#undearly

[strawberrymolks-blog]

Cowboy Bebop is just about this polyamorous relationship between a depressed man, an even more depressed man, and a girlboss/girlfail and their undearly adopted child if you think about it

[witchofthesouls]

How's Tarn with parenthood?

Tarn thought he would be the disciplinarian. The one with the firm hard.

Nope. He's the soft parent. Soothing cries and answering the uppsies and hoarding the bitties to his chassis as he does paperwork. During breaks he'll 'play fly' with one of the sparklings with wing nubs.

He's the dad with a billion photos in his digital wallet, has a scrapbook of all the "Baby's Firsts" for each one, and likes getting gifts for the kids with every hunt. You're standing nearby, hawking his every move because you don't want him to spoil their appetites with extra snacks and treats before dinner or give them a sugar rush before bed.

The D.J.D. is enjoying more recreational activities since more on-the-fence worlds are more lenient with traveling families. Even better for them because they can start hunting traitors on those planets on the down low.

When the first trio gets too big and energetic for the shared quarters, there's a discussion about what to do. Tarn's looking up options for a bigger berth, whereas you're delving into furniture and decor ideas to convert your old habsuite for the first trio's own quarters.

Tarn's fussing and having separation anxiety after thousands of years with all the little frames giggling in his hab:

"Are you sure they're fine?" "For the tenth time, yes. Tarn, you'll see them at the second shift fuel break." (Ten minutes of you dozing and Tarn curled over the second trio that are not the tiny newborns but still small and delicate from undearly-departed Overlord.) "What if-" "They're only down the hall and together. We had tagged all the belongings and furniture. We have monitors. And they're nowhere near the docking site. You checked on them a groon ago and they're sleeping. They're fine." (Cue Tarn with sad classical music)

[lovecoredeity]

introducing Faustus Lightfeather, a noble paladin from the Celestial Empire and also Cashmere’s undearly betrothed never mind the fact that Cashmere doesn’t even know he’s engaged

♡ if you like my art please consider buying me a kofi ♡

[quoththeravenirritable]

The question is why did I hang onto my love, my obsession, for you for so many years when it is not the semblance but you who has caused me such suffering? And even now that I still stir these thoughts in the pond of all my shed tears, why is it I cannot let go of my suffering? Is it because my broken soul is forced to bond; is forced to let something bind it to itself to keep it from falling apart? Is it you who has broken me yet kept those shards from cutting through poison-soaked bandages?  I have not yet found someone with red string around their fingers; I will never find it, I am blind - you, though, have the perfect fake string, drenched in my blood to make the vile black seem red. I am, by now, used to your poison; have wanted to drink and feast on it for longer than I’d ever admit to. I hold onto you, for you’re the reason for so many firsts, and for so many lasts as well. I will hold you undearly in my heart and choke on fake hatred until forever encloses us in a cell in hell, making me fight you until I realize it’s not you but me who’s trapped here while you’ve long since freed yourself by sheer ignorance towards my pain. All I wanted was your attention, and although I am - but proudly! - your downfall, the reason you tremble, I have not received a glance once from you. Laugh all you want, I know that out of the two of us, I am the doomed one, yet here I stand above you, looking down on you like you’re an ant I cannot kill. 

[amanuensisnessy]

Avant-Garde Pharmacy #001

Good stories often come from shops.

Well, the place I work at isn’t so much of a shop, but more like a pharmacy. We’re an odd type of pharmacy. One that sells old-timey but effective remedies like teas and incense. We’ve got the usual over the counter stuff for headaches, colds, flus, etc., etc. Then we got the strange and bizarre.

A collection of juices meant to produce the most exquisite of dreams. Black ink to write letters to the dearly and undearly departed. Eye contacts that temporarily let you see a little more than usual. We sell almost every impossibility imaginable here at Avant-Garde. Just make sure not to ask where we get our supplies.

I try not to take merch from the pharmacy, but the owner says I could sneak a juice whenever things are slow. Honestly, there has not been much action going on for some time and I could feel the two consecutive energy drinks coursing through my veins. I was going to experiment with some mountain dew and pop rocks when the door bell chimed.

A boy, probably no older than 18, walked in with a comically large leather pouch and muddy combat boots. His red wet hair hung to his forehead. It must have been raining wherever he came from.

He grabbed a green basket from the front of the store and started scanning the aisles. He would disappear every so often, assuming he ducked to get something from the bottom shelf. I had to remind myself to look uninterested in the ONLY customer in the pharmacy. Even if he was rocking a medieval cape that gathered the dust I was supposed to sweep up.

I got a clear look at his face when he came to the check out counter. His eyes glazed over with a grayish blue tint. You could see the exhaustion underneath his eyes from outer space and his pale skin only emboldened the fact.

“Hello. I am obligated to let you know all customers may only enter this pharmacy once and once only. You are free to continue browsing the aisle or ask about any of the items behind me,” I scanned the items in his basket and placed them in a white thank-you bag, “If you wish to do so, I can keep the items here until you’re done.”

His eyes immediately looked at the odd names behind me, “Would you be able to tell me what they’re for?”

“I will do my best,” I might have laid the enthusiasm a bit thick there.

He pointed to a white box with a blue border, “What’s that one?”

“That would be Ozempic. Meant to stimulate insulin and is mostly used by those who have diabetes,” I hated how much of a robot I sounded like, “side effects include weight loss, nausea, vomiting, and kidney failure.”

“What about that one?” he pointed to a small white-brown box.

“Those would be Ketorolac eye drops. Used for itchiness and inflammation in the eyes. Side effects include swelling, sensitivity to light, and temporary throbbing pain.”

“And the one in the jar?”

I looked at the jar he was pointing at. A white flower with dark roots swimming in a maroon liquid, “That would be Moly. Boosts stamina, endurance, and immunity temporarily. Side effects include insomnia.”

At this point I was certain he would ask about every bottle, box, and jar we had in stock. Maybe I should have warned him about the cost before telling him about the options available. Unfortunately, I had already told him I would help and I was doomed to serve.

“Do you have anything to slow down the decomposition of cells? Or an item to temporarily animate… uh... um… ” he pulled the front of his bangs down in an effort to summon the word he was desperately seeking for, “... a pre-existing entity?”

I looked at him oddly before remembering I shouldn’t judge anybody in the pharmacy. “If you’re talking about eternal youth, then yeah. We got something for that.”

“Really?!” he was surprised to say the least, but he composed himself as quickly as I had, “ I mean, eternal youth isn’t something I’m looking for. In truth I’m trying to wake someone from… um…”

“Death?” I offered.

“It’s not so much that they’re dead, it’s more like I can’t wake them up.”

I curled my lip, trying to think of what I could offer. Depending on the health status of his patient - or friend - I could offer him some medical equipment that could monitor his vitals. Maybe add some medications to speed up his wakefulness. However, if this is about bringing the dead back to life, then that would require some paperwork and elixirs. My train of thought was suddenly interrupted by an urgent question, “how old are you, anyway?”

He took great offense at the question, “Old enough for a medical degree!”

How adorable, but I wasn’t going to be so easily distracted, “I need to know so that I don’t get in trouble,” I looked him up and down, and decided I could fan the flames a bit, “ You look 11. I can’t sell to minors unless I get the owner’s permission.”

“I’m 32 years old!”

I raised an eyebrow and his nostrils flared. He looked good for 32. Well, except for the whole frail complexion he was walking around with. 

“Okay then,” I said, “ I’ve got some equipment and medicines that could help a person wake up faster from a coma. If it’s about bringing someone back from the dead, I’ve got elixirs but you’re going to need to sign some waivers and documents.”

“Really? You have medicine to bring people back from the dead?” he clutched the strap of his leather bag.

I gestured to the wall behind me, “Dude, we’ve got Manna, Amrita, Panacea, and even some plants that shouldn’t even exist. We’ve got something for every ailment imaginable.”

I let the silence linger between us. He starts pulling at his bangs again in an effort to process the information. I’d imagine he’s trying to think of what to do next. 

A few more moments pass before I give him some more information, “ Also, we have the right to refuse service if we suspect any of the products would be used immorally. ”

He looks up from behind his hand, “like what?"

" If you have to ask, then you might want to reconsider that education," I pull the thank-you bag back an inch closer to me, "You haven't paid yet. I can put this back for you if -"

“No,” he said, resting his hand on the plastic bag, “I need this, but can I get those elixirs you were talking about?”

“Sure,” I take out a packet of documents, “ just gotta read this and pay for the amount you want.”

“This is a lot! Don’t you have a condensed version?” he flips through the hundreds of pages I set in front of him.

“Nope. You can just fill out the last page. Nobody ever reads it,” as a person handling medicine, herbs, and elixirs I shouldn’t be offering this advice, but how is anyone going to sue us. 

I grab an empty flask from beneath the counter while he skims the packet. I’m still filling the flask with liquids when he hands me the paper. His name scrawled in an elegant cursive.

I, Amos Ettan, have read and understood the terms and conditions for the transaction of one 12 hour reawakening elixir. As well as understood and paid all the fees at the time of purchase.

All the information looked legit, so I held the flask right under his nose. “Deep breath and let it slowly.”

He did as I said with some hesitation. I swirled the flask a bit and it turned a glossy lilac. I packed it in bubble wrap and then placed in a smaller box. Before I could give him his items I had one more spiel to get through, “ The total comes out to $52.81 and 12 hour lifespan. Please keep in mind that there are no refunds or exchanges since this will be the only time you will be in the pharmacy. Would you like to proceed with the purchase?” I tap on a little screen next to him. 

“I’m sure,” he says as he presses on the green button.

The printer spits out a receipt with all the items he bought. I take out a pen and circle the script at the bottom of the receipt, “My name is Margo Finley. When you have the time please leave a review of your experience at Avant-Garde.”

I hand him the receipt and he chuckles.

“Goodbye,” he waves as he leaves the pharmacy never to come back.

Or that’s how it’s supposed to be, but the fool is back within a month's time.

Part 2

[undearly-blog1]

Under Construction

Erika ( @reglam ) and I ( @sparklii ) have decided to start a blog together! We’re besties in real life with similar interests. “Why not? This could be fun!”, we thought. Welcome to undearly! Blog currently under construction.

[moe-lazyeye]

Undearly Departing (botgd 2)

Dixie stood stoic faced as the yardsmen prepared his ship, a large crate already in the process of being loaded. He turned as he saw Indigo, and tension sparked between them. He turned and strode over to stand before him. "Mr. Phantom..." he said, ice cold. "I believe this is the last we'll dealing with one another...I leave in but a few moments."

@furibotgd

[goldleafacrossyourlips]

Uneasy Lies the Head - Dark Lord/OC - CAOS - Chapter 2

Chapters - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13

Chapter 2 - A Spoonful of Cyanide Helps the Medicine go Down

Nothing helped strengthen family bonds like good ol fashioned murder. So when her Auntie Hilda asked for help lacing her almond cookies with cyanide, Samara hopped to it. Most people would expect Zelda of being the family member to lean towards murder, and they weren’t wrong. Many people overlooked cheery Hilda, expecting her to sooner burst into tears rather than take a violent course of action. How wrong those poor souls were. Aunt Hilda’s advantage was that people underestimated her and didn’t expect much from her. 

So when Aunt Hilda brought her guest into the parlour, Samara made sure to stick to the shadows that always welcomed her, to watch. 

Will you walk into my parlour said the spider to the fly. The poem passed quickly through Samara’s thoughts and she held back a snicker. It felt like watching the poem come to life as she watched their guest and Hilda sit. The plate of cookies sat so unassumingly between the two and Samara was practically vibrating in anticipation. Hearing about how this jealous woman had tried to bully her Aunt Zelda made the oncoming revenge that much sweeter. Watching Sister Jackson bring the innocent looking cookie to her lips, Samara felt unholy glee mounting within her and then a royal sense of satisfaction as the cookie crumbled into her mouth.

She could sense the shadows around her becoming affected by her mood. They twisted and twirled around her, wishing to partake in what she was. Samara gathered power to calm the shadows and bring them back to peace. She used them to slip into the kitchen and whispered to them as she always did.

Ever since she could remember the shadows had always been an entity to her. Yes, as witches they often used shadows to do their bidding; however with Samara it was like the shadows were a creature all of their own. When she had still lived with her mother Samara had often used the shadows as a way of hiding from the quick-to-anger woman. They were actually the reason she had ended up with the Spellman’s. 

She remembered how the shadows had been quick to wrap her up when her mother had struck her one time too many. They’d made everything dark and quiet, but she could still sense the penny copper and the slick warmth of blood as they did what they wanted to the evil woman. She remembered the way they teleported her through themselves, it was like sliding through clouds with ice nipping her toes and sun warming her cheeks. When she’d been able to blink her eyes and see, she’d been in a cozy parlour with two women staring at her open-mouthed. 

From then on she’d been Samara Spellman. Zelda and Hilda took a child materializing in a cloud of shadows quite well. Once the little girl had given information on who her mother was and they’d found the woman dead, Zelda, Hilda and Edward had easily taken her into their fold. So at the tender age of 4, she’d become a Spellman and the family had accepted all of her little quirks.

Edward out of the 3 siblings, had been a bit more cautious with or of her than the others. Internally he was bothered that he found a mere 4 year old to be cautious of. But, he could sense something strange about her. Setting aside the fact that oftentimes the girls visage would seem smothered by shadows; which he and his sisters learned were not just effects of the light, but seemed to react to the toddler like a creature all of their own. Not only did the shadows seem to warp her with physical darkness, there seemed to be some type of darkness that clung to and surrounded her aura. The reason Edward Spellman had accepted the estranged toddler in so easily, was contributed to when her quicksilver eyes had met his. In that moment, he felt like he could see all. He could see the darkness that lingered in her soul, the pain she had endured, the hope of her future with them, the loneliness, the gentleness and the sheer intelligence she’d stand to gain. What little he could sense of her aura and power, Edward knew that Samara would grow into a fearsome Witch that would one day do great things with the darkness that clung to her. So she became a part of the Spellman family and the rest was history.

“Sweetheart? Help me take out the trash please!” Aunt Hilda’s voice broke her from her reminiscing. Samara laughed to herself at her Auntie’s choice of words.

Samara took herself into the parlour where their undearly departed guest wait. She looked at the woman dispassionately and praised her Aunt for a job well done.

“Did she have a hint of what was happening?” Samara’s voice still held some of the unholy glee that filled her before Sister Jackson ate the cookie. Hilda looked up in slight confusion from where she was beginning to dispose of the rest of the sweets.

“Weren’t you in the corner the whole time, darling? I could’ve sworn that’s where you were when I brought her in.” Hilda mumbled the end to herself. Samara felt herself tense slightly as she normally did whenever she had to explain something about her Shadows.

“I was in the beginning. But They started to get unsettled so We went into the kitchen so I could calm them down. I didn’t want Them ruining the fun.” Samara’s voice was soft as she busied herself with getting ready to grab the dead woman to drag her to the cemetery. 

“Ahh, I see. Well, I’m sorry you had to miss the fun. Now, let me get these in the bin and we’ll start digging, yes?” Aunt Hilda had always accepted any of Samara’s quirks in stride and Samara was always grateful for it. Sabrina was always uncomfortable when Samara mentioned her Shadows. Ambrose and Aunt Zelda were on the accepting but cautious side. They understood that the Shadows were a part of Samara but they’d rather not hear any tales of what they’d done or could do. Samara was easy to oblige.

She didn’t wait for her Aunt to return from cleaning up their afternoon activity. Samara grabbed the dead body by the arms and with gentle coaxing to her Shadows, they helped her lug the woman outside. She had just settled the woman next to where her resting spot would be when Aunt Hilda joined her outside. Her Aunt brought with her two shovels. With a quick smile towards one another, they began to dig. Samara felt irritation rise as her black hair kept falling over her shoulder and getting in her face. By the time she’d made the decision to pull it up, 6 feet of dirt had already been moved and they were rolling the body into the emptiness. 

Samara and her Aunt chatted idly while they replaced the removed dirt. Zelda’s wedding the next day was a frequent topic. They spoke of how Hilda was going to help her prepare tonight and what to expect of the next day. By the time they finished replacing the soil, they were both covered in smears of dirt and grim. They parted to their separate rooms to freshen up, or in Aunt Hilda’s case, to get ready to leave.

“Alright, there’s some pasta in the pantry and juice in the fridge, and sweets on the counter. Non-poisoned sweets I mean. And I’ll just be at the Academy if you need anything. Oh, I feel awful leaving, my love. You just got here and here I am, leaving you all on your own.” Aunt Hilda was fretting. Samara giggled at her Aunt’s antics.

“I’m not a child Auntie. I’m sure I’ll be able to manage. Besides, Sabrina will be here with me tonight. And I’ll see you first thing tomorrow. I want to see Auntie Z before she walks down the aisle.” Samara wrapped her Aunt Hilda up in a tight hug and wished her luck on helping Aunt Zelda prepare. Aunt Hilda departed with a kiss to the forehead. Silence descended the house. Samara sighed heavily and leaned against the kitchen counter. She gazed out the window as the sun began to set. Phlox sat at her side and took in his surroundings. Samara perked up as an idea crossed her mind.

“Let’s go look and see what Aunt Hilda has in her garden before it gets too dark, Phlox.” Samara leaned down to pat her familiar on his head before walking outside. The air was cool but she didn’t plan on staying out too long to need her coat. Phlox bounded ahead of her and disappeared into the foliage. Samara shook her head with a laugh and strided over to the garden. She felt her Shadows brush her legs as they darted from under the flower bushes in the dying light. Amusement tingled her as she pursued the lovely collection of flowers, herbs and nature her Aunt tended to. 

A beautiful purple Crocus caught her eye as she’d been fawning over the Belladonna. She was leaning down to inhale it’s delicate scent when some Edelweiss floated before her. Samara caught them and looked at the flock of them to her right. She was curious as to how they’d managed to float towards her but chucked it up to her Shadows being mischievous. She gathered the loose ones into her hand and headed back inside. She called to Phlox to let him know where she’d gone but the fox familiar remained outside, probably chasing some poor rodent or another. 

Samara decided to spend her time waiting for her cousin to come home, by using her newfound Edelweiss and brewing some anti-nausea potions. She gathered all her supplies and set to work. As she quickly got lost in the flow of her favourite pastime, time flew by. Before she knew it, just as she was bottling up her brew, Sabrina was gliding through the door. Samara smiled at her white-haird cousin. And wasn’t that something to get used to. 16 years of her cousin being blonde and all of a sudden over one evening, her hair is white as bone. Samara quite liked the new look. As well as the bold red lipstick she religiously applied now too. Samara liked to contribute the red lipstick to being something she wore off onto her cousin, seeing as she had been wearing dark red lipstick for as long as she’d started wearing makeup.

“‘Mara! I forgot you were coming in today! I’m so glad you’re home.” Sabrina rounded the counter to embrace Samara. With a ladle in one hand and a sealed bottle in the other, Samara wrapped her arms around her cousin and squeezed. Samara had been close to her little cousin as they grew up, no matter the 5 year age gap. They’d formed a friendship outside of the familial one they shared as cousins. They’d been thick as thieves growing up and had given their family plenty of headaches. They’d become less in tune with one another since Samara had left Greendale, but the love and safety they’d shared with one another still remained. 

“I’m glad to be here too ‘Brina. How’ve you been?” Samara pulled away from Sabrina and set her instruments down and began to clean up her mess. Sabrina sat down across the counter and filled her in on what had been happening.

“So I found out that my dad created a manifesto. He was trying to modernize the Church and have the Coven become more progessive! He went on about how it’s not only okay for Witches to be with Mortals, but it’s encouraged! How Mortals and Witches share a home and destiny. How women should be revered as matriarchs. And so much more! I presented it to the Anti-Pope before Father Blackwood could present his manifesto.” Sabrina’s eyes lit up as she talked about her father’s ideals. Samara felt herself warm as she learned of her uncle’s thoughts. However, any warm feelings she might have felt were purged as Sabrina spoke of Blackwood.

“Blackwood’s manifesto. What manifesto? What did it contain?” Samara’s voice could not conceal her loathing towards the man. Sabrina’s face fell into a frustrated frown.

“He’s created a society, called the Judas Society. It’s named after his son and made up of only Warlocks. He wants to throw the Coven into the Old Ages and traditionalize it. His manifesto is full of Witches subjugating themselves to the Warlocks. How Mortals are disgusting and we shouldn’t interact with them. How Warlocks should rule over the Mortals. Ridiculous, vile thoughts.” Sabrina spat out Blackwood’s terms. Samara’s face held disgust as she heard her cousin’s words. Satan help her before she ever bowed before a man like Faustus Blackwood. Samara could see her Shadows swirl on the walls around them as they reacted to her mood. She was quick to calm herself so they wouldn’t off put Sabrina. 

“Well, if the Anti-Pope has a lick of sense, he’ll pick your father’s manifesto. Heaven, he might even get rid of Blackwood.” Samara grinned at her last statement. Both girls knew it wouldn’t happen but who could blame them for hoping.

The two young women began catching up on what they’d missed in the other's life. Sabrina had had many life changing experiences within the time they’d last mirror-scryed. Samara was content to hear all the changes. Her cousin told her about her Mortal and Witch friends. Samara was happy that she had both and to hear that Sabrina had a new crush. Nicholas Scratch sounded like a good Warlock for Sabrina.

“What about you Samara? Anything interesting happen in your life lately?” Sabrina prodded at her cousin. Samara had a smile gracing her lips.

“Nothing interesting really happens in Vain, Sabrina. It’s pretty much the same day in and day out. I go out and collect ingredients for my brews and craft. I make my potions and such. Sell them to who needs it. And that’s it. I might get the occasional curious mortal trying to snoop about but Phlox takes care of them.” Samara kept her boring proceedings short and to the point. There really was nothing extraordinary that happened in her life since she’d moved to Vain. She was sure that there was enough extraordinary things were happening in the Spellman household and hoped it’d stick to the rest of them and spare her.

“Seriously? That sounds pretty boring ‘Mara. You don’t have anything else to pass the time? Nothing even like a guy to occupy your time?” Sabrina tried to sound sly with her questioning of Samara’s lovelife; or rather non existent one. Samara hadn’t dated while she’d lived with the Spellmans. And that hadn’t changed once she’d moved either. She’d tried, don’t get her wrong. She’d met plenty of handsome Warlocks, especially during her time at the Academy. But anytime she’d been approached she’d been overwhelmed at her brain screaming at her wrong, don’t touch, run away, not safe. The red alert sirens and lights going off in her head had been more than enough to deter her from interacting intimately with any potential lovers. While she did occasionally get struck with envy when seeing couples act so lovingly towards one another, Samara believed that when the time was right, she’d find her partner. 

“You know as well as I do Sabrina that there hasn’t been and isn’t anyone. Enough about me, tell me about your Nicholas Scratch!” Samara commandeered the conversation onto a topic she was more comfortable about; which was anything other than her lovelife. Sabrina happily ran along with this topic and hearts filled her eyes as she began telling Samara about Nick. As Samara listened to her cousin ramble on about her Warlock, her mind began to wander. She felt angry that she wasn’t here to constantly support her cousin through the many changes that had happened over the past months. She wanted to be here with her family more than anything, but her fear and hatred of what caused her to leave Greendale prevailed.

Samara remembered what it was like before she left. How happy and content the family was to all be together under one roof. While Ambrose might have been in exile and under house-arrest, he still treated his family like gold. Samara had been young and excited about the rest of her life; all the untapped possibilities. She’d been overjoyed to start her studies at the Academy of Unseen Arts. She’d already shown an affinity to brewing and herbology under her Aunt Hilda. 

Her first few months there had been a whirlwind. Meeting new Witches and Warlocks had been exciting. While Samara had excelled in herbalism and ritual magic, she had struggled in sacred geometry. Lucky for her the High Priest Father Blackwood, Dean of the school, had offered his own help to her studies and what she struggled in. Her Aunt Zelda had been ecstatic for Samara and considered what fortune it’d bring to the family that the High Priest was helping a member of the Spellmans. Samara had thought nothing of it and continued on with her studies and private tutoring with the High Priest. 

It was during her second year that her world tilted on its axis. Samara had continued to go to Father Blackwood’s office to study. It had simply become routine for her to. While she no longer required help with her sacred geometry, she’d often prod the High Priest for his thoughts on topics she was studying. She’d never thought it odd that out of every student in the school, she was the only one he’d offered tutoring to or let lounge in his office. She thought nothing of it until the night after her 17th birthday. 

She’d had her journals for herbalism laid on the table before her; her mind racing a mile a minute as she crafted ideas and theories for her next lecture. She didn’t take notice of the way the High Priest had sat in the chair at her side. She listened with half an ear as he praised her for her thought and dedication to her studies and Church. She hummed her answers as she continued with her work. He went on about how she’d become one of the strongest Witches the Academy had ever seen; he could sense it in the darkness and power that surrounded her he’d said. She half ignored his ramblings, that is until he’d placed his hand atop her thigh. She’d frozen and pinched the quill in her fingers.

He’d gone on about how wrong it was for a Witch her age and beauty to be without companionship. How he’d be more than willing to oblige her. As he said this his hand had started to creep higher. If Samara had thought the feelings of wrong, run away were strong before when she was merely approached by an interested party; they were nothing compared to what was flooded with at that moment. Fear and betrayal had solidified her spine, her stomach and heart had dropped through her shoes. It felt like she was starting to float outside of her body, like she was watching a movie of this happen to her. She started to fear for the worst. Just when she thought everything was going to escalate, her body’s emotions were choked out by a hellfire rage. She felt this all-encompassing fury snuff out her other feelings, like an entity of itself. She could see her Shadows write along every surface they could, ready to act. Then nothing. 

She couldn’t remember anything past that. The next thing she remembers is being at home, explaining to her Aunties that she was no longer physically attending the Academy. That had been the one and only blow out her and her Aunties had ever had. They’d been ready to force her to go back before she’d collapsed on the ground in hysterics. To the present neither woman knew what caused her to leave the Academy. They figured it had something to do with the High Priest, but any questions they asked were either brushed off or blatantly ignored. 

Samara had excelled in her studies at home and finished them much earlier than had been planned. She had hoped that leaving the Academy would be enough for her to heal and avoid the High Priest. But she didn’t take into account the many gatherings they’d have at the Desiccated Church and his need to be there. It was soon after she’d finished her studies that she’d announced to her family that she’d be completing an apprenticeship with a Potion Master towards the South. They’d been devastated to see her go, but were content in the knowledge that she’d be following something she’d love. Her family expected her to return to Greendale once her apprenticeship was complete, but were saddened at her decision to completely leave Greendale and it’s Witch Community and to move to Vain, Colorado. Luckily for them, magic had made the separation much easier, scrying, astral projection and much more helped with the distance. 

“‘Mara. ‘Mara. Samara!” Sabrina’s voice ripped Samara from her dark memories. Samara felt her Shadows gathering around her as she forcefully reminded herself to release her white-knuckled grip from the arms of her chair. Sabrina was leaned forward, concerned and wary glances being cast towards her and her Shadows. 

“I’m fine. Sorry! Got lost in my head. It seems to be a common thing since I’ve arrived.” Samara grumped, taking a deep breath and relaxing back into her seat. She noticed that Phlox had settled himself on her lap and was chittering softly. She smiled softly and stroked his head. She sent out pulses of calm to her Shadows and watched as they receded and stilled.

“It’s been a long day, especially since you’ve travelled so far. Why do we head up to bed?” Sabrina soothed, standing and extending her hand towards Samara. Samara blinked at the limb for a moment before grasping it. She gathered Phlox up with her other arm and allowed herself to be corralled towards her room. 

“Sorry we couldn’t talk longer. Hopefully we can more tomorrow. It really has been a long day.” Samara’s voice was a mixture of sorrow and hope. She grinned as Sabrina gave a squeeze to her hand as they reached her room.

“It’s okay ‘Mara. It’s good to have you home. Goodnight”

“Night, ‘Brina.” She gave her cousin a parting smile and hand squeeze before disappearing behind her bedroom door. Samara set Phlox down, who quickly scurried to the bed and began to nest. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed her temples and blew out a deep sigh. She was just starting to contemplate if it was worth the effort to rummage around in her bag to find a headache relief potion or not when she was distracted by a loud thump down the hall.

[infinitesplinters]

Survival

You grew tough        the majestic gnarled oak beat from the pain of watch        the feminine trait                 dying from caring The dead house smiles        I am drowned in petals made from your spirit dress     what this begins has                 undearly called to shore The cops are all robots        when they call my name keep dreaming so I can seem        myself at last                 collapse into river stones He said I only want to be a relief        then I took the ring another ticket to the hot shade        of which we sickly                 have our eyes fixed upon She said I can’t let this fall out        from the carpet where we made eye contact once               the knife goes in but                  it cannot come out Oh Goddesses like lakes        of Vesu, of Horae, of Persephone, there’s no one        calling us home to speak                 about the grass and the lace More than sinking        the down depths leak that old death smell        when the blood goes to fly                 though it don’t remember This ghost makes us two        safe under pillow cases burned by the stove        your face is gone into                 the opaque tearsome arch I don’t want to go        there’s more than handshakes left where where the monks        cover their ankles                 and make out for LA There’s enough to go around        a black suede jacket lifting us anesthetized from too much living,        song, lovers, the sparrows walk on                 your gesture as vermilion Rainbows My world is only myself        you gave me the headlamp undo the white flag        it barks to the sun                 and the moon and the sky the golden likeness of time here, tomorrow, today good luck they say

[political-fluffle]

Since at least the dawn of the silent film era, the United States has been remarkably chill about rich, powerful, famous men getting it on with teenagers. Contrary to popular belief, the age of consent in most of the country is 16, not 18, but as long as the girl is old enough to menstruate — and the man is rich, powerful, and/or famous enough to rank — we tend, as a society, to let it go, especially if man and teen become man and wife. We don’t, literally or figuratively, make a federal case out of it. We make remarks akin to what Donald Trump said about Jeffrey Epstein in 2002: “He’s a lot of fun to be with. It is even said that he likes beautiful women as much as I do, and many of them are on the younger side.” (...)

The Republican base doesn’t care about sex crimes — unless they involve the Clintons, that is. Serial rapist Donald Trump is their standard-bearer. They have proudly run Roy Moore, a grown man who was barred from his local mall for accosting middle-school girls. They have rallied around Brett “Devil’s Triangle” Kavanaugh. Not only do they not believe women, they actively seek to destroy them, as state legislatures have demonstrated in George, Alabama, Ohio, Missouri, and elsewhere. It is unlikely that these rank misogynists will be swayed by the dalliances of the late Jeffrey Epstein, however deplorable, unless they somehow implicate Bill Clinton. When the subject of Donald Trump’s history of sexual assault is brought up, the 20+ credible accusers, the “grab ’em by the pussy,” MAGA invariably responds with: Bill Clinton was worse — as if the shameful misbehavior of one rich, famous, powerful man somehow absolves that of another.

Trump may not be able to shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and get away with it, as he famously quipped, but, as I’m not the first to point out, he could certainly rape someone on Fifth Avenue and get away with it. In fact, he really did sexually assault the writer E. Jean Carroll, in 1995, in the dressing room at Bergdorf Goodman, which is on Fifth Avenue. Nothing will come of this, of course. Trump responded to the charge by insulting Carroll’s looks, and MAGA by attacking the victim. (...)

As horrible as it is to relate, the fact is that as long as the focus is on sex crimes, Trump — and his undearly-departed chum Jeffrey Epstein — will not be damaged. Again: his base does not care. (...)