#tempusde

@tempusde asked: ☠ (maybe it’s gay, maybe it’s pure rage, who’s to say)☠ = pushing them against a wall .

"Ow, that's really tight!" He protested. That didn't do much, but he still had the power of sass on his side. He huffed, rolling his eyes up to his captor. "You'll cut off my circulation if you keep going like this."

He groaned, head dropping back as he tugged on his arms. No give. He pursed his lips once. "Great. Are you having fun?"

𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋, 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐂𝐎𝐌. it was easy for her to drive through town undetected, everyone tucked into their houses like when she had control over them. ( if it had been day time, wanda assumes she would've been run out of a town like a witch hunt. this was better, safer, & she had no intent in disturbing their lives, hurting them, anymore. just one ... one she needed, the only one left in her spell. ) a cruel denial of bodily autonomy, of identity. to be trapped in her own mind where she'd reside until wanda needed her or felt like releasing her---not her proudest moment yet perhaps they could be considered even now ? as easy as it was to drive into town, it was easier to unlock the police departments front door with a single movement of red, magic twined fingers. hand grasps the door of agatha agnes's office, eyes settling on her after so long with a ball in her stomach. expecting the suspision, the startle, wanda raises a hand & speaks: ❛ everything's okay, agnes. ❜ she'd have no choice but to believe her, ❛ i'm not here to hurt you. sit. ❜

a return to salem, her ancestors buried alongside her father in a private cemetery. hallowed by the blood shed and burials, and ready to be used for a ceremony for the first time in nearly twenty years. it’s too easy for cassidy to lure the young couple there, locals that have virgin blood and are unaware of the magic in their blood. a simple spell to freeze them in place, awake yet unmoving or speaking as she removes her shoes and steps onto the ground.

the second the brand of her family’s crest (placed on her right foot in this cemetery when she was a child) touches the grass, her magic comes alive. the light from the new moon touches her skin and cassidy gets to work. pillar candles place around the grounds to create a circle; blue ones for focus, brown for locating lost items, white for divination, and purple for power. a snap of her fingers lights the candles and without another word she pushes the frozen couple into the circle she’s created. brandishing a dagger cassidy speaks the spell softly, drawing some of her own blood and letting it drip onto the ground.

stepping towards the couple she continues casting the spell unfreezing them and then slitting their throats before they can get out a scream. as their blood soaks the ground, cassidy lets it pool around her feet. words getting louder as the flames from the candles rise, cassidy dips her utilizes her own blood mixed with that of her sacrifices to mark them as such. it’s only when the blood has stained the earth and wax pools around the bodies that her chanting ceases.

you didn't ask for assassination. you asked for destruction, and destruction takes time. / @tempusde

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE, and she's never been good at those. dark eyes focus on the other's gaze, while shadows cling to her form, branching out as though they are hungry and seeking. pressing closer, impatience can be read behind her eyes, but it's sated. sated, simply, for the only one who has stolen her heart.

hands raise, elongated and skeletal, and through the dark haze of the forest around them -- meeting spots that they always seem to find, best away from prying eyes -- she finds agatha's jaw, stroking and settling in a touch that's far too gentle. ( before her, she hadn't even known that she could be gentle in this form. all she had done was take, take, take, never give. it had been foreign to her at first, but after some time became second nature, as true as the form itself. )

"good girl," she replies, her voice as normal as its always been. death leans down and over, the edges of her skeletal face brushing against agatha's soft, oh-so-human cheek. she wants to drown in it, become part of her, as though she is her very bones. her voice drops in tone, to a whisper. "i know you'll deliver." head tilts away, and she takes a deep breath, nonexistent lungs expanding at the possibility of fresh destruction.

eyes meet agatha's again, and another thing she didn't know she could feel in this form rears its head again. love. death's grin is wicked, possessive, edging on the edge of affection. if death is the only thing that agatha harkness always escapes, it is also the only thing that follows her, tracking her trail of bodies wherever it may lead. "the more bodies, the better."

               sharon   isn’t   drunk   either,   in   fact   for   the   most   part   she   tries   not   to   drink   too   heavily.      a   glass   or   two   of   wine,   that’s   about   it.      it   could   also   be   because   she   doesn’t   have   many   friends,   and   she’s   not   the   type   to   drink   alone.      agnes   coming   over   had   definitely   been   a   surprise,   but   sharon   always   welcomed   visitors!      it   had   also   seemed   like   she   was   having   a   bit   of   a   rough   go,   so   who   was   sharon   to   deny   the   nice   woman   a   shoulder   to   lean   on?

a flicker of amusement causes a singular eyebrow to lift above the darkened, sunken eyes as they lazily drag across agatha's face, reading into the expression there and trying, trying desperately, to read beneath the surface.

an inaccessible mind was always torturous, but agatha's was by far the most upsettingly so. the older witch's motives were, as ever, unfathomable — but wanda was too desperately in need of her expertise to keep avoiding this.

@tempusde asked: [ RECRUIT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to recruit them for an upcoming task that the sender is unable to do alone.