#|| maybe the ritual produced something special and no one was aware - or they were - thus her amnion was in the temple

[zcrayas]

Wait a minute...

Red scales and green eyes

Red scales and green eyes

Man serpents have dark scales, with dark eyes

[canmom]

post-animation night 177 comments

brief thoughts on kizazi moto (more substantial tomorrow perhaps): visually that was so lush. we're really full post-Arcane/Spiderverse nonphotorealistic stylings here, with a powerful dash of Trigger/Flying Bark-esque Neo Kanada School as well. this was like a cross-section of the current big styles in animation and it kicked ass for that. I'm not entirely sure what the production pipeline looked like - the Irish film board was apparently involved somehow! and maybe some Irish studios so it wasn't a purely African production - but it was an extremely impressive showing all round.

narratively, putting it right beside Fatenah kinda highlighted the places it wasn't willing to go. though I had heard the directors had a lot of freedom, there were some very consistent themes running throughout the anthology - nearly every film involved parent-child relationships, many of them revolving around a kid hoping to prove themselves in the eyes of their society/ancestors. the uglier side of history is touched on lightly: one film shows us a flashy cyberpunk city from an alternate timeline where 'Great Zimbabwe was never colonised', complete with 'the most advanced justice system in the multiverse' (a giant robot bird that chases our protagonists), but doesn't expand on that as more than a colourful backdrop. the last film gets closest, presenting a mother-child pair of two gods who are wounded by extractivism and retreat from the world - I appreciated the understated bleak implication of its ending.

I think while the creators were probably not given too much overt creative restriction, they were surely aware this was to be broadcast in English on Disney's streaming service, and tailored their stories accordingly. so you'd probably avoid "Disney is the face of American imperialism: the movie". Disney money is a bit of a double-edged sword that way.

besides parent/child reconciliation, we had a lot of ancestors and more than a few gods. a few stories centred on coming of age rituals; other had a more or less central focus on social media fame and its corrupting effect. at times it verges into the preachy - characters who stand between two families, or between humans and aliens, and resolve to honour both sets of ancestors - but the presentation is more than engaging enough to make it a compelling watch, regardless.

there's a lot of wonderful lighting, set design and architecture throughout. Mọrémì had a very cool desaturated style with toyetic, colourful 'soul-stealing giants' that put me a little in mind of Absolver.

Stardust had a bit of a Star Wars feel, almost feeling like an extra Visions short, but the injection of Islamic architecture was very effective.

a certain Arcane/Riot influence is very overt in many of the films - not just in the widespread use of paint textures in the CG environments and the approach to light and colour, but also with plot elements like the neon-drenched surfer gang in Surf Sangoma (episode 4) - which was definitely a fantastic-looking episode with the wonderfully out-there premise of a world where you have a squid suck on your face to gain surf skills. (just say no to squids, kids! you don't need 'em! rely on your magic ghost mum instead.) but I think this is something that's true in the animation industry more generally of late - the last few years have really kicked the door open to 2D stylings in 3D (paint textures, reduced framerates etc.). no doubt having a Spiderverse director as exec producer played a role in that too!

all in all I really enjoyed this anthology, and I'm super excited to see what comes next from the studios involved.

Fatenah meanwhile was fantastic, and an absolute gut punch. the fact that the hospital seen in the film has been in the news for being emptied out at gunpoint in the last week gave it a special level of 'oof'. its style may seem disarmingly simple, but the puppet-like styling ends up bestowing a huge degree of weight to the characters. the scenes of the border checkpoint, the monotony of cages and guards, and the concrete environment resembling a Half Life 2 map, were very impactful. highly recommend taking 20 minutes to watch this film.

[zorya-wellness]

Lammas/Lughnasadh Pagan Holiday

Lammas or Lughnasadh is a Pagan holiday celebrated on August 1st. It symbolizes the end of the summer period (yes, even though you may not want to hear that we are on our way to the end) and the beginning of magical fall.

The Lammas holiday is also closely connected to the harvest season.

It is traditionally believed that the period of Lammas celebration was very important in the religious communities, not only from the perspective of Pagan or Christian traditions  but also due to its agricultural significance.

Lammas versus Lughnasadh. What Is The Difference?

First of all, let’s talk about terminology a bit.

Lammas comes from Anglo-Saxon hlaf-mas, "loaf-mass", therefore also known as Loaf Mass Day and it is a Christian holiday.

The celebration of this holiday by the Christian community is in part similar to what we will be discussing later. The holiday signifies a period of being blessed by the first gifts of the harvest season. The wheat collected is often used to make the Lammas bread that would later be brought to church for a blessing.

Lughnasadh or Lughnasa is the name used by the “Neopagan” community and just as Lammas, marks the beginning of the harvest period. It is the time when we are grateful for the abundance of the Mother Earth.

How to pronounce Lughnasadh?

The term Lughnasadh comes from the Irish spelling of the word. The Modern way of Irish  pronunciation is Lúnasa and pronounced Loo-nuh-suh. The Classical pronunciation is /’luɣ.nə.səð/ like LUGH-nuh-sudh (where “gh” is pronounced as i a word "give" and the “dh” is like the “th” in “that”.) It is probably the most correct pronunciation of Lughnasadh, as Lugh or Lug is the God from Irish mythology and the one this holiday is dedicated to at the first place.

How Lammas Originated?

Lammas came from a desire of people to thank and celebrate the “father” Sun and the Mother Earth for the fruits of their “love” - the harvest.

To bless the marriage of God and Goddess and ask for a buy dance and prosperity in the upcoming months.

It was considered that August 1st marks the first day of fall. And on August 2nd it was already the time to pick up the harvest and so the days of hunger and need would we over.

The holiday was widely celebrated in:

Ireland: the name Lughnasadh comes from the Irish God Lugh and is translated at “the marriage of Lugh.

Scotland

Isle of Man

In Slavic countries (called “medovyi spas”)

Let’s Talk More About The Harvest.

When we hear “Lammas”, we often think about the period of harvest right away. It is the most talked about moment of Lammas or Lughnasadh but we need to truly understand what stands behind the concept of harvest.

If you are a careful reader, you have noticed I specifically say the beginning of harvest. I also want to explain more what I mean by the time of being grateful.

You see, Lammas is the day of the beginning of the harvest period and NOT the time when we are assessing the outcome and are drawing conclusions of how successful we’ve been (there will be another holiday dedicated to this, called Mabon).

But the first day of harvest is the time when the quality of life changes. It is the time when it becomes predictable what expectations we can have and taste the first ripe fruits.

Simply put, it is the moment when something you worked so hard on, finally becomes tangible and it also becomes YOURS.

A skill you were developing is almost acquired but not to the point when it becomes a reflex. The investments you’ve made are starting to produce some cash flow but still need your attention.

You also need to understand that it is not possible to continuously perfect something or wait for an opportune moment.  At some point, you need to release into the world what you have the way it is and improve things on the go.

Where am I going with this philosophical deviation, you probably are wondering…

This is what Lammas period really is about. It is the time when we transition from preparation to action.

What does it mean for you in real life situation?

Lammas gives you are opportunity of the perfect time to do something you were afraid of doing.

It may be that you were working on a website for your very own blog but we’re too afraid to press that “publish” button, thinking it is not perfect yet.

Or you may have been writing a book but haven’t started to search for a publisher, changing and tweaking things in an attempt for it to be perfect.

You may have been doing research for a new job you always wanted or university program you wanted to apply for but haven’t felt ready to finally made the move and submit an application.

Do you see the pattern?

Lammas is the time when you were ALREADY in the process of doing something but haven’t had the energy for the final step. And this period of the first week of August is for you to pull yourself together and make the move.

And when Mabon comes, we will be assessing the results of our actions.

"Can I celebrate Lughnasadh if I’m not pagan?"

First of all, like I mentioned in my other Blog posts related to the Wheel of the Year, you don’t need to be Pagan to celebrate or acknowledge Wheel of the Year holidays.

RELATED: What Is Pagan Wheel of the Year and How to Celebrate It? Beginner Pagan's Guide

You need to be aware of the existence of the energy of the Mother Earth, it’s changes and shifts and how this affects our lives.

So, What Can You Do To Celebrate Lughnasadh/Lammas?

Lammas/Lughnasadh Traditions and Rituals

Do Some Lammas Divination Work

The period from July 31st to August 6th is the perfect time for divination work. Tarot, Runes and oracles will provide with great messages, especially in career/money (material) and love questions (especially compatibility related).

Don’t forget to show gratitude to the Universe and Mother Earth. It is important to maintain the energy exchange, at the very least with the well known gratitude and love practices.

Show gratitude towards others too, don’t forget to show acknowledgment and say “thank you”.

Make Lammas Bread

During this period, it is the great time to infuse your food and drinks with the energy of love and gratitude, as well as thank the Source and the Planet for its generosity. Of course, the best way to celebrate this holidays is to make Lammas bread. I am giving you this quick bread recipe that does not require a lot of products or special skills

Lammas Abundance Bread Recipe

For this little Ritual you will need to make (not buy!) corn bread.

Lammas Bread Ingredients:

1 1/2 cup of corn flour

1 1/2 cup wheat flour

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 cup of sugar 2 tbs of cooled down melted butter

4 cups of milk

2 tsp of baking powder

Instructions:

Mix flour and salt together in a deep bowl.In a separate bowl with milk add baking powder;  then add sugar and butter.Mix all the ingredients together in one bowl until the consistency is that of a sour cream. It will not be similar to regular bread dough you may be making at home.

*While you are mixing, talk into the bowl anything you want to accomplish that is related to the abundance. Whatever the abundance means to YOU. It does not have to be financial. Maybe you will feel abundant and complete when you have a large family. Then go for it.

Pour the Lammas bread dough into a baking dish (don't forget to butter the dish). Bake for about 40-50 minutes at 360 degrees F.When the colour is nice and golden, take the bread out and let it cool.

When you sit down for a meal, break off (not cut) a large piece of Lammas bread and say: "Large piece of bread in my hand will bring me abundance and plenty." Don’t forget to share your food with the Gods (leave some bread in nature, the way you see fit and depending on the type of deity you are working with.)

Lughnasadh Home Blessing and Abundance Ritual

This ritual can be done during the same time as you are making your Lammas bread.

It is done to invite luck and abundance into your home. BUT. You can change your intent to protection, if you’d like.

All you need to do is to set aside some dough when you are making it for your break and create a figure of an animal. My personal suggestion is to select a farm animal due to the nature of the energy of this holiday.

When you are done, you will need to follow basic figure talisman activation steps. I have adapted the suggestions of Vadim Zeland for this.

*If you are interested in who Vadim Zeland is, click here to read more about him. His book Reality Transurfing has changed my life forever.

Animal activation steps:

Come up with a name for your animal

Take a deep breath. Now breathe into the animal, imagining giving it energy and life.

Tell the animal its name. Tell it that you love and care for it and, in exchange, it's helping you with (whatever you want to ask for).

Place the animal anywhere in the house, depending on the task you give it.

Don't forget to revisit daily and remind the animal of your love and the important task it is doing for you.

Don’t forget to check out complete Blog Post on my website for more information on Lammas traditions, as well as my other Blog posts on Pagan holidays, Rune Meanings and more.

[kiryuun-blog]

Attack on School Caste ep 4 english translation (Attack on titan drama CD)

Here’s the english translation of the 4th and last episode of the drama CD “Attack on School Caste”. Kind of sad it’s over but it was fun to translate ! Also, I’ve uploaded on my Youtube channel all of the episodes subbed, so check it out: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQXkQAha6FpPBkUTg1qB9rA/featured

Translation below:

After spending some time together, and confronting each other several times, they ended up exposing little by little their real personalities. And after they divulgated the reasons why they were in detention, they opened up about their worries and dreams.

A: The reason why I ended up in detention is only known to some of the teachers, and I haven't talked to anyone about it. If it was known, it would be a big problem. J: What the hell did you do ? A: To tell you the truth...with this laptop, World-kun, I created a pirate anime site. R: What ?! A pirate anime site ? I can't believe that. Well, I heard that around Somalia there were pirates, but to think that there was one in our school...and that you tainted your hands with that kind of business, using anime... H: Reiner, it's fine if you don't know about it but there's no need to be that surprised. R: Sorry... H: A pirate site is one that illegally uploads anime, and that is a crime. J: So that's the kind of site where you can watch anime without spending a penny, huh. R: I see. That's definitely not forgivable. M: A complete evil which no one can prevent. A: Yeah...you're right. Not only it's an infringement to copyrights, but it also infringes the rights of all the staff that worked hard to produce these animes. It's the worst, it also tramples on the audience that loves these animes. J: And why did you do that kind of thing ? A: Because I'm someone like that ! I'm made fun of at school for being a geek, I'm not good at sports and I'm not even good at studying, and I don't have a lot of friends. I'm a grandpa's kid and weak, and I can't even tell others what I want. I'm just a pathetic and worthless geek. And that's because I'm this kind of guy that I wanted to, at least, shine on the net ! At the beginning, it was just a site where I recommended my favorite animes, but then, the views increased and I was thanked in the comments, so I wanted even more popularity and started to upload illegally episodes. And one day I realized that it ended up being a complete illegal site. I couldn't bring myself to stop... R: When did you realize it was bad ? A: My friend, Marco, warned me, saying that this was a complete crime. And, in order to stop me, he talked about it with the teachers. J: Huh, so he snitched. That sounds like what a serious ass like him would do. A: But thanks to Marco, I finally realized what I was doing. So that's why I immediately closed the site and it didn't become a serious problem. Well, I ended up in detention though. J: To think that you were a potential criminal. H: That's not a potential criminal, but a criminal indeed. M: One's outward appearance and one's real identity is completely different. Once the mask is removed, the truth shows its face. R: And I thought that you were just an otaku... A: Even someone like me has things I want to do and dreams...One day, I want to go to Akihabara, the sanctuary of anime ! Neons illuminating the high buildings, and posters of my favorite anime characters plastered everywhere...the sanctuary I'm yearning for ! A market so wide and deep that even if the geeks from all over the world were to assemblate, they wouldn't be able to buy everything ! When I was administrating that site, I felt that I was able to touch a little that world... But in truth, I was just drowning in the deep sea of the net... R: Dreams, huh. Up till now, I never even thought about that. H: Are you serious ?! Didn't you want to become a football player ? M: What about those titanic muscles...and that robust body...? R: Those were obtained after training regularly. But that was not because I wanted to become a football player. H: Then, why ? R: It's because I wanted to be acclaimed as an excellent sportsman and obtain a scholarship. J: Ha, what's with that. Such a petty reason ! R: Well, I was brought up by my mother only. It's already tough to let me go to school. I was born in a country beyond the sea. When I was young, my mother and father separated, and me and my mother moved here. After that, there were only hardships. It was tough to only feed ourselves in a foreign land. I want to provide for my mother and let her rest, that's what I always thought. J: H-huh ! After calling me a mother complex, you're not one to say ! R: Yeah, you're right. If I did my best in the football team, it was to make my mother happy. I trained myself everyday, in order to obtain this armor-like body, and even became the captain. And even for my caste, I became the president of the clubs, and volunteered for cleaning garbage, I gained popularity with the students and took special attention of the teacher's moods. I did all I could. And I finally became the jock. A: So you suffered a lot too... H: And why someone like you ended up in detention ? R: On the last physics exams, I had some difficulties... H: So you didn't pass ? R: Y-yeah...that's right. But, no, what I want to say is that...I scored 0 points. J: 0 points ?! For real ?! You must be lying, even I scored 17 points ! R: To tell you the truth...I'm really hopeless with studying. No matter how much I try, I never do well, and up until now, I've managed to barely pass. And physics is my worst enemy. I don't understand a single thing. Like you all said, maybe even my brain has become only muscles. A: But even so, 0 points...? R: That day, during the exam...I lost sight of myself. Until that moment, I always thought that I wanted to let my mother rest, and she has big expectations. In order to meet those expectations, I became the jock, the captain of the football team, the president of all the clubs, and I had to always be strong and right. And when I thought "do I have any dreams of my own ?" "do I have something I really want to do ?", my mind went completely blank, and without realizing, the exam was already over. I couldn't write anything other than my name. J: Well...that explains the score. R: But, even without that happening, it would still have been hard to score more than 10. Armin, before, I said that you were miserable, but, like Jean said, it was me, who has no dreams of his own, that was miserable. A: N-no...that's not true, you're doing your best aren't you ? H: After all, you were just a king in name. That's so stupid. J: Hey ! You don't have to say it like that ! H: It's already great that his mother has expectations of him. Unlike him, no one cares about me, and that includes my own parents. Laughable, isn't it ? R: Hey, Historia, you're a rich lady, there's no way what you say is true ! H: Here's the problem. Just because I’m crazy rich and the cutest, not only in this school but in the entire state, everyone's spoiling me. But no one cares about the real me. J: Huh, that's some luxury ! H: And what do you think you know, Jean ? What do you know, you, who has a mother kind and loving enough to bring your lunch to school just because you forgot it ? I only picked up some fruits that were left on the table. My parents never cared about my lunch. And we never eat together, the last time we ate dinner together was when I was five. They leave my care to the butler, and only see me as a tool for the succession of the family. R: But they're your parents...there's no way they think like that ! H: No, I'm only a tool, and a doll. I've been raised as a rich lady, with disinterested parents, and then I'll marry with a dull man who only has reputation, then give birth to a child and success this house. My parents, teachers and the people surrounding me at school, they're all stupid ! I'm fed up ! School caste ? Queen bee ?! What does that even mean ! A: I understand the situation...but you must have things you want to do, right ? If so- H: Are you really in a position to say that, Armin ? A: Huh ? What do you mean ? H: I also like japanese anime ! I can't help it ! Shugo Chara and Sugar Sugar Rune, they're all the best ! And I'm so envious of your bento box of Maji Moji Rurumo ! I want to go to Akihabara and Ikebukuro and buy all the goods I want ! Armin, you said it, right ? That even if geeks from all over the world couldn't buy everything. But that's not true ! If it's me, I can do it ! With the assets of the Reiss family, I can buy it all ! But I can't ! That's all because I have to be the queen everywhere I go ! I can't like anime ! A: Historia... H: I ended up in detention because I tried to steal an anime magazine, and I got caught. Of course, I had the money. I could have even bought 100 copies of it. But I couldn't let anyone see me buying it. So, I had no other choice but to steal it. J: Being the queen is quite burdening, huh... H: One day, I want my parents to look at the real me. I just want to have fun with real friends and talk about anime. Maybe it's a small thing, but I think that's my dream. I doubt that you all would understand me though. M: That's right, there's no way I would understand. J: Hey, you don't have to say it like that ! M: But, I am aware of the fact that I cannot understand you. You and I are completely different, and we don't live with the same worries. However, it doesn't change the fact that we are together in this darkness. H: Mikasa...how did you end up in detention ? M: After school in an empty classroom, I tried to perform a ritual to summon the goat-faced devil, Baphomet, who has the power to destroy this world and engulf it in flames. And I got caught by the History teacher. J: Ha ! Are you serious ? You should know when to stop with that persona of yours. M: I don't want to hear that from you. J: Well, my apologies ! But that's the truth, isn't it ? It's just a persona. H: Why are you a goth, Mikasa ? Do you really like gothic things ? Or is there another reason that you ended up in this caste ? M: It is...to have perfect control of myself. J: Huh ? What do you mean ? M: Before, I was a normal student. I didn't belong neither to light, neither to darkness, just a normal person. I had a friend, and lived nonchalantly. I had no complaints towards that kind of life. But one day, my friend went up a caste higher. And after that, that friend began to avoid me. R: They didn't want to mingle with a lower caste, huh... H: Well, that does happen often. M: Yes, it's a common story. But to me, that was an unbearable shock. That's when I realized, that this world is cruel. So, I have to have perfect control over myself in order to keep on fighting... J: And that's how you became a goth ? That escalated quickly ! That's crazy ! M: No, occult and curses are helpful to strengthen one's soul. Thanks to that, I managed to remain myself. Also, since I'm asian and my hair is black, it goes well with black clothes. H: It's true that it suits you. M: Also, goth is a caste that isn't bothered by others as much as other castes. If I keep on being immersed in my own world, no one talks to me. It's not that I'm avoided by others, but I do things so that they avoid me. I can think of it that way. R: So, you chose solitude ? M: I want to become stonger. I have to be strong. And one day, I'll become a strong woman like a fearless dark knight. J: Well...you don't have to be that stubborn, don't you think ? And right now, you're talking with everyone just fine. Who knows, you might make another friend ? M: I don't need that. J: Don't say that ! The six of us, who didn't have anything to do with each other, opened up and all ! R: Hey, wait a minute, Jean. J: What ? You want to be in charge again, is that it ? R: No, did you say the six of us ? A: Eren hasn't said a thing yet... E: Huh, me ? J: Don't "huh, me ?" me ! Take part to the conversation ! E: I did listen to you all. I went to the toilet twice though. J: Always about the toilet...what are you, an old man ?! E: I know right, to say the truth, I'm a little concerned about that... My organs may have some problems. Everyone, how frequently do you go to the toilet ? How about you, Historia ? H: Me ?? J: What's with you, Eren ?! No one wants to talk about that ! A: H-hey, Eren...why did you end up in detention ? E: I'm not sure, but I think it's because I skipped the History exam. R: So you skipped, huh. Are you bad with History ? Or, do you have any worries that you can't say to people ? E: Not really, I just forgot about it. When Mr. Smith talked to me about it, that's when I remembered. H: So, is that not because of worries, but because you couldn't think of anything else other than your dreams ? E: Not at all. I really just forgot about it. I don't have any dreams. M: It's complete nought, and thoroughly normal. E: Is that bad to be normal ? I don't really love or hate this world, and I don't have particular worries or dreams. I really don't care about school castes either. Even so, I'm living normally everyday. R: Well, that's true. H: Everyone's worries are different after all... M: Everything comes in all colors. So many men, so many minds. A: Why is it that even though everyone carries its own worries, we all become the same adults...? M: That's because everyone loses to something, and ends up giving up. H: We become arrogant and showy adults, full of deception, huh... A: Hey, in truth, there was something I was thinking about. I know it's weird to ask that, but, when we meet again in school on Monday, what should we do ? J: Huh ? R: What do you mean ? A: We are...friends, right ? H: Do you mean to ask if we should keep up our relationship, where we can talk freely to each other just like now ? A: Yeah. H: Do you really want me to answer ? A: I want to hear it. H: I'll ignore you. A: Is that so... M: Do you mean only Armin, or everyone here ? H: Everyone. I'll pretend that I never met you all. Well, I don't mind Reiner though. R: That's some attitude here. But you like anime, right ? You could talk about it all you want with Armin ! H: Ha, there's no way I could. And that's the same for you, Reiner. When you're with people from the football club, what would you do if Armin, wearing an anime t-shirt and carrying a bento box of Maji Moji Rurumo, went to you and spoke to you ? R: Well, that's... H: Even though you could exchange a few words with him, you would go back to saying bad things about him when he's gone, right ? "What's with that otaku, even though he's a geek, he has the gall to talk to me !" for example. R: I'll never do that, and I don't even sound like that ! H: Then what about that, "Hey, Armin. Everyone, let me introduce my new friend.", would you introduce him to your friends like that ?! They'll just end up mocking you. And without a fault, you'll lose your position as a jock ! Are you fine with that ? Even though you did so much to gain that title- R: Stop that, Historia ! J: Cut that crap... H: You two are liars and hypocrites ! Jean, could you introduce Armin to your delinquent friends ? Could you cosplay as a character from Twilight with Mikasa and go to a party ? J: Shut up ! H: You can't, right ?! There's no way you could ! I'm just being honest. I can't be on good terms with you all ! And why ? Because our castes are different ! A: Then...it's better to be a geek like me. Even if people call me weird, I don't have to care about my surroundings and avoid my friends... M: Armin's right. A: And you, Mikasa ? Would you avoid me if I were to talk to you ? M: No. A: Even if you're with other friends ? M: I don't have any other friends. Even if I had, they wouldn't hate you. J: Mikasa... A: Let me say that, I won't ever avoid anyone here ! That would be too mean. H: Say what you want. I'm different than you, because I'm the queen...the most popular girl in school ! I can't walk alongside with you ! J: I'm astonished...how conceited can you be ? H: I'm not conceited ! It's the truth ! It's because it's the truth that it hurts ! Do you know anything about my pressure ?! The pressure of having to be a good girl at home and at school ! I have to smile all the time to be loved by everyone ! I have to make fun of the anime that I like the most ! I'm fed up with all that ! R: Historia, that's enough ! H: No, it's not ! Nothing's fine ! There's no way it is... E: Hey, sorry to interrupt, but... H: What ? J: What, Eren ? A: Does something bother you ? Feel free to say it. M: You can open up about everything. E: Can I go to the toilet ? J: You...cut it out ! H: How about you try read the room ?? Why do you even ask us permission ! E: If I go on my own, Jean's gonna complaint about it...that's really bothersome. M: Even though he's normal, he's the weirdest... E: Really ? I think it's pretty normal. I just go to the toilet more often that everyone. H: Hah...that's so stupid. J: We were the ones at fault for believing you would say something serious. A: How about you just write your essay in the toilet ? E: Huh ? I don't want to. R: Come to think of it, I completely forgot about the essay. H: We should finish it first. M: Once again, we are back to the cruel reality. J: Let's just do it. A: Yeah. R: Okay everyone, let's finish it quickly and go home. J: Don't you try to be in charge of everything again ! E: Then, I'm going to the toilet. *bell ringing* E: It's finally over. J: I'm so tired. R: We finished just in time. M: We are finally freed from that cage. H: After all it was not impossible huh. Well, as expected of us. A: You all made me write in your place though... L: What, so you're finally going home ? J: Yeah ! R: Mr Levi, thanks for your work. L: Well, that is my work after all. Leaving that aside, what happened ? Your expressions changed since I last saw you. H: Is that so ? I was just having detention, with those five weirdos. M: That's what I want to say. A: Historia was the most surprising, right ? H: Huh ? Did you say something ? A: No, nothing ! L: Whatever. But if you've finished, then hurry and go home. You're going to dirty the floor. R: Mr Levi's right. Let's go home quickly, drink proteins and do some training. A: My World-kun's battery is running low. J: What about you, Mikasa ? Do you have someone to pick you up ? If not, then I don't mind walking you home... M: Huh ? H: Oh my, a bad boy being kind to a goth, what a sight ! J: Shut up ! That doesn't matter ! Right, Eren ? E: What ? J: The castes ! E: That kind of thing doesn't matter. J: Haha ! See ! *everyone laughing*

That is how the six who belonged to different castes, while carrying their own worries and dreams, went home, with the same bright mood. Meanwhile, the History teacher Erwin was in the library, checking their essays.

Er: Hm. "Mr. Smith, thinking about what we all did, it was a given that we ended up in detention. However, the theme "Who I am" was so stupid that it made us want to throw up. This school fixed upon us statuses like the "bad boy", "queen bee", "jock", "geek", "goth" and...the "normal person". Nevertheless, we will keep on moving forward. Without caring about other's expectations, we will do as our hearts please, and this world, this school caste...You will probably say that it isn't the right path, but still, it will surely connect to a future. To a future decided by none other than us."...they're really idiots to the end.

Erwin left with a mysterious laugh. The evening sun illuminated the empty library through the window, and their essay was left there, dyed in gold, like the sun was shining upon their hopes.

[secret-engima]

Snippet of Children of Men (Not Monsters) verse

(I tried so hard to resist the urge to snippet so that I could finish this and surprise everyone, but like all my one-shots it’s getting steadily longer, so you know what? HERE. HAVE A LONG SNIPPET OF MY NEWEST BRAINCHILD.)

...

     “But we know it can be done,” clicked batchmate N-iP04232 during one of their routine cleanings over the hiss of the freezing spray, “by a unit that hadn’t gotten its first upgrade even.”

     Their last batchmate, N-iP04240, gave a skeptical whine, “That wasn’t because of any actions of the unit. It was stolen.”

     “By a lone human.” N-iP04221 pointed out as it finished washing off the cleaning solvents and stepped out from under the spray, “If a human could manage it, then three MT units could as well. MT units are more efficient than humans. That’s why we’re produced.”

     “Still…”

     “We have time to think about this,” It rumbled soothingly to its third and most nervous batchmate, “We have until before the sixteenth upgrade.” That was when MT units were monitored more closely, looking for any final errors that might crop up during the final stages of training and modification —when they truly started to go quiet, and it became harder and harder to coax them into competitions and making rhythms, when they started the slow descent to death—. They had until the sixteenth upgrade at the latest to decide on a course of action. If they chose to run, the others would not stop them. It was the rule. If an incomplete unit chose to run, all the other incomplete units had to help in whatever way they could that would not get them punished afterward.

     Then, only a few months after its fourteenth upgrade, after beginning to entertain thoughts of running, the lights in the hallways turned red and an alarm was announced through the entire facility. Two units from one of the new, experimental projects had escaped containment. All personnel and MT units above the thirteenth upgrade were to search and retrieve the escaped units. Alive. “Those two are the first ones in Project Dhampir to survive their first year.” N-iP04221 overheard one of the technicians whine, “And we’re out of viable samples for the indefinite future! If either of those units is lost or damaged, Besithia will have our heads!”

     Oh. That was new. It was rare the head human designated Besithia took an interest in any units. The escaped units must be very specialized.

     N-iP04221 searched alongside its two batchmates, but didn’t try very hard, and didn’t expect to find anything. If the escaped units were similar in template and intelligence to an MT unit, it didn’t want to help recapture them. If the units were more aggressive and taken from templates like the large, predatory wildlife that it sometimes saw outside the facility borders, it didn’t want to go anywhere near them. But just as it was hoping the escaped units had either gotten away or were in another part of the base altogether and thus were not N-iP04221’s problem, it heard a high pitched whine of pain from one of the closets containing cleaning tools and solvents. It sounded similar to a very small MT unit, but not quite, and N-iP04221 clicked uneasily at its batchmates before approaching the closet. With one of its two swords held ready in a hand, it triggered the door with the other. The door slid open and two mops fell over at the aggressive flinch and hiss the sound drew from-.

     Incomplete units.

     Very incomplete units. They couldn’t have been very far past their second yearly upgrade at the latest.

     They looked different from small MT units, but not … not because they weren’t of a similar template. They were, they just looked like they had been forced through more upgrades than was recommended for units of their size and time post decanting. Their skin was already very pale, though not white like N-iP04221’s, and the ends of their fingers and bare feet had short, sharp claws rather than the more pliable nails that early MT units had before growing claws of their own —painfully, it was a side-effect of the upgrades and a reason they were always forced to wear thick gloves during maintenance sessions—. They pressed further into the closet, lips curling in wary-frightened-angry hisses that showed their teeth were pointed, much closer to a unit near its twelfth or thirteenth upgrade than its second, the fuzz on their heads was white as the snow outside the facility and their eyes were red-. No. Not red.

     They had just changed color. It didn’t know what to call the shade. It was like blue but not, like the purple of plasmodia but so much lighter, and inside the mystery color were flecks of bright, bright gold, just like the multi-colored sparks now dancing off the small escaped units’ claws in warning. N-iP04221 took an obedient step back and cooed, simplifying its speech all the way down to the level of the second upgrade units that were still learning how to talk in ways that the overseers and technicians wouldn’t know to punish them for, “Safe-safe-calm-calm-no-harm-no-pain-hello.”

     The sparks paused, drifted into nothing as the pair eyed it uneasily. One of them sneezed skepticism and caution, N-iP04221 clicked and whirred with reassurance and warning. It wouldn’t turn them in to the overseers, but they were so small, it couldn’t imagine they would succeed in their attempt for long. They wouldn’t be decommissioned, not from what the technician had said earlier, but even so. “Hide-hide-quiet-quiet,” it suggested with a low chatter, “can’t-help-won’t-hinder-sorry-sorry.” The two units that were so very small yet heavily upgraded shared a glance, pressing against each other skin to skin, just like batchmates did when terrified and unsure of what to do next. N-iP04221 wavered and tried not to feel … something. Something dangerous. Something that made it want to raise its sword and … perform an error. A critical error.

     All three MT units went stock still when they heard a pair of technicians round the corner —familiar technicians, these were the two always sneaking off to their storage room to perform unsanctioned disrobing rituals while the units were trying to recharge—, “Why are you units just standing-, oh, you found them, perfect. Guess you hunks of junk aren’t completely useless in an emergency after all.” The bigger of the technicians stepped closer, already pulling a shock rod from off his belt and telling the other technician to “call it in”. All three MT units pulled away on instinct from the shock rod, but that meant letting the technician past them to the closet. The escaped units howled at the sight of the technician, snarled and screeched in pain-remembrance-no-no, lunged for him only to recoil from the snapping bite of electricity on the end of the rod. They were enhanced, but they were too small to attack a technician. They were caught now. They would be taken back and punished. Possibly modified. They had already been upgraded so heavily already, maybe the technicians would even risk performing the eighteenth year upgrade to make them obedient. The thought made the something in N-iP04221 rattle louder in its chest. So loud it was like a real noise rather than an internal error, so loud it made everything feel like static-.

     Two pairs of eyes that glowed with flecks of gold in a color N-iP04221 couldn’t name but also couldn’t help but be entranced by locked on its faceplate, and from them something reached. Into its body. Into its blood and organs and bones, then deeper. A physical thing across the space between them and howled as loud as an MT unit that didn’t want to die to the final upgrade and so chose to decommission itself.

     Help us. Please.

     N-iP04221 didn’t realize it had moved until it heard the other technician start screaming. Until it heard the startled screeches of its batchmates and looked down at its own hand in time to see the first technician’s body slide slowly off its blade with a heavy, bloody thud. It had just stabbed the technician. It had just stabbed one of the technicians. It wasn’t going to be decommissioned for this, it was going to be live dissected, put back together, then dissected again.

     “-Rogue unit, I repeat we have a rogue unit!” The second technician, the second technician was reporting it as she staggered back with wide eyes, electric rod aimed at it like a weapon, “It’s already killed Technician Simmons, the rogue unit is in-!” N-iP04221 didn’t see its batchmates move, but suddenly the technician fell silent and crumpled to the ground, body falling in one direction while her head rolled across the floor in the other. N-iP04240 lowered its axe, red-red-red human blood dripping onto the clean floor as they all stared at what they had just done.

     “We’re going to be dissected repeatedly,” N-iP04240 clicked numbly, “They will put our processing units in jars and then dissect the jars.”

     “Not if we run first.” They both looked over at N-iP04232, as it stepped past them into the cleaning closet and grabbed several of the solvents there, “We’re dead either way. We should at least try running first.”

     Under its mask, N-iP04221 swallowed, hyper aware of the human blood on its blade, the dead technicians. Hyper aware that it didn’t regret, not when it was too late to regret, not when the two escaped small units had slunk out of the closet and were huddled against its legs on their four limbs, like they were more of an animal template than an MT unit template, or maybe just too scared and weak from forced upgrades to stand properly. The things from them curling in its bones and organs stayed, tight and hot with relief that didn’t belong to it, and it would have thought the feeling was a hallucination —a critical malfunction—, but a questioning whine at its batchmates confirmed they felt it too.

     Without really thinking about it, N-iP04221 sheathed its bloodied sword, then reached down and picked up the two, painfully tiny units. They clung to its armor, little claws hooking in the seams as one sniffed curiously at the blood on the hand holding it and the other gently nosed its faceplate in greeting-gratitude. Holding on tightly to them, it turned and began running down the halls with its batchmates on its heels. They were going to be caught and painfully, brutally decommissioned. But they had to try.

     N-iP04221 didn’t want to die.

[revengeoftheantichrist]

From Eden

Warnings: Dismemberment, gore, cannibalism, pregnancy, possessive behaviour 

AO3  <<<Previous

Chapter 6

The harem woke up to a surprise visit from their King. Michael stood in the courtyard, wearing the plainest clothes he could find, but still managing to look regal. Next to him was a table with various sharp instruments. Scalpels, saws and other things used to cut and butcher. Next to them was a silver cloche, covering some unknown item. Maybe he was conducting a ritual in the harem, the girls thought. “Good afternoon ladies,” Michael greeted, an all too sweet smile on his face. The girls greeted him back with a little curtsy. He gestured them to sit down. “Now,” he started. “are you aware of how tight security is in the sanctuary?” he asked. What a strange question it was. Security didn’t matter to the harem, no one entered or left without the highest of clearance. One of the girls attempted to respond, “no one comes in or out of here without clearance.” They thought that maybe he suspected them of sleeping around. Michael hummed and slowly walked towards her. “You know I see everything, don’t you?” he asked, gently holding the girls face. She leaned into his touch as she was thinking about her answer, Michael’s thumb moved towards her eye, starting to put pressure near the socket. “Don’t you?” “Y-yes,” she whimpered. She couldn’t move, Michael’s magic holding her down. She tried to scream as Michael’s thumb mover further into the socket, pressing down until her eye popped out. The pain was unbearable, all she wanted to do was scream and run. Some of her blood spurted onto Michael’s shirt. The other girls gasped in horror. Not expecting this to happen to one of them. “Then, you’d know that you couldn’t hide anything from me,” he held the eye up, studying it and paying no attention to the girl that had collapsed behind him. One of the girls began to gag at the sight. “I wasn’t aware that it was now your place to do what you want with anyone that entered those doors,” he addressed the girls. He walked towards the table, finally lifting the cloche from the table. The girls screamed at the sight. It was the head of the guard that had helped in their plan against that little grey, on a silver platter. They understood now, they had severely miscalculated how much this grey had meant to Michael. They could do nothing more than beg for forgiveness, that had left the girl for dead. “Please, please My King, we didn’t know how much she meant,” one of the girls pleaded, tears streaming down her face. Michael only raised his eyebrow at the spectacle. ‘How pathetic humans were’ he thought to himself. He brought his attention to the various instruments on the table. His hand hovering over, choosing the suitable thing for the job. He had sat and meticulously sharpened these himself. A serrated, cleaver like blade caught his eye. He lifted the handle, feeling the heaviness, making a show of inspecting the blade. He sauntered towards the girl that was begging, tugging her hand up. “This was the hand that used to crack her jaw, wasn’t it?” The question was rhetorical, he had watched the footage multiple times. He used his magic to paralyse the girl, resting her hand on a table. He brought the blade down and slowly began to saw at her wrist, relishing in the screams of his victim. The blade was sharp enough for a clean cut, but he wanted her to feel the pain, all of it. Blood ran down the marble and into the flooring of the courtyard. It wasn’t his problem to clean up. After her hand had come off, he dropped it into a bucket for later use. He would use them as trophies, decoration for his office space. He used his magic to stop the bleeding, he didn’t want her to die. A snap of his fingers and the medical staff quickly patched her up. Michael moved back to the table, switching out for a new sort of blade for the other girl. He went around the room, a new blade for a new hand. By the end he had six hands in his trophy bucket. They thought he was done after the final one was dropped in the bucket, but he moved back to the first girl he had maimed, the ringleader of their little operation. His former favourite girl. “You were my favourite once upon a time, so I’ll take some mercy on you, use you for another special purpose.” He didn’t give her time to respond, before shoving his hand into her chest cavity, rummaging around before pulling her heart out. In her last streams of consciousness, the girl had hoped that Michael would be the one to eat it. She had heard rumours of his taste for the organ, him eating hers would be the ultimate mercy. But Michael would not grant her it. “I think I’ll let her eat it,” he grinned. Words that she didn’t want to hear, but there was nothing she could do as she took her last breath. //// You had never felt this sore in your life. Groaning and sinking further into the softness of the mattress. The artificial sunlight streaming through the window would not let you sleep. You blinked slowly, realising the sheets were silk. Your sheets had never been silk. The whole room was draped in silks and velvets. You rose into a sitting position, taking in the space around you. Opulent was the only word you could use to describe it. It was nothing like your plain grey rooms you had for the past few years. The bed was big enough to get lost on, a huge contrast to the tiny single bed you had in your old accommodation, before starting this current project. A large fireplace was crackling somewhere in the room, illuminating the silver and gold accents in the room. You were sure that this room came straight out of the imagination of the Sun King, well, maybe the Moon King in these circumstances. You finally noticed the thin nightgown you were wearing, something that again, wasn’t yours. On your bedside table was a single red apple, ripe and sweet. You decided not to eat it, this must have been some sort of joke or test. You had to get out of here. The cool floor under your feet caused you to shiver as you left your blanket cocoon. You had to figure out where you were, you pulled back the thin curtains. You gasped; eyes wide open. This was the King’s balcony that Mead had pointed out a while back. You could see the whole of this floor from here. Even the garden. The garden that should have been unfinished, but almost looked done; everything had been planted, just waiting for the garden to bloom. How long had you been out for? What exactly led you to being in this room anyway? Deciding not to stick around any longer, you moved to find a way out, fearing the consequences of you being found here. You found a door and slowly opened it. It led to a bathroom that reflected the main room. The bathtub was huge, big enough to fit at least four people and it was cut out of some form of quartz. The tiles were heated, something those on the upper floors didn’t have the privilege of. There were also two sinks, with a vast amount of counter space. Only a few products were on display, but you could see the labels of the expensive brands that they came from. You shut the door and frantically tried looking for another one. But it seemed that that was the only door in this whole room, the only other way out would be jumping from the balcony. You tried pulling sconces or pressing some of the reliefs, hoping that maybe there was a secret way out. But there was nothing. Not a single wall moved. You were trapped in here. You ran over to the balcony again, inspecting all sides. There must be a way for you to climb down or something. “BOO!”, you vision went dark, eyes covered by warm hands. You screamed at the sound of that voice. He only laughed in reply. He pulled you back until your back hit his chest. He rested his head on your shoulder, looking out of the balcony. “The view is beautiful, isn’t it?” Your shock prevented you from replying. You gulped realising the inspector you had been bantering with for the past few weeks, that ‘Adam’, was in fact Michael Langdon. You had somehow ended up in the room of the King of the new world. His hand wandered down to your stomach while you were lost in your thoughts. “You better get used to it little grey, it’ll be the only thing you see for a while.” “What do you mean?” you finally found your voice. He chuckled and moved you further back into the room, using his magic to shut the curtains. He backed towards the bed, sitting you in his lap and facing him, an iron grip on your hip. “What makes you think I’ll let you roam around free now that I have you? Those harem girls were practically harmless compared to what other people could do to you.” “Why would anyone bat an eye at me?” you asked, annoyed at the sound of his voice. The hand that was resting on your hip moved to your stomach, he closed his eyes and began to rub comforting circles. It finally clicked. You grabbed his wrist to stop the movements. You looked at him wide-eyed and shook your head. “I… think I’m going to be sick,” you gagged, trying to scramble off him and get to the bathroom. You made it just in time to empty the contents of your stomach. What came up scared you even more. The liquid was black, sprinkled with pomegranate seeds. This wasn’t normal, the human body didn’t produce black sludge on its own. As you sat there, brief flashbacks of that night invaded your thoughts. The hissing of the snakes and the light of the ‘moon’ ever vivid. You could almost feel the warmth and stickiness that covered your skin that night. Michael had been holding your hair out of the way, letting you get it all out. When you finished, he helped you get up on your shaky legs, moving towards the sink. You quickly rinsed your mouth free from the strange stickiness coating it. After splashing your face with water, you finally looked at your refection in the mirror. You felt like you were staring at an imposter, vaguely wearing your features, but it wasn’t you. Her skin was paler, face more sunken in. You tentatively touched your face. The veins around your eyes and mouth were darker and more prominent. Michael had wrapped himself around you, resting his head on your shoulder. You made eye-contact through the mirror, he looked at you with some sort of reverence, like an artist who had just completed his masterpiece. “You do not yet see what I see, little grey,” he whispered, “but you will soon don’t you worry.” All you wanted to do was scream and cry. You wanted to get back under the covers, to hide from the world. But you weren’t tired, surprisingly, your body felt well rested, energetic even. A loud growl from your stomach shattered the spell. You only now noticed the intense hunger you were feeling, sure you could eat a whole family meal to yourself. “I see Eve didn’t eat the wonderful apple I left her,” Michael chuckled. “you’d think after a month of no food, one would be more grateful.” Your brows furrowed in confusion. “A month? What are you smoking?” He turned your face to look at him. “you’ve been out for about a month, it’s the middle of march already,” he explained. You wanted to ask more questions. Your memories felt like just yesterday. However, Michael had other plans, moving you out the bathroom. You were met with the sight of his desk covered in various dishes, the smell making you ravenous, almost running over to it. Yet, you weren’t fast enough, Michael taking up the only seat at the table. You said nothing but gave him with a questioning glare. He smiled and patted his lap. “You’re not expecting me to …?” “Oh I am Y/N, I am.” He didn’t let you think too much, pulling you into his lap before you could protest. His grip on you was iron-like. You took in the spread in front of you. Various foods that you hadn’t seen in years let alone had the privilege to eat. Greys on the upper floors had a pretty simple diet, enough nutrients to keep you going but not to indulge like those on the lower levels. You were already salivating just at the sight of the steak. But what had you more curious was what lay under the cloche directly in front of you. Why was it covered unlike the rest of the food? “Before you try anything else, I want you to try this,” as if reading your thoughts, Michael lifted the cover. On the plate was several slices of a red meat, drizzled with what looked like a red wine sauce. Michael held the fork up to your mouth. “Say ‘ahhh’” “I can feed myself you know,” you snapped. His grip on your arm tightened painfully, “I won’t repeat myself,” he threatened. You reluctantly opened your mouth and let him feed you. You closed your eyes to savour the taste. Whatever it was, it was absolutely divine. You wanted more and Michael was waiting with your next bite, your hunger throwing all shame out the window, letting him hand feed you the dish and more. Michael broke out into a sadistic grin at the sight. He decided he would wait to tell you exactly what you were eating, enjoying the peace far too much. He was looking forward to the day you would just eat it raw, far too gone in the hunger that would eventually consume you.

[llogllady99]

Crimson Red : Chapter 1

Scholar’s Mate

CHARACTERS | Levi, Erwin, Petra, Hange, Moblit, Mike, Nanaba, Eld, Oluo, Gunther, Kenny, Erwin’s Father, Kuchel, Frieda Reiss, Nile Dok, Yelena, Marie RELATIONSHIPS | Levi x Erwin GENRE | Mystery, Thriller, Romance, Dark Academia IV | Blood and gore, Blood and violence, Alternate universe - modern setting/high school/ boarding school, angst and fluff and smut, knife kink, knife play, drama & romance, eventual romance, eventual smut, emotional manipulation, cults, rituals SUMMARY | Sina Academy of Excellence and Inquiry is the best boarding school in all of England, producing over time leaders of Nations and outstanding personalities in society as well as being the perfect environment for your child to flourish in, spending his time with specially trained staff to support his need and wonderful, well behaved peers like him. We only have two rules: don't go in the woods and do not try to go through locked doors. From the statement above one would have assumed that Sina was the perfect school and that the rules that were imposed were just for their children's safety, but as Levi joins the school at the beginning of his senior year, he uncovers a secret so putrid and morbid that will leave him scared for life. That is...if he manages to make it out alive.

Chapter song: Devil’s trill sonata

August 23rd 1996, London

Deformed, lazy, pungent smelling circles rose above her head, as Kuchel exhaled the smoke the cigarette she was currently holding between her long, bony, alabaster fingers provided her with. She did not smoke that often, only when she was under a rather stressful situation. Today, her son would be departing from home in order to attend a boarding school across country. It wasn’t that she did not trust him or have enough faith in him, but since his brother announced Levi’s immediate enrolment, a feeling of distress had started to grow in the pit of her stomach, becoming larger and larger everyday, until it finally managed to take upon her entire being. Thence, the obnoxious amount of cigarette butts lying around carelessly and forgotten on the balcony of her victorian terraced house. Taking one last drag out of the device, which would inevitably bring upon her death someday, she dropped it to the tiled floor and not sparing a second glance its way, stomped it until the electric orange that lined its edge turned a dark ashy brown. Further covering up herself with her long brown coat and shivering slightly from the chill morning, Kuchel made her way back inside the house where the sound of piano keys being pressed consistently in formation of a slow and disturbing song grew louder and louder as she approached her son’s room.

The door was opened and inside a large piano could be spotted by the large and covered with white and blue curtains window. Sited at the instrument was Levi, pressing the keys with precision, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Devil’s trill sonata?” Kuchel asked, sitting down on the small sofa in front of a coffee table where an unfinished game of chess laid, its pieces shining with the bright light seeping in from the windows. If she didn’t know any better she might’ve said that this was a new chess set, but with her son’s obsession with keeping everything clean and organised, something rarely got in poor condition.

“Indeed, mother. Took me a while to learn it. Care to share your opinion?” Levi replied not taking his eyes off the keyboard.

“It’s exquisite, like every sound your hands ever produced on that piano.” She answered, leaning further into the soft cushions of the couch. As if to prove her wrong, Levi pressed the wrong key and unbalanced the whole song, losing his concentration and ultimately his rhythm. Sighing in frustration, he got up and joined his mother on the couch.

“And just when I think I’ve got it, I mess it up.” Levi fretted, then glanced at the unfinished game of chess. “Humour me mother and grant me the honour of one last game of chess before we depart.”

“Certainly,” she replied then helped her son rearrange the pieces on the board. She chose white so she could dictate the conduct of the game: a simple scholar’s mate from her son as they were already late to the station. ‘E4 e5, Qh7 Nc6, Bc4 Nf6, Qxf7’ , Levi checkmated her, stood up and sought her hand, also bring her to her feet shortly after.

“I think it would have been better if we postponed the game, winning in such a desolate manner almost has me furious. However, I am well aware that we are already late to the station. Please lead the way mother.” Kuchel smiled at her boy, of course it would infuriate him, this game was nothing like the hour long matches they used to share, her being the first that introduced the game to Levi.

“Levi dear, you never did tell me why you quit competition, you would have become a master by now.” Kuchel said from the driver’s seat, looking shortly in Levi’s way. She personally offered to drive her son to the station as she wanted to spent every last moment with him before he was gone. She was sure to miss him dearly, and he would miss her too, though he won’t show it because he would be too embarrassed to do so.

“I’m quite confident you know, but I will tell you one final time: Isabell enjoyed the game and it feels wrong competing, something that she never got to experience as the rug was pulled from beneath her feet before she even had a chance.” Levi turned away and looked out the window, slightly fidgeting with his hands. “What do you think the school will be like? You attended a boarding school yourself, so please tell me.”

“That was a long time sweetie, a lot has changed since then, but I will tell you this: the bond you will form with your soon to be friends will last a life time.” Kuchel replied, not taking her eyes off the road. After a few more turns they arrived at the train station. It was finally time to say goodbye. Levi regarded her with one of his warmest smiles and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I will see you soon, mother. Take care.” And just like that he was gone, his small form disappearing behind the high arched red pillars of the station, the small black suitcase with the last of his belongings trailing behind him. His other luggage had been sent before hand. Kuchel wiped a tear from her cheek and got back in the car, heading in the direction of the closest high class bar.

-

To say the train was packed would be an understatement, every wagon was agglomerated by students just like him chatting animatedly about their summers, their high pitched voices ringing through the train, worsening his already present headache. He decided to try another wagon, so pushing past the intermediate hall’s door, he entered the isle of one with cabins. Every single one of them was packed with the same loud and obnoxious students, except the one from the very end. A cabin whose occupant was a girl with messy brown hair, tied up carelessly into a ponytail, square glasses sitting gently on the tip of her slightly down turned nose. She was mindlessly eating from a bag of chips as she pondered over whatever it was that she was looking at through the compartment’s window. Levi slid the door open and cleared his throat to get the girl’s attention. The girl shook her head, startled a bit by his presence then cocked an eyebrow his way, urging him to say something.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind what?” The brunette replied, her voice melodic and with just the right amount of deepness to it.

“Me sitting here.” Levi replied awkwardly, faking indifference and adopting a bored looking expression. He was never good with people and interactions like this distressed him immensely.

“Not at all, please take a sit.” The girl smiled and gestured for the sit in front of him.

“Thanks.” Levi hoisted his luggage up and dumped it on the support space above their heads, before proceeding to sit across from her. For a few minutes none of them spoke a word, instead switching their gaze between the landscape present beyond the window and themselves when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

“Hange.” The girl suddenly muttered.

“Excuse me?” Levi switched his gaze towards her, tilting his head to the side bewildered.

“Name’s Hange.” The girl, Hange, rapidly spoke, seemingly experiencing the same overwhelming emotions that came with meeting new people as him.

“Nice meeting you Hange, my name is Levi.” He extended her hand out to her and after a moment’s hesitation the brunette shook his hand.

"You headin’ to Sina?”

“Indeed, I am. I assume you do too?” He said, his eyes fixing her uniform: a white and freshly starched button up with a navy blue skirt, tailored to sit just above the knee, and a purple tie.

“Yeah.” Hange replied awkwardly then started fidgeting with her hands a bit more.

“The students screaming like they own the place do too?” He tried to ask, to further stir the conversation.

“Yeah, they are. My friends were also supposed to be here but one of them will be coming tomorrow and the rest are already at the academy.”

“So soon? Wow, I barely came today because it was required and because of the orientation day tomorrow.” Levi was being unusually vocal. Maybe he was just trying to soothe the other girl’s nerves, but he also felt that he could trust her, weirdly enough. At his affirmation, Hange’s face lighted up, and all traces of embarrassment seemed to have fled from her face as she now began talking earnestly. Orientation day was an opportunity for the students to mingle with other houses, or factions as she like to call them, and meet their professors, explore the school, and if they weren’t already be sorted into a house. Hange also made sure to enumerate all the teachers present, emphasising on someone with the name of Frieda Reiss, the math teacher and Nile Dok, the history teacher that apparently made very good jokes and his lessons were always pleasant for the students, being one of the few moments of relaxation throughout their day.

“What house are you in Levi?”

“That I certainly don’t know, I suppose I am to be sorted.”

“Yeah, well the housing system is pretty fucked up if you ask me. They organise us based on our personality type.”

“Is that a bad thing? It doesn’t seem to be, I would be quite content with being placed in a house with personalities similar to mine, makes the whole socialising thing so much easier.”

“Sure, but you wouldn’t be stepping outside your comfort zone,” retorted Hange. “Not to mention the discrimination against those who are considered “less special” are made.”

“I believe that if we were all to be the same, the world would surely become quite insipid.”

“If everyone shared your opinion, the school would be a much more better place.”

“Please explain the housing system to me, Hange.” Her gaze settling once again on him from where it was directed out the window, she began explaining. The housing system was based on the personality types of people and the roles which they played in society, making it easier for the staff to each of their individual needs. There were four houses. The first was Boethiah house, where architects, logicians, commanders, and debaters would reside. Its signature colour was purple, symbolising the high intellect its students possessed. The second house was Antheia, where advocates, mediators, protagonists, and campaigners found their place. Represented by the colour green, the house was known for its social and communicative students. The third was Martell house, which gave place to the logisticians, defenders, executives, and consuls, the indigo blue colour signifying their nurturing and loyal nature. The last of the houses was Lannister, housing the virtuosus, adventurers, entrepreneurs, and entertainers. The people in this house were fun and full of humour, the colour yellow revealing their outgoing nature. The houses were named by the four founders of the school, respectively Phoibe Boethiah, Panacea Martell, Caelum Antheia, Kestrel Lannister.

“Hange I’m sorry to interrupt you but this whole thing seems very Harry Potter to me, and don’t let me get started on the names, they sound right out of a fantasy novel.” Levi snorted, amused by his new school.

“Yeah, but the school was founded in 1000 AD, imagine the names they had then.” Hange replied, huffing out a laugh.

“I assume you’re from Boethiah?” He said, jerking his chin in the direction of her purple tie.

“Yeah, we are the smallest house as our personalities are so rare. I wonder what house they’ll place you in. Did you take the test?”

“Yeah, when I took my entrance exam a few months ago, something about a psychological evaluation.” And with that their conversation ended, instead each of them turning their attention to their forever changing surroundings, vibrant green meadows and flowery fields slowly turning into dull, grey moors as the sun above then started to set, orange, red, yellow, and orange blending with the dark blue the night brought along.

-

At the academy, in the encrimsoned light of the headmaster’s office, Erwin Smith stood proudly  with his hands behind his back watching from the giant circular window over the school’s gates in anticipation of the students’ arrival for the new trimester.

“You did quite a good job last year, Erwin. I expect the same this year.” Arcturus Smith, Erwin’s father and also the headmaster, spoke from his dark oak desk in the middle of the room, breaking the silence that had settled over the office. The blonde turned his attention to his father and bowed his head in appreciation and assurance. Arcturus bent slightly over the desk, his chin now resting in the palm of his hands.

“Please come take a seat. Let me introduce you to this year’s targets.”

“I was actually questioning myself when you were going to introduce them to me.” Erwin said, as he made to take a sit across his father. The man pushed two files in his direction, both of them stamped with red ink that spelled “CLASSIFIED”. Carefully, he picked up the first one and opened it. The picture of a redheaded girl with short hair stood in front of him.

“Nifa Thompson,” he read out loud. He eyed his father expectingly.

“She’s a sophomore and you have until September 21st, think you can handle it?” Arcturus cocked his eyebrow. “The girl isn’t very sociable and I’m sure some undeserved attention from the school’s head boy and number one bachelor will send her flying over the moon.” Erwin sighed and shook his head, then after a moment’s reconsideration looked up at his father and approved. The next file was about a new boy by the name of Levi Ackerman, he had short raven hair styled in an undercut, piercing blue-silver eyes, and a bored, impassive expression. He doubted he would be an easy target but he was up for a challenge. Looking up at his father, Erwin smirked.

“This one is perfect father. Blood type O and INTJ Personality type. He’s a gem. His mother is an alcoholic, his uncle is nowhere to be found, and he has no other close relatives. No one's going to miss him when he's gone. ” Now he laughed. Arcturus eyes shone with satisfaction.

“Just perfect for this winter’s sacrifice. And guess what? It’s also going to be a full moon, just like you always wanted. Maybe this year I’ll let you do the honourifics. That is, if everything goes as planned.” Then the headmaster leaned down in his chair and adopting again his usual cold demeanour, he said, “You are dismissed, son. Please go and welcome our students. I wish you a good year, full of achievements and perfect scores.

Erwin bowed and left the office.

-

As Levi walked through the massive iron gates of the school, he immediately gawked. Sina was like nothing he had seen. To put it simply: the school was spectacular. Touched by gothic architecture, the building displayed pointed arches lighted by golden yellow lamps from below, flying buttresses, and embellished colonnades. One feature that particularly stood out to Levi were the large lion statuettes that stood firmly place on each side of the enormous front staircase that started from the yard in which they were currently walking in, and that had a beautiful lotus pooled white marble fountain, and ended right beneath two high arched oak doors. At the gate they were met with a teacher, a women in her thirties that had piercing blue-purple eyes and ebony black hair that fell flawlessly on her navy blue Tudor coat, who escorted them inside the school.

The entry gave way to a long and wide hallway with vaulted ceiling and intermittently placed pillars. A few feet from each other hung golden chandeliers lightning their way as they headed in the direction the teacher was leading them in. High up in the ceiling there was stained glass through which the moon’s light slipped in, almost unnoticeably.

In the dining room there were four long tables each placed parallel to each other, the ceiling was painted with frescoes, beautiful biblical images. The professors’ dinning table was in an adjacent room, being separated by one of those pointed arches Levi had seen outside. Similar to the hallway, the dinning room also had stained glass, one particular piece stood out to Levi as it was the image of Jesus himself painted on red and blue glass, slightly highlighted by the moon’s light, whose outline could be made through the blue glass that composed Jesus’s robe. Truly spectacular. Even though he was just as rich as everyone attending here, he had never seen such a school. His last school was also private, but instead had modern architecture with the sparing of a few buildings such as the chapel or assembly hall.

“Please leave your luggage by the entrance and go take a seat at the table assigned to your house specifically. Those of you who have not been assigned a house yet please go and stand by the teachers’ table as the headmaster and the other staff will join us shortly and place you where they think fits you best. I’m Frieda Reiss and I will be your math teacher this trimester.”

Shortly after, the staff made their way to their table and as everyone was seated and quieted down, Arcturus, the headmaster delivered his annual welcoming speech and turned to the fresh meat waiting patiently and awkwardly into a corner.

“Ah I suppose I am to assign each of you your house, very well then come on here don’t be shy.” The group made their way once more in the middle of the dinning room. All of the eyes were on them, the other students waiting just as nervously as them to see who they would be welcoming in their house next. The headmaster rummaged through his black Tudor coat and pulled out a piece of yellow, coffee stained paper and started reading aloud:

“Emma Williams goes to Lannister.” A blonde petite freshman girl made her way to the table on the far off right of the room and proceeded to sit down at the table with the other students, who were cheering and clapping exasperatingly, excited for their new member.

“Jane Walker to Martell,” again, a freckled redheaded girl made her way to one of the middle tables on the left, also welcomed by the cheering of the other members and quietly sat down with a smile on her face, clearly satisfied with the choice.

“Hmm, Levi Ackermann, an interesting name for someone British. Your assignment has been a hard one as the test refused to reveal anything concrete, but after a long dispute among all members of the faculty, we decided to assign you to Boethiah as an architect!” Arcturus beamed, extending his hands and widening his eyes as he bore Levi with his predatory gaze. The boy smiled then made his way to the table in the far off left end of the dinning room. His eyes searched involuntary for Hange, who was seated at the middle already on her feet and waving him over ecstatically.

“Oh my god Levi! I can’t believe you’re an architect!! I never would have guessed! Come have a sit don’t just stand there.” Levi took a sit beside her as the brunette shuffled to the side to make him space. Everyone was looking at him, throwing glances and misplaced whispers to their colleagues. Levi only smiled in their direction and looked around the table, his eyes stopping on a fiery strawberry blonde girl in front of him that was burning holes in him with her gaze. They stared at each other, none making a step towards the other. Hange was talking about something in the background but he didn’t turn to pay attention, refusing to break eye contact with the girl. Eventually, with a puff the girl relinquished and extended her hand over the table,

“Petra,” she said. Levi took her hand and with a smirk told her his name. And just like that Levi made two friends at the Academy already, chatting animatedly with them over dinner. At some point, someone placed a hand over his shoulder. Somewhat startled, the raven flinched then turn to look for the hand’s owner, a blonde and well built boy with a cold stare was fixing him with his sapphire eyes, a lop sided grin present on his face.

“Erwin Smith, I came here to give you an official greeting to our school,” pulling Levi to his feet, he forcefully shook his hand and with a forced grin continued, “I am the head boy here and I am in charge of the students, if you have any concern or question about anything by all means come to me and I will do my best to support you and grant the answers you seek. Welcome to Sina Academy of Excellence and Inquiry, Levi Ackerman.” And with that Erwin dropped his hand and after placing a hand on his shoulder, walked away retaking his seat at the head of their obscenely long table, disappearing out of his sight as he took a sit back down. A rather interesting start to what he reckoned would be an equally interesting year.

Notes:

I do not own Attack on titan or any of the characters in the show or related to it!!

I really hoped you like it, if you did please stick around as there will be more where that came from!

[mordigen]

Wicca is a Sex Cult - you won’t change my mind. Pt 3

....

It took weeks of preparation - I was given homework to do to prepare myself. I was given a special diet to stick to and varying cleansing rituals were performed on me to purify my mind, body & spirit. All of these things made me feel more comfortable - it was being treated very much like a very important, spiritual ritual. It did not feel creepy or seedy. My - attendants? I guess is the best way to call them, 3 women of varying ages that were to be the “witnesses”, and were all very kind and caring and motherly. They answered any questions I had, they were supportive and encouraging. They made it feel very much like an exciting journey and the beginning of something wonderous and magical once I was officially a member. I was starting to become more resolute in making this happen. And not really second guessing myself anymore. I thought it was working - I was losing the strict, prude mindset my upbringing had chained me to. 

The day of I was led into a community-center type building, I have no idea if the coven owned this building - had rented it out for the day, or if it was, in fact, a public community center they were actually expecting to carry this out in. I’m not sure which one is more disturbing - but it was dark, they had it lit up with candles everywhere. Music was playing and a few people were singing and chanting. It was, really, very lovely and peaceful and soothing, though there were more people there than I thought there would be. Again - it felt very thoughtful and ritualistic and taken very seriously. They were all very much invested in this, and that made me feel better somehow - this wasn’t just a joke to them. (A performance, maybe...but not a joke) My 3 ladies allowed me to undress privately - something else that gave me great comfort, it made me think they don’t want nudity or sexuality just for the hell of it, but that this was, in fact, a very sacred ritual to them - and gave me a robe that had been painted in runes and sigils that were supposed to help consecrate the ritual and my body. They walked me out into the main room, they cast a circle with lots of flair and singing, and laid out a bed-roll like cushion in the middle. They draped it in white linen, said some incantations and saged it. They brought me into the circle and did their incantations, and saged me. Again - all very ritualistic and spiritual - seemed very kosher and serious - Until they got to the point where they unrobed me and actually laid me on the cushions.

I started panicking inside. The “Priest” came out from the other room carrying an incense burner, and chanting. What, I have no idea - it wasn’t English, it wasn’t Irish, it wasn’t French. Those were the languages I knew, so I knew it wasn’t any of them - sounded very much like Gregorian Chants. So perhaps is was Latin, or perhaps it was completely made up nonsense. I have no idea. But he was already very obviously aroused - I panicked even more. Even though I was trying to keep it inside, it was starting to be noted that I was panicking. One of the three ladies tried to calm me down, she was reassuring. But I can’t even remember what she was saying - I don’t think I was able to hear her even then. The “Priest” carried on with his incantations, a few people lit candles and sprinkled salt at intervals. The brought forth various branches that were supposed to signify different things - and then it was “time”.  I suddenly became very aware of the fact that he had no condom - and no inclining to be producing one from anywhere. I finally came back to my senses and actually asked / objected to this notion. One of the ladies told me that condoms were not used as it obstructed the contact between bodies becoming “one” and therefore lessened the spiritual connection to the God / Goddess being invoked in us. I. Flipped. My. Shit.

Let’s ignore for a moment that this ENTIRE THING is horribly wrong, and remember I was a young, dumb, easily influenced teen - but thankfully THAT snapped brain cells back into function, and rational, logical, objective thought back into me. No one had ever discussed this idea with me - hadn’t even mentioned it, let alone asked if it was something I was comfortable with or willing to go through. No discussion of any type of protection in the off change that I had agreed. I was done. I told them I didn’t want to do this. THEY FOUGHT ME.

Guys. GUYS. THEY FOUGHT ME. the *WOMEN* fought me. The “Priest” started getting angry and belligerent, and started making comments about being blue-balled. SO SPIRITUAL, mmmhmm. They did everything in their power to try to convince me to go through with it - the “Priest” started taking off his robe, AS IF HE WAS JUST GOING TO DO IT ANYWAY. I started yelling - that was the only thing that shifted their focus, they were now trying to get me to quiet down. Someone FINALLY spoke up and suggested that this wasn’t right, if I didn’t want to do it then I didn’t want to do it. The “Priest” stormed off angry, started cussing and yelling and throwing things. One of the ladies offered to ‘take care of him’  !! Yes. You read that right. Oh yes, this whole charade was SO SPIRITUAL guys. He was only worried about getting his rocks off. Don’t even ask me what everyone else was getting out of it - voyeurism ?  they get off on control and deceit??  I dunno. Don’t ask me - I will never fucking understand it.  I was humilated, and SO unbelievably ashamed. How could I be so fucking stupid, and easily manipulated, and so jealous of my friend to put myself in that kind of position???

It was only after they realized I had packed up and left did they send someone out after me .....TO MAKE SURE I WASN’T GOING TO TELL ANYONE. Not to make sure I was OK. Not to offer some sort of sorry-ass apology or excuse. No. To make sure I wasn’t going to narc them out. I was so ready to get out of there an never see any of them again, I  - like an IDIOT - agreed to not tell anyone. For YEARS.  (They did, eventually, all get arrested so don’t completely lose your minds, guys) 

You can tell me I just ran into a bad group of people - that not everyone is like that, and not every coven is like that. And while, yes, that may be true - I will explain why I take extreme issue with this: 

If it were just a few bad apples, then why did every group I encountered have predatory issues? Every-one. 

Even the groups I didn’t engage with, I couldn’t because I was underaged - specifically because of the sexual interactions. By their own admittance. What degree those interactions are? We’ll never know - but their is a greater, underlying, systemic issue when a group - or a faith - by doctrine - is so sexually oriented. Let’s take out the issue of minors - full grown ass adults can be manipulated and abused. So if you’re entire religion is based so heavily on illicit activities, there is a greater issue. If it is a *requirement* - that is a problem. And the only reason to have strict 18+ limits on a religion  is if it is a *requirement*. That is a cult. If it is simply one option amongst many, than to each their own - however you want to personally and privately practice, more power to you - but if it is only an option, then there is no need to preach or practice it in an entire public group setting, and then in that case no need to exclude minors.

Also, much later on we discovered that the “Coven�� my friend was a part of was, for lack of better description, just a giant orgy. They pressured her into getting birth control so she could engage “unrestricted” in their activities. What we, the idiots, believed was so much power and strength and confidence we discovered later on that everyone else just called her a whore - because what this group had psychologically instilled in her was you get what you want through sex. They had oversexualized her and way too young, and impressionable age - So she had sex with anyone, and everyone, for whatever reason. She thought she was “empowered”, but even now - to this day (or at least, the last time I talked to her in our adult lives) I don’t think she fully comprehends what they did to her. She is absolutely not empowered.

Even to this day, this argument continues in the Pagan community. As recently as a month ago I was engaged in a debate about initiating minors. Sex is ALWAYS argued as being a part of the craft. Now, read me clearly - I am not discrediting sex magick, or anyone who decides to use it in their own craft, or anyone who decides to perform their rituals nude. If that is what feels right for you - do it. But there is a very profound difference between deciding what is right for you, and being told that *THIS* is *HOW* you *DO IT*. Do you know how many times I have heard that “Skyclad” is the *right* way to perform your magic? That is you’re not doing it, then your ritual or workings will be less affective? That you cannot properly attune yourself if you’re clothed?  The list goes on and on. Do you know how many times I have heard the Great Rite defended and heralded as the “most powerful” initiation ??? Or the most spiritual ritual ? That it has a solid and sacred place in the working, speaking of it in a manner as if it should be a goal for everyone at some point or another to engaged in this ritual at some point in their journey, or else they haven’t truly achieved....whatever it is they are touting should be achieved. Nirvana, enlightenment, higher vibrations....whatever. These arguments I have had as recently as yesterday. And continue to be regular topics of discussion and shaming - right on up there with cultural appropriation. 

And no - not everyone is going to behave this way or condone these activities, I am aware of that. There will inevitably be people out there who identify as Wiccan that will be adamantly against these things - but the issue with being either the rule or the exception is doctrine and dogma. And believe you me - this IS indoctrinated in the faith. This is Dogma. Read Gardener’s work - look at his beliefs. Follow his structure and rules. When it is expected of the followers. When it is a standard, or default. When it is a tenet of a faith - that is when it becomes a problem. That is when you start walking the line of a Cult. 

And It is these very teachings that are why this is so pervasive in our community. You see it blasted all over the blogs, in our circulars and magazines. Predators are so prevalent in our community, because this man - this cult - has not only normalized it, but teach it as a tenet of the faith. And Wicca itself has become so indoctrinated in the community, that people forget - EVERY DAY- That Wicca isn’t the ONLY path out there, and that their rules aren’t the ONLY rules. Raise your hands if you’ve ever felt personally victimized by the Three Fold Law.  Look how long it took me to figure out that wasn’t the only path out there? AND I had family that were pagans, and it STILL took me that long! Granted, I had the very wrong idea of what Wicca actually was from the get go, but I didn’t know how to distinguish it from anything else. I didn’t know how to separate it from paganism as a whole.  I luckily had family in the community who stepped in after my ordeal with the Covens - and not only helped me heal, and protected me - and were the catalysts in them being investigated and arrested. Luckily these people were able to actually step in and help straighten out things I had “learned”, and guide me in a real way. Not everyone has that, and now with the internet, there are even more avenues for newcomers and the innocent and naïve to be led astray. And they will take it as gospel - as my friends and I once did - because they are searching, and don’t know any better. And those are the very type that Cults prey upon.....and whadoya know, those are also the very same ones to fall into the Wiccan claws - that is a cult. 

People will also try to argue how...well, how big it is. Nothing that far-reaching or popular can be a cult. But I’d point you to a certain Big Blue building down in Florida and kindly suggest you find a new argument - that’s not flying here. Size nor influence matters. And no, that does not mean every single person that identifies as Wiccan is horrible or delusional or evil  or a predator - but as much as a few bad apples don’t make the whole batch bad; a few good apples in a tainted orchard doesn’t suddenly save the whole grove.

-M

[thedinanshiral]

On Solas

Decided to try to organise some of my thoughts on Solas, so here it goes.

What we first know of Solas is that he’s an elf and a mage, the elven hobo apostate. From the game we can learn he’s an electromancer (in autolevel he prioritises the Storm tree abilities), and later on a Rift Mage, one could assume because he’s the “Fade expert” but further on we learn is because he’s the one responsible for the creation of the Veil. 

There have always been elements linking him to Fen’Harel and then to the Fade and the Veil, as seen in the Fade Wall Shield dropped by Gaxkang (one of the Forbiden Ones) in DAO, a shield with a name that basically means Veil (what’s the wall in the Fade?) and has a wolf head design on it, design that somewhat resembles the Mask of Fen’Harel as seen in DA:Redemption. That Mask of Fen’Harel can be used to open portals on the Veil and into the Fade, and is activated in Redemption through an ritual that includes blood ( in the miniseries it turns out to be an elven girl’s blood).

Considering his stance on blood magic (remarkably similar to Merrill’s, by the way), I think it’s safe to say he has used it before. That’s possibly why the Mask of Fen’Harel is activated with blood, and that’s why in order to break the Veil open time and time again we’ve seen big bloody sacrifices must be made. First record of this is the Magisters Sidereal using blood magic and almost all lyrium available in Tevinter to rip the Veil open (lyrium also being blood, and elven slaves prefered for sacrifice for their special elven blood, this means a lot of blood with magical properties of one or other nature is required to break through the Veil), second instance of some form of blood offering meant to grant one physical access to the Fade is when Corypheus kills Divine Justinia during a ritual we only saw a glimpse of and was never explained. Thridly, we have repeated mentions of how spirits feel drawn to the Veil there where there’s been bloodshed, particularly battlefields. So it’s safe to assume blood in enough quantities weakens the Veil enough to make an opening.

The red lyrium idol is his. In Tevinter Nights he claimed it so, and i’ve already discussed this idol at length in a previous post. In TN however we get other bits of information, like how the idol seems to have a self-regenerating property (when it’s found intact inside Meredith’s red lyrium statue after she had used the idol to craft a sword), and most curiously, how it seems to be hollow and have some liquid inside that makes it feel like when one holds a bottle. We also learn in the Mortalitasi account that the idol may have a hidden blade and become a ritual knife. Perhaps the value of the red lyrium idol is not in it being made of red lyrium, but on its content. Say the idol we see is a hilt, it can produce a blade, and it’s filled with ...blood. I think it’s possible its content is blood.

As per Cole’s comment in Trespasser, “the wolf chewed its leg off to escape the trap”, that sounds more like he sacrificed a big part of himself, most likely his power, that he may have concentrated and stored in the very same idol used for the Veil ritual. It would also explain why the one who created the Veil would wake up from Uthenera so weakened. There’s his foci as well, but I think that one mainly held memories, and in those memories there was knowledge that could grant great power (rather than containing actual power). Why he’d be after the foci first and not the idol could be because the foci was the safest option, or the one he already knew the location of. Clearly, the Anchor was plan A, and the red lyrium idol seems to be plan B.

Then I suspect Solas has what I call Word power, a form of influence or manifestation magic. I’ve found two distinct instances where Solas seems to use this, the first being when at Skyhold he tells the Inquisitor to “wake up”, revealing their conversation was taking place in a dream in the Fade. Upon realising “this isn’t real” the Inquisitor doesn’t wake up, they only do it after Solas gives the command. The other instance is after Solas leaves the Inquisition, when the Inquisitor can talk to Cole and he speaks Solas’ words, a message Solas delivers through him.

Solas is also a Dreamer, possibly why the Inquisitor walks in on him while dreaming at Skyhold, and surely how Solas can manage to kill people in their sleep in TN (granted, those were dwarves and dwarves allegedly don’t dream, but as far as we know they may still have a presence in the Fade while asleep, just have no memory of dreaming, no awareness of it). In fact the first appearance of Solas in DA media was in TME where he meets Felassan in the Fade, while he dreams to contact him. It’s widely believed that Solas killed Felassan then and there.

Then he is clearly an artist. Seems murals are his primary medium for storytelling. He adorns the rotunda in Skyhold with murals depicting the story of the Inquisition as it unfolds. Trespasser has several more murals telling stories of what happened, and I think it’s safe to assume there’s more than one self-portrait in them. 

He’s a shapeshifter, as pointed by some codex entries that imply the Evanuris took dragon forms on ocassion, and in the Evanuris propaganda against him found at the Vir Dirthara. He is twice the shapeshifter or perhaps not a good one, depends on your perspective, if we consider his chosen form, the Dread wolf, is described as either a giant wolf with dragon-like scales, or a dragon of some lupine features.  Is the Dread Wolf a wolf that looks like a dragon, or a dragon that looks like a wolf? I found it kind of funny how in TN his appearance description includes spirits forming as wings of fire to fly him around. Personally I don’t consider Regret’s description here because that was a particular demon feeding off what he had left behind, not his actual image.

He is, in a way, the Maker. Of present Thedas, shaped by his creating the Veil. The implications of this interpretation brings forth many more questions i’m not currently dwelling on.Let’s ignore this for now and possibly forever, it gives me a headache.

He was a warrior, as expressed in his banter with Blackwall. Considering how in post-Arlathan wolves were guardians to the Emerald Knights, and how in Trespasser’s Deep Roads his statues are described as guarding alongside Mythal’s, it’s possible he was once one of Mythal’s soldiers, perhaps part of her personal Guard, becoming a friend -or more  - favoured enough, maybe rewarded for his service reaching to a point where he became almost an equal? From this analysis it could be that Solas ascended to Evanuris status after his contribution in the war against the Titans. He was rebel fighter too, as evidenced in his banter with Sera, he possibly started as part of a large army but then started a revolution that operated in much smaller cells.

He was Skyhold’s former master. That fortress belonged to him. The very name of the place, elven in origin, hints at it being the location from where the Veil was placed, or at the very least where the ritual for it was initially performed. I suspect he also had a significant presence in the Exalted Plains, something about it reminds me of the landscape from the Elven Ruins at Trespasser, also because it’s the one and only place so far where we see a shrine dedicated to Fen’Harel. In an area with an electric dragon ( yet another hint at his electromancy). More importantly, while the shrine’s codex leads us to believe the reason why elves would make the Dread Wolf any offering would be to appease him and be spared his evil doings, this shrine depicts a black wolf figure and a white wolf figure, which are reminiscing of Solas’ tarot cards, The Tower (big menaching shadow wolf figure) and The Hierophant ( fluffy white companion wolf figure). Whatever the reasons for the Dalish to erect a shrine to the Dread Wolf it seems somehow in some way a certain knowledge of his dual nature is not entirely lost. Also, there’s the gigantic wolf statue atop a mountain in the distance, biggest one i’ve seen so far:

Which brings me to the main point of this ramble, his latest symbol depincting three wolf heads on a brooch he’s wearing in DA4 concept art.

It may be symbolic in a couple of ways. First in regards to his identity as in the elf, the creator (Evanuris), and the betrayer. Secondly as in the man, the spirit, and the “god”. As well as the three different realms he is connected to: the physical world, the Void, and the Fade. Personally I doubt this is the strange symbol used by some self-identifying Agents of Fen’Harel in TN, I think what they may be wearing could be an elven rune or ancient symbol we haven’t seen yet, hence why it was described as “strange”. I mean, if I see three wolf heads, I say it’s three wolf heads. Interestingly enough, he still wears the wolf jawbone (in this new concept art, it has some new circular designs on it as well, if you zoom in on a better quality picture) and i’m forever curious why he even has that in the first place. Did he just pick it up to use as a subtle hint of his true identity, or did the bone belong to a wolf he cared about? Why has its design changed? 

So far this is what i have in mind about him. 

[fratresdei]

Spirituality Defined

Where did our working definition of spirituality come from? How has it evolved over centuries of research, ritual and belief? Philosophy grad Brayte Singletary stopped by the blog this week to take us on deep dive into the ever-elusive meaning of spirituality. Enjoy!

What even is spirituality? Rachel asks that very question in one of this blog’s first posts, and gives her answer there too. It’s one of the fundamental questions of spiritual direction. Those seeking or giving spiritual direction are liable to stumble on it sooner or later, through education or reflection. This post is one of those trips—and since it’s a bone we may need help chewing, I attempt to shine some Sirius-light on the best research I could dig up. Hopefully it’s illuminating.

In 2016 some researchers in Germany and the U.S. published the results of a formal investigation into the meaning of spirituality [A]. They based their investigation on a 2011 survey of Germans and Americans that asked, among other questions, “How would you define the term ‘spirituality’?” Approximately eighteen hundred different definitions came back, about forty percent German and sixty percent American. Quantifying these samples, the researchers started running statistical analysis.

First they looked for categories of response, grouping similar categories together and narrowing the list down to just those that make the most sense of overall response patterns [B]. They found that ten basically distinct concept clusters [C] come under the heading of spirituality, almost always in some combination [D]:

A keenly-felt connection to and harmony with nature, humanity, the world, the universe, or the whole of reality.

Dependence on, relationship to, or union with the divine; a part of religion, esp. Christianity.

A search for one’s higher or true inner self, meaning, purpose; knowledge of these things; attainment of peace or enlightenment, esp. in terms of a path or journey [E].

Holding and daily acting according to ethical values, especially in relation to others, one’s community, or humanity; a moral way of life [F].

Faith or belief in transmundane forces, energies, beings, a higher power, gods or God.

A noncommittal, indefinite, but intensely emotional, maybe loving sense that there is some thing(s) or being(s) higher than and beyond this world, this life, or oneself [G].

Experience and contemplation of reality and the truth, meaning, purpose, and wisdom, esp. if considered beyond scientific or rational understanding, inexplicable and indemonstrable.

Awareness of and attunement to another, immaterial or supernatural realm and its denizens (spirits, angels, ghosts, etc.); feeling their presence; using special techniques to perceive and interact with them (tarot, crystals, seances, etc.).

Opposite religion, dogma, rules, traditions; unstructured, irreverent, religious individualism.

Individual or private religious practice; prayer, worship, or meditation; relationship-deepening or connection-fostering personal rituals and devotional acts. 

Doing the same grouping and narrowing to unearth anything deeper, they found that all of these ten clusters fall somewhere on three scales, which they call the dimensions of spirituality [H]:

I. Vertical vs. horizontal general terminology for transcendence [I]

II. Theistic vs. non-theistic specific terminology for transcendence

III. Individual vs. institutional mediation of transcendence

Finally they found that this analysis confirms their larger research team’s theoretically-grounded hypothesis that the root definition of spirituality is:

Individually-mediated, experience-directed religion, esp. among religious nones [J]: i.e., religion oriented away from mediation through institutions, dependence on organizational structures and absolute authority claims, toward the immediacy of firsthand experience, emancipatory independence and value relative to the individual [K].

All this verbiage cries out for explanation. But for the moment let’s step back to marvel at our good luck in having research like this. Its conclusions about the meaning of spirituality—at least the ten concept clusters and three scales—came through something nearer experimentation in a laboratory than reflection in an armchair. In philosophical jargon, this argus-eyed approach was a posteriori rather than a priori; in anthropological jargon, emic rather than etic. As a result, we better see wrinkles in the meaning of spirituality, including internal inconsistencies that a cyclopic definitional scheme might smooth over, e.g., as a part of religion (2) and as opposite it (10).

For starters then, we see that this definition of spirituality is tripartite: “individually-mediated”, “experience-directed”, and “religion”. Since spirituality here is a kind of religion, religion is the core concept, so we’ll take it from there. That will lead to the three scales of spirituality, ‘vertical vs. horizontal terminology’ (I), ‘theistic vs. non-theistic terminology’ (II), and ‘individual vs. institutional mediation’ (III). “Individually-mediated” will come along with the third. That leaves only “experience-directed” and closing remarks. Now where did I put my patience for dry exposition…?

If none of it jibes with your own sense of spirituality, all the better! We all have much to learn, and outliers—you whose lives are led under stones yet unturned by science—have much to teach us.

First “religion”: For these researchers religion is any socially constructed system of symbols and rituals that interprets transcendent experience in ultimate terms [L]. This applies even to people who don’t consider themselves religious, including those who would self-describe as “spiritual but not religious”. But precisely what do transcendent experience and ultimate mean here? Transcendent experience—or simply ‘transcendence’—is any experience of “distance and departure from [the] everyday”, above and beyond the boundaries of ordinary experience [M]. More than just extraordinary, it exceeds our expectations of life and the world as we know it, e.g., by excelling in its class or defying classification (almost) altogether: the weirder and more wonderful, the more transcendent. So transcendent experience is often what we would traditionally call ‘religious experience’, but they make the distinction that it only counts as religious if on interpretation it’s cast in ultimate terms. Turning to “ultimate” then, here this is really elliptical for ‘of ultimate concern or importance to a person’. The ultimate is what “gives depth, direction and unity to all other concerns”, as theologian Paul Tillich puts it, from whom they draw the idea—e.g., our answers to basic questions about the world and our place in it [N]. Bringing these ideas together, a merely transcendent experience becomes genuinely religious when we see in it something all-important to us, and it becomes full-fledged religion when we build around it a symbolic-ritualistic framework of beliefs and practices. One’s framework needn’t be grand or widely-shared: it might be a slim private affair, like a single-person tent that’s as easy to pitch as to pack up and carry. Likewise a person can bring to transcendent experience a religious interpretive lens, or craft one afterwards just to come to terms with it. Either priority fits.

Before we move on to the next concept, let’s clear up some potentially misleading language in this definition of religion. To start, “socially constructed” here doesn’t necessarily mean ‘made up’, ‘fake’, or otherwise unreal. It just means that if nobody thought or talked about religion, there wouldn’t be any: its existence depends on its exercise. Likewise the claim that it “interprets” transcendent experience doesn't imply that it therefore misinterprets it. Indeed the opposite may well be true. Even elementary sense perception needs interpretation to become understanding: naked experience unclothed by categories or classifications is at best a muddle—e.g., in rounding an unfamiliar corner in the city or in coming out without warning on an open expanse in the country, when the sudden change of scenery produces a visual experience of undifferentiated shape and color, it’s all just optical nonsense until reason and intellect, as it were, catch up, and organize this sense data into a coherent picture: only then when interpretation goes to work does one finally know what she’s looking at. Although we may at times be apt to make meaning where there is none, often enough we find it right where it belongs. So this definition doesn’t debunk religion; it merely says that, assuming it has this experiential basis, it’s imbued with the meaning we give it, veracious or fallacious.

The terminology of our interpretation, i.e., our way of using terms for and ideas about the ultimate, admits of a couple distinctions. These are also the first and second scales of spirituality above (I-II): vertical-horizontal, and within that, theistic and non-theistic [O]. The former measures the metaphysical distance transcendent experience crosses. The latter measures the unity and personality and sometimes also the clarity of the religious object. Vertical terminology characteristically evokes what we would traditionally call the transcendent, e.g., God and heaven—generally, the otherworldly. It aims at things other than and over this world and oneself in it. Horizontal terminology tends the other way, toward the traditionally immanent, e.g., nature and humanity. Leaning this-worldly, it aims at things in and of the world and the world itself. Notably, whereas the vertical is often explicitly religious, the horizontal’s religiosity can even escape the notice of the person professing it [P]. Within this distinction is that between theistic and non-theistic terminology. The apparent presence of God, gods, and god-like beings or forces maps an important area of vertically transcendent experience, as their apparent absence does an antipodean area of horizontally transcendent experience. But this also sheds light on terminology between vertical and horizontal. This family of views sees the ultimate as in neither our world nor a world beyond, but rather in “a world behind”, i.e., behind and beneath the world’s surface appearances [Q]. Typically this is non-theistic, e.g., about ghosts, spirits, energies, or forces.

A gloss of the third scale (III) now moves into view, and with it “individually-mediated”: Individual-institutional mediation of transcendence measures the directness or indirectness of a person’s access to transcendent experience, i.e., the extent and power of the gatekeepers standing in her way. As these researchers put it, “Institutionalized mediation says that ... there is no other way to transcendence than through the church, sacraments, and priests; that there is no other truth than the sanctioned teachings; and that the ultimate concern is determined by the institution and its tradition” [R]. By contrast, and often in vociferous reply, individual-mediation says, “there is no or very little mediation of transcendence, but rather the experiential immediacy of the individual; there are no claims of absoluteness, but the individualistic evidence of experience; there is no or very little organization or structure" [S]. In this way, against so-called organized religion’s usual mediation by institutions, esp. hierarchical structures operating them, spirituality favors an unpatrolled, gates-wide-open setup. Yet it doesn’t follow from such independence that spirituality is therefore a lonely pursuit—though “flight of the alone to the Alone”, i.e., hermetic mysticism, is surely right at home here too [T]. We’re able to have experiences with others, just not for them, so it can be equally possible to pursue direct experience of transcendence with others as by oneself.

Lastly, “experience-directed”: This means that, whereas transcendent experience might play no ongoing role in a religion’s usual exercise, e.g., as none other than an oft-remembered historical event, in spirituality it takes the lead. Ritual, symbol, etc., become at best aids to pursuit of transcendence, but at worst impediments. Therefore spirituality in its purest, i.e., barest, form may focus on such experience exclusively; and since “directed” here means both ‘directed to’ and ‘directed by’, the religious ideal may resemble an upward spiral of being led from transcendence to transcendence by transcendence. Still this isn’t to say that spirituality takes direction from nothing else, or that by focusing on transcendence even exclusively, the rest of familiar religion vanishes. A spiritual purist may disavow religious side projects in pursuit of her wonted mode of transcendence, or she may simply subordinate them to it as various means to this end. Yet while she might style herself as therefore unencumbered in her pursuit of raw experience, her religious interpretive lens remains ever-present, however unwittingly. It must, or else her chase after the spiritual would be of the wild-goose variety. E.g., someone undergoing a crisis of faith might discover to her horror that she’s no longer able to participate in her favorite religious exercises, since the vinegar of doubt now spoils every well from which she used to draw joy. Since her experiences can’t mean what they used to, they can’t be what they used to either.

Let’s sum up with a little illustration. Consider this spiritual foil: one an atheistic nature lover, the other a Catholic anchoress. The former’s approach is thoroughly horizontal and non-theistic. She takes regular hikes to feast on natural beauty and sublimity, but deems it all mere serendipity in a chaotic cosmos. She’s a proficient adventurer, as comfortable with friends as without. She might not spurn a Beatrice to guide her through some earthly paradise, but her trust would be that when she came face to facelessness with wild abundance, her delight would need no shepherd. The abundance itself would call out of her everything necessary for its appreciation. In this way she mediates her own pursuit of these experiences. Their ultimacy for her comes not only from her denial of the otherworldly, but also from her judgment that nature is intrinsically, i.e., ultimately, good—or at least, that immersion in it stirs and sustains her is. Conversely, the latter’s approach is thoroughly theistic and vertical, and manifestly ultimate. She spends her life in solitary prayer. Sometimes during contemplation of the divine she has ecstatic visions or auditions. But whatever happens, her daily goal is total abandonment to God. Still even with the individuality of her self-mediating lifestyle, it retains considerable institutionality. She holds fast to piety towards the Church, its orthodoxy and orthopraxy. Yet despite this rigid adherence to ecclesiastical authority—or, she would say, because of it—, she lives as a recluse whose sole aim is attaining union with Him Whom she worships as Transcendence Itself. Both in their disparate ways are individually-mediated, experience-directed religion.

Here we are then! We’ve gained at long last the real meaning of spirituality, right? Well, maybe: We have to trust not only that German and American ideas of spirituality are the same as everybody else’s, but also that the notions of these particular people are the same as those of other Germans and Americans [U]. Moreover we must take for granted that what they put in Tweet-sized writing when a survey bluntly asked them their opinion is the same as what they think all the time, even when they’re not thinking about what they think [V]. Still science has yet to master the art of mind-reading. So even if this isn’t the definitive definition of ‘spirituality’, it’s got my money for our best guess yet.

In Rachel’s post, she’s wise to the width of variety, saying, “Spirituality has been defined and redefined throughout human history, and it is now my intention to shout yet another definition to the abyss.” For her, its definition is: “the practice of deriving any amount of meaning from any event, thought, or activity.” Looking back at the ten concept clusters above, this bears striking resemblance to parts of (3) and (7). She’s in good company. Clinicians and care professionals typically promote this conception: e.g., psychological measures of wellbeing that account for spirituality usually cast it in these terms, viz., purpose and meaning. Though some have wondered whether this confuses spirituality with a part of mental health, the findings above resoundingly vindicate it as an important part of the spiritual puzzle [W]. If they also solve that puzzle, hopefully they do so more in the spirit of Ariadne’s clue out of the Labyrinth than Alexander’s sword through the Knot. At the very least, such research is a waypoint on the path to understanding. If none of it jibes with your own sense of spirituality, all the better! We all have much to learn, and outliers—you whose lives are led under stones yet unturned by science—have much to teach us. So it’s still worth asking:

What does spirituality mean to you? Please share your definition in the comments.

Unpack what spirituality uniquely means to you through the ancient practice of spiritual direction. Schedule a free online session through the link in the comments.

Endnotes:

A. Eisenmann, Clemens, et al. “Dimensions of “Spirituality”: The Semantics of Subjective Definitions.” Semantics and Psychology of Spirituality: A Cross-Cultural Analysis, ed. by Heinz Streib & Ralph Wood, Jr., Springer, 2016, p. 125.

B. Op. cit., pp.129-35. Before grouping and narrowing them together and down, these were the forty-four recurring categories they found:

Faith and belief, believing, belief system

Connectedness, relationship, in touch with, harmony

Individual, personal, private, subjective

Everyday, daily life, way of life, to act

Values, (higher) order, morals, karma

God (also the Father, Lord, Creator, the Divine)

Unspecified transcendent: something bigger, beyond, greater; “may be”

Feeling, emotion, intuition, empathy, heart, love

Within, self, higher Self, inner core, essence

Seeking, path, journey, reaching, to evolve, to achieve

Awareness, consciousness, sense of, feeling a presence, in tune

Supernatural, non-material, cannot see or touch

Transcendental higher power/forces/energy

Thinking about, to understand, to reflect, contemplation

Relation to the world, nature, environment, universe

Cannot be explained or scientifically proven, beyond understanding

Higher/beyond/greater/other than oneself/humans/this life

Relation to others, community, all humanity, humankind

Experience, sensory perception Spirit and mind

Rest (i.e., the remainder of uncategorized responses)

Practices, to practice (one’s faith), music, prayer, worship, meditation

(Inner) peace, enlightenment and other attitudes and states of being

Guided, destined, controlled, saved, healed, dependent

Part of religion, Christian, biblical

All-connectedness, part of something bigger

Meaning and (higher) purpose, questions and answers

Transcendental absolute, “unity of existence,” omnipresent and indiscriminate, the one

Otherworldly, beyond this world, “spiritual” realms Acknowledge, to recognize, to accept, to realize Vague, unclear, unsure; bullshit, fantasy, hocus pocus Without rules, tradition, norms, dogma, structure, directions (21) Something else than religion, without worship

Energies, vital principle, ghosts, angels and demons, spirits

The truth, true nature of existence, wisdom, reality (4) Jesus, Christ, Holy Spirit, the Son Greater being/person, deities, gods Soul

Universal category, basis of mankind Esoteric, occultism, spiritism, mystic, magic (39) Deal with, interest in, engagement, focus

Part and beyond religion Obedience and devotion Life after death.

C. I borrow the notion of concept clusters from passing familiarity with Ludwig Wittgenstein’s philosophy of language.

D. Op. cit., pp. 137-8. Paraphrase.

E. Whereas spirituality conceived of as a part of religion (2) fits nicely with its mostly premodern history as just that, the conception immediately following of it as a journey to one’s true inner self (3) sits well with modern social movements toward individualism and subjectivism: op. cit., p. 146.

F. Spirituality conceived of as living out one’s values may partly underlie the self-identification “spiritual but not religious”. Here ’spirituality’ primarily indicates an ethical concern that being merely ‘religious’ doesn’t—not just talking the talk but walking the walk: ibid. More clearly this identification involves some combination of clusters with (9).

G. The much-maligned vagueness of spirituality’s meaning may come from this conception of it as a sense of something indefinite and beyond: ibid. N.b., philosophers of language usually distinguish vagueness, i.e., unclear meaning due to imprecise extension over borderline cases, from ambiguity, i.e., unclear meaning due to polysemy—having multiple meanings.

H. Op. cit., p. 143. Paraphrase. Their dimensions are: (I) mystical vs. humanistic transcending; (II) theistic vs. non-theistic transcendence; and (III) individual “lived” experience vs. dogmatism.

I. I use “transcendence” and “transcendent experience” interchangeably throughout this post. Though there may be other forms of transcendence than experience, talk of ‘transcendence’ as an event and not, e.g., as a divine attribute, usually means ‘experience of transcendence’, i.e., ‘transcendent experience’.

J. Religious nones get their names from those who answer “none” to demographic polls asking their religious affiliation. In other words, they are the religiously unaffiliated. Cf. unchurched.

K. Op. cit., p. 148. Paraphrase. Their definition is privatized experience-oriented religion, following research by other members of their team: Streib, Heinz, & Wood, Jr., Ralph. “Understanding “Spirituality”—Conceputal Considerations.” Semantics and Psychology of Spirituality: A Cross-Cultural Analysis, ed. by Heinz Streib & Ralph Wood, Jr., Springer, 2016, p. 9. Ensuing fns. refer to that ch.

L. Op. cit., p. 11. Cf. Emile Durkheim’s definition of religion, popular esp. in U.S. religious studies depts.: “a unified system of beliefs and practices relative to sacred things, that is to say, things set apart and forbidden—beliefs and practices which unite into one single moral community called a Church, all those who adhere to them”: The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. trans. Carol Cosman, Oxford Univ. Press, 2001, p. 46.

M. Op. cit., p. 10.

N. Op. cit., p. 11.

O. Strictly speaking, non-theistic terminology could be either vertical or horizontal, while theistic terminology is by definition vertical. As it happens however, or at least according to this research, our thinking about spirituality typically separates out the theistic and vertical from the non-theistic and horizontal.

P. Op. cit., p. 12.

Q. Ibid.

R. Op. cit. p. 14.

S. Ibid. They also mention here sectarian middle mediation “through a prophetic and charismatic person”.

T. Famous last words of the Neoplatonic classic: Plotinus. Enneads. VI.9.11. trans. Andrew Louth, qtd. in The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition: From Plato to Denys, Oxford Univ. Press, 1981, p. 51.

U. Cf. WEIRD bias (Western, educated, industrialized, rich, and democratic), an ongoing problem for representative sampling: Henrich, Joseph, Heine, Steven J., & Norenzayan, Ara. “The weirdest people in the world?” Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 33, 2-3, 2010, 61–83. In fact there were some statistically significant differences between German and American responses: American definitions of spirituality were more Christian or otherwise traditionally religious, mentioning Jesus and the Holy Spirit much more, but God only a little more—presumably because theism goes beyond Christianity. Still when they did mention God it was more often in Christian terms of a personal and sovereign lord. Likewise they mentioned faith and belief much more often, and this was more often faith or belief in something beyond, higher power(s), god(s), or God (5). Their notions of spiritual power were also further outside and over themselves, as in talk of guidance or obedience. By contrast German definitions of spirituality were warier of dogma and authority, whether religious orthodoxy or scientific consensus. They mentioned experience, as opposed to belief, more often, and were generally more esoteric, occult, and magical in their terminology, talking of the otherworldly in more universal but impersonal or abstract, terms. They were also more critical of spirituality, oftener complaining of its vagueness or even dismissing it as bovine fecal material. Still despite all this the researchers noted that American and German definitions were much, much more alike than different. These differences should therefore be understood as in emphasis, not substance. Their considerable overlap, striking in itself, forms the basis of the ten concept clusters and the three scales.

V. We must also assume that the scientific method deserves our confidence, and that the concept of spirituality, if not spirituality itself, is amenable to investigation by it. Other assumptions include those about word meaning, natural kinds, and other hot topics of debate in the philosophy of language and science—all of which would take us far afield of the present discussion. May curious readers experience transcendence of this post!

W. Eisenmann, Clemens, et al., p. 147.

[edmund-valks]

A Post-Mortem, So To Speak

Sometimes simple objects had surprising history.  Her childhood had been a long lesson in not judging things by their appearances, so this was not news to her.  She just hadn't expected it to apply to the old knife she'd received from Granny Laine after her Consecration.

The iron blade was worn and rough, not to mention bad at keeping an edge.  That, a young Ilandreline had been informed, was to ensure the bearer kept it always in mind.  When you needed it, you needed it ready.  That meant near daily attention to ensure its sharpness.  There was nothing otherwise special about it that Granny had mentioned.  When the time had come to conduct her first Celebration, the rite had gone exactly as any other.  The other night, however…

As a rule, only the offerer's blood was consumed by the blade, and even then only during specific moments of ritual.  Hers had decided to go a bit farther this last time, absorbing the excess from the offering before she had a chance to wipe it clean.  Probabilistically speaking, she was sure that counted as an omen.  The problem was, Ila hadn't paid much attention to the Signs and Portents segment of her religious education.

Her mother would know.  That was sort of her thing, keeping the traditions alive and well.  She also had the thankless task of updating them to stay current in a world that had altered drastically in a single generation.  The Dark Portal had changed things, apparently.  Not as much as outsiders might expect, but enough to cause some discord with the older folk who hated having to adapt to anything new.

The problem with her mother -- okay, one of the problems with her mother -- was that she was back home and Ila was… not.  If she wanted a proper consultation on how current events intersected with the family faith, she’d have to take a trip of questionable duration and with a nonzero chance of death.  Was that really worth it?

Ilandreline chewed on a tough strip of dried meat, considering the knife as it lay on her workbench.  She could probably leave it be, ignore the questions completely.  Assuming she could resist the temptation of getting answers, which she generally could not, and that it wouldn't somehow come back to bite her later, which she was fairly certain was not going to be the case.

Memorizing the rites was easy, as was being part of the congregation when you knew how they worked.  But Ila knew they were reliable now, which made them a bit more science-y and a little less faith-y than she'd always assumed.  While she had never really questioned her family's beliefs, that wasn't the same as seeing them manifest results.  There'd been plenty of sacrifices, sure, and they'd always produced effects, but she'd assumed that had more to do with the Darkspeakers being talented summoners.  She knew she was not; that her ritual had produced a tangible change was… unexpected.

Unnerving, too, if she was being honest.  Better than most, Ilandreline was aware that magic was nothing more than a highly encoded practice of patterns designed to exploit gaps in the way mind and world interacted.  If you had the decryption algorithm, every spell was decipherable, whether you could cast it yourself or not.  She'd learned many of those algorithms in her youth, even helped develop a few for the relatives she liked or trusted.  But this was something different, and the way it relied on an outside power for fulfillment made her wary.

The elf sighed, knowing what she needed to do even if she was trying her best not to admit it.  Cramming the last bit of cheek-jerky into her mouth, she chewed interminably while trying to find the right way to phrase the letter’s opening.  Her mother’s… strong feelings… on Ila’s departure had been made abundantly clear, both at the time and in a series of letters that followed.  Maybe an apology was in order?  No, apologies were for people who felt regret for their actions.

Mother, she began, I’ll be returning soon for a short period of time.  I have questions I think only you can answer, about the Great Dark and other things.  I don’t know when.  Please don’t tell anyone, except perhaps Granny Laine.  I may have to seek audience with her; if she needs to be warned, I’d appreciate if you could take care of that for me.

Not too weak, she thought.  It was mostly business, straightforward.  Good enough.

Behind watchful eyes,

Ilandreline

[knowingoverseer]

==> - a Miss

An excited purr escapes your throat as you pick up the attuned Tuning Fork, okay, okay. Okay. You.... you needed to get ready for this! Oh, yeah you weren't prepared. Kicking at the chalk you’d used in your ritual a bit to muss up the lines (not that they could be used for anything else), you note to clean up your mess later as you run about collecting what you need. Your travel coat, your shoulder bag, your sword, all things you kept in your work room. The last thing you needed, however, was the watch Star was attached to. 

Star was technically all over your hive now a days. An AI who use to go by the name Mabel, given to you by a long lost friend, she now called herself Star and had made a home of the computers and surveillance systems your brother, Calib, once had rigged through the hive for more nefarious purposes.She still, however, frequented outings with you held within the high-tech watch she originally was homed in. The watch itself has seen a few upgrades since, all thanks to Star’s own technological prowess. Truly an heir of Harley genius. Generally you kept the watch upstairs, in your room next to your main computer because Star had the ability to interact with it there.  “✨- Omg omg omg omg!!!!” A chime like an old videogame twinkle effect sounded over some speakers, signalling Star was taking them over to speak. She could technically reach you in the basement, but didn’t have cameras down there to see what you had been doing. Regaurdless, she sounded excited. “✨- This is it this is it!!  ✨- You’re finally gonna go find her! It’s been like, elevendy billion years Callie!  ✨- I bet she’s gonna be like! SO SO HAPPY! When you find her I mean. YEAH!” “heh, maybe? i mean i hope so. i’ve missed her, bUt it’s still kinda weird she’s never tried to come back on her own.”   “✨- She’s going to be so happy that you’re RESCUING HER!” “star, i really don’t think she needs rescUed. i mean droog didn’t, she’s every bit as capa-” “✨- Then how come she never came home?” “that’s... that’s what i was getting at. i don’t know.” You sigh, shutting off the doorway to your workroom for now and going over to unplug the smartwatch. It was fully charged and perfectly synced with Star’s main hub, and wouldn’t start diverging until you left the area of Wi-Fi. A bright blue hologram of Star’s current fursona popped up above the watch’s screen, barely showing off the sheer sparkle-dog-ness of her current avatar: The frutiest fruit bat to ever fruit. It changed often, but there were always some giveaways it was Star. The fun sweaters were usually the key focus. As well as the blue colouration, as the hologram projector has always had the ability to produce other colours. Blue was just.... easiest? You don’t actually know. “✨- She isn’t avoiding you, you know that right?” The hologram spoke, fluttering itself up to get right in your face about it. “it’s! it’s not really me i’m worried she’s avoiding! it’s-” “✨- Dumbra! I know, I know! But don’t forget you talk to me too when you’re drunk and yo-” “ANYWAYS, star, i need yoUr help. i know i asked yoU this before, bUt yoU really don’t mind coming along to help me figUre oUt where all this thing is going to take me? i’m not bUgging?” “✨ - Hmph! But no, of course not silly! This is the only way I can, you know, stretch my legs!” The hologram flapped up further to wiggle it’s anatomically incorrect ‘bat’ legs, laughing at her own joke before receding back to the space just above the watch.  “✨ - Besides, you know I love helping you. It’s practically what I was created for!” You’re not sure why you think it would be better to try this outside than in your already magically charged basement, but you head out the front door. You’ve called out to Chess to let her know you were leaving, as well as texted Davara. As soon as the cool night air hits you you’re pulling the hesitantly dubbed Travel Tunner from your sylledex and removing your wand from your strifedex. You stand at the edge of the plateau your home is situated on, holding both instruments out in front of you. You only give yourself a moment’s more hesitation before you hit your wand against the metal fork, hard.  The sound it makes is loud, you can feel it reverberating not just in the air around you but up your arms as well. Your vision starts to swim, and you feel almost vague and fuzzy for a moment, like you were fading out of existence. Simultaneously fading back into existence elsewhere. Where exactly, though, is unclear. It takes a moment to reorient yourself from the travel, but.... looking around, you really can’t see anything. You’re in.... some kind of room? A really big room. Not completely devoid of light, either, but what light was coming through was from.... from.... You had to squint, but there was light coming from the ceiling. The ceiling itself seemed to be made of some sort of round crystal or glass, but the natural light that would normally be filtering through was clouded over by a dark storm. Thunder could be heard in the distance, and.... you strain your ears because there’s something else you can’t quite place. But before you can place it, you become acutely aware you’re no longer a troll. You’re human. Which means.... this was a world inhabited by Pokemon, based on your previous use of Human transformation spells. “meenah?”  You call out, taking a few steps forward. The dim, barely there light didn’t give you much to go on, but you think there was some kind of chair on one side of the room. A hallway on the other. Still.... there was a sound. Like... like..... It was water sloshing! Beneath the floor, actually. You snap, realizing where you were. Or at least, a version of where you were.  This was the Alolan Champion’s room. Your own time as the Kalos champion had you learn the ins and outs of the special stadiums needed for league battles. And while it wasn’t the most common, there were trainers who used exclusively Water-residing pokemon, like Goldeen and Finneon who, while they could battle on land, were at a severe disadvantage when fighting. Thus the floors were set up in such a way that half the arena could open up to a pool, or even the whole arena dependent on the teams battling. Still, this was only half the puzzle of where you were, and unfortunately you’ve got a sinking feeling you know why you were brought here instead of to Meenah. “okay star, coUld yoU check where we are in the mUltiverse right now?” “✨- Sure thing just give me a moment....” You can’t help but get a feeling of being watched, and you wonder if there’s cameras set up. The shadow overtaking the room was probably in your better interest then, because you’re not sure how you’d explain sudden teleportation in.... actually, no, you could technically use your Gallade as an excuse but- “✨- OMG CALLIE! You’re never gonna believe this. We’re in our pokemon timeline! Like, the very exact one! You’re coming up as the Kalos champion an everything!” Ah... yeah, you were correct. You sigh, looking down at the fork. This.... was probably your fault. “what about anything on meenah makara? can yoU check?” “✨- Mmmmm nope, nothing on Meenah is showing up. There’s a Mina who’s apparently the Fairy not-gym leader for Alola but that’s the only result I’m finding.”

You sigh heavier, yeah, you did this. Reaching up you run a hand through your hair, groaning. Still, on the bright side at least it didn’t teleport you off to like. The 1920s again or some such. Still, you know what happened. “when i attUned the tUning forks i mUst have imprinted my more recent associations with meenah into the ritUal. when i played sUn and moon, i was whistfUlly playing as if i were her, so of coUrse it takes Us to the most familiar variation of the alolan champion’s room. caUse that’s where i’d have last really.... felt connected to her. stUpid.... stUpid, hUh?” More sighing. Well, at least you know what went wrong, and how to get out of here too. You were either going to have to practice tuning without letting associations get in your way, or try and find something of Meenah’s to use with the ritual instead. Both were viable, but first.... you really needed to get out of here. And home.  “✨- Nooo! Not stupid. You’re being really hard on yourself Callie! This was your first time out!” You put your wand and fork away, relying on tried and true methods of teleportation to get out of here. Turning on the ball of your foot, you zap away to the Pokemon Center in Tapu Village only a few miles out from here. You had a transportalizer set up there, so it was easy to get home. “mmmmaybe, it’s fine. i’ve got some ideas on what to do next, bUt i think one go roUnd is enoUgh for tonight, don’t yoU?”

[witchywitchstudies]

Witchy note before beginning New Moon Ritual:

Snow brings so much to me

I love and appreciate what it symbolizes to me as well

Rebirth- growth, refreshed. Restart. Build over. Covering footsteps of the past. Leaving no trace or clear boundary of where earth and water begin. Reflection, light bearing, soft, beautiful but also dangerous if not respected. (Not very different from Lava now that I think about it!)

Being able to gaze upon it, especially while reflecting with friends from the heart over the phone, has been such a healing experience.

I think seeing beauty in front of me helped me process the beauty in everything and the beauty that was happening now and around me- with our conversation and time together, and even helped me see the beauty in me- which I will say is rare for me to be aware of, that self reflection and self love. (Have I ever realized over the past few days, how life is definitely a team sport! At least for most of us- I imagine the only people that don’t, live a solo life- in the woods/mountains- in a cabin chopping wood, etc.)

I feel Nature could be the best medicine for any ailing mind, body, spirit, even soul. Or someone experiencing all of the above.

Just wish I could remember its with me everywhere, and able to be carried anywhere- my hands, feet, eyes, ears, etc.

Best way to help me fight those unwanted animalistic behaviors humans biologically have on the daily, yo.

Fight those unwanted animalistic behaviors I feel don’t help me be the best that I am. Nature, help remind me that I am human, and human only. Full of imagination, power of creation, light and love, but also mistakes and unrealized behaviors. We must walk in self-love, kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and humor.

Hope/Wonder probably wouldn’t hurt either. ;)

Alright! New Moon Ritual Time!

Sat. ~2:30PM

Notes for New Moon Seeds taken earlier in the week:

It’s a New Moon today

And it’s starting to snow for the next 4 days

Pretty magical and awesome

What seeds do I want to plant for this next moon cycle?

Goals/Interests:

—Start research/first steps towards becoming educated in Social Justice, Human Rights, and how to properly be an activist.

— First steps towards being an activist, sign up for Social Justice and Human Rights and Civil Rights (taking the next steps following the above)

— Research Viking/Nordic/pagan similiar gender fluid terms/genders

— Start a Patreon Draft-write out draft/business plan/purpose/schedule; post weekly versus bi-weekly, mental health, social justice, art process, personal facts, personal art, the development and maintanence of the artist artistically, spiritually, physically and mentally-etc- nail it down to x amount of topics, etc., goodies, etc.

— Practice walking in Self-Love every day. Build Ego strength, confidence, emotional IQ and awareness. Take note of what self image/identity/ptsd flags are

— Rituals- draft pm and reasses am

— Reading book list

— Create create create, draw draw draw

— Wolf Paw Pins!!!

— Organize (and maybe prioritize?) big goals- patreon, comic, tarot deck, store merch-schedule timing of releases(if do able), twitch/discord, super hero personaetc.

Animals popping up-

Hearing humminbird

Raccoon stories

Coyote stories

Bear stories

Have been really digging listening to podcasts made by WOC - “Thanks For Your Concern” and “The Self- Love Fix” podcast to name a few

Been really enjoying the work rituals that have fallen into place- naturally happened. Maybe feel that out with home as well?

I’ve been heavily enjoying journaling during my break, and listening to motivating self love podcast.

Gives me a sense of calm. Peace. Closeness to self, or at least closer before approaching an unpredictable day. (A fear I am working more on facing- unpredictability. A moment of calm/self time/moment/quiet/no distractions/focus/freshness before doing anything, especially outside, helps a lot in this area.)

This cycle’s crystal pack: Business, Motivation, Self-Love, Creativity, Human/Civil/Social-Justice/Rights, Identity

Fluorite: Business, motivation, creativity, self-work

Jade: Business, justice,

Lodestone: business, motivation, spirituality (find your path),

Malachite: Business, self work, transformation

Tiger’s Eye: creativity, success (business), self-work,

Tourmaline: business, self-work, transformation, self-love

Amethyst: Justice, self-work, creativity

Carnelian: Justice, creativity, self—work,

Rose Quartz: Justice, self-love

Tarot Reading: (2 cards fell out, as soon as I started to ask- and got paranoid they were not the cards. I looked at them anyway, just in case. Guess what. I shuffled, cleared the mind, shuffled, cut the deck and pulled the bottom of the deck- rare for me to do for the moon ritual. ALL THAT IS HOLY. The cards were the same xD Hilarious. Thank goodness my deck and the universe is so kind, especially with my suspicions and paranoia. XD)

Ace of Wands: Good Judgement needed more than ever, don’t rush into it. Thrilling to embark on new journey- growth all around, ideas and outlook expand, creativity seems endless. Fertile time- Expansion and Inspiration

The Sun (Also in last Full Moon’s reading): Spend some extra time outside today, be grateful for the radiance of the sun and the life force it gives all creatures. Soaking in warm rays- nourishing, healing, all aches and pains fade away. Sun brings amazing energy into life, Vitality and health abound-feel assurance and clarity in all doings- Vitality, enlightenment.

As a story/together: interesting- there is something big in the center for both of these cards. The Ace of Wands- the center is a radiating blooming wand- (Ume? Shinya and I were talking about? Blooming before spring?) Surrounded by a white light/glowing, and radiating yellow to orange to red, outward. Beautiful. The sun card is bordered with doves flying in each corner direction, away from the center, two up and two down, NE, SE, SW, NW- the center, red hot black sun. Radiating from the darkness, rods, strands, energies, beams, fractals of light, energy, saturation, color and burst-forth ness, but smoothly, from the center of eternity and forever- it seems. Vitality. Goes from black, to red, to orange, to yellow, to green at the birds, and blue beyond that. Radiating further outward when coming from the depths. Ace of wands powerful, beautiful, radiant, but the Sun is vibrant- beaming from a deeper darker place, but shining and bringing forth oh so much light and warmth. Ooooo.. tell-tale of self reflection, love and how it will help me fight for justice?

Rune Reading:

Fehu (again interestingly) - Wealth, especially-

“livestock, especially cattle. Latin made the same associations—our word “pecuniary” comes from the Latin pecus, a cow—demonstrating that for the early Indo-Europeans, wealth was not only transferable, but could move under its own power. Like the Celts, the early Germanic peoples were a cattle culture. Dairy products were a staple of the diet. The most valued beasts were kept through the winter in one end of the communal longhouse. The animals which could not be fed until spring were sacrificed to honor the gods and feed the people. One way or another, wealth was counted in cows.

Wealth to be guarded, not hoarded- “Nor should it lull one into a false sense of security. Welcome though it may be, it must be taken as a gift of the gods. Neither the fruits of the earth nor the love of others can ever be owned (the last verse implies a special warning not to treat women as property!). They are loaned to us only, to be used productively and shared with others. True riches are the wealth the soul gains from a life well-lived.”

“Meanings ascribed to this rune by modern commentators range from the mystical to the practical. Willis believes that the kind of wealth represented by cattle is that which grows when cared for, which can produce more money when wisely invested, but that the rune sometimes means the need to conserve resources. Thorsson, on the other hand, sees in the rune motion and expansion of power, mobility, luck, and fertility.

FEHU is always a rune of productivity, though the context may vary. Spiritual or artistic creativity, physical fertility, or the ability to create or to maintain wealth can be indicated, or it may signify an improvement in one's finances or health.

FEHU is one of the runes used to invoke passion, productivity, and prosperity in a couple being married. (And gardening growth/nourishment!)

Advice Card Reading: (The Four Agreements)

Be Ware of Unconcious Assumptions

Become a White Witch (with my word as well- the biggest!)

[deadpoet117]

A Fairly Normal Day

This is a fic I wrote a while ago based on a writing prompt. Enjoy!

It was a fairly normal day, well, as normal as it could be in my line of work. Magic shops get all sorts of customers; the intelligent, the stupid, the belligerent, the wondering, the wandering, the help I'm out of my depth, and everything in between. In a way, a magic shop is like a bar, at least in terms of the clientele. I was reading Mation's Magic & Wizardry: What You Need to Know. What a load of rubbish. Yes, Mation had a few good pebbles of wisdom and knowledge, but it was mostly nonsense. It was your typical pseudo-self-help book written for a cheap buck. I don't have anything against self help books mind you. In fact, I enjoy Horatio Al-Azeer's Your Newfound Power. As a young boy with budding magic, it was just what I needed, Guidance of do's and do not's, but also encouraging to finding your own path, a rather balanced blend in all honesty. The book taught me about magical responsibility almost as much as my parents did. Never underestimate a good book. Of course, when you use magic, there are a lot of books involved.

         That was when the classic chime of the bell hit my ears. It was just a little too loud, and I never liked it, but mom always loved it so I kept it up. Oh the things we do for our mothers. The prospect customer weaved through several isles. Nothing too special, just the standard mystical whatnots. Her plastic grocery sack swung about, making me a bit nervous. Plenty of people have come in here assuming that everything was sturdy as iron. After a while, she huffed. I couldn't tell if it was frustration or defeat. I had my nose in my ludicrous book when she came up to the counter. The audacity! A customer expecting help? At a store! I simply hoped she wouldn't be one of those whiners, they were the worst.

"Excuse me, could you help me?" her tone was soft, almost unsure. I was pleasantly surprised. "I can't really find what I'm looking for is all..." so she was after a specialty product, this should be good.

I nodded attentively. "Depends on what you're looking for" the cover of my book met the wood of the counter with a tap, "some things are harder to come by than others, and then there's pricing..." she simply plopped her bag in front of me. Unlike my book, the sack made a thud. I was always afraid of what people might bring in their bags and their sacks and their purses.

"I uh... m-my friend told me how it all works, so I brought some stuff in" my my, an irregular that actually knows the ropes, at least in theory. My curiosity as to her source would have to wait. "I need" she paused as she scrambled to dig a small note from her pocket. The handwriting must have been nigh illegible judging from how hard she was squinting. "um... ichor?" ok, maybe she didn't quite know what she was doing, "not sure what kind. L-let's see..." a stutter and a pause, don't get many double whammies, "a still beating heart--er, human--a phoenix feather, and a seer's eye?"

"That's gonna be quite the order, do you think you can cover it?" an eyebrow cocked as I spoke, albeit involuntarily.

"Y-yeah" from the bag she produced quite a few items, I wondered if it might be bigger on the inside. Those were rare, and the only people who knew how to create such objects died out long ago in eons past. A heart (not beating), a severed hand (goody), and a small leather pouch covered in some sort of dust or powder. I looked at her expectantly, I wasn't entirely sure what she expected here. "Well, there's a severed hand, I was told those kinds of things can have all sorts of uses" she wasn't wrong "the pouch there is human skin and bone dust, and the last is obviously a heart. I was told that you could reanimate it, whatever that means".

         Aha! I enjoy being a shop keeper, but I wish I could do services like these more often, they're so active and fun. Then it sunk in--did a murderous psycho wander into my shop? Was I next?

She shook her head, "whatever you may be thinking, I didn't kill anyone, I work at the morgue, so these were fairly easy to come by."

         Ah yes, a pre-grave grave robber, nothing odd there. I told her to wait, going through the turnstile behind me (my mother had it installed, she was odd) into the back rooms. Enchantments, enchanted items, enchanted pets, potions, then the ichor section, wonderful. You'd be surprised how much ichor--in short, life force--one could find. God blood, God essence (yes, those are two different things), wizard blood, witch blood, blood of an ancient, immortal saliva (don't ask), and so on. I wasn't really sure if what she had on hand (so to speak) could cover the ichor, so I inquired what she intended to do with these ingredients. Necromancy. I had a feeling that was it, but I wasn't certain. I'm not against necromancy by any means, I partake myself, but it can get real messy real quick. I remember the time I tried raising my dead dog in our old attic. We couldn't go up for three days. Darwin is fine though, for the most part. I think he's a little more cynical than he used to be, but he's still the same dog I grew up with. Relatively speaking.

         The lich blood was right towards the top, with the other important and rarer ichors. For good reason too, lich blood can be especially powerful on account of the fact that plenty of them could be considered undead demigods. Liches, being undead, are a good source for necromantic powers and the like, and their ichor is generally safe once separated from the 'donor' (I've gone on one too many expeditions). Furthermore, she was resurrecting a human, though not indefinitely. That helped. You don't need as much ichor for a short term summon. Just a small vial of lich blood, no larger than your average pinky. Liches also usually start out as humans, so it was more compatible than the blood of a troll, for example. The phoenix feather was easier to come by. Our resident Charlotte rebirthed often, and she was more than happy to give me feathers in exchange for feasting on the rats I provide, or any that pop up in the shop. Most shops aren't as lucky as this one, having a phoenix for a family friend. Usually you'd have to climb some mountain or embark into some marsh in some gods forsaken bush. It didn't hurt that she was lovely company.

         Then came the seer's eye. I never truly want to know where they come from. They're indistinguishable from your average eyes on the surface, however, they hold all sorts of crazy power. Seer's have incredible abilities, seeing potential futures being amongst the most famous. They have other powers though, and many ties to many different magics. The uses are far and many, though the eyes themselves are understandably hard to get your hands on.

         Stepping back through the turnstile to my rather patient customer, I placed my end of the deal down. "The lich blood and seer's eye here is a bit more expensive than what you have, but I'm sure we can arrange something". Her brows furrowed into a mix of concern and frustration, like she had forgotten something. A light bulb sparked, and she reached into the bag once again, plopping down a liver, a particularly juicy one at that. "A wolf liver! Fantastic, I have someone who's been waiting for one of these. That should do it"

"And... and the heart?"

"Oh! Yes, that's free of charge, really nothing to it" I said, whipping out a ceremonial obsidian plate. I went to work, placing the heart, also fairly juicy, onto said plate. Then I went back once more and retrieved phoenix ash, again courtesy of Charlotte. I reached for the Imp oil on the same shelf. The Imps and I have an arrangement, a rather productive one. Again, don't ask.

         It was a simple ritual; sprinkle the ash on the desired body part--in this case a human heart--douse it in Imp oil, then simply set alight. The customer before me looked rather perplexed that I used a lighter, as if I were supposed to simply snap my fingers and send sparks flying. In truth, I was lazy and didn't particularly feel like getting my own magical energies tied up in a necromantic ritual I had no direct part in. I didn't even want to ask who she was digging up. It's rather rude, and besides, I have a reputation to uphold. It was only a few moments before the flames died away, revealing a now beating, unsinged heart. No smoke either, Imps are clever like that. The look of amazement was payment enough for this little service. Her eyes were bulging, her hand reaching out in caution. I couldn't blame her, it was an organ that shouldn't be functioning, and yet there it was, beating away with no blood to pump. It was almost sad in a way, not to mention the fact that it used to be in some dude's chest. Or a woman's, I didn't care to ask about that either. Gathering what she offered--the hand, bone dust, and wolf liver--I scooted them towards me as I spoke to her once again.

"So, I figure I should warn you. A general don't go promising your soul sort of deal. If a demon tries to say you have to give up your soul for this, something along the lines of 'a soul for a soul' kind of bullshit, don't buy it. That's just their way of trying to con you. Trust me, I had a friend once, Genève, she... well, I did say once." The poor woman stood there bugged eyed as I went on "Also, be aware that the dead can sometimes rise with different characteristics, mainly personality. Depending on the ritual, as well as its intended purpose and duration, the dead may or may not be rotting if they haven't fully decayed out of their fleshy matter."

"It's... it's my grandma" a sob story, those aren't uncommon "she was an utter crone, and didn't want to give up the inheritance she had promised. I don't want it for myself, but my family could use it, and there are a few places that we need to give back to, to make amends with" well, I didn't see that plot twist coming.

"I have to admit, I'm a bit surprised. Usually people want to resurrect something they cared about, not for an interrogation." The woman paused after my comment, her eyes darting the floor as if it held the proper response.

"I don't want her to suffer, that's petty and cruel. I just want what's owed, both to my family and to others" she finished up the thought as I placed her ingredients in a little hexed wooden box. That in and of itself is pricey, but it is very much a necessity. Lich blood is brimming with magical energy and should someone get a hold of blood not intended for them, or for nefarious purposes altogether, it could be disastrous. That I warned her of as well.

"It's not much my business what you do either way. This is" I nodded, referring to the general confines of the shop "but it's admirable what you're at least trying to do. Whether or not the 'crone' is cooperative I can't insure. A final note before you leave; upon agreeing to this trade, I am absolved of any and all responsibility and accountability for anything that may or may not happen involving the items of said trade." Again, she stared at me bug eyed. It was an interesting look to be sure.

"Does that mean that you own my soul or something?"

I smirked a bit, leaning over the counter "No, it's more like a sticky note on your essence... that is, unless you want to trade your soul for something, say, a magic amulet that makes you charismatic? Could come in handy for all sorts of things. Perhaps the under garments of a Godking? You'll gain all sorts of wicked abilities"

She politely raised her hands to decline "N-no, I think I'm good" and with that I bided her well and she went on her merry way.

              It was a few hours before another patron came in, this time a man in a slick suit and hair so combed and gelled it could hold up an entire building. He too wandered about the shop, perusing the shelves and wares of my trade. I like that word, perusing, I should use it more often. Anyhow, just as the woman that came before him, he looked a bit lost and frustrated. Understandable, this was far from his natural habitat in the jungles of concrete and steel. Perhaps an overused phrase, but it's still accurate. Eventually he gave up or his pride gave in, and he almost seemed to lumber up to the counter, head tilted low. He mumbled something, but I couldn't make it out in the slightest. "Excuse me, sir, you're going to have to speak up". Again, another mumble, but this time a bit more coherent. "Something about a... potion?"

He nodded his head, only lifting it up for his eyes to meet the wood top of the counter before him. "Yes, a uh... a love potion", another pauser, but I wasn't a stranger to that specific request.

         A love potion, bah. Terrible things really. I don't think people understand the moral ramifications. You force someone to love you against their will, essentially turn them into slaves, and make you their life's purpose. That's just wrong to me on so many levels, and I told him as such.

"Sir, I'm sorry to say, but I don't deal in such things on moral grounds" once those words had left my lips, his eyes finally met mine, not in anger but in sorrow. Absolute, unadulterated, dreadful sorrow.

"But I need it, I really do" he had no idea how many people claimed that coming into my shop, "I need to get her back" once again, my eyebrow cocked up. It does that.

"Her? Lost lover? A woman with amnesia who forgot you entirely and is now starting to move onto another man?" he gazed at me in confusion, I imagine based on my oddly specific example, "I wish I could help you, truly, but love potions are just plain immoral. Magical slavery, forcing a person to do something that they did not choose to do. In fact, they're outlawed in plenty of places for that very reason" he looked at me in a bit of shock, but I assured him he wouldn't get in trouble for simply inquiring.

"But my wife" it was all buts with this guy it seemed, "I need to get her back, she's the love of my life..." I sighed in response, clasping the bridge of my nose between my fingers. This was going to be yet another difficult one.

"I'm sure you're meaning well here, but this isn't the path you should follow" the man looked about on the verge of sobbing. Fantastic, "Tell me what happened..."

         So he told me. His wife, or soon to be ex-wife, basically dumped him for another man (not from amnesia). He wasn't as rich or anything, but he was a good looking Cuban. You always have to watch out for the good-looking Cubans (nearly had one charm my socks off only to find out he wanted me for magical experiments. No thank you). He wasn't entirely certain as to why she left, and I wasn't in a position to tell him. This was genuine though. He wasn't some kid trying to get their crush to acknowledge their existence, some crazy stalker in need of professional help beyond my expertise, this was a man trying to keep his life from shattering around him. That wouldn't change my position, but perhaps I could give him a gentle nudge.

"Jim, it's Jim right?" the man nodded his head which was now cradled in his hands "This isn't some problem you can sweep away with magic or potions or some such shit" his face looked up once more, now shocked at my shattering his hopes "We, as humans, need to stand on our own two feet. Of course, we will always need help, but magic is a nifty tool, nothing more... well, it's quite a bit more than that, but you catch my point". The man now stood upright, still a bit dazed, "And honestly? If I were you I wouldn't even try to get her back. She obviously doesn't care enough to try to talk with you, from what I can tell. Hell, she moved out without telling you. Although, to be fair, she didn't steal anything, but that's not the point either. Go out there, stand on your own two feet. Party hard if you have to, hire a stripper or three, or maybe just sit around reading dusty books on philosophy. Above all else, keep moving forward, no matter how slow that may be"

         Jim reached forward, pulling me into a firm embrace, my hand awkwardly patting his back. Hugs are always appreciated, but at least warn me first. It is especially uncomfortable when you, a stranger, start weeping into the shoulder of another stranger. A few moments later he pulled away, sniffling as he wiped his nose and eyes.

"Thanks... whoever you are, thank you!" he marched out of the shop with a newfound pride and determination, and I remained with a wet shoulder.

[knoxia-seraphima]

FUCK GIOVANNI GASPARRO !!!

His art is terribly anti Semitic and so derivative of Caravaggio it’s almost like he’s doing academic master copies!

This aryan Saint Michael is “defeating” a devil who is depicted with dark hair, a very pronounced nose and hella Semitic features.

This isn’t new to European Christian art . Anti blackness and anti Semitism were themes when depicting the diabolic. The devil is usually depicted with dark skin,

Or otherwise the demonic have faces which are overtly based on anti Semitic stereotypes

I was raised Catholic and the Catholic Church is notorious for turning a blind eye to racism in the modern/contemporary era. But before that they actively produced a lot of these ideas from within their own culture. This isn’t news to a lot of people but when your raised around images like this

And you’re told that it’s “right and just” and you look more like the devil than you do the angel 😐...what am I supposed to do with that? 😑

I’m not excusing it however and I’m only pointing this out because GIOVANNI GASSPARO AN ANTISEMITE WHOSE ART HAS BEEN HONORED BY THE CATHOLIC CHURCH ,a contemporary artist seems to go out of his way to depict evil characters with very very stereotypically jewish features. RECENTLY, he unveiled a very disturbing piece entitled : “The Martyrdom of St. Simon of Trento in Accordance With Jewish Ritual Murder” ⬇️

It’s disgusting but it shows that the faux progressive face the Catholic Church put on with that Papa Francis after the pedophile protecting nazi Benedict “special-retired” (which like never happens) is just that...fake.but I digress. NOW For those that don’t know the story of “Saint Simon of Trent” is a very complicated one but shows evidence of the Catholic Church’s very long tradition of so-called jewish “blood-libel”basically a sick and violent lie spread about jewish people which states that Jews require human blood and the desecration of Christian sacrament and sacramentals as part of their traditional or otherwise secret religious rituals. An episcopal bishop apparently publicly condemned the image but I have yet to see ANY type of response from the Catholic Church on the matter . Jewish blood libel isn’t something that the church normally teaches and more than likely the average catholic probably won’t buy into it....maybe...but the church’s silence says a lot . The fact that St Simon is still canonized and nothing has been said or done to even “revise” the narrative of an apparent “historical” event (something they’ve been known to do) is just 😑 MY POINT IS GIOVANNI GASSPARO IS AN ANTISEMITE. And he and his art should not be supported in any way. SIMPLY BE AWARE. Remember, he’s been honored by the church before and this is the type of very very clear and obvious message he promotes very very loudly in his art:

THIS , this very obvious and very hateful portrayal shows exactly how deep antisemitism is rooted in not only this individual artist but European Christendom as a whole. Anti-Semitism which is itself rooted in anti blackness all of which directly dehumanize non-Christian non-Europeans. This along with the hate for the indigenous (heathens and pagans) all contributed to actions like the “conquest” of the americas and manifest destiny and the like. These violent actions and ideologies all are leaned on a sense of Christian moral warfare which goes back to blaming the Jews for the death of Christ among other things. THIS PAINTING IS ESSENTIALLY A DOGWHISTLE. The catholic church’s silence on the matter while things like this just happen says a lot. Remember Mel Gibson and the Passion of the Christ? Remember how it clearly portrayed the Jews in a negative light? The thing is, it’s basically the canonical gospel story told exaclty fleshed out with bits of the visions of Anne Catherine Emmerich . And WOULD YA GUESS WHAT THE HECK WAS SAID ABOUT HER :

(From Wikipedia)“Emmerich said she believed that Noah's son Ham was the progenitor of "the black, idolatrous, stupid nations" of the world. The "Dolorous Passion" is claimed to reveal a "clear antisemitic strain throughout", with Brentano writing that Emmerich believed that "Jews ... strangled Christian children and used their blood for all sorts of suspicious and diabolical practices"

The Church hasn’t canonized her as a Saint but her official status is Blessed. Which is in and of itself a high titled one and implies Gods own approval. The church is basically saying it’s okay to pray to her. The canonical gospels themselves were edited and rewritten (a bishop had authority to simply change something in a text in the early days depending on the text to reflect their own ideals, they would say the Holy Spirit inspired them so how can you argue with that amirite?) in a way which puts the romans (the ppl with the power to actual execute ppl and who themselves decided who was crucified an who wasn’t) in a sympathetic light, Pontius pilate is pushed into killing Jesus. He argues with the angry blood thirsty Jews who want Jesus dead until he gives in. The Jews in the gospel have waaay too much power all of a sudden and can seemingly get someone who the romans apparently didn’t care about executed. The romans were an occupying imperialist force, imposing their rule on the people who are apparently chosen by god. They were notorious for crushing political dissent and would probably have crucified a jewish revolutionary anarchist rabbi with a big following telling people not to respect the Roman rule. That historically just makes more sense but I’m not here to argue the historicity of a story which is very much written in the style of grecojewish historical fiction (the oldest canonical gospel is heavily edited, anonymously penned, written about 70-100 years after the apparent historical event happened with no real jewish, Roman or otherwise ancient historian mentioning ANY of the events described in the story)

IN THE END, this sort of pro Roman, pro oppression, pro authoritarian, pro imperialism, pro white, and anti Semitic culture is a long standing part of European Christian art and iconography. I’m not forgiving GIOVANNI GASSPARO :ANTISEMITE and blaming the Catholic Church instead I’m pointing the blame at them both. As the both are product of a culture which will not die and which fuels the fires of hatred and acts of violence perpetrated against jewish/Semitic people the world over. (Btw islamaohobia is part of the culture too....just look into the etymology and origins of the name “Baphomet “)

Sorry for the high jack but not sorry for the rant.

IF YOU SEE GIOVANNI GASSPAROS ART IGNORE IT

Saint Michel Archange bat le diable (Saint Michael the Archangel defeats the devil) Giovanni Gasparro, 2018

[anactualcaseofthetruth]

Call Me A Safe Bet, I’m Betting I’m Not - Chapter 3

(AO3 Link- Chapter Three)

“Even though scientists are still quite baffled after multiple millennia of medical and technological advances of exactly how the soulmarks work, there has been enough research and study that we now know when and how to expect them… There has yet to be one soulmate coupling occur before the female has experienced a menstrual cycle and the male to begin producing sperm. In short, soulmarks have never appeared before entering puberty…

There are many, many more cases in which two people have insisted they are soulmates only to not mark with one another. All in all, only about 3% of couplings are correct in predicting they are soulmates before marks form.”

***

Betty Cooper is four years old when she meets Jughead Jones. She knows he is her soulmate, he’s not so sure.

Chapter Three

“It is rare, but it has been reported that there are people who believe they know who their soulmate is before they are old enough to receive soulmarks. The same ritual must be followed with the female initiating an intimate touch to the male for the connection to be made… However, these reports are almost impossible to prove, seeing as all it takes is the mark to form for the couple to say they had known all along.

There are many, many more cases in which two people have insisted they were soulmates only to not mark with one another. All in all, only about 3% of couplings are correct in predicting they are soulmates before marks form.”

From The Annual Study and Comprehension of Couplings, 2012

Betty has never truly been grounded before, but as she’s learning lately, there is a first time for everything.

Coming home in the early morning covered in dirt and scrapes with a broken phone is not something Alice Cooper can ignore, no matter what inner turmoil her daughter is going through. So Betty finds herself grounded for the first time ever, which sucks, but she’s also liking the no contact with the outside world idea.

She’s not allowed to see anyone, not allowed on her laptop or to get a new phone until her punishment is lifted, and her dad asked Fred to keep his ladder chained up so the boys couldn’t attempt to make contact. Evidently, her parents were more aware of Jughead’s comings and goings than she gave them credit for, and she’s not sure if she’s pleased they let him sneak in so often before, or if she’s mad that he can’t sneak in now.

The first few days were solitary, filled with chores—another punishment—merely for breaking her phone.

“You’re very lucky it was still under warranty and we covered both you and Polly with insurance, Elizabeth, or else your consequences would have been much worse,” her mother had said while handing her a list of things she wanted clean and organized over the next few days.

The list included the attic, basement, garage, all three bathrooms, an order to scrub every hardwood or linoleum floor, and to wipe down the fridge top to bottom.

At the time Betty wondered what her punishment would have been had her phone not been covered by insurance if this wasn’t a lot… but she took it in stride and finished the cleaning during the first three days of her grounding so she could just be lazy for the rest of the duration.

It sounded like a good idea at the time, but on day two of doing nothing Betty finds herself losing her mind just a little. She silently thanks her mother for keeping her so busy as a child because, apparently, she isn’t cut out for this sitting around stuff. Sure, doing nothing with someone else was fun, but on her own? Not so much.

Then, because fate works in mysterious ways, just as Betty is about to succumb to the utter boredom and resort to a nap, Polly bursts into the house like a gale force wind, tears streaming down her face, unable to get a word out between sobs.

In short, Betty learns that Polly thought she found her soulmate, spent time getting to know him, being very careful about touching him, and when she finally got the guts to initiate it nothing happened.

Her big sister was completely heartbroken over Jason Blossom and their parents were furious at her for even thinking ‘that Blossom boy’ could be her soulmate, and angry that she kept it from them. Betty found herself in the middle of a warzone being pulled in both directions.

“Did you know about this, Elizabeth? Your sister’s ridiculous crush?”

“Can you believe them, Betty? My heart is broken and all they care about is the Cooper name!”

Suddenly Betty has a newfound appreciation for Archie—all of this tugging was giving her a headache, but she has to admit, spending time with Polly is nice despite them now both being grounded.

“I’m sorry I ever teased you about Jughead, Betty,” Polly whispers as Betty brushes her hair out at the vanity in her big sister’s room.

Betty forces a smile in the mirror but even she can tell it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s okay, Polly, we were kids, you haven’t done it in a long time. So, do you want a French braid, I think I can do a fishtail? Maybe—”

“Betty,” Polly turns and takes her hand. “I mean it, I’m sorry, I thought you were so silly for believing it, for continuing to believe it as you got older. You’ve taken a lot over the years with people doubting you, I’m sorry I was one of them.”

Betty nods. “It’s okay, Polls, you didn’t mean anything by it. I was just a little kid, I told myself you were just jealous and—”

“I was,” Polly interrupts. “I still am. What you and Jughead have, I want it, I wanted it with Jason. He did too, you should have seen his face, Betty, when nothing happened. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not. We should be able to be with whoever we want,” Betty agrees and clears her throat. “Everyone who has a mark says it’s this big gift, but what if you’re in love with someone who probably won’t get a mark? Or what if the person you mark with still isn’t good for you? Just because you have a mark doesn’t mean you should be together, right?”

“Betty,” Polly chides, looking her up and down. “What’s gotten into you? Are you worried about Jughead? Did something happen?”

“That’s just it, nothing’s happened,” Betty informs her. “I haven’t gotten my period yet, we haven’t marked, his parents aren’t helping the matter, and—” she stops and takes a breath. “It’s just a lot, all at once, and it’s hard.”

“Oh, Betty, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry, you and Jughead, you’re special, I know it,” Polly assures her with a hug and then turns back in the chair. “Let’s do French braids, okay?”  

“Okay, just let me go to the bathroom first,” Betty says and goes into her and Polly’s shared bathroom. She immediately turns on the hot water and puts her shaking palms under the spray, wincing at the burn.

The crescent moon scabs are an angry yellow and deep. She didn’t even know she was doing it in the woods until she saw the red rivers running down her knuckles, and now, when stress hits, she isn’t able to stop.

It is a release, something she can control, a pain she creates and manipulates herself. She remembers getting home and receiving her punishment, then going to the bathroom to clean herself up to find her fingers were curled in on themselves and that the pain she was causing herself somehow prevented her from fully breaking down. When her fingernails slice through her palms it curbs the need to fight back against everything.

In controlling her own pain, she simply took her mother’s punishment in stride and nodded as she was told how many rules she broke, how many things she had done wrong. She does it at night when she thinks of Jughead and how she has been breaking his heart, and it’s stopped her from completely falling apart. She does it to punish herself for pulling Jughead into all of this at five years old because she swore she felt something so special. She does it for him, because he doesn’t deserve anything that is happening to him, and the world is too cruel, especially to him.

And now, she does it for Polly because she knows her sister is hurting, and there is nothing she can do to stop it, or help her with, and she should be able to do more.

Finally, Betty turns off the water and pulls out the first-aid materials she’s been using for days now to hide her habit: Neosporin, gauze, and wraps. She told her parents it was from falling in the woods, she scraped her palms bad, but she was fine, it was just a few scratches. They accepted her explanation with no qualms.

She isn’t wearing bandages all the time, but she couldn’t very well get blood in her sister’s hair, now could she?

Later, Betty finds herself falling into bed after spending hours with Polly doing each other’s hair, doing and redoing pedicures until they were just right, and playing around with make-up and risqué things in her sister’s closet their mother doesn’t, and can never, know about.

It was fun—she hadn’t realized that she has been so wrapped up in Jughead and their drama that she’s been having tunnel vision. Betty still sees her sister every day, of course. They eat dinner together and did their homework together during the school year, even go running together in the mornings, but it’s different when they are on their own left to their own devices.

Betty lets her hair out of the multiple braids Polly put it up in and shakes out her now incredibly wavy tresses before taking off the gauze on her palms and applying more Neosporin from the tube she now keeps in her bedside table for easy access.

She’s in short-shorts and an old t-shirt of Jughead’s from more than a year ago. It’s getting too small for her, but it’s so soft and she loves the thought of wearing something that was once his, that his body was inside too. It brings her comfort, like he’s wrapped around her, and even with everything going on between them that feeling holds.

Betty sighs and reaches for her diary once the gooey cream has mostly dried on her palms, but before she can read over her last entry—about Jughead, of course—there is a rapping on her window. It’s so soft she wonders if she imagined it, but it continues again after a moment in a funny pattern.

After making sure her door is shut and locked, Betty opens the curtains to find nothing on the other side of the glass. With scrunched eyebrows she opens the window and just as she goes to look out a hand reaches for hers, making her let out a quick yelp.

“Shhh, sorry, it’s me,” Jughead whispers, his other hand over her mouth.

When he lets go she lightly punches him in the shoulder. “Dammit, Jughead! Don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry,” he instantly apologizes and she notes his plaid pajama pants and old t-shirt as well. He’s either sleeping over Archie’s or he snuck out of his house to come see her, but is it sneaking if his dad isn’t home or cares where he goes?

She wants to curl her fingers into her scabs and feel that release, a pain she can control because Jughead is in so much he can’t, but she stops herself. She can’t, not with him here.

“I had to make sure you weren’t your mom, I’ve been waiting out here for almost an hour,” he tells her.

“Well, you probably would have scared the hell out of her too! How did you know it was me?”

“I know your hands,” he answers simply with a shrug while fixing his beanie.

“That’s weird, but I could probably say the same so I’ll leave it alone,” Betty says more to herself than to him and he smirks a little. “How did you get up here? My dad asked Fred to chain up his ladder,” she says and moves aside so he can climb in through the window.

“Yeah, I heard the riot act from him all about it,” Jughead confirms while closing the window behind him. “And it’s a complicated scenario involving me standing on Archie’s shoulders as he stands on your porch and then climbing around the overhanging to get to your window. I’m supposed to text Archie when I’m coming back so if I break my neck at least I have a witness since I’ll have to jump.”

“You didn’t—you shouldn’t have risked getting in trouble for me, Jug,” she says with her arms wrapped around herself and shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot.

Jughead had finally, finally, been so honest with her the last time they saw each other and even though she loves him, she doesn’t know what to say to him anymore, doesn’t know how to make him feel better. It’s just words, and she’s learning they don’t mean anything, not when it comes to this. Her promises and declarations don’t hold the weight they once did.

“I know, I should be respecting your parent’s wishes, and Fred’s, I guess, but you weren’t returning my calls or messages, so—”

“My phone broke,” she interrupts. “I—I was running home and tripped and my phone took the brunt of it. Coming home from a fake sleepover combined with that got me put in Cooper jail.”

“I figured your parents took your phone since I knew you were in trouble after Fred asked me to stop stealing his ladder,” he responds and takes a step towards her, and she makes a conscious effort to not step backwards.  “Betty, I’m so sorry—”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Juggie, don’t worry,” she whispers and stretches her fingers to stop herself from making a fist.

“No, I do,” he insists and takes another step, however this time Betty can’t help but move away. “Betty…” he trails off and his voice cracks.

“I’m sorry, Jug, I—it’s not you, it’s me.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asks like he’s trying to laugh, but looks like he’s about to cry.

“No, no,” she assures him. “But we’re not… we’re not even together, Jug.”

“Betty… I’ve been going through a lot and you’ve been there for me every day, and I know I don’t make that easy on either of us. I never want you to think you’re anything less than the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s hazy, but I remember what I said, and I’m so fucking happy it was me that found you in that puddle, Betty.”

“I’m happy it was you too, Jug,” she agrees while blinking away tears. “But that night, it might have taken you drinking to finally say those things, but you do feel them. It just made me realize that all I’ve been doing, especially recently, is hurting you and I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“Betty, you’re not,” he stops and she sees he’s making fists of his own. She wonders if he needs something to feel control over too, because his life is much more chaotic than hers. “I’m sorry that I never—I never bothered to notice the effect all of this has on you. My doubts are hard on you. I just—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts. “I’m the one that announced we were soulmates when I was four—”

“And I’m thankful for it every day,” he tells her. “I want it to be true, I want it more than I want almost anything. It just feels like the powers that be are pulling us apart no matter how hard we hold on. My life… my life is a mess, Betty, and you keep trying to jump in and save it, and all I can see is you getting so caught up in it that one day you hope you never had anything to do with me.”

“That will never happen, Jug, never,” she swears and this time moves towards him. “Your life might be a mess, but I’m a big part of why and I’m the one that’s sorry. I’ve just made everything that much harder for you.”

“No, no,” Jughead says forcefully and shakes his head. “You haven’t, I have. I’m letting everything get to me, and I’ve hurt you because of it,” he admits and lets out a long breath. “That night I said—I said that I feel like I’m going to lose you before I ever even have a chance to really have you and… that’s what I’ve been feeling for about a year now. We’re too young for us to really be together, but we’re also getting to the age where the marks matter now because it’s either going to happen or it won’t. We’re running out of time, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t imagine not being with you but I can’t fathom having you and losing you either.”

“There’s nothing we can do, Jug,” she tells him solemnly and bites her lip. “I can tell you how I feel about you until I’m blue in the face, but it doesn’t matter, not really. Because of everything you need a mark to be with me, and I’m finally accepting that—”

“No,” Jughead cuts in. “I want one, I want it more than anything, but I—I need you, Betty, just you, not a mark or-” he stops and scrubs a hand down his face. “That’s a lie, not completely, but—” he just looks at her and she struggles to keep the tears at bay. “I don’t want to need a mark to be with you, Betts, but… every day I’ll wonder ‘is today is the day I’m going to lose you?’ and it’s going to drive me crazy.”

“It’s not one-sided, Jug, I can’t imagine not being with you either and I think that’s why it hurts so much for me. It’s like you don’t believe in me or my feelings for you. I’m in love with you, and I don’t think at our age we even really know what that means yet, but I know I feel it for you. I know that I think of you more than I do for myself, I put you first in everything, and it hurts that you can’t even tell me you love me too, not in the way I can say it to you so easily,” she confesses and tries to swallow the knot in her throat.

“But I do, I do love—”

“Please don’t,” Betty pleads, now unable to stop teardrops from spilling over. “Don’t say it because you think I need to hear it or you’re losing me. I don’t want to hear it that way.”

“Betty,” he begs as he goes to touch her but she side-steps him again. “I hate that I’m hurting you like this, please just let me—”

“Oh, Jughead Jones,” Betty stops him and sniffles, somehow smiling at him through her grief. “Don’t you know you have the power to hurt me more than anyone?”

Slowly, he nods and wipes his nose with the back of his arm. “I do, I know I do because it’s the same with you,” he tells her and she sees his chest shudder as he breathes.

Betty wants to wrap her arms around him, to hold him through the pain, but she’s slowly finding that it won’t help. It only slaps a band-aid over his hurt, one that rips off when she’s no longer around and increases the pain ten-fold. She looks to the floor before squeezing her eyes shut at the realization, and now knows what she has to do.

“I hate that I’m able to pull you into my head like this. I don’t—I don’t want to take that feeling away from you, the feeling that we are supposed to be together, just because I’m scared. You’ve always believed it, Betty, whole-heartedly, please don’t let my fear change that,” he insists and she can see the sincerity in his eyes, hear the hope in his voice. “You just told me a couple days ago you remembered everything about that day, how you felt, how I smelled, and you had so much conviction in your voice even at four years old, I swear to God,” he remembers in a chuckle. “You had that same conviction a couple days ago, don’t let that go. I’m sorry for everything I’m putting you through.”

“I can say the same to you,” she murmurs. “I know how low your chances are, Jughead, but I’ve always felt this possession of you, if that’s the right word, that you’re mine and now I’m finally seeing that you don’t feel that for me.”

“I know you believe that, I want you too. I am yours, but there’s this voice in the back of my head, and it sounds like my dad, and it just keeps telling me that—” he stops and clears his throat. “How the hell could someone like me end up with you? I’m doing all these things to feel like I deserve you—”

“You do,” Betty says and can’t stop herself before she’s grabbing onto fists of his t-shirt as if he’s going to disappear.

“But I still feel miles behind,” he finishes and brings his hands up to cup her fists and then kisses them softly. “I—” he rests his forehead on hers and lets out a deep breath, relishing in her touch. “I don’t know what to say to make this better.”

“It’s not on you, Jug, it’s on me,” she tells him and he looks up at her questioningly. “We’re waiting on me, you know? So all we can do is wait.”

“What do we do in the mean time?”

Betty drops her hands from his chest, but he keeps a hold on them so they aren’t disconnected. “I don’t,” she stops and closes her eyes, thinking of what to say. “We’ve been doing things my way, holding on to what I said when I was four, maybe we should try things your way.”

“What… what does that mean?” he asks, tightening his hold on her and she hides a wince at the pressure on her cuts.

“Distance, I guess,” she answers quietly. “Not—we don’t not hang out. We’ll just wait and not pretend anymore.”

“Betty, no, please don’t do this,” he pleads and can’t help but cup her face and bring her close. “You’ve never wavered in what you believed about us—”

“That was when I thought you believed it too,” she hiccups, tasting tears on her lips and finds she’s crying.

“I do, I do believe—fuck,” he swears and rests his forehead on hers once more.

Betty fights the urge to close her eyes and just enjoy being this close. She watches as tears start to rain down his cheeks too and tightens her fists at his sides, unable to stop herself. “I don’t want you to think I don’t love you, Juggie,” she whispers.

He simply shakes his head against hers before burying his face in her neck. With closed fists she wraps her arms around him, hoping he doesn’t notice the awkward hold.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeats over and over, and she has a flashback to when the police were taking him away from her at ten years old and she was saying the exact same words.

“This is my fault, okay? Not yours, please don’t beat yourself up. I—you were right, you can’t just decide that someone is your soulmate, I mean that’s what the marks are for right? I might’ve ruined us just because I felt so much for you, even then, right when we first met.”

Jughead shudders against her neck and she feels his hands shaking as he holds her. “I don’t want it to be like this.”

“I’m still here, Juggie. I’m not going anywhere, and I still think of you as mine,” she tells him with her lips moving along his skin. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m still yours too, but you were right. We’re too young to be together and until we have, or don’t have, marks, I guess we’re in limbo.”

He finally pulls away just far enough to look her in the eye and she wants to wipe his tear tracks away, but knows her palms are bleeding. “Do you want me to leave or—”

“No, no, you can stay,” she cuts him off. “I just have to use the bathroom, then you can hang out for a while? Unless you want to leave.”

“No, I—I want to hold you,” he admits. “Is that okay?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do… that,” she whispers painfully. “But we can talk until we get tired,” she offers and slowly Jughead nods, his face the picture of pain.

Before she does something stupid, she pretends she doesn’t notice and goes to the bathroom. Once the door is shut, Betty lets out one sob before falling to the floor to gain control of herself. It might feel like her heart is being ripped out of her chest, but this is for the best, it has to be. If they don’t mark, distance is what will help now, so they can get used to being not them anymore.

She knows how Jughead feels about her even though he’s never said it. She’s never minded that he can’t say the words, especially since until a couple days ago she didn’t have the guts either, but—it was what she needed to hear right then. Betty wants him to have some kind of epiphany and try to beat down the bathroom door, tell her that all he needs is her, and then hold her all night long.

But—she asked for this too. She told him not to say the words. She agreed that distance was best, she knows that without a mark, even though they love each other, Jughead will lose his mind waiting for her to mark with someone else, and what kind of relationship, or life for that matter, would that be? It wouldn’t be fair of her to ask him to live like that.

Even though her chest feels tight and it’s like her lungs can’t get enough air, she battles through. Betty hiccups and stands on wobbly legs to go take care of her hands in the sink.

She’s not going to dwell of the if’s or maybe’s right now. She is going to listen to her own advice and just wait with Jughead by her side. It’s all they can do.

When she comes out Jughead is sitting on her window seat, his beanie being wrung out in his hands, something she knows he does when he’s frustrated. “You can, I mean, we can sit on my bed, Jug,” she tells him while sitting down on it herself.

“I just didn’t want to overstep bounds, or whatever,” he mumbles and sits at the very end of it.

“Is it going to upset you if I ask about your dad?” she questions rather than pull at that thread again.

“No, you can ask me anything, Betts, you know that.”

“Well, what’s going on with your dad? Is he out of jail?”

“Yes, he’s out. He only spent that one night. He’s in some mindset of turning his life around again? He asked Fred to take me in for a week or two so he could clean himself up, and the trailer, to try and entice Jellybean to come home. I think he knows my mom is lost to him, but Jellybean is still reachable. She doesn’t have much against him except for acknowledging that he’s not around as much as he should be, as much as Billy already is.”

“And your mom and Billy?”

“I don’t have anything bad to say about him except for the fact that he tore my family apart. But it was coming with or without him, I guess. At least this way I know my mom and Jellybean are safe, until he gives me a reason not to think so anyways. He’s not horrible, he’s just…” he trails off and adjusts himself to get more comfortable.

“He’s not your dad,” she finishes for him, wishing that the heavy tension they’d never had before goes away.

“Yeah, and I do remember my mom and dad being happy. Jellybean doesn’t, so in a way it’s easier for her, and I’m fine with that. I don’t completely trust him, or my mom for that matter, but she has been going to AA and making a point to spend time with Jellybean, and she’s still trying to reach out to me and be there for me, so,” he stops and shrugs awkwardly. “It’s an impasse I can live with for now.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Betty mentions and plays with her blanket to cover her hands. “So, tell me about the outside world, does Archie have a new crush yet this week?”

Jughead smiles at her in the way that makes her belly flip. “It wouldn’t be our Archie if he didn’t.”

“Alright, tell me all about her.”

“Well, all I know is what she looks like,” Jughead starts and the two burst out laughing, but it didn’t quite meet either of their eyes.

***

    “One of the newer theories behind soulmarks and why they exist is preferential reproduction. There are many studies in the early stages that are examining the most common difference between ‘natural’ and ‘unnatural’ children, and that is genetics…

What exactly does it mean to be an ‘unnatural’ child? Does having parents with soulmarks mean their children are meant to be or are physically superior? If so, what does that mean for the children of an unnatural coupling?

These are the questions scientists focusing on genetics are trying to answer.”

From Genetics and the Interrelationship of Soulmate Markings, 2008

*

“Honestly, Elizabeth,” is the first thing Betty hears when she wakes up, and to be honest, it’s a bit of a rude awakening.

Her eyes open to find her mother unfastening her curtains, letting the harsh sunlight in and she squints with a groan. “Is something wrong?” she asks innocently, wiping the drool off her chin.

“Yes, something is wrong,” Alice states, complete with hands on her hips. “My perfectly healthy and able daughter is sleeping in until noon in the middle of summer!”

Betty tries not to groan again at the word ‘perfect’. If only her mother knew just how her messed up mind worked, or didn’t for that matter. “It is summer, Mom, that means relaxing and by extension, sleeping,” Betty replies before burrowing back into her pillow, hoping her mother doesn’t notice that it’s outfitted with one of Jughead’s t-shirts—a way she can smell him and be with him without hurting him specifically.

“If you were sitting out by a pool I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you, or if this was the first time, but this is becoming a pattern, Betty, and I don’t like where it’s heading,” her mom tells her, her voice softer now. “Don’t think I haven’t noted a certain boy’s absence around here, our fridge has never been this full. You really should warn me if you two fight, we’d save money on groceries.”

A smile reaches Betty’s face for the first time in what feels like weeks, and it probably is. “We can always donate to the food bank,” she offers cheerfully, but it isn’t up to par with her usual up-beat attitude, is so off the mark that now her mother comes and sits on her bed, abandoning her ‘no nonsense’ stance.

“Betty, sweetie, what’s going on. Have you gotten your period?” she asks while pushing blonde hair away from her daughter’s forehead.

“No, no, I wish,” Betty answers and leans into her mother’s touch. “Or maybe I don’t, I don’t know anymore, Mom,” she adds on in a whisper.

“I know you’re getting to an age where it’s not easy to talk to your mother, mine certainly didn’t know anything I was going through, and I think if I had talked to her I could have avoided a lot of mistakes,” Alice insists.

“What if you made the mistake when you were four?” Betty asks brokenly, looking at the floor.

Alice’s eyes widen before she situates her arms around Betty, the hold protective. “What’s going on, baby?”

“Mom, do you remember the day I met Jughead?”

Alice chuckles. “How can I forget? Everything after that day became all about him. It was all ‘Mom, Jughead does this’ and ‘Polly, Jughead said that’, your poor sister was so jealous. I don’t think she had seen her own shadow until you met the boy.”

Betty smiles at that too. “I have a tendency to obsess, huh?”

“You get it from me, hon,” Alice reminds her and kisses her head.

“Did you every worry I was putting all my eggs in one basket? Or after you learned about Jughead’s parents—”

“Betty, I knew from the beginning Jughead’s parents weren’t soulmates,” her mom admits. “You forget I went to high school with both FP and Gladys, and this isn’t a big town.”

“But didn’t you worry about me?” Betty repeats.

“You have no idea how many nights your father and I sat up worrying about you, about how to handle your situation, but in the end we realized that no matter what we did, if we forbade you from seeing him or were vocal about the impossibilities, you’d just do what you wanted anyways. You’re like me in that way too,” Alice says and squeezes her shoulders. “You’re a smart girl, Betty, and strong, and you were so sure from that very first day, honestly we were waiting for you to dance around singing ‘I told you so’ any day now.”

“That was my plan,” Betty confesses, earning a laugh from her mother.

“So what changed? If you don’t have your period… did Jughead mark with someone else?”

“No, no, Mom, no,” Betty shakes her head. “I just—I always believed in us because I thought I was right, undoubtedly, but,” she stops and sniffles.

“What?”

“Jug, he’s going through so much—there’s everything with his parents and now just his mom, it’s tearing him apart,” she says quietly. “And I thought I was helping, I thought I was being someone he could rely on, but all Jughead has been doing for a while now is distancing himself from me, protecting himself for when…” she trails off.

“You don’t mark with him,” Alice finishes with a knowing, motherly tone.

“I’ve just been hurting him this entire time too, Mom, and when I found out I—I,” she stops to even out her breathing. “I told him we should try things his way and take time, and I just, I feel so,” she starts tearing up and tries to hide it from her mom.

“Did I ever tell you about when your dad and I got our marks?” Alice asks, keeping Betty close.

“No.”

“It was senior year,” her mom starts and smiles to herself. “We were in study hall, and he was this guy on the football team I thought was a dumb Neanderthal,” she goes on and Betty laughs, surprising herself. “He was always loud in the halls and annoying during lunch hour, wasn’t involved in many extracurriculars, and I thought this guy is such a doof.”

“A doof? What even is that?”

“I don’t know, I made it up, but we had the same study hall,” she continues and Betty shakes her head. “One day something hits me in the back of my head and I thought I was just imagining things, but then it happened again. So I turn, and there he is wadding up pieces of paper and throwing them at me. They weren’t whole pages, just smaller pieces of one, but still annoying nonetheless,” her mom sighs. “And I turn in my chair, all huffy and big hair, and I scold him. I told him to act his age and not his shoe size and I even called him a doof then too.”

“Really? What did he say?”

Alice smiles down at her, all warm and affectionate. “He asked me for a pen.”

“What?”

“He lost his and wanted to do his homework, which is what he told me rather than respond to my outburst,” Alice tells her.

“And?”

“And I gave him one,” Alice says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“So, how did you mark?”

“Well, study hall was our last class of the day, and as we were leaving the room he stopped me, and handed me back a pen, but it wasn’t the one I let him borrow,” Alice says with a pointed expression.

“And I’m sure you let him know that,” Betty insists.

“You bet I did,” Alice agrees. “So I ripped the pen from his hand and went on this tirade about respect and being an adult and I felt so liberated when I was yelling at him, it really should have hit me before it did.”

“What?”

“Well, I was standing there just laying into him and he was looking at me with this dumb smile on his face. I wanted to smack it off of him because I was being very serious.”

“Of course you were,” Betty teases.

“Finally, I said ‘what are you smiling at?’-well I think I yelled it, and he grabbed my hand and turned my wrist up and showed me my own soulmark, one that just formed on him too.”

Betty turns over her mom’s wrist and looks at her parent’s mark. It’s thin, but long, and stretches about four inches down their main vein with a point at the end. They say it’s a pen, and now she knows why, but she always thought it looked more like a needle, sharp and pointy. It’s their mark though, so it’s their interpretation that matters.

“What did you guys do after that?”

“He asked me to go to Homecoming with him,” Alice says in a contented sigh. “I said yes, this time with a dumb look on my face. We actually won Homecoming King and Queen, but only because the word got out about our soulmarks and we were one of the first in our class to get them.”

“And that’s it? Happily ever after?”

“Well, they say that, but it was hard. I went from thinking nothing of this guy to finding out he’s my soulmate. It’s a lot for a young girl to handle. Suddenly we were spending all our time together, and I love him, I do, but getting a mark does not mean love at first sight. Relationships are hard work, but love is worth fighting for, and marks are a special thing, the bond is definitely…”

“Hard to explain?”

“Yes,” Alice says with a nod. “But I didn’t choose your father, fate chose for us, and I wouldn’t change a thing about my life, not how I met your father, not our life together, and definitely not you or Polly.”

“But?”

“But I envy you, Betty,” Alice admits and Betty pulls away to look her in the eye better. “You… you got to know the person you love before you fell in love with them, and you did it without a mark holding you together. I’ve watched you and Jughead grow up, I’ve watched him look at you like you’re the sun, and I’ve witnessed you do everything can to keep him whole. And even without a mark now, even though you guys are going through all of this, he’s still the first person you’d call if something happened, good or bad, and you’re still the girl he puts on a pedestal and would do anything for.”

Betty rolls her lips together, not knowing what to say.

“You two are special without a mark, Betty, and that’s rare. I understand both you and Jughead are hurting in different ways, but at some point you have to decide whether what you have is worth more than a mark, or if that is all that will, or won’t, define you.”

“You know I’m only thirteen, right? I feel like that advice is too mature for me.”

“Sweetie, you called your uncle obnoxious when you were two, you’ve been far too mature for most of your life.”

“I did not do that!” Betty insists.

“You did and I was damn proud. Your father’s brother is such a—”

“If you say doof, I swear Mom, I am never letting you proofread another paper of mine,” Betty threatens.

“What I was going to say was more R-rated, but that will do. Anyways, let’s get you out of this room, huh? You’ve been off grounding for well over a week now. Oh, we can see how angry your sister still is at me, see if she wants to go out too? Maybe we can get our hair cut, do a little shopping, dinner?”

Betty didn’t feel like leaving her bed, had so much to think about, a lot of decisions to make, but sees the happiness in her mom’s eyes that she is letting her in and asking for her advice, that she can’t say no.

“Sure, Mom, whatever you want.”

*

She wakes with a start and tries to keep her heaves quiet, but she’s been through this before, she knows what’s coming.

While trying to be as quiet as possible, Betty tip-toes around Kevin’s living room, hops over his sleeping body, and heads for the bathroom in his furnished basement so she won’t disturb him or his dad.

Betty sits on the floor, hugs her knees to her chest and rocks back and forth, trying to control her breathing, wishing the tears would stop, hoping that the pit in her stomach would close, but knows willing for things to happen is childish.

It’s been happening for over a week now—panic attacks. At least, that is what Google says they are, WebMD too, and she knows better than to use those to self-diagnose but also knows it’s true. She just can’t bring herself to tell anyone about them. The one person she wants to is probably the cause of them, or their situation is, rather.

It first began with a dream of Jughead marking with someone else, a scenario she knows is unlikely, but if she’s hoping for him to mark with her she’s not about to discredit the possibility of him marking with someone else.

That night she woke, unable to stop herself from crying and digging into her palms, a fear in her gut like no other, and it was like her lungs forgot how to work. It took over an hour for her to finally unclench, and she’d lost so much blood she worried. Then, after a quick Google about how much blood one can lose before needing to seek medical assistance, she figured she was safe, probably.

Still, Betty knew the blood wouldn’t come out of her pastel pink sheets and threw them away in Archie’s garbage bin just so her mom wouldn’t find them and ask questions. Of course that meant she had to use her own money to buy another set, but it was better than explaining the missing sheets to her mom.

For several days, Betty had tried to get out of a previously planned sleepover with Kevin, but he’d plead total abandonment on her part, and she felt too guilty to back out.

So here she is, in his basement bathroom, palms bleeding, trying so hard to breathe through the pain in her chest, and a heaviness in her heart she can’t kick.

All she wants is to call Jughead, knowing that without a second thought he’d be on his bike traveling across town to Kevin’s, not even caring that he was sneaking into the sheriff’s house just to comfort her. Betty lets out a watery laugh as she thinks that he’d do the same if she just wanted a hug for no reason.

She thinks of his black hair, somehow never matted down even though he’s rarely without his beanie. She remembers the time she looked into his eyes for so long, trying to decide if they were blue or green, and honestly couldn’t figure it out. She recalls getting the call that her grandmother had died and how she immediately ran for Archie’s knowing Jughead was there, and how he held her for hours while she cried, then continued to until she fell asleep, which is when he carried her home and put her in bed.

Betty laughs to herself, because of course even though everything with Jughead is what is causing this choking grief and pain, it’s thoughts of him that pull her off the edge.

In a moment of weakness she manages to unclench enough so she can call him, even if it is almost four in the morning.

After a few rings it goes to voicemail, and her own voice comes through, “Hi! You’ve reached Forsy—” she starts only for Jughead to interrupt,“Betty!” and she can be heard giggling in the background. “Just leave a message,” he says before it cuts off and beeps.

Betty hits the end button and calls again and again with no answer, but listens to his voicemail until her heart slows and her lungs start to work again. The weight stays in her stomach, as she knows it will, but usually it dissipates after she’s slept some, if she can get back to sleep, that is.

With no supplies to attend to her palms, Betty simply runs them under water and dabs them until the bleeding slows before figuring she’s cleaned-up enough to make her way back to the living room to try and at least rest if she can’t sleep, maybe catch up on some late-night TV.

When she opens the door, however, she finds Kevin on the other side and yelps. “Kev! Don’t do that!”

“What? Pee in the middle of the night? You had to too,” he reminds her and simply walks by without another word, and Betty figures she’s in the clear because he doesn’t seem to know how long she was in there or the real reason why.

She scurries upstairs to reclaim the couch before he comes out and turns on the TV before settling back into the cushions.

Kevin returns only moments later and all but collapses back onto his blow-up mattress, she actually worries he might pop it if he keeps plopping like so.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks after snuggling into his blankets once more. Kevin’s a big snuggler, but not with just anybody. Usually she sleeps with him because of it, but didn’t want to have to untangle herself if something like this happened, so she’s happy she chose the couch.

“I’m kind of going through his insomnia phase, I hope I grow out of it,” she answers and turns onto her side to face him.

“Hey, if I can grow out of tucking every shirt into my jeans and still wearing a belt phase, you can grow out of this,” he offers and she shakes her head at him. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“Of course,” she tells him immediately. “I know I tried to get out it, but it isn’t because of you, Kev. I just feel like I’m drowning under all my own issues and don’t want to get more people involved than I have to. You have enough to deal with on your own, you know? Not that I’m not here for you if you need anything, you know I am.”

“I know you are, B, but there’s only so much talking can do to a point. My mom died, it sucks and my dad’s going to be heartbroken forever, but it is what it is. I honestly get sick of talking about it because it just reminds me, and him, that she’s gone,” he says with a far-off look on his face.

“How is he doing? Is being back to work helping?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he tells her. “He worries about leaving me home, but I like the silence. Actually, I don’t because I’m used to my mom always doing something, but I like that he’s trying to get back to our normal. Besides, I have you and Moose is… Moose,” he sighs.

“I know it’s hard. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own drama I forget everyone else has problems too, it seems. I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish recently.”

“I’m not a baby, Betty, I don’t need constant attention,” Kevin replies and they both laugh. “You’ve been there for me, you have, don’t think you haven’t. You’re the only person I feel like hasn’t been hovering and constantly asking me if I’m okay. You let me come to you, and I appreciate that. You’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend too, Kev,” Betty assures him and smiles in a very Cooper way. “And thank God you’re gay or else I wouldn’t be able to have sleepovers with you,” she teases.

“I know, your mom cut those off with Jughead and Archie at, like, ten years old.”

“I know, I wish I could have squeezed a few more years out of those,” she mutters. “Not that I’ve even done anything with Jughead still to this day, it’s too much for him.”

“How is he dealing with his parents? It’s the talk of the town.”

“Oh God, don’t let him know that, he’ll just crawl further into himself,” she pleads and stretches her hands out wide under her blanket to stop herself from squeezing, and makes a half-pained face in the darkness at the pull. “It’s hard, but he’s dealing. His mom is doing well, Jellybean is adjusting, but Jug’s making it as easy on her as possible. He bikes over to Billy’s at least once a day and has some kind of meal with her, makes sure everything is okay over there. He’s not very trusting of him yet, but it’s understandable.”

“And his dad?”

“Last I heard Jug was still staying at Archie’s, it’s week three of them being roomies. Archie’s room reeks of BO and teenage boy, but Jug is just hoping his dad is still working on himself. I hope FP is really trying. I know it would make Jughead so happy, if he’s just using this time to drink or sleep around or something, it’s going to break his heart,” she says and almost catches herself on her words, because she’s helping break his heart too.

“You’re still… not with Jug, then?”

“I’m not-not with him, I’m just—I couldn’t take him faking it anymore, Kev, so we’re just not doing that anymore. He doesn’t believe, I don’t think he has for a while, and I finally see that. I’m not going to make him pretend with me like he does with his family, I won’t let him.”

“You know he loves you though, right? You can tell just by how the boy looks at you. I hope a boy looks at me like that one day,” he sighs.

“I know it, I feel it, but he’s never said it. And it hurts that he won’t even let himself say it, but it’s something I’m trying to accept. He tried to say it that night, but I wouldn’t let him. It felt like I was asking him to say it, you know? I didn’t want to hear it that way.”

“You’re sure you still want to go to the Scare-A-Thon at the Drive-In tomorrow night? Or, I guess, tonight now,” he asks.

“Kev, you asked me a million times yesterday, of course I’m going. We’ve gone every year we we’ve been allowed to, I’m not going to miss it because of this. I told you, I’m not avoiding Jughead, we’re just not those kids anymore. We’ve hung out, alone and in a group setting, it’s awkward at first, but we get over it. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Betty, you do remember how you are during scary movies, right?”

“I’m fine, you all exaggerate too much,” Betty huffs to herself.

“You’re horrible!” Kevin chuckles and falls onto his back. “You spend two-thirds of the night in Jughead’s lap with your head under a blanket. What are you going to do this year if you’re not those kids anymore?”

“Use your shoulder,” Betty tells him easily. “Because you love me so much.”

“I can’t promise I won’t get annoyed,” he warns.

“Did you invite Moose to come with us?”

“Yeah, but he’s going with Reggie and the guys,” he answers. “He doesn’t… he says he doesn’t know what he wants. He likes me, but he likes girls too—”

“Being bi is a thing, he knows that, right?” she interrupts.

“Yes, but labels scare him. I’m literally the only openly gay person in school, in all the grades, and I’m only so open because it’s so obvious and I don’t care what people think. I worried about my dad, but—my mom always knew, and before she died she made my dad I talk about it, you know, so he’s adjusting to accepting his only son is gay, and his is the only opinion I care about.”

“I’m glad he’s cool with it, with you, I’d be upset if he wasn’t. I’d have a vendetta, it would turn into this big thing, it’s just easier if he is the cool Dad,” Betty tells him.

“Thanks for being there for me,” Kevin laughs. “Moose has problems accepting who he is, what he wants, and I can’t be mad that I came to my own conclusions earlier, you know? So, I get it. The whole marks things is just harder with the same gender. There are still stats and studies on it, but there are just so many more for hetero couples. Some say the more feminine one of the two has to initiate, others say it doesn’t matter who does it, there’s a new one about how if you’re not ‘out’ it can be harder, and it’s just—what the fuck? It’s not like being gay is entirely new, it shouldn’t be this hard.”

“I know, it sucks, but there is literally no real medical explanation for them, most of the info out there is theories, or just patterns, really. There is definitely more of a formula for heteros and it’s still hard, I can’t imagine having something else to make it even more difficult.”

“Either way, as far as we know, we’re both producing sperm, and we’ve touched all kinds of ways and still nothin’ so, who knows?” Kevin says with a shrug.

“I hate how I’ve basically been in a relationship since I was four and you still have done more than me,” Betty grumbles.

“It’s not a competition, B, boys just tend to find their dicks before girls understand what a clitoris is,” Kevin tells her and she hopes he can’t see how red she turns.

“But I’ve never even had a hickey,” she whines, making him laugh.

“Alright, that’s a little sad, but look at you, Betty Cooper, you’re beautiful and you’re still growing. I’m sure there will be a time that you have marks everywhere, in more ways than one,” Kevin states with a wink.

“Thanks, Kev, just for making me laugh,” Betty says and notices some of the heaviness has lifted. That tends to help too, focusing on something else, but it’s hard to do when she’s alone. “My mom wants me home by noon, but maybe you can come over before we head out to the Drive-In? You can help me get ready?”

“Yes, I love dressing you!” Kevin exclaims and Betty rolls her eyes, which he obviously sees because he adds on, “I know, I know, you have full veto power, don’t worry, I know the rules.”

“Good,” she says in a yawn and settles back down onto the couch. “Here, Friends is on, that should help us fall asleep, you think?”

“Um, I don’t think so? I’m not passing on time to stare at Joey Tribiani,” Kevin replies in a ‘duh’ tone and Betty laughs again.

She needs to remind herself more often that she does have a life outside of Jughead, and it’s not a bad one, it’s not even an empty one, but it sure is a lot duller compared to when he is around.

When she gets home at noon, Betty is already planning on taking a nap before Kevin is due over later, because she’s freakin’ exhausted.

But when Sheriff Keller drops her off and she sees Jughead half-asleep on her front porch she sees the zzz’s slipping away.

“Are you okay?” he instantly asks her, stumbling down the steps to meet her halfway.

“Yeah, are you okay?” she responds in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Betty, you called me thirteen times last night,” Jughead reminds her and she nods while inwardly scolding herself for being stupid, then forgetting about it. “My phone was in Archie’s living room, we were upstairs. I tried calling you, but I know your phone is on Do Not Disturb most mornings, usually my number is one that can get through, but I guess that’s changed too. So I came over, but Polly said you slept over Kevin’s, and that you’d be home soon.”

“I’m sorry, Jug, I didn’t mean to worry you, I’m fine,” she lies and smiles at him, it’s completely fake, but she hopes he can’t tell. “It was—Kevin and I were playing around,” she tells him while sidestepping him to get up her steps.

“I know we’re not us anymore, whatever we were before, but I didn’t think we were lying to each other,” Jughead says to her back and she turns once she reaches the top. “I called Kevin, you must have already been on your way over here with his dad. He had no idea what I was talking about when I asked why you called so many times.”

“Jug, just leave it alone,” she pleads.

He climbs the steps too, stopping one before the top so they are eye-to-eye. “Why? You wouldn’t leave how I felt alone, it’s the reason things are like this, why should I do the same for you?”

“You think this is the same thing?”

“I don’t think it’s all that different. It has to do with me, has to do with your feelings, and you’re keeping it from me,” he explains.

“I didn’t leave how you felt alone because it was tearing you apart, Jug. You gave up on us a long time ago, so don’t put this on me. All I asked us to do was stop pretending, because once I realized that is what you were doing, it was—” she can’t say the words ‘breaking her heart’ to him, she knows he wouldn’t take it well. “I couldn’t be with you only when you needed saving, I want all the time. You can’t do that until we mark, or don’t mark, so until then what I do is my business, okay?”

“And it’s my business when you call me thirteen fucking times! Obviously you needed something, you needed me, so just let me help now. What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Betty tells him, her tone flat. “You can’t do anything. I’m trying to do things on my own, because as I’m learning you won’t always be there,” she says before turning and going for her door, not wanting to look at him because she knows that was a bit below the belt, so to speak.

“This is bullshit, you know that?” he says and she stops at the front door. “I didn’t—I didn’t ask for any of this. I finally told you how I really felt, and I feel like I’m being punished. It’s like I’m already losing the best thing that ever happened to me,” he goes on and follows her.

“I’m right here, Jug,” she assures him softly, but is unable to look in his eyes.

“Are you? Because it feels like your miles away.”

“It’s not fun, is it?” she asks, sniffling a little. “Trying so hard, but the person you’re reaching out for is just slipping away.”

Jughead nods and stares at his shoes. “I deserve that.”

“No, you don’t deserve any of this, Juggie,” Betty whispers and steps closer to him, wanting to feel his body heat if she won’t let herself actually touch him. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be mean to you, this whole situation is just impossible,” she apologizes.

“It’s definitely frustrating,” he agrees quietly. “I miss you, I—I’ve never gone more than twenty-four hours without seeing you before you got grounded, not unless you were on vacation or when I was in the detention center.”

“I miss you too,” she hiccups, trying to swallow the knot in her throat.

“Betty, don’t cry, I’m sorry,” he whispers and cups her face, and she can’t help but lean into his hold for just a moment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she murmurs before pulling away to wipe her face.

“Limbo is a shitty place to reside,” Jughead states, respecting her face.

“That it is,” she agrees in watery laugh.

“I wouldn’t want to be in it with anyone other than you, but that’s how I am with most things, so I don’t know how big of an impact that can really have,” he admits.

“It means more than you know,” Betty tells him.

“Are you okay though? I know something happened for you to call me thirteen times,” he mutters.

“I’m fine, Juggie, I promise,” she lies once more and put her brave face on.

“I’m holding you to that, you’ve never broken a promise to me before,” he reminds her.

Betty just nods. “I, uh, my mom wants me home for a while before the Drive-In tonight. So I’ll see you in a couple hours?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jughead tells her before smiling in that way that makes her feel like gravity isn’t real.

Jughead Jones, defying gravity, who knew he had it in him? Betty did, she always had.

…

“How much do you want to bet Betty almost pees her pants?” she hears Archie say to Jughead as she and Kevin approach his dad’s truck.

“Will not, I’m evolved, Archibald,” Betty states while tossing blankets into the bed, directly on Jughead.

“Oh, yeah, you’re so evolved, that’s why you always so no to scary movies when we suggest them on a regular basis, even the crappy black and white ones Jug wants,” Archie responds.

“They are not crappy, you just have no taste,” Jughead remarks from underneath the blankets he, apparently, has no interest in moving.

“I’m with Archie on this one,” Kevin says and hops into the bed of Archie’s dad’s truck.

“Hey!”

“B, you get scared at the mere thought of Chuckie,” he reminds her.

“Well, that doll is freakin’ creepy! Evil red-headed dolls are my kryptonite, okay? We all have them, like how Seth Rogen is Jug’s,” she insists while getting into the bed herself and removing the blankets from Jughead’s top half.

“Thanks,” he says and just smiles up at her, she tries not to let it get to her, but fails. “And don’t worry, there will be no evil red-headed creatures running around, except Archie, that is,” he adds on and Archie throws a wayward kick his way. “Ow, fuck off.”

“Where’s your dad? He take off already?” Betty asks Archie while arranging blankets so they are all comfortable and no one is complaining about their ass in two hours.

“Yeah, he’s over with some guys from the construction crew. He took the keys to the truck though, so there is no getting in there, just FYI.”

“Is your mom still in Chicago?”

“Yeah, my grandma is doing better, but she wants to stay with her for a while longer just to make sure. I’m supposed to go visit before the summer is over and my mom will come home with me,” Archie tells her. “Now, is it just the four of us?” he asks.

“I invited Ethel,” Betty offers.

“I invited Moose, but he said no, so,” Kevin answers with a shrug.

“He’s a jerk, dude, no worries,” Archie tries to help and sends a smile his way.

Betty shakes her head because Archie is completely oblivious to Kevin’s long-lasting crush on him, but at least Kevin knows to put no real stock in it. Archie is way too into girls to notice, but Kevin doesn’t mind pining from afar, and using Betty’s window from time to time.

She looks over at Jug, who is staring at her, and smiles in a knowing way, so she knows she’s thinking the same thing. She grins and looks down so she won’t laugh.

“So what is playing tonight?” Kevin asks while doing his usual plop down in the back of the truck. “The kid movies ended at sundown, so was the adult movie list posted yet?”

“Yeah, Jug looked, I don’t know why they try to keep it a secret every year, it’s not like it’s a big deal.”

“But Chuckie isn’t on it, right?” Betty questions just to make sure.

“It’s not, I promise,” Jughead swears with a hand over his heart. “We usually only make it through three before your parents make us leave, so we’ll be seeing the original Dracula, Poltergeist, and Scream, if they let us stay for a fourth, The Amityville Horror too. I can’t wait until they don’t care how long we stay so we can finish the whole marathon. It’s a dream of mine.”

“Way to aim high, bud,” Kevin mentions and Jughead responds with a full finger point and wink.

“Hey guys!” Ethel appears with a smile and blanket of her own. “Thanks for inviting me!”

“No problem, hop on up,” Archie tells her, and even takes her hand to help.

Ethel blushes, but of course, Archie doesn’t notice. “Hey Ethel!” Betty greets. “Thanks for coming, I need more girls to help me with these guys.”

“I don’t think they are so bad,” Ethel insists.

“Yeah, thanks Ethel, way to be rude, B,” Kevin mutters grumpily and frowns.

“Oh, bite me,” Betty responds with a cheerful smile.

“Let me pick the spot and you’re on,” Kevin responds.

“Ew, why you do need to pick the spot? Where would you pick?” she asks with a grimace.

“If you’re not gonna let me, I’m not gonna say,” he says very nonchalant and she honestly has so many questions, but doesn’t know if she wants the answers.

“You are a very strange boy,” she settles on and he smiles as if it’s a compliment.

“Alright everyone, ante up, you know the drill,” Archie starts and holds out his hands.

Everyone reaches into their pockets for the obligatory ten dollars so they can get a smorgasbord to tide them over for most of the movie. Before the third one they usually all go get some kind of dessert since it’s not something that can sit out for a couple hours.

“Any special requests?” he asks and hops down with Jughead in tow.

“Don’t forget my ch—”

“Cherry licorice, the kind that pulls apart, I know, Betts,” Jughead cuts her off with a wink. “Anyone else?”

“Extra, extra butter in one of the tubs of popcorn!” Kevin calls after them and they wave him off.

“I love scary movies,” Ethel states as they fade away into the abyss of cars and people. “I always jump at the scares, so don’t worry if I do, I’m not really scared,” she goes on.

“Oh, no one will be paying attention to you, Ethel, don’t worry. Betty here can’t take satirical scary movies, you know when they say they are scary, but it’s really a big joke. She jumps at that shit,” Kevin tells her.

“I do not! I’m not that bad!” Betty insists before sitting down between Kevin and the wall of the bed of the truck.

“You are, but why are you sitting there? Shouldn’t you leave room for J—” Betty elbows him and he nods in realization. “I’m going to end up knocking you out by the end of the night, just so you know what you’re in for,” he warns.

“As long as you don’t bite me when I’m unconscious.”

“No promises.”

Betty shakes her head at him before turning away to try and be oblivious to Jughead’s impending return, maybe then she can ignore the hurt that will surely be splashed across his face before he hides it. They always sit together, always, not just at the drive-in, but in general. Tucked under Jughead’s arm is always where she feels safe no matter what is going on around them.

She remembers telling him that once. It was late at night, Jughead had snuck her out of the house rather than sneaking in himself. They went to the park at the end of the street and laid at the landing at the top of the slides looking at the stars. She thinks they were eleven, maybe twelve, but recalls feeling invincible. It felt like the real world couldn’t touch them, and never would.

There is little Betty never told Jughead throughout the years. She’d shared every dream, desire, and fear. Now, she wonders if he had done the same, or if he’d kept more secrets than just not believing they were meant to be.

Just.

She laughs to herself. Just. As if lying about just that is so small.

“Betty, are you okay?” Kevin asks and she blinks up at him in confusion. “You just started laughing Joker-style, it’s kinda creeping Ethel out.”

“Is not, you’re the one who jumped,” Ethel responds, defensive.

Betty can’t help but laugh some more. “Yeah, sorry just thought of something funny,” she answers and the whole truck shakes as Jughead and Archie hop back in.

Betty avoids Jughead’s face in favor of staring out at multiple cars parked around them. She sees Polly in a Volvo with tinted windows and a head of red hair in the driver seat. She crinkles her eyebrows, but files it away for later.

“Betty,” a voice pulls her back.

“Huh?”

Jughead responds by holding out her licorice.

“Oh, thanks,” she mumbles and leans back to get comfortable in her position.

“Movie is starting in a minute,” Jughead says to the whole group before taking up residence laid out in front of them, his head on one of the few pillows they brought.

Betty sucks her lip in between her teeth and tries not to think about how soft his hair definitely is underneath his beanie. Her fingers twitch at the thought of threading her hands through the silky strands. She’d told him that night at the park that his hair was a soft spot for her, that whenever he took off his beanie, his security blanket, she felt a sense of pride and accomplishment because it meant he felt safe enough to do so.

She starts banging her head back against the truck lightly in frustration. It never occurred to her then that the turmoil going on within him was driving a wedge between them. Betty always knew Jughead worried about it, but after learning the full extent, how big it had built up inside him over the years, she wonders how she could have been so naïve.

Without a second thought she shared everything with him, not thinking that he wasn’t doing the same with her. She speculates if there is a whole side to the boy she loves that she doesn’t know.

The idea makes her heart race in a way that isn’t good.

Betty starts breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, a trick her grandmother told her was calming, but doesn’t know if that’s real or just a grandma thing, but always worked for her nonetheless.

Suddenly her chest feels tight and it she’s thankful they are watching a scary movie because everyone just thinks she’s nervous about the film.

Betty closes her eyes and asks herself just how hers Jughead Jones really is.

The heaviness starts to set in her chest and her breathing picks up to compensate.

“Are you seriously this scared twenty minutes in?” Kevin suddenly questions making her jump.

“Hu—what?” she asks but her voice is more of a rasp.

“You’re hyperventilating, Betty,” Kevin states and everyone’s eyes are on her.

Jughead gets up on an elbow to get a good look, his beanie slowly falling down his head from the movement and he doesn’t make a move to fix it, is more concerned about her.

“Bathroom,” Betty whispers as she jumps out of the truck and takes off running, her hands already curling in on themselves to try and control some of the pain she’s experiencing.

She bypasses the dated structure in favor for the privacy behind it—where the older kids come to make out later in the night, but for now it’s deserted. She leans against the cold stone, her body bent in half with fists on her knees, willing her brain to just fucking work correctly for a couple more hours. She can fall to pieces later, right now she needs to be a Cooper, and Cooper’s don’t do this kind of thing in public, Coopers are always cool and collected.

“Betty!” she hears and whines to herself. “Be—Betty,” Jughead skids on the rocks as he comes to a stop at the side of the building. “Betty, are you okay, look at me,” he insists and squats down in front of her.

Her eyes slam shut because his face will be her undoing, and she knows it. Instead, she shakes her head while continuing the breathing technique she’s believed in for most of her life.

“Betty, please,” he pleads, his voice cracking, and her nails dig in so hard it makes her wince in pain. “Are you—Betty, stop, you’re bleeding,” he says and the dam breaks.

She collapses down into his arms, her hands caught between them, probably getting blood on at least one of them, but she just wants to feel that safety once more time if it’s most likely going to be the last time.

He said so himself, once she marks with someone else he’s gone.

“It—It’s okay, Betty, I’m right here,” he says in her ear, holding her tight and rocking her back and forth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The words make her cry harder and he swears under his breath. He kisses the underside of her ear and the touch causes more hyperventilation because it’s so innocent and sweet, something their relationship isn’t anymore.

“Fuck, Betty, I’m making things worse. Tell me what to do,” he begs while pulling away, but she emits some kind of animalistic dying sound and throws herself at him to keep the contact.

He seems to understand and retightens his hold, this time falling down onto his butt and pulling her into his lap to keep her close.

“I love you, Betty,” he murmurs after a few silent moments, the only noises around them are her cries and as she tries too hard to catch her breath, her chest begins to hurt. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like I don’t, or doubt it. I’m so in love with you, Betty Cooper, that all this shit is causing me to lose my mind, and it looks like you’re feeling the same way.”

She wants to laugh, but can only concentrate on the rumble of his chest and feel of her body pressed against his, and is hanging on to his every word.

Betty feels her ponytail fall, probably from Jughead’s pull, but it was already halfway down on it’s own. His fingers start to lightly massage the back of her neck and head.

“I hate this, I hate that I can’t—I don’t know what to do. I haven’t known what to do for a long time,” he goes on, his tone defeated, and Betty can only heave against him. “No matter what’s going on, Betts, I’m still yours, I have been since I was five, and I always will be. I told you that you ruined me that night I was drunk, and that’s so fucking true. There’s no loving after you, Betty, none.”

She doesn’t know how long she cried into his chest, isn’t sure when exactly she stopped, but she did, and neither of them have said a word since. Her hands are still clenched, her nails nestled into the crevices in her skin just so. The pain is dull, but searing, and her fingers ache from holding the position so long.

All Betty does know is that she wants to stay like this for the rest of the night.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence and making her jump.

With a steady breath she separates just enough to shake her head and look at his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jughead tells her and pushes some hair behind her ear. “How long as this been going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“I let it slide earlier when you lied to me, Betty, and I did it because I knew if I called you on it we would have just gotten into a fight. I’m not letting that happen again. How long has this been happening to you?” he repeats.

Betty looks down at her hands, she still hasn’t unclenched, and doesn’t want to. The pain is a constant, keeps her centered. “Not long, two weeks maybe, a little less,” she murmurs.

“Do you know what it is?”

“A panic attack. I—I did a little research. This one was the worst.”

“And when you called me last night… you were having a panic attack?”

Betty nods, her lip between her teeth, and feels tears form in her eyes. Why can’t she stop crying? “I’m sorry I lied, I—didn’t want you to know. I knew you’d blame yourself.”

Jughead simply responds by pressing a hard kiss to her temple.

“It’s not you, Jug. It’s my brain. It’s never worked right. I mean, I declared we were soulmates when we were four. That should have been our first clue.”

“Stop,” Jughead orders. “Nothing is wrong with you, there is definitely nothing wrong with your brain. If anything, something is wrong with the world around you, and you… you see things how they should be. It’s the world that’s fucked, Betty, please believe that.”

She simply nods, not knowing what to say.

“Let me see,” he whispers and reaches for hands.

Betty’s first instinct is to hide them, but it just makes her grip loosen and the loss of pressure disturbs the wounds.

Her fingernails are caked in blood and for the first time, as Jughead unfolds her fingers she sees what she’s doing to herself. The crescent shapes are deep and an angry red, the sight makes her start to shake.

“What’s wrong with me?” she sniffles.

“Oh, baby, nothing,” Jughead assures her readily and gathers her hands in his, then brings them to his lips to kiss. “We’re going to figure this out, okay?” he promises, his lips against the skin of her palms and she shivers. “Tell me you believe me, but only if you trust it.”

Betty nods slowly. “I do, I promise, for real this time.”

Jughead kisses her hands again, then absent-mindedly squeezes them and she winces. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I—I felt like I deserved it,” she starts after a moment and he looks at her questioningly. “The pain, after everything I’d done. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you, I was walking around with blinders on. I thought if we believed hard enough, if we both committed to it, to us, I couldn’t be wrong. When you told me you weren’t sure anymore something inside me cracked. The pain seemed minimal compared to what I’d done to you.”

“Betty…”

“And it was something I could control. Everything around me is up to someone, or something, else. My parents want me a certain way, my sister another, to our friends I’m the perfect girl next door, you said so yourself, I do so much to be everything everyone else wants me to be, to please everyone else. This is something dependent on me. I decide to do it, to stop it, to hide it, to keep it mine. But I guess, I guess it’s controlling me now too, huh?”

Jughead takes in a deep breath before standing up and leaning both hands on the building behind them.

Betty stands too, and reaches for his arm even though her hands are still a disaster, but before she can touch him he punches cement. She gasps, but he just throws another hit, and then she grabs onto his elbow. “Jug! Jughead stop, please,” she pleads. “Juggie.” She uses the tips of her fingers to turn his chin so he’s looking at her. There are tears in his eyes and she doesn’t hesitate before putting arms around his neck.

“Hurting each other isn’t enough anymore? Now we have to hurt ourselves too?” he says against her neck with a shudder.

“I guess we’d rather do that than keep hurting each other,” she whispers.

“Love is fucked up.”

“We finally agree on something,” Betty attempts to joke.

Jughead pulls away and rests their foreheads together. “Can I walk you home?”

“In the middle of the Scare-A-Thon?”

“Fuck the movies, Betty, I just want to be with you. I feel like I haven’t spent any real time with you in weeks and it’s driving me insane,” he admits.

“I know the feeling, but you know it’s like a thirty-minute walk, at least, right?” she asks.

“So?”

Betty nods. “Okay, I just… should take care of my hands and stuff.”

“Yeah, me too,” he agrees and holds up his scraped knuckles.

“Can we just not worry about the future tonight? Can we just be thirteen?” she asks.

“Can I be fourteen?” he questions with a knowing smile.

“Okay, smartass, get to the bathroom and text Archie so they don’t come looking for us. And tell him that if Kevin eats all my licorice—” she stops when he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Here, you be me, text him and threaten our friends, I gotta pee. I’ll meet you back out here,” he says with a peck to her lips and disappears to go around to the front of the building.

She stands there with a goofy look on her face before snapping out of it because she feels a small sense of peace return to her, and it’s all because of Jughead, but would it really have happened with anyone else?

They end up in his old treehouse since a now elderly couple lives there, and obviously don’t use it.

It resembles the night she was thinking of earlier. They are both laid out on the floor, their heads meeting in the middle to share a pillow they grabbed from Archie’s.

They talk about his dad, how he worries it’s been a week longer than he said, and how Jughead wonders if he’s worth coming back for. Betty turns onto her side to look him in the eye, even if upside down, to assure him he’s worth more than coming back, he’s worth changing your life for.

She tells him about Polly, how heartbroken she is, and she reveals that she saw her with Jason at the Drive-In. Betty worries about Polly getting even more hurt, but respects her sister going after what she wants and making her own decisions instead of waiting for a mark. Life is too short.

Jughead waits until later in the night to ask about her palms, wants to know exactly what is going through her mind when she feels the need to do it. She speaks of the release it brings, even if she is ashamed, and Jughead kisses her forehead and reminds her that he’ll never judge or hold anything against her. He just wants her to be okay, to not hurt herself.

Betty promises to call him if she catches herself doing it, or at least as she is cleaning herself up.

Eventually, the talking stops and Betty just runs her fingers through his hair as he massages the back of her head and she feels better than she has in weeks.

It turns out they aren’t good at staying away from each other, but Betty can’t find it in her to be upset about it. Maybe it means if they don’t mark, that eventually, even without that to hold them together, they’ll still find their way to one another, that maybe it will just take them longer.

…

In the morning, when Betty wakes up there’s a smile on her face, but it’s followed by a wince when she feels a pain in her stomach and achy in her thighs.

Betty groans and rolls over, because of course after a night that ended wonderfully she has to wake up not feeling well.

Betty turns to get more comfortable, and that is when she feels a wetness between her legs.

Instantly she jumps out of bed and is in the bathroom pulling her pants down before the door is even closed behind her.

The red staining her underwear says it all. She finally got her period. She shudders as she looks at herself in the mirror.

Limbo’s over and done with, now reality is ready and waiting.

To be continued....

Notes: Thoughts? Let me know! Reviews are my muse! They help me continue very much so, and after a crappy week they are very much appreciated. Thank you to @jandjsalmon again for helping with this chapter and beta-ing, and of course making the aesthetic for this chapter as well.