knitting and teacups

Archive blog for Annie, a 20-year-old gray witchmuse is she/her, mun is she/they/heInteractions always welcomed and encouraged // M!A: none // Icon by @deadrosesuggestion

[greywitchsuggestions]

{thinkin about Dimo!Annie}

[sosuperawesome]

Raquel Trave on Instagram

Follow So Super Awesome on Instagram

[princesszeldazbyebye-deactivate]

magic is real you fools it happens when you make your friends smile

[theenchantedwren]

[d-stabilize]

This deer is so handsom and dramatic I love him

[greywitchsuggestions]

@deadrosesuggestion

[develop-your-oc]

What do you know about your OC that they don’t know yet? When do they figure these things out?

[deadrosesuggestion]

dear owl know this you are loved no matter what

[deadrosesuggestion]

A short, punkish, blue-haired teenager wandered around the forest, looking for trouble, and maybe also somewhere to graffiti. They’re hadn’t made up their mind yet. (For Blitz, lov, greywitch)

@greywitchsuggestions—–

Oh? Someone in the woods? Blitz peers through the trees, trying to get a better look at them.

[greywitchsuggestions]

They are, as previously mentioned, short, punkish, and wearing a dark blue hoodie that looks well-loved, putting it nicely. Every so often, they stumble over a twig or rock and manage to avoid falling with some… blue lightning? that comes out of their palms and sets them upright. Obviously not used to being the woods that much, but also not completely a city-slicker.

[deadrosesuggestion]

“Whoa,” Blitz says, despite himself, impressed by the blue lightning. He steps closer, “Hey dude sup with the lightning?”

[greywitchsuggestions]

The lightning-wielder in question whirls around and shoves their hands in their pocket. “What lightning?”

[deadrosesuggestion]

“The magic you were just using,” Blitz gives them a Look as if to say “you can’t fool me”

[greywitchsuggestions]

They squint their eyes a bit, looking at the weird guy with orange eyes, and decide if someone’s got orange eyes and hangs out in the woods and asks about magic, they’re probably not the type to freak easy. They take their hands out of their pocket.

“I mean, you did just say what it fuckin’ was. It’s magic.” They look around, as though waiting for something to happen. “How’d you know about magic, anyway?”

[deadrosesuggestion]

“Oh, y’know,” He laughs, “You learn some things as you go. Doin’ a stint as a chaotic ghost can teach you a lot. How about you?”

[greywitchsuggestions]

“Ah, you know how it is,” they say with a grin, despite themself. “One day you’re going inside an abandoned building and the next thing you know you’re in a witch’s shop. Can you do any magic yourself?”

[deadrosesuggestion]

“That’s fucking cool dude,” He nods, “No magic for me, not that I know of anyway. I guess one day I might like, catch fire or something??”

[greywitchsuggestions]

They raised an eyebrow. “Just, like, spontaneously? Or like on purpose?”

[deadrosesuggestion]

“Honestly no idea!!” Blitz shrugs, “I hear that strong emotions can influence magic use so I guess we’ll see?”

[greywitchsuggestions]

They nod. “You hear right. Whatcha doing out in these woods anyway, former-ghost? D’you die here?”

[deadrosesuggestion]

“Oh no! I live here,” He smiles, wide and excited, “Out back a ways is my place. How ‘bout you?”

[greywitchsuggestions]

“I live with another witch. She’s cool. I was in these woods a few months back for vampire reasons and I decided to come back for fun and to see how long I could walk around before finding something interesting.” They look him up and down. “I think I found something interesting. What’s your name, anyway?”

[sosuperawesome]

Teacups and Saucers, by Sydonie Baldissera on Etsy

[sosuperawesome]

Sydonie Baldissera is taking part in Etsy’s 13th Birthday Sale!

For the 50+ shops featured by us taking part, see our ‘Birthday Sale’ tag

[greywitchsuggestions]

The day after Annie’s ashes were scattered, Sam awoke gasping for breath from a hideous nightmare. The details of this dream soon dissipated, but the ringing in their ears wouldn’t leave. It stayed for the rest of the day, even after they drank coffee, even after they drank tea, even after they took several naps.

The voice came soon after, as Sam was drinking a cup of coffee.

Sam Jose-Maria Gomez.

They dropped their mug, swore swiftly, and tossed some magic to clean it up. That voice wasn’t theirs.

Sam. Blue. Listen.

“No,” Sam muttered, aloud. “Fuck off.”

There was a brief pause, as though the voice was surprised.

What did you say?

“I told you to fuck off. What’s the matter, not used to swearing?”

Never mind. Sam, pay attention.

“Who are you?”

She didn’t tell you?

Somehow, instinctively, Sam knew the voice was talking about Annie. Sam had never been a religious person, but they had prayed the night she’d died.

“Are you... God?”

Not with a capital G I’m not.

“Oh. You’re that... that voice she talked about.”

Yes. I have a deal to offer you.

“Ultimate power in exchange for vengeance?”

How did you know that? What did she tell you?

“Made me promise like ten years ago to never accept your offer. Now, I will, however, accept some power.”

Interesting. Blue, I believe we could have a partnership here.

“You and me both, Chro. You and me both.”

[greywitchsuggestions]

there’s something to be said

There’s something to be said about comfort. It is a luxury she was not used to. Comfort was not something that could be sought out, not when she was a child. Growing up rich in material but poor in love was... something she couldn’t quite remember, but didn’t care to, anyway. Then there were the coarse fabrics of being shipped off. There was more love, sure, but she was in no place to go to an 11-year-old for comfort from her past. So she carried on, hands weather-worn and feet calloused and stomach empty and every so often, she would find comfort, somewhere small. In Lavender, both the flora and the girl who bore its name. In the scalloped shell of her ear, rubbing it softly when nervous. In the 11-year-old, and how she would tell her fantastical stories that could only come from the mind of a child. In the taste of stale bread, repetitive, familiar, routine.

There’s something to be said about comfort. It is a luxury she is still almost afraid to indulge in, a luxury she still isn’t completely sure she can afford. There is the clutching tight of a soft blanket, for fear it will be ripped away as quickly as she was ripped from her place in the fabric of time. There is the desperate grip on her partners, the way she holds them tight, kisses them with all she has, both out of deep love and deep fear they will leave once she is no longer of any use. There is the slow sip of a single teacup, and the rate at which she drinks tea in general; the former in order to stretch out these moments of comfort, slow down time enough for her to breathe and exist fully in one time and place, and the latter because she truly does love tea and everything about it, and the more she can be around it, the better. There is watching Sam swear at video games, and Sam in general. They remind her of an 11-year-old; not someone she can lean on for comfort, not necessarily, but more someone who brings delight and comfort simply by being.

There’s something to be said about comfort. It is a luxury she is slowly learning to accept as available to her. She allows herself to grieve with what little memory she has of her past life; she lost so, so much. She allows herself to relax about the love she has been given; it has no reason to leave her. She allows herself to flap her hands and run her fingers through her hair and rock on her toes and send off sparks, regardless of whoever’s around; it keeps her healthier than pretending to be something she isn’t. She allows herself to use the teacups and tea she has been given as gifts; if they run out, there will be more to replace them, and if broken, they can be fixed. She allows herself comfort.

[rp-memes-atyourservice]

Your muse just caught mine doing something dangerous! Send “What were you thinking?!” to scold them

[greywitchsuggestions]

[send me fake titles and i’ll write 200 words based on them]

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

Through the mirror steps a witch, holding a box. "Writer?" [pwease gimme the monster pwease]

((Yes monster time yes plz))

@greywitchsuggestions

There’s no response, accept for the sounds of scuffles in the next room over, the kitchen.

[greywitchsuggestions]

A head tilt, an eyebrow raise, and Annie’s poking her head around the corner to see what, exactly, is going on. 

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

A large creature with six legs, mounds of fur, scales, colors, and wildness turns its head out of the fridge, food caked on its fur around its mouth. It stares at the witch with eyes of amythests quizzically.

[greywitchsuggestions]

She takes a startled half-step backwards, and then a step and a half forwards. “Writer? Is that you?”

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

It approaches her in one step, giving her a small sniff. It’s eyes widen in recognition, and then it lays down at her feet looking up at her like a begging dog.

[greywitchsuggestions]

Annie can’t help but giggle. “You’re always adorable as a monster, my darling.” She sits down and decides to give the creature’s fur some pets, and then hesitantly also pets the scaley bits.

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

A purr as deep as a lions emminates from her, her eyes closing, finally relaxing under the familiar touch of a loved one.

[greywitchsuggestions]

The purr is not surprising, but she does blink a moment before continuing her petting of the creature’s head. “What happened to you this time, teacup? More trickster spirits?”

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

She groans, displaying a set of sharp fangs for a brief moment before lazily rolling onto her side. Her head nuzzling into the affectionate touches.

[greywitchsuggestions]

She grins, rubs the creature’s belly like a dog. “How long is this gonna be for, my love? A few days? Do you want to break the curse? You seem pretty happy to me like this.”

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

Through the mirror steps a witch, holding a box. "Writer?" [pwease gimme the monster pwease]

((Yes monster time yes plz))

@greywitchsuggestions

There’s no response, accept for the sounds of scuffles in the next room over, the kitchen.

[greywitchsuggestions]

A head tilt, an eyebrow raise, and Annie’s poking her head around the corner to see what, exactly, is going on. 

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

A large creature with six legs, mounds of fur, scales, colors, and wildness turns its head out of the fridge, food caked on its fur around its mouth. It stares at the witch with eyes of amythests quizzically.

[greywitchsuggestions]

She takes a startled half-step backwards, and then a step and a half forwards. “Writer? Is that you?”

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

It approaches her in one step, giving her a small sniff. It’s eyes widen in recognition, and then it lays down at her feet looking up at her like a begging dog.

[greywitchsuggestions]

Annie can’t help but giggle. “You’re always adorable as a monster, my darling.” She sits down and decides to give the creature’s fur some pets, and then hesitantly also pets the scaley bits.

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

A purr as deep as a lions emminates from her, her eyes closing, finally relaxing under the familiar touch of a loved one.

[greywitchsuggestions]

The purr is not surprising, but she does blink a moment before continuing her petting of the creature’s head. “What happened to you this time, teacup? More trickster spirits?”

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

Through the mirror steps a witch, holding a box. "Writer?" [pwease gimme the monster pwease]

((Yes monster time yes plz))

@greywitchsuggestions

There’s no response, accept for the sounds of scuffles in the next room over, the kitchen.

[greywitchsuggestions]

A head tilt, an eyebrow raise, and Annie’s poking her head around the corner to see what, exactly, is going on. 

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

A large creature with six legs, mounds of fur, scales, colors, and wildness turns its head out of the fridge, food caked on its fur around its mouth. It stares at the witch with eyes of amythests quizzically.

[greywitchsuggestions]

She takes a startled half-step backwards, and then a step and a half forwards. “Writer? Is that you?”

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

It approaches her in one step, giving her a small sniff. It’s eyes widen in recognition, and then it lays down at her feet looking up at her like a begging dog.

[greywitchsuggestions]

Annie can’t help but giggle. “You’re always adorable as a monster, my darling.” She sits down and decides to give the creature’s fur some pets, and then hesitantly also pets the scaley bits.

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

Through the mirror steps a witch, holding a box. "Writer?" [pwease gimme the monster pwease]

((Yes monster time yes plz))

@greywitchsuggestions

There’s no response, accept for the sounds of scuffles in the next room over, the kitchen.

[greywitchsuggestions]

A head tilt, an eyebrow raise, and Annie’s poking her head around the corner to see what, exactly, is going on. 

[wonderous-writer-suggestions]

A large creature with six legs, mounds of fur, scales, colors, and wildness turns its head out of the fridge, food caked on its fur around its mouth. It stares at the witch with eyes of amythests quizzically.

[greywitchsuggestions]

She takes a startled half-step backwards, and then a step and a half forwards. “Writer? Is that you?”