#spell candle and holders

[goldenhands]

When it comes to gift-giving for life’s meaningful moments, nothing says ‘I care’ quite like a beautifully crafted sterling silver pendant necklace. Whether you’re celebrating a birthday, anniversary, graduation, or other milestone, a pendant makes a sentimental and stylish present that will be cherished for years to come. Here are some of the best occasions for gifting a sterling silver necklace and why they are such thoughtful selections.

[thistledownandmoss]

[thanatoseyes]

Anyone know any good storage options for herbs that can easily be stored not in a pantry?

I need a box. Like ones you store pecans in. Just a wooden box.

[adrienneleclerc]

Día de Muertos

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Mexican! Reader

Summary: Per Mexican tradition, Y/N makes an altar for her family members that passed away. She added Charles’s family members as well

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors, death, inaccuracies

A/N: This was the first time I put up an ofrenda and since today is Day of the Dead, it’s fitting

The best thing about dating a Formula 1 driver is the traveling. Y/N joined Charles in all his races, mainly because she is able to work from home as an event planner. So when they were in Mexico City for the Grand Prix, she bought papel picado, sugar skulls, and little dog alebrijes. Now that they are in Brazil, Y/N bought candles, a table cloth, marigolds, and printed out photos to set up the altar.

Y/N made it back to the hotel while Charles was in the track for free practice. She placed the table cloth over the hotel room desk, added the papel picado and marigold before placing the photos in the place card holder. There was one of her aunt that died from cancer, her grandpa that died of old age, Jules, and Hervé. Onces the little altar was set up exactly how she wanted it, she placed the candles near their photos and added the sugar skulls and alebrijes wherever there was an empty space.

Though Y/N wasn’t in Mexico anymore, there are Mexican restaurants in Brazil and she ordered her aunt’s and grandpa’s favorite food plus pan de muerto to have it delivered to the hotel. There was a knock on the door and when Y/N opened it, expecting to see a hotel employee with Mexican food, she saw her boyfriend.

“Muñeco, i thought you would still be in the track.” Y/N said, charles leaned in and kissed Y/N on the cheek before walking into their hotel room.

“We finished, what’s all this?” Charles asked, pointing to the table.

“Right. Well, today is day of the dead and usually I’m in my apartment to make this ofrenda but now I’m dating you so I brought the ofrenda with me.” Y/N explained but Charles looked confused. “Um, it’s an altar, it’s a way to honor my dead relatives and welcome their spirits to our home. I usually go all out but this is a hotel room and I don’t want the fire alarm to go off.” Y/N explained and Charles looked closer at the ofrenda and saw a picture of Jules and another one of his father.

“You put them up?” Charles asked in a whisper, he felt his eyes getting teary, picking up the photo of him and his dad.

“I know you miss them a lot, everything you are doing in formula 1 in for them, I thought it would be nice to add them to the ofrenda. I know this isn’t really your tradition but it’s mine and I want to share it with you.” Y/N said softly, Charles looked at her and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you, Mon ange, that is very sweet of you, really.” Charles said.

“Um, it’s tradition to add their favorite food on the altar. I ordered some Mexican for my aunt and grandpa, what did Jules and your dad like to eat?” Y/N asked.

“I Don’t think we could get it here but they liked…” Charles told Y/N their favorite foods.

“I’m sure we could order it from somewhere.” Y/N said. There was a knock and Y/N opened the door, it was the food she ordered. She got the food and gave the man a tip before walking back to Charles. “We also have this bread that’s called pan de muerto, we place it on the ofrenda too.”

“I’m sure they would enjoy the bread.” Charles said smiling. He opened the bag to help Y/N place the bread on the table. “So when we were is Mexico and you told me you were shopping, you were preparing for this?”

“Of course! I’m still Mexican, Muñeco, my tradition won’t change because I’m in another country.” Y/N said and Charles chuckled. Y/N placed the food in front of her aunt’s and grandpa’s picture.

“Maybe next year you can put up the ofrenda in my place.” Charles said.

“You mean that?” Y/N asked.

“I do, we haven’t been dating long but I feel very happy with you, happier than I have been in a long time.” Charles said before he kissed Y/N softly.

“I feel happy with you too. Oh, do you want some bread? It’s really good.” Y/N said, grabbing a loaf (?) and offering it to charles.

“Sure.” Charles said, tearing off of a piece of bread to taste. He hummed in content. “This is really good, do they sell this a lot on Mexico for day of the dead?”

“Yes they do, Mexican bread is the best.” Y/N said,

“I Can tell. I’m going to send a picture of the altar to my mom, is that okay?” Charles asked.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Y/N said and Charles took a picture of the altar, making sure Pascale could clearly see his dad and Jules. He sent it to his mom and got a response in 2 minutes.

“My mom said it’s very sweet and considerate of you to add my dad and Jules.” Charles said.

“I May not have met them but I know how much they mean to you, I couldn’t leave them out.” Y/N said, looking down all shy. Charles brought his his finger under her chin to make her look at him,

“I love you so much, thank you for this.” Charles said before kissing her deeply.

“Don’t mention it.” Y/N said as soon as they separated from the kiss. They hugged each other. “I think we should watch Coco.” Charles laughed at her suggestion. “Well how else are you supposed to get the day of the dead?”

“Fine, let’s see if you can connect you phone to the hotel TV.” Charles said.

And that’s how they spent Día de Muertos, watching Coco on Disney plus and eating pan de muerto.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

[witchyy-kittyy]

Your Guide To Not Falling For Witchcraft Consumerism

Yes, we've all see the pretty jars and the cute crystals and the fancy herbs, and yes, we all want them. However, you don't need 500000 crystals or jars or anything like that. So. Here is a guide to not falling for witchcraft consumerism

remember that you are broke and that the money you plan on putting towards these aesthetic things should be going towards stuff like rent and food. because we live in a capitalist hellscape.

in all seriousness though, here are some alternatives:

instead of crystals, find pretty rocks on the side of the road, clean them, charge them with intention, and there you go!

instead of herbs, pick native plants with similar intentions (make sure to leave an offering for the nature spirits!)

instead of fancy essential oils, mix native plants and water to create the same intention

instead of incense, do sound cleansing! this also helps with fire safety

go to your local thrift store for clothes or bowls and stuff. i found these four candle holders for 8 dollars total, and they're super pretty and work just the same

especially with fall coming up, use leaves and acorns in your spells!

for candles, you can usually make that on your own. if you can't, i recommend checking out local shops, because then at least you're supporting small businesses

[jonahmagnus]

In world where there are two types of tower-dwellers, a Princess is locked in a tower.

There are two types of tower-people: A Princess, put there to remain pure until marriage or until rescued, and a Wizard, put there by choice to study and learn in isolation. Princesses are defined by their beautiful long hair, and Wizards are defined by their beards and impressive 'stache.

There is a Princess, and she lives in a tower. She was put there recently by her mother and father, to keep her pure and untouched until they can secure the marriage to another kingdom and a prince shes doesn't love. She has long, almost brown sandy-blonde hair, pale green eyes and a slim, tender build. She is not the fairest in the land, but she is tall and pretty. If compared to a rose, she would be the humble yet graceful willow tree, slender and long. She has wanted to be a wizard since a young age, but there is no way for a princess to become a wizard. Princesses are delicate girls to be protected and sold off until their either dead or Queens or have found True Love, unsuited to the life of experimentation and study of a wizard. That is what her mother tells her, in a quiet scolding that is far more forceful and cruel then it has any right to be. And the princess, terrified, believes her.

She used to run the castle halls, stick in hand, robe fashioned out of a delicate silk bedsheet, shouting fake spells at birds while her servants chased her. But as she grew older, her restraints became tighter, and more and more often, she was confined in her room to embroider in solitude with barely the comfort of a window or a maid. The life she is forced into makes her hang her head low, makes her hands be paper-soft, and demands her hair be long and beautiful and perfect like all other princesses. The world she longed to be a part of was a world of study and experimentation, and as the kingdoms princess and tool, she could not even dare to hint at her desires into adulthood. She could become a witch, she knew, flee the castle barefoot and sink into the loving embrace of the swamp. But witches don’t live in towers, and they make potions instead of spells, and they don’t grow the flowing whimsical beards that wizards do.

But that does not mean she has to be bored in her tower. Fascinated by magic as she always has been, she arranges with a long string of bribes for books on spells and forbidden potions to be smuggled along with her meals. She studies them while the clock ticks down for either a prince to arrive or her marriage to be finalized. Either one will doom her, and she wants to enjoy herself as much as possible until her marriage. She pours over the books long into the night by candlelight, and all day, she rests her pale, tired eyes. She experiments, and she reads, and she studies non-stop, barely stopping for meals and littering her books with an assortment of food stains. She cuts off her hair to use in bubbling gold potions, her skin becomes scarred with a rainbow of the consequences of failed experiments, and her dresses turn into makeshift cheesecloths and fire-fuel. She washes late into the night after she is done with her work for the day in the darkness, not glancing into the mirror that has become cracked and dusty. When her eyesight starts to fail from strain and working in darkness, she fashions for herself bottle-round glasses, blown by herself in the depths of her tower. Engrossed as she is in her studies, she does not notice the tower warp, and the meals stop rotting, and how she started out in one circular room but now has a loft and a second floor and the fact that the tower seems much much taller then it was originally.

What she DOES notice though, is when brushing crumbs from her face she feels facial hair on her upper lip.

She rushes to the bathroom and thrusts a candle into the holder as she looks at herself. In the dusty mirror, she sees the beginnings of a bushy mustache sit on her upper lip, much further along in growth then be logically possible without her noticing. It’s a pale blonde, like her hair, and she notices faintly that there are streaks of grey in it, a very familiar shade of classic wizard grey. She brings a trembling hand to her upper lip.

Much, much later, a prince rides up to the tower. It is tall, and warped, and very clearly belonging to a wizard, despite the royal family claiming their daughter lives here.

He shouts up, a bit nervous because of the thorny vines wrapping the beautiful stonework.

“Hey! Does a Princess live here?”

A young man with large bottle glasses and a rather impressive mustache leans out of the tower, his short, sandy-blonde hair spilling lightly in the wind. He starts to say something, then glances back into his house. A smile breaks out on his face as he seems to realize something.

“No!” He shouts back, after a moments hesitation. “But a wizard does!”

[kitchenwitchtingss]

50 KITCHEN WITCH TIPS TO MAKE YOU FEEL MORE WITCHY

(And other useful things I've learned over the years)

Hi! This is a list of dos, don'ts, tips, tricks, and other fun things that I've learned over the years. I always love finding more effective and efficient ways of doing things so if you have any cool things you'd like to add, leave them in the comments or reblog. I'd love to read it.

Anyways... On with the list ^_^

Light candles around your kitchen space (just make sure nothing flammable is near you)

Annotate your cookbooks with the correspondence of the ingredients.

Mediating is really good to calm the mind before cooking.

Cut oranges and lemons thinly, dry them, and hang them with twine around your kitchen

Need a cleansing tip? Open all your windows near your kitchen. Let some fresh air in.

Cutting sigils into apples, pie crusts, and carved potatoes.

Save lemon and orange rinds, freeze them, and then use them to clean the garbage disposal.

Make infused oils and honey: Things like garlic honey, lavender honey, herb oil, sun oil, moon oil, dandelion oil, and other different edible oils are very fun and useful to make.

Hid sigils in pages of your cookbooks and kitchen witch journals.

Add some plants! Snake plants and spider plants don't need too much light, and growing your own herbs in your kitchen is awesome too. Basil, lavender, thyme, aloe vera, rosemary, etc. are good fits. You could also add some plants that require more sunlight on the kitchen window sill. Like cacti and succulents.

Bring crystals into your kitchen space such as rose quartz, clear quartz, amethyst, or whatever you want the space's intentions to be.

I keep a small money tree on the sill, along with cacti for luck and protection.

Make a simmer Pot! Mostly because it makes the whole house smell good, easy, and fun.

Stir clockwise for best results!

Learning how to pickle things is actually pretty witchy. Plus, anyone could do it as it requires absolutely no kitchen experience. You could pickle any vegetable, even if you don't like pickles. I originally learned this after having to take shelter from a natural disaster. A person brought a bunch of stuff and taught us how to pickle things with different spices and herbs. Very fun!

Decorate your kitchen with your favorite stuff. Crystals, decor, heat mits, that cool mushroom cake stand you've been eyeing at the World Market for the past 2 weeks, cool looking curtains, sun catchers. Why stop there? Paint the walls, hang shelves full of marked-up cookbooks that are a little too well-loved and thumbed through.

Wanna be the person that has the amazing-smelling house every time people come over? Syrups take some time to simmer down, it's actually a pretty good time to leave it on the stove to simmer. Since syrups have a lot of aromatic ingredients, it acts as a really good-smelling simmer pot.

Hang up herbs to dry with twine from cabinets that are rarely used.

Invest in that new set of plates and cups.

Homemade jams, butter, sauces, and syrups are your best friend.

Crochet or knit your own dish rags, pot holders, etc.

Don't pour extremely hot things into a glass that's not Pyrex, it will break, and you will be very sad about it.

Don't cook anything while extremely upset or emotional (For safety reasons)

Make recipes you want to make, not just because you'll like the effect. Make it because you think it's tasty.

Chinese Five Spice works in place of herbs for protection and luck spells a lot of the time! It's cheaper to buy 1 spice than 4 different spices that total up to 15 dollars when you could just spend 3-4 dollars.

Take a shower before cooking (I don't know how to explain this one other than it makes you feel better)

Don't use microfiber/plastic material clothes on hot burners, it will fuse to the burner and melt. It is VERY hard to get off.

I don't know if I need to put this one but I did see someone do it so nonstick pan = wooden utensils and plastic utensils, metal pan = metal utensils. Do not use a metal spoon in a nonstick pan, please. It can make you very sick.

Keep your pets away from hot oil, open ovens, and hot pans.

You can proof bread dough in the fridge overnight if you don't have the time to bake, or want to eat fresh bread right in the morning.

Need a quick witchy meal for dinner in 12 minutes? Use premade tomato pasta sauce and doctor it up with thyme, rosemary, and garlic, for protection and distilling stagnant energies. Serve with pasta of your liking.

You can substitute Butter for Crisco/shortening, buttermilk for 1 cup of milk + 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar or lemon juice, and heavy cream for 1 cup of half and half plus 2 tbsp of butter.

Use leftover animal bones to make bone broth

Teach yourself the art of bread scoring (It's fun, and you can show it off to your loved ones!)

Collect and hoard your own and others' family recipes.

Sometimes the food doesn't have to be a spell, sometimes it just makes you feel good and you don't know why.

Listen to your favorite music in the kitchen, it makes the monotonous things like chopping veggies move faster.

Invest in a vegetable chopper if you don't like chopping vegetables.

Find a really good hot cocoa recipe and make it once a week. Master it. Just for your own happiness because hot cocoa is really good. You could also be the friend/family member that makes the best hot cocoa ever.

Focaccia Bread Lasts a very long time, and it's very easy to make!

Keep a first aid kit near where the oven is, in case of burns, cuts, or serious injuries where time is everything.

Quick Bread and no-rise loaves are simple for beginners, tasty, and take little time. They also feel very witchy to make.

Study a bit of Herbalism! It's fun and really helps better understand the herbs you're putting into your food.

While something is boiling, put your wooden spoon over the pot to minimize the chance of something boiling over.

Try a bit of coffee magick, it's simple to get into, and gives you a boost of energy to take on the day!

If you're over 21, wine-making is a very interesting way to celebrate the sabbats. Just with that, make sure you KNOW what you're doing. With anything fermented, there's always a risk if you don't store things correctly. Apple wines, strawberry wines, dandelion wines, etc. all very cool to experiment with. If you're not over 21, vinegar is a similar way to experiment.

Hang up some witchy things, sigils, photos, cool magnets, and other things that give you joy on your fridge. (Sometimes if you are lucky they have some fun magnets at five below)

If you live in the US, for some reason, there are a lot of books in the book section dedicated to witchcraft and spirituality. At least where I live. And they are all under 5 dollars!

Teas are the cheapest and easiest things you can practice being a kitchen witch.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 19

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

a/n: so frustrated with tumblr—this didn’t save anything the first time so ultimately I had to spend forty five minutes re-editing everything

warning: a lot of head nodding

word count: 7,723

-Part 18- -Part 20-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Tentatively, you raise your hand to knock on the door. 

And pause. 

Your fingers are trembling faintly, a cool shiver sweeping down the length of your spine, a cold sweat beginning to prickle up from beneath your skin. 

You knock, lightly. 

Shadows dip at the handle, bringing the door open.

Hazel eyes glance away from the partially opened window, a cool morning breeze circulating through the room while watery autumn sunlight warms the floorboards. There’s a smell of dew in the air, along with something vaguely smokey and fresh, and it nips at your throat. You tug your sleeves a little lower over your gloves—made to conceal your skin, not keep them warm. 

“Are you…are you free to talk?” You ask, stood hesitantly on the threshold. 

“Sure.” He nods. “Have a seat.” 

You give only a small delay, space enough for a breath to pass in between moments, one that would have gone unnoticed by human minds and eyes. Then you’re covering the distance between you, taking a seat in the armchair that’s been pushed to accommodate longer visits to his bed. You try to take your time in organising yourself in the seat, making sure your skirts are flat and unwrinkled; sat evenly on the chair; split between facing directly forward as the seat would have you, or angling yourself to face him; but it’s all belied with that sense of hurry you get around him that causes your fingers to fumble and shake, for your heart to start a butterfly-flutter in your chest, throat tightening from being in his presence. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, hands settling in your lap, pinching lightly at the fabric to give yourself something to hold on to. You struggle to look at him, keeping your gaze averted. 

“…how are you?” You ask. 

Sheets rustle and you can hear the quiet shift of the wooden beams before he answers. “Good.” 

Toes cross in your socks, teeth tugging at the interior of your lip. “How…” —you swallow past the shudder in your chest— “Will you be up again, soon?” You ask, shifting in the chair. Eyes glance to the bedside table, peering at it for the sake of looking somewhere. 

“A few more days,” he replies, sounding as if he’s uncommitted to the time frame given. A fresh breeze rolls in through the open window, curtains wafting with the wind, and you hold down a shiver, pulling yourself tighter to keep warm. Fresh air’s probably good, right? 

“How are you?” He asks. 

“Good. Good,” you reply, nodding your head gently. “Up and about.” 

Another breeze enters, and the curtains swish against the wallpaper, scraping faintly against the vaguely abrasive texture. A book rests on the table, the edges faded yellow and for a second it strikes you how strange it is that there might not be a spell to prevent ageing. Perhaps he prefers the worn edges, though. You can imagine how they’d rasp against your fingertips. Like thousands of tiny cuts. 

“Feyre mentioned you were sick a lot, when you first woke up,” you say into your lap. 

“A bit.”

“But it’s over now?” You ask.

“It’s over.”

“Good. Good.” You nod your head faintly. “That's— I’m glad.” 

A glass of water is beside his bed, along with a candle that’s dripped wax over its silver holder, carefully welded vines making up the handle, small flowers flourishing around the rim. Lilies.

A leather-bound notebook rests beside the novel, a pencil set straight atop it, the tip worn down and blunt. 

“I heard your conversation with Mor,” he says, and your eyes flit away from the table, peering at your lap. You nod. 

“From a few days ago?” He prompts, and you nod again. He sighs. “It was good that you took initiative. Maybe a bit too soon, but she’ll need some time to process what happened.” 

You nod, accepting each slice across your skin. He’s known her for much longer than he has you, and he’s loved her. The blessed moments when you forget those unreachable likes of his only make the moments you’re reminded more staggeringly painful. Of course he’ll be on her side. But would it be so difficult to…

Don’t I deserve a little affection? 

“Why did you…” you falter over save, disagreeing with its narrative. Lick your lips.

Just a small bit of care? 

“Why?” You ask, looking at him. Tone rising at the end.

…please…

The bandages are clean across his middle torso, obscuring fractions of the ink on his chest where they curl beneath the wrappings. You know exactly where the wound lies, despite not having had the time to really study it when it happened. Just knowing it sits opposite the tiny scratch over your heart, formed into a scar. So tiny nobody would spot it unless they knew to look. 

“Instinct, I suppose,” he answers after the quiet passes. 

“Instinct,” you repeat, a touch faintly. You don’t know what you’d been expecting, but that makes enough sense. Maybe you’d at least been wondering if it was something more emotional than that. At least an, I couldn’t let you die. But instinct will do. Blind, indifferent instinct.

“Have you spoken with Rhys?” He asks after a pause. 

“We spoke in the kitchen a couple of days ago. …he said I should speak with you…?” 

“Okay,” he nods, waiting patiently. You blink, unsure where to put your eyes. You don’t know what Rhys had wanted you to visit him for. No idea if it was to try and clear up the mess that’s tangled itself between you and the male on the bed; whether he just wanted you to take the first step in improving something, to clear the air, to get things on the mend? 

“Would it help if I asked you some questions?” He prompts tentatively. 

You flush, lips parting slightly as you peer down into your lap, fingers pinching your skirts to keep out their tremble. You’re not…speaking about what happened; the arrow; the deep darkness that’s been cloying at your mind for the past few months… Years… 

But if it’s going to be anyone, it’s going to be him. 

Your lip is pulled between your teeth, blunt enamel prodding at the full flesh of the interior of your mouth. The idea of speaking about it…why you aimed the arrow at yourself…a lot of it wraps around him in a way. So if you’re going to share that with anyone…  

Lungs shake when you inhale quietly, but you manage to sit a little straighter, steadying yourself. You have to learn to take the first step.

All you have to do is answer. And be honest.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He nods. “We can go slowly, to start off. I would appreciate answers, but if you aren’t ready, tell me so and we can move on.” 

Your heart thunders in your chest, but you agree, gloved fingers twining together in your lap, legs crossing themselves apprehensively. But slow, and easy breaths. Keeping calm, and steady. Answering as truthfully as you can bear.

“Okay,” he says, “what can you do with your magic now?” 

You nod a little to yourself, swallowing, “…I think, sometimes, I can…I mean, I think I can bring it out by myself sometimes now?” He nods encouragingly. “…it didn’t hurt the last time it came out. I hardly even noticed it, actually, compared with how it was before.” 

“And when was the last time it came out?” 

“Oh…” you falter, quieting. “Yesterday. With Mor.” 

“With Mor?” 

“We had a…an argument, I think,” you answer, wanting to shrink into the floor.

“What happened?” 

You fumble, there. “Can we…can you ask something else?” 

“Okay.” He nods. “I can ask Mor, if that would be easier?” Your lips part, glancing at him in surprise before your eyes flit away again. “I…we just bumped into each other after dinner, and she…she asked why I went to…” You trail off, shifting uneasily in your seat. 

“Did you tell her?” 

“We spoke about it…yes,” you hedge, peering into your lap. 

“That’s great,” he says, voice sounding softer than before, and you look at him hesitantly. “You should have mentioned that to start with. I can speak with her about it, when she comes round. If you come back tomorrow we can clear up anything left out. Will you be okay with that?” 

You nod, unable to do much else as you attempt to digest and process what’s happening. 

Please ask.

Hazel eyes glimmer faintly and his mouth softens, as if trying to show he’s proud with you for managing the conversation. “Was that fine for you?” He asks, watching you quietly while thousands of tiny eruptions occur beneath your skin. You manage a nod. 

He glances at the clock mounted on the dresser pushed against the far wall. “I think Feyre mentioned you’ve been seeing Madja around ten, haven’t you?” He asks, and again you manage a nod, not really thinking about the occurrences. 

Please don’t leave it here. 

“She’s been keeping an eye on me, yes. Making sure everything’s working right.” Your voice is distant to your ears, feeling as though you’re being pulled back into your skull, watching from somewhere further away. 

Ask me. Please.

“Ah. Have they been okay for you?” He asks, and you nod your head. “Fine.” 

He nods. “Then I won’t keep you any longer.” 

You stare at him through the surreal moment. 

Show me you care. Even a little bit. 

But he doesn’t, so you stand, watching distantly as your skirts swish over the floor, and you turn to leave, feet carrying you to the door, obeying the dismissal. Heart feeling as though it’s being squeezed. A heavy pressure crushing down on your chest. It’s only when you reach the threshold that you pause, something making it impossible to leave without…

You turn. 

“Is it a deliberate choice?” You ask, voice shaking, hands curling in your skirts. He looks at you patiently, waiting for you to elaborate. “Are you—… Are you choosing not to ask me why I want to die, or has the thought plainly not crossed your mind?” You try to hold his gaze, but your heart fumbles, and you look away before you can even count to two. A hot wetness drips down your cheek. 

“I hadn’t though you’d want to tell me,” he answers. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You ask before you can think. “You were the only one who was there. Who saw how it happened. Why wouldn’t you be perfect to speak to?” 

He pauses, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed over the vulnerable wording. “I don’t think you should make me the person you go to for that kind of solace,” he answers at last. “I don’t wish to give you reason to believe me the best choice for that.” 

“Who else?” You ask, staring at him. “Who else can I go to?” 

“Your sisters will always be there. I’m sure they want you to go to them. So don’t share with me that part of yourself. They’re the ones who have been there for you.” 

“How can I expect them to understand? They weren’t there.” 

“And you think that I’ll understand? That I do understand?” 

“Yes.” 

He shakes his head; is the first one to look away. “You can’t expect them to know what you feel if you haven’t even tried speaking with them about it. You’re cutting them off before you’ve even given them a chance.” Hurt aches across your chest—you want to speak with him. Want more than anything to have that shared moment between the both of you. 

You open your mouth, but he looks at you again, beating you to it. “Speak with them first,” he says firmly, his features set. “If you try honestly speaking with them, giving them the chance to look after you…and if that doesn’t work, if you feel they haven’t understood you as you need them to,” he continues, making it impossible for you to look away from him, caught up in the connection. “Then I will speak with you. You may tell me about whatever you like, what you’re reading; how your day was; anything that has taken or caught your interest, be it from the Night Court, the Autumn Court, or anywhere else in our realm. But give them a chance first.” 

Your jaw is trembling lightly, a delicate heat simmering in your flesh as a cool sweat slides down your spine, overwhelmed and quietly trying to keep up. 

Again you open your mouth, but again he speaks before you do. “And I know you’ll instinctively want to speak with Elain, but you always pick her first. Nesta has been through what you are going through, or at least something similar,” he says, watching you with an expression you can only call imploring. “Speak with her.” 

You’re too stunned to reply, left staring at him silently. 

It’s probably the most you’ve heard him say. The most the two of you have spoken so intently without the conversation taking a sharp plummet. 

You barely manage a nod of your head before you acquiesce, then you’re turning from him, carefully bringing the door to a close, heading for your room while the conversation circles through your mind. 

————

Slim, pale fingers latch through the delicate ceramic of the teacup’s handle, thin and elegant, easily broken with an application of force, requiring careful handling. It’s a temptation Feyre resists every time she picks one up, refusing the urge to press her fingers together and snap the thin bone-like curve. How many things had she accidentally shattered after first turning? How many spoons had she inadvertently bent? 

She supposes it doesn’t matter now, but the urge is still there, stronger than usual. 

The two females are sat in the parlour, a fine silver tray perched between them on a dark-wood table with ornate swirls carved into its edges and swirling up its legs. A few pastries sit untouched on a finely decorated plate, a carafe of cool cream at the edge, three flavours of jam contained to glass pots that fit nicely to the dip of one’s palm. The sugar pot remains undisturbed upon the tray, its short, golden shovel tucked deep within the sweetened grains, nestled beneath and awaiting use. 

“Were you aware of it?” Feyre asks, raising the teacup to her lips, basking in the wet heat that’s rising from the steamy liquid. Across from her, Mor is cupping her own drink, heated and steaming like Feyre’s, idly swirling the thin spoon to stir in the milk. 

“No,” Mor answers honestly, gazing down at the swirl of her tea, clasped between her hands. Red nails squeaking faintly across the porcelain. 

“You had no right to tell her any of that,” Feyre says quietly, watching her friend from over the rim of her cup, before glancing down, and taking a sip, testing out the heat. Too hot. She takes another sip, feeling the tingling singe of pain as the scalding liquid trickles down. 

“I know,” Mor agrees, also looking at her tea. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Didn’t you?” 

Blue-grey eyes are watching keenly, a sharp wildness glinting just at their edge, one that’s been surfacing more and more as of late. Everything seems to have such unfortunate timing. A damn filling up to its maximum capacity, before breaking. Mor meets her High Lady’s gaze steadily, unwavering. “I didn’t.” 

The connection remains unfaltering, each not wanting to look away, one for the sake of appearing mistrustful, and the other for the sake of appearing too forgiving. 

“What do you think it is?” Feyre asks at last, and the two mutually avert their eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Mor answers quietly. “It doesn’t feel good, though.” 

Feyre sends a sharp glare in Mor’s direction, but her red lips purse. “You felt it, too,” Mor points out. 

“Briefly.” 

“And it set you on edge, too.” 

“I also only came into contact with magic a few years ago. Don’t give me excuses.” 

“I’m telling you the truth,” Mor grits out, raising amber eyes from her pale mug. “I hardly noticed it  having an affect until you appeared.” 

“Because you were too caught up in all the emotions you wanted to unload onto my sister.”

“I’m not trying to make you pick sides,” Mor says carefully. 

“Good. Then don’t.” 

“You know it’s a tender wound,” she whispers, lowering her mug. “It shouldn’t have come out like it did, but it hurts.”

“You know what else hurts, Mor?” 

The rest of that sentence lies unspoken between them. 

Feyre knows she’s being unfair, that she clearly is picking a side. But she’s speaking as Mor’s friend, and also a sister. Not as High Lady. 

Mor once again raises her eyes to Feyre’s blue-grey set, putting every ounce of sincerity, and truth she can find within herself behind her amber eyes. “I wasn’t myself,” Mor whispers, fingers paling from their grip on the cup. “I don’t know what happens with her magic, but it’s influential, even on me.” 

“You want me to let this slide, then?” Feyre questions, her jaw set but there’s an obvious conflict in her eyes. Neither of them are enjoying this fallout. 

“No,” Mor concedes, looking away. “My actions are my own, and I agree I went too far. But you felt it, too. You know what I’m talking about, Feyre.” The two females share a look. “Madja’s going to be here to check up on her soon, isn’t she?” Mor asks, earnestly. 

“Every day, at ten o’clock.” 

“Ask her to give her own opinion. What it feels like,” Mor urges. “I know my anger, I know how I hurt, and I don’t lose myself like that.” 

Feyre’s lips are pursed, her brow pinched. Fatigue lines beneath her eyes, the stress of a newborn unavoidable, even with all the support being offered. It’s not easy for her. For anyone. 

Not easy to deal with everything else, either. Not to mention a sister who apparently wants to die, on top of all that.

There’s so much to think about…it’s inevitable a mistake will be made. 

“I’ll mention it to Madja.” Feyre relents, drinking deeply from her tea, savouring the hot liquid on her tongue. “Maybe she can offer some insight to what’s going on.” 

Insight. If only it were available for the mountain pile of other problems plaguing their lives. That might crumble into an avalanche, if they aren’t careful. 

————

“It’s good to see you again,” Madja greets, her round face smiling as she enters your chambers. “How have you been?” 

You manage a reciprocating smile, hands tucking together in your lap as you shift on the bed. “I’m good, for the most part anyway.” 

“For the most part?” She questions, taking a seat, and you toe off your slippers to settle properly against the pillows. “I…my magic flared up a little yesterday,” you admit, glancing at your toughened, flaky skin. “It didn’t hurt like it usually does; I hardly felt it. Though I was a little carried away…” 

Madja nods gently. “Yes, Feyre mentioned something about that.” You look up at the healer with raised brows. “…she did?” 

“She requested I look into it, if I could; it’s something I would like to discuss with you, before we start with the checkup,” she tells you clearly, that gentle look in her eyes that helps keep you at ease. 

Your tongue flicks over your lips, but you agree. 

“Your sister spoke of your magic feeling deathly,” Madja begins. “I’d like to see if there are any abnormalities that appear while it is in use—if you think you can manage that?” 

“You’d like me to… You want me to intentionally use it?” You question, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “I don’t know…I…” 

“If you’re worried about it getting out of control, or that you might injure me, I will remind you that I am a healer,” she says solemnly. “And if you are still concerned, I can tell you that your sister and I agreed it might be better if the High Lord were present, should anything get out of hand. He is available should you wish for that reassurance.” 

Something sinks in your chest—you’d forgotten Madja is their healer, that she is theirs more than  she is yours. She’s just doing her job. 

“I…I should be able to do it on my own,” you hedge, looking at your palms. Nobody else can see how ugly your skin is. Your sisters…Madja…technically Azriel too, though he hasn’t seen it now that it’s crawled up your arms…you don’t want to have that humiliation with anyone else than you must. “If that’s okay with you?” You check, looking at her. 

Madja smiles, nodding her head. “That is fine by me. Whenever you’re ready.” 

Teeth worry the interior of your lip, but you splay your hands out, palms tipped upward as you recall their tingle, gathering what you can remember and bringing it to the tips of your fingers. There’s no more than a slight itch beneath your skin. 

It comes easier to you that it has done before, and you can’t help the breath of ease that slips into your lungs. Before it had felt stunted, like it was trying to squeeze a full, fleshy body through a windowpane of jagged glass, slicing itself as it attempted to crawl out. But now… “There’s no pain…” 

You stare down at the faint green glow, the golden shine at the edge of your skin. You could simply push, and— The light brightens, filling your flesh and shining from your knuckles, hands encompassed in the strong light. 

Madja opens her hands, fingers splayed as she approaches you gently, before you feel a slight company. Something else joining you. You try to push toward it, in the direction of her magic so she can examine it better, like you do when offering your hands, shifting yourself so she can better access them. 

Madja nods, and you let the magic recede back into your body, curling itself up into a peaceful rest. “I’m going to check your torso now, please hold still.” Her hands open over your body, palm settling firmly over your rib cage, that tingling warmth sinking into your skin. Her brows narrow. “You’re going to feel a brief surge of heat…” she murmurs, eyes closed in concentration. 

Sure enough, there’s a small spike in temperature, and a slight sting in the aftermath but it fades swiftly enough. Her palms inch over a bit, slowly making their way across your stomach, fingertips still faintly hot with power as she continues with the checkup. You keep yourself as relaxed as possible but your heart is beating faster than usual at the discovery.

“Another quick surge,” she murmurs, and you nod despite her eyes being closed. You feel a small ball of tension popping along with a careful, targeted burst of heat. You ease a full breath into your lungs. 

Her brows furrow as she settles her palms over the base of your sternum. “Will you activate your magic again?” She requests, voice faint while she concentrates. You do as she says, unspooling it again, and the heat of her palms intensifies in response to your own. “Can you bring it into your body? Away from your hands?” She asks, and your brows furrow. You’ve never tried to manipulate its centre before…but you can try now. 

Your eyes flutter shut, easing back incrementally into the bed, allowing the power to prickle up your arms, crawling between the bones, wrapping around your shoulders…the two of you recoil at the same time, though you flinch from the sting of pain that splits down your spine; lacerating across your chest; through your lungs, while Madja’s retreat is from shock. The corners of her mouth are slack. Her eyes dark. 

“I’m sorry,” you say frantically, trying to sit upright, “I didn’t mean— Are you okay? Did it get you?” 

Madja looks at your torso, then at her hands. Then she’s settling her palms back atop your ribs. “Will you repeat that?” 

You pause, looking at her as she gently guides you to lay back in the bed. “Madja…I’m not sure…are you okay?” 

“I’m very well,” she replies with a smile, voice as soft and smooth as it usually is. Carefully curated to put you at ease. “I saw something that I should examine in more detail, if that’s possible. Will you repeat it?” 

You look at her, lost. Concerned. Helpless. You swallow. “Okay…” 

Your lids slide shut, and you reach for the power again, feeling as Madja’s warmth begins seeping into your torso, filtering through your vessel as heat begins rising in a steeper intensity to your surface, as if being called to one place by her magic. Again, you own power sprawls itself across your palms, dragging itself higher, slinking between bone and muscle, threading itself through sinew and cartilage until it reaches your shoulders, and…

“Try and hold it steady,” Madja tells you, the heat from her hands amplifying at the peak, just as you power curls itself to strike down from your shoulders. 

Your throat shuts, eyes squeezed closed as you attempt to grapple with it, hands balled into fists as perspiration breaks on your brow. Trying to keep it from lashing at your internals, causing that familiar, piercing pain. 

“I want you to try pushing it back to your hands now,” she instructs, but you’re struggling enough as it is. Barely keeping it contained. You need to breathe. 

Madja releases her magic over your torso, and the weight of your power increases, your body straining beneath the tension when she removes that blanket that had been between you and this blazing magic. But then both her hands are firmly gripping your own, and you can feel as it filters through you, prying the pain away, dragging it back down into your forearms, then your palms, and eventually your fingertips, until it’s dissipated entirely. 

You inhale heavily, breathing ragged as you try to calm yourself. “What…what was that…?” 

Madja’s quiet, thumbs stroking carefully over your knuckles, keeping her magic to a faint pulse so she doesn’t upset your skin. “Will you breathe with me?” She asks. “Deep breath in…hold…one, two, three…slowly exhale…” She makes you repeat the process thrice before deeming your pulse to be relatively calmed. She offers you the glass of water that’s always sat by your bed, never draining, and you take a few sips to appease her, then a few more. A couple of small gulps, before handing it back to her. 

You lick your lips, finding them hot and crisp. 

She looks at you solemnly. “I would like to ask you a few questions about your magic, if you feel right enough to manage,” she tells you calmly. “I would like you to answer with as much clarity as you can. It’s imperative you’re truthful and don’t hide anything. Are you alright with that?” 

You stare at her, bewildered—where has this come from? Is it serious? Are you going to die? Is it going to be painful? Will you know when it happens? Or will you have no warning. Is it happening now? About to?

You inhale sharply, deeply, breaking out of those thoughts. Exhaling heavily, before managing to nod. 

“How long have you known you’ve had magic?” Madja starts with. 

“…I think maybe two months? I can’t remember exactly how long ago it was that I first realised what was happening…” 

“Perfect. And can you tell me what made you first realise you had magic?” 

“I think it was when…I had an altercation with someone, and felt upset and angry. My hands were glowing.” 

“Great. I believe you’ve mentioned a feeling that accompanies your magic?” 

“Yes. …It used to hurt a lot, but recently hasn’t? The past few times, at least. Not while it’s been in my hands, anyway.” 

“Lovely, you’re doing well,” she smiles. “You sister mentioned a deathly feeling to those around you, have you ever noticed that?” 

“No. No, not a deathly feeling. I had no idea it felt like that for other people.” 

“Okay, can you tell me how it feels for you?” 

“It’s…it used to be like burning? My fingers and hands would hurt a lot. They would sweat, and I would feel dizzy some nights…I used to get up to drown my hands in water, when it started.” 

Madja nods, her brows furrowed faintly as she listens carefully—believing you. Your heart tightens, and you avert your gaze. 

“And all of that has been happening over the past two months or so?” She inquires. 

“Well, no…I…” you pause, trying to grapple with your memory, get it into a coherent, linear form. “I’ve…I experienced the sweats, and nausea, and dizziness a lot when I first…after the…when we came to Prythian,” you answer. Madja nods her head encouragingly, and you wet your lips. “Sleeping was difficult, and it lasted for a few months before I could be normal again…I think we each had our own…moments, after the Cauldron.” 

“But you didn’t experience any feelings similar to what you now know is your magic?” She asks, offering you the full glass of water, that you sip from again. Hand it back. “No. Those have only been in the past couple of months.” 

Madja pauses in thought, her round face tightened as she thinks, though she doesn’t look unkind, or stern. She still looks like Madja. Then she looks up again, her warm brown eyes softened, an intent look on her face. “And how have you been feeling?” 

“Me? I...” You trail off, unsure how to answer. “I’ve…been reading a lot…?” 

She smiles, “that’s lovely, but I mean how have you been feeling internally?” 

Her lips twitch when your brows furrow in question, looking at her strangely. “You’ve been telling me about your physical senses, tell me about how you’ve been feeling these past few months. I can imagine it might be scary to go through this?” 

“Oh…I suppose…” 

“You sound unsure,” Madja speculates, “do you not feel fear is an accurate descriptor?” 

“I mean, I’ve been scared when it happens, naturally. It hurts, and I don’t know what causes it, or how long it will last, so I suppose in those moments it is scary.”

“But the rest of the time?” Madja prompts. “I understand you were staying up in the House of Wind, by yourself for the most part. Do you like being alone?” 

“I guess I do,” you hedge, “I don’t…there wasn’t really anywhere else to go. And I liked having my own space up there, so I think it worked well. Plus I could access the libraries, so I enjoyed that part a lot.” 

“You’re a big reader,” she smiles, nodding her head. “What do you like to read?” 

“Mostly whatever I can find, but I like the books that tell me more about the world. There’s a lot of information I never would have gotten access to as a human, like the different climates in each of the courts, some small accounts of what it’s like overseas, where the food we eat comes from too which I find particularly intriguing. The plants and flowers are engaging too—you can see correlations between the flora and fauna distinct to each court and the characteristics they each exhibit, which I find fascinating.” 

Madja’s smile broadens as she nods her head, eyes twinkling. “I remember first learning about their benefits, how different plants have certain properties too. Often plants endemic to the Dawn Court are the most potent, and it’s where we import a lot of the ingredients for medicine from.” 

“Yes! I remember reading about that! But that sometimes the riversides and shores struggle with overgrowth, and measures are made to make sure seeds don’t spread too far. I remember reading too about the animals there—that a lot of them seem more jovial, compared to their relations in other courts.” 

Madja’s smiling so wide you can see her teeth, one of her canines is slightly twisted inward, and the teeth on her lower jaw are a little crooked in places. You can’t see anything wrong with them—they’re just hers. 

“And who else do you tell all of this?” She asks, “I imagine you would have read a lot over the course of your time here so far, who do you share all of it with?” 

“I don’t…really,” you say, trailing off. “I don’t mind though. I love reading.” 

“Elain enjoys botany too, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes, but to the extent that she can have, I suppose. She has a garden that she keeps alive, and she bakes, too. They’re similar interests but they ultimately lead in different directions.” 

“So you don’t speak with anyone about what you enjoy?” Madja asks, and you blink, fumbling a little. 

“I…I choose not to, so it’s fine,” you assure. “I like reading. And I speak with Azriel about…” You wet your lips, voice fading. “I mean when I was up in the House of Wind…we spoke a lot more.” 

Madja’s watching you quietly, listening to what you have to say. It feels like she’s expecting you to continue, and you don’t want it to be quiet, for the conversation to halt its flow, so you think of something to say. “We spoke a lot more…back then…” 

“Has something changed?” She asks. 

You look down into your lap, feeling a little far off. Distant. Not entirely present. 

“I like his company…” you say vaguely, “but he’s busy, and hardworking. …and I don’t think he…” Your lips curl at the edges like dried leaves tend to beneath the sun, then they seal together. “I think he finds me a bother, at times.” 

Madja’s quiet, but you can’t bring yourself to continue. Silence falls. 

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been feeling that way?” She asks gently, allowing pause for you to recollect yourself, should you wish. “I think a few months,” you murmur. 

“And can you tell me why you think he finds you bothersome?” Madja asks. 

Your lips part by a fraction, a small gap opening between the centre of your upper and lower lip, then you’re closing them again. “I…I make bad choices, quite a lot,” you answer quietly. “And I…I don’t make it easy to be around.”

“I think your company is lovely,” Madja says softly, palm resettling over your hand, drawing your attention back outward. “What makes you think you’re difficult to be around?” 

You open your mouth to give your answer, but your throat tightens sharply, lips forcefully being dragged down in the corners, and you crumple back into the bed. “I am,” you insist, eyes growing hot, then squeezing shut when they blur. “I don’t know how…I don’t know how to be normal around him. I feel like every time we speak I make it so obvious…and he doesn’t like it…and I just…” 

You pull your hands away from hers to try and hide your face, to push the tears away as they fall heavily. “I wish I hadn’t tried to tell him what I…how I felt for him. I never should have…”

“Does how you’re feeling right now have any reason to do with why I was tasked with looking after you?” Madja asks, voice softened to a tender effect, and you could weep from how believable she sounds. 

“He finds me a nuisance,” you whisper, hot tears dripping down your lowered face, letting them roll down your cheeks to collect at the underside of your jaw, before falling heavily into the crisp linen of the sheets. “I’m always causing him trouble of some kind. All of them.”

Heat wells behind your eyes, wishing you could go back and reorganise events so things wouldn’t have ended up like this. So you wouldn’t have caused him so much trouble, and given him reason to further distrust you. At least before he trusted you enough to give reliable recollections of your sister. If only you could go back to then. 

You could at least have a use. 

Madja’s thumb gently swipes across your knuckles, magic softly seeping from her fingertips. “You’re not a nuisance,” she replies solemnly. “You are not causing them trouble.”

You stare at her with a down-tilted mouth, and tears overflow from your lashes, dripping down your cheeks as your brows bunch, heart aching in your chest as small sobs break through your lungs. “I am,” you cry, head hanging as you try to inhale, but your body takes control of itself when it’s sad, and it’s not giving you chance to breathe. Madja, I am.

“Is this how you’ve been feeling these past few months?” She murmurs, stroking your palm, a hand at your shoulder as you curl your knees up to your chest, pulling them from beneath the duvet. You nod. 

“I thought it might be something like this,” Madja sighs, making you look up questioningly, pushing at the tears so you can better see her. She takes both your hands in her own, and looks into your eyes. “There’s no quick fix to matters of the heart. The way you’re feeling right now, the way you’ve felt in the past, and the lows you’ll experience in the future—I can do very little right now to give ends to those. But what’s going on with your magic, within your body—that we can work on. We can start somewhere familiar, and take steps from there. How does that sound?” 

But despite her good words, you shake your head. “I can’t, Madja,” you whisper. “I don’t want to.” 

“Sometimes you have to,” she says, squeezing your hands. “Do you believe I have any reason to lie to you?” 

You shake your head. 

“Then have faith that I’m telling you the truth: you are not troubling them.”

You watch her, a pained look in your eyes. “I can’t believe that.” 

“Why not?”

“Because, Madja,” you cry. “It doesn’t matter what you say, or what anyone else says. I am convinced. I know it like you know a bone will break under pressure, or that adding sugar to a tea will sweeten it. How I feel is not temporary, or fleeting, it is ceaseless and pervasive; it’s not something you can simply disprove like that—please don’t try to.”

“But in the same way I know a bone will snap with too much force, I know you are not as bad as you think you are.”

“Please, Madja,” you whisper. “If you can’t help me, do me the courtesy of believing me.”

The healer is silent, gripping your hands with her own warm palms, squeezing them gently but firm.  “I do believe you,” she says with conviction. “I believe you because I have seen what you are going through, and I know how you’re feeling is as real as a broken bone, or sweetened tea. But the bone will heal, and the tea will cool—can we both agree on that?” 

You cast your head down, eyes falling to your lap. “I chose poor analogies.” 

Madja thumbs across your knuckles. You can hear the almost sad smile in her voice. “Then I’ll return tomorrow and you can tell me what you’ve come up with.”

———

Outside, the wind bites at your throat, stinging at your nostrils with each inhale, burning on the way out. 

You clasp the scarf tighter around your neck, shoving your hands under your arms as you make the walk down the streets, careful to watch for ice on the cobbles. Winter is a while off yet, but the nights are becoming frigid enough for you to keep an eye out, particularly as the sun hasn’t yet gotten to her point in the sky where she could thaw any frost out. 

Before midday you find blues and purples lurking in the shadows, greens and yellows splashing where the sun spills across the exterior of coloured houses, shop windows shining viciously where the light is hitting just at the right angle to temporarily blind and disorientate. Though an upside of Prythian is the magic that’s infused into the land, sustaining special plants that thrive in this environment: frost lilies that bloom in the coldest months, taking their water from the dew that freezes on their petals over night; moon drops that have a pale, hanging outer shell of short petals that shrivel up and die if faced with an overdose of pure sunlight; the pale pink sprawl of the lengthened, stretching leaves that creep up from the earth between houses and cobble, settling narrow, capillary-like veins spreading across whatever they can cling onto. 

The long walk is enjoyable, despite the intrusive and unpleasant cold. Enough to look at, study, and recognise, to preoccupy your mind from the chill nipping at your skin, even beneath the gloves. By the time you reach the house however, your body is freer flowing, less stiff and disjointed though your extremities remain a little on the numb side, fingertips tingling faintly, and you have to remember to keep wiggling your toes in your shoes. But you’re warm enough you’ll be happy to discard the scarf once you’re inside—if she’s inside. 

Looking where the shadows lie, you would think it’s an hour or so from midday, so Nesta should be in… As far as you know for certain, training is the only activity that might be an obstacle, but that should surely be done by now.

Their house is a relatively new build, but finished enough for them to have moved into soon after their mating ceremony. While remaining naturally a little barren from its short-lived existence, there’re obvious touches already emerging in the patterns and style they’ve opted for, selecting things that catch their eye, taking time to build a home rather than to rush it in a year. 

A window of stained glass sits in a half-circle atop the wooden door, the panels that make up the imagery mostly clear. Dimples ripple in the crystal clear frames, while the neat cuts of coloured glass are smooth and flat, showing off the sprawling petals of a tuft of milk flowers—you realise with vague surprise milk flowers are endemic to the Night Court, but perhaps more interestingly are mostly found in Illyria. Exclusively found, rather. They’re rare, and symbols of endurance, due to the unforgiving and brutal environment they live in, remaining a small beauty amongst the barren rock of mountain. Compared to the wealth of information available on other plants, there’s little recorded about milk flowers, likely due to their habitat up in the Illyrian Steppes. 

You wonder if it’s a subtle way to hold onto Cassian’s history, without brutalising their home with architecture particular to the Illyrians: exhibiting traits expressed as sturdy and practical—an antithesis of that aspiration caught in the elegance of the stained glass. 

Maybe that’s a bit of Nesta’s humour bleeding through. 

You land three knocks to their door, starting with a hard strike to the wood with your knuckles then a sharp decrease in force when pain bleeds through your carpals, the final knock hardly louder than a soft tap, all but giving out entirely. You cradle your hands beneath your arms, regretting the bout of recklessness. 

No noise comes from inside, so you’re startled when the door opens, sharp hazel eyes peering at you from within the relative darkness, watching for a second before the door opens wider and a broad smile breaks across his face. “Well aren’t you far from home,” Cassian chuckles, shoulder keeping the entrance open, “what are you doing all the way out here? On a mission?” 

You swallow, managing a smile, understanding he’s joking but too drained to be believably reciprocative. “Somewhat,” you reply, trying to sound humorous, “is Nesta in, too?” 

“I should have known you’d be here to visit her,” Cassian remarks, sighing into the frame before gesturing for you to come inside. “Come in, I’ll go pull her from her reading.” 

You give an appreciative nod before following in behind him, catching the door as it closes with an oomf, surprised by its heavy weight, knocking you back a step. You gingerly step inside, crouching down to untie the laces of your boots, freeing your socked feet as you push the shoes to the rack before again standing, peering about the entrance hall. The walls are pale, having not yet been painted with whatever colour or wallpaper they’ll eventually settle on. From around the corner you can make out the faint pad of footfalls, and Nesta appears a few seconds later, sharp eyes finding you instantly. She greets you. Asks you why you came. 

You fumble. How does one begin a conversation like this?

“I…haven’t visited in a while,” you end up telling her. “I thought I might come by—if you aren’t busy? It’s not urgent,” you quickly add.

“I’ve nothing planned,” she replies, glancing to where the light is falling on the floor. “It’s a little early for lunch, but I suppose we can begin.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” you assure, “I don’t think it’ll take long.”

“What will take long?” 

“Nothing,” you affix, blinking once. 

Nesta hums, then turns in the hallway. “Then we can go to the sitting room. It’s still lacking some furniture here and there, just so you know.”  

You nod, forgetting she can’t see you with your head turned, then follow after her as she makes her way down the hallway and to the right, entering through an empty doorway that leads to the living room. She takes a seat in a chair with a dipped pillow, guessing it was where she’d been before you interrupted. You take a seat adjacent. 

Ataraxia lays upon the table like a discarded shopping list, except much bigger, and much deadlier. 

“So,” Nesta muses, “what did you want to speak with me about?” 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[ts-witchy-archive]

What is a road opener spell?

Something that really confused me as a beginner witch was 'road opener' spells. I heard people talk about these spells all the time but I had a hard time actually understanding what it meant until I did one myself. Because of that I decided to put together a little guide for all things 'road opener'. I hope this helps!

What does 'road opener' even mean?

Road opener is a type of spell to open the person up to new opportunities and to remove any blocks stopping them from obtaining those opportunities. These spells are great if you're feeling stuck. You don't have to have an opportunity in mind, you might just feel like everything is stagnant and you want things to start moving again.

What goes into a road opener spell?

Generally, these spells have 2 parts/aspects to them; removing barriers and negative energy and bringing in prosperity and new opportunities. You can do these together or seperate them into a 2 part spell, it all depend what you feel like. road opener is like a fancy name for a banishing spell mixed with a prosperity spell.

An example of a road opener spell:

Candle Spell:

A white, green or black candle (green for prosperity and growth, white as a replacement or to symbolise a fresh start or black to remove any negative energy or blocks) Black salt (to remove any negative energies or obstacles from your path) A bay leaf (for prosperity and wealth. write your intention on the leaf) A sigil with your intention cinnamon (represents wealth) cloves (protection and wealth) basil (protection and wealth) an anointing oil (note: optional) something to carve into the candle with (a sharp pencil, scissors, a paper clip, etc) a heat proof dish and candle holder Method: 1. Cleanse yourself, your work space and tools

2. Create your sigil. I like to use the intention 'All obstacles are removed from my path' or ' nothing stands in the way of my success' but it's completely up to you

3. Carve your sigil into your candle.

4. Write your intention on the bay leaf then place the candle on top of the leaf

5. Mix the remaining herbs together (except the black salt) and sprinkle them in a ring around your candle. If you wish to anoint your candle and roll it in herbs instead, this is the time to do so.

6. Place the black salt in a circle around the herbs and candle. This is to represent the banishment of any negative outside energies or to just get rid of anything that doesn't serve you anymore. You don't have to put it in a circle, it just works for me.

7. Watch the candle burn and focus your intention.

Notes: there are 1000s of ways to do this spell with all the ingredients I listed. If this spell doesn't feel right to you, don't do it or change it. It is only an example.

[farinacrow]

Protection Candle to cast circles

Picture from pixabay.com

I have been practicing witchcraft off and on for about 16 years, and in those 16 years I've discovered that I do not have the patience to cast a protective circle with elaborate chants and hand movements every time that I do a spell. So I developed this particular method, which works perfectly for me. And it might work for you as well!

What do we need?

A white candle

Pester and Mortar

Neutral oil (I use almond oil, but olive oil is okay too)

Rosemary (for cleansing and purification)

Lavender (for cleansing and purification)

Mugwort (for protection)

Bay leaf (for purification, protection and to set intention)

Thyme (for banishing)

The process

I like to cleanse my space first before doing any spell work. I light my previous candle if I have one, otherwise I cleanse with sound. For this, I use my bell and ring it thrice.

Add the Rosemary, Lavender, Mugwort and Thyme in your mortar. Grind until the herbs are small.

Take your bay leaf and write your intention down on it.

Add it to your mortar and grind until its small.

Anoint your candle with the oil.

Sprinkle your herb mixture on the candle until it's covered to your satisfaction.

Put the candle in a candle holder and light it whenever you want to do a spell. You can walk a circle with it or just let it burn on your altar. That's completely up to you, what you feel is best.

That is my very easy protection candle, which I use to cast circles with. I usually let it burn on my altar for the duration of my spell work and blow it out when I am done. While working on the candle, I also like to play some music. I make playlists with songs that give me the right vibe; Click here for my protection playlist!

I hope this works for you as it works for me, or inspires you to find your own easy way to protect your space! Blessed Be!

[goldenhands]

Goldenhands Gift Shop

Come, step through the moonlit doorway to Goldenhands, a family-run gift shop where magic dwells! Within our trove, uncover unique treasures to delight mystics - healing crystals that radiate tranquil energies, aromatic incense sticks that ward off restless spirits, accessories born of stardust and imagination. Here, products are crafted to soothe the soul and kindle childlike wonder. So come, heal your spirit and discover our gems!

[anotherfcknschlattsimp]

i wrote this cause nobody else did that i can find

witchy/pagan reader

let's go

schlatt: 

syas he doesnt believe and will fuck around about it (however much leeway you give him)

secretly intimidated by you and leaves offerings every once in a while so the spirits dont Get Him

“Hey babe, did you put a new orange peel and 10 dollar bill out on the offering dish”

“.... no >:(“ (he did)

Buys you witchy gifts constantly

You got him his own tarot deck that sits, unmoved, on a shelf

Or so you think

He uses it everytime he needs an answer related to you

Doesn’t know what kinda date to take you on? Ask the cards. Should he take you two on a spontaneous trip to some absurdly priced hotel? Ask the cards. Do the cats love you more than him? Ask the cards (yes)

doesnt know jack shit about jack shit

ted:

Respects your practice, of course, and uses it to brag about you, also of course

VERY interested in sex magick

VERY into offerings for eros/ the erotes, bes, min, zamani, aphrodite, etc.

tries to study the pantheon(s) you work with, but gets distracted and ends up on top 10 lists for herbs

it’s the thought that counts

Watches rituals from the corner and provides little ooh aahs when you do something he finds interesting

Journals with you

Loves when you clean with cinnamon and lemon and all those fun things 

“babe,, is this a spell apple or can i eat it?”, “is this normal salt?”, “is this like that for a reason or can i change it?”

tries to celebrate and observe holidays with you, but always forget until the last minute and speed buys more candles and produce than needed

charlie:

makes every joke and wordplay he possibly can to try to bond about it

“have you seen my sandwich?”

“the ‘wich for the witch is in the fridge”

Successfully studies the mythology of your pantheon(s)

Journals with you and takes notes on rituals

Like a familiar or perhaps a personal assistant

Asks if he can wear a comically large wizard’s hat

Very happy if you say yes

I would personally send him on little missions like organizing my tarot decks or stirring my salt incense holder, light said incense, and im the author so im pushing this on you

YOU send him on little missions like organizing tarot decks, stirring incense ash and salt, lighting incense and candles, refilling and labeling herbs

Things that make him feel useful

celebrates every solstice, equinox, holiday, etc. with you

[anxiousarchitect]

The Spellman Mortuary (Light CC) - V.1

I did promised I would share this lot, didn't I ? Now then : the house is playable, but isn't 100% furnished and polished. I have many projects for this lot, but that involves more time than I currently have, so in the meantime I'm sharing with you this first version. Expect updates !

LOT INFORMATION :

Size : 50x40 Original location : Copperdale CC included with this lot : My Rêverie Macabre set, my John Bauer Set, and a few new creations I made for this lot. CC !NOT! included with this lot, and required : - Vintage phone by Around the Sims - Vintage sewing machine by Around the Sims - Grandma stairs by kirsicca - Jaipur fringed rugs by Brazenlotus - Solid colors candles by Brazenlotus - Pillow Galore Collection by simsi45 - Vintage gramophone by Lonelyboy - Buncha books by Magnolian Farewell - Single candle holder by plasticbox - Fanciful dome by Ruby Bird - Magic tomes and spell tomes by myshunosun - Simmify speaker and stack of LP by myshunosun - Lamps of many hats by Kris - Brick fireplace by silverhammersims - Scallop firescreen by mycupofcc - Skelly planter by Nolan-Sims - Tassle lamps, Botanical wall art by Anachrosims - Spring and sparrow double bed by faded-springs - Gently draping lace curtains by Peacemaker - Dark academia wall art by Sims4Luxury (sorry, just realized it was curseforge, feel free to pass on that one, i'll replace it asap) - OMSP Shelf by amoebae - Vampire lamps recolour by amoebae - Divinify tarot cards by MADLEN - Palm reader from the Drifter's Wonders set by Jools - Cottage windows by Severinka (a recolour is included in the lot file) Recommanded : Photographic memory by Ravasheen, if you want the polaroids in Sabrina's bedroom.

Future projects for this lot : finishing the furnishing, polishing everything up, making new CAOS CC, writing an article on this house, making a partnership with Lisa Soper (a girl can dream, right ?)

Download (SimFileShare, no ads)

[mykneeshurt]

Divinity

Archbishop John Price x F!Reader

Warnings - explicit smut, religious themes, so much blasphemy, breath play, minors DNI, 18+

Archbishop John Price.

You’d had run ins with him before. All perfectly innocent of course. He was in town and he wanted to see you.

It was late, much later than normal for any type of meeting, especially in a Cathedral. Your city had an impressive gothic cathedral located in the centre of the cobbled streets and winding alleyways. The building its self was surrounded by beautiful grounds, a crumbling graveyard and various statues and tributes to those deemed holy enough.

Spires reached for the sky, gargoyles adorned the balconies meant to ward off evil spirits. But they couldn’t keep you out. A large circular stained glass window glistened in the moonlight as stone arches surrounded it.

You felt somewhat nervous. You weren’t too sure why.

Pushing the great wooden door it creaked open, it was a deep walnut colour with black iron details. On entering the Cathedral you took in is glory, high stone ceilings, various candles littering the walls and floors in their cast iron holders. Stained glass windows of Saints lined the walls, worn wooden pews lined up filled the hall. A red carpet led straight to the altar, this was only used when his Holiness was in town. And the red carpet led straight to him.

Straight to the Archbishop John Price.

He was sat in the Cathedra, like a king on his throne. Legs spread as his hips splayed towards the ceiling, his hand resting on the arm of the chair as he surveyed the kingdom before him. His eyes fixed onto your form immediately, watching as you slowly made your way towards him. Your dress swayed in time with your hips, capturing his eyes with the hypnotising motions.

Hands clasped behind your back you smirked as you approached the altar. He was dressed in all black, a singular gold ring on his left ring finger. Symbolising his commitment to God. You could see his chest moving slowly as he breathed, chest clearly tight with anticipation. Much like your own.

The moon illuminated his form in the dark surroundings of the Cathedral, his eyes overshadowed by his brow but with the slight blue hue still shining through. As you stood in front of him he raked his eyes up and down your form, over your curves, your breasts, legs and finally locking onto your eyes.

Biting your lip you slowly sank to your knees in front of him, hands now clasped in front of you signalling a silent prayer. Leaning forward he cupped your jaw, legs still spread as he pulled your bottom lip with his thumb. ‘I hear you’ve been quite busy little one’ he whispered as you rubbed your cheek into his palm. ‘I needed to get your attention’ you purred softly.

‘And you thought you’d do that by committing the sin of lust? By seducing my disciples of God like the succubus you are?’

You loved it when he talked to you like this, describing how you corrupted his priests, how you made them succumb to your spell, making them give in to their most carnal desires. You stared up at him through your lashes, trying to give him your best doe eyes. ‘I’ve seduced you before John. You know I get what I want.’ He chuckled under his breath, this time you raised your hand to his face. Pulling him closer. Your lips hovered over his, breath tickling the sensitive skin.

‘So give me what I want.’

Slowly he sat back, flashing a look to his lap, beckoning you to take a seat. Standing up you straddled his lap, your knees barely fitting between his muscular thighs and the wooden cathedra. Holding your hips he pulled you further into his lap, his firm cock grazed your aching core as you let out a soft whine. ‘Take it little one. Show me what you want’ he whispered into your neck, placing tender kisses between each word.

Nipping at his lip you dropped your hand to his cock, rubbing it through the fabric of his trousers. A hushed grunt exuded from his throat at the contact, subtly pushing his hips up. Desperately trying to get more friction. Giggling to yourself you kissed his neck, your breath gliding along his soft skin. ‘Tell me you want me John’ you whispered into his neck, desperation seeping through your voice.

He wrapped his hand in your hair, pulling you away from his neck. Forcing you to look at him, his clear blue eyes pooled in the rays that shone through the stained glass windows. His beard peppered with dark and white hairs, his bottom lip plump from where you had nipped it. ‘As God as my witness, I want you.’

Rolling your hips you smiled, eyes lighting up like the fiery pits of hell. ‘Then fuck me like you mean it.’

In one fluid movement he had you bent over the cathedra, dress gathered at your waist. Dropping his hand he caressed the back of your calf and onto your thigh. Fingertips gently grazing your soft skin, kissing the back of your other thigh he groaned, the vibrations tickling your now wet cunt.

Letting out a breathy moan into the wooden chair his name danced on your lips. ‘Don’t tease me John. Fuck. Me.’ Your words were harsh and commanding, but you always were when you weren’t getting what you wanted. Nipping the crease of your ass he chuckled against your skin, his beard tickling the sensitive skin. ‘Don’t rush me little one. I’m taking my time with you. I want to worship you.’

A slow whine made its way from your chest, ricochetting off the sandstone walls at his words. Tentatively he moved your panties to the side as he traced your lips with his fingers, whimpering at the sight of your glistening cunt. Kissing his ring he plunged two fingers into you, the cold metal grazed your folds as be began moving. Pumping his fingers as you came undone beneath him. ‘Fuck. I’ve missed that sound’ he whispered, ‘miss the way you hum my name. This cunt. Like God made it just for me.’

You were losing yourself at his words, ready to honour this man before his God.

‘John please’ you begged, voice hoarse with need and pure lust. Pulling his fingers out he gripped you by the waist forcing you to be flush with his cock. It took all of your energy to stand, but you managed to rest your head on his shoulder as he brought his fingers to your mouth. A silent demand to taste yourself. Opening your mouth he slowly ran his fingers along your tongue, your warm, slippery tongue. Moaning at your taste he kissed your neck as he rolled his fingers in your mouth.

Wanting to feel him inside you, you spun around in his grasp pulling him with you as you stepped back to the chair. Sitting you spread your legs gesturing for him to kneel before you. Keeping his eyes on yours he dropped to his knees, a glint present in his eyes. As he went to bury his head in your folds you placed the ball of your foot on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. Leaning forward you grasped the rosary that was hidden beneath his shirt.

Using the rosary like a collar you pulled him towards you. He crawled over you, placing his lips on yours. Coaxing you into a kiss his tongue invaded your mouth, still tasting of you. As the kiss deepened you wrapped your legs around his waist. Rolling your hips you whined into him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Without any warning you grasped his hair and pulled him away from you. He hissed as you held him forcefully in your grasp. ‘Don’t make me ask again’ you ordered. Holding his head there he smirked down at you, dropping his eyes to your lips and back to your eyes.

Playfully rolling his eyes he bit his lip as he pulled at his belt. Still hovering above you he worked his cock in his hands before slowly pushing into you. The stretch would have made the devil himself blush. He was thicker than average and it stung in the most beautiful way. Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out, mouth agape with sweat beginning to gather on your neck.

‘God John’ you whined whilst gripping his shirt. ‘God ain’t here love, but let’s give the angels something to talk about.’

With that he began thrusting into you, your head pushed against the back of the cathedra while you gripped onto him to stay steady. He buried his head into your neck as he whispered words of affirmation with each thrust. ‘You feel so good around my cock’ he breathed, voice laced with desire and ecstasy. You were so cock drunk you were unable to find words, only various moans and whispers.

Dropping your hand to your clit you applied pressure, pushing yourself further to your climax. Eyes closed you let your mind wander, Archbishop Price fucking your pussy, Father Garrick taking your ass, all while Father Riley had his cock in your mouth while Father McTavish watched.

He gripped your hips as he upped his pace, his pubic bone adding even more pressure to your clit. ‘Don’t stop, please’ you whined, your climax edging ever closer. ‘That’s it little one ’ he cooed, cupping your jaw once more. ‘Tell me when you’re close’ you whispered, a wicked grin spreading across your lips. ‘Already am.’

With that you pulled at the rosary that was dangling between you, gripping it close to his neck, cutting off his blood supply. Humming to yourself you watched as his pupils blew wide. ‘Mmm good boy, now cum for me. I’m not letting go till you fill me’ you whispered. A choked breath escaped him as he became sloppy, desperate.

Removing your hand from your clit you ran your fingers against his lips, allowing him the honour of tasting you. He hummed in appreciation trying to savour your taste as he fought for air. With three more thrusts he came and came hard. Filling you entirely. Just as he did you released the pressure from his throat allowing a rush of air to fire through him. Dropping his head to yours he rested on your forehead, breathing heavy and fast.

‘Stick your tongue out’ he ordered. Doing as you were told you stuck it out and peered up at him with innocence in your eyes. Fake of course. In a smooth motion he pulled out making you feel empty and gathered his cum on his fingertip. Slowly he dragged it across your tongue ‘this is my body, I give it to you.’ Greedily you licked your lips and swallowed.

Just as he went to sink himself in again you stopped him, he looked confused, ‘if I cum now, I won’t get to do this again. Maybe you come to mine later and teach me more about God.’

————

Sorry this has taken so long. Life has gotten in the way. I don’t even know if I like it lmao

Taglist - @deadbranch @villainsoftheweek @glitterypirateduck @luminousbeings-crudematter

[straykids-97]

Blurry

Day Five of Spooky Week!

Blur the lines of conformity.

Warnings: Incubus Han/ Felix, witch reader, mxfxm, anal sex, unprotected sex, Switch! Han, Soft Dom Felix, choking, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, dirty talking, hickeys, biting, lmk if I forgot anything

Word Count: 2.1k

You sink back onto your calves, frowning at your spell book. “What the hell?” You grumble as the flames of your candles start to die out. You look between the words on the page and the small sigils on the ground. 

It should have worked- the words were right, and your incantations were perfect. Why didn’t anything appear? Huffing out a defeated sigh, thinking that nothing could have heard you, you stand up and clean up the summoning circle. 

Your friend put you up to it anyway, trying to summon a sex demon to keep you satisfied since your sex life was… well… lacking. You made sure to tell your friend in the morning that it didn’t work and that she needed to redo her spell. You tuck your candles away in the small box they belong in and place your book back on its holder on your altar. 

Puffing air through your cheeks, you leave your sanctum room and head to your bedroom. You decided to take a shower and head off to bed since you were not going to be getting any visitors anyway. You gather a set of pajamas and head to the bathroom, going in and turning the shower on. You place your clothes on the vanity and realize that there are no towels. 

Huffing out an annoyed sigh, you leave the bathroom to go to your dryer on the opposite side of your house. You flip on the light in your laundry room and grab two towels from the dryer. Shutting the light off and going back to the bathroom, you pass the door to your sanctum and freeze. 

The door was open. 

You slowly take a few steps toward it, pushing the door open and finding nothing inside. “Hello?” You whisper, before clearing your throat. You heard something solid hit the floor behind you, causing you to yelp in shock. 

Whirling around, you see an apple roll into the hallway, followed by two more, a third stopping in the doorway.

Something was in the kitchen. 

You slowly creep down the hallway toward your kitchen, peeking around the corner to find your cabinets open. Just as you flipped the light on, something popped its head over the island counter. You let out a scream, the creature screaming back, dropping the bag of chips in its hand. You both stand there, staring at each other. 

The man had a bare chest, an amulet of a moon resting between his collarbones. He had soft dark hair and glowing pale eyes. He giggles sheepishly, “Uh- sorry.” He gathers the chips from the floor and puts them on the counter, “I was hungry.” You stare at him as he comes around the corner, and instantly put your hand up, “Whoa- holy-” you stutter at his nakedness. “I didn’t mean to spook you. But we couldn’t find you when we came through and I was starting to get hungry.” 

We? When the creature says that you instantly start looking around for the other creature who could be lurking anywhere. “We- what do you mean we?” The creature grins, revealing small sharpened canines, “We came through at the same time, so we both stayed.” He shrugged, “You’ll like him.” He winks, closing the distance. You back away, “Listen, I don’t know what you are-”

“You know exactly what I am,” he corrects, wagging his finger at you. “You summoned us. And we can’t leave until we fulfill our end of the summoning.” You take a few steps back and now you standing in the doorway of the bathroom to find a second creature. 

Calling them a creature was an understatement; they appeared as men, but you knew they weren’t. 

The second creature had longer dark hair, and silver earrings decorating all the way up his earlobe. He made you think of a fairy, as he turned to you, his light blue eyes also glowing slightly. 

“Ah, there she is. Good job, Han.” The man spoke, his deep voice catching you off guard. The first man appeared at your side, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Thank you, Felix.” 

Han dropped his arm and dragged you into the bathroom, making you stutter, “Whoa- I think we should-”

“Just shut up and fuck?” Han teased, making Felix laugh, “I think that sounds perfect.” Felix purred, coming to stand in front of you. He wrapped his hands around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. The second his lips hit yours, your mind became mush. 

A second set of hands danced up your sides, pulling your shirt over your head. “Oh, nothing underneath?” Han giggled, kissing your back. You hiss, pressing into Felix who groaned, “One less thing to remove.” He held his balled fist out to Han, who bumped it with his. “You two seem to know each other?” You pant as both of them pull your pants down your thighs. “Oh, we do… Very well.” Felix chuckled, making Han join in. 

“I call back,” Han says as he palms your ass cheeks. You gasp, holding onto Felix’s shoulders. “Deal.” Felix doesn’t protest as he pulls you into the shower, the warm stream soaking the three of you quickly. 

Felix gropes your front while Han gropes the back. “Lift your leg.” Felix demands softly, his hand going to your thigh and holding it as Han holds your ass. Felix rubs against you, his cock running along your folds. A sharp gasp comes out of your mouth and you throw your head back onto Han’s shoulder, who wraps a hand around your throat. “This is my favorite-” Han starts to say as Felix pushes into you, a hot moan escaping both of their lips. “Shit.” Felix curses, nails biting into your skin as he sinks into your warm depths. 

You tremble as Han pulls away, his cock pushing at your ass. You clutch Felix’s shoulder who’s pushing in and out of you slowly. Your mind was spinning as Han pushed into you, making you cry out. You hadn’t done this in a while- anal. And Han could tell. 

He bites down on your shoulder as he starts to slowly roll his hips, Felix finding a lazy pace in tandem with Han. Your mind was reeling; fuck it felt great. 

You lean forward, pushing your ass towards Han as Felix picks up his pace, holding your ass cheek. “Fuck.” You whimper, not sure where to put your hands, on Felix or on Han. Han whimpers, “Shit- Lix.” Felix chuckled huskily at his partner, “What? Can’t handle a tight little hole? You should feel her pussy.” His dirty words make your mouth fall open, earning a chuckle from Felix. Han whimpers behind you, his hips meeting your ass in quick, sharp thrusts. “Fu-fuck. Lix, you have to try this.” He moans, his sharpened nails digging into your hip. 

Felix chuckles, rolling his hips into you, causing you to gasp. “Holy shit-” You didn’t realize how close you were to an orgasm until it was right there. You shudder, almost losing your footing but somehow don’t. 

“Awe, already going weak in the knees?” Felix purred into your mouth as he wrapped his lips around yours. “Seems she needs an extra hand, Han.” After Han came out of his dazed orgasmic state, he bobbed his head, “Of course.” You felt Han’s hand wrap around your other thigh, lifting you completely off the floor.

Now you were completely depending on them to keep you up, Felix holding on to your front and Han holding onto your midsection and thigh. “Fuck!” You cry out, holding onto Felix but leaning into Han now as Felix chases his own high. Han bit and sucked on your neck, surly leaving lovebites all over your skin. You watch as Felix’s eyes slowly turn black, his mouth hanging open as he pounded into you. “Fuck-” You pant, a second orgasm washing over you as he groans, leaning against the wall for balance. 

“Fuck- fuck.” He grunts, spilling into you and slowing to a complete stop. Han still moved behind you, moaning as he built up another orgasm. “Fuck, I’m gonna come again.” Han moaned, groping your body as he sped up. Felix’s eyes returned to normal and a salacious grin appeared on his face as his thumb began to rub circles around your clit. You gasp, jerking at the sensation, mind completely going blank as he began to fuck into you. 

“Let’s come together, Han.” Felix pleaded, chuckling at Han’s whine. “Can’t- so close.” Felix growled, “You can and you will.” Han whined, grabbing onto one of your breasts as he slowed, shuddering as Felix pounded into you. You let out a loud moan, an orgasm washing over you. Tightening around Felix only urged him faster, another orgasm threatening to rip through your overspent body. “She’s getting tired, Felix.” Han panted, “We can’t keep going. We’ll hurt her.” Han reminded his partner. 

“I know, but she can take one more, don’t you think?” Han chuckled darkly at Felix’s words. “I think so, can’t you baby?” You didn’t know how to respond, but you managed a single nod. “See? I told you.” Felix grinned, kissing you as his hips began to pound into yours. You let out a shrill moan as Han started fucking you harder, matching Felix’s brutal pace. 

Your bathroom sounded like the filthiest porn video ever created as you became nothing but a mixture of moans and sobs as you came over and over before finally, Felix and Han came into you one last final time. 

They held you as they slid out of you one at a time, helping you stand up on shaky legs. “Awe, poor baby.” Han steals a kiss on the lips, making you mewl. “Fuck,” he groans, pulling your hair. “Keep that up and we won’t leave.” You bite your lip causing Felix to chuckle, “Hole swap?” 

This time, Han yanked you out of the shower, “Bedroom.” Felix trailed behind the two of you as Han pulled you into your bedroom, tossing you on the bed. You yelp, feeling Han crawl up your body. He laid on his side, slotting a leg between yours and wrapping a hand around your throat, “Someone has an appetite.” He grinned, before kissing you. Your mind spins as he rubs his cock against your pussy. You whine, holding onto his bicep as you feel Felix slip into the bed behind you. 

“Good. Can’t leave her hungry, now can we?” Felix chimes in, pressing the tip of his cock against your ass. They both hold your leg up, Han entering your pussy easily from the mixture of cum that leaked out of you. You moan, Han was girthier than Felix, but Felix had length. You feel Han wrap a hand around your hair, moaning into your neck as he pounded into you. 

Felix couldn’t help but chuckle, wrapping a hand around your throat to pull your head back for him to kiss you. “Poor baby, you’re gonna be so sore tomorrow… But part of me thinks you won’t care.” You bite your lip as he pushes into you, his eyes watching your face carefully. He sits still for a few moments before his hand that held up your thigh with Han went to your clit again. 

You moan, trapped between the two of them again. Han is lost in the moment, eyes dark as he only cared about chasing his own high. Felix chuckled, “Poor man, he’s all pussy drunk for you.” Felix began to fuck into you, his hips starting to meet the pace that Han had set. “I feel for him.” Felix panted, nibbling your neck. 

You woke up to the sound of your alarm blaring. You start to roll toward it, but your body catches, making you yelp in pain. You groan, sliding toward your phone and turning off your alarm. Or so you thought. 

It was actually your friend calling, but in your dazed state, you thought it was your alarm. You sit up, stiffly walking over to your mirror as your phone rings again. Your eyes are wide; there are bruises all over your body in the shape of their hands. Your neck was littered with lovebites on both sides, one side from Felix and the other from Han. 

You stumble slightly as you go back to your phone, answering. “Hello?” 

“Girl, who’d you get? Tell me it worked.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The spell I gave you could have summoned any of the big 8. Tell me it worked-” 

“I got two.” There was silence. “TWO?” She bellowed. “Who? Please tell me you at least got-” 

“I got Felix and Han.” There was a slight beat before she went on. “Holy shit you got Han? They say his stroke game is phenomenal. And I’ve never had Felix either… But, I have heard he does give incredible head.” 

“I didn’t get any. They were too occupied doing other things…” 

“Fuck. I’m jealous.” 

“They marked me up pretty good-” You heard a soft gasp come from your friend. “They MARKED you. Girl, they’re definitely coming back.” 

Thank you so much for reading! ©️straykids-97

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[wings-of-fire-confessions]

(SPOILERS FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN'T READ BOOK 15: THE DANGEROUS GIFT)

I have a theory on animus magic.

So you know how Jeroba uses the candle holder to break animus magic, I noted when she spoke her spell, she said to "break the magic of all CURRENT animus dragons." Now I don't know if that was a mistake by the author or it was intentional but we, partially, know that animus magic is passed down by gene. So my theory is, that the next generation could regain animus magic because of the genes.

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