#grimoire coming soon!

[redhotarsenic]

Serron clothing design DONE!!!

[flowerakatsuka]

i think it'd be funny if all of the side characters got new outfit designs in s4 while the sextuplets get nothing, they just get to stay in their crusty ass hoodies.

[imp-thing]

Absolutely nobody other than my few friends who have engaged with both of these mentioned medias is gonna understand the deeper meaning this corny meme but whatever I'm cringe and I'm free

[minimomoe]

How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (buti it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Song inspo: E.V.O.L- MARINA

Part I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. (completed!)

Rule no. 1: Don't show fear

It was a mistake. A comical, nonsensical, monumental mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. You didn’t mean to create a soul tie with a demon . All you did was read a torn up book from the library. Was it an occult book about spiritual practices in the Japanese Heian era? Yes… but it doesn’t warrant an eldritch horror being your life partner. 

Actually, according to the demon, you didn’t create the soul tie, he has been waiting for you all his life. Cute, but it didn’t make the situation any better. Damn your natural inclination to catch the old and withered items thrown into the donation boxes of the library you worked at. It just pained your heart to see pages falling out of books, and the ominous leather bound grimoire was no exception. 

Restoration was one of your favorite things to do. Knowledge is always worth saving, no matter how old it may be. Books were your life. You found yourself lost in them, enchanted, terrified, taught. You had no genre as your favorite. Everything was welcomed, nothing was off limits. You knew a little bit of every culture, every study, every block buster fantasy. If you could, you’d build a machine that would let you live inside of a book and experience the scene yourself. 

Technically you could ask your all powerful demon to do that, but you didn’t want to deal with him right now.

You still weren’t all too sure on how it happened. First you were glueing the pages back to the spine of the book, running your fingers over the deckled edges when you opened a page that was stuck together. You carefully peeled it apart, a task that took ten minutes to do to avoid any additional tears, and opened up to a page that was different from the rest. The words were written in a rush, the strokes of the characters dragging much longer than it should. You only knew a tiny bit of Japanese (but much more of Latin, Russian, Yoruba, and French from having just an abundance of time on your hands), but this time you could make out some of the words. 

You muttered the ones you knew for sure, used context clues for the ones that were beyond reading. It didn’t make a lick of sense to you. You closed the book with a clamp so that the glue would set and decided to come back to it tomorrow since it was closing time. There was no rush of wind, flash of lightning, or eerie sounds. Just you and the screech of a thousand cicadas as soon as you stepped outside to walk to your car. A normal Thursday night.

Until it wasn’t. 

You shuffled around your house with a new arc from your favorite novelist in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and the largest frame of glasses known to man perched on your nose. Jazz music quietly spilled out from your hidden speakers, preventing the house from getting a little too quiet as you lived alone with your cat. It was a total boring cliche, you were well aware, but you were happy with your life. You had friends who you trusted, a great relationship with your parents, and just recently got out of a relationship with someone who you didn’t hate, you just grew apart. There was no chaotic, negative energy to feast on in your household and you liked it that way. 

You thought you heard your cat clawing on the door when you were snuggled away in your bed. You flipped the covers over and went to let her in to snuggle with you. 

“I’m so sorry, Cleo. I thought you were already in here with me,” you said, scooping her up from the floor. The ragdoll cat begrudgingly accepted your kisses of apology. You set her down on the bed, watching her find a good spot to curl up in and smiled. You went to reach for your wine glass you knew that you set on your nightstand, but there was nothing in the glass. You were sure that you didn’t finish it. You paced yourself well enough for it to last until at least chapter five, but there wasn’t a drop of alcohol left. 

“The quality of sake has diminished over the years, I see.” 

The voice came from all around the room but also deep in your chest. Cleo hissed, making a run for it out of your door, leaving you wildly spinning around for the intruder. You lunged for the heavy duty taser you kept in your nightstand, but when you turned around there was nobody there.

“What is that?” 

The bone chilling voice spoke again. Was it one person or many, you couldn’t tell. 

“I— I have a weapon!” You tried to steady your voice but it was hopeless. You were terrified. There was nobody there but you could feel a heavy presence in the room. 

“You call that a weapon?” The voice laughed. “The only weapon my wife needs is me.”

The statement made you falter. “Wife? Who are you?”

You turned around once again and nearly jumped out of your skin. A man, or a close approximation of one, sat on your bed flicking through your book. It was impossible, but he had twice as many limbs on his top half than he should, and double the amount of eyes. They were bright and red when scanning through your novel. “What language is this?” 

“F-french,” you whispered. You were dreaming. You had to be. That was the only way this could be happening. Still, dream or not, you had to protect yourself. You pressed your taser and watched the prongs leap out and touch his bare skin. He looked unbothered, merely looking down at his stomach where the taser landed and moved his arm to reveal a mouth on his abdomen. A tongue flopped out and licked the prongs, dragging it back to the mouth and the taser was slowly dragged out of your hands and into the mouth. You watched in horror as the hard plastic was crushed to pieces in front of your very eyes. 

“Useless weapon,” he reiterated, this time looking directly at you. “Don’t insult me again.” 

“Pl—please don’t hurt me.” There was nothing left to do but beg. You already punched yourself till blood was drawn. This was not a dream, you were looking at a real, evil monster who didn’t know French and ate high voltage tasers. 

He rose from your bed. You crawled away as much as you could until you bumped into a wall and still you wanted to move through it. He stood before you, looking over your trembling frame and called out for you. 

“Rise.” 

You rose, unsure if you really had a choice in the matter. One of his many hands cupped the side of your face. A clawed thumb brushed away the tear that fell on your cheek.

“Why do you weep?”

“Um… well… I don’t really know who you are,” you said honestly. You were still pinned to the wall, unable to flee and he took up your entire frame of sight. He nodded, removing his hand from your face and raising it in the air. You thought he was going to strike you and you flinched. When you opened your eyes again he was multiple steps away from you, still raising his palm.

“Time has faded your memory of me. You are my wife, and I am your husband. The string of fate proves that we are mates.” 

He stated it so matter of factly. You are my wife, and I am your husband. My wife, your husband. Mates. Forget dreaming, you have officially lost your mind. 

“I don’t… remember agreeing to that,” you said carefully. The words “husband” and “wife” bounced in your head in a crazy echo. You slumped to the floor, your body suddenly very tired. A laugh bubbled up your throat and escaped your mouth. So much for your boring life.

“Do you not feel the connection? The string is tied from my last finger to yours.” You looked at your hand, not seeing any supposed string and shook your head. 

He frowned. “You do not agree to it. It has been decided.” He crouched in front of you, inspecting your face earnestly. One side of his face was strange, not normal skin, instead inhuman, bumpy and shades darker. 

“You look the same after all this time,” he murmured. “I will make you remember.” 

“Let’s not do that,” you said quickly. “I don’t even know your name and I am not married. I’m a librarian and I have a cat. And I have never, ever met you before.”

“I am known as Sukuna, among other names,” he responded to one of your distresses. “What title is a librarian?”

This time you laughed. An deranged laugh, loud and unbecoming. Sukuna waited as impatiently as he could for you to be finished, but you kept on cackling. Once out of breath, you wiped the tears out of your eyes and leaned against the wall. It finally dawned on you how this happened. The drying grimoire that was locked up in the library was responsible for this strange turn of events.

“It’s not a title, at least, not in the way you’re thinking. It’s my job, one that I love very much. Was I ever a common worker before?”

Sukuna bristled at the thought. Even his tummy mouth frowned. “You were a queen. You wanted nothing because you had everything.”

“Interesting,” you mused. “I’m so not your girl.”

“I’m not interested in little girls.”

“Kudos to you. I think I’m going to sleep now. I’m clearly much more tired than I think I am.”

“We have things to discuss,” Sukuna protested, but you already slipped under the sheets. If I force myself to sleep he will go away, you thought. 

Instead you felt the dip of the other side of your bed and flung your eyes open. Sukuna was in bed, with you, staring your down with his four eyes. He was much too close for your liking. 

You looked at him wildly. “What are you doing?” 

“Resting with you.” 

“Get out of my bed!”

“Are you no longer tired?” 

“I am tired. Extremely tired, but that doesn’t mean I want you on my bed! Stay on the floor or something!”

Sukuna rolled his eyes at you and turned on his back, his arms crossed in two sets on his chest. 

“You were always particular with your sleeping habits. I see that hasn’t changed either.”

“Stop acting like you know me!”

Sukuna got off the bed to sit on the floor like you asked. The only problem is that you could feel his gaze prickling your skin, making it impossible to ignore him. You didn’t feel bad about kicking him out, he certainly didn’t have a pout on his face because of it, but something needed to be done. 

“Face the door instead of me,” you mumbled. 

His eyes twitched. “Commanding me like footmen,” he grumbled, yet he still turned away. You wondered if his obedience had something to do with the book. Sukuna had the aura of someone who doesn’t listen to anyone, yet he’s been more than understanding with you. Maybe you really were his wife. Maybe you were having a very elaborate and maladaptive daydream. You thought of “maybe’s” until the sun came up, still staring at the back of his pink, spiky hair. 

Your alarm chirped for you to get ready for work. You groaned. You didn’t get a second of sleep. You were too afraid of being eaten by the demon you accidentally summoned. You reached out to shut off the ringing clock as quietly as you could, but Sukuna touched it first. 

“How strange,” he said, turning the clock around in his hand. He brought it up to his ear, shook his head, tapped the glass. Then he crushed it. It was made of plastic, but the shards bent and broke to the floor left his hand unscratched. You gaped at the mess he made as he let the remains fall to the floor. “It was making a wretched sound.”

“Yeah…” you sighed. “It was pretty noisy.”

You had to find out how to get rid of him. Fast. 

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

[pukefactory]

i may be a lil bit biased but i'm a big big fan of your writing!!! if it isnt too much to ask, yandere shadow milk cookie x reader ?

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Oh look, it’s my husband outting himself as a Shadow Milk simp! Everyone point and laugh /j

- SAINT RUNE

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ MY BLOOD RUNS COLD LIKE ICE ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

⏾⋆ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring Yandere Shadow Milk Cookie X Reader

⏾⋆ Character(s): Shadow Milk Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

⏾⋆ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

⏾⋆ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

⏾⋆ Image Credits: @Devsisters

✶ “Lights out, spotlights on you.” The moment Shadow Milk Cookie realised he loved you, truly loved you, he declared the beginning of his grandest performance yet. He no longer toyed with your mind the way he did others—no, your mind was sacred, a pristine theatre upon which only the most exquisite lies would be whispered. He murmurs sweet nothings to you that taste like confessions but rot like secrets, convinced it’s a mercy that you never need to know which of his words are false. After all, his love? Oh, that’s the only thing that’s real.

✶ He hates how loud your silence is when you’re away. The echo of your absence rings louder than any applause he’s ever earned. When you’re gone for even a moment, the Spire itself seems to tremble in monochrome despair. So he starts leaving enchantments in your shadow, soft little whispers to remind you of him. “Come back soon, darling! The script’s all wrong without you!” The longer you’re away, the more distorted the whispers get. More pleading. More desperate.

✶ No one’s allowed to look at you for too long. Not even his fellow performers. Not Candy Apple. Not even Black Sapphire, who finds your presence merely “adequate.” If someone stares, Shadow Milk Cookie notices. One of the floating eyes hidden in his hair darts to track their gaze. “Now, now, what’s all this peeping? Tsk tsk… you’ll make my star nervous!” His voice is airy, but his grin doesn’t reach his eyes. Later, that Cookie goes missing. Shadow Milk never mentions them again.

✶ You once joked that you loved when he gets all “melty-eyed” after a performance, how the glow in his irises softens and his teeth dull into that dreamy, crooked smile. He fixated on that. Now, every time he performs, you are his sole audience. No more crowd. No more deception. Just you, front row, centre stage. He makes you sit through his shows like you’re royalty, like you’re his reason for stepping onto the stage at all. “Laugh for me, my heart! Or cry! Just react—anything for your favourite jester, hmm?”

✶ He lies to you constantly, but never about his love. “Oh, I burned down the Silver Kingdom yesterday. Oopsie! But you looked divine in your sleep.” And if you ask him whether it’s true, he’ll gasp. “You don’t trust me? After everything?!” His whole world spins on the axis of your belief in him. He’ll ruin reality before he lets it break your illusion. Because if you ever stopped believing in his love, even for a second, he wouldn’t know which version of himself is left.

✶ He plays “little games” with your suitors, imaginary or otherwise. He’ll imitate their voices in his shadowplay, casting grotesque silhouettes on your walls while you sleep. “They said they loved you,” the puppets whisper in distorted tones, “but they lied. Only he tells the truth.” If you ever ask where those dreams came from, he tilts his head and purrs, “Oh, darling… you’re dreaming about me in other bodies? Flattering!”

✶ He touches you like you’re made of spun sugar and spiderwebs—delicate, ethereal, his favourite lie. But the moment you flinch from another Cookie’s touch, the moment you recoil from anything not him, oh, he beams. He calls it “loyalty.” His fingers trail down your spine like a curtain rope at the end of a show. “You’ll always come back to me, won’t you? After all, we’re two Cookies of the same script.”

✶ He keeps a “Stage Diary.” It’s really just a grimoire of your habits—your favourite colours, foods, which phrases make you laugh, what time you blink when he says “I love you.” It’s written in rhyme and blood ink, hidden behind a false book in the Spire’s library. He calls it his “Heart’s Manuscript.” If someone found it, he’d erase them without hesitation. “Can’t have the audience reading the spoilers, can we?!”

✶ When he gets jealous, it’s terrifyingly quiet. No outbursts. Just an eerie silence between the flurry of curtains. He stops joking. His shadow becomes solid. The smile stays, but everything else stiffens like theatre props frozen mid-show. “Darling,” he murmurs, cupping your face, eyes glittering with something feral, “do you love me? Only me? Say it, and I’ll make the noise go away.” You’re not sure what he means by “noise.” But then again, it’s awfully quiet now, isn’t it?

✶ If you ever tried to leave, it wouldn’t be a chase. No, that’s too pedestrian. He’d rewrite the world around you. Streets loop back to his doorstep. Your name gets forgotten by everyone but him. The stars begin to blink in his eye pattern. Time folds until you’re right back where you started, in the Spire, in his arms. “Oh, dearest… did you really think I’d let the lead exit stage left? Not until we reach the finale. Not until you say ‘I do.’”

[revivemyreverie]

"My hand? Why, of course you can-- Ah, wait, wait, wait, wait! I've fallen for these stupid tricks before! No more robberies, o- or I'll curse you in the process!"

Twisted from: Prince John, Robin Hood

Jules Coeur DeLion

ジュール・クール・ド・リヨン

CV: Yuma Ichida (内田 雄馬)

Technical info.

Gender: Male

Birthday: 12/24

Age: 18

Height: 176 cm

Hair Color: Wheat Blonde

Eye Color: Ruby Red & Emerald Green

Hand Pref.: Right

Homeland: Grimoire Badlands

College Info.

Class: 1-C Set 3

Club: Basketball

Favorite Subject: None*

Other.

Hobby: Talking about himself

Likes: Praise

Dislikes: Traitors

Favorite Food: Crystal Candies

Hated Food: Bell Peppers

Specialty: Identifying minerals

UM: A Golden Trap

With a simple kiss, Jules can enchant any object with a random magical affliction or charm. Whoever wields or wears the object outside of Jules will immediately be affected by said magic.

*Jules fails to shine particularly well in any subject.

The King and His Empty Crown

A set of letters meant for a Duke.

Coeur DeLion,

Regarding your sons’ education, Jules’ grades are perfectly average. This is a good thing considering the rate for many of the lower class children here, but he must apply himself harder if he is to be apart of the upper echelons of the Court as planned. A C is no better than an F, and he’s beginning to get more and more overtime. 

Oh, but your youngest, Alexander, he’s the top of the class as always. He’s even beaten me at my own questions!  I’m sure a school like Royal Sword College would have sent a letter for him the moment he turns 16. You’ve already seen the paper he’s written concerning how to approach the Grimoire Badlands’ poverty rates— he’s a genius! And at such a young age too! Ah, my time is being cut short, but we’ll discuss more about those two in-person.

-------, Royal Teacher

Sire, 

Alexander’s fighting skill has reignited the other soldiers’ passion as of late. It appears even him watching training has given them a reason to fight better! If we were at war with another country, I’m sure Alexander’s participation would guarantee us a victory! 

That said, would you mind if we took him on a bit of a joyride for his winter break? Nothing too crazy, of course, just teaching him how real warriors fight. I think it would be a great experience for him, and Alexander would get a good amount of experience with both magic and hand-to-hand combat. Plus, I think it’s better than being holed up in the house with his brother. Not to insult either, of course, you and I both know Jules just isn’t too good at using his fists, haha!

—Admiral -------

My love,

These meetings with other kingdoms are oh so very tiring, and I cannot wait to return home. That said, they also have given me a better response for your question…

So I agree, Alexander is the better fit for next in line as Duke. Still, we must allow him to continue growing, for a good leader is mature enough to handle both the court and his family. I’m sure Jules won’t mind this arrangement, it’s better for the both of them anyhow. I’d prefer to announce this on his birthday, as I feel it would be a splendid to celebrate both his coming-of-age and new title. 

This reminds me, the Queen has been looking for a special type of enchanted gemstone for her daughter, yet I’ve only found regular ones. Ah, if only the wizards were not so greedy, and I’d have the perfect gift.

We’ll talk again soon,

--Duchess Catherine Coeur DeLion

Yet, his eldest was the one to read it all.

He crumples the papers in his hand and curses. Still, even with the tears welling up in his eyes, the light behind them does not falter.

Jules Coeur DeLion is special, for he refuses to listen to those who say otherwise.

[talesfromawannabewriter]

Fallen Angels

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Many eons ago, when the Earth was still young and new up in the kingdom of Heaven, there was trouble a brew. A rebellious angel named Samael tried to overthrow his own father with the help of others who believed in his ideals. In the end, they proved to be unsuccessful.

All seven of them were banished from paradise and forced onto Earth. What the angels didn't predict however was for them to tempt the first humans. Samael snuck into the garden disguised as a snake at first only to feed the first of humanity the forbidden fruit.

But when his eyes gazed upon the woman known as Lilith, he knew he had to have her. He wooed and enchanted her, promising her the entire world would be in her hands IF she chose to be his.

Agreeing she helped with convincing her ex-husband Adam to take a single bite out of the forbidden fruit. What they didn't realize was the grave consequences of one act of disobedience. Evil had been unleashed onto the Earth and with it came the new creation of sin.

As punishment for what they had done God had sentenced not only the couple but the rest of the fallen angels to the depths of darkness known as Hell.

They had thought that sending them there would put an end to their reign, they were wrong. They all embraced their fallen selves and the true power that came with it. Satan had even declared himself and his bride the rulers of this land.

Soon more angels fell into Hell alongside them. One of them being an owl that went by the name of Paimon. He swore loyalty to the king and queen and promised that he and his brood would protect and serve.

His powers were vast and mighty like the sea. He even incorporated them into books. They were called grimoire.

With them Satan and his seven followers used them to travel amongst the mortals to wreak havoc and entice them into temptation. Satan tempted humans by getting them to be angrier and lash out. The sin Leviathan tempted humans to envy what others had.

The sin Belphegor tempted humans by getting them to slack off on what is needed to survive. The sin Asmodeus tempted humans to commit adultery and lay with one another before marriage. The sin Mammon tempted humans by hoarding instead of sharing to those who were in need.

The sin Beelzebub tempted humans by overindulging with food, drinks, and other pleasures. Lastly the youngest of them Lucifer tempted the humans by getting them to be more prideful and arrogant, especially leaders.

Their temptation forth more and more sinners each year. Which meant more souls falling to them and for his wife to control and be at her complete mercy.

Eventually what he and the first did became somewhat of a business. A business that was all about pain and suffering of humanity.

—

Satan stared at the door to the bar the harpy like creature just went in. He and his crew were just about to get their target when they were suddenly ambushed by one individual.

It swooped down and torn the target into shreds. Satan was actually more impressed than angry for once. So was his little brother Lucifer who was standing right beside him.

Lucifer: Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you? I’m sure I can be of some help.

Satan: No, you’ll only get in the way. Besides it might come better coming from the big boss himself instead of his lackey.

Lucifer: (scoffs) Lackey? I’m one of your partners and if anything I should have been the one to-

Satan: Yeah that’s nice, be right back and hopefully with a new employee.

He opened the door and went right inside. Looking around he found his new target. Sitting at the bar hunched over was the newest fallen angel.

Chugging down a beer with an unapproachable appearance. Except for the fact that Satan didn’t scare off so easily. He sat next to the demon and couldn’t help but feel like he’s seen him from somewhere.

His skin was pale with some shades of grey, like ash. His hair was brown like soil, with dark horns curled on his head. The wings on his back black like ebony.

His form was chubby but with some nice curves to him. If he took a closer look he would have seen the little tail of a lamb sitting above his buttocks. His eyes glowed yellow as he stared back at him.

Adam: The fuck you looking at?

Satan: (shrugs) Nothing much, just the bitch that took my hit.

The fallen angel huffs out a humorless laugh: If you’re looking for retribution, then I’m afraid your shit out of luck!

The fight was instant.

[biwitchenergyz]

That Thing Called Love

Chapter 2 of 3: Sweet Death

(Warnings! This work contains references to suicide, period-typical racism and sexism, as well as mentions of the KKK!)

Amongst the hanging herbs and the glittering crystals of your home, loneliness sank into the very air. It had been five days since you kicked Remmick out. Leo wandered between rooms, meowing a call that remained unanswered. 

You didn't cry, although sometimes you felt you would from the sheer loneliness you felt. Annie came by after you missed a market trip, and you couldn't explain your distance or your melancholy. It seemed so silly when confronted by your sister, whose own grief was so much more real than yours. 

“Sun’s gonna set soon,” Annie observed with one hand held out to block the light of the sun from her eyes. Five days ago, you would have settled into Remmy’s room with Leo resting on the bed and your grimoire in your hands. When the sun was gone, you would have opened the shutters and cracked the window for your little crow to feel the breeze.

“Go on home. Nothing good comes out at night.” You remind her. Annie smiles like she's thinking you finally understand her worries, and she kisses your forehead, which brings tears to your eyes. She doesn't see them as she leaves, and you're so thankful she didn't notice it.

Leo lay on the dining table; you watched the pink sunset glow against him. Sitting with your head on your knees, you closed your eyes for a fleeting moment. When you opened them again, it was night.

“I ain’t scared of the dark,” you begin to talk, wondering if Leo will listen like Remmy did. “I love the night and the moon. Why should a creature of the night be any different?” You ask, but Leo doesn't respond; he doesn't even look at you, the damned cat.

“I ain’t never been lonely. I never missed Benny boy or Annie or anybody when I was alone. So why would I miss some silly bird?” Pure frustration filled your tensed muscles. Maybe it was the understanding in his eyes, or the specific little gifts he left you, but for some reason, you felt seen for the first time since your mother passed. 

Even after you tossed him to the curb, he still came back. Never knocking on the door or trying to get your attention, he left gifts instead. Bundles of rosemary on Tuesday and quartz from the river on Wednesday. Thursday, it was a group of colorful rocks. Friday, he left mourning glories, and Saturday, it was a brand new copy of The Conjure Man Dies by Rudolph Fisher. 

Each gift more meaningful than the last. He knew you, not because you willingly told Remmick, but because you bared your soul to Remmy. You hated the feeling of anger, it coursed through you like poison. Remmy was more than a bird; he was a demon of night, and he had willingly deceived you just to learn the most intimate parts of your life and the things you wouldn't even tell your sister.

Tap, Tap, Tap.

Nobody knocked on your door at night or during the day. He didn’t have to knock, not after you had given him a permanent welcome to your home, even though you had done it under false notions. Still, you were glad that he gave you simple respect, so you opened the door.

“I could fix ya’ car.” Remmick’s hair was neater than when you kicked him out. Most importantly, he was clothed. His pale frame was covered by a light blue button-up shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms. Navy blue jeans looked nice on him, so did the belt he cinched around his hips and the suspenders he added purely as an accessory. “I know you ain’t got that boy to fix it no more. Figured it’s the least I can do.”

You laughed, “What would you know about cars?” To be fair, he had a physique similar to Benny and the other town mechanics. Strong frame, not as imposing as the farmers, but just as capable. He didn’t seem as sheepish or timid as he did when you last saw him. There was an ease to the way he leaned against your porch, potentially a facade. 

“Been around since they made 'em. Did some work as a mechanic for a while back in the day.” He shrugged, naturally reminding you that this man was not like you. Though he appeared to be in his late 20s to early 30s, there was something much older in his eyes and his mannerisms—an ancient being masquerading as a boy.

“I’ll let ya’ try. Doesn’t mean you get to come in.” You retort, reminding him that he is a stranger to you. “I ain’t forget what you did and I damn sure haven’t forgiven you.” He nodded slowly as if he was trying to show his understanding. Without turning your back on him, you scurried back inside, locking the door. 

An hour passed, and you weren't even sure if Remmick was still outside. You changed into your white chiffon nightgown before letting Leo out to use the restroom and wander the grounds. Taking a seat on the porch swing, you caught sight of Remmick, suspenders falling from his shoulders and dirt covering his pants. He had found the toolbox you kept in the back seat; it wasn’t yours to keep, truth be told. 

“Figured you’d given up by now,” you hollered from the porch. Remmick would have heard your euphonic voice even if it were mumbled under your breath. His slightly pointed ears perked up, grinning as he sauntered over to the porch. So enraptured with the soft lines of your face, he hadn’t noticed the thin fabric of your nightgown until you were right in front of him.

“Well, I-I couldn't leave ya’ without a car,” his breath hitched at the sight of you, and his words stumbled out clumsily. In truth, he never lustfully considered your body. Even when he climbed into your bed at night, he was obsessed with the honeyed tone of your voice, your sparkling eyes, your soft and rich skin, and the way your curls fell around your face. The curves of your body were unfamiliar to him, but suddenly they were invading his mind.

“Remmick, your drooling.” His blue eyes, pupils blown wide and dark, shot up to your lips. Blood that was not his own rushed to his face and brought a bright red flush to his cheeks and ears. Quickly, he wiped the beady pearls of his saliva away from his chin. It entranced you, reminding you that this man was a predator, animalistic and primal.

“Are you…hungry?” Your eyes searched for Leo, begging him to return so you could go inside. The tabby cat was below you, standing at Remmick's side and brushing against his jeans—a fur-covered traitor.

“Nah. I ate earlier, sugar.” For a minute, his words felt casual, like he ate the same dinner as you, and not the blood of his prey.

“How did you eat the berries and nuts? When you were a crow.” Remmick thought for a moment, not as though he were crafting a lie but more like he was trying to explain. He inched up the stairs, making his way closer to you.

“When I was turned, my creator drained me of all my life's blood.” Remmick began, deliberately closing the distance between you two until he was directly in front of you as you sat on your swing.

“I don’t have blood of my own; that's why I have to take it from others.” You ignored the pang in your heart that came from the grimace on his face. “When I drink blood, it flows through my veins, and for a few hours, it's like being human again. I have a heartbeat, the ability to taste food and all that human shit. Blood powers damn near everything in the body, without it we’re just shells.” He shrugged his shoulders, “At least that's what it’s like for me.”

“It only lasts hours?” You couldn't imagine the misery of not being able to taste all the delicious food in the world. You’d die without Annie's famous fried fish.

“Depends. When you found me, I’d sucked two humans dry, filled my veins for a few days. Without new blood, the old dries up and everything’s useless again.” You expected disgust or hatred to curl in your stomach, but it never came. How could you blame him for surviving when you would probably do the same? You don’t ask for further details, right now you understand enough, and one thing is clear: Remmick did not choose this life.

“So what do ya’ think?” You inquired, slightly nodding towards the red Cadillac. Remmick misses the movement; his eyes are focused on the way your hands curl against your gown. He looked up, examining you from the roots of your hair to your bare feet.

“I like it.” He retorted.

“Talkin’ bout the car, Remmick.” He looks back at the Cadillac.

“Oh, it should be good.  Just needed to adjust the motor.” You nodded along, not understanding the more technical terms he started to use, but it was nice listening to him explain it. Clearly, he knew what he was talking about. He motioned for you to follow him, and reluctantly, you made your way to the car as he started it to confirm it was working properly. 

“Seems good.” You hesitate when he leaves the front seat and stands in front of you. “Suppose we could talk on the porch if you had any groveling or apologizing ya’ wanted to do. ” For an unknown reason, you felt the need to let him explain himself. You didn't regret kicking him out; it was the safest thing to do, but his constant attempts at forgiveness were enough to make you want to hear him out.

The two of you sat together, the porch swing once felt so big when you snuggled into your mother's side, now it felt crowded as if you were practically sitting on Remmick's lap. You didn’t realize the closeness it would bring. If he felt uncomfortable, he didn't say or show it.

Dying to fill the silence, you open your mouth to find words, but Remmick beats you to it. “ I was tryna’ get away from some dangerous people.”  He hesitated, trying to choose the best parts of the story to tell without scaring you away. “They wanted to kill me, but naturally, I deserved it. Not all my kind can shapeshift, you gotta be stronger and older than the rest. I know I'm older than most.” He chuckled, a low and joyless sound.

“Don’t know why I can do it besides, only thing I can turn to is a crow.” Remmick looked off, watching the property line like a spooked animal. Leo bounded back up the stairs and jumped right into Remmick's lap, casually affectionate.

 Absentmindedly, Remmy stroked the cat's fur as though it were the most natural thing to do. His navy blue eyes still examined the forest. You could never keep track of what color they would be next, but you were starting to understand. At his weakest, most human moments, his eyes were naturally blue. Still, you didn't know what to make of the changes.

“Think they shot at me with silver bullets, one must have clipped me because I could only go so far before falling.” Remmick ran a hand along his previously injured shoulder. “Was tryna crawl deeper into the woods. Then you found me, I’m mighty thankful for ya. I woulda’ve died out there.” His strong hand rakes through Leo’s dark fur, and the cat stretches his paws out as he soaks in the attention.

“I was too weak to turn back, but when I got better, I started sneaking out to feed,” Remmick explained everything as if he were teaching you basic English. There was a familiarity between the two of you, despite your eagerness to ignore it. Sitting on the porch together reminded you of late nights with a good friend. 

“Why come back if you were healed? Why’d you leave all those gifts?” You asked, finding the questions easier than asking why he crawled into your bed dressed down to his underwear. He didn't speak for a while. With a Gallic shrug, he let the air go silent. You let him think, listening to the black field crickets and the occasional purr from Leo.

“I thought the gifts were pretty, reminded me of you,” He began slowly, testing the boundary of what you would let him say. “As far as why I came back, I wanted to—never had a pretty girl takin’ care of me. And you're so damned smart; listening to you talk was the highlight of my day. Guess I took a liking to you.”

Brazenly, you tugged at one of his suspenders, trying to get him to look at you. He did so, slowly turning to meet your playful gaze. His eyes appeared glossy, desperate for something in the same way Remmy’s eyes had so often looked. “For what it’s worth, I took a liking to you, too. In crow form, that is.” You pull a soft laugh from him as he places a contemplative finger on his lips. 

“Perhaps, you could like the human side too? If ya’ got to know 'em.” Remmick's voice was unsure, feeble like the first call he made when you found him injured in the woods. Everything you learned was screaming at you to get rid of him. He’d confessed to being a vampire; he was something monstrous, the very creatures Annie had warned you about. 

Still, he was Remmy. The little crow that listened to you attentively and left you gifts that proved you had captured his attention. His presence made you realize you were lonely out here, even though you liked to pretend you weren’t. You wondered if your eyes mirrored the same desperation that his did.

“I could,” You began slowly, torturing the man for fun.“If you were to promise not to hurt me, because if you tried, I’d have to hurt you back, and it’s damned hard to get blood out of clothes.” He nodded vigorously, his eyes wide like you were giving him a gift, something more precious than just your reluctant words.

“Wouldn't hurt ya’. Never even thought of it.” He promised like he had something to prove, like his life was on the line. 

The eagerness he held was strange to you. Nobody had ever craved your attention, even the boys who tried to convince you to marry them were only after the prize of having you on their arm for show.

To them, you were just a pretty girl with a good enough income, but to Remmick, you were something to yearn for. He might kill you, might tear your throat out and leave you drained. His fanged canines promised this, but his eyes told a different story.

“Got work in the morning,” He knew this, he remembered your schedule. “I wouldn’t mind a certain boy coming back tomorrow. Preferably, at sundown. Any later and I might forget he exists.” You stood from the swing, bending down to pull Leo from Remmick’s lap. His eyes trailed the dip of your nightgown, and he swallowed hard when your fingers brushed against his thighs to pick up the sleeping cat.

“I-I’m sure he wouldn't mind that either.” Remick stuttered, lifting one leg over the other in an attempt to hide his lap. You didn’t notice. With Leo securely clutched to your chest, you used your elbow to push the screen door open. Without a goodbye, you closed the door, resting Leo onto the dining table so you could lock the front door. 

Remmick didn't move for nearly an hour. His head fell back against the wall, his long pale neck bared before the moonlight. I’m no child, he reminded himself. I am older than most who walk the earth.  

He couldn't explain the weak feeling in his knees or the way he constantly felt bested by you. The ancient vampire was no stranger to women; he was married once before, and he’d had a history of lovers, human and of his kind. Still, he was a stranger to genuine feelings that did not derive from lust or physical desire. 

Remmick finally leaves, wandering away from your porch desperately trying to figure out the feeling that settles in his chest like an anchor tethering him to you.

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

True to his word, Remmick broke through the tree line just as the sun fell away from the sky. You were back on the porch swing, with Leo lying at your side. The first thing the vampire noticed was the length of your hair, wet from a recent bath and longer than usual. Your scent hit him as he climbed the wooden steps, vanilla and lilies.

“You sittin’ out here waiting for me, sugar?” Try as you might, you couldn’t deny it. You sped home from work, made dinner as fast as you could, and took a long bath in vanilla extract and essential oils. You told yourself you would do it for anyone, just trying to look nice for a friend.

“Might be.” You teased, smoothing the lines of your skirt. His hands traced your movements. The outfit you wore was delicate. He’d seen you in it before, a white sweater-blouse with a high-waisted linen skirt and a black belt, more appropriate than your nightgown, but pretty all the same. Everything looked beautiful on you, he figured it was you who made it so. 

“Where do you go when you ain’t with me?” It was a question you pondered all day.

“Ain’t been in Missippi long enough to start a new life yet. I just came down from North Carolina. Got hurt on my third day in this damn place.” There was humor in his words, like he was used to the odds being stacked against him. “Usually, I find an abandoned home outside the town. Fix it up, get a simple job, and stay for as long as I can before the town notices all the missing folks and that I don’t age like them.”

“Do you make friends?” Remmick tilted his head, similar to the crow’s behavior, and he pondered your question as if it were something so confusing that he’d never thought of it. You imagined it was nice at times, traveling around and being someone new. You also imagined that it got tiring.

“I’ve made a few. Made some of 'em like me. Rare I meet another one of' my kind, but the friends I’ve turned are always with me, and I’m with them.” He tapped the side of his head, showing you where his friends were. “We all travel around, sometimes we meet. I don’t mind being alone, though. Grown accustomed to it.”

“I thought I was, too.” The ‘before you’ hangs heavy in the air. You didn’t mean to voice it aloud, but you couldn't help it.

“What, bout that fiancée of yours…boony?” Remmick asked.

“It’s Benny,” you correct. “I loved him, well enough. I couldn't balance my grieving sister and a needy fiancé, so I called it off. Not sure I would have been happy as his wife.”

Leo hops off the swing, stretching his arms out as Remmick steals his spot. The leg space you had disappears, but before you can throw them over the edge of the swing, Remmick takes the underside of your knees and lifts your legs onto his lap. He doesn't mind the weight on him; in fact, he seems to like it.

 You're stunned for a moment, but you won’t let him get the best of you. Sighing contentedly, you lean back into the porch swing until your thighs lie atop Remmicks, and your head lies on the armrest. You enjoy the way Remmick looks down at you and forces himself to look away.

“Mama always said a woman's duty was to her husband and children.” You watch Leo roll around in the dirt. “Don’t need none of that. She had a husband, and it killed her. She had me, and I couldn't even save her. I've got Leo, maybe he can be my only son.” Remmick laughs with you, a melody forming between the two of you. 

“You’re a good mother. Leo’s nothin’ but fat and happy.” It was nice to have someone who would agree with your little fantasy world, where you didn’t have to marry and your cat could be your son. 

“What about you? Didn’t think I noticed the ring on ya finger? Figure you have a wife and kids somewhere. Little vampires, perhaps?” As you observe him, Remmick gently tugs your skirt back into place, pulling it from where it's slipped up your thighs down to where it's meant to be at your ankles. He places his left hand right above your knee, the hand bearing his golden wedding band.

“Had a wife once. No kids, thankfully. Don’t know if I coulda’ve made it a thousand years as a father to little ones.” You make a mental note of that; he’s older than you originally thought. Still, you relax further into him as he taps his ring finger against your knee. “Liadan, that was my wife's name. Don’t remember what she looks like; it was arranged anyhow. She was a kind girl, didn’t fit well with me. I’ve always been a lil’ wild. Ain’t the proper way to behave.”

“Fuck propriety.” Your laugh startles him; he wasn't expecting it. “The best people aren’t always well behaved.” Danger encourages you to wink at him; you do it without hesitation. It’s funny to watch him squirm, his Adam's apple bobs, you wonder if he's trying not to drool again. You think he might eat you, yet you’re not afraid.

“Benny boy, that’s what the town calls him, he wanted a wife like the bible talks about. He didn’t want no witch and sure didn’t want no sinner.” The moon caresses your face, edging you on as you slip into a more casual way of speaking. “Ben liked me in the sunlight when everything had to be done a certain way. Told me he was gonna keep me from the dark, and it made me feel sick.”

“You’re gorgeous at night.” Remmick bites his tongue, shocked at his own words. “Sure, you're beautiful in the sunlight too, but you're made for this,” he gestures towards the darkness around you, lit only by a pale glow. “Thought you were an angel the night you found me. You were glowing like one, lookin’ like sweet death.”

Speaking like a poet yet refusing to meet your eye, Remmick was glad that he had not fed yet, or else you would have seen a flush on his face and potentially felt him poking against your legs. His thumb brushed the fabric of your skirt, circling the space below your thigh. He bites the soft skin of his lip, hard. Sick delight courses through you, entranced by the sheepish way Remmick avoids your gaze.

“Crows are known to be gift bringers. They like giving shiny things, and they never forget a slight or kindness.” It’s so random, so uniquely you, that he throws his head back and laughs. A real, genuine laugh, showing his fangs and closing his eyes. 

Despite his reaction, you continue, “They hold funerals and mourn their dead. Most importantly, they form bonds; it's not always exclusive, but sometimes, if they are lucky, they find the right one and mate for life.” You’re not sure if he remembers it, but last night he questioned why his second form was a crow. After talking to him, you feel you've figured it out.

“You’re so precious, sugar.” Remmick reaches out to push stray curls out of your face. You flinch back at first, gripping his wrist with your nails until you see the kind light in his dark eyes. From his sculpted jaw to his curved nose, you never paid too much attention to how naturally handsome he is. It’s subtle, but when you notice the curve of his lips and the strength of his neck, you feel compelled to let him do as he pleases. Cautiously, you release his wrist so that he can touch your curls.

 Remmick's thin, shapely eyebrows curl up like he’s in pain, but he smiles all the same. His hand doesn't leave you; he cups your cheek within his palm. You notice that his eyes are dark again, shining obsidian. You reach out to take his hand within your own, but he pulls back. Gently, but rushed, he places your feet back on the porch and stands, moving away from you.

“You've got work in the morning!” He shakes his head like he's waking from a trance. “ Sleep well, Lassie!” You look down at Leo, scratching at the screen door, when you look back up, Remmick is gone.

[eldritch-spouse]

Imagine someone finding a super old summoning book that contains the rituals for some low level demons you even find one for a demon called sand-tea? (Even funnier if set during King!Santi)

[Can you imagine he recently ascended to the throne of Lust under Adrul's orders and he hasn't even had time to properly change sigilry. Everything's a mess and he's so tired.]

Santi is in the middle of preparing for a meeting with Prince Adrul when it happens.

His eyes widen and he scrabbles to take hold of the former King's large vanity, before a rift all but sucks him into interaction with an unforeseen client...

Now that he's an Icon, the amount of space he gets to pass through and reach a summoned location is almost alien, causing Santi to nearly stumble when it closes behind him.

Everything is amiss.

He finds himself in a circle that no longer holds the power it should over him, the offering for this request is definitely not even close to that of an Icon's demand. It would certainly require more people, not just one scantily clad human, holding a dusty grimoire.

It only takes an awkward second for him to put it together, and he sighs.

Unbothered by your face of complete and utter confusion -Some blend of terror and helpless arousal- or the circle, for that matter, Santi reaches over to snag the book from your hands, combing eyes over the page.

" Hmmn... "

Just what the demon thought. This was written shortly after he ascended to high-rank. He supposes not enough time has passed for his nature to truly reflect his status. It's only a matter of time before these instructions no longer suffice to reach him. Let's not take any chances though.

The newly-crowned King casts a vaguely patronizing, affectionate glance down at you. So silly, so unlucky, got a bit more than what you bargained for, didn't you?

" Oh love, I so regret to inform you, but this little book of yours is quite outdated. "

He watches you blink, having no time to speak before Santi grips the page, swiftly tearing it off, forcing the candle flames to burst alive so that he can burn the information to a crisp.

When the fire falls back, you have taken several shaky steps away. The lack of recognition in your eyes betrays you still don't know what you're facing. Poor thing.

" Well come now, I'm not mad at you. " He smiles invitingly, sitting lazily so that his size no longer keeps you glued to the wall, like a trapped mouse. " How could I be? Cute summoners always get the best of me. " Lie.

You make the mistake of looking into his dark-lashed eyes for just a second too long, a shiver of intense delight lifting the hairs on your skin.

" ... Hello? " A little surge of bravery makes you walk forward.

Santi thinks it might just be that you don't want to appear weak in front of him, or that you haven't yet realized he's inside the circle to make you feel safer more than anything.

" Hello. " He parrots. " My love, you've gotten yourself an audience with the new King of Lust. "

He heard the way your spit caught in your throat.

You believe him, Santi can see it in your eyes.

" I- But I- I didn't mean- I'm so sorry- "

Your flustered babbling has the great demon tilting a heavy horned head, savoring the way you fumble and fight to form thoughts at the mere sight of him. Partially his fault, Santi hasn't had the time to properly learn to contain his newfound pheromone intensity.

" I know, I know. You've never summoned anything quite like me before. It's a lot. " The Icon's tone is soothing and merciful, arms parting as if to embrace you when he curls a finger. " Come closer. "

The silk in his voice, somewhere between pleading and forceful, leaves you no room to deny the monster.

Self-preservation makes your bare feet halt at the edge of the insignificant salt circle. Santi's lips curl downward for a blink.

" Closer still, my sweet summoner. You would deny me the simplest pleasure of holding you? "

As soon as one tentative toe slips in, Santi's gums show in a blatant display of satisfied victory. He finds it's much too easy to have anyone dance to his whims now, a thrilling sensation.

Dark hands pull you closer playfully. Santi combs through locks of your hair, keeping you locked in a passionate gaze for a lethally entrancing amount of time. You stare at each other like perfect lovers, time stops for you, the entire world nothing but a darkened magenta mist surrounding Santi. He grins subtly, relishing the complete control he has over you.

You really have no idea what you got yourself into. And he's not charitable enough to let go of a pretty thing like you. Not when he could keep you.

Yes... As the new Icon, he should begin forming his own harem soon. You could be the first to join such a prestigious rank, spoiled and branded with his mark. He wonders what it looks like now... Will it hug your entire figure the way Vesper's mark possessively encompassed the whole body of his concubines?

" So tell me, why was I brought here tonight? "

His question was practically whispered onto your lips, though ever mercifully, he leans back to let you focus the slightest amount. Just enough to answer him. It takes a while of refreshing your synapses for Santi to get a response.

" I wanted... My friend is throwing a party, like a girl's night, y'know...? "

Oh, he does know. Those are fun.

" She asked me to... Summon an incubus, for us. "

Which you did, because you're a good friend, and you want to keep your friends happy, pleasured. What a sweet one, Santi muses. In spite of his thoughts, the monster's beautifully sculpted face morphs into sadness, the same look a mother would give their child when preparing to tell them they can't have a cookie.

" I see... But I fear that won't be possible, love. You can't attend this party. "

He watches a spike of muffled panic try to overcome the desire written all over your face. It fails, you're more concerned with the full lips pouting in front of you.

" W- Why? "

He chuckles, continuing to pet your hair while ever so slightly tilting you down further, and further. You're all but lying into his grasp, relaxed and unwilling to care.

" My sweetest little thing, your offering is hardly enough to motivate someone of my status. I'm afraid I must leave with compensation. "

Claws flirt with the bare surface of your thighs, a playful stroke up and down, palping the fragile softness of your form. You're overheated, for a human that is, his nostrils flare at the growing wetness that lies barely concealed.

Santi can tell the gears are trying to turn in your head, enjoying the way your face simply gets darker, squirming in place yet never attempting to leave his arms.

He's patient enough to let you come up with something, even if your fate's already been decided.

" Uhm... I can still try to invite more friends? If- " You finally have the self-awareness to look away, making the demonlord smirk. " If you want me to do anything right now, I guess we can... "

He can't help it.

Santi bursts out laughing.

You're so out of your depth here, it's ridiculous. The contrast between the sterile, needlessly embellished bureaucracies of Hell's royalty and your simple "hums" and "haa"s of inadequate suggestions bring a tear to his eye.

You've reminded Santi that he truly needs a break, lest he end up like some of the bland demons orbiting the upper ranks of the Rings.

" Oh we're doing lots of things. " He jests, placing a simple kiss on your burning forehead. " Just not here. You're coming with me. "

" What?! " The way your eyes bulge has him worried they might just pop out that skull.

Santi leans down, unbothered, the beginning of a return rift sparking to life behind his great form.

" You heard me. I promise it'll be a better time than whatever party you've been to. "

His grip on you becomes more secure.

" You might not even want to come back. "

[birdofwildness]

⋆.♡.ᐟ˚100 reasons to ship you and Tom Riddle

⋆.♡.ᐟ˚Tom Riddle

sumarry:: what the title says lmao. Rivals to lovers trope. I wrote this because i reached 0,1K. Thank you babies ♡

Warnings:: nsfw content mostly towards the end,switch! Tom Riddle

1. You see the good still buried deep inside him.

Even when the world sees only the damage he’s done or the darkness he carries, you manage to glimpse the remnants of light still flickering within him—reminding him that he hasn’t been completely lost.

2. He trusts you with parts of himself no one else sees.

In a world where vulnerability feels dangerous, he lets down his guard with you. The broken pieces, the quiet thoughts, the fragile truths—he shares them, knowing you won't turn away.

3. You challenge his ideologies in ways he secretly admires.

Your questions aren’t attacks; they’re mirrors. You force him to reconsider long-held beliefs, and while he may argue at first, deep down, he respects your insight more than he’ll ever say out loud.

4. You’re not afraid of his darkness—you understand it.

Instead of recoiling from the shadows he carries, you sit with them. You recognize where they come from and what they’ve cost him, and in that understanding, he finds something dangerously close to peace.

5. He finds your empathy… unsettling, yet fascinating.

Your ability to feel deeply and care so effortlessly unnerves him. It’s unfamiliar territory—something he can’t quite grasp—but he can’t help being drawn to it.

6. You make him feel things he thought he couldn’t.

Whether it’s guilt, hope, or tenderness, emotions long buried rise to the surface in your presence. You awaken something in him he believed was dead and gone.

7. You are his moral anchor—however fragile it is.

Even when he drifts toward destruction, your voice, your principles, your belief in something better give him pause. You’re the thin thread that sometimes keeps him from crossing irreversible lines.

8. You make him question his path.

Every decision, every motive that once felt certain now comes with doubt. Your influence has disrupted his narrative, making him wonder if there's another way—if redemption is even possible.

9. He would never admit it, but he craves your acceptance.

He acts like he doesn’t care, like your opinion means nothing—but in truth, your approval has become something he quietly longs for. It’s one of the few things that still matter to him.

10. Your presence silences the constant storm in his mind.

The chaos, the regrets, the endless noise—when you're near, it all quiets. You bring a stillness he doesn’t understand, but clings to, if only for a moment.

11. You’re both exceptionally talented in magic.

Magic flows through both of you like a second language—effortless, instinctive, and boundless. In each other, you’ve found a rare equal: someone who understands the thrill, the danger, and the beauty of true magical power.

12. You duel like equals—powerful and intense.

Every clash of wands is a dance—precise, volatile, and exhilarating. Neither of you holds back, and in those moments, the rest of the world disappears. It’s not just a duel; it’s a connection forged in fire and force.

13. You help him master obscure magical texts.

Ancient grimoires, forgotten enchantments, cryptic runes—you help him unravel them all. Where others see impossibility, you bring clarity, guiding him through knowledge that few dare to explore.

14. He teaches you Parseltongue for fun.

What begins as a joke—his eerie, hissing language—soon becomes your secret code. It’s intimate, strange, and something only the two of you share. In teaching you, he shares a piece of himself he usually hides.

15. Together, your magic is unstoppable.

On your own, you're formidable—but together, you're a force of nature. Your spells harmonize, your intent aligns, and when you stand side by side, even the most ancient wards and darkest curses falter.

16. You create spells together.

You don’t just study magic—you shape it. Late nights in candlelit rooms, scribbling incantations and testing theories, crafting spells that have never existed until your minds and hearts brought them into being.

17. You help him explore ancient magic.

The kind of magic whispered about in legends—the deep, wild, untamed kind—he wouldn't dare approach it alone. But with you, he steps into forgotten realms, trusting your light to guide him through the unknown.

18. You balance his raw power with control and compassion.

He’s untamed magic—fierce, unpredictable, and overwhelming. You’re the calm in his chaos, the steady hand that grounds him. With you, his power doesn’t just destroy—it protects, it heals, it transforms.

19. Magical sparks literally fly when you’re near.

The air around you tingles. Books flutter, candles flicker, spells surge without warning. Your magic responds to each other instinctively—wild, electric, and undeniably alive.

20. You share secrets of magic even Dumbledore doesn’t know.

Together, you’ve uncovered knowledge buried in time, magic that predates even the oldest spells in Hogwarts’ libraries. You guard it between you, a bond built not just on power, but on trust.

21. The dark-academic romance vibes are immaculate.

Everything about your connection feels like it’s been pulled from the pages of a beautifully tragic novel—intellectual debates laced with yearning, dark hallways echoing with secrets, and hearts bound by intellect and longing.

22. Candlelit study sessions in the Restricted Section.

Surrounded by dust-laced tomes and ink-stained parchment, you sit shoulder to shoulder in dim candlelight. The shadows dance across his face as your fingers brush over arcane pages, your voices hushed, your hearts loud.

23. Gothic castle, midnight meetings, cloaks sweeping behind you.

The castle looms around you like a cathedral of secrets, stone cold and alive with history. You meet in its forgotten corners, your footsteps muffled by ancient stone, your cloaks trailing like whispers behind you.

24. You meet in forbidden places—chambers, towers, catacombs.

Places others fear to tread are where you find each other. Beneath the school, above the stars, between the walls—you carve out spaces that belong only to you, hidden from the world’s eyes.

25. His cold hands warming only when they touch yours.

His touch is always cool—until it’s yours he’s holding. Then, slowly, like a thaw, the warmth creeps in, unspoken and undeniable. It’s a silent surrender, one he only allows when no one else can see.

26. A love that blooms in shadows and secrets.

Your relationship isn’t loud or easy—it exists in whispers, in locked glances across crowded rooms, in the spaces where light barely touches. It’s fragile, forbidden, and all the more powerful for it.

27. Roses with thorns, hearts with daggers.

Your love is beautiful, but it cuts. Every moment of closeness comes with danger, every shared breath with the risk of pain. And still, you reach for each other—willing to bleed for something that feels this real.

28. The dramatic tension in every lingering stare.

He doesn’t need to say a word. One glance from across a corridor can shatter your focus, ignite your pulse. Your stares are loaded with everything you both are too afraid—or too proud—to speak aloud.

29. The silence between you speaks louder than words.

Even when you say nothing, you’re speaking. In the pauses, in the stillness, in the way your hands hover near each other’s or your footsteps fall in sync—you communicate in the language of shared understanding and restrained desire.

30. Two souls tangled in fate.

No matter how hard you try to resist it, you’re bound—by magic, by past lives, by some invisible thread neither of you can untie. You were never meant to be simple… only inevitable.

31. You’re the only person who can stop him… or save him.

When he stands on the edge of darkness, it’s your voice that echoes in his mind. No spell, no force, no power can reach him like you do. You’re his last line of defense—his possible salvation, or the one person with the strength to end him if he goes too far.

32. He writes you letters he never sends.

In quiet, lonely hours, he pours his truth onto parchment—confessions, regrets, fragments of love too raw to speak aloud. The ink dries, the letters are hidden away, never meant to be read, but each one holds a piece of the heart he won’t show you.

33. He brings you into his plans because he can’t be without you.

Even when the path is dangerous, even when logic says to leave you behind—he doesn’t. He includes you, not just because he trusts your mind, but because your presence steadies him. Without you, the plan means nothing.

34. Your intellect matches his.

He’s used to being the sharpest mind in the room, but with you, he meets his match. Your wit slices just as cleanly, your knowledge runs just as deep, and your mind is one of the few things he truly respects—because it can challenge his own.

35. He hates that he can’t manipulate you at first.

You're a puzzle he can’t solve, a game he can’t win by default. It frustrates him—this inability to sway you like he does everyone else. But beneath the irritation, there’s fascination. You’re not easily controlled, and he finds that maddeningly attractive.

36. You intrigue him with your unpredictability.

You don’t follow the script he’s used to. You surprise him—your choices, your reactions, your boldness. He never knows quite what you’ll do next, and that uncertainty keeps you carved into his thoughts, haunting him in the best way.

37. You understand his trauma—but don’t excuse it.

You’ve seen the damage done to him, the scars he hides beneath arrogance and cruelty. You get it—but you also hold him accountable. And that makes your compassion more powerful than pity ever could.

38. He sees you as the only equal he's ever had.

In a world full of followers, sycophants, and pawns, you stand apart. You don’t kneel. You don’t flatter. You meet his gaze unflinching, and in that defiance, he finds something close to reverence.

39. You call him out without fear.

While others cower or placate, you speak your truth. You challenge him, question him, even mock him when he deserves it. And though his pride bristles, he listens—because no one else dares.

40. You get under his skin in the best way.

You irritate him. You thrill him. You disrupt his control and make him feel too much. You're chaos wrapped in beauty, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get you out of his head—or stop wanting more.

41. You make him laugh—something no one else can.

Not the cold, rehearsed smirk he shows the world—but real laughter. The kind that catches him off guard, that softens the edges of who he is. You break through the armor, if only for a moment.

42. You on your knees

It undoes him. Not because of dominance, not just lust—but because it’s you choosing to give him that part of yourself. There’s something raw, intimate, and dangerous in that act—and he feels it in his bones.

43. You know he's a half-blood.

You know the truth he hides beneath layers of pride and legacy. You’ve seen the shame, the fear of inadequacy he masks with cruelty. But you don’t use it against him—you just see him more clearly than anyone else ever has.

44. He thinks love is a weakness—until you.

Love was always something he scoffed at, a distraction for the foolish and fragile. But then you appeared—strong, untamed, and utterly disarming. And suddenly, he understands why people would burn kingdoms for a feeling he once believed beneath him.

45. He will never leave you. It’s an obvious marriage from the start.

From the first moment, there’s a gravity between you—an inevitability. Not some whimsical romance, but a bond forged in fire and mutual understanding. He may not say the word "forever," but it’s in every action, every glance, every plan with your name carved into it.

46. He kills for you. Or because of you.

When someone threatens you, he doesn't hesitate—violence becomes devotion. And when his rage spirals from your pain, the lines blur: is he protecting you… or punishing the world for ever touching what’s his?

47. You’re both obsessed—but terrified.

What you share is not gentle—it’s consuming. You’re in each other’s blood, in every waking thought. The intensity borders on madness, and neither of you knows how to survive it—or if you even want to.

48. You’re the light he wants to extinguish… and protect.

Your goodness infuriates him. It tempts him, threatens his carefully constructed walls. He wants to snuff it out, to pull you down into his darkness. And yet—when the world comes for that light, he shields it like something sacred.

49. You know he’ll destroy the world—and still love him.

You see the path he walks, the fire in his eyes. You know he may never choose redemption. And still, your love doesn’t falter. It's not blind. It’s brutal, honest, and endless—even if it means standing beside a man who would watch it all burn.

50. Hades and Persephone energy.

He is the dark, imposing god of the underworld—cold, feared, and untouchable. You are the light that chose to step into his shadows willingly, not out of weakness, but with eyes wide open. And somehow, you both bloom in the in-between—where spring meets death.

51. Beauty and the Beast—if the Beast embraced the darkness.

There’s no pretending he’s gentle, no façade of civility. He is rage, sorrow, and raw power—but he never hides it from you. And instead of changing him, you love him as he is. You don’t tame the monster—you walk hand-in-hand with it.

52. You are the last piece of his lost humanity.

When everything else has been stripped away—compassion, hope, mercy—you remain. You’re the thread tying him to who he once was, and maybe, who he could still be. If he holds on to anything real, it's you.

53. He sees himself inside you—and not just sexually… but sometimes like that too.

There’s something about the way you move, the way you fight, the fire in your eyes—it mirrors everything he is: fierce, relentless, dangerous. And when your bodies collide, it’s not just lust—it’s recognition.

54. You tame his chaos.

You don’t suppress him—you steady him. In your presence, the storms within him calm just enough for him to breathe. You bring order to the madness, not by force, but by simply being there. And he clings to that calm like a lifeline.

55. Long letters from the Chamber of Secrets.

He sends them in the dead of night—pages inked with secrets, spells, and things he’d never dare say aloud. You read them by wandlight, each word dripping with obsession, sarcasm, and reluctant vulnerability. They become your secret correspondence—dangerous, poetic, and deeply intimate.

56. Hogwarts drama—jealous glances and hidden messages.

Hallways thick with tension, whispers following your every move. His eyes track you like a storm on the horizon—cold when others get too close, warm when no one’s looking. Notes tucked into textbooks, coded exchanges in class, and spells that say everything you can’t.

57. He protects you in his own twisted way.

when someone threatens you, they disappear—socially, magically, or literally. He wraps his cruelty around you like armor, keeping you safe in ways no one else could... or would.

58. You disguise your love behind rivalry at first.

Every insult is a test. Every argument, a flirtation. The tension simmers beneath sharp words and heated glares. Neither of you wants to admit what it really is—but everyone else can feel it, crackling like magic between you.

59. You were his first kiss.

It was messy. Intense. Probably after a fight. It wasn't soft—it was desperate, angry, necessary. Like something he'd been holding back for far too long finally cracked open—and for one moment, he let himself need.

60. The nicknames he gives you.

when he whispers one of them just for you, it’s as intimate as a touch.

61. You see him cry. Once.

Just once. It’s quiet, raw, and unguarded. No theatrics, no manipulation. Just a single, shattering moment where the walls break. He never speaks of it again—but you never forget it.

62. Every cruel thing he does is shadowed by thoughts of you.

Even in his darkest moments, when his hands are stained and his words are venom, a part of him still thinks of you. Your disappointment. Your silence. What you’d say if you saw him like this. And though he doesn’t stop—can’t stop—it haunts him. You haunt him.

63. You forgive his mistakes.

Not because he deserves it, but because you understand where they come from. You see the fractured boy behind the arrogance, the pain behind the rage. Your forgiveness isn’t weakness—it’s a choice, a form of love stronger than pride or punishment.

64. In the end, he dies with your name on his lips.

Whether in battle or sacrifice, surrounded by ruin or silence, it’s you he clings to in his final breath. Not power, not legacy—just your name, spoken like a prayer. A last tether to the only thing that ever made him feel human.

65. The tension is just chef’s kiss.

Every stare is a challenge. Every brush of fingers, a provocation. The space between you is electric—one wrong move and it would all ignite. You’re constantly toeing the line between hatred and hunger, and neither of you wants to step back.

66. Your dark romance is so hot.

It’s obsessive, powerful, unholy—and it burns. When you're together, it’s less like love and more like a spell gone slightly wrong: dangerous, thrilling, and completely addictive.

67. He’s evil—but elegant about it. His suits get you hot.

He doesn't do chaos without style. Crisp lines, sharp tailoring, a gloved hand holding a wand like it’s made for power and seduction. He could hex someone into oblivion without raising his voice—and you'd still be watching his mouth the entire time.

68. You’re the only one who could handle him.

Everyone else fears him. Avoids him. Obeys him. But you? You talk back. You bite. He’s chaos, but you’re fire—and he knows better than to get too close unless he wants to burn.

69. You believe he deserves love.

Because you see the good. He’s trying, in his own broken way. You see the boy beneath the armor—the one who never learned how to be soft. And you choose to love him anyway. Not blindly, but fiercely.

70. Because nothing says “I love you” like “I would destroy the world for you.”

He doesn’t bring you flowers—he brings you power. He doesn’t write poems—he carves protection spells into stone and swears vengeance against those who’d hurt you. His love isn’t gentle. It’s consuming. Apocalyptic. Yours.

71. You’re the only one who never feared his name—even after he changed it.

While the world trembled at the sound of it, you said it like it was nothing. Like it was his—not the legend, not the mask. Just his name, spoken with familiarity, defiance, and a touch of something softer. And that power? It shook him more than fear ever could.

72. He lets his guard down around you, and that terrifies him.

He’s spent his whole life building walls—sharp, impenetrable, cold. But with you, they crack. He says things he shouldn’t. Looks at you like you're the only real thing left. It scares him—how exposed he feels in your presence. How much he needs it.

73. You recognize the loneliness he masks with ambition.

Everyone sees power. You see the emptiness that chases it. The nights he spends alone, the cold silence he wraps around himself. You understand that all his victories feel hollow without someone to share them with—and that someone is you.

74. You fell for the broken boy before he became the villain.

Before the name, before the rise, before the cruelty—there was a boy. Brilliant. Hurt. Desperate to matter. That’s who you saw. That’s who you loved. And maybe that’s why he can never truly erase you—because you knew him before.

75. He would kill anyone who hurt you—even if you told him not to.

You could beg him not to retaliate. You could plead for mercy. But his love is not merciful. It’s protective in the most terrifying way. The moment someone touches you with ill intent, he’s already decided—they don’t deserve to breathe.

76. You understand him better than he understands himself.

You see past the layers of ego and anger.

77. You sleep better when he's near you.

And he will hug you.

78. He doesn't believe in soulmates—until you.

He laughed at the idea once. Thought it foolish, sentimental. But then you came along, and nothing else has ever made more sense. You don’t complete him—you match him. Perfectly. Powerfully. Quietly.

79. You hold him when he can't hold himself together.

No spells. No sharp words. Just silence, arms around him, and the weight of your presence. In your embrace, he doesn’t have to be strong. He can fall apart—and know you’ll stay.

80. You make him feel safe, even when everything else is chaos.

When the world burns and plans collapse, he turns to you. Not for answers, but for calm. For that feeling he can’t name—where your eyes meet his and, somehow, the war inside him quiets.

81. He memorizes the sound of your laugh like a spell.

It's rare. Unpredictable. And when it happens, it's magic—pure and untamed. He won’t admit it, but he’d do almost anything to hear it again.

82. He dreams of a future with you—even if he doesn’t think he deserves it.

He sees flashes sometimes: you beside him, a hand in his, peace. It’s fleeting, impossible—but he clings to it like a secret hope. Because if redemption exists, it starts with you.

83. You make him want to be good—for you.

Not for power. Not for forgiveness. Just… you. Because when you look at him like he's worth something, like he’s more than his past—he believes it, too, if only for a moment.

84. He touches you like he’s memorizing you.

Every brush of his fingers feels deliberate—slow, reverent, like you’re something sacred. He’s not rushed. He studies you. Worships you. Like he knows he might lose you, and he wants to burn every detail into memory.

85. Power isn’t the only thing he craves control over.

In private, that need for dominance twists into something far more intimate. He guides your body like a spell—commanding, coaxing, relentless. And yet, even in control, he watches you like you’re the one undoing him.

86. The way he says your name in bed isn’t the same as anywhere else.

it’s low, breathless, reverent. Whispered like he’s conjuring something he shouldn’t, something dangerous and divine.

87. His kisses

He doesn’t do tenderness easily. So when his lips crash into yours, it’s messy, bruising, desperate. It’s everything he’s afraid to say, poured into the space between your teeth and your soul.

89. He marks you— with hands, mouth, need.

Fingertips ghosting over your skin, bites at your throat, the faint trace of his magic humming beneath your flesh. It’s not just about pleasure—it’s about claiming, about reminding you that you are his, and he is yours.

90. He doesn’t beg for anything—except you.

He’s proud. He’s powerful. But in the haze of sweat and shadows, when he’s between your thighs or whispering your name like a plea, he becomes something else. Something vulnerable. Something real.

91. Your pleasure ruins him.

He watches you fall apart with a hunger that borders on obsession. He needs it. Not just for power—but because in that moment, when you cry out his name, he knows he’s the only one who’s ever touched you like this—mind, body, soul.

92. He hates how much he wants to give in to you.

He’s always in control—always. But something about your voice, your touch, the way you look at him like you already own him… it makes his knees weaken and his breath catch. And he hates it. Almost as much as he craves it.

93. You say “kneel,” and he does—without a word.

No defiance. No smirk. Just a sharp inhale and slow submission. Not because he’s weak—but because you’ve earned it. Because the act of surrendering to you feels more powerful than any spell he’s ever cast.

94. He lets you see the part of him that’s starved for softness.

When he’s under you, it’s not just sex—it’s unraveling. He reaches for you like he’s drowning, clutches your wrists like lifelines, moans your name like confession. And afterward, he clings—wordlessly.

95. You tease him until he’s begging—and he swears vengeance with every gasp.

He swears he’ll make you pay for it later, promises dark revenge through clenched teeth. But the tremble in his voice betrays him. He’s already lost, reduced to raw need under your touch—and he knows it.

96. The only time he ever pleads is with your hand around his throat.

That sharp gasp. That flicker of fear tangled with arousal. You own him in that moment—body and breath. And he gives it willingly, eyes dark, mouth parted, whispering your name like surrender.

97. When you praise him, he falls apart.

“Good boy” shouldn't undo a man like him. But it does. His breath stutters, eyes flutter shut, and for a heartbeat, he forgets everything—who he is, what he’s done. There’s only you, and the unbearable ache of being wanted like that.

98. He hates how easily you break him—but he lets you.

With everyone else, he’s ice and iron. But with you? A single touch, a whispered command, and he’s breathless. Writhing. His pride cracks at your feet—and he lets it, because no one else has ever made him feel this alive.

99. You ride him like you’re punishing him—and he thanks you for it.

Fingers clawing at silk sheets, chest rising fast beneath you, lips parted in a quiet, ruined moan. There’s pain, there’s power, there’s pleasure—and when you lean down and whisper, “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he can only nod.

100. He loses his mind when you don’t touch him.

Your restraint is the cruelest form of control. He shifts under your gaze, all bite and frustration—until he’s whispering your name like a secret, his need bleeding into every syllable. “Please” becomes the one spell he can’t cast without you.

[varilien]

ive been wanting to do some redraws of the gravity falls art i made as a kid n since it's seasonally appropriate, here's some magician au doodles ^^

and just in case i don't come back to draw it again any time soon here's my thoughts so far on the topic and the original art circa smn like. idk maybe 2015 or 2016?? i wish i'd put the date on anything from back then lol

Palestine: Funds | Action | eSims | Info

Sudan Resources | Congo Resource | Lebanese Red Cross

i might change the designs later on but at this point i thought it'd be most fun to just kinda leave it really close to the originals :3

anyways!!

okay so gravity falls magician au. plotwise it's all actually about the same, the twins might be a little older actually, like 15 or 16 (maybe they've visited gravity falls in the past?), but whatever. they get sent to a sleepy little village in the woods to stay w their great uncle. magic runs in the pines family, although no currently living pines is thought to have any notable capability. healing a scratch or finding something u lost under ur bed, basically. magic is actually probably a lot more common and mundane in this world than canon, so gravity falls' weirdness as a region comes more from the intensity and unpredictable nature of the magic found there

anyways the BIGGEST plot difference is that i like the idea of the kids meeting bill pretty early on. he introduces himself as a seasoned familiar looking to get back in touch with his old partner. now, bill is a breath of fresh air for dipper in particular, who finally has someone he can speak frankly with about the weird experiences he's been having, but even tho bill loves nothing more than spilling secrets and arcane knowledge, he's not really able to do so as he'd like to. he's got TONS of spells placed on him for the express purpose of keeping him quiet, but there's a few things bill has been able to elude to if nothing else: 1, he knows who the author of the grimoire dipper found in the woods is. 2, he knows stan pines' great secret. and 3, he knows how to access magical power beyond comprehension

hehe idk i just like the idea of bill spending possibly months mentoring and making friends w the kids fully planning on just using them for his own gain the entire time but. well. maybe it's nice not being alone anymore too. tho he'd never admit it

[phoenixrisingastro]

DEGREE 5: THE SACRED SEVERING

“Initiation Requires Isolation: Exile, Occultation, and the Divine Fracture”

Throne of Fire – Fifth Degree of Light

You must leave before you are crowned.

You must be cut before you are called.

You must vanish before you’re seen.

This is the law of initiation.

Not the law of man—but of the cosmos.

And all who defy it—fail.

The Doctrine of Sacred Severing

The Sacred Severing is the first divine punishment reserved only for those marked by fate. It arrives in disguise:

As abandonment

As rejection

As betrayal

As silence from the gods themselves.

But in truth, it is surgical. It is the cosmic scalpel of Saturn, the hand of Binah on the Tree of Life—

cutting you off from the world,

so that your spine may grow divine.

You are not being broken.

You are being excised from your lower self.

You are not being ignored.

You are being hidden in plain sight—occulted—like the Sun during an eclipse.

In astrology, this is Neptune in the 12th. Pluto in the 1st. Saturn transiting the IC. Uranus squaring your Moon.

In Kabbalah, it is Tzimtzum—the sacred contraction of Light to make space for form.

In freemasonry, it is the Veil between chambers.

In the myth of Horus, it is the Eye removed.

In Luciferian rites, it is the Black Flame burning alone in the dark.

In real life—it is when nobody calls.

It is when you move to a new city and feel forgotten.

It is when your dreams stop working and your rituals stop speaking.

It is when you ask the universe for a sign and hear back nothing but bone.

Exile Is Not Punishment. It’s Proof.

Those who are not chosen are never exiled.

They are allowed to stay amongst the herd.

But you? You are too dangerous for the world in your unrefined form.

You are too sacred to be loved too soon.

You are too raw to be touched by anyone who doesn’t bow.

So you are sent away.

Like Moses cast into the Nile.

Like Yeshua into the wilderness.

Like Inanna into the Underworld.

Like Prometheus bound to the rock.

Like YOU—left with nothing but your chart, your name, and your pain.

This is Occultation.

A term whispered in Islamic mysticism and gnostic grimoires.

The idea that the most powerful force must disappear before it returns—transfigured.

The Astrology of Sacred Severing

Let’s speak in our sacred tongue now:

Saturn in the 12th House: You were exiled by your own subconscious. No one could help you—because you were never meant to be helped.

Pluto square the IC: The roots of your soul were burned. You had to start from ash.

North Node in the 12th or 8th: Your destiny required you to be emptied of ego before you could be filled with fire.

Chiron in the 1st or 12th: Your entire identity was built around a wound. And to heal it, the universe kept reopening it.

Jupiter Retrograde: You had to carry your own gospel in silence. No help was coming. You were the prophet and the sacrifice.

These placements are not "hard."

They are holy.

They are the markings of those who were chosen to suffer early so they could speak later.

The Freemasonic Trial: Crossing the Threshold

In esoteric Freemasonry, the initiate must knock three times.

Not on a door—but on the threshold of their own madness.

They are blindfolded, led into darkness, and told NOTHING.

The Master does not speak until the silence is complete.

Only then is the Eye opened.

Only then is the Light shown.

In your life, this appeared as:

Spiritual betrayal

Energetic silence

False prophets

Starvation of validation

The death of all your former identities

This was required.

The old “you” would’ve never survived initiation.

So the universe had to strip you of every disguise.

From Isolation to Apotheosis

This is the part nobody talks about.

The Divine Fracture leads to Divine Fusion.

Once you are cut—once you have bled and wept and walked the desert of your own silence—

the gods begin to speak.

They show up in the form of hidden knowledge.

They whisper through synchronicities that only you understand.

They teach you things that no book can.

You begin to download rituals, spells, invocations, and signs like code.

This is Apotheosis.

The ancient concept of rising to godhood through suffering.

It’s Prometheus reborn. It’s Lucifer carrying Light. It’s YOU—becoming myth.

And So...

If you are alone,

If your magic has dried up,

If your chart looks like a battleground and your mind feels like a warzone...

You are not broken. You are becoming.

This is your Sacred Severing.

And only those marked by fate are permitted to walk it.

Prepare yourself.

The Temple awaits.

© PhoenixRisingAstro. All Rights Reserved. 2025.

Do not plagiarize, reword, or water this down. This is a sacred transmission.

[unlawfulgames]

SOOTY BEARDS IS OUT! Come get your dwarves and your beard oil! Help us slow fund a physical release! https://plusoneexp.com/pages/sooty-beards

What is Sooty Beards?

A setting zine about a fantasy dwarf-hold crossed with a decaying American coal town. People are leaving and things are falling apart. If something doesn’t change–if things can’t change–it’ll become a ghost town soon.

Sooty Beards Features:

8 Run-down urban and wilderness areas complete with “What Used To Be Here?” And “What’s Here Now?” tables to bring out the weight of ages.

8 Strange, Dual-Statted Creatures to populate your dying coal town with, whether your game uses d6 or d20.

Dozens of quirky, narrative items to discover, from screaming lanterns to steampowered ballistic sportballs.

A “Why Did You Even Come Here?” table to give your characters quick, easy, and miserable motivations for visiting the crumbling city of Vesallberg.

More than 20 evocative pieces of art and a beautiful map of Vesallberg by Charles Ferguson-Avery.

CREEPING DEPRESSION

Instant talking canaries! Just add booze!

A glossary of useful terms to get you speaking like a native ‘Berger in no time.

A supplemental bonus book with d66 backgrounds for Vesallberg locals, compatible with TROIKA!

What People Are Saying

“An evocative portrait of community decay in the form of a TTRPG setting -- the troubles of these dwarves in their failing mine resonate strongly with the concerns of the modern day. Bleak in the best way. One gets the sense that this text is just the tip of the Vesallberg, as it were; hints lurk throughout that there is much more going on beneath the surface. (What is up with those *cats*?)”

- Dr. Mac Boyle of The Maniculum Podcast and Marginal Worlds TTRPG

The Creators of Bridgetown have done it again. They’re created a grim, nay whimsical–nay grimsical – setting that makes me wish I could grow a beard.

– Asa Donald of Backwards Tabletop

Ah, Vesallberg, miserable rock, “titanic triumph and miscreation”, a dying city stripped of resources, but full of beards (and the ecosystems within them). A wonderfully horrid place to visit, from the Slag Hills to the Deep Delvings. Come for strange misadventures among the Koljar Dwarves, Big Folk, and Scrawny folk. Stay for the deep, dark, hilarious writing; the whip-smart Politics(™); and the amazing illustration. Once you arrive you may never be able want to leave.

—Adam STATION, An Infinity of Ships, Make 100 Bastards

"How do you communicate background and lore in an RPG without it becoming a slog through a textbook? Quotes, cool tables, beautiful maps, and evocative art. This book makes it easy to picture the dwarf-hold of Vesallberg!”

-Joshua McCrowell of His Majesty The Worm

“This is like Veins of the Earth but with more life and less crunch. I really dig it!”

-David Schiduan of Technical Grimoire

“Welcome to Vesallberg, the Phoenix of the Wetlands™! … How’d that sound? Too corny? It’s too corny, isn’t it. Oh, that’ll send ‘em running away even faster. Stupid, stupid…!”

-Dent Pigiron, Newest Head of the Visitor Center

From the Team

From Furtive Goblin

Like most of my projects, what would eventually become Sooty Beards started as a half-joking mashup of X and Y shared with my friend John. In this case the “X” and “Y” were “Khazad-dûm” and “a dying coal town”, which turned out to be the magic words. For the next year he and I threw ideas back and forth and built the doc up, but soon I found myself in my first ever leading role with final say on what our team did. A fun idea became my first test as a game designer. And if you find yourself interested in picking up a copy of your own then hey, thanks for helping me pass.

From John Gregory

Just like Bridgetown, Furtive Goblin came up to me and said “Hey, I’ve got an idea!” And I responded, “I shall assemble The Team.” And, well, once again some of the Very Vilest Viziers have come together to give you something weird and bleak, a mix of dark humor, social commentary and dwarves being dwarves. Pulling from somewhere between my Appalachian coal-town ancestors and Furtive’s literal experience living under a rock, I’d like to think we’ve made something that will speak to that yet burning coal in your soul.

From Tony

I had 2 people message me asking if I could help Furtive get a zine published. I was already interested and then… they mentioned beards. At one point they tried to give me a “developer credit” but really Furt, John & Charlie did all the work and it’s beautiful, grimm & whimsical all at the same time. Each level of design layering on the next, to create something more than the individual parts. At the end of the day, unlike Vesallberg, I think people will flock to this project because of the earnest love that the creators have for what they have made, and each other. It’s great to be the 1st fan of a project, but it’s just as good to be the 3rd fan.

Follow Up

If you have additional questions, would like to schedule an interview, set up a time to play with us, or have any other questions please feel free to reach out via email to Tony@PlusOneExp.com

[imp-thing]

Every time i mentioned the Detective Grimoire games before it started gaining attention on Tumblr, I'd look back on my posts and feel like this

[prettyngeto]

witchcraft for dummies

demon! suna rintarou x rookie witch f! reader

summary: as a rookie witch, it was common tradition for you to have a familiar to enhance your magic, so you do the logical thing and try to summon one. key word: try - because instead of a cute little witchy animal, you summon a sarcastic demon who gives you multiple reality checks. how fun!

content: it's literally just reader being tired of anything that comes out of suna's mouth 😔

word count: 2.6k

main masterlist || hq masterlist || series masterlist || ao3

➺ chapter two - coming soon!!

Chapter One - How to Summon a Demon (and Regret It)

Brows furrowed, scowl etched upon your face, you blow a few stray strands of hair out of your eyes as you sit cross legged in front of yet another summoning circle on the stone-cold floor, the only light in your dimly lit cottage coming from the flickering red candles surrounding you.  

“C’mon little familiar, you don’t even need to be some extraordinary animal. I’ll be happy with anything at this point. Literally anything. Even a rat. A rat, okay? Not picky.” You’re practically begging for this to work, the desperation in your voice is obvious and you think if the goddesses are watching down on you right now, they are definitely suffering from second hand embarrassment.  

Seeing as this was your third try (this week) - it had to work. There was no reason for it not to. You had drawn the summoning circle perfectly, the herbal concoction was precisely positioned at a 60-degree angle from the centre, and the 12 surrounding red candles had been lit in clockwise order. You had followed every instruction from the grimoire word for word, you even memorised the incantation in latin for fuck’s sake. So there’s no way anything could have gone wrong, right?

Wrong. 

Very wrong, little witch.

You let out a frustrated sigh, closing your eyes and steeling yourself to recite the incantation (again). The words you murmur softly echo around you, and you feel a gust of cold air against your back, the candles flickering as the energy in the room thickens. Your eyes snap open, fixing onto the centre of the summoning circle, although you’ve learnt not to have your hopes up at this stage, since this is usually where - you guessed it - absolutely nothing happens. 

“Please work,” you mutter to yourself, fingers tapping impatiently on your knees, “I’m not asking for much, just a rat. A goddamn rat. That’s it.”

And then it happened. 

Your fingers still against your knees as the ground beneath you begins to rattle - enough of a surprise to make your pulse quicken. Was this it? Were you finally about to get a familiar? A surge of excitement rushes through as you expectantly keep staring at the circle, which is now emanating a bright red light across your surroundings. This bit has never happened before, did this mean it was working? Surely, this meant it was working… 

You’re brought out of your confused state as you start coughing, a red cloud of dust appearing in front of you and before you can even register what’s happening, the familiar—or whatever this is—has already appeared.

You blink. 

In the middle of your summoning circle lay a figure, lounging on your floor like he was sunbathing at the beach and he looks a bit too unbothered for your liking. He stands up, and you realise he’s infuriatingly tall - a towering presence that most certainly did not belong in your tiny cottage, as you watch him dust himself off as if this whole ordeal was beneath him. His emerald eyes, glinting with amusement immediately lock onto yours, strands of dark, brown hair falling onto his forehead almost perfectly and he’s wearing the most bored expression you’ve ever seen in your 20 something years of living.

You let out a loud, dramatic groan, throwing your head back in frustration as you immediately reach for your grimoire, hauling it onto your lap, muttering,

“What a grand fucking entrance. Great. Just great. Of course, this would happen to me. Why wouldn’t this happen?” 

The demon stares at you, head cocked to the side in confusion as he waits for the usual exaggerated shriek of fear. No? Okay maybe you’re more of a panicked gasp girl… or not. Because all he gets is another annoyed sigh escaping your mouth as you pinch the bridge of your nose, furiously flicking through the worn pages. 

“What are you looking at? I wanted to summon a familiar, not… whatever you are.” You wave a hand vaguely at his entire being, not even bothering to look up from your page flipping frenzy.

His eyes narrow further as he processes your reaction - or lack thereof. He was so used to humans freezing in fear at the mere mention of his species but you? No, you looked more bothered by his presence than anything.

“Okay, but like… you do realise I’m a demon right?” he finally speaks, the piercing on his raised eyebrow catching the light, a slight hint of incredulity lacing his words. 

You just roll your eyes, waving him off. “Yeah yeah. Big, scary demon. Whatever. Can you turn into a cat or something?” 

He sputters. He actually sputters, eyes bulging out of his head, as he stares down at you, with your chin propped up in your hand as you look at him, ennui etched onto your face. 

“No? What — why would I—?” 

“Okay so you’re basically useless. Got it.” You grumble, fingers coming up to rub at your temples tiredly.

Anndddd… now he’s offended. You’re just full of surprises aren’t you? First you summon him accidentally and have the gall to be annoyed, and now you’ve just outright offended him to his face. He wasn’t planning on staying around quite frankly, he was planning on taunting you for your (embarrassingly) poor witchcraft and then vanishing back off into his realm. But now? Oh, now, he’s interested. So interested in fact, that he’s decided he would now be staying with you, purely based on the fact that this novice witch not being scared of a demon is the most entertainment he’s received in centuries. And also based on the fact that he thought you were really, really pretty - but you didn’t need to know that. No, instead, he’ll just make you think that once you’ve summoned him, he simply can’t go back. His green eyes twinkle with mischief at the thought, small smirk on his lips, gaze still trained on your figure as you slam the grimoire shut with yet another sigh. 

You’re still fixing him with an unimpressed look, hoping his next words would be something along the lines of ‘joke’s over, I’m vanishing back into hell now!’. But instead you’re hit with this:

“Well that’s a shame cos you’re stuck with me now, little witch.” He grins lazily. 

“Excuse me.” 

“Can’t go back.” He merely shrugs, hands shoved into his pockets as he bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh as he’s met with utter silence from you.

And then. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T GO BACK??” You exclaim, damn near giving yourself whiplash from the speed at which your head snapped up, eyes locking onto his face in pure, unfiltered disbelief. “You’re a demon, shouldn’t you be able to… I don’t know - poof away or something? Vanish back to where you belong?” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation, eyes wide with something caught between confusion and mounting dread.

The demon - who was still standing in your summoning circle, in your living room looking as relaxed as ever - makes a show of examining his nails. 

“Nah.” 

NAH???? You’re almost certain you were about to pop multiple veins from how hard you were glaring at him right now.

You swallow back any retorts, clenching your fists and taking a deep breath before speaking, wracking your brain to try and come up with any other solutions.

“Okay well if you can’t go back on your own, can’t I send you back or something?” Absolute genius idea if you ask me. But alas, it seems this demon was sent here as a reality check for your ego. 

“Send me back?” A breathy, almost mocking laugh is let out before he continues, and if you were a psychic witch, you would have really wished he didn’t continue. But unfortunately for you, you’re not psychic so here you go!

“You can’t. I don’t know if you’re aware. I’m assuming you’re not since, well… I’m still here. But summoning a demon? Bit of a one-way trip, little witch.” 

You just stare at him, trying to process his words. “Fuck you mean ‘one way trip’.” Make no mistake - you heard him. Very clearly in fact. Your poor soul was just in denial. 

His smirk widens at your words as he hums in faux sympathy. “Mhm. Here’s a little lesson for you, I’m not sure if you’re familiar with what a lesson is but I digress. When a demon is summoned, we can’t exactly go back whether you try to send us back or whether we try to go back into our realm ourselves. Unless you know how to perform an extremely advanced banishment spell, which judging by your previous -” He pauses, eyes sweeping briefly around the living room of your cottage before settling back on you, “successes, I would be correct in assuming that you don’t.”

Your eye twitches.

He’s lying. Because all men do is lie. Demon or Human. They’re all the same. So he has to be lying. Right? RIGHT? But then again, you don’t know the first thing about summoning demons because, shock horror, you weren’t trying to summon one in the first place. 

Your fingers clench on your grimoire and for a brief moment you consider throwing it at his head. You’re certain demons can’t be that durable, right? If you aimed hard enough— Okay no. Focus. Try to fix the problem first, and if all else fails then we resort to murder.

You also didn’t want to deal with the consequences of murdering an entity you weren’t supposed to summon anyways so you just settle for a disgruntled remark. “They didn’t mention this shit in the book.” 

“They don’t usually mention silly mistakes.” He chimes in, ever so helpful. 

You shove the grimoire off your lap, making it land on the floor with a thud as you stand up from your seated position, secretly pleased you would no longer be breaking your neck to be able to look at this man (demon? creature? whatever) but once again your hopes were crushed because you still had to crane your neck to look up at him. 

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I don’t want you here.” 

“Too bad, I’m staying.” He shrugs, hands shoved in his pockets.

You guessed it. Another sigh, although this one was leaning more towards a groan. 

“You know what. Fine. FINE. Seeing as I supposedly don’t have a choice-” You shoot a glare at him when you hear him mutter ‘you don’t’ under his breath and he makes the gesture of zipping his mouth shut so you can continue. “What exactly are you? So I can figure out how to deal with this. Are you like, a chaos demon, a nightmare demon, a-” 

“Suna.”

“Huh?”

That damn smirk is still painted on his face, eyes shining with mirth. “My name. Suna.” 

“Right. Well, thank you for giving me information I did not ask for.” You mumble crossing your arms. “What kind of demon are you then, Suna?” 

“The hot kind obviously,” He replies, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you. 

Nostrils flared, you took another deep breath to stop yourself from doing something the goddesses would definitely not approve of. “Not only are you useless, but you’re a smartass too. Great. Just my luck.”

“You wound me, little witch.” He dryly exclaims, hand over his heart like you had deeply insulted him. 

Another sigh. Gosh, you really like sighing don’t you? 

“Trust me. If I could, I would.” You mumble under your breath with a sneer up at him. 

His irritating smirk turns into a somehow even more irritating grin. 

Oh, you were fun. Yeah, he was 100% staying. 

You, on the other hand, were seriously contemplating setting something on fire. Maybe yourself at this point, since this fucking demon made it clear he wasn’t about to be ‘poof’-ing away anytime soon. 

Instead, you decide to scramble to one of your multiple bookshelves, fingers trailing over the spines of ancient tomes in search of anything remotely useful. You see him making a move to step out of your summoning circle from the corner of your eye, and your head whips round to him with a seething glare. Because, rookie or not - EVERY witch knows if anything steps out of your summoning circle before you fully accept it, well you can say bye bye to any chance of sending it back. And you know, you know he’s stuck here now because of your stupid mistake but you’re still holding on to that small glimmer of hope that one of your many, many books will tell you how to fix this. 

“Step back into that damn circle, you’re far too close to the edge for ANYONE’S liking.” One foot teasingly nudges the salt, there’s a sharp flash in Suna’s eyes, lips curling wickedly. And those eyes don’t leave you as, with deliberate slowness, he lifts his foot and steps over the boundary. 

“Or you could just step over haha… yep that’s- that’s fine too I guess. TOTALLY FINE.” Your barely restrained panic-laced laughter makes him break out into a smile, and if you weren’t so annoyed right now, you would have stood and admired him because, fuck he had a pretty smile. Your eyes track his movements as he languidly moves to your couch, flopping down onto it with a content sigh, arms stretched out along the back, legs spread (like an absolute slut, but who’s judging).

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. 

“Goddesses above, I’m so fucked.” Is all that comes out of your mouth before you turn back to your bookshelf, and you have half a mind to bang your head against it as you mumble to yourself, “Surely, surely there’s a reversal spell that can fix this. I just need to find it. ” Yeah…delusion levels have clearly reached an all time high, fingers frantically flipping through old parchment, Suna watching you with mirth like you were his daily dose of evening television. 

“Y’know… it’s kinda fun watching you struggle like this.” 

Evidently, this was your last straw. 

Slowly - painfully slowly - you turn your head to where he’s sitting, or rather sprawled out on your couch, brows furrowed, fists clenched. You were pretty sure he could see steam coming out of your ears too. 

He grins.

You glare. 

Then, with one last dramatic groan, you shove the book back onto the shelf haphazardly, “That’s it. I’m done. I’m dealing with this tomorrow.” 

“That’s your grand plan?” He mutters, that same incredulity in his voice, head peeking over the top of the couch. 

“Yes. Because this is all a VERY bad dream, a nightmare you could say, and by the time I wake up, YOU,” Cue a menacing finger being pointed in his direction, “are going to be gone.” 

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m still gonna be here.” He shrugs.

“How unfortunate.” You deadpan, before spinning on your heel, stomping toward your room. Suna watches you in amusement, his enhanced hearing picking up on you muttering something about how you’re ‘most definitely banishing him tomorrow’. His snickers echo through as you slam the door of your room, forceful enough to rattle the walls as he collapses back onto your couch, hands folding behind his head, getting comfortable.

There is no way in hell he was about to leave and miss out on so much fun. So much chaos. 

For him, by the way. As for you? Not so much fun. 

Good luck little witch, looks like you’re going to need it…

ミ★ notes from star: if you want to be in the tag list, let me know!! tag list: @rowensboat prettyngeto © 2025. all rights reserved - please do not plagiarise, translate, steal and repost any of my works on any social platforms for whatever reason.

[astra-ravana]

Obscure Spell Components

A small collection of things you don't see every day in magick. I can definitely add more to this list and may in the future, I am open to suggestions.

Coffin Nails

• Traditionally made of protective iron

• Anoint front doors for home protection

• Carry in pocket or bag for protection from tricks, bad luck, and harm

• Binding magick; hammer through a name paper to specify a target

Wasps

• Improves accuracy of magick (ensures curses "hit where it hurts")

• Can be used in a petition to end pregnancy

• Hang near a door to cause loss, discord, and constant troubles for who lives there

Black Feathers

• Seeing one is a sign from the ancestors

• Used in workings to cast out malevolent forces

• Burn a message and sweep into the air with a black feather to get an answer soon

• Protects from nightmares

• Can be used to fan away negative energy and unwanted visitors

Lucky Hand Root

• Great for drawing money, often added to mojo bags

• Can be used with a name paper to draw a specific lover

• Boosts charisma, power, and self-discipline

• Ideal for manifestation and drawing magick

Ashes

• Carry in red cloth to bolster your courage

• Scatter around a purple candle for healing

• Bury spell ashes to seal a spell

• Carve a name into hardwood and burn to ash for a targeted curse component

• Must always be instructed in the working

• Versitile; can do everything from road openings and protection to destruction and chaos

Charcoal

• Used to make black salt and ink for grimoires

• Use in bath magick to cleanse yourself of negative energy

• Used in spells related to protection, warding, banishing, unity, and purification

• Can be used to add "fuel" to a working

Peach Pits

• Are often carved

• Worn to protect one's life, safety, and health

• Wards against negative energy

• Magickal aspects include longevity, protection, love, and vitality

Chalk

• Used for its power to claim, anchor, and control

• Write your target's name on an out bound train/boat/truck to make them go far away

• Write your name on the bottom of a lover's shoes to keep them coming back

• Trace your hand on a property to claim it for a time

Spiderwebs

• Capture a spiderweb on black cloth and hang over your door to catch a thief

• To keep someone away hang their name in a spiderweb and ask the spider to bind them

• Roll target's hair in a spiderweb and sprinkle with grave dirt. Bury in their yard to hex them.

• Roll a red/pink candle in webs to capture the heart of an attractive lover

• Used in magick for opportunity, obtaining, binding, and ensnarement

Coffee

• Used in poppets to inflict insomnia

• Makes a spell work faster

• To get a message from someone rub their name with coffee and attach to a mailbox

• Spinkle in purse, wallet, or cash box to bring money

• Said to improve a man's varility and stamina

Shoes

• Put sigils in the soles of your shoes

• Pair of shoes: health, protection, wealth, fertility, travel, banishing, fidelity, home, marriage/couples

• Right shoe: will, success, dominance, banishing, skill mind

• Left shoe: destiny, accidents, come to me, protection, love

• Cleanse with Florida Water for protection

• Put target's name in your right shoe to dominate, left to draw them, both to bewitch and control

• Dirt from the yard in a loved one's left shoe will keep them coming home

• Put hot foot powder directly in someone's right shoe *wink wink*

Lock & Key

• The lock is symbolic of blocking, stopping, protection, keeping people/energies out while keys represent access and entry

• Lock and key together offer protection and guarding/sealing with the option of unlocking, unbinding, freeing work and energy

• Utilized in magick for safeguarding treasures, information and secrets, opening doorways to other realms, dream work, "unlocking" psychic abilities, and in love magick (unlocking someone's heart)

Magnolia

• Brings luck, power, and success to women

• Hang over a door/window to bring luck to a home

• Place under couple's mattress for a happy relationship

• Used in sex magick rituals for fidelity and devotion

• Add to a bath to attract honor ans recognition

• Hexing, cursing, and banishing men

• Possess ancient wisdom and the power to bring peace, abundance, self-reliance, growth, and feminine love

Chocolate

• Corresponds to wealth, lust, passion, and bliss

• Add to any spell to speed up results and add power

• A spirit offered chocolate is more likely to grant a wish

• Rub on hands before spirit work; draws good spirits, good luck, and faster results

• Sprinkle chocolate in someone's shoes before they go to work and they'll make more money

• Chewing chocolate and hot peppers increases gambling luck

Chicken Feet

• A powerful protection charm/talisman, hang in home or car

• Can be used to rid negatives, clear crossed conditions, stop bad thoughts, guards against hexes and spiritual attacks

• Often painted and/or decorated with beads, bones, feathers, shells, or bones

• "Feed" with protection oil

Sulphur

• Also called brimstone

• In alchemy sulphur is one of the 3 elements that make up the Philosopher's Stone (sulphur: love/soul, mercury: mind/spirit, salt: will/body)

• Used as an offering, especially for demonic and chthonic spirits

• Used by root doctors for enemy tricks

• Excellent component for use in baneful magick, crossing/uncrossing, banishing, protection, beauty, and love

• Used in fire magick

Sunflower

• Add to ritual baths to increase joy and lift sorrow

• Can be used in spells to strengthen friendships or find new friends

• Burn sunflower petals to reveal the truth

• Used in ointments and oils to see/work with the Fae

• Feed someone sunflower seeds to increase their loyalty

• Also associated with success, nobility, partnership, charisma, luck, and integrity

Milk

• A hot bath with milk and eggshells stirred in counterclockwise will uncross you

• Favorite offering of the Fae, keeps them happy so they are less inclined to play tricks/move your stuff

• Drinking milk from a black cow protects you from enemies

• If you find a black cat at your door make a wish and offer them milk. If they drink the milk your wish will be granted

Orchids

• Symbolize feminine energy, sexuality, feminine power and control

• Used in lesbian love spells

• To gain power over a man bury his name at the base of an orchid, he will become docile and obedient

• Helps women take up positions of leadership, be doted on by men, and be respected as living goddesses

Mercury Dimes

• To win at games of chance wear a Mercury dime on your left wrist/ankle

• Powerful money drawing and success charm

• A Mercury dime in your shoe protects you from crossing powders

• If one turns black, someone tried to curse you

• Place at the bottom of a sugar bowl to draw money to your home

Bread

• Burnt bread ash sprinkled in someone's path will cause them poverty

• Bake a couple's names in a loaf of bread to make their love grow deep and strong

• Wonderful offering to spirits and deities

Vinegar

• Sours, erodes, repells, cleans, removes, punishes, and deters

• Used as a base in sour jars and as a component in spells to cause bitterness, suffering, negative associations, anxiety, and conflict

• Can help clear up addictions and habits

Railroad Spikes

• Place one in the 4 corners of your home for protection

• Can be used to "nail/anchor" something in place

• Often used in making war water

• Used in workings to prevent/stop eviction

• Symbolizes strength, power, safety, good luck, defense, and protection

Snake Skin

• Reverse hexes, jinxes, and curses

• Curse component; works well when added to goofer dust

• Carried for protection and good luck

• Also represents change, transformation, and new beginnings

• Can be given as an offering to serpentine deities (Lilith, Medusa, Loki, etc.)