is still parked outside, you stayed the night!

when you sit back down on the bed, his head seeks you out, laying gently on your lap. you card a hand through his hair, the action seemingly appropriate. he lets out a hum, satisfied.

“do you remember much from last night?” you ask, trying to come off casual, the question is loaded to say the least. plus, you don't know if alcohol affects an eidetic memory the same way. maybe he remembers everything, like always.

“no,” he says with a little shrug. “well, i remember going to the bar and morgan spilling a shot on his shirt but that's it.”

oh. so not that differently.

“well, i'm sure he’ll appreciate you remembering that,” you chuckle, ruffling his hair. with a long sigh, you decide to not bring it up. it’ll come back to him, surely. you’ll wait for him to come to you about it.

you lift his head off your lap and let him sink back into the pillows. “how about you freshen up and i’ll make you some toast?”

his eyes peek open, barely. “yes please,” he replies meekly, a small smile in tow.

you put slices of bread into the toaster on his counter, leaning against it as you wait. what happens if he doesn't remember? will you tell him? how do you even bring that up?

hey spencer! last night you told me you love me. do you?

the loud spring of the toaster startles you back to the moment. behind his bedroom door, you can hear the faint sound of his shower running and you remember you’re still in his clothes. god, you're gonna have to wear yesterday's clothes back home. you mindlessly take the hot toast out and set it on a plate, wincing when you hold them for too long. you put 2 more slices of bread in, for you of course.

you decide to make some eggs too, pulling the carton out of the fridge and getting a pan from beside his sink. you move with surprising ease through his kitchen, like you’d been there before. you haven't, but again, it's so easy with spencer, it apparently extends to his home too. you hum absentmindedly, cracking an egg into a bowl and beating it with a fork. you don’t know it yet but spencer's watching you, having finished his shower.

it all comes back to him slowly, as he puts on a new change of clothes, skin still a little damp.

asking penelope for a drink, drinking it, thinking, thinking about you, you showing up? maybe he was magic. you sitting with him, talking to him, taking him home. he remembers stumbling up the stairs, his arm thrown haphazardly over your shoulders and yours hooked around his waist.

“you're so nice, y’know?”

“yeah? you won't think so tomorrow morning.”

you tucked him in, stayed when he asked you to. you told him about your breakup and he told you, oh, he told you he loved you.

shit.

he has to make this right. he's quick to feed his arm into the last sleeve and walk out of his room. however, he stops when he sees you. swaying lightly, humming a tune he recognises from last night, standing there in his clothes. he thinks he might die. clearly, he wasn’t paying much at all when he woke up earlier. damn headache.

“i told you i loved you.”

your head snaps in his direction, unaware of his presence. you jump a little before calming. “yeah... you did,” you confirm, trying to keep your tone light. it wasn't a question but you still answer. he remembers.

“and you told me to tell you again when i wake up,” he recalls.

you chuckle quietly, “i didn't realise you heard that.”

“i did.”

you nod, slowly, expectantly, for him to say something else, anything else.

“i love you.” there it is.

“you mean that?” your voice comes out way smaller than you intended. he still hasn't moved.

“of course i do,” he says with a sigh, inching his way closer. you look like you're going to spook.

“okay,” you breathe, looking down at your fingers, you begin to ramble. “it's just, last night- you were drunk and sleepy and well, tired and i didnt know if you were being honest or just saying it on whim.”

he's suddenly in front of you and you can't look at him. he's fine with that, it makes it slightly easier.

“hey, i mean it. i love you. i’m sorry i said it how i did, it wasn't fair. and you don't have to say anything back, i just- want you to know.”

you look up at him now, eyes searching, and when you find sincerity in his eyes, you soften, muttering out a quiet “okay.” your lips twist to the side, trying not to smile, but glee fills out every nook and cranny of your body. he takes this as a good sign and lets out the breath he didn't realise he was holding, smiling back at you.

“so,” you start, seemingly casual. “how do you take your eggs?”

spencer laughs, amused by your change in topic. he nods toward the bowl of already beaten eggs, “scrambled.”

you nod, firmly. you pick up the bowl and move to the stovetop, but not before grabbing his fingers with your free hand and pulling him with you.

your thumb glides along the curve of his forefinger as you hold it between your bodies, waiting for the pan to heat up. you’re biting your lip so much, you think you might draw blood. you’re unbearably happy. and you think you’re doing a good job of hiding it but you’re not. spencer can see the way you giddily twitch by his side, opting on not saying anything about it as he smiles softly.

“you love me,” you tease, singsong, dragging out the ‘love’. your head leans against his shoulder.

“mhm,” he confirms. ”you’re never gonna let me live this down, huh?”

“nope,” you chirp, pressing a chaste kiss to his shirt.

reblogs and replies are appreciated | m.list

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #matthew gray gubler

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 months ago

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Some Magic-Related Vocabulary

for your next poem/story

Amulet: An object worn, carried or placed to guard against negativity or other vibrations. A protective object.

Astral Projection: The practice of separating the consciousness from the physical body so that the former may move about unhindered by time, space or gravity.

Bane: A poison; that which destroys life. "Henbane" is poisonous to hens.

Banish: To drive away evil, negativity or spirits.

Beltane: An ancient folk-festival day observed by Witches that celebrates the fully blossomed spring. April 30 or May 1.

Censer: A vessel of metal or earthenware in which incense is burned. An incense burner.

Chaplet: A garland or wreath of flowers or leaves worn on the head, as in the chaplets given to classical Greek heroes as symbols of honor.

Clairvoyance: Literally "clear seeing." The ability to perceive facts, events and other data by other than the five "normal" senses, unaided by tools.

Curse: A concentration of negative and destructive energy, deliberately formed and directed toward a person, place or thing.

Divination: The art of finding things out through means other than the five senses, using tools such as tarot cards, crystal balls, and so on.

Enchant: "Sing to." Magically speaking, a procedure whereby herbs are aligned with your magical need prior to their use.

Evil Eye, The: Supposed glance capable of causing great harm or fear, once almost universally feared.

Fascination: The art of placing other people under one's power through sounds, gazes, colors, etc.

Hex: An evil spell; a curse.

Incubus: A male demon or spirit which was believed to sexually tempt and abuse women; the succubus was the corresponding female demon.

Infusion: An herbal tea.

Lughnasadh: An old harvest festival celebrated on August 1st or 2nd in Europe, reverencing the abundant (harvested) fruits of the Earth. It is still observed by Wicca.

Magic: The practice of causing needed change through the use of powers as yet undefined and unaccepted by science.

Magic Circle: A ritually-created circle (or sphere) that offers protection to the magician during magical rites.

Magician: A person of either sex who practices magic.

Magus: A magician.

Midsummer: The Summer Solstice, usually on or near June 21st, one of the Wiccan festival days and an excellent time to practice magic.

Pendulum: A tool of divination which consists of a heavy object suspended from a string or cord. The end of the cord is held between the thumb and forefinger; questions are asked and their answers divided by the movements of the pendulum.

Pentagram: A five-pointed star which has been used in magic for centuries. Highly symbolic, it is also a protective device.

Poppet: A small doll made of various substances to influence a person's fife. In herb magic, either a carved root or a cloth image stuffed with herbs. The use of poppets is known as "image magic."

Power Hand, The: The hand you write with; the dominant hand. This is a magically potent hand.

Samhain: An ancient festival day marking the beginning of winter. Also known as "Halloween" and All Hallows Eve. It is observed by Wicca with religious ceremonies.

Scry: To gaze into a pool of ink, fire, crystal ball, etc. to awaken and summon psychic powers.

Spell: A magical rite.

Talisman: An object worn or carried to attract a specific influence, such as love, luck, money, health; as opposed to an amulet which keeps forces from its bearer.

Wicca: A contemporary religion with spiritual roots in prehistory that worships the life-force of the universe as personified as a God and Goddess. It is sometimes erroneously referred to as "witchcraft."

Witch Bottle: A bottle or jar containing herbs, pins, shards of glass and other objects, designed to protect a person or area from evil and curses. Usually buried or placed in a window.

Witchcraft: The practice of natural magic, as that of herbs, stones, and candles. Spell-casting. Still used by some to refer to the religion of Wicca.

Wort: An old word meaning "herb." Mugwort preserves the term.

Excerpt from Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs More: Word Lists ⚜ Esoteric Vocabulary ⚜ On Magic

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larkandkatydid · 21 days ago

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"No live organism can continue to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream..."

Book Recs: The Gothic After Shirley Jackson

Peter Straub, Ghost Story: One of the great horror novles about misogyny that is also misogynistic. But, I will say in the 30 or so years that this book has been in my life, I've come to see it as smarter and more interesting with its unreliable protagonists than I had previously thought. And this is partially the skill of the writer unfolding for me as I mature, but I cannot help but think that Current Events make it impossible to not see the Chowder Society as an allegory for the U.S. Supreme Court

Rene Depestre, Hadriana In All My Dreams: A gorgeous, richly written zombie story but I also think a very early exploration of the ideas you find in a lot of feminist horror critiques. What if the beauitful dead girl wants to be something other than beautiful and pure and perfect and dead?

Susannah Clark, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrel: The hype over this book when it came out was so intense that I think I undervalued it at first because it could not possibly have lived up to that hype. But it truly is excellent.

Tananarive Due, The Good House: This book is such a perfect iteration of the Steven Speilberg/Stephen King style of normal family in peril. Due's latest book, The Reformatory has won so many horror awards this year and it also a wonderful new version of books about the children fighting evil. There's so much heart and warmth in all her books, even when awful things happen.

Helen Oyeyemi, White is for Witching: A austere, Jackon-esque haunted house book that also reminds me a lot of Sarah Waters' The Little Stranger. It's very much rooted in the conservative, nightmarish era of the 1980s, which makes it now relevant for today.

Jeanette Ng, Under the Pendulum Sun: This book about Victorian missionaries in the fairy realm ends up on so many of my recomendation lists. If Under the Pendulum Sun has one fan, and it might, that fan is me. But I remain ever hopeful that I will be able to persuade enough of the reading public that it gets a sequel.

Afia Atakora, Conjure Women: A book that is riffing on both Jane Eyre and The Beguiled and, most of all, digging in the rich gothic soil of "how do we live together after betraying each other to survive?"

Olga Tokarczuk, Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead: What else can be said about this book? It's an ecofeminist Hannibal episode in the most complimentary way possible. It's probably insulting to put Tokarczuk on a list with such goofy books, but she's having fun here.

Emma Rous, The Au Pair: This is the stupidest book on this list. It is possibly one of the stupidest books ever written, something I say with profound love and admiration. Nothing that happens in this book makes emotional or medical sense, and yet, it's a fucking blast.

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hypnosis-sekai · 2 months ago

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what’s something miscellaneous about the au that isn’t very relevant to the story but is still a cool bit of trivia?

Hypno Miku's favorite food is orange actually. Which caused rin to sing a song about it and she loved it

#a swinging pendulum #qna event!

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lu-is-not-ok · 3 months ago

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A Narcissistic reading of Hong Lu

Yup, I'm actually doing this.

To lay down some facts first: I have NPD, alongside a bunch of other things that coalesce into a nuclear concoction strong enough to kill every dark empath in a five mile radius. If I find you ableisting it up, I give myself the permission to smite you. This is a threat and a warning.

Now, let's talk about Hong Lu. Because as it turns out, he might just be the most difficult literacy check in Limbus Company according to what I've seen.

I could just say "I'm a narcissist and Hong Lu is just like me fr fr so he's a narcissist too" and end the post, but honestly, where's the fun in that? There are, legitimately, things I want to yap about, so I'm going to yap about them, and no chucklefucks can stop me.

So, to start this off, let's make one thing clear.

Hong Lu is not only a good actor, but also a skilled liar. The way he navigates conversations and the methods he uses are just as important to analyze as the actual words he says, if not more so. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that trying to understand him based Only on what he says and not how he uses the things he says would result in an understanding that's not only incomplete, but potentially outright wrong.

Now, this isn't really tied to why I think Hong Lu could be very reasonably read as having NPD, at least not directly. Narcissists aren't inherently evil liar manipulators, and if that's what you take away from this post, that's more of a you problem (and you can go ahead and block me considering I'm one of the evil liar manipulator narcissists according to you).

However, there is a reason why I have to bring it up. And it's because almost all of Hong Lu's narcissistic traits become a lot more obvious once you look at the exact ways he takes control of conversations.

With that out of the way, what exactly are we even looking for?

NPD, in my experience, primarily affects one's sense of self-worth and self-esteem. I personally found that the analogy of a pendulum makes the most sense to me - a narcissist's sense of self-worth can swing between massive highs and massive lows, almost never staying in a middle "balanced" position, with even the tiniest things being able to throw it to one side or another.

The ways this can present outwardly are. Quite frankly, way too fucking many to count. But there are some common threads we can keep in mind:

High sensitivity to criticism

Need for an external source of validation

Tendency to seek out ways to make oneself feel more special, important, or powerful

So, does Hong Lu fit those criteria?

Well. Yeah. This post wouldn't exist if he didn't.

Let's talk about the first point, high sensitivity to criticism. And, immediately, I would like everyone to remember Hell's Chicken, specifically the scene where Meursault begins to verbally roast his team's dish, and in the process laying down a verbal smackdown on everyone involved. That scene ended like this.

Curious, isn't it? The moment Meursault was about to start criticising Hong Lu, he just jumps in and distracts Meursault with a change of topic - something even Dante's narration points out.

Mind you, this isn't an isolated event. This is just the most obvious example of Hong Lu exhibiting this kind of behavior.

Don't believe me? Just look at these.

These are all examples of Hong Lu either backpedaling, changing the subject, or otherwise trying to avoid the acknowledgement of something that criticizes his status, thought process, or (in the last example) which would reveal an emotional vulnerability.

This is a fairly consistent pattern for him, and that's not even getting into the fact that the line he says when hovering over him before a skill check he has a Very Low chance at succeeding in has him suddenly try to excuse himself and leave.

Hong Lu is absolutely highly sensitive to criticism, it's just that his primary emotional reactions aren't ones we're privy to. Instead, what we get to see is how he acts to try and minimize the impact of those criticisms, if not outright find ways to never let them leave someone's mouth in the first place.

Next up - need for external validation.

This one doesn't have as many examples as the previous point, as Hong Lu is a generally closed off person who keeps a certain level of distance from most other Sinners. However, that doesn't mean I don't have any.

One such example comes from Canto 4, where soon after acting out his part in the play, Hong Lu seeks validation from Yi Sang.

Then there's this moment in Canto 6, where Hong Lu, once again, seeks validation for something he's done.

And then there's also these lines from Hong Lu's various Identities.

Aaaand then there's these base Identity voice lines, which, if you ask me, feel a bit like fishing for compliments.

This point is a lot harder to say is a definitive one, mainly due to Hong Lu's more closed off projected personality. That being said, the fact that one can find examples of it despite that is pretty notable.

And for the final one - trying to make oneself feel more special, important, or powerful.

This is one that's a bit harder to provide exact examples for, as again, Hong Lu isn't someone who talks about how he feels often, and when he does it's not always exactly trustworthy. He's not like Rodya, who while still putting on a facade, is pretty open and easy to read about how she actually feels.

But, there's still some non-mutually exclusive interpretations I want to posit here. Two, in fact.

One - I believe that for Hong Lu, the thing he sees as power is control.

See, avoiding criticism isn't the only time Hong Lu steers conversations. In fact, it's something he does All The Time. He's often the one asking questions to get the group moving, trying to gather information that might be relevant to him, and generally taking over the direction a conversation is going in. Chances are, if Hong Lu speaks up, it's likely to alter the conversation he joins in noticeable ways.

This, I think, is one of the ways Hong Lu makes himself feel more powerful. After all, it's not that hard to guess from what little bits of his background we have that Hong Lu lacked agency for most of his life. So, wouldn't it make sense for him that having that agency, that being able to be socially in control, would be the exact kind of thing that would boost his self-esteem?

In fact, the only times we see him rendered completely speechless, seemingly stripped of that confidence in conversations he usually exhibits, are in Canto 7 - specifically in scenes where he's Not In Control of what the others are talking about. Those scenes being when the other Sinners start shit-talking Xichun in front of him, and when Xichun actively tries to bother Hong Lu by alluding to the way he's been treated back at home.

Extremely confident until something external happens that utterly strips him of that confidence... sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Then, there's the second interpretation.

See, with NPD, there are two ways a narcissist can try to make themself feel more deserving of attention. One is the one most probably think of when they think about narcissists - setting out to fulfill extremely high goals to feel amazing when one reached them and then feeling utterly crushed in the case one doesn't. This would be someone like Rodya.

However, there is also another way, one which I personally have much more experience with - to undersell. To set extremely low expectations, so that it's as hard as possible to fail reaching them, and to feel way better upon surpassing them than one would with higher, more "regular" expectations.

This, to me, is exactly the kind of narcissist Hong Lu is. Think about it. He's constantly putting out this image of an extremely sheltered person that barely understands the outside world, with notable moments where it's made clear he's Just Making Shit Up at points. Wouldn't making one seem unable to do anything, only to then proceed to do things you've led people to not expect of you, make it feel like you're much more exceptional than you really are?

The underselling goes the other way too. When the other Sinners point out something odd about Hong Lu in a more positive way, he's often quick to point out how it's Nothing compared to what his Family expected of him. Wouldn't that make one feel exceptional, to make it seem like whatever effort you're putting in to do well is but a fraction of what else you can do? That you don't even have to try to be able to be special?

...So, there. That's all the analysis and interpretation I find important to do to get my point across.

Just to make it clear, I don't think that the only thing wrong with Hong Lu is the narcissism. There's definitely a lot more shit going on in that head of his. But, I'll be honest, the NPD reading felt so obvious to me that it genuinely took me by surprise that other people don't see it.

Though... maybe I shouldn't be shocked. Some fuckers out there still think Faust is a narcissist when she's literally just autistic.

#lu speaketh #limbus company #hong lu lcb #hong lu #canto 7 spoilers #lcb analysis #gotta pull out those rent lowering gunshots every now and then

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peakyswritings · 2 months ago

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Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

CHAPTER 13

Summary: Now that their secret’s out, Nina and Tommy have to face the consequences of their own actions. And the wrath of her family.

Warnings: time-typical misogyny, talks of arranged marriage, talks of forced marriage, mentions of killing, threats, violence, mention of beatings, angst, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s). This is set between season 1 and 2. English is not my first language.

A/N: after a major writer’s block, I finally managed to get this done. Sorry for the wait🤍 Last chapter before the epilogue of part 1.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gif credits

The ticking of the pendulum clock was the only sound of that could be heard in the dark office, the air becoming heavier with each second that passed. Tommy’s heart hammered in his chest, his fear taking the shape of violent shivers running down his spine. But he didn’t let any of it show. He separated himself from the primal instincts that urged him to fight, to find an escape, and forced himself to stand firm, unfaltering. He couldn’t let panic numb his mind.

It wasn’t his life he was scared for. Death was something Tommy had learned to accept - to welcome - a long time ago. For him, it was the merciful hand that would relieve him from weight of the world and give him peace, at last.

No, he wasn’t afraid of dying. What scared him was what would be of his family, in the events of his death. What would be of Nina. And for the first time in his life, he felt like he had no way out. Everything had happened too quickly. One moment he was in Nina’s arms, and the next he was standing in front of her father, with her brothers dying to put a bullet between his eyes.

Vincenzo Ferrante sat behind his desk with his hands folded in front of him, his expression unreadable as he took in the news. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, what he was planning to do. It would’ve been easier if he had screamed, or pointed a gun at him, or had some sort of reaction. That apparent calm was unnerving. But would be better to wait for the Italian to speak first. An attempt at justification would only enrage him more, and Tommy was pretty sure there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make it even worse for him. The best thing to do was stay silent and gauge Ferrante’s reaction. Then he’d figure out what to do next.

Interminably long minutes passed before Ferrante raised his piercing gaze on Tommy, nailing him with a cold stare. He nodded to himself, as if giving himself an answer to a question that had nagged at his brain the whole time.

“You disappoint me, Mr Shelby,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I accepted your terms for peace when I could’ve easily killed you and your whole family. I welcomed you into my house, let you eat at my table. And this,” he pointed at him. “This is how you repay me.”

The neutrality of his tone was unsettling. Tommy took in a sharp breath, his mind turning over to find something to say that would somehow fix it all. He could tell him what he had been planning to tell him had Nina said yes to him. That he wanted to marry his daughter, that he wasn’t playing with her, that the affection he felt for her left him no choice but to change his mind.

But Nina had never said yes to him. And he couldn’t make that choice for her.

“If I could talk to your daughter…”

Don Vincenzo slammed his hand on the desk, eyes glaring with a sudden rage as he leant forward. “You’re not going anywhere near my daughter ever again.”

A tense silence fell into the room. Pietro and Salvatore stayed close to Tommy, ready to intervene at their father’s command. All of Tommy’s senses were alert. He was aware that small outburst was nothing compared to what the head of the family was capable of behind his courtesy and good manners.

Taking a deep breath, Ferrante regained his composure. He straightened his back and when he spoke, his voice was calm.

“You will be…removed,” he stressed, “from our property until I speak to my brother, and we decide what it is that we must do with you.”

Fuck.

“Wait,” Tommy stretched his hand forward. “Just one word with Nina is all I ask.”

An indecipherable look crossed the Italian’s face. The corner of his mouth twitched. “So she’s Nina to you, mhm?” he scoffed, a bitter smile growing on his lips.

A feeling of helplessness took over Tommy as he realised he wouldn’t be able to get through to him. He had hit him where it hurt, he had touched the most precious thing he had. His daughter. There was no going back from that.

Ferrante sent a knowing look to his sons, jerking his head towards the door, and the two brothers grabbed him on both sides. There was no point in fighting, he was outnumbered and unarmed. And probably dead already.

He could only hope Nina would dig a way out for him.

Puttana.

The harshness of Agnese’s tone still pierced Nina’s ears, the word hanging between them like the smoke of a gun.

“How long has this been going on?”

Nina gulped, lowering her gaze to the grass under her feet. “I…”

Her mouth went dry. How could she even begin to explain what had happened over the last month? How could she look her in the eyes and tell her that she had been lying to her for weeks, pretending to be happy for her, hiding the true nature of her feelings?

Agnese shook her head, a cycle of emotions playing out in her eyes - confusion, hurt, betrayal. Disgust. That look was something Nina was sure she would never forget. “I can’t believe it.”

Nina exhaled a shaky breath, fidgeting with her own fingers. It wasn’t supposed to happen, not like that. She needed more time, just a bit more time to find a way to fix that mess. But maybe she didn’t deserve more time. She’d already had a hundred chances to put an end to what was going on between her and Tommy, and she had failed miserably every time she had tried.

“Please let me explain,” she attempted, but the humourless chuckle escaping her cousin’s lips cut her short.

“I’m so stupid,” Agnese murmured. “So blind. I’ve always been blind.” She crossed her arms over her chest, sneering. “They’re all right about you. You’re a disgrace for all of us. And you’re bad.”

Those words felt like an arrow to Nina’s chest. She nibbled on her bottom lip, feeling the sting of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“You ruined my chance at getting married,” Agnese pointed a finger at her, raising her voice. “You brought shame on the whole family. You’re ruining all of us. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

A lump grew in Nina’s throat. “Agnese, please,” she kept her voice low, trying to get her cousin to calm down.

But it was useless. Agnese didn’t even seem to hear her, too wrapped up in the vortex of her feelings. She took a few steps in Nina’s direction, squinting her eyes. “Nobody in this family likes you, not even your mother,” she spat out. “I’m the only one who treated you with some decency, who listened when you went on with your nonsense. And what do you do for me in return?”

As though a switch had been hit, a hot flash of anger seared through Nina, relentless, overwhelming. The kind of rage she had never been able to contain.

Too much. That was too much.

“Fuck you,” she gritted her teeth.

Agnese blinked, her mouth falling open. “What?”

“I said fuck you.”

This time it was Nina who took a step closer. “You like it, don’t you? Being the good one, the perfect one. The damned paragon of virtue,” she said, unable to help the sarcasm in her tone. “Treat me with some decency, you say? Odds are you didn’t do it for me. You only liked the way it made you feel about yourself.”

For a few moments neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other, the weight of all the things that had been said hanging heavily upon them. Too much had been left unsaid for too long, too many hidden feelings had been standing between them like an invisible wall. They both knew it was just a matter of time before they crawled out of the grave they had been buried in.

Agnese pursed her lips. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, and with one last disappointed look, she stormed away.

Nina took a deep breath, bringing her hand to rub her face. Guilt was already making its sneaky way inside of her. She had no right to snap. She deserved all the words that had left her cousin’s mouth. She had jeopardised Agnese’s future, along with her own. She wasn’t just ruining herself, she was ruining her whole family in more ways than one. She had put Tommy’s life at risk.

The mess that would come was all her fault. Maybe her family had always been right, maybe they had seen in advance all the damage that she was capable of causing, and treated her accordingly. Maybe she was bad, after all.

“Dad wants to see you.” Pietro’s voice came to her ears, pulling her away from her thoughts.

“Where’s Tommy?”

Her question was left unanswered. Without saying another word, Pietro turned to leave. Feeling her agitation rise again, Nina approached him with quick steps. She grabbed his arm, only for him to snatch it away with a sharp movement. He shot her a warning look, then he left.

It took all of Nina’s strength to find the courage to walk into her father’s office. He was standing near the window at the side of his desk, looking somewhere into the distance. He didn’t talk. He didn’t even look at her. He left her there, waiting. So much time seemed to pass that Nina couldn’t tell which of them was waiting for what, at that point. That silence weighed like a boulder. She could feel it on her shoulders, pressing her down, forcing her to cave.

Eventually, he took his time to walk around the desk, heavy step after heavy step, his hands behind his back, his gaze low, until he stopped in front of her.

She felt the sting before she could see him move. He delivered a harsh slap across her face, the impact sending her ear ringing. Her eyes squeezed shut, both in pain and in shock, and it took her a moment to register what had actually happened. Never had her father ever laid a hand on her before. She bit her tongue, slowly raising her eyes on him. There was no hint of regret in his eyes. Only a deep, painful scorn.

“I gave you too much freedom,” he murmured, shaking his head.

Nina raised a hand to her burning cheek, thousands of words coiling and knotting together inside her mind. But no sentence came out of that tangle. She wasn’t even sure what it was that she felt in that moment. Anger? Sadness? Shame? All of that, perhaps. And more.

“I thought I was raising you the right way. But I’ve been too soft. Too patient. And this is the result.” An expression of intense suffering flashed across his face. “Do you realise what you’ve done?”

She gulped hard, letting her gaze fall on the carpet under her feet. She couldn’t even bring herself to hold his gaze. “Papà, I…”

“You have pained me, Nina. You have pained me deeply. Letting that rugnusu, figghiu ri buttana use you like a-” he cut himself short, grimacing.

Nina backed away, feeling her eyes welling up again with angry tears. God, she hated herself. She wanted to keep a tough façade, to hide how much the words she had been receiving over the last hour hurt her, but it was getting harder and harder. She knew she had screwed up, she knew she deserved all that anger, but it was just so much to handle. And that was only the start.

“You’re wrong,” she sniffled.

“Am I?”

She glanced up at him through her lashes. “He cares about me.”

For a split second, a glimpse of bitter irony flashed across her father’s features. He nodded, taking a step back. “And yet,” he tilted his head, “he would’ve married your cousin.”

Nina crossed her arms over her chest, averting her gaze again. “It’s more complicated than that,” she muttered defensively. Although she had taken the hit, she refused to even consider the possibility that those implications might have any truth to them. She couldn’t believe Tommy would ever do something like that to her. Not him.

“It’s not,” he shook his head, taking on a condescending tone. “It’s simple. He played you, and you fell for it.”

“You don’t understand, he cares,” she insisted, hot tears finally spilling onto her cheeks. “He cares, he told me.”

Her shoulders shook as she stifled a sob, covering her mouth with her hand. Not him. Not Tommy. Not after the way she had let him in. Not after the trust she had given him. He would never.

Would he?

Her father cursed under his breath, reaching out to her, and she almost flinched when he raised his hands. But this time, he gently cradled her face, wiping her tears away with his rough thumbs. “You don’t know men, Nina. Sunnu minzugnari. They lie.”

“He’s not like that.”

He clicked his tongue, letting his hand fall as a disappointed smile twisted his features. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

He turned his back to her to approach his desk, his head hanging low. “But it’s not all your fault, is it?” he sighed, grabbing the cigar resting in the ashtray. “Tu si picciridda, teni u cori tènniru. Ti facisti ‘mbrugghiari.” (You’re young, you have a tender heart. You let yourself be fooled.)

He smoked for a while, seemingly calm, but his mind was lost in thought, as if he was fighting a battle inside his own head. He tapped his fingers on the wooden surface, and from the way he was standing, Nina couldn’t see his face. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, nervously waiting for him to speak. But there was still that question nagging at the back of her mind. She wasn’t afraid to ask it. It was the answer she was scared of.

She pulled herself together, gathering her courage. “Where… where is he?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s no concern of yours,” he said sternly.

“It is my concern.”

Her father exhaled a cloud of smoke, pondering his words. “He will be kept under custody until I’ve consulted your uncle.”

Nina gulped, fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt. A part of her, a stupid, foolish part of her had hoped what happened would stay a secret. But of course it wouldn’t. Agnese would talk. Maybe she had talked already.

“You’re marrying Stefano Spinietta.”

A chill descended into the room at that sudden statement. Nina’s head shot up, and she tried to get a glimpse of her father’s face, praying it was just her mind playing tricks on her. But he wasn’t looking at her. “What?”

“I’ll talk to his father tomorrow.”

She widened her eyes as the realisation crushed down on her.

No, that couldn’t be. She could not allow it. She would not allow it.

Blood rushed to her ears, its thumping sound covering her own voice when she spoke. “No.”

“No?” he turned around, raising his eyebrows. “You’re in no position to protest.”

A violent wave of anger ran through her, wiping away any residue of sadness, or guilt, or whatever it was that she had been feeling up until that moment. “I’m not marrying him, you can’t force me,” she raised her voice, walking over to where her father was standing.

A thick vein throbbed on the side of his neck, his face reddening as the fury he had been holding back finally got the best of him. “I will not allow you to be ruined,” he shouted, slamming his hand on the desk.

“Better ruined than that bastard’s wife.”

A tense silence fell between them. Nina didn’t allow herself to falter, she held her father’s gaze with the same defiance and determination she armed herself with every time the bite of invisible chains dug into her skin.

In a visible effort to regain his composure, her father inhaled deeply, straightening his back. “It’s decided,” he declared with a tone that brooked no argument.

“It’s not.”

“You already ruined our peace with the Shelbys, along with the possibility of having them as allies against Sabini. You won’t ruin our family’s honour as well. The Ferrante name will not be tarnished.”

She inhaled a sharp breath, her mind going back to what Tommy had said to her before all hell broke loose. I’d start a thousand wars if it meant that I got to keep you by my side.

He wanted her, and he was ready to risk it all. It was time to push past her fears, to stop letting herself being held back by the poisonous thoughts that told her no one would ever feel that way about her. To fight for him the way he would fight for her.

“What if I marry Mr Shelby?”

She couldn’t believe her own words as she pronounced them. They felt foreign, distant. Then fearfully real all at once. There was no going back from something like that. She couldn’t unsay what she had just said. What up until then had been nothing but a faint thought was now something visible, tangible.

She watched as her father’s face went pale, and for once, he seemed to be the one at a loss for words. His eyes searched her face, trying to measure the seriousness of her proposal. The stubbornness in her gaze must’ve told him everything he needed to know, cause his shoulders slumped as if under the weight of an unbearable realisation.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not an option,” he said, shaking his head. “If your uncle decides to forgive him, Mr Shelby’s marriage with Agnese will stand. But if he doesn’t forgive him there’s no way he will accept him into the family, under any circumstance. And I won’t go against him.”

Nina felt her heart sink. When she spoke, she couldn’t help the crack in her voice. “But you would go against me.”

“He’s my brother.”

“I’m your daughter.”

Her father’s eyebrows twitched, but that slight show of emotion was quick to fade into a hardened expression. “These are the consequences of your own actions, Nina,” he said coldly. “Now leave. Nun ti pozzu mancu taliari.” (I can’t even look at you.)

Nina paced in her room, where she had been confined by her raging mother as soon as she had left her father’s office. Her reaction wasn’t any different than she expected: furious, violent like only her outbursts could be when she got free of her meek demeanour. She was pretty sure the whole village had heard the string of curses and insults that had left that woman’s mouth as she hit her.

Nina was only now realising all that had happened that day. She had been accused, yelled at, beaten, called all sort of things. All because of her feelings.

But her family’s consideration of her was not her primary concern, at that moment. A family meeting was being held in her father’s office, a meeting that would likely decide hers and Tommy’s fate. And she wasn’t allowed to be there. Because she didn’t have a say in her own life, it didn’t belong to her. It never did.

The wait was killing her.

Her brothers’ heavy steps resounded in the hallway, causing her head to snap toward the closed door. With her heart racing, she rushed out of her room, but they pretended not to even see her as they headed towards their rooms, jaws clenched, fists tight.

“What did they say?” she asked them, forcing them to acknowledge her presence.

Salvatore pursed his lips, coming to a stop next to her. He leaned closer, looking her up and down with a grimace of contempt on his scarred face. “Svergognata,” he growled, before retiring to his room, slamming the door behind him. (Hussy.)

Pietro was just about to do the same, when her tired voice reached his ears.

“Pietro, please,” she whispered.

He stalled, probably considering whether to leave her in the dark or take pity on her and at least grant her the poor consolation of knowing something. He exhaled heavily, eyes darting around the hallway, then turned to look at her. “Uncle Mario feels humiliated,” he said lowly, walking closer to her until they were standing face to face. “He’s angry.”

“Speak clearly.”

“He wants to kill him.”

Nina’s stomach dropped at his words. No. No, no, no. She shuddered, anxiety growing in her chest. “No…”

“He says the terms for peace can’t stand now. Agnese won’t marry him, and sure as hell they don’t want to mix up with the Shelby family anymore.”

“I need to speak to dad,” she said frantically, eyes wide, moving to walk past him, but he stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.

“Not now.”

“I have to.”

“Not now, Nina,” he said firmly, pressing his hands on her shoulders. “He can’t even bear to look at you right now. Whatever you say to him will only make it worse. Let him cool down first.”

“There’s no time.”

They would kill him. They would kill him and it was all her fault.

Pietro hesitated for a moment. “I managed to buy him some time already,” he revealed, dropping his hands by his sides and taking a couple of steps back. “I told dad we can’t make a move without consulting uncle Antonio first. We sent him a telegram, but it’ll take a while for it to reach England.”

Nina blinked, letting his words sink in. Her eyebrows bent in a frown, confusion and a faint relief swirling within her. “Why?”

“Certainly not out the kindness of my heart. U avirrìa accisu cu li manu mia,” he said through gritted teeth. (I would’ve killed him with my own hands.) “But we need to be careful with what we do.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath. Tommy was safe, at least for now. But she was running on borrowed time, and she needed to find a solution fast. Yet, a flicker of hope had ignited in all that darkness. Because for some reason, despite the repulsion, and the disappointment, and the anger, Pietro was still on her side. He was still her ally, like he had always been. He was still someone she could trust.

“Please don’t let them hurt him,” she begged him, and had she circumstances been different, she would’ve despised how desperate she sounded.

“I’ll do what I can.”

“No, you have to promise me,” she reached out to grab his arm. “Tell dad I’ll do whatever he wants. I’ll marry Spinietta, to ensure that a war will never happen between us, and I won’t complain. But let Tommy live.”

Something switched in her brother’s cold eyes. It was subtle, and it went away as soon as it came. Hadn’t she known him all her life she wouldn’t have even noticed. “I promised to you you wouldn’t have to marry Spinietta unless you wanted it, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“Things are different now,” she murmured, a sense of hopelessness falling down on her as she spoke. “If that’s the only way to save him, then it’s what I want.”

“We’ll find another way.”

“How?”

He fixed his gaze straight ahead, pondering his next words. “I have an idea.”

A heavy silence descended upon them, one full of doubts, and concern, and unspoken fears. Whatever Pietro’s plan was, he wouldn’t tell her, not now. When he made to leave, Nina was hit by the urge to say something. Anything. She wanted him to know that she hadn’t been moved by selfishness, that she hadn’t planned for things to turn out the way they did. That she had fought against herself, against her feelings, until she just couldn’t anymore.

“Pietro,” she stopped him. “I never meant to ruin us all. I swear. I…” she sighed, looking for a way to put into words what she hadn’t even admitted to herself yet. “Whatever I did, I did it out of…” she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.

Pietro rested his eyes on her, his features softening almost imperceptibly. “I know.”

NEXT CHAPTER

Heart, Body and Sould tag list

@zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark

@kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@gaslysainz @brummiereader @loverhymeswith @fairypitou @prettywhenicry4

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @woofgocows @girlwith-thepearlearring @goblinjnr @outlanderuniverse

@citylights31 @neonpurplestars89-blog @outlanderuniverse @red-riding-wood @evita-shelby

@look-at-the-soul @gathania93 @wonderlanddreamer @thelastemzy @meadows5

@mischievouslittlecreature @seedlings-stuff @misslittlegetou

General tag list:

@iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys

@lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989

@call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe @ce1iat @areyenotfondofmelobster @red-riding-wood

@optimisticsandwichgladiator @lunarubra

Tommy Shelby tag list:

@50svibes @bellabarnes1378 @jbrownta

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x oc

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livelaughlovesubs · 5 months ago

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Hi hello! Delicos Nursery has me in a headlock nowCan you please do "mocking for involuntary reactions" and "ruining a part of their body they take pride in" (hair most likely) for Gerhard for the prompt event?

Love how we are all shaken by the pretty men (Gerhard) in delico’s nursery. It’s so rare to see the focus be on hot men. Btw my friend pointed out how its easy to mistype his name into gethard

Dom!Reader x sub!gerhard (?)

Warning: mean reader, stepping, dacryphilia, teasing, (tell me if I forgot smt, cuz I feel like I did)

Anniversary event

You sat down on the emergency stairs of one of the buildings, humming to yourself, waiting for the plan to unfold by itself. “Five more seconds, and he should be here.” That’s what the plan suggested anyway. In the meantime you scanned your surroundings. It was disgustingly filthy, absolutely immortal. Yet, the sound of water dripping into small puddles from pipes and roofs was weirdly calming.

As soon as you started doubting the script, the heavy breathing of an entity reached your ears, the person was getting closer to you. When they turned around the corner they stepped into one of the small puddles with their heels, making the water splash around. It was dark, since it was in the middle of the night. Based on your assumptions, you’d say they haven’t noticed you, you’ve been hidden well behind the shadows after all.

The old street lamp barely illuminated this dirt poor corner of the city, though the moonlight did. You could make out the outlines of the person, they were a tall individual with long, shiny golden hair that reflected the light of the moon. It swayed with their every move, and it seemed to have been meticulously tied up. The efforts didn’t go unnoticed, because you had to admit, their locks were beautiful.

Without making a single sound, you waited, waiting until they’ve come close enough. Their appearance emerged from the darkness, the bright moonlight helped in exposing their identity, it was your target, Gerhard Fra. A pretty important person, someone useful to your little terrorist group. With a swift move, you jumped and landed behind him, kicking him to the ground before he could react. “What- arrrggg..?!!” He yelped, clutching his sword tightly before pathetically trying to swing it at you.

It wasn’t difficult to dodge it, and you easily disarmed him while you were at it, kicking the weapon out of his hands before stepping on the body part. “UrgHHh!! You- you are a one of the pendulums aren’t you?” Gerhard groaned, gritting his teeth at the pain. He clawed at the floor with his free hand, trying to push himself up but to no avail. “Yep, that’s me.” You answered nonchalantly, there was no reason for you to hide your identity, in fact, you’ve been waiting to introduce yourself to him.

His clean white pants have been soaked now, alongside his refined uniform, but these things didn’t seem to bother him. Rather, he tried to gain some kind of information out of you, yelling through the streets, “who are you? And what are your motives?” A sense of anger became the fundaments of his voice, he turned his head over his shoulder, staring right at you. He tried to etch your looks into his brain to the best of his ability.

“These things aren’t that important.” You mumbled, and reached out for his high ponytail, wrapping your hand around the base of it. He tied his hair very tightly, and thoroughly, he definitely invests a lot of time into his golden locks. “Why don’t you tell me about you instead?” The male glared at you, and his feisty reaction was met with you yanking on his hair, making him arch his back at the strength you used and whine involuntarily, “aahHh…!”

“Oh? What a nice reaction there.” He shuddered at your teasing comment and bit his bottom lip when you sat down on his back, pressing him down with your weight. “Can I hear it once more?” You asked a rhetorical question, smirking as you did, pulling on his hair once again. It had the same outcome as before, with him whimpering into the depths of the alley, ordering you around as a last resort, “hnngg! S-stop it this instand!”

Your laughter bounced off the walls, making him feel humiliated. “You can’t even control yourself in front of the enemy, stuttering like that. As if I’d listen to you.” Honestly, you wanted him to get off his high horse. Did he really believe you’d obey his commands considering the position you two were in? “God, this is so much fun, your attitude’s almost cute! Haha~!” A sense of shame flashed across his eyes, his cheeks had a rosy taint to them, he was blushing.

After glancing around for a bit, you saw his sword lying in the mud. An idea crossed your mind, so you took hold of his weapon, bringing it closer to him. Though, you didn’t rest it against his throat as he feared, instead you held it above his ponytail. “Hey Gerhard, your hair’s so long. How long did it take you to grow it out?” The male gulped, dreadful about the fact you knew his name. “Why are you asking?” Gerhard scoffed, still not over his fury.

You shrugged, acting unbothered before you rubbed the sharp edge of his sword against his bush of hair. “I guess your hair’s not that important to you after all, so I can cut it, right?” His eyes widened, mouth agape as he tried to talk you out of it, “w-what does cutting my hair matter?! I wouldn’t tell you anything neither way!” When your eyes met, he felt a shiver run down his spine, that look you bore told him you weren’t doing it out of a logical standpoint, it was for your own satisfaction.

“I knew you would never tell me anything about the true of vamp, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Your statement was immediately met with his protest, “then.. you don’t need to do something unnecessary!” You smiled at him, shaking your head at his words, “it’s not unnecessary. You like your hair don’t ya? So, it’s an emotional attack.” The vampire clenched his teeth, sweating as he was in pure disbelief. He couldn’t find the right words to convince you.

Then you yanked on it one last time, before using his sword to cut the ponytail off. “No- Stop! Wait!” Gerhard shouted when he noticed the tight knot he did disappear, he tried to stand up again, to push you off him, but it just didn’t work. “Hmm? What did you say~?” you giggled, finding his desperate expression’s fun. “I-, p-please don’t..” he whispered breathlessly, pulling a pitiful grimace. This was the last thing he wanted to do, to beg his enemy, but he really hated the thought of losing his hair.

You stopped for a second, then said, “so you do know how to ask politely, but isn’t it a bit late now?” In that moment, at last, you did the last cut, now holding this batch of blond locks in your hand and shaking it around before dropping it like some waste. It was no longer connected to his head, but laying around in the dirty mud. “Ah..” He whined in surprise, his hair only went to his ears now, and it framed his face messily. His eyes shrunk, pupils shaking visibly, one look and you could tell he was devastated.

“Come now, don’t act like I killed your friend or something.” You sighed, showing him fake pity. That’s when you noticed his eyes getting moist, with what you assumed to be tears. “Huh, ya’ crying?” This time, you were genuinely shocked, staring at him who was hiding his face from you. “Shut up… I’ll kill you-” He threatened, but you interrupted him, “oh you are definitely crying!” Damn it, why did you have to keep humiliate him?

Once again your unrestrained laughter echoed through the alley, you could barely contain yourself as you mocked him, “Haha~ your new haircut doesn’t look half bad, you know? Don’t worry too much, you still have your pretty face, I’ll save that one for our next meeting.”

With that, you escaped from the crime scene, leaving his frozen state behind to take care of the mess.

#sub character #sub!character #dom reader #dom!reader #delico's nursery #delicos nursery #gerhard fra #Gerhard x Reader #Gerhard x y/n #Gerhard x you #Gerhard fra delicos nursery #sub Gerhard #anniversary event

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kanatanabramovic · 6 months ago

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astra-ravana · 2 months ago

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Necromancy Basics

What Is Necromancy?

Also called death work, necromancy is the art of interacting with the spirits of the dead. Necromancers may have many reasons for doing this including, but not limited to, divination, communication, healing, and cursing. Necromancy is an ancient magick, practiced in many forms, by almost all cultures, for thousands of years. The spiritualist movement of the 19th century popularized mediumship and gathering for seances. Today, necromancy is not as commonplace, but many witches still reach out to the dead to enhance their craft and to shift their perspective on death.

Many fear death, but the reality is that death eventually comes for us all. Death is a part of life, a process of nature, and an element in and of itself. Death has an energy that is capable of empowering those brave enough to face it head on.

Working With The Dead

Necromancy can be carried out using many different methods and for different purposes. Contacting the dead can actually bring peace to the living, helping them understand and embrace their own mortality. Conversely, ghosts can be employed as a means of baneful magick, cursing targets with their presence. The nature of the spirit will determine their influence on the living. As such, there are a few notable types of spirits:

• The Beloved Dead- The spirits of your dead friends, relatives, and ancestors. These are people who were connected to you in life, or by family ties. These spirits can be contacted to bring healing through closure as well as for general communication. They can lend their energy to workings, empower and heal you through their presence, as well as protect you from harm.

• The Mighty Dead- These are spirits of fame, notoriety, and influence. Having made a mark on the world in life, they still have much to offer in death. This type of spirit is fantastic for divination, empowerment, gaining knowledge and skills, and deep communication. The can be invoked by a necromancer through their name.

• The Dark Dead- These are the tormented souls who haven't moved on from their own traumatic death. They are full of sorrow, confusion, and rage. These types of spirits are extremely strong and should only be contacted by a skilled practitioner. Often, violent or intense hauntings are the work of these spirits. They can influence emotion and energy and can also exhibit poltergeist behavior.

• Animal Spirits- Dead animals can also be contacted through necromancy, often using the animal's skull or bones as a beacon and vessel. These spirits can empower workings, offer protection, or even help you connect to nature on a deeper level. Deceased pets can be worked with similarly to the Beloved Dead.

Furthermore, there are numerous methods and techniques one can utilize to achieve communication with the dead. These practices are not limited to the dead, as you can utilize many of these to connect with non-human spirits and deities as well. The most notable means of communication with the dead:

• Mediumship- Being a medium means you can psychically communicate with the dead. While some people are born with the natural ability, others can develop it over time from exposure to the spirit world.

• Seance- A group endeavor to summon a spirit, usually lead by at least one medium. Many other methods may be employed during a seance. These can be long events, often lasting hours.

• Talking boards- A talking board, often referred to as a ouija board, is perhaps one of the most widely known means of communicating with the dead. These boards have been used for centuries in various forms, usually by moving a planchette across the letters and symbols.

• Pendulum/dowsing rods- Also used to detect water underground, these useful tools are very sensitive to energy. A pendulum is a weight at the end of a cord or chain that swings in various directions and circles in response to energy. Dowsing rods function very similarly, but they are held loosly in the hands so they can spin freely. Most dowsing rods are made of copper wire, bent into an L shape. These can be used to detect spirits as well as calibrated to answer yes or no questions.

• Tarot/oracle cards- Cards have often been used to communicate with the dead. They can provide valuable insight into the nature, feelings, and traits of spirits as well as key events of their life/death. I recommend being a skilled reader before using this method to contact the dead, as there can be miscommunication.

• Mirrors- Mirrors can act as portals to the spirit world as well as make it easier to see spirits. Black mirrors work especially well for this as they limit distractions, allowing one to better focus or scry for answers.

• Technology- Modern necromancy definitely has an edge thanks to ground breaking devices often utilized by ghost hunters. Inventions like the ghost box and ovulus are made specifically for speaking to the dead. These can be expensive, however. An affordable alternative is a digital voice recorder which are able to pick up spirit voices or EVPs (electronic voice phenomena). Simply ask a series of questions, with pauses in between, and play it back to hear any responses.

Graveyard Etiquette

Graveyards, cemeteries, and burial grounds are excellent places to make contact with the dead. These hallowed spaces are often hubs for spirits and can be very valuable to practitioners who conduct themselves properly. The rules for graveyard necromancy are as follows:

• Leave an offering at the entrance for the cemetery guardian. Also leave an offering at any graves you work with. Traditional offerings include coins, liquor, tobacco and flowers.

• Ask for permission before taking anything from a graveyard and leave an offering in return.

• Ward/shield yourself before doing graveyard work. You can wear a pentagram or other protective symbol, or cast protection magick on yourself.

• Treat the graveyard and every grave with respect. Try your best to fix any damages done by others and keep the grounds clean of litter. Doing this will earn you major respect from the resident spirits.

• Always thank the dead for their time before leaving.

• Consider cleansing yourself after a visit, to ensure nothing follows you home. You can also wear a hood/scarf so spirits don't grab onto you, as they usually go for the back of the neck/head.

Graveyards are considered to be liminal spaces. These are special settings that exist in a place of transition and are known to be gathering places for spirits. Any magickal working done in a liminal space will be enhanced by the energy of that location. Other examples of liminal spaces include crossroads, hedge rows, halls, and doorways.

Relevant Posts

Necromancer's Tool Kit

Liminal Spaces In Witchcraft

The Pendulum

The Dark Dead And Baneful Necromancy

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cottonlemonade · 7 months ago

Text

When He Babysits His Niece

word count: 1278 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Atsumu x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: a whisper of spoilers

synopsis: Atsumu finally has the opportunity to hit on you

The Official Version of Events

You stood in line waiting for your turn. It was a pleasant midsummer afternoon and your usual way home brought you through a little park. Children were yelling and laughing as they zipped in and out of couples going for a stroll or people walking their dogs.

A playful breeze tugged at your hair when the elderly woman manning the dorayaki cart told you she‘d have to prepare a new batch and it would take a moment. As the batter sizzled away on the hot stove you fished your phone out of your pocket.

With your mind on the movie night you had planned with your friends that evening, you checked the takeout menus of your usual places to see what you could be in the mood for when suddenly a little black haired blur in a pink tutu over jeans wooshed by and hid behind you, giggling wildly.

"Uhm, hi.", you said, uncertainly.

The little girl gave a tiny bow, said "Hello.", before grabbing another handful of jacket and hiding her face in the folds.

You scanned the people nearby, trying to make out someone who belonged to the child.

"Where are your mom and dad?"

"Kobe."

Well, that might present a problem. This was Osaka.

"Did you come with friends?"

The little girl shook her head at this absurd idea.

"No, my uncle."

"Kaidaaa!"

A young man, visibly distressed, jogged along the path, craning his neck left and right, calling the name over and over.

The girl, obviously “Kaidaaa”, giggled again and hid around the corner of the cart, her bright blue sneakers still very visible.

You waved the young man over, pointing subtly to the mischief maker.

When he reached you, he doubled over, catching his breath and with the most relieved expression you had ever seen on a person he just said, "Ya take Hide and Seek way too seriously."

"Yer just real bad at playin‘.", the little girl said matter of factly and with an added shrug bit into a steaming red bean bun the cart lady must have snuck to her. You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing at the man's offended look.

“I really like your tutu.“, you said to make conversation and Kaida smoothed it out proudly.

“It‘s for my birthday.“

“Oh, it‘s your birthday?“

“No.“ Wow, this girl gave anyone a run for their money. “My birthday was last week, but uncle couldn‘t be there so we celebrate this weekend.“

“Ah, I see. That‘s very nice of him.“ The guy gave you a half smile, obviously very satisfied with himself.

“He got me a scooter!“, she told you excitedly, “And the wheels glow in the dark!“

“That‘s so cool!“

“Well, I wanted to getcha a pony“, her uncle said, picking his niece up like a cat and dangling her in front of him, feet swinging like a pendulum while she still nibbled on the rest of her dorayaki, “but yer dad said something about that being impractical.“

Uncle and niece made a tsk sound and said “so lame“ in unison. It was obviously a thing between the two of them.

“How many did you want, dearie?“, the elderly lady asked while she generously spread the thick dark red paste between two fluffy pancakes.

“Five, please.“, you said, then quickly raised your hands and added, “They‘re not all for me! I‘m having some friends over later.“

The guy set down his niece. “Too bad.“, he said with that half smirk again, “I was gonna ask if ya wanted to join us for some ice cream.“

You felt your heart do a little flip at the prospect. You couldn‘t remember the last time you got flirted with, let alone by anyone nearly as handsome as him.

When the lady handed you the paperbag with the pastries the guy said, “Ya think, I could get yer number? We could get some ice cream tomorrow?“

His niece got very bouncy at the idea and put her hands together in a plea, giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes.

“Please excuse her.“, the guy said, putting his large hand on her face and pushing her gently behind him which she found hilarious, “She doesn‘t get fed anything otherwise.“

You laughed and after a second thought nodded. Once you put your number into his phone and paid the lady, you waved goodbye to the both of them, grinning from ear to ear.

As you walked off you heard her ask, “Did I do good?“ and when you turned around he quickly swooped her up around the middle and carried her away as if she didn‘t weigh more than a pillow, calling over his shoulder, “I‘ll call ya later, byeeee!“

________________________

What actually happened:

“How come ya don‘t have a wife?“, Kaida asked as she linked a dandelion with a daisy, “Is it because yer hair looks funny?“

Atsumu stopped in the middle of braiding her ponytail.

“Oi, yer on real thin ice, pipsqueak.“, he said threateningly, his desired effect somewhat diminished a second later by the flower crown she placed on his “funny lookin‘ hair“.

She crawled into his lap and posed for a silly selfie he immediately uploaded to his socials, joining the many - many - previous pictures just like this one.

Putting his phone away again he snuggled her closer and together they relaxed in the shade of a tree for a while. Then he suddenly perked up.

He watched you walk past them and get in line at a street cart a little further down the path.

This was perfect! For weeks he had been trying to get your attention! But no matter how cool and stoic he looked while stretching for his morning runs or how often he exposed his abs when pretending to wipe sweat off his face after a jog, you never noticed him. To be fair, he had gotten a bunch of other admirers this way but he had his eyes set on you so what did he care?

A plan quickly formed in his mind.

“Hey, Kai. Do me a favor?“

“No.“, she mumbled, curling up against his chest.

“Come on. Whaddaya want? Name yer price.“

“Can we order pizza for dinner?“

“I was gonna cook for ya, princess.“, he said with a definite pout in his voice.

“That‘s why I want pizza…“, Kai noted coldly.

He sighed. “Fine. Pizza.“

“And fries!“

“And fries.“, he muttered absently. Atsumu didn‘t take his eyes off you, all but biting his lips at how good your curves looked in those jeans. What he wouldn‘t give to put his head on your soft pudgy tummy after a long hard practice.

“Throw in some gummibears and ya‘ve got yerself a deal.“

They shook on it and Atsumu detailed his plan. She listened excitedly.

____________________________________________

> once you’re dating, Atsumu slips Kaida snacks and money whenever she calls you “aunt”

> Osamu tells the story of the dorayaki cart at every family gathering and eventually at your wedding when he is making his toast as the best man

> Atsumu asked Kaida 100% to help him with his proposal

> Kaida is the flower girl at the wedding

> later she will loudly sigh how she so wishes for a little cousin since her parents don’t plan on giving her a sibling

(Atsumu: “YES, OF COURSE WE’LL GET YA A COUSIN!”, you: “We’ll think about it.”, your husband: “So it’s a yes.”, You, laughing: “I’m thinking, Tsumu!”)

> he’ll “borrow” Kai even more often from then on to show you what a great dad he would be and eventually Kai gets her wish when you and Atsumu walk in at Christmas holding your twins

a/n: thanks to @makkir0ll for spinning the post story headcanons out of control, so I just had to add some! 🌟

#atsumu x chubby reader #kaida means little dragon and I thought that was very fitting #atsumu x curvy reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #hq atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #haikyuu x curvy reader

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doctorho · 20 days ago

Text

Constellations pt. 2

hiiii guys we continue!! now featuring a late night adventure to the observatory tower of the academy👀 sorry this took longer than planned i had to make up my mind about The Outfit Academy era Viktor x gender neutral reader, 2.5k, no warnings part 1

He blinks twice before his brain registers what is happening. You are holding his hand, and smiling, and pulling him along. Towards the nearest exit, a tall set of double doors on the side of the banquet hall, dark wood adorned with flowers. He follows, of course, of course he follows, but he needs to take a moment to get his thoughts in order, get his limbs to do what he wants them to. This was not what he was expecting to happen; he was hoping for it, sure, but he certainly wasn’t expecting it. If anything, he was thinking he’d maybe get to steal a moment’s peaceful conversation and your attention for however long it took before someone interrupted, not…whatever this was about to be.

But he follows, trying to school his face into an expression of of course, this is what we were planning all along.

The gentle decorative light is making your skin glow, and your hand is warm in his, and Viktor is pretty sure his insides were slowly turning into melted down sugar.

“Right here, right?” you ask over your shoulder at the exit, nodding right towards the hallway that curved into the darkness there.

“Right,” Viktor answers, trying to sound confident. He knew the route, of course, he just…wasn’t sure he knew this, knew what was happening, and what was going to happen when you’d get there.

People had seen you leave with him. Hand in hand. And in events like these, people were always watching. Making assumptions.

He hoped you knew that.

Viktor is having a hard time articulating where this train of thought took him, because you were pulling him through a dimly-lit corridor while the sounds of the party grew fainter, and how was he supposed to think when you were right there, all polished up and glowing and gorgeous and choosing to leave with him?

You should know that.

So what were you thinking?

Now that you were pulling him along, he unfortunately (fortunately) (unfortunately) (fortunately) had a prime view of your back, mostly exposed thanks to your outfit.

He’s thankful that you can’t see his face when he takes this in. It’s a…confusing little thing, your outfit, balancing somewhere between professional and very much not, with a dark, silky-looking vest that looked like it might go with any respectable suit if it didn’t have a low-scooping back and wasn’t made from a material that looked way too expensive for everyday use. In the front, it just looks like a stylized vest, with an artfully sculpted neckline, made to match the wide-legged pants you were wearing. But in the back, the neckline disappears into a closure behind your neck, finished off with a piece of jewelry that was resting against the top of your exposed spine and moving in time with your steps like a pendulum, drawing his attention to the soft expanse of your skin beneath. The vest was hugging your body perfectly, and it doesn’t look like you have anything underneath it, anything visible, at least, and Viktor is hungrily taking in this image of you like this. All glowing skin and expensive-looking fabric, relaxed smiles and your hand in his, he’s going to savor this in the back of his head for a long time.

You don’t drop his hand when you get to the hallway. Instead, you look back at him and smile, point ahead to your right. “The entrance should be somewhere around here, right?”

“Yes,” he confirms, and then has to clear his throat, “after the next turn.”

You looked like one of the paintings in the city gallery brought to life and glowing, and selfishly, stupidly, greedily for a moment he lets himself believe it’s just for him.

The next turn comes quickly, and you let go of his hand, push a button to call an elevator, all in a natural flow of movement. Viktor adjusts his posture and thinks about it way too hard.

“So,” you say just as the elevator arrives with a mechanical cla-ding, and you step in, turning around to face him again as you do, “you come here often?”

“The elevators?” Viktor answers, walking in after you and smiling a bit as you roll your eyes, “seen as I greatly prefer them to all the stairs in this fine establishment, yes.”

You’re beautiful in the artificial lights of the elevator too, and Viktor still can’t fully comprehend what’s happening here. You’d left the party with him? Really?

For what?

You take a deep inhale through a faux-annoyed look that is quickly betrayed by a smile. “And the observatory tower?”

The lights of each passing floor illuminate you in flashes of white-blue-golden-yellow, washing over your body, and Viktor takes a deep inhale of his own, though for an entirely different reason than what he imagines yours had been for.

“Not as much, no,” he answers, “not really my area of expertise. I tend to keep my pursuits closer to things that are more…tangible. Not that the thought isn’t appealing,” The elevator stops with another mechanical cha-ding, and the doors open.

Viktor steps out, thankful for the distraction of the action, and fishes out his keys, which, thank you Professor, included a general key to the main doors in the Natural Sciences wing of the Academy. He had figured it would come in useful when he’d gotten it, and it had, just not…quite like this before. “I just think my efforts are best used closer to the ground right now.” he adds, flipping through the keys in one hand.

You let out a hmm through closed lips, and look around the entrance hall. “Only reserve this one for late-night escapades, then?”

“You wanted to see the stars,” he says, like it really is that simple, walking to the door, “and I have the keys.”

He glances at you, meeting your eyes briefly. “Only on special occasions.” He can't help smiling a little.

Viktor opens the door, quietly thankful for his steady hands, and walks in.

You follow him into the expanse of the room, a wide, round hall with a glass dome for a roof that was letting in the unopposed main attraction in sight; the starlight. Viktor flips a switch by the door, illuminating a dim row of lights mounted on the walls. They don’t provide nearly enough light to see any of the details of the room at first, but as your eyes adjust the room starts to take shape around you. Thin panes across the dome of the roof break up the view of the sky in certain places, and there’s a black mass huddled in the middle of the marble floor – the telescope, presumably – and all the walls are lined with shelves stacked full of something. It doesn’t feel important, though, because the sky really is the main attraction of the room; and it is gorgeous.

Viktor watches you take it all in, leaning to his cane near the door.

“It’s not ideal,” he says, taking a step closer and waving his hand towards the sky, “with all the city lights nearby. The conditions for this would be better further off the city centre.”

“It’s still beautiful.” You counter, keeping your eyes on the sky.

And Viktor can’t argue.

He keeps his eyes on you.

“It is,” he agrees, and it feels like a confession. He takes a deep breath and readjusts his stance, glances at the door. Shut.

Good.

He joins your side, tilting his head up.

The sky was beautiful, too.

He’d spent a lot of time looking up at it, after he came to the Academy. In the Undercity, the crisp night sky was a rare commodity, in most places either blocked from view by buildings or distorted by the fumes rising from the ever-working machines. It made something in him flinch a little, that even the sky had been turned into something to be thankful for. That was definitely something closer to the ground that he could focus his efforts on improving.

But…he couldn’t deny it was beautiful. Especially when shared like this.

It still didn’t feel entirely real. That you were here with him. He was burning with it, with the warm buzzing something in him that wanted to know what you were thinking, why you came here with him, and did you realize how it looked, you two leaving the party together like that? Did you do that on purpose?

Did you know what you were doing to him, just standing there admiring the sky like it’s the first time you’ve really seen it, exuding warmth, the low lights painting every curve and angle on your body, your skin in dripping liquid gold? Smiling?

He takes a breath and tries not to shiver with it. Fixes his posture, readjusts his grip on his cane. “Did you ever find any?” He asks, and you turn to look at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “Constellations,” he continues, slowly shifting his gaze to yours, “in those moles of yours.”

You blink. And it’s a precious fraction of a second when Viktor gets to watch the realization sink in with understanding; your eyebrows lowering, relaxing, your smile stretching from casual to honey-sweet, your eyes catching a playful spark as you lean closer to him with an exaggeratedly thoughtful hmm.

It makes his insides stir, in the best way possible.

“I thought constellations were in the eyes of the beholder.” You ask, tilting your head ever so slightly and looking over the edges of the room, the books and the charts and the stacks of notes, leaning closer.

So close to him that he could smell you, your intoxicating warmth over the old wood and dust and books of the room.

So close that he could drown in it. He could drown in it and be thankful.

“They are,” he agrees, trying to sound casual and absolutely fucking failing, and then taking a breath and recomposing himself, swallowing, “historically, different cultures have had different definitions for what they see in the sky. Influenced by the local folklore, and…whoever was taking the notes, I suppose. Holding the pen. Giving shape to the stories, so to speak.”

You hmm though a smile again, sweetly, thoughtfully, looking at him, and oh, his blood is honey and molasses and warm-thick-spun-sugar, and with that and the residues of the sparkling champagne buzz in his head, it was getting hard to think.

And then you lean even closer and tilt your head just so, exposing most of your clavicle, and Viktor stops breathing.

You look down the side of your arm, turning it in the light slowly. “What about you,” you ask him, voice so quiet that it fills the whole room, “what would you see in them?”

He blinks as his brain processes this, his whole body burning. He’s pretty sure the whole world just stopped, the whole universe is holding its breath while he studies the look on your face. The openness there, the small smile like a shared secret, and the way you look like you’re waiting. For his reaction.

Slowly, Viktor shifts his gaze from your eyes to your skin, not fully believing that you just asked him that. He takes a breath and lets his gaze travel down your shoulder, your arm.

And then, even slower, he lifts a gentle hand to just above your skin on the side of your arm, and then lets it hover there before he actually touches you. Lets his eyes flicker back to yours for confirmation.

You give him a small smile and a soft look, a tiny nod, and he exhales. Regains some of his ability to think, and tilts his head a little. Licks his lips. And then he lets his thumb ever so slightly drag over your skin, from one mole to another, up the side of your arm.

“I think I might not be entirely impartial on this, but…” he says quietly, careful not to break the moment, “I don’t think you should settle for old constellations.”

He lifts his eyes to yours slowly. You’re already watching him, close and gentle and curious. “What do you mean by that?” You ask, voice barely louder than an exhale, and slightly breathless, too. That nudges something awake in the pit of his stomach, the way your voice sounds like that, quiet and breathless and close in the dim room, and only for him to hear. He has to take a breath and swallow it to recompose himself.

He traces the pads of his fingers over your skin, connecting one mole to another with a careful, gentle imaginary line, soft as a breath. And then he keeps his hand moving, eventually ending up just under your collarbone. He takes a slightly-shaky breath and rests his hand there, not knowing what else to do. Not wanting to do anything else.

Your skin is warm and soft under his fingers, and he still isn’t sure what this is, but you’re still here, you haven’t flinched away from his touch, and that must be a good sign.

“I mean,” he reiterates, “that the constellations we use for the sky as we know it are someone else’s,” he exhales, tearing his eyes away from you to glance at the sky, “decided by someone else, for something else. You,” he meets your eyes again, “are entirely of your own caliber. And I think that if you want some constellations of your own, you shouldn’t settle for second-hand ones.”

The way you look at him, he thinks, is…something. He’s not sure what, but it’s something. Warm and glistening and something like a sunrise.

“Okay,” you say slowly, like you’re taking this in, “just to make sure, you think using the pre-existing constellations would be a…downgrade?”

“Yes?” he answers, tilting his head, and then you let out a small, bubbling laugh that fills up the small space you were in, and you lean your forehead on his shoulder as you do.

“Sorry,” you laugh, shaking your head a little against him, to which he has no objections, it’s giving him premium access to the warmth of your body and the scent of your shampoo – “that’s not funny, it’s just – to think the sky, the starry night sky would be a downgrade. It’s–”

“Yes,” he says again, and he 100% means it. To you? Yes. “You’re unique, in the whole universe.”

You quiet at that, and take an uneven breath against his collarbone.

“Okay then,” you say slowly, and then slowly lift your head. “Well,” you take a deep breath and exhale it, “I can’t see myself from the outside, so would you be my notekeeper?” you ask, “make up some for me.”

Viktor blinks. Opens his mouth and then closes it. And with the next inhale he takes, that warm-purring something in him lifts its head again, pleased at the idea of you wanting him to be your anything, nevertheless what he thought you were asking now. To be allowed to look at you with such purpose, to map out the patterns on your skin–

He was never going to say no to that.

#viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x gender neutral reader #viktor arcane x gn!reader

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