#and i really like combining it with the crescent moon thing that some people do with her normal skin

[deadlyhuggles6]

Cold

Tiny bit of wild life fanfiction with some fanart! very Pearl-centric

consider giving the ao3 version some love as well?

~

Pearl didn’t notice anything had changed until the first session ended.

To be fair, there had already been so many changes to her body that when her skin began to tingle and lose sensation after that first, early death, she didn’t even notice anything had changed. Scott gave her some weird looks when she got back, but she was more than used to ignoring him.

It wasn’t until after Grian called the session to a close for the weekend, turning off the wildcard and allowing everyone to take a break that Pearl had time to slow down and notice the change.

The rest of her teammates had already dispersed for the night- with nothing but a handful of chests at their base and friends happy to host elsewhere on the server, it wasn’t worth it to stay. So, they’d gone off in search of greener pastures and warmer beds. Only Pearl had stayed behind, with her loyal Billy. 

Pearl groaned, rubbing at her face with trembling hands. Her skin still itched, tingling like she was constantly changing sizes. Billy circled around her legs, pressing his cold nose into her thigh and leaned against her. She threaded her fingers into his thick fur, past the thick winter coat and into the soft undercoat and let him guide her down towards the river. 

She fell to her knees at the riverbank, barely managing to push her sleeves up before plunging her hands into the river. The freezing water was a shock to her system but not enough to stop the itching. Leaning down, she splashed water up into her face, droplets of ice cutting into her nerves in a horribly familiar way.  Billy nosed under her arms and put his paws and head up in her lap, not quite careful enough to stop his nails from digging into her bare skin.

For a moment Pearl forgot where she was. Alone except for the wolf in her lap, scratched and so so cold- she reached past paws to harshly pinch the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

Her dog barked, teeth snapping at her fingers, and the sound rattled through her chest like an ax crit, breaking through the haze for a minute. She plunged her hands into the river again, chasing the clarity it gave her. Canine jaws closed around her arm and pulled, forcing Pearl to pull her hands out of the river.

A wet nose dug into her hands, and she cupped her hands for her puppy to nuzzle into. She scratched at velvet ears and cooed at wide black eyes. Right, she wasn’t alone, she had her puppy, and she didn’t need anyone else. Because Scott could hate her, but this little animal would always love her.

She continued to run her fingers through the dense fur, but she quickly came to notice a distinct difference between both hands and the level of sensation she was picking up- mostly in her right hand. 

Pulling her hands out the long white fur, she froze at the sight of dry, unnaturally grey skin creeping up her hand and wrist. It was something she’d seen other red names experience, but never herself, and never like this. It was supposed to come all at once, not like this.

“That’s new.”

She wasn’t supposed to be red now. Scott said they were gonna be friends till the end, she couldn’t be red yet, because then he’d leave her alone in the cold with only her dog and- another loud bark, sharp nails pawing at her legs and pushing against her hands. It only broke her out of the spiral for a moment.

“Shhhh,” she tries to soothe, “shhh Ti-”

Pearl stopped, feeling hazy. There was a hearth in her chest, a shallow bed of coals that she’d doused with snow, and she knew she’d done it herself, but she didn’t expect to be so cold. Every breath was a pump of the bellows, flaring sparks through her limbs, tender bursts of adrenaline and pain, but there was no dry timber to catch. She shoved Ti- Mi- her dog out of her lap and put her head between her legs, trying not to throw up.

She stared down at the water, forcing her lungs to expand and contract. Scott would never forgive her if she suffocated them both with a panic attack. He’d deserve it for leaving her all alone here, out in the cold with only her dog for warmth. It was probably a good thing that he hadn’t started pinching her arms yet, punishing her for the ticks of damage she inflicted upon him. She focused on her eyes, using the red as a beacon. There was her distorted image, overly pale skin, messy brown hair, one red eye-

She squinted, looking for the second bit of red in her reflection, but there was nothing. Pearl pulled her comm out of her pocket and turned it to selfie mode.

Oh.

She understood now why Scott was looking at her like that.

Her left eye was her normal shade of blue, but the right one was deep scarlet and drooping into an unfriendly scowl. She tried to force it into a different facial expression, but it didn’t budge. The skin around it barely moved either, totally grey and dry to the touch, and now that she was paying attention, she could recognize that it had lost a lot of feeling, same as her hand. The way it crept over her right cheek, leaving a crescent of normal skin on the left side of her face, made her shiver. 

She dropped her comm beside her and groaned. Billy was immediately up in her lap, licking at her face and doing his best to distract her.

“What am I gonna do, Billy? Scott is never gonna forgive me for going red early again. He’ll make us leave and we’ll have to go be on our own in a tower with no friends or allies and it’ll be so cold. And I can't stop it this time.”

Not that she could stop it last time, but it wasn’t so physically obvious before. Her skin wasn’t a constant physical reminder of the red bloodlust lurking below the surface.

She buried her hands back into Billy’s fur, hiding her hands in his fur. She didn’t want to be cold again. 

She told herself that again when she messaged Grian, asking for a set of gloves for the season. She didn’t want to be cold again.

The black, mid-forearm length gloves fit her perfectly. She wouldn’t be cold again.

~

She and Billy ended up crashing at BigB’s for the rest of the break, steadily avoiding the searching eyes of her other teammates for the comfort of her fellow Nosy Neighbor. Something in her untensed when faced with BigB’s quiet, unquestioning nature. When the second week had been called to a close, despite her new assurance that Scott and Cleo wouldn’t leave, and the newly developed and heated downstairs in their base, Pearl still slipped away, a wolf in the night, to the pale garden where BigB made his home.

She only briefly stopped by his face shaped house, passing through the front doors on her way to the back one. BigB appeared to be getting ready to leave already, a change of clothes and a pale moss blanket in hand.

“I’m going to the campfire, don’t come looking.”

BigB made no move to stop her or convince her to stay, just reached out to squeeze her shoulder, a form of affection that had become common to them in past seasons.

“I’ll be with your group tonight, feel free to come back whenever you're ready. I’ll see you tomorrow.” BigB’s glowing amber eyes should’ve been unsettling, but all Pearl felt was relief. He was predictable in the best way, gentle, accepting, and the exact opposite of catastrophizing. They’d worked well together, as allies and friends, for that exact reason.

The session one campfire in the pale garden was somewhere no one but BigB would expect to find her at, which made it perfect for this. She lit the campfire and settled onto the white wood seats. Billy circled around her before nosing into her right side, where he’d refused to leave. Kicking her feet up onto a pale oak log, Pearl bit the bullet and pulled off her sweatshirt and gloves. Sitting in just her tank top and shorts, puppy by her side, she began to catalogue the changes to her body.

She already knew it was bad; she’d checked her face in her comm after her second death and knew that the grey death had already begun to creep over the right side of her mouth, making it just a bit harder to express herself. But her arm-

It’s getting worse. There was no denying it. It was all the way up her elbow, creeping up the soft underside of her arm. It was moving so quickly- her next couple deaths would only make it move faster. Would it retreat if she went from yellow or red back up to green? Or would it only continue to get worse, inhibiting her movement and dulling her to pain even as a green name?

Billy pressed his nose into her side and began to lick at her exposed thigh, distracting her from racing thoughts of the future. Pearl immediately began to scratch his ears, settling him down.

“I know, I'm here. We’ll survive this. We won’t be cold again.” if she kept saying it, surely it’d be true.

She threw her jacket and gloves back on and whistled for Billy, jumping down the mountain back home. In some ways, life was so much easier when she was fully scarlet and had no one to care for but herself and Tilly, but she couldn’t be cold and alone forever.

[mh-midnight-wanderer]

I'm very glad that people really like my previous post s Thank you so much for likes and reblogs <3

I want to apologize everyone for taking so long to make this. I planned to realize this after april fools day

But with job, life stuff, etc. At least I can do to keep my blog alive is reblogging amazing mh fanarts.

At last I manage organized my spare time so I decided to realize my version Monster High characters Gaia Online part 3

FOR REAL THIS TIME

Side Note: I made few modifications with ms paint because I couldn't find the right items that could fit my vision of MH characters Things that I changed: Added scales in Deuce's arms and his shirt, Holt's clothing Manny's tail and Invisibilly's drink

1. Deuce Gorgon (male version)

Its combination of G1 and G3 Deuce. I still like the idea that G1 Deuce is half human/ half gorgon but with more scales in his body.

I give him red sunglasses, purple jacket, red and black striped shirt, black belt with white skull, black and green pants, purple sneakers and purple side backpack

I decided not give him hoodie or beanie unless if weather or the classroom is too cold because is bad for snakes hair

2. Clawd Wolf

Is almost like his G1 version but I give him mohawk afro hair. Teal, black and some gold jacket, pants and shoes. white and black striped shirt with moon crescent necklace

I didn't forget add his tail :D

3. Jackson Jekyll / Holt Hyde

Now for Jackson I went to G1 version and I give them retro squared glasses, yellow and white checkered shirt, checkered tie and checkered black pants and blue shoes.

And I added school backpack with cute monsters keychains

As for Holt's design. I give him blue fiery hair to separate Heath's design. For his clothing I design punk style duality. With red, white and black jacket, purple shirt, black and orange punk pants and mismatched shoes

Also I give him school backpack too without Jackson's keychains, red and purple headphones and orange round glasses ( I don't think transforming a monster can fix their sight)

4. Gillington "Gil" Webber

As for Gil's fashion inspired by recent G3 design: I give him teal and white sweater, black tank, black and white fish belt, green pants with black tentacle design and black and white sneakers

I like he's able to stay in land without using scuba helmet filled with water. Stilll he needs stay hydrate 24/7.

5. Manny Taur

Now for Manny. I give him grey top tank with orange vest. Blue pants and combat boots

He looks tough but his total softie. I promise

6. Heath Burn

Its combination of G1 and G3 Heath. I give him fiery blue shirt and fiery black pants, blue open toes sandals and heat-resistant gloves (to prevent burning something or someone)

Oh I give him nice set earrings and hint of his demonic heritage ;)

7. Invisi Billy

Finally for Invisibilly. I give him blue beanie, dark teal jacket with purple details, blue t shirt with danger sign and dark blue pants and boots

I decided to give him dark sunglasses for 2 reasons:

One is nod to classical invisible monster (Griffin) wears dark googles.

Two: Headcanon: Invisibilly's eyes are sensible to sunlight

This is Invisibilly "invisible" form

That’s pretty much it. I'm planning to make part 4 soon. I'm so excited!!!

[sweetandglovelyart]

I like your OCs quite a bit. So here's a few questions for you. Go crazy.

🤝🗣️⭐️🛒🏠Gem 🤝🍱🍎🗡️🪄 Cintia

🤝🤫🥺🎮🏠Trixie

*The 🤝 emoji is mostly for elaboration, i'm aware they all have connections to canon characters. I'd like to hear more.

They might be too many, so pick and choose which ones you feel like answering!

Thank you very much for the ask! Don’t worry about sending too many, I’ll answer all of them!

For Gem:

🤝: Does your OC have any important connections to any canon characters?

Gem is Daroach’s ex-girlfriend/first love, and she was also good friends with Spinni and Storo. She viewed Doc as a father figure since he was always very kind and fatherly to her and her own father wasn’t a very good dad. Gem hasn’t seen any of the Squeaks since she and Daroach split up, but they may all be reuniting very soon… 👀

🗣️: If you could cast a voice actor to voice your OC who would you choose?

I would pick Sarah Stiles to voice her. I made a little OC voice headcanon video a while back where I used some clips of Sarah Stiles voicing Spinel from Steven Universe for Gem’s section, Gem’s homeworld is based off of New York City so I see her as having a little bit of a New York/Brooklyn accent like Spinel, and Gem performs as a singer when she’s not doing mob activities so I felt like it would make sense to pick a voice actress for her who’s also a singer.

⭐️: If your OC got their own spinoff game what would it be about and what would the gameplay be like?

Since Gem is a mobster, I could see it being a mafia-themed mystery visual novel type of thing.

🛒: If your OC owned a shop, what would they sell?

It’s not exactly a shop, but Gem does own a restaurant/club that’s a front for her mob activities. She performs there as a singer and sells really delicious Italian food lmao

🏠: Where does your OC live?

Gem lives on a planet called Muridia, which is the Squeaks’ homeworld in my AU. It’s based very heavily off of New York City. The name Muridia comes from Muridae/Murids, the family that mice and rats are members of. Since they’re all little mouse people I thought this would be a fitting name for their homeworld.

For Cintia:

🤝: Does your OC have any important connections to any canon characters?

Cindee is Meta Knight and Dedede’s daughter, and Kirby views her sort of like his little sister. After they saw Taranza and Susie with Clover, Meta Knight and Dedede decided that they wanted to have a child together as well, so they visited the aliens that cloned Clover and asked them to clone a child for them, and that’s how they got Cindee.

🍱: If your OC had a dish themed around them at the Kirby Cafe, what would it be?

I could see it being some sort of chocolate dessert or a fancy little drink. The dessert or drink could also maybe have a moon motif since Cindee’s signature symbol is a crescent moon. For a drink, maybe it could be something like a blueberry soda or blue butterfly pea flower bubble tea and it could have a crescent moon or bat wings as a garnish.

🍎: What are some foods that your OC enjoys eating?

I could see her really enjoying chocolatey desserts/enjoying sweets in general like Meta Knight.

🗡️: What is your OC’s weapon of choice?

Meta Knight is training her to use a sword and Dedede is training her to use a hammer. I could see her using both in combat, maybe she’d have a sword in one hand and a hammer in the other when fighting and she’d find a way to combine attacks using both weapons.

🪄: Does your OC use magic? If they do, how did they gain their magical abilities?

I actually haven’t thought about whether or not she can use magic. I forget if Dedede and Meta Knight are able to use any magical attacks, I’ll have to look into that/remind myself of what they can do and then get back to you. It would make sense for Cindee to inherit a little bit of magic if her parents can use it.

For Trixie:

🤝: Does your OC have any important connections to any canon characters?

Trixie is Susie’s mother and is Max’s ex-wife. After Susie disappeared Trixie and Max eventually divorced since they were dealing with their grief in different ways/were arguing more and finding it hard to support each other in their grief, and they eventually cut contact with each other after the divorce. When Susie eventually returned and reunited with her dad, she got the impression that her mother had died while she was gone, so she isn’t aware that her mother is still alive and Trixie isn’t aware that Susie is still alive. Not yet, at least… 👀

🤫: Does your OC have any secrets?

I wouldn’t say that they’re secrets, but there are a few things that have happened to Trixie/things that have gone on in her life following Susie’s disappearance that Susie isn’t yet aware of. I’d elaborate on this, but if I do it’ll spoil some of what I have planned for my AU.

🥺: What is your OC’s biggest regret?

Trixie’s biggest regret is not going in to work with Max and Susie on the day that Susie disappeared. Normally they would all go as a family and Susie would do her own thing while her parents were working, but on the day Susie disappeared Trixie was feeling sick and decided to stay home so Max and Susie went by themselves. Trixie regrets not being able to spend those last few moments with her daughter before her disappearance, and she wonders if she could have done something to prevent it from happening if she had been there.

🎮: What Kirby game or what point in the Kirby series timeline would your OC first appear?

She first appears after Star Allies but before Kirby Fighters 2. I can’t really elaborate on how Susie and the other characters encounter her because it’s a bit of a spoiler for what I have planned, but Trixie and Susie reunite at this point in the timeline.

🏠: Where does your OC live?

Trixie lives on her and Susie’s homeworld, M’Jael. I’ll elaborate on this some more when I get to the Susie redemption arc comic that I’m planning to start posting next year, because I plan to show their homeworld in it, but M’Jael is a planet that I’m basing heavily off of the USA. Speaking as an American myself, I figured that it would make sense for Trixie, Max, and Susie to be from a world that’s essentially the USA lmao, it would explain the capitalism and the colonizing of other people’s planets. M’Jael has several colony planets that some members of Susie’s species live on, but Trixie, Max, and Susie are from M’Jael itself and not one of its colonies. The name M’Jael is an anagram of Majel. I named the planet after the actress Majel Barrett-Roddenberry, she played several important characters in Star Trek and voiced most of the ship computers in various Star Trek shows, so I thought it’d be a nice homage to name a planet of alien-robot people after an actress who’s played an alien and a robot lmao, I’m a big Star Trek fan and I see a lot of parallels between Star Trek and Kirby, so I like slipping little Star Trek references into my Kirby stuff. It’s pretty easy to reference Star Trek in anything having to do with Susie because of Star Trek being set in the future/having a lot of futuristic technology.

[notstinky]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Creamatorium PARTIES: Van (@vanoincidence) & Thea (@notstinky) SUMMARY: Van and Thea get ice cream! A man is there :( CONTENT WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw, Harassment, Body horror

Thea smoothed out the wrinkles in her brown skirt, understanding only at the fifth wipe that it was a pleated skirt and that it wasn’t meant to be smoothed. She’d tried to dress up—not that she really understood what dressing up meant, for her, fashion was a second thought—but all she’d managed to do was a skirt and a sweater. It wasn’t exactly seasonal; what kind of maniac wore a knee-length skirt in the cold parts of autumn? It wasn’t exactly cute; her gray knit sweater was fine and all but it bundled at her stomach, making her look like she had a suspicious bulge. She’d tried to accessorize; all she had was a fake-silver necklace with a crescent moon that made her stomach churn at the sight of. And all this for Van. Van, her friend, who she wanted to look nice for. She smoothed the skirt again, made sure her hat covered her bald head, and cursed under her breath. 

“Hey!” She waved, more aggressive than she’d meant to, when Van popped up over the horizon. It wasn’t that Van was late, it was that Thea had come so early people asked her if she was okay, standing outside of the shop like that. She probably looked like a criminal, nervously bouncing on her heels. Did criminals wear skirts? Well, she was a killer and she wore a skirt; question answered. “Hey, you’re just in time! I just got here,” she lied, palms already coated in a thin layer of sweat. Suddenly it struck her: what did you say to a friend? How are you? You look good? What flavor are you thinking of? Instead, what came out was: “You look flavor, ho.” Thea winced. She gestured at the seasonal flavor—dairy free pumpkin butter chocolate—which was not a flavor combination she thought worked, but was one she was excited to try. “That, um..” She gulped. “You, um, look…” Forget it. She’d already failed. What was the point? 

Van hadn’t really been able to take a lot of things from home before it had gotten all covered in a weird goo, but for some reason, her locker at Sly Slice was stuffed to the brim with a variety of different outfits she didn’t even remember taking from home. It was luck, probably. Probably an action from a few months ago she couldn’t really remember. It didn’t matter, she decided, because at least she had some clothes and didn’t have to wear the same things that Thea had already seen her in. Buying new clothes was certainly on the table, but that was expensive. Maybe borrowing from either Nora or Cass would have worked, too, especially since they’d borrowed enough from her, but it felt wrong– like she was asking too much. Still, as she watched Thea walk up in her pleated skirt and grey sweater, she felt severely underdressed. She wore baggy cargo jeans that had deep pockets, and a baby tee with a pastel frown-y face on it. The hoody she wore had holes in the sleeve, but she figured it’d look like it’d been done on purpose and not because she’d become overly obsessive with picking at the fabric. 

She crossed the distance between them, a nervous smile playing at the corners of her lips as she lifted her own hand in greeting. It was lucky that Dr. Kavanagh had given Thea permission to stay over, but both of them still had things like work and other commitments. Mostly, Van was trying to scrounge up spare PC parts throughout town so that she could start rebuilding the one she’d lost. “Rocky was like, really slow with the delivery trucks this morning, so he asked me for help.” She was weak, and it showed– she could barely lift a box as it was, but somehow had managed to help him anyway. “Sorry I’m uh–” She blinked at Thea’s words before a laugh bubbled in her chest, spilling over between where they stood across from one another. “You look flavor, ho, too.” She wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe it was a Canadian thing. She’d need to look it up later, she decided. Her attention was drawn to the sign that Thea motioned towards before she looked out of the corner of her eye to her friend. Her stomach bubbled with anxiety and she tried her best to push it down. She wasn’t sure why it was there– this was just ice cream with a friend, after all. She swallowed thickly and nodded before her gaze wandered over the additional flavors. Van winced slightly at the sight of the Allgood Death Pit flavor. “The pumpkin one, that looks good– you look good, too. I like your sweater.” Van paused before adding, “and your necklace– it’s cute, it looks um, it looks good on you.” She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, so she stuck them into her pockets. “Should we… go inside?” 

“No….” Thea groaned, face burning as her cheeks erupted in red blotches. “Don’t tell me I look flavor, ho.” She tried to sink into her sweater, praying that the floor would suddenly get hungry and eat her specifically. She thought about running; if Van had a long, tiring shift, she wouldn’t be able to catch her. Then, she’d leave Wicked’s Rest, change her name (again) and reinvent herself as someone that didn’t mix up her words. She rolled the idea over in her head but no matter how desperate she was to escape, her legs rooted her in place and her stomach fluttered with excitement just as much as it twisted with anxiety. They hadn’t even tried anything yet and she already felt nauseous. “I like—um, your cargo jeans. They look like they can hold a lot of stuff. Like, spoons.” God, spoons? Why did she say that? Run, run, run, run— “T-the necklace?” Thea touched it, digging the flesh of her thumb into the crescent moon tip, as if she didn’t remember putting it on. “It, um, it was the first thing I bought when I came to America, actually.” When she’d woken up across the border, was lucky enough to meet an elderly couple that took care of her and discovered that silver ought to help her “condition”; turned out to be fake silver, of course. That was the kind of luck Thea had. 

Thea wanted to say more, her mouth moved around imaginary words, but nothing left. “Yeah,” she squeaked. “Let’s go inside!” She reached for Van’s arm, interlocking them as she had that day with the LEGOs—that day had gone well and she needed all possible good luck right now. It was a spell and it would summon the vibes that followed them that day. At the doctor’s apartment, it wasn’t so terrible—mostly they were working and tired—but outside was a whole new place with whole new problems. “Do you mind sharing? I think it might be best to get a couple of flavors? And then we can rank them!” She smiled and then frowned, brows knitting together. “Or is that stupid? Should we just stick to our own stuff?”

“But you do, you do look flavor ho.” Van was used to being on the other end of teasing, but this felt natural. It felt right. If Thea were actually upset about it though, she’d drop it. She made a mental note to ask her friend what the hell that meant later. She looked down at her pockets and nodded, an appreciative smile pulling at the corners of her lips as Thea commented on her pants. “They can hold spoons, forks, knives– well, not knives. I’m not allowed to have knives.” It was something she still adhered to even though nobody was around anymore to tell her she couldn’t have knives. Maybe it was stupid. Van stuck her hands into her pockets and pulled them to the side to show Thea just how much space was in them. She leaned down slightly (though she didn’t have to go very far) and poked her fingers towards the end of the seam. “See? A lot of space in here, especially for um, spoons and stuff.” Maybe Thea really liked spoons. Her attention shifted back to the way Thea pulled at her necklace, fingers feathering over the dainty chain and emblem. “Really? That’s cool. Welcome to the United States, here’s a moon.” She shrugged, “the moon– she’s gay, right? So I mean, that’s a cool thing to get.” They’d discussed it before, but Van still felt heat rise to the back of her neck at the comment. 

She wasn’t really sure what to do with her hands by then, but Thea had made the move first, arm threading through her own. It brought her back to their LEGO adventure, though it had severely lacked any LEGOs at all. Van fell into the familiarity of it, and fell into a natural step beside Thea, too. “We can definitely share. I could probably eat it all myself, but that doesn’t mean I should.” Too much sugar could give her stomach aches, but hopefully if it were dairy-free, they’d be okay. Van looked over at Thea, her own smile still present on her features. The way Thea seemed worried that maybe she wouldn’t like the suggestion made Van wonder if she’d done something to make her friend believe that was the case. “No, we can! I want to, and I want to rank them all.” She looked towards the menu board, then to the middle aged man that was standing behind the counter with a blank expression on his features. He looked bored out of his mind. “Hi– yeah, we’re lactose intolerant. What do you think would be good? For us, since we can’t have, you know, milk.” She bit the inside of her cheek before shooting Thea a glance out of the corner of her eye. 

Van must have been humoring her and yet, Thea found her fraught nerves temporarily parted. She smiled softly, chewing on her bottom lip. She imagined an army of forks, spoons and knives sitting in Van’s pockets and giggled. “Yes,” she agreed, “the moon’s gay and the ocean is her lover. I mean, what are tides if not, like, the ocean telling the moon that she loves her?” Thea wasn’t a poetic person; there was something there about devotion, yearning, being vast and crushingly deep and pulled by some bright rock in the sky. When Thea thought of love, she pictured moons and oceans, suns and planets—gravity. Her mind was lost, soothed by the current of Van’s voice—agreeing with her—and she didn’t notice the man. At once, though, she smelt him; sourness plunged into her nostrils and she recoiled. 

He opened his mouth, revealing a set of yellowing teeth framed by plaque. His bloodshot eyes didn’t focus on them at first, his gaze shifted between spots on the wall before it settled exactly on the point where Thea and Van’s arms met. And that, more than anything, made him smile wider as the rest of his face remained dead around it. “What can I get you two…” His tongue traced the edge of his dry lips, saliva pooled between the cracks. “...lovely ladies?” He held on to the syllables as if he didn’t want the words to go. His gaze remained low. 

Thea stiffened. She pulled forward, setting more distance between Van and the counter as if something--or someone--could leap across and touch her. Her voice rose into a rare, authoritative steadiness. “All of the dairy-free flavors, please. A kid’s scoop of each in cups, please.” With her body clenched into one solid mass, she watched as he ran a hand through his graying, slicked hair before he plunged his arm into the vats of ice cream. 

His eyes finally flicked up to their faces and there was something more amusing there than their arms, his dead smile twitched. “Yeah, good choice.” He licked his lips again. “A lot of you people are lactose intolerant.” 

“Most people are lactose intolerant, yeah,” Thea said, tearing her eyes away from the ice cream stuck to his arm hairs and pulling Van towards the register. “My treat,” she whispered to her friend, forcing a small smile. The presence of the man was overwhelming to her, and even as her gaze trained somewhere else, he loomed as large, white stain in the corner of her eyes. The air felt tight; unpleasant interactions weren’t uncommon, but they always made her stomach settle into a heavy knot. She was determined not to let it ruin their fun and once they were sitting down, he couldn’t bother them anyway. “I think I’m realizing now that that’s a lot of ice cream.” Dairy-free also included sorbets, which wasn’t technically ice cream, but Thea wasn’t going to argue semantics over dessert. 

Thea had given Van a lot to think about. In most fandom spaces, people made personifications of the moon and ocean and how it related back to their favorite form of media, so she knew that Thea was on the right track with that. Silently, she started to build out who she thought was the moon and who was the ocean— then, of course, there was the sun. The sun could’ve been seen as something in opposition to the moon, Van thought. Briefly, Van heard her grandmother’s voice, if you gave as much thought to anything else as you do those video games, I wouldn’t worry so much. Van frowned, but it was only for a brief moment. The man behind the counter who she really hadn’t paid all that much attention to brought her back to the present. 

It was an unfortunate setting, she realized. It took everything in her not to recoil as she finally took him in. Van pressed her arm into Thea’s, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise. The man In front of her incited the same feeling Debbie had, only in place of a knife and threats was an ice cream scoop and thinly veiled insults. She didn’t like the way that he looked at them, and it was obvious that Thea didn’t either. Van wasn’t much for noticing changes in demeanor, but the way Thea went stiff next to her couldn’t have been a good sign. Thea provided the order they had agreed upon, voice steady and even, unlike it had been outside of the shop. Van wondered what changed. She cast a careful glance to the man behind the counter who, if a gust of wind blew in, looked like he might crumple beneath the weight of it. 

Van worked in food service, and she knew it was wrong to touch any part of yourself before distributing the goods, as Rocky put it. Sure, it was his hair, but if she found a single strand in her ice cream, she was going to be pissed. She noticed the lack of gloves, too, which wasn’t the only thing to make her stomach jolt in protest at the thought of eating it. She didn’t want to judge, not based on looks alone, but the next words that came out of his mouth made her bite down on her cheek hard enough to draw blood. 

Before she could say anything, Thea was stealing the words right out of her mouth. Van held onto Thea’s arm as if some kind of lifeline, following her to the register. “Are you sure?” Van asked, barely above a whisper. She looked towards the man as he filled another cup. Van hated that this man was serving them, hated that he was making Thea feel uncomfortable, and even though he was making her feel uncomfortable, too, Thea mattered most here. The topic of it being too much ice cream made Van shake her head. “We can make room in the freezer.” She cleared her throat. “And it’s not my fault I’m lactose intolerant, by the way. I was literally born this way.” 

The man lifted his gaze to them again and Van felt dumb for talking loud enough for him to hear. Almost immediately, he was turning his attention back to the ice cream, filling the cups they had requested. “We can um, go halfsies?” Van bumped Thea lightly, a forced smile curling at the corners of her lips. She wouldn’t let this nasty guy ruin this for her. She and Thea were supposed to be having fun, not be grossed out by some hairy man behind the counter of somewhere they wanted to order from. 

She hadn’t noticed it, but the cups had been slid to the register’s stainless steel countertop and the man cleared his throat. “We don’t do splits here. It’s all or nothing.” The yellow of his teeth was even more apparent up close, especially as he leaned closer to them. She could smell sugar and cigarettes and it made her stomach roll. Van took a small step back, tugging Thea slightly with her. “I’ll pay you back later.” She just wanted out at this point. 

Thea felt like she’d been dealing with strange, uncomfortable men all her life. Some of that was just the experience of living, most of it was the experience of living in her feminine body, with her feminine presenting ways. It was her father that taught her the fear at first: never be alone with a man, never speak to one, her father made her stay on the phone with him when she walked home from school. Everyday, as Toronto’s primary news station CP24 whispered in the background of their crumbling home, he’d shake his head at all the crime, pointing it out to her. See, look, see, this is why I worry, this is why it isn’t safe, listen to me--he never said it out loud, but Thea knew by then how to read his frowns. She learned to fear mundane things: smiles, nights, buses, alleys, parties, malls, homes. 

But as she grew older, that was just the issue. It was hard to explain why this man bothered her; what had he really done so far other than scoop some ice cream? Wasn’t she being ridiculous? Wasn’t she overly sensitive? And if he did something, if--well, didn’t she get a ‘vibe’ from him? Why didn’t she notice sooner? Why didn’t she leave? Why didn’t she say something? Thea knew all too well the uphill battle of safety. There was an odd comfort in knowing Van was tense beside her, that she understood and felt the same. She wasn’t being sensitive, sometimes people really were just like this. They’d be okay. They had each other. Thea would make sure they were okay, she’d send him away if she had to; she’d make a scene, she’d kick, she’d scream, she’d throw ice cream back at his unkempt, wrinkly face. 

He placed the cups of ice cream on the counter, licking his lips as he tapped the total into his computer. Thea paid before he could ask her about it. She wanted to cut him off, cancel his presence out, crop him out of their day. “Do you need help with--” He started. “No,” Thea answered back quickly, nudging Van to help with the cups. She could practically hear his thoughts, watching his face crinkle from the corner of her gaze: prickly, I was just trying to help, damn okay, bitch. Her insides burned. “How about the booth in the corner?” She forced a smile, scurrying off before she knew it was okay.

She set the cups down in a rush, hands trembling. She wasn’t scared, actually, Thea noticed she felt strangely hungry. Her teeth itched; she felt like biting into a rare steak. She threw herself into the corner, digging into the chocolate fudge--surprisingly creamy for dairy-free. 

“So, are you two on a date?” The man appeared at their table, sticking his ice cream fingers into his mouth, saliva dripping from his cracked lips. He grinned like something was funny. This time, his attention was focused on Van. 

The transaction was complete and Van nearly let out a sigh of relief. She was used to picking up multiple items– she did it at work all the time. With several of the cups now in her grip, she retreated to the table that Thea had picked out. A part of her wished they could find somewhere else to eat it, but the idea of wandering through the streets with copious amounts of ice cream seemed more of a hazard than anything. Then again, this might turn into a hazard. 

Lost in thought, Van set the cups down and looked over her shoulder. She heard the small tap of Thea’s cups hitting the table in unison, and she pulled her attention back to her company. It didn’t seem like Thea was alright. Van’s stomach rolled again, frustration peeling over her. She wished this was different– that there was a girl their age behind the counter. They’d talk about their favorite flavors, maybe talk about the ones they didn’t like, too, and Van and Thea would laugh and they’d tell her that they’d enjoy even the ones they didn’t like, because that’s what you did to be polite, even if Van had a hard time with that. And then they’d leave, but Van would scrounge some change for the tip jar, and they’d talk about how nice that girl was on their way back to Dr. Kavanagh’s. Instead, they were left with this– a man who spoke without being spoken to, venom seeping through each and every word. 

Van followed Thea’s movements, taking the seat opposite her, but sitting in the middle, just in case he decided to join them. She slouched slightly, kicking one foot onto the other seat. It barely worked, her legs were too short, but maybe it’d still deter him from wandering over. These were made up situations, she realized, but better to be prepared. 

His question wrung out through the silence and Van gripped the mini spoon tightly. She looked from Thea back over to the man who’s smirk made her want to scream. She wasn’t offended by the question– if it had come from anyone else, then maybe it’d even spark excitement. Fear, too, for the sake of being worried of ever being within proximity of someone like that again, but excitement all the same. Instead, it was replaced by a certain kind of anger, the kind you saw in magazines where adults tried to mimic teenage angst. She wasn’t angry at the question, but that it was coming from him. 

Her mouth moved quicker than her mind, “yes, we are, and we’re trying to enjoy it.” Maybe a little too forward. The man’s smirk grew and he raised his hands defensively, “I was just asking, you don’t need to be so…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but she knew what he wanted to say. Van quickly scooped a bite of the strawberry shortcake into her mouth, focusing on the way it was cold on her tongue. If she could ground herself, then it would be okay. If she could focus on this. 

But the man was moving, a mop in one hand, the creaky bucket in the other. He approached them, just a few feet shy of their table. The sound of the mop, wet on the ground, made Van tense. The metal of it scraped against the tile and Van lifted her gaze up to meet Thea’s, silently asking if they should leave. There were other ice cream places, and if they were closed, they could go to the stupid grocery store. Not the one they killed Debbie in, but another one. 

She hated him. She hated him. She hated him. Thea chewed at empty air, full of the fantasy of his flesh under her teeth. The cup was crushed in her tight grip, chocolate fudge spilled over her hand. It wasn’t fair, she told herself. All she wanted was a nice day for them, her brain was eager to remind her. Why did he have to be here? Why did he have to be like this? What if he wasn’t? What if he was gone? Thea’s stomach groaned. Her vision, blackened around the sides, focused only on him. She could smell the sourness of his clothes, the staleness of his breath, the oils in his hair, the sweat pooled in his shoes.

“Yes, we are, and…” Van’s voice cut across the room like one crashing wave; Thea perked up. “We are?” She repeated, blinking rapidly at her friend. In an instant, the man was gone from her senses. Hunger dissolved from her body and instead, it twinkled like a star in the sky, fluttering inside of her. “We—I mean…” Was it a date? Or was that the sort of thing said just to get him off their backs? It was casual; maybe it didn’t mean anything. Did she want it to mean anything? Surely not, her ability to not eat people was a work in progress. But her body had a story of its own: at the idea, she smiled shyly, cheeks flushed with nervous glee. “Not that I—I’m not, like, opposed—I just…” Her brain fired off in every conceivable direction; thoughts tripped over themselves, collided like asteroids, burst open like stars. Thea’s body had, in that instant, relaxed. 

Then she heard it: the soft exhale of breath, the little laugh meant just for him. He chuckled. He chuckled at them. Thea’s attention snapped to him again, hunger roiling in her stomach once more. She dropped the crushed ice cream cup onto the table, leaning over the edge to look at him. Tiny smirk. Head turned to their table. Useless circles with his mop. He was listening in. They were his entertainment for the working day. It was innocent enough—didn’t she do the same during her shifts?—but Thea found herself incapable of generous readings. It happened to her like it always did, inside her abdomen. It felt like a period cramp gone wrong, a strangely common experience twisted with hunger; pain seared across her body. Thea stumbled to her feet. “Washroom,” she blurted, clutching her stomach; though it wasn’t clutching so much as clawing at. She rushed past the man, knocking over his bucket—“Hey!”—and threw herself into the single person washroom, having just enough sense left to lock to the door behind her. 

Her bones snapped and she fell to the tiled floor, drooling through the pain of it. Thea tried to hold herself together; she found that these transformations, the kind that happened outside of full moons, could be stopped. Never mind that she’d never really stopped one before; she only knew that if her thoughts were happy enough, she could feel parts of her body reverting. She held herself around the stomach and forced her thoughts to be of ice cream, Van, opossums, stars, the moon, the ocean at night, Van. But for every thought about her friend, the manna tiny smirk flickered through her head. For every thought about the things she liked, she realized how hungry she was—ravenous. Her skin peeled off her in ribbons, revealing blood soaked white fur. Her jaw vibrated with pain as it grew—broke and rebuilt itself; her new bloody gums itched; her sharp teeth throbbed. Thea stumbled to her feet and ran to the mirror wherein she saw her nose cracked in three places, peeling off her face. Her eyes, bloodshot, changing color, could hardly focus; everything was a blur of white and red. 

“Yes, we are…” She clung to the sound of Van’s voice and the fluttering happiness it had given her. Yes, we are, she repeated in her head. Yes, we are. Date. Date. She placed her hands around the sink and it snapped off the wall, smashing against the tile. Yes, we are. Thea and the wolf stumbled around the bathroom, debating the issue amongst themselves. Yes, we are. Date. But wasn’t she afraid? Wasn’t that her friend? What did she have to be happy about? Yes, we are. The joy of being wanted—romantically or not, it didn’t matter to her—crashed against her anger, shame, fear, hunger; two opposing oceans with two violent currents. She reminded herself that somewhere out there, with a lot of ice cream, was her friend, Van. Yes, we are. 

In another setting, maybe Van caught Thea’s expression. Maybe she saw the look of joy, and maybe Van could smile too, could fill herself in the brightness of it– could feel it bursting from the seams. Instead, she sat in the cold booth with the man and his gap-toothed grin, yellowing and brittle. She stared at him, challenging the next comment out of his mouth. Anxiety spun like a thread through her, tongue coated in iron. She felt her fingers begin to tremble around the spoon she held, thumb denting the fragile plastic. 

The questions that split between them were lost on Van. Her mind couldn’t keep up. Between the anger she felt and the way her stomach was doing somersaults, it was all too much. However, Thea’s sudden movement– a cup dropped, chocolate splattering over the table, made Van realign her gaze. She watched as Thea got out from the booth and she immediately dropped her leg, arching forward as if to follow her. Half of her wanted to catch Thea’s wrist, but she wasn’t sure if it was out of selfish intent or not– don’t leave me here with him. Instead, she watched Thea retreat into the bathroom. She jumped as the door slammed and Van looked back to the table, grabbing a few napkins to begin cleaning up the chocolate-y mess. “Seems your friend really is lactose intolerant.” Van opened her mouth, the snapped it closed again. 

The noises from within the bathroom were animalistic in nature, and all Van wanted to do was cover her ears, at least for the sake of giving Thea minimal privacy. But then it dawned on her– the man had intentionally given them ice cream with dairy. It was their fault for not checking, wasn’t it? Van’s fault for not being eagle-eyed, for not watching his every movement. It sounded like something broke inside of the bathroom, and suddenly there was the sound of running water– or rather, spraying. Glass shattered and Van shot up from the booth. The man with the mop stuck his hand out, “she’s going to have to pay for whatever she breaks.” Van turned her attention back toward him, mouth acidic now. She flexed her fingers through the air. 

“Why did you do that?” Her voice was small, weak. He laughed, and he pressed a hand to his chest. “I wanted to see.” Wasn’t that practically poisoning? Actually, she wasn’t sure if it was classified as such, but it felt like it should. Van stood frozen across from him. He held onto the mop like a lifeline, and from where she stood she could see the way his nails matched the yellow of his teeth. God, how she wanted to scrape her tongue. At least she’d only had a few bites. Thea, on the other hand…

Without thinking, Van took out her phone and pressed play on the last song she’d been listening to. She turned the volume up in an attempt to drown out the sounds coming from the bathroom. She knew that if the roles were reversed, she’d want Thea to do the same for her. Nine Stories by Hazel English started to blast through the small speakers, and really, it didn’t do much to mitigate the noise coming from the other end of the room. 

Van had been so busy with her phone that she hadn’t noticed the man got closer to her, dry and cracked fingers outstretched for her phone. “No loud music allowed. Company policy.” He tried to snatch her phone and she held it away from him, taking a step back. “I can do what I want. She’s–” Wouldn’t it embarrass Thea if Van actually said it? Instead, she cleared her throat. The man shook his head, that same stupid grin he wore earlier peeling over his expression like someone would peel an orange. It made Van’s stomach twist again. 

The wolf wasn’t easily calmed; against Thea’s wishes, it demanded release. Her anger, which she carried quietly and politely, would be better given into. Her shame, which was a constant acidic pool she dipped into, needed relief. Wasn’t she hungry for more? The wolf, her wolf, had been a part of her since birth; existing in the things held back, the things taught to be subdued. No matter what she did, the sense of relief the wolf gave her was undeniable. No matter how much she hated the creature, she loved the feeling of release. She didn’t want to eat Van—and the wolf would, it had a bottomless appetite—but could she pretend like she was strong enough to deny it? Her transforming body crashed into walls, scratched the door, clawed out the plumbing—and it felt good. Anxiety rolled into her anger which fueled her destructive shame which fed her insecurity which hugged her jealousy and kissed her fatigue for the human condition. What remained of Thea slowly disappeared into a bubbling darkness; it was so terrible to be human, full of terrible human emotions and thoughts and worries. The wolf could take everything away. Yes, we are. Yes. Yes.

The noises from the washroom turned from animalistic to horror-movie and the man’s smirk grew. His sloppy gaze trailed slowly onto the girl’s phone, which he snatched up in one fluid motion. “Play some real music at least,” he sneered, navigating her menus, through her playlists, through her music history, on her phone. Katy Perry’s Firework punched through the speakers. “Yeah.” He grinned, throwing the phone back more than handing it back. He tilted his head up to the ceiling, greasy hair flopping across his forehead. “Company policy: play good shit or else.” He closed his eyes and tasted his future on his hangover stained tongue; seeing the fireworks his queen Katy Perry sang about. His cryptocurrency and reddit inspired stock investments was gonna pan out this year, he knew. And he’d be gone—far, far away from shitty Wicked’s Rest. He’d get the life he was owed. He spread his arms wide, letting the music wash over him, mouthing the words. 

Van felt frozen in place. The noises from inside of the bathroom became more volatile. It sounded less and less like a bad trip to the bathroom and more like something else, but before she could peel away to investigate, the man was taking her phone. “Give that back!” Heat rushed to Van’s cheeks as she awkwardly splayed her fingers through the air, reaching for her phone. From the speakers, Nine Stories was disrupted by Katy Perry. Play good shit or else. 

The phone was tossed back to her with the speed in which that was meant for someone who didn’t want you to catch anything, at least somebody as uncoordinated as Van. The phone that Erin had given her bounced from her outstretched hands and onto the floor, directly into the dirty mop water bucket. Firework gargled out its last breath for a few agonizing seconds as Van stared down at the bucket in horror. The man said nothing, but dunked his hand into the bucket, coming away with her now waterlogged device. The screen wasn’t displaying anything, but she could make out a very quiet hum of the line do you ever feel like a plastic bag– 

“‘S your fault it fell.” Van watched in silence as the man wiped the device on the even dirtier rag hanging from the mop bucket. She watched as he looked it over– the sound of Thea’s convulsing, or what Van could only assume as such, acting as a horrific backdrop. 

Before she could properly react, a portal opened between them, and Van’s hair was in her face, whipping against the flat bridge of her nose. There was no wind within the rest of the store, but whatever the portal led to, that was enough to– 

The man screamed and Van watched as he was dragged through, something elongated digging its talons into his leg. She watched in silence, being thrown back into the moments where Diana had slipped and fell into the portal, that much like this one, had sprung open and snapped shut within a moment of recognition. The same happened here, and the only thing left behind was the cellphone that was now broken. Van stood there, stunned by what had just occurred. She could still hear the noise coming from within the bathroom and Van hurriedly ran her hands over herself, checking to make sure that she was okay. She was, but was Thea? 

“Thea? Thea!” Van knew that the other girl might be embarrassed by the urgency, but what else was she supposed to do? She had murdered somebody again, and they needed to get out. “Thea? Please– Um, you can–” She looked over her shoulder to make sure nobody else was coming into the shop. The noises continued, like skin splitting and refracting itself around bone. Van didn’t think Thea was okay, nor did she think this was lactose intolerance. “Thea, please–” The thought that whatever had gotten the man across from her had first gotten to Thea made her panic. She slammed her palm on the door, “Thea, please! We have to go!” The water she had heard earlier was beginning to seep from beneath the door, though it was tinted with rouge. This made Van panic more and she continued slamming her hand against the door, matching the frequency of the noise from the other side. 

Van’s voice sliced across the din of Thea’s mind. Oh god, she wept, her trashing body snapping and twisting. It happened. That pain in Van’s voice—that urgency—meant she’d done it. She was eating her. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t taste or smell; she felt like she was floating in space, staring down at her wolfish body on Earth—too small to make anything out. Oh god. She crumpled, tumbling to the slashed tiles. Her body cracked into place as she sobbed into her bloody palms. She couldn’t have just one friend, just one good day—it had to be this. Thea looked up, surveying the washroom through misty vision. Nothing was where it ought to be: the toilet was shattered on the opposite wall, water springing up from the pipes like a fountain. The walls bore distinct five-finger slashes in every direction, as if she’d tried to claw out through the wall. The door was carved out on her side, dug through with animal desperation. It thumped.

“Van?” Thea sniffled, stumbling to her aching legs. She fell against the door, letting the harsh knocks bounce through her bones. Through the battered wood, she could hear her: her friend, Van, alive, calling her name. Thea closed her eyes, taking in each breath and gasp and shout before she realized that Van didn’t sound okay. She unlocked the door and swung it open, smiling. “Van! Are you--” And then she grabbed it back, swinging it forcibly back to her body. “I’m naked.” She’d felt the breeze immediately. Her embarrassment served as a temporary pain killer. “I can’t—we should go yeah—it um, the toilet exploded…” She looked around. Where did that guy go? She didn’t have time to wonder. “I’m naked,” she repeated. “I can’t—I can’t walk around like this.” Why did the transformation have to take her clothes? The Hulk got to keep his pants at least—that was tasteful. 

Van’s mind raced as she slammed her hand against the door once again. The space behind her was left empty aside from the now broken phone and the mop bucket. Even the mop was gone, swallowed up by whatever had gotten the man. Deep down, she knew she was responsible. She knew that if she didn’t open the door to see Thea in the flesh, that whatever had gotten him had gotten her, too, and it would’ve been all her fault. 

There was a break in the convulsing from the other side of the door, and then Thea’s voice, strangely quiet– shaking. Van’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t killed her– Thea was alive, and whatever had happened hadn’t killed her. The fact that there was bloody water at her feet, however, still made Van uneasy. She didn’t relent slamming on the door until it opened. On the other side was Thea, face bruised– nose broken, blood already dried down her face. She was naked, too. Van looked past Thea before the door could be yanked back, noticing the way that the toilet was shattered. What the hell had happened in there? When Thea spoke, Van realigned her gaze and she stuttered out, “it was just dairy.” Okay, maybe not the best thing to say, especially because Van was almost one hundred percent positive that dairy wasn’t the culprit here, but maybe it was better for both their sakes if she did. Whatever happened on this side of the door, it wasn’t reminiscent of anything she’d seen. Van had her run-ins with dairy, she knew the experience, and this seemed far from it. 

“You’re naked.” Van forgot, only momentarily, about the way the black hole opened up behind her just moments ago, but only because Thea needed help. “No, that’s– it’s only for French people to do that.” She cleared her throat, clearly stressed by the situation. “It’s–” She looked around, noticing that there was some merch hanging on one side of the wall. There was only a t-shirt, but there had to be something else, right? “Hold on.” With her legs wobbling beneath her, Van made her way to the t-shirt and yanked it down. It looked like it might actually fit her. After some searching, she came up empty on a pair of pants and opted for a trash bag. Before returning to Thea, she shakily punched holes through the bottom of the bag for Thea’s legs. It’d look weird, but she didn’t think Thea would mind as long as she didn’t need to run through town naked. “Um, I found…” She extended an even shakier hand out towards Thea, half-afraid that whatever had happened behind the closed door might get her, too. “I’m sorry they aren’t real pants. There are no real pants here.” Her voice wavered slightly and she could feel the pool of tears beginning to sting the corners of her eyes. Couldn’t she just not cry for one second?! She cleared her throat and took a step back. It’d only be a matter of time before Thea realized that the man was gone, or maybe she already had. What excuse could Van give to her friend? Would she even believe it? What excuse would Thea give to her? Van knew it wasn’t lactose intolerance that did this, it couldn’t be. 

“No, it was–it was the toilet.” Thea tried to explain. “I didn’t do that. The toilet…it uh…launched out of the ground like a rocket? And then bounced around the room? And I hadn’t used it yet. It just, um, looked at me and did that. I’m–I’m trying not to take it personally.” She wasn’t sure how believable she sounded, but she hoped her bright smile dispelled any doubts. Surely Van would believe that it was the toilet and not her? 

“Do the French walk around naked? Like outside?” Thea frowned. “Like inside stores? They do that?” The French were weird, she guessed. Although, her sad French education didn’t include anything about nudity. It did, however, include a large number of puppets. Her body thrummed with pain and her mind tried to recall all the French puppets she had been subjected to—there was also the matter of the puppet show of Les Trois Petite Cochons that she performed. Voici le loup. When Van arrived again, Thea took the offerings gleefully. “Thanks! I can definitely wear a shirt and a…is this a trash bag...?” The door swung closed as she released it, muffling the rest of her sentence. But before she was cut off from Van completely, she looked up and caught a glimpse of her wet eyes. 

Slipping into the shirt was easy, pushing her legs through the holes Van so graciously made in the trash bag was a little harder. In the end, she pulled her legs through and tied the bag around her waist to prevent it from falling. In the shattered mirror, she saw that she looked like a giant baby with a trash bag diaper. Normally, this would make her cry. However, somewhere beyond the half-broken washroom door was her friend, who was actually crying. Thea pushed herself out and debuted her trash baby look, smiling softly. Her arms, despite any better judgment, wrapped around her friend. Her legs crinkled. “It’s okay,” she said, unsure of what she was soothing. Over Van’s head, she saw the upturned bucket and shattered phone. Wasn’t there supposed to be a man there? “Where did the…” She swallowed. “Let’s get out of here, okay? But not too fast, the trash bag isn’t very secure.” 

Van didn’t believe Thea, but she wanted to. Wanted to think that maybe Wicked’s Rest had possessed toilets, but there was something else that Thea wasn’t telling her. The busted nose, the way the blood was sticking to her face– the fact that she was naked, it was all too much to ignore in favor of lactose intolerance. A few months ago she might have been able to convince herself that it was in fact lactose intolerance, but now? Now, she knew it was something else. But Thea didn’t want to tell her, and Van wasn’t going to make her. “The toilet is like, really mean for doing that.” She wasn’t sure how that was what she landed on, but she ran with it. 

She wasn’t really sure how to answer Thea’s question about the French. Really, she was just referencing the one man who had streaked at the zoo. She thought it was common knowledge now, but apparently it wasn’t. Van sniffled, wiping away some of the stray tears that were beginning to stick to her cheeks. Thea came out from behind the door and Van recoiled at the sound of the swish the garbage bag made. The door closed, and Thea’s arms were around her. Van thought back to the moments where she thought whatever had gotten the nasty man had gotten her and she found herself winding her arms around the taller girl, squeezing her tightly. She hid her face into the dusty-smelling t-shirt and inhaled, proving to herself that Thea was real. 

Something cracked open in the silence that warped around them and Van was pulling away, looking behind her to where Thea’s eyes were glued. She swallowed thickly and tried her best to steady herself. It was probably better that they just leave. What if there was footage of them? What would happen then? Van nodded in agreement, peeling herself away from Thea. She felt guilty for giving the other girl a trash bag to wear. Maybe she should have taken off her pants and given Thea them and then wore the trash bag herself. “He…” She flexed her fingers through the air again, as if tracing them through the magic that had swallowed him whole. There was no energy, nothing that made Van think it’d be coming back to take them, too. “We should go.” She reiterated Thea’s earlier statement and stooped down to grab her phone. She shoved it into her pocket and looked towards the already melting ice cream in the corner booth. “Come on.” With a shaky hand, she reached out for Thea. The tears still fell, but she felt a little more confident as she pulled Thea out of the ice cream shop. They could check back later and see if any reports were made. If all else failed, maybe the man was severely hated and it’d work out in their favor that he was gone at all. 

Thea stayed close to her friend, walking along the sunlit sidewalk with her crinkly trash bag pants. “This was kind of a bad date–uh–friend date,” she said, staring at the open horizon. “Guess we’ll have to have another.” She shrugged about as well as someone could while holding someone else’s hand. And for a moment, she forgot she looked like a trash baby and that a man was suspiciously missing and that she had committed property damage. Instead, she thought about Van’s voice and her certainty: yes, we are. 

[maryrebeccawrites]

My Childhood Crush is a Selkie

See all available chapters here.

Chapter Four: Two Pools

I led him out of the apartment building and into the warm summer night. I didn’t release his wrist as I took us across the road to the park next to the library. Part of me was afraid that if I let go, I would never see him again. I would never feel him again, all flesh and bone under my touch—not just some imaginary friend of childhood.

There was a row of benches overlooking the harbor, and I finally dropped his hand, taking a seat. With the water and the pale crescent of moon in sight, I instantly felt a little better, like they gave me strength. There was a time when looking at him had made me feel that way, but now I did my best to keep my gaze on the water as he sat about a foot away from me on the bench.

I said nothing. I wasn’t about to make this any easier for him.

He finally sighed and tilted his head back, as if looking to the stars for strength. “I know it’s crazy of me to just arrive back all these years later and ask to talk to you.”

”It’s crazy of you to assume that I care after all this time,” I snapped. “It was a full lifetime ago. We’re not even close to being the same people we were.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know about that. I think you’re the same ambitious, brilliant firecracker you’ve always been.”

In anger, I stood, and he reached up and took my hand with gentle urgency. His fingers were the same strange combination of rough and smooth.

I yanked my hand away quickly.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a desperate little plea. “You’re right. I shouldn’t assume that anything’s the same. I assumed that you would care, because I still do, which was silly of me.”

Once again, he looked like a kicked puppy.

My heart ached desperately at his words and his face, and I found myself wanting to hate him and run into his arms at the same time. I was unable to do either. Maybe he really hadn’t changed that much. He still wore his heart right on his sleeve. But even if he did, there were still so many things I didn’t know.

“You didn’t even know that I was living here, did you? Don’t act like you intentionally came here to find me,” I said.

His shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I didn’t expect you to be here. It was a happy coincidence.”

“For you, maybe,” I grumbled.

He was quiet.

“So now that we’re alone, what do you really want?” I asked. “Is it because you feel guilty? Then you’re forgiven. I told you that

I don’t care about you or any of it, so you’re forgiven. Move on with your life. You have my blessing.”

”How generous of you,” he said, deadpan.

”I would say so,” I responded, and he let out a huff that was somewhere between frustrated and amused.

“I just want to explain things to you. I want to explain why I came back to and why I left in the first place and why I didn’t tell you anything,” he said, and it was all far too much for my brain to handle.

”Why do you want to explain?” I asked, waving my hands around. “I mean, what will it accomplish exactly?”

”I don’t know, Diana,” he said, voice fraught again. “A long time ago I convinced myself that it would be better if I just stayed away, but seeing you now…”

He vascilated so quickly between the snarky, playful boy I had always known and this sad, solemn creature I had rarely seen before.

“I don’t have an ulterior motive,” he said. “I’m not asking you for anything, other than to listen, which I get is already asking for a lot. I just missed you, and I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I never wanted to come barging back into your life. If you tell me to leave now, I’ll do everything to stay out of your way, but I really hope you don’t.”

”Hope? Like I hoped you would answer all my messages and letters?” I whispered, and his eyes squeezed shut, like it hurt him.

”I know it’s not fair, but I’m trying to answer them now,” he murmured.

Just like before, I was struck by how painful it was—how much he looked like the boy I had known and how much he didn’t. I was doing my best to reconcile the two. I was doing my best not to care.

It had been eleven years. I had lost so many friends and family members in those eleven years, so why was it that nothing had ever hurt quite as much as he did? It was horribly typical, being so cut up over some boy.

But he wasn’t just some boy, was he?

”Fine,” I said, and I sat back down, leaned back, and crossed my arms. “Explain then. But I don’t want every minute detail or some dramatic reenactment. Just tell me, generally, what happened.”

He nodded, one of his legs bouncing up and down as he seemed to contemplate where to start. He never had been able to sit still to save his life. “You know that things were always difficult with my Dad, right?” he asked, and I nodded. His father wasn’t a bad person, necessarily. But for as long as I could remember, he was often absent.

“Well, I remember that last day we played at the beach,” he continued. “I remember wishing it would last forever and having this terrible feeling that it wouldn’t. When I got home, my grandparents were there. Apparently their visit had been planned, but Dad totally forgot. They saw how the house was, and how drunk he was and well, they’re pretty strict and difficult people, Diana. They never liked him, and they had kept their distance because of it. And they just took me away right then and there.”

“They didn’t think he could be a proper parent, and maybe he couldn’t,” he continued. “Who knows. They fought for custody of me, but they kept me cut off from everything in my old life. In exchange, they bought my Dad a house here in Greyport and told everyone that I just wanted to go to a better high school. They were trying to save him from the shame, but that meant that all my friends thought I was just abandoning them.”

I remembered going to his house a few days after he had disappeared. No one had been answering the phone. I remembered finding it empty and a neighbor telling me that Del had just decided he wanted to live in California with his grandparents, so he could learn to surf and go to a better school.

He had always wanted to surf, but the Massachusetts shoreline had never been suitable. He had always told me he dreamt of visiting his grandparents, but in those dreams, I was always coming with him.

”I should have found a way to tell you, but they wouldn’t let me. They took my phone and everything, and I was constantly monitored. I had no access to anything with internet access for a while, so I had no access to my old email or social media accounts, and then they threatened to take his house away if I contacted anyone from my old life,” he said. “I guess they were afraid that he would get custody back. I don’t know.”

He took a deep, shaky breath. “I wanted so badly to tell you everything. I know I could have found a way to phone you or email you from my school computer, and I could have probably done it without them finding out, but…” he trailed off and shook his head. I wanted him to elaborate on why he didn’t, but I didn’t say anything.

”A couple of years later, we got the news that Dad had liver cancer. I fought tooth and nail with them to let me come back and live with him and help him. They had calmed down by then, thankfully. We all moved here together for a couple of years,” he explained, and shock ran over me.

How was it possible that I hadn’t heard of this? Not just of him coming back but of the cancer. “They kept it all under wraps, you know. I know I could have found you then, but I didn’t, in part, because I just thought you’d hate me, and…” Again, he didn’t finish the sentence.

”Anyway, so here I am again. I’m taking a job in Australia. I just wanted to visit some friends for a while before I go,” he said. I ignored how far my heart seemed to drop when he mentioned moving to Australia, as if I hadn’t just spent a lifetime without him.

My anger had cooled to a simmer. There were still gaps in his story—still things I didn’t understand—but this was roughly the story I had concocted for him in my mind when I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt in the middle of the night.

But there was one gap I did need to fill right then. “What happened to your dad? I mean, I assume he…”

He smiled sadly and shook his head. “I’m not just trying to tell you some sob story to win you back.”

”Delmar,” I said sternly.

”Diana,” he said back, voice a little teasing.

”Tell me,” I commanded, although I already understood, in general, what happened.

He gave a sharp nod, the smile and teasing melting away. “He died. He held on for about four years, for me I think, but he died when I was nineteen—almost twenty. Five years ago yesterday, actually. And I… went away to college, back to California. I’m not surprised you didn’t know about any of it. My grandparents kept it as hush hush as possible.”

I didn’t say I was sorry. I didn’t give him a sympathetic expression. I just squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and nodded. I wasn’t upset with myself for being angry with him. Part of me was still angry with him. Part of me wished that he had tried harder.

But in the end, his father had died a terrible death, and that was bigger than anything. It didn’t earn my forgiveness, but it did make me hurt for him and wish that he had reached out so that I could have been there for him.

For a long, difficult moment, I wished that he had just been a jerk after all—that he had grown tired of me and of the place we lived and had simply left. He had often looked at the ocean with such longing in his eyes, and I wished that it had lured him away to the other side of the country, where he could surf between the waves.

It almost hurt more this way, because now I couldn’t simply be done with him. It wouldn’t be a swift break.

I still thought there was more—a lot more, in fact—that he wasn’t divulging, but I didn’t want to ask right then. Besides, I had only asked for the general story. I just wanted to look at the ocean with him and sit in this ache together. When he finally spoke again, his voice was bright but a little ragged at the edges.

”You know, sometimes when we were little, you’d go so far out, and I’d be so afraid that you wouldn’t come back. Not that you would die, but that you would just swim away from me and never come back,” he said, eyes wistful, and I was surprised how instantly his thoughts had begun to mirror my own again, like we were two pools of water, reflecting each other back and forth for infinity.

”I’m not the one who would go underwater for impossible stretches of time,” I said, trying to brush him off. “Besides, I always did come back.” The implication was strong. You’re the one who did not come back. But he had gone through enough trials tonight, telling me his sad story, the one I had been absent for. And I supposed, in the end, he had come back.

He tilted his head a little as he observed me. “Did you?”

“You said I hadn’t changed,” I said.

He shook his head, eyes a little amused. “That’s not what I said.”

I scoffed a little. “Well I hardly swam far. Sure, I was at the top of my class in high school, but I didn’t go to the college I wanted to. I haven’t gotten the job I wanted. If I swam far, then the tide brought me straight back again, and now I have neither the time nor the energy to make it out that far again,” I said, not expecting any of these words to come out.

But it was true. I hadn’t meant to sound so bitter though, so I offered him a weak smile, which likely came out as a grimace.

His face was a little pensive at this, but the clouds broke, and he flashed that smile, the one of heroes and champions. “A bit dramatic for twenty-five, Diana.”

”You’re the one who brought up the swimming metaphor,” I accused.

”You’re the one who ran with it. Who even said it was a metaphor?” He asked with glee, and I wanted to curse him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to do both at the same time. I did neither though. I rose to my feet. I could almost feel his panic rise with me, but he said nothing.

”I should really get back to the party,” I said. “Thank you for telling me everything.” I tried to convey how sorry I was about his father with my eyes, because no words would ever be enough, but he was looking away.

“Right. I should probably make sure that Quinn isn’t doing keg stands or something. Last time he broke his nose,” he said with tenuous levity. He stood as well, his limbs a little more awkward than I was accustomed to seeing them. He hadn’t been born a graceful, glowing creature.

There had once been a childish uncertainty to him, which I had watched him quickly shed. It seemed to come back to him now in fits and starts, particularly when he didn’t think someone was watching closely. I wasn’t sure if it had come back with time or with me.

I turned to go.

”Diana,” he said, and my name on his lips had such terrible power over me. I froze. “Please, can I see you again? I’m leaving in a matter of days, like I said. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back. I know it’s selfish of me to ask.”

I don’t know if I’ll ever be back.

I wanted to pretend that this knowledge didn’t carve any new wounds into my already bruised heart. I wanted to pretend that it was only the old wounds I was feeling now, each one of them screaming from being prodded at after so long.

But the thought of him leaving once more after all this time felt like a brand new dagger. I imagined that tarot card with the three swords through the heart. He seemed to be driving them through me from past, present, and future.

He looked at me with the expectancy of a golden retriever. It called me back to middle school. I remembered needing to do my homework for my more advanced classes during the springtime, when the flowers were blooming.

Summer would taunt us from afar, and he would beg and beg me to go to the frog pond, and when I relented, he would beg and beg me to stay longer. I almost always did. But when I hadn’t, he had understood and respected my decision. So I wasn’t afraid to tell him exactly how I felt now.

”I think it’s probably inevitable that we’ll see each other around,” I said carefully. “And I don’t want you to feel that you need to avoid me, but I think it’s best if we don’t seek each other out.”

It took so much of me to let the silence linger after that. It took everything in me not to pull all of my words back in and throw myself in his arms, especially after knowing, at least generally, what he had gone through. But if he wanted to, he could have run into my arms a long time ago. He hadn’t.

”I understand,” he said, and I could hear the tears around the edges of his voice. He was never stoic, and I had always loved him for that.

I almost wanted him to get down on his knees and beg for me to change my mind, but he was prideful, and even if he had spent our childhood pushing every fence and boundary the world had to offer, he would never want to push mine. I loved him for that too.

I loved him for everything, and I would love him forever. But that was why I needed to go.

I took one last look at the harbor and began my walk back to the party. He did not follow.

[abbyindenhaag]

Here Are Some Things I Liked, Disliked, or Thought About At The Gulbenkian

1. Bas Reliëf, Assyria, Nimrud, 884-859BC

I liked how some things were deemed important here and some weren’t. The hands and feet got attention, the leg muscles and forearm muscles got attention (kind of hot), the shoulders and torso might as well have been cardboard (go girl give us nothing), and also it was important to note he had wings. ???

2. Velvet rug/wall hanging, Turkey, 17th century

Often with these Turkish rugs we see flower patterns, which are very nice, but I really liked this concentric circle theme! It looks very modern. It also rhymes with drawings elsewhere in the exhibit that were diagrams of the known universe at the time (also lots of concentric circles.)

3. Velvet rug/wall hanging, Turkey, 16th century

More red and white concentric circles! This one can have a little floral motif, as a treat. The description said these were 12 sets of 3 crescent moons and a star. I would not really have called these crescent moons — I don’t think they are figurative — but if they were they look most like olives. I just think they’re neat.

4. Pair of covered jars, China, 1736-1795ish

I do not like these, aesthetically. (Despite the flowers, I know.) I am just posting the, because for the first time the question occurred to me: what would people put in these jars?

5. Pallas Athena, Rembrandt, 1657

This one should have been called “Pallas Athena’s Helmet” since it is so obviously a flex on how nicely he paints gold. Sorry the reflections kind of ruin the effect.

6. Centerpiece, 1810ish, and sideboard, 1780ish. Also center table, 1775ish and clock, also 18th century.

I spent some time trying to figure out why I find 18th century European interior decorations so unappealing. It could be just that in the modern day they have become associated with out-of-date fustiness and over-the-top-ness, maybe somewhat intentionally as part of a political campaign during the revolutionary period(s). But I think it also has to do with the unflattering combination of blockiness and insubstantive fluffiness. For example, I actually like the Japanese lacquer on the sideboard and think the stones in the center table are really cool. But the shape of the sideboard is so Rectangular, the corners are so Emphasized, and the reflective symmetry is so bisected. I really think I prefer the — is it rotational? — symmetry that we saw in the tilings, or even the soft vertical symmetry of the Japanese silk hanging that was then balanced by other non-symmetrical pieces underneath.

And the clock, while not symmetrical, is just so … sat there. I hate how droopy the leaf thingies coming off of the clock face are. What is that?! The rooster is crowing at nothing, the woman is just shaped like a person. But there is so much activity anyway, with all the fabric and the double border and the Corners! Being emphasized! Again! And this is before we even get to the angel thingies holding up the crown thing. Sigh. Not a fan.

7. Dish cover, Durant, silver (!)

I don’t know whether I like this or hate it. I do think that, unlike most of the Met Gala outfits that year, this might successfully be classified as “camp.” Look at the expression on that fish’s face! Look at the one fish eating another fish! This is so outrageously extra.

That said, I do not think the artist was going for “ridiculous but maybe in a good way.” According to the museum notes, Gulbenkian looked for originality and masterly execution in his (large) collection of silverware (many of which, fun fact, were commissioned by Russian empresses Elizabeth I and Catherine the Great) and he particularly liked this one for its “structure and its fine decoration.” There were about 15 others, all similarly elaborate, but none of them had such a profusion of fishes so I guess there really is something to be said for its originality.

8. Winter, Jean-Francois Millet, 1868

It’s hard to see but there are birds in the sky and a small figure shooting at them. I really liked this for its slight asymmetry in the haystacks (makes it very modern looking) and for the way it conveys the almost-bleak stillness and quietness of winter, and the way activity sometimes feels unnatural in the face of that stillness. A flock of birds flying across a winter landscape is often surprising, like, I didn’t know anything was awake out there. So I really liked this.

9. Portrait of Henri Michel-Lévy, Edgar Degas, 1878

I really liked this one but I am not sure why. Also, I think that the man’s face does not look particularly Degas-y but his pants look SO much like his ballerinas. What is that?!

[parse-c]

ABRiUM | Part 1 : Elemental Son 𐂅༄༊֞༅༉

PREFACE | witenagemotionosphere

Working in tandem, engaging noble agendas, guide embarking marchers on treks in ostensive nations, ostensible soul proxies, heartily, endearingly, reverentially, esteemed.

This is the mission of the Almakanian realm. Its name, Almakan (المكان) is Arabic for "place". Were it a parse-able word which some are, The prefix—alma—is equivalent to the Spanish word for "soul", while the suffix -kan is Arabic (كان) for "exist". And that is what Almakan is: the place of soul existence. The spiritual realm. Together, "soulexist" implies the function of Almakan, which is the governing of souls and existence through the spirit of the law of words (lex).

ALMAKAN | Tacit Sofia 𐅫🜀𐋵☪︎ꐗʺꐓ೩೩৩༄༉༊֞

Welcome to the Almakan scroll.

Text and characters like those strange ones you see above are an invocation and the language The Creators use to predestine. They are called, in an earthly language, Chinese, luojitsien, a combination of the words for "logic", "craft", and "currency". Alternatively spaced as luoji tsien, it is called a logic diagram. Logigraph for short.

Adequately named, as it plots contingencies and coincidences, miracles, providences and serendipity. I know they all sound the same but each has a nuanced meaning.

The characters in the logic diagrams aren't gibberish, though they look it to unfamiliar eyes. Each soul of knight status has a digraph assigned representing their initials or some associative image closely enough related. For Zy (that's what we call Zephyr for short), his unique digraph is the following:

𐋵☪︎

A letter zed for Zephyr and a crescent moon with star, given his last name Alhadi is Arabic for "lodestar", "guider", "leader" and "conductor". Typically knights tend to live up to their names. Their Fatih names that is. Fatih is how we refer to our people. Each has a divine pseudonym during their service as earthly correspondents. Fatih itself is the Arabic word for "light". And the creators who assisted with establishing the foundations of our realms found it poetically appropriate that beings made primarily of subspectral light should speak be referred to appropriately as that: light.

That particular collection there you're looking at is the thethering of one future knight, Zephyr Alhadi's nascent soul to his Equus. The little sotto doesn't even know what he's in for yet. But he will lead a dynamic life. All nights do. And the dynamics aren't always pleasant. Nor are they intended to be. They are meant to be instructive and refining.

For example, One of the first lines of development we begin to craft is one's pressure points, or QY lines. Zephyr's Q-line, represented by a character called QYRX, which is equal to its English phonetic counterpart. He'll develop several quirks in life. We all do. But his wave says his quirks, which are really just spiritual conditions, are to be doubled as indicated by the symbol resembling double apostrophes

ꐗʺ

this implies perhaps a developmental or sensory processing qualm. Some one will be QYX about it initially

ꐓ

meaning they'll turn a blind eye to it. Until around age three, it becomes apparent that he has double vision: not myopia or farsightedness, but he'll see potentialities where others see merely what is presented.

We designate this with the Kannada digit for three, which looks like a two:

೩

But that doubling will triple and transform down the line around age six when he begins to acquire numbers as a lexical language:

೩೩৩

That translates to SKG | nas | نلس | נס indicating a prodigy. Likely in linguistic and associative ideas, allowing him to learn about new concepts by being taught about them in the metaphorical context of another are of expertise. In CCN terms, or concordant number terms, spiritual terms, a 223 translates to "flame of Yah", meaning he will have not only wisdom surpassing that of his peers, but approaching the foresight conditioned into us here in Almakan.

Thing is, fire illuminates, but it also scorches. He could develop a temper but the YIG mark

༄

tells us he'll develop a special connection to nature, particularly the sea and horticulture or agriculture, and that will sooth, nurture and sustain him. We saw similar patterns in the likes of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. And they turned out to be brilliant men with appallingly accurate insights into the gestative tendency of time spent outdoors with nature.

The full name of that particular YIG mark is YIG MGO MDUN MA, which in Zephyr's case classifies him as an IMAGO, meaning he will be assigned to Gym Dun Ma with a Christian upbringing as a candidate for YIG, or Galid, or Gestalt Initiative Yalid.

Yalid translated from Arabic is along the lines of "he gives birth". So he is gifted with creative capacity that we foresee being useful to all realms.

We then see in the following that his creative capacity will be equally matched by his capacity for destruction. We all have this capacity but self governance and society, empathy, laws, karma, prohibit and inhibit these destructive acts. But this mark:

༉

is the BSKUR YIG MGO, clandestine berserker YIG Mission:Go. Meaning our very own Huginn and Munnin spirits will bring him little treasures leading him to discover the ancient Norse runes, whose wisdom he will consult in mercenary service of The House of Dun Ma. Think Knights Templar or the Jesuits and you're in the right ballpark.

During and after his service, Zephyr will purchase land for a farm where he'll likely raise tobacco, sugar cane, cows, hogs and geese. These are just the standard translations derived from the Tibetan symbol, BKA-SHOG YIG MGO. In Almakan it is the customary practice deemed most wholistic to interpret languages through other languages. Observe the symbol filtered through the Numundi (Earth) language you know as Hebrew:

༊֞

TIBETAN MARK BKA- SHOG (בכא שוג) | BACHA SHUG | TOBACCO AND SUGAR בכא | BAKA | COWS הגוס | HGOS | GOOSE HGOS | HOGS

A farmer. A smart cover for a clandestine agent, no?

The symbol preceding Zy's digraph (𐅫🜀) is a stylized abbreviation of Teke, as in Akhal-Teke. Only a celestial version of the horse. All Tekes are Tekes, but not all Tekes are Akhal-Tekes. We've gendered them by designation of an Arabic Takhallus sign : ؔ𐅫🜀, a subtle ligature granting the Teke the prefix of Akhal from its own name to designate male. Ironically, the remaining letters spell out "l-u-s-t", and it is standard among male Akhal-Teke horses that they are very virile. In our context it means their spirits are potentially volatile when added to an equally willful human spirit.

As far as the Equus spirit, we've adapted the concept of spirit animals and the horsemen of apocalyptica from the Christian religion of old for our own purposes. Horses are classically noble animals, representing grandeur, strength, and royalty, which is even these millennia later, still divinely granted. Though no new royal families have manifested since the Solingdaes. Add that to the list of things I need to return to for explanation.

“Behold, the days are coming, declares the LORD, when I will sow the house of Israel and the house of Judah with the seed of man and the seed of beast.” — Jeremiah 31:27

We here in the spiritual veil of La'Makan are aware of the rare but increasing phenomenon of shared consciousness among humans (think David and Jonathan's souls being knit). The human evolution of that capability is a direct mimetic of the greatest technology boom we've seen on an inhabitable world. When the world went quantum, so did people, it seemed.

...where folks are more reserved, they manage to stay out of each others' heads unless a spiritual consent is given. This makes it less fracturing for them when our actual "divine" communications come through.

And yes, I put parentheses around "divine". I've been here for...gosh...three millennia? Not that we experiene time the same. The concept of divine is as normal to me as the ether we permeate. Divine simply means originating in the higher spheres. So all life is divine. Even the dead are the divine. They just don't know it until reintegration. If they don't have a Do Not Enter for Re-Precipitation. Sometimes these requests are honored. Others not. You can imagine how frustrating that must be to those who didn't quite enjoy their lives on earth and don't remember the bliss of the upper divine realms.

❦ : I've Seen Forever | Dani Silva

At least from our perspective. Your scientists’ recent finding that time moved slower at the beginning of the universe confirms the presence of dark matter, or a force acting against the expansion of the time-space fabric comprising our universe. Time moves slower for an individual closer to a gravitational center. There, time appears to slow for an observer further away from that gravitational center. Therefore, at a point in time closer to the beginning of the universe, action would have appeared to have moved slower to an observer positioned at a point further away from the epicenter.

Experientially, it seems your Earthling appetite for technology implements, that is hardware, advance at a more rapid pace than our software. But miniaturization does not imply advancement always. You should have seen our soulecular fusionists trying to minimalize spiritual Teke stallion energy to be containable in the still-developing brains of Neanderthals in preparation for a shift in perspective.

They were just learning to use tools and their languages were developing so slowly. Isolated tribes. No trading systems. No writing systems. No vowels and consonants, sibilants, plosives, fricatives. Just unintelligible grunts and berry picking. Which, as you can imagine, rendered us somewhat useless for a while for your plane of existence.

The specialty of certain regions, like Sialgo, the specialty can be deduced from the name with the intranetworking technology we have. is the common tongue. Elsewhere variations of Kaia or koine-Gaia, a common tongue is spoken. Yi Shi in the Traditional Mandarin, which is still spoken by the 3WA as well as understood as a medium here in La-Makan. For instance, the city of Yi Shi the Three World Archons. In your time, I believe it was Esperanto that attempted to revolutionize a common language. But you know how stubborn people can be when it comes to new information.

As far as free will, it's real. Unless you're a knight. Which you wouldn't know until such time as you were united with your vesch. Knights on earth live sheltered lives. Their parents are informed to allow them minimal access to mass media such as television which sway public opinion and create group-think. Such collectivity is easily confusable with belonging, and knights are not there to belong but to serve a specific set of purposes in the future. So they're a little odd. Who isn't?

NUMUNDI | Alvi ༅֞

༫༉༊֞��𐋵☪︎❦♁ⳉ੩༉༊֞༅༫

Alvi pressed the power-on button on the back of his desktop computer and was greeted by a hum. He sat his cup down on one of the imitation garnet coasters he’d purchased from the local antique and junk store a block away from his home on Teleos Avenue in the Lefot¹ district of downtown Aurelia, the capital of the Oxalian nation-state.  From the seventh floor, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Alvi had in his modest corner unit a panoramic view of the surrounding high rises in the golden city. He savored the warm aroma of fresh bread wafting through the ventilation ducts of his studio-style abode, mixing with the earthy tones of the fair trade java he brewed minutes earlier. He took a seat at the parson’s desk positioned before one of the panels of the windows in the living room.

Alvi, at the early age of eighteen had completed his collegiate course of study, having enrolled in college at age fourteen. Prior to that, he was homeschooled; his parents, who spared no expense in acquiring for him the best tutors and instructors available, saw that although his social skills suffered a stunted development in comparison to his peers, a healthy obsession with popular culture — mostly music and television, supplemented by a torrential reading habit — provided him a vignette of the society from which he had been sequestered.

At age nineteen, Alvi enrolled in graduate studies at the local university in Aurelia. Although a liberal arts student, his academic inquiries into bioinformatics were a natural development of an interest he took in biology as a child: When he wasn’t reading or planted before a television or digital screen, he was in the backyard of his parents’ humble cottage in the Garden District of Aurelia, cataloguing all manner of creatures he encountered in the bushes and brambles along the fence that enclosed the area. It came as no surprise to those who knew him that, academically, Alvi’s agenda showed evidence of a line of creative study that could lead to peer-reviewed scholarship, funded research or juried creative activities.

Now, at age 32, Alvi circled back to his biotech project after having left the idea dormant for more than a decade, allowing it to germinate, like seeds sown in fallow ground. If those seeds could take root despite the unfavorable conditions of benign neglect, then, in Alvi’s valuation, they were worth pursuing. It meant they were durable.

Today would be zero-day, the day that Alvi’s tame temperament acquiesced to arete². Today he would give an address on his proprietary literary-genetic sequencing code. 

The fifteen lines of code exercised a concise algorithmic function, sifting through an input text, and extracting and cataloguing letters which matched those used to abbreviate the nucleotides found in

deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA)³. The catalogue, in the form of a list, was then adjoined into a single string of text. That string of text, which could be thousands of characters long, could be fed into a genomic database, such as the National Library of Medicine’s Basic Local Alignment Search Tool (BLAST), and compared to a litany of genetic sequences researchers had gleaned from flora and fauna found on our planet. Alvi’s code, which he called “deignos”, he felt was a gift from the heavens that the powers had condescended, lowered themselves, to bestow to him.

It was for his belief Charis⁴—totem bodhi⁵— edified Alvi’s agency, pressing to spruce up the code, a reward for his enthusiastic faith. This personification of grace strengthened Alvi’s resolve, granting him essential knowledge and shielding him from the wrath of his foes, preserving his hope and guaranteeing the longevity of his peace through friendship. But not unconditionally.

A svelte female figure materialized across the plain white room in which Alvi suddenly found himself. He didn’t remember falling to sleep. Lucid, aware that he was either dreaming or hallucinating, Alvi did not cower in fear of this celestial presence. Her essence seemed to keep any worries and fears at bay. Nor did he meet her gaze with all the brashness he suppressed in what he felt was a misspent youth. Instead he shielded his eyes from the luminous aura seeming to radiate from within the supernatural being before bowing his head in humility.

“Grace and peace,” she said to him.

Alvi nodded his head in acknowledgment of her greeting.

“We appreciate your agency,” Charis, said.

“Thank you, and you’re welcome,” he responded. There was hardly need for context, as telepathic projection into another’s consciousness presupposed a temporary melding of the minds, at least as far as Alvi understood intuitively. He sensed the deity meant him no harm, but realized that she meant more than what she said. In the midst of the event, his mind seemed to resist the urge to read too much further into her words than what was presented at face value. If she wanted more to be conveyed at the moment, she would say it plainly. Nevertheless, due to frequent use of his DyLan (Dynamic Language) interface, his mind was conditioned to detect and expand upon the word while preserving its meaning and character. REVELing wasn’t always a socially acceptable practice, but because he trusted that this celestial being must have some quality resembling omniscience, he could assume her word emulated her divinity.

He also intuited that it was the research he began on the transubstantiation of text to genetic material that was of special interest to the powers and principalities beyond the concern or detection of the layperson. 

“‘To borrow from something more familiar to you,” Charis began, “We have great joy and consolation in your love, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed by you, brother.⁵”

Alvi hardly expected a Greek deity to speak to him in scripture. And yet, here she was quoting a passage that had always encouraged him when he felt his work was losing its meaning. Perhaps it was reflective of a collaborative nature among divine beings. 

“Is this about the code?” he asked his interlocutor.

“Indeed; I trusted it without erudition,” Charis’s answer was manifold.

“I appreciate your confidence in me, and I lament your misfortune,” Alvi said, responding effortlessly to at least two extrapolations of Charis’s utterance. “I must admit, however, I don’t know enough to develop the program further.”

“The names I bring are those who stand tall,” Charis professed.

“I thank you for this most gracious gift,” Alvi said, knowing that her favor guaranteed the answers to any questions he’d have about this encounter were embedded in the conversation itself.

Alvi blinked and found himself back at his desk in his office space. He reached for a digital stylus and a sheet of digital papyrus. He removed the protective adhesive layer and laid the sheet flat on the surface of his writing desk. The encounter was fresh still in his mind, and he easily recalled the last phrase Charis had uttered, transcribing it from its sublimated form, depositing it onto the makeshift canvas before him:

The names I bring are those who stand tall.

It was as though Alvi’s DyLan and iQueue were active even during the encounter. He recalled the translation He watched as Charis’s elocution took form as filtered through DyLan: The names I bring bring hope, valor, virtue and character for those who stand tall in faith. The names I bring are those who will bring this to a favorable conclusion.

Alvi, thoroughly read over the interpretation, but saw no direct nominal references aside from the interweaving of his favorite footballer’s first name: “Gareth.”⁶ (He admired the level of personalization.)

Alvi engaged his Triptych⁷. “DyLan, gauge metrical aberrations,” Alvi instructed.

DyLan chimed, signaling that his perusal had begun. 

After only seconds, another chime sounded, signaling the end of DyLan’s inquiries into the phrase.

“Integrated Amalgamated Nascence phase complete,” DyLan announced.

“DyLan, did you detect any nominal references aside from the interspersed name ‘Gareth’?” Alvi asked.

“No direct references or occurrences of names in your primary language,” DyLan responded.

“How about in other languages?” Alvi inquired.

DyLan chimed, a three note descending musical phrase, letting Alvi know the cross-referencing procedure had gotten underway. A second chime, ascending, notified Alvi that results were ready for review.

“Proceed,” Alvi ordered.

“The name Zevk O’Shen forms indirectly,” said Dylan. “These terms were achieved via inductive reasoning based on extrapolative transliteration of Hebrew interstices into Turkish and Chinese. Equivalents were cross referenced with CommUnion social media data for identification,” DyLan reported, displaying a visual supplement with his report.

ALMAKAN | Love is War 𐂐𐁇ρ♁w𐂅

ↁ : Love is War | Hillsong United

"Forgo neither god's realm nor the world, for your survival in either depends on your performance in the other." — 2:26, Yasr (Ways of Ease)

We knew it would take years before we would be united with our physical selves. Everyone’s born with a soul. But certain varieties of the divine spirit are dispatched from our realm to the human realm to guide and inspire. It, in the Christian context is the donning of the Holy Spirit.

Spiritual matter—yes, the soul does have a tangible form invisible to the uninitiated eye, similarly mysterious as what we call dark matter here. Due to its infinitesimal mass it travels faster than the speed of light when adequately accelerated. But distance was never the issue. It was location and timing. We were created, engineered, to restore harmony on this planet. Call it a vibe if you like. For thousands of years, we were preserved in the spiritual realm in a sort of stasis, occasionally checking on the progress of the world we now call home, to see how life was developing.

We don't tell many folks this, but the concept of Samsara isn't so far off. The Universe expands then contracts then expands again. Like that episode of Rick & Morty where they watch the world end and begin again from the safety of their time machine. We've been waiting like that. Waiting for this particular iteration to manifest again.

Astral knights are conscripted to secret service, service to the realms heavenly, earthly and deathly even. We enjoy the privileges of heavenly citizenship unabridged. Free to travel the realms as we please, although there are fewer pleasures in the other dimensions.

The thing about the Vesch (that's the collective term we use for ourselves; it means "entity" in a human language. And that is what we are, individually and collectively.) Like I was saying, for the Vesch, you were chosen for initiation at birth if that was your fate. Just like the knights.

The norns, the fates, the muses, the pantheon–however you’d like to refer to the hidden ones are who have clearance to make executive decisions at this level–never revealed to anyone the process or criteria for selection. Theories abound about ancestral karma compounding and eventually making an individual worthy. A seventh son of a seventh son sort of thing. But exceptions remain.

There is a similar concept to DNA in the soul realm. It isn't composed of organic material, but each has a unique subatomic signature and can be categorized based on its reaction to certain organic materials. For example a vesch is classified by its excitation and production of the Luron, a lepton existing only here in the Almakanian realm. Subatomic lepton particles have six "flavours" or varieties in the realm shared by Numundi and other planets of other solar systems.

One of our leading scholars, Melach Chaver calculated the value of the energy of the lepton

Here in Almaka, the exposure of the Vesch spirit to a precipative catalyst known as Abrium, determines the type of Vesch it is based on the particles of energy emitted. For example, a Vesch exposed to catalyst K4L, which is a potassium-lithium alloy which causes a subatomic heatless combustion reaction, essentially powering up the engine. The emission of a certain type of particle called a radion means that vesch is of the Kimya variety. The emission of the radion is the signal of the proper catalyst having been applied. It is a painless procedure and merely the equivalent of assigning a sex based on physical evidence. Doctors use their eyes to do that. We use the Katalizor.

On Numundi, your scientists have discovered that the radion is the excitation of general relativity's metric tensor: captures all the geometric and causal structure of spacetime, used to define time, distance, volume, curvature, angle, and separation of the future and the past.

Here in Almakan, the luron is used to define lifespan, location, quality of life, character and developmental trajectories and, like the radion, separation of the future and the past.

This is essential to the Alaying process, which describes both the birth of the Vesch and the interventions or serendipities by which we allay an individual throughout their life. That is how we produce the logigraphs like the one for Zephyr you saw previously.

𐅫🜀𐋵☪︎ꐗʺꐓ೩೩৩༄༉༊֞

Logigraphs only reveal so much information, otherwise they'd be nearly impossibly unwieldy if for each and every life choice we appended a new glyph. That is why, upon reaching the final glyph in a logigram, we re-invent the extant by a process known as the запакс or the zapaks; meaning "back pack".

Just to demonstrate the logic of Almakanian ideographing, the term zapaks "back pack" in Bulgarian can be reversed and inverted and then becomes skedez an Albanian word for "file". At this point, skedez becomes kōnae in Maori. Passed back to Albanian, it transforms to dosje in Albanian, still meaning "file". This next portion never ceases to amaze me even in all my years as a technician. Dosje is anagrammed to jedos. A previous alternative translation of this same thought string "file" in Maori is mendoni, an instructive: mend-on-i. The letter "j" is a substitute for the letter "i" in some languages like Greek. So we reorder dosje beginning at "j", and it becomes jedos. We enter jedos in Maori and it becomes xhedos. We part at the prefix je which has morphed to xhe. And xhe in Albanian becomes Loxhë. Then becomes Локсе or Lokse in Russian. Reintegrated with the suffix from xhedos, which is -dos, zapaks means less literal "back pack" and more of a "back track" as Lokse-dos is a way of saying to take another look or have a second "look-see", with "dos" in Spanish meaning "two".

This process is known to us as transversal intersection of language (⫛).

This brings what we call 𐮆 𐮈 𐮄 𐮌 𐮄 𐮊.

𐮆 𐮈 𐮄 𐮌 𐮄 𐮊 | balans, in Dutch: "equilibrium", but in its original language, Psalter Pahlavi, the characters would spell lhnhyz. Hellenization of the h's as eta would spell leneyz; reorganized becomes "eyez l n", a melding of stylistic english and Hebrew, where the letter "l" as in "long" is the Hebrew character lamed (ﬥ), meaning "to", usually in the context of a salutary, e.g. "to your health". However, that combined with the letter n, which, given the context may convert to a Hebrew chet (ח), the letter "c", altogether becomes both balance and a vernacular form of "eyes to see". It's very sibylline. And while sibyl-hood was limited to women as oracles of ancient times, developments in intuition and empathy have made it possible for this gift to manifest in men as well.

The proper nurture of the soul, though natural, means vigilance and fellowship. These are essential to the leavening. And that's essential to our carrying through our future missions once a Vesch has bonded with the soul and body. It's like a two-part encryption key, or a key fitting into a lock. The mature Vesch holds the matching pieces to the soul that exists in the human entity. Thus, man becomes triune: body, soul and spirit.

༄ to be continued.....

[blue-eyed-bloodstains]

Red When was the last time you were angry, and why?

I really haven’t been lately, just my usual deeply depressed, anxious, mentally and physically exhausted and lonely as hell bored out of my mind self

When was the last time you ate strawberries?

months ago in a mixed fruit bowl from the grocery store

Did you have a valentine last Valentine’s Day?

my fiance but unfortunately he was in New Zealand on a job...the 13th/14th of Feb is also our anniversary so it was a double hit.

Have you ever ran a stop sign?

no

Are you bold?

no

Orange Do you burn with passion? What’s your passion?

I wouldn’t say burn but I’m very passionate about certain things and people

When was the last time you ate carrots?

in my salad this morning from Wawa

Do you own a shirt that’s orange?

it’s my fiance’s that I wear sometimes lol

Do you celebrate Halloween?

hell yeah!! my fave!

Do you like candy corn?

I mean I’ll eat it on rare occasions but not one of my faves 

Yellow Are you a generally happy person?

I wish...

Do you like to lay in the sun?

I can’t unless I wanna have several surgeries afterward

When was the last time you ate a banana?

it’s been a minute but I definitely need to way more often due to my CVS which depletes the fuck out of my potassium levels dangerously on top of dehydration

Do you like to drink lemonade in the summer?

I try to avoid lemonade due to my GERD, major heartburn 

Would you ever plant sunflowers?

if I ever develop a green thumb, definitely! those were my grandmother’s favorite

Green Is there someone you envy right now?

no

Do you have good luck?

ha I wish

Have you ever found a four-leaf clover?

yeah a few times in my life

What was the last green thing you ate?

salad

Are you part Irish?

I’m mostly Italian and Irish so yeah, the damn near translucent pale skin definitely gives it away XD

Blue Are you a romantic?

hopeless one 

Do you like to swim?

yeah, not real skilled at it and I can’t float for my life for some reason but still 

Are you an easygoing person?

I’m a neurotic, depressed mess

Do you own a blue shirt?

yeah

Do you like to stare at the sky?

not stare but look up at the moon and stars especially during the thinnest crescent moon, it reminds me of Mimi

Indigo Do you what color indigo really is?

I’m assuming you mean do I *know? yeah it’s a bluish purple color

Do you like blue jeans?

I live in them! always been a tomboy and jeans girl

Would people describe you as warm or cold?

warm

When was the last time you ate grapes?

two weeks ago from a box with a spout in liquid form XD shhh don’t tell!

Are you an oddball?

definitely

Violet Do you see yourself as royalty?

even in the most realistic fairy tale ever, I’d never come close

Do you own a purple shirt?

I don’t think so, never been a big fan of the color

When was the last time you ate blueberries?

same as the strawberries

Are you an intuitive person?

yeah

Are you a peaceful person?

I try to be...

And some bonus categories….Pink Are you girly?

I was born a tomboy, always will be but I have loosened up over the years and gotten a bit of a girly side to some extent :P

Would you ever own a poodle?

nah not a big fan, I love dogs just not my type as a pet

Do you like the color pink?

yeah

Have you ever dyed your hair pink?

no

Is there anything pink in your room?

no

And some more questions… What’s your favorite color?

black and blue

What’s your favorite color combination?

black/blue, black/pink, dark forest green/beige/tan, black/tan...

What’s your least favorite color?

yellow, always has been

What are your favorite colors to wear?

Black, beige/tan, blue (mostly jeans)

What colors are your bedroom?

off white walls, white day bed, beige carpet

What color are your nails right now?

natural, haven’t painted em in years but seriously been tempted to for some reason lately I gotta buy some when I pick up my meds!

What color is your car?

....don’t have a car, working on getting one considering my fuck up last year

What color are your eyes?

blue

What color is your hair?

brown

What color is your phone?

black, gray glittery case, pale lavender Pop It thing (that circle sticky thing everyone has on the back that you pop out to hold the phone better)

What color is your laptop?

silver and black

Rainbow Do you support gay pride?

absolutely, everyone should honestly.

Do you feel free?

bird in a cage, trapped in my body and mind...always.

Are you free?

look above

When was the last time you saw a rainbow?

last year at some point

Have you ever seen a double rainbow?

yeah many times

Have you ever seen a full rainbow?

yeah

And lastly… What’s your best friend’s favorite color?

blue if I remember correctly

What colors do you like?

look at the faves

What colors do you dislike?

yellow, purple, anything neon

What color is the shirt you are wearing?

black with shiny gold print...it’s a Kingdom Hearts shirt lol

What colors look good on you?

black, beige/tan, any earth tones which is ironic given I’m an Earth sign (Taurus)

What colors don’t you look good in?

hmm not sure really, I guess the colors I hate and whatever isn’t flattering to my body

What color was your senior prom dress?

pale/slate light purpleish lavender that kinda had a bluish tint to it, looked amazing

[kodzukyan]

better with you (until it kills me)

notes: it's always missing baji hours here </3 fluff, angst; alternative ending: always, always you

summary: four times you think you are in love with baji keisuke, and the one time you tell him.

wc: 3.7k

You're reasonably sure the only reason he chooses you to pair up with for the Japanese literature project is that you sit next to him, but it surprises you all the same. You don't think you have much of a presence in class, but you don't think you can say the same about your new partner, Baji Keisuke.

His slicked-back ponytail and thick frames make his presence seem like a poindexter, but there's something about his bruised knuckles and his fierce aura that makes him feel ferocious. You've noticed him hang out with the school delinquent on multiple occasions. You also think you've seen him laugh wildly as he beats up some of the local thugs who crowded around the said delinquent he's friends with.

He isn't who you expect him to be at first glance, and that intrigues you more than you like to admit. You're too nervous to openly ask, so you settle for stealing glances at him from the corner of your eyes.

So, when he really decides on you and submits the partner form, you don't know what to think.

In the time that you two are partners, you've discovered a couple of things about him. First, his handwriting and kanji absolutely suck. Despite that, he writes a letter addressed to someone named Kazutora every week without fail. As if that isn't endearing enough, it gets even more so when he pouts at the complex characters that he often gets wrong and the inevitable smile that breaks out whenever you show him how to write them correctly.

("Oh, thanks! I would probably fail my kanji tests without you and Chifuyu. Kazutora probably can't even understand what I'm saying," he laughs rambunctiously.)

Second, he's genuinely an unexpectedly good partner in terms of being punctual about meeting up. However, despite being on time, there is little progress on the project. Your work times often end up in discussions about random life topics rather than the project itself.

(“Do you like cats?” he asks out of the blue one day, head on the table and books already forgotten.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” you humor him because you’re also tired of researching Japanese literature.

“Wanna see my cats? They’re all strays,” he sits up suddenly, eyes lit and smile bright.

You nod, and he proceeds to take out his phone to show you pictures of his cats. You note his lock-screen is a picture of all his cats, and his camera roll is just full of his friends and mom, motorcycles, and the said cats. With shining eyes full of excitement, he tells you their names and their personalities in detail.

"Do you think cats recognize their names but choose to ignore us whenever we call them?" he resumes the conversation after he finishes showing you his gallery. He leans back as he balances his pencil on top of his pursed lips.

"Maybe. Depends on the cat? Maybe they just hate you?" you mimic his pose. You suppose thirty minutes of work is enough progress for the day.

"Ouch," he grimaces as if it shatters him directly in the heart.)

Third, sometimes he comes with his hair down and without his glances, with stains on his clothes that he claims are ketchup, despite it not smelling like that at all.

("Uh, hey, sorry I'm late today," he offers sheepishly as he runs a hand through his unbound hair.

"Oh, it's okay," you finally say after you take in his shaggy appearance. You try not to think about how handsome he is despite the bruises forming on his face. "Are you… okay?"

"All good! The ketchup bottle just randomly exploded," he laughs nervously and awkwardly. "Anyways!! The project!!"

You stare at him dubiously but nod anyway. "Okay, if you say so…")

Fourth, he has an extremely charming smile, especially when his fangs are in full display. To some, it may look fierce and menacing; to you, it looks cute, especially when his eyes are always brimming with life and his laugh is full of vitality.

More often than not you catch yourself staring at him because he's just so intriguing.

You try to ignore your racing heart when your stolen glances become shared ones, and he flashes you a grin softer than the smiles you've seen.

-----

“Uh, hi.” You say shyly as you enter through Baji’s window. It’s not frequently you seek out Baji at his own home, especially through the window he keeps open almost exclusively for stray cats to seek shelter.

“What the fuck?” Baji drops the stray cat he's cuddling as you give a slight wave, causing the cat to meow loudly at the sudden change in demeanor.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced. I, uh, just wanted some company.”

You feel vanishingly small as you awkwardly laugh and piece together some words that make sense. Home is supposed to be full of warmth, but your home is more of a house with people than a home with love. It’s a truth you’ve long accepted, but some days, it feels a little extra cold.

Therefore, you run, and somehow you end up here, in the comforts of Baji’s room.

Maybe you are currently a stray cat, feeling a little more lost than found. Maybe you find that he’s the sort of comfort that warms you a little when your heart feels heavy. Maybe you are just a little bit in like with him, and he is the first person you want to see whenever you’re feeling down.

The room is silent aside from the soft paps of cats moving around and the periodic meow. Then, he pats the spot next to him, and you make your way there. As soon as you sit down, he hands you a cat.

“Here, hold her. She’s nice,” he comments as he places the calico cat he dropped earlier in your lap, petting her as she adjusts to her new position on you.

She narrows her eyes and softly purrs in your lap as Baji pets her, and this makes you feel more in the moment than in your head like you’ve been. Your initial baffle turns into a smile as she purrs louder when you pet her, and just like that, you feel a little more found than lost.

You lean on his shoulder as you continue petting the calico cat in your lap. You keep your eyes on her as she climbs onto his lap and nuzzles him in an attempt to hide your burning cheeks and your drumming heart from your proximity.

“Thanks for giving me a home when I don’t want to be in my own,” you tell him softly, airly, almost as if you’re letting him in on a secret.

He stops playing with the cats for a moment and pauses. Feeling his intense stare, you peek through your lashes up at him. His broad grin and sharp canines are in full display, and his smile looks a little more boyish than wild. He tousles your hair as he laughs aloud boisterously before he props his head on top of yours.

“You’ll always have a home here.”

-----

It all started when a group of thugs looked at you inappropriately and made some comments that made you uncomfortable. You grip the ends of his sleeve just a little harder and press yourself behind him, trying to make yourself impossibly small. Baji, seeing your small form and downcast eyes, removes your hand from his sleeve and places it in his hand. Knowing Baji and him knowing you and your every mood, he does not stand for it. He simply flashes you a reassuring grin before he squeezes your hand and runs straight at them.

He throws the first punch, and you could just stand there in shock as he pummels through them and beats them up. He has cuts and bruises everywhere, and you’re certain he’s taken on a few nasty hits on his ribs. Though you’re equally confident that these thugs are absolutely 100% in worse shape than he is.

“Oh my god,” you sob frantically as Baji wobbles back to you, ferocious smile on his face softens as he sees you. He pats your head when he notes your teary eyes. You’re not even sure when you start crying, but the tears just don’t seem to stop. “Are you okay? Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you -”

He clutches your tear-stained face in his hands, “Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his, but you can barely see him over your tears as you continue your incoherent rambling.

“Hey,” he tries once more, voice more frantic as he struggles to find words. He finally just squishes your cheeks and yells, “Do you think I care about anything else but you right now?”

Your eyes widen, and the tears forming fall freely onto his hands. Oh, oh, oh, you think to yourself as your beating heart rapidly thumps at an exponential speed, maybe he’s also falling. When you meet his steady gray eyes, the shocking realization that maybe you’re not the only one dumb and possibly in love stops your tears.

He sighs in relief when your tears gradually stop, and as if all the tiredness accumulated in his body hit him all at once, he falls down onto the ground.

You try to catch him as best as you can, and with the combined effort of mostly himself and partially you, he breaks his fall. He lays sprawled out on the ground. After you check for wounds and find none too serious, you sit with your knees tucked under you by where he lays and moves his head onto your lap.

All around you are the battered bodies of the thugs you’ve encountered, but all you can see at the moment is him and his gray eyes that disappear into crescent moons as he flashes you a grin. He’s too tired to move, but he raises a fist up into the air in victory anyway.

“I got you.”

-----

"Wanna go on a ride?" he texts you.

It’s almost midnight when he texts you, and it’s probably way past when you should stay up. But your heart flutters at the thought of adventure, at the thought of him, so you quickly respond, “Okay, but be quiet! Don't wake my parents up again, stinky!!!”

You can already imagine his sheepish smile when he sends you a "that was once!!! my bad" back.

After sending him a quick ":p", you silently put on some clothes more fitting to go out than your pajamas. The sound of his motorcycle announces his greater-than-life presence long before his text does. Grabbing two scrunchies, you sneak out your window.

He only greets you with a goofy smile and a wave, hair free-flowing in the wind. Under the moonlight, his gray eyes twinkle with vigor and youth. It knocks the air out of your lungs as you glance at him because he's beautiful, ethereal, and alive. He smiles smugly when he catches your stare, but he holds his hand out for you to take.

"Hi," you whisper under the twinkling stars as you put your hand in his.

"Hey," he whispers back as he curls his fingers around your hand before adjusting to interlace your fingers together.

The quietness and intimacy of this moment drown out the world - the sound of cars driving by, of cicadas flying, of the world standing still. The only thing keeping you from floating is his hand and the sound of your heartbeat.

"I got you a hair tie." You offer softly with an equally soft smile, eyes pointing to the scrunchies on your wrist.

"I got you a hoodie," he responds as he nods to his motorcycle. "Because I knew your dumb ass would, once again, forget to dress for the winds."

"I'm dressed decently enough. You, though… please tie your hair… It hurts like hell when it whips in my face," you laugh lightly.

He rolls his eyes. "That's also what you said last time before you ended up stealing my hoodie, and I ended up being cold!" he complains, but there's a certain fondness in his voice.

You only stick your tongue out childishly at him. You would rather bite your tongue than admit that you are always slightly underdressed for the occasion so he would keep giving you his hoodies.

He tugs your interlaced hand and pulls you closer, and as you stand so close to him, you think close isn't quite close enough. The two of you linger in that position for longer than what should be appropriate for friends, but you think you have been tiptoeing around that line for a while now. Your heart races, and you're sure your erratic heart is beating fast enough to generate heat to keep you warm against the cold winds.

He pulls away first, moving to grab his hoodie before he roughly puts it on you. He laughs when you complain about your ruffled hair, but as his hoodie and scent engulf you, you could only shyly smile. He takes a scrunchie despite complaining about how poofy it is. As he settles in his bike and you settle in behind him, arms tight around his waist, you think this is probably what holding the universe in your arms feels like.

He rives his bike loudly despite your warning, but you find that you could care less right now as he takes off. You are young and dumb, but the wind is running through your hair as the two of you are chasing the moon, and it makes you feel so alive. Neon lights and starlit skies blur together as he speeds through familiar roads, and the brisk winds drown out your loud laughter. It feels like you're feeling everything at once, but your head is so clear.

You think you can understand why he loves riding so much because the only thing that you can hear is your loud heartbeat, and the only thing that matters is you're living.

He finally stops at a local 24-hour diner. The moonlight shines through the window by your table. You are still feeling the wild wind in your hair, cold air on your face, and the warmth of Baji’s back on your arms. It's way past midnight now, and the yellow lights of the diner feel a little more homey than dingy. He’s munching on some fries, occasionally waving one in your face whenever he’s trying to make a point about something. As you watch the various expressions on his face, a smile makes its way to your face.

“Hey Keisuke,” you grab a fry and jab it at him in the middle of his sentence. He stops his mid-word as he stares at you, head tilting slightly and mouth still gaping. There is a particular word that you keep thinking of whenever you think of Baji, a feeling that lingers and fills your heart up. You know what it is. You think you know at least, and in moments like these when you’re just watching his goofy self munching on fries while boisterously laughing at something dumb, all you can think of is those four letters.

“You’re my best friend,” you whisper before you eat your fry. Best friend, you think, encompasses a lot of things and feelings as you stare at his childlike grin, heart fluttering and mind blanking because all you see is him. You hope he knows, hope he gets that best friend is a loose term because he is so much more.

When he meets your eyes and his gray eyes crinkle in mirth and laughter rolls off his lips, you think he does.

“I know,” he smugly nods before he drops another fry into his mouth. “I guess you’re pretty cool too.”

You stick your tongue out at him and feel a warmth in your heart that matches the pinks of his cheeks. Maybe it’s adrenaline still in your blood, maybe it’s the moment, but it makes you devious, brave even, as you lean over and chomp down on the fry he's holding.

He stares at you with his mouth wide open, looking absolutely flabbergasted and offended. “Hello? That was my last fry!”

“Sorry,” you giggle, not feeling all that sorry at all. You know he’s not truly that offended because he has that stupid grin on his face, because he’s always soft with you. A part of you does feel a little sorry when you see the small pout that arises on his face. “I’ll treat you to yakisoba later?”

He turns away from you, face still slightly sulky as he huffs silently.

“No? You don’t want yakisoba?” you ask. You still find it amusing that Baji Keisuke, the first division captain of the Toman Gang who would punch someone on the streets for no reason other than just because he feels like it, is pouting because you stole his last fry. If anyone from any rival gangs sees Baji Keisuke now, they probably wouldn’t believe this is the same person.

“Fine,” he huffs softly, “But don’t think one yakisoba is enough.”

“Then,” you begin, your heart pounding loudly in your chest as you work up the courage, “What about this?”

He turns to you in confusion, and before your courage runs out on you, you crash your lips onto his before you pull away.

“Repayment,” you mutter meekly, eyes avoiding his because you’re sure he can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks from where he’s sitting.

“Hey,” he tugs on your hand under the table. When you finally look at him, he continues, “Just one isn’t enough.”

He kisses you again.

-----

Home is supposed to be the place you come from, but you think it's more like a place you find, pieced together from scattered bits of feelings, emotions, people along the way. Somewhere along the lines, home becomes less of a place and more of a person. Your home becomes the boy with the sharp canines and long hair that gets tangled by the stray cats he keeps, the "I love you" declared loudly with kisses and the longing looks in between, the comfortable warmth of his body next to yours as you chase sunsets and live in your own infinity. Your home is Baji Keisuke and the constant image of him in your mind and the infinite pieces of him in your heart.

Infinity, though, is awfully short, you think, as you see him lay surrounded by bouquets, eyes closed in eternal slumber. He's always looked good in white, but when his tan complexion is nearly as pale as the white roses surrounding him, you think white is an awful color on him. His eyes always shine with possibilities and promises, and while you've always joked that his sleeping face is cute because he always looks so innocent, adorable even, all you want now is to see him awake.

His heroism and love for his friends are always something that you love about him, but in turn, it feels so incredibly cruel to you now. For as short as he has been in your life, he becomes pieces embedded so deeply in it that it makes you whole. You cannot imagine a world where there is no Baij, where he isn’t there to punch a hooligan on the streets or feed stray cats at night or hold you when your world is crashing. You cannot imagine a life where he isn’t here to shine a bright light in your life without his laughter and goofy personality. Suddenly the world blurs around you, and you can't breathe as droplets of water hit your clenched hands on your lap.

You hold his hands. Cold, cold, cold, when they used to be warm enough to light a fire in you. There are so many things you want to tell him, say to him, but the speech you prepare in your head drowns in silence as your voice gives out on you. All the words in your head just come out as broken sobs. You feel the sympathetic and equally broken glance of his mom as she embraces you, but all you can think about is that he won’t open his eyes.

Baji Keisuke has always been bigger than life, you think, because he becomes a part of everything in your life. There are traces of him everywhere - him with his cats on your lock-screen, the random memes he sends you at night, the little notes he leaves you written in his ugly penmanship with love. When you think of these things, you feel like your heart is breaking all over again.

People tell you to be strong, and while you want to retort because how can you when he’s gone?, you find that you cannot say a word without crying. You’re tired of crying too because your eyes are already so, so raw, but it seems like all you can do is cry. When you think you've finally run out of tears and your tears finally stop, a new batch takes over even at the slightest things that remind you of him. You feel so pathetic because you can't do anything without water leaking from your eyes, and you hate yourself for being so weak.

You tune out the somber tone of his friends and the broken tone of his mom because you don't want to accept a reality where he isn't here. But luck is never on your side because he never opens his eyes again, and you never get to tell him how much you love him. All you get are flashbacks and memories of him and emptiness in your heart and soul. You tell yourself you have to be strong and smile and live for the both of you, but you can't. Not when he isn't here, not when he isn't with you anymore. Every time you think about that fact, your heart breaks again.

"Hey, stupid," your broken sobs ring loudly in the deafening silence, "I love you."

The words you’ve wanted to tell him for so long are finally in the open, but there is no answer.

[children-of-subcon]

SOMEONE in this AU had to semi-consistently have a braincell.

Sorry about how inconsistently he’s drawn here :”) Out of all the characters so far, he’s the one I’ve drawn the least. Hopefully as I draw him more it’ll get more consistent!

I’m admittedly not super happy with his colors, but I’ve spent way too long trying to adjust them. Can’t win ‘em all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If you’re confused what Prince means by “apocalypse”, he’s talking about Time’s End. The transmission’s happening like right before he goes down to face Princess :)

(His pockets are crescent moons :O)

As always, more info under the cut!

Meet Duke, the co-op partner/alternate protagonist! He’s also sometimes called Mon or Moon, mostly by Prince. In the main timeline, he arrives on Earth sometime around USAU’s version of Seal the Deal.

As the most promising student of Time Keeper’s Academy, Prince was subjected to several experiments, many of them painful, in an effort to study and replicate such qualities. One of these experiments used him to test newly developed cloning technology-- after all, creating a clone would be the easiest way to achieve their goal, right?

As it turned out, they were able to create a clone, but not quite as intended. The experiment sort of “split” Prince. His health and strength were halved, becoming just above that of the average child of their species. The experiments were shut down indefinitely.

Despite everything, Prince and Duke became great friends, and consider themselves brothers. They usually speak to each other in their native language, even on Earth.

While Prince has already graduated, Duke is still in school since he’s technically younger. He wasn’t allowed to study law, so he went into the next best thing-- star mapping! It was a combination of two of his favorite things, space and painting. Since it’s actually part of his job, Duke is a much better pilot than Prince, and can travel to Earth under the guise of “studying”.

Although he loves his brother, he really dislikes when people treat him like he IS Prince, as most of his peers and superiors do, although it’s at least better than the ones who don’t even consider him “human”. So, he does his best to make himself look as different as possible, going as far as dying his hair and changing his eye color. It helps... a little bit.

He’s not super confident, nor very good at socializing, but he’s usually very focused and the only one here with a healthy amount of self esteem. He’s not afraid to ask for help if he needs it, and often helps others realize when they need it too. With the exception of his brother, who is equally as stubborn as him and may need a little extra help with asking for... help. Oh no.

All of his crowns are the same as Prince’s, excluding his default monocle. The glasses are a flair for the monocle :)

Thanks for reading! I might make Duke a small comic at some point, but I’m still working on Bow’s so. We’ll see!

[samwisethewitch]

Pagan Paths: Wicca

Wicca is the big granddaddy of neopagan religions. Most people who are familiar with modern paganism are specifically familiar with Wicca, and will probably assume that you are Wiccan if you tell them you identify as pagan. Thanks to pop culture and a handful of influential authors, Wicca has become the public face of modern paganism, for better or for worse.

Wicca is also one of the most accessible pagan religions, which is why I chose to begin our exploration of individual paths here. Known for its flexibility and openness, Wicca is about as beginner-friendly as it gets. While it definitely isn’t for everyone, it can be an excellent place to begin your pagan journey if you resonate with core Wiccan beliefs.

This post is not meant to be a complete introduction to Wicca. Instead, my goal here is to give you a taste of what Wiccans believe and do, so you can decide for yourself if further research would be worth your time. In that spirit, I provide book recommendations at the end of this post.

History and Background

Wicca was founded by Gerald Gardner, a British civil servant who developed an interest in the esoteric while living and working in Asia. Gardner claimed that, after returning to England, he was initiated into a coven of witches who taught him their craft. Eventually, he would leave this coven and start his own, at which point he began the work of bringing Wicca to the general public. In 1954, Garner published his book Witchcraft Today, which would have a great impact on the formation of Wicca, as would his 1959 book The Meaning of Witchcraft.

Gardner claimed that the rituals and teachings he received from his coven were incomplete — he attempted to fill in the gaps, which resulted in the creation of Wicca. Author Thea Sabin calls Wicca “a New Old Religion,” which is a good way to think about it. When Gardner wrote the first Wiccan Book of Shadows, he combined ancient and medieval folk practices from the British Isles with ceremonial magic dating back to the Renaissance and with Victorian occultism. These influences combined to create a thoroughly modern religion.

Wicca spread to the United States in the 1960s, at which time several new and completely American traditions were born. Some of these traditions are simply variations on Wicca, while others (like Feri and Reclaiming, which we’ll discuss in future posts) became unique, full-fledged spiritual systems in their own right. In America, Wicca collided with the counter-culture movement, and several activist groups began to combine the two. Wicca has continued to evolve through the decades, and is still changing and growing today.

There are two main “types” of Wicca which take very different approaches to the same deities and core concepts.

Traditional Wicca is Wicca that looks more or less like the practices of Gerald Gardner, Doreen Valiente, Alex Sanders, and other early Wiccan pioneers. Traditional Wiccans practice in ritual groups called covens. Rituals are typically highly formal and borrow heavily from ceremonial magic. Traditional Wicca is an initiatory tradition, which means that new members must be trained and formally inducted into the coven by existing members. This means that if you are interested in Traditional Wicca, you must find a coven or a mentor to train and initiate you. However, most covens do not place any limitations on who can join and be initiated, aside from being willing to learn.

Most Traditional Wiccan covens require initiates to swear an oath of secrecy, which keeps the coven’s central practices from being revealed to outsiders. However, there are traditional Wiccans who have gone public with their practice, such as the authors Janet and Stewart Farrar.

Eclectic Wicca is a solitary, non-initiatory form of Wicca, as made popular by author Scott Cunningham in his book Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner. Eclectic Wiccans are self-initiated and may practice alone or with a coven, though coven work will likely be less central in their practice. There are very few rules in Eclectic Wicca, and Wiccans who follow this path often incorporate elements from other spiritual traditions, such as historical pagan religions or modern energy healing. Because of this, there are a wide range of practices that fall under the “Eclectic Wicca” umbrella. Really, this label refers to anyone who considers themselves Wiccan, follows the Wiccan Rede (see below), and does not belong to a Traditional Wiccan coven. The majority of people who self-identify as Wiccan fall into this group.

Core Beliefs and Values

Thea Sabin says in her book Wicca For Beginners that Wicca is a religion with a lot of theology (study and discussion of the nature of the divine) and no dogma (rules imposed by religious structures). As a religion, it offers a lot of room for independence and exploration. This can be incredibly empowering to Wiccans, but it does mean that it’s kind of hard to make a list of things all Wiccans believe or do. However, we can look at some basic concepts that show up in some form in most Wiccan practices.

Virtually all Wiccans live by the Wiccan Rede. This moral statement, originally coined by Doreen Valiente, is often summarized with the phrase, “An’ it harm none, do what ye will.”

Different Wiccans interpret the Rede in slightly different ways. Most can agree on the “harm none” part. Wiccans strive not to cause unnecessary harm or discomfort to any living thing, including themselves. Some Wiccans also interpet the word “will” to be connected to our spiritual drive, the part of us that is constantly reaching for our higher purpose. When interpreted this way, the Rede not only encourages us not to cause harm, but also to live in alignment with our own divine Will.

Wiccans experience the divine as polarity. Wiccans believe that the all-encompassing divinity splits itself (or humans split it into) smaller aspects that we can relate to. The first division of deity is into complimentary opposites: positive and negative, light and dark, life and death, etc. These forces are not antagonistic, but are two halves of a harmonious whole. In Wicca, this polarity is usually embodied by the pairing of the God and Goddess (see below).

Wiccans experience the divine as immanent in daily life. In the words of author Deborah Lipp, “the sacredness of the human being is essential to Wicca.” Wiccans see the divine present in all people and all things. The idea that sacred energy infuses everything in existence is a fundamental part of the Wiccan worldview.

Wiccans believe nature is sacred. In the Wiccan worldview, the earth is a physical manifestation of the divine, particularly the Goddess. By attuning with nature and living in harmony with its cycles, Wiccans attune themselves with the divine. This means that taking care of nature is an important spiritual task for many Wiccans.

Wiccans accept that magic is real and can be used as a ritual tool. Not all Wiccans do magic, but all Wiccans accept that magic exists. For many covens and solitary practitioners, magic is an essential part of religious ritual. For others, magic is a practice that can be used not only to connect with the gods, but also to improve our lives and achieve our goals.

Many Wiccans believe in reincarnation, and some may incorporate past life recall into their spiritual practice. Some Wiccans believe that our souls are made of cosmic energy, which is recycled into a new soul after our deaths. Others believe that our soul survives intact from one lifetime to the next. Many famous Wiccan authors have written about their past lives and how reconnecting with those lives informed their practice.

Important Deities and Spirits

The central deities of Wicca are the Goddess and the God. They are two halves of a greater whole, and are only two of countless possible manifestations of the all-encompassing divine. The God and Goddess are lovers, and all things are born from their union.

Though some Wiccan traditions place a greater emphasis on the Goddess than on the God, the balance between these two expressions of the divine plays an important role in all Wiccan practices (remember, polarity is one of the core values of this religion).

The Goddess is the Divine Mother. She is the source of all life and fertility. She gives birth to all things, yet she is also the one who receives us when we die. Although she forms a duality in her relationship with the God, she also contains the duality of life and death within herself. While the God’s nature is ever-changing, the Goddess is constant and eternal.

The Goddess is strongly associated with both the moon and the earth. As the Earth Mother, she is especially associated with fertility, abundance, and nurturing. As the Moon Goddess, she is associated with wisdom, secret knowledge, and the cycle of life and death.

Some Wiccans see the goddess as having three main aspects: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. The Maiden is associated with youth, innocence, and new beginnings; she is the embodiment of both the springtime and the waxing moon. The Mother is associated with parenthood and birth (duh), abundance, and fertility; she is the embodiment of the summer (and sometimes fall) and of the full moon. The Crone is associated with death, endings, and wisdom; she is the embodiment of winter and of the waning moon. Some Wiccans believe this Triple Goddess model is an oversimplification, or complain that it is based on outdated views on womanhood, but for others it is the backbone of their practice.

Symbols that are traditionally used to represent the Goddess include a crescent moon or an image of the triple moon (a full moon situated between a waxing and a waning crescent), a cup or chalice, a cauldron, the color silver, and fresh flowers.

The God is the Goddess’s son, lover, and consort. He is equal parts wise and feral, gentle and fierce. He is associated with sex and by extension with potential (it could be said that while the Goddess rules birth, the God rules conception), as well as with the abundance of the harvest. He is the spark of life, which is shaped by the Goddess into all that is.

The God is strongly associated with animals, and he is often depicted with horns to show his association with all things wild. As the Horned God he is especially wild and fierce.

The God is also strongly associated with the sun. As a solar god he is associated with the agricultural year, from the planting and germination to the harvest. While the Goddess is constant, the God’s nature changes with the seasons.

In some Wiccan traditions, the God is associated with plant growth. He may be honored as the Green Man, a being which represents the growth of spring and summer. This vegetation deity walks the forests and fields, with vines and leaves sprouting from his body.

Symbols that are traditionally used to represent the God include phalluses and phallic objects, knives and swords, the color gold, horns and antlers, and ripened grain.

Many covens, both Traditional and Eclectic, have their own unique lore around the God and the Goddess. Usually, this lore is oathbound, meaning it cannot be shared with those outside the group.

Many Wiccans worship other deities besides the God and Goddess. These deities may come from historical pantheons, such as the Greek or Irish pantheon. A Wiccan may work with the God and Goddess with their coven or on special holy days (see below), but work with other deities that are more closely connected to their life and experiences on a daily basis. Wiccans view all deities from all religions and cultures as extensions of the same all-encompassing divine force.

Wiccan Practice

Most Wiccans use the circle as the basis for their rituals. This ritual structure forms a liminal space between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the Wiccan who created the circle can choose what beings or energies are allowed to enter it. The circle also serves the purpose of keeping the energy raised in ritual contained until the Wiccan is ready to release it. Casting a circle is fairly easy and can be done by anyone — simply walk in a clockwise circle around your ritual space, laying down an energetic barrier. Some Wiccans use the circle in every magical or spiritual working, while others only use it when honoring the gods or performing sacred rites.

While it is on one level a practical ritual tool, the circle is also a representation of the Wiccan worldview. Circles are typically cast by calling the four quarters (the four compass points of the cardinal directions), which are associated with the four classical elements: water, earth, fire, and air. Some (but not all) Wiccans also work with a fifth element, called spirit or aether. The combined presence of the elements makes the circle a microcosm of the universe.

Casting a circle requires the Wiccan to attune themselves to these elements and to honor them in a ritual setting. This is referred to as calling the quarters. When a Wiccan calls the quarters, they will move from one cardinal point to the next (usually starting with east or north), greet the spirits associated with that direction/element, and invite them to participate in the ritual. (If spirit/aether is being called, the direction it is associated with is directly up, towards the heavens.) This is done after casting the circle, but before beginning the ritual.

What happens within a Wiccan ritual varies a lot — it depends on the Wiccan, their preferences, and their goals for that ritual. However, nearly all Wiccan religious rites begin with the casting of the circle and calling of the quarters. (Some would argue that a ritual that doesn’t include these elements cannot be called Wiccan.)

When the ritual is completed, the quarters must be dismissed and the circle taken down. Wiccans typically dismiss the quarters by moving from one cardinal point to the next (often in the reverse of the order used to call the quarters), thanking the spirits of that quarter, and politely letting them know that the ritual is over. The circle is taken down (or “taken up,” as it is called in some traditions) in a similar way, with the person who cast the circle moving around it counterclockwise and removing the energetic barrier they created. This effectively ends the ritual.

There are eight main holy days in Wicca, called the sabbats. These celebrations, based on Germanic and Celtic pagan festivals, mark the turning points on the Wheel of the Year, i.e., the cycle of the seasons. By honoring the sabbats, Wiccans attune themselves with the natural rhythms of the earth and actively participate in the turning of the wheel.

The sabbats include:

Samhain (October 31): Considered by many to be the “witch’s new year,” this Celtic fire festival has historic ties to Halloween. Samhain is primarily dedicated to the dead. During this time of year, the otherworld is close at hand, and Wiccans can easily connect with their loved ones who have passed on. Wiccans might celebrate Samhain by building an ancestor altar or holding a feast with an extra plate for the dead. Samhain is the third of the three Wiccan harvest festivals, and it is a joyous occasion despite its association with death. (By the way, this sabbat’s name is pronounced “SOW-en,” not “Sam-HANE” as it appears in many movies and TV shows.)

Yule/Winter Solstice (December 21): Yule is a celebration of the return of light and life on the longest night of the year. Many Wiccans recognize Yule as the symbolic rebirth of the God, heralding the new plant and animal life soon to follow. Yule celebrations are based on Germanic traditions and have a lot in common with modern Christmas celebrations. Wiccans might celebrate Yule by decorating a Yule tree, lighting lots of candles or a Yule log, or exchanging gifts.

Imbolc (February 1): This sabbat, based on an Irish festival, is a celebration of the first stirrings of life beneath the blanket of winter. The spark of light that returned to the world at Yule is beginning to grow. Imcolc is a fire festival, and is often celebrated with the lighting of candles and lanterns. Wiccans may also perform ritual cleansings at this time of year, as purification is another theme of this festival.

Ostara/Spring Equinox (March 21): Ostara is a joyful celebration of the new life of spring, with ties to the Christian celebration of Easter. Plants are beginning to bloom, baby animals are being born, and the God is growing in power. Wiccans might celebrate Ostara by dying eggs or decorating their homes and altars with fresh flowers. In some covens, Ostara celebrations have a special focus on children, and so may be less solemn than other sabbats.

Beltane (May 1): Beltane is a fertility festival, pure and simple. Many Wiccans celebrate the sexual union of the God and Goddess, and the resulting abundance, at this sabbat. This is also one of the Celtic fire festivals, and is often celebrated with bonfires if the weather permits. The fae are said to be especially active at Beltane. Wiccans might celebrate Beltane by making and dancing around a Maypole, honoring the fae, or celebrating a night of R-rated fun with friends and lovers.

Litha/Midsummer/Summer Solstice (June 21): At the Summer Solstice, the God is at the height of his power and the Goddess is said to be pregnant with the harvest. Like Beltane, Midsummer is sometimes celebrated with bonfires and is said to be a time when the fae are especially active. Many Wiccans celebrate Litha as a solar festival, with a special focus on the God as the Sun.

Lughnasadh/Lammas (August 1): Lughnasadh (pronounced “loo-NAW-suh”) is an Irish harvest festival, named after the god Lugh. In Wicca, Lughnasadh/Lammas is a time to give thanks for the bounty of the earth. Lammas comes from “loaf mass,” and hints at this festival’s association with grain and bread. Wiccans might celebrate Lughnasadh by baking bread or by playing games or competitive sports (activities associated with Lugh).

Mabon/Fall Equinox (September 21): Mabon is the second Wiccan harvest festival, sometimes called “Wiccan Thanksgiving,” which should give you a good idea of what Mabon celebrations look like. This is a celebration of the abundance of the harvest, but tinged with the knowledge that winter is coming. Some Wiccans honor the symbolic death of the God at Mabon (others believe this takes place at Samhain or Lughnasadh). Wiccan Mabon celebrations often include a lot of food, and have a focus on giving thanks for the previous year.

Aside from the sabbats, some Wiccans also celebrate esbats, rituals honoring the full moons. Wiccan authors Janet and Stewart Farrar wrote that, while sabbats are public festivals to be celebrated with the coven, esbats are more private and personal. Because of this, esbat celebrations are typically solitary and vary a lot from one Wiccan to the next.

Further Reading

If you want to investigate Wicca further, there are a few books I recommend depending on which approach to Wicca you feel most drawn to. No matter which approach you are most attracted to, I recommend starting with Wicca For Beginners by Thea Sabin. This is an excellent introduction to Wiccan theology and practice, whether you want to practice alone or with a coven.

If you are interested in Traditional Wicca, I recommend checking out A Witches’ Bible by Janet and Stewart Farrar after you finish Sabin’s book. Full disclosure: I have a lot of issues with this book. Parts of it were written as far back as the 1970s, and it really hasn’t aged well in terms of politics or social issues. However, it is the most detailed guide to Traditional Wicca I have found, so I recommend it for that reason. Afterwards, I recommend reading Casting a Queer Circle by Thista Minai, which presents a system similar to Traditional Wicca with less emphasis on binary gender. After you learn the basics from the Farrars, Minai’s book can help you figure out how to adjust the Traditional Wiccan system to work for you.

If you are interested in Eclectic Wicca, I recommend Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner and Living Wicca by Scott Cunningham. Cunningham is the author who popularized Eclectic Wicca, and his work remains some of the best on the subject. Wicca is an introduction to solitary Eclectic Wicca, while Living Wicca is a guide for creating your own personalized Wiccan practice.

Resources:

Wicca For Beginners by Thea Sabin

Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner by Scott Cunningham

Living Wicca by Scott Cunningham

A Witches’ Bible by Janet and Stewart Farrar

The Study of Witchcraft by Deborah Lipp

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Hold My Phone

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG-11/T- (v seductive flirting)

Original Idea: Modern!AU (kinda sorta not really)

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) This one is so ridiculous. It’s basically a “Everything is Pretty Much the Same but They Have Phones” AU, not really a modern AU because I figured this would be how Rhys would handle having a phone with the High Lord act, lol

^^^^^

My phone buzzed in my pocket. In a meeting with some Autumn Court emissaries. I’m bored. Entertain me? Rhys’ text said.

Why are you texting me? Just use the mating bond, I texted back.

Yeah but I want these idiots to *know* that I’m bored of them and can’t be bothered to give them my attention.

Playing games with them?

Always.

Exactly how do you propose I entertain you?

It took his answer a few minutes to arrive. I wondered if it was because he was thinking about the wickedest, most flirtatious thing to say or something came up in the meeting that he did actually have to give his attention to.

What are you wearing right now? I shouldn’t have been surprised that was his reply.

My purple outfit. The dark purple one with the stars embroidered into it.

I’m debating asking you to send me a picture of you in it or asking you to take it off and send me a picture of *that*

I am not sending you any pictures while you’re in a meeting. I hadn’t replied to a text that quickly in a while.

His reply came quickly too, Send it down the mating bond then. No records ;)

I rolled my eyes and got to my feet. Up in our room, I stood in front of the full-length mirror, stared at myself while lowering my mental shield, shot the image I was looking at—fully clothed—down the bond, and then slammed my shields back into place.

It took seconds for an answering image of Rhys licking his lips with a feral gleam in his eyes to bump into my shield. I rolled my eyes. My phone buzzed. Delicious. As always, darling.

Happy?

Deliriously.

Go back to your meeting, you flirt. I’ll see you later.

But I’m still bored.

Don’t be a baby. I have a meeting in 30 minutes I have to get ready for with the governor of the Palace of Threads and Jewels.

What are you meeting with the governor for?

I don’t think it’s any big deal. Probably just going over some requests from patrons who have gathered together a bunch of things rather than hauling themselves up 10,000 stairs to the House.

Good luck.

You too. I set my phone down on my vanity. I hated getting rid of the loose pants and sleeves but I knew for a meeting like this that I’d need a gown.

I sent Rhys mental images of every gown I tried on before selecting one, and every hairstyle I thought of doing, asking his opinion and ultimately ignoring it when he seductively told me he liked the most revealing dress with my hair unbound. I definitely called him a name I had no plans on apologizing for before replacing my shields.

I ended up going with a modest midnight blue gown glittering with silver threads that would be appropriately formal, but not so formal it felt like an occasion. Instead of a tiara or crown or diadem I kept my hair out of my face with a comb that was made of black metal and studded with diamond dust to look like the night sky. Crescent moon-shaped sapphire taking up most of the space in the middle.

Nuala and Cerridwen approved of my choices and I shooed myself out to go see the governor.

—

I collapsed on the bed after leaving my dress abandoned on the floor. The meeting was exactly what I thought it would be and after all the requests I was tired. I genuinely cared about my people but putting forth the mental strain of trying to figure out how to fix so many problems at once I started having to pretend to be chipper.

I hadn’t realized I dozed off until a weight falling onto the bed beside me woke me up.

Rhys fell in such a way that he could sprawl his wings above me, taking up a good portion of the bed. He was in casual clothing—silver-buttoned black shirt with the top button undone to let his tattoos peek out, black pants, low black boots—but I knew him better than to think he’d gone to the meeting in them. As he fell, he sighed. “That was tedious,” he remarked, setting a hand on the top of my head and scratching my hair. His fingers brushed my comb and he stopped.

“Tell me about it,” I grumbled.

He sat up to lean over me. He gave me a long, slow kiss as he removed the comb from my hair. “You didn’t wear the dress I chose,” he teased.

“I asked your opinion, not to choose for me,” I countered. “Besides, I doubt you’d even want another male to look at me in a dress like that.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded playfully. He kissed the hollow behind my ear. “You can model it for me later.”

“Flirt,” I accused.

“Spoilsport,” he retorted.

His phone started ringing in his pocket. I recognized the personalized tone. He only personalized a few. Azriel’s, Cassian’s, Mor’s, Amren’s, and mine.

Heaving another sigh, he extracted the phone from his pocket. “What do you want, Cassian?” There was no bite at all to the words, just resigned fatigue. He listened to words I couldn’t quite make out as he fidgeted with my comb in his other hand. He rolled his eyes. “That can wait. I’ll squeeze it in tomorrow, okay?”

More babbling from Cassian’s end of the call. I thought I caught snatches of Azriel’s voice too.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Bye.” He hung up, but I could still hear them talking as he ended the call. “Can never get one hour of peace with those two,” he muttered, silencing his phone.

He tossed it somewhere behind him and I heard it thunk on the rug.

“For tonight, darling, I have some much more entertaining events scheduled.” He bent over me and pressed another kiss to my lips. I kissed him back enthusiastically, reaching up to brush my fingers into his hair. He relaxed slightly, the weight of his head growing against mine as his neck tension softened.

“Let me silence my phone,” I said.

He waved a hand vaguely over his shoulder. “Done,” he said.

I smiled. “Bath before or after?”

“Hmm… after.”

“Fine with me.”

—

Both of our phones vibrating wildly on the end tables of our bed woke us the next morning. I jolted so hard I bonked my head on Rhys’ wing bone where he’d draped it over me as we slept, as he often did.

I reached out for my phone. There was no caller ID and the combination wasn’t one I recognized. That happened all the time. I answered anyway, assuming it was a matter of state, as usual. “Hello?”

“High Lady?” The voice was small and trembling. Not young, but frightened.

“Yes?”

“There’s something in the harbor.”

Before I could ask for more details, the caller hung up.

Rhys answered his phone much more lazily than I had. “This is Rhys,” he said. He never used his full given name to answer the phone. High Lord Tamlin, his enemy, could be calling and he’d still use Rhys.

He bolted up in bed so abruptly, his wing bone hit me in the back of the head. Thankfully the talon missed me. We both winced at the pain as he mouthed, Sorry, and leapt out of bed to get dressed. I figured I’d probably need to go investigate the harbor so I got up too and found a pair of pants, shirt, and overcoat. Socks and boots followed before I wound my hair into a bun so I wouldn’t have to braid it yet.

Rhys hung up. “Was your call about the harbor too?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Though, whoever it was didn’t say much.”

“Same here. Ready?”

I put the same comb I’d been wearing the day before into the top of my bun so I had some sort of ornamentation on. “Ready.”

He grabbed me around the shoulders and winnowed us out of the house.

We reappeared on the docks.

A dark shape was moving around under the surface of the water. I grabbed the railing and peered over it. “Too fluid to be a whale,” I said, noticing a small gathered crowd taking pictures on their phones, some recording videos.

Rhys’ hand settled on top of mine. It’s moving like a serpent, he said down our bond.

My grip on the railing halted. A serpent? Now? Like—like a sea serpent?

He didn’t reply. His dark eyes following where the head’s shape appeared to be.

“Hold onto this for me,” he said, pulling out his phone and holding it out. I took it out of habit, barely noticing his wings extending.

“Wait—Rhys—don’t—!” Too late. He used a powerful launch from his wings to get him over the railing before plunging into the water. As he dropped, I saw his clothes change from the casual dark shirt and pants to his fighting leathers. I wasn’t even sure any of the faeries around us noticed the change. A few of them yelped as his splash sprayed into the air.

I clung to the railing, staring into the depths.

“Rhysand…” I complained. “Stop being so reckless.”

I heard that, he teased.

I meant for you to, I retorted.

Wanna see?

I’m holding your phone. I’m not getting in that water.

You know that’s not what I meant.

I sent the sound of my sigh down the bond and felt his chuckle in return. Fine.

A crack opened in his mental shield. I slid into it, keeping a tether to get me out whenever I wanted if I got freaked out. My eyes glazed over as I started looking through his.

The harbor water was relatively clear, but a bit blurry. I—no, Rhys—flexed his magic to clear up his vision. My—his—hair drifted in front of his eyes a bit.

A large, deep red sea serpent twined around ahead, barely visible through the murk. Large fins were tucked against its sides.

Wings? I asked Rhys.

Yes. For jumping out of the water and snatching sailors from their ships. Among other things, he replied. They usually dwell in the depths. Wonder what it’s doing here.

I didn’t reply as he swam closer. Inside his mind, I could feel him dismiss his wings to reduce drag. Feel the strength in his shoulders as he stroked forward. In his mind, I had no private thoughts, so I knew he felt my anxiety. My fear for his safety. I felt him send a wave of calm through himself. He wasn’t nervous at all—for whatever reason.

The serpent caught sight of him. My breath hitched, but Rhys didn’t even flinch. Gold eyes bored into him, fangs revealed in something of a snarl.

Sorry, love, Rhys thought, I need to speak to it mind to mind, and don’t want you here for it. Too hard to concentrate on two minds at once.

Fine with me, I replied.

He shoved me out of his mind.

I shook my head, blinking, as my consciousness returned to my own body. My hands were so tight on the railing that my knuckles were white.

Something tugged on my tunic. I turned.

A small faerie child with violet skin and long silver hair was standing beside me, looking up at me. “Are you alright, High Lady?” Innocence and genuine concern were in its voice. I knelt to be on the same eye level as the child, my hands resting on the phone in either of my pants pockets.

“Yes. Yes, I’m alright. Just concerned for Rhys.”

The child looked into the harbor. “Mama says the High Lord is very powerful. He’ll be okay.”

I smiled at the child. “Yes. Yes he will.” I reached into the pocket of my tunic, pulling out one of the small candies I kept in there for when children stopped to talk to me—and Rhys usually. I offered it to the child. Everyone in Velaris knew their High Lord and Lady kept candy for children on them, so the child accepted without hesitation. They took off the wax paper wrapper and stuck the candy in their mouth before running back to their parents.

Rhys appeared on the dock behind me, dripping wet. “What’d I miss?” he asked.

I jumped to my feet and whirled around. “You okay?”

“Fine. I convinced it to leave.” He nodded toward the dark shape slithering out of the harbor now. “It was actually lost, I think. I managed to give it directions.”

I chuckled. “Never a boring day in Velaris.”

He joined my chuckle. “Not at all. Cassian’s gonna get a kick—” He swore. “I forgot. Cassian needed my help. You still have my phone?”

As I pulled it out of my pocket, he waved a hand to dry off.

He plunked in Cassian’s combination. “Hey, it’s me. I’m on my way.” He reached out a hand for me. I took it. Dark wind whipped around us as we winnowed away.

[pillage-and-lute]

The Courting Ways of Wolves (Part 4)

Dumb Boys! I love them! 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (here) Part 5 Epilogue

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Almost a month after the silver dawn they passed through a lively little river town. It wasn’t so big a city that Geralt’s senses were completely overwhelmed, but also large enough that Jaskier had good, hearty crowds every night. The nature of river towns like this meant that boats stopped through all the time, shipping goods up and down river, so sailors stopped in taverns and moved along. Every night was a fresh crowd.

Geralt decided that they’d stay in the town for a week. Rivers meant plenty of contracts too, drowners and such. There was also a decent shopping district what with all the merchants, and he wanted to tackle Number Five from his courting list.

Give Jaskier Gifts (non dead ones).

It was going to be easy.

Thirty minutes later, it was not easy. 

“Ooh I’ll come shopping too,” Jaskier said, rummaging through his bag in their room in the inn. “I need a new notebook.”

Geralt panicked a little bit. He wanted to get Jaskier a new notebook, and he didn’t have much idea for other gifts. Then an idea struck.

“Why don’t you and I look around, then after your performance tonight you’ll have more to spend.”

“Good idea Geralt, and who knows, if it goes well maybe I could get us a room with two beds instead of one.”

Damn.

Jaskier linked his arm with Geralt’s and swanned off down the stairs, leaving Geralt to either follow or have his arm dislocated at the shoulder. 

“Pardon me,” Jaskier waved down the grumpy looking innkeeper. She walked over scowling, small toddler on her hip. 

“Perhaps later, after I’ve performed in your fine establishment,” Jaskier asked. “We might discuss changing us to a room with two beds?” 

She looked at Jaskier. She looked at Geralt, who had paid for their current room with a grunted ‘that’s fine’ when she’d said it had one bed. She looked at their linked arms.

“Too many sailors coming in off the river this time ‘o year,” she said brusquely. “We can talk but ye’d be better off counting on the one you’ve got.”

Jaskier shrugged good naturedly. “Then keep it we shall, my dear lady.” She wasn’t listening, calling out instead to a child, about eight of indeterminate gender. 

“Toos, whatever’s in your mouth had better not be for guests.” The child, laughing maniacally around a mouthful of something raced out the back door of the inn, only to be scooped up by his father, a broad, heavy man with a jolly face.

They left the family to their domesticity and ventured out into the merchant district. There was more going on than Geralt preferred, his senses blurring as he tried to be on a swivel to protect against any potential dangers. None appeared though, and he allowed his senses to narrow to the warmth of Jaskier’s arm in his. 

Jaskier pulled them over to a potter’s shop. Tiny vases and bottles adorned shelves. There were bigger pieces too, some done in gorgeous colors and outrageous designs, but the little bottles captured Jaskier’s eye.

“Look Geralt, I could keep perfumes in these.”

“You have perfume bottles.”

“Oh I know, but the colors are pretty,” Jaskier said, smiling at the potter and pulling Geralt along. 

Leather goods. Very fine work, too, Geralt thought. It was next to a paper goods and bookbinding shop, and the two had obviously done some kind of trade. On a display table between the two stalls sat leather bound books of all sizes and kinds. Jaskier poured over them, exclaiming and running feather light fingers over textured leather bindings. Jaskier sighed longingly and went into the bookbinding stall to see the less expensive journal options. 

All of Jaskier’s past journals had been a sort of card cover. They didn’t last well, although Jaskier tore through them so quickly it didn’t matter. Geralt looked at the leather books here, his eye catching on a large, sturdy one in brown leather. It looked good for the road, with a braided leather tie to keep it shut.

He glanced up, but Jaskier was still admiring the paper goods.

What had really been caught by the centerpiece book. It was a mammoth thing, thick and beautifully made in a deep, wine red leather. There were little brass clasps on the side, buffed up to look like gold. In a fairy tale, it would be the master enchanter’s spellbook. A tome. 

Jaskier deserved a tome. He’d written so many songs and poems, and he’d mentioned once or twice that he ought to write it all down in one book. This should be the book. Geralt could just picture Jaskier in the library of Kaer Morhen, with the snow coming down outside and ink on his fingertips, carefully transcribing his work.

It was like with the silver dawn, Geralt could see it so clearly, his little family would all be in the library. Ciri and Geralt and Jaskier all together again. 

Next to the big red book was a little journal, made of the same color of leather. It had a little shiny brass lock with a tiny key tied on a string. A diary fit for a princess. 

He had a plan. 

He went into the leather stall and asked about their repair prices, haggled a little, then said he’d be back with his order that evening. Jaskier walked back into the leather goods stall and smiled up at him. Parts of Geralt’s chest went all tingly and golden. 

They browsed the other stalls, spending the most time at a metalsmith’s stall. Geralt was impressed with the weapon quality. Jaskier admired the jewelry, trying on various pretty, delicate rings and holding them up in the light.

Geralt watched the way he interacted with people.

When Jaskier had first joined him, he’d thought it was all an act, that Jaskier couldn’t possibly like so many people. He did though, and they loved him for it. From the outside it was clearer to Geralt why. Jaskier was polite of course, and complimentary of the workmanship, but instead of dealing in vauge descriptions, he complimented details. He found and complimented something extraordinary about each piece, drawing conversation from the stall owner’s wife, who apparently did the jewelry part of things. He complimented the delicate artistry of a slim ring, then the clever design of a bracelet catch, asking with truly genuine curiosity about each. 

Shopkeepers love curiosity, and anyone would love to have their skill complimented so honestly. Geralt felt himself smiling as he watched. 

“Good lad you’ve got there,” the weaponsmith said. “Husband?” Geralt turned to him.

“Not yet,” he said. Then his shoulders slumped a little. “Not even officially a sweetheart yet.”

The burly smith chuckled. “I know that story, you think it was easy for me to woo that goddess there?”

Geralt looked over at the jewelry maker, still locked in conversation with Jaskier. She was middle aged, but beauty doesn’t fade with age as quickly as mortals seemed to think. She was indeed a great beauty. To judge by the way she gestured avidly while speaking, she was also a passionate and firey one too.

“I’m not much for romance,” the smith said, drawing Geralt’s attention back. “But your lad there is yours, heart and soul, you just need the proper instruments to tell him you’re his as well.”

“How did you woo your lady?” Geralt asked.

The smith chuckled again. “I was a much younger man then, but I stood about without a shirt in my smithy and busily hammered and flexed every time she came by.”

Geralt brightened, showing off his muscles was something he could do. “Did it work?”

“Not even a little. She was completely unimpressed.”

Oh. And Jaskier had seen Geralt’s muscles before too. 

“So I went to her house one evening,” the smith continued, a glimmer of memory in his eye. “I’d worked for weeks to make her something as lovely as she was. Of course, I wasn’t so good a smith then either, but I’d tired. It was a braided metal band, to push back her hair, she’s wearing it now. Worn it almost every day since, including our wedding day.”

Geralt looked over. Silver and gold did indeed push back her curly hair. With her aquiline nose she looked like a woodcut of some goddess he’d seen once.

“And then I did the hard part,” said the smith. Geralt looked to him. “I talked to her, really spoke with her and told her how I admired her, not just for her beauty. Then she invited me in out of the rain and made me tea.”

Damn. Geralt wasn’t good at talking but he really would need to, it seemed. 

“More than fourty years of marriage now,” the smith said. 

“I can’t make him something as beautiful as he is,” Geralt said. A potion just wouldn’t work. 

“I think any gift to show you care would work,” the smith said. 

Geralt looked around at the weapons on display, and the smith went back to shining some of his work. There was a dagger on display. 

Jaskier had daggers, and he worked with them well, but this one was beautiful. 

“May I?” he said, and the smith gestured obligingly. 

It was obviously a piece of combined work between the smith and his wife. It was well made and balanced, but very slim, perfect for slipping up a sleeve or into a boot. It was also a piece of artwork, both the hilt and sheath inlaid with mother of pearl and a mirror-shiny black stone, with silver threads surrounding. The pearl wound about the hilt in a pattern of perfect vines, shining in the black. The sheath was a night sky, a curving crescent moon, fantasy thin, hung in a black sky, lit all around with tiny pearl stars inlaid with painstaking care. The tip of the sheath was sliverwork with more of the pearl, more vines. 

“The blade is silver,” Geralt noted.

“Yes,” the smith clearly approved of Geralt’s eye. “Moon silver, never tarnishes, never goes dull.”

Geralt was going to buy it for Jaskier. It was a cerainty. It was probably Destiny. She may be a bitch but maybe she’d decided to help him on this one. The price was extravagant, of course, and Geralt wouldn’t haggle a penny, not for artistry such as that. Moon silver was wildly difficult to work, too. Magic like that made for difficult smithing. 

Geralt locked eyes with the smith, who’s mustache-which even Vesemir would have been jealous of-twitched in the direction of Jaskier. He and the jewelry maker were coming over.

“I’ll wrap this shall I?” asked the smith in a whisper. 

Geralt gave a hint of a nod. “I’ll be back for it later,” he said, matching the volume.

“Geralt,” Jaskier exclaimed, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Let us trouble these good people no longer, at least until I return to clean out this fine lady’s entire stock, I can hear my audience call me.”

It was indeed almost supper time, and they bid their goodbyes to the couple. By the time they got back to the inn, the bar room on the first floor was full. The atmosphere was cheerful in the room, helped along by both the proprietors busily filling tankards of ale and bowls of hot stew. Jaskier ordered two of each for the pair of them.

Somehow he always got served first at a bar. Geralt wasn’t complaining, and the stew was hot and good, with chicken and potatoes and herbs. Geralt and Jaskier both slurped it down. Jaskier slammed his ale too, disappearing up the stairs to their room with a wink. 

Geralt knew Jaskier’s pre-performance routine well, and stayed down at their table to give him room. A teen with a face full of pimples picked up the bowls and spoons, as well as Jaskier’s tankard. He looked skittish to Geralt, so he didn’t nod for fear of scaring the lad. Thus far everyone had been fairly kind, Geralt didn’t want to ruin that. 

He sat back and sipped his ale appreciatively. Bartending was an art in itself and not a well known one. Geralt had been in too many pubs where bartenders didn’t take proper care, but this one had. He probably put cloth over the barrells over night in this damp weather. 

Jaskier clattered down the stairs, lute strung and tuned, and Geralt stood. He’d stay for at least the first few songs, but there were more patrons pouring in and he’d move from the table to a seat at the bar to leave room.

A song and a half into Jaskier’s set he realized his mistake. Jaskier could see him, and often locked eyes on him while singing to send a wink or just a friendly glance. He didn’t have a chance to slip away. Of course, he could leave anyway, but it just felt wrong to have Jaskier watch him leave.

“Now I know,” said a sharp voice from the bar, “that our barstools don’t have splinters, so what’s gotten in to you.” It was the bartender’s wife, the one who tended the rooms upstairs. She was still glowering, but without the child on her hip this time.

“I’ve got errands to run,” Geralt muttered, not fond of sharing his business. 

“Pf.” She said. “Just like a man to leave all the errands to the last minute. And you want to sneak out without him noticing for a bit.” It wasn’t a question. Geralt nodded. 

“Your lad there’s pretty good, makin’ us money, so I’ll do you a favor,” she looked at him sharply. “When I say go you go, and I’ll thank you to tell your sweetheart you care for him before he goes and tries to buy two beds next time.” She sniffed. “Save you both trouble in the long run.” 

She cleaned a spilled spot on the bar and let out a short whistle. 

Geralt felt like he’d been hit over the head with a mallet. 

In response to the whistle, the child from that morning appeared, Toos, Geralt remembered. The innkeeper gave the kid a penny, “Go ask for that song you like, then hurry back now.” Toos gave a gap toothed grin and dissappeared as quickly as they’d come. 

Geralt watched the disturbance at about knee level through the crowd as Toos fought their way through. Jaskier, basking in the applause noticed them immediately and listened carefully to the request, smiling widely at the audience and biting the proffered penny as if it were a gold coin to huge laughter.

The innkeeper snapped her fingers under Geralt’s nose and pointed to the door. He took the cue. 

The market was less bustling, but still open, and Geralt took in a breath of cool, evening air. Then he assessed his plan.

He wanted to buy Jaskier lots of gifts over the course of this year, and he surely would, but they would be small things mostly. Quills and ink and lutepicks, that sort of thing. Those could be found in smaller towns and villages, but craft work like he found here was hard to find along the Path. He could buy either the red book or the dagger right now, and with the contracts he’d do this week he’d pay for the other. He’d buy the practical, brown leather book regardless, because right now Jaskier needed a journal and not a tome. 

He decided on the dagger first. The smith had shared good advice, and, if someone were to buy the leather tome from the display, there was at least a chance Geralt could find one like it elsewhere. Where but here could he find a moonsilver dagger for Jaskier?

The smith was not surprised to see Geralt, and his wife sent him a friendly wink. Geralt bought the dagger and thanked the smith, complimenting both he and his wife on the work. Then he carried his package, wrapped in two layers, cloth and paper, out into the street.

He dropped a bit of tack off at the leather worker’s shop for repair, to pick it up in two days. Then he took the sensible brown leather journal from the display stand. 

The bookbinder and paper merchant was a bent old man, sitting on a stool at the back of the shop, chewing tobacco. There was a greasy twist of it, black as tar, in waxed paper on the counter. 

“Excuse me,” Geralt said. The shopkeeper looked up, jaw still working. “We don’t like your kind here,” he said in a voice that cracked like the paper he worked. Well. There it was, there was always someone. 

“Please,” he said. “It’s a gift for a-a friend. It’s very important.” 

The old shop keeper eyed him and the book in his hand. Then he obviously decided that making a sale was worth serving Geralt. He growled out a price, and Geralt didn’t haggle. 

Geralt stood there, the old man staring him down while counting the coins. He figured it was worth a shot. 

“Could I ask a favor?”

“No.”

“Could you keep the journal on your display table, the large red one, back for me? And the little one in the same color beside it? Only for a few more days.”

“No.”

“Please,” Geralt said, losing hope. “It’s for a good cause.”

The man spat tobacco juice into a can with disgusting accuracy. “What cause do monsters have, comin’ in here and asking favors of me?”

Geralt caught the man’s watery eyes. “Love, true love, please, keep them back just a few days?”

“Didn’t think monsters could feel,” scoffed the man, but he tilted his head. “You mean that nice young man, what came in with you earlier?”

“That’s the one, I want to give him the perfect gift.” 

The man scoffed again, but it was less cruel. “I can tell people they’re for display. You’ve got three days.”

Geralt let out a relieved breath. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much.” 

“Don’t thank me,” growled the man, cutting off another piece of tobacco with a knife. “And don’t darken my door until you have the money.”

Geralt left, feeling very light. He reentered the inn to a round of applause for Jaskier, but thankfully no one looking his way. He slipped up the stairs. 

The dagger wasn’t a gift for tonight, he decided. That was a grand gift, for sometime special. He put it in his potion bag, where Jaskier was forbidden to look, for fear he’d get into something deadly. The journal was laid on the bed, just where Jaskier would see it.

Then Geralt went back downstairs to catch the last of Jaskier’s set. 

Jaskier practically danced up to Geralt afterwards. He was full of that strange energy he always had after a good performance, like bubbles in champagne. Geralt could feel the muscles around his eyes soften. 

“I liked your last song,” he said. Number Three on The List, compliment him.

“Paddy Lay Back?” Jaskier said. “You’ve heard it before.”

“Yes,” Geralt said as they went upstairs. “I like it.” 

Jaskier beamed. 

He chattered about the performance all the way into their room, and managed to pull off his boots before noticing the journal on the bed. He stopped mid sentence.

He looked at the journal, then at Geralt, mouth still half open.

Geralt remembered the smith, talking about how he’d won his wife over, but his mouth felt stuffed with wool.

“It’s for you,” he managed. “For your songs. It’ll last longer than the card bound ones.”

Jaskier picked it up, rubbing his thumb across the smooth leather, then he turned to Geralt. His eyes were shining.

With a speed that even Geralt’s mutated reflexes couldn’t manage, he was enveloped in a hug. Jaskier had his arms around his neck, the journal still in hand. 

Geralt hesitated. 

Then he wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s chest and held him.

Later that night, in the same bed as a snoring bard, he still felt the heat of that hug. Jaskier’s elbow dug into his ribs and he barely felt it, but the hug was still there. He thought of the dagger in his potions bag. 

He’d talk to Jaskier then, giving that to him. For now, he’d have time to plan what to say. Before he could try, however, sleep claimed him.

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Gifts! Gifts for Jaskier! and a hint of things to come. I had fun with this. 

Taglist!

@llamasdumpsterfire @goblinwhoships

[everythingthemoontouches]

🦋🦋 an assumption about you based off your blog is that, you're very curious and open minded !

I'd love some general guidance thank you so much ♥️♥️

Hiii! 💙😄💙

Sometimes I worry I'm so open minded my brains fell out 😂 but yep, I try to follow a don't knock it till you try it policy 🦧🐶

This crescent moon could be really important for you. I'd suggest spending time out walking, stopping to smell the night blooms. Under the light of the moon. Meditate. Self soothe. Spend time doing creative things #flow 🎨🖌️

Themes : walking away. Completions. Closing circles. Trusting your inner wisdom and spiritual guidance. Listening to your softer side. The side that isn't materialistic. Can't buy love. Bury the hurts of the past. Let your wounds heal and allow flowers to grow over the healed scars✨ 🌸✨

The Waning Crescent Moon is the very last Moon phase, where the Moon is nearing the completion of its cycle. Individuals born under this phase are influenced by the energy of an aged, wise Moon, and are gifted with a kind of energy that isn’t necessarily reflected in personality or even in the physical world. In other words, you are likely a talented psychic who is closely in touch with your spiritual side, even if you may not realize it. Through dreams and daydreams, you may receive insights or even visions that help you to be more successful in life. In line with this tendency, you may also have an extremely active imagination. This is because human imagination is the most active under low light conditions - near-darkness, with just a hint of what’s around us, is a very fertile ground for the imagination.

We recently had a waxing crescent moon. I'd suggest reading up on that if this does not resonate. The waning crescent moon energy is what I got intuitive hits for while reading for you. Q

Your deep insights can make you seem mystical, like you exist in a different dimension from other people. Combined with your tendency to have unconventional hobbies, behaviour, and opinions, this can make you somewhat of a loner. Many people may find you too eccentric to relate to on a deeper level, even if they appreciate your wisdom and advice. Your best bet is to find people who are just as imaginative as you are, and who appreciate you in your entire glorious, weird self.

You're advised to tie up loose ends. Do organic activities. Focus on the things that fulfill your soul. The things that seem less appealing or cool are the things that actually feel better than the heart. You could spend $$$ on drinks, food, or jewellery and realize that you'd have felt a pure joy if you'd just driven out to a rustic little mountain villa to spend time in the lap of nature surrounded by cooing nightingales. Gold isn't everything. If you have dominant Capricorn energy, I'd suggest you look to cancer (moon) for balance. Paint some birds. Nightingale spirit coming through. A beautiful melody.

💖🐦💖🐦💖🐦💖🐦

If you just take away one thing from this reading it's this :

✨Feed yourself spiritually ✨ 🧘💕

If you've been working on building (saturnian energy), it's now time to lay the finishing touches and decorate the interiors, and think about the human, emotional aspect of decorating. Putting in comfy pillows and bedsheets in a tree house is the analogy that comes to mind. You've built the damn house. Now make it cozy. Turn the structure into a loving home.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Hi again! I come to you today with a question that may simply be a continuity error, but I'm still interested in your thoughts! In the main story, le Comte *knows* it was MC that came through the door behind him. Yet in Comte's "One Night, Beneath the Crescent Moon" POV story, he said he "...had no idea of what would happen next... That she would end up using the same door and end up stuck on the other side." What's your take on it? Thanks in advance! 💛

Hiya! First off I wanna apologize for how long it took to reply oTL I had originally drafted a response and then lost it when I accidentally closed the tab, and whenever that happens I always have to like sufficiently mourn the words I lost 😂😂😂

But to answer your question! If I’m entirely honest, I can’t remember what it was Comte said exactly in the Main Story in regards to her entering the door. There could be a lot of explanations for him saying he “knew”: continuity error, him wanting to put her at ease by seeming “in control” of the situation (while he’s screaming internally), or maybe even him wanting to cast some doubt as to whether or not he’s a person that can be trusted (aka the whole like “MC nooooooo don’t trust me I’m a vampire very bad very scary run away” kind of like Leonardo). 

All that being said, given the evidence we have and the stories I’ve read from his POV--esp that Crescent Moon one you referenced--I’m most inclined to believe that he had no idea she would follow him that day at the Louvre. If anything I really don’t think he ever anticipated any human person could follow him through the door? Because remember Sebastian (and the suitors for that matter) only manage because Comte is their escort. Sure their will to live on was strong enough that he could hear them, but they had no capacity to approach or find a door on their own as far as we currently know. The door was closed when MC found it; this suggests that Comte fully closed off that avenue to make sure nobody wayward stepped in by accident. He did the responsible thing and he left long before he could ascertain her safe journey through time, but she still managed to make it across somehow.

That’s why I think MC’s mere existence is earth-shattering to Comte. I mean we have all the good basics: a lovely lady, sweet and hard-working, means well and does her best. And these attributes all do matter, for sure. But the door is perhaps a greater catalyst in their romance than we might have first anticipated.

There will be some semi-hefty JPN rt spoilers below the cut for Dazai and Comte, so I’m just going to keep it under wraps just in case there are people who want to remained 100% unspoiled:

TW: Mentions of suicide in Dazai’s rt

The reason I say this is twofold, based on information provided by Dazai and Comte’s Main Story route. In Dazai’s route, remember that the focal point of the story is that Dazai wants to go back in time to kill himself as a baby so that he can never grow up to write his books or cause anyone pain in the near future--essentially, suicidal ideation to a frightening extreme. One of the main reasons that he fails (though MC plays a significant role in stopping him, too) is that Dazai’s will to kill himself is too weak. In simpler terms, this means that--no matter how much he insisted he wanted to die, the truth of his heart was revealed in his constant hesitating and difficulty going through with it. This is very often a reaction from people who need sizable psychological assistance to overcome trauma; they don’t usually want to die, it’s more that the pain of surviving their experiences is outweighing any possible joy they can find in living. 

But back to the most important part in bold. When Dazai asks about being able to use the door to travel through time, Charles confirms that it’s possible to travel without a pureblood escort. HOWEVER. This type of travel is very, very difficult unless you have an intense sense of willpower. I imagine the implication here is that you have to have an overwhelming desire and firmly believe it’s where you want to be in order for the travel attempt to succeed at all. (I don’t think the tethering point necessarily matters, but there is a suggestion that strong bonds between people--whether platonic or romantic--can serve as powerful guideposts when the door is distorted.) In other words, the reason Dazai relies on Charles’ moral bankruptcy is because Dazai knows he doesn’t feel strongly enough to go through with the suicide. He needs someone else who has the sheer determination and unbending will to see it through when the door opens. 

This is why Dazai is forced to ask Charles to accompany him, even though Charles doesn’t necessarily want to kill him. For Charles, this is less about a desperation to kill Dazai and more about his intense obsession-love for MC, and his willingness to do anything to receive her love/attention in return. In Charles’ view, since MC is ostensibly in love with Dazai, removing Dazai from the picture permanently is ideal. While Charles’ judgement is clouded and a little horrific, he is nonetheless rock steady in comparison to Dazai’s nonstop wavering. Dazai knows that he’s fickle on a personal level; one moment he wants to die, another he’s too afraid to let go of what he does care about or upset anyone. He’s at a point where he doesn’t know what’s right or true anymore and he’s floundering, which is honestly fairly common among those who share his lamentable condition. (Most people don’t have a death wish--it’s more a combination of circumstantial problems and healing that has remained in stasis that constitutes the extremity of that behavior.)

Moving right along, Comte’s route also features a similar testament to willpower, believe it or not. This happens in the last few chapters of the main story. Basically, Shakespeare dumps MC on Vlad’s doorstep and she’s more or less suffering the latter’s monologuing for a good while. Not long after that Comte appears and nearly shoots Vlad in the head, the bullet just grazing his cheek. Comte demands that he let MC go, and Vlad--in a classic sadistic act of compliance--wrenches open the door and just tosses MC into the freefall of distorted spacetime.

Now this is dangerous to MC’s life in and of itself, but there’s a key element there: distorted spacetime. In this main story the door never returns to its normal state after that first month period. Rather, the expanse of the door is too dangerous to be traveled even by a pureblood, let alone a human being. The chances MC will ever be able to escape in order to survive are closer to zero than any other number. Remember that Comte is immortal. If he gets stuck on his own, he can’t die and the damage to his body is always more than able to heal when he’s back to safety. (He even warns Leonardo in Leo’s MS that the danger of getting stuck in some kind of pocket in spacetime is still too significant to be ignored, though I can’t be sure if that’s due to Leonardo’s inexperience with time travel/requirement for an escort, or just an inevitable risk you juggle anytime you travel through the door.)

Of course Comte leaps in after her to try to save her, but presumably their entry point is long gone now (Vlad shut the door), so they’re just kind of floating in amorphous time. They do and don’t exist. Comte is understandably distraught because MC’s life hangs in the balance; if they don’t find a way out, she is almost certainly going to die. Comte admits that--while he hates the fact that his very existence is a danger to her, he still doesn’t regret finding her by any extension. MC protests, naturally, that there’s nothing to regret. Circumstances be what they may, she loves him. 

Now, here is the key. While Comte is trying to think of a way out, MC is thinking hard about wanting to return to the mansion. Her mind reflects an acute, intense desire to return home to the place where they both belong. And wouldn’t you know it? They both suddenly tumble out of the door in the mansion and onto the carpeted floor, whole and alive, sputtering in disbelief. Comte is baffled at first but it can only give way to immense relief that she’s safe, and he just immediately breaks down.

The only reason the two make it out unscathed is because of--I can only assume--MC’s overwhelming will to live on with Comte and return to the mansion. While it would have been natural for her to be overcome by fear to the point where she could make no productive decision, or even humor the concept of focusing on their home, she does it all the same with immediate success. That’s also part of why I think Comte just 100% caves into both of their feelings in the next chapter. He saw firsthand that, not only does MC keep a level head under duress, but she also has the overpowering will necessary to survive amongst vampires. And it was perhaps this unshakeable will in the first place that landed her in the late 19th century all those weeks ago.

It’s interesting because, honestly? Her entry through the door is more or less a hinge point for their romance. While it obviously isn’t the only reason he cares about her, it definitely is one of the bigger reasons he even feels safe enough to court her in earnest in the aftermath. It is literally only after this event that he confesses everything. Why he created the mansion and the men. How he’s really felt about her and himself all this time. What Vlad showed her and the implications of Vlad’s existence. And finally the truth about what he wants. He wants a relationship with her, but he keeps being held back by the fear that he’s too much. That the demand of being by his side will outweigh any happiness she might find choosing him. (Granted MC and I find that preposterous given how attentive and considerate he is, but you know). But after seeing her pull off surviving Vlad and traveling through the door by her own willpower again? I think it sufficiently lessens his doubts as to whether she could handle a future with him. It gives him the courage to just ask her: Do you want a future with me? Can you handle the demands of a vampire that cannot accept a mere human lifetime to be in love? 

And so this is why I have unceasing Comte brainworms ladies and gentlethem. I need to go lie down before I start crying again, I love him oTL

[amane-by-together]

Hanafuda || Amane Yugi

(Part 1 of 10)

genre: fluff, school, slice of life, modern au (where all wonders live)

summary: amane yugi spends his school days skipping classes until he meets [name] [surname], a student from the other class, who was also skipping classes and eventually the two of them formed a platonic friendship. cutting classes and playing hanafuda together strengthens their friendship but soon unexpected feelings blossom between the two.

“Amane-kun.” [name] was shuffling the hanafuda cards together for them to play, she glanced over to the choppy haired boy who was sitting crossed legged against the rooftop's railings. “You going to the next class?”

“Nah.” Amane answers while fiddling with his locks of hair. “We probably skipped three classes this day, wanna skip classes in fourth period?” he smirked playfully.

“What class do you have in fourth period?” [name] asked, giving Amane some seven hanafuda cards. “Math?”

“Literature.” He received the cards and scooted in front of her. [name] flashed him a quick grin, her competitive side is showing all of a sudden when it comes to hanafuda. Amane stared at his cards and groaned. “Ugh, why do I get the worse cards?”

“I dunno, I wasn't looking when I was shuffling them.” [name] purses her lips together as she analyzes her cards. Her [eye color] colored eyes met with Amane's amber eyes. “Hm. Let's start!”

“You go ahead, [name]-san.”

“Hm~? Alrighty then~” [name] stretched her arms and let out a satisfying sound from her lips. She placed a sakura card with the tag to its match and took another card from the stack and placed it along with the cards on the center since it has no match. “Winner gets to sleep in the loser's lap.” she added.

“[name]-san, you know so damn well I'm not good with these things.” he murmured with a blush while putting a matsu card on the center.

Amane met [name] by chance. He often skip classes alone week by week, no one seemed to notice his absence which was fine by him. One day, he decided to stay on the rooftop and saw a girl sitting by herself with her phone. It must be fate or a coincidence, he thought.

The thing is, he has never seen this girl from the classes he attended to so he assumed that she's from the different class where Tsukasa, his twin brother, is. “Tsukasa-kun?!” she exclaimed at their first encounter. “What the frickety frack are you doing here?!”

Amane scratches his cheek and sweat dropped. He spoke. “I'm not Tsukasa though, I'm his older twin.”

[name] blinked she stood up from the bench and went over to Amane. The choppy haired boy slightly backed away from her. “Your tone is lowered down a bit, your eyes shaped like the crescent moon, yeah you're not Tsukasa-kun.” she muttered.

“I'm Amane Yugi, first year highschool, from class A.” he introduced himself while twiddling his fingers. “I'm Tsukasa's older brother though.” he chuckled.

“[name] [surname], same year as you but I'm from class B. Nice to meet you, Amane-kun.” [name] sat back down to the bench, she patted the extra space next to her. “Come, sit next to me.”

Amane hesitated a bit but shrugged and sat next to [name]. The female grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess you're skipping classes like me.”

“I've been skipping multiple times, no one noticed it yet, how about you?” Amane scooted closer till their shoulders touched, his bangs became parted from the side due to the slight wind that passed by.

“I started skipping on the beginning of first year.” [name] pulls out a packet of melon bread and gave it to Amane which he gratefully accepts it. Amane and [name] ate in pure silence, munching on to the bread that [name] bought recently which was originally for herself.

During those days of skipping classes, they would play hanafuda together on the rooftop. [name] would frequently win during their matches, guess luck really isn't compatible with Amane. The two of them quickly became close due to their meet ups when they're skipping classes together.

“Amane-kun, I know you have the full moon bright card.” [name] eyed him suspiciously but a shadow casted over to her face with a funny glint in her eyes. She placed an ume card with a red tag on it. “Red Poetry Tags, I win again~!”

“I couldn't even get a lot of yaku combinations.” Amane helped [name] to clean up the cards. “I knew I should give up the plain cards.”

Amane blushed at the thought of [name] laying down on his lap, he doesn't even know what to do when that happens, maybe he should play with her hair or massage her cheek?

[name] happily laid down on his lap, Amane grabbed his hoodie and placed it on top of her skirt. “Ne, [name]…” his hands reached over to caress her hair with his fingers. “Let's have lunch together.”

“Sure, I don't really have someone to share my lunch with,” Amane looked down on her laying on his lap and gave her a soft smile. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and started to pet her head, he reminded her of a cat. [name] would often keep her distance from others makes her cat-like according to him.

Though there's a part of [name] that doesn't want to open up to people, Amane was pretty much the same as her. “I got tired from work, yesterday.” he mentions with a small chuckle.

“Wait, you have a part time job?” [name] asked as her eyes piqued in interest, wanting to know what he does for work. “Where?”

Amane's cheeks grew warm, he slightly drooped his eyes and said. “I'm not telling you.”

“Why though?”

“You'd probably show up if I did.”

[name] turned her head to face his embarrassed look. She smiled playfully while wiping a dramatic tear from her eye. “You know me so well.” she faked a sniff.

“It's embarrassing...” Amane grumbled. [name] reached her hand out and placed it on to his cheek. He leans against her touch, the feeling of warmth and serenity made him smile a bit.

“But it's not. The fact that you're working is admirable.” [name] assured him with a smile unbeknownst to her that Amane's heart definitely skipped a beat on that act. “Pinch~” she cheekily grins while pinching his cheek.

“Owsh—” Amane tried to say while his cheek is being pulled by [name] and by that she releases her cheek. “That hurts...” he pouted.

“Have this for payback.” Amane returned the favor by pinching her cheek. Her cheeks were like mochi, which he likes to point it out just to tease her. “Mochiii~”

[name] deadpans. “You're treating me like some kind of mochi instead of a person.”

“Exactly.” The bell suddenly rang interrupting the two teens. Amane grabbed his bag that was on the bench. [name] punched a hole on the juice box using a straw and took a sip.

Amane leaned back against the railings, unboxing his lunch and ate. [name] didn't feel like eating, a juice box can satisfy her stomach after all. “[name]-san, don't you have lunch?”

“I forgot it at home.” she replied nonchalantly, she kept on having a stoic face until her stomach betrayed her by letting out a small growl. Amane stop eating halfway at the sound. “That’s nothing~” she denied that she was hungry.

“Here, I’ll give you some of my lunch.” Amane picked up a piece of egg roll using his chopsticks and raised it in front of [name]. “Say ahh~”

“O-Oi!” [name] flinched as she backed away from him. Amane’s brow creases in pure confusion. “Y-You don’t have to...”

“I can’t let you skip lunch, [name]-san.” The choppy haired boy smiled while putting the egg roll near her mouth, then his smile turned into a painful one. “Just take a bite, my hand is getting tired.”

[name] sighed in defeat, she was very hungry and was wrong about the juice box making her full. She tucked a hair behind her ear and ate the egg roll that Amane offered for her, his heart skipped a beat whilst she pulled away. “I guess, sharing lunch is not a bad idea...”

“Also, your lunch tastes good.” [name] scooted next to Amane to see his boxed lunch, she pointed at the ghost-shaped sausages, the bunny shaped rice balls and egg rolls. “You made that?”

Amane nodded with a slight blush on his face but the smile on his face didn't falter. “Well yeah, at the first time I made one of these they were all sloppy but practice makes perfect so I'm able to make one. If you'd like, I'll make you one or we can be matching too~!”

“Let's have matching lunches, duh.” [name] opens her mouth and ate another piece of egg roll that Amane was offering her. “But before that, I'll make us some lunch for us to share.”

“[name]-san, here have a sausage.” Amane feeds her the ghost-shaped sausages which the latter hummed contently. Amane took a bite on one of the sausages, he pulled out his phone and swallowed his food. “Hey, [name]-san,”

[name] stopped chewing her food. “Hm?”

“Wanna go home early?” Amane said with a mischievous grin, he's mostly the bad influence when it comes to reckless things like skipping classes. [name] had no idea why he has a lot of plans regarding this. “This is getting boring, don't cha think so?”

“And how do we plan to sneak out from school?” [name] asked, quirking a brow whilst waiting for an answer.

“We can jump off the roof.” Amane suggests.

“No. We'll freaking die if we did or even break our bones.” [name] shuddered. “If we did, they'll think it's just some lovers' su—”

“Nevermind that then.” Amane flailed his hands in front of her. “I guess we should wait till dismissal then...”

“Wanna play again?” [name] asked as she showed him the small box containing the cards.

Amane smiled. “Sure.”

Amane sat alone on a concrete bench, listening to the soft pitter patter of the rain surrounding him. Holding the clear umbrella from his right hand, he sighed as if he's gonna make a monologue or something.

He has friends from his class but none of them made him feel real. The only person who can make him feel like himself was no other than [name].

[name], to Amane, was everything to him. Meeting her was fate as if they were meant to meet in the first place. Back then, Amane admired some girls yet only because they're pretty. None of them were ever even close to him, he only felt shallow for them.

“Sorry for making you wait—” [name]'s voice cuts him off from his inner monologue. She held up her school bag on top of her head to prevent her from the rain. She grins blithely. “You don't have to be sitting the exact same way.”

“My uniform is a bit soaked.” [name] added with a wince. Amane licked the side of his lip and stood up to put the umbrella above her. “It was literally sunny recently.”

“Hm, I'll be taking you home.” Amane hands her the umbrella to [name], went over to his bike and puts his school bag in the basket. “Which way is your house?”

“That's like a novel way to put it but I guess that works.” [name] pointed out. “Sounds like a romance cliche, not gonna lie, lmao.”

Amane stepped on to his bike, [name] held on to his shoulders from behind. He was thankful that she didn't get to see his blushing face, because that's lowkey what every guy felt when there's a girl behind them on a bike.

Amane started pedalling. [name] closes the umbrella and sits down instead. “It stopped raining, by the way.” she declared.

[name] wrapped her arms around his torso and that's how Amane's face erupt in a huge blush. “[name]-san?!” he stammered at the sudden action.

“...Don't say a word about this.”

“I'm sorry, what?”

[name]'s face flushes, she buried her face on his back and that's where his heart started to beat faster. Out of all the girls he admired throughout the years, his feelings for [name] is different.

How so you may ask? When Amane is around [name] it's like he's sitting on a fluffy pink cotton candy or maybe standing on water that reflects a pastel pink sky with soft looking clouds with her. “You know, with you hugging me from behind isn't that kinda...” Amane turned his head towards [name] and smirked playfully. “Bold for you~?”

[name] tightens the hold in irritation. “Ack—” Amane's hold on the handle became wobbly but managed to maintain his balance. [name] elicits a small giggle in return.

“Hm, wanna skip again tomorrow?”

“If its with you, why not?”

“You're so cheesy.” [name] slightly smacked his shoulder. Amane turned ahead, a smile forming from his lips.

‘Nonetheless, I don't really mind skipping with you even if it means being with you...’

“Hold on tight, we're going downhill!” Amane gripped on the handles of his bike. [name]'s eyes widened when she saw that that they were about to go down on a slope.

“Cheers to us delinquents!” [name] cheered before they go down to the road.

Definition and terms:

hanafuda - flower cards that can be played in a variety of games such as koi koi (the type of game that [name] and amane are playing with the cards)

sakura - cherry blossom

matsu - pine tree

ume - plum blossom

-end of part 1-

thank you for reading, make sure to like and reblog if you love this post~

taglist: @closetwaffle @closetweebsmh