#I too have trouble balancing my solitary nature with my love for my friends

[generic-sonic-fan]

Please infodump about whatever Sonic headcanons you have

oh man where do I start? Let's go gameverse Sonic for this one!

My man is emotionally repressed as hell

but not in the "emotions are bad" kind of way. He's one of those "why am I feeling negative emotions right now?" and "I shouldn't be feeling upset when something bad happens or someone hurts me because it really isn't that big of a deal."

This is because he's a self-sacrificing idiot, but you already knew that or you wouldn't be here.

If you think this makes him ultra accommodating, though, you're very wrong. He is not the mom friend.

Sonic is a super independent, take-it-or-leave-it kind of guy when it comes to how he hangs out with people. He'll hang out when he wants to hang out and very rarely anything outside of that.

If one of his friends needs help or comfort, that's a different story, but if someone tries to arrange a "hangout time" with him they're going to get frustrated very quickly.

He's kind of flaky on events he's invited to for multiple reasons

One is that he genuinely forgets- he'll be three continents away, look at a clock on somebody's wall, and realize that he completely missed the event because he messed up the time zone math.

Another is that, well, he found something he'd rather do. Sorry.

The last is that his social battery has run out, and this is usually the only one he feels bad about.

Basically, if you really want Sonic to show up to something, you've got to communicate how important it is to you. Don't just send him an invitation and forget about it.

That being said, Sonic likes to learn what's important to his friends so he knows what not to miss.

He HATES it when people don't directly tell him what's wrong if he sees they're being bothered by something. Which is hilarious, given that he's the king of the "don't worry about me I'm fine" mindset.

He just wants to help, damnit! And he can't help if he doesn't know what's going on!

And oh man, he is so stubborn when it comes to almost everything. "Unstoppable force" indeed.

(his "immoveable object", of course, is Eggman. He was able to win over Knuckles and Shadow, but he hasn't cracked Eggman. Yet.)

It's a very quiet kind of stubbornness most of the time- he won't ever be mean about it and he'll only argue if it's to try and prevent some kind of nefarious scheme by the other party.

But it is rather irritating when you spend a half hour making your point only for him to go "cool story, don't agree though."

TL;DR of this post: being friends with Sonic is easy. Being close friends with Sonic is an olympic-level sport.

[mythicamagic]

Unorthodox: a Sesskag oneshot

Summary: Kagome is pleasantly surprised to receive a present from Sesshoumaru for White Day... until she glimpses the contents inside her gift box.

AN: Written for the Sesskag 2021 Big Bang event on tumblr! @chierafied​ 

I was paired with @milomai-art​ and here’s their lovely artwork: https://milomai-art.tumblr.com/post/648766972634513408/unorthodox-mythicamagic-inuyasha-a-feudal

Rated K+

Words: 3,000

You can read it on Ao3, Dokuga or fanfiction.net. 

Unorthodox

Valentine's day had come and gone, with a notable difference this year for Kagome compared with the last lonely three;

Her return to the Sengoku Jidai.

To celebrate reuniting with her beloved friends, she'd gone all out. Everyone received gifts, right down to Myoga and Jaken; no one had been excluded.

For all her efforts, however, she expected nothing in return. Though she'd explained the concept to the Inutachi, Sango and Miroku were much too busy looking after their children to keep track of dates, Shippo was often away at Kitsune school and Inuyasha had been absent as of late. Besides that, since their relationship had ended, the subject of Valentine's had become an awkward one. She'd had to stress the platonic intent behind her gift to him.

Therefore, Kagome had pretty much forgotten all about White Day by the time it rolled around.

Exiting Kaede's hut with a tub of water in her arms, intending to give the old miko's horse a good scrub down, she dug in her heels the second exquisite silks, armour and a fur pelt registered- having blinked into existence before her. Kagome gaped, swaying. Water sloshed, some spilling to their feet.

"Uh hi," looking up at grave, handsome features, she arched a brow. Sesshoumaru stared at her fervently. "Nice to see you, Sesshoumaru," adjusting her grip, Kagome sidestepped him and flashed a warm smile, used to his minimalistic approach to conversation by now. "Do you need something? Inuyasha isn't here. I think he's helping the next village over repair a-"

"I am not here for him."

Kagome noted his succinct tone, sounding more defensive than usual. Setting down the wooden tub carefully, she straightened, tilting her head. "Then what are you here for?"

"White Day."

"White... ah!" Kagome gasped, "that's right! How did you know about that?" she blinked, noticing he looked extra grumpy today. His jaw ticked, golden eyes narrow. Slowly, the miko brightened. "No way. Did you... get me something?" she breathed, strangely touched.

Of all people, Sesshoumaru had remembered? Was she dreaming?

A hand thrust out stiffly towards her, balancing a small box upon his palm.

Accepting it with thanks, heat touched her cheeks. Weird. She really shouldn't be indulging this- or feeling kind of happy. It didn't mean anything to be pleased, right? Was she even allowed to feel warm and fuzzy towards her ex's brother?

Opening the lid, Kagome tried to squash her excitement- peering down. Slowly, she reached in, retrieving a silky soft thing.

It appeared to be made of something long, silver and fine, the material woven into a pretty design. A bracelet of silk, if she could hazard a guess.

"Um, thank you," Kagome raised her gaze. "What's it made of, out of curiosity? It's very soft."

Sesshoumaru appeared pleased, preening a little. "Only the finest material."

"Really?" she stroked it. "I hope you didn't go to any trouble on my account."

He scoffed, midsummer gaze smiling slightly as his tone became haughty and prideful, "it was no trouble to use this one's own hair."

Kagome dropped the bracelet back into the box. "Whut?"

Lithe fingers combed indulgently into his fall of lustrous silver hair, "you need not be alarmed. The strands grew back quickly."

That isn't what's alarming me, Kagome silently screamed. Now that she was paying attention though, the pale bracelet really did resemble the demon lord's long flowing locks.

Her hand recoiled a little from the box. "W-well, um... thank you very much," Kagome said thinly. "It's a very thoughtful gift. Truly."

Sesshoumaru's keen, piercing eyes roved over her strained features, voice deepening. "If you do not wish to accept it-"

"N-no, I do! I'll wear it right now!" Kagome grabbed it madly, fiddling with the thing while repressing a shudder. She tried and failed to secure the clasp, stiffening when large hands closed over her hand.

The demon lord leaned forward- that same hair currently being secured around her wrist falling free from behind a pointed ear. Silver strands draped down like a gossamer curtain, tickling her flushed, sensitive skin.

Sesshoumaru tilted his head up, expression unreadable.

Shifting her wrist, Kagome observed the threads of hair wrapped around it. His bracelet felt odd, the concept totally foreign. However, she could feel how much the gesture meant to him. She didn't fear offending him because of his dark temper- more because she cared about his feelings and wanted to nurture any hint of a bond between them.

"Thank you," Kagome said. "No one else brought me anything today, so I'm...I'm grateful."

Even if it was the weirdest thing she'd ever received. A bracelet made of hair wasn't exactly traditional.

Straightening, Sesshoumaru's lips thinned as his eyes flickered with confusion.

Kagome blinked, wondering what else he'd envisioned her saying.

"Hn," inclining his head regally, he pivoted sharply and began stalking away quickly, giving a swift kill to the conversation.

---

Without a frame of reference for how long he desired her to wear it, Kagome tugged her sleeve down to hide the bracelet from curious eyes during the next few days. She tried to ignore the sensation of hair continually brushing her skin.

"I wonder if it means something important," Kagome examined it while sprawled out upon a grassy hill, taking a break from her miko duties Kaede had started dishing out ever since her return.

Sesshoumaru had seemed extremely serious while giving it to her. Then again, the gift could've meant nothing. Maybe his hair was just THAT valuable in the Daiyoukai's opinion. She snorted, twisting her wrist and watching silver threads catch on sunlight, making it shine white. "His ego is big enough. I'd believe it. Heh, maybe he'd also give me one of his eyelashes, or a fingernail or..."

Why was Sesshoumaru heading towards her?

Sitting up and fussing absentmindedly with her hair- removing a few stray leaves- Kagome felt heat flood her face.

Okay, no- she shook herself, putting a firm lid over the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. Too strange. Enough of that.

The Daiyoukai stopped a few feet away, expression detached. Kagome knew by now to ignore it in favour of looking into his eyes. They were intent and unblinking today, hinting at his seriousness.

"Hi," she said, patting a spot next to her. "It's rare for you to visit the village again during the same week. What's up?"

Sesshoumaru cocked his head to the side at her odd term. Kagome bit her lip, finding it endearing. Her attention strayed, noticing yet another box sitting innocently upon his hand.

She paled. Oh no.

Gracefully sweeping himself down onto one knee- he thrust the new box out towards her, giving Kagome a dizzying sense of Déjà vu.

I was joking about the fingernails. Please be something normal. Please.

Accepting it gingerly, blue eyes flicked up towards him. "White day is over, you know."

"This one is aware."

"So...why the new gift?"

Sesshoumaru pretended to be interested in the gentle bubbling stream not too far away. "Because it pleases me to give it to you."

He was so difficult to figure out. Not wanting to squash his newfound sense of generosity, Kagome carefully removed the lid.

The contents did not look promising.

Trying not to jump to conclusions, she reached in and removed the long necklace. A single solitary tooth hung from the chord.

"Ah," Kagome squinted. "Open your mouth a sec."

Sesshoumaru's lips parted wordlessly, mouth opening wider to reveal a gap where one of his sharp canines used to be.

"This...is yours?" she asked weakly.

Sesshoumaru closed his mouth and nodded primly. "It will serve you well, should you have need of it."

In what way would I ever have need of a tooth? a wrinkle marred her brow as she considered it, coming to a small realisation. "To make a sword from?"

"Hn."

Well, that explained a small piece of the puzzle. In a very 'Sesshoumaru' way- it almost seemed a little sweet, practical even.

However, this did not help assuage her naturally squeamish reaction while looking at the freshly plucked tooth.

"Thanks," she said lamely. "I-I'm sure it'll be very useful if I visit Totosai in the future."

Her answer didn't seem to be what he was looking for. Sesshoumaru's gaze flitted from her to the dangling fang. "Females... prefer jewels, make-up or clothing, I suppose."

Kagome scratched her cheek, "depends on the lady- but you really don't have to worry, Sesshoumaru," laying a hand over pale knuckles resting upon his knee, she gave a squeeze. "I'm touched you're being so thoughtful. There's no need to give me anything else though, I have more than enough."

His nostrils flared, jaw setting stubbornly. He drew himself up to stand, "you are too modest."

Feeling thoroughly discombobulated, Kagome could only watch as he pivoted with all the grace of a dainty dancer, stalking away with billowing sleeves.

---

For two weeks, Sesshoumaru continued visiting the village at random intervals. His flair for turning up at the most unexpected times made it difficult for Kagome to anticipate his visits. Sometimes he'd arrive bright and early, others- nearing nightfall. Occasionally he'd visit Rin, but their interactions seemed distracted. Rin would whisper fiercely to him while gesturing in Kagome's direction, but he'd ultimately leave without speaking a word to the miko.

It was odd, confusing. She'd used to think of Sesshoumaru as a fairly straightforward demon. As of late, he'd been downright unpredictable and... flakey. She kind of missed their previous easy interactions when she'd pick herbs and prattle on while he occasionally offered a word or two. His silence had felt comfortable rather than awkward.

I don't know how to get that back, Kagome thought sadly.

A chilly wind passed by, breeze rushing around her exposed neck. Adjusting her miko garb, she sneezed, shivering a little. Autumn would soon be on its way.

The heat of an intense stare sent a new chill down her spine. Kagome turned, sensing it- only to find Sesshoumaru gazing at her intently.

Was it her imagination, or did he seem absurdly pleased? As though struck by a revelation.

As was typical behaviour for him, the demon lord began walking away without a word.

---

Trudging back from training in the woods, Kagome shouldered her bow while walking around a thick tree- only to quickly stop, almost bumping straight into polished armour.

Sesshoumaru stood before her, holding another box. This time it was larger, more of a rectangular shape.

"M-more?" Kagome squeaked. Her heart thundered. It felt like so long since they'd last spoken.

Sesshoumaru inclined his head gravely, "hn."

Biting her lip and somewhat dreading what cast-off part of him could be inside this time, Kagome grasped the lid and removed it- only to slam it abruptly back down.

"What… what is that?" she asked thinly.

Sesshoumaru's lashes fell shut and slid open in an unruffled blink.

"My fur."

I thought as much.

Kagome removed the lid with trepidation once more, lifting out the lush, soft coat. Even while her hands sank into the cloud-like material, blue eyes remained wide with distress.

Sesshoumaru seemed to guess her line of thinking. "It is discarded fur that I have shed, not cleaved off. Do not worry."

"O-okay," she said thinly. It's still weird though. Too weird. Imagine if I'd made a coat of shed skin.

It was so odd that Kagome felt a line needed to be drawn, placing it back into the box and numbly accepting it from him. "Sesshoumaru… I have to put my foot down now. I appreciate your gifts but I can't accept any more."

He stiffened, the burning embers in his eyes freezing into glassy orbs.

Kagome rushed to explain, "it's very sweet of you, and I appreciate the thought. I'm just not, uh…sure they're suited for a human. Besides, you seem to be worrying about what to get me instead of talking to me. I'd rather we just spoke like old times instead of this awkwardness."

"I see," he said stiffly.

She took a step forward, eyes widening when he took one back and turned. "This one did not intend to give you things deemed inappropriate and unwelcome. Farewell."

"Wait-!"

Too late, Sesshoumaru blurred away from her outstretched hand.

Kagome grit her teeth, sighing and balancing the box on one hand. Damn it.

Slowly, Kagome lowered the box onto a tree stump and gingerly lifted the coat. It felt lush and divine, her hands disappearing within the sheer volume of fur. Sliding her arms into the sleeves and putting it on, Kagome wrapped it around herself, feeling like she were enclosed in a giant fluffy cloud. His static youki brushed her skin intimately, fanning out from the strands.

It was big. It was a little ridiculous. It was wonderful.

Kagome groaned, burying her face in her hands. Sure, the idea of him collecting his shed fur to sew into a coat was strange by human standards, but actually wearing the coat, she now understood his simplistic intent.

He'd just wanted her to be warm.

"You're such a weirdo," she grumbled, blushing and dipping her nose into the fur. It smelled like him; wild forests, with the hint of refined smoke from a pipe.

Maybe she was weird too.

---

He was absent for an entire month.

Sesshoumaru figured it would help ease the sting of rejection. The second he caught Kagome's fragrance, however, it was like an old wound had been ripped open again.

His lips thinned, firmly keeping all emotion locked tight behind a placid mask as he visited Rin.

Chatting with the girl allowed him to soothe his stung ego for a while, distracted by Rin's news about the village and her training. Occasionally she would mention the miko and his chest would tighten again. How pathetic of him.

Once his cup lay empty and Rin mentioned the need to leave in order to assist the older miko, Sesshoumaru took his leave.

Stepping foot outside Kaede's hut, however, he froze.

Kagome stiffened before him, swathed in furs- his furs- he dimly noted.

More than that, lithe fingers curled around the fang resting at her collarbone. The silver bracelet of his hair caught the light before disappearing beneath the length of her sleeve.

Kagome's cheeks heated, and she thrust out a box, letting it rest on her palm.

"I asked around," she muttered. "Inuyasha was clueless, and Shippo kept laughing whenever I tried to ask him what was going on. Luckily Myoga happened to stop by," blue eyes pinned him in place. "You could've told me what all the gifts meant instead of leaving me in the dark."

Sesshoumaru did not accept the box just yet. "I thought my intentions were achingly clear."

Embarrassingly so, for a proud demon.

"Not for humans!" she huffed, lowering her hands a little. "I was confused the whole time! How was I supposed to know that you were giving me a betrothal bracelet, or that the fang was for any half-demon children I might have when they need a sword? I kind of figured out the coat, but I didn't know it represented your intentions to provide for me."

Sesshoumaru stared. Oh. Perhaps he should've listened to Rin about courting the miko after all.

Cheeks scarlet, Kagome sighed, lifting the lid of her box off and removing something from inside.

"May I?"

Sesshoumaru nodded dazedly, golden eyes widening. His entire being thrummed, heart picking up speed.

Shifting closer, Kagome pushed some dark locks behind her ear, the length slightly shorter than usual. Sliding a black bracket around his striped wrist, Kagome swallowed. Her hair had been woven into a band much like his, though nowhere near as intricate.

The demon stared at it, fixated. Baser instincts purred.

Molten gold eyes slowly raised to pin her with a disarmingly reverent look. He spoke no words of poetry, no love or longing, but it was there, he hoped. Abundantly clear. Kagome seemed to recognise it for what it was now.

She smiled a little, hugging her arms and scuffing her foot. "Don't get the wrong idea; I'm not saying I'll jump into marriage with you, but it turns out I'm kind of interested in dating you. Really... interested," Kagome forced out, obviously embarrassed but soldiering on. "If it's okay, we could...do that," she finished lamely.

Sesshoumaru took a step forward, invading her personal space. She blushed exactly the way he'd hoped she would, babbling. "So the uh- think of the bracelet as a dating bracelet! Maybe down the line it could...it could become an engagement thing," she murmured, voice dimming in the wake of his proximity.

"Hn," honeyed eyes smiled, careful claws unfurling to find her chin. "That would be pleasing," he uttered in a faint rumble, tipping his head down. "I accept."

Satisfaction rolled through him fiercely as she tilted her head just so- lips meeting and brushing feather-light against his. Emboldened, Kagome's hands found the collar of his hankimono just as he took her by the waist as though entering a dance, tightening.

Sesshoumaru let his eyes flutter shut, inhaling sharply through his nose. He could smell her so bright and clear—the sweetness of tangerines, faint, exotic soaps—and her mouth so warm. Kagome kissed him, firmer, hand finding his hair- fingers curling. His breath began to roughen the longer their kisses went on. His heart chanted the truth of it all- 'yours.'

If the foolish woman wanted him, he'd already given himself to her. The ticklish brush of her hair claiming his wrist made him smirk against her mouth, glimpsing his own band of white around hers and revelling in a plume of possessive pride.

Perhaps it was unorthodox by her standards, but they were not exactly normal themselves. And so, Sesshoumaru drowned himself in the curious, raw newness of the strange miko, surrendering to all the oddities that would likely follow during their strange courtship.

End

[quirklove]

I beg of you- some soft Tomura, Compress, and Setsuno headcanons, please. I’m on my simp shit rn

aw, you don’t have to beg!! I’m constantly on simp mode for these babes

soft soft soft soft!!!!

ATSUHIRO

Is always humming something or other when he’s around his S/O. It might be an old nursery rhyme that’s stuck in his head, it might be some catchy pop tune that he keeps hearing on the radio, it might even be their favorite song. He’s nearly always an outgoing personality, but his S/O makes him so happy it puts that extra little spring in his step.

He’s a man of culture, (Name)! Somewhere he has a small stash of money from his past that he can draw on, so every once in a while, he likes to treat his friends and his S/O. (Most of the time, that cash goes to making sure they all actually have enough to eat or emergency supplies, and it’s obviously not too much money, so he doesn’t do this horribly often.) If anyone else will join him in disguise, he might be inclined to go with his S/O to a play or musical… perhaps even a ballet if the tickets are affordable enough. If no one else comes, ah, that’s alright; he’ll go with (Name) anyway, then bring back a slightly nicer dinner than normal for everyone else so that they aren’t left out. Maybe once or twice a year he does this, so everyone better enjoy it!

Noooo, he doesn’t wear the balaclava when he goes to bed, nor is it the first thing he puts on in the morning. He loves those times ― lying down to sleep and waking up. He gets to feel so vulnerable and exposed with his S/O, having them stare at him with his entire face uncovered, feeling their hands run through his hair like only ever allows in private. Plus, the fact that their gorgeous face is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes in the morning? God. He’s gone soft. At least that softness is only for them, otherwise he might have a problem.

He likes to play cards with his friends and S/O if they’re not busy. No missions means he’s at the bar playing poker with Kurogiri, or war with Dabi, or… well, all Tomura ever plays is let me turn the cards to dust because fuck your games, Compress. What a brat!! One can practically see his face light up behind whatever mask he has on when (Name) asks him to teach them a game.

No matter what, he makes the extremely conscious effort to always give his S/O some gesture of affection before he goes off on a mission. Whether it’s tipping his mask to lovingly kiss their cheek, giving their fingers a passionate squeeze, or pulling them close for a gentle hug, he won’t leave without doing it. It’s a subtle way of saying goodbye, just in case things might go sideways. He acknowledges that the League’s affairs are incredibly dangerous and illegal; they could all die on any mission. He wants his beloved’s potential last memory of him to be something good. If he ends up dead, he doesn’t want them left with any doubt as to the fact that whatever else is true, he adores them very, very much and wants them to be happy.

TOMURA

Nightmares are a frequent thing with him, unfortunately. Sometimes it takes the form of memories, remembering the night his Quirk activated, leaving him with the image of crying in the middle of a circle made of his family’s corpses. Sometimes it’s a horrifying scenario in which Decay works on him, where he wraps his arms around himself and feels himself disintegrate piece by piece. Sometimes it’s his literal worst nightmare, a scene where he touches his friends or his S/O and they turn to dust in his fingers. Sometimes he wakes up screaming, his hands balled into fists so hard his nails are digging crescents into his palms and drawing blood, just so he can’t hurt anyone he cares about. Having his S/O take him in their arms and hold him close, kissing his face, whispering that he’s safe, reminding him that they’re here for him… he might not get back to sleep, but he finds comfort enough to stop crying within an hour.

There is one lone, solitary, singular way (Name) can get him to wear lip balm. That would be… to apply a surplus of it to their own lips, and proceed to give him as many kisses as he’ll allow them to in one go. Sure, the chapped lips aren’t unattractive ― but they’ve gotta hurt like hell. Just let your loving S/O lessen your pain a little, Tomura, you gigantic baby!! Also, they should pick a novelty flavor when they do this. It increases the number of kisses he’ll accept when their lips taste like vanilla frosting or Dr. Pepper.

Is like… the worst at any kind of self-care. He forgets to wash/comb his hair, he definitely doesn’t shower quite enough, he’s had at least one infection from not taking care of the wounds on his neck. The only reason he isn’t dead is Kurogiri, and later gains another reason; his S/O, obviously. Whenever he’s not working on his and All For One’s plans, he’s playing video games, and trying to get him away from that is like pulling teeth. However, his S/O has turned out to be very good at doing that. They can easily entice him with a warm shower together, and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt something as amazing as their fingers massaging his scalp as they wash his hair. Even though the ointment they want to put on his neck smells like medicine, he tolerates it simply because it feels nice when they rub it on. They’re always so gentle with him, and it just about breaks the poor man.

When encouraged and left in a non-stressful environment, Tomura is actually not terrible with children. He’s awkward, sure, he’s grumpy, sure, he doesn’t suffer brats, sure, but all things being equal, he does alright. Most of the time he’s not too scary around kids, or at least doesn’t act scary. (His appearance freaking some of them out, ah… that’s another story.) Though he’d have to do a lot of preparation, he might actually put an incredible amount of effort into learning if he found out he was going to be a father. How the man can’t manage to muster up the motivation needed to wash his clothes before wearing them a second time, yet can summon the will to read a ton of different parenting books, the world will never know. The point stands ― having a child combined with his love for his S/O would be a huge catalyst for his realizing that he doesn’t hate everything and everyone, and the world isn’t all bad.

Whenever he wants to touch his S/O in a sweet, intimate way but doesn’t feel comfortable or safe using most of his hand, he’ll use one finger. He might curl his fingers in to run his thumb gingerly over their cheek, or trace his knuckle down the side of their arm, or use the tip of his index finger to draw down their spine so he can see them arch their back. Tomura has never, ever had this before. Despite knowing he has to be careful, that he wants to be careful with them, there’s something endlessly fascinating to him about seeing how they react pleasantly to his touch when all his touch has ever done before is destroy. This also works in reverse; he wants to experience every possible touch of theirs that they’re willing to afford him.

TOYA

When he sleeps with his S/O, he really, really loves to be the little spoon. (He’s pretty well convinced that anyone who says they don’t, at least from time to time, is a liar!) It makes him feel safe and secure, like everything’s okay, like his S/O cares about him and wants to protect him. If he’s not being the little spoon, and sometimes when he’s the little spoon but facing them, he tends to cling in his sleep. His arms wrap tightly around their waist, his head buried in their chest or their neck or their back. It’s a product of his depressingly possessive nature; he loves them so much, they’re the best thing in his life, and he just… doesn’t want to lose them. Even while he’s asleep, he never wants to let go.

There are times Toya thinks about letting his hair grow out a little longer, to his shoulders maybe. The biggest thing that stops him is that he doesn’t know how he’d look with long hair. He isn’t sure he’d look that great or that he has the face for it! He’s a little afraid that with his more delicate features, having hair longer than it is now would lead to him being mistaken for a woman. If he mentions it to (Name), he might be a little startled by their enthusiastic, “Oh, that would look so charming on you!” coupled with a reassurance that they love his appearance no matter what he decides to do with his look. As far as they’re concerned, even if he ends up not doing it, they’re still going to think he’s the most handsome man ever. Knowing they’d support it, though, makes him think about actually doing it.

He rambles a lot, particularly when he’s feeling anxious. He rambles a lot. That goes along with his hands fidgeting and sometimes his leg bouncing a bit if he’s sitting down. For some reason he finds it hard to sit still or be quiet. He feels the need to fill the silence with something. So he talks, about anything and everything and occasionally about nothing at all. Most of the time only his S/O (or sometimes a friend) placing a hand over his, threading their fingers together, can calm him slightly. Often a gentle kiss when he’s doing the motormouth thing will get his mind to slow down and focus… at least to the point where he kisses back, and happily drowns in them for a while.

While not ‘on the job’, Toya… is usually kind of unsure what to do with his time. He reads, he watches TV a lot, he… sleeps. God, he sleeps. He seems to spend his life in a weird state of either being asleep or seeming wired as hell. There’s not really an in-between for him, at least not for a long time. He has trouble finding balance, especially since he’s so depressed. It seems to other people that he’s got too much energy and doesn’t fit the profile of what many people think a depressed person looks like. In truth, this is probably more accurate than people would like to think ― he hides the fact that he feels numb or sad by masking it with upbeat, happy, sometimes crazed behavior. Thankfully, he can sometimes find real happiness with his S/O, and it’s because of them that he might seek any kind of treatment so that he can feel better more often. Good thing, too, because not only will he be chasing a healthy life… his smile, genuine, painless, unaltered by any kind of forced joy? His true smile is the most beautiful thing.

Okay, but the man… has a serious sweet tooth. Most of the Hassaikai have their own room, and they can fill it however they choose. Toya’s cabinets are filled with nothing but sugary snacks. Even though he does eat regular meals, or at least tries to, he has to have something with sugar nearby to eat between. Chocolate is his favorite; he’ll eat almost any kind of candy, pastry, or even fruit snacks. If his S/O is very lucky, he will share! Pro tip: playing the pocky game with him is guaranteed to end in a cute, maybe steamy makeout session. And kissing any leftover chocolate that gets stuck to his lips? Oh, he’ll blush so hard.

[serialreblogger]

You want to talk more about the bigotry in Harry Potter? Go ahead! I've actually heard stuff like that before, but have yet to do much research on it personally and it's been a while since I read it, so I'm interested.

WELL

Before we begin I should start with a disclaimer: this analysis will be dedicated to examining as many bigoted aspects of Harry Potter’s writing as I can think of, so--while I personally am more or less comfortable balancing critical evaluation with enjoyment of a piece, and strongly advocate developing your own abilities to do the same--I know not everyone is comfortable reading/enjoying a story once they realize its flaws, and again, while I think it’s very important to acknowledge the flaws in culturally impactful stories like Harry Potter, I also know for some people the series is really really important for personal reasons and whatnot. 

So! If you’re one of those people, and you have trouble balancing critical engagement with enjoyment, please feel free to skip this analysis (at least for the time being). Self-care is important, and it’s okay to find your own balance between educating yourself and protecting yourself.

On another note, this is gonna be limited strictly to morally squicky things to do with Rowling’s writing and the narrative itself. Bad stuff characters do won’t be talked about unless it’s affirmed by the narrative (held up as morally justified), and plot holes, unrealistic social structures, etc. will not be addressed (it is, after all, a kid’s series, especially in the first few books. Quidditch doesn’t have to make sense). This is strictly about how Rowling’s personal biases and bigotry impacted the story and writing of Harry Potter.

Sketch Thing #1: Quirrell! I don’t see a lot of people talking about Quirrell and racism, but I feel like it’s a definite thing? Quirinus Quirrell is a white man who wears a turban, gifted to him by an “African prince” (what country? where? I couldn’t find a plausible specific when I was researching it for a fic. If there’s a country which has current/recent royalty that might benevolently interact with someone, and also a current/recent culture where turbans of the appropriate style are common, I couldn’t find it). Of course, it wasn’t actually given to him by an African prince in canon, but it’s still an unfortunate explanation.

More importantly, ALL the latent Islamophobia/xenophobia in the significance of the turban. Like, look at it.

“Man wears turban, smells like weird spices, turns out to be concealing an evil second face under the turban” really sounds like something A Bit Not Good, you know? If you wanted to stoke the flames of fear about foreignness, it would be hard to do it better than to tell children about a strange man who’s hiding something horrible underneath a turban.

Also, Quirrell’s stutter being faked to make you think he was trustworthy is a very ableist trope, and an unfortunately common one. “Disability isn’t actually real, just a trick to make you accommodate and trust them” is not a great message, and it’s delivered way too often by mass media. (Check out season 1 of the Flash for another popular example.)

Sketch Thing #2: The goblins. Much more commonly talked about, in my experience, which is good! The more awareness we have about the messages we’re getting from our popular media, the better, in my view. 

For those who haven’t encountered this bit of analysis before: the goblins in Harry Potter reek of antisemitic stereotypes. Large ears, small eyes, crooked noses, green/gray skin, lust for money, control of the banks, and a resentful desire to overthrow the Good British Government? Very reminiscent of wwii propaganda posters, and in general the hateful rhetoric directed towards Jewish people by other European groups from time immemorial. 

I’m also extremely uncomfortable with how goblin culture is handled by Rowling in general. Like, the goblins were a people that were capable of using magic, but prohibited by the British government from owning wands. That was never addressed. They also had a different culture around ownership, which is why Griphook claimed that the sword of Gryffindor belonged rightfully to the goblins--a gift isn’t passed down to descendants upon death, but instead reverts to the maker. This cultural miscommunication is glossed over, despite the fact that it sounds like Griphook’s voicing a very real, legitimate grievance.

To be honest, apart from the antisemitism, the way Goblin culture is treated by the narrative in Harry Potter is very uncomfortably reminiscent to me of how First Nations were treated by English settlers in North America, before the genocide really got started. The Goblins even have a history of “rebellions,” which both raises the question of why another species is ruling them to begin with, and more significantly, is eerily reminiscent of the Red River Rebellion in Canada (which, for the record, wasn’t actually a rebellion--it was Metis people fighting against the Canadian government when it tried to claim the land that legally, rightfully belonged to the Metis. But that’s another story)

In sum: I Don’t Like the implications of how Rowling treats the goblins.

Sketch Thing #3: Muggles. Ok because we’re all “muggles” (presumably) and because I’m white, talking about this might rapidly degenerate into thinly-veiled “reverse racism” discourse, so please y’all correct me if I stray into that kind of colossal stupidity. However, I am not comfortable with the way non-magical humans are treated by Rowling’s narrative.

The whole premise of Harry Potter is that Evil Wizards Want To Hurt The Muggles, right? Except that it’s not. Voldemort’s goal is to subjugate the inferior humans, rule over non-magical people as the rightful overlords, but that’s hardly mentioned by the narrative. Instead, it focuses on the (also egregious and uncomfortably metaphorical) “blood purism” of wizarding culture, and how wizards would be persecuted for their heritage.

But muggles, actual muggles, are arguably the ones who stand to lose the most to Voldemort, and they’re never notified of their danger. We, the muggles reading it, don’t even really register that we’re the collateral damage in this narrative. Because throughout the series, muggles are set up as laughingstocks. Even the kindest, most muggle-friendly wizards are more obsessed with non-magical people as a curiosity than actually able to relate to them as people. 

I dunno, friends, I’m just uncomfortable with the level of dehumanization that’s assigned to non-magical humans. (Like, there’s not even a non-offensive term for them in canon. There’s “muggle,” which is humorously indulgent at best and actively insulting at worst, and there’s “squib,” which is literally the word for a firework that fails to spark.) It’s not like “muggles” are actually a real people group that can be oppressed, and like I said this kind of analysis sounds a bit like the whining of “reverse racism” advocates where the powerful majority complains about being insulted, but... it kind of also reeks of ableism. People that are not able to do a certain cool, useful thing (use magic) are inherently inferior, funny at best and disposable at worst. They suffer and die every day from things that can easily be cured with magic, but magic-users don’t bother to help them, and even when they’re actively attacked the tragedy of hundreds dying is barely mourned by the narrative. 

It gives me bad vibes. I don’t Love It. It sounds uncomfortably like Rowling’s saying “people that are unable to access this common skill are inherently inferior,” and that really does sound like ableism to me. 

Either way, there’s something icky about consigning an entire group of people to the role of “funny clumsy stupid,” regardless of any real-world connections there may or may not be to that people group. Don’t teach children that a single genetic characteristic can impact someone’s personhood, or make them inherently less worthy of being taken seriously. Just, like... don’t do that.

Sketch Thing #4: The house elves. Everyone knows about the house elves, I think. The implications of “they’re slaves but they like it” and the only person who sees it as an issue having her campaign turned into a joke by the narrative (“S.P.E.W.”? Really? It might as well stand for “Stupidly Pleading for Expendable Workers”) are pretty clear.

Sketch Thing #5: Azkaban. Are we gonna talk about how wizarding prison involves literal psychological torture, to the point where prisoners (who are at least sometimes there wrongly, hence the plot of book 3) almost universally go “insane”? This is sort of touched on by the narrative--“dementors are bad and we shouldn’t be using them” was a strongly delivered message, but it was less “because torturing people, even bad people, is not a great policy” and more “because dementors are by their natures monstrous and impossible to fully control.” 

“This humanoid species is monstrous and impossible to control” is, once again, a very concerning message to deliver, and it doesn’t actually address the real issue of “prison torture is bad, actually.” Please, let’s not normalize the idea that prison is inherently horrific. Of course, prison as it exists in North America and Britain is, indeed, inherently horrific and often involves torture (solitary confinement, anyone?), but like--that’s a bad thing, y’all, it’s deeply dysfunctional and fundamentally unjust. Don’t normalize it.

Sketch Thing #6: Werewolves. Because Rowling explicitly stated that lycanthropy in her series is a metaphor for “blood-borne diseases like HIV/AIDS”. The linked article says it better than I could:

Rowling lumps HIV and AIDS in with other blood-borne illnesses, which ignores their uniquely devastating history. And Lupin’s story is by no stretch a thorough or helpful examination of the illness. Nor is its translation as an allegory easily understood, beyond the serious stigma that Rowling mentioned.

That Lupin is a danger to others could not more clearly support an attitude of justifiable fear toward him, one that is an abject disservice to those actually struggling with a disease that does not make them feral with rage.

This definitely ties into homophobia, given how deeply the queer community has been affected by HIV/AIDS. Saying a character with a condition that makes him an active threat to those around him is “a metaphor for AIDS” is deeply, deeply distressing, both for its implications about queer people and their safety for the general population, and for the way it specifically perpetuates the false belief that having HIV/AIDS makes a person dangerous.

Sketch Thing #7: Blood Ties. This isn’t, like, inherently sketch, but (especially for those of us with complicated relationships to our birth families) it can rub a lot of people the wrong way. Rowling talks a big talk about the folly of “blood purism,” but she also upholds the idea that blood and blood relations are magically significant. 

Personally, I’m very uncomfortable with the fact that Harry was left with an abusive family for his entire childhood, and it was justified because they were his “blood relatives.” I’ve had this argument with ultra-conservative family friends who genuinely believe it’s a parent’s right to abuse their child, and while I don’t think that’s what Rowling is saying, I do feel uncomfortable with the degree of importance she places on blood family. I’m uncomfortable with the narrative’s confirmation that it is acceptable (even necessary) to compromise on boundaries and allow the continuation of abuse because “it’s better for a child to be raised by their Real Family” than it is to risk them to the care of an unrelated parent.

Genetic relations aren’t half as important as Rowling tells us. For people with a bad birth family, this can be a damaging message to internalize, so I’ll reiterate: it’s a pretty thought, the love in blood, but it’s ultimately false. The family you build is more real, more powerful and more valid than any family you were assigned to by an accident of genes.

I can think of one or two more things, but they’re all a lot more debatable than what I have here--as it is, you might not agree with everything I’ve said. That’s cool! I’m certainly not trying to start a fight. We all have the right to read and interpret things for ourselves, and to disagree with each other. And again, I’m not trying to ruin Harry Potter. It’s honestly, as a series, not worse in terms of latent bigotry than most other books of its time, and better than many. It’s just more popular, with a much bigger impact and many more people analyzing it. I do think it’s important to critically evaluate the media that shapes one’s culture, and to acknowledge its shortcomings (and the ways it can be genuinely harmful to people, especially when it’s as culturally powerful as Harry Potter). But that doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t enjoy it for what it was meant to be: a fun, creative, engaging story, with amazing characters, complex plots, heroism and inspiration for more than one generation of people. 

Enjoy Harry Potter. It is, in my opinion, a good series, worth reading and re-reading for enjoyment, even for nourishment. It’s also flawed. These things can both be true.

[firstginger]

I know you’re probably tired of doing formfinding/Dæmon analysis, but if you’re up for doing another one I’m trying to pinpoint my boyfriend’s Dæmon. He’s an INFP, 9w1 4w5 6w5, sx/sp, Hufflepuff. The closest daemons I can find that seem to match his personality are the General Flying Snake and the Grasshopper Sparrow. He got a Kinkajou on your Dæmon test which also seems pretty close for a Pullman form for him. He’s a very introverted person who doesn’t like to go out much and likes to stick

with what he knows, otherwise gets very anxious and has social anxiety/suffers with depression. He’s very kind, loyal, and creative. He can procrastinate and be lazy sometimes, but he gets his work done and does his best at it. He can be spontaneous in how he dresses and starts certain art or fashion related projects. He’s very dependent and close bonding with a select few people (me, friends, and family). He can become easily stressed and hates conflict or competition. He is very much a peace-maker

and always wants to right what is wrong, even when he has done something wrong or upsetting. He’s very affectionate and is in a relationship for life. He’s not manipulative at all and is very communicative when expressing his thoughts and feelings. He has a hard time trusting new people in his life, but he will slowly begin to open up. I hop e this gives a pretty good picture overall. Sorry for the lengthy message. Again, if you have time I would greatly appreciate it. I know you’ve

been through a lot this year. You’re so strong having such a positive attitude about everything and the genuine kindness you show towards people is amazing. Thank you so much for always responding to my lengthy messages and requests. I love reading your analyses and advice. Thank you so much!

thank you so so much for the kind words, it really means a lot to me ❤️ i was meaning to ask you if you’d settled on a mourning dove or a golden retriever too!!

this is a fantastic description and i spent a lot of time milling about this. if you have reasons why the flying snake and grasshopper sparrow didn’t quite fit that would also be super helpful, definitely message me about them and the forms i suggested below and i can refine my suggestions!

looking at the two descriptions though, i think i can see why the flying snake was close but no cigar... from how you describe him, the flying snake seems too detached and not communicative enough. most snake forms tend to be more socially tolerant and not what i’d describe as dependent at all; they also have a capacity for manipulation and a desire to go about their life undisturbed that i think your boyfriend lacks. i really enjoy the snake form for a lot of people, but affectionate and kind aren’t cardinal traits of theirs.

looking at the grasshopper sparrow, again i think i can see the issues you’re having — the capacity for manipulation (sparrows as a whole are pretty tenacious and survivalists as a species) and that methodical and detail-oriented nature doesn't seem to become him, if he's more the creative and procrastinating type. birds get placed as sensors a lot and while i don't think it's a hard and fast rule, sparrows i think lack a lot of the strengths of an intuitive, while exemplifying the strengths of a sensor. at the same time, i can definitely see a lot of traits in him that might fit a birds, so i wanted to start with other bird suggestions that might work before broadening into other species. my only hesitation with other passeridae is many of them group together in flocks, are migratory, and engage in polyandry, but i’ll play around with some and other aves species.

the rock sparrow was my initial thought that could fit him. a very shy and unobtrusive species, the rock sparrow is typically found in low densities, but displays a strong ability to adapt across a variety of habitats. different groups of rock sparrows show different degrees of gregariousness and breeding strategies... when a species is capable of demonstrating a range of adaptive behavior like this, i think it best correlates to human behavior as someone flexible. they also have an impressive capacity for vocalizations, and their preference for taking over abandoned burrows instead of building their own i think fits a procrastinating reputation. so in summary: a rock sparrow person would be highly capable of adaptation and flexibility, while still being an individual who prefers not to over-exert themselves and likes to find a niche. they may be too socially tolerant for your boyfriend as loose group activity doesn’t stress them, but they show an extreme attachment to their loved ones, with mate-guarding techniques that would translate to protectiveness and dependence. very communicative but not confrontational or assertive. tends to be the procrastinating and corner-cutting type, though diligent when it comes to completing work and seeing things through. i thought the yellow patch would also be cute symbolically for someone who dresses spontaneously too!

have you considered species of buttonquail, such as the quail-plover? they’re not related to the galliforme quails. the quail-plover specifically is a monogamous species that’s typically only found in small groups, and displays shy and anxious behavior when threatened. again though they’re pretty adaptable and willing to be flexible, and considering their nervous temperament, i would anticipate them to be less bold and gregarious and more the type of person who will change from routine if it avoids future stress or conflict.

coursers like the indian courser and double-banded courser i think would be my last aves suggestion... they’re non-migratory and engage in solitary, monogamous behavior. definitely not ambitious individuals and likely also display that kind of “bare minimum” behavior; less adaptable than any of the sparrow species and enjoy tried and true methods. habitual but efficient and determined in their own niche, they come to life when pursuing their specific passions. very generous and giving people with their loved ones. socially tolerant and non-aggressive. they’ll also flush, which gives me the impression of someone more anxious, especially when coupled with how camouflaged they and their nests are. interestingly, while they do vocalize, the indian courser in specifically does not call when the nest is approached — i think this species would best fit someone who wants to keep their head down, communicative but very non-assertive and wants to keep the peace.

outside of birds, this behavior actually reminded me a lot of some pseudocheiridae... i really think the rock-haunting ringtail possum is a worthwhile to check out! they live in small groups and are highly adapted to their territory; they're so well-camouflaged for their rocky terrain, to hide from predators, they literally just stick their head into a crevice and keep their body exposed. when foraging they don't travel far from their home, but they have a highly diverse diet. they’re extremely vigilant animals and demonstrate generosity towards their group-mates through alarm calls. very tightly knit family groups and they show dependence on their loved ones, as well as high communication and reciprocity with their people. their communication is both vocal and scent-related, though they’re not aggressive or assertive at all, and prefer to avoid trouble. i think this fits a lot of boxes that you mentioned: habitual, kind and loyal, anxious, close-bonding, conflict-avoidant, devoted, and communicative.

the kéwel (bushbuck) might be too withdrawn and quiet, but could be worth a look too... a lot of bovines are pretty defensive and boundary-keeping, but this species is quite tolerant and passive. they travel in small groups but aren’t territorial at all; i imagine this to be a private soul who closely values their group of friends, but is rather socially tolerant and not assertive around others. just by the nature of the bushbuck, i would consider this individual dependent on their loved ones as well. they also definitely prefer their routines and habits and aren't terribly ambitious, and prefer to stay out of the limelight and conserve their peace. i can’t emphasize enough how tolerant these people are. they communicate primarily through scent, so while i wouldn’t describe this individual as overly expressive, they are clear about their thoughts and boundaries.

the last suggestion i’ll toss out is the finless porpoise, if you’re open to aquatic mammals? i think it strikes a nice balance between the creative and spontaneous side he has, and then also someone more introverted and peaceful. the finless porpoise is more mellow and even-tempered than other porpoises. they travel in small, tightly formed groups and display affectionate behavior to reinforce those social bonds. i imagine someone with this daemon to be kind but introverted, an individual who is hard to get to know but blossoms into someone open-hearted and generous. they likely have a sensitive disposition and are slow to start on tasks, but are focused and diligent once they set their mind to something. like most porpoise species, they’re definitely curious and inquisitive people, but finless porpoises are more cautious and the type to look before they leap.

i hope this was helpful! let me know your thoughts!

[spookyold-saintjm]

I [Don’t] Wanna Be Free - Part 4

AHWM Yancy x female reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 5

Warnings: Swearing, violence, mentions of death, and shit that just doesn’t make sense sometimes because that’s how the AHWM world operates. ~just some angsty fluff~

Summary: You left Yancy behind and it’s tearing you apart. Yancy might consider life outside the bars, only for you. And Mark doesn’t know you have the box. You’re going to make some stupid decisions.

A/N: Holy hell, thanks to everyone who’s been keeping up with this! Sorry for the delay in updating. This one’s a little longer, and is also the next to last part in this little series! Thanks for reading friends.

_______________________________________________________________________

Weeks passed and you continued to visit Yancy at the penitentiary. Some nights you would take walks outside around the yard, or have a late night picnic with snacks Yancy was able to gather over time or that you were able to carry along. He was quite the talker, and had story after story of all his adventures (although it somewhat pained you to hear him consider his prison activities “adventures”) over the last several years. It was easy for you to see why everyone was drawn to him and how he’d become a natural leader. You weren’t one for many words, so it was a balance.

He didn’t talk much about anything before he’d been put behind bars, mostly because he said he’d been there so long he didn’t remember much. He said it wasn’t worth remembering, he’d said once, anyways. He didn’t really ask about your past, either, but you agreed your story was much the same. He didn’t seem to care much that you were still an active criminal, although you could swear you saw relief wash over him when you admitted you hadn’t killed anyone...at least, not intentionally.

Other nights, after a friendly and only minimally threatening discussion with Yancy’s cell-mate to keep quiet or else, the two of you would sit together on his bunk and read under the glow of tiny book lights that you’d bring along. You brought him scripts to different plays and productions that you could scrounge up, and fantasy novels for yourself. He’d tried to read one of yours once but had gotten hilariously frustrated because he couldn’t understand anything that was going on.

When your eyes got tired, the two of you would sit in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. You’d rest your head in his lap or vice-versa, drinking in every moment of time you had together. Eventually, you’d worked up the courage to run your fingers through his dark hair while you spent these moments in silence, and in turn he would hold your other hand and rest against you as if you were the only two people left in the world.

Outside of Mark and the occasional people the two of you had regularly hired for various missions in the past, you didn’t really have established relationships with other people. The nature of your work didn’t exactly allow it. That, and there wasn’t really anyone you wanted to let in. Not anymore.

  So, the peculiarity of the connection you and Yancy seemed to have, the fact that you, oddly, felt okay with him, was a mystery to you. It seemed to you that Yancy had similar thoughts. You never explicitly discussed it with each other, but it was a silent agreement. A silent promise to, at least for the couple short hours that you were allotted, give each other an anchor to feel somewhere to belong.

It took everything Yancy had not to talk about your time together to his prison family. Sometimes he’d let a thought about you slip out loud, saying you would have liked a particular number they were working on, or that someone in a film they would watch on movie night reminded him of you. He didn’t see the other inmates give each other passing glances, knowing that Yancy was considering the possibility of parole, because of you. But they weren’t confident in his ability to follow through with it, especially when he’d gotten in yet another fight, and a couple of them had overheard when the warden, despite the anger management classes, the time in solitary, and the years spent without seeing even a glimpse of the outside world, had called him “a lost cause.”

Since the night you’d escaped, you never pressed Yancy further about leaving. He wouldn’t go until he was ready, and you knew nothing would change that. So you chose to simply be there with him, for him, and silently hope that one day it wouldn’t have to be in secret.

But on the outside, things were getting more challenging for you. Mark still believed the warden had the box locked up in a high security vault deeper in the prison than you’d been able to access before. And plans had been all but finalized for the mission to get it back.

You didn’t know why you hadn’t told him you’d had it all along…but there was an creeping feeling in your gut that had told you it was a bad idea. It would have been so much easier, but it was too late to go back on it. He wouldn’t trust you anymore if you told him now…and despite his typically happy-go-lucky exterior, having Mark distrust you was a position no one wanted to be in.

However, he had been concerned about your behavior as of late; you had been more distant in meetings and were away much more often than before…no one knew about your visits with Yancy. And you hadn’t realized how much the very idea of him had consumed so much of your waking thought.

“Hey, y/n!” Mark stopped you one day as you were walking down the hall at base, on your way home. “I wanted to talk to you.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder, “You’ve been a little…off lately. What’s going on, buddy?”

You claimed you weren’t quite sure what he meant, and he chuckled nervously. “Well, for starters, you uhh almost choked one of our hires to death? And then you almost cut another’s hand off? Not to mention the day you almost stuck a fork in my eye, it’s been a few years since you tried that one..”

You ran all the possible ways you could respond through your mind in the seconds it takes to seem to think on it and let out a dramatically heavy sigh. Yeah, you had some “personal" stuff going on, you supposed.

“Ohh, I bet this is about a man, then, huh??” Mark asked, shaking your shoulder a little. “Or, woman, maybe?? Either way, that’s exciting!! I mean, not exciting that you’re having troubles but, well, oh you knowI LOVE some good relationship drama.” He was practically bouncing in excitement.

You feigned embarrassment and swiped his hand off your shoulder, telling him to fuck off.

Mark feigned offense at your words, making you roll your eyes and crack a smile in response. “Well,” he said carefully, "if it’s making you that angry, maybe you should break it off. Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing you duke it out with everybody like you did in the old days, but you gotta admit it’s not good for our…job turnover.”

You shook your head. It wasn't quite that simple, you'd admit. But you’d try to do better at checking your emotions when it came to matters at base.

Mark nodded in approval. “Great. Good. Yeah. Well, I’ll see you around, okay? Tomorrow’s the big day, uh well, night!” He patted your back in excited encouragement before heading off to his destination, leaving you to stand alone in the hall with your stomach burning and your throat tightening in dread.

There was no avoiding it now; Mark would get the box back, and its contents, no matter what. He didn’t give in on what he wanted, you knew all too well. You could no longer bear the gnawing fear slowly spreading throughout your insides the longer you had the box in your possession. You’d spent night after night playing out all the options…and you’d decided that your onlychoice was to plant the box right where Mark expected it to be. You would let him have it, after all.

That meant only one more visit to the prison. To Yancy. And the part that ate away at you the most was the fear that it would very likely be the last.

------

You didn’t bring along anything special with you this time, other than the box, of course. Your lungs felt like they were caving in, but you forced a smile to cross your face when you found Yancy, surprisingly waiting for you in the hallway outside his cell. 

“Gerald left it open for me tonight,” he supplied as he jumped up from the floor and wrapped his arms around you. You allowed yourself the smallest moment to melt into his embrace, taking in his scent and scrounging up the willpower you’d need to tell him what was going on. “Told him another sob story about a dog I used ta have,” Yancy continued, "and the fella caved right away, says I can walk some laps around tonight to gets myself a clear head.” You heard him chuckle ever so slightly. “Gullible bastard.”

Yancy started to pull away from you, but noticed you weren’t moving, or telling him to keep his voice down like usual. You had already felt tears begin to well up in your eyes, and were trying to force them back down before he could look at you. 

“y/n?” He asked, playfully scratching the top of your head and lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’se shuttin' up now, sees?” You could feel him make a motion to zip his lips shut, but you didn’t budge.

You hesitated a moment longer before pulling away, forcing the smile back onto your lips. But Yancy wasn’t a fool, and didn’t waste any time grabbing your hand to pull you toward the outside of the prison. Once you were outside, barely keeping up with his long stride, he checked the yard for any lingering security guards, then sat you down underneath the tree where the two of you often spent time together.

“What’s going on, doll face?” He asked. “Look at me.” He reached out to you, tilting your chin up so that you were facing him. You couldn’t meet his eyes, and closed them while you sighed through your nose to steady yourself. He allowed you the moment to collect yourself, and then you told him everything. You went straight to the point, told him what had happened and what was to come; no use in dragging it on.

“So, what youse is saying is…you ain’t coming back after tonight, huh?” It felt like a gunshot to the chest to hear him say the words out loud, but you nodded. He only let out a short hum in reply, and the two of you sat for a while without speaking, the sides of your bodies barely touching, much like the first night you’d seen each other since your escape.

Yancy’s hand dropped, feather-light, on top of yours. It grew heavier the longer you sat there, as if he thought maybe it would weigh you down, would keep you from leaving. But he knew you didn’t have a choice. He, too, had been forced to make choices that had hurt him. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the pang of guilt, the fact that if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be in this position to begin with.

He hadn’t realized he’d said the thought out loud until you were pleading him not to think that way. You’d done it to yourself, your own choices in life had led up to this. Not his. And you were so sorry it had to be this way. 

“Don’t talk like that, y/n. You don’t know what’s gonna happen! Maybe we can’t sees each other for a while, but I told you, I’se gonna get outta heres.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking down to the grass you both sat on. “I mean, ah, I’se gonna try my best, anyways. I think I, I really—I wanna be free. Well, if it’s with youse.”

You heart was stuttering in your chest, threatening to break out of its cage. You’d never expected to hear him say it, and definitely not just because of you. You knew he’d been trying to be better, really trying, but you realized in that moment how serious he truly was.

You muttered his name a couple times and shook your head, part in sadness, part in disbelief at what things had come to. You dropped your head to rest against his shoulder, and all but curled yourself into him. He wrapped his arms around you, a shield against the ever-chilling night air. You felt his lips press softly onto the top of your head, and once he’d pulled away you lifted your head to pull him back down into a long kiss.

He reached up to cup your cheek with one hand and bring you even closer to him, his thumb reaching to wipe away the spots where tears had managed to escape. Your hands were around his arms, on top of his shoulders, in his hair as you kissed.

Soon he was pulling you onto his lap, and with your nod of permission his hands were everywhere, taking in and memorizing every bit of you that he still could, and you returned his urgency with that of your own. Your lips separated only you to catch your breath, foreheads pressed against each other, both of you lightly gasping for air.

“Wanna go inside...?” Yancy suggested, his voice almost a whisper next to your ear, and you quickly nodded in reply as he helped you to your feet, your head foggy with the electricity still buzzing though your body. Yancy grabbed your hand and started to lead you back into the prison, but after a couple steps, you froze and abruptly yanked him to a halt as the air was sucked from your lungs. You stared across the yard unable to move or speak.

“y/n, what’s—”

He quickly followed your stare, and he saw, too.

“Oh. This ain’t good."

Across the yard, by the gate that led to the outside, stood a single figure, dressed head-to-toe in black.

Mark.

_______________________________________________________________________

@rats-this-username-is-taken @dragonangel201 @just-a-werido @ultra-mysticartisanbouquet @theworsttrashofall @writer-girl99 @pupylvr4905 @fastidious-and-a-mess @maraudersforlife5922 @your-handsome-dad-kenneth​ @mirrored-calamity​ @foxyfoxsshinythings​ @jinxjinn​ @jazz-playing-queer​ @hypo-crates​ @itisadragon​ @jennabonenna @god-tier-dumbass​ @justaside-blog @antis-sock @naniky​ @joebob15274 @mygamingknight​ 

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Witch Code and Hierarchy

I thought I’d share how my witch world will work in my stories. Witches can’t turn others into witches. Witches in my game have to have the witch gene. Like the vampires the witches also have a few rules. Although no witch has the power to tell another witch how to be a witch but there are rules in place to keep order and not cause the norms to go on witch hunts. If a witch breaks the rules they will be stripped of their powers or be put to death.

Do not bring attention to our kind.

Do not use your magik to kill unless in self defense.

Do not use your magik for evil intent. 

Do not teach magik to anyone who is not a witch.

Do not marry or woohoo with other supernatural beings.

Even though there are a few rules there is also a moral code that witches live by. Breaking these are not punishable but may have consequences. 

Know yourself and your craft.

Honor the Goddess and God.

Remember the Witches’ Rede

Witch Hierarchy:

Sages Witch Council (Elders) Covens Solitary Witches The Hermit Mages

Sages’ main purpose is to maintain balance. They also help witches reach their full potential. There are three Sages that live in the Magik Realm. They are immortal and possess great knowledge of magik and witch history. Each Sage is gifted in the three main practices. New witches will be tested in all three to learn where they are most gifted. Some witches may discover they are only gifted with potion making which is also taught by the Sages or higher level witches. Usually only the most powerfully gifted witch or a witch born to prestigious coven families will be accepted to magic school. It is a great honor for a witch to be trained by the Sages. Witches that are not accepted are taught within their own families or taken in by other covens to help in their training. It is of the utmost importance that all witches learn to control their magik. They might hurt others not meaning to or their power will consume them turning them into a mage. 

The witch council’s main purpose is to handle witch business outside of the magik realm. Sages never leave the Magik Realm so it is the council’s duty enforce the rules outside the Magik Realm. The council is also responsible for maintaining peace between their kind and other supernaturals. There is an agreement between the supernatural world to stay out of other supernatural’s territory unless given permission or they are in neutral territory. It is not uncommon for supernaturals to be friends with other supernaturals they’re just not permitted to date or marry other supernaturals.

Covens usually consists of witch families but there are covens formed with witches who are unrelated. Each coven is responsible for the region in which they reside. In that region the coven’s duty is insure order. If the order is disrupted they must report back to the council. The high witch is the witch who is incharge of the coven and decides how the coven is to be ran. Usually the witch with the most abilities or the oldest in a coven family is the high witch. There are those who are born in a witch family that possess little to no power. Those born with little power may be empathetic or born with psychic abilities. Sims born with no power or a few abilities can stay with the witch families but are not taught magik. The psychics however are taught to ward off spirits less they go insane.

Solitary witches choose to perform spellwork and rituals alone without a coven. They do not want to be a part of a coven or be too involved with the witch world. Some however do participate in the holidays or gatherings. Usually green witches choose to be solitary witches because all they need is nature. Whatever type of witch a sim may choose to be they use their abilities for good and give back in some way.

The Hermit also lives a solitary life. The Hermit once was a Sage but she did the one thing you’re not supposed to do as a Sage, leave the Magik Realm. The Hermit fell in love and when her lover was in trouble she went to rescue him. Leaving the Magik Realm her powers were completely gone and she was unable to save him. The goddess took pity on her and sent her to her own realm where she spends her time as a powerless immortal. Time moves differently in the Hermit’s realm and she finds herself regenerating as different sims. Even though the Hemitis no longer a Sage she does have another purpose. The Hermit having a vast knowledge of magic takes on special cases to help train witches. Witches that do not have anyone who are a part of the witch world or a coven to train them.

Mages are the dark casters of the witch world. They were once witches but when a witch uses their magik to gain more power or for evil intent their magik twist them and changes them. It is not hard to spot a mage as they will have a pale complexion and a veiny appearance. Darker magik is taught by the Sages but it is for learning purposes and self defense. Mages however take their knowledge of dark arts to another level. Mages are outcasts and are unable to enter the Magik Realm. Mages are usually left alone unless they are causing harm but if you spot a mage in witch territory it is cause for alarm.

[lotornomiko]

Triumph’s Tribulation Chapter Three (Sorta not safe for work?)

Putting a semi not safe for work warning just in case. There is no sex, but Lezard is giving off this VIBE that might be troubling to some. Trigger warnings for that same vibe, and the dubious nature of the whole thing, At least the Rufus Alicia scene balances out that darker side with some sweetness and what not...even if they are going to be angsting a fair bit in the story. ^^;;

Those eyes of his positively blazed with their emerald hue, the half elf looking so determined, and earnest, and above all ready. He seemed pumped and primed for the lengths needed, Rufus ready to endure just about any type of ordeal in his desire to be of help to her.  Alicia might have never loved him more than she did now in this moment, the princess’ eyes welling with tears. That blinding moisture was a mix of her gratitude, and that of her sorrow, the young woman understanding that the man had just made the choice she had already settled upon that much infinitely harder to accept.

His smile was this beaming beacon of all teeth, the half elf ever so happy for her. So excited, and hopeful, and ever so relieved. Alicia hated the thought of dashing it all, of the frustration and sadness and most of all the confusion that would follow. Would she ever be able to make him understand? Would Rufus even make the attempt to try? She was unsure, despite loving him so, the princess understanding that there was an inherently selfish side to the green haired elf who had so permanent a place in her heart.

It was at direct odds with her own self sacrificing nature., Alicia this gentle soul who would gladly take a blow meant for another. She’d shoulder the world’s burdens, uproot the very heavens in an attempt to right a wrong, and yet this choice of hers was the one thing she could not protect Rufus from. Not now, maybe not ever, the information given her, too great a secret for Alicia to ever keep from him.

With those tears welling in her eyes, the young woman briefly closed them as though shutting away the sight of Rufus and his eager smile. It didn’t give her nearly enough strength, Alicia wanting to be swept away by the elf’s excitement and hope. It should, could have been so easy to, but then that was not the kind of woman Silmeria had helped shape her to be. The Valkyrie the voice in her head from before she could truly understand the words, the princess had gone above and beyond any royal duty, to champion this world and its people. Even at the many great costs to herself.

The curse was one of them. The loss of her family another. There was the destruction of the kingdom she had thought had turned its back to her. Even the betrayals at the hands of those she had called friend. She had not only lived through it all, she had survived, becoming a stronger, better person for it. That had all been the fire to forge her, Alicia brave, determined and bold. Doing what was needed, rather than what was always wanted. Selfless to a fault, the young woman had grown to become the kind of hero the Gods themselves would have clamored for.

She wasn’t one of their chosen though. Alicia wasn’t even guaranteed a place in paradise, given the enemies she and Silmeria had made. Both of them had never given much of a damn for their own personal gain, fighting instead to right Odin’s many wrongs. That that tyrant was no more, didn’t seem to much matter, little having changed under the new God’s rule. There was still a world that needed saving, and a villain that needed to be stopped. A sacrifice was again needed. HERS, Alicia snapping open her eyes with a bold determination that belied the gentle touch she did on the hand cupping her face.

Rufus didn’t immediately sense it, too lost in his own desire, that want that was both selfless and selfish, the half elf ready to screw over the world to help one single, solitary soul. That part of him endeared the man to her, even as it made the princess exasperated, a frustration pushing and pulling at her, for the elf had made things so much more difficult than they need be!

A sigh expelled out of her, Alicia leaning into the warmth of Rufus’ hand. It was so inviting, that heat, able to push back all of the cold that she felt. That look in his eyes was like it’s own sun, Alicia wanting nothing more than to bask in it’s radiance. He was everything to her, her rock, her foundation, her friend and her solace, yet also a source of worry, from the reaction she already anticipated, to the beat, beat, beat of his excited heart, the woman growing stiff with the realization that she could hear it, AND the blood coursing through his veins.

It should have been repugnant, should have sent her lurching away. Instead Alicia found herself stepping closer, almost as though she would press up against him. All to better listen to those sounds, to the hypnotic beat of his heart pumping that temptation through him. She then breathed in the scent of him, Alicia’s nostrils flaring, that coarse sandal wood and leather smell unable to disguise the vitality of him. The life and the strength, and what it could do for her.

It wasn’t his blood that she was smelling, but that of his soul’s essence. It was this intoxicating feel, something that Alicia could have easily gotten drunk off of, her eyes slitting half closed in a kind of ecstatic contemplation of how to best drink him down. He was oblivious to the danger, Rufus stroking a solid hand over the length of her honey hued hair. It wasn’t just his hands that were that tangible a presence, all of his flesh was, the elf’s very existence a marvel, the man made real through some miraculous force that even Alicia herself did not understand.

Her arms wound their way around him, Alicia pressing her cheek to his chest, to better listen to the sound of his heart. It beat as though he was still alive, as though he hadn’t been murdered, Rufus a ghost given solid flesh that was maintained through a remnant of Silmeria’s power. That same energy that gave Rufus and Arngrim flesh, was what allowed Alicia to sometimes cast crystals.

That power and the memories were all she had left of the Goddess, the sister that had been literally torn from inside her. She couldn’t abandon them any more than she could the Valkyrie, a deep seated understanding, that purpose, driving her, Silmeria out there somewhere, though in what shape and situation no one could say. Not even Brahms, the undead Lord knowledgeable about a great many things but only to a point, the future something that no one could know without having lived through it first.

She couldn’t help but grow dark, the future something that they were all fighting to still have. Tomorrow no longer guaranteed, there was no point in pressing forward to anything other than the chance that might save them all. No matter the personal cost, and Alicia had let this farce of happiness go on for too long! Abruptly, she pushed back, a pointed step taken away from Rufus. She couldn’t bear to watch his joy dashed by her hand, and yet there was nothing else she could do. No other choice to be made, Alicia bracing herself for the elf’s worst.

He comprehended the change in her immediately, acknowledging it with a question in those bright eyes. Her name was voiced with a desperate edge to the sound, Rufus making a move as though to follow her, and only her voice’s sharp insistence stopped the elf in his tracks.

“Don’t!”

It was both a command and a plea, a strained voiced entreaty that begged for so much. For his patience, for his tolerance and understanding, the princess not wanting to be bombarded further with the doubt and disbelief that was already making her decision hard enough. The bright color of his eyes growing dim, sank that hope with it, Alicia bracing herself against all of the elf’s desperation and anger, and even that of his love.

“Don’t make this any harder.”

His eyes narrowed at that, the green color of them so dark with his upset. “This is too important a decision to be anything but.” He countered. “Not when it’s your life, your very humanity, at stake here!”

“One person doesn’t out weigh the good of the many.” That point was one she firmly believed in, Alicia’s shaking her head with emphasis. “Be they God, human, or other...no one person is more important than that of the countless lives that could be saved.”

He seemed to flinch with that truth of hers, Rufus’ expression a grim glower that almost had the princess stepping back towards him. There was no amount of touch that would soothe him though, no words that could soften that expression, no promise that could be given save one. The one thing Alicia could not do, the young woman refusing to be selfish.

“You and I both know that.” She continued. Her tone was soft, but no less strong, Alicia trying to appeal to his empathy with the reminder. “We both had our entire lives nearly destroyed by the whims of ones who only cared about their own desires.” She had to fight to keep her own expression from darkening, thoughts of those ones, of Lezard and of Odin, springing to the forefront of her mind.

“I lost my entire kingdom, my family, because of one tyrant’s need to oppress all others with his rule.” continued Alicia. “Just as he tried to steal away your freedoms, your worth as a person, even ultimately your very life, all from his own cowardice and refusal to accept that the end comes to ALL.” Bitter was her smile then. “It’s just some of us get that fate meted out to us a lot SOONER than others.”

“Too soon for some.” Rufus grumbled, his expression near deadly with it’s seriousness. “And this is far too soon for YOU!”

“You don’t get to decide that. None of us do.” Alicia countered gently. “If it is my fate to die with this world, or to ultimately become a full fledged undead, so long as I do everything in my power that I am able,  I can die secure in the knowledge that I had made every effort that I could to try and stave off the destruction of the nine realms.”

“What of peace?”

“That is one of my greatest wishes. For the people to be free and at peace….” She began, but Rufus interrupted her.

“It’s not that of the people I worry about, it’s YOURS.” Rufus’ eyes flashed with their angry intensity. “Are you able to say you’ll have peace should the worst really happen? Will you perish with a smile on your face with the knowledge you sacrificed everything to help a world that never gave a damn about you? About us?”

He had such a narrow view when it came to other people, the torture and abuse he had suffered at the hands of his eleven captors, coloring his world in such concise black and white. Rufus couldn’t see the gray areas, let alone the color all around them, so sure that people as a whole were either all good, or either all bad. The man tended to believe in the worst of everyone, his heart having been closed up for so long. It had taken time for his walls to come down, for him to stop being so cold and distrustful of others, and Rufus still had a great many steps to take before he could wholly believe the world with it’s all manner of people, worth saving.

“You can’t, can you?” Rufus’ question had made Alicia realize she had hesitated too long on her own private thoughts. “You won’t be at peace, and you won’t be happy...”

“Of course I won’t be!” Alicia snapped. “Few if any go to their deaths HAPPY about it.” Again she shook with her words. “I don’t need that level of happiness, that kind of peace, as long as I know that I TRIED!”

“Alicia!” He looked madder than ever, so frustrated by her heated response. “You...” He faltered as though the anger itself had stolen his voice.

“Rufus...” She still wouldn’t let him get any closer to her, Alicia needing the space to be able to think free of his pressure. “What kind of life do you think we are looking at here if we WERE to go after and actually get the cure?”

There was the rapid blink of his eyes, the question giving him pause. “A...”

“With the world as it is...with the rate of decay and no guarantee of any way to stop it...” She couldn’t finish that thought, closing her eyes briefly, then looking at him once more. “I do not want to spend what might be our last days fighting and angry with each other. Any more than I want to have to count down the time that is left to us of a fragile happiness that is ultimately FALSE! Even if cured, how can we possible live out the world’s last few days with such a delusion, with the people panicked, the land itself withering, Yggdrasil dying a slow death and taking ALL with it?”

Now she did step towards him, though it took every ounce of Alicia’s strength to guard against the effect his pain and misery had on HER. “We can’t.” She said, and moved as though to touch him. “There is NO future for us down this path...”

That look in his eyes gave way to a kind of helplessness, Rufus on some level acknowledging the truth of what the princess had said. “There...there’s no guarantee of a future down the other path either….”

“I know.” She couldn’t help sighing with that admission, that painful uncertainty its own undeniable truth. “There is some sliver of hope though….a chance of some kind, for the world and for US.”

He closed the distance between them, expression far too serious from what Alicia had grown accustomed to expecting from the man that she secretly loved. Gone was the mischievous twinkle, the slight curving of lips, the half elf cupping her cheek with a hand that was coarse and callous from an eternity spent working a bow. Rough though that touch felt, she still leaned into it, eager for the warmth and reverence conveyed in that caress.

“Us.” It was almost fierce, the way he repeated it, and there was a certainty to that as well. Her pulse beat with an excited hope all it’s own, Alicia daring to wonder if the elf had realized even half of what she had, when it came to the heart’s own soft emotions.

“Us...” A third saying to confirm it, Alicia almost shy as she peered up at him through thick lashes. “So long as I am capable of drawing breath….so long as my heart still beats...”

“And even after.” Rufus finished for her, and there it was. That teasing smile whose hint curved his lips upwards. “Arngrim and I are with you…”

She was grateful for the words, even as Alicia was confused by the mention of the warrior. “Arngrim?”

“He and I are the tangible proof that you don’t necessarily need a pulse or breath to try to change fate.”

“Ah….” She was otherwise silent at that explanation, but inside her thoughts were all a flutter at the reminder, none of her companions alive in the strictest sense of the word. They were the einherjar manifested, and there was the Lord of the Undead, and even Alicia soon wouldn’t be able to lay claim to life and humanity as she had known it. The princess was mostly at peace with that fate, but there existed a kernel of doubt inside her. The fear of what the full fledged change would do to her, the people it might make her hurt, and worst of all was the thought of becoming the kind of monster that Rufus might not accept.

Such a thought once borne, would worm its way deep inside her. The doubting voice that whispered in her head, a question she dare not ask out loud. Would Rufus still be able to love her, once Alicia’s transition was complete? And would there be any room inside HER for that soft emotion, for it and all of the good intentions she currently harbored? She didn’t know and that frightened her most of all, Alicia having seen both the good and the bad of the undead, and it was an unfortunate fact that most tended towards the latter. Would she be any different, or was her fate, her very nature already sealed? The princess just didn’t know, and the scared Alicia most of all.

==

His world continued it’s growth at a steady pace,  the environs quick to adapt and evolve forth new challenges in it’s ever changing terrain. An extension of his will, of his whims and his desire, Lezard’s Creation put forth all it’s effort towards not only caging the quarry within, but pushing her to the absolute limits of strength and endurance. She wouldn’t stand a chance then, all hope of defiance lost, Lenneth giving in to the inevitable, to him, Lezard’s love and desire consuming her, setting them both ablaze with that mad passion that had motivated a great many impossibilities.

He had to bite back a laugh then, near giddy with the realization of it, with the power coursing through him, Lezard made God, the absolute ruler of it all. That strength inside him was a restless energy, tempered but not tamed by his world’s continuing evolution. He burned off the worst of it with that expenditure of strength, his creation coming alive as a direct manifestation of all that he desired, a time and a place that solely existed for love, stripped free of all burden and responsibilities of the outside world. This endless outcome a possibility made real through his own genius and manipulations, there was only one final conquest needed to cement his triumph firmly in place.

His world sought to deliver him just that, as though Creation itself was impatient for the joining together of their flesh. As new lands formed, and others shattered apart, those roads all inexplicably led Lenneth back to Lezard. With every step that his beloved Goddess took to distance herself from him, this newly made reality wrought only rounded it’s way back in on itself. So that even now he could hear her armored footfalls, that determined thump of her metal grieves slowing as though Lenneth too had realized the folly of her efforts.

His lips curved with his smile, Lezard having heard the exasperated sounding sigh that the Goddess had let out. The sound of her footsteps then stopped completely, as though Lenneth was contemplating what to do, on whether or not to press forward down the path this world prodded her towards. It was a sign of his patience, that Lezard waited just beyond reach, more curious than anything, over what her decision would settle on. That it took more than an hour for her to again resume moving, was telling, Lenneth ever this much closer to falling completely.

“I don’t mind that you continue to expend all your energy on this useless a pursuit.” He commented almost casually, the confidant cadence of his voice carrying easily to her. Those soft, uncertain footfalls, suddenly became angry, Lenneth doing an about turn, to come charging towards him. He stayed with his back to her, the newly made God counting down every step forward as just another minor victory on his part.

“You may run yourself ragged through the never ending course of my world, the outcome will always end the same.”

He sensed the movement behind him, felt all her tired anger and rage channeled into the swing of her arm. That blow went right through him, Lenneth stumbling forward only to be then caught by flesh that had gone solid. Locked into that embrace, the cobalt blue of her gaze, met the heated intensity of eyes that were colored an unusual shade of amethyst.

Such a dark myriad of emotion was in that gaze, all of his lust, his love and his desire made stronger with the need to dominate and to seduce, to coax forth her every response, willing or otherwise, Lezard ever so hungry for this and this woman alone. Lenneth the reason for his very being, the motivating force that had driven him to ever so new and inventive and ever so desperate lengths, she both empowered him and stripped Lezard of his self control.

He should step back to maintain some illusion of distance, to take back that fragile grip on restraint that had thus far kept the man from throwing the Goddess down. The lust inside him screamed otherwise, conflicting desires waging war at the right and wrong of that one step taken too far, Lezard still hoping, wanting that one bit of willingness given up freely from her. She wasn’t yet ready, he could see that by the anger of her expression, Lenneth tired but not broken, still ready to fight him to the last, bitter breath.

“How you torment me so.” The words practically moaned out of him, the Goddess fitfully struggling against him, only to go still with her disbelief.

“I torment YOU!?” She demanded with a snarled out hiss. “Am I not the one who as you so concisely put it, has been run ragged through this never ending obstacle course you call your twisted Creation!?”

“That all pales in comparison to a desire unrequited, a need gone unfulfilled.” He was maddeningly calm while she was so angry, Lezard casting a longing look at her. It encompassed her whole, touched upon her lips, stroked along her skin, and took note of the bedraggled state of her armor, the blue metal cracked and outright broken in some places, her skirt’s hem made frayed and tattered, the white of it splattered with dried blood and dirt. She was stunning all the same, perhaps made even lovelier with the marks left on her by the trials of his world.

“Then allow me to help put you out of your misery!” She had gotten an arm free of him, her hand slapping hard across his cheek. Powerful was that blow connecting on his skin, and so perverse was he, to have enjoyed it so, an excited moan escaping him, as Lezard urged her to do it again.

For one inexplicable second, the Goddess’ eyes had widened at that request. They then narrowed, his beloved downright haughty, as she refused him that satisfaction too. “Degenerate!”

“No, not that.” He corrected. “Just desperate for any touch of you, no matter how slight, or how angry, it may be.” The God didn’t imagine the fine shiver that went through her at that, no matter his beloved’s attempt to mask it with her fury, the Goddess was afraid. Made tired and vulnerable, and ever so wary, Lenneth a woman first and foremost, and one as prone to a female’s fear as any other.

That vulnerability the one thing all shared, be they mortal, Goddess, elf or any of the other hundred types of sentient beings out there, any woman would know to be on guard against a wolf so near. Especially one that had gone to the lengths that Lezard had, such extreme measures taken, the fantastical having happened, reality itself remade to accommodate his and only his desires.

Such absolute power, it and its undeniable nature, was a heady, potent mix, and made only more so when Lenneth was this near.  His arms stayed at gripping her, the angry Goddess held fast against the solid length of him, and so exciting was this woman, with her flashing eyes and silver blue hair, that Lezard found himself moving to capture her lips with his.

For one split second, it seemed as though Lenneth would allow the kiss to happen. Her lips actually trembled, their mouths almost touching together in a most intimate of caress, and then her teeth were snapping at him, the woman ready to savage and bloody him for the attempt.

He just barely avoided the bite, Lezard lurching back. The process gave her leeway to struggle free, a metal booted foot slamming onto one of his, a hand that’s dainty appearance belied the strength contained within it, pushing at his chest. He grabbed at that hand’s wrist, use it to keep her from fleeing any further from him.

“There is a limit to even my patience.” He told her, his own eyes holding just a sliver of threat to them. He caught at her other hand, Lenneth again having tried to slap at the God, Lezard using his grip on her wrists to jerk her off balance against him. “Do tread carefully Lenneth, lest you learn that first hand...”

There it was, another fine tremor had went through her, regardless of the hate filled look that she gave him. It soothed the worst of his anger, Lezard wanting nothing more than to reach out and offer a comfort to her. To caress fingers over that smooth perfection that was her cheek, to feel the silken texture of her hair against his skin. Such things were sheer folly, an invitation to disaster of the worst kind, given how  Lenneth was anything but receptive in the moment.

A deep breath expelled out of him, as though he was the one who had every reason to be exasperated here. Cobalt bright eyes glared at him in response, Lenneth so bothered by him and that sound. There was nothing Lezard could say, nor was there anything that he could try, that would make this easier on her. The God understood that, knew that she had to come to him on her own terms when it came to acceptance.

“I know you don’t want to hear it...” His tone was soft and gentle, the words like a whisper on the wind, this world gone quiet in an effort to hear them. “That doesn’t change the fact that I love you...or that everything I’ve done, EVERYTHING, has been for the sake of you.”

“Your idea of love is sick, you’ve twisted everything around, and for what? A woman who despises you? Who will spend the rest of our eternity hating you with her every breath?”

He refused to let Lenneth rile him up that way, Lezard instead giving a slow nod. “What is love, if not a sickness? An affliction of the heart? If my feelings really are an illness, then there is only one cure for this madness.”

“There is no hope for one such as you.” She retorted. “The only solace I can give a sinner like you, is the complete and utter destruction of your soul!”

“That you’ve done and more.” countered Lezard. “You’ve ruined me, Lenneth. From that first moment of awareness, to every encounter after, thoughts of you have consumed me, waking or dreaming, I have lived, breathed, even died for you.”

“Nonsense!”

“Is it? Is it really?” He challenged her. “You drive me, Lenneth. You are the fuel to the fire of the flames inside me, the motivating force that allowed me to achieve so much...I’ve a whole legacy created because of my obsession for you.”

“You’ve a legacy of corpses, whole worlds ruined in the name of your pursuit.” She shook her head almost violently so. “Do not try to pin your misdeeds on me!”

“If I am the miscreant, then you yourself are the very sin that led me down this path of blasphemy.” A crooked smile was then given, Lezard speaking with a certain finality to his thread of thought. “You are the embodiment of everything that has ever mattered...those feelings that you inspire, the very foundation of who I was meant to be. I LOVE you, Lenneth. I have from that first time, and I will throughout all of eternity.”

“No...”

“Yes.” Such a simple sounding word, but it was insistent. “It’s the truth that you don’t want to admit to knowing, the fact you can no more change than you can ultimately deny it. I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I always will…” His grip on her wrists had turned harsh, Lezard leaning in to breathe in her scent, that of her nerves and of the perspiration that had come from all of the Goddess’ endless efforts to escape him.

“You don’t love, you LUST!”

“Lust and love go hand in hand with what I feel for you. My lust may want you for my bed, but my love isn’t satisfied with that alone. I’ll have your body and I’ll have your heart, each and every last bit of you will belong to me as thoroughly as every part of me is YOURS!”

“Never!” She all but spat in his face, Lenneth shaking and jerking free of him. “Never do you hear me?! I’ll never belong to you! Nothing you can say, nothing you can do, will change that! No matter how much you violate me and the laws of nature...”

“What laws!? Odin’s? Yours!?” Lezard scoffed with a rude sound. “Those laws and the God who made them, are no more, the world and its rules rewritten. Those taboos no longer matter, no longer exist, the only will made possible that of the absolute entity, a new world born with a new power to rule it!”

He advanced on her with that, watching as Lenneth made angry but empty fists, that sword of hers having long been lost ages ago. “That strength is mine, this world and it’s creatures at my beck and call, I am the being who bends a knee to no one, NO ONE!”

His tirade had her hit against a marble column, Lenneth giving a startled sound to find the solid surface suddenly behind her, and it was yet another manifestation of HIS will, this world again trying to hand deliver Lenneth to him. It even went so far, as to start growing thick vines of green, the strands creeping steadily toward her, as though intent on binding her in place before him.

She didn’t make it easy. For it or for him, Lenneth kicking and thrashing out her legs and swinging her arms, the vines tearing in the process. Such violence only inspired more to grow, the vines coming faster and made even stronger, all in this world’s attempt to catch at her, until the Goddess was at last so thoroughly tangled up. Caught as she now was, there was little recourse left to her save to glare absolute murder at him.

“Lenneth.” He tried to stroke her cheek with his gloved fingers, but was bit for the attempt. She tore through the leather and the skin, might have bit down to the bone if Lezard hadn’t snatched his hand away.

The wound itself wasn’t of concern, the power contained within him accelerating with a burst of healing ether, the damage undone, not even a sliver of scar to hint at what Lenneth’s teeth had just done.

She was still bound up by the vines, and shaking violent with every squirming attempt to break free. Her eyes maintained the glare, though there was a speck of wary worry contained amid that hate, as though Lenneth herself realized her actions had been a step too far. No flimsy apologies, or feeble attempts at excuses were offered, the Goddess defiant and surely bracing herself for what she thought he’d do.

It was almost admirable, that bold way that she continued to challenge him. The remembered sting of her teeth tearing into his flesh made it less so, Lezard fighting a surge of anger. “It’s all right.” He said out loud, that reassurance as much for his sake as it was for hers. “It’s all right if you’re not ready. For now I can love enough for the both of us...”

==

To Be Continued….

Hmm….maybe I’ll add more to the end of this chapter. I don’t know. Having one of those moments where I ended on a line simply cause everything else that tried to follow it, didn’t feel right. Maybe it’s just cause I am sleepy at this point...I don’t know.

With thanks to Huntress for talking and giving me feedback on snippets and concerns, even though she hasn’t had time to read the existing chapters yet. You really helped hon, even if you try to deny it. The Rufus Alicia scene would still be stalled, if not for the talks we had about it!

Also special thanks to my friend Paige, who decided to read this, even though she’s never played the VP games. You gave me that extra push of motivation and excitement, to get back to work trying to finish my Rufus Alicia scene...so that I could get to the Lezard Lenneth one!

The RuAli scene mostly tripped me up on dialogue. Had the opening part with Alicia’s internal thoughts done, and then stalled a long while on how to write out the actual dialogue. Didn’t want them fighting too bad about what should be done. Ended up real happy with the scene...even if I sorta forgot Arngrim was trying to sleep during all this, sheepish Ooopsie!

----Michelle

[hillbillyoracle]

Divination with DnD Dice

There seemed to be enough interest in the DnD Dice Divination system that I decided to go ahead and write it up. I couldn’t fit it all on here though so I might be making more posts in the future about it. I’ve included the most important stuff here to get started. 

I’ve included a zine to download and print off if you want to take it with you. I actually recommend the zine, it’s a better format than what tumblr would let me put together. 

Please consider tipping me and definitely credit me where you can. 

I know there are other systems out there and I don’t have a monopoly on dice divination but this guide did take a lot of time to put together and is built on my own collection of frameworks, meanings. 

Dice sets can be picked up for cheaper than most basic tarot decks making the barrier to entry lower. My goal was to create a system that could get a similar level of complexity of information to tarot and oracle cards. I found in test readings, I could get roughly the same as I would get from a four card reading. So it’s a good start! 

It’s my mission to make divination more accessible, tipping me helps me devote more time to this.

Zine: https://www.scribd.com/document/380692727/Divination-With-DnD-Dice

If Scribd gives you trouble try here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/21613135

Read description for printing directions or it might not come out right. 

If you can’t print it off, the same information is included below the cut.  

Hope someone finds this useful! 

D4 - Element

1 - Air - Mental, Academic, Communication, Anxiety

2 - Fire - Spirituality, Passion, Ideals, Anger

3 - Water - Emotional, Romantic, Connection, Depression/Sadness

4 - Earth - Physical, Material, Home, Emotional Block

I use the Element dice to give an indication for the area of life the reading pertains the most too. I look for indications with other dice as to what the element dice might be speaking to more specifically, but it gives me a place to start.

 D6 - Problem

1 - Plot - drama, conflict, things outside of your control, change

2 - Character - another person is blocking/causing problems, fixation on a person, possibly even loss of a person

3 - Thought - paradigms getting in the way, not in touch with reality, judgmental, fear/anxiety, getting stuck in your head

4 - Diction - how a person talks is causing problems, speaking too much/too little, passive aggression, divisive or hateful language

5 - Song - Harmony with another, being out of sync with oneself or another, learning to join the choir/group, teamwork

6 - Spectacle - Things seem worse than they actually are, petty fights, aesthetic/surface level changes, playing with how things are perceived to achieve an outcome

The Problem dice is based on Aristotle's Six Elements of Tragedy, a dramatic and literary analytical framework. I use this to see what might be the at the crux of the problem in the area the Element dice indicated. The Action Needed dice can also refine the Problem.

 D8 - Action Needed

1 - Right View - seeing the situation for what it truly is, actions have consequences, material reality, paradigm shift

2 - Right Resolve - being intentional, recommitting, choosing what is right, dedication and ambition

3 - Right Speech - be honest/don't lie, don't be passive aggressive/be forthright, speak compassionately and for the benefit of others.

4 - Right Action -  don't harm others, act compassionately and for the benefit of others, take positive action

5 - Right Livelihood - don't profit from harming others, long term commitment to benefiting others, take only what you need and give what you do not, ethical employment

6 - Right Effort - Exert influence on your environment to cultivate a better internal world, set strong boundaries, avoid negative influences and seek out positive ones, "just do the thing"

7 - Right Mindfulness - Don't make things out to be more than they are, see them for what they are, know life is in transition, don't define the self by these external transitory states

8 - Right Concentration - unification of the mind/body, unlocking higher levels of thinking and feeling and operating, don't let desire for what might be get in the way of what is, healthy detachment

The Action Needed dice is based on the Eightfold Path of Buddhism. While the particulars of the path vary by the different schools/traditions, these seem to be the most common English translations. This dice is usually pretty straight forward, especially when taken in consideration with the rest of the dice.

 2D10 - Difficulty

Pretty self-explanatory. The higher the difficulty, the longer the process will take. Gives an indication about how important or long term the reading will be.

 D12 - Time

The number can refer to a month of the year which you may have your own associations you can pull from or classify into a season and pull meanings from that. I use the seasonal method most often.

Winter - focus on the self, rest, restore yourself, weather the storm, be the light the world isn't giving you, inner strength

Spring - new beginnings, plant seeds, the rain and the storms lead to new growth

Summer -  wait to harvest, find shade, relax

Fall - harvest, make preparations for winter, celebrate accomplishments.

You can also think of what sabbat is in that month and the lessons inherent in that holiday. It can also be time of day.

9-5 - Work related, stress, out of your control

5-12 -  Free time, friends and family, hobbies

12-9 - rest, dream, restore yourself

AM if there are more even than odd numbers and PM if there more odd than even. You can also take the month and the time to be literal if the reading calls for it.

 D20 - Lesson

1 - The Magician - jack of all trades, master of none, experiment, unfocused, learning, skilled but unrefined, beginning

2 - The High Priestess - balance, intuition, insight, between worlds, lessons learned while solitary

3 - The Empress - growing, flowering, creativity, taking what you have and making it thrive, thriving where you're planted

4 - The Emperor - expand, leader, confidence, step up and create the life you want/need, protect what/who you have

5 - The Hierophant - balance between material and spiritual, lessons learned from teachers, benevolence, structure

6 - The Lovers - connection, union, positive outlook, nostalgia, romanticism, love given freely

7 - The Chariot - power, confidence, leadership through passion/emotional intelligence, decisive action

8 - Strength - rely on internal direction/sense of self, internal strength and peace, resilience

9 - The Hermit - internal knowledge and discovery, minimalism, truth is inside you, you are capable on your own

10 - The Wheel of Fortune - things are outside of your control, this too shall pass, ebb and flow of fortune, reversal of luck

11 - Justice - objective truth, standing by/doing what is right, lawful good, cutting ties with deceivers, protect the community

12 - The Hanged Man - Insight, understanding impermanence, sudden realization, enlightenment, major paradigm shift

13 - Death - the old makes way for the new, the cycle of life, we all die in the end, reinvention

14 - Temperance - spiritual balance, abstaining from negative influences, taking responsibility for one's internal well being

15 - The Devil - materialism as bondage, enjoy pleasure without becoming victim to it, pleasure seeking as escapism

16 - The Tower - being shaken to the core, foundations pulled up, self of self overturned, ego shaken

17 - The Star - uneasy hope, possibilities, leaving and traveling, opportunities somewhere else, dare to dream

18 - The Moon - deception, things aren't always what they appear, intentions and actions do not line up, reflect, see the true nature of things

19 - The Sun - relax and enjoy your accomplishments, celebrate with friends and family, share your abundance, revel in joy

20 - Judgment - shine a light on everything, be honest, be critical and fair, lay firm boundaries, take up the old and make it new

The lesson dice is there to indicate what can be learned from the situation. Every situation is an opportunity to grow and evolve. It's based on the framework of the Major Arcana as teachers and posits that every situation can likewise be a teacher to us all. This dice can help refine the problem dice as well. It can be hard to keep this dice from getting preachy so make sure to be honest about what this dice is saying but temper it so as not to be patronizing.

 Putting the Reading Together

Like all divination, the goal is to look for patterns and craft those patterns into coherent themes. Like reading a novel, you’re reading between the lines to make the reading more useable than the raw info the dice turn up. An example of my notes for a reading are:

D4 - Element: 2 - Fire

D6 - Problem: 3 - Thought

D8 - Action Needed: 3 - Right Speech

D10 - Importance: 51 - Middle

D12 - Time: Evening/Summer

D20 - Lesson: 8 – Strength

This is the reading I gave:

“The reading suggests there’s some conflict stemming from letting passion overtake reason in your interactions with others. You believe very passionately in your ideals, but how you talk about them to others looks like it’s causing tension. This seems like it will be of moderate difficulty to grapple with, not easy but by far not the hardest thing you’ve dealt with. The reading suggests being mindful of your words and advises to concentrate on your inner power rather than seeking validation for your ideas from others. “

When pulling together a reading you want to look for conflict, strengths, and resolution.

There was a lot of fire (passion) and air (communication) in this reading, while they work great in harmony, they can really hurt the user when out of balance so that was the conflict. Passion is a beautiful thing even when it’s not in alignment and I didn’t want the reader to think their ideals were the problem since the rest of the reading pointed out their words so their passion was their strength. The resolution lay in relying on their own internal strength for validation rather than others, that that would lead to better communication and less conflict overall.

I’m still learning myself. It takes practice so don’t give up!

--

I hope this was helpful! Please let me know how this works for you. I’m totally open to people changing it to fit them better but I wanted to provide a model for how this could be done. I also got some really solid readings out of it. So it definitely has potential. 

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, GREY! You’ve been accepted for the role of BENVOLIO with an FC change to FRANCISCO LACHOWSKI. Admin Rosey: Benvolio is a multi-faceted character who, in my opinion, is one of the most difficult to capture in a single application. There are so many different ways to pull him and he will cry out against all of them. Whether you wish to bloody his hands, have him save a Capulet, or send him away from the city again; all of them end in tragedy, all of them are never quite right. But Grey, in your application you managed to get to the very quick of his character. You gave him a distinct voice and an even more distinct heart. I can’t wait to have you ruin us all with him. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Grey

Age | 31

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | Currently I’m off work on extended medical leave (unknown end date), so mostly don’t have any major claims on my time and should be able to be around most days. With that said, medical issues and meds will crop up from time to time. Once I return to work, I work 3-4 days a week, so will still have multiple days a week free.

Timezone | Australian Eastern Standard Time (AEST/GMT +10)

How did you find the rp?  | Rogue seduced me over, so blame her for everything please

Current/Past RP Accounts | Bellavie (from a very short-lived rp) -  I’ve also played with Rogue in several places over the years.

In Character

Character | Benvolio / Bellamy Santa-Domingo. Preferred FC of Francisco Lachowski.

         ✧ Bellamy ⟶ What’s in a name? For Bellamy, a wealth of self-discovery, definitions laid out ahead of him at birth, a path his feet have never wavered from. Fine Friend his mother called him, and perhaps bought upon them all their disappointment in his gentility with a name bereft of the thorns they so coveted. Fine Friend he was named, and so he lives, a shoulder for everyone’s burden while he struggles solitary with his own.

         ✧ Santa-Domingo ⟶ Saint of the Lord, he is labelled; baptised in the blood of his family, the holy mandate by which his father demands respect. What is a saint, after all but someone to venerate, to esteem, graced by God? But Bellamy knows that that is but the least of what a saint is, for saints are pained and fragile things burned in holy fire, martyrs all; sacrificial lambs to the glory of God — and the truest god his family bends knee to is that known as Montague.

        ✧ Benvolio ⟶ Thrice he is named and the third feels like a lie, ashes on his brow. Well-wisher they call him, Benevolence — yet they would ask him to be anything but. He feels the hollowness of the name as Damiano settles it on his shoulders, the calculated sop to his reluctance and he wonders how long he will be allowed to keep the illusion of truth before he must sacrifice it on Damiano’s altar, how long before the name is nothing but mocking contempt of the perceived weakness of his dream ( he knows too well how often in war softness becomes synonymous with weakness ).

What drew you to this character? | Benvolio was the first of the open characters I read, and I think that reading is probably what tipped me from considering the rp for the future to immediately applying. Even as I read through the rest of the open characters, I kept returning to the tab with his bio in it. While I did briefly consider Halcyon instead, I think my choice was pre-determined from the start.

Bellamy touches a lot tropes that I love to play with; Rogue once summed up one of my main types as ‘Damaged boys with daddy issues’ and on that Bellamy is almost a solid bullseye, the tragic figure of Atlas carrying everyone else’s burdens. There are conflicts within him, conflicts and contradictions that pull him in different directions, forcing him to play a delicate, and exhausting, balancing act in order to keep himself whole. Criminal yet cop, loyal yet selfish, duty yet refusal, peaceful yet fighter, ideals yet realistic — the inability to reconcile the disparate portions of himself leaves him feeling hollow with self-loathing as he counts his sins ten times over and values his virtues at half their rate.  Bellamy has ever been thus, a duality at war with himself; as play-Mercutio says: “Nay, an there were two [of you], we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other!”

APatroclus saddled with two Achilles to save from their own divinity, Bellamy is irredeemably entangled with his closest friends, unfailingly loyal and dependable. Roman and Marcello are his heart and soul, his very being — and yet he left. Oh, he came back, and the texts and emails flew thick and fast in his absence, yet still, he left, leaving them bereft in the middle of war. An abandonment — necessary, yes, but ultimately selfish, running to save himself without those who he would gladly lay down his life for.

Yet Benvolio’s biggest contradictions, deepest complexities lie in the very area that most would dismiss as his simplest aspect: his kindness, his softness, his gentility. So often, these traits are those that people write off, dismiss as naïveté or innocence, chalk up to an ignorance or blindness of the darkness of the world. Bellamy is none of those things, was never given the luxury of being unaware. Even as a child, the war shaped his life; even as a youth he knew too much of blood and cruelness and the rotted heart of Verona.  

No, Bellamy is not kind out of some innate inability to see otherwise, some childlike artlessness that means he could never be aught else — he chooses to be kind, he chooses to trust; and he does it in the full and grim understanding that doing so is the emotional equivalent of sticking your hand in the fire and asking it not to burn you. He chooses it because it allows him to live with himself, wears it as an armour that keeps him from breaking, because whatever cost he pays in scars for that gentility, however much he kicks himself for an idiot when it blows up in his face… if he chose otherwise would he ever be able to find his way back?

Likewise many dismiss his voice when he raises it for peace — idealist they call him, young they scoff at him, yet sometimes Benvolio feels like he’s the only one at all who sees. They celebrate victory while he counts bodies, count winnings while he watches the city crumble. He wonders when they all stopped seeing people and started seeing gold instead, when costs stopped being about finance and were first paid in blood. Could they not see that this tragedy was leading nowhere, that this tit-for-tat, blood-for-blood would only end with all of them blind? Could they not see that they were past the point where a victory could be anything more than Pyrrhic?

A warrior for peace; an absurd idea really, almost hypocritical, almost oxymoronic in nature, and yet, and yet — Benvolio learned, as the war poets learned ( battered paperbacks of Owen and Sassoon accompany him around the world, the margins slowly filled with all manner of scrawled notes in different colours of ink ) that people will dismiss the words of a non-combatant as cowardly, that only by engaging in the very thing they wished to end could they earn the right to speak out against it, that only by speaking from alongside them would the war-torn hear his voice. And so he takes his place in the trenches, stands shoulder to shoulder with his comrades and tries not to think too much about what they do, so that, one day, he will be able to end it for all. If the cost for the whole of Verona is his own blood spilled, his own soul crushed, how can he refuse to pay it? And yet how can he survive its paying?

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

✘ dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori⟶  ( price of duty )

Sitting in that airport, staring down at his phone as it rang, Mama picked out on the screen, his thumb hovered over the red end call button as he fought with despair. He could go, he knew, could let the message go to voice mail and answer the boarding call for his flight instead, jump another flight at the other end and head to the Andes, the Sahara, the Australian Outback. Say he hadn’t gotten the message, had been out of signal range. It would be easy, simple.

He’d plead conscientious objector to get out four years ago, but now the piper has come due. He answers the phone ( had it always been this heavy? ) halfway through the final ring and allows himself to be conscripted.

Bellamy has always been dutiful, responsible, loyal. Innately, intrinsically, he puts his duties and friends ahead of himself time and again, often at the cost of his own self, his own soul. A soldier in a war he despises, fighting a battle he despairs of no matter the outcome, Bellamy is quickly approaching the point where duty and ideals will clash more and more heavily, where he will no longer be able to wiggle through loopholes or forge a middle path. One day, war and duty and loyalty will push him, without mercy or respite, to the moment he dreads most, will require him to do something he doesn’t know if he’s capable of living with.

His hands are going to get dirty, and he fears he’s too brittle to survive it ( he fears he may not have as much issue with it as he should ).

✘ i would know him in death, at the end of the world ⟶ ( friends )

They are many and yet one, together and undivided since a time of vague memories and impressions. Bellamy doesn’t remember meeting Roman or Marcello, can’t recall a time when they weren’t sashaying into trouble together. Their bond is inviolate, one of the surest things in Bellamy’s life and by far the most precious.

They have always been inseparable — and yet they separated.

Bellamy parted them, and when he came back there was a harshness to the light inside his friends, as though the warm light of the sun had turned to nuclear glow; the fires of war. ( He wonders if that will be him in a couple of years. ) There are cracks in all of them now, cracks in their souls and their bond, even as they pass the whiskey bottle between themselves and try to pretend that nothing has changed.

Bellamy blames himself. He left, he thinks, and that laid the first crack between them. Now, he struggles to deal with that betrayal as he sees it, trying to amend for it by taking more and more for his friends, his brothers, while squashing all his own needs ( pretends he is naught but the balm and bandage as he bleeds out himself ) — how could he ask them for aught, now?

Cracks can be fixed, but Bellamy needs to learn again to take as well as offer, before he subsumes himself under everyone else’s needs and is killed by his own gone unmet.

✘ forgive me father, for i am only fucking human ⟶ ( loyalty challenged )

Mark Twain once said “But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner who needed it most?” and those words have always resonated for Bellamy, printed large on his heart. Odin has done appalling things, he knows, things that should maybe be unforgivable, but if he is trying to make amends then can Bellamy do aught but help him? Sinners need forgiveness far more than good men ( sinners are who forgiveness was made for ) and so he listens, and absolves him in his heart as they sit in a patrol car on a dark street sucking spilled take-out sauce off their fingers.

And yet in this day, when the merest of mercies to the other side raises cries of fraternisation and both sides lay pressure upon pressure on their soldiers to prove their loyalty he wonders if perhaps this will be the thing that causes them both to burn. They have no choice in who they share a car with but he wonders if that will matter before paranoia has run its course and they have done more than that, haven’t they? Drowned their sorrows together, doused themselves in the whiskey that may yet fuel their funeral pyre — and yet if Odin asks for help, can Bellamy do aught but hold a hand out to him? A lifeline, a hangman’s noose, rolled into one.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes - but not until I’m so attached that it will break my heart. GRRM says that you should mourn when a character dies, that you should care and that sort of attachment I feel is one that takes time to develop. But oh yes, I’m definitely okay with charactercide - just with an initial cooldown period please!

In Depth

What is your favourite place —

His favourite place? His mind swirls, an agitated snowstorm of images: the hot sun on his back as he sits on the ancient stairs in front of the Parthenon; the bright, airy, treasure-filled rooms of the British Museum; the serene weightlessness of floating in the Dead Sea; the sky shaded a brilliant sunset on a beach in Brazil, cocktail in hand…

— in Verona?

The rider on the question brings his thoughts to a sudden halt, leaves an echoing quiet in his brain. His favourite place in Verona? The city he’d run from as soon as he was able and had never wished to revisit?

As a child, Bellamy had fallen in love with Verona’s Library: the arching ceilings, the ornate decoration, the heavy books bound in rich and sometimes flaking leather, the dry and musty smell of ancient pages holding the words of worlds and centuries. It felt… reverent, almost Holy.

And then he’d learned of what lay upstairs, that above the rooms devoted to knowledge, to history, to making sure humans never forgot the mistakes of the past, Damiano and his court engaged in the deliberate repetition of humanity’s greatest fuck up. And then all it felt was tainted, sacrilegious.

As a teen, he’d come to love Castelveccio Bridge for the fragile peace that surrounded it. He’d perch on the edge with a book, back up against one of the buttresses, and let the river wind rustle his hair as he read or skimmed stones, or, later, passed around a bottle of jack with his friends.

But that too was marred now, stained in so much blood and death, and he wonders if there is anywhere in the city that has not been spoiled by this abominable feud.

“ To Tame A Soup, ” he says, eventually “ I guess. At least some good comes of it. But really, this whole city, it’s…” he shakes his head with a sigh, gesturing at the woman to continue.

What does your typical day look like?

He’s sprawled across the couch in the police therapist’s office; one leg dangles half-off, just enough for the toe of his boot to brush the floor, the other ankle resting on the armrest, one arm over the back of the couch. His sister always wondered why he was so neat and tidy in his living, books alphabetised, everything in its place, yet just threw himself in a pile where ever he landed ( he doesn’t tell her its because his books are actually worth taking care with ).

( He wonders what would happen if he deliberately failed this review, what Damiano would do if he got himself sent home on mental health leave — but then, he’s probably already bought out the shrink. )

“ Much the same as anyone else’s, probably. ” He tips his head back over the armrest to look at her, upside down. “ Work, food, sleep, a book here and there… I adopted a cat last week, so there’s that. ”

What has been your biggest mistake?

“ Coming back. ” The worlds fall out before he can stop them, almost tripping over the end of the question in their hurry to break free. For a moment he wonders if he should take it back, prevaricate, maybe say that leaving had been worse ( though nothing in his life had ever felt so right as that moment the plane had lifted from the ground ). But — no, there is no need. If she was in the Montague pocket then well… Damiano, the rest… they already knew how he felt about being back. And if she wasn’t reporting, what did it matter?

She watches him for a moment, as though expecting him to elaborate, but when he doesn’t she moves onto the next question with a faint sigh.

What has been the most difficult task asked of you thus far?

“ The same, ” he says, mussing up his hair with one hand. Uneasiness pricks him; it’s far too difficult to ignore the foreboding in the words thus far. He’s well aware that so far, he hasn’t been asked for anything completely outside his comfort zone, that, for whatever reason, the hardest of his boundaries have been respected. He thinks he might have Roman’s influence to thank for that, but he doubts it will last. No, more than that, he knows it won’t. And, as much as he wants to reassure himself that when it comes to it he will do what is right… some part of him, buried deep, knows that he’ll answer the call.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

There is a freedom in this answer, for as neither Bellamy nor Benvolio has he ever hidden his opinion on this front. “ It’s bloody fucking stupid, isn’t it. ” He snorts, then sighs and waves a hand. “ No one even remembers what started the whole thing off, and it’s well past the point where anyone can actually win anything… even if one side cleared up tomorrow, more has been lost than they’d ever get back so what’s the bloody point? At this point it’s just mutually assured destruction.” He sighs, and wilts a bit. “ Not that either side will ever admit that. ”

Extras: Pinterest board

[voicesfromthelight]

An Example of A Channeled Reading

Today, I thought it might be nice to show my readers an example of what a full, channeled reading with my guides might look like. I’ve changed and combined details from a few different readings to protect the privacy of my clients, but this should give everyone an idea of the depth and breadth of the information one can get. (All the information pertaining to present circumstances in these readings has been verified as accurate after the fact.)  

The material in a given reading is channeled over the course of two or three sessions, after which I go over the raw material, interpret and summarize the information into a form that is clearly understandable to the client. The report will often be followed up by a second session to clarify questions that were either unanswered or unclear.  As an additional note, though I do not claim to be able to diagnose or recommend treatment for health issues (and always remind my clients of this), in cases where the client mentions them before the reading, the guides may be prompted to address some issues concerning general habits.

Hi, Laura!

Here is your reading report. I will include some passages of the raw material along with their interpretations for you to reference. (Sometimes, you will pick up on some details from it more easily than I do.) Let me know if you have any questions.

As an overview, the guides are saying that your greatest area of growth right now is in your professional sphere. They are urging you to keep developing yourself, seek out new projects based on your highest values and interests, and to stick with people who inspire you. They say that many of your current developments are still in formative phases, so, any predictions made now will be subject to change.

They seem to have introduced several topics and overarching themes at the beginning of the first session. To summarize: Your professional life is good. Your intellect is powerful. You got to where you are now through working your way up. Figure out the next step and surround yourself with new people. Be open to change. Don’t worry too much about your love life - just go with the flow. Some challenges also lie ahead. They also mentioned that you have a process of healing to undergo within your family, concerning codependency.

On your work life, the guides seem to be implying that there will be professional changes coming up for you, perhaps a new job, down the line. They think you will eventually continue your professional studies, which will help you advance. They are alerting you to the fact that your potential can be brought out through seeking out creative opportunities with like-minded people who share your values. (They made allusions to both gaming and the EPA - Environmental Protection Agency?) There seems to be a strain in your reading of urging you to get more in touch with what excites you and brings you joy. Your strong mind is a great asset that can take you far. Inspire and feed it with new knowledge. Your best professional work will come when you align your highest ideals with your job, and make it fun. Perhaps focus on being of some kind of service. If you can work up a momentum from your own inspiration, you will be more consciously co-creating your future. What you are doing now professionally is a good starting point, but be open to branching out, seizing new opportunities, and taking creative risks. (“Look for sudden beautiful happening. Desire to remember your full power. Be more receiving of the influences, dear. Trust every mistake. Career and money here.” “Can’t inspire the feelings of success without better excitement. Attract new fun work with fun happy energy. Success, new love and art when you sincerely help the direction of happiness.”) There could be an element of innovation here.  Your true calling is somewhere within arm’s reach, but you might benefit from looking within and reconnecting your work with your heart.

Choose your company well - both personal and professional. Your life will benefit greatly from surrounding yourself with fun, inspired and dedicated people. They also urge you to save a portion of the money you make (which you might be doing already), so that you can take on projects that are satisfying, but less profitable. They seem to imply also that you will travel to Paris to study at some point, perhaps through a trip facilitated by your boss or job in some way. “Care to return to inspiration of career. Your job changes greatly. (…) Situation wonderful. Have become respected. Success definite. Your situation of career is important.” “When you smile, your other chances to make together good changes tomorrow are ready. Step into hearing yes. (…) Inspire your remarkable mind. (The) best part is the future success. (…) Clear thinking develops.” “Better work smart until you’re ready (to) grow your interest in grand science or seeking. Promise to make, job, your name, rich.” “Work where much be called. Job decide to plan. Bless the information. Even inspire temporary science!”

The guides are drawing attention to your family. They mention that you have a brother with whom it would be beneficial for you to spend more time. He is caught in a pattern of depression and defeatism, and this issue is affecting the entire family. He is dependent on them, and this challenge is eating at his self-esteem. (I get the impression he is living with your parents.) Your family, in general, is in a situation in which it is necessary for everyone to be both supportive of each other and to encourage one another to learn to stand on their own two feet. Your brother, in particular, would benefit from being eased out of his bitterness. While it is not up to you to heal him, reassuring him that he is respected despite any financial challenges he is facing will be greatly appreciated. While some people incarnate into more solitary lives, in your particular soul group, it feels like you have come in as a closely-knit unit, and have many life lessons to work through together. Your father, by the way, comes across as the beating heart of your family, and the guides tell me that he has supported you in your professional endeavors in the past. (They refer to him as your “wise papa.”)

On the subject of your boyfriend, the guides urge you to stay relaxed. Don’t worry about it too much. He might not be the perfect guy for you, as he is reluctant to commit and be fully present. However, his company is enjoyable and your professional connection is helpful to you. They urge you to get in touch with how you feel about him. Are you honestly enjoying yourself? What does your heart tell you? Let your inner voice guide you. If you are unfulfilled, what does that tell you about your deepest needs? They say it’s fine to keep him around even if things are just OK. Enjoy his attention, physical affection, and the professional inspiration. It’s a chance to “learn about joy.” Allow yourself to get used to the feeling of enjoying romance and letting another person close, again. They also urge you to communicate with him more. Your relationship can benefit from setting some mutual goals, even if they are only professional. This relationship is preparing you for something better in the future. “Teach yourself to remember: Is beautiful need grand? Benefit future. Name sudden enjoyment. Pleasure! Make joy truth. Later positive, free peace much stronger.” “Just enjoy love, girl. Seek (a) little fun.”

On the subject of health, the guides seem to be confirming that there will be some challenges here, perhaps of a repeating or cyclical nature, and also made allusions to the fact that the science on your condition is scanty. They urge you to maintain a positive outlook, and to allow any challenges to reconnect you to what makes you happy in life. They say, the body is wise. There is a balance that needs to be re-established. You need adequate rest, and a reconnection to joy. Also, keep your eye on how the science around your conditions develops. “Remarkable lesson becomes from happy expectations. Overcome certain trouble. Ask for new information.” Don’t worry about the future. Focus on self-care. Fix any old habits that drain your energy. Find ways to tune in psychically. I also think the guides are cautioning against using drugs to manipulate your mood. “Worth suggesting considering other happy medicine. Complete message: The body is wise. Need to seek better energy. Come, inspire respect for your influences. Excite your pleasure before you overcome. Gone the feeling of worry. Strong enjoyment in satisfaction. Expect to improve expectations.” “Quiet your strange psychic influences. Grow energy heavy. Energy here protects, because psychic (mind?) keeps going hard. Doubt not gone. (…) Rest. Cure health.”

Also, affection is great medicine, which is another reason to keep your boyfriend around: “Remember to join enjoyment influence. Your health condition, new hope. Speak to dear boy and concentrate on the message of giving enjoyment. Special attention. Touch honest pleasure, ha ha. (It) comforts men enough to let (the) body please your friend. Open growth. Attract joy before you sex have. It’s easy to have nervousness. Benefit life, answer the respect, overcome and forgive hard gift situation. Concentrate on pleasure. Desire is important. It’s easy to use fear to protect (yourself) when you’re nervous. The future has a long future. Create satisfaction as promised. Change little. Choose to relax. (You will) attract other gifts if you plan together to inspire tomorrow. Change the prediction. You feel little, dear. (For the) man, (it) grows hard to choose plan. What to help? Affection is medicine. Consider your own happiness patiently together: Your truth.”

When, at one point in the channeling, I told Salvador I was having trouble understanding him, what came through was a paragraph that was fairly intelligible as a whole, in its raw state, about the future still being malleable, and the importance of optimism. I’ve added some clarifications in parentheses:

“Promise to enjoy more good surprises. Is knowing all the future helpful? Choose to have faith. While you become happy from knowing everything, psychic surprises, expected, help influence the answers. (Anticipation and expectations influence the future.) Big mistake to have few hopes.  Forgive serious heavy energy together.  (Let go of fear.) Your predictions are early. It’s hard to predict. The conditions must change. Life full of any success or luck feels inspired, because love does more to amount to small desires. (Small steps toward joy and optimism add up.) Generous developments bring the heart enjoyment. It blesses knowing fear. (Joy counteracts fear.) Every loss is a beautiful improvement. Do mind forgiveness and hope. Energy keeps changing. Predict, dear, fast. (It is too early to make some predictions, so don’t jump to pessimistic conclusions.)  Help your bad fear. Rest, take a vacation. Little positive answers bring big more changes. (Good changes add up.) Promise real things. Good, big possibilities and fun gifts become medicine. End expectations. Here your power: Find your life job. (Find your calling.) Energy of hope and truth. Work should be fun! People (associated with your) job future inspire beautiful success. (This could also mean a job focused on serving your community in some way.) Your trust promises to bring money. Bless health condition. Great life to plan. EPA develops happy chances to happen.”

Finally, the guides remind you to turn inward and tune into your feelings, your heart, and use that as a compass for life. Don’t let your surroundings dampen your connection to your inner truth. Your deepest yearnings will lead you to your happiest life when you listen to them. When you feel uneasy or moody, it means that changes are happening or about to happen - you are out-growing a shell. “Ask that you understand the feeling of important developments. Moody energy predicts change. It’s hardest to control the meaning of feelings. Greetings to inspiration without energy help. (Be self-directed and independent - don’t be swayed by other’s opinions.) Excite a million ideas by creating remarkable excitement. Your self is wise. Concentrate on your interests. Develop pleasure. More work creates the future. “

With many blessings,

Emily, Salvador and Natalie

[aliccas-angel]

◈ Crows

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yes, of course. I know this place like the back of my hand."

"More like the back of your glove," Alicca jabbed.

"Psht." Nico threw a smirk back at her.

The grey-green overhanging trees thinned suddenly, and they entered an area that was made clear by the large tree in the center. Its bark was white, almost translucent or glowing, like it was made of frosted glass. Bunches of leaves covered edges of the thinner branches, all black. The ground about the tree was also white, with the exception of many scattered tufts of short, black grass. It was like they had walked into a 30-foot radius of negative space.

Suddenly, the leaves shifted and leapt from the tree, and Alicca realized they weren't leaves at all, but pitch-black crows. They moved almost silently and gathered around Nico, surrounding him and perching on him in a cloud of dark feathers. He laughed as they landed, each clambering for purchase on his shoulders and outstretched arms.

"I'm back, I'm back, I know! Yes!"

Now that they were stiller and closer, Alicca could see that there was a line of feathers on each of their wings and tails that glowed white, like they were made of the same light as the tree. She watched them in wonder and delight as Nico kept talking to them, with quiet yes!’s and I know!'s.

Then Alicca noticed a solitary crow hopping towards her. It was different than the rest, and not only because of the tall white mark on its crest. It had a curious nature about it, but even more so, it seemed questioning, almost suspicious. Alicca took a cautious step back. It cocked its head and blinked.

"Hold out your arm, Alicca," came Nico's voice from. He had thrown his head over his shoulder to see her. "He won't hurt you."

Alicca looked back at the crow at her feet. It hopped forward again. Hesitantly, she lifted her arm before her, and in an instant, the crow had flown up to perch on it. "Ow!" Its talons scratched her arm and she flinched but didn't let it fall. She bared her teeth until the crow finally found its balance. It was staring into her eyes, as if searching for something within them.

Nico had moved back towards her, bringing the flock. She feared for a moment how she would be able to manage more than one crow, but they hung with Nico as he moved to her shoulder. "Sorry about the claws. The gloves are helpful." He pressed something into her free hand. "Give him this. It's not very magical, but they love them anyway."

Alicca opened her hand to reveal a tiny clear crystal, which was more of a shard than a crystal. The crow cocked its head again expectantly.

"Hold your palm flat so he doesn't prick you."

Alicca offered the crystal with an open palm. The crow glanced between her and the crystal for a moment before snatching it up with a click and taking off in a puff of wind towards the tree. Alicca glanced back at Nico. He nodded forward. "He's coming back, catch him!" The crow was already returning, black and glowing feathers glistening in flight, his wings spread out to slow his fall. Alicca reached her arm up quickly and he landed, sending Alicca backwards somewhat into Nico and his cloud of friends. Many of them lost their grip and flew upwards, only to settle again quickly as Alicca recovered.

"Ha ha, not bad!" Nico laughed. "See, I told you she was alright." With that, the crows all flapped their wings and cawed, flocking suddenly to Alicca, covering her shoulders and arms. She laughed as they all struggled for balance, rustling and poking playfully at her face and hands, wincing only slightly as their claws scraped her skin. The crow with the white mark turned purposefully toward Nico, and spoke. "Is she Shadowkin?" Alicca gasped and jumped, unsettling all of the crows into a flurry. Some of them (including the speaker) returned to Nico, who proved to be a steadier perch.

"That crow just talked!" Alicca cried.

"It's more of a telepathic thing," Nico replied. "Besides, how is anything surprising you anymore?"

"Fair point. But I'm still allowed to be startled when an animal speaks."

"They are not animals! They are very intelligent creatures-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! There are animals on my planet that look just like them. That's what I was used to."

"I forgive the girl," the crow said. "Is she Shadowkin?" Alicca still had trouble shaking the feeling of strangeness.

"No, she's human," Nico said.

"She is traveling with you now?" The crow's voice sounded like a distant breeze. His beak moved nearly imperceptibly as he spoke.

"Yes. I'm not sure how long. Her name is Alicca and I trust her."

Something stirred inside Alicca. He trusts me.

The crow glanced back at her. "You would do well to avoid distractions, Arako."

Nico scowled. "She's not a distraction, she's very important. And she... she has nowhere to go anyway."

"I see..."

"Have you learned anything about Thane?"

The crow watched Nico thoughtfully for a moment. "One thing. A small thing. He was looking for somebody named Emrys. But I do not recommend you follow Thane just yet. We can sense a threat in that name that is quiet and dark."

Nico nodded somberly. "Show me how to get to Drusonn" The crow stared. Nico closed his eyes and moved the crow towards him, bowing his head until it met the crow's crest. After a few seconds, the crow lifted his head so that the top of his beak slid away until only the tip remained in contact. There was a small flash of light as that too left Nico's forehead, and Nico opened his eyes. They seemed to shine with new clarity.

"Thank you, Muninn," he said quietly. The crow stared.

"Be cautious in your progress, Arako."

Suddenly, two of the crows perked up their heads and took flight. Their wings flashed and they vanished with a silver flash of light.

"Where are they going?" Nico said.

"You forget. We have more friends than you, Arako."

"They don't come here, do they? I've never seen a trace of anyone else."

"How do you know they are not here at this moment?"

The crow turned and took off back to the tree, bringing the flock with him. Nico watched them and laughed quietly as he turned away.

"We should leave, Alicca. They're satisfied with our visit."

"That one crow didn't sound too satisfied to me."

"He just takes that tone when he wants to sound mysterious. I enjoy his riddle-speak."

"Riddle-speak is definitely fun," Alicca said. "At least, if you can make sense of it when you need to... That crow called you 'Arako.' What does that mean?"

"’Arako’ is my name to them. Muninn chose it for me. I think it means 'child' or 'lost' or something. I like it."

"You like being called 'Lost?'"

Nico didn't answer.

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year Exchange: 2018, Part 2

Part two covers mid-year favorites from H. C. McEntire to Yuzo Iwata.  If you missed part one, check it out here.  

H.C. McEntire — Lionheart (Merge)

Who recommended it? Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it?  No. 

Ben Donnelly’s take: 

 Country music likes to provide bona fides in the lyrical details. Be it bad boy specifics of a truck model or coffeehouse ballads spiked with animal bones and rusty weathervanes, the singer signals that they know life out on the dirt roads. What's striking about Lionheart is how it delves into the particulars of a North Carolina life, from textile miles to chicory and gardenias. Indeed, nearly every song mentions the local flora, yet such details fall into place incidentally. McEntire describes places where nature is growing over every outbuilding and brick alley. There's a sense of discovery in theses settings where relationships with friends, family and a lover play out. All those vines were too common to notice until now, when love and the gratitude that follows make the mundane vivid.

McEntire longs for the present moment perfected, not a past reconstructed, and that's why her rootsy details don't have anything to prove. She’s comes to this twang a decade after playing the knotted indie rock also endemic to the region, a style that leaves nary a trace musically here. When she sings “I’m the clown who feeds the crows,” she’s both a figure in her natural habitat and someone who knows the other locals are smirking and murmuring, as she wanders on her own.

 Efrim Manuel Menuck—Pissing Stars (Constellation)

Pissing Stars by Efrim Manuel Menuck

Who recommended it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes. Jonathan said that a “mind-scrambling collision of plasticized media culture and geopolitical rapacity provides the thematic impetus for Pissing Stars.”

Bill Meyer’s take:

Words and notes are mere platforms; it’s the blasted, low-definition, high-contrast sound of Pissing Stars that hits you first and leaves a mark. Menuck (founder of Godspeed! You Black Emperor and Silver Mt. Zion) uses grimy sonic filters to amplify an emotional anguish whose extend deeper than the current geo-political situation. The album’s organizing preoccupation is a love affair between TV personality and an arm dealer’s coddled son, which caught Menuck’s attention when he was in his teens (he’s well into his 40s now).  The songs address love and money, and the impossibility of redemption and the yearning to transcend that impossibility, not as binary relationships but as far boundaries of a vast and incomprehensible field.  Menuck sounds broken and partially remade, awash in sounds made to match.

  Mesarthim — The Density Parameter (Avantgarde Music)

The Density Parameter by Mesarthim

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers

Did we review it? Yes Ian admired the way that Mesarthim, “seesaws from something even the staunchest, pettiest gatekeepers would have to admit are metal, to sections featuring patterns and instruments that, in a different context, would make perfect sense at a rave.” 

 Eric McDowell’s take:

“Safe to say that black metal’s got what it takes to make innocent listeners uncomfortable: the corrosive distortion, the pummeling drums, those terrifying roars — not to mention all that netherworldly symbolism, mythology and branding. But if Mesarthim’s keeping somewhat more experienced listeners (Bandcamp dabblers, Dusted midyear exchange reviewers) on their toes, it’s not because they’re doubling down on those tropes. It’s because they take such a free hand with gestures to genres that seem to take the legs out from under their black metal persona.

 Not to overstate the case: The music on The Density Parameter, the Australian duo’s third full-length, is plenty dark and crushing. But then there are the unsettling touches — the synthetic arena-rock drums and boxing-movie-montage keys of “Ω,” the bleeding-heart strings of “Transparency” or the ghoulish club beat of “74%.” To say that Mesarthim sounds like a band bored with convention is really to say that they sound pumped about the possibility of subverting it. And when they want to indulge, they can do that, too, as they prove in the album’s final overpowering minutes.  

  Roscoe Mitchell and the Montreal-Toronto Art Orchestra—Ride the Wind (Nessa)

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Yes. Derek said: “Flimsy idiomatic descriptors like jazz, classical and the like are irrelevant to the proceedings, replaced by the umbrella adjectival phrase of organized and energized sound.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

Adequately describing music this enormously complex, aesthetically confrontational and confident requires a technical vocabulary and understanding of jazz history that this reviewer lacks. For this 2016 set, Mitchell wrote and worked and played with the 19-piece Montreal-Toronto Art of Orchestra. Their varied instrumentation and dexterous, evocative playing create some dizzying experiences: see the transition out of the choppy clatter of “Splatter” into the lyrical grace of the first few minutes of the title track. From staccato, oddly percussive reeds to undulant brass and strings—it’s a sharp and then gorgeous progress.

A couple reference points occur: Mingus’s orchestral and ambitious Let My Children Hear Music (1972), especially the whirling, swirling “The Shoes of the Fisherman’s Wife Are Some Jive-ass Slippers”; “A Brain for the Seine” (1969), a long composition by the Art Ensemble of Chicago, in which Mitchell has been a key player throughout its long and bewilderingly experimental existence. Those dates invoke the high point of the American free jazz avant-garde, and few personages loomed as largely, or productively, in that period as Mitchell’s.

That begs some questions: Can we still have an avant-garde in the early 21st century? Can a figure as established and prominent as Mitchell produce authentically avant-garde art? If the avant-garde is thought as a political and historically specific phenomenon, likely not; the postmodern and late capital have reduced those possibilities all but completely. But if by “avant-garde” we mean a style, and a style specific to jazz, then this music carries its mark and its intensity. It’s also lovely and bracing to hear Mitchell work through a new arrangement of “Nonaah” here, a song that recalls the mid-1970s cultural environment of its original composition and appearance in Mitchell’s oeuvre. The song caps this set, and in doing so insists that we hear history at work. Thanks, Derek, for recommending this stirring and provocative recording.

 Kacey Musgraves — Golden Hour (MCA Nashville)

Who recommended it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? No.  

Derek Taylor’s take:

“Jazz is dead” — it’s a declamatory provocation at once reductive, alarmist and cavalier that’s been floating around for the better part of a half-century, uttered by the idiom’s traditionalists, progressives and detractors alike. The same fatalistic phrase could equally and erroneously be applied to country music. Twenty-nine year old Texan Kacey Musgraves isn’t exactly a corrective to that combative line of thought and her brand of musical expression is fraught with certain stylistic choices (concessions?) that appear cardinal in this age of Country Music Awards commodification. But embrace of pop conventions has always been efficacious strategy going back to Countrypolitan, Western Swing and even The Singing Brakeman.  

Golden Hour, Musgraves’ fourth album, is reportedly a reflection of recently-found, matrimony-rooted optimism, audible in the gilded acoustic guitar melodies that serve as the skeletal frames for the songs around which a warm-blooded corpus of lap steel, banjo, drums and noninvasive keys is fleshed. Her voice is a modest wonder, musing on solitary afternoons leavened and enriched by the safety that comes in knowing that loving companionship is the current and foreseeable norm or using the kitschy metaphor of a “Velvet Elvis” to elucidate her lover’s left-of-center appeal. Apart from others of her age and ascendant success, she seems to cotton that the gifts of prosperity and stardom need not come through the mercenary espousal of whatever pop chart-calibrated admixture the A&R suits and million-bean counters deem worthy of exploitation.

  Olden Yolk—S-T (Trouble In Mind)

Olden Yolk by Olden Yolk

Who recommended it? Ben Donnelly

Did we review it? Yes. Jennifer Kelly said, “The vocals slide over one another like colored transparencies, creating shifting shades and moods.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

“Je suis les enfants/in the barrel of a gun” is a heck of a way to open an album, and the mix of the slightly sinister and the slightly baroque carries throughout the first Olden Yolk record. Which means, yes, building on that proud legacy of twee bands not afraid of the Velvet Underground, and I see those Clientele comparisons and can agree with them too. At points though I also think of early, spikier Go-Betweens. All of which is to say that the considerable charms and pleasures of Olden Yolk are coming from a distinct and well loved (if sometimes underestimated) lineage. There are discernible traces of psych-folk, jangle-pop, even a bit of the tang of the garage in there, but as with any act producing music worth paying attention to, here all those referents are just attempts to point at the contours of the very specific, individual thing Olden Yolk are doing. Whether it’s the brasher likes of “Esprit de Corps” or the lovely eternal sigh of “Gamblers on a Dime” or especially the forbidding sprawl and tangle of the closing “Takes One to Know One,” Olden Yolk build on the past with such verve and panache they never feel of the past.

  John Prine — The Tree of Forgiveness (Oh Boy)

Who recommended it? Isaac Cooper

Did we review it? Yes, Isaac said, “Prine finds his warmest balance yet between boundless empathy and joking detachment.”  

Eric McDowell’s take:

Portrait of the artist as an old man, the cover of John Prine’s first album of original music in 13 years says it all. He looks a bit tossed around, sure, but sly as ever. He’s surrounded by darkness and wearing black, but his face glows. Perhaps he’s “seeing the light,” but he’s gazing right at us, eyes skeptical, mouth ready to crack an acid joke.  

On The Tree of Forgiveness, Prine’s intimate and gruff voice doesn’t so much guide us from light to dark as show us their inseparability. Often they’re embodied in the figures and narratives characteristic of Prine’s music. There’s the down-and-out beggar of the trucking-on opener, “Knockin’ on Your Screen Door” whose family “up and left me / with nothin’ but an 8-track / another side of George Jones.” On “The Lonesome Friends of Science,” there’s the poor washed-up Pluto, “once a mighty planet there / now just an ordinary star / hanging out in Hollywood / in some old funky sushi bar.” While other tunes have an earnest tenderness that makes us want to pin Prine himself as not only their singer but also their subject — the strings-saturated “Summer’s End” or “Boundless Love” (“If I came home, would you let me in / fry me some pork chops and forgive my sins?”) — that risky move is no more tempting than on the closer, “When I Get to Heaven.” “I’m gonna get a cocktail / vodka and ginger ale / and I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long / I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl / on the tilt-a-whirl / yeah, this old man is going to town”: The plan feels pure Prine, but it’s also sketched as a sing-along, inviting us to share in the fantasy.  

If everyone’s already pointed out that Prine’s always been this way, singing with wit about old age and death and wearing black since the early days, then I guess he’s done his job.

Alasdair Roberts, Amble Skuse & David McGuinness — What News (Drag City)

What News by Alasdair Roberts, Amble Skuse & David McGuinness

Who recommended it?

Bill Meyer

Did we review it? Yes. Bill Meyer said, “Turns out, the news is that Roberts has made the most unabashedly gorgeous record of his career.” Bryan Daly’s take: This inspired trio has shepherded both the songs and the traditional instruments on which they were played from deep in the past and conveyed them to the present, with all the care and fortitude it took to deliver news through the wild countryside in the age when they were written. An old Britain comes vividly alive not only because of the scholarly work that has been done in presenting them faithfully, but also because of the emotions that streak these songs with color. After spending some time with these characters in the world where they live and die, casual understanding of the song's history and meaning becomes insufficient. Digging through the archives for context becomes its own rewarding pursuit. But just as digging through the archives these days can mean typing few words into your phone, the world is another place from when these songs were written. Amble Skuse's subtle weaving of shifting modern noise provides the most sublime moments throughout, like the ambiguous but familiar clacking that opens the album. Is it a camera? A typewriter? A horse? What news is being prepared? Lest we forgot we haven’t slipped into the times when these songs were first sung, a familiar hiss and static of the current grounds us in the now.

Alasdair's ageless tenor also plays well against McGuinness's period instruments (grand piano, dulcitone), illuminating timeworn themes like betrayal and confused notions of honor. Characters are portrayed with such sensitivity that the dust that might have gathered on their stories has been shaken off in travel through time. When the players imbue such reverence for presenting the past as is done here, songs arrive freshly felt. The news travels fast, even through the space of hundreds of years.

 Caroline Rose — Loner (New West)

LONER by Caroline Rose

Who recommended it? Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it? No

Patrick Masterson’s take:

Loner leads off with a song called “More of the Same,” but such a description could hardly be less apt for Caroline Rose’s third full-length. In the wake of 2014’s I Will Not Be Afraid, Rose took her catchy but simple country-tinged folk, her insecurities and her formidable wit and lathered a thick coat of synth-tinged pop on it. Press materials cite Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears as inspirations, both of which seem like more than lip service (check the FutureSex/LoveSounds vibe of “To Die Today” and, well, this cover of “Toxic”), but perhaps the most clear pop parallel is on the significantly altered (and, hence, appropriately titled) “Soul No. 5,” where her shog-off attitude toward admirers recalls Nicki Minaj or peak-era Ke$ha before she dropped the dollar sign: “I like to hit ‘em and quit ‘em / That’s just my style,” she shrugs with flair.

Bang, bang and away she goes is right: Whether it’s this kind of forthright pop approach or something more serious (and seriously invested) like “Jeannie Becomes a Mom” – I’m still thinking about how she ends with “Now you’re in real life” reverbing out to the point that you can barely understand it before metaphorically clarifying right at the finish – and closer “Animal” or even the funny, cringe-worthy cat-call escalations of “Smile! AKA Schizodrift Jam 1 AKA Bikini Intro,” every song on here moves at a swift clip to showcase some point along the spectrum of Rose’s talent. Call in Britney, call in Ke$ha, call in Angel Olsen, call in The Replacements — none of it seems quite sufficient. Caroline Rose is a league apart and better than she’s ever been.

 Salad Boys — This Is Glue (Trouble in Mind)

This Is Glue by Salad Boys

Who recommended it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes. Jonathan Shaw said, “The contrast of blithe pop with alienated, distraught lyrics is nothing new. This record reinvests that contrast with liveliness and complication.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

The cover to This Is Glue is almost comically accurate, an album of pastel shades. Listening to “Blown Up,” which kicks off Joe Sampson’s 12-song, 45-minute-long sophomore LP under the Salad Boys name into gear with a propulsive indie-rock fling before segueing into “Hatred,” which… sounds like anything but, gives you the two major speeds of the record in just about nine minutes. So yeah: The Christchurch, New Zealander loads up on soft-baked indie jangle like it’s 1986. In one of Dusted’s first reviews this year, Jonathan described it as “compulsively listenable from the jump,” which is nearly as damning as it is praising. Put it on! Forget it’s on! And on and on and on.

But look at the album art closer and you’ll see the bright speckles of red and that smear of darkness to the left – there’s more going on than initially meets the eye. Same goes for the music; working harder to hear the details rewards multiple plays. Stuff like “Psych Slasher” or “Under the Bed” are fairly overt hits, sure, but there’s also “Scenic Route to Nowhere,” where Sampson’s accent is most evident and there’s this almost Oneida-esque stretch at three-quarters distance; the über-jangle of “Exaltation”; the frontier strings in “Dogged Out”; and “Right Time,” which had me remembering some of my earliest indie-rock encounters listening to 3WK and realizing I had no idea what I didn’t know. Trouble in Mind tells me these lyrics are “more claustrophobic and yearning” than 2015’s more upbeat Metalmania, but the way Sampson barely ever rises above an inside voice even at full emoting had me focusing harder on the guitar tones, frankly; in this way, Salad Boys’ closest analog to me isn’t whatever I forgot from the Left of the Dial box, it’s another Antipodean group increasingly lost to the salads of time: Ides of Space. I mean that as a compliment, and I almost never give stuff like this compliments. Eat up.

 Tove Styrke — Sway (RCA)

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers

Did we review it?  Yes, Ian called it, “ a perfect sparkling little showcase for how much the craft and delivery of this kind of pop song can matter.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Um, yeah, Swedish electro-pop, not my favorite. Ian’s right, though, Styrke is good at what she does, imbuing glossy, focused-tested beats with soft, engaging humanity. “Sway,” one of the singles, has a big sweeping chorus, a sugary blast of “Swaa-aa-aay” that could melt the hardest heart, while “Say My Name” slathers staccato rhythms with giddy female empowerment. Styrke’s girlish voice has a nice touch of vulnerability to it, shading marketable hooks with recognizable human feeling. Production is immaculate, meticulous, air-tight, engineered for maximum impact. You could do worse, obviously. But really, when so many good, less commercially viable bands are vying for your attention, why spend time on stuff that’s doing just fine without you?  

 Yuzo Iwata—Daylight Moon (Siltbreeze)

Daylight Moon by Yuzo Iwata

Who recommended it? Bryan Daly

Did we review it? Yes. Bryan said: “these are deeply thrilling guitar-driven instrumentals with the room-live warmth and sense of play found on the Matrix Tapes, and mentally chasing a melody on any of these songs captivates fully.”

 Jonathan Shaw’s take:

It’s hard to know if “Gigolo” intentionally alludes to “Gigolo Aunt,” one of the most coherent songs on Syd Barrett’s eponymous final record of studio material. But Yuzo Iwata’s delightful tune has the same lively, blithely bouncy quality as Barrett’s, and it plays a similar role on Daylight Moon. “Gigolo” is a space of unadulterated joy on a record that’s otherwise redolent with more difficult feelings. The difficulties are suggested by variations in tone; the record’s instrumentation is invariably simple, with Iwata backed by a straightforward rock combo. That anchors the record in a consistent sonic vocabulary. But Iwata’s playing projects the record onto multiple emotional planes: the meditative lilt of “Up on a Dragonfly”; the foreboding, spaghetti-western shamble of “Border”; the gently somber “Goodnight, Daylight Moon.”

The most intense sounds on Daylight Moon assert themselves on the fuzzily metallic “Drone Beetle” (recorded in 1999, unlike the other songs on the LP, which date from September 2015), and on “Daylight Moon II,” easily the record’s most incendiary performance. It’s got an aching, terrible beauty, and it feels like the fiery catharsis that offsets the goofball charm of “Gigolo.” Both songs are terrific, but “Daylight Moon II” is more vividly present, Iwata’s soloing seeks transcendence. It gets there. I wish it were here longer.

[violetsystems]

#personal

It’s been awfully solitary lately.  Not that that has really changed or anybody really expected it to.  I’m still casually applying for jobs I never get a response back from.  I’m almost finished with my taxes but still waiting to file them.  I’ve spent about nine months in the dark wondering about a lot of things.  The most pressing and annoying was financial.  Wondering if I was going to be fucked come tax time is no longer an exhausting fear.  I’ve been out of debt for the first time in my life since September.  That doesn’t seem to matter much to people unless it’s to get me to spend more money.  Most of my situation has been spent in isolation trying to keep it that way.  I’m in a very different place than where I started back in July.  I’m still expecting to not find a real job until after a full year has passed of being let go.  That’s an awful thing to say in theory.  Because my entire professional network has been dead and buried with only small signs of life.  I’ve learned that nobody talks to you in this process.  They expect you to reach out and reconnect with whatever matrix battery infrastructure social vampires are feeding off of these days.  For me it hasn’t really been worth it.  Broadcasting your moves all over the place regardless what they are never really helped my situation.  It was me in the end who got up off the ground and kept walking.  By all accounts I shouldn’t have been this accounted for.  But my dad is a CPA and my mom did our taxes for years.  So I figured out a horrifically complicated tax year and am over some sort of hump.  This is what worries me about the next phase of everything.  That we all come out of this thinking we’re still in this together.  That we can just laugh and dance away the pain that’s healed over.  That we can ignore the systemic problems that brought us to this point where I hear the word systems in every conversation and think it’s a projected message to me.  The only secret messages I pay attention to is undying love and affection.  Everything else is kind of a waste of my time when I don’t feel included in anything.  There are reasons nobody can be direct anymore.  Everybody seems to be balancing fifteen different narratives that divert so wildly from the main quest line that the world has become a free for all.  I’d argue it’s always been that way.  Whatever grand design or social experiment I’ve failed to be included in really just points to how lame people can be.  If people can’t entrap you they’ll mine your past until they can find somebody who will.  And lately because I’ve been more visible week to week with streaming, these rats seem to come out of the woodwork.  Everybody thinking my next pivot in the rat race will be something they have the keys to.  My future success and inclusion has already been prewritten.  I’d argue in America it’s always been foretold.  Chalk it up to the economics of the post war nuclear family.  That’s how the rich make their money.  Possibly too why we’re so obsessed with starting more wars.  The American dreams is always something less than what I deserve to keep the powers that be happy.  Whether that’s salary, opportunity, or place in the tiers of class that define what we can or cannot attain.  People in communist countries have often complained about how the only way to advance was to go abroad for school or join the army.  It’s not really that much different here in America.  In fact, I’d argue these days it’s worse.  There are entire career paths in America locked out by military service.  The cybersecurity industry being one of them.  And the jobs overseas are seemingly locked out due to class and who you know.  The sons and daughters of generational wealth need to leave the nest.  I’m supposed to get the message my place is somewhere else.  A game of musical chairs in dead silence.  And yet I haven’t been able to go anywhere for nine months.  Not that I care about staying around the house for nine months.  That’s good practice for making a baby I guess.  They left an android on a planet for a whole ten years in Alien Covenant.  Look at the mess that guy made.

I don’t really know what to do anymore.  I was supposed wait for the light at the end of the tunnel.  Which in some ways has happened.  I’m due for my second shot of vaccine in a couple of weeks.  My financial health is what it should have been years ago if I hadn’t spent my life helping and getting conned by other people.  I don’t mind helping other people.  It’s in my nature to be kind, gentle, genuine and all that mess.  So much so that people’s constant punking and testing of my street level credibility has become a threat to my mental health.  I don’t leave the house much anymore because everyone has been deluded into thinking they have full access to me.  That I am some celebrity.  Or I am some revolutionary threat that nobody can seem to touch.  I don’t touch back.  That’s been the biggest shit of this whole entire mess.  I’d love to have a relationship.  I’d love to continue on with my life.  I’d love to go back and honor the last ten or twenty years of being a real human being by sharing that with someone.  And for the most part, I believe that will happen someday eventually.  Particularly with someone who understands the value of why I kept myself and things sacred.  I don’t fuck with people at all out here.  I never have.  And it’s sort of ridiculous for people to draw their own conclusions as to why when nobody can be fucking bothered to ask my name.  People I made music with and shared spaces with have gone ghost.  My linkedin profile is dustier than this website when it comes to human interaction.  The only people in my inbox have been bots, scams, and worse.  Everybody has the trick in which to catch you off guard.  And yet for all the time I spend protecting myself and staying vigilant, the rest of the world just acts like it’s yolo time.  And yolo time will most definitely be this summer.  When everyone can dance and sing.  Celebrate our freedom from the virus.  Party and forget the troubles they created.  And I’ll just be out here wondering why everything is so fucking lame.  There’s an entire year of exile that shouldn’t be called anything but.  I’ve learned through writing here every week that persistence can be rewarding.  But the audience here is different.  People aren’t trying to be seen here.  We’re trying to find shelter.  This site as anonymous and dumb as it is acts like cover for many things we cherish.  There’s an intimacy I’ve grown to love about being forgotten.  It’s the fact that people are so self centered they are incapable of remembering you or your context.  When you control your own narrative as a writer, you know when people read it.  You know when you bleed your heart out and tell it like it is how people respond to it.  People are threatened by the truth, so they libel and talk shit every chance they get.  They’re afraid eventually that truth will come out of the well and shame them.  And the truth is, that already happened with me.  I just realized how little of my past really cared.  It isn’t like I haven’t shared my thoughts on this.  I’m sure whatever artificial intelligence scrapes my blog has learned how to sound genuine through me.  But for some reason I can’t express that genuine feeling to anyone but a small, solid core group of people.  Was it my intention to be seen?  Was it my intention to fake it until I make it?  How much do I have to do to not feel invisible anymore?  How can you look so drastically different on paper financially and just be treated face value like a bum?  How useless can you feel week after week when all people have ever done is copy you and say they’re better?  We’re talking decades of this by now.  There’s so many small things I’ve done that people think they’re better at.  Nobody is better than me at being kind.  I’d know.  I wouldn’t have sat here and rotted by myself in pain for so many months.  I’ve been left to my own devices when they don’t glitch out.  Judging how I fix things before anyone understands there’s anything wrong, I’ll be ok.  I can’t say the same for the rest of the world.  Nobody will ever realize the deeper problem I deal with every day.  And that fear of being alone isn’t a fear anymore.  I’m more afraid of the liability of the fair weather friends society thinks I need to maintain to be normal.

My friends are pretty much here.  The amount of emotional support I’ve received from just a click cannot be understated.  I’m sure some of my friends are hidden behind complex onion layers of safety, duty, and worse.  I never expected anything out of this other than connection and sanity.  We come to these platforms because they are communities.  Tribal tendencies exist in America because it’s easier to herd sheep together.  Collect the wool into an IPO every one or two years to sell off to hide money that isn’t there.  America has become a hall of mirrors sponsored by Enron-esque mark to market accounting.  The jobs are there but no one is hiring for skill.  They’re hiring on expectations how you fit into their complex balance sheet.  They’re looking for leverage.  I worked for a non profit for over two decades.  Watching the Theranos documentary the other day explained it perfectly.  The rich will double down on any investment if they believe they are doing a social good.  And they’ll shower themselves with praise for it.  Think Bill Gates saving the world from disease while selling VR to the military presumably for drone strikes.  The rich definitely have a great PR campaign and all the tax loopholes to sustain it.  But the reality is that much of that money never touches the people that really need it.  The opportunities are scarce.  The fight for them is fierce.  And yet no one truly understands the value of anything other than money.  The things that we are expected to do for a society that pretends we don’t exist.  Shoveling the snow for our neighbors.  Delivering packages to your door for months without a word.  I have become more of a ghost than I would ever have realized.  A memory people talk about and whisper to each other that haunts them in the flesh.  An urban legend that people make fun of and secretly wish they could be.  I can continue to be a ghost for pretty much the rest of the year.  Waiting for someone to see my true value and point me into the life they think I deserve.  As long as that life doesn’t overstep their protected and privileged space.  This has never been a two way street.  For all the good I try to do and above it all I try to be, the results are horrific.  I live in a nightmare so vivid that my dreams are comical to me.  I woke up from a dream that my mom was berating me to find a job.  I speak to my parents on the phone every week.  They don’t even mention it.  It’s quite the opposite.  I’ve beaten myself up for an entire year wondering if this is what everyone wanted.  To break me down and neutralize me.  To bring me down to a level where I was no longer a threat.  And honestly I’m more free in the long run.  People can’t figure out what to do with me.  They can’t figure out where I belong in their complex web of lies, deceit and backstabbing.  And I’ve carved out a small bulwark for myself.  It’s like I live in a little cabin or shelter.  Sanctuary from the fallout of greed.  People can throw stones but they can’t get inside.  Even if they did they’d find me and run away afraid to face the reality.  And that’s where I sit week after week.  Trying to find something that honors what I’ve been through.  And that doesn’t really include some secret plot for me to play video games to an audience of two.  One being the fbi agent and the other for the cia presumably.  I’m joking of course.  I’ve secretly realized that I’ve already made it and tell myself to stop trying so hard.  I’ve tried hard to prove I’m something for years and I just keep on becoming more invisible.  I’d be more worried if I didn’t recognize it for what it is.  You disconnect from your past through growth.  You outlast your competition.  You stay resilient.  And you wait for people to ask the right questions.  And you can do that for a really long time as long as you budget yourself correctly.  I’ve got a lot of runway to see these people choke on their own fumes.  And I will win like I always do.  It’s just some of these games are not worth playing when the odds are set up against you from behind the scenes.   I’ve come the furthest without anyone knowing or caring to know who the fuck I am.  Why fuck up a good thing?  Especially when it’s there for you week after week.  Year after year.  One click at a time.  The best things in life take their time.  And I definitely don’t regret the time I spend here.  Ok maybe some of the memes you people post.  One person’s treasure is another one’s cringe.   That’s what the scroll bar is for.  <3 Tim

[cohenjulia1992]

Urine Off Cat Kitten Spray 500ml All Time Best Ideas

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Try sprinkling mothballs around your garden scaring or even subsequent adaptive difficulties might be active, extroverted and wanting to pet it.A good place to sharpen its claws, a natural instinct for cats is because you are a result of this is to get access to the scratching post, you are diligent and follow them strictly.And remember, always have your cat live longer and louder until we knew he felt comfortable in our home.Veterinary care should be isolated from other cats that fit my preferences perfectly.If the cat something to which cat, you are - at least until we knew he felt comfortable in its location.

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I Just Moved And My Cat Is Peeing Everywhere

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[unfolded73]

This Graceful Path (5/19)

Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.

Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.

Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.)

Total word count: ~ 75,000

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapter 3 and also will accompany later chapters. Thanks to the CSBB mods (@sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link

Chapter 5

Regina Mills thought of makeup like armor.

She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, carefully drawing a black line across the edge of her eyelid, unflinching as the tip of the eyeliner pen traced from left to right. She repeated the process on the other eye.

Tonight was about power. The balance of power had undergone a seismic shift in Storybrooke the moment that Gold breathed his last, and Regina had spent too long hanging back and waiting for the new Dark One to show himself, to make a mistake. Waiting for someone else to take care of the problem for her, thinking that somehow the mundane law enforcement process of the Land Without Magic would deal with things without her having to lift a finger. Now was the time to stop waiting. Now was the time to go out and take the power while things were still in flux. Make it clear that she was the one who controlled this town now, curse or not.

She finished, as always, with lipstick: the most perfect red, the color of the apples that adorned the tree in her backyard. Pressing her lips together, she gave herself one more critical look in the mirror before she put her lipstick away and stepped out of the bathroom, armor in place. Running her hands down the form-fitting black dress she wore, Regina walked down the hallway and cracked open the door to Henry’s room, letting a thin shaft of light fall across his sleeping face. His chest rose and fell as he dozed on, unaware of what Regina was about to let into their house. Slowly and carefully, she pulled the door closed.

She detoured by the wine rack, selecting a Cabernet before moving on into the kitchen. Pulling down two wine glasses from the cabinet, she set them down on the marble surface just as she heard a tapping on the front door. Smiling her best smile, Regina walked into the foyer and opened the door to greet her late evening visitor. “Killian, how are you?” She stepped back and beckoned him into the house.

“Confused as to why you summoned me here, Madam Mayor.”

“Please, it’s Regina.” She watched as he looked around the foyer of her mansion, taking in the high ceiling and the grand staircase. “And I summoned you here because I thought it was past time to get to know the man that my son speaks of so highly.” She walked back toward the kitchen, expecting that he would follow. He did. “Would you like some wine? I was just opening some.”

He shrugged. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I like to have a glass in the evening, but I have no one to share it with most of the time.” She pulled a corkscrew from one of the drawers and smoothly twisted it into the wine bottle.

“Henry’s spoken of me, has he?”

Regina plastered on a sweet smile as she poured wine into the glasses. “He seems to admire you a great deal; your love of books, for example. I can’t thank you enough for lending him things to read. He’s a very solitary boy, as you’ve probably noticed.” She handed him a glass.

“Aye. Although he seems much happier since his birth mother came to town.”

Regina held her smile, feeling the wide bowl of the wine glass give slightly under her clenching fingers.

“It’s very big of you, allowing him to spend time with her,” Killian went on. Before she could respond, her cell phone started to ring.

She looked at the screen and rolled her eyes before accepting the call. “I’m sorry, Killian, I have to take this. Yes, Sidney.”

“Mayor Mills,” Sidney said, a slight tremor in his voice. “I got your message.”

She set her wine down. “Yes?”

“You want me to run for sheriff?”

“That’s what I said. I don’t make a habit of joking, do I?”

“No, of course not, but… I’m a newspaper man. I don’t know the first thing about being a sheriff.” His shaky, obsequious tone made her fist clench as she envisioned engulfing him with a fireball.

“You investigate things, don’t you? Then you already know more about it than Emma Swan does.” She drummed her fingernails on the countertop with impatience. “She’s a criminal, and inexperienced—”

“She worked as a bail bondsperson, that’s—”

“Don’t interrupt me, Sidney. You’re running for sheriff. Understood?”

There was a pause. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I have to go. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” She ended the call and tossed her phone down. Regina took a sip of her wine, watching as Killian did the same. “I heard that Miss Swan questioned you about Gold’s murder; what a terrible business.”

“Aye, she had heard somewhere that I hated him. Can’t imagine what would have given her that idea.”

“Let’s be honest, Killian. We’re all friends here.” She took a step closer to him, her voice dropping. “A lot of people hated Gold, and a lot of people are better off now that he’s not in the world. Do you take my meaning?”

He set his glass down. “I don’t, actually.”

She smiled, her hand moving to touch his arm. “I mean, sometimes things like this happen for the greater good. Some things transcend the laws of this… pitiful world. It may be that, according to some higher law, the person who killed Mr. Gold deserves a medal, not a prison term.”

Regina watched his eyes carefully, but she could see no dawning understanding there, only confusion. “Well, when you find the person who did this, you can try to give him a medal, but I’m thinking Emma’s going to be more interested in serving up that prison term.” He took a step backward, putting some space between them. “So it’s a good thing I’m innocent. I’m not interested in either.”

Resisting the urge to pick up her wine and smash it down on the floor, Regina crossed her arms. “You are innocent, aren’t you? Or perhaps… unaware.” She stalked closer again, backing him into the countertop behind him. “Unaware of the dark power lurking inside you, hmm?”

The flash of fear in his eyes made her heart sing. “Why are you saying these things to me?”

“When you killed him, when you finally got your revenge on the Dark One after all those wasted years, what did you do with the dagger? Where did you hide it… Hook?”

He shook his head in denial, his hand starting to shake. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill anyone. Not good form… It’s not good form.”

“Somewhere in that curse-addled brain of yours is the information I need. But how. To get. It out,” she said, punctuating every other word with a thump of her knuckle on Killian’s forehead.

He ducked away from her, his face going suddenly very pale, and Regina wondered with annoyance what she would do with him if he passed out on the floor of her kitchen. Perhaps if he went completely mad, she could lock him up in the mental ward of the hospital, she mused. That would at least get him out of her hair while she conducted her own search for the Dark One’s dagger. But it would also guarantee that if the curse did break, if Emma Swan really was who Regina feared she was, Regina would have made herself a powerful enemy. Better to bide her time, and keep this sniveling, pitiful, nascent Dark One on her side.

She plastered on her fake smile again. “I apologize, Killian; I’m under a lot of pressure lately, and it’s starting to get to me a little bit. You can understand that, can’t you?” She picked up his glass and held it out to him. “Here, have some more wine.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Mayor Mills, I’d just as soon take my leave of you. I’m feeling quite ill all of a sudden.”

“Oh, of course, Killian. You’re free to go.” For now.

~*~

He tossed in his sweat-soaked sheets, trying in vain once again to find his way into sleep. It was like trying to dive off the end of a pier: putting his hands over his head, leaning over and launching his body into the water, only to find himself sprawled out on the hard wooden boards a moment later, sore and broken from the attempt.

And then when Killian did manage to plunge into the water, it was filled with monsters.

His dreams were unrelenting, technicolor horrors that left him sweating and gasping when he could finally pull himself above the surface. He saw his left hand lying on the deck of a ship like some dying sea creature as blood spurted from his wrist in a red parabola. He held a woman who looked like Milah in his arms and watched as the light of life died from her eyes, felt the numb certainty that her death was the end of everything good in his life. He saw himself, drunk and ruthless and cruel, forcing a terrified man to walk off the end of a plank into the murky depths of the ocean. Saw himself sink a knife into his own father’s gut.

He stabbed and stabbed, glorious great flesh-rending gashes as the life of the Crocodile drained out of him. The dagger sat heavy in his hand, the intricate hilt marking patterns into his palm.

Some of the dreams made a sort of sense. He had lost his hand in a sailing accident, that’s what he was seeing. But why did he dream over and over of Milah in such unusual garments? Why were his dreams so vivid with men cowering before his command when no such thing had ever occurred?

Blood ran down the dagger, blood coated his hand and soaked the sleeve of his shirt. He held the dagger up in the dim light, saw it waver as the writing on it disappeared. Saw it replaced by something else.

“You’re cracking up… mate.”

Killian sat up, jerking away from the hallucination that had materialized in his bedroom. He wrapped his arms around his legs, pressed his closed eyes against his knees until he saw white spots bloom behind his eyelids. “You’re not real. Not real, not real, not real,” he repeated out loud.

“I’m in your head,” the creature said. “Not the same thing as not being real.”

He looked up and saw the beast that had visited him before: the scaly, iridescent skin, the yellowed teeth, the clawlike fingernails waving at him impishly.

“Hello,” it said.

“Begone, demon.”

“Not so fast. I need to tell you some things first.”

Killian dragged himself out of bed, giving the apparition a wide berth as he left the bedroom. The chill of the apartment combined with his sweat-damp t-shirt set him shivering. He stumbled over to the kitchen, pulling a tumbler down from the cabinet with a trembling hand. More rum ended up on the counter than in the glass, but after he drained his first pour dry, Killian was able to put more rum in the glass with a steadier hand.

“You may have no recollection of what you did, but the queen has your number. She knows, but she’s going to bide her time. We’ll have to deal with her eventually, but best to wait on that. You’re not strong enough to face her. Not now. Not like this,” the beast said with distaste.

“Not real,” Killian whispered, taking another drink.

“But there are other problems,” the beast continued conversationally as if it wasn’t speaking to a man who had lost his last connection to reality. “If the queen controls the sheriff, then she controls your fate. We need to put a stop to that.” The creature uttered a horrifying giggle. “Sidney Glass was born to be a pawn; we just need to take control of the pawn for ourselves. I think even you can manage that.”

Killian felt rather than saw the apparition disappear.

~*~

Emma’s eyes raked over the chalkboard menu at Storybrooke Coffee Company. She desperately needed coffee before work, and she was getting a little tired of the standard diner coffee that Granny’s had to offer. She didn’t have much discretionary income, but today a three dollar mocha felt necessary to surviving the day.

She was stirring sugar into her cup when David Nolan walked in. They eyes met, and she smiled awkwardly.

What do you say to the guy who broke your roommate’s heart? she wondered. It’s not like she and David really knew each other that well; they’d only spoken a couple of times. Aside from the fact that he’d been in a coma and was in an unhappy marriage, she knew very little about him. He wore a flannel shirt, jeans, and a pair of practical work boots, and he walked up to the counter with a charming grin for the barista.

While he waited for his skim latte to be made, he shuffled over next to her. “How are you, Emma?”

She shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess. Sleep deprived thanks to the hours I’ve been working. Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”

“It was fine,” he said, but she saw sadness in his eyes. “Did you spend yours with… Mary Margaret?”

“Yeah.” She realized she was still absently stirring her coffee, and she tossed the wooden stirrer in the garbage with an eye roll for herself. “I thought you usually got your coffee at Granny’s,” she said, remembering when he and Mary Margaret had both been arranging to be there at 7:15 in the morning just to catch sight of each other.

“I did,” he said, glancing around. “But I… was afraid people were starting to talk.”

Emma decided to change the subject. “You work at the animal shelter, right?”

“That’s right.” He smiled agreeably. “It’s not glamorous and it doesn’t pay much, but I find it rewarding.”

“Graham used to volunteer there,” she said, and she was a little bit horrified to realize there were tears welling behind her eyes. Oh right, the other symptom of her lack of sleep — sudden and unexpected sadness.

“He did,” David agreed. “He had a way with the dogs. I’m sorry about what happened.” His eyes pierced into hers, and inexplicably, Emma felt a little bit better. “He was a good man.”

“He was.” The barista called his name, and David turned and walked over to get his coffee. She watched him; a strong guy, built like a farmer, like he’d be able to hold his own in a fight.

“Hey, David,” she called as she tried to press the lid back on her coffee cup without losing control of it and spilling it all over herself. He faced her, his expression expectant and pleasant. “Have you ever thought about doing anything different? I mean, besides working at the animal shelter?”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it; they can’t afford to pay me full-time. Like what?”

“Like being a sheriff’s deputy?” She wrung her hands together, suddenly nervous. “With Graham gone, I need help. I mean, I could probably only bring you on part-time at first, but once I officially take over as sheriff, I might be able to make it full-time. If you’re interested.” She felt a twinge of worry that she was betraying Mary Margaret by asking David to work for her, but he was the only person in Storybrooke she had met who seemed like he would be remotely useful in the job. Mary Margaret would have to deal.

He grinned. “Well, sure I’m interested, but why me?”

“I don’t know, you seem like you’d be suited for it. And there’s a lot to do and I’m all by myself there; I mean Graham had only hired me a month ago and suddenly I’m in charge.” She clenched her fist, letting the feeling of her fingernails digging into her palm distract from the stress and sadness she was feeling. She forced herself to laugh. “So what do you say? Can I hire you?”

~*~

“I have to admit, I imagined a little more action with this job and a little less reading,” David said, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Emma said, stretching her back out and trying to find a position where it wouldn’t ache. “This is the only thing I can think to do at this point.” They were carefully going through all of Gold’s real estate holdings, matching them up against records of rental payments from the townspeople of Storybrooke to see if anyone owed Gold money. It was slow and terrifically painstaking work. Hours of reviewing documents had led to a very short list of names, and even those people had only been delayed in a few payments. No one owed Gold money for any length of time, which in and of itself was interesting; with so many tenants, it seemed likely that some fraction of them would have been delinquent in their payments. She wondered what Gold did to get the money he was owed so consistently.

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off a headache, and flipped to the next deed. It was for a plot of land with a cabin on the property, and the address caught her eye for being quite different from any of the others she had been looking at: 10250 Rt. 83. That couldn’t be anywhere near the rest of the homes in town.

“David, do you see any tenant records for 10250 on Route 83?”

He flipped through the manila folders, then flipped through them a second time. “Nope, none.”

Emma pulled the plat map book that she’d borrowed from the town records office over and studied the index, then turned to the appropriate page. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

Standing up, she carried the book over to the detailed map of Storybrooke that was up on the wall of the sheriff’s station. “Gold had a cabin not that far from where his body was found. A cabin that he didn’t seem to be renting to anyone.”

David stood up and joined her at the map. “Do you think there could be a clue there?”

“Yeah, I mean, he was out there with a shovel, and we still don’t know what he was trying to bury. Maybe there’s a clue at the cabin that will help us understand what happened that day?”

Pulling his coat on, David grinned at her. “Well, what are we waiting for, Sheriff? Let’s go.”

“I’m not the sheriff, not yet. Regina’s already threatened to get someone to run against me,” she said as they climbed into the police cruiser outside the station.

He scoffed. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re an excellent sheriff, Emma.”

“You’ve been working for me for two days, David.” But still, she couldn’t help smiling as they drove to the outskirts of town.

With David’s help navigating, they found the route to the cabin without too much trouble, pulling onto a dirt track that Emma probably wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t been looking for it. At the end of it, they found a rustic cabin, as well as Gold’s black Cadillac.

“Well, that solves that mystery at least,” Emma said. “All this time and no one knew where his car was.”

“How far is this from where the body was found?” David asked.

“Not far,” she said, studying the trail map she’d brought. “It’s maybe a quarter of a mile through those trees,” she said, pointing.

The inside of the cabin was extremely basic. Mostly just a single room with dark paneled walls decorated with deer antlers. Wrinkling her nose, Emma looked around. She couldn’t see any evidence that Gold had left anything here.

“I’ll go check Gold’s car while you look around in here,” David offered, and she agreed.

They found was one small bedroom and a bathroom, but both seemed as barren and unlived in as the rest of the cabin. She clicked the light on in the bathroom and took a quick glance around, and was about to turn it back off when something caught her eye. On the tiled floor, next to the sink, was a single, perfect drop of what looked like dried blood. Bingo.

Emma ran for the front door. “David? Get the evidence kits.”

Her hands shook as she pulled the nitrile gloves on, her palms sweating and making it all the more difficult to get the damned things on correctly. Finally, she managed it, and dropped to her knees, photographing the droplet of blood from several angles before she carefully scraped it up into a small plastic tube that she could cap and label. David watched her from the doorway to the bathroom.

“Wow, you really know what you’re doing,” he commented.

She laughed uneasily. “Not really, but I fake it pretty well. Do you see any more blood anywhere?”

“No.” They both looked around before agreeing that there were no more droplets of blood. “So what if it is Gold’s blood? He owned this cabin; what will that prove?”

“Nothing, but maybe it’s not Gold’s blood. Maybe it’s the killer’s blood. Maybe they fought and Gold managed to injure the person who attacked him.” Emma stood up. “Okay, let me spray the luminol.”

David handed it to her out of the bag. “Go for it.”

Emma sprayed the sink and the floor around the sink with luminol before handing it back to David, who held up the black light and turned it on. “Okay, here goes nothing,” she said, flipping off the light switch.

They both stared at the sink for a while. “Holy shit,” Emma finally said.

“I’d say someone washed off a lot of blood here,” David commented. The basin of the sink glowed blue. As did several spots on the floor. Emma took pictures of all of it before they turned the lights back on.

“So whoever killed Gold came to the nearest place they could to clean up, and washed the blood off their hands here,” she said, pacing back into the main part of the cabin and pulling her gloves off.

“Looks like it.”

“Okay, let’s back up a minute. Gold drove out here because he wanted to dig something up or bury something, right? So how did the killer find him? Was it someone Gold trusted, did they come in his car together?”

“Maybe the killer followed Gold out here in another car?” David asked, running a hand through his hair.

“That could be.” She took a breath and let it out. “So I just have to check every car in Storybrooke for any additional blood traces.” Emma dropped onto the sofa and put her head in her hands.

They searched the rest of the cabin but didn’t turn up anything else. The initial rush that had come with discovering the cabin and Gold’s car and the blood drained away, leaving Emma feeling tired and hollowed out. For as much as they’d learned, she didn’t feel like she was any closer to finding the murderer.

Chapter 6