#(something about air currents and being extremely light and whatnot)

[nagalias-mindscape]

Sis: Go make your dnd character in Baldur's Gate or something.

Me: The harengon, or the tiefling? or my retired aarakocra?

Sis: Tiefling, dumbass. I want to see what you can do with that.

Me: I'm not going to make a new character just to roleplay a character I can't do correctly. My only bard- who happens to be a tiefling- is the dark urge, which is far darker than Medli is actually is, no matter the airs she puts on. Also, Med's perma blind. Can't do that to my BG3 character.

Sis: Not without mods, you can't. Bet you someone's already come out for something like that.

Me: Get me the mods required and I'll do the damn thing, bitch. I'll even romance and ascend the damn vampire for you.

[kayzume]

Pairing: Android!Tendou Satori x SicklyF!Reader

Genre: Angst-ish

TW: Character Death (non gore)

WC: 1.7k

Note: Rushed...very. This is my contribution to Haikyuu HQ server collab and my very first time joining one, so I’m uh nervous af. I hope this was sufficient enough:)). Lots of talented writers and artists are participating so make sure to check the masterlist right here

Also: Mama @prismaroyal thank you so much (T^T)..what would I do without you🥺!! @shinrurie and @yacoka thanks for hyping me😳😭

Back to Masterlist

"Is X00 ready?" your father spoke in a low voice.

He looked at you and smiled "just a little bit more my angel, dad is gonna give you the companion of a lifetime" he told you gently. 

"If I even have a lifetime dad," you told him weakly and he gave you this mourning look "y/n don't say such words!" he said to you while shaking his head. He crouched down to your level and caressed your face "I'm gonna make sure that this droid will help you recover, it's not over yet please have more faith in yourself, you'll be fine, you'll get better and-" he sighs then grasps your hands lightly "and we'll be together for a long long time."

You knew that your father was grasping on his false hopes of you getting better. If somebody looks at you in your current state they would surely figure out that your gravely ill, your skin has lost its regular healthy appearance, your eyes were sunken.Your father is a scientist, he's done a lot to help you recover. He tried inventing various ways, medicines, and such to help your gravely ill body to become healthy, but to this day, nothing. None of your father's hard work barely made an impact on you. It always ends up on him getting upset that none of them is helping until today that is.

"He's X00, he will be your companion from now on, he's modeled after caretakers and nurses I'm sure he will be a good factor for your health" your father exclaimed while smiling widely. You shift your sights from your dad to 'X00' he was tall and kind of lanky, with wild red hair and mysterious red eyes, for an android, his eyes seemed so full of life, a clear contrast from yours, which appeared lifeless even for a young girl such as yourself? he was staring at you and you felt weird, like his gaze pierced into your soul itself. Shaking the thought, you stared back at him and he blinked. Wait did he just blink? "He can- h-he blinked, at me!" you told your father incredulously, but he only laughed at your surprised reaction.

"Well of course he can, he was built to act completely human, how else would he be able to sympathize with you if he can't?" your father said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'll leave you to him so you can get to know him" he continued not leaving time for you to say something. You sighed in defeat at the realization that you are now stuck with a mecha humanoid that's just standing there, staring at you silently. Your father must be kidding, how in the world are you supposed to communicate with a metal piece of junk. You were never a fan of technology in the first place, always believing they were a pain and they stole a lot of your father's time. You looked back at 'X00' he doesn't look half bad if you bypass his blood red eyes “You-" you tried starting, but then you started coughing vigorously, it was painful to say the least noticing bits of blood on your hanky, you decided speaking is not the best idea at the moment. He looked clearly worried and you averted your eyes in response, away from his face. You closed your eyes and faced the other side of the lab overlooking the garden, but when you opened your eyes he was there crouched in front of you, staring.

"What the fuck!" you exclaimed startled, a hand to your pounding heart.

Then suddenly you felt a hand to your head making its way to caress your cheek tenderly, it was him. He looked extremely gentle for someone who doesn't have a real heart, you happen to look away only to take notice of your hand now resting on his other hand, something you didn't even notice. You peeked at his face, he was sporting a sweet smile, and you feel the hotness creep all the way from your neck to your face. You lightly try to pull your hand back "Oh uhm give my hand back please" you squeaked. He let go of your hand and proceeded to the back of your wheelchair, slowly pushing your way out of the lab "D-do you have a name? b-besides from X00?" you asked dumbly. Of course, he doesn't, he was only activated today "How about I give you one?" He didn't answer, so you opted to stay quiet as well. How exactly is he supposed to help you when he doesn't even talk?!

Time passes by the two of you and he's slowly acknowledging you. It feels like you're teaching a chick how to speak, rather than him caring for you, it was the other way around. Every time you are to spend time with your mother and father, he would be taken away by your father's attendants, claiming that time with the family was for the family alone, you always missed the forlorn look painted in his eyes. The first time that it happened it took you solid 10 minutes to reassure him that you'd only be apart for a short while. You might not admit it to anyone, but being around him slowly makes you feel at ease and surprisingly you could feel more energy surging through your body. As crazy as it is his presence gave more to you than necessary, and you're loving every bit of it disregarding the fact that being with someone like him is impossible. He understood you and stood by you regardless of what is and whatnot. You were thankful for him being a shoulder to lean on and just for being your friend.

Today, you and X00 will be picking out some flowers. Your mother had said that the air outside mixed with the flowery aroma will help you breathe better and upon hearing such, X00 ushers you both out immediately, you have regained your footing all thanks to X00. Though he barely speaks he always makes your day by humming a specific tune, It was your inspiration to be able to walk again, to be able to dance along with his beautiful music. You knew in the short time that you were together that something changed, you weren't able to pinpoint what it was exactly, but it's definitely there looming over you.

Some things were starting to feel different, the innocent looks turned to something more when it's just the two of you, for you at least. You try to brush off the feelings evidently growing on you as time passes by, you always have to remind yourself "y/n he's a metal junk, he doesn't do feelings" after you're mini realization you fought back the forthcoming tears, but to no avail. You looked up at the sky, asking whoever was up there in heaven, "why me, why us?"

"I" he started, making you look at him "Hmm?" You urged him to continue

"I want...I want a name" he said. The gesture stirred something heart-warming in your chest, but before you could even give him a response, you felt a sudden chill in your back and slowly you feel your world begin growing dark.

Murmurs, murmurs, and more murmurs. You can hear voices but all words seem to be incoherent.

"How is she?" a voice you recognized as your mother's, you can already imagine her pacing around the room by the sound of her concerned voice. She was the type to fret over everything.

"It's not looking good" you presume was your father's, as he gave an exasperated sigh. You thought why was everyone so gloomy? what is happening?

You slowly opened your eyes to the blinding white lights "ugh" you let out in pain. Why does everything hurt? What is with all these tubes and wires stuck on you? You know what was going on. Deep down you knew, but you decidedly keep on rejecting the idea of you passing. You thought if you leave now, how is he gonna keep going, and for what? The thought of him made you snap. 

"WHERE IS HE?!" you screamed startling your parents.

"y/n calm down, sweetie," your mother said while rubbing your back to calm you down "stressing will only make things worse, hmm" as if on cue you felt a sharp pang course through your body "Argh!" you yelped in pain, "hah..hah...hah" you started breathing heavily, the pain is starting to become unbearable, "Mom it hurts...so much" you clung to her as if it will make things any better. Your face is scrunching in pain, tears are starting to sting your eyes. Your mother was cradling you in her arms, you can feel her shaking. She was crying silently and it makes things extra clear for you, This is the end.

You calmed yourself down and pulled away from your mother. You looked her in the eyes and stated "I want to see him, mom, for the last time, please" you pleaded with her. She kissed your forehead and gave you a comforting hug. You both knew that this meant goodbye and it was hard to let go. Your father couldn't stand to look at you so helplessly that he decided to leave without saying goodbye. It was for the best you thought. The door screeched open, he stood before you. He looks forlorn as if something was taken away from him. "Come" you signaled him to come closer, he scooted next to you. You caressed his face, memorizing every inch, "I- I want you to remember that even though it was only a  short period of time that I was with you, I have loved every single aspect there is about you. I remembered you stating that you wanted a name, hmm, your name shall be Tendou because you were heaven's grace to me" you whispered. "You may not be able to feel love, but remember that this heart has only beaten for you." you continued leaning close to put his hands near your heart, with a longing look you placed a loving kiss on his forehead.

You gave him one last smile, "Farewell, Tendou"

Tendou cradled your lifeless body against his, berating himself over not being able to shed a tear. Deep inside him he was praying, “In our next life we’ll be together, I promise” feeling the heaviness in his heart “I loved you too”

[rockthingsbymeg]

honeymoon

Pairing: Slash / Saul Hudson x reader

Info: Fluff, smut [oral, male and female receiving]; 2192 words;

A/N: Hey, I’m back. It’s been really easy writing for Slash, especially fluff which is weird because I never feel like finishing the fluff’s I begin, and I already have some things fully written that I’ll post while writing even more. Thank you @sodalitefully​ and @onlyaxlrose​ for beta-reading <3

Y/N woke up with bright sunlight pouring through the enormous windows that showed them the beach. The sight, despite the burning in her eyes, took her breath away and brought a grin to her lips. The action made the dull ache on her jaw noticable for the first time that morning, what turned her grin into a half-smirk.

Her eyes left the golden sand and turquoise water and instead turned to the man who slept by her side with the sheets tangled between his legs, head buried in a fluffy pillow and an arm slung over her frame. On his finger rested his wedding ring, the silvery-golden color shining bright under the sunlight.

She could not believe they were actually married, and currently on honeymoon. She can still remember the day Steven had finally convinced her to go to one of their shows and then brought her backstage to meet everyone. To meet Slash. To meet the man that hadn't left her mind for months on end until Steven, high as a kite, let the cat out of the bag and ended up telling Slash she had a crush on him.

The day after Slash invited her to a date -nothing too formal, just a simple dinner and then a walk on the Sunset Strip, shy smiles and fluid conversation through the night- and that's when she found out Steven had told him. She wanted to die out of embarrassment for acting like a schoolgirl with a crush, but Slash was quick to put her at ease about it. Like he was quick to put her at ease when she timidly asked if the only reason he had invited her to this date was to see if he could get something out of this.

It wasn't his fault that she thought that way, and she rambled about how she didn't think he was that kind of guy and all that, but people had done that to her in the past and she was not willing to go through it again.

Slash assured her it was not it and confessed he had been planning on asking her out but didn't think it would go that well. It soothed her, and her shyness slowly melted as the night went on.

Since then, they had gone out on infinite dates, giving themselves to one another with each moment spent together, until no secrets or wall existed between them. Until Slash allowed himself to be sappy when he felt like it; until Y/N was not afraid to let herself go and be true to him, in every way possible.

One of the very last dates they went on was in L.A., in the old bar they used to go all the time when they were younger. The night had gone great, without the usual wildness that tended to come along, and it nearly made her cry about how much she loved being with him.

She did cry that night, two separate times. The first was when Slash proposed. His voice soothing and beautiful despite the ruckus happening inside his body, eyes never leaving hers and hair pulled in a loose ponytail so she could properly look at him. She had cried while saying yes multiple times, letting him put the ring on her and then throwing herself on his lap, kissing him with every ounce of love and passion and whatnot inside her.

The second one was, of course, later that night when they decided to celebrate their engagement in the most passionate, most selfless and selfish all together, lustful, sweaty, loudest way they knew. Lord pity their neighbors...

She really could not believe life had been this kind to her. Sure, there was trouble sometimes, to put it nicely, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

Right now, he was laying belly down on the matress his face could not be seen in between his wild curls, but she knew his red, plump lips were slightly parted, letting out the little snores that cut through the silence of the room. She smiled at the mental picture, turning to his side and planting feather-light kisses over his exposed, sun-kissed shoulders and up his neck, pushing his curls out of the way.

Once her lips met his, she found him smiling lazily, his thumb now stroking the skin of her waist. "Morning husband..." She grinned as he opened his eyes.

"Morning wife." He said with a chuckle, turning and laying flat on his back.

Y/N chuckled as well "Sounds too sappy for you..." She moved on the bed, straddling his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Don't mind being sappy for you." He kissed the crown of her head.

She looked up at him with a cheek-hurting smile "Thank you for that, I like it when you're sappy. Not too sappy though." They laughed.

He smiled at her "I know baby." He closed the distance between them, kissing her lazily.

Y/N sighed into the kiss, letting him take the lead and moving her hand to his hair, holding it firmly, pulling a groan out of him. Her hips began to rut against his softly, her wetness gathering and his semi-hard cock stiffening even more.

Slash ended up breaking the kiss with a low moan as her hips began to move more firmly, placing one hand on her waist and another one loosely around her throat.

A faint whimper escaped her lips at that, pupils widening significantly and lips dropping open "Saul..."

"Hm?" He prompted, tightening his grip.

"Fuck me please..." She whispered, lifting her hips so he could push himself inside her.

He did so, moving slowly, allowing both of them to completely feel each other with each thrust. He rolled them on the bed, released her throat and instead pinned both her hands above her head, moving himself faster.

Y/N's eyes closed in ecstasy, moans getting louder, back arching slightly and breasts moving in tandem with Slash's moves. The sight made his moves falter a bit, but he quickly recovered "Open your eyes Y/N..." She moaned at the sound of his voice, tilting her head further against the pillows. "Open your eyes and look at me while I fuck you baby..." He groaned, moving faster as her eyes met his again.

After a few minutes, though not nearly as many as usual, her walls were clenching harder around him, her moans growing in pitch and number and small tears were gathering in her eyes.

"I'm gonna cum..." Y/N moaned, lacing her fingers with his.

Slash was surprised she was reaching breaking point this fast with so little effort. Usually, they both could last for a long time (on a occasion when Slash had come home from touring, they had gone at it for three and a half hours, with very little breaks in between) and now he was pretty sure not even fifteen minutes had gone by.

"I'm not close enough baby... Do you wanna stop for a bit?" He slowed down his thrusts, waiting for an answer.

"Make me cum..." She pulled her hands from his grip, moving them to his back, tucked under his arms "I'll make it up to you." She smirked, kissing him on the lips briefly.

Slash smirked back at her, picking up speed, getting the high pitched moans out of her again. He shifted his hips a little, angling them just right so the tip of his cock was hitting her g-spot repeatedly. Her cunt began, once again, to clench around him tightly, and her hands moved down his back to his ass, squeezing the flesh in her fingers -something she did more often than not before she came.

"Stop squeezing my ass." Slash laughed softly, not really understanding her gesture even after years of being together.

"Sorry, but it's too nice to stop." Y/N giggled, squeezing harder.

He laughed again and connected their lips in a kiss, right when she came. Her back arched, breasts pressing against his chest, eyelids dropping but not closing and their kiss breaking, her mouth molding into a perfect o shape, letting out honey-coated moans of his name.

"That's my girl..." Slash groaned, trying hard not to thrust up into her harder than before as she came down from her high.

He held still until her hands wandered back up and tangled into his hair, pulling him down for a slow kiss.

"Lay on the pillows..." She mumbled in between the kiss, letting him break it.

She whined when he pulled out, leaving her feeling empty. She always hated the feeling itself, but rejoiced in the feeling of being used for someone's pleasure that came with it.

Slash had settled by her side on the pillows, making an appreciative sound as she made herself comfortable between his legs. Her head was resting on his hips, mouth extremely close to his slick, hard cock and her hand moved to lazily jerk him off, grip not tight enough to have him coming, but not too loose it would just tease.

Their eyes were connected as long as she moved her hand, with the occasional flick of the wrist at the head and thumb collecting the pre-cum that dribbled out of him. When she felt him shift almost imperceptibly underneath her, a sing of his impatience, she lifted herself up and pulled him in between her lips.

Since the very beginning, Y/N always knew just how to move to have him trembling the second her mouth was on him. Her tongue lapped at him slowly and firmly and he could feel her lips sliding lower and lower until they met the hairs at the base of his cock, that was now tightly sheltered in her throat.

It was not often that Y/N deep-throated him this far, but it was pretty clear she didn't plan on stopping there, he realized, as she began to move shallowly, fucking her own throat.

The action literally punched the air out of him, and his hands soon found place in her hair, holding tightly but not guiding her. Her eyes lifted again and with a pleading look and a whine that reverberated all the way inside his body, he understood was she was trying to get him to do.

He planted his feet on the bed and used them for leverage as he set a pace with his hips. The lewd sounds spilling from Y/N's lips, alongside with a great deal of spit, made the coil in his stomach get tighter and tighter.

In any other occasion, he would be more worried about how little he was lasting. He would try to hold it off, for his own sake, and he maybe should do that today, because it was that often that he got to fuck her throat, especially not as carefree as this. But the little voice inside his head that kept on remembering him that his wife's hot, velvety, fucking perfect mouth is getting stuffed full with his cock, and that her throat keeps closing around his tip; that she's struggling to breath but doesn't stop because she needs him to fuck her hard like he's doing makes it pretty fucking difficult.

He just lets himself go, muttering a few warnings to her in his low, raspy voice, knowing she would swallow it all like the good girl she is.

From her place between his legs, watching him cum is like looking at a miracle. His arms tense and make the sweat shine more under the sunlight; his head drops back and his hair completely falls from his face, allowing her to watch his eyes roll back in his head and eventually fall closed; his lips red with bite marks all over them...

She can't think of any other words except for breath-fucking-taking!

When he let her up again, she was quick to lick her lips and his cock to get the cum that eventually spilled out of her lips, seeing as he tended to cum a lot. She moved back to his side and rested against him, letting one of his arms fall over her shoulders while the other one pulled her leg on top of his waist and stroked her skin.

She looked up at him and smiled as he was already looking down at her "I'm not saying this just because you blew my brains out of my head-" He smiled when she snorted "- but I love you so fucking much." He grinned, moving a few hairs out of her face.

Y/N's throat hurt a lot when she spoke and her voice would have scared the shit out of her, had she not been waiting for it. "I love you too." Slash smirked like an idiot at the sound of it. "You think it's amazing because you're not the one having to talk to people with the same tone of voice as Axl when he tries to sing with his throat fucked up." She rolled her eyes, stretching on top of him like a cat.

Slash laughed loudly at that, the sound making his chest vibrate against her face. Fuck she loved him...

---

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, reblogs, comments and any kind of way you show me you liked this are endlessly appreciated💛

Tagging: @siriuslymooned (if anyone wants to be tagged let me know <3)

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

23. Journey to Maternity

Word Count” 6861 This is the longest chapter since The Apex is Falling, and is actually longer so to all appropriate - either I’m sorry or you’re welcome for the length of this one. Trigger Warnings: I don’t honestly know at this point in the story. I feel like we simply revisit old trauma of the characters that were previously outlined. So, any triggers concerning Simon or Hazel of this AU may be ones to watch out for in this installment. Also, violence towards the end.

Previous

The legal team behind Simon was very adamant about the contents of that recording never seeing the light of day. Grace was fine with it, because she hadn’t wanted him to be seen that way either, falling apart in her arms and whatnot, but she did want to keep it as proof that Simon’s stories contradicted the truth. She needed it, even. Working on seeing Hazel more was becoming a struggle the more that her name kept coming up associated with Simon’s, so she wanted to be certain to detach herself from that, altogether, if she could. 

Her parents seemed interested in seeing what he had to say. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to discuss most of that with them, yet. They just... weren’t there yet. Grace had yet to apologize to her mother for attacking her, and didn’t think that she would be ready any time soon, as in her mind, her mom earned what she read she did to her. Nearly 5 years later and she never recalled, only read about it in her file when trying to digest it with her therapist. Until she was ready to face it, she couldn’t say that she was ready to face her mother... but her mother seemed ready to face her, and she didn’t seem as standoffish as she had been the previous time that they had been face to face. Grace didn’t know if she could say that the woman was trying, necessarily, but she seemed to be at least thinking about things.

She wanted to know how Grace was doing. Not what she was doing. That, in and of itself, was a huge difference in their previous relationship. Whenever her parents visited New York, they took her to a Broadway show, went to museums, the opera - things that they enjoyed and wanted to share with her, and some things that she enjoyed that they hadn’t previously made time for. Her father was especially overbearing, she figured from the guilt of pushing her into Simon’s arms, now having learned of all of the things that Simon had put her through. She had halfway expected him to make excuses for Simon, to somehow blame her for not being tamed by him or whatever. But, he seemed to be working on not only that mode of thinking, but things with his wife as well. Grace was shook by how... affectionate they seemed these days. 

Long story short(er), she told them about Hazel and how much she had been working to be able to see her. She told them about Simon even sitting down with the DCFS to clarify a character reference for her and how they said that they would keep this in mind, but the home that Hazel was currently at was growing weary of the girl’s “situation” and she was truly afraid that if Hazel was moved again, there would be no way that she would ever find her again, and even if she did... what if the next family wasn’t as understanding or cooperative? What if the next judge didn’t grant her the same sort of access after the caregiver changed?

“Why don’t YOU just adopt her, Honey?” Her father asked. 

“Honey? And... WHAT?” Of course, Grace was way ahead of him. That was her ultimate goal, day by day, she was getting closer to being brave enough to go through with it. But, her parents hadn’t thought her capable of responsibilities since she was a kid. “Dad... You can’t be serious? You think that I could actually take in a child?”

“You love her, you work hard to make sure she has all the support you can give her, you give her things and look out for her. I think you’re more capable than what she’s had so far,” he said. Her mother was quiet, so she knew that she didn’t agree. But, for argument’s sake, she wanted to hear in what way.

“What do you think, Mom?”

Her mother sighed and said, “I think that your father wanted you to start a family by now and he’s being a little bit presumptuous to think that you want that for yourself.” She looked at her husband to add, “She’s been through enough. Raising a child isn’t easy. Even with help... Even... with the help doing most of the work...” She looked guilty when she said that. “It’s a huge responsibility. Grace is a young career woman, moments away from a degree from Julliard, living out her dreams as a musician and dancer in the big city. To just stop that and become a mother sounds far-fetched and idealistic. Just loving a child doesn’t make for a good mother.”  Then, looking right at Grace, she finally admitted, “You didn’t... have any... role model in this field...”

“There’s books for that,” Grace said, repeating something Hazel once told her. But, it put her mind and heart at ease to finally hear SOME type of accountability from her mom, even that small step. 

“Are you saying that you WANT to adopt this girl, Grace?” Her mother asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m saying that... I want her to have the stable home life that she deserves.” She laughed and said, “But, I’ve actually already looked into trying to adopt her and it hasn’t gone right.”

Mr. Monroe gave his gasping wife a smug grin. “You’ve... already tried, and you let us have an entire debate about the matter?” Her mother confirmed, mildly insulted.

“Yeah. I wanted to see what you’d say... what you think about my ability to be able to do it. You two would probably know best. I mean... You did some parenting, despite things I’ve said in the past. I never wanted for anything. I may have needed a few less tangible things, but that’s fine, because so far, where I felt like I lacked in getting, I feel like I’m able to fulfill with Hazel. We’re so good for each other.”

Mrs. Monroe growled, “Then, what’s the problem? Surely the state of California doesn’t think you’re unfit?”

“I think that they do, Mom. And... I can see why...”

“Nonsense. We’ll take care of this,” Mr. Monroe said.

Grace laughed and shook her head, “You two always think that puffing your chests and throwing money at things will somehow fix them.”

“It does,” they both said, in unison. One of the RARE occasions that those two saw eye to eye. Grace shrugged her shoulders. If her parents thought that they could somehow help her, she wasn’t going to turn them down. But, she wasn’t going to get her hopes up, either. 

.

Mrs. Monroe’s team was in full effect, partnering with Grace’s representation to fully utilize Grace’s current public opinion, recent events, her recovery record, and maintained health and wellness to campaign for her as a fit adoptive parent. No information was put out about Hazel during that time, as to be sure not to violate any of her privacy, but people knew from the times she had spoken of  her exactly what child she meant and Hazel’s current caretakers even spoke in favor of Grace.

People were sending emails and adding departments to “at” for her journey to motherhood. Her parents were putting a lot of money into getting her an approved space that would check all of the boxes better than her current college girl place or even the properties that she generally borrowed from them to host her visits with Hazel. She and Hazel would most likely be traveling because of Grace’s career as an entertainer, and the Monroe’s seemed to be trying to fill in some of the blanks they realized they caused in Grace’s development the only way that they knew how. So, they were granting her properties for the traveling that she would have to do and making certain that every space Hazel would occupy exceeded the legal requirements. 

Within 6 months of getting her parents into the groove, something that she had been trying to finesse for the past few years was settled! Grace didn’t often like to take a look at her financial privilege, but in this particular case, she was extremely grateful that her parents were wealthy and that she now had someone for whom she could pass some of that down to.

The. Very. Day. that she was able to finalize her paperwork, her mother had ordered a “maternity shoot,” for them. There were huge announcements of the date and a big name photographer to drop the images, now that she could publicize whatever photos of Hazel that she wanted. Grace wasn’t 100% sold on this, but she knew how her mom was and after all of her help, felt a ping of obligation for this ONE thing... Mrs. Monroe would NOT be involved in her parenting decisions and she clarified that each chance that she could over those months of work.

The maternity photos were similar to how a pregnant woman might pose, cradling her own womb, but each one of that type was her embracing Hazel to herself, then there were simply several gorgeous shots of them together and some with Hazel’s “GlamMother.” The woman and Hazel had settled on it when the former refused to accept anything with the preface of “Grand,” and Hazel didn’t like the options such as “Matriarch” or “Forerunner.” Those sounded too formal to Hazel like, “The villain in one of those movies where society has to like pay for air and the hero has to topple the evil queen hoarding it to enslave mankind. Oooh, or... like something you’d call the Highest Queen in the Book of Esmoroth!” Grace cringed at the semi familiar word, but wasn’t positive why at that moment and didn’t take note of it either.

For now, Grace reminded her mom, “It’s meant to be an honor, not an insult, like a Grand Chancellor, or in your case, The Grand High Witch,” she joked and smiled cheerfully, very pleased with herself for it. 

Her mother narrowed her eyes. Grace loved her new ability not to shiver at the woman’s little glares and her mother seemed far more fond of a Grace that didn’t cower before her (as long as she cooperated). “Cheeky little...” she’d mumble with the slightest hint of a grin. It wasn’t the healthiest arrangement, necessarily, but considering their past, it was healthier than Grace thought that they would ever get, and she couldn’t help but feel like Hazel’s presence and the process of getting her there helped to make she and her mom closer... or whatever this was that they were now.

The next generation of House Monroe, Hazel Doe Monroe... Hazel had wanted to keep Doe as her middle name. “You know, you don’t have to change your last name if it’s something that you’d like to hold on to, Hazel.”

“I know. You’re very nice about our rules. I just like it because I have beautiful doe eyes and it seems fitting to keep. I’m DEFINITELY a Monroe. Look at me there. I am serving Blue Ivy Carter vibes...” Grace smiled and squeezed her... daughter close. Daughter. That was so weird to her. She had considered Hazel a friend, a little sister type, surely, but somewhere along the way, she found that she couldn’t let that kid stay in the system, being bounced around, never knowing a real home or lasting love. So... now, she had a whole ass daughter. 

An heiress, her mother would remind them both. Grace had mixed emotions about that one. Anybody you selected could be an heiress, if you intended to pass something down. She couldn’t tell if her mother was excluding Hazel from the family by using that placeholder, or if she was simply so proud to be a “matriarch” that she was being overly fancy. Knowing her mom, it could very well be the latter. She would wait until Hazel seemed to feel something about it. Right now, all the kid had was excitement and culture shock. She had waited her entire life to be in a family and as far as she was concerned, her family was the greatest one in the world!

There were a few critics of Grace’s “Journey to Maternity,” claiming that it was such a publicity stunt and that she was exploiting this child and using this adoption “for clout.” She... didn’t even know how that was a feasible conclusion, but her only announcement on the matter was, “I have been trying to build a family with Hazel, specifically, for several years now. Hazel never had a mother and now she does. She didn’t get maternity photos and birth announcements. She didn’t get a lot of things that babies and kids get by her age, and I want to make sure that she gets everything that I can give her and more. Our relationship is just as valid as any in which birth was given, because we needed each other and now we have each other and I’m going to love MY DAUGHTER the way that any loving mother would. Peace and many blessings to everyone out there. Please, use the energy that you have to attack me as a new mom figuring out the best ways to show my child that she matters, to go love on your own families. Our world needs more of that and less of this. This space is sacred, as a dedication to my daughter.”

While she used to be stressed out about how she was perceived on her platform, she now had a better handle on when to pay attention, when to ignore, when to block, when to engage, and she trusted her team and regularly spoke with her therapist and workers for Hazel, as well, about navigating these things. After the initial announcement, she and Hazel decided as a family that they didn’t need to do anything else so big, but they would post whenever they wanted to, since before, there were so many limits. 

Mostly, they liked doing mother-daughter choreography and sometimes, Hazel posted funny things, because she was truly a hilarious girl, at 9, nearing 10. Grace spent all of her time invested in being what Hazel needed and Hazel, as much as she loved Grace and loved having a new mom took some major adjustment getting used to having one. Sometimes, she feared that it would end and Grace, like everyone else might give up on her and “give her back.” 

Sometimes, she was so petrified about it, she turned into her turtle persona without any particular prompt. Those were hard nights/days. Grace would have to collect her turtle and care for her and coax her back into comfort so that she could become Hazel again. The doctor discussed some potential medication options, but because Hazel was not a danger to herself or anyone else, Grace denounced that idea at this time. When Hazel was back, she would simply reinforce that she loved Hazel, but in the moments where it was too scary or hard for Hazel to feel like herself, she’d love her turtle, too. Little by little, it seemed to be at least comforting enough where Hazel could sleep most nights without night terrors, though sometimes whenever Grace would check in (as she did, she realized probably an unreasonable number of times), Hazel would be curled up as she slept - in her shell - they called it. So, she wasn’t sure if she was making the best decisions yet.

But, Grace felt remarkably capable... silently thanking Simon for putting her through some of the most volatile emotional spikes not even realizing the type of resolve he was building for her to be able to endure loving a child who was just too scared right now to believe it was possible...

.

Simon was able to complete his Master’s degree on time, with Amelia admitting that she didn’t believe at all that he purposefully harmed her, but that he made a critical error while mentally distracted. If he wanted to work on his NEXT degree, he would have to do a lot that he was uncertain that he could handle at the moment. He thought of trying to start his own business, but his reputation was not stellar, so he held back until he could get a better grip on his pitches. His nights were generally forcing himself to continue routines that felt empty now that Grace had seemingly forgiven him and moved on. 

His days were just as structured, with his only deviance being that he had numerous projects he was still working on at the tech company he worked at. He was one of the top employees and had been there a while, so they knew a little bit about his personal issues, but he was an asset to the company, so, so far, so good on not being canned over the past year’s scandals... not many people realized that he was affiliated with his job, thank goodness, or he was certain some of those rabid SJWs would have doxxed him by now. His book sales spiked, but his trilogy deal had fallen through after only the first book had been published, and nobody was yet picking up any of his other works, so he leaned hard into his technological engineering.

Whenever he was at his day job, working on some software edits, someone mentioned, “Aye, Si - your prototype is reproducing now?” To which, he glanced up from his computer screen in confusion and saw Grace on his associate’s. They called Grace his prototype, because he’d often use an avatar or model or figure of someone closely resembling her and he got irritated whenever they would call his prototypes, his “ex.” Somehow, it didn’t bother him as much for them to call Grace his prototype. It bothered him, but not as much as the suggestion that everything he created was an effigy to her... whether or not that was the case (or whether or not it was unintentional/reflexive half of the time). “She’s got a kid now. Showed up in my entertainment news.”

Simon got up and came over, read Grace’s statement, scrolled through these photos of her and this beautiful kid that... looked honestly like she could be theirs, now that he was seeing her entire face clearly. He took a deep breath, with furrowed eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, “So, they gave her the kid, finally. Good for her,” he said and returned to his desk, shaking and turning red. His coworkers all stared at him, expecting more. He sent a very quick email to his therapist and tried to ignore the wandering eyes. He also tried not to give them what he knew that they wanted to see... him lose his shit over Grace in real time. He couldn’t let this take over his professional life as well. It had cost him enough last semester and made him have to put his academic goals on hold.

Eventually, though, he had to cut the day short. Fortunately, his therapist could squeeze him in. He signed out of everything, images of Grace on his desk that he now hid away, for when he would next need them/could stand them (it was up and down for him, so he just kept them near now) and put them away at times like right now. Times whenever, for no reason whatsoever, seeing her upset him again. As he got onto the elevator, he heard one of them say, “I’m telling you, he’s gonna snap.” Sounded like they were making whispered bets on the matter.

.

His mind was filled with Hazel’s smile, the way Grace glowed with her in her arms, how they looked at each other with love and admiration, how EVEN Mama Monroe seemed enamored... while, he knew could just be one of her acts, but she genuinely seemed fond of her new family dynamic in those photos! “What is the point of me paying you when you are not fixing my brain?” Simon asked in frustration, glaring at his therapist, almost violently. 

“That’s not what we do here, Simon. You know that. Fixing your brain would be something that a neurologist does and you saw a neurologist a few months ago. What they suggested was for you to continue therapy.” The man was always alarmingly calm. He knew that Simon had violent outbursts in his record, but he also knew that Simon wanted to try to be pragmatic. Simon was a scientist. He wanted to handle things maturely and intelligently. His violent outbursts were generally a result of him feeling attacked. If the therapist kept things level and sensible, he didn’t expect more than a few bouts of yelling and flailing arms from Simon, on a good day.

“I know that therapy is supposed to help me to feel the way that I’m supposed to feel about Grace again, and it absolutely is not doing that for me!” He was huffing. The therapist remained calm. Simon noted that and tried to join him. He folded his arms, “I’m still thinking things about her that make no sense. Like today, I found out that she finally got approved to adopt that girl... And... it’s a really cute girl. She looks... like she could’ve been ours. She’s really precious and brown and beautiful with this long, thick head of blond hair. Proper blond hair, and they gave her an elvish hairstyle for the shoot... And my immediate thought was to wonder if Grace did this on purpose, to spite me? This blond kid that looks like us? The fantasy core hairdo? Is Grace manipulating me from across the country, on the Internet for every fan to see?” He scoffed. “Why? Why, would I think that?” 

“You tell me, Simon.”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Simon was red in the face and breathing too hard.

The therapist shifted slightly and redirected the conversation. “Okay, well, let’s think about it all, and talk through it. Maybe I can help you find out what your true feelings are, then we can unpack them together.” Simon hated that word. The sorting through baggage, taking a long hard look at things, figuring out where they went. He HATED it. “Why do you think Grace might want to use a child in order to spite you?”

“Wow, well, who’d have thought that two minutes ago when I said that I didn’t know, that you paraphrasing it would give me the solution?” Simon’s sarcastic question and animated baffled face were calms before a storm. The storm had to be appeased.

“I’m asking you to think about why Grace would ever do that to a child, instead of wondering why she would be manipulating you? She would be using that child, of your thoughts are right, and maybe thinking through why she would do such a thing could help you get closer to why you rationalized this accusation against her. Do you feel like she’s trying to fill a hole she believes you caused and replacing the child you could have had together?” Simon froze for a moment to consider this, then scoffed, rolled his eyes and shook his head. That wasn’t it. ”You said the child looks like she could be yours. Maybe Grace was drawn to her for that reason. Maybe it had nothing to do with spite at all and everything to do with love or even simply familiarity. Grace may have chosen a child that reminded her of her first friend, her first love. Maybe... the child doesn’t even actually look like she could be yours, but you’re projecting yourself into Grace’s family because you miss being a part of it..”

“No!” Simon fussed and pulled out his phone to pull up the image of Hazel. He showed it to the doctor.

“Well, you were right about a couple of things. She is a very beautiful child and she is blond. Besides that, Simon, I don’t see any resemblance, and lots of people are blond, some of them are even... Black or Biracial... I’m not sure of this child’s exact makeup, but she’s blond. Why did that upset you so much, if it’s not because you were thinking about maybe what you and Grace missed out on when she gave up the child you might have had.”

“Stop right there. Yes, I think about what might have become of that. Grace once did this dedication thing that was like mapping out when she might have been due and how old they might have been, and stuff. She was going through her own things and I found it interesting, but I know a little about biology. The time that she went in... she was about 2 to 3 months... that’s not a baby. That’s not a kid. That’s something an inch long or maybe a small bit bigger. A collective of tissue...” He shook his head. “I’m not lamenting over a quarter sized bundle of genes!” He shuffled his legs around. “I mean... She said that she would’ve called them Ivory. That’s a pretty name, I think. It’s unisex and elegant... Then she had all this ivory themed jewelry and color scheme for her kid’s coronation or whatever the fuck. It did sort of feel insulting, but I think she just fucking likes ivory, I don’t know! She was gonna name a kid that. She just likes it.” He frowned and looked towards the window.

“Did you feel like she thought about that whenever she made the party for her new child?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t been cool in so long, I don’t know her like I used to. I used to know her like... she was an art form that I was the master of, a science that I was most prolific in. I... don’t even know if she hasn’t become a completely different person. One thing that’s obvious. She still craves love and adoration and she’ll have it to her heart’s content now that she has a kid. That girl is going to give her all the praise and worship she’s been craving since we were kids. All that I couldn’t give her... I don’t even know why work so hard to be better...” He sighed.

“Simon, if you’re only working on yourself in order to impress Grace, then that could be the reason that you aren’t feeling any results. Grace can’t be the compass for which you try to find your life’s direction.”

“But something has to motivate me. I don’t care about much else. Not like it matters at this point, now.”

“Why? Because Grace has a child now?”

“She has everything that she needs from someone else. That kid beat me to it. I didn’t get better quick enough... I just...”

“Simon, I think we’ve finally arrived at today’s problem. Do you see it?” Simon frowned harder, tightening his mouth shut.”Would you like for me to tell you what it seems like to me?” Simon furrowed his eyebrows deeper. “I’ll go, and if I’m wrong, I know you’ll chime in, as you do enjoy proving others wrong...” Simon smirked a little. “It isn’t that you feel like Grace has replaced an unborn, never fully formed child that the two of you might have had. You feel as though Grace has replaced you.” Simon’s breath sped up and he blew out of puckered lips with puffed cheeks. “Simon. Surely, you must realize that your relationship with Grace is not the same as what her relationship with her child is.”

“Of course!” He stood up and leaned forward on the desk, “But, I’m sure YOU know that my relationship with Grace was never reasonable and that’s why I’m here!”

“Simon, please sit down.” 

Simon paced, instead, complaining. “I don’t have relationships with people. I cling to people, then they leave me. I clung to Grace for so long and I didn’t give her the chance to leave. I was scared, like a little boy being given a responsibility way too great. I messed up! I can’t FIX it! I’m supposed to be able to fix anything! I fix the bugs in multi million dollar making computer systems. I fix equipment that helps to save thousands of lives! I fix software, and robotics, and 90% of my coworkers’ interpersonal issues by being practical and telling them to dump people, but I can’t fix this! I can’t fix ME. I’m the problem!!!” He slammed his fist on the desk. “All I had to do was trust her. We might still be together. She might not have ever been in that place to meet this girl whose stolen her heart.”

“Simon, please consider the way you’re speaking about an innocent child who was in need of a home.”

“Yeah. It’s fucked up, just like the rest of me.” Simon covered his mouth and nose with his cupped hands. sighed and suddenly stopped moving anxiously. “You know what? I’m not at MIT at the moment. I don’t have any reason to keep this up.” This was indicated by him waving both hands back and forth between himself and the therapist.

“To get better, Simon. We’ve made several breakthroughs together. All of the things that you were holding inside... Those aren’t resolved overnight. Remember whenever we discussed your first sexual experience?” Simon sat down, his face wanting to believe Dr. Richard could do something about his growing despair. “You found out that you did feel something for Grace, but you blocked it out, denied yourself, made the act a challenge in which you won if you could separate yourself from your feelings... That’s your MO, Simon. You fear feelings that you think won’t be reciprocated and you punish those who didn’t reciprocate them before they have a chance not to.”

“But, I only did it to Grace...” Simon said. “My mom didn’t reciprocate and I moved on. My dad didn’t. I moved on. Grace... did... and I punished her anyway, for the CHANCE that she might not. And I did it to everyone I’ve met since, even though I don’t even let them get close to me, because I can;t even stand the thought of somebody getting that close to me again... The thought of the loss, when they finally see me and realize that I’m... This. Just... Tell me what to do to fix that in myself?”

“We’re doing it, Simon. It will take time. You made a difficult to breach barrier on purpose and it’s even hard for you to let it down. Until you’re ready to try, it will take us chipping away at it with these sessions.”

“I don’t want to do that, Dr. Richard. Thank you for your time.”

“Do you remember when you decided to see me again? Our first session went poorly. You at some point referred to it as an interview. You thought that I asked you questions and you gave the answers that made you look the best.”

“I decided to see you again because I thought I was going to be going to prison or be kicked out of my very prestigious college. But, I looked at the face of a little girl today and I felt my future die in her smile...”

“How do you know that a better you can’t mean better for Grace AND this girl?”

“I was with Grace for years and I ruined her, if you think I’m gonna go anywhere near her kid, near any kid, you’re the one that needs a doctor.” Simon got up. “Time’s up. Thank you for seeing me today. Wish me luck.”

“Simon. Please don’t miss your scheduled appointment.”

“Cancel it. Cancel them all.”

“Simon.”

“I won’t need them. I’m... I’m the best I’m going to get. I see that now, but I appreciate what you were trying to do for me.” He left the office, glanced at MIT’s campus as he headed for his apartment. His cell phone buzzed and he looked at it. It was from work. A list of things for tomorrow, when he got back in... He threw the phone into a trash bin without even so much as trying to aim. He fought the urge to turn to grab it. You’ve worked really hard Simon. You can be better. She told you to get help. To be better... Yeah... But, not for her. She doesn’t need you. Nobody does. They never did. You did it for yourself. You made something of the mess that they gave you. You can still change... 

“Maybe. But, probably not for the better.” Face it... My peak was when I was an absolute piece of garbage. My best is to be horrible. What kind of an existence is that? No saviors. No Grace. Just me, being violent and sinister? I’m the Void. I would only take everything from them. I need to be voided out...

.

Grace had not anticipated how being the 24/7 guardian of this child was going to be so drastically different than before. She tried to mentally prepare for that obvious reality, but nothing really prepared you for some of this stuff. It was challenging, to say the least. Grace’s life was in New York. It felt unkind to uproot Hazel and just bring her there, but she knew that it would be much more difficult to try to start rebuilding an entire life in California to keep Hazel in familiar settings. 

Hazel hadn’t had a home-home, but San Francisco was as home as she had, and wasn’t far from where Grace grew up. Still… Grace had been in New York for years for school, fell in love with the place, had friends and work and hobbies there. Hazel could fall in love with it too and if she couldn’t, then they could revisit that topic. But, they were going to begin by settling in New York. 

“We’ll at least visit GlamMother and Grandest Father, right?” Hazel wondered.

“Did… Did my dad tell you to call him that? Because I’ve got to draw the line…”

“No, it just sounded best with GlamMother. I like them. They speak really fancy and have a lot of nice stuff. I feel bad that we buried them in the bush that time.” Grace laughed and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as they headed home. She didn’t want to visit TOO much, but her parents were willing to foot the bill to see their granddaughter. 

Grace was a little bit scared of them being around her too much. She worried that if Hazel felt scared or nervous and reverted to “the turtle,” her parents would handle it in an unsavory way… and then she would be forced to wreck them. It was just easier to try to stay away when she could. But, she had to stay at least until Hazel’s last day of school, as to not mess up her transition. So, Hazel’s birthday was spent in Cali and whenever the school year ended, they were going to be in New York.

Things happened. Firstly, the weeks leading to the summer vacation, Simon had not been seen or heard from. Grace didn’t realize this at all (as she hadn’t been checking for him for months) and was focused on going back and forth during the process of adopting Hazel, staying in a Monroe property to finish the school year and trying to adjust to a life of single motherhood… she just… did not have the time or concern to check up on anything Simon related. So the fact that his workplace didn’t know where he was and tried to contact his family, since it was so not like him to not show up at all - that was backstory she got.

Secondly, Simon “resurfaced.” No, not in her life, not at all. But, he was on the internet a lot more. There had been several sightings of him and none of them were good. He would either be in an altercation with someone or a full on fight. Most of these sightings he appeared to be baiting people into fighting him. There began to be chatter that he’d spent a little time in jail! She only caught wind of that after the third, and most severe thing took place...

Thirdly, Simon had been reported missing for weeks whenever several of the media outlets began running a clip of a person that many believed was Simon - Grace had been tagged to it multiple times, but hadn’t clicked on it, as it tended to have some type of generic title like, “Is that you, Simon Laurent?” or something that she didn’t have time for. The people jumping into her comments while she tried new dairy free froyo to ask her what about Simon’s spiraling was enough Simon content for her at the moment.

What she did have time for?: “Simon Laurent left for dead after brawl…” 

She gasped and clicked on the video. It was definitely Simon. She knew his mannerisms. She knew his fight style. That was most definitely Simon kicking someone in the face right before someone else - a friend or something of the person hit him in the back and ribs with a board and he fell. She covered her mouth and through teary eyes saw him falling and being repeatedly hit, up until what very much looked like one of the fighters was stabbing him… Grace let out a scream, without realizing it. She began to try to search for more information, but the only thing that she could seem to find was that nobody knew his family or where he was or if he had been helped…

“Grace?” She heard Hazel call from the doorway. She looked up and the girl was worried, “You’re crying really loud…” Grace shook her head, unable to form words as she continued to search, until she FINALLY found a story that appeared to be paparazzi capturing photos of Simon being rushed into a Massachusetts ER and old faithfuls of the Apex casting a net for blood donations. She saw Hazel freeze and sit on the floor. God, not now… Hazel was a turtle. Grace had frightened her. 

She tried to collect her without hyperventilating as she called information. If the Laurents were anything like her parents, that man still had the same phone number. If he was still anything like he used to be, he never got onto the internet and might not know where Simon was or what condition he was in.

Grace had Hazel in her lap, cradling her and rocking her to try to lull her out of her habit. “Mr. Laurent? Simon’s Dad?”

There was a long pause and then he said, “Yes, this is he… Have you found my son?”

“I know where he is. I saw on the Internet that he’s been seriously hurt and is in need of blood, but I don’t know how accurate that part is. I remember him saying that you two had the same type, some years ago. Even if not… Somebody should be there, I think… Do you have a way to get to Massachusetts?”

“No,” he said with a sniffle. 

“That’s okay. I can get to him quicker, because I’m in New York, and I can even take you to him, but… I have to tell you… This is Grace Monroe.” 

“You…”

“Mr. Laurent, right now, Simon needs either medical and divine intervention or potentially next of kin. I have a daughter and I can’t endanger her. Can we truce or whatever?”

“Yes. My son is all I have left.” She wasn’t going to argue with him. “I live in the same house if you remember where.”

“I remember. I’m going to send for you. I’ll have a car grab you and get you on a plane. My daughter and I will rush there now and meet you at the hospital, okay?” She groaned to get Hazel up and put her in the car. “We’re going to go on a trip, Hazel, okay? Whenever you come back out of your shell, I’ll be right here. I’m sorry that I scared you. I saw something really scary…”

“Is that man gonna be okay? The one that used to be your friend?” Hazel asked. Grace let out a sigh of relief that she had come out of it sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know, but if not, I think his dad should be with him. It’s a kinda long flight for him, so I don’t know if he��ll be okay. But, I’m going to go... just so that if something happens, he’s not alone. It’s scary when stuff happens and you’re all alone.”

“That’s sad. His dad shouldn’t have to see him be hurt.”

“No... but, that’s where he would want to be, near him, in case he can give him some comfort. Some help...” She told Simon that she couldn’t be the one to save him, and she meant that, but this was different. If something happened to Simon... and he was all alone... she just didn’t know how she would handle that in the future.

Next

[tanadrin]

Reordberend

(part 15 of ?; start; previous; next)

“What do you believe in?”

Leofe had asked the question in a friendly enough way, a few days later when they were sitting together for the midday meal. Now even at noon the sky was no more than twilight, a heartwrenchingly clear gradient of color from dark to light in the direction of the hidden sun, the far side studded with stars. The Antarctic air was impossibly clear, a continent-sized whorl of dry winds cut off from the rest of the world by the circumpolar current. Katherine simply could not get used to it.

What had they been talking about? The sky, the weather, hopes for tomorrow. And Katherine had mentioned her family, how far from home she was. Somehow that had segued into faith. She still wasn’t sure what, exactly, the Dry Valleys People believed in. Then Leofe had asked her the question, and she found herself getting defensive. She remembered her parents, her teachers, the people who pressed her on what she really believed as an adolescent. She remembered the alienation she felt when she realized she wasn’t the same as the people she grew up with. That her desire to grow beyond the confines of the world as they had presented it to them meant that she would have to go. And in the going there would be no returning.

“It’s complicated,” was all she said at the time. But the question nagged at her. She didn’t know if she could have answered it in English, let alone in the tongue of the Valleys. But there was an answer. A hard, bright answer she felt within her, warming her during the cold and starry nights.

What did the people of the Valleys believe in? Well, that was a tough one. When she had first found the gospel-book she thought she knew. A peculiar people, setting out for desolate shores, carrying religious artifacts and ancient tongues with them--traditionalists, of a kind. After all, wasn’t that what her people had been? Secessionists, as politely called them back in civilization. Those who decided that the great ecumenical riot of culture and technology and fashion and whatnot wasn’t for them. There were lots of different kinds of secessionists, not just traditionalists. New religious movements, utopians of all stripes, ultra-individualists and ultra-collectivists, artists with ideas that couldn’t be realized safely or legally in any existing top-level jurisdiction, trillionaires who thought the law shouldn’t apply to them. The pattern was familiar: you found a big pile of money somewhere, either from your followers or from a rich patron, you bought some land, you renounced your basic and you got almost unlimited sovereignty over it in return.

But that still left some questions. Like the age of the Valleys settlements, for one. If the local chronology was correct, they were almost a hundred and fifty years old, older than any other settlement in Antarctica. That meant they weren’t technically secessionists, because there was nothing here to secede from a century and a half ago. A century and a half ago, the Antarctic coast had been even colder and the ice-free portion of the Valleys even smaller. The timeline made sense in other ways--that was after the abrogation of the Antarctic Treaties, when most of the countries that used to fund scientific outposts along the coasts had pulled back in the wake of the Collapse. Before the big multinationals moved into the Peninsula a generation later. You could’ve gotten a couple hundred people to the Dry Valleys unnoticed, maybe.

When she could, Katherine tried to get a better look at their books again. Their script presented difficulties for her. On more than one occasion, she found herself muttering irritably at an imagined picture of Dr. Wright. He could have warned her, of course; he could have said, “the Dry Valleys People speak Anglo-Saxon English; here’s a list of books to take with you.” She still would have lost them in the shipwreck, but maybe she would have remembered enough from them to get started. Heck, maybe some enterprising nerd had created a module for the language. Unlikely--a good module took a shitload of funding and years of work--but not impossible.

She had asked Dr. Gordon about John, after the meeting at the conference. If this guy was so famous, how come she’d never heard of him? Dr. Gordon had sighed, sighed in the way that usually indicated byzantine university politics, but eventually she’d given up the story.

“This was all well before my time, you have to understand,” she said. “I’m getting this secondhand and thirdhand from people who were around then, and some of this is basically School of Humanities mythology at this point. But the way I understand it, Dr. Wright was the last holdout of the old English department.

“Two hundred years ago, the School of English was one of the jewels in the crown of this university. A hundred and fifty years ago, it was still doing pretty well for itself, but, well, as much as we hate to admit it to ourselves, academia is subject to trends and fashions just like the rest of the world. And despite trying to keep up with the times, most of the things they studied were hopelessly outdated. Even back then, nobody took nonsense like postmodernism or critical theory seriously anymore. A lot of the the really interesting work was starting to get usurped by departments with more rigorous methods. The Digital Humanities school was just taking off, and there was lots of interesting work going on on the other side of campus with 20th century novelists and AI, but the English faculty stuck to its old methods. Close reading, wading through dense tomes of theory, writing long analytical essays. Things that, for very good reason, we don’t make students do anymore. The university naturally had an aversion to producing graduates who were unemployable as anything other than English professors; it felt that was unfair to its students. But the more they tried to pressure the English department to update its methods, the more recalcitrant the faculty became.

“By the time Dr. Wright was approaching retirement age, they were back to teaching dead languages. You couldn’t understand the whole history of English literature, they argued, without a grounding in foundational stuff. And that foundational stuff, that ancient British literature, well, you couldn’t understand that without the context of, oh, I don’t know, whatever the Vikings spoke I suppose. Dr. Wright was by all accounts an extremely smart person. He’d done some groundbreaking work in Austronesian and South American languages as a younger man, a real giant in his field. But eventually, for reasons nobody quite understood, he’d pivoted away from the frontiers of his field--not a big field to begin with, mind you--and retreated to ground as well trodden as, well, basic arithmetic. He moved to the English department and was teaching students thousand-year-old poetry. He said it was a natural extension of his earlier work, and the university itself was happy enough to keep someone with his stature on its faculty, but to be honest most people saw him as nothing more than a useless eccentric. Rather like the whole department.

“Well, eventually the decision was made to axe their funding. There were maybe four undergraduates left to the whole department, so this wasn’t exactly a wrench, but Dr. Wright proved a sticking point. He had tenure--it’s a system that doesn’t exist anymore, but it made him basically unfireable. He had no students, and no scheduled classes, and no funding, and no departmental library anymore, but he had a right to an office, and, well. He wouldn’t go. He came in every day just the same. And twice a week, he would find an empty lecture hall, and, he’d just… lecture to anybody who showed up. And a few people did. Some were genuinely curious. Some thought it had novelty value. I guess some were lost freshers. But he kept on that way for two or three years. It annoyed the hell out of the administration. It annoyed them so much they delayed an update to the rules on retirement for six months, just so Dr. Wright hit the mandatory retirement age and got booted out. The next semester, they abolished fixed retirrment ages altogether. Of course, they didn’t offer him his job back. The official story was that he was a beloved senior member of the faculty, and he kept his dining privileges and still got invited to all the university functions where they trot out the honored former members of staff. But after that he basically disappeared. No one has seen him on campus--or anywhere in Dublin, for that matter--since.”

So at first Katherine wondered if this wasn’t Dr. Wright’s cruel joke, a way to get back at the people who pissed him off all those years ago. Let’s send the grad student out into the wastelands without any linguistic advantage. But the longer she thought about it, the more she wondered if she wasn’t being unfair.

Because what would she have said, if Dr. Wright had come up to her at that conference and said, “Oh, I hear you’re going to visit Antarctica. Here’s a book on Old English, and a copy of the Gospels, you’ll need both.” Would she have come here if she thought these were just secessionists with a penchant for historical reenactment? Probably not.

And the fact of the matter was, they weren’t secessionists. Well, not secessionists like Katherine had ever read about. The thing about being a secessionist, whether reactionary or utopian, was that no matter how much you pretended you were doing something Different, no matter how much you tried to Cut Yourself Off from the rest of the world, everything you did, everything you professed, everything you built, existed as a counterargument to that world. The rest of the world was a great shadow hanging over your whole existence, an argument which you were trying to refute. No secessionist movement on record had lasted in its original form more than two generations, because either you eventually got tired of making that argument, an argument your children would never understand for lack of context, and you inevitably rejoined the world (though perhaps with a higher-than-average local incidence of fringe political beliefs), or the whole thing fell apart in dramatic fashion due to infighting, and somebody appealed for the special status of the enclave to be revoked.

Neither had happened here. The culture of the Valleys appeared to be stable. They were more like an ancient uncontacted people, uncurious about the outside world and existing on their own terms, than those who scrupulously attempted to refute it. They spoke a dead language, but on closer examination, there the resemblance to historical reenactors ceased. The climate was wrong--they lived more like a circumpolar people, because, well, they were. But Katherine noticed they weren’t dogmatic about their refusal of technology. They relied on genegineered bryoculture--the mosses thrived in the summertime, provided you supplemented them with a little water, and kept them from freezing. They hoarded small pieces of technology they scavenged from the wastes, laser firestarters and sonic knife sharpeners, and they used these to augment their own cottage industry.

But they were sharply conservative in other ways. They did not trade. They did not explore, beyond their own well-trodden region of Victoria Land. Their society was full of symbolism and ritual and verbal formulas, their conversations looping back and forth in ways that made Katherine suspect every one had occurred a thousand times, and was expected to occur a thousand times again. They were, in short, static. Stasis was, Katherine believed, the ultimate illusion for any society. Nothing lasts forever; eventually, you change or you die. Perhaps the Dry Valleys People knew this. Perhaps, if the world tried to force them to change, they would simply die. The idea made Katherine rather sick, but it would not be the first time in history that that had happened.

* * *

And what did they believe in, when you tried to peel all this back, and expose their heart? Leofe was cagey when Katherine asked her. Leofric was laconic enough to make his sister look positively effusive by contrast. The question died on her lips when she tried to ask some of the older men and women; they responded to the question as a mountain might answer a soft breeze. Which is to say they ignored her completely. They carried with them the tokens of a lost Christianity, but these didn’t seem to be related to their core beliefs. On the very rare occasions when they waxed metaphysical, Katherine heard them speak of the garsecg, the spear-sea, the fearsome cold ocean that girdled their world. Yet on their lips the word had deep resonances “ocean” never did; it was for them the road of death, beyond which all their foremothers and forefathers dwelt; and it was the road of their beginning, over which they had come for their deliverance. And it was the outer darkness, the darkness of the sky and the long Antarctic night, and the blackness behind the stars; and the dreamless sleep.

And even more rarely, in voices so quiet Katherine could not be sure of what they said, they spoke of dragons, the dragons that lived high on the ice, whose voice was thunder and in whose belly lived a terrible fire.

[therowanblackwood]

“Am I cursed?” Because I am (I guess) sort of a professional Witch these days, I get this question from time to time. Because of the ubiquity of “white” (i.e., benevolent) witchcraft—and the efforts of modern Witches to clear the air—you might think that Witch paranoia was a thing of the past. However, my blog’s comments and email inbox tell a different story. Lots of people believe they may be under a curse or enchantment cast by a Witch. And they’d like to get to the bottom of it. I Googled it real quick to check up on the collective internet wisdom. Surprisingly, the answers to “How do I know if someone is doing witchcraft on me?” seem to fall into two categories: Witches aren’t real. Don’t be silly. Oh yes, there’s a great and evil curse upon you. Give me $500 and I’ll fix it. I feel like this topic deserves better. As Witches, we believe certain things are observably true—like, that magick gives us a degree of influence over the world. If you have the power to affect others through magick, then it’s only logical that other people have that power, too. And maybe sometimes they choose to exercise it. Maybe even on you. It’s certainly reasonable to want to know when you’re the subject of a magick spell, especially a negative or coercive one. If you don’t know about it, you can’t counter it. (At least, not specifically.) Pre-warned is pre-armed, as they say. It’s a legitimate question. It’s just not an easy one to answer. There is no psychic litmus test that will give you a result of “magick present/not present.” The best I can do is offer a list of signs that manipulative magick may be at work in your life. The last thing I want to do is incite witch hunts, so I’ll throw in one last word of caution. My answer to the question, “Am I cursed?” is usually “Probably not.” I could go into a lot of boring details about why that is, but it really comes down to the following three counter-hexing principles: Real magick is hard. Your own will is powerful. Nobody really cares enough to curse you (probably). Still, that’s no consolation if you really feel that you’re being peeped at by the evil eye. Here are some tell-tale signs that you may indeed be crossed, jinxed, hexed, spellbound, or bewitched: You have a lot of Witches as friends (or enemies). In certain locations and age groups, there may be dozens. The more magickal people you have in your social circle, the more the probability approaches certainty that someone has, at some time, done some kind of spell involving you. It’s not a big deal. You just accept it, the way you accept that someone’s probably talked trash about you at a party, or masturbated about you. Remember: Just because someone is a Witch (or claims to be) doesn’t mean they have the skill or motivation to influence you in a negative way. (See counter-hexing principles #1 and #3, above.) Also, the Witch who is adept enough to do harmful magick is also usually adept enough to know better. You’re on a string of bad luck that just won’t end. In Hoodoo, it’s referred to as being “crossed.” It’s not just about having a bad day—it’s one bad day after another. No matter what you do, nothing seems to be going your way. Underlying all the frustration is a nagging feeling that someone (or something) is out to get you. Traditional “uncrossing” rituals are designed to shake off the bad juju and get you back on your feet. Bad luck is not, in and of itself, a sign that you’re under a curse. It could just be that Fortuna is pissed at you at the moment. It could be a mundane group of events outside your control that are causing your current misery. It could also be that you’ve been sabotaging yourself—with or without outside help. Signs and synchronicity suggest that a curse is at work. Magickally charged bad luck can be difficult to distinguish from regular bad luck. But sometimes, little things happen that will clue you in. If you pay attention to these omens, you may receive clues about the nature of the spell and the direction it’s coming from. You see, while some cowardly Witch may be able to hex you without your knowledge, nothing is secret to the Universe. One observable fact is that truth, like the bubbles in champagne, always tries to reach the surface. Another observable fact is that Big Mama Universe has a mighty sense of humor about magick. Let’s say you get splashed by a speeding car on a rainy day. That’s just crappy luck. But if you get splashed by a speeding car with a license plate that contains your enemy’s initials, then your dog picks a voodoo-doll chew toy up from the wet curb and hands it to you, then you grab a magazine to dry off your boots and the first page you see has a mummy movie poster that says “CURSE!” in drippy letters…well, I wouldn’t rule it out. Your photos and personal stuff have gone missing. Negative spells often hinge on having access to the spell’s intended target (or their property). A photograph, a piece of jewelry, a bit of hair or clothing or bodily fluids—all of these are classic ingredients in spells both good and bad. But they are even more critical in enemy work, when the spell-caster needs to make absolutely certain their nasty magick sticks to the right target. The Witch may use these items to link a poppet or candle to the target. Alternatively, they may bury or hide spell components at the target’s home or workplace. If you catch someone trying to obtain your personal effects on the sly, then that person is either a klepto, a weird fetishist—or perhaps, a scheming sorcerer. There are areas of the South that are still steeped in Voodoo/Hoodoo. Some people there are reluctant to have their photo taken or leave their hair clippings at the barber shop, for fear that they may fall into the wrong hands. Do you have enemies with hex-casting skills? If your things have gone missing from your office desk—or worse yet, your gym bag—it might be time to get worried. You’re interacting with a person who does witchcraft all the time. Yes, it’s true. Some people use witchcraft every waking moment in order to get their way. Rather than candles and oils and whatnot, they use powerful personal energy—which is a lot more subtle. So subtle, in fact, that they do it right in front of you. The occult term is enthrallment. Non-occultists might describe it as charisma or persuasion. Enthrallers work their magick by either sapping you of your energy so that you feel bad, or infusing you with bursts of their own so that you feel good. (Sometimes both.) They are energy workers of a sort—though “serious” energy workers don’t like to give them that designation. Not all of them are Witches. Many become performers. Many become salespeople. Some enthrallers act like narcissistic or manipulative people, but they can also be quite pleasant. At least, until you realize you’ve been had. I bring them up because interacting with enthrallers can make you feel like you’ve been put under a spell. Psychically sensitive folks may even feel violated—like the enthraller has literally been inside your head or slimed you with their energy. Fortunately, unless the psychic manipulator is a true badass, their power is usually limited to their immediate presence. Once you leave, they will move on to the next target. You’re having thoughts, visions, and emotions that aren’t your own. I have to be soooooo careful with this one—because many of these same experiences are signs of mental illness. If your thoughts or visions are telling you to hurt people or yourself, please put the candles down and get some professional help. However, there are forms of magick (and empathy/telepathy) that can have strange mental effects. Sudden thoughts, unusual urges, intense feelings out of nowhere? If you’re normally a pretty level person, they can be a clue that someone is magickally messing with your head. It helps to take stock of your energy levels and emotions on a regular basis. That way, you’ll know when you’re off your baseline. Negative magick can leave you feeling physically drained and miserable. But so can a bunch of other, more mundane ailments. It’s best to rule out other causes before settling on psychic attack. You sense the presence of someone else’s magick. It’s the most obvious, but probably the most effective way to tell if you’re caught up in an active spell: You just feel it. Magickal energy has its own particular smell and taste. With a bit of experience, you can often tell when a foreign energy is swirling about. It could manifest as a feeling of being watched, or a sudden odor, or a nasty feeling hanging in the air. If you’re psychically skilled, you may even be able to see or feel who’s responsible in your mind’s eye and/or energetic body. Dreaming about a person can be a clue that their energy is tangled up with yours. Of course, that doesn’t mean they’ve cast a spell on you. Dreams can be triggered by anxiety, worry, attraction, or just random thoughts. But they can also be a cue from your psychic mind that someone is intruding on your headspace. There are all different ways that people work invasive or coercive magick. But they inevitably leave energetic snail trails back to their source. If you suspect foul play, try scanning your body for energetic cords and other attachments that shouldn’t be there. You can use divination or scrying to sniff out the origin of the disturbance. If all else fails, try doing a revealing spell and ask for the truth to come to light. Final thoughts on detecting magick As I’ve already pointed out, negative magick is extremely rare in real life. Although it’s not impossible that you’re dealing with a curse or hex, it is unlikely. Before you let fear or anger take over, calmly consider the answers to the following questions: Is there someone with a reason to cast a spell on me? Do they have the occult interest/ability to do so? And, is it actually affecting me? Make sure your assessment is motivated by information (the logical kind and the psychic kind), and not by paranoia or distrust. If you determine that you are being affected by someone else’s magick, you do have options. You have the ability to cut off intrusive energy and reclaim your power. Protection, reversal, and binding magick are all ways that Witches can counter aggressive spells. Each of these types of spells have subtlely different aims and results, so consider carefully what it is you want before retaliating. You can also take comfort in the knowledge that harmful magick brings negative consequences to the sender sooner or later.

[aquarianlights]

Got a solid 100 on my Genetics Exam today!! PRAISE ME, FAM. PET ME. THIS EXAM WAS A FUCKING BITCH TODAY.

I'm a general biology major right now, but I'm going to be having to focus my major when I transfer to Tulane's pre-med program about a semester after I get there (would look better if I knew going in, but I don't yet so I'm listed as gen bio right now) and I've been talking to my current professors and my advisers about what they think I should make my focus in. . .and my career adviser, bio department head, and I have been back and forth e-mailing about a genetics focus because I feel like that is what is going to be most useful to me in the future because that's honestly where medicine is going right now. And where all the medicinal research is headed. And there are many other reasons why I would like to have a genetics focus [ie: because the subject itself gives me pleasure, I haven’t found any other categories of biology that give me AS MUCH pleasure as genetics does yet but I’m still searching for something easier and more fast paced and possibly, er, bloodier lol, it’s extremely useful to me, my future, and research I plan on doing in the future, it’s challenging and I like challenging myself, but it very well could be too challenging for me and I know my limitations and this is one that is a little iffy for me but that’s just because I don’t know how to learn how to learn yet and I’m trying to find someone to teach me how to learn but I haven’t found anyone and youtube tutorials are fucking useless, genetics can keep me interested forever and it’s an ever evolving thing in the world of medicine because there’s always going to be advances in things like gene therapy or therapeutic cloning and whatnot, I don’t think it’s a subject I can ever get bored in honestly especially since whatever my focus will be will be tailored to a pre-med curriculum, etc...I could go on, but this is a long list of ie’s already wow]. But this just made me really happy because it's very affirming of my desire for my focus. 

I was having a lot of doubts because of the seemingly slow nature of the subject and because of how fast paced of a person I am and how everything being fast paced is an insatiable need for me. Like everyone has said in my life, I've been a trauma surgeon in the making since I was little and running around the PED's ICU ward and OR's in the 90's as a child. I just didn't know it till I finally got over the whole grudge I had against human medicine and that little childish spat I held onto not even a year or two ago. Only took me, uh, how many years to get over all that? Jeeze.

Pretty sure I jumped out of my chair and yipped like a puppy when I threw my hands in the air before exclaiming that I got a solid 100 to the world. Yeah, I am that guy when I do perfectly or close enough to it on something big or significant. Just wait till the MCAT's. Just fucking wait... jesus christ.

PRAISE ME!

Also, I cut my hair but can’t really take any pictures because it’s all low lighting but I’mma try anyways so here.

^is a super low lighting picture & Below Is an upside down picture (that I made upside right) in my roommate/brother’s (Tajh) jacket that he MISTAKENLY had me put on before he left for his gig tonight to show me that we wear the same size of SM. And HAH he was right. Now we can both shop in H&M for size SM and XSM and when we get clothes, we can buy for each other coz we both have the same hipster/classy/expensive/suave tastes. Linked to his instagram on his name just to show you his fashion sense and you’ll see what I mean. I have the same kind of style and I’m super excited that we wear the same size. Only thing we don’t wear the same size in is jeans because I still have female hips which won’t go away until HRT really kicks in which who knows how long that’ll take.

Quite liking my hair despite the fact I did it on impulse and fucked it up on one side. It’ll look nice in about a week or two.

ALSO got a fuckin’ Moltres in PoGo tonight!

I do believe today was a good day. Even though it started off badly and with me being completely de-motivated and with a massive headache from drinking alone in the dark for hours on end last night when I don’t normally drink. . .I think today was a p good day for this young man.

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Dripping In Diamonds. || 3

Author's Note: Hey everyone! This is part three to ‘Dripping in Diamonds,’ it is something new I am currently playing around with and I hope you guys enjoy reading it. Thank you if you decide to read!

Previous Chapters, Dripping In Diamonds.

Harry Masterlist found HERE

If you’d like to send me feedback feel free to send me an Ask. It sometimes helps to see what the reader feels and thinnks. :) xx

                                        || The Lighthouse.|| 

I’m not quite sure what’s worse, being united in a room overflowing with people who only recognize what they want to see, or being in a crowded place that still feels so empty. I used to adore these gatherings at first, the beautiful decorations and the lovely wine while talking business, but it all just gets too repetitive. It tends to be the same routine: Smile, be polite, love on my husband a little bit and allow him to show me off on occasions. Sometimes I feel a bit like a show pony; just here for the good looks while on parade for everyone to see. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind being on Nathans' arm but sometimes I feel as though he purposely shows me off when it is convenient for him. Tonight, for example, he isn’t showing me off and making me use my magic and charm because there isn’t anyone here he is trying to impress. So, here I am, standing towards the back with sore eyes and my back to the wall as I watch everyone. You’d be surprised how entertaining it can be to people watch at these things. There’s the average drunk in the corner that loves the open bar a little too much, the man that is single because he can’t figure out how to put his work second for a change, that on couple that sneaks off to use the coat closet, the couple that is low key arguing, and then there are the dynamic duos who are striving to prowl their way to the top— this used to be Nathan and me, we were a great dynamic duo. Now, I don’t even think we are dynamic.

I recognize Harry in the congested area as I leave myself pressed against the wall and taking a moment to myself, away from the constant chatting of business. I cock my head to the side, observing him as he dances his way gracefully through the crowd, he holds himself so well, it’s quite intriguing.

I raise a brow as he shuffles closer to me, something I hadn’t intended on happening. I swear I left him in the car, Nathan doesn’t tend to allow ‘the help’ as he calls them, into his company functions. He attempts to keep things separate.

“Mr. Styles, what are you doing here?” I softly challenge, giving him a courteous smile.

“Nathan brought me in to fill the crowd, are you okay?”

“I see,” I hum, providing him with a nod, “yes I am, why?”

“Your husband sent me over here, he said you were doing your thing,” Harry informs me as he studies me keenly, almost as if he’s attempting to reach deep into my soul.

I raise a brow, flattered that Harry is striving to read me and miserably failing, “my thing?” I question with a petite chuckle.

“Mhm, your husband said if you’re not feeling well to take you home.”

It takes me a moment to realise what he is referring to. The only thing Nathan is good at picking up on is when I am getting migraines, he somehow picks it up no matter how hard I always try to conceal them. I am not really one to complain, I do my best to just continue on with my duties and strive through the symptoms. “I am fine, Harry. I’m about to go dip myself back into the world of business talk.” I flick my head towards a group of individuals that I quite appreciate bantering with. They’ve worked with both Nathan and me for a long time, so it’s not as strict when it comes to talking them. They don’t attempt to knock me down or degrade my intelligence because I’m a woman.

“Ms. Eleanor, are you sure?” Harry questions as the lights intensify and the noise of the band starting back up sends my nerves pulsating.

Damnit.

I take a deep breath, “let’s go.” … “This event is a bust anyway,” I mutter, noticing the woman my Husband had an affair with walking in. I wouldn’t say I hate her, but if she was on fire, I’d put it out with gasoline. I don’t entirely blame her for the actions that happened the night that my husband apparently laid down in bed with her, but she wasn’t innocent either. It took the two of them and although I have somewhat forgiven Nathan, mainly due to our wedding vows and my signature on our wedding certificate, I still loathe being in the same room as her it makes me sick to my stomach.

*** ***

“How bad is it, Eleanor?” Harry clears his throat the second we step outside and the warm air hurries around us, his hands fiddling with his keys.

“What do you mean?” I softly challenge, as I arch a sly brow, not sure what he’s referring too.

“Your migraine,”

My shoulders lift in a shrug, “Did Nathan tell you?”

“No,” Harry shakes his head

I’m surprised he’s asking or even cares, half the time Nathan doesn’t put in the effort to show he cares, then again, he is used to them by now and it’s probably more of a burden for him more than anything.

“How do you know I have one?”

“Ah, I may just be a driver but I’m extremely observant. Picked up on a few things, love. You going to tell me?” He challenges as he reaches the car door and pulls it open with ease, his free hand offering to help me in. I press my hand into the softness of his own while I conceal my small smile as I step into the back of the blacked out car.

"Thank you," I graciously thank you him, our hands parting slowly until the tips of our fingers no longer touch. Mr. Styles proffers me a simplistic nod before he closes the door behind me and elegantly shuffles his way to the driver's side.

He settles into the leather and he checks his rearview mirror, my eyes managing to catch his gaze for a split second before he swiftly diverts his attention to his active duties as a driver. The car grows silent and I take the time to rest my head against the window and watch the passing traffic around us without much of a care in the world. "Mrs-" he begins before catching himself, "Eleanor," he clears his throat, dragging me away from my gaze out the window and my lost thoughts.

I gaze up at him through the rearview mirror and notice the delicate smile that is on his lips, "You okay back there?"

I give him a hummed response, in all honesty, I am fine, despite my lack of wifely duties of lingering around at Nathan's event. "Are you sure? I can stop and get you a drink or food or somethin'"

His gesture is thoughtful, something that Nathan used to partake in. Now the only gestures I get are the occasional sweet kisses that aren't forced. Most the time he kisses me out of habit, though. "Or I can take you straight home, it is your decision."

"I don't want to go home," the words escape my lips effortlessly, my mouth working at the same pace of my thoughts, not bothering to think too much before speaking. I notice Harry's expression as I utter the words of not desiring to go home, he appears bewildered with a touch of concern.

Harry doesn't comment, instead, he nods his head and goes back to driving, leaving me to once again fall back into my thoughts.... My thoughts aren’t much to go off of, they’re all over the place, just like I seem to be at this point in my life. I don’t know where I went wrong with things, with myself— with love— I have loved to the point of madness, one could say.

*** ***

“Eleanor, I️ am not rich,” Harry mutters as we continue our rather heated conversation about things.

“Oh Harold,” I️ chuckle, “do you think I️ obtain everything by who I️ sleep with?” I challenge, rather amused that it is assumed that who I sleep with is the prime reason why I have what I have.

What a common misconception.

He shakes his head, “I️ never said that.”

“That’s what you alluded to. Harry, I️ am well off with or without Nathan, I️ don’t need his money or yours for that matter.” I bluntly point out, well aware that he is more than likely skeptical of me. I don’t blame him, I’m dripping in diamonds and all I seem to do in his eyes is get in the car and instruct him to drive.

Harry gulps and nods, silence growing between us, a clear indication his mind is rattling with many thoughts and questions.

“I️ was appointed A Chief Operating Officer at Nathan’s business before we were married. Our relationship had nothing to do with my position at his business. I️ was  A Chief Operating Officer at the former establishment I️ worked at. I️ worked my way into the business world without the help of any man... Nathan’s company and the one I️ worked for were rivals.” I inform Harry of my own success, my eyes observing the way he is closely paying attention to each word that falls from my lips.

He cocks his head to the side slightly in curiosity, “So, you married the company rival?”

“Yes,” I️ nod, “I️ like to play with fire a lot. When I️ see a good opportunity that’ll satisfy me, I️ pounce on it.” My shoulders shrug nonchalantly. Truth is, there’s always more fun in the burn of something, I’ve never been one to play by the rules or on the safe side, so to speak.

“Are you still COO of Nathan’s company?”

“No... I️ took a leave of absence before stepping down.”

Harry seems surprised with me taking a leave of absence. “Oh, why?”

I rise a brow and decide not to answer, not just yet. “You’re asking a lot of questions, Harry.”

“Forgive me, I️ am just trying to get a better understanding of you, Eleanor.”

“I️t put a strain on my relationship and my health. I️ was constantly wired on coffee and pulling all-nighters with Nathan to fulfil requirements. We both agreed for me to take some time off.” I answer the question Harry asked, briefly. There are other things that put a strain on my marriage, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“And then you just never went back?”

“Mhm... I️ still hold a portion of shares that I️ profit from and whatnot. I can resume my position at any time”

“So, what do you do with your spare time? Besides when I’m driving you around.” Harry has a good question, one of which I’m not prepared to answer, mainly because I don’t really know what I do with my spare time. I kind of just pass time...

“How about I️ ask you some questions? Tell me about yourself, besides the fact you’re my chauffeur who interrogates me.” I decide to turn the tables, curious to know a little bit about this gorgeous man that is easy on the eyes.

“I’m not that interesting, love.”

‘Oh, but darling, you are.’

“And I️ am?” I raise a brow, unsure of how he is boring but I am somehow interesting. I far from interesting, I’d describe myself more of a crumbling barrier of resistance that has her fair share of problematic matters.

“Indeed,” he nods, “what do you want to know?”

“Hmm, spouse?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, I️ have no wife or girlfriend.”

“Don’t know how,” I️ mutter, biting my lip when I️ catch him glare over at me.

I️ really don’t know how this man is single. He’s fucking gorgeous.

“I️’m not too interesting, really. We are ten minutes from your house.”

“Make a detour, I’m not ready to go home, Harry. You seem to strike me as the interesting type who is very secretive and private.”

“Indeed, I am very private,” he nods in agreement with a small smirk painted on his lips, “I grew up in a small town and lived a normal, average life.”

I nod, agreeing with his information, “Hm, yes, Cheshire… a dainty little town.” … “been there once or twice.”

“You already know about me,” Harry chuckles..

“I did read your application. Now, tell me something that wasn’t in the files.”

“Uh—“ Harry trails off, taking a moment to think, “I enjoy spending my spare time playing golf and watching football… I’m a typical bloke, love... Honestly, not interesting in the slightest.”

*** ***

I allow the cool breeze to wrap around me and for the salty air to brush through my hair as we sit at the end of the pier, nothing but the sound of the waves crashing against the shore echoing around us. I let out a small sigh, content with the peaceful surroundings of the darkened blue water that the moon shines perfectly down on, reflecting almost like a mirror. I look out into the abyss that quite literally seems like a never-ending ocean of water— and to an extent— that’s exactly what it is, but there’s something nonchalant, calming, and soothing about it. “I wonder why people buy so many boats, they have all this money and still, they invest in the same thing, there are so many other things they could buy.” Harry breaks the silence of just the ocean, his soft voice becoming a beautiful melody that quickens my heartbeat. I think for a moment, watching as the lighthouse continues to flicker in the distance before my shoulders slump into a shroud. It’s really a simple method if you think about it long enough. “Well, Harry, most people would rather have two than one, the more the merrier... it fills the empty void inside them that they can’t fill any other way.“ ... “they try to fill the void and holes inside them by buying something that sinks with when it gets a hole and begins to take on water. Ironic.” My mind wonders off, something it does on occasions, but usually, my mouth doesn’t run with it. With Harry, I don’t feel the constant pressure to withhold my thoughts or my words, they just slip so effortlessly. “Hmm, I can see that,” Harry agrees and I see him moving from the corner of my eye. For a moment I admire the way he moves, despite the weirdness associated with that. His jacket slides easily down his arms and before I have a moment to think, he’s placing it drape over my shoulders. I chuckle to myself as I bow my head to look down for a brief moment. Mainly thanks to my sudden nerves and blushing cheeks. I flick my eyes back over towards him, “don’t be so cliché, Harold... you don’t have to share your jacket with me,” I assure him, more than ready to hand back his jacket. “Ye’ cold, Eleanor. I’m sharing it because I want to, not because I have too.” Harry assures me kindly and I embrace the feeling of his warm jacket pressed against my back, my senses managing to catch the lingering scent of him. A scent that I never thought would keep me wanting more. “You know, it’s so bittersweet that the lighthouse guides boats home, but it’s the anchor that keeps them at bay.” “It’s just like how some people are the lighthouse in the darkness bringing the other home through a rough sea, but they’re anchored by someone else. Happens a lot.” Harry’s right, although the lighthouse brings some home, it isn’t what keeps them grounded and floating at bay, it’s just there as guidance. I take the silence between us and nonchalantly rest my head on his shoulder, not really thinking too much about the small action. “How you feelin’ there, Eleanor?” “Bit better,” “Mhm, you’re calmer,” “I’m calmer?” I question, “Yes, and before you ask me how I know, remember that I am observant.” “Mhm, so Mr.Observant, what am I thinking now?” I half-heartedly challenge with a cheeky grin pressed to my lips. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head softly, “you’re thinking that I need to take you home before your husband begins to worry.” “Oh, but you’re wrong Mr Styles, my husband won’t be home until the early hours of the morning,” I inform Harry of the fact there’s no way Nathan will be home before at least two in the morning. “He won’t?” “No,” I shake my head, “he will entertain the big knobs of business, have a few drinks, probably flirt with some of the ladies purely for business purposes, and then he may or may not come home, it really depends on his mood. If he’s super happy and pleased with the outcome of the event, he will come home, if he isn’t and didn’t bring in enough attention and profits as expected, he’ll go to his office and pour himself into work.” “So, even knowing you’re under the weather, he’d still just stay out?” Harry inquires, seeming surprised that Nathan doesn’t just come home like most husbands do. I laugh, out of sadness and sarcasm at the same time. Poor Harry, he still hasn’t grasped the hopelessness or my marriage. “Sweetheart,” I chuckle, still amused at how naive he can be, “I’m a big girl, I can look after myself while he looks after his, well, our empire.” “I couldn’t do it.” Harry shakes his head with distaste, “Do what?” “Not bother to make sure my lady is okay. I just—, I wouldn’t stay out most the night knowing she’s at home and under the weather, jus’ couldn’t do it.” “Well, business first, everything else second.” “Hmm... not in my books, that’s not how it would be at all... but, I really do need to get you home, come on." His tone of voice is gentle and sweet before I lift my head off his shoulder and he stands to his feet. He offers his hand and helps me up, bringing me to hold eye contact with him for a moment. He gives me a small smile and I tenderly take my hand away from his. 

'I really don't want to go home though.'

[tipsycad147]

Spell detection 101: How to know if someone is using witchcraft on you

Posted by Michelle Gruben on Mar 19, 2017

“Am I cursed?” Because I am (I guess) sort of a professional Witch these days, I get this question from time to time.  Because of the ubiquity of “white” (i.e., benevolent) witchcraft—and the efforts of modern Witches to clear the air—you might think that Witch paranoia was a thing of the past.

However, my blog’s comments and email inbox tell a different story. Lots of people believe they may be under a curse or enchantment cast by a Witch. And they’d like to get to the bottom of it.

I Googled it real quick to check up on the collective internet wisdom. Surprisingly, the answers to “How do I know if someone is doing witchcraft on me?” seem to fall into two categories:

Witches aren’t real. Don’t be silly.

Oh yes, there’s a great and evil curse upon you. Give me $500 and I’ll fix it.

I feel like this topic deserves better. As Witches, we believe certain things are observably true—like, that magick gives us a degree of influence over the world. If you have the power to affect others through magick, then it’s only logical that other people have that power, too. And maybe sometimes they choose to exercise it. Maybe even on you.

It’s certainly reasonable to want to know when you’re the subject of a magick spell, especially a negative or coercive one. If you don’t know about it, you can’t counter it. (At least, not specifically.) Pre-warned is pre-armed, as they say.

It’s a legitimate question. It’s just not an easy one to answer. There is no psychic litmus test that will give you a result of “magick present/not present.” The best I can do is offer a list of signs that manipulative magick may be at work in your life.

The last thing I want to do is incite witch hunts, so I’ll throw in one last word of caution.  My answer to the question, “Am I cursed?” is usually “Probably not.” I could go into a lot of boring details about why that is, but it really comes down to the following three counter-hexing principles:

Real magick is hard.

Your own will is powerful.

Nobody really cares enough to curse you (probably).

Still, that’s no consolation if you really feel that you’re being peeped at by the evil eye. Here are some tell-tale signs that you may indeed be crossed, jinxed, hexed, spellbound, or bewitched:

You have a lot of Witches as friends (or enemies).

In certain locations and age groups, there may be dozens. The more magickal people you have in your social circle, the more the probability approaches certainty that someone has, at some time, done some kind of spell involving you. It’s not a big deal. You just accept it, the way you accept that someone’s probably talked trash about you at a party, or masturbated about you.

Remember: Just because someone is a Witch (or claims to be) doesn’t mean they have the skill or motivation to influence you in a negative way. (See counter-hexing principles #1 and #3, above.) Also, the Witch who is adept enough to do harmful magick is also usually adept enough to know better.

You’re on a string of bad luck that just won’t end.

In Hoodoo, it’s referred to as being “crossed.” It’s not just about having a bad day—it’s one bad day after another. No matter what you do, nothing seems to be going your way. Underlying all the frustration is a nagging feeling that someone (or something) is out to get you. Traditional “uncrossing” rituals are designed to shake off the bad juju and get you back on your feet.

Bad luck is not, in and of itself, a sign that you’re under a curse. It could just be that Fortuna is pissed at you at the moment. It could be a mundane group of events outside your control that are causing your current misery. It could also be that you’ve been sabotaging yourself—with or without outside help.

Signs and synchronicity suggest that a curse is at work.

Magickally charged bad luck can be difficult to distinguish from regular bad luck. But sometimes, little things happen that will clue you in. If you pay attention to these omens, you may receive clues about the nature of the spell and the direction it’s coming from.

You see, while some cowardly Witch may be able to hex you without your knowledge, nothing is secret to the Universe. One observable fact is that truth, like the bubbles in champagne, always tries to reach the surface. Another observable fact is that Big Mama Universe has a mighty sense of humour about magick.

Let’s say you get splashed by a speeding car on a rainy day. That’s just crappy luck. But if you get splashed by a speeding car with a license plate that contains your enemy’s initials, then your dog picks a voodoo-doll chew toy up from the wet curb and hands it to you, then you grab a magazine to dry off your boots and the first page you see has a mummy movie poster that says “CURSE!” in drippy letters…well, I wouldn’t rule it out.

Your photos and personal stuff have gone missing.

Negative spells often hinge on having access to the spell’s intended target (or their property). A photograph, a piece of jewellery, a bit of hair or clothing or bodily fluids—all of these are classic ingredients in spells both good and bad. But they are even more critical in enemy work, when the spell-caster needs to make absolutely certain their nasty magick sticks to the right target. The Witch may use these items to link a poppet or candle to the target. Alternatively, they may bury or hide spell components at the target’s home or workplace.

If you catch someone trying to obtain your personal effects on the sly, then that person is either a klepto, a weird fetishist—or perhaps, a scheming sorcerer. There are areas of the South that are still steeped in Voodoo/Hoodoo. Some people there are reluctant to have their photo taken or leave their hair clippings at the barber shop, for fear that they may fall into the wrong hands.

Do you have enemies with hex-casting skills? If your things have gone missing from your office desk—or worse yet, your gym bag—it might be time to get worried.

You’re interacting with a person who does witchcraft all the time.

Yes, it’s true. Some people use witchcraft every waking moment in order to get their way. Rather than candles and oils and whatnot, they use powerful personal energy—which is a lot more subtle. So subtle, in fact, that they do it right in front of you. The occult term is enthrallment. Non-occultists might describe it as charisma or persuasion.

Enthrallers work their magick by either sapping you of your energy so that you feel bad, or infusing you with bursts of their own so that you feel good. (Sometimes both.) They are energy workers of a sort—though “serious” energy workers don’t like to give them that designation. Not all of them are Witches. Many become performers. Many become salespeople. Some enthrallers act like narcissistic or manipulative people, but they can also be quite pleasant. At least, until you realise you’ve been had.

I bring them up because interacting with enthrallers can make you feel like you’ve been put under a spell. Psychically sensitive folks may even feel violated—like the enthraller has literally been inside your head or slimed you with their energy. Fortunately, unless the psychic manipulator is a true badass, their power is usually limited to their immediate presence. Once you leave, they will move on to the next target.

You’re having thoughts, visions, and emotions that aren’t your own.

I have to be soooooo careful with this one—because many of these same experiences are signs of mental illness. If your thoughts or visions are telling you to hurt people or yourself, please put the candles down and get some professional help.

However, there are forms of magick (and empathy/telepathy) that can have strange mental effects. Sudden thoughts, unusual urges, intense feelings out of nowhere? If you’re normally a pretty level person, they can be a clue that someone is magickally messing with your head. It helps to take stock of your energy levels and emotions on a regular basis. That way, you’ll know when you’re off your baseline.

Negative magick can leave you feeling physically drained and miserable. But so can a bunch of other, more mundane ailments. It’s best to rule out other causes before settling on psychic attack.

You sense the presence of someone else’s magick.

It’s the most obvious, but probably the most effective way to tell if you’re caught up in an active spell: You just feel it. Magickal energy has its own particular smell and taste. With a bit of experience, you can often tell when a foreign energy is swirling about. It could manifest as a feeling of being watched, or a sudden odor, or a nasty feeling hanging in the air. If you’re psychically skilled, you may even be able to see or feel who’s responsible in your mind’s eye and/or energetic body.

Dreaming about a person can be a clue that their energy is tangled up with yours. Of course, that doesn’t mean they’ve cast a spell on you. Dreams can be triggered by anxiety, worry, attraction, or just random thoughts. But they can also be a cue from your psychic mind that someone is intruding on your headspace.

There are all different ways that people work invasive or coercive magick. But they inevitably leave energetic snail trails back to their source. If you suspect foul play, try scanning your body for energetic cords and other attachments that shouldn’t be there. You can use divination or scrying to sniff out the origin of the disturbance. If all else fails, try doing a revealing spell and ask for the truth to come to light.

Final thoughts on detecting magick

As I’ve already pointed out, negative magick is extremely rare in real life. Although it’s not impossible that you’re dealing with a curse or hex, it is unlikely.

Before you let fear or anger take over, calmly consider the answers to the following questions: Is there someone with a reason to cast a spell on me? Do they have the occult interest/ability to do so? And, is it actually affecting me? Make sure your assessment is motivated by information (the logical kind and the psychic kind), and not by paranoia or distrust.

If you determine that you are being affected by someone else’s magick, you do have options. You have the ability to cut off intrusive energy and reclaim your power. Protection, reversal, and binding magick are all ways that Witches can counter aggressive spells. Each of these types of spells have subtlely different aims and results, so consider carefully what it is you want before retaliating. You can also take comfort in the knowledge that harmful magick brings negative consequences to the sender sooner or later.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/spell-detection-101-how-to-know-if-someone-is-using-witchcraft-on-you