#[ literally the truest of trues right there

[madwheelerz]

Lucas pulls everybody

Mike pulls guys

Will pulls girls (unfortunately)

Dustin pulls the ladies

Max pulls guys

El pulls girls

[celaenaeiln]

thinking about some quotes i’ve read and i wanna hear your thoughts on them because i have a lot and i don’t know what to do with them.

“the day Dick Grayson turns evil is the day the universe ends, not because that day will never come but because the boy will make it come”

“Dick Grayson isn’t the universal constant of good. Dick Grayson is the universal constant of competence”

“So, having said all that, it is a few but definitely significant words that fill the contingency plan on Nightwing in case the hero of Bludhaven ever turns to the dark side. Let's hope that never happens.”

YESSSSS

“the day Dick Grayson turns evil is the day the universe ends, not because that day will never come but because the boy will make it come”

This is the truest fact I've ever heard because this is really canon.

Word for word this happened.

In one of the canon timelines Clark laser blasted Bruce under mind control.

And oh how Dick took over. You know what Luthor says?

"After all, as I've heard your father [Dick] so often quoted, 'we make the hardest decisions for those we care about the most.' Well, in his case...that has meant remaking the world."

This man has the power to single-handedly control the fate of the world.

Whatever he wants, he will make it happen.

The entirety of the justice league, all the metas, heroes, and villains too stood no chance against him.

DC vs Vampires

“Dick Grayson isn’t the universal constant of good. Dick Grayson is the universal constant of competence”

I think it's true.

Nightwing is one of the most formidable figures in DC, without fail consistently coming out on top, so if Superman is iterating that Dick's personality and essence of being is the same, then there's really no room for disagreement.

But more truly, I think he is a Nexus.

By Marvel's definition, "Nexus Beings are rare individual entities with the ability to affect probability and thus the future, thereby altering the flow of the Universal Time Stream. These beings, each referred to as a nexus, act as the keystones of the Multiverse and are crucial to its ultimate coherence and stability."

That means that the universe hinges on the actions of Dick Grayson.

Not only does he control the fate of the world but his mere existence determines what will become of it by other people:

I'd like to reiterate that Neux Beings are "the keystones of the Multiverse and are crucial to its ultimate coherence and stability."

You can still be a nexus if you turn dark. For example Lore was a dark version of Wanda Maximoff but she is still considered a nexus. So you're right in saying that Dick Grayson is a multiuniversal constant of competence.

“So, having said all that, it is a few but definitely significant words that fill the contingency plan on Nightwing in case the hero of Bludhaven ever turns to the dark side. Let's hope that never happens.”

In the easiest terms as someone put it, "hope he fucks up" is Bruce's only contingency plan against Nightwing. The man doesn't have a clear plan how to neutralize Nightwing.

His exact words are: "As a result of overanalyzing any situation, this allows Dick Grayson to overconfident and misdirected. This will make himself open to a second attack."

So the plan is basically 'Dick is too smart for his own good so we'll have to go with a lucky surprise attack.' He's literally saying 'yupppp. Let's just hope he messed up because there's nothing we can do on ouR end.' Note that Bruce doesn't even have a back up like 'the second attack didn't work? we're fucked.'

For everyone else he actually has a coherent plan in mind- do this and they will fall. But for Dick? 'I hope he messes up enough for a second attack to actually stick. Otherwise we're shit out of luck. And lives. Fingers crossed he doesn't jump to the bad side.'

Tim also confirmed he would never make a contingency plan for Dick. The only person in the world he wouldn't do one for.

He's just that formidable of a man. Even now he can easily take down the Justice League if he wanted to.

And we know that Dick has one of the strongest wills on the planet.

"I have my enhancements. I have powers. Dick Grayson...what do you have?"

A world where Dick loses his emotions is a world that would not survive.

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Five: Somewhere in the Crowd There’s You

a/n: here’s chapter five of my purely self-indulgent fun — a little later than i anticipated because i was sick and got a little derailed. we are half way now and things will be heating up in the next few chapters, haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings/tags: (10k words); mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

-

-

“You sent too much money.” 

It’s your father’s voice that spills down the other line. Gruff in a way that alerts you your fears aren’t for naught, as he’s likely had many sleepless nights since the last you spoke. You recall days as a child, when your mother had been sick, and your father would stay awake all hours of the night, if only to clean up the house so she didn’t have to. To make sure that her worries were only meant to be on getting better and resting. 

“I…have a business and it’s going well,” you explain, chewing on your bottom lip. 

Across the room, Steve’s fluffing pillows and putting a champagne bottle on ice. Your guests will be here soon, likely within the next few minutes, though when your father’s name flashed across your screen you knew you needed to answer. 

“Only a few clients now, but I’m hopeful I’ll pick up more,” you continue, exhaling deeply. “I want you to have it. I know Caroline mentioned needing new shoes. Please let me do this.”

There’s a long pause. “Okay, okay. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Clinical year at school, newly married, and now a businesswoman. How is my son-in-law?”

“He’s…” 

Steve rushes into the kitchen where you’re standing, hands curling around either of your hips to shift you away from the refrigerator so he can pull out the charcuterie board you had commissioned for the evening’s gathering. 

“He’s really great. He’s been busy since we got back from our honeymoon, but he’s doing really well.”

Ever since your moment days ago in the kitchen, after Steve had pushed aside picking you up and opted to send Hopper in his stead, your relationship has taken new form. True to his word, Steve started a new habit of not answering his phone after you're done with your clinicals for the evening. Afternoons now had been spent watching your shows together on nights you didn’t have prior engagements with his coworkers, merely existing in the same room together, becoming…friends. 

Literal friends, in the truest sense of the word. And it’s more than you can ask for, though you can’t lie that even the slightest touches leave you a little breathless. There’s also the kisses to the back of your hand at dinner, the way he curls his palm around the top of your thigh while his coworkers regale a particularly interesting story, the lingering press of his mouth against your forehead when he’s feeling especially doting in mixed company. 

Progress. 

You’re making progress. 

“I actually should go and help him. We have company this afternoon. His cousin and wife are visiting us for the first time since the wedding. Still getting used to hosting gatherings as a couple, you know?” There’s a chuckle on the other end, and you know him well enough to imagine the slow shake of his head. “I love you so much and I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

The line clicks, leaving you to witness Steve elbow deep in the sink, washing your coffee mugs from earlier that morning. Your eyes slide to the perfectly operational dishwasher on his right side, though you can’t deny that the sight of your husband, bare arms shifting and moving as he works, is a lovely one. None the wiser of your ogling, you step forward to him, elbow leaning down against the counter. 

“You know, the dishwasher is empty,” you point out. 

“I am perfectly capable of cleaning a few dishes,” he grouses, rinsing a cup and settling it in the drying rack. “I also need to keep moving. Getting antsy now that they’re running late.”

“Hey, Steve?” You step closer, your front brushing his hip. He shakes his head as you do so, a laugh breaking free from his mouth as you grip his arms and still him in his frantic movements. “Put the sponge down. And the plate. The fork, too.”

The three items plunk down into the sink, a loud clatter in your otherwise silent home. Fingers curl around a hand towel and he reaches over to grasp his wedding ring, pushing it back into place against his knuckle. One thing you’ve found, and you particularly enjoy, is the fact Steve’s never taken off his ring. Not once. Even under the false pretenses of marriage, seeing him wearing a symbol of your union, of the vows you shared some time ago now, erupts dozens of bees into your bloodstream. Humming, buzzing, igniting your every nerve ending with electricity. 

“Are you okay,” you ask, hand coming to rest against his back. 

It’s the softest brush, and yet he turns his head all the same, hazel eyes meeting yours, and then trailing up the inside of your arm to where you’re touching. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says unconvincingly, shifting to face you now. That arm drops as he does so, but is replaced by his two large hands cupping your biceps. “Just want to get through this afternoon and then I’ll be much happier.”

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask him why the stress over this afternoon, when his phone rings and the doorman lets him know Theobald and Cami have finally arrived. It’s not the first time you’ve met them. The first had been at your wedding, where introductions to most of Steve’s friends and extended family were done so in a rapid fire manner. They’d been kind enough; as much as one can be in a two minute conversation wherein you welcomed them and thanked them for coming to celebrate your “special day” with the love of your life. 

But now, seeing them there in the flesh, brought a new wave of nervousness into your belly. Theobald Cletus, with his dark hair that resembles Steve’s, with tan skin and the beginnings of wrinkles that crease his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. And beside him, his stunning wife with silky red curls that fell to her waist in ringlets, delicately freckled cheeks, and impossibly green eyes. Ethereal—she looked ethereal and, by your guessing, quite a bit younger than her husband standing with a hand against the smallest point of her back. 

As your mouth opens to speak and welcome them into your home, Cami rushes forward, curling her arms around your shoulders in a frighteningly tight hug that has you wincing and peering over your shoulder to your husband. Steve only shrugs as he steps forward and cups his hand around his cousin’s, only to be tugged forward into a hug of his own. 

“Theobald, you’ve met my wife,” Steve finally says once you’ve managed to extract yourself from Cami long enough to sidle back up to him, his arm settling around your waist, palm curling affectionately around your hip. One of the appropriate touches you’ve discussed, and yet it has your head spinning all the same. 

Just as it does every time. 

“Ah, yes.” His eyes flicker to yours. Darker than your husband’s, corners twitching as his lips curl into a smile. “The new Mrs. Harrington. How could I forget that whirlwind affair?”

Head dipping uncomfortably, you press your palm against Steve’s where it rests against your hip, sliding your fingers between his to lace them tight. “It was pretty crazy, wasn’t it?” Awkwardly laughing, you turn to look to Steve for support. “Should we take this into the living room?”

“Please!” Cami exclaims, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “I would love to hear all about the honeymoon. I want all the details. Should we be expecting any little Harringtons soon?”

Just as you say, “Absolutely not,” Theobald echoes, “My cousin loves kids. Always wanted a brood of them.”

It’s expected, you think. It’s a common question after marriage, no matter how inappropriate. Society says once you’re married you’re to obviously have children next. Frankly, it’s archaic and a ridiculous practice. And even so, Theobald’s words strike a sudden sadness into your chest. This thought that Steve so deeply wants children. A thought you could completely see come to fruition based on his interactions with El and Will alone. They’d been immediately endeared to him. All wide eyes and bright laughter, vibrant conversation, his endless bantering with them. 

Steve Harrington would be a good father to his future children one day with his real wife. Not the woman you are to him for the next three years. 

However, it’s at this moment you rationalize the error in your plans. A real couple would have had these conversations about future children already. 

“Not now, at least,” you giggle airily, curling your arm around Steve’s and tugging him close. His brows furrow as you add, “Right now I’m just enjoying spending time with my husband. I want to be a little selfish for a while yet.”

“Understandable,” Cami agrees, settling down on your living room couch, crossing her legs and revealing a stunning pair of Gucci pumps that likely cost your half of the rent while still living with Robin. “I love our two little gremlins, but they take up all our free time. Constantly running them around to school events, dance classes, sporting events.”

“Sweetheart, the au pair does all of that,” Theobald chuckles, earning a whack in the arm from his wife. “Enough about that. Tell me…how did you two meet? It all happened so fast.”

“As you already pointed out,” Steve warns, hand around yours growing tighter. 

Cami moves to open the champagne bottle, easing the tension in the room with the echoing pop. Glasses are poured and passed around the table, glasses coming together in a soft ‘cheers’ before you bring the champagne flute to your lips and take a large swallow. Bubbles burst against your tongue, eyes training on Theobald’s, just as he passes a look your way. 

A battle of wills then, you think. 

“We met at a party,” you begin, removing your hand from Steve's and gripping the bottom of his chin, shifting him enough that he’s looking at you. “We’d known each other for a bit through our mutual friend, and we’d always kind of danced around one another. In the same spaces always, yet too nervous to make the first move.”

Steve watches you carefully as you weave your tale that isn’t really a tale. It’s mostly the truth, with the romance added in. But it comes naturally. Pours out of you with an unexpected ease that has Cami leaning into her husband’s shoulder, green eyes twinkling as you speak. 

“And then one afternoon, Stevie bought me a drink and walked it over to where I was standing by myself. My friend had just left to use the restroom, and here he stood…all tall, dark, and handsome. We started talking that night and just realized how easy it was to be around one another. I’d never talked so much on a first date, and yeah—I considered that our first date. After that we spent nearly every day together. It didn’t take long for us both to realize we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Some might think it was rushed, but there’s that saying, right? When you know, you know. And with my school starting up again, and us wanting so badly to get married, we thought no time like the present. Now here we are.”

For emphasis, you lean forward. Close enough that Steve’s eyes cross, his mouth dropping a hint at the corners, before twitching upward when your lips press against the corner of his mouth. A tentative press of your skin just barely against his. You linger with your forehead against his, trying not to focus on the temperature in the room, or how it feels it’s creeping higher and higher with every passing moment you remain connected to him. 

“Here we are,” Steve echoes, breath fanning against your bottom lip. 

Were you to even move an inch, your mouths would connect. A thought he must have as well, because he brings his thumb up and taps your bottom lip gently, nuzzling your nose until you hear the excitable clapping of Cami’s hands where she’s sitting on the living room touch. Pushing the hem of your summer dress down back around your knees, you shift and take in the older man sitting across from you. His eyes are narrowed on your face, a twitch not unnoticed in his cheek as he jolts to his feet and suggests Steve and him have a little bit of time as ‘cousins’ on the private patio. Noticing your hesitance at him leaving your side, Steve brushes a gentle kiss against your forehead, pours you another glass of champagne, and promises he’ll be right back. 

With the door closed and the men left to their own devices, you look over to Cami. Cami, the picture of beauty. An image of a woman who walks in this world of the elites and has no qualms about it; steps into it and commands it, whereas you’re still walking around on wobbly legs like a baby deer. Even her clothes look like they were made for her. Luxurious fabrics that ebb and flow with her every movement, high neck of her summer dress leading to a gorgeous diamond necklace falling to the hollow of her throat. 

Across from her, your dress suddenly feels too tight. Gifted by your mother-in-law who insisted she owned her own fashion line, and therefore absolutely must dress her only daughter. A quick phone call wherein you protested her suggestions ended with a ring from the doorman alerting you a delivery of multiple garments had arrived for you. Various dresses for each occasion, pants, shoes, blouses and anything you could imagine ever needing were added to your closet. All elaborate in design, and becoming for a new wife to the CEO of a major contracting company. The biggest the city touted, if you were completely honest with yourself. 

Today you wore an off the shoulder floral patterned dress and the diamond earrings gifted by your mother-in-law as a bridal shower gift. You’d pushed aside the thought of heels for the afternoon; instead opted for a comfy pair of sandals that were maybe in their last season of use, but now they only looked garish in the light beside the Gucci pumps on Cami’s feet. 

Comparison, this ugly weed of a thing, grew up within you against your better wishes. Robbed you of what little air fell in and out of your lungs as you sat there, sipping your champagne. You didn’t care for these preconceived ideas of what a Harrington wife should look like, right? You were your own person, had been long before him, and would continue to be so after him. Yet sitting there, watching her gracefully move about the room, and commenting on the pictures you’d added from the wedding, reminds you of how some people were meant for this life. Some people were raised for it. 

You were not. 

“He looks so in love with you,” Cami trills, fingers running along the silver edge of your photo frame, lifting it nearer to her face for inspection. You know exactly which one it is. Jonathan had told the two of you to look one another in the eyes and press your foreheads together. He’d draped your veil over the both of you, the setting sun basking you both in a golden hour halo. It’s dreamy. A shot so dreamy it’s easy to believe it is of a man deeply in love with his bride. “That new love look. Cherish it. You know how these Harrington men are.”

Actually…you don’t. 

You’re not interested in even asking her what she intends by her words, but when she places the photo back down and turns your way, there’s a glimmer of something wet on her lower lashes. Awkwardly, you clear your throat, reaching over and offering to refill her glass. She heartily accepts, fingers combing through long amber locks as she settles back down on the couch across from you, crossing her legs once more. Again, she’s the statuesque image of perfection; cracks visible in her foundation, yet devastatingly beautiful all the same. 

“You’ve got the best one,” she sniffles, grasping a piece of cheese and a cracker within her index and pointer. “Stevie is a sweetheart. Always has been. Theobald is hard on him, and I always try to tell him to ease up. The late Mr. Harrington was always so rough on his son as it is without Theo breathing down his neck.”

The late Mr. Harrington. 

You knew very little of him. From what you’ve gathered—the very scraps of things here and there, as Steve never really mentioned him—their relationship, while his father had been alive, was a strained one. His parents had him later in life; a quick Google search would show as much. The heir to the company born with a silver platter before him, wanting for naught, pushed into the limelight. 

Still, hearing Cami talk about Steve…with pity—grief tightens like a vice around your heart. Envisioning those hazel eyes of your husband, staring up expectantly at a man who never saw his son’s achievements for what they were. And now, at his young age, trying to make his late father proud at the expense of his own self. 

Long hours, constant meetings, coaching calls. Pushing, striving, hustling.

With a long sigh, you glance toward the outside patio, where you can see your husband with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. His left hand curls around the stem of his glass, hand gesticulating wildly in the air as he talks with Theobald, hair in disarray. Like he’s been raking his fingers through it. Eyes trail his shoulders next, along the contours of sinewy muscle, then further up where you can visibly see the rigidity in his form. 

“Steve is…” 

Your voice breaks, eyes tipping downward to your bubbly drink in hand. Cami’s fingers curl around your wrist, a sympathetic frown lining her pristine features, and you know she’s thinking you’re caught up in your emotions. But in reality, it’s because there are so many things he is, all of which swirl like a muddied mess in your hazy mind. 

“Steve is a good man. He’s the best man. I’m really lucky to have him.”

When you glance up, there he is, grin gracing his features. It’s plain as day he’s heard you; those stiff shoulders slacken. Tension eases from the curve of his mouth, as well as in the grip of his fingers around his glass. Instead his face morphs into elation, feet carrying him over to where you sit so he can once more slide an arm around your waist and tug you close. 

Theobald regards you carefully in the distance, taking in the way you slide into the crook of your husband’s chest, seeking the warmth of him. The comfort of someone in your corner, seated in a room ripe with scrutiny. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers against your ear, just as Cami dives into conversation about her and Theo’s children, revealing photo after photo of their adorable faces on her iPhone screen. 

“We’re the Harringtons, aren’t we?” 

He chuckles brightly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Day shifts into evening.

Conversations drift around lighter topics. Talks of your schooling, your plans for the future, the business you’ve started. A fact which, to your unamusement, Theobald finds more than mildly intriguing when he later corners you in the kitchen as Steve and Cami flip through the photos she had taken at the wedding on her phone (despite Steve’s pitying gazes for you to rescue him). Instead, you’d offered to start cleaning up, knowing your husband and you had dinner plans with another couple from the office. 

“A dog walking business…” He mutters, elbow dropping down onto the counter. “How quaint.”

“It’s extra money,” you say simply, placing a watery glass into the drying rack. “You’re a businessman, aren’t you? Isn’t it better to make all my money now while I’m younger?”

“That I am. And I would agree,” he murmurs, eyes trailing your profile. “It’s just curious since you know how wealthy your husband is. He’s CEO of the company now, and that’s not even counting the hefty inheritance he got as the sole Harrington son. That kind of money is generational. He could never work another day in his life and be well off.”

“My husband is supportive of my endeavors,” you grumble out, training your eyes on the kitchen backsplash. 

“Obviously,” he agrees goodnaturedly. “He loves you. Everyone can see it. All of a sudden our hard working golden child is leaving the office at normal times, running home to his lovely wife. I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Heat flashes like lava in your gut over the revelation that your ruse is working. It’s hindered by Theobald’s latter statement, mind stuttering over his blasé persona. The question as to whether or not Steve knows what he’s doing. Trying to hide your piqued interest, you harden your expression into one of neutrality. 

As your mouth opens to speak, Cami cuts you off with a shrill, “Theobald, they have to get ready for their dinner. We’ve overstayed our welcome. But I would absolutely love for us to do this again!”

Uncertain if you’re happy or sad about this latest development because you still needed further clarity over Theo’s words, you place the remaining glasses into the drying rack and slide your rings back into place, pressing yourself into Steve’s side as he approaches. For a dramatic flair, you even press your left hand to his abdomen, rings glinting in the light, head leaning against his chest as you wish them a wonderful rest of their evening. 

Theobald gives you one last fleeting look just when his wife nearly strangles you in another bear hug, and claps a hand against his younger cousin’s shoulder. “We will definitely have to do this again. It was nice officially meeting you, Mrs. Harrington.”

The doors slide closed and a sigh spills from your lips. Against you, Steve relaxes, hand rubbing up and down the length of your spine idly, eyes still fixed on the doors across from him. Slipping away from him, you quickly gather the rest of the snacks and glasses from the living room table and drop them down into the sink, pinching at the bridge of your nose. 

“Is he always like that?” You wonder out loud, whirling around to face Steve. 

His head jerks at your words, mouth pulling southward. The solidness of his right hip rests against the kitchen counter. You try to not dawdle on the way his bicep twitches as it rests on the surface beside him, nor as his fingers sprawl around the base of his jaw, keeping his head propped up. 

“He’s usually worse,” he admits. “What did he say to you?” 

“Just commented on my business,” you tell him, deciding to ease in with that before asking what his cousin had meant by ‘hoping Steve knows what he’s doing’, moving to place a plate in the drying rack. “He couldn’t seem to fathom how I would resort to the life of a peasant, when I should be rolling around in your endless buckets of money.”

Snorting, he teases, “Someone’s angry.”

“Yeah, and for once not at you, so I’d be thankful.” Your nose wrinkles as he barks out a laugh, head tipping back in his glee. Mirth bubbles up within your belly at the lyrical sound spilling from your husband, the way his cheeks stretch wide on his face, how the corners of his eyes crinkle in his happiness. “I told him I liked what I do. Is that so wrong? I like having my own thing. Just like you have your own thing.”

Without a warning, he turns the water off. Grips your shoulders lightly, turning you to him. “Theo is an entitled idiot, okay? He thinks he runs the company and the world, and anyone who doesn’t live like him is beneath him. Notice how he’s got this constant look on his face of disgust?”

At that, your lips twitch. Steve coaxes it further by shaking you slightly, earning a giggle. “He does kind of look like he hates everyone around him. It’s a wonder he married Cami. She seems sweet.”

“She is sweet. A saint for putting up with him for all these years, honestly,” Steve says, giving you one last shake until you’re wiping your hands off and slouching against his frame. “What?”

“I want a selfish hug,” you grumble against his shirt, face pressing into a sternum. 

“A selfish hug?” You can hear the questioning lilt, the probing in his kind voice. 

Nodding, you step closer. The tips of your sandals meet his leather shoes, hem of your dress spilling over the dark material. Your head shifts just the slightest, ear resting over the curve of his chest, relishing in the warmth of another body. This. Hugging? It’s not new. You’ve been practicing. As odd as that sounds, and though you don’t want to unpack it, since your argument with Steve he’s come home every day and greeted you with one. You’d say you’re pros at this point. 

“And what might a selfish hug be?” He muses, hands coming up to rest against the center of your back. 

“I just stand like this,” you begin, dropping your arms to your sides, letting them dangle at your hips. “And you hold me.”

You can feel the vibration of his laugh against your ear, but his arms tighten around you all the same, holding you in place. Melting into him, you rest in the comfort of his embrace. Merely focus on the sound of his breath pouring in and out of his lungs, the gentle beat of his heart beneath your ear, the brush of his thumb against your skin, soothing you. 

“You’re too much,” he says, but there’s no weight behind the words. Can feel his mouth curling upward against your ear. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

For the evening. For helping you in a time of need. For holding you now. For holding you tomorrow. You’re not really sure you know what you mean. But all you do know for certain is that, when his arms tug you closer, you loop yours around his waist, and your selfish hug becomes a real one. 

-

Lightning streaks the sky. Bright white illuminates your bedroom, then settles into dark once more. A loud boom echoes, rattling the foundations of your home. Jolts your bed, and thus your body out of it. Grasping at your chest, you try to tamper the frantic rise and fall. The rush of breath forcing itself in and out of your screaming lungs, ejected from your dreams into waking so suddenly. 

Another flash sparks your room in a moonlit glow. Falls dark a second later as you brace for the crack of sound that pierces your ears after. Groaning, you grasp the edge of a fluffy blanket on the foot of your bed and curl it around your shoulders, padding through your home in search of the living room, sights set on watching Netflix until you fall back asleep from reruns of your favorite shows. 

Only upon entering, you find you’re not alone. Already doused in colorful light from the episode of New Girl playing on the screen is none other than your husband. Where you’re standing you can see the frames of the thin glasses he wears, the unkempt bed hair at the top of his head, the hoodie pulled over his body to block out the air conditioned chill in the living room. 

“You’re awake…” It comes out hoarse, the rasp of your voice drawing your husband’s attention. “And you’re watching without me?” 

The mock gasp has him moving over on the couch to make space for you, your rear dropping down into the couch cushion beside him. There’s another blanket across his lap, impossibly soft and a pretty navy color that pops against the pale fabric of your carpet. Getting comfortable, you unloop yours from around your shoulders and drape it across your bare thighs, sleep shorts doing very little to block out the chill in the air. Once satisfied, you lean back and watch the chaos between Jess and Nick unfolding on the television screen. 

“What are you doing awake?” you ask after some time. Wince as another boom of thunder rattles the walls of your home.  

“Couldn't sleep,” he says, breaking off into a yawn. “Had a lot on my mind.”

“From dinner or…?” 

Dinner itself hadn’t been stressful—at least nothing that occurred would have alluded to as much. You’d met up at an Italian restaurant with a business partner of Steve’s and the business partner’s husband. Two older men in their fifties, with graying hair and a kindness that radiated from them. Most of the conversation had been of things outside of work, so you’re uncertain as to what might be bothering him. 

“Not dinner,” he confirms, pausing the show on the TV screen. His head rolls back to rest against the plush cushion, hands coming up to press into his face. Slides his palm down the contours, exhaling deeply. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Oh,” you mutter softly, picking at a nonexistent thread on the edge of your blanket. “That’s fine. I just figured—”

“It’s nothing personal toward you. I just don’t want to bother you with it. Why are you up?” He queries, head turning to look in your direction. 

“You never bother me.”

Steve levels you with a blank stare and you laugh. “I’m not afraid of thunder…but it definitely woke me,” you admit quietly, sounding more than a forlorn without meaning to. “My room gets really dark at night with the curtains, so when it lit up from the lightning I was a little spooked.”

“Understandably,” he says. “Want me to grab you coffee or tea or something?” 

Head perking up, you ask, “Do we still have the camomile? If it’s no trouble, I mean…”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it was,” he says, but there’s no hint of any condescension there, only his increasingly familiar thoughtfulness.

You lean your chin over the top of the couch to catch the retreating form of Steve’s back swathed in his dark hoodie. “Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, starting up your warm drink. “Want anything else? We still have those chocolate covered strawberries from dinner.”

“Do you want the chocolate strawberries from dinner?” 

His grin turns wry. “Maybe.”

“Bring them over, you grown up baby,” you tease, extending a hand so he can place the covered plate in your awaiting palm. 

Peeling back the tinfoil, you rest the tray on the coffee table, hiking your blanket higher around your thighs. Steve’s pouring hot water into a mug that says ‘Future Veterinarian,’ humming a familiar tune as he works. 

“You usually do honey and…a bucket load of sugar, right?” 

Eyes roll. “I like a spoonful of honey in my camomile and nothing else. The sugar is for my iced coffees, thank you very much. Also thank you for making sure Hopper always has it on standby lately.”

“What’s that thing you said to me when we first talked about us getting married?” He taps his chin mock thoughtfully, his other hand twirling a spoon around the inside of your cup. “Happy wife, happy life starts with always knowing her coffee order.”

It’s true, and you hide your lips behind your palm at the realization he’d been listening as he crosses the space between you and rests the steaming mug in your hand, muttering quickly, “Be careful, it’s really hot.” 

“Thank you,” you say as he drops back down into the couch and plucks a chocolate covered strawberry off the tray. “I know you didn’t want to talk about what’s bothering you…but I figure…I don’t know. It’s storming out, we’re both not getting much sleep tonight, we could play a game or something.”

“A game?”

Nodding, you add, “An icebreaker. I know we talk more now, but we could try and get to know each other better. A little look into the person we married.”

Your husband shifts on the couch beside you. Presses his back into the arm rest and stretches out, arching a brow pointedly. Smirking, you do the same. Shift just enough so your back is up against the opposite end, your socked feet just barely brushing Steve’s. 

“Okay. Night out or night in?” you ask. 

“Before…night out.”

“Before?”

“Well, now you force me to watch Gilmore Girls.”

“I don’t force you! And it’s only been a few days. I’m sure it’s an absolute horror of spending time with the woman you fake married,” you gasp, feigning terror. “Just admit it. You like spending time at home.”

His eyes are set on yours as he says, “I like spending time at home.”

“I’d agree for myself as well. Life is so busy as it is lately, it’s nice having a space to come back to.” 

One thing you’re very grateful for on a growing list is the space your new bedroom has given you. Sure, it can get lonely, but it’s an escape from the long days, a haven from stress, a bed to crawl back to when your eyes can hardly stay open any longer after a particularly hard day at clinicals. 

“My turn,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his middle. And no, you don’t allow heat to crawl across your chest at the mere sight of his chest and arms flexing from the motion. “Would you rather go forward or backward in time?”

“And what would be my purpose of going forward or backward? Am I rectifying my mistakes? Seeing the future? Looking to see how my life pans out?”

“I…it’s whatever you want it to be.” He blanches. 

“I don’t really have a lot of regrets in life. I make a choice and however the cookie crumbles is how it crumbles. Exhibit A,” you say, holding aloft your left hand, where two rings glint in the dim living room. “So I probably would want to go forward. But that’s dangerous, because if you go too far forward, you might see things you don’t like. I definitely wouldn’t want to know how I, uh, you know? Check out of here. What about you?”

Steve pauses for a moment, brows drawn in thought. “Honestly? There are things I’d want to change about the past, sure. But I think I’d want to see the future. See if all I’m doing is worth it, you know?”

“You don’t think what you’re doing right now is worth it?” You wonder if he’s talking about the business. Assume he must be, but don’t press any further. 

“I wonder sometimes, yeah,” he admits. 

“Well, what would you be doing if it weren’t what you’re doing right now? To see if something else would potentially be worth it.”

He rubs a hand along his neck, shrugging. “I thought about being a teacher once. My dad thought that was a silly idea. But I’ve always been good with children, and I think I could have been good at that.”

“You are good with children,” you tell him, thinking to Will and El. To the friends you’d met at dinner in the past weeks who brought their little ones. “I don’t think that’s a silly idea at all. Not in the slightest, and I’m sorry if anyone ever made you feel that way. Like your interests were inconsequential.” 

“Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he asks, “Movie night or date night?” 

“Are you asking me on a date?” His eyes grow wide at that. Cheeks darken visibly in the moonlit living room. “I’m teasing you, Harrington. I think there’s a case that those can be one in the same. I would say broader…I love the idea of going out for a date, but I love those inside sort of dates more. They’re more intimate, there’s the comfort of your shared spaces, the fact there aren’t any crowds around you. Only that important quality time with your partner.”

“I don’t have much to contribute there, seeing as I haven’t dated much in the past year. And now I won’t be for another three years.” He chuckles, combing fingers through his hair.  

“Okay, this question is super serious.” You fold your hands across your midsection, inhaling deeply, eyes shut. “Would you rather have a third nipple or an extra toe?”

“Seriously!” 

“I’m very serious, Steve.”

“Extra toe.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck again, wincing slightly as he presses into a spot between his shoulder blades. 

Your lips tug southward. “Are you hurting?”

“Just my office chair, I’m sure,” he grumbles, nonchalant. 

“Get on the floor.”

His brows arch. “Huh?”

“On the floor,” you repeat, tapping the space in front of you on the carpet below. “In front of me.”

“Why?” 

“Do you trust me?” 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, long limbs slip off the edge of the couch and settle down where you’ve asked. You move to tuck his hoodie in as best as you can, fingers moving to spread across the slope of his shoulders. He exhales deeply at the first press of your hands in the muscle wrought with tension. A low sigh spills free, head tipping back to rest on the cushion nearest to your knee. Fingers crave to brush the hair along his scalp, to see if he’ll make that same, soft sigh once more. But instead you continue, pressing slowly into his flesh, listening to his cues, figuring out what works and doesn’t. 

“Would you rather have a big family or a small one?” You ask after Steve has gone quiet, thinking back briefly to the moment earlier with Theobald and Cami. 

Steve, with his wishes to be a father. Steve, who wants a huge brood of Harrington babies. Steve, who wants a family. 

And yet it’s not even that. Not the questions as to what he sees for his future. It’s the tangible worry of slipping up in your facade. Of revealing too many cracks in the foundations of your dynamics. That had been the first, and you know if this relationship is going to hold up for three years, communication is a must. Absolute transparency at all times, so as to not muck it all up and land yourselves both in some hot water.  

“Growing up, it was just me. My parents had me a little older in their life. They were already further into their careers by the time I was born. So…it was often just the au pair and myself,” he explains, letting go of another deep breath. 

His body slackens against your knee caps. Warm flesh of your husband pliant beneath your fingertips. 

“I always had this dream of giving my kids the opposite of what I had. Always knowing love, family outings, doing everything with them. Dance class, football, acting—whatever they wanted. And I’d wanted as many as possible. A silly dream of six of them, running all over the world together as a family.”

“It’s not a silly dream. None of your dreams are ever silly, Steve.” 

Warmth pools as Steve slides his hand up and covers yours where it rests against his shoulder. Heart stuttering, you continue, “Your family will be lucky to have you some day. I, for one, haven’t given much thought to that aspect of life. I hope Theo and Cami didn’t find that suspect. I just…”

“Have been busy with school. You’re becoming a doctor, that’s time and hard work. No one can fault you for that.”

“Right. Yeah.”

You resume your kneading, fingers stroking at shoulders, down the sides of his neck, attentive to all the tension. He grows softer beneath your fingertips, head against your knee, his eyes closed. Where you’re sitting you can see the moles on his face, the length of his lashes, the lines of his nose. Pretty. He’s pretty, and it’s always something you’ve known, but being so close—

“Sunrise or sunset,” Steve asks. 

“Hmm, sunrise.” You poke at the middle of his forehead, and hazel eyes meet yours. “That one was simple.”

“I could tell you were overthinking,” he says simply. “We’re not going to be perfect at this marriage thing. But no one expects us to be.”

“I still think we need to get our stories straight at the very least. And I sorta messed that one up with the honeymoon baby thing.” You shrug, palms sliding down a bit onto his upper chest. He’s still sitting there, taking you in with his stare, hand around yours. “Kind of why I suggested this game.” 

He offers you a gentle smile, saying, “Then let’s keep going.”

The conversation continues until the sun begins to change colors. Until the rain has since stopped, voices carrying above the television playing low in the background. You learn Steve’s a romantic; loves movies like the Titanic and The Notebook. And will also admit to enjoying some of the same romantic comedies you do. 

He prefers rainy days, because he enjoys the respite they give from a constantly busy city just outside the walls of your home. He’d rather have happiness than wealth; enjoys chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven for dessert (and you make a note to pick up some stuff to make them on your next planned night together); he’d never had any pets growing up, but he’d love a dog. 

And you tell him about yourself. How you love cozy socks and would prefer scrubs over real clothes; how you also never had pets growing up and would love to adopt and foster as many as possible one day; how you enjoyed fantasy over romantic movies; how you’d watched Titanic about a hundred times in your life and you still cried. 

How you wanted to watch it with him next, and he agreed, stating it would be the next thing you do when you cook together. 

Before long he’s yawning and your eyes are closing. His fingers remain around yours as you knead his muscles, prattling on about your plans for the week, school, your friends. And he talks about his own schedule, his meetings, proposes dinner for the both of you that upcoming Saturday. A cooked meal in, with a movie and some wine. Maybe you tease him a little, because he makes it easy when he blushes that pretty pink, and maybe he grins up at you fondly, eyes hooded in his sleepy daze. 

Eventually, you lay on your side and he remains in front of you on the floor. You’re hardly awake as he drapes a blanket over your form and tucks a pillow under your head, whispering to one another as the sun starts to come up over the city. 

Eventually, both of you fall silent at last, comforting sleep there to find you. 

-

“I want to make it very clear before we go in there that we are not getting a dog. We are donating all the things we bought earlier, and then we are going home and having dinner together,” Steve reiterates for the umpteenth time that day. 

“We are not getting a dog,” you repeat, mock stonily, looking your husband dead in the eyes. 

Clearly unamused, he shoves at the arm you have jokingly curled around his forearm, but there’s no malice there. Only a gentle huff of laughter as he opens his car door and rushes around the other side to help you out. You never need him to, but he insists every time. Even offers an arm for you to grab as you hop onto the sidewalk. Once back on solid land, summer dress dancing around your kneecaps, Steve walks around to the back of the car and lifts the box of pet food, blankets and toys you’d picked up while at the pet store. Today, you decided, you wanted to give back to the local shelter in your new town. 

And maybe you had an ulterior motive of trying to realize a dream of your husband’s by making him fall in love with a shelter dog in a way where his only option is to bring them home to live with you forever. But he’s been adamant all morning—so certain today��s events will not lead to four legs becoming part of your odd little family.

Inside, you’re greeted by one of the workers. A woman named Chelsea rushes around the counter to collect your donations and asks if you’d like to walk around a bit. Steve’s reluctant at your side, sunglasses peeled off and tucked into the neck of his shirt, but he comes along all the same as you grip his palm within your own and drag him along behind you. 

You pass dozens of kittens and cats. Young and old all alike as you go. Some who meow as you pass, and others who linger in dark corners of their confines. It breaks your heart seeing so many, wanting to adopt them all, knowing you’re unable to. Sensing your unease, Steve squeezes your hand tighter and listens for the both of you while Chelsea speaks and your mind wanders. 

“Down here are all our adoptable dogs.”

It’s a sight you never get used to. Dogs barking as you pass, bodies brushing against their cages, yearning for attention. You linger by Chelsea as you walk, rubbing noses and ears and backs. Tongues glide over your palm, wet noses brush your skin, dark eyes hold yours through metal bars. Somewhere in the midst of introducing yourself to all your newest furry friends, you find Steve’s hand is no longer in yours. Turning on the heel, you find him crouched low to the ground, fingers curled inside metal bars, softly speaking to the animal hidden within. 

“Oh,” Chelsea mutters, shock evident in her tone. Steve looks up to her imploringly, then glances back at the dog inside. “That’s a new arrival. A ten month old male Bernedoodle. He’s a black tricolor puppy. His previous owners got him as a gift, and turned him over when he started getting bigger. They’re a smaller breed, but have a lot of energy and unfortunately you see a lot of this happening. People buy luxury pets and drop them off when they become too much. He’s been very timid since he arrived.”

“He just lost his family,” Steve says to no one, swallowing thickly. The woman at your side doesn’t speak, only watches as your husband continues to gently coax the puppy forward. “Hey buddy. I’m Steve. Wanna come over here? No?” 

“Should we…” the woman beside you begins. 

“Yeah, let’s give them a moment,” you mutter, a little breathless as you turn around and face the other direction, quiet footsteps carrying you further away. 

But you still hear it. 

Still hear Steve’s voice in your ears. A sad, “I know what it’s like. Feeling left behind, left alone. Especially from the people you want to love you most. But you don’t need to be afraid of me. I get it.” 

There’s an echo of soft paws padding against a tiled floor. And the soft exhale from Steve. “There you go. See, I’m your friend. I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

And when you and the shelter worker turn around, you find Steve with his fingers in the puppy’s fur, that pink tongue of his brushing over the inside of your husband’s wrist. That resolve in Steve’s eyes crumbles, your heart shattering along with it as you press the heel of your palm to your sternum. 

He turns to Chelsea and asks, “Can we take him out? Just for a minute?” 

Chelsea passes you a knowing look and that minute Steve requests turns into an hour in the yard outside of the shelter. The puppy seems hesitant at first, lingering near Steve’s thighs as you stand nearby. But once Chelsea hands Steve a frisbee and ball, it’s as though the puppy is sparked to life once more. Soon enough he’s frolicking around the field, playful yips streaking the summer silence as he retrieves his toys and rushes back over to Steve, paws pouncing playfully against your husband’s designer jeans. 

But he doesn’t care. 

No—you haven’t seen him light up like this in the nearly three months you’ve been married. The joy illuminated his features. The crinkle of his eyes at the corners. The belly laughs as the puppy eventually knocks him to the ground and demands belly rubs on the grassy floor below. He falls in love before your eyes. With no warning, impossibly fast, and so suddenly it comes as no shock to either you nor Chelsea when he asks about adoption. 

As you sit in the lobby with the puppy on a leash on the floor, you turn to Steve, grinning widely. “You said we weren’t getting a dog.”

Steve pats his new fur son’s head and grins as the dog tips his head back to look longingly into his new father’s eyes. It’s sickeningly sweet, and does things to your insides that makes you feel hot all over. You chalk it up to the shoddy air conditioner system, tugging at the neckline of your dress to let the air chill your slick skin. 

“I couldn’t leave him,” he says, brushing fingers along a furry ear. 

“He picked you.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Fond. Smitten. He’s so in love it’s ridiculous, and all you feel is affection. 

Affection. 

Towards your husband. 

New. But maybe not so scary. 

You lean down to pet the puppy’s neck. He jumps up and scrambles up with his front paws against your lap, licking a broad stripe along your chin. “Steve, we have a puppy.”

Your first pet. 

His, too. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s only staring at you. You swallow. “I guess we do.”

A few questions and references and a small adoption fee later, and you’re both the newest proud parents of your still presently unnamed new puppy who pokes his head in the front seat as you drive to the nearest pet store in search of all the things you’ll need to make his transition as simple as possible. 

Steve, ever doting as he is, grabs the leash as soon as he helps the little guy out and greets you as usual on your side of the vehicle. You spend the better half of the afternoon purchasing things for him. A dog bed, food, toys, a new collar with his name and address engraved into it. 

Charlie Harrington, you both eventually decide, when the cashier asks how you’d like it engraved. 

Charlie Harrington, who the doormen at your apartment building immediately fall in love with as you later walk in, you holding the puppy’s leash this time, and Steve trying his hardest to carry all the things you bought. 

Charlie Harrington who bounds happily into your home and immediately starts sniffing around in his new space, excited to simply be around people who love him in such a short span of time and want to play with him like he deserves.   

“I’ll get started on dinner, if you want to show your fur child around the house,” you tease, laying out Charlie’s shiny new bowls on the floor, and the basket of toys and bones you got for him in the living room, right by his bed beside it. 

“You are a sneaky woman,” he jokes, coming up behind you in the kitchen. 

Heat blooms where he rests his hand on your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s something he’s done before in the confines of your home, with no one looking. So casually, and yet stark in contrast to the riot of butterflies that stir to life in your stomach. 

“And why might that be?” 

“Played that ice breaker game with me, found out I never had a pet, and then brought me to a shelter…where I then got a pet.” 

You shrug, turning on the stovetop to let the water boil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you’re welcome. Now go—play with him. I know you’re itching to. You’re like a little kid on Christmas right now. It’s kind of cute, Harrington.”

“Thank you.” 

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, his face pink from your compliment, before rushing into the living room where you hear Charlie barking as he’s once again joined by his new best friend. You reach over to tap Steve’s phone, where Spotify is already open from the car ride, and hit ‘play,’ Leon Bridges the background music to your cooking in the kitchen and Steve’s laughter as he crawls on his hands and knees to rub Charlie’s stomach on the floor. 

Perfect. 

It’s about as perfect as a day could be. 

And later, as you sit together in the dining room, with Charlie sitting patiently in the corner, and talk about the evening, you start to think maybe being married to Steve Harrington for three years will be a little more difficult than you imagined it would be. 

Because the feelings stirring in your chest are beyond that of friendship. 

No—there’s a suddenness to the clarity of your realization that you like your husband. And the sinking reality that this is merely transactional. 

In three years you’ll go your separate ways. Just as you both intended months ago at that coffee shop table. 

“You’re overthinking again,” Steve points out, reaching over to center your engagement ring on your left hand. His thumb lingers over the diamonds. “I was telling you about the benefit gala in a few weeks.”

“Oh,” you mutter tiredly. “Sorry. Yeah, uhm, I’ll go. Obviously. It’s part of our arrangement.” 

“If you don’t want to go with me…”

“No, I’ll go,” you say, taking a sip of your wine glass. “Black tie dinner event, I’m assuming?”

“Buy yourself a new dress kind of event, yeah.”

“Okay, yeah.” 

You nod. 

It’ll be October. 

Approaching four months into your agreement. Time is already flying. 

“Our first big event as a couple outside of our wedding,” you state plainly, gathering your things and Steve’s as you rise to your feet. He grabs the wine glasses and follows you down the hall to your kitchen, dumping all your dirty pasta plates inside. “Anyone I should know or be aware of when we’re there?”

“It’s a lot of partners in the company. Some celebrities, actors, musicians, models. Eddie will be there—he’s been invited. It’s a little bit of everyone. This time they’ve organized donations for a shelter for homeless youth in the city.” He hands you your wine glass, peering into your eyes. Noting your lingering hesitance from your overthinking once more, he continues, “I can cancel you as my plus one. Say you’re not feeling well—”

“No,” you place a hand on his sternum. Pause when you realize what you’ve done. He trails his eyes south where you touch. You don’t move away. “I love the purpose of the benefit. I want to be there. I-I want to go with you.” 

“Good,” he says, stepping closer. You could reach out and touch the outline of his jaw like this. The lines of his perfect nose. “Because I want you there with me.”

You don’t miss the way his stare lingers on your face, or the timber of his voice. The darkness in the depths of his eyes. How the weight of his chest against your palm as he pushes forward has it stuck as a barrier between the two of you. Mere inches of separation. 

It’s confusing, maddening, and terrifying all the same. 

Two years and nine months. 

You’ve got this. 

-

-

[windvexer]

Resolving conflicting magical recommendations (for beginners)

(This isn't reactionary I promise, it's been on my mind for a couple of days 😅)

Idk really how helpful this will be, but if you're a beginner who is confused by a lot of apparently contradicting information, here are some thoughts/ideas that are too basic to have been this hard earned, but I'm not called Fool for no reason.

[All of the following are just my beliefs and aren't universal or applicable to everyone]

Resolving magical conflicts through intent

You can find apparent contradictions in almost any magical action. For example:

Light a candle to charge a crystal with energy

Light a candle to burn away an energy and dwindle it down to nothing

When you light the candle, is it going to fill the crystal with energy?

Or, is it going to burn away energy until nothing is left?

My belief is that this is where the idea of intent plays one of its most basic and vital roles in witchcraft.

When you perform a magical action, "setting intent" can be a vital first step that should not be skipped.

If you are aware that the fire could either charge or burn away, then it is very literally up to you what it does. As the agent of control and/or chaos, it is the witch who determines which facets of power come out to play.

Setting intent can be done inside of your head. Or, speak, sign, or write intent.

Rules about how you totally have to write intent can, for the most part, be ignored (e.g., "your intent must be present progressive tense or the Universe will never let you manifest your goals." Nah, the Universe doesn't even speak human language tbh.)

Setting intent is not the only step to working magic, and sometimes literally doesn't matter. ("It's my intent to honor the spirit of this lake with an offering! *Dumps cigarette butts and beer cans into the water* "The lake is honored because that was my intent 😌")

Having a limited set of beliefs about what a certain power can do is like automatically setting intent. ("It's only possible that candles burn away energy, so when I light it, of course it will have a banishing effect.")

Setting intent in this manner only works to the extent that the power you are working with could already do the thing. If you've got a freezer with an ice dispenser on the door you can intend to store food inside it to chill, or, you can intend to get water out of the door, but it doesn't matter how much you intend to fry a chicken. The fridge does not do that action.

Resolving magical contradictions through tradition

Tradition in and of itself can advise how to resolve contradictions of magical meaning. This includes religious, magical, and cultural traditions.

What's important to remember is that just because one group does it one way, it doesn't mean that their way is universally correct.

A lot of people enter into the world of witchcraft with the concept that there is one universally correct set of methods and rules by which to perform magic. These methods are secret, but written down somewhere, and the key to learning magic is to just find the truest set of rules to magic. Magical truth is mutually exclusive, and contradictory information must either replace current truth, or be rejected as falsehood.

And fortunately for everyone, none of that is true!

This is why someone in one school of magic can make a certain claim ("letting spell vessels touch the earth immediately robs them of their power and the magic becomes inert,") and someone else can make a totally contradictory claim ("bury spell vessels for three days to supercharge them with the power of Nature,") and both people can be equally right.

Which set of rules might be true for you?

Well, whichever tradition you're a part of.

This is why it's really important to understand where your beliefs come from, and also to engage in self-examination about what you believe about the cosmos, our planet, and your role within it.

Entering into a tradition has a curious effect - you tend to be bound to those rules and assumptions, whether you like it or not.

Reflect on whether or not your current traditions and beliefs can resolve conflicting information.

Ask yourself what beliefs must be inherent before an assumption about magical 'rules' can be true.

(P.S. you can learn multiple contradictory systems of magic and flip between them depending on needs)

Resolving magical contradictions through experimentation

One witch may be able to charge excellently by burning candles and using intent to direct the burning energy.

A second witch may discover that they really can't charge jack shit with a candle. The energy seems to slip between their fingertips. When they direct it at something, it seems to have a consuming effect - not an invigorating one.

Setting magical intent is like choosing which path to walk down. But, the paths are unique for each of us. For the first witch, the path of "Charging Through Candleflame" is wide and open, a beautiful paved boulevard they can stroll down.

For the second witch, the path of "Charging Through Candleflame" is like hiking up a steep hill littered with boulders, and also the hill is on fire.

Many magical contradictions can be explained by practitioners simply having different personal experiences, and incorrectly assuming that their experiences must be universal.

One excellent way to learn not only about magic as a whole, but also how magic works for you, is to earnestly experiment with contradictory meanings and discover which ones A) make sense to you, but more importantly, B) actually work for you.

Whether or not you can use a candle to charge, banish, or both; and whether or not that's more or less effective for you than using water, or the sun, or pop culture icons, is something that you'll only be able to discover for yourself through experimentation.

Resolving magical contradictions through technique

If setting intent is choosing what path to walk down, then on the course of walking down that path, there is a chance you trip and fall flat (see: "I'm honoring the lake by dumping trash in it!").

Tripping and falling flat doesn't mean that path of magic is impossible for you, or shouldn't be further explored.

It can really just mean that you need some hiking boots and a trail guide.

Or, in other words: setting intent can be insufficient to actually access and manifest certain types/aspects of power.

I have personal beliefs about sorcerous power that dictate that various powers can be more or less difficult to access depending on a variety of factors. And, a witch must learn techniques to access the power. The more remote or hidden that power is, the more capable or attuned a witch must be to access that power.

That is to say, someone intensely aligned with underworld powers may be able to easily access the facets of death and decay that exist within many natural forces. But, someone without that alignment might instead need capable techniques gained through learning and practice in order to access those same powers.

And someone with neither of those things, who only tries to set intent and starts on a difficult path filled with roadblocks, may falsely assume that something "just doesn't work for me," when in reality, it's just more difficult to access.

This is why one witch can say, "roosters are a powerful source of connection to the underworld," another witch can say, "roosters only connect to the underworld if you use their feathers in a certain ritual," and a third witch can say, "roosters don't connect to the underworld," and all three are speaking from valid personal experience.

Experimenting with different techniques means learning a wide variety of ways to perform magic, including different paradigms, rituals, techniques, and methodologies.

Many systems of witchcraft contain concepts of when power is more or less available (the easiest example is the types of power more freely available due to the phases of the moon). Learning these systems can assist in discovering the accessibility of various powers.

Research is your friend.

In summary,

There are many reasons why witches have different lived experiences with magic (the topic of which would be enough to fill a book or two). As a witch-practitioner, your role in the creation of magic can't be ignored.

It's through your own culture and traditions, your own intent, and your own sorcerous techniques and education, through which you will be able to determine what aspects of magic are true to you - and which do not apply.

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Sorry if this question is random Jemi, but I was wondering since you're very good at capturing the essence of the characters in your headcanons and writing if you had any advice on understanding the characters in Cats with all the conflicting actor takes and only really having the three or six words to go off of consistently. I feel like I get them, but whenever I try to write anything with them, it feels off.

You know? I've ruminated back and forth a few times for a while on how to answer this, and continued to come to the same unsatisfactory conclusion that there is no easy answer to this one, which is why it took me a bit.

I believe with something like CATS, it's very much a free for all in regards to characterization. As you said, you (and performers) really have about 3 - 6 words to go off of and that can go in a variety of different directions, since we all interpret character traits differently, and that's part of the fun. However, when it comes to writing and fanworks, it can also be a divisive thing, because there truly *is* no one true steady canon or interpretation. So the question remains: how does one understand or write for characters who ultimately cannot fully be understood in a way that is....collectively satisfying, I suppose.

I think mainly, it's important to keep in mind that what occurs in CATS amidst characters is fully your own thing to explore - that's a bit of a cop out answer, but it's the truest one. It's difficult to divorce yourself from things "feeling right" when creating fanwork in this space, but the more you get comfortable with your ideal version of things, the easier a time you will have discovering your own space to explore themes.

A piece of advice I always come back to is that human beings are complicated, and the way we perceive traits can be divided into any multitude of directions (for example, how you interpret those three words because words can go in so many different directions both literally and figureatively), and that's the wiggle room space you'd like to exist in primarily when writing. This is the hardest part because it sort of feels like you're free falling without a net there, without anything solid to back up against, but I assure you that the sooner you become comfortable with this space (and it may take a lot of time to be so), the sooner you are going to find this "feeling off" to lessen, because by then you will have carved out your own interpretation - just like actors, creators, writers, and fandom have previously. The best part (in my opinion) IS that you have so many different interpretations to choose from, from more than 4 decades - if you don't particularly vibe with one characterization or take, find another one that you like more. I, for example, much prefer vintage 80s and 90s Shiki Mistoffelees interpretations as being a little more on the mysterious, serious and slightly arrogant side over most others, ergo he is usually the one I cut and paste into my own writings.

Another important thing to keep in mind - I find I'm most comfortable writing fanfic and headcanons for CATS when I use a mosaic thought pattern. I.E. I take pieces I like from various different places and interpretations, dispose or recraft/reinterpret ones that I don't particularly jive with, take those words and analyze them from different angles to see how I can fit them, and create a Frankenstein's monster of character. For example, if we describe Rumple as "naughty" or her and Jerrie as ne'er-do-wells - are they truly malicious in intent (maybe!)? Less serious, too impulsive, don't spend enough time thinking things through and get in more trouble? Acting out or trying to prove themselves? Could be any of those things, depending on the angle you wish to take. All this and remembering that characters are complex - they can be many things at once. They can have multiple motivations for one action. Words like "generous" and "uncertain" and "complacent" can be interpreted in so many ways in different situations, depending on how they are applied. I find it helpful to take those and apply them specifically to the situation at hand, in the way that reflects most of what you want to get from this character. I also tone down characteristics to make them more believable, which is hard to do on stage, but a good thing to keep in mind if you ever feel like you're dropping the anvil a little too hard (or do drop the anvil! no rules!!)

I also find it helpful to seek inspiration from elsewhere, particularly literature, tropes and themes of the time of setting, or things that align thematically with the characters. With Mistoffelees, I often take feeling inspiration from Faust and the real Mephistopheles. Gus and Grizabella get elements of theatrical history (fictionalized) added to their characters, as well as events that may have been going on in their childhoods depending on what time frame I choose to set it in. Deuteronomy gets elements of fantastical storytelling and oral tradition. Jemima and Demeter get elements of gothic literature. Alonzo, Teazer and Mungo get elements from historical accounts and depictions of organized crime and gangs, and Macavity gets elements of Moriarty and other devilish depictions of power. Adding touches of inspiration and reality, I find, particularly in the historical sense, really breathes life into these characters for me.

And most importantly, while you are trying to navigate, don't be afraid to change it up! You don't need to have "one true characterization" if you don't want to or it feels too rigid for you - you don't need one true canon. You can have multiple going at once. You can explore various things in various directions - you can interpret things in any which way, and play around with what you do and do not like. Scrap things a few times, start again, try something different. Have a good time and try to focus on what makes *you* happy. It's not easy, it may take several tries to feel comfortable, but it's worth it.

[goldfades]

🍵 adam fantilli (your fav !! 🤭)

MY HUBBY BUBBY AMAZING POOKIE AHHHHHHHH ILY, u know me so well, queen <3

i love this man so much, the way I WOULD LITERALLY DIE. FOR. HIM.

it was the night after the draft, and it felt like the whole was just perfect, for you and adam. watching him walk up that stage, you felt an overwhelming sense of pride, not only for his achievement but for how far he'd come.

now, you two were sitting in his hotel room talking, as if everything was normal, as if you guys hadn't been through the most life altering night. that was the thing you loved most about the dynamic, even if the whole world was falling apart you knew you could be your most honest and truest self with him.

"can you believe how fast everything has happened?" you asked, reflecting on the whirlwind of the draft.

adam nodded, his eyes still shining with the excitement of the night. "it's been insane, hasn't it? it's just felt like a dream come true, i don't think anything could make me feel bad right now, that's how... good i feel."

you smile, thoroughly and genuinely. "me too. i can't believe you made it ─ i mean, i always knew you could it but wow, now that you're actually here, i'm just so excited for you."

the thought of being away from adam hadn't even crossed your mind that entire night. you had been thinking about it for months straight but now that the draft actually happened, seeing adam so happy made you feel ecstatic for him.

there was a quiet and comfortable hush that took over the atmosphere of the hotel room as you both just enjoyed each other's company. adam had scotted a little closer to you, laying his head on top of your chest.

you moved your hands and ran them through his hair, comfortingly.

"have you ever been in love?"

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the abruptness of the question. "i.. i don't know, why?"

he stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again, moving his gaze up to meet yours. "i think i'm in love with you."

your heart raced and your thoughts whirled, adam continued to hold your gaze with a mix of anticipation and vulnerability. the room seemed to hold its breath as you processed his unexpected confession.

you two had only been together a few months but it did feel much longer in your head. your heart started beating and it didn't help that adam was laying right on top of it.

in that moment, you realized that you had felt something wholehearted and sincere for him from the very beginning. it wasn't just the obvious attraction or infatuation you'd felt with guys in the past; it was a connection that had grown stronger with each day, that had become constant in your life. you remembered the countless times you'd laughed together, supported each other through all the tough times, and found comfort in each other's presence when it was hard.

a smile slowly spread across your features, and you found yourself unable to hold back the emotions that had been building within you. "adam," you whispered almost breathlessly, your voice filled with warmth, "i think i'm in love with you too."

as your words hung in the air, you both felt a sense of relief wash over you. adam had a big grin on his face too, as he leaned in and pressed his soft lips against yours, his hand warmly resting on your cheek.

it was as if a weight had been lifted, you finally felt like you two were truly honest with one another. your hearts now aligned, the night after the draft became even more unforgettable, marking the beginning of a new chapter in your relationship.

MY 100 FOLLOWER CELLY!

[liveontelevision]

A lil' somethin' (nothin' fancy)

Here's just a little random Lucifer blurb I wrote today, I liked the words is all, so enjoy maybe?

No romance, no fluff, no reader 😬 BUT I am working on something cute right now so stay tuned!

---

They say Lucifer lost his will to dream.

It was published in a book for goodness sake. Everyone in Hell knew what a failure he was. That being said, he did still have some creative outlets. He was a showman at heart, litering the seven rings with amusement parks, circus tents and stages; specifically made for Lillith's concerts, but it was used for other things as time went on.

In reality, he could create anything. Any item you could think of, he could conjure up with just the snap of his fingers. And he used that power often. A thriving realm wasn't just made of sinner's. It needed a working class. Now, when it came to Lucifer, he had all the same abilities as his heaven bound brothers. And they could create life. It was something Lucifer loved to do when he was above the clouds. Or used to, at least.

Don't get me wrong, his powers are still as strong as they were when he was an angel, but when he tried to create life like he used to, it.. it was just different. Like his power had some kind of distortion that he had to work around. Cute little cherubs turned into red skinned creatures with horns and goat legs, cats came out with one eye, and lambs came out with sharp teeth and wings.

He didn't mind them, and he would never take away a life just because of its appearance. So, he found work for them, no problem. They'll keep the realm running smoothly. And as he created more imps and other hellborn creatures, he became better at it. After some practice and honing of his skills he created, what he would call, his best work. A handful of creatures he deemed as rulers for each ring of hell. The Sins. He took pride in each being, creating them to embody the true notions that came with the knowledge of truth. He put his deepest desires into a little spider clown he called Mammon. All of his wanting and indulgence into a lovely little lava pup, and finally, his truest love and devotions into a spunky little rooster. (And others to come)

But it all turned on him. They became his proudest achievements in decades, but people saw them all as ruthless leaders. And in some cases, that's simply what they became. His desires, indulgence and devotion were viewed as greed, gluttony and lust. Word of these beings would travel to Heaven, only solidifying his tainted image to his brothers. But.. it was okay. He had a family now. The sins all grew to be incredibly close to Lucifer and Lillith, even giving their sweetest child a taste of what a communicative family would look like. Lucifer wanted nothing more than to create a loving environment for his daughter once she was born. And he took pride in the fact that he did.

---

In my head, I like to think that Lucifer created the sins this way. I see fan art of it all the time, and it's just so?? Cute??? Like Beezlebub feeding of Lucifer's depression vibes and comforting him, and the sins babysitting Charlie in general? aH I eat that shit up. I'm def thinking of including them in stories in the future 🙌

Ok that's all, thanks for reading my little thing :)

[a-d-nox]

web of wyrd observation: why barbie's wyrd web just makes sense

after going to see Barbie in theaters, i came home and was wondering what makes barbie - barbie? so i looked up the day she greeted the public. and i was super intrigued by her wyrd web.

9-9-18 REPEATING 

9 is representative of the hermit - the hermit is someone who can be alone comfortably, which is exactly the point of a doll. you can give barbie to a child/person and they can entertain themselves. 9-9 - one hermit is the doll and the other is the person playing with the doll! the hermit is meant to be a reflective card that asks you to do some soul searching as to what you want and need - playing with barbie is meant to showcase that you too can be whatever you want to be just like barbie. add in 18 - the moon, which is about "self-deception," or make-believe as we called when we were children. the moon is also meant to help you see the hidden aspects of yourself and what you want most. which again... is the point of barbie.

3 AS THE CROWN NUMBER

the truest barbie girl of the major arcana - the empress. barbie's highest self being the essence of "divine femininity" just makes so much sense to me. let's not forget barbie was designed for creativity inspiration while also showing the power of feminine energy. and she did that, just like the empress.

6 AS THE FLOW NUMBER

the Barbie movie definitely illustrated for me that the balance of femininity and masculinity is necessary for the success of barbie. if one entity has too much of the power (the whole board room being male, barbieworld never having a ken on council, etc.) then there will be issues in the "business realm" (which is the message of the lovers). in terms of love, while barbie doesn't need ken, it is important that they still respected each other and communicated in a healthy manner (which is definitely depicted in the movie). same can be said on the business end of things - barbie has "skinny, blonde bimbo" energy, so the company has to keep their products inclusive (keep evolving) or risk being cancelled.

21 AS THE MONETARY NUMBER

the Barbie movie is a perfect reminder of the world card that is represented in her matrix - recognition for success, cyclic change, new chapters, etc. if barbie hadn't been a success, we would have never had one barbie movie let alone many (i could never forget the animation versions lol)! nor would we have collectable barbies! the collectable barbie is the energy found in this number - the world is literally a woman surrounded by a laurel (it looks a bit like barbie in her box, if you ask me)!

15 AS THE PARTNERSHIP NUMBER

i think it is a little funny that the partnership number is 15 - the devil. barbie is supposed to be a feminine icon - she doesn't need a man to make her dreams come true (which is showcased in the movie). BUT YET WE HAVE KEN. ken is a destructive concept when thinking of barbie as strong and independent - it's contradictory to have barbie be an independent woman who doesn't need any one, but then make ken - her boyfriend ("patriarchy" lol - cause a woman needs a man to be accomplished in life *clown emoji*). it's the toxic contradictory energy of having a ken for a barbie that makes the devil an un-ironically perfect number for this doll.

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic." button if you want to see a specific pac/pile next! if you'd like my input on how i read a specific card or what i like to ask my deck, feel free to use the ask button for that as well.

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© a-d-nox 2023 all rights reserved

[citadelofmythoughts]

Ran into some shipping discourse recently and need to cleanse my pallet.

What’re your top 5 (if you have that many) RWBY ships and what do you love/like about them?

This is an open question to anyone who wants a chance to gush about their favs cause that’s what I need right now. Optimism, excitement, and seeing people “fan-person” about loving love.

Just to be fair, here’s mine!

1. Bumbleby: I love literally everything about them both as a couple and as individuals!

2. Nuts-and-Dolts: They’re two absolute optimistic sweet hearts who’ve had one of the truest connections I’ve ever seen. Just like the BYs, I love literally their entire characters with my entire heart and soul!

3. Icebyrd/Schneewoodforest: Completely fair that they haven’t had any interactions yet, but I absolutely believe that the potential and reason for them to get close is there.

Having the true, open, understanding, confident, and sexy as hell Robyn Hill help the cold, closed, troubled, confused, and also sexy as hell Winter Schnee is an incredible match for me. Robyn would love all of the positive traits that Winter has hidden away and would probably think that she’d be a great fit for the HHs; while Winter would love Robyn’s selfless personality and the fact that she can be true to herself.

Plus, given that Robyn is Mantle’s most trusted person and Winter was Ironwood’s (whom the people of Atlas trusted) second in command it only makes sense for them to work together in Vacuo to help the refugees.

4. Arkos: They also had a true connection. It’s just a shame that Jaune only realized it in V3. Just like BY I truly believe that they were meant to be and will always be connected, which is why I just CAN’T ship Jaune with anyone else. (Despite my endless love of Weiss’s: “mature” 😏)

5. Ghira/Kali: Dunno if they have a ship name buried somewhere. But they have one of only two healthy married relationships in the show and they’re both such amazing people! I’m REALLY praying that they both show up in Vacuo so I get to see more of them and they get to meet their daughter’s true love!

Again, please no discourse. Only love and appreciation, please!

Bumbleby always and forever. Absolutely perfect, astounding, soulmates. It's been such a ride for those two with the lowest low and the highest high. I mean going from Blake WANTING Yang to hate her so she wouldn't come trying to find her and risk her life in the process and Yang being so devastatingly sad and trying to mask that sadness with anger but all the while she missed her so much. And then the most amazing high ever, baring their souls in the most beautiful way in a literal fairy tale moment.

Nuts-N-Dolts hits my tragic romance buttons. I can't imagine falling in love, believing they died only to get them back and losing them again. It's part of the reason I believe that we haven't seen the last of Penny.

Renora You start of watching RWBY and being certain that they are already a couple but then you get to V7-8 and realize that their communication sucks and they've been unintentionally hurting each other for ages. But when they talk about it, it doesn't immediately fix things but it does start the healing process and I hope they eventually make it work

Frostbyte is a recent ship of mine. It's a bit of a crack ship because on the surface Weiss and Penny don't seem to have a lot in common but then you think about it and realize that they're both victims of Atlas society and have been used as things rather than people.

Ghira/Kali - look it's impossible not to love the best parents on Remnant and it's nice to have a shining example of mature love and it's so obvious that they adore each other even after all this time. I agree that I hope they're in Vacuo because they are going to love Yang so much.

[scrapingby]

Hot take: Poseidon wasn't the first god to die because of his arrogance. He was the first one to fall because he wasn't happy as one.

It's literally right there, from the moment we meet him. He avoids eye contact to an extreme, with very few exceptions. Adamas complains that Poseidon never looked him in the eye, not even as a baby. And no, I don't think even a baby of the gods would be aware enough to avoid eye contact out of arrogance.

And even more telling, once we get to know him a bit? He acts like he thinks he should act, not like how he wants to be. His explanation of how a god should be is defined in absolutes, and it stays exactly the same. It's less like hearing his own thoughts on the subject and more like he's parroting something he's heard time and time again. When he speaks, it's mostly without inflection. He keeps to the bare essentials of what he wants to convey. And he has clear cut rules, after which he lives his life.

Shouldn't a god live in a place reflecting of his status? His palace... it pales in comparison with his those of his brothers. It's outside and inside are bare, plain, broken down to a minimum of what is acceptable to live in as a king. And not as a king of the gods, but the minimum of what a human king would accept. There is barely anything there to stimulate either him or any visitors. And yet... it offers the best view on what his true personality is like.

But didn't he show his true face face during the battle with Sasaki? There, he gets loud, there he gets mean, there he gets cruel. There, he ...acted like one would expect a god to act? He was the literal stereotypical representation of an arrogant god faced with a lowly human. And he acted exaclty as was expected of him. The other gods made it clear enough: they consider him the god of gods. And expect him to act that way. And Poseidon knows his role, knows what is expected of him. And he hates it. The look he threw them, when they were chanting for him couldn’t have been any more clear. His disgust was felt. And I argue that it was not disgust for the other, lowly gods, but rather for the role he was once again put in. The expectation he could never escape?

Look at him. Listen to him. Does he seem happy with his life? His eyebags are right there. The subtle slump in his shoulders is right there. His disconnection from the other gods is right there.

And isn't it fascinating? When you remove the gods that don't know him better, you see that he was loved. That seemingly alloof, cruel god was loved. His servant cried for him. The same servant that must have seen Poseidon at his most comfortable, in his own home, who must have learned to not assume that expectation and reality are the same. Hades loved his brother not because of his status as gog but because he is his sibling, and when he showed him that, by taking care of the problem by himself, so that the others could focus clearly on the attck that they knew about... Poseidon returned that affection. Becuse he realized that Hades didn't put those expectations in him.

And that castle. That tiny, sad castle is the truest representation of Poseidons character. Like him, it is bare, hollowed out. Alone. And aching with the separation. With the loneliness of it. When Sasaki tells him that he never felt friendship before - that cuts deep. Because it is true. Poseidon doesnt know how to escape the the reality he finds himself in. Doesnt know how to cast of those expectations, because expectations and their clear rules are all he has ever lived by.

And that is why he dies.

Tell me... would you expect a god to use his full power to defeat a mere human? No. It would go against every expectation. A god is supposed to be strong, strong enough to handle whatever a human throws at him. And so, Poseidon dies. Because using his control of water to win would go against the very rules of his existence. He is a god. So he has to behave like one.

And so he dies as one. Seemingly felled by his own hubris. Because he was too arrogant, the stereotypical bad guy.

But more probably he dies because the expectations were too much for him. Like a fish in a net that is drawing closer and closer until it strangles the fish caught within.

And... despite him cursing Sasaki in his last moments, I think Poseidon was glad to be losing, to be dying. Because in his case, death meant freedom, meant an escape from the net that had been strangling him since his birth.

[tobiasdrake]

Alright, that brings us to what may be the biggest plot hole in V3. You know what I'm talking about.

People have gone back and forth a lot on cospox, because it makes absolutely no sense within the "true" metatext of V3.

It's presented here in the form of Tsumugi dressing up as Kaede, to demonstrate a horrible rash that spreads across her body as an allergic reaction to cosplaying a real person.

We're not going to talk about how patently silly that is because this is Danganronpa and Danganronpa does not give a shit. There is no ceiling for zany magical bullshit. If Tsumugi says cospox is a thing then sure, why not.

She literally wrote the script. She knows better than you or I do about whether this is possible.

No, the problem is that how it's introduced and how it's ultimately used are at odds with one another. If this is a real affliction that Writer Tsumugi suffers from, that's fine. If this is purely a quirk that she wrote for Character Tsumugi, that's also fine.

It would be entirely possible for Tsumugi to fake this. We see later in the game that her Cosplay skills are so advanced that she has super-speed quick-changes, able to swap wardrobes and even body types near-instantaneously. She could absolutely be fucking with Kaede right now.

The problem is that this becomes a critical plot point for revealing the truth of V3. Her cospox is central to revelations of the middle reality. We learn that the Danganronpa universe exists as fiction within her universe because she can cosplay as Danganronpa characters without triggering her cospox.

But. That. Doesn't make sense, does it? Because in this scene where she reveals her cospox, she's dressing as Kaede. Kaede is no more real than Makoto Naegi or Ibuki Mioda or Junko Enoshima. You can't even bullshit around that problem by saying that she's wearing the actress's clothes, because the actress came here in a different outfit. These clothes were provided to Kaede during the False Start opening as her character's costume.

Some people have taken this as undeniable proof of an even more hidden truth buried beneath the hidden truth that's buried beneath the lies masquerading as the truth. The ending even suggests as much, with the characters speculating that maybe the reality show and LARP was itself a lie and that the TRUEST TRUER true story of V3 has never been revealed.

But I don't truck with that shit. That's just mystery boxing. Deliberately not answering the questions that the story raises to trick the audience into making up their own explanations, which they will then project onto the original lazy story so they can convince themselves it's clever.

What exists within the text is a massive plot hole. Maybe Kodaka couldn't be arsed to notice that he wrote himself into a corner because he was actively burned out on Danganronpa when he was making this, or maybe it's an elaborate writing prompt. One that you can absolutely spin 50,000 pages of fanfic out of if you want to. But either way, it's my opinion that, as an audience, the main plot of the story shouldn't be your responsibility to fix.

One way or another, the way V3 handles Tsumugi's cospox is terrible.

[monkey-d-ezekiel]

One Piece Chapter 1096 - Kumachi

i know that chapter 1096 was hyped up a lot, but goddamn it delivered. the last 2-3 chapters have been absolute BOMBSHELLS in terms of lore and i love it. One Piece is genuinely at it's best right now with the Kuma backstory going on.

i just LOVE everything about this story, from Kuma's parents and childhood to his tie-in with Nika and God Valley. We now also know the third race which Big Mom stated was absent in her kingdom, the Buccaneers. (also, how much worse can the Celestial Dragons get? Oda finds a way to always break expectations with how morally bankrupt the CD's can get. Such brutal and twisted death competitions can only be hosted by these mfs 😭)

While I was reading the chapter, this moment in particular broke my heart when i remembered what happened at Marineford 😭

also I WANNA SEE MORE GOD VALLEY LORE!! MORE ROCKS AND HIS CREW MORE ROGER AND MORE GARP!! im literally begging Oda for more stuff on this pivotal incident 😭😭😭. I'm really really curious about Rocks D. Xebec now. WHAT IF he's revealed to be a direct blood descendant of JoyBoy??? that's just a crack theory of mine but IT COULD LOWKEY BE TRUE with how blood descendants of great people become slightly warped versions of their biological parents and don't really inherit their will in the truest sense.

also, you CANNOT tell me this is not one of the most hype panels in the series. THREE OF THE FOUR EMPERORS, ALL ON ONE SHIP??

also, interestingly enough, one of the women on Whitebeard's side looks like the Snake Princess of that time. GRANDMA NYON???

overall though, I find this lore really interesting. I wanna see how the Kuma lore expands on Bonney's life, since I'm pretty sure Bonney is the child of Kuma and Jinney.

What do y'all think of the past 2-3 chapters? What are y'alls speculations and theories? My brain is too fried to theorize but I LOVE One Piece theories and I wanna hear more of them!!!

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond Chapter Five Preview

series masterlist

modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader. 

💍

“You sent too much money.”

It’s your father’s voice that spills down the other line. Gruff in a way that alerts you your fears aren’t for naught, as he’s likely had many a sleepless night since you last spoke. You recall days as a child, when your mother had been sick, and your father would stay awake all hours of the night, if only to clean up the house so she didn’t have to. To make sure that her worries were only meant to be on getting better and resting.

“I…have a business and it’s going well,” you explain, chewing on your bottom lip.

Across the room, Steve’s fluffing pillows and putting a champagne bottle on ice. Your guests will be here soon, likely within the next few minutes, though when your father’s name flashed across your screen you knew you needed to answer.

“Only a few clients now, but I’m hopeful I’ll pick up more,” you continue, exhaling deeply. “I want you to have it. I know Caroline mentioned needing new shoes. Please let me do this.”

There’s a long pause. “Okay, okay. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Clinical year at school, newly married, and now a businesswoman. How is my son-in-law?”

“He’s…”

Steve rushes into the kitchen where you’re standing, hands curling around either of your hips to shift you away from the refrigerator so he can pull out the charcuterie board you had commissioned for the evening’s gathering.

“He’s really great. He’s been busy since we got back from our honeymoon, but he’s doing really well.”

Ever since your moment days ago in the kitchen, after Steve had pushed aside picking you up and opted to send Hopper in his stead, your relationship has taken new form. True to his word, Steve started a new habit of not answering his phone after you're done with your clinicals for the evening. Afternoons now had been spent watching your shows together on nights you didn’t have prior engagements with his coworkers, merely existing in the same room together, becoming…friends.

Literal friends, in the truest sense of the word. And it’s more than you can ask for, though you can’t lie that even the slightest touches leave you a little breathless. There’s also the kisses to the back of your hand at dinner, the way he curls his palm around the top of your thigh while his coworkers regale a particularly interesting story, the lingering press of his mouth against your forehead when he’s feeling especially doting in mixed company.

Progress.

You’re making progress.

“I actually should go and help him. We have company this afternoon. His cousin and wife are visiting us for the first time since the wedding. Still getting used to hosting gatherings as a couple, you know?” There’s a chuckle on the other end, and you know him well enough to imagine the slow shake of his head. “I love you so much and I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

The line clicks, leaving you to witness Steve elbow deep in the sink, washing your coffee mugs from earlier that morning. Your eyes slide to the perfectly operational dishwasher on his right side, though you can’t deny that the sight of your husband, bare arms shifting and moving as he works, is a lovely one. None the wiser of your ogling, you step forward to him, elbow leaning down against the counter.

“You know, the dishwasher is empty,” you point out.

“I am perfectly capable of cleaning a few dishes,” he grouses, rinsing a cup and settling it in the drying rack. “I also need to keep moving. Getting antsy now that they’re running late.”

“Hey, Steve?” You step closer, your front brushing his hip. He shakes his head as you do so, a laugh breaking free from his mouth as you grip his arms and still him in his frantic movements. “Put the sponge down. And the plate. The fork, too.”

The three items plunk down into the sink, a loud clatter in your otherwise silent home. Fingers curl around a hand towel and he reaches over to grasp his wedding ring, pushing it back into place against his knuckle. One thing you’ve found, and you particularly enjoy, is the fact Steve’s never taken off his ring. Not once. Even under the false pretenses of marriage, seeing him wearing a symbol of your union, of the vows you shared some time ago now, erupts dozens of bees into your bloodstream. Humming, buzzing, igniting your every nerve ending with electricity.

“Are you okay,” you ask, hand coming to rest against his back.

It’s the softest brush, and yet he turns his head all the same, hazel eyes meeting yours, and then trailing up the inside of your arm to where you’re touching.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says unconvincingly, shifting to face you now. That arm drops as he does so, but is replaced by his two large hands cupping your biceps softly. His thumbs brush idle patterns against your warm skin. Back and forth, like a metronome meant to ease. “Just want to get through this afternoon and then I’ll be much happier.”

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask him why the stress over this afternoon, when his phone rings and the doorman lets him know Theobald and Cami have finally arrived.

-

-

[windvexer]

"And it's not like the spell is locked behind a glass wall in some faraway astral space (or at least, it shouldn't be... it can be. This is too much for one post, let's stay on topic)" oh please, please elaborate! 🙏

its all well and good for me to use a metaphor that magic is ever-present and really close at hand, nigh tangible, even,

but there's obviously more than that to successful manifestation.

like it's an actual large deal in practical sorcery of how the hell you get the spell to do something, or much more relevantly do what you want it to do.

so a while ago I used to talk on manifestation using a metaphor that there is a conceptual sphere of glass that separates physical reality from magical reality.

as the metaphor (analogy?) would have it, you can set intent and focus willpower and manipulate astral energies all you want, but those things are stuck in magical reality, blocked from manifesting in the physical world by the glass.

so the spell, obviously it's a good boy and it wants to be helpful, it's going around and around the glass looking for a crack or a foothold to find its way into physical reality.

but this spell is made out of a finite blob of energy. sooner or later, the battery is going to run dry. and all that time it's spending trying to get into our world is burning energy.

by the time it gets here, it could have burned a lot of energy and it doesn't have a lot left to produce strong results. or maybe it doesn't find its way at all.

if this is all true, then the solution is to make cracks in the glass yourself.

overall it's a pretty rough analogy and I'm not even terribly sure if I'd consider it to be more than a parable at this point.

to mash this idea together with the underwater shark thing, the concept would sort of be like...

okay, so let's say metaphorically half of a person is above water and the rest is underwater.

and we're where there are sharks, which means the WHOLE OCEAN is under there.

maybe the ocean is an elegant metaphor for the supreme depths of magical reality. certain layers of magical reality are very close to the surface and truly are interacting with the floating humans, right?

but we can go deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

it wouldn't be true to say that a fish from a mile down is touching the floating humans. it's actually really far away and has a long way to travel before it could touch them at all.

so hypothetically, while all humans are (hypothetically) always partially within magical reality, that doesn't mean that everything within magical reality is close to them or can easily access them.

and this would also be true of spells, when the sorcerer has inadequately developed the spell too far down (or too far up), or failed to properly draw the spell to the surface.

of course, all of these ideas assume it's true that when spells are created they exist somewhere far away, or in any location at all.

just to clarify I think all of these ideas are most useful when treated as thought exercises and not in any sense literal. I think its perhaps true of witchcraft, or at least the kinds of witchcraft I'm familiar with, that one of the witch's primary sorcerous (and mystical) jobs is to "bridge the gap" and learn how to bring things back and forth between our world and the spirit world.

but even that being said, I think there's an element of mysticism in sorcerous witchcraft. I think maybe the best way to talk about it is in stories, or extended spatial analogies, because that's just about the truest way some of it can ever be written down.

sometimes I feel like if anyone can really write it down, like step-for-step for real, then it's got to be one tiny part of it. because it's a big machine out there, you know. it's so decadently complex that it might be more alive than we are.

so it's good to know how one or two cells work, step-for-step. but in the bigger picture, maybe the best way to impart knowledge is in stories and poetry.

and with some step-for-step details of the biology of a few kinds of cells, and with some nice poetry, maybe a person can crest a cliff and see something that will put its own stories inside of their mind forever.

which is to say that I don't know how magic works but i've seen some nice landscapes out there ✌

[yen-sids-tournament]

Prelim Round 1

They are in order left to right, top to bottom; Top 2 move on

Propaganda submitted:

Chad and Ryan High School Musical

All you need to do is watch "I don't dance" and the follow up scene where they switched outfits

Roxas and Namine Kingdom Hearts

Hyacinth Hippo and Ben Ali Gator Fantasia

Gracefully weaving, jumping, and turning as they perform the ballet of a lifetime, these two are completely engrossed in each other!

Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Avengers Assemble

Steve and Tony from Avengers Assemble are basically married. They are constantly worried about each other and protecting each other. They are teasing, flirting, and hugging each other all the time. I love all versions of Stony but this one is truly one of the best ones.

Dr. Ann and Dr. James Possible Kim Possible

As true "soul mates," they have each others' back, support their parenting decisions, and chuckle at their shared jokes. Ann especially seems to find James funny. Though they both have fairly busy schedules, they still frequently find time to spend with each other and their children. They love to sing while on road trips.

Mulan, Aurora, and Philip Once Upon A Time

While not canon, that s throuple shows a great love story between three people, and portrays the love that they have for each other through the challenges they face. Philip sacrifices himself for them both after teaming up with Mulan to save Aurora from the sleeping curse. Then Aurora and Mulan team up to save Philip after this. Throughout, we get to see how their loyalties are to each other and how they'll do anything to keep each other safe, even if it means risking their lives (or hearts! Both figuratively and literally...)

Sora, Kairi, and Rika Kingdom Hearts

The three are literally held together by destiny!

[misterbrownn]

You know, a couple of months ago my ex had told me something that kind of stuck with me.. and over time it made me realize that she was right, in a sense. (We hadn’t talked in a year btw).

She had told me something about how she had dated someone, and through that relationship it made her realize that she still had to put more work into herself. So with that, she was telling me, at least from what I understood, was that I needed to still put the work into myself and I needed to date more people to learn. Also, that I needed to go to therapy.

After that, and through these past couple of months, I’ve come to realize through another attempted relationship that I’ve never been so mentally mature and emotionally available in my life. I’ve literally scared a couple of women in the past just because they thought that I was too good for them. Like what?? Shit bummed me out because they were sweet and genuinely nice, but the fact that I was so set on what I wanted, brought up their own insecurities I guess.

Like I’m not even trying to speak highly of myself or whatever but I’m just being real with my awareness.

I feel like I’ve come a really long way over the past year.. and it gets me hella emotional thinking about it. You will never understand the amount of reflection I gave myself and the amount of gratitude that I’ve gained as well. I am so thankful for the growth, and the continuous growth that I give myself every day.

And I had already felt this way when we had this conversation, but the experiences I had that followed had solidified it all. She scoffed at me when I had opened up about the many things I learned and took accountability for, and it did hurt, a lot, because I knew I was speaking from my heart and soul. But I also don’t blame her, for all she knows is the person I was when we were together, and has heard almost all of it before..

I’ll be honest and say that I’m very much grateful for those experiences, even if they did leave me with pain at the end. They gave me all I needed to know..

The things I do for love are genuine and true, and things will fall into place as long as I continue to be my truest self. At least that’s what I like to believe.

Didn’t mean to rant this long, but I just wanted to share what’s been on my mind lately.. I’m really no one special.. just a human being like yourself trying to live their best life in this crazy world, but I appreciate it if you read up to this point.

Much love. 🙏🏼❤️