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ozimagines · 2 months ago

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hello again!, i love what you did with my theatrical hot take, now i really am gonna request something (lets push some creative boundries for the giggles and funsies why not)

Id love the idea that the reader (im female and from the south) is the new fileholder/book keeper for the EM city ward, and who also happens to be an actual witch (think stevie nicks, practical magic) and she keeps a low profile until chucky and miguel catch her doing something witchy (levetating, casting fireballs, etc), and after figuring out how much of an upper hand it would be to have, it becomes a rediculous competition between the latinos and the italians to "schmooze the witch" and have her work for their gangs (probably would be set in the first/second seasons)

as i said, its weird, its out there, but its funny and its fanfiction, we can do whatever we want in this rhealm, thanks if you can make this hilarious oddness come to life

Oh I absolutely love this one! I’m pagan irl and am into Stregheria, or Italian-American magick. It’s an interesting history and one I’d love to get into on here. I’m gonna set it in season 2 but most of the season 1 characters are still alive. That way we get the characters we love mixed in. It’s gonna be very much out there and a little zanier than my regular fics but this could be funnnnnn…

Witch!Reader x Oz Guys

Wonderful Witch of Oz (1/?)

You’d just started as the librarian’s assistant at the Oswald State Correctional Facility.

It felt like a lifetime and two minutes all rolled into one.

The Oz guys seemed to like your presence enough, even if they were lewd about showing how.

One that jumps out at you was Poet, making rhymes about how he’d ‘like to see you moan and grunt and let a brotha paint the inside of your…’ you get the picture.

That wangler kid wasn’t any better, seeming to talk a bigger game than he could offer.

You shook your head. Kid was a Virgo Venus if you’d ever met one.

You didn’t mention that in your interview. That you could basically read people’s star charts just by their actions. You had an idea of what Rising Capricorn Tim McManus would think about that.

You also didn’t mention that you had more spices in your cabinet than actual food, and made yourself elixirs depending on what you needed for the day. Didn’t mention the black mallow tea that started your day.

You didn’t mention that you collect rocks and crystals and shells like a magpie hoarding some imagined wealth. Didn’t mention the aegirine pendant on your neck was to clear uncertainty from your path, nor that the abalone shell in your pocket was for tranquility.

You didn’t mention the tarot cards in your jacket that you checked before you entered that was immediately flipped to the Hierophant. Didn’t mention the black and white feather you found on the way in signifying change. Didn’t mention the angel number you’d seen before you entered, 444, the protector.

Okay so there was a lot you didn’t mention in your interview.

What you did say was the truth; you were happy to be there, and to be of any help you could be.

You were hired as the librarian, which you were happy enough to get, the vellichor alone being enough to satiate you.

You had some immediate regulars, like a quiet and pensive Bob Rebadow, or a blunt Augustus Hill.

You’re nice enough to any of them, not acknowledging any of the trinkets in your pockets meant to guide you through these strange halls of Oz.

Wizard of Oz, it made you laugh a little.

The most you had alluded to it came with Adebisi, who had come strutting through the door like he owned the place, smiling and making suggestive gestures at you. Saying something in Yoruba;

“Mo dupe lowo Egungun-Oya fun o loni, bẹẹni?” (I better thank Egungun-Oya for you today, yeah?)

Egungun-Oya is a Yoruba Goddess of Fate

You reply back, without thinking;

“O yoo ṣe daradara lati dupẹ lọwọ rẹ lojoojumọ.” (You would do well to thank her every day.)

His eyes go big and he stares at you like he’s seen some sort of ghost, walking away from you with wary expressions.

It made you go red. You weren’t supposed to understand Yoruba or the Orishas. You kept your head down for the rest of the morning.

You’d seen Peter Schibetta and Chucky Pancamo talking to the side in rapid Sicilian.

“Chi diavulu è stu novu bibbliotecariu?” (Who the hell is this new librarian?)

“Sugnu Y/N. Piaciri di canuscìriti.” (I’m Y/N, pleasure to meet you.)

Again, you weren’t meant to understand, but the Italians reacted a little better.

“Eyyy, you’re a paisan?”

“Not exactly, no.” You give them a couple of book recommendations, handing Peter a copy of Omertà by Mario Puzo, leaving them both confused.

You meet Cyril, a sweet soul with a glowing aura. He compliments your ‘rock necklace’ and you smile and thank him, pulling a piece of citrine out of your pocket and handing it to him.

“Oh… thank you.” He turns the stone over and over in his hand, smiling at it like a little secret you shared.

“It’s to bring light and joy into your life, Cyril. Remember to thank Demeter when you carry it.”

“Ok…” he looks up at the sky. “Thank you Demeter.”

It makes you giggle.

Miguel Alvarez and Chico Guerra also came in, to “Mira qué bombón” (check out the hottie)

You smirk and decide to freak them out as you had everyone else;

“Gracias cariños…” (thanks sweethearts…)

Miguel immediately got suspicious whereas Chico makes some goofy grin and comes up to you, gesturing at his crotch. The CO shuts it down before it can get too interesting.

When the end of the day came, you started to put things back where they belonged. The CO usually standing guard had long left, most of the prisoners being locked in their cells at this point. You relax a little, taking off your jacket and sifting through the pockets, reaching for your hag stone. You don’t expect to see much from the library, maybe a few auras or spooks, but as you look through, you see a man standing before you. A tall black man. You look without the stone and see nothing. You put it back up to your eye and see the man still.

“Hello. Who might you be?” You ask, eye still to the stone.

“You can see me?” The man asked, touching his body like he had not been of this world in some time.

“With my hag stone, sure. It shows me the spirit world. You used to live here, right?”

“My name’s Jefferson Keane. I was executed here last year.”

“Oh goodness, Jefferson Keane, it is you. I saw you on the news. I’m sorry they put you to death.” You comfort, still peering through the hole in your hag stone. “I don’t know if this is too personal, but do you know what kind of a spirit you are?”

“I’m a personification of Azrael.”

“An Angel of Death, huh? Fascinating. You don’t mind my asking some questions, do you? I’ve only ever happened upon Shinigami and Anubis personifications before. You were Muslim, yes?” You try not to come off too excited given the circumstances of his being there but you couldn’t help the wonder in your eyes.

“When I was reborn, yes. In the before life, no.” He spoke like some old poetry book you’d read in school. “Now, I do have some questions for you.”

“Ok, shoot.”

“Can you take a message to Kareem Said for me?”

“I could but I’m afraid they’d come off as insane ramblings. What kind of message did you have in mind?” You ask, being very patient. You’d learned not to rush the Angels of Death. They could get a little moody.

“Allah says to remember Ihsan, and when the ways torrential, use it for cover.”

“Ihsan… that means ‘to do good’ right? ‘Live by excellence’? I remember because its secondary meaning is ‘to create beauty’. I think that’s lovely; that doing good and creating beauty are in the same word.” You put your hand out to take his, and he shakes it, tenderly.

“I’ll be seeing you again?” You ask the air around you, and he smiles.

“I’ll be here.”

“Thank you for all you do. Guiding souls. It can’t be easy, but we appreciate you.”

“Thank you. Truly.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Keane!” You take the stone down, and turn back into your work, knowing the Angel of Death would be watching over you as you did so.

Unbeknownst to you, there was a presence in the doorway, watching you. It was Peter, watching with a quiet gasp at the realization of what you were doing.

His mother in law had been La Strega; the witch of the neighborhood. He knew about those that cavorted with the spirits beyond.

You could just he crazy, he repeated to himself. But then how had you known to talk to Jefferson Keane? It puzzled him, and his father had taught him better than to show all his cards before he knew what to do with the hand. He slunk away on the back wall, trying not to alert you that he was there.

You showed up the next day, ready for the hours to come. You still had to figure out how to give Kareem Said the message without seeming like a crazy person. Fuck, if Glynn knew half of the things you did or believed then you’d be locked up right alongside these men for insanity.

Cyril came bounding up to you the next day. Ryan wasn’t far behind, eying you with a little suspicion.

“Thank you for the pretty rock.”

“Of course, Cyril.

“Yeah, thanks for giving that to my brother. I got a question though.”

“Okay?”

“Why the fuck did you give that to my brother?”

“It’s a talisman-“

“A what?”

You take a deep breath.

“A good luck charm. You’re Irish, you get it.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” He threw his hands up and shook his head. “But Cyril doesn’t get too many presents in here, y’know so I just gotta be cautious.”

“Understandable. Would you like me to help Cyril find a book?”

He tells you sure and you go off with Cyril, catching two pairs of eyes as you went. One was Peter Schibetta’s, and you honestly couldn’t have known what he knew about you. The second was Miguel Alvarez, talking judiciously to Chico in the corner, both with books open pretending to read.

“Look, something’s up with this librarian.”

“Sure it’s not ‘something’s up with Miguel about the librarian’,” Chico snorted, before clarifying; “like a boner, man.”

Miguel rubbed his temples.

“Look, just keep an eye on ‘em today, would ya?”

Chico nodded, and Miguel went back to eying you suspiciously. He watched as you got something out of the inner pocket of your jacket. Something fell out. It was a card. At first he thought it was a playing card but only upon further inspection did he see that the card had a tower on it with flames coming off. A single, ominous name headlined it; “The Tower”. It fell so it was reversed to you, and you pick it up quickly and put it back with its family.

A sudden thud of a chair leg against the floor alerted you to Miguel’s wandering eyes. You smile innocently enough, but he doesn’t buy it for a second. You go over to him.

“Jesus, Miguel, you’re looking at me like I’m La ciguapa or something.”

(Dominican folk story about a woman with backwards feet who lure men into the woods.)

“That’s another thing, how the fuck do you know la ciguapa?”

You’re taken a little off guard.

“I like reading, that’s all.”

“And that’s how you learned Spanish?”

“Yea-“

“And Italian and whatever the fuck Adebisi speaks.”

“…Yoruba.”

“I don’t give a shit!” Miguel raised his voice a little and lowered it when it looked like a CO was coming over. “It’s fuckin’ weird.”

“Sorry,” you answer a little dejectedly, shifting from foot to foot. “I don’t mean to come off some type of way. I just… I do a lot of cultural reading. Cheaper than a vacation, I guess.”

Miguel suddenly feels like a dick for snapping at you and settles down, his hackles still somewhat raised.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult my intelligence. What’re the odds you just happen to know fuckin’ Yoruba of all things? That you carry around crystals and those weird cards in your pocket-“

“You saw that? Which way was it facing towards you?” You ask quickly, realizing your deck may not have been trying to tell you something, but rather, tell him something.

“What do you mean, it was right side up to me-“

You pull Miguel by his arm and guide him more off to the side.

“You’re sure of that? Did anyone else see the card that you know of or just you?”

“I think I was the only one looking, what the fuck-“

“Miguel, please, I’ll explain everything to you later today. Not here but someplace more secluded. In the meantime,” you reached into your other deep pocket and pulled out a small jar, about as big as two thimbles. It had a small black feather, a small piece of obsidian and amethyst, black salt, and cinnamon in it. You hand it to him. “Please keep this on you. It should do the trick.”

“You can’t be-“

“I’ll pay you a hundred dollars if you keep this on you until I can explain.” You look over your shoulder to see if anyone is staring at you. So far, it’s still just Peter Schibetta, eyeing the transaction carefully.

“You serious?”

“As the plague, Miguel. I’ll explain everything to you when we can get a little privacy, but in the meantime just keep this jar on you.”

He assures you that he will and walks away with an uneasy stomach, wondering what on earth you were talking about.

You turn your back to him and go back to your books when you run straight into Peter Schibetta, his cold brown eyes raking you over.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you, Peter-“

Your heart freezes in your chest when you see his hand. With both the pinky and the index finger straightened, he made a fist with the other three, pointing his fingers at the ground. That’s the Italian Mano cornuto, or horned hand, to protect against the malocchio, or the evil eye.

“Peter… what…?”

“Just a little protection.” He’d finally figured out what to do with his cards.

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“Tu sì na strega, veru?” (You’re a witch, aren’t you?)

“…why don’t we talk in private today after hours. You can request to see me and I’ll get Glynn to approve it.”

“Oh, he’ll approve it, I’ve got him by the balls.” He leaned into you, making sure not to raise his voice. “You were talking to Keane last night, right? The guy they executed?”

You don’t say anything, not wanting to give him any more ammunition than he already had. He nodded, having gotten what he needed anyway.

“Make the time to see each other later. I’m not gonna rat on you. I just wanna talk. Maybe reach an understanding between us. Capisce?”

“Capisciu.” (I understand.)

Holly hell were things spiraling out of control quickly.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom and begin to walk towards it, the flip flopping of your shoes matching the speeding race of your heart. You see a familiar face, but only distantly, as you know you’ve seen him on TV.

“Minister Said!” You exclaim, and he nods at you. You give him a small, panicked smile. “Remind me, I have something to tell you later.”

“Why not right now?” He smiles at you and waits for you to speak. Fuck. You hadn’t quite figured out how to say it yet.

“I was going through the Qur’an and saw a word highlighted in our library’s copy. I was meaning to ask you what it meant, in terms of spiritual meaning, of course.”

He gestured broadly to say, go ahead.

“Ihsan?”

His brows furrow and his face pales. You repeat yourself.

“It meant to do good, but a secondary meaning is to create beauty. Funny. I hadn’t thought about that in some time now.”

“I wonder what the implications of doing good and creating beauty being equated could mean?” You were trying to lead him down the path Jefferson Keane had asked of you. He paused, a slight quiver to his lip, and a profound silence filling the space between you.

“Perhaps you give me a day to reflect on that.”

“Yeah, okay, I can do that.”

You bob your head at him and turn to go to the bathroom.

Ah well. 1/3 ain’t bad.

#hbo oz #oz meme #oz hbo #oz #chico guerra #miguel alvarez #kareem said #peter schibetta #Chucky Pancamo #ryan oreily #cyril o’reily #sorry this was kind of chaotic I was finding my footing with the story #I really like this request #gonna get out chapter two in the next few weeks.#still trying to keep up with requests #please if anyone has anymore I love this it helps me be busy between doctor’s visits

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