#wood essence candles

[undercoverpena]

10. cranberry cocktail

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter ten of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3k chapter warnings: SMUT. 18+. jo's bad use and knowledge of DIY. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is called jo made herself horny. see author note at the end.

prev chapter | series masterlist

It’s difficult not to smile as you approach.

His voice, mid-singing—almost competing with the radio that lingers under his voice—had been travelling out as you walked up to the building. Louder when you pulled open the door, sliding the sunglasses from your face.

A few blinks and your eyes capture his, singing dying out, leaving the original artist blaring around in the background.

Still, you're unable to stifle the smile. Not as you walk closer or as he puts down the tool in hand; least of all when you realise he's looking only half as abashed as you would be if he caught you mid-rendition, watching him dial down the volume on the radio as the door closes behind you.

Frankie had shown you this place once before. Your voice, light, teasing, hand in his: “You’re showing me where the magic happens?”

“I’ve shown you where that happens.”

“Not that magic—or, well, I hope you’re not about to tell me there are even more videos on a different site I need to watch. I’ve been forced to rewatch things lately.”

He’d explained, with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eye, how he’d turned the garage into a workshop. The hours, the pieces he’d started with and the things he’s managed to build, find or bargain for along the way. Even lingered his thumb over the height chart for Luca, the one he told you he began when he first bought the run-down house he made a home.

It was impressive then, but you hadn’t appreciated it as much as you do stepping in today.

You'd been too busy then, watching, studying him. Spotting the way he trailed his thumb across his bottom lip, eyes widening as they tried to smile before his lips as he pointed out highlights he knew you’d have seen from certain videos you’d mentioned.

Now, it's all lit by soft, mid-morning sunlight, looking homely, loved, worn in and appreciated—everything you’d expect from him.

Even if things are out, such as plasterboard and wood leaning against odd edges, everything else has a place. Just like the scent that wanders around and flows as if there’s a constant candle burning, one which includes notes of freshly applied paint, the essence of sawdust and leather. A blended aroma that subtlety clings to his clothes—and then lingers inside your own. A thing which brings comfort, until it seeps in sadness upon the realisation that it's faded from a sweater, bedsheets or your throw after a few days of not seeing him in person.

"Hi, handsome."

He grins, a hello escaping out as his knuckle tips your chin up, your smile back presses to his mouth. Tasting his lips, how they’re tinged with coffee. Frankie planting it more intently as your hands find their way around his waist, heightening it, fingers grasping your cheek.

You swear you could kiss him forever. A thought you know you have continuously, almost every time his mouth finds yours. But you mean it.

Completely. Utterly.

Your palms sliding around, fingers brushing over dry, hard paint specks buried into the soft, beloved cotton of his tee.

“So,” you say when you pull away, teeth biting your lip—finding yourself staring at him, as though his face alone answers everything.

In some ways, you're adamant it does. In others, you know it will.

A feeling that thrums more and more intensely as weeks rack up into months, as your heart flutters in your chest when his eyes hold yours for a second longer than normal.

“What has prompted this little requested visit?”

Grinning, he traces his thumb along your jaw. “Thought you could drill some holes—for your cupboards?”

Smirking, dragging your tongue in a sweeping motion across your lip, you tap your fingers on his waist. “Drill, ay? I didn’t… exactly come dressed to be in your workshop.”

“Wait,” he says, eyes widening, mouth pulled into a line as he brushes his fingers down the fabric of your summer dress that rests along your collarbone. “This isn’t an everyday DIY outfit?”

Grinning, you nudge into him, head shaking—hand grasping a handful of his tee. “No.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, voice dropping, charm encasing each letter as his hands find a home on your hips, “I’ll make sure you don’t get messy.”

A soft laugh escapes you, feeling the way his thumb continues its gentle circling on your cheekbone.

“You on cleanup duty, then?” you reply, the words muffled against his lips. He hums in response, a sound of agreement that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Without pulling away, he gently guides you towards the bench—hands on your side as his chin rests on your shoulder.

One glance at him, and he offers you a comforting smile. Before it comes over him, that voice—the one from the videos. All lightly, but sternly instructing you. Talking you through the steps, before he tells you to pick up the black and orange drill from in front of you.

A lick of warmth slides up your spine, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you press closer to him, your body beginning to buzz from the way he’s pressed against you—his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your waist.

“We’re going to begin with drilling the holes for the handles.”

Rolling your lips, you rest your head against his. “Okay.”

“What you’re gonna do is lightly ease the drill in.”

“Is that so?”

Clearing his throat, you swear you hear your name, it followed quickly by a “Stop.”

“Stop what, Frankie?”

It’s a grunt. A thing buried in his throat before he takes a measured sigh. His hand rises, gripping the top of the power tool before lining the drill bit with the marked wood.

“Being a tease—now, lightly pull the trigger.”

Blanking your face, staring at him with confusion. “So, push it in and out?”

You watch it hit him—slowly. It washes over him in a few blinks, your hips wiggling against his before he groans again. “You’re killing me.”

“I’m very innocent, Morales.”

“Mierda. You’re the opposite of innocent. And no, it’s straight down. Not in and out—we’re not… we’re not fucking it.”

Giggling, you bite the inside of your cheek, adjusting your stance as you swear his groin pushes into your ass on purpose. Finding a way to mumble an okay, you shift your shoulders in preparation. Asking, finger hovering over the trigger of the drill, if you squeeze it lightly as you feel him nod.

Swallowing, you give it a test. A little click. Hearing it, before you see thin crinkles of wood coming away from the pressure.

“Like that?”

Somehow, all beyond you, you manage to keep your voice steady. It all unwilling to tremble—even though his breath is dancing over your neck. Even though his hold on your hip is tightening.

Then there’s the heat pulsating through your dress—the warmth settling into your bones, skin and muscle from his touch. Your body remembering, recalling—able to know just from his presence what he can do, what he has done, how he can unravel you and make you become a mess all from his fingers, mouth and—

“Bit more pressure this time, baby.”

“You can’t say that.”

Snorting, the air dances over your skin as you swear you feel him smirk. “Oh, Rainy. I can.”

You swear his voice drops an octave.

Sweeping the words over you, making your body tense, muscles twisting in on themselves as you try to focus on the drill in your hand. Stare down at the piece of wood he’s set up for you until it’s a blur. Nodding. Finger over the button, knowing you just need to squeeze—

Perfect, he whispers.

And fuck it makes your thighs press together. Makes something rumble inside of you at the same time as the drill fires to life.

The noise is all loud, alarming—deafening. A hole deepening in the wood.

“That's it, just like that. Perfecto, hermosa.”

Even with how loud it is, you can only hear him.

How he layers so much emphasis on the P, the letter is still skating over your skin by the time the rest that follows it has left his tongue.

You can only swallow. Remaining aware, and yet focused in, on how his hand slides down, fingers teasing the end of your dress—a quickly thrown-on thing, an easy option that meant you could arrive here sooner.

“You’re perfect,” he says, kissing it against your neck as his hand slides under your dress, palm flat to your thigh, dragging it up, and up.

Some part of you, all distant, feels him take the drill, hears a click, before it’s out of sight, out of fucking mind.

Then it’s just thick fingers you focus on, how they slide, rub, torture over your underwear—feeling like minutes, hours, days before he manoeuvres. Before he’s forcing elastic to cut into your skin, before you feel him trace along the places you need him desperately.

“Frankie…”

He drags his nose against the side of your face, feeling the exhale flutter against your jaw before he makes you gasp before it grows into a shameless whine.

“This not what you wanted?”

Swallowing, your eyelids quiver. Some part of you, a present part of you that isn’t lost in the way he’s stroking up and down your slick folds, occasionally catching your clit, that he isn’t going to let you come like this.

Even if he's told you he likes the way you sound, has confessed that he likes watching you unravel; his favourite pastime, his favourite movie and soundtrack.

“Need to hear you, Rainy?”

“Want you,” you pant, breathless.

He fans hot breath on your skin. “Want me to fuck you here, baby? On my bench. Hmm?”

You’re fluttering, desperately to squeeze him—fingers or cock, you’re not in a frame of mind to be fussy.

Mind changing, singing, practically bellowing: please, please, fucking, please. Body thrumming, vibrating, legs desperate to shake—if not for the fact they’re keeping you upright. Your fingers find a place on his bench, digging, barely making a mark against the rest on his workbench. But it’s stable, rigid.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, softer, dripping it into your ear like honey—all encased in air that seeps inside of you and makes you forced to chase his lips.

It’s against them you say please. Kissing a y, an e and a s against his mouth, licking past his teeth, hips rocking into his fingers as he circles and circles and circles—

Then, nothing.

Retraction, emptiness. A desperate whine emerges, rising from the back of your throat until it fuses with the air.

An explanation almost demanded, but his belt buckle undoing silences you. His clothed cock presses against you, feeling how hard he is, the size of him making you clench your thighs as cool air kisses the back of your legs when he grabs a fist full of your dress.

“Gonna get rid of these.”

It’s deft, his finger—hooking in the band of your panties as he drags the soaked fabric down your thighs, letting it fall the rest of the way as the fabric finds a home around your ankles. For a moment they just remain there, not entirely confident you can step out of them until he holds you steady, talks you through it:

One foot, then the other. That's it, baby.

Because your body is on auto-pilot, doing things for you, for him. Like parting your thighs as his hand rests on your back as he softly urges you down. Your forearms find the bench, hingeing at the waist, lying your chest flat on his bench, sawdust filling your nose and stitching itself into the upper part of your dress as you turn your head, flakes sticking to your cheek.

And for a moment, an expanse of time, you forget how to breathe, how to be, where you are as you stare at him.

This man, this person who one day you didn’t know and the next you did—is now yours, all yours. Mine, he’d said in bedsheets after the conversation in the kitchen. Like that you’re mine, Rainy. A man you trust, like, lov—

Frankie, who is all handsome, broad and fucking kind, is now looking at you as if you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to devour in his life. Do it, you silently plead, beg, metaphorically getting on your knees as he washes you in almond-brown eyes.

He’s a sight you couldn’t have ever made up, least of all this one. Fingers, thick—one wrapped in a bandaid—pulling down on the brim of his hat, hiding his eyes, casting half of him in a shadow that makes you almost moan. There’s just the tip of his nose, just his mouth on show, lips spread and curled into a smirk as he lines his cock at your entrance.

You sure? He asks, fingers brushing over your hip, keeping the fabric back, as you smile, nod, and whisper for him to make you feel good before he eases the head of his cock in. It's then your mouth parts around a silent cry of his name, pussy welcoming each inch of him, opening, as you let him slide all he wants to give.

“Know you can take me,” he hushes, “I’m good at measurements, calculations—“

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, you like that.”

Whining his name, he smirks. Because both the feel of him and the act is something you couldn’t have ever concocted. Fuck, a year ago you wouldn’t believe the person you are either. Not this confident being almost laid down on his workbench, feeling this good, this attractive, all bold—asking for this, for what you want. No flicker of shyness or nervousness.

Then there’s him. A sight your mind is struggling to process. Frankie with his teeth glistening with spit as he stares down at you, as he sweeps that burning gaze over you and grunts at the feel of you. One hand, large, slightly calloused, finding meaning on your waist, the other holding your dress up your spine, pressing down, light, but firm—don’t move, baby, stay still.

As if you ever would.

The stretch is welcomed, a dull ache answered, all buried to the hilt. Remaining there, still.

“Move, please—fuck, Frankie, I beg of you.”

He chuckles. A low laugh.

But he does, pulling out before driving back in, making your vision swim, blur. It all overwhelming. Both the sensation and everything else—scents, sounds and touch. His hips slowly moving, his belt buckle clanging and it’s easier to find yourself draped over the bench, cheeks on the wood, inhaling it—the scent that lives in his clothes, in his fingers and aura.

Frankie, just Frankie. Your Frankie—

“So g—fuck—good for me.”

Your fingers dig, grasp—his cock kissing that spot inside of you that forces your toes to curl in your shoes, your mouth managing half of his name before it fades to a moan. All breathy, doused in whimpers and yes’s falling in a verse that leads to a chorus.

“Feel so—oh, good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

“Perfect. Feel perfect.”

He moans—low, tinged in a grunt, a hiss, your name etched somewhere in the sound—as he pulls almost all the way out, drawn out, an emptiness beginning to register before he thrusts in. Somehow deeper, somehow filling you more perfectly as you squeeze your grip on the bench.

And you’re close, all light and boneless—but heavy and alive, so alive you feel like fire courses in your veins and you could become more flame than a person.

“Come for me, baby. Right on my bench—fuck, you feel good, so tight—need y’to come. Right here.”

And it crashes against you, all of it. Suddenly unable to smell a thing, hear a thing—you just feel. Feel the sensation of just him and the tip of him hitting that spot which makes you arch as pleasure, all blinding and molten lava rushes through your blood, and flows into your muscles.

All numb and yet tingly.

It takes a moment, but your senses come back one by one, panting, breathless—muscles tired and depleted—as you feel his hips stuttering, the strained noises from behind forcing your eyes open.

He’s a picture, a work of art—a statue that should be carved by someone with talent. Sun streaks in and basks him in a golden hue, illuminating that heart patch on his jaw—the way his tongue is pinned between pearly white teeth, and the vein in his neck throbs angrily as he reaches his own climax.

You clench, aware of it, ogling and admiring pushing him over the edge as he curses, tensing, rigid, pace lost as he spills inside of you, happily taking it all, wishing to wring him dry and ensure he’s empty. Greedy, desperate and fucking needy.

Before his body finds refuge on top of yours, heart hammering against your spine—hat falling, tumbling off onto the floor as the two of you catch your breaths. His hand finds your cheek, stroking his thumb against it.

“Never… I’ve never done that before.”

Smiling, you gaze at him as best as you can. “I like how you drill,” you say, playfully, feeling his laugh rumble through him before he kisses your hairline.

It’s light—perfect.

Feeling the laugh bounce from bone to bone inside of you before he turns and eases you up, chest to chest, murmuring against your lips about a shower, about cleaning you up. And you keep smiling, even more so when he checks your chin and cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing over and over.

“You promised me I wouldn’t get messy.”

Thumb pausing on your cheek, he smirks. “I can clean you up, baby?”

Smirking, you shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “How are you planning on doing that?”

He tilts his head, before slowly grasping the bench, descending to his knees. Your mouth unable to stop itself from falling open, all wide, surprised as he presses a kiss to your knee.

“Might want to hold onto something, baby,” he says, writing it against your inner thigh. “Might take me a minute to make sure you’re all cleaned up.”

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while we still have some more chapters of these two, I've been experimenting with a few things and while it won't have any bearing on the main series, there will be some smutty-one-shots that can be read as and when, and if so people wish. they won't require reading of the series, but rather allow anyone to enjoy two people who are becoming comfortable with one another, exploring a few different things. i'm not sure on when the first will be out, but it won't replace normal uploads for them. but rather just be small little things i'd love to include but would feel shoe-horned into my plan. also if there's anything you'd love a bit more of, whether it's a bit more on rainy/frankie or their relationship, my inbox is always open. thank you for letting these pair into your heart.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #francisco morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[lunar-witches]

🍁🔮 10 Autumn Witchy Practices🌙🍂

1. 🌕 Harvest Moon Rites 🌾

Under the luminescent embrace of the Harvest Moon, unveil rituals of abundance, manifestation, and profound connection. Ignite candles, consecrate your sacred space, and let the moon's ethereal glow infuse your spells with celestial might.

2. 🎃 The Magic of the Pumpkin 🎃

Beyond their pumpkin spice allure, pumpkins hold an enchanting power. Carve intricate sigils, transform them into altars, or concoct elixirs infused with their mystical essence. These gourds harbor the key to banishing negativity and inviting prosperity.

3. 🌿 Herbal Alchemy 🍂

Autumn bestows a trove of botanical treasures, each brimming with magical potency. Sage purifies, rosemary shields, and cinnamon invokes warmth and abundance. Mix these sacred herbs to craft your own elixirs and brews, weaving your intentions into existence.

4. 🍂 Communion with the Woods 🌲

Step into the ancient embrace of the forest, where whispers of forgotten wisdom linger. Wander among the trees, meditate beneath their boughs, or collect leaves to attune yourself to the Earth's ancient heartbeat.

5. 🕯️ The Enchantment of Candle Magic ✨

Autumn's chill beckons the flicker of candles, a gateway to the supernatural. Harness the essence of colors and scents to amplify your spells. Pink for love, purple for wisdom—light the way to your desires and witness their manifestation.

6. 🍎 Divination with Apples 🍏

Beyond the bobbing game lies an age-old divination practice. Inscribe your queries upon apple peels, release them into a vessel of water, and interpret the apple's message as it floats toward your answer. It's like conversing with the spirits themselves.

7. 🌙 Moonwater's Mystique 🌊

Capture the moon's ethereal energy with the creation of moonwater. Leave a vessel under the moonlight to charge, and use this elixir for cleansing and empowering your magical tools. It's the alchemical elixir that bridges the realms.

8. 🍁 Tarot of the Autumn Leaves 🍂

Trade your tarot deck for the wisdom of autumn's multicolored leaves. Attribute meanings to each leaf type and let the breeze guide your selection. Mother Nature herself shall unfurl the secrets of your destiny.

9. 🎶 The Enchanted Melody 🎶

Compose a bewitching playlist that resonates with your inner mystic. Whether it's the haunting melodies of Loreena McKennitt, the ethereal ballads of Donovan, or the timeless harmonies of Fleetwood Mac, let the music inspire your enchantments, guiding your spirits as you dance beneath the moonlight.

10. 🧹 The Broomstick's Esoteric Purpose 🧹

While soaring on broomsticks remains the stuff of legend, your broom holds symbolic significance. Use it to cleanse your sacred space, banish negativity, and usher in blessings and abundance. It's the earthly bridge to the astral realms.

My Ko-Fi

#witchblr #cozycore #witchcraft #witches of tumblr #autumn #fall #autumn witch #halloween #fall witch #magick #autumn magick #fall magick #hocus pocus

[raven-awed]

Defense Lessons

Professor Aesop Sharp x fem reader

Summary: Sharp offers Defense Against the Dark Art lessons to J. Pippin’s new employee.

A/n: Couldn’t resist writing for this sexy professor. I’m hoping to write a part 2! Thank you @minichrismd for the help!

*Not my picture

Professor Sharp opened the door to his office and shuffled in. With a flick of his wand the candles and lanterns illuminated.

His office was immaculate, as usual, a potion master's paradise. His shelves were stocked full of every ingredient imaginable, from Ashwinder eggs to Wormwood essence. There wasn’t a single conceivable potion he wouldn’t be able to brew with this stock.

He sighed, glancing down at the full bag he lugged into Hogwarts with him and dropped it carelessly onto the floor. Slowly, he moved to the attached closet, glaring at the door before pulling it open. A frown formed on his face as looked at the crammed shelves and the materials spilling over onto the ground.

Sharp was completely aware that he didn’t have the space for any more ingredients, but he couldn’t resist stopping at J. Pippin’s when he saw that y/n was tending the counter.

That’s how this whole mess started in the first place.

Roughly a month ago he had gone in to purchase Dugbog Tongues, as he no longer felt up to venturing into the Forbidden Forest to hunt down his own. Afterall, he wasn’t a spry wizard anymore, unable to maneuver through the thick woods or climb like he used to, especially with his limp.

When the door chimes had rang over his head, he wasn’t greeted by the familiar face of Mr. Pippins, but the warm smile of a lovely stranger. The gruff professor nodded politely as she welcomed him in and introduced herself as Mr. Pippin’s new assistant.

Her good mood must have been infectious because he soon found himself making small talk with her. She had easily impressed him with her potion’s knowledge and her eagerness to learn and improve. Perhaps if his students were more like her, he’d have more hope for the future.

He huffed again, looking at his recent purchases on the floor. Now everytime he found himself in Hogsmeade, he made some sort of excuse to see her. He dragged a hand over his face, he was too old to be acting like such a fool. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a pretty face anymore, even if she was pleasant to talk to.

Grabbing the new supplies from the floor, he unceremoniously shoved them in the closet and slammed the door shut. He’d deal with that some other time.

In fact, a certain red headed Gryffindor came to mind, he’ll be overjoyed the next time he sneaks in here to steal ingredients. Sharp could just let him know everything in the closet up for grabs, but it was more fun to make him work for it. That Weasley boy would rob him blind if Sharp isn’t careful.

The week progressed as usual, lessons, potion brewing, sending students with minor burns or cuts to the hospital wing. One student had managed to singe his eyebrows off, it was probably the most memorable event of the week.

By the weekend, Professor Sharp was ready for a break, he went to the Three Broomsticks by himself and had a few drinks. He didn’t see y/n on his way over when he passed the potion shop, just Mr. Pippin assisting a couple of customers.

He sighed as he finished his last drink of brandy, setting the empty glass on the bar and rising to his feet.

The autumn air was brisk and the sun was beginning to set as he started walking back to the castle. On the bright side, he saved a few galleons by not spending anything at J Pippin’s, that man already has enough of his salary.

As he slowly headed back to the castle, Sharp froze when he spotted y/n walking towards him, or to be more precise towards Hogsmeade.

A wide friendly smile made its way on her face as she waved at him. “Good evening, Professor Sharp!”

He nodded, “Evening.”

She looked a little less composed than normal, her hair a slightly out of place with leaves sticking out, she was wearing pants instead of her typical uniform she wore at the shop, and there was mud caked onto her boots.

“Did I miss you at the shop?” She asked, her voice was light and sweet. “I was just out collecting some ingredients in the forest.” She held up her sack.

He shook his head, “I’m already set for the week with ingredients.” And probably for the rest of the year, he thought to himself.

They continued to walk towards each other, meeting halfway. Sharp narrowed his eyes and immediately pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket, “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh?” Y/n blinked in surprise while the older man began to clean the blood from her temple.

“What happened out there?” He asked firmly, on the outside he appeared as calm and collected as ever, but he’d be lying if he said that his pulse didn’t start racing at the sight of y/n hurt.

“Poachers,” she answered quietly. “Didn’t know I was so close to their camp before they attacked.”

Sharp frowned, lifting the handkerchief to get a better look at the wound. The cut was long and gushing blood, there also appeared to be some dirt mixed in.

“I’m alright, really I am,” she tried to reassure him, placing her hand on his.

“We should go to the hospital wing, have the nurse check it,” he suggested.

“It’s just a scratch-“

“There are all sorts of things out there in those woods, could get infected if you’re not careful,” he explained. “Come on.”

“But I should really take these back-“

“Your health is more important,” Sharp pointed out. “Parry will understand.”

Sharp escorted y/n to the castle and up to the hospital wing. He lingered while she was examined, sitting quietly with his brow furrowed, while he mulled things over.

It wouldn’t be reasonable for him to ask her not to go back, especially with her line of work. Perhaps he could suggest that next time he could accompany her, however, as a retired auror he knew that dangerous witches and wizards were everywhere, not just lurking in the Forbidden Forest.

From what he had seen y/n had proven to be a capable witch, skilled at potions and quite knowledgeable about other subjects, maybe with more support she could learn to properly defend herself. She most likely knew the basics, but he could show her a few more advanced spells, help her be prepared for next time.

Sharp cleared his throat, his dark eyes locking onto hers as the nurse finished treating the wound. “Starting next week, I’d like to offer you lessons.”

Y/n lifted her brow and tilted her head, “Potion lessons?”

“Defense against the dark arts lessons,” he stated, rising to his feet. “With some practice, I’ll have you ready to take on any dark witch or wizard.”

He acquired a practice dummy from Professor Hecat and brought it up to his classroom. He flicked his wand and all the tables and potion stations moved to the side clearing the space in the center of the classroom.

They met once a week for lessons, Sharp taught y/n advanced spells that were not part of the basic curriculum as well as strategies he had used back when he was auror. Sometimes two seemingly unrelated spells could be a powerful combination if used in the right order at the right moment.

Sharp’s main goal was to get y/n more accustomed to using these spells, make it so it was second nature for her to defend and attack if posed with a threat. The only way for that to happen was practice, lots and lots of practice.

Her nerves and discomfort were apparent from the beginning. Her hand would tremble slightly each time she attempted to produce a combat spell.

“Defensive magic wasn’t exactly my favorite while in school,” she explained one day as Sharp pushed the practice dummy in front of her. “Was always too much pressure, too much risk, I didn’t want to accidentally hurt anyone.”

Sharp sighed, “Unfortunately the world doesn’t share that mindset, cause out there,” he gestured to the window, “There are plenty of witches and wizards who couldn’t care less who they hurt, and if you’re not prepared, you’ll wind up injured again or worse because of one of them.”

Y/n nodded, taking his words in, she hadn’t shared with him how shaken up she had been after the attack. In all honesty, she was quite scared that something like that would indeed happen again.

“Let’s retry that spell,” he directed. “And no holding back this time. It’s important to have conviction when casting, remember that.”

Y/n practices the spell a few more times, getting better with each turn. She wondered if Sharp is this patient with his actual students; she had graduated from Hogwarts before he took on the role of Potions Master.

“You’re improving,” Sharp pointed out as they finished for the evening. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Good night Professor Sharp,” y/n smiled, heading towards the door.

He frowned for a brief moment. “Y/n?” He called.

“Yes,” she answered, spinning around on her heels to face him.

“You know, it’s unnecessary for you to call me ‘professor’,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back. “You aren’t my student.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” y/n pursed her lips for a moment. “Mr. Sharp…?” She addressed him, but unsure as the words left her mouth.

“Aesop would suffice.” His eyes remained as cool as ever, but in truth the matter had been bothering him for quite sometime now. Her referring to him as Professor Sharp presented a hierarchy when there shouldn’t be one, or at least he didn’t want her to think there was one.

“Oh, alright,” she responded, a little wide eyed, heart fluttering more than it should. “Good night Aesop.”

A barely noticeable half smile formed on his lips as he prepared his classroom for the following morning, it even remained as he retired for the night.

In the weeks that followed, Sharp observed y/n’s growth, she had become more confident and casted spells with ease. But besting a dummy in the safety of a classroom was nothing like a real duel.

“Today we will be doing something different,” he explained while shucking off his coat and laying it on the back of his desk chair.

Y/n tilted her head, face heating up as Aesop also removed his tie and vest. “What did you have in mind exactly?”

“Dueling,” he answered with a smirk.

Her face fell, “Me duel you?”

His smirk grew, “I’ll go easy on you, but this is the best way to see how you’d fare in an actual fight.” Aesop drew his wand, “Ready?”

Y/n raised her wand but she hesitated to cast a spell, Sharp, however, didn’t.

“Expelliarmus,” he shouted.

“Protego,” she responded just in the nick of time, deflecting the curse.

Flashes of lights lit up the classroom as the duel evolved into a dance as they circled each other. There wasn’t a single pause or lull between spells.

“Depulso!” Y/n blinked in surprise when the spell actually landed, sending Aesop flying back. Immediately she rushed over.

“Aesop!” She knelt beside him, her hands cupping his face as he groaned slightly. “Are you hurt?”

Her touch was so light and gentle as she cradled his head. It had been quite a long time since anyone touched him like this.

Looking up at her so close to him, his face began heating up. Sharp cleared his throat, “I’m fine.”

“Looks like you can hold your own in a fight,” he commented, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. He frowned for a moment as his own words sunk in. “I suppose that means you don’t need anymore lessons,” he explained solemnly.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

They both stood at the doorway, realizing that they wouldn't be seeing each other anytime soon.

Sharp could try to go back to the shop, but he knew after spending so much time in his classroom that she had noticed his well stocked shelves. He racked his brain for another excuse to spend time with her but he was drawing a blank.

He sighed, glancing at y/n, she had probably had other things to do tonight, “Well, good night-“

“We should get drinks!” Y/n chirped, interrupting him. Her face revealing her excitement over the prospect. “To celebrate and as a thank you!”

“As a thank you?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Yes! For teaching me how to properly defend myself! Nothing big,” she rattled on. “Just drinks and maybe dinner. Does next week work for you at the Three Broomsticks?”

Aesop smiled, “See you next week.”

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp #professor sharp x reader #female reader #reader insert #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic

[magickkate]

Hey, fellow witches and magical souls! Today, let's delve into the nurturing embrace of the element of Earth and uncover its profound significance in the practice of witchcraft. 🌿✨

🌱 Elemental Correspondences: Earth is associated with the North direction, the season of winter, and the midnight hour. Its energy is stable, grounding, and deeply rooted in the physical realm. In the magical circle, Earth represents the manifestation of our intentions, abundance, and fertility.

🌿 Magical Properties: The element of Earth is rich with magical properties that enhance our spells and rituals. Here are some correspondences to incorporate into your practice:

Direction: North

Rules: Stability, foundation, manifestation

Time: Midnight

Season: Winter

Planets: Earth, Saturn

Zodiac: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn

Crystals: Crystals such as green aventurine, moss agate, and hematite resonate with the energy of Earth, grounding and stabilizing our energy while promoting growth and abundance.

Herbs: Herbs like patchouli, sage, and cedar embody the essence of Earth, offering protection, purification, and grounding properties in our magical workings. [remember: white sage is endangered! and be mindful of other practices :D]

Symbols: Symbols associated with Earth include the pentacle and the Tree of Life, representing fertility, growth, and the interconnectedness of all living beings.

Colors: Earthy tones such as green, brown, and earthy reds symbolize the element of Earth and can be used in candles, altar decorations, and ritual attire to amplify its energy.

Ritual Tools: Tools such as the pentacle, salt, and stones are commonly used in Earth magic to ground and center our energy, create sacred space, and connect with the natural world.

🌎 Incorporating Earth Energy: To harness the power of Earth in your practice, spend time connecting with nature, whether it's through gardening, hiking, or simply taking a walk in the woods. Practice grounding exercises, such as visualizing roots extending from your body into the earth, to anchor yourself in the present moment and draw upon the stabilizing energy of the Earth element.

Some of the rituals and practices associated with the element are:

Grounding and Centering: Many earth magic rituals begin with grounding and centering techniques to connect with the Earth's energy and find stability.

Sacred Space Creation: Creating a sacred space, often through rituals like casting a circle, is common in earth magic to establish a connection with the natural world and create a protective boundary.

Offerings and Prayer: Offerings of herbs, grains, or other natural materials are made to the Earth or nature spirits as a way of giving thanks and seeking blessings.

Divination: Some practitioners of earth magic use divination methods such as scrying with natural materials like stones, water, or soil to gain insights and guidance

🌿 Manifesting Abundance: Earth magic is particularly potent for manifesting abundance and prosperity in our lives. Work with Earth correspondences in spells and rituals focused on financial abundance, career success, and material wealth, aligning your intentions with the fertile energy of the Earth to support your manifestations.

Related recipes with Earth are:

Root Vegetable Stew: A hearty stew made with root vegetables such as potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and turnips. Add onions, garlic, and herbs like thyme and rosemary for flavor. This dish symbolizes grounding and stability, as it features ingredients that grow beneath the earth's surface.

Whole Grain Pilaf: A pilaf made with a variety of whole grains such as brown rice, quinoa, barley, or farro. Cook the grains with broth, vegetables, and herbs like sage or parsley for added flavor. Whole grains are associated with fertility and abundance, making this dish a fitting representation of the Earth element.

Herb-infused Bread: Bake a loaf of homemade bread using whole grain flour and infuse it with earthy herbs like rosemary, oregano, or thyme. The process of kneading and shaping the dough can be a meditative practice, connecting you with the Earth's energy as you work with the ingredients.

Roasted Vegetable Medley: Toss a variety of seasonal vegetables such as squash, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, and bell peppers with olive oil, salt, pepper, and herbs. Roast them in the oven until tender and caramelized. This dish celebrates the abundance of the harvest season and the earthy flavors of freshly harvested produce.

Herbal Tea Blend: Create a custom herbal tea blend using dried herbs such as chamomile, nettle, ginger, and licorice root. These herbs are associated with grounding, healing, and nourishment. Steep them in hot water to create a comforting and aromatic beverage that can be enjoyed throughout the day.

Harvest Salad: Combine mixed greens with roasted beets, carrots, walnuts, and goat cheese. Drizzle with a vinaigrette made from olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and Dijon mustard. This salad showcases the vibrant colors and flavors of the harvest season, while also incorporating ingredients that are deeply connected to the Earth.

Ethics and Guidelines:

Respect for Nature: Earth magic emphasizes respect for the Earth and all its inhabitants. Practitioners are encouraged to work in harmony with nature and avoid practices that harm the environment.

Responsibility: Practitioners of earth magic often adhere to the Wiccan Rede or similar ethical principles, which emphasize the importance of acting responsibly and avoiding harm to others.

Personal Empowerment: Earth magic is often seen as a path of personal empowerment, encouraging practitioners to connect with their inner wisdom and intuition while respecting the interconnectedness of all things.

🌿 Embrace the grounding energy of the Earth element, dear witches, and let its nurturing embrace guide you on your magical journey. May you find strength, stability, and abundance in the fertile soil of the Earth's embrace. 🌿🌎✨

Learn more:

Earth Magic by Dodie Graham McKay This book explores various aspects of earth-based spirituality and magic, providing practical guidance for individuals interested in deepening their connection with the Earth. The book covers topics such as:

-> Foundations of Earth Magic: McKay lays the groundwork by discussing the significance of the Earth as a source of spiritual power and wisdom. She emphasizes the importance of cultivating a relationship with nature and honoring its cycles. -> Elements and Correspondences: The book explores the elemental energies of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, highlighting their correspondences and symbolic meanings in magical practice. McKay offers insights into how these elements can be invoked and utilized in rituals and spells. -> Rituals and Practices: Earth Magic provides a variety of rituals, meditations, and exercises designed to deepen one's connection with the Earth and tap into its energies. These practices range from simple grounding techniques to elaborate ceremonies for honoring the seasons and natural cycles. -> Herbalism and Plant Magic: McKay discusses the magical properties of herbs and plants, offering guidance on how to work with them in spellcraft, healing, and spiritual growth. She shares recipes for herbal remedies, incense, and potions, along with tips for cultivating a magical garden. -> Divination and Earth Wisdom: The book explores divinatory practices such as scrying, rune casting, and earth-based tarot readings, showing how these methods can be used to gain insights and guidance from the natural world. -> Ethics and Responsibility: Throughout the book, McKay emphasizes the importance of ethical conduct and responsible stewardship of the Earth. She encourages readers to approach magic with respect, integrity, and a commitment to environmental sustainability.

#queue the magick #witchcraft #witchblr #witch #reference #kitchen witch #magickkate #green witch #witchy #sigils #sea witch #witch aesthetic #witchy vibes #witches #baby witch #beginner witch #college witch #baby witch tips #college witch tips #cottage witch #witch blog #witch tips #witchcraft community #witches of tumblr #witchcore #witchcraft 101 #witchtok #witchy shit #witch community #witchyvibes

[666writingcafe]

The Chamber

Trigger Warning: mentions of not being alive

Thirteen

I should have gone to sleep hours ago, but instead I'm still on my tablet, watching everyone solemnly approach the life candles.

I didn't realize life candles were so pretty. They almost look like jewels.

I'm honestly surprised that MC is still talking to me after Lucifer basically threatened me. I thought he would have scared them into silence.

They're made from essence of life. Each candles is unique to the individual it's assigned to.

"I found our candles!" Belphie, now a purple Little D, exclaims. Sure enough, the brothers' candles are on screen. They really do suit their personality to a tee.

Well, except for the one that's nearly burned all the way down. That must be Beelzebub's.

It looks like it could go out any minute.

At the rate it's burning through essence, he'd be lucky if it lasts another ten minutes.

The others must know how serious this situation is, for they share knowing glances. Silently, Lucifer approaches his candle, picks it up, and pours some of his essence into Beel's. The remaining brothers follow suit.

"Why did you guys shorten your life span?" Beel asks. Lucifer turns to his brother and replies,

"The seven of us have lived for so long, and we've got an impossibly long life ahead of us as well. In the long run, this essence of life is just a drop in the ocean."

"I...I don't know what to say..."

"I wouldn't celebrate quite yet," Solomon interjects. "Your candle is still burning as fast as before, which means that your brothers' contribution only gives us some temporary peace of mind. We're not out of the woods."

Where's my candle?

Fuck. I know they're not asking that merely out of curiosity.

What's with you, MC?

Tell me where my candle is.

Why do you feel the need to sacrifice yourself?

No response. I knew it.

A human life is much shorter than a demon's. You could easily give up a quarter of your life if you're not careful.

I shouldn't even be alive, Thirteen.

Your candle says otherwise.

Does that trump the universe?

What in the hell are you talking about?

You said that you heard so much about me. Did anyone happen to mention that I'm the cause of all the weird phenomena that's been happening in the three realms lately?

You're being dramatic.

No, I'm not, Thirteen. A human should not have the amount of magical power that I do, and the universe knows it, which is why things are literally falling apart. My power is too difficult to control, despite everyone's best efforts, including mine.

It is not your time, MC.

I will only ask you this one more time. Where. Is. My. Candle?!

God, I can't believe they're this hardheaded. They're just as bad as Lucifer!

Wait.

That's why I'm so drawn to MC. They're just like Lucifer.

I wonder...

It's between Beelzebub's and Belphegor's.

That's all you had to say. Was that so difficult?

I watch as a single drop of MC's essence of life causes Beel's candle to shoot a flash a bright white light towards the ceiling before returning to its original state.

That tells me everything I need to know. They are the rightful heir.

I shut off my tablet and begin packing my things. I need to return home and begin looking for the bloody thing. I know it's in the cave somewhere, but it's been so long ago since I tucked it away that it's going to take me a while to find it.

#obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me thirteen #obey me lucifer #obey me beel #obey me solomon

[thewordkeep-ffxiv]

The Meaning of a Smile

Gift drabble for one of my dearest friends, who inspired me with a remark about Leif's smile.

Please scroll through the pictures for the full story!

A plate of food is placed in front of Leif. He sees the flecks of delicate seasoning on the plucked quail, the sag of tender meat off the bone from a perfect, even roast, the heat of the bird touching his lips, the aromas of sustenance serenading his nose. A meal prepared in minutes, served to him with only an exchange of coin as payment versus the months of toil he was used to. A pleased smile.

Sitting at his tree hut, he hears the cadence of monsoon rain drum against the reinforced wood and clay. A candle burns near him for warmth and illumination. His pelts remain dry, as do his clothes. The wind rages outside, palm trees bending to tempest will, but the Viera looks on calmly. He had spent months building this shelter, years altering it to perfection, all paid off in the privilege of watching the rain fall outside instead of enduring it. A relieved smile.

Gears crank, pipes whistle, and pulleys hiss, Leif familiar with their song. He had learned what every button activated, what every faucet engaged, what every lever released with the same ease and familiarity he had saved for swinging through the trees of his distant jungle home. Machinery once intimidated this former tree dweller, the scent of oil and gun smoke heralding violence and loss. Leif now controlled what controlled him, faced what he once feared, and came out the better for it. A proud smile.

Hands grip the bow and arrow with an assured presence of one whose very life depended on the instrument. Leif is slight of build, his hair fair, his face pretty, his eyes captivating. Soft, unassuming, an easy target. His opponents learned quickly that behind the gorgeous façade was a warrior seasoned in battle, an assassin who had seen and tasted blood, a guardian with something to protect. He was not a pushover and would not be taken down by force. A target? No. To glimpse him was to be targeted. A triumphant smile.

Leif remembers the story of each scar—the catalyst that caused them, the events that created them, the pain they inflicted, the turmoil they wrought while healing, the memories they left behind. They told the story of a survivor, a protector, and a soldier who would die to defend all that he loved. Scars meant he lived to procure more, to gain more stories, and he regretted not a single one. Each scar was part of a course described to lead him to his love. A confident smile.

There is a notable warmth to waking up beside someone versus waking up alone that Leif craved. To watch his lover sleep, to study his lover’s features, to brush his fingers against platinum hair. To see those eyes flutter open, rose-colored gaze smiling at the sight of him before that smile reaches those kissable lips. Leif basks in the musky-fresh scent of him, in his soft greeting like the comforting rays of the morning sun, of the feel of his skin beneath wanting fingertips. Never does Leif feel more at peace than in these little moments, and he wishes they could last forever. A sweet smile.

Leif stands against the regret that threatens to bar him from action, shame that fights to keep him sulking, trepidation that steeps his heart in doubt and stills his hand from the path of atonement. His heart will weep, his soul will scar, and his constitution will dim from the weight of what he had said, what he had done, but the flowers he holds tap into his essence, to his intention, and shine bright with remorse…and with hope. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I will never hurt you again. I love you. Will the words of his heart be received? Will his actions of love withstand the shadows of the past? Can he move forward, hand in hand with astin min, defective and damaged as he is? A hopeful smile.

#viera #ffxiv rp #gposers #ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots #thewordkeep #leif renna

[thebowynntradition]

The 7 Sacred Offerings

Within the faith of the Bowynn tradition it is said that the gods ask for only 7 basic types of offering. These seven became the staple of offerings and are called "Tau Numa Abennes", literally The Seven Offerings. The list is as follows

Flowers, Plants, Flora and Foliage. (cut, potted, wreath, garlands)

Uncooked foods. (Fruits, honey, veggies, nuts, grains, herbs,)

Cooked foods. (Meats, cakes,)

The light of a Candle

Incense

Libations of all sorts (Anything liquid from water to brews)

Votive offerings and objects (clay, wax, cloth, wood figures. Objects)

There is technically and 8th form which is personal self, often meaning cuts of hair, nails and drops of blood. These are only used to bless and bind with a sacred religious tool and even then, very minimally. The gods otherwise abhor the sacrifice of life and the disrespect of the body. "Your body be a gift from us immortals, defile it not but instead keep it clean and pure.)

Once a year on New Years {Then Ohenn} a great complete set of all 7 offerings is displayed on Altars and is offered to the gods.

During the Holiday of "Kodex Tor" it is costumery to burn what is called a "Tsa'heka" of incense, which is 'bundle of 100 incense sticks." Sometimes a myst will off a Tsa'heka to the gods when casting a particularly powerful spell that is in dire need.

Unlike Wiccans, the gods of the Bowynn do NOT have any one set of particular offerings they require. That is to say there is no need to attribute only certain scents, colors and food to a particular god or goddess. they will accept any offering if given with all respect and love.

As to why offerings are gifted to the Bowynn gods, it's out of love and respect. For they have given some of the greatest gifts to mankind, its only right to give a gift in return. Brea, the goddess of the earth speaks very clear in this when she replied ...

"For all this that I have given on to you, for the life you live, the air you breath and that land you walk on, the light the lets you see the beauty of the day and the night that lets you sleep, would not you give the same to me? Gift to me a stone, a cutting a grass, a plate of your meal, light, waft of smoke. Kind comes in kind my beloved children and in circle again. Give what you can in love and hurt nothing that I have life to. Give to us, your beloved parents, and in kind we will give to you."

As to the "post offering" or to say what happens after offerings are gifted. the goddess Abbennaea clarifies this in her own words.

"Precious child, fret not because that which you offered is still on the plate. For you see, I take not that which you give to us in the mortal world but instead I take its divine essence, its spirit and love that you have given. And I bring it to those of us who you have offered it to. In turn, we the immortals, turn your gifts into that which is good for all, mortal and immortal alike. Only the scented herbs that you burn for us, we receive directly, as it rises and flies to our presence. Then within the turning of a full day and night, dispose of the mortal husk of your offering into a pit in the earth, into the waves of the sea, the waft of the wind or that is most befitting of such a gracious gift. And take heart knowing your gift has pleased us."

So, in a word, the gods take the divine essence of your gifts to them and after 24 hours you may dispose of the food or plants in a respectable manner, as best one can.

With this, we close with the basic outline of the Bowynn faith. Posts beyond this point will deal with the Holidays that the Bowynn celebrate and the Gods themselves in detail.

#bowynn #pagan #paganism #pagan witch #paganlife #faith #gods #offerings #deity work #goddess #deities #deity worship #Bowynn Tradition

[akumahoshojo]

Castlevania I + II Fanfic: A Horrible Night's Dream (Chapter 1 preview)

I wrote this fic for @eboni-napalm as part of a Halloween gift exchange that started back in like... 2021 😱 After two of the roughest years for me ever (school/health/family/general RL problems all happening at once), I've actually been able to work on it!

While I'm still finishing up my final draft of the first chapter (fingers crossed I can do it before midnight!), I thought I'd post this preview of it here for tonight for any CV fans who might be interested in reading... and hopefully checking out the rest. It's the first 4 out of 8 vignettes to be contained in the completed first chapter, set in CV1 era for now.

Game: Castlevania I and II Pairing: Simon Belmont + CV2's "Mysterious Woman" (😉) Themes: Prophecies, Curses, Fighting Fate, Anachronic Order, Second Person POV, Experimental Style Content Warning: General themes of prejudice, non-graphic human sacrifice scene Thanks so much for your patience eboni-napalm-- I'm so sorry about the delay, but getting to work on this story has been rewarding and challenging in the best kind of way! 💗 Check out the story below!

i. now

To one who dreams the future, the present is the past. And thus all your remembered life has been a divided one, waking eyes on constant guard and inner eye fixed on time untold, like two-faced Janus in the body of a girl.

You've never been able to consider your nighttime visions a power, or even a gift: not when they've only come to you as you've lain helpless in the dark, bringing unwanted glimpses of a greater darkness in the world that encircles the realm of dreams.

And if some force beyond even that world can tear through the layers of time to give you a fleeting glimpse of what lies on the other side, then one lone human attempting to change the future’s design in response seems as futile a task as attempting to prevent an avalanche through the placement of a single snowflake.

But that's never stopped you from trying.

ii. then 

To the citizens of Transylvania, he may have been a savior, but to you, he was no different from the rest of them—which placed him somewhere just above scum. And so, as all of Jova turned excitedly north to welcome their conquering hero home, you chose to remain alone in the wooded outskirts of town, where they'd told you your kind would always belong.

Simon, the latest golden boy of the Belmont clan, with a mane of golden hair and bags of looted gold to match, was already the stuff of legends. He'd journeyed alone only days before to Dracula's stronghold beyond the mountains, slaying its monstrous guards and unholy master in a single night and escaping just in time to watch the demon castle crumble at dawn. Stories of his triumph had already traveled down from the hamlets at the foothills and across the river from the town of Yomi, faster than the news of the Dark Lord's resurrection on the night the Black Mass occurred. 

The night they’d shunned you for the last time.

iii. now

The future creates itself in the darkness behind your closed eyes. Your essence stares back from the depths of your mind.

Another vision, two-sided as always: fate's promise to you, and yours to yourself. You will fight it, the truest part of you swears, in the waking world where dreams can't reach, no matter what you'll see and see again.

It catches you off guard anyway.

As your mind's eye clears, the darkness that clouded it coalesces into a black sea, the crests of dozens of waves rising ominously from its surface. The light comes next—faint touches of distant moonlight and dancing candlelight, refining the indistinct sea of shadows into something all too real.

Hooded worshippers, lit by candles as black as their robes, fill the gutted remains of an old church. The church is dark, and the night outside is darker, showing through the shattered stained-glass windows like a void swallowing up the holy and the fair. Idols and relics, goat-headed demons and inverted stars and things you can't decipher, lurk just at the edges of the shadows.

But it's the thing on the altar that scares you the most.

Nearly shrouded in a tattered black cloak, it lays limp and motionless, sickly pale as any corpse—but with a countenance alert as any living man. Its face is twisted into a rictus of mad triumph, sightless eyes fixed on the crumbled ceiling above and a sky empty of stars, as if to mock, even now, whatever higher power watches from above. You're certain you've never seen it, through this eye or your outers. And yet, the longer you stare, the louder a primal alarm seems to scream from somewhere deep inside you.

Known and unknown, mighty and weak, living and dead—the thing’s very existence is a contradiction made flesh.

Clarity flashes across your mind in the errant glint of candlelight off a fang.

You know, now, what this thing is. Its—his—name is Dracula: scion of the dragon, the devil's very son.

His dark grip still chokes Transylvania as tightly in legend as it did in reality, even a century after his last death. Though the countryside has long healed from the scars of his prior reign, those like yourself, too well acquainted with the occult, feel their phantom ache to this day. It is the pain that springs up with each scornful word and every hostile stare, the chafing knowledge that anyone judged slightly less than normal will never be truly safe from a populace still cowering from even the memory of Dracula's shadow.

Your gaze focuses once more at a sudden shuffling among the faceless worshipers: a parting of the shadow sea. From the darkest corner of the church a maiden is borne, light as spindrift, through the crests. Her dress is pale, and her panicked face is paler. She seems almost to shine amongst the shadows that guide her onward, a lone spot of white nearly consumed by the blackness of the church.

A sacrifice.

As she nears the grim idol that lies in wait upon the altar, one of the encircling shadows shoves her roughly forward. She stumbles against the altar's edge, delicate hands bound tightly behind her back.

You are forced to watch, powerless as always, as present and future slip beyond salvation.

Another shift of the lurking shadows. A fleeting flash of metal. A torrent of blood from the maiden's lovely neck.

As the blood splatters on the leering corpse below, its fanged grin seems only to widen. And with a creeping chill of dread, you realize the thing on the altar isn't a corpse anymore.

The church darkens even more, beyond what seems possible, as the sky through the ceiling is choked by thunderclouds. The candlelight drowns in a shadow sea.

For a moment, you see nothing but blissful darkness, blessed oblivion—for a moment, you can nearly imagine what a normal night's sleep might be.

By the time a flash of lightning illuminates the church once more, Dracula is already gone—the monster loosed from its temporal cage.

You barely notice. You'd seen it, then, when the lightning struck, in what little you could view of the world beyond the church. The outlines of a cityscape all too familiar. The narrow curve of a waning gibbous moon.

Jova. Easter Sunday.

You still have time, you realize.

And, fate willing, so do they.

iv. then

It had been Easter then, the time of the town's yearly carnival. Those dull brick buildings had looked almost inviting, festooned with grand banners and colorful paper lanterns, as lively dances and celebrations went on in the market square. The scenes of joy and community, the swirls of music and laughter, seemed to sweep you up despite yourself, almost softening the heart their world had hardened long before. You were hopeful enough to believe the Lord's Resurrection reason enough for them to accept you, for that one day at least, to heed your warning and save their souls.

You were wrong.

No matter who you approached, no matter how you pleaded, the hatred you'd grown up with, inseparable as your shadow, blocked you at every turn. Maybe it was your clothes, or your accent, or just the fact you knew something they didn't, but whatever attempt you made, they judged it to be wrong. Your warnings, increasingly desperate, were met with insults from even the kindest faces in that celebration, insults steeled with the threat of something worse.

Liar.

Witch.

Unholy.

Unwelcome.

You'd finally turned your back on Jova when the stares began to linger a little too long, when the murmurs in the crowd began to overpower even the sounds of the festivities. You refused to add your own life to the number that would soon be lost.

And you'd tried, dammit. They couldn't say you didn't try. 

If their blood was to be shed, it would not be on your hands.

You told yourself this as you left them all behind, the music growing fainter and the colored lights dimmer with each step you took into the engulfing darkness. They'd just shown they cared nothing for you, for even themselves, so why chance your life for them? You didn't care—you truly didn't care.

But when your prophecy came true and hell came to earth, you suffered with them all the same.

#castlevania #simon belmont #castlevania 1 #simon's quest #castlevania 2 #my fanfiction #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania ii #castlevania i #fanfiction

[m0rbidmacabre]

One For Eternity - Chapter 2

Summary:

Dracopia returns home to his mansion, greeted by his loyal ghouls. He contemplates using a companionship locket to find love and companionship. However, his fire ghoul friend, Dew, advises against it, expressing concerns about free will. Dracopia understands and appreciates Dew's loyalty. Later, Dracopia performs a ritual with the locket, hoping for a faithful companion. Weeks pass with no results, and Dracopia sinks deeper into depression.

Notes:

Hey loves - Just a pre-warning this does get dark at points. so please do look at the trigger warnings, before reading and make sure you take care of yourself. The whole idea for this fic was to push it more horror focused... its one of my other favourite things and i hope you enjoy the build. Please remember that if you have any comments or things that you think might be interesting to add, you can message me here or at any of my other social media pages which are listed at the end. Id love to know your thoughts.

WARNINGS: Vampires, Vampire Bites, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Human/Vampire Relationship, Human/Monster Romance, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Dark Magic, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide

READ ON AO3

Chapter 2

Dracopia moved through the woods thick and fast, silently, the rain and thunder beating down around him with every swift movement he took leading him closer to home. Darkness beginning to veil everything in sight, the loneliness of the darkness taking his very essence as he moved. He was tired, the fatigue beginning to take its hold on him, the travel had been long and made even longer by only being able to travel under cover of nightfall. He knew the closer he got to home the safer he would be, these mountains held nothing for miles... Just animals, maybe a few witches, more vampires, and weary travellers.

Arriving, he pushed open the heavy gates. The glow of the candles from the mansion lighting the grand gothic entranceway. The ghouls must be home he thought to himself. Most of the remaining ghouls that had stayed by his side were the ones that he was bonded to as a Papa, most ghouls lived for centuries, and he was happy to at least have some familiar scents around him. Since he became a vampire, having their company and knowledge had been invaluable to his survival and he was forever grateful to them for staying by his side. Still as loyal as the first day they had met when they were summoned from the depths of hell. His most loyal friend being Dew, a fire ghoul. Dew had been aging faster the last couple of years, but he was still full of his serious wit and stomping feet. There had been times gone by after his reign as Papa that Dew had saved his life. After his brothers had passed, it was unsafe to stay in the clergy. Vultures had destroyed it, picking at the bones of what they had left of the emeritus bloodline. Like all religions, his beloved church had moved into a money-making scheme that sucked the life out of its worshipers. Gone were the days when the dark lord was the true meaning of light and in had rolled an age of greed and gluttony. They had long put church behind them, although Dracopia still kept true to his faith. He was still a servant of the dark lord and that would never change, he followed his same old ways of ritual practice.

Opening the door, he saw a ghoul stood next to the glowing fireplace. The ghoul’s tail whipping around the flames in the darkness of its glow.

“Welcome Home, you look tired” Dew looked over at Dracopia and gave him a warm smile.

“Si, Si, thank you for reminding me of that Dew” he said running his hands through his sodden wet hair.

“I trust you found what you went looking for?” Dew asked.

“Si, I did.” he replied.

“You should rest, we can set up the ritual when you feel better, you should eat... You look like shit. There are some supplies in the kitchen, I went hunting for you.”

“Ah Dew, you do look after me.” Dracopia smiled a warm glow at the fire ghoul, his fangs appearing over his lower lip.

Dracopia walked into the kitchen and saw a skinned deer hanging from its rafters, before finding the blood Dew had stored for him. He poured it into a crystal glass and walked back through to the fireplace and sat down. The fire glow lighting the room they both stood in.

“So, tell me about your travels? I trust the witch was accommodating.” 

“Si, she was.”

He pulled the package from his pocket. “She suggested trying a companionship locket.”

Dews eyes widened. “You do know that once you use that thing that the person it calls. They will lose all free will?”

“Si, she did mention it. But what choice do I have Dew? My life is bleak.”

“You have me Dracopia, you have us... The ghouls, we are here for you.”

He swills the blood around in his glass... His eyes staring deep into the fire. “That is true my old friend, but you will not be around forever. The depths of hell will call you home one day, just like it has everyone else, I am doomed to an eternity of darkness.”  He sighed, taking a sip from his glass. He could feel his body rejuvenating, healing itself as he consumed the blood of the animal.

The fire ghoul stood glaring at him, shaking his head as if he were having an ongoing internal fight with himself.

“I do not think I can help you Dracopia, I don’t think I can help do that to another living being. What are we without are free will? Meer puppets unable to control what happens to our souls.”

Dracopia looked up and met Dews gaze, tugging a small smile to his lips “It is fine old friend, you don’t have too... your soul is clean and will be kept so. You have done so very much for me since we first met, I could not ask you to do something you do not want to do.”

Dews eyes lowered, Dracopia could tell he was feeling bad about his confession. He pulled himself to his feet and walked towards Dew, cupping his hand softly in his cheek... making Dew meet his gaze. “I said it’s fine, don’t beat yourself up.”

Dew sighed, retreating out of Dracopias embrace, leaving Dracopia alone to his thoughts. Dew never liked to think of what will happen when he passes on, but what Dracopia was saying was the truth. he would not be around forever, but he would not be involved in such dangerous magic... not even for his loyal friend who was so desperate to feel some kind of love and life again. There was a line he firmly did not want to cross.

Dracopia sat with his glass, savouring the taste of the blood he was drinking. He sat into the night watching the embers glow into ashes in the old fireplace, thinking about what he was about to do. The memories of his former life flickering in and out of his mind. He thought about a time when he had met a sweet sister of sin in the church, and the times in the autumn they spent laying in the leaves making love as the seasons changed. He could almost smell her now, lavender... Her curly blonde hair wrapping its way around his fingers as he ran his hands through it. He thought for a moment just how soft her skin was when he tended to it and how soft her lips where when he kissed them. He thought about her often, even now, but their love was doomed before it even had chance to grow, it had not been the right time for love, even though he had wanted it more than anything… His role in the church took centre stage and he ended up breaking her heart. Pulling away from her to make his role as Papa the most successful yet. Spending months and years away from the abbey would not have been good for them both anyway. No, she deserved a normal life... Not a life of loneliness like him. A life Dracopia could not have given her. What did he have to show for it now? Nothing. She was dead now, a life that had been fully lived, with a loving partner and children, recalling her sweet smile when he saw her walking hand in hand with her small children, her glow, her laugh as they she played with them though the abbey. He kept his distance after he had called it quits with her but seeing her like that always made him think… what if? And how it broke his heart. It was just another opportunity missed for him, all he had was his own darkness.

He pulled himself out of his memories and looked across the room at the package on the table. It was time he got this finished. He could not take anymore. Once Dracopias ritual was over, he could relax... and wait. His love would show themselves in time.

He walked over to his alter space in the living room and lit the candles, saying the dark lord’s prayer as each one sprung to life. Lighting a sprig of sage and placing it into a golden bowl in the centre of his alter, he went and retrieved the package, unwrapping it from its confines; the beautiful wood carvings brought back to life by the light of the glowing candles. He thumbed the wood in circles as he whispered “Dark Lord, I ask you to give me strength, I ask you to guide me, I ask you to take this locket and help it fulfil its purpose… I ask you to grant me a faithful companion” a small tear forming in the corner of his eye. he stood in silence with his eyes closed, taking in the smells of the sage and the candles, rubbing his fingers over the locket. He hoped this would be the turning point for him, that the dark lord would send him someone that would not need free will anyway, because all they wanted to do was be by his side for eternity. He wrapped the leather string of the locket around his wrist, making it into a bracelet and held the locket tightly in his hand.

—————————————

It had been a few weeks since Dracopia had done the ritual, he was starting to think that the witch had sold him an item that just did not work, or maybe he was just being impatient. His days dragged by in his own sombre lull, his depression deepening. He had thought about ending his life a few times since that night, starving himself into madness, denying his body the blood it craves, but his animalistic nature always took over and he would wake finding that he had lost control and wandered into the woods, killing an animal or human just to get what his body needed. He had woken on the floor of the mansion with Dew nursing him multiple times. His obsession had only deepened since he bought the locket, it was a constant reminder hanging from his wrist and that is what he wanted it for in the first place. To remind himself, to will this being in existence. Even if turning back now was an option, his mind would not have let him.

Dracopia had given himself some time out in the woods just to feel at peace around nature, to clear his head and often it worked for him even though all the scents of the forest often became overpowering to him and his need to hunt would grow the longer he was there, but he enjoyed the thrill of chasing down his prey in the darkness. So much time had passed now since he had been human, he wasn’t that anymore. He was an animalistic being, one that would hunt for blood, a need to survive and thrive in the darkness of time.

Finding peace for him is being in the wild... it’s quietness, it’s freedom. He lives for the moments that make him feel. This night was no different... he pushed through the woods at speed, weaving in and out of the trees in the darkness. His demons pushing him forward as at high speed. No sounds could be heard other than the call of wolves in the distance, until he heard it, A high-pitched wailing, the sound sending chills down his spine. He stopped moving instantly, His sensitive ears trying to focus on where the sound came from. Trying to home in on the sound before he makes the choice to move. He can hear the heartbeat and the fear in whatever it was this hellish sound had just come from and that was it, he was off.

The sound grows louder the closer he darts towards it, dread and tension filling his cold heart. He stops just before he reaches the source, hiding in the distance, in cover of darkness, trying to make out what was happening before he saw her. It was her! The one he had saved in Brasov. She looked different; something was wrong...  

Her eyes were blank, those big brown eyes that were once filled with so much life and fear were now saturated with malevolence and evil. Her eyes dart about in the dark, she seemed to be alone. He takes a step closer, a twig snapping at his feet. He looks at the twig and then back to the girl. Her eyes had already found him. She knew he was there; she had known the whole time.

Their gazes met and Dracopia came out of the darkness.

“Are you ok? I heard you, I’ve come to help” he said in a hushed low voice as if he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be afraid of him, to let her know she wasn’t at risk of harm.

She just looked at him, blankness in her stare and she took a few steps towards him. Dracopia took a step back, letting out a low rumble from his chest. The look in her eyes was something he hadn’t seen before, it didn’t seem human, but she was human right? He saved her from those brutes. She needed him then, but right now she looked like she could take him out with a single swipe, and it scared him.

She took another step closer, eyeing him... her gaze and grin looking like a lioness stalking her prey. Dracopia took off, his speed no match for hers as she rumbles through the woods behind him. He tries to lose her, but she was somehow adept at seeing his moves in the dark and she continued to mimic him.

Another moment longer and she would have had him, if it wasn’t for the sudden arrival of Dew, who pounced on her from the dark, she didn’t see or hear him coming. His ghoul nature gave him the upper hand.  Dew bared his teeth and let out a growl and letting her know his strength. He whipped around her, thick and fast, his tail hitting the dip in back of her legs with force sending her to her knees and with one quick punch to her face, sending her into unconsciousness.

“What the fuck was that Dracopia? Who is she? Where did she come from?”

“I’m not sure, I just heard a scream, and I went to investigate. She sounded like she was in pain, that she needed help. I sensed her fear.”

Dracopia leaving out the fact that he had met her before, that he had saved her.

“We should take her back to the mansion, tie her up and find out who she is. It doesn’t seem safe to leave her out here like this… the look in her eyes when she looked at you Dracopia. She looked like she wanted to kill you”.

Dracopia agreed and the two of them set about securing her and moving her back to the mansion. Her dead weight was nothing for the two of them to move; she was small, and it took little to no effort for a ghoul and a vampire. Luckily their chase had led them closer to the mansion than Dracopia had thought which meant them moving her didn’t take long.

They tied her to a chair near the fireplace. Her hair draped down her face, blood dripping from the busted lip that Dew has given her. She looked like something out of a horror movie. She was scrawny, like she hadn’t eaten in days. Covered in mud and dirt, her dress ripped and ragged. She looked like she had been out in the woods for a while with no protection at all from the elements.

Dracopia watched her with great intrigue as she sat in the chair, unaware of what was going on around her. She was beautiful, even in her current state. He wondered if this was the work of the locket or if she had just happened to find herself here. He wondered what had happened to her after he left her in the bar. She looked like she had been through a rough time, that she needed some care, but he was mostly concerned by her actions in the woods.  She appeared to be out for blood, like she hungered for him.  

“Should we wake her?” Dew asked a low growl coming from his stomach.

“No, no... Let her rest. She looks like she needs it” Dracopia hushed.

#the band ghost #ghost fandom #ghost #ghost fanfiction #ghost bc #cardinal copia #papa copia #papa emeritus 4 #ao3 fanfic #vampires #vampirism #dracopia #cardi c #copia #dewdrop ghost #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghoul #sodo #the nameless ghouls

[theladyoracle]

The Slender Mansion

𖦹⭒°｡⋆𖦹The Lady Oracle AU𖦹⋆°｡⭒𖦹

a/n: just a description of how I see the Slender Mansion, and how it appears in my AU! Enjoy~!

You're being led through the woods by a masked man. He's an initiator of sorts (or rather, a recruiter? You don't really know what or who he is) but against your better judgement, he's persuaded you to follow him. It feels like you've been walking forever, and at some point you question whether or not he even knows where he's taking you. The man doesn't reply, and it almost feels like he's forgotten about you, but after a couple more agonizing minutes - you see it.

The estate makes itself known to you as you exit the trees, the air surrounding it almost seeming to shimmer in a dark yet iridescent fashion. There's something about this place...more than meets the eye.

This mansion is massive. You're not an expert on historical architecture, but something about this house makes the word 'Victorian' come to mind...or maybe 'Edwardian'...? Regardless, you can probably come to the conclusion that this house was constructed of wealth. No one knows how old it truly is.

It must have been gorgeous in its day, but now it's been reduced to peeling paint and cracked foundation, accented by shattered windows and a cobweb-infested front porch. There are no lights on - outside nor shining from the inside. As you approach the porch steps, a feeling of unease crosses you. The only thing in decent condition is the abnormally large front door, and the ornate door knocker that's fastened to it.

Your recruiter grips the knocker and raps it thrice on the mahagony wood. You stand there for what feels like a decade, until inevitably the door finds itself open to you. You enter.

The interior of the manor is vexing. Although the outside is notably massive, it is clear that from the moment you enter the home that the confines of the space are not bound to the walls of the manor. It is much larger on the inside than the out.

The walls vary between dark wood paneling and antique wallpaper. The only light illuminating a majority of the halls are candle lit chandeliers and sconses, in which the candles seemingly never run out of wax nor wick.

The decor changes consistently, and grows more outlandish and strange the deeper you traverse into the manor. Old family photos, oil paintings, and mirrors transform into strange statues that linger in the halls, and hunting trophies of animals you've never thought conceivable to mankind. Each stare at you as you walk past.

You immediately notice the high ceilings and the supernatural darkness that clings to the corners. As if it were an arcane smoke, this void-like essence snakes around every shadow touched crevasse. If you look close enough, you would see the tiny eyes that flicker and oggle at your every move. The Watchers.

Their whispers are next...filling your head with anxiety, doubt, and oddly enough at times....praise. You wonder if their constant hushed ramblings about you is a direct reflection of the Slenderman himself, or perhaps just another tool to manipulate you. They watch you for the first 6 months of your stay with no relent.

There are many doors that line the labyrinthine corridors. Some are locked and inaccessible, while others are almost begging you to open them. It is ill advised to go poking around in the rooms you are unfamiliar with. Some doors you cannot return from.

You would come to find that the estate is no doubt haunted. Icy cold corridors make love with spectral visions in the corners of your eyes as you amble through the halls at night. There are cries, and laughter, and yet you can never determine if these are ghosts or simply other residents of the manor like yourself.

Some ghosts have names and faces, but most of the specters you catch have no faces. If you stare at them too long, they vanish. It's unclear if these ghosts are mourning spirits of residents who came before you, or if they are ancient spirits that the Slenderman has summoned willingly, but you mostly find them comforting. You mostly notice them clearing cobwebs, amongst other tasks. It almost seems to make the mansion itself feel alive - as though the walls can speak to you in the language of creaks and groans.

𖦹⭒°｡⋆𖦹 Other Headcanons to be noted: 𖦹⋆°｡⭒𖦹

The mansion resides in The Woods. It's magical abilities are separate from that of The Collective.

There is an unnerving door knocker on the entrance. It is made of three faces, each with the following petrified expressions: the first face from the left has wide, terrified, bloodshot eyes and its mouth is hanging ajar in fear. The central face holes the knocker in its mouth, it possessed a downturned solemn expression. The third and final face mirrors the one on its left, only it appears to be moreso angry than terrified.

There is a gravel driveway that leads up to the manor. It splits into two sections but they both stop dead before they reach anything

There is a small garage on the left of the manor

There is a large, elaborate garden in the back of the manor. It is fit with a greenhouse and a large hedge maze. There is a large fountain at the center. Very few people are allowed access to this area.

𖦹⭒°｡⋆𖦹 I take requests! 𖦹⋆°｡⭒𖦹

#creepypasta #creepypastafandom #theladyoracle #creepypasta au #theladyoracleau #slenderverse #creepypasta headcanons

[crypticpawpoems]

The Black Hound

The hound, I saw it, big and black, prowling the wood, waiting for its prey to stumble

It seemed like just a dog, but there was something much more to it, something that not many people would believe

But I believe. I saw it

The stars shone not. The moon was full

It glowed the whitest white I had ever seen

It was not that of an eerie yellow, or red, or black moon

The moon was so natural that it was supernatural, the essence of transformation gleaming down to the earth

I remember the hound did not mind the moon, and it came into the open

I was hidden, afraid for that if I moved, I would alert it of my presence

I breathed no breath, for my heartbeat reverberated its drum-like echo in my core, reaching my ears

If I heard it, surely the hound did, too

It happened then, the change in the dog, the terrifying transformation that left me filled with dread of the creature

The demon took the shape of a human, a middle-aged woman

She did not see me, but I saw the menacing look in her eyes

She intended to kill. She wanted to kill

I backed away ever so slowly

Each step took seconds to take. I placed my footing carefully

Yet, fate despised me, and an unexpected snap sounded from under my foot

It was but a single twig, but it felt like I had broken the string of my life

The hound-woman heard the noise and whirled in my direction, sniffing the air

Fate played with me like a violin as my scent shifted downwind

She knew I was there

My heart beat rapidly and was faster than my footsteps on the soft grass

I knew the pursuit would not last long

The beast was almost upon me

My house came into my sight

I ran with the swiftness of a steed and beat the hound to the door

The door would not protect me for long

The hound was savage and merciless as it threw itself again and again against the weak wood

Through my terror, the idea of my survival came to me once I laid my eyes upon the pantry

I rushed inside and grabbed the juiciest slice of meat I could find

I then proceeded into pouring potent poison over the beef

The hound’s cravings would be its downfall

I heard the door splinter in half as the hound crashed through

I flung the meat at the feral canine, and it accepted my offering

The demon ripped, mangled, and consumed the meat with great rage, its red eyes shining

Within seconds after its meal, the hound began to foam at the mouth

It choked on its own blood as it came streaming from its mouth

The demon morphed back to its human state in its final moment, and when the toxin had taken its full effect, its eyes refused to shine

This nightmare was over, but a new one had begun, for when I had gotten close enough to see the woman’s face, I saw that I had killed someone I knew very well

I had killed the master of the house

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

Become part of The Pack on:

YouTube

Patreon

#poem #poetry #crypticpaw #poets of tumblr #authors of tumblr #writers of tumblr #dark #original poem #dark poem #goth #gothic poem #black hound #dog #hell hound #horror #thriller #drama #action #monster #beast #creature

[divineprank]

@gerudospiriit || Have a random starter because this ask I was gonna send ya got way too long! Eyyyyy!

Built within the corpse of a large and sunken pirate ship, a once-proud vessel boasts an impressive captain's quarters that the shadowy man who hides deep within the wretched Forsaken Fortress has lifted and raised into a private dwelling at the top of the cursed island's tallest stone tower. The sounds of the ocean bleed through the cracked wood, warped from the moisture and damaged from its sinking. The crashing and splashing of the sea's waves transform into a symphony of ebb and flow that acts as the musical accompaniment to the dancing of his room's solitary candle. The flame flickers within his lantern, casting its glow against the surrounding walls. The candlelight dancing and swaying in a tribute to a long-forgotten past; the light and darkness seem to be partners, waltzing in a respectful tribute to a crown that nobody remembers, to a king who drowned his own kingdom a long, long time ago.

"Madness…" Weeks had passed since his voice had last dared to escape his lips, since his throat last uttered any words. The effort to speak feels like lifting a weight he hadn't realized was trapping him and holding him down and once his voice emerges, it is but a mere whisper: a ghost of the strength he once commanded.

Time has been a relentless force etching its mark upon him with cruel precision. As if the years have woven themselves into his very essence, betraying the golden power that surges through him and mutating him into something unrecognizable, like curdled milk cooked by his own desert sun. The once-mighty wizard-king that stood tall and proud has acquired a weariness that transcends mere physicality. His visage, once defined by familiar sharp features and unyielding strength now bear the lines and creases of not just one lifetime of trials, but multiple epochs. Wrinkles snake across his brow, etching the burden of his bad choices into every furrow; the crow's feet near his eyes having deepened, becoming much more prominent as they bear the weight of the heavy bags settled beneath them. The facial features of the desert's forgotten champion resemble a testament to the countless nights having spent in contemplation… or torment.

It's as if the cold sea air is not infused with salt, but instead the weight of his regrets pressed against him with each and every misstep and ill-fated decision he has made throughout his extended lifetime like a vice. It's one failure that stands out more vividly than the rest, however. She has been dead for at least a century -- it's a shameful fact that he knows with certainty, even with how hard his tired mind tries to convince him otherwise. Yet, her presence lingers around him like a relentless phantom.

The hallways of the fortress are often filled with the gentle tapping sound of her soft shoes against the stone floors. It's a sound that shouldn't exist within these walls; her footsteps move along corridors that she has never stepped foot in, as she had died long before this place had been built. It's a cruel illusion that plays tricks on his sanity. He knows, logically, that her presence is impossible… But logic has little say over the lies that attack his mind.

Then there's the scent, that familiar fragrance that used to cling to her like a second skin. It was a smell that he cherished back in his youth. One that seeped into his surroundings, practically staining his linens, his pillows, his clothing. The act of washing these materials back then grew into something he despised for fear of losing the comfort that her scent had brought him when duty kept the two lovers separate. Now, that same scent impossibly drifts within the air he breathes, just to remind him of what he once had, what he had once betrayed… And what is now lost.

Sometimes he swears that he hears her voice. It's soft and distant, spoken casually, as though she occupies another realm and is caught in conversation. A fleeting mumble, a whisper that pierces through the barriers of the realm of the living and the kingdom of the dead, only to be snatched away as quickly as it came. It reminds him of the period in which he was imprisoned within the sacred realm: a cruel tease, a tantalizing hint of something intangible, something he can never truly grasp.

Ganondorf paces the cold chambers of his forsaken fortress, his question gnawing at him like a persistent itch. Why? Why does she choose to haunt him now, after all of this time? Why does the weight of her presence press upon him with such intensity? Is it a manifestation of his guilt, his regret, or perhaps it is the longing of his past… The answers always elude him and slip through his fingers like sand. It's within the solitude of this personal torment that he wrestles with memories that refuse to fade, regrets that refuse to be silenced, and a specter that refuses to release its grip on his weary soul. The King of Thieves is haunted by his second-in-command, his ex-fiancé; not just by her memory but by her very essence, a presence that defies reason and even defies time itself. As he tries to weather the storm of his own mind, he wonders in his exhaustion if this torment is his own doing, if it's a punishment that he brought down on himself now that his old soul has begun to stir again with his unyielding obsession with obtaining that golden relic.

For so long the essence of Nabooru has been a relentless shadow that permeate the very walls and floors and stonework of this pirate graveyard. And tonight, especially, the room seems to constrict around him, the air seeming more heavy and charged with an electricity that he can't quite place. His pulse pounds in his ears; the crashing of the ocean outside has grown distant, and the calling from the increased presence of seagulls seems to have completely stopped. Ganondorf's thick brow furrows and a deep line forms, etching itself just above the bridge of his nose.

For the first time in over a century, he sees her. His Nabooru stands before him as if the shadows themselves had been a gateway through time, leading her from the ethereal realm in which she emerged and into his reality. Ganondorf can see her, her image visible with her hands firmly on her hips and her head held high. Her form undulating and bending, appearing as though she is submerged in a gentle current, shimmering and wavering as though the air itself has transformed into fluid. Every contour of her presence seems to ripple as though she is water itself taking on human shape. Her movements graceful and fluid, bending and twisting with a weightless elegance performed beneath the waves of the very ocean itself... Where she most certainly rests. Drowned and abandoned, forgotten to time. It's almost certainly a mirage, but he sees her, unmistakably. His Nabooru.

The Sage of Spirit, the woman he loved, the one who once shared his aspirations, his warmth, his hopes. The way she stands speaks with the same air of strength that used to make his heart quicken. The years that have passed don't seem to have scarred her, leaving no mark upon her perfect form. It's as though she's frozen in time, suspended in the memory of their shared past.

Was this a demonstration of her magic?

The Gerudo male's heart leaps within his chest at the thought and a violent storm of emotions surge to the surface. Disbelief wars with his sense of longing and his tired mind struggles to comprehend the impossible. His weakened voice is caught in his throat and he chokes on his words, both his hands trembling at his sides. Ganondorf blinks several times, certain that he's lost within a dream, or perhaps this is some cruel magic spell that one of his new prisoners had caught him in. Looking at Nabooru's image, he feels as if he's been transported back in time, to a moment when the world was simpler, when his ambitions hadn't yet consumed and destroyed everything in their path like a blazing inferno. His eyes refuse to leave her, knowing not whether Nabooru is a manifestation brought upon by his worsening madness, if she is some actual apparition from beyond the pale, or if her magic projects her image to him from some hidden stronghold of Sages.

In a fit of emotion that closely resembles Ganondorf's troubled pre-teen years, he seizes the only tangible thing he can physically reach: the lantern whose flickering flame casts eerie shadows on the walls. A guttural roar escapes the old man as he hurls his improvised weapon towards her, his anguish and frustration channeling into that single act. The candle's healthy flame splutters in the air and dies before impact, effectively plunging his room into a cold darkness. Even in the absence of light, Nabooru's presence remains. Her form a shadowy silhouette against the blackness. He stands there, chest heaving with a mixture of disbelief and desperation as he was certain that his attack would drive off whatever this was. No, Nabooru is here, before him, a presence he never thought he would encounter ever again. His mind races, struggling to grapple the impossible truth of the reappearance of his confidante, his love, his Nabooru.

"This is madness! Enough!" With a surge of determination fueled by the surreal encounter, the Gerudo King's voice cuts through the darkness like a sharpened blade. His words, once weakened from disuse, now reverberate with a newfound strength. The command in his voice resounds, urging the Gerudo woman explain herself in an echo of authority that he once wielded as the leader of his extinct tribe. This time, he speaks not from the depths of despair, but from a place of resolve, a declaration that he will no longer be held captive by such specters.

#gerudospiriit #Forgotten Legend :: [THE WIND WAKER]

[modernlamps]

The Evolution of Lighting: Aarhus Table Lamps Role in Modern Interiors

Lighting has always been an essential aspect of how we shape and perceive our living spaces. Over time, the way we illuminate our interiors has evolved significantly, shaping the very essence of how we live, work, and relax within our homes and workplaces.

In modern lighting, the Aarhus Table Lamp stands as a beacon of innovation and style. Designed to harmonize with contemporary interiors, this white table lamp represents more than just a light source. It's a fusion of functionality and artistry, catering to the evolving needs of today's interior design landscape.

Historical Perspective: Evolution of Lighting Trends

Ancient Illumination Techniques: Lighting the Past

   Lighting methods of ancient civilizations were pivotal, shaping their daily lives and rituals. From flickering torches to oil lamps and early candlelight, these light sources held cultural and practical significance, illuminating dwellings and sacred spaces alike.

Transition to Ambiance: Candles, Oil Lamps, and Gas Lighting

   The transition from traditional torches to candles, followed by oil lamps and gas lighting, marked a shift towards creating ambiance. Candles brought warmth to homes, while oil lamps improved illumination. Gas lighting further revolutionized interiors, brightening urban areas and public spaces.

Electric Lighting's Revolutionary Impact

   The advent of electric lighting was a turning point, fundamentally altering how interiors were illuminated. Edison’s incandescent bulb and subsequent technological advancements transformed homes and cities, offering brighter and more efficient illumination that revolutionized interior design possibilities.

Shifting Paradigms: Lighting Trends in Modern Interior Design

Unveiling Contemporary Lighting Trends

   Today's lighting trends reflect a blend of innovation and style. LED technology, smart lighting, and minimalist designs are dominating modern interiors, shaping how spaces are illuminated and perceived.

Fusion of Functionality and Aesthetics

   Modern lighting isn't just about brightness; it’s a fusion of function and beauty. Fixtures are designed to complement decor while offering versatile illumination options for various tasks, enhancing both utility and visual appeal.

Lighting's Influence on Ambiance and Mood

   Lighting plays a pivotal role in setting the mood. Warm tones create a cozy atmosphere, while brighter, cooler lights foster productivity. The interplay of light and shadow can dramatically affect how we perceive and experience a space.

The Role of the Aarhus Table Lamp in Contemporary Settings

Overview of the Aarhus Table Lamp's Design and Features

Efficient Power Consumption: The ceramic table lamp operates within a power range of 21W to 30W, emphasizing its energy efficiency. And it contributes to reduced electricity bills while being environmentally conscious.

Adjustable Illumination: You can adjust the brightness of this industrial table lamp to suit your needs, so you're comfortable and functional for any activity.

Space-Saving Design: Its compact and well-thought-out dimensions allow seamless integration into smaller areas or corners, optimizing room layout without compromising on style or utility.

Easy Installation and Maintenance: Its straightforward setup requires no complex assembly; just plug in and use. These unique table lamps are hassle-free to maintain with regular dusting, ensuring a long life and pristine appearance.

Customer Satisfaction and Reviews: There are lots of testimonials from satisfied users praising the lamp's quality, design, and functionality. Positive feedback from customers points out how well it integrates into different environments.

Versatile Applications: Beyond typical residential use, this wood table lamp's adaptability spans professional settings like offices, auditoriums, or conference rooms, enhancing the ambiance and functionality in various scenarios.

Enhanced Ambiance: The warm and white light options cater to diverse ambiance needs. So this marble table lamp creates cozy or invigorating atmospheres based on specific preferences, thereby enriching the user's experience.

Durability and Long Lifespan: The Aarhus table lamp boasts a remarkable lifespan of 30,000 to 50,000 hours under normal use, reflecting its exceptional durability.

Post-Modern Aesthetics: The marble table lamp's simple yet sophisticated design exudes a strong post-modern vibe, adding elegance and style to any setting.

Glare-Free Natural Lighting: It provides glare-free, non-flickering illumination that's great for studying, reading, or working.

Modern Interior Aesthetics of Aarhus Table Lamp

The Aarhus table lamp's design elements align seamlessly with modern interior aesthetics. Its sleek and simple shape embodies minimalist design principles, reflecting contemporary taste. The available body colors—black and white—of this dimmable table lamp ensure versatility, effortlessly blending into diverse interior themes. Additionally, the ceramic, metal, and wood material combination signifies sophistication and durability. This appeals to modern sensibilities seeking elegance and longevity in lighting solutions.

Aarhus Table Lamp Adapts To Diverse Modern Environments

The adaptability of the Aarhus table lamp is one of its standout features. Its versatility extends across varied environments, fitting seamlessly into different spaces such as homes, offices, conference rooms, auditoriums, canteens, and guesthouses. The warm and white light emitting options cater to different ambiance preferences, making it suitable for creating cozy atmospheres or fostering productivity. Its moderate dimensions—40 cm in height, 16 cm upper surface stick body length, 9 cm round light portion width, and 10 cm lower lamp body width—make it suitable for a variety of settings, optimizing both style and functionality.

Innovation and Sustainability: Aarhus Table Lamp's Contribution

The Aarhus Table Lamp features the latest advancements in lighting technology. The modern table lamp utilization of advanced LED technology showcases a leap forward in illumination innovation. This cutting-edge technology ensures optimal illumination and contributes to energy conservation.

The small table lamps are a testament to energy efficiency, operating within a power range of 21W to 30W. This reduces electricity bills and aligns with environmental sustainability efforts. Its eco-conscious design underscores a greener future, blending functionality with environmental responsibility.

Wrapping Up

The Aarhus Table Lamp seamlessly aligns with the essence of contemporary interior design. This lamp isn’t just a light source; it's a catalyst in the evolution of lighting solutions. It redefines how we illuminate our spaces with innovative features, energy efficiency, and adaptability.

As interior design trends evolve, the Aarhus Table Lamp stands as a beacon of change. Its ability to enhance ambiance, cater to diverse settings, and embody eco-friendly practices makes it a dominant factor in interior design and lighting trends.

#MODERN LAMP #small table lamp #led table lamp #white table lamps #bedroom table lamp #Table lamps #table lamp #desk lamp #unique small table lamps

[fuckitwebhaal]

If you could put Bedivere's essence in a candle and sell it, what scent would it be? what color? and like what would be the very ultra specific nontangible vibe sorta name for said candle? 2 wicks??? 3? wood wicks for crackling yes or no

ok truly such a FUN question. i think if i captured bedivere's essence and put it in a candle... it would be something warm? i'm imagining like vanilla bean, mahagony, cinnamon for SURE ... idk if all those smell good together but that's the vibe.

i think the color of the candle should be a very deep dark rich brown with a lighter amberish tint on the edges... i think the nontangible vibe should be nostalgia, new beginnings, the weight lifting off of your shoulders knowing something good will come. yeah.

NAME FOR SAID CANDLE. hilarious if i said "morning stars". keeping it for the bit. 2 wicks (one for him and his beloved.) wood for crackling is a YES

#this is such a unique and fun question #definitely going to be reusing this to ask other people #absolutely delightful #oc: morningstar #bedivere morningstar

[votivecandleholder]

Explore the Symbolic Significance of Kwanzaa Candle Holders

New Post has been published on https://votivecandleholder.com/candle-decoration/explore-the-symbolic-significance-of-kwanzaa-candle-holders

Explore the Symbolic Significance of Kwanzaa Candle Holders

Kwanzaa, a vibrant cultural celebration rooted in African traditions, unites communities to honor heritage and shared values. Explore enchanting Kwanzaa practices and the artistry of Kwanzaa candle holders, adding elegance to the candle-lighting ceremony. From lively festivities to handmade crafts, embrace African culture’s richness during the holiday season. Join us on a joyful journey to discover the impact of Kwanzaa candleholders, one exquisite piece at a time.

Table of Contents

1 The Meaning and Importance of Kwanzaa

2 Different Types of Kwanzaa Candle Holders

3 Rituals and Practices

4 Cultural Significance and Preservation

5 DIY Kwanzaa Candle Holder Ideas

6 Kwanzaa Decorations

The Meaning and Importance of Kwanzaa

Kwanzaa embodies the seven principles symbolized by candles on the Kinara, guiding this dynamic customary practice from December 26th to January 1st.

The Kwanzaa candle holders possess symbolic relevance as they represent the Nguzo Saba principles. Umoja (Unity) calls for togetherness and honoring shared history. Kujichagulia (Self-determination) accepts individuality and shapes destiny. Ujima (Collective work and responsibility) emphasizes cumulative support and improvement. Ujamaa (Cooperative economics) promotes economic empowerment and stability. Nia (Purpose) drives mutual goals and positive results. Kuumba (Creativity) celebrates artistic expression and traditional contributions. Imani (Faith) instills belief in a brighter future. Each candle indicates profound core values, enriching the essence of Kwanzaa.

Gathered around their glow, we adopt these doctrines, igniting positivity and ethical pride.

Different Types of Kwanzaa Candle Holders

Kwanzaa holders are vital, elegant pieces that enhance the holiday’s customs. As the centerpiece of the Kinara, they hold the seven candles illustrating Kwanzaa’s core values. Made from wood, they symbolize African roots and carry deep symbolism, representing legacy.

Conventional candle holders use wood, beads, ceramics, and metals, showcasing cultural abundance. Wooden holders have intricate designs, evoking comfort and rustic charm, while beaded ones offer radiant colors. Ceramic holders depict refinement, metalwork holders bring strength, and clay holders showcase earthy tones and organic shapes, embracing ancient pottery traditions. Their textures and unique forms add an authentic touch to the Kwanzaa candle-lighting ceremony.

Explore contemporary interpretations that fuse modern aesthetics and cultural presentation, offering unconventional designs, from sleek minimalism to bold abstract forms. Whether vintage, artisanal, or contemporary, each holder radiates its charm, symbolizing harmony, ancestry, and treasured values.

Appreciate their beauty and representation, adding warmth and communal pride to your Kwanzaa gatherings. Handcrafted with care, they embody the holiday’s spirit and ideals, reflecting meaningful beliefs. Allow your imagination to lead the way in finding the perfect Kwanzaa candle holders that manifest your distinctive taste, elevating the spirit of your Kwanzaa festivities.

Rituals and Practices

During Kwanzaa, candles are lit in a specific order, enriched by the presence of Kwanzaa candleholders. The ceremony begins with the Mishumaa Saba, symbolizing Umoja (Unity). Subsequent days follow a prescribed order: black candles from left to right, representing Kujichagulia, Ujima, and Imani, and red candles from right to left, symbolizing the same principles. This dance of illumination and reflection adds depth to the festivity.

Lit candles inspire reflective discussions, using candle holders as focal points. These conversations deepen understanding, celebrate achievements, and set intentions. Candle lighting embodies hope, resilience, and a mutual quest toward a brighter future. It fosters solidarity, connects to lineage, and offers transformative experiences. Kwanzaa candleholders witness these rituals, holding the guiding light of unity, self-determination, collective work, and faith.

Cultural Significance and Preservation

Kwanzaa candle holders have profound cultural significance, preserving culture and nurturing community. They express unity, self-determination, collective work, and faith, connecting individuals to their African roots. These holders ensure the longevity of Kwanzaa customs, carrying the memories and experiences of ancestors.

These candleholders deeply influence African diaspora communities, fostering connections and conventional understanding. They spark conversations and reflections, uniting people in observance of their shared heritage and diverse backgrounds. These holders symbolize the unified journey and the importance of embracing diversity within traditions. Recognize the cultural significance of the Kwanzaa candle holders and the importance of it being passed down to ensure the preservation of the prosperity of their culture.

DIY Kwanzaa Candle Holder Ideas

Personalize your Kwanzaa gatherings with DIY Kwanzaa candle holders! Get crafty and express your creativity and personal symbolism. Use alternative materials like glass jars, tin cans, or wooden blocks. Experiment with shapes, patterns, and African-inspired motifs.

Follow these step-by-step instructions: clean and prepare the base material, then paint or wrap jars for an exuberant look, carve or paint symbols on blocks, or mold clay into exceptional shapes. Let them dry, then securely place the candles for safe lighting.

Kwanzaa Decorations

Infuse personal reflection by incorporating elements that represent your family, roots, and aspirations. Involve the whole family, encourage children’s creativity, and share stories and morals. These unique creations enhance your cheerful ambiance and become revered keepsakes.

Finally

Ultimately, it can be said that Kwanzaa candleholders hold a symbolic meaning that goes beyond their physical presence. They signify the values and precepts of Kwanzaa, which allows them to express creativity and personal symbolism. Creating DIY Kwanzaa candleholders adds an individual touch to the celebrations and honors the cultural lineage and traditions. Let’s embrace and appreciate the luxuriance of Kwanzaa, using these candle holders as reminders of unity, self-determination, collective work, and faith. May the festive ambiance shine brightly with the spirit of Kwanzaa!

#Cultural Home Accessories #Holiday Setup #Home Decor #Kwanzaa #Seasonal Decor #Unique Decor

[indigenite]

Elevating Spaces: The Art of Incorporating Home Decor Accents

Creating a harmonious and visually appealing living space goes beyond furniture and paint colors; it's the finesse of incorporating home decor accents that brings a room to life. These accents, whether subtle or bold, hold the power to transform a mundane area into a captivating sanctuary. From artful placement to selecting the right pieces, mastering the art of incorporating home decor accents can turn any house into a home.

Understanding the Essence of Home Decor Accents

Home decor accents encompass a wide array of elements, ranging from textiles, wall art, sculptures, vases, to smaller decorative items like candles, plants, and throw pillows. These accents play a crucial role in adding depth, character, and personal touch to a space. The key lies in balancing these elements to complement the existing aesthetic and evoke the desired ambiance.

Tips for Incorporating Home Decor Accents:

1. Define Your Style:

Before diving into selecting accents, define your style. Are you drawn to minimalism, bohemian vibes, or classic elegance? Understanding your preferences will streamline your accent choices.

2. Create Focal Points:

Use accents strategically to create focal points in a room. A statement piece of art, an ornate mirror, or a boldly patterned rug can draw the eye and anchor the space.

3. Mix Textures and Materials:

Incorporate a variety of textures and materials for visual interest. Combining elements like wood, metal, glass, and textiles adds depth and dimension to the decor.

4. Play with Scale:

Experiment with different sizes of decor items. Pairing large statement pieces with smaller ones creates a balanced and dynamic visual appeal.

5. Consider Functionality:

While aesthetics matter, ensure that the accents serve a purpose. A decorative bowl can also be functional for keys or a vase that doubles as a centerpiece.

6. Embrace Colors Wisely:

Use accent colors to tie the room together. Whether through vibrant throw pillows, a colorful rug, or artwork, incorporating a cohesive color palette brings harmony.

7. Balance and Symmetry:

Maintain a sense of balance and symmetry in the placement of accents. Evenly distribute elements throughout the room to avoid visual clutter.

Inspiration for Home Decor Accents:

1. Wall Art and Mirrors:

Experiment with a diverse range of wall art – from paintings and photographs to wall sculptures. Mirrors not only add depth but also reflect light, making spaces appear larger and brighter.

2. Textiles and Throws:

Introduce warmth and coziness with decorative textiles like throws, blankets, and rugs. Opt for textures that complement the furniture and overall theme of the room.

3. Greenery and Plants:

Indoor plants breathe life into any space. From succulents to larger potted plants, they infuse natural beauty and a refreshing atmosphere.

4. Decorative Lighting:

Lighting fixtures, including statement lamps, pendant lights, or even candles, not only illuminate the space but also serve as striking decor elements.

5. Statement Furniture Pieces:

Incorporate unique furniture pieces that double as accents, such as an intricately designed coffee table, an artistic chair, or a decorative room divider.

6. Personalized Items:

Showcase your personality through personalized accents like family photos, handmade pottery, or souvenirs from travels, adding a unique touch to your space.

7. Collectibles and Artifacts:

Display collectibles or artifacts that tell a story. Antique clocks, vintage books, or cultural artifacts can serve as captivating conversation starters.

Conclusion:

Mastering the art of incorporating home decor accents is about striking a balance between functionality and aesthetics. These accents are the finishing touches that elevate a space, making it reflective of your personality and style. By following these tips and drawing inspiration from various elements, anyone can transform their home into a haven of beauty and comfort. Whether it's a subtle addition or a bold statement, each accent contributes to the overall narrative of your living space, creating an ambiance that resonates with you.

#home decor accents #home decor #interiors #painting