#cessation spell

[wizardsaur]

Stop Biting Nails Spell

happy little accidents and breaking lifelong bad habits? Sign me up!

Ingredients:– Black nail polish to banish a bad habit Timing:– A Saturday, during a waning Moon, as close to right before the New Moon as possible Process:– Paint your nails and think about how badly you want to break this habit, or at least pause for a while so your fingers may heal for a special occasion. That’s it. That’s the spell. This was a semi-accidental spell. I have a mission to grow…

[cressidagrey]

The Witching Hour - Chapter 2 - Cassian

Summary: 

5 Times members of the Inner Circle get absolutely terrified by Azriel's...whatever she is, and 1 (of many) times Azriel thinks that his witch was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Warnings: 

Nightmares, mention of murder, physical attack, slutshaming, threat of bodily harm, mention of imprisonment, light Cassian bashing, Azriel is a simp for his witch

(super pretty dividers by @cafekitsune)

Nesta's nightmares subsided.

Cassian wasn't sure why...wasn't sure what had been the cause, because it was like they disappeared utterly and completely in the blink of an eye.

Cassian, who had seen the toll that the nightmares had taken on Nesta, was both relieved and confused.

The nightmares, which had tormented her for so long, had vanished. And that puzzled him. He couldn't help but wonder what could have caused such a sudden and complete cessation.

He thought back to the days before the nightmares had stopped, trying to recall any changes or events that might have caused such an abrupt change…he came up empty. The days before had been fairly routine, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that could have…

And then suddenly...they were gone. He was glad about it of course. 

And as he drew the tips of his fingers down his mate's bare back...he was glad for her.

He traced the line of her spine, feeling the smoothness of her skin under his fingertips. Her back was bare, her hair spilling over her shoulders in a tangled mess from where he'd buried his hands into it earlier.

She was relaxed, her body loose and pliant, and the stress and tension that was usually present in her slowly bled away with each gentle caress.

"The nightmares...have lessened, haven't they?" He asked lightly.

She hummed in assent, her eyes closed as she relished the feeling of his hands on her body.

"Mmm," she murmured sleepily. "They have. I haven't had one in a few weeks now."

He continued to trace his fingers along her spine, feeling the subtle shift of her muscles as she breathed.

"That's good, sweetheart," he whispered pressing a kiss against her neck.

She let out a soft sigh of contentment as he kissed her neck, arching into his touch slightly."It is," she agreed quietly, her voice a sleepy murmur. "I feel...rested. More so than I have in months. I just hope the spell keeps working."

He froze his lips against the elegant column of her neck.

The spell? What spell?!

Cassian pulled back slightly, his hand still resting on her back, his mind churning.

Spell...did she say spell?

He couldn't remember Nesta mentioning a spell. Or anyone, for that matter. And yet...

"What spell?" he asked, his voice rough as he tried to control the hint of alarm that crept into it.

"The spell that's helping me with the nightmares," Nesta mumbled, her voice still sleepy and content. He stared at her, his heart clenching as the words sank in.

She had a spell? But…how? When? And why hadn't she told him?

"Nesta," he said, his voice tense as he tried to keep his concern in check. She hummed in response, her eyes still closed. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"When…did you cast a spell to help with the nightmares?" Cassian asked, forcing his voice to remain level.

"Oh," she mumbled, her eyelids fluttering open slightly as she processed his question.

"A few weeks ago," she said, her voice gaining a bit more clarity.

He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as she spoke. A few weeks ago? Why hadn't she told him? Or any of the others for that matter?

"A few weeks..." he repeated slowly, his mind whirling.

"Yes," she said, her eyes now fully open, though her voice still held a hint of sleepy tiredness.

He swallowed, trying to keep his worry in check.

"And...who cast it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Azriel found me after a nightmare," Nesta said quietly. Azriel couldn't have cast a spell like that, that made no sense. 

Cassian felt a new wave of confusion mixed with worry. If it hadn't been Azriel, then who had helped Nesta? And how did it have anything to do with the spells?

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his alarm in check as he continued to speak.

"Who," he began, his voice measured, "cast the spell then?"

Nesta's expression softened slightly, a hint of apology in her eyes as she looked at him.

"Azriel..Azriel brought me to see a friend of his. She's a witch"

There was only one witch Azriel was friendly with.

"Nesta, please tell me you didn't let Hecate cast a spell at you," he pleaded with his mate. He saw the way her shoulders tensed slightly at his words, her eyes shifting away from his gaze.

"Azriel said she could help," she said, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "And it worked. I haven't had a nightmare since I went to see her. And Azriel calls her Cate," she added.

He felt a wave of disbelief crashing over him. Cate.

Azriel had taken his mate to see Cate.

The mere thought of it sent a chill down his spine.

"I am going to kill Az," he growled. He hadn't even known that Cate was still around. The last time he had heard about her had been a century ago.

But clearly, she had survived the war against Hybern with nary a scratch. Somehow it didn’t surprise him at all. Cate seemed to thrive where chaos was concerned. 

Nesta rolled her eyes at his comment. "You most certainly are not," she said with a huff.

Cassian stared at her, torn between fear and irritation.

"And why not?!" he exclaimed, his hands tightening on her hips. "He let you go see Cate. Cauldron knows what kind of spell she laid on you."

"It was just to help with the nightmares," Nesta protested, shifting in his grip.

He held her tighter, not ready to let her go just yet. "And you just believed that? Azriel told you it was just for the nightmares, and you took his word?" Cassian questioned,  the tension in his body ratcheting higher.

"I trust Azriel," she snapped. "It's a dreamcatcher spell. Something Care has cast on Azriel multiple times. You think Azriel would have let anything happen to me?!"

"It's Cate!" he retorted, his grip on her tightening even more.

How could she not see how dangerous this was? How could she trust Azriel's word so completely?

"Azriel's judgment when it comes to her is...compromised," he ground out, his voice tight with worry and irritation.

"Compromised?" she repeated, her eyebrows shooting up.

He scowled at her, his fear and frustration mounting.

"Yes, compromised," he snapped. "They have...history, and Azriel has...certain blind spots when it comes to her."

"They're friends," she said firmly, her eyes flashing with a familiar stubborn gleam.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. She was completely missing the point.

"That's putting it mildly," he retorted. "They're...they're... together, in a sense. Azriel would let her do damn near anything to him."

She rolled her eyes at his words. She didn't believe him. Didn't believe that Cate was a threat.

He let out a frustrated huff, pulling her closer to him, trying to get her to understand.

"Nesta," he said urgently, holding her gaze. "Cate is...she's dangerous. She has a reputation, and has for centuries. The spells she casts, the favours she asks for..."

"The only favour she asked for was from Azriel," Nesta snapped. "She did nothing but help me. And flirt outrageously with Az. Is this about her stabbing you? Are you holding a grudge?" She asked with a roll of her eyes.

He winced at her question. The memory of being stabbed by Cate was still a sore spot for him.

"Yes, it may have something to do with her stabbing me!" he exclaimed. "She is a dangerous witch, Nesta. She should not be trifled with. You went to her, let her cast a spell on you, and now you're….you're fine with it?"

"I am fine with it," she said firmly, her chin lifting in defiance.

His frustration grew even more at her stubborn stance. She didn't seem to be grasping the gravity of the situation.

"You're fine with it now," Cassian hissed through gritted teeth. "What about later? What if that spell has lingering effects, or if Cate decides she wants something from you in return? Did that ever cross your mind?"

"If it does, I'll deal with it," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand

He wanted to shake Nesta, to make her understand.

"You will deal with it?" he repeated, his voice rising in anger. "How exactly will you deal with it, Nesta? What if the spell backfires, or she wants something that you can't give? She is a powerful witch. You shouldn't have even gone near her in the first place!"

Nesta opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off, his voice low and intense.

"No, don't even try to defend it," he said, his eyes blazing with anger. "You let Azriel take you to see Cate. You let her cast a spell on you. And you didn't even tell any of us about it until now."

He paused, taking in a deep, frustrated breath.

"Do you have any idea how worried I've been? How worried we all have been about your nightmares?"

"I was fine!" she protested, her eyes flashing with annoyance.

He gritted his teeth, his hold on her hips tightening.

"No, you weren't fine," he snapped back. "You were having nightmares that were tormenting you. I heard you in your sleep. I saw how tired and drained you were during the day. You were not fine." 

Her expression softened slightly at his words, some of the defiance leaving her eyes. "I'm fine now," she said weakly, her voice losing some of its conviction.

He let out a scoff, his grip on her still firm.

"Now that you've let Cate cast a spell on you, you're fine," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That doesn't mean it will always be that way. Spells can have consequences. Side effects. Did you even ask her about that?"

"Nesta," he said, his voice softer but still tinged with irritation. "You should have told us. You should have told me. We could have figured something out together. We could have found a solution that didn't involve going to that witch."

"She said the only consequence would be a headache."

Cassian clenched his jaw at her words. A headache. That's it.

"A headache," he repeated, his voice flat. "And you believed her?!"

"Why wouldn't I?" she snapped, her eyes glittering in annoyance. "She helped me. She cast a spell and now I'm not having nightmares anymore. Why would she lie about it?"

He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head.

"Because that's what Cate does," he said, his voice taut. That’s what she had always done. Cate manipulated everybody around her to her liking. "She lies. She manipulates. She twists favours and spells to her liking. You can't trust her, Nesta."

"Well, I did, and it worked," she retorted.

His anger flared at her words. How could she be so blind to the danger she had put herself in?

"It worked, for now," he shot back. "What about later? What if she decides she wants something from you? What if the spell has consequences down the line?"

"I'll deal with it," Nesta repeated.

He felt his patience reach its breaking point.

"You keep saying that!" he exclaimed, his voice rising. "You'll deal with it. You'll figure it out. But you can't. Not with Cate. She's playing games, and you're playing right into her hands."

"So you think Azriel would risk me like that?" Nesta asked icily. "You think your brother would do that? Maybe you should trust his judgment!"

Her question struck a nerve, and he felt his irritation spike even higher.

"Trust his judgement?!" he exclaimed, his control slipping further. "When it comes to Cate, his judgement is more than a bit impaired."

"He's smart, Cassian," she shot back, her stubbornness showing. "He wouldn't let her do anything to hurt me."

He bit back a scoff, his anger continuing to grow.

"You're underestimating how blind he can be when it comes to her," he said through clenched teeth. "He was practically obsessed with her hundreds of years ago. I wouldn't be surprised if he still is."

He was going to fucking kill Azriel. Probably after he killed Cate.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, as he got out of bed.

He was seething, his anger and fear swirling together into a roiling mass inside him. Azriek...he'd deal with her too.

But first, he needed to find Cate and give her a piece of his mind.

"Cassian, where are you going?" Nesta asked, watching him as he moved off the bed.

"I'm going to find Cate," he said through clenched teeth, his voice hard as steel.

Nesta's eyes widened, surprise flashing in her expression.

"You're...what?" she asked, her voice tinged with alarm.

He stomped from that room. He was going witch hunting.

He was seething with anger as he stormed out of the room, a mixture of worry and fury driving him forward.

Cassian stalked through the house, his steps heavy and purposeful, his mind focused on one thing - finding Cate.

She still had the same apartment she had centuries ago. He stood in front of her apartment, his anger still seething within him.

The wards that surrounded the place felt all too familiar, and just as deadly as they had been centuries ago. But he wouldn't let them stop him, not when he was this riled up.

Cassian slammed his fist against the door, the force of his blow reverberating through the solid wood.

He waited, his patience already at its limit.

After a few moments, he heard footsteps approaching the other side of the door, followed by the sound of several locks being released one after the other.

Finally, with a creak, the door slowly opened to reveal Cate.

There she was, standing in the doorway, looking at him with a mix of surprise and annoyance. Her green eyes sparkled in the dim light of the hallway, and her full lips curled into a smirk.

"Well, well," she drawled, her voice as sharp as a blade. "If it isn't Cassian. I should have known you would show up eventually." His anger flared at her mocking tone, and he had to bite back a string of curses.

"You knew I would come," Cassian said through clenched teeth, his eyes locked on her. "You knew, and you still did it anyway."

She leaned against the doorframe, the smirk still on her face.

"I had a feeling you'd eventually figure it out," Cate said with a shrug. "And here you are. Ready to yell at me, I assume?"

"Yeah, I'm ready to yell at you," he replied curtly, his voice a low growl. "You put a spell on my mate. You let her believe it was just for nightmares, but I know better. You're up to something, and I want answers."

She raised an eyebrow at his words, her expression unimpressed.

"Always so quick to assumptions, Cassian," Cate said coolly. "You always were one to jump to conclusions. You don't know as much as you think you do."

His blood boiled at her careless attitude, and he took a step forward, his muscles tense.

"Is that so? Then why don't you enlighten me?" Cassian said, his voice laced with anger. "Why don't you tell me why I shouldn't strangle you right here, right now?"

Cate chuckled at his words, her smirk widening.

"You're welcome to try, General," she purred, her chin lifting in a challenging manner. "But you and I both know it won't end well for you."

He clenched his fists at his sides, the urge to strangle her almost overwhelming. But he knew she was right. She was a powerful witch, and he was well aware of the fact that he couldn't match her magic. By the time he had drawn his sword, she could have already turned him into a slug. 

"You're enjoying this," he gritted out, his jaw tight. "You're loving every moment of this."

"Of course I am," Cate admitted with a shrug. "Your temper has always been a source of great amusement to me. I do love seeing you all riled up, ready to go charging into danger. Such a predictable male."

Her words cut through him like a knife, and he had to take a deep breath to avoid letting his anger get the better of him.

"You're enjoying playing games with people's lives," Cassian shot back, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. "You knew what you were doing when you cast that spell on my mate. And you still did it anyway."

"I did her a favour," she said drily. "Every action has its consequences, General. You should know that better than most. What did you think were the consequences of imprisoning your mate in the House of Wind? Of making her Rhysand's little soldier?"

Her words hit him like a blow, and he felt the air get caught in his throat.

"Don't you dare bring that up," he warned, his voice almost a whisper. "Don't you dare act like you know what happened between me and my mate. You have no idea-"

She interrupted him with a scoff, her smirk growing even wider.

"Oh, I have plenty of ideas," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "I can see it in your eyes, General.

The guilt, the regret. The knowledge that you made more than a few mistakes.

"Your mate is the one paying the prize for your actions. All I did was help her. I took the weight of the nightmares from her. That's all I did."

"You took the weight of the nightmares from her, but what else did you take in the process?" he shot back, his voice rising in anger. "What other consequences did you leave unmentioned? What other costs is she going to have to pay down the line?"

Cate rolled her eyes at his questions, her smirk still in place.

"Oh, spare me the dramatics, General," Cate drawled. "You act like I made her a sacrifice to the Cauldron or something. It was a simple dreamcatcher spell, nothing more."

His anger flared again at her flippant attitude, and he had to clench his jaw to keep himself from exploding.

"A dreamcatcher spell?" Cassian repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "Is that all it is? Just a simple little spell, huh?"

"Indeed it is," Cate confirmed with a shrug. "No lasting consequences, I assure you. The nightmares are gone, and your mate should get a peaceful rest for a good while."

His hands itched to strangle her, the casual way she spoke about his mate's mental well-being driving him insane.

"And that's it?" he asked, his voice tight. "There's no price to pay for this 'simple little spell'? No cost?"

"No price you pay at any rate," Cate said, a grin on her face.

His eyes narrowed with suspicion at her words.

"What does that mean?" Cassian growled, taking another step closer to her.

Her smile widened, the gleam in her eyes almost predatory.

"Oh, General, you're so easy to read," she taunted, her voice low. "You always were. You wear your emotions on your sleeve like a damn fool."He bristled at her words, his hands clenching into fists.

"Cut to the point," Cassian grit out. "What do you mean there's no price we have to pay?"

"Exactly that," she repeated.

He let out a frustrated huff, his patience wearing thin.

"Don't play coy with me," Cassian snarled. "What is the catch? There's always a catch with you."

Her smirk turned even more arrogant, her tone still dripping with mockery.

"Is it so hard to believe that I would do something selflessly? Out of the goodness of my heart? You always think I have some ulterior motive. It's quite insulting, really."

He sneered at Cate’s words, his anger making him fearless.

"You? Selfless?" he shot back, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Yeah, right. You've never done anything that didn't benefit yourself in some way. Never."

She let out a scoff, her eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"You have such a low opinion of me, don't you?" Cate said, her voice cool. "It's almost endearing, how you don't trust me at all. Not that I'm surprised, of course. You've never believed in my good intentions -" 

He cut her off with an angry scoff. "Good intentions?" he repeated, his voice rising in volume. Her only intentions seemed to cause Chaos. He had lost count of how many different things she had her grubby little hands throughout the centuries…how often she had decided to twist fate around her little finger. 

"You expect me to believe that you had good intentions when you cast a spell on my mate without my permission? That you were being selfless and not scheming something?"

She rolled her eyes again, clearly becoming more irritated.

"You have no idea how much I helped your mate," she said with a huff. "That girl was tired and drained to the bone. She could barely function. I did you both a favour by taking away her nightmares. That's all there is to it, General. Besides, she doesn't need your permission." 

He clenched his jaw, his anger turning almost painful.

"You had no right," he bit out, his voice taut with fury. "No right to touch her, to cast a spell on her, without my knowing. She's my mate, not yours. I was supposed to protect her, and you interfered with that."

Cassian wasn't sure what possessed him. It was fundamentally stupid, to attack her in her own apartment, where the wards listened to her. And still, he reached to throttle her.

He lunged for her, propelled by his anger and frustration.

But just as his hands were about to close around her throat, a blast of magic hit him square in the chest, sending him flying back.

Cassian hit the wall with a thud, the air getting knocked out of his lungs. He cursed, pain coursing through him as he slumped down to the ground.

"Do. Not. Put. Your. Hands. On. Me." Cate hissed.

"What exactly is going on here?" Came the icy voice of his brother. Bare chested, barefoot...clearly coming from bed That godforsaken jaguar at his side.

Cate had stabbed him and that stupid jaguar had taken a bite out of him. He had forgotten neither. 

Cassian looked up to see Azriel standing in the doorway, the shadowsinger's eyes fixed on him with a hint of irritation.

The jaguar at his side growled low in its throat, its eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"Azriel," he grunted as he pulled himself up, his body still aching from the blast of magic. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he responded, his voice harsh.

"I'm here to deal with this scheming witch," he bit out, his anger still burning within him as he gestured towards Cate. Azriel glanced at the witch in question, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"That scheming witch has a name," Cate shot back. "You are supposed to sleep, Azriel," she said quietly, but Azriel just shrugged, still glaring at Cassian.

"What exactly is your problem?" Azriel asked him.

"My problem?" Cassian repeated, his voice still charged with anger. "My problem is that this meddling witch decided to mess with my mate without my knowledge."

"I was helping her," Cate cut in, her voice sharp. "More than you have in months."

He turned to glare at her, his anger once more reaching boiling point.

"I don't want your help," he spat. "You had no right to cast that spell on her. No right!"

"I had every right," Cate shot back, her own anger flaring. "That girl was a mess, and you were blind to it! You were ignoring her struggles, letting her suffer in silence. Someone had to step in."

"I was handling it!" he argued, his voice rising. "My mate is my responsibility, not yours. I was the one who was supposed to protect and care for her, not you!"

"And that worked so well, didn't it?" Cate said, her voice like a whip. "She was drowning under the weight of her nightmares, and you were doing nothing to help her. You call that protecting her?"

"Cate helped Nesta as a Favour to me," Azriel said evenly.

He spun to frown at his brother.

"A favour? What kind of favour?" he asked, suspicion in his voice.

Azriel walked closer to them, his footsteps almost silent. He looked exhausted, the muscles in his bare chest still tense. The jaguar followed him, its tail sweeping the ground. 

"A favour," Azriel repeated, his tone flat. "I asked her to help Nesta."

"You what?" he asked, shock and anger warring in his gut. "You asked her to help my mate? Without telling me?"

Azriel let out an exasperated huff, his eyes narrowed. "Yes, I asked her. And I didn't tell you because I knew you'd overreact. And lo and behold, here you are, overreacting."

He felt his fury rise at Azriel's nonchalant reply.

"Overreacting?" he spluttered, his voice rising in disbelief. "You're calling this overreacting? You asked this scheming witch to mess with my mate, and you think I'm overreacting?"

"I didn't ask her to 'mess' with your mate," Azriel said impatiently, his own irritation evident in his voice. "I asked her to help, plain and simple. It's not like I didn't have a reason, Cassian. Nesta needed help, and you were clearly not providing it."

Cassian clenched his fists, his anger flaring even higher. "And you thought Cate was the right person to help her? You know how she operates. You know how she is. You trusted her to help my mate?"

Azriel raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I do know how she is. Which is why I trust her."

He let out a bark of incredulous laughter at that response.

"You trust her?" he repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. "You actually trust her? After everything she's done? After everything she's messed with over the centuries, you trust her?"

And Cate had done a lot. Not many people had her kind reputation...the kind born out of fear and respect... Hecate The Undying. She was a ghost story. And she had meddled in politics over centuries and had changed the history of Prythian more than once. 

His eyes flicked to Cate, who was watching the argument with an amused expression on her face. She gave him a sly smile, aware of his inner turmoil.

"You're out of your mind," he told Azriel, his voice tight. "How can you possibly trust her? She's a master of manipulation and deception. She thrives on chaos and disaster."

"Aww," Cate cooed. "It's so cute that you think you know me."

He turned to glare at her, his jaw clenching.

"I know enough," Cassian bit out, his voice harsh. "I know enough to be wary of you. You're dangerous, Cate. You're untrustworthy. You're a scheming, conniving whore -"

"Enough," Azriel bit out.

"And you -" Cassian rounded on Azriel. He spun to face his brother, his anger boiling over.

"You," he snapped. "How could you do this? How could you betray me like this? Asking Cate to help my mate without telling me. Behind my back. You KNEW how I felt about her, and you still went ahead and did it!"

"How much of an idiot can you be, Azriel? I hope to gods, her cunt is worth it," he sneered. "Don't come crying to me when cuts off your manhood for waking up on the wrong side of the bed." 

Azriel's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing.

"Watch your mouth, Cassian," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't know anything about my relationship with Cate, so don't presume to make assumptions. And as to my manhood, I'll have you know that she's far too fond of it to take it away from me."

He felt his own anger spike at Azriel's dismissive tone.

"Fond of it, huh?" he retorted, his voice sharp. "Fond enough to keep you in line, clearly. Gods, you're so blind, brother. You think she really cares about you? About anyone? She's using you, can't you see that?"

"She doesn't care about anyone but herself," he continued, his voice growing more impassioned. "And the second she gets bored with you, she'll toss you aside like a toy she no longer has any use for. You're just another gullible male, fooled by her charm and wits."

Bright green sparks of magic hit him, at that moment. Cassian could nearly taste her magic. Cate was cast in an eery glow.

He stumbled back a few steps, the magic from the woman hitting him like a blow. The room seemed to grow darker, all his senses tingling. It was a potent, overwhelming magic - ancient and primal, like thunder and storms.

"Enough, Cate," he heard Azriel say softly, but Cate's eyes were fixed on him, a strange intensity in her gaze.

"Out." One word, laden with power. "And do not come back."

The power in her voice sent a shiver down his spine. Cassian found himself backing away, the anger draining from him and being replaced with a sense of utter fear. It was an unfamiliar feeling, to be so utterly powerless in the face of a woman's anger.

"Cate..." he began, but the look in her eyes silenced him instantly. He turned to face his brother, but Azriel refused to meet his gaze.

Azriel was watching the witch, and the look on his face was...reverent. Awed.

"Go calm down, Cassian. it's only a dreamcatcher spell. Nothing else. I vow on that for my life."

[cielur5ww]

୨🎻୧ ─────・ the violist boy

▭ Synopsis﹕ Scaramouche by chance met someone from the music club, a boy he didn't even know from school. Maybe the beginning of a story.

★ ❪CW❫── amab!reader!violist x scaramouche, modern AU, fluff.

ᶻz ─── n/a﹕Finally, I no longer have a block, I will just throw up this idea. Oh, and it will have other parts, I think... if I don't procrastinate─ It's quite short, I'm really sorry 😭

❱❱ first part

Scaramouche trudged through the deserted hallways, his mind still trapped in the day's frustrations. He observed the fluorescent lights flickering intermittently, casting shadows on the peeling walls and faded posters advertising long-gone events. Each step felt like an extra effort in his battle against exhaustion.

He had checked his phone, and the clock read 3:34 pm, a constant reminder of time lost and pending responsibilities. He sighed resignedly, wishing to be anywhere but in that school, stashed his phone in his backpack, and furrowed his brow. The incident with the calculator in the last class had been the final straw, and Scaramouche longed to escape it all right now.

The corridors, usually bustling with activity, now seemed empty and silent, as if they were commiserating with his plight. Though they were empty because classes ended at 3:00 pm, thanks to a classmate's fault, he had to stay late with the rest of the idiots from the classroom.

How he hated his day.

However, a sweet, melodic whisper broke the silence and seeped into his troubled soul.

He recognized the tune of a violin, and though at first it was just a distant murmur, it soon became an irresistible echo that drew him in like a magnet.

His sluggish pace halted for a moment as his ears leaned towards the sound, as if seeking a source of relief.

Following the echo of the notes, Scaramouche found himself walking towards the music club, a place he usually avoided due to his tight schedule and lack of interest in extracurricular activities. But this time, the music called to him, like a siren drawing a sailor lost in the stormy sea.

As if the sound of the violin itself were a balm for his weary mind.

Reaching the half-open door of the music room, Scaramouche hesitated for a moment.

Should I go in? What could I find inside? But the melody was hypnotizing him, enveloping him in its sweet embrace, temporarily erasing his worries and frustrations.

With a resigned sigh, he pushed the door open and stepped into the room, peeking inside. And there, in the center of the room, he saw someone standing with a violin in hand, their fingers dancing gracefully and skillfully over the strings.

The music filled the room, weaving a magical spell that enveloped the space, as if it were trying to capture the hearts of future listeners, or simply practicing to portray something.

Scaramouche stood there, silently observing, as the melody transported him to another place, far from the tensions and worries of his day. For a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the background sound, letting his problems fade away in the sweet harmony of the violin, that he took greedily.

But it was shattered by the sudden silence that followed the cessation of the melody echoing in the room, as the boy with the violin slowly lowered the bow, his eyes met Scaramouche's violet eyes. An expression of surprise and slight confusion crossed his face upon seeing him standing there, as if he had interrupted a private moment.

Scaramouche felt like he was under an unwanted spotlight, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, as he instinctively stepped back towards the door, coming out. However, he slammed the door shut with more force than necessary, the sound of the slam resonating in the room like an echo of his own clumsiness, as if he were trying to highlight that he was there.

Adjusting the strap of his backpack nervously, Scaramouche hurriedly turned and rushed out of the room, feeling the weight of embarrassment bubbling in his stomach.

Why did he feel so ashamed for being caught in the music club? He wondered as he hurried down the stairs to the school's ground floor. He internally scolded himself for his exaggerated reaction, but still couldn't help feeling uncomfortable.

He didn't want to face the violin boy's gaze again, nor the awkward feeling of being caught in a moment of vulnerability.

As he distanced himself from the music club, Scaramouche promised himself not to go back in there, determined to avoid any situation that might involve seeing that boy again, even though he had never met him.

However, the image of the boy with the violin and his surprised gaze remained etched in his mind, leaving a lasting impression amid his confusion and discomfort.

He tried to calm the racing beats of his heart and rationalize his exaggerated response.

Why did he care so much about what that violin-playing boy thought? Why did he allow a simple glance to make him feel so vulnerable? Scaramouche felt frustrated with himself for letting the opinion of someone he didn't even know affect his mood.

But it would be alright, because he probably wouldn't see that violin boy again, right?

I had been peacefully practicing in the music club, immersed in the melodies flowing from my violin as I tried to recreate the song I was reading from the sheet music, alone in the room. Then, at one moment, a boy with short, vibrant indigo hair entered.

At first, I barely noticed his presence, but then I felt a gaze upon me and immediately halted my performance, lifting my head.

Our eyes met, and I caught a glimpse of his purple eyes. I watched as the boy's cheeks flushed with a soft blush, likely embarrassed for interrupting my practice. I observed in silence as he retreated out of the room, closing the door with a resounding slam that echoed in the chamber.

I stood there, bewildered by the sudden interaction. How should I feel about it? I had no idea. He was just a stranger who had entered and exited my space without explanation.

I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts from my mind, and attempted to resume my practice, but I couldn't focus after that event.

So, I sighed, deciding to call it a day with my practice.I set my violin aside to hold its case and carefully stored the instrument, feeling somewhat pensive about the encounter with that stranger.

Perhaps I would never know who the boy with the indigo hair was, but for now, I decided to set the incident aside. After all, I'd probably never see him again.

[salixsociety]

The Problem of the 'Witch's Sabbat'

Why we should stop calling our non-jewish holidays 'Sabbats': a (hopefully) definitive guide.

It is the year of our Gods 2024, and to this day I still enter communities and see the word 'sabbat' as one of the first. It is common practice to refer to any holiday, but especially those as featured in the Wheel of the Year, as sabbat(h)s, and frankly, I am sick of it. So I hope that I can use this post to convince some people on why it is time to remove that word from our vocabulary.

Where Does the Word 'Sabbat' Come From?

The very root of this word is the Hebrew ש־ב־ת (sh-b-t). It is the root word for many words pertaining to rest and not working (or more broadly: 'cessation'). This word evolved into שַׁבָּת (shabát), which translates to Saturday or weekly rest-day, normally. This word, also often spelled Shabbos from Ashkenazi Hebrew, travelled through various antique languages (Ancient Greek -> Latin -> Old French) directly to Middle English, where it became 'Sabat', and later Sabbath. While this word, in its travel through Europe, has influenced some words, you'll notice that it has also stayed one unique word, with a unique meaning: the Jewish Rest Day. The Sabbath, Shabbos, Sabbat, Shabat, et cetera, will always and has for most of its history been the word uniquely reserved for Saturday in Judaism. To those not very well read on Judaism, it may be helpful to know that Judaism is what is considered a closed practice. It is only permissible to practice Jewish religious tradition, and to a large extent, Jewish culture, if you are a Jewish convert. By extension, that should clue you in on the nature of the word and holiday of Shabbat.

Further reading on this topic: Etymology, Jewish Sabbath.

When Did it Become Relevant to Witches?

The first time the words 'sabbat(h)' and 'witch' were uttered in the same breath would likely be around the late Medieval period. The reason why this is, is something not nearly enough people are familiar with: the incredibly deep link between antisemitism and witch-hunting. Before the early Church turned its hateful eye to the concept of 'witches,' it was firmly on Jews. Jews, alongside other heretics and oppressed minorities like the Rroma, were considered utterly worthy of damnation. They were seen as antagonistic to the Church, going against everything the Church stood for, and furthermore as misanthropic, greedy, unreliable enemies. They were the scapegoats for many disasters and indeed frequently accused of practicing magic or poisoncrafting to invoke these disasters on the 'Good Christian Folk'. Furthermore, and this may sound familiar to you, jews were accused of 'consorting with the devil' and murdering children in order to consume their blood to mock the Eucharist, often referred to as blood libel. It was often claimed that this (nonexistent!) practice was done on the Shabbat, alongside other practices twisting and mocking those done in Church on Sunday. The persecution of Jews in Medieval Europe was horrific and seemingly endless, having origins in antiquity and reaching a peak during the Crusades, and another when the Plague ran rampant. Jews were banished, forced to convert to Christianity or brutally murdered, not infrequently by burning or strangulation.

What all of this is meant to illustrate is that the witch stereotype, or the wish to persecute witches in the early modern period, didn't come out of nowhere. There is a reason that caricatures and cartoons of witches feature a short and stocky body, a big and 'ugly' nose, green skin, red or dark hair, buckled shoes, and a conical hat (which before it became associated with witches, was often called a judenhut or jew hat). The roots of the witch stereotype in antisemitic caricatures and stereotypes are well-recorded and easy to see. And, indeed, the crimes most witches were accused of and burned for, directly mirrored the crimes jews were accused of before them. Consuming 'pure' Christian blood, mocking the Eucharist, fornicating with the devil, and all of this at the 'witch's sabbat', a made up gathering that witches would supposedly fly to on their broomsticks.

The idea that witches existed and the wish to eradicate them didn't purely come from antisemitism, of course. Misogyny, xenophobia, religious idealism from the Church, and other factors played incredibly large roles. But let us remain forever aware that the people burned were not in fact people flying on brooms, having sex with the devil and drinking the blood of Christian children. They were jews, they were Romani, they were people of color, they were women accused of stealing milk, they were victims.

So, the word 'sabbat(h)' wasn't just appropriated because somebody else wanted it or didn't understand it, like in many other cases of (mis)appropriation. It was appropriated explicitly to harm and eradicate several already fragile and oppressed, and in the case of Judaism, culturally exclusionary, communities.

The Role of Western Esotericism and Wicca

One could have expected the concept of the witches' sabbath to die out alongside the trials, but there is a secondary evil in this story, and it is Wicca.

In the late 19th century, English anthropologist and folklorist Margaret Alice Murray, one of the few women in her field, was halted in her research about Egypt, and was forced to find a new field of interest. She developed a hypothesis, based in mostly fantasy, that certain 'witch-cults' had survived the "Burning Times" in Europe. They were, according to her, secret societies upholding prehistoric fertility cults. Though most of her work was based in fantasy and speculation, her theory had one passionate follower: Gerald Gardner. But we will get back to him in a moment, because there is someone else pivotal to Gerald Gardner's beliefs: Aleister Crowley. Crowley is perhaps one of the most famous sexual predators, racists, antisemites, and cultural appropriators in the history of western magic. But, he was 'intelligent', well-travelled, privileged, and obsessed with occultism. He joined the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn when Gardner was already there. Both during his time in the Hermetic Order and after, he studied many religious traditions across the continents and wildly appropriated from all of them, most notably for this story, from Kabbalah (Jewish Mysticism). I will not go in depth about him, but he, and his fixation on Kabbalah, were extremely important to Gardner's views. Gardner, amateur anthropologist (with two fake PhDs!) and former devout Christian, used the works of Margaret Murray and Aleister Crowley to justify his claim that an old witch named Dorothy Clutterbuck had initiated him into one of these prehistoric fertility cults, one that survived the witch hunts. This is where Wicca started, and that makes the formation of Wicca entirely impossible to separate from antisemitism - and that is reflected by their language and rituals. From appropriation directly from Kabbalah, a closed practice, to calling their (mis)appropriated holidays 'sabbats', the origins of Wicca and their views on the trials are abundantly clear.

The Harm

I think we are now at the point in this blog where I should no longer have to explain that taking the word 'Sabbath' (or any other spelling of it) outside of its cultural and religious context, and applying it to practitioners of magic, is outrageously antisemitic. It is the propagation and preservation of notions and habits that got thousands of people, jews and not, brutally murdered, displaced, and forcefully converted, and it continues to conflate jews and witches - something that we've had to agree is antisemitic quite a few times, after quite a few genocides.

Another major evil in calling pagan/witchy holidays 'sabbats' is that it misconstrues what the witch trials actually were - it was the persecution of heretics. Witches are heretics, heretics are non-christian, jews are non-christian, therefore jews are heretics, therefore jews must be witches! In both the Old and the New World it was always the different, the other, the unfamiliar that were murdered. Again: people of color, Romani, jews, muslims, scary and ugly women, thieves, disliked women, the disabled, the mentally ill. It was not, and it will never be, privileged white women. In fact, it was generally them assisting in the eradication! I mean this with quite some distaste: if you are one of those people that says 'we are the daughters of the witches you couldn't burn', I know what you are. You are either uneducated or hateful, and I hope you fix that sooner rather than later.

Something else rather distasteful to me is how casually people are willing to dismiss the arguments against the use of 'sabbat' by the pagan/witch community. Antisemitism is not considered as serious, as severe, as relevant, as important, as worth considering. Not as much as other issues. I have had days-long arguments with people providing source on source on source and been met with: "I just don't see the harm." And I hear what you are truly saying. What you are truly saying is: "it's only antisemitism." When it is the appropriation of white sage, when it is the appropriation of Papa Legba, when it is the appropriation of something you don't want all that much, you are willing to stand up. But when it is antisemitism, when it is a word you've used for years, when it seems small and like it would be more convenient to just keep it, you are willing to stand by. And that is performative activism, and that is perpetuating the casual willingness to appropriate from Judaism. And it will be the reason that you and the people in your circle will also feel confident casually appropriating from other cultures.

Intersectionality

Despite the fact that the antisemitic nature of this usage should be enough, there is so much more harm to be done. After all, as was mentioned, it wasn't just jews that died. It was everybody who was not a white, wealthy, able-bodied, heteronormative, Christian man. It was women, so many women. It was schizophrenics. It was slaves, freed and not. It was natives. It was everybody who was different. When you stand by when people call their holidays 'sabbats', you are not just saying yes to antisemitism. You are saying yes to racism. You are saying yes to homophobia. You are saying yes to indigenous hate. You are saying yes to misogyny. You are saying yes to ableism. You are saying yes to ageism. You are saying yes to xenophobia. You are saying yes to hate.

After all, even when it starts with one group being persecuted, the persecution will go on after the extinction of the first group. And when the persecution finally reaches your group, and you have let every other group before you gone extinct, there will be nobody but you to fight for you.

Further Reading

OTHER BLOGS: The Witch Hunts & Antisemitism: An Often Overlooked History Why I Don't Call Them Sabbats, Why You Should Stop, and Other Thoughts on Problematic Aspects of Western Witchcraft The Antisemitic History of Witches Jews and the Witchcraze Can You Be a Jew and a Witch? Why Do Witches Wear Pointy Hats?

BOOKS and PAPERS: The Saturnine History of Jews and Witches - Yvonne Owens Heal the Witch Wound - Celeste Larsen “Persecution Perpetuated: The Medieval Origins of Anti-Semitic Violence in Nazi Germany,” The Quarterly Journal of Economics 127, iss. 3 (2012) - Nico Voigtländer and Hans-Joachim Voth "The Malleus Maleficarum of Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated with Introduction, Bibliography, and Notes by Montague Summers Do What Thou Wilt - Lawrence Sutin Witchcraze - Dr. Anne L. Barstow Imagining the Witch: A Comparison between Fifteenth-Century Witches within Medieval Christian Thought and the Persecution of Jews and Heretics in the Middle Ages Male witches in early modern Europe - Lara Apps, Andrew Gow

[vampiremirror]

The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He has now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his passion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept murmuring to himself: “Now I can wait; now I can wait.”

Catch our amateur theatrical production of Dracula winter to spring 2025!

WERK°STADT Witten 01.02.2025/02.02.2025

Lito-Palast Oberhausen 22.03.2025/23.03.2025

Saalbau Witten 05.04.2025/06.04.2025

Tickets are available under www.blackstage.info

[workersolidarity]

🇵🇸⚔️🇮🇱 🚨

ISRAELI OCCUPATION ARMY CLAIMS TO HAVE FOUND "SECRET HAMAS DATA CENTER" UNDER UNRWA HEADQUARTERS

The Zionist media is reporting the Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) claim to have discovered a "subterranean data center" conveniently located under UNRWA headquarters in Gaza City.

According to the claims, made by the Israeli military, soldiers found a "subterranean data center" in a tunnel network under UNRWA headquarters, "complete with an electrical room, industrial battery power banks and living quarters for Hamas" fighters supposedly operating the equipment.

The timing of the report draws questions over the recent accusations made by the Israeli entity's officials that UNRWA had a handful of employees, out of thousands in Gaza, who the officials claim participated directly or indirectly in the events of October 7th, 2023.

That accusation came directly on the heels of the ruling made by the International Court of Justice (ICJ), finding that enough evidence has been presented by South Africa to proceed with an investigation into acts of genocide by Israel in Gaza.

The ICJ went further, ordering Israel to cease and disist from performing any acts of genocide, and ordered Israel to implement effective protections for Palestinian civilians as it proceeds with its war in the Gaza Strip, and report back to the court in a few months with evidence of the implementation of such protections.

Now the timing of accusations against UNRWA suggests the Israeli authorities want to change the conversation and control the narrative around its ethnic cleansing of Palestinians in Gaza, even as they push allied governments throughout Europe, in addition to the United States, into cutting off funding to the humanitarian organization.

Several humanitarian organizations, in addition to the United Nations itself, have warned that the cessation of international funding to UNRWA spells a death sentence for Palestinian civilians who depend nearly entirely on UNRWA housing, food and medical aid, schools and other humanitarian assistance for their survival.

#source

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[laz-laz-ace-pilot]

So I got a response from my MP about the genocide in Gaza yesterday.

Some context; my MP is Tobias Ellwood, who is largely known for two things; being the Parliamentary Under Secretary of State for the Middle East (this will be relevant later) and trying to save a policeman's life during an attack on Westminster. More recently though, he's been better known for trying to reintroduce conscription, describing his £90,000 salary as 'counting the pennies', running over a neighbour's cat, and trying to ban protests at his home.

Under increasing pressure, he sent out a generalised email yesterday in response to people calling for a ceasefire and well...

... Thank you for your email, I have received a large volume of correspondences on this matter and hope my response can set out my position in more detail. Firstly, you are right to highlight the appalling situation in Gaza caused by the Israeli Prime Minister’s cack-handed and ill thought out invasion. Hamas has lost its right to represent the people of Gaza – but this is not the way towards securing a two state solution. It has simply led to escalation. I warned Israel (after the barbaric attacks on the 7th October but BEFORE the IDF tanks rolled in) NOT to invade until there was a clear plan of governance and security for which any military operation can work towards that minimised the danger to innocent lives and ensured the removal of Hamas. I even wrote a plan that might be considered – published in Politico which I invite you to read: https://www.politico.eu/article/israel-gaza-hamas-uk-benjamin-netanyahu-we-need-a-plan/ The scale of collateral damage is shocking, and I’m pleased international voices (including the UK) are getting louder in criticising Israel. But the only country with the ability to alter Israel’s behaviour is the United States, and behind the scenes they are making their views heard but more needs to be done. On the question of arms sales, I’ve asked for more information on what is being sold. The call to block all arms sales is understandable – but it could have wider economic consequences. Licences are valued at £500m versus overall trade with Israel (including many businesses from Dorset) worth £9bn. Would such action in cutting arms sale alter Netanyahu’s behaviour? Or would we lose precious leverage in speaking and influencing privately? Away from Netanyahu’s appalling response - Israel is an important UK ally and rare democratic state in a troubled part of the world. It requires wise decision making to leverage our influence efficiently. I’d prefer to see consideration of halting specific military exports IF they are involved with IDF’s operations in Gaza. I am seeking clarity in what that is from my relevant ministerial colleagues.

UK funding for UNWRA has NOT been cut. I have checked with the Minister and there was a question raised about FUTURE funding – but right now there is no question of programmes stopping because UK money has been switched off. I have made my views clear. The speed in which threats to turn off future funding were made was ill-considered. Over 13,000 UNRWA staff work in Gaza. Involvement by a dozen with HAMAS (now being investigated by the UN Chief) should not jeopardise the critical work of the most senior UN agency working in such desperate conditions.

Finally, the call for an immediate and permanent ceasefire. Yes, I would like to support this. It’s where this terrible conflict must eventually go. But having been involved in a few cease fires, whilst serving in the British Army, could I spell out some issues which must be in place at the same time.

Cease fires are not something you shout from afar and they just happen.

A Cease fire is the title to a list of agreements BOTH sides have signed up to - that results in a cessation of fighting in order to give space for other activities to take place.

If BOTH warring parties do not support a cease fire (and conditions) – but are intent on continuing the fighting it will not happen. Both HAMAS and Israel are at present intent to keep fighting.

Fighting can be stopped by a third party/force which marches in the separate sides and enforce the peace. I suspect this is NOT what you are calling for.

The details of any ceasefire are almost always arbitrated by a third party / parties. And usually come after a number of rounds of discussions. Such discussions are happening in Egypt and Qatar – but to date little progress has been made.

Details of any ceasefire will include:

Time frames of commencement of ceasefire.

3rd party monitoring teams (UK might play a role here).

No fly zones, buffer zones, humanitarian corridors

Emergency procedures to quash any breaches by individuals seeking to see the ceasefire fail.

agreed incentives to help the cease fire last (outside funding/ hostage release /humanitarian support infrastructure repair) for activities to take place to build trust.

6. All the above supported by an international legal framework – usually in the form of a UN resolution. 7. Agreement on round table discussions to discuss the long term solutions. As you can see a ‘cease fire’ is simple to demand from afar – less simple to implement in practice. And easy to challenge Western governments about why one is not in place. It is worth remembering that such agreements are occasionally signed up to as opportunity for one side or both re-group and re-arm which is something we must be particularly weary of. I hope, if you have read this far – you will appreciate the context of an Opposition party – calling for a vote on a ceasefire. Perhaps it’s an important political statement. But as I highlight above there are practical implications, which, if I am honest are not discussed in detail. The discussion then boils down to an over-simplistic binary position on supporting the people of Gaza without consideration of the magnitude of obstacles to overcome if a meaningful ceasefire was to be introduced. I so dislike such binary and divisive politics, yet right now that’s how the debate on Wednesday is shaping up. We should be better than this. I will push for a cease fire in the context I’ve outlined above. I will think carefully how I will vote. If this is just about having another pop at the Government for political gain – I will probably stay away. The people of Gaza deserve better. I plan visit Rafah in the next couple of weeks. Thanks again for getting in touch. I apologise about the long response. There is nothing simple about conflict and indeed ending it.

Kind regards, Tobias

I just... I don't think I could write a more condescending, twisted or imperialist response if I tried. The bit about the not suspending arms deals, the 'explanation' of ceasefires/ cease fires, the grammatical and spelling errors. I've been trying to write a concise response for the last hour and I just can't. The only positive is that the growing pressure does seen to be getting to him.

There is another vote on a ceasefire today. Please keep pressuring your MPs. It is slow work but its getting there.

[dracula-dictionary]

Dracula Dictionary, August 20th

spell of cessation: stopping for a bit

cringing: behaving in a very fearful or servile way

relieved: released from restraints

stupendous: very large

paroxysm: a sudden outburst of emotion

swoon: faint, especially from extreme emotion

[spider-xan]

August 19:

Jack Sheppard himself couldn't get free from the strait-waistcoat that keeps him restrained, and he's chained to the wall in the padded room. His cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow are more deadly still, for he means murder in every turn and movement.

August 20:

The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He has now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his passion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept murmuring to himself: "Now I can wait; now I can wait." The attendant came to tell me, so I ran down at once to have a look at him. He was still in the strait-waistcoat and in the padded room, but the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes had something of their old pleading—I might almost say, "cringing"—softness.

Even on a first read, the fact that Seward restrains Renfield with a straitjacket and chains in an isolated padded room is a horrific act of medical and psychiatric abuse that cannot be handwaved as the Victorians just doing their best with the knowledge they had at the time bc such restraints had already been known to be dangerous and inhumane for decades - Lincoln Asylum abandoned straitjackets in 1829 after a patient suffocated to death while wearing one overnight unsupervised - but Renfield going quiet as his eyes soften while restrained and what it really means compared to Seward's assumptions do get re-contextualized on a second reading due to a single line later in the story, and honestly, can you blame him for looking to Dracula for salvation?

If you have read the novel before, you know which line it is, but for first-time readers, I've hidden it behind a cut due to MAJOR SPOILERS, plus warnings for medical and psychiatric trauma:

October 3:

Suddenly his eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless stare. This was continued for a few moments; then it softened into a glad surprise, and from the lips came a sigh of relief. He moved convulsively, and as he did so, said:— "I'll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the strait-waistcoat. [...]"

[arysguide]

Part 1: Ary's favourite releases of 2023

Before you ask, yes I know that Mitski and Sufjan Stevens released albums this year! I'm gonna go ahead and assume they're already on a lot of other people's lists! However, if you think I'm missing out on YOUR favourite album of 2023, let me know. If you're thinking: "63 albums isn't that many, I wish there were more" - you're in luck because there's a Part 2. Part 2 has a different (more pop? upbeat? accessible?) vibe. Don't think too hard about it...

The chart isn't ranked, just arranged in a way that looked nice to me. Metal, hardcore, rap, emo, skramz, bedroom pop and more!!!

Here are Bandcamp links to all of the albums (for those not on BC there's a YouTube or Spotify link). Honestly I'm never quite sure what genre something is, but there's a lot of metal in any case.

Row 1

Lauren Bousfield - Salesforce [digital hardcore]

Dead Times - Dead Times [harsh noise extreme metal]

Danny Brown - Quaranta [rap/hiphop]

Underdark - Managed Decline [post black metal]

Boris & Uniform - Bright New Disease [psychedelic heavy metal]

PUPIL SLICER - BLOSSOM [blackened mathcore]

Sanguisugabogg - Homicidal Ecstasy [death metal]

Row 2

Full of Hell & Primitive Man - Suffocating Hallucination [death metal/grindcore]

Radeloos//Ziedend - Doodsverachting [blackened crust]

Agriculture - Agriculture [ecstatic black metal]

Victory Over the Sun - Dance You Monster To My Soft Song! [progressive black metal]

fog lake - midnight society [bedroom pop]

Bell Witch - Future's Shadow Part 1: The Clandestine Gate [funeral doom]

Krallice - Mass Cathexis 2 - The Kinetic Infinite [progressive black metal]

Row 3

Svalbard - The Weight Of The Mask [postmetal]

Terzij de Horde & Ggu:ll - Van Grond [vitalistic black metal]

portrayal of guilt - Devil Music [blackened post-hardcore]

SAINT VEHK - Practice​/​Doubt I&II [occult death industrial]

Sightless Pit - Lockstep Bloodwar [dub/power electronics]

Designer Violence - We Gave Peace A Chance [electropunk]

geronimostilton - The Vampyre [skramz]

Row 4

Chat Pile & Nerver - Brothers in Christ [sludgey death metal]

Afsky - Om hundrede år [depressive black metal]

Full of Hell & Gasp - FOH/Gasp (Split) [death metal/grindcore]

Solar Temple - The Great Star Above Provides [blackgaze]

Fluisteraars - De Kronieken Van Het Verdwenen Kasteel - II - Nergena [atmospheric black metal]

Fluisteraars - De Kronieken van het Verdwenen Kasteel - I - Harslo [atmospheric black metal]

Andre 3000 - New Blue Sun [spiritual flute jazz]

Row 5

Aesop Rock - Integrated Tech Solutions [rap/hiphop]

Blood Incantation - Luminescent Bridge [cosmic death metal]

Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter (fka LINGUA IGNOTA) - SAVED! [experimental gospel metal]

Spetterpoep - Stoelgang Van Zaken [coprogrind/grindcore]

Gnaw Their Tongues - The Cessation Of Suffering [blackened drone metal]

JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown - SCARING THE HOES [rap/hiphop]

The Lemon Twigs - Everything Harmony [70s inspired rock]

Row 6

Old Nick - "The Truest Spell" [dungeon synth/raw black metal]

Armand Hammer - We Buy Diabetic Test Strips [rap/hiphop]

Liturgy - 93696 [transcendental black metal]

Helena Hauff - fabric presents Helena Hauff [hardcore techno]

That Same Street ⁻ Electric Angel [skramz]

That Same Street - Endgame [skramz]

the scary jokes - Retinal Bloom [dream pop]

Row 7

Bull of Apis Bull of Bronze - The Fractal Ouroboros [occult black metal]

Katie Dey - never falter hero girl [hyperpop]

Full of Hell & Nothing - When No Birds Sang [grindcore/shoegaze]

All Men Unto Me - Chemical Transit [classical/doom metal]

RXK Nephew - Till I'm Dead [rap/hiphop]

Panopticon - The Rime of Memory [rabm/black metal]

Yaeji - With A Hammer [electronic]

Row 8

DRAIN - LIVING PROOF [punk/hardcore]

909 Worldwide - Hardcore Will Never Die, and Neither Will You [happy hardcore/rave]

lobsterfight, gingerbee, Cicadahead, godfuck - a lobster, bee, & cicada walk into a bar and find god [skramz]

GingerBee - Our Skies Smile [skramz/5th wave emo]

Curta'n Wall - Siege Ubsessed! [dungeon synth/raw black metal]

GEZEBELLE GABURGABLY - Gaburger [alt pop]

crisis sigil - God Cum Poltergeist [cybergrind]

Row 9

Lamp Of Murmuur - Saturnian Bloodstorm [black metal]

Crystalline Thunderbolts - Blessed Hands Touch The Ophanim Under The Golden Rainbows [experimental black metal]

Tomb Mold - The Enduring Spirit [black/death metal]

FIRE TOOLZ - I am upset because I see something that is not there. [electro-industrial/experimental]

Angel Electronics - ULTRA PARADISE [happy post-hardcore]

Vylet Pony - Carousel (An Examination of the Shadow, Creekflow, and its Life as an Afterthought) [electronic]

Ada Rook - Rookie's Bustle [electronic]

This post took forever to make. Again if you have any thoughts on it please tell me!!!! And share widely with your friends :)

Love, Ary

[dndfantasygirl]

Fighting for Freedom (Chapter 18: The Fight for Freedom)

Rating: Mature Word count: 4.6k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of sexual harassment/attempted sexual coercion (regarding Haarlep), mentions of past sexual assault

Summary: Delphie, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach rescue Hope and confront Raphael.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

Carefully, Astarion seeks to slip the artifacts out from under the Archivist's nose, his fingers deftly working to avoid detection. Each movement is calculated, every breath measured as he reaches for the treasures that lay within the room.

The discovery made by Karlach in the boudoir had set a chain of events in motion. Despite the trap laid within the painting, its true significance was hidden within the depths of a secret safe concealed within the wall. With skillful precision, traps were disarmed, and locks were picked, revealing the hidden compartment's contents.

Within the safe, amidst the musty scent of ancient secrets, lay the key to unlocking the Hammer: a phrase that would deactivate the shield surrounding it.

But before they departed, Astarion couldn't resist one last inquiry. With a flick of his fingers and a whispered incantation, he communed with the spirit of Haarlep's departed body, seeking the truth about Raphael's prowess in the bedroom.

The revelation was unexpected and utterly amusing, so Astarion filed it away for future reference, a tidbit of gossip to be savored at a more opportune moment.

As Astarion deftly snatches the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength and the Periapt of Health, his heart pounds with the exhilaration of the heist. Delphie's enchanting melody, drifting through the air like a siren's call, threatens to distract even his well-honed senses. For a moment, he feels himself swaying to the rhythm, the music weaving a spell that almost ensnares his mind.

But Astarion is not one to succumb easily to such allurements. With a shake of his head, he banishes the enchanting melody that threatens to cloud his judgment. With renewed determination, he focuses on his mission, the weight of the gauntlets in his grasp a tangible reminder of his newfound strength.

Slipping the gauntlets onto his hands, he feels a surge of power coursing through his veins, as if he has become a force of nature incarnate. With each flex of his fingers, he revels in the sensation of newfound might, his muscles thrumming with potential.

As he approaches the Hammer, the Periapt of Health still clutched tightly in his hand, Astarion's irritation mounts at the stupidity of the phrase required to deactivate the shield around it. "Give me my heart's desire," he mutters under his breath, the words dripping with sarcasm and irritation.

To his astonishment, the shield dissolves with almost mocking promptness, vanishing into the ether as if it had never been. With a smirk of triumph, Astarion reaches out for the Hammer, his fingers curling around its hilt with a sense of anticipation.

Yet, as soon as his hand makes contact with the artifact, a sudden, ominous silence descends upon the room, shattering the tranquility that had pervaded moments before. A silent alarm, triggered by his touch, reverberates through the air, its warning echoing with palpable tension.

The abrupt cessation of Delphie's enchanting melody further heightens the sense of foreboding, the once vibrant atmosphere now tinged with an icy chill. In an instant, the disguises bestowed upon them by Hope's magic unravels, leaving them exposed in their regular armor, their true identities laying bare for all to see.

"You just rang Raphael's dinner bell," the Archivist warns, "and you're the entire meal."

As the tiefling's ominous warning hangs in the air, tension crackling like electricity, Delphie's quick reflexes springs into action. With a fluid motion, she unleashes a spell, a gesture of defiance that sends the Archivist hurtling backward with surprising force. The sound of his impact against the bookshelf reverberates through the chamber, a satisfying echo of the chaos unfolding.

Astarion rushes to join his companions, urgency etched into his features as he extends the periapt towards Delphie. "Hurry, darling. Put this on," he urges, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of determination and protectiveness.

Without hesitation, Delphie complies, slipping the periapt around her neck with a swift motion. As its magic infuses her being, she feels a surge of energy coursing through her veins, invigorating her with newfound vitality. Her heart quickens its pace, the rush of adrenaline heightening her senses as she prepares to face the impending threat.

For a fleeting moment, amidst the chaos and danger that surrounds them, Delphie finds herself momentarily distracted by Astarion's presence. His features seem to take on a tantalizing allure, his lips appearing almost irresistibly tempting. With a shake of her head, she forcibly pushes aside the distracting thoughts, refocusing her attention on the imminent danger that looms before them.

Delphie emerges from the archive room, her senses still tingling with the residual magic that lingers within. Yet, as she steps into the hallway, a sudden sensation of searing heat washes over her, causing her skin to prickle with discomfort. Whirling around, her eyes widen in alarm as she beholds a looming ball of hellfire hurtling towards her with malevolent intent.

Instinctively, Delphie raises her hands, her scales shimmering with an otherworldly glow as she taps into the depths of her draconic heritage. "Fogatorkah di gul," she intones, her breath forming a frosty mist as she unleashes a torrent of icy wind from her outstretched palms. The frigid blast collides with the infernal flames, a clash of elements that sparked and sizzled with raw energy.

In a breathtaking display of magic, the hellfire is quenched, frozen in its tracks by the sheer force of Delphie's will.

"Hurry!" Delphie's voice rings out, urgent and commanding, as she waits for her companions to emerge from the archive room. With each passing moment, the ice that once restrained the ball of hellfire begins to melt away, its fiery tendrils inching ever closer.

As they draw nearer to Hope's prison, the intensity of the onslaught from Raphael's servants escalates. Yet, it's not just their physical assaults that pose a threat. With a sinister twist of fate, the servants detonate upon reaching the party, their bodies morphing into grotesque fiendish creatures that hunger for blood.

Caught in the midst of this chaotic onslaught, the party fights fiercely, their weapons clashing against the twisted forms of their assailants. Spells flare and blades sing as they battle against the relentless tide of enemies, each moment a desperate struggle for survival.

Despite the odds stacked against them, they press on with unwavering determination, driven by their shared resolve to free Hope from her captivity. Inch by inch, they advance through the labyrinthine passages, their progress marked by the cacophony of battle that echoes through the corridors.

Finally, they reach the ladder leading down to Hope's prison. With a final burst of effort, they rally together, steeling themselves for the trials that await below.

-------------------------------

The air crackles with arcane energy as the party descends into the depths of Hope's prison, their hearts heavy with anticipation and resolve. Yet, as they breach the threshold, they are met with a scene of utter chaos. Two imposing spectators, their many eyes gleaming with malice, loom over Hope's prison, flanked by a horde of cackling imps that swarm like vultures around their prey.

With a grim determination, the party springs into action, their weapons flashing in the dim light as they engage their adversaries in a fierce battle. Spells erupt in dazzling displays of magic, while swords clash against the hideous forms of the imps, their shrieks filling the air with discordant cacophony.

The spectators, formidable foes that they are, unleash blasts of magical energy with lethal precision, forcing the party to duck and weave, their every move a dance of survival against overwhelming odds. Yet, despite the ferocity of their enemies, the party fights on with unyielding resolve, their determination fueled by the knowledge that Hope's freedom hangs in the balance.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of struggle, the tide of battle begins to turn in their favor. With a final, decisive blow, the last of their adversaries falls, vanquished by the combined might of the party. As the echoes of battle fade into silence, they stand victorious amidst the wreckage, their chests heaving with exhaustion yet filled with the triumphant glow of success.

With Hope now free from her prison, she wastes no time in calling upon divine intervention, her words a prayer that rings out with clarity and conviction. In an instant, a soothing aura washes over the weary party, their wounds healing and their spirits renewed by the divine grace that surrounds them.

Hope and the party sprint down the narrow corridors, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they push forward with all their might. With each step, they fend off waves of Raphael's relentless servants, their weapons flashing in the dim light as they cleave through the horde.

Delphie's heart pounds in her chest as they race towards their goal, her senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Yet, despite the ever-present threat of danger, a sense of relief washes over her as they draw closer to the portal that will lead them to safety.

A smile of triumph tugs at Delphie's lips as she catches sight of the shimmering portal ahead, its ethereal glow a beacon of hope amidst the chaos that surrounds them. With renewed determination, she quickens her pace, her gaze fixed on the shimmering threshold that promises escape from their ordeal.

As Delphie's foot makes contact with the threshold of the portal, a surge of elation courses through her. Yet, in the blink of an eye, her moment of triumph is shattered as the portal vanishes into thin air, leaving them vulnerable and exposed.

Before they can react, a sinister presence materializes before them, the imposing figures of Raphael and Yurgir emerging from the shadows with malevolent intent.

"You," Raphael's voice drips with disdain as he directs his words at Delphie, his contempt palpable in every syllable.

Delphie meets his gaze with equal measure, her eyes ablaze with a fiery intensity that mirrors his own animosity. With a defiant tilt of her chin, she tightens her grip on the hilt of her dagger.

"There are many things in your world that I loathe," Raphael continues, his tone dripping with venom as he speaks. "Litters of kittens, chattering children - the noise and the chaos of it all." Delphie's death glare intensifies with each word, her lips curling into a silent snarl as she listens to the devil's disdainful diatribe. "In my world - in my HOUSE - there is order and there is decorum. You came here uninvited and you stole from me."

A satisfied smirk dances across Delphie's lips, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and defiance as she meets Raphael's gaze head-on. "We did, didn't we?" she retorts, her voice laced with a hint of mockery. "Though I must say, Raphael, you give me too much credit. It was mostly Astarion who did the stealing."

Astarion, ever the rogue, lets out a high-pitched laugh at Delphie's remark, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he revels in the chaos he has wrought. "Guilty as charged," he chimes in, his tone light and carefree despite the gravity of their situation.

"You brought the chaos of your world into mine. I will not abide by it," the devil declares, his tone as cold and unforgiving as steel.

Delphie's lips curl into a dark chuckle, her amusement tinged with a hint of defiance. "Please, Raphael," she retorts, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your little minions couldn't even stop us. If that isn't the definition of chaos, I don't know what your idea of order is. Face it. It's over. You can't stop us."

Hope's voice rings out, a note of uncertainty laced with determination. "I AM NOT ENTIRELY SURE HE WON'T," she interjects, her words a sobering reminder of the peril they face.

Raphael's gaze turns to Hope, his expression one of disdain as he dismisses her with a contemptuous wave of his hand. "Oh, Hope," he sneers, his voice dripping with malice. "You're such a piteous thing. All it takes is a crumb from the table, and you forget the centuries of starvation. This insolence has earned you centuries more."

Delphie's knuckles whiten as she tightens her grip on the hilt of her dagger, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. "Don't you dare lay a hand on her!" she warns, her voice trembling with suppressed fury.

But Raphael pays her threat no heed, his attention already turned elsewhere as he continues his tirade. "You would've been heroes if you'd only dealt fairly with me," he taunts, his words a bitter echo of regret. "Instead, you're not so different to doomed Karsus, overreaching your limits, and burning your world to ash."

As Hope, Delphie, and Raphael engage in their tense exchange, Astarion, ever the provocateur, seizes the opportunity to interject with a mischievous grin playing upon his lips. With a sly smile, he recounts the unexpected tidbit he had gleaned from Haarlep's corpse, his ears perking up in anticipation of the reaction it would elicit.

Amidst the banter and tension, Delphie, in her own unique way, manages to work her peculiar brand of charm on Yurgir, persuading the reluctant servant to join their cause. Astarion can't help but admire her unconventional approach, a testament to her resourcefulness and unwavering determination.

As Raphael's taunts reach a crescendo, he delivers a final, contemptuous barb, his words laden with malice and disdain. "If you have any last words, make it quick. It will only take a moment to finish you."

Unfazed by the devil's threats, Astarion counters with a snort of derision. "Well, that's twice the time Haarlep claims it takes to finish you," he retorts, unable to resist the opportunity to needle his adversary with a well-timed jest.

The reaction is immediate. Raphael's features contort with rage, his teeth bared in a snarl of fury as he struggles to contain his anger. "You contemptuous creature!" he seethes, his voice a low growl as he glares at Astarion with undisguised hatred.

As the confrontation erupts into chaos, Raphael, true to his theatrical nature, begins to weave a sinister melody, his voice echoing through the chamber in a haunting villain song. The air thrums with dark energy as the cambions close in around the party, their malevolent presence adding to the sense of impending doom.

Amidst the turmoil, Delphie's keen observation skills come to the forefront, her eyes scanning the chamber with a sharp focus. Dodging a swing from a cambion's sword with practiced agility, she quickly identifies the source of Raphael's newfound power.

"He's drawing power from the pillars!" she shouts, her voice cutting through the din of battle like a clarion call. The revelation sparks a glimmer of mischief in Karlach's eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she embraces the opportunity for action.

With a primal roar, Karlach channels her rage into a burst of speed, hurtling towards the nearest pillar with reckless abandon. Meanwhile, Astarion springs into action, deftly igniting smokepowder bombs and hurling them with precision towards the pillar nearest to him. Ignoring the cascading debris, he focuses solely on disrupting Raphael's source of power.

Shadowheart, her focus unwavering amidst the chaos, channels her magic with practiced skill. With a whispered incantation, she conjures a spectral door that materializes before her, opening a path to the pillar farthest from her. Without hesitation, she dashes through the portal, her movements swift and graceful as she readies her guiding bolts to unleash upon the source of Raphael's strength.

Yet, amidst their coordinated efforts, the cambions press their advantage, their relentless assault testing the party's resolve with each passing moment. Shadowheart flinches as a cambion catches her off guard, their sword slashing dangerously close as she focuses her aim on the distant pillar.

With agility and grace, Delphie slides beneath Raphael's towering form, her movements fluid and precise as she navigates the chaos of the battlefield. As she emerges on the other side, her gaze locks onto the last remaining pillar, her resolve hardening with determination.

With a fierce intensity burning in her eyes, Delphie points a finger towards the pillar, her voice ringing out with arcane power. "Sharleg ekess bilaes," she incants, her words infused with ancient magic as she taps into the depths of her draconic heritage.

As she channels her energy, Delphie's scales begin to glow with an ethereal light, casting a radiant aura around her. With a focused concentration, she unleashes a thin green ray from the tip of her finger, the magic crackling with raw power as it streaks towards its target.

The ray strikes the pillar with unerring accuracy, its force hitting with the impact of a thunderbolt. In an instant, the pillar begins to tremble and groan, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface as it succumbs to the onslaught of Delphie's magic.

With a deafening roar, the pillar collapses into a cloud of dust, its once imposing form reduced to nothingness in the blink of an eye.

As the chaos of battle swirls around him, Astarion's focus remains unwavering on Delphie. She is his anchor in the tumultuous storm, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatens to engulf them all. With every fiber of his being, he is determined not to lose her, to ensure her safety at all costs.

Yet, amidst the frenetic dance of combat, Astarion momentarily loses sight of Delphie, his heart seizing with a sudden pang of fear. With reflexes honed by years of survival instincts, he whispers an incantation taught to him by the wood elf, the words flowing from his lips with practiced ease. In an instant, he dissolves into mist, his form evaporating into the ether as he traverses the battlefield with ghostly swiftness.

Reappearing next to one of the crumbled pillars, Astarion crouches low, seeking cover from the onslaught of enemies that surround them. His keen eyes scan the chaos, searching desperately for any sign of Delphie amidst the fray.

Finally, his gaze alights upon her, a surge of relief flooding through him as he sees her moving with a predatory grace towards Raphael, her movements fluid and purposeful. With a sense of pride and admiration, Astarion watches as she unleashes her magic, stunning their adversary with a display of raw power.

But his elation is short-lived as he notices the danger looming behind her, a cambion bearing down upon her with lethal intent.

In the heat of battle, Astarion's instincts take over as he draws his bow with practiced ease, his movements fluid and precise. With a steady hand and unwavering focus, he releases the arrow, the projectile hurtling through the air with deadly accuracy.

The arrow finds its mark with chilling precision, piercing through the cambion's skull with a sickening crunch. With a final, agonized cry, the fiend crumples to the ground in a grotesque heap, her lifeblood pooling beneath her motionless form.

The sound of her body hitting the ground echoes through the chamber, drawing Delphie's attention in an instant. With a swift turn, she meets Astarion's concerned gaze, her eyes locking with his in a silent exchange of understanding and reassurance. With a subtle nod of acknowledgment, she dashes forward, her resolve unyielding as she sets her sights on Raphael once more.

Closing the distance with predatory grace, Delphie moves with a deadly purpose, twin daggers gleaming in her hands as she closes in on her prey. With a primal roar, she lunges forward, driving the blades deep into Raphael's neck with ruthless precision.

Astonished by the swift and brutal efficiency of her attack, Astarion can only watch in silent awe as Raphael staggers backward, his lifeblood gushing from the mortal wounds inflicted by Delphie's hand. With a strangled gasp, the devil falls to the ground, his once-powerful form now reduced to a mere shell of its former self.

As the macabre scene unfolds before him, Astarion feels a chill run down his spine, a nagging sense of unease gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. It's as if a shadow of darkness lingers around Delphie, a lingering reminder of the dark forces that once sought to consume her.

In that moment, Astarion can't help but wonder if perhaps there is still a part of Bhaal lingering within her, its influence casting a sinister shadow over her actions.

As the dust settles and the echoes of battle fade into the background, Astarion finds himself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. The lingering concern about Delphie's unsettling display of violence is tempered by the reassuring knowledge that she has never directed such predatory instincts towards him or their companions since her resurrection.

With a sigh of relief, Astarion acknowledges that perhaps it is merely an instinctual remnant from her years of survival in the wilderness, a vestige of her primal nature that she has learned to tame in the company of her newfound family. Whatever the case may be, one thing remains certain: in her presence, he feels safe, and he knows that she is safe too.

With the devil defeated, the Hammer reclaimed, and Hope freed from her captivity, a sense of triumph washes over the party, their shared victory a testament to their strength and resilience in the face of adversity. With their mission accomplished, they can finally return to Baldur's Gate.

-------------------------------

Perched on the edge of the cliff overlooking the tranquil expanse of Dragon Cove, Delphie finds solace in the quiet beauty of the night. With her knee drawn up to her chest, she sits in contemplative silence, her gaze fixed upon the moon as it casts its gentle glow upon the land below. The rhythmic chirping of crickets fills the air, a soothing melody that lulls her into a state of peace and tranquility.

Yet, despite the serenity of her surroundings, Delphie finds her thoughts drifting back to the disturbing images of Haarlep that linger in her mind like unwelcome specters. With a shudder, she pushes them aside, focusing instead on the gentle rhythm of her breathing as she seeks to quiet the turmoil within her soul.

Lost in her thoughts, Delphie's ears twitch at the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

"You know, I've grown rather fond of these gauntlets. We could just never return to the Devil's Fee."

Astarion's voice breaks the peaceful silence of the night, his words carrying a playful tone as he approaches Delphie from behind. With a smirk dancing upon his lips, he pauses beside her, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the gleaming gauntlets adorning his hands.

Delphie turns to face him, a small smile gracing her features as she meets his playful gaze. She watches with amusement as he admires the gauntlets, his antics eliciting a soft giggle from her lips.

"What do you think, my sweet? Do they make me appear more formidable?" Astarion strikes a dramatic pose, flexing his arm with exaggerated flair. Delphie can't help but roll her eyes playfully at his theatrics, her smile widening at his antics.

"Sure, if it'll make you sleep better at night," she teases affectionately.

Taking a seat beside her, Astarion feigns offense, his hand coming to rest dramatically over his unbeating heart. "Oh, how you wound me at times, darling."

Delphie's laughter fades into a soft sigh as she leans into Astarion's comforting embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his presence. His arm wraps protectively around her, a silent gesture of support and understanding as he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, his touch a soothing caress against her skin.

As his fingers trace tender circles along her arm, Astarion's voice breaks the silence, his concern evident in the softness of his tone. "Are you alright?"

For a moment, Delphie hesitates, the weight of her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She takes a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggles to find the words to convey her inner turmoil. "I-I think so," she replies, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "It all just reminded me of Galure and what he...did to me."

Tears well up in her eyes, their shimmering trails tracing silent paths down her cheeks as she speaks. The memories of her past trauma linger like a shadow, their presence a constant reminder of the pain and suffering she has endured.

Feeling the weight of Delphie's sorrow pressing against him, Astarion holds her even tighter, his arms a sturdy anchor in the storm of her emotions. With each trembling breath she takes, he can feel her pain radiating through her, a tangible reminder of the scars that still linger from her past.

As he gazes down at her tear-stained face, Astarion's expression softens, a mixture of concern and frustration clouding his features. "Why didn't you listen to me?"

Delphie's silence speaks volumes, her eyes darting away from his gaze as she struggles to find the words to explain herself. A sense of guilt gnaws at her conscience, the weight of her actions heavy upon her shoulders.

"I told you it wasn't safe," Astarion continues, his tone gentle yet firm as he presses her to confront the choices she made.

In response, Delphie's voice is barely above a whisper, her words laden with remorse. "I only undressed for him, Astarion. He didn't even lay a hand on me."

A flicker of anger flashes across Astarion's features at the mention of Haarlep's actions, his jaw tensing with barely contained fury.

"You shouldn't have felt compelled to resort to such measures," Astarion insists, his voice softening with empathy. "I told you we would find another way. Why didn't you trust me?"

Delphie's shoulders tremble with suppressed emotion, a small whimper escaping her lips as she struggles to contain her tears. "It wasn't that I didn't trust you, Astarion. I was just afraid...we had to get the Hammer," she confesses, meeting his gaze with teary eyes. "It's the only way we'll defeat the Absolute."

"I know, darling, but as you once told me, we will always find a way. Together." Astarion's voice carries a quiet reassurance, his words a balm to Delphie's troubled soul as he gently takes her hand in his own. With a tender gesture, he brings her fingers to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against them before intertwining their hands together, his touch a comforting anchor in the storm of her emotions.

"Promise me," he implores, his gaze searching hers with earnest sincerity, "that the next time we find ourselves in such dire straits, you'll at least consider indulging me?"

Delphie meets his gaze with a silent determination, her heart swelling with gratitude for the unwavering support he offers her. With a nod of her head, she cups his face in her hands, her touch gentle yet firm as she brushes her lips against his in the softest of kisses.

Their moment of tenderness is interrupted by a series of chirps, drawing their attention to Esme landing beside Delphie. The small pseudodragon curls up against her, seeking comfort in her presence as Delphie tenderly pets her scales.

With a contented hum, the wood elf leans her head against Astarion's shoulder once more, finding solace in the coolness of his embrace. Tomorrow, they will face their toughest adversary yet, the daunting prospect of battle looming on the horizon. But for now, in the quiet embrace of the night, they find peace in each other's arms, their love a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounds them.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

August 20th

The case of Renfield grows even more interesting. He has now so far quieted that there are spells of cessation from his passion. For the first week after his attack he was perpetually violent. Then one night, just as the moon rose, he grew quiet, and kept murmuring to himself: "Now I can wait; now I can wait." The attendant came to tell me, so I ran down at once to have a look at him. He was still in the strait-waistcoat and in the padded room, but the suffused look had gone from his face, and his eyes had something of their old pleading—I might almost say, "cringing"—softness.

…

I was satisfied with his present condition, and directed him to be relieved. The attendants hesitated, but finally carried out my wishes without protest. It was a strange thing that the patient had humour enough to see their distrust, for, coming close to me, he said in a whisper, all the while looking furtively at them:—

"They think I could hurt you! Fancy me hurting you! The fools!"

Hahaha! Haha! Ha…

It was soothing, somehow, to the feelings to find myself dissociated even in the mind of this poor madman from the others; but all the same I do not follow his thought. Am I to take it that I have anything in common with him, so that we are, as it were, to stand together; or has he to gain from me some good so stupendous that my well-being is needful to him?

Whaaat? The two of you being character foils? No wayyy…

Even the offer of a kitten or even a full-grown cat will not tempt him.

I FUCKING HATE YOU SEWARD

... Three nights has the same thing happened—violent all day then quiet from moonrise to sunrise. I wish I could get some clue to the cause. It would almost seem as if there was some influence which came and went.

Nothing to see here I’m sure 🦇

We shall to-night play sane wits against mad ones. He escaped before without our help; to-night he shall escape with it. We shall give him a chance, and have the men ready to follow in case they are required....

Can someone just suck his blood until he’s dry like a raisin? I think someone should just suck his blood until he’s dry like a raisin.

< Prev 🦇 Next >

[jimothysomebody]

Recovering From Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome

It's difficult to gauge exactly where to start, considering the many nuanced factors that lead me here. For awhile it felt like I was dealing with some wretched mystery ailment. After my breakup there was a period of time where money was tight and I wasn't eating well, in part because money was tight and in part because of a long struggle with self image, self loathing, and just a warped and unhealthy perspective of myself. What a stupid, stupid thing it was to subject myself to that degree of harm and malnourishment. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

In late March, somewhat coinciding with my old vape pen breaking, I began to feel a bit unwell and I wasn't sure why. Brainfog, difficulty concentrating and remembering, poor sleep (and that's saying something) headaches, strange dizzy spells and a weird feeling in my head, unusual episodes of elevated anxiety, stress, and depression beyond what is 'normal' for me, stomach issues, changes to my appetite, fatigue, apathy. Some days were better than others, some days were hell, other days I may have one awful episode and be otherwise fine the rest of the day, sometimes a day or so would pass without incident at all and I'd feel totally normal.... but these terrible symptoms kept coming back

Initially I believed it to be the lingering effects of having been anorexic from early February to the beginning of April... but April, May and now most of June have come & gone... and these symptoms have persisted.... what else could it have been?

I figured, outside of the extreme episodes of anxiety, the most likely cause was the effects of tapering off of, and eventually quitting weed. The conclusion I drew was that, surely, I must be experiencing Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome, brought on by increased use of medial grade weed and an increased vaping of delta 8 around this time. It was also my theory that because I didn't do it daily, just used a *lot* every few days or on weekends, that my inconsistent pattern of high dose usage was keeping me in a state of withdrawal that wouldn't stop until I made myself quit. My preferred method was vaping, but I began with edibles July of 2023... for nearly a year my already chemically imbalanced brain became accustomed to a regular supply of THC, surely... surely the cessation of cannabis would have put my brain in a state of crisis and rebellion as it attempts to reset the dials back to my “normal”, right? Much of the literature I read seemed to validate my worries, between credible medical publications from all over, the US, Canada, Australia, the UK, I poured over the findings and data of medical professionals and everything seemed to point to that... what has now worried me the last 42 days I've been sober was the fact that, for most, they seem to be through the worst of it within 2wks to a month... but still I contend with these symptoms. Maybe...just maybe, I was too hopeful and by some twisted hellish coincidence I was, unknowingly, affected by something more dire... there are many, many far more life threatening conditions that share many of those symptoms in common... and that thought has come and gone since March... Friday afternoon I finally humored my paranoia that told me to stop toying with my mortality and went to the ER to get checked out.

They drew blood, did urinalysis, an EKG, chest xrays, and a CT scan of my head, every test came back normal, nearly everything was ideal, save for what results have been effected by a recent brief regimen of prednisone to help with my tenosynovitis (which also significantly improved my withdrawal symptoms)... and in the sea of test results even those *slightly* abnormal results didn't bother me, knowing exactly what caused them.

The test results have given me a lot of peace of mind... I now know definitively, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what I am experiencing does not have a physical cause... it is instead chemical as my brain tries to regulate itself back from a year of a lot of vaping and edibles. I do not have brain cancer, any brain damage, any debilitating neurological condition, internal bleeding, blood clots, nor do I have any heart or lung condition. No abnormalities were detected... It's just withdrawal, and I can get through this. I've been tempted to vape, a few times. I miss having a mild high, but mostly I miss the relief that comes with it for my anxiety, my depression, ptsd, mild pains, etc. There hasn't been any strong compulsion or urge to use again, in fact not unlike my alcohol I still have (almost 7 months sober now) my vape pen is in plain sight just on my bedside table, where it has, literally, been collecting dust since May 12th. I have had one or two dreams about weed/vaping though, which I suppose isn't a totally unheard of sort of dream to have for people quitting.

I'm set to see yet another therapist soon in July, and shortly thereafter, I imagine, another doctor. I'm not sure what the plan of attack will be, considering the chemical imbalance is now influenced by quitting weed. In the past I've seen a lot of success with SSRI's like sertraline/Zoloft, in treating my depression, with some positive changes to my anxiety as well, it'd certainly simplify things to be on just one med but I'm not optimistic that will be the case, nor do I don't know just how effective sertraline would be while recovering from PAWS... I do know this much, compared to how I felt in April I feel, generally speaking, significantly better. I do still experience all the symptoms I've described but to a lesser degree and with less frequency and diminished duration compared to how I had been previously... it is my belief that, with time and resolve I will make a full recovery from this horrid months long trial. I really think I'm gonna be okay.

[midnightprelude]

Major Arcana: Lovers

Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next

CW: mention of solitary confinement; conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma

There were cherries in the bowl on the table, dewy, sweating in the Minrathous summer. The green velvet chaise was where it had been before. The chess game midway to completion. Jugs of wine sat on the floor, half-finished. And Rilienus- lean and long, skin like fine whisky, sweat gathered on his spine and sticking his curls to his temples - sprawled on a rented bed with a contented grin curving his lips. “I yield,” he mumbled sleepily. “No more metaphysics.”

Dorian smoothed his palm up Rilienus’ belly, lips curling into a smirk. “I remember this night,” he murmured, kissing the words to Rilienus’ chest. “I don’t believe I minded the cessation of our other discussions.” He squeezed Rilienus’ thigh lightly. “Are you- You’re with me, still?”

He watched Rilienus fall asleep under his hands and remembered the way his heart had stuttered at the sight. Trusting him. Lazy and comfortable and easy. 

Fingers touched the back of his elbow and he turned to find an older version of the man in the bed. Weary and rumpled. He slid his hand down Dorian’s arm and twined their fingers together. “I’m here.”

“Ril,” Dorian drew him close, tangling his fingers in his hair and kissing him in slow, lingering sips. “I love you. I remember you.”

Rilienus’ lips trembled under his own, his arms wrapping around Dorian’s waist. “You do?”

“It felt as though I’d lost a limb. An entire piece of me was missing and I couldn’t remember what I’d been before, but now-“ He leaned back, holding Rilienus’ hands. “Are the twins well? Are they with your mother, too?”

Rilienus nodded slowly, glancing between his eyes. “Yes. Yes, they’re- Plini’s trying to learn the flute. Isobel’s getting that little rabbit to finally sleep in her arms. They’re well. Felix is researching this damned spell.” He leaned his forehead to Dorian’s, breathing slow and deep. “We miss you.”

“Am I- I’m dreaming?” Dorian thumbed his cheek gingerly. His beard was thicker, less kept than it usually was. Dark circles lined his eyes. “How long has it been since I was- Since you’ve been trying to intervene?”

“Three weeks.” Rilienus leaned into Dorian’s touch, tightening his hold. “You didn’t know who I was. You tried to duel me.” He grimaced. “I’m afraid I was rather unsporting.”

“I-“ Dorian skimmed his fingers across Rilienus’ arms. “Did I hurt you?” His eyes widened. “Oh, gods, did I hurt them?”

Rilienus closed his eyes. “None of that matters right now. We’re all safe and well. We just need to bring you home.”

“Rishiri Arcana,” Dorian nodded, frowning. “You mentioned. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the intricacies.”

“No. I wouldn’t think so.” Rilienus kissed his chin gently. “Dorian, do you want to try to wake up? Do you think you might remember us if you did?”

“Am I me now, or is this manifestation part of a greater whole?” Dorian sighed, rubbing his temples. “I have no idea what the repercussions of that might be.”

“Well,” Rilienus bit his lip. “You’re tied down and in a warding circle. So if you don’t remember us, at least you won’t be able to hurt anyone. There’s that.”

“Ah.” Dorian grimaced. “Wise and prudent, I suppose.”

“Sorry.” He squeezed Dorian’s hip. “It’s a precaution.”

Dorian nodded, leaning into his arms. “I’d like to- Yes. If you think it’s a good idea.”

Rilienus kissed his cheek. “I’ll ask Mada to take the little ones to the lake. Just in case.” He met Dorian’s gaze steadily. “I love you.”

“I forgot you.” Dorian squeezed his hands, his eyes stinging. “Why would anyone wish for me to forget you?”

“Dorian… I’d like to say a couple of things. As a hypothesis. Would you just… would you tell me what you think? What you feel? Even if it seems like nothing?”

“…now?”

“I don’t have to.”

“No, I-“ Dorian blinked. “Alright. Yes. So long as you stay with me.”

Rilienus watched him. That same steady gaze that had followed him since Carastes. Filled with laughter, sometimes. Concern. Hunger. Ire. He smoothed his thumb over Dorian’s cheek. “…Apricots.”

“I remember eating them on a rooftop in Qarinus in the moonlight, licking juice from your fingertips.” He hadn’t realized until he said the words, but the vision returned to him as though he was watching it happen. “I feel…” It was the last night before Rilienus left for Rivain. “Bittersweet. I wasn’t sure things would be the same when we both returned.”

“They weren’t,” Rilienus mused quietly, then, “Ernesto.”

Dorian pressed his lips together. “That name doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“No?” Rilienus’ brow furrowed. “Davan?”

“I’ve a cousin named Davan. Second-cousin. On my mother’s side?”

“Right.” A familiar hum rolled behind Rilienus’ teeth. “The nug farmer.”

“I don’t know if I’d call him a farmer, per se. An enthusiast? I’ve never understood the fascination.”

“Everyone has their particular fascinations,” Rilienus murmured, still petting his cheek. “Jules Abrexis.”

“…the second son of Magister Abrexis.” Dorian tilted his head to the side. “Are you going to have me recite his lineage?”

Rilienus watched and watched and watched. He exhaled slowly, glancing down. “…no.” He cleared his throat. “No. I’m certain you know it as well as my own.”

“I do.” Dorian studied him curiously. “How did your hypothesis fare?”

Rilienus took his hand. “Let’s see.” He nodded to a tapestry on the wall and drew it aside, revealing a wide door. “Do you trust me?”

“With everything.” Dorian followed him, leaning against his shoulder.

“I am with you,” Rilienus told him, a warm weight against his side. “You’ve… If you feel as though the walls are falling, I’m here. Alright?”

“Yes.” Dorian squeezed his hand gingerly. “I’m ready.”

[mahayanapilgrim]

The Prajna Paramita Heart Sutra

WHEN THE BODHISATTVA AVALOKITESVARA, WAS COURSING IN THE DEEP PRAJNA PARAMITA, HE PERCEIVED THAT ALL FIVE SKANDHAS ARE EMPTY, THUS HE OVERCAME ALL ILLS AND SUFFERING.

O, SARIPUTRA, FORM DOES NOT DIFFER FROM VOIDNESS, AND VOIDNESS DOES NOT DIFFER FROM FORM. FORM IS VOIDNESS AND VOIDNESS IS FORM; THE SAME IS TURE FOR FEELING, CONCEPTION, VOLITION AND CONSCIOUSNESS.

SARIPUTRA, THE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE VOIDNESS OF ALL DHARMAS ARE NON-ARISING, NON -CEASING, NON-DEFILED, NON-PURE, NON-INCREASING, NON-DECREASING.

THEREFORE, IN THE VOID THERE IS NO FORM, FEELING, CONCEPTION, VOLITION OR CONSCIOUSNESS; NO EYE, EAR, NOSE, TONGUE, BODY OR MIND; NO FORM, SOUND, SMELL, TASTE, TOUCH, MIND-OBJECT, OR EYE REALM, UNTIL WE COME TO NO REALM OF CONSCIOUSNESS.

NO IGNORANCE AND ALSO NO ENDING OF IGNORANCE, UNTIL WE COME TO NO OLD AGE AND DEATH, AND NO ENDING OF OLD AGE AND DEATH. ALSO, THERE IS NO TRUTH OF SUFFERING, OF THE CAUSE OF SUFFERING, OF THE CESSATION OF SUFFERING, NOR OF THE PATH.

THERE IS NO WISDOM, AND THERE IS NO ATTAINMENT WHATSOEVER. BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING TO BE ATTAINED, THE BODHISATTVA, RELYING ON PRAJNA PARAMITA, HAS NO OBSTRUCTION IN HIS MIND.

BECAUSE THERE IS NO OBSTRUCTION, HE HAS NO FEAR.

AND, THUS, HE PASSES FAR BEYOND CONFUSED IMAGINATION AND REACHES ULTIMATE NIRVANA.

THE BUDDHAS OF THE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE, ALSO RELYING ON THE PRAJNA PARAMITA, HAVE ATTAINED SUPREME ENLIGHTENMENT.

THEREFORE, THE PRAJNA PARAMITA IS THE GREAT MAGIC SPELL, THE GREAT SPELL OF ILLUMINATION, THE UTMOST SPELL, THE SUPREME SPELL, WHICH CAN TRULY PROTECT ONE FROM ALL SUFFERING WITHOUT FAIL.

HENCE, HE UTTERED THE SPELL OF PRAJNA PARAMITA, SAYING, , "GATE, GATE, PARAGATE, PARASAMGATE, BODHI, SVAHA!"

[vintage-tech]

time capsule: Fairbanks, AK weekly newspaper of Oct 4, 1961.

Last November, when I was visiting my folks on the Oregon coast, I dropped in at one of my favorite antique stores and came away with an issue of Jessen’s Weekly, a newspaper where the television section was larger than the news section since this was the closest thing to TV Guide available. A fun read about how JFK was pissing off Ike’s fanboys, all the news that’s fit to print and fresh haddock, the growing pains of a place that’s only been a state for three years, and a police blotter that basically says that drunk men and three teenage boys are responsible for all the major crimes in Fairbanks.

Would you like a peek?

First thing to note is that while there’s no classified ad saying this, the Weekly is desperately in need of a proofreader. I’m no newspaper man despite all the journalism, newswriting, and desktop publishing classes from junior high through college, but if you’re a weekly you do have some time to read over at last part of your copy before going to press. I’m omitting a few other egregious errors in body copy since those can slip by easily, but a headline?

Another several typos here, but I will give credit because it’s unclear whether it was The Music Shop that provided incorrect information to the paper or the paper’s layout person who boned this. First thing, I own all four of the albums mentioned above:

Now then: Error 1 is that Sheldon ‘Shelley’ Berman (1925-2017) spelled his name with an ‘e’ before the ‘y’. Error 2 is that the name of his record label was Verve, with a ‘v’ before both of the ‘e’s.

Time for another didn’t-read-the-ad-first ad! And this one MATTERS! I highly doubt that Northern Commercial Company was giving away free McColloch chainsaws, or until this thing hit the stands.

You can own a brand new 1962 Chevy Birdpoop-Catcher! See your dealer!

Sammy Safety himself is an OSHA violation.

...and then they go home and watch the game while the rest of the fam is at the service. Someone there will give them all a lift home, I’m sure.

Also something to do while the family is at church: drink a bunch of Oly beer. “Visitors are always welcome” though it’s been closed since 2003.

You read it here first, folks. Alaska was not racist.

The TV and radio listings were the second, larger section of the paper. And herein you discover they didn’t flip the switch on the two local television stations until 11:55am (CBS) or 5:30pm (NBC and ABC shared a station!). Guess you were supposed to listen to the radio, which did have plenty of programs scheduled, from their start at 6am until the boobtube warmed up. Also take note of the number of 15 minute programs that were available in 1961, as well as how you could get all the CBS soap operas you could stand: Love of Life, Search For Tomorrow, Guiding Light, As The World Turns, The Secret Storm, The Edge Of Night, and The Brighter Day -- a series which was cancelled two weeks before this issue printed but it would be a little while before a current episode’s tapes reached the TV station and there’s nothing in the blurbs that fill the pages about the cessation of the show.