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blissfulip · 1 month

Text

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of Child SA, allusions to the witch trials

Words: 3.1k

[A/N: Sorry for making the bishop so annoying I made myself angry proof-reading this lmao (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

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II.

Noon had started to crack, and Viktor sat still at the edge of his bed, his left leg throbbing with a persistent ache and guilt consuming him as he grappled with the weight of his recent actions. His mind swirled in a tumult of self-condemnation and regret as the looming certainty of facing Father Isidore when he would eventually be called up to the kitchen for lunch weighed over him.

How could he, entrusted with the guidance of others, find himself so lost in the labyrinth of his own sin? It was so easy, too, to feel like the absolutions he offered were hollow, his own inability to forgive himself casting a shadow over the sanctity of his role. And amidst this turmoil, the relentless ache in his left leg—probably due to kneeling for a prolonged stretch of time, but that in the wake of what he had just done felt more akin to divine punishment—served as a reminder of his frailty, both physical and spiritual.

But pain is purification, suffering gives way to redemption, and penitence is salvation, so isn’t pleasure the correct response after all? If martyrdom is the ultimate act of love, then why shouldn’t agony be met with enjoyment? That was the lie Viktor soothed himself with before deciding to be a step ahead of the altar boys and make his way to the kitchen.

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

His leg protested with each step, but it seemed insignificant compared to the stinging feeling on his back now that he had the rough fabric rubbing against it. What lingered wasn’t nearly as pleasant as before; however, he felt undeserving of making a fuss about it, it being a punishment—ironically—for a self-inflicted punishment that he shouldn’t have delighted in.

As he entered, the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him, mingling with the faint aroma of incense that clung to his robes and clashing with the uninviting presence of Father Isidore, who sat at the table, steaming cup in hand.

“Viktor, my son,” he exclaimed in a voice that sounded sweet and as sticky and treacherous as molasses, “I trust you have...repented.”

Viktor clenched his jaw, a wave of trepidation washing over him as he felt his judgmental gaze on him. Viktor severely disliked the special way Father Isidore enunciated; emphasis on certain words never seemed like enough for him; he always made it a point to hiss and spit; his lips thinned out and tense like he was holding in a growl. It didn’t match his childlike guise, and this made Viktor weary of him ever since he was a kid.

“I have,” he replied tersely, taking a seat opposite his superior’s robust presence.

"It seems, however, that some of us struggle more than others with the concept of self-control," he remarked, his words dripping with a subtle veil of aggression.

Viktor's stomach churned with resentment. "I am aware of my shortcomings, Father," he retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness.

“Don’t misunderstand me, son. It is never my intention to prohibit your studies or peg your enthusiasm for learning; you know our monastery has always valued knowledge of the great arts.”

“Until it challenges one of your universal truths, that is.”

“Precisely, are you trying to imply we should challenge the dogma?”

Viktor stayed silent.

“Tell me, do you think you are above us all?”

“Of course I don’t, father.” but he did, and this whole lecture was starting to get old.

“Then you must clearly think you are above sin. So holy and pure that you are able to read such heretic words and not be tempted by them?” He said this as he got closer to Viktor, his face slowly turning beet red: “unde et corda filiorum hominum implentur malitia et contemptu in vita sua et post haec ad inferos deducentur.”

And then he did the same eyebrow raise he used to do when Viktor was a child, and he was testing his knowledge of the scripture. Viktor sighed, partly in defeat but mostly in annoyance.

“‘Hence the hearts of the sons of men are filled with malice and contempt in their lives, and after this they are brought down to hell’,” he answered as he instinctively leaned back on the chair, the scorching sensation reminding him why it was a terrible idea.

“I can tell you are in pain; why must you still be so stubborn, even when you are enduring your penitence on the flesh?”

“I see no malice in curiosity.”

“Even when you intentionally seek the words of miscreants, knowing full well the danger it presents?”

“I don’t seek dangerous ideals; the universe is, and I simply try to understand it.”

“You are lost, Viktor.” Father Isidore’s lips curled up into a grin of contempt, a show of mockery that made it clear his concern for Viktor’s soul came from a place of scorn.

“Temptatio vos non adprehendat nisi humana, something something, and God will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear and, eh, I forgot what comes after,” Viktor recited, quiet but defiant.

“To me, you are nothing but a test of resilience, Viktor. If I have to tear you down myself to build you back up as a God-honoring servant, I will.” He said this as he visibly struggled to disguise his frustration. “Come, I would like you to meet someone.”

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

As they made their way through the narrow streets of the small town, the bustling activity of the market greeted them. Vibrant stalls lined the cobblestone paths, their displays of fresh produce and handmade goods drawing Viktor’s attention. All the while, he wondered who this mysterious person and possible weapon of torture would be.

Father Isidore walked with an air of authority, his presence commanding respect as he exchanged warm greetings with anyone who crossed their path. Soon they came upon an elderly woman sitting by a small table, adorned with a meager assortment of goods. Her weathered face bore the deep lines of a life well-lived, yet her eyes sparkled with a warmth that belied her frailty. She smiled weakly as they approached, her gnarled hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Good morning, Father!" called out an elderly woman, her face lighting up with a smile as she approached. "Blessings be upon you."

He gave back a smile that could've fooled anyone, but Viktor couldn't shake the feeling that there was something calculated in his demeanor. "And to you as well, my dear," Father Isidore replied, his tone tinged with a hint of forced sincerity. "How are you faring today?"

"Oh, just getting by as best I can, Father," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Times have been hard, but the Lord provides."

"Indeed, He does, and speaking of such, have you been able to fulfill your tithe to the church this month?”

The elderly woman's smile faltered slightly, her gaze dropping to her lap as she fidgeted with the worn fabric of her apron. "I... I'm afraid not, Father," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "Things have been tight lately, with the harvest being poor and all."

His expression hardened imperceptibly, though his tone remained gentle as he pressed the issue. "I understand, my dear," he continued. "But you must remember the importance of supporting the church, especially in these trying times. Perhaps there is something else you could sacrifice to ensure your tithe is met."

Viktor watched in silent anger as the elderly woman's shoulders slumped in resignation, her eyes downcast as she nodded in reluctant agreement. Despite his own discomfort, he couldn't help but feel a surge of rage at the ease with which Father Isidore exploited the vulnerability of this woman for the sake of the church's coffers.

“If I may, Lucida,” Viktor interjected. Different from his superior, he knew the members of their community; he had taken time to know them and had offered his friendship along with his guidance. “You must be forgetting; your daughter has already come to offer lithe on behalf of your family.”

This was a lie, but be it because Lucida’s age was betraying her memory or because she had taken the hint of what Viktor was doing, it didn’t matter. Her mouth shaped into a round O as she nodded at both of them. Father Isidor looked at Viktor with suspicion but did not press the issue any further either, simply dragging Viktor by his free arm to continue on their way.

A modest house was nestled along the path. Father Isidore announced himself with a drawn-out knock on the solid wood of the door, and the figure of a weary woman appeared as the door peered open. When she saw the men, her feeble demeanor swiftly morphed into visible uneasiness.

Viktor knew her; she had been at the cathedral at least once, and multiple times she had made herself present at Viktor’s masses in the small town parish. She had never reacted this way to him before, so Viktor knew it was the man beside him who was causing this woman concern.

“Father Isidore, I’m sorry; I did not expect to see you here,” she cried out, trying to hide the tremble in her voice.

“Fret not, dear; I haven’t come to collect her yet; I simply wanted Viktor to meet her.” He scrutinized the inside of the house from where he stood before gently pushing the woman aside to enter the house, uninvited. Viktor gave her quiet apologies and small awkward smiles, following close behind him when she gave him a sign to invite him in.

The woman took them to the other side of the small house; there, the threshold of what seemed to have been a door in the past separated this expanse from the rest of the house. In the dimly lit chamber, a young teenage girl sat on the edge of her bed, her long black twin braids cascading down her shoulders like a dark veil, so dark that if you looked at it under the right light, it might even look blue.

Her posture was slumped, and her slender frame seemed to wilt under an invisible weight. The room around her felt heavy with silence, broken only by the faint sound of her shallow breaths. She looked up to look at them as the three entered, but her once vibrant eyes, now dulled and distant, gazed blankly ahead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Darling, Father Isidore has come to see you; will you say hi to him and his friend?” Her mother asked delicately as she sat down on the bed next to her. Viktor was stumped; he didn’t remember seeing this girl at any of the functions before or around the town as he ran errands. The girl’s hands lay limply in her lap, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the faded bedspread as she looked at Father Isidore.

And very subtly, her once empty gaze welled up with noticeable rage.

“What do you want, sheep?” Her voice sounded so sweet, yet her words were so filled with venom.

“Careful now; I’m not here to take you yet, but I might change my mind if you decide to get nervy with me.”

She squinted slightly before giving Father Isidore an empty smirk and snapping her head quickly to look directly at Viktor. “Are you in trouble too? I’m only ever used as an example.”

“I-eh, I’m not sure.” Viktor pondered her words for a short second: “An example?”

“For what not to do.” She scoffed; she now seemed unaffected by their presence, giggling at Viktor’s confused expression, like he had told her a joke. “What did you do? Illegal medicine?” she asked, and she continued when she received no response. “You’re a priest; did you lay with a woman? Oh, oh, oh, a man, perhaps?”

The amusement in her tone was not enough to cut the tension in the air. Viktor wondered why no one seemed to care about what she was saying, but he figured Father Isidore was attempting to make a point out of this, and her mother was too afraid to do anything that might upset the bishop.

“I would ask you if you touched a child, but they care considerably less about that than they do about banned...That’s it, isn’t it? You—” She said, now wiggling her feet like she had reverted to an earlier stage of her life. “—are a man of science; I can see in your eyes that you know what heliocentrism is.” She giggled her way through those words and looked at Viktor with wide eyes, awaiting a response.

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft shuffle of feet on the worn floorboards as the mother stood by the door, her expression wrought with fear, while Father Isidore's features were etched with thinly veiled frustration.

Suddenly, the girl spoke, her voice soft but tinged with defiance. "You can't stop me, fawner," she said, her words cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. "I won't let you."

Father Isidore's eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, as he shot the girl a warning glare. "Enough," he admonished. "You know the consequences of disobedience, and you know what awaits you; don’t make an effort to rush your departure."

With a sense of urgency, the mother hurriedly ushered them toward the door, pleading and apologizing on her daughter’s behalf, and in the onslaught of their departure, Viktor felt a small object slip into his hand. Startled, he glanced down only to see the girl’s swift fingers pressing something into his palm and a pair of brazen eyes that quickly snuck back onto the bed, unnoticed.

He didn’t dare to look, not as long as he had eyes on him, so he clenched his fist around it, as if something told him he ought not to lose it. Viktor's mind raced with questions, his confusion mounting with each hurried step as they silently walked the path back to the parish. As they climbed the small steps to go inside the building, the bishop spoke.

“She is being taken to undergo a trial for witchcraft, but I’m sure what you saw made that evident.”

“She doesn’t look like a witch.”

“What do witches look like, son?”

“Wretched, evil, hateful...”

“And is it not evil to go against the dogma of our faith? Is it not wretched to seek deranged ideals like ‘heliocentrism’ and ‘geokinesis’, mad, truly mad things for someone who is fearful of God to believe, and especially wicked for a woman to believe?”

Viktor did not answer.

“God has great plans for you, Viktor. Do not stray from your path, and you’ll be able to avoid an end like hers” He said, punctuating the last word with a hefty—and ignobly intentional—pat on his back.

The wounds, still fresh and tender, protested vehemently against the sudden contact, each movement a reminder of the agony that plagued him. He visibly winced and took a sharp breath through gritted teeth, doing his best to suppress the urge to cry out in pain. But it wasn't just the physical discomfort that gnawed at him. Beneath the surface, a simmering anger had been bubbling.

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

Alone again in the confines of his quarters, Viktor sank to his knees in front of the small wooden crucifix that adorned the wall. His hands trembled as he clasped them together in prayer, his lips moving silently in fervent entreaty.

“Pater Noster qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…” He began automatically, but he didn’t know what he had prayed for.

When the prayer ended, there was silence.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus…” He started once again, perhaps a mother would pity him.

Silence.

Anger burned within him like a smoldering ember. The rotund face of Father Isidore plagued his inner thoughts. How could a man of God, a shepherd of the faithful, wield his power with such callous disregard?

But beneath the anger lay a deeper, more insidious emotion: guilt. Guilt for his own weakness, for his depravity, for his inability to rise above the turmoil and find solace in his faith. With a frustrated sigh, Viktor bowed his head lower, his hands clenching into fists as he fought to contain the tempest raging within him.

"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the silence of the room. "Why do I pray, day after day, only to be met with silence? Have I been forsaken, abandoned by the very God I serve?"

But as the echoes of his words faded into the darkness, there came no answer, and in that moment of profound solitude, Viktor felt more alone than ever before, until he remembered the small object he had managed to slip into his robes.

A brass coin, small and thin enough that he could break it with his bare hands if he was not careful. It appeared to have worn off with time, the original color having faded into a dark green, corroded shade. As he held it up to the dim candlelight, the symbol etched into its surface seemed to shimmer—a circle with small letters around its circumference that he couldn’t read. In it there was a smaller circle, and inside of it, even smaller, a strange swirly shape with five triangles on its flat top and a cross in the very center.

He knew, deep inside, that he recognized what he knew to be the symbol of a creature of darkness and forbidden knowledge. His instincts screamed at him to cast it aside, to rid himself of its tainted influence, but a curious fascination held him captive. In a surge of frustration and desperation, Viktor closed his eyes and clasped the coin tightly in his hands, his lips moving in silent prayer.

“God has failed me; let this be the time I am acknowledged.” For a long moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft whisper of his own breath. But then, just as Viktor's hope began to wane, he felt a strange warmth emanating from the coin, spreading through his fingertips.

Like a heavy shroud enveloping the room, suffusing the air with palpable tension, the atmosphere shifted, thickening with an otherworldly energy that seemed to hum with ancient power. A chill ran down Viktor's spine when he felt a small hand on his shoulder. As he summoned the courage to gaze upon the figure behind him, he found himself confronted by a sight that defied all comprehension.

The figure of a woman, alluring and terrible but terrifyingly familiar, stood before him. A surge of primal terror mixed with a morbid fascination compelled him to stand his ground, and then he heard her voice.

“Curious, very curious.” She whispered.

#viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane au #legion

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strayheartless · 2 months

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what are some of the recipes witch angeal has made from his "family recipe" book? any fam favorites? any faves the boys have?

hello! I'm so sorry its taken me so long to answer, I've literally been agonising over Recipes trying to figure out what Goth Witch Angeal would bake 😆.

(I will say that insporation for much of this comes from Sweeny Todd, the curious creations of Christine McConnel and a handfull of Grims Fairytales.)

Okay, so Angeals Go to recipe is meat pie. The thing about this AU is I like towing the line between fantasy and realism with these Characterisations, so you never really know whether they are just Goth and Wiccan or actual storybook witches.

The meat pie started as a joke to scare the local church goers. in the early days of Gen and Angeals relationship, Angeal grudgingly went to church with Genesis in order to "present themselves properly" to the community. Genesis Grew up Catholic, and He is actually still quite religious in a rather hethenistic "Chriso-pagan" kind of way... The crusifix shaped scar at his Clavical that he's had for over 200- I mean... 2 years doesn't seem to deter him from standing on hallowed ground.

They'd been invited to a pot luck, and the woman that had extended it to them had done so incredibly passive agressivly. people like that grated on Angeal... so he'd turned to Mimsy (the recipe book) who immidiatly flipped to the page on meat pie.

To this day the people of the church don't know whether they ate human flesh or not...

The Fam as some more "normal" faves:

Angeals recipe for tri-chocolate brownies is Zacks favorite

Edger is a big fan of both his seed loaf and his mouse mix (its exactly what you think)

Genesis is fond of his Red velvet Cake. he does not use food dye to colour it red. do with that information what you will.

Sephiroth adores his Sea food Risotto, as well as literally anything with Chocolate in it. If anyone ever left Sephiroth in the woods, the only reason he wouldn't get eaten by the witch in the gingerbread house is because he too is a witch.

Cloud would eat Angeals Harvest special Pumpkin pie for every meal for the rest of his life if he could. allas Angeal will not let him.

food traditions include:

Angeals secret Ham recipe (no you may not know) at Yule. They don't eat turkey for many reasons. the main one being Zack complains it sucks allthe moisture out of his mouth. the second main one being Genesis prefers his meat extremely rare... for reasons.

During Imbolc they tend to eat deviled eggs until Zack hits food coma status. once he starts he can't stop.

During Litha they eat Honey cakes Which are some of Angeals personal favorites. usually this is with homemade mead or elderflower wine.

Mabon is all about soup. mostly pumpkin, sometimes carrot. Angela will absoloutly admit to getting the pumpkin soup recipe from a childrens book.

Samhain is all about spice and warmth, so Chillies, and Stews, and cornbreads, and soups and all kinds of things. There is also a lot of Pomigranits involved. Cloud seems to like sitting on the kitchen counter, feeding everyone who passes the seeds. Thats why They all refer to them as their personal persephony.

Beltane is again all about the Honey as well as fresh fruit and veg. Strawbery cream cake must be consumed. it is the law. And Angeal is 100% aware it is an aphrodesiac, thats why he bakes it. feeding Sephiroth strawberries is always fun.

#ask #anon ask #anonymous #goth witch partners #goth witch boyfriends #genesis rhapsodos #cloud strife #zack fair #angeal hewley #sephiroth crescent #ffvii #ff7

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theimperiumchronicles · 4 months

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Happy STS! Your characters are decorating. For what? You decide; Christmas, a party, the end of the world, etc. All that matters is they are together and they must decorate. Who claims overseer? Who disappears into the kitchen for snacks and never returns? Who spends two hours untangling lights or streamers?

Hi sweet Tori! I will answer for each WIP separately because it will be different for each one.

@theimperiumchronicles

The Palace is always decked out for Christmas. Lights EVERYWHERE, multiple trees, holly and pine boughs on all the stairwells, wreaths on all the mantels. It is like a winter wonderland. Abriella and Cruz make it snow many nights for the kinds in Imperium to get to play. It is beautiful and magical.

@the-andromeda-effect

Caliban used to have parties for Christmas because it was what was expected but now that Adira is in his life, he is finding that decorating and celebrating is more enjoyable. He is letting her take the lead on putting up the tree, buying decorations that will be "theirs" and even planning the yearly celebratory parties. Their marriage may be "fake" but their budding relationship is most certainly not.

Bayou Witches

Nothing in the LaVeau household is done halfway. There are decorations everywhere celebrating their French and Haitian roots. Mass will be attended on Christmas Eve, and their Catholic beliefs are not forgotten in their decorations either.

Back To The 20's

Candles, strings of pearls, glass ornaments, holly, and trees decorate the elegant Garden District home that Anna and Jasper share. The home of Jean Pierre and Armaund is no less formal. Jazz bands would be arranged, only the highest quality bootlegged liquor provided, and the most delicious creole food prepared.

@devil-in-the-details-ay

As literal Death himself, Astaroth celebrates the death of plants and animals due to the frigid weather. He does not host parties or decorate. Normally his celebrations are with the reapers of all kinds that are in his employ and bring the death of all manners of beings and life. However, this year he has Yara at his side and as they navigate the complexities of their forced marriage, they are also celebrating this together as well. In past years it has been a grand banquet where the mood was respectful of the lives that had ended, and it is expected that it will transpire much the same this year. Things could change with Yara now participating.

@magical-mistakes-vm

Vollrath, Balor, Elmar, and Baldur have never really celebrated. Mahala was always on the run and her mother never had the money to celebrate the holidays. This year, they'll all be spending them together due to the circumstances surrounding Mahala returning to her family's homestead. To try to lighten the mood, they will do light decorating and exchange gifts. How that will go will be interesting to see, given that none of them have ever done this before.

@princess-of-thieves-id

There is no Christmas in the version of Earth that this story is set in. However they do have celebrations for the start of the new year. For that, they will decorate the ship's galley with lights and have a small celebration on the last day of the year.

@tapperhet-em

There is also no Christmas in this version of Earth. I have not decided if there will be any other winter celebrations.

#asks answered #my asks #writeblr #my ocs #writers on tumblr

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wyrmoftheweb · 1 month

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you're a new vampire in the kitchen preparing a blood-soup with the vampire that bit you. you're chopping the last of the herbs, (no garlic, mournfully), and they're seated on the counter, staring at the stove in an attempt to make the old burner heat the stewpot faster, either with some kind of psionic heat magic or just determination. you've just completed your fourth hunt with their flock of vampires- they say it's called a cloud, like bats. you don't have all the terminology down yet- and you think you're starting to get ahold of the whole hunting thing.

you're so busy thinking it that you cut your finger with the knife. it heals almost instantly, but it still hurts like a bitch. "jesus fucking christ!" you exclaim, and then immediately double over as your throat begins to burn, a little stream of blood trickling from your mouth. it feels a little like your head is trying to decapitate itself from the inside of your neck for a moment. your sponsor hops down from their perch on the counter, steadying you on your feet as you regain your balance and the burning stops.

"sorry, sorry." they say. "should've warned you about that one. you can't say that anymore. no christian saints, prayers, or important figures."

when you're sure your head is going to stay on your shoulders, you think about that for a minute. "so, does that mean christianity is like, real?"

they laugh a bit. "haha, no, no. definitely not. one of the popes was a witch though. a while back. cursed a bunch of stuff so we can't say it. it's also why we can't enter churches, even the ones that aren't catholic. fucker was thorough."

"...huh."

#my ocs #↑my in universe reason for having the vampire characters say ''rats'' a lot

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grotto-of-benedicaria · 11 months

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Reading recommendations for someone looking to learn more about Benedicaria?

You have to be very careful. Under my Benedicaria tag, I mention that Vito Quattrocchi and his friend Fr Agostino Taumaturgo (aka, Jason Spadafore - he and Vito send their book drafts back and forth to one another, and are close friends) are like... beyond racist. They're openly-posting-swastika's racist, or at least Vito is. Gail Faith Edwards, while a separate vein of writing, is also racist, but even more strongly transphobic, though the bar is so low on resources that honestly the fact that she doesn't want back Mussolini and his friend the mustache man is an improvement over the first two.

Rue Roselli is friends with Fr Agostino but seems to not be racist, and tries to talk sense into the both of them on a variety of topics, including the lack of a sharp line between Strega and Benedicaria in practice, as opposed to in heart, so of the larger names Rue is who I would recommend. (Benedicaria being pretty solidly Catholic.)

As such...

Well, there's an adorable essay by someone who mostly writes what I'd call "pop witchcraft" (albeit with good messaging sometimes)- but this article shows something more of what she doesn't say in her books.

Mostly though, the answer is "find someone willing to teach you." And "read as many books on pre-Vatican II sacramentals as you can stand."

This website and book -

There's also some who are more Pagan / Strega leaning because of issues with Christianity, but mostly leave the practices and prayers and saints intact. Chaotic Witch Aunt falls under this category, including Diana as the main Pagan deity that shows up in their personal practice. (Note, they're non-binary, the "Aunt" title notwithstanding.)

#Benedicaria #resources

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secretcatholicwitch · 9 months

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I see what you’re doing JoAnn’s, I feel very targeted by this merchandise.

#catholic witch #christopagan #catholic witchcraft #christopaganism #christian witch #christian witchcraft #witch #witchcraft #witches of tumblr #christowitch #witch community #witchblr #kitchen witch #closeted witch #in the broom closet #witchcraft community #craft witch

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hermesserpent-stuff · 1 year

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You'd still have less characters than some of the X-Men story arcs. Always nice for characters to interact with others in the area. They don't have to be regulars after all.

That is a good point. you make a good point.

...

Imma make beck be friends with a real wizard and curse have issues with the devil of the kitchen.

Question for people who read comics, if you're out there,

I know some Catholics are really big on the no witchcraft no witches scene. To the point of doing something about it. Is Matt Murdock that sort of catholic? is it brought up in the comics ever? how does this lawyer feel about magic?

(i have read a few and watched a bit of the show, and i am very unsure.)

#hermes speaks #daredevil #matt murdock #ask hermes #spider nephew au #crimson curse

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will-o-the-witch · 2 years

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Hi! I'm so sorry to be bringing up Lilith again as I know appropriation of her has been a common topic here already, but I was just wondering if you had any advice for someone whose craft used to center around her.

When I was younger and dumber, I was an ex-Catholic exposed to the figure of Lilith by viciously antisemitic blogs, I was absorbed, and I even held a ritual asking her to initiate me as a witch. My practice for the next years would consist of similar antisemitic practices, appropriation, and sentiments. Now that I've become more informed and realized how awful the things I believed are, I feel terribly guilty, icky, and lost because it used to be almost all that my craft was. I suddenly feel like I'm tainted somehow by initating myself as a witch with such a ritual, and having built my practice around it for years. Do you have any advice for how to start over and move forward to a better and more respectful spiritual practice? Thank you!

That can definitely feel like a sticky situation! (Thank you for sharing <3) I guess the first step would just be to "officially" part ways with anything you'd like to leave behind, to close that door on both ends. (If you're worried about any spiritual backlash from that message me and I'll see if I can help ^^) Any sort of rebirth/renewal rituals could also help mark the transition more firmly, submerging/reemerging from water (or a fancy bath if you don't have access to a large enough body of water) is a very common ritual aspect for things like this.

Beyond that, it never hurts to actually let yourself go back to the basics and get a refresher, and starting there might kinda help psychologically/emotionally too. And if it's really haunting you, I'll never stop people from doing some good deeds as a form of reparations, "balance the scales" so to speak. Maybe donate to some Jewish nonprofits/organizations or directly to Jews in need, if you can, or do some volunteer work at your local soup kitchen/shelters/etc!

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saint-ambrosef · 2 years

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“Soup kitchens were started by the govt after putting down radicals” what is this? The first “modern” soup kitchens were invented by a British man named Sir Benjamin Thompson, and the concept has been around since civilization itself; most soup kitchens are run by churches, not the government, what does any of this have to do with shutting down violent revolutions

in my experience, whenever people sprout BS like that, its usually because they heard it down the TikTok or Twitter pipeline and just assumed it was true without bothering to check.

i was at work a few weeks ago and overheard one co-worker smugly tell another that the Evil Catholic Church pushed the medieval witch hunts (?) because they were mad at Martin Luther's reformation (???) and thus made up the threat of witches in an effort to get people to come back to the Church for protection (?????????). the other co-worker was like "omg wow". meanwhile i was in the other room like "tf is this girl going on about, that makes 0 sense."

#i immediately thought 'this girl definitely heard this on TikTok and now thinks she's a medieval witch trial expert'#its so blatantly incorrect that i got angry #they were also making snide comments like 'well we can definitely agree outright that the Catholic Church is the Worst Thing in History'#so like. not like they have a bias or anything lmao.#God knows I really struggle with my generation's blind internet-fueled hatred sometimes...

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decimatlas · 10 months

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ANGELICA 'ANGEL' BARDA ; her angel eyes saw the good in many devils.

Under the 'read more' is a bio for my fandomless original character, Angelica Barda. She fits best into plotlines with supernatural themes.

BASICS

FULL NAME. Angelica Barda ALIAS. Angel BIRTHDAY. September 9 AGE. 26 (verse dependent) GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cis female, she/her SEXUALITY. Bisexual ETHNICITY. Latvian-American SPECIES. Human/Witch OCCUPATION. (prev) Church children's choir director RESIDENCE (COVEN). Crystal Falls, MS (fictional location)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

HEIGHT. 5'4" (162.6 cm) WEIGHT. 110 lbs (50 kg) HAIR. (Natural) Light brown, (Dyed) Black (and she often dyes pieces of it) EYES. Blue BUILD. Ectomorph SCARS. Slashes on the palms of her hands TATTOOS. Small cross on her back, between her shoulderblades PIERCINGS. Earlobes, several cartilage piercings FACE CLAIM. Ksenia Solo

PERSONALITY

ZODIAC. Virgo MBTI. ENFJ-T (The Protagonist) ENNEAGRAM. Type Seven (The Enthusiast) ALIGNMENT. Chaotic Good

ETC.

PARENTS. Inga & Andris Barda (Deceased) SIBLINGS. None LANGUAGES. Latvian, English HOBBIES. Singing, painting, crocheting, volunteering SKILLS. Krav Maga (black belt) STYLE. Gothic, grunge (her wardrobe is mostly black)

ABILITIES

She's a link between Hell and Earth. She is not possessed, but she can hone demonic power – as well as summon demons and work alongside them to accomplish her goals. She does not control the demons; rather, she develops and fosters relationships with them so they are more inclined to be of assistance.

Her own abilities include: Telekinesis, short-range teleportation, biokinesis, spell-casting, performing exorcisms.

LINKS

Pinterest board.

STORY / tw: gore, death

Angelica Barda was born in Newark, New Jersey, to Inga and Andris Barda – Latvian immigrants. From a young age, her parents referred to her as 'Angel,' and through her bubbly disposition and her warm heart – this name would hold true. Raised a devout Catholic, Angel became very involved in her local parish. She joined the children's choir, and she volunteered in soup kitchens and food pantries often; she was extremely beloved by peers and adults alike.

But Angel had been harboring something dark, deep within her, from a young age. For as long as she can remember, really. Separate from herself but still very much infiltrating her essence, the young girl never quite felt like she was ever alone. She'd hear voices, whispers – some in words she could not understand. She knew well enough that whatever was with her, it was not of this world – and it was not of the love and light she worked so hard to attract. It was rough, sounds were hellish; she feared the word, but she knew what it was, this presence – this force. It was demonic.

They started visiting her when she was ten.

The demons, wretched creatures from Hell began to materialize, manifest around her. In mirrors, in her dreams, and sometimes right in front of her; she could reach out and touch them if she wanted. Yet... when faced with them, Angel did not feel fear. She did not feel disgrace. She felt... familiarity. These demons were not like the ones she learned about in her books, in the countless sermons. They did not want to hurt her, they told her – most of them, anyway. The ones that came to visit her were safe. They were friends.

They would teach her about the powers she held within herself, forbidden mentors – her little secret.

But Angel would one day learn that not all demons were friends. At sixteen, when she came home from choir practice – she would find a bloodied, mangled demon standing over her parents. They were hardly recognizable in that state.

Bloodied. Dead. Gone. Taken from her.

Angel let out a scream – one that could shake the heavens and Hell... and Hell answered. Hell came to her aid; demons materialized and took down the other – claws slashing and teeth ripping. Guttural screams and howls filled the space.

And then – silence.

She was alone again.

Angel grieved, mourned, but she eventually found ways to carry on. She stayed active in her church, eventually graduated to the adult choir – and even became the full-time director for the children's choir.

But when she would come home? To an empty house now – one she inherited – Angel would work on her abilities. She would research demons, demonic powers, witchcraft. She learned how to summon demons, how to communicate with them. And she learned there were others with powers, too. Witches scattered about the globe – she was not alone. Her, her demons, and this kinship of witches... Angel was far from alone.

At the age of 25, she was contacted by Brooke Lucas, a witch with a small coven in Crystal Falls, Mississippi, after one of their mutual friends (yes, a demon – Nox) alerted her of her existence.

So, Angel packed up some belongings – left that empty house of hers and flew down to live in the house with others like her. A Coven, a tribe. Maybe they would even become family.

And it turns out – they would become just that. They would accept her – and the demons she brought with her.

#about : angelica barda.#my bbg

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grimiorething · 2 years

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Meet The Witch

July 2022

Personal:

Name: Vincent Silas

Nicknames: Valentine, Vince, Vinny, V.

Pronouns: He/They

Age: 19+ (youngin')

Signs: Leo Sun, Capricorn Moon, Libra Rising

Where: Kentucky, USA

Magical Interests:

Necromancy, spirit work, and death work

Ancestor veneration and healing

Divination and psychic matters

Folk magic

Kitchen witchcraft and the hearth

Traditional magic

Alchemy

Science (yes, I categorize this separate from alchemy, haha)

Blood magic

Herbs, tinctures, infusions, teas, etc.

Demonolatry but not appropriated. Probably the hardest thing to research. Hell.

Artistic/Craft-work magic

Local fauna and places of magic

Some of my favorite blogs:

@breelandwalker, @satsuti, @etamina-amata, @matriarca-inodora, @stormbornwitch, @normal-horoscopes, @blackthornwren, @black-dog-bones, @haremask, @stormwaterwitch, @sola-invinctus, @trollkatt, @grey-sorcery, @pysksos, @lunefrog, @lailoken, @serpentandthreads, @fair-is-foul, @windvexer, @hillsarehollow, @theoldcottage

Fun Facts:

I am an artist, I use tons of different mediums. Majoring in Art Studio at my college. This seeps into my craft for sure.

I've been into witchcraft since a very young age. I was raised Catholic, though, and keep some of its traditions.

I took dance for a few years (I'm going to take another class this semester)

I'm very into historical fashion and I sew my own clothing now and again. Mainly I acquire through antique markets and garage sales.

I’ve taken a course on the culinary arts. If I wasn’t majoring in art, I would go to a culinary school.

I’ve never broken a bone (knock on wood) yet I’ve had many concussions!

Things I Do In My Downtime:

Read.

Work on artworks.

Bake or cook.

Play videogames for hours.

Garden.

Mediate or nap, depends on the day :)

Videocall my friends.

Watch television or YouTube.

Favorite Movies/Shows:

The Craft

Crimson Peak

Sweeny Todd: Demon Barber of Fleet Street

The Invisible Man (1933)

Elvira Mistress of the Dark

GATTACA

Midnight Mass

House on haunted Hill

Repo! The Genetic Opera

The Love Witch

Dark Shadows (show)

Netflix’s Dracula

Raw

The Ritual

Monty Python: The Life of Brian

Charmed

Ginger Snaps

Currently Watching:

Vampire Hunter D

Errementari

Until Dawn France

Sabrina the Teenage Witch

Kitchen Nightmares

Teen Witch

Nosferatu

Columbo

#my posts #witchcraft #meet the witch #thought this was very fun #rambles

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the-fiction-witch · 1 year

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Dec 21st The Christmas Deal

Media pistol

Character Malcolm

Couple Malcolm X Reader

Rating kinda dark and sad + funny

21st of December 2022

I smiled widely as I worked on the little tree, making sure it looked pretty but also doing my best to make sure the children were happy, Joseph happily helped but adding things to the tree, little Bridget on my hip with a bauble in her hand enjoying its sweet sparkle.

I heard the keys in the door, "Ohh whos that?" I giggled

"Papa!" Little Bridget giggled

"Hi daddy" Joseph smiled as the door opened revealing Malcolm who dumped his keys in the pot beside the door and began slipping off his jacket

"Hello, Malcolm. How was work?"

"Fine" he sighed coming through to the living room and giving josephs hair a tussle "Real son" and gave my cheek a kiss taking Bridget from me to give her a cuddle "Daughter. oh god what has happened to your head?"

"I braided her hair"

"why?"

"She wanted a little rapunzel plait didn't you darling"

"Yeah!"

"Whatever" he sighed going and opening the window getting himself a cigarette "what are you doing anyway?'

"Putting up the tree."

"Really?"

"Course."

"Aren't you gonna help daddy?" Joseph asked

"No I am not."

"Why not papa?" Bridget whined

"Christmas is an overhyped over glorified cash cow only pushed so hard so companies make money. Linked with a coopted holiday in an attempt at religious reeducation"

"Malcolm" I warned

"No no. Let me do this" he says "Christmas is nothing. It started as a Roman feast to get pissed and cross dress. It didn't catch on too well in Europe given the pagan grasp on the area at the time, celebrating yule once again an excuse to go into the woods burn shit and get drunk, once Christianity came along it wasn't all peace, love and Goodwill no this was back when Christianity had some balls. Slaughtering Catholics and burning witches but given how widespread the various roots of paganism where people refused to part with the pagan parties so in a moment of corrupted genius they combined the birth of Christ with Yule. Knowone has any clue when Jesus was born let alone it having anything to do with a manger, they simply coopted the holiday and made the tradition of burning the biggest tree into lighting the tree with candles and sparkling things, people continued to get drunk as was the holidays main focus, at times drunk mobs would take over streets demanding the best foods and wines for grand stolen feasts. In fact Christmas was so disliked and had such a bad rap for drunken madness it was banned in various American colonies it's only after years of slow introduction all these symbols and festivities seeped into popular culture, but the whole idea from the tree, to lights, to the presents to simply the songs sung its all bullish with a horrible history that's been taken in by greedy stores and religious figures to demand conformity and make money. You imagine the kinda money from donations alone the church makes at Christmas, or how much money just from trees stores make. So excuse me if I want no part in your madness"

Bridget began to cry and Joseph sat on the floor teary eyed

"Malcolm. A word." I snapped putting Bridget down

"Why?" He asked and I didn't even speak I just grabbed his ear and janked him into the kitchen

"What the fuck!"

"What?"

"The fuck was that!"

"You know how I feel about this type of shit."

"Yeah I do. Doesn't mean you have to be a fucking cunt about it"

"What's your problems. I do the same for every holiday you've never had an issue before"

"Because Malcolm Christmas is different"

"Oh what you really doing this?"

"Malcolm. I don't give a shit. I had my happy holidays when I was little and honestly I think your kinda bang on with alot of the corruption of the industry but" I explained "Joseph and Bridget are kids."

"So? Let them learn while there young"

"Malcolm. Please." I told him "I don't ask for much. I accept we don't celebrate the holidays especially religious ones but please let the kids have Christmas. We both know Joseph hasn't had anything close to a normal life and likely never will. Neither will Bridget. But they love it just let them have it Malcolm please"

"..... Fine" he rolled his eyes

"Ummm thank you" I smiled hugging him closely "knowone said our Christmas had to be normal we'll make it special all our own"

"Alright. On one condition."

"What?"

"I get to make you an advent calendar"

".... okay."

"And whatever it says behind each door. You have to do for me."

"Fine"

"Yes!" He smirked "I know exactly what's coming on the twenty fifth!"

"You I assume."

"Yes."

"So we're agreed"

"Agreed"

"Good. Be nice." I remind as we headed back out to deal with the children.

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