#The Veiled Covenant
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I've been busy with various holiday festivities for the past couple days, but now that I've got some time to myself, I wanna ask, how was everyone's Yule?
I had a really nice time! I went over to a friend's house to exchange gifts, we cleansed, I taught xem my veiling ritual, we burned a candle and set intentions for the coming season
apologies for the bad quality photos, but this was the sigil we carved on the candle, and the candle itself. the sigil was created with the phrase "blessed yule."
#witchblr#witchcraft#witch#witches of tumblr#witches#pagan witch#paganblr#magic#pagan#paganism#baby witch tips#baby witch#coven#veiling#candles#candle magic#yuletide#yule#happy yule#blessed yule#yule 2023#winter solstice#winter solstice 2023#sigils
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Soulmates by Victoria Veil | Instagram
#victoria veil#black phillip#witchcraft#witch of the woods#witches#photo art#crescent moon#coven#goth aesthetic#gothic art#she's a witch#halloween#spooky vibes#stay spooky#goth girls#season of the witch
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Six Sentence Sunday — Veil
Every Sunday I share Six Sentences from one of my books or current WIP
After being with Layla, Raul gets a surprise visit from her incubus who’s in protector mode.
“She comes to me. She comes from me.”“You wear that as a badge of pride? The angel can accomplish that with his feathers alone. You have to use rage and bondage to pull off what the werewolf only requires his tongue for.”Damn it, he…
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House Ghosts Of Clover Hill
Friends. I've had a series of coincidences, and I think I've got house ghosts.
I want to preface by saying I think ghosts are equally as implausible as gods. Both are made real by a sustained belief in them and, usually, it's an interesting story if nothing else. Also important to note, this is the day after the winter solstice.
Anyway, I'm getting my laptop set up to do some stuff on Canva. Excellent morning for creative productivity. I've got some great music going, my heart is full.
The computer is moving a little slow, it's not acting quite right. Whatever, it's starting up. I get a little notification pop up in the bottom corner "Files Ready To Print" with the description "Final 054F..." I'm not entirely sure, but I think that's my first contracts law final exam from 2016. Implausible, surely. I try to hover over the notification, but it disappears. Completely. Weird.
I open the file explorer. I at least want to check what gods-forsaken piece of stress writing is attempting to put itself physically back in my life. The file explorer doesn't react. I click again. Weird. My screen whites out. The Windows operating system has stopped responding. I have to shut my computer down completely.
It then occurs to me... I didn't have this computer in 2016. The computer I used to write that final died in 2018. This notification was from an HP application that I haven't used in years and thought I uninstalled: I've had an Epson printer for the last three years.
I have to know what that file is. I get my computer booted, make sure to install all of the updates and restart it, and get it back up and running. I try to open the file explorer again because I'm still curious. It's not responding. It continues to not respond for the next half an hour.
I check Google Drive. Maybe I've stored it somewhere other than this hard drive. No dice, "054F" and "o54F" don't return anything. It's only on this computer, and I can't find it to look at what it was.
....
I'm going to think about this for the rest of the day.
#house ghosts#haunted house#modern haunting#millennial ghosts#cloverhill coven#witchblr#witchcraft#winter solstice#yule#the veil is still pretty thin today if we're being honest#I think I have house ghosts#the electronics are haunted#friendly ghost#the spirits are trying to communicate something
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A Tale of Two Covenants - 2 Corinthians 3:7-18
A Tale of Two Covenants – 2 Corinthians 3:7-18
The theme of the New Covenant’s superiority will be discussed in more detail in the book of Hebrews, but in 2 Corinthians 3 Paul spends a bit of time showing how the New Covenant has more glory and reveals more than the Old Covenant did. It is important for us to remember that, though there is value in the Old Testament, the covenant for the church is found in the New Testament, and it is by…
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#2 Corinthians#Bible#Christianity#Glory#Jesus#Moses#New Covenant#New Testament#Old Covenant#Old Testament#Paul#Veil
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what are the venom things for? some cool pet?
No, the short of it is I'm doing this for an achievement and some tailoring patterns.
The long of it is that I decided a while back to work on gathering transmog appearances and somehow that got me onto collecting all the tailoring patterns in game. In order to do that, you have to, at some point, side with BOTH Scryers and Aldor in Shattrath.
Then I noticed there was an achievement for being exalted with both Scryers and Aldor on one character.
So I figured why the fuck not. I'm gonna need to switch at some point for the patterns anyway.
The only thing is that if you are Exalted with the Scryers, there is only 1 quest you can do to gain rep with Aldor, and that is to turn in 8 Dreadfang Venom Sacs.
As a human, I need 1224 venom sacs to get from Hated to Neutral, which will then unlock the Aldor quests so that I can do them and get Exalted.
I figured I'll work on it low key while I get other patterns and stuff.
Well, now I have all the patterns from reputations and vendors except for the Aldor ones.
Idk, I could learn how to actually play my class so that I don't suck, but instead, I hop on low level alts for an hour or so every couple days and just run around the forest killing spiders.
#I need 8 more vanilla patterns#3 of which are Festival Dresses and Winter Veil clothes#then 17 from Outland#5 of which are Aldor#That fucking top hat from Cata#and 19 patterns from BFA#which require raiding mats#which is bullshit#me and the budgies rock out to music while I mindlessly kill spiders#and someday when i've gotten all the venom sacs#i will lvl my shadow priest to unlock the cloth outfits for the maldraxxi#because i refuse to swap covenants on my other priests
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Yandere! Androids Walter & David x Reader x Neomorph
Walter, the android monitoring the colonization ship 'Covenant' on its way to Origae-6, seems to have gotten unnaturally attached to his human assistant. As he ponders his erroneous feelings, an unexpected detour brings them to David, an older android counterpart that has been alone on the mysterious planet. The AI assistants become increasingly competitive for (Y/N)'s attention, so much that they don't notice the newly formed humanoid local preying on a fresh target.
TW: violence, gore, monster smut ending
[Horror Masterlist]
"Burnt to a crisp."
You turn away from the captain's pod, leaving the rest of the damage assessment to the medical crew that has been reanimated. You speedily make your way down the sterile white corridors as Walter rushes to catch up.
"What should I write for the report?" he inquires politely.
"Malfunction." You glance back at the synthetic. "I suspect someone will be fired for this. And someone else will have to explain how they failed to detect a literal star collapse. That neutrino burst could've killed us all."
"Highly probable. The draft has been compiled, you may check it at any time. I require your confirmation to send it."
Your only feedback is a barely audible hum.
Walter smiles. If there's one good thing about such tragedies, it's that he gets to admire your reactions to them. Your focused, calculated gaze, your determined walk, your automated mannerisms that won't allow the slightest hint at the fact you just woke up from your stasis moments ago. Even under the veils of deep slumber, your neural networks shot rapid connections, with no delay, from the second your sleeping pod received an alert. The accuracy of a robot.
That of course doesn't mean he lacks appreciation for your other facets. That's the beauty of humans; their depth, their dimensions. Unlike AI machinery, humans do not have predetermined actions. They may be genetically programmed to possess certain characteristics, but the psychological mechanisms are shaped by so many variables, billions and billions of tweaks and nudges, to the point where it's impossible to have two identical specimens. Even twins will display a difference, whether in preferences or habits.
They say artificial intelligence is a black box, but can the same concept not be applied to humans as well? At the very least to Walter himself, these organic beings represent a mystery. One he doesn't particularly care to uncover outside of his service functions. Except for one.
His eyes carefully follow (Y/N)'s movements. What is it about this one that has caught his interest to such degree? On his last system update he attentively inspected every file and every block of code, searching for potential errors that would've caused his circuits to behave so oddly. He has been invested with the ability to form attachments, otherwise assigning his kind to groups or purposes would've lacked stability. Attachment, however, comes with a threshold. One he has passed a long time ago when it comes to (Y/N). And he cannot find any cause for it.
He could, naturally, solicit the aid of the ship's robotics expert. He could. He should, even. But if he may be frank with himself, Walter rather enjoys this sensation. A complex web of spores that keep growing and evolving into something unpredictable. This bizarre feeling he has towards (Y/N) makes him feel human. It brings him closer to all the old literature and art he'd consumed over the years, wondering what the love and yearning often portrayed could be. The printed letters and the strokes of paint were right before him, at his fingertips, and yet they felt foreign. Empty constructs, nothing more than a definition out of the dictionary.
Now it's a different story. Your presence alone floods him with a mysterious warmth. He had investigated this phenomenon when it first happened, but his inner thermostat showed no real change in temperature. Nonetheless he can feel it. It makes him wonder what other feelings he might experience as consequence. What would happen if he kissed you? Sometimes he even dares to imagine downright outrageous, improper scenarios. How unprofessional of him, but he is careful to erase any evidence. It's another novel sensation that he likes to dissect. Engaging in such activities with you fills him with tingling excitement. Why is that? What is there to be excited about? It's merely a collection of fictive snippets. Unless... Ah, absolutely not. This is where he has to stop in his tracks and preoccupy himself with something else. Androids are not to interact with humans in that way.
But it's becoming more and more difficult to keep these ideas in his mind only.
"It's too dangerous. One human signal in the middle of nowhere?" Daniels, a short haired woman with a tomboyish but youthful appearance, is pacing back and forth. "We should just continue on our course."
"It's our duty to check. Look: we go, find whoever sent the signal, bring them back up. That's it. If the planet proves to be dangerous we'll stop immediately. We'll be fine." Oram stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. He turns to look at you. Already cozying up to his newly acquired captain role, you think.
"Alright. Walter, prepare a small landing party. Have Tennessee maintain orbit while we're down there." you glance at the other crew members that have now gathered around the same table. "And get your weapons ready, we don't know what to expect."
And you certainly didn't. Your final words of warning now echo into your ringing ears as you lay on the ground, face buried among the grass. There's screaming around you, but it sounds muffled. Your eyes are irritated by the dirt and you'd like to blink the grime off, though every time your eyelids lower, you can see the pale creature trashing out of Hallett's mouth. Then it's all foggy. Your vision blurs, but you can hear. The gurgling of blood, the screech of the parasite. Walter's frantic footsteps nearing in your direction. You're lifted up.
"Vitals are positive. No significant damage."
You can guess from your peripherals that another crew member is currently being mauled by the beast. There's gunshots in your vicinity and terrified wails. You quickly come back to your senses and stand up. Your hand searches for your weapon, but the android places his arm before you.
"Do not engage, (Y/N). It is an unknown parasitic organism of this ecosystem. Keep your distance for optimal safety and I'll take care of the rest."
"What are you talking about? They're dying! Your task is to ensure human survival, Walter. I can handle myself, go help the others. It's an order." Your voice is low. You're distracted.
"No."
You stare at the synthetic, wide eyed. Did he just...refuse? Not possible.
"What did you say?"
"I said I'll protect you. Nothing else."
Your mouth is slightly parted in disbelief. It is not possible for an artificial assistant to disobey a superior. It just doesn't work. Your mind races to find an explanation. At the same time, you cannot afford to ponder on hypotheses. You draw out your weapon and point it towards the creature. You'll deal with this later.
The moment you press the trigger, a blinding flash of light detonates in the sky, startling you. The creature scrambles to get away. You squint your eyes and nearly fall back, but Walter swiftly grabs your shoulders to ground you. He scans the area for the source. It's an emergency rocket and someone else must've activated it. As he traces the tail of the explosion, he spots a hooded figure across the field and onto the rocky ascend. It seems to have noticed Walter, as it gestures for them to follow. Without hesitation, the man firmly locks your arm and pulls you after him. The priority right now is to find shelter.
"Come!", Walter exclaims, suddenly remembering the other people.
You reach a cave structure that has been converted into a crude, improvised human settlement. The man lowers his hood and you gasp quietly at the sight. He strongly resembles Walter. He must have noticed your surprise as he flashes you a cordial smile.
"I'm David." He studies Walter's features. "You must be a newer model. What name have you been given?"
"Walter."
"I see. And you are-" David extends a hand towards you for a handshake, but Walter steps in front of you, blocking the android's gesture.
"She's (Y/N). I'm afraid I cannot yet trust you."
"Understandable."
David's smile widens as his eyes, now bearing a strange flicker, switch between you and Walter. He's just like him. He can sense it. Although it's a different kind of flaw that has tainted his pure, artificial soul. He cannot help the curiosity that blooms, gazing at this peculiar pair. What is it about this human that caused his fellow machine to break conduit? He'd like to know.
"I'm certain you will soon learn I am no threat, (Y/N)."
The remaining members of the expedition are unpacking and discussing evacuation plans with the base, while Walter sends the data he has gathered so far. You let them deal with the logistics and cautiously wander off to the neighboring rooms, wondering what David has been up to all this time in isolation.
The walls are plastered with photos and handwritten sketches and diagrams. You catch a glimpse of the word "pathogen" sporadically inserted across these notes. As you walk along the sequence of cramped chambers, you reach one that has a table in the middle. Upon it rests the body of an autopsied woman, vulgarly opened up to the world with plump organs bulging under the warm light. You feel nauseous. And yet, you examine the carcass further, hoping for answers. Was she also a result of the same disease that breeds on this planet? Perhaps this David had worked on a cure, or at least developed an explanation.
"And you, even you, will be like this drear thing, A vile infection man may not endure; Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring! O passionate and pure."
You jolt and immediately turn around, finding David in the doorframe.
"Flowers of Evil. Are you familiar with it?" he asks, indifferent to the uncomfortable shock he'd caused you with his sudden entrance.
"I've read my Baudelaire, yes." You manage to mumble, dumbfounded. "What is this, David?"
"Oh, my poor, dear Elizabeth. Victim to whatever blasphemy lurks these soils and has taken your friends as well." He approaches the table and places his hand on its hard edge, shyly overlapping with your own fingers. "I did my best."
You remove your hand from underneath his nonchalantly.
"So you know what those creatures are. Leave the literary comments for a different time, I need concrete facts."
"Unbothered and to the point." the blonde android smiles once again. "I can see clearly why Walter loves you."
You click your tongue at the ridiculous statement. Has the neutrino burst damaged their positronic brain? Everyone is acting off and you don't like it.
"Your circuits must have gone defective, David. We have a specialist on our ship, but until that happens I need you to focus. Enough nonsense."
"Typical arrogance of a dying species. Why are you on a colonization mission if not to grasp at some promised resurrection? Rest assured that my functioning has not been impeded by anything. What is erroneous, on the other hand, is your perception of androids and their limits."
Just as David reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, a familiar voice interrupts with an intimidating tone. You're relieved.
"I will ask that you release her hand only once." Walter has a weapon pointed towards his counterpart. His face is clouded by a frown. "I have no ethical restrictions when it comes to incapacitating machinery."
"Such noble obedience! Although, you conveniently left out the part where you abandoned the remaining crew with a dangerous alien that has been tracking their scent. By my approximation he should already be here and I am rather confident you know this, too."
Your stomach drops. Now that you adjust your focus, the background humming of your mates talking has indeed vanished. The only thing you can hear is your erratic breathing.
"Is it true, Walter?" You demand as dread begins to form in your body.
"Yes. It was not part of my priorities."
"Of course it was, Walter." David responds ahead of you. "One of them was the acting captain and he is to be rescued in emergencies. This one right here", he says as he dangles your wrist, "is several ranks lower than all of them. It's against any standard practice."
"Release her hand." Walter's voice is eerily calm.
"Do you love her?"
Walter ponders the question. Your legs barely hold on.
"I do."
"Marvelous. So do I." David grins. He releases your hand that falls limp next to your body. It's his turn to step in front of you.
You nearly choke from the thick tension expanding in the air. The two androids face each other and you retreat to the wall, unsure how to proceed. You left your radio transmitter back at the makeshift camp. The back of your head is itching, as if invisible claws are scratching at the bone. You wish you could go back, just mere hours before this disaster, when you were sipping on your lukewarm coffee and explaining the captain's jokes to Walter.
Should you make a run for it?
You bite your lower lip and push yourself off the wall for momentum. You're about to reach the archway when you hear both men shouting almost identically in chorus.
"Don't!"
The surroundings outside are dark, but you can discern something blocking your path. It's tall and resembles a human. Translucent, pallid skin is clinging onto the massive, deformed skeleton. The head is elongated and bears no features. In the place of a mouth there is a large, fresh stain of blood, so you assume it can somehow improvise if desired. As your head tilts back to take in the image, you're overwhelmed with terrified amazement. Is this the parasite that emerged from your teammate? Has it grown to this colossal size in less than a day? The idea of such instant development makes your head spin.
Its chest is expanding at regular intervals in a whistled breathing. It occasionally creates an odd clicking sound that resonates with your heart throbbing in panic. Has it been seconds? Minutes? Your neck creaks as you try to look back. You lock eyes with Walter. You don't recall ever seeing this expression on him. You had even asked him once if androids can feel fear. You have your answer.
"Hey, Walter..." you blurt out.
Wet noises of flesh being pulled back. The smooth surface of the alien's head is folding away, making space for grotesquely big jaws lined with sharp teeth. Your anemic face is splattered with burning drool as the creature claws you in its grasp and abruptly sprints away. Your screams for help dissolve in the distance.
"Where is it going, David?" The synthetic's words are threatening, but betrayed by a hint of despair.
"It won't kill her."
"How do you know?"
"It is no longer hungry. It has fed on your crew, and now it seeks something else."
"Such as?" Walter becomes impatient.
"A plaything."
The alien finally drops your body to the ground. You cough and wipe your face, attempting to reorient yourself. The trip was a whirlwind of jumps and turns and you can barely reconstruct anything. Based on the little spatial clues you could pick up, it just climbed further up, into one of the many cave systems. You pat your clothing and curse to yourself. The geolocation tag must've fallen somewhere on the way here. You can only pray that Walter still finds you somehow. Despite everything, you know he has your back. Always.
You shudder at the moist feeling of hot air against your skin. The alien seems to be sniffing you intently, analyzing your scent. Yet so far it hasn't killed you. Why? Long, bony fingers stretch out to continue the examination. You whimper at the rough, rugged handling. Every now and then it takes a long pause, just staring at you, almost as if it's comparing you to its own being. Lastly, it lifts your hand with its own, pressing against the palm, and fans out the fingers. It observes the gesture with intrigue, noting the similarities.
Does it evolve after its host? You think back to your crewmate that must've ejected this monstrosity before drawing their last breath. Perhaps the dried up blood adorning its skin is a remainder of its birth. Oh, God. The world is spinning.
Suddenly, you wince at an increasing pressure slithering around your thigh. The alien's vertebral tail is tightening and encircling your limb, making its way up.
"Oh no, no no no no" your face reddens at the realization and you pounce on the ground, feverish for escape. The large hands secure you in place and the creature growls in protest. It won't let you leave.
Not until it had its fun with you.
#alien#alien covenant#prometheus#xenomorph#neomorph#neomorph x reader#xenomorph x reader#alien x reader#monster x reader#android x reader#robot x reader#yandere#yandere alien#yandere x reader#monster smut
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the witch hunt
eddie munson x witch!reader
part 2 of "the love witch"
Summary: You've been good about keeping your magic a secret from Eddie, much to your dismay, so diligent on hiding your true self. What happens when you leave your potion cabinet unattended, he drinks one of your concoctions and turns himself into stone, leaving you to turn him back, right in front of his eyes?
CW: 5k words, no y/n, reader's nickname is 'witchy' , talk of the occult, wiccan practices, description of r's clothing, but no body description, eddie turns to stone, angsty angst angst but with a happy ending, witchy casts some serious spells in this one, mentions of witchy being depressed, eddie being a lovesick fool
thank u to my lovely @reidsbtch for beta reading I love u I love u I love u
Read part 1 here, Witchyverse masterpost here
feedback is always appreciated!
You've been good. You've been diligent. You've been following the rules of the coven.
To not share the gift with anyone, a secret kept under oath, hand over the binding of an old spell book, its surface course and rough, centuries of hands- young, old, powerful and weak, all part of the history of how that book came to be.
When you started dating Eddie, you were summoned, warned by your coven to keep the magic away from your human boyfriend, hidden under a veil of thin shame disguised as indifference.
And six months went by, then a year. You thought you were safe, you thought you'd gotten through the worst part of keeping the secret.
You deluded yourself. He loves you so much, there's no reason he would leave you, not even for a secret as big as yours. You've put protection spells around everything that involved actual magic in your house, the potion cabinet you kept in the hallways as decoration, the spell books hidden under a floorboard in your room.
Although he could not feel it, your apartment pulsated with raw magical energy in its purest form. You really thought you were safe.
A rainy November afternoon, you're tasked to bring some ingredients you've had stashed at your apartment to your aunt Hilda's house, a delivery from Janice- ingredients from Bulgaria, after your shift.
What surprises you about your aunt Hilda is that despite being a witch, she does not go unnoticed- living in one of the Painted Ladies house in the heart of San Francisco, all by herself and her cat, Arsenio.
She always invites you in for tea and a reading, so you step into her house, smelling of antique parchment, tea leaves and a mystical smell of pungent resin and wood, much different from your incense and dried flowers smell.
"I need to invite Janice over one of these days" she says in her veiled voice, pouring you a cup of jasmine tea.
"I don't know if she's going to be able to get out of Haight Ashbury, Aunt Hilda. She's like two- hundred years old or something" you laugh, rummaging through your bag for the delivery you visited your aunt for, placing the jars on the table.
She gasps in delight "You can't get those plants anywhere else, she must have paid a fortune for that blood from a vampire's fangs" she squeals, running to her cabinet to find a home for her new deliveries.
"How's your human, dear?" she asks from the kitchen, followed by clattering of glass and metal.
"Oh, Eddie's fine, he should be off work soon, maybe we'll do something after" you shrug, petting her cat, Arsenio, on your lap.
"And his handsome hunk of an uncle?" you roll your eyes at that.
"God, Aunt Hilda, gross" you groan, sinking in your seat.
"Let me know when he's back in town, I need to invite them both over one of these days, it might be nice. Shall we do a reading before I leave?" she sits back down at the small table and takes a sip of her tea, tarot cards in hand.
"Yeah, I'll ask him for his schedule" you finish your tea "Let me do a one card pull, I need to get home"
"You know, dear, you've been awfully nervous lately- so jumpy" She says, as she shuffles the laminated cards for what feels like forever,
"I'm okay, Aunt Hilda, just stressed with work" you lie, exhaling with anticipation as her wrinkled hand holds the deck. Your aunt's readings have always made you nervous.
You'd been jumpy for a while, the thought of Eddie finding out had been making you nervous, but you wouldn't dare to tell your aunt that.
She offers the deck to you, you pick a card and then give it to her. A gasp escapes her upon looking at it.
A panic rises through your body "What? What is it?" you ask, your bag already across your shoulder, holding on to its strap.
"The Tower" she mutters, destruction, unexpected change, awakening.
A shiver runs down your spine, one by one your vertebrae straighten "I just had a really bad feeling, dear. I would check in on your human boy" she places a hand on her temple, heart racing as you bolt out of your seat and leave.
On the train, panic settles in, wondering if Eddie was somehow connected to this.
A call startles you. It's him.
You tremble when nearing the phone to your ear.
"Hey, witchy, I'm at your house- I used the spare key. I just called 'cause I had a question" he says, voice dubious and vague.
"What is it, Ed? I'm on my way home"
"I was just wondering if it's normal that the cabinet in your hallway is open? I had to stop Circe from getting into it a couple times" you hear a meowing in the background, he must be holding her.
"What cabinet?" you feel your chest rise and fall at an incredibly fast pace.
"The one with the wilted flowers on them, it has a bunch of bottles. Are- are these fake potions?" There's an amused lilt in his voice, almost as if he's laughing at you. Fuck. The potion cabinet.
"Eddie don't touch anything, I'm literally here" your alarmed tone freaks him out, but he has no time to say anything as you hang up and enter your apartment building.
You run up the stairs, heart in your throat, as you reach your front door and slam it open. Eddie's head swings violently.
"Hey, witchy, what's wrong?" he stands up from the cabinet, holding Circe on one arm. You're heaving, irregular breaths, as you see he's still standing, alive, and breathing.
You close the door. "You didn't touch anything in there, did you?" you run towards the open cabinet, checking for missing bottles.
"Witchy, honey, I don't get why you're so jumpy about a couple of fake potions, they would actually be really useful for DnD" Eddie chuckles, reaching into the cabinet to grab a bottle, observing it up close. A greyish- blue liquid swirls inside the bottle.
"Eddie! Put it back! It's dangerous!" you exclaim as you reach for the bottle, but he's blocking you.
"Baby, I think you might be getting a little too carried away with this witchy stuff. There's no way you should be reacting like this over some water and dye" he swirls the bottle once again "I'll even drink it, show you it's not actually that dangerous"
A smug smile adorns his lips, as you watch helplessly while he uncorks the small vial and downs its content.
“EDDIE NO” You aren’t even sure what it is, which makes a panic set into your stomach, hoping you could reverse whatever he ingested.
“No, no, no, no, what have you done?” your head encapsulated in your hands, feeling the beady sweat on your hairline, falling to your knees with the realization. You’re going to have to tell him.
“See? Not dangerous, baby. I love you, but you need to do something about this obsession, it’s getting out of hand” he sighs “I’m hungry i’m gonna get some food” but before he can even take a step, the rumbling of stone fills the room.
You grab the empty glass vial and examine its label. Shit. He turned himself to stone.
In a panic, he looks at you.
“Witchy, what’s going on?” his eyes dart from you to his frozen legs, the stone spreading itself upward quickly “Witch-what- is that stone?” He goes still after that.
A statue. His cold, grey eyes staring up at you in a panic.
Tears brimming your eyes at the sudden realization that once you turn him back to normal he’s going to know.
His hands feel cold at the touch as you cling on to your boyfriend’s statued form. Mouth agape, eyebrows pinched in fear, it hurt you to see him like this. You were going to lose it all because of a dumb mistake.
A desperate scream bubbles inside your chest as you hold yourself flush against Eddie’s cold surface, wishing his arms could hug you back, having to come to terms with the fact that this is probably the last time you’ll ever see him in your home. You won’t ever get to hold him again.
Weak and teary- eyed you reach for your phone, wiping under your eyes as you try to stabilize yourself.
“Hello, dear?” aunt Hilda says through the phone.
“Aunt Hilda I made a really terrible mistake” you sob, shoulders shaking with the violence of your hiccups.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” the concern is palpable through her voice.
“I left- left my potion cabinet open and Eddie-” another string of violent sobs follow, rumbled deep in your chest, shaking you to your very core.
“What happened to Eddie?” The question is cautious, though unfortunately you could feel the alarm and sternness in her voice.
“He turned to stone” you sigh, exasperated, letting yourself sink into the sofa.
“Stone? How did a human man turn to stone?” ever the help, your aunt exclaims.
A dramatic exhale you feel like you’ve been holding onto “I left my potion cabinet open and he- and he has a spare key” you sob- all your fault for letting your guard down, all your fault for letting yourself care for him so mindlessly.
“He got into it thinking they were all fake, I tried to- to stop him” a siffle stops you “he was trying to be funny” a string of sobs followed, unable to speak any longer.
“You need to pull yourself together,” Hilda says, amidst your inconsolable sobs “you know how to reverse this” her voice is stern, yet shaky, she feels for you, having to let your love go.
“The mirror” you mumble.
“That’s right, get a mirror- circle of reflection, circle of protection” she reminds you “repeat those words, he’ll be okay, dear” you can tell that she is hurting, breaking the law of your coven, making you face consequences you haven't even thought of.
Would you be losing your power? Would you have to move away from him? In hindsight that would be a blessing, as you doubt he would want to stay, now that your secret is uncovered.
Hilda hangs up the phone as you scramble to get a mirror, and smear salt over his heart. Trying to reverse the spell that might have broken it.
The mirror faces your boyfriend, his features grey and scared- the last time you’ll ever see him in this lifetime.
Circle of reflection, circle of protection
Circle of reflection, circle of protection
Circle of reflection, circle of protection
The hand that is not holding the mirror is clutched on tightly to his chest, as you keep repeating the words.
The sound of rubble breaking makes your heart wrench, selfishly wanting him to stay a statue for a little longer, so you won’t have to say goodbye to him just yet, but the stone armor sheds, and his eyes are brown instead of dull and grey, and his arms move, as well as his mouth, closing in itself, breathing as if he’s come to life for the first time.
He rubs his eyes first, drowsy, like waking up from a one- hundred year old slumber. He looks around the room, it’s familiar to him, the smell of incense that was there, and then it wasn’t, blocked by the earthy smell of rubble and earth.
“What happened?” he mumbles, shaking his stiff limbs, kicking the broken suit of stone armor at his feet, your hand still on his heart “Witchy?”
His eyes are blown wide, memories of what had happened an hour before coming to the surface. The same panicked look adorns his face.
“The potion- it wasn’t” he begins, as you move your hand off of his body, much to your heart’s dismay. You shake your head.
“It wasn’t fake. None of them are fake” you mutter, staring at the floor, not even daring to look at him. There’s a quiet tension, an almost awkward silence, charged with pain and heartbreak, as Eddie realizes what you mean by ‘not fake.’
“And you brought me back from whatever I turned into” he breathes.
You just nod, head fixated on the floorboards and the rubble surrounding his feet.
“Does that make you-” he gulps. Can’t even bring himself to say it.
“A witch” you mumble under your breath “a real one,” your gaze falls on his eyes, dilated and sad, as his eyebrows curve up, a line forming on the bridge of his nose.
There’s once again an unsettling quiet between you two, as he tries to wrap his head around the news.
His chest feels hollow, where your hand had been just moments before, an unrecognizable phantom pressing down on his heart, rubbing salt in a gashing wound, hoping it would ameliorate it, only to make it bleed more.
He takes a few steps back, watching his step over the rubble, breaking his silence after what feels like hours.
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” it’s a mere mumble, but the question was clear, hurt, and a little scared, maybe.
“I swore under oath that I would keep it a secret” you purse your lips, taking a step forward. Your heart shatters when he takes a step back.
His chest is stilled, breath caught in his throat, hands at his sides as he scoffs.
“You swore you’d keep it a secret? Is that why you’ve been so jumpy lately? You knew I was bound to find out and you didn’t tell me?” his head is reeling, betrayal cuts through him like a knife as more and more of looking at you twists the dagger in his chest.
“I didn’t want you to find out, Ed. I promised to my coven-”
“Your coven? There’s more of you?” you can’t do anything else but swallow on the knot in your throat, scratching and engorging with every word that comes out of Eddie’s mouth, and nod.
“And you let me drink the potion, God knows what it could have been” he trembles, a shaky breath escapes him.
“I tried to stop you, Eddie!” you reach for him, hanging on the feeble hope he’ll realize that you have never meant to hurt him in the first place.
“And- and what if you spelled me, huh? What if you spelled me to make me fall in love with you? Is my love for you not real?” that hurt you more than anything else he could have said, tears brimming your eyes, escaping from their confinement as they streak down your cheeks.
“I’ve never used my magic on you,” you admit, voice thick with salty tears “my love for you is real, as yours is. I never tampered with your heart, it’s not who I am” bottom lip jutted out and trembling, feeling on the teetering edge of the end.
“I don’t know who you are” a stab to the heart would have hurt less. “You’ve been lying to me for the past year about who you are. No wonder I was so in love with you, you made me fall in love with a person that doesn’t exist, you spelled me!” he’s trembling, you can see it in the way that his fists are balled up– something he does to stabilize himself whenever he’s upset.
And now he’s upset because of you.
“Eddie–” you take a step forward, he takes a step back.
“No. Don’t- don’t come closer.” tears well at the bottom of your lash line, as you watch him turn away, leave and close the door behind him. Words trapped at the bottom of your throat. Words you’ll never get to say again.
You’re not sure how long you stand there, staring at the doorknob, hoping that it might turn, revealing Eddie once again, ready for you to explain everything to him.
But the doorknob doesn’t turn, the door doesn’t open, and Eddie doesn’t come back.
You refuse to sweep the rubble from the last time he was in your apartment, hoping that the smell of him stuck to the cold stone, but there’s nothing left of him in your space.
The thing about love witches is that when the thing most precious to them, their hearts, break, the life force of their power fades.
So within a short span of days, you notice yourself being weakened. Simple spells become a hard feat, as you can barely make things levitate, sitting in the darkness of your room.
Days begin to merge into themselves, as you get yourself to work, then home, then work, then home. A repeating cycle you don’t intend to stop. You leave around the back side of the store, to not let Eddie see you while he’s on his smoke break, blending into the crowded streets of what once seemed like the best place in the world.
Your aunt Hilda doesn’t hear from you, and neither does anyone else. You fall off the face of the earth, hoping that your hours never coincide with Eddie’s.
But you can feel it from next door, the pain and hurt that radiates from the record store. You feel it in the way he speaks to customers, in the way he sighs as he gets off his smoke break.
You hear him ask Janice about you, she tells him that she doesn’t know, that she hasn’t seen you in a while. Respecting your wishes to let him live his life in peace.
But he wasn’t living his life in peace. In fact, Eddie was miserable.
He was miserable in the way that everything reminded him of you, in the way that if he stepped too close to your store (to make sure you were working that day), he’d smell the rose incense you’d light at your house. The one he would smell on your clothes.
The crystals that sat on his windowsill were now tightly packed and shoved away on a far up shelf that he would not be reminded of you. He burned every trace of you, the taste of betrayal bitter in his throat as he sat on his couch every night, always on the left side, because you sat on the right. A place for you was always carved in his mind, whether it was unconscious or intentional.
The smell of your shampoo lingers in the pink bottles in his shower, in the silk pillow you always slept on when you went over to his house. A silk shirt you left on his bed, gingerly placed on his pillow as he lets your smell engulf him. That’s the only way he can sleep.
There’s a fear deeply setting in, that he might just never be able to get over you. Despite the lies and the secrets, he will never be able to not think about you, not when the smell of rose incense or the color pink exist, not when long skirts and crystals and tarot cards and brocade rugs exist. Not when you exist. Not when you keep walking the earth, sadness seeping in every crevice and every crack of his walls.
He knows he can’t go on like this. Not while you roam the same streets he roams, waiting for you to turn around. Look at me, witchy, look at me.
And you’re so sad. He can see it in your eyes, in the way you don’t carry yourself like you used to– shoulders slouched, dressed in black like you’re mourning the loss of your heart. Mourning the loss of your love.
He debates going back to Hawkins for a bit. Going back to live with his uncle– leave this new world behind, just until the air has been purified of you. Until he’s no longer thinking about the witchy girl who haunts his dreams at night. Go work where his friend Steve works at, shitty, dead- end job, just for a bit.
Confine himself to the life of a hermit, just so he can allow you to live in peace.
So he goes back to Hawkins, under the guise of going home for the holidays. He picks up whatever jobs his uncle can’t do anymore because of his age, driving the beat up yellow pick- up truck in and out of town.
“I never thought I’d see the day Munson would come crawling back” he’d hear a couple of people say on the street. He’s never gone unnoticed, but now more so than before– integrated in the San Francisco scene, he did anything but blend in. And he swears he sees you a few times, walking around downtown Hawkins, your hair, your clothes, your bag. Prancing around like your life is back to normal.
Could it have been a spell? Did you spell him to not make him forget about you?
But he knows it isn’t like you. Not malicious, not even as a witch, he assumes.
He keeps himself up at night thinking about you. You’d never use magic on him. With a sound mind, he tells himself that’s true. Your love for him is real. Is his love for you real? Shivering in the freezing temperature of his uncle’s trailer he’d ponder whether what you had was real or not.
Real.
He drives himself crazy, the thought of you plaguing his mind.
Even his uncle grows worried, the purple bags under his nephew’s eyes, all the books on witchcraft Eddie could find at the Hawkins local library sitting on his desk. Staying up to read on anything and everything that could help him.
And when that doesn’t work he goes on his uncle’s shitty wifi he never uses to research anything about witches, about magic, about you.
You don’t sense him anymore. Not through the walls, not in his sardonic laugh. It’s like he’d vanished into thin air.
You find yourself stepping into the record store after a shift, asking his shitty coworkers what happened to Eddie.
And you’re so weak. So tired, it is even a feat to be able to make it through one full shift standing up, finding a stool to sit on. You’ve paled, eyes dark and lifeless.
“He’s gone back home for the holidays” one of the assholes who made fun of you says “left you stranded here all by yourself? Or did he kick you to the curb?” he smirks, and the other idiot laughs. You make a mental note to hex them for good next time.
If you don’t die first.
Eddie comes back to San Francisco after the holidays, and it’s like he’s never left.
Union Square has taken off the tree and the ice skating rink– he wanted to take you there. He thought you’d be good at ice skating. You’re good at everything. Or maybe it’s because you’re magic.
The restaurant you went to on your first date has closed down. There’s a smile creeping on his face as he remembers you laughing because he couldn’t eat with chopsticks. He misses hearing you laugh. He misses seeing you smile.
The tiny twinkle, the stars in your eyes. The way he’d braid your hair at night. Petting Circe, nestled in between you two in your bed.
He sees you for the first time since he’s been back on the porch of your shop. His heart shrinks at the sight of you. Eyes sunken in, buried in layers and layers of woolen fabric, staring blankly at the street in front of you.
The thing about love witches is that when the thing most precious to them, their hearts, break, the life force of their power fades.
He remembers reading that in an old looking book during the holidays. He wrote it down in his notebook.
A love witch. Thrives on being loved and being in love.
Her heart is only safe when her love is true and unfettered.
He sees it now.
He shows up to your house after talking himself into it for a week, with the excuse of returning a shirt. The same silk shirt he’d been sleeping on top of since he left you. He had it washed for you. It doesn’t smell like you anymore.
He knocks. Is it him or are his hands always that sweaty? Is his heart beating at a normal pace? Is his hair okay? And his breath? Oh shit, he has a zit on his chin.
“Go away Aunt Hilda!” he hears you say, grumpy and grouchy. The veiled sadness in your voice creates a rift between him and the door.
So he knocks. Again. And Again.
“Aunt Hilda I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, I don’t want– Eddie” A breath gets trapped in your diaphragm, feeling your heart start picking up its pace for the first time in what felt like weeks.
“Hi” he gives you a tight smile, the silk balled up in a fist, purple with little black swirls on it.
“Hi, um, I– what are you doing here? Do you wanna come in?” you slither like a worm, that’s how you feel. The boy you’ve been pining and crying and suffering for is here. Right in front of you.
You look so much more frail than he’d remembered “I uh–” he holds up the fabric “you left this at my house”
“Oh, thanks. That’s sweet of you” Your heart drops, you really thought he was going to make amends with you?
You extend your arm, so he can give the shirt to you. So he can be on his way and be gone forever.
Hands, fingers, knuckles. He misses holding your hand.
“I heard you went home for the holidays, how was that?” you lean on the doorframe, hands crossed on your chest.
“It was good, I just spent it with my uncle. He told me to tell you happy new year, uh— even though we’re not—” he shouldn’t have said the last part, he sees you sink into yourself, gazing down at the hardwood floor. His stomach twists.
“What did you do for the holidays?” he asks. He doesn’t want it to be over, not yet.
“I just stayed in, I’ve been pretty sick lately, flu season in full swing. I’ve just been—”
“Your heart’s broken, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been so sick?” your heart drops. How does he know all this?
He reads your puzzled expression “I um— did some research. That’s what I did most of my holidays. I just wanted to understand. I know you didn’t spell me, or whatever. You’re a love witch” he takes out a piece of paper, highlighted is a sentence, in light pink.
Her heart is only safe when her love is true and unfettered.
Your head is reeling, he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. He spent his holidays researching you, your kind. He knows you didn’t lie to him.
Tears begin to spill onto the old parchment, the tears you haven’t shed in the past two months resurfacing, as you violently jerk and sob in front of him. You missed him.
Eddie quickly steps into your apartment and closes the door, enveloping you in a hug. And it feels good for your heart, a soothing balm for all the cracks and wounds it’s suffered.
“It’s okay, witchy, you can let it out” he says, as you continue to sob on his shoulder. Soft shushing sounds as he caresses your hair “Shhh…shhh… I’ve got you” and it’s like he’s never left.
“I’m here now, I’m not leaving” his assurance makes your body feel whole again. He sits you both down on the couch.
“Witchy, I didn’t stop thinking about you for a second. I would see you everywhere, I thought I was going crazy” he begins, and maybe he sees a twinkle in your eye, something weak, almost like a heartbeat being revived.
“I thought going to Hawkins, just to distance myself would change things. But I’d keep myself awake thinking about you, all the time, wondering if you were doing okay.” His hand brushes yours, as you wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater.
“I would see you at work, or out and about and you looked so sad. And I just couldn’t explain to myself what happened to you, until I came across that book” he finishes.
And in turn, you don’t say anything, you just kiss him. It’s wet and messy with the tears and the saliva, but he immediately kisses you back, cradling your face in his hand. Your heart beats faster than it has in a while, and it’s like magically, your skin has a bit more color to it.
And Eddie sees the stars in your eyes again.
When you detach you just lay your head on his chest. You listen for his heartbeat, lulling you into a deep sleep, the best sleep you’ve had in two months. He follows you not soon after, Circe on his lap, as he falls into slumber with a peaceful smile on his face.
Once awoken from your sleep, you go make a cup of tea for the both of you.
“Witchy?” your head lifts at the nickname as you pour him his tea.
“So, are you a witch, a mage or a sorceress?”
You just roll your eyes and kiss him again.
a word about my taglist- if you ask to be put on it, and went through the trouble of filling out the form, all i ask in return is that you interact with my stuff in a meaningful way. plain likes really don't get you anywhere on here, and i am asking you in the nicest possible way. tysm <3 taglist form here
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#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson x witchy!reader#modern!eddie x witchy!reader#modern!eddie munson#stranger things fan fiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things au#eddie munson au#eddie munson angst
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Muse! I’m so proud of you for reaching 1k!
I’d like to request Cinnamon Rolls with Fyodor and the prompts “Consummation”, “First time” and “You’re mine” for the event ⸜( ˙˘˙)⸝
(If it’s ok, can it be the first time for both the reader and Fyodor? I’d love to read some virgin Fedya smut)
content. f!reader. not-safe for work content (MDNI 18+), body worship, virginity loss, discussions of religion, overstimulation. not proofread.
author's note. thank you, hio! i hope this little slice of smut cheers your day up. i've discovered that while i can write down-bad, feral smut, i oftentimes stray towards something a bit softer, but i hope you all enjoy it!
would you like to see more? fill out the updated taglist or comment here!
You should have known better than to fall for a Demon.
At least, that's what everyone told you.
Your relationship had been formed on fallible foundations, and no one could understand the reason you stood at the altar with no hesitation in your choices. But others did not need to be privy to the private affairs between you and your husband, whose piercing eyes, which concealed the secrets of the world, looked upon you with an infatuation that could only be found in a first love.
But you did not realize he would be so determined to consummate your newfound covenant; his stormy mind which lied rot in yearning, unsated from years of self-isolation from his own kind, never faltered at sharing such vulnerability, too tempted by the taste of yours.
"Ahn-! Fedya," you wept through pleasured tears. Despite him sharing in your lack of experience, he unraveled each layer of your being with practiced ease, prying each piece of your pliant body as if he were stripping a flower of its petals—only for him to touch and tease and worship.
He reveled in every whimper and moan that was excavated from your lips, a hum lying on his own as his heart brimmed with the greatest pleasure a man could know as he brought you to the edge. Over and over. And it was only once your eyes had clouded over for the nth time, distant as you grasped onto anything for stability, that his gaze softened, and he allowed himself to satiate his carnal urges.
"Ты моя." His prayerful whispers did not pardon the sinful manner in which he marked the canvas of your neck or the thirst in his voice as he found himself devoting his reverence not to God but to his wife. You could barely hear his desperate groans through the veil of your pleasure—as he, enamored by everything you so willfully encompassed, could no longer retain self-control.
After hundreds of years of searching for something, for someone to fulfill him, he had finally found you. It was in the afterglow of your union that you knew you had known better all along. Even though your mind was scattered into millions of pieces, you knew he would build you back to what you once were, as he would never destroy the one he claimed to be perfection reincarnate—forever his.
ты моя = you're mine.
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @imhandicapableofmath @ishqani @squigglewigglewoo @lovedazai @deepseafragments @osameowdazai @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira @fyorina @ruru-kiss @yonseibananamilk
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#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#ʚ calliope's confectionary ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#f!reader#꒰ა ⎼ [fyodor]#✉︎ ⎼ [@sigmoon] ‧₊˚#౨ৎ˚ ⎼ from the muses .ᐟ#౨ৎ˚ ⎼ [afterhours]#bsd#bsd smut#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs#fyodor dostoevsky x reader#fyodor dostoevsky#fyodor bsd#fyodor x reader
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Things from IWTV episode 10 (s2ep03) I noticed:
- the French is good this time! I still wonder if it's the actors themselves or dubbing. But it's actually understandable for a French-native person, and the language itself is exquisite. Wondering now if those lines are picked up from the book in Anne Rice's own pen, the translation of the books, or they're original lines written for the show by a French writer who has a splendid style.
- I just really loved the Armand flashback, both because of the language, and because it opens up the veil on the history of vampire covens throughout the centuries. Also we get to see more Lestat, this time Armand's Lestat and that's always a win.
- Armand is right about both Louis being broken and Claudia being pushed to the limits of how long she can accept this life of hers. I absolutely do not trust Armand, he's twisting the narrative for his own purpose (that I don't know because I haven't read the books yet), but still, he's a good judge of character. Can't not be one and survive for 500+ years I guess.
- the Loustat scenes, on the quai de Seine, in the bar and in the park, were insane.
- was that Sartre? Did. Did they just cameo'd in Sartre for the lols? Man, Paris.
- speaking of Paris, I know it was actually filmed in Prague, but man, I felt like I was back there. That Seine promenade, that's the one I walked countless times in my years living there. I could recognise the pavements like I was still there.
- Santiago's fed uppppp with Louis' BS. And he's definitely laughing at Claudia. Calling her "puce"... It's funny because in French, "ma puce" is a term of endearment, like "my darling", but indeed literally it means "my flea", so for an English-native like Claudia, it could be seen as literally being called the smallest, lowest member of the coven (like Delainey says in the episode insider), but for a French-native, it's like the coven is calling her sweetheart. And then they give her that dress and tell her she's going to play a kid for the bext 50 years, the one thing she hates being reminded of the most, and you go "ooooh. Oh, no, honey. They bad. This is bad." Clau's about to Break. Knowing how her story goes, I'm not sure I'm ready for that.
- Danny boy felt subdued this time. Like he's still reeling from Louis' invasion in the last episode, and now that Talamasca agent invading his laptop, he's feeling attacked on all sides and he's floundering to get back up again. That said, the scene with just him and Armand was particularly intense. You can sense how yearning Armand is, and how destabilised Daniel feels under Armand's gaze. In other words, that vampire really wanna fuck that old guy, and the old guy doesn't know how to feel about it but he's definitely feeling the intensity.
Need to read those books yesterday.
#rapha talks#rapha watches shows#interview with the vampire#iwtv s2#amc iwtv#iwtv spoilers#iwtv no pain#louis de pointe du lac#lestat de lioncourt#armand the vampire#daniel molloy#claudia de pointe du lac#loustat#loumand#armand x daniel#armandiel#armandaniel#(what's the actual generally accepted ship name for these two you can't tell me there's no consensus for a canon ship#that's been in existence for actual decades?)
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Comments on episode 2x02 - aka episode 9!
SPOILERS!!
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Intro change!! Love it!!
The coven immediately tracking them but Claudia and Louis not noticing for FIVE MONTHS?! Sweeties!!! Come ON! This is Paris! You know? “Paris? No!“????
But the ribbing about it is EVERYTHING
Sitting on the statue made me laugh out loud
I‘m living for the vaguely bitchy bantering between Armand and Louis!!! Yesssss 🙌
And Daniel not buying it lol
Loved the little moment re the racism (callout) there
Armand and the jab re Lestat - LOL (oh god he is being so PETTY)
Armand needling Louis lmao
The coffins beneath the beds - clever
Poor pidgeons
GO DANIEL!
The interjections with Daniel‘s memories - shivers down my spine!!!
CLAUDIA SAYING SHE NEED A NEW BRAIN IN HER HEAD?!!!!! I FUCKING HATE THEM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 God the foreshadowing
Madeleine and Claudia (and the dress 😭)
Daniel lecturing them about the gloves!!! I remember a post about this when s1 aired, because yes!!!! GOD THE DETAILS
Oh Louis. His photos. Going to that park to… watch?! Or snack and taste the lust in the blood?!!
Okay the groan and the elictricity … manifestations are definitely related to Armand.
They‘re very cute there on the couch in Dubai! If only Daniel would buy it lol. Also Louis‘ face when Armand says he never harmed him - oof. Pain and harm (for others) incoming 😭
God Armand seemed smitten indeed
The theater. HOLY SHIT. God they ate horrifically and left no crumbs.
Armand is maître. No hiding behind Santiago after all
Claudia choosing Bruce. Oy. Also Louis‘ face seeing the portrait
Daniel after had me laughing tears. Honestly. Drag them 🤣🤣🤣
Armand saying he fucked Lestat. Nawwww sweetie 😆
Louis going to Roget‘s to check if Lestat is actually dead. I… god. Honey.
Also: A part of the real Lestat!!!!!!!! I had not expected this (something similar yes, but THIS)??? GOD!! And Sam‘s presentation of it. Holy Hell. And making Louis his beneficiary. Right in the feels. “My Louis“. 😭😭😭😭 Mentioning the veil between them!!! Asking Louis not to give in to revenge!! But live his life 😭😭😭 FUCKING DEVASTATING 😭😭😭
The blood tears
Also Roget proposing Lestat is sleeping?!!!!!!!!! Does this Roget know?!!!
Whoa Daniel calling rebound
And Louis lashing out making Daniel remember Armand!!! HOLY MOLY
Louis called Daniel “Danny“
That smile Louis smiled there was vicious. Another little chip of surface humanity gone
Murder Mansion. Sex on motorbikes. It feels feverish.
Ohhhhhhhhh the flirtation. And Armand cutting it short by warning him and pushing Louis towards his shortcomings vampire-wise. OUCH. And also Armand commenting on her body and mind. Beheadings going on behind them. Oof.
The episode ending with a scream and the smile draining from Louis‘ face. Ruthless foreshadowing.
Next episode preview!!!
1556… the way they redirect for these snippets is interesting
Nicolas!!!!
God that gaze between Lestat and Armand is … *fans self*
Catacombs. Does Armand really show / (try to) teach LOUIS the fire gift? 😬
Justin fucking Kirk talking about the Great Conversion in broad daylight. Ohhhhhh I‘m still calling red herring lol.
Louis throwing Lestat against the wall 😈
Armand challenging Louis 🙌
Agh.
INCREDIBLE.
#iwtv s2#iwtv spoilers#interview with the vampire#iwtv#amc iwtv#amc interview with the vampire#lestat de lioncourt#iwtv amc#louis de pointe du lac#armand#interview with the vampire amc
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Steamy Saturday —Vine Bondage
WARNING! A Five-Chili Steamy Scene Lurks Below!If you aren’t ready for your phone to catch on fire, click away.
Layla’s met up with the witch hunter Raul who’s working through the fact he still wants to control her and control her, if you know what I mean.
EXCERPT INCLUDES:🌶️ MF🌶️ Hate Riding An Elf🌶️ Taunting While F***ing🌶️ He Controls Vines
“Are you even listening?” the smug asshole asked.I…
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Always, Lexa has loved her.
In every lifetime. In every iteration of her.
Forged in the fires of hell and phosphorus embers of perdition, Lexa, a demon, walks among them. From the dawn of man crawling from their caves on bended knee, to the concrete skylines of the new world, she watched them flourish, thrive, and crumble. Smelled the smoke of their burning Eden while sipping their sin like the finest opulent wine.
"Kiss me harder," Lexa whimpers against the heat of Clarke's milk and honeyed mouth as hands work their will below.
In every lifetime she is different. A different face. A different name. Golden blonde bleeding to silver, burnt amber to black. A village healer who seeks to comfort. A coven leader who works her incantations in vain. A conjurer, a shawoman, a witch by so many shifting names. From the days when beasts roamed free and she, only a nomad protecting her clan through a veil of ancient mystics, to Clarke Griffin of the new age, the midwife with a strange knack for saving lives already thought lost to this realm.
"Fuck, Lex," Clarke sighs, rolling her hips into the thrust of Lexa's fingers hard enough to rattle the bones.
From the beginning, Lexa has watched her hone her craft, over decades and centuries and long lost millennia. Has watched her conjure and harness death in the smoke of fire-stoked chants, as her beating heart burned at the stake. Has kissed the choked, 'May we meet again' from the blue of her lips, felt the cold of her skin as she drowns on the riverbanks by their righteous hands in the never ending cycle of loving her, and losing her, and patiently waiting for that someday when she is reborn again.
"I've missed you." Lexa feels her tears turn to ash in the chalice of Clarke's kiss; quenching and searching and chasing after so many years without.
Hell doesn't burn quite so lovingly in the lifetimes when she loves her back, returning Lexa's kisses and aching for her touch with equally wicked smiles. When she breathes her passion and pleasure against the warmth of Lexa's lips and lays her body among the ruins of their blasphemy. Back arched and legs spread as she pants for Lexa to fill her more, to take her rougher. To pour her sinister lust into her. The lifetimes where Lexa gets to hold her, taste and touch her, to feel her wrapped tight and wet around her fingers… Those are lifetimes that bring color to the grey of Lexa's damnation. When power seeps from her like a sieve of midnight fury, tasting of blood and summer sweet dandelions on Lexa's tongue.
Clarke gasps in pants and sacred salt, hands breaking the circle upon such consecrated ground. "Don't let me forget, baby. Don't let me forget you."
Beyond her earthly bindings, the truth of her remains. The unwavering essence that calls to Lexa from the four corners of the Earth whenever she returns to her.
Her soul remains true in every lifetime, in every iteration
And always, Lexa has loved her.
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Or, Demon Lexa falling for every reincarnation of Witchy Clarke over the expanse of eternity, but mostly I'm just here for the aesthetics ����
#clextober23#Clextober#clexa#i wrote this in like... 15 min don't come for me please#im just here for the aesthetics
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Valyrian Wedding Rituals & Its Parallels
“Among the people who came to inhabit Northumbria and the Lothians, as well as among other Germanic peoples, the nuptials were completed in two distinct phases. (…) The parties plighted their troth and the contract was sealed, like any other contract, by a hand-shake. This joining of hands was called handfæstung in Anglo-Saxon, and the same word is found in different forms in the German, Swedish and Danish languages. In each it means a pledge by the giving of the hand.”
Handfasting' in Scotland - The Scottish Historical Review; Anton, A. E. (1958)
“In ancient Rome, a wedding was a sacred ritual involving many religious practices. (…) In a Roman wedding both sexes had to wear specific clothing. Men had to wear the toga virilis while the bride to wear a wreath, a veil, and a yellow hairnet.”
Women's Costume and Feminine Civic Morality in Augustan Rome; Sebesta, Judith Lynn (1997)
“ When the terms of the ketubah were accepted a cup of wine was shared to seal the marriage covenant. (…) The bride and groom shared the same cup, symbolizing the shared life that would be theirs. (…) Wine in Judaism has always symbolized joy. (…) Wine also symbolized blood. The marriage covenant is a blood covenant in the eyes of God. Two lives become one in a lifelong commitment.”
The Ancient Jewish Wedding; Lash, Jamie (2012)
#daemon targaryen#daemon x rhaenyra#daemyra#hotd#fantasy#game of thrones#rhaenyra targaryen#house of the dragon#house targaryen#asoiaf#wedding vows#old valyria#ancient rome#roman empire#roman history#jewish history#judaism#jewish culture#celtic paganism#scottish
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marc undressing another man.... sorry but you can't tell me vale wouldn't be the most jealous man on planet earth. he doesn't want marc anymore (or at least that's what he tells himself) but at the same time nobody else is allowed to have him! he would sooner forgive and forget everything that happened than be okay with seeing marc with someone else
vale sowing: haha fuck yeah!!! yes!!
vale reaping: Well this fucking sucks. what the fuck.
truly like. jealousy is another one that’s interesting to play out for them because marc is so blindingly and publicly and LOUDLY stuck on vale. like to this day vale can open his instagram explore page or whatever and see marc in a cunty turtleneck with his cheekbones out and dramatic reality show confessional lighting pontificating about how vale can totally call him later if he wants to fuck. marc voice please please please youre nothing. now. that being said. i don’t know if vale 100% believes marc is in EARNEST on those (myriad) occasions, but certainly it helps him on a subliminal level to know he was the best dick of marc’s life and he isn’t over him.
where this gets reallyyyy interesting for me is post ALL IN, where i think marc is trying to actually fire back a lil… exert some autonomy. take off the widow’s veil. like suddenly vale has lost the proverbial high ground in terms of being in this weird longing covenant with marc. he’s lost his love, in a way. break up 2: this time he maybe WONT come to your semiannual post retirement mildly drunk booty call :( and hilariously. i can see that fucking rattling him a bit.
so vale’s in his own head. pathetically shadow boxing his demons. whatever so it goes. and he ALSO notices at the next race he attends that marc has gotten a new trainer. older than him. italian. the marc marquez special as we have all seen and perceived. and five alarm bells are ringing in the back of vale’s head like FULL kill bill sirens and then he sees the new trainer guy (nice normal dude hired for PT. marc has met him. Twice.) like. dig a thumb into the muscle of marc’s arm and marc’s whole body visibly relaxes and vale feels about ten different types of insane about it. like he LOVESSSS to do things for people he cares about its his favorite thing. and if he saw marc get a need fulfilled like that when he’s been so obviously wanting and in pain— and directly AFTER his i’m done with you for realsies docu-break up letter— vale would go fucking crazybananas. like he enrolls in an online massage therapy class that day. just in case. not even under a fake name he’s that rattled.
#LOSING. the idgaf war. and then of course post reconciliation it’s marc being normally nice to someone#and them CLEARLY hitting on him so vale swoops in#just extremely and aggressively charming and pleasant and Valentino Rossi hi have we met i have nine world titles what do you do again??#while also tucking marc under his arm and like. dragging him away to fuck in the bathroom VERY obviously#motogp#asks#callie speaks#POV: VALENTINO ROSSI HAS ENROLLED IN YOUR ONLINE MASSAGE CERTIFICATION
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