anonymous asked:

☕️ Magic in the MCU. Just... totally mishandled.


I mean, I’ve talked before about how I’m immensely annoyed by the whole thing where ~Doctor Strange introduces magic to the MCU!!~ when like…okay so what is Loki doing? what is Wanda doing? are you really going with “telekensis and neurochemical manipulation” instead of just…calling it magic? pretending that Loki can move his hands and create illusions and that is…advanced science?

seriously, guys, what the fuck.

also just like…I mean, it’s a perenial problem with magic in visual media where people just aren’t creative about its uses. again, I see this with Loki - the only thing we’ve seen him do is use illusions a few times, and that just…is really lame, to me. if you’re going to have a character who is, canonically, a magic user…let him use magic.

and honestly I’m kind of upset that Wanda’s hex powers didn’t make it into the movie, because Wanda’s hex powers/ability to alter probability is super cool, and they just…cut that out.

look, I get it, magic can be hard. but at least put a little effort in, and throw out this “everything is science!!” bullshit, because no one is buying it.

              MEG CASSIDY

(age.) twenty seven
(species.) witch
(abilities.) telekensis and pyrokensis
(occupation.) recovery agent
(residency.) fourteen months
(mirror.) melanie scrofano

❝  a pavement of the past

October 29th, 1990. Isla Cassidy, a pregnant young witch arrives at a hospital. She’s begun having contractions, but they come twinned with a pain unlike anything she’s ever experienced. The pain was worth it in her eyes, though, as she could feel her unborn child’s power radiating from inside her. Isla had always dreamed of having a daughter who could follow in her footsteps, a girl she could teach about magic, witchcraft and the history of the Cassidy family. She just wished she could have shared the birth with her baby’s father, who’d gone missing shortly after the conception of their child. Despite a police investigation being launched into his disappearance, Isla’s partner still hadn’t been found. Sadly, though, as baby Meg was brought into the world that night, complications during her birth meant that her mother was torn from it. With no immediate family left to speak of, Meg was quickly swept into the foster system. The majority of Meg’s childhood was spent in various group homes, and trouble followed closely behind the young girl. She was a true tomboy at heart, always getting into scrapes, climbing trees and playing rough with the boys in the homes she was placed in. She was often overlooked when it came to being considered for adoption or a more permanent fostering situation, and this left the young girl feeling bitter and angry.

From the outside looking in, Mr & Mrs Moore and their brood of three boys appeared to be the perfect family. Any foster child would be lucky to be placed with them, let alone a troublesome twelve year old like Meg. However, she soon found out that they were hiding a dark secret. The Moore’s were a family of hunters, but their prey weren’t merely wild animals. They hunted the supernatural, and Mr Moore played a big part in the deaths of many during the war. He was revered as a hero amongst his fellow hunters, and his ruthless nature was to be feared by any supernatural creature that stood in his way. In the first few weeks of living in their family home, Meg quickly realized that life with the Moore’s would be difficult to say the least. She wasn’t allowed to attend public school any more, and was to be home schooled alongside her foster brothers. Meg was taught the tricks of the supernatural hunting trade; how to classify supernaturals, the best way to kill a vampire, history lessons on the war that had led to the supposed extinction of all supernatural creatures. The Moore’s refused to believe the cover story that all supernaturals had been wiped from existence, and were prepared to kill and torture any that threatened the human population. Meg found it hard to agree with her new foster parents’ views on the subject. In her mind, it was wrong to have launched all out war on the supernaturals, many of whom had no choice in becoming the way that they were. The Moore’s were believers in physical punishment, and not opposed to hitting a young girl if she stepped out of line. So, Meg did her best to stay out of trouble, remaining quiet and withdrawn within the household, often burying her nose in a book or going for long walks in the woodland that lay behind the Moore property, enjoying the feeling of being close to nature, the only escape she had from her prison inside the Moore’s home.

It had been a normal evening when Meg discovered the power that had been brewing inside of her since she’d been born. Her foster parents had gone out for dinner with some friends, fellow hunters she’d suspected, and she’d been reading a novel in her room when her foster brothers had burst in, unannounced. Oh, how they loved to bully her. Recently, their relentless teasing had been getting worse and much more frequent. The eldest Moore boy, Justin, snatched the book from Meg, and began to rip it to shreds, his younger siblings laughing as the young girl tried to retrieve it. Meg lashed out in frustration and slapped Justin across the cheek. In retaliation, he shoved Meg into the hallway closet and, with the help of his brothers, managed to lock her inside. Since she was little, Meg had suffered from claustrophobia. The boys delighted in taunting her, and had managed to use her fear to their advantage. Meg pounded on the door, screaming and wailing in pure terror, begging the boys to let her out. They left her in that closet, abandoned for what felt like hours. Something inside of Meg snapped, and, as her fear turned to anger, the door swung open seemingly by itself. But Meg knew better. She’d felt herself force open that door, but not by using her hands. That night, Meg stayed awake until the earlier hours testing her newfound telekinesis, fascinated by the power that she held at her fingertips. Meg knew enough from her lessons on the supernatural to deduce that, with a power like telekinesis, she must have witch ancestry running through her veins. Not wanting to keep herself in the dark, Meg took it upon herself to learn the art of witchcraft. It was easy to find place on the internet that sold witch paraphernalia, and the young girl had soon acquired a secret collection of spell books and potion ingredients that she would experiment with whenever the opportunity arose, but was careful to keep them hidden from The Moore’s. Now more than ever, Meg refused to believe their propaganda about supernatural creatures and was eager to learn more about the beings they deemed to be monsters.

Mr Moore was furious when, on the eve of Meg’s eighteenth birthday, he stumbled upon the secret cache of spell books and supernatural items hidden beneath the floorboards in his foster daughter’s room. Meg had seen the Moore patriarch get angry before, but never like this. She tried to explain herself to him, but to no avail. With the help of his three boys and wife, Meg was beaten until she was bloody and bruised, before being hauled outside at gun point and bound to a tree in the back yard. Blood boiling with fury, Mr Moore sent word out to his fellow hunters, requesting their presence at his home to bear witness as he slay the foul witch that had deceived him and the good name of his family. It was clear to Meg what he intended to do. She’d read all about the Salem Witch Trials in her history of witchcraft books, and knew that a fiery end would soon befall her. But, after the years of abuse she’d suffered at the hands of this family, she refused to go down without a fight. It all happened so fast. Meg had broken free from her bindings, the rope having burnt and dropped to the floor. A ball of flame was seemingly being conjured out of thin air and into Meg’s palms. In a second, Mr Moore was screaming, writhing on the floor trying to put out the flames that were engulfing his body. As Mrs Moore attempted to run to her husband’s side, she was thrown backwards by an invisible force, her bones crunching on impact with the exterior wall of the house. The Moore’s children, their willing accomplices, were forced to witness their parent’s deaths before meeting their own demise at the hands of their ‘sister’. When the party of invited hunters finally arrived at the Moore Residence, Meg was long gone, speeding away from the scene of her crime in the family’s station wagon with their life savings tucked safely into her pocket. Within hours, word had spread throughout the hunting community about the death of the Moore family at the hands of the witch they had called their daughter, and Meg soon had a target painted squarely upon her back. Struggling with her conscience and the weight of her actions, Meg found it hard to pretend everything was okay. Wanting to get as far away as possible from from the small town she’d been confined to during her childhood, Meg kept her foot planted firmly on the gas, speeding through state after state, never stopping long enough for the engine of her jeep to get cold. Nowhere was safe for her now; hunters across the country were looking for her, ready to put a bullet square between her eyes for what she’d done to the Moore’s.

For two years, Meg spent her life on the road, in a futile effort to outrun her past. Multiple attempts had been made on her life in that time, the hunters pursuing her seemed to never be too far behind. The young witch’s powers had grown in her time on the run, as well as being a skilled huntress herself, and she always managed to best those attempting to slay her. It appeared, however, that time was on her side – her last encounter with a hunter had taken place several months before. For the young witch, it seemed a good idea to try hiding in plain sight. In truth, she was exhausted, and longed for a place to settle down and call home. And so, she headed for New York City, and attempted to fade into a life of normalcy. She found herself a job, working nine to five as a waitress in a diner. The pay was terrible, but she made up for it in tips, and her colleagues made her feel instantly welcome. It didn’t take long for Meg’s natural charisma and quiet beauty to attract the attention of her customers, and one man in particular appeared unable to keep himself away from her. His name was Ethan, and he was everything she wasn’t; self assured, optimistic and charming. And it didn’t hurt that he was handsome as hell. It was a whirlwind romance, and within weeks of knowing each other, Meg had moved into his apartment in the city. The two talked often bout the future, and shared a dream of about up and someday travelling across the world together. For once in her life, Meg felt truly content, despite keeping her witchcraft and ties to the supernatural a secret from her new beau. She vowed to tell him eventually, but didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their relationship. Ethan had enlisted in the army shortly before meeting Meg, and was due to be shipped off to Afghanistan. They said a painful goodbye, and Meg made Ethan promise to return to her safely. That was a promise, however, that was fated to be broken. One afternoon, Meg returned home after a shift at the diner to find one of Ethan’s army buddies waiting on her doorstep. She broke down as he informed her that Ethan had been killed on active duty. Meg had her heart ripped from her chest that day, and nothing she did seemed to be able to heal it.

The next few months were a blur for Meg. Unable to cope with the loss of her beloved, everything felt empty and hollow without him there, as though she’d never really lived before he’d entered into her life. Sleepless nights, empty whiskey bottles and one night stands became fixtures in Meg’s routine. She became reckless and irresponsible with her magic, practically begging the hunters that had once pursued her so relentlessly to come out of the woodwork and chase her once again. It wasn’t long before she drew them to her. Whilst working the graveyard shift at the diner, a man she recognised as a close friend of her former foster father stormed through the front door, a team of fellow hunters trailing close behind. They launched a full scale assault on Meg, and she struggled to fight back, almost wanting them to succeed in their efforts to put her down. It was a tough fight, pushing Meg far beyond her limit, but somehow she managed to come out victorious. The hunters that had dared to attack her either lay lifeless across the linoleum floor of the diner or seen were fleeing terrified from the scene. However, no battle is without casualty; a close friend and colleague of Meg’s had been killed in the crossfire. Before she had time to process the loss of her dear friend, for the second time in her life, Meg found herself being forced to flee the scene of a tragedy that had been caused by her.

She hit the open road once more, refusing to stay in one place long enough to form any lasting connections. The people that got close to her only ended up getting hurt, and, selfish as it may be, Meg couldn’t deal with any more grief. Living pay check to pay check, Meg took odd jobs here and there when she began struggling with cash, earning just enough to keep gas in the tank of her jeep and food in her belly. She stumbled upon Hollow Grove seemingly on accident, whilst cruising through Boston. A safe haven for the supernatural seemed too good to be true in Meg’s eyes, but she decided fight her instinct to run and gave the town a chance. A year on, Meg’s glad she took a gamble on the picturesque town and feels lucky to be considered a part of the tight-knit community. Working with the Recovery Agents, Meg takes frequent trips out of town in search of any supernatural beings in need of assistance. She keeps an ear to the ground on her travels, listening intently for any news of hunters closing in on her location, and is quick to take care of anyone that dares threaten her or the place that she calls home.

❝  the nature of the beast

Equal parts fierce as she is kind, Meg is a passionate individual with a kind heart hidden beneath her tough exterior. Quick to use sarcasm as a defence mechanism, you’ll often find Meg firing back with her sharp tongue and quick wit. It can take time for her to warm up to people, but once you manage to break down her walls, you have a fierce friend who will defend you with every fibre of her being.


(age.) thirty two
(species.) witch
(abilities.) telekensis
(occupation.) anesthesiologist
(residency.) grew up here but just returned
(mirror.) camilla luddington

❝  a pavement of the past

Katherine Stirling grew up an only child in a house full of adults. Her parents, stuck in a marriage fraught with tension, filled their big house with their parents, too busy working to take care of their own child. With both of them too distracted at the hospital, trying to both provide for their family and establish themselves in the medical community, Kate was left to the devices of her grandparents. Her mother’s parents passed away within a year of each other by the time she was 7, but it was her father’s mother that really made her life hell. Childhood with her proxy parents meant constant reminders that  “children should be seen and not heard.” Kate was constantly being told she needed to eat less and smile more and spend less time reading, else she’d end up just like her mother: spending too much time at work because her husband wouldn’t pay attention to her. Needless to say, her grandmother never grew out of the 1950s-mentality, and Kate avoided her as much as she could. Trying to grin and bear it weighed on her soul, however, and after a certain point, life at home simply meant raging fights with her grandmother that would lead to talking tos from her parents.

Her solace became her grandfather, her best friend, a man who would would work on all of her homework with her, who would play basketball with her, who would even let her paint his nails. In her teens, after countless failed efforts to trying to explain to her parents simply how miserable it made her to spend time with her father’s mother, Kate simply gave up and tried to bear it, throwing herself into community events instead.

Once in high school, she joined the track team, women’s basketball, and as many clubs as she could handle. On top of that and schoolwork, and the steady boyfriend she acquired at age sixteen, Kate was able to spend enough time outside of her house that her grandmother’s constant barbs weren’t so much deep, bloody gashes as they were needles pricking her skin. Her relationship with her parents’ eroded, too, as their love, too, was mostly conditional. Her mother, faced with crushing pressure from her husband, her career, and the mother-in-law she lived with, badly wanted a daughter she could just be proud of, and her father was used to nothing less than excellence. Kate, as good as she was, couldn’t rise to their levels. In the midst of trying to keep as busy as possible, she chose to forgo spending all her time in her room studying; she didn’t do badly, but she wasn’t class valedictorian. Graduation day didn’t come with a fresh acceptance letter to an Ivy League school, and four more years of staying in school close to home wore her down so much that by the time her grandfather died two months before her college graduation, Kate barely spoke to her family.

Three weeks after graduating college, Kate broke up with her boyfriend, wrote goodbye letters to her parents, and left for Columbia, South Carolina to attend medical school at USC. Those four years passed her by without any contact from her family, and Kate finished her residency in Charleston, opting to accept a job offer at her hospital there after her residency ended.

At 32, she’d built a life in Charleston with friends and coworkers that she cared about, people who didn’t push her to talk about her past- the family and childhood she never wanted to talk about. Suddenly her newfound family is the one she’s disappointing, all because of a phone call from Hollow Grove last week informing her that her parents are dead and her ailing grandmother needs her.

It’s cruel irony, this forced return to a hometown she can’t seem to hold any regard for, but Kate can’t reconcile a world where she actively tries to save others’ families and does nothing for her own, no matter how they treated her.

❝  the nature of the beast

Kate grew up kind and charming, bubby and outgoing. In the years since leaving Hollow Grove, she became more easygoing by nature, suddenly able to breathe without worrying about potential repercussions for all of her actions. Returning to Hollow Grove, however, has caused her to retreat into her shell. She can’t help but associate the whole town with her bad familial memories, and a large part of her resents that the woman who made her life hell is the reason she’s had to come back at all. Yet for all of that, Kate knows that staying behind wasn’t an option. As a medical professional, her life’s work is to care for others. Now that the focus is her family, she can’t turn her back. Besides, as much as life in South Carolina is stress-free, Kate is uneasy with the state of supernatural affairs. Returning to Hollow Grove, the town a possible target in and of itself, may be painting a target on her back, but at least she can put her finger on the pulse of the issue. She hasn’t spoken to anyone save Lucy Danvers in years, and she’s anxious the townspeople will hold it against her. She aims to be civil and cordial, doesn’t want to get involved any more than she has to, and wants to be back in Charleston before her three months’ family leave is up.te


Seriously one of my most favorite pranks!

Can’t Take A Joke

Anyone with telekensis would understand why Dean just can’t help himself. 

It’s not like he goes around rearranging the furniture or lift cars or anything. Just small things, like summoning the pepper while he’s cooking or tossing Sam the book he was being nagged at to get without missing a second of the new Game of Thrones. But his favorite way of abusing he new found demonic powers is to piss Sam off. 

Also in small ways, nothing big. Nothing like turning the cold water on full blast while Sam was showering without having to actually being near enough to get hit. Nothing, you know, that was going to get Dean ‘accidentally’ stuck in a demon’s trap for four hours. No, he’s never done that.  Now messing with Sam’s coffee cup while he was nose deep into research… That was Dean’s new favorite past time. Each time Sam reached for a sip, Dean would just need to flick his wrist and the mug would slide a few inches away and each time Sam would pull a bitch face. It was hilarious. 

Although nothing topped the increased level of annoyance in Sam’s complaints.  

“Dean, that wasn’t funny the first time."  

"Okay, you can stop now, you’ve had your laughs." 

"Seriously, Dean. It’s getting annoying."  

"You know, if I wasn’t the only one working you wouldn’t be so hard up for a distraction.”  

"For the love of God, could you just please stop?" 

"I swear to God, Dean, I will put salt on everything.” 

All the while Dean would eat it up, laughing his ass off. Seriously, who knew that being a demon could be so much fun? But the thing he always forgot was how Sam could be so patient when it came to revenge. He would always wait Dean out, ignore him until Dean got bored and moved on, and then when Dean expected it the least, Sam would spring an attack so subtle that Dean wouldn’t know what the fuck hit him.  Case in point, Dean just barely manages to avoid a demon trap. His hackles rise as he begins to put his foot down and just knows

He dodges left, shooting Sam a smug look, knowing that he has avoided the trap. It wasn’t even all that well hidden! Under a rug, Sam? Really? Who the fuck raised you?  

"Dude, you’re going to have to try harder that that,” Dean goads, walking backwards. He starts to suspect something though when Sam’s expression remains serene. There’s a dark glimmer in his hazel eyes that puts Dean’s black orbs to shame.  

“Christo.” It’s barely above a whisper but it’s enough to make Dean jerk. 


He stumbles left into the library and nearly falls on his ass. And it freaking hurt, for fuck’s sake! Like claws scraping away his insides. He is going to get Sam for that… 

“Asshole!” Dean goes to pounce on Sam and… He. Can’t. He can’t fucking move. He shoots forward and slams into an invisible wall that freaking burns. 

Back two steps: burning invisible wall. Left two steps, same fucking thing. Not only is Dean trapped, but he can’t even sit down without the risk of some serious pain. Sam had made a trap and like an idiot, Dean had fell into it. Son of a bitch! 

“Sam!” And Sam continues walking away, whistling like the douchewaffle that he is.  “Sam! I swear to God if you don’t get your ass back here!” Sam just keeps on walking away, whistling that happy tune, and there isn’t a damn thing that Dean can do about it.  

Some times being a demon sucks ass.