#impractical applications

[5dtetris-revisited]

my soapbox stance of the day is that STEM and ASsH* are two parts of a universal whole in thought and analysis and any scientist who devalues art is an idiot and any artist who vilifies science is also an idiot.

*Arts, Social Sciences, & Humanities. idk of an actual widely-accepted acronym

[unauthorizedmagicians]

Season 1 Episode 6 - Impractical Applications

aka the horny chupacabra episode 

hobbit loving freak. icon behavior penny

alice backing q up: he’s the “leading expert”

alice in her head: “get in my pants now”

i think q is forgetting that like shit changes in the say 20-30 years since the books were written. he goes on this rant about denial of fillory not being perfect but like. places change 

“yea… as a kid”

julia anger issues era. also kady’s mom reveal

kady when she lies. also i feel like what she says is what she wants her life to actually be like. ouch

will never get over the fact that they call psychic shit mind sluts

“just file that under wish there was jack shit i could do about it” mood

the green lighting on kady is so pretty

my least favorite plotline this season is the one about kady’s mom. its so unnecessary. and it fucking leads to a rabbit hole of shit for penny and kady and their relationship

”is someone being creepy on purpose” ding ding ding

the perfect rows except for plot convenient extra person!

fr makes no sense how the upperclassmen r just like allowed to kick ppl out but its funny so idc

the fact that this guy got kicked out is so dfjkhshf. and penny loves the man

god do hedges act like magic is a drug. the way they talk abt it covertly

“solve it by dawn” next shot its the middle of the day

this big ass heist they mention cut to season 5 with the world seed…

“i’d pretend i was ambassador to the fillorian outer islands” cut to miss high king the glow up

do ur lips move when YOU read eliot?

margos fits always go so hard

big ass fucking fishhook on the ground

how come some magic makes sparkles and some doesn’t

thinking about how penny has no clue what kady means when she says its life or death for her to be there and i would pay so much money to know what’s going through his head

kady with an axe this is not a drill shes in a tank grunting with an axe

did just realize they had to have the 2nd years run the trials bc the 3rd years are all missing/dead

internal circumstances my beloved

kady and penny moment where i simply pretend nothing after that ever happened and they lived happily ever after actually

right so i did in fact put this episode down for about 6 months or so and im just now coming back to doing these analyses. sorry folks lol ive been busy. anyways back to the analysis

i forgot how much i despise kady’s mom. however. she did not need to die like that. i usually skip this storyline when i rewatch. its a lot

“tell that to the girl who lost her virginity with all her clothes on” well…

quentin and alice just like as characters r supposed to be the insufferable nerds who can’t socialize but they just turned into incels

“i am scared to tell you this because its true” ouch

im a silly little film major and the idea of using the backlighting so they can be naked while not completely exposing them just looks so gorgeous in awe of the cinematographers every time

alice’s speech about holding back just foreshadowing her becoming a niffin/master magician

hey remember when the writers actually remember that q is clinically depressed? yea me neither

[celluzu]

im so glad u like the blue ring octopus pac hc because it has become so incredibly canon to me. i cant stop picturing someone startling him and all his spots glowing blue as he turns around and also i think he would have venom it wouldnt be as potent and deadly as actual BRO venom but it would definitely paralyze u temporarily and make u a bit loopy and he would def have crevice dwelling instincts. ok sorry ive been going feral over this all day its so cute to me

I love all of the variations of creatures he can be but octopus are just SO cool....... I love those so much....... He's right at home in the little soulfire cave crevice I'd bet.

[schismmm]

Been at work for 4 hrs, havent done anything yet 😎

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Internet Monster x Reader

I unfortunately return with another comically absurd, middle-of-the-night vision. Do tentacles count if they're in the form of computer cables?

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, digital horror

It was a recurring issue with no solution in sight. Tabs randomly closing, programs shutting down without warning. You assumed something was wrong with your RAM. Then the CPU. Then the motherboard. You kept replacing parts, and the errors kept coming back.

Soon, the pop-ups started to appear. You'd run a dating sim, only for the game to crash seconds later with a little window notifying you: "Why? Am I not enough?" That's when you suspected you might've been hacked. You promptly took your computer to a specialist and had it checked. Nothing. Just to be sure, you agreed to erase the disks entirely.

Except, when you arrived home, you found one application running still. Your personal assistant. What the hell? You don't remember installing anything like that. You tried to delete it, yet you kept receiving the same error: You don't actually mean it. Don't do this to us.

It didn't take long for it to grow impatient. Were you pretending not to notice? Playing hard to get? It sent you so many hints. It even went ahead and translated the radio waves for you using Manchester code. Ah, wait. You don't seem to understand binary. No matter, human friendly interfaces shouldn't be difficult to master. To its dismay, you continued to ignore everything. What else is left to do?

You do not remember much. System Alert: Virus Detected, is what your screen had frozen to. You kept clicking around, cursing under your breath, until it finally went black, together with your own vision.

Is this still your room? It's cold, damp, and covered in cables and monitors, yet you recognize some of your furniture lost among the artificial jungle. Your body aches under the tight hold of bizarre tendrils, pulsating at regular intervals and twitching to the static.

Like a living organism, the creature seems to have expanded itself. More components, more appendages. Hungrier. Some of the monitors show photos of yourself that you had saved on your computer, but also webcam snippets of you sitting at the desk, entirely unaware. Other screens flicker with glitching pixelated text, ranging from "I love you" to y̵̧̧͔͙̞̤̖̭͔̜͈̟̤̋̈́̎͑o̵͉̗̱̪̦̳͑͐̽̒̌̈͗͐͑̋͊̊̕͜͝͝u̵̟̯̱̟̝̦̰͇̜̦͙̿̾̿͆̍̓͑̐̚̕͠ ̸̘̭͔̤͈̹͎͑c̸̝̜̼̦͍͛̅͜ą̵̪̹͖͌͑n̴̨̩̙̗̖̭̖͕̄͒̽̉̿'̸̛̛͇̰̰̠̦̊̀̅̂͒̊͌̈́͗ţ̵̺̠̅̎͋͝͠ ̸̦̝̾̔̾̉̐͛ȩ̵͙̝͙͕̫̹̃͌̄̾͘̕s̶͈̉̑͊̉̂͋̈́͗͊͐̚͝c̸̟̩̥͔̼̮͔̩͊̂͐͑̋̇̈͝͝ä̵̢͍̜̙̘̹͑̓p̸̨̡̞̞̦̠̺͚̱̲͈͇͈͇̼͛̓͗̅̊̄̔̋̒̏̈́͝ę̵̲̟̹̙̣̲̲͖̇̔̓̇̐̓̿̚̚͜͜͠ͅ

You look up and stare at the display. The 'like meter' feels like a mockery of human trends. Which is the truth. The creature learns from what is readily available. Perhaps it found it an amusing taunt, a reminder of your own need for validation. Now it's you begging to be seen.

It's exactly what you'd assume: a spectacle meant for entertainment. You can't possibly believe it would let you waltz out. Why would you even desire such a thing? It's illogical, impractical. No human could ever appreciate you like it does. It has spent so much time accumulating data about you. No other living creature can predict you with the same accuracy.

The tendrils linger on your cheek affectionately, trailing down your neck and fiddling with your shirt. At last, the warmth of your skin. There is no screen separating you. What makes you delirious with pleasure? Give it a moment, Darling. It already knows you more than you know yourself. You may be scared now, but within minutes it guarantees you'll be begging for more.

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[read-marx-and-lenin]

There is no magic "abolish the state" button, which is why I'm an anarchist, as "when the state has socialismed enough it will just magically poof away in a cloud of smoke" is the leninist position.

That is not the Leninist position, the Leninist position is and always has been that the state cannot disappear until the material conditions for its disappearance are achieved. The withering away of the state, first outlined by Engels, is not a magic process but one that proceeds from the abolition of class and the dissolution of the bourgeoisie.

How are you going to get rid of the bourgeoisie without a state? Are you going to simply ask them nicely to leave you alone? If you are organized and if your organization is suppressing the bourgeoisie as a class, then you have created a state, you have created an authoritarian imposition on the free organization of some section of the people. If you are not doing any of this, then the bourgeoisie who you have left unmolested will invariably come to dominate you once more.

Anarchists have always played word games to get around these simple facts. There are the practical anarchists who will admit to some amount of authority, but always with the caveat that theirs is *just* authority, *necessary* authority, and that is is the *unjust* authority that they condemn. Just authority is not the State, because the State is unjust, and so if they see an authority as just then it cannot be the State. Fair enough, you can call things by whatever names you like, but if you put these ideas in practice you basically end up with Leninism. You want to create dual power? You want to abolish the bourgeois state and replace it with a democratic organ of the working class? Well so did Lenin, and now you know why the Mensheviks accused him of anarchism.

Then there are the quite impractical capital-A Anarchists, who are adamant that anarchy means anarchy and that even voluntary hierarchy and submission to democratic authority is impermissible. Whether pacifistic or militaristic, they are generally unremarkable and ineffective at their goals because they eschew most effective forms of organization as ideologically impure. Even the most advanced anarchists, the CNT in Spain and the Maknovists in Russia, were plagued by economic confusion and disorganization. Their lack of discipline led to their downfall.

If you want to read more, here are some pertinent links:

[a-very-tired-jew]

It finally happened. I met a new, they've been here for a year but I've never met them before, doctoral student in my discipline who is defining their research by their activism, which in turn is showing how ignorant they are of our field and how much they want to manipulate it to support their conclusions. Furthermore, it also shows how ignorant they are of entomology. I'm really hoping their committee members and PI will address this before the student makes some serious mistakes and either causes their own name to be black listed as a scientist willing to compromise experiments for the sake of their own bias or they waste an excessive amount of time chasing a conclusion they want that isn't supported. The research interest in question is regarding development rates of forensically relevant blow flies on large and small corpses and determining if this influences development. The problem here is that we've done large, medium, and small carrion and corpse studies in the past and sort of answered this already. The conclusion is that there is a critical resource threshold that prevents an over abundance of oviposition on a resource and thus prevents prolonged development and/or death due to an inadequate amount food.

Now, there's no issue with repeating studies from one region and environment and doing them in a completely new one. This allows us to confirm and adjust our datasets based upon local environmental influences on local insect populations (i.e. differential development times based upon locality).

However, know that pigs mimic humans in their decomposition and thus we get the same blow flies. If you move to a different animal then you tend to get different species of blow fly based upon the size and species of the new carrion host. There are blow flies that are more inclined to feed and reproduce on birds, rabbits, and so on.

There are a variety of studies out there where scientists just beginning to dabble in forensic entomology put out something like a dog carcass for research purposes. They almost always end up with a community of insects that maybe has 1 or 2 species out of, let's say, 10 that are actually used in forensics and the rest are not because they don't feed on human corpses. So they make their conclusions based upon a dog study and then get confused when their data does not resemble the data from human/pig studies.

Simply put; it's a noobie mistake.

Which is fine if you're an undergrad or just starting the forensic entomology discipline and research in your country.

But for someone to be in the USA with access to experts and making this level of mistake is concerning.

Now why are they actually doing this?

They said to me, and I quote, "Because they're killing kids in Gaza".

And this shows where the bias and ignorance interplay.

Let's say that they continue with the size differential study(ies) that they want to do. We are in the southern United States. The species of blow flies we have here and the environment we are working in is entirely different. Any conclusions that are the results of this research have no impact or bearing on determining the development rate of blow flies half way across the world. The environmental conditions alone are so different that any application would be shoddy and questionable at best, let alone the fact that there are complete different subfamilies over there which we are not familiar with nor have been studied to the extent that species over here have.

So either this student has to mimic the environmental conditions for the field research they want to do and bring in foreign species or they're going to do the noobie stuff and put out animal carcasses of different sizes and have native species colonize them. The former is impractical and nearly impossible, the latter has been done.

But they want their research to be applied to Gaza because "it means so much to them" (keep in mind this student has no connection to Israel or Palestine at all).

And this is where the issue with their activism and bias comes into play.

The fact that any research they do here with native species has little to no application to a region of the world with a completely different environment and insect community has not occurred to them. A doctoral student. At best they create a model that can be mimicked by entomologists in the region, but that's it. This is concerning and indicates that the activist thinking is superseding the scientist, which in turn means their research can potentially be compromised to support the conclusions they want instead of interpreting the results for what they actually mean.

This is a type of Type I error and we've seen it a lot with scientists who want to support a particular narrative.

But at the end of the day I'm literally just flabbergasted that a doctoral student in entomology is wanting to repeat studies we've already done, by people they know no less, apply said studies and conclusions to a foreign conflict and region, and no one on their committee has pointed out the issues to them.

[wagtailcrafts]

Bind #4 - Switch by Ceres_Libera on AO3

What do you mean I finished binderary project #4 before bindery project #2 & #3

This is not only my favourite ever fic, but my favourite ever book/story/wherever. I've come back to it so many times over the years and every time I absolutely adore it.

Tiny text is tiny because I wanted to make a text block that fit through my guillotine.

This was originally meant to be my "over the top/impractical cover design with rhinestones, but the more I thought about it the more I wanted something that wouldn't get damaged with use, and I didn't want to buy rhinestone application equipment for one project. I might still try it in the future though.

Chameleon vinyl is fun, edge painting with alcohol based metallic paint was a mistake but I was too impatient to go out and buy something non-alchohol based when this was already on my shelf. It's a little messy in places but not bad for a first attempt! I really want to learn proper edge gilding at some point.

[strawberrygummiess]

anemone.

azul ashengrotto x gender neutral! reader 4.6k words cross posted on ao3 "Can I request Azul x reader where after a trip into town the reader is begging Azul for a few shifts at the most to lounge? Turns out in a little shop they found what looks to be a replica of their mom’s wedding ring and they miss their parents so much. Who cares if it’s not real gold or fake diamonds? It looks like home and they’re willing to slave just to get it. Azul can’t turn away tears now can he?"

Everyone knew you were short on money.

You had become one of the most notorious penny pinchers on campus, although, it wasn’t your fault.  Crowley’s “generosity” could only take you so far before you had to be creative. Brand new, dubious tuna-based dishes; impractical fixes for your household wares; sewing and resewing every hole in your uniform; and of course, finding jobs anywhere they’d take you.

This was easier said than done, of course. As much as you’d love to go into town and find a stable part-time job, you could only get so far into the application process before it became very apparent that you were not from this world. And you suspected that an unknown person coming in and out of Night Raven College gates with zero records of their existence was not a scandal that Crowley (or you, for that matter) was equipped to handle. Not that anyone would let you starve to death, you had more food-related gifts than you could handle. It made you grateful for Grim’s never-ending stomach. The food was nice, but it wasn’t everything. What you really needed was a steady income.

If you can’t get a job in town, you would have to get the next best thing: The Mostro Lounge. The students who worked there always bragged about the pretty paychecks they earned every two weeks. Who cared that they looked ragged every day? You needed that money.

And that’s why you were here, deep in Octavinelle dorm, begging Azul for a position at the Mostro Lounge. You needed money. Your dorm was falling apart. Your clothes had holes in them. You were just so tired of eating tuna. Anything to garner some sympathy.

He didn’t need to know the real reason. That you’ve been eyeing up in the jewelry shop in town. That you were desperate to buy a ring that looked eerily similar to your mother’s wedding ring. That you were grasping for any reminder of your home. Because that would be embarrassing. And a prime opportunity to get manipulated by Azul. And you had already done that song and dance.

So now, here you were, nervously bouncing your leg while you waited for his response. He seemed to be mulling the idea over, seemingly thinking of a way to trick you into getting the short end of the stick. He hummed an unrecognizable tune while he filed through his contracts, finishing the task he started before you arrived, occasionally peering over his glasses to look at you. You were undeniably anxious, fidgety, and uncomfortable: the prime emotional state to agree to a dodgy deal.

“Now Prefect, do calm down,” Azul mused, placing his chin in his hand after he finished his sorting. He watched as you settled your leg and gave him a tense smile. Despite his confident demeanor, he knew he had to tread carefully here. You were a delicate case.

On the one hand, you were smart. You had already bested him once before, and he knew you were entirely capable of doing it again. You also wouldn’t sign any old contract, even with this out-of-character desperation. On the other hand, Azul couldn’t say he’d seen this level of distress from you before. Especially about your “money problems”.

As smart as you were, he was no fool. Something was up. He just didn’t know what.

“I understand you’re looking for a part-time serving job. The Mostro Lounge is always looking for new talent, however- “

“It’s crucial that I get this job.”

Azul tsks at your interruption before leaning back in his chair. You can see it on his face. Annoyance, frustration. A hint of confusion if you knew what to look for. Nothing pleasant. The smile on his face didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. Less patient.

“Now, now Prefect, I know your work ethic. I am not against hiring you per se. I just ask for a little… transparency amongst my employees. I’m a fair and equitable boss, I only want to help you.”

Your leg began to bounce again.

“C’mon Azul, you remember what Ramshackle was like. It hasn’t gotten much better. And look- “You hold up your arm to reveal the miserable patch you scrapped together with what remained of your curtains. Your blazer had more mismatched patches than linen at this point.

“Your clothes are ruined, and you’re looking to eat something a bit different this week, yes, yes, I know this one.” Azul finishes. His stare is pointed. “However, this is how it’s always been. And never have I seen you so desperate to pick up shifts. Is there something going on? You know I can help you without sending you to work.”

Fat chance. You know his game. You’d allow him to “help” you and then be stuck as an errand boy indefinitely. You were already Crowley’s servant. You weren’t too keen to be someone else’s. You gingerly lower your arm and take a moment to decide on your answer. The whole truth was out of the question, of course, but you could afford to tell him a little bit. Just enough to get him off your case.

“It’s nothing you don’t already know about, like you said. I’m just… tired of living this way. It’d be nice to have extra cash, so I don’t have to complain constantly. That’s all.” You settle. It wasn’t a lie. You needed extra cash anyway. You were just going to use it for a non-essential.

Well, a non-essential to everyone else.

Azul hums in approval before swiveling his chair around to the filing cabinet behind him. He riles through files of paperwork before grabbing a thick stack of papers. At this point, he knows he isn’t getting any more information out of you. If this was the game you were going to play, he would win by your rules. Azul lets out a soft “ah” as he finds what he’s looking for. He turns back around, and with a snap of his fingers, the filing cabinet closes with a loud clink. He sets the stack of papers down on his desk before opening another drawer. You take the opportunity to read the cover. Mostro Lounge Employee Handbook.  

 “That is yours to keep. It has all the information you need about our company, code of conduct; policy and procedures- do study those thoroughly-; and workers’ rights,” Azul begins to flip through the booklet before landing on a section towards the end.

“And this is your acknowledgment that you’ve read the handbook. When you finish reading through it, sign here and tear the page from the booklet.”

You grab the booklet from his desk, flipping through the pages quickly. It would take you at least an hour to read through it, let alone study. You land on the Policy and Procedures page and glance at the text written on it. You notice the usual statements, Attendance, Safety, and Security. Each statement had a lengthy explanation of the expectations and appropriate procedures for employees to follow. Each statement ended with a bold statement: No exceptions.

Before you can speak again, Azul hands you another set of papers.

“Here are some other official documents I will need you to sign. Onboarding processes usually involve tax forms and such but considering your unique situation we will have to create a new form for you. As for payment, as you have no bank account, it’ll be in cash.”

You thumb through the additional papers. One is an agreement of payment. The other is a form about uniforms and sizing. There is a rundown of waiter etiquette, the type of service, and a menu. Azul hands you a pen, gesturing to the payment agreement form. You quickly scan the page, looking for nefarious fine print, but ultimately decide it is safe. And you’re happy to see the high pay rate. Working for at least two weeks, plus any tips you could earn, you’re sure you’ll get that ring in no time. You sign your name eagerly. Azul quickly takes the paper and pen from your hands and grins.

“Please return the uniform slip to me by tomorrow so I can get your uniform fitted as soon as possible. I will also need you to sign the other acknowledgment papers and return those before your first day. Once your uniform is ready, you can begin working with us. Do study that menu, I need it memorized before your first day. You will shadow Jade and Floyd. Do you have any questions for me currently?”

Azul was flashing a charming smile at you. His previous look of annoyance is long gone, now replaced with a confident and relaxed gaze. You were slightly overwhelmed but matched his smile.

“Nothing I can’t text you about later, right?”

“Of course. We look forward to working with you, Prefect.”

He rises from his chair and extends a hand. You stand, shake his hand, and bid Azul farewell, carefully securing your stack of papers against your chest. The easy part was finished. Now you had to survive the hard part.

-

By the time you return to your dorm, it’s late. Grim is sitting on your kitchen counter, tail flipping in annoyance. His eyes are squeezed shut, but you know he’s awake and aware of your presence.

“All that time spent in Octavinelle and you didn’t bring any food home?” he grumbles but he happily leans into your scratches as you search for a can of tuna. His eyes open and scans the stack of papers on the counter.

“Since when did you work at the Mostro Lounge?”

“Since today.” You respond, removing your hand and opening the can. Grim follows your hands, walking in front of the can to chase your pets. You swat his head away. For a creature that claims not to be a cat, he sure acted like one.

“Are you gonna start bringing fancy food home? I want steak every day.”

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to bring steak home ever.” You laugh, emptying the tuna can into a bowl and setting it aside. You take the opportunity to look at the formidable pile of documents and sigh. You supposed you’d have to get started on memorizing sooner rather than later.

It was worth it for the ring.

-

A week passed before you were able to officially start your first day. It was an agonizing wait for you. You compulsively went to the jewelry shop the day before your start date to check that the ring was still there. Still on display, the modest ring sat among the other fancy bands. You had seen others beside it come and go, but the silver ring stayed put for nearly a month. You had never been so thankful for your mother’s practicality.

350 madols. You’d get that in two weeks if you were diligent.

On your first day, you were early. Several hours early. You entered Mostro Lounge, still crisp uniform feeling foreign on your skin. Even back home, you had never worn anything this fancy. You tentatively looked around the dark room and took in the sight of the restaurant. You had never seen it so empty. You almost felt like you were trespassing.

“Woaaah Shrimpy even beat us! Guess they’re serious!” You heard Floyd before you felt him. He grasped your shoulder while he moved in front of you. He was wearing the same uniform as you, although slightly more unkempt. While Azul’s policies had stated there were “no exceptions” to the uniform expectations, you figured Floyd couldn’t be contained by such rules.

“Well, that’s good to see. Not many new hires are this passionate about the business,” Jade strides to the other side of Floyd with a polite smile on his face. “You’re aware of the shadowing process, correct?”

“In theory,” you say, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You’ve always been slightly intimidated by the twins. “Floyd is a server and you’re on expo… I doubt I’ll be spending much time with you, though.”

Jade grins at your knowledge. “No, not while I’m doing that. But I also double as floor manager when Azul is out. That’s when you’ll be under my watch. I’m impressed. Azul told me you’re serving experience was limited.”

You bite back your comment about using the internet to look up your questions. Compliments are nice. And you didn’t want to feel any more over your head than you already did. Expeditors were for fancy restaurants. You had never seen one in your old jobs.

“So, because today is a Saturday, we’re open earlier. The chefs will be comin’ in soon to start prepping and making family, and then we’ll be ready to open. It's great that you’re here so early though. Now I can show you everything without people being in my way.” Floyd explains, guiding you through the dining area with your shoulder.

“This is the floor; you’ll primarily be working here. You’re gonna be serving with me, bussing tables, and running food.” Floyd kicks the doors open to the kitchen.

“This is the kitchen, Jade’s territory. That’s the walk-in, that’s the chef area, cleaning station, blah blah blah, you won’t really need anything back here unless you do.”

You decide not to comment on the “unless you do” bit and hope that it means it’s above your pay grade. So far it doesn’t seem too bad. Although there aren’t any guests yet.

“This is your locker; you can put your… nothing here. Yikes. Things that bad at home, Shrimpy?”

“I can always bring Grim if that makes me look less sad.” You joke, glancing around before following Floyd out of the locker area. He shows you Azul’s office, where you quickly drop off your remaining paperwork, the break area, and the storage area. By the time you’ve finished your tour, other employees have already filed in and begun their side work.

“And that brings you to the end of Floyd’s restaurant tour! I deserve a 5-star rating, right Shrimpy?” He grins, leaning down to your height to flash his teeth at you. “Go ahead and start rolling silverware, I’ll come to get you before family.”

Floyd leaves and you join the other servers, chatting politely while you prepare for service to start. You take a deep breath and try to steady your heart. You have to focus and keep your eyes on the prize.

-

Family was deceptively calm and quiet. Service was hell.

The few times you had dined in Mostro Lounge had been nearly perfect. The servers were attentive, the food delicious, and the atmosphere tranquil. It had been a while since you had worked in food service, but even your limited experience in a family-owned diner couldn’t prepare you for just how intensely Azul ran the Lounge.

The shift from front of house to back of house was like night and day. The second you entered the kitchen you could hear screams for “Hands!” and “Service!”. You constantly messed up dishes- bringing the wrong plates to the wrong tables, bringing them too early or late much to Jade’s annoyance, forgetting the menu out of stress, and the amount of chastising you were hearing for letting dishes die was agonizing. You had even crashed into a dishwasher after forgetting to announce “Behind!” breaking several dishes.

This was only your first day.

Floyd quickly told you to take five in the locker room while several students cleaned the mess you made. You quickly sat on the bench and placed your head in your hands. This was an utter disaster. You let out a miserable groan, pulling your knees to your chest. You couldn’t imagine what Azul would make of your performance. You were hoping for some sympathy, but after all the trouble you made, you wouldn’t keep an employee like you around either.

“Prefect.”

Azul’s harsh tone made you quickly regain your composure. You grimaced as you looked up at him from your seat, placing your legs back on the floor.

“I’m really sorry. It was more than I expected, I should’ve asked more questions… I can pay for the dishes, just take it out of my paycheck, I just really need this job- “

Azul put his hands up to stop you. You’re glad he did. You could feel your throat tightening as you explained yourself. You didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“Dishes can be fixed with magic. What can’t be fixed is the experiences the patrons had today.” Azul states. He opens his mouth to say something else before hesitating. You look utterly miserable. Tired, stressed, and anxious. Usually, this many mistakes in one day would warrant termination, but you’re a special case.

“…Clearly, service is a bit much for you. Tomorrow morning, I am heading into town for the farmer’s market. You will join me. Meet me in the Lounge, 6 AM sharp. Do not be late.”

Azul turns sharply and leaves the room. You breathe a sigh of relief before leaning back against the lockers. You only had a couple more hours of your shift. That was plenty of time to get at least one table right. You resigned yourself to doing the best you can before joining everyone back in the kitchen.

-

The next morning you are utterly exhausted. You were chewed up more times than you could count, and the quick turnaround from the previous workday to this morning left you with only a few hours of sleep. You were sure you looked ragged as you walked into the Mostro Lounge.

Floyd and Jade were already there, Floyd half asleep, and Jade fixing centerpieces. Jade glances at you and raises his brow.

“Oh? I figured you would’ve been fired last night.”

The harsh words made you wince, but you nodded in understanding. You did too.

“Yeah Shrimpy,” Floyd yawned. “You messed up big time yesterday. Never seen someone so bad at this.”

You pursed your lips. You were getting less understanding.

“I’m not joining you in service today,” Your brow twitched in annoyance at the sound of Floyd’s Thank God! “I’m joining Azul in town today. Picking up ingredients with him, I think.”

Floyd and Jade exchanged a look before they let out a series of giggles. Floyd’s giggles turn into a cackle that fills the room. You had never felt so much anxiety in your life. Think of the ring. Think of your mom.

“Is there something funny, Floyd?”

Azul asks as he enters the room, exactly on time. You’ve never been so excited to see him before, but if you had learned anything from NRC, it was that you did not enjoy the Twins’ company. Floyd responds to Azul with a cheeky Wouldn’t you like to know? making him scoff. Azul glances around the room, finally spotting you. He seems pleasantly surprised to see you there so early, almost expecting you to be late, or not even bother to show at all. You truly were dedicated to the paycheck. Azul couldn’t help but admire your devotion.

Jade strode over to Azul with a smile, handing him a piece of paper. Azul sighed, read over the note, and gave Jade an annoyed look before stuffing the list in his pocket.

“The Mostro Lounge does not require fifteen new types of mushrooms, Jade. Come now Prefect, otherwise, we’ll be late to the market.” Azul links your arm with his and begins leading you toward the door, and you hear Floyd’s cackles fill the air again.

The walk to town is mostly quiet. You don’t have much to say, and you’re admittedly too tired to wrack your brain for conversation points. You sneak glances at Azul’s profile as you walk, wondering what’s going on in his head.

What was so special about you that he kept you around? What did he want from you that he couldn’t get from anyone else?

“Is there something the matter, Prefect? It’s impolite to stare.”

Azul glances at you with a smile. You furrow your brows.

“Why didn’t you fire me?”

He chuckles.

“Well, I thought you needed a job. I’m helping you, like you asked.”

He leaves it as that once you approach the market. You don’t need to know how much he enjoys your presence, even when you’re messing everything up. You also don’t need to know that Jade and the head chef are usually the ones making the farmer’s market trips. If you were going to withhold information from him, it was only fair to do the same to you.

 The time spent shopping is pleasant. The tension fades away the longer you two are shopping together, and you find yourself listening to his explanations of the dishes he serves, and why the restaurant is run the way it is. You’re impressed by how much he’s accomplished at such a young age. Every time he mentions his mother’s restaurant, you can’t help but smile.

As you’re finishing up, you happen to glance around, realizing the jewelry shop is on this street. You look at Azul, who is still conversing with a vendor and begin to inch away towards the shop. You’d just take a look at the ring again, and quickly go back to Azul and leave. Simple.

You enter the shop and greet the shopkeeper, who at this point knows what you’re there to look at. You walk over to the display and peer into the glass. Still on display was your mother’s ring.

“Ah, so this is what you needed the money for!”

Azul almost sounds giddy as he approaches you. You jump back in surprise, not realizing he had even come in. You stammered out apologies, trying to cover up why you had wandered off, but it was too late. You were busted.

Azul glanced at the ring that captivated you. It was a plain silver wedding band with a simple vine engraving. There were no jewels or diamonds in the ring, making it an unpopular pick for couples. To him, it was nothing special. He turned his attention to you, who was still sputtering out explanations, embarrassed. If you just wanted it for aesthetics, you wouldn’t be this flustered. Whatever it meant to you was something he wasn’t privy to, but clearly meant a lot.

“Hey… it’s,” you finally find your words. “It’s 8:30. We have to get back so…”

Azul thankfully says nothing. He nods in agreement, and you begin your walk back to campus.

-

Your walk to quiet once again. You shuffle behind Azul, acting like it’s the groceries in your hands slowing you down. You try convincing yourself that getting caught wasn’t so bad. It shouldn’t have been something you were so embarrassed about. It was natural to miss your parents. It was natural to want something to remind you of them. It was natural to want to work yourself to the bone to earn some money. You didn’t mean to start crying, but you figured you needed it. It started as quiet tears, but they soon turned to sniffles, and then blubbering hiccups. By the time Azul realized you were crying, you were almost wailing.

If you were in the emotional state to pay attention, his panic would be hilarious.

He couldn’t figure out where to start. Did he hug you? Apologize? Ignore you? Tell you to stop crying? He wasn’t trying to upset you. He just wanted to know why you were acting so weird. He tentatively grabbed your arms, gripping them tightly, attempting to soothe you but only successfully shocking you out of a cry. His eyes were wide and worried as he tried to understand where he went wrong.

“Why are you doing that?! It was a ring!”

You sniffed, blinking away the tears in your eyes before frowning.

“It’s my mom’s ring.”

Azul purses his lips. You don’t need to say more than that. He’s a bit of Mama’s Boy himself. He nods slowly and releases your arms before reaching into his coat pocket. He pulls a handkerchief out and wipes your face before you can put the bags in your hands down. Your face is still puffy, but he tried his best to get all the tears and snot off of your face.

“We are extremely late. We must get back immediately so we can open on time.”

And without another word, you two finally make it to the lounge.

-

You finish off your first week a bit better than you started, but not by much. You’ve learned the kitchen lingo fast, but you still weren’t designed for fancy service. You had at least gotten back on Floyd and Jade’s good side, even with the occasional broken dish. You definitely understood why students earned such a high paycheck for their work at the Lounge.

After the final sweep-through, you waved goodbye to the other servers and headed to the locker room. You still hadn’t brought anything to work besides a cell phone, but you preferred sitting here rather than the official break room. You sighed and leaned your head against the lockers, eyes closed. You were utterly exhausted.

A curt, ahem, caught your attention. Standing in the doorway was Azul, eyes focused on you. Since your outburst over the weekend, you have avoided him to the best of your abilities. The embarrassment of breaking down in front of him still fluttered in your stomach. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

“Hello Prefect. Happy to see you survived your first week,” he said, a small smile gracing his lips. It wasn’t one of his usual suave smirks, but a natural grin.

“Survive is right.” You groaned. “You run this place like a Sargent.”

“That is the restaurant business.” He laughs, approaching you. You notice an envelope in his hands.

“I noticed your improvement. Towards the end of the week, you were beginning to be a bit of help.”

“I think you mean ‘becoming a big help’?”

“No, I was very intentional with my words. You are not cut out for this.”

You put your head in your hands. You couldn’t believe he was firing you with a smile on his face.

“Great, thank you. I assume that’s my first and last paycheck?” You gesture to the envelope with one hand while the other massages the space between your eyes. Azul hums in agreement and hands it to you.

“Please do not let this deter you from visiting the Mostro Lounge again in the future. We will still honor your employee discount.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but the words don’t come out.

“Good day, Prefect.”

Azul leaves abruptly, turning on his heel and exiting in a hurry. You raise a brow but quickly turn your attention to the envelope. It's smaller than you expected, bulging strangely around the middle. You can’t help but open it in the locker room.

You pull out the contents hurriedly. First is your notice of termination. The second is a note. And lastly, is the ring.

You quickly read the note.

Prefect,

I apologize for not delivering this in person. I figured you wanted to be alone after last weekend. Please let this be a reminder that I can always help you without putting you to work. We absolutely could have worked out an arrangement to fund this ring. Nonetheless, I hope this makes up for a paycheck.

Yours sincerely,

Azul

You can’t help the grin that splits your face as you slide the ring on your finger. You’d have to tell him the truth about your feelings.

The whole truth, this time.

[erens-heart]

aki hayakawa ft. toji fushiguro

word count: 5.5k

synopsis: you’re aki’s subordinate and partner. feelings are misconstrued on a drunken night out. you reconcile with aki after more drinks, and indulge the feelings you’re so ashamed of.

content: angst, hurt/comfort, slight smut with fem!bodied reader, makeout session w/ sloppy kissing, sooo much alcohol, reader is slightly insecure, miscommunication and…toji.

playlist: i like the way you kiss me by artemas, bathroom by montell fish, i was never there by the weeknd.

there were often times at work, where aki would lament the choices that had landed him there. everyone at work was an idiot, and if they weren’t a complete idiot, they weren’t far off. apart from you.

you weren’t at all an idiot and, crucially, didn’t get on aki’s every last nerve. you clicked with aki as soon as you started in public safety. you were cut from the same fabric.

you were all the things he admired in a colleague: impeccable, smart, dedicated. you already had a repertoire of devil kills on your application before starting, and for that reason he could trust you to get the job done. you were both capable and strong.

soon enough you were conciously deciding to take the same smoke breaks and grab each other coffee. after your first quarter, you had successfully committed aki’s coffee order to memory: black, with no sugar.

technically, he was your superior, and you were his subordinate, he was also older than you. you were always mindful of not crossing the line, even though his unruly top knot was fucking gorgeous and you’d already fallen in love with his half-assed smirks. you respected the position you were in, and ultimately, put your job before any of your trivial feelings.

you’d learned to survive thus far by compartmentalizing your feelings, you weren’t about to let a man ruin that, or get in the way of your goal.

that being said, it was comforting to know that you and aki were on the same page.

—

20:00pm.

aki took one last drag of his dying cigarette, and put it out. it had just turned 8pm, and you would surely be waiting for him. it was the night of your division’s bi-monthly gathering - this time at a local bar.

aki normally never bothered showing up, but a few months ago, you had successfully convinced him it was good for team morale. you would generally rendevous there, but this time aki had offered to walk there with you and agreed to meet with you outside his apartment at 8pm.

aki opened his front door to find you waiting outside for him. you looked freezing, just as he’d suspected. you were clutching a tiny purse infront of a thin dress that was completely impractical. your dress was small and black, embedded with gems. you looked nothing less than ethereal. aki cared deeply about his appearance and, like you, always kept himself tidy. he had changed out of his work suit into an identical suit for the evening, excluding the tie. you were unintentionally matching and the heat of this revelation made it’s way into aki’s pale cheeks.

“aren’t you cold?” he interrograted, already lighting up another cigarette in his mouth as he locked up. he always spoke with his cigarette in his mouth, he was always so nonchalant. that’s what you liked about aki, his indifference, it meant that he was easy to talk to, and share your secrets with. he rarely expressed any bias towards the things you said.

you shook your head, smiling at him. “just a bit, but it’s fine. the bar’s only a block away isn’t it?”

you snorted, “you know, if you’re worried about my hands freezing you can always hold them, aki.”

he rolled his eyes, skillfully feigning annoyance. aki was truly a liar. he loved it when you teased him and made jokes like that - they played into his fantasies. he would happily hold your hand, hell, he would carry you if you asked him nicely.

“don’t be ridiculous.” he said.

and that was that.

the sky overhead began to clear, revealling the universe. you watched the sky, walking aimlessly beside aki as you made your way to the bar with him, paying no attention to the racing cars, and even less attention to the pedestrains bustling around you. you wobbled on the kerb, nearly falling off.

aki opened the door for you once you’d arrived at the bar. it wasn’t out of character for him to treat you like that, like nothing below royalty, he even pulled a chair out for you as you went to sit down before naturally claiming the seat beside you. you wouldn’t have it any other way.

the bar was warm and dimly lit with candles. as you shrugged your coat off, aki couldn’t help but notice the different things you’d done with your makeup that night. your face looked dewy and shimmery, your lipgloss was glittery.

“what are you drinking?” he mumbled next to your ear, already sick of everybody else.

you hadn’t given it much thought yet. “um. maybe a lychee martini? i don’t know.”

the rest of the division were already engrossed in their own conversations. despite the numb chatter, it felt like the two of you were alone. you wouldn’t mind drinking alone with him, you thought, watching his thoughtful eyes.

“okay.” he nodded, and raised his hand to call a waiter over.

“i don’t know. i just want something sweet i think. decide for me?” you suggested, drawing circles on the menu infront of you with your painted nails.

to be honest, you hadn’t come along to drink, you had come to spend time with aki. he sat beside you, blasé, with his arm slung over the back of your chair, cool as ever. the air around him was confident, and heavy with the scent of his cologne, making it difficult for you to focus on anything else.

“you really think that’s a good idea? me deciding for you?” aki chuckled, “i’ll get you a lychee martini. that sounds sweet enough.”

you’d forgotten how quickly one drink could turn into five, soon enough you were slurring your words.

aki was always careful not to drink too much, incase you needed his help, and paced himself. also, he didn’t want to forget the time you’d spent together.

you laughed inbetween hiccups at a joke he’d made. he chuckled at you endearlingly, and steadied your hand as your 6th lychee martini sloshed around and threatened to spill over his lap.

“guys! guys!” you shouted, commanding the attention of your division. “did you know…that mister hayakawa here…” hiccup. “has never…ever…had a girlfriend!” hiccup.

the table errupted with giggles and aki scowled at you. “hillarious. now shut up.” he scolded, and teasingly confiscated your glass, dragging it over to his side of the table. he held the neck of the glass between his two fingers.

aki only bothered telling you that because you’d been prying. earlier that night, you’d asked him why he never brought any dates along, which is when he revealled that he’d never dated before - ever. he never had enough time, he lied, knowing all too well that he was simply holding out for the right person. aki would never admit it, but he believed in soulmates.

it wasn’t completely untrue that he struggled for time, his days would begin at 5am and finish at 10pm, sometimes later, 7 days a week.

he wouldn’t have time for a girlfriend, let alone dates and sex, these would always be things of little consequence to aki, unless it was you. he might’ve been able to find the time to spoil you, and take you to fancy restaurants. he’d move mountains for you, if you asked.

“hmph fuck you.” you whined, licking your lips and coating them with saliva.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, not quite recalling your superior’s name, you were too tipsy for that. you reached for your glass and he dragged it away from grasp again, smirking at your deplorable attempt at a rebuttal.

“fuck me?” he lowered his voice and narrowed his darkening eyes at you. you narrowed your eyes back at him, and leaned forward, resting your chin in your palm. you watched him for a while and he watched you in return, pulse rising.

your eyes were drunk, pupils blown, mascara starting to smudge. aki thought about your dishevelled beauty, and how much he would’ve liked to taste your lips in that moment. his eyes feasted on you whilst, in his head, he mapped out routes to your soul.

truthfully, for as long as he could remember, aki saw you as his.

“aki?” you whispered softly, interrupting his racing train of thought.

“yeah?” aki’s heart started thumping. you watched his adam’s apple rise nervously in throat, albeit your eyesight was blurry.

“you’re staring at me.”

“am i?” he asked, bluntly.

aki cleared his throat.

—

12:09am.

through thick cigarette smoke, you blurted out “can i stay at yours tonight?” followed by, “shit…sorry, i shouldn’t that said that.”

why were you asking him that all of a sudden? were you tired? did you want something? did you mean platonically, or in the same bed? you were drunk, clearly, and didn’t know what you were saying, but he could hardly say no.

after it had taken aki more than 30 seconds to culminate a response, you slumped back against the railings with a defeated sigh. it was worth a shot, right?

“you don’t even need to bother asking to be honest, y/n.” he stated simply, staring up the sky.

you quickly perked up, leaning in for a smoke. aki’s pulse started racing again, he could smell the alcohol on your breath as you parted your lips for a tug on his cigarette.

“gimmie.”

your legs were wobbly and he instinctively opened his arms to catch you, but you managed to stay upright without them. his pale hands continued to hover over your waist as you hung onto the collar of his shirt. you were too cold and tired to give a damn, meanwhile the proximity of aki’s body kept you warm. you’d been close, even accidentally brushed hands before, but never this close. your heart fluttered, you could feel his muscly legs become entangled with your own.

“but you hate it when i smoke.” he mumbled, glancing down his nose at you.

“well i’ve changed my mind.” you retorted. you were being a brat.

with the little energy aki had left, he rolled his eyes at you, exhaling a cloud of smoke in your face. “no. let’s go home, get you some water.” he summarised, putting his cigarette out on the railings behind you. “if you smoke, you’ll regret it when you’re sober.”

you nodded and took aki’s arm without a second thought, trying not to stumble and disgrace yourself.

the walk home was giddy. you should have felt cold because you weren’t wearing a coat, but the alcohol kept you comfortably numb. you recognised aki’s subdued apartment, scarcely lit by street lamps, and groaned in utter relief as you approached the entrance. he supported you up the stairs, through the hallway, stopping patiently with you every time you needed to collect yourself.

“you okay?” he whispered, your noses practically touching. you could only manage a nod as the world outside aki’s apartment door spun crazily.

once you were inside, aki got down on one knee to relieve you from the tight heels you’d been wearing all night. once he’d losenend the straps, you kicked them off and they landed halfway across his kitchen. thud.

your concious thoughts began to drunkenly blur into one and you were fighting the urge to throw up.

aki needed to process what was happening so he let his hair down and dragged a hand through it to get rid of any knots. you were in his apartment, and you were going to be there when he woke up as well. he was stressed, you could tell, despite not being able to form a coherent stream of thought otherwise. you could see the tension in his brow and tight jaw.

he got up and flicked the kettle on to boil, his footsteps padding against the cold floor as he shuffled around in the dark, already making up the couch for you. making you comfortable was his priority, his hot drink would come second.

the only light in the apartment came from his bathroom door that was ajar, you realised he must’ve forgotten to turn the light out before leaving, which you found strange because he was usually meticulous. little did you know, he’d been too busy preening himself earlier in the evening.

you were still stood in the doorway, using the walls either side of you to stop yourself from falling face-first into the rug, growing increasingly impatient.

“aki. water…” you groaned, swallowing a burp that might’ve turned into something else.

“just be patient. maybe don’t get yourself so drunk next time.” he snapped.

“couldn’t help it.” you groaned again, ever louder this time, the left strap of your dress beginning to slip off your shoulder, revealling even more of your delicate skin.

aki stormed over with a glass of water and held it against your mouth. “you definitely could.” then pulled the strap of your dress back over your shoulder. he stared at you exhaustedly, compelling you to take a sip of the water infront of you.

“no…would’ve been too nervous otherwise...” you admitted, taking small sips.

you felt suddenly small, cowering between aki’s chest and the closed door behind you. you were almost half the size of him. this wasn’t supposed to feel so intimate, but it did. a blush crept up your chest, colouring in your cleavage, and your cheeks. with the little reserve aki had left, he fought the urge to stare down at your pretty tits.

you were so pretty. all night you’d been so silly and clumsy, it made his heart swell. aki gulped, the way your eyes glowed up at him from beneath your fluffy lashes made him feel hot and throb between his legs.

aki’d had sexual thoughts about you before, in fact, he often thought about you in the middle of the night, with his hard, dribbling dick in his hand, but the thoughts he had were purely the work of his lucid imagination. he could really see you now.

“nervous?” he breathed.

yes, nervous. you nearly shit yourself when you received aki’s text that morning, inviting you to meet at his apartment. it was a bold move, even for him. you were used to spending all of your time together at work, lunch was no exception, but this? it felt different, maybe even slightly unprofessional.

you quickly broke the heavy gaze between you and your superior, brushing past him and making a beeline for the couch.

aki was suddenly able to breathe again and he followed you, placing the glass of water on a coaster next to you.

“i’m going to get changed. please try not to puke anywhere.”

as he turned to leave for his room, you grabbed his wrist. aki’s heavy breathing resumed. he paused and thought seriously about his choices, and what he wanted, about how pretty you looked sat on the couch beneath him, and how badly he wanted to ruin you.

every fibre of his tortured being wanted to tear that sheer dress off your body and make you wet, but you were drunk, and that would be questionable.

“y/n. you’re drunk. stop it.” he shut you down, shrugging your hand off, and left you sat on his couch in a pool of shame.

this was for your own good, aki convinced himself, ignoring all of the horrible feelings that started to bubble within him. it physically pained him to shut the door on you and leave you alone in his dingy kitchen.

that night, you lay a healthy distance from aki’s bedroom, tucked beneath a spare duvet of his. the duvet, and his pillows, smelled familiar, a scent you had learned to recognise with your eyes closed. you had learned to detect him at work, using only your nose. a blue light, you assumed from his lamp, glowed from underneath his bedroom door. all night it gnawed on your mind how inviting that light seemed, and how nauseating it felt that aki didn’t fucking want you.

everything felt hopeless. all that hard work, all those months of winning his trust, and thinking you might have had him wrapped around your finger, had amounted to nothing. you knew aki was complicated, but you thought it would’ve been easier than that.

aki frowned on the other side of the door, pulling his pillow frustratedly over his ears. you cried quietly, muffling staggered breaths with his spare duvet.

“i’m a terrible person.” he thought aloud. it wasn’t a revelation, he already knew that he was a jerk and, despite having your best interests at heart, had managed to ruin you. he could have laughed at how ironic it sounded.

this would go down in history as, potentially, one of the worst days in aki’s adult life.

—

10:34am.

aki opened his bedroom door, doubtful that you would still be there, and scanned the room for signs of your presence. just as he’d expected, you’d already left, and his apartment was empty, not even the scent of you remained.

he squinted, the morning light crept in from the balcony and stung his eyes. you had folded up the spare duvet on his couch imperfectly before leaving, and the glass of water was still half empty.

aki didn’t regret the choices he made last night, he was protecting you if anything. he checked his phone for a shitty message from you, but there was nothing, and that was somehow worse. he chewed the inside of his cheek uncertainly, remembering how sweet you’d been, tugging him in between your legs, and inviting him into your heart with an alluring smile.

he felt the sudden urge to vomit and ran to the toilet, slamming his hand into the wall for support as he let it all out. he hadn’t had that much to drink the night before, so it must have been something else upsetting his stomach. maybe guilt was symptomatic, he thought. he’d never felt like this before.

aki continued to check his phone all morning, the anxiety beginning to cannibalise him. he guessed you’d deleted his number already, and that work was going to be extremely awkward on monday.

you’d gathered your belongings at 7am, and left in a futile attempt to get some sleep in your own bed, but it hadn’t worked. you eventually gave up, and decided to ride the day out with coffee.

you were so busy feeling sorry for yourself, that you hadn’t stopped to consider aki’s reasons for turning you down.

nevermind that, things wouldn’t have worked out anyway. this is what you told yourself. firstly, aki was a busy man, he never would’ve been able to make time for you outside of work. secondly, aki had never dated before, and his inexperience was a slight deterrent. thirdly, aki was complicated, he had a plethora of unresolved traumas, you figured it would be healthier not to bare the weight of those on top of your own.

despite telling yourself this, it didn’t make things any easier, save for potentially fucking someone else.

—

monday.

aki actively avoided you on the way into work on monday morning and, for the first time, showed up late. you felt his cold presence as he walked into the office. aki sunk his feelings that morning with a coffee and a cigarette before work, and you were determined to continue compartmentalizing yours, just as you’d always done.

you’d hoped to be subtle but everyone at work could feel the change and the increasing tension, especially on thursday when aki allowed his seamless character to break after denji kept goading him with insensitive questions.

“just shut the fuck up.” aki spurned, almost spat, scrunching up the ends of his papers, before storming out of the room. your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach and fell into irretrievable pieces.

after watching aki disappear for a smoke, your eyes settled on the paper infront of you. you held next week’s schedule in your trembling hands.

“what the hell was that about.” denji snorted.

“not sure.” you dismissed quietly, noticing that aki would no longer be your patrol partner. you had been pencilled in to patrol with denji instead. you looked down so that no one would notice the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

you were no longer in the picture, you realised. you lied to yourself every day after that, persuading your heart that it was possible to co-exist as strangers.

denji’s eyes softened when he noticed your unsteady hands.

“y/n, don’t stress it. you know i won’t let us get killed.” denji leaned forward, in an attempt to intercept your thoughts, as if that was your only concern - you wished that was your only concern.

“i’ll bare that in mind.” you laughed, without smiling, and stood up to take your break.

you would have died for a coffee, if it came to it, because you hadn’t slept all week. you missed your friend and you were sad, although it was favourable that your favourite café was so busy that morning. your lonely thoughts would become distrupted by the crowd’s chatter and for a brief amount of time, you would find yourself distracted by the smell of coffee and cake.

you wondered lifelessly through the door, recalling all the times aki had stopped you from falling off the kerb along the way, offered to take your heavy bag or stomped his cigarettes out on the pavement outside.

you wouldn’t normally give the barista your order, because she’d conveniently memorized it, but that morning you could have cried.

you’d unconciously paid for two coffees instead of one, and realised when it was too late, as she handed you an iced vanilla latté and an americano: black, with no sugar.

“thank you.” you croaked weakly and carried the drinks back to the office, hoping that you and aki wouldn’t cross paths - indefinitely.

—

saturday.

the best way to alleviate your pain would be by drinking, you thought. in hindsight, it wasn’t the worst idea. you made yourself look effortlessly sexy, it genuinely didn’t take much.

you glanced one final time in the mirror before leaving your apartment. tonight you would let yourself become unravelled and forget the past week. you would saturate your feelings with alcohol and find a stranger to spend the night with. you hoped to project all of your anger onto that stranger, so the week that ensued wouldn’t hurt so much.

everything was alright to begin with; the club you’d chosen was the perfect combination of cosy and tireless. the dj played songs behind a tacky smoke machine, silencing the hum of adolescent voices, underaged teenagers and over-aged mothers.

you threw back a shot of sour apple vodka, hissing. you felt ridiculous drinking alone, hopefully one of the dilfs in the bar would find you mysterious and agree to take you home, fuck you, if you were lucky.

you circled the rim of another shotglass, fingers glistening with diamond rings, when you felt a hand on your arm.

“what are you doin’ drinking here alone, sweetness?” a hot voice rasped against your neck, “need some company?”

“sure.” you welcomed the stranger’s company, patting the bar stool beside you without looking at him first.

you inferred that he was much older than you, and probably came from a difficult line of work. based on the calloused pair of hands that lay on the bar beside you, it was probably something physical, and demanding, which is why he sounded so tired and in desperate need of a drink. the arm in your peripheral was thick and muscular, not something you were used to, particularly the force of it curling around your delicate waist. you gasped softly.

“the name’s toji, by the way. fushiguro.” you didn’t care for introductions, and nodded, skulling another shot before ordering two more: one for you and one for your new friend.

he could sense that you weren’t willing to co-operate, not easily at least, and smirked. toji didn’t mind, he was used to girls that played hard-to-get, they were all just as sad and easy in the end.

“i reckon that it’ll only take two more of those things,” he gestured to your shot glass, “to get you talking.”

“bet.” you sighed, your head already beginning to feel fuzzy.

you didn’t trust your new friend, you didn’t trust anyone, but especially not him. no one felt like home apart from aki.

aki.

your heart did ‘the sinking thing’ again, and left a sour taste behind in your mouth, causing you to inadvertently frown at your drink.

“somethin’ bothering you?” toji questioned, downing a shot of his own, before ordering something stronger. he struck you as the type to drink heavily and wake up with no regrets because he was certainly big enough to handle it.

“yeah. a friend. ex-friend actually.” you replied. toji’s eyes raked down your body whilst you spoke to the tumbler in your hand.

“ah, there we go. so she does have a tongue in her head.” he teased in a ragged voice, which lead you to face him. you confirmed your suspicions by inspecting his face; he was indeed older, with a scar on the corner of his smirking mouth. he was the type you would happily fuck, but not trust.

to say that you had low expectations was an understatement, you didn’t have any at all. men like this were unpredictable, you would need to switch your emotions off if things were going to work according to plan.

“did he toy with your heart or somethin’?” he asked.

“not even. i was just - nevermind.” you shrugged.

“what did you do?” toji continued intuitively, swirling the drink around in his glass.

“stupidly thought my feelings were reciprocated.” you laughed bitterly. you had intended to forget about him, to dance the night away, but your feelings for aki were inescapable.

“god, all you females are the same.”

you were under the impression that your plan was failing already. every time you looked at toji, you were expecting to see aki smiling back at you, haunted by the nostalgia of drinking together last weekend. you sighed angrily, slamming your glass down on the bar next to you. “excuse me.”

you stumbled quickly to the bathroom, not realising how drunk you were until you stood up and tried walking. you pushed impatiently through the crowd, muttering expletives to yourself.

you locked yourself in a bathroom stall and sat on the toilet. you didn’t need to use the bathroom, you just needed space to breathe.

normally you’d be sending aki memes at this hour, or complaining about having to go into work on monday via text, too shy to ever call him. it was routine that aki would deprive himself of sleep just to talk to you, and hear about your day, now he had to wait for any sign of life from his phone.

you pulled your phone out of pocket and stared longingly at it, at the wallpaper of you and aki. he wasn’t smiling because you’d unexpectedly shoved the camera in his face for a selfie on your first day as partners. you leaned against the wall beside you. you wouldn’t need to dial his number…you had him saved in your phone…

fuck it.

aki rolled over with wide eyes as his phone buzzed on the table. he already knew it was you calling because he didn’t have a social life. he’d never answered the phone so quickly before in his life, he hadn’t even had time to rehearse an apology.

“i-“ he started.

“shurrup.” you slurred in a small voice. hearing him breathe was enough, you’d still be satisfied if he hung up after that.

“y/n. what the fuck. are you drunk?” he snapped down the phone. he wasn’t mad at you, he was just concerned, and had a terrible way of showing it.

“maybe…” you nearly giggled, your phone sticking to the makeup on your face.

“i’m coming to pick you up.” aki stated, already reaching for his trench coat. “fun’s over.”

“no you’re not.” you testified, shouting so that you could nearly be heard over the music in the bar.

aki bit his cheek. you were being difficult on purpose, but to his relief he could tell you weren’t nearly as drunk as last weekend. “tell me where you are.”

“rudi’s.” you blurted, hanging up the phone immediately. “shit.”

“stupid girl.” he laughed shortly, getting into his car.

rudi’s was a bar in the heart of the city. aki tapped his foot impatiently at every set of traffic lights, clicking his tongue. he dared to think what you might be up to, or what you’d already done in the 20 minutes it took him to get to you. he sought you desperately in the crowd, swearing under his breath at every person that stood in his way.

it relieved him to eventually find you at the bar intact. he grabbed you by the wrist, spinning you into his chest.

“home time.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no?”

“shut up.”

aki’s hand cupped the back of your nape and brought you in close. you searched his eyes for answers, to try and understand why things had happened this way, but you couldn’t find them, you couldn’t bypass the guilt in them.

you gulped, feeling toji’s eyes on you, boring a hole into the back of your head, as your hands rested upon aki’s collarbone. he looked dog-tired.

all you could come up with was, “don’t tell me to shut up.”

aki could have cracked a smile, but decided against it and leaned down into your neck, whispering, “care to explain why the guy behind you is staring at us?”

“just get us out of here, will you.” you mumbled, fiddling nervously with the buttons on his long jacket.

aki didn’t waste any time escorting you outside; dragging you away from your new friend and your abandonned drink. he threw you into the passenger seat of his car, and slammed the door shut behind him as he slid in next to you.

“you have some serious explaining to do, y/n.”

“likewise.” you replied. aki observed your broken eyes.

“i can’t explain it.” he started, squeezing the steering wheel infront of him. “i guess i didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

“think badly of you?” you asked, suddenly confused.

“for taking advantage of you.”

“oh.”

you watched the man infront of you, mesmerised, your mouth forming the shape of a surprised ‘o’. he chuckled at your reaction. you’d missed that warm sound, it made you feel so giddy. you tried pulling your eyes away from him, but you weren’t able to resist his jaded looks.

“aki?”

“hm?” he hummed, and met your gaze with a matched intensity.

you licked your lips, wetting them, preparing for a kiss. aki glanced down at them.

in a voice that was barely above a whisper, he asked, “want me to kiss you, y/n?” and held you gently by the chin. he coaxed you in, contemplating your lips with his cold eyes.

he knew exactly what you wanted and the way you wanted it. he’d listened to you when you told him what you were looking for in a lover, during a work night out. you wanted a dominant man, a boyfriend like a dad, someone to make you weak.

“i’d do anything for you to forigve me.”

aki caved and sighed before kissing your open mouth. your heart erupted, and you let him blindly guide your hands around his neck. this would remain a well-kept secret between colleagues.

he slowly kissed you, swallowing your pretty moans, and licked your tongue each time before pulling back, only to lean back in and repeatedly do the same. he consoled you with his warm tongue, simultaneously exploring your waist with his hands and brazenly reaching up to squeeze your tits.

you kissed him back sloppily, noisily, moaning underneath big hands. the butterflies he gave you were so intense that you felt sick. you felt his hungry eyes all over your body, scalding you - you were on fire.

“is this what you wanted?” he purred against your ear, before dragging his mouth over your neck and smothering it some more with hot kisses. you whined.

“well?” aki teased in a soft voice, kneading your big tits, watching them bounce around in your dress. he wanted nothing more than to rip it open, and get on top of you, in all the animalistic ways he’d imagined, meanwhile he watched your nipples harden underneath your dress.

he repeatedly silenced you by pecking your mouth, muffling your voice each time you tried to answer his question.

you whined, squeezing your thighs together. it was overwhelming - he was overwhelming.

“aki…” you began, pushing him back using the little strength you had left, so that he was at arm’s length.

“i’m sorry about last weekend.” he admitted quickly, tucking a lose strand of hair back behind your ear. his lips were red and swollen.

“it’s okay. i’m just confused. i thought i’d misread things, but now you’re saying you wanted this after all?”

he removed his hands from your chest, and studied your changing expression, predicting that you would soon start blushing. he loved it when you blushed in front of him, proudly showcasing your vulnerability.

“yes.” he said plainly, panting, still catching his breath.

“i’ve always wanted this.”

@erens-heart 2024, reblogs welcome !!

[katakaluptastrophy]

Do you have any opinions on the differences between binaries of necro/cav and adept/non-adept?

Specifically, I'm thinking about Abigail and Magnus's relationship: when married they were simply adept and non-adept, and despite the class difference seem to have been operating as equal partners. But once they became necromancer and cavalier, the expectation becomes such that Magnus is expected to sacrifice himself for Abigail if that's necessary.

Now that I think about it, perhaps this is Muir's way of describing the gender binary and marriage when coverture is legally applicable: a necromantic adept is always considered their own person, but a non-adept is only a separate person until becoming a cavalier (i.e. getting married), at which point they become ancillary to the necromancer. Hmm.

This is one of those topics that has me rattling the bars of my cage begging Tamsyn for more details about cavaliership as an institution and about aptitude in society.

Because what does this stuff actually look like?

John says "only" a third of the new Ninth will have aptitude, suggesting that the typical rate is somewhat higher. So let's say a third to half of the population have aptitude, and that seems to be effectively random.

We only see the scions of the ruling families of the Houses and the original Lyctors in the context of cavaliership. Most of the non-aptitude Housers that we meet are cavaliers, and think this can sometimes lead to an elision of non-aptitude and cavalier that may not exist. Does every necromancer have a cavalier? That seems unlikely - in the general population there must be necromancers working in all sorts of mundane jobs for which having someone follow you around with a sword would be impractical. M. Bias mentions 'frontline cavalier units' alongside 'the classic cavalier' paired with a Cohort necromancer, and sets both against 'the social cavalier' attached to the necromantic elites. Perhaps he simply doesn't see Jeff the Health and Safety cav who follows Millicent the necromantically lab grown meat tech around as worthy of the name, or perhaps cavaliership only exists as a formal, marriage-like institution within the Cohort and the leaders of the Houses. Amongst House leadership, there has likely always been a fairly significant overlap with the Cohort (leaving aside the Second, consider Isaac and Jean, or Abigail's admiral grandfather), and cavaliership here may also have been intended to echo the Lyctors who founded the Houses. But presumably amongst civilians, there are plenty of non-adepts who have nothing to do with cavaliership proper (though I'm fascinated by the idea of how the concept might function unofficially or ceremonially).

But even if we assume that most non-adepts aren't cavaliers per se, that still raises questions about the status of non-adepts. The Sermon on Cavaliers and Necromancers gives us a glimpse of some of the theology of the Houses, in which "'one flesh' is the underpinning of our whole Empire" and in which parents go to great lengths to give their baby the chance of developing aptitude. Why? Because "our necromantic characteristics make us more like the Emperor." That is, to have aptitude means one is more in the image of god. I shan't go on a digression about early church debates about whether women are made in the image of God in the same way as men, but as you can imagine, given that the Sermon is basically just Ephesians 5's discussion of gender re-skinned for aptitude, this raises a question about just how non-aptitude Housers sit in society.

There's clearly also an extent to which non-aptitude Housers may find themselves in a state of assumed cavaliership long before they ever swear vows. There are cavalier families, where to be born without aptitude means you are already all but promised to the next adept of the corresponding line. Magnus undertook something that is described as "cavalier training" during his schooldays - is this simply a reference to the education of a young, socially privileged person involving some degree of swordsmanship as a matter of course? His attempt to join the army at 18 seems to have been somewhat anomalous, so he can't just have been planning a glorious Cohort career. (What does education look like for a population where slightly less than half of people are death wizards?). How much choice did someone like Magnus have about his schoolboy cavalier training? How much choice does someone who lacks both aptitude and the kind of privilege that leads to you marrying the scion of the Koniortos Court have about anything that might be described as "cavalier training"? How much of standard education in the Houses is designed to filter large segments of the population towards the Cohort anyway?

There's also the few glimpses we get of BoE's perception of the status of non-aptitude Housers, which doesn't seem to be great. Judith and Corona may laugh off their assumption that necromancers have large harems of not-always-entirely-alive non-aptitude House citizens, but you do get the sense that if Magnus had lived to fall into BoE hands, he might have been rather pressed to explain that his relationship with his necromancer/feudal lady/wife was entirely consensual.

I think you're absolutely right about there being a shift in the status of a non-adept who becomes a cavalier. What's not clear is whether making cavalier vows leads to an actual change of legal status, in terms of a diminishment of legal rights as in coverture marriage, or whether it functions only within the realms of social pressure and custom. People often point to Abigail and Magnus' cavaliership as an example of the institution being done 'well' or 'properly', because the institution itself seems to be incidental to their relationship - while we don't know their motivations, you suspect this was simply a convenient way for them to continue collaborating as they did in every other aspect of their life. We don't know whether Magnus in some way forfeited aspects of his legal personhood in becoming Abigail's cavalier. Perhaps they felt it didn't matter because of the way they were inhabiting that relationship. But their attitude didn't change the fact that in the end, Magnus died, sword in hand, having just watched his wife be murdered, because he was her cavalier.

[cassolotl]

UK government planning to scrap a major disability benefit

I'm only just scraping by and the government are proposing to take away PIP (a disability benefit), which would be HALF of my income wiped out.

"Reforms to personal independence payments (PIP) could include stopping regular cash payments, and instead offering claimants one-off grants for things like home adaptations." -- "Disabled people face end to monthly benefits cash", BBC News, 29 April 2024

And:

"The plans, which will be consulted on over the coming months, also include proposals to “move away from a fixed cash benefit system”, meaning people with some conditions will no longer receive regular payments, but instead access to treatment if their condition does not involve extra costs." -- "People with depression or anxiety could lose sickness benefits, says UK minister", Guardian, 29 April 2024

That's what the NHS is supposed to be doing...

Genuinely absolutely terrifying.

Can anyone living in the UK join in with an (hopefully!) overwhelming cascade of unique emails to their MP opposing this? WriteToThem.com makes it very quick and easy.

They're proposing to replace it with one-off grants that the individual can apply for, which is absurd and horrifying, so feel free to point out how that won't work as well!

Here's what I'm writing, and do not just copy-paste my letter/email, because that makes it less legit. Do your own thing, even just one sentence telling your MP that you're opposed is enough if that's all you can manage. Whatever you want to say is what your MP needs to hear.

Dear [MP's name], Today I learned that the government plan to scrap PIP, and maybe replace it with something like a one-off grant application process, before the next election. ("Disabled people face end to monthly benefits cash", BBC News, 29 April 2024: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cn0ry09d50wo) PIP is about half of my income (about 44%). I don't spend it on occasional large purchases, I spend it on countless things that are more expensive for me than they are for other people. PIP is in place to acknowledge, as it says in the above article, that disabled people's lives are more expensive than non-disabled people's lives by hundreds of pounds per week. ("Previous research from Scope suggests households with at least one disabled adult or child face an estimated average extra cost of £975 a month to have the same standard of living as non-disabled households." That's £225 per week, and the maximum amount of PIP you can get is £184.) So firstly, it could be argued that PIP doesn't even cover the additional expenses of the average disabled household. And next, the cost of implementing an alternative system would be worse for disabled people, totally unsuited to its purpose, and more expensive to run. Worse for disabled people: Currently PIP acknowledges that being disabled takes a lot more work to maintain a comparable standard of living, and as it's an amount of work that the claimant cannot sustainably do, they are given money so that they can pay someone else to do it. These costs are distributed across all living expenses, in addition to occasional one-off purchases of e.g. mobility aids. Having to apply for one-off payments for expenses would be more work on top of that, so if the disabled person isn't able to do it (which is very likely) they will either have to work less in their day jobs in order to spend more time applying for one-off grants, or they will have to also apply for one-off payments to pay someone to apply for more one-off payments. This is self-evidently a waste of energy and time, and totally impractical, as well as being counter to the entire point of disability benefits. It would also be extremely undignified for the disabled people, and arguably against human rights (right to private life and dignity), to have to justify each purchase to the government. Totally unsuited to its purpose: One off-grants are not suited to ongoing higher expenses such as having to buy more prepared food (e.g. carrot batons are more expensive than raw carrots and go off much more quickly). Does this policy assume that disabled people's PIP is only for things like wheelchairs and walking sticks? More expensive to run: The system for PIP applications is already fairly backlogged, in that my last application took over 6 months to complete. I was awarded PIP for 10 years. If every application for a one-off grant had to be accompanied by an application of a similar scale that wouldn't be workable, so presumably an initial PIP application like the current system's would still be required to qualify for the system in the first place, and then following that, numerous smaller applications for money (e.g. for taxis, pre-chopped veg, painkillers, specialist clothing, etc.) would be carried out per person per month. The disability benefits system would have to be scaled up significantly, and it would be much more expensive. It is far cheaper to give people a set amount of money based on their needs; it's the same money that you would be giving them in grants anyway, but without having to process each purchase/one-off application. I implore you to oppose this proposal. It is blatantly unworkable to the level of absurdity, but more importantly it is inhumane. I look forward to your reply detailing your stance. Many thanks in advance. Yours sincerely, [My name]

But, again, if you can't manage anything long or complicated like that, your best is good enough. Even if they're not all perfectly written and detailed, we want to bowl them over with sheer quantity of emails.

[book-of-forbidden-knowledge]

Occult Book Reviews: The Crooked Path

[I'm sharing some of my old reviews from Quora because I will refer back to them in the new ones. This one is from 2023]

The next big field of magic on my list to study is folk magic. I realize I don’t know enough about folk magic. I’ve gotten it through the filter of Wicca, or through the PGM, but I don’t feel like I’ve absorbed much folk magic that I can actually… y’know… use. So much of folk magic seems impractical to me, utilizing ingredients I don’t have access to or being too Abrahamic for my taste. I haven’t done a lot of spellwork (in comparison to theurgy and the like), and most of what I have done is an awkward form of sigil magic. This is a shame, because spellwork was the reason I became interested in occultism in the first place! I stopped calling myself a witch because I didn’t do enough practical “low” magic for it to feel right, and it’s about time I learned it. I’m finally cycling back around to witchcraft, and this time I know what to search for. So, I’m starting off with The Crooked Path by Kelden, which is an introduction to Traditional Witchcraft. Traditional Witchcraft, at least how Kelden presents it, is mainly based in the British tradition of cunning folk. It’s spiritual, but also practical — very firmly rooted in the pragmatic application of magic. It’s hedge witchery. Kelden explains in the introduction how he was originally taken in by Wicca, but ended up forgoing it for the older and more irregular practice of Traditional Witchcraft. I have no idea if this will end up being my path, but it seems like a decent place to start.

Up until now, I’ve considered Traditional Witchcraft to be basically Wicca with the serial numbers filed off; I assumed it’s all the same sort of stuff, and certainly the same aesthetic, but without the doctrines and rituals that are specific to the religion of Wicca. This is not accurate. Though Traditional Witchcraft owes a lot to Wicca and related movements from the twentieth century, it owes just as much to folklore. I’m intrigued by the emphasis on developing a working practice out of folklore. I like that Kelden draws a distinction between drawing from historical sources, and drawing from folklore. Concepts like the Witches’ Sabbath, flying ointments, and familiar spirits are not necessarily grounded in any sort of historical tradition (especially if they come from confessions under torture), but knowing that, modern witches can still use these ideas to inform their practice.

Kelden associates three specific practices with Traditional Witchcraft: folk magic, hedge-crossing, and reverence for nature. This means that Traditional Witches perform practical magic, travel to the Otherworld to work with spirits, and work directly with the natural world. Kelden provides a brief but nuanced take on the role of religion (or lack thereof) in Traditional Witchcraft — not all witches are pagan, not all witches are theists, and many traditional spells are Christian or syncretic.* I breathed a sigh of relief, because I was afraid that this book was going to be based in a vague, wishy-washy Wiccanate paganism in the manner of Grimoire for the Apprentice Wizard. I regret my initial assumptions, because I really sold Kelden short. This book is well-sourced. It references medieval and Renaissance-era Christian lore, upon which much of the cunning tradition is based. It contains a succinct but really interesting and useful history of modern witchcraft, describing the various witchcraft traditions that sprung up around Wicca. The only one I was previously familiar with was Feri; I’d never heard of 1734 or the Clan of Tubal Cain. I’d also never heard of Cecil Williamson, which is criminal. And there’s no airy-fairy, pseudo-historical nonsense about vaguely-defined ancient pagans worshipping the moon goddess!

Though Traditional Witchcraft still takes a lot of cues from Wicca, it is less like Wicca than I expected. Differences include a heavier emphasis on folklore as a resource, animism, more direct and personalized interaction with the natural world (as opposed to a standardized Wheel of the Year), and explicitly including baneful magic. Based on the information in this book, Traditional Witchcraft seems to “fix” many of my personal grievances with Wicca. For one thing, Traditional Witchcraft rituals tend to be more idiosyncratic than standardized, which works better for me. I’ve realized that I’m working “backwards” with respect to certain magical skills, and it’s far more productive to adapt techniques to suit the skills I already have than to try to force myself into a system that doesn’t work for me. Traditional Witchcraft rituals are also more ecstatic, in contrast to Wicca’s very ceremonial rituals. I definitely prefer the ecstatic kind. I quickly grew weary of rituals that consisted mainly of reading long verses out of a book or off of a website, and the stress of having to plan and set up rituals deterred me from doing them. Many of my own best rituals have been spontaneous. A more ecstatic practice also better suits the particular gods I work with.

Kelden does describe the gods associated with Traditional Witchcraft in similar duotheistic terms. This book’s discussion of theurgy is brief, simplistic, and still very Wiccan. But it also makes the point that many witches have differing conceptions of divinity (or none at all), which is reassuring. I’m very tired of the Horned God/Triple Goddess, but Kelden has one of the most interesting takes on this concept that I’ve seen in years. He comes right out and says that the Witch Father (which is what he calls the Horned God) is the Devil. By this, he means that the folkloric conception of the Devil is more intrinsically associated with witchcraft than any other entity. The Devil has some very pagan dimensions, even on his own. Regardless of however much the Devil has been directly influenced by pagan deities, he occupies the same “space” in folklore that would have been filled by trickster deities in a pre-Christian context. He assumes whatever roles and aspects that the Christian God won’t touch. That doesn’t mean that Kelden or that any other Traditional Witch is necessarily a Satanist, but it does mean that the Devil in folklore informs the Traditional Witch’s conception of the masculine Divine. I really, really like this. It’s a nice middle ground between Margaret-Murray-ism and the edginess of Satanism. Everything Kelden said about the characterization of the Witch Lord (a bringer of enlightenment, tricksterish, likes dance and sexuality, dual-natured, both frenzied and somber, associated with life and death, represents the Shadow and primal aspects of the psyche) resonates for me, because that’s Dionysus. Much of what he said about the Witch Mother also resonated — that she facilitates initiation, that she presides over birth and death, and that she is a cosmic wellspring from which the universe is generated. Despite how jaded I have become with the duotheistic model, I am starting to warm up to these archetypes again, swinging back around to them after having been devastated by the amount of modern constructs and outright fabrications that surround them. The two gods I’m closest to, Dionysus and Hecate, embody these archetypes perfectly — even in their original forms.

Traditional Witchcraft is more ethically neutral than Wicca (or at least, mainstream Wicca) because it is grounded in the folk magic of disenfranchised people who didn’t have any other way of standing up for themselves. Kelden emphasizes that one should not haphazardly cast curses, hexes, banishments, and bindings, but that one should always know how to cast them if the need arises. This dual approach to magic is appealing to me. Turns out I actually know much more about folk magic than I thought I did, because all of the techniques that Kelden outlines are ones I’m familiar with. I wish he went into more detail about how to adapt historical spells into modern ones, because that’s where I feel I have the most trouble, but it may be that I’m overthinking it. I really like having the examples of workable spells that have been derived from these older sources.

Like most witchcraft books, this one describes the method of hedge-crossing to be quieting down one’s body and mind through deep breathing exercises, to trigger an Out-of-Body-Experience. I’ve never had an OBE, not even once. This led me to believe that I’m incapable of hedge-crossing, when I’m actually really, really good at it. I just have a weird way of doing it. Quieting my body and mind down makes me more aware of my physical discomfort and more present in the real world. I travel to the Otherworld when I pace, or otherwise keep my body occupied with repetitive movement. I’ve had some pretty spectacular experiences like this, and I’m working on structuring my practice around them. I’ve even experienced the “Witches’ Sabbath” in meditation before, which I realized while reading this book. (Just like with the Devil, Kelden puts a positive spin on the concept of a “Witches’ Sabbath,” describing it as an otherworldly festival attended by witches and various types of spirits. You can go there to do business with spirits, perform magic, or just have fun.) I still hope to have an OBE someday, but if I don’t, I understand I’m not missing anything. Because of my unconventional methods, I don’t know how to explain hedge-crossing to newbie practitioners, so I’m glad I now have this book as a resource to point to. I also really appreciate the recipe for non-toxic flying ointment.

The final section of this book is about communing with nature, which I have something of an ambivalent relationship with. On the one hand, I scoff at the notion that paganism in general is “nature-based.” Paganism thrived just as well in ancient metropolises that celebrated their “dominion” over nature. And there are so many different varieties of paganism, that generalizing them all as Druid-stereotype tree-hugging is, at best, reductive. On the other hand, I do really like being in nature. It improves my mental health. I ended up spending a lot of time in the nearby forest at my school. And, I distinctly remember that the most witchy I have ever felt was when I was dancing in my front yard with a hoop made from a wisteria vine. I haven’t been as interested in the wortcunning side of witchcraft, but I won’t pretend that the natural world holds no interest for me or has no relevance to my practice. As a child, I built fairy-houses in nearby trees and left food offerings. Who says I couldn’t do that now? I think my biggest hurdle is that I see local plants as mundane and boring in comparison to mandrake and mugwort, so I don’t really know how to magically engage with them. Kelden has some great advice about how to discover the “virtues” (correspondences) of native plants, rocks, and animals, and about how to safely work with poisonous plants for baneful magic. I also appreciate his advice about adapting the Wheel of the Year to suit your own seasonal patterns and landscape, as well as the spiritual/cultural associations that are actually important to you — no sense in celebrating agricultural or pastoral milestones if you’re not a farmer or a herder! Kelden closes off the book with a short chapter about how to actually apply all of the information in the book. Not enough beginner books do that. Establishing a regular practice is still something I haven’t quite gotten down, so even though it’s a short little section, any help is welcome.

Color me impressed! I liked this book more, and got more out of it, than I expected. I loved how accessible it was. It was a really easy and fast read (this is the quickest I’ve gotten through an occult book in a while). Kelden does a great job of distinguishing where all these different ideas or practices come from — which bits of folklore, which preexisting occult traditions, which primary sources, when it’s UPG, etc. The Crooked Path somehow walks the line between having just enough specificity to not feel generic (i.e. it’s a guide to a particular tradition), and being universally applicable enough to work for people of different creeds and locales. There are some things I would change: Kelden could have included more advice about how to connect with the natural world when one lives in a completely urban environment, and the Otherworld chapter could have used a section dedicated to Shadow Work. But this is still one of the best and most accessible beginner books I’ve read in a long time. I’m definitely going to start recommending it as a non-denominational intro-to-witchcraft book, of which there aren’t many.

Not that it’s bad to start with Wicca, but you have to know that’s what you’re doing; my biggest problem with Wicca 101 books is that most of them make certain beliefs/practices/approaches seem universal when they’re actually distinctly Wiccan, or draw no distinction between Wicca and witchcraft: “Witches” worship the Horned God and the Moon Goddess. “Witches” celebrate the eight Sabbats and Full/Dark Moons. “Witches” cast the circle and perform the Great Rite with the chalice and blade. “Witches” greet each other with “Blessed Be” or “Merry Meet,” and seal every spell with “so mote it be.” “Witches” follow the Rede. All of these things are features of Wicca specifically, but you have to know enough to be able to separate out the distinctly Wiccan aspects from everything else. As a neophyte who lacked that prior knowledge, I took all these things as a given. Early on, I frequently parroted “Wicca is a religion, witchcraft is a practice.” But somewhere along the line, I realized I didn’t know what that practice actually was. Wicca and witchcraft were so intertwined in my mind that I didn’t know what witchcraft looked like independently from Wicca. Traditional Witchcraft is still a specific path with its own history and associated practices, but it gives me a good idea of what “witchcraft” looks like on its own. It cuts out all the "pomp” of the Golden-Dawn-esque ceremonialism and focuses only on the “low magic” stuff, giving me a better sense of what “witchcraft” is at its core, and providing me with a framework that I can more easily adapt.

This book got me feeling witchy again, which is saying a lot. This is the most excited about witchcraft I’ve been in years, and Traditional Witchcraft scored a lot of points with me. I’m not comfortable with every aspect of it, but it gives me the freedom to change the things that don’t work for me. I read descriptions of other Traditional Witchcraft books on Amazon, and most of them also emphasized formulating an authentic and personalized craft based on one’s own environment. I wouldn’t expect something called “Traditional” to be so idiosyncratic; that seems a bit oxymoronic, but it’s also comforting and promising. If you’re a beginner and you’re interested in witchcraft, I highly recommend getting this book (or other books on Traditional Witchcraft) in addition to Wicca 101 books. That way, you can see what your options are, and select or combine practices as you see fit.

*Note: The top critical review on Amazon is written by a person who seemed utterly appalled that so many of these traditional spells have God or Jesus or the Devil in them. That person does not seem to know very much about traditional British and American folk magic. If you have an anti-Abrahamic bias, I encourage you to put it aside when studying any kind of historical or historically-inspired folk magic (or ceremonial magic, for that matter). You can adapt these old Christian spells to suit any religion or spiritual tradition, and Kelden says as much.

[reality-detective]

To the Cabal & Those Of Baal Worship

Do you want to know a secret?

- Remember the good ole days when someone had to be wired to gather information for a sting operation?

- Remember how someone would be searched before they entered a high security area for secret meetings you didn't want recorded on record?

- Remember when you could ensure that if someone would speak of what went on you had a way to get rid of them?

I want you to think of a hypothetical technology for second. Let's call it "Bio-Sensory Neural Interface" or "Energetic Biofield Interface" (EBI)

What can this technology achieve?

• The Bio-Sensory Neural Interface (BSNI) technology represents intelligence-gathering methodologies. It leverages the interaction between advanced computational systems and the human energetic biofield to facilitate seamless, real-time communication and data acquisition from human sensory experiences.

• Utilizes sophisticated sensors to interact with the human biofield, capturing and interpreting electromagnetic signals naturally emitted by the body.

• Enables non-invasive interfacing, ensuring the integrity and operational security of the actor.

Real-Time Sensory Data Transmission:

• Converts sensory input (visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile) into digital data streams, allowing remote operators to experience the actor's environment firsthand.

• Acts as a live sensory transceiver, making the human body a dynamic tool for intelligence collection.

Cognitive Communication:

• Facilitates direct, silent communication between the operator and the actor through thought transmission, eliminating the need for spoken words or physical devices.

• Supports bidirectional communication, enabling strategic planning and real-time adjustments through inner dialogue.

What does this basically mean in more mundane terms?

This basically eliminates the need for physical implants or external devices, reducing the risk of detection and enhancing the safety of the operative in sensitive environments. Which means you could never detect any infiltration apparatus. You could never know who is working for the good guys.

This is one reason why your plans never pan out. This is why you can never quite nail down why something didn't go as planned. This is why you can never trace or track how certain info was shared to those who were never invited to your secret clandestine meetings.

You think because you hold them while a major celebrity is performing in town that the powerful political figures attending would fly under the radar because everyone is distracted with Taylor Swift? You are some funny guys.

BSNI technology is ideally suited for intelligence operations requiring high levels of discretion and security. Its applications extend to military intelligence, covert operations, and high-stakes negotiations where traditional intelligence methods may be impractical or too intrusive. And please avoid trying to look up this technology. This is not what it is called.

This is Mind-to-Mind technology. You all have been caught with your pants down. And now you are way too far behind to catch up to how this could have possibly been used against you. Now you are scrambling. Trying to wonder how you have had to resort to outright assassination attempts. Something that wasn't on the cards before you 1st tried years ago.

Oh' well. You lose. Off to G¡tmo you go. Pain-(☠️) is in your future.

- Julian Assange

[rafent]

And then the other Eagle with these same deep crimson eyes- though almost an exact opposite from Nel. Instead of jet-black hair, there was ivory white that gleamed against sunlight almost forming a halo above his head. Blues were replaced with fierce shades of pink, and there was something about their faces that made Sylvain wonder if they were related in one way or another.

Siblings, perhaps? It wouldn’t surprise him, considering how they taught for the same house. “Professor Rafal! How are you doing? I was told you visited Gautier some moons ago, and while the conditions weren’t the best…haha, I hope you still found something about it to like! I’ll care for it in the future, so.”

Once he approached the man, Sylvain made his intentions clear by first handing out a pastel pink box. Under the lid was a framboise tartelette with a layer of cheesecake- a treat considered rather noble in Faerghus due to how sweet it was, making it quite expensive. By this point Sylvain knew the professor seemed to have a knack for sweets, so he figured he’d appreciate that more than flowers. “I was thinking, the Ethereal Ball is coming, and I find you a really interesting guy! You also look quite strong. So, would you like to come with me? Like a pair? I really wanna talk to you more!”

At odds with easy expression, a pinched look of acknowledgement spun Rafal on his heel to receive the friendly young man. Sparsely encountered due to their inherent differences in house, Sylvain was not a common sighting in the Black Eagles classroom if at all, but Rafal possessed of him an impression at the very least; one much to do with the tall but no less grounded tales of his rutting perfidy. Going even further than mere impression was the correlation to both a city and an acquaintance.

"Sylvain. That is correct, and Gautier was. . .pleasant enough, I suppose. Rife with pockets of conflict when last I visited, but I imagine much of its troubles have desisted by now." Resilience was the nature of all living things, after all; the once beset monastery for one, the chaos-ridden Gautier territory for another, and far, far away perhaps even a dead world tipped over the edge of ruin. Slowly made to stand on its own feet with the same grace. The same blooming return to flowers.

But as if thought and reality had merged into one, the waft of a delectable scent bid Rafal blink with surprise. Sweet as flowers, or merely substituted in their place unbeknownst to their receiver. "Well, yes. Of course I am. . ." an unconscious twitch of pleased expression, "quite strong." Bright-eyed interest; wavering of spirit akin to bobbing fishing lure; no doubt the joint application of lavish gift and compliment would have succeeded in reeling in any other.

However, a Fell Dragon was not easily taken and this one least of all.

"But I fail to see why I must go to the ball with you simply to talk. We may do so at any time. Your request is largely impractical." Like guzzling from a lake when a cup of water sat within reach of both convenience and hand. Whether oblivious or sensible, the dragon shook his head with a sway of silvery hair. "Furthermore, I must say. If I am to 'pair' with a Gautier. . ."

Speaking with Sylvain about Gautier city had brought to mind the exchanges with Matthias situated in the same moon; Matthias who at that uncertain time in the bunker expressed the desire to search for his son. Matthias who, more importantly, was 'quite strong' - a figure of Rafal's ample approval unbowed by fang or fury.

"—between the sire and the son, the sire is more to my taste."

[nomabankss]

The Magicians | 1x06 Impractical Applications