#don't mind this witch

[intcritus]

his lap is mighty comfortable.

[moss-ghoulette]

AAAAAAAAAAAaaa

MY SPELL WORKED!

I DID a sPELL ans it WORKED!!

I'M A WITCH!!

[tea-and-antlers]

I love when people tell me I make clothing wrong. I love when they tell me “you have to knit sweaters from a yoke” and “you have to sew a back rip stitch for a garment zipper” because I don’t! I don’t!!! I can make clothing however I like! I knit sweaters from the bottom up in panels on straight needles! I sew my zippers on by hand with embroidery thread! And guess what?! The sweaters look like sweaters! The zippers work like zippers! The SNOZBERRIES taste like S N O Z B E R R I E S!!

[ferhog]

[tending-the-hearth]

a version of chronicles of narnia where those closest to the kings and queens get put into a sleep when the pevensies are brought back to their world, from which they're awoken only when their beloved four rules return, something à la sleeping beauty.

so the pevensie siblings return to narnia, and logically, it's been thousands of years. their closest friends, those they viewed as family, are, to their knowledge, dead, and they are completely alone now.

until peter and caspian encounter each other in the woods, and are about to get into their fight. it's the moment where peter's back is turned, and caspian has his word raised. lucy is screaming, tears in her eyes, susan and edmund are too far away to do anything, and there's a moment of chaos before caspian's strike is blocked by a larger, longer sword.

oreius, completely disgruntled and still very out of the loop, but only focusing on the fact that his king, his friend, his son, is in danger, glares daggers at caspian, not looking away for a second, even as tumnus gathers a now-relieved, sobbing lucy up in a tight hug, and edmund and susan shriek with joy upon seeing the beavers and mr. fox.

and any feeling of tension or fear immediately seeps out of peter, who drops the rock he had picked up, and stumbles to his feet and to oreius' side, being able to lean on the centaur for the first time in a year, and not have to worry about his safety or his siblings' safety. and oreius, without taking his eyes off of caspian and his followers, just puts an arm around peter.

and caspian remembers. he remembers the stories of the high kings and queens of narnia, and their beloved inner circle, and the absolutely terrifying centaur who called them sons and daughters of his heart, and he can't quite help but think about how utterly fucked he is.

[exdeputysonso]

Brad Dourif as Luther and Bruno | Escape to Witch Mountain (1995)

[lunarharp]

I wish things were easy

[moorhsu]

wives!!!! married!!!!

[tea-kettle-tea-kettle]

If I had a nickel for every time Lou Wilson's PC insisted his own honey was better, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

[cyellolemon]

It's the gay people from Witch Hat Atelier again,, uwu

[anghraine]

I think it's interesting that when Gandalf describes Denethor's ability to "perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men," he ties it less to his wisdom or general insightfulness (though he possesses both) than to his difference from "other men of this time," his near total Númenóreanness, and as bolded here, the active exercise of his will.

Tolkien also attributes Denethor's resilience against Sauron (by contrast with Saruman) to not only his right to use the Anor-stone, but "great strength of will." He notes that Sauron had no servant with greater mental powers than Saruman or Denethor, and Gandalf remarks that Denethor was "too great" to be subdued to Sauron's will.

Denethor and Gandalf have a strange and unsettling silent confrontation, carried on by their gazes, yet it strikes Pippin as like "a line of smouldering fire" and "as if reading each other's mind." Gandalf afterwards says Pippin was stuck between two "terrible old men," lumping Denethor in with himself. Pippin also sees some kind of kinship between Denethor and Gandalf, as Sam saw between Faramir and Gandalf.

In his letters, Tolkien said that the ancient Númenóreans became barely distinguishable from Elves in appearance and in their powers of mind. In Unfinished Tales, he notes that they loved their horses, and when a Númenórean had a strong bond with a horse, it was said that the horse could be summoned "by thought alone."

In LOTR, Faramir—who has inherited Denethor's Númenóreanness/wizardliness—has a reputation for command over both animals and men. When everyone else is thrown by their horses upon being chased by five Nazgûl, he not only keeps his seat, but mysteriously gets his horse to ride back towards the Nazgûl. And during the retreat across the Pelennor, the soldiers in the city conclude that Faramir must be with the men who are managing to retreat in order, repeating Beregond's remark that he has some undefined command over both men and beasts.

Gandalf suggests that this is a result of Faramir pitting himself against the effects of the Nazgûl in some way, but his abilities (whatever they are) are outmatched. In the event, the effect of Faramir's Aura of Courage commanding abilities remains until he's shot and finally falls to the Black Breath.

Faramir also makes repeated references to perceiving or reading things in Gollum's mind. At one point, he describes Gollum's mind as dark and closed, yet unable to prevent Faramir from detecting that he's holding something back about Cirith Ungol specifically. Noticeably, this only happens when Faramir orders Gollum to look at him (which Gollum does "unwillingly"), and the light drains from his eyes as he meets Faramir's. It seems decidedly reminiscent of the later Gandalf vs Denethor duel-by-eye-contact.

Faramir's exact words about Gollum's secrecy are "That much I perceived clearly in his mind," in reference to his earlier questioning of him. He says that he can "read" previous murders in Gollum and Gollum cries out in pain when he tries to lie to him.

When Faramir gives staves to Frodo and Sam, he says that a "virtue" of finding and returning has been placed on them, with zero explanation of what he means by that. He adds a hope that the virtue will not altogether fail under Sauron's power in Mordor. He describes the people who did the woodwork but not who placed the virtues (it doesn't seem inherent to the wood itself, given his phrasing).

We do know that Dúnedain can potentially embed enchantments into items. The Barrow-daggers carried by Merry and Pippin are specifically enchanted against the Witch-king of Angmar by an unknown Dúnadan of the North, and when Merry stabs the Witch-king, the dagger breaks enough spells for Éowyn's ordinary sword to finish the job.

Meanwhile, Aragorn uses his healing powers to help the city, wishing for the presence of Elrond, because he is their eldest of their kind and more powerful. Aragorn, also, has at least some part of this ability to actively exercise his will and mental powers, perhaps an equal share, though he uses it less often.

In the book, he doesn't physically attack the Mouth of Sauron, but instead holds his gaze (again, eye contact is important!). There's another silent struggle that involves no weaponry or any other contact.

He prevails in some way over the Mouth of Sauron (not a warped creature of Sauron in the book, but a cruel Númenórean who has "learned great sorcery"). The Mouth indignantly says he has diplomatic immunity and can't be attacked like this.

But, I mean, maybe they're all just smart and perceptive, it's really unclear.

[mistergandalf]

ULTIMATE TOLKIEN BLORBO ROUND FIVE: SECOND CHANCE BRACKET

ÉOWYN vs. MERIADOC "MERRY" BRANDYBUCK

See the ULTIMATE TOLKIEN BLORBO MASTERPOST for details and follow #ultimate tolkien blorbo to cast your vote for the blorbiest blorbo of all!

[shopwitchvamp]

you realize that tumblr staff is full of terfs and racists and that's why people get on you when you blaze posts right. you're giving terfs and racists money. it really makes me hesitate to buy anything from you because i know part of it is going to go to the terfs and racists who are deleting the accounts of trans people and POC on this site and allowing violent terfs and nazis and racists to freely roam this website

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Question question, Wizard of Oz is one of my favorite stories/series, and though it was written to be a "modern fairy tale", it's quite different from the tales you talk about here, so I was wondering about your feelings and thoughts on it

My feelings on the Wizard of Oz are a little complicated, so it's probably fair to start with saying that I've only read a Dutch translation of Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz that was probably somewhat shortened. And I've never read the other books in the series. With that said:

I like the Wizard of Oz! It has fun fantasy logic, a plucky heroine, melting witches, fantastic magic shoes, flying monkeys, a mix of 'real magic' and the power of belief, and you can kiss protective stars onto foreheads.

What I don't like, is that it keeps showing up on lists of "most beloved fairy tales", while it really isn't - in my personal opinion - a fairy tale. (Just like Peter Pan, Pinnochio and Alice in Wonderland, but I digress.) I think it's a great example of being inspired by fairy tale elements, but giving them your own spin.

The magical silver shoes, for example, are very like the kind of object you'd find in a fairy tale. They'll remind people of Cinderella's slippers and the Seven League Boots, but also of the gifts (magic nuts, protective necklace, blessed weapon) that fairy tale heroes often get. Letting them be stolen from a witch, however, and making their magic unclear at first and then having them do full teleportation, is much more fantasy than fairy tale.

Another fun twist is Dorothy melting the Wicked Witch with water. This does not come from folklore, but it's such a striking visual that it is pretty much part of American folklore by now. Which in my opinion is a testament to how good of an idea that was! Because it sounds like something that makes sense to defeat an evil witch with. There is folklore scattered about that states witches can't cross running water (like some vampires) and water as a purifying, cleansing thing is deeply routed in all kinds of traditional beliefs.

But at its core The Wonderful Wizard of Oz feels much more like a fantasy travel adventure to me, than like a fairy tale. Most fairy tale characters are archetypal, and their motivations are simple. The story focuses on what happens to them and how they act, but rarely on their inner experiences. This works well for a short tale, because you don't get bogged down in details, but usually starts to drag in a longer format. It's not strange to me that Anderson's The Snow Queen usually gets shortened in retellings, it makes it a full fairy tale instead of a fairy tale-ish saga. Nor that De Villeneuve's Beauty and the Beast only ended up in oral tradition after De Beaumont cut out half the plot. (Elaborate dream sequences are hard to remember when telling stories around the fire).

I feel like The Wonderful Wizard of Oz has far more to say than would have ever fit in a fairy tale. Not just because of the length, but also because of the kind of story it wants to tell. So I personally wouldn't call it a fairy tale, but I do think it added wonderful imagery to our fairy tale telling vocabulary ^^

Also, in my Dutch translation there was a beautiful illustration of Glinda's female guards, dressed in what I now realise must have been inspired by Canadian mounted police uniforms. Child-me thought they were the absolute best <3

[dreamdaddymorpheus]

fire on fire | chapter. 04 | morpheus x scarlet witch!reader

pairing: morpheus x scarlet witch!reader (she/her) warning: sm*t, br*eding k*ink, no beta we die like jessamy a/n: you gotta listen to sam smith's fire on fire, i based their entire relationship on that one song lmao aa/n: my sincerest apologies to neil gaiman, please know that i wrote this with alot of love 😭🙏🏽 previous chapters: chapter. 01 | chapter. 02 | chapter. 03

“Fire on fire would normally kill us But this much desire, together, we're winners They say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms 'Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me And look in my eyes You are perfection, my only direction It's fire on fire.” – Fire on Fire, Sam Smith

Your relationship with the King of Dreams and Nightmares has always been a much-disputed subject amongst his siblings with the majority in opposition. If there was one thing, however, to unite them all it was the fact that Morpheus absolutely worshipped you. “Fire on fire, dear Morpheus, will kill you.” He recalled the unsolicited caution from his eldest sibling, voice as soul destroying as ever. Morpheus merely rolled his eyes at the time, petulant and arrogant, but this very moment, as he cradled your face in both hands with his lips in a desperate quest to claim yours, he couldn’t help but agree. You may kill him, indeed. To die between your thighs would be glorious – a life well spent, he thought.

His hands moved to rest on your waist as his lips slithers away from yours to leave a burning trail along your jaw down to the pulse on your neck, barely holding back a shudder from overtaking him at the way you sighed at his attentions. “We are not to be disturbed, Lucienne.” The order came from against your skin, unwilling to move and uncaring to ensure Lucienne gave them the privacy he demanded.

You heard the soft lulling sound of whirling sand before you felt the solid edge of his throne hit the back of your knees. “I thought I would never hold you again.” Morpheus whispered along the column of your throat, a touch of vulnerability overshadowing the deep hunger he felt building in the pit of his stomach. “I feared for humanity – for what I would have done to them.” Though the Endless restrained his whimpers rather well the wetness against your skin gave him away. “This madness you inspire in me would not have been merciful.” You slide your hand over the back of his neck until your fingers were partly obscured by his jet-black hair, tugging slightly at a handful as if to ground him back – back to you.

“For centuries I have denied who and what I am—“ Despair and anger bubbled in your throat in equal measure, “…pushed you away in my fear of the inevitable. Deprived myself of what rightfully belongs to me.” At this your free hand slides over his chest, clawing at the spot where his heart should be. You felt his growl ripple under your hand. “No more.” You murmured, low and airy with lust.

Morpheus truly intended to be gentle at first – but the way your scent, your warmth flooded his senses made it nigh impossible. His lips devoured yours in unrestrained lust, feeding selfishly on the soft, quivering moans that slipped past your lips. Your taste was so decadent and rare that his hunger only grew with each second, fuelling his madness. His fingers gripped the silky materials of your nightdress and with one quick tug had it discarded to the ground without even a single glance.

It thrilled him that you matched his lust, his bites, his growls with your own. Even in his war for dominance over you he couldn’t stop the way his heart swelled with love and delight. It filled him with so much pride that you refused to surrender. You were so beautiful, he thought. Untouched and unsullied for a century. A blank canvas, if you will – and oh how he ached to paint you with his marks again to further solidify his claim over your entire body and soul. There was no hope that this would be a tender lovemaking. He was far too starved for far too long.

The Endless allowed his hands to wander over the newly exposed flesh, growling as he rediscovered how soft and pliable you were. His hands moved up to trace the curves of your waist until they reached the roundness of your breast, his thumbs reaching out to draw teasing little circles over your hardened peaks, drawing out a soft cry from you.

When his ministrations suddenly stopped, he felt as well as heard your disappointment – but the Endless merely gave you a knowing smile before moving his hands to slide down your body, caressing from the dip of your waist to the flare of your hips, down, down, and down he went until he felt the wetness between your legs.

You were so wet. Morpheus could only snarl as the scent of your arousal hit his nose, completely and utterly intoxicating him. He parts your folds, searching for that sensitive little pearl that he knew would drive you to the same madness you rouse in him. He leans down to latch his mouth onto your breast as his fingers prevailed in its quest, circling the little nub until he felt your fingers dig into his shoulders, relishing the thought of your own markings on him. He would make good on his promise this day – fill you until you were full of his flesh and blood.

Morpheus felt his concentration escape him when the tip of his middle finger slipped inside your obscenely wet tightness. The heat of you almost sent him to his knees – no, heat was too mild a word. You were fire, a blazing inferno, and he craved, needed to feel you around him.

“I could scarcely think of little else all these years—” He gasped into your ear. “You feel…” Perfect, exquisite, all consuming, the words were simply far too inadequate to convey the true extent of his sentiment in regard to your sheath like quim. His finger starts its own rhythm, lazily moving in and out of your heat while his thumb amused itself by circling and flicking at your clit. Though he desired to hear your screams he contented himself with the way you seemed to be currently incapable of much else besides chanting his name like a prayer. A whisper at first, then a whine, soon a growl as your hips crashed against his fingers relentlessly as you attempt to chase your release. 

He watched in absolute awe as your face twist with pleasure, eyes fluttering close, swollen, bruised lips parting to let a desperate, wordless scream. Glorious.

Granting you no time to recover, Morpheus spun you both around and sat himself on his throne, pulling you to straddle over him. He needed to see it again lest he truly lose himself to his madness. Needed to see you come undone. On his cock.

“Tell me, my love,” He started with a teasing lilt to his voice, reaching down with one hand to free himself from his trousers, “In the imagined world I found you in, did my proxy please you?” He leans forward, pulling you impossibly closer with his other arm until you were chest to chest.

“Never.” You avowed without hesitation. Though you were deep in your delusions you could never betray Morpheus like that – your magic wouldn’t let you even if you tried. He was not just your paramour; he was one half of you. “But I did pleasure myself, if you were wondering.” At this you smirk, writhing on his lap to adjust yourself and then raising your hips slightly to hover above his cock until you felt the width of his hardness slide between your legs. “I only had to think of you, of our mischief, in this very spot in fact, or at the centre of Stonehenge, even the rather quick one against one of Lucienne’s many shelves,” You teased, eyes dancing with mischievous amusement.

“That was not a ‘quick one’.” Morpheus glared at you for that, taking mock offense at your implication. He did not take his time as he normally would in that particular memory, he admits, but he recalled being so desperate and hungry for a taste of you that he had you up and against a shelf, tomes forgotten on the table, and ate you out like a beggar at a feast.  

You merely chuckled in response, deliberately ignoring his interruption, and continued with your teasing, “My point is—I do not need a poorly made substitute of you to come undone. Just the thought of you is enough to end me.” You felt him harden even more at that – if that was even possible. He could probably leave a dent in your insides in his current state of arousal.

“Put an end to my misery, Y/N.” He begged hoarsely, and you obliged. You raised your hips, one hand sneaking between your bodies to guide his cock inside you. You watched as the King of Dreams threw his head back in pleasure, lips parted, eyes closed, savouring this feeling, this moment of being one with you once more. Inch by inch, taking your sweet time.

Morpheus could feel you twitch and stretch to accommodate his length, and the feeling of it could have consumed him – killed him, as Destiny so kindly cautioned him. Perhaps not quite the context meant, but he could have died happily like this. He felt you shudder when he was finally fully hilted inside you, your cunt rippling and shaping to his cock.

“You, my love, are the embodiment of sin.” The growl came rough and broken, his nails digging into the flesh on your hips, barely holding onto what sanity he had left to fend off the madness that threatened to take you like an animal. He didn’t have to wait long, it seems, as he could see the same desperation in him distorting your features. You tried to tease him and prolong his suffering, but he knew by the way you increased the beat of your movement that you were chasing your high as much as him. Not yet. Not until you’ve ridden him to his satisfaction, a compensation for your mischief.

Morpheus watched his beloved sob in frustration, riding him furiously and wildly, breasts bouncing with your every movement and beguiling him to suckle on a pebbled flesh, causing you to let out wonderful little whimpers. “P-Please, Morpheus—” You begged. At last, he felt you approaching your pinnacle, felt the familiar way your walls tightened around him. He slid one arm around your waist and grabbed a fistful of your hair with the other as he met your enthusiasm with equal fervour.

“Take it, my Queen.” Whether it was the relentless way he was thrusting into you or the sultry, throaty tone in which he uttered your soon to be title, but you came with a strangled cry, gasping and trembling violently. You heard him hiss into your ear as he too came spilling inside you, hissing through gritted teeth before you felt them clamp down on your shoulder. You sink into him, panting and relishing your high.

You heard that familiar sound of sand again and soon you felt the luxurious sensation of velvet hit your naked back. Above you was your lover, only better – without an inch of clothing on him.

��Again.” He demanded darkly; voice low yet no less commanding. The moment of confusion was soon clarified by the way his cock started to stiffen inside you again, as if that too was at his directive. “You will take my seed as many times as it’ll take.” He flipped you over and lured you onto your knees. “Morpheus—” You moaned, eyes hazy and vulnerable, but before you could say more you felt him pull you to the hilt of his cock. Your chanting of his name resumed, bracing yourself on your forearms and widening your stance. Yes, yes, yes, this—this felt like home. You felt his growl more than you heard it; your senses utterly skewed from his unwavering pounding. “You will be positively divine when you are round with our children.” He was incessant, single-minded in his quest to fill you with as much seed as your body could take.

Morpheus held you firmly in place by the hips as he fucked you with deep, claiming thrust, each movement hitting that throbbing bundle of nerves inside you. He would see you ruined for anyone but him. He jerked your head against his chest by the hair as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “You will make me a father, won’t you, my love?” When nothing came out of you but a strangled moan, Morpheus pulled harder, “Yes?”

“Y-Yes,” He delighted in the clear, wanton desperation lacing your voice, “Let no one doubt I am yours.” Morpheus growled at this, in absolute euphoria at the thought of marking you this way. His pounding slowed, purposeful and deep, grunting each time your flesh slapped against the base of his cock. Once. Then twice. The third one was what ended him, and you, as you both threw your heads back in unison and howled each other’s names.

Dream of the Endless watched his future Queen collapse tiredly on the bed, admiring your body flushed with desire, covered in a sheen of sweat, before gathering you gently in his arms and engulfing you in his warm embrace. He smiled adoringly as you gazed up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and returned the same smile, thoroughly sated.

“I hope it’s a girl.” You said quietly, shyly, then settled back against him with your face pressed against his heaving chest.

Morpheus didn’t think his heart could swell anymore for you, yet as he stared at you for the longest time, he was glad to be proven wrong.

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[forsooth-verily]

Curled up absolutely sobbing at, "I thought there was a world where I was too late, it's all okay if I was too early."

"IT'S ALL OKAY IF I WAS TOO EARLY"