#wonders spellbook

[warmth-and-wonder]

Athena, Queen of the Olive trees that, though loved like children, were cruelly uprooted.

You, tremendous and Athenian, crush these foolish zionists under your heel.

May your might turn their bigotries into the oils that will lubricate the cogs of the revolution.

[lunarbun-ships]

my f/o type is just depressed old men now chdudjfj

thinking abt them both

[theknucklehead]

From the Mickey Mouse short "Hats Enough". Mickey tries finding his identity through wearing a hat, at which they reference this iconic moment from Fantasia.

Speaking of which, while waiting in line for the Perfect Picnic ride in Disneyland California, they include a bunch of memorable things from different Mickey Mouse cartoons, one of which is Yen Sid's spellbook which is drenched because of the flood.

[chicicherrycola]

i finally figured out who laois reminds me of

[tox-tea]

Agatha Ironheart First Of The Lineage

[blujayonthewing]

For context I was planning on doing a turquoise next but I'm playing Melliwyk on Saturday and purple is her color

[crimson-iden]

I really underestimated how heavy the D&D books are, maybe I’m just weak (which is also true) but it’s terrifying since they don’t fit in my bookshelf, I’m afraid to put them on my windowsill, and then there’s my desk. It’s the most optimal space for them, but gods I am so scared the whole desk is going to collapse under the weight of my trinity tomes of dread.

It doesn’t help that not only do I like D&D, but I also like collecting books. Theres somewhere around 50 books to collect. I need a bigger bookshelf

[the-coffee-fandom]

Psht 25 poems and 1 Moodboard deleted? No I would never.

If you saw any of my Tag Team Tournament submissions, no you didn’t

Submitted 27 things total and none of them counted due to insufficient tagging on some of them.

See you next year 😎

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[homunculus-argument]

Fantasy stories should have more "what do you mean you don't do X" things in compare and contrast of cultures. Like the differences between peoples aren't the stuff they show off as "These Are Our Culture :)" things, fucking everyone has food and music and folk tales, but the things they've always assumed that everyone has, and are baffled to discover that they don't.

The people who are always barefoot are baffled that humans don't have a wash basin at their front door where people can wash their feet before stepping inside?? Do they just walk in with their dirty feet? The fuck do you mean you take your shoes off?

Humans don't have small baby-sized spellbooks for toddlers who just learned to read, so they can safely learn to practice tiny cute and harmless, age-appropriate magic spells before progressing to more mature and demanding spells? What, do they just throw teenagers completely unprepared into the arcane - hold the fuck up, is that why human sorceror mortality is so fucking high?

Dwarves who have always wondered why the entrance to human residences is so fucking big, why do you need to take up such a large area for a door that's just there to lead downstairs to the underground halls? Are the timber walls really as thick as a human is tall? What for? And once one of them gets invited to a human house to stay and rest, nobody ever fucking believes her: That's not the entrance, that's the whole fucking house. 100% of the human house is aboveground, there is no tunnel to the underground levels. They might have a single storage room down there, but the aboveground section is so fucking big because that's the whole house.

This post was brought to you by: People who butter their bread and who had no idea that there are people who put mayonnaise on their bread, and people who put mayo on their bread and had no idea about people who put butter on their bread discovering that the other kind of people exist.

[stars-obsession-pit]

The ghost of a past regret

The tome hidden under Damian’s mattress continued to burn in the back of his mind. He knows he shouldn’t have kept it. Magic is dangerous, that of the Infinite Realms especially so. And there was no guarantee the book was even accurate; he’d never given the cultists a chance to make use of its contents.

But a single section from it refused to leave his mind. He couldn’t just throw out the opportunity it offered.

‘Danyal…’

–––

Damian had hated to admit it, but his twin brother could be cannier than him at times. Danyal had caught on to the harm of the League long before he ever had.

And he had tried to get out. To get them both out.

Damn him. Why couldn’t Danyal have been selfish for once in his life…

But Damian had still been caught up in it all. He was the perfect heir. He was loyal. He would not betray his family in the League.

And yet he’d been so quick to betray his brother…

Danyal’s shocked gasp as Damian’s knife slipped between his ribs still echoed in his ears when he awoke from nightmares. Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, he would swear he could still feel the blood dripping down his hands, and amount of scrubbing ever made the sensation go away.

He was sure Alfred at least had noticed the redness of his hands, but he never pushed for answers. Damian was thankful for that, even as he felt undeserving of the comfort. It had all been his fault.

At the time of the betrayal, Damian had felt little of the emotional weight. He was disappointed in his brother, but he was just doing his duty to the League. It would only be later that it set in, and the regrets continued to eat at him long after his family forbid all discussion of the traitor his twin.

What if he hadn’t fought? Would they have succeeded at escaping? Would they have met their father sooner? Would he still be able to see Danyal’s smile?

It was pointless to wonder. Danyal was gone.

–––

But perhaps not completely.

The siren song of the spellbook continued to call to him. The first thing to ever offer even the faintest glimmer of hope for finding closure.

For it contained a ritual to summon the ghosts of the betrayed.

Maybe it wouldn’t work. Regardless of the book’s accuracy, he’d never done anything like it before and wouldn’t be using the spell for its intended purpose. It was described for use in combat, tearing apart enemies with the specters of the vengeful dead, not for seeking atonement. Was changing the context even possible without entirely restructuring the ritual? He didn’t know.

And it wasn’t like he could ask the magicians of the Justice League Dark for help—even the most unscrupulous among them would still try to dissuade him and likely inform his father.

But how could he not try?

It might be wishful thinking to hope he would ever forgive him. But even if Danyal rejects the apology, it would still be worth it just to see his brother just one more time…

He grit his teeth and clamped his eyes shut as emotions warred against logic inside him. It was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t do it. He shouldn’t.

‘Damn it.’

The tome felt impossibly heavy as he pulled it from under the mattress with unsteady hands.

He had a ritual to set up.

[warmth-and-wonder]

Hinterland Rhyme Curse

A curse, done by either incantation or spell jar, to inflict a target with the consuming paranoia that they are being hunted. Directly inspired by Melissa Albert’s the Hazelwood and the Night Country.

If preformed via incantation, do so in a pitch black place. As you say the rhyme, shine a light on a taglock for your target (their name on a piece of paper, a photo, etc) so it is the only thing you can see.

If preformed via spelljar, write down the rhyme and read aloud each line as you finish writing it. Place it in the jar with a taglock, then add whatever you associate with hunting to fill the rest of the jar. Such as bones, teeth, bullets/bullet shells, the colors red and green, soil for earth and other earth elemental objects.

Once done, keep the spelljar/taglock in a dark place, discard it in the woods, or bury it beneath a gate. Always use biodegradable materials if disposed of outside.

Little mouse, Scratch scratch

Hasten to your home

Lock and latch, do up the catch

And pray that your alone

Little spider, Twitch twitch

Run to seal the gate

Weave and sew, stitch stitch

Pray it’s not too late

-the Night Country, Melissa Albert.

[cabinetofquriosities]

An Injury on the Road

Request: Agatha x Reader

Everyone waited in the silence following their song for something to happen. You sighed, not knowing why you came in the first place. Or, rather, you tried to convince yourself that the reason was anything other than your former flame.

The two of you had been intertwined your entire lives. You grew up in the same village. You were hated by her mother and rejected from joining a coven at all. Because of this, you bonded with the equally ostracized Agatha.

Your friendship progressed into something more. You moved on from childish games to sharing longing gazes and afternoons of lounging in fields of wildflowers with her. Every time you were close to becoming closer, even just leaning in for a first kiss, her mother was magically there, tearing a heartbroken Agatha away. You actually began to wonder if that woman set some sort of hex or spell on her to alert her if Agatha began to feel a little too happy. Or maybe just to prevent the two of you from being together. Then, that horrible night happened.

Agatha had told you that she had stolen a few spellbooks to finally learn more about her power. Before she could properly train herself, the coven dragged her out and tied her up for execution.

You had looked out at the sky that night, seeing flashes of light blue in the distance. You had a sharp feeling of panic that filled your chest. You knew something was happening to her.

Your feet carried you as quickly as possible, but you showed up too late. The circle of witches, as well as Agatha’s own mother, were using their full power to murder one of their own. You felt your own fire magic beginning to ignite at your fingertips with the full intent of burning them all from the feet up. Then, something changed.

The beams of magic turned into a familiar purple. Agatha had used it sparingly around you due to accidentally pulling some of your magic from you when you were practicing spells on one another. She shot a bit of energy at you for practice at blocking. When you did the same back and hit her with a small sting of magic, something else took hold of her. She was suddenly drinking in your power, no longer the girl you knew. It was as if she were in a trance. It began to rain as you felt your body grow weak. Agatha was shocked out of her trance by the surprise storm.

She looked horrified at what she had done. She crawled through the tall grass to see if you were okay. Agatha frantically apologized and said she never meant to hurt you. You believed the raw emotion and regret on her face. She held you close, terrified that she was about to lose you. Then, your energy seeped through the embrace and rejuvenated you. Her body instinctively pushed your power back to save you.

Her magic was strong, but nothing close to this. It was likely the pure emotion and fear that inflamed Agatha’s natural power. The traitorous witches shriveled and fell to the ground as the target of their ire’s power grew. Agatha, regardless of the power she now possessed, still begged her mother for mercy, for love. You knew before her mother even moved that she would never allow her daughter to feel the warmth of her mercy.

Her mother then signed her own death warrant by using her magic against the younger witch. You held your breath as you watched to see who would win out. A blinding flash of purple sealed her fate.

Your best friend simply stood there in the aftermath, thrumming with energy but looking utterly empty and alone. You ran forward, breathlessly asking if she was okay while untying her. Once she was free, Agatha turned towards you and considered your worried face. She realized in that moment that there was no one left to stop her from following her desire. She wordlessly reached over, brushing your long hair back and clutching it in her hands. She pulled you close into a kiss, your first. You melted into her, finally feeling completed in a way you had never been allowed to be.

In the centuries that passed, you ran together, hand in hand as you both sowed chaos until the 1930’s when you had a falling out over the Darkhold. It was taking over the woman you loved, blackening her fingers more every passing day. She was no longer a partner. She barely noticed you anymore. So, you left. You cast an aversion spell to hide from her, needing time away.

What you didn’t expect was for your spell to fall away while entering a hex casted by the Scarlet Witch. You were suddenly in a 1950’s dress, your new reality devoid of all color. Instead of the cafe you were originally in, you were in a diner with no explanation. You had felt a nexus of power and followed it here, worried that Agatha was the source.

However, the source was another formidable witch. The Scarlet Witch. She was feared by the magical community solely because of her lack of control while using Chaos magic. That amount of power mixed with that much inexperience was like a nuclear bomb waiting to explode.

Once she lost her husband, witches began to make protection spells and safety plans for their covens for the witch’s inevitable breakdown. The preamble to her ultimate self destruction was what occurred in Westfield.

At the sensation of an unfamiliar form of magic, you immediately grew uneasy. This wasn’t Agatha’s work, so what did you just get yourself into?

Just as you were beginning to think, the thoughts of another wormed their way in. They directed her actions and shook her with traumatic memories of a life that was not her own. Wanda’s life. Wanda’s nightmares.

After being forced to be a secretary for a day, being puppeted by a mad witch, you saw the one person who pierced through your stupor. Agatha. Or, “Agnes”. She was outside, flirting with the mailman at the gate of her white picket fence. You wanted to run to her, but the woman controlling your actions wouldn’t allow you to. You lost hope until Agatha locked eyes with her.

The recognition was evident. She excused herself and walked across the street. She smiled politely, saying, “Hiya, hot stuff! Wouldya like a drink with your new neighbor?”

Your heart dropped at the fear of her being trapped in another character. It wasn’t until she walked you to her house that she pulled you inside. In an instant, she dropped the act.

“Do you recognize me?” she asked, concerned at the way your eyes were a bit glazed over like the others.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I know what you mean- Agnes, was it?” you said, inwardly wanting to scream for help.

“Are you in there?” she whispered.

“Of course I am, silly!” You said with a pleasant smile.

Agatha took your hands in hers, whispering an incantation under her breath. Her magic flowed through your veins, untangling you from Wanda’s control. You gradually felt the force that was mentally strangling you loosen and fall away. You looked up into her eyes and whispered, “Agatha?”

She hugged you in a moment of pure relief. You held her back and breathed her in. Regardless of the hex, her scent stayed the same.

Agatha played on Wanda’s ignorance of her own hex to introduce her to her “new wife”. You lived with her, falling into a rhythm with her like your falling out never happened. The only time you felt that familiar ache of neglect was when she was pouring over the Darkhold. However, you agreed with her use of it in this case. A more experienced witch absorbing Wanda’s powers would neutralize a threat to the world. Hopefully, Agatha would wield that power in a way that was less unpredictable and explosive.

You could at least be there to guide her. Even at the worst of your relationship years ago, Agatha always pulled back on any major atrocities in your presence. Your own thirst for blood and chaos had settled down a bit. You hoped her love for you would help her hold back on mass destruction.

Time passed, decades of sitcoms in a single week. You played along with Agatha, completely undetected by Wanda even as she became aware of her own hex. She looked after Tommy and Billy when Agatha kidnapped them, keeping them calm as their powers were temporarily bound. Agatha had grown fond of the boys to the point where she truly didn’t want to harm them.

Agatha got into a battle with Wanda. You wanted nothing more than to fight by her side, but Agatha had made you promise that you would keep your cover. You nearly broke the promise as Wanda clearly won and approached your love. Her magic washed over Agatha, cursing her to stay Agnes.

For three years, you cared for “Agnes”, keeping her rested and fed while playing along with her delusions. First, she would be in sitcoms. Then, dramas. For a confusing week, a telenovela. You tried everything to break her out. Potions, incantations, charms. None of them brought her back to herself.

Once Wanda died, the curse seemed frayed around the edges. You picked gently at the edges of it, delicately working to reach Agatha. During her detective phase, she finally snapped her out of it during a conversation in an imagined morgue. Agatha stripped down through her previous ruses before finally becoming herself again. She was furious at the time and power stolen from her. She returned to the obsessive, power hungry attitude that pushed you away decades before. She thanked you, but was more focused on regaining her power. She dragged you from witch to witch, convincing them to join her on the road.

Now, you were standing in a circle with an obsessed Agatha and a coven who hated her.

Agatha taunted the coven as they waited for a door to appear. While everyone else was focused on her, you heard what she did. The hissing voices of the Salem Seven.

Suddenly, you saw a glowing outline of a door.

“Agatha!” you yelled.

“WHAT?” she snapped before looking down.

Her smile flashed, swinging the doors open with the help of Jen and Alice. They all ran down as the demonic, feral witches broke into the basement. The beings were the babies and children of their old village who had lost their mothers that fateful night. Agatha let everyone run down the stairs before you all but pushed her ahead of you in your instinct to protect her.

You felt the shot of magic burn into your side. Another one nearly took off your arm. You closed the doors with your power before stumbling down the stairs. Agatha was in a panic as she looked for you before you appeared at the bottom of the steps, bloody and pale. You fell to the ground. Agatha sprinted over to you, cradling you, looking as terrified as she had been that day in the field centuries ago. Feeling the guilt of causing harm to the woman she loved.

She screamed at her new coven for help. Jen leapt into action. Though she never liked Agatha, she couldn’t help but be sympathetic to a sobbing woman cradling her lover, begging her not to die.

“Please don’t leave me,” Agatha whispered, her tears wetting your cheeks as they fell, “I need you. Please, I love you, you can’t leave…”

Jen pulled up your shirt, sending a searing pain that pierced through your shock, ripping a scream from your throat. She poured a cool water over your wounds, causing them to start healing. The wounds were deep enough that they would take a few nights to heal, but they would heal.

The last thing you saw before passing out was a teary eyed Agatha wearing a relieved, shaking smile.

You woke lying on a bed of leaves, covered by a makeshift shelter. She would recognize this handiwork anywhere. Agatha had built it.

You groaned, starting to look around. You hissed in pain as arms guided you back down.

“Shh, don’t sit up. You’re still healing,” Agatha said softly. She put your head in her lap and combed her fingers through your hair the way she had when you were girls. It was as if you had hopped back in time, just two girls in love in the woods. Agatha looked at you the way she did before the Darkhold. She gazed at you like nothing else mattered.

“Agatha?”

“You were wounded when protecting me from the Seven. You shouldn’t have done that. You should have been down the stairs before me. I-“ she babbled, her voice cracking.

“I would do it again in a second,” you said simply.

Her face was soft and clear of any of her masks. She leaned down, kissing you softly.

“I love you so much,” she whispered.

“I love you too.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Agatha, I already told you I don’t regret-“

“No, not just for that. I’m sorry for letting you go when I had the Darkhold. You were always more important, but I let everything else cloud my judgment. I won’t let that happen ever again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I don’t want the Darkhold. I miss my magic, but I care more about you.”

“You would stay powerless for me?” you asked.

“Yes,” she answered immediately.

“I would never ask that, but I’m glad that you would offer that.”

“I’m serious. I don’t care about anything but helping you survive the road.”

“Well, I care about you feeling whole again. I want to help you regain your magic. Not the Darkhold, but your natural magic.”

“I don’t need-“

“I know. But I want it for you. I’ll heal up and then we will beat these trials. Then, we’ll make a home again.”

She had a grateful smile on her face as she leaned down again, pressing her lips to yours. That night, she held you as your body healed, your heartbeat a more exquisite feeling than anything the Darkhold could provide.

Remember to reblog if you liked the story ♥️

[heliads]

I love you writing and I was hoping you could write Ben Florian x VK!Reader the reader is Lefou's kid. A soulmate AU where the negative things you think about yourself are marked on your soulmate's skin. Reader only has one or two things because Ben is from Auradon and has a good life and family. While Ben has around half a dozen. Reader is the one who gives Ben the love potion. During the lake scene they notice Ben is their soulmate and tries (but fails) to hide it thinking he deserves better

masterlist

There really is no good place for a prince. They are political figureheads in every sense of the phrase— too young to actually rule, too old to be allowed to skip state functions. They sit in corners of expensive meetings and cut ribbons in front of newly opened buildings, but they can’t do a whole lot except smile and pose. 

Shame your friend seems so fixated on capturing one, then. It feels like you’ve just barely left the Isle of the Lost, only bid farewell to the entirety of your prior life experience hours ago, and yet already Mal is scheming about how to best tear down everything around you. If Prince Ben is the best way to fulfill her nefarious plans, then so be it.

The only problem is that you’re now involved in all of this, too. Mal wants a wand and so she’ll take a prince to get there, but as one of her best friends, you’ve been drafted into the plot to catch a prince. Ben won’t have any idea what’s coming. Shame, he would probably run if he had any clue.

Mal’s good at covering her tracks, though, she always has been. You can remember elaborate plans from when you were much younger to steal cookies or cloaks, spellbooks and shoes. At this point, hearing Mal tell you that she’s going to bewitch the crown prince of Auradon into falling in love with her shouldn’t surprise you, just the fact that she’s taken this long to come up with the idea.

Usually, you have no problem going along with Mal’s little adventures. They’re entertaining, at the least, a good way to pass a few days when you’ve already gone over every alleyway and hiding place on the Isle at least a dozen times in the last month. The issue is that you’re not on the Isle anymore, and maybe– just maybe– disrupting everything here isn’t entirely what you want to do.

Mal doesn’t know this, of course. None of your fellow VKs do. Every time they monologue and moan about how they can’t wait to get out of this place, you find yourself holding your tongue, biting back your real thoughts about how the school isn’t actually as bad as you feared. Sure, the constant judgment from the other children of princes and princesses isn’t all that fun, but Auradon Prep has its positives, too. For one thing, you think your soulmate might be here.

What a terrible thing for the child of a villain to prioritize. You’ve heard Mal scoff at the idea of a soulmate, and although Evie is certainly more interested in the idea than some of your other friends, you’re still not sure that you’d find a welcome audience amongst their ranks when it comes to tracking down your soulmate. After all, the odds of that soulmate being from Auradon and not the Isle are pretty high. They’ve all but told you that themselves.

All things considered, for a society with such control over magic and spells, it’s pretty difficult to find your soulmate. You’d always wondered why those in charge couldn’t shorten the whole affair to something more simple– a name on the wrist, perhaps, or an invisible string that only the two of you could see– but instead, soulmate magic went the complicated route. How lovely.

The story about the origin of the soulmate magic is convoluted and ancient, going back generations and changing with each family. The general consensus is that soulmates were created to preserve the sanctity of true love, with the idea that soulmates should be able to love each other entirely, flaws and all. So, when you think something negative about yourself, those very same thoughts will show up on the skin of your soulmate, something like a warning label for what they’re going to get themselves into.

This is all well and good for people with few negative thoughts, maybe they’ll have something here and there about a bad sports result or a poor test grade that their soulmate can chuckle over before meeting them. For you, though? You, the child of a villain, cursed to live forever on a too-small island with the other convicts and criminals, you have had more fears and hated things about yourself than most. Your soulmate must be covered in unhappy musings, which only makes you feel worse about yourself than before. A self-perpetuating cycle of the worst kind.

By contrast, the startling absence of your soulmate’s negative thoughts on your own skin makes you certain that they couldn’t be from the Isle of the Lost. There are only one or two fears on your skin, proof of loving parents and a stable home, and they’re minor things like a bad hair day or a fear of not doing their absolute best. These change, often leaving every few months to be replaced by something else insignificant.

What makes you most certain that your soulmate is the child of a royal is the one negative thought that has stayed on your skin since the very beginning. Your soulmate, whoever they are, is terrified that they will let down the king and queen. Only someone with close ties to the royalty could have such a fear, so it’s proof that your soulmate is somewhere here on Auradon.

So maybe you don’t want to leave this place, not yet. Not until you can learn who your soulmate is. It’ll be almost impossible to track them down on this information alone, but supposedly that’s how the whole thing is supposed to work. You learn about the worst parts of your soulmate, and then you get to love the best of them. The only problem is that you’re fairly sure that if your soulmate is a royal, they won’t want to love you at all.

It’s easier to ignore the whole affair. Easier to agree to Mal’s plan when she proposes enchanting Prince Ben. At least another one of your friend’s schemes will keep your mind off the soulmate affair.

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, but your conscience is starting to get steadily more vocal as the days go by. Ben is a nice guy, which hurts, surprisingly. Although the love spell may have been cast on Mal, as one of Mal’s closest friends, you’re around the two of them all the time. The boy you see is someone that you wish could be your soulmate. He may be a prince, and you may be a villain, but he makes you want to believe in love after all.

You certainly have the capacity for such musings. For some reason, the love spell didn’t take all that well, and although Ben is now compelled to stay with Mal more than he was before, it’s not like he’s totally obsessed with her as Mal had hoped. Mal claims it’s because love spells can never work fully due to the soulmate issue, like having a soulmate is a kind of shield to protect you against that sort of enchantment, but regardless, Ben has just enough independent thought that he can tell you jokes and try to make you smile like– well, like he tries to do with Mal.

The realization that Ben is a genuinely good person, and worse, someone you don’t want to trick, haunts you as you fall further into Mal’s scheme. You’ve been trying to push the whole thing from your mind, letting Ben join your soulmate in the depths of your mind you don’t want to touch, but your train of thought keeps circling back to him despite your best attempts otherwise.

Besides, it doesn’t help that Mal keeps trying to involve you in the plot. Right now, the two of them are at the Enchanted Lake, out on a cute little date. Mal had been making mock disgusted faces at you the whole time she was getting ready, but some part of yourself can’t stop whispering that this doesn’t seem so bad, actually, that the thought of being out here alone with Ben would make for a wonderful day instead of the tedious chore Mal is making it out to be.

Ben doesn’t know you’re here, though. Mal wanted backup in case something happened, so you’re lingering in the woods to keep anyone from stumbling upon the scene and also holding onto more magical baked goods in case Mal feels the need to renew the spell. It’s kind of like torture, strolling through this beautiful forest, knowing that Ben is so close and you are helping hold him under the thrall of this plot.

The storm in your mind must be thundering too loudly for you to think straight, because you lose track of yourself and accidentally walk too close to the lake. You weren’t supposed to be spotted, but before you can back away and melt back into the foliage, Ben looks up and sees you. You panic, immediately heading the way you’d come, but you hear footsteps after you moments later and Ben manages to track you down before you can go too far. Mal is so going to kill you for messing with her plan.

“Sorry,” you murmur, eyes wide when he finally catches up to you, “I didn’t realize the two of you were– I’ll go now.”

Ben shakes his head. “No, no, it’s alright. It’s not like we have a monopoly on the woods.”

He’s dripping water, most likely due to a recent dip in the lake, and you can’t seem to stop your gaze from following the path of the droplets as they cascade down his shoulders, across his hands, and, most importantly of all, over the swooping letters of the fears of his soulmates. 

Usually, Ben wears long sleeves or something else to hide them. You can see why now– there are many of them, many more than you, perhaps half a dozen in all. You can’t read all of them from where you’re standing, just snippets about how a villain’s kid shouldn’t have a soulmate, how they’ll never amount to much, things like that. Things like what you’ve been thinking recently.

Ben must catch on to your train of thought, because he smiles weakly, absentmindedly scratching at a sentence proclaiming that his soulmate isn’t worth the good luck they get. “Yeah, my soulmate’s a little stressed, I guess. Hopefully, I can talk about that with them soon. I want them to know that they’re worth it, wherever they are.”

It had never occurred to you that hating yourself would make your soulmate this obsessed. You have no proof that Ben is your soulmate but– 

But, as you watch, you can see a new fear appearing out of nowhere, wrapping itself around Ben’s left wrist. I’m not good enough for a soulmate this good. Just what you were thinking mere moments ago. It’s like proof.

Ben looks up slowly, and although you were never blessed with the ability to read minds, you swear you can tell exactly what he’s thinking right now. “Are you–” he starts, ends, tries again, “Do you know who your soulmate is?”

You can do several things at this moment. You can confirm what you’re mostly sure is true, you can lie, you can pretend you hadn’t heard him. You spot movement in the trees behind him, a flash of purple, and remember belatedly that Mal is still somewhere at the Enchanted Lake, waiting for Ben to come back and wondering why you’re holding him here for so long.

All of a sudden, the reality of the situation comes crashing down around your shoulders. This is not something that can happen. Ben is a prince. You are the child of a villain, and the friend of another VK who’s counting on you to continue fooling Ben so she can pursue her latest mad plan. There is no world in which this works out.

So, you force a smile, banishing all thoughts back into the deep recesses of your brain once more. “No,” you say, “I don’t know. I think they’re a VK, though.”

Ben’s face falls in a flash. “Really? Because I thought–”

You shake your head quickly. “I don’t– it’s not me. I think Mal is waiting for you, though. You shouldn’t keep her for long.”

Ben glances back over his shoulder in memory of the girl he’s left somewhere in the woods behind him, and when he looks back, you’re gone. You’re good at running. It’s a skill you’ve perfected over the years. You just never thought you’d have to use it now.

Prince Ben is your soulmate. Impossible. True. Mal comes back later that afternoon, tells you the date went splendidly despite your accidental intrusion. Ben must not have let the brief moment in the woods faze him for long. It hurts more than you care to admit.

There is only so much running a VK can do, try as they might to pretend otherwise. You avoid Ben at all costs, hoping that whatever foolish war is currently being fought inside your heart will come to a tolerable ceasefire if you just ignore it long enough. Mal tells you that the plan is going swimmingly, she’s never seen the prince more excited about the VKs and the upcoming coronation. You nod and smile and tell her that you’re glad everything is going to plan, but inside, you cannot seem to stop your mind from screaming. 

And then, all of a sudden, despite your best attempts to remain out of sight, Prince Ben finds you. It’s completely out of the blue, so casual that you almost don’t realize it’s happening until he’s sitting down at your table in the library and it’s too late to run. 

You feel like an animal caught in a trap. He’s just smiling like nothing is the matter. “I know it’s you,” he says by way of hello. 

Your heart is stuck in your throat. “What?”

“I know it’s you,” Ben repeats, “I know you’re my soulmate. I had the Fairy Godmother do a little spell so I could check for you, but I think I knew since that day at the lake.”

You frown. “You can do that?”

He shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “Not everyone can, I think. But I, uh, insisted.”

You grin. “Prince privileges?”

“Something like that.” He’s smiling, though, maybe pleased that you’re not trying to run off this time. “But you knew even without the spell, didn’t you?”

That does shake your uncertain sense of calm. “Yes,” you admit, “but I didn’t think you— I didn’t think it would work out.”

The look on Ben’s face is genuinely heartbreaking. “What, just because I’m a prince?”

He says it so casually, it’s almost funny. “Yes, Ben, because you’re a prince and I’m a VK. I mean, my dad was Lefou. He literally tried to ruin the happy ever after of your parents, why would you want someone like me to be your soulmate?”

“Same reason you shouldn’t be afraid to want me. You’re not your father, Y/N, and I’m not my parents. We’re just us, and I know that I want you to be my soulmate. I have since the start. I was hoping you would tell me you knew, but after a few days went by and you still said nothing, I figured I had to take matters into my own hands. Even if that meant using a spell or two.”

You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to laugh in your face and tell you it’s ridiculous to think that he would ever want a VK as a soulmate, but he doesn’t. In fact, you don’t think he ever will. As impossible as it seems, Ben wants someone who isn’t from a perfect fairy tale. He wants you. And that, lovely and wonderful and absolutely crazy, sounds like a fairly good happily ever after for you. 

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed

[myshunosun]

myshunosun's favorites: Gameplay Mods

Last updated: 16 Oct 2024

Default replacements and visual mods

CAS room replacement, simsi45

Brighter Foundations, lotharihoe

Sunblind lighting mod, softerhaze

Even Better In-game Lighting Mod (Average), northernsiberiawinds

Classic Camera, VictorAndrade

No Occluder Small & Large Appliances Default Replacement, peacemaker-ic

Clear Bloom ReShade preset, amoebae

Gameplay mods, general

MC Command Center (all modules), Deaderpool

Wonderful Whims, TURBODRIVER

Less Intrusive Sims, TURBODRIVER

Home Regions, Kuttoe

Random Texts and Calls, Kuttoe

Ask Category & Menu Cleanup, Kuttoe

All mini-mod bug fixes, Kuttoe

All mini-mod tweaks, Kuttoe

Free Range, Lot 51

Fashion Authority 2, Lot51

Gameplay mods, career

Career Overhaul, kuttoe

Lower Payments, Satira

Unlimited Jobs+, TURBODRIVER

Gameplay mods, sims4me

Use the search field on sims4me's site to find these mods.

autonomouspickpocket

autonomoussharebignews

compatibilitymatters

confesscheatingforeveryone

divorceaffectschildrenmore

lessautonomouscheckontoddler

lessautonomouscomputer

lessemotionidles

longerprom

pregnantwalkstylelater

pregnantsimscandomore

scaredmoodtweak

thirsttweak

traitoverhaul

whimoverhaul

Gameplay mods, occult

Spellbook Injector (v2 by Simsonian Library) and all custom spells. r3m

Forbidden Spells, Kuttoe

Celebratio Spell, Kuttoe

Spellcaster Tweaks, Kuttoe

Traits, wants and preferences

Pizza Preferences, Kuttoe

Preferences Plus + optional addons, Helaene

Random Traits & Aspirations, graycurse

[ectoberweekofficial]

Ectober Week 2024

🪄 ✨ Welcome to the Ectober Academy where you will spend a week casting spells, making potions, and sharing your conjured enchantments for all to see! ✨🪄

Each day you have a choice between a short charm, or a longer incantation from your spellbook (or perhaps, for the most daring witches, you can combine them both).

Note: The one-word prompts are not limited to artists, and the two sentence prompts are not limited to writers. Both prompts are available to anyone who wants to try them.

The result of your spell can be in the form of a piece of art, a written story, a musical jingle, a tenacious craft, a silly meme, or whatever your heart desires. All content directly related to the Danny Phantom cartoon is acceptable for this magical challenge. Ships, non-ships, crossovers, angst, fluff—so long as it relates to the show, how you choose to represent these prompts is entirely up to you.

When you are satisfied with your creation, you may post it on Tumblr under the tag #ectoberweek2024 so that we may find it and reblog it here!

Happy Ectober! 👻🎃

[art credit goes to @faerynova - check out her blog and look through her cool art!]

Prompts:

October 25

👻 Graveyard Shift

👻 They found the corpse on a Sunday. So why was Danny Fenton still alive?

October 26

👻 Cornered

👻 Desiree makes all your dreams come true. And Nocturne handles the nightmares.

October 27

👻 Ghost Peeler

👻 He tried to stay in control of his ghost half. He really tried.

October 28

👻 Skeleton Key

👻 Tick, tick, tick. The sound was coming from his core.

October 29

👻 Last Rites

👻 They knew it would kill him. They did it on purpose.

October 30

👻 Tarot

👻 Danny had wondered when he would see his clone again. He never wanted it to be like this.

October 31

👻 Ectology

👻 He thought he'd been prepared to take off the mask on the hazmat suit and see what he looked like underneath. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Check out our Post Guidelines for posting your work, and if you have any questions, feel free to shoot us a DM!