#burn the witch layout

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Pulled by the Scarlet Reins✨

Witch Trial! Joel x fem! reader

A/N: I came up with this one-shot idea by listening to “Cassandra” by Taylor Swift! I hope you enjoy, and please give me all your feedback and thoughts 🩵 This one is a bit angsty. No beta readers. Nervous and excited to share this one!

Summary: In the hate filled town of Salem, no one is safe. With accusations flying daily, no one is spared from speculation. When the blame is pointed at you, who will be there to defend you?

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.1k

Tags: So much angst, hurt Joel, soft Joel, switching POVs, witch trial au, talk of death, grief, smut, oral receiving (fem), unprotected piv, creampie, protective Joel, yearning, pining, Joel seeks revenge, religious trauma

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The weather is cloudy, the sky full of windblown fire ash as another innocent woman is burned to death. You can smell the flesh rotting, hear the excruciating screams fill the amber colored sky as you mourn the loss of Cassandra.

It happened months ago, but you still hear it. The agonizing pleas as she begged for someone to save her, but she couldn’t be saved, not here. She was the only friend you had in this godforsaken town called Salem. She was your best friend, your soul sister, family.

They’re all gone now. Dead, murdered. Now you have no one. You’re all alone in a town hellbent to burn all the innocents they call witches. And you hate it, despise everything about this evil place. You just want to run far, far away from here. What a dream that would be, to get away from the gut wrenching noise of the town named for murders.

   David is the worst of them. The priest of the ungodly church, with his cold blue eyes, a snarl that bites anything he touches, slicked back blonde hair that sets fire to innocent women. He’s a devil disguised as a savior, tricking any man into following him into the depths of despair. You hate the man, hate this fucked up town, but escape is death, too. But what’s worse? Getting mauled by a bear or getting burned to death at the stake? You’d take the bear mauling over all of it.  

   It’s simple enough. You break the rules, do anything to get noticed by the Protestant men of the town, and you get executed. It doesn’t matter if you plead a case, doesn’t matter if you can prove you’re innocent, doesn’t even fucking matter if you’re a member of the goddamn church. If you do anything any of them don’t like, you get hung or worse, burned. 

   So now all you have is this little wooden house made by the rough hands of dirty men, men you’d rather not speak about. All you have are memories of Cassandra sharing your space, her essence still swirling around this lonely room as you pace back and forth day after day trying to hold on to memories that once belonged to you. When you had a friend, when you weren’t so alone, but now you were left with the haunted ghosts of this town. 

   Sometimes they show up at your doorstep when it’s calm and quiet after midnight, spreading their cries of warning to flee the area. But where would you run to? Who would you have? No one. But you don’t have anyone now, so what does it matter? You’re dead either way. 

   You lull around your house, assessing the various shapes and colors of bottles you hold your collected herbs in, twisting the lids on tightly and lining them up neatly across the tall oak shelf. Green lush vines and pink tulips hang across the wide layout of the large glass window, where the sun kisses their gorgeous leaves and makes them grow and thrive in a state of wonder. This house is your only safe haven. Outside is a blood soaked warzone, filled with snakes and gossips that you’d rather avoid. 

   You don’t engage with the toxic church in town; you stopped going right after Cassandra was accused and sentenced to death. Nothing could make you go back to those haunted paint covered church pews, listening to the priest that spews venom about anything and everything he can. You’re a prisoner to this town of hatred, mourning losses of fallen friends and family members who you’d never see again. You’d never conform to this, you’d find a way out. Someday, somehow. You’d get the freedom you so desperately seeked.

   Just when you start assessing some sprouting lilac petals, the wooden door slams open with a bang, making the entire house quiver under the sudden strike. You jump back, watching the potted lilacs fall to the floor as the ceramic pot smashes to tiny pieces. You feel cold, icy hands push you against the wall, holding you back as you watch the hateful men tear apart the only thing you have left in this sunken town.

   “What’s this, hmm? Practicing magic in my town?” David seethes as he holds up a bottle of fresh sage and smashes it to the ground, the glass shattering into tiny pieces like your own heart feels like. 

   “No, those are my plants!” You scream in horror as he continues to smash each bottle one by one, piece by piece. 

   “They don’t look like just plants to me, sunshine. Looks to me like you’ve been meddling in the devil’s affairs,” David snarls as he breaks another bottle of lavender. 

   “No, that’s not it! Please, STOP!” You yell as the men push you back against the covered blue wallpaper. You fight with all your might to break away from their hold, but it’s no use. You have to just stand there in shambles watching your entire life fall apart before your tear soaked eyes. 

   “Shut up, witch! Bite your tongue, you little devil,” he snarls as he comes over in front of you and fists the front of your dress as you see violent, icy eyes stare into your soul. “Now, you’re going to see what the consequences of being friends with Cassandra are. Following in her footsteps, pathetic! Just watch what happens to witches who don’t pay attention in church.”

   He tosses you back against the wall as you watch him slowly destroy your safe little haven. He breaks every single glass bottle in the house, tears apart every vine and flower that sits atop your kitchen counter, flips over granite tables, and destroys everything you ever loved in this space you called home. 

   You feel completely defeated, your silent screams making you dizzy as you plead for him to stop, crying out until your throat runs dry and wet tears stain your crimson cheeks. You watch him pull apart the last of Cassandra’s things, watch him murder her all over again as he lights a match and sets her golden heart locket necklace ablaze. 

   “No!” You shout, scream till your throat is completely on fire as you watch him spread the flames to your destroyed treasures. 

   He grabs a fistful of your hair and drags you out of the house, your white dress snagging on the ground as you become covered in grass stains and dirt, your scalp feeling like it’s about to be pulled off completely as you thrash against his hold. 

   “Witch!” He screams to the growing crowd as they all gather around to watch the next innocent life be taken from the haunted town, except none of them even offer to help. They just stand silent or yell accusations at you as you sit fragile on the soaked grass, feeling the weight of all the hate crash down on you like you really are guilty. You’re not though, you’re just an innocent girl whose life got ripped in half by a lying devil of a man. 

   “Burn it down! Destroy it! Kill the witch!” The horrible words come bellowing out of the community’s mouths, feeding David hate as he smirks your way and nods at the men. 

   “Do it,” he snarls. And they listen, just like they always do. They set your house ablaze, lighting matches and pouring gasoline until you see nothing but orange flames dance across the entirety of your house.

   “No, no, NO!” You muster up all your strength and push yourself off the damp ground, planning to make a run towards the crumbling house as it starts to topple from the hot flames of the ignited fire. 

   “Stay back, witch! We aren’t done with you yet.” One of the men pushes you down, and you feel your palms scrape against the rough ground, feeling blood soak the green grass as your fingernails dig into the cold dirt. You try to get a grip on reality, try to drown out all the screaming chants your way, but it’s no use. They’re echoing all around your mind, stabbing stakes into your body as you feel their filthy nails dig like chalk into your skin, smothering you in hate that you can barely tolerate. Your ears bleed, seep blood as you muster all of your strength to lift your aching head off the dirt covered ground. 

   You see the hateful snarls of the people, see the way they point accusing fingers and call you witch again and again until your brain starts to fog over like a thick mist. You feel the warm tears spill down your embarrassed cheeks, feel the weight of the world come crashing down on you as they cast you down in shame with scornful threats and vulgar gestures. And you’ve never felt more alone than you do now in this little town of deceitful fools.

   You feel the kick of someone’s boot, feel your shoulders being pushed down into a clump of wilting grass as you grunt and lay flat against the hollow earth. You feel as if you’re a tiny insect, its wings being torn off and ripped to shreds as the beautiful monarch butterfly dies in the hands of the vengeful enemies. You’re nothing but a speck of dried up filth now, and that makes you feel so defeated. 

   With every ounce of energy you have left in your frayed body, you dig your nails into the dirt, grunt out in pain as you lift yourself on your hands and knees, trying to ignore the rustling of burning wood and screams of past ghosts that were burnt in the flames time and time again. 

   You slowly lift your head, feeling a bit dizzy as the town lifts their semblance of pitchforks and dusty bibles in their hands, shouting angry chants at you to “Burn the witch” as they spit and crowd around you. Every single one of them follows David’s advances, snarling and bellowing death threats your way as you stare hopelessly into the sea of misled bodies. All of them twisting their words and spewing violence your way. 

   Your teary eyes scan the crowd, looking around for someone, anyone to help you, but there’s no one. No one that’ll take the risk. Your gaze covers the sea, eyelashes drenched in wet tears as your bottom lip quivers in fright. All you see are monsters in front of you, all around you, their claws lashing against your innocent skin as they spill blood over the town of Salem. Not a lick of remorse in their bodies as they continue to take innocent lives again and again. But that’s what they want, what they were taught to do. They never learned it was all a false lore to kill the ones who didn’t obey him. David. A false god on an altar made of death and bones of burnt bodies. 

   You hear the chants continue, feel the warmth from the bitter flames that took everything from you in an instant as your house sits in ash behind you. You can barely look up, barely keep your fingernails embedded in the soft grass, but you do. You can’t let them break you, even if you are already broken when they took it all away from you. Starting with Cassandra, then your family, then your home, your plants, your precious memories that were tucked away safely in that house. Now you have nothing. So maybe dying won’t be the worst thing because you already died the moment they took it all away from you. Now you’re just a corpse among this godforsaken town. They already burned everything you loved, what was another body in an ashy fire? 

   Your throat burns, no more tears left inside you as you feel the sting of bloodshot eyes scan the angry crowd again, enduring the weight of hatred sitting on your chest like you’ve been covered in gravel rocks, the heaviness consuming your insides until you can’t breathe, can’t speak. You’re just there, unalive, drowning in hate filled screams. 

   Your heart slows as you drown out the shouting voices, eyes swarming the sea of people until you see one that stands out amongst the others. In the very back, unmoving, not screaming death threats like the others, not making a sound as he watches with remorse covering the dark shadows of his sorrow filled eyes. 

   Your eyes grow wide as you stare at him, your gaze finding a safe haven in those flecks of honey colored irises that shine a little light down on you. He’s not like the others, no. He’s gentle, kind, a little rough around the edges, but it’s him that pulls you out of the flames, if only for just a few seconds. Joel Miller. The man that was never like the others. 

   He may be broken, may be hollow and bruised beneath his broken military watch, a mere ghost dragging his worn leather boots through the dirt just to get by in this miserable town day after day. The entire town may think little of him, may think he’s scum underneath their shiny church shoes, but you never did. No. He was the only thing that kept your head above water. The only light you saw.

   He watches you carefully, brows furrowed and arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. His fingers flex, jaw clenching as he looks at you with pain in those flecks of warmth. You feel the sadness and agony reflect in your teary eyes, feel exactly what he must’ve suffered when they took the life of Sarah, his only daughter, his only family, but now she’s gone. Just withered ashes in the blowing wind. And you feel it then as the sorrow takes over those cloudy dark eyes, can see it in the way he holds his tired muscles as he hunches his large shoulders. He wants to help, but he can’t. They’d just pull him by his grey threaded tousled curls and throw him in the grave, bury him alive while he suffocates in the damp dirt that holds the bones of his now dead child. 

   You feel a leaking teardrop escape one of your glossy eyes, your gaze never leaving his even as some men start to drag you away towards the haunted church. They pull your hair, digging their rough cut nails into your damaged skin as you watch Joel’s brows knit together, the lines mapping out on his forehead as he fists his clenched fingers at his sides. 

   While everyone else follows to the church, Joel stays behind. His large silhouette fading away when they drag you up the rough staircase and into the dimly lit church, throwing your body into the middle of the pews as they laugh and cast evil remarks your way. 

   You keep your head down as David reprimands you, tossing you against the dusty white walls while your fingernails rip into the fading paint. There’s nothing you can do or say, they’ve made up their mind. You’ll be burned at dawn the next day. This is it. They might as well give you a noose, let you tie yourself to a tree and end it all. You’d rather it be that way than watch the people you hate burn you alive. 

   You just face the blood soaked wall, curling your body into a tight ball as they tear you to shreds. You never were meant to be in this town, with these people. You just got unlucky, and now you’d die with the innocent souls of the lives they took day after day. And now you’d burn with them.

   Joel watches them take you away, dragging you to the church by your lifeless arms and your long locks of hair. He doesn’t follow, can’t bear the sight of watching another innocent life be thrown into the flames. His fingers flex, jaw clenched into a tight fist as he flares his nostrils. He can’t stand to see you hurting, could barely watch as they took everything from you and burned your house to black ashes. And your face. That beautiful, innocent face he was so captivated by. He can’t even muster the anger that sits in his heavy soul. 

   You don’t deserve this, any of this. You didn’t do anything wrong, didn’t say a damn thing to draw attention to yourself. It all started with Cassandra, the first innocent woman that ever lost her life, and then it spiraled from there. 

   He knows the feeling of loss, knows exactly how it feels to have the most important thing snatched from his own rough hands. He went through that hell, watched his own daughter get accused of witchcraft in the walls of the unholy church. He fought like hell, throwing his body over his Sarah as they dragged her from his reach and held him back so they could tear her to shreds. 

   He cursed them out, damning them all to hell while they bound her hands and spilled holy water all over her body. He still hears her agonizing screams night after night, still sees her body alight with flames while they held him down against the mud and made him watch while he screamed in suffering with tear soaked eyes. He remembers it all, remembers them threatening his life after he got up and almost beat a man to death. His knuckles were bloody, body broken as they pushed him down and knocked him out with the back of a wooden plank. 

   He remembers everything. The pain, the loss, the absolute horror of living day after day in a town full of demons. And now he bleeds himself dry night after night, day after day. He has nothing left to give, no fight in him now. Now he’s just a hollow body, a broken man cursed to live in a place he so desperately despises. He wants out. God, does he want out. 

   But now there’s you. The woman he’s pined after for months. The rare beauty that captured his black heart, a ray of sunshine that showed him the light. It was the small smiles and grazing of skin, the gifted flowers, the afternoon small talks in the wildflower fields. He wishes he got the chance to kiss you, to tell you how much you saved him after his daughter was taken from him. But now it’s too late. He couldn’t save Sarah, and now he can’t save you. And it kills him, it fucking kills him. 

   He hears your gut wrenching screams, hears the crowd chant “Witch” repeatedly as his ears bleed dry. He covers his ears, kneels on the ground as dirt covers the fabric of his worn pants. He can’t hear it, can’t bear to know they’re torturing you. He wants to murder all of them, burn the whole goddamn town down, and maybe he will. Maybe this will push him to his last straw. He certainly won’t watch them burn you. No. He has to do something, anything. 

    He knows they’ll either throw you in a jail cell with venomous snakes or they’ll tie you and leave you in the field overnight. Where bears, creatures of the night, or monsters can take you out before the crack of dawn. He knows they’ll burn you early in the morning, crowd your body with hateful accusations and weapons they use like pitchforks. They won’t give you a chance to explain or to show you’re not guilty. They’ll just swallow your cries whole with their fiery tongues and amber ashes as they set your body alight. 

   He can’t see it, can’t hear it, can’t stand the thought of it. But what can a broken man do in a ruined town filled with cult following people that call themselves saints. He hates them, all of them. But he hates himself the most for not being able to save the people he cared most about. 

   He has to save you, even if it gets himself killed. For he’d rather stand on the thresholds of death with the fiery flames than see your gorgeous face melt into the depths of red embers. He’d walk through the black mist of hell, cross the fiery lakes of no return just to touch the softness of your skin.

   You were innocent, a pure angel in a broken world. He wasn’t going to watch you die. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. 

   

They leave you tied to a post in the middle of the field, a little ways out from the sparkling lights from the little town. They gave you no room to move, gave you no remorse when you whined at the sharp rope digging into your skin. They only laughed at you, spitting hateful words as they left you alone in the chill of night. 

   Now you sulk against the rough bindings, tears streaming down your now wet face, nowhere to go, no one to call. You’re just here. Alone. Hours away from being burned in the field. The one where lost lives cry into the darkness of night, their haunted pleas and screams still filling your ears. You’d cover your ears if you could, drown out the noise with your own cries, but it’s too late. Soon enough you’ll join in on the chorus of the dead.

   You rest your head on the rough post, look up at the blinking stars in the night sky, try to relax and calm your mind. Soon you’ll float up there while your body burns alive. Maybe there you won’t feel any pain, won’t feel anything that might hurt you. And that’s all you can think as the numbness drowns the anxiety out of your frail body.

   Your mind starts to slip to a warmer place, an untouched place that hasn’t been quite explored. A nook deep in your mind that reflects soft brown irises and scents of freshly brewed coffee. Somewhere where you wished you could’ve spent more time, got closer, pushed aside all boundaries and slipped against his plush lips.

   Joel Miller, the only man that had been remotely kind to you in this tainted town. You remember that day in the flower field. That warm, sunny day. He had been so close, his breath blowing against your cheek, his crooked smile shining rays of light against your delicate skin. You felt it, the tension, the longing, the raging desire that almost spilled out of the cracks of broken skin on his calloused fingers. God, you wish you could’ve felt those warm lips melting into yours. All you wanted was one kiss, but now it was too late. You’d never feel his touch again.

   You groan into the worn post, feel the tears begin to lick the sides of your eyes, dig your hands against the jagged rope that cuts into your reddening skin. The more you tug, the more the rope shreds your aching skin. You wince, struggling to stand comfortably in this position. You finally give up, relax as much as you can and kiss tomorrow goodbye. You won’t last long after the sun rises high in the sky. 

   Minutes tick by, the seconds struggling to give you an ounce of redemption. This was it. You were going to die alone, no dreamy sunkissed brown irises to soothe you to sleep, no gravelly voice to tell you everything would be alright. He wouldn’t be there to save you in the end.

   The tears crash over you, silent cries to the fading ghosts of Salem, begging for them to send a message, pleading for one to slip their cold whisps of fingers to untangle you from this rope so you can run far away, far from Salem.

   You close your eyes and pray to anyone that may be listening to send someone, anyone. This can’t be the end, it just can’t.

   You slump your head low, feeling your tears dry on your cold cheeks, eyelashes wet with old tears. This is it, this is… 

   You hear a loud snap in the near distance, hear leather boots crunching against the green grass. Your head shoots up, eyes searching for whatever made the pacing noises in the middle of the night. Your eyes go wide when you see the large form emerging from the shadows, broad shoulders pulling at the blue flannel button-up with each step he takes, rough hands balled into tight fists. Joel. 

   Your mouth drops open, and you suddenly forget to breathe. He stands in front of you, deep brown eyes that reflect sadness of his warm irises, furrowed brows as he slides his eyes over your weathered form, your frayed dress, the claw marks that run down to your bound hands. His lips flinch, jaw clenches as he takes in just what they did to you inside the church. It’s like he consumes your pain, bathes in it, shares your scars that David and the town marked you in. 

   “Joel,” you whisper in a broken tone as a fresh tear slides down the side of your face. He sighs, feeling the sting of a tear in the back of his throat. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Just a muted mutter that sounds a lot like your name spilling off his tongue. 

   He huffs, clambers over to you and cuts the rope with one slice of the silver knife, freeing your burning wrists as you stumble from the post and fall against his broad chest, his arms stabilizing you from falling to the ground. 

   You flick your eyes up to his slowly, letting his calloused palms linger on your skin as he grounds you back to earth. You’re so cold, the chilly air marking your skin, but he’s so warm, even with just his hands on you. Warm sunlight, that’s what he is. 

   “Joel, you saved me…” you whisper, voice unstable as your shaky breath escapes your lungs.”Why did you…”

   He stares at you, amber flecks glimmering in the moonlight as he takes a deep, steady breath. “You’re innocent. I couldn’t jus’ stand back and watch ‘em torture you like they did with… well, you know. Sarah… I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. I jus’… couldn’t watch you burn, too,” he says sadly, his shaky breath blowing against your face.

   There’s a second of tension in the air, a breath of something different between the two of you. Just two bodies that simply burn for the other, even if no words are said. It’s there. It’s right here, right now.

   “You never were like the others, you know?” He takes one hand and cradles it on your cheek, taking the tip of his calloused thumb and sliding it up and down gently as you lean into him, into his warm embrace. 

   His eyes flick down to your lips, your eyes begging him to lean in, to take exactly what he’s wanted to do for so very long. Your hand is clasped around his wrist, not willing to let go until his lips are on yours. 

   The air around you stills, the forest behind you now quiet, only the sounds of yours and Joel’s ragged breaths coming in waves, only the quickening heartbeats that quake with every touch of his calloused fingers to your skin.

   Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

   His forehead rests on yours, lips brushing carefully against yours. You’re so close, so close to him pressing all his weight into you. He practically shouts your name as his lips draw near. One more move and he’d close all the way in. 

   Just when you close your eyes and wait with anticipation biting at your heels, he’s pulling away from you and running his fingers through his disheveled curls. You try to reach out, but he steps out of your reach and nods his head in the direction of the dark forest. 

   “Go on, get out of here. Before they come lookin’ for ya. Go, now.” His voice is deep, rugged, tormented, his dark eyes glistening with held back tears like he’s fighting himself from telling you to leave. 

   “But…” 

   “Please, jus’ go. If they found you they’d…” His voice drowns out as he hangs his head low, the shadows fading against the greying scruff of his patchy beard. 

   You turn your head and look towards the muted forest. The one that holds tormented ghosts and creatures of the dark. A place you don’t want to go alone, but anywhere would be better than this horror town. But Joel… you can’t seem to leave him behind.

   You snap your head towards him and whisper, “Come with me.”

   He lifts his tired head and stares at you, all wide-eyed and searching your anguished face. “What?” His voice is strangled, like he can’t believe what you’re asking him to do. 

   “Come with me,” you repeat slowly. “There’s nothing here holding you back. I… you… we both had everything taken from us. And I don’t want to leave if that means you’re stuck here alone. You and me… well, we’re the same.”

   He takes a beat to register your words, dips inside his own mind as he relives the day they took Sarah, the day they forced him to watch while his world got torn to shreds. You hold out your hand, and he just stares wide-eyed at it, his fingers curling out, just like he wants to take your hand. He does, he really does, but there’s just one thing holding him back. David.

   He flicks his eyes to the sleeping town and then back at you, as if he has an agenda to get to. He nods his head and looks your way, a plan already set in motion in those flecks of honey. “There’s jus’ one thing I need to do first.” 

   “What’s that?” you ask, interest arising with your quiet voice.

   He looks back to the hollow town, and his eyes narrow and slit together as he sets fire in his mind to this haunted place. His hand clenches into a tight fist, and he spits venom from his tongue. “We’re gonna burn it all down.”

   Your mouth gapes open in shock, eyes wide, but then he’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him. The wind whips through your hair, your heart thunders through your chest when he drags you along back into the dark town. 

   He wastes no time and grabs a large container of gasoline and starts spreading it all along the houses and buildings of the eerie town. You follow along, grabbing your own container and spilling it over bells of hay and wooden boards. You douse everything you see, wanting to burn every single inch of this religious town, wanting to destroy David, the culprit of all this land of turmoil and destruction. 

   You move quickly, barely making a sound as you soak a large ring around the town, watching Joel march up to David’s closed door with a deep scowl on his face. Your eyes go wide as you watch him go through, barely waiting a minute before he’s dragging David by the scruff of his neck, giving him no breath to himself. 

   “What the fuck is this, let me go!” David screams as he kicks and claws at the denim of Joel’s jeans.

   “No,” he growls as he shoves David’s face into the dirt and kicks him hard in the gut, David’s face contorting into blind rage and pain. 

   “This is for my daughter, for not lettin’ her go when she was an innocent little girl,” he seethes as he lands a strong kick under David’s chin, spewing blood every which way. 

   “This is for holdin’ me down and makin’ me watch as you burned her alive. This is for murderin’ my only child, the only thing that kept me sane in this fuckin’ church goin’ town.” He punches a fist against his nose, hearing the crack of bones as David topples over and holds his broken nose. 

   “This is for tryin’ to take away the only other woman that ever shined sunlight in this godforsaken town. This is for burnin’ all her plants, her house, for killin’ everyone she had left. This is for tryin’ to take her away from me.” 

   There’s tears streaming down his worn, tanned face now, pieces of grief and exhaustion reflecting off his glassy brown eyes, hurt mapped along the wrinkled lines on his forehead, pain bleeding from the surface of his now bruised knuckles. 

   You stand there watching him silently, feeling a wet tear fall down your cheek as you consume the pain he’s felt all these years, all the grief that’s hung like a dead weight on his broad shoulders. And you suddenly feel like you understand him completely. He’s broken, just like you are, and all you want to do is wrap your arms around his neck and tell him that you’re here for him, he’s safe with you, always. 

   Another kick and another punch to the face, an endless cycle of taking all his rage and hate on David, the man that took everything from him. After a few seconds he looks up from the ground, a large hand wrapped around David’s bloody collar, a fist hanging just inches from his bruised up face. He stops dead in his tracks as his glistening, tear filled eyes look up at you, and that’s when you feel everything he’s ever felt.

   You take a few cautious steps in his direction, feel another tear lick the corner of your eye, feel your heart shatter with every step you take closer to him. He just watches you, deep breaths leaving his lungs, his tired eyes pleading for someone, anyone to help. 

   One more step and you’re right beside him, reaching a hand out to run calmly through his dark, tousled locks, Joel searching your eyes for a way to escape his misery. He leans into your touch, allows your fingers to slide through his hair, even closes his eyes as a low groan escapes his plush lips.

   Another moment passes gently by, and then he’s rolling David out of the way and wrapping his strong arms tightly around your legs, letting hot tears slide down his face as they hit your bare skin. You let him bury himself in you, let him take the comfort he needs as he grasps you tighter, his quiet tears filling the space between the two of you. 

   This is what he needs, what he always needed. Someone that would listen, that would help take the pain away, someone that would understand what he’s gone through. And that’s you, it’s you. 

   He drags you down to the ground with him and wraps his arms tightly around your back, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as warm tears fill the cotton of the front of your dress. You wrap your arms around his neck, push your fingers gently through his tousled locks, giving him all the comfort he needs right now from you. He can have it all, it’s his, it’s all his. 

   “It’s okay, Joel. I’m right here. Let it out. All your pain, lay it on me. It’s going to be okay. You’ve got me, I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright,” you coo into the shell of his ear, feeling him relax into your hold, letting his fingers cling around the back of your dress. “You’re safe with me,” you whisper, and that’s when he leans back and looks you dead in the eyes, all glossy eyed and teary from the weight of the world crashing down on him.

   He opens his mouth, looks softly down at you and smiles warmly at you, even through all the pain he still smiles. For you. He smiles for you. 

   “You’re so… good. You’ve always been so good. I should’ve… I should’ve…” He’s rudely interrupted from a coughing, blubbering mess of a man behind him, and he turns sharply over his shoulder to look at David.

   “Well, ain’t that sweet? Sharing a moment together? Please, makes me want to vomit,” David coughs, blood splattering all over the ground from his throat. “Why don’t you two love birds just burn in hell where you belong?”

   Something snaps in Joel, his eyes go pitch black and his scowl digs into the side of his mouth as he gets up and drags David to the church by his bloody ankle. Joel throws him inside the white peeling doors and drenches him in gasoline until he can barely form a coherent sentence.

   “No, you burn in hell,” Joel growls, lighting a match and throwing it on his body. 

   Joel takes your hand and backs you up slowly, watching David writhe in pain while the church starts to topple and crumble on top of him, the worn walls collapsing from the amber fire that starts to consume the haunted town.

   “Run,” Joel pleads as he takes your hand and leads you to the dark forest, only looking back to hear the horror screams and watch the burning flames swallow the entire town. 

   Your breath is shaky, your feet burning with every step you take, but Joel keeps you upright as his fingers lock around yours and pulls you through the thick, foggy night. You don’t look back, block out the dying screams like you did with Cassandra, just focus on your quick breath and your tired feet.

   You run and run and run, escaping anything that can hurt you, anything that can claw your skin and drag you back into the burning flames of the lost town. They’re gone now, vanished in the fiery flames, burned alive just like that did to all those innocent women. 

   It’s over, done, you escaped, you got out. All because of Joel. Joel. Your savior in disguise. 

   Joel, Joel, Joel. He’s all you see, all you know, all you feel. It’s here with you right now, he’s here. Joel is here. 

   He takes a moment to catch his breath as moonlight shines down on the sweat of his thick brows, cascading off the reflection of his tanned skin beneath a towering oak tree. You focus on him, his quick breaths, his dark eyes that seem to cast shadows over you, thick hands grasping against the rough bark as he slowly looks up, hovers just a little closer and then stares, mouth partly open as he takes in your windblown hair and your stormy eyes.

   Another drawn breath and he’s sucking it back in. “Are you alright?” he asks quickly, eyes piercing into yours with worry.

   “I’m… I’m alright,” you answer, still dazed from what happened minutes ago. The fire, the angry ambush of David, the whole town now scorching in the flames where they belong, where they should’ve been long ago.

   He takes another step forward, the worn leather of his boots meeting your scraped toes. “I should’ve known they were gonna do it. I should’ve fuckin’ known they were gonna burn your house down, accuse you of bein’ a witch, should’ve fuckin’ knew they planned to murder you in the break of daylight under flames.”

   He hangs his head in defeat, like he didn’t already save you, like he could’ve done more, and your heart breaks from the guilt that eats him alive. “If I would’ve jus’ kept goin’ to that goddamned church. If I would’ve fuckin’ listened to what the people in town were sayin’ ‘bout you. If I would’ve jus’ been a better man I could’ve saved you. Maybe I could’ve…”

   You press a palm to his heaving chest, curl your fingers around the soft blue flannel, engrave yourself just a little into his damp skin, enough to feel yourself in his fast beating heart. He stills beneath your touch, looks down and puts his entire attention on you, waiting with tear stained eyes right on the verge of spilling.

   “Joel, you did save me. You got me out before they could burn me. You took David out, you put the town of hell to rest. You freed me from my bindings, you came with me, you didn’t leave me alone. You saved everything about me…”

   His eyes bore into yours, something like desire and fate twisting together, an inkling of relief leaving his doe eyes as his fingers cautiously trace against your bare arm, slow circles of the pad of his calloused thumb dancing across your wrist like a tide full of warm waves lapping against your body. It’s comforting, magnetic even as his skin connects with yours so slowly, so steadily, almost like a lazy river rippling through the forest. 

   He sighs, slowly lifts his large hand to cup your cheek, calloused fingers gently drawing lines against your soft skin. You lean into it, breathe in his pinecone scent, almost taste what his lips might feel like on yours. Like a breath of fresh air, a breath of life. 

   “I had to save you. You were the only thing left that kept my heart beating. The only sunshine I saw under those cloudy grey skies,” he breathes, glossy eyes slipping into yours as they flick down to your mouth. 

   Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

   “I should’ve kissed you back in that flower field when I had the chance. The way your hair flowed behind your shoulders, your sparkling eyes, your fuckin’ breathtaking smile. I jus’…” He leans his forehead down against yours, lips skating across your mouth as he passes them by, his gentle caress of your face as soft as a feather. 

   And he’s so soft, like a red rose petal beneath all the thorns and vines that disconnects him from anyone else. He doesn’t show this side of himself to anyone else, but he shows you. He shows you.

   “You just what?” you whisper, holding your breath as he cages you against the trunk of the tree, one hand still caressing your face with his rough palm while the other wraps around your waist.

   Another breath, another touch from his thumb as it traces along your bottom lip. He looks down, focuses in on your lips as he wets his own, hazel eyes staring down at you as he gulps down any fear he may be holding on to. 

   “I jus’ need to… need to… fuck, jus’ need you on my lips, sweetheart.” 

   Before you can move an inch he crashes down on your lips, cradles your face with his large palms as you sink into his broad chest, your fingers twisting into the flannel fabric that clings to you. 

   The kiss is slow, desperate, hungry. You feel as if this is the first time you’re breathing life into your body as Joel gives himself to you. He pulls you in by your waist as your arms circle around his neck, one hand combing through his messy curls as he groans into your mouth.

   You part your lips, allow him to slot his tongue in as you taste all of him colliding against your own tongue. You moan into his mouth, let his tongue chase yours as you down the whisky taste of him, lapping him up like he’s your only oxygen supply left. You think you feel forever in his taste. 

   He tugs at your worn dress, slides the cotton material down your arms until it hits the dirt on the ground. You quickly pull his flannel free, tugging the leather belt loose while his tongue licks feverishly into your mouth. 

   He brings you down gently to the ground, makes sure your body lands on top of his fanned out flannel, makes sure you’re okay when he disconnects from your lips and looks down at you with a hesitant stare.

   “Is this okay? We can stop if it’s too much. We don’t have to…”

   “Joel,” you stop him, give him a small smile as you nod up to him. “It’s okay. I want you to. Please, don’t stop,” you plead.

   He takes your answer and swallows it down, sits back on his heels as he gazes down at your splayed out, bare body under the glistening moonlight, looking starstruck from just how absolutely breathtaking you are under the glow of the moon. He thinks you look angelic, like you’re made of glitter and gold, like you’re made just for him.

   He takes his hand and runs it along your jawline, down your neckline, over the dip of your hips, stopping at the top of your thigh. He lets a sigh escape his mouth as he stares at the goddess that’s before him, and he thinks he’s so lucky to be alive, to have you in front of him, unharmed, in his arms where he can keep you safe. 

   “You’re so beautiful, jus’ like that field full of flowers you stood in, with your hair all tangled in the wind.”

   Your breath hitches, eyes widen as you take in just what he said to you. He thinks you’re beautiful. “You think I’m beautiful?” you ask quietly, lips parted as his hazel eyes glisten down to yours. 

   “Yeah. I do, darlin’. Gorgeous.” 

   Then he’s leaning down and kissing you again while his large hands push your thighs apart. It’s like your mind carries you off into the clouds as his lips drag down your neckline, quiet moans blowing through your lips when his warm lips take your breasts into his mouth, pebbling your nipples as he sinks down down down and lands right between your thighs.

   You moan, feeling him lick a thick strip up your core, making your head knock back into the softness of the flannel while he spreads your folds and slowly starts to circle your buzzing clit. 

   You card your fingers through his tousled curls, hear him groan into your dripping core while he laps up all the slick between your thighs, tugging your bundle of nerves into his wanting mouth, sinking his tongue deep into your dripping hole, feeding all your desires as he gives you pleasure like you’ve never felt before. 

   You feel the white hot heat slide down your spine, feel your breaking point about to come loose, feel every stroke of Joel start to unlatch the tidal waves in your core. You feel as if you’re kissing the stars as he pulls you closer to his mouth, wraps his strong arms a little tighter around your thighs, laps his wet tongue up and down your core like he’s been starving for you for months. And now he has you, right on the edge of breaking.

   “Joel,” you moan, “I’m gonna… gonna…” 

   “Go on, sweetheart. Come for me. Let me take you all the way. Show me jus’ how good I’m makin’ you feel,” he groans between the licks, taking his time to slide his tongue in slow circles around your aching clit.

   You feel two thick fingers curl up into your heated core, feel him press up to heights you never could yourself, feel him collide with that spongy spot against your wall that makes you see stars. One more lick against your sensitive bundle of nerves and you’re arching your back and calling his name while your slick spills down your thighs, into Joel’s waiting mouth.

   It feels electric the way he laps all your slick up, his hot mouth blowing against your core, eliciting another moan from your parted lips as he licks and licks and licks until you’re a writhing mess beneath his mouth. 

   He looks up from between your legs, sticky slick coating his thick beard, eyes glossy from pulling an orgasm out of you, hands planted firmly against the top of your thighs as he looks up at you, out of breath from diving into you. 

   “You taste jus’ like honeysuckle, beautiful. Like sugar on my lips,” he smiles, the edges of his hooded eyes glowing under the moonlight. And you swear you’ve never seen anything more magical in your life. 

   “Joel, need you…” you whimper out, reaching for his body.

   “What do ya need, darlin’? Tell me what you want,” he whispers into the chill of the night. 

   You take a breath and blow it out, hoping your nerves won’t get in the way. “You, Joel. Want all of you. Inside me. Want you anyway I can have you,” you whine, desperate for the friction of his body against yours.

   He smiles up at you, pushes his dark jeans down, his boxers trailing after them until his hard cock is pressed against his stomach, red tip smothered in precum, his thick vein traveling along the underside of his cock, ready to split you in two. 

   Your eyes grow wide watching him crowd your body, his thick cock pressing against your soaked folds, rubbing up and down to collect your slick all over his massive length. He’s huge, but you can take him. You want him, now. 

   “Slow breaths now. Might be a stretch. Jus’ relax, I’ve got you, baby,” he coos, relaxing your body while he slowly enters inside your dripping core. 

   He gradually plunges into you, drowning out your moans as his lips land on yours, swallowing your gasps as he stretches you to the brim, his thick width rutting in and out of you, bottoming out until you can’t feel anything, can't taste anything but him. Joel, Joel, Joel. He’s everywhere, consuming you, bodies twisted together while he rocks back and forth, both sharing moans that get swallowed by the other, like you’re magnetized together. 

   It’s like you’re one in the same, two broken bodies that mend each other back together, two fragile souls that burn for the other, dance in the flames while your bodies get lost in the other’s, lost souls that found each other through pain and grief, Joel colliding into you like a star crossed lover, someone you’ve waited years for.

   You break again, nails scratching down his tanned back while your walls hug him tight, pouring out hot liquid that covers him in you. 

   “Ahh fuck. Squeezin’ me so tight, can’t hold on, sweetheart. Feels so fuckin’ good,” he grits through his teeth, trying with all his might to slip out of you before he spills himself inside of you.

   You lock your legs around his hips, make him stop before his warmth disappears, letting him know that it’s okay, that you want him to stay. “It’s okay. Let go. Come inside, Joel. Need you, need all of you,” you beg, long lashes batting up at him as you coax him to stay.

   “You sure?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together into concern as he hears your plea. 

   “Yes,” you breathe, your voice panting from the come down of your intense orgasm. “Inside me,” you repeat, a little louder.

   He hears you loud and clear. He thrusts inside of you, as deep as he can go, kissing your cervix as he grunts and grits his teeth together, eliciting another moan from you as he speeds up his pace.

   Once, twice, three more times and he’s throwing his head back, a low moan slipping from his clenched teeth as thick ropes of cum spill inside you, filling you so full that you moan out in bliss, completely saturated with his seed inside you, and that’s what does it. What consummates the two of you together, like stars in the night sky, two lovers that burn for each other.

   He falls against your side, scoops you up and sews you to his broad chest as his fingers trace the side of your sweat covered face. 

   You’re both panting, both exhausted from the love making, no room to do anything else but drown in the other’s ecstasy. You’re just two warm bodies now, a false witch, a beaten man, two bodies that bleed together who slowly mend one another’s wounds. 

   He traces your lips, his calloused thumb perfectly dancing across your face as he stares down at you, the woman he’s pined after for months, the one he knew he’d eventually fall for. And he did. He fell hard. 

   “What do we do now, Joel?” you ask quietly, while he continues to trace the lines of your skin. 

   “What we always do. Survive. But we do it together this time. This time, we thrive.”

   The way he’s looking at you with big doe eyes, and the way he’s touching you all soft and tender makes you feel things. Things you’ve never felt before. Like your heart swells just at the faint glow of his smile, his caramel eyes swirling into yours, his body crowding yours with the softest touch you ever felt before. Maybe you love him, you do love him. And you think maybe he loves you, too. But that’s for another night to uncover because right now this is where you are, bathing in each other’s moonlight, feeling sparks like the fireflies that dance in the forest light surrounding you, almost like this is magic. Joel is magic. He’s your safe space, your equal. 

   You sink into his chest, wrap your arms a little tighter around him while his lips graze across your forehead, telling you that it’ll be alright, that both of you will be just fine. 

   “Joel?” 

   “Hmm?” he hums, his deep voice reverberating through your entire body like cords connected to an acoustic guitar, like he used to play.

   “Promise me the worst is over, that we can make it maybe to the coast, find a new town, build a new life. A life that maybe isn’t so broken?”

   He sighs into your hair, scoops you closer into his arms and kisses you softly across your lips. “I can promise that the worst is over. No one’s ever gonna lay another finger on you, not on my watch, sweetheart. We’re free. I’ll take you to the coast. We’ll build a new life together. You and me. We’ve got the whole world in our hands now, and nothing can stop us now. No more flames, no more embers, it’s jus’ us.”

   You lean into him, as close as you can get while his hand traces up and down your back soothingly. You think this is exactly where you belong, in Joel’s arms, taking on the world together. You can do anything as long as you have him by your side, your guiding light out of the flames.

Tagging some friends who seemed interested 😊 @ozarkthedog @alltheirdamn @covetyou @chronically-ghosted @sawymredfox

@littlevenicebitch69 @604to647 @joelmillerisapunk @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape

@vivian-pascal @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @msjarvis @mountainsandmayhem

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 5 - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Pope Pinion IV (Cars)

HELLO. IT IS I. THE GREAT AND ALMIGHTY ITALIAN TOURNEY. PLEASEPLEASE PUT HIM IN THERE WAS SO MUCH POPE DISCOURSE ON MY ACC AND HE WAS SOLOED IN THE FIRST ROUND BY LUIGI😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 PLEASE AVENGE HIMMMM

The existence of Catholicism in the Cars universe implies that there was (or at least there was believed to be) a car Jesus who died for the cars’ sins, and I for one would like to see how a car gets crucified or sins. I guess the blood/wine here would be gasoline, but what would the body/bread be? How did they sit at the last supper? What is the layout of car church? How does a car build a church? Do other human religions exist in the cars universe? How does a goddess with the body of a human and the head of a cat translate to a car? Do Buddhist cars rein-car-nate? Do cars have souls?

he lost the italian character tournament, he will win here

Harrowhark

I'm pretty sure you've already got plenty of submissions for her so I'll just say she was raised in what is basically a cult (technically a nunnery but let's be real) dedicated to keeping the body of the thing that will kill God behind the rock. One of their prayers is actually "I pray the rock is never rolled away". Harrow is extremely devout as penance for her earlier heretical actions in the tomb as a child (spoiler!) so the Catholic guilt really comes through

imagine being a catholic nun and you meet god, but it turns out he’s a twitch streamer from new zealand who became god because everything got a little bit out of hand. and just before you met him you gave yourself a diy grief-fuelled lobotomy with the help of your best frenemy. imagine how insane you’d be. now multiply that insanity by nine. that’s the fictional love of my life right there.

she meets god. she’s not inspired

she’s number one practitioner of space Catholicism. The locked tomb is chock full of Christian (catholic) imagery themes metaphors etc. just look at her she’s got a bone rosary

They're Catholicism with extra bones. Everyone is a nun. They have what is basically a rosary made from knuckle bones. They technically worship the same God as everyone else, but they're waaaay more focused on The Body in the Tomb (Mary) and we get a moment where we find out that while everyone else prays the equivilent of The Lords Prayer, they're doing the equivilent of Hail Mary. And they paint their faces with skulls.

She thinks leaving dry bread in a drawer is taking care of someone. She's in love with a 10,000 year old corpse (the same one they worship). She spent ALL NIGHT digging with her bare hands to make sure a field had bones every 5 feet so she could fight her girlfriend - I mean, greatest enemy. Spoiler territory: She's been puppeting her parents corpses since she was 8 years old. Instead of grieving her dead girlfriend, she gives herself a lobotomy. She makes soup with bone in it so she can use the bone IN THEIR STOMACH to try and kill them.

The author is/was Catholic and the entire series had heavy Catholic overtones. https://www.tor.com/2020/08/19/gideon-the-ninth-young-pope-and-the-new-pope-are-building-a-queer-catholic-speculative-fiction-canon/ A good breakdown of how it's Catholic

Anti-propaganda (spoilers)

I love the Locked Tomb series but Harrowhark has daddy issues with God, had a childhood crush on God's cryogenic partner, and is in love with God's daughter, not to mention that she's essentially a bone-bender. The religion on her home planet exists in a way that is technically against the will of the canon in-universe God, even. All of this to say, Harrowhark is heretical at minimum if not an outright witch. Terrible Catholic. Burn her.

[grey-sorcery]

Suggested Reading

Foundations of Energy Work Spell Design Conceptualization Vs. Visualization What is Witchcraft? (A massive article that contains anything you’d ever want to know when first starting out.)

Introduction

An altar is a place in your home or land that is used and dedicated to your practice and all that it entails. For some, it's a place of reverence. For others it is a place for spellwork.  But, regardless of its purpose, they all share some features. Some practitioners use pocket/travel altars. I have never used one so I cannot speak towards their effectiveness; but, if that is a concept that is alluring to you, please look into it. Regardless of their size, each type of altar will contain some of the same aspects. For some practices, an altar being a stationary place is important for correspondence and representation.  This is a post from my old blog, however I have edited the hell out of it. It used to contain some culturally protected information, and some personal biases. It also recommended Wicca for some ungodly reason. 

Uses

There are two main uses for an altar, magical and spiritual. However, that being said, there are limitless possibilities as to what an altar can be or look like. I personally have an altar that is dedicated to one of my deities. Through this altar I show my dedications via creative endeavors such as art, game creation, writing, music composition, and spell/grimoire design. There are an infinite number of possibilities for their design and application. In this post, I’m mostly going to be covering the main uses and important design concepts.

Design & Structure

The design and layout for altars can be very personal, but there tend to be some commonalities depending on the altars purpose. For some, like me, an altar has multiple uses and its layout reflects that. For some basic reference, here is an altar that is purely for spellwork. In some traditions and practices, like mine, the direction in which the altar is facing is important. Each cardinal direction has its own correspondences and associations. If that is something you care about, it can be useful to find what correspondences resonate with you the most. Some traditions have very strict correspondences for this. What is almost always present for altars like these are representations for the elements. Water, stones, feathers, candles are all used to represent their respective elements. For some, incense is used to represent both air and fire. Water is kept in a glass container, or occasionally ceramic. In a handful of traditions its kept in metal containers. I typically try to keep elemental representatives in the general direction of their corresponding cardinal directions. Idols are widely used as a point for meditation and/or the building of a headspace.

When setting up an ancestral altar there are several layout that can be used, but again there are common elements found in a lot of them. Most ancestral altars hold images of the dearly departed. Some people also hold images of the living, though this is by no means common. Some altars also contain elemental representations, depending on tradition. There is always an area for ofrendas or offerings. This area is typically front and center. Offerings can range from food and water to the burning of incense. 

Using an altar for spellwork

When using an altar to cast spells, it is very common to open the space up and sanctify it. Now, the method chosen to do this varies wildly and a lot of information on doing so is heavily biased towards Wiccan practices. If you aren't a part of tradition, I recommend just figuring that bit out on your own without references. If you aren’t a part of any traditions a good smudge can be sweetgrass or cedar wood. After the space has been sanctified and is ready to begin, most light their candles and set up any incense they may be burning. It is relatively common for witches to use electronic candles in place of real ones for valid reasons such as fire safety or dorm room regulations. This works just as well. When setting up for a spell a lot of people have a vessel to burn things in. It is important that these vessels can withstand high heat and their bases won’t heat up too much. If you use an iron cauldron, be sure to place it on glass or tile to ensure that it is safe. After burning it is often recommended that the ashes and remaining contents are buried to the west of the altar; but, this can also be aligned with your personal correspondences. When using crystals, it is important to know about their chemical properties, like if they are water soluble or toxic to handle for too long or scratch up. Be sure that your spellwork isn’t 100% reliant on visualization and correspondences.  

Using an Altar for Ancestral Work

An ancestral altar is a place for reverence, remembrance, and meditation. It is common for the space that it is kept in to be regularly cleansed as well as being cleansed before sitting at. It is recommended to smudge any offerings before they are given. Some practitioners burn money for their ancestors, but this isn’t really recommended due to the temperature of the offering. This is at least until enough experience with spiritwork has been gained. In several traditions it is unwise to give warm offerings to spirits as it excites them. I’d recommend offering refrigerated things. In some traditions, eating offerings after offering it is very frowned upon and may lead to unwelcome occurrences. It is recommended to bury offerings after they are removed. This is widely done in the west, but this can vary depending on your personal directional correspondences. 

Shrines Vs. Ancestor Altars

Shrines are a place regarded as holy because of its associations with a divine entity, sacred person, or relic. These space are purely for devotion to any given theological or spiritual being, concept, or object. While ancestral altars can also be used for these purposes, they also function as work spaces for magical purpose. This is a very important distinction. Shrines are places for prayer and reverence, where an ancestral altar is for reverence and magical practice. An altar is a tool and medium for magic, not just faith.

[satoshi-mochida]

Tasto Alpha announces open-world action RPG Witch of Oblivion for PC - Gematsu

Japanese developer Tasto Alpha has announced Witch of Oblivion, an open-world action RPG for PC (Steam). A release date was not announced.

Here is an overview of the game, via its Steam page:

About

Witch of Oblivion is a sorcerous Soulslike set in an enchanting open world. Explore an ever-changing forest and wield destructive fire magic responsibly: scorch hordes of enemies and reshape the environment, but overdo it and the wild flames may cause irreversible damage. Embark on a captivating adventure where every decision shapes your fate and the fate of the world. Will you defy the Ancients, and reclaim your memories, hold the world in stagnation, or succumb to the darkness of oblivion? The choice is yours in “Witch of Oblivion.” As the Witch of Oblivion Lyva, traverse the treacherous depths of the forest, confronting monstrous Ancients and uncovering the secrets of Lyva’s lost memories. Make choices to shape the world around her, leading to multiple possible endings.

Key Features

Defeat the Ancients with Magical Souls-like Combat – Engage in intense battles with deadly foes using powerful fire magicks. Delve deeper into the forest to face increasingly dangerous adversaries and reap greater rewards. Combine spells to outmaneuver enemies or strike with your staves for up-close melee combat.

Explore An Ever-Changing Open World – Experience a dynamically evolving environment where each new day brings forth a freshly regenerated forest. Explore its depths endlessly as the layout, enemies, dungeon and loot locations change with each run, adding a rogue-lite element to exploration that’s as thrilling as it is unpredictable.

Customize Your Playstyle with a Deep Alchemic Crafting System – Utilize Lyva’s Cauldron of Chaos to craft new equipment using materials and gems collected during your journey. Customize gear with active and passive skill gems, and create a unique build tailored to your preferred playstyle.

Burn Everything in Sight – Harness the devastating power of fire magicks to incinerate foes, illuminate your path, and unveil hidden treasures. Uncontrolled flames may consume more than just your enemies.

Compete Against Other Witches in Online Leaderboards – Show off your prowess by competing for kill times against powerful Aberrant Ancients, acquire rare crafting materials, and mark your place as the greatest witch!

Watch the announcement trailer below. View the first screenshots at the gallery.

Announce Trailer

[preyse]

Hey IDIOT you never did my Link icons OR Ratio layout I'm gonna burn you at the stake witch style

when I got this ask I dropped my phone and disturbed my cats j hope you feel guilty.

[elminx]

A random update on how my art journaling/junk journaling as a witchy activity is going:

I think pretty well. I'm enjoying the challenge of assembling each page in a way that is both artful and fun and gives me the information needed to know what I did and what I used. I definitely need to make sure that I keep a backup journal so that if I get too "in it" to form whole art pages, I still have a record of what I am doing.

I also didn't consider that the form itself would impact my spellcasting but it already has. There are ways to hide things in junk journaling and ways to reveal things. I've realized that if I start to design a page layout in the spell planning stages, I can make my recording of the spell a part of the spell itself. I'm learning to let the pages be infused with my magic in a way that it never has before.

I still have a ton to learn. The journal style that I chose - while convenient - isn't ideal for this intense a journal style. Also, my pickets and other pieces are pretty sloppy at the moment. I'm sure that is something that gets better with practice.

Also, for those other ADHD witches who sometimes have a challenging time maintaining the focus on a candle, for instance, that may burn for 2-3 hours, you can junk journal your entry while you burning your candle and use that as a means to keep you inside of your spell for longer.

[technicalgrimoire]

Spear Witch is having a huge sale with a BUNCH of games, ours included!

Check out the Mega Fall Sale here!

My personal wishlist:

The House Always Wins looks like a rad blend of dungeon crawl, sci-fi, and game show.

Pilgrims of the Nighted Path by @highlandparanormalsociety is a TREAT! I read an old version and I need a nice zine copy for my shelf.

Primeval because @lonearchivist does INCREDIBLE work. Their layouts always inspire me.

The Burning of Carbex by @togames I hadn't heard of before, but it's a great discount on a big fat book, so I must have it. Also more Mothership is always welcome.

For those who don't know our games, here's a brief overview:

Bones Deep is a tabletop RPG adventure of skeletons exploring the ocean floor. Built for Troika, usable anywhere.

Lowcountry Crawl is a roleplaying game supplement for DnD-ish games. It’s chock full of tables, house rules, monsters, and other resources acting together as a toolbox for generating a deep coastal South-inspired atmosphere.

Tempered Legacy is a magic item supplement for fantasy RPGs. The powers of these items are locked behind the regrets of previous owners.

Bone Marshes is a tabletop adventure about getting lost in a burning marsh. It’s tailor-made for groups that enjoy exploring complex spaces and drawing maps.

Clink is a tabletop RPG about drifters, the creeds that bring them together, and the history that drives them apart. This game uses coins to tell a story inspired by spaghetti westerns, ronin tales, and shows like Firefly or Supernatural.

It's the most wonderful time of the year...

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 13

Okay so I lied about posting earlier, turns out I had a lot more stuff to do in very little time, and this residential trip I’m on is keeping me far too busy to post this chapter. But here we are! You guys now get to finally discover what was in the chest. Also fyi I’ve had to write this out on mobile, so the layout may be a little weird. Enjoy! (Edit from Monday me: So the first post of this chapter was atrocious, and I apologise lol, but everything has been sorted out, parts have been rewritten and all links should be there.)

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls end up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Kili x oc/reader - Fili x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 2624

Warnings: Descriptions of EXTREME PAIN and being UNABLE TO BREATHE, Mentions of Minor and Major Injuries from last chapter.

A/N: PARTS OF CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN REWRITTEN

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

PLEASE START FROM THE BEGINNING IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY OK LOVE U

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 12 // Chapter 13 // Chapter 14 >

Part 2: Chapter 13 -

Item: Suspicion

Conundrum (Definition): A problem or puzzle which is difficult or impossible to solve. (Noun / Origin: Pseudo-Latin / kuh·nuhn·druhm)

“Since when did you bring your suitcase?” I said as we both stared at the rectangular object.

“Since when did you bring your suitcase?” I said as we both stared at the rectangular object.

“I didn’t!” Kay exclaimed, “I went to put the stuff from my rucksack in the chest and it was just there!”

“Huh.” Was all I said, rather perplexed, as I kicked at the plastic.

Kay swatted my foot away with her own, darting her eyes back and forth between me and the suitcase, before quickly kneeling down and grabbing the zips. Pulling them around she then hauled the top half open, laying it down to reveal her belongings cramped inside. It was everything she had packed for the trip but had left at the hostel when we were sucked through the portal. Clothes, makeup, wash bag and books all piled up. The relief on her face was obvious when she pulled out her toothbrush and toothpaste, but all was forgotten as she snatched up a set of clean underwear and her pyjamas, sprinting out the door to the bathroom on the other side of the hallway. I snorted at her antics and knelt down myself, checking out what was there whilst I waited. Barely a minute passed and Kay had returned, stuffing the dirty clothes and underwear she had reluctantly been wearing since we got here under her bed.

“These are getting set on fire later.”

I laughed out loud, whilst also relieved that one of us could feel somewhat nicer. Bilbo had kindly offered us baths, which we desperately agreed to. We also recycled the left over water to wash our clothes in, but only the smell seemed to leave temporarily – the mud and blood stains had practically cemented themselves into the fabric. Standing back up, I checked the chest once again, seeing if anything had been missed in the dim candlelight. Not spying anything, I returned to the suitcase and unzipped the flap that was currently hiding half of Kay’s belongings. Lifting the material up, I was met with a familiar face.

Picking it up I flung it in Kay’s direction, watching in amusement as it bounced off her head, causing her to whip her head around, and we both watched as it landed on the duvet. Letting out an eager gasp, she leapt on the bed, snatching it up.

“HELLO KITTY!!” she shrieked. Embracing the teddy with a grip tight enough to strangle a man, she buried her face into the short felt fur. “Ohhh I’ve missed you so much.” She mumbled.

“Everything alright in there?”

We both froze at the sound of Bilbo’s voice calling through the door. Looking at the stuff that had appeared, I got to my feet as quickly as possible, despite my ankle, and beckoned for Kay to put the stuff back in the chest, which she began straight away. I turned towards the door and called out to Bilbo.

“We’re fine! Kay just uhhhh..-” I scanned the room, spotting the teddy on the bed, “She thought she saw a cat outside!”

It was silent for a moment before Bilbo responded.

“Ok then… As long as you’re both alright!”

“Yeah! Yea, it’s chill.” I went to go help Kay before he spoke up again.

“Chill?” He questioned, “Are you both cold? Don’t tell me I forgot to put your blankets back in there?”

I looked at Kay, who was busy gripping the chest in an attempt to stop herself from laughing out loud. I took a breath to calm myself.

“No it’s ok! We’re both fine, there’s nothing to worry about!” I called back, slapping Kay lightly on the shoulder when she snorted slightly.

“Oh ok then, call for me if you do need anything.” Bilbo replied.

We both called out our thanks as we listened to his footsteps fade away, and we waited a beat before speaking again.

“Why don’t you check your room to see if your stuff has appeared?” Kay piped up from behind me.

I shot up in realisation. “Oh yeah!”

Swinging Kay’s door open, I sped-walked to the other side of the hobbit hole, past a very surprised Bilbo as I ducked and weaved under beams and chandeliers. Barging into my room, I looked around for anything that could potentially hide a large and very overpacked suitcase. I rummaged through drawers, opened chests, and even stuck my head under the bed, but I felt disappointment dawn on me as I realised that nothing of my own had appeared. Feeling disheartened, I brought myself out from underneath the bed frame and sat slumped on the floor. Looking around for anywhere I could’ve missed in my search, nothing revealed itself, causing my mood to lower even further.

With a sigh, I decided to go with my last resort, and pushed myself to my feet. Opening the door, I trudged disappointingly through the house, ducking my head into each archway as I searched for our host. As I bent to look into the kitchen, I finally spotted Bilbo as he stirred his evening cup of tea.

Hesitating a little, I took a small breath before knocking gently on the doorframe. Though not gently enough apparently – the noise still sent a jolt through the hobbit, but he managed to gather himself soon after.

“Ah, Kate! I was just about to bring these to you two.” He gestured to two steaming cups of fresh tea on the table. “Thought you could use something to warm you two up.”

I felt a smile make its way onto my face at the adorable thought of him worrying about us, and I swiftly ducked through the arch.

“Oh, thank you!”

He pushed a cup towards me with a warm smile, taking his own cup as he sat down. Remembering what I came here for, I sat myself down on one of the small chairs. Placing my elbows on the table and resting my chin on my hands, I looked around nervously and hesitantly opened my mouth to say something. I eventually looked back at Bilbo, who was now staring curiously at my behaviour.

“I… don’t suppose you’ve seen anything a little strange appear out of nowhere?”

Bilbo blinked a few times before replying.

“…What?”

I shuffled in my spot as I thought of what I was going to say next.

“Ok so, really weird question, but,” I clasped my hands together and pointed two fingers at him. “Do youuu, somewhat, believe in magic?”

Bilbo just stared for some time, his eyes squinted in confusion, until he slowly began to nod slightly.

“I – I suppose, to a certain degree?” He replied with a strained voice. I took that as enough of an answer.

“Right. So I think that’s how, we got – you know..” I gestured around, “– here. Anddd, some of our stuff that we left behind may have also appeared –” I pointed at the table, “– here.”

“I’m sorry?”

I tried to come up with the words to explain, but when nothing came, I stood up from my chair and grabbed both mine and Kay’s tea.

“Follow me.”

Bilbo quickly scrambled up from his own chair, gripping his own tea as if it was all that was left of his sanity, and followed suit. As we neared Kay’s room, I turned to him.

“I know it’s a little much, but I wanna make sure it doesn’t seem like we’re trying to keep secrets from you.” I said in an attempt to reassure him.

He blinked up at me a little surprised. “Oh! Well uh, I’m glad to hear it.”

I smiled at him, of which he returned albeit a little wobbly, and I turned back around as we finally reached Kay’s door.

Passing Kay’s tea to Bilbo, I knocked on the wood. We both listened to the shuffling from inside, and the door eventually swung open. Kay grinned at us both, though she was soon distracted by the extra cup in Bilbo’s hand.

“Oo, you made tea!”

Bilbo went to pass the cup over, but froze halfway as he caught sight of what Kay’s fresh pyjamas.

“I uh, see what you mean by new stuff.” He said.

Kay looked down at her clothes, before sheepishly looking back up at us.

“Yeaaa, about that.” She began nervously.

“I’ve already began explaining part of it.” I intervened

Kay let out a small breath of relief and opened the door wider, gesturing us both inside.

“I guess that means we can show him?” She asked. I nodded.

“Show me? Show me what?” Bilbo exclaimed, looking between us a little fearfully.

“Nothing bad!” Kay tried to assure.

We brought him over to the chest and opened it up. The hobbit stared in wonder as I hauled the suitcase back out and Kay unzipped it. He took a step back slightly at the unusual sound of the zip, but was stepping back in half the time as the contents poured out.

“Are those supposed to be.. clothes?” He asked incredulously, kneeling down to join us. He eyed at us both with his hand hovering above the case, and went to pick up a top when Kay nodded.

The first half of the case was emptied, the clothes pile next to Bilbo growing as he inspected each piece with equal intrigue, though he had a different expression for each. Some were confused, like when he took a minute staring at one of Kay’s Batman t-shirts, but some were a little shocked, like when he unravelled a roll of fabric to reveal a lacy vest top, of which, in a flash, he had neatly folded up and placed on the pile. Luckily Kay had already stored away her underwear, which would’ve sent poor Bilbo into a coma if he had seen.

The hobbit soon moved onto the second half, using a zip for the first time to remove the material I had closed back up earlier. He opened the flap, but soon jolted backwards.

“What in Yavanna’s name is that?!” He cried, and I looked down to see he was pointing at a portable hairdryer.

“Oh that’s where I put it.” Kay said, picking the electronic up.

Bilbo stared with wide eyes, but it seemed that his Took side encouraged him to reach out at prod at the object. He tapped a fingernail against it, listening to the sound.

“What is it made of?” He pondered.

“It’s called plastic.” I explained. “You see anyone trying to invent it here, assassinate them. Immediately.”

Bilbo stared at me. “…Ok?”

He began to eye some other things, and picked out a sketchbook. He asked Kay if he could take a peek. Shuffling next to him, she took the sketchbook and flipped through the pages, stopping at the drawings she wanted to show.

Looking back down at the suitcase, I observed the objects left over, and saw a few things that would be unexplainable to anyone born in Middle Earth, such as a phone charger, and an electronic toothbrush. So whilst Bilbo was distracted, I zipped up everything and lifted it back into the chest, knowing we were too tired to even try explaining.

“Did you have any luck with your stuff?” I heard Kay from behind me.

I turned around and gave her an annoyed shake of my head. She pouted mockingly at my inconvenience.

“Is that why you asked if I had seen anything earlier?” Bilbo questioned as he helped tidy away Kay’s clothes into the chest of drawers adjacent to the bed. I nodded once again. “Well I can’t say I’ve seen anything I’m afraid.”

My shoulders slumped dejectedly and I picked up my tea.

“HA!” Blurted Kay.

I frowned in return. “You’re not the one who’s permanently dirty!”

“Well you’re saving Bilbo from turning his room into a hoarders den.” She retaliated.

“I’m not a hoarder! I’m –”

“A collector with a maximalist aesthetic.” She finished, “I’m well aware.”

“Plus, I haven’t brought any trinkets, so you can’t accuse me of that.”

“Yea but you’re a chronic over packer, so you would’ve done so with out realising anyway.”

I grunted a noise in frustration, taking a sip of my tea with a grumpy expression. Kay just laughed at my surrender, so I shuffled around to face away from her. Bilbo on the other hand was just switching his eyes between us, a weirded out look on his face.

“Well, it should come soon?” Kay suggested through her laughter, changing the subject in an attempt to get me to turn back around. “If my stuff’s here, then so should yours. Maybe it’s delayed?”

I perked up at that, an idea coming to mind, and I quickly spun back round.

“You went through first, then I did a little later, so that could mean the same for this!” I said eagerly.

Kay nodded excitedly in agreement.

“I’m sorry, went – went through what?”

We both froze as we realised Bilbo was still in the room with us. And that we had definitely not told him exactly what had transpired before we ended up in his garden. I turned towards him, my mouth slightly open, but nothing but a drawn out ‘uhhhhh’ came out. The longer we spent in silence the more unease we could see develop on the hobbits face. Kay turned back towards me, her face scrunched with uncertainty.

“I think we should tell him.” She said sheepishly.

“Tell me what?” Bilbo demanded, now visibly troubled at the enigma of a conversation going on in front of him.

I nodded at Kay, and we both faced ourselves, with serious faces, back towards Bilbo, who looked a little frightened at the sudden change in mood. Kay sat up straight, placed her tea to the side, and began to speak.

“We’re not f–”

She quickly doubled over with a shriek, her hands flying up to claw and grab at her hair. We watched in horror as she contorted, attempting to stop whatever was causing her pain. Bilbo and I were over in a flash, both of us calling out for her. I went to reach out, when her screaming stopped. But it wasn’t over.

She looked up at us with glassy eyes, her face strained from the pain and glistening with fallen tears. But I soon noticed that her hands were gone from her head and were not clawing and gesturing to her throat. Her mouth gaped open and shut, and we both realised that she wasn’t breathing.

I shot up in panic, crying out her name. I knew what to do if someone was choking, but Kay hadn’t eaten anything? She just couldn't breathe. Bilbo on the other hand, had scrambled to his feet in fright, too in shock to do anything. Though he didn’t get far, the rug underneath his feet giving way and he crashed to the ground with a thud. The noise from his impact did something – and Kay’s frantic ordeal stopped as quickly as it started.

It was as if the noise had snapped her out of it, as she now sat on the floor heaving, whilst watching Bilbo flail around on the floor, the rug still half-wrapped around his ankle. He eventually calmed down and pushed himself up from lying on his back into a sitting position, rubbing his lower back with a slightly reddened face.

I placed a hand on Kay’s back, lowering myself to her level where she had rested her forehead on her knees, her hands on the back of her head as she tried to calm herself down. I whispered, asking if she was alright. I got a minute nod in return. Bilbo crawled over, leaning down slightly himself, to see if he could peek at Kay’s face, then leaned back up to face me.

“What in Yavanna’s name was that?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[tipsycad147]

Your First Pagan Altar: Basic Layout and Ideas

Written by Francisco Huanaco Posted on March 12, 2019

Your Personal Space

The first thing you need is a personal space. It is essential to be able to practice your spells without anyone bothering you, and also to have a place where you can safely store your Witches tools, books and supplies. Ideally, you should have a space apart from your everyday world, such as an attic, basement, a corner of your bedroom, or even a space outside. The important thing here is that you can have privacy and silence to meditate and focus on your goals.

How to Setup a Witch Altar

Your Altar

When casting spells, we use the word “altar“ (not alter) to talk about our work table. Actually, it could be any flat surface and even just a mat on the floor. Your altar will be the focal point of your spells or rituals and it is where most ritual actions and Magical works will be performed.

Setting up a basic altar is quite simple. Usually it’s just a table where you will place the tools you are about to use and any symbols depicting your beliefs.

Rule #1 of your Pagan Altar

Anything goes! The most important thing is that you feel free to decorate, explore, re-arrange, and above all, have fun when creating your altar, which is a never-ending process. Your altar is unique to you and nobody else should be telling you what is right or wrong about it.

Witchy Tip: Before adding any new item to your altar, learn about its meaning. Ask yourself why you like it and how you can use it.

Rule #2 of your Pagan Altar

Don’t clutter it! Remember that this is actually a workspace and you’ll need room for ingredients, tools, and more. Empty it when you’re not using it. Avoid cluttering your altar by finding a nice place for your tools. Store them in a drawer, box, or shelf when you are not using them.

How to Decorate your Altar

Altar Cloth

No matter what kind of altar you are creating, it is advisable to cover its surface with a piece of cloth that will act both as an ornament and as protection from liquids, scratching, and wax drippings. Go shopping for an altar cloth or make your own. If you see any that you like with symbols, be sure to ask about their meanings.

Some Witches like to change their altar cloth according to the type of ritual they are doing, or following the Wheel of the Year, having a different one for each season and each Pagan holiday. If you’re on a budget, simply use any piece of cloth that you have at home.

Or make a DIY altar cloth! Find ideas at the Spells8 Forum: Altar Cloth Suggestions

Religious Symbols

If you are an Eclectic practitioner and feel connected to Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism or any other spiritual traditions, you can add images or figures that symbolize your beliefs and remind you of who you are. If you are devoted to a specific deity, you could add a statue or drawing of them on your altar. For example, statues of the Wiccan Deities.

Some Pagans like to place a figure or drawing of their spirit animal and keep it as company and protection for their altar. If you’re Wiccan, add a pentacle in the center, or keep reading to learn how to set up a Wiccan altar. Set your altar however you prefer but especially in a way that feels comfortable to you.

Candles & Candle Holders

If you plan to work with Candle Magic – and you probably will after Lesson 7 – you’ll need at least one candle holder. Take your time when looking for one. Make sure that it’s sturdy enough to withstand the heat of the candle and that it won’t fall over if you accidentally bump into your altar. I encourage you to work with biodegradable, eco-friendly tools. Materials such as ceramics, glass and metal are ideal.

Incense Burners

An incense burner will come in handy whether you are casting a spell, meditating, or simply using aromatherapy for relaxation. Incense burners come in many shapes and styles. Check out also some incense holders. Alternatively, you could use your cauldron to burn herbs in it.

Creating a Wiccan Altar

In Wicca and Nature spirituality, the building blocks of your altar can be the four traditional Elements, which you can align using the four cardinal points.

Here’s a basic altar layout example:

A bowl of sand, dirt or a plant on the North end of your altar to represent the Element Earth,

A stick of incense in the East can symbolize the Element Air,

A candle or some charcoal in the South for Fire,

A glass or bowl with Water will be facing West.

Witchy Lifehack: The bowl of water will come handy should you need to quickly extinguish anything. Always practice Candle Safety

You can light the incense and candle before a meditation, during a devotional, a prayer, to start your day or before going to bed. Just make sure you don’t leave candles burning unattended. If you’re going somewhere else, simply blow it out or snuff it off with a candle-snuffer.

Some Wiccans prefer to simply use four candles to represent the four directions, and a candle or figure for the Goddess and one for the God. You could use candles in different colors to easily distinguish them. For example:

North = Green candle (Earth) 

East = Yellow candle (Air) 

South = Red candle (Fire) 

West = Blue candle (Water) 

You can always just use white candles if you don’t have colored ones. Light all of them at the same time before your rituals, always being careful not to burn anything on your altar. Make sure there’s nothing above your candles, such as a cupboard or shelf.

Combine these ideas in any way that you like. Being an Eclectic Wiccan is all about trial and error. There are no set rules.

An Altar for Everyone

Not everyone can have a fixed altar in a central place of their homes, especially if you live in a shared space with someone who might be offended or annoyed by it. 

In the event that the other members of the house don’t want to see your altar, you can keep it hidden by putting together a portable altar which you will assemble at the time of casting a spell, and then fold it back and put it away. Your portable altar could be a folding table or two easels with a board on top, and a nice wooden box with your tools inside.

On the other hand, if you live on your own or with people who accept your beliefs, you can have a permanent altar, for example a small table, dedicated solely to fulfill that function. To others, it may seem a strange exhibition of objects, but for us, not only does it have ritual importance, but it also reminds us of our spiritual path. 

[darthkitten]

Returning to the Pack- Chapter 1

Summary: Years after the Longbottoms are tortured by Death Eaters, Lupin makes an unexpected detour in St. Mungo's.

St. Mungo's changed. When he was a boy, Remus knew it as a safe, clean space where wizards and witches helped him stave off his canine urges. Wizards and Witches who actually understood him. Wizards and Witches who didn't shrink away from him. It was paradise.

But now, years after the war, everything was darker. The healers looked more tired and forlorn. The patients were anxious and terrified. The atmosphere created by Lord Voldemort had clearly not been lifted, even five years later. He was sad to see the place in such depression.

He was lifted out of his reverie when a witch announced his name over the magical PA system. He got up and went to the reception desk.

"Remus!" the witch shouted happily. He recognised her immediately. It was Ingrid Smith, a Hufflepuff who was a year below him in school. She'd asked him out to Slughorn's Christmas party once, though as fate would have it, the party fell on a full moon. As far as he could remember, she never forgave him for ditching her on that night to sneak off to the Shrieking Shack. Sirius in particular got a kick out of teasing him for it.

Of course, it hurt to think of Sirius now. The Sirius he never really knew.

"Hello, Ingrid, are you doing well?" Remus asked timidly. She chuckled.

"Soft as always aren't we, Remmy?" she said slyly, "Though who knew you were such a spoilsport eh? "

Remus thought he knew where this was going.

"18th of December 1975, I wore my favourite lilac dress and YOU, love, never made it. I drank a whole bottle of Firewhisky with Mary before I could digest the fact that the nicest boy in Gryffindor stood me up."

Remus was blushing furiously. She couldn't know why of course, so he resigned to staying painfully silent.

"But, bygones are bygones as I always say. What are you here for?" she asked.

"I have an appointment with Healer Pincher. She said she had a slot at this time?" he said. Ingrid pawed through her papers.

"Pincher... Pincher... yes she has an appointment with one Remus Lupin in the Dai Llewellyn Ward. The first floor then, Remus."

"Yes, thank you, Ingrid," Remus says as he starts walking to the stairs, but Ingrid piped up.

"Say, Remus, why do you need to see a Healer for Serious Bites?"

Remus pretends not to hear her and climbs the stairs to the first floor. He knew the layout like the back of his hand, and quickly found the ward. He stepped inside and finally felt that familiar sense of safety walking into St. Mungo's. Agatha was talking to a young man in a darker shade of green robes. A trainee, he guessed. She finally noticed Remus and recognition dawned on her wrinkled face.

"REMUS!" she yelled happily as she scooped him into a crushing hug, "It's been years, darling, years. How are you? How's your father?"

"Hello, Agatha. Yes, I'm doing well, and so is dad. We've all weathered through," he said in a tired but happy voice. Agatha Pincher was one of the few people in the world he absolutely trusted with anything.

"I heard about James Potter and Peter Pettigrew too," she said, her eyes watering suddenly, "I'm so sorry Remus. I know they were your friends."

"Thank you, Agatha. I- I appreciate it," Remus replied. He didn't want to continue this topic any further.

"I've come for my yearly checkup. I haven't been feeling well since the last lunar cycle."

"Oh of course dear boy," she says as she sits Remus down and whips her wand out. She mutters a few incantations and sat there, scrunching her forehead and murmuring to herself until she got up to write something on a piece of parchment.

"Smethwyck!" she called to her trainee. The young wizard came up to her, fascination and curiosity burning in his eyes. Remus could clearly see his passion for Healing.

"Meet one of my favourite patients, Hypo. This is Remus Lupin, a werewolf and one of my best friends for the past twenty years."

Hypo Smethwyck was a tall, lanky man in dark green Healer robes and brown boots. He had small, watery eyes which were greatly magnified by thick glasses. His mouth twisted into a smile as he gave out a hand.

"Hippocrates Smethwyck at your service Mr Lupin," he said, a bit pompously. But anyone who shook a werewolf's hand was a good man in Remus' book, so he shook it enthusiastically.

"Hypo joined my ward when you disappeared in '81. What happened anyway? You stopped visiting. We missed you here in St. Mungo's."

He paused. He never liked talking about those years he spent in Ireland, so far away from the rest of the world, so cut off from his family and friends, knowing nothing of the current world since Harry killed Voldemort.

"I've been... busy elsewhere, Agatha," he said in a tone he knew she would understand. A tone which meant the conversation was over.

"Hypo!" Agatha suddenly said, straightening herself and scrunching her face in concentration, "You have a twenty-six-year-old male with lycanthropy from the age of six, whose symptoms outside the full moon have intensified and worsened his mental state, including barking, howling, a taste for raw meat, and scratching oneself repeatedly. How would you diagnose this patient?"

Hypo gave a thoughtful chew of his quill, before writing a few notes down.

"Would he be entering his primal stage, Healer Pincher?" he asked timidly. Agatha grinned widely.

"You will become head of this ward the minute I retire Hypo! That is absolutely correct!"

She turned to Remus, "When a werewolf bite reaches somewhere around twenty years in maturity, The werewolf enters what is known as the Primal Stage, where all of the symptoms of lycanthropy that occur outside of the full moon become stronger and more distinct. You will also find that... that as a werewolf, you will be more intelligent and aware of your surroundings than when you were a child. You will refrain from biting and scratching as much. There is a pamphlet I'll give you which explains the process perfectly. You have nothing to worry about Remus."

Remus sighed in relief. He had been worried that the bite had been altered somehow, and any change to his condition could only be worse.

"Remus... have you heard of the Wolfsbane Potion? It's a new concoction that we've seen dramatically helps werewolves control themselves," Agatha said.

"I have, but it's too complex and the ingredients are far too expensive for me Agatha," he sighed in defeat. It is true that with the Potion, he could live a semi-normal life. But, it was one of the most complex concoctions he'd ever seen, rivalling even Polyjuice Potion. And Potions was always his weak link at school. He was no Snape.

"Mm, and unfortunately the Board of Magical Medicine has not passed its use in St.Mungo's for free I'm afraid. I am truly sorry Remus, I wish I could help," Agatha replied sadly.

"You've helped me live the most normal life I could, Agatha, and for that, I can't repay you enough," Remus said kindly, his eyes glistening, "It was with your advice Dumbledore even let me come to Hogwarts. I would be a beggar were it not for you!"

And, against his better judgement, he pulled Agatha in for a large hug. It had been years since he'd felt someone touch him, care for him like a mother, and look out for him. Agatha warmly hugged him back, her lavender perfume soothing his mind. It was the first happiness he'd experienced in a long, long time.

As he extracted himself, another healer walked into the room.

"Healer Pincher? Healer Jones from the Spell Ward wants some of your Soothing Solution. The Longbottoms have been acting up again, and last time it really helped," the healer told Agatha. Remus had mostly been tuning out this conversation whilst talking to Hypo about werewolf symptoms. However, he caught one of the words.

"Longbottom?" Remus asked the healer, "Alice is here? Did she get hurt?"

The healer looked at him, surprised.

"Well, she's been here for years hasn't he, the poor thing? She and her husband, Frank. I wish we could do something for them, but..." he trailed off dejectedly. Remus was looking around wildly, trying to get an explanation. Alice and Frank have been here for years? Why?

"I'm sorry, Remus, is she a friend of yours?" Agatha asked him tenderly. He didn't speak. Yes, Alice was his friend. Alice had been one of the greatest comforts he had in Hogwarts. Without her, he may not have even made it past his first year.

TO BE CONTINUED

[thatndginger]

❤️ Happy WorldBuilding Wednesday! ❤️

What are your cities or towns like? Feel free to talk about the layouts or the people or the architecture, etc. and to talk about more than one if you'd like!

Tori how did you know

I've literally been brainstorming Shapeshifter's city all day. I stared at topographical maps of various port cities this morning for way too long lmao. Sidenote: maybe I should actually name the city instead of just calling it 'the city'?

Anyway, at the moment I have two original cities/towns in Shapeshifter:

'the city' which Cryptid gets mad about every time I describe as "a combo of New York, Seattle, Portland, and Gotham"

Perrin Falls - a small mountain town in the mid/west of Wyoming situated uncomfortably close to a Fae gate. Fun fact: me and the husband had one of our rare argument about the naming and geographic placement of this town because he's from the county I chose for Perrin Falls (that was deliberate lol) and he has Opinions.

And since I'm working on the city, I may as well infodump here~

The city is technically on the Pacific Northwest coast, but I refuse to actually give any legitimate geographic location. It's got a population of roughly 700k-800k, though with the metro area that bumps it up to over 3mil. The city started as a fur trading depot way back in the 1790's, and has always had some section of the population dedicated to smuggling and similar illegal activities. It slowly built it's way up from a small trading fort to a city of considerable size in the late 1800's due to it's convenient location: straddling a freshwater river that ran into a deep and naturally-protected bay. The original city was built above a warren of smuggler tunnels that saw regular use until the mid/late 1800's when a large part of the city burned to the ground, and city planners opted to grade parts of the city in an attempt to flatten some of the more steep areas. This destroyed some of the smuggler tunnels, but also buried parts of the city that had already been rebuilt, leaving a new layer of underground passageways for ne'er-do-wells to utilize. Many modern citizens of the city aren't even aware of these passages - though urban legends abound. Some brave souls venture down occasionally, but for the most part the underground belongs to the outcasts.

Life in the city is dark and damp. It rains roughly 330 days of the year, thanks to the mountains to the east creating a natural barrier for moisture rolling off the Pacific. Rain is usually light and misty, but occasionally a storm will roll in that turns the streets to rivers and chases even the most stubborn denizen inside. Most locals take the rain in stride - opting for water-resistant or magically charmed outerwear. To combat the dreariness of constantly-overcast skies, most businesses - and even the more outgoing residences - opt for bright neon signs and displays, and large awnings.

The city is most well-known for its statistically-large supernatural population; one of the largest in the United States. Roughly 15% of the population is supernatural - the large majority of these being shapeshifters of varying type. There are also an unusually large number of witches in the city, which only adds to the image of the city as one of the 'most magically charge population centers' in the States. Due to the fact that a distinct percentage of the population prefers to - or can only - exist at night, there is a very active and diverse nightlife. It's not uncommon to find events that are only held at night - such as markets and festivals - as well as businesses that opt to have 'night hours' as well as 'day hours'. (Unfortunately, even though a 6th of the city is supernatural, there are very few police precincts that will hire a supernatural, so many laws are skewed towards the mundane citizens.)

Economically, the city thrives on it's active port and trade capabilities, as well as a booming tourist sector. It also houses a large life sciences and medical research sector, with many companies focused on merging technology and magic. But everyone knows that it's still the criminal element of the city that holds the most power, the most wealth. Some flaunt their power, daring the (often understaffed and under-equipped) justice system to do something about them. Some prefer to work behind the scenes, buying out politicians and CEOs and chiefs of police to ensure they can continue to exist unmolested.

My current goal with the city is to make an actual map of it. Mostly just the overall geography and major sectors of it, so that I can better describe the important parts lol. As you can see, I am... very obsessed with the worldbuilding.

[queen-scribbles]

4, 6, 22, 31, 43 from the OC questions?

4. A character you rarely talk about?

Oh, there's a lot(I still love them). Most are from the DA fic(s) I wrote before joining tumblr, and the main one is my beloved canon Warden Rahna Tabris

What was supposed to be a one-shot(maybe two-shot) about the start of her grieving process when romanced!Alistair died killing the archdemon somehow wouldn't stop growing and by the end of it I had 665k for her, spanning four longfics, several oneshots, covering Origin' epilogue scene through Witch Hunt, ft a very slow burn, friends to lovers second chance romance with Jowan. (seriously. I think it took 100k for there to be a hint of actual romance/crushing)

I love her dearly and she is still my canon Warden, but since I spent so long writing her and only her and her story seemed pretty much done at the end of her last longfic, she hasn't really talked to me since I finished. Since that was...6mon-a year after I joined tumblr she's not as "known" as the others. (Also she's the only muse I've written in first person. So that may be a factor in why I haven't written her more😅)

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?

I think Jaaide and Janine would get mistaken for sisters if they were in the same universe(both blonde, they have similar jawlines/cheekbones). Which is ironic bc Jo Wyatt is my "voice claim" for Janine, to make sure I keep her with a consistent speech pattern when I write. xD

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?

Not mischaracterize, exactly, but I think I/other people focus more on the sweetheart/goofball side of Vikkari, when he is also extremely badass in a fight, especially after doubling down on his Mythic path after the Abyss(warpriest, man, he can kick your ass with magic OR the huge falchion he's lugging around or both). I think it's a byproduct of me mostly writing downtime scenes where he's joking around with Seelah or being really sweet with Arue(or Etain in that AU). If I wrote him more fight scenes, which I should do since I love writing combat :3, it would be easier to remember.

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)

Jas would have the same theme I do, with sunny yellow background, some cute wallpaper-like art of butterflies as the header image, and a cartoonized/goofy version of her Official Queenly Portrait as her pfp/sidebar image. (green with the aurora borealis as header for mobile) She mostly reblogs inspirational/scriptural quotes, recipes for sweet breakfast and dessert food, and animal pictures. Nature and art for things she likes also make frequent appearances. She also posts a lot just rambling about her day, stuff she saw or did, her family/friends/Tristian(yes he's his own category).

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess

Definitely like red hair, freckles, and green eyes, though I try to only have one or two of the three per character, not all of them(AJ and Tel have red hair + freckles but blue eyes, Jas and Tragen have red hair/green eyes but no freckles, Endrali and Trinne have freckles, Jaaide has green eyes etc etc) Also brown or grey eyes.

I like making bookworms. I love making siblings sets(*glances at the... five I have in SWtOR*), usually with a good relationship. Snark. Supportive and fiercely protective. There's a lot.

OC Asks

[black-rose-writings]

Season 3 - Episode 2

Official title: Infinite Realms

AKA: Lovecraft map. Kinda.

Villain of the week: Danny's bad ideas. Again. And Vlad. Again.

Haha, "We're lost and I'm too proud to ask for directions joke." Okay. Can we not?

But hey, at least we might get some ghost lore out of it.

Also, like... IDK, are you sure a paralel dimension where laws of physics don't apply and neither does logic will have a stable layout?

Ah, yes, the old "monster is just mean because they're injured trope". We're not even 5 minutes in. Be more original, jesus christ.

Wouldn't it be funny if Ghost food was like Fey food? Eh, I'm sure someone has already written that idea.

So, there we go - paralel dimension outside of time and space, a normal map will not do.

Hehe, he has a cat. With a stupid fucking name, because he's like that, I guess.

"What's the harm." Every time you think that, Danny, you should do the exact opposite...

Case and point.

Fun fact, the Salem witches were not burned at the stake. They were hanged. Burning was more of a catholic thing.

Fever dream hypothesis getting more and more likely with every minute, I swear. WTF is actually happening.

Oooh, hints at more ghost powers coming, I guess.

[nvrcmplt]

Ozymandias’ summoner, no doubt, wondered where in the world he spent the majority of his time during the day. However, it wasn’t as if the Sun King was privy to sharing, nor was his ‘Master’ keen on prodding. Such mattered little when they had no choice but to be guided by his whims or use the command seals burned into the top of their hand, a gesture that would have most definitely earned his ire and their potential death. So, he worked as he pleased, did as he wanted, and all was well as long as he held onto his freedom. Besides, no one had made a move as of yet, each of those involved in this ‘shadow war’ more interested in gathering intel then anything else. As bored as he would have been, Tyler certainly served as a nice means of passing the time. For a moment, he could almost think that he was ‘revived’, truly so, and living happily in this era.

Almost.

“Tyler, if you had the ability to make a wish, any kind, what would come to mind for you?” The question itself, he supposed, didn’t matter. One day in the distant future, he would forget that wish just as he would forget Tyler, yet he desired to know even with that in mind. For a time, he had wondered if that was merely due to his own boredom more so than anything else. But the fact of the matter was, he was attached to this ridiculous witch, each of his questions, each of his moments spent with them as he delved deeper into who they were, all done because of the fondness he felt.

Sat on the floor whilst Rider had the sofa, Tyler was going over a few rune drawings from his binder collection hidden in secret places around his library. A room that didn't seem to match the shops' layout in any form, but it was just as cosy. Dim in light but bright enough for his eyes to read without worry. He was humming to himself as he looked over two similar but two very different etchings. It made sense to him in mind, just one fuck up and a person could really bugger themselves over. Kinda like he almost did in that warehouse. His head rose a bit though when he heard Rider speak up in the warm room.

Any kind of wish, huh?

Not needing to turn around or anything, Tyler tilted his head as he lowered his paperwork and leaned on his knee within a thinking man pose near enough. "That's a deep one, Rider… Maaaan~ " He inhaled with a scrunch of his nose, tilting his head back a bit more again to stare at the star covered ceiling, watching it shift subtly with the real stars above their heads. He clicked his tongue before shrugging. "Hard to say off the top of my head. I guess one of the most cliché and not personal would be world peace, a place without conflict - would be great. No more world hunger or poverty - no abuse of any kind, etc." He blinked though looking at the books piled around him as he rolled his lips a bit.

"Personally - probably something like the strength to protect those I love?" He'd love that. The speed to stop them from being harmed, the mana to perform the right spell and bring them to safety - the strength literally lifts their burdens. "Corny, I know, but that's the best I got on the spot. I might think of one later though. How come, Rider? You have a wish you'd use if you were able too?"

[human-antithesis]

Thantifaxath - Hive Mind Narcosis (June 2nd, 2023) Country: Canada Genre: Avant-Garde Black Metal Format: FLAC

Band members remains anonymous

Miscellaneous Staff: Greg Dawson - Mixing, Mastering Eric Henderson - Design, Layout

The artwork is "Witches' Flight" ("Vuelo de Brujas" in Spanish) (1798) by the Spanish painter Francisco de Goya

Label: Dark Descent Records

Tracklist:

Solar Witch - 06:01

Surgical Utopian Love - 10:58

The Lost Wisdom of Wolves - 04:58

Burning Kingdom of Now - 07:37

Hungry Ghosts - 06:13

Sub Lilith Tunnels - 06:01

Mind of the Sun - 04:57

[agirlnamedhagrid]

Tagged by @ereborne​ what feels like years ago (but realistically was probably only weeks?)

Apparently the game is to post the last line I wrote and tag as many people as there are words in it. But I am 1) very bad at ending my work with a fun/interesting/informative one-liner and 2) truly I am @ereborne’s junior and so I’m going to play the game that way - which means I am choosing a short(ish) snippet of my WIP.

This is from a fairly early scene - a take on the return of the prodigal, but from the escort’s POV:

Maeve rolled her eyes, “Men. Human, magic, you’re all just walking egos.”

“And you have so much experience?” Something unpleasant fisted in his gut. He didn’t want to think about Maeve and other men. He waved his hand, dismissing both the jealousy burning his stomach and whatever reply she was working on. “Forget I said that. Welcome back to Patrick House.”

Maeve turned, hiding her expression as she stepped out of the truck and looked up at the house. Rhys followed, exiting from his side and pausing to take in the view.

The oversized farmhouse still took his breath away, holding itself with the pride of a castle on the top of the hill. A deep porch wrapped around the front and sides while honeysuckle and jasmine twisted together across the railing and up the walls. The mountains that sheltered Shadow Lake provided a dramatic backdrop to the house sprawling across the hilltop with a view of the dark lake below. The town filled the opposite side of the valley, climbing into the mountains across from the Patrick homestead.

Rhys knew the layout of the town as well as he knew his own name. Shadow Lake was his, plain and simple. It would always be home.

He reached in the back to pull out Maeve’s suitcase as she walked up the flagstone path towards the porch.

“Do you maybe want the key?”

She lifted a hand in the air, waving off his question. Bemused, Rhys watched as she easily twisted the heavy bronze knob. He could have sworn he remembered locking up.

Maeve turned and smirked over her shoulder. “One bit of magic that’s never failed me. No one in the family has ever been able to lock me out.”

Laughing, Rhys followed the witch inside. The décor was. . . eclectic. Shannon Patrick may be a famously powerful creature, but she lacked an eye for fashion. Or organization. Mismatched bookshelves lined the walls of the front room, filled with books ranging from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to Contemporary Lunar Herbalism. Small trinkets from around the world peeked out from every nook and cranny. A scarred axe leaned against a small stack of wood on the hearth. An unstrung bow rested in a corner, jumbled up with a daisy yellow umbrella and one blue rainboot. There was no sign of the boot’s mate.

And this little exchange is from the scene I’m currently working on. It makes me smile because a recurring theme/phrase has been the fact that no, there definitely aren’t [supposed to be] wolves here but actually there are definitely wolves and it’s a problem(TM):

“I’m impressed you fought back at all.” A low whistle made sure everyone’s attention landed on Dare. He shrugged, seeming unconcerned by their focus. “Pack battles are dangerous, but a wolf pack against one human? Impossible odds.”

Kyle frowned. “I didn’t think there were any wolves in these mountains.”

The chorus of “There aren’t.” echoed around the table but lacked conviction.