#The pendulum swings back and forth and nothing with satisfy me

[whenastrofell]

What Fugo mischaracterization are you guys seeing because I am on the other end of it

[jmeldog]

I can't watch duel masters bc of no English so how did you enjoy the katta era

The short version?

It was Mr Bones’ Wild Ride.

The very very long version?

Sorry if this sounds like recapping. But I just wanna ramble about things I liked that stood out to me.

It’s crazy the emotional whiplash one show can put you through.

When I’d started watching Katta era back in the winter of 2022 (yes my watch has taken that long) it would genuinely give me headaches from how fast paced and outlandish the comedy was. It honestly felt like it took hours but then I’d find out I only watched two episodes. And despite all the comedy, it still sucker punched me with heart wrenching emotional moments. The mix of comedy and drama didn’t even feel that out of place. Sure, it dragged on if too many joke eps are in a row, but when the serious moments start I wasn’t like “what is this shit doing in my funny joke comedy show.” Also by the end of it I was starting to lose my mind and really enjoy most of the comedy eps.

It’s like a pendulum that swings back and forth between the extremes of both ends, creating a really…interesting… experience., I used to be really edgy and like only dark things, but in my years I have become aware of how you need light to realize the depths of the dark. And duema is like that but if it punched you in the face.

Being able to see characters be stupid and happy makes you feel worse when things go to shit. And the extent of how bad things can go to shit makes you grateful for having comedy eps.

(I say, like I wasn’t cursing and yelling at comedy eps for how they hurt me by being brain-meltingly insane.)

But to actually talk about specifics in plot and characters, tbh I’d say Lulu and Katta are probably my favorite characters.

To start with Katta, he’s sure a guy to watch. He just does things. And things just happen to him. And as much as I hate to say it he’s a very satisfying character? He morbidly fascinates me. Every annoying trait of his builds a very unfortunately believable profile. He’s a hot-headed, dense, selfish, petty middle schooler who likes curry bread, clout, hamsters, and boobs. He was stillborn, revived by a miracle, spent much of his early childhood in a hospital, and lives in the shadow of his brother who died to save the world.

But I like how even through his denseness, he still cares about his friends. Honestly to the point where he sometimes lashes out with violence before resorting to card games lmao. I’m sorry. He’s funny.

He’s a pretty simple guy with pretty simple wants, and that’s what makes him regrettably endearing to me despite how annoying he and his wants can be. He’s so thick skulled that he plows through most obstacles and nothing seems to ever truly get to him.

He’s a guy that I prayed for the downfall of. But when things actually got to him and he was suffering, I felt bad lol. It’s so jarring to see him sad.

And then he actually developed into slightly less of a bastard!!! He’s still annoying, but he’s truly realized the value of his friends! They keep him from falling to despair! Yay! and he saved the world. Yippee!!!

And for Lulu… as a card game heroine she is so utterly fascinating to me. I’m not like a super card game anime aficionado or anything, but erm. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a heroine they let be as genuinely fucking unhinged as her. Even later Duema heroines don’t match her prowess.

She’s just a normal girl. She’s just a silly girl. She also spent much her early childhood in a hospital. Her forehead shines like the sun. She has a genetic illness that makes her feel sickly and cough a lot. She can break buildings in half barehanded. She’s a little hopeless romantic. She’ll beat anyone who catches her daydreaming. She is on the grindset to marry Katta. She got cucked. The girl who cucked her only did it because she actually had a crush on Lulu and wanted to break her. She’s apart of toxic yuri.

And of course I’m a sucker for the epilogue.

Not only because of my boy Joe, but also because I love seeing how all the characters grew up. Katta and Lulu getting together was expected, but cute and I’m never going to complain. Also Duema was so fucking real for keeping Basa2 together. They’ve healed from wanting to destroy the world and now they can enjoy it!!!! Real!!!!!!!!

I have a lot more things I could ramble about but I’m really just gonna cut myself off here lol. Sorry Gyo, Lucifer, Duemouse, Rare Killers, Kazura, Basa2, and many others, but I don’t wanna make this any longer 💔

Anyway really fun show, I’d recommend it to no one. Stan this fucking thing.

[sixeyesgojo]

heartmate

☾ Summary: Satoru entertains you coming up with an unconventional nickname. ☾ Characters: Gojo Satoru x reader ☾ Word count: 700 ☾ Content warning: none ☾ A/N: Just a little something I came up with.

There were few things in this world that made you feel safe and comfortable – like lying on your boyfriend’s lap, his fingers gently running through your hair and massaging your scalp. It happened to be one of your ‘guilty pleasure’ pastimes, as you liked to call it. Sometimes you would talk to Satoru, he would talk to you – about trivial matters, about everything under the sun. Other times, no words were needed. It was enough to be in each other’s presence, basking in bliss and tranquility that were granted to the both of you in that moment.

It wasn’t so different now. Your head rested on his lap. Other than the occasional rustling of you or him moving around, it was silent.

That was until you audibly gasped and raised your head from his lap, slapping your hand in front of your mouth to cover it. It was safe to say that your actions left Satoru visibly confused. A frown spread on his face as his worry grew. “Something wrong?” he asked. He would be there if anything was worrying you.

However, this was not the case.

“Nothing. Just a random thought about something and it suddenly made sense,” you stressed. Your vague response did not help ease his worries at all… until he noticed that your breathing was normal, no beads of sweat or anything that pointed to anxiety. It wasn’t until he relaxed his shoulders that he noticed they were tense. “What makes sense?” he asked as he gently pushed you back down to lie on his lap.

“I’m your heartmate.” You stared at him as if you had just said the most natural thing in the world.

Satoru’s ears perked up and he was waiting for you to elaborate, but as he realized that wasn’t going to happen, he had to dig further to satisfy his curiosity. “‘Heartmate’? Don’t you mean ‘soulmate’?”

Yet, you confidently corrected him, “No, I meant heartmate. I am your heartmate, Satoru.”

The white-haired man looked deep in thought for a moment. No matter how random thoughts and ideas seemed to be at times, he would entertain them without hesitation. It was one of the things you loved dearly about him.

Despite him arguably being one of the smartest people – if he wanted to – you knew, he couldn’t get behind your train of thought. It was kind of funny to see. “I’m not sure I follow. Please explain to me. If you’re not my soulmate, then… does that mean I don’t have a soulmate?”

“No, no. You do. I am sure that it’s Suguru,” you began, “You guys are like, two kindred souls to each other.”

“We fought a lot,” your boyfriend countered, anticipating your next step. Even so, you could easily deliver another argument. “And it was never that serious, even if it was physical at some point. Or was it? In the end you still put trust into him.”

You had a point, he thought. Between him and Suguru, fights never got too serious. It might have seemed like it sometimes but the two of them would always snap back almost instantly. It was just how their dynamic was; two pendulums swinging back and forth. And at some point, they would meet in the middle again. Satoru nodded in acknowledgement. “So, if he was my soulmate... what makes you my ‘heartmate’? Now you’ve made me curious and I have to know.”

“Well, thank you for asking. I was waiting already,” you laughed. You looked into his eyes and grinned. Sheepish as you were, you explained to him, “It’s because I’m the resident who occupies your heart now. And you better not kick me out.”

It was his turn to laugh – and it was a mellow laugh. There was something about you that made him feel so alive, peaceful and excited to see what the future would bring. He was confident that if you were by his side, nothing could stop him. You were the treasure he needed to keep safe, especially now that you had declared yourself the occupant of his heart. Not that it was wrong to begin with.

And yet he teased you, “I suppose that’s true. Maybe I should start charging rent…”

[kopykunoichi]

The Legacy of Star Wars: An Open Letter to the Writers and Creators of A Galaxy Far, Far Away

“Suddenly the Rebellion is real for you. Some of us live it. I’ve been in this fight since I was six years old!” ~ Cassian Andor

I saw a great meme once that played off that quote, meant to depict an older fan describing to a newer fan how they had been invested in the story of Star Wars from childhood. I could relate. Though I am not old enough to have seen the original Star Wars movies in theater, they were a significant part of my childhood. I remember renting the original theatrical VHS from our local video store all the time when I was little. Then we bought the digitally remastered Special Edition VHS Box Set and I spent the next decade wearing them out! We would have popcorn and Star Wars marathons all the time. My friends and I would always pretend we were in the story. My swingset was the Millennium Falcon. I was that 11-year-old girl who would argue with my friends over who was hotter - Luke or Han. (The correct answer is Han, of course!) My mother would read the Expanded Universe novels to me in the afternoons and we would talk about the characters. All my spending money went to Jedi Apprentice books and 6 inch action figures. In short, I loved Star Wars. 

I was 13 when The Phantom Menace hit theaters, and I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to get to see new stories from my favorite fictional universe play out on the big screen. Though I struggled a bit with some of the acting, the story was absolutely amazing to me. Star Wars felt all the more real to me with the amazing graphics and intense action sequences - not to mention the layers of politics and the complexity of the story. I watched Revenge of the Sith several times in theaters, and though it broke my heart to see Anakin’s fall, I never considered it to be a sad ending overall, when taken as a whole with the original trilogy. 

When the Clone Wars aired in 2008, I was ecstatic. Here was an Anakin I could actually get into (sorry, Hayden). I loved him. I adored Ahsoka. I wanted to marry Rex. The character development and the plot deepened my attachment to that era, and made me question everything I had previously taken for granted as good and bad. The whole system was flawed - the Republic and the Jedi. It wasn’t just a matter of mistakes being made and the wool being pulled over their eyes, there was deep rooted corruption in the side that I once felt was “good”. The light side and the dark side were not as black and white as I thought. I found myself strongly disliking some of the “good guys” and deeply sympathizing with some downright detestable people (I don’t know how you got me to care for Maul, Filoni - but well done). While the series had not yet ended, we knew where it was going. But still, we had already lived through the pain of Order 66, and we knew that the story would eventually culminate in a victory at the end of Return of the Jedi.

I couldn’t believe our luck when the first installment of the sequel trilogy hit the theaters in 2015. It had some of the feelings of a reboot, but I was beyond thrilled to have a series of Star Wars movies that I could now share with my children, as my parents had shared them with me. Though it was hard to say goodbye to the first love of my life, Han Solo - I just knew that Ben would be redeemed and Han’s sacrifice would be worth it...

2016 brought us Rogue One. We knew how that one was going to end too, but we still ate it up. I fell in love with a whole new set of characters, only to see each and every one of them die in the end. Talk about tragedy. But Leia’s line about hope reminded us that five minutes later, a whiny little farm boy was about to have his whole life upended in the best sort of way...so it was okay. Sort of.

Four years of Rebels ended in 2018, and it was so, so lovely - but it hurt so, so much. My perfect, beautiful space family had been torn apart with Kanan’s death. Ezra was missing. Rex was a 29-year-old man who should have been in his prime, but was instead struggling with the wear and tear of a 60-year-old body. Ahsoka was separated from him - AGAIN - and then she left with Sabine to look for Ezra. The ending still held the promise of the fight to come with the Empire, but the majority of our characters were left in a place of grief and brokenness.

2019 brought an end to the sequel trilogy. Once again, we had characters who pulled at our heartstrings, and an interesting struggle between “light” and “dark” that reminded me of the complexities introduced in The Clone Wars. It became more apparent than ever that balance in the Force did not mean the light triumphing over the dark, but instead a harmony between the two. At least, that’s what I thought. Until I watched every person I loved from the original trilogy die, Palpatine come back (and die) again, and the same exact ending of Return of the Jedi played out before me - except not as happy. Why? Because Anakin’s legacy had been reduced to ashes - his rise, fall, redemption, and sacrifice rendered null and void. The last Skywalker was redeemed and promptly killed, just like his grandfather. But because Rey Palpatine decided that she identified as Rey Skywalker, it was supposed to be okay. She then went to go hang out (or live?) alone on Tatooine because that’s where it all started. I was dumbfounded. This was the satisfying, hopeful, ending we were promised? How? 

Believe it or not, I’m not here to trash the sequels - I enjoyed them very much - right up until the last 20 minutes. But in that space of time, the entire legacy of the Skywalker family went up in smoke, and the legacy of Star Wars along with it. Since Return of the Jedi, there have been no happy endings to a Star Wars movie trilogy or TV show. And with the ending of The Rise of Skywalker, that one happy ending we did have was ripped from us as well. Star Wars is now a never ending series of tragic endings. The lessons we are left with: Don’t fall in love in Star Wars, it will end badly. Your actions ultimately result in failure. As soon as you turn good, you die. There is no balance in the Force, just a pendulum swinging back and forth for all time. 

Then The Clone Wars finally got her last season. I didn’t think Order 66 could have hurt worse, but Filoni set out to prove us all wrong...and succeeded. I’m still not over it. And once more, the bitterness I felt over the ending to the sequels (which had begun to subside) flared up all over again. What was it all for? All that pain. All that sacrifice. No happy endings. 

I still love Star Wars. Nothing can take that away from me. No amount of bad writing can change that. And there are still plenty of good writers and creators working on Star Wars content. But good writers spinning tales of tragedy and endless pain negates the power of good writing. The Star Wars of my childhood is not the Star Wars of today. We wore out those VHS tapes because we loved the stories and the people. But my kids are not going to wear out DVDs where everyone they love dies or ends up alone. They aren’t going to queue up those digital movies and series over and over - because who wants to subject themselves to that kind of torture?

Just about the only safe space for Star Wars fans right now is fanfiction archives where the people who love the characters are busy writing fix-it fics to squeeze some sort of satisfying ending out of the canon content. The Mandalorian is literally our last hope for a Star Wars story that has the potential to end well. I swear, if Din Djarin ends up dead or alone at the end of this series, I’m going to lose it. The overwhelming sentiment of the Star Wars fanbase - from original trilogy fanboys to Tumblr blogging Reylos, and everyone in between - is that of dissatisfaction with canon content (with the exception of The Mandalorian). So much so, that many fans are just saying “screw it” and churning out a myriad of fanfiction AUs because there is no way to salvage what has been written. Half of Tumblr is in therapy after The Rise of Skywalker ending and the last episode of Clone Wars - but they weren’t exactly stable to begin with. The other forums and social media platforms are not much better, though.

It’s not just about the quality of writing - because Filoni and co. have done exceptional work with The Clone Wars, Rebels, and The Mandalorian. It’s the tragedy, guys. We can’t take it anymore. Is this really what we want the Star Wars legacy to be? Sadness? Despair? It’s a story about war - people are going to die. I get that. Victory comes at a price, but the cost can’t be worse than the victory. I want to sit down with my kids and watch Star Wars over and over again. The Mandalorian has given us a taste of that - but I’m almost afraid of where it will go. We’ve been burned so many times, I’m beginning to know what Anakin felt like on Mustafar - writhing in agony and screaming “I hate you” to someone he once loved. 

I remember happier days when Luke and Leia and Han were laughing and smiling with their friends while Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Anakin looked on. I want that back. Filoni. Favreau. Creators. Writers. Producers. Directors. You are our only hope for canon content. Use The Mandalorian wisely. Use Din’s story to bless other characters. Here’s some ideas:

Let Din have a happy ending! Preferably with someone he loves and respects at his side (like Cara). 

Let Cara become a Mandalorian - and put Paz Vizsla in charge of her training (we need to see them spar).

Let what’s left of the Tribe establish a new Mandalorian colony - and let Sabine Wren lead it. And give her that Darksaber back - she earned it. 

Let Ezra come back from regions unknown with a deeper understanding of the Force, and have him train the child in the new colony. 

Forget the Jedi and Sith, let’s start a medical training center/hospital run by Force users who can help heal people when modern medicine fails! 

Ahsoka can use her talents for that too. 

Find the rest of the child’s race and bring any of their Force sensitives onboard. 

Let Boba Fett and Din have their epic showdown, but then use a sample of Boba’s unaltered DNA and some mystical Force healing to restore Rex’s body to what a 43-year-old should be (and then he can marry Ahsoka so we can have the Clone/Jedi couple we always wanted...thanks to you, Filoni).

Let the Mandalorians partner with the New Republic in the Outer Rim as law enforcement instead of bounty hunters, so they can get their reputation back. 

They can train new recruits and pilots, just like Fenn Rau trained clones. 

Let them keep their autonomy and traditions, while helping keep the New Republic honest.

Let them be a force for good in the galaxy, for once. 

The Mandalorian could serve as the vessel to give a lot of characters with unresolved or tragic storylines some closure and better endings. If not The Mandalorian, then other new shows. My 6-year-old daughter wants nothing more than to be Ahsoka Tano. My 3-year-old son asks me to watch The Mandalorian every day. My 18-month-old daughter walks around in her brother’s Mandalorian helmet babbling “Way”. Please let me share the Star Wars legacy that I grew up loving with them. Let me show them the happy endings I enjoyed. Let me show them that even in the midst of conflict, not every life has to be ruined. Let me show them a Star Wars story with a satisfying ending. Hope. Redemption. Love. That’s what Star Wars means to me. 

May the Force be With You (and your pens),

Rebekah, A Star Wars Fan

[sickfic-with-kiko]

You like shiratorizawa? Can I request a fic where Semi, Ushijima, and Tendou are at an amusement park and Semi gets motion sick from the rides and pukes but isn’t even upset because Ushijima and Tendou’s (stoic and manically cheerful, respectively) attempts at trying to fix/help the situation are too funny

Sure! This came out very lighthearted, hope ya like it!

It was Tendou’s idea, to drag Ushijma and Semi to the well-known amusement park in Sendai.

It all started with an offhanded comment from Ushijma, who insisted that he didn’t know what the excitement over amusement parks were. Upon further questioning, it was revealed that he’d never been to one in the first place. According to Tendou, that needed to change.

“Tendou, are we going to be upside down?” Ushijima asks, as the pendulum ride starts to swing.

“Well, yeah. What, are you not okay with it?” Tendou attempts to shrug, but the safety devices are in his way. “Kinda too late now, don’t ya think?”

“No, I am fine.” Ushijima states plainly, words as monotone as ever. He casts a glance towards Semi, who has grown a slight shade paler than usual. “Semi-”

The first plunge begins, and Tendou whoops, eyes closed and mouth wide open. “Whoo, this is great, Wakatoshi-kun!”

Ushijima’s eyes are slightly wide, but he doesn’t so much let out a scream. Rather, he seems to be assessing the ride’s speed and turns, not so much caring about defying every law of gravity imaginable.

“I can see the people on the ground from here! Behold, the tiny humans!”

Tendou is spewing some random phrases, while Ushijima doesn’t make a peep next to him. Semi’s stuck in an awkward position, not knowing whether to cheer or sit in silence.

But Semi had another concern in mind. With every loop, turn and dip, his stomach seemed to be mirroring those exact motions. And one could bet that stomach contents being tossed around was never a good feeling.

The ride is finally, finally over, but Tendou’s enthusiasm cannot be curbed. “Semi-seimi, Wakatoshi-kun! Let’s go on the pendulum ride next!”

Ushijima stops Tendou with his palm. “No, we should have some light snacks and drinks first. Your voice will wear out from the yelling.” He then turns to Semi, expression unchanging. “You seem pale. Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah.” Semi swallows. “I’m fine.”

And in fact, Semi attempts to prove that he really is fine. He does that by buying some overpriced amusement park food, consisting of greasy fried chicken and french fries lacking in volume for their price.

Ushijima orders some curry, not quite the same as his favourite hayashi rice, but the closest he’ll get to something nutritious and satisfying to the taste. Tendou enthusiastically licks a chocolate ice cream cone, smirking at Semi.

“All right, now that our hunger is satisfied… Let’s go conquer some rides!” Tendou announces, fist bumping the air.

Semi hopes to god that eating was not a bad idea. He’s feeling all right now that he’s off the ride, but Tendou is adamant on going on several more.

Pendulum, viking ship, teacups… Semi loses count of how many they’ve gone on, after a certain point. But after defying every law of physics known to man, his stomach is less than happy with him.

“Come on, Eita-kun! We still have to ride on this one! The Mount Fuji coaster!”

Semi’s stomach drops when he sees what Tendou is pointing at. The track is winding, and there’s several drops. To top it all off, the carts shake. And they’re not sitting, they’re standing.

For the first time that day, Semi truly regrets his life decisions. Why did he agree to the outing in the first place? Why did he just so happen to make friends with Tendou, the sneaky, fun-loving guess monster, and Ushijima, king of stoicness?

“Semi-semi, you scared? Wanna sit this one out?”

Tendou was provoking him. Semi’s stomach screamed “Yes!”, his competitive dumb brain screamed “No!”.

“I’ll come.” Semi lifts himself off the bench, dusting his lap. He’s done enough benchwarming in volleyball.

Semi Eita certainly regrets his decision now, when he’s being flipped upside down in standing position. The cart rocks back and forth in an unstable manner, something Tendou seems to take in with joy.

He’s shaken up so much, that he doesn’t even notice when the ride is over. His cranium feels like a liquid smoothie, and his stomach lurches even after they’re not heading down any vertical drops.

The trio sit on a bench, while Semi struggles to collect himself. “Holy shit, Eita. I think you just demonstrated how blue humans can get.” Tendou comments, patting Semi on the head. Unhelpful, Semi thinks. “You okay?”

Semi shakes his head. He’s feeling too queasy to keep his head up straight, and he lays his hand onto his stomach shakily.

And that’s all the warning Ushjima and Tendou get, before Semi promptly unloads his entire greasy lunch at their feet.

As Tendou leaps up with a swear, Semi coughs and chokes out more puke, lurching forward with a gag. He feels awful, and he can tell people are staring at him. The whole ordeal is so much more embarrassing than anything else.

Ushijima and Tendou lock eyes, and nod. They pull Semi back from the puddle of vomit, thankfully staying in one spot and thus easier to avoid.

“Semi-semiii, you okay there? Don’t you worry about it!” Tendou pats Semi with a jovial hum. “Hakuna Matata! No worries! Let’s get some water, maybe? Oh, we’d better run before the staff finds out about this.”

Semi isn’t sure why Tendou is so light-hearted about the whole thing, but it helps with the humiliation burning into his cheeks. His arm is grabbed by Tendou, who skips away from the bench whistling. Ushijima follows close.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ushijima says, stoic as ever, “motion sickness is common among humans, and other animals.”

Semi snorts at Ushijima’s explanation. “I guess?” He’s less embarrassed now, and more comfortable with his friends. “But really, I’m fine now. Don’t worry about me.”

“I will not.” Ushijima nods assuringly. “I know you will bounce back in no time.”

Tendou breaks the heartwarming atmosphere by blowing a raspberry. “So… How about the carousel?” He suggests, pointing towards the two-storey merry-go-round with differently coloured horses.

“Yeah, I think that’d be nice.” Semi nods, and grins.

[leo-lucid]

Bewitching Which Monster Chapter 3: The Book

Breakfast was absolutely delicious. The french toast was incredibly sweet and went well with the saltiness of the crispy bacon. It made me wonder how long Zamuel spent practicing cooking. It seemed like he made a wide variety of breakfast items for everyone to cater toward their dietary needs.

My plate was taken care of for me after I was finished eating. I really wanted to at least help with dishes but I was sent to go start searching for those notes. With my coffee cup in one hand and crystal pendulum in the other, I began my search. I closed my eyes and focused my energy on the pendulum, fueling it up so it could guide me through the room. "Did my grandmother leave anything behind for me to read?"

The crystal began to glow and swing around in small circles, signaling that my grandmother did indeed leave something behind. "Are the notes hidden within the Witch Room?"

Once again, it glowed and swung in a circle. I began to walk to the Witch Room but Beofur stepped out in front of me. "Hey, Anise! Can I help you look for the notes? I am excellent at finding stuff if I do say so myself and we may find them faster if we work together. Please?"

Beo really reminded me of a dog than a wolf. His tail was wagging back and forth and his eyes sparkled as I considered letting him join me in the investigation. I couldn't say no to the facial expression he was giving me. I sighed. "Fine. Just please try not to make a mess. The room is already in dire need of organization."

His tail wagged even harder and he grinned. "Of course! I promise to not make a mess."

We headed to the room, my pendulum swinging like crazy as we got closer to our destination. I opened the door to the room and looked among all of the shelves and papers I would have to go through. Beo now had an optimistic expression that actually gave me some courage that we'll find what we're looking for.

I set my coffee cup down on the table that was in the middle of the room. The pendulum stopped swinging and was ready for my next question. "Are the notes in one of the bookshelves?"

The pendulum swung in circles after a couple of seconds. I began to walk around the room, carefully watching the pendulum as we passed the shelves. It wasn't until I approached the biggest bookshelf in the room when the crystal began glowing bright and swung in a large, reassuring circle.

I jumped slightly as Beo placed his hands on my shoulders from behind. I looked to my left and found his head right next to mine. His attention was trained on the crystal. "Whoa! That's so cool! How does it know this stuff?"

"It uses some of my energy to communicate. It can only answer yes or no questions and give directions like this. Circles mean yes and straight lines mean no. The glow tells me how strong the answer is on a scale from least likely to most likely. Based on the glow and motion right now the notes are most definitely hidden somewhere on this bookcase." I explained.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get to searching!" He enthusiastically began to take books off of the shelf and flip through them. As he flipped through them his smile turned into a small frown. "I can't read any of this. It's all in another language."

I took a glimpse at the book he was going through. "It's Irish Gaelic. I don't know how many books are written like this but hopefully there isn't a lot. How about you look at books that are written in English while I look through the Irish Gaelic ones."

His grin returned. "Great idea! I'll set aside any books that you can read while I'll have my own English pile."

I sat down on the table and began to flip through pages, scanning and translating words that may lead to an answer. Beofur took time opening books briefly before putting them on the table, English in one pile and Irish Gaelic in another. Towers of books were balanced on the table for each of us to start sifting through.

I was going to need some more coffee for this.

"Most of these just look like spells, recipes, and other magical instructions and history. It's honestly making my head hurt a little. There's so much information written in these. How did your grandmother manage to write it all down?" Beo sighed.

I shrugged and picked up another book. "Grandfather mostly took care of the mansion while grandmother had a lot more time to write and study. Some of these may be written by past generations from the Devane family too."

"Oh." He simply said. A few seconds went by before he put his book down and asked another question. "What does Devane mean?"

"Devane comes from the original Gaelic form 'O Daimhin' which comes from the word 'damh' which means 'an ox' or 'a stag'. My great great great grandmother had a twin sister but they both fought a lot and decided to split up the family. Generations born under my great great great grandmother are known as Stag Witches. Anyone born under her sister is known as Ox Witches." I said as I continued to go through books.

"But that doesn't make sense." Beo complained. "Everyone is still family because they were born under the Devane name, right? Doesn't everyone have the same kind of powers?"

I set my book down to focus more on his question. "My grandmother ended up having more magical abilities than her twin and because of that she was going to inherit this house, the land and many other things. Her twin sister was very upset and went to find her own land where she can raise her children by her own rules. However, that part of the family is weaker when it comes to witchcraft. They are related but by behavior and ability they are practically disowned."

He still didn't seem satisfied with my answer but he nodded regardless. "Okay. So I'm guessing that you are part of the Stag Witches?"

"Correct."

"Do you know anyone that is an Ox Witch?" He inquired.

I shook my head. "I don't. And I hope I never come to meet one because we're supposed to be enemies. If a witch kills another witch then the one who committed the crime may inherit the dead one's powers. Ox Witches have been known to try to hunt down Stag Witches for more power in hopes that they can become the bigger house. It's like a family war."

"All of that sounds really complicated. Is that why the official name of this mansion is called The Stag House?" He tried to connect the dots.

"Yes." I stated, trying to get back to work as soon as possible.

Beofur returned to going through books, finally done asking questions about my family history. Hours passed by and we still couldn't find anything. I didn't even realize that it was time for lunch until my stomach grumbled, snapping me out of my focus. I looked at the antique clock that hung on the wall. It was one o'clock.

"Beo, do yo-" I stopped speaking when my eyes landed on a werewolf that was fast asleep. I didn't realize that he fell asleep because I was so focused on reading. It seemed like he ended up going through a majority of his pile before passing out though.

I got up from the table, stretching my back and legs in the process, and headed over to where Beo was sitting. His brown ears that poked out his hair twitched. As they moved and his shaggy locks shifted ever so slightly I had the urge to pet him.

His hair looks so fluffy and the fur on his ears looked so soft. I was really curious to find out just how soft it was. So, I quietly hovered my hand over his head, making sure that he wouldn't wake up. I waited for a second before moving my hand closer and closer to his ears.

Gently, I began to stroke his ears and some parts of his hair, marveled over how so incredibly soft it felt. It was so silky and fluffy! I was so wrapped up in petting him that I didn't even notice that his tail was wagging and he was wide awake.

Beo grabbed my arm suddenly, stopping me from petting him. However, he didn't seem angry. In fact, he seemed very gleeful. "Why are you petting me?"

I blushed and tried to retract my hand, but he still gripped my wrist. "I-I just thought it looked so soft and pet-able and I really wanted to know what it felt like! Plus, you have been working so hard for a long time so I thought that this was kind of like a reward."

Dogs loved being praised, right? Beofur resemble more like a dog than a wolf so he would be okay with this, right?

Beo pulled me down and with his other hand began to pat my head. "You worked really hard too. You deserve to be pat as well."

My face grew red as he gave me his own praise. It was embarrassing but it also felt kind of nice. I felt like my energy was being restored. Beo just kept petting my hair while I stood frozen. It took me a couple of seconds to finally stand up straight and move back to my station. "I should head back to work now. There are still several more books to look through."

He flashed a his toothy grin. "No problem! I'll go see if Zam has any lunch ready for us. I'm starving!"

I breathed out a sigh in relief as he left the room. My cheeks cooled down a bit and my attention began to center back on reading. One book after the other, I flipped through them. Still, nothing. I groaned in frustration and smacked my head on the table. Right as I did so, there was a clink sound from underneath the wooden table.

Sitting on the floor underneath the table was a brass key with antlers as the box. I picked it up and dusted it off using my jeans. This key had to be hiding some secret.

I examined the rest of my books and Beo's books for any keyhole that would match my discovery. The books had nothing for me so I stood in front of the bookshelf and shuffled extra papers around for a secret keyhole or lever of anything really.

Finally, behind a mason jar filled with black ink was a little hole for my key. I grew excited and twisted the key into the hole. There was a click and a portion of the wall behind the bookcase opened up like a safe. Inside the little nook was a golden journal with an intricate design of a stag on the cover. I unbuckled the buckled that was holding it closed and read through some of the pages.

I recognized the handwriting to belong to my grandmother. It seemed like it contained personal notes and letters to herself and other people in our family. Most of it was written in Gaelic but there were special pages written in English.

While I turned the pages, I recognized some names pop up. Both of my moms were mentioned, my grandfather and even the monsters living in this house were in here. I sat down find anything addressed to me.

My heart quickened as I approached the last few pages. On the last page I finally found my name written at the top. She wrote an entire letter to me in Irish Gaelic.

Dear Ani,

I hope the move was smooth and you didn't have to clean up after us too much. There were so many things I have left for you to study and read that you may enjoy. It should help you master your witchcraft. There are several empty journals left behind for you as well so you can start your own grimoires and books.

Now, I'm guessing that you have already met your roommates. I'm sorry that I didn't mention them before. I honestly didn't think that they would be living in the house for as long as they did. I tried so hard to find them all a working spell or potion that could return their humanity before I passed away that didn't require anyone's assistance. Unfortunately, that's not how things worked out.

I did find an answer but it involved you. I discovered that the only way any of them can become human again was to earn the love of a Devane witch, specifically a Stag Witch. How old school! Love is the only way they can return back to normal and have the curses lifted. You are the only one that can help them now. Try not to get too overwhelmed. I know you can be shy at times and I'm sure having several (attractive) monsters isn't going to help you get over your shyness but please try your hardest to help them.

And remember, even if you fall in love with only one don't feel guilty or bad for the others. You must listen to your heart. I have taught them that lesson before I passed away. I hope that it stuck with them and they'll understand.

Good luck! I love you!

Love,

Grandmother Rosemary Devane

I settled the book down in my lap and pinched my cheek. My breathing grew more rapid as I realized that this wasn't a dream given how much pain I felt from the pinch. I was flabbergasted.

Oh my gods!

Did my grandmother make me a bachelorette?

[kinsbin]

Don’t Knock It Till You’ve Tried It

Title: Don’t Knock It Till You’ve Tried It Word Count: 1248 Ship: Freddy/Simon [Canon/Self Insert]

Summary: A night of studying puts Simon in a tired enough stupor to be summoned into Freddy Krueger’s dreamscape. Lucky for him, Freddy seems to like him alive more than dead. He hates admitting that the feeling is mutual, but, the first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one. Then again, is it really a problem? He can only try to find out. 

Author’s Note: Another writing commission! For @love-fromthevoid who asked for his selfship with Freddy Kreuger. I freaking love writing Freddy and everything about this was super fun to do ;v;. Ty for commissioning me Simon, I hope you like it!

Wednesday night on Elm Street was as quiet as the grave. Homes were catacombs housing the corpses of sleeping bodies while the plaques of numbered addresses hung decoratively on the sides were their tombstones. Numbers counted down and up along the street towards its end. Was the end of a street considered its death? Imagine the end of the world, the edge a sharp drop away to nothingness. Or perhaps it was more like a video game and the players would hit walls once they were not allowed to go further. Simon pondered all of these possibilities while pressing the end of his ballpoint pen against his teeth.

Homework had been endless. The coming of college midterms had propagated the style of college living mostly seen in romantic comedies: students hunched over paperwork trying desperately to memorize the scribbled words of their own writing. Ramen noodles shoveled past dried lips, pack after pack, only to be washed down with coffee brewed with energy drinks instead of water. There was no sleep at this time, only the desperation of acing the course that could determine your career for the semester.

Knowing this, Simon put his pen down and groaned over the work he had. Despite the drinks he had shoveled past his lips not hours ago, his entire body was sluggish and exhausted. No matter how many times he read the words on the paper before him, nothing was sinking in. The boy crossed his arms on the desk before him and rested his head in the divet that they created, staring down at his bare feet as they tapped along to the rhythm of his ticking wallside clock.

He sighed and shut his eyes, allowing the relief of darkness to overtake him for a few moments.

“Fancy meeting you here, mon petit fromage.”

Simon yanked his head upwards, turning it to the direction of the familiar baritone voice filling both the room and his mind at once. A set of impish eyes against burnt flesh squinted wryly at him, amused by the outburst and reaction he had managed to entice. There were no screams, however. Simon felt no fear as he stared at the man, just an incredulous disbelief.

“Freddy Krueger, did you just call me a piece of cheese?” There was borderline offence in the college student’s voice.

Freddy shrugged, waving his one gloved hand in the air to make a nonsensical pattern that seemed to go well with the gesture before offering a look of greater amusement. The lip splitting smile remained as he replied, “What? No good? I guess it was a little cheesy.”

Simon groaned, grabbing the nearest item (a pad of paper left for him to haphazardly doodle on along with taking notes) and chucked it at the demon. Freddy grunted with a grin as the item hit his torso harmlessly before flitting to the floor, which was now glowing a soft shade of candy red against the apparently nonexistent moonlight. “I have to study, asshole, now let me get up.”

It hadn’t been the first time Simon realized he was dreaming. All times he did, it was usually because of Freddy. Though their first run in had almost been their last, he had far more to fear than an amusing man wearing a colorful sweater. Bugs, life choices, and grades were far more terrifying. If dreaming was the only way to accept relief from the stresses of everyday life, and had to include Freddy in them as well on occasion, Simon would simply take what he could get.

Even if what he had to get was a demon who, for some reason, began to show a fondness for him the more they decided to spend time together. What was worse was...he felt that fondness too.

It was like a rash. It started out small. A simple itch that was easily ignored, but, as the nights went on and the adventures with Freddy in the realm of night continued, it bothered him more and more until it was nearly unbearable. It was like his skin was breaking out in hives of fondness, because that was the only kind of fondness you could have for Freddy Krueger. The annoying kind.

“Studying is for nerds,” Freddy cackled while reaching out to grab a hold of the other’s hand. Placing a kiss on it, the realm shifted again to one of Freddy’s own designs, “Sides, I bet you like me a lot more than studying.”

“I like chemistry more than bugs,” Simon retorted as he gazed around the new scenery lazily, “Doesn’t mean I’m going to chug a vat of acid or anything.”

“So you feel a spark of chemistry between us, eh?” Freddy tugged at the other’s hand, “I’m flattered. Does that mean you fancy a kiss, hm? Make some sparks fly?”

“Please.” Simon tried to hide the smile that was slowly attempting to make its way against his face. The newly concocted dreamscape was one of a pleasant park. The pathways that lead through the foliage of the trees and gravel pavement of the playgrounds seemed endless. Each item on the playground seemed to have an uncanny resemblance to Freddy if it had a face, and the tops of gazebos held the familiar striped pattern of his sweatshirt. “As if anyone would kiss those chapped lips of yours.”

Walking down one of the paved roads, Simon took his seat at the end of a particular pathway that lead to a swing set. The metal was cool under the thin material of his pajama pants, sending goosebumps up his legs as he pushed his feet into the sand underneath to move himself back and forth. Freddy all but flung himself into the swing next to the other man, gripping the metal chains with a vice as he swung himself to match pace.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Freddy flashed a wink and an obnoxious wiggle of his tongue. Simon felt his cheeks redden as he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he rolled his eyes.

The gaze of annoyance was replaced with one of mischief in the manner of a millisecond, however. Bright eyes flickered over to Freddy, who could only stare back as his own look of teasing metamorphosed into confusion. “Okay.” Was all the student stated.

Before Freddy could ask just what the hell he was on about, Simon swung himself sideways, mashing his lips against Freddy’s in the most poorly organized disaster of a kiss he could possibly manage. It was more of him flinging his body weight against Freddy. Their foreheads smacked together, lips crashing in a warm but rough kiss as their knees collided and they were forced shoulder to shoulder to endure the brunt of the pendulum swing. A curse spewed itself between Freddy’s lips as he was assaulted, not even given a chance to return the action before Simon’s centripetal force returned him to his original position.

The grin on Simon’s lips was satisfied and the blush on his cheeks was warm as he watched Freddy’s lip begin to bleed.

“I’ve had better.” He declared before nonchalantly standing up and walking away, just a little too fast to not show his embarrassment.

“You little punk.” Freddy cackled before standing up to follow after him, excited what dreamscape adventures he could use to get under Simon’s skin.

There was no one better to befriend, after all, than a boy who wasn’t afraid of you.

[cinful-stories]

Baubles for a Belle: Robert x MC (Naughty List)

His fingers are magic. They work as masterfully as a ventriloquist without strings, an illusionist without earthly bindings. Those limbs dance around the paintbrush delicately, making minuscule, precise movements as if not wanting to disturb a lake's tranquil surface.

Persperation drips from his brow and swings from his straw hair like a pendulum. Eyes dart back and forth in their sockets. A slight flush illuminates his cheeks as he labors over the task. His tongue, pink and plump, parts his supple lips to wet them ever so slightly. He is ensnared by the inviting grasp of pure concentration and the sheer, blood-pumping adrenaline of wonderous creation.

"Be a dear and hand me the red."

Rovert's hand extends expectantly, hovering beneath her nose. Palm faces up to the sky. He anticipates her delivery without glancing up from his project. The Princess snorts, sifting through the wooden tackle box seated in the melting snow. She locates a tube of red acrylic paint and places it in his hand. He does not withdrawal.

"Ahem, Robert?" she inquires, pushing the object further into his palm. His orbs flicker upward and dialate. Her words rip him from yet another stream of consciousness.

"My apologies, thank you," he mutters. His hands take the tube and squirt a large dollop onto a painting pallette.

The Princess observes as the painter dips the tip of his brush into the scarlet substance, coating each bristle in the acrylic blood. He then proceeds to touch the brush to the glass surface of a circular ornament.

Puffs of smoke emerge from his mouth like a dragon. Flakes of snow cling to his emerald green jacket and collect in his hair. Sitting in the snow like a statue, he appears to her as a regal ice prince.

"What's this one going to be?" she asks him, enthralled by his natural, undeniable beauty.

"I'm painting a bushel of poinsettias around this one. I think it'll look very nice next to the tinsel ornament I just made, don't you?" he elaborates. His fingers, stained with paint, rotate the sphere within his hands. Brilliant, scarlet flowers blossom from every angle.

The Princess smiles warmly. "I agree," she says. "Everyone is going to love your work."

Financial times had been on a downward spiral in Wysteria during the previous months, and several families had written to the royal court to explain their plights. In response, the Princess wanted to bring Christmas to everyone in the kingdom, regardless of their socioeconomic situations. The palace staff worked tireless to resurrect a twenty-foot Christmas tree in the center of town for all to see. Presents were tucked away among the branches, available to any and all who find them. Robert, upon hearing of the idea, decided to pitch in by painting ornaments that would hang from the tree's branches. Each would have a holiday theme or an uplifting message. He was a kind, selfless man with a huge heart.

"I certainly hope so," he replies, grinning. "May I see the yellow now?"

His partner does as she is instructed and procured a yellow tube from the box. It is offered to him, and yet again, his attention is diverted. She groans heavily.

"Robert?"

"Yes?"

"You're doing the thing again," she chastises. "You know, that thing where you become so absorbed in your art that nothing else exists on the same ethereal plane?"

Hazel orbs glimmer with brief recognition at the sound of her voice. They sparkle and waver before focusing on his companion seated across from him.

"So I am," he admits sheepishly, quickly plucking the tube from her hand as if it were scorching to the touch. "Forgive my rudeness, Princess. I shouldn't have invited you out here to freeze in this bitter winter while I completely ignore your presence. You should go inside and visit more important matters than tending to a painter's loneliness."

The Princess giggles. The noise bubbles in her lungs and rises in her chest before escaping her lips. Rather than abandoning the quizzical man in the cold, she inches closer.

"You're far more important that arduous office work to me," she whispers, planting a kiss on his cheek. A flush rises to his face, along with the beginnings of a grin.

Several minutes tick by in silence as he continues to work. Finally, with a satisfied sigh, the court painter completes his painting and pulls a hook through a ring atop the ornament. He then dangles the object from an overhanging tree branch to dry in the soothing winter sun.

"Was that the last one?" the young woman queries, making a gesture to close the lid of the tackle box.

Robert shakes his head. "Not quite. I still have one more thing I'd like to paint for the holidays."

The young lady regards him with perplexity as he brushes the fallen snow from his pants and leans forward. Hands grip her shoulders and lightly press her spine into the snow, sending electrifying shivers sparking in her nerves. Her teeth chatter, but as soon as the striking, paralyzingly chill begins to engulf her senses, the warmth of Robert's body is lays gently on top of her.

His nose, glowing pink from the winter air, almost collided with hers. She can feel the fluttering of his eyelashes and the tickling sensation of his hair. A smirk slides across his cheeks.

"Thank you for your help today, my lady. Your company was nothing short of divine, and I've enjoyed every minute; however, I can't let you slip away just yet."

His voice is like honey dripping from a beehive. It fills her core with warmth as his chest rumbles against hers.

"And why is that, Mr. Branche?" the Princess asks meekly, her voice cracking in the winter breeze.

A paintbrush is procured from his jacket pocket. It hovers above her face. Its icy, damp tip, still dripping with yellow paint, comes in contact with her flesh. The skin on her neck tingles as a streak of yellow travels down her jugular and atop her collarbone. It dares to venture further down into the valley of her breasts but is stopped by the lining of her corset. She eyes him with wide, wild, glittering orbs that bat in confusion.

"I wish to paint a picture of my love on you: the perfect canvas."

[noir0neko]

5:01- jhk(m)

the only thing thicker than water is blood.

(m)-mature / 4.1k words / vampire!hoseok / enjoy ! 

req; vampire hobi. that's all I'd like to request you can do whatever kind of drabble or fic you please, but I need some vampire hobi 

*before you read please know there is death involved in the fic, so stop or be cautious before proceeding on if that is triggering for you, thank you* 

Current Time: 03:48 pm

You remove your sunglasses once you’re on his porch, adjusting the top of your bathing suit beneath your long shirt before knocking on his front door. Hoseok has lived here alone for barely a month now, and after being friends with him for so long, you find it odd that one day he just decided to leave his childhood home, abandon his family, and somehow get rich enough to buy this mansion along the beach that the two of you had met staring at from the outside.

But every time you went to ask him about it, something stopped you, or every time you thought you’d asked the last time you spoke to him, the answer seemed to have been completely forgotten in some unreachable corner of your brain. And in a peculiar twist of fate, the more you wanted to ask, the less you had answers to, and though you have been dying to see him, you only just now felt compelled to accept his invitation to come over for a swim.

He answers the door in nothing but swimming shorts, the deep lines and muscle along his chest marking him as different from the boy you remembered as well, letting him pull you in for a warm hug, nose nuzzling into your neck affectionately before letting you go.

“Finally!” He gives you a big smile, leading you from the entryway into the huge living room, “you accepted my invitation to come swim.”

“Sorry,” you say bashfully without reason, setting down your bag and looking around his new home. High, vaulted ceiling with beautiful chandeliers and crown molding stretch thirty feet high, huge windows, lush couches, flat screen TV’s, stainless steel appliances, and hand crafted flooring surrounds you. The house alone must have cost him a couple million dollars, and the things within no doubt stretched close to that amount as well, running a hand along the back of his velvet sofa with a seemingly unworthy hand.

“Did you move all of this by yourself?” You ask instead of what you truly want to know.

“Sure did,” he gives a satisfied look around the room, ushering you through the open layout and through a pair of sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard and private strip of beach. His eyes are watching your face, calculating your response to the almost magical scenery in front of you.

The sun is just starting to set over the curvature of the Earth, ocean spreading back to meet it with its curling sea foam. Bushes with large blooming flowers, trees with fruit, and vibrantly green grass surround the area by the Olympic size infinity pool, water perfectly clear and bubbling with jets from all sides. There are two plastic cups on his patio table, the only indication the space has ever been touched, looking impeccable and perfect.

You are smiling, near laughter at how excessive it seems, how in the span of one day, Hoseok up and made what the two of you had talked about as kids a reality.

“You always loved this place,” you wistfully turn to him, air blowing strands of hair in front of your face.

His expression matches yours, plump lips turning up with softness. “You did too.”

“Neither of us ever thought the millionaires would move out so we could squat in it.”

“Well, I am a millionaire now,” Hoseok vaguely responds, “and we don’t have to squat. We can live.”

“Why would anyone leave here?” You wonder, your brain replaying his ‘we’ in your brain, letting the sun's descending rays kiss your face, “it’s like a little slice of heaven on earth.”

“I think they found another place calling them,” Hoseok says, eyes tied to the ocean beyond his yard. Everything about him seems sharper than it did a month ago, his face has built out, he’s lost all of the baby fat his cheeks once held, he seems more aware, alert, and laid back all at the same time. The once scaredy cat of a friend you had now seems afraid of nothing.

A few years ago, you and Hoseok had met on the shores of the very beach the two of you stared at, both admiring the same house that was now his. You found him insanely attractive from the moment you saw him, and although you had been dating someone else at the time, Hoseok made you feel alive in more ways than who you were with ever did. He made you smile, laugh, held you when you cried, and became everything to you over the time you spent together.

And after your previous relationship fell apart, he dragged you out to a party where a game of spin the bottle was occurring. And in a night that would change the platonic state of things, you were chosen, Hoseok was spinning, and the makeout session that followed continued on into a passionate display of deep lust in the middle of his friends living room that shut the door on friendship and opened another into something more.

His parents had always been against him dating, and with you so fresh out of an old relationship, you felt it safe to give yourself time before starting something new. Then four weeks ago, he asked you on a date, and safe seemed completely irrelevant to the pounding of your heart and excitement in your veins. Your favorite restaurant along the pier was his chosen spot, with the fish tanks covering every wall and the open windows and amazing food.

And just as you were leaving to head there, he had called you, out of breath, like he was running, towards something, from something, he wouldn’t say, telling you not to come, telling you to stay inside, telling you that he couldn’t make it, and that he loved you. That he loved you.

Then he was silent for two days,  and when he called again here he was. Saying he moved into that mansion the two of you met in front of and inviting you over for a swim sometime, like nothing ever happened. You wanted to ask why, why he changed, why things were so different, and why he told you those things that night, but you couldn’t. The words never left your lips and your thumbs never typed the text, it felt impossible, like a barrier had pushed its way between your thoughts and your tongue.

“What are you thinking about?” Hoseok implores, poking himself into your thoughts. You turn to him suddenly, searching his eyes for a trace of the warm brown irises that used to be there. But there’s nothing. And the burning curiosity threatens to kill you.

“Just admiring everything,” you impulsively lie, turning your back to him before he can call your bluff, “are we going to swim or just hang around all night?”

He chuckles, a sunshine like sound that brings color to your cheeks. “I was going to make some drinks first.”

“Since when do you drink?” He’s going back inside, trailing behind his frame like a puppy. You feel more drawn, yet more distant to him than ever. He has definitely changed, but how. How?

“Since now,” he shrugs nonchalantly, pulling two stout cups, prefilled with a weird reddish liquid from the fancy, chef’s refrigerator he has, “I’m prepared.” He says with a mischievous grin. He notices your skeptical look, holding out the drink with a raise of his brows, “come on, weenie, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

You look at the clock, 4:12 pm. Close enough.“Did you fill it with poison?” You half joke, watching his face as it follows your hand in grabbing the glass from his.

“Yep,” he responds, “I have a secret stash of killer herbs in the basement.”

You laugh, allowing him to take a sip before you raise the drink to your lips. It smells strong, definitely like it will burn going down, steeling yourself with pursed lips before letting it pass the fleshy barrier.

Bad mistake.

“You definitely should go back to being a non-alcoholic,” you choke on the acidic contents, liquid spilling onto the marble counters when you slam the glass down. Your entire body is on fire, and the weird metallic taste left in your mouth from whatever he mixed makes you feel sick, bracing your hands on the island and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Did you swallow it?” He asks, downing the rest of his and licking his lips.

“I think it dissolved my throat on the way down,” you cough, giving him a pitiful glance.

He gives you a warm smile, coming around to put his hand on your back, “maybe the cool pool with quell the flames?”

His voice is melodic, slow, drawing a nod out of you and focusing on the warm of his hand as he leads you into the yard once more. The world seems fuzzy, and your skin feels hot and tingly, trying to clear your eyes to no avail. Hoseok’s hair is moving with the wind, back and forth, back and forth, like the swinging of a pendulum.

He lets you stop to slip off your dress, the second that his hand is gone from yours creating a deep void in the pit of your stomach, kicking off your sandals and feeling his eyes graze over your body, skin clear and radiating with the afternoon sky. You reach back for his hand, and he allows you to take it, keeping the course to the edge of the pool.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?” He asks, voice sounding far away yet so close, “answer me honestly.”

You blink, the water warm and cement smooth against your feet as you take a step into the water after him. He is still holding your hand, slowly pacing himself with getting the two of you into the pool. You don’t have to think, brain unfiltering the words as they candidly fall from your mouth.

“I want to have traveled the world, maybe own a couple of houses in my favorite spots with gorgeous views like this one. A well paying job, a comfortable living, with no place I have to be tied down to. Just you, I want to be tied down with you. We can go to every country and learn every language and see every monument and only worry about where we are going next and not how we are going to get there.”

“That’s an awful lot for just ten years,” he observes, side profile coming into view as he partially turns, falling sunshine illuminating him like a glowing angel.

“I’m a dreamer,” you breathe, now waist deep into the water, hearing it lap over the edges with the intrusion of your bodies.

“Have you ever dreamed of me?” He leads you into deeper waters, where your chest is now submerged, turning around and letting his hand slide up your arm to free itself of the chlorine.

“Yes,” you say, taking your lower lip between your teeth.

“Do you think you can be completely honest with me?” He wonders.

“Of course,” you immediately respond, arms alight with goosebumps.

“Have you ever heard the expression: ‘blood is thicker than water’?”

“Not for you,” the words are like spaghetti, his fingers pulling the noodles from your throat without your permission, “you just left your family for-” His hand tightens around your upper arm, cutting off your sentence abruptly.

“I didn’t leave you.”

“I’m not your blood, your family.”

“But you’re the only person I need in my life. The only person I could never live without, even if it would be for your own good-”

“My own good?” You lose your breath as his fingers trace the outline of your face.

His eyes are searching yours, looking for something within them. You are too, you’re looking for him. You’re looking for the person you knew and not the one who is before you now. You love him, no doubt about that, but the confusion about who the person you loved had become eats at you. He is the same, but different. Him, but not him all the same.

“You’re so beautiful,” he fingers a strand of your hair, capturing a part of your soul with the look he gives you. Everything about him is stunning, clarifying and beautiful, from the slope of his nose, to the bow of his lips, to the shape of his eyebrows rounding his eyes. He had always been a work of art, but now he mesmerized you, stunned you into silence and kept you still with something so simple as a glance, a release of his breath between your bodies.

You’re staring at his lips, aching to kiss them, wishing with every ounce of your body to feel him, mind no longer fuzzy with disorientation, but with want. With lust. And you forget everything he just said, only focusing on what is happening right now and the acute proximity between your bodies.

“Do you want to kiss me?” The tone of his voice is dark, seductive.

“Yes,” you release a long sigh, closing your eyes and feeling your bones jolt at the contact of him against you. The arrival of his lips is slow, sultry, almost hesitant and boy-like, sparking remnants of who you remember him to be coming through. He is Jung Hoseok, the same person you’ve always known, the same sweet, soft guy who you fell in love with. This new side of him was just that: a side. Not his whole face, just a new part. A very sexy part.

You hook your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and trying to find some control over yourself by holding him to you, hungrily devouring him like the full course meal he is. A smile curves into his lips, hands snaking around to grip your thighs and effortlessly pull them around his waist in the water. Walking backwards, he pushes you up against the wall of the pool for leverage, small pecks heating into a fiery makeout session, his tongue moving along yours to the rhythm of his fingers along your back, playing melodies and creating cacophonies along your skin.

You can barely remember your first name with the way he’s kissing you, grinding your body into his midsection and letting the world around you fall away in favor of him. He is all you see, all you feel, all you sense, the burning metallic taste still in the back of your throat intensifying with his alcohol stained lips. Everything about his grip is possessive, every sound from his throat claims you, ankles falling back down to the floor and nearly stepping on his toes to get as close to him as humanly possible.

He traces the outline of your bathing suit bottoms, sneakily hooking a finger under the wet elastic and running his forefinger along your clit, eliciting a high, needy moan. You brace your palms against his shoulders, feeling the muscle move taut beneath your clasp with the downward movement, rotating his wrist until he is cupping you, sliding a finger into the warm recesses of your body and feeling you tighten with rough pleasure.

You incessantly moan his name, arching your back and breathing sounds of wondrous lust down his throat. Everything he does feels magnified, and when he curls his finger up into your walls, finding that sweet spot within you, a cry leaves your lips that seems to echo into the afternoon beach. He is working pure magic, enticing raw sin, and with every stroke of his finger and flick of his wrist, you are falling further and further into the dark hell he opened up for you, raging brightly with fire and red.  

He uses his thumb and middle finger to pinch you, stomach writhing and twisting with orgasm. Hoseok said you’d be his first, but with the way he was touching you, this was the most insane beginners luck you had ever seen, feeling him so acutely in every cell as he reached exactly where you were the most sensitive and most vulnerable. Your lips are swollen, flower between your legs engorged, and body like a live wire.

“Do you want me to stop?” His breath is hot and low.

“No,” you whine, pitch off key and broken.

Hoseok increases his speed, roughly ravishing you and swallowing all of your sounds and sighs whole with his lips. Pressure begins to build in your spine, a powerhouse ready to unleash itself and spasms racking through you. Endorphins are rushing through your veins, heart pumping impossibly fast, and Hoseok’s lips pressing against your pulse as if to steady it.

“Perfect,” he says, watching your face distort and eyebrows scrunch as you cum, dripping white lust onto his fingers and tightening the velvet of your core around him to further your friction. You’re a mess, vocally and physically straining to stay above water with him as you ride him, swallowing thickly and falling half still when you finish.

But he’s not done, continuing to slowly work you back up and overstimulate you by mercilessly teasing you with his fingers, circling around your clit and pinching the nub while moving his lips down your jaw, listening to your heart continue to race. The sun is bright blue, but you are seeing stars, eyes dazed and lips open as your body moves in synchronization with his, draping your arms around his neck once more as he pulls you back out into the pool.

Hoseok is sucking dark flowers into the skin of your neck, nibbling at the flesh before sinking his teeth into it, ripping a gasp from your lips as you can feel blood dripping from the wound.

He bit you.

Hoseok is groaning loudly, as if in euphoria, licking at the punctured skin and drops of red, finally tasting you for the first and last time. His hands pull you down, lips go back to yours, and his mouth is full of your blood as he opens it, transferring your own life force into your body once more. The pool water is clear, eyes wide and gazing into his, seeking him, but finding nothing but him kissing you.

Hoseok’s lips are feverish and dominating, consuming yours fully and completely in a raw, desperate manner, distantly reminding you of your first kiss with him. In his friend’s living room, exploring possibility for the first time, aching to feel the other giving in as much as they were. Dying to sense if he was as impacted by what was happening as you had been. His hands are fitted to your waist, rubbing circles into your skin with slow speed, mimicking his earlier actions on your core, sending flushes of heat to the sensitive area.

You’re underwater. And you can’t breathe, but you don’t care, letting Hoseok steal every bit of oxygen from your lungs with his kiss, and his strong grip and his alluring eyes. Your body is burning with the need for air, Hoseok giving you no room to move and no motivation to with his tongue sliding into your mouth, moving against yours with skill you don’t remember him having.

Closing your eyes at last, your hands slacken from around his neck to float in the water, movement stopping against him and mind going blank with darkness. You can no longer feel his warmth, for the fire is coming from within your veins, body burning and igniting itself into flames, physically still, but mentally writhing with no clue how to make it stop. The sun is no longer penetrating the water, and you can feel yourself falling downward, void of the support from his grasp.  

A million things begin to fill your mind at once, driving to find Hoseok at the restaurant that night, running along the pier’s outer empty border to find him. Seeing him. But not him. Drenched in blood. Not his blood. Veins of red spreading through the sand to get pulled out with the ocean water. A girl beneath him, throat torn open, maimed, eyes wide with death. He can’t stop looking at you, telling you to forget you saw this, telling you to go home, and wait for him to call you again.

The shadow at your window, obstructing the moon from view. A size his frame in the light. Him saying he couldn’t leave you, he couldn’t let you go. Telling you how he could hear the blood rushing through your veins, telling you how badly he wanted to taste it. Telling you to forget and keep waiting.

His call weeks ago. How it never happened. How you ran into him again on the shores of the beach, how he kissed you. How he invited you over. How he said he would see you again soon. How he said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. How he said he loved you.

And then told you to forget, remember a call, and keep waiting.

Everything he was and all he had become, different puzzle pieces swirling together in a sea of vibrant red as bright as the blood that had dripped from his teeth that night on the pier. The pearly white incisors stained and sharpened and deadly and-

Him staring at you in the pool. Him saying he wanted to turn you. Him admitting he gave you his blood in the drink. Him asking you what you wanted. Giving you no time to answer. Telling you to forget. Telling you all he had left to do was-

Breathe. You can breathe, coming up for air above the water to find you don’t need oxygen anymore, your breathing is stopped, your lungs are silent, and your heart is still. The pool water glitters around you, every single one of your senses heightened, the blaring of the sun’s rays, the cold chlorine lapping at your skin, the smell of flowers in the air. You can see every pore on his face, the different colors in his eyes, the water spilling down his lips as he reemerges from the waves after you.

“Hoseok…” The name feels different in your mouth, tongue, thick, blubbery and throat burning with fire. You feel as if you could drink the entire contents of his infinity pool and still be unsatisfied, wading back into the concrete wall and placing a hand at the base of your neck.

“You’re thirsty, aren’t you?” Hoseok’s head tilts, which causes exactly 136 strands of hair to fall to one side, brown and bronze cascading over the white of his skin.

Your eyebrows furrow, feeling the hairs move and the skin crinkle and your cells duplicating within your body. Your head is pounding, eyes burning, and everything within you is screaming for something you can’t identify.

“What did you do to me? You bit me.” Your voice is scratchy, rough.

You blink, finding him suddenly gone from in front of you, blinking once more and then he’s back, inches from your face. He’s holding a cup against your chest, plastic purple coloring the liquid a deep burgundy. It smells fantastic, like warm brownies, or a freshly baked cake, snatching the cup from his fingers and feeling him watch as you bring it to your lips with alarming speed.

“What is this?” You ask, grip so strong the plastic cracks down the middle and streams of thick, red liquid begin to run over your fingers into the pool. It tastes like heaven, like ecstasy, quenching the burning in your throat, but leaving you wanting more. You can’t get it down fast enough, feeling it spread through your veins and travel down your esophagus and into your stomach.

“You don’t know?” Hoseok reaches his hand out, using a thumb to wipe away the excess pooling around your lips before bringing it to his own mouth, licking it off with a euphoric smile. His eyes meet yours, smiling sinfully, “It’s blood.

I turned you into a vampire.”

Time Of Death: 05:01 pm

firsT request of the batch ! hope you enjoyed it :)

~Admin Eggplant

[valiantleigh]

And That Is Enough

Nothing makes for a rude awakening quite like realizing you miss the companionship of the Holy Ghost. Like really miss him. And maybe he was there all along, but you didn't seek him out or give him heed. The things you've been doing haven't invited him close.

I realized that this morning. I realized how important he is to feeling real joy. How important his guidance is to living a godly life. To living for other people. You can't do it without him.

And so I felt this gaping whole, and I yearned to fill it. I pondered a desire that I have felt before, a long time ago. Today I felt it again. The desire to try, actually try. I don't want to just "cruise." What a mockery to mercy.

I've given a great deal of thought to this fine line between justice and mercy. As a perfectionist, it is ever present in my mind. There are laws that if broken have eternal consequences. But Christ overcame all things, did He not? So, I'm good. I don't need to worry so much.

And back and forth, back and forth, I swing between these precepts like a pendulum.

The ride makes me dizzy. I feel so icky at all of these "in between" moments of life where nothing feels quite right.

There is hope. I'll figure it out someday. Some beautiful future day.

Tomorrow and Today

“The Woman had told her that Tomorrow never comes, but Elizabeth knows better. It will come sometime. Some beautiful morning she will just wake up and find it is Tomorrow. Not Today but Tomorrow. And then things will happen…wonderful things.” (L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Windy Poplars)

In my current read, Anne's little friend, Elizabeth, confides in her the lovely things that will be in her Tomorrow. She's only known sorrow and no love in her young life and has lots to dream about. In Tomorrow her father will come home. In Tomorrow she will never be scared of anything. When Tomorrow comes she could run far away enough to "get into the sunset." On her map of fairyland Tomorrow is east of Today and west of Yesterday. She expects to meet lots of elephants in Tomorrow, too.

She spent her summer "thinking of all the lovely things that will happen in Tomorrow." What a past time.

I've got my own Tomorrow, too. My struggles are just as really a little Elizabeth's, so it's good to romanticize I suppose. It's healthy to dream. What else can I do when I feel this mortal misery set in?

In Tomorrow I will never feel sadness, only joy. Real, tangible joy, the kind that never threatens to flee on a whim.

In Tomorrow I will be satisfied.

In Tomorrow I will not feel so selfish, or feel so much gut-turning guilt for said selfishness.

In Tomorrow I will accept that God is not disappointed in me. He really isn't. And I do know that in Today, but it will take until Tomorrow to know it for sure.

In Tomorrow I will never be tired.

In Tomorrow I will see truth for what it is. I tend to make up a lot of things in my broken brain. And these made up things hurt, especially when I think they are my fault.

In Tomorrow life will be full and rich. Every breath will be a pleasure. There will be so much to look forward to—all of the time.

In Tomorrow I won't feel like running away. I will be comfortable right where I am, wherever I am, and not feel like hiding myself away until circumstances are more favorable.

In Tomorrow I will love freely. I will never forget that we are all brothers and sisters and that awkwardness is just the Adversary trying to make us forget that.

But Tomorrow is a long ways off isn't it? An eternity, in fact. There's still good in Today right?

Absolutely right.

In Today I have a hope of eternal joy. A promise actually. How neat is that? Doesn't that just make your heart swell?

In Today I can pray. And that is satisfaction enough. That a God in Heaven hears my prayer and I am enveloped in His healing embrace everywhere I go.

In Today I can try. And try, try, again.

In Today I am forgiven. For every little thing that I think is wrong with me, there are earthly angels who see past all of that and let me be imperfect. What a beautiful kind of love.

In Today I feel God's confidence in me. He trusts me. He believes in me. He is my biggest cheerleader. Such cliches, I know, but they ring so true. They bolster me up. I think how, how can this be? But it simply is. These truths give me power to go forth and do.

In Today I have the promise of rest. When I've just had enough, I am enough. I can fight another day. I will fight another day.

In Today I am blessed with the capacity to serve God, oftentimes beyond what I think I can. There is a lot I have done that makes me especially proud of myself. God knows what I can handle. He just loves it when I get back up.

In Today I have a choice. I choose to make life wonderful, even when it's not.

In Today I belong anywhere. This world was made for me. My legs and my mind can take me anywhere, even if it is scary.

In Today my love is enough. People can feel it, even when it isn't offered flawlessly.

And That Is Enough

Life is messy. But performing the Atonement wasn't easy, so why should trusting in it be?

I'm glad to have the Spirit back. He's leading me home. I'm closer every day. And that is enough.

Live valiant leigh,

Brenna

[Originally posted on November 24, 2019]

[chromsai]

I uh really like your stories you write, can I request this prompt? A prophecy says that everything you love will die. Zarc could only laugh at his self loathing. He would live forever...

Okay first off I am absolutely genuinely sorry I couldn’t get to this sooner (in truth the day you sent this I actually finished about half of it lmao but I hit 2 obstacles: 1) work stole all of my free time and 2) after that first day writer’s block hit me up hard) so again sorry so much this took forever!! I hope it’s at least worth it if not welp at least I tried and I finished another fic either way so woo!

And secondly, you don’t know how much your ask really made my entire past 2 weeks and also motivated me! Even tho I hit writer’s block swear I tried working on it every night after work but none of the right words ever came to me after that first day augh. But again thanks for motivating me to write something!!

Anyways, here ya go!

Nothing’s Reprise

Words: ~1700

“Indeed, mortal. I can grant you the power you seek. However, this comes with a cost.”

Fate had chosen him, it seems. To hear these words. He knew that only he could. After all, he’d never met another like him able to communicate with Duel Monsters spirits. Zarc smiled at his luck. Whatever the price might be, it didn’t matter now. If this was the path the world and fate itself wanted him to follow, who would he be to hold back? No, he’d step forward into it without hesitating.

Anything to exceed their expectations.

“Tell me, O Astrograph Magician.”

“By accepting the power I grant unto you, mortal, you shall forfeit all that you hold dearest. All that you love… shall die. So are the terms of accepting power from me, ruler of Space and Time.”

With arms outstretched and a fiendish smile manifested on his face, Zarc could only laugh.

That’s it?

It seems fate had him be born the luckiest man in the world. The last time he remembered feeling “love” for anything was… when? He continued laughing because he couldn’t remember.

Love… How foolish, he thought as his laugh reached its end. Even not caring for the price, Zarc was still expecting he’d have to give up something more… significant. But this… The price for this was nothing. He almost felt he was being pitied. Especially knowing he was willing to give up anything. Anything. Even himself. In fact…

“I accept! O Astrograph Magician, ruler of Space and Time! With your profound power, overlay our desires!”

His desires. Their desires. The Four Heavenly Dragon’s desires.

He wasn’t forfeiting anything. He was gaining everything. Just as he wanted. Just as they all wanted.

And he had paid nothing for it.

()()()

Walking through the ruins of his hometown, Yuto wondered why he was born so unlucky. Ironically unlucky, at that.

Everywhere he turned, all he saw were stills of life that he’d cherished not so long ago. Swings where children used to play, parks where duelists used to entertain. His school where he, his best friends, and his Ruri had laughed together before on a day-to-day basis.

The central tower with a shattered heart lying at its base.

He’d grown up in a city called Heartland. But now that name only reminded him that everything he ever loved about his life was taken from him. Taken from his heart.

He didn’t want to continue fighting, but what choice did he have left? If he wanted to regain everything they’d taken from his heart, he had to keep fighting. Keep hurting. Both himself and others.

Yuto hated that.

He tried to avoid it. But it seemed fate had him set on a different course.

A boy appeared. One that looked just like him. One that said he worked with the enemy.

He fought him. He didn’t care if he had the same face as him. He was the enemy. And he hated the enemy.

Because the enemy, no matter who it was, had taken everything he loved from him.

()()()

Yugo loved lots of things.

He loved his hometown, The City, even if it didn’t love him back.

He loved food, even if he’d gone days without seeing a crumb.

He loved dueling and dreaming of championships, even if he never even made it to second place.

He loved his freedom too, but he never had a choice where fate would place him.

But above all, he loved his childhood friend Rin, even if she was taken from him. And then turned into an unrecognizable witch before his very eyes. He still loved her. But then she destroyed his last remaining freedom.

Yugo forgot about love. He remembered only hate.

He found the boy from before again. The one who’d taken it all away from him. The one who toyed him into his fate.

The one he wanted to defeat more than anything else in the world. The one who laughed so coldly at him when he couldn’t.

The one with his very same face who he hated the most. The very same one that promised to love him back.

()()()

There were only very few things in this world that Yuya Sakaki hated.

He hated going to school, but never hated school itself. He hated being bullied, but never hated his bullies. He hated losing, but never hated the winner. He hated war and fighting, but never truly hated those warring and fighting.

He hated being separated from the ones he loved, but still never truly hated those who separated them.

Yuya hated certain things, but never people. Never an actual person.

After all, the one thing he wanted most in life was to make others smile. And how could one make others smile from hatred?

How?

Yuya kept asking himself this through his rage.

He couldn’t seem to understand why that sick bastard was smiling. What about Yuya’s hatred towards him could possibly make him smile?

Either way, Yuya couldn’t care less; he was unforgivable. This boy’s sick, twisted smile looked exactly like his. And it disgusted him.

Never before in his life had Yuya Sakaki ever hated someone so badly that he’d want to kill him.

“Unforgivable. You’re unforgivable! Give him back! Give my father back!”

Yuya thought of his father, of his friends, of his family. Of his precious Yuzu. He wanted to remember all the things and the people he loved. He wanted to let go of the hatred. But still, his rage continued. And it wouldn’t be quelled until he’d seen this boy’s, Yuri’s, fated end.

He lost himself in his rage.

“To think that I’d lose… But I’m glad that you are the first one to defeat me…”

He’d won. Yuya won. But Yuya hated this feeling now too. Because the smile on Yuri’s face now… was his too.

“...Because you are me…”

How ironic fate was that the very same and only person that Yuya would ever truly hate in his life… was himself.

()()()

Zarc was himself again. Complete. Whole. Just as he’d remembered.

Missing nothing.

...Or perhaps not?

He felt like himself, but strange. Like something had been taken from him, then replaced with something else.

It didn’t matter now, though. He was alive once more as his true self and that meant he could fulfill his fated purpose. He smiled at his luck again. Even after all this time he was gone, the world and the people he loved entertaining were all still there, waiting for him. Waiting for him to use his new powers to give them more. And he was about to grant their very desires yet again.

But yet again, she was there as well, too. The girl who ruined him before. The girl he vowed he’d ruin this time instead first. The girl he hated more than anything in the world.

The girl that was nothing to him.

He smiled at her.

The path that fate had chosen for him was one of victory this time. He’d never felt luckier.

He continued on that path, fulfilling his promise to the world and its people.

“As thanks to you filthy humans, I’ll overlay my newfound godlike powers with your desires! Just as you all wanted!”

Just as they all wanted. Just as his dragons wanted. Just as he wanted.

Zarc exceeded their expectations, and his own as well, and he left the world in utter ruins, the same way it had left him before as well- broken and irreparable. For once, the one that felt satisfied with his performance was himself.

Just then, something inside him awoke amidst his fading madness and smile, and he looked around him at the unlucky world before him.

Everything he’d ever once known and… loved… became…nothing. Now all Zarc had left was himself.

And he hated that.

He needed to fix things. To go back. To find a way where this entire nothingness before him wasn’t lost… because of him.

“Indeed. As the ruler of Space and Time itself, I am able to grant you that wish.”

“Please, Astrograph Magician!”

Zarc was relieved. Even despite everything, fate was kind enough still to have blessed him with luck one last time. Or so it seemed…

“Then, by accepting the power I grant unto you, you shall forfeit all that you hold dearest. All that you love shall die. So are the terms of accepting power from me, ruler of Space and Time.”

This. Again?!

...But then again, he thought, what does it matter? He looked around him and saw… nothing.

I have nothing left to lose.

()()()

Zarc was himself again. Complete. Whole. Just as he’d…

No. This time it wasn’t just as he’d remembered.

It was strange, though, because he still felt like himself. But he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something had been taken from him… but what?

It didn’t really matter right at that moment, though. He didn’t care. He had power. Just as they all wanted him to. He was lucky that fate had placed him along this path of victory.

Or so he thought… up until the world ended by his hands… again.

Again?!

No. No no no no. This can’t-

Something inside him awoke and reminded him of what he truly hated the most.

He had to go back. He had to fix this.

“Indeed. As the ruler of Space and Time itself, I am able to grant you that wish.”

Relieved again. Fate seemed to be merciful still, or so he believed.

“Then, by accepting the power I grant unto you, you shall forfeit all that you hold dearest. All that you love shall die. So are the terms of accepting power from me, ruler of Space and Time.”

The pendulum he didn’t remember he was wearing around his neck began to sway back and forth in the silent wind up until his voice broke out into the air.

All that I love…?

Zarc could only laugh at his self loathing.

“Please, O Astrograph Magician,” he spoke those words again as something within Zarc awoke once more and pleaded him to put an end to his madness, but, to him, nothing seemed to be worth it. “I have nothing left to lose.”

[oovitus]

The benefits of overindulgence. (And the 4 key lessons that eating too much can teach you).

New clients often come to us feeling guilty and weak after a holiday season, a vacation, or a long weekend of overeating. Our response often surprises them. Because we know that there are some surprising benefits of overindulgence and key lessons that eating too much can teach.

++++

Thanksgiving. Valentine’s Day. The first big summer BBQ. A family reunion at the beach.

Throughout the year, new clients come to us feeling guilty and terrible about eating (and drinking) too much at [insert the latest festivity here].

With a cocktail of regret, shame, and resolve to “do things better”, they tell us how “bad” they’ve been. And how ready they are to shape up once and for all.

Our response often surprises them.

Because it’s not, “drink water” or “get more fiber” or “focus on clean eating”.

It’s actually:

Maybe you needed to overindulge.

Record scratch.

Why would a health, fitness, or wellness coach ever say that?

Because overindulgence has several important — and vastly underrated — roles to play in the bigger picture of health, fitness, and nutrition.

Here are four of them:

Lesson #1. “Slipping up” is a necessary part of change, progress, and success.

We often imagine change or “progress” as a linear graph, like this:

Every day, we get better and better, until eventually we’re perfect, fit, godlike creatures who’ve Got Everything Together.

In reality, change and progress look more like this:

We wholeheartedly embrace better food choices for a bit, then eat macaroni and cheese for a week, then ace our new habits for a while, and then a business trip throws us off for a minute, then we’re back on the horse…

From week to week or month to month, our cycles and rhythms are like a Slinky (or a coil) that’s been stretched like this:

We try something new and move forward, or upward, bubbling with excitement and energy.

Then we cycle. Life throws us a situation that tests our new approach. Progress pauses, or dips downward, or goes backward.

Up, down, forward, back.

There are a number of perfectly good reasons for this:

Maybe we need to go back to re-open or revisit something — to reconsider an idea that didn’t grab us right away, or address a question we avoided answering when first asked.

Maybe we need downtime — to think, reflect, regroup, reboot, or incubate something new.

Maybe we need to regress briefly — to dip into our old selves or old habits and remember why we are building new ones, like visiting an ex to remember why you left them.

Maybe we need to repeat something — to practice, drill, and/or test our skills under different conditions.

Or maybe it’s that we simply don’t have the skills yet to reach the next level of our progression and, like everything else in life, we need to accept that doing things badly is a necessary precursor to doing them well.

Regardless of the reason, weight loss progress can stop or even go the opposite direction. And that usually happens on the tail end of a stretch where we’ve put our exercise regimen on hold, or dived into a week-long food orgy.

That’s why almost every weight loss graph looks like this.

The trend is headed in the right direction, but the day-to-day and week-to-week fluctuations feel turbulent.

But that’s not because every single person trying to lose weight sucks, has no discipline, and can’t do weight loss correctly.

Rather, based on our experience with nearly 100,000 clients and patients, it seems like dips, plateaus, and everything in between are actually necessary.

Both physiologically and psychologically.

Perhaps that’s why they’re so normal.

Which leads us to…

Lesson #2. Indulgence offers an opportunity to ask the bigger questions (and learn some stuff).

Our indulgences — even the ones we ultimately regret — can serve as amazing learning opportunities, if we let them.

Oftentimes, new clients feel ashamed when they feel they’ve overindulged. They just want to hide from their “mistake” and “start over”.

Instead, we encourage them to use overindulgence as the impetus for self-reflection.

This practice helps them get into the habit of observing and learning from what’s going on in their lives and bodies (rather than judging and self-shaming).

For example, we might ask:

What job is indulgence (or celebration, or reward) doing for us?

How important is that for our lives?

What kind of person are we when we’re indulging?

What is good about not doing anything differently?

Clients are often (rightfully) confused when we ask these kinds of questions.

“What could possibly be positive about this?” they want to know, pointing to empty ice cream cartons and a recycling bin full of beer cans.

But here’s the truth: We do the things we do for a reason.

That indulgence, no matter how big or regrettable, is doing a job for us. It’s somehow solving a problem for us, even if not very well.

Recognizing how our behaviors serve us — even “bad habits“ like four cocktails with a junk food chaser — can help us put resistance aside, stop hiding, and see things more clearly.

What need is the indulgence is fulfilling?

And what would be a more valuable/health-affirming way to fulfill that need?

Though it might seem counterintuitive, cutting our bad habits some slack and acknowledging what role they play for us, can actually lead to deeper, more lasting change.

Lesson #3. “Sometimes you need to fall off the wagon to want to get back on again.”

Recently, I shared a large, hearty meal with my friend (and PN food photographer) Jason Grenci.

As the meal was winding down — about the time belt buckles started to loosen and regret threatened to creep in — Jay waved his fork in my general direction and, through a mouthful of pickled beets, dropped this insight bomb:

”Nah. There’s nothing bad about this. Sometimes, you need to fall off the wagon to want to get back on again.”

He was right.

Not only is ‘falling off’ a part of change, but it can also make getting back on feel pretty darn good.

Let’s be honest: Few things motivate healthy choices better than waking up with the meat sweats, heartburn, a hangover, or some other uncomfortable form of bodily rebellion.

And even if you feel perfectly fine after having fun, there’s still an intuitive natural shift that winds the party down.

Perhaps taking a short break from more structured, healthy choices allows us to keep making those choices in future.

It’s the way blowing off a workout to sit on the couch, read trashy novels, and drink too much coffee actually gives you that I-can’t-wait-to-hit-the-gym buzz.

Or the way taking a vacation and making full use of the “all inclusive” swim-up bar and breakfast buffet makes you happy to come home, hit the grocery store, and stuff your fridge with green vegetables.

While you might fear that one indulgence will lead to a lifetime of chaos, research shows that we naturally adapt to pleasure in such a way that — assuming we have at least some interest in our own health and fitness, and perhaps the support of a team or coach — we naturally self-correct.

Lesson #4. Healthy indulgence might actually support “deep health”.

Spend a bit of time hanging around Precision Nutrition, and you might hear a phrase called “deep health”.

Deep health means thriving in all domains of life: physical, mental, emotional, social, etc.

Deep health means:

We are physically robust and resilient, able to act effectively in the world and enjoy a high level of physical function.

Our minds are wise, agile, and kind, helping us solve problems creatively and make thoughtful choices that align with our deeper principles.

Our emotions are available to us and used for good — to take action, to signal something that we need to attend to. Overall, our balance of emotions is positive.

We enjoy healthy, strong, affirming relationships and a variety of high-quality social connections.

We are constantly growing and developing, repairing and recovering, strengthening and flourishing, in whatever ways we are able to do so.

With deep health, we are moving in a “life-forward direction”.

By this definition, a “healthy indulgence” is one that is somehow:

meaningful

truly enjoyable

self-fulfilling

life-affirming

We are fully present for this indulgence. We are more alive because of it.

Non-food examples of healthy indulgences include: playing hooky from work to go hiking with your kids, or see that great movie / big game you’ve been dying to see, or get a decadent massage and soak happily in a hot tub.

Conversely, an unhealthy indulgence might be:

meaningless

an empty distraction

self-destroying

life-detracting

An unhealthy indulgence might be going out and getting trashed on crappy-tasting booze that you chug rather than sip, with people you don’t particularly like, who then encourage you to pick up that smoking habit you’ve been trying to kick.

Interestingly, a healthy indulgence often seems to have its own natural resolution.

At the end of a healthy indulgence, we often feel satisfied and content.

Let’s say you’re a parent who works hard, and then healthily indulges yourself with “me” time and rest.

After some delicious sleeping-in while the kids stay overnight at Grandma’s, you pad around the house in your pajamas, yawning happily and lazing over the Sunday paper.

And then you shower, get in the car, and go pick your ducklings up — excited to see them, ready to enter the parental fray again.

You can’t sleep in forever, nor do you really want to. But sleeping in, getting that “you” time, recharges your batteries and comes to a natural end.

Conversely, an unhealthy indulgence often doesn’t resolve. It may even be actively unsatisfying.

We might try to get the “hit” from it over and over with no results, like playing the slot machines repeatedly with no payout, not even enjoying yanking on that lever but feeling driven to do it anyway.

Plus, if we’re caught in a cycle of binge-and-restrict, indulgence can be part of a pendulum that swings back and forth between chaos and rigid order forever.

In this case, “indulgence” might be code for all-or-nothing. You’re either strictly self-monitoring or utterly, bizarrely impulsive and irrational:

ME MAKE CHOCOLATE PEANUT BUTTER WHISKEY CIGARETTE BACON GRAVY MILKSHAKE NOW NOM NOM NOM.

(Of course, compulsive bingeing is not part of deep health and can be hard to break without help from a doctor or therapist.)

In the end, what if we stopped trying to prevent our indulgences, and accepted them instead?

What if we treated “back” or “down” or “off the wagon” periods as a natural and normal part of the entire experience of change and growth?

I mean, look at how commonly people experience these periods. With that level of frequency, isn’t it time we asked whether they’re important instead of just something to tolerate or “get through” on our way somewhere else?

Isn’t it time we examined them, dare I say respected and appreciated them?

What if they turned out to be fuel for our “forward” and “up” periods?

And what if we all ended up healthier, happier, and even fitter, for them?

What to do next: Some tips from Precision Nutrition

Try these next steps to learn to embrace your indulgences in a health-supporting way.

1. Ask the questions.

Consider the following…

What does a “healthy” indulgence look like for you? Why?

What kind of indulgence would enable and promote “deep health” and balance for you?

What kind of indulgence would inspire you, replenish you, and get you back on the path to deep health again?

What does an “unhealthy” indulgence look like for you? Why?

What things leave you unsatisfied, regretful, frustrated, demoralized, and/or feeling “stuck” in negative patterns?

2. Be honest, thoughtful, and grown-up.

Avoid playing mental games like “If I’m ‘good’ then I get to be ‘bad”, or “If I pretend I didn’t eat the cookies, then it didn’t happen”.

Face your behavior with open eyes, maturity, and wisdom.

Accept that all choices have consequences.

Find a framework for reviewing behaviors and consequences, and zeroing in on what’s “OK” and “Not OK” for you, and for the health you’re trying to achieve.

3. Start building a “flight plan”.

Think of yourself as the pilot of your own life, health, fitness, and nutrition. With that in mind, consider…

Where are you trying to get to, and why?

What challenges can you anticipate that might throw you off your ‘healthy’ flight path? What can you do now to prepare for these obstacles and help yourself adapt when they arise?

Who’s your flight crew? Think about who you have (or who you’d like to have) in your life to help you get to where you’re trying to go. We all need support in our lives — so ask family/friends/coaches for help if you need it.

What’s your flight checklist? What systems or strategies do you have to help keep you get back on course after a (planned or unplanned) deviation?

4. Notice the cues and signs that tell you it’s time to correct course.

Ideally, you’ll learn the cues that tell you it’s time to change your path before you’re too far in one direction or another.

For instance:

Perhaps one decadent meal is perfect, but an entire weekend of them will leave you reaching for the Pepto-Bismol.

Perhaps one missed workout every few weeks actually helps you recover, but a string of couch-potato or desk-monkey days will leave you feeling cranky, lethargic, and squashy.

Perhaps a few martinis and some champagne over the holidays feels like celebration, but after the festivities wind-down, those weeknight glasses of wine start to feel like an unwelcome habit…

5. Accept — perhaps even embrace — periods of “back”, “down”, and “nothing”.

Play the long game.

If your general direction is “forward” and “up”, and you are, overall, working on “something”, then maybe cycling is part of the process.

Maybe cycling actively, significantly, helps you.

If you’re a coach, or you want to be…

Learning how to coach clients, patients, friends, or family members through healthy eating and lifestyle changes (including how to accept indulgence) — in a way that supports long-term progress — is both an art and a science.

If you’d like to learn more about both, consider the Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification. The next group kicks off shortly.

What’s it all about?

The Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification is the world’s most respected nutrition education program. It gives you the knowledge, systems, and tools you need to really understand how food influences a person’s health and fitness. Plus the ability to turn that knowledge into a thriving coaching practice.

Developed over 15 years, and proven with nearly 100,000 clients and patients, the Level 1 curriculum stands alone as the authority on the science of nutrition and the art of coaching.

Whether you’re already mid-career, or just starting out, the Level 1 Certification is your springboard to a deeper understanding of nutrition, the authority to coach it, and the ability to turn what you know into results.

[Of course, if you’re already a student or graduate of the Level 1 Certification, check out our Level 2 Certification Master Class. It’s an exclusive, year-long mentorship designed for elite professionals looking to master the art of coaching and be part of the top 1% of health and fitness coaches in the world.]

Interested? Add your name to the presale list. You’ll save up to 33% and secure your spot 24 hours before everyone else.

We’ll be opening up spots in our next Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification on Wednesday, April 4th, 2018.

If you want to find out more, we’ve set up the following presale list, which gives you two advantages.

Pay less than everyone else. We like to reward people who are eager to boost their credentials and are ready to commit to getting the education they need. So we’re offering a discount of up to 33% off the general price when you sign up for the presale list.

Sign up 24 hours before the general public and increase your chances of getting a spot. We only open the certification program twice per year. Due to high demand, spots in the program are limited and have historically sold out in a matter of hours. But when you sign up for the presale list, we’ll give you the opportunity to register a full 24 hours before anyone else.

If you’re ready for a deeper understanding of nutrition, the authority to coach it, and the ability to turn what you know into results… this is your chance to see what the world’s top professional nutrition coaching system can do for you.

The post The benefits of overindulgence. (And the 4 key lessons that eating too much can teach you). appeared first on Precision Nutrition.

The benefits of overindulgence. (And the 4 key lessons that eating too much can teach you). published first on

[arachnidfantastic]

A very early comic example inspired by a thoughtpiece I wrote in 2013. It didn’t continue beyond here, but it was a start in figuring out certain characters and attitudes. Excerpt below.

A silent “Tick, tick, tick” pervaded the air of the Courtington Estate conservatory. A rather magnificent grandfather clock beat out a hollow rhythm within a glass-door wooden cage, heavy brass pendulum swinging back and forth and sending shards of light dancing across the paisley pattern walls and warm wooden floor. Said floor, heavily scuffed, was where a rather peculiar woman currently crouched, surrounded by flurries of paper and a rather knowing, heavy-looking set of galactic atlases.

The woman, it should be noted first and foremost, was not wearing a skirt nor a dress, a move considered most scandalous among her societal position. What was furthermore scandalous was the fact that she was wearing pants, generally accounted as men’s clothes, and a creamy cotton blouse, tailored to form. This unconventional ensemble was completed with a red cravat secured fast with a golden pin, which gleamed in the sunlight when she shuffled around. And she did an awful lot of shuffling, because as a spider she did not simply sit in one place for long. There was very little from an outsiders perspective that could be considered ‘conventional’ about Lady Catherine Courtington. Even from an insider’s perspective she would snugly fit into the “Outrageous company” section of high society.

If she ever cared about any of this however, she never showed it. Catherine leaned and rotated a piece of paper, quietly marking it off with a red “X” from a fountain pen she gripped in her second right arm. With her primary arms, she sipped very delicately at a teacup of Earl Grey.

She reached forward and flipped several pages over in an atlas marked “Centaurus”, muttering quietly to herself. “Ah, but no, this is outdated. Years outdated. The Gamma Centauri move at nearly double that speed.” She pressed a kid-gloved finger to her lower lip, clinking her teacup down on a china saucer, “could be a printing error. What a shameful oversight.” She crossed out a figure and corrected it with her red pen, quietly writing ‘For your information’ beneath it in flamboyant cursive. She then moved her attention back to cross-referencing her maps. It seemed, from the state of the mess and the vast number of teacups upon her abandoned desk, that she had been at this for several hours, and with no sign of stopping.

“Thorough as always, aren’t you” a petite woman spoke, pushing open the door.

“Aa-aah! My notes!”

“Really Catherine this could be done far faster with a more efficient and tidy work process.”

“I will work as I like Abigale, because the way I like to work is in fact, a method that has proven highly successful in the past.” Catherine swirled her tea, “Several times over.”

“There is no dealing with you, Catherine.” The woman leant against the doorframe. In terms of looks she and Catherine could have been twins, only Abigale was infinitely more presentable, with long curled locks and a very practical afternoon dress.

“My tea is cold” Catherine muttered, placing the saucer aside frustratedly, “And I’ve found about ten mistakes in this atlas.”

Abigale tiredly sighed, as one might do if exasperated with a small child. “That would be because it’s the 3940 edition, if you hadn’t noticed. You haven’t replaced these since… Why, I don’t think you’ve ever replaced them. They were your father’s.”

Catherine ruminated on this briefly. “Well I can’t very well throw them out then, but the fact of the matter remains. They are not simply outdated, they are blatantly wrong” this was spoken in a way that made it seem as if the atlas had done her a grievous offence. The atlas couldn’t really compete with a space captain’s knowledge of the extra-aether, and sat rather pitifully in the shadow to where Catherine had shoved it. It didn’t offer up a counter-argument.

She let out a second disgusted snort. “I mean, honestly. Half the measurements are clearly off by nearly six parsecs.”

“An unsightly error, I’m sure. Catherine, you are aware that I do, in fact, do a lot of my work from this very room? I’ll have you know tha- Is that one of my finance lists?” she snatched a piece of paper up from the floor, “you’ve drawn a map of Sigurd’s Cradle on it. Catherine.”

The short-haired, handsome woman tried to give her an apologetic grin, but it seemed there would be very little sympathy for her in this quarter. Abigale Stohl was meticulous about papers.

“I can’t get any work done with you in here Catherine, so I must insist that you vacate the area until I’ve at least sorted the bills.” She bustled over and pulled Catherine up by the waist, shuffling her with surprising speed toward the door.

“But Abby, I-“

“Out. Out! And buy yourself a new atlas while you’re at it, you could do with seeing how things are going about central.”

Catherine opened her mouth to insist that she’d hardly be bossed about in her own home, but the door was already closing upon her abdomen, and she decided that the battle had really already been lost.

“Not even a good-bye kiss and the time of day, how do you fancy that.” She shrugged amicably and made her way across to her bedroom in order to straighten up and fetch a coat. “I must have upset her” she sighed resignedly. Catherine was not altogether unaware that Abigale had a rather difficult job to do without her directly mucking around in things. Reliability and diligence were merits that Abigale had in spades, and very well when dealing with the tumultuous finances of wayward nobility. Stohls, thought Catherine, are rather like living calculus machines.

She’d have to get her a peace offering, perhaps a new hat. Catherine knew that Abigale was somewhat partial to head adornments.  She nodded at herself in the mirror, fixing up her cravat and combing her hair to its usual place before taking a tricorn off her hat stand and angling it roguishly over her eyes. Satisfied now, she checked her coin-key was where she had left it in her pocket and made her way downstairs.

“Been bustled out of the study, have ye Lady Courtington?” a maid called at her from downstairs. Catherine gave her most charming “What-can-you-do” smile and slid down the bannister.

“Apparently I may have accidentally drawn on some important papers.”

The plump, mousy-haired woman wagged a finger at her. “Ye should know better by now, Abigale ken smell disorganised notes from th’ moon, or further. And don’t slide down the bannisters like that, lord girl ye’ll cause me to pop m’ clogs early with that dangerous carry-on.“

“Alright nanny, alright. I’ve learned my lesson for today.” She raised her hands in amicable submission. Technically this woman had raised her from eggbreak, and viewed Catherine very much like a wayfaring niece. Their banter was less than formal as a result- though Catherine was quite known for speaking rather easily with anyone, high ranked or low. It was her gift.

“Before I become distracted with nuances, has there been any mail?”

“Nay ma’am, although we may be expecting a visitor.”

“May we? How dreadful. I hope at least it’s an interesting visitor” she sniffed, making her way toward the parlour. A rather tired-looking butler straightened up at her approach, an arm across his chest. A beetle, rather than a spider, he had a very noble chin, high, arching eyebrows and was taller than Catherine by at least three heads.

“Jennings”, Catherine addressed, “am I to understand that we’ll have to be dealing with guests this afternoon?”

“Just the one, madam.” Jennings was nothing if not orderly. “A Lord Bryce Teversham to see you. He should be here in ten minutes.”

Catherine quirked an eyebrow, “in as much as a Lord Teversham can be counted to be on time. People these days, really. How long ago did he ring?”

“Just now, madam. He made it seem rather like he ought to be expected.” Jenning’s tone bordered on accusing. Catherine winced. Perhaps she ought to have read through her letters recently.

“Oh very well, I’ll deal with him then” she said, tucking her fringe beneath her hat and settling next to a table. “Would you mind fetching the tea?”

“Not at all madam.” He turned and made his way out, sweeping his tailcoat behind him. Catherine was thankful for Jennings. Not only was he a magnificent butler, but he had the added benefit of a mildly entertaining personality and good aim with a revolver, if worst came to worst. Many of Catherine’s estate servants were practical that way.

“Teversham, Teversham…” Where did she know that name from, again? “Probably some astringed ‘friend’ of fathers. I certainly don’t know any Lord Bryce Tevershams.” She snorted to herself. Talking aloud was a habit Catherine had at one stage attempted to reform, but she always did her thinking better out loud where there was space for thoughts to be thought upon. “Margaret? Margaret, did Father know any Tevershams?” she called out into the hallway.

“Ye mean th’ Lords? Well I suppose ‘e may ‘ave ‘ad one over once or twice Ma’am” the maid called from the stairwell.

“What sort of lot are they?”

There was a short pause. “Big.”

“Ah. Thank you Margaret, that will be all.” Tarantulas. Catherine didn’t often deal with Tarantulas. They tended to be less charming than the company she preferred to keep. Jennings passed back into the parlour with a silver tea set laid out on tray, which he placed upon the table. Catherine would never allow him to actually pour it; tea was a personal affair.

She was in the middle of pouring cream when there came a knock at the door. “Lady Courtington?”

“Yes Jennings?”

“I believe your visitor has just arrived, madam.” He sniffed, and then leant next to Catherine to quietly murmur in her ear. “He had to duck in the doorway. Seemed very harassed about it.”

Catherine snickered behind her hand. “Ah. One of those sorts. Alright, bring him in.”

The man indeed was one of those sorts, as Catherine put it. Huge, as if fit to burst out of his suit, he had a very square jaw and big, muttonchop-styled mandibles. He seems rather red in the face- perhaps he didn’t deal well with having to crouch in order to enter Catherine’s parlour.

“Lord Teversham” Catherine said with a smile and a small, bordering on mocking bow, “How do you do, my good sir?”

Teversham took a handkerchief from his breast-pocket and mopped his brow irritably. “Haven’t you any rooms with a higher ceiling? I feel like a primitive, crouching all over the place.”

“I do apologise, my Lord. Courtingon Manor was not built in mind of those with quite your proportion of… Generous…Ness.” She gestured mildly toward him, “My father was never a big man, and my mother wasn’t much larger. Katipo, you know. Very small.” She paused, “I rather imagine I’d feel dwarfed in your own home. Would you like some tea?”

Lord Teversham shuffled over and crouched down upon a stool in what was akin to a spider’s version of sitting politely. “Thank you, my Lady.” He seemed to struggle with calling Catherine a “Lady”, as he was still in the act of mentally processing her unusual garb.  “I trust you received my letter?”

“It’s been a while since I went over it. Would you mind refreshing me on the matters in question?”

Lord Teversham mopped at his brow again, seeming slightly irritated. Jennings poured his tea. “The matter of business is more a matter of money, though I am loathe to bring it up.”

“Oh, so am I.” Smarm was one of her occasionally less charming points.  

“Lady Courtington this is a serious matter.”

“Are we not being serious?” she gestured loosely toward nowhere in particular. “Alright, I admit it; I haven’t quite had the time to peruse your letter. I apologize.” She didn’t seem particularly sorry, but it was something.

“Lady Courtington-“  

“Actually if we’re going to be talking about money I should really get Abigale in-“

“You won’t require a financial advisor my Lady it is merely a small matter of a debt owed to my family in a generation past.”

Catherine started. “Debt?” Catherine was especially loathe to be in debt to anyone, least of all other nobility.  She fell back and distracted herself adjusting her cravat. “My father owed you money? May I ask haven’t I heard of this before now?” Her voice was level, calm.

“Lady Courtington, we’re a big family.” Teversham cleared his throat, “and we felt it was imprudent to come to the daughter so soon after the death of her only remaining parent, of course.”

“Of course. I appreciate that, my Lord.” Catherine was pleased that there was no mention of her mother. Polite company, and all that. “So how much is owed?”

The number he quoted struck her uncharacteristically silent. Her hand wandered up to massage her forehead.

“I b-beg your pardon? But- how? Why?”

“I’m the last person to question about your fathers financial affairs my Lady; I am merely here with the unfortunate but nevertheless important news. A family such as mine, you understand, must collect what it is owed.”

“Of- of course, my Lord. I would expect nothing less.” The affronted hand settled back in place in her lap as she snapped back to composure.  “I will need to speak with my financial consultant you understand. I am not readily aware of finances whilst I am running the estate.” Not readily aware translated into I let Abigale take care of everything in this case. “I appreciate your time, Lord Teversham.”

“The pleasure is mine, Ms- Lady Courtington.” Catherine caught the inflection and excused it. He had done a very good job until now, after all. “The issue is not immediate, of course. We will allow a grace period.”

“Very kind, my Lord.”

“With that, my Lady, I believe I shall excuse myself. Forgive the lack of courtesy but I have important matters to attend to elsewhere.” The gargantuan man raised himself up so that his hair nearly touched the ceiling. He held his top hat responsibly in his right hand so as not to knock it into submission.

“Understandable my Lord, allow me to escort you to the door.”

 Catherine found herself in a rather listless state as she waved Lord Teversham out. There was a vastly logical part of her that found itself appalled for not having heard of this debt sooner, and a vastly emotional part of her that felt in despair. Her estate found itself in no position to reimburse a lordly family, and hadn’t once in the four years since her father the honourable Lord Timothy Courtington had passed away. The family fortune had been cleft by some dubious and mysterious outer force, and Catherine herself had hence spent the last two solar sweeps trying her greatest to keep a foot in the door of noble society. Her outrageousness of manner, at least, would ensure that she would never be forgotten.

Feeling rather dazed, she made her way back toward the study, and knocked politely at the door. “Abigale?”

“Oh, what is it now Catherine? I’m hardly in the manner to be dealing with any eccentricities at the moment.”

“I can assure you Abigale that for the moment eccentricities are the farthest from my mind.” Her voice betrayed a kind of despondency that Abigale was well used to recognising in the rare moments that Catherine allowed a little sorrow to better her.  It appealed to her greater sympathies and she opened the door to allow Catherine in, who was none-too-surprised to find that all her working papers had already been neatly sorted onto shelves, and the room once more was in immaculate state.

“Well now, what’s the matter?” Abigale managed, in a tone that passed for tenderness upon her usual ranks of scepticism and more than a little irritation.

“I fear I have some bad news.” Catherine stopped, sniffing. “What is that smell? Are you wearing some kind of imported scent?”

“It’s called coffee, Catherine. A new beverage, all the rage over toward the Papillion systems” said Abigale, matter-of-factly, “I find it rather helps with my ability to function over the longer hours a great deal better than tea does.”

Catherine did her best to sound wounded under the circumstances. “I’ll have you know that there is nothing better for the functions than a great deal of tea” she remarked, wary of this new substance.

“Well tea may be all very well for people who actually have the time to sleep at night, Catherine, but some of us have a jolly great deal of work to do. Now what was the poor news that you were here to inform me of?”

Catherine told her.

Abigale, ever practical, was surprised for all of about three seconds before she made her way toward her generously sized and well managed filing cabinets. “I don’t believe it. Not for one second, Catherine, surely we are being had.”

“I find it more difficult to doubt. He seemed somewhat genuine, despite the haughty manner. Tarantulas, you know.”

“Yes yes, I know. Ah, here we are, T for Teversham. Your father did have dealings with some Tevershams in the past…” She fingered the pages with one hand and worried her lip with a fang, “But I find no mention of a lord Bryce anywhere. Mind you, these records are a little outdated. “ She paused. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Catherine had settled herself upon a stool, and gazed worriedly in Abigale’s direction. “Oh, what?”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly lying about the debt.” Abigale didn’t look incredibly concerned as Catherine let out a small sigh, “But this seems odd. It’s from almost before your time, Catherine. One could have easily mistaken this for a grant of good favour. Especially considering the now late Lord Teversham was a serving officer in the same regimental as your father.”

“Well, times are changing Abigale. What worries me is what I’m going to do about this.” She massaged her forehead, hat set sadly upon the desk nearest her. “It’s a lot of money that I don’t have right now. The estate doesn’t have it right now. And my latest expedition didn’t draw nearly as much revenue as I’d hoped it would.”

She jumped as Abigale bopped her rather unsympathetically on the head with the stack of files at hand. “Oh, Stop that. You know I can’t stand it when you start worrying over everything like this. I haven’t the time for it.”

When Catherine didn’t immediately fire back a witty retort, she relented. “Oh come now Catherine. You’ll think of something, you always do. It’s only a matter of time.”

“I thank you for your reassurances Abigale.” Catherine stood. “But I still want you to promise me that if worse comes to worst you get out of this sinkhole before it becomes the death of your good name.”

Abigale rolled her eyes at the sentiment. “If I cared for my good name at all I’d have avoided you at all cost, but here I am. You’re trouble, Catherine,” she gently grasped at the other’s hand, “but you care a great deal too.”

She leant forward and delicately kissed her on the cheek, and before she knew it Catherine was once again standing on the other side of the doorway. “Now as much as I’d enjoy spending the evening making you feel better Catherine I may have mentioned that I have a lot of work to finish. I suggest that you call in on Orpha, and then make plans at the docks tomorrow. And do stop feeling sorry for yourself, will you?”

Before Catherine could answer, Abigale had once again secured herself within the study. She forced herself into smiling. “Oh, very well then.” How does she do that?

The prospect of calling in on Orpha did cheer Catherine up some.  “She always knows what to suggest to brighten my mood. I really shall need to procure that hat… “ she winced, “After this little situation has been repaired. Margaret? Would you kindly fetch the cellular telephone?” she called down the hall.

“O’ course, ma’am”

The short, mousy maid returned with the ungainly device within minutes. It certainly looked brickish, though really that was due the vast amount of superfluous brass and wood ornamentation. Orpha continually insisted that the device could be optimised, but then, that would have meant losing a sense of style. And we, my ever-so-charming Catherine, must never be caught out of the latest technological style. “Thank you Margaret, that will be all for this evening.”

“I take it ye’ll not be staying with us tonight?”

“I highly doubt it. I’m calling in on Orpha; I suggest you all take the night off, as Abigale looks like she won’t be emerging from the study at any stage tonight either.” Catherine leaned down slightly to talk softly, “though if you wouldn’t mind, do keep an eye on her for me? She’s been working herself to death the last few weeks, I’m worried. And that besides, when she’s like this she’s no fun at all.”

Margaret smiled and pinched Catherine’s cheek in an old maid’s sort of way. “O’ course, dearie. You’re just a wee softie really, aren’t ye?”

“Oh Nanny, you know me too well. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a call to make.” Margaret handed the sizeable device over, and Catherine withdrew to the parlour, dialling a familiar number as she went.

 Orpha arrived in an unusual fashion, just as Catherine had come to expect from her dear companion over the last decade. In truth Catherine heard her before she saw her, as she stopped outside the study on the second floor to chat with Abigale first. She only pretended to be bothered by it.

“Now what may I call this contraption, Orpha?”

“Oh, Catherine!!” exclaimed the rather tall orb-weaver, “Hellooooo down there! I was just stopping to chat with Abigale, you know how little I see of her these days.” She grinned. Catherine rolled her eyes with an amused smile. The vehicle she was perched upon had a semi-spherical shape; from beneath Catherine could see four nodes from which a rotating green energy pulsed,  which she deduced must be the points of contact with the aether that kept it afloat.

Abigale waved amiably out the window at her, and then bid Orpha a good evening. The contraption lowered smoothly, with a slightly audible hum that Catherine had come to associate with many of Orpha’s latest technological endeavours. It was a comforting sound.  

“I call it,” said Orpha, with a show-woman’s flair, “Flannigan’s Minute-Oscillation Aetheographic Transportation Chariot, Mark: the Third.”

“Always favouring the overly-complicate titles, Orpha” said Catherine, struggling to remember the entire name should it come up again in conversation.

“By my logic,” replied Orpha, “if someone isn’t intelligent enough to pronounce the damn thing then they certainly aren’t intelligent enough to be trusted driving one.” She shuffled over; tapping the brass platform with a boot, “Now, get on.”

In typical Orpha fashion, she’d managed to bring with her a device entirely unsuited to the task at hand. Though Catherine was tiny where Orpha was thin and tall, it was still a very close thing for them to both fit upon the floating scooter-platform at once.  Catherine ended up with her belly pressed against Orpha’s hip, holding on to a handle with two hands and the others firmly clasped around Orpha’s waist. She gave the impression of a rather well-dressed limpet from a distance, and was aware she probably looked very silly.

“This, “she grumbled light-heartedly, “is going to ruin my reputation of being a suave gentlewoman, if we get witnessed.”

Orpha wound her lower right arm over Catherine’s shoulder. “Well, you could stand upon it, driving with two hands while holding me bridal with your primaries, but given my considerable largeness and your just as considerable shortness the laws of physics decree the event will likely end in disaster.” She adjusted her top hat, “You shall just have to make do with being a barnacle for now my dear, there’s nothing for it.” She paused, struck by a thought, “Unless you wanted to hide ‘neath my skirts like-“

“Alright Orpha, I believe this will do” Catherine said, trying not to consider Orpha’s second option as more than a joke.

“That’s about what I thought, too.” With a cackle and a few cranks, the device lifted off the ground and buzzed off into the distance. Catherine found herself sparing an arm to hold onto her hat, which threatened to fly off in the wind. The contraption wasn’t the most comfortable of things, but Catherine supposed that at least it was fast- which was probably what Orpha had wanted to show off in the first place.

“Oh, do you mind slowing it down a little? I think my cravat is coming undone.”

Orpha just grinned wickedly. “That’s what you get for wearing men’s clothes.”

She didn’t slow a single mile.

 By the time the pair had reached Orpha’s research estate the orb-weaver was chatting at a hundred miles an hour.  It had become vastly apparent to Catherine, even since their youth, that Orpha’s brain was a complex mechanism that seemingly ran on perpetually, and never slowed for anything. The main difference between the Orpha of her youth and the Orpha of her adult life was that now Orpha also had the will to verbalise and carry out many of the complex theoretical and scientific ideas that she was constantly thinking about. She simply did not stop.

“Oh but if you could only imagine the potential of these discoveries, Catherine! I truly feel as though I may be on the precipice of the modern era, as though one small tip of the scale could hurtle us in entirely new directions!”

“Considering the still growing success of your petroleum research Orpha I’d imagine you’ve tipped those scales already.” Catherine smiled, catching the door as Orpha hurried on inside. Often caught in the throes of her genius, Orpha was in the habit of forgetting common courtesies- changing dresses for appropriate times, for one. Catherine didn’t mind. The evening dresses Orpha most commonly wore tended to show off a pleasing amount of bosom anyway, and one could always open the door for oneself if need be.

“Oh, no! Catherine, I could go- We as an empire could go so much farther! The potential my efficient petroleum consumption research has reaches far beyond what our current technology can keep up with! I simply must take it all further, all of it- INGRUM, INGRUM WHERE ARE YOU?” she suddenly yelled, and from a distant corner behind a large pyramid of research notes scuttled a young spikey-haired lab assistant, looking mildly exhausted. He adjusted his glasses hurriedly.

“Yes Dr. Flannigan? I’m right here, what did you need?”

Orpha swooped toward him, clearly excited, and babbled a large amount about an apparent form of combustion engine she had been thinking about on the return trip- “And make sure you write all this down, will you? I would myself but I need to check on the degradation samples.”

Catherine had made acquaintance with Orpha’s research assistant on occasion, although he often proved to be rather too meek to make adequate conversation with- unless one was well versed in the principles of advanced pyrochemistry. He was only about twenty two, and far less outspoken than his superior, but he was efficient and possessed enough passion for what he was doing- which, Catherine supposed, was what had really drawn Orpha toward him as a young scientific graduate. And who would deny the chance to work alongside the woman whom the Royal Scientific Academy of Arachnidea had most recently awarded a Nobel prize? Orpha’s research into the principles of petroleum efficiency in order to perpetuate long-term space-travel had revolutionized the extra-orbital transport industry. Trips that previously took months could be compressed into mere weeks- it was comparable, some said, to the invention of the extra-aether dirigible back in the early 3600’s.  

Ingrum made his way hurriedly back to the corner of research notes he had previously been nestled in, and began scribbling away on a new piece of parchment. Catherine watched in amusement. “Dare I say it Orpha, but I think you might need another assistant. Poor Ingrum seems rather harrowed, and it doesn’t seem as though the place has been organized in- well, years, really.”

Orpha paused mid-stride. “Well it has been a year since I acquired Ingrum and the place is starting to get a little out of sorts, I suppose.” She then continued toward a large bulkhead door, in front of which she donned a pair of goggles, gloves and a white-brown lab coat.

“A little out of sorts? Orpha, it looks like a bomb went off in here. And not too long ago, either.”

“Oh that was just a small incident. We cleaned most of the soot off the ceiling.” She set about heaving the bulkhead aside, “Can you give me a hand with this?” she paused to cackle, “I seem to be one shorter than I remember.”

Catherine scowled as she was struck by a twinge of guilt. “Orpha, you know I don’t like those jokes.”

“Oh, let it go already Cat, you know I’m only kidding.” Catherine didn’t feel very much like being kidded around with over the subject. It was very obvious how one of her coat-sleeves hung limp on the left side, where Orpha was missing one of her arms. And in many ways, Catherine still felt responsible- if she hadn’t encouraged Orpha’s dangerous experiments, then perhaps Or would still possess all of her limbs. Orpha scowled back. “Need I throw you out? I don’t have time for a pity parade; now help me with this door already.”

Catherine did what was sensible and helped Orpha to pull the heavy bulkhead aside. “There. Now, what exactly are you checking on?”

“Oh, I have some oil, iron and silicon degradation cycles I’ve been observing for the last few weeks, I have no doubt you’d find them boring,” Orpha said, as she crept into the sterilized environment. The entire room was painted white, as far as Catherine could see from outside the door, filled with various boxes and tables upon which sample trays were carefully arranged and labelled (Far more tidy than the world outside the chamber)- she supposed it wouldn’t be wise to stride in and contaminate Orpha’s workings. After several years Catherine had learned that looking was far safer than touching when in a scientific laboratory. She leant against the open bulkhead and listened contentedly as Orpha prattled on about rust and weathering and erosion- although she couldn’t follow much of it and as Orpha had predicted it was a rather boring subject- she found herself, as usual, very content to simply hear Orpha’s voice.

“Right!” exclaimed Orpha, making her way back out of the lab and pulling off her gloves, “Can I offer you a coffee?”

Catherine groaned. “Saints above, not you too.”

“Beg your pardon?”

Catherine’s shoulders drooped resignedly. “Abigale has been drinking that as well. I’ve been told it’s a new foreign import. Whatever is wrong with tea? Tea was the finest thing we ever imported.” There came a dramatic sigh. “This planet is going to the dogs.”

‘Have you even tried it?”

“No, and I do not plan to. Tea will be fine, thank you. Earl Grey if you have any.”

“Oh, stubborn as ever. May I invite you to the library? I’m writing another thesis.”

“All’s fine by me- no, wait.”

“What’s wrong?” Orpha asked, puzzled.

“There’s something I need to do first, I’m just trying to remember what it was. “ Catherine tapped a finger against her lip, “No, wait, now I recall.”

She took off her hat and held it as a shield to Ingrum’s wandering eyes as she pulled Orpha down into a kiss, as she’d been yearning to do for the last hour. When she was satisfied the two parted, and Orpha licked her lips. “I was wondering when we would get to that.”

“You’re not an easy woman to catch outside of work, you know.”

“I’m not actually outside of work yet, you may have noticed.”

“We must take exceptions somewhere.” Catherine smirked. Orpha had to concede. They both smiled.  “I believe you offered tea?”

Orpha nodded , shy in the way she always was when Catherine kissed her. It was strange how the woman had evolved with age and experience, but the girl still stuck with her in the small beatings of her chest. Catherine adored her for it. She adored her for a great number of things, really.  

One of them being that she happened to be absolutely brilliant. Another being that she hadn’t always been aware of the fact.  When they were young girls, Catherine had often been the one to encourage Orpha to try out her theories. It had taken her nearly three years of egging her on before Orpha had finally started her on her first practical experiment.

Catherine smiled fondly at the memory as they passed through into the stairway that lead into the upper study of Orpha’s house. Her research facility, which often suffered trauma from her various research on things that went boom, was separate from her home mansion, which Orpha had been lucky enough to be granted by the Royal Science academy for her work. Orpha had not come from a wealthy family- but she had come from one that recognised her potential enough to do all they could to encourage it, and that had been enough. Her family now lived in a rather well-off state in the townhouse Orpha had bought for them after her first invention had become one of the greatest astronautical successes of the decade.  

Catherine was so very proud of her.

 Catherine awoke from a doze upon Orpha’s library couch in the early hours of the morning, completely confused as to how she managed to fall asleep in the first place.  She took in the familiar surroundings with a blink, and then gazed across the room to the comforting cherry wood desk where Orpha herself had, predictably, nodded off face-down amongst a large flurry of astrophysics notes.  The sight made her smile. Quietly as she could, she rose from the furniture and made her way over, gently shaking Orpha awake via shoulder.

“Huhwassit?” mumbled the orb weaver, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. “When’d I fall asleep?” she shook her head. “Aetherial combustion theory…”

“It doesn’t seem to have interested you enough to work a twenty-four hour stretch, my dear,” said Catherine, “good morning, by the way.”

“It’s morning?” she seemed somewhat surprised.

“Good morning,” Catherine repeated, before ringing for tea.  “You really ought to make more use of your bed; else you’ll end up with terrible neck problems.”

Orpha propped herself up on one elbow, gently sifting her notes together. “You are beginning to sound like Abigale. In a matronly way.” She giggled at the face Catherine made in response.

“Are you accusing me of lacking fun, Ms. Flannigan? Be aware I shall not take such slurs lying down.”

“Lacking fun? I shall suggest no such thing. You are simply getting old.”

“Old!” Catherine spluttered. “Old!!”  

“Practically a spinster.”

“You are treading dangerous waters, Ms. Flannigan! Dangerous waters indeed!” Catherine exclaimed, reaching her arms around Orpha and burying her face in her hair. Orpha, for her part, couldn’t cease her giggling now started and thoroughly encouraged. What stopped them instead was a quiet “A-hem!” from the doorway.

“Your tea, madams” an elderly butler announced, as the two women sprang apart in embarrassed chagrin. To be caught canoodling by one of Orpha’s servants wasn’t exactly proper, after all.

Catherine cleared her throat and stood back, allowing the man to place the tea set on Orpha’s paper-strewn desk. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, my Lady. A Ms. Stohl has left you a telegram regarding Lady Aschenbacher in the communication room, should you wish to check it.”

Orpha immediately set to scowling. Catherine saw her mouth the words “Lady Aschenbacher”, eyes halflidded. Orpha couldn’t stand Winnifred, which was a shame, because Catherine was very fond of her.

This is where the excerpt ends. Other things continued developing elsewhere!

[oovitus]

The benefits of overindulgence. (And the 4 key lessons that eating too much can teach you).

New clients often come to us feeling guilty and weak after a holiday season, a vacation, or a long weekend of overeating. Our response often surprises them. Because we know that there are some surprising benefits of overindulgence and key lessons that eating too much can teach.

++++

Thanksgiving. Valentine’s Day. The first big summer BBQ. A family reunion at the beach.

Throughout the year, new clients come to us feeling guilty and terrible about eating (and drinking) too much at [insert the latest festivity here].

With a cocktail of regret, shame, and resolve to “do things better”, they tell us how “bad” they’ve been. And how ready they are to shape up once and for all.

Our response often surprises them.

Because it’s not, “drink water” or “get more fiber” or “focus on clean eating”.

It’s actually:

Maybe you needed to overindulge.

Record scratch.

Why would a health, fitness, or wellness coach ever say that?

Because overindulgence has several important — and vastly underrated — roles to play in the bigger picture of health, fitness, and nutrition.

Here are four of them:

Lesson #1. “Slipping up” is a necessary part of change, progress, and success.

We often imagine change or “progress” as a linear graph, like this:

Every day, we get better and better, until eventually we’re perfect, fit, godlike creatures who’ve Got Everything Together.

In reality, change and progress look more like this:

We wholeheartedly embrace better food choices for a bit, then eat macaroni and cheese for a week, then ace our new habits for a while, and then a business trip throws us off for a minute, then we’re back on the horse…

From week to week or month to month, our cycles and rhythms are like a Slinky (or a coil) that’s been stretched like this:

We try something new and move forward, or upward, bubbling with excitement and energy.

Then we cycle. Life throws us a situation that tests our new approach. Progress pauses, or dips downward, or goes backward.

Up, down, forward, back.

There are a number of perfectly good reasons for this:

Maybe we need to go back to re-open or revisit something — to reconsider an idea that didn’t grab us right away, or address a question we avoided answering when first asked.

Maybe we need downtime — to think, reflect, regroup, reboot, or incubate something new.

Maybe we need to regress briefly — to dip into our old selves or old habits and remember why we are building new ones, like visiting an ex to remember why you left them.

Maybe we need to repeat something — to practice, drill, and/or test our skills under different conditions.

Or maybe it’s that we simply don’t have the skills yet to reach the next level of our progression and, like everything else in life, we need to accept that doing things badly is a necessary precursor to doing them well.

Regardless of the reason, weight loss progress can stop or even go the opposite direction. And that usually happens on the tail end of a stretch where we’ve put our exercise regimen on hold, or dived into a week-long food orgy.

That’s why almost every weight loss graph looks like this.

The trend is headed in the right direction, but the day-to-day and week-to-week fluctuations feel turbulent.

But that’s not because every single person trying to lose weight sucks, has no discipline, and can’t do weight loss correctly.

Rather, based on our experience with nearly 100,000 clients and patients, it seems like dips, plateaus, and everything in between are actually necessary.

Both physiologically and psychologically.

Perhaps that’s why they’re so normal.

Which leads us to…

Lesson #2. Indulgence offers an opportunity to ask the bigger questions (and learn some stuff).

Our indulgences — even the ones we ultimately regret — can serve as amazing learning opportunities, if we let them.

Oftentimes, new clients feel ashamed when they feel they’ve overindulged. They just want to hide from their “mistake” and “start over”.

Instead, we encourage them to use overindulgence as the impetus for self-reflection.

This practice helps them get into the habit of observing and learning from what’s going on in their lives and bodies (rather than judging and self-shaming).

For example, we might ask:

What job is indulgence (or celebration, or reward) doing for us?

How important is that for our lives?

What kind of person are we when we’re indulging?

What is good about not doing anything differently?

Clients are often (rightfully) confused when we ask these kinds of questions.

“What could possibly be positive about this?” they want to know, pointing to empty ice cream cartons and a recycling bin full of beer cans.

But here’s the truth: We do the things we do for a reason.

That indulgence, no matter how big or regrettable, is doing a job for us. It’s somehow solving a problem for us, even if not very well.

Recognizing how our behaviors serve us — even “bad habits“ like four cocktails with a junk food chaser — can help us put resistance aside, stop hiding, and see things more clearly.

What need is the indulgence is fulfilling?

And what would be a more valuable/health-affirming way to fulfill that need?

Though it might seem counterintuitive, cutting our bad habits some slack and acknowledging what role they play for us, can actually lead to deeper, more lasting change.

Lesson #3. “Sometimes you need to fall off the wagon to want to get back on again.”

Recently, I shared a large, hearty meal with my friend (and PN food photographer) Jason Grenci.

As the meal was winding down — about the time belt buckles started to loosen and regret threatened to creep in — Jay waved his fork in my general direction and, through a mouthful of pickled beets, dropped this insight bomb:

”Nah. There’s nothing bad about this. Sometimes, you need to fall off the wagon to want to get back on again.”

He was right.

Not only is ‘falling off’ a part of change, but it can also make getting back on feel pretty darn good.

Let’s be honest: Few things motivate healthy choices better than waking up with the meat sweats, heartburn, a hangover, or some other uncomfortable form of bodily rebellion.

And even if you feel perfectly fine after having fun, there’s still an intuitive natural shift that winds the party down.

Perhaps taking a short break from more structured, healthy choices allows us to keep making those choices in future.

It’s the way blowing off a workout to sit on the couch, read trashy novels, and drink too much coffee actually gives you that I-can’t-wait-to-hit-the-gym buzz.

Or the way taking a vacation and making full use of the “all inclusive” swim-up bar and breakfast buffet makes you happy to come home, hit the grocery store, and stuff your fridge with green vegetables.

While you might fear that one indulgence will lead to a lifetime of chaos, research shows that we naturally adapt to pleasure in such a way that — assuming we have at least some interest in our own health and fitness, and perhaps the support of a team or coach — we naturally self-correct.

Lesson #4. Healthy indulgence might actually support “deep health”.

Spend a bit of time hanging around Precision Nutrition, and you might hear a phrase called “deep health”.

Deep health means thriving in all domains of life: physical, mental, emotional, social, etc.

Deep health means:

We are physically robust and resilient, able to act effectively in the world and enjoy a high level of physical function.

Our minds are wise, agile, and kind, helping us solve problems creatively and make thoughtful choices that align with our deeper principles.

Our emotions are available to us and used for good — to take action, to signal something that we need to attend to. Overall, our balance of emotions is positive.

We enjoy healthy, strong, affirming relationships and a variety of high-quality social connections.

We are constantly growing and developing, repairing and recovering, strengthening and flourishing, in whatever ways we are able to do so.

With deep health, we are moving in a “life-forward direction”.

By this definition, a “healthy indulgence” is one that is somehow:

meaningful

truly enjoyable

self-fulfilling

life-affirming

We are fully present for this indulgence. We are more alive because of it.

Non-food examples of healthy indulgences include: playing hooky from work to go hiking with your kids, or see that great movie / big game you’ve been dying to see, or get a decadent massage and soak happily in a hot tub.

Conversely, an unhealthy indulgence might be:

meaningless

an empty distraction

self-destroying

life-detracting

An unhealthy indulgence might be going out and getting trashed on crappy-tasting booze that you chug rather than sip, with people you don’t particularly like, who then encourage you to pick up that smoking habit you’ve been trying to kick.

Interestingly, a healthy indulgence often seems to have its own natural resolution.

At the end of a healthy indulgence, we often feel satisfied and content.

Let’s say you’re a parent who works hard, and then healthily indulges yourself with “me” time and rest.

After some delicious sleeping-in while the kids stay overnight at Grandma’s, you pad around the house in your pajamas, yawning happily and lazing over the Sunday paper.

And then you shower, get in the car, and go pick your ducklings up — excited to see them, ready to enter the parental fray again.

You can’t sleep in forever, nor do you really want to. But sleeping in, getting that “you” time, recharges your batteries and comes to a natural end.

Conversely, an unhealthy indulgence often doesn’t resolve. It may even be actively unsatisfying.

We might try to get the “hit” from it over and over with no results, like playing the slot machines repeatedly with no payout, not even enjoying yanking on that lever but feeling driven to do it anyway.

Plus, if we’re caught in a cycle of binge-and-restrict, indulgence can be part of a pendulum that swings back and forth between chaos and rigid order forever.

In this case, “indulgence” might be code for all-or-nothing. You’re either strictly self-monitoring or utterly, bizarrely impulsive and irrational:

ME MAKE CHOCOLATE PEANUT BUTTER WHISKEY CIGARETTE BACON GRAVY MILKSHAKE NOW NOM NOM NOM.

(Of course, compulsive bingeing is not part of deep health and can be hard to break without help from a doctor or therapist.)

In the end, what if we stopped trying to prevent our indulgences, and accepted them instead?

What if we treated “back” or “down” or “off the wagon” periods as a natural and normal part of the entire experience of change and growth?

I mean, look at how commonly people experience these periods. With that level of frequency, isn’t it time we asked whether they’re important instead of just something to tolerate or “get through” on our way somewhere else?

Isn’t it time we examined them, dare I say respected and appreciated them?

What if they turned out to be fuel for our “forward” and “up” periods?

And what if we all ended up healthier, happier, and even fitter, for them?

What to do next: Some tips from Precision Nutrition

Try these next steps to learn to embrace your indulgences in a health-supporting way.

1. Ask the questions.

Consider the following…

What does a “healthy” indulgence look like for you? Why?

What kind of indulgence would enable and promote “deep health” and balance for you?

What kind of indulgence would inspire you, replenish you, and get you back on the path to deep health again?

What does an “unhealthy” indulgence look like for you? Why?

What things leave you unsatisfied, regretful, frustrated, demoralized, and/or feeling “stuck” in negative patterns?

2. Be honest, thoughtful, and grown-up.

Avoid playing mental games like “If I’m ‘good’ then I get to be ‘bad”, or “If I pretend I didn’t eat the cookies, then it didn’t happen”.

Face your behavior with open eyes, maturity and wisdom.

Accept that all choices have consequences.

Find a framework for reviewing behaviors and consequences, and zeroing in on what’s “OK” and “Not OK” for you, and for the health you’re trying to achieve.

3. Start building a “flight plan”.

Think of yourself as the pilot of your own life, health, fitness, and nutrition. With that in mind, consider…

Where are you trying to get to, and why?

What challenges can you anticipate that might throw you off your ‘healthy’ flight path? What can you do now to prepare for these obstacles and help yourself adapt when they arise?

Who’s your flight crew? Think about who you have (or who you’d like to have) in your life to help you get to where you’re trying to go. We all need support in our lives — so ask family/friends/coaches for help if you need it.

What’s your flight checklist? What systems or strategies do you have to help keep you get back on course after a (planned or unplanned) deviation?

4. Notice the cues and signs that tell you it’s time to correct course.

Ideally, you’ll learn the cues that tell you it’s time to change your path before you’re too far in one direction or another.

For instance:

Perhaps one decadent meal is perfect, but an entire weekend of them will leave you reaching for the Pepto-Bismol.

Perhaps one missed workout every few weeks actually helps you recover, but a string of couch-potato or desk-monkey days will leave you feeling cranky, lethargic, and squashy.

Perhaps a few martinis and some champagne over the holidays feels like celebration, but after the festivities wind-down, those weeknight glasses of wine start to feel like an unwelcome habit…

5. Accept — perhaps even embrace — periods of “back”, “down”, and “nothing”.

Play the long game.

If your general direction is “forward” and “up”, and you are, overall, working on “something”, then maybe cycling is part of the process.

Maybe cycling actively, significantly, helps you.

If you’re a coach, or you want to be…

Learning how to coach clients, patients, friends, or family members through healthy eating and lifestyle changes (including how to accept indulgence) — in a way that supports long-term progress — is both an art and a science.

If you’d like to learn more about both, consider the Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification. The next group kicks off shortly.

What’s it all about?

The Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification is the world’s most respected nutrition education program. It gives you the knowledge, systems, and tools you need to really understand how food influences a person’s health and fitness. Plus the ability to turn that knowledge into a thriving coaching practice.

Developed over 15 years, and proven with nearly 100,000 clients and patients, the Level 1 curriculum stands alone as the authority on the science of nutrition and the art of coaching.

Whether you’re already mid-career, or just starting out, the Level 1 Certification is your springboard to a deeper understanding of nutrition, the authority to coach it, and the ability to turn what you know into results.

[Of course, if you’re already a student or graduate of the Level 1 Certification, check out our Level 2 Certification Master Class. It’s an exclusive, year-long mentorship designed for elite professionals looking to master the art of coaching and be part of the top 1% of health and fitness coaches in the world.]

Interested? Add your name to the presale list. You’ll save up to 33% and secure your spot 24 hours before everyone else.

We’ll be opening up spots in our next Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification on Wednesday, April 4th, 2018.

If you want to find out more, we’ve set up the following presale list, which gives you two advantages.

Pay less than everyone else. We like to reward people who are eager to boost their credentials and are ready to commit to getting the education they need. So we’re offering a discount of up to 33% off the general price when you sign up for the presale list.

Sign up 24 hours before the general public and increase your chances of getting a spot. We only open the certification program twice per year. Due to high demand, spots in the program are limited and have historically sold out in a matter of hours. But when you sign up for the presale list, we’ll give you the opportunity to register a full 24 hours before anyone else.

If you’re ready for a deeper understanding of nutrition, the authority to coach it, and the ability to turn what you know into results… this is your chance to see what the world’s top professional nutrition coaching system can do for you.

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