● Preform this spell on or just before a full moon! ●
Bathe in a warm sea salt bath
Cleanse your magickal space
Dress a pink or white candle with your favorite oil/oils
Burn cleansing incense like patchouli or dragons blood, or simply light the corner of a dried sage leaf and “smudge” your space
When your body is squeaky clean and your space is lovingly cleared and has been made ready for your magickal work, simply light your oil dressed candle, reciting words to this effect, or better yet, make up your own incantation. This would be a wonderful spell to cast out-of-doors if possible. At your door would be an ideal place to prepare for this one, privacy permitting of course.
Familiar Summing Incantation:
“I ask the Great Mother to send me a special friend
Amy Wright has big, round eyes and an ageless face. She was almost thirty when she acted in John Huston’s 1979 adaptation of Flannery O’Connor’s novel Wise Blood, but is wholly convincing as the preacher’s teenage daughter Sabbath Lily, who seduces the protagonist, Hazel Motes. Her eyes are what do it: liquid and slightly uneven, they turn downward as they widen, transforming her expression from childlike stubbornness into an almost too-pliable topography of peaks and valleys, rising colors and shifting lines. And Wise Blood is all about eyes: the angled, electric-blue eyes of Hazel (Brad Dourif), the would-be irreligionist who can’t escape faith; the scandalously seeing eyes of the supposedly blind evangelist Asa Hawks (Harry Dean Stanton), whom Hazel pursues, determined to unmask his falseness; and the gawking, desiring eyes of his daughter Sabbath Lily, which become the displaced focus of Hazel’s ecclesiastical obsession.
Even when she was in the midst of a full-one revolution, the paperwork still managed to catch up with her. Stacks upon stacks of requisitions, test results, medical files and plain old bills cluttered her usually immaculate desk.
Angela was used to going without sleep, though. Her professors had once remarked it was as important a talent for any doctor or physician as having steady hands and neat handwriting. But she was getting a little older, and pulling an all-nighter wasn’t as easy as it had been years before; a coffee-assist was usually not enough to keep her awake until everything was done. The ambience of the safehouse they were staying in only added to her problems.
The soft whirring of the ventillation fans; the pitter-patter of gentle rain outside; the quiet hum of her computer all combined to form a perfect lullaby. In the pool of light cast by her desk lamp, Angela found her eyes struggling to stay open. She kept having to re-read the same sentence. In amongst the soothing sounds, his footsteps made very little impression on the peaceful atmosphere that surrounded her office.
You glance over the front seat and let your feet slip clunkily down from the dash. Driving all night and through this morning, and now an hour’s nap; not much, not enough to feel rested but enough to push through the last couple of hours to the bunker.
‘Yeah, I’m good,’ you say, but you’re not really thinking about it, you’re looking at the sweat on Dean’s neck (he’s almost matte when he sweats) and the damp making dark patches blossom around the neckline of his grey tshirt. He flexes his shoulders, rolls the stiffness of sleep from his neck. His eyebrows are furrowed, thinking, lips hanging open a little. He looks good enough to eat and you’re a day or two from your period, so horny you’re actually aching from it, a low steady discomfort twisting between your legs.
‘Dean,’ you say, before you can second-guess it, ‘do you wanna - uh. Do you wanna? Quick?’
Here’s my issue with “it can be used as a tool for abuse, so it shouldn’t exist”:
Social justice is fucking ripe with the potential for abuse.
Like, I cannot count how many times popular sj bloggers have ended up being revealed as abusers. Social justice is built on guilt, it’s built on prioritizing some people over others, and it has the lovely tendency to ignore actual people’s experiences that don’t fit the narrative.
People have to write articles to other sjers about how anyone can abuse anyone. That’s a novel idea in social justice ideology, that marginalized people can abuse people with privilege. That interpersonal relationships are not defined entirely by privilege/oppression dynamics.
So the people who are attacking ships and shippers left and right on the basis of “your ships are tools for abusers”: when are they gonna apply that same standard to their own ideology? When do we get to “oh, well, social justice isn’t bad on it’s own, but it’s got so much potential to be used by abusers, nobody should be allowed to do it anymore”?
Soft, body-heat warm and so deeply black in color it seems to absorb any light it touches. It almost appears to have a face, two tiny white eyes in the mote of darkness. Whatever were the gods so afraid of?
Thorin x Reader : “I almost lost you.” and “Don’t you ever do that again!”
Word count: 597
Carelessness does not go without consequence. Though, you could hardly call it carelessness if it is caring to drive you forward in the first place. Perhaps, then, it is caring that bears the heaviest burden.
You remember spotting Azog, the intention to dispatch him running through your veins already when you noticed exactly with whom he was locked in battle. A fierce desire to protect Thorin then raged in your chest, spurring you on as you launched yourself between them, swinging your sword through the air at the heinous fiend. You only managed a few superficial wounds before you took Azog’s blade to your shoulder.
Frustrating. There was no other word for it. He’d hover in
front of her. He’d wave his arms wildly. He’d set the room on fire. Nothing
It wasn’t Mabel’s fault.
It was Dipper’s fault. For being stuck on an entirely
different plane of existence.
Following her was virtually pointless. Watching over her did
no good. It didn’t fix the despair and loneliness that seemed permanently
etched on her face. It didn’t do any good to read her aura with his third eye
and see the motes of pruce swirl
about her long, now shaggy, brown hair. It didn’t make him feel right. He had
found Mabel, but raw human emotions wrecked him.
They were overpowering.
Eating made him feel better. The occasional minor demon he
encountered. The rare summoner looking for Cipher that he dealt with. There was
no keeping track of them anymore. Now it seemed the sparks and fire flowed
endlessly. He didn’t have trouble with wearing thin anymore. His appetite grew
to match his meals.
Now the question remained: how could he get Mabel’s
Dipper mulled over the question as he prowled through the
mindscape, somewhere in the northern tundra of Canada. The world was frozen
over. His presence elicited steam along his path.
Blameless as daylight I stood looking At a field of horses, necks bent, manes blown, Tails streaming against the green Backdrop of sycamores. Sun was striking White chapel pinnacles over the roofs, Holding the horses, the clouds, the leaves
Steadily rooted though they were all flowing Away to the left like reeds in a sea When the splinter flew in and stuck my eye, Needling it dark. Then I was seeing A melding of shapes in a hot rain: Horses warped on the altering green,
Outlandish as double-humped camels or unicorns, Grazing at the margins of a bad monochrome, Beasts of oasis, a better time. Abrading my lid, the small grain burns: Red cinder around which I myself, Horses, planets and spires revolve.
Neither tears nor the easing flush Of eyebaths can unseat the speck: It sticks, and it has stuck a week. I wear the present itch for flesh, Blind to what will be and what was. I dream that I am Oedipus.
What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis; Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
I know this sounds stupid but I check everyday to see if you have a new part to the reunion story!!! One word: hope.
(Hi anon! Unfortunately the reunion story is on hold. I’m not sure for how long or if I’ll get back to it. But here’s a fill of your prompt all the same!)
Carol sat on the side of the bed,
her legs hanging off the edge, her toes inches above the floor. Her body ached
where the wounds had recently closed, and she was somewhere between serenity
and unease at the noises of the Kingdom’s daily life outside the window. Her
wounds weren’t restricting her here anymore. The people here weren’t
restricting her. They seemed more or less ambivalent toward her; she was
welcome to stay, but they wouldn’t stop her from leaving either.
She traced her thumb across the
bullet scar over her thigh, wincing at the tender, pink new skin around the area.
The sunlight dripped across the window sill and onto the quiet morning scene of
the room. She was leaving today. Going back to Alexandria…Her reasons for
wanting to leave it all behind hadn’t changed…but everything else had. The
Saviors…Negan…what had happened that night out on the road…Carol shifted her
eyes from the dust motes floating in the air over to Daryl.
His back was to her, bent over and
tying his shoe laces. There was a fresh, pink scar on the back of his shoulder
where the bullet had blown out. The way he carried his arm told her it still
bothered him, but the wound was closed, and that was healed enough in his mind.
They hadn’t spoken much over the
past few weeks. She got the feeling that he didn’t know what to say, but
everything he felt was clear on his face. He was overwhelmed. He was upset with
what had happened, with her; he was angry and scared. And under all of that,
constant as sunrise, was an unwavering and unconditional loyalty to her. It
reverberated through every look, every expression, every movement of him.
She didn’t know how to live with
“Was thinkin’…” His voice broke
into her thoughts softly.
Carol kept her eyes silently on him
as he turned around to face her. His gaze was down on the shirt in his hands as
he unfolded it. She let the quiet continue on his terms, only placing her hands
on the edge of the bed her at her sides, readying herself for whatever he was
going to say.
He fidgeted with the shirt before
taking a breath and shrugging one arm through the sleeve. He more gingerly got
his mending arm through the other sleeve, but he didn’t move to button it up
“We get back…” he said, finally
lifting his eyes to meet hers. “Things are gonna be different…They’re gonna
have to change.”
Carol swallowed and exhaled,
crossing her ankles. “We don’t know if Negan is aware of Alexandria’s
connection to the Hilltop or the Kingdom.”
He nodded briefly. “Yeah…S’not what
I’m talkin’ about though.”
She straightened. “Tell me.”
He scratched at his chin, started
to fold his arms, grimaced, and let his arms fall to his sides again. He lifted
one hand to rub at his shoulder, his thumb pressing at the sore spots.
“You—“ He cut himself off, shifting
from one foot to another. “I don’t—this…”
Deciding the distance was too much,
he closed the gap between them, paused, and put his hand on the footboard of
the bed. She watched him carefully.
“You. You are…good.” He patted the
footboard for emphasis, having trouble meeting her eyes, so he addressed her
shoulder. “If you think—If you think otherwise…That you’re…damned or damaged or
just…S’bullshit. If you think YOU’re damned, then I’m—“
He pursed his lips hard and looked
toward the window. Carol winced and reached out, touching his hand.
“No.” He dropped his head for a
brief moment, before he was looking directly at her. “The world is…it’s just
shit. It’s all shit, and it’s filled with shit people. The few good ones that
are worth anything are just—I cain’t just keep losin’ ‘em. I can’t do it. And
to just lose ‘em is bad enough…To watch ‘em go down fighting or—“ His gaze went
distant for a moment, but he quickly snapped back. “But to lose them of their
choice…To know that they chose to walk away…”
Carol squeezed his hand. “I didn’t
want to, Daryl.”
“Then why did you?” His voice lost
He stepped around the bed, standing
directly in front of her. “What would leaving accomplish? There was a time you’d
chew my ass for tryin’ to leave. I just—“ He visibly struggled to regain
control. “I want to understand. I know I didn’t—I wasn’t there, and—Jesus, I’m
Her jaw locked, and she stared at
him. Where was she supposed to start to explain? God, how long ago would
explaining anything to him be as easy as breathing? To barely need any words to
communicate what either was feeling? Why did he feel so far away? When did that
happen? Her vision blurred, and she furiously blinked the moisture away.
“Carol—“ Daryl took a step closer.
Carol blindly reached out and got a
handful of his shirt, tugging him closer. He followed her coaxing until he was practically
standing between her knees. She dropped her forehead against his chest, taking
a shaky breath.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
She felt his bewilderment, but he
was quick to put his arms around her.
“M’right here,” he murmured. “Ain’t
goin’ nowhere.” He snorted. “Well, rephrase. I ain’t goin’ nowhere if you ain’t.”
It was a beautiful and infuriating
over-simplification of the circumstances. Damn, if she didn’t love him for it.
He felt warm and solid. He felt like home. The concept brought a hotter burn to
her eyes, and she let it wash over her. She turned her cheek into his chest and
wrapped her arms around the narrow of his back.
“That means we’re both going back
to Alexandria,” she said softly.
He rubbed her back briefly, and
then she felt him kiss the top of her head. She swallowed and lifted her head,
looking up at him.
“Tell me something real…something
that hasn’t changed,” she pleaded.
He gazed down at her with a
fondness that made her chest ache. He slowly cupped her face with both hands
and bent down, kissing her lips slowly. She kept her eyes open even as his
closed into the kiss. He tasted exactly how she thought he would, but the kiss
was warmer than she’d imagined, softer. She could feel the stiff spot on his
lower lip where it was still healing. She could feel him breathing into her.
He followed the deep kiss with a
shorter one, like he didn’t know how to stop. She leaned forward with him as he
withdrew, reluctant for it to end. She involuntarily licked her lips and looked
up at him. He looked back at her. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he
set his temple against her forehead.
“That’s all I got,” he spoke
tenderly. “Hope that’s enough.”