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danika-redgrave124 · 3 months ago

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MagiKey AU ( @quartztwst )

Magical Boy Name: Obsidian

Yuu Kinsley

Role: Guide & Weapon Forger for Magical Girls/Boys

Appearance: Yuu Kinsley gives off an air of mystery, appearing more like a refined villain than a traditional hero. His attire is elegant yet practical, adorned with dark hues accented by gold details. His defining accessory is a sapphire gem embedded in a golden key, which hangs from his weapon—a symbol of his role as a supplier and guide. His presence exudes both wisdom and an enigmatic charisma, making it difficult to discern his true intentions at first glance.

Personality: Yuu is composed, sharp-witted, and has a teasing streak when interacting with the Magical Girls/Boys. Though he is ultimately on their side, he often challenges them, pushing them to think beyond their limits. He doesn’t sugarcoat the dangers they face but provides them with the tools necessary to grow stronger. Unlike traditional mentors, he doesn’t hand them solutions—he offers weapons, both literal and metaphorical, and expects them to wield them wisely.

Abilities & Role:

Weapon Forging: Yuu has the rare ability to craft and supply new weapons for Magical Girls/Boys beyond their initial transformations. Each weapon is tailored to the wielder’s growth and potential.

Dimensional Storage: He carries an arsenal within an interdimensional space, summoning weapons as needed.

Combat Knowledge: Though he rarely fights, Yuu is more than capable in battle, often demonstrating techniques for using the weapons he provides.

Mysterious Guidance: Yuu acts as a guide, but his advice is often cryptic. He believes in letting the Magical Girls/Boys discover their own strengths rather than relying solely on him.

Weapon: A sleek, black cane with golden accents that transforms into a whip-like weapon or a blade when needed. The sapphire gem in the handle glows when magic is channeled.

Attacks

"Curtain Call"

Yuu flourishes his golden cane, and a massive theatrical stage appears beneath the battlefield. Spotlights lock onto enemies as golden chains and phantom marionette strings wrap around them. With a dramatic bow, Yuu snaps his fingers, and the stage explodes into a burst of blue and gold magical fireworks, dealing heavy damage and forcing enemies into a stunned state.

"Ring of Captivity"

Yuu spins his cane, and golden chains shoot out like a whip, binding enemies and restricting movement. If he spins the cane again, the chains tighten and drain enemy magic. He can also use this ability to swing across the battlefield like an aerial acrobat.

Ultimate Move: "Ringmaster’s Finale – The Vanishing Act"

The battlefield darkens, leaving only a glowing circus ring beneath Yuu and his enemy. Yuu tips his hat and snaps his fingers—the enemy is suddenly suspended in golden strings like a puppet.

With a dramatic flourish, he cuts the strings, causing the enemy to disappear into a burst of blue and gold mist. The enemy reappears far from the battlefield, severely weakened and dazed.

Backstory: No one knows exactly where Yuu came from or how he obtained his knowledge of magical weaponry. Some believe he was once a Magical Boy himself, while others suspect he is tied to the very forces that created them. He never confirms nor denies any theories, leaving his past shrouded in mystery. What is certain is that when a Magical Girl or Boy reaches a turning point, Yuu Kinsley is there, offering them the weapon they need to face what lies ahead.

Yuu Kinsley’s Weapon Creation Process

Yuu doesn’t just hand out pre-made weapons—each one is forged through a process deeply tied to the Magical Girls/Boys themselves. His method is a mix of magic, alchemy, and an almost supernatural understanding of his clients' potential.

1. Understanding the Wielder

Before creating a weapon, Yuu evaluates the wielder’s growth, emotions, and struggles. He doesn’t simply hand them what they want—he gives them what they need. Sometimes, this involves putting them through a challenge or making them realize a hidden aspect of themselves before crafting a weapon that suits them.

"You think you need a sword? No, what you need is a chain. Something flexible, something that matches how you move."

"Your power isn't about brute force. A spear will only slow you down. Let’s try something faster."

2. Gathering the Essence

Rather than using ordinary materials, Yuu crafts weapons using a mix of magical essences. These can include:

The wielder’s emotions: Frustration, hope, fear, or determination—strong feelings leave an imprint on their weapon.

Residual magic: Traces of the wielder’s power or the energy of past battles.

Rare materials: Yuu collects unique items from different dimensions or fallen enemies, reforging them into something new.

If the wielder has a deep connection to an item (a broken heirloom, an old weapon, a keepsake), he might use it as a core ingredient.

3. Forging the Weapon

Once Yuu gathers the necessary materials, he forges the weapon using a pink whip—an artifact that unlocks the potential within materials and reshapes them into powerful forms. The forging process is part alchemy, part magic, and part raw energy manipulation.

Some weapons are hammered into shape, glowing with energy as he tempers them.

Others form in mid-air, shaped by the wielder’s emotions and his magic.

Some weapons "choose" their wielder, resisting being used until they are ready.

Yuu often warns that wielding a new weapon means accepting a new part of oneself. If a Magical Girl/Boy isn’t ready, the weapon might reject them.

4. Bonding with the Weapon

Once the weapon is complete, Yuu doesn’t just hand it over—he makes the wielder earn it. Sometimes this means proving they can wield it properly, while other times, the weapon must be “awakened” by accepting a truth about themselves.

"This isn’t just metal. It’s part of you. If you hesitate, the blade will break."

"You wanted strength, but strength isn’t just about power. Let’s see if you understand that now."

When the wielder finally claims the weapon, it becomes a seamless extension of their power, allowing them to evolve in battle.

Yuu never makes the same weapon twice. Each one is unique and deeply personal to the wielder. Some weapons can evolve further as their owner grows, while others are temporary tools meant to teach a lesson.

Extra Info

Due to bring well-trained in Capoeira, Hapkido, Wing Chun and Tai Chi, even if he loses his weapon, he's not afraid to use his martial arts training to get it back.

Crowley had deemed him a villian due to Yuu swatting him out of his house like he's an overgrown fly with a roll of newspaper.

Shinii has failed multiple times to get his MagiKey and information about the magical girl/Boy weapons he makes.

It is rumored that he has two keys, one for his standard and the other is for his weapon making magic. (This is False)

Yuu doesn’t hate the idea that love, hope, and friendship can empower someone—he just thinks it’s a half-truth. Emotion can fuel a fighter, but without skill, discipline, and the right tools, it’s meaningless.

Yuu doesn’t believe in one-size-fits-all solutions. He tailors weapons to each person, ensuring they match both their combat style and personal growth.

Most Magical Girls/Boys are given weapons and expected to just figure it out. Yuu finds that ridiculous. A weapon is an extension of the body—it needs training.

Yuu ensures that the weapons he forges are tangible expressions of the wielder’s growth, not just some convenient plot device that appears when they believe hard enough.

Yuu respects the courage and strength of MagiKey Girls/Boys, but he doesn’t believe in relying on vague concepts like “love” or “friendship” alone.

Yuu considers himself a necessary presence because most magical girl systems (cough, cough Crowley cough) are terrible at explaining how weapons actually function.

Unlike the vague transformations that just “grant” skills, Yuu actually teaches inexperienced Magical Girls/Boys how to wield their weapons effectively. He makes sure they know the mechanics of what they’re using so they don’t become dependent on blind luck.

Occasionally, he’ll set up challenges for Magical Girls/Boys, forcing them to think outside the box.

His main love interest is Skully J. Graves, a MagiKey Halloween villian of October.

Yuu/Obsidian Status

Mental/Emotional State: ★★★★☆

Yuu is making weapons for Magical Girls/Boys, he can't afford to be emotionally compromised unless the situation calls for it.

Physical Strength: ★★★★★

He knows Capoeira, Hapkido, Tai Chi and Wing Chun, so he's pretty stronger than the average person.

Stamina: ★★★★☆

It's not that he doesn't have higher stamina or anything, he just prefers to spend his time making weapons or helping others figured out their new weapons. Longer fights do not drain him quickly.

Strategy:★★★☆☆

It's not that he isn't smart, he just prefers someone else planning than his own since he's usually involves using the weapons more lethal ways than others.

Strengths: Yuu is very good at being logical and training people into hand to hand combat and can endure a lot of fight.

Weaknesses: Yuu isn't a very good strategist in battle, he knows lethal should be the last resort, but sometimes he feels if a villian does enough damage, they should be put down.

Q&A

1. How does it feel to be a MagiKey user?

Yuu: "Honestly, it is a little overwhelming being relied on by other MagiKey Girls/Boys for new weapons. I even have a few MagiSword Boys/Girls asking for different weapons."

2. How popular are you in MagiKey rankings?

Yuu: *shrugs* "I don't really pay attention to that too often."

3. Which MagiKey would you rather have than your own?

Yuu: "Apple ( @slumberingrose-fandom ), her abilities are most useful in battle plus she genuinely has a good heart and wants to protect people."

4. Why did you become a MagiKey user?

Yuu: *smirks* "This stupid crow just left my key on my desk after I swatted it like a fly."

5. How long have you been in MagiKey?

Yuu: "I'm sixteen now, so about four years now."

6. What is their motivation to keep being a magical user?

Yuu's main motivation was to protect people from corrupt MagiKey/MagiSword user. His second motivation is to get back former MagiKeys from Shinii to gift them to their original owners.

7. How are they usually in a battle?

Yuu kinda treats it like a performance. If I could describe it, it'll be similar to Aventurine and Sparkle from Honkai Star Rail.

8. How are their daily lives?

Yuu actually works in performance and musical theater. He wants to be a fine arts major with a minor in fashion design.

9. What is their opinion on other MagiKey users in general?

Yuu thinks very highly of the other MagiKey and MagiSword users. He believes they are chosen for a purpose despite the high risk.

10. What are your OC's struggles as a MagiKey user?

Yuu struggles with reclaiming the weapons of dead MagiKey Users, he prefers burying it with the former user but often just takes them with him. He worries that someone will try to use their magical weapon for evil or just sell it to someone who can use it. Yuu usually leaves them with the older MagiKey users and staff for protection.

11. What is their favorite color?

Yuu's favorite is Black and Gold

Outfit:

Yes, he does wear the masks and uses a cane as his main MagiKey weapon

A more in depth thoughts about the others will be posted soon.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #disney twisted wonderland #magikey au #twst au #Yuu Kinsley #twst oc #twst yuusona #yuusona

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coven-of-genesis · 2 months ago

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Witch’s Weekly Moodboard: Spellcraft by the Days

Each day holds its own magic — a shift in energy, a whisper from the elements, a spell waiting to be cast. Align your craft with the rhythm of the week using these daily correspondences. Aesthetic. Crystal. Vibe. Spell. Repeat.

Whether you’re casting, resting, glamouring or grounding — there’s a day for that.

⸻

Monday — Moon Magic & Renewal

Aesthetic: rainy windows, soft white sheets, crescent moons

Color: silver

Vibe: emotional reset, reflection, intuition

Crystal: moonstone

Spell: write a small wish for the week and place it under your pillow. Let the moon tend to it while you sleep.

⸻

Tuesday — Firestarter Energy

Aesthetic: flickering candles, red nails, warrior braids

Color: crimson

Vibe: boldness, protection, action

Crystal: carnelian

Spell: whisper your fears into a candle flame. Light it and let it burn them away.

⸻

Wednesday — Spirit Messages & Clarity

Aesthetic: floating feathers, handwritten spells, shuffled tarot cards

Color: sky blue

Vibe: curiosity, communication, mental clarity

Crystal: lapis lazuli

Spell: ask for a sign, pull a card, journal with your guides. Spirit is listening today.

⸻

Thursday — Abundance & Expansion

Aesthetic: velvet, overflowing herbs, coins in a bowl

Color: forest green

Vibe: confidence, growth, blessings

Crystal: citrine

Spell: refresh your money bowl. Add herbs, coins, and whisper abundance into it.

⸻

Friday — Glamour & Love

Aesthetic: rose petals in bathwater, gold rings, glowing skin

Color: rose pink

Vibe: attraction, pleasure, magic in the mirror

Crystal: rose quartz

Spell: charm yourself before a mirror. Speak love into your reflection. Mean it.

⸻

Saturday — Shadow Work & Sacred Rest

Aesthetic: black lace, melted candles, forest silence

Color: black

Vibe: grounded, protective, introspective

Crystal: obsidian

Spell: write down what no longer serves you. Burn it with a bay leaf. Bury the ashes.

⸻

Sunday — Solar Clarity & Cleanse

Aesthetic: sunlit rooms, orange peels, wide open skies

Color: gold

Vibe: peace, joy, clear energy

Crystal: sunstone

Spell: make a citrus-infused cleansing spray. Mist your space and breathe deep.

Masterlist | linktree | Patreon

#moodboard #witchblr #witchcore #witchcraft #witchlife #white witch #beginner witch #witch tips #grimoire #spirituality #book of shadows

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years ago

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Title: Profane.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very patient @elsecrytt.

Pairing: Yandere!Diavolo x Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 7.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Dub/Con (Coercion + Inebriation), Brief Cannibalism, Wildly Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Torture (No Injury To Reader), No Like Literal Torture, Gore, Blood, Possessiveness, Theology, and Past Trauma (Reader's Got Issues). The Dove Was Dead, Got Resurrected, And Is Once Again Dead. Please Do Not Eat.

Barbatos showed you to the garden himself.

Usually, guests as unremarkable as yourself would be ushered in by some lesser demonic spirit, shown directly to Diavolo’s in-home office, and rushed out as quickly as the prince’s unwavering sense of hospitality would allow. You’d been through the process yourself a handful of times since you came to the underworld, gotten to visit the castle on an errand for RAD often enough for the shocked awe to dull into simple wonder, but you’d never been able to see the prince or Barbatos in their own home, and when you received the prince’s package, when you smelled the fresh scent of roses and felt silk against your hands, a part of you refused to believe this could be anything but another request to run a few files from one location to another, an invitation to discuss an upcoming festival or ceremony somewhere less imposing than the shadowy, stiflingly gothic student council room. Part of you still refused to believe it now, in all honesty, even as you walked arm-in-arm with the prince’s butler. Even as you wore the gown he'd sent to your off-campus apartment, a wine-red train trailing half a meter behind you and the fabric of the corset clinging to your skin like spider silk.

Even as you stepped into his rose garden, the rose garden. The rose garden you’d only ever heard about in gossip and rumors. The rose garden that was supposed to be saved for the prince and his select few.

The rose garden you were never supposed to see, and yet.

And yet.

A pavilion had been erected in the center of the innermost ring and decorated for the occasion, cords of red blossoms strung across the obsidian guardrails and a trail of flower petals left out to guide your way. Barbatos left you a few paces away from the pavilion’s steps, bowing his head as he detangled himself from your rigid hold. He spared you no words of comfort, offered you no advice, only letting out a breath of a chuckle as he slipped away and disappeared into the tangle of the garden. It fell onto you to soothe yourself, so you did – sucking a ragged inhale and balling your shirt in your hands before forcing yourself to relax, driving an ounce of tension out of your shoulders and willing your hands to stop shaking as you took an unsteady step towards the pavilion, then another, then another, until you were starting up the short staircase and it was too late to turn around and hide. There was a table let up on the center of the platform, a teapot and matching cups and saucers laid out among a sugar jar and an adorably quaint cream jug. It would’ve been charmingly simple, if the set hadn’t been crafted from pure obsidian and most likely would have cost more than a year of your salary.

Diavolo was at the head of the table, dressed in a suit that matched your gown. The sound of your footsteps drew his attention, his expression brightening as his eyes might yours and a wide, giddy smile you could only compare to that of a lovestruck schoolboy spread across his lips. He pushed himself to his feet hastily, your name falling from his lips with a slight stutter. There was a rose in his hand, but rather than thrust it into yours, he held onto it, opting to pull you into a brief, bone-crushing hug, instead. “I’m sorry to call you here on such short notice,” he said, his voice breathy and the words spoken quickly enough to blur together. “And I, well—” Now, the rose was presented to you, his smile taken on a shy tilt. “I thought it’d be romantic. Admittedly, it feels a little silly now.”

“No, no, it’s very sweet.” You rushed to reassure him, more afraid of making this more awkward than it had to be than genuinely hurting his feelings. You tried to take the rose by the stem, but your thumb caught on an unpruned thorn and you pulled back out of instinct. There was no pain, but when you glanced down, you found a small bead of scarlet, the injury practically nonexistent but an injury, nonetheless. Diavolo’s expression faltered, but you were quick to take up the rose again and tuck anything that might’ve sown any ill-will away. “You were going to tell me why you asked me to come…?”

Immediately, his smile returned in full force. “Please, have a seat.”

A chair was pulled out, a cup filled and sugar cubes dispensed generously. You took the cup in your hands, but didn’t raise it to your lips, only soaking in the gentle warmth as Prince Diavolo cleared his throat and went on, more nervous than a man of his status, a man with so much power over you had any right to be. “I’m sure you’ve already guessed why you’re here. I know subtly isn’t my strong suit.” A slight pause, a hopeful smile. Somehow, the implication of his anxiety alone was enough to make the knot resting in the pit of your stomach twist that much tighter. “We don’t know each other very well, but… I think I’d like to know you a little better, if you understand what I mean.”

Oh, you did.

You’d understood as soon as you saw the low cut of the dress, as soon as you were told you’d be meeting him in privacy.

Still, you played coy, shaking your head as you leaned back in your seat. “I’m afraid I don’t, your highness.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I don’t want you to feel like royalty, right now.” And yet, he’d asked you to meet him behind his castle, attended to by his butler, wearing the gown he’d had tailor made for you. You would to ask how he got a hold of your measurements later on. Actually, you shouldn’t ask him anything at all – it’d be a mercy if you never had to talk to him again. “I’d like to court you. Officially. With your permission, of course.”

It was a thoughtful gesture, but then again, your permission could only count for so much when a flick of his wrist and a half-baked royal decree would change the meaning of consent by its very definition.

You let your eyes fall to the table, then to the rose in your hand. “I don’t know how to say this,” A pair of pursed lips, a decisive beat of silence. “But, I’m not sure, your highness.”

This time, he didn’t bother to correct you. “You’re not sure?”

“As you said, we don’t know each other very well.” You gaze caught on the spot of blood still welling on the pad of your thumb. A minor inconvenience, but still an inconvenience. It’d make handling much of anything a nuisance for the rest of the day. It’d make you pause the next time you thought about taking a particularly beautiful rose by the stem. “And I’m afraid there might be some parts of me that you wouldn’t be so happy with, if you saw them for yourself.”

That seemed to catch his attention. Whereas you leaned back, he leaned forward, arms crossing over the tabletop. “I have to admit, it’s hard to believe that there’s any part of you I wouldn’t be happy with.”

“It’s just,” A thorn in the right place could ruin the entire rose. Hopefully, if you managed to break the skin, he’d give up on you entirely and move on to less pointed flowers. “I have some… appetites that people have deemed difficult to keep up with, in the past. It’s nothing out of place for those in my profession, but I’d hate for you to have to waste your time tending to my desires.”

You could practically see the excitement spark in his eyes, feel it rolling off of him in waves. “Please, go on.”

“It’s too morbid to discuss in polite company,” you said, sparing a glance towards the walls of the rose garden, as if you were wary that someone might be listening in. “But things tend to get gory rather quickly, and I have been known to get a little carried away when I get something sharp in my hand.”

The tea was put aside completely, forgotten in favor of more interesting topics. He didn’t stand, didn’t do anything to close the limited distance between you, but you could tell he wanted to, that he wasn’t taking your threats seriously enough for intrigue to dip into caution, and that was all you needed. “I think you’d look stunning with something sharp in your hand.”

“But I’d hate to waste your time,” you reiterated, bowing your head. “And your subjects might not care for me, once they see what I’ve done to their ruler.”

“We’ll have to keep this our little secret, then.” While you had your doubts about how secret one of his secrets could stay, he was clearly excited enough to buy into the idea that it would be possible. “And, as for your appetites…”

This time, he stood, rounding the table and falling to one knee at your side. For a second, your heart stopped beating in your chest, your mind forcing you to consider the possibility that your vision of rings and proposal might not have been based entirely in paranoid delusion, but he only gestured for your hand and reluctantly, you gave it to him. His lips ghosted over the curve of your knuckles, then turning your hand over in his own, the apex of your wrist, lingering against your pulse point. Finally, he pulled away, grinning up at you as he went on.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to satisfy that hunger.”

You were starting to wonder if, even in your grandest of schemes, your eyes might’ve been bigger than your stomach.

It was old work. Diavolo – as he insisted you call him, despite your best attempts to keep a semblance of formality between you and him – was eager to please, quick to show you he was just as enthusiastic as you claimed to be and dedicate one of the more expendable rooms in his sprawling castle to your little engagements. The tools of your trade were discussed and crafted into familiar shapes: thorns braided into the lashes of the whips, runic symbols you’d long-since forgotten how to read burnt into the leather of the riding crop, a small vial of holy water waiting beside a gold-lined tub of water. Even the dagger you were holding was of celestial design, the blade symmetrical and gilded with pure silver, the hilt molded but not padded, allowing the chill to seep into your palm without reservation.

It was a relief, however small, that you wouldn’t have to use the demonic weapons you’d nearly gotten used to. In the Devildom, suffering was just another tool, something to be used when convenient and drowned out with needless hedonism when not. In the Celestial Realm, suffering was holy.

There was nothing holy about this, though. You’d had the foresight to restrain him, binding his wrists and ankles to each poster of his grand bed with enchanted chains, but he offered no resistance. Even brought low enough to fall into his demonic form, to show himself with leathery wings sprouting from his back and gold-adorned horns curling upward from his scalp, he retained as much of his composure as you could expect him to, keeping his claws curled into his palms and dulling his fangs with the occasional whimper or sudden gasp. When you dragged the point of the blade from the spine of his wing to the small of his back, he arched as if leaning into your brutal touch and clenched his eyes shut, but he didn’t scream. You almost wished he would. At least then, you’d be able to tell if you were making progress.

It was old work, but more importantly, it was work you’d been good at, once upon a time. Your mind might be out of practice, but your hands remembered how to move, how to cut, at just what angle to hold your dagger as you slid the flat of the blade into the incision. It was a delicate balance; applying enough force to cut through the connective tissue without tearing the epidermis. There was a slick sound from underneath your knife, a half-choked groan from Diavolo, and skin separated from muscle, leaving both intact and swimming in an agony of their own. It was beautifully precise, the kind of workmanship that should’ve gotten you a promotion. You could only regret that it was wasted on Diavolo.

Thick, dark blood washed over his tan skin, spilling out in every direction and distracting you from your task. With a disgruntled sigh, you turned to your supplies and took up the most limited of your precious tools: common table salt, imported from the human world and kept in a simple glass jar. You’d always known it had purifying properties that demons didn’t care for, but it’d surprised you just how difficult it was to get a hold of in the Devildom. Diavolo was strong enough to withstand it without being reduced to a pile of smoldering ash, but hopefully, the burn would be more than he cared to endure.

With great care not to get any on yourself, you took up the vial of holy water and undid the bottle’s seal, dampening the blade of your dagger with a generous portion. “Did you know that holy water can’t be diluted?” You asked, idly, taking one of the larger salt rocks between your thumb and forefinger and crushing it, savoring the slight sting before spreading the fine residue over one side of your blade. “My boss didn’t – used to lecture me for wasting it. You should really be more selective about your staff, down here.” You paused, bringing the point of your dagger back to Diavolo’s skin. You found your target quickly: the flesh over his shoulder blade, where the tissue was thin and the bone prominent. You drove it down with just enough force to break the skin, and in an instant, you were rewarded with the smell of burning flesh. “It was one of the first miracles the guys upstairs performed on Earth, after the humans realized they could it themselves without divine intervention. Remember to spare a drop for the next batch, and you’ve got an endless supply – as good as if it’d come from Micheal himself.”

You returned to the first incision, sliding your blade back into the slit you’d just carved. There was some resistance – Diavolo’s regenerative abilities were second to none, just as you’d expected from demonic royalty – but with grit teeth and a quirk of your wrist, you pushed through it, spreading your little concoction across raw, bleeding muscle. This time, Diavolo screamed, the sound animalistic and agonized and exactly what you were looking for. It reminded you of wind chimes, of church bells, of a timbre voice congratulating you on a job well-done as you stood over the maimed remains of a breathing corpse. Eager to chase that satisfaction, you pressed down harder, cutting into the muscle of his back before jerking your dagger back, ripping through tissue and flesh and leaving carnage in your path. You couldn’t just smell burnt flesh, this time – you could practically taste it, coating your tongue like ash and filling your lungs like smoke. Everything your blade touch seemed to melt, to scorch, leaving a filthy black char slashed across Diavolo’s back, infecting the wound you’d inflicted. If you were at work, if he were anyone else, you’ve taken it further, watched the blisters form down the curve of his back as you slowly and melodically removed each unnecessary vertebra of his spine, but he was a prince, and your goal wasn’t to kill him. You just had to make him wish he was dead when he was with you – that was all.

You dropped the dagger onto the stone floor, sucking in a harsh breath as you shook out your stiff fingers. You considered the whips, elegant in their design and brutal in the affection, then the golden tub, how good it would feel to string your fingers through his hair before you shoved his head below water, but the former would leave too many marks too quickly and the latter would’ve taken more preparation than you’d cared to make. Instead, you chose something you were less familiar with – a length of braided silver, leather handles molded onto either end. You slung it over your shoulder as you climbed onto the bed and straddled his waist. Out of instinct, his wings shuttered, moving to fold themselves against his back, but you grabbed the arch of his left wing’s spine and forced it flat against the velvet sheets, holding it still as the appendage squirmed and thrashed below you. “No fighting back,” you muttered, because it was what you’d agreed on as you stepped over the threshold to his little homemade torture chamber, because it seemed like the last thing you’d want to hear when you were at someone else’s mercy. “Remember why I’m doing this. If you don’t want to take, I don’t need to give.”

“That’s not—” Heavy panting between each word, all attempts at speaking soon forfeited in favor of an airy gasp. You waited for him to settle, driving a nail into the delicate membrane of his wing for each second he failed to spit something out. “I understand,” he said, eventually, marking the first full thought he’d managed to express since you finished restraining him. “Keep going.”

You didn’t move. “Is that how you’re going to talk to me?”

A dry swallow, a moment of hesitation. A demon’s pride was a difficult thing to put aside, even for a demon like Diavolo. “Please.”

If he’d been anyone else, you would’ve made him grovel.

But, you could only ask so much from such a spoiled prince.

“Raise your head.”

No pet names, no dark humor, no purring or cooing or anything spared to soften the words. He obeyed, tilting his head back and letting you wrap the cord once around his neck once, because anything more than that would only spread the agony, make it that much easier to differentiate from the feeling of your weight against his back, dampen the awareness that it was your hands holding the end of his noose. You wanted him to know it was you. As you pulled the cord taut, you pictured him lying in his own bed hours later, blood washed away and wounds bandaged. After the adrenaline was gone, the excitement replaced with hollow exhaustion and the cold absence of affection, would he cry? Would the pain get to him first, or the misery of it all, the aching realization that what you were doing to him wasn’t something people did to those they loved? Would he curse your name, any heartbreak stifled by pure loathing for the person who left him in such a state of desperation? Would he hate you?

“It’s not the tightness that leads to suffocation – another common misconception. Your guys already knew that one, though.” Crossing both ends of the cords over one another, you cranked them tighter, then tighter again. Admittedly, this kind of thing wasn’t your strong-suit – you’d never been the type to rely on raw strength alone – but the sturdiness of the cord did most of the work for you, winding into itself and biting into his skin without cutting into what laid beneath it. Or, without cutting into yet, at least.

“It’s the pressure,” you said as you leaned over him properly, planting your knees in the plush of the down-stuffed mattress. “That’s the real trick - being able to apply enough force to crush the windpipe and cut off the lungs. From there, all you have to do is—” You paused, letting out a soft, strained groan as you pulled the cord ever-tighter. If you let go of the handles, it would’ve held its shape, but it felt cruel to be so impersonal. “—sit back and watch.”

There was a whimper by way of response, more pleading than pained. His mouth fell open, something that could’ve been generously interpreted as the beginning of a word falling past his lips, but you took mercy on him, clicking your tongue as you braced yourself for what came next. “Relax, I’m not going anywhere.” And then, after a second of thought, “Have you ever thought about what it’d be like to hang to death, your highness?”

Even if he could answer, you wouldn’t have let him. You hauled him upward suddenly, letting the cord rise to the sensitive junction just underneath his chin and winding it farther, farther, until it made good on its threats and a thin cut formed across the curve of his throat, a twin laceration appearing on the other side a few seconds later. He struggled underneath you, attempting to maintain his composure and control his breathing until instinct took over and he was left gasping, sputtering, trying to force air back into the lungs you controlled, now. Despite yourself, the corners of your lips curled upward, a profound satisfaction flooding through your veins and momentarily blocking out what little rational thought remained. Diavolo was depraved, but this was your line of work, your field of expertise. You felt phantom hands on your shoulders, lips ghosting over the top of your head. You deserved to be happy, when you were doing so well at what you were meant to do. You deserved to take pride in a job well-done.

Struggling, struggling, then release. His shoulders dropped, his form going limp, and just as his eyes threatened to close and his mind gave out completely, you let go of the cord, letting it fall back to the base of his throat. It took a few more seconds to detangle, another to rub the lingering salt on your fingers into the new cuts on his neck. While he panted, drooled, made a mess of himself, you basked in your holy reverence, newly purified by the sacredness of your responsibilities. You remained there, in that state of simple contentedness, until Diavolo broke the silence.

“Is that—” A harsh breath, a fit of coughing. Your mind supplied the rest of his question automatically. Is that enough? Is it over, now?

You almost smiled, almost told him that it’d be over as soon as he decided that he couldn’t handle you, anymore, but he went on before you could, his tone playful despite the blood now seeping into his sheets. “Is that all?”

You felt something very heavy and very sharp fall into the pit of your stomach. “Of course not,” you said, because that’s what you were supposed to say. Because when they asked for more, you were supposed to give it to them.

Because, if he wanted more, you��d give it to him until he couldn’t stand the thought of ever letting you touch him again.

“We’re just getting started.”

You could get to the rose garden on your own, by now.

Lucifer and Barbatos were already seated in their usual places, both looking uncharacteristically relaxed. Barbatos’ smile got a little brighter as you approached, and after you’d slid into your designated seat, Lucifer greeted you with a clap of his hands, a lilt to his posture. “I assumed you and Diavolo would be arriving together.”

You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You’d learned quickly, within the first month of Diavolo’s proposal, that you’d been right to assume you wouldn’t be able to keep it yourselves for very long. Still, it surprised you just how quickly he told Lucifer and Barbatos about your little trysts. “He’s still cleaning up.”

Barbatos’ constant smile took on a teasing quirk. “What a heartless lover you are, to leave him alone in a state like that.”

“He knew I wasn’t the doting type going into this.” It wasn’t a lie. You’d never claimed that any part of your attention would be the loving kind, that whatever polite affection you showed to him when he dragged you out to upper-crust restaurants and diamond-studded nightclubs and parties with only the Devildom’s most elite in attendance wouldn’t extend to the time you spent alone together. Love was a pretense, not a necessity. You could only hope Diavolo was tender hearted enough to be hurt by your callousness. “You’re the babysitter, here. Shouldn’t you be the one patching him up?”

He moved to respond, but Lucifer was quick to cut in, leaning forward as he spoke. “Have you two already—” A coy smile, a vague gesture with a gloved hand. You weren’t sure what’d gotten into him. You’d never seen Lucifer or Barbatos so giddy, even if the extent of their excitement seemed to be a few probing questions and a new willingness to bare their teeth without snapping at your throat. “—well, I’m sure you know.”

You swallowed, dryly. The idea of sex hung over your relationship like a funeral shroud, weighing the heaviest when you stepped over the threshold and into whatever makeshift dungeon he’d chosen for the two of you that night, when he spared you a smile that meant he could only be expecting one thing. You didn’t want to know what would happen if he continued not to get it, but you didn’t want to sleep with him, either. You didn’t want to sleep with him. You didn’t want to give up that much of yourself, to fall that deeply into the den of vipers you couldn’t seem to claw your way out of. You knew, rationally, that you were already as tainted as you could possibly be, that Diavolo couldn’t possibly touch you in way that was worse than how you touched him, but your heart refused to give up on the idea that you weren’t beyond redemption, just yet.

Surprisingly, Barbatos came to your defense, although you couldn’t say he sounded very empathetic. “Keep your mind out of the gutter,” he said, in a way that implied that this was a subject they’d already discussed in-depth. “You know how hard it can be for fallen angels to adjust.”

“Not every fallen angel. It only took me a decade to make a name for myself.” He’d also made the choice to fall, but you thought better than to say that aloud. “It’s just a matter of getting a taste for it. Let them take the plunge now, before our little prince loses patience.”

You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said died on your tongue as the weight of two hands settled on each of your shoulders, as you felt Diavolo press a kiss into your cheek. You bit back a grimace, but the contract was mercifully fleeting, gone as soon as Diavolo straightened his back and directed his attention to the rest of the table. “What am I supposed to be so impatience about, exactly?”

Lucifer was quick to change the topic. “I was starting to think that you’d forgotten about us.”

Rather than turn to Lucifer, his eyes fell back to you. You could feel his stare, awful and adoring, boring into you as he spoke.

“As if I could ever think of anything else.”

You found yourself undressed and barely conscious on a golden rug in front of a searing fireplace a few days later.

Your body felt lighter than it should’ve been. In hindsight, you’d had too much to drink to be around another person, let alone underneath one. You’d thought, foolishly, that another sip, another glass, another bottle of wine would help to settle your nerves, to make you seem like an easier conquest than Diavolo would’ve liked, but all it’d done was make you too easy to turn up – prey that’d already been left to bleed by some other conveniently absent predator. It might’ve been your own fault, for assuming Diavolo would show more courtesy to you than you’d ever shown to him. It might’ve been your own fault, for going out of your way to pretend you so genuinely couldn’t tell the difference between cruelty and love.

Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear. You could hear footsteps somewhere in the muddled distance, make out a song of a hum just above the soft crackling of the fireplace, and then, he was back, settling onto the mess of sheets and pillows beneath you, an overfull goblet in one hand and the other suddenly cupping your cheek. He wore nothing, save for the chokingly tight collar of silver chain you’d wrapped around his neck hours ago. You could remember holding a tether, feel the strip of leather biting into your palm, but you must’ve let go of it at some point. Whatever happened, it was gone now.

Drifting lower, you could see where your nails had cut into his chest, his back, his throat. You might’ve bitten him, too – you could taste something heavy and metallic on your tongue, but it would’ve been impossible to tell if it was his blood or your own. He’d made no attempt to hide your marks, to wash the remaining blood and slick and saliva off his skin. They were filthy creatures, demons. Filthy, and sinful, and undeserving. If you had your way, they’d be left to dwell in their vile hedonism for the rest of time, left alone to their self-indulgent wickedness until they all began to rot. Or, better yet, brought to some great altar built to celebrate their demise, their beating hearts carved out and offered up in repentance. You’d do the butchering yourself, if you had to.

You wanted to dip yourself in a vat of acid. You wanted to bathe in light. You wanted to scream and thrash as Diavolo took your hand, then your wrist, dragging you into a sitting position until you could you had to rely on your own unsteady posture to keep yourself up-right, but you didn’t, didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound as he brought the goblet up to your lips. Sacrament, you thought, as you swallowed down as much of the sweet wine as you could before he took that away from you too, replacing the goblet’s mouth with his own. You didn’t kiss back, didn’t throw yourself against him and beg for his love, his attention, but he pulled away with a satisfied hum. “I think this might be when you’re the most beautiful,” he sighed, cupping your cheek. “In my home, painted with my marks, silhouetted by the firelight…” He let his shoulders drop, and his tone took on a wistful lull. “It’s a breath-taking sight, and you don’t know how much relief it brings me to know that I’ll be the only person to ever see it.”

Your eyes fell to the rug, nearly gaudy in its splendor. You swore to yourself that, if you ever managed to get away from Diavolo, you’d never willingly lay your eyes on a single piece of gold again. “Does…” You started, then trailed off, bowing your head before going on. “Does it ever bother you, knowing I don’t feel the same way?”

You wanted to be more transparent, to say that would never love him, to make it clear that all you’d ever try to do was hurt him, but even to your loathing-addled mind, the words sounded too harsh, too cutting with too little to gain from choking them out of your sore throat and past your bruised lips. Then again, what you actually managed to say didn’t seem to hurt him enough – his smile only taking on a softer note as he leaned forward, letting his lips ghost over your forehead. “Sometimes,” he admitted, with less strain than you’d expected. Less strain than you’d known you were looking for, before he responded so easily. “But not often. Not at all, when I have you with me.” He paused, brightened. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to love me?”

He was better than you. He was stronger than you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything at all.

You rarely said anything to Diavolo at all, anymore.

Not that he minded. It was the shape of you by his side that he liked, more than anything – the feeling of your eyes on him, the awareness that if you were on top of him, you couldn’t be anywhere else, with anyone else. He was kind enough to explain his obsession in more depth after you first summoned the courage to ask, to tell you about his possessive urges as you raked a barbed whip across his back, to recount the names of those he’d rather die than lose you to in gasped breaths while you forced his head into a vat of holy water. There was sex, sometimes, when you thought you could stomach it, when it seemed like your usual pastimes wouldn’t be enough to stop him from resorting to less mutual shows of affection. You were more distant on those days than most.

You were more distant today than you’d ever been before. It was almost like ascension, astral projection – you couldn’t recall ever feeling so totally disconnected, only vaguely aware of the gentle throbbing in your cunt, the heat dripping down the inside of your thighs, the feeling of Diavolo’s teeth burrowed into your shoulder. You’d been lax in your preparation, too strung-out to really care if he got away. His ankles were unrestrained, his wrists bound behind his back with little more than a length of bronze cord embedded with thorns, not unsimilar to those you’d find in his beloved garden. They were strong enough to cut into his skin, sturdy enough to tear when he thrashed, and if you were more yourself, you might’ve been able to admire the craftsmanship, the thought that must’ve gone into each and every pinprick of suffering. You weren’t, though, and you couldn’t really bring yourself to appreciate much of anything.

He was making those sounds, again. Even in the face of your vow of silence, he was so fucking noisy – always whimpering or whining or moaning unabashedly while you dragged the blade of your dagger up the length of his spine, dispassionately watching skin split open and hot, crimson blood trail down his arched back. There was a raspy groan, a pair of pointed canines lodged that much deeper into your flesh, then you felt his cock twitch inside of you, still hard despite your motionlessness. It’d been months since the last time he let you take someone else apart, make someone cry in agony without having to listen for something less wholesome playing underneath the surface. If it hadn’t been for the raised lash-marks across his chest and thighs, the feeling of his blood washing over your skin, you’d be tempted to think you were the one being tortured.

With a half-swallowed sigh, you rolled your hips against him, letting your eyes fall shut and total, absolute numbness wash over you in heavy waves. It would’ve been a valuable skill to have a few hundred years ago, when you were constantly being reprimanded by your higher-ups for not being able to remain as stoic as your fellow acolytes, for caring too much about the responsibilities they’d assigned to you minutes after you came into existence. It was hypocrisy, bold and shameless. No one batted an eye when Simeon exorcised a small army’s worth of demons, when Micheal took to the human world with plagues of locusts and rivers of blood, but you were punished for believing what you’d been told, for holding yourself too close to the holy light. For doing your job and doing it well.

Diavolo drifted, drawing back just far enough to bury his face in the side of your neck, to press himself so suffocatingly close to you. You felt the ghost of a hand on the small of your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as a softened voice whispered platitudes of family and forgiveness and virtue, as it offered hollow promises of prayer and purification and, worst of all, love. He said you’d be able to go home, one day, after your penance in the shadows, after you realized how lucky you were to serve in such a benevolent cause. He promised he would bring you home.

Diavolo tilted his head back, his dark eyes meeting yours for the first time since you’d gotten him underneath you, and something in the hollow, frigid depth of your chest cracked open. There was nothing graceful in the way you drew your knife back, nothing purposeful in the way you drove it into his chest. You pictured vital veins and arteries, listed off organs even a demon wouldn’t be able to live without, but all planning and precision was lost in favor of driving your blade into him with wild abandon, plunging your knife into anything you could reach and twisting – turning anything you touched to viscera. Tissue was torn to gory ribbons, muscle diced and shredded, his skin soon little more than a failing barrier between you and what you were trying so desperately to tear out of him. You bounced on his cock as you worked, ignoring the way it throbbed against the walls of your cunt as you dedicated yourself to your task. When your dagger had outlasted its usefulness, you dropped it and took to using your own wretched, unforgivable hands. You found the spines of his ribs easily, tore through them with only the slightest amount of strain. You only noticed Diavolo was moving when you started to push into his diaphragm, his arms straining against his restraints as he thrashed beneath you – trying to free himself, or knock you away, or do something that stopped you from getting what you wanted. From hurting him in a way he couldn’t get off on. From letting you ever return to the paradise you deserved, the paradise you were owed.

His teeth burrowed into your jugular. He wasn’t trying to mark you, anymore – he wanted to end you before you ended him, to survive longer than you planned to let him. It wasn’t enough, though. You swallowed down the pain, muttering prayers under your breath as you surged forward and taking hold of the pulsing muscle in his chest. You felt something hot and awful flood into your pussy – a bodily reflex, you figured, although you’d start to doubt that in the near-future – but ignored the filth flooding into your veins, forced yourself to focus on taking hold of his beating heart and tearing it free from its restraints, from its bondage. Cupped in your palms, you carried it out of your chest with all the love and all the care of a midwife bringing life into the world, and finally, finally, finally, Diavolo went limp underneath you, lips parted and form limp. You let out a sob of relief, dragging yourself away from his unmoving body and onto the cold, stone floor; your legs giving out seconds later and leaving you in a crumpled heap, as useless as you’d always been.

Tears streaming down your cheeks, you brought Diavolo’s heart to your lips and swallowed it whole, its warmth lingering on your tongue for seconds. Then, you pulled your legs against your chest, buried your face in your knees, and started to cry.

You were allowed to dwell in your misery for one blissful, liberating second before that was brought to an end, too. “My love?”

You didn’t move. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It was just another ghost sent to haunt you, another punishment for letting yourself think of anything but your orders, your responsibilities. When you heard metal snap, when you felt a hand on your shoulder, you only curled deeper into yourself, digging your nails into your thighs as something bloody and blasphemous settled beside you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to cry.” You wished you still had your wings, something to curl around yourself. You wished you could feel the sunlight again. “Was I not convincing enough? We can try again, if you’d like.”

You wished you could be anywhere but here. “Get away from me.”

“Having one of your little episodes again?” He worked a hand under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back. His chest was still covered in blood, flecked with bits and pieces of himself, but you couldn’t make out a trace of the gaping wound you must have inflected onto him, couldn’t seem to put what you were looking at together with what you’d just done. It was a visible untruth your mind just couldn’t seem to make sense of, an unignorable mistake in the fabric of reality that no amount of staring could correct. Diavolo sighed wistfully, the noise heavy with tender affection, and his hands fell to your waist, hauling you onto his lap as he’d done so many times before.

You could still taste the bitter meat of his heart on your tongue, still feel the mass of muscle and sinew lodged in your throat, and yet, as your head settled against his chest, you were met with that tell-tale beating, as strong and as steady as it’d ever been. As if you hadn’t accomplished anything. As if you hadn’t done anything at all. “You’re a handful,” he said, pressing a shallow kiss into your temple. “But you’re mine.”

He dipped lower, moved to kiss you, but you weren’t willing to wait as long as it would’ve taken him to reach you. With jerky, erratic movements, you shifted onto your knees, strung your arms around his neck, forced your mouth against his before he could do the same to you. There was a startled sound, a tightened hold on your waist, but Diavolo melted into your sudden affection quickly enough. Your skin crawled, your thoughts spiraling, but you didn’t care. You weren’t sure you’d ever care about anything again.

You’d already been forced out of paradise, tainted beyond redemption and stripped of any hope of returning to the light.

The least you deserved was to enjoy your eternity in the darkness.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere obey me #obey me #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #yandere diavolo #diavolo x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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theguyinthemathexamples · 2 years ago

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cw// 12am thoughts, lowercase intended, spoilers?, lore spill??

a sudden thought came to my mind about the Impostor!SAGAU just now

why don't the ones capable of shapeshifting, like the archons, yokai, etc., try using another form to investigate?

whether they transform into a bird, cat, frog, crystalfly, box, walking koi fish or another person entirely, just a different form than the one they went by before

like in the au where they're skeptical of the current/nonexistent creator, whether on the throne or not, or whether it's by official order, by the law or by their own volition, is real — can't they do that?

(more utc ‼️‼️‼️)

for example:

zhongli, after curiosity put him in a chokehold, decides to turn into a bird of sorts.

his movement was a bit clunky, having not taken a different animal form than his exuvia one in so long, but he got the hang of it.

with feathers of orange and black he soared, under the sunlight did they glisten like the amber and obsidian he'd used to craft the most exquisite of weapons and sculptures alike for his creator.

it was only till sundown did he see his target: the impostor.

but he won't kill them just yet — as much as he wanted to do so.

he guided his wings to a glide, swooping from the skies above and into the forestry below. his claws gripped itself onto the sturdy branches of the sandbearer tree, perching himself above the impostor.

it was almost a pitiful sight to see, really; there you were, bruises and cuts in the midst of healing, vulnerable and unaware that you've been caught yet again.

not a moment later, a plethora of fauna surrounded you, the sight baffling the lord of geo.

from large squirrels to small geovishap hatchlings, even finches and eagles of varying sizes, shapes and colours.

he shook his avian head, having seen enough that his mind could comprehend, and quickly flew away without a peep.

his wings lifted his body away from the scene, away from the forest and off into the skies.

the orange haze that painted the horizon had gradually descended into shades of purples, giving way for nighttime to creep in once he'd returned to his residence.

zhongli's form slumped on the fine furniture that was his drawer, eyes almost as wide as dinner plates. he still couldn't shake off the scene from his mind. he won't. he didn't. he never will.

there was still tomorrow to count on and he needed more time to process the information brought to him on a silver platter.

all because he chose a form that wasn't his.

slowly undressing from his work clothes, he changed into night wear and laid on his bed, not bothering to shower tonight.

... maybe he'll peck at their skin once he sees them to confirm his suspicions.

and so, he closes his eyes, his veins impatiently waiting for the next crack of dawn as he eventually falls into a deep slumber.

his eyes had failed to spot the teal bird that clung the closest to your figure. (coughcough bird xiao creator pspspsps coughcough)

anyways, scenarios just like that are what i'm curious about

thank you for taking the time out of your day and have a smexy rest of your day, you lovely, gorgeous, stunning people 😘😘

#sparkling wheat ♪#genshin impact #sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli #genshin zhongli #zhongli genshin #ft. xiao #silver lined strawberries ♪#stellar-borne cookies and cream ♪

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thejournallo · 2 years ago

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Explain the basic: Healing, Protecting, and Grounding.

You must know those three things before you start anything about witchcraft. This will be a long post.

I will explain those three things separately, as always:

PROTECTION:

Protection in witchcraft involves the use of various methods, spells, rituals, and practices to safeguard oneself, spaces, or others from negative energies, harm, or unwanted influences. It's an essential aspect of many magical traditions to maintain safety and well-being while practicing witchcraft. Here are some common ways practitioners protect themselves:

Warding and Shielding: Creating energetic barriers or shields around oneself or a space to prevent negative energies or entities from entering. This can be done through visualization, the use of specific symbols, or spoken spells.

Cleansing and Purification: Regularly cleansing yourself or your space with methods such as smudging (burning herbs [burning herbs is okay] like sage or palo santo and it is a closed practice for the native american and first Nations people), sprinkling salt, using consecrated water, or utilizing sound (like bells or singing bowls) to remove negativity and purify the environment.

Protective Symbols and Amulets: Wearing or carrying protective amulets, talismans, or charms such as pentagrams, evil eye symbols, runes, or specific sigils believed to ward off negativity.

Crystal Protection: Using crystals and stones like black tourmaline, obsidian, amethyst, or clear quartz for their protective properties. These can be worn, placed in a space, or used in rituals for protection.

Ancestral or Deity Protection: Calling upon ancestors, spirit guides, or deities associated with protection and asking for their assistance or guidance in warding off negativity.

Setting Intentions: Setting clear and strong intentions for protection through meditation, prayer, or visualization, reinforcing the desired protective barrier.

Creating Protective Spells or Rituals: Crafting and performing spells or rituals specifically designed for protection, involving candles, herbs, oils, and written or spoken incantations to enhance protective energy.

Boundary Setting: Establishing personal boundaries, both energetically and physically, and learning to say no to things or people that might compromise your safety or well-being.

GROUDING:

Grounding in witchcraft refers to the practice of connecting with the earth, balancing energy, and centering oneself. It's a technique used to help practitioners feel rooted, present, and connected to the physical world while engaging in magical or spiritual work. Grounding is essential for maintaining stability, mental clarity, and energetic balance.

Here are some common methods used for grounding in witchcraft:

Nature Connection: Spending time outdoors, walking barefoot on the earth, sitting against a tree, or gardening can help establish a connection with nature and ground your energy.

Visualization: Imagining roots extending from your body into the earth like a tree, anchoring you and absorbing excess energy. You can also visualize a protective shield around you, separating your energy from external influences.

Mindfulness and Breathing: Focusing on your breath and being present in the moment can bring awareness to your body and surroundings, helping to ground scattered energy.

Crystals: Certain crystals like black tourmaline, hematite, or obsidian are believed to have grounding properties. Holding or carrying these stones can aid in grounding practices.

Grounding Foods and Herbs: Consuming foods that grow underground (like root vegetables) or herbs such as ginger, turmeric, or cloves can also assist in grounding.

Physical Movement: Engaging in physical activities like yoga, tai chi, or dancing helps to connect with the body and the present moment.

Rituals and Spells: Incorporating grounding rituals or spells into your practice, such as casting a circle, lighting grounding candles, or using specific incantations, can help focus your intention and energy.

HEALING:

Healing in witchcraft encompasses various methods and practices aimed at promoting physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual well-being. Witches and practitioners of various magical traditions often use a combination of natural remedies, energy work, rituals, and spells to facilitate healing. Here are some common approaches to healing in witchcraft:

Herbalism and Plant Magic: Using the healing properties of herbs and plants to create remedies, teas, poultices, and tinctures for physical ailments. Herbal magic involves harnessing the energies of specific plants for their healing properties.

Energy Healing: Working with energy to promote balance and healing within the body. Practices like Reiki, chakra balancing, aura cleansing, and energy manipulation are common in witchcraft for healing purposes.

Candle Magic: Utilizing candles of different colors, corresponding with specific intentions or healing needs. Lighting candles in rituals or spells while focusing on healing intentions can aid in the healing process.

Crystal Healing: Using crystals and gemstones believed to have healing properties. Placing crystals on the body, creating crystal grids, or incorporating them into rituals can facilitate healing energies.

Visualization and Meditation: Guided visualization and meditation techniques to promote relaxation, reduce stress, and facilitate self-healing. This can involve visualizing light, healing energy, or positive affirmations to bring about healing.

Rituals and Spells: Crafting rituals or spells specifically focused on healing, utilizing candles, herbs, oils, symbols, and spoken or written incantations to channel healing energy.

Divination for Insight: Using divination tools like tarot cards, runes, or scrying to gain insight into the root causes of illness or emotional distress and to guide healing processes.

Sound and Vibrational Healing: Incorporating sound healing techniques such as chanting, drumming, singing bowls, or bells to harmonize energies and promote healing vibrations.

Ancestral or Spirit Work: Seeking guidance or assistance from ancestors, spirit guides, or deities associated with healing and wellness.

As always, I will love to hear your thoughts! and if you have any questions, I will be more than happy to answer them! If you liked it, leave a comment or reblog (that is always appreciated!). and have a wonderful day or night!

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rakkwal · 9 months ago

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Play.CivMC.net

Version: Java 1.20.1

CivMC is a geopolitical Minecraft server focused on civilization-building. Players form nations and establish governments, wars occur, and treaties are signed. You can play with friends, punish your ideological enemies, or raid and attack indiscriminately. All interactions and laws are player enforced, with the help of plugins that have defined the genre since it's inception as CivCraft. You can view the player run wiki here, the player run map (with rail lines, nation borders, ect) here, and the player run newsletter here. The wiki also contains a New Player Guide! Every new player gets one free teleport within 24 hours of joining, make it count! Basic information under the cut.

The primary plugins used on CivMC to make it unique are NameLayer, Citadel, and Exile Pearl. FactoryMod also deserves a mention here.

Exile Pearl is arguably the most interesting mechanic, which allows you to kill another player with an Ender Pearl on your hotbar. This will imprison said player in the Nether, and also imposes restrictions on their gameplay. Pearls degrade however, and player "Essence" is required to keep them fueled. Essence is granted on a daily basis to players after being online for 30 minutes. Requiring a somewhat active nation to keep others imprisoned. Pearled players are kept in vaults, disgustingly large and complex obsidian structures meant to have maximum security.

NameLayer acts as the base structure for many other plugins on the server. It allows players to make groups, with different ranks in said group having more, or fewer, permissions within a group. Such as who can buy from your shops, open doors and chests, or who can chat in said group. This last one is important, as the default chat range is only 1000 blocks. However there is a public global chat, just type "/global" after joining to participate, and "/local" to revert back.

Citadel is a reinforcement plugin that will make your chests harder for nefarious actors to break into, your buildings more resilient to attacks, and allows you more peace of mind during your off hours. Individual blocks, chests, doors, etc can be locked with reinforcement materials. Each material requires a set number of breaks before the block will drop. Stone is 50, iron ingots are 300, and diamonds are 2000. Virtually every build in the game is reinforced with stone, more expensive materials are reserved for more important things, like chests. NameLayer hooks into Citadel to allow granular access control for almost everything!

FactoryMod allows you to create small structures known as factories, made from a furnace, crafting table, and a chest. Factories allow for more complex recipes and items not found in vanilla minecraft. More efficient recipes than in vanilla minecraft (32 gold ore to 48 ingots, 64 cobble to 96 stone!). And cheaply available decorative blocks to make your builds nice.

There are plenty of other mechanics I haven't touched upon, like brewing alcohol for unique potion effects, how crops grow (or don't!) in certain biomes, the distribution of ores, or how you can see who broke into your home and stole all your crafting tables. See the wiki for more information on game mechanics! There are plenty of nations on the server, which I would recommend joining before trying to make your own. One of my personal favourites is the nation of Pavia, locted at (800, -3000)

Pavia is an elective meritocracy, comprising of a Prime Minister and his Cabinet, elected by the Nobility of Pavia. Pavia's territory is divided into distinct classes outlined by the foundational law of the country, the Magna Pavia. These classes administrate their own territories with varying states of autonomy and all add their own story to Pavia's ever-growing lore & history! Pavia is famous for its incredible and sprawling architecture as well as its economy, home to the largest Bank on CivMC and one of the server's most extensive shopping districts. There is a tutorial open to anyone to learn every guide and plugin which is located in the Pavia townhall, if you wish to use the server tutorial head to (+800 , -3065) inside the building on the ground floor. If you are new to CivMC, it is recommended you start off by settling in the Bedford Commons, a city just outside the capital's walls. The coordinates are (+1000, -2800).

#minecraft #minecraft server #civcraft #civmc

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snapmite1998 · 9 months ago

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Nightsister Great Mother: Syla, the Enchantress of the Abyss

Background:

Great Mother Syla is a venerable and powerful Nightsister who sits alongside Mother Talzin, Klothow, Lakesis, and Aktropaw. Her mastery of the dark arts and her profound connection to the mystical forces of Dathomir set her apart as a formidable leader and wise counselor within the Nightsister hierarchy. Her ancient knowledge and exceptional sorcery make her a guardian of the Nightsister clan's deepest secrets and most potent spells.

Appearance:

Syla exudes an aura of otherworldly power. She is adorned in a flowing robe of deep midnight purple, almost black, decorated with intricate patterns woven from golden threads. These patterns depict mythical creatures and ancient runes that shimmer with dark energy. Her headdress is crafted from the bones of ancient beast lizards and adorned with obsidian-colored feathers that cascade down her back, adding to her commanding presence.

Her eyes glow with an ethereal light, shifting between hues of green and violet, a testament to her deep connection with the arcane. Her skin carries the marks of ancient rites, with glowing tattoos that represent her bond with the spirits of the Abyss. Her long, dark hair is often braided with talismans and enchanted stones that amplify her powers.

Powers and Abilities:

Great Mother Syla's abilities are vast and formidable, reflecting her status as one of the foremost practitioners of Nightsister magic:

1. Abyssal Sorcery:

- Syla has explored the darkest depths of Dathomir's magic, allowing her to wield spells that can control shadows and channel the primordial forces of the Abyss. Her sorcery can create portals, summon dark entities, and envelop enemies in shadowy tendrils.

2. Ancient Rites and Rituals:

- Syla is the keeper of ancient Nightsister rites and ceremonies, ensuring that these powerful rituals are passed down through generations. She conducts dark ceremonies that can enhance the abilities of her sisters, bind spirits, and unleash catastrophic spells.

3. Spirit Conjuring:

- Syla possesses the rare ability to commune with and summon powerful spirits from the Abyss. These spirits can serve as guides, protectors, or harbingers of doom, depending on her needs. She can also channel these spirits to heal or empower her sisters.

4. Mastery of Illusions:

- Syla can create powerful illusions that deceive even the most perceptive foes. She uses this ability to conceal her clan, create false images, or terrify her enemies with nightmarish visions.

Role as Great Mother:

Syla’s role within the council of Great Mothers encompasses both leadership and mentorship. She oversees the training of young witches, passing down the darkest and most potent spells to those who show promise. Her wisdom is sought in matters of strategy, magic, and the spiritual well-being of the clan.

Great Mother Syla is often consulted in times of dire need, particularly when the Nightsisters face threats that require the most powerful and forbidden of spells. Her calm and composed demeanor belies the immense power she wields, making her a central and stabilizing force within the clan.

Legacy:

Syla is deeply committed to preserving the Nightsisters' heritage and ensuring their survival amidst the galaxy's tumult, more so after the Nightsisters' previous massacre at the hands of General Grievous and his droid army. She works tirelessly to safeguard their secrets and to empower her sisters through knowledge and magical strength. Young witches look up to her not only as a mentor but as a symbol of the depth and mystery that embody Nightsister magic.

Through her leadership and guidance, Great Mother Syla, the Enchantress of the Abyss, remains a pillar of strength and knowledge, ensuring that the Nightsisters remain a formidable and mystical force within the galaxy. Her presence within the council of Great Mothers reinforces the Nightsisters' unity and their unwavering resolve to protect their way of life.

#star wars #star wars what if #star wars fanfiction #nightsisters #nightsister oc #nightsisters of dathomir #witches #witch mother #dathomir #character design #darth maul #mother talzin #great mother #my fanfiction #check out my fanfic #savage opress #feral opress #Darth Maul: A New Dawn

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lunarforager · 1 year ago

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Beginner Witch's Guide: The Basics

Hello friends and all my beginner witches! Welcome to my Beginner Witch's Guide where I will be sharing my wisdom in regards to the craft! This series of posts will be a set of guides to all sorts of aspects in the witchy world from crystals to tarot to baneful magic.

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Beginner Materials:

(Keep in mind that none of these are necessary materials to practice witchcraft! These are just some ideas for what you can start practicing with!)

Crystals

Not only are crystals insanely beautiful, but they are also super useful for your practice. Some great beginner crystals include rose quartz, amethyst, citrine, and obsidian! Crystals can be somewhat expensive, but these tend to be ones you can find for fairly cheap!

Herbs

So many herbs can be used for the practice, and the best thing is that so many herbs can be easily purchased for relatively little from the local grocery store. Yes! The herbs in those little jars on the shelf can be used in magic no problem!

Salt

Salt has been used in many different cultures in many different forms of witchcraft as protection from negative energies and curses. Salt is a priceless thing in the witchy world!

Candles

Candles aren't necessary (technically nothing on this list is) but many spells will call for candles of various colors but the good thing is, candles can be found for super cheap in places like dollar stores or thift stores! And colors don't matter as much as people might tell you. White candles can used in place of others for pretty much any spell that calls for colored candles.

Tarot Deck (or deck of cards)

Tarot is a great way to start getting into divination and so getting a tarot deck can start you on that path of learning. They can be somewhat expensive, so a normal deck of cards can also be used! There are so many guides online of how to use a normal deck of cards for tarot readings and there are also great guides on how to start getting into tarot.

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Thank you for taking time to read over this post! I absolutely love sharing my knowledge about the craft with people and would love to share more with anyone reading!

Feel free to send me messages or asks about the practice and I'll try my best to answer them, but I also just love talking to people in general haha!

Valete my friends!

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astra-ravana · 4 months ago

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Forging A Blasting Rod

-My personal blasting rod.

A blasting rod is a specialized magickal tool used in witchcraft and ceremonial magick, primarily for baneful workings, commanding spirits, protection, and energy projection. Unlike a traditional wand, which channels and directs energy gently, a blasting rod forcefully projects power, making it a tool of will, authority, and raw energy manipulation. This guide will walk you through selecting materials, crafting, and charging your blasting rod.

Understanding the Purpose of a Blasting Rod

A blasting rod is used in high-energy workings, including:

• Commanding spirits in ceremonial or necromantic magick.

• Cursing and hexing with focused intent.

• Banishing unwanted energies with force.

• Defensive and protective magick, repelling negativity.

• Directing raw power in aggressive spellwork.

It is a tool of action, unlike a regular wand, which can be more neutral or passive in nature.

Choosing Materials

Wood Selection (Powerful & Commanding Woods)

The rod should be strong, sturdy, and hold commanding energy. Some of the best choices include:

• Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa) – The traditional wood for blasting rods, used in baneful magick and spirit work.

• Black Locust (Robinia pseudoacacia) - Another favorite for blasting rods, used in attack/defense magick, blood magick, and baneful magick.

• Ironwood (Ostrya virginiana) - Formidable and strong when dealing with unwanted forces.

• Rowan (Sorbus aucuparia) – Protective and potent against unwanted spirits.

• Oak (Quercus spp.) – A wood of strength and dominance.

• Yew (Taxus baccata) - Symbolic of death and doom, ideal for baneful magick and interacting with the spirits of the dead.

• Holly (Ilex aquifolium) – Often used in aggressive and defensive magick.

• Hawthorn (Crataegus spp.) – Excellent for curses, hexes, and protection against harmful forces.

If possible, gather the wood ethically—from naturally fallen branches rather than cutting from a living tree. Some traditions believe the wood should be taken from a tree struck by lightning for added potency.

Length & Shape

• A blasting rod is usually longer and thicker than a traditional wand, about 12-18 inches.

• It should feel balanced in your hand, not too lightweight or delicate.

Crystal & Metal Enhancements

To amplify its power, consider embedding:

• Opal (especially black) - Amplifies malefic energy.

• Obsidian or black tourmaline – For protection, banishment, and absorbing negativity.

• Quartz (Clear, smoky, or black) – Strengthens and amplifies energy projection.

• Ruby – Focuses your intention onto the target.

• Amethyst - Self destruction, nightmares, paranoia.

• Garnet - Drains energy from the target.

• Sardonyx - Returns negative energy to sender.

• Malachite - Illicits fear and anxiety.

• Meteorite - Used as an amplifier in baneful magick.

• Iron – Binding, commanding, often used in defensive magick.

• Copper - Amplifier, increases power and effect.

Crafting the Blasting Rod

Cleansing – Before crafting, cleanse the wood by smudging it with mugwort, dragon’s blood, or wormwood smoke. Washing it with saltwater or an herbal infusion (rosemary and rue work well).

Shaping – Strip off excess bark (optional) but keep some texture for a rough, commanding grip.

Symbology – Carve runic symbols, sigils, or glyphs into the shaft. Leave one end pointed or tapered for directing energy.

Adding Power Enhancements - Wrap the handle with black leather, red twine, or iron/copper wire to contain and direct energy. Affix a crystal or iron nail at the tip for added force.

Anoint with ritual oils like:

• Dragon’s Blood – Amplifies power, brings destruction.

• Wormwood & Mugwort – Strengthens spiritual command.

• Black Pepper & Sulfur – Adds potency in baneful work.

• Myrrh - Boosts malevolent power.

Charging & Consecrating the Blasting Rod

A blasting rod should be charged under intense conditions to match its purpose. Some methods include:

Consecration Ritual

• Set Sacred Space – Cast a circle or work at a crossroad, cemetery, or dark moon ritual setting.

• Elemental Charging:

• Fire: Pass the rod through flame (candles or bonfire) to awaken its force.

• Earth: Bury it overnight in graveyard dirt, sulfur, or black salt.

• Water: Dip it in storm water, ocean water, or an infusion of baneful herbs.

• Air: Hold it in thick incense smoke (dragon’s blood, myrrh, or mugwort).

• Invocation of Power:

Hold the rod and speak,

"Rod of might, tool of command,

Through storm and flame, by my hand,

Channel power, force of will,

Let no spirit act against my skill."

Charging Under Planetary & Lunar Energy

• Dark Moon – Best for baneful, binding, or spirit work.

• Full Moon – Enhances overall energy projection.

• Tuesday (Mars' Day) – Ideal for charging aggressive or commanding tools.

• Saturn’s Hour – Adds banishing and protective strength.

Using the Blasting Rod in Magick

Now that your glorious rod of blasting is complete, it's time to unleash its power.

Baneful Work (Hexes, Curses, & Banishing)

• Point the rod at a poppet, target’s name paper, or spell jar while chanting.

• Direct energy into curse sigils or spellwork for amplified power.

• Break curses by striking the ground or altar with the rod.

Commanding Spirits & Evocation

• Used in ceremonial magick to bind, summon, or dismiss spirits.

• Strike the ground or altar three times when calling a spirit.

• Use it to trace sigils in the air when working with the dead or the astral.

Protection & Warding

• Point at a door or window while chanting to seal a space.

• Use it to break hexes or disrupt malevolent energy fields.

• Bury near your home’s entrance to create a protective ward.

Final Thoughts & Maintenance

• Recharge it under powerful celestial events (eclipses, storms, or planetary transits).

• Store it separately from gentler tools, preferably wrapped in black cloth.

• Never use it casually – a blasting rod is for intense, serious magick only.

A properly crafted and consecrated blasting rod is a tool of great power and responsibility. It should be treated with respect, as it embodies raw will, force, and command.

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d-z20 · 7 months ago

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The Ballad of Agatha Harkness Chapter 9

Summary: Rio tries to continue her work but is finding something has shifted within her.

Warnings: death, Rio being an emotional (almost) wreck

Words: 1.9k

A/N: Of course Agatha is all Rio can think about when she's just trying to do her job. This should be the final chapter before get to see them together for the rest of the story :)

Save it for later with AO3 | Master List

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Death’s Dilemma

The fog rolled in thick, cloaking the world in a shroud of grey as Rio stepped lightly into the crumbling remains of an old infirmary. The building was more of a makeshift hospital, hastily constructed with wooden beams and patchy, smoke-stained canvas walls. Inside, the smell of damp earth mingled with the sharp, metallic tang of blood and the sour stench of illness. Low moans and the occasional wheezing cough echoed in the silence, a chorus of suffering that only the dying can produce.

Rio moved unseen among the rows of narrow, straw-filled cots, her presence a ripple in the air, colder than the November chill that seeped through the cracks in the walls. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, their flames fighting a losing battle against the encroaching darkness. She trailed her fingers along the coarse fabric of a blanket, feeling the warmth of a feverish body beneath it. Her touch is imperceptible to the living, but to those on the brink, it is a gentle invitation, a beckoning toward the next world.

Tonight, she was not here to judge or to condemn. Her role was simply to guide, to be the hand that led them away from the agony of their final breaths. A young boy, no more than ten, stirred in his sleep, his face slick with sweat. His chest rose and fell with laborious effort, each breath a struggle. Rio paused beside him, her expression softening. There was no fear in his features, only a strange serenity, as though he’d already begun to see beyond the veil.

Her hand brushed against the weathered wood of the bed frame, then slid down to her side, where her weapon hung—a mix between a Jambiya and a Karambit, sleek, deadly, far from the scythe depicted in myths. Its blade was forged from a dark, almost obsidian-like metal. The design felt ancient—a weapon not crafted by mortal hands but by something far older. The hilt looked like a knarled tree branch, curving gracefully, nestling perfectly in Rio’s palm as if it were made for her grip alone, every line and contour a seamless match to her delicate fingers. It looked like it could cut through reality itself, the edge so fine it seemed to blur against the air.

It wasn’t just a tool for her duty; it was part of her, an extension of the shadows she commanded. The blade pulsed faintly with a cold, unsettling energy, a constant reminder of its purpose. It was a weapon designed for intimate strikes, for the silent, final moments when life and death brushed fingers. And tonight, its presence felt heavier than usual, as if it sensed her inner turmoil.

Rio twirled it absently, the tip glinting as it caught the light, reflecting a fractured glimpse of her own face—beautiful yet haunted. It was almost ironic how the dagger, cold and unfeeling, seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

Across the room, another patient lay—a frail, elderly woman with thinning grey hair and a face carved with deep lines from a long life. Her breathing rattled like dry leaves in the wind, the familiar, final note of a life’s melody. Rio knew without looking that her time was up. Usually, she would have ended it then, a slice of the blade releasing the soul from its mortal coil. But tonight, she hesitated.

The woman’s lips parted, and though her eyes remained closed, her expression was one of peace, laced with a wistful sadness. "Please... just a little longer,” the woman croaked, her voice barely more than a breath.

Rio felt a twist in her chest, a sensation she struggled to name. Sympathy. It was foreign to her, an emotion she had no business feeling. She had witnessed countless pleas like this and heard the desperate bargaining for just a few more moments. She knew time was not hers to give; it upset the natural order of things. And yet she found herself stepping back, the dagger held loosely at her side, the edge no longer threatening.

The woman’s breathing steadied, if only slightly. Her fingers twitched, as though reaching for something invisible, something only she could see. Rio stood there motionless, granting her those extra moments despite every instinct honed over millennia telling her to finish the task. It felt monumental—this small mercy she had never given before.

Finally, when the time came, Rio lifted the dagger with reverent grace. The blade cut through the air, leaving a faint, shimmering trail, as though it were slicing through the very fabric of reality. She stroked the woman’s cheek with the back of her hand, a gesture softer than a whisper. The woman’s soul slipped free with a sight, looking around with quiet confusion. Rio offered her a gentle smile, kind and understanding, as she guided the soul onward. It was a simple act, but tonight it felt different. Heavier, somehow.

“You’re different,” a small voice said.

Rio turned her head sharply; the boy’s spirit hovered beside his motionless body. The boy’s eyes seemed to see right through the mask Rio wore. His voice is gentle, his gaze knowing.

Rio forces a smile, dismissing the notion with a flick of her hand. “Nonsense,” she replies smoothly. “I am as I have always been.”

The boy just smiled—a small, enigmatic smile that makes Rio feel exposed in a way she hadn’t in centuries. Rio watched the boy’s spirit fade, but his words lingered, a needle pricking her long-held detachment. She had always been gentler with souls, she realised. In life, humans were so full of hatred and bitterness, weighed down by the scars they inflicted on one another. But in death, they were stripped bare, small and vulnerable like children. The souls she ferried seemed so different from the people they had once been; it was as if death was a balm that smoothed away the jagged edges of their lives.

The room was quiet again, filled only with the faint rustle of the wind against the old walls. Rio clenched her fist, trying to dispel the restless feeling gnawing at her. Thoughts of Agatha crept in, unwanted but persistent. It had only been a few days since their kiss, but the memory clung to her, an echo she couldn’t silence.

With a frustrated huff, she stepped away from the beds, her form dissolving into shadow as she moved towards the door. The fog outside was thick, swirling like smoke, and as she slipped into the night, she felt the tug of the river calling to her—a place where the veil between life and death thinned.

Rio stepped through the veil, emerging at a riverbank shrouded in mist as dawn began to creep over the horizon. Pale light shimmered on the surface of the water, casting an ethereal glow across the landscape. It was a place she often retreated to, a sanctuary where the rushing water drowned out the noise of her thoughts. The last remnants of moonlight danced on the surface, casting shimmering ripples that mirrored the turmoil within her. She lowered herself onto a large rock, her fingers tracing patterns in the dirt as she stared into the water. For once, there is no smirk on her lips, no playful glint in her eyes. Here in the solitude of this place, the weight of her thoughts pressed down on her like the river’s current, constant and inescapable.

The river had always been a place of clarity for her, a palace where she could feel the boundary between worlds. But tonight, it offered no answers. Only more questions. She dipped her fingers into the water, watching the ripples spread. “What is this feeling?” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of the current

She scooped up some water in her palm, staring into her own flickering reflection. It shifted between her beautiful, serene visage and the hollow-eyed, skeletal form of Lady Death. “You’re losing yourself,” she whispered to herself, half in fear and half in wonder. It wasn’t a complete loss of self but a change—an unsettling new understanding of the emotions she had spent eons observing but never experiencing.

Rio tried to laugh, but it came out empty. For the first time, she felt the urge to connect rather than merely pass through. Agatha... Agatha had done this to her, brought these feelings bubbling to the surface. It wasn’t just curiosity or a passing infatuation. It was a pull she couldn’t resist, a connection she didn’t fully understand but is desperate to explore. It was terrifying in its unfamiliarity.

The connection she feels to Agatha is undeniable, and that’s the part that scares her. It’s been there from the beginning, from the moment she was drawn inexplicably to the child’s birth. She had watched from the shadows, then whispered her guidance unseen, and then finally revealed herself.

Rio had always assumed that her connection to Agatha was a fleeting thing, a curiosity born of watching a life unfold from its fragile beginning. She remembered the first time she saw Agatha’s spirit flicker into existence—how she had hovered unseen in the shadowed corner of the room. At first, it was just another life she was bound to oversee, an interest that would wane as Agatha grew, lived, and eventually died. But something had shifted when she watched Agatha defy death—deep and imperceptible, like a fault line cracking beneath the surface. She had planned to leave once she knew Agatha was free, to return to the shadows where she belonged. It was supposed to be a game—light flirting at best, nothing more.

Instead, she found herself wanting to stay, wanting to see the woman Agatha had become and to be a part of her story. It was shocking—this yearning that made her feel exposed, as though Agatha could see the parts of her that she kept hidden even from herself. It wasn’t just about protecting Agatha anymore; it was something deeper, something that made Rio’s chest ache in a way she hadn’t ever felt.

Rio hadn’t meant for this connection to grow, hadn’t imagined it could transform into something that felt so undeniably real. She was Death, after all—detached, unfeeling, a constant presence who slipped in and out of lives without leaving a trace. But now, each encounter felt like a rope wrapped tightly around her, pulling her closer to Agatha. It’s ridiculous, impossible even. But the feeling was there.

“Damn it,” Rio mutters to herself, raking a hand through her hair. It falls back into place, as dark as the shadows that cling to her like a second skin. She stands abruptly, as if movement might shake loose the thoughts tangled in her mind. Her dagger materialises in her hand without a command, a familiar weight, comforting in its simplicity.

It’s a reminder of who she is. What she is. She isn’t meant to feel this way—conflicted, yearning. She has a job to do.

If she was to understand these feelings, she needed to see Agatha again. She took one last glance at the river, as if seeking its silent blessing. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped through the veil, disappearing into the night with a swirl of shadows. She wasn’t sure if she was running toward something or away from it. But either way, she couldn’t stop herself.

The riverbank was left empty and still, save for the whisper of wind that seemed to carry her name into the darkness.

Next Chapter >

(it's going to be an emotional confrontation and we all know what happens when these two get emotional...)

#agatha x rio fanfic #agathario #agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agatha x rio #fanfic #fanfiction #agathario fanfic #agatha all along fanfic #agatha backstory #evanora harkness #agatha all along backstory #agathario fic #rio x agatha #rio vidal x agatha harkness #rio backstory #rio vidal backstory

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