#the woman who cancelled class is the most down to earth lecturer to the point that she will send you back home if you look too rough

[dyslexic-mess]

'Oh that won't fly in uni! Ya can't do that in uni-'

One of my lecturers is routinely late to class because she was getting coffee and won't start class until she's atleast half way through said coffee.

One of my lecturers WILL yap about the DC universe for atleast 10 mins if you bring it up. He once closed the PowerPoint to bring up an image from an old comic to make a point about the change in speech bubble style over the years.

One of my lecturers oncee sent us on an unscheduled 30 min brake bec his wife had come by to see him and he didn't wanna turn her away.

One of my lecturers CANCLED A CLASS because she was hungover and just sent us the powerpoint slides

Um yeah. Not only will this fly in uni, the teachers are also human there

[oonajaeadira]

!!!! I love you back!!!

The witch conference is Paganicon, an annual meeting of the minds and learning conference. There's something like 100 lectures/workshops/rituals on offer and they bring in guest speakers and folks from all theologies from all over. I've met some of the most interesting and brilliant folks there...and also some of the most ridiculous and bizarre. If I'm not actively learning, you know I'm people-watching. There are some beautiful weirdies. And some people who just have a sparkle about them.

But also, it's like going to weekend witch school!

Here's my chosen agenda for the weekend:

FRIDAY

How to Open Your Akashic Records (lecture): I don't know anything about the akashic records and the speaker is a woman I really admire. She's a witch, sure, but also a practicing RN and last year she did an amazing class on poisonous plants that had points of the mystical, but also came from a cautionary medical background and I loved her blend of science and magic.

Equinox Gentle Sound Healing and Yoga (ritual): As it says on the label. After learning about the akashic plane, I'll go lay myself down in a sound bath and let my mind roll around in that.

The Threshold of Magic: Exploring Liminal Space with Tarot (lecture/workshop): I think I have at least one Tarot class every day and this one is taught by Barbara Moore who has a long history of designing and teaching tarot. I'm looking forward to meeting her.

Protection Conjure (lecture): I have two courses from this person lined up. She's a social justice advocate and "two-headed conjure doctor" out of South Carolina and hello a chance to learn from a hoodoo traditionalist without having to travel out of Minnesota? Yiss plz.

SATURDAY

Tarot Rituals - Five Structures for Gatherings (Ritual class): Nanci Antenucci is a big deal in the tarot world, but also a big weirdy. And she's gonna teach me party tricks with tarot? Okay!

Death Priestexing; Tending the Threshold of Transition (Lecture): Ayo!!! This year's psychopomp training!

Hands on Heka: Magic in Ancient Egypt (Lecture and workshop): Been studying Egyptian pantheon and I find it really interesting that some of them are basically personality manifestations of just general concepts. As truth is to Ma'at, so magic is to Heka, and yet I'm just now hearing about him. I'd like to learn more! And I've never actually met a Kemetic priestess, so let's do this!

Hoodoo in the Graveyard (Lecture): New magic in one of my favorite old places? You couldn't keep me away with a banishment hex.

SUNDAY

The Good the Bad and the Weird (Lecture): All I know is that this is about Heathens. I met a few Heathens last year and they were the kindest and sanest people at the conference. I just want to know more about their beliefs and practices because they seem like a bunch of just really peaceful goths and that feels like good people to have on my side when the world falls to pieces.

Herbal Cauldron Witchcraft to the Next Level (Lecture): This wasn't my first choice for this timeslot, but there was another speaker who cancelled and there wasn't much else going on that spoke to me. (Yeah thanks I don't need to join a support group for cult survivors nor do I want to talk about the Great Rite in the MeToo movement.) But this is our witchy RN again and I loved her poisonous plants lecture last year so this should be good times. Herbology class!

Tarot by Number: Meaning, Movement & Magic (lecture/Workhop): I've been digging into the numbers side of tarot lately, so this is actually something I was hoping for. This one is led by Laura Tempest Zakroff who I've got a bit of a celeb crush on. She is kind of the It Girl of the moment when it comes to sigil crafting (and maybe I have all of her books and maybe I got them all signed last year). She's super quirky but also down to earth at the same time in a way I resonate with and I didn't know she did tarot too, so imagine my crush spiraling out of control.

Foundations of Archa Vigraha (Lecture): This is a whole concept that I find really interesting and cannot wait to have my mind bent--very crudely put, it's the Eastern transmutation of idol and diety. It's part Bhagavadgita, part philosophy, part old old ooooooold mysticism and I'm hoping they can explain it in a way that I can even begin to wrap my brain around. This speaker is traveling here to give this one lecture and I'd be a fool to miss it.

Crossroads: A Panel Discussion on Spiritual Connection (closing panel and plenary): I usually just sit in the back, glassy-eyed at the end of the conference and just let the words of a bunch of pretty smart people wash all over me.

Horns of sunset (ritual): All I know is that we're going outside with horns and liquor, which sounds like a good way to say goodnight Sun!

State of the WIP Address

I haven't been tumbling the past few days just due to madness happening all at once--an evening work meetings, applying for a show in the fall, landing another gig this summer, turning down one in between, planning two different trips at the same time, coordinating talent for our annual fundraiser, getting up ungodly early (8am? who does this) for other meetings and adding that to my pile of daylights savings messing with my sleep and sending me to bed earlier than usual.... And I'm going to be at a conference (a witch conference!) this weekend, so I wanted to get some things squared at home and finish a commissioned altarpiece for someone I'm going to be talking to there. Hence me also posting this on a Thursday when I'd rather do Fridays......

Madness. And it's only Thursday.

Completed this week: nothing. But I have been writing....

STATE OF THE WIP

Leave Off Your Wandering: Winter We're about 1K in. The fluffy part. Shit's about to go down.

Fluffbruary Yeah, I'm still doing this. At my own pace.

Losing My Religion Plotting out some chapters actually. Surprised?

Modern!dom Pero Almost finished

Alpha!Javi Stuck.

PATS On hold for a hot second, but thots have happened.

I've got a lot of balls in the air at once over here and it's causing me some chaos. Please bear with my while I sort out all my tails.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Nurse Café - Chapter 6/6: “Back to Normalcy, If Normalcy There Is“

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Fic Summary: Life could have honesty been simpler than that for Hokuto, a second-year Liteature major. There’s, however, someone out there willing to just make it easier on him.

Fandom: Ensemble Stars! (College/Coffeeshop AU) Ships: HokuAn (Anzu/Hokuto)

AO3 version available here.

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

Chapter Summary:  After recovery comes coming clean to your friends about where on Earth you've been lately.

Chapter Wordcount: 1.7K words

Chapter Notes: Let Subaru Enstars Say Fuck. Writing Hokuto and Subaru banter has no rights to be this fun, I swear. Anyway! I started work on this chapter right after finishing the very first chapter in, what, July? I believe the first paragraph of this is older than the entirely of chapter 2, in fact. More on NC's origin story in the end notes. Because of how long this chapter has actually been in the works for, I'm afraid it sounds a little reconstituted and mashed together. Y'know, casual "I spent 6 months on this" issues and whatnot. I'm still terrified this is OOC, as I've honestly not watched Enstars in months by now and got carried away by my headcanons and AU-ing, but oh well. I hope you'll like

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

Hokuto was walking down to his first class of the week, the one whose presentation he had eventually surrendered to and asked to postpone (not his proudest achievement), when he heard a very familiar sound: Subaru Akehoshi’s signature high-pitched voice resonated through the corridors, accompanied by ferocious-sounding footsteps rushing in his direction, lacking any kind of discretion or concern for whomever else may have had the misfortune to be sharing this very corridor with him.

 “Ho-kke!!”

Akehoshi jumped on him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and almost making him tumble and fall. If his face wasn’t so naturally inexpressive, someone else would have noticed the panic suddenly enlacing his mind.

“Back off, Akehoshi,” he responded to the assault, watching his friend get down and walk next to him.

“You usually bite harder than that, Hokke! What’s up? It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other!��

“…it’s been, what, a week at most? I wouldn’t call that ‘a while’.”

“It’s just not the same without you, Hokke! I’ve missed you friend!”

To be fair, he had missed Akehoshi and simply didn’t want to admit it to the latter’s face. Doing that was like yearning to be discredited. He’d have to work on that dishonesty of his later.

“I suppose so,” he replied with some doubt lingering (truly, someone as much of a social butterfly as Akehoshi couldn’t have missed him that much, right?).

 “Hey, Hokke, tell me something! What’s happened to you? You’ve disappeared from the surface of the planet, Ukki and I got worried, and Sally wouldn’t tell us anything about your whereabouts! Anzu seemed really worried about you too…”

Oh God, was this guy really going all out on him? Was it legally allowed to embarrass someone in public like that?

“It’s a long story,” he half-heartedly replied.

Akehoshi’s glaze didn’t let up. He was coming for actual answers and Hokuto wasn’t all too keen on giving it to him in public like that. He had somewhat of an image to keep as a student representative in the university, he found that important to keep for himself, and this excitable boy wouldn’t do that. Not while he was alive, at least.

 Suddenly, more footsteps came in their direction, prompting them to both turn around. Coming towards them were Anzu and Isara with Yuuki trailing not far from them. All shone a smile, to which Akehoshi replied with more excitement. Truly, this guy seemed unstoppable and always full of energy. Hokuto suddenly found himself somewhat envious of this, before focusing back on the incoming conversation, wondering how he’d unbury himself from having to reveal why he had gone missing for an entire week.

“Hello everyone!” Anzu said in their direction, her lovely smile as on point as always.

“Hi everyone!” Yuuki continued, waving at them, Isara doing the same right afterwards.

Akehoshi rushed towards them. Well, there was nothing better to do than follow him, he supposed… At least, it’d be a good way to begin returning to normalcy.

 As they walked back in the direction to their classes, questions rose up.

“Ah, Hidaka, you’re back!” Yuuki noted with a bright smile. “Where have you been all that time?”

“Yeah, Hokke, where in the world were you?! Our routine doesn’t work the same if it’s without you, y’know!”

He didn’t know if he should have been flattered or offended to that remark.

“I had…” How was he supposed to lie about the reason without actually lying about it either? “I had a lot of things to take care of.”

“Still,” Yuuki makes another note, albeit his tone drops in happiness, “you weren’t there on Tuesday for your own presentation! The prof didn’t know what to do with you missing, he hadn’t seen that coming.”

“Frankly, never did I,” Akehoshi added. “A day without Hokke around isn’t a normal day!”

They were pushy, but he couldn’t hold it against them. He had vanished for an entire week, after all, of course they’d ask about it.

“Hokuto, I think it’s time you tell them what’s actually happened. We’ve respected you not wanting us to do that on our terms, but… These two were worried sick you know!” Isara finished to convince him.

 Despite the embarrassment already piling up in the back of his mouth, Hokuto nonetheless cleared his throat and tried finding the exact right words. He’d have liked to keep that awkward week in the sands of time, but alas, the peer pressure happened to be a little too strong to withstand.

“I, hmm…,” yeah, no, that remained hard to put into words, “may have collapsed last Friday night.”

A thick silence settled. While Isara and Anzu exchanged slightly awkward glances, Akehoshi and Yuuki had be shut for good, the former blinking furiously and the second staring with a distraught expression and agape mouth.

“W-wait, really?! L-like, collapsed-collapsed?!”

“Yes, that kind.”

“What the fuck Hokke.”

“Huh… Y-yeah, what h-he – what Akehoshi said,” Yuuki added with a tiny, clearly confused laugh.

 He scratched the back of his head. This was making him maybe more nervous than the entire process of making that cancelled presentation…

“I don’t exactly remember much from it.”

“Let me do that recap for you then,” Isara suddenly chimed in. “Friday night, you went into a café, realized you picked the wrong one, ordered an espresso at eleven in the evening, passed out on Anzu who was supposed to close the shop, and she tended to you for most of Saturday afterwards.” (Did he have to mention that? He could see Anzu growing red as he said that). “I think that’s all you need to know guys!”

Hokuto wanted to bury his face in his hands and disappear right here and there; alas, miracles didn’t exist, did they.

 “You do look much better than when I last saw you, though, Hokuto!” Isara resumed the conversation.

“Mao is right! You really do look better, I promise,” Anzu added, and if it wasn’t his fever coming back, then he didn’t think he’d like to acknowledge what it was. “You still look a little tired though, are you sure you should be attending class right away?”

“It’s only a couple of lectures, nothing I can’t pull through.”

“…Do I need to remind you that you said that about your presentation too, Hokuto…?”

 That made Yuuki jolt in place.

“Wait, you ran yourself sick just for that presentation?!”

“Unlike what Isara is saying, it’s not just that presentation.”

“Speaking of that presentation, Makoto, do you remember for what subject it was?”

“I think it was for the History class. I mostly remember the prof looking kind of pissed…”

“So that was the subject this was for! Hokuto didn’t quite remember it and I was curious.”

“Wait, Hokke, you didn’t remember that when Anzu asked?!”

“Man, Hidaka, you really must have been exhausted to the bone to forget something like that…”

Everyone was trying to kill him, especially Akehoshi’s barely contained amused giggling.

“Anzu, why did… That didn’t amuse you back there!”

She gave him a glance, suddenly much calmer, her smile dropping.

“That was because it meant there was a ton of problems on your end, Hokuto. Come on, do you think that was a normal thing?”

“I never said the opposite…”

“I know. I just try to make that amusing because, frankly, you scared us all to death, not just Mao and I.”

“Oh, yeah,” Akehoshi added, “you don’t even know how much Ukki and I asked about you for days! These two really wouldn’t tell us much even if they did!”

“Sorry for that again, guys. Hokuto really insisted on us not telling, or at least, he mumbled about that in his sleep…”

“I actually remember asking you that, Isara. I wasn’t entirely braindead.”

Akehoshi and Yuuki looked thoroughly confused. This was at least proof that they had successfully been kept out of the loop.

 “Still,” Yuuki asked, “why didn’t you want us to know? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I don’t think you’d ever want to see what unfolded there.”

“Well duh! Of course we don’t wanna see you be sick beyond your mind or somethin’ Hokke! Anzu and Sally talk about it as if you were gonna die!”

“Plus, we’re friends. Isn’t the whole point of friendship to help each other out in times of need?”

“They’re right, Hokuto,” Isara completed their argument. “You were also helping your grandma at the time, right? The poor woman looked worried for your life back there!”

“This was merely me fulfilling my obligations as her grandson. Still, I suppose you are right. I obviously couldn’t have survived that alone.”

“I think we can all testify to that…” Isara seemed a little jaded, but nonetheless smiled again as he put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “So, next time, don’t hesitate to call for us when you need help, ’kay? We really don’t want you to run yourself to the ground like that again!”

The three others hummed and nodded almost in unison. All he could react with was a sigh and a tiny smile (that was most likely not even visible on his stiff face).

“Lesson learnt.”

 Their conversation eventually took its usual course, deviating (to his relief) to other topics. By the end of the main hallway, he found himself with only Anzu, the both of them heading towards different rooms almost facing each other.

“Ah, before I forget. Thank you very much for… all of this, Anzu. I don’t even want to know where I’d be right now if it wasn’t for you.”

“As much as I also don’t want to imagine that, I’d have said an ER. Again, really, Hokuto, you don’t need to thank me so politely! It’s a normal thing for friends to do. You’ve done that for me before, haven’t you?”

“That’s true…” (And these weren’t such good memories, as it mostly reminded him of bitter concern).

“Just avoid doing that next time you feel in a pinch, okay? I’m sure we’ll all be glad to help. I know I will…” Her voice trailed off and so did her eyes, looking in the distance. He naïvely started doing so as if someone or something would arrive.

“I’ll make sure to, then.”

 They stared at each other, red, for a couple moments before Anzu snapped out of it first.

“Ah, sorry, my class starts real soon! See you around, Hokuto!”

“See you later then.”

As they went on their separate ways, he could only confirm something: if his heart was beating this profusely, it had to mean he had very clearly come down with another illness altogether. In hopes that, just like his collapse, Anzu could help him fix his own issues…

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Wrought Iron Machine

This fic is a remake of https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10927451/1/Iron-Lotus I published that one about 5 years ago. I was going to simply update it but I kind of didn't like what I had started. This fic will be the same exact principal and theme but with a more solid direction and (imo) better writing.

I'd also like to note that this is a somewhat AU setting in that it takes place at the time of LoK but with the Avatar characters (Azula, Zuko, etc.) still in their teen years.

Summary: Wrought Iron Machine is in an 80′s style metal band. With rival band, Fire Of Agni on the rise, Kuvira begins to far that her band is past its prime and fading out of popularity. Between an in-band rivalry and a rocky engagement, she fears for how they will fare in battle of the bands. 

Kuvira nears a sleeping Gazhan, scowling to herself as she nearly trips over an empty beer bottle. The man is a mess. A hungover mess, it’s not the kind of image she wants for Wrought Iron Machine. She doesn’t want to be even in the same realm as Fire Of Agni with their trashy and shallow lyrics. All that those kids do is get drunk or high and make a mess of whatever venue is cursed with hosting their show. And that isn’t even factoring in the controversy they had most recently stirred and continue to stir. She nudges Gazhan awake. “Get yourself together, we have another show tonight.” It takes some furious willpower to not ask him what the hell he was thinking, why the hell he thought it would be a good idea to drink so heavily the night before a show.

She knows the answer anyways. They had just finished their first show of the Fire Nation stretch of their world tour. She admits that it is reason enough to celebrate. But some restraint on his behalf would have been nice.

“Come on, Gazhan.” She hisses, giving him another nudge.

“Eh, leave ‘im.” Ming mutters sleepily. “Just let ‘im be.”

Kuvira could swear that Ming is at least slightly hungover, herself. The two usually drink together, she won’t be surprised to find that last night had been any different. “I’ll let him be when I know he won’t make us late for our own show. We’ve been in this industry for nearly two decades now, and we haven’t cancelled or been late yet.”

Ming rolls her eyes. “When are you gonna pull that stick out of your asshole? This is rock ‘n roll, not some high-class business conference.”

Kuvira pinches her nose. She doesn’t have time to butt heads with Ming again. “Just make sure he gets up.” She still has to fix herself a cup of tea. Raava knows that her throat would soon depend on those. She sits herself down, staring at the memorabilia hung on the wall; golden record won during the height of their fame, a silver one from when they had first began, a cluster of medals and ribbons, and an even bigger slew of magazine pages and covers they had been featured on.

Those are becoming fewer and fewer and she is beginning to wonder if their time in the spotlight is over. Maybe it has been for a while. People are moving onto the next big thing. Unfortunately, the next big thing seems to be Fire Of Agni. Kuvira doesn’t understand, it is just noise. Senseless noise and so much screaming. Screaming to the point where one could barely discern any of the lyrics--perhaps that is a mercy.

Kuvira finishes her tea and lights up a cigarette.

“What’s the point in having tea if you’re just gonna do that?” Baatar takes a seat across the table. There is an undertone of chiding about his words.

She gives her fiance a pointed sigh.

Hearing it he state, “you said that you were done with that.”

“Not now Baatar…” She brings the cigarette to her lips.

“Then when?” He asks. “After your lungs are black and…”

She holds up a hand.

“How are you going to sing if you burn your lungs up?”

It takes a deal of self-control to keep from slamming her hand on the table. She is tired of the well-meaning lectures. “Does it really matter?” She asked. “How much longer do you think Wrought Iron Machine is going to last? Do you remember when we played in Shu Jing, ten years ago? We sold out, the venue was overflowing. Now we just barely get it half-full.”

“We sold out in Republic City, Zaofu, Omashu, and...”

“Of course we sold out in Zaofu, that’s our home city! We sell out in the Earth Kingdom all the time, it’s our home land.”

“What about Repub--”

“Do you know who else sells out in the Earth Kingdom?”

Baatar frowns and, with a roll of his eyes, says it as she does, “Fire Of Agni.”

“And they just debuted, what? A month ago? Yet we can’t even sell out one Fire Nation show anymore. We don’t even sell half of our tickets in the Tribes.”

“Does anyone sell out in the Tribes?” Baatar asks.

“We used to…” She trails off. Her anger subsiding with it.

Baatar takes her hand and plucks the cigarette from between her fingers and puts it out on the table. He squeezes her hand. She stares at the cigarette, still convinced that it truly didn’t matter. She is under the impression that she can’t sing like she used to no matter what she does. Many years of harsher vocal styles, a few instances of laryngitis, and a phonomicrosurgery later her vocal cords aren’t what they used to be. And she is only in her early forties.

She can’t help but wonder if there was anything she could have done to prevent her case of polyps.

Perhaps she should have listened when her doctors had cautioned her to take more breaks and write a few more ballads.

Oh Raava, she could only imagine the abuse the Fire Of Agni girl’s throat and vocal cords were taking. At least Kuvira has some smooth vocals in her songs. From the sound of it, the girl does all of the screaming and her brother takes the clean vocals.

“What are you thinking about?” Baatar asks.

She doesn’t have time to answer when she hears a, “get your lazy, hungover ass out of bed, raavadammit!”

It is much too loud to be Ming. She hears a grumble and a snort and the shifting of blankets against a mattress.

“Get the fuck up!” There comes the sound of something being thrown and then footsteps coming towards she and Baatar. P’Li yanks a chair out.

“Morning P’Li.” Baatar greets.

“He’s so fucking lazy. I swear.” She turns to Kuvira. “Got a light?” Every time a new stressor arose, so would the woman’s lighter. Not that Kuvira blamed her anymore.

“Baatar just took my last.”

“Of course.” P’Li grumbles. “Ya know, this is why we’re falling behind. Gazhan can’t even roll his lazy ass outta bed.”

Kuvira rolls her eyes. Perhaps that is one of many reasons. “When are the two of you going to end this feud of yours? We can’t afford in-band fights when we have Fire Of Agni to rival.”

“It’ll end when Ghazan stops picking up groupie chicks and starts picking up his bass.” She pauses. “Fuck, you would think he’d notice how Ming looks at ‘im.”

A fair point. “As long as he’s ready by tonight, I suppose that it doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t. It matters as little as she resuming her smoking habit. They are falling behind so she might as well do what she will. Her voice has already taken some damage, what is one more cigarette? She stares out the window as Yon Rha’s village comes into view. Is she even having fun anymore? Once upon a time, back when she was in her early twenties, back when they had only a few months under their belts, she approached every show with a sense of eagerness and giddy anticipation. Now she can’t even muster a shred of enthusiasm. Does she even like this anymore? Does she even want to do it? Is Fire Of Agni really destroying the metal scene for her that much?

When had things become less about the music and more about the fame?

[meltingalphabet]

What’s So Scary About Halloween? Age 20

By college, I thought I understood the rules. I thought I knew the laws instilled upon me. And in a moment of desperation, I thought I knew how to play the system.

But I was very, very wrong.

At age 20, I went to a party.

It was my junior year of college and I was struggling to fit in. People who didn’t know me looked at my deformed hand with disgust and morbid fascination, wanting to know how I lost a thumb and two fingers but not wanting to ask. They noticed my glass eyes with scrunched up noses and ill hid stares. I could see the questions form in their minds even as they bit their tongues, giving me tight lipped smiles. It didn’t help that I wouldn’t stay out long after dark and that I never drank or smoked. It’s hard to make friends when you’re afraid of everything and everyone. When you’re so damaged. So utterly broken.

I watched my freshman and sophomore roommates melt into the social stew of college, of sex and alcohol and drama, while I stood at the sidelines. No, not stood. As I hid behind bushes along the sidelines, praying no one would see me. By junior year, I lived in a small dorm room by myself where I’d eat every meal, only leaving to go to class and church.

And then I met Hayley.

Mom had always told me that sitting in the front row made you get better grades. I don’t know how founded that piece of advice was, but I listened to it all throughout high school and college. But my alarm didn’t go off that morning and I was running late. I normally get to Organic Chemistry ten to fifteen minutes early. The class was a common requirement taught by two professors: Professor Goldwick in the spring and Professor Martin in the fall. Professor Goldwick was in his late seventies and thought the 19th amendment was a temporary fluke. He was a boring asshole, but he was a tenured one. Professor Martin was younger, prettier, and actually competent at her job. Which meant that Organic Chemistry in the fall was always full beyond capacity. She was smart enough, and considerate enough, to hold extra lab classes for the spillover, but there was still only one lecture a week.

But the time I arrived, there was standing room only. I groaned as I picked my way towards the back where there was room. I sat down heavily on an empty step, frustrated with the morning’s events. I began to skim through my notes from last week when someone sat down beside me. I looked up and was faced with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She smiled warmly at me.

“Running late?” She asked, her voice low and smooth.

I nodded dumbly, not saying a word.

She smiled. “Yeah, I normally see you sit at the front.” She pointed to my normal seat and I blushed. She giggled slightly, “sorry, that came off as creepy. I’ve just…” She paused to think, “I’ve just noticed you.” She watched my face, waiting for a response. I swallowed and gave her a half hearted smile in return before looking back down at my notes.

A hand appeared between my face and the page. “I’m Hayley.” She said. I looked up and took her hand.

“Taylor.”

I saw the question form on her forehead as she tried to register what was wrong with the handshake. What was wrong with me. Her gaze shifted down and hesitated on the large white scar over my missing fingers, but her eyes quickly lifted back to my face and she gave me a small but genuine smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Taylor.” She said as I turned to face the front of the room. My ears burned with heat and I blushed deeper. Miguel once told me that my ears grew bright red when I was horny. I know he told me that with affection but it horrified me. Like a public boner. I didn’t like my feelings being transparent.

Professor Martin began the lecture and I tried to forget about Hayley. Tried to ignore her presence beside me. The room was so crowded and she was so close. The slim space between us vibrated with electricity and the sounds of the professor’s words grew in and out of focus.

Class ended and Hayley and I began to pack our bags as students trickled out of the room. “Any fun plans for today?” She asked, picking up her pen and notebook. I paused and looked at her. She was watching me, waiting for me to respond.

“Uh, no. Not really.” I said honestly.

She smiled. “Wanna go get something to eat at the shack with me?” She tilted her head slightly with the question and my heart stopped. It was the same way Jackie used to look at me. My breath caught in my throat and I coughed awkwardly, looking around the room.

What would a normal person say? I thought, but it was too late. I was already being weird. I stood and sped out of the room without saying a word.

She called after me, her voice faltering with confusion. “Oh, uh… see you next time!”

I could think of nothing but her for the rest of the week, looking forward to Organic Chemistry as if it were Christmas. Even though I hated straying from my routines, I walked past the still empty front row and waited there in the back of the classroom, hoping she’d sit by me again. And, to my surprise, she did. She smiled and said hi before sitting down beside me. This became our new tradition every Thursday morning. She’d make small talk and at first it was mostly one sided, but slowly I was able to warm up to her. We talked about our majors, what dorm we lived in. Small things. And then one morning Hayley asked me to get a bite after class and I agreed.

We were eating chicken tenders at the shack, a fried food place on campus, when she started excitedly discussing Halloween. Only two days away, it made sense. It’s what normal people talked about. I swallowed hard, my chicken getting caught painfully in my suddenly dry throat. A little pit in my stomach began to grow.

“Are you going to Pi Kappa Alpha’s Halloween party Saturday?” Hayley asked, her eyes large and filled with childlike excitement.

The pit grew hot in my gut. “Uh… I wasn’t going to.”

She smiled at me and my knees literally went weak. “Would you like to come with me?”

The pit fell as if it were an anvil in an old cartoon. I could feel it fall down, deep into the earth and far away from me. And with it, the world. I was in a dark place. A place of shadows and the shadows were speaking. Some were calling to me and some screaming at me. Beckoning me to come, telling me to leave. Green figures with thin sharp teeth asked me to play.

There was a pressure on my shoulder and I realized it was Hayley’s hand. She was looking at me, her eyes filled with concern. I had stopped breathing. Humming filled my brain as I inhaled. My heart was racing, thumping against my chest as if it were trying to get out. I looked at Hayley and she was smiling at me. I exhaled with a sigh, the sensations falling from my body like a too tight coat. Her smile was like a life preserver, giving me something to focus on. Something to bring me back.

I heard a voice, distant and far off. “I’d love to.” It said. I didn’t think it was my voice at first. I knew I would’ve never agreed. But it was my voice and that’s what it said. It betrayed me.

Hayley wrote her number down on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “See you there.”

I knew the consequences of Halloween. I knew it was a mistake. I had intended to text her that I couldn’t make it. That I was sick. But then my thoughts would fill with Hayley’s smile and I’d find myself somewhere else. Somewhere without worry or fear. And so, filled with an optimism and hope I hadn’t had in years, I didn’t text her to cancel. Instead, I skipped class to try and think of a way to save the night. A way to avoid the wrath of Halloween.

The aisles of the store were practically empty, a ghost town on the night before Halloween. I scanned the remnants of the costumes for something useable. A nurse, a pirate, a nun. I hesitated at the last costume, but images of evil nuns and priests made me move on quickly. I was about to give up on finding a costume that was Halloween-proof when something white caught my eye. It was hiding, three plastic costume bags deep on the metal arm, no longer sorted into any particular order. I pushed aside a bag with a man in a devil’s costume on the front.

“Perfect.” I said, smiling at the costume that lay beneath.

Already drunk kids filled the frat house’s front yard as I approached. My phone buzzed in my hand with Hayley’s newest text message:

Out front. See you soon.

I looked up and immediately spotted her. She was dressed in a torn pale gown that flowed out around her. Her skin was painted grey with heavy black shadows under her eyes. Around her neck was a loose rope, tied in a noose. Her eyes lit up as she spotted me and she jogged over to where I stood. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I blushed as she fell away, leaving her hand on my shoulder, her body still close to mine.

“Hey.” She said as she smiled up at me. I had several inches on her and seeing those big brown eyes look up into mine sent shivers through me.

“Hey.”

We stared at each other for several seconds before I looked her up and down. “And what are you supposed to be?”

She stepped back and spun for me. “A witch!” She laughed.

I returned the laughter. “Oh, I get it. Like from the Salem witch trials. Uh… You don’t think that’s… in bad taste?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. But don’t you think witches are probably already offended by commercialized pointy hats?”

I sighed, “I guess.”

“Besides,” she said, pushing my shoulder back playfully, “I could say the same thing about you!”

I looked down at my own white gown, careful not to let my halo fall from my head in the process. “What’s wrong with my costume?”

“You don’t think Christians would be offended by you dressing up as an angel?”

I rolled my eyes. “As a Christian, I don’t find it offensive.”

She raised an eyebrow, “and how do you know I’m not a witch?” She pulled at my gown and looked up at my coyly. “As someone who worships Satan, I find your costume very offensive.”

Hayley turned and lead me into the house, now pulsing with loud music and party-goers.

The party was actually really fun. Despite drunk jocks and more slutty bees than you’d think was necessary, I enjoyed watching Hayley’s face open with excitement as she introduced me to her friends. My face and skin burned pleasantly with the first alcohol I had drank since middle school.

We left on the early side.

“It’s her first college party.” Hayley slurred as she very un-delicately stroked my face. “We don’t want to overwhelm her!”

Hayley’s friend Paul, dressed as a pokemon character I didn’t recognize, rolled his eyes at me. “Yes, Taylor seems very delicate. It’s a good thing she has you to take care of her.”

She smiled at him coyly as she pulled me into her in a faux gesture of protection. Paul winked at me and I blushed, thankful that the room we were in was dimly lit.

Hayley fell into me as she stepped off the house’s front steps and I wrapped my arm around her to steady her. She had been excitedly babbling about her dreams of going to veterinary school since we said good-bye to Paul, her words unnecessarily loud and sloppy, interrupted here and there with small violent hiccups. I patiently let her talk, relishing learning more about her.

“Wait,” she slurred, pausing and pointing at the woods beside the street. “I know a shortcut.”

I looked at the densely packed trees. “Maybe we should stick to the road.”

“No, trust me.” She said, her breath reeking of alcohol. “I take this path all the time to get to my dorm.”

“Come on, not tonight.” I said, trying to lead her away.

She giggled as she slipped from my grasp and ran into the woods.

“Hayley!” I called, but she was gone. I jogged in after her. I could hear her footsteps, loud through the dry autumn leaves. She hiccuped and giggled. I ran forward, following the sounds. And then they stopped.

My steps slowed. “Hayley?” I asked tentatively. I stopped for a second, listening for any sign of her, but the woods were silent. I began walking again, the forest tall and dark and quiet around me.

“Boo!” Hayley said as she jumped out from behind a tree.

I screamed in surprise. “Jesus Christ!” I cried, my breath hitching as I laughed in relief. “Fuck, you scared me.” My breathing calmed and my laughing turned into giggles. Hayley was looking at me intently, her smile lopsided from drink.

And then she leaned forward and kissed me. The world faded as she pushed her soft lips into mine. She pressed her body against me and electricity shot through my skin. I remember she smelled like vanilla, despite the cloud of alcohol that hung around her.

Hayley pulled away. I opened my eyes, slowly as if just waking from a deep sleep. She smiled again and laughed before whispering, “catch me if you want another kiss.” And she was off.

It took me a few seconds before I registered what she had said and I ran after her, again following the noises of her feet through the forest. And just like last time, the sounds soon stopped. I began to walk, excitement filling my lower abdomen as I eagerly waited for her to jump out again and kiss me. The thought sent tingles up my spine and back down to my inner thighs. This time, I’d kiss her deeper, taste her. This time, I’d pull her into me and never let her go.

A snapping of a stick brought me back to the present and I paused, “Hayley?”

Another stick broke, a thicker one from the sound. It was coming from above me. I looked up. The dark woods were still. I searched the branches for her. Movement caught my eye and I saw something on a thick branch several feet above my head. There wasn’t much light from the moon, but I thought I could make out shoes.

“Hayley?”

Two feet stood motionless above me.

“Hayley, is that you? What the fuck are you doing?”

One of the feet moved forward hesitantly, as if testing the still night air, before stepping forward. I went to reach my hands out to grab her but she was in front of me so quickly. I hadn’t had a chance to move. In just a second Hayley’s eyes in line with mine. And then there was another snap, louder than before. It sounded wet, much wetter than a stick. A splintering noise that I still hear in my nightmares.

Hayley spasmed in front of me and I stepped back in surprise. The noose was around her neck, but it was no longer loose. It pressed up and into her throat. Her head was bent at a wrong angle and I could see her bones pressing into her skin where her spine had broken. Her big brown eyes bulged and her mouth was open, exposing a bloated tongue.

We weren’t that deep into the woods and students walking past soon heard my screams. They found me hugging Hayley’s lifeless form, pulling at the tight noose around her neck with my two fingers.

It was ruled a suicide.

Sometimes I think if I hadn’t blindly grabbed her, if I had actually used my bad hand to hold her and my good hand to free her, she would’ve survived. But I know it was too late.

Since that night, I have never wavered from my strict no Halloween policy. My husband Chris has been incredibly understanding. He knows about Hayley and the story I told everyone about what happened to my hand. To my eye. He thinks I have Halloween PTSD, which I guess is true. The nasty coincidences. So many horrible events on the same night, years apart. It’s understandable why I’d hate the holiday. Anyone would.

Our son, Zack, has never dressed up. He’s never gone to a Halloween party nor has he even gone trick or treating. I’ll admit, it hasn’t been easy. The other parents don’t understand. They assume I’m a religious nut. But I have to protect myself, and I have to protect Chris and Zack. I’m still plagued by the memories of Hayley’s face, her eyes bulging from their sockets. I look at my beautiful, wonderful family and I’m reminded that Hayley will never have one.

Zack turned five this year and it’s beginning to get even harder to keep him from celebrating. But I thought I had been strict enough, that I had stressed to Chris how sensitive the situation was. I thought he realized that Halloween was forbidden for a reason, even if he didn’t know what it was.

But he caved. He took Zack to a Halloween store without my knowledge and bought him a costume. I came home to my beautiful baby boy squealing with delight as he showed me what he was going to be for Halloween.

Zack’s dressing up as a black cat tonight.

I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: Genre Magazines, Mort Kunstler, Vampire Queen, Boris Dolgov

Publishing (Forbes): Today, the number of science fiction and fantasy magazine titles is higher than at any other point in history. That’s more than 25 pro-level magazines, according to a count from the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, amid a larger pool of “70 magazines, 14 audio sites, and nine critical magazines,” according to Locus Magazine.

Publishing (Jason Sanford): For the last few months I’ve been working on #SFF2020: The State of Genre Magazines, a detailed look at science fiction and fantasy magazine publishing in this day and age.This report is available below and can also be downloaded in the following formats:  Mobi file for Kindle,     Epub file for E-book Readers, PDF file. For this report I interviewed the editors, publishers, and staff of the following genre magazines. Many thanks to each of these people. The individual interviews are linked below and also contained in the downloadable Kindle, Epub, and PDF versions of the report.

Science Fiction (New Yorker): In her heyday, Russ was known as a raging man-hater. This reputation was not entirely unearned, though it was sometimes overstated. Of one of her short stories, “When It Changed,” which mourns a lost female utopia, the science-fiction novelist Michael Coney wrote, “The hatred, the destructiveness that comes out in the story makes me sick for humanity. . . . I’ve just come from the West Indies, where I spent three years being hated merely because my skin was white. . . . [Now I] find that I am hated for another reason—because Joanna Russ hasn’t got a prick.”

Comic Books (ICV2): Blaze Publishing has reached an agreement with Conan Properties International that will allow it to publish U.S. editions of the Glénat bande dessinée series The Cimmerian, ICv2 has learned.  The Glenat series adapts Robert E. Howard Conan stories originally published in Weird Tales into comic stories that Ablaze describes as “the true Conan… unrestrained, violent, and sexual… just as Robert E. Howard intended.”

Fantasy (DMR Books): To cut straight to the one-line review: Jamie Williamson’s The Evolution of Modern Fantasy (Palgrave McMillan, 2015) is a must-read if you’re at all interested in how the popular genre now known as “fantasy” came about. Even if it’s a little difficult to obtain and get into. Williamson is both an academic and “one of us.” A senior lecturer in English at the University of Vermont, he’s taught a number of classes that I’d love to audit (Tolkien’s Middle Earth, Science Fiction & Fantasy Literature, King Arthur).

Historical Fiction (Jess Nevins): Hereward the Wake was written by the Rev. Charles Kingsley and first appeared in as a magazine serial in 1865 before publication as a novel in 1869. It is a fictionalization of the life of the historical Hereward the Wake (circa 1035-circa 1072), a rebel against the eleventh century Norman invasion and occupation of England. Although he became a national hero to the English and the subject of many legends and songs, little is known for certain about Hereward, and it is theorized that he was actually half-Danish rather than of Saxon descent.

Art (Mens Pulp Magazines): During the summer and fall of 2019, we worked with the great illustration artist Mort Künstler, his daughter Jane Künstler, President of Kunstler Enterprises, and Mort’s archivist Linda Swanson on an art book featuring classic men’s adventure magazine cover and interior paintings Mort did during the first major phase of his long career. That book, titled MORT KÜNSTLER: THE GODFATHER OF PULP FICTION ILLUSTRATORS, is now available on Amazon in the US and worldwide. It’s also available on the Barnes & Noble website and via the Book Depository site, which offers free shipping to anywhere in the world.

Gaming (Tim Brannon): Palace of the Vampire Queen. In the beginning, there was a belief that all DMs would naturally create all their own adventures and there was no market for pre-written ones.  The only printed adventure out at this time was “Temple of the Frog” in Blackmoor.  Seeing a need, the Palace of the Vampire Queen was written by Pete and Judy Kerestan. Yes, the very first adventure was co-written by a woman. The first edition was self-published, followed by a second and third edition by Wee Warriors (1976 and 1977) and distributed exclusively by TSR.

Fiction (DMR Books): Last summer, I was fortunate enough to acquire the copyrights to Merritt’s material from the previous owners.  Along with the rights, I received a few boxes of papers, which I’ve enjoyed going through during the past few months, and which I anticipate will provide me with many more enjoyable evenings perusing them.  Among these were papers relating to Merritt and the Avon reprints.  Some of this takes the form of correspondence between Merritt’s widow, Eleanor, and the literary agent she’d engaged for Merritt’s work, Brandt & Brandt.  Others are contracts with Avon, as well as Avon royalty statements.

Pournelle (Tip the Wink): Here, all of Pournelle’s best short work has been collected in a single volume. There are over a dozen short stories, each with a new introduction by editor and longtime Pournelle assistant John F. Carr, as well as essays and remembrances by Pournelle collaborators and admirers.” My take: I enjoyed this a lot. It had been a while since I read any Pournelle (and then almost always with Niven). I’m now tempted to reread The Mote In God’s Eye.

Gaming (Reviews From R’lyeh): Ruins of the North is an anthology of scenarios for The One Ring: Adventures over the Edge of the Wild Roleplaying Game, the recently cancelled roleplaying game published by Cubicle Seven Entertainment which remains the most highly regarded, certainly most nuanced of the four roleplaying games to explore Tolkien’s Middle Earth. It is a companion to Rivendell, the supplement which shifted the roleplaying game’s focus from its starting point to the east of the Misty Mountains, upon Mirkwood and its surrounds with Tales from Wilderland and The Heart of the Wild to the west of the Misty Mountains.

Art (Dark Worlds Quarterly): Being an artist for Weird Tales was not a fast track to fame and fortune. It is only in retrospect that names like Hugh Rankin, A. R. Tilburne, Hannes Bok, Lee Brown Coye and Vincent Napoli take on a luster of grandeur. At the time, the gig of producing illos for Weird Tales was low-paying and largely obscure. Some, like Lee Brown Coye, were able to establish their reputations in the art world after a long apprenticeship in the Pulps. Most are the select favorites of fans. Boris Dolgov was one of these truly brilliant illustrators who time has not been as kind to as should be.

Tolkien (Karavansara): But what really struck me in the whole thing was something that emerged from the debate: some fans said the novel should have been translated by a Tolkien fan, and by someone with a familiarity with fantasy. But other have pointed out that The Lord of the Rings is not fantasy. And my first reaction was, what the heck, with all those elves and orcs, wizards and a fricking magical ring and all the rest, you could have fooled me.

Tolkien (Sacnoth’s Scriptorium): So, I’ve been thinking back over Christopher Tolkien’s extraordinary achievements and wondering which was the most exceptional. A strong case can be made for the 1977 SILMARILLION. In retrospect, now that all the component pieces of that work have seen the light in the HISTORY OF MIDDLE-EARTH series we can see just how difficult his task was, and how comprehensively he mastered it. Special mention shd be made of one of the few passages of that work which we know Christopher himself wrote, rather than extracted from some manuscript of his father: the death of Thingol down in the dark beneath Menegroth, looking at the light of the Silmaril.

Art (Illustrator Spotlight): Many of you have seen some of the pulp covers he created; most likely those for The Spider, Terror Tales, Dime Mystery or Dime Detective. I was recently reading a blog post about David Saunder’s book on DeSoto (I can’t find the link to the blog anymore), and one of the comments was about how the commenter didn’t believe that DeSoto deserved a book, having painted only garish, violent covers. My reaction was immediate; I felt like telling the commenter to go forth and multiply, in slightly different words of course.

Martial Arts (Rawle Nyanzi): Yesterday, I put up a blog post where I showed videos discussing Andrew Klavan’s comments regarding women and swordfighting (namely, that women are utterly useless at it.) As one would expect, this has been discussed all around the internet, but much of it involves virtue signalling. To cut through a lot of that fog, I will show you a video by medieval swordsmanship YouTuber Skallagrim, in which he discusses the comments with two female HEMA practitioners — one old, one young.

Fiction (Black Gate): Changa’s Safari began in 1986 as a concept inspired by Robert E. Howard’s Conan. I wanted to create a heroic character with all the power and action of the brooding Cimmerian but based on African history, culture and tradition. Although the idea came early, the actual execution didn’t begin until 2005, when I decided to take the plunge into writing and publishing. During its creation I had the great fortune to meet and become friends with Charles R. Saunders, whose similar inspiration by Howard led to the creation of the iconic Imaro. What was planned to be a short story became a five-volume collection of tales that ended a few years ago with Son of Mfumu.

Gaming (Sorcerer’s Skull): The Arimites have the gloomy environment of Robert E. Howard’s Cimmerians and elements of a number of hill or mountain folk. They’ve got a thing for knives like the Afghans of pulp tradition with their Khyber knives, though the Arimites mostly use throwing knives. They’re miners, and prone to feuding and substance abuse, traits often associated with Appalachian folk. I say play up that stuff and add a bit from the Khors of Vance’s Tshcai–see the quote at the start, and here’s another: “they consider garrulity a crime against nature.”

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