the strength forces of the unseen

I honestly love being a witch.

❈ I draw love, comfort, and strength from nature, the elements, deities (if I choose), and spirits.

❈ I have a secret, one that most people don’t know about me.

❈ I understand myself better than I ever had before.

❈ I feel magical, mysterious, and enchanted when I make magic.

❈ I can divine the future, the present, and the past, and find the truth of a situation to guide myself and others.

❈ My familiar is adorable and one of my best friends. Same for my spirit guide.

❈ I can protect myself and those I love from unseen forces.

❈ There is no better feeling than feeling “witchy.”

The lips of the bottle are cold against Dean’s own. He likes it that way—the ice before the bitter taste and heat. His mouth the gateway between tangible and fantasy where he can pinpoint the spaces to untangle and let go.

It’s a game: Drink. Sink deeper into the motel pillows. Drink again.

It should make Dean’s skin feel less real. It should curb the way his eyes feel dry and heavy. Should lull him into a sense of heady nothingness. But Dean’s stomach churns against the liquid and the mattress is too hard.

“God,” he says, his chest struggling under an unseen weight. It isn’t a prayer or a curse. Instead, it’s a word to try and incinerate the nerves already sparking inside him. Finish the job.

But it isn’t God that answers. It’s Cas, standing like a wall. Strong. Fierce. Not like Dean, who tries to turn away from the angel the moment he appears inside the motel room. It’s Dean who can’t even bring himself to act like he’s ok. He only has enough reserves left now to hide. Only has the strength to close his eyes against the light with force.

And he shivers when Cas’s hand falls on the skin of his arm, holding it tightly.

Dean wonders if Cas can feel his blood move beneath his skin. Wonders if Cas sees any life left in the shell of Dean’s body.

“Dean,” Cas says, and it’s worry. It’s pain. It’s recognition that Dean exists, even if the hunter doesn’t want to be real right now.

Dean wants to look at Cas. He knows the angel has always seen him. And he knows Cas’s soul has spoken to him, too. If only the words could translate. Because maybe Cas could say what Dean needs to hear. Could fill up the empty room with words neither of them ever learned. Words like “hope,” and “safe.”

And Cas’s hand waits. Waits for Dean to allow it.

It takes a long time. It’s reluctant. It’s a fist that sprouts from a tight wad, blooming like a reluctant flower to slowly, lightly touch Cas’s skin back with his own. To give the angel the ok.

It’s brief. It’s shaky. It’s enough.

Dean feels Cas’s heat against his back as the angel lays down behind him. And Cas talks through his fingers, saying the things his mouth can’t. He tells stories with their skin, letting his palms run along Dean’s back and chest and arms. Anywhere he can find to spread his heat like balm.

Then it’s the angel’s mouth against his neck, breathing home into Dean’s spine and hair while Cas’s palm rests lightly on Dean’s stomach, skirting under the hunter’s shirt.

And when he finally feels Cas’s mouth on his back, small kisses through the fabric, the hunter wonders at the need for words at all. Because it isn’t desire, it’s worship. It’s Cas telling him he’s glad Dean’s alive. Glad he’s here.

Dean swallows. He flips onto his back, giving Cas further purchase on his skin. But Cas’s hands have stopped, and part of Dean wants to open his eyes. To see if Cas has left him here to the silence. But he can’t bring his eyes to face the emptiness. And as his skin starts to cool in the wait, he suddenly can’t breathe, Dean’s lungs jolting and shaking while he cuts off his own air supply.

Cas, Dean prays. Cas, touch me. Talk to me.

But the hands don’t return. Instead, Dean is startled when he feels a heavy weight on his chest, right against his heart. He can feel through his shirt where Cas’s ear is pushed up against his skin. Can feel Cas’s tiny breaths of admiration as the angel inhales at the sensation of each heart beat.

The burn inside Dean’s stomach starts to subside and his hand makes his way into Cas’s hair, resting his fingers in between patches of it. Neither of them move except to breathe. Dean doesn’t open his eyes. No one speaks.

But Dean can hear Cas anyway, telling him all the things he needs to fill the silence. And suddenly maybe, just maybe, Dean thinks he might know what hope feels like.

Trees Elemental Correspondences

EARTH (Prosperity and success)
Yew: Able to live for thousands of years, the yew spirit is a witness to the passage of our immortal souls through many lifetimes. It offers a glimpse of eternity, a reminder of our direct contact with past, present and future.

Elder: A tree of regeneration and rebirth, sacred to the Earth Mother, with every part of the tree blessed with healing powers. If we respect its powerful, primeval presence, the elder spirit will honour us with protection, healing and guidance.

Oak: Strength, endurance, courage, inner nourishment. A doorway to other dimensions, to higher realms of truth, to the wisdom of elemental power. The oak is high king, guardian of the fertility of the land and its people.

Elm: A tree of mystery, home to the elven folk. Restores our life force by cleansing any feelings which inhibit its flow – i.e. despair, despondency, self-doubt, unworthiness. It encourages renewed faith in the value of our life’s work.

AIR (Knowledge and inspiration)
Beech: “There is nothing new under the sun – only truth and beauty” – so counsels the beech. Her gentle magic can inspire us to let go of old patterns and fixed attitudes, and to see more of the good that is in the world.

Aspen: Shields us from fear and anxiety, and helps us to feel more trustful of the unknown, unseen and unfamiliar. Aspen helps us to connect with and manifest the source of our inner strength.

Pine: Purifies, cleanses, transforms our negative moods and self-judgement. Pine heightens our awareness and our perspective, revealing new insights and refreshing our spirit.

Birch: New beginnings, birth, inception. The vital force, powerful in its shining innocence, symbolising the positive aspects of the process of constant change, driving out old, stale energy to make way for a fresh start.

Hazel: Knowledge , wisdom, intuition, creative leaps beyond the bounds of normal perception. Connection with the wellsprings of consciousness, fostering communication, self-discovery and crcreativity

Gorse: A hardy tenacious shrub, gorse has an aura of contentment, fulfilment, optimism. Even in winter its flowers glow with the sunshine of renewed hope and inner strength.

FIRE (Energy and change)
Holly: Balance, centredness, integrity. Holly shows its vivid, shining presence even in the depths of winter. Helps us to avoid fiery over-reactions towards others, arising from our oversensitivity and impatience.

Rowan: Its scarlet berries have the brilliance of a beacon on a mountain top. Used in divination, healing, and whenever protection is needed against unwelcome spirits and unwanted influences.

Heather: A tonic for a jaded spirit, reviving and soothing. It also restores our trust in the perfection of the universe, and the unfolding of our life process within it.
Hawthorn: A healer of the heart, a tree of joyous festivities, the marriage of love and life in action – perhaps after a period of inaction, restraint, self-denial, reflection. Guardian of sacred springs and wells.

Blackthorn: A guide through the darkness, back to the light. Helps us face our deepest fears and buried emotions, our dark side. This is a process of cleansing and renewal, leading to a sudden, spontaneous flowing of the spirit.

WATER (Healing and Love)
Alder: Alder finds its strength in water, but it also has fiery qualities. If we are feeling emotionally drained or diverted , it can help us find the determination to stay true to our purposes when circumstances threaten to overwhelm us. It is also an oracle of vision and foresight, helping us to prepare wisely for the future.

Willow: Its miraculous fertile life force helps us to be more sensitive to the ebb and flow of our deepest feelings, dreams, visions, intuitions. It teaches us how the growth of understanding is rooted in total acceptance of our life situation, as it is, now.

Ash: The world tree of the ancients, spanning the universe, connecting everything. It links the inner and outer worlds, helping us to assimilate knowledge gained on a psychic level, and to manifest it in practical ways. It also strengthens our will-power and resolve.

Apple: A symbol of beauty, love, inner and outer harmony. It symbolises living life to the full, focusing mind and heart together positively. Whilst life’s fruitfulness is there to be enjoyed, we must also make choices and learn not to dissipate our energy in the pursuit of too many goals.

Ivy: A tenacious climber, ivy represents the inner search for the higher self, the spiral dance through the maze of life’s challenges. In this process of self-transformation, originality and uniqueness are the keys to unlock habitual patterns of behaviour.

Source: Encyclopedia Celtic Mythology by Bob-Curran

[Al-Qawiyy/The All-Strong]
All power is in Allah’s hand; “There is no power except in Allah” ‎﴾18.39‬‎﴿‬ Man’s strength cannot be compared to that of Allah. For He is the creator of all powers in the physical world, such as the wind, rain and the living beings, and the world of the unseen, hosts of angels execute the orders of their Lord. “To Allah belongs the forces of the heaven and the earth, and Allah is Almighty and All-Wise.” ‎﴾48.7‬‎﴿‬ It happens that men get drunk with whatever power they may have obtained. They think that they are the mightiest beings. They wonder: “Who is greater than us in strength?” Did they not consider that Allah who created them was greater than them in strength?“ ‎﴾41.15‬‎﴿‬
But there will come a Day when the strength of Allah will be displayed for all witness. Alas, it will be too late to start to believe. "when they see the punishment, [they will be certain] that all power belongs to Allah.” ‎﴾‬‎2.165﴿‬
A promise is made by Allah to the believers that His strength will be in their side if they defend the His faith. “Allah has written, "I will surely overcome, I and My messengers.” Indeed, Allah is Powerful and Exalted in Might.
“ ‎﴾58.21‬‎﴿‬

Masamune: The Blade of Light


Sketch of Raleno Cinoten’s main weapon: The legendary sword, Masamune!

Forged in an age long forgotten, and passed down from generation to generation, the Masamune is said to carry a mysterious empathic power that synchronizes itself with its master, even gradually changing its form to suit that of its wielder.

For all its strength and capabilities, it is also said that the blade chooses those worthy to wield it, and is quite fickle about it, too: Those who attempt to even hold it without having earned either its favor, or the utmost trust of its chosen wielder, are immediately repelled by an unseen force.

Though the power of the Masamune is heralded as a force of light, the truth is, it actually balanced by two counterparts, the Blade of Darkness, Muramasa, and the Blade of Null, Murasame.

Zodiac element traits

Fire (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) - Intuitive, Passionate, Powerful, Courageous, Active, Assertive, Strong, Enthusiasm, Drive, Charming, Flamboyant, Inspirational, Desire, Dynamic, Daring, Hopeful, Force, Luster, Virility.

Air (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius) - Uncontainable, Unseen, Elusive, Changeable, Swift, Reason, Knowledge, Persuasion, Intellect, Agility, Sociable, Freedom, Clarity, Sharpness, Renewal, Rebirth, Uniqueness, Communicative. 

Earth (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) - Strength, Prosperity, Growth, Stability, Solid, Dependable, Yin, Passive, Receptive, Patient, Tolerance, Dedication, Commitment, Permanence, Form, Practical, Tolerance, Sensations.

Water (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces) - Cleanses, Nourishes, Reflects, Love, Peace, Healing, Emotion, Ideal, Subconscious, Intelligent, Sensitive, Caring, Psychic, Artistic, Understanding, Mysterious, Secretive, Deep, Reflective.

The Major Arcana

0.

In the beginning, there was nothing

Zero was pure and true

Then from the cliff he leaped

The Fool is always new


I.

Magically there is a spark

Mindful of it’s Will

From the darkness he calls forth light

Power for good or ill


II.

She is coldness and within

Keeper of the deep

We are most like her

When we dream, asleep


III.

And her twin is our Earth

Mother of all, Life

She is the Eden from which we grow

Shekinah, God’s wife


IV.

The Ego begins to form

He and the Land are one.

Order and Laws rule here

And freedom is his son.


V.

We put our faith in symbols

And pray to the God of silence

Structure feeds our hungry souls

While Babylon shines with brilliance


VI.

Yearning for another,

I to you, you to me,

We cleave to each other

Union of Self and Divinity


VII.

Power surges from within

As opposites compete.

And Triumph comes to both of us

One Self, complete.


VIII.

Your own heart is the Judge

Where there is a balance to be met

Though karma can seem cruel at times

Forgiveness clears the debt


IX.

Wandering hidden paths

Deep inside you travel

Gaining the light of truth

Your loneliness unravels.


X.

Blind Fate turns Her wheel

We spin in gratitude

And at our cores, the same yet changed

She marvels at our servitude


XI.

Be tied by no chains!

Know of thy Self above!

Strength of Spirit is a greater force,

The Lion is tamed by Love


XII.

Our Hero is slain by his own Self

His ego dies unto Godhood

Surrendering to his destiny

A martyr hangs where once I stood.


XIII.

In the calm repose of Death

The first of many doors close

Yet others open to realms unseen

And the soul changes clothes


XIV.

And the Angels turn us into water

And pour us upon the Earth.

We cleanse each other of fault and sin-

You are sacred. Full of worth.


XV.

Rising from the depths

The Force of hellish fire

Comes to consume a World

Upon a sacrificial pyre


XVI.

All that is created

Can someday be destroyed

When total darkness flows

From the edges of the Void


XVII.

Yet there is Hope at night

For then the Stars shine brightest

Guiding all that has been lost

To be reborn in Lightness


XVIII.

And the darkness yields and recedes from sight

The Guardian of Dreams emerges

Held safely in a silver coolness

All fears and regrets, She purges


XIX.

Waking to the Fire of Day

The Enlightened Self rejoices

And all the World sings his glory

With seven billion voices


XX.

And the Song echoes to the ends of Eternity

Awakening the God within

Rising to the Call, our Human Soul

At last meets it’s twin


XXI.

The Circle is completed

The Cosmos and you are One.

All of it, a Spark of your beauty

Since time itself begun.

Some Things Were Meant to be Secrets - Part 3 - The Finale?

Request: Hi I’m apsolutely in love with your writing and I was wondering if you could do one where the reader is younger then the winchesters like 19 or 20 and lives with them at the bunker and is in love with dean but doesn’t do anything cause of the age difference and then she gets possessed and the demon tells them about her feelings?? I’ve just had this idea for a while and your an amazing writer so I thought why not:)  @jessalyn124356

Words: 1407

Part One  Part Two

 “Get out of her, you son of a bitch.”  Deans voice is low, almost gravely, and he seems to frown as the words burst out from his lips. I watch him.  He sets his beer bottle down on the nightstand and gently opens the door. “Sammy,” he yells.  

  I squeal with joy.  If I had control over my body, my hands would be clasped together and I’d be jumping up and down laughing. Instead, my hands are balling into fists and clenching the blanket that lies on top of Dean’s bed.  My body pushes itself up to standing, and the rage coursing through me is fierce as I hear my voice shout curses.

  “You foolish imbecile!” The words spew out of my mouth as if they were venom and I can feel my eyes shift to black.  Sam’s heavy footsteps come through the door. “What’s going-” he began but quickly cut himself off.  His eyes land on me and it’s as if his breath has been taken away.  “What the hell?” He poses his question as his head whips back to look at Dean.  

  Dean’s gaze is firmly focused on the floor, his arms cross, and his eyes seem to hold both anger and rage.  I feel my heart fall as his eyes turn up to me.  I look at him and try as hard as I can to break through Dantalion’s control.  “Dean,” I wimper and my voice responds.  

  Both Sam and Dean’s heads snap to attention looking at me as my own knees collapse to the ground.  I gasp for air and feel as though I haven’t breathed in months.  “Y/N?” Dean’s voice holds hope and disbelief.  I slowly nod my head, unsure if I’m still in control.

 A deep scream pierces my ears and I cry out in pain.  Dean runs to me, his hands instantly on my shoulders in an attempt to console me. His eyes are strained. My tortured screams turn to laughter and I feel myself lose control over my body once again as my eyes fade to black.  “It’s going to take so much more than that to hold me, lover boy,” my voice croons as my legs find their strength again and I stand.  Dean jumps back to where Sam stands, and while I fight to break through again, I see my own foot stepping over the edge of the devil’s trap.  

  My right hand raises and both Sam and Dean are flung up against the wall, their backs pressed against it firmly as they struggle against the unseen force holding them there.  No! I shriek, hoping to take over once more.  “She’s still in here you know,” Dantalion uses my voice to tease the boys.  “She’s screaming. Begging, pleading with me to release you.”  He cackles, using my throat to do so.  “Not Dean,” my own voice mocks me. “Let him go.  I love him.”  My voice is overly dramatic and taunting.

  Dean’s eyes light up at the last.  “Let her go,” he demands. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just get out of her.”  

  Dantalion laughs at him heartily.  “Love is a serious mental disease, you know.”  Sam’s head cocks to the side, as if recognizing the demon’s words.  “Besides, I already have what I want,” my arms spread wide and gesture to my body.

  My head cocks to the side as a wicked smile overtakes my lips. “To know your enemy, you must become your enemy.”  

  “Sun Tzu.” Sam chokes out.

  My black eyes flick over to him as my feet lead me closer to where he is still pressed against the wall.  “Very good,” I say, surprised.

  “I know you,” Sam spits out as he turns his face defiantly at me. “Dantalion.”

  I am practically giddy.  Sam knows who it is.  Sam knows what demon has stolen my body.  And if Sam knows that, he knows how to kill it.

 “Oh you’re a clever one,” Dantalion hisses unhappily as Sam is released from the choke hold.  “And you’ve given Y/N hope.  How novel.”  My voice quivers. “Tell me then, clever boy.  If a devil’s trap won’t contain me, salt can’t stop me, and your precious little exorcism only tickles, how do you intend on killing me?” The words come out as if they are a dare.

  I watch as Sam reaches behind him and dips his hand into his waistband where the demon knife resides.  The knowing smile that plays at his lips comforts me as I do everything I can to try to keep Dantalion in place.  “The same way we’ve killed the others.”

  Sam lunges at my body and I do my best to keep it from running, but Dantalion is stronger and I find myself sidestepping around each jab Sam makes.  I can see Dean, now released from Dantalion’s hold, slumped on the ground and clutching his throat as he gasps for air. He looks up at Sam and I and notices the knife in his brother’s hand.

  “Sammy, no” he screams as he gets to his feet and runs towards us.  “Let the intelligent beings talk, Dean.” Dantalion takes a moment to throw Dean back up against the wall with a laugh. “Stay. Good dog.”  

  Sam takes the opportunity to slash at my exposed arm with the demon knife.  I watch my arm glow orange momentarily as pain sears through me and I hear Dantalion using my voice to screech out in pain.  “Y/N feels that, too, you know” he warns with my voice as he slams my uninjured fist into Sam’s chest, sending him flying into the wall behind him.  

  I can see that Sam is winded and Dean, still slumped in a heap on the floor next to him, is begging Sam to stop.  “You’ll kill her,” he pleads.  Sam’s eyebrows purse as he stands back up.  “This demon bitch is doing that already,” he growls at Dean as he stabs the knife into my ankle.  

  My body falls to it’s knees and the scream that I unleash is all my own.  Dantalion is subdued and my eyes are watering from the sheer pain that is shooting through me.  “Dean,” I cry out.  His hands are on my arms within a moment.  “I can’t hold him back forever,” I breathe the words as if I’d just run a mile.  His hand caresses my cheek and he wipes away a tear with his thumb.

  “Sammy,” I say, my eyes still locked on Dean’s.  “Do it.”

  “Not a chance,” Dean decries.

  “I can’t hold him off,” I say, each word truncated with my pain.

  “But I love you,” he says.  I smile weakly, “Me too.” He presses his lips firmly to mine before leaning back.  “There has to be another way.  We can find another way.”  

  I lower my head and quickly look over at Sam.  “Come on, old man. Get this over with.”  

  Sam’s eyes reveal his conflict as he nods his head curtly, and swiftly pulls the blade out of my ankle.  I scream again, my anguish evident in the shrill tone.  Sam pushes Dean back towards the door as his tears begin to fall uncontrollably.  

  I stand shakily, attempting to ignore the pain throbbing in my ankle. My eyes meet with Sam’s.  “Do it,” I command.  “I’m losing him.”  Sam places one hand on my shoulder as he draws his blade back.  My eyes dart over to Dean’s.  “I love you,” I tell him for the first and last time before I feel Dantalion ripping through my control.

  Sam plunges the blade into my chest and orange and red pops of light and fire erupt from the wound.  My eyes dart back over to Dean’s as Dantalion’s words bite through my mouth.  “She’s too young for you, anyway.”  

  I feel the demon’s presence slip away abruptly as the ache in my chest breaks through.  I want to scream.  I want to writhe in pain and agony but my body does nothing but fall to the floor.  Sam’s arms deftly catch me and he lays me down.  I see Dean pulling himself towards me, his eyes red with emotion.  

  “Y/N,” he cried.  I try to find my voice but can’t seem to do so.  Instead, I smile at him and bring my hand up to his face.  My fingers trace the marks of his tears as my vision goes blank and Dean’s face is the last thing I see.  

Justice

Originally posted by so-sad-today-and-always

Request -Imagine the reader stands up to Jerome’s mother and he kisses her.

Pairing - Jerome Valeska X Reader

Wordcount - 806

Warnings - Strong language, violence, abuse, threatening behaviour

A/N - I’m sorry for taking so long to get through these requests. I’m trying to get through them as fast as I can. 


Life at Haly’s Circus was complicated; the days were long and tiring; the pay was crappy. If you could leave you would do, but with such low pay, there was no way you would ever be to afford to leave. 

After a particularly hellish day, you decided to walk around the Circus grounds admiring the way how everything looked so different in the dark. Everything seemed so much more intimidating in the dark, the trees, the leaves crunching beneath your feet, all of your sense became heightened even to something as simple as a car alarm. There was one thing you did like about the dark was the stars; how they twinkled within the darkness shining brightly in the sky. 

As you headed towards your trailer, you began to hear the drunken screams of Lila Valeska; she was drunk yet again. Is there a day where that woman is sober? You thought as a second more distinctive voice became apparent. Your blood turned cold…she wasn’t…she wasn’t beating him again.  Your leisurely walk turned into fast paced sprint as you headed for their trailer.

  “You are nothing but a waste of space. Nothing but a mistake. A filthy good nothing mistake. Your nothing and no-one will ever love you. You’re going to die alone boy and don’t you forget it.” Lila spat, the women had been that stupid that she left the trailer door open; too drunk out of her head to do the simplest of things. The woman was a joke. Her entire existence was a joke. You stormed in as she kicked Jerome senseless, his body curled into a boy, his face bloody. How hadn’t you heard this going on early?

“That’s enough Lila!” Your voice was firm, your eyes set firmly on Lila Valeska’s face.
“Get out of my trailer!, this is nothing to do with you!” Her drunken balance was apparent as she began swaying side to side. 

“Maybe not but I’m sick of you beating him like your own personal punching bag. What kind of Mother lets her own son get beaten by your one night stands? Oh wait, that’s right a stupid drunken whore.  You don’t deserve to be a mother.” Pushing Lila out of the way you crouched down in front of Jerome; shielding his body with yours. Your hand brushed Jerome’s bright ginger hair out of his face. 

“I’m going to get you out of here.” You whispered just as Lila grabbed a handful of your hair pulling your backwards away from Jerome before throwing a drunken punch in your direction, unfortunately,you were too slow to move out of the way, the punch hit you in your jaw. You had officially had enough. 

“You are not taking him, he’s my son. I can do what I want to him.” Lila spat as your hand slid into your pocket pulling out your pocket knife that you carried for protection. With one flick of your wrist, the knife appeared, pressing it against her throat. It was time Lila get a taste of her own medicine.

“He is coming with me! If you ever put your hands on him again I swear I will slit your throat.” Your teeth were clenched as you pushed Lila out of the way, once more crouching down in front of Jerome. 

“Jerome, come on.” Very slowly you helped Jerome up wrapping his arm over his shoulder. Throughout your short journey towards your trailer, Jerome had stop multiple times, you had never seen him in such a bad way before.

                                            ***

Upon return to your trailer, you helped him into your bedroom before helping him lay down, running towards the small bathroom to make warm a bowl of water and to grab the first aid kit. As you sat on the edge of the bed you pulled open the first aid kit but a pale white hand stopped you. 

“Come here.” Jerome desperately tried to sit up but you had already gotten closer, he took your hand in his entwining your fingers together. With the strength that Jerome had in him, it wasn’t a whole lot he pulled you down so your face was inches from his.

“No one’s ever stood up to her before. No-one’s ever put themselves in harms way before. Look at your face.” Jerome lifted his hand rubbing your now sore eye before gripping hold of the back of your head. Looking into his brown eyes they were illuminated by something that you couldn’t quite understand; as you began to learn in like an unseen force pulling you forward Jerome kissed you delicately as if you were made of glass; it has you who deepened this kiss.

A kiss was all it took for you to protect him. From that day forwards, you stood by him through thick and thin. No matter the cost.

All the Stars In All the Skies

The first fanfiction I’ve written for the ACOTAR fandom, and certainly not the last. This is an ongoing drabble series in which I hope to include multiple pairings and characters with both AU and canon plots. You can also find this fic of the same name on AO3 where my username is the same as my tumblr name. I do take requests and prompts so feel free to ask, I have no particular preference for pairing or setting. This include non-canon pairings, I’ve recently seen an upsurge of pairings like Elain/Azriel and Nesta/Morrigan so if you ship those or other non-canon pairings I would be happy to write them for you, it’s always fun to stretch my writing muscles and try new things.

This first chapter I started kind of easy and did a little blurb of what it would have been like from Elain’s point of view to emerge from the cauldron and deal with the stress of the situation plus being made, plus discovering her new mate who she doesn’t even know. I always thought that given how big of a Feysand fan I am that I would have started with one of them, but Elain’s voice was just..kinda begging to be heard a little bit. She’s lowkey one of the characters I’m most interested in and I really hope we get to learn a bit more about her perspective in ACOWAR.  

Chapter 1: Made

The moment she tumbled out of the cauldron onto the cold floor of that accursed, bone-white castle, Elain knew she would never look at the world the same way again.

When she finally, finally drew her first made breath, after lying in a puddle of that abominable magic for what felt like an eternity, right away Elain could tell she was no longer human.

The air felt thicker, more alive, even in the dank castle chamber. Elain could feel, almost taste, the crackle of magic in the air, a portion of which, she realized solemnly, was now coming from her. She made to pick herself off the floor, and almost gasped at the sudden strength she felt in her new bones. She remained on her elbows, searching the room for something familiar to anchor herself. Her sister, where is my sister?

Ignoring the restraints of the gag in her mouth, Elain twisted around to see Feyre, whose face was stricken with mute horror in a way that Elain had never seen in all their years of hardship together. For the first time since their father had been beaten in front of her, Feyre looked helpless. Seeing her younger sister—her strong, resilient, clever sister—powerless to stop such madness told Elain of how truly hopeless the situation was.

Her other sister must have had the same thought, because the moment Elain looked up from the floor, Nesta let out a roar that seemed a thousand times louder to Elain’s new ears. Ears, Elain realized, that must now be pointed, or Nesta would not have had such a visceral reaction to her face.

Nesta continued to scream, Feyre fell to her knees and sobbed, the queens marveled at the horrific demonstration’s success, the one-eyed stranger with the red hair thrashed against his bonds, and amid the madness Elain noted dully that her skin was now glowing. The sight of something that once would have been impossible for her human body sent Elain reeling from her tentative grip on reality and she shut her eyes. She grasped desperately for something familiar about herself, but found little to comfort her. Her skin, aside from suddenly being luminescent, seemed flawless; her hearing was not only better but also more dimensional, Elain was hearing timbres in Nesta’s cries that she had never noticed as a human; colors now had a distinctive brightness and sheen that Elain just couldn’t register before. Out of context, it all could have sounded like a wonderful blessing, to be able to experience the world in such a way, but Elain could see no blessing in being taken from her home and forced to become…this. Staring into the void of her new existence, Elain tried everything she could to will it away, to wake up from this horrid nightmare, anything that meant she might reject this form. As she was searching for a way out of her body, Elain felt something, a strong connection radiating from within her. It was warm and inviting and almost familiar, though Elain couldn’t place why. Just as she was maybe grasping for something to cling to in this strange new body (A thread? A rope? What was that strange tightness?) she heard the voice of that monstrous Fae king.

“The hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind.”

Elain realized he must have meant Nesta, because she suddenly went quiet. The thought of her sister enduring what she just had…Elain couldn’t help it, she broke right there. She let herself kneel on the damp floor, shivering and practically naked in a room full of creatures she had feared all her life. And now she was one of them, Mother, how could she be one of them?

Through the maelstrom of her thoughts, Elain heard a vaguely familiar voice snarl at the king, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor.” There was a sudden scraping noise and Elain looked up to see the Fae male with one eye stalking toward her. The sight of him sparked something in her, and Elain cringed away from the unfamiliarity of it. When the male offered her his coat, she increased her efforts ten-fold. Too much, she thought, too much going on right now, I can barely make sense of any of it.

In the corner of her now impeccable vision, Elain could make out Nesta being dragged toward the horrid cauldron she had just come out of, kicking and screaming the entire way there. Remembering what it was like to be trapped beneath the magic waters brought on a new wave of shivers. Elain recalled how she tried with what little human strength she’d had to swim out of the wretched black water, but the cauldron, it seemed, would not let her surface until it was satisfied with her. She was held down beneath the water by some unseen magic until she was forced to succumb to the cauldron’s demands of Elain: her death. It must have been what allowed her to be made into this new creature, Elain thought, first she’d had to sacrifice her mortal life, however involuntarily. Dimly, Elain considered that if she could survive the cauldron’s demands, then Nesta, who’d always been the most strong-willed of her sisters, would more than survive them.

But that didn’t mean that Elain herself had the strength to watch her sister’s humanity be taken from her.

Distracted by the sounds of her sister’s resistance, Elain allowed the Fae male she’d been cringing away from all this time to drape his coat over her shoulders. She took comfort in the little warmth it afforded her, if not also for the way it shielded her body from the many lecherous eyes in the room, giving her a shred of decency for the first time since she’d been dragged to this awful castle.

As Nesta’s shouts grew louder and more frantic, Elain knew it was only a matter of time before her sister was fully submerged in the cauldron, a thought punctuated by the king’s hiss of, “Put her under.”

There were more sounds of struggle, Elain could hear splashing noises as Nesta was undoubtedly struggling to her last human breath.

Elain supposed the room could have gone silent when Nesta was finally submerged in the cauldron, but she wasn’t used to all the new activity that her ears now picked up, and she wasn’t entirely yet sure what silence sounded like to a…Fae. As a result, Elain didn’t know for sure that Nesta was under until she watched Feyre suddenly vomit on the floor. For all her dislike of the Fae, Elain could not help but be relieved when Rhys knelt to comfort her sister, just as she felt some small relief that this unfamiliar male had come to comfort her.

Speaking of her strange savior, he was lifting Elain in his arms out of the way of the cauldron’s water that was now rushing toward them. Finally standing, and using the male’s powerful body to steady herself, Elain was finally able to get a good look at him.

As soon as she did, the world fell away.

Elain finally saw the male’s face in its entirety, his strong jaw framed by long hair that was colored a lovely shade of auburn, high cheekbones that slanted toward delicately pointed ears, but it was his rust colored eyes—or rather, eye, given that the other seemed like it had been lost in some sort of terrible altercation, if the scar protruding from metal placeholder was anything to go by—that held Elain fast, powerless to speak or even breathe. All at once, that strange connection she’d found earlier began to stir incessantly within her. Before she was able to fully discern what it was she was feeling, or even properly meet the male’s eyes, Elain was ripped from the comforting grasp of his arms by Nesta. She knocked the male out of the way, screaming, “Get off her!” Reeling a bit from the force of her sister, Elain began to slip on the wet floor, saved from another meeting with it only when her sister gripped her shoulders to steady her, Nesta ran her hands over Elain and sobbed her name over and over, trying to reconcile both of their new bodies.

Elain, however, found she could not pay much attention to her sister’s sobs. She stared over Nesta’s shoulder at the male who, in the confusion of Nesta’s forceful separation of the two, had instinctively looked at Elain.

The connection that had been stirring within Elain flared the moment she finally met eyes with him. Despite the ordeal she had just been through along with her sister, Elain could not help but feel at peace when she and this male looked at each other. She didn’t even know his name, something ancient within her seemed to whisper this like a burning, centuries old question. The strength and intensity of this feeling was altogether wonderful and terrifying to Elain, who had never felt the voracity of such a feeling in all her life. What could this be? Elain thought. Who are you?

Moments later, after what felt like a lifetime of Nesta sobbing, Elain had her answer as the male whispered, “You’re my mate.”

Associations of the fundamental forces

As I move towards replacing the four elements in my practice with the four fundamental forces, I thought I should try to write up some correspondences in case I ever try to write genuine spellwork for them. This is based on my own personal praxis as well as my academic knowledge. I’m including dark energy as my “fifth element” here.

Gravity: cause and effect, aura, time, perception, interpersonal affairs, the physical world, earth.

Electromagnetism: raw energy, guiding and manipulating power, higher awareness, the mind, the astral, the soul, air.

Strong Nuclear: stability, strength, healing, protection, the body, water.

Weak Nuclear: unpredictability, spontaneity, explosive force, decay, sapping strength, poison, transformation, fire.

Dark Energy: driving force, acceleration, pressure, tension, unseen influences, darkness and the unknown, emptiness, the adversary.

As always, input or suggestions are appreciated. This system is very experimental and very much a work in progress.

Previous physics magick posts:

Spider!Jack x Rhys (Take 2)

Here’s the next part, @jennpy!! I hope you like it!


Rhys was really starting to regret having entered so far into the habitat. Why had he gone so far in without the slightest means of defending himself? Sure, he had his robotic arm but it wasn’t any where close to military grade. Then again, there were still a few additional features the salesman had yet to utilize… which would’ve been great had he saved the user’s manual.

The auburn haired man carried on in his trek through the mysterious fruit forest. He smirked a little as he noticed that he had gotten better at avoiding the sticky golden threads that stretched elaborately between the trees. He even began making a bit of a game of it - like a spy expertly bending their body to dodge security lasers. The mist even amplified the difficulty as he couldn’t see the webbing that spread itself like tripwire. Rhys tripped on a few of those, eventually giving up on his little game with a pout. He couldn’t risk the Jack clone seeing him trip like a klutz.

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Random Headcanon: The Force and the Skywalker Twins (part 1)

The Skywalker Twins have always been very different–very much the “two halves make a whole,” like the dichotomy of night and day, spring and fall, sun and moon. There are similarities, yes, and the two of them are incredibly close–but, in the end, at the root of all things, Luke and Leia are, in many ways, fundamentally different. Opposite, even.

Their natural gifts and inclinations in the Force are no exception

Luke and Leia are both as equally gifted in the Force as the other. According to their midichlorian count, they are identical, down to the hundredth percent. However, while Luke is naturally gifted in all physical uses of the Force, Leia is naturally inclined toward the mental aspects.

What I mean is this:

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Activist Magick

What if it were true?

What if, in the time before, when the darkness could only be fought with guttering flame, those with free spirits congregated and cavorted on the heath. Wild women, and sometimes men, held black Sabbaths, calling on a goat-god, reveling in their freedom, spitting in the eye of the authorities – be they lord or church.

What if it were true?

That the cunning ones and the wise women would help those in need with a poultice, charm, or spell. But those who caused strife or abused their authority would be victims of a foul curse. The powers that be, when they stepped over the line, would be on the receiving end of blights that withered their crops, killed their animals, and suffered their homes a visit from the pox.

What if it were true?

That there were always those who were too different, too non-conformist, too smart to be caught in the bullshit. Those that worked alone, or sometimes in covens. Witches that walked among us during the day, but at night called down a wrathful goddess to take back for the people what belong to the people.

What if we could make it true?

Peter J. Carroll, father of Chaos Magick, has said, “Magick is best employed to tip the scales of chance in our favor.” It’s the little nudge that pushes probability. That sets us on the right path to fulfill our desire or our will.

Now we see the charade of global capitalism on the edge. Indigenous people are rising up in many nations to stop the rape of the land. Protesters have changed our language, pointed out the massive inequity in our system. Credit markets are failing. Millions in Greece and Spain march against the old oppression, relabeled austerity. The Earth itself is lashing out, saying, “No more.”

All it needs is a little push….

“Do as thou Will shall be the whole of the Law.” For many practitioners, their Will includes not only changing themselves but changing the world. Too often, those who seek to do practical magick are derided. It is called Black Magick, or Low Magick. Its adherents snickered at behind their backs. Pity laid upon them for their failure to see the Great Work.

What greater work can there be than giving voice to the voiceless, helping others who suffer, or saving the biosphere? Sitting alone is our temples seeking a mythical purely spiritual enlightenment or some kind of personal awakening, denies that we are part of a community, a nation, and a world. Every man and woman is a star but we all swirl in the spiral dance of galaxies to make up a universe. When that universe is out of balance what do we turn to?

First and foremost, every magician needs to do everything possible on the physical plane to realize their will. Casting spells at your political rivals is no substitution for good old fashioned real-world activism. In any way you believe your efforts are best targeted—through protest, or voting, political organizing, civil disobedience, or even bribery and violence—you must do your utmost to produce change before turning to magick. Doing anything else is an affront to magick. If your will isn’t strong enough to do anything more than a facebook post, what makes you think your mighty power can bring down Exxon-Mobile?

Like any seed you plant, magickal fruit only grows from fertile ground. But after the marching and shouting, as magicians, we can do a little more.

Using magick to make political change not only gives us another tool with which to tear down the establishment. It is in many ways, the weapon best suited for the job.

We often speak of egregores, the spirits that build up around social structures. Magicians more than anyone know how powerful these entities can be, especially when cemented with oaths and pacts. What is a corporation or a government if not an egregore? They are, in essence, a psychological and spiritual construct. Make no mistake; a corporate entity is more powerful and dangerous than any goetic demon.

Corporations have their own sigils and signs, constantly reaffirmed and cemented in our collective unconscious. For many of us, we were born, raised, and will die knowing corporate entities better than our own myths. How many will serve and sacrifice under the signs of McDonalds, Wal-Mart, BP, and General Motors?

This, better than any other explanation, tells us how these corporations can be lead by persons with the purest of motives. How their CEOs get up, go to work, and go home and love their families, all the while making decisions that will impoverish nations and poison the people. They serve a spirit now more powerful than the Church in Rome, and wealthier than the dreams of Solomon. And that spirit, given one task—make more money—will do so with all the ruthless inhuman efficiency of the vilest devil.

This is not to say there are no Black Brothers. I firmly believe that these were the men that Crowley was referring to, those who would be the masters of mankind for their own selfish gain. We often lament the decline of American manufacturing. We see our loss of supremacy in education, technological expertise, and even service. How does the US manage to continue dominating the rest of the world?

One, we excel at the use of force. In military strength we are unrivalled. But also, it is the unseen trillions upon trillions of dollars we spend on public relations. What was in more honest times called propaganda. In the art of controlling men’s minds, the US has no equal. Madison Avenue is a hive of Black Brothers seeking to control us, serving the corporate demons in their quest for more and more and more. As even Adolf Hitler knew, in Mein Kampf, after World War I, he noted that Germany did not lose by force at arms alone. It was the propaganda machine of Generalissimo Woodrow Wilson that truly carried the day.

Against such an army of Black Brothers, what can stand but the aeons old symbols of our spiritual heritage, carried forth to battle by their last believers?

Who are these spiritual warriors in the struggle? Who stands against the Black Brothers? As Jack Parsons said:


WE ARE THE WITCHCRAFT. We are the oldest organization in the world. When man was born, we were. We sang the first cradle song. We healed the first wound, we comforted the first terror. We were the Guardians against the Darkness, the Helpers on the Left Hand Side. Rock drawings in the Pyrenees remember us, and little clay images, made for an old purpose when the world was new. Our hand was on the old stone circles, the monolith, the dolmen, and the druid oak. We sang the first hunting songs, we made the first crops to grow; when man stood naked before the Powers that made him, we sang the first chant of terror and wonder. We wooed among the Pyramids, watched Egypt rise and fall, ruled for a space in Chaldea and Babylon, the Magician Kings. We sat among the secret assemblies of Israel, and danced the wild and stately dances in the sacred groves of Greece.
 
Sometimes we move openly, sometimes in silence and in secret. Night and day are one to us, calm and storm, seasons and the cycles of man, all these things are one, for we are at the roots. Supplicant we stand before the Powers of Life and Death, and are heard of these Powers, and avail. Our way is the secret way, the unknown direction. Our way is the way of the serpent in the underbrush, our knowledge is in the eyes of goats and of women.

 
Our fight is characterized in the nature of magick itself. Magick IS rebellion.
 
It is not thoughtless rebellion. It knows the score. Magicians know, just like the garment worker in Bangladesh, the immigrants in Europe and Dubai, and American fast food workers, that they are getting fucked and it’s the entire system that’s been fucking them all along.
 
Nor is magick prettified and packaged by New Age shops. As a devotee of Thoth, as much as I would love to say otherwise, it is not in the books nor online. Magick doesn’t require a college degree.
 
Magick is the ultimate fuck you to the patriarchal god, to law, to society and to reality itself.
 
If those of you on the right-wing of the political spectrum are beginning to suspect this sermon isn’t meant for you, you are correct. We are those that defy authority. We are those that destroy institutions. We are those that bring down the status quo. Feel free to step away now. Go and serve your masters if that is your will. If you foolishly believe that your worm will turn and you will be the one on top when the time comes, make sure to bring plenty of sacrifices to the God of Money. He only wants everything you hold dear, especially your freedom. As the wise shaman once said, “The things you own end up owning you.”
 
All we have are our tools. But what wondrous tools they are.
 
First we have fear. Fear of the Devil. In a masterful stroke of spiritual judo we have taken the adversary they created to keep the people in line and adopted him as our patron. To call on Baphomet is not only to adopt the truth of duality, but to scare the shit out of those who aren’t quite so certain of the great Demiurge’s ability to protect them from we that go bump in the night. And the amount of fear seems to be directly correlated to the amount they have to lose.
 
We have panic and fear, in the form of the curse. A force so strong that just the suspicion of it was capable of making otherwise stable and sober brethren of Christ go absolutely ape-shit attacking each other.
 
Add to fear our true magical arsenal, that which changes minds, and depending on your paradigm, can control everything on a sub atomic level. We have sigils and servitors. We have goetic demons and familiar spirits. All of this can and should be utilized in the battle.
 
This is your call to arms. It’s time for us to learn the secrets of the folk again. They’re not lighting bonfires on heaths all that often anymore. They’re organizing marches and protests and information wars. Can you deny the power of the March to Montgomery, of the Summer of Love, of Occupy? We need to get organized.
 
Right now we have a few scattered actions and dedicated groups. They rise up and sink away on Facebook. Or remain in the shadows like the Knights of Chaos at Arcanorium College.
 
What we require is a unified, pan-tradition, organization that can bring together magicians in the numbers that we need to make the change. An organization that can identify causes and targets, and lead us not only in physical resistance but magical as well.
 
Perhaps that’s your challenge.

3

luminous beings are we

a two-part collection

for children turned soldiers, for families torn apart, for those who gave everything and lost it all, for the dark side and the light (and the truth that there are no sides);

for love and fear and anger, for those who succumbed to their emotions, for those who chose their own paths and those who had no choice;

for those who died before their time and those who lived too long, for pain and suffering, for love and hope, for the stories repeated through generations;

for chaos and balance within the force and the knowledge that while there’s light, there’s hope

part 1 [listen on 8tracks]

binary sunset - john williams | the beginning and the end of everything - josh pyke | pain & suffering - alan watts | isaiah 45:23 - the mountain goats | it’s time - imagine dragons | am i wrong - the cat empire | kiss the sky - shawn lee’s ping pong orchestra | forgive the children we once were - delta rae | young forever - jay z | one is all, all is one - akira senju | when the war came - the decemberists | wise man - frank ocean | should have known better - sufjan steves | home is a fire - death cab for cutie | blood sings - suzanne vega | hostility restrained - evangelion ost | wolf - first aid kit | yes, i would - frightened rabbit | long road to ruin - foo fighters | lost and running - powderfinger | the departure - today we give ourselves to the fire - cloud cult

part 2 [listen on 8tracks]

time can never kill the true heart - stars | book of revelations - josh pyke | the goal of buddhism - alan watts | the awakening - akira senju | all delighted people (classic rock version) - sufjan stevens | the crow - dessa | hebrews 11:40 - the mountain goats | coming home part 2 - skylar grey | casting lines - jack’s mannequin | weight of living pt 1 - bastille | symphony no. 1 - andante cantabile - beethoven | my silver lining - first aid kit | not miserable - frightened rabbit | don’t carry it all - the decemberists | won’t be afraid - the cat empire | i don’t remember - powderfinger | givin em what they love - janelle monae | diamonds - rihanna | your spirit’s alive - dropkick murphys | the strength - forces of the unseen - cloud cult | finale - john williams

covers done by the wonderfully talented elissa

Carrying Her Home- A Daryl One Shot

A/N- This is a one-shot about Daryl’s unseen perspective and thoughts at the end of Coda.  It’s angsty but has Bethyl undertones. It’s short but I hope you enjoy.


The last time he carried her, she wasn’t this heavy.  Her arms had been around his neck, her breath warm on his face, her laugh in the air.  Now, he knelt next to her, drawing her into him, and suddenly it felt like she was filled with lead.  The gunshot and his gunshot still both rang in his ears, intertwined in one inescapable hum.

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