#some days pass like others and sometimes circumstances transform you

[idiopathicsmile]

deepest apologies to my rl friend who has helped me process it multiple times by this point, but the above image, which comes from a sign in a greenhouse in Kew Gardens, forever remains at the forefront of my mind, specifically the phrase “innocent insects,” which is the funniest piece of editorializing I have ever encountered in a museum-like setting, absolutely hands-down world-class unreliable narrator shit.

“innocent insects” like. ok I see what you’re going for, you wanna up the drama to hopefully get readers excited about science but still. why so judgmental against a plant that is just trying to get its nutrients? and even buying into this weirdly moralistic framing of a natural process, how do you know the insect is innocent? innocent of what, exactly? off the top of my head, ants and bees both live in highly organized groups governed by what you might call rules of a sort; do we seriously think there are zero transgressions? like, are we as a species fully prepared to assert that there are no bug crimes? at the very least, lots of insects eat other insects, which is after all the very so-called sin for which we condemn the pitcher plant; are these insect-eating insects truly more innocent than a plant which performs the same act? and even if an insect survives solely off of plant matter, wouldn’t a death by devouring from a separate piece of carnivorous flora constitute not a crime but a perhaps-brutal act of utterly justifiable kingdom-on-kingdom revenge?

“innocent insects” i just. did an ant ghostwrite this?

[maverick-werewolf]

Werewolf Fact #72 - Returning to Human Form

Time for Werewolf Fact #72! Wow, that's a lot. And that's not counting all the books and articles and ask responses and other things I've done over the years. It's been a fun ride.

But for now, let's turn our attention to something a patron pointed out I've never actually discussed... what makes a werewolf return to human form?

I'll be honest: popular culture has taken much more of an interest in laying out the details about returning to the human form than did folklore, overall. In folklore, the act of changing to and from was certainly the centerpiece of the horror, but popular culture and its emphasis on werewolf characters led into a deeper evaluation of such an experience. Folklore also generally discussed the transformation into a monster much more than out of it, at least in more laborious and horrific detail (see Lykaon, Niceros, etc).

We see painful transformations to the werewolf form in folklore quite a bit, as I've discussed before. In fact, the prime example is one of the earliest surviving recorded werewolf legends. And yet even turning into the bestial form was occasionally painless in folklore, involving donning a magic skin or performing a simple ritual to suddenly become a wolf. As for the werewolf returning to the human form, as far as folklore is concerned, that often seems almost or entirely effortless.

Obviously, in popular culture, it's much more common to have the dramatic to or from in either form. I'm personally a big fan of this, as you'd know if you've read any of my fiction (be sure to check that out at my website!), but if you really want to get down and dirty with werewolves being true to folklore, frankly it is overall common for neither transformation to be painful. And certainly it is even less common for the return to human form to be a particularly traumatic or jarring event. That doesn't make for a super dramatic story, though, so we see - especially in past werewolf stories, ones that emphasized horror more - the traumatic tos and froms.

With that out of the way, here are some methods of returning to the human form in folklore...

End of certain timeframe - The most common of triggers to return to the human form, many werewolves will reassume the human form after a certain amount of time has passed. For instance, werewolves in Greek myths like those of Arcadia could return to their human form after seven or ten years, if they hadn't devoured any human flesh. Likewise, other werewolves would return after a certain number of days or even weeks had passed, with or without other circumstances.

At will - There are cases of the werewolf returning to human form at will throughout folklore, or else it is unspecified if there are any other required circumstances or acts.

Removing the magic skin/item - This can vary from being difficult (such as with Sigmund and Sinfjotli) to being as easy as "peeling back the wolf skin," such as in the tale of the werewolves of Ossory. There are many other examples as well, with varying degrees of difficulty or triggers.

Using a salve - In some stories, a salve is rubbed on the body to reassume the human form. This is also the case with assuming the wolf form. This is more common in the Renaissance/Early Modern period, overall, often with Satanic werewolf or even witches-rebranded-as-werewolves-by-modern-scholars, though there are a few cases otherwise.

Putting on your clothes again - In some stories, a werewolf who sheds his clothes turns into the wolf form, and in order to don the human form once more, he must return to his clothing. Sometimes, the clothes turn to stone in the meantime, until he returns to put them back on. Or, such as with Bisclavret, the clothes may be hidden, trapping the werewolf in bestial form.

Curse removal - In some stories, whoever cursed the werewolf must lift the curse in order to return the werewolf to human form. This is the case in tales wherein the werewolf doesn't go back and forth at all but is someone cursed to become a wolf and stay that way until said curse is lifted, less like a traditional werewolf.

Daybreak - Some werewolves returned to the human form at daybreak. While this didn't appear in stories directly very often, it is mentioned in assorted sourcebooks, such as Baring-Gould and Summers discussing werewolves and how "the desire comes upon them at night." It can also be speculated based on events in stories, such as Niceros's Tale, but the circumstances there were never explicitly stated. So this one may be slightly more questionable than the others if you want direct story sources, but I'd say there are plenty of sources around enough to justify it being on this list.

I am not including those funky ones you see all across the internet that weirdos bandy about in their clickbait list articles, like "tossing iron over the werewolf's head" or whatever, because I need a lot more cross-referenced actual examples of those to include them in a list such as this, as opposed to unfounded Google results that D&D players then like to grab and turn into le silleh memes.

Note that this list, as always, doesn't cover every single possibility seen in folklore. I'm not even going to pretend I'm trying to do that here. That will be in the future Werewolf Facts book that I'm publishing in a few years (yes, I am working on that).

And that just about covers the general overview! Hope you enjoyed the post. Be sure to check out the links below. Until next time!

( If you like my blog, be sure to follow me here and elsewhere for more folklore and fiction, including books, especially on werewolves! You can also sign up for my free newsletter for monthly werewolf/vampire/folklore facts, a free story, and book previews.

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[danceswithdarkspawn]

@tsunderesalty

screenshot because the ask isnt in my inbox anymore but HI THIS IS FINALLY DONE FROM LIKE (checks calendar) MAY???? anyway by now i think most of us have figured out #1 is going to happen eventually and #2 is fucking...AU material??? which I can't be caught dead doing.

so that leaves us with the Third Option. Did I actually make Morrigan be nice to Ariel??? idk but i tried babes

Brief warning for:

suicidal and/or self-destructive thoughts

mentions of death and dying

general spoilers (this is set post-Griffonheart)

largely unedited because I wanted this to be a little more casual

Morrigan looked up from her makeshift potions table. Ariel sat at the opposite end of the camp, perched in front of the fire, hunched and staring distantly into nothing. A corner of Morrigan’s lips briefly quirked, finding the image of the brooding Grey Warden somewhat reminiscent of the same one she fought the Blight with. Except now her lines were deeper, her face much more gaunt, and she possessed a darkness behind her eyes that was unnatural.

She swallowed thickly and looked back down to the salve she was preparing. She added a little more beeswax to the melting pot and sifted through a collection of tiny corked bottles filled with various oils, finally settling on three. The first contained royal elfroot oil for its restorative properties; the second held embrium, to make the spread warming. And the third was Andraste's Grace, which Morrigan acquired back at Skyhold just for this purpose. Morrigan carefully added a drop each from the first two, and two from Andraste's Grace. A sharply sweet aroma lifted from the pot when she gave the contents a stir. She rifled through her collection of glass containers, picking out one that was short and round, and gave it a cursory wipe down before pouring the contents of the pot into it. Satisfied, she went about making other provisions for the journey ahead.

Morrigan approached the fire sometime later, jarred salve in her hands. Ariel didn't look up from the fire until Morrigan stood beside her. The sharpness of her features were made even more severe by the shadows resting in their hollows. It made her appear much more slight than she was. Her skin was a sickly pale, nearly taking on the orange hue of the light of the campfire. The only variation was marked by black spidering veins creeping up her neck. Ariel's eyes began to cloud in the days prior, transforming her pupils into endless milky pools.

"Do I look that bad?"

Morrigan blinked, catching herself. She released a small breath through her nose and said, "You've not quite the visage of a hurlock. Perhaps there is some humanity left in you yet." A long breath passed with only the crackle of fire between them, meanwhile Ariel simply stared in silence. "I made more of this for you," Morrigan said, holding out the jar. Ariel took it slowly and turned it over in her hands. "I noticed you were having some trouble walking; it should help alleviate some of the pain."

Ariel set the jar down near her boot. "Thanks."

"Are you experiencing any other pains?" Morrigan frowned a little when Ariel shook her head. "Nothing at all?"

The beleaguered Warden let out a humorless laugh. "I'm dying, but yeah, I'm fine." Morrigan inhaled a slow breath and bit down a scathing remark. Ariel tilted her head up to regard her, was silent for a long moment, before letting out a sigh. She looked down, head dropping between her shoulders. Morrigan thought it reminiscent of a dog tucking its tail in. "I'm sorry," Ariel finally said, rubbing at her eyes. "I know you're just trying to help."

Morrigan released a measured breath, feeling her bristling ire cool. She crossed her arms, shifted from one foot to the other, flippant, meaningless motions meant to distract from her raw heart. Anger was how Ariel dealt with things, Morrigan reminded herself. She supposed she would be angry too, given the circumstances. Still, something about this anger was different. Helpless, perhaps.

The night and the campfire crackled on, unaware.

"Is there anything more I can do for you?" The question came out a little sharper than Morrigan intended.

But Ariel let out a bitter laugh that bordered on a sob. She shook her head in her hands, drew in a seething breath, pushed her fingers through her hair. "You could kill me," she finally said.

"I will do no such thing." Ariel didn't answer, hands clenched. "How severe is the pain?"

"Go stick your hand in the fire," Ariel said, motioning. "It's like that, but everywhere." Another hissing inhale. "And probably...I think I'd prefer to burn, at this point."

Morrigan made for her potions stock before Ariel finished, rummaging through little corked bottles, holding them up to the light, before choosing one. She uncorked it on the way back. "You could tell me before it gets so debilitating. Here." She held the bottle out; Ariel righted herself long enough to take and down its contents. Morrigan retook the emptied glass and returned it to the stockpile.

But she lingered there, frozen at first and eyes glazing over open tomes with their annotations, different reagents and the rest of her supplies. Her heart began to gallop, and Morrigan made herself busy without much thought. Pages turned, bottles opened, a crucible was filled; the scent of crushed embrium and wax and just a little rose water and—

"It's not debilitating," Ariel said from across the fire. "If it was, I wouldn't be walking."

"You are a fool," Morrigan spat. She flicked her wrist and a fire sprang to life beneath the crucible. "You needn't be immobile to be debilitated. You know this, I hope?" She shot a look over to the fire, where a pair of colorless eyes bore right through her. She snapped her attention back down, snatching a stirring rod and plunging it into the waxy slurry. "You should be resting."

"I will, once that stuff starts working."

Morrigan scoffed. Her brow ached. "I will hold you to that."

A strained laugh. "What are you gonna do, turn into a wolf and lay on me?"

A pang streaked through the witch's chest. A memory, long since tamped down, dredged to the surface; her lips flickered, the fire licked at the sides of the crucible. Morrigan hadn't meant for the gesture to hold him down, but rather to—

"It worked for Eran, did it not?"

The night turned deathly quiet. Morrigan tamped out the little fire, went about pouring the mixture  into an empty vessel. It wasn't blended well. Too choppy, too stiff from scorching. She'd attempt to salvage it in the morning. It did not matter much to her now, however; the distraction had served its purpose, though her nerves still felt frayed and raw.

"Would you do it for him? If he was like this," Ariel added, and Morrigan snapped her head over. "If he asked you to kill him, would you?"

Her blood turned to ice. A lump formed in her throat and Morrigan struggled to swallow past it. Morrigan was unsure if Ariel's irony was intentional, but its weight was hard for her to ignore. She wondered how fatally close Ariel was to realizing that was exactly what she allowed before the Archdemon's slaying.

Not that she didn't try. Or plead. Or...

Morrigan said nothing, unable past the vice on her throat, knowing her silence was as good an answer as any.

Morrigan returned to the fire some time later, sitting across from her companion. She crossed her arms, minding off the chill that had settled around their makeshift camp. She'd thought these nights very reminiscent of camping during the Blight, especially when the two of them took watches together. How they'd sit across the fire, with Morrigan trying to do something worth doing, and Ariel still and silent as a gargoyle for most of it, save the times either of them grew curious about the other.

They'd come full circle, like a snake eating its own tail.

"Before I left Amaranthine," Ariel began, and Morrigan started a little, "I sent Leliana a letter telling her what I was doing, that I wanted to find an end to the Calling." Morrigan's eyes flicked to Ariel's hands, where she flipped a twig between gloved fingers, all the while her eyes remained on the fire. "Wanted her to come with me, but she couldn't. She told me Justinia wanted her. And I didn't understand because I thought—" Her fingers closed; the twig snapped. She flung the remains into the fire. "She made me promise I would tell her if I got my Calling so she could be with me."

In another life, Morrigan wondered how different this all might be. She knew solitude had done lasting damage to the Warden; it was evident before leaving Skyhold. It was not until this endeavor, however, that the depths of those scars revealed themselves. It was...sad, in a way. Familiar, but also sad. "I imagine it is difficult that she could not accompany us."

A short laugh. "Leaving Skyhold was about as difficult as leaving for Amaranthine," Ariel admitted. Silence. "She still had work to do for the Inquisition. I can't do much about that." She paused again, her head tilting, until she reached down and plucked the jarred salve from beside her boot. "That's what the ring's for, right?" She set the jar in her lap, then pulled upon the fingers of her gloves until they came off. The aforementioned band glinted in the firelight before it too came off, dropped inside a glove, and then set aside in favor of opening the jar. She took a generous amount on her fingers, spread it between her hands. "Though it doesn't really work in a place like this," she continued, sounding a little more subdued. "This in-between bullshit is weird. I can't feel her here."

"The flux of magic here makes such enchantments unpredictable," Morrigan admitted. Ariel answered with a low hum that mingled with a sigh, having steepled her hands over her nose. Her eyes fell closed, and Morrigan's lips quirked with a twinge of pride. The smell was potent, even from across the fire. "I could attempt to alter it, if you wish."

Ariel shook her head, then lowered her hands. "No, it's fine. We have more important things to do than fuck around with a magic ring." She resealed the jar and fished the ring from her glove. "I just didn't want to be alone at the end," she said lowly, sliding the ring back onto her finger. Her touch lingered, twisting the metal, kneading one hand into the other. "I didn't want to die alone in the Deep Roads and be lost down there. If things became so unbearable...if she was with me, then maybe—" She trailed off, her hands lowered, and she stared into some middle distance for a long breath. "I think it's better this way. I wouldn't want her to see me like this."

"No? She is not unfamiliar with death's face."

Ariel shook her head. "Not like this. It's too much. Even being like this around Kieran, the boy's too young...and if I'm honest, I'm—I'm glad Leliana had to stay behind."

Morrigan leaned back on her perch, a brow arched. That was not something she expected from Ariel. "Should I be flattered that you tolerate my company so?"

"I'm too weak," Ariel answered, kneading a hand into her eyes. "I want to go home. I trust you to get me there."

Ah. Well... "You know that there is a chance this does not work."

Ariel's hand lowered, hollow eyes fixed on Morrigan through the flames. Then her head dropped between her shoulders again, her thin hair becoming a curtain. "I know. That's been a possibility for over a decade now. Always there, always stuck to me like a shadow in my thoughts, my dreams, I—" Fingers clawed through her hair, and a low hiss coupled with the crack of embers followed. "If I were still with Leliana, I would have asked her to end it at least a dozen times already."

Morrigan drew in a slow breath. She was beginning to understand; the evidence had been there since leaving Skyhold, but in all the moons since their departure, Ariel's earlier outburst was the first time she voiced such notions. She supposed it was foolish to assume Ariel meant it in jest, though she could hardly fault her regardless.

And again she wondered how things might be different if things had played out just a bit differently.

Love was such a trap, one all of them had been snared by in one way or another.

"And you think Leliana would kill you?"

"If I were to beg, if things were so hopeless..." She slowly shook her head in her hands, her hair bunching in the crooks of her fingers. "I'd like to think she would," Ariel answered, not looking up, her voice a touch thicker. "I hope she wouldn't."

Morrigan was unsure of what to say. Delicate sympathy was very much out of her element. It was one thing to deal with the ills of her son; it was an entirely different matter responding to grief left to fester for a decade. When everything aligned and horror seeped in, it was everything Morrigan could do to stave away her own grief. "Do you truly believe she would allow you to lay down and die? Have you so little faith in her, in yourself?"

The Warden reared back, her lips spread into a bitter grin and she laughed. Morrigan bit the inside of her lip, golden gaze narrowing, watching Ariel claw at the twin streaks running down her face. "This is what I mean," she said, and Morrigan raised a brow. "Why I'm glad I'm with you and not her."

"I am afraid I do not follow."

"This," she said, balling her fists and shaking them. "This insistence to just...keep going, even if I don't want to. It's what Eran used to do for me. Whenever I wanted to lay down and be done with it all, he'd just—" She sucked in a breath; her colorless eyes were wild. "He'd pick me up by the scruff and say 'Get up.'," she hissed through her teeth, "'You're not done yet, get up!'" A long silence followed while Ariel stared into the fire, her breath heavy, and her visage looking every bit beastlike with the way the fire and ghastly light of the Crossroads lit her face. For a moment, Morrigan wondered if this place knew of Ariel's nature.

"I need that," Ariel finally spoke, subdued again. "I need to be told to keep going. Not soft reassurances and 'oh, darling, rest for a while.' No, as much as I want that, it won't fix me. Once this is done, if I survive this, I'll have a lifetime of that, but for now, I—" She looked off to some unknowable spot beyond the fire, then finally dragged herself to her feet, collecting her discarded things. "I suffer a little now, it'll feel all the better when it's over. That's how that works, right?"

Morrigan's lips momentarily quirked. "Yes, the sooner I return you to that tart of yours, the better, I think."

Ariel tossed her a hollow glare. "She's not a tart."

"No? The way she acts around you, I might have been fooled." The jab dredged out a reaction from Ariel that Morrigan had not seen since departing Skyhold: she smiled, a genuine, lopsided smile, and she raked a hand through her hair, looking down. Morrigan could guess what she might be thinking about. "We should move on from this place come morning," Morrigan suggested before they carried on further. "We have lingered here for long enough."

"Right. That's probably wise."

With that, Ariel vanished into her tent, and Morrigan set about preparing for the journey come morning. She sorted and packed up much of her supplies, putting away the things she would not need immediately and leaving the rest before setting off.

"Morrigan?"

She snapped her head toward Ariel's tent, finding the woman dressed down and standing with her hands fidgeting at her front. Morrigan opened her mouth to ask what was the matter, but she finally spoke.

"Thank you," she simply said. "For everything."

Morrigan's thoughts fell over themselves until she finally managed, "Of course." Of course. As if it were the most...natural, obvious answer. If Ariel thought it indifferent, however, she gave no indication. She nodded in farewell before disappearing back into her tent, this time for good.

Morrigan went back to organizing her things, albeit in a slower, more deliberate manner as her mind wandered. Was she doing enough? Could this be stopped? What if it couldn't?

The heavy lid of the trunk carrying her various reagents thumped shut, but her hands lingered upon it, her eyes following the worn ivy patterns carved all across it. It had to be, she told herself. "Would you do it for him," she mouthed, her fingers curling in on themselves.

She wondered what he might say. She wondered if he'd let her.

[fandom-space-princess]

also, very curious about the circumstances that led to her being cursed by the gods 👀

So one of the themes I'm interested in most in BG3 is the intercession of the gods in mortal lives. Both in terms of the obvious narrative of the Dead Three and their plans, but also the indifference and/or casual cruelty of the rest of Faerun's pantheon, notably the gods typically thought of as exemplifying good - and what that means about how much power lies in the hands of common people vs. their "betters." Sura's backstory came about because of those thoughts, and is directly informed by them.

Tl;dr because this got long: Sura is cursed because her mother was an awful person, and to the gods, a debt is a debt regardless of who incurred it. Sura started paying her mother's debt the day she was born.

Long version:

Sura's mother, Aran, was a wood elf from one of the clans of the Wood of Sharp Teeth. From a young age she was a gifted sorcerer, and an obsessive collector of knowledge. Unfortunately, she was also an essentially disagreeable person from minute one, and had an entirely unwholesome knack for death magic. When she became an adult her own people politely showed her the door. From there, she took up with a roving mercenary band that eventually landed her in Baldur's Gate.

Joining the group introduced her to Sura's father, Maurit: a solid brick wall of a human sellsword whose primary talent in life was hitting people really hard. He wasn't a particularly bad man, as mercenaries go, although he wasn't a particularly good one either. What he lacked in other areas of his personality, he made up in loyalty. Aran's basic amorality didn't bother him - to him, she was the most beautiful and dangerous thing he'd ever seen, and he would have followed her into the Nine Hells for a smile and a song.

[Pictured: terrible parents]

Aran was motivated by the acquisition of personal power, and she was prone to bouts of obsession. She'd get interested in some new project and no one but Maurit would see her for weeks, sometimes months. What she did during these times varied, but it always seemed to circle back to her interest in necromancy. (My headcanon-for-a-headcanon here is that she'd have gotten on well with Mystic Carrion, if they ever met). As time passed, her work got bloodier, and she eventually got it into her head that if she could raise enough undead, she could amass sufficient power to make a run at godhood.

Which brings us to the night Sura was born.

Nobody'd seen Aran for months. While that wasn't enough in and of itself to draw attention - she was known to be with child, it wasn't that odd that she'd been absent from work as dangerous as theirs - nobody'd seen her husband in the preceding weeks either. Though Maurit wasn't the most well-liked or social man, the people he worked with did eventually get concerned enough to go looking. So one quiet night, half a dozen of them turned up at the couple's home in the outer city.

We'll spare the details here (I don't know what kind of stomach you have for horror), but they walked into a house transformed to an abattoir that would make a Bhaalist proud. Bodies piled on every surface, intact and otherwise. From what they could gather, Aran had succeeded in raising a truly monstrous number of undead. Her body lay prone in the center of the room, next to her husband, who had met a gruesome fate as her final victim. She seemed to have succumbed to whatever ritual she was attempting to complete, and had been struck down in the same blast that leveled her hoard of zombies. The only life left in that room was her newborn child, minutes old. On either shoulder the baby sported what appeared to be brands: Kelemvor's scales on her left, Lathander's rising sun on her right.

At first, none of the assembled mercenaries could bring themselves to touch her. Near as they could tell, the girl was probably the result of ritual magic that had deeply offended two of the most powerful gods in realmspace. They might have abandoned her to her fate. But Tethos stepped forward. He'd been the closest thing to a friend the girl's father had really had. Standing over his body, he couldn't bring himself to simply abandon his daughter. So he took her in.

[hi Tethos]

Sura would only discover what her curse meant to her as she grew. There's a lot of additional story involved, which for the sake of this not turning into a novel I'll exclude, but the practical upshot is: she can't die. She found this out the hard way, i.e. the painful way, and at the point where she gets abducted by the Nautiloid she's been dealing with the realities of being unwillingly immortal for just over 70 years.

She maintains an antagonistic working relationship with her patron gods. They periodically turn up and set her tasks, which she completes under extreme protest. And once she gets tangled up with the tadpole gang... well. Things get interesting fast.

I have so much written about her ongoing struggles with her desire to regain mortality, and how she relates conceptually and practically to her concepts of religion, guilt, obligation, and rebellion, but I'll save that for another day.

[youremyheaven]

Strange experiences I've had since rahu md started, how do you think Rahu mahadasha is linked with experiences with death (in surroundings or just in general, being more aware and sensitive towards it) ?

Rahu in pushya 10th, ketu and mars in 4th shravana and moon in uttarashada 4th. 8th lord venus in swati 1rst house.

I came across more and more suicide incidents since the beginning of this dasha..I never use to watch news before but now murder and death news are always too sticky to me.

What do you think am I being asked to learn or lean on?

i think nodal transits/dashas etc are very transcendental but difficult experiences. you have to be unnaturally grounded to make gains during this period. having a saturnian nak in rahu helps with stability a little bit because its Saturn's nature to restrict and Rahu's nature is expansion, so Saturn will "chain" Rahu's illusive nature but Rahu is still Rahu so there is only so much chaining and restriction that can take place. idk if any of the placements you mentioned can contribute to being more aware of death during this period. i wonder if you have 8h placements?? or 12h ones??? having 8th lord in 1st can point to increased consciousness of 8th house themes including death, occultism and transformation but i feel like its some other placement tbh

which year were you born in? is this perhaps an 8h or 12h profection year for you?

the inner most circle represents the house and the outer circles represent the age.

during my 12h profection year last year, a friend of mine passed away on her birthday under strange circumstances. it was really weird bc in the months leading up to her death i spoke to her a lot even tho i never did before and i had some truly heart touching moments with her. im a psychic medium irl and im often consulted by others, so her bf who is a good friend of mine insisted that i read for her even though i told him i dont think its a good idea for me to read for friends etc and im usually pretty firm but when he kept insisting, i gave in and i read for her. it was single handedly the strangest experience i had because i felt like i couldnt see her future at all, it was a complete blank. i picked up a lot on her personality and her past which both her and her bf confirmed to be true but she kept insisting on knowing about her future and was vv anxious about it and i absolutely couldnt see anything and that has never happened to me before or since. a few months later i had a dream about her and a few days after that, i wake up to text messages saying she has passed away.

i think the lesson with death is that it can come at any time, so one must not take life for granted. we should give it our all when we have time.

this is highly personal but for me with this experience, my biggest lesson was how kindness is never wasted and how even if you think no one is noticing, people are actually paying attention, so having goodness within and being kind to others goes a long way. this girlie's bf told me (a few months before she passed away) that he really appreciated me complimenting her outfit on Valentine's day bc i made her really happy and apparently nobody else had anything nice to say to her that day. it really doesnt hurt to be nice to others and sometimes we dont get very many chances to be kind either, even small interactions with others, if we can respond with love and kindness, it will make a big difference because you never know what the other person is going through or where life is going to take either of you.

what you learn from these experiences is up to you and how it makes you feel. death to me is always a reminder to be more kind and loving. the regrets that sting me the most have been my failures to be kind (i was a kid but still)

[apricusnights]

Morely & Friends: Revenge Of The Chalupacabra. Part One.

The opening credits roll as a montage is shown of workers transforming Morely World into it's Hallows Day variation. Decorations are placed, attractions are changed, even the music playing around the park has become more..dare we say..spooky?

Time passes and the theme park has opened it's doors to the public for all the Hallows Day festivities. We're shown everyone enjoying themselves as the days go by. Finally the camera stops on a pair of park workers standing in front of a new attraction, The Chalupacabra's Maze of Terror.

The workers discuss how the attraction has had more problems than anything else in the park. They've had to work on it constantly, and now the animatronic Chalupacabra seems to be malfunctioning.

They head through the maze, stopping every so often when a strange noise is heard. The camera changes to the point of view of something watching the workers make their way through. It follows them but remains out of view.

The workers head in separate directions. One heads to where the animatronic is supposed to be only to realize it's gone. He calls out to the other worker but there is no response. He heads back through the maze and eventually finds his partner's flashlight. Picking it up before taking a look around. He turns around just in time to catch a glimpse of the previously unseen creature pouncing on him. All that is seen is the flashlight hitting the ground as the camera pans back up to the sky and the movie title comes into view.

MORELY & FRIENDS: REVENGE OF THE CHALUPACABRA!

Morely & Friends have arrived at Morely World to help with all the strange occurrences. Morely is wearing a knight costume, Bill is dressed like a pirate, and the Taco Felon is dressed like some sort of space marine. Piper has stayed behind to help the Nacho King handle Taco Land's own Hallows Day festivities.

Morely: "Well it's a pleasure to be here..I mean I'd say that under regular circumstances but it sounds like ya'll got a major problem on your hands. People goin missing, the park havin all kinds of problems, the Chalupacabra movin around.."

Bill: "Chalupacabra? Nobody said nothin about no Chalupacabra!"

Morely: "Relax Bill, it isn't real. They built a fake one for the Hallows Day fun! Look, it's over there!"

Bill and Morely look over at the animatronic Chalupacabra exactly where it's supposed to be.

Morely: "But the workers say sometimes they find it missing or it winds up in different parts of the park."

Olivia (Played by Blanche Bolingbroke) enters wearing an "Alice in Wonderland" style costume.

Taco Felon: "Well look who it is, taking a break from your booming bakery business?"

Olivia: "I heard you all might need a little help, I asked my sister Sally to man the bakery for a little bit. After all, the last time we dealt with the Chalupacabra it was after me."

Morely: "Must be a little weird seein a theme park attraction based on somethin that was chasin you and your sister around last year."

Olivia: "Well it is a little odd but I mean, it's just an animatronic." Olivia walks over and taps the Chalupacabra's head making a metal clanging noise.

Night begins to fall as our heroes investigate the park for any signs of mischief.

Morely: "Ok so it should just be us and a few of the workers, we don't have to worry much about the general public."

Taco Felon: "If that's the case..who's that?"

Morely looks over and sees a group of people suddenly split up and head different directions.

Bill: "Ok well that's a little suspicious.."

Olivia: "Uhm, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but.." Olivia points back at the stage at the end of the maze where the Chalupacabra is supposed to be only..it isn't.

Morely: "Oh crud..."

Taco Felon: "Alright listen, two of those kids ran towards the Haunted Castle attraction. I'll go after them. Bill, go after the one that headed toward the Spooky Swamp area. Morely and Olivia can.."

One of the people makes their way over in a panic.

Rosie: "You gotta help! Listen, I know it's weird but I came here to visit my friends, a few of them are working here but something is wrong! It's like something has taken them over! They.."

Morely: "Turned into what their costumes were?"

Rosie: "How did you know?"

Morely points to the fact Some of the kids were now being chased by something resembling an actual werewolf (Played by Tally).

Bill: "We gotta.."

Olivia: "RUN!"

The chalupacabra suddenly leaps down and growls..sounding very real.

Our heroes split up and run through the park pursued by various monsters as well as the Chalupacabra itself.

Taco Felon and Rosie manage to barricade themselves in the Haunted Castle. Morely & Olivia take a wrong turn and end up in the Spooky Swamp.

Bill: "Man...I lost track of everyone..Morely? Olivia?" Bill turns a corner in the maze and comes face to face with a strange woman wearing a hooded cloak, and worst of all..the chalupacabra..

TO BE CONTINUED.

[astaldis]

Chapter 6: As we lie here in our bed

@witcher-rarepairs​  @cake-shop-rarepair-bingo

Rarepair Bingo Prompts: Bedsharing, Temporary or permanent blindness, Write a disabled character

Witcher Rarepair Prompt Fest Prompt: Post Season 2: After their lie is uncovered by Emhyr var Emreis, Cahir and Fringilla are arrested and thrown into the dungeons - in the same cell. With only one bed. First they bicker and bitch and blame each other for their failure, but this changes drastically when Cahir is tortured, and badly so, and Fringilla has to take care of him.

Rating: Mature, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Fandom: The Witcher (TV)

Relationship: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Fringilla Vigo

Additional Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sharing a Bed, Major Character Injury, Friendship, Witcher Rarepair Summer Bingo, Title from a The Amazing Devil Song, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Trauma, Fluff and Angst, Aftermath of Torture, Abacination, Mental Breakdown

From Chapter 6/7:

As time passes, Cahir gets better, at least physically. The swelling goes down and the bruises change colour and slowly start to fade away. The cell is small and with the pallet and the bucket being the only items in it, it is not difficult for Cahir to internalise its layout and navigate around it even without being able to see. In contrast to Fringilla, he can touch the dimeritium rods in the walls and feel his way along them, which helps. He soon manages to do most things on his own, although there is not much to do, really, beside eat and drink, use the bucket, and sleep. And talk. It is really funny, Fringilla cannot remember ever having talked that much to one and the same person within the span of just a few days. Truly remarkable how this involuntary, forced by circumstance proximity, this sharing of a bed, a blanket, even a bucket, has altered their relationship. Before, Fringilla was not even sure whether or not they were friends at all or just competitors for the White Flame's recognition, favour and praise. Now they talk about all kinds of things, about politics, the war and their failed mission, but also about a lot more personal matters. Fringilla once mentioned to Cahir how jealous she was of Yennefer during their years at Aretuza. Now she tells him everything about her time there. She tells him about her stupid timidity, her loneliness, her self-doubts and fears, about how she tried to please everybody, about how hard she worked, so much harder than Yennefer ever did. And still, there was this persistent feeling of never being enough for Tissaia and her Uncle, of always being overlooked and outshone by others who were both less talented, less diligent and far less well-behaved. It was not fair, not ever. She even tells Cahir about her shrivelled hand. Nobody at all seemed to care about it then although it was not only horribly painful for her and shocking when it happened - by no fault of hers, mind you, for how should she have known, Tissaia only told them afterwards that the flower had to die for the stone to move, not beforehand. What teacher would do that to their students? - but she had to live with it for years until, finally, her transformation fixed the ugly deformity. There are fond memories to share, too, a few nice ones from her school days at Aretuza, but mostly of her childhood in the beautiful fairytale Duchy of Toussaint, which ended so abruptly with the unfortunate cat incident. Sometimes, Fringilla wonders what her life would have been like if that had never happened, if she had never shown any signs of chaos and led an unremarkable, non-magical life as a Toussaintois noblewoman, probably married away to some baron or count and with a whole swarm of children. Well, she would be either dead or an ugly old crone by now if she had not become a sorceress. So, perhaps, even if her current circumstances are far from enviable, it is for the better despite everything. If Cahir is right and she will be released soon, there is still so much she can do. And this time she will not disappoint the White Flame ...

Continue reading on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47540179/chapters/120413242

[cryptidsurveys]

Tuesday, July 23rd, 2024.

Has anyone ever made fun of your taste in music? Not my taste in music as a whole. Just one band.

What’s your favorite season of the year? Autumn with winter as a close second.

Do you have pop-tarts in your house right now? No.

Is anyone’s birthday coming up? No, but my mom just had her birthday about a week ago.

Does someone owe you over twenty dollars? No. However, they do want to start compensating me for some of the volunteer work I do at the shelter because I'm there so damn often. I was like, "no, seriously, it's fine; just let me have an occasional cupcake and I'm good, lmao." But today one of the managers came in and gave me what basically amounts to a staff pass to the fundraising event coming up later this week (equivalent of 40$)���I forget whether it's on Thursday or Friday, but I'm going to try to go to that. I had planned on attending last year, but I was sick. :'(

Do you remember who you liked in grade eight? Yeah.

When was the last time you burned any part of your body? I burned my mouth a bit on some coffee/oatmeal the other day.

Have you ever overflown a bathtub? No. But the drain tab (or whatever you call it…?) for our tub is broken, so we just stick it down with a bit of duct tape. The faucet leaks a bit sometimes, and sometimes the duct tape will come loose, and…yeah. I've come home to a couple of close calls. There's a sort of secondary/emergency drain thing, so it probably wouldn't completely overflow, but...!!!

Are you dressing up for Halloween this year? No.

Have you ever called somebody dollface? I don't think so.

If I gave you ten dollars, what would you spend it on? Probably groceries. There's nothing special I really want to buy.

Have you ever thrown food at a stranger in a movie theater? No.

What are you most excited about right now? How much time I've put in at the shelter lately, and how well my body has been holding up. Over the past seven days, I've completed three full days (Thurs, Sun, Mon) and two half days (Fri, Tues). I'd have to add up the hours, but I think I'm at or approaching full-time.

Does / did either of your parents serve in the military? Yeah. My dad was in the Air Force.

Are you somewhat of a perfectionist? I'm like a failed perfectionist. I try so hard to get things right, but I'm always messing up something.

Do you like sour candy? It's alright, but it's not my favorite. I tend to prefer chocolate over sour/sweet candies.

Where would you like to go on your honeymoon? A lot would depend on my partner, our circumstances, etc, but I would love to go on a bit of an extended backpacking trip along the Colorado Trail. If not that, then maybe a trip to Japan.

Do you have Verizon? Yeah.

Are all nighters something you have grown used to? Nooo.

Do you usually wear sunglasses when you’re driving? I often wear them in the morning, but I don't tend to need them in the afternoon/evening. It also kind of depends on the time of year/angle of the sun.

Do you wear your shoes around the house? No. I have slippers for inside.

Is there ever a time that you enjoy cold showers? Not really. Even when it's hot out, I still prefer hot showers.

What clothes are you most comfortable in? Sweatpants and big baggy hoodies.

Is there anybody you’re not ashamed to tell anything to? I still experience shame, but I'm most comfortable with my dad and therapist. I feel like I can tell them both pretty much anything.

What has changed most about you in the past year? At this point, I feel like it would be easier to list the things that haven't changed. This was a really transformative year for me, in a good way.

Are you good at painting nails? I wish.

Smoothies or slushies? Smoothies.

Are you good at filling silence in awkward situations? No.

Ignoring nutrition, could you live off veggies for the rest of your life? I do love veggies, especially salads, but I couldn't live off of them.

Elaborate on a way you have volunteered? That's basically what this whole survey blog is about, lmao - the progression of my volunteer experience.

Do you use a full length mirror daily? Yeah, or pretty close to daily, anyway.

Can you walk in heels, or do you feel awkward in them? No.

Any TV shows you sit down weekly to watch? I don't watch TV.

Does anybody know about your sex life other than your partners? I don't have a sex life atm.

Even if you don’t like politics, do you still have opinions on the issues? I'm not a very political person, but yeah, sometimes I still have opinions. And sometimes I don't; either because I just don't care, or because I simply don't know enough about a certain topic to form a meaningful opinion…which could also technically fall under "not caring" because I haven't bothered to better inform myself. (shrug)

Are you one to sneak food into movie theaters? Just my water bottle, but I don't think that really counts.

Do you ever actually make your bed? I wash my bed-stuff weekly, so I make it then, but otherwise not really. I might fix it up a bit if I feel like it, but that's about it.

Do you make an effort to eat healthy? Yeah. Not an obsessive effort, like I still allow for various indulgences, but I try to do a decent job.

How are things between the person you like / love / are with? N/a.

Where did you sleep last night? At home, in my bed.

The last time you kissed someone, what color of shirt were they wearing? I have no idea.

What kind of booze did you last take shots of? I'm not sure…maybe rum…?

What’s something you want to purchase next time you’re at the mall? There isn't anything. I'm not even all that interested in visiting the mall.

Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you that you were sexy? Yeah.

If you could see any musician live, front row, who would you choose? Maybe Fifty Dollar Dynasty. Not because they're my favorite band ever or anything like that (although I do like their music), but I originally found out about them through their podcast (Brothers of the Serpent) and really came to love their silly personalities, so it's…idk, I guess it's more personal?

If you had to choose between a million dollars or to be able to change a regret? The money.

Are you taller than your mom? Hmm, am I now…? She used to be taller than I am, but both of my parents have shrunk a bit as they've aged, so…I'll have to pay attention the next time I see her.

Have you ever been around someone who was high? Yeah.

Do you prefer to take your showers at night or in the morning? Mornings.

Think back to June. Were you in a relationship? No.

What’s so special about what you’re wearing? It's comfy.

Do you have any ‘naughty’ photos on your phone? No.

What were you doing at 10:00 this morning? Volunteering.

Why aren’t you texting the last person you kissed? Because we're not in contact/on good terms anymore…?

Do you think anyone has feelings for you? No.

What do you miss the most about your past? I miss backpacking trips with my dad. It's at the point now where I don't think we'll ever be able to go on another one. :'(

When is the next time you will kiss someone? I have no idea.

Has anyone taken their shirt off in front of you? Yeah.

Plan on getting drunk or high tonight? No. I haven't been drunk/high for a long time.

In the past week, have you cried hysterically? No.

Do you think you’ll actually live a happy life with somebody? I guess it's possible.

Are you on birth control? No.

Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night? No.

Last time you were really happy? Now. It's mixed with all kinds of other complicated/contradictory emotions, but I'm probably the happiest I've ever been.

Do you tend to fall for players? No.

Have you ever asked a boy for advice? Yeah.

Are you wrapped in a blanket? No.

Did you get a full 8 hours of sleep last night? Pretty close.

Have you spoken to your mother today? Father? I haven't spoken to my mom, but I have spoken to my dad.

[lightcreators]

Day he might sleep again during couple of hours during a night … was still awaited. He didn't know if such moment would even coming back inside his existence again. He didn't know if someday he would have occassion to pulled inside well-merited rest he depriving himself. Only, during that particular night, there had no obscure conversation with Potter in the darkness, where with his friends, they were discussing about their future next moves --- He decided to let Potter having sweet dreams and having an wonderful headache to pull he-stopped-counting elements around circumstances, same with mental struggle he might have to put together every possibility of an move for a result. Some nights, he was sooooooooooo tired of his inability to do an single gesture. Some nights, he cannot handle how his sloweness was something so tiring he would have to remind positions of the pieces inside the chessboard, how much circumstances changed, how much margin they had … On his own part, he was dealing with it every day. Every day, he had to transforming moves inside the chessboard, and sometimes anticipating might could happens next. Every day, he was searching to bring coincidence inside an controlled notion over his hands. If there was whispering about how he wasn't present once sleeping time born, he didn't noticing them anymore. Inside the common room, he found an pleasant little room for himself, where, regardless if it's was so small compared to his bedroom of his manor --- where he could complain at this point the common room was TOO SMALL in general --- at least he had an spot where he was tranquil. At this current time of hours, he would have preparing himself to sleep actually. Within these three hours, he would need another one for taking care of himself --- even though he anticipated enough for doing that once he finished eat for passing all the night having mission to get his mind distracted --- and the surviving hour would serve as mental preparation for rest. Hoping sleeping inside that last one hour, before classes starts, would be totally useless considering his body will refuse.

Nevertheless, interest germed amusingly within his features as he explained himself. Study, at this time of hour, three hours before classes ? It looked like an wonderful excuse. For an couple of seconds, he almost believed that kind of explanation --- as himself won't tell he had sleeping troubles for bring all bullshit defense he could find, where sometimes it was half truths for not having another other choice on the matter. Though, playfully, as he wanted having fun with such bet, he was going to believe him. ❝ Oh, you're really doing it at the last minute if you forgot homework from the day before~ Revisions at this time are terrible, they destroy your brain so much that you barely understand~ ❞ Considering he hadn't turned an expert to keep himself awake at night, of course, he tried that before. He tried to doing his homework at this time of hours, as a test --- because he came so bored, because he thought he might remember something … It had inscreased his boredom. It had inscreased his tiredness. He cannot even read a book without sighing ! ❝ It's brave of you~ ❞ Whatever if it's was the truth or a lie, he didn't care --- it was funny to actually pondering how real such sentence was, because, hey hey hey, it was his beloved Illusions domain ! For the following question, he almost admitted the truth. He didn't usually night walks at that time of hour but … did night walks during the night. So much catching offguard by his own amusement, he had been so ready to confessing himself out of the blue. Something … that cannot be known. Something that really shouldn't be known. ❝ I like to give myself extra hours outside of lessons. ❞ He responded with a disinterested shrug. ❝ I do my homework in advance, I revise in advance and since I'm a curious boy, I document myself. ❞ The last part was an way to say : I'm actually visting the entire castle of Hogwarts, wish I could made food on the kitchen, and oh, for fun, I search secrete doors because must be some. Of course, bonus hidden part of I'm currently talking with my rival-somepart-ally about how make circumstancese easier because within appareances I'm too much a asshole towards Potter it's impossible to take back that lie I have to befriend him in middle of the night, which giving me more reasons to insult him in daylight cannot been expressed. Inside his tone, he reflected how that hard-working stuff wasn't that much a big deal. Though, he cannot help to laugh a lot over his reassurance. ❝ Unless when you are a Malfoy~ ❞ Understanding he would have to be more specific, he added. ❝ If my father found out that I was tarnishing my family name by falling asleep at eight o'clock in the morning at first class, I would be greeted magnificently by a Howler furiously telling me that I would be a disgrace to my family … and oh, I can hope for a surprise visit from my father~ ❞ It was expressed amusingly as he confessed even more playfully. ❝ Who would lecture me more intensely that if, unfortunately, my grades weren't up to his desired requirements~ ❞

               ˜”*°•.     It  was  difficult  -  balancing  restless  nights  side  by  side  with  classes  and   homework .  He’d  wanted  to  think  it  was  controllable  -  rest  optional ,  a  luxury  he  could  live  without .  Yet ,  concentration  had  begun  to  grow  scarcer  and  scarcer  while  nights ?  Longer ,  so  much  more  torturous .  At  least ,  he  was  not  alone  that  night .  Something  he  wasn’t  sure  whether  he  should  be  happy  about  or  not  -  what  kind  of  demons  haunted  the  other’s  mind  ?  what  kind  of  predicament  had  robbed  him  of  a  good  night’s  sleep ?    Most  students  roaming  the  school  that late   could  either  have   much  on  their  mind  or  the  suicidal  desire  to  sneak  into  the  forbidden  forest, after all .  Idea ,  which  he’d  once  had  himself ,  yet  idea  he’d  so  far  resisted .  And  so ,  a  negligible  shrug  was  offered  upon  the  other’s  words .   ❝  I  am .  Only  because  I  need  to  study,  though . ❞  The  lie  slipped  out  smooth  and  easy  -  a  casual  façade  accompanying  words  of  a  similarly  innocent  nature .  No .  He  was  there  because  he  was  haunted  by  nightmares .  He  was  there  because  he’d  grown  tired  of  waking  up  in  terror .  And  maybe  he  could’ve  turned  his  lie  believable  by  carrying  some  random  book ;  he’d  been  too  tired  to  even  think  about  it,  though .

❝  So ,  what  about  you ?  Didn’t  know  you  were  fond  of  night  walks . ❞  He  teased  -  words  aiming  to  mostly  extract  information ,  some  decent  gossipy .  He  was  just  as  bored  as  the  other ,  anyway .  Clock  ticking  too  slow ,  while  mind ?  Racing  with  unforeseeable  speeds,  generating  the  most   incomprehensible  of  thoughts .  A  one-hour-nap  before  classes  started  -  plan  that  sounded  appealing ,  however  would  it  work  ?  The  risk  of  waking  up  even  more  exhausted  than  before   pushing  him  towards  spending  the  whole  day  awake .  Maybe  he’d  fall  asleep  easier  the  following  night .  Maybe  he’d  be  too  tired  to  dream .  ❝ I  doubt  professor  will  say  anything  interesting  at  eight  in  the  morning.  You  might  as  well  sleep  during  the  lesson .  ❞ 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Regarding the merfolk analysis, I assumed the potion didn't just change them to human, but gave them the ABILITY to do so at will. You can think of it like Jack's unique magic, except it's temporary and potion-induced. As long as they drink the potion, they can decide what form they take. As we've seen, Floyd has repeatedly switched between human and fish despite the potion being active. On the other hand, Azul shows in his chapter that he can maintain a human form underwater. For the disappearing clothes part, I can see this going two ways: 1) It's just part of the magical effects. Magic in itself breaks natural law, so it wouldn't be hard to pin it on that. 2) You could also see the forms as separate, magic-induced bodies with the host switching between them. As they are separate, clothes wouldn't transfer to the other form. A bit of an outlandish thought, though.

[Referencing this post!]

While it’s an interesting proposal, I don’t personally think that the transformation potion gives the added effect of being able to swap forms whenever merfolk want. If it does, then it means a manmade potion can basically mimic Jack’s unique magic without the high energy/magic cost that form swapping at will seems to demand (implied in Vargas Camp; Jack needs a magical gem shard to contain the blot from shifting into a wolf), thus making Jack’s unique magic seem much less impressive than it is 😔 Even if the effects of the potion are temporary, 7-10 days of unlimited human to merform (and vice versa) form swapping with no drawbacks seems overpowered for a single potion to do.

It just seems weird to me (in terms of powerscaling), especially given that transformation potions are, under normal circumstances, banned in Twisted Wonderland. (This information is revealed to us by Leona in episode 2, part 26:)

So my thought is… 🧐 Why would a governmental organization willingly pass out free transformation potions that (theoretically) let people change forms at minimal cost to the user’s own energy/magical reserves whenever they want?? Wouldn’t they want to minimize or discourage shifting as much as possible (and only allow it in terms of necessity) if it’s usually forbidden? Wouldn’t that lead to a lot of loopholes for exploitation because of how easy these potions are to obtain and to use?? I’m probably overthinking this 😂

I’m not sure if I’m understanding your points (because the wording is a little confusing), so it’s possible that I might be misreading them, but… I don’t actually recall an instance in which Floyd rapidly switches back and forth many times in a short span of time; I only know of instances where he changes to his merman form and then sometimes back to his human form, totaling maybe 2 shifts at most. It’s not frequent enough to really say that he can change back and forth at will.

As for Azul, I don’t think it’s odd at all that he can still maintain his human form despite being in the water. There’s no lore anywhere that states that merfolk with legs will revert back to their original forms if they’re submerged in water. He’s just staying in his human form because he’s not comfortable with revealing his octopus form to his classmates; I don’t think it has anything to do with the potion he drank to get his legs in the first place.

Now, the clothes things is interesting to consider because we actually have some examples of transformations other than the Octavinelle trio! First thing’s first, we talked about Jack earlier, so let’s briefly return to him. When he turns into a wolf, his clothes disappear and don’t reappear on his wolf form:

But when he turns back into his original form, his clothes are back on. From this, it seems that Jack’s transformation deals with the vanishing and reappearing of clothes as he switches forms. Technically, this would support the theory that his clothes just disappear and reappear because of magic and/or the theory that the clothes just don’t transfer over to the animal form.

But hold up!! That’s Jack’s unique magic we’re talking about. The effects of unique magic aren’t responsible for the Octavinelle trios’ transformations; it’s the effects of a potion we should concern ourselves with. And what example do we have of someone taking a transformation potion??

That’s right, it’s Dire Crowley in the prologue, part 6:

Notice that after turning into a ghost, Crowley keeps his hat and mask, but loses all of his other clothing articles. When Crowley turns back, he’s fully clothed again. This makes it seem like if you transform using a potion, you do retain at least some of your clothes rather than losing it all, and that when you change back, you fill into your clothes again.

I would imagine that something similar happens to Azul and the twins when they turn human and/or revert to their original forms (ie they keep their clothes). Again, this is mostly based on the fact that the only explicit example we have of someone transforming using a similar method as merfolk also demonstrates retaining clothes.

The big key difference between Crowley and the Octa boys, however, is that removing clothes (in their true forms) is actually beneficial for the latter (and thus would require them to redress before changing to their human forms again). Why? Because of swimming.

What I see happening is like… whenever the Octavinelle boys turn back into their merforms (using a spell or something to undo the potion’s effects early), they still have the articles of clothing they wore as humans; they have to remove these to get maximum speed in the water.

Clothes create extra friction and adds weight that makes it harder to swim. That’s why it doesn’t make sense for merpeople to keep the clothes they wear as humans once they turn back. I’m guessing that they keep their clothes nearby for when they turn back into their human forms (probably by taking a new dosage of the potion, which may come in a more practical, compact form like a tablet or something).

This would easily explain several instances when form swapping happens: the twins could just put their clothes in the locker room before swimming in the pool, Floyd could set his clothes by the lakeside before diving in to catch fish, etc. For the return to Scarabia via Oasis Maker, the twins have tons of extra hands (Azul, Yuu, Grim, etc.) that could hold onto their clothes for them while they swim back to the dorm. That’s my personal interpretation of it!

Addendum: Summoning clothes/instantly clothing oneself using magic does appear to be possible (though I’m not sure how easy of a spell it is), as this notably occurs in episode 6 of the main story. I believe it is Vil (?) that magically dresses himself and several other students in their dorm uniforms.

[reinvent-and-believe]

48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

--

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

-

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

-

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

[hood-ex]

This is a fic written for @stxleslyds! The prompt was: a fic with Dick, Roy and Lian spending time together in the Outsiders era. Thanks for the donation, Tati 💙.

Important: This fic takes place a week after the events of Outsiders (2003) #19.

“We could use you here,” Roy says. Even with his voice coming directly through the comm, Dick almost doesn’t hear him say, “I need you here.”

A soft wind blows through Blüdhaven, ruffling through Dick’s sweat-matted hair. What a filthy night it is for a Friday. Thunder rumbling in the distance with hot, humid air filling Dick’s lungs. It’s the kind of air that isn’t natural for a place like the ‘Haven. It’s here for whatever reason, and it’s no better now that the sun has been replaced by pink and purple neon lights flashing across the strip. It’s nights like these that Dick can admit to missing his red tunic and green shorts. It was shit to wear them in the winter but an absolute godsend in the summer.

Dick sighs deeply, moving away from the ledge of the building and away from his view of the herds of drunk people whose laughter echoes between the bars and casinos. There’s a tall HVAC unit in the middle of the building that he walks over to and sits against. The fabric of his suit rubs against it, and he squirms a little at the uncomfortable position. He bears it because this is a conversation that requires a little support.

“Dick.”

“I know,” Dick mutters.

He should be under the streets of Brooklyn the same as all the other Outsiders should be. Considering the circumstances, it’s no surprise that some of them have deserted the ship for the time being. Licking their wounds in private so to speak. Dick’s not proud of it. He tacks it onto his mental bulletin board of shame where it sits up there all torn and ugly like the rest of his deplorable moments.

“I’d feel better if you were here to watch Lian when I step out of the room,” Roy says in Japanese. Dick’s brow furrows. Either Lian is in the same room as Roy and he doesn’t want her to know they’re talking about her or there’s an Outsider nearby that he doesn’t want listening in on his personal issues. “She hasn’t started therapy yet and her separation anxiety is still high.”

“High for both of you,” Dick points out. He thinks back to a few days ago when Roy had called him in a panic because he’d left all of his groceries in the middle of the store after his paranoia got the best of him and had him running back to the base to check on Lian.

“Tell me about it,” Roy laughs dryly. “I feel like I’m going fuckin’ nuts, dude.” The strain in his voice sends a full body shiver down Dick’s spine. “All I can think about is whether she’s okay and if the base is protected enough, and if I can really trust everyone here. You and Kory are the only ones I feel okay leaving her with.”

You shouldn’t trust me like that, Dick thinks bitterly. Lilith and Donna trusted me with their lives and look where they are now.

“Everyone else is… I trust them as teammates. I trust them with my life. But I can’t—"

“Trust them with Lian’s,” Dick says, knowing how much this whole situation has fucked with Roy's ability to trust anyone and everyone. Except him and Kory, apparently. Probably Ollie and the rest of Roy's family too.

He thunks his head against the HVAC unit and stares up at the dark sky. Not a single star up there, he thinks, and something like guilt burns in his chest. You took them all with you, didn’t you, Donna? Put them in your pockets and faded away. “She might not be comfortable with me there,” he says after a moment.

It pains him to think that Lian could be scared of him. Scared of him because he looks similar to one of the blue-eyed, dark-haired kidnappers who murdered her babysitter and then branded her like cattle. That type of trauma association doesn’t go away after a week.

“Kory told Lian you might stop by, and you know what Lian asked her?”

Terrible things flash through Dick’s head. Things like words born of fear or disgust. He hugs his arms around his knees and squeezes them tight.

“No, what did she say?”

“She asked, ‘Is Uncle Nightwing gonna bring Blue’s Clues with him?’”

A smile tugs at the corner of Dick’s lips and his eyes start to sting. He can’t believe that’s the first thing she thought of. It only seems like yesterday that he was watching Blue’s Clues with her in Titans Tower. Sometimes he would pause the show and ask Lian questions about each of the clues just to hear what kind of outlandish answers her kid brain could come up with. Other times the detective in him couldn’t help but steer her towards a logical answer. Roy used to always roll his eyes and tell him to stop trying to turn her into a mini Nightwing.

“That doesn’t mean she’ll be okay seeing me in person and you know it,” Dick reminds him.

Roy’s sigh is soft and muffled in his ear. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dick’s not one to wait around.

“Let’s cross it now.”

“You’re coming over?” Roy asks, and even though he mostly sounds neutral, Dick can hear the disbelief hidden under it all.

If there was an award for the world's most shitty friend, Dick would probably be in the lead to receive it. Here Roy is dealing with the fact that his daughter was abducted and almost trafficked, and what’s Dick been doing for the last few days instead of sticking by his side? Working himself to the bone in Blüdhaven, that’s what. Hiding away from the fact that he almost lost another important person to him. Trying to avoid the crushing weight of failure that clings to him like a second skin.

Pathetic. Some safety net he is.

“Yeah, give me an hour,” Dick says.

The commute from Blüdhaven to Brooklyn isn’t bad at this time of night. Most of the traffic is packed downtown where all the bars are lined up. Dick takes the highway to avoid the worst of it.

The roar of the city dies off once he goes underground. Down here the HQ looms over him in all its steel glory. Dick’s always thought of it like one giant elevator. It’s all hard angles and sleek, silver walls. Hardly a place one would describe as homey, but it was home to a few people nevertheless.

Dick goes inside after getting his eye and hand scanned by the computer. He heads down the hallway, keeping his footsteps light and quiet out of habit. So far there’s no sign of Jade, Indigo, or Rex in any of the rooms he passes. They’re the most likely to be here around this time. From what Kory told him the other day, Grace has been spending most of her time clubbing, and Anissa has been staying with her dad. He hates to admit it but it’s almost a relief that he doesn’t have to worry about running into either of them.

He ends up finding Roy and Lian in the rec room. Lian is sitting on the leather couch in the middle of the room. She must have had a shower not too long ago because her hair is a little damp and she’s wearing a pair of purple pajamas with unicorns on them. A Cinderella blanket is strewn across her lap and a stuffed rabbit sits discarded on the floor by her feet.

Roy looks small squatting in front of her. His pants are the only sign of his Arsenal gear, and it makes Dick feel slightly out of place since he’s still decked out in full mask and suit. It’s the first time Dick’s seen Roy in person since they brought down Tanner’s operations a week ago. He looks how Dick would expect any parent to look after being targeted by a major sex trafficker: stressed and exhausted.

Those tired eyes of his shift to the doorway where Dick stands, and Dick can see the way Roy looks him over from head to toe, assessing Dick’s condition. He can look as hard as he wants, but he won’t find anything. Dick keeps his face blank and unreadable.

“It still hurts,” Lian whimpers, and both Dick and Roy's attention immediately snaps back to her.

She wraps her arms around her stomach and bends over her lap like she’s going to throw up all over the floor. Roy doesn’t move to try and avoid any possible bouts of vomit. Nothing happens as the seconds tick by. No retching or anything. There’s only the sound of Roy’s hand rubbing up and down Lian’s arm.

“Me and your Uncle Nightwing are gonna get you feeling better soon,” Roy assures her in a gentle voice. “And guess what?”

Lian makes a questioning sound in the back of her throat.

The look Roy shoots Dick is somewhere between caution and amusement. “He’s been playing quiet mouse behind you this whole time.”

Dick braces himself as Lian shoots back up like a rocket. “He’s behind me?” she asks, twisting around in her seat. Dick’s heart starts jackrabbiting because what if she’s scared of him? What if he accidentally triggers her PTSD? What if— “Uncle Nightwing!” Lian shrieks.

Relief shudders through him because she sounds happy to see him. Not scared or angry or disgusted like he feared. She’s looking at him like he just told her he brought her a bag of candy, and that revelation is enough to make him take a breath and finally enter the room.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dick says, hurrying over to the couch so that she doesn’t have to get up. “I missed you.”

Lian reaches for his hand and holds on to it. It’s not like the hug Dick usually gets from her and maybe that’s because she doesn’t want anyone touching her back after the incident. Dick will take anything he can get. His much larger hand closes over her own and he swings them back and forth lightly.

“Me too,” Lian says. She squeezes his hand three times. “Why do you still have your gloves on?”

“My hands are cold,” Dick lies. “Why were you bent over like an accordion just a minute ago?”

“Her tummy’s been hurting,” Roy says with a frown.

“It’s because tigers used to try and eat people,” Lian tells him matter-of-factly. Roy looks like he’s about to correct her but she quickly hurries on. “My brain says there’s danger and it makes my tummy stop working.”

A lightbulb goes off in Dick’s head as he realizes that she’s describing anxiety. A simplified explanation of how the digestive system shuts down and sends blood to other parts of the body when there’s danger.

“My tummy does that too,” Dick says after a pause. “I get a lot of anxiety sometimes. Do you want me to show you how I try to make it go away?”

Lian scrunches her nose. “Do we have to take medicine?”

“Nope. All we need to do is sit up straight and breathe. Breathing really deep helps our brains calm down and makes our tummies feel more relaxed,” Dick explains. He sinks down on the plush couch and demonstrates how she should be sitting. “Now move back until you’re sitting like me.”

Lian does as she’s told and scoots back until she’s resting against the back of the couch. Dick only remembers how short she is when he notices how her feet stick out straight in front of her instead of dangling over the edge of the couch.

“Now tell your daddy to get in position.”

“Daddy,” Lian slaps the free cushion beside her, “sit next to me.”

“Magic word?” Roy prompts.

“Please,” Lian pouts.

“That’s better.” Roy’s knees pop when he shifts out of his crouched position. The whole couch rocks when he falls back against it. “What’s the strat here, Wing? We need to close our eyes or what?”

Dick wants to ask him why he’s acting like he’s never done this before but the playful words stick in his mouth like glue.

“We’ll close our eyes in a second. Lian, I want you to watch how your daddy and I take really deep breaths, okay? Then we’re all going to do it together.”

“I can take really big breaths!” Lian insists. She scrambles out of her pose and gets on her knees. Her little fingers wrap around Dick’s bicep as she leans in close to him. “I can take one million breaths as big as an elephant!”

The tired and apathetic part of him tells him to ignore her kid logic and to get back on track. The uncle part of him is another story. It wants him to be fun and helpful. To distract Lian from the worries and fears she has.

In the end, he does what he always does best: puts on a performance.

“Oh yeah?” Dick challenges with a grin that hopefully doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “I can take five billion breaths as big as a planet.”

“Elephants are bigger than planets,” she says.

“I think maybe the elephants are only bigger in your dreams.”

“Yeah, they are,” Lian agrees because she’s a typical kid who will support anything that proves she’s right in some capacity.

Roy looks amused when he puts his hands on Lian’s shoulders and steers her to sit back on her bottom. “Alright little missy, no more talking. We’re gonna do what Uncle Nightwing says now, okay?”

“Okay,” Lian agrees, looking over at Dick expectantly.

Coaching Lian through the exercise is easy. The most important part is making sure she’s taking breaths that are deep enough to make her stomach expand like a balloon. Dick has her place her hands on top of her stomach so he can see them rise when she inhales.

Roy follows along and Dick can tell that he’s taking advantage of the exercises for his own benefit. His face looks peaceful and relaxed as he follows along with Dick’s instructions to suck in a breath on the count of one and exhale up until the count of ten.

“Keep focusing on counting,” Dick tells them while they exhale. “We don’t want any other thoughts in our heads. No bad thoughts or funny thoughts. Only think about counting to ten.”

They run through a few more cycles. Dick’s pleased when he hears both Lian and Roy’s stomachs grumbling as they exhale. It’s a good sign that the deep breaths are massaging their organs and decreasing any kind of stomach pain.

“That’s it,” Dick says. “We’re all done.” He opens his eyes and sees Lian slumped against the back of the couch. Her hands are still resting on her stomach, but she looks languid instead of tense like she was when he first saw her.

“I’m tired now,” Roy says. His movements are slow as molasses when he slides forward to the edge of the couch and bends over to rest his arms on his thighs. He looks at Lian. “How about you, princess? You feeling any better?”

“Mhmm. My tummy doesn’t feel really uh…”

“Tight?” Dick offers.

“Yeah, it’s not so tight anymore.”

Roy pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good. Mine feels a little better too.”

“Can we do Uncle Nightwing’s breathing thing again tomorrow?” she asks through a yawn.

“Sure thing,” Roy nods. His attention shifts to Dick. “Are you gonna still be here to lead us through it?”

This isn’t some kind of test but it feels like one. It feels like if he says no then he’s only proving that he’s a bad friend. That he can’t be relied on. He doesn’t want to give Roy that impression because it’s not true. Roy can rely on him the same way Dick relies on Roy. He hopes showing up here tonight is proof of that.

“That’s the plan,” he says, voice soft.

Roy leans over the couch and squeezes Dick’s knee gently. “You sure?” he asks, and his eyes roam over Dick’s face like he’s trying to find evidence that Dick is lying.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He pats Roy’s hand reassuringly in the same way Alfred's done for him and Bruce a hundred times. It's only now that he realizes it's a habit he's picked up.

Lian suddenly leans into Dick’s side and presses her weight against his arm. She pats both his and Roy’s hands.

“I’m sure too,” she says, and this time Dick can’t help but smile.

[danceswithdarkspawn]

wip wednesday

its fine it's still wednesday where i am don't look at me

anyway this was/is part of a prompt game I got aaaaages ago and am now desperately trying to finish. some spoilers.

CW for self-destructive thoughts

Morrigan approached the fire sometime later, jarred salve in her hands. Ariel didn't look up from the fire until Morrigan stood beside her. The sharpness of her features were made even more severe by the shadows resting in their hollows. It made her appear much more slight than she was. Her skin was a sickly pale, nearly taking on the orange hue of the light of the campfire. The only variation was marked by black spidering veins creeping up her neck. Ariel's eyes began to cloud in the days prior, transforming her pupils into endless milky pools.

"Do I look that bad?"

Morrigan blinked, catching herself. She released a small breath through her nose and said, "You've not quite the visage of a hurlock. Perhaps there is some humanity left in you yet." A long breath passed with only the crackle of fire between them, meanwhile Ariel simply stared in silence. "I made more of this for you," Morrigan said, holding out the jar. Ariel took it slowly and turned it over in her hands. "I noticed you were having some trouble walking; it should help alleviate some of the pain."

Ariel set the jar down near her boot. "Thanks."

"Are you experiencing any other pains?" Morrigan frowned a little when Ariel shook her head. "Nothing at all?"

The beleaguered Warden let out a humorless laugh. "I'm dying, but yeah, I'm fine." Morrigan inhaled a slow breath and bit down a scathing remark. Ariel tilted her head up to regard her, was silent for a long moment, before letting out a sigh. She looked down, head dropping between her shoulders. Morrigan thought it reminiscent of a dog tucking its tail in. "I'm sorry," Ariel finally said, rubbing at her eyes. "I know you're just trying to help."

Morrigan released a measured breath, feeling her bristling ire cool. She crossed her arms, shifted from one foot to the other, flippant, meaningless motions meant to distract from her raw heart. Anger was how Ariel dealt with things, Morrigan reminded herself. She supposed she would be angry too, given the circumstances. Still, something about this anger was different. Helpless, perhaps.

The night and the campfire crackled on, unaware.

"Is there anything more I can do for you?" The question came out a little sharper than Morrigan intended.

But Ariel let out a bitter laugh that bordered on a sob. She shook her head in her hands, drew in a seething breath, pushed her fingers through her hair. "You could kill me," she finally said.

"I will do no such thing." Ariel didn't answer, hands clenched. "How severe is the pain?"

"Go stick your hand in the fire," Ariel said, motioning. "It's like that, but everywhere." Another hissing inhale. "And probably...I think I'd prefer to burn, at this point."

Morrigan made for her potions stock before Ariel finished, rummaging through little corked bottles, holding them up to the light, before choosing one. She uncorked it on the way back. "You could tell me before it gets so debilitating. Here." She held the bottle out; Ariel righted herself long enough to take and down its contents. Morrigan retook the emptied glass and returned it to the stockpile.

But she lingered there, frozen at first and eyes glazing over open tomes with their annotations, different reagents and the rest of her supplies. Her heart began to gallop, and Morrigan made herself busy without much thought. Pages turned, bottles opened, a crucible was filled; the scent of crushed embrium and wax and just a little rose water and—

"It's not debilitating," Ariel said from across the fire. "If it was, I wouldn't be walking."

"You are a fool," Morrigan spat. She flicked her wrist and a fire sprang to life beneath the crucible. "You needn't be immobile to be debilitated. You know this, I hope?" She shot a look over to the fire, where a pair of colorless eyes bore right through her. She snapped her attention back down, snatching a stirring rod and plunging it into the waxy slurry. "You should be resting."

"I will, once that stuff starts working."

Morrigan scoffed. Her brow ached. "I will hold you to that."

A strained laugh. "What are you gonna do, turn into a wolf and lay on me?"

A pang streaked through the witch's chest. A memory, long since tamped down, dredged to the surface; her lips flickered, the fire licked at the sides of the crucible. Morrigan hadn't meant for the gesture to hold him down, but rather to—

"It worked for Eran, did it not?"

The night turned deathly quiet. Morrigan tamped out the little fire, went about pouring the mixture into an empty vessel. It wasn't blended well. Too choppy, too stiff from scorching. It did not matter much to her, however; the distraction had served its purpose, though her nerves still felt frayed and raw.

"Would you do it for him?"

[lesbianakaashi]

The Forgotten Shounen: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

This is not a “Why you should watch/read khr” or anything like that. This is just me going into the deep dive and throwing my findings at you. I’m making this because khr used to be my favourite series when I was 15 (I had plushees, posters, tradingcards, the art book etc) and now as an adult I constantly find myself baffled at how unknow it seems to be.

1. Okay first what is khr?

Katekyo Hitman Reborn! or just Reborn! is a series by Akira Amano which was published in Weekly Shounen Jump from 2004 to 2012 (with 42 volumes) and got an anime adaption which run from 2006 to 2010 on Tv Tokyo (with 202 episodes and one OVA).

2. What’s it about?

Khr is a parody of the italian mafia and plays in a world where the mafia is heavily influencial. The protagonist is the japanese middle schooler Sawada Tsunayoshi who is known as “No good Tsuna” because of his failing grades, general weak and cowardly personality and weak physics.

He becomes aware of the mafia world when a 2 year old baby called Reborn arrives at his house claiming to be the greatest hitman and declaring himself his home tutor. Reborn was send by the 9th head of the Vongola famiglia who is ready to retire and looking for a new heir. Which of course, is supposed to be Tsuna and now it's Reborns job to shape him into a worthy sucessor.

Tsuna rejects the violence of the mafia world and refuses the position as the 10th. Thanks to Reborn and his general craziness Tsuna meets different people and starts to make real friendships. Reborn wants 6 of those friends to be Tsuna's future guardians, basically a group of people which will be closest to him in the vongola famiglia. Tsuna might have no interest in those positions but the friendships he builds with them become really precious to him.

Reborns arrivial also brings in the enemies of the Vongola family which leads to Tsuna being forced to engage in battles. Generally Tsuna openly avoids fights and prefers to run away but will put himself in danger for his friends' sake or because of something Reborn did.

Through out the series Tsuna matures and gains strenght but he never becomes a power fantasy. He's just a guy with many flaws who grows through the human connections he makes.

Personally I think the relationship between Reborn and Tsuna is one of the best student teacher reltaionships in all of manga only topped by Mob and Reigen from Mob Psycho 100. Especially the last arc really underlines their unique relationship to me.

Furthermore, khr offers a new and unique battle system: The flames. I'm not gonna go into to too much detail but the general idea is that one fights with their dying will flame which basically turns off your the savety switch so you can fight with everything you have. The flames are seperated into different categories such as: sky, storm, mist, rain, sun, lightning and cloud and have different attributes asigned to each one. Tsuna's use of the sky flame and his transformation when using it is still one of my favourite shounen transformations to this day.

3. What happened?

The series did really well and then not so well over the course of its serialisation. After the manga got an anime adaption it increased in populairty and video games, light novels, and other products such as CDs were created based on the series. Reborn is one of the best selling series of Weekly Shōnen Jump and has sold around 30 Million volumes overall. It was and still is very popular in Japan but rather unknown in the west.

According to the article "The Rise and Fall of Weekly Shonen Jump: A Look at the Circulation of Weekly Jump" khr was the 10th bestselling series in Weekly Shōnen Jump, with a total of 7 million copies sold in 2007.

This number increasing to 15 milion in 2008. Which placed khr into the 4th best selling series of 2008 in Japan.

Between 2008 and 2010 those sales declined but still kept strong with khr as the 6th top selling manga in 2009, 8th best selling in 2010 and then 24th best selling in 2012.

In November 2014, readers of the Da Vinci magazine voted khr number 17 on a list of Weekly Shōnen Jump's greatest manga series of all time.

After the anime came to an apprupt stop in 2010 for unknown reasons the manga sells took a visible hit. (Apparently the studio wanted to put the anime on halt because they were busy with other projects and give Akira Amano time to develop her story but I couldn't find any source for this claim) Furthermore, the rushed last chapters of the manga in 2012 declined the popularity of the series even more. There's no offical statement as to why the manga was ended in such a way but it's reasonable to assume that Jump either cut it considering the decreasing sales or Akira Amano choose to end it for personal reasons.

Nontheless, Tsuna not being included in Jump Force (a fighting game where you can play as different characters from Jump) in 2019 even tho he made it in earlier Jump Stars games also underlines the decreased interest in the series.

Rumors on a reboot or anime adaption of the last two arcs surface from time to time but are genereally unlikely. Artland the studio which made khr has gone bankrupt around 2015-2016. It might be taken on by another studio but rather uncommen especially with such an old series.

4. Art style

The khr anime ended over 10 years ago and the old art style might not be appealing to newer audiences.

Especailly because the anime adaption follows Akira Amanos old art style which heavily developed within the years. Here a picture comparing characters in the new art style:

A modern anime adaption in the new art style would be aesthetically pleasing. It would probably look similiar to Psycho Pass since Akira Amano did the concept art for this series.

(My personal art student hot take is that both art styles are unique and fun. Up to this day Akira Amano still has my favourite art style and even if the amount folds in the characters clothing is a little extreme I love it dearly.)

5. Criticism

The show is not without flaws and even if I greatly enjoy it it wouldn't be right not to adress them.

Daily Life Arc:

A lot of people view the first 20 to 25 episodes as fillers and quickly lose intererst in the series. This is due to the fact that Akira Amano inteded the series to be a gag manga and focuses the first chapters on world building, character introduction and comical narratives. It's rumored that the decision to develop the story into a battle shounen was made because the sales weren't doing well enough at first. So the first chapters/episodes may seem titidious but are necessary for the story and the development of the characters. The tonal shift from a more gintama like gag manga to a darker battle focused story can also be offputting to some viewers.

Either way a lot of people blame this arc when discussing why khr never got an english dub or didn't end up on Toonami. I've also read that the manga never finished serializing in the north america. However, it finished in other western languages like german and spanish.

Censoring:

The anime censors A LOT. From Gokudera's smoking habit, Yamamoto's whole character arc which deals with heavy themes such as depression and suicidal thoughts. The general bloodiness of the manga was censored and sometimes whole chapters and characters were left out even if those were important to the devolopment of others.

Filler episodes:

Out of the 202 episodes the anime has around 29 filler episodes which makes roughly 14 %.

Sexism:

Even if Reborn was written by a woman most female characters are rather flat and their storylines often tied to a male character in one way or another.

Genereal things:

Khr, like many other long running series, is sometimes criticised for a lack of world building or unpopular narrative choices.

6. Hope?

Khr isn't exactly dead. As stated before the series is still very popular in Japan and still gets new merch pretty regulary. There are also petitions floating around for a reboot or a new anime season but those never get a lot of traction. Furthermore #Reborn2期アニメ化 (#Reborn2ndAnimation) used to get some traction on twitter not too long ago. Last year the Anime News Network did a poll on which anime the readers would like to see a rebooot of and khr placed second.

Either way here's a collection of recent khr things I could find.

- In 2018 a new bluray set was released in north america

- The khr stage play reached yet another new season

- A mobile game was released last year

- Currently ongoing anime cafe event called "Concerto di Vongola"

- Last month there was an event with the former VAs and stage play actors where they discussed their favourite khr episodes.

- There has been an increase in blind reacts to the openings on youtube which might bring in a new fan base. The biggest one I could find had around 90k views and was made in 2019. On this note check out the soundtrack. The first openeing Drawing Days by SPLAY still makes me go insane (but I'm biased of course)

There also renewed hope for a new season/reboot because Shaman King, Inuyasha and Bleach got anounced for new seasons after a long hiatus. It's important to keep in mind that the circumstances for those series are differnt tho. For example bleachs new anime is often tied to the immense success of the gatcha game.

7. Conclusion

Khr is a series which used to be a flagship for Weekly Shounen Jump and is deeply beloved by it's fans, especially in Japan. It influenced other shounen series like bnha. It would be nice to see it gaining a bigger fanbase in the west :)

[jamestrmtx]

Wish Upon a Night Sky - [Beastars | Various x Reader]

[Female, Sheep Reader | Slow Burn]

Summary:

After calling upon the decision to test the waters between carnivores and herbivores, things at Cherryton Academy turn far more tense than they already were. Unsurprisingly, there are those who poke fun at the decision, both with good and bad reasons at hand. Calling the academy out on such high of a risk's understandable, but mocking carnivores for making friends with their opposites isn't.

Having been sheltered through seventeen years of homeschooling and the rigid rule of never going out at night, you far from expect being allowed to attend there after your eighteenth birthday. Regardless, you don't plan on cowering back. Your want to expose yourself to the real world, meet new people, and live through new experiences outweighs that fear, transforming it into strength.

Act One | Man's Best Friend

[Previous] | [Next]

Already messy files almost end up scattered on the floor, yet you manage to salvage them right on time. Your hands and legs shake just as fast as your heart beats; even breathing is a challenge with how stressed your mind is. Being around a large number of people wasn't the norm in your home; you'd been used to being a close family of six since you were born, and nothing more. Spending time with others beyond relatives was a rarity, as was the idea and agreement of having you study your final year in Cherryton -- far outside the safety of your home. Now that you're eighteen and near to graduating, your family's given you three simple rules to follow: never step out of campus at night, never join acting, and never show daintiness. All three of them emphasize the word 'never'; not a single space for protest or bargain is left in those rules. You knew the consequences of going out at night, as well as the risks of calling forth unwanted attention by choosing not to dress how you were told and letting any sort of bubbly nature out. Being forbidden to join acting was by far the only thing they hadn't explained to you by full.

"Your dorm is through here," Jack says, pointing with his eyes and snout over to a busy hallway.

While the person giving you the tour isn't exactly the type you were warned of before being admitted into this school, he isn't exactly of your type either, but more of a happy medium between the two: a dog. Not quite a carnivore and not quite a herbivore, he's what you learned to be an omnivore -- a kind you were taught to be wary of just as much as a wolf or a lion. Even then, his presence is about as warm and welcoming as sun rays on a cold, winter day, and you find it hard not to smile when he continues to show you around the place. He only ever stops when he sees he's left you far behind, a product of you losing yourself in your thoughts and the new world around you. 

His excitement is one you wish you could manifest just as much as him, though the reminder of how you had to behave at this school leads you to brush and bury those ideas away and hold yourself back.

"Are you okay?"

Jack's question paired up with his careful tone help pull you out of your daydreaming. How concerned he looks makes you take note of the expression you're carrying. Oftentimes, you scrunched up your snout and furrowed your brow -- whenever you became lost in thought, mostly. To any outsider like him, it would seem as if though you're bothered by something, so you hurry in your reply, words leaving you in a rush, "I'm okay." Your smile returns as you meet his eyes. "I just… I got caught up with something else."

"Nervous about staying here?"

"About everything, honestly."

He lets out a laugh at that, and his gaze brightens as he motions for you to follow him once more.

Your next destination is what appears to be the rooms you were informed of at the beginning of your visit -- judging by the rows of doors laid around, along with one of them left open, displaying a bunk bed in the background. There's a student by the dresser, combing her fur without so much as bothering to look at you or Jack. She's far too focused on her brushing to acknowledge she's left the room visible to those wandering outside, though -- with her being a wolf -- you assume she's confident in herself. Or you believe so, at the very least, as based on the rumours your parents and every other family member taught you.

You halt when you notice Jack stops right by that door and see him gesture over with his head for you to step inside. 

"Is this allowed?" you blurt out, rushing to cover up not a minute after that question leaves your mouth. "O- Oh gosh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that."

"It's alright," he says, chuckling. "I know you're homeschooled, so if you have any questions about how things work here, feel free to ask me!" He stops for a moment and seems to recall something along the way. "And you can come over to my place, too, if you need more help with showing you around."

"How bold of you to invite a girl into the boys' dorm, Jack." 

A feminine voice comes from behind him, and -- soon after -- the wolf from earlier appears next to the dog. She directs a cheeky grin at him, then a friendlier smile at you. "You're my roommate, aren't you?" she says, nodding her head in the direction of your dorm. "What are you standing there for? I want to get to know you!" She sounds about twice as cheerful as Jack acts. "I was told about your arrival almost three whole months ago, so the wait has been long enough."

"...You're Juno?" you ask, making memory of the list handed over to you just a few hours ago. 

She nods, eyes softening. "(Y/N), right? It's... nice to have a herbivore who won't look for a change of dorms the second she sees me."

Already feeling guilty, you can only hope she hadn't heard you earlier ago. It was a known fact you tended to speak without thinking sometimes (if not, most of the time), so you make a mental note out of it and set up a goal to improve on that throughout the rest of the year. You thank Jack and say your goodbyes before following her into the room.

At the sound of the door closing, you breathe a sigh of relief with the knowledge you've made it this far without screwing up too badly. The next thing in mind is to try sparking up some conversation, but only when you make enough mental preparation for it -- aware your thoughts might run haywire and tactless again. "But... Why would they do that? Isn't it normal at this school?"

Juno shows you around the room and stops next to one of the beds, bottom one being the only one out of all the others around to have some of her possessions settled down on it. "It's allowed," she replies and continues with, "And though it's not too uncommon for both carnivores and herbivores to be placed together... Things got a lot more tense after a student's passing." Her ears droop along with her tail, and a hint of gloom clashes with her friendly demeanor. "That's why you're the only other woman in this room, and why I…" Her body shudders as she lets out a breath. "Why I try not to walk alone in the halls anymore." She takes another breath and lets it out with a huff. A hushed swoon then seems to take her over, replacing her sadness about as quickly as her ears go back up. "Although... I guess I wouldn't have met someone wonderful, if some students hadn't cornered me for being a carnivore not long after I arrived here."

The wolf sighs, then faces you with droopy eyelids and a softer smile. "Tell me, (Y/N)... Have you ever fallen in love? It's the most incredible feeling I can describe!" She sits down on the bottom bed, though she scoots aside, leaving you some space next to her. "They say your last year at school's the last chance you have for experiencing an emotion so strong, but I like to believe it will carry on as long as your love is powerful enough for it!"

While you're a bit lost as to what point she's trying to make, you smile and nod along as you wait for her to continue speaking. 

After all, having two friends at the beginning of your final school year didn't sound like a bad idea. Hopefully, your lonely days would start to change; your conversation with Jack and your current one with Juno have been -- without much exaggeration -- the most interaction you've had during all your eighteen years of living. Knowing you were finally free to meet as many people as you'd want as well as study over brand-new things and the relationships between both kinds made your worries and doubts more than worthwhile. No matter how often your family and distant acquaintances warned you otherwise, you needed to grow, learn, explore, and see more outside what was taught to you at home. 

You hear Juno out until she asks if you have a special someone yourself; the question turns out to be a bit of a difficult one to answer with how little people you knew to this day. So far, the only experience you remember similar to that of having a crush on someone was by reading stories of adventure and challenge when you were younger. All of these were confiscated by your family whenever you gained too many ideas, fell for a character, or whenever a book so much as mentioned the word carnivore between its pages -- in a light aside from that of hostile and negative.

Although it feels like nothing short of wishful thinking, you hope your current circumstances change soon with the new path being offered out to you; in that, you carry a strong and unshakable desire over.

And, who knows? 

Maybe one day you'd be able to sneak out and watch the night sky, too -- and with a friend or two by your side, preferably.

"I don't, but…" You trail off to consider her question; overwhelmed by the changes and influenced by her energetic self, you find it hard not to follow along with her. "I wouldn't mind having one -- if that opportunity ever came around!"

[Previous] | [Next]

[theangelofroses]

So, you wanna work Archangel Uriel?

Hey there to people who are curious to work with the Archangel Uriel! I decided to write this short collection of research I have done about the archangel and the people who work with him. These opinions are not mine that I'm writing right now but collections from others who have work with him. (My opinion comes later.) But to many, he is quite an enigma so I decided to write a little about him. He is not the most vocal out of the four archangels. When he talks, he has a stern and an authoritative tone. Some people can perceive him as a woman or man. Though, I will be calling Uriel by the pronouns, he or him.

From my occult/esoteric/spiritual communities that I have worked with they say this archangel and cherubim in their practice is viewed as very positive, yet also very interestingly a scary angel, I will admit, he is not for everyone. People say, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael often are seen more positively and beginner safe then Uriel.

You see to some people Uriel only appears under specific circumstances like if you are a prophet of god or to prevent any terrible disasters from occurring in the invoker’s life (he was the angel that told Noah of the flood).

He is quite good at reading people, he will pinpoint your perfections and your flaws. He will help you with your shortcomings and turn a negative situation into one of reflection and enlightenment. He is also known as a redemption angel. However, redemption is not always an easy as one might think, it takes a lot of learning and hard work to change from any bad habits. He can be quite harsh when necessary, this is only because he wants the invoker to become a better person and expand to greatness.

You could say he is a bit of a perfectionist. He wants only the best for the invoker and the invoker to be successful on whatever path of life they choose to excel in. He hates the wicked and the evil. He will punish all who will go against the will of the good. Not only does he guard the gates of Eden, also he guards at times at the gates of hell as well. He will enact exact justice upon anyone who is out of line or who are cruel in his eyes. (Some say he was the archangel to torment Moses when Moses fell out of line. Scary stuff right?)

Remember he has high standards for everyone this includes the invoker. To be honest this makes him intimidating at first glance. There is a joke that has gone around in some communities of people who worked with him that said he always has a stern expression on his face. Like one author joked that only once did they see Uriel smile. And only once.

 But if you get pass that, many others have also said he is wonderful to work with for clarity, wisdom, intelligence, intuition, inspiration, grounding both spiritually and mentally and some say he founded kabbalistic practices too. He is very much known for his insightful wisdom. He can teach you anything and everything. All you need to do is have the patience. He is wonderful with divination, astrology, dreams, and prophecy. He can explain anything mystical without the invoker getting lost or confused. The people that work with him are often very enlightened with wisdom. When working with him, they are protected from any natural disasters and to those who need a great positive change in revolutionizing their lives to get rid of negative behaviors.  

Let’s get out some short facts about him.

Uriel is the archangel of the North.

Uriel corresponds to the element of Earth.

Uriel's season is Winter.

Uriel rules over the zodiac signs: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn

Uriel’s day of the week is Tuesday.

Uriel is sometimes called Auriel, Ariel, and Phanuel.

His favorite time would be midnight

His colors are primarily green and brown. However others have said red, orange, yellow, and purple.

Signs from him are lightening, thunder, storms, rainbows, the number 111, his flaming hand, flaming sword, Scales, lions, books and scrolls

My opinion here doesn’t count cause everything subjective but I’m putting my opinion here anyway: Auriel is what I call him instead of Uriel. Auriel is a very good but a stern archangel. Tasks will get accomplished with him through hard work. He expects the best from you. If you write down a list of things you need to get done and ask Auriel to help you. He will make sure you get everything done on time and it will be perfect. He will try to change your unhealthy habits, behaviors, or situations with negative people in your life. This can be anything from depression or circumstances where you feel powerless against an aggressor. He will make you look at things differently like hardships and reframe it to be a positive outlook of the experience. If you wanted help with forgiveness, he will teach you how to let go of things about sadness, regret and despair.

You might even notice he is very similar to Archangel Michael. However, Michael focuses on protection whereas Auriel focuses on wisdom. He can tell your life’s purpose too. He loves the arts, music, writing, and poetry. He will improve your talents too. He has this great ability to give you a spark of inspiration in any field you so desire. He loves to help you creating new and inventive things. He will get straight to the point about everything too. To be honest loved working with him, he was very helpful to me. TLTR This grumpy wise Cherubim is great also a little scary. Don't forget this is all subjective to debate upon. Go you to him if you feel drawn to praying or working with him. Your experience might be different then others. My book sources are: Azrael loves chocolate, Michael's a Jock by Chantel Lysette *this book talks about his personality and I enjoyed the book*

Uriel: Communicating with the Archangel for Transformation & Tranquility by Richard Webster *this book shows Uriel in how he helps others and has meditations specifically for him*

Angels: Companion in Magick by Silver Ravenwolf *This book goes into his personality, all types of meditations and prayers to any angel. I highly recommend this book.*

Archangels of Magick by Damon Brand *This provides magick seals, and descriptions of Uriel, ways to call on him*

My other online sources are hard to find right now I will list them later.