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matchavellichor · 8 months

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AAAANNNNND another one:

Omi begs MC to let him help her whenever she goes out to slay poachers, ect. She never wanted him to get hurt, so she has always said no. After Omi starts giving her the could shoulder over it, she can't take it anymore, and she allows him to come along.

They bit off more than they could chew, however, and the last living poacher casts Imperio on MC and commands her to kill Ominis. (Poacher's injuries are too great to do anything else. Also just wants to make her suffer by forcing her to slay her friend)

She tries to summon the will to fight it, but it's not working, despite Ominis yelling at her, trying to snap her out of it. She disarms Omi and starts walking towards him. Nothing works until he pulls her into a kiss. It jars her enough that she breaks free from it and kills the poacher C:

bada-bing bada-boom. Happy ending <3

A/N: Finally getting through more asks, sorry for the delay 🥴 This was such a cute idea, ty for the request!! 💕

Kisses Against the Dark Arts

f!MC x Ominis Gaunt - Fluff - 2k words

Tags: Minor Descriptions of Violence, Use of Imperius, Crime Fighting Besties, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Banter

Summary: After dismantling a poacher camp goes astray, Ominis resorts to more unconventional means to free his friend from a dark curse.

“Are we almost there?”

“That’s the eighth time in the last half hour,” she huffs. “Ask me one more time and I’ll leave you to the Dugbogs.”

“Oh, excuse me for being concerned,” Ominis raises his hands defensively. “We’re already breaking curfew, we really shouldn’t stay out too long.”

She turns to blink at him. “You’re tagging along to destroy poacher camps with me and your concern is that we’re…breaking curfew.”

“Well, yes, it’s a perfectly valid concern,” he scoffs, as if it’s obvious. “Besides, I have a reputation to keep if I want to be made prefect next year.”

She shakes her head, incredulous. “I hate to burst your bubble, Ominis, but I think your reputation’s been sullied enough just by spending time with Sebastian.”

“Actually, I think it’s the contrary,” he retorts, looking smug. “I’m hoping that if Headmaster Black sees that I can successfully rally in the likes of Sebastian, he’ll consider me apt for the position.”

She considers this reasoning for a moment, before turning him with furrowed brows. “Didn’t he unleash a horde of inferi near the outskirts of Hogsmeade just last week? Is that what you call rallying in?”

Ominis looks unfazed, shrugging. “You win some, you lose some. I pick my battles.”

“Well, uh—now would be a good time to pick your battle,” she murmurs as she suddenly gets into a defensive position, wand arm outstretched in front of her. “We’ve got company, twelve o’ clock.”

“Why do you say these things as if I’ll know what you mean—” Ominis interrupts himself with a shriek as a spell just barely misses his head.

She swiftly casts a few counterattacks while she ducks behind splintered logs and trees, shouting, “Up ahead, Ominis—I mean up ahead! Was the hurtling bombarda enough to solidify your sense of direction?”

Ominis narrowly avoids another incoming hex, a diffindo this time, rolling for cover into some underbrush. “Yes, thank you dearly for your help—you wouldn’t believe the wonders that near-decapitation will do for your spatial awareness!”

She sends a pillar of wooden crates careening through the air towards a trio of poachers, successfully burying them under layers of debris.

Ominis winces from behind her at the very audible sound of bones breaking. “Must you be so violent?”

An archer catches them off-guard from a surrounding tower and Ominis promptly sends a confringo in his direction, toppling the wizard from his perch in a fireball of flames.

“I hate to be that person, but I think that was arguably a bit more violent,” she murmurs, looking increasingly amused.

“Oh, quiet,” he scolds. “Minor lapse in judgment in the heat of the moment.”

“Did Ominis Gaunt just make a pun?” she shouts over a chain of stupefies and expelliarmus, amusement and incredulity seeping through her tone.

He rolls his eyes. “It was not a pun, that would be terribly inappropriate.”

Even with a fair amount of banter to slow them down, working together they manage to eviscerate every last poacher with ease, and in record time. They free all of the captured animals with a few alohomoras, and she watches with satisfaction as they prance gratefully back into the forest.

Wiping off the soot on her cheeks from an awry confringo, she walks over to check up on Ominis leaning against a large oak tree, trying to catch his breath, doubled over with his hands on his knees.

“That was…”

“Surprisingly smooth, right?” she beams. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. I thought I’d be casting a few limb reattachment spells by now, but you actually held your own.”

Ominis looks visibly unamused. “Well, you’re going to be casting a scourgify pretty soon…Gods, I’m going to be sick. Is it normal to smell so heavily of charred flesh?”

“All in a day’s work, my friend,” she pats his back a bit too harshly and he dry heaves over the grass. “Though, to be fair, I wasn’t the one going crazy on the fire spells.”

“They’re effective!”

“Effective at making human barbecue, sure,” she snorts.

He groans. “Dear Salazar, let’s just get out of here before I lose my dinner.”

She finally concedes, picking up her rucksack and slinging it over her shoulder when a jet of white light hits her from behind, nearly toppling her over from the full force of the spell that hits her square in the back.

All Ominis can hear is the Imperius incantation sounding in his ears from behind them, and a satisfied snicker from a lone surviving poacher, more than pleased that he hit his mark.

Ominis scrambles for his wand tucked away in his pocket, but the panic coursing through his veins at his friend being struck makes his reflexes unsteady. An expelliarmus knocks his wand out his hand before he can even properly point it towards the aggressor.

“Oh, this should be fun,” a grating voice shouts, and Ominis’ head darts towards the direction of the dark wizard. “Teach you meddling little shits not to poke your snout ‘round where it don’t belong.”

The wizard directs his attention to where she’s still standing frozen in place, staring blankly ahead, her pupils a hazy white. A cruel sneer stretches across his mouth and he nods his head towards Ominis. “Kill him.”

She charges for Ominis immediately, forcing the blonde to stumble back, toppling over a tree stump. She looms over him, wand arm outstretched and emotionless eyes staring down at him, before the wizard tsks disapprovingly from behind.

“Stop, stop. Use your hands,” he sighs, almost bored. “I think killing your friend warrants a bit more intimacy, no?” The evil cackle that rises from his throat is enough to make dread shiver down Ominis’ spine.

Obediently, she discards her wind beside her, landing somewhere out of reach on the grassy field. She lunges for him, pinning him down with her body on his, fingers scrambling to wrap around his throat.

She’s smaller than him, but hours of training in the Undercroft has grown her strength significantly. Ominis finds it a genuine struggle to hold her hands away, her nails digging long, red lines down his arms as she thrashed.

“F-finite incantatem! Finite—oh, dear Merlin,” he attempts to no avail, voice frantic, her name tumbling from his lips in a litany of pleas to get her to snap out of the trance. “It’s me, it’s me, you can break the spell, just concentrate!”

“Uh oh, I don’t think she can hear you.” The poacher sits on a fallen tree trunk watching the entire ordeal, arms crossed lazily over his chest, a sadistic grin pulled at his lips.

Ominis ignores the taunting, using more force against her, collecting both of her hands in one of his while she still claws and writhes above him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Genuine remorse bleeds through Ominis’ voice as he scrambles to push her off him, flipping them over and pinning her wrists to the ground underneath him. “Please.”

The poacher frowns at the sudden change in position, unpleased. “Use the dagger holstered on your hip,” he directs with his wand outstretched to ensure the full-force of the command. “‘Bout time things got more interesting.”

She unsheathes the dagger in one swift movement, blade pressed against the pale expanse of Ominis’ throat, teeth bared in a vicious snarl.

It’s momentary, fleeting, but just then something flashes in her eyes. A brief flicker in the trance, the slightest stutter in her hand, color seeping through the milky haze of her irises. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, but proves useful anyways.

Ominis capitalizes on this hesitation to wrap his hand around her wrist and keep her from applying too much pressure. A bead of blood runs down the long length of goblin-wrought steel, Ominis’ throat bobbing against the cold press as he swallows nervously. He winces when she tries to dig the dagger in more, cutting into unmarked skin.

“It’s me, hey, hey, just listen,” he tries to keep his voice steady, calming, but it wavers, his nerves an utter mess. “Your magic’s stronger than his. You can break it. Focus on my voice.”

“Oh, sure, that’ll work.” The poacher snorts, clearly entertained. “Maybe you should kiss her, lover boy, she might just be repulsed enough to snap out of it!” He doubles over laughing and Ominis grits his teeth in frustration.

The suggestion doesn’t fall on deaf ears, however.

Maybe he can blame the decision later on sheer desperation, a last ditch-effort to save his skin, pure adrenaline in the moment. Although, he would be lying if he said that was the sole motivation. He surges forward on instinct, lips crashing into hers, maintaining one hand in a vice-like grip around her wrist and the other cupping her cheek so she can’t squirm away from his mouth.

She freezes, eyes blowing wide, lips unmoving against his. The poacher is just as petrified beside them, in shock that Ominis had the gall to actually do it.

Just when he thinks his attempt was unsuccessful, the hand she has wrapped around the dagger goes slack, losing all pressure against his skin. She lets it fall to the grass beside them, blade discarded, before she’s bringing it back up to cup his cheek and pull him in for more.

Ominis feels his entire world tilt, his face heating, his brain too dizzy to procure a single coherent thought. It really is a terrible circumstance to have a world-shattering kiss.

Thankfully, she’s somehow able to maintain better mental faculties. She outstretches a hand, fingers splayed open, casting a wordless accio for her wand dropped a few meters away from them.

The poacher is staring at them, mouth gaped like a fish, which is exactly how he remains when she sends a petrificus hurtling in his direction, another exhibition of impeccable wordless magic—because she absolutely refuses to remove her lips from his.

He can feel her smug smirk when it hits the wizard square in the chest, toppling him over like a bag of bricks. He would’ve called her a show-off, if he had even the remotest capacity for words at the moment.

When she finally pulls away, his chest is heaving, a red flush creeping over his skin from under his oxford, over his neck and cheeks. She’s breathless when she finally finds her words, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “That’s…certainly one way to break an Imperius.”

He lets out an awkward laugh before sheepishly helping her up off the ground, dusting remnants of leaves and dirt off her clothes. He clears his throat, trying to feign an air of indifferent composure. “Are you alright?”

She glances at him sidelong, amused by just how affected he looks. “Not sure,” she smirks. “Might want to kiss me again, just to get rid of any traces of the curse. After all, you can never be too caref—mmph!”

While her intentions were just to tease, she can’t deny the thrill that courses through her when he actually wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. Her gasp dies on his lips as he presses his mouth to hers, her fingers curling into his shirt for support when her knees seem on the brink of buckling.

He kisses her hungrily, passionately, as if he wants there to remain no blurred lines between his intentions in kissing her, if the last one has left any room for doubt. This time, she feels her world tilt on its axis, her only grounding point being the protective confines of Ominis’ arms, his solid body pressed against hers.

She realizes she could spend hours like this, and she wonders why for two fearless, poacher-fighting mercenaries, neither of them had mustered the courage to do so sooner.

“Better?” he finally pulls away, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, coated in smug satisfaction to rival even her own.

“I don’t know,” she grins, bringing her arms up to lock behind his neck. “Maybe we should be really, really sure.”

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #fanfiction

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enchanted-moura · 4 months

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“Though it seems like everybody is on their whole “sage, chakras, healing, and manifest” tip right now, most will be back to the ol’ time religion soon. The honeymoon of this work is enticing, but you can only pretend to be someone you are not for so long.

For many, these practices are the first time where they’ve taken creation power into their own hands. It’s given them more results than shouting “Lord, I receive it” ever has. That kind of power is intoxicating but it doesn’t come without its responsibility.

As Luke 12:48 reminds us, “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.” In other words, there is a cost to pay for the power we call in and use for our material gain in this realm.

The attraction of love with that cinnamon, rose, vanilla, & jasmine-dressed candle amplified by the energy of your rose quartz comes with requirement. That shoe spell you used to dominate a situation/person comes with requirement. Jarring folks & calling on your ancestors, lwa, and the Orishas come with REQUIREMENT.

Evangelical indoctrination would tell us that this cost is the damnation of our eternal soul for working with witchcraft. It’s a digestible explanation for most, but like most Evangelicalism it does nothing more than simplify the complexity of a thing.

The real cost of calling in this power is deep, transformative enlightenment through new perspective. The Power requires that we are transformed by the renewing of our minds, as Romans 12:2 describes. Renewal can’t happen without disruption of habits and emotional safety nets.

You can only live in the Palo Santo smoke & mirrors of curated social feeds for so long. Eventually, you find that the power you borrowed to call in love requires you to unpack the baggage of false narratives + unhealed wounds so you can actually HANDLE the relationship you say you want.

That money rice and van van oil you called that money in with requires that you be delivered from those negative money beliefs you’ve held before the money can stop passing through your hands like water.

The shadows of light can never be avoided. You’re gonna have to do the dark, painful, HARD work of healing your subconscious narratives, blocks, and fears. THAT is the true cost. Truthfully most aren’t willing to crucify their proverbial flesh to go through the pain of dismantling the truth they know.

So they run back to the safety of hyper religiosity. It requires no questioning and, in fact, it typically condemns it as a defiance against God. It’s the best place to hide from the fears of the deeper work a fully integrated self requires.

After all, it’s easier to blame the devil for your own shadow. - UnfitChristian

#witchblr

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amillieaway · 1 year

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prompt: my idea of fun

“You never let loose, do you?” Granger drops onto the grass beside him, twisting her arm around his elbow. It’s such a Granger thing, physical touch. A shoulder squeeze upon arrival to class; a warm hug when approached from behind; the swift brush of her fingers in his damp hair in the misty weather.

“Let loose?” he repeats cynically. “Did you hear what that Gryffindor prat said to me?”

“You used to retaliate.” She leans against his arm, the bright scent of her shampoo wafting beneath his nose. “What happened to all those prank spells you used to know?”

“I used to be Draco Malfoy, but now I’m a Death Eater.”

“Former,” she reminds him. “And last I checked, you were still Draco Malfoy.”

“One of us could get away with school pranks. The other will face Azkaban at the slightest indiscretion.”

“Oh, I see.” She rises to her feet. “You’re afraid.”

Draco scoffs, a bolt of anger twisting his gut. “Easy for you to say.”

“True.” She searches the field, her gaze halting on something in the distance. “Was that him?”

He peeks over his shoulder, glimpsing the wanker who ruined Draco’s day. “Yeah.”

With only a spark of mischief in her eye as a warning, Granger points her wand in the boy’s direction and lets her magic run free. Seconds later, screams reach their ears. A pair of moth wings has sprouted from the boy’s shoulder blades and he’s skittering through the air, arms and legs flailing about in a panic.

Draco snorts. “Head Girl, huh?”

She shrugs. “I have an aversion to moths, didn’t you know?”

“Right, that Skeeter woman.” He remembers the jar in her hands on the train ride home in fourth year. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“What?” She sits down again, this time directly in front of him. “Put Skeeter in a jar?”

“Get back at him for me. I probably deserved it.”

“Probably,” she agrees. “But lucky for you, I find myself quite fond of our friendship.”

Draco’s irritation melts in the heat of her gaze. Fondness and friendship ring in his ears on repeat. He’s glad to fill the hole Potter and Weasley vacated this year. Friendship means everything to a girl without a family. But fondness makes his mind run wild, in directions Draco ‘Death Eater’ Malfoy’s thoughts never should go. The curve of her cheek, for instance, how soft it feels when she’s pressing her face against his arm. Or the surprisingly tight grip of her arms when she’s dragging him away from sulking to brew prohibited potions in the lavatories. Her idea of fun, and his too, if he’s honest with himself.

“What?” asks Granger, shooting him a curious look.

He’s staring.

Draco shrugs, only able to tell the truth: “You.”

A tinge of pink fills her cheeks. “What about me?”

“Just you. Everything about you.” He brushes his hand over dewy blades of grass, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest.

Granger’s mouth opens, shuts. For once, she’s at a loss for words.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Draco, hoping to avoid weirdness between them. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

She nods, lying down on her back to watch the clouds floating above them. They sit quietly for a while, long enough to hear the boy’s screams overshadowed by laughter, and then silence as a professor approaches the ruckus and dismantles the chaos of Granger’s sneaky magic.

“You know, former Draco would have done exactly this,” says Granger a while later, “hidden behind his cowardice.”

“Former Draco wouldn’t have cherished your friendship.”

Granger sits up on her elbows, staring at him through long dark lashes. “Nor would he have confessed his feelings for a Mudblood.”

The word rankles him. He hates it more than anything. “Is that what you want to hear? That I have feelings for you.”

“Only if you mean it.”

They’re on the precipice of something. It’s one of those moments in his life where things are one way today, but tomorrow everything could be different. He might learn what Granger’s mouth tastes like, or find out if the skin beneath her blouse is as soft as the back of her hand. But Former Draco wasn’t just a coward, he was selfish, taking without asking because he assumed everything already belonged to him.

He chooses his words carefully. “My feelings for you run deep, Granger, but I won’t ask for something I don’t deserve.”

“And if it’s what I want?”

“Then tell me,” he says. “I’ll give you anything that’s in my power to give.”

“You?” she asks, on her knees now in front of him.

Draco’s gaze flicks down to her mouth hovering inches from his own. “Is that what you want?”

“Will you give it to me?” A glimmer of mischief illuminates her eyes again. Gods, he loves that look. It takes him to unexpected places. Makes him laugh, stokes his ambition, persuades him to relish life again. And in this moment, it ignites every inch of him with fire.

With Granger, life is always a learning experience. Draco’s favourite lesson so far is the taste of her mouth—like summer warmth on an early spring day, salt in the drenches of mourning, sweetness in the tangle of school sheets, bliss every day he gets to call the girl without a family his own.

#dramione #dramione drabble #dhr #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #amillieaway

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grimiorething · 1 year

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Nightmares, Exhaustion, Sleepless:

A Bottle Curse of Odd Proportions.

Note: Yes I do not like spell jars. Yes I love curses and protections made in bottles. It's the sake of dismantling it.

Components:

Coffee

Energy Drink (flat)

Dirt

Dead plant materials

Metal scrap

War mother

Burnt lavender

Clove

Yew berry

Red pepper seeds

Black peppercorns

Thistle thorns

I placed all of these into a jar with a physical taglock (hair is good, a name is fine, adding objects of relation works too). Of course you want to inform each component of its purpose, but otherwise not much decorum shoving crap into a bottle. Make sure the lid is removable as this is something you'll want to burp, to avoid exploding jars. On a scrap of paper, I write down your intentions for the spell (to inflict insomnia and exhaustion upon the target as well as nightmares). This isn't a very damaging curse, more one of persistent inconvenience and prolonged effect. Shake it every night before you sleep, or if the target is in another time zone and this is possible, shake it before they sleep. Keep this not by your bed but in your bedroom.

If you want to break this specific curse, take some odd instruction. Baking soda. Setting the bottle in a dish, pour baking soda into the bottle (baking soda neutralizes acids so in a magical sense it neutralizes the components). Then, pour in a mix of salt and ash, declaring the curse finished. Add another piece of paper with intentions written on it if you desire. You can also just dismantle it but I find getting wet organic mass out of a jar difficult.

#witchcraft #witchblr #spell #spells #spell jar #spell bottle #curse #curses #malefica #insomnia #nightmares #sleep curse #baneful magic #my posts #rambles

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traegorn · 2 years

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If you out crystals into spells, like jars and sachets etc, do you ever retrieve them later? I don't want to buy more crystals after learning where they come from but I also don't want to stick them into bags and jars for forever?? Am I missing something on how those work? Everyone posts them

So it depends on the spell paradigm the caster is working under. Like most things in witchcraft, if you ask five different witches how something works, you'll get seven different answers.

For a jar spell, most would agree that you need to leave it in the jar during the time you want the spell to be effective. If you dismantle it, in theory the spell you were casting using it is no longer going to be in effect.

There are other methods to use crystals in spellcraft besides this though, and that's something to keep in mind. Jar spells are just super popular in online spaces because they are aesthetically pleasing on social media and make a nice visual.

Versus, y'know, using a crystal as an energy focus instead.

But also, using crystals in magic isn't necessary, and if you don't want to use them for that purpose there are a lot of other options for equally effective materials.

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seaside-apothecary · 2 years

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Protection basics for beginner practitioners, witches, and spiritual people:

The final part of my cleansing and protection process. The last part is what we have all been waiting for, the big and most fun step, protections. In this Post I will go over, what Protection is, why it is important, and why I separate protection from warding and shielding, and how to do it.

Cleansing post

Banishing post

Warding & shielding post

What is protection?

Protection is exactly what reads as, protection. You can use protection magic to protect just about anything, items, spaces, energies, animals, people, yourself, etc. (only if you remember that protection magic will not save your life, don’t put yourself in danger!) So, protection is whatever you want/need it to be. Want a protection spell that will be nice cushion for when a spell backfired? Protection can help you. Want a protection spell that will sling that no beneficial energies or attacks back at the sender? Protection can do that too, this option is not for beginner witches because it is technically baneful magic.

Why should you know how to do protection magic?

Protection magic is essential for doing spell work in my practice. If something were to go wrong or backfire, I have my spells tied to an object or a false target that is not me, unless it is a spell that requires me or another person as the target. This means anything that comes back to me gets cushioned by my protection and doesn’t effect me as much as it would have without protection. And trust me you will have a spell fail, and it is not fun when you do not have protections set up. But, do not fret. Protections are easy once you have practiced them for a while.

Why do I separate protection and warding/shielding?

I separate the two in my practice just for better understanding when I’m making my spells or keeping up on my protections. Most of my wards and shields are not these big projects that require a lot of energy or is a full blown spell set or ritual set up. My protections are big rituals and spell workings. This is when I do my spell jars, poppets, false targets, blessing rituals with spirits/deities, etcs. Anything that requires more that intention setting and maybe a few herbs or crystals here and there, is protection in my practice.

How to do protections:

Here are a few ways I do protection :). I will not list what I specifically do for obvious reasons.

—❥🧿 False targets. Idk what these technically are called, it’s just something I do that I have found works for me. This is something that I’ve mentioned quite a few times. This can be something like a taglocked poppet or an energetic false target. This is something that will act as you if you are a target of an attack. It is a form of energy work that will help keep you safe. I would not do this if you are a beginner just because it is a little bit more difficult and taglocks can get dangerous if not done right.

—❥🧿 Spells. Something we’ve all seen, I’ve even reblogged some I believe, is protection spells. Specifically the ones you see in speed bottles. Those are great for keeping what it caught in the bottle, but they can get tedious keeping them up and dismantling them. You can also do candle magic, a biodegradable spell, etc. Just something that would act as a protective spell.

—❥🧿 Salt bowls. I love salt bowls. They are exactly how they sound. All you will need minimum is salt, a bowl, and your energy. You will set the salt with the intention to absorb any non beneficial energy, and bowl to absorb any attacks. Keep mind if an attack happens the bowl might crack or break, please be careful if it does. Then meditate with it for about 15-20 minutes setting these intentions and thanking it for the protection it will provide you.

These are a couple very basic things I do to set long lasting and strong protection. I find these to be stronger than my wards, but they last longer and only have to be done a couple times a month or even a couple months apart. Thank you for reading my 4 part protection series. Now go out and research more and figure out what works for you! And remember, protection will not save your life!

Blessed be and happy Saturn day! 🪐

Sources

#witchblr #beginner witch #witchcraft #baby witch #basic magick #protection magic #pagan #witches of tumblr #witch tip #cleansing magic #banishing magic #cleansing magick #banishing magick #protection magick

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thequeenofmyownscreen · 1 year

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Nineteen things I noted about CR2E133 “Hunter and Hunted” and the Talks Machina about it :

Thank the gods there was a disclaimer before WHATEVER THIS IS :

Matt said “toothy maw”, and Laura screamed “Take a shot !!!” and then immediately drank out of her canteen. A legend.

I liked how they reacted to this encounter, they expressed very well the thought on everyone’s minds : they can’t waste high level spells on these two lizards, because the real fight with Lucien is waiting around the corner.

The description of the streets of Aeor, its building collapsed, the skeletons, is jarring. Even more so when Caduceus flew over the amphitheater and Matt described that there was a lot of people here when death took them, when the destruction happened. Hear this after watching ExU Calamity is even more horrifying, because WE KNOW exactly what those 15 seconds before the end must have looked like for Aeor…

Jester, as Veth is dismantling the robot they found in the ruins of Aeor, for Caduceus’ spell of Speak with dead : “It have a soul, potentially… I don’t know how these things work !” Sam, jokingly : “Don’t be judgmental !” ARE YOU KIDDING ME ????!!! HAVE I JUST SEEN THE MOMENT WHERE SAM HAD THE IDEA FOR F.C.G. ????? A ROBOT WHO’S NOT SURE IF THEY HAVE A SOUL ?????

“In every campaign, we need at least one flying cow”

I agree with Jester 100%. They should set up the ambush and not go explore. However…. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh I want to see everything Aeor !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m so curious !!!!!!!!!!

Yasha is trying to crush opals into dust for Jester, while flexing her arms, with her sheer strength. Beau, a lesbian : “Come on, babe, this is the hottest you’ve ever been” Caleb : “Maybe thighs is the way to go.” Beau, agreeing : “She’s got really strong thighs…” (my mind and Marisha’s mind went into the gutter)

I would like to thank the cast of Critical Role for forcing me to google ‘Bad Dragon’ to get the joke, and thus subjecting me to the unspeakable horrors of bad sex toys.

Very important information : Essek’s favorite food is soup or nice stews. I love this dude.

Caleb : “You know what a bunch of wizards in one place is ? Fucking trouble.”

Oh god, THE WAITING !!! I did agree with Laura’s theory, that they’re not going to get a full rest before Lucien & Co enter. That’s what I would do as a DM, and also Lucien has done this before, because he’s a pain in the ass. And there it went, minutes after.

Oh, Fjord. The choice of knowing you can sacrifice soldiers for a battle and still not win the war, but gain an advantage (wounding slightly the Tomb Takers, maybe)… And he did it. Knowing that those rangers and Dagen will be lucky if they escape alive.

They got 3 of the 5 Tomb Takers, and more importantly, Otis is amongst the victims !! I’d call that a win.

Fjord, as he’s killing Zoran with two hits on his turn, to Lucien : “No way out of this fight, my friend.” HOT

Talks Machina almost got called Critical Role After Special, or CRAS. Figures.

Travis talking about how he figured out in-game when looking at the map that Vandren is literally on the next island after their ship crashed, and that he just… stayed there… is amazingly funny, because he came to the conclusion that he was a “fucking moron” for never deducing he should look there first.

Travis, the self-described man who doesn’t know youth linguo, made a Tumblr reference when they discussed Essek, and I’m proud. We do have an Essek obsession over here !

Travis describing Fjord’s time in the Happy Fun Ball with Yasha and Beau : “I’m just, back at the fish market… at the whims of the lesbians !” THAT’S THE TRUEST DESCRIPTION EVER

#my thoughts #critical role #cr campaign 2 #CR2E133

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whaleofatjme1920 · 2 years

Note

As a witch, what do you think of people hexing the supreme court, and calling upon the spirit of alieen worrons, am actual murder. To do something about the roe v wade being over turned

As a witch, I have very confused feelings on the matter. I don’t think it’s a very good idea for young, inexperienced witches to try because you don’t think these people have protections on them? Hell I’m pretty certain Justice Clarence Thomas is involved in hoodoo. They have people fighting for their safety as much as we want to dismantle them.

I’m going to be really, genuinely, completely honest with you on how I feel: do not use witchcraft here. This requires real world work. You cannot throw a spell jar or a hex and expect things to get better over night. You need to fight, scream and fight some more in the real world for change to happen. Protections, sure, but the spiritual world is a bit different than the physical world we live in, and right now, the physical world takes priority.

This does not mean our work as witches is invalid, but rather it is not the right or most powerful course of action for us to be taking, though it may feel like the only choice we have right now.

#look I get it magic is cool and as a witch myself I have the deepest respect towards it #however mundane over magical follows through now #this is not a hex the taliban situation fucking stop it #conversations with a fish woman

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i-thought-you-said-weast · 1 month

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Blog Navigation

Introduction Post || Discord Server ||

Original Content:

[coming soon]

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Aesthetic Accessible Witchcraft All Reblogs Altar Altar Guide Art Art Meme Athame

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Glamour Witch Green Witch Goth Goth Aesthetic Goth Meme Goth Outfits Gothic Gothic Art Gothic Meme Grimoire Prompts

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I-K:

Introvert Meme Jewelry Enchantment Keys Kitchen Witch

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N-O:

Neurodivergent Witch Outfits

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#navigation #blog navigation

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roguedeck · 2 years

Text

The only good thing about re-sorting you cards after building a few decks is that you get to see all the cool cards you own.

... and aren't playing anywhere.

Here's some stuff I've got that needs to find a deck:

WHITE

Jabari's Influence

Dismantling Wave

Luminarch Ascension

Adelline Resplendent Cathar

Oath of Leiges

Eldrazi Displacer

Darksteel Mutation

Together Forever

GREEN

Doubling Season

Thorn Mammoth

Reki, the History of Kamigawa

Aid from the Cowl

Nissa, Vital Force

Branching Evolution

Kodama of the East Tree

Giant Adephage

BLUE

Amphin Mutineer

Leyline of Anticipation

Morphling

Phyrexian Ingester

Energy Field

Spell Swindle

Training Grounds

Faeries Formation

Phantom Steed

RED

Wheel of Fortune (way to flex, jerk... I got it WAY back in the day when it was less that $5)

Kurkesh, Onakke Ancient

Rimescale Dragon

Brass's Bounty

Braid of Fire

Zirilan of the Claw

BLACK

Mind Flayer, the Shadow

Species Specialist

Sudden Spoiling

Druagr Necromancer

Mikaeous the Unhallowed

Waste Not

Flesh Carver

Archfiend of Ifnir

Bone Miser

Author of Shadows

MULTI-COLORED

Ghave, Guru of Spores

Muldrotha, the Gravetide

Carth, the Lion

Marchesa, the Black Rose

Scion of the Ur-Dragon

Xyris, the Writhing Storm

Ezuri, Claw of Progress

The Locust God

Lonis, Cryptozoologist

Ice-Fang Coatl

Greven, Predator Captain

Vhati il-dal

Lord of Extinction

Cytoshape

Tahngarth, First Mate

Prosper, Tome Bound

Belbe, Corrupted Observer

Kaervek the Merciless

Mirrorweave

Kalamax, the Stormsire

Zirda, theDawnwaker

Master of Death

Chromium the Muable

Dakkon Shadow Slayer

Ephara God of the Polis

Volrath, the Shapestealer

Rashmi, Eternities Crafter

Prismari Command

Fracturing Gust

O-Kagachi Vengeful Kami

Garth, One-Eye

ARTIFACTS

Crucible of Worlds

Altar of Dementia

Memory Jar

Wandering Archaic

Thran Temporal Gateway

Scion of Draco

Mirror Box

Temporal Aperture

Anvil of Bogarden

Conjuror's Closet

And some decks that need to be built:

UG or GW +1/+1 counters

Dragon Tribal (or at least focused)

GW or Bant Enchantress

Bounce/Flicker

Discard Matters/Madness

Something mono colored

#mtg #mtg edh #mtg commander #magic the gathering #too many cards #i have too many decks already #but i really want to play with these too

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

the shapes in the silence (13)

warning: illness, mild emetophobia, arguing, panic attack, dissociation, altered mental state, guilt

They had very little time to process, after Puff-- Anxiety-- their rescuer collapsed limply to the ground.

Roman and Patton each burst into their own hysterics, but Logan was utterly silent. He was frozen, mind racing and connecting a thousand little dots, like realizing a constellation had been right in front of you, you’d just somehow missed the brightest star.

The form of Anxiety was sprawled out undeniably in front of them, struck down by the attack that had been levied against Puff, because he was Puff. He’d wondered why Anxiety wasn’t prone to their shrinking dilemma, but he’d been dealing with it the longest. Anxiety’s withdrawal and Puff’s strange behavior were causation and correlation.

Anxiety lay before them, but whatever he had done to change his form, to protect them against attack, it had changed him. Small purple scales curled over his cheekbones, two curved, deer-like ears lay limp on the sides of his head, and even a tail where there had been none before.

If there had ever been any way to refute his connection to Puff, his appearance now countered it single-handedly.

In the end, it was the doubts that snapped them all out of it.

Sinuous, shifting forms that changed with every blink, they crawled up from their blind spots, appearing in the corners of their vision.

Roman snapped his sword hand back up reflexively, frowning, but Logan could easily read the confusion scrawled across his posture. He’d complained at length about the creatures, their persistent aggression and the way that they always heralded Anxiety’s appearance in this realm, like the world’s creepiest minions.

But Anxiety lay prone at their feet, in no state to control anything, and furthermore, the glittering eyes of the doubts seemed almost… locked on him, glinting with malice.

More questions, and the only one who could answer them was unconscious and quickly gaining a sickly tint to his skin. The doubts were creatures of despair, and if they reached Patton or Anxiety-- the more emotion-driven pair out of the four of them-- the results could be disastrous. They needed out, now.

Logan firmed his shoulders, moving to cut through the panicked back-and-forth his companions were doing.

“Roman,” he called, taking reference from every instructor that Thomas had ever respected to insert authority into his tone, “pick Anxiety up.”

The creative side jerked, his eyes drawn down to Anxiety for a second before flickering away. “And give up my stalwart defense? We’ll be overcome before we reach anything resembling an exit!”

“You need to pick up Anxiety,” Logan repeated, and took a deep breath, shedding all the dirt and gore that he had accumulated while trekking through the Imagination. “I’m bringing the exit to us.”

Applying his function to a space that wasn’t real tended to... destabilize it. It was a last resort, the sort of thing that they’d figured out early on should be avoided. Roman demonstrably put his heart and soul into his work, after all, and fracturing it hurt Creativity as much as the realm itself. Even something as small as Logan breaking his own immersion made Roman twitch, let alone what he was about to pull.

Roman’s eyes went wide with understanding, and then grim determination. He sheathed his sword back into nothing and knelt down at the fallen Side’s side, only hesitating for the barest moment before sliding his arms under his shoulders and knees and lifting him into the air.

The motion seemed to jar Anxiety, and he let out a pained whine that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from Puff. Lifted up like this, they could see the singed gouge that tore through the back of his hoodie, the smoking, rotting injury lined up on his spine in the exact same place it had hit Puff.

“It looks bad,” Patton whispered, his eyes wet and his hands half-pressed over his mouth. The doubts were closer now, circling like wolves. They couldn’t be allowed to worsen Anxiety’s condition.

“We will handle it,” Logan said, not allowing even the slightest tremor in his voice as he held his hands out. He met Roman’s eyes, one last warning, before closing his own and focusing all his attention on dismantling the environment around him.

It was all illusory, from the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air to the cold stone around them. None of it was real, not the magic or the monsters, not when one thought about them logically. The Imagination was a limitless space, shaped and crafted by Creativity, and so any distance between them and the placement of an ‘exit’ was simply imaginary.

There was no logical reason to traverse an imaginary path, and so with one yank, Logan pulled and then folded the space between them and the exit, like crumpling a piece of paper to make two ends meet.

The landscape crinkled around them, bricks shattering and environments crashing together with discordant scraping. Roman would be feeling the effects of the hole in his work for a while, but there was a doorway ahead of them and the doubts were scattered and caught in the folds and tears Logic had created.

“Move,” Logan said through gritted teeth, and Roman staggered through the exit, Patton hot on his tail. He stepped through as well, the door slamming shut on its own behind him. His presence wouldn’t be tolerated in the realm for a good long while after this.

He beckoned Roman over, shoving away the guilt he felt at the other Side’s pained grimace. If his power had just held long enough for the Imagination’s effects to be wiped from Anxiety as well--

The wound pulsed once, as though to announce its stubborn survival. It was glowing a painful violet, the injury resembling nothing more than a slowly expanding Lichtenburg figure.

Logan’s knuckles went white as he looked down at it. He hadn’t even managed to make the injury into something real, something more manageable to treat.

He reached out, grasping again for that sense of unreality, of rejection, and Roman pulled away, backing up.

“No more,” he said firmly, his voice a sharp contrast to the shaking of his arms. Logan felt that familiar guilt threaten to flood for a moment, before-- “Specs, you’re about to pass out. You used too much.”

He blinked, glancing down at his hand. It was shaking, too. He’d overtaxed himself, been too involved in the previous daydream to shut it down without any backlash.

Logic shouldn’t have been too involved in anything. He clenched his fist, abruptly furious with himself.

“Whatever that witch’s calamitous curse caused, it’s spreading slowly for now,” Roman announced, still seeming almost skittish with Anxiety in his arms. “We have yet time to uncover the truth.”

Patton pressed the back of his hand against Anxiety’s forehead, hissing sympathetically. “He’s burning up. I don’t know about curing curses, but-- we can at least help with this.”

They all had memories of Thomas’s parents coaxing him through fevers and flus, but Patton was the best at actually following that example. He directed Roman to the couch, flitted back and forth between the kitchen and the living room with all the classic illness aids.

“This is a spell-based sickness. There’s no reason to believe that this illness will function similarly to Thomas’s past experiences,” Logan started, and then was promptly cut off by Anxiety jerking halfway up off the couch, twisting, and vomiting into the small trash can Patton had just brought out. “... I stand corrected.”

His voice seemed to drag Anxiety’s attention from his retching, his head bobbing up to look around.

He stared out at them with bleary eyes for a heartbeat, all of them quiet and frozen and waiting, and then he slumped back down into both the couch cushions and unconsciousness. A mutual breath of relief went around the room.

“So, are we… going to talk about it?” Patton asked, as though half-dreading the answer.

“Talk about what?” Roman snapped sarcastically, crossing his arms. “The fact that apparently our dear draconic companion has been none other than Anxiety, the scourge on our home, the blight on our fields, the bane of Thomas’s existence, this entire time?”

“We don’t own any fields,” Logan interjected.

“Well, if we did, the guy would probably blight them! He’s a-- a blighter!” Roman replied, increasingly higher in pitch. “This is probably some kind of trick, a foul villainous plot for some greater purpose we don’t understand yet. Anxiety can’t possibly be— have been—!”

“Talking shit?” A familiar drawl rang out, a dark figure appearing on the stairs between one blink and the next and making them all jump. “I thought I heard someone say-- Anxiety?”

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone looked between the two identical figures in the room.

“Well,” the Anxiety that was clearly actually Deceit said, glancing over the three of them, “I don’t suppose I could convince you that he’s the fake one? … No? What a shame.”

He lifted his shoulders from Virgil’s perpetual slouch easily, shedding his disguise in favor of his usual attire. Several more puzzle pieces clicked into place.

“You were the one who appeared when we introduced Puff to Thomas,” Logan said, cutting off the startled exclamations from the others. “And just now-- you returned from appearing to Thomas, didn’t you? As Anxiety, not yourself.”

Deceit rolled his eyes, adjusting his cufflinks absently. “Yes, well, someone had to do his job while he was… preoccupied. Or were you all so remiss as to not notice the decline that comes with a complete absence of Anxiety?”

They all bristled in unison. “All we’ve been doing as of late is trying to figure out why Thomas has been struggling recently,” Logan replied stiffly. “We cannot jump to conclusions based on the seemingly random reticence of one Side.”

“Oh, but now you know it’s not random at all, don’t you?” Deceit purred, stepping down the stairs one by one. “After all, Occam’s Razor has never proved to be true before.”

“You’re the one who’s slithering around impersonating other Sides!” Roman cut in with a sharp accusation. “How do we know you’re not the reason dear Thomas has been acting off?”

Deceit’s lip curled, displaying a curved fang. “I haven’t been the only reason Thomas hasn’t fallen apart entirely! But if you’d really like to cast blame, I’m happy to inform all three of you that this is your fault.”

“Our fault?” Roman and Patton’s voices overlapped, one outraged and the other alarmed. Logan frowned, smoothing down his tie absently.

“Are you speaking under false pretenses again? Only moments ago, you were claiming that Anxiety’s… disappearance was the source of Thomas’s recent struggle.”

Deceit’s gloves crinkled with the force of his grip on the banister. “You three are the ones who drove Anxiety to believe that he was superfluous, to the point that he decided somehow trapping himself in the form of a— a pet was better than spending another moment as himself in your presence,” he spat, each word furious and bitter.

There was a tense pause, and Deceit visibly reeled in his anger with a deep breath. “I refuse to spend any longer debating sins with you. If you’ll hand over Anxiety—,”

“No!” Logan startled himself with the sharp response, but Roman and Patton alike had echoed it. They exchanged looks, all of them struggling for a moment to put it to words.

Finally, Patton turned to where Deceit was staring at them with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know why Anxiety chose to— chose this, but I do know that he got hurt trying to protect us. And if it really is our fault-- ...Well, it wouldn’t be right either way, making you or him deal with this alone.”

“And that’s assuming you even have the tools to deal with it,” Logan added, earning himself an irritated glare from the Dark Side. “That was not a slight against you. To elaborate on my meaning, Roman’s experience with the realm and the perpetrator behind the injury could be invaluable in treating it. It would be remiss for us to not offer aid.”

There was a beat, and Roman looked up belatedly from Anxiety, his face pale and eyes distant. “Right,” he said, and then stronger, “Right. We’ll help Anxiety overcome this curse, and then speak with him ourselves on the matter of blame.”

Deceit looked between the three of them assessingly, gaze occasionally flickering down to where Anxiety lay. “I could handle this perfectly well,” he snapped, “but fine. However. If you worsen his condition and force me to continue this ridiculous charade… you will all certainly enjoy the consequences.”

He let the threat sit in the air ominously. Logan thought his forced disdain was a rather strange way to express protectiveness over Anxiety’s well-being, but to be frank, Deceit’s motives could be difficult for him to parse on a good day.

“Deceit,” Patton called before the other Side could sink out. “You’re welcome to come check on Anxiety whenever you’d like. I… I just wanted you to know.”

Deceit cast a glance back at Anxiety, unreadable, and sank out without another word.

—-

Half an hour after Deceit’s revelations, Anxiety woke up.

They hadn’t noticed at first. Patton had been in the kitchen, making enough soup to feed a small army, and Logan and Roman had been preoccupied with bickering, trying to piece together a timeline.

“—can’t be certain that any of the appearances prior to Puff’s introduction to Thomas were Deceit. Anxiety did not withdraw entirely until after that event,” Logan was saying, sharpening his tone to keep Roman from interrupting for the sixth time.

“But the things he said, it has to have been Deceit,” Roman retorted again. “Perhaps this has been going on for months, all part of a plot to replace Anxiety!”

“And do what? Thomas actively ignores Anxiety as often as possible,” Logan stated, the fact making something in his stomach twist oddly. “It would be pointless for Deceit to replace someone with little to no influence.”

“Who knows how the minds of Dark Sides work?” Roman scoffed, and then glanced over Logan’s shoulder and stood. Logan turned to watch him adjust the blankets that had shuffled part ways off of Anxiety.

Roman paused, and then leaned in slightly. “The curse mark—,” he started, and then was cut off by two and a half blankets being tossed directly at his face.

Anxiety scrambled off of the couch with surprising speed for someone who clearly could barely feel any of their limbs. His eyes were wide with unmistakable terror, pupils slit, and Logan lifted his hands non-aggressively.

“Anxiety, calm down,” he started, and Anxiety shot off towards the stairs with frantic and unsteady steps. From this angle, Logan could see the way the wound left from the curse was pulsing and expanding, and felt his own jolt of fear.

Patton rushed out of the kitchen just in time to see Anxiety overshoot and slam into the wall beside the stairs, bouncing off without a sound and struggling to regain his momentum like an animal mindlessly fleeing for its life.

“Patton, grab him before he hurts himself even further!” Logan called, and Patton hurriedly half-tackled the Side, pinning his arms and lifting him up.

Anxiety keened, voice warping into that double tone, and then kicked out against the wall, nearly toppling the both of them. By now, Roman had freed himself, and he jumped to Patton’s side to lend a steadying arm.

Logan hurried forward, careful to stay out of range of Anxiety’s still-kicking legs.

“Anxiety. Anxiety, can you hear me? You need to breathe deeply now, please follow this pattern,” he tried to count steadily, even as Anxiety stared right through him and made awful, gut-wrenching whimpers. His eyeshadow was streaked down the sides of his face like inky tear tracks. “3, 4, 5– Please, Anxiety, we’re not trying to hurt you.”

“It feels like it’s growing,” Patton whispered, Anxiety’s back still pressed to him. Roman pushed the neckline of the other Side’s hoodie aside, and swore at the dark, angular tendrils that were creeping up to his shoulder blades.

“We need him to calm down,” Logan said, but there wasn’t a single soothing method that would work if the person was too far gone to even sense him. “I don’t—,”

“Okay. Okay, I’m— I’m going to calm him down,” Patton said firmly, and then stepped back from the other two and maneuvered Anxiety so he was facing Patton. Logan recognized what Patton was attempting only a moment before Anxiety was pulled into a firm, encircling hug.

Patton’s ability to share positive emotions through physical contact— once jokingly dubbed a ‘drug hug’ by Roman— hadn’t been used frequently since they were all significantly younger. Nowadays, with Logic clearly not needing emotions and Creativity too prideful to ask for one, Patton mostly only used the ability accidentally— slipping up when he was hugging someone while too excited or happy.

Since switching over to this half of the Mindscape, Anxiety had never been exposed to this particular ability. The other Side twitched in Patton’s grasp for a moment, tail thrashing, holding out far longer than Logan expected before slowly melting into the embrace. When Patton finally pulled away, Anxiety was blinking dazedly but seemed considerably more aware of his surroundings.

“His back,” Logan started, and then stopped short.

The wound’s unnatural spread had stopped, the previous panicked pulsing of it reduced to a slow, muted metronome.

“His— Is it based on his heart rate?” Logan asked, bewildered and hating it. “It can’t be consciousness, he’s conscious now and the growth has stopped entirely, but it hadn’t receded at all earlier—,”

“Fear,” Roman said, his mouth set grimly. “A curse for Anxiety that feeds on fear. That’s exactly the kind of cruel irony that the Dragonwitch loves.”

Patton tightened his grip on Anxiety’s hand, his face wrinkled with worry. After a moment, Anxiety squeezed his hand back, still seeming a little distant from the actual conversation.

Logan knew from experience that getting one of those hugs at full power could feel like the emotional equivalent of being dropped into cold water unexpectedly-- it was a shock to the system, one that took a while to adjust to. He wouldn’t be surprised if Anxiety’s nonverbal state lingered for a while longer.

“Then… how do we fix it?” Patton asked. “Do we need him to… stop being afraid for real? Can we do that?”

Logan was quiet, thinking about how fearful Anxiety had looked for the brief moments he was fully aware around them. Roman looked away, and then shook his head.

“I need to return to the Imagination to check on something,” he announced, gaze distant. “I should… probably begin restructuring it, as well.”

Logan hid a wince. “I apologize for being so rough on the realm,” he said, remembering the way Roman had shaken with strain.

Roman waved it off. “You did what you had to, to get us all out. More useful than… well, consider yourself magnanimously forgiven.”

With a smile that seemed a pale facsimile of his normal one, he departed.

Logan turned to Patton, who looked a little wobbly at the knees. “We will be able to help him eventually, we just need more time to investigate,” he said as gently as he could, leading them both back to the couch. “Until then, we can take shifts to look after him.”

Patton curled his free hand around Logan’s, searching his gaze as though seeking some kind of solution. “We’ll figure this out together, right?”

“Right.”

#sanders sides #tsits #tiny dragon virgil #this one goes out to everyone who thought this fic was abandoned: i lived bitch <3 #the shapes in the silence #my writing #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #ts janus #ts virgil #writing #i turned virgil into the dragon equivalent of a catboy #because its my fic and i choose the self indulgent nonsense

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