#this is all from the magickal record

[themagickalrecord]

Day 30: Something New.

for @carryon-countdown 🎄 by @martsonmars and @onepintobean

play along here! and bonus pic under the cut

[ebbpettier]

i know i tend to think of malcolm as the calm one because natasha self-immolated to kill a bunch of vampires (and likely to avenge what she thought was her newly murdered son) but i do think that he has the capacity to go truly scorched-earch for baz if he had to. in his own way.

[starry-bi-sky]

me: *making MCD lore -- specifically about the Old Gods of Ru'aun that were forgotten after the rise of Lady Irene -- for fun*

me: *trying to come up with Magick Users Lore*

me: *remembers that Zoey once introduced herself as a fairy before she became an elf*

me:,,,,,humans used to be fairies. Elves and Fairies lived amongst one another (along with the other mythicals) until something happened that resulted in a group of fairies losing their wings but not their magic.

me: these wingless fairies did eventually start losing their magic though, as generations went on and their numbers grew, their magic began to dwindle. they eventually lost their magic identifiers -- pointed ears, sharp teeth, etc -- until they became known as modern day humans.

me: the fairies that didn't lose their wings eventually went into permanent hiding due to being hunted down by humans and wingless fairies (later to be known as magick users).

me: they were being hunted because the wingless fairies/humans believed that they could regain their wings (or their magick) if they ripped the wings off the fairies/consumed them/stole their magick.

me: there are little to no written records of fairies, and the ones that do exist are held in the yggdrasil forest where humans cannot find them. nobody knows where the surviving fairies are because their locations weren't written down, and the elves that did know have long since passed and/or disappeared.

me: by the time MCD happens, fairies are considered a myth and humans/mortals have no idea that they are descended from them. also the reason meif'wa and other species can be magick users is because some of the wingless fairies evolved into different species.

[rue-with-the-tarot]

The Akashic Records aren’t real.

This one might definitely get me into some trouble, but I think it’s time we be mature about this. The Akashic Records stem from the cult of Theosophical theology, which has its roots in the early 20th century among some of the most deplorable people the spiritualist community had to offer. It’s where we get the terms like “black and white” magic, it’s where we get magic spelled like “magick” for no good reason, and was home to the likes of Aleister Crowley. These people were incredibly racist, groomed children, and were a literal cult.

If that wasn’t enough of a yikes for you, the fact of the matter is, is that I have never seen cohesive information about the Records. I looked, years and years ago. Because of course I did. Everyone was talking about it back then. Some sources would say that you had to get permission from this angel, and this guardian. Some said you had to have a special key to get in. Some said you needed to enter a special state of being to gain access (whatever that meant). Many people on the internet disregarded all that and said that it was freely accessible to anyone. All that inconsistency is questionable as is, but consider this:

If the Akashic Records were real, and held all the information of the universe that had been, is, and will be, why didn’t anyone use it for more than just past life stuff or whatever folks were doing? If I had access to that kind of information, I would spend a crazy amount of time there. I would gather as much information as I could. Study hard and apply it to every inch of my life. I could see how each route of my life would play out and I would choose the best one. I would manipulate things to work out in my favor. With that kind of information, all spellwork, divination, divine relationships, etc. would become OBSOLETE. Why bother using divination if I can just look in the records for what I need? Why make petitions to the gods when I know how to make it work myself? Why would I even need witchcraft to make things work in my favor when I just know how to make it happen anyway? It would take away all meaning of life, all purpose and drive would be lost, the inherent power of uncertainty that is intrinsic in nature would be removed. The very concept of the Akashic Records goes against nature.

[k-hotchoisan]

🔮 Divination with the Demon 🔮

Behemoth demon!San x fem witch! Reader

Synopsis: outcasted by your previous coven due to your overly sharp and dangerously specific divination readings of the fall of your coven, you were exiled to being alone for the next 562 years. Sick being in solitude and missing your deck, you summon a behemoth demon to make a new one.

Word count: 6K

Genre warnings: general Smut, San is an eldritch being so he has like a demon sized dick, ritualistic things (magic talk and lingo), demonic contract with San through unprotected sex, riding, multiple orgasms, creaming & cream pies, oral sex (f receiving) cum drinking (not a lot), bulge kink, finger pricks (only once), dry humping(?), biting and bleeding, San is a really sweet behemoth—just like the one in the game!❤️

A/n: loosely based off this wonderful game—The Cosmic Wheel, Sisterhood🔮 (please go ahead and support indie creators! ❤️). I was so inspired bc the behemoth in game is such a flirt hehehehe no please I’m down bad for enough people already. 😐

Enjoy!

“So you were exiled here due to treason within the coven, and concern of spreading panic via divination readings by the supreme”, the witch arbitrator announces as she reads out from the book. “You’ve been here for 289 years already?”

“Concerned is an overstatement”, you reply through gritted teeth. “She cursed me, banished me here for the next 562 years, and burned my deck. That’s pretty fucked up.”

The arbitrator raises an eyebrow as her gaze returns to the book. “Well I suppose I could grant you visitation at least because by the records here so far, you’ve been pretty-behaved.” Your temper cools off a little—just a little. It was a step forward, albeit a fucking tiny one. “Yes. I think that would be fine, Arbitrator. Thank you.”

She nods at you. “Behave well and I’m sure she can’t implicate anything else on you. Please take care”, she says before leaving the window on her flying stick. You stare as her figure quickly disappears into the starless night sky.

You sigh in annoyance. It was ridiculous how the supreme deemed your divination readings a threat, then subsequently accused you of treason and causing unrest within the coven, just because the other sisters had started leaning onto you for your accurate readings. Was she afraid of your prophesized dissolving of the coven, or was she simply scared of being overthrown? Whatever it was, being stuck here in solitude for 562 years, and your deck burned at the stake was not on your bingo list.

You nibble on your thumb nail, thinking of what to do. 289 years had passed since then, and all you had been doing was meditate and reflect on your actions. You had an itching to get your deck back—or least have a temporary deck or something. Your eyes flicker to your grimore lying at the bottom of your bookshelf and a lightbulb goes off in your head.

If you couldn’t get your deck back, why not make a new one? However the only issue is that a contract had to be made in order to breathe magick into the deck. You’ve never tried this ritual before but desperate times called for desperate measures—you really needed to do a reading.

You circle the wooden floor with your fingers, feeling the bumpy texture—each crease and indent. Retrieving your matchbox, you pull out the deep purple matchstick from the bundle, and began lighting the dark-coloured candles formed in a circle, and finally the incense sticks that were lodged in a miniature caldron, used for holding said sticks for your rituals.

Dabbing your your index finger with a black inky substance, you draw out a summoning rune onto the wooden surface, chants leaving your lips as you do so. It was a perfect full moon that night, just what you needed. You sit at edge of the summoning circle, with your grimore open at the side, carefully reading the spell.

Taking out a small silver needle, you prick your middle finger, letting the blood pool the size of a pinprick before letting the drop of blood splatter onto the middle of the black rune, reciting your final chant.

For a moment, the room is dead silent. Then the wind picks up, howling into the dead of the night, the flames on the candles dancing to keep burning, then being quickly extinguished one by one. Your curtains flutter violently, as you notice the full moon turning into a crimson colour. You stay seated as the wind whirls around you and the grimore’s pages flipping non stop. The rune activates, along with your blood which sinks into the black ink, and something slithers up to your window.

“Come in,” you invite, your gaze never breaking from the entity. It hisses at first before turning into a more human-sized creature as it enters your room, its feet gingerly touching the wooden floor.

The candles’ flames flicker back on, you look up at the entity standing before you. He barely looked like a behemoth demon—not like the one described in the book at all. Instead, he looked pretty fucking young—he has an appearance of a younger male actually. His eyes were silts as black and red markings smudged at the ends of his eyes. Speaking of his eyes—they were a glowing red, almost enchanting. Incantation runes were littered all over his arms and limbs, all visible since he was wearing a black vest. A third eye was present right smack in the middle of where his cleavage dived into, it’s iris a deep red as well. His hair is jet black with cream streaks and slicked back, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and facial features. His lips are stretched slightly wider than a human’s, and seemingly torn black wings extended out from his back.

He tilts his head at you in curiosity. “A witch summoned me?” he asks as he inches closer to you.

You nod, still seated. “I’ve summoned you to make a blood bind with you. I need a new deck.”

“Well, you’ve definitely summoned the right behemoth, that’s for sure. What happened to the deck you’ve been using?” he prods, his jet black fingers tapping on his chin.

“It was burned by my coven’s supreme. She banished me here because she was scared that the coven would dissolve because of my divinations”, you reply.

“Quite a bitch isn’t she?” the behemoth replies. You nod. At least someone fucking agrees.

He cracks his knuckles. “Well, you’ve definitely came to the right behemoth. They call me San”, he introduces as a smile spreads over his pretty face.

You smile. “You don’t look how what I expected you to look actually.”

And that cracks San up, his sharp fangs all visible. “I get that a lot. It’s just my secondary form I prefer to take on since the first usually can’t fit through windows.”

You surprise your laughter, amused at how casual this behemoth is being. “You’re pretty casual for a behemoth actually,” you point out.

San nods. “Well, I am an eldritch nonetheless, and I’ve been here since these universes were born—I’ve watched them be born and destroyed countless of times. I don’t really feel the need to be intimidating since I’ve been around for too long. You’re the first to have summoned me since the past 3 centuries.”

You nod in interest. “Must have been pretty fucking boring out there, huh?” San only smiles, and that slightly gets you. You look away and shut the grimore before turning back to him.

“So walk me through the process, San” you request. San moves forward and he sits across you, his boney wings tapping against the window panes at how wide they were.

“Well, you know the basics, but we’ll go through it together—the elements—fire, air, earth and water are always the building foundations of any deck. You get that, right?”

You nod.

He continues, “then we go onto the elements of each card—the Arcana—which will determine how you read and interpret the cards.”

Pretty basic deck stuff, but it was great that he was taking the time to refresh your memory since it had been way too long.

“I will go through each element with you per day—you’re basically going back to magick school again. Then once the final element is sealed, that’s when I’ll bind myself to you, through another ritual”, he concludes. “Any questions?”

“What’s the other ritual? Do I need to prepare anything?” You ask. San shakes his head. “The only thing you need to prepare is your consent.”

“Yeah, sure of course.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest y/n.”

Day one: Air

Sure enough, at the same timing as the previous night, San slithers into your open window, his serpent-like tail splitting into two, long legs as he climbs into your room.

“Good evening to the lovely behemoth”, you greet. San exposes his fanged grin. “I see you’re already prepared for the first lesson.” He glances at the empty deck of cards piled up on the small wooden table. Scattered around are more candles, another stick of incense, crystals and a bowl of ink for rune casting, and finally, a small crystal sword right by the plate.

He begins. “The element air represents the ability to reflect, communicate, to be aware and to perceive. Let that flow through your veins as you charge the card.”

You gingerly placed an empty card onto the selenite plate, and San sits across you, as usual as his fingertips touch yours, where he ends up linking his fingers with yours.

“It’s time to seal the card. Tell me,” San asks, “what do you crave for the most? Power? Love? Knowledge of the universe?”

You pause to think about your answer. And you tell him once you’re ready. He nods in agreement. “You seem like the type.” You roll your eyes.

“We literally just met yesterday, San” you joke. He shrugs, “feels like I’ve known you for an eternity.”

“Lying ass,” you poke. “But you did mention that the last time you did this was, what, three centuries ago?”

San nods. “It definitely has been awhile. To be fairly honest, I had an inkling we would meet soon, just not this soon.”

“And the universe brought you to me”, you hum. “Okay. Back to the Air ritual.”

He gestures you to shut your eyes and you do, so he follows shortly after.

It doesn’t take long for the magick to activate. You feel your energy getting sucked off by San and it feels though as if your body was about to be ripped into a million pieces. San throws his head back in pleasure as a low, manic cackle rumbles through his vocal chords.

“Yes, that’s lovely. Pour in all that energy into me, master”, he sings. He soon lets go of you, and you gasp for air, beads of perspiration clinging onto your forehead and temples. Your hands had slipped out his and you clutch your chest, taking slow breaths.

“Fuck, San, is it supposed to hurt so much?” You heave, eyebrows furrowed. How in Astaroth’s name will you be able to pull through the next three elements if Air is already leaving you clutching for your fucking life? Granted, witches are immortal, they cannot die, but they can still be gravely wounded.

San turns to you and pats your back gently. “I’m sorry my master, it is part of the blood contract. If it makes you feel better, you only have to go through this once per element.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unsure if you should be concerned or relieved. San materialises a silk handkerchief and dabs the sweat off your skin, and your heart flutters slightly at the gesture. Also, since when did he start calling you ‘Master’?

“Your first air card is ready”, he reminds you. “Now you can create more air elemental cards. Be proud of yourself, my master.” He points to the glowing card on the selenite plate. You reach over and flip the card, and sure enough—what you had envisioned on the card was imprinted onto the once empty card. It glimmers a gorgeous white at its accents. You feel the light and airy feeling surging through your hands as you touch the card, and your heart is racing at how many air cards you can begin creating.

He intertwines his fingers with yours, to steady yourself, and you notice that the third eye on his chest was white now. Your breathing has stabled now and you lie onto your bed where San hums you to sleep, telling you to get some rest.

Day 2: Water

“Are you feeling better?” San asks as he hops into your room. You nod, feeling a strange surge of energy after a night’s rest. The sky was always the same—dark and starless.

“We can start with today’s element”, you say, prepared for the class.

San smiles and nods, as always, he takes a seat across you, and you can’t help but get lost in his crimson eyes.

“Water is all about flow, dealing with emotions, fluidity, spirituality. It is a passive element, often linked with healing and love. However, most witches tend to forget that the calmest elements can be the most deadly when used right.”

Undoubtedly, water was always of both opposite spectrums—extremely calm or extremely malevolent if it wanted to be. Today, you had a small chalice decorated in jewels on the body, filled with moon-charged water. You take another empty card, and begin sketching out the rune you want, with your first water card in your head, clear as day before settling it onto the plate. Once you were done, San’s fingers snake in between yours, and you’re starting to get used to this feeling already.

“Now, the Water seal. Tell me; who or what do you hold closest to your heart? You family? Your intelligence? The coven?

It takes you awhile to think of an answer but then you’re confident when it comes to you. San nods as he lets the answer sink in. “I was kind of hoping you’d stray and say my name, yknow,” he teases. You laugh and slap his palm lightly. “It very well could be. It’s kind of hard to pick though honestly. Maybe I just want to feel something again.”

San cocks an eyebrow, quite touched by your passion. “May this lift any heaviness you feel then”, he says, drawing circles into your palm. Your heart only flutters even more.

“Take a deep breath, master. The element will be sealed soon.”

Just like the previous time, the magick activates, and again, you feel a sharp pain, as if struggling against rough tides of water, your breath sucked out of you. San, humming as he absorbs your energy again, his eyes glowing a pale shade of blue this time. You exhale to get a hold of yourself as the feeling washes over as quickly as it came, clutching the edge of your table. You take deep breaths, your vision focusing on the blue glowing card on the selenite plate. You flip the card over, the serotonin boost seeing how gorgeous the water card was—metallic blue covering the borders of the card and the elements within the card at perfect places.

“I should give you a reading for fun”, you suggest, your fingertips tracing the edges of the card. San’s eyes light up at the idea. “We should do one when you’ve got all four elements. I’d love that.”

You slip the card above the Air element card, clearing out the table, preparing to get some rest as San accompanies you through the night.

Day three: Earth

“Now, Earth is known to be an element of grounding, practically, foundation and stability. It reminds you of who you are at the present moment and gives you a place to stand on”, San explains, flicking the coins on the table. “Just like the ground, it is reliable because it is strong enough to hold you up. The only thing is that it’s hard on you as you are hard on yourself.”

“Tell me; what do you tend to harbour the most? Grudges? The past? Emotions?” He asks again. You tap against your lips, wondering about the answer, and then you tell him once you were ready. He nods in acknowledgement. “Interesting answer, as always from you. You’d probably have a lot you held in, especially in the past hundreds years in solitude.”

“Meditation can only get you so far, when you remember that you were exiled for telling the truth”, you say quietly, staring at the moon, which had turned into a shade of ivory. “My sisters were everything to me.”

San knew that very well. Witches treated each other closer than what a conventional family did. A coven was supposed to protect and bond the sisters, not outcast them.

“But do you still have sisters that you want to see?”

You nod, your eyes twinkling at the thought of two precious sisters who had been there through everything. And you yearned to see them again, now even possible that the arbitrator had granted visitation rights. Maybe you’d send a falcon to them once you were done with your deck creation.

“Now, shall we begin? You’d best prepare yourself, master,” San says as he takes your hand in his. You feel your hands moulding into his automatically, nothing but comfort being offered.

Again, San begins extracting your energy and this time was no different from the previous—it stung, it hurt and a wave of nausea hits you this time. Through the ringing in your ears, you hear San’s laughter as the magick seems to tickle him if anything. And then, it was over.

You tilt your head backwards, trying to get some cool air, trying to let the nausea leave your system.

You feel a warm hand pat your back, then rubbing circles.

“You know, most witches would immediately throw up after this round. You’re holding up really well.”

“Guess I’m one of the best witches then?” You find the strength to joke a little. San laughs and replies, “one of my favourites too.”

The nausea soon goes away and colour starts returning to your cheeks. By then, you were already holding the Earth element card up against the moonlight, admiring the sand-coloured decals lined across the card, as well as the border.

Day four: Fire

San looks rather chirpy tonight, there was a bounce in his steps as he settles himself onto the lavender carpet. “Someone’s excited,” you smirk, putting one of your spell books away.

“Of course! Fire’s my favourite element”, he exclaims, playing around with your unfinished deck. You’ve had created a handful of elemental cards already, 12 of each element, while San was both in and out of your room. All there was left was the Fire element and the deck could almost be complete—you could already taste it. You already did a couple of readings as a warm up with San and you found out a couple of things through the divination readings.

One, his true purpose—other than aiding in the creation of divination decks—was to destroy other universes and guide the dead stars to the recreation of a new one.

Two, despite his chirpy demeanour, the cards revealed that there was some kind of loneliness he harbours, being detached and left to watch over the cosmos for millenniums.

Three, you sort of deduce that he was summoned also to seduce you in some sort of way—and he finds that amusing, and he doesn’t deny it.

Needless to say, San is greatly impressed by your divination skills and offhandedly mentions that he’s in love with the cosmos for bringing him to someone like you.

Soon enough, the both of you were back to business—sitting across each other, a wooden wand splayed across the table this time round.

He begins.

“Fire—the element of willpower, ambition and energy. Those who are able to wield this, wield it well, those who can’t—it takes them awhile. Fire is for inspiration, drive, passion. One of the most beautiful yet difficult elements to control. In the beginning, mankind was the first and the only mammals to be able to manipulate fire.”

“No wonder you like this element so much”, you point out as you scribble the rune onto the empty card.

“If you’re able to handle earth, fire might be a level up in intensity. Don’t push yourself if you can alright?” San reminds you, and you could spot the excitement glinting in his eyes. “Now for the seal; who would you sacrifice to the cosomos for your divination deck? Your immortality? Your coven? Or your family?”

That question weighs heavily in your mind and San gives you the time to answer as he plays with your fingers. You finally give him your answer, and he nods in understanding. “You’re willing to let that go?” You nod.

He smiles, “as long as you know it’s the right choice for you. Let’s begin.”

The ritual starts as usual—the swirl of flames from the candles, the howl of the winds. You prep yourself for the burn and it comes—albeit painfully. San’s eyes are fully engulfed in crimson red now, glowing as he feeds into your energy.

“Beautiful! Your essence is beautiful master! I’ve never felt such extraordinary energy from a witch!” He cries out as red fluid leaks down from his eyes. The runes and symbols on his limbs start glowing and his wings expand, filtering the moonlight. That is all you could remember before your mind buzzes, your ears ring and your head pounds as you black out.

Day ??

Your eyes flutter open, and something is different—you feel it. All the pain you’ve felt has faded, as if it never happened. In fact, energy was surging through you—so much energy. You slowly sit up as you look around the room. Everything looks the same as when you finished the fourth ritual. Perfectly at that moment, San emerges from the darkness and appears slightly different—his hair was slightly longer, his eyes had red smudges, which for some reason made him look even more attractive, and the third eye on his chest was a bright red.

“Hey, you’re awake”, he exclaims as he levitates over to you.

“Was it successful?” You ask. San furrows his eyebrows.

“My master, you were out cold for a couple of days, and the only thing you’re worried about is if the Fire ritual was successful? Care for yourself a little more would you?” San pouts as he pulls a cup of cold water into your arms with his magic.

You thank him softly as you take small sips.

“I was out for a few days from the ritual?” You ask again. San nods. Apparently you blacked out just right after San had finished feeding you, and he had caught you in time before you hit the floor.

“How are you feeling though? Any pain?” He asks, concerned as he brushes his fingers across your forehead. You shake your head and tell him you feel a little more different—more powerful or something. San pulls out the beautiful Fire card, reminding you of your craft. You break into a smile as you take the card off his hands and embrace him into a hug.

Now there was only one ritual left—whatever it was. San hasn’t told you yet and you were too engrossed with creating your cards that it slipped your mind.

“The last ritual,” you say, and you notice slight red tinting his cheeks and your curiosity peaks.

“The last ritual, is to bind us together”, he pauses, “through sex.”

Your jaw drops. “Holy fucking shit. Are you serious?”

San nods. “Yeah I am a behemoth in contract after all. That’s why I uh, said the only thing you needed to prepare for for the final ritual was your consent.”

It wasn’t about that. It was about you being fucked by a demon. You haven’t had physical contact with a human for years, let alone a whole ass demon.

“It might hurt compared to a mortal’s but I’ll try my best to be gentle”, he continues. But you see his confidence slowly dwindle the more you stay silent. “I need to consume your blood through biting as well in order for the pact to be bonded by blood.”

You never thought this would be how the contract would finish. Butterflies filled your stomach as you realise how attracted you were to this behemoth who, despite existing since the birth of the cosmos, was gentle and a soft, even a flirt. If anything, it was almost an honour to be one with him.

“Please, San. We can start the ritual. I wouldn’t ask for anyone else to do it with,” you confess as you leave yourself vulnerable for him. That sealed your consent, and the markings on his limbs start glowing again. San held an expression of relief and affection. He reaches out to you and traps you on the bed, in between his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to hear that”, San confesses next, and his eyes glow a soft, dark red hue. You could see he was trying to hold back.

He leans in slowly and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. He is lips are soft and there was a slight burn as you kissed him, but it only drives you to want to indulge in him even more. Only behemoth demons could taste this good. Maybe only San.

You feel his appendage hardening above you and your heart races. He wasn’t kidding—he was way bigger than any of your previous mortal partners. No way was he gonna fit in you. But at the same time, the challenge of trying to take him was exhilarating to think about.

As the kiss continues to deepen, San pulls off his vest, revealing it bare, and you realise that only his limbs were covered in symbols. He peels off your top and tosses it onto the floor as he continues to kiss down to your chin then to your neck. You exhale in pleasure as your fingers find locks of his hair. His tongue licks your neck and it drives you crazy from the slight pricks.

Your bare tits are out for him to gawk at and he dives into them, licking and squeezing them, only pooling the arousal in between your legs.

Your grip on his hair tightens as your soft moans increase in pitch.

“Does that feel good, master?” San asks as he shifts forward to give you a kiss.

You trace some of the runes on his muscled arm, recognising a few of it. “You’ll look even prettier when my rune is engraved onto you, San”, you flirt, and you feel his cock harden even more, pressing against your cunt. “Of course, only for you, master,” he hums as he rubs you against him, and your mind starts getting lost in the pleasure. He peppers kisses down from your nipples, to your abdomen, then your pelvis and finally to your pulsating pussy.

He spreads your legs, glancing up at you before licking your clitoris, the small barbed edges of his tongue causing your hips to jerk upwards. He dives in deeper, wanting to turn you into a mess.

San slowly plunges two fingers into your wet cunt, swallowing hard at how tight your pussy was, imagining how his cock would definitely fucking stretch you out perfectly. He glances up again, looking at you for a reaction before continuing to pump his fingers. Your moans fill the room as he finger fucks you in bliss, hitting the perfect spot. He adds another and your hips lift from the pleasure. It takes a while for you to adjust, and he pulls out his fingers, soaked in your essence. He gives his fingers a good suck.

“Witches tend to have good tasting essences, and yours just happens to taste the best.” Red creeps across your cheeks.

He removes his pants and underwear, revealing a girthy cock, red and angry, spilling with precum. You had to touch the sides of your lips to make sure you weren’t drooling too much. Fuck, how are you gonna take that in you?

“You’re gonna be fine”, San assures. “Tell me if it’s too much for you okay?”

You nod and San presses his tip at your entrance, and pushes in. Your eyes roll back as he pushes another inch in. Fuck, even the heavens could never compete with this feeling of pleasure. San pauses for second and your eyes flicker to his face, which is contorted in pleasure. He seemed like he was about to explode—and he wasn’t even fully in you yet.

“Y/n, you’re so tight. Gods, you’re squeezing me so good”, he pants, his grip tightening against the sheets beside you.

You decide to be a tease, and you shift your cunt deeper into your cock, and San fucking loses it. His eyes were flickering from crimson red to a lighter shade of red. “My master,” he pants in between. “If you’re gonna do it like that, the heavens won’t know what I’d do if I lost control.”

And that provokes you to tease him even more as you push yourself deeper, at the same time bringing your pleasure to almost a fever pitch. San groans as he pushes the rest of him into you.

“Fuck, San, you feel so amazing. If I knew you’d feel this good, I would have summoned you way earlier”, you cry out as he barely pulls out fully before rutting back into you.

San doesn’t forget to pamper you with kisses. It stings, definitely, but the pleasure is definitely overriding the pain. In fact, the pain was probably egging the pleasure even more.

His fingers trace the bulge at where his cock lies in you. “We fit so well, Master. Don’t you think so?”

You were starting to feel to fucked out to form any rational thought, but you nod, staring at him through hooded lids. He fucks into you a couple more times before you stop him. San’s face switches to an expression of concern immediately.

“I want to ride you. I want to feel your cock fully in me, San”, you barely say, rubbing his face gently with your thumb. He sighs in relief as he pulls out of you, causing you to cry in pleasure again, a string of precum connecting his cock to your pussy.

He takes your hand and guides you to his lap as the both of you get comfortable on his lap.

You adjust yourself to sit on his cock and you start grinding against him, the mix of his and your precum reducing the friction and enhancing the pleasure. You made sure you move forwards to reach the tip of his cock and grind backwards. San throws his head back, crying from pleasure as more precum leaks from his sensitive tip. Grinding up on his cock was making you even more soaking wet, sparking even more pleasure as your clit rubs against his wet cock. You continue to swerve your hips on his cock, loving the slight friction that tingles your core. It builds up from the previous time he ate you out, and when he fucked you in missionary.

“How does that feel, Master?” San asks, half lidded. He was starting to get lost in the pleasure every time you grind up to his tip.

“It feels amazing. I think I’m gonna cum-“ you fight to finish the sentence as you speed up, feeling your orgasm approaching sooner than you expected. You cry out in bliss, your orgasm flooding you as your pussy pulses against San’s twitching cock. San is doing everything in his power not to just lift you and fuck you like this, seeing how soaked you were in pleasure with him.

You feel his hands trail up to your ass as he lifts you up gently, angling his cock at your entrance, and slowly lets you go. Your hands press hard against his naked chest as tears start pooling at the corners of your eyes, while drool starts pooling at the corners of your lips as you sink onto his cock.

“You can take me, Master. I know you can”, he whispers into your ears. You sink in deeper to his length and your fingers dig into San’s broad shoulders. His hands snake to your thighs and he cheekily pushes you down and you scream from the fullness of his cock.

“There you go. There’s my good Master. I love how your pussy feels around my cock”, San encourages. He lifts your ass and drops you back into his cock. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod. “So good it’s almost sinful”, you mange out. San snickers. “Nothing too sinful if a behemoth is fucking you so well.”

You lean in for a kiss, and this surprises San but he immediately reciprocates, deepening the kiss quickly.

Soon enough, you are just mindlessly bouncing in his cock, every thrust sending you closer to the edge. San struggles to keep it together as well, as you feel him rutting his hips up.

“Master, I’m gonna cum”, San says, with an expression of desperation and desire.

“Go ahead. You’ve been doing so well”, you reply as you comb his hair back. He leans in, lips attached to your neck as he continues to fuck into you desperately. He bares his fangs and bites into you as his cock spurts into your cunt, filling you up to the brim. Blood pools at the base of your neck, and you cry from the simultaneous pain and pleasure, your second orgasm hitting you right at that point as you cream all over San’s cock.

San licks up the blood on your neck, and the skin heals almost as quickly as it broke just mere seconds ago, and he’s still fucking cumming in your pussy, his lower abdomen twitching.

He removes his lips from your neck and blood stains pool at the corner of his lips. You lift yourself off his cock, his cum just dripping out of your pussy. San holds you gently as he uses his free hand to collect the mixture of fluids on his fingers. He pushes his cum-covered fingers to you and you take it eagerly, savouring the taste albeit it being salty. He takes his turn to lick his hands.

“The contract has been sealed, master”, San confirms, and his eyes glow a bright red.

“That’s lovely. I wouldn’t ask for anyone else, San”, you smile as you plant a kiss on his lips, which takes him by surprise, but he seems nothing less of satisfied.

As the planet begins to shift from the blood pact being created, it shakes the universe. You don’t know what’s about to happen, nor do you care. A burst of energy enters you as you levitate into the air, feeling the energy of the cosmos, as well as elements of the deck. Your cards shuffle, and float around you, and you see all of your creations in its glory. Your own divination deck, bonded to you by blood.

You take a deep breath in, as you settle back onto the bed, your cards shuffling back into its deck, onto the selenite plate. Something catches your attention, and you walk over to the full length mirror leaning against the wall. Something is glowing. You gasp, looking at the behemoth’s rune engraved into your skin, a beautiful crimson red as the glow fades. San, right behind you, tracing over your rune fondly. You look up to him and you notice he has the same rune engraved into this skin—and the only rune around his chest.

“Now we’re official bonded. You did so well, my master,” he compliments, stroking your hair gently, understanding how taxing the rituals must have been, still admiring the shared runes you both had on your bodies. “I will make you happy, I promise.” Your heart skips at beat at his words.

“San”, you call out, even though he’s standing right by you. He hums in attention, his eyes now on you.

“Do you think we could do this more often? Like the fucking?”

San is stunned for a moment as he processes the question. No one had asked him that before. Usually the binding rituals were solely to bind the energies of the witch and behemoth, and it is never done again. He’s confused but he agrees, seemingly happy that you enjoyed the ritual with him.

And that’s what you drown yourself in—doing divination readings for others and San as well, and taking his cock whenever you felt like it. It was too good to pass on. Not to mention he was so good at aftercare—making sure you were alright after every session. Undoubtedly, San, himself, was really starting to enjoy having sex with you as well.

You couldn’t think of wanting anything else.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't been sure what to feel after demanding Ajay bring the others. bring everyone. it'd been reckless, stupid. Wally you had figured had been fine, perhaps even Ajay too, but everyone? it had either been the dumbest thing you'd ever done or the smartest. thankfully, you'd learned enough about the others to know what topics to avoid and which to use to your advantage...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.22

You sat in the dining room, the French doors closed for privacy. Your family was in various positions around you as they helped you study the pile of file folders your mother had exhumed from the enormous wooden chest in the basement.

The dining room itself was large yet cozy, eclectic, lived in; it was where your mother brought her clients for readings and spiritual counsel. A round table took up the middle of the room; a tea tray and plates of finger foods were placed in the center where a hokey crystal ball normally sat. Shelves along the back wall were stuffed with books from the Barnes & Noble witchcraft section, boasting titles like, "A Witch's Guide to Garden Magick," and, "Spells & Incantations for a Better Life."

The plum-colored ceiling was decorated in constellations that Andrew had painted the week before your mother began marketing herself, and the wood floor was covered in a layer of Persian rugs thrown here and there that had absorbed the heavy musk of the incense your mother burned during sessions.

It was a beautiful room, to be sure, and you hated every inch of it. All the frivolous bits and bobs that encouraged people to believe a lie mocking you from their perches. Portraits of people who meant nothing to your family; taxidermized crows and owls and foxes. A mounted stag's head, because why not? It added to the rustic, sorcerous atmosphere.

"What about Rhonda Botezatu?" Ginny inquired around the stem of her cigarette holder. She was done up in a silk kimono, purple hair peeking out from beneath a bronze turban. An homage to Old Hollywood starlets who'd aged into roles they'd rather die than assume. Her thin fingers and wrists were bedazzled with chunky costume jewelry, but her neck remained bare. Apart, of course, from the delicate silver pendant she rarely removed.

You couldn't help smiling at her. She was absolutely marvelous.

"Rhonda..." You began, trying not to peer down at the notes. "Died April 1964. Murdered by Alfons Manfredo, the guidance counselor. She was really into Beatnik Culture and was going to study Engineering at UC Berkeley." You wilted, looking down at the yearbook photo paperclipped to Rhonda Botezatu's dossier. Rhonda stared up at you, the hint of a smile on her lips, clever eyes bright beneath layers of eyeliner and mascara. Your heart lurched.

"I used to watch her and her younger sister, Daria, when she was a child. Her parents were neighbors." Ginny divulged, using her cigarette holder to point out the window as if to indicate the exact house. "Her older sister, Yetta, was a pain. Refused to babysit; too busy husband-hunting, but Rhonda was a hoot. Questioned everything." Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Pecked at me all day, asking this and that. Couldn't shut her up unless I put on a record and let her dance out all that energy." Her eyes went distant, a fond expression settling into her features. "Precocious. Would've changed the world if she'd been given the chance."

Your mother huffed, hovering over you as she rifled through the mound of documentation. "You skipped Janet Hamilton."

"Ooh, that idiot," Ginny slumped forward dramatically, an impression of being utterly disgusted by something. Your mother cleared her throat with intention, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny sighed and rolled her hand regally in your direction, "Alright, chicken, tell us what you know about her."

You stifled a giggle into the back of your hand, sharing a fond look with Andrew at Ginny's antics. "Okay, Janet. She died in 1960, but...I didn't see how...did I miss that?" You asked, scanning the sheet of paper you'd pulled from the dossier.

"No, sweetheart," Nanna assured, "There's no record of it that I ever found. Of course, by the time I started gathering information, a lot of time had passed." You could tell she was trying very hard to search her memory. Unfortunately, however, it seemed she kept finding only blank spaces.

"It was an accident of some sort," Ginny piped up. "Broke her neck somehow. Falling down the stairs, I think."

Nanna frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I vaguely recall some mention of it...honestly, you'd think I'd remember." The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained, tinged with disbelief. "She was my math tutor." A glance at Ginny to confirm, "I could've sworn it happened right before I started middle school."

"Don't look at me," Ginny scoffed, "Maybe you should scribble it down before you forget to again." She looked at Andrew, roping him into the joke, "You need to get your mother checked out, Drew, before she starts forgetting your birthday."

Positioning her reading glasses just above the tip of her nose, Nanna plucked the paper from your hand, adding, in beautiful cursive, a note about Janet's death. "You did forget his birthday last year..."

Ginny took a quick sip of her sherry, rushing to defend, "Oh pish, I did not. I told you, the gift was delayed." And then, as a side note, "Poor Reggie really is losing his mind," though she didn't sound worried about her old friend cum antique dealer. Rather, it was a pitying statement of fact, said in the manner most elderly people use when discussing each other's senility. She put her sifter down and whipped a taunting stare at Nanna, "You know, Babbigail, had either of you listened when I suggested you try the Sudoku, you wouldn't be losing your marbles quite so early."

"Oh, baldercrap," Nanna retaliated, "I'm just as sharp as I've always been!" She narrowed her eyes, mock-accusing, and presented to the room, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Cheating?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to use spells all willy-nilly for your benefit."

Nanna winked at you when Ginny scoffed, outraged, straightening her spine and puffing out her chest, "Oh, how very dare you! My own sister!? Implying I would ever turn my back on the Circle!" She lifted the back of her bejeweled wrist to her brow, "Judas!"

You and Andrew dissolved into fits of laughter at the theatrics. Ginny and Nanna bickered often, always making a show of it for everyone's entertainment. It was one of many reasons that you were glad you were all under the same roof, even when it got crowded sometimes.

Behind you, your mother wasn't as amused by the performance, scoffing as she patted your head, reminding you to, "Focus, sweetheart, you only have two days to memorize all of this." She flashed an annoyed look between Nanna and Ginny, "If you two are finished, maybe we could get back to it?"

Ginny sagged sideways against the back of the chaise longue, waving dismissively with her cigarette holder, "No need to get worked up, Alice. The girl has plenty of time to sort all this out." Still, she gestured for you to move on to the next student.

Bernadette King, died in 1969 after tragically falling from a height in the old gymnasium. Then Dawn Burton, died in 1972 by accidental electrocution. Next was Yuri Vyarheychyk, a transplanted Belarussian boy who'd somehow fallen head-first into a kiln during a pottery lesson in 1978, succumbing to severe burns before the ambulance had arrived.

"Are you guys sure I should go there?" You asked, face twisted in concern as you absorbed the seemingly endless pile of information on the table, evidence that too many awful things had transpired at Split River High before now. "It sounds kinda dangerous."

"You'll be just fine," Ginny said, "You're too important. The Awen won't let anything happen to you." It sounded like something a great-aunt was obligated to say, those reassurances that you were the 'most specialist of special children.' In a world where you'd witnessed something profoundly horrific take someone you'd considered more special than yourself, your great-aunt's statement was of little comfort.

Nanna reached across the table and petted your hand affectionately, tacking on, "You have nothing to worry about. We've all attended and we're just fine. Your sister actually really enjoyed herself."

You gave her a tight smile, "If you say so," then accepted the next dossier Andrew pulled out of the pile.

"We're getting into the 80s, now." He informed, eyes twinkling as he stared over your head at your mother. "Starting with the totally hunky football star—"

"Don't start," Your mother warned. You could feel the look on her face, something eye-twitchy and vexed.

Andrew snickered, rising to the challenge, and tapped his finger on the photo clipped to the front of the folder. It drew your attention down to a face that—your breath caught, an unusual warmth blossoming within you as you took in the young man grinning up at you from the photo. The print in the top right corner said his name was 'Walker Clark'. He was...hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. Soulful, brown eyes, kissable lips, hair swept back in a perfect 80s poof.

Andrew whistled, long and punctuating, forcing a blush to rise on the arches of your cheeks. "I think girly's got a crush," He ruffled your hair obnoxiously, "Aurora had the same reaction when we put her through the paces. 'He's so hot, oh my god,'" He mimicked in a high falsetto, "'If I could see ghosts, I'd literally ask him out, I don't care.'"

"Rory had to do this too?" You wondered, eyes never wavering from Wally's handsome face.

"Of course she did, chicken. Everyone has to. Even your grandmother had to and she can't see ghosts." Ginny explained.

"But why? If Nanna and Rory can't see ghosts, what does it matter?"

Nanna smiled sweetly at you, "Understand, dear, abilities don't always manifest fully at an early age like yours did. Before Aurora entered high school, her empathy was very subtle. Then, in her junior year, out of the blue, she could identify each ghost without batting an eye. If the Ciorcal of the Craft allowed it, I bet she would've had whole conversations with them without needing to see or hear them."

You knew Aurora's empathy was acute, how she could wield it like a weapon or a gift depending on her mood. You'd never tell her, but you found it pretty remarkable. Almost envied her for it. Your life would be much easier if you couldn't see the dead.

"That's why we do this, chicken. It's a contingency, just in case our powers manifest late or they mature faster than we have time to do something about it." Ginny elaborated and it made sense. Similar to Aurora and Nana, Andrew hadn't had any indication that he would develop Connectedness until much later, but now he gleaned incredible things from objects on command.

You didn't realize you'd been staring at Wally's photo the whole time, not once looking up to acknowledge those around you, until Nanna leaned over and voiced, "He was very handsome, wasn't he," obviously having been observing your predicament, "And so respectful. His mother and I were in a book club together with some of the other moms from the school." Suddenly, her tone shifted, turning solemn, "Bea was hard on him, though. Drove him to be the best." She sighed, "I really felt for him."

You listened with half an ear, more interested in pondering what Wally had felt about the pressure his mother supposedly put on him. Had he been equally as motivated? Or had he buckled under the weight of expectation? A tiny sliver of your soul yearned to have the chance to ask him, ignoring for the moment the Rule that your whole family lived by.

"Come on, sweetheart," Your mother's voice interrupted your thoughts, "we have a lot to go through and 2004 is going to be tricky." She flipped open Wally's folder, thus forcefully removing his face from your line of sight, doing for you what you hadn't been able to do for yourself. You exhaled a shivery breath, swallowing thickly as you accepted the first of three typewriter-typed pages. Your mother pointed to the third line of the second paragraph, "Alright, let's start here..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Ajay had smuggled you into the school and up to the roof, managing to keep you from being caught. There had been one close call when Barry had treaded around a corner, flashlight up, demanding to know if anyone was there when your sneaker had squeaked against the linoleum. You'd watched in fascination as Ajay had manipulated his ghostliness to his advantage. He'd marched right up to Barry who, as a living person, had been unconsciously driven to avoid the invisible obstacle, his brain having fed him some rationalization or excuse that had sent him on his way. Piece of cake.

Presently, you stood near the roof's edge, fidgeting nervously as Ajay helped two people over the raised side of the portal, one after the other. You gulped, your heart beating faster and your palms clammy as you took in who they were. Rhonda Botezatu and Charley Morino. Fuck...shit... Instantly, you regretted telling Ajay to bring everyone. God, could you get more stupid!? This was such a bad idea, your mother's voice reverberating inside your skull threats of squalls and storms and ill-fated summonings. Despite the desire to stand your ground and do this for Simon, your soul trembled in despair, unable to shake the feeling of failure after years and years of being told not to let them know you can see.

You squirmed under Rhonda and Charley's attention, your eyes flicking up to their faces and then back down to your shoes as your nerves began to fray. God, Simon, you fretted, I hope it's worth it. 'It' being all the possible repercussions you could face should anyone discover what you'd done. And the more who knew what you could do, the more it was likely that someone would find out.

As you contemplated your friend, a shadow flickered over Rhonda's shoulder. A there-and-gone impression of movement that had wobbled like hot air rising from a desert road. You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them again, seeing nothing to indicate what you'd witnessed had ever occurred.

"Isn't that the chick Wally was hung up on a couple of years ago?" You heard Rhonda ask Charley as they approached. Strangely, they moved as if they intended to make room for someone else between them, but, as you checked on Ajay's progress at the portal, you didn't see anyone else emerge.

"I'm not sure..." Charley answered her, openly studying you through slitted eyes; suspicious, cautious, clearly unsure what he thought about you. Still, he emanated a warmer, more welcoming aura than Rhonda who was all attitude and cool eyes. "If it is, we owe him a massive apology."

Rhonda didn't seem to agree, "She'd better make it up to him. Took him forever to stop sulking."

You were both pleased that Wally's friends had his back and cowed at the reminder that you'd basically gaslighted him in sophomore year, and Rhonda seemed keen to hold that against you. Surreptitiously, you kept peeking behind Rhonda and Charley, willing the universe to be kind and deliver Wally's fortifying presence to you. With him beside you, you felt you could handle Rhonda's cutting remarks and Charley's weighted stare.

As if on cue, the connection began to rumble and roll inside you, rising with more interest as you felt Wally get closer, and your heart started to pound for an entirely different reason.

"So," Rhonda started as she stopped two feet in front of you, arms crossed and expression tightly controlled, "You can see us."

You didn't know what else to say apart from, "Yep," wincing as it fell out of your mouth.

Rhonda's glare turned lethal, "And you didn't think that maybe you should try and help us?"

"I—"

"Oh, no, wait, that's right, you decided to help Ajay and leave the rest of us to rot, is that it?"

Charley reached out and touched her arm, sending her an expression of warning before returning his attention to you. "I am curious about why you decided now was a good time for a big reveal?" He asked in a roundabout way, tone sprinkled lightly with denigration.

That, at least, was a simple answer. "Simon's in trouble and I want to help get him out of it."

"Right," Charley looked at Rhonda, briefly seeming to cast behind her, then looked back at you, "The o t h e r living person who can see ghosts. Are you guys part of the same coven or...?"

As sarcastic as he sounded, you sensed his genuine interest and decided to expand on—wait, "Simon can what?"

Ajay's words from earlier flew out of the ether and into your head: "Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret." Well, fuck me sideways. At the time, you'd been too distracted by the fact that Ajay knew about you and Wally. Then that, of course, had been eclipsed by Ajay's purported friendship with Aurora that she'd never bothered to disclose. With all those thoughts vying for attention, your brain had swiftly filled in the blanks about Charley and Simon with something that made enough sense to keep you from poking at it. Charley, you'd guessed, had kept Simon a secret like most teenagers keep their crush a secret from their friend group. To avoid getting teased.

Thinking about it now, you realized that was the second-most idiotic thing you'd ever come up with after encouraging Ajay to give you an audience with a bunch of ghosts you were supposed to avoid like the plague.

"Are. you. fucking. k i d d i n g. me!?" You dropped into a crouch, top half folded over your knees as you dug your fingers into the back of your head, wholly and utterly defeated by the endless siege of fuckery that had been unleashed since last Friday.

"We'll take that as a 'no'," Rhonda remarked, sounding as though she was checking her cuticles. "So, what are you? A necromancer or something?"

"No," You said miserably into your knees. You rose, rubbing your temples as you tried to process everything while simultaneously explaining, "And I'm not a witch, either, so you can forget about that coven bullshit."

You were getting riled up, angry, confused; Simon could see ghosts, too? Seriously? That could have made the conversation you and he had had on the swings a helluva lot easier, dammit. But, nooo, he'd kept that to himself. And, honestly, fuck Aurora, too, because you'd spent the last three years of your life on edge and constantly alert when you could've, maybe, given fewer shits?!

Another odd, shadowy flicker distorted the air almost directly in front of you but you ignored it, your frustration gaining momentum because, fine, yeah, you hadn't said anything to Simon either, but what the fuck anyway—!

Just as you were about to scream into the void, a warm, calming sensation swept over you, the familiar scent of Wally's cologne and the pomade he used in his hair curling under your nose like a cartoon wafteron. You tilted your head up, eyes immediately locking on his, and the tension seeped out of your muscles. Wally's steps were measured, his jaw tight, shoulders squared as if he was fighting to control himself from jumping on you.

Right. Ajay had insisted that you and Wally act as if you'd never interacted. Earlier, it'd been easy to agree, the connection subtle and at ease; now, you weren't so sure. The syrupy-slick sensation lulled you into a dreamlike fog, transfixed by Wally's closeness. You watched Wally's throat bob when he swallowed, eyes drifting to his lips before slowly tracking back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

"Hi..." You said, voice catching as Wally neared.

The others observed with assorted expressions of confusion and intrigue, Rhonda asking, "Whaaat the hell is happening?" to which Charley replied, "I have no idea..."

Ajay explained on your behalf, tone entirely put-upon, "It's the cRaZiEsT tHiNg. I noticed it before. Like they have some kind of mYsTeRiOuS cOnNeCtiOn drawing them together..." Glimpsing at him, you saw Ajay's features had flattened, his demeanor projecting exactly how done with everything he was, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to care. Wally was right there, gazing at you with soft eyes and a lopsided smile.

The flicker appeared again, though, unlike before, an almost physical energy came with it, arcing outward from its source into your front, forcing you back a step. A look of alarm spooked Wally's face. He lurched forward a step, simultaneously bringing his hand up as if to place it on something.

What happened next happened so quickly that you almost didn't catch it. As soon as Wally's hand made contact, a featureless silhouette popped into existence. You couldn't make out who they were, could hardly register anything as you stumbled backward another step in surprise, the back of your leg hitting the low ledge that lined the roof. From there, gravity took over, pulling you down as you teetered precariously over the wrong side of the ledge. Everyone reacted at once, Rhonda and Charley reaching out, Ajay yelling and grabbing the silhouette, and Wally—

"No!" Wally shouted as he leapt forward, grabbed you by the front of your sweater, and hauled you tightly against him before you plummeted several meters down onto the concrete below. He whirled around, planting himself between you and the ledge, his nose in your hair, heart hammering under your palm, panting from the adrenaline rush. His embrace was viselike, keeping you together as a jolt of fear shot through you.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes the size of saucers as he cradled your face in his big hands.

You peeked helplessly up at him, a lump in your throat and pressure behind your eyes, Jesus Christ, you'd almost joined them in the afterlife...but that wasn't the thought that blared in your head like an air raid siren.

"Do it again." You commanded, breathless, gripping Wally's arms and encouraging him to turn around. "Touch whatever you just touched again."

He blinked at you, dumbfounded, obviously not understanding what the hell you were on about.

"Whatever you just did," You instructed, "do it again," placing your hand on his shoulder to show him what you meant. Although he continued to stare at you like you'd grown a second head, he released you and moved back. You marveled as he stepped forward a few feet, picked his hand up, and then placed it down seemingly in midair. Except it wasn't midair. It was a shoulder that became visible under the weight of Wally's hand.

He shot you a peculiar expression, eyebrows drawn in doubt, "Uh...like this?" And then he stepped aside.

You gasped, going very, very still as your mouth fell open and your eyes bulged, a single, quivering utterance tumbling out of you. "Holy shit."

Everyone, including Wally, watched you in wonder, completely oblivious to the miracle that had just occurred. Everyone including—

"Maddie!?"

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-ONE - PART TWENTY-THREE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[breakfastteatime]

Cal wakes up from a nap. Oops, fell asleep on the couch again. He's so dozy, so comfy, maybe he'll drift off again and...

Wait.

Something feels different about his head. He stirs, brushing the blanket pulled up to his chin.

"Shhh. Go back to sleep." It's Merrin. She must be sitting next to his head. "I am not finished yet."

Her fingers are in his hair, brushing through and separating small handfuls into trios. The feeling is familiar, a distant memory from so long ago. He feels himself relaxing. "Why're you braiding my hair?" he asks, although it sounds more like "whyybraidnmuhheyh?"

Somehow, Merrin interprets his mushy words. "It is shiny. And pretty."

"S'not."

"Oh, yes, it is." There's a gentle tug as she deftly braids. "Fiery. Like my magicks."

"S'green."

"Hush, Cal. Let me finish."

Cal zones out, drifting into memories of Master Tapal patiently plaiting his braid, tying it off with the finest of thread. It never seemed possible for someone with such huge hands, and yet Master Tapal managed it every time. Sometimes he would tug on it to get Cal's attention. Other times, if he couldn't grab the hood of Cal's robes fast enough, he'd grab Cal's braid instead, and that never failed to bring Cal to a sudden and complete halt - usually before he wandered into traffic in the Brave's landing bay. He smiles at the memories, at the warmth, the tradition, the simplicity.

Merrin probably isn't going in for simplicity. Maybe he'll look like Cere did in that echo he picked up from Trilla's lightsaber. She looked so awesome with her hair like that. Could he grow his hair out that long? His pictures it - autumn reds, oranges and golds trailing all the way down his back, tied in intricate braids...

...who is he kidding? He'd sling it back in a ponytail and be done with it.

He giggles to himself.

"You are strange, Cal," Merrin tells him.

She has no idea.

A few minutes later, Merrin's fingers pull away. "Done. You may wake up. BD? You can come and look now."

Familiar feet tippy-tappy their way over. BD gives a long, slow beep of awe, and then the light of his scanner shines through Cal's eyelids.

Pretty, BD declares.

"I am not pretty," Cal grumbles.

"You are. You are a pretty princess," Merrin says. "BD, quick, make a recording."

"Excuse you, I'm no princess, I am a queen," Cal corrects.

"Forgive us, Your Majesty," Merrin says.

Curiosity wins and he opens his eyes, sits, frees his hands from the blanket, and explores his head. What he finds is a series of small, tight braids encircling his head - much like a crown. He leans forward and catches a glimpse of his reflection on the table. "Huh."

"You like it?" Merrin asks. "Cere explained to me how to do it, but it is easier to practice on somebody else."

"I do like it," Cal says. "It's really practical. Keeps it out of my eyes, too."

The hatch opens. Cere and Greez board the ship, both carrying several grocery bags. Cere clocks Cal first, nodding in approval. Greez does a double-take, puts down his bags, and moves in for a closer inspection.

"Well?" Cal asks, moving his head to really show it off.

"I love it!" Greez gushes. "I mean I really love it. I want it. I want that style right now."

"When you have more hair, I will teach you how," Merrin says.

He grins. "It's a deal. You heard it here, folks, Greezy is officially growing his hair out."

[seastarblue]

Training

Trying my hand at whump bless ft Kaiden and Sir Santhuff

and now the TWs: exhaustion whump, sleep deprivation, paranoia, poison (delivered via arrow), chasing? whump idk man she’s getting chased, ankle injury, suicidal ideation/thoughts, whumper trying to make whumpee “perfect”, training whump, fantasy whump, mentions of setting a bone back into place, beating, hair pulling, using whumpee as a punching bag, uh yea 👍

———

The knight collapsed onto the damp earth, tremors causing her whole form to quiver. Her runeswords—a pair of them, specially designed for her—slipped from her grasp. She tasted metal; from what, she did not know. Her quick, frantic breaths mixed with the crisp night air. A creek babbled nearby, mingling with her buzzing thoughts. It was nearly pitch black, and the dark spots now cluttering the edge of her vision didn’t help in any way.

‘That can’t be good,’ she thought, her mind feeling sluggish and slow.

That was even worse. She needed to stay alert, no matter the exhaustion deadening her senses, no matter the chill that seeped into her bones from the wet night, no matter how much she wanted to lay down and sleep right there in the mud.

He was going to find her, sprawled out on the floor, panting, pathetic, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him see her like this. Not after he had gotten so close to catching her just now: she remembered the sting in her leg from the arrow he’d shot at her.

‘Get up,’ she told herself. ‘Get up and prove yourself. Prove him wrong. Make him proud.’

Staggering to her feet, she gripped a nearby  fallen tree to heave herself up. She wavered in place, dizzy, then steadily moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, making her way to the creek. Water would assist the wound, her sluggishness, and provide her a good way of making it back to the starting point—the goal of this gruesome training session. She needed to make it back before Santhuff ensnared her in one of his many,  many traps. He’d almost gotten her twice on the first day, and the number kept increasing as fatigue and hunger set in. She couldn’t hunt for food; he was hunting her. She couldn’t rest for longer than a few hours before his arrows whizzed past her head and into the bark behind her. She even tried to sleep nestled in a tree, but the lack of suitable escape routes made her already frayed nerves go haywire.

He might actually kill her at this point.

‘Though,’ she realized with chagrin, ‘that would just prove him right, wouldn’t it?’

She couldn’t have that. Santhuff had already been reluctant on letting her join the Azari in the first place. She would never had guessed it, given his previous enthusiasm on the night of the Ball, unless she hadn’t been eavesdropping on him while recording an entry for his diary.

So, pride and ego giving her strength, she started cleaning the possible poison out of her leg wound, and replenished her thirst with the river water. She looked up into the sky above, the twinkling stars winking at her, as if to say, ‘You can do it, just a little further, see, past the little berry bush, then you’re free.’

The knight got up again, feeling a little better at least, and started moving towards the goal point, moving quietly to avoid snapping twigs and the like.

Maybe she’d actually make it. Maybe she could prove Santhuff wrong. Maybe the self-deprecating part of her would see that she could do it, she could be just as good as the other Azari, then it would quiet itself forever. All she needed to do was make it to the goal.

She told herself that again and again, until the small yellow flag, magicked to glow gently for visibility, came into view, just a few dozen paces ahead. There wasn’t a need for the glow now—the sun had started rising, bathing the forest in gentle pinks and purples.

Lowering her guard—a bad idea, in theory, but she didn’t care—the knight stumbled towards the flag. The thought of a warm bed, a nice meal, and most of all, the boost of confidence, almost made her sob with relief.

She’d won! Against the First Justice! No one had ever bested him before—much less a new recruit—and here she was, outlasting him at his own game. Not outwitting—she was too frazzled for that—but she decided outlasting should be good enough tonight.

Just as the thought passed, an arrow flew by, nicking her face. A trickle of gold blood followed, and then the knight-turned-target was sprinting in another direction, away from the flag, her saving grace.

She’d been noticed. Damn it. She should have waited till she was certain Santhuff had moved on, till the wound on her leg had healed completely. Now she ran, branches whipping at her face, snagging her muddy clothes, and puddles splashing as her boots landed on them. Regret trailed near behind her, but the First Justice was nearer yet.

Despite her greatest efforts, the target’s injured leg caught onto a root, and she fell on hard earth. Her ankle twinged, and she was fairly certain it had twisted, if not worse. She’d have to fix that somehow before her curse healed it wrong.

“…you’ve lost.” the First Justice said, striding over to his target. He returned his bow to his back, the quiver still half full of arrows, some of which she knew were tipped with narcotics. “You know what that means, Kaiden.” He sounded dissatisfied, and that drained Kaiden of any pride she had.

She turned to get a better look at him. That was all she could do, after all, the fatigue—or perhaps the poison—had gotten to her. Once she was prone, she couldn’t find the strength to right herself and run again.

His eyes, normally blue, were stark yellow against the dark night, and Kaiden knew: he wasn’t simply displeased. He was furious. Dread filled her as he continued speaking.

“I am greatly disappointed. You have spent three days in pursuit of the flag, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing but a muddy face and shame.”

He was now right next to her, looking down as if she was nothing.

‘I might as well be,’ she thought. Kaiden stared at his shoe, not wanting to make eye contact or even look upwards. She stayed like that for a while, panic slowly setting in.

Then, a rough hand pulled her hair, forcing her to look Santhuff in the eye. “Well?” he spat, teeth bared in a snarl. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Kaiden simply stared. She could have died if his aim was just a little off earlier, and Lloyd Santhuff never missed. He could have killed her just like that, left her body out to rot with the wolves and vermin, truly killed her by cutting her head off—but he didn’t. She needed to keep it that way. If she said anything, it could—would—get worse.

The forest was silent for a few moments, the only sounds being the crickets, the swooshing of the branches, and Kaiden’s wildly beating heart.

Then he let her hair go and she crumpled to the ground in relief.

Santhuff turned to leave, and Kaiden made to follow—as best she could—but he stopped her with a swift kick to the ankle. The twisted one. She bit her tongue, drawing more gold blood, and braced herself for more blows.

One on her back, another at her gut, two more on her other leg, and a final one to the gut. Kaiden tried her best to stay silent, but she let out sob after sob.

A kick. Then another sob. Then another kick, and another, and another.

Then, finally, he stopped the assault, and stepped away.

“Come to the clearing a league north,” he said, voice devoid of any of the rage from mere moments ago. “In 3 hours. Don’t be late.”

And then he was gone, leaving the knight with the twinkling stars above. They didn’t seem so helpful now. In fact, they seemed to call to her now, mockingly:

‘Come join us, foolish girl, you will never succeed. The only certainty you have is death, so for once, do the useful thing and join us!’

~~~

It took Kaiden a couple of hours to make it to the rendezvous point. She was worried that she was late, but if Santhuff’s silence was anything to go by, she wasn’t. ‘Thank the stars,’ she sighed with relief.

Back to Vespar they went, a teacher and his student, a hunter and his quarry, the First Justice and the rookie Azari he’d sworn to mold to perfection. No matter what.

———

and then they lived happily ever after n Lloyd got yeeted off a cliff <3

finally trying my hand at whump lemme know what yall thinkkkkk plzzzz

I had fun!!!! this was fun :3

nyeh heh heh heh @bamber344 @aalinaaaaaa @abiteofhoney @cc-writes-stuff

[scholarlycoffee]

WIP INTRO: NEON VIOLET

The light-leaks and scratches on the old film flicker over her face, masking her reflective white eyes. The video kicks back and loops. “My name is Nettie Schultz and I have died three times,” she repeats. 

Blurb: On the island of Tombedel, no one dies. At least, no one stays dead.

After separating from his wife of over twenty years, London-based private investigator Abe Tannen visits the exclusive medieval island of Tombedel during their Saint Martin’s Day celebrations, but his much-needed vacation takes an unexpected turn when a man is murdered in his hotel: the first person to actually die on the island in over 1,000 years.

With the local law enforcement unprepared to handle a real murder, the investigation falls to Abe, who enlists the help of an eclectic group of ghosts.

When the investigation leads them to begin uncovering the island’s long-buried secrets, Abe and his team find themselves in far more danger than they could have anticipated. After all, there are far worse fates than death.

Setting: Tombedel, a mysterious medieval island off the coast of England. November of 2025, but also 1983 and 1934 and 802 AD and 509 AD.

Genre: Adult, sci-fi mystery

Series: 1 of 2

POV: 3rd person present tense, multi-pov

Vibes: glitter-smudged faces, foggy coasts, chainmail under t-shirts, crystal balls, ancient church towers, neon lights, dimly lit labs, tape recorders, ren faires, crumbling castles, rundown pubs, cable-knit sweaters, old magicks.

Soundtrack: Seventeen Going Under - Sam Fender / I'm Set Free - The Velvet Underground / Night Shift - Lucy Dacus / The Body Electric - Hurray for the Riff Raff / Yuri-G - PJ Harvey / My Darling Faye - Songs for Moms / Vampire Empire - Big Thief / The Killing Moon - Echo & the Bunnymen

Word Count: Planning

[dark-corner-cunning]

Poppet Retribution Magick: Unleashing A Bellyful of Misfortune To Bring Financial Ruin

Update 5/7/24: My friend contacted me last night to let me know that Father has reached out and told them they could feel their pain and it has been weighing on him. 😁 He also wants to reconcile! This is exciting news for them and a new opportunity for them to build a relationship and heal together. Once I get the "Ok" from my friend I will release Father from his poppet.

Reader’s Notes: This working was originally constructed for a friend who wanted retribution against their father who abandoned and neglected them during childhood. They opted to hit their father where it would hurt him the most... his pockets... by any means necessary! We decided to go with a less intense sickness working and a working that reflected the weight of my friend's pain and sadness they have carried over the years. Also, if baneful, retribution or justice magick isn’t your jam…just quietly scroll on!! As always, feel free to take what resonates and leave the rest!

I did this working in alignment with the Solar Eclipse for more energy.

Please use safety as always with any working. This working uses fire, a sharp knife, and spicy pepper flakes.

Lastly, I am a "Words" witch... I love words of power (Mercury in my 10th house). You can always opt for no-words or you can record the sayings beforehand and play them on repeat at that step that requires that saying so that you can focus on the actions and energy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

When a father walks out on his family, it can feel like the ultimate betrayal. The pain and trauma caused by his abandonment can have lasting effects on everyone involved. But for those who believe in the powers of witchcraft, there may be a way to not only cope with the misfortune of a father's abandonment but also to seek justice for his greed and neglect. This is where witchcraft comes in.

Ingredients:

Mix all the ingredients from the 1st group in a bowl (except the roaches, snakeskin, and thorns) before stuffing. Be aware that the pepper flakes can and will burn your eyes, possibly your skin, and make your nose run.

Thorns – cursing & hexing, pain, discomfort

Stones – pain & discomfort.. I went with 9

Spiderwebs – ensnaring, halting, binding

Ash – suffocation

Wormwood – strife & misfortune

Stagnant Water – rut, stagnate, failed plans

Snakeskin – inhibits growth

Helter Skelter/Cursing Oil – destruction

Dead/Rotting Roaches – causes hardship, strife, infestation of sickness

Poppy Seed – confusion

Mustard Seed -disruption, prevent help

Hot Pepper/Red Pepper Flakes – accelerates, burns

Boneset – cursing

Apple of Peru/Shoo-Fly Plant – Reversing Wealth & Money

1 Poppet - I sewed a picture of "Father's" face to it... thanks FB! When making your poppet, make sure you place a piece of paper with the target's name and DOB inside beforehand.

1 Red Candle

1 Craft knife

1 Needle with Red String

Poppet Stuffing - In folk magick stuffing was quite literally anything that could be used. I choose polyfill... however, feel free to use whatever you like.

Black Cord or String - Binding

Optional: 1 Plant or Something "Alive" to Tether To

Optional: Pictures, Taglocks, Sigils, Petitions - You need at least a full name and date of birth.

Optional: Orange Candles and Road-Opener Oil - To be done beforehand to remove any protections and help with the working hitting harder.

Steps:

Activate the Poppet: “Poppet, I name you _. Your limbs are their limbs. Your flesh is their flesh. Your life is their life. As you suffer, so shall they suffer.”

Then thinking about the life force within... take a deep breath and blow life into the poppet. Think breathing for CPR.

The next step I did was a road opener & path-clearing. I used 5 candles to represent the elements, roads, and planes. Each candle had "Father's" name written on it and then anointed with a road opener oil. You can use whatever method of road opener you want here.

Once the road opener finished I then tethered the poppet to a plant. I did this by tying a vine from the plant to the poppet's arm and energetically tethered them together. Just remember to choose a plant or something that is easily taken care of after.

Tethered to this plant, my work shall be

Bound by nature's energy, I decree

All blow back shall fall upon the tether

For this spell, my power shall weather

With hands held high, I cast my charm

As the plant's roots dig deep, my magic is armed

From earth to sky, the tether extends

My working and this plant, now forever blend

The energy flows, from me to thee

As this plant, my spell's vessel be

Each leaf, each stem, a conduit of power

Growing stronger with each passing hour

No force of nature can break this bond

For my magic and this plant, forever correspond

Together they thrive, in harmony

Tethered as one, for all eternity

So let the winds howl and the storms rage

My spell shall stand strong, in this earthly cage

For all the energy of this spell

Is now tethered to this plant, with magic compel

So mote it be, this working is done

Tethered to this plant, this working is one

Then taking the craft knife cut the poppet's belly open. You will have to more than likely remove some stuffing to make some room for your stuffing. Stuff the poppet with your bowl mixture, stones, dead roaches, snakeskin, thorns, sigils, and what-not.

Swallow your greed with a belly full of stones

For it will bring you nothing but a life full of moans

Chasing after wealth, blind to the harm

Leaves you with a bitter taste, like a snake's charm

Choke on the lies you told yourself

That money and power were the only true wealth

But as you suffocate, reality sets in

Your failure and greed, now it's time to begin

Financial ruin, your once thriving business now failed

Your ego and pride, too great to be bailed

You mistreated your (daughter/son/Pronoun), a soul so pure

Abandoning & neglecting (pronoun), now it's your time to endure

So, Swallow your greed, let it be consumed With each stone, let your finances be doomed.

Then take the needle and thread and sew the belly closed. Once finished, take a red candle and seal the stitches.

Then take your black cord and bind the poppet. I chose to bind "Father" in a pentagram/elemental binding. The binding is started by being tied off at the neck, then the cord is wrapped around the left leg, then the right arm, then the left arm, then the right leg, and then back up to the neck. You can wrap this as many times as you like and you can certainly just bind your poppet however you like.

In the midst of chaos, in the midst of strife,

There lies a number, 5, that brings unexpected life.

It holds the power to shake things up, to make you lose control,

And in its grip, you are left to pay the ultimate toll.

Earth, air, fire, water, and the spirit within,

These 5 elements, a force to reckon and herein.

They bind you to this spell, a spell you cannot break,

And with each passing moment, your foundations start to shake.

The earth beneath your feet, solid and strong,

Yet when it quakes, you realize you were wrong.

The air you breathe, so vital to your existence,

But in a chaotic storm, it shows its true persistence.

Fire, the element of passion and desire,

But when it rages, it leaves you in dire.

Water, so calm and serene in its flow,

But in a flood, it can cause you to let go.

The spirit, the 5th element, unseen yet ever-present,

It binds you to this spell, a force so incessant.

It connects you all in ways you cannot comprehend,

And in its grasp, you are unable to defend.

And as these 5 elements collide and intertwine,

Your finances, too, fall victim to this bind.

For in the midst of chaos, your finances are unable to thrive,

And as your finances crumble, you are left with nothing to revive.

So by the power of 5, you descend,

For it holds a chaotic force that has no end.

And by the elements I bind you to this spell,

Remember, it is not a fight you can ever win or quell.

Once bound, then I untethered the plant and placed "Father" in a bucket of stagnant stormwater to drown in (this is symbolic of all the tears my friend has cried over the years) at the height of totality during the eclipse. I placed a cover over "Father" and there he will stay until the night of the full moon. Then I will take him out and bury him deep in the woods off my property to slowly rot.

[rookfeatherrambles]

The Archives were silent as the grave, foreboding and dark as Jon let himself in with the heavy gold key around his neck. For a moment, he stood in the quiet, musty dark as he contemplated what he was about to do, but then Jon uttered a quiet “Lux!” and a small white light flared to life in his hand. He coaxed the flame brighter as he started walking. The Archives were enormous, magicked to be as big or as little as the Archivists needed. Jon’d only seen one Archivist up close, and he wasn’t keen on repeating the experience. He said no other words, practically holding his breath in the heavy darkness, left hand held aloft to light his way, the muted tapping of his cane against the polished stone floor the only sound he permitted himself to make. Jon could feel something on those dusty shelves calling out to him, plucking at his wards with curious fingers. He followed the sensation, keeping his intent clear in his mind.

What secrets is Elias hiding from me?

He found his answer in an ancient, unmarked box of historical records. Pulling it down from the shelf caused a small tidal wave of dust to cascade onto him, and once he was done spluttering, Jon set it down on the floor and used his cane to lower himself next to it. It opened easily, but Jon never noticed the glittering green and gold asp, coiled at the bottom under the papers it was guarding - until he felt the burning bite in his hand. He cried out and jerked his arm back, and the snake came with him, detaching itself as it fell to the floor, hissing. Jon stared at it with horror, and its black tongue flicked at him as it stared at him with pale grey eyes. He recognized its eyes. Clutching his injured hand to his chest, Jon hauled himself onto his feet. He needed to leave, and quickly. Before-

“Where are you off to in such a hurry, Jon?” The calm voice sounds behind him, almost cold. Jon hears the voice behind him and trips over his own feet, knocking precious artefacts from the shelves as he falls. He’s suddenly very dizzy, feeling sick, and there’s a spreading numbness climbing his arm like ice, stealing all sensation. “E-Elias-” He tries to run, but stumbles, and then the Archmage is there, steadying him. Jon stares at his concerned expression, guilt and regret rushing through him in equal measure. “You’re ill.” Elias takes Jon’s hand and examines the bite. “Something bit you.” "H-how did-?" Jon can barely talk through the chatter in his teeth now. He's dying, he's sure of it. "I heard you scream, I came running. I was in the library." "Sn-Snake, it was a-" He groans and sags as the nausea swells, unable to finish his sentence. Elias keeps him upright, feeling his forehead with the back of his hand. He's sweaty and feverish. "You shouldn't have come down here without me, Jon, its dangerous." Jon wants to shout back, "No, its YOU who is dangerous," but he has no energy. And he doesn't know, not for sure. And then he sees it, movement at the collar of Elias's robes, and scales in the light. The snake slides out from around the Archmage's neck, and flicks its black tongue at him, eyes gold. Not grey. It may be the venom slowly pumping its way through his bloodstream, but Jon goes very cold and very still. "It was you," he whispers, horrified and betrayed. "You should have listened to me, Jon," Elias says grimly, and then he smiles. "But don't worry. I care too much about you to let you die here."

Jon lets out a yell as Elias drops him, and he hits the ground, unable to bear his own weight. In the light, in his fading vision, he sees the older man looking about the shelves for something, and then let out a satisfied, "Oh yes," when he finds it. It is getting very hard for Jon to breathe, and his heart feels like its beating out of his chest. Elias crouches before him, and holds up a small, golden charm. Jon is too sick to recognize it. "Don't worry, Jon," Elias says, almost cheerily. "Cats have a remarkable aptitude for processing poison."

And before Jon could so much as release a sound, he presses it to his skin. And Jon screams.

[serendipitousseapen]

Inscryptober: week 2, Elements.

The scrybes of limbo.

Halfway between an element swap, this cycle of scrybes carry traits of two elements within them, while also becoming something completely new.

A little looser with the prompt again, but I like how they turned out, even if it don’t count.

Individual renders, ideas, and possible gameplay below the cut

Leshy, Scrybe of Monstrosities

(Between beasts and undead)

The most brusque and solitary of the scrybes, Leshy resides in the untamed, twisted, wilds of his island. Instead of a temple, he merely has his scavenging grounds, not even the disciples who have devoted themselves to him ever know where he is. Your best bet is to find a dead carcass, watch if something starts eating it, and look for the glint of his inscrybing lens in between the trees and brush. If you’re lucky, the troll might come out to feast himself.

His cards are all kinds of scavengers; whether more natural, or more cryptic, sometimes humanoid, creatures. His card’s Flesh costs give them an almost built-in corpse eater; being playable when a certain amount of creatures have died between rings of the bell. His side deck is comprised of mangled corpses: 0/2, decomposing (deal 1 damage to itself each bell ring).

Grimora, Scrybe of the Abandoned

(Between undead and technology)

All the Scrybes are old, but Grimora is the only one who sees that as being for a reason. She has taken it upon herself to curate history, preserving what others deem “obsolete”, and “worthless” within her museum-like home. She uses a cassette tape recorder to hear an object’s voice and inscrybe it into a card. She knows all the objects within her custody as old friends, and her and her attendants do not take kindly to those who disrespect them. She has recorded far too many that hold hate in their soul from past owners.

As previously stated, her cards are all abandoned old objects; with a card’s value coming from its emotional attachment rather than its physical strength. All her cards cost neglect, the amount of turns that a lane has not had any cards played in it. Her side deck is comprised of dust, 0/1 cards with undisturbed (instead of resetting the neglect a lane has, instead adds 1 to it.)

P03, Scrybe of Constructs

(Between technology and magicks)

P03 is the most showboating Scrybe of the 4. He’s constantly at work in his foundry trying to make the most broken combos and the biggest chain reactions “legally” possible. This, coupled with both his smugness at winning and his anger at losing, makes the other Scrybes avoid contact with him at all costs (some say he’s the reason Leshy is so reclusive), usually pushing his deck testing onto his own foundry workers. They see it as an honor, being able to aid him beyond their normal duties; sadly, they couldn’t beat a deck of pure rabbit pelts. This makes it that when he actually faces off against a worthy opponent, he gets beaten miserably, causing him to go back to his foundry and come up with a whole new elaborate strategy, and starting the cycle anew.

P03’s card subjects are, at first glance, sculptural. They are mostly made of carved, bent, or otherwise artisan materials, they range wildly in shape and abstraction, and often seem so badly constructed that, should they move, they would fumble around like a 1-legged mole. That is how they are in the first few steps of the foundry. When they eventually come to P03 to be finally made into a card, he imbues them with some of the energy from his own body; breaking them apart, filling in gaps, and allowing for them to become powerful cards when that energy is taken back and inscrybed. His cards start out pretty useless, but have a leveling mechanic that allows them to activate and grown into more powerful for forms when beside his side deck cards, imbuers (0/1, channeler, levels up the card next to them at the start of each turn)

Magnificus, Scrybe of demons

(Between magicks and beasts)

When you Approach or have a conversation with Magnificus, you can know that he’s devoting his mind to 3 things: 1. The social interaction at hand 2. How you may play at cards, and how he can beat you and 3. How you could be best used to further his plans. Magnificus has the most ambition of any Scrybe, not only being aware of the world beyond his, but always finding ways to affect it. This isn’t to say he is a being of pure manipulation, for once you get closer to him, he will work with you and slowly start trusting you with more both him and his plans. The closest to him are his students, who know more than anyone else, and far more than they should. His best tool is using cards to gleam knowledge of a person, as it is your best tool to know what’s under his brooding exterior.

Magnificus’ s cards are all demonic entities, taking offerings (attributed sacrifices) to be played. Magnificus inscrybes them in deals, with a card forming and being painted by Magnificus whenever he bargains with one for knowledge, power, health, or anything more. His side deck is full of offerings (0/1, ___ offering) for his demonic allies, with side deck cards playing around with factors such as card per deck limitations to diversify offering value. This also works with people, with deals made between the master and his apprentices being prized components in Magnificus’s main deck.

[odditycircus-2002]

Hi! I loved your Quan Chi x mummy reader! I was wondering if you could do some HCs of him and a reader who is a horror content creator? Makes ARGs, analog horror, reviews novels and movies in the horror community, etc. Maybe even the reader does a face reveal of their beloved necromancer?

A/n: I'm so glad that you did love it so much! Also, since you didn't specify, I hope you don't mind the fact that the reader is a magic user too, albeit an amateur.

A Terrifying Love

Surprisingly, you aren't sinister nor malicious, at least for someone who occasionally dabbles in the Dark Arts. You didn't even practice such forbidden magicks for a lust of Power nor out of grief for a loved one long since passed, but to gain inspiration and material for your projects. You liked to be thorough and efficient and inspire real fear for the ARGS, analog horror. This work ethic has made you reasonably popular among the horror side of the internet.

Because of your work ethic and morbid fascination, you are often found in dark, decrepit places during late hours. While at a cursed burial ground, you met your future otherworldly paramour. He was digging up some bones for artifacts that were supposedly there while you were reanimating some recently deceased animals and filming them for a future project.

The screeching of one of the animals caught Quan-chi's attention, having not expected anyone else to be at this secluded site. When he caught sight of you, his right hand twitched and prepared an offensive spell; Quan-Chi found you wrestling with a recently revived house cat with your recording equipment nearby. He watched you finally pin down the possessed feline before petting it while muttering what sounded like soothing words. Yet, as Quan-Chi strained his hearing, he recognized your words as a magical incantation to bind the reanimated cat to you.

Once you finish, you finally notice Quan-chi's unblinking gaze. You gazed at him with a friendly smile and said hello, remarking that tonight was a fine night to do some magic. Quan-chi agreed that you could be useful to him with your potential. From there, the rest is history.

Whenever you or Quan-chi had the time, you would exchange ideas about how each project was going and give input. Whether that's the latest animation, you made for your analog horror on Youtube or his ongoing quest to study the darkest magicks to overthrow the Creator of your existence, Liu Kang.

In public, you claimed the new and more frightening character designs and story elements were because of how you recently became a fan of Johnny Cage's movies. In reality, it's because of Quan-chi and the knowledge he laid bare to you, including a trip to the Netherrealm. You had never imagined you would see such exciting new sites.

As Quan-chi also suspected, you were eager and open to learning more dark magics from him. He watched with satisfied pride as you swiftly performed each new task he gave you and began to ask more advanced questions regarding them.

However, he finds himself a bit disappointed that you "squander" your talents as an entertainer. It brings him a reprieve that at least you weren't as insufferable as Johnny Cage ( Who you were surprised to learn that all his Mortal Kombat movies and shows were actually based in truth). Quan-Chi also won't stop you from making your "Scary Stories" as to ensure your cooperation and maintain good standing with you.

Yes, it's only out of maintaining a powerful magic user as an ally that he also takes the time between his research to read every silly book you recommend or sit down and watch every horror movie you put on. All right, admittedly, Quan-chi finds himself enjoying some of the things you recommend and even finds inspiration from them, such as the Saw or Reanimator movies. Although he won't admit this to you out loud, you know better by then, judging from how your paramour would become more talkative when bringing them up.

It was only because you were reviewing one of his favorites, and Quan-Chi promised you a HUGE favor that you could get him on camera, and even then, only once. After reviewing the newest addition to Quan-chi's favorite series, while sometimes bringing up his opinion on some aspects, did you finally reveal Quan-chi's face to your audience. He stared unblinkingly and apathetically at the camera as you continued to speak, with him occasionally breaking his gaze when you prompted Quan-chi to give his input, which he did with eloquent words. You thanked him for his opinion before pecking him on the cheek, which Quan-chi didn't seem to react to besides a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Playlist while writing this:

"Hide and Seek" by Lizz Robinett

"Land of the Dead" by Voltaire

"Rule #21- Momento Mori" by Fish Inside a Birdcage

"The Hearse Song" feat Rusty Cage

[miasmaghoul]

Any HCs about ghoul Halloween costumes??

OH YES HERE THEY ARE

Swiss is the one who insists on the costumes. Used to be that the abbey would have their usual Hallow's Eve bash, and that was that. Once Swiss discovered the concept of costumes on tour, though, and the idea absolutely tickled him. So now, the ghouls have their own gathering.

Swiss goes all out every year. This time, he's a picture perfect representation of Dr. Frank-n-furter. The hair, the heels, the lingerie - all of it. Even shaved his mustache so he could get the makeup just right; Dew and Aurora are FURIOUS. Swiss does a full on performance of Sweet Transvestite that brings down the house (aka Mountain claps and Rain records it to make gifs for the ghroupchat.)

Speaking of Rain, he usually doesn't put a whole lot of effort into his costumes. He doesn't want to detract from his natural beauty. This year he's been especially lazy, choosing simply to drop enough of his glamour for his skin to be the most stunning shade of shimmering blue. Speckled with scales, rippling fins along his limbs and back, strong tail swishing languidly behind him. Black eyes and pearly fangs. Perfectly unearthly.

But where Rain is lazy, Aeon puts in Maximum Effort. He got Cumulus and Mountsan's help in hand stitching a period-accurate Dracula costume. Frilly sleeves, tight pants, a vest that threatens to crush the life out of him. The boots he wears nearly reach his knees, borrowed from Cirrus' closet. The fangs are his own, specifically unglamoured so only his canines appear elongated. He floats around the party with a cloak billowing behind him for extra drama, and Dew tells him he looks like a gayer Lestat.

Dew, meanwhile, isn't usually one for costumes. Prefers wearing his civvies and taking it easy, saying he's dressed as a metalhead if anyone asks. This year, though, Swiss had dared him into something a bit more...challenging. Never one to back down, Dew accepted before Swiss had even brought out the outfit, and as he stands behind the snack table he has Regrets. He's in a blood red bodycon dress, one that doesn't even reach the middle of his thighs. A strapless number that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. The lingerie beneath it had been it's own struggle; a lacy black strapless bra stuffed with socks, black satin panties covering his tucked-back cock, meticulously torn fishnets. He's trying not to move too much, the four-inch heels he's been shoved into more of a hazard than anything else. Dew wishes he wasn't so jealous of how easily Swiss walks in his own pair. His hair and makeup are done too, golden locks pulled into an intricate updo and lips red as his dress. It exposes the long line of his neck, and it's work to keep Aeon's fangs away from his throat.

The real work for Dew, though, comes when Aether strolls in from an impromptu shift in the infirmary. Still dressed in his smart slacks, pale purple button down and slightly too tight white coat. A stethoscope looped around his neck and a pair of silver-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Dew really has to fight not to pop the world's most obvious boner while he talks about something with Mountain that he's long since lost track of.

Mountain, for the record, has been spending the last ten minutes or so staring at Rain, so he's not all that bothered. His own costume is similar to Rain's, but as opposed to "I'm a water ghoul" Mountain tells everyone he's Poison Ivy. Magickal plants cover him from tits to toes, creeping vines hugging him like a second skin. There are flowers dispersed throughout, bursts of color in the vibrant green, and a braided crown of something definitely poisonous settled between his antlers. Aurora keeps sneaking blossoms for herself, and she knows Mountain won't notice.

She couldn't NOT go as Princess Aurora. It was too perfect to pass up! Complete with flowing blonde hair, a perfectly fitted pink gown that color shifts to blue in the right light, and a little golden crown. She floats around the room on weightless feet, helped along by just enough air magick to make her look angelic and ethereal. The flowers she squirrels away from Mountain's bounty get handed out to her dance partners - Cirrus has the most so far.

Cirrus, who has gone low-effort but in an effective way. She's in her old Era IV uniform, black fabric settling over her curves like it belongs there. Severe in a way that demands attention. She's wearing a mask, but not the one that usually comes with this outfit. No shiny silver or stylized curls. This mask is simple, white, curved and molded over her right eye, cheek and part of her forehead. She spends the early part of the evening at the common room piano, playing the overture from Phantom of the Opera so the others will stop asking what she is.

Sunshine is a clown, but in like a clown-core way. Baggy clothes in mismatched colors and patterns, white face paint with exaggerated red lips and blue triangles around her eyes. She has a whole host of silly little party tricks up her sleeve too; the look of disdain she gets from Rain when she soaks him with the flower on her lapel is absolutely worth whatever he'll to do her later.

Cumulus and Ifrit end up committing a bit of a costume faux pas - they both arrive dressed as Elvira. Skintight black gown with plunging neckline? Check. Massive black wig? Check. Dagger-like nails? Check. They share a good natured laugh before they find themselves being ogled into oblivion by Aeon, who can't decide whose tits he'd rather fuck.

Copia is a sheet ghost.

[bekaterrier]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! I hope everyone was checking out the #BIPOCtober tag this past week and adding shows to their to-listen list! Now we're on to #Ace Podcast Week!

Give Me Away Episode 9 - A Bug and a Feature: Hooooooboy, this season finale did not disappoint! So much stress with the gang stuck in the Ghost House. There was so much arguing, and I was just waiting for Graham to out his foot down - and he did! I want your second idea indeed. Then there's Jamie being the most dramatic a person could be, calling her mom right in the middle of all this, then playing the role she was born for! Iconic. It all ended with us wondering how Graham was feeling about that last revelation, and quite a few challenges set up for S2.

@hinaypod Episode 48.1 - Noche Buena: I originally heard this episode as a Patreon supporter (it was released in January) but obviously did not have the full context for it then. Now, knowing what we know about what happened on Christmas Eve, there is sooooo much more meaning to it. Especially that opening, "Good morning, babe,"... Hearing about Mari's Christmas traditions and how she dealt with her Tatay's passing was sad and lovely.

@desertskiespodcast Episode 19 - Friends Make Sacrifices: Oh Cash was so close to having everything dealt with nicely! Xochitlicue made such a huge sacrifice...I really hope that she's able to find her sister.

Residents of @proserpinapark Ep 38 - A Fox and Her Mouse: We finally have context for some of this season's official art and boy is it a terrifying thought! It was fun hearing from the Kitsune again, and things are definitely not finished between her and Mirai. And we finally have a bit more of an explanation for Junichi's total lack of curiosity about Proserpina Park and the recordings from Alina. That was driving me crazy!

@midnightburgr Chapter 39 - The Interrodrome!: When the episode starts with the Three Sisters, The Mucklewains and Ava all captured by the bad guys, you just know it's gonna be a wild one. Ava and Caspar are really THE couple of "flip the script on your captors". Also so many guest voices! Sean and Michael from Civilized pod, Third Person from Midst, and then surprise Karim Kronfli! Also slight jumpscare of my name said very emphatically by Ava...

@starfallpod Fennel's Food Cart Episode 2 - Ludenalis, Mercen: This is such a clever way for us to learn more about the different parts of Falsten. What better way to learn about the culture of an area than through its food? I'm having a lot of fun listening to Fennel's adventures.

@stormfireproductions Kalila Stormfire's Economical Magick Services Case One - Transformation — Case Twenty Two - Body Image and Possession Training: I started listening to this show ahead of BIPOCtober week, and I'm already more than halfway through season two! The worldbuilding is wonderful, and I love how we slowly learn more from each case. Lisette is incredibly thoughtful in the way that they portray and highlight the social issues arising from there being fae, covens, changelings, etc. in this version of the world. I can't wait to find out what happens next, and to hear Kalila continue to work on (and with) herself.

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Survivor request is 'bed' for @calsdroid

Days after they first secure Tanalorr, dust slowly settling, the new rhythms of their unsettled lives hitting their harmonies, Cal finds himself on Tanalorr’s ground with absolutely no memory of how he got there. He feels off, exhausted energy flickering among the fumes choking his burning body. He’d been out for a simple climb, scoping out places to locate their first settlement and –

Every step harder than the last.

Every pull up a test of his will.

Every leap taking more and more.

Every echo scooping him out until –

Until he had nothing left to give.

Cal tries to sit up, only for the world to waver before his eyes, solid made liquid. He falls back, blacks out again, and suddenly BD’s there, standing on his chest, telling him not to move, help is coming.

Help? He doesn’t need help. He needs to help others. Tanalorr awaits, and the Hidden Path needs it now more than ever, their options so dwindled there is little hope remaining for them. If Cal doesn’t help bring them here, make Tanalorr actually liveable, they might –

Why is he so cold? He shivers, rolling onto his side, pulling all his limbs close to his chest. He’ll get up in a minute. He will, as soon as he’s warmer and –

–  And now Merrin’s here. Where did she come from? Her worried eyes take him in, her back of her hand pressing to his forehead. “You are burning up,” she says. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

Because he’s not sick. He isn’t. He’s just… he’s so incredibly… he can’t possibly…

She wraps her arms around him and levers him off the ground, pulling him into a hug. “You have burned yourself away to nearly nothing.” She sighs, pressing her lips to his hair. “What would Cere say?”

A note chimes in the Force, a melodic strum of a hallikset string.

Cal closes his eyes as Merrin’s magick coils around him, nearly dulling the echoes of all her travels clinging to her clothing. Vast oceans, cities hidden in the clouds, underground hives. He doesn’t open his eyes again until he feels a bed beneath him, his many layers peeled away, a damp cloth resting over his forehead and eyes.

“We’ve got you,” Greez says.

BD tells him to go back to sleep.

No, he was busy, he was –

“Sick, Cal. You’ve fought and worked your way into sickness,” Greez tells him. “You’re burning up. We need you well again. Please, just stay put and get some rest. Before you really do burn out for good. I can’t lose you too.”

He can’t stop now. He’s the last of his kind now that Cere is… now that Cere’s… Her name escapes him, his control shattered.

A hand brushes over his cheek, a thumb wiping away the tears. “I know,” Greez says. “I know. But even she’d tell you enough is enough, and you know it. You don’t need to keep running now.”

He drifts into memories and dreams, the Mantis crew, both crews, united and laughing. The twins inhaling everything Greez cooks, Bravo at the controls looping them through skies made of stars, Merrin and Gabs plotting all kinds of schemes, BD racing to record everyone, and Cere sat beside Cal, smiling as she watches.

“See?” she tells him, her hand so warm against his knee. “You’re not alone.”

“Cal?”

Merrin is suddenly ahead of him, her hand on his shoulder. Cal blinks, and it’s only Greez, BD and Kata sat aboard the ship. Tears fill his eyes. She was here. They were all here. And now –

Now, he’s still not alone. Not anymore. He never was, not really.

BD hurries over, hops on his shoulder, tells him he was sleepwalking, it’s time to go back to bed, get better, get well, so he can help build up Tanalorr.

Cal nods. “I’m going back to bed,” he announces.

“You’ll feel better in the morning.” Kata’s voice is quiet, nervous, and hopeful.

“Yeah,” Cal says. “I will.”