you are magical!

I disappear a lot, it’s getting easier. I fade into the background, keep my mouth pressed into a tight line, try to pretend that no one can even see me. I know there’s better ways to spend my time, but lately, I prefer making myself disappear. If you wanna see a magic trick, keep your eyes wide open, I’m about to vanish.
—  Lacee Rains, vanishing

anonymous asked:

What If one of the fakes had a high school reunion or something like that and just took the crew and it somehow ended in a shoot out with the cops.

Let’s just be clear, it’s not a pride thing. Geoff has never cared what people said about him, not outside a professional sense anyway; he knew exactly who he was, what he was capable of, even before he’d taken an entire city to its knees. So it’s not that he felt the need to prove himself, it’s just that there’s something particular about high school trauma, isn’t there? Something that lingers, even when it shouldn’t, something that emerges from even the most upstanding adults when thrown back together for a reunion, the bullies and the bullied, all desperate to show what they’ve become.

Geoff’s last high school was nothing like he’d ever been to before, a snobby upper-crust hellhole he was only in because his Ma’s third husband pulled some strings, and the other students were quick to point out just how much he didn’t belong. Between the tattoos and the smoking, the lazy looks and slow sneering drawl, it was always all too easy to label Geoff a loser, a drop out, trailer park trash everyone knew would be washing their cars one day. Never mind that he scored higher than most of his cohort even when skipping more or less every class, never mind that he is possibly the most well-read crime-lord in the country, back then he had an image and teenagers are relentless. Not that Geoff was all that phased even at the time, only a year or so away from the day he picked up his first gun and never looked back, but it’s the principal of the thing.

So when an invite forwards through from an email so old he’d forgotten he’d even made it Geoff has to laugh. Then pause, consider, hatch an utterly ridiculous idea, and laugh some more. Because he might not care, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy ruining the night for all the pathetic stuck-up nobodies he went to school with; rubbing your success in everyone’s faces is what reunions are for, after all. The fact that it has a theme, that it is masquerade of all things, really just cements Geoff’s resolve to drag his crew halfway across the country into one of the strangest nights of their lives.

Everyone knows the option to bring a guest to these events is, in reality, the offer to bring a romantic partner, singular, but it isn’t technically stated. There are no rules barring Geoff from RSVP-ing for 7, so that’s exactly what he does. Sure he receives a few increasingly less polite emails suggesting he’d been mistaken but he doesn’t even bother opening them, doesn’t try to clarify that he is bringing his friends, his family, not his entire harem. Let them talk; they’d do it anyway. Plus, it’s not like the Fake’s aren’t all entirely too pleased with the suggestion, cackling hyenas who spend the next few weeks laying it on thick, batting their eyes and blowing Geoff kisses, picking out increasingly absurd meet-cute stories to tell his scandalised classmates. Between creating new identities and playing dress up in masks and suits they couldn’t be happier.

Masks or not they catch every eye in the room when they make their entrance and why wouldn’t they; Geoff and his unusual request must have been the talk of the rumour mill and identity hidden or not clearly this must be Geoff, it’s not like anyone else brought along 6 dates. As stage whispers hit a dull roar it’s obvious no one was prepared for what they were seeing, perhaps imagined instead stained tank tops and a string of strung-out baby mama’s, not expensively tailored suits and an attractively refined entourage. Paying the noise no heed Geoff swans into the room with Jack looking elegant on one arm, Gavin at his most Ken-doll glamorous tucked under the other, flanked on either side by Ryan, Michael, Jeremy and Ray, all dressed to impress.

Shock and jealousy aren’t good looks on anyone, let alone rich brats turned elitist yuppies, so Geoff’s classmates behave just as poorly as he’d anticipated, years and newfound maturity doing nothing to stop the tittering laughter, the sneers and judgmental looks, fake pleasantry and condescending questions. But then, his crew didn’t exactly play nice with them either.

Ray and Jeremy immediately beeline to the food table and bar, respectively, and each set themselves up and settle in for the night; loud, obnoxious and tactlessly talking about everyone around them. When asked about themselves or their relationship to Geoff they’re both frustratingly vague, Jeremy chattering away without saying much at all and Ray simply staring people down until they can’t bear the tension.

Michael and Ryan set off together to explore the room but quickly separate to accommodate their vastly different methods of surveillance. Ryan skulks into the background, ducking numerous attempts to catch his interest in favour of fading into unlit corners and empty nooks, frightening the life out of anyone trying to slip away for some private time. Michael, on the other hand, seems determined to be the life of the party, cheerfully making conversation only to laugh in the face of every so-called achievement, ruffling feathers and causing major offence wherever he goes.

Gavin slinks off like a man on a mission and doesn’t come back for over an hour, offering no explanation for the absence beyond a dangerously self-satisfied smirk. His work becomes obvious soon enough anyway, once the yelling starts; Geoff’s two main high-school tormentors, mentioned only in passing stories over the years, simultaneously having huge, public, relationship-ending blow ups with each of their significant others. What are the odds? Across the hall Gavin laughs, all tinkling glass and sparkling charm, smoothly working the room like Michael’s mirror opposite.

Jack stays at Geoff’s side all night, hackles raised into something abnormally cold and unimpressed any time someone comes up to speak to them, protective instincts in full force no matter how often Geoff claims to be unaffected. He fills her in on all the worst gossip about those who approach, and as the night progresses and general unease begins to spread Jack mellows, sinking back into something sweet and mocking, somehow even more unsettling playing docile arm-candy than she was rabid guard dog.

Throughout the night the Fake AH Crew remain a key topic of every casual conversation; they might have been regardless, even this far from Los Santos no one can get enough of their scandals, but with the huge heist pulled just last week there was no way to avoid it, everyone has their two cents, their praise and condemnation. It’s too funny, the whole crew killing themselves trying not to break character, to laugh or correct or manipulate the conversation but all their self-control is well rewarded in the end.

Half the room removed their masks less than an hour into the night; too difficult to eat and talk and drink in, too vain to keep their hard earned looks covered, so it’s not at all strange when the Fake’s start to follow suit. Jeremy and Ray start it, the newest member and the one caught on camera the least often, casually dropping their masks mid-conversation. They each get a confused squint or two, a double glance, a few individuals trying to place them, remember how they’d met before, why they were so familiar.

Next came Gavin and Michael, having goaded each other out onto the dance-floor they were playing as much as they were moving to the music, laughing and grappling and generally making a bit of a scene. They snatch off each other’s masks as they play and the looks double, because alone they’re each distinctive but together, together, people have seen those faces together, somewhere they’ve seen them and so often together..

Last is Jack and Geoff, more graceful than their counterparts and moving with far more purpose they reveal their faces in the centre of the room and, like a party trick, they instantly catch the whole room’s attention. Out of context, in ones and twos where they don’t belong, the members of the FAHC could be mistaken but no one in the country would fail to recognise Ramsey and Patillo, the kingpin and his right hand, rulers of the most well-known gang in the US. And here they stand, casually mingling at a high school reunion.

In the calm before the storm the crew gravitates back towards one another, can almost see the cogs turning around them, the lightbulbs flickering on in a slow ripple spreading out across the room, disbelief and the first hint of horror swirling together as people start unconsciously reaching for their phones. As Ryan slips back out and wanders over, the last still masked, always masked, the chatter seems to crescendo then crash into something still and almost silent as a room full of entitled trust-fund babies recognise their own terror.

Finally uncovered and flanked by his family Geoff’s grin creeps across his face, slow and violent and more confirmation than anyone needed as he lets the oppressive tension sit for a long moment, arms spreading out to his sides like a magician revealing a clever trick before he breaks the silence; Surprise motherfuckers.

Guns are pulled from jackets and from there it’s all running and screaming, no honour or courage, just a stampede for the exits to the sound of cackling laughter and the occasional aimless pot-shot. The Fake’s aren’t looking for lives, not worth the hassle really, and this job certainly has no monetary reward beyond the wallets Geoff’s filthy little thieves have no doubt absconded with, but the fear in the air is delightful and even the sound of incoming sirens can’t ruin the mood. If anything it only hypes them up further, all savage grins and ramping excitement as they make for doors, reloading their weapons and pumping themselves up for a whole new police force to terrorise, Geoff’s magnificent little miscreants.

On the way out they pass a wall of yearbook photos, blown up large and captioned with names and all the old superlative awards. Ryan stumbles to a halt and snorts, snatching one off the wall and tucking it into his jacket to take back to the penthouse, though not before flashing the Lads a glance at that all too recognisable face, sending them into peals of screeching laughter as they pour out into the night. Geoffrey Fink; Least likely to succeed. 

anonymous asked:

I used to be super interested in witchcraft when I was little, but now I'm pretty curious about practicing it and where I should start??

Ultimately, you start wherever you want to.

Think about why you were interested in witchcraft as a kid. What drew you to it? What did you want to do? Do some research on modern witchcraft, what it is now. What can you do? What can you not do? Are your childhood interests still possible? Are they even still relevant to you as an adult? As an adult, what do you want; and, subsequently, can you do that with with craft? What would you like to do with magic? Is it possible? What would you like to stay away from? Why?

Answer those questions, really look down and figure out what it is you want, and even who you are, and you should get a good idea of where you should go. For example, say you want to get into witchcraft to feel closer to nature, particularly the ocean, and channel that chaotic gorgeous energy; that might be a good sign to study sea magic. Or, perhaps, you have a supply limit, but you want to be able to do all sorts of things with minimal supplies; energy work is relevant in most forms of magic, and can do a lot with minimal / no other ingredients. Or, maybe you want to be more creative with your magic; sigil work is wonderful for that, while still being low on supplies and discreet. Maybe you want to do everything you can; well, welcome to eclectic witchcraft.

Some varieties of magic, to give you an idea and get you started: 

energy work ; candle magic ; crystal magic ; sachet magic ; knot magic ; poppet magic ; jar magic ; kitchen magic ; bath magic ; traditional magic ; urban magic ; glamour magic ; chaos magic ; sigil magic ; tech magic ; pop culture magic ; green magic ; elemental magic ; cottage magic ; sea magic ; storm magic ; space magic ; hedgework ; spirit work ; dragon magic ; shadow work ; blood magic ; sex magic ; death magic

Once you figure out a direction you want to go in, get some paper, find some reading material, and take notes. Research is one of the big things in witchcraft, and you’re going to be doing a bunch of it, particularly in the beginning, but honestly it never ends. Write what you want to know, or what you think you’ll want to use. Take what you read with a grain of salt; cross referencing is useful. 

[Here] is a list of authors you should try to avoid - trigger warning for mention of various disturbing topics. [Here] is a post that talks about why your book on witchcraft might be full of it; if you have any questions as to why that might be, feel free to ask the OP or even myself. [Here] is a post that explains using discretion and critical reading in regards to witchcraft books.

When you feel you’re prepared to start doing spells, do some. It might be easier to start with a premade spell, and they still work if you didn’t write them yourself, but if you feel you wanna write your own, go for it. Take notes of what you do during your castings, particularly in the beginning, so when mistakes happen (and they will), you can go back and read and see where it might have gone wrong to try to fix it or avoid in the future.

And yes, you will make mistakes. We all did, and still do. The best part of magic is experimentation, finding what works for you. You’re not gonna get everything perfect; some things also just won’t work for you. Try to fix it, but if it isn’t working, just move on. Keep your confidence in yourself - remember we all screw up and had to go through this period of finding who we are as magic users within the craft. You will find it in your own time, no rush, do it at your own pace. It is YOUR magic, after all.

And that’s what I’ve got for right now (starting to feel a bit drained, so I can’t flesh this out like I want to, but I’m thinking of writing down topics to work on more posts later). For things I didn’t cover, here are some more posts to read through:

If you have any more specific questions, I will do what I can. :)

Edward Hallucinating Oswald

Edward : I don’t need you.

*Oswald magically dresses up and starts singing*

Oswald: You wanna keep telling yourself that? I know you loved my gay ass.

Edward: Oswald I’m straight.

Oswald: You weren’t so straight yesterday and you aren’t today.

anonymous asked:

De-aged Bucky + Reader (magician), ( + the other Avengers) 68 and 90

Characters: Reader x James “Bucky” Barnes + Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson & Steve Rogers 

Warnings: none I think

Prompts: 68: “He’s four years old!!” 90: “Trust me.”

Word Count: 321

A/N: I wasn’t too sure what you meant by de-aged so I hope I understood your request okay !! 

Want to request a drabble? Read this post [x]

“They have magic powers?” Bucky scoffed, looking you up and down. “Yeah, right.” 

“Seriously, Barnes?” Natasha scoffed, leaning back on the couch. “You’ve seen Wanda in action, and you don’t believe in magic?”

“I can show you, if you want.” you raised an eyebrow at Bucky, and he shrugged. “Come on, I won’t hurt you. Trust me.”

“Afraid of a little magic?” Sam taunted, and Bucky rolled his eyes and stood up. Steve watched from the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest. Natasha had brought you in to recruit you for the Avengers, but Steve was feeling a little wary about what you would do to Bucky. 

Waving your hand, a blue mist appeared from your fingertips and smothered over Bucky. He became engulfed in it, and Steve stepped forward, but Natasha gave him a warning look not to interfere. When the mist cleared, everyone gaped as they saw a toddler standing where Bucky once was.

“Oh my god,” Natasha gasped. “He’s four years old!”

“This isn’t an accurate representation of my powers, by the way.” you cleared your throat, but you were grinning. “This is just for fun. The dude needs to lighten up.” 

Sam and Natasha were too busy laughing to hear you, and Steve couldn’t help but chuckle as he stepped closer. Sam whipped out his phone and videoed Bucky as Bucky angrily stomped his feet, making the two of them laugh harder.

“You can change him back, right?” Steve asked, coming up behind you. 

“Of course.” you laughed, waving your hand. The blue mist reappeared, and within a split second Bucky had returned, angrily waving the mist out of his face. He was back to normal, and glared at Sam.

“Delete that video.” he demanded, and Sam shook his head.

“No way, buddy.” he waved his phone tauntingly. “This is worth billions.”

“You’re hired.” Natasha turned to you, still laughing. “Definitely hired. Welcome to the Avengers.” 

Drunk and Dumb // Fred Weasley

Warnings: Nothing 

Pairing: Fred x reader

Word Count: 1000+

Summary: Fred is drunk and being cute 

REquested: YESSS

I’m not good at writing fluff, but I try

Originally posted by outofmindsayo

The celebration went on into the night everyone was dancing until they went ill. George moved his limbs like they were made of spaghetti, and you assumed with magic, they were.
You could hear everyone screaming with joy with their dancing feet disturbing the ground around you. The music was so loud that it made your skin tingle and your lungs thump against your ribcage. Through the dancing, there was a group of boys who were drinking.
“Y/N!” Fred’s voice echoed through the room. You turned around and smiled at your boyfriend. Fred was stumbling towards you with a big grin on his face. He toppled into your shorter figure and latched onto your body.
“Fred,” You warned him, “Get off.” Fred stood up straight with your shoulder as an assistant.  You walked him over to one of the couches and sat him down.  He was in no condition to be dancing wildly at a party.
You moved the loose piece of red hair out of his face and laughed at him. “Why must you be so…so unusually energetic?” You asked, taking the beer bottle from his hand, and setting it down on the table next to the couch. He leaned in quickly and kissed you. He kissed you and the world fell away. It was fast and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. There was no space left between you two, and you could feel the beating of his heart against your chest. But the kiss was only for a second before he pulled away. He began to giggle maniacally.
“Y/N… I just concluded that I’m gods gift to humanity.” You giggled at him while shaking your head.
“Your mother would beg to differ, but I can’t say myself that it isn’t true.” He kissed you on the lips again, fast and passionate, and it still left you breathless. You wanted to just sit there and make out with Fred, but he was drunk and in no condition to give consent. “Okay Fred, let’s go,”
You thought it was time to take him to sleep. You tried to hoist him up with your arms but he wouldn’t move. “I can’t lift you up all but myself, please try.” So he did, he lifted himself back up and leaned on your shoulder.
“You are very strong,” He told you nonchalantly.  
“Thank you,” You laughed as you pushed him up the stairs to his dorm. The stairway was dark and having to almost carry someone up the stairs scared you. You could easily fall over and get seriously injured.
“And sexy.” You wanted to stop talking to drunk Fred, but you were to tempted.
“That’s nice,” you answered.
“And smart.” Trying your best to ignore it, you stomped up the stair with pride, even though your boyfriend was attached to your shoulder.
“We’re almost at the top,” you hummed
“Wanna fuck?”
“Wanna Die?”

You got him to the top of the stairs and made sure he could keep his balance. He suddenly leaned in and kissed you. You were completely unprepared again. You would think that after months of being together, you would know just by watching him where his mind was at. But that was only when he was sober.
He pulled away and then very fast again, he planted kisses all over your face.
“FRED!” You laughed “STOP.” But Fred was stubborn.
“Why?” He kissed down your neck playfully. “I just want to kiss you all the time.”
“Sober Fred doesn’t do that,” You smiled as you pushed him off of you and towards his dorm.
“Who’s sober Fred? I thought you were dating me! Me Fred!”
“I’m dating you both,” You giggled, opening his door and pushing him in.
“Well, I’m better than sober Fred.” You wanted to laugh at his oblivion, but you knew he would take offense.
“And why is that?”
“Because sober Fred doesn’t kiss you like I do.” Quite contrary, they kissed the same.
“He kisses me just the same.”
“All the time?”
“No, but—”
“You should be kissed all the time…just look at your face.” You blushed slightly. “If he doesn’t kiss you all the time, he’s no loving you right.”
“I’ll tell my beautiful sober Fred that,”
“Not as beautiful as me,”
“Not as beautiful as you.” You reassured him.
Then he kissed you again. Those kisses were your salvation. You lived for them and would die with the memory of his lips. He was the half that made you whole, and without him, you simply wouldn’t be.
You lifted up his shirt and got a pair of basketball shorts for him.  He kissed you again as you helped him get dressed.
He was a drunk off his ass, plain and simple. His dinner was a whole bottle of whiskey and he’s slurring his words 5 minutes later. He would have passed out if he wasn’t at the party. Empty beer cans lay discarded in his room, he was drinking prior to this party. Harrys win really got him in a good mood.
You left him for a second to set up the bed, and he was already by your side kissing the back of your neck.
“Fred,” You dragged out his name. You could still hear the music from downstairs and you wished people would go to bed and stop. You turned around so you were facing him. He smiled widely at you and bent down to kiss you again.
“Does Sober Fred tell you how much he loves you,”
“He does dabble in that,” You smiled at him.
“Well if I were him I would say it all the time,”
“I’ll have to tell him that,” You blushed. He turned both of you around and got you both in the bed. As he wrapped his arms around you, he planted a big kiss on your cheek and then fell into a deep sleep.

I don’t think I’m gonna have time to write much for a little while, I’ve been given a shit tonne of work and a horrendously short amount of time to do it in lol, and my photography teacher basically told our class today that we can get kicked off the course if we don’t do our work up to standard so I reallyyyyy need to focus on school right now sadly.

I plan to have the next part of Midnight Luxe out soon-ish but other than that I won’t be putting pressure on myself to write anything else. 

Also, this made me laugh so I’m including it:

Originally posted by narika-a

anonymous asked:

hey so like about the target love spell thing, how do you feel about spells that would make a person more idk open about their feelings for you but only if they already had feelings before the spell. like it doesn't really change anything about how hey feel about you it just makes them more expressive of it. i kinda just wanna hear someone's opinion on it

Why can’t you just straight up ask them yourself how they feel?

My opinion is, not every situation needs magic.

And also, you’d still be casting magic on someone without their consent, which is a level of personal moral each magic user needs to determine on their own.

anonymous asked:

(from @daily-zygarde-cores) Vert: *Slithers up onto Delphox's head* Can you do a magic trick?! That would be so cool!

“I do know a variety of magic; However, they require quite a bit of concentration, something I lack at this time of night. Though, I am capable of other tricks. I hope a good flamethrower will do…”

a big part of growing up is realizing that not everybody is going to want what you’re prepared to give them. another part of growing up is acting in spite of this knowledge. know that, throughout your life, there are going to be dozens of souls that wander aimlessly into your periphery. dozens that you’ll feel compelled to cut your heart out for. and inevitably you’ll carefully serve it to them on a silver platter, cut artfully into manageable wedges, just to watch it be discarded for something with more shine and more durability. and I want you to know that no matter how many times this happens, no matter how many times you find yourself on your knees compensating for another’s carelessness, it isn’t going to be your fault. not once. you are no less worthy of compassion because of how wide your arms can stretch or how flexible your generosity is. stop punishing yourself for being tender. even the sea spills sometimes. don’t you think waterfalls are pretty magical?
—  EXCERPT #1, 24/30, Caitlin Conlon

TAEYONG; as your boyfriend

  • you are a really renowned photographer and one day SM calls you to take photos of some rookies
  • of course you agreed they paid more than anyone
  • when you arrived, the first person that you notice was Taeyong and his “flamed” eyes
  • he borrowed your camera without you knowing and then the magic happened
  • he is a really good photographer too
  • some hours passed and you finished the photo session

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