#your hermetic ways

[aureliomadrid]

...we love you Mr. Driftwork, your vision, your words, your intellectual vantage, your casual invocation of Aragon's deliberate errata, your hermetic ways...

Louis Aragon...

The author refuses to attach a list of typographical errors to be found in this book (seiiiieres, Rangry, a cours… etc). He merely regrets that this will make the reader unable to appreciate the grammatical and spelling  errors that were made deliberately in the hope of obtaining from the reader the pleasant screams  that justify his existence…  Louis Aragon - from the first edition of Treatise on Style… (1928/1991)

[unopenablebox]

i admit that i find it a little bit frustrating how Wildly Astonished other antizionist jews act when i tell them my israeli jewish family have lived in the region since [some unknown length of time before 1800 when there start being records about it]

[ceilidho]

fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 1 masterlist

-

In the end, gazing out of the ship's portholes into the dark vastness of space proves to be less comforting than the architects must have originally anticipated. You can attest to this more than most.

Every morning, you get up an hour earlier than the rest of your crew and make your way to the galley to make your morning cup of coffee. A pack of instant crystals into your favorite mug and hot recycled water from the kettle. Sometimes you stay to have breakfast, but often you take your coffee with you to the main viewing deck for your morning sojourn. 

There, you sit curled up in the navigator’s chair and stare out of the flight deck window until your breathing levels out. Early morning meditations. With the sun only visible through the rear porthole, the Milky Way stretches out before you, immeasurably vast. Ancient cosmic entities, some already long dead. 

Stars fill your field of vision like an intricate latticework of varying brightness. The watery glass warps at the edges, bending the far off light. All things with their propensity for brightness and decay.

A deep, steady hum fills the room. It’s cathartic to be alone. Sometimes, when you look out into the depths of space, you imagine yourself as a cartographer of old, labeling everything beyond this point: “here there be dragons.” 

Farah is the first person to join you, the ship’s maintenance technician already washed and dressed, floral cumberbund cinched around her midriff and her headwrap pinned in place. She greets you with a firm nod upon her entry, never one to mince words. In the months since your ship set off on its course for Jupiter, you’ve exchanged all of ten words, most of your conversation one-sided. 

She glides in like she’s been up for hours, likely running through her routine maintenance checklist. Monitoring propulsion, life support, and all critical systems. You wouldn’t doubt if she had been, descending into the bowels of the ship and cataloging every minute difference from the day before. Nothing if not thorough. 

Graves sweeps in not twenty minutes later, his uniform pressed and ironed. When he glances your way, you shrink under his gaze, self-conscious about something unidentifiable. He is every bit the commander you met briefly back on Earth, never a hair out of place. If he were less intimidating, he’d be insufferable. 

“Morning,” you murmur, the mug still close to your lips making your voice reverberate. He doesn’t respond. You wonder if he even heard you greet him. It likely wouldn't matter.

Medic has a different connotation this far from Earth. Hierarchy out in space is typically determined by way of one’s importance to the ship, and the scope of your role does not, unfortunately, include maintaining the ship. What that means, unofficially, is that you speak when spoken to, and not for any other reason. 

In the months to come, there may be moments or days when your usefulness is acknowledged, usually much to your colleagues’ chagrin. Though it’s not likely that any of the crew will encounter foreign pathogens while on a hermetically sealed ship in the middle of space, they’re all still susceptible to falls and cuts and worse. Nikolai, the chief engineer on board, had sprained his wrist during the first week of the mission, lending you immediate purpose and validation. 

You make way for the second officer when he finally deigns to make an appearance, sliding quietly out of his seat and stepping to the back of the cockpit, back pressed to the wall closest to the door. 

“Morning, everyone,” he greets, peppier than the three of you despite his rumpled appearance. His thick mustache twitches with the force of his smile. “Ready to seize another day?”

“Jesus Christ, Keller, let’s tone it down ‘til about ten o’clock, alright?” Graves sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.  

“Our clocks are off, commander,” Alex jokes, coming over to give him a little shake by the shoulder. It would be insubordination from anyone else. “I’m about ready to eat lunch.” 

“Let’s just get through formation and then you can go fill up the bottomless pit you call a stomach.”

The morning briefing never takes up too much time. It’s as much of an excuse to have coffee together as it is to go through the day’s schedule. Graves spends most of the time reviewing the flight course, charting where the ship will be by day’s end. 

“Almost through the belt,” Alex remarks, staring down at the monitor in front of him. It’s an incomprehensible jumble when you try to peer over his shoulder, but he must be able to make sense of it. 

The crew had been on high alert since entering the torus-shaped region between Mars and Jupiter a month back. For the most part, they needn’t have been so on edge—the average distance of the asteroids in the circumstellar disc between the two planets tended to be quite substantial—but a collision the previous day had reinstated their earlier anxiety. 

“Can we switch from manual yet, Farah?” Graves asks from his seat at the helm of the ship. 

She shakes her head, lips tightening with frustration. “I still have to figure out what’s going on with cruise control—it’s not responding correctly.”

“Was that from that little ding the other day?” you ask, blurting out the question without thinking.

Farah’s expression is flat when she glances over at you. “That ‘little ding’ nearly took out our communications system altogether.” 

You wince at that, staring down at your feet instead. Better to just shut your mouth than make a fool of yourself. Had you not blurted out the question, you might have even surmised the nature of the situation given the comm specialist’s notable absence from the cockpit. 

When Nikolai eventually ambles in with a thermos of coffee and deep troughs under his eyes, Farah looks up and frowns. “Where’s Hadir?”

The man shrugs, nonplussed. “Cargo?” he grunts, rolling the toothpick between his teeth around the words. 

She sighs. “I’ll go find him.”

No one says anything when she leaves, the double doors sliding open and shut automatically at her approach, and she doesn’t bother saying goodbye. 

“Dismissed, I guess,” Graves sighs, collapsing into his chair and spinning around to face the stars proliferating in front of him. 

The informality digs at you sometimes because you know you can’t indulge in it. The times you’ve attempted to, you’ve been rebuffed. Sometimes unintentionally, but often to remind you of your place.

This isn’t a crew you’ve ever worked with before. From conversations you’ve overheard, you’ve gleaned that they’ve all worked together in different capacities before, years of familiarity breeding an easy trust and companionship between them. Two of them might even be lovers—though Farah maintains a neutral facade at all times, the same can’t be said for Alex, the man always hovering nearby, eyes going soft at the sight of her. 

You’re the only odd man out. The newcomer. And though you sit with them in the mess for meals and partake in conversation and pass jokes like small stones from hand to hand, you know deep down, in the dark well of your heart, that you are not one of them. You are a passenger that they picked up along the way. A straggler. 

This wasn’t supposed to be the case. When you signed on to the mission months ago, the circumstances were wholly different. A newer ship, a different crew, some of which you’d worked with before. Then ownership changed hands and budgets were cut. Slashed to ribbons even. You had a chance to tour the ship before the launch date, and even down on Earth with all the glitz and glam available to trick the eye, you hadn’t been convinced of the vessel’s ability to withstand the extreme conditions of space.  

But by then, you were locked into a contract so iron-clad that the consequences of breaking it seemed worse than simply seeing the mission through. 

Most days, you feel like you’re waiting for something to give. You pass through halls that echo with low creaks and a deep, rhythmic thrum. Sometimes the walls of the ship groan so loud that you wait with baited breath for the hull to implode around you, to feel the metal crush the delicate eggshell of your body beneath its weight. 

It’s not any better to just stay in your room, your quarters too cramped to nurture anything other than claustrophobia. A recent, unfortunate side effect of spending months on such a small ship. You’ve become accustomed to crews numbering in the tens and hundreds, ships so colossal in size that even months spent aboard weren’t enough to explore all of its nooks and crannies. Cargo holds with excavators and backhoes for excavations on Mars and humvees for getting around the rough terrain. 

This ship barely holds six people and the payload you’ve been hauling to Europa. Pipes hiss in the corridors. Once a week, the radiator splutters or the intercom overhead crackles, kicking your heart into hyperdrive. 

You leave formation more out of sorts than ever. Vaguely aimless. With nothing to do, you grab breakfast in the galley and eat at the counter, too uncomfortable to venture over to the mess. Your days consist mainly of hovering around the ship or sitting quietly in the medbay, waiting for something to happen. A morbid preoccupation. 

The stairs clunk under your feet as you make your way down towards the medbay. You’ve long grown used to the sharp sound of your boots against the metal floor. 

Rationally, you know they don’t dislike you. You might even venture to say that you get along with the majority of them, particularly the chief engineer and Farah’s brother. The big man likes that it only takes a single drink to get you plastered, often howls with laughter when you stumble out of the mess after drinking with the crew, always the first to turn in for the night. Farah herself is only frosty because she works twice as hard as anyone else, burning the midnight oil on the regular. 

You swallow half-truths like stones to help settle your stomach. 

It doesn’t replace real companionship though; it approximates, but doesn’t quite replicate it. You feel its absence most acutely in the sidelong glances you sometimes get of real affection: Alex grazing his pinkie across Farah’s when he thinks no one is looking; Farah’s eyes softening at the sight of her brother; Graves and Nikolai reminiscing about something a decade past, hardly even aware of your presence in the room. 

It’s something you’ve endured before, but never for such an extended period of time. Prolonged isolation prickles at the mind, feathering the edges. It purples space; passes through the vents. The crew rarely goes on spacewalks (hardly any need for it), but sometimes you swear the ship’s oxygen has a faint sulfuric undertone, like rotten eggs. It permeates the air wherever you go. 

Someone knocks at the window just as you walk by.

You pause mid-sip, the mug raised to your lips and just pressing into your bottom lip, not yet tilted. 

“Hello,” you hear through the thick-paned glass, the voice muffled through the layers of glass and plastic partitions. “Could you let me in, please?”

Though your reflex is to look up, you don’t for some reason. The muscles in your neck stay locked instead. Shoulders stiff, weighed down by an unnatural force. 

The thing outside the ship knocks again. “Love? Can you hear me?”

Your head turns towards the porthole, the hand holding your mug drifting away from your mouth. It tips in your hand and a drop leaks down the side. Your lips tingle, almost numb. 

There’s a man outside the porthole, clear as day. He hovers outside the window, a hand raised in a friendly wave and full lips splitting to reveal perfect, white teeth when he smiles. He’s dressed in a spacesuit, no different than any of the crew on a spacewalk. Through the helmet, you can make out dark eyes and dimples. A close cropped beard.

It’s not a face you’ve ever seen before though. You think you might’ve remembered someone so handsome working on the ship with you.

Something needles inside of you though. A sickening feeling, like something you’ve forgotten but you desperately need to remember. 

“Hi there,” the man says, voice as charming as you’ve ever heard, so velvety rich that you feel the blood heat your cheeks. “Glad you were passing by. Mind letting me in?”

[drdemonprince]

At one point he was down in between my legs, fingering me, and he made a throwaway comment about probably being Autistic. 

I leaned back, trying to relish what pleasure I was getting. “Well, we can talk about that subject, if you like,” I said vaguely, not really wanting to bring my professional life into things. 

He kept working away at my body, kissing between my lips and thighs. “Oh I know who you are,” he said suddenly. “Your book changed my life. In a way, I guess this is me thanking you.” 

I made him exit my body and we went to the kitchen to hash it out. It turned out he was a big fan of many things I’d written. 

“I’ve seen you around the neighborhood many times,” he confessed. “But you posted online that you don’t like when people come up to you, and so I always decided to leave you alone.” 

He said, “Your book is the reason I got divorced, actually. My ex-husband was a therapist, and when I showed him your book and said I thought I might be Autistic, he didn’t believe me. We have been separated for a year.” 

He asked, “Did I just make this weird, telling you when I did that I was a fan?” I told him that if he’d said it sooner, I would have never fucked him at all. 

People never realize that when they approach me, what they are doing is dragging me into work. It doesn’t matter whether I was at breakfast, or an orgy. I was just some guy standing there, enjoying his beer, but now they have made me the known scholar and author. And sure, my job might be meaningful, but that doesn’t mean I like to work. 

I tell my friend that I no longer want to be a public figure, and that I am planning how to make it all end. She tells me, “You’ve got to do what is the best for you, even if it’s something that the rest of us wants and can’t imagine giving up.” 

I ask myself, did I want this? It would be more flattering to say I didn’t, and play the role of the hermetic author whose work developed its own life purely because it was so good. But that isn’t true. 

From the moment I got a Myspace account in high school, I was publishing essays about my political views. I serialized multiple novels on Tumblr, guerilla marketing them with giveaways and custom-made images until they hit the Kindle sales charts. I have made memes, tried starting viral trends, coined phrases, and given hundreds of hours’ worth of media interviews. I write prescriptive nonfiction, for Christ’s sake. Of course people seek guidance from me. I offer it up! 

I have been strategic about how I dress, and my video backdrops, and retaken clips of myself speaking over and over again until they sounded right. I’ve hosted debates with my most vicious critics while I’m in the shower, started public beef with creators who had larger accounts than I did, and rushed to my keyboard when upsetting news broke, because I alone was possessed of the most correct take on it.

I wanted this. I didn’t know what this was, this internet fame I was chasing, but I did all I could to make it mine. I thought that by writing so much, I would one day be able to escape myself, maybe really feel connected to other people. Instead it has meant never being able to stop thinking about myself: how I am seen, what I am working on, how it all fits together, what comes next. It has also meant being spoken about, theorized about, and criticized, and developing a firm exoskeleton of disdain between myself and the world. 

I believe now that that it is immoral for any person to be listened to by ninety thousand other people. Holding authority and status like that runs counter to my anarchic ideals. I am not more important or correct than anyone. I should not be trusted to tell people which commodities to buy, which companies not to support, what to read, what to think, what words to use, or how to conduct their lives. 

All the other animals know there is no one way that a creature “should” live. There is only the way that it does. The world has no consciousness, no beliefs. It cannot pass judgment. We only feel so watched and evaluated because we have covered the planet with so many millions of our eyes. But we can stop performing dignified human goodness at any moment. 

I think that celebrity is an evil, corrupting force that pits the human instinct for bonding against itself. Instead of appreciating the singing of our friends around the fire, we stream Chappell Roan until stalkers break into her house. Rather than playing card games together, we stan Twitch streamers, filling up their chats with highlighted messages until they acknowledge us. We long to be famous novelists because then we would have the social permission to write, and we don’t have the money or time to enjoy the activity on its own. 

I wrote about Chappell Roan, stalker stans, and how turning art into content creation ruins the work, and the creator's life. It's free to read in full (or have narrated to you by the app!) on Substack.

[hd-junglebook]

"Hey Sugar"

-said with rizz

Luke Hughes x F!Reader, Trevor Zegras x Reader (platonic)

Masterlist Link

a:n I had so much fun writing this, I'm literally already starting part 2 because I can't wait to get Lukes's story started. Young dad over here. This part is just a bunch of flirting, can you blame y/n?

Warnings: throuple jumpscare, angry ex girlfriends, flirting, alcohol, maybe cursing, suggestive flirting

Summary: The story begins with you at a party with your close group of friends. Simmering sexual tension crackles between you and Luke, building through flirtatious banter and charged dancing.

Word Count - 5450

Part 1

It was one of those classic house parties - the kind where the music thumped through the walls and the smell of stale beer and desperation hung thick in the air. You sidled through the crowd, dodging wandering hands and spilled drinks, scanning the familiar faces for your crew.

Finally, you spotted them crammed onto a sagging couch in the living room, laughing raucously at something one of them had said. Making your way over, you plonked down next to your best friend Jessica.

"Hey! You made it!" she shouted over the music, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Y/N, this is Luke. Luke, y/n."

You turned to find the source of the deep, gravelly chuckle beside you. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met Luke's - a pair of piercing brown pools that seemed to stare straight through you. A lopsided grin played at his full lips as he extended a hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said smoothly.

The party raged on around you - bodies gyrated to the rhythmic bass line, red plastic cups sloshed with cheap booze, and a thick hermetic heat radiated from the mass of people. But in that moment, the chaos seemed to fade away as you studied Luke's face, feeling your cheeks flush under his intense yet playful gaze.

You swallowed hard, Lady Gaga singing about love over the speakers suddenly feeling all too appropriate. "Likewise," you managed with a nervous laugh, taking his hand.

An electric jolt shot through you at the contact, his calloused palm rough against your skin. You quickly pulled away, hoping the dim lights concealed your reddening face.

And just like that, the spark was lit. As the night wore on, you and Luke traded increasingly outrageous jokes and stories, your friends looking on with delight at the undeniable chemistry.

The party blurred into a dizzying kaleidoscope - the acrid smoke burning your nostrils, the relentless thrum of music in your bones, and the warm press of bodies all around. Yet through it all, you remained hyper-aware of Luke's proximity, his rich laugh and musky scent enveloping you like a cozy blanket.

Every accidental touch, be it a graze of the arms or bump of the knees, set your skin tingling with electricity. The few times your hands brushed, it felt like an exposed live wire.

You could have sworn you saw his gaze linger a little too long whenever you tossed your head back in laughter, swiping away a rogue strand of sweat-damp hair from your flushed face.

"Oh my god, y/n, we need to grab you a drink - stat!" Your friend Maggy grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the couch area with a conspiratorial look. Jessica trailed behind, her perfectly arched brows raised knowingly.

You let them drag you into the chaos of the kitchen, dodging half-naked bodies and heaps of abandoned solo cups. Maggy was a force of nature - her wild crimson curls bouncing as she maneuvered the crowd with ease.

"Okay, spill!" she demanded once you reached the relative safety of the counter. Jessica busied herself fixing you a vodka cran, her slim fingers deftly working the sticky bottles.

Maggy smoothed her short ruffled dress over her curvy hips. "Don't tell me you've fallen for Hughes' charms already?"

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where this was headed. "It was just some harmless flirting, Mags. I can handle myself."

"That's what they all say..." she warned with a shake of her head, making her diamond studs dance. "I've heard the stories, y/n. That man is a bonafide panty-dropper."

Scoffing, you swiped the proffered drink from Jessica and took a defiant sip. "Well then it's a good thing I'm not wearing any panties tonight."

The three of you dissolved into raucous laughter, drawing annoyed looks from the nearby beer pong champions. Once you recovered, you fixed Maggy with a reassuring smile.

"Look, you know the last thing I need right now is another relationship. Nick and I just ended things. I'm simply enjoying the flirtatious banter, that's all."

Maggy held up her hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm just looking out for you, babe. We all know how charming Luke can be."

"Don't worry," Jessica chimed in with a wink. "Our girl can handle herself."

With that, you allowed them to whisk you back towards the living room, drink in hand. But you pulled up short at the sight of Luke engaged in a heated exchange with a beautiful, irate-looking woman.

"You've got to be kidding me, Luke!" the woman hissed, her face contorted in anger. "First you go radio silent for weeks, and now I find you here making moves on fresh meat?"

Luke? You shot a panicked look at your friends who seemed just as confused. Luke, however, appeared unfazed by the confrontation. A slight smirk played at the corner of his lips as he slowly looked the woman up and down.

"Relax, Amanda. You know how this works between us. We were over a long time ago," he stated coolly, taking a swig from a bottle of beer.

Amanda opened her mouth to retort, but seemed to notice your presence for the first time. Her icy glare landed on you as she sized you up with disdain.

You watched with a mixture of confusion and fascination as the gorgeous but venomous Amanda stormed away from Luke. Before you could even process what was happening, she was suddenly in your face, eyes blazing with contempt.

"Listen here, you little homewrecker," Amanda spat, jabbing a precisely manicured nail into your shoulder. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay far away from my man."

Your friends tensed beside you, but before they could intervene, Luke was there - placing himself squarely between you and the irate woman. Up close, you could see the taut muscles in his back and shoulders straining against the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

"That's enough, Amanda," he said firmly, fixing her with a stern look. "We're not together anymore, in case you missed the memo. Multiple times."

"Oh, I got the memo loud and clear!" she retorted, throwing her hands up dramatically. "Doesn't mean I'm just going to stand by while you sow your oats all over town!"

Luke rolled his eyes so hard, you thought they might stick that way. He opened his mouth to respond, but seemed to think better of continuing this ridiculous showdown in front of an audience.

"You know what?" you interjected, hands up in surrender. "I'm just gonna remove myself from this situation."

Luke's brow furrowed in protest, but Amanda cut him off with a derisive laugh. "Yeah, that would probably be best, sweetie."

With that parting shot, you spun on your heel and made a beeline for the kitchen, needing to put some distance between yourself and the unstable ex-couple.

Your head was still spinning from the strange confrontation as you grabbed a fresh drink and settled into a miraculously empty couch in the corner.

"Wild night, huh?"

You startled at the unexpected voice beside you. A gangly, bespectacled guy around your age offered an awkward grin, clearly having witnessed the whole Amanda meltdown.

"You could say that," you replied with a rueful chuckle, scooting over to make room for him. "I'm Y/N."

"Trevor," he said, sticking out a clammy hand to shake. "Didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just got the best dinner and a show."

You couldn't help but laugh at his self-deprecating humor, feeling yourself instantly relax in his affable presence. Trevor had a dopey, teddy bear quality about him that put you at ease.

"So is that your girlfriend then? The one trying to claw your eyes out?" he asked with an amused snicker.

"God no!" you replied quickly, perhaps a little too emphatically. "I seriously just met that guy tonight. The crazy ex is all his."

Trevor's eyes widened comically behind his thick frames. "No shit? Well damn, Y/N, you really don't waste any time stirring up drama."

"Hey, I'm an innocent bystander here!" you protested with a laugh, giving his arm a playful shove.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, clearly emboldened by your easygoing banter. The two of you slipped into a conversational groove, chatting and laughing like old friends as the party raged on around you. You found yourself regaling Trevor with tales of your romantic exploits, your tongue rapidly loosening thanks to the alcohol.

"So to sum it up," you said, words starting to slur ever so slightly, "I did not come here looking for any more drama or dick after that whole Nick debacle."

Trevor very nearly did a spit-take with his beer at your crude candor. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, sweetie, but it sounds like both drama and dick found you tonight!"

You threw your head back with a raucous cackle at that. Leave it to Trevor to cut right through the tension with well-timed crass humor. You were really starting to like this guy.

"You know what?" you said, looping your arm chummily through his. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Trev."

…

"Y/N! Get your cute butt over here!" Maggy's voice sliced through the din as she waved you over to the makeshift dance floor.

You shot Trevor an apologetic shrug before letting your friend drag you into the sweaty mass of bodies. Jessica was there too, her eyes shamelessly roving over Trevor's lanky frame as he trailed behind.

"We've been watching you two lovebirds canoodling in the corner all night," Maggy shouted over the thumping bassline, giving your shoulder a playful nudge.

"Somebody's jealous they're not the center of attention for once," you teased back with an impish grin.

Maggy's cherry-painted lips curved into a Cheshire smile. "Please, I'm an eternal attention hog. And FYI, your dorky friend is kinda doing it for me."

You followed her gaze to where Trevor was awkwardly bobbing his head to the beat, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He offered a small, lopsided smile when he caught you looking.

"Well what are you two harpies waiting for?" you challenged with a salacious wink. "Go get your man!"

With a raucous whoop, Maggy seized Jessica's hand and the two descended on the unsuspecting Trevor - a flurry of hair tosses, wiggling hips, and bright laughter. You watched the spectacle with unbridled amusement, letting the bass pump through your veins as you swayed your hips.

This was exactly what you needed - to let go and get gloriously lost in the music, surrounded by the frankly ridiculous antics of your nearest and dearest. You threw your head back, shutting out everything but the driving rhythm.

That's when you felt it - a solid chest pressing against your back, large hands skimming over your hips to settle at your waistline. You turned with a start to find Luke's heavily lidded eyes staring down at you, a rakish grin playing at his lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he murmured, words barely audible over the pounding speakers.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he simply shook his head and leaned in closer, his mouth a whisper from your ear.

"I didn't mean for Amanda to make such a scene back there," Luke said, his breath hot against your neck. "I didn't even invite her here, but...she always finds a way. It's..."

You turned slightly so your lips were nearly brushing his chiseled jaw as you finished the thought: "Complicated?"

A low chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest as Luke nodded almost imperceptibly. "Exactly. Complicated."

One of his hands trailed up the curve of your waist, leaving a searing trail in its wake until it came to rest at the nape of your neck. You shivered at the contact, equal parts electrified and apprehensive.

"What do you say we get out of here?" he purred, dipping his head so your noses were virtually touching.

You wanted so badly to give in - to lose yourself in those smoldering brown depths and see where this tempestuous night took you. But the memory of Amanda's feral snarl flashed behind your eyes, quickly snapping you back to reality.

"I...I can't," you managed to rasp, hating the way your voice trembled with longing. "I can’t leave my friends. They might rip Trevor to shreds if they’re not supervised."

Luke's eyes searched yours for a beat, likely trying to gauge your sincerity. You could practically see the thoughts churning behind those blazing irises as he processed your hesitation. After a weighted pause, his expression softened into something like resigned understanding.

"You're worried about leaving those knuckleheads unsupervised, huh?" he murmured, one side of those obscene lips quirking faintly.

Though Luke aimed for a teasing lilt, you caught the undercurrent of knowing behind his words. He understood, perhaps better than anyone, the tangled responsibility you felt towards maintaining harmony within your dysfunctional found family.

Swallowing hard, you gave a tight nod - hating how your throat still felt obstructed by the press of yearning. "Something like that, yeah.”

Rather than argue or attempt to sway you, Luke simply held your gaze for another few suspended heartbeats. You waited with bated breath, half-expecting him to withdraw his heated proposition completely in favor of rejoining the main fray.

To your surprise, however, the pad of his thumb began tracing idle circles against the jut of your hipbone - calloused whorls raising delicious frissons across your sensitized skin.

…

The thunderous bass line reverberated through your bones as you swayed absently, still dazed from Luke's heated proposition. You were so lost in the lingering tingle of his phantom touch that you didn't notice your friends closing in until they were right on top of you.

"Earth to Y/N!" Maggy's raucous laughter pierced your stupor as she looped an arm around your shoulders. "Where'd you just go, girl? We've been watching you make heart eyes at McDreamy over there."

You blinked rapidly, struggling to refocus on Maggy's mischievous grin with Trevor and Jessica flanking her. The three of them looked like the cat that ate the canary as they not-so-subtly craned their necks toward Luke.

"I wasn't...we weren't..." you fumbled lamely, feeling heat bloom across your cheeks.

"Oh save it, we all saw that heavy flirtation!" Jessica crowed with a wiggle of her sculpted brows.

Trevor chuckled good-naturedly, giving your arm a consoling pat. "Hey, no judgment here, Y/N. I'd be a stuttering mess too if I had a stud like that whispering sweet nothings in my ear."

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, but couldn't quite suppress the giddy smile tugging at your lips. Leave it to your cadre of derelict besties to drag you out of an emotional spiral.

With a groan of mock exasperation, you shoved at Trevor's shoulder. "You're all ridiculous, you know that?"

"And you loooove us for it!" Maggy sang out as the first few lines of "Sandstorm" began thumping from the speakers.

She immediately launched into an embarrassingly enthusiastic dance routine, throwing shapes with reckless abandon. Trevor and Jessica were quick to join the absurdity, shouting the iconic intro at the top of their lungs while thrashing about uncoordinatedly.

"Oh my god, you idiots..." you huffed through a peal of laughter, shaking your head at their antics.

It was then that you noticed Luke watching the scene with undisguised amusement - a lopsided smirk playing at his lips as he clutched a beer loosely in one hand. His gaze met yours over the bouncing heads, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Suddenly, Maggy seized your wrists and yanked you into the fray with surprising strength. You stumbled clumsily into the center of their ridiculous mosh pit, nearly toppling Jessica in the process.

"Y/N! Get in here and get LOW!" Maggy hollered over the thunderous refrain, demonstrating a particularly lascivious body roll.

You couldn't help but cackle at the sheer silliness of it all - these beautiful disasters grinding outrageously as the bass threatened to shake the walls down around you. Even Luke was chuckling now, biting his full lower lip in an utterly delectable way.

"Like this?" you shouted back with a wink, dropping into as crude a dance as you could muster.

That sent your friends into a fresh gale of howls and wolf whistles, cheering you on like it was a damn Olympic sport. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Luke's intense stare tracking every roll and pop of your hips. The heated look in his eyes sent a delicious curl of desire unfurling low in your belly.

Before you could dwell too much on the implications, Jessica grabbed your arm and spun you around - purposefully flinging you in Luke's direction. You landed square against his solid chest with a tiny "oomph!", totally disoriented from the dizzying maneuver.

Large hands immediately bracketed your waist, steadying you as Luke threw his head back with a rich peal of laughter. You could feel the rumbling vibrato against your back as he tugged you more solidly against him.

"Careful there, sugar," Luke's gravelly timbre purred in your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive shell. "As much as I'm enjoying this dance routine, I'd hate for you to injure yourself on my watch."

You bit back a soft whimper at the feeling of his firm torso pressed against you, the scent of his sandalwood cologne utterly intoxicating. With your drunken bravado bolstered by your friends' raucous cheering, you leaned further back into his embrace.

"I don't know, big guy," you countered with a saucy grin over your shoulder. "I think you could handle me just fine."

Luke's eyes blazed at the obvious flirtation, his arms tightening fractionally around your middle. You could have sworn you felt his hips cant subtly against yours in time with the grinding bassline.

This charged dance continued for what felt like an eternity - your friends whooping and hollering in delight as you and Luke traded searing looks and teasing quips.

At one point, his hands drifted tantalizingly low on your hips, fingers splaying possessively. You retaliated by arching your back in a slow, filthy body roll that had his eyes darkening with naked want.

Just when you thought the tension might combust into something more, the song mercifully ended - leaving you both panting heavily with lingering desire. Trevor was the first to recover, clapping Luke heartily on the shoulder.

"Damn son, get a room why don't you?" he joked with a lopsided grin.

Luke merely chuckled darkly, finally releasing you from his iron grip so you could put some much-needed space between your overheated bodies. "Maybe next time, Trev," he shot back with a wink.

You busied yourself straightening your disheveled clothes, decidedly avoiding his molten gaze. But you couldn't deny the delicious new tension sparking between you.

"Hey, uh, not that this hasn't been a total blast and all..." Trevor piped up once you'd fully disengaged. "But I don't know about you hedonists, but I'm starving. Who wants to grab some late-night munchies?"

A raucous cheer went up from your breathless crew, with Maggy and Jessica readily agreeing. You opened your mouth to voice your assent when Luke cocked an inquisitive brow in your direction.

"You in, sugar?" His voice was midnight sin - rough and dripping with unspoken promises.

Something low in your abdomen clenched at the pet name, now inextricably linked to his heated stare and probing touch. Maybe it was the alcohol buzz, or residual adrenaline from your shameless grinding, but you found yourself nodding almost shyly.

Luke's answering grin was pure, predatory satisfaction. "Perfect. I know just the place."

…

The five of you made your way toward the exit with a chorus of giddy laughter, still riding the high of your dance-fueled flirtation. As you stepped out into the cool spring air, Luke fell into step beside you - though he kept a carefully measured distance between your bodies.

"I'm parked just up here," he said by way of explanation, gesturing vaguely down the darkened residential street. "That is, if you kids don't mind piling into my douchemobile?"

The teasing lilt in his tone made you huff out a laugh, still giddy with lingering adrenaline. "Only if you stop calling it that immediately and forever."

Luke threw you a rakish wink over the sloping muscles of his shoulder. "Whatever you want, love."

Trevor, Jess and Maggy trailed a few paces behind, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. You caught Maggy's pointed look in your direction and offered her a warning glare - though you were sure your flushed cheeks gave you away.

Sure enough, Luke's rumbling chuckle confirmed he'd borne witness to the silent exchange. The streetlamps cast his chiseled features in a warm amber glow as he slanted you an amused look. "I have a feeling I'm about to be interrogated by your overprotective friends, huh?"

You nibbled your lower lip self-consciously, considering your response. There was an undeniable spark between you - one that had been stoked higher with every heated look and lingering caress. The real question was whether you were brave enough to fan those flames further or risk getting burned.

Steeling yourself, you lifted your chin to meet his piercing brown stare head on. "Maybe. But I kind of like to make people sweat a little."

The remark clearly took Luke by surprise if his arched brow was any indication. But it was fleeting - that roguish half-grin quickly stretching across his kiss-stung lips.

"Is that so?" he rumbled in a tone that could only be described as molten sin. "Game on then, gorgeous."

You held his fiery gaze for a beat, letting the exhilarating tension build between you like a livewire. Only when the rest of the crew caught up did you finally tear your eyes away, turning to lead the group toward Luke's parked car.

The quiet streets seemed to amplify every sound - the crunch of loose gravel underfoot, the peal of distant laughter, your thundering pulse in your ears. You drew a steadying breath into your aching lungs, trying to center yourself amidst the storm of giddy adrenaline.

When you finally reached Luke's sleek black Mustang, he turned to the group with an almost apologetic quirk of his brow.

"She's not the roomiest ride, but we can make it work," he said, clicking the keyless remote to unlock the doors.

Jessica immediately scrambled into the front passenger seat with Maggy and Trevor piling into the backseat, leaving you and Luke to bring up the rear. He held the driver's door open in an exaggerated show of chivalry, one side of that delicious smirk quirking higher.

"After you, gorgeous."

You rolled your eyes at the pageantry, but couldn't resist shooting him a playful grin as you slid into the buttery leather interior. Luke followed close behind, the hot brand of his body heat prickling at your hyper-aware senses.

Once he'd maneuvered his large frame behind the wheel, he flashed you a Look from beneath those obscenely thick lashes. "You good?"

The simple question seemed layered with unspoken subtext, like he was silently gauging if you were ready to continue down this path of escalating tension and blatant flirtation. Were you?

You could have backed down, downshifted the energy into something more innocent and casual. But the memory of his firm hands on your hips, the hot scorch of his stare...your mind was made up.

"I'm good," you murmured back, holding his gaze unblinkingly as his eyes ignited with fresh interest. "Just tell me where to put my hands."

A muscle ticked in Luke's tensed jaw at the brazen double entendre, his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. You could practically see the war raging behind his blazing eyes - restraint battling with base desire.

Finally, he seemed to reign himself in with a huff of startled laughter, raking a broad hand through his tumbled curls. "Jesus, Y/N...I'm gonna have my work cut out for me with you."

The delicious promise in his gravelly timbre had your pulse kicking up another few notches. You wet your lips unconsciously, unable to tear your eyes from the searing heat of his stare.

"I'd apologize," you said, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere around breathless, "but I don't think either of us would mean it."

Perhaps it was the alcohol in your system, or the lingering high of the party thrumming through your veins. Whatever the reason, you were powerless to halt the breakneck freight train of flirtation between you two. And judging by Luke's molten countenance, the feeling was entirely mutual.

"Don't you worry, gorgeous," he rumbled, one side of those obscene lips quirking dangerously. "This is going to be fun."

With that tantalizing promise lingering like a heady cloud around you both, Luke finally started the ignition. The rumbling growl of the Mustang's engine was like a physical force pulsing through the car as you tore off into the night - laughing and shouting along with your friends.

The revelry continued as you wound through the darkened streets - one outrageous story segueing into another, punctuated only by riotous bouts of laughter. Maggy, as ever, was in rare form - dramatically reenacting an ill-advised tale involving a Thanksgiving turkey and far too much tequila.

Even Luke was in stitches by the end, so enraptured by the ridiculous saga that he swerved slightly on a tight curve. You cried out in surprise, bracing yourself instinctively against the solidness of his bicep. At your squawk, his gaze swung toward you - heavy-lidded and sparking with remnants of mirth.

"You alright, gorgeous?" he rumbled, that infuriatingly charming lopsided smirk back in place.

You aimed a petulant glare his way, but couldn't quite bite back an answering grin of your own. "Eyes on the road, hotshot. I'd like to make it to this mystery food destination in one piece."

Luke threw you a lazy wink, as if reading the lack of any genuine heat behind your words. "Don't worry, I've got great hands."

Your breath caught at the pointed innuendo as Jessica let out a scandalized gasp from the front seat - apparently eavesdropping on your hushed flirtation.

"Oh my GOD!" she crowed with delight, whipping around to face you with shining eyes. "You two are too much! When's the wedding?"

"I'm asking for a plus one," Maggy piped up from behind you with an audible smirk.

Leveling the both of them with a long-suffering look, you simply shook your head and settled deeper into the plush leather interior. Out of your peripheral vision, you caught Luke's answering eye roll - one corner of that lascivious mouth tugging higher.

...

For a while after, the inside of the growling Mustang lapsed into a companionable quiet. Your heart still hammered a staccato rhythm against your ribs, fueled by the lingering adrenaline and the heated promise in Luke's flinty stare.

Now that you were alone with him - temporarily freed from the raucous peanut gallery - the tension hummed between you like a livewire.

You felt him shift almost imperceptibly closer to you, the delicious warmth of his solid body ghosting along your side as he navigated the winding back roads.

He held the wheel in one large hand, his other arm draped casually along the center console - close enough for you to count the fine golden hairs dusting those corded forearms.

It would have been so easy then - to traverse that scant distance separating your bodies and slide your palm over his, to lace your fingers through his and seal this casual flirtation into something more. But you refrained, cognizant of your friends' continued presence just a breath away.

Still, you couldn't deny the delicious tension sparking between you and Luke. Nor could you ignore the way your body hummed in attuned response to his proximity, every molecule attuned to drinking him in.

A heavy silence had fallen over the car's occupants - the only sound the occasional burst of laughter from those in the backseat, quickly smothered under mutual hushing. Luke appeared singularly focused on the dark ribbon of road whipping by, his chiseled jaw tight and flickering in the intermittent glow of passing streetlamps.

Just when you thought the hot tension might calcify into something unbearable, he cleared his throat subtly. You startled at the quiet rasp, inclining your head slightly in acknowledgment as he slanted you a weighted look.

"So...Maggy seems delightful," Luke murmured dryly after a beat, their low timber thrumming through you. "Among other things."

You couldn't quite stifle the snort of laughter that bubbled up at his tactful observation. "That's one way to put it. Though I'd add 'loyal to a fault' in there too."

"Ah, so the protective smokescreen is merely for my benefit then?" he surmised with a sidelong glance, the barest quirk playing at those obscene lips. "Should I be insulted?"

Huffing out a rueful laugh, you shifted minutely closer to him - near enough to catch the cedar and smoke notes wafting from the open vee of his shirt.

"Definitely not," you assured him in a lowered tone, keeping your words confined to the intimate pocket between you. "If anything, you should feel fortunate. They don't extend that...dedicated brand of harassment to just anyone."

Luke seemed to digest this as he guided the Mustang around another tight bend, his jaw tensing almost imperceptibly before easing into an indulgent grin.

"Lucky me then," he rumbled after a beat, shooting you a Look from beneath those ridiculous lashes. "Should I be bracing myself for an interrogation?"

The sultry backnote in Luke's words hung heavy between you as the Mustang's growl filled the weighted silence. You were hyper-aware of each whisper of movement from him - every subtle flex of those chiseled forearms as he gripped the wheel, the shifting of corded muscle in his thighs as he worked the pedals.

It was enough to make your mouth go dry with longing.

You worried your lower lip, struggling to keep your thundering pulse in check as you murmured your response. "Well, if their interrogation tactics are anything like their dance moves, you'd better buckle up, Hughes."

The rich ramble of Luke's laughter seemed to reverberate through your very bones at the rejoinder. You stole a glance at the hard line of his smiling profile, bathed in the warm amber glow of the passing streetlamps.

"Is that a promise, gorgeous?" he countered without missing a beat, slanting you a Look from beneath those ridiculous lashes.

You held his molten stare for a heated heartbeat, caught like a moth in that blazing glare. Did he have any idea what he did to you with that stupid pet name and the sinful rasp of his voice? Probably, if the blatant flirtiness was any indication.

Before you could formulate a suitable retort, the sudden assault of bright neon lights up ahead shattered the electric tension. You blinked rapidly, struggling to read the flickering signs as Luke slowed the Mustang.

"This is the place," he explained as he smoothly guided the car into the near-empty parking lot. "Open 24 hours and right on the beach."

As he killed the engine, the overhead dome light bathed the car's interior in a warm halo of illumination. From this angle, you could make out the sharp planes of Luke's striking profile - that aristocratic nose, the razor cut of his stubbled jaw, and the artful sprawl of those ridiculous curls.

Good lord, the man was distractingly beautiful.

Any further appreciation was curtailed as the trio banged against the seat in a noisy clatter. You and Luke relented, pulling up the seats to free them. Maggy and Trevor came tumbling out in a gangly, graceless heap - seemingly having partaken in too much backseat horseplay if their breathless giggling was any indication.

"About time!" Maggy crowed dramatically once she'd righted herself. "I thought we'd be cruising the streets all night before Sir Lancelot here found a suitable dining establishment."

One dark brow arched elegantly over Luke's hooded eyes as he slanted her an imperious look. "I beg your pardon? This place is a fucking culinary treasure."

Jessica snickered indelicately, clearly gearing up to instigate whatever fresh hell was brewing. However, you opted to defuse the situation before it could fully detonate.

"Shall we, troops? I don't know about you animals, but I'm starving after all that..."dancing.""

The loaded pause and meaningful look you threw Luke didn't go unnoticed if his answering smirk was any indication. Egalitarian as ever, he merely chuckled and nodded towards the brightly-lit takeout counter in the distance.

"Lead the way, gorgeous."

…

Tag List <3

empty lol

[marshymeds]

About your idea "AU in which He Xuan believes Shi Qingxuan is dead, does not handle it well, and Paradise Manor has a mysterious new employee. Hua Cheng is losing his mind" Can you tell us more about it?

Absolutely. I’m simplifying a lot here, but essentially, this takes place several years post canon. Shi Qingxuan finds himself in a situation where he has to fend off a yao from some street kids, and he gets injured. Mortal or not, he has his convictions, and he would do his best to protect some innocent disadvantaged children. An injury was worth it, though it might’ve been a little more serious than he would have liked.

Somehow this ends up with everyone believing he died, and he’s not complaining! Sure, his friends are mourning, but it was going to happen at some point anyway right? At least this way Black Water, who he’s recently discovered is almost definitely stalking him, will get off his tail! He can live out the rest of his somewhat miserable but respectable life in peace and no threat of a bloodthirsty ghost king hanging over his head.

Only, he probably needs to hide out a bit, and he definitely needs to deal with this injury. He Xuan was notoriously hermetic, he definitely wouldn’t be in Ghost City—that was Hua Cheng’s territory! He’d just show up at Puqi Shrine, ask for help and beg Xie Lian to swear to secrecy and a good disguise, and he’d be off. Xie Lian nearly has a heart attack, but really he shouldn’t be too surprised at this point. He really doesn’t think this is such a great idea, but the former Wind Master seems very sure of it and he can’t bring himself to deny his friend in such a state. He agrees to take him to Ghost City and find him somewhere to stay.

Hua Cheng sees through it immediately of course. The only reason he doesn’t tell He Xuan right away is because Xie Lian asked him to respect Shi Qingxuan’s wishes, though he didn’t feel too great about it either. The next best thing was to give him a ‘job’ in Paradise Manor, and hope things would resolve in time. Yin Yu gets saddled with a new assistant he doesn’t want. Because, of course, He Xuan is in Ghost City. He’d been growing weaker, snd Hua Cheng and Yin Yu had gone through quite a bit of work to convince him not to just run off and close himself up on his island.

Shi Qingxuan revises his plan a bit in the hopes that he could—in pretending to be someone else—learn more about He Xuan. That was something that haunted him about their final interactions. He’d called for the wrong person, and he’d never gotten a chance to even learn who his best friend really was. Maybe now he had a chance to. He’d just help Yin Yu take care of him and slowly try to earn his trust again.

Only, He Xuan wasn’t just weak. He was dispersing. His final reason for remaining in this world had died, and there was nothing holding him there anymore but regrets he had no hope of mending anymore.

Tldr; Shi Qingxuan becomes a glorified hospice nurse to a ghost king who is far too happy to leave this world while desperately trying to find some way to keep him there. Lots of ghost trio content, lots of angst and lots of sickfic cliche moments ft both sides of beefleaf (dont forget that injury sqx had).

[astrosky33]

LOTS IN ASTROLOGY

✧. ┊I’ve already discussed the hermetic lots on my page but there’s actually over 100 other different lots that you can get deeper insight on

✧. ┊You have to manually change the lot formula to view these though! The examples I’m showing are only a few of them but there’s many more

✧. ┊Search “astro seek arabic lots” and click on the first link you see. I prefer using Whole Signs and Modern Astrology but you can use Traditional Astrology and another house system if you prefer

Lot Formulas

[Lot of Fame/Wisdom] Ascendant - Jupiter - Sun

• Having this lot placed in the 1st/10th house or in the signs Leo/Pisces can be a big indication of fame

• Having this in the 3rd/9th/11th house or in Virgo/Gemini/Sagittarius/Aquarius can indicate wisdom

[Lot of Career] Ascendant - MC - MC Ruler

• In Gemini can indicate a career involving cars (and other ground transportations), social media, literature/writing, phones, speaking/communication, and/or teaching

• In the 1st house can indicate being a leader in your career or being known for your beauty in your career. Possibly that your career involves using your mannerisms and enthusiasm

[Lot of Influence] Ascendant - Saturn - Moon

• Having this placed in the 1st/3rd/11th house or in the signs Gemini/Aquarius/Leo can indicate having a lot of influence on people or being a social media influencer

• At 28° it can indicate making lots of money from influencing others in some way

[Lot of Charm] Ascendant - Moon - Mercury

• In the 1st/7th/10th house can indicate lots of people perceive you as very charming. In the 10th house it can indicate being known or famous for your charm

© 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[frownyalfred]

I read all of your posts about Bruce’s food habits just now and now I’m plagued with the thought of various Robins being trapped in the hermetically sealed Batmobile while B farts out noxious fumes because of his protein fueled nightmare drinks and fibrous vegetable intake. Save them.

I’m going to be the unbearable “well actually” person here for a sec — usually you only get those awful awful farts when your digestive system isn’t used to the huge ramp up in protein/fiber or the type of foods you’re eating. Anyone who switches from a highly processed diet to less processed foods with more fiber (beans, greens, etc) will have TERRIBLE farts for a few weeks…but it actually does get better!

It’s much more likely one of the Batkids tries to emulate Bruce’s horrible, restrictive diet and causes themselves gut agony for a few weeks. A lot of gut science stuff is kinda woo woo…but some of it is true, and if you switch up too quickly/too much, your gut flora will punish you with stinky, world ending farts nonstop (until you body gets used to your new diet of course).

TL;DR: Bruce farted his way through his LoA training days and now his kids pay the ultimate price whenever they try to emulate his diet

[gladstones-corner]

On Tarot Reading Methods

Recently, I’ve seen some posts regarding how tarot “should” be read—especially for beginners. I want to clear the air: I find such posts reductive and limiting. There is no wrong answer for reading tarot. Some prefer larger spreads to read patterns and trends; other prefer smaller spreads to be more intimate with each card.

While this blog typically covers forging your own path from an intermediate to advanced standpoint, it’s worth revisiting the basics with a trained eye from time to time. So, this post will examine two competing approaches towards tarot: the card based and pattern based methods.

Before anything else, I want to say one more thing. These approaches form two ends of a spectrum. When beginners start reading tarot, they typically pick one of two camps. After some time, though, readers should move towards the center of the spectrum until they find their particular balance.

Therefore, this post does not claim that one is better than the other—it is simply a comparison of methods. Choosing one happens at your discretion.

One last note before we get started: this commentary applies primarily to the following tarot decks and their major derivatives:

Golden Dawn Ritual Tarot

Thoth Tarot

Hermetic Tarot

Builders of the Adytum Tarot

Rider Waite Smith Tarot

Decks such as The Wildwood Tarot, which are based on their own system of correspondences, should have at least a surface level interpretation of them in the accompanying handbook. From there, you can apply some of this commentary—but primarily I’ll be speaking from within my tradition in this post.

Okay, with all that out of the way, let’s get started.

Card Based Reading

In this method, the querent asks their question, then looks at each card in isolation before comparing the picture as a whole. Many who do this believe that each card’s depth offers a full answer on its own. This can be a convincing argument, given how many associations a single card can have:

Visual description

Motifs

General interpretation

Specific interpretation (consciousness, relationships, etc.)

Associated archetypes

Numbers

Correlations to other divination systems

Astrological correspondences

Deities and mythologies

Honored days

Stones, herbs, and natural phenomena

And so forth.

Of course, the drawback is that it is easy to get lost in all the interpretations and leave with more questions than answers. However deep you reach, there are still deeper layers. For example, Scorpio’s appearance in the Death card of the Thoth tarot comes with a slew of its own correspondences, which have their own correspondences, and so forth. As a result, those who begin with the card based method tend to favor smaller card spreads, such as single daily pulls and three-card spreads.

Pattern Based Method

Querents in this method ask their question, then rely on the relationship of the cards as a whole as opposed to the deeper meanings of each individual card. Proponents tend to argue that tarot is a fluid act with a flow to it, and as such nothing can be read in a vacuum. This can also be a convincing argument, as it encourages readers to see the forest through the trees for a more complete textual analysis.

However, in focusing on comparison between cards, you can lose some of the deeper meaning. For example, unless multiple cards have astrological symbolism (e.g. Death’s Scorpio and Lust’s Leo), it’s easy to forgo the astrological correspondences of any single card. Thus, deeper layers of connection can go undiscovered. As a result, those who begin with the pattern based method tend to favor larger spreads, such as three-card daily pulls and variations of the Celtic Cross.

Comparing the Two Methods

As previously stated, starting with either of the methods is a matter of personal preference, so long as it doesn’t limit you. Note that three-card spreads are popular among both methods; try reading the same three-card spread with both methods and see which you like more.

Let’s take a look at an example: a three-card spread could be composed of a Body card, Mind card, and Spirit card. Each one explains a facet of the Self that we should be aware of for the proceeding week. Using the Thoth tarot, we get the following:

Body: VIII – Adjustment

Mind: XIV – Art

Spirit: 0 – The Fool

In the single card method, we look at how Adjustment affects our Body, how Art affects our Mind, and how The Fool affects our Spirit. We may find commonalities as a byproduct, but in essence the single question “what do I need to be aware of” has yielded three distinct answers.

We flip through our favorite interpretation book (in my case, The Crowley Tarot by Akron and Hajo Banzhaf) and find all the deep symbolism in each answer. For brevity’s sake, let’s summarize:

Body: take better care of the body through disciplined nutrition, exercise, and sleep.

Mind: find balance of the mind by facing cognitive dissonance and overcoming it.

Spirit: approach life with a sense of newness and openness.

Should we use the pattern based method, we look at all three cards at once. We examine colors, common imagery, even numerical similarity—nothing is off the table. A quick glance at our favorite interpretation book gives us the surface meanings, but beyond that we rely entirely on the imagery present. For brevity’s sake, let’s summarize here as well:

The Self needs a balance of openness and discipline to fully find peace. Where the Body revels in patterns and structure, the Spirit revels in freedom. In the Mind these come together and cause stress. To overcome it, allow both their space.

Either method will net the same broad strokes; the difference is the road taken to get there.

Finding Balance Between the Two

So far, we’ve discussed the merits and drawbacks of each method. We also looked at a sample reading and how to apply each method. That’s all well and good, but how do we find a balance between the two?

The answer is that it depends on your preferences and access to the wider world of correspondences beyond those in your interpretation book. Typically, the answer also depends on the context of the reading as well. I sometimes use a modified spread from The Psychonaut’s Field Manual by Archtraitor Bluefluke. It looks like this:

The core of the question

What could help

What could hinder

The catalyst to the situation

Possible Outcome 1

Possible Outcome 2

Possible Outcome 3

Cards 1-4 use the pattern based method. This allows me to see the trajectory of the situation and how the different factors interact with each other. However, cards 5-7 use the card based method. This is because each outcome is distinct, so to view them concurrently makes little sense.

The main point is to find a balance that works for you. The sheer amount of correspondences for the tarot is so vast that you can play to your strengths. In keeping with the theme of the post, if you’re an astrologer, you can leverage your knowledge of astrological correspondences.

Conclusion

Thank you for reading. I want to stress one more time that neither method is superior to the other. Both are equally valid; both are equally necessary to a full-fledged reading. Finding your particular balance is going to take time and practice, but it’s well worth it.

Until next time, stay safe and stay tuned. Blessed be.

[ninibeingdelulu]

— headcanons ft. sae itoshi

The way Sae's granite facade always seems to soften infinitesimally whenever he catches your joyful smile aimed in his direction, those heavy azure-lidded eyes crinkling at the corners.

How Sae allows no one else to breach the hermetically-sealed sphere of his towering personal space beyond you. Even brushing past teammates in the locker room earns a snarled warning - yet he welcomes your lithe warmth pressed flush against his side without complaint.

His low, smoky baritone emerging slightly less granite-edged when murmuring hushed asides meant only for your ears amid roiling chaos. An anchoring tether of gruff reassurance amidst overwhelming bedlam.

The nearly imperceptible furrow currently marring that impassive marble mask whenever Sae perceives ANY perceived threat or insult being leveled your way, no matter how infinitesimal. Celestial irises narrowing to icy laser points as broad shoulders roll back in preparation.

How Sae always makes certain to situate himself protectively at your back without a single word needing to be spoken - a silent, ever-vigilant sentry fending off any malignant forces daring to breach his sphere.

And in private...oh, how that indomitable icy veneer shatters into sublime ruin under the merciless siege of your coveting intimacy. Your plush slick caresses and lush whispered endearments alone can unravel the great Sae Itoshi into a quivering, mewling supplicant worshipping at the altar of your divine body.

Because for all his brutally feral talent manifesting on the pitch, Sae cherishes you as the sole wellspring of softness and tenderness preserving the fragile humanity dwelling in his calloused heart. You alone grant him permission to be rendered open, vulnerable, defenseless before your grace.

Sae covets the soothing radiance of your all-encompassing warmth easing the profound chill always lurking over his existence. Adores how your laughter weaves ribbons of sunlight into that bleakly monochrome reality. Hungers for the wholehearted acceptance welcoming him just as he remains behind shuttered walls: surly and uncompromising yet irrevocably yours in entirety.

[druidwolf21]

If it's not too much trouble can you write some wild warp sex with Magnus with a fem reader? Go balls to the wall with how crazy it gets.

Hey anon! Thank you so much for your ask!

Free reign for crazy sexy time with the OG magic man???

Yes please

Sorry this took so long hope you enjoy!

CW: dubious consent through lies, but NO forced stuff. Little bit of butt stuff, smut smut smut, brief mention of gore

@beckyninja @lemon-russ @moodymisty @kit-williams @jaghatai-khock @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond

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This isn't happening

This cannot be happening

You cried out in fear, siren screams echoed through the metal halls and red flashes of spinning alarms streaked your world with splatters of scarlet light as you stumbled down the corridor. Another shudder wracked the ship and you stumbled, skidding along the floor before crashing into the cold walls. Boots stormed past you and rough hands hauled you to your feet before sprinting away.

"warp drive fail, time until impact: T minus 2 minutes"

The cold voice, barely audible over the screams and thunder of movement softly counted down the time. Stunned, everything around you seemed to slow down. The faces of soldiers and crew, sprinting towards the evac bay, faces curled in fear and teeth clenched seemed fuzzy as they passed by, everything was muted and your heart hammered in your chest, filling your ears with the thunder of your blood roaring around your body with adrenaline. You snapped back to reality as a serf barrels past you, slamming you back into the wall as they fled the carnage.

Shaking your head you glanced around. The main bulk of the crew continued fleeing towards the hanger in an attempt to reach the evac pods. But they were finite, and you already knew your chances were slim at best, no, you had to find something else. Sprinting against the swell of bodies you pushed your way towards the armoury. Dragging yourself through the fear and trampling mass you stretched for the door, grasping the handle with white knuckles you heaved yourself inside, slamming the emergency lock button by the door before sliding down the alloyed surface.

You pulled your knees to your chest and pressed your forehead down, cupping your neck with interlaced cold hands as you listened to the gentle hiss as the doors hermetic locks sealed shut. Nothing in or out. Taking a deep breath you unlaced your hands and wrapped yourself around a exhaust pipe, clinging like your life depended on it as the tiny voice crackled through the speaker.

3

2

1

You screamed as the room crashed around you, guns, shells and munitions flew around you in a storm of metal as the ship impacted something. The screech of crushing metal and groan of collapsing iron surrounded you as you grit your teeth. Your arms burned from labour as you clutched the piping with desperation, your ribs sore from bouncing on the steel door and wall as the vessel was slowly ground into oblivion. Your head cracked against the wall and the world went dark and silent.

You awoke with a throbbing head and aches from so much of your body you couldn't tell what was what. You groaned and attempted to stand, before doubling over as pain and nausea swept over you.

"holy crap I'm alive" you whispered, staring at the scattering of metal rounds and clips as the sickness finally passed. You slowly bent upright, leaning heavily on the wall as you gathered your thoughts. YouR head was throbbing, along with your ribs and you pressed a tentative finger to your side and hissed, bruised, but miraculously nothing felt broken. Rolling your linen sleeves past your elbows you scowled at the rash of red and blue along your forearm from the rubbing of twisted metal on your skin but all in all, worth it to walk away with your life.

Sore, possibly concussed, but definitely alive.

Groaning as you heaved yourself off the now corrugated surface, you limped to the door and slapped your scuffed palm on the release, scowling and closing your eyes as the sudden light overwhelmed you. Blinking in disorientation you stepped out and gasped.

The world was cold and cruel, but so mesmerizingly beautiful. Peaks of bleak dark rock jutted from between aether clouds of untold colours, kaleidoscopes of lightning and energy chased through the mesmeric vapors and even higher still a ring of white circled the planet like a halo.

The gutted carcass of the ship lay strewn over 200 meters away. The corridor so many people had fled through was splintered, recognisable by only fragments of welded bolts and twisted venting. The main body of the transporter smoldered as thick oily smoke and promethium leaked and pooled around the decimated hull, the stench of burning fuel and melting ore lay thick in the air, rolling across your tongue and coiling in the back of your throat, threatening to drag up whatever bile was left in your stomach.

You slowly eased yourself through the half opened door and began walking towards the main bulk of your fallen ship, bodies littered the crash site, faces you knew, others flayed beyond recognition, torn and thrown like ragdoll.

"there has to be someone" you hissed, clutching your bruised side as you staggered on. "Hello? Is anyone still alive?'.

Your eyes flicked as you saw movement from a large slash in the side of the ship, the walls torn open angrily into jagged peaks groaned as a hulking shadow emerged from the bowels of the spacecraft. The air shimmered with iridescent light and you felt a wave of energy pulse through you, tripping your senses and confusing your thoughts, your mind felt like it draped in a chill fog, though it did nothing the halt the dread creeping into your gut as the figure finally stepped into the light.

The marines helm twisted as he paced, metal screaming as his armoured weight crushed it underfoot as he stepped. The incandescent shift of hued vapors danced on the blue and gold of his armour as he turned and stopped, catching your trembling figure in its crimson glare. It paused for a moment, cocking it's head slightly, as if listening, before it began thumping towards you.

"screw that"

You spun and began running, ignoring the throbbing in your body as you sprinted. You could feel the earth shake beneath your feet as the colossus of Ceremite and steel ground the rubble to dust in his pursuit of you. Turning your head over your shoulder, you gulped as the distance between grew smaller by the second, you could see motes of sparking dust puff from the marine as he moved. You turned your head forward again to focus on your esca...

Whack

You tumbled backwards with the impact, grunting as you hit the rocky floor with a hard thud and pain staggered up your bruised body. Panic flooded through you as you staggered to your feet, clawing at the dirt to get any form of traction you rose up. You balled your fists, helplessly bringing them up defensively as the armoured predator strode towards you. The astartes, now only meters from you stopped, head cocked once more as he looked past you, before turning around and stomping off back the way he came.

A laugh came from behind you, deep and luxurious, it resounded through your body, sending shivers up your spine. You turned on your heels and stared dumbfounded at the source of the sound and your impact.

The man towered over you, casting a long shadow as he smiled down at you. His skin shone like burnished copper, almost glowing with an ethereal light. Long flowing hair, a waterfall of burnt umber framed a handsome face, whilst sweeping bangs concealing a missing eye as his other looked down at you softly. A smile creased his feature as he continued watching you shiver under his gaze, spreading further as you straightened your back and tilted your chin defiantly.

“If your going to kill me, get it over with “ you spat, holding his gaze, each second feeling like an hour under the crunching intensity of his emerald stare and sheer presence, the blanket around your mind seemed to wash gently across your thoughts as he studied you.

Suddenly he laughed again, a deep bellowing sound as he threw his head back. His golden armour hissed and whined as he knelt down, levelling his face with your own. “Brave word, little one, I admire your courage! But I’m afraid you have lept to conclusions” he swept a muscular arm in the direction of the wreckage “your ship crashed, we mearly came to look for survivors.”

Brow creased in confusion, you studied his face, looking for a lie. You had heard all the stories of the crimson king, of how Magnus the red was a demon of colossal size and power, tearing friend and foe alike as he slaughtered his way through the imperium. But the man who stood before you was just that. A man. Albeit he was huge, but there were not teeth like swords or devil horns, no demons dancing to his whim. Just a very tall, very handsome man.

“But… I thought..”

He chuckled again, and placed a large hand gently on your head, tousling your hair gently, “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I am no monster”

At his touch all of the fear finally dissipated, a gentle warmth spread through your body, the dog around your mind became blanket thick and you felt tears prick your eyes. your knees finally gave out beneath you but warm hands clutched your soft body, supporting as you sobbed.

“Don’t fear, you’re safe now”

You awoke bundled in soft, warm sheets. Red silk hung from the four poster frame in a soft curtain around you and the mattress felt soft and pillowy under your body. Sitting up in confusion you glanced around the room. A marble fire held a stoked flame that cast gentle flickers of light across the oaken floor. A plush burgundy rug splayed across the centre of the room whilst a large side table held a plate of fresh fruits and flowers, everything you looked at had a faint pearlecent shimmer, almost unnoticeable, flitting in and out of your vision.

A knock came from the door and drew you attention as Magnus stepped in, bowing slightly to avoid the frame of the door. He flashed you a charming smile when he saw you awake and alert and, collecting the silver platter, he swept over to your bedside and offered the delicacies towards you. His silver robes sparkled against his ruddy skin as he moved. You eyed them suspiciously before shrugging and taking a ripe berry and popping it in your mouth, savouring the sweet juice as it flooded your mouth, all the while, Magnus eye never left your face as he watched you pick through the fruit.

"I'm sorry"

He cocked his eyebrow at your words. "Sorry?"

You nodded "You came to help and I was rude to you, so I'm sorry" your eyes twitched to his face before looking away as you continued. "I guess id heard all the stories and just..."

He shook his head, his red mane tumbling around his shoulders "I understand. The..." He paused for a moment and sighed "the imperial truth, as they call it, is hard to avoid" he lay the plate on the blanket beside you and gently patted your leg under the fabric. Heat traveled to your core and you felt yourself flush at his touch."You are safe here, rest until you are well enough to travel and we can arrange to return you to imperium space" he rose from his seat and turned to leave, the air around him shimmered and flickered for a moment, like static. You blinked and it was gone.

"wait"

He froze at your voice, throwing a glance over his broad shoulders.

"keep me company?"

He smiled and for a moment you thought you saw a shadow pass over his face, a hint of something darker in his expression, but as quick as it came, it was gone. He returned to the foot of the bed and the mattress caved under his weight. "Of course, little one" he reached out and ran his finger along the the form of your thigh under the shining material. You shuddered at his touch, and your body moved on its own, your head so full of clouds and muffled you couldn't think as you shimmied out from the covers and crawled over towards him, reaching for his large thigh. His smile grew larger as you caressed his thigh, his skin dark against you pale hand.

Wait wasn't he wearing a robe

All your thoughts seemed to slip from your grasp and your body moved on its own as you slipped your hand along his carved abs, along his chest before reaching his face. You edge forward as he turned the rest of his body to face you fully, sliding across his thigh as you brought your lips towards his. His large hands roamed your body gently caressing your bare curves, tickling the soft skin of your thighs

"beautiful" you muttered, stroking his cheek before pressing a chaste kiss against his soft mouth and tangling your hands into his locks. He tasted like spice and ozone and you moaned as he found your ass, squeezing the soft fat of your rear. Taking advantage he pushed his tongue past your lips, leaning into you until your back was against the sheet and he was hunched over you, your thighs spread around his wide hips. A heated touch found a breast and you arched into his touch as he rolled your tender nipple between his fingers, pinching the nub until you were gasping his name, your own hand clutching his wrist weakly as he toyed with you.

He pulled back from you and eyed you hungrily, static building up in the air around him, fracturing around him, flashes of colour and darkness appearing and vanishing around him. A flutter of wings echoed around the room and you dragged your eyes away from the primarch, lured by the sound. He quickly caught your chin between his fingers and brought you face back to look at him.

"eyes on me, little one" he cooed gently, relishing the sudden look of shock on your face as you felt his erection grind against you. "This was what you wanted, wasn't it?" He ran the length of his dick along your wet pussy, coating it in your slick as he rubbed against you, his tip spreading your lower lips apart and bumping into your clit as he moved. You gasped and whined underneath him, you mind wiped of all thoughts except to satisfy him, to have him take you over and over"

"please, Magnus" you whimpered , thrusting your hips up to meet him and clawing at his broad shoulders. He laughed, but the sweetness once in his was gone as he thrust into you suddenly, stretching you to your limit without any chance to adjust, he grunted as he felt your wet walls twitch around his cock as he entered you. Throwing your head back you groaned and hissed as he drew his length slowly back out before thrusting back in, over and over he fucked into you, his lips finding the exposed skin of your neck as he nibbled and sucked, leaving marks everywhere he touched you.

"so pretty, so good to me" he whispered in your ear, finally moving his fingers from your abused nipple to circle your puffy clit, circling the tender nub slowly as he ground into you. "So perfect" he continued to whisper sweet things in your ear and he fucked you, promises of sweet caresses and endless knowledge as his hard cock stroked the spot deep inside you that made your gut coil like a spring. " Say you'll stay" he uttered, voice like music as he continued to bury himself in your tight cunt.

"yes yes YES" you cried, cumming around his as he continued to fuck you through it.

His grinned and kissed you sweetly, allowing you to soak in the illusion he created.

In reality, Giant taloned hands clawed at your flesh as the demon prince pressed you into the rotten mattress, the silk sheets were faded and torn and the fire had been dead longer than the flower that rotted in the table. Magnus reached around your waist and pulled you up, seating you on his dick and relishing the noises you and your pussy made as he bounced you up and down on his length. Wisps of warp energy swirled around you, spreading your ass cheeks and caressing the puckered hole and sliding in, causing you to writhe and shake at the sudden intrusion, feeling yourself get fucked in both holes, your eyes rolled back in your head and your rocked against the sensation, drool pooling down your chin as the last sensibility was fucked from you.

Massive horns curved out of the sorcerers head and shaded you as he glared down with an eye lit with electric energy. His great wings spasmed and twitched as he edged closer to finishing and your head rolled forward weakly as he snarled, pulling you down harshly as he came inside you, his member twitching as he shot thick ropes of cum inside you.

He held you close, great chest heaving as he gulped in air crackling with aether before lifting you with surprising gentleness and placing you on the mattress, rotten and warped with age and decay, but to you, lost in the illusion he had crafted for you alone, it was as soft as down.

You whined at the sudden empty feel and He looked down at you, your pupils wide from arousal and magic as you gazed back. He rose to his great clawed feet, talons carving grooves in the floor as he moved. "Rest now, you need to heal"

"my lord" you sighed, so sweetly "will you really let me stay with you?"

He hummed and dragged finger across your forehead "of course my sweet thing"

He turned and left the room, locking the door as he went.

It wasn't like you had a choice anyway.

[cowboygenesis]

2: the roommate | kylo ren x reader

part 2 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | buy me a coffee?

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language. word count: 2.5k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: here he comes... my boy. i have another chapter to post (from the pile), then we're back to live writing. i don't have much else to say here! enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!

Now Playing: Hermetic Boogey - Tonbruket

A symphony of dog barks and passing cars carry in the wind as you rummage your purse for keys. ‘10:34, Wednesday’ reads on your phone, urging a tired exhale from your parched throat.

‘Poor Rey,’ you think, inputting the 4-digit code to your apartment building. You never envied her bartending job, besides the generous tips she’d often bring home to place in your shared piggy bank. On the other hand, her absence into the late night meant a moment of peaceful solitude for you.

The door swings open with a beep, and you flick the light on before lazily ascending the staircase. While the complex has an available lift, you had made it a habit of taking the stairs, even after long shifts.

The plastic bag in your hand weighs down on your fingers, forming red creases you’d later rub away. Waitering at a nice restaurant meant taking home a good amount of leftovers and sharing them with your roommate— this time, you’d have to commit the act alone, but you think you deserve it. It’s been a long day of scribbling orders and carrying trays of cocktails, and now, you’re ready to sink your sorrows into a hot shower and an episode of your favorite show. Your lips curl into a tired smile at the thought of that new face mask you had bought the previous week— you think it’d do nicely with how dry your skin has been feeling this past winter.

The sight of the wooden entrance at the end of the hallway makes you sigh with relief. As you approach, the silver steel of a small number ‘9’ greets your sore body. With the keys ready, you quickly slide them into the lock and open the door. It clicks softly, and you push it open with your elbow.

Inside, the vague figure of black furniture outlines a soft, trickling light from the kitchen window. As you kick your shoes off, you can’t help but exhale loudly as the door behind you shuts. The apartment is pleasantly warm and still smelling of whatever lunch Rey had cooked while you were away— a symphony of rosemary and a flavorful broth hovers in the air, making you salivate.

You drop your bags to the floor by the wall and carefully tread toward the kitchen, hands extended to navigate your way in the dark. Once you reach the kitchen table, you shrug your coat off. With nobody around to watch your developing pigsty, you flick it toward the approximate location of your couch.

“Ow!” you hear an unfamiliar baritone gravel, making your heart drop to your nauseated stomach. You walk backward, back colliding with the countertop and bruising your spine as your jittering hands search for a potential weapon to defend yourself from the intruder.

“Who— who’s there?!” you confront with a strained lilt, feeling your face tingle as it drains of color. Finally, your fingers squeeze around a metal handle, and you hurriedly extend the tool, cutting through darkness. “Get the fuck out if you know what’s good for you!”

A shadow shifts near the couch, morphing to its full, imposing height. You tighten your grip on the weapon, blood roaring in your ears.

“I have a knife!” you shout, though the slight waver in your voice undercuts the threat significantly. God, was this it?

The shadow steps closer. Despite your better judgment, your eyes shut tight in preparation for what’s to come. “I warned you!”

Then, with a sharp click, the room floods with light.

Quickly blinking the glare away, you first spot the salad spoon lodged between your fingers, fluttering in the air from your tremor. Your gaze snaps up.

Beyond the spoon stands a man around your age. His dark, piercing eyes bore into your form with dimmed amusement, his lips— plush, pink, and curled into an imperceptible smirk. His hand moves off the light switch and he stuffs a thumb into his pant pocket.

“Hello to you, too,” he hums smoothly, tilting his head. His dark locks shift as he surveys you head to toe, before ultimately focusing on your feeble weapon. “One way to greet a guest.”

Guest?

You carefully lower the spoon, the fear in your blood shifting into simmering anger. Everything clicks in mere seconds, your voice becoming tight when you utter. “Kylo?”

You watch his jaw clench for a moment before he nods. His smirk drops, but the mocking mirth within his pupils stays evident. He glimpses at your white knuckles, and the sight makes him exhale sharply, like a non-commital laugh at your peril. “Did I scare you?”

“…What?” you utter, incredulous at his reaction to your fear. Your hand lowers, returning the spoon to the counter. Your fists clench around nothing when you bunch them at your sides, glaring up at the perpetrator. “Are you serious? Where’s Rey?”

“She’s not home,” he shrugs, giving you another once over like he expected you to know already. “You’re the roommate?”

“How did you get in?” you continue, ignoring his (frankly rude) question.

Kylo exhales slowly before reaching for one of the cabinets. He withdraws a tall glass and approaches the sink to fill it with water. When he answers, he doesn’t grace you with eye contact. “I stopped by her bar and borrowed the keys.”

You can’t help but stare at him, awestruck. The bright kitchen light reflects on his pale skin, casting soft shadows across his face. You’re immediately caught by his side profile— a strong nose and long, dark eyelashes grazing his mole-speckled cheeks. There’s no emotion evident there, aside from a sick sort of merriment.

“I…” you croak out, not knowing where to begin. He stands straight again, looking you over the rim of his glass as if you were taking too long to reply— this gaze alone is enough to send your chest reeling with frustration. “Why were you sitting in the dark?”

You watch him think for a beat, casting an unreadable glance your way.

“No reason,” he utters flatly between sips, his shoulders lax and a stark contrast to your own tensed-up figure. “Just waiting.”

Your breath is still uneven, adrenaline prickling your limbs. His unbothered tone only aggravates the tense knot tightening in your chest. You knew you wouldn’t like the guy, and now you had to be civil. You guess you can argue his case to an extent, perhaps he was merely resting and didn’t notice you come in initially— or, more viscerally, he stayed quiet to freak you out. Deliberately.

“For what? To scare the shit out of me?” You cross your arms, forcing yourself to stand your ground despite the way he looms, broad-shouldered and completely at ease in your kitchen. “You must have heard me coming in. You could’ve made yourself known, at least.”

Kylo leans his hip against the counter, setting his glass down with a dull thud. “Could’ve.”

That’s it. No apology, no further explanation. Just that infuriating, self-assured gaze like he’s barely tolerating the conversation that he started with you.

You huff, running a hand down your face. “Okay… okay, from the top. You got Rey’s keys, made yourself at home, and thought it’d be a good idea to sit there in silence like a complete psycho.”

He exhales through his nose, almost amused, and finally—finally—offers something real. “Yeah, when you put it like that…”

“Cool. How old are you again?” you chuckle sardonically, feeling the threads of your sanity fraying.

“Thir—”

“Okay. Okay, don’t finish that,” you huff, promptly cutting him off with the rise of your hand. He stops, thankfully, just for a self-satisfied grin to crawl onto his lips. Your stomach lunges up to your throat for reasons unknown.

“Anyway,” You take a slow breath, rolling your lips together as you try to gather the last remnants of your well-being. “Next time, I hope I’ll get a heads-up before a break-in.”

Kylo raises a dark brow, eyes flicking over your face. His smirk doesn’t falter much. “I used a key.”

You glare. “It’s not yours.”

“I was invited.”

“Yeah—” You gesture sharply toward the door, your hand slicing through the air. “I know, I got the memo.”

He tilts his head at you, brow quirked and lips pursed as if he was trying to hit you with a ‘what’s the problem, then?’

“What I don’t know,” you trail, pointing a near-accusatory finger his way, “is why you decided to show up tonight.”

A few days after settling the living arrangements with Rey, she mentioned that Kylo would be driving in from out of town in precisely one month. You thought that’d be plenty of time to prepare (mentally and physically), but alas, life was full of unpleasant surprises. Kylo, in general, was one of them.

He tilts his head, watching you with something illegible in his eyes. His stare is steady and assessing like he’s trying to figure out some hidden truth about you— and it partially works. You suddenly feel too warm, still thrumming from the adrenaline crash and shrinking under his gaze. It’s hard not to, the dude is huge.

“I drove in earlier,” he replies flatly, his bicep flexing slightly. You swallow thickly.

“And Rey knew?”

He stills for a second, mulling over your words. “Sure.” — she fucking didn’t.

“You’re kidding,” you sigh, rubbing your face before leaning against the windowsill. The marble below your palms does well in cooling your fervor, so you rap your knuckles around the edge.

“I was under the impression I didn’t need to make an appointment,” Kylo muses dryly, carefully surveying your movements.

“You don’t,” you utter, trying hard to maintain unbothered, but the truth threatens to seep out the cracks in your mein. It would be nice if he made an appointment, if only to allow you some time to prepare. Not like it matters, but your makeup is probably cakey after hours of running around and you don’t exactly smell like roses. Yeah. It definitely didn’t matter— as long as he didn’t get to close. “I told you, a notice would’ve been nice.”

“Something you should bring up with your roommate, then,” He replies. For a second, the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting off a smirk. “But duly noted.”

“May I just remind you that you’re my roommate too, starting today?” you correct flatly, giving him a glare. He returns it, but it’s half-assed and lopsided— like everything he does, you think.

He snorts lightly, shrugging his broad shoulders. Somehow, he manages to make juvenile expressions look diplomatic and serious. “Fair enough.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, willing yourself to move past the snarkiness and make some small talk. You want to give him the benefit of the doubt— perhaps he’s tired after travelling or you’ve made a bad first impression. Whatever it is, you seriously doubt Rey’s family could be anything but sweet and caring, like she is.

“You’re Rey’s brother, right?” you quip. You don’t need to ask, you remember the info clear as day. Still, it’s the best you can do in terms of being inoffensive while still veering away from the banter you had so unfortunately started with.

“Uh-huh,” he nods, sparing you no theatrics or explanations.

Maybe the benefit of the doubt thing wouldn’t work here, after all. His arrogance, indifference, and general attitude of ‘I take up all the space in a room and don’t care if you notice’ already put you at your wits end. If this was just the beginning, you struggled to visualize a world where you wouldn’t jump at each other’s throats sharing a space.

Kylo watches you, head tilting ever so slightly. He looks comfortable, even joyful to some strange extent as he crosses his arms. For a beat, you feel like he’s waiting for something specific to happen.

“So,” you say, forcing some level of composure back into your voice, “how long are you staying?”

Kylo places his now-empty glass in the sink with a soft clink before turning back to you. “Not sure yet.”

Oh, cool. Could exhaustion make someone completely insufferable?

Your fingers tighten around your biceps where they’re crossed, knuckles pressing into your skin. “You don’t have a plan?”

He smirks at you. Smirks. “Not one I feel like sharing.”

You stare at him. Openly. Blankly— like you can’t quite believe this is your life right now, because you cannot. He’s deciding to treat you like a pest rather than part of his literal saving grace, and for what?

“You gotta be fucking with me right now,” you utter, your eyes squinting like he’s some fucked up mirage.

“Would you like me to?” he answers over the rim of his glass, eyebrows high on his forehead. The glint in his dark eyes is enough to make your patience snap.

“Alright,” you breathe, pushing off the windowsill and making a beeline for your bags. You no longer have the energy to be polite, or hospitable, or even remotely pleasant. If this man wants to lurk in the dark and ignore your attempts at peace, fine. Let him. You are going to eat your takeout and pretend he doesn’t exist, at least until Rey comes home and inevitably forces you two to spend time together.

Except now, you feel like the banter has soured your appetite.

Kylo doesn’t move as you pass him. You feel his gaze on your back when you place the bags on the counter and pull open the fridge, stuffing two takeout containers inside with much more force than necessary. In the back, you spot a covered pot with what you assume to be Rey’s leftovers from lunch. It’d be polite to offer to reheat something for him.

“Help yourself to whatever’s in here,” you mutter, lazily nodding toward the fridge before shutting it. “Or don’t. It’s your business.”

You don’t wait for a response. Instead, you stuff the plastic bag into the trash, grab your tote off the counter and storm down the hall, toward your bedroom.

Kylo’s voice follows you just as your fingers curl around the doorknob. There’s a thread of amusement in his tone, like he’s getting off riling you up. “I knew I’d like you.”

Your jaw clenches so hard it aches. You slam the door behind you, muffling whatever else he might have said, and press your forehead against the wood.

“Entitled asshole,” you mutter under your breath before moving to unpack your bags. You place flick on an ambient light before searching your pant pocket for a lighter. You use that to light a candle, and as the sweet, warm aroma fills your nose, you start feeling a little better.

For a moment, you hear the muffled sound of the fridge opening and a brief tapping of a glass against the counter. Your nose scrunches in annoyance, but soon enough you’re powering on your PC and getting comfy in your chair. Fuck him— fuck him so hard. You wouldn’t let these few weeks get the best of you.

You wouldn’t let Kylo Ren win.

[cryptotheism]

I think acknowledgement of one’s own wisdom or the way it incorporates into someone’s self perception can get pretty close to a lot physical object. Like a poster or figurine it’s an emblem of your identity and something that’s probably going to end up privately fawned over.

How Zen of you! The hermetics would disagree!

[olis-inkwell-symposium]

5 Occult Concepts That Explain the World Better Than Science

Throughout my extensive research into occult philosophy, I’ve been fortunate to gain a ton of knowledge that has truly enriched my understanding of the world. This journey has been deeply personal, as it has allowed me to explore the hidden corners of my mind and connect with a broader spiritual and philosophical landscape.

What I’ve come to realize during this time is profound: if the world weren’t so rigid and complex, we could all live and practice our lives in such diverse and meaningful ways that are truly personalized to our unique needs and desires. This realization has inspired me to seek out a more balanced and harmonious existence, one that embraces the individuality and creativity that lie within each of us. It’s also motivated me to share this knowledge with you all, hoping to spark a similar sense of wonder and empowerment in your own lives!

Now don’t get me wrong; science is brilliant at breaking things down—atoms, ecosystems, the expansion of the universe. It gives us answers, solutions, and a framework to navigate the physical world. But let’s be honest: science often trips over itself when trying to explain the messy, intangible, and deeply human parts of existence.

The cracks where logic doesn’t fit? That’s where the occult slips in. Occult philosophy thrives on the edges of understanding. It doesn’t just ask “how”—it asks “why,” “what if,” and “what does this mean for me?” While science maps reality in clean, objective terms, the occult dives into the subjective, the mysterious, and the uncomfortable truths that can’t be measured in a lab.

Here are five esoteric concepts that, in their raw and provocative nature, offer a far more compelling explanation of the world than science ever could:

1. As Above, So Below: The Reflective Nature of Reality

This phrase is a cornerstone of hermetic philosophy, a cryptic little mantra that implies the micro mirrors the macro, and vice versa. In simpler terms: the structure of the universe can be seen in the structure of a single human life.

Science has its own version of this idea in fractals and self-similarity across scales—patterns that replicate endlessly from the molecular level to the cosmic. But where science stops at structure, the occult digs deeper.

As above, so below isn’t just a reflection of patterns; it’s a commentary on how everything—your struggles, desires, and choices—ties into larger systems. Your internal chaos mirrors societal chaos. A broken relationship might reflect a deeper imbalance in your worldview. It’s not just poetic metaphor; it’s a map for self-awareness.

When science shrugs at the meaning of human patterns, the occult says, Look closer. What’s happening out there is happening in here, too.

2. The Law of Correspondence: Connection Beyond Logic

Occult philosophy insists that nothing exists in isolation. Every force, event, or idea has a counterpart. Correspondence suggests that unrelated things—symbols, objects, emotions—are part of an invisible web of connection. You lose something important, and suddenly, you’re flooded with strange coincidences that feel almost intentional.

What science brushes off as statistical anomalies, the occult embraces as part of the design. For example, synchronicity—the idea that unrelated events can feel meaningfully connected—is often dismissed by science as cognitive bias.

Yet, anyone who’s experienced these “coincidences” knows they carry a weight science can’t quantify. Correspondence doesn’t just explain why these events happen; it dares to ask what they mean. It argues that your personal reality is shaped not just by physical actions but by symbols, metaphors, and the unseen forces tying them all together.

3. The Hermetic Principle of Polarity: Duality Without Simplicity

In science, opposites are defined by contrast: positive and negative, light and dark, heat and cold. The occult, however, sees polarity not as opposition but as two ends of the same spectrum. Hot and cold, for instance, are both expressions of temperature; they’re not enemies, just different manifestations of the same underlying force.

The principle of polarity teaches that extremes are always interconnected. Love and hate, joy and grief—they aren’t separate forces battling for dominance. They’re two expressions of the same energy. This doesn’t just help explain emotional complexity; it’s a tool for navigating life. Feeling overwhelmed by fear?

Polarity suggests that courage isn’t its opposite—it’s a reframing of the same energy. Science is great at measuring extremes, but it struggles with the liminal space between them. The occult lives in that in-between, showing how the line between opposites is much thinner than it seems.

4. The Rule of Threefold Return: Consequence Beyond Physics

Karma often gets watered down into a pop-culture idea of “what goes around comes around.” But the occult’s threefold law takes it further, suggesting that every action—good, bad, or indifferent—comes back with amplified force.

Cast harm into the world, and harm returns not as punishment but as a natural ripple of that consequence. Put good into the world, and its return carries exponential weight. Science traditionally examines phenomena through straightforward cause-and-effect relationships, often focusing on linear progressions where one event leads directly to another.

However, it often struggles to capture the complex and layered nature of our decisions, which can produce effects that multiply and interact in unexpected ways. Our actions as humans don't just create simple, predictable outcomes; they can initiate chains of events that grow in complexity and impact over time, creating a web of consequences that are difficult to predict or quantify using standard scientific methods.

Why does a single act of kindness resonate so deeply? Why does unchecked anger spiral into unforeseen consequences? The occult’s perspective on consequences isn’t moralistic; it’s mechanical. This concept is as much about accountability as it is about empowerment. It forces you to think beyond the immediate result of your actions, asking: What are the ripples I’m setting in motion?

5. The Alchemical Process: Transformation as a Cycle

Alchemy is often reduced to the pursuit of turning lead into gold—a quaint historical footnote in science’s evolution. But true alchemy was never just about metal. It was—and still is—a philosophy of transformation. Lead and gold are metaphors for the self. The base material (lead) represents the parts of you that are raw, unformed, and heavy. Gold is the refined self—lighter, brighter, and forged through struggle.

Science can tell you how cells regenerate, how the brain processes trauma, how habits form. But alchemy explains the why behind transformation. It frames struggle not as a problem to be solved but as an integral part of growth.

Calcination, dissolution, and coagulation form the stages of a chemical journey that mirrors the human experience of transformation and self-discovery. The process begins with calcination, a fiery purification that strips away the unnecessary, burning away the dross to reveal the essential core beneath. This is a time of intense reflection, where one begins to cast aside the illusions and impurities accumulated over time.

Next comes dissolution, a stage of deep introspection where old structures and beliefs are broken down. It is a time for letting go of outdated habits and ideas, much like dissolving bonds that once seemed unbreakable. This phase requires courage, as it involves dismantling one's protective barriers, leaving behind comfort zones to explore the unfamiliar.

Finally, there's coagulation, the phase of reconstruction. Here, from the remnants of the past, something new and robust is forged. It's the alchemical rebirth, where a person emerges transformed, having integrated the lessons learned from the previous stages. This rebuilding is not simply a return to the original state, but an evolution into an entity more aligned with one’s true self.

Through each stage, the journey can be deeply personal, reflecting a unique path of self-awareness and growth. Calcination, dissolution, and coagulation are not merely chemical stages but serve as a profound blueprint for personal evolution, guiding one towards a deeper understanding of themselves and the world around them.

This transformative cycle encourages embracing change, fostering resilience, and celebrating the unfolding of a renewed identity. Where science provides explanations, alchemy offers profound meaning. It asserts that transformation isn’t merely possible—it’s inevitable, provided you’re willing to endure the transformative fire.

Why the Occult Makes You Ask Better Questions

Science excels at answers. It gives us the tools, cures, and frameworks to navigate the tangible. But answers, for all their value, are useless without the right questions. This is where the occult shines. It doesn’t care about tidy conclusions; it cares about pulling you deeper into the unknown, daring you to challenge what you think you understand.

Occult principles don’t aim to replace science—they simply just… fill in its gaps. They explain not just the mechanics of life but the meaning, the purpose, the strange and chaotic connections that defy logic.

They don’t seek to fix the world; they ask what the world is asking of you. And sometimes, just by asking the right question; life is far more enjoyable than always trying to find the answers.

taglist ; dm or reply to be added 🫶🏾

@slenders1ckn3ss @lucistarsfire @mai2themai @fond-illusion @p00lverinecentral @ambidextrousarcher

[positivelybeastly]

I wanted to get your thoughts on a topic surrounding Beast that has personally annoyed me. I've never liked how Hank is usually seen as the oldest man in any room he's in by fans. Despite being part of the same original class as Scott, Warren, Jean, and Bobby, Hank is always treated by fans like he's around 60-70 while characters like Scott and Jean are still treated and written like they're in their 20s. I partially blame the Fox movies messing with the generations and ages and having Hank as an older mentor to people he's around the same age as in the comics. I partially blame how Hank became progressively less of a man of action as the comics continued while his peers were continuing to run around doing athletic feats.

But it is disheartening when I see fancasts for movies and Hank is always at least 20-30 years older than the casts for characters like Scott and Jean. One positive about our current clone Hank is that he's unquestionably young again. The Infinity Comics even poked fun at this with Scott saying Hank didn't want to play basketball because he was "Afraid of losing to his elders." But what do you think? Does this bother you as well or do you not think it's a big deal?

So, I completely understand where you're coming with this, and it does bother me a bit, too. I think there's a whole ass confluence of factors that have led to this impression, but you've correctly identified at least a few of them.

The Fox movies. Replete with inaccuracies as they are, it feels almost churlish to rag on them for making Hank notably older than everyone else in his generation because there is just so much wrong with those films, but, as the entry point into the franchise for a whole generation of fans, and having created a whole sub-genre of X-Men fandom that occasionally touches the comics but otherwise stays hermetically sealed, it's created this persistent impression that Hank is Old.

Kelsey Grammer was born in 1955. That made him 34 years older than Shawn Ashmore, 27 years older than Anna Paquin, 18 years older than James Marsden, 13 years older than Hugh Jackman, 11 years older than Halle Berry, 9 years older than Famke Janssen - he's only 15 years younger than Patrick Stewart, and only 16 years younger than Ian McKellen.

That is a huge age gap, and it's not just the actual age gap, either, it's the kind of performance that Grammer gave, which is very much in tune with TAS Beast - he is not a very youthful and exuberant Hank McCoy. He feels older, distinguished, he wears a lot of suits, he's only in one real action scene, and even his costume is less revealing than almost any of his comic costumes.

No, I'm serious, it has an effect!

The version of Hank from the Marvels is played by Grammer 20 years after X3, and yet I think it's undeniable that he looked and felt younger in the movie made way later. Partly it's thanks to the CGI, but I also think the fact that he dresses in a pair of shorts and a lab coat plays into it, too. Young people wear less, old people wear more, generally speaking.

And that's not necessarily a problem, because Grammer's performance is excellent, and there are touches that make it feel right for this version of the character in X3, like the fact that he's notably fit but appears to have gone a little to seed, and the fact that he's straight up in government now. But. A popular performance is a performance that gets remembered, and codified.

Hoult being the only member of the actual O5 in First Class and being carried through those movies as an original X-Man, with characters like Scott and Jean being introduced in Apocalypse as very, very young teens, only exacerbated the problem, on top of being a version of the character that doesn't have much resemblance to Hank McCoy anyway.

There's a whole subsection of the X-Men fandom that only really interacts with the series through those movies and writes about those movies - check AO3 sometime, and see how much is still being produced for the XMCU fandom, even though the main series is over and has been for years at this point. For them, Hank is only ever one way - Old. And even when he wasn't old, he was stodgy.

Which leads us to the next problem - the fact that Hank, often, will act much older than he is. It's glaringly obvious especially when you look at 60s Hank, who's already contending with the fact that young people in the 60s looked like they were 40 despite being 16; on top of that handicap, he's canonically the oldest of the O5 (by a whopping whole year, wow, much age gap), but also the one who dresses most formally, and speaks the most formally, and looks the most adult, because of his mutation.

He is physically the largest because of his massive limbs, ergo, you mentally code him as Older. The things that he does to hide and blend in, the suits, the primping, the big words, the stuffiness, all code as Older. You can also really see it with how he changes from classic Hank to feline Hank.

Like, there is a passage of time here, but despite the gap of around 15 years publication time, in-universe, it's only meant to be a few years. Hank is maybe 29 in the first page, 33-ish in the page, but the process of mutating and needing to affect a more distinctly human and more controlled appearance, the trauma that piled on multiplicatively, the darker tone of the comic as they went on, Hank just became older, relatively speaking, and artificially so, in a way.

This ended up compounding with storylines like X-Force, where he was explicitly written as being out of shape, sedentary, more cynical, less funny, all of these character tics that you just instinctively associate with age. A similar sort of thing happened with Professor Xavier - he was written to be much, much closer to the O5 in age in the original 60s run, judging by certain contextual clues and character backstory, but as time went on, his baldness, his disability, his relationships with notably older, adult women, his authority, all contributed to him being aged up and up and up. It's subtle, and it happens over time, but it does happen.

And, as you've touched on, Hank just became much less a character of action as time went on.

Hank actually became much stronger over time, going from being able to lift just one ton to a full ten tons by his modern mutation, but even with that power upgrade, his character archetype has been firmly nudged over, from the original X-Men's Big Guy bruiser, into a full on genius/mad scientist.

That is now his defining trait, because comic book writers like to have an easy source of sci-fi problems and solutions to tie up their plots, and use of brawn is just not considered to be an appropriately Beast solution to problems anymore. See also the move towards showcasing characters with flashy powers like energy projection and psionics over raw super strength, which I think is why characters like Colossus have really suffered with staying relevant in the comics these last few decades.

Hell, it's gotten so bad that Hank's trademark visual action style has, by and large, fallen by the wayside. It used to be that Hank did this kind of sequence all the time:

He does still do it, very, very occasionally, but the last time I can really think of him doing it is during S.W.O.R.D volume 1, back in 2009. Which, again, has a very bright, upbeat, energetic Beast. This sequence communicates energy, vitality, youth, and even though Hank hasn't aged that much, the lack of use of his old visual signifiers means that he feels older - or, maybe it's more accurate that he feels less notably young. Either way, the effect is the same.

On the one hand, this overall ageing up doesn't bother me as much as a lot of other Beast related foibles - the fandom's refusal to shut the fuck up with their one war crimes joke, for one - and it is a thing that Hank often tries to consciously foster, so that he feels more trustworthy and less dangerous, but it removes him from his friends in a way that I hate, and it makes him less human and less fun and, honestly? It makes him less popular, more remote.

You only have to see how people conceptualise Beast in headcanon or X-Men '97 fandom posts to see how Beast being older knocks on to his relationships with people - he's not regarded as Jean and Scott's mutual best friend, he's regarded as essentially Charles' friend, as the mature one.

People don't conceptualise him as funny, as overtly romantic, as sexual, as goofy, as lovable, he's distinguished and controlled and sometimes even cold, and that's just. Not Hank. Not in his entirety, anyway, not fully. Hank is such a good character precisely because he swings so wildly all over the emotional spectrum, is all of these things and more, and yet it all still makes cohesive sense when you key in to his character. Removing his warmth, his immaturity, his humour, his youth, hurts that complexity.

In short? #LetBeastBeYoungAndGoofyAgain. We're well overdue.

[witchyintention]

The Modern Witch Rises: Witchcraft in the 20th and 21st Centuries

If the Middle Ages were the era of torches and pitchforks, the 20th and 21st centuries have been all about reclaiming witchcraft’s mystique and power. Gone are the days of hiding your cauldron in the pantry—modern witches are loud, proud, and very much in the public eye. But how did we get here? Let’s explore the cultural evolution that brought witchcraft from whispered superstitions to Instagram-worthy spell jars.

A New Dawn: The Occult Revival of the 19th and Early 20th Centuries

While this section technically dips into the late 19th century, it’s impossible to discuss modern witchcraft without mentioning the Occult Revival. Secret societies, like the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, were at the forefront of this resurgence, blending ancient magical traditions with contemporary philosophies. Figures such as Aleister Crowley (The Great Beast 666 himself) brought esotericism back into the limelight, albeit with a flair for controversy.

This revival was deeply intertwined with the spiritualist movement, which gained popularity in the late 1800s. People were attending séances, communicating with spirits, and exploring mysticism like it was the Victorian version of binge-watching Netflix. This movement laid the groundwork for the modern re-emergence of witchcraft as a personal and spiritual practice.

Wicca and the Rise of Neo-Paganism

Enter the mid-20th century, when witchcraft was no longer just a shadowy whisper—it was formalized into a modern religion. British civil servant and occultist Gerald Gardner is often credited with founding Wicca in the 1950s. Gardner blended elements of ancient paganism, ceremonial magic, and folk practices into a cohesive framework that became the foundation for modern witchcraft. With its focus on the cycles of nature, reverence for the divine feminine, and the rule of "harm none," Wicca quickly gained traction as a countercultural movement.

Wicca’s popularity exploded in the 1960s and 1970s, coinciding with the rise of feminism, environmentalism, and a broader pushback against patriarchal and industrial systems. Witchcraft became a way for women and marginalized groups to reclaim power and autonomy. The goddess was rising, and she wasn’t about to take a backseat anymore.

Pop Culture: The Witch Becomes Iconic

In the 20th century, witches found a new home: the silver screen. Hollywood’s portrayal of witches ranged from the wicked (The Wizard of Oz’s cackling Wicked Witch of the West) to the whimsical (Bewitched and Sabrina the Teenage Witch) to the downright terrifying (The Craft and Hocus Pocus). These depictions both reflected and shaped public perceptions of witchcraft, often intertwining it with themes of empowerment, rebellion, and independence.

By the late 1990s and early 2000s, witches had become a pop culture staple. Shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Charmed presented witches as powerful, relatable characters grappling with the complexities of their powers—much like the real-world practitioners redefining their craft.

The Witchcraft Renaissance: 21st Century Magic

Fast forward to today, and witchcraft has undergone a renaissance, thanks to a mix of cultural shifts, technology, and a growing desire for alternative spirituality. Modern witches are everywhere: on TikTok, YouTube, Instagram, and even Etsy. Hashtags like #WitchTok and #WitchAesthetic boast millions of views, with creators sharing everything from spell recipes to DIY crystal grids.

But what’s driving this resurgence? For one, we live in a world where traditional institutions—religion, government, corporations—are increasingly seen as untrustworthy. Many people are seeking spirituality outside the confines of organized religion, turning instead to practices that feel personal, empowering, and deeply connected to the natural world.

Witchcraft also resonates with the modern emphasis on self-care and mental health. Journaling becomes shadow work; aromatherapy transforms into potion-making; mindfulness becomes meditation under the full moon. The line between wellness trends and magical practices is delightfully blurry.

Intersectionality and Inclusivity in Modern Witchcraft

One of the most significant developments in 21st-century witchcraft is its embrace of diversity. Unlike its earlier iterations, which often focused on European pagan traditions, modern witchcraft draws from a wide array of cultural practices. Hoodoo, Santería, Brujería, and other Afro-Caribbean and Indigenous traditions have gained visibility, often through practitioners reclaiming their ancestral heritage.

This intersectionality has also extended to gender and sexuality. The archetype of the witch is no longer exclusively female—modern witchcraft celebrates witches of all genders, including nonbinary and transgender practitioners. Queer witches have found a welcoming space in the magical community, where self-expression and authenticity are celebrated.

The Digital Coven: How Technology Changed Witchcraft

Gone are the days of furtively borrowing a spellbook from the library. Today, the entire magical universe is just a click away. Online platforms have created virtual covens, where witches can connect, share knowledge, and support one another regardless of geographical barriers. Reddit forums, YouTube tutorials, and Discord servers have democratized access to witchcraft, making it more accessible than ever before.

Of course, this digital shift isn’t without its challenges. The commodification of witchcraft has led to a booming market for overpriced crystals, dubious spell kits, and “moon water” that’s really just a fancy way of selling bottled water. But at its core, the internet has allowed witchcraft to thrive in ways that would have been unimaginable a century ago.

How Modern Witchcraft Helps Us Navigate Life

At its heart, witchcraft in the 20th and 21st centuries is about empowerment. Whether you’re lighting a candle for protection, setting intentions with the new moon, or simply taking a moment to honor the elements, witchcraft offers a way to connect with yourself and the world around you.

It’s also profoundly adaptable. Unlike rigid religious systems, modern witchcraft encourages creativity, experimentation, and individuality. There’s no “one right way” to practice—only what feels right for you. And in a world that often feels chaotic and unpredictable, that kind of agency is a kind of magic in itself.

The Future of Witchcraft

So, what’s next for witchcraft? If history has taught us anything, it’s that magic is resilient. As we move further into the 21st century, witchcraft will likely continue to evolve, blending ancient traditions with new technologies and cultural movements. One thing’s for sure: witches are here to stay, and they’re not going back into the broom closet anytime soon.