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popculture-hag-shit · 3 years

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Shuppet Ward

It loves vengeful emotions and hangs in rows under the eaves of houses where vengeful people live

So I made these last year bc I wanted Halloween decorations but I'm poor so I dove into my fabric drawer and dragged in a bucket full of dead leaves from the yard and then decided to make it magic lol

What you'll need:

> Fabric; I used some old flannel pjs bc that's what was closet to shuppet colour scheme but use whatever!

> Stuffing; as mentioned I used leaves, but I just didn't have normal stuffing on hand

> a tag lock; this can be a photo, sigil, a name just make sure it'll fit in the head of your shuppet

> optional, an energy source to draw from; I have very little energy of my own so I use store bought instead aka I light a candle and use that energy so I dont have to take a nap after I'm done

> needle, thread and scissors

Before we get into the creation, I'm going to do a quick run down of my headspace for these, bc theory behind things helps me to better employ them

Shuppets are attracted to negative emotions and ill intent, hence their gathering near vengeful peoples homes. So, these little wards act to draw negative emotions being directed to you, be it the evil eye or a curse, which is also the reason for the taglock in each shuppet. It acts as a poppet that represents you meaning that negative energy is significantly less likely to attract to you/stay attached to you and much more likely to latch onto the shuppets instead. This is also why I reccomend multiple shuppets bc then it's just a numbers game!

1. Once you've got all your supplies, lit your candle (or whatever you're using energy from) it's time to get cutting! You're going to cut out one semi circle (diameter 3" or about 8 cm, radius 1 1/2" or about 4 cm) to act as the cone/horn as the top of the shuppets head and two larger circles (7" or about 18 cm is your diameter for the head and 6" or about 15 cm diameter for the skirt). Depending on the fabric and/or preference you may want to first hem the edges of your fabric and if so just add about half an inch (or if you're outside the US, a couple centimeters)

2. Time to get sewing! If you need to hem your fabric fold it over about a centimeter and sew a line of stitches, then fold it over another centimeter and sew your second line of stitches.

3. Once hemming is out of the way, take your semi circle and fold it in half with inside of the fabric facing out. Sew together the two open ends. Then, turn your horn rightside out and set aside.

4. Next is the head of your shuppet! Take your needle and sew a straight line of stitches around the circumference of your larger circle. When you meet the point where you started, pull the thread so it cinches the stitches together, creating a cavity. Add your stuffing and tag lock and then finish by stitching the opening shut.

5. Now it's time to attach the horn and the skirt! Using a whip stitch, attach the open end of your horn to the top of the head of your shuppet. Next, take your skirt and make a circle of stitches attaching the center of the smaller circle to cover the stitched up end of the shuppet (pin down the fabric so your stitches are a radius of 3/4" or about 2 cm out from the stitched up opening)

6. The final step! Get something to hang the horn on (I used paperclips bc I have a lot of those) and hang your shuppets outside your house and dont forget to cleanse! I generally bring them in to cleanse about every few new moons

Happy haunting!

#pokemon magic #pop culture magic #wards #halloween decorations #yes it doesnt have eyes we dont talk about it

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stevesharrlngtons · 3 years

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“A person’s weight as they lie on top of you” & the Kid? :)

have to say that i was more inspired to write this bc of @skarsgard-daydreams ‘ the kid drabbles (:

He suffered from frequent panic attacks.

Ones that could debilitate him for days. Ones where his eyes would lose all ability and all he could hear was blood rushing in his ears. Ones where he would claw at his skin until it crumbled and peeled under his nails and left bloody scabby scars in their wake. One’s where his body would collapse because of the lack of air to his brain due to his ragged breaths.

Since he had begun to stay with you, you had been able to help his severe symptoms. You mostly just gave him space and glasses of water until he calmed down, you’d found out touch could be dangerous for The Kid if he wasn’t the first to initiate, so you mostly gave soothing affirmations from afar while he simmered. Thankfully, your hovering presence was usually enough for him to remember to not mutilate himself when his anxiety took over his motor functions and left him impotent of any feeling except fear. You were grateful you were able to help even in the slightest, and especially if it stopped the faint pink scars from appearing on his arms and legs.

Now that he was out of Shawshank and living in your home, his go to coping mechanism for panic attacks is your closet. When the familiar rush of sour adrenaline would begin to pump through him, when flashes of his captivity and evil would plague him without any hope of blinking them away, he would flee to the safety of your closet. Back to the far wall and hidden amongst your clothes. There he could begin to feel safe again, he could focus on slowing his breaths, his heart rate and mind. He could deeply inhale your scent and ground himself away from his nightmare and back to reality.

The first time this new method came to your attention was one afternoon when you returned home from work. You had been searching the house for him when you hadn’t spotted him in his usual spot on the couch, perched and waiting restlessly for you to return. You tore your small home apart looking for the oversized man, looking in cabinets and behind your washer-dryer in a desperate hunt. When it was time for you to search your bedroom, his faint whimpers and shufflings singled his hiding place from behind the closed door. You had opened the closet gingerly and let out a relieved sigh when you saw him. Though, your relief was short lived after you spotted his tear slick cheeks and the pathetic ball he had curled himself into.

“Oh, Henry,” you had uttered, sitting against the frame of the door, not wanting to crowd him in anyway.

“I saw it all. I saw it all again,” he weeped, shifting closer to the wall he was crowded against.

Your brows meshed in worry, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

The Kid didn’t respond, just continued to stare at you with his multicolored irises through a pair of your dress pants and a long skirt.

“Do you want me to shut the door?” you asked, hoping that options would be easier for him to comprehend and answer.

He gave a feeble nod and wound his hands deeper into the sleeves of his sweater.

“Ok,” you nodded and gave him a soft smile, “I’m going to be in the kitchen if you need anything, alright? Come down whenever you’re ready.”

You started to rise from the floor, but Henry stopped you. His eyes bugged with fear as his hand briskly moved from its folded place on his chest to grab your ankle. His clammy palm pressed itself firmly against your shine and his boney fingers impressed themselves into your skin, in a desperate plea for you to stay.

“Stay.”

The surprise on your face melted quickly into acceptance as you did as he said and scooted across the threshold into the closet, before shutting the door firmly behind you.

This became the new ritual when a panic attack would arise.

In an ideal situation, you would recognize the signs that he was about to slip before it happened. You’d see the way he tucked his chin to his chest, the way he began to pick at the woven threads of his pants, how his breathing would shallow and how he would begin to furral up and rock in place. If you caught on early, you were able to approach him gently and take him by the hand and lead him to your bedroom. He went without comment or hesitation, his fingers limp in your hold as you brought him into the closet to feel safe again. The light always off and, you always at his feet while he curled up into a ball and listened to the even cadence of your breaths.

If you were busy, things got a little trickier. Thankfully, Henry had become very accustomed to your being near when he was spiraling (and with the help of his lack of social awareness) he would just approach you and stick out his hand weakly, eyes averted and shoulders raised around his ears. You could tell by the amount of movement in his fingers how severe the attack had become. If they were flacid and drooping, his fear had just begun; if they were twitching, it was beginning to mount; and if they were jerking and mimming like spiders legs, you knew he was deep in the throes of his frenzied anxiety.

It didn’t matter if you were cooking, or in the shower or on a work call, whatever you had been doing was dropped and forgotten when he stuck out his hand for you. He was your number one priority in that moment (and in most).

It was during a panic attack shortly after the new routine had been created, that you both sat in your dark closet, and Henry spoke, his voice skittish and frail.

“Pressure. I want pressure.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to make your eyes adjust to the darkness so you could make out his face.

“I, I would like weight on top of me. To feel better.” he murmured.

You could tell that he had brought the back of his hand to his mouth for comfort. He liked to rub his lips with the threadbear feeling of his flannel shirt cuffs to calm himself.

“Do you want me to go get your weighted blanket?” you had bought him one a few weeks after he moved in, and he seemed to really enjoy it.

“No.” he said softly.

“Then what, honey?”

There was a long pause before you heard The Kid begin to shuffle on the carpeted floor.

“Just…” he said, before you felt his chilled fingers grasp your own and maneuver you closer to where he lay. You let him move you the way he wanted, trying to be as pliable and relaxed in your movements as possible.

“Here,” he said with finality.

He had used your hand to drag you across the floor until your arm, shoulder and head were splayed across his chest. You knew this wasn’t exactly what he was after, but he wasn’t comfortable manhandling you (and by the little huffs of discontent he was releasing). So, you took it upon yourself to slowly throw your leg over his hips to straddle him, there you settled your body over him comfortably.

“Like this?” you asked and you could already hear his purrs.

“Yes, just like this.”

His nose burrowed into the crook of your neck and his hands found your back, and he discarded clawing at his own sleeves to wind his fingers in your t-shirt. He pressed closer to the wall once more, pressing you both in your new cluster into his safe space.

You knew that this was meant to help him, but you couldn’t help but get pleasure out of the ordeal. The feeling of his hands on you, the feeling of his solid chest below you, his obscene warmth eliminating from his body and greedily sucked up by yours. You could have stayed laying on top of him forever.

“I want to just stay like this.” Henry had said, lips pressed to your throat.

“Then we can,” you had gently scratched patterns against his scalp, “as long as you want.”

“Ok,” he replied, and made no move to release you.

#the kid #the kid x reader #the kid imagine #henry deaver x reader #henry deaver imagine #stevesharrlngtonswrites

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wlw-imagines-blog · 5 years

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I Can Say it Without Words | (Peggy Carter x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Peggy Carter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Major Character loss, and smut, i guess

Word Count: 2k

Summary: I can make you feel good.

Anon: Hello sweetie!!! I just loooove your blog so much and your writing it’s so pretty!!! But I noticed there’s no Peggy in here :( so I’d like to request the smutish write you can post, my queer ass (I’m still figuring out if I’m Bi or Pan, so let’s say queer/not straight ass) will love you forever!!! Maybe a secret relationship between Reader and Peggy, Peg being sad bc she lost Steve and reader comforting her leading to smut and fluff and love… Pleaseeeeeeeee

A/N: Ask and you shall receive.

***

Whenever Peggy Carter walked into S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, the whole room seemed to hold its breath. The women at the switchboards seemed to stop and watch in awe as she sauntered by, skirt skimming their chairs, hat tipped low to cover her eyes. The male agents, looking up from their files and typewriters to cast scornful glances at her, hoping to tear her down with curled lips and narrowed eyes. They were foolish to think so.

When Agent Carter stepped into the office, you felt your heart press into your ribs, creating this nervous, wonderful pressure. Your hands became fidgety; brushing at the hair around your ears, shuffling papers, twisting your fountain pen.

Every woman that worked in the office shared a feeling of pride at how she was unapologetic, combative, even, towards nitwits like Agent Thompson and Agent Dooley.

As she strolled into the office, head up, shoulders back, you felt a warmth prickle the back of your neck. She wore a dark, navy blue ensemble with a shockingly pink hat, the one you remember being on her desk, the day you were hired to work at S.H.I.E.L.D.

It had been a cold October evening when Agent Carter interviewed you. Rain was splattering against the windows of her office as she reviewed your resume and criminal record check. The warm lights of the room coaxed you into a strange sense of comfort. You remembered the tight feeling in your stomach, and the sweat on your palms and brow. On her desk was the fucshia hat and plenty of files and paper, all scattered yet organized. What attracted your attention was the only picture frame on her desk. It held the image of a young, sickly blond man, wearing a white t-shirt and dog tags. His resemblance to Captain America was stunning, but, that man was far too small and skinny to be him.

“I’m going to be perfectly honest, Miss. Y/L/N, your resume and letter of recommendation is flawless,” she had said, interrupting your thoughts. “But you have yet to give me a reason as to why you want to join S.H.I.E.L.D. “

Agent Carter’s hair curled perfectly over her shoulder, the dark brown contrasted the cream of her blouse perfectly. Her chocolate eyes bore into you, like she already had you figured out.

You straightened your back. “Agent Carter. All my life, people have told me I did not have the aptitude to become a government agent. I was never smart enough, never strong enough. never man enough.” You resisted the urge to sneer at the word. “Part of me wants to prove myself to the nay-sayers. Another part wants to be a piece of something bigger that just me. But, all of me wants to make a difference, even if its a small one.”

You thought you saw the ghost of a smile on her red lips. Agent Carter stood, smoothing her navy skirt. You stood too, and accepted the hand shake she offered.

“Miss. Y/L/N, I expect you here at seven a.m, sharp, ready for your training,” Agent Carter’s eyes glinted, clearly excited at your prospects. “Don’t be late.”

As December began, you were still in the preliminary stages of training under Agent Carter’s watchful eye; learning how to operate different firearms, mastering the art of safe-cracking, and properly educating yourself on espionage.

You adjusted the lapels of your blazer, watching Agent Carter approach you.

“Agent Y/L/N,” She greeted. “Down to the basement, I want to see if you’re still sharp with your gun. Go on ahead, I need to clock in.”

You nodded before leaning in. “I’d watch out, ma’am, Thompson’s on a rampage this morning; he heard about the promotion Dooley’s planning on giving you.”

Her lips twisted, as though she was fighting back a smile. “Thank you for the heads up, Y/N, I’ll keep my eyes out.”

You grinned and made your way to the practice room, artfully dodging Agent Thompson, who’s nostrils were flared and face was red.

***

“You’re getting better, y/n,” Agent Carter scribbled something down onto a clipboard. “There’s a definite improvement in accuracy. But if your hold it like this-”

She wrapped an arm around you, hand gripping yours. “Keeping your arms steady. Don’t close one eye.”

Peggy’s voice was like honey in your ears, breath hot against your neck. You fought to keep composure. The room was spinning, but you managed to keep your hand steady on the trigger, pointed at the target on the other side of the room.

Her hand rested on your nip, and you could feel the heat radiate through your slacks.

“There,” Agent Carter murmured. “Pull it.”

You pulled the trigger, and shots rang out in the cement room.

The breathe you were holding escaped in a heavy sigh that you were certain Agent Carter heard.

“Agent Carter?” Dooley’s voice shook the two of you out of your stupor. “I want to talk to you. In my office, now.”

“Thank you, Agent Carter,” you said, unable to look at her.

“Please,” she did not remove her hand from yours. “Call me Peggy.”

You nodded, throat suddenly too tight to speak. Her eyes seemed to say a million things

Then she was gone.

When you pulled on your jacket to leave for the night, all but one office was dark and empty. Agent Carter was still in her office, sitting behind her desk, cradling the picture frame of the blond man.

“Well,” you murmured. “This isn’t how I expected you to celebrate your big promotion.”

She smiled, still looking down. “How did you expect it?”

“I don’t know; a little gloating, a lot of drinking,” You shrugged. “Maybe some debauchery disguised in the form of dancing.”

She laughed, warm and deep, but incredibly weak. “I’m afraid I don’t dance. Not anymore.”

Her finger traced the glass of the picture, and you nodded. She was not going to open up if your pushed it.

You cleared your throat. “Peggy, I’m planning on going out tonight. Perhaps we can celebrate together? Maybe buy a few drinks and talk?” You probed gently. If she interpreted this as a date, you were either screwed, or getting screwed.

She finally looked up, and you noticed hoe red and watery her eyes were. Peggy managed to smile. “Are you asking me on a date, Y/N?”

“Maybe,” You leaned against the door frame. “Only if you want me to.”

Peggy seemed to think over her options, she was almost unreadable. “Where do you have in mind?”

You grinned, offering your hand. I know a place, if you’re ready to party.”

***

“Come on, honey”, you giggled, pulling Peggy along. “This will help you forget about everything.”

Mona’s was a quiet-looking building of red brick with iron bars on blacked out windows. There was a tall, stocky butch out front, hair cropped and gelled back, wearing a striped button down and slacks. She took the cigarette from behind her ear and in one fluid motion, lit it and took a deep drag. It dangled between her lips.

“Hey, Bonnie,” You grinned at the woman.

She offered you a coy smile. “Long time no see, Y/N. Who’s this?”

You wrapped an arm around Peggy. “She’s my guest, Bon. Is it alright that she comes in tonight?”

Bonnie sized her up, and Peggy did not back down. She looked Bonnie in the eye, chin raised. You were caught off guard when Peggy winked at her.

The corner of Bonnie’s mouth raised. “Yeah, she’s good. Come on in.”

You opened the door, revealing a landing, and two staircases; one that led to upstairs apartments, and one that led to the basement. As the door closed, you faced Peggy in the cramped area.

“Peggy, I’m sure you’re aware of what kind of pub this is.”

“Honestly, I’m a touch surprised, Y/N.”

You faltered. “Peggy, this is... it’s a-”

“A lesbian bar?” she asked kindly. “I’m alright with it, Y/N. In fact, I’m more alright with it that you would believe.”

“What?”

“You might find this hard to believe, but I’m quite familiar with Mona’s,” She studied her nails, feigning disinterest. “I’m what you might call a frequent patron.”

This information slapped you in the face. Staying silent, you worked through the information as Peggy continued to speak.

“Y/N, I’m trusting you with this information. No one at S.H.I.E.L.D. can ever find out about the both of us, okay?”

You snapped out of your daze. “Of course! I’m not a ditz. I know a thing or two about secrecy.”

“Good,” that easy smile returned to her face. “If you’d like, Y/N, we can still have a few drinks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I still want to celebrate my promotion.”

You grinned, “Lead the way, mademoiselle.”

The bar was a touch dingy, not bringing in enough funds to keep it completely spotless and well lit, but you found a table for yourself and Peggy. You called out to the bartender to send a bottle of the finest champagne. The pub was moderately crowded with other women all chatting and drinking, paying you no mind. The two of you listened to the jazz from the gramophone, drinking and laughing about the goons at the office.

“It’s infuriating!” Peggy laughed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Thompson wants to be a secretary, not an agent! It felt so good when Dooley gave me the promotion.”

You snickered, champagne sloshing onto the table. “I’ve never seen him so angry.” The bottle was empty, and the clock read one in the morning. “It’s getting late, Peg, I’ve gotta get going. Walk me home?”

The two of you took a cab back to your apartment, and Peggy walked you to the door.

You played with the buttons of her jacket. She swallowed audibly. “So, are you going to invite me in or not?”

The two of you barely made it to the bedroom.

Your lips bumped against Peggy’s neck before latching onto her jaw. You stumbled, pressing her against the bedroom door.

“All you have to say is yes,” You said softly into her skin. “That’s all I need, Peggy.”

She groaned as your lips stayed so tantalizingly far from her mouth. “Fuck me, Y/N, yes.”

Driven by lust, you pressed your lips to hers, letting Peggy open her mouth at her own pace, coaxing your tongue into her mouth. Her hands roamed down your chest, sliding over your breasts until they found your belt.

Peggy pulled away, dragging you closer to the bed by the buckle. You were surprised at how breathless you were, panting as she began to unbutton your shirt. You shed it and your trousers quickly, helping her out of her skirt and blouse, sucking a dark hickey onto her collar bone.

She stood there in her lacy, black panties, gasping when your fingers brushed against her breasts.

A hand gripped the back of your head, keeping you in place, tongue lapping at her chest.

“Fuck,” Peggy groaned. You slipped your hands down her thighs, pressing against the soft flesh of her ass. “Bed. Now.”

You fell on top of her, straddling her waist. Lips brushing against hers, delicate, then rough and filthy. Your hand slowly traveled down Peggy’s chest and navel, resting on her hip. You played with the hem of her panties.

“You’re so beautiful,” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Peggy’s hand gripped your wrist, guiding it beneath her under garment, pulling them off.

As you pressed against her, she let out a shaking gasp. Every movement created a reaction; sometimes quiet, delicious mews, other times they were loud, pleasured moans.

Your hands never left Peggy, pushing in and out of her tight heat, hooking your fingers to brush against her G spot. When you pulled away, she let out a disappointed noise.

You replaced your hand with your thigh. You sighed as Peggy shifted her hips, dragging herself over the skin of your thigh, warm and wet. She moved faster and faster, her moans becoming higher and higher.

“Fuck,” she hissed, teeth clenched, arms thrown around your neck. Peggy cried out, falling into pleasure, back arching into you. You collapsed onto her, breathless.

She pressed a messy kiss your forehead before pulling the sheets over the both of you. You wrapped an arm around her waist, resting your head on her shoulder.

“Goodnight, Peg,” you murmured sleepily, nuzzling closer.

She ran a hand through your hair. “Goodnight, love.”

***

A/N: This is long as heck.

#peggy carter #peggy carter x reader #agent carter #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #writing #wlw

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