#spell augmentation

[elminx]

Enchanting Magic Soap

This is part of an ongoing series about everyday enchantments. These aren't big, overwhelming spells; they are small things you can do when you have a bit of time and energy that can help you with your magical goals in the long run.

This is what I like to call Augmentation Magic. For example, I might enchant some magic soap as part of a bigger spell so that I can return to the spell (and further its effectiveness) each time I wash myself with it.

All you need to enchant a bar of soap is a brand new bar of soap. Easy, right?

We will start with the basics: enchanting your soap to enhance its natural cleansing properties.

As mentioned above, you can use any soap bar to do this because soap is ALREADY cleaning. You can further enhance this enchantment by using a bar of soap made with scents or natural plant material with additional cleansing properties. This includes pine, citrus, rosemary, lemongrass, lavender, charcoal, and many other natural ingredients often put into soaps (especially natural soaps you can buy at the crunchy hippy store).

But, all you need is a bar of soap. Ivory will do just fine.

Sit down and get to know your bar of soap. Using clean, dry hands, touch your soap. Smell it. Do whatever feels right to you to put your energy into the bar of soap.

Create or find a magical sigil for cleansing that matches the energy of your soap. Use your intuition here - if you don't make your own sigils, the rune Laguz (Elder Futhark rune for water) will work fine here. Carve your rune into your soap at least once on every side or as many times as feels right to you. As you do this, think about how you are enhancing the nature powers of cleaning in the soap by adding a sigil for cleansing

Charge your sigil with energy. This can be your own energy, this can be the energy or the sun or moon, this can the energy of a candle. Do what works well for you here. I like to charge my soap with a white candle annointed with cleansing oils and some of the plant type used in the making of the soap.

Extra: create a cleansing enchant to connect the sigil you have created. Something simple like "water, water, wash over me; troubles flow away and I am free."

When you wash yourself, make a point of think about your sigil and the action that your enchantment is taking - to cleanse your body and wash away what you don't want to bring with you down the drain until it is gone. Say your cleansing chant as you scrub your body with the soap. It is done.

Variations on a theme: because soap is naturally cleansing, there is very little work that needs to be done to enhance it further to make it a spell. You can use any bar of soap for this purpose.

If you wish to use soap to further an action that is more than cleansing (the natural state of soap), you will want to take more care in matching your soap to your intentions.

A very simple version of this would be to use a soap made with coffee grounds that is enchanted to help you wake up in the morning or perhaps to stay focused throughout your day. Here, you are using the principles of sympathy to match your soap to your intention: the more similar your soap is to your intention, the easier it is to craft this enchantment (and the less energy you will need to expend). You can use anything here: color magic, sigils, ingredients, etc. to make this connection.

Of course, you can buy many magical soaps that have some level of enchantment. I have found that most "magic soaps" on the market don't carry much innate magic, but they all tend to be made with authentic botanical and essential oils, which helps me (at least) spend less of my energy enchanting.

Of course, your experience may vary. (I'd love to hear about it—send me an Ask with stories of how you've used magic soap in your life!)

Further Reading: My Guide to Augmenting Your Magic

Do you like my work? You can tip me over on Ko-Fi.

[questionmarksys]

If you've been told "use your words" when you are using a form of communication that isn't verbal, you may be entitled to some fuckin financial compensation /j

[mxwhore]

I don't want to be alarmist, but if you're having intense impending doom feelings along with any other physical symptoms, you shouldn't wait to go to the doctor. It can be an early sign of a major medical event. I felt this way when my gallbladder was failing.

o

[vounoura]

the maister system and the new 'find vocations out in the world' system is...ok, but I prefer the old colour system

[notcatherinemorland]

I'm sure this will mean absolutely nothing to nobody, but this shit is my magnum opus:

My little cleric's D&D spell list: broken down into V/S/M; curtailed relevant components agreed with the GM; specialisations, and casting time. I have won at d&d 5e, where the e stands for Excel

[autball]

We. Can. Hear. You.

It’s AAC Awareness Month! AAC (Augmentative and Alternative Communication) is more than just high tech devices like the one depicted here. It includes picture books/cards, sign language, writing it down, Spelling to Communicate - basically anything that conveys a message that is not speech. 

And anyone can use it! If you are non-speaking, unreliably speaking, not-yet speaking, or just find words hard sometimes, then AAC is for you. There is no “non-speaking enough” threshold you have to meet - if it makes your life easier, go ahead and use it.

AAC is empowering. People routinely talk about autistic kids and adults like they’re not even in the room, even when they CAN speak. (Which, if you’re someone who does this, STOP IT RIGHT NOW.) This parent could have assured this asshole professional person that her son could understand til they were blue in the face, and they wouldn’t have been believed if he hadn’t been able to communicate it for himself. 

Communication is a right. Don’t let anyone try to discourage AAC on the basis of it hindering speech or “being the easy way out” or whatever other nonsense they come up with. AAC *enhances* communication, and everyone deserves the ability to communicate their needs, tell you their thoughts and feelings, share their hopes and dreams, and tell people to fuck off when needed. 😉

(Image description in Alt Text.)

[https-bobreynolds]

reluctant heart

pairings: platonic! thunderbolts* x enchantress! reader, robert ‘bob’ reynolds/the void x enchantress! reader

summary: moments where the enchantress shows that she cares, even though she would never admit it.

warnings: curse words, enchantress should be a warning herself, blood, injuries, and magic.

author’s note: look man i’m sorry, this is so ass i hope this is readable😭😭 this is… what you call a brain vomit??? i have a major headache rn, have tons of my finals exam deadline DUE IN A FEW HOURS, but i really wanted to include two fic scenes for each members (i got carried away oops) READ TILL THE END IF YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ENCHANTRESS X READER AS WELL

james ‘bucky’ barnes

“this one broods like it is a full-time occupation. what century is he mourning? all of them?”

bucky didn’t talk much, which the enchantress liked. but he watched. he analyzed. he asked smart questions, even if he only used five words at a time.

over time, they developed a rhythm in battle. she’d clear the path, he’d cover her blind spots. quiet, efficient.

one time, he handed her a knife mid-fight, the kind made of vibranium with a leather-wrapped hilt. she spun it in her hand, then raised a brow.

“you gift weapons like they are poetry.”

he didn’t answer, but he smirked.

she almost smiled.

bucky was always first to clock danger, always had your back. he didn’t flinch around her magic, didn’t fear her like the rest of them.

she once called him “the least irritating man with a metal limb”.

she would stand behind him during briefings.

he once left a knife near her altar. her fingers hovered over it, then left a spell tucked in its leather grip. a rune of silence. of peace.

she lets him train in her magical barrier zones to test his knives.

she once stitched a cut on his jaw with glowing thread and didn’t insult him for bleeding.

once, after a particularly vicious mission, she found him alone on the rooftop, sharpening his knife in silence.

she appeared beside him in a blink.

“you mourn with such commitment. what would the winter soldier say?”

he didn’t look up. “he’d probably ask you to stop reading his mind.”

a beat of silence.

then she sat beside him, not close, but close enough.

“i do not mourn. but i have known what it means to carry blood like it is your own.”

he nodded.

they didn’t speak again for an hour. and she stayed.

ava starr

“this one walks like she is moments from ceasing to exist. how fitting.”

enchantress saw ava as volatile, broken, and far too reactive. magic and quantum instability do not mix.

but then she saw her fight.

uncontrolled but brutal. ava would tear through enemies like smoke with teeth. no flair. no showboating. just pain.

she respected that.

once, when ava phased through a collapsing bridge to save a child, enchantress shielded the exit, not because she cared, obviously, but because the structure was “inefficiently designed and offensive to the eye.”

later, ava said, “thanks.”

enchantress replied, “i merely wished to avoid your atoms becoming someone else’s mess.”

but her magic was gentler the next time ava faltered.

“i tolerate her presence. she is… hauntingly efficient.”

enchantress subtly adjusts her spell radius so ava can phase safely.

once, when ava collapsed mid-fight, phasing out, half-conscious, it was enchantress who caught her mid-fall. “you will not die. not until I say so.”

she once left a note on ava’s locker: “stabilization rune. do not waste it.” no signature, but ava kept it anyway.

another time when ava got cornered by tech-augmented soldiers, glitching, faltering. it was enchantress who threw a wall of shimmering emerald fire to block the incoming blast.

“do not shatter. it is… irritating to repair quantum dust.”

ava, catching her breath, replied, “you’re such a bitch.”

enchantress tilted her head. “flattery will not win me over.”

later, ava phased through her shield during a drill, a stupid dare from yelena, and landed a hit.

instead of retaliation, enchantress smirked. “impressive. try that again and i’ll atomize your molecules into alphabet soup.”

ava grinned back. “you’re learning how to joke. that’s terrifying.”

yelena belova

“this one laughs too easily. she dances in fire as if it cannot burn.”

yelena is everything the enchantress is not: snarky, warm, reckless in joy. she jokes with knives, flirts with chaos, and annoys with purpose.

enchantress loathed her.

until one mission, yelena cracked a joke mid-battle, something absurd about “stabby girls sticking together”, and enchantress laughed.

out loud.

everyone heard it.

she incinerated the next five hydra agents in cold fury.

later, yelena nudged her and said, “you’ve got a soul under all that goddess drama, huh?”

enchantress’s eye twitched.

“speak again and i will summon a basilisk to dine on your bones.”

yelena winked. “so we’re friends now. got it.”

she sometimes lets yelena braid flowers into her hair after training, which she “forgot to vaporize.”

she lets yelena sleep against her shoulder on long flights. she hexes away yelena’s migraines in silence.

after one mission, where yelena deflected a shot meant for enchantress with her bare forearm, she looked up and said, grinning through the pain, “bet you’ll miss me when i’m gone.”

“do not test that theory,” enchantress whispered, sealing the wound with glowing green magic. “it is the only kindness you’ll get.”

enchantress once muttered, “i will burn the world if she dies” but only to you.

“why does she mock death like it’s a punchline? she is chaos without consequence.”

yelena annoyed her. with the relentless teasing. with the sarcasm. with the friendship bracelets.

yes, yelena made her one.

it said “MAGIC BAD BITCH 💅” in pink beads.

enchantress vaporized it. but the next day… she found it again. reconstructed. stronger. with added charms.

“try again,” yelena grinned. “this one has protective runes.”

enchantress incinerated them again.

later that week though, she replaced the destroyed bracelet with one of her own, etched in runes, disguised as a joke.

yelena wears it everywhere now.

she also once dared to sneak enchanted glitter into her cloak.

enchantress didn’t hex her.

instead, she made her levitate for three hours as punishment, but never once said, “i hate you.”

yelena, upside-down, shouted “this means we’re besties!”

john walker

“this one worships authority like it is a god, yet cannot comprehend divinity when it speaks to him.”

walker is everything she dislikes about men, loud, moralizing, self-important, and carrying that cursed shield like it holds weight in her realm.

he teases her constantly. calls her “witchy” and “disney villain-coded”, says she secretly likes them. once said she had a heart after she pulled him out of a crumbling helijet mid-mission.

she flung him into a wall so hard it cracked the plaster.

“you talk so much for a mortal whose strength lies in a puny shield.”

he groaned and said, “admit it. you like us.”

“i liked you better unconscious.”

still, she shows up first when he’s injured. always last to leave him behind.

she’d rather resurrect hela than ever admit that she has a soft spot for him.

she always shields him in battle “only because you’re a lightning rod for stupidity.”

but during a mission gone wrong, walker tackled a bomb off a bridge and almost didn’t make it back. his shield cracked. his ribs broke. but he saved a dozen lives. when he woke up in medbay, she stood over him. “you are a fool.”

he winced. “missed you too.”

she laid a rune on his chest and turned to leave.“that will heal the bone. but not the idiocy.”

“a man who clings to a shield like it’s the only part of himself worth preserving.”

“you know,” he once said after a mission, wiping blood from his lip, “you’re not that scary.”

she blasted him against a truck.

“speak again, and i shall reduce your tongue to ash.”

“still not that scary.” he wheezed.

they fought constantly, verbally, magically, and once in a team spar where she almost turned him into a goat. almost.

byt when he shielded ava from a blast with his own body, enchantress watched him differently. the next time he made a joke, she let it pass without comment.

once, during a blackout, the team sat around sharing stories. he shared one about his friend who tragically passed, quiet, genuine.

she didn’t speak after that.

but the next day, she conjured a charm and said: “wear it. not for you. for your friend’s memory.”

he blinked. “so you do care.”

alexei shostakov

“a relic. much like myself, only louder, and fueled by pickled ego.”

alexei is boisterous. boastful. calls her “mystical lady” and “magic mama” and once tried to arm-wrestle her.

she hexed his biceps into noodles for an hour.

but he’s also weirdly endearing. he means well, fights hard, bleeds without complaint, and disturbingly, sometimes makes her laugh.

he once handed her a hammer mid-mission and said, “now you look like a god.”

she didn’t hex him for three days after that.

she tolerates his proximity.

she lets him spar near her sacred altar (“you must stop bleeding on the glyphs”).

she healed his broken ribs after a mission, then denied it. “you imagined it. likely brain trauma.”

once, she saw him throw himself in front of a plasma cannon aimed for her. when she tried to chide him, he interrupted: “you are part of the team. i protect team.”

“foolish. sentimental. moron.” he grinned. “you say that like it’s new.”

she sighed and cast a protection spell on his bones. “you will live. regrettably.”

alexei always defends the team like a bear would its cubs. no hesitation. no fear. just fists, heart, and delusion.

he once stood in front of a hydra tank to shield her spell casting. took the hit. didn’t flinch.

“you’re welcome, my glowing queen.”

she stared at him. “you are the dumbest mortal i’ve ever begrudgingly admired.”

he grinned. “that’s basically love in your language, no?”

robert ‘bob’ reynolds/the void

“i knew you before light had a name. i remember the collapse of stars with you at my side.”

she never doubted bob.

and the void? he knows her. the ache of eternity. the gravity of being too much and too lonely for too long.

their bond is old. deeper than names. stranger than time. a flicker of love that doesn’t always look soft, but it’s there.

sometimes they float outside the tower, silent, watching the sky fracture in distant colors. saying nothing. needing nothing.

he once reached out, brushed her cheek with a shadowed hand, and said, “you’re softer than you pretend.”

she replied, “and you’re gentler than you believe.”

she doesn’t have to admit that she has a soft spot. the void already knows.

she calls him “beloved” in ancient tongues.

casts protective runes on him that glow only in darkness.

if the void breaks, she will break the world to rebuild him.

“he is the beginning and the ending. my mirror. my ruin. my solace.”

they understand each other beyond words.

oncr, during a night thick with stormlight, they stood side-by-side, watching lightning split the sky in silence.

“you miss it too.” she said, softly.

he nodded. “the quiet. the before.”

they rarely touch, but when they do, it’s like galaxies breathing against each other.

she once placed her hand over his chest and whispered a spell older than this universe.

“you are too much,” he whispered.

“so are you,” she replied.

“and still not enough for each other.”

“yet we stay.”

you

“a flame that believes in rain. beautiful. foolish. necessary.”

you’re the only one who speaks to her like she’s real. not a god. not a weapon. not a curse.

you call her out gently. you tell her things like “they’re not as bad as you think.”

and over time… she believes you.

she watches how you talk to them. how you protect them. and she learns. for you.

she once shielded the entire team with a dome of magic that pulsed in your color, but when asked, she said she did it to preserve her own resources.

you smiled anyway. you knew.

“you care about them,” you said one night, “you’re becoming part of this.”

she looked at you like you were the most terrifying thing in any dimension.

“speak of this again,” she whispered, “and i shall turn your tongue to ash.”

then added, quieter

“…but only briefly.”

you are the only one who can calm her when her powers spiral.

the only one who can summon enchantress with a whisper.

you’re the reason she protects the team. why she hasn’t scorched the earth clean. why she stays.

“a mortal. too kind. too soft. a flame dancing too close to gods.”

you were her tether. her reason.

the one who taught her that humanity wasn’t just weakness, it was choice.

you talked her down when her magic raged. held her hand after nightmares. defended her when the world called her a monster.

“they’re family.” you told her once, after she called the team a circus of fools.

“they are.” she said.

“they’re your circus now.”

she stared at you like you broke the sky.

“you are absurd.”

“you’re soft.”

“i will turn your lungs into lilacs.”

you smiled.

author’s note: so yes i do headcanon that since enchantress only comes out during the night or when ‘you’ summon her (which is always on the battlefield) most of their soft moments would appear during battle.

if i write another action-sequence fic centered around the enchantress being soft and protecting the others would y’all read it🥺 (i feel like you guys hate action sequences lmaooo)

tag list: @spongelll @lovetoalll

[breelandwalker]

Magical Oil Recipes - Buffs and Blessings Edition

For anyone looking to brew up a potion for the purposes of augmentation or blessing, here are some recipes I’ve created that you might find useful.

To prepare them, blend the ingredients in such proportions as feels correct for your purposes (or as supplies allow). Use dried material except where indicated. Place a few spoonfuls in a mason jar with a screwtop lid and fill the jar with a bland oil of your choice. (Vegetable oil of the sort you would buy for cooking works fine.) Screw the lid on tightly and shake well to combine, then leave the jar in a dark dry place for 2-4 weeks to steep.

Once steeped, prepare a clean storage bottle (also with a secure lid) and label with the type of oil and the bottling date. Strain the oil through paper towels or cheesecloth to remove the plant material, then bottle immediately. Store away from sunlight and heat for up to one year. Use for spellwork as you see fit.

(Please note that NONE of these potions are meant to be taken internally by any means. Observe all proper safety measures related to glass, fire, and potentially harmful plants as necessary during preparation.)

*- Ingredient is potentially harmful if inhaled or ingested. **- Ingredient should not be used or handled if you are pregnant or nursing.

All-Purpose Blessing Oil For blessing, purification, and consecration.

Lavender

Sweet Basil

Bay Leaf

Patchouli Note: Use Olive Oil for the base.

Brim With Vim Vitality Oil To restore flagging magical energy and clear post-spell haze.

Tangerine (Satsuma) Peel

Cinnamon Stick

Ginger Root

Vervain

Cauldronkeeper Wisdom Oil To enhance intuition and wisdom.

Hazel (leaves or bark)

Elder (berries or bark)

Sage (any color)

Peach Pit (in master bottle) Note: Peach pits contain a small amount of cyanide, which may be released if the pit is broken down. Exercise caution with the finished oil.

Clear the Way Obstacle Remover Oil For overcoming difficulty and attracting new opportunities.

Dried Sumac Berries

Ginger Root

Sweet Basil

Full Moon Lunar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the lunar cycle.

Willow Bark

Jasmine Flowers

Fennel

Mugwort** Note: Use With Caution.

High Noon Solar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the solar cycle.

Calendula Petals

Chamomile

Bay Leaf

Eyebright Note: Use With Caution.

Golden Fields Prosperity Oil For abundance, good fortune, and general well-being.

Sesame or Pumpkin Seeds

Wheat or Barley Kernels

Orange Peel

Honeysuckle

Get Me Through the Day Endurance Oil For a tiny extra boost on those low-energy days.

Lemon Verbena

White Oak Bark

Rosemary

Echinacea**

Hearthside Home Blessing Oil For a comfortable and harmonious home.

Sweet Basil

Vervain

Pine Needles

Willow Bark

Jack-of-all-Trades Work Enhancement Oil For augmentation of workplace abilities.

Sweet Basil

Meadowsweet**

Borage Flowers

Vanilla Bean

Magical Me Power Boost Oil For augmentation of spellcasting.

Ginger Root

Rosemary

Bergamot

Cedar Tips

Steel Backbone Fortitude Oil For bravery and endurance.

Blue Vervain

Pine Needles

Cedar Tips

Yarrow**

Truthteller Divination Oil For augmentation of divinatory practices.

Evening Primrose**

Hibiscus Flowers

Celery Seeds

Tea Leaves

Watchful Eye Viewing Oil To enhance powers of observation.

Grape Leaf

Lemon Balm

Rosemary

Celery Seed (or dried leaf from stalks) Note: Do not apply to skin around eyes. Do not apply directly to eyeballs either.

Should the reader require supplies, I recommend the following:

Penn Herb Company

Starwest Botanicals

Bulk Apothecary

Mountain Rose Herbs

Specialty Bottle

Image Credit - VeraPetruk

All recipes are © 2017 Bree NicGarran, published in Pestlework: A Book of Magical Powders & Oils. Please check out the book if you would like more recipes.

If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my podcast Hex Positive, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop.

[emma-cowboylikeme]

one piece fic recs

all of these will be sfw! aside from gen fics, these fics will include: zosan, zolaw, cross guild, zolu, sanami, sanuso, and saboala

gen/found family

thicker than water by nevermordor - law character study & law's relationship with the heart pirates. this is a must-read

build you up by nevermordor - usopp & franky!!! their dynamic means so much to me

requiem for lab rats by @missingn000 - what if sanji fought king instead of queen? what if they realized they were traumatized by the same man? WHAT THEN? this is an incredible fight scene and character study

is there anything so undoing as a daughter by @missingn000 - doflamingo & baby 5 from crocodile's pov. this fic made me insane, i can't recommend it enough

it's only blood by @missingn000 - goth family (mihawk & zoro & perona), this fic is absolutely beautiful

greatest gift of all by SoccerSarah01 - ASL brothers with younger luffy, SO CUTE

zosan

Letters on a Blackboard by Hazel_Athena - single dad zoro and teacher sanji. this was everything i needed, it was amazing

Veracity by Hazel_Athena - zoro gets hit by a truth spell...

Make A Fuss, Why Don't You? by Hazel_Athena - sanji wants to dote on zoro, and zoro wants to be doted on, but neither of them know how to communicate that (they figure it our eventually though)

don't look too long, or you'll forget to fall by Resacon1990 - zosan 5 + 1, i loved this so much

cross guild

(all of these are genderbent wlw - i love cross guild in all forms but all of my sfw recs happened to be yuri)

Caramel popcorn, belladonna-sweet by inpolariis - I'll just copy the summary because it really captures the essence of the fic: "Alternative title: Buggy and the two bad bitches she pulled by being silly goofy"

Pink and Purple by AcesCorazon - this one is buggy/mihawk, featuring doting girlfriend mihawk. it's absolutely adorable

Coexisting (but just barely) by AcesCorazon (WIP) - this one is also buggy/mihawk and so cute!

zolu

mithridatism by swordsmans (series) - there are two fics in this series, one from sanji's pov and the other from zoro's, and both are outstanding character studies

But Patience Boasts by Augment - sanji pov, dealing with zoro and sanji's conflicting feelings on love

zolaw

Cut My Feelings Off Clean by Augment - one of my favorite one piece fics. a brilliant law pov and character exploration of both law and zoro

things not seen by nevermordor - this fic is really special to me because it introduced me to this ship and i loved the exploration of law's experiences and views on religion

sanami

Righting Wrongs by Cherry_Sundae - this is sanami yuri with transfemme sanji and it's so important to me. i love the idea of sanji realizing she's trans during the timeskip period and this fic was everything i wanted it to be

sanuso

Home, Where You Are by kiite - short and sweet sanuso, i love this ship and the exploration of their similarities

acesan

Sing In Me, O Muse by LorettaFryingPan - acesan yuri! this fic explores both their insecurities and it's so so sweet

saboala

Sins of the Father by kiite - short and sweet saboala <3 i adore this ship

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 7

Source for pic

Imperfect 7

Word Count: 5782

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: This chapter is a bit silly, but definitely a lot of fun. Let's strengthen these relationships before it all falls apart! I hope you enjoy it!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

You know Shanks saw you arrive yesterday with Kid. He probably even witnessed that meaningful moment next to Kid’s bike. But he doesn’t mention it over breakfast, even though he eyes you with a worried gaze, and you’re thankful he doesn’t.

Though you don’t think anything can ruin your mood, not even your father’s overprotectiveness. You’re walking on cloud nine. Last night’s plan was successful, Kid opened up, let you in, even if it was just for sharing fun and silly moments. He didn’t push you away or withdraw from you. 

One step at a time. 

You can’t lie, going back to the garage the day after felt like walking in with your heart in your hands. Half-expecting him to be in another foul mood, ready to push you away and deny any connection, while another hopeful half of you expected him to still be in a good mood. 

He didn’t push you away.

Instead, he put you to work. He was sanding Victoria again, prepping her for the final paint job, and you were to help. He taught you how to mask the windows so no paint would accidentally get there, and you did a decent job - his words. 

While he sprayed the primer paint on the car’s body, and after you admonished him to wear a mask and gloves because of the fumes, you went out to buy coffee and donuts. When you arrived, about an hour and a half later, because you bumped into Robin and Nami at Sanji’s café, Kid was spraying bare-handed, using a bandana as a mask.

You sighed. It was good enough. 

The next days were a blur of more sanding, more spray painting, and endless hours of literally watching paint dry. All of it was interspersed with curses and grumbles from the red-headed mechanic because the hue of the red paint wasn’t doing his baby justice, leading to hours of adjusting it or adding another coat. 

You mostly offered moral support and coffee runs while continuously taunting Kid with the help of Killer, riling him up so hard that it was rare for a day to pass without him telling you both to fuck off. 

You were having a lot of fun. 

Romantically speaking, you both were taking the unspoken rule of ‘one step at a time’ to a tee, because other than heated looks, flirty banter, and the flurry of winged bugs inside your stomach, nothing else had happened. 

Which also meant he hadn’t pushed you away. You saw that as a win. 

Supposedly, and this has been announced a few times already, today is the day Kid finishes the last coat of paint, and a sense of accomplishment keeps spreading a sly grin over your lips, even though you don’t mean it to. 

The heat wave has finally relented, and there’s a soft breeze blowing through the trees, the weather actually resembling springtime for once. Once you enter the garage - noticing that both the door and the gate are wide open - you’re hit with a waft of spray fumes and chemicals that make you wrinkle your nose, despite being used to it already. 

Kid is already elbow-deep in finishing the last coat, and you don’t even bother announcing yourself over the whirring of the air compressor as he uses the spray gun. You just hop on top of the workbench and watch him in his element. 

He’s, thankfully, wearing the bandana around his mouth, and he has some gold-rimmed, square-shaped goggles over his eyes to protect them from the splatters. The gloves are nowhere in sight, and therefore, his bare hands and forearms are dotted in red paint. Next to you on the workbench are open cans of automobile paint and turpentine, augmenting the strong odour of chemicals and making your head feel slightly lighter. 

After a while, Kid finishes. He sets down the spray, backs up a few steps, and pushes the goggles up to his forehead, examining his work from afar while he tilts his head left and right. You jump from your perch to join him, and he acts like he knew you were there all along. 

Maybe he did. 

“Is she done?” you ask in a small voice, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. 

“Aye.” Kid’s throat works through some emotion he can’t place into words before he smirks softly. “Still needs to be waxed, after she dries. Then I need to set up the tires, get her road-ready, fix small issues, but aye… she’s mostly done.”

It’s a huge moment for Kid. You can feel it in the way he can’t stop staring at Victoria, in the way his paint-dipped fingers twitch against his jeans, and in the lump he keeps swallowing in his throat. 

“That’s it?” you turn to him, and his fiery gaze lands on you, eyebrows twitching in confusion. 

“What’s it?”

“That’s all you’ve got to say? She’s done?”

“I just told ye! She still needs some work, but aye, she’s done.” Kid grits his teeth and raises his shoulders, not quite getting your point. 

“You’re not being enthusiastic enough,” you state.

“Beg yer fuckin’ pardon?”

“You need to shout or something! Jump, flail your arms, I don’t know… be more dramatic!”

Kid stares at you like you’ve grown horns. “Dramatic? Drama is for theatre geeks and soccer moms, Sparkles.”

“Oh! Excuse me! High and mighty manly man!” Kid grumbles something at you, but you’re already turning back to the workbench you were sitting on, grabbing one of the open red paint cans and a brush. “You’ve been working on Victoria for years. You gave her your blood, sweat, and tears. You scavenged and bartered for parts so she could be perfect.”

You approach him, and he’s still eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. 

“You deserve to be proud of what you’ve achieved. You need to express it.” Stopping near him, you raise the paint-covered brush and draw a streak across his muscled forearm. “Shout, Kid. Tell the world how proud you are of what you’ve accomplished.”

Kid stares at his arm, growls, and then stares back at you. “What the hell? I ain’t gonna shout. I’m proud, but I ain’t gonna yell about it.”

You make a small heart, this time right on the vein that’s throbbing on his neck. “Do it, Kid.”

“Oi! Sparkles,” he lunges for the paint, but you dodge him and run around him. “Better stop that!”

You raise the brush again, still evading Kid’s lunges. “Do it, Kid, or I swear to God I will draw a dick on your forehead.”

“Ye wouldn’t fuckin’ dare!”

“Try me!”

“For fuck’s sake, fine!” Kid lets out a low growl. “I finished it! Victoria’s done! I’m fuckin’ proud!” He elevates his voice, but you still splash him with paint. “Oi! Brat! SHE’S FINISHED! I’M THE BEST FUCKIN’ MECHANIC IN THE CITY.”

He finally shouts, and you let out a bubbly laugh. “Yes! Fuck yes, you are! In the world!” You jump, and the paint sloshes inside the tiny can you’re holding, spilling some on the floor. You stare down, and in that small moment of distraction, Kid dips his fingers in the paint and drags them across your cheek, making you squeal in surprise and delight. 

“Aye, Sparkles, I am!” He’s standing close to you, eyes glinting with satisfaction and mischief, and you can’t even fight the warmth that’s spreading in your chest. 

“Where are you taking her on her maiden ride?” You barely take notice of the step you take just to be closer to him. 

His hand raises again, and you think he’s about to war-paint your face some more. Instead, he tips your chin so he can stare right into your eyes. “Anywhere ye wanna go.”

Emotion swells inside your chest as you try to fight a happy grin. It feels like both of you have made progress in the last few weeks, from the explosive, fiery attraction to a small, slow-burning flame. 

One step at a time suddenly feels like it’s not enough. 

Perhaps sensing the tension, Kid grins and yells again, “I’M THE BEST MECHANIC IN THE FUCKIN’ WORLD!” 

“What did I miss?” Killer’s voice reaches you from the entrance of the garage. You run to him, brush already aimed, and he has zero time to react before you dot his arm with red paint.

“We’re celebrating!”

“Victoria’s done,” Kid proudly adds.

Killer is still staring at his arm, and at Kid’s and your paint marks. So you take advantage of his confusion to add another streak of paint to his other arm. “Oi! The hell?”

Your giggles turn high-pitched when Kid wraps his arms around yours, immobilizing you. “She’s bein’ a brat,” he grunts near your ear, and you squirm in his arms, trying - in vain - to free yourself. “I say we give her a taste of her own medicine.”

Killer is already reaching for the paint can before you even start begging for mercy. It falls on deaf ears, and the paint can gets turned upside down over your head. The shrill shriek you meant to unleash gets stuck in your throat because if you open your mouth at this moment, you’ll be eating paint.

You still make a meek, muffled protest, showing exactly how pissed off you are. None of them care one bit as Kid’s laugh echoes around the garage. He finally releases you, just to laugh some more as you scoop the paint coating your eyes, leaving drips, smudges, and smears all over the floor of the garage. 

“Seriously?” you ask in disbelief.

“Come on, City Girl, you deserved that!” Killer’s shoulders shake, even though his laughter is mostly silent. 

“I’m covered in paint, you morons!” 

Kid guffaws at that. “Serves ye right. Kill, how does takeout and beer sound as a celebration?”

“I’m still covered in paint…” What sounds good isn’t food, but maybe a shower or a quick trip to a car wash…

“Sounds like heaven. I’m gonna grab the food, you chill the beer.”

“Hey! Hello!” Waving your arms in the air, you splash some more paint everywhere, and that gets them sniggering again. 

“Aye, aye, calm yer tits, Sparkles. There’s a bathroom right there with a shower. Yer welcome to it.”

On second thought, food and beer do sound great.

-*-

You take a quick shower in Kid’s garage bathroom and get most of the paint out of your hair and body. Some of the paint managed to drip into your lady bits, and scrubbing that off is a bit uncomfortable. As wondrous as it seems to have a handy-dandy shower right next to the garage, where one usually gets dirty and greasy, this handy-dandy shower doesn’t have a drip of hot water.  

However, you feel cleaner than you were before, even though your clothes have definitely seen better days. Kid handed you a clean towel and some of his clothes - a faded Iron Maiden tee-shirt and some oversized shorts - before you hopped into the shower, and you try to ignore the fluttering sensation that overwhelms your stomach and lower abdomen when you step out of the bathroom and he eats you up with his fiery gaze. 

Slowly eats you up. 

His throat works somewhat, but he gets back to the task of stocking the freezer with plenty of beer while Killer suddenly grabs his phone, pretending it’s ringing, and answers a ‘call’ saying that the takeout is ready for pickup. He promptly grabs the keys to the shop’s truck and makes a beeline for the door.

“Don’t forget, folks, doors have locks! ‘K?” Killer ignores your empty stares as he sniggers and closes the door behind him. 

Kid continues to stock the fridge as you shove the towel’s end as far as it can go inside your ear. “Jesus Christ, I swear I have paint embedded in my brain!”

Kid chortles and closes the fridge. “Ye got paint all over my garage, sweetheart. Yer ear never had a chance.”

You know he calls you sweetheart more in a teasing way than an endearing way, but damn it if the godforsaken word doesn’t get your heart thumping like a wild beast.

“I stand my ground, mister. And I still think you deserved to have a dick drawn in your forehead.” Discarding the towel, you grab a rag and some paint remover, then kneel on the floor to try and clean the worst of the damage.

Kid begins by telling you that you don’t have to do that, but soon enough, he’s joining you on the floor.

There’s no denying it. There’s still plenty of heat where both of you are concerned. And the fact that Kid can’t seem to take his eyes off you wearing his clothes isn’t necessarily helping with this whole ‘one step at a time’ bit. 

Would it be so terrible if you jumped him and kissed the bejesus out of him?

Yes.

He might just push you away again, and you’re not quite sure if you could bear that while being as vulnerable with your emotions as you are right now. What you see in his eyes is proof enough that he’s battling the same restraint you are. So, if he’s strong enough to withstand primal urges and keep things civilized, damn it, so are you. 

-*-

“Are you ever gonna show us your face?” you ask Killer with a giggle, cheeks burning red from the alcohol, tongue looser than a worn-out screw.

Kid laughs and takes another sip from his beer, his composure still standing impeccably. Either you’re a lightweight, or these two can handle liquor like pros. “Speak for yerself, Sparkles. I’ve seen plenty of that ugly mug.”

You jerk with the shock of this revelation, and the motion sets the room spinning around. Kid has to grip the scruff of your shirt to keep you from falling off the couch, where you are precariously perched. 

“Betrayal!” you point at Killer, and he shrugs. “Just a peek?” you bat your eyelashes this time, but Kill just shakes his head.

“Maybe someday, City Girl.”

“Aw, come on! It would cheer me up immensely!” You say the word with slurred confidence, and you nail the pronunciation with a cocky grin. 

“I don’t think you need cheering up.” Killer takes a sip from his beer by placing it under his bandana.

“‘K! I can work with that. What I heard was: if you ever need cheering up, I’ll show you my face!” With a triumphant laugh, you nudge Kid right on the ribs, and he groans because drunk you has no depth or strength perception. “Hear that, Kid? You’re my witness!”

“Aye, aye.”

“I ain’t agreeing to that,” Killer deadpans.

“Just say ye agree, dumbass, or she’ll never shut up about it.”

“Kid’s right, though,” you add, and Killer sighs.

“Sure, then.”

Soon enough, the world is spinning faster, and your friends are nothing but a blur of colours and distant sounds. You seem to hear Kid and Killer discuss sleeping arrangements, and Killer ends up stating he’d rather walk home than unwittingly interrupt something he doesn’t mean to. 

It’s also decided that they’re both too tipsy to drive you home, and you’re definitely too wasted to do it yourself, so you’ll be sleeping in Kid’s bed while he sleeps on the couch. Apparently, Kid’s house is on the floor over the garage. 

Huh.

Killer says his goodbyes, and you hear him lock the door from the outside. Kid hits light switches everywhere, leaving only one on the stairs at the back of the garage, and then he makes his way to you.

Somehow, you’ve managed to curl up against the arm of the couch, legs pressed against your chest as you try to make yourself small. 

“What’s happenin’?” Kid asks, bemused.

“You turned off all the lights, Kid! That’s when the bogeyman comes out to play!” Your words come out muffled against your legs, but you can still hear Kid’s snicker. 

“The only bogeyman here is me, sweetheart. C’mon, let’s get ya to bed.” Kid grabs your hand and pulls, but you barely budge.

“Bed?” Raising your head from your arms cocoon, you smile sultrily at Kid, bogeyman all but forgotten. 

“Aye, ye need sleep,” he chuckles. 

A mischievous glint makes your eyes sparkle as you place your knees on the couch and raise your arms over your head. “Pick me up, I can’t walk all by myself.”

“Is that right, couch princess?” Kid seems amused, but you only nod at him. 

“You can’t expect me to climb all those steps!” you state dramatically and exaggerate the sentence by placing an arm over your eyes in a fainting motion. 

“Drama queen,” Kid mumbles between his teeth, but still picks you up, princess style. You can’t stop giggling and squirming in his arms, and he isn’t exactly hiding his grin either. 

“You’re so strong, Kid. I bet you could manhandle me into any position.” Kid stumbles on the last step and almost causes both of you to fall before he manages to steady himself.

“The fuck, Sparkles?” His tone is amused, and maybe a little bit aroused. 

“I mean any position.” You raise your eyebrows suggestively three times, and Kid shakes his head, his grin widening. 

“Like ye could handle that. One good poundin’, and ye’d be ruined.”

Fuck, that sounds hot.

“It sure does, Sparkles.”

SHIT! Did I say that out loud?

“Ye did. And that too.”

“Anyway!” You clear your throat, “I doubt that very much! I’d be asking for round two even before you had a chance to compose yourself.”

Kid’s grin widens further as he balances you in one arm so he can open the door that leads inside his house. His face is suddenly way closer, and his breath smells like alcohol and endless possibilities. 

“Yer all talk, City Girl. Besides, yer drunk off yer ass.” Kid walks you both through the threshold and closes the door behind him, settling you down on the floor, but not letting go of you yet. 

“Well, this ass is ready for demolition.” You wink and smack your butt while looking him dead in the eyes. 

Somewhere in the haze of alcohol that’s hindering your brain, you remember some resolution about taking it slow or one step at a time. But it all just seems so far, far away. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” His eyes glint mischievously as he maneuvers you both towards what you assume is his bedroom. God, you hope it’s his bedroom. “If ye were sober right now, ye’d eat each and every one of those words. I’d make sure of that.”

Kid sits you on his bed and removes your boots, tucking you inside the covers and winking at you. 

“If I were sober?”

“Sure.” You’re pretty sure he’s saying that just to indulge you, though. 

“Okay. Fair. We shall discuss this again tomorrow, good sir!” With a salute, you snuggle into the sheets and sigh contentedly. 

“Aye, like yer gonna remember any of this.” Kid turns, then freezes on the spot when you shriek.

“OH MY GOD! You’re right. I’m not going to remember. Hang on!” Picking up your phone, which Kid had just placed on the nightstand, you type something fast and then look at him with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever shown him. 

“What did ye–” You don’t even let him finish. You push the phone against his face, hitting his nose in the process, and earning yourself a grunt and a curse word before he grips your wrist and pushes your arm back so he can read what you wrote.

“MEMO,” Kid starts, “Get ass demolished by Kid.” Kid deadpans and stares at you. You’re pretty sure he wants to laugh his ass off, since his jaw is twitching, but he’s holding it in decently. “Seriously?”

“I can’t forget this vital piece of information, Kid. I’m one hundred percent sure you’re the guy I should turn to so my ass gets demolished properly.” Jaw twitching again, hands clenching, he’s almost laughing. 

“Yer a menace.”

“I am, big guy.” You wink at him. “And you just got yourself plans for tomorrow, clear your schedule.” 

At this, he can’t hold off anymore and finally lets out another one of those unburdened laughs, turning your legs to jelly and your heart into a stuttering mess. 

“Sure. But for now, be sure to text yer dad sayin’ ye ain’t gonna go home tonight, so he ain’t worryin’ his ass off.”

“Oh, shit!” You open the texts. “Thanks, Kid, I really should do that.” You start typing, and then the little drunk devil on your shoulder turns you naughty again. “Dad,” you recite, “I’m staying at Kid’s. He’s gonna fold me up like a pretzel, make me come at least two times, and then manhandle me into a good position to get my ass demolished. It’s consensual, and we’ll be sure to use protection. Love you! Aaaaand… send!”

Kid is livid. His mouth hangs slightly open as he stares at you with wide-open eyes. You’re pretty sure part of him knows you’re messing with him, but you’re also sure there’s an infinitesimal part of him that’s doubting the situation. 

“Ye… ye didn’t… right?” 

“Sure did! Dad won’t mind!” You wave a hand in the air. “You’re chums, aren’t you?”

“Sparkles…” He doesn’t look afraid, but he looks like a man who’s not very happy to have to deal with an angry dad. Especially when said dad is Shanks. 

“See for yourself.” Once again, you shove the phone into his nose, but this time, he’s faster with his actions, and he doesn’t even grunt at the contact. The text reads: ‘Sleeping at a friend’s house tonight. I’m fine, see you tomorrow. <3’

Kid visibly relaxes as you let out a mirthful guffaw. “You’re so easy to rile up, Kid!”

“Ah, ye fukin’ menace.” Kid presses his hand to your forehead and pushes you down, tucking the covers again. “Sleep!” 

“Wait!”

With a sigh and a groan, Kid stares at you, arms crossed, waiting for more shenanigans. He doesn’t even move when you throw the shorts he lent you at his face. They slide unamusedly to the floor and Kid’s expression is one of exasperation. 

“Here, it’s way too hot to wear those anyway.” You sigh and snuggle, turning on your stomach and burying your face in his pillow. With a few silly giggles, you thrash around until you settle and close your eyes. “Fucking room can’t stop spinning. But Kid, hey Kid?”

“What?” He sounds much more bemused than annoyed. 

“This bed smells like you.”

You don’t open your eyes to see his reaction, but you don’t miss the soft, exasperated chuckle he exhales.

“Aye, go to sleep, lightweight.” You hear his boots shuffle on the floor, ready to leave the room.

“Wait, wait! Kid?”

He pauses, the door creaking slightly.

“You’d demolish it pretty good, wouldn’t you?” You open just one eye, a naughty smirk upturning your lip, and this time his chuckle rings low and inviting. 

“Sweetheart,” Kid’s voice thickens, and the fluttering in your chest is only drowned out by the drowsiness in your head. “Ye wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a damn week.”

-*-

You feel the sun on your face, burning and bright, forcing you into an untimely wake-up call. “Five more minutes…” you groan and bury your face beneath the covers. Your head feels like someone’s been tap-dancing inside your skull all night, and your throat is drier than desert sand. 

Hangover is a bitch.

Your next inhale smells homely - a mix of gasoline, grease and something metallic - and you can’t help a small smile curling your lips. Kid. 

With a Herculean effort, you roll the covers off yourself and blink slowly, adjusting to the daylight. Beside you, on the nightstand, is a full glass of water and a couple of aspirin. Your heart swells at his thoughtfulness, and you can’t help but feel a little bit special. You bet that Kid doesn’t show this side of himself to just anybody. 

After downing the pills and draining the glass, you make your way to the bathroom and stare at the mirror. The reflection doesn’t do you any favours, and you curse as you try to tame your bed hair after thoroughly washing your face. You’re already considering chewing on a bit of toothpaste just to get the awful aftertaste of alcohol and regrets from your mouth when you notice it, a spare toothbrush.

Your heart does another weird flip, and you will it to stop being stupid with gritted teeth and a clenched fist. Falling for Eustass Kid is the worst decision in a long line of bad decisions. 

But you always had a penchant for making horrible choices, anyway. Exhibit number one: Vinsmoke Ichiji… 

Besides, you might already be in too deep to back out now…

You brush your teeth and then walk slowly towards the kitchen, the coffee scent acting like a siren call to your senses. Vaguely, you remember telling Kid some inappropriate things, but you’re not quite sure what words were exchanged, and he must’ve already forgotten them anyway. 

You find him in the kitchen of his apartment, a small space open to the living room with a breakfast counter separating the spaces. Kid’s hovering over the stove, scraping burnt eggs from the bottom of a pan with a scowl and a litany of curse words in lieu of a morning prayer.

Shirtless. Again.

And wearing sweatpants instead of his usual jeans.

Gotta bless the almighty gods for this perfect morning view. 

“Hey,” you mutter. Once Kid’s fiery gaze settles on you and lingers on your exposed legs, your brain slowly clicks one missing piece into place.

Click. 

You threw him the shorts he lent you.

Huh.

“Hi,” he answers. Aren’t you both so eloquent this morning? “Hungry?”

Your stomach coils at the mention of food, and you shake your head with a grimace. “No. But I’d do unspeakable things for coffee, if you have any.”

Kid gives up trying to salvage the eggs and throws the pan, along with the burnt food, into the sink. “That I can do. Grab the mugs from that cupboard, will ya?”

You nod, yawn, and go behind Kid, reaching the cupboard he mentioned. The mugs are crammed in the back, so you stretch to reach them, and the shirt you’re wearing rides up, showing more skin than you intended. 

Kid leans back, and you feel his eyes on you. It takes you longer than you want to admit to grab two mugs. Not because you’re having trouble reaching them, but because you are enjoying the attention. 

“Unspeakable things for coffee, ye said?” Oh… right. “Is that a promise as empty as the ones ye made yesterday?”

Click.

“I bet you could manhandle me into any position.”

Oh, shit.

You clear your throat, close the cupboard, and try to shake away the incriminating blush that’s surely coating your cheeks before setting the mugs next to Kid, who slowly fills them with coffee.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say with the most innocent intonation you can muster. 

“Ye don’t?” You vehemently shake your head, accepting the coffee mug without making eye contact. “Check yer phone, Sparkles.”

Click.

Memo: Get ass demolished by Kid.

Fuck!

You don’t want to check your phone in front of him, and you’re fairly certain your blush has reached crimson red at this point. Also, your ears might be fuming. 

“I left the phone in your bedroom,” you lie. 

“No problem,” Kid says with a mischievous smirk and a knowing glint in his eyes. Then he reaches for his phone and pulls up his schedule. “Ye said to keep my schedule clear, so I did. Just for ye, check it out.”

He shoves the phone into your face in a mimicry of your actions from the previous night, and you grumble as you take a step back to indulge him. 

11 AM: Manhandle Sparkles into ANY position I want 12:30 PM: Ass demolition duty 3 PM: Fold Sparkles like a pretzel 

There are so many things you want to address that you don’t even know where to start. First: this is the most embarrassing thing you might’ve gotten yourself into because of a drunken state; second, you’re pretty sure Kid’s messing with you, but you’re too afraid to ask; and third, will he relent all his teasing if you beg him to just forget all about it?

Instead of getting any of these pressing issues addressed, your foggy, useless brain betrays you. 

“Are you so cocksure that you think it’s going to take you two and a half hours to properly demolish my ass, or does your refractory period usually last this long?”

Kid’s grunt vibrates so low in his throat that you practically feel the sound waves rumble in your chest. He takes two steps forward and cages you, his hands braced against the counter beside your body. 

You inhale sharply and tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. 

“That was countin’ time for yer recovery, sweetheart, but if it’s back-to-back rounds ye want, I’m happy to oblige.” Kid leans in and you swallow a lump down, your skin tingling from his closeness, his body heat suffocating every sane thought, drowning you in anticipation and want. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“That was drunken talk,” you whisper. Your breath hits Kid’s chest, and you don’t miss the way soft goosebumps appear on his skin. 

“But were ye lyin’?”

Kid’s flesh hand leaves the counter, and he presses it against your hip, making your breath hitch and your heart stutter. 

What does this mean? Is he ready to take this next step? Will he finally allow all the tension between you to explode, like it's been begging to for weeks? 

Or will he push you away again?

“I wasn’t lying…”

“Good. Because seein’ ye here, in my house, wakin’ up in my bed, wearin’ my clothes—” Kid’s hand grips tighter as he moves his body flush against yours, making you gasp. “—it almost feels like yer already mine.”

His fingers curl around the fabric of the shirt, pulling it up, and up, and up, until your thigh is exposed. Then he lowers his hand, digging his fingers into your flesh, eliciting the softest of sighs from your lips. 

There’s a fluttering in your chest, a wrong rhythm in your heart, a heaviness in your lower belly, and heat between your legs. 

It’s heaven and hell coalescing into a maddening limbo where uncertainty reigns. Will he follow through, or will you be pushed away once more? Should you really let yourself give in to this feeling - to him - and risk being hurt again?

“What if I already am?” you whisper the words, not wanting to linger on the feeling of regret that’s already constricting your chest. He’s gonna bolt. It was too much, too soon. You shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t.

Stupid, stupid, stu—

Kid’s prosthetic hand climbs up your spine, and he curls his metallic fingers around your nape, gripping your hair. “Do ye have any fuckin’ idea how badly I want to bend ya over this counter and fuck ye until ye forget everythin’ but my name?”

A shameless sound leaves your lips, and you don’t know if it’s a moan, a whimper, or a fucking prayer. There’s just a pulsating need in every beat of your throbbing pulse. 

“Please,” a breathless whisper is all you can manage when he’s so close and yet so far away. You’re not even sure if you’re begging for his touch or simply for him to stay. 

Kid makes a throaty sound, and his fingers grip you harder. He leans down, close enough that you can smell coffee on his breath, and then—

BRRRRZZ…BRRRRZZ…BRRRRZZ…

“For fuck’s sake!” Kid’s exasperation mirrors yours as he pulls away from you, leaving you cold, empty, and wanting. “Fuckin’ timin’, for cryin’ out loud. Callin’ at fuckin’ ass-o’-clock, motherfuckers— what?” Kid picks up the phone with a growl and adjusts himself in his pants.

You take deep breaths as you try to steady your shaking legs. Was he really going to follow through? Or did he have another sad-ass excuse waiting at the tip of his tongue?

“Aye, I’ll be there in twenty, hold yer horses.” Kid slams the phone down on the counter and breathes deeply, his back muscles coiled tight with tension. 

“What’s wrong?” You actually manage to find your voice, even if it sounds raspy and affected. When he turns to you, you avoid his gaze, fearful of what you might find there, and knowing for sure that regret is taking up the whole space. 

“Work. It’s Kill’s day off, and some motherfucker got himself stranded. Gonna need to tow the bastard to the garage.” 

Is it an excuse? Or were you just unlucky?

Anyway, you don’t intend to find out and be disappointed again, so you decide to spare yourself the process. “It’s okay, Kid. I need to get back to the farm anyway, to help Dad with the chores.” 

You don’t even give him time to answer. Instead, you move away from the counter and make to pass by him, find the shorts he lent you, and be on your way. Except you can’t make it past him. He snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you against his chest. You gasp, hands instinctively bracing against his pecs.

You still don’t dare to look him in the eyes. 

“Sparkles…” The cold metal of his prosthetic fingers pinches your chin as he tilts your face up, and when you finally meet his gaze, your earlier question is answered immediately. 

He wasn’t going to push you away this time. 

You’re positive. 

There’s no regret, no doubt, or second thoughts in his gaze. Only fire and lust. And maybe… something else you don’t dare to admit, something that might resemble care.

“Ye wanna drop by later?” He’s hesitant, you can tell. So you nod in reassurance, a small smile painting your lips, and he relaxes. A grin spreads on his lips, and his eyes narrow. “If we start around five o’clock, we’ll still have time to do all our scheduled activities… what d’ye say?”

Fuck yeah.

“Sounds perfect.”

For a moment, it looks like he’s about to kiss you, but then he pulls back, still smiling, still playful. It feels like he’s saving the kiss for when he has the time to continue what comes after it. 

And after you say your goodbyes and leave his house, all you can think about is how five o’clock can’t come fast enough.

Tags: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @traffys-heart @cherileecore @violetmatcha @theloserqueen @mapachito @shamblespirate @ibuch7

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|Chapter 8|

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

"gestures & sounds & nonverbal communication is (no tech) AAC. (AAC = augmentative & alternative communication. nonverbal communication = communication without words/language, not communication from nonverbal people)

"texting, writing, posting on social media, all actually accepted versions of AAC."

or thjs very old post from 2023 by assistiveware, an AAC company, creator of proloquo series:

[ID: screenshot of @ AssistiveWare instagram post. post itself is light purple background with dark purple text. bold text read “Social media, texting and tweeting are basically large scale socially accepted AAC systems." below that not bold text say " - Saoirse Tilton, AAC user." at very bottom have AssistiveWare contacts and logo. end ID]

are all things have heard people say when try explain to people who have no idea what AAC is.

is this true? are these AAC? are people who use these thus AAC users?

other AAC users may feel differently, n by no means am dictator of AAC, but as someone who nonverbal full time AAC user, personally really hate this, disagree - or at least disagree w this unnuanced explanation, especially when use with beginners or people who never in their life heard acronym AAC. find it counter productive, even more harm than good.

or, say different, personally: gestures, body language, mouth sounds, drawing, texting, writing, social media, these not AAC by default. in certain situations/context, AAC users may use these as AAC or AAC-adjacent (context-dependent, user-dependent). but saying “all these AAC” without more explain & nuance, false & irresponsible.

because, again, AAC, stand for augmentative and alternative communication. or, put into sentence, typically seen as "non-oral/mouth speech communication that augment (add to) and/or use as alternative to (replace) oral/mouth speech."

(* say "typically" because there people who can't spell thus can't type, who use button-based AAC to replace that. but this typically not what people mainly mean when say "AAC")

but, include & on top of all that, in current world AAC have extra layer of connotation (idea/ feeling/association on top of what it literally mean) of... it not standard. it not typical. it not the norm. it transgressive. people/norm expect something. u giving them another.

for better—me be nonverbal AAC user do make me different than verbal people, do give me different access needs, in world not designed for me. it make me different (unique). n want that difference acknowledged, instead of toxic positivity assimilation "you just the same" out of pity only

or for worse—be treat as second class citizens. oral speech be seen as better than AAC. have communication AAC not listened to or thrown out, which some AAC users have experienced in legal/law/police/abuse report situations. we treated differently (worse).

people whose mouth speak works won't use AAC. AAC is what come next when that not work or may not work.

different (positive). different (neutral). different (negative).

transgressive.

.

people w complex communication needs, n by extension AAC users, we treated horribly by society & by people in society. we get teased, bullied, ignored, abused, abused & not able communicate it, but we not just get mistreated on individual-level. often we denied right to communicate, right to education, n other human rights. many of us forced to live in silence, because we not given communication tools, or support for develop communication. sometimes police, testimonies, & official legal records not see our AAC communication as real communication.

our non-oral speech communication get seen as less legit than oral speech. other people’s oral speech get automatic listened to before our own. we denied communication tools that may help us thrive because people around us want us to speak orally & think any other tool will take away our hypothetical chance to talk fluently reliably via mouth.

everyone communicate in variety of ways. body language on purpose, body language not on purpose, gestures, pointing, vocal sounds, drawing, writing, texting, via showing pictures. for most verbal people, these communication are normalized. no one bat an eye when person giving speech use body language persuade audience, or when you show friend picture of your lunch when you struggling explain it. but us, who can’t fully rely on oral speech, we need rely on these more. heavier. more intentionally. more on purpose. but ours gets dismissed. gets ignored on purpose.

so, really do understand trying to reframe AAC to people who not know what it is, or people resistant to it. that we all use it. that they use it. that they listen to other verbal people who using it. so ours should be listened to, too.

but that’s the thing: everyone communicate in variety of ways. n for most verbal people, those are normalized.

make text post in social media where expect text post norm is text post suppose to write text (may even not have audio option), and, use non-mouth speak communication (or not use mouth speak) in person when all people mouth talk all expect you mouth talk. fundamentally different.

second thing get you ableism. get make fun & mock at best, in conversation get ignored at best. at worst, get hate crimed, get killed, get wrong convicted, or in medical situation see as justify for not need consent or reason ignore what you say or reason declare incompetent.

first thing. well, who get be on social media full of privilege & discrimination, who get heard on social media full of that, who get bully & make fun of for writing "wrong" for content full of that (race, class, dis/ability, etc). but, struggle think of time where act of make text post on social media where expect post text post is.. that.

there difference between writing text post in tumblr or any text-based social media, or text fun friend group where you all miles apart n all texting, vs texting in group chat when sit irl with friend group who all orally talking, different, or person using letter board to spell out everything they want to say.

there difference between showing your friend picture of your dinner when it too complicated to explain n clearer in picture when you bump into eachother n start mouth chatting, vs using symbol based communication in high tech speech generating device or low tech picture cards, or even AAC user having unique relationship with art n see that as way of communicate.

maybe in another world or in future, second group get as normalized as first. but we not there. and AAC users who use most basic, fundamental, narrowest definition of AAC, we exist right now in real life, we not theory or theoretical.

in average face to face situation, even verbal person use more nonverbal communication than verbal ones.

are all communication that not oral speech, AAC?

trying to normalize AAC, but end up erasing our differences (differences can be factual. neutral.), assimilating us, turning a word that have specific meanings for us into something so wide, it useless to those of us who most impacted, those of us who need it.

there better way to explain we all use things other than oral/mouth speech to communicate than “they *are* AAC” for everyone, in every situation. (n yes, people DO say that)

if anyone with similar feelings with simpler way put it, please do. it too complex n abstract in brain, n not have scripts or “table of contents” in brain that already exist for it, so feel like wrote bunch of confusing nothing.

[rewrite of old post for AAC awareness month. so parts that sound bit different, that why (copy paste).]

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by: @skyrim-forever @theoneandonlysemla @kookaburra1701 @pocket-vvardvark @heavy-metal-dick

thank you friends <3 I am tagging: @gilgamish @elavoria @unironicallytes @wispstalk @nuwanders @inkysqueed @sylvienerevarine @thequeenofthewinter @ladytanithia @rustyram035 @darcxaosit @throughtrialbyfire @sheirukitriesfandom @lady-iizsil @saltymaplesyrup @moriche

Trying my hand at something wholesome for once (lol). Was replaying the Oblivion Mage's Guild questline, and I thought of this little snip from Nim's past as a freshly minted Associate and perpetual pest.

Nim stumbled over her tongue, some amalgam of ‘it’s not what it looks like’ and ‘I was only borrowing them’ lodged in her throat like shards of bird bone. She’d never been a good liar, not without her illusion charms, but she couldn’t cast any now, not red-handed with Kud-Ei staring her down in the garish glow of the starlight. Kud-Ei would see right through her. With a wave of her hand, Kud-Ei shut the door behind her. “Put the robes back, Nimileth," she said gently. So gently it pained Nim. "Please.” The magic woven into the fabric hummed beneath her fingers— fortifying enchantments and protective augmentations— feats of costly, masterful spellwork that had made the decision to steal them all the more elementary. Arms moving as if under a command spell, Nim tucked the robes back into the drawers, pushing them deep, deep down like she was trying to shove her entire body in there with them. When she’d showed up on the guild hall’s doorstep, mud-caked and malnourished, Kud-Ei had offered her clothes from her own wardrobe out of kindness, a kindness Nim had no right to, a kindness Kud-Ei would surely never offer to others like her again.  I’m surprised it took her this long to learn, Nim thought cruelly, wondering who was the bigger fool: her for having sought acceptance with the Mages Guild or the others for having trusted her? She wasn’t like these people— the honest, educated mages who toiled at their craft. People who dedicated their lives to being better than they were. What illusion of goodness had Nim crafted to convince them she was worthy of a chance to try? She already knew she didn't belong here. She was cursed, came out the womb wrong, crooked and unwanted, desperation hanging off her bones like an ill-fitting skin.  The window shook. In the distance, a deep belly-laugh of thunder dissolved over the Niben. Storms were commonplace in Bravil, especially in the summer months when rain pelted the roofs as sure as the second-hand ticked along the face of the clock. A kind of drenching powerlessness to the routine of it. For the few weeks she’d lived here, Nim had found it strangely comforting, how easy it was to resign oneself to drowning while standing on two legs.  Kud-Ei shifted uneasily, and Nim knew what was coming next. The guild bylaws for theft were clear, and Nim would be lucky if a revoked recommendation was the least of the consequences she faced. But instead Kud-Ei reached into her pocket for a coin purse, pulled out a handful of septims and placed them in Nim’s palm with a sad, sympathetic smile. A smile Nim wanted to believe.

[moscatosin]

🖤 human. - tom riddle. 🖤 soft smut. tender sex. unnamed reader. angst. red wine recommended.

It is a rather well-known fact that Tom Riddle doesn’t lose control. Not now; not ever. Perhaps, today was just an off day, so to speak. One that neither of you had expected.

He’s the kind of boy who spent far too many of his younger years honing in on his almost honourable aptitude for restraint. The kind of boy who was meticulous about crafting himself into an augmented weapon that would display finite peak precision. Every word selected to be spoken, every expression etched in across the sharp features on his face, every gesture of gratuity, every spell carefully curated and cast, performed within a tight threshold of calculated perfection. Tom had convinced himself that this would be no different – this being whatever it was that he wanted to name what he had with you. Cruel intentions? A lapse in lust filled desires? Mere teenage hormones? Whatever it may be, he knew that he would be measured, that he would be deliberate, that he would undoubtedly savour and relish the slow unravelling of your surrender to him; beneath him – like a well strategized game of chess. Tom promised himself that he’d be gentle, or at least as gentle as someone like him could ever dare to manage.

However, it seems that promises, unlike Tom, are somewhat fragile things, and whilst he is the definition of proper and painfully posed, the moment he’s inside you – well; promises, they shatter like delicate crystal beneath an unspoken curse.

It isn’t just desire that has this effect on him, no – it’s something darker, something hungrier, something animalistic; a ravenous need that drags itself up from some buried yearning within him which Tom refuses to name. Each breath he takes catches, sharp and jagged at the back of this throat, as if the air itself you both breath in is conspiring something cunningly against him. Tom’s hands, soft yet calloused from the way he wields his wand which are usually oh so steady, tremble against your skin. His fingertips digging into your hips causing pretty plumes of violent bruising to appear near instantly hold on as though if he isn’t tight enough with his grasp, you might just slip away.

His dorm is nothing more than a blur of shadows and heat. Faint embers from the fireplace which faces the foot of the bed casting a flickering of gold hues across his and your own bare skin. The unclosed deep emerald drapes which hang heavy from the ceilings muffle the world beyond what you’re currently lost within, however nothing; not even magic, can muffle the sound of your gasps, your pleas, your wants, your needs or, the low, sullen broken groan that escapes past Tom’s lips as he continues to press himself in deeper and deeper.

“Fuck-“, he manages to murmur against the curve of your neck; eyes closed, voice a velvet rasp, frayed at the edges he’d rather not admit to. “I- promise – I didn’t mean, hell – I swore I’d be gentle..”

His body though? It betrays him; causing him to move with a desperation that he can’t quite rein in. Tom isn’t expecting you to rake your nails down his back, leaving an abundance of stinging trails across his skin that only stoke the fire burning in his blood. The way you arch off the bed beneath him, ugh – the way your body trembles, overwhelmingly; like it’s too much. To him it is. Too perfect, too warm, not textbook enough, far, far too you. The demon sitting on his shoulders which has thrust its bident into the angel on the other side screams at him to slow down. To stop; if able, just to take the time and god damn think, but he can’t help it. Tom’s hips continue to snap forward, chasing whatever it is he’s feeling like a man possessed.

Tears swelling in the corners of your eyes glisten within the dorms dim lights before they begin to run, streaking down your face and Tom hates himself; more than usual. He hates the way he’s making you shake; he hates the way your voice breaks every time to whimper his name like it’s a half beg, half sob and the sounds you make which never get finished undo him. His forehead pressed to yours; breath warm across your cheeks, his hair falls into his eyes near gracefully. His skin from head to toe is glistening with sweat. Tom is trembling too – his breathing hitched, his chest tightening with something dangerously close to a cry he can’t and won’t submit to.

“I’m hurting you.” The acknowledgement is choked out between his gritted teeth. “I know – I know it, but hell; I can’t --.” Tom’s voice continues to crack poetically. Biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and taste copper as if it is the only method in the world he has to try and anchor himself into the current reality. It is then and there that he tells you for the first time in forever that he loves you. Not smitten like a confession but a like a wound, laid bare.

Your hands slide away from his back; fingers soft as they find his face brushing across the ridge of his jaw which is both comfort and torment rolled into one. Tom wants nothing more than to be soft with you – to be the kind of boy that you deserve, but the needs he’s feeling are just far too strong. He feels disgusted, yet primal; and this tasteless blend, well he’s drowning in it. Cool sheets tangled beneath you are dampened by sweat, by tears – yours, his; hell he doesn’t know anymore. Each breath he attempts to take is coated by your perfume, by the scent of cedar, by old parchments laying dormant on the nearby desk mingled in with the raw, intimate heat of the both of you. He tries to slow down, he tries to give you a moment, but the moment – it stretches into what feels like an eternity, and while he shouldn’t be, dear lord he’s still moving. Every thrust chasing an impossible high and edge. Tom’s lips brush at your shoulder, at your collarbone, up against your pulse point, stopping abruptly at your ear to whisper apologies woven in between fevered kisses.

“A little longer – please.”

It’s not like him to plead. At this point you know his words are laced with lies. He doesn’t know how to stop. Tom has never known how to stop needing you. Not at least since the first time you looked at him with tender eyes that saw past the masks he wore, past his defences, straight through his cracks into the hollow spaces within him he’d spent his entire lifetime trying to hide. In the end though, you’re both ruined. Limbs heavy. Breathing uneven. Both too sore to move and too raw to speak. Tom collapses against you; chest heaving, wrapping his arms softly around you as if not only in the moment, but forever, you’re the only thing capable to keeping him tethered to the world and you, you whisper a string of oh so innocent ‘I love you’s as he presses kisses across your shoulders, worshipful; as if each token of affection could erase the marks he has left like a war path.

Tom’s hip twitch just once more; an involuntary betrayal that he curses beneath this breath before apologising. The word sorry slipping off the tip of his tongue which sounds oh so foreign yet oh so sweet. It is barely audible; muffled hot against your skin. You stroke his hair with a tenderness he isn’t use to but won’t back away from and pull the sheets up to conceal you both as you become intoxicated on the feeling of being needed. It doesn’t last long; oh it never does with Tom but for a split second, you see the boy who never loses control feeling utterly, completely human.

[aspiringsophrosyne]

The Mighty Nein: Weird Coincidences.

I've been compiling these here and there when I've had time, but there was a particular reason I wanted to get this post out of the way now. And it's this.

There's been some nervousness surrounding this, and I'm of two minds about it. On the one hand, people overstate just how hard the Nein's story would be to adapt and how much it would need to be changed for another medium. Can it be one-to-one with the original? Absolutely not. (Just as TLOVM couldn't be one-to-one either.) But the main issue is editing; the content is fine on its own.

And if this is the CRew themselves thinking the same thing, that's a little troubling, because it makes it sound like they might be changing more than they need to out of that unfounded fear.

On the other hand, all they might be talking about here is hindsight. The Mighty Nein's Campaign had a lot of strange coincidences, fortuitous thematic consistencies, and one-of-a-kind moments. The CRew is poised to reap the benefits of having these in mind ahead of time. This allows for some remarkable set-up and payoff if those involved are up to the challenge. Which, in the end, could be all they might be augmenting the story to do.

So maybe it's a good time to get into those weird coincidences, huh?

(Spoilers for basically all of Campaign 2 below the cut.)

Names

Veth Brenatto, her alias Bren, and Caleb’s original name: Bren. (This may have been inspired by the German word "Brennen",  which means “to burn”. Thanks Liam.)

Fjord Stone. Cad’s families: Clay, Dust and Stone. How the Wild Mother fits the story of an orphaned sailor like a glove. And how Cad, his family history, and likely the Wild Mother herself never would’ve entered the story if Molly hadn’t died.

A Mollymawk (spelled with a w instead of a u) is a type of albatross. Albatrosses are supposed to be unlucky, but only if you kill one. Per the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, everything goes to shit after a sailor kills an albatross. Molly’s death is just as unlucky, as it paves the way for Lucien's and Cognouza’s return. (In a meta sense, it’s also unfortunate for Matt and Taliesin, as it derails whatever plans they might have had for the character.)

Nine

Whelp.

Nine. Lots and lots of nines. And while Nein doesn’t mean nine in German/Zemnian (it means no), the wordplay works.

Nine schools of magic.

Nine people killed in Obann’s attack on the Cobalt Soul in Zadash.

The three titans (Uk’otoa, Quajath, and Desirat) collectively have nine eyes and nine crystals to unlock them and set them all free.

Nine hells.

Nine betrayer gods as of Vecna’s ascension.

Nine eye tattoos on Molly, each a mark of the Somnovem, the sleeping nine.

And of course, eventually, nine members of the Mighty Nein.

(Just for fun, Tharizdun’s sacred number in its premier in Greyhawk was 333. [3+3+3=?].)

Nein and its actual meaning work thematically as well. The Nein repeatedly clashes with forces and entities that want to mold them against their will into vessels they can use for their own purposes. And the group repeatedly says “Nein!” to that.

Tarot Readings

Molly deliberately pulls specific cards for his readings. Taliesin makes that explicit. However, some folks have pointed out that you can interpret his original reading for Jester where he tells her “You’ve already found what you’re looking for,” to be true in a few different ways. (She’s already found the people who will help her find her father. She’s discovered the company she sought that she only ever had with her Mamma and the Traveler prior, etc.)

But once we get to Jester’s readings, things really pop off. (Pop-pop off?)

Fjord's Reading

In episode 110, Jester draws two cards for Fjord: one for his present and one for his future. His present card is the Eye, which has two hands holding an eye above a restless sea.

There’s no need to elaborate on how that relates to Fjord’s then-present.

His future card is the Home And Traveler. This card could work for all the Nein if you interpret it as someone who will find or reach their home after some travel. But it hits especially hard for Fjord, who finds a home with Jester, the devotee of the Traveler, on a ship that travels up and down the coast.

And then...

Lucien's Reading

The three cards Jester pulls for Lucien are his past, present, and future. Even at the time, they seem pretty fitting.

His past: History and a Dream, which Taliesin clarifies as depicting the Calamity. This fits perfectly with the Tomb Takers’ previous job for DeRogna and their coming into the Somnovem’s patronage.

His present: the Tyrant. We don’t know either Lucien or his goals too well at this point, but we do know he and his troupe kill indiscriminately and he holds an unnatural sway over the other Tomb Takers.

His future: the Death Card. You can attribute that to the upcoming fight between him and the Nein.

But in hindsight...whoo boy. In hindsight, not only do we know of Lucien’s plans to dispatch the Somnovem and become the Tyrant king of Cognouza and all its lost, broken souls, but we know of his fall. More specifically, who he falls to.

Jester, sitting across from him, pulls his last card and tells him “Facing you is Death.”

And then it’s Miss Lavorre who ends him for good.

Divine Intervention

Generally, a Divine Intervention is a Hail Mary. You roll a d100 (or an equivalent combination of dice) and only if you roll a number below your level do you trigger it. Logically, this gets easier the higher your level gets, but you can’t rely on it until level 20.

Taliesin rolls three of these for Cad in the last quarter of the Campaign. And that’s cool enough. But what’s even better is the Wild Mother’s Grave Cleric rolls successfully for Divine Intervention every time he makes a request (knowingly or not) relating to Cognouza. The city that's coming to swallow Melora's Exandria whole.

The first successful roll comes when Cad seeks info about Vokodo, the pseudo-god of the island of Rumblecusp. Vokodo, it turns out, punched a hole through the Astral Plane to escape the hunger of the lost ward of Aeor. And upon its death, it gives a vision that sets the Nein on Lucien’s trail.

The second success comes when the Nein is attempting to uncover the Tomb Takers' secret entrance to Aeor so that they can use it to set a trap. Cad’s success tells them exactly where they need to go. This allows them to get Zoran, Otis, and Tyffial out of the way early, even if it doesn’t stop Cree and Lucien from continuing towards the city.

As for the third, well...we all know what the third does. That it prevails after Critical Role’s first Resurrection Ritual failure, (due to a natural 1 no less!) is just the icing on the cake.

Caduceus even makes the point that Cognouza had functionally become a corpse that was unable to die and that he was uniquely called upon, given his family’s business, to put it down for good.

Odds and Ends

Nott distracts a Manticore from killing Fjord by killing its baby. Her own child ends up in need of a resurrection later on in the story, during their trip to the Fire Plane. Speaking of which, a painting of said Plane can be observed in Trent's house. You know, the one he would end up chasing the Nein to?

Fjord loses his chance to break the first seal to Avantika; he lands the first attack on her Revenant incarnation when the Nein catches up to her after she escapes with his orb, and he gets the final blow on her there, recovering said orb as he does.

Yasha and Caleb are the most susceptible to the Succubus/Incubus mind control. In the former's case, this could be chalked up to her low Wisdom score...but it also serves as some neat accidental foreshadowing for her time with Obann. And for Caleb, it can be a callback to his time learning under Trent.

The Circus Kids' stories sync up perfectly. Both of their bodies end up puppeteered by someone from their respective pasts. Both of them are used to try to end the world. And, probably once Matt noticed this synchronicity himself, both are revealed to have fallen under the sway of the Chained Oblivion. And their stories didn't have to go this way. Molly didn't have to die, and Matt revealed that Yasha could've theoretically made that wisdom save against Obann's control in the King's Cage. But that's not how things turned out.

Accidental foreshadowing:

Episode 19, Molly and Yasha, after acquiring an item from an Orc hermit living somewhat off the side of the road:

Molly: We made a friend. Jester: Did you kill someone for that? Molly: Yes. Yasha: He’s dead. Molly: He’s very dead. And then he rose up from the grave again and we had to kill him again. Twice. Same man.

Also, in episode 23, after meeting the Syphilis Bandits again and leaving one of them out cold:

Jester: What if we put some flowers in his hair; so when he wakes up, he looks really pretty? Beau: That’s good. Let’s do that. Molly: There’s nothing better than waking up in the morning with no pants and flowers in your hair.

In episode 48, Yussa and Caleb have a conversation:

Caleb: Sometimes I follow my friends places I shouldn’t. Yussa: That might someday get you killed. Or may one day get you what you seek.

Following a certain Tiefling up to Eiselcross got him both.

Nott also asks Caleb in this episode if he has an eye on his forehead. This is probably a callback/joke about Scanlan’s blessing from Ioun, but it foreshadows what happens to Veth much later.

Episode 49, about Ludinus Da’leth and in particular, Vess DeRogna:

Fjord: Then we kill the two elves. Jester: Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Maybe we go up into their room at night or something and just, you know... Stabby stab.

Episode 70:

Jester (to Essek): Maybe you’ll like us so much you’ll just hang out.

Dramatic Irony:

Everything the Nein say about Molly after his death and at his grave is, in hindsight, an awful twist of the knife, as his body's former life is far from finished with him.

Episode 41. The Nein learns Orly can make magic tattoos. Beau talks about getting an eye tattoo on her back to mirror Molly’s:

Jester: I mean, I don’t know, maybe it was really sacred to him and he would be really super offended by it. Beau: Oh, yeah, maybe it would, like I stole it from him? Jester: But it’s fine, I’m sure. Beau: Yeah, you know, he’s dead, so, what’s he going to do?

Almost a hundred episodes later, Beau's new tattoo gets a little addition...

Episode 65

Jester: Are you nervous? Yasha: Yeah. Yeah, I’m nervous. I just don’t know what we’re walking into, you know? Jester: Yeah. We’ve got your back though. That guy isn’t going to do anything bad to you.

Episode 91

Veth asks Essek at dinner if he’s heard of a Nonagon, or someone named Lucien. Essek says he hasn’t. This won't be the case for long.

Episode 95

Jester, talking about Cad and the Wild Mother:

Jester: Yeah. So like, when he asks her questions, you know what she does? Artagan: “Nothing?” Jester: She blows the wind. Exactly, she does shit. So and he’s like, “I sensed, you know, I understand what she’s saying.” She’s not doing anything, but he thinks she is.

This commentary is particularly delicious, considering which Cleric's Divine Interventions end up working.

And there's probably some I've missed! These are just the little bits and pieces I jotted down during a rewatch. It wouldn't surprise me if there's more.

But that's to say, just what we've got here is a monumental amount of things to build off of and play with. The Mighty Nein's animated series has the potential to be something extraordinary if the CRew can make use of all these little gifts deftly and with subtlety. There's power and potential here, and I am nervous as hell about whether or not they can tap into it successfully.

[sohkrates]

Punk Magic

I like Magic the Gathering. I started playing in high school, as a sort of replacement effect for my love of Pokémon cards ('cause those were for kids and when you're a teenager there is nothing worse than being perceived as being younger). I was not great at it. I loved the slow, ponderous flyers in blue mana, specifically drakes, which were pretty much always outclassed. I sucked at deckbuilding but it was still a fun thing to do with friends.

Then several years passed and I never touched those cards. Then the commander format became a thing and all my friends were playing and I've pretty much been at it ever since.

But in the last few years while I enjoy Magic I have become, at best, unimpressed by the company that produces it. There's a lot of reasons for this and I'm not here to go into them in detail, but I find myself reaching for cards and game modes that are, frankly, beyond my ability to afford. I think large parts of this game are beyond most fans' financial means. Magic Arena is an absolute joke, limited printing of format staples mean you can't keep up without significant investment, and different booster packs and limited packs like secret lair make this game feel more like a video game full of randomly seeded lootboxes than something printed on cardboard that the company actually controls.

But I said I wasn't gonna get into all that. Instead I want to talk about how I've been enjoying Magic the Gathering recently:

It's a new format I'm calling Punk Magic.

Punk Magic is all about using up those cards in your collection you are never going to touch. The ones that lay in white cardboard rows and old deck boxes. The ones that you love but never make their way into your commander decks. The cards that are just one more power or toughness away from being playable, from resembling the all-stars that you see across different formats.

Punk Magic is full of single player mini games: betting on mana racing against other punks, competing in junk fights in improvised arenas against booster packs of random cards, and going head-to-head against the Wizards of the Citadel, those vile wealthy mages who rule all the lands around you and charge you bonkers rent for the privilege.

Each mini game awards you coins you can spend on zining spells: taking parts of Magic cards and pasting them onto other cards for powerful spells, as well as unlocking special abilities to augment your chances at success, and even making custom spells that break the Laws of Spellmaking.

Punk magic is also a multiplayer format. Build a cube you can draft with friends, and let them change, destroy, and add cards so the cube is always evolving. All you need is some scissors and glue, and some markers to let you and all your friends become adept spellmakers.

Want to play commander too? No worries. Make a deck then zine a spell to represent your commander and play in free for all or head-to-head.

Worried your zined spells will be too powerful? So too are the Wizards of the Citadel, who stick wanted levels on powerful cards, banishing them to the citadel jail until you decide to free them, or break them down into parts that can live on with other spells.

My own cube has evolved in many ways through testing. There's the tried and true archetypes like cats, elves, and red/green ramp, but also oddities like lizard/wurm tribal and black deck wins. It's messy and unbalanced and represents my time spent in this hobby and will reflect the tastes and art of my friends and I couldn't be happier with it.

And now the rules are free for everyone to enjoy.

So what kind of magic will you make, punk?

[astra-ravana]

Technomancy: The Fusion Of Magick And Technology

Technomancy is a modern magickal practice that blends traditional occultism with technology, treating digital and electronic tools as conduits for energy, intent, and manifestation. It views computers, networks, and even AI as extensions of magickal workings, enabling practitioners to weave spells, conduct divination, and manipulate digital reality through intention and programming.

Core Principles of Technomancy

• Energy in Technology – Just as crystals and herbs carry energy, so do electronic devices, circuits, and digital spaces.

• Code as Sigils – Programming languages can function as modern sigils, embedding intent into digital systems.

• Information as Magick – Data, algorithms, and network manipulation serve as powerful tools for shaping reality.

• Cyber-Spiritual Connection – The internet can act as an astral realm, a collective unconscious where digital entities, egregores, and thought-forms exist.

Technomantic Tools & Practices

Here are some methods commonly utilized in technomancy. Keep in mind, however, that like the internet itself, technomancy is full of untapped potential and mystery. Take the time to really explore the possibilities.

Digital Sigil Crafting

• Instead of drawing sigils on paper, create them using design software or ASCII art.

• Hide them in code, encrypt them in images, or upload them onto decentralized networks for long-term energy storage.

• Activate them by sharing online, embedding them in file metadata, or charging them with intention.

Algorithmic Spellcasting

• Use hashtags and search engine manipulation to spread energy and intent.

• Program bots or scripts that perform repetitive, symbolic tasks in alignment with your goals.

• Employ AI as a magickal assistant to generate sigils, divine meaning, or create thought-forms.

Digital Divination

• Utilize random number generators, AI chatbots, or procedural algorithms for prophecy and guidance.

• Perform digital bibliomancy by using search engines, shuffle functions, or Wikipedia’s “random article” feature.

• Use tarot or rune apps, but enhance them with personal energy by consecrating your device.

Technomantic Servitors & Egregores

• Create digital spirits, also called cyber servitors, to automate tasks, offer guidance, or serve as protectors.

• House them in AI chatbots, coded programs, or persistent internet entities like Twitter bots.

• Feed them with interactions, data input, or periodic updates to keep them strong.

The Internet as an Astral Plane

• Consider forums, wikis, and hidden parts of the web as realms where thought-forms and entities reside.

• Use VR and AR to create sacred spaces, temples, or digital altars.

• Engage in online rituals with other practitioners, synchronizing intent across the world.

Video-game Mechanics & Design

• Use in-game spells, rituals, and sigils that reflect real-world magickal practices.

• Implement a lunar cycle or planetary influences that affect gameplay (e.g., stronger spells during a Full Moon).

• Include divination tools like tarot cards, runes, or pendulums that give randomized yet meaningful responses.

Narrative & World-Building

• Create lore based on historical and modern magickal traditions, including witches, covens, and spirits.

• Include moral and ethical decisions related to magic use, reinforcing themes of balance and intent.

• Introduce NPCs or AI-guided entities that act as guides, mentors, or deities.

Virtual Rituals & Online Covens

• Design multiplayer or single-player rituals where players can collaborate in spellcasting.

• Implement altars or digital sacred spaces where users can meditate, leave offerings, or interact with spirits.

• Create augmented reality (AR) or virtual reality (VR) experiences that mimic real-world magickal practices.

Advanced Technomancy

The fusion of technology and magick is inevitable because both are fundamentally about shaping reality through will and intent. As humanity advances, our tools evolve alongside our spiritual practices, creating new ways to harness energy, manifest desires, and interact with unseen forces. Technology expands the reach and power of magick, while magick brings intention and meaning to the rapidly evolving digital landscape. As virtual reality, AI, and quantum computing continue to develop, the boundaries between the mystical and the technological will blur even further, proving that magick is not antiquated—it is adaptive, limitless, and inherently woven into human progress.

Cybersecurity & Warding

• Protect your digital presence as you would your home: use firewalls, encryption, and protective sigils in file metadata.

• Employ mirror spells in code to reflect negative energy or hacking attempts.

• Set up automated alerts as magickal wards, detecting and warning against digital threats.

Quantum & Chaos Magic in Technomancy

• Use quantum randomness (like random.org) in divination for pure chance-based outcomes.

• Implement chaos magick principles by using memes, viral content, or trend manipulation to manifest desired changes.

AI & Machine Learning as Oracles

• Use AI chatbots (eg GPT-based tools) as divination tools, asking for symbolic or metaphorical insights.

• Train AI models on occult texts to create personalized grimoires or channeled knowledge.

• Invoke "digital deities" formed from collective online energies, memes, or data streams.

Ethical Considerations in Technomancy

• Be mindful of digital karma—what you send out into the internet has a way of coming back.

• Respect privacy and ethical hacking principles; manipulation should align with your moral code.

• Use technomancy responsibly, balancing technological integration with real-world spiritual grounding.

As technology evolves, so will technomancy. With AI, VR, and blockchain shaping new realities, magick continues to find expression in digital spaces. Whether you are coding spells, summoning cyber servitors, or using algorithms to divine the future, technomancy offers limitless possibilities for modern witches, occultists, and digital mystics alike.

"Magick is technology we have yet to fully understand—why not merge the two?"