Carving pumpkins is definitely not just for little kids. Carve sigils, spells, significant imagery, or anything you want into your pumpkin and fill it with your intention with each cut.
If you’re a closeted witch, carve your witchy stuff (sigils, spells etc) into the inside of the pumpkin, and make the outside just a fun design.
Anoint your tea light or votive candle with herbs and oils to match your intention for the season or year. I personally like to make a couple of these and have them lit while I carve as well as use them in the pumpkin/jack-o-lantern.
Before setting your candle into your pumpkin, sprinkle the insides with herbs that match your intentions and maybe some that have some anti-microbial action as well to help your pumpkin last longer before rotting. Cinnamon and cloves are great for this. The warmth from your candle will release your intentions as well as a lovely scent.
If you want to really absorb all the lovely goodness of the work you’ve put into carving this pumpkin, buy a pie pumpkin (sometimes called sugar pumpkin) carve it the night or day before your Samhain celebration, only use safe, culinary herbs inside and keep an unscented candle lit in it (make sure you only use either a soy or beeswax candle with a cotton, unleaded wick,) and the next day you can roast it in the oven (350*F for about an hour usually does it, or until it’s soft enough to easily sink a fork into) And then share this lovely squash with your spirit friends, witchy friends, family etc at your Samhain meal.
Pumpkins and all other winter squash actually keep for a very long time if stored properly. So you can buy a bunch from a farmers market now while they’re in season. Give them a rinse in a diluted bleach and water solution to kill off any mold spores that might cause premature rotting. Then make them part of your Samhain decor to imbue them with your good intentions and then store them in a garage or somewhere else that stays between 50-60*F and you’ll have delicious, enchanted squash all season long! I’ve had some last for up to 4 months before.
Enjoy this lovely seasonal fruit and may it nourish you all season long
- The metal part of an old tea light
- A wax melter
- Essential oils
- Wax (crayons, old wax, sented wax)
- A cut up sock
- Lavender (ground and whole dried)
Take some wax, could be crayons or left over wax from a candle, those scenty cubes, anything made of wax. Melt it in a wax melter or any other method you have for melting wax. Add in essential oils, I used lemon, it reminds me of cleansing.
While waiting for your wax to melt, take an old sock, cut off the toe and rim so your left with the middle and cut that so its one large piece. Then cut it into approximately ¼th inch stripes. At the end of one of the strips toe a knot. Its recommended that you use cotton thread for a wick instead but i found a sock is more commonto find in your house.
Prepare your old tea light base. Have a cut down one side to release the candle when ready and tape it together til you need it. At this point i took crushed and whole lavender and packed it into the bottom of the tea light base. This can be done by taking a lighter and gently taping the herbs into place, I also previously coated the inside of the tea light base with petrolium jelly to help the herbs stick and the was remove from the metal easier.
Take your fully melted wax and pore it into the tea light base, i used a ladle to transfer the liquid as my wax melter gets rather hot. Wait till a film covers the top and the wax is partially hardened and then insert the sock strip with tweezers pushing the knot the the bottom, this can also be done before adding the wax but it tends to move alot as the was is added causing unnessiccary difficulty.
Use a stick or something long to rest the top of the wick on to keep it up. Add another small layer of wax on the top, this may cause the wick/sock strip to absorb the wax but it will only burn off when lit later.
Wait untill fully hardened, undo the tape and release the wax by carefully pulling the wax from the metal sides. If your wick is long i suggest cutting it shorter. You can reuse the tea light molds or use any other heat proof container and wick to create a candle yourself.
Summary: John and You have a date night out at a Carnival fair. It all fun and games. While passing by a stall one of the grand prizes catches your eye. You play the game and the owner cheats you out of the prize. Upset and angry John steps in to help…
Author’s Note: Hi~ It was just supposed to be fluff. I hope I delivered :D
@galaxycat1903 this wasn’t the fluff i had in the works for you. Your fluff fic will be done but i know you wanted John fluff and this kindda, sortta qualifies :D
Quack Goes the Duck
I could barely contain my excitement as I exited the car. I
clutched my arms to my chest and stared in wide eyed wonder at the brightly
lit, neon lights of the Carnival fair. John stepped beside me and wrapped an
arm around my shoulder; I looked to him and grinned ear to ear.
“Where do you want to go first?” he asked, eyes alit with
“Roller Coaster, duh!” I stated matter of fact.
He nodded and we made our way to the attraction. After
various rides we ducked in and out of stalls, picking and choosing and
sometimes even fighting over what games to play.
I pulled a thick wad of pink cotton candy and felt it melt
into sugary goodness in my mouth.
I stopped mid stride, whispering to myself “, oh my god,
that’s so cute!”
John had walked off without me. He glanced to his side and
whipped around when he didn’t see me.
I felt the pressure of his arm on my shoulder “, see
I nodded absently soaking up the warmth of his body. I
pointed to the object that captured my attention. His eyes followed my
outstretched finger and landed on the pudgy, white, pink tailed, rainbow mane
unicorn with a bell dangling from its horn, hanging from the window red and
white striped stall. He huffed a laugh. I grabbed his wrist and dragged him
across the busy walkway, dodging around people until I reached the item.
Quickly I examined the stall - shoot the duck, read the
sign. Simple enough I thought. Several people were lined up with air guns,
shooting at the slowly moving tin, yellow ducks. I spied the owner of the stall
standing gin a corner observing the patrons.
“Excuse me!” I called, his head turned to me.
“Hi,” I waved him over “, how do I win the unicorn?” I
pointed upwards to where the plush was strung.
“Oh, that’s top prize – shoot all the duck and you get it,”
the man drawled “, five gives you twenty shots, shoot all and you get the
I was virtually bouncing on my feet with glee as I slid him
the money. John stood behind me watching quietly like my shadow. The stall
owner smirked at me.
The people before us collected their prize and left only us.
I looked to John and beamed at him; he smiled back and rubbed a small circle on
“Go on,” he motioned as the owner finished righting the
ducks that had been shot and took the almost finished cotton candy from me.
The owner handed me the air gun. I stood and braced myself,
settling my aim and fixing my stance the way John taught me. The man flipped
the remote switch and the game began. The yellow ducks bobbing up and down
while rolling across the area.
I took aim, exhaled slowly through my mouth and shot. The
first yellow duck fell, the corners of my mouth tugged upwards. I aimed and
fired again, two ducks fell. Two became three, then four and so on, until I had
one more. It had taken me no more than twenty seconds.
I glanced at John who stood behind me with a smile of
approval on his face. I turned back to the game, and tracked the duck through
the scope, lining up the shot.
Suddenly the game powered down. I looked up wide eyed. What
was going on?
The game owner snatched the gun out of my grip “, thirty
seconds are up! You lose.”
I stared at him open mouthed.
“You didn’t say that there was a time limit,” I breathed
incredulously, hands splayed out at my sides.
The man raised a brow and gave me a sour expression “, I
did. Listen better.”
I ground my teeth.
“You didn’t say that – the other people before me didn’t
have a time limit you cheat!” I shouted shaking a clenched fist at him, a few
people turned to stare at us.
“Hey miss, it’s not my fault you can’t hear well,” retorted
“Why you -,” John’s hand gripped my arm and I looked at him
He stepped in front of me, hand down in his pocket “, five
dollars, twenty shot right?”
A group of teenagers came up to the booth, chattering
happily amongst themselves.
The owner looked a bit weary “, you don’t qualify.”
John cocked his head to the right, his calm demeanour oozing
“Hey, dude, hurry up and let the guy play cause we’re waitingggg,”
said a dark haired boy.
“You heard them,” said John drawing the money out from his
wallet and handing it to the man.
The man glanced at John, the money, the kids, then back to
John and the money.
“Dude!” shouted one of the teenagers annoyed. The others
backed him up.
He took it with a smirk and reset the game machine. He
handed John the gun and started the game. I gasped, the ducks were moving
across the screen at twice the original speed. The teenagers also commented on
the speed and started making bets on how much ducks John would be able to knock
over. This man was despicable.
Thirty seconds were all he had. John aimed and fired. Silence.
“Which was the one you wanted again?” asked John turning to
me as he rested the gun on the table.
“Unicorn,” I said with a triumphant smile as I took in the
open mouthed gazes of the group and the stall owner.
Grudgingly he climbed up and unhooked the animal before
thrusting it into my open arms. I hugged it tightly to my chest and buried my
face into the white fur.
“Thank you,” I mumbled to John and linked our fingers. He
raised our joined hands and kissed the back of my hand.
I turned to the group of teenagers “, you guys should find
another stall to play at, this guy cheats,” and walked off with my prize and
“That thing is so ugly,” laughed John.
I cut him a glare “, no it’s not.”
I looked down at the rainbow coloured mane “, it’s so
fluffly!” and squeezed it again, the bell jingling with the motion.
“It may be even cuter than you,” I said slyly and ran
cackling through the crowd leaving John to chase after me.
He caught me quickly, laughing and red faced.
I stood on my toes and pecked him on the lips “, let’s go
His hands found my waist “, had enough fun?”
I wrapped a free arm around his neck pressing my body firmly
to his “, I can think of more fun things to do.”
He grinned, his eyes slid from my face to the unicorn “,I
don’t want that thing in the bedroom watching us.”
I frowned “, it’s just a stuffed animal.”
I flicked the bell “, what, think he’s going to rate your
“y/n,” he said again a bit exasperated.
“Fine I’ll leave him in the living room.”
As we walked off a thought struck me “, where’s my cotton
The following are a list of practical tips and a short history of the use of Olive Oil Lamps in the tradition of Stregoneria Siciliana.
-Never have the wick too long, the length of a pencil eraser is perfect
-Make sure that the glass receptacle is thick enough and able to handle the heat of the flame
-Tending the lamp is daily work, make sure you’re ready for the commitment, also, a pair of tongs works great when trying to fish out the cork float
-When choosing an oil to burn Vegetable Oil is the most economical, but brings with it a strong odor and burns dirty, your lamp will be covered in black soot in no time leaving your house smelling like fried chicken.
-Olive Oil burns the cleanest and is scent free (also much more traditional to the Mediterranean). However, choosing the right Olive Oil is essential. Never choose Extra Virgin Olive Oil for a lamp, for it won’t burn properly, instead stick to pure Olive Oil OR for a more economic choice Olive Pomace Oil. Pomace oil is the last of the oil that is left in the skins of the olives after the previous pressings. The skins are then broken down with a solvent in order to extract the oil- it’s still 100% olive oil and you can find a 3L can for much cheaper than other grades of Olive Oil.
-When first placing a new wick into the lamp choose 100% cotton wicks without the zinc core, the zinc will cause more smoke and the cotton is the more traditional choice.
-Dab a new cotton wick with a little oil before lighting it, that way it’ll burn properly instead of burning the wick right out.
On the island of Sicily, Olive Oil Lamps were often the traditional choice of devotional and functional lighting. Candles were expensive and often melted in the heat of the Mediterranean sun thus were typically impractical. However the olive, being so plentiful on the island, provided the perfect source to fuel these lamps whether for prayer or for function. The spiritual potential of these Olive Oil Lamps also greatly overshadowed that of a wax candle. With the fruit of the olive tree carrying with it the spirit of the earth from which it sprouted these lamps, in turn, truly burn with the flame of the Mediterranean lending a much deeper spiritual meaning and power with their use upon an altar. However more is still to be said about these powerful lamps! Because a Maghi’s altar is also a shrine and home to their spiritual guides, it is taught that everything placed on the altar in turn becomes sanctified itself, this is especially true of the Oil Lamp. While burning in front of the sacred effigy of a Saint the oil itself becomes sanctified with the power of that Saint. This oil can then be used to anoint and bless those that come seeking healing, protection, or freedom from malign forces. Many miracles have been reported over the millennia by those after having been anointed with Holy Lamp Oil.
(First I want to say thank you for all your fun holiday requests! Next I want to say that with this list of requests, I may keep going with them through the end of the year, or I may just wait a while and start on them in the new year. But, regardless what I decide, here’s your new upcoming list.)
Bexana (confessing their relationship at a con)
Rowena x Reader (hand kink)
Vanessa Ives x Reader (angst/fluff)
WickedQueen (coming out to Cora)
Ruth Connell x Reader (fluff)
WickedQueen (November Prompt 6)
Cotton Mather x Reader (November Prompt 12)
WickedQueen (Biting Kink)
Rowena x Reader (November Prompt 10-submissive rowena)
FEATURED ARTIST: Kelly Akashi, Downtime Machine, 2014. Wax, cotton wick, copper, bronze wire, fire. 80 x 40 x 40 inches. Courtesy the artist; Tomorrow Gallery, New York; and Francois Ghebaly Gallery, Los Angeles. Photo: Josh White
A Winchester brothers preference requested by fayereed15! “Maybe something wintry themed? Like how they stay warm inside the bunker when it’s snowing or something… think tea, coffee, books, journals, snuggles :) But anything you think of is fabulous! And I don’t think you can go wrong with Team Free Will! Happy holidays love!” Preferences tend to run shorter than a full imagine, but multiple characters and scenarios are given. This particular preference includes Sam and Dean. Hope you like it!
You didn’t know what you expected from the bunker’s near-ancient technology, but you were sure the heat wasn’t too extreme a request. The Men of Letters had been completely scatter-brained whilst constructing their inner sanctum; the furnishings were beautiful, if dated to your modern eye, the library was practically overflowing with parchment scrolls on every creature of the night from Arachne to Wendigo, and the table in the foyer was capable of exploding with pinpricks of light, each star bursting to illuminate the shadows that may harbor a hunt, the entire table painted like the Milky Way. One thing the geniuses had neglected was a proper heating system; everything old or a bit exposed in the copper-wire department was easily replaced or hardwired by the ever practical technological mind residing beneath fiery hair, but even Charlie couldn’t install central heating or a fireplace into half a ton of concrete. When the snowstorms blew through the town, the bunker was always an uncomfortable fortress to be taking residence in. Your only antidote to the unrelenting chill streaking through the air was a pair of reliable arms and the stove-top embrace that belonged to none other than Sam Winchester.
Out of every luxury the bunker had to offer, the safety, the roof, the unlimited resources and sense of home, you were reliant on Sam to be your space heater. It was because of his ungodly temperature that you often found yourself snuggled in his lap, his arms slung around you in a makeshift cradle, your bodies sinking into one of the library’s more spacious armchairs, books of lore opened against each other, your proximity allowing for the gentle hush of paper against foreign paper as the backs of your bindings brushed, the barely-tangible force of your breathing just enough to stir the books against each other. Sam’s arms, wound around you as they were, supplied endless amounts of delectable heat, the warmth increasing with the tender touch of his lips to the crown of your head, your temple, the plane of your cheekbone, even going so far to distract you from the current case’s research as to press his lips to your neck, your resolve melting like margarine on heat as his simple actions stole your attention from the already dull Latin transcriptions. For a hunter so Hell-bent on completing his work, his usual routine of peeling your eyes from the tomes of ink and illustration came as a casual shock, his hazel eyes blooming with affection when you finally gave in to his allure and turned your face to his. The movement disrupted your careful cling-wrap coating of warmth, a deadly shiver running along the vertebrates of your spine like a careless instrumentalist smashing his wand against a xylophone, your shoulders curling inward as you fought the creeping chill. Sam’s arms constricted around yours, setting his book aside, binding to the ceiling, pages to the end table before snatching yours as well, laying them beside each other like lovers or fallen comrades, perhaps both. He sighed, pulling you closer to his chest, heat exuding from his body like waves off an August blacktop. His lips pecked against your hair, his back sliding further down into the upholstery.
“It’s a meat locker, I know. I don’t know how they managed,” he whispered, his breath encompassing the tips of your ears with delicious heat, a rarity you couldn’t take for granted in so volatile conditions. His hands began to rub along the length of your arm, friction sparking more fire through your veins as he moved. You grinned, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your fingers, your toes curling against the oncoming rush of cold.
“Clearly, they didn’t have a furnace of a boyfriend,” you laughed, propping your feet up against the chair’s armrest as Sam chuckled, your bodies shaking as one. You snuggled closer still to his beating heart, resting your cheek against the expanse of muscle where his shoulder met chest, his actions halting as you shifted, a calloused finger probing your chin upward. You had little time to relocate yourself before his lips were upon yours, his mouth moving with a tender, peaceful patience so difficult to come by, especially considering your so hectic profession. The bunker’s frigid air was broken only by the suction sound of your lips separating, Sam’s rough palms spreading over your cheeks, fingers inching further along your face until they had tangled in your hair, securing your face to his as his embrace shattered tongues of flame throughout your every bone, microwaving your marrow as he did so. He broke away from your kiss to rest his forehead against yours, his lashes separating to behold your face, eyes scrutinizing each minute detail, his pinking lips upturned in an almost awe-struck grin. You smiled, closing your eyes to welcome more bliss, his lips brushing against yours just briefly before the sound of heavy boots infiltrated your fortress of comfort and security. Your eyes snapped open, Sam’s face moving away from yours as Dean strolled into the library, eyes rolling, before ducking into a hallway, mumbling about public displays of affection as if the sight of his brother and his lover doing something as innocent as kissing had been the equivalent of burning a Bible. Sam’s chest jolted with his scoff, his lips diving back to the corner of your mouth, arms tightening around you, spreading heat alongside his love.
You settled into another evening with your personal inferno.
As a hunter, your body had been to Hell and back, though perhaps not quite as literally as your boyfriend Dean… but there was still only so much physical discomfort a woman could take. You’d been stabbed and shot at, covered in grime and salt and sulfur, yet the minor inconvenience of the Men of Letters bunker’s faulty generator had you rolling prematurely in your unmarked grave. Visibly, all was well in the underground batcave, save for the lack of electricity. The boys had brought matches to an entire store shelf of Yankee Candle hardware, petals of fire kept at a strategic distance from everything and anything flammable (meaning the library, your Holy Grail of priceless information, was shrouded completely in murky black shadow), your world illuminated only by the sparse flickering lights, your senses overloaded with intoxicating aromas. If you so much as laid eyes upon another gingerbread house, you’d vomit. The situation was less than ideal, that much was obvious, but it did allow for a bit of romantic creativity. Dean Winchester, the professional hit-man of all things that go bump in the night, the hardened assassin, the business-as-usual murderer, was now forced into candlelit quiet with you. If it weren’t for the unbearable chill creeping beneath your skin to rattle your rib cage, you would’ve been ecstatic. It was a rarity in itself that you had date night (which usually yielded a beer and public access television, a burger if you were lucky), let alone anything that so much as scraped by the candle section of the store.
Dean shuffled to your side, socks hushing against the wooden floorboards, your body curled beneath his bedsheets, the dim light cast by your molten wax perfume shop catching tendrils of mist as they rose from the steaming beverages he held in his hands, his face focused, a mask of concentration as he struggled not to trp in the darkness. He extended a mug towards you, your hand snaking from the safety of the woolen barricade to grasp the flaming porcelain, skin burning from cold before your flesh was scorched by the cup. You sighed, inhaling the stale scent of unadulutrated caffeine, the scent almost lost in the warzone of cranberry peppermint and lilac blossoms. Dean smirked at your so typical dependency on the beverage, setting his mug atop his bedside table before shifting the sheets aside, exposing you, if briefly, to the icy tundra that had overtaken your home. You shrunk into a ball, all knees and elbows, coffee mug protected from the air’s icy fingers, the porcelain held against your chest as Dean joined you beneath the blankets. He was courteous enough to tug the sheets back into place around your arms, his fingertips brushing along your shoulder as he retracted his hand, turning from you to retrieve his cup of falsified full-night’s-rest. He ducked his lips to your forehead before taking a swig of coffee, your own lips burning against the pool of tar reflecting the yellow spurt of flame from the vanilla cupcake monstrosity resting on Dean’s bedside table. His arm snuck around your shoulders, exposing his skin to the arctic air for the sake of keeping you warm, always the chivalrous protector. You tangled your feet with his, pulling yourself closer to his torso, melting into his chest, watching the emeralds set behind thick lashes dance in the light of the fires.
He eventually caught you staring, his brow pinching in amused curiosity. You sipped at your drink, shaking your head to dispel his confusion, his eyes rolling at your blatant, unblinking examination of his features… but how could you ignore his beauty? Each shadow on his face was accentuated by the fire’s light, the shards of gold within his eyes were sharpened drastically by the addition of vivid yellow perched atop cotton and wax wicks, his glossy eyes projecting each spot of light back to you as a perfect, if smaller, replica. He exhaled quietly, his hand on your shoulder tugging you into the crook of his neck, your head tilting onto his shoulder, his head then angling to accommodate for your new position. Your misery and frustration was fading, replaced by the warmth of Dean’s full attention, of his company The fire within you was not a physical warmth, per say, but a heat no less. You sat in perfect silence, too overwhelmed by fragrance and too awestruck by the light show to speak, your stillness occasionally disrupted by Dean’s lips on your forehead, his touch supplying an additional jolt of heat to your body, relaxing into the peace your indoor winter had brought to your evening.
This spell was crafted specifically to break a curse that has backfired onto the caster, but is also useful when you believe a curse may have been placed on you. It specifically targets the black candle, a common curse ingredient.
To craft an iron candle, you will need a cotton wick, paraffin wax (both readily available at craft and art stores), and iron filings. Note: the iron filings will not color your candle, only leave small black specs in it. buy whichever color wax you wish your candle to be when finished.
Melt the wax in a double boiler (available at in kitchen departments and also in craft stores specifically for candle making). Add Iron filings and stir well. Herbs, burnt offerings, and anything else you see fit can also be added at this point. Charge the wax in whatever other ways suit you.
Now, begin dipping your wick into the wax to start the candle-making process. Dip, raise, cool, repeat until you have a candle roughly the size you deem appropriate.
Use this candle in any spells to break a hex. It is particularly helpful when used while replicating a curse (altering words and intent to break it), and inserting this candle. As it burns, you will break the strength of the original hex.
WARNING: Iron filings, when crafted into a candle, do in fact burn. They will create a sparkler effect in your candle. Do not leave this candle unattended, and do not use near flammable items.
Oil lamps have long been a staple in most households. Sadly, with the forthcoming of electricity, oil lamps don’t have much of a reason to exist anymore. Even so, oil lamps are still coveted by collectors, vintage enthusiast, and witches.
Making an oil lamp is quite simple, really. All you will need is a jar with a metal lid, lamp wick or cotton balls, oil, and patience.
Start by punching a hole roughly one quarter of an inch wide, and bend back the metal that may have been lifted. Fit your wick through it, and saturate the wick itself with your oil. If you don’t have a wick, roughly roll a couple of cotton balls into a long cylinder.
Being a with, though, I find uses in everything I can make, and that is where these curiosities become interesting. You can infuse the oil with herbs according to your intent, or you can make a tincture of the herbs and imbibe the wick before letting it dry. You can also draw sigils or symbols onto your lid. Here are some ideas:
Infuse your oil with whichever herbs you want to attain the attributes of, and use essential oils to make your lamp scented. Lace powdered herbs into your wick. Drop whole herbs or crystals into the lamp and burn to attract what it is you want.