spotted feathers

It’s You That I Hold Onto (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Originally posted by sweetly87

✩ prompt: a lovely anon message a few posts back :) includes a jelly reader and an overprotective thunderbird

✩ word count: a fair amount idk man

✩ warnings: so sweet u could possibly get a toothache :(

It’s You That I Hold Onto

It’s a typical Saturday evening in the Goldstein residence (plus a few), Queenie and Jacob waltzing to sleepy crackling records, dappled golden mid-winter light on the wallpaper, the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. 

Everything seems perfect to Y/N as she makes her way to the living room, her brilliant crimson skirt swishing rather gracefully about her waist, her hair (for once!) cooperating falling over her shoulders smoothly.

Queenie smiles at her, elegantly breaking away from Jacob to switch which record is playing, new music erupting from the golden phonograph.

“Would ya’ care to dance?” Jacob asks, giving her a rather sloppy grin and holding out his hand.

Y/N nods gleefully, enjoying the time with one of her best friends as the stout man spins her about the room, Queenie clapping to the music.

Newt’s eyes flick to the duo dancing gleefully through the living room, his gaze caught on the pretty woman in his arms. How that skirt shows off her hips-

He looks away immediately, blushing and mentally kicking himself for being “an absolute bloody creep.”

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anonymous asked:

Have you ever thought about Fakes origin where Geoff kinda was the little brother of the roosters and hey let him do his thing and by the time they thought to look he was already setting up his court in Los SAntos, and by the time they thought to worry he was alreadt setting his sights on something bigger.

What if Gavin was already the golden boy in los santos before Geoff even got there?

When the Roosters branched out everyone was moving with purpose; they were so successful at such a young age that no one even considered getting out of the game, were just expanding to focus on their own specialities, to grow and improve without murdering each other in the process. Gus set up a terrifying web of covert intelligence and stolen secrets, Joel transitioned full time into the absurdly lucrative domain of white collar crime, Matt spent his days schmoozing impossibly high level contacts, Griffon took her roving gang of assassins on the move and Burnie still orchestrates the whole thing from back in Liberty City. Geoff was the odd one out, really, sort of adrift in the world, still playing, getting by on his wealth and reputation, simply chasing entertainment across the country with no real direction or responsibilities.

So when Geoff first started making noise about getting his own crew together, a proper full time affair, the other Rooster’s thought he was kidding. It’s not that they’d thought he couldn’t, exactly, it’s just that he’d never really had that drive. Never really exhibited any lust for control, for personal power over his own domain. For Geoff, who liked to drink and coast and party, who’d always suggested the most outlandish laughable ideas, who’d always shrugged and gone along with whatever everyone else decided like the little brother happy just to be involved, to run his own crew all alone seemed ridiculous. They weren’t laughing at him, really, not for the most part anyway, it’s just that they never really considered Geoff to be a leader.

Geoff, of course, goes off in a huff, utterly offended, but that’s not terribly alarming. They’ve all been in each other’s pockets for so long they are more than used to weathering the storm of tempers, have all had their share of petty tantrums, and everyone comes back eventually. Worst comes to worst Geoff will play with his idea long enough to tire of it, possibly call for some help if it all goes to shit, then everything will be back to normal. In the meantime everyone’s got too much on their own plates to bother chasing him down.

Burnie keeps track of him, of course, keeps an ear out for any rumours of a Rooster getting into trouble, keeps in contact even if the updates aren’t as regular as they could be. It’s how he knows where Geoff is, finally stationary in the strangest of places, knows something’s caught his eye even if the contrary bastard isn’t ready to share exactly what it is yet. Burnie knows Geoff’s holed himself up in Los Santos, and isn’t that so typically him, finding some kind of hidden treasure in the worst city in the country.

Curiosity gets the best of Burnie and, when a month or two pass and Geoff still hasn’t moved on, he can’t help himself from trying to dig a little, calling on various contacts to send their feelers out and work out what could have possibly captured Geoff’s interest so thoroughly. The results are somewhat unexpected.

There’s a kid, they say, some cocky foreign creature that has Geoff fascinated, captivated, the strangest of anchors tethering him to the city. There is no shortage of rumours about the stranger, he’s apparently a particularly talented fixer, though his age comes through in arrogant bravado, in outrageous displays of wealth and a blatant inability to look before he leaps. He’s the kind of character everyone in Los Santos seems to be aware of, everyone seems willing to bend over backwards to know, and it appears Geoff is no exception.

Which is, honestly, the strangest part of the whole deal; Geoff has loyalty in spades for those who matter, but he’s not the most open of people, is no one’s fool, he’s lived through far too much with the Roosters to be taken in by some pretty face with a sob story. There must be something else going on. Geoff might have made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want anyone else butting in on his business, that he’s sorting out his plans all on his own thanks very much, but surely this warrants some kind of concern. Burnie settles on sending Jack down to scope it out; she was passing through anyway and Geoff might be keeping his cards close to his chest but he’s always liked Jack, it seemed like a good call at the time.

Jack doesn’t come back. Sends Burnie word that all is well, that he doesn’t need to worry, that she plans to stay and help Geoff out with whatever it is he’s working on, but she won’t say what exactly that is. In other words she piques Burnie’s interest even more then laughs in his face and keeps her mouth shut, which honestly, what was Burnie expecting? Jack’s always been loyal to a fault, but not to him. Jack and Geoff have always had each other’s backs and when you break it down her alliance with the Roosters has always come from that friendship; it stands reason that if Geoff is still cranky about their lack of faith Jack will be no more forgiving.

As far as Jack’s concerned she’s been waiting an age for Geoff to sort himself out, and if finally getting there means flipping Burns the bird and cosigning herself to some ludicrous plot in the depths of hell then so be it. When Geoff asks for her help, eyes lit up with the wild determination she remembers from their mischief back in the day she’s hardly going to say no. Perhaps Los Santos isn’t exactly the ideal location, isn’t where she necessarily wanted to end up let alone start in, but given the chance to explain himself Geoff’s ridiculousness is, as usual, based on pretty sound reasoning.

Because Geoff was, once, just passing through Los Santos, an entertaining pit stop on his journey to scout out a worthy crew, but then he found Gavin. Heard the rumours well before he actually met the kid; the Golden Boy of Los Santos, a shiny novelty amongst the grime of the city. The stories were interesting, entertaining, enough that Geoff decided to stick around for a while, enough that Geoff was perhaps drifting into the territory of a stalker, but oh boy did his curiosity pay off.

When Geoff found Gavin he saw far more than he knew he was meant to, far more than he would have if he wasn’t looking, because the kid was good. Was all flash and sparkle,  cheeky jokes and bright laughter, an endearing softness covering the sharpness of his teeth, the blood dripping from his fingers. When Geoff found Gavin he saw everything they could do, everything they could be, saw the broad strokes of the future he’d been toying with falling into place all at once.

Gavin was an interesting conundrum, the criminals of the city completely unsure as to whether or not they like him, whether or not he’s useful, whether or not the kid is a joke or a genius. They say Free is easy, full of all kinds of valuable information and simple enough to buy; offer him some pretty trinket, something pricey or showy or rare and he’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand. And yet they’re all still clamouring to talk to him, still tripping over themselves to work with him, still offering absurd bounties just to catch his fleeting interests. They say he’s controllable, vulnerably alone and far too trusting. Geoff is not convinced.

Because all the information Gavin hoards comes from somewhere, and no one else seems capable of extracting it. Because everyone’s so convinced they’ve got him worked out that they open their doors and let him bypass the usual weapon checks and security protocols. Because Gavin’s reputation of weak-stomached and harmless, useless in a fight, doesn’t add up to the practised way he twirls switchblades between his fingers, deftly flicking them up his sleeves and out of sight. Because for all that the persona of the Golden Boy has captured the city’s unwavering attention no one seems to realise how neatly they’ve been blinded by it.

If you cared to compare the crime scene in America to the one in England you’d realise the game there is played with entirely different rules. Gavin didn’t come into Los Santos swinging, probably wouldn’t have made it two days if he had, but he’s been busy chasing power all the same. Gavin knows every crew of note in Los Santos, knows names and hierarchies, knows base locations and key distribution points. Gavin has integrated himself so neatly, so desirably, that he can get an audience with just about whoever he wants to, can meander across territory lines and police tape with the same unerring charm. Geoff’s seen him play up his age in one meeting, wide eyed and painfully naïve, only to catch him mere hours later leaning into confidence, brisk and clever and entirely untouchable. He’s witnessed Gavin seemingly fall for obvious ruses only to walk out with exactly what he was after, seen him talk his way into deals and out of handcuffs, seen a thousand different ticks and quirks and personalities that shouldn’t all fit comfortably within the same person.

Geoff’s seen more than enough to recognise that familiar air of hungry ruthlessness, of vicious self interest and callous amusement. Maybe Geoff hasn’t got the past experience of being a leader but he’s always known how to help himself by using other people, how to make the most of their particular talents, fit them all together to make a bigger picture. Growing a crew from scratch is harder than it seems, growing one thats loyal from the start, strong enough to stick together and win the uphill battle of taking the most untamable city in the land seems near impossible.

Unless, of course, someone had done all that groundwork already. Unless someone had already wormed into the ecosystem, plotted all the intricacies of power, all the feuds and pressure points, the hidden weapons and unprotected weak spots. Unless someone had already made all the necessary contacts and connections, curried favour with all the best dealers, buttered up the crooked cops, identified all the individuals who might be seduced away from their current gigs into something better, something greater, the ones worth trusting, the ones who would come out on top.

Geoff is no stranger to charm himself, to subtle manipulation, and maybe you can’t kid a kidder but you can certainly enchant a kid, can sell safety in numbers, talk up comfort and protection and organised direction. Geoff might want to outgrow the ever present shadow of the Roosters but a history of royalty is a weighty bargaining chip when your adversary covets nothing more than the appearance of wealth, of power. It’s still not easy by any means, Gavin is cautious, quick witted and wily, running his own game through every conversation, but eventually they come to an understanding. Then Jack turns up and all of a sudden things are in motion, the plan is unfolding, and nothing is going to keep Geoff from forging his own crown.

By the time Geoff thinks about giving Burnie an update his inbox has been flooded by dozens of warnings about the mystery crew taking Los Santos by storm. Increasingly concerned messages telling Geoff it was time to move on, that it wasn’t worth trying mess with such a dangerously effective group all on his own, that he should reach out if he was in trouble. By the time Geoff gets around to giving Burnie a call the old rules of Los Santos have already fallen, the city is running scared and those surrounding it are following suit. Even as the phone rings Geoff knows Gavin’s combining the termination of a problem with teasing the Vagabond away from his current employers, knows Jones and Dooley are having a crashing good time clearing the last of the warehouses down near the docks, knows Tuggey’s pulling some new blood into the support crew and Jack’s off to see a man about a sniper.

By the time Burnie finally hears back from Geoff the writing is well and truly on the wall, the days of being underestimated and overlooked are over, and not even all the grudging apologies in the world will save the Roosters from a lifetime of Geoff’s smug vindication. Geoff isn’t just an ex-Rooster anymore, he isn’t a follower, a drifter, a little brother or a side thought. He is Geoff Ramsey; leader of the FAHC, king of Los Santos, ruler of the worst of the worst, unrelenting and horrifically creative. He is a feared man, he runs an unquestionably dangerous crew, the city shivers in his shadow and they say nothing can stop his reign.

All this over stubborn determination, over hurt feelings, all this in mere months; not even his own crew are ready for what is to come, for the highs and lows of Geoff’s depravity, but he knows they’ll be here with him, will rise to every occasion, and together they’ll set the world alight.

Respite (Jeller fic of pure fluff.)

Jane is in his bed.

He’s already fallen asleep, but in all fairness to him, it’s three in the morning and he only fell asleep a half hour ago. His room is dark now, lit only by the lights of the city through his window and it’s enough to see the way his chest rises and falls slowly, the way his lips part just a little. He snores but not loudly; it’s just an exhale with a soft sound attached to the end, really.

And he loves her.

She can’t say she’s surprised by his love; she isn’t, not now. Maybe she would have been months ago, but ever since the escape room, she’s known. What she’s surprised by is that he said it out loud. She remembers pretending to be married to him, remembers him declaring he’s too choosy for something serious, so she wonders quietly where this puts them. Those walls she’d managed to crumble; are they down forever at her feet? More than anything, she wants them to be. As she contemplates him sleeping, she reaches out to drag her thumb lightly across his forehead. He looks more peaceful asleep, like the weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders. Now, maybe it isn’t. With Shepherd out of play, the world saved, maybe he can look more like this all the time; loved and peaceful. She can at least help with one of those things.

He’s currently using her shoulder as a pillow, and Jane can feel her arm going numb, but she won’t dare displace him. The weight of him is warm and solid; it makes her feel safe somehow and she can feel his breath on her skin. His arm is across her bare stomach, two of their legs tangled, and she leans in, softly dragging her lips across his shoulder. Right then, she decides she’d rather walk around all day tomorrow with a sore arm than ever nudge him to move. The longer Jane watches him, the better he looks; well, he always looks good to her. More than good. Silently, she thinks she should tell him that sometime, and she smiles to herself, already imagining the look on his face in response, not saying anything in return before kissing the compliment from her lips. She’s always allowed herself glimpses of him in the office when he’s at his desk and she’s at the workstation she claimed as her own. But that’s all she allowed herself until now. Unassuming glances, committing him to memory because she never thought she’d get to this

Right now, she takes him in, all of him, the sheet low around his hips and giving her a view she’s taking in like a painting. His eyelashes are long and light, and it’s such a ridiculous, small thing to notice, but she counts them like other people count sheep. He has freckles; not many, but up close she can see them, hiding in the line between smooth skin and scruff. They’re all over his back and shoulders, and when he’s awake, she’s going to kiss each one. She’s wanted to kiss one that’s on his neck for so long, but it felt too soon back then, or the timing was fraught with tension and threats. Now, though, with nothing between them but love, she leans in and kisses that spot softly, lips feather light so she won’t wake him. That kiss, in that spot, means more to her than he knows, a wish fulfilled even while he sleeps. 

When he shifts, Jane freezes, hoping she didn’t wake him, not wanting to have actually disturbed him. She sighs in relief when she realizes he’s only changing positions, though he rolls onto his side, back to her, and she knows his thigh must be aching, needing to relieve some of the pressure on it from his previous position. Carefully, she aligns herself to this new angle, curving her body behind his so she doesn’t have to miss the warmth of him. Without trying to wake him, her hand curves around his hip, her knees find his shins, and she curls up, forehead against his back and tucked perfectly against him. Her lips find more freckles exposed to her now, nose softly grazing across his skin. Even as she does this, she feels as if she needs to express her love for him more, in some better way than physically. She isn’t sure how, but the words are there, burning in her chest. He saved her life, not just literally, and she wonders if he knows it.

When he moves again, Jane’s hand drifts from his hip to his stomach, holding him close against her, not wanting him to move. And then, she hears a low, quiet chuckle, his hand moving to cover hers.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jane.”

She smiles softly against his skin, and slowly, she presses kisses across his back. They’re soft, tender and warm, and she feels his sigh of pleasure which emboldens her, makes her shift until he’s on his back and she’s straddling him, looking down at his face. When he smiles up at her, Jane feels like she can do anything, so she continues to kiss him.

And he continues to sigh.

Imagine Warren in the morning, and his hair is just a mess. Sort of like a blond halo of curls on his head. His blue eyes barely peep open for a minute before he shuts them again because it’s just too early for sunlight. He sits up, groggy, stretches and groans. His wings stretch with him, twitching at the end, a few feathers out of place as he tossed and turned during the night.

He lifts his arms up above his head and continues stretching, rolling his shoulders and bringing his wings back towards his body.

Then suddenly, Warren pauses. Looking to the right, he spots you, under his feathers, and the blanket curled up tightly. Warren swallows, the muscles in his neck contracting as he does. He scans your face for a few seconds, a small smile breaking onto his cheeks as he remembered what had happened last night.

He didn’t toss and turn like he usually did, and he could still feel your fingers rustling his feathers idly as he craned his head down to give you kisses along your sternum, collarbone, jugular and jawline.

If he focused, he could almost taste your skin on his tongue still.

Warren lays back, expanding his right wing so it’s not bothering you. 

He’s still looking down at you, and you start waking up. He stifles a small laugh, letting his hand push back your hair so he could get a clearer view.

Warren takes a deep breath in, letting it linger in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling.

This was peaceful, perhaps, the most peaceful he had ever been. And the moment you’re awake enough to understand what he’s saying, you hear him whisper to you, in a voice that’s almost vague enough to be a ghost, “I want to wake up like this every morning.”

Creature of Habit (XMEN) (smut)

Request: 13 with Angel (Warren) from the Xmen please + Archangel from Xmen apocalypse smut

Note: smut duh, dirty talk, readers mutation is more physical than anything; they have large patches of scales all over body and like kind of like a lizard? Quick reflexes, flexibility and ability to grow limbs back. That sounds weird af but I like it.  Also, I really enjoyed this.

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Wing AU (Part 3)

This is something I wanted to write for a long time anyways, but @antagonists–anonymous gave me the prompt for wing grooming, so here it is.

Set in the same universe as THIS and THIS.

On that note, Merry Christmas, everyone. I was planning on making a graphic or writing a fic for the occasion, but seeing as I don’t really like Christmas in the first place I guess I thought it’s going to feel forced?

So here you have this instead. It’s pure fluff and love and sun instead of the lousy cold weather we have right now (don’t let that GIF fool you).

Beta-read by @brizzbee



He would never say it out loud, but to Magnus Alec sometimes looked like a cat.

A giant, sun-bathing, lazy cat.

Which was a little ridiculous but once that thought found root in Magnus’ mind, he couldn’t shake it off. The comparison seemed even more accurate now, as he watched Alec stretch out on his belly on the large daybed on Magnus’ balcony. The warlock could still remember Alec’s bewildered expression the first time he had conjured the daybed, but by now it had become Alec’s favorite spot for what they were about to do.

Alec was already shirtless, letting the sun warm up the tattoo on his back. The younger man looked so relaxed and Magnus grinned, knowing that by the end of their session Alec was going to turn nearly boneless under Magnus’ hands.

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(Xma) Scott x reader with angel wings. Where she helps him feel comfortable wearing his glasses and he helps her become less insecure about her wings?

Pairing: Scott Summers x Reader

Fandom: X-Men | Apocalypse.

Word count: 997.

It’s the first time I write Scott but I enjoyed it more than I expected, I’d love to write more about him so feel free to ask :)

You had arrived to Xavier’s earlier in the day, your parents had driven you there and after an emotional goodbye, they went back home and you stayed in the School.

Hank McCoy, a tall man who looked shy,introduced himself as the Chemistry professor and welcomed you, explaining you the way the School worked, he tried to give you a tour around campus but you refused,he assigned you a room, and encouraged you to make new friends but you felt like an outcast.

It didn’t matter that the School was meant for people like you, mutants, you didn’t feel like your mutation was a blessing, it was more than a curse.

Everything began in the last two monts, you felt sharp, unberable pains on the back every night, like if your ribs were trying to pierce your skin and go away, then you started to spot the little white feathers on your blankets, but it was your mom the one who discovered it when you were in a fitting room trying on a dress for your Aunt’s wedding.

Two little angel-like wings were growing from your shoulder blades, and it all went downhill from there, they grew bigger everyday until their tips reacheded your knees, your father had heard about Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters and called them, a week later, you were enrolled.

You were wearing the biggest coat you could find in the state of New York, it’s big enough to cover your wings for now but they’ll keep growing, you felt really self-concious so you stayed inside the mansion, exploring it , wanting to find a corner with a cozy coach, out of plain sigh

You were walking absentmindedly through the hallways after visiting the library when you bumped into someone.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” You said half shouting.

“I wasn’t the one who was distracted.” The person replied, you looked at him, it was a  brown haired guy, taller than you, he was wearing red Ray Bans wich was odd since you were inside the School.

“Well, maybe you could see better if you took those glases off.” You answered.

“The thing is I can’t.” He sighed, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” You blushed, giving a step back.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m always bumping into people, I should really watch where I’m going but it’s complicated, I really hate this glasses..” He apologized. “I’m Scott.”

“I’m uh, Y/N.” You gave him a shy smile and shooked his hand.

“You arrived today, right?” He asked, you nodded. “Have you been in the gardens? I can give you a tour if you want.”

“Thanks but no thanks.” He seemed nice but the other students looked completely normal, how were they going to react to a girl with angel wings?

“Why? Is there something wrong?” You shooked your head. “Look, I know I’ve known you for like three minutes but here everyone is really supportive, you don’t have to worry.” He smiled and you accepted, hoping the rest of the students were as kind as Scott.

You stepped outside the mansion on your way to the lake and he stopped.

“Y/N, it’s pretty hot out here, and you’re wearing the biggest coat in the state of New York, you should take it off.” He said.

“I can’t, well, I can but it’s my mutation, it feels more like a curse than a gift.” You sigh.

“I know how you feel, that happens to me the whole time, without the glasses I wouldn’t be able to control my powers, I could easily kill someone.”

“But at least you look normal, do you really think I like going around wearing New York’s biggest coat?”

“I know, but I’d give anything to see the world with my own eyes again, not through these glasses, it’s not the same, I wish I could see the color of the sky.” He sounded sad, you leaned and gave him a half hug.

“But you know you look super badass with those glasses, right?” You tried to cheer him up, “You look so effortlessly cool, like a modern version of James Dean.”

He laughed, and you smiled.

“What are you hiding? Do you have dragon scales or a fluffy tail?” He joked, you laughed, not having to worry about your wings for a while felt good.

“No, but if I show you do you promise not to laugh or freak out?” You asked.

“Y/N, I don’t think I can freak out anymore, one of my best friends has blue skin and a tail.” He gave you an encouraging smile and you took off your coat, revealing a pair of beautiful white angel wings.

“Do you have wings? Like, real angel wings?” He definitely looked surpirsed. “Wait, can you fly?”

You answered him by floating a few inches above the grass, he took a step back and tripped with a stone onto the grass, but his eyes were still on you, his mouth was still open in surprise.

“You should probably close your mouth if you don’t want to eat a fly.” You smirked, landing next to him.

“I can’t understand why do you feel so self consious about your wings, they’re amazing.” He said, sitting.

“I suppose I feel less human.” You shrugged.

“You shouldn’t feel like that, your mutation is amazing, I mean it, the younger kids are going to love you.”

“You shouldn’t hate on those glasses that much, but thanks, it’s amazing not having to worry about being judged.”

“Don’t worry, they won’t judge you here, and if someone else makes you feel bad about your wings, I’ll avenge you.” He smirked the last part.

“Since when do I need my personal avenger?” You raised an eyebrow, laughing softly.

“Well my Y/N, angels can’t seek vengeance.”

anonymous asked:

for the 400 followers prompts, hybrid fahc weird animal shenanigans? (i love ur writing!!)

((so uh. remember how I said that my prompt fills would be around 1000 words? and no more than 2000? Well this ended up at nearly 3400…. To be fair the reason for that is because this is essentially 6 minifics in one. Also made this OT7 for @somuchspoopyness (i hope u dont mind if i count this as your prompt fill too? if not tell me and i’ll do something separate for yours)))

Geoff (And Ryan):

Geoff grumbles under his breath, crumbling the papers into a ball. Nothing was working. Nothing was fitting together. There were too many holes in the plans, too many things not being timed at the right times. People falling through, plans falling through. Nothing was working.

Geoff was frustrated. Geoff was really fucking frustrated.

And so was Ryan. Forced to help Geoff, he was getting more and more agitated both from the planning and from Geoff’s own frustration.

Geoff tries to pace the room, tries to get rid of the frustrated energy but it wasn’t working. If anything, it was making it worse and he needed a release and he needed it now.

And then Geoff turns to Ryan and Ryan gulps because there’s that look in his eye and Ryan knows exactly where this is going to go.

Geoff lowers his head, points his horns right at Ryan, and surges forward.

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31 Days of Witchcraft: Part VII

Do You Practice Divination? If So, What Techniques?

I do practice divination, and feel it’s an important part of daily witchcraft. However, the role divination plays in my practice may not be as obvious as sitting down with my cards or runes.

Most of what I work with for divination would be omens (or, depending on where you live, they may be called “body signs”). These vary from place to place and from person to person, but have formed an important part of how I go about my life. For instance, I know it’ll be a good day if I see ravens after leaving the house. If gulls are hanging around the area, I know that rain is on its way. If I spot a feather on the ground, I take note of its color, as that (to me) is often a little message regarding the day (brown means there will be some hardships, white means I will have some positive luck in the project I’m working on, black means that I’m protected, et cetera).

However, if I were to specify techniques for divination that are a bit less general, I could narrow it to three: runes, the pendulum, and tarot.

Runes are probably my preferred reading method, as I get very insightful and detailed castings. No reading is ever the same, and the runes have a personality I’ve come to enjoy (something I would say is compassionate yet firm).

Pendulum reading was one of the first forms of divination I ever used. The first pendulum I ever had was my class ring hanging from a thread. Since then, I’d been using a clear quartz pendulum. But my favorite pendulum (and the one which has connected with me most) is a tigers’ eye pendulum given to me by my best friend (the very same friend who helped me discover my path, as it turns out)!

Lastly, tarot is another method I enjoy, but I wouldn’t say that I’m very experienced. My cards definitely have a mischievous personality, which works well for me, but as I’ve only really been digging into tarot during the past year, it will be some time before I consider myself completely proficient and willing to do readings for others.

If you’re new to witchcraft, there is nothing saying that you absolutely have to practice divination. Many witches prefer to, as it offers us a bit of insight as to what’s going on or where our goals and decisions may lead us. It’s a glimpse into the future based on our current state of mind, helping us take a wiser course if need be.

Some practices encourage only reading for yourself. Others encourage only reading for others. Others don’t encourage readings at all. Ultimately, only you can decide what you’re comfortable with when it comes to divination!

Blessed Be! )O(

anonymous-bush  asked:

Wing AU? Saru with dark, slim, beautiful wings. The Kings have the biggest, strongest wings. I imagine Munakata with dark wings with blue flame coming from the edges, and Mikoto has wings of fire. Nagare's wings are white, like Anna's, but they crackle with green electricity. Yata's wings look like bright orange fire and he loves to wrap Fushimi up in them~ Thoughts?

I’m imagining that say in this AU everyone is born with small white wings that then grow into something else as they get older and people are judged on the quality and size of their wings, like the most successful and talented people tend to have really huge wing spans and super impressive wings – and only those with larger wings can actually fly too so there’s like this unspoken caste system that tends to look down more on people whose wings are considered too small or deformed somehow. Niki probably has these terrible hellfire wings, all red feathers tinged in black and the feathers are really jagged and sharp looking but even so he can fly a little with them. When Fushimi’s little Niki plucks a bunch of feathers from his little baby white wings, leaving a bunch of bald spots where the feathers haven’t grown back, and due to the combination of stress and neglect some of Fushimi’s other feathers fall out entirely. By the time he reaches middle school his ‘true’ wings have started to come in but it’s no comfort, his wings are this really dark murky black (and having black wings is considered a bad sign, like if your pure white wings have gone black there must be something wrong with you) and there are spots where the feathers are mottled in white or red, places where his feathers originally fell out. His feathers are a mess too, all different sizes and angles and his wings are far too slim to allow him to fly. Fushimi pretty much doesn’t give a shit though because of course his wings would be the kind that he couldn’t fly with and anyway he’s not like all those other idiots walking around trying to show their wings off or brag about their wingspan.

That’s when he meets Yata, who has these red and orange wings that look like a fire, but they’re really fluffy and the feathers are soft. Yata can’t quite fly with them but when he’s on his skateboard if he extends them behind him he feels like he’s flying anyway (oh oh imagine the scene from LSW with Fushimi, Yata and Aya on the bike, Yata’s got his wings out and they’re like stretching on either side of Fushimi so it feels like he’s in a tunnel of flames but he’s not scared at all, and behind Fushimi there’s Aya with her slim pink swan-like wings outstretched and then Fushimi unconsciously starts to stretch his too, the wings he always keeps hunched close and never spreads fully and for the first time in his life he really feels like he’s flying, there on the back on Yata’s bike). Yata’s the first person who thinks Fushimi’s wings are really cool, like look at how sleek they are and the black is so striking and the feathers feel super smooth, Yata loves running his fingers through Fushimi’s wings. Fushimi acts like he doesn’t care what Yata thinks of his wings but it always makes his breath catch a little, when Yata tells him how amazing his wings are. When the two of them move in together sometimes they lie side by side on Yata’s bunk discussing their plans for all the great things they’re going to do and Yata wraps his wings around Fushimi so that it feels like they’re living in this small cozy world, just the two of them, and sometimes Fushimi’s wings stretch just a bit to touch Yata’s, connecting just a little bit.

So then the surprise party incident happens and that’s when they meet Mikoto who has the biggest wings Yata and Fushimi have ever seen, these huge red ones with real fire blossoming along the edges and when Mikoto uses his Red King powers to the full extent his wings burst entirely into flame and it’s like a fireball. The rest of Homra have wings that are touched by fire in some way too – maybe people don’t just have feathered wings in this AU too, imagine Totsuka with wings that look like they belong to one of his flame butterflies (Anna’s ‘true’ wings are just coming in, downy white mixed with hints of red, and when she awakens as King all the white feathers fall to the ground like rain as she extends her red burning wings wide, a wingspan even greater than Mikoto’s, a phoenix rising). Fushimi’s actually afraid of Mikoto’s wings especially, like he can’t help but flinch every time Mikoto opens his wings fully. He’s also secretly jealous because Yata is so impressed that Mikoto-san can fly, and of course Fushimi knows that he’ll never be able to match that.

Then Fushimi meets Munakata and Munakata’s the only one he’s seen whose wings can rival Mikoto’s except Munakata’s are these sleek cobalt blue ones, growing brighter around the edges, just this amazing gradient of blue upon blue and Munakata loves to spread them wide whenever he’s making grand pronouncements. When he’s not trying to be impressive though Munakata keeps his wings neatly folded and sometimes they almost look like part of his uniform. Fushimi can’t help but feel drawn to those wings somehow and when Munakata tries to recruit him maybe instead of Fushimi’s leg moving unconsciously to Munakata’s side one wing opens on that side instead. Fushimi breaks things off like in canon, burning his tattoo and all, but maybe after he and Yata part he spots a fallen feather from Yata’s wings and ends up keeping it despite himself. Meanwhile Yata goes to pack up their old apartment and he finds one of Fushimi’s feathers. He wants to burn it into nothing but he can’t bring himself to do it, keeping it with him like tucked in his hat somehow and maybe it was one of those mottled feathers, black and red, and the whole time Fushimi thinks Yata’s been keeping one of Mikoto’s feathers when it’s actually his.

Then jungle, imagine Hisui’s wings aren’t real ones at all but these giant electricity ones that the Slate kinda made for him because when Hisui 'died’ his real wings hadn’t come in yet and being technically dead he couldn’t grow his real ones anymore. But the desire for them is there and the shape remains rooted in Hisui’s soul, how they should look, and the Slate answers that desire by giving him a mock version of what he should have. When the undercover mission happens Fushimi and Munakata fight and maybe Munakata makes a comment about Fushimi’s wings, the black color and how they’re so small and thin and useless, he’ll never fly with them and they’re really almost malformed in a way, just like Fushimi’s own twisted loyalties. Fushimi tries not to take that to heart but of course he does, even as he intends to carry out Munakata’s plan to the end.

Yata of course shows up to save Fushimi and when they escape Yata’s having trouble keeping ahead of Sukuna, like he’s on his skateboard with Fushimi on his back and Sukuna’s so close to catching up, and there are holes in the floor that Yata’s worried he won’t be able to skateboard over. Yata finally yells at Fushimi that they need to fly, Fushimi clicks his tongue because neither one of them can fly, idiot, and Yata’s just like shut up, I can’t fly on my own but if you’re with me we can definitely do it. They reach like this giant gap in the floor and Yata stretches his wings out, speeding up, determined to fly over it and save Fushimi. Fushimi stares at Yata in surprise and he finds his own wings stretching out too, all the way, the two of them flapping in unison as they just soar over the gap, completely airborne and in control and breathless for just a moment. Afterward Fushimi tries to act like it was nothing but Yata’s not giving up that easily, saying this is why he’s not letting Fushimi push him away again – sure they aren’t Kings and they can’t fly alone, but that’s why they’re supposed to be together because the only way Yata can soar is if Fushimi’s by his side.


Because cindersart has decided to start a war

Jason glares down the first years being a little too loud while working on what looks to be potions homework. They feel him staring and immediately clam up, hunching over their parchment and pretending to scribble away furiously. He shakes his head at them but lets it go, Godric knows he struggled with potions enough his first year. Slowly he winds his way through the library, throwing little waves or smiles to the students he knows and making sure no one from Gryffindor has any ideas about getting up to any trouble. As he makes his way towards a group of tables he spots a certained feather-braided bother, who he’s fairly sure is responsible for several student’s shoes tying themselves together.

Reprimanding Slytherin students isn’t exactly in his duties as a prefect, and he has no real proof it was her, but Jason decides to talk to her anyways. Just to make sure she knows he knows what she’s up to. Halfway to her table he hears the whispers coming from a table nearby, packed with a group of his least favorite Slytherin students. He realizes most of them are staring at Piper, tossing her disgusted looks. Jason stops, doing his best to make out the muted whispers coming from the group.

“Can’t believe she’s a pureblood.”

“Look at her, pureblood or not she’s still a taint to the bloodline.”

“Are people like her really purebloods? Her ancestors-”

Jason’s face feels as if it’s on fire and he tunes out the rest, afraid if he keeps listening he’s going to do something incredibly stupid. Instead he turns to Piper, watching her reaction as she hears the words. The students are being loud enough with their idiodicy for her to hear, and it’s likely on purpose. They mean to do this to her, eager to make themselves feel superior to anyone they can. Even if that’s one of their own.

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How a Resurrection Really Feels

Admin: Sam
Imagine: Angel!Reader is hurt and found by TFW, but to treat her they have to see her wings. Heaven’s hierachy is shown by wing colour; the lighter the colour, the higher the rank. Castiel’s are near white, but her’s are near black. You decide why!
Word Count: 2166
Warning: None really

Your name: submit What is this?

You had just gotten off your first 24-hour shift as a surgical intern. Angels really didn’t need to have a job to survive on Earth. You were simply tired of the same old job where you hide in the background and let doctors take credit for your handy work. After all, you had plenty of time to waste and being invisible had become incredibly lonely. It was time for a change. Becoming a surgeon would be a new form of what you had already been doing for thousands of years- working miracles.
It wasn’t a dark night or a rainy day. You weren’t in an abandoned warehouse or even a creaky old shack. It was sunny, barley a cloud in the sky. You were lying among the gradually browning wheat, feeling the warmth from the sun radiate on the ground. It would have been the perfect day for a picnic. It would have been the perfect day for a lot of activities if you hadn’t been beaten to a pulp.

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