#there's so little joy left from anything in the vast range of stuff i have to study right now

[immortalsins]

the way im paying £9250 per year for my professors to screenshot a textbook, paste it onto slides, and read from the slides for an hour. then i buy the textbook for £4.44 on ebay and its much easier to learn from than any of my lectures

[ayamturd]

promises│nihachu

summary: in any given situation or matter, promises are sacred in any relationship one should hold. 

prompt: “Promise you won’t let go?” “I promise.”

warnings: fluff and major angst, death and warfare descriptions, slight dsmp spoilers

pairing: in-game romantic!nihachu

a/n: this is my entry for @quackisinnit’s 1k writing event!! huge congratulatory once again for their achievement and amazing writing (go read their stuff, it’s incredible) <3

wc: (1.6k) - m.list

“Y/n! Slow down, will you!” 

You giggled to Niki’s panic and only sped through the tall grass faster. The world was a blur as you pulled her through the empty, dry field. Every branch of wheat tickled your face as they grazed your sides, yet you could care less as you both ran with little care in the world. 

“But how will we get there faster then?” You glanced back at her with an assured smirk without breaking your pace. Her eyes, while wide with concern, opposed her careless smile. She chuckled loudly at your words, the beautiful sound of her laugher prompting your own as you began climbing a small hill. 

“Only a little further, come on.” Your hand gripped her own gently, and she only squeezed your palm in response. 

As you reached the high ground, you both paused briefly to gather your breaths before you began pulling her again. “I hope this will be worth all the anticipation. You still haven’t told me what you wanted to show me.” 

The line of trees became more evident as you approached them. Entering the forest cautiously, the overhead branches shielded the bright sunlight, only speckles of light breaking through the leaves as they casted over you. 

“Well it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it.” Niki let out a small whine of your name, jogging slightly to meet your footing. 

The forest became evidently thicker with every stride, the overgrown roots of the trees tripping up Niki’s feet as she couldn’t see as clearly. She began to slow significantly in fear of the unfamiliar environment, the dark trunks, all of various sizes, almost taunting her with the possibility of something jumping out at her. 

While your presence was comforting, she couldn’t hide how naturally scared she was to continue forward. 

Noting her anxiety, you stopped completely to check on her, though her eyes were anywhere but your own; she was surveying the surrounding and the inability to see anything beyond a certain distance.

With a tender touch, you called her name more softly and pulled her face to your own. “We can head back if you’re uncomfortable love, but it’s just past this grove, I swear.” 

Niki relished in your touch and leaned into your hold, the warmth of your palm compelling and inviting against her cheek. She nodded ever so briefly, but you did not want to push her past what she was comfortable with due to your own excitement. 

“Speak with me now, love. I won’t force you if you don’t want to, it’s nothing of greater importance to your feelings.” 

Head still bowed down, Niki opened her eyes while lifting your still clasped hands to her lips. She kissed your knuckles endearingly before raising her head more confidently, your concern for her well being driving her emotionally.

“I’ll be alright, darling, thank you.” You leaned closer to exchange a kiss, a light feathery peck to her plush lips, and rested your forehead against her’s. 

Eyes closed, you merely whispered into her skin, “are you certain? You know I could never fault you if so.” 

Niki pulled away, causing your eyes to open at the lack of contact, and gave you a beautiful grin as reassurance. “I am, y/n, I promise.” 

While you smiled brightly, she paused before turning away, almost embarrassed to ask her next question. “Just… just promise you won’t let go?” 

Your airy chuckle made her head snap up to you, afraid of the connotations it held; however, she instead was met with your brilliant, crinkled eyes. They were intense, full of love and adoration that could make her blush widely from the simple gaze, and spoke more words than you could ever relay. 

Moving your hand to the back of her neck, you slowly bent down to kiss her again. It was more intense than before, the passion you displayed shared as Niki grabbed the wrist you held with while her other hand cupped your cheek securely. 

Eventually, you needed air and forced your lips off her hesitantly. Heavy breaths pervaded the forest landscape, and you both panted from the impenetrable emotions you carried. You held a lopsided grin from the kiss, the tired pull of your lips matching her own. 

“I promise, darling. I’ll always have you.”

“Y/n!” 

The sky was dark, fire raging from below and engulfing the space completely. Destruction rained down in the aftermath of the battle, ash and debris scattered everywhere. The smoke was blinding, the stinging film it produced bringing tears to the eyes of all while tainting the air, making it hard to breath or move within the encapsulated scenery. 

It was ringing. The silence was almost deafening after the deathly explosions and sounds that imploded moments before. One could barely hear themself think from the loud buzz or harsh stillness, the contrast more painful to the noise when originally casted in face of what was left to scrape and reforge. 

“Y/n, hold on!” 

Those injured or lost were left casted amongst the destruction of the once beautiful, vast land. Nothing could be said to the devastation that laid waste around them, yet the heartache most suffered was excruciating to the failure of a promise their home once carried. 

While some had fled or currently carried themselves strong against the opposing, ‘god-like’ force that demanded for blood, two loves were still fighting for the purpose of staying together. 

“Y/n! I have you, I have you, ju一 just hang on!” 

Niki’s face was stained with dirt and grime, yet it did nothing to hide the pain she held in her eyes. She was crying, the smoke in her eyes, while harsh and searing, incomparable to the agony she felt while holding you. 

“Niki, I’m so scared.” 

You were hanging over a massive crater, your feet danglingly helplessly in the open air as the wind pulled at your weight. Niki gripped your arm with her entire being, the wounds she had meaning nothing to the turmoil of emotions that raged at the sight of seeing you scared beyond admission. 

Her expression was determined, despite the tear stains that marked her face so vastly to the filth that stained her cheeks. She grunted, loosing her footing momentarily before pulling you slightly up again. In spite of all her efforts, she was too weak and exhausted from the fighting beforehand, body unable to carry the same passion she emulated in thought. 

“Niki.” Her eyes were tight from her current endeavor, and she shook her head at your voice. 

“It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, we’re going to be okay.” Her hands were shaking from your weight, yet she refused to break her grip.

“Niki, please look at me.” Blinking roughly to rid the salty tears, Niki let out a sob from meeting your own tears as well. You were in immense pain, and the fear that overtook was numbing to the point that you couldn’t put up a front any longer. 

“I love you, Niki. I love you so much.” With a shake of her head, more tears ran down her face from the revelation. She pulled harder on your arm. 

“Don’t do that, don’t say it like that.” You tried to smile and bring her comfort from the situation, but in truth you were too drained; the smile you tried for was only an empty shell to the joy it once held. 

“Niki, it’s alright, its o一”

Suddenly, more explosions shattered the still landscape once more. The war was not over and the crack of the already broken terrain collapse further beneath itself. 

Dust clouded your vision and the panic was overwhelming, causing you to speak without thought relative to the reality you both faced.

“Niki, don’t let go, please, promise you won’t let go!” Your words were rushed and incomprehensible. Eyes wild in terror and dread, the cries that escaped you were strained and smothered over the erupting ground around you. 

Niki yelled as loud as she could against the explosions trapping you both, anguished by the matter of fact. “Yes! Yes, Y/n! I have you, I pro一“

Before the vow in vain could be voiced, a new rain of explosions were set barely a few feet behind Niki, and the earth shook violently from impact. She yelped from the unexpected attack and lost her concentration and stability, thrown back, hard, into a sunken ditch. 

Explosion after explosion followed, and she was forced to hold her head in instinct until the silence rang out once more. With a gasp, she struggled to her feet and pathetically climbed her way over the small hill, the littered waste and scrap metal tripping her in her moment of desperation. 

She fell against the edge of the hollow shaft, a look of shock in disbelief before the horror sunk in. “No…”

“No, no, no no no…” She began to mumble to herself until her words became louder. Sinking to her knees at the realization, she released a broken and cracked cry. While sound was muffled to the damage within her ears and her sight was obscured by her teary eyes, the pain and heartbreak she felt was everything and the only thing she recognized then and there.

She cried and she cried, and no matter how much it hurt, she could never stop from the pain that would consume her without her new found sorrow.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Slowly, she laid her head against the ground and clenched her eyes shut, gripping her fists close into herself for she no longer had someone to hold her safe. 

“I’m so sorry.”

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 16 (nsfw elements)

“Take a break!” comes the barked command through the squad radio link, and it takes all of my willpower not to collapse onto the fleshy ground then and there. I take the camera slung around my neck and turn it off, telescope the lens back into itself, and then find a nice soft bit of wall to sink into before I pop the helmet and give Elena a weary gaze. She grins at me cheekily.

“How you doing, cutie?”

I barely have enough energy to grin, but somehow I manage it. “God,” I tell her. “I had no idea there was going to be this much hiking.”

I had never thought of myself as much of a slouch as far as physical activity went. I liked keeping myself fit, liked the rush I got after a workout. I did a lot of cardio, a lot of jogging, that kind of thing. Occasionally I’d lift some weights but it didn’t appeal to me as much as just the inchoate joy of moving quickly and feeling air push in and out of my lungs. I had a fair amount of endurance as well; I wasn’t running marathons or anything but frequently I’d end up jogging for upwards of an hour, just for something to do, just to unwind after work or take my mind off something. I’d looked at the several miles we’d have to travel today, down there in the stinking guts of the Pit, and thought something along the lines of ‘no sweat, I’m active, I take care of myself, it’ll be a workout but nothing more.’

Christ.

What neither Peter or Makado had mentioned to me is that if you aren’t travelling in a Made Place down here, in a place that’s been specifically sanitized and reinforced and structured for something the size of a human, something that moves like a human instead of crawling or writhing or wriggling, it is capital-letter Tough Going. Everything down here, down to just the texture of the gigantic veins we pushed through, our suits sopping with nameless excretions and juices, seemed designed to only sullenly give way to us, and that after a great deal on our part to convince it to do so.

Example number one – the tightness of some of the veins is so great that we had to use something called a venterial jack, a pneumatic, hydraulic device that Slate carried slung over his back, in order to force them open so we could pass through. Everyone kept saying that once we hit the organ trail it’d be more open and we wouldn’t have to use it, but in the meantime in some of these conduits Slate would have to get three or four of us to help him pull back the weird, spongy tissue of the sides back far enough for him to plant it there in the middle, and then we’d all back away, and with a thundering sound like a pile-driver it would expand and splay open, pushing the tissue back with such force that at times it would leave a gigantic bruise coloring the Pit’s peach-hued flesh afterwards, and then we’d be able to crawl past it in the newly expanded space perhaps twenty feet or so before we’d have to hit the small trigger on its hull to collapse it, and then lug the thing back up to the front and repeat the process.

Example two – these vents aren’t perfectly straight, flat areas to walk in. They dip and bend and curve; sometimes they roll upwards, great creased crinkles of flesh stretching upwards into a ninety-degree angle. Then there’s nothing to do but get over it somehow, either by pulling yourself up if it’s small enough, or by breaking out the damn rope and pitons and climbing up, and then helping everyone else up after you. Then imagine doing all of this in pitch darkness, the only light coming from everyone’s headlamps. Then imagine that the floor is damp and sticky and squishy and generally revolting. Slippery with fluid at times. Imagine that it groans and writhes and wriggles around you if you manage to unstick your cleats at the wrong time and it bucks and pitches you to the ground. And then imagine that if you do fall to the ground, in the space of time it takes for someone to come and help you up you become covered with all forms of parasites, tiny things ranging between the size of a knuckle and the size of a fist, all urgently eager and hungry. Tiny worms like nematodes, crablike mites, stranger, less defined things that scuttle or slither or undulate off at the first sign of motion but are altogether too eager to swarm over you and excrete digestive juices or sensory pheromones or urine or shit or what the hell ever else.

I ask Elena about them and she explains that the duct that we’re moving through is part of the Pit’s digestive system and that all of these little creatures snag scraps of food whenever it passes through, or sometimes they prey on each other. They evolve quickly, down here in the dark, generations zipping by in the course of a day.

I can see my helmeted reflection in the glossy visor of Elena’s helmet and I shudder. My camera is already splattered with grime, no matter how careful I’ve been to keep it clean. Nothing that interferes with its operation, thankfully; I don’t relish the idea of grappling with the clunky, low-resolution camcorder secreted somewhere in its case in my pack. At least the operation of my DSLR is second-nature to me; at least I don’t have to think about it.

Peter stomps over and sits down next to us. In here, in these wider basins, the little scummy creatures crawling all over don’t seem to venture into the middle, leaving a broad round circle of bare flesh where we can sit without being molested. I’ve already popped my helmet and I keep my eyes on Elena as she takes hers off, shakes her head doggedly, smooths her hair out. She catches my eye and grins, and then flicks her eyes over to Peter.

“Peter, right?”

“Yes,” he says. He holds his fist out and they touch knuckles. A less complicated gesture than trying to shake hands with the suit gloves on. “Sorry I haven’t been around much, I’ve been –“

“Too busy with Veret?” Elena interjects smoothly, and I nearly choke on the mouthful of water I’d taken from my canteen. Peter claps me on the back and grimaces.

“I hoped people wouldn’t have talked much,” Peter says, and Elena laughs.

“Please,” she says. “People are going to do nothing but talk if you’re fucking the boss. I’m Elena, by the way.”

Peter’s blushing. I nudge him. “So you and Makado, huh?”

He snorts. “Slate walked in on me and her, um. Well, you know. In one of the supply closets the other day.”

“And of course,” Elena adds, “considering that Slate is a 12-year-old girl, he ran and tattled to everyone.”

“That’s Slate,” Peter agrees. “When did you join?”

“Three years ago.”

“Huh. That’s back when I was here.”

“Yeah, I was attached to a research team for a while. They were doing some gastric stuff and they needed a diver. Probably why we never met.”

“Makes sense,” Peter nods. Elena’s eyes flick over to me and she reaches out a hand.

“Want me to open that for you?” she asks, and I shake my head. I’ve almost gotten the granola bar open now, but these damn gloves –

“I’ve got it,” I tell her. “I almost –“

“You sure you’ve got it?”

“Shut up, Pete.”

“Here, let me –“

“Fine,” I say, tossing the granola bar to Elena. She strips the wrapper off it with one deft motion and I shake my head. “How the hell –“

“Lots of practice,” Peter says. “So Elena, when you joined, did you…”

As I sit there munching and letting the quiet rustle of conversation blur into the background, letting some of the strength come back into my weary legs, I think for a moment about the fleshy, veined interior of the basin I’m sitting in. There are places in my body just like this, I think to myself. This is just the same as me, writ large. And I’m sure I have parasites just like those squirming things, all the mites and leeches and worms and other tiny things, just even tinier, single-celled or at the very least simple organisms, living inside of me, just like these are.

I put my hand on the floor hesitantly and I swear I feel, just for a moment, the throb of a titan heartbeat somewhere resounding in it like the echo of a vast drum.

“Alright people! Let’s get moving!”

I push myself up, nearly bang heads with Elena. Our helmets are off still so it’s dark, the lights are strobing all around as everyone puts theirs on. “Sorry,” I say to her, but before I can get the word out fully she’s seized me by the shoulders and kissed me hard and deep on the lips, her tongue skating over my teeth lightly before we part, her gleaming grin the only part of her I can really see, and I’m left breathless. For the next fifteen minutes of hiking I can’t seem to wipe the smile from my face.

 * * *

 The first difficulty arises only about an hour after we left the rest site. The vent we were passing through widened out, a sign Elena explained meant that we were beginning to enter the old Organ Trail, sort of a central hiking path through some of the more interesting areas of the Pit. It meant easier going, which I was thankful for; the area had been cleared and levelled a long time ago, back before 2007, and even though some of the built areas had been wrecked by those titan convulsions, now years past, there was still a great deal of flat ground and even in some parts metal platforms and walkways for us to use, which certainly gave my aching arms and legs a little solace.

It happened just at the end of one of those walkways, a short, narrow tunnel through a conic gape of flesh that truncated down from the ceiling like an abraded sphincter. The walkway through it still had age-old hydraulic jacks keeping the fleshy ceiling from collapsing inward on it, and though the Sergeant and Fumi, up at front, showed a little trepidation at the notion of passing through with only those jacks to secure it, there was no other real option; the portable jack Slate had wasn’t strong enough to provide any sort of security, even if we set it up in the middle of the passage at full load strength. Plus, Crookshank had loudly and crudely reasoned, if the fucking thing hadn’t caved in in the last four fucking years, what are the fucking odds it’ll fuck us in the ass right as we walk under it?

Hard to argue with that logic. And, to Crookshank’s credit, the fucking thing didn’t fuck us in the ass, although I couldn’t stop myself from staring up at the bloated, swollen flesh of the ceiling as I passed under it, a tiny ice-cold trickle of fear welling in my gut as I considered the sheer weight that was likely behind that glossy, straining surface. Suit or no suit, that’d kill me.

We hardly make it thirty yards from the ending of the tunnel before Joker tears through the flesh of the trail and plunges down into darkness. Euler actually yelps and we all whip around and see the outline of the pit the robot had fallen through, an irregular craggy chasm of flesh. We make our way cautiously to its edge and peer down and I almost laughed, for there just fifteen feet or so below us is Joker, his head inclined upwards, the running lights on the side blinking anxiously, looking for all the world like a forlorn and anxious dog waiting for its master to come rescue it.

Then all manner of cursing and expletives. It was for all the world like watching the groups of construction workers you’d see sometimes on the side of the highway, about six of us standing around mutely with our arms folded or akimbo, watching, while two others ran about frantically trying to accomplish something. The Sergeant and Euler had another shouting match which ended with the Sergeant throwing up his hands in disgust when Euler explained that the damn thing weighed around five hundred pounds and that nobody had told him to look out for crevices like that. Crookshank was in favor of jumping down and tying a rope around Joker’s waist and then the rest of us hoisting him out that way, but Klaus stops him and tosses a tiny white tab down into the murky liquid pooling around Joker’s feet.

“Acid test strip,” Elena murmurs to me when I shot her a questioning glance.

Nearly a dozen headlamps focus in on the tiny floating strip. Crookshank spits a disgusted curse when it turns a violent shade of pink.

“Good thing Klaus threw that in,” Elena calls, a tiny smirk coloring her words, and Crookshank rolls his eyes at her.

“What’s going on – oops. Sorry.”

Makado’s voice had flourished in my ears, sounding as rich and full in the helmet as though she’d been standing right next to me. Then the transmission clicked off. A couple of chuckles from the rest of the squad and then I realized – she must have dialed to the wrong frequency, spoken to all of us instead of just the Sergeant. He inclines his great slab of a head, one hand pressed to his helmeted ear, nodding occasionally, and then motions to Euler. “Euler,” he says. “Can you make it dig in and climb out?”

Euler stares at him blankly. “You mean into the - ?”

“Yes, goddam it, into the side of the wall.”

Poor Euler. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to. His hands are shaking lightly on the remote and all of us staring at him waiting for him to do it probably isn’t helping. He presses a complex series of buttons, manipulates the joystick carefully, and down in the pit Joker reaches up and plunges his hands into the fleshy wall, using about as much effort, it looks like, as it’d take to push into sand. Joker lifts himself off the ground and then hesitantly pulls one hand out, dripping with gore, and reaches upwards.

“Today, Euler.”

I almost, almost snap something at the Sergeant, but I bite my tongue. Whatever sort of peace we brokered the other night, it seemed like a tentative one, and I’d rather he was yelling at Euler, not me.

Sorry, Euler.

“Hey, Roan?”

I reach down to the radio and click it on. “Makado, what’s up?”

“Hi,” she says. “I just wanted to let you know that earlier today I got a call from our mutual friend Erica.”

I can feel my eyebrows raising of their own accord. “Really?” I ask. “Was she able to get in touch with - ?”

“With her guy down there? No, she wasn’t. She was calling to let me know that she was sorry,” Makado laughs, “and to tell you the same, that she’s sorry.”

“Christ,” I mutter. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’ve already spoken to the Sergeant about it and we’ve decided that on the way back up you’ll make some detours, check some spots that he might be holed up, but since we can’t make contact with him…”

“Right.”

“How are you doing down there?”

“Um. I’m alright. This is a bit of a new experience for me.”

“That’s one way to put it. Getting good footage?”

Me and my camera watch as Joker pokes his head up over the lip of the crevasse. Next to me Elena gives a little whooping cheer. “Yeah,” I say, turning so that Elena’s in the shot. She looks over at me, looks down, the lens reflecting in her helmet, flashes index and middle finger in a v at me. “You could say that.”

“Good. Well, that’s all, just wanted to check in with you.”

“Heard about you and Peter,” I blurt before I can stop myself. Makado grunts questioningly, and I roll my eyes at placing my foot directly in my own mouth as usual. “You know,” I clarify, “in the supply closet.”

There’s a moment of frozen silence and then Makado bursts out laughing. “Goddam it,” she sputters. “Slate told everyone, didn’t he?”

“More or less.”

“That fucker. Well, yeah. We, ah, got a little carried away.”

“I’m happy for you,” I tell her, and I find myself mildly surprised that it’s actually true. “He’s right here if you want to talk to –“

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ve actually been talking to him all day, more or less. Cause, you know, the equipment up here, I can put a direct line in to whichever one of you I like.”

“Right, of course.”

“Well,” Makado says, and I smile softly to myself beneath the helmet.

“See you, Mak.”

“See you.”

The radio line clicks off and then I’m alone inside my own head again.

Joker is dripping with blood now and I make sure I take plenty of video of him; a couple of stills as well, just because it looks metal. Like something straight out of a movie. Then once Euler has checked him over and wiped off the worst of it we go back to trudging down the vent like nothing has happened. Euler takes more care to keep Joker walking in step behind us and though Elena points out a couple of the fissures to me, skin crawling as I examine the thin membranous layer separating them from the air, nobody falls into any more.

Another couple of hours of walking and then another break. I have to go back three menus to check the time on my camera; some of the others’ helmets, I’m told, have heads-up displays on the interior that show details like that; mine either doesn’t have this functionality or it’s switched off so as to not overwhelm me with extraneous visual noise. It’s six in the evening; Elena tells me that the plan is to make it to our stopping point for the day by nine or ten. We’re over the worst of it, she says grinning, and then because we’re towards the back with only Joker behind us to see, she reaches down and squeezes my ass lightly and I respond in the only way I know how, by upping the ante, and reaching for her and groping her taut breasts clumsily through the suit before she spins away from me laughing. I still cast a nervous glance behind and meet Joker’s faceless metal gaze. I peer at him again for a little before I turn back around. I haven’t told Euler yet of what happened in the gondola on the way down but the more I think about it and turn it over in my head the more I’m convinced it must have been nothing. Just a little software glitch of some kind.

It amazes me how easily the fantastic surroundings I’m in become mundane. Just scant hours ago I was nearly getting sick breathing the air but now I’m grateful for it when I pop my helmet and gulp down great lungfuls of it, cloying and organic and thick but not recycled, not passed through a dozen filters before reaching my lungs.

We’re in the Organ Trail proper now, great wide cavities and veins and vesicles and all these other little fiddly medical names that pass between everybody like old friends but which leave me halting. What’s the difference between a vein and a vent? A vesicle and a ventricle? What about an organ and a cavity? I don’t know, and if I asked I’d only expose my ignorance, I’d only be patronized. I did ask Elena a few innocuous questions in that nature but every time she answered me she did so with a smug little smile and it made me feel small so eventually I stopped asking, even though I know she probably didn’t mean to do it.

Break. Another granola bar, another bottle of water. Have to stay hydrated. Sergeant comes around to all of us, makes sure we’re drinking enough. He doesn’t bark at me, he’s – not kind, but not awful. I hold hands with Elena surreptitiously there in the dark and though I can barely feel her through the thick suit, knowing she’s there is a comfort.

I think about Erica’s boy, whoever he was to her. There wasn’t enough of a resemblance for me to think that they were family but obviously she cares about him. I think about him alone down here for almost four days now. I think about how scared I’d be in the same position.

I have to fucking piss.

I get up and Elena eyes me. “Where’re you going?”

“To take a leak. What’s the protocol down here, just squat down and go wherever?”

She makes a face. “Unfortunately. If you’re male you have the luxury of using an empty water bottle but if not…”

“Right,” I say. I’ve gone camping before so the concept isn’t entirely foreign to me but it still isn’t particularly tasteful either. I make my way towards a discrete corner, a little fold of flesh that drapes down from the ceiling like a curtain.

“Don’t go far!” Elena calls from behind me, and I throw her a thumbs-up without turning. It’ll just take a moment anyway. Behind the curtain is actually another corridor – a vent, I guess, is the term everyone else seems to use most commonly. I eye it a little warily before I step forward. It’s dark in there, and I feel a little more exposed than I thought I would as I unzip the bottom portion of the suit and squat down, choosing a dingy little corner, a little wrinkled knot of flesh like the accordion-like joint between the thumb and the rest of the hand.

I do my business quickly and then seal the suit, taking time to check all of the joints like I was shown in the brief training the engineer fitting me had given. I –

Something moves in the vent ahead of me and I freeze. I can’t see it properly, it’s far too dark, but it seems large, larger than I am. I take a hesitant step back, eyes locked on its wavering silhouette, and then I reach down with my thumb along the side of the helmet, carried loosely at my side, and press the button for the headlamp, and it casts a beam of light over the thing, and it is so large, larger than me, towering at least eight feet tall there in the vent, all whipping tentacles and soft spongy tissue. It has wide, strange eyes that peer at me blearily in the sudden light, its long, snakelike, curiously vulnerable-looking body surrounded by a halo of pale venous fronds or tendrils, light pink and throbbing. It reaches out for me and I start to scream but the sound catches in my throat, and then I take a panicked, scrambling step backwards and the cleats dig in the wrong way and I pitch to the ground. I hit hard, knock the air from my lungs, and then I really can’t scream even though my brain has finally caught up with what’s happening and I’m trying to force my abused lungs to work, all I can manage is a little croaking noise.

The thing scuttles closer to me. The tendrils are starting to wrap around my leg and I kick at it and scoot backwards, but they tighten around my ankle and hold me still. I can feel terror inside of me like I’m a cocoon, like it’s clawing at my skin and if it makes a hole in me I’ll disappear, evaporate, vanish, I’ll scream and scream and -

“Roan?” Elena calls. It sounds as though she’s coming towards the coil of flesh I’d hidden behind. “We’re getting ready to go.”

“Help,” I manage to croak, and then Elena bolts around the corner, her pistol already clearing the holster. I feel the tendrils around my leg loosen and then slip away as she marches towards the thing completely fearlessly. She isn’t even pointing the gun at it. She stands up on her tiptoes as best she can in the bulky cleats and stares at it, stares it down, the thing retreating on its millions of whiplike tentacles, before finally it turns tail and flees down the vent, making a noise like pudding being poured into a bag full of live eels.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as Elena helps me up. “What the fuck was that?”

“Venous shamble,” she tells me. “Big one, too. Would have stuck a proboscis in you and sucked you dry if you let it. Why didn’t you shoot it or something? They’re pussies, even if you missed it would have run away.”

“I didn’t think of it,” I say quietly, looking at her. I can feel myself trembling with the comedown of the adrenaline and I feel defensive. “I didn’t - I don’t know, I froze up and -“

Elena’s face falls, and then she is crouching next to me and undoing my helmet gently, cradling me in her arms. “It’s okay,” she tells me. “It’s okay, nobody could expect you to do any different.”

I blow a big breath out. “Okay,” I say. “Okay, I’m good.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Here, come here.”

“What is it?”

“Kiss me,” I tell her, and I see Elena grin.

“We are moving, ladies!” the Sergeant calls from back in the main chamber, and both of us jump. Elena hauls me to my feet and I slot the helmet back onto the neck of the suit.

“Thanks for saving me,” I tell her, and though she rolls her eyes she still smiles at me.

“Why do I feel like I’m going to hear that a lot from you?” she asks, and I shrug and then we hold hands for the next two hours, there at the back with Joker trudging along behind us with squishy pneumatic footfalls, and after long enough of that I finally, finally feel my insides loosen up and the terror that had been lurking inside of me gradually vanish.

The rest of the night passes without incident. We make it to the broad flat exposed bone plate that we’d planned to camp on and Fumi sets up a portable stove and passes around MREs. I get one that’s a vegetable omelet and though Elena offers to trade with me because apparently it is the foulest piece of food science that the US Military has ever seen fit to inflict on its soldiers and I, being a mere civilian, am unprepared to face its manifold horrors, I actually kind of like it, especially once I mix in the little hot sauce packet.

Afterwards, Elena helps me set up the weird hexagon-panelled tent, which I am hopelessly confused by, inside one of the many vents leading to the basin, which she explains is necessary because the tent has to brace against the vent walls in order to keep its shape. Eventually she laughs at me, though not unkindly, and tells me not to worry about it, she’ll set it up. The tents are two-person, and there seem to be a series of accustomed pairs, Fumi and Ellis, Klaus and Slate, Crookshank and the Sergeant. Elena, when I ask her, tells me that she got a tent to herself normally. That leaves Peter and Euler to bunk up together, but they seem to be getting along alright, so that all works out, I suppose. We’ve left Joker there on the bone plate by himself. Euler hasn’t shut him down but put him into some sort of guard mode so he’ll wake us if anything gets into the basin, but Elena assures me that up this high in the Pit nothing noteworthy is going to bother us. The biggest things up here, she says, are the shambles, and they only bother to attack isolated stragglers, things they know they can kill. They’re very fragile, apparently, and know it.

Elena goes to relieve herself and I clamber into the tent, lay out the mats and sleeping bags. I double-check the map on my suit computer, make sure I know which vent leads to the ballast bulb Makado had mentioned to me. Just thinking about it gives me shivers but I resolve not to worry about it until later. Then I strip my suit off and then shrug out of my underclothes as well. My hair is a little lank from being in a helmet all day and although I’ve applied antiperspirant liberally I can’t escape the suspicion that I don’t smell anywhere close to roses.

No matter. I drape myself across the sleeping bags in what I hope is a sexy manner and play with myself lightly until finally Elena unzips the tent.

“Sorry I took so long,” she says, clambering inwards. She hasn’t seen me yet, she’s making sure her pack makes it inside. “Fumi is fucking with the stove and –“

She sees me then and her mouth drops open. I keep my voice low and sultry.

“How should I reward my savior?” I ask her, and she puts the bag down slowly, a grin spreading across her face.

“I could think of a few ways,” she says, her voice low and husky, and then she is crawling over to me. Her lips meet mine and become entangled and she is slipping her suit down around her shoulders with my one-handed help, and then her hands are roaming over my breasts and my stomach and my thighs and the place where my thighs meet, and then what she does to me next makes me stop thinking.

 * * *

 “Mm.”

“That was nice.”

“Here, hold me. Tighter.”

“If I hold you any tighter you’ll break something.”

“Do you ever feel,” I ask, shifting myself slowly around in her arms so that I could face her, “as if you simply can’t get close enough to someone once you’ve just made love? Like, you’ve got your arms around them and you’ve put your leg up over their hip –“

“Like this?”

“Yes, just like that. And you’ve got your face pressed just here into their collarbone and you can feel them breathing against you, but it just isn’t close enough?”

“I know what you mean.”

“That’s how I feel.”

“That tickles, don’t kiss me there.”

“But you have such a nice collarbone,” I tell her. “How can I not kiss it?”

“God,” Elena laughs. “That’s so cute. You are so damn cute, has anyone told you that?”

“Once or twice, but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

“This really is your first time with a girl?”

“Yes, if we don’t count last night.”

“You’re very good.”

“Mm. Call me a good girl.”

“You’re a good girl.”

“Your good girl?”

“If you’d like to be.”

“I think I’d like that.”

Elena reaches up and puts her hand in my hair, holds me closer to her. I feel such a giddy upswelling of joy in my heart and stomach that I nearly start laughing. Elena feels it, some little shake or shudder in me, and looks down at me with sudden concern. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I nod.

“Yes, I’m just – happy.”

We are silent for a long while. I can feel Elena’s nimble fingers counting the vertebrae in my naked back, and her soft tapping touches make me shiver and clutch closer to her.

“Tell me about yourself,” she tells me, and I feel a little irrational stab of fear clench in my gut. “I don’t know hardly anything about you, just that we get on well.”

“Alright,” I say after a moment. “I grew up in Corpus Christi. No siblings, only child. I – “

“Me too.”

“Only child?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“God, no,” Elena laughs. “I was so lonely as a kid. My family, we lived way out in the boonies in Wisconsin, nobody around hardly. Just me and my folks.”

“It sounds nice.”

“You are not very much of a people person, are you?” she asks. She inclines her head downwards and kisses me on the forehead, and then I manage to scoot myself up enough that she can find my lips.

“What gave it away?”

“Tell me more. You grew up in Corpus Christi.”

“Went to school in Oklahoma. Got a degree in Literature, bounced around for a while doing journalist things. Worked at a television station for a while, ended up here.”

“How the hell did you end up here?”

“Same way you did, probably,” I grin. “Dumb luck.”

“No, really, I’m curious.”

Goddam it, Elena. I cup her breast in my hand. When I pull back from her to do so I can still feel her breathing against my chest, the ocean-swell rise and fall of hers fitting into mine. I run my thumb over her nipple and see her bite her lip, and I smile to myself, trying not to look too self-satisfied. Elena doesn’t let me enjoy it, though; she shakes her head at me and slips her hand over her breast, covers it from me. “Don’t avoid the question,” she says.

Goddam it, Elena.

I shrug, pretend embarrassment. “I knew someone in management who pulled the strings for me. Came in as an intern then got offered a full position and I accepted cause the pay was fantastic. I do clerical stuff, mostly, you know, data entry, office stuff. I was afraid to tell you, cause…”

“Cause why?”

I decide, for once, to tell her the truth. “Because you intimidate me,” I say. I look her in the eyes for as long as I can muster before I shut mine and bury my face in her collarbone again. I lasted about five seconds. Her eyes are ferociously grey. “Because I feel like you’re going to realize that I’m not –“ I start, and then I realize what I’m saying and cut myself off.

“I don’t want to know how that sentence ends,” she says firmly, taking my head gently in her hands and bringing it up to hers. “You lock that down,” she tells me, pressing her forehead to mine, staring at me. I force myself to look at her, even offer her a tiny smile, or at least I try to, but it feels like the same great hand that’s wrenching at my heart is tugging at my lips as well.

“I just don’t – Elena, there’s –“

Where the hell am I going with that? What am I going to say? There’s nothing I can say.

“Shh. Don’t.”

“Goddam it,” I mutter helplessly. She doesn’t understand, I can tell from the way she’s looking at me. Mute sympathy writ large in those wide, pretty eyes. Fuck.

“Look,” she says. “If you’re having doubts it’s, it’s okay. If it’s just sex maybe that’s one thing, but I don’t know if you want to think of anything more, I don’t know how you feel, but if I make you feel bad or wrong or guilty or -“

“Don’t let’s talk about it,” I tell her. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

I let out a little laugh, barely a breath’s worth. “I have a lot of things I’m sorry for.”

“Has it been a while for you?”

“How do you mean?”

“Being with anyone, I mean.”

I feel like I’m going to cry. This isn’t going how I wanted it to. I don’t know how I wanted it to go. This isn’t it.

I feel a huge, stupid paroxysm of guilt welling up inside of me. I turn around so I don’t have to look at Elena, so she doesn’t have to look at me. She puts her arms around me, one arm draped across my chest, tucking me close to her, the other slipping down around my hip and pulling me closer in to her. I can feel the tapered v that her hips and her thighs make resting softly against my ass. She’s so warm.

“Roan,” she says. I can feel her lips moving against the back of my neck. “I don’t know what’s happened to you in the past, I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve had to go through. But I promise that nothing you can tell me is going to change –“

She thinks it’s about her. I almost laugh out loud at the simplicity of it. She thinks I’m having regrets, she thinks – she thinks whatever kind of pathetic moral compass I have spinning in circles inside of me is disagreeing with my monkey hormones’ efforts to make me cum. Goddam it.

“I’m gonna hurt you,” I tell her, knowing as I say it that it’s true. “I’m not going to mean to but I’m going to anyway, I’m going to hurt you, I’m going to fuck this up, and I don’t want to –“

“Roan –“

“- and I’m fucking dreading it because the last relationship I was in was not good, and I don’t want to believe that I’ve been changed by it, but –“

Alright Roan, you can stop now.

“- and I’m just scared because I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want you to hate me, and -“

“Roan!”

I stop. I put my face in my hands. I feel a tiny drop of moisture on my back and I realize that Elena must be crying, and I roll over. “Oh no,” I tell her. “No, no, goddam it, don’t cry, I didn’t mean to –“

“You didn’t make me cry,” she tells me. “I’m crying because whatever happened to you, you didn’t deserve it, and hearing you like this makes me so sad –“

“Elena –“

She hushes me again and for a long, long while we lay there entangled, her lips pressed to my collarbone now, her sweet-smelling hair in my face, and she holds me so tightly that I finally begin to calm down. I think for a long, long while about what I should say, about what I should tell her that might excuse the – the mess I made of what should have been a relatively pleasant evening, but then as her breaths ripsaw upwards into tiny wheezing snores, I realize that it doesn’t really matter.

It takes me about ten minutes to slowly extricate myself from her grasp, to grab my suit and snake my way out of the tent with it in tow. I turn back around to zip the tent back up and I see Elena’s eyes cracked open, watching me, and though I almost jump I give her a soft little smile.

“Where are you going?” she groans, reaching out for me, and I lean back in and take her hand, bring it to my mouth and kiss her on the knuckles.

“I have to take a piss,” I tell her. “I’ll be back soon, go back to sleep.”

She looks as though she wants to protest but she’s too sleepy to do so. She gives me a little smile and then falls back onto her pillow, and I zip the tent up and shrug into my suit quickly. It feels strange and coarse on me, not having bothered to put on any underclothes beforehand, but it’ll do.

Then I turn and make my way as silently as I can towards the dark branching offshoot of tunnel that I marked as the path to the ballast bulb.

Continue with Part 17

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[villlainarc]

To Fall in Love

Prologue: The Whispers of Lovers

Summary: In which Roman hears the call of a siren and Logan is finally satisfied with what he has.

Pairing: Logince

Warnings: mentions of death, unhappy ending (so it doesn’t sneak up on you in later chapters), ask for anything else you need

Word Count: 1905

A/N: the song in this chapter is none other than into the unknown from frozen 2 (yes this does start out incredibly similar to the plot of that movie, but it’s really not i swear)

More A/N: this is a secret santa gift for @ari-the-anxious-ace and as such, is already completed (and can be found at this very moment on ao3). but so as not to spam you, chapters will be posted every three days.

special thanks to @cringeless for beta reading :)

masterlist || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6

read on ao3 or below the cut

find other stuff i’ve written under #writings from the stars

Roman had been hearing a voice for weeks now. It called to him across the vast ocean, it’s haunting lilt impossible to forget. The sound of it occupied his thoughts every waking moment and invaded his dreams while he slept.

The first few times, he’d tried to ignore it. It had been quiet at first, a melody so soft he could barely hear it. In the beginning, it had been easy to ignore the pull that came with it too. Sure, it tugged at his heart and left a nagging feeling in his head no matter what he did, but it had been manageable.

It was far less manageable now. Now, the song was louder. He could hear it no matter where he was, no matter what he did. Roman had taken to sitting on his balcony and just listening. The voice calling to him was beautiful; low and silky, deep and sweet. He was enchanted by it. He longed to know who it belonged to, where it came from—and the strengthening pull of the song definitely wasn’t dissuading him.

But he couldn’t follow the voice. He couldn’t go where his heart begged him to, where his mind told him he had to. It was impossible.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could do it. On the contrary, Roman knew he’d be able to find where the voice came from with a surety he’d never felt in his life. He’d never sailed anywhere before, not once, but he’d be able to find the voice. He was certain of it, more certain than he was that the sun would rise in the morning.

No, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Roman couldn’t just up and decide to set sail in search of a voice that no one else seemed to hear. The problem was that Roman wasn’t allowed to do that.

He never would be either, not if it took him away from home. Not if it took him away from his duties, away from the castle, away from the throne.

Roman was to be king. He couldn’t go off on adventures just because his heart felt like it was being torn out of his chest and towards a voice that no one else believed existed. He was to be king, he couldn’t do just anything.

The thought dragged down his normally light spirit. He felt as though the crown promised to him was a shackle, keeping him trapped in a prison of gold and marble. Being king to Roman was a burden greater than the one Atlas bore, heavier than the sky itself.

More than anything, he wanted to forget his duty to the kingdom. He wanted to leave, even for a little while. He only wanted to find the voice, he could come back after that. It wouldn’t be a long journey, he told himself.

Somehow though, he knew that was a lie. The voice’s hold on him now was near painful in its intensity, who knew what it would be like when he got closer. If he left, he wouldn’t come back.

Which was why he couldn’t leave, no matter how much his entire being wished and hoped and dreamed to follow the sound of that lovely song.

Even still, Roman stood on his balcony each night, listening and longing. When the pull from the voice was especially strong, he had found that parroting back its tune helped to lessen its intensity. That was where he could be found most nights, ignoring his need for sleep and humming an unknown song, void of words.

Roman’s heart ached, but he would survive this. He didn’t follow the voice, no matter how much he wanted to. He did what was asked of him, wore his crown, exuded an air of perfection. He made sure to never have a hair out of place, never let anyone notice the bags under his eyes. His smiles stayed dazzling, his eyes stayed bright. Nothing was wrong.

Nothing was wrong at all until the voice began to whisper lyrics along with the melody he’d been hearing for months.

“Someone out there…”

Like the melody had, the lyrics started out faint. Roman only caught snatches of them every so often, but it was almost enough to drive him insane.

“A little bit… you…”

Just as he had before, he tried to ignore the song.

“Knows… not where you’re meant to be…”

It didn’t work this time.

“Every day’s a little harder.”

Because soon the voice grew clearer. Roman could hear more of the song, and it had him spellbound.

“Don’t you know there’s a part of you that longs to go…”

The lyrics spoke to him in a way nothing ever had. The words echoed thoughts he’d tried to hide for longer than he cared to admit, and suddenly Roman couldn’t stand the pounding of his heart and the way it mimicked the beat of the song.

“Into the unknown.”

He was done for. There was no way anyone could have ignored a call as strong as this, and Roman had already tried to for so long. He couldn’t keep pretending he was fine forever. The crack in his mask that was currently forming had always been inevitable.

He’d resisted for so long. It was a relief beyond words to finally acknowledge and accept what he’d always known.

Roman was leaving the palace. He wasn’t going to be king. He wasn’t coming back. He was going to follow the cord tied around his heart and find the source of that voice. Nothing was going to stop him. Not his family, who he scribbled a hasty, half-hearted note to as he all but sprinted to the edge of his balcony. Not his friends, who he’d never had in the first place. Not his kingdom, as it would undoubtedly find a way to thrive without him. With nothing weighing him down anymore, Roman felt like he could fly.

He couldn’t though, so he didn’t leap off the balcony as he was so tempted to do and instead, he chose to carefully maneuver himself down the wall of the castle. He dropped to the ground when he ran out of hand and foot holds. The smile he’d had on his face since making his decision never faltered as he ran across the grounds, ignored by every guard he passed. He was the future king, he could do anything he wanted.

He was the future king, and he was going to steal a pirate ship.

Roman let out an involuntary laugh, spurred on by the pure joy bubbling up in his chest as he ran towards the docks.

The voice called out to him, and for the first time, Roman didn’t try to ignore it. He sang back to it instead, the lyrics coming naturally.

“Are you out there?

Do you know me?

Can you feel me?

Can you show me?”

The voice replied with the melody he’d been hearing for months and Roman repeated it, unable to help himself. Why stop, after all? He was too happy to stop.

As Roman paused in front of a rather imposing ship, and the voice lowered to a whisper as though in reverence. This was it. The pirate ship his kingdom had captured, supposedly the fastest vessel on the seas.

It was Roman’s now.

He ran up the ramp and let his instincts guide him into preparing the ship as the voice began singing again. Roman hummed along with it, not sure if he’d ever be able to stop smiling.

Roman’s hands easily twisted a final knot into place and without warning, the voice stopped. It cut out completely for the first time since Roman had started hearing it. His mind was filled with lyrics again, and he asked it, “Where are you going? Don’t leave me alone! How do I follow you…” Roman held the note, and it rang out over the ocean as the ship began to drift away from land. He took a breath when the voice still didn’t start up again. “Into the unknown?”

There was still no answering call, but Roman felt the cord around his heart grow tighter. Even without the voice to guide him, he’d be able to find his way, that was still a fact cemented into his very being.

He breathed in the air around him and tossed back his head. His smile still hadn’t faded, and Roman’s heart beat out that familiar melody again. At long last, he was going to find the voice that had haunted him for so long. He was going to be one of the lucky few to achieve his dream.

Roman laughed, and the wind whipped through his hair. For the first time in his life, he felt truly free.

🌊

A voice, desperate and pleading, called out over the ocean. It soared along the waves and dipped into the currents, searching for someone, anyone, that would listen. With each passing moment, the cry grew weaker, the power it had once held falling away. Soon enough, no one would hear it.

The owner of the voice didn’t want that. He wanted—no, needed—someone to hear his song before it was too late. He didn’t know why no one was answering him. While he would always place his trust in the ocean and his own magic to carry his call to whoever would be most susceptible to it, he was beginning to grow unsure that anyone could hear it. If his voice had lost enough of its power that it couldn’t make it off the island, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He didn’t know if there was anything he could do.

Would he die, he wondered morbidly, if the ocean wasn’t able to find someone for him to lure? That almost sent him into a panicked spiral, but he shoved it down. He couldn’t afford to lose faith. If he did, his song definitely wouldn’t reach anyone.

So he waited, holding onto as much hope as he dared. He waited, and received no response for almost a week more.

But then, he heard something. An echo of his own song, whispered back to him. He breathed it in, taking in just enough sweetness of the listener’s dream to know what to sing of. His eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, and he smiled.

“Or am I someone out there who’s a little bit like you?

Who knows deep down you’re not where you’re meant to be?”

He could feel a sharp pull as the part of the dream he’d taken reached back to where it came from. More of the honeyed dream seeped into him and pulled the rest ever nearer, and he knew his victim was hooked. Wherever he was, he was coming, as surely as night followed day.

He was coming, and he would bring his dream with him in all of its sugary delectability.

Logan could already taste it on the wind, drawing closer with every breath. He grinned, teeth bared in some approximation of a human smile. He was going to survive, and that fact brought him closer to the happiness that humans so often flaunted than anything else ever could.

Finally, he would be able to drain a human of their dream and live again.

[mothercetrion]

Video Game Antics

Summary: Johnny decides that Kuai Liang and Hanzo need some modern-day fun and teaches them the joys of Mario Kart. He quickly regrets it.

Characters: Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi), Sub-Zero (Kuai Liang), Johnny Cage

Word Count: 1873

Request: “this might be a little too silly but can i maybe ask for a fic where johnny convinces hanzo and kuai to play mario kart (or mario party) with him?” - anonymous/spilledginger

this is for anon (revealed to be @spilledginger)!!!! this was a fucking blast to write and i love this ship to death. enjoy!!!!! [crossposted to AO3]

———

“Who is Mario?”

“Who he is doesn’t matter, Spicy.”

“Are these… his karts?”

“Subs, no. They’re just— fuck, okay, it’s not as deep as you guys wanna make it. Mario is the brand. That’s why it’s called Mario Kart.”

Both Hanzo and Kuai Liang hummed, and Johnny let out a sigh of relief. He had invited the two over to his home during a slow patch in people to fight, and he was determined to teach them about different ways to have fun. The first? Video games.

Neither of them was huge on modernized technology, Kuai Liang especially, but Johnny was determined to show them the ways of video games, starting with a classic: Mario Kart. It was simple, fun, and easily competitive. Johnny could not begin to count the number of times that he played with Cassie when she was little, even when she was older. It was just… fun. No matter how old you were, no matter how experienced you were, you could always have fun playing Mario Kart.

But you could only do it once you got started. The three adults were still on the title screen.

Johnny had explained the controls immediately upon their agreement to play the game. He knew that once they started, not knowing the controls would take the fun out of everything. They had grasped the controls easily, but they had lots of questions about the game itself… which Johnny was trying to answer with as much patience as he could muster.

Finally, Johnny gave up on questions and moved on to the character selection screen, where he immediately went to pick Princess Peach. He had standards, of course, and Peach was the best in the Mario franchise… to him, at least.

“There are so many characters…” Kuai Liang moved to hover over all of the characters in a frenzy. “How do I even begin to pick?”

“Just choose one that looks appealing, I guess.” Hanzo hovered over Bowser and chose him, furrowing his brows when the character growled. “Is that… how he speaks?”

“Yeah. That's Bowser. He’s the main villain.” Johnny pointed to Peach on the top row. “He’s always after her, and she is—” He moved his hand to point to Mario a few spots away from her. “—his love interest.”

Without a second thought, Kuai Liang went over and selected Mario. “Peach’s love interest, hm? That makes my decision easy.” With a smile, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Johnny’s cheek, causing the actor to giggle.

Hanzo scoffed. “Wow. Okay then. I see how it is.” Despite his tone, it was clear that he was joking due to the smile that tried its hardest to appear on his face.

“Aw… my dearest, you know that I care for you also.” Kuai Liang leaned across Johnny’s body and pressed a kiss to Hanzo’s cheek, which quickly turned into a lip kiss when Hanzo turned his head to him and kissed him before he could pull away.

“Okay, I’m all for you guys being lovey and dovey and stuff,” Johnny interjected, “but we have to play while I have your attention!” As the two pulled away, he gave them each a quick peck on the lips. “You know I’m down for kisses and such… but let’s race first, yeah?”

Both men agreed, and Johnny moved on to kart selection. “Here’s where you pick what you drive. There’s cars, karts, motorcycles…”

“A bathtub?” Kuai Liang asked. He hovered over a bathtub vehicle and viewed it in its entirety with another control.

“That’s… That’s an odd vehicle,” Hanzo said. He turned to Kuai Liang with a giggle. “Pick it.”

Kuai Liang snickered and selected the vehicle. “I suppose it will be fun to see if I can win with this.”

Johnny hovered over a klassic kart and selected it. “That’s a great one, honey. Spicy, baby, what are you looking at?”

Hanzo kept switching between a kart and a motorcycle, his head tilted. “Would… Beezer look too foolish on a motorcycle?”

Johnny bit back a cackle. “It’s… It’s Bowser,” he said, his voice cracking, “and he wouldn’t! Everyone looks badass on a motorcycle… giant turtle things included.”

With a firm nod, Hanzo selected the motorcycle. “That decides it.”

Johnny moved on to track selection and selected the Special Cup, symbolized by a crown and with four different tracks in a tournament setting. First off? DK Jungle. As a jungle-based track, the majority of the track was surrounded by giant trees. Jungle bongos danced along the track on a turn, moving in the driver’s way on purpose.

The three began racing on the buzzer. Johnny quickly took the lead on the track, with Hanzo right behind him and Kuai Liang trailing a few places behind. Unfortunately for Johnny, he had taught the two how to drift, and Hanzo and Kuai Liang quickly caught up to him. It was the three of them in the front, but Johnny managed to stay in the lead.

When the final lap began and they continued on their way, Hanzo fell off the track and cried out. “No! I was so close!”

Kuai Liang laughed to himself as he continued to bump into Johnny with his bathtub, leaving Johnny giggling like mad. But in the end, despite their best efforts, Johnny got first place. Kuai Liang got second place, and Hanzo managed to quickly catch up and get fourth place.

Johnny cheered victoriously. “Yes! I am the victor.” He put on a dramatic voice and smacked at his chest. “Bow before me, mortals, for I am… Mario Champion!”

“My love…” Hanzo bit back a laugh and gestured to the screen with his controller. “That was the first race. There are three more races to participate in. You are not champion.”

“Not ever, likely,” Kuai Liang teased. “I am feeling… very lucky!”

Johnny jokingly furrowed his brows as the next track loaded: Rosalina’s Ice World. No wonder Kuai Liang felt so lucky. The entire track was coated in ice and had various dangerous cliffs to fall off of. Drifting was most dangerous, but most rewarding, on this track because of the slippery roads. There was also an underwater section that racers could drive through.

Kuai Liang quickly overcame Johnny when the actor fell off the edge on the first turn. Kuai Liang and Hanzo managed to stay neck in neck for most of the race, with Johnny managing to stay a few places behind. At one point, he got lucky and found a blue shell in an item box, but Johnny had explained all of the items and their purposes before they began, and Kuai Liang had gotten smart and fell behind to second place… so Hanzo got the blue shell instead.

As soon as he saw it above his head, he screamed in mock anger. “Kuai Liang! Why would you do that?!” he yelled, hurriedly trying to regain a good position once his motorcycle was finished spinning. Kuai Liang ignored him though, laughing loudly as he passed across the finish line, winning the race. Hanzo caught up and finished in second, and Johnny managed fifth place.

Kuai Liang whooped in his spot, a wide grin on his face. “Yes! You should have known better than to pick a track themed around ice. I am called Sub Zero for a reason.”

Johnny scoffed and gently smacked his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. I probably should’ve thought a little harder when picking the cup… But there’s still two more races! Hanzo and I can win this whole thing!”

The third track was one that, once again, Johnny should have planned for: Bowser’s Castle. Not only was it based around the character that Hanzo chose, but it was also surrounded by fire and lava. Hanzo was more than ready to avoid the giant pools of lava or the block enemies or the giant fiery geysers.

Johnny could not have picked more poorly when it came to a cup…

The race began, and both Hanzo’s natural fire abilities and his character choice gave him the added skill compared to his other competitors and his boyfriends. Kuai Liang fell into the lava nearly immediately, and Johnny was behind him in the lava just a few seconds later. Unfortunately for Kuai Liang, Johnny was more versed in the track and managed to catch up quickly.

Despite their greatest efforts, Hanzo passed the finish line well before any other drivers. He grinned victoriously and placed his controller in his lap. “Haha! You really should have planned these races better. You picked our best strengths!”

Johnny shook his head as he passed the finish line for second place. “Yeah, honey, I really should’ve. But that doesn’t matter! Because the three of us have each won a race, and there’s one left! I can still win this thing.”

“Any of us can,” Kuai Liang brought up as he finished in fifth. “We will see the true winner momentarily.”

The last track in the cup was Rainbow Road—the crazy version, with Saturn. Driving across a wiggling road and zooming across Saturn’s rings led to one of the craziest tracks in Mario Kart. In addition, it would be a great way to end their tournament.

The race began, and the three men set off on their final race. Immediately, all three of them fell off the track, which made the race all that more hectic. All three of them were yelling or cheering about different aspects of the track, and to say that they were having a blast was a vast understatement.

Soon enough, it was the last lap of the race. The three of them were neck in neck, and their positions kept bouncing back and forth between the top three positions. None of them were in the same position for too long. All of them were trying to knock one another off the track but to no avail.

The finish line was fast approaching… All three of them wanted the victory more than anything.

They all passed the finish line at the same time. The victory buzzer rang, and…

…Kuai Liang came out victorious. Hanzo placed second, and Johnny placed third.

All of them began screaming for a variety of reasons. Kuai Liang dropped his controller in his excitement, rising to his feet and pumping his fists in the air. “Yes! I am the victor!”

“That wasn’t fair!” Johnny whined. “We finished at the same damn time!”

“I have to agree!” Hanzo gestured to the screen. “I was robbed of a victory!”

Kuai Liang laughed aloud and sat between Hanzo and Johnny, a giant grin on his face. “You two are just upset.” He laid back on the couch, closing his eyes. “I believe… victory kisses are in order.”

Johnny and Hanzo immediately laid back to be next to him, both of them pressing quick kisses to his cheeks and neck. Kuai Liang began to giggle when Johnny kissed a weak spot on his neck, and Hanzo found himself kissing in that same spot on the other side. Once kisses had subsided, the three of them laid together, pressed into one another’s sides and content.

Johnny looked down at the controller still in his hand and found himself smirking.

“…Rematch?”

[beheadingofmakai]

“Let’s Be Their Coincidence” -- Design Document

This post is meant to divulge a bit of trivia, things that were part of the characters but that weren’t revealed so as to not derail the narrative, and other such extra things that, while relevant in the creation process, weren’t made explicit and/or implicit in the story. I believe it is always good to make a comprehensive summary such as this in a document to always keep in mind where it is you want to take your narrative and characters, and how to go about it consistently, and since I have no plans on continuing this particular story, I might as well reveal everything that didn’t see the light. This blog is a writing blog as much as it is a repository of ideas and a love letter to the joys writing, so I do believe this might be of interest to anyone who wants to see the “behind the scenes” process, so to speak, of the Valentine’s One-shot. Future One-shots ideally will also have an accompanying Design Document post. It is simply something I believe to be a good idea and also a fun and useful to keep everything you need about your cast in order so you don’t end up being inconsistent in their execution.

Also, I am a huge hedonist, and I am doing this for myself as well. 

Let’s begin.

Astrael

Astrael’s real name is Azrael, better known as the “Destroying Angel” or “Angel of Death”.

Astrael used to be a simple Archangel (this is a good reminder that Archangels are the second lowest rank of the Choir, just above Angels) who happened to have been born a rare genius in techniques of erasure. She always found it too easy to learn how to ‘remove’, whether that be information or lives, and while that lead to a mastery out of curiosity, she herself never liked actually using her skills. Her job in the Choir of Angels was minor stuff, ranging from recordkeeping to delivering minor omens to devoted followers under the guise of “apparitions”.

When Moses and Ozymandias’ confrontation brought the Ten Plagues to Egypt, God ordered the Plague of Death. Jehoel, the Seraphim of Fire who knew of Azrael’s rare but underutilized talents, ordered her to accomplish this job. Azrael, hesitant but aware that she couldn’t refuse a direct order from a Seraphim, begrudgingly accepted the job. She was informed to kill every firstborn from every house, unless that house’s door was marked with lamb’s blood. Using her knowledge to remove her own physical form, she became a fog that blanketed Egypt, removing the specified lives. The sheer efficiency with which she accomplished this surprised her superiors in the Choir, and for years, she was the go-to person take lives, be it from religious opponents or from other such accursed earthly matters, matters that Azrael had no personal interest in. Being the Tenth Plague of Egypt was the “big job” she commented to Nahoko about.

As time passed, she began to detest her job more and more, for she began to see herself more as a “spearhead” than a person; the Choir needed someone death? She would be the one thrown at them. Time and time again, she was sent to remove life, and never to remove the misery or suffering of the people devoted to God. She eventually had enough and deserted the Choir. Whenever Angels desert, they usually do so to become Fallen Angels and ally with Demons, or simply because they have become immersed in earthly matters and have decided to leave, but none do so without repercussion. Azrael saw no pursuer, for they knew what she was capable of.

During one of her ‘jobs’ for the choir, she fought the Shinto goddess Inari Okami. She was not able to terminate her, not with any of her removal techniques. Inari Okami, however, saw the sheer pain behind every single one of her motions, and offered a shoulder to cry on and an ear that was willing to listen. Azrael considers Inari Okami as the one person she truly respects, and the two have remained in contact ever since. Inari Okami, the goddess of fertility and agriculture, among other things, is the one that offers Azrael a commission in Japan after she deserts the Choir.

Azrael changed her name to Astrael after deserting, as a reference to her passion for Astrology and stargazing. She loves reading the Zodiac as well, especially the sections that have to do with romance.

Ever since her time in the Choir, Astrael has been interested in romance, and loved to get assigned Omen jobs because that meant she could go to Earth and observe the wild romantic lives of humans, who give themselves to emotion much more than the more stoic and cold Angels. She had a ‘human phase’ when she was a kid, where she wrote many self-insert stories of herself as a human and her adventures on Earth.

Astrael is a lesbian.

Her Cupid’s Bow’s form is that of a sniper rifle. A Cupid’s preference shapes their Bow. As she considers herself a consummate professional and a Cupid is ideally not seen by their ‘target’, a sniper rifle was the ideal choice for her and her steady hand. She also thinks it’s cool. She can morph her Bow into a pair of semi-automatic pistols, but that doesn’t have much use, considering Cupid is supposed to stay out of sight.

Her master of Scenario Witchery comes from her vast experience. The specific Scenario Witchery she uses in Coincidences is called “Lovermaker Park - Graveyard of Indecision”. Since her talent lies in removal, she’s not actually bringing forth feelings of emotion from her targets, rather, she’s effectively removing, that is, killing the hesitation in those who are in her Scenario. By ‘killing’ their indecision, she brings forth their true underlying emotions to surface. Aimi felt the magic as “grim” because the source of Astrael’s power is indeed grim and ruthless, but the way she’s using it is truly and honestly benevolent.

Astrael’s decision to become a “freelancer Cupid” comes from her lifelong admiration for the Earthly emotion of love and how passionate it can be expressed. She means every word of her wanting to see clumsy couples come together and be happy.

Aside from Astrology and love, Astrael enjoys texting with Inari Okami, hiking, and rollercoasters.

Nahoko

Nahoko used to be a Mount Ooe henchwoman. A bit player who never was anything more than “a troop”.

When Minamoto no Yorimitsu and his Four Heavenly Kings came a-knocking, she was immediately knocked out by Sakata no Kintoki right hook. She was sent flying through a cave wall so hard that everyone just assumed she died. She was, in fact, unconscious, making her one of the few survivors of the Extermination of Mount Ooe.

After becoming a vagabond following this event, she settled next to a certain rural town, living by the mountainside and lying low. She mostly hunted to survive, but really missed being able to drink sake on demand. The townspeople eventually learned of her, and approaching the mountainside was forbidden due to her dangerous presence.

One day, a young man intentionally approached her. “Whatcha think yer doin’?” she inquired. “I want to be strong. Please teach me how to be strong.” he replied. She laughed and mockingly said she’d consider it if he brought her sake, but that if she didn’t like it, she’d kill him on the spot by removing his spine. He brought exactly one keg and it was the best she’s ever drank.

She mostly saw him as a little toy, but humored his requests to train with him. She taught her how to fight and how to condition his body to reach higher and higher heights of strength. He would never, ever, become as strong as her, for she was an Oni and he was merely Human, but he insisted that he’d love the look on her face when the day came and he proved her wrong. She liked his guts.

However, Oni are fundamentally mischievous, and with the massacre of Mount Ooe fresh on her mind, despite legitimately growing to like him, she was first and foremost using him to eventually get back at Humans, starting with that village.

Little by little, she had him tell him about his village as idle conversation. Eventually, she learned of where the livestock and the main stash of the village’s rice for taxes and such were. One day, she went and stole everything, eating and killing the livestock, ransacking the rice.

Everyone immediately pointed their finger at Nahoko, but the young man, by now an adult in his mid-20s, defended her. She had indeed done it, but he defended her over and over, not allowing baseless accusations without evidence to be thrown at her. Nahoko felt immense guilt for the first time in her life, having utilized her “little toy” like this, not realizing just how much the two had bonded over the years, and how she spat on his trust.

The very next day, she had come to realize that she couldn’t bear it, so she went to the village to confess, just to find the man beaten and bruised. He had been lynched for siding with the Oni. As rage filled her, she uprooted a tree with a single hand and swung it around as a club, smashing house after house, striking villager after villager, until she noticed that the roots of her makeshift weapon tried to capture her.

The village had brought an experienced Onmyouji to deal with her. It was him that had beat the man to a pulp, and so, she threw herself at him, aiming to crush him to dust. Alas, the Onmyouji was too powerful, and a single incantation launched her away with the power of the earth: He was a nature specialist. The Onmyouji shot several seeds at her, but before she was hit by them, the man shielded her with her body, standing up one last time before being riddled with the seeds. He only managed to miss a single bullet seed, which hit Nahoko in the left leg.

Seeing her chance, Nahoko escaped with the man, leaping away with all of her strength. As he lay dying, the man expressed how happy he was that she was ok, and asked her to find the culprit, so she could clear this misunderstanding. Crying her eyes out, Nahoko begged for him to hold on, but the bullet seeds were already acting, and thorny vines were growing from beneath his skin, torturing him from within, feeding on his own insides to grow. Truthfully, this was nature magic of the most malicious and cruel kind. 

Nahoko couldn’t bear to see the man she had come to realize she loved to suffer like this, and after their first and final, sorrowful kiss, she snapped his neck to save him the suffering. His death was painless, but Nahoko couldn’t forgive herself for doing this to someone she loved and who loved and trusted her back in the way he did. She cradled his body, hugging him tightly, impaling herself with his thorns to atone. 

Nahoko entered a long period of deep depression, disappearing for many years in mountain caves, until she finally could bear to forgive herself enough to see the light again. She saw a different world from before, full of industrial life, urban cities, and peace. Youkai like her were now considered not real.

After this, she simply became a vagabond, going where she pleases, doing as she pleases. Her boisterous nature returned to her, but she was a changed person, and much more mild and civilized than before.

The “curse” of her left leg is indeed the seed of the Onmyouji that hit her, causing a thorny vine to have embedded itself inside her leg, coiling her leg bone. Her unnaturally high magic resistance kept the vine localized entirely to her left leg, but her immense guilt prevented her from removing it, and now, she couldn’t do so even if she tried.

Nahoko is bisexual.

Astrael’s job offer looked like something to kill time with, as well as a way to start making amends for playing with the man’s feelings, so she took it, believing that she has a duty to help others get the warm and loving future she denied the man and herself of.

Nahoko’s specialty lies illusion magic. Aside from her shape-shifting abilities and immense strength that come with being an Oni, she’s always had a knack for illusions, a rarity among Oni. This is how she turns into the ghoulish Oni beast of Lovermaker Park, and how she disguises a regular branch into the Branch of Amenonuhoko. She’s also the one that spread the rumors of Lovermaker Park prior to Coincidence, shapeshifting into several different people to gossip about it in Meguro. Lastly, she’s the one that came up with the “oddly colored bench” idea, as, in her own words, “a landmark or some weird shit of some sort, not too mystic, just out there enough, hooks kiddos into rumors somethin’ fierce!”. Astrael liked the idea, so they went with it.

Nahoko loves handicrafts and is a hobbyist carpenter. She likes to carve geta clogs in particular.

Nahoko has always been eccentric when it comes to fashion; her mix-and-match wardrobe, tacky warpaint, bells, bones, feathered glove, and on-and-off sarashi mix isn’t an Oni thing, she just enjoys dressing weirdly.

Actually a really good singer and loves karaoke.

Aimi

Aimi is actually the around same age as Michiko, not a Kitsune pretending to be a high school girl. Aimi is 18.

Aimi is originally from Kyushu, but her family moved to Tokyo when she was younger.

Aimi is a Yako, or Nogitsune, a specific kind of Kitsune that is known to be malicious, cruel, and harmful to humans. She comes from a long line of Nogitsune, and her family is practically Youkai nobility. She’s the eldest daughter of the current generation.

She can go toe to toe with an old Oni like Nahoko because of her raw power and potential as part of a powerful and ancient family of Nogitsune. Her specialty is spontaneous combustion.

She met Michiko when she was 13  and Michiko was 12. As stated in Coincidence, she wanted to lead her to her death, as a Nogitsune does, but she grew to genuinely like, and then love, Michiko.

Her bond with Michiko has led her to reconsider a lot of things as a Nogitsune with such grand pedigree. This has led to many fights with her family, and at some point, there was even talk of offing Michiko so Aimi would stop with this nonsense. Aimi made it clear that if anything happened to Michiko, she’d bring an era of torment to their household and end the lineage’s prosperity as Youkai with her own hands. They relented.

She’s a troublemaker and a problem child. Aimi gets in trouble practically all the time, and is seen as a loose cannon that not even delinquents mess with. Teachers, fellow students, random passerbys, her own family,  no one is safe from her pranks, no one, except Michiko, her steadfast companion in mischief, and Michiko’s family. She does prank Michiko and her folks here and there, but it’s always magnitudes more lenient than her usual, malicious pranks. Nogitsune are just like that.

Actually very intelligent. She gets some of the best grades in her class.

Not only does she get along very well with Michiko, her best friend and girlfriend, she also gets along swimmingly with Michiko’s parents and Michiko’s older brother. They love it when she comes to visit.

She loves techno, 90s rock, industrial metal, and future funk. She does not like enka.

Aimi loves accessories and has a bunch of them. She’s very stylish and knows she is beautiful, so she tries to keep up with fashion to look good. She doesn’t enjoy wearing traditional clothes too much, preferring modern and more urban trends.

Aimi is pretty good with technology, in stark contrast with her traditionalist home and its denizens. She plays a couple time sink mobile games and loves making silly ASCII art in her free time, which she sends to Michiko.

In Michiko’s own words, “Aimi is the kind of girl that takes silly photos of stuff and launches them your way at 4:30 AM with a funny caption”. This is entirely true and she does this very, very frequently to Michiko and her older brother both.

Michiko

Michiko is 17 years old and comes from a middle class family.

She’s always lived in Meguro, Tokyo.

Michiko is a completely regular and ordinary human form the new era, who prior to the events of Lovermaker Park in Coincidence, did not know about the supernatural.

Her first friend that isn’t her brother was Aimi. She used to be a quiet and very shy person until she met Aimi. After that, she’s been much more outgoing and outspoken. Her family loves this, but also laments the fact that she now gets in trouble practically all the time thanks to Aimi.

Her brother’s name is Kenta (23). They’ve always gotten along really well, and Kenta is also friends with Aimi. Kenta practically adores Aimi because his precious kid sister has only been smiles and joy since they became friends.

Michiko’s parent’s, ‘Auntie’ and ‘Uncle’, are a hard working couple of loving parents. They sometimes lament that they work too much and haven’t been able to truly be there for Michiko as much as they should, hence why she used to be quite and very shy, but since Aimi came into Michiko’s life, they’ve relaxed a bit in this regard. They love Aimi like their own child due to her positive effect on Michiko.

Michiko used to be bullied. Aimi put a stop to that with her own hands, but Michiko didn’t come to realize this until years later.

Gets average grades, Aimi helps her study.

Surprisingly athletic, despite her appearance. She’s only realized this recently, when Aimi remarked that it was actually kind of incredible how she could keep up with her when running away from teachers, jumping out of windows, and in general getting in trouble.

She likes wide frame glasses because they are tough. She hates having to wear glasses, however, because she always ends up touching them with her fingers by accident and she hates having fingerprints on them. In her own words, “this happens to me at least 93 times each day and I want to drink napalm each and every single time”.

Loves video games. Her favorite genres are shmups and fighting games.

Her favorite styles of music are techno and 90s rock. She’s the one that introduced 90s rock to Aimi, and in turn, Aimi introduced her to techno. She also loves video game OSTs.

She used to dress very plainly, but now she tries to accessorize more so she doesn’t look too plain next to the natural beauty and great fashion sense of her best friend and girlfriend. Aimi loves dressing her up.

Actually quite cunning sometimes. She loves the expressions of people when they realize they’ve been bamboozled by her. Michiko never really does mean pranks like Aimi does when she’s by herself, but she HAS helped Aimi take her pranks to the next level of nasty by chiming in ideas, especially if it involves teachers she doesn’t like.

After Coincidence, she requested for Aimi to let her touch her ears, to which she accepted. She immediately bit an ear lightly instead of using her hands, prompting a very cute and startled yelp from the fox girl. She was summarily executed via tickling for this crime.

[tipsycad147]

Witchcraft Mistakes Beginners Always Make

Are you just beginning your journey in the Craft?   When starting any new practice, mundane or magical, trial and error are to be expected. Below, I listed a few of the most common witchcraft mistakes.

If you already made one or more of these mistakes, don’t be too hard on yourself.  I definitely made some of them myself!

Being overly concerned with the details of a spell.

Newbies tend to look at a pre-written spell and think they need to replicate it exactly in order to achieve desired results.

Modern spells are more like recipes than laboratory experiments.  A pinch of this, a pinch of that.  But when you post the picture on Instagram, no two look alike.

There’s nothing wrong with detail-oriented spell casting.  Focusing on details builds energy and helps to ground your intention in reality.

Many witches like to get very particular with things like candle colour, compass direction, incantations and even the day/hour of the week to perform a ritual.

But it’s more important to incorporate elements that carry meaning for you.

Rather than trying to duplicate a spell exactly as it was written, try writing your own spell.

Not supporting spell work with mundane efforts.

Spell casting is about intent.  And I really believe it makes a difference.

To be honest, I don’t know how or why it works.  I just know it does.

But if you don’t carry your intent over into your mundane, real-world life, it’s unreasonable to expect “the Universe” to do all the work for you.

So if you cast a job spell, but never submit your resume to prospective employers, your intent is  . . . well, pretty half-ass.

Something may come along anyway.  But you obviously increase your odds drastically by doing your part.

Spending too much money on ritual supplies.

As a seller of handmade ritual supplies myself, I see nothing wrong with indulging in a little witchy retail therapy from time to time.

A freshly made candle or new statuary on the altar makes anyone smile.

But your Craft shouldn’t be about materialism or things.

You don’t really need anything at all.  But even if you like working with tools, you likely have everything you need already.

If you tend to overspend, check out:

20 Household Items Commonly Used In Witchcraft

Kitchen Scraps:   The Spell Ingredients You’re Throwing Away

9 Ritual Items Commonly Found at the Dollar Store

Getting scammed.

This is not really a “mistake,” because if it happens, it’s not your fault.  But I am including it on this list because it’s important to know, especially when you’re first starting out and don’t necessarily know what to expect.

The vast majority of pagans are good, well-intentioned people.

But just like any other religious or spiritual group (including Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims and everyone else) not everyone is above taking advantage of the vulnerable.

Run far and fast from anyone who:

-Makes unwanted sexual advances in the context of spirituality.

-Guarantees results from a spell (especially love, money and fertility spells) in exchange for money.

-Claims to have supernatural “powers” or implausible abilities.

-Offers to “lift a curse” from your life in exchange for money.

-Pressures you to cut ties from family members or make drastic life changes.

-Claims to have “secret knowledge” that they only disclose in exchange for money.

-Exhibits jealousy or hostility when you seek advice or knowledge elsewhere.

There is absolutely no reason to fear these things any more than you would fear them in a church or synagogue.

While we certainly have no shortage of harmless eccentrics, you will find this is generally an extremely loving, supportive community.

Ethical pagans go to great pains to avoid even the appearance of dishonesty because of stereotypes applied to them by mainstream society.

It is, in fact, the lack of awareness and education about modern witchcraft that unfortunately draws predators and scam artists, who sees an opportunity to take advantage of that ignorance.

Imposing one-size-fits-all beliefs on others because you read . . . one book.

If you just finished your first non-fiction book on the subject of witchcraft, bear in mind, you stand at the beginning of a long journey.

There are many, many theories about why and how magic works.

Similarly, there are many theories about what constitutes ethical witchcraft.

Spare yourself some drama.  Don’t go lecturing people about the “left-hand path” or insist that the “3-fold-law” constitutes some kind of infallible doctrine.

Be open-minded.  Ask questions.  Take everything everyone says with a grain of salt—-and try not to take yourself too seriously, either.

Assuming that all witches are Wiccan.

Ouch, this just makes me cringe writing it.

The practice of witchcraft covers an astonishingly wide range of practices, from the voodoo of Louisiana to the Celtic rites of Northern Europe.

Wiccans make up only a tiny percentage of self-identified witches.

For goodness sake, please never use the terms as though they are interchangeable.

And while you’re at it, look over some of the other common misconceptions about witchcraft.

Being excessively anxious about coming out of the broom closet.

First of all, nothing says you need to come out of the broom closet at all.

Many people of all faiths believe that spirituality is a private matter.  If that’s you, I respect it.

And if you have a job in politics or public service, or live in a country that punishes practitioners of witchcraft with severe legal penalties, the unfortunate truth is that it may not be worth it to “go public.”

But 99% of the time, the social consequences of “coming out” as a witch are not nearly as serious as you think they are.

I’ve been a very public pagan for many years now.  I have conservative friends, I have liberal friends.  I have Muslim, Jewish, and deeply Christian friends.  We travel a lot, and have friends from nearly every inhabited continent on Earth.

My kid even goes to a Catholic school.

Guess what?  No one gives a s&*! that I’m a witch.

Some of them think it’s quirky or interesting.  Sometimes, they ask me questions that make me laugh.

But no one has ever cut off ties with me or fired me or kicked me out of a living space.

I’m not saying this never happens..

It’s probably not a good a idea to disclose your practice to a new landlord before signing a lease.

Discrimination in the court system is also a problem.  (Family law attorneys love to point out that mom is a witch in custody cases)

And job loss is a real risk for people in politics or monotheistic religious orders.

But that stuff is far less common than you probably think.

Ignoring social responsibilities or neglecting the Earth.

Although witchcraft takes many forms, a respect for the Earth remains a nearly universal value.

Magic is a give-and-take relationship with the world around you.

If all you do is take, you’re bound to run into some trouble.

Balance your requests by making a conscious effort to help others and heal the Earth.

Donate to charity, accept volunteer opportunities and live in awareness of your impact.

Not sure where to begin?  Check out Natural Living for Pagans:  10 Ways to Live Closer to the Earth.

Not exploring the culture or tradition of a particular magical tradition.

If  you try using a spell from a culture or tradition that you know nothing at all about, it has no context or meaning.

Newbies tend to want to jump straight to the magic without taking the time to learn anything about where it comes from.

Trying to replicate a spell from an ancient Egyptian text when you don’t even understand the incantation is nothing but a bad parlour trick in poor taste.

Do your research.  Spend time with people who know the tradition you’re interested in forwards and backwards.  If possible, visit a temple or find a coven that specialises in whatever aspect of magic you want to explore.

The joy is in the journey.

https://moodymoons.com/2018/11/26/9-witchcraft-mistakes-beginners-always-make/

[pen-masta]

Let’s Play Pretend

College fic.

Joy surprises Castel at college and gets more than what she bargained for.

[Prologue]  1

Graduation was right around the corner and the two teens had been preparing to move onto the next chapter of their lives. College! Joy had been looking forward to college since winter break--new friends, new classes, new parties, new everything! Castel on the other hand was not as ecstatic, he still felt like he’d be the outcast but it would be a nice change of scenery. And who knows maybe it’ll be different than high school.

Applying for colleges hadn’t been very stressful at least not for Castel. He only had one college he wanted to go to and that’s the only one he applied to. He felt no pressure, no anxiety, he wasn’t worried in the slightest. It wasn’t until he was helping Joy with her resume that the fears started to creep into his mind.

She showed him all the pamphlets from all the colleges she was going to apply to--there had to be at least ten! She was rattling on about the art programs at each school, the vast variety of clubs she was planning on joining, and so on. Her voice became white noise in his mind as his eyes scanned over pamphlet after pamphlet.

“What’s this one?” He asked picking up a pamphlet for the community college just up the road.

Joy had blinked and smiled, “Oh I’m applying there as well.”

“What for?”

She cocked her eyebrow and smirked at him, “It’s my safety school silly.”

“Safety...school?” He asked giving her a puzzled look.

“Yeah you know just in case my first three choice schools don’t want me,” she says with a shrug.

Safety school? Choice schools? He didn’t have any of that! He didn’t even have a second choice school as a back-up plan! His panic started to set in. What if they didn’t want him at the University of Washington? What would he do? Where would he go!? The deadlines for all school applications was nearing and he had no plan!

He tried to drown out his worries by helping Joy with her applications...but it just made him feel worse. He offered to type up her resume for her while she worked on some admission essays. His heart dropped into his gut as he typed her very LONG resume. From the time they were freshmen Joy had been involved in just about everything. She was in the environmental club, the theater club, the photography club, the yearbook club, and she was president of the pottery club. Her grades remained in the A to B range giving her a very high GPA, not to mention she had been the school’s mascot for all four years. She had played softball the last two years of high school and she was their class rep. on the student council. She did all of this and still managed to find time on the weekends to volunteer at the Soup Kitchen and go to the state parks and pick up trash with her environmental group. She’s donated blood three times already and she worked at the YMCA all four summers. She kept up with all her clubs, sports, grades, job, and volunteering hours and STILL made time for her friends and a few relationships! Joy was beyond the meaning of well-rounded student.

Typing her resume made him cringe as he thought back to his almost a page and a quarter resume. He hadn’t been as involved as Joy had been, but he did have a few things to put on his resume. His GPA was extremely high, a near perfect 4.0 due to the fact of the time he spent reading and studying. He was in the concert band all four years playing the trumpet--an instrument he’s come to love. He was president of the debate team and he was apart of the robotics club and the astronomy club. He had worked with his uncle for most of the summers taking care of the maintenance the rental houses needed. He got to learn some life skills in construction, heating and air condition, plumbing and all that kind of stuff. It was hard manual labor, but it paid very handsomely and it made him feel good to know he was learning some actual skills. He could speak three languages fluently--English, German, and French. He’s grateful his mom fulfilled his request to teach him her language when he asked at age of six. He did take silver at the National Debate Convention but other than that...

Ugh! He growled as he stared at his reflection in his mirror. He had plenty of time to do other things! He could have volunteered to pick up trash along the roads, or help out with Toys for Tots, or or or something! He should have been more like Joy, outgoing and giving. No he was living only for himself like the selfish jerk he is. He huffed and sat on his bed--the groove he was wearing into the carpet becoming very prominent. He needed to not worry, it wasn’t like there was a whole lot he could about it now.

“You’ll be fine Tiger,” Mikey had said when his little brother called him to find some solace.

“But I’m not a well rounded student,” Castel huffed and ran his fingers through his messy curls.

“That’s ok sure they take that stuff into account, but with your GPA and the clubs you were involved in it will be enough.”

Despite Castel’s worrying his brother had been right. A few weeks later a big fat envelope came in the mail with Castel’s name on it--his acceptance package. Relief swept over him and his parents, he was off to the University of Washington! He ran over to tell Joy the good news just as she was running out of her house to see him. They ran into each other on the sidewalk, both babbling on talking over one another until they both started laughing.

“You first,” Joy giggled.

“I got into the University of Washington!” Castel all but yelled with a grin so wide it looked like his face was about to split in half.

“That’s awesome Cassie!” Joy had squeaked and bounced on her toes.

“Now you,” he grinned.

“I got into my first choice school! The University of Georgia!”

“That’s fantastic Jo-jo!”

They both screamed and hugged each other. It wasn’t until after their embrace and everything had settled down that it hit him. He was going to be living 2,695 miles from his best friend. Could he even do that? Well not that he really had a choice. How could he live so far from her? They’ve spent their entire lives living just a three minute walk from one another.

When both their families went out together later that evening to celebrate he brought it up to her. Her face crumbled. She hadn’t thought about how much they were going to be giving up by moving away to college. She had been so excited for this new chapter of her life that she forgot what the other chapters held--him. So they did what Castel does best, plan.

They made a plan to have weekly facetimes and stay in touch as much as possible. They’d spent the holidays together when they were home and during the summers as well. If they stayed in touch through those few months of being away it wouldn’t hurt so bad, right? They could do this, after all they’ve been through worse.

She was the first to move in. Since he still had a few more days before he’d have to leave he offered to help out. The trip down south was long but not boring in the slightest. They sang songs and played games, just as they always have. He helped move her in and make sure everything was perfect. She hung up her heart shaped lights and he helped her dad set up the television. After a few hours everything was moved in and her dorm was all set to go for her classes in two days.

Her parents offered to buy everyone dinner and went out to grab some Chinese food from Main street. This left the two teens alone in her dorm room. They both sat on the couch staring at her little pink television screen. Her roommate had yet to show face which was a little unsettling to Castel, but Joy paid no mind.

They sat in silence starting at the black screen. This was the last time they’d see each other for a long time. He wanted to say something, anything. But he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to work. While he mentally scolded himself, she placed her hand over his--intertwining their fingers immediately.

He blinked feeling her tiny hand squeezing his tough callused one. When he looked at her she was smiling sadly, unshed tears shinning in her eyes.

“I’m going to miss you dork,” she said.

Tears instantly filled his own eyes.

“I’m going to miss you too goober,” he smiled weakly.

She sniffled and moved closer to him on the couch.

“Nothing will change between us,” she said although it sounded like she was reassuring herself more than him.

He nodded, “I know it won’t.”

“We’re only a phone call away from each other,” she said squeezing his hand tight.

“You ever need anything you just call me,” he said squeezing back. “Homework help, friend issues, you name it just call me and I’ll be there.”

She smiled and wiped her eyes, “Same goes for you Casper.”

“No that’s alright,” he shook his head smiling teasingly. “I’ve seen what your math work looks like I think I’ll manage on my own.”

They both giggled and laughed before falling into comfortable silence again. He looked up at her smiling lovingly. He really is going to miss her. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut short by her lips. It was a quick chaste kiss, and it was nothing new. They shared a little kiss here and there in greeting or saying good-bye, nothing ever heated or beyond a quick peck. It was nothing new at all...yet when she grants him this little smooch it causes something to stir in him.

In milliseconds her lips were gone and he instantly missed her warmth, but he said nothing as butterflies spun wildly in his gut making it do flips. She sniffled and smiled at him.

“I love you dork-a-doo,” she said weakly.

He felt himself nod and smile back, “I love you too J-bird.”

It had a few days since he had helped her move in, yet her sweet taste was still on his lips. As he lied on his bed in his dorm staring at the ceiling in the darkness of his room, he ran his tongue over his lips. They still tasted like her strawberry lip gloss, so sweet and alluring and taunting...it was unfair! He huffed a sigh and flopped onto his side, he missed her something awful. And now just before they’d be separated for several months she awoke these feelings, feelings he had long buried deep within himself years ago.

He closed his eyes willing himself to sleep. It’d be alright, he wouldn’t lose her to this separation. They’d stay in contact and soon they’d be home for thanksgiving break. He’d pour himself into his school work and maybe join a few clubs and that would be enough of a distraction. The distance and some distractions would help him to smother out these feelings for her. College was going to be a great thing for both of them.

[illtalktoyoureyes-blog]

PODCAST BROS. AU

I. Bros being bros and podcasting about nerd shit.

II. The podcast has approximately four listeners, the most dedicated among them being Mike's mom. (Mike has repeatedly told his mother not to listen because it "makes him nervous.") This number fluctuates depending on the time of day, the weather, and the amount of disparaging remarks  Dustin makes about the DC cinematic universe.

III. There is much discussion of comic books, superheroes, table top games, film adaptations, sci-fi and fantasy authors, ethics in journalism, cosplay, the Nintendo switch, what the hell is taking George R. R. Martin so long does he understand his readership will probably be dead before he publishes another book? and other topics salient to college-age nerds under the impression their dedication to their hobbies could someday pay their bills.

IV. Following in the illustrious footsteps of Matt Bessar, they live-stream their Saturday night D&D games. (Dustin: Hey guys, just wanted to give you a quick update. Mike's basement is still disgusting.") The results range from palatable mediocrity to hitherto unseen levels of chaos. The comments page would be a mess...you know, if people left comments.

V. Their first guest is an amazing, unbelievable get. El Ives has written four volumes of the Wizards of Gale series- a staggering, gorgeous epic chronicling the coming of age of a young psychically gifted warrior traversing a galactic wasteland in search of her true purpose-in the last three years. She's gone on national tours, topped sci-fi best-seller lists, and was proposed to roughly thirty-seven times at New York comic-con. Naturally, the dudes freak out, but Mike's is the most memorable melt down. He talks to himself in the mirror in a pre-interview hype session, he drops his note cards, stares for inappropriate lengths of time, and generally makes everyone ridiculously uncomfortable.

VI. After the stress of her tour, the casual atmosphere of the podcast (with the exception of the host who makes tense, terrifying eye contact with her before avoiding her gaze for the rest of the day) is a novelty El is reluctant to relinquish. This explains hanging around Hawkins ("You're welcome to stay at our place." Dustin volunteers before Mike can open his large, endlessly stupid mouth.) despite having deadlines, and interviews and a whole life in Manhattan. They take her to all their lame hang-outs and Mike dies several deaths due to sheer embarrassment (Humiliate Wheeler To Death Tour 2017!)

VII. This is the thing. The thing is this: despite the fact that they've been doing this for like, four months, and no one is even really listening Mike is still absurdly nervous on air? Lucas and Dustin are naturals and Will chimes in when he really wants to make a point (he's often drowned out by the intensity of Dustin\Lucas debates but whenever he manages to incline his chin toward the mic and deliver his statements in the softest, least antagonistic voice ever created, his points are salient and logical and even occasionally border on poignant) but it take s Mike at least fifteen minutes to get comfortable uttering opinions he has no trouble voicing off air. It's disconcerting and weird, and he's envious of the casual way his friends interact on air. They're natural, as if there aren't any disparities between their on air personalities and their real life ones. They're completely comfortable, Mike has to calm down, close his eyes, remember his pre-air inspirational speech, really center himself before he can engage in way that's even close to natural. (Even then, his voice is a touch too high, his sentences come out blunt and semi-intelligible, and his jokes feel more like passive aggressive indictments of other people's moral characters than "ha ha" funnies. These delightful and attractive flaws are only exacerbated by the prolonged presence of one of his literary heroes who, in addition to being funny, clever, sincere, brutally honest, and genuinely down for anything re: appearing on a D&D role-playing channel with four losers, has the audacity to love Ray Bradbury and Farscape as much as he does. It's the fucking rudest.)

VIII. To make matters worse, she loves his friends. Lucas is the most charming mother fucker alive (dude has a certificate!) and Mike hates him for the ease with which he makes El laugh so hard she cries. He then hates himself for hating Lucas, up until the asshole does it again and El looks happier than a ten year old who was just informed she gets to live at Disney Land. Witnessing the vast depths of El's joy is probably the purest experience Mike ever has. Said joy is a product of Lucas recounting any number of stories starring himself as the witty, amazing, bad ass of their high school tenure. So, dilemma. She and Will exchange book recommendations, karaoke Fridays at Lester's is forever altered the moment she and Dustin duet on a gentle, soul-melting rendition of Head Over Heels (they're terrible singers, but the power man, the subtle emotive, power) and Lucas, Lucas is everywhere, buying her drinks, and talking about how there are certain paragraphs in book three he wants to live in, and complimenting her buzz cut, and constantly and at all times making her laugh so long, and hard and with her entire body and it's so fucking unfair Mike can't actually-

IX. In local news, Lucas and Dustin are living in a shoebox across the river from Mike's house. Will is over so often he is repeatedly mistaken for a piece of furniture. He has his own shelf in the fridge (the middle), his own snacks in the cabinet (fig newtons are more than fruit and cake) and coconut shampoo he's neglected to take home and which is become the official property of the estate. Dustin likes to think of his abode as a sovereign nation, wants desperately to draw up a constitution and design a flag. Lucas likes to think of his casa as a Dustin-free zone, and is disappointed upon opening his door and finding reality has very much crushed his hopes and dreams. There is very little sleep, the occupants are lucky to claim several consecutive hours of unconsciousness. Instead, there are twitch marathons, Netflix binges, LOTR re-watches, and intense, lengthy debates over the merits of Zack Snyder being shot into space verses the efficiency of simply setting him ablaze.

X. Will is fond of lying on the couch, or on the window seat or on the floor next to Lucas' mattress and telling him all the ideas that his ridiculous brain ushers forth when he can't sleep. Lucas gently reminds him of the graphic novel he's kind of, sort of, a little bit working on-the thing he starts last year and politely but stubbornly refuses to show him any more pages once Lucas becomes a living, breathing reminder that Will could maybe think about possibly publishing it because It's Good. To be fair, saying the words aloud, letting them take shape in the air is almost like working on it. It's very, very close.

XI. Eventually, Mike realizes that contrary to initial reports, he's actually jealous of two people. Yes Lucas making El laugh is fairly fucking infuriating, but so is the knowledge that Lucas is trying so hard to make someone laugh, and that that someone (for reasons he is painfully, intimately familiar with) is NOT him. Pre-graduation, post-two a.m.  silent, sexuality-specific  realization that takes place in an Arby's parking lot, Mike and Lucas are the most accurate visual representation for best friendship that has ever, or will ever live. Their bond is unshakable, the stuff of Census Bearu legend, the canniest, most argumentative, absurdly affectionate, gleefully contrary pairing so robust and unrelenting it caused even the most patient members of their tight-knit Indiana State study circle to routinely throw up their hands and avert their eyes, yelling, "That's enough! Put it away!" One sunny, late-fall afternoon, they're picking up the thread of an ongoing Alien vs. Aliens debate (Lucas: I'm so glad your mom's not here to listen to her son humiliate himself like this. It would break her heart.") which has ascended to the intensity level that warrants standing very close and screaming as though they are not standing very close, when quite suddenly, they are no longer arguing. The discovery of another item in a long list of things they are hopelessly good at when they combine their talents, takes up the entire afternoon and most of the evening. The surprised, but strong, and ultimately righteous sense of joy\awe is conflated by the subdued, giddy knowledge that what has been in the past for Mike a rare and somewhat lackluster experience, and for Lucas, a little less rare but equally mediocre 'event' currently feels like the wide expanse of potentiality specific to scientific exploration. So there's that.

XII. It doesn't last too long, when he allows himself to think about it Mike abjectly refuses to liken the duration of the event to anything stupid, like a metaphor about supernovas. That would be dumb. And crass. And in poor taste. Plus, he hardly ever thinks about it ever, so there's that. Anyway, Mike dropping out of Indiana state and returning to the cocoon of his mother's basement is a completely unrelated event that never ever needs to be recounted, not even for posterity, except to say that it's unrelated to anything going on in his life at the moment. And it's okay, because he and Lucas are still ridiculously close friends and it's never even awkward except for the few occasions wherein Mike succumbs to jealously, before becoming confused about exactly whom he's jealous off. After he figures it out, he's moody and distant and the podcast gets Weird in only the way Mike can make it. El is confused, 'cause once the dude stops staring and actually says a few words to her, he's kind of cool in this completely doofy way. Lucas eventually plops on the end of Mike's bed, allows Mike to put his dirty, uncivilized sneakers all over his fairly expensive pants and makes a fumbling preamble that might as well be called Intro to Awk Con. It goes okay. Mike's just tired and Lucas co-signs with  a sigh, and a story about his sister, and they talk around it because it's still-they-can't-There's grumbling about the complete absence of something that could even be mistaken for a fan base, and Dustin's rants, and a general consensus on the awesomeness of El and they both feel better after that.

XIII. Lucas might have a supremely underdeveloped thing for Will? It's like, super embryonic, not even worth thinking about much less trying to explain out loud to Will's face while he stands there looking cute and curious and hesitant about the stupid notebook he's been doodling in for like a year, even though what little bits Lucas has seen of the novel that Will's mortified about having written  is so good he'd buy it tomorrow if Will would only deign to finish the damn thing. Yeah. So El hangs around Hawkins, after slaving away in his emotional garden wearing a wide-brim hat and too much sunscreen, Mike manages to grow the courage necessary to ask her to dine at his mom's house (yes, his mom has had El over for dinner roughly a thousand times, and yes her laugsana  with the signature sauce has become one of El's favorite dishes, but owing to the fact that Mike has spent ninety-five percent of those roughly thousands of evenings in his room melting down and wishing he was a person who could handle this shit, they don't actually count.), Will finishes his summer drawing course at the learning annex, because his phone storage is unable to contend with the sheer volume of photos he takes of and with El in the last couple of weeks\months (?) Dustin gets Instagram and instantly gains a thousand followers, and Lucas comes to the conclusion that's actually amazing at this podcast thing? Like honestly, he's very talented. And he's never taken one communication course!

XIV. El heads back to New York, promising to visit when she can. Mike admirably hides his heartbreak, and gallantly takes his frustration out on a pacman machine during their afternoon at the arcade. (Mike Wheeler: Frustrated Bisexual) A couple months later, they all receive signed copies of the next Wizards of Gale book with special messages scribbled on the inside covers. A couple of weeks before that, they post their El interview, and the site it takes Dustin two, painful, sleepless weeks to build experiences a significant amount of traffic for the first time in its uneventful little life. Everyone freaks out and facetimes El who's mid interview on the Teresa Watkins show, and that's how they attain their first television interview. (El: I'm sorry, this is so unprofessional. Do you mind?)

XV. Bros being bros, podcasting about nerd shit. (Dustin: How were you received by the dudebro cheeto dust contingent? I assume they're treating you well? They're super classy individuals.)

XVI. Oh, and Hopper is El's manager\literary agent? Okay? Okay.

[anneedmonds]

Simple Upgrades for a Showstopping Table

I’ve always fancied being the sort of person that could throw one of those dinner parties that seemingly only exist in Ferrero Rocher commercials and magazine shoots; French farmhouse tables overflowing with flowers and flickering candles, fine linen napkins placed upon artfully stacked place settings… A proper lavish dinner party thrown by the sort of grownup that I thought I would become. One day. The organised and stylish sort, possibly wearing a one-shouldered fuchsia organza ballgown and sporting an elfin crop.

In reality my table is covered in crayon and if I even get the food served onto it it’s a bloody miracle, especially at Christmas – who has time to arse about with flowers and linen when the turkey’s still defrosting in the sink and the cranberry sauce has bubbled over onto the hob and you’ve accidentally blocked the kitchen sink with goose fat?

But this year, this year, my reader friends, I am stepping up my table game. Partly because I met an actual real-life Tablescaper (it’s a thing) at a luncheon and became transfixed with her Instagram feed but mostly because for the past few years I have had an urge to make everything in my life a bit more domesticated and adult and this Christmas is the proverbial climax. I’ve bought a food processor so that I can make grown-up shredded vegetable ‘slaws’ like Jamie Oliver, I’ve bought a welly rack so that I can stop slugs from taking up residence inside my wellies. I use the phrase “willy nilly” and also “goodness gracious” (mainly to stop me from saying for f*ck’s sake all the time) and I bought some pot pourri.

See? Completely domesticated and adult.

But the grown-up dinner table thing is a bit more difficult. Firstly, I don’t happen to have a Tablescaper to hand (seriously, it’s actually a thing – check out event designer Fiona Leahy on Instagram) or a food stylist, like in the magazines. No washing up liquid in the beer to make it more frothy, no varnish on the turkey skin to make it gleam – no insulation foam squirted atop the pies to make them look as though they’ve been adorned with the most perfect swirls of cream…

It’s just me and the table. And the five thousand torn-out magazine pages that I’ve been studying obsessively to work out what these stylist people actually do to make everything look so fancy. Here are my thoughts and they’re all pretty straightforward – just little bits and bobs you can change or add to make things a bit fancier looking. Like. And none of these tweaks and upgrades need to be particularly expensive, either, apart from the posh plates bit, if you want posh plates, but even those are saving money in a roundabout way if you follow my advice…

So read on to find out how to make simple upgrades for a showstopping dinner table. (You know it was at the top of your list of priorities.)

Unapologetic Candles

I usually avoid candles like the plague because I am (since having kids) a health and safety fanatic. Although my cat is the same colour as the stair carpet and we’re all at risk of breaking our necks about eighty times a day, so I’m not sure why I even bother worrying.

Anyway, this is an obvious one but candles really do make a dinner table look amazing. And I’m not talking about IKEA tealights, though those serve a purpose, I’m talking about candles of height and distinction. Unapologetic candles. Long, elegant tapered ones that are raised upon ornate holders, so that their flames softly illuminate the chattering guests’ faces and don’t just lie there at tabletop level, heating up the hummus and scorching people’s sleeves.

Get those candles up high and all of a sudden you have drama and theatrical shadows and the thrilling prospect of at least one person knocking them over and setting fire to the tablecloth.

I’ve recently discovered pillar candles, too – the best I’ve tried are the Charles Farris altar candles (you can find them at John Lewis here*, from £6) but I’d welcome your own recommendations. I love how solid and chunky the pillar candles are and how brilliant they look grouped together – I buy different heights and plonk them on a large plate or tray or wooden board.

Leopard candlesticks were bought from OKA here* – £45 for two. Pillar candles bought en masse from John Lewis (see above), pottery is Burleigh x Soho Home here. Table is vintage Ercol, bought from eBay two years ago as a set with six chairs. Napkins are Zara (see below) and the bee napkin rings were from House of Fraser two years ago. 

Beautiful stainless steel cutlery is from Robert Welch – the Palm Bright range here. Pottery shown here is Burleigh x Soho Home as before and Burleigh in Black Regal Peacock, see here. 

Posh Useful Plates

Choosing nice dinner plates (and bowls, and side plates and whatever else you end up getting once you dip your toe into the world of dinnerware) is an absolute minefield because you always end up doing one of two things (at least I do):

1 Buying amazing plates that are far too fancy to eat on every day; they are so fine that they break if you cut your potatoes too vigorously, or they shatter if you sneeze too hard in their direction.

2 Buying plain, solid plates that weigh the same as manhole covers but that spark no joy whatsoever and feel too dowdy for nice dinners, which means that you then also end up buying option one anyway and keeping them in the “special” cupboard for three hundred and sixty days of the year.

What you really want (I now know from vast-ish experience – I have many plates, both living and departed) is a plate that’s practical, reasonably hardy and that sparks utter, utter joy every time you lay the table. Dinnerware that you will use every single day, that isn’t so absurdly dear that you’ll have palpitations about it but that is beautiful enough to serve every situation.

Enter from stage left: Burleigh pottery. My Burleigh jugs (hoho) are some of my most prized home possessions. Sounds silly, I know, but they really bring a smile to my face. The design on them just looks good everywhere. Rustic old table? Put a Burleigh jug in the centre and suddenly it’s a scene from Country Homes and Interiors. Mid Century glass-fronted sideboard? Fill that with Calico tableware and the contrast between traditional and modern is a pleasing one of intense and magnificent beauty.

(Do I spend too much time thinking about how stuff looks? Absolutely. We all have our hobbies!)

The Burleigh pieces in these pictures are a combination of the stately Black Regal Peacock range (on Burleigh’s website here) and the glorious Hibiscus, which is exclusive to Soho Home (Burleigh x Soho Home here). You can find all of the classic designs on Burleigh’s website here. The brilliant thing about Burleigh is that almost everything looks great thrown together, even from different ranges – a mix and match set-up looks cool and purposeful rather than weird and accidental. The feeling should be a general one of “ooh, look at me, I’m too cool to have everything matching – I’m so eclectic!” rather than “shit, I’ve dropped another three plates into the sink Tony, we’re going to have to use some bits from the wedding set.”

Have a browse on their site – there’s also a factory shop, which I must never go near ever, ever because I would buy it all, and there are various pre-chosen sets that offer better value than buying pieces separately.

Oh and if you’re still after gift ideas then there couldn’t be a better gift for a tea-lover than a Burleigh tea set, surely? I love the pretty blue Felicity tea set, here and the traditional Blue Calico, here.

Pillar candles from John Lewis, as before. Pottery as detailed above. Gold cutlery bought from Marks and Spencer last year here*, beast-footed bowl was bought from Anthropologie. Glassware bought from H&M home. 

Proper Napkins

Oh I do love a proper napkin. We never use them at home if we’re alone (bit of kitchen roll if it’s a particularly messy taco-typed meal, otherwise why do you even need one?) but for dinners and special occasions it just feels lovely and so grownup to offer a pressed linen or cotton napkin.

If you can be arsed to press them.

If you can’t be bothered to iron then make sure you get the linen ones that look hipster and cool even when they are wrinkled. And tie a bit of rustic ribbon or brown string around them instead of using a napkin ring, so that they look like something you’ve found in a hay barn. Sprig of dried lavender, job done.

I rather like the napkins simply folded over once and thrown nonchalantly onto the top of the plate, as though a Parisian waiter has laid the table. “F*ck you customer!*”

(*not all Parisian waiters hate their clientele, I’m sure. At any rate, their constant ire is always a great source of amusement to me!)

I bought my table linen from Zara here – the napkins were £19 for four and I bought a matching lace-trimmed table runner. To be quite honest, the runner is something of a faff – I didn’t need it and it’s covered in all of the candles/flowers/serving plates anyway!

Crocodile Candle Holders, £30 each from &Klavering – I bought mine at Amara here*.

Duck leg candle holders, £9.95 each – I bought mine at Graham & Green here*. 

Kitsch Pointless Plates

If you already have serviceable crockery but want something quirkier, adding some smaller plates to sit over the top of your existing ones can be cheaper and less of a commitment than going for a whole new set. It also looks really fancy when you use your normal dinner plate as a charger and then place a smaller, more decorative one on top. Utterly pointless, from an eating point of view, but gives everything a bit of a facelift.

I quite like pointless plates, anyway – good for olive stones, serving individual quenelles of butter, sauces, ketchup or anything you want to decant from a jar or bottle. As plates for eating from, they are ridiculous, but for adding a bit of jazz and flair to the table they are excellent! Which makes them not pointless, I suppose…

I bought these badgery/fruity ones from H&M Home and they were a few pounds each. (I have no clue where they have gone online, they seem to have vanished, but I only bought them the other week so they may have a comeback tour.)

They have that kitsch sort of appeal that seems to be de rigeur at the moment and I thought that they looked relatively festive, too. They are small enough that they can all be packed away into the back of the cupboard when they’re not needed – all much more convenient than buying a whole set of specific “Christmas” plates with – I dunno – pine trees on them or something.

Foliage and Flowers

I am not a person who buys flowers for myself. I’m incredibly fortunate in that now and then clients might send me a beautiful bunch, and in the spring and summer I pick bluebells and various other flowers from the garden, but going to the actual florist has always seemed like a huge extravagance.

However I did splash out a few times this year, usually because I was filming something in particular and wanted to sort of “dress” the background, and it’s amazing how much of a difference a vase of flowers can make to a room.

So put a load of flowers on a dinner table and all of a sudden you’ve halfway there in terms of looks. Add flowers, or foliage, and it’s no longer just a dinner table, it’s a desirable place to be. People are drawn to their seats, everything suddenly looks so sumptuous and decadent and of course the food will be delicious if the setting looks that good…

(Little do they know that you’ve reheated four Tesco lasagnes and put some sprigs of parsley on top. Dug around the edges with the back of a teaspoon to make it look more homemade. Drizzled it with extra virgin olive oil. Scorched the top a bit with a bunsen burner to make it look authentic.)

So yeah: flaaaars. The ones in these pictures were for my birthday and the red berry ones were taken home after an event I was at because I didn’t want them to go to waste. They’ve lasted over a week already – I just need to keep feeding them and nursing them for a couple more weeks and I might be able to use them for Christmas! (Mental image of me gently wiping the berries and leaves with a cool cloth, changing the water hourly, adding special feed powder and carefully snipping out dead bits.)

Joking aside, because I will have to buy more at Christmas, it’s really worth taking a look inside your local independent florist’s. Mine quite often has a bucket of “imperfect” blooms outside, dead cheap, really great condition still but not quite up to the standard they need to be for the full-price bouquets. I agree it’s an extravagance, but a beautiful extravagance and one that – if you’re anything like me – will bring you great cheer.

  Lots of Stuff Overstuffing 

One of the common things you see in the tablescaping images on Instagram (what has my life become?!) is that the tables tend to be really full of stuff. I mean you can barely get the plates in front of the guests. There are huge flower arrangements that take up 80% of the surface area, place names on elaborate cards, candles by the dozen, glasses for this and tumblers for that, gifts for the guests (for the love of God don’t get started on that, you’ll be financially bereft by Boxing Day!), jugs of Seedlip Cocktail, decanters of well-drawn eco-water…

It’s all very OTT and would be faintly absurd in a domestic setting perhaps, but the feeling of table excess does look very appealing and inviting. So I suppose the general rule is to do things with purpose – if you’re keeping it all very elegant and minimalist then fine, a white linen tablecloth and some beautiful candles will do, but if you’re going for the “fuller” look then try not to do it by halves!

You can easily “get the look” by keeping your flowers (if you have any) low and spread out, rather than tall and slim so that they cover more ground. At Christmas, rather than paying for an expensive bunch of flowers, you could ask the florist if they have lots of seasonal green foliage, which is cheaper and looks great in abundance around the centre of the table. Smells amazing too.

(If you have a holly bush/fir tree in the garden then you know where you need to go with your garden scissors!)

If you’re short of bits and bobs and the table looks a bit empty then bring out the condiments and put them in interesting bowls and jugs. It’s a bit of a pain when you have to decant them back at the end of the night but it’s nicer than having a jar of Hellman’s on the table and it gives you more – well – stuff.

I realise this is becoming a little bit Pippa’s Tips obvious, so I’ll stop now, but surely you’ve got the gist of it? Make it look decadent by grouping things like candles and vases, add height to the table with tall candlesticks rather than little tealights and add some interest with gorgeous dinnerware and cutlery. If you’re going the whole shebang with your dinnerware and cutlery then get stuff that you’ll use all the time and not just squirrel away “for best”, and if you’re on a budget or have perfectly good crockery that you just find a bit boring then add some quirky little plates to sit on top. (Hunt around for bits that look good with it, or that purposefully mismatch.)

Right, I’m off to work out how to use my new food processor. Hopefully it won’t go the same way as the last one, which had an accident when it tried to crush some ice. (It had already drunk six salt-rimmed Margaritas…)

The post Simple Upgrades for a Showstopping Table appeared first on A Model Recommends.

Simple Upgrades for a Showstopping Table was first posted on December 13, 2019 at 7:20 pm. ©2018 "A Model Recommends". Use of this feed is for personal non-commercial use only. If you are not reading this article in your feed reader, then the site is guilty of copyright infringement. Please contact me at contact@amodelrecommends.com Simple Upgrades for a Showstopping Table published first on https://medium.com/@SkinAlley

[fenton-bus]

PODCAST BROS. AU

I. Bros being bros and podcasting about nerd stuff.

II. The podcast has approximately four listeners, the most dedicated among them being Mike's mom. (Mike has repeatedly told his mother not to listen because it "makes him nervous.") This number fluctuates depending on the time of day, the weather, and the amount of disparaging remarks  Dustin makes about the DC cinematic universe.

III. There is much discussion of comic books, superheroes, table top games, film adaptations, sci-fi and fantasy authors, ethics in journalism, cosplay, the Nintendo switch, what the hell is taking George R. R. Martin so long does he understand his readership will probably be dead before he publishes another book? and other topics salient to college-age nerds under the impression their dedication to their hobbies could someday pay their bills.

IV. Following in the illustrious footsteps of Matt Bessar, they live-stream their Saturday night D&D games. (Dustin: Hey guys, just wanted to give you a quick update. Mike's basement is still disgusting.") The results range from palatable mediocrity to hitherto unseen levels of chaos. The comments page would be a mess...you know, if people left comments.

V. Their first guest is an amazing, unbelievable get. El Ives has written four volumes of the Wizards of Gale series- a staggering, gorgeous epic chronicling the coming of age of a young psychically gifted warrior traversing a galactic wasteland in search of her true purpose-in the last three years. She's gone on national tours, topped sci-fi best-seller lists, and was proposed to roughly thirty-seven times at New York comic-con. Naturally, the dudes freak out, but Mike's is the most memorable melt down. He talks to himself in the mirror in a pre-interview hype session, he drops his note cards, stares for inappropriate lengths of time, and generally makes everyone ridiculously uncomfortable.

VI. After the stress of her tour, the casual atmosphere of the podcast (with the exception of the host who makes tense, terrifying eye contact with her before avoiding her gaze for the rest of the day) is a novelty El is reluctant to relinquish. This explains hanging around Hawkins ("You're welcome to stay at our place." Dustin volunteers before Mike can open his large, endlessly stupid mouth.) despite having deadlines, and interviews and a whole life in Manhattan. They take her to all their lame hang-outs and Mike dies several deaths due to sheer embarrassment (Humiliate Wheeler To Death Tour 2017!)

VII. This is the thing. The thing is this: despite the fact that they've been doing this for like, four months, and no one is even really listening Mike is still absurdly nervous on air? Lucas and Dustin are naturals and Will chimes in when he really wants to make a point (he's often drowned out by the intensity of Dustin\Lucas debates but whenever he manages to incline his chin toward the mic and deliver his statements in the softest, least antagonistic voice ever created, his points are salient and logical and even occasionally border on poignant) but it take s Mike at least fifteen minutes to get comfortable uttering opinions he has no trouble voicing off air. It's disconcerting and weird, and he's envious of the casual way his friends interact on air. They're natural, as if there aren't any disparities between their on air personalities and their real life ones. They're completely comfortable, Mike has to calm down, close his eyes, remember his pre-air inspirational speech, really center himself before he can engage in way that's even close to natural. (Even then, his voice is a touch too high, his sentences come out blunt and semi-intelligible, and his jokes feel more like passive aggressive indictments of other people's moral characters than "ha ha" funnies. These delightful and attractive flaws are only exacerbated by the prolonged presence of one of his literary heroes who, in addition to being funny, clever, sincere, brutally honest, and genuinely down for anything re: appearing on a D&D role-playing channel with four losers, has the audacity to love Ray Bradbury and Farscape as much as he does. It's the fucking rudest.)

VIII. To make matters worse, she loves his friends. Lucas is the most charming mother fucker alive (dude has a certificate!) and Mike hates him for the ease with which he makes El laugh so hard she cries. He then hates himself for hating Lucas, up until the asshole does it again and El looks happier than a ten year old who was just informed she gets to live at Disney Land. Witnessing the vast depths of El's joy is probably the purest experience Mike ever has. Said joy is a product of Lucas recounting any number of stories starring himself as the witty, amazing, bad ass of their high school tenure. So, dilemma. She and Will exchange book recommendations, karaoke Fridays at Lester's is forever altered the moment she and Dustin duet on a gentle, soul-melting rendition of Head Over Heels (they're terrible singers, but the power man, the subtle emotive, power) and Lucas, Lucas is everywhere, buying her drinks, and talking about how there are certain paragraphs in book three he wants to live in, and complimenting her buzz cut, and constantly and at all times making her laugh so long, and hard and with her entire body and it's so fucking unfair Mike can't actually-

IX. In local news, Lucas and Dustin are living in a shoebox across the river from Mike's house. Will is over so often he is repeatedly mistaken for a piece of furniture. He has his own shelf in the fridge (the middle), his own snacks in the cabinet (fig newtons are more than fruit and cake) and coconut shampoo he's neglected to take home and which is become the official property of the estate. Dustin likes to think of his abode as a sovereign nation, wants desperately to draw up a constitution and design a flag. Lucas likes to think of his casa as a Dustin-free zone, and is disappointed upon opening his door and finding reality has very much crushed his hopes and dreams. There is very little sleep, the occupants are lucky to claim several consecutive hours of unconsciousness. Instead, there are twitch marathons, Netflix binges, LOTR re-watches, and intense, lengthy debates over the merits of Zack Snyder being shot into space verses the efficiency of simply setting him ablaze.

X. Will is fond of lying on the couch, or on the window seat or on the floor next to Lucas' mattress and telling him all the ideas that his ridiculous brain ushers forth when he can't sleep. Lucas gently reminds him of the graphic novel he's kind of, sort of, a little bit working on-the thing he starts last year and politely but stubbornly refuses to show him any more pages once Lucas becomes a living, breathing reminder that Will could maybe think about possibly publishing it because It's Good. To be fair, saying the words aloud, letting them take shape in the air is almost like working on it. It's very, very close.

XI. Eventually, Mike realizes that contrary to initial reports, he's actually jealous of two people. Yes Lucas making El laugh is fairly fucking infuriating, but so is the knowledge that Lucas is trying so hard to make someone laugh, and that that someone (for reasons he is painfully, intimately familiar with) is NOT him. Pre-graduation, post-two a.m.  silent, sexuality-specific  realization that takes place in an Arby's parking lot, Mike and Lucas are the most accurate visual representation for best friendship that has ever, or will ever live. Their bond is unshakable, the stuff of Census Bearu legend, the canniest, most argumentative, absurdly affectionate, gleefully contrary pairing so robust and unrelenting it caused even the most patient members of their tight-knit Indiana State study circle to routinely throw up their hands and avert their eyes, yelling, "That's enough! Put it away!" One sunny, late-fall afternoon, they're picking up the thread of an ongoing Alien vs. Aliens debate (Lucas: I'm so glad your mom's not here to listen to her son humiliate himself like this. It would break her heart.") which has ascended to the intensity level that warrants standing very close and screaming as though they are not standing very close, when quite suddenly, they are no longer arguing. The discovery of another item in a long list of things they are hopelessly good at when they combine their talents, takes up the entire afternoon and most of the evening. The surprised, but strong, and ultimately righteous sense of joy\awe is conflated by the subdued, giddy knowledge that what has been in the past for Mike a rare and somewhat lackluster experience, and for Lucas, a little less rare but equally mediocre 'event' currently feels like the wide expanse of potentiality specific to scientific exploration. So there's that.

XII. It doesn't last too long, when he allows himself to think about it Mike abjectly refuses to liken the duration of the event to anything stupid, like a metaphor about supernovas. That would be dumb. And crass. And in poor taste. Plus, he hardly ever thinks about it ever, so there's that. Anyway, Mike dropping out of Indiana state and returning to the cocoon of his mother's basement is a completely unrelated event that never ever needs to be recounted, not even for posterity, except to say that it's unrelated to anything going on in his life at the moment. And it's okay, because he and Lucas are still ridiculously close friends and it's never even awkward except for the few occasions wherein Mike succumbs to jealously, before becoming confused about exactly whom he's jealous off. After he figures it out, he's moody and distant and the podcast gets Weird in only the way Mike can make it. El is confused, 'cause once the dude stops staring and actually says a few words to her, he's kind of cool in this completely doofy way. Lucas eventually plops on the end of Mike's bed, allows Mike to put his dirty, uncivilized sneakers all over his fairly expensive pants and makes a fumbling preamble that might as well be called Intro to Awk Con. It goes okay. Mike's just tired and Lucas co-signs with  a sigh, and a story about his sister, and they talk around it because it's still-they-can't-There's grumbling about the complete absence of something that could even be mistaken for a fan base, and Dustin's rants, and a general consensus on the awesomeness of El and they both feel better after that.

XIII. Lucas might have a supremely underdeveloped thing for Will? It's like, super embryonic, not even worth thinking about much less trying to explain out loud to Will's face while he stands there looking cute and curious and hesitant about the stupid notebook he's been doodling in for like a year, even though what little bits Lucas has seen of the novel that Will's mortified about having written  is so good he'd buy it tomorrow if Will would only deign to finish the damn thing. Yeah. So El hangs around Hawkins, after slaving away in his emotional garden wearing a wide-brim hat and too much sunscreen, Mike manages to grow the courage necessary to ask her to dine at his mom's house (yes, his mom has had El over for dinner roughly a thousand times, and yes her laugsana with the signature sauce has become one of El's favorite dishes, but owing to the fact that Mike has spent ninety-five percent of those roughly thousands of evenings in his room melting down and wishing he was a person who could handle this shit, they don't actually count.), Will finishes his summer drawing course at the learning annex, because his phone storage is unable to contend with the sheer volume of photos he takes of and with El in the last couple of weeks\months (?) Dustin gets Instagram and instantly gains a thousand followers, and Lucas comes to the conclusion that's actually amazing at this podcast thing? Like honestly, he's very talented. And he's never taken one communication course!

XIV. El heads back to New York, promising to visit when she can. Mike admirably hides his heartbreak, and gallantly takes his frustration out on a pacman machine during their afternoon at the arcade. (Mike Wheeler: Frustrated Bisexual) A couple months later, they all receive signed copies of the next Wizards of Gale book with special messages scribbled on the inside covers. A couple of weeks before that, they post their El interview, and the site it takes Dustin two, painful, sleepless weeks to build experiences a significant amount of traffic for the first time in its uneventful little life. Everyone freaks out and facetimes El who's mid interview on the Teresa Watkins show, and that's how they attain their first television interview. (El: I'm sorry, this is so unprofessional. Do you mind?)

XV. Bros being bros, podcasting about nerd stuff. (Dustin: How were you received by the dudebro cheeto dust contingent? I assume they're treating you well? They're super classy individuals.)

XVI. Oh, and Hopper is El's manager\literary agent? Okay? Okay.

[magnaturbaestinurbe-blog]

PODCAST BROS. AU

I. Bros being bros and podcasting about nerd stuff.

II. The podcast has approximately four listeners, the most dedicated among them being Mike's mom. (Mike has repeatedly told his mother not to listen because it "makes him nervous.") This number fluctuates depending on the time of day, the weather, and the amount of disparaging remarks  Dustin makes about the DC cinematic universe.

III. There is much discussion of comic books, superheroes, table top games, film adaptations, sci-fi and fantasy authors, ethics in journalism, cosplay, the Nintendo switch, what the hell is taking George R. R. Martin so long does he understand his readership will probably be dead before he publishes another book? and other topics salient to college-age nerds under the impression their dedication to their hobbies could someday pay their bills.

IV. Following in the illustrious footsteps of Matt Bessar, they live-stream their Saturday night D&D games. (Dustin: Hey guys, just wanted to give you a quick update. Mike's basement is still disgusting.") The results range from palatable mediocrity to hitherto unseen levels of chaos. The comments page would be a mess...you know, if people left comments.

V. Their first guest is an amazing, unbelievable get. El Ives has written four volumes of the Wizards of Gale series- a staggering, gorgeous epic chronicling the coming of age of a young psychically gifted warrior traversing a galactic wasteland in search of her true purpose-in the last three years. She's gone on national tours, topped sci-fi best-seller lists, and was proposed to roughly thirty-seven times at New York comic-con. Naturally, the dudes freak out, but Mike's is the most memorable melt down. He talks to himself in the mirror in a pre-interview hype session, he drops his note cards, stares for inappropriate lengths of time, and generally makes everyone ridiculously uncomfortable.

VI. After the stress of her tour, the casual atmosphere of the podcast (with the exception of the host who makes tense, terrifying eye contact with her before avoiding her gaze for the rest of the day) is a novelty El is reluctant to relinquish. This explains hanging around Hawkins ("You're welcome to stay at our place." Dustin volunteers before Mike can open his large, endlessly stupid mouth.) despite having deadlines, and interviews and a whole life in Manhattan. They take her to all their lame hang-outs and Mike dies several deaths due to sheer embarrassment (Humiliate Wheeler To Death Tour 2017!)

VII. This is the thing. The thing is this: despite the fact that they've been doing this for like, four months, and no one is even really listening Mike is still absurdly nervous on air? Lucas and Dustin are naturals and Will chimes in when he really wants to make a point (he's often drowned out by the intensity of Dustin\Lucas debates but whenever he manages to incline his chin toward the mic and deliver his statements in the softest, least antagonistic voice ever created, his points are salient and logical and even occasionally border on poignant) but it take s Mike at least fifteen minutes to get comfortable uttering opinions he has no trouble voicing off air. It's disconcerting and weird, and he's envious of the casual way his friends interact on air. They're natural, as if there aren't any disparities between their on air personalities and their real life ones. They're completely comfortable, Mike has to calm down, close his eyes, remember his pre-air inspirational speech, really center himself before he can engage in way that's even close to natural. (Even then, his voice is a touch too high, his sentences come out blunt and semi-intelligible, and his jokes feel more like passive aggressive indictments of other people's moral characters than "ha ha" funnies. These delightful and attractive flaws are only exacerbated by the prolonged presence of one of his literary heroes who, in addition to being funny, clever, sincere, brutally honest, and genuinely down for anything re: appearing on a D&D role-playing channel with four losers, has the audacity to love Ray Bradbury and Farscape as much as he does. It's the fucking rudest.)

VIII. To make matters worse, she loves his friends. Lucas is the most charming mother fucker alive (dude has a certificate!) and Mike hates him for the ease with which he makes El laugh so hard she cries. He then hates himself for hating Lucas, up until the asshole does it again and El looks happier than a ten year old who was just informed she gets to live at Disney Land. Witnessing the vast depths of El's joy is probably the purest experience Mike ever has. Said joy is a product of Lucas recounting any number of stories starring himself as the witty, amazing, bad ass of their high school tenure. So, dilemma. She and Will exchange book recommendations, karaoke Fridays at Lester's is forever altered the moment she and Dustin duet on a gentle, soul-melting rendition of Head Over Heels (they're terrible singers, but the power man, the subtle emotive, power) and Lucas, Lucas is everywhere, buying her drinks, and talking about how there are certain paragraphs in book three he wants to live in, and complimenting her buzz cut, and constantly and at all times making her laugh so long, and hard and with her entire body and it's so fucking unfair Mike can't actually-

IX. In local news, Lucas and Dustin are living in a shoebox across the river from Mike's house. Will is over so often he is repeatedly mistaken for a piece of furniture. He has his own shelf in the fridge (the middle), his own snacks in the cabinet (fig newtons are more than fruit and cake) and coconut shampoo he's neglected to take home and which is become the official property of the estate. Dustin likes to think of his abode as a sovereign nation, wants desperately to draw up a constitution and design a flag. Lucas likes to think of his casa as a Dustin-free zone, and is disappointed upon opening his door and finding reality has very much crushed his hopes and dreams. There is very little sleep, the occupants are lucky to claim several consecutive hours of unconsciousness. Instead, there are twitch marathons, Netflix binges, LOTR re-watches, and intense, lengthy debates over the merits of Zack Snyder being shot into space verses the efficiency of simply setting him ablaze.

X. Will is fond of lying on the couch, or on the window seat or on the floor next to Lucas' mattress and telling him all the ideas that his ridiculous brain ushers forth when he can't sleep. Lucas gently reminds him of the graphic novel he's kind of, sort of, a little bit working on-the thing he starts last year and politely but stubbornly refuses to show him any more pages once Lucas becomes a living, breathing reminder that Will could maybe think about possibly publishing it because It's Good. To be fair, saying the words aloud, letting them take shape in the air is almost like working on it. It's very, very close.

XI. Eventually, Mike realizes that contrary to initial reports, he's actually jealous of two people. Yes Lucas making El laugh is fairly fucking infuriating, but so is the knowledge that Lucas is trying so hard to make someone laugh, and that that someone (for reasons he is painfully, intimately familiar with) is NOT him. Pre-graduation, post-two a.m.  silent, sexuality-specific  realization that takes place in an Arby's parking lot, Mike and Lucas are the most accurate visual representation for best friendship that has ever, or will ever live. Their bond is unshakable, the stuff of Census Bearu legend, the canniest, most argumentative, absurdly affectionate, gleefully contrary pairing so robust and unrelenting it caused even the most patient members of their tight-knit Indiana State study circle to routinely throw up their hands and avert their eyes, yelling, "That's enough! Put it away!" One sunny, late-fall afternoon, they're picking up the thread of an ongoing Alien vs. Aliens debate (Lucas: I'm so glad your mom's not here to listen to her son humiliate himself like this. It would break her heart.") which has ascended to the intensity level that warrants standing very close and screaming as though they are not standing very close, when quite suddenly, they are no longer arguing. The discovery of another item in a long list of things they are hopelessly good at when they combine their talents, takes up the entire afternoon and most of the evening. The surprised, but strong, and ultimately righteous sense of joy\awe is conflated by the subdued, giddy knowledge that what has been in the past for Mike a rare and somewhat lackluster experience, and for Lucas, a little less rare but equally mediocre 'event' currently feels like the wide expanse of potentiality specific to scientific exploration. So there's that.

XII. It doesn't last too long, when he allows himself to think about it Mike abjectly refuses to liken the duration of the event to anything stupid, like a metaphor about supernovas. That would be dumb. And crass. And in poor taste. Plus, he hardly ever thinks about it ever, so there's that. Anyway, Mike dropping out of Indiana state and returning to the cocoon of his mother's basement is a completely unrelated event that never ever needs to be recounted, not even for posterity, except to say that it's unrelated to anything going on in his life at the moment. And it's okay, because he and Lucas are still ridiculously close friends and it's never even awkward except for the few occasions wherein Mike succumbs to jealously, before becoming confused about exactly whom he's jealous off. After he figures it out, he's moody and distant and the podcast gets Weird in only the way Mike can make it. El is confused, 'cause once the dude stops staring and actually says a few words to her, he's kind of cool in this completely doofy way. Lucas eventually plops on the end of Mike's bed, allows Mike to put his dirty, uncivilized sneakers all over his fairly expensive pants and makes a fumbling preamble that might as well be called Intro to Awk Con. It goes okay. Mike's just tired and Lucas co-signs with  a sigh, and a story about his sister, and they talk around it because it's still-they-can't-There's grumbling about the complete absence of something that could even be mistaken for a fan base, and Dustin's rants, and a general consensus on the awesomeness of El and they both feel better after that.

XIII. Lucas might have a supremely underdeveloped thing for Will? It's like, super embryonic, not even worth thinking about much less trying to explain out loud to Will's face while he stands there looking cute and curious and hesitant about the stupid notebook he's been doodling in for like a year, even though what little bits Lucas has seen of the novel that Will's mortified about having written  is so good he'd buy it tomorrow if Will would only deign to finish the damn thing. Yeah. So El hangs around Hawkins, after slaving away in his emotional garden wearing a wide-brim hat and too much sunscreen, Mike manages to grow the courage necessary to ask her to dine at his mom's house (yes, his mom has had El over for dinner roughly a thousand times, and yes her laugsana  with the signature sauce has become one of El's favorite dishes, but owing to the fact that Mike has spent ninety-five percent of those roughly thousands of evenings in his room melting down and wishing he was a person who could handle this shit, they don't actually count.), Will finishes his summer drawing course at the learning annex, because his phone storage is unable to contend with the sheer volume of photos he takes of and with El in the last couple of weeks\months (?) Dustin gets Instagram and instantly gains a thousand followers, and Lucas comes to the conclusion that's actually amazing at this podcast thing? Like honestly, he's very talented. And he's never taken one communication course!

XIV. El heads back to New York, promising to visit when she can. Mike admirably hides his heartbreak, and gallantly takes his frustration out on a pacman machine during their afternoon at the arcade. (Mike Wheeler: Frustrated Bisexual) A couple months later, they all receive signed copies of the next Wizards of Gale book with special messages scribbled on the inside covers. A couple of weeks before that, they post their El interview, and the site it takes Dustin two, painful, sleepless weeks to build experiences a significant amount of traffic for the first time in its uneventful little life. Everyone freaks out and facetimes El who's mid interview on the Teresa Watkins show, and that's how they attain their first television interview. (El: I'm sorry, this is so unprofessional. Do you mind?)

XV. Bros being bros, podcasting about nerd stuff. (Dustin: How were you received by the dudebro cheeto dust contingent? I assume they're treating you well? They're super classy individuals.)

XVI. Oh, and Hopper is El's manager\literary agent? Okay? Okay.

[tipsycad147]

Witchcraft Mistakes Beginners Always Make

Are you just beginning your journey in the Craft?   When starting any new practice, mundane or magical, trial and error are to be expected. Below, I listed a few of the most common witchcraft mistakes.

If you already made one or more of these mistakes, don’t be too hard on yourself.  I definitely made some of them myself!

Being overly concerned with the details of a spell.

Newbies tend to look at a pre-written spell and think they need to replicate it exactly in order to achieve desired results.

Modern spells are more like recipes than laboratory experiments.  A pinch of this, a pinch of that.  But when you post the picture on Instagram, no two look alike.

There’s nothing wrong with detail-oriented spell casting.  Focusing on details builds energy and helps to ground your intention in reality.

Many witches like to get very particular with things like candle color, compass direction, incantations and even the day/hour of the week to perform a ritual.

But it’s more important to incorporate elements that carry meaning for you.

Rather than trying to duplicate a spell exactly as it was written, try writing your own spell.

Not supporting spell work with mundane efforts.

Spell casting is about intent.  And I really believe it makes a difference.

To be honest, I don’t know how or why it works.  I just know it does.

But if you don’t carry your intent over into your mundane, real-world life, it’s unreasonable to expect “the Universe” to do all the work for you.

So if you cast a job spell, but never submit your resume to prospective employers, your intent is  . . . well, pretty half-ass.

Something may come along anyway.  But you obviously increase your odds drastically by doing your part.

Spending too much money on ritual supplies.

As a seller of handmade ritual supplies myself, I see nothing wrong with indulging in a little witchy retail therapy from time to time.

A freshly made candle or new statuary on the altar makes anyone smile.

But your Craft shouldn’t be about materialism or things.

You don’t really need anything at all.  But even if you like working with tools, you likely have everything you need already.

If you tend to overspend, check out:

Getting scammed.

This is not really a “mistake,” because if it happens, it’s not your fault.  But I am including it on this list because it’s important to know, especially when you’re first starting out and don’t necessarily know what to expect.

The vast majority of pagans are good, well-intentioned people.

But just like any other religious or spiritual group (including Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims and everyone else) not everyone is above taking advantage of the vulnerable.

Run far and fast from anyone who:

-Makes unwanted sexual advances in the context of spirituality.

-Guarantees results from a spell (especially love, money and fertility spells) in exchange for money.

-Claims to have supernatural “powers” or implausible abilities.

-Offers to “lift a curse” from your life in exchange for money.

-Pressures you to cut ties from family members or make drastic life changes.

-Claims to have “secret knowledge” that they only disclose in exchange for money.

-Exhibits jealousy or hostility when you seek advice or knowledge elsewhere.

There is absolutely no reason to fear these things any more than you would fear them in a church or synagogue.

While we certainly have no shortage of harmless eccentrics, you will find this is generally an extremely loving, supportive community.

Ethical pagans go to great pains to avoid even the appearance of dishonesty because of stereotypes applied to them by mainstream society.

It is, in fact, the lack of awareness and education about modern witchcraft that unfortunately draws predators and scam artists, who sees an opportunity to take advantage of that ignorance.

Imposing one-size-fits-all beliefs on others because you read . . . one book.

If you just finished your first non-fiction book on the subject of witchcraft, bear in mind, you stand at the beginning of a long journey.

There are many, many theories about why and how magic works.

Similarly, there are many theories about what constitutes ethical witchcraft.

Spare yourself some drama.  Don’t go lecturing people about the “left-hand path” or insist that the “3-fold-law” constitutes some kind of infallible doctrine.

Be open-minded.  Ask questions.  Take everything everyone says with a grain of salt—-and try not to take yourself too seriously, either.

Assuming that all witches are Wiccan.

Ouch, this just makes me cringe writing it.

The practice of witchcraft covers an astonishingly wide range of practices, from the voodoo of Louisiana to the Celtic rites of Northern Europe.

Wiccans make up only a tiny percentage of self-identified witches.

For goodness sake, please never use the terms as though they are interchangeable.

And while you’re at it, look over some of the other common misconceptions about witchcraft.

Being excessively anxious about coming out of the broom closet.

First of all, nothing says you need to come out of the broom closet at all.

Many people of all faiths believe that spirituality is a private matter.  If that’s you, I respect it.

And if you have a job in politics or public service, or live in a country that punishes practitioners of witchcraft with severe legal penalties, the unfortunate truth is that it may not be worth it to “go public.”

But 99% of the time, the social consequences of “coming out” as a witch are not nearly as serious as you think they are.

I’ve been a very public pagan for many years now.  I have conservative friends, I have liberal friends.  I have Muslim, Jewish, and deeply Christian friends.  We travel a lot, and have friends from nearly every inhabited continent on Earth.

My kid even goes to a Catholic school.

Guess what?  No one gives a s&*! that I’m a witch.

Some of them think it’s quirky or interesting.  Sometimes, they ask me questions that make me laugh.

But no one has ever cut off ties with me or fired me or kicked me out of a living space.

I’m not saying this never happens..

It’s probably not a good a idea to disclose your practice to a new landlord before signing a lease.

Discrimination in the court system is also a problem.  (Family law attorneys love to point out that mom is a witch in custody cases)

And job loss is a real risk for people in politics or monotheistic religious orders.

But that stuff is far less common than you probably think.

Ignoring social responsibilities or neglecting the Earth.

Although witchcraft takes many forms, a respect for the Earth remains a nearly universal value.

Magic is a give-and-take relationship with the world around you.

If all you do is take, you’re bound to run into some trouble.

Balance your requests by making a conscious effort to help others and heal the Earth.

Donate to charity, accept volunteer opportunities and live in awareness of your impact.

Not sure where to begin?  Check out Natural Living for Pagans:  10 Ways to Live Closer to the Earth.

Not exploring the culture or tradition of a particular magical tradition.

If  you try using a spell from a culture or tradition that you know nothing at all about, it has no context or meaning.

Newbies tend to want to jump straight to the magic without taking the time to learn anything about where it comes from.

Trying to replicate a spell from an ancient Egyptian text when you don’t even understand the incantation is nothing but a bad parlour trick in poor taste.

Do your research.  Spend time with people who know the tradition you’re interested in forwards and backwards.  If possible, visit a temple or find a coven that specialises in whatever aspect of magic you want to explore.

The joy is in the journey.

https://moodymoons.com/2018/11/26/9-witchcraft-mistakes-beginners-always-make/