#because that ship name is amazing but totally useless to filter by

[followerofmercyart]

wip 

[junietuesday]

Michael is walking down the beach at sunset, headphones connected to his phone in his pocket, breathing weed smoke into the air on the day that he meets Jake.

Well. “Meets” is a strong word. But the point stands.

The waves crash rhythmically against the soft sand, audible even over the soft music playing through Michael’s headphones. Since his area is shit, there’s too much litter to walk barefoot, but he can tell through his sneakers that the sand would be soft under his feet. The sky is pink along the horizon, the sun a gentle orange as it sinks beneath the ocean’s surface—it’s already seven PM, but obviously, sunsets are always late during the summer.

This beach is comforting, after so many years of coming out here to walk, listen to music, and, later, smoke. On bad days, it can feel horribly lonely out here with only the waves and the sand as his company, but usually, coming here is like receiving a warm hug.

Michael kicks an old soda can along the shore as he walks, the lyrics of “You Happened” from The Prom (thank Christine Canigula for trying to turn him into a theater kid) playing through his headphones, the upbeat tune contrasting with the quiet serenity of the rest of the beach. Nothing much ever really happens here, but in Michael’s opinion, that’s a definite plus.

Until he sees a head poking out of the water, far out from the coastline. Like, “is it safe for someone to be out that far?” far out. Michael’s never seen anyone swim out that distance, anyway.

He makes to call out to the figure. But just as fast, the figure dives down and disappears, a bright green tail that sparkles in the light of the sunset breaking the surface of the water, before it, too, vanishes beneath the waves.

Michael runs to the water, where the waves soak his sneakers and tug at his socks. The ocean is as always. There’s no sign the mysterious figure ever existed.

~

Jake slips back into his bedroom, flopping down onto his bed and closing his eyes against the light of nearby bioluminescent fish that streams in through his windows, reflecting off the sparkling blue crystal of his ceiling. He can still feel the after effects of adrenaline thrumming through his body, lighting him up from head to tailfin.

It feels like only moments later when someone crashes into the room with a thump of the door falling shut behind him.

“Jake!” Rich’s voice is all beams. Jake groans into his comfy, comfy pillow, pulling his comfy, comfy sheets tighter around him. (It’s a sensory thing, okay?) “Jake, I’m—oh, shit, dude, you look like ass. Are you good?”

“Stayed up way too late,” Jake says, looking up. He’s greeted with the familiar sight of Rich’s deep sun-colored scales, fading from orange at the hip to red at the tailfin, and the dyed-red streak in his hair. “I’m so sleep-deprived, save me from this hell.”

“What?” Rich tilts his head. “Why? I mean, all power to you if you wanna pull a random all-nighter, but—”

“Uh.” Jake propels himself upright, the sun beating hard into his eyes. “There was a reason. And you have to promise not to tell anyone if I tell you what I was doing.”

“Oh shit, this is serious,” Rich says, at Jake’s grave expression. He spins around, sending ripples through the water around them. “Lay it on me, dude! I swear on my life I won’t snitch.”

“Okay.” Jake takes a deep breath, sinking down to let his tail hang over the edge of his bed. “I was at the beach. Watching a human.”

Rich’s expression flashes from earnest to shocked. “What? For reals?”

Jake understands why he’s concerned. For all they know, this could be one of those humans that would turn them over to a—what’s the word?—an aquarium in a heartbeat, never to see the ocean or any sort of freedom again. Or the human could even kill Jake and keep his body instead. God knows there have been mermaids that have done the same to a human, after luring them from their ships into diving into the sea.

“Yeah,” Jake says, tail flipping with nerves, ripples pushing at the particles of sand on the floor in front of him. “He’s so handsome and cute and he seems so nice when he’s there with his friends, I think they’re his friends I mean, and like, I can’t see him as the type to murder someone senselessly! And either way, I haven’t let him see me—um, well, until…”

“‘Until’?” Rich repeats, lying on Jake’s couch at this point. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re in love with him?”

“Yeah.”

Rich looks at Jake.

“Are you gonna go back?” Rich says. “Just based on ‘he seems so nice’?”

Jake sets his jaw, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, hands clenching into fists against his mattress. “Yeah, I am.”

“Got it,” says Rich briskly, without even moving from his relaxed recline on Jake’s couch, as though he was expecting that answer. “I’m coming with.”

“What?” Jake stares at him. “No way. I can’t ask you to risk that just ‘cause I’ve got a crush.”

“It’s not just a crush if you’re willing to risk it,” says Rich, and the resolution in his tone tells Jake that he may as well just accept it, because Rich won’t back down. “I trust you, dude. So we’re both going.”

“Fine,” says Jake, but inside, he’s extremely grateful. “And…thanks.”

“No prob.” Rich flashes a grin. “Hey, at least I get some eye candy out of it, right?”

~

The day after the beach incident, Michael tells Jeremy about it over lunch at an old 50’s-themed diner, literally named “The Diner” according to the neon letters above its entrance. It’s their favorite because of the arcade machine in one corner and the jukebox in the other. While Michael definitely doesn’t want to go back to the actual 50s—what with all the racism and shit going on—the aesthetic this place pulls off is pretty cool. Plus, the food is amazing.

“You’re serious?” Jeremy says, his pastel pink iPod long paused and abandoned on the plastic table in front of him. He hasn’t even taken out his earbuds. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Michael says, slightly defensive. Because sure, seeing a mermaid on a random stroll on the beach does sound like some kind of clickbait and/or hoax, but what reason does Michael have to lie? “I promise, its tail was the clearest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“You wear glasses.”

“You wear glasses—!”

“And like,” Jeremy goes on, ignoring Michael’s protest, “I don’t think you’re lying deliberately, but, y’know. You could’ve been just high.”

“Who says I was even smoking weed?”

Jeremy just looks at him. Michael sighs, disgruntled.

“Okay, fine, I may have smoked a little,” says Michael, “but I’ve never gotten hallucinations from weed before. It was totally a mermaid. It had to be.”

Absently, Michael wonders what the others in this restaurant think of their debate. Michael’s never pretended to be a totally normal human being, but this is a whole new level of slightly batshit crazy. The lady at one of the stools at the bar sips her banana juice from the vending machine, staring at her phone. Does she know the two teenagers sitting in a booth a few feet away from her are having a discussion about one of them apparently having seen a mermaid at the beach yesterday? Does she even care?

“Besides,” Michael continues, grabbing a fry off his plate. “If the fucking Quetzalcoatlus can be real—”

“Michael, are we really gonna go over this again?”

“Yes! I mean, it’s a fucking bird-dinosaur the height of a giraffe—which, by the way, is also a strange as hell creature—that could still fly—”

“Anyway,” says Jeremy, around a swallow of milkshake. He’s definitely used to dealing with Michael’s rambles by now. The Chuck E. Cheese pizza conspiracy (in which they re-plate uneaten pizza slices, accounting for the uneven crusts of pizzas), the history of the mitochondrion (an ancient cell absorbed an ancient bacterium and they ended up in a symbiotic relationship), the random superstition of knitterly grandmas (you have to put a mistake in your work for the soul to escape through)—you name it, Michael’s probably rambled about it. He prides himself on the vast amount of useless knowledge his brain contains. “Mermaid. I can’t.”

“I can,” says Michael. “I’m gonna go see if I see them again tonight. It’s gonna be a whole proper stake-out with like, snacks and shit. I’ll see them again if it kills me.”

“It probably will,” Jeremy says. “You can’t do that every night until you see this mermaid, who knows when they’ll come back. And who says the mermaid is even coming back at all?”

“Shush, Jeremy, have faith,” says Michael. “It’s totally, like, The Little Mermaid. The mermaid’s gonna come back ASAP to stare at my beautiful face and then we’ll meet on the beach and—”

“You really want your mystery mermaid to lose their voice and tail in a deal with a sea witch and then be unable to communicate with you whatsoever and then they’ll die if—”

“It’s the idea, not the details,” Michael says. Jeremy just doesn’t get it. “Okay? Come if you want, I don’t care.”

“Nah, I’m coming,” says Jeremy. “I don’t have anything better to do. But don’t be disappointed if nothing happens, alright?”

“Something’s gonna happen,” Michael insists. “I can feel it.”

~

The night after Jake was spotted by the human, he and Rich swim as quietly as possible through the halls of Jake’s house, light from bioluminescence filtering through the blue-stained glass of the ceiling shining blobby shapes on their skin. Jake’s parents are home for once, and they wouldn’t take too kindly to seeing their son and his best friend sneaking out in the middle of the night.

Jake lets out a breath once they make it out the door, then turns to Rich.

“You can still back out,” he says, but Rich rolls his eyes.

“I told you, you’re stuck with me,” says Rich. “Now show me the map.”

Jake shows him the map. He got lucky to have made a friend like Rich.

~

“Michael,” Jeremy says from the hood of Michael’s car. The crescent moon shines above them, the light reflecting off the ocean’s waves. “Come pokemon battle me, I brought your DS.”

“No,” says Michael, staring out into the water, sitting right by the water on the folding chair he’d brought. “I need to make sure I see the mermaid if—when they come.”

He checks his watch. Ten o’clock. It’s been three hours since the sun set, and so far, there’s no sign of the mermaid from yesterday. Not even a single stray ripple in the water.

Jeremy sighs at Michael’s words. Michael hears the crinkle of a chip bag being opened. He turns.

“Hey, let me have some!” he says, getting up to grab some chips.

But as soon as Jeremy hands him the bag, he’s back to watching the water.

~

“Are you sure we went the right way?” Rich says, consulting the map. They’re close enough to the surface that sunlight is properly reaching them, far higher than their town is located, but there’s no sign of the ocean floor rising steadily anywhere. “I don’t see a beach.”

“It was definitely this way,” Jake argues. He points at a sunken car, bits of gray peeking out from beneath the green algae covering its surface. “I always pass this thing a few minutes before I get to the shore.”

Rich makes a disbelieving noise.

“Alright, dude,” he says. “You better be right, my tail and arms are dead.”

“I’m right,” says Jake, though he can’t blame Rich for his uncertainty. If the situation were the other way around, Jake hates to admit it, but he might have turned around long ago. “I’ve made this trip, like, twice every week. I know the way.”

~sort of but not really fin (eyy!), i’m gonna finish this another time but for now i’ve gotta submit for the bmq

Word Count: 2010 Team: Michael Prompts: all main, 9 bonus Points: 76 (30 game points, 46 for the fic itself) @bmc-gift-exchange

[schrijverr]

Professor Elric?

After The Promised Day Edward is sent on a miliary mission to Hogwarts where he will teach Alchemy to his students. He is told not to interfere with their business, but he has a hard time not getting involved with this weird Voldy prick.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

Chapter 7 out of 10.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost Christmas break and the fifth year Alchemy class filtered into the classroom. Most could now make an element different shapes, but all struggled with changing elements.

They were waiting for Mister Elric, which was strange, because the man was usually on time and already waiting for them, even when they had him first in the morning. When asked about it he told them he did exercises before breakfast, which everyone found horrifying.

They heard a curse coming from Mister Elrics room and the a thunk against the door that was followed by another curse. The class exchanged some looks and in the end it was Dean who was brave enough to walk to the door and knock. He said: “Mister Elric, are you there? Do you need help?”

“Oh, you’re already there?” came Mister Elrics surprised reply, then he said, “Can you open the door for me, my hand’s full.”

“Uh, sure, no problem.” Dean said, as he turned to give the class a confused look, it was mirrored right back at him.

He opened the door and there Mister Elric was. He had discarded his usual vest and shirt for a plain black T-shirt. In his left hand he held a big box, but his right, his right arm was gone. He put the box on the table and some of the students shrieked. He looked at them with wide startled eyes and asked: “What’s wrong?”

Neville squeaked: “Sir, your right arm is gone.”

He looked at his right arm and said: “Yeah, so?”

“That’s not natural, sir.” Dean exclaimed, “Did you go to Madam Pomfrey? Are you cleared? What happened?”

A look of comprehension crossed over his face and it was soon exchanged for apologetic. He said: “Sorry about that, I forgot you guys didn’t know, everyone back home knows. I haven’t had a right arm since I was eleven. It’s totally fine, I have automail. I already wrote my mechanic, so I should get a new arm when I go home over the holidays.”

Hermione raised her hand before saying: “How did you lose it again? And what’s automail?”

“Oh, did you guys know that your forest has gigantic aggressive spiders that want to eat you?” he said.

And that was Nevilles cue to faint, he had already been looking quite unwell since Mister Elrics appearance without an arm. Mister Elric rushed forward and checked him over. “Nothing is wrong, he’s fine.” he then grabbed his coat and used it as a pillow for the boy as he laid him in a more comfortable position.

He was sure he would wake up soon, so he just let him be. He then turned back to the class and asked: “Does no one here know what automail is?”

He got a negative back from the class and looked surprised. “What do you do then when someone loses a limb?”

“Uhm, a prosthetic made of wood or plastic. Kind of hard to move with from what I heard.” Dean told him.

“That seems useless.” Mister Elric said, “Well, since Winry would murder me if I didn’t educate you on automail I will tell you a bit about it. It’s a mechanical replacement for your limbs, you’ll get a port inserted in your flesh and with that you new automail limb will be connected to your nerves. You don’t need a outside power source, since it’s powered by the electric pulses your body gives off to operate it. Although it is painful to get it installed and it’s heavy and hard to get used to, it’s almost like getting your limb back.”

“What does it look like?” Draco said and he quickly added, “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Winry is the best mechanic in the world. If you’re ever in need of a limb go to the Rockbell Prosthetic Limb Outfitters! I can show you my leg, it’s more intact than the arm at the moment.” He grinned at his own comment.

The rest of the class was trying to comprehend that Mister Elric wasn’t just missing an arm, but also a leg and that he had been out in the forbidden forest and he had apparently fought spiders and lost his arm again.

Mister Elric himself meanwhile had stripped of his left boot and was currently rolling up his trouser leg. Under it wasn’t normal flesh like they had expected, but an intricate machine of metal and wires that formed a leg, with feet and even toes. Mister Elric proudly held up his leg and wiggled his toes. In that moment he looked more like a seventeen year old than he had this whole year.

When everyone had seen his leg he put his boot back on without tying his laces. Then he turned serious again and said: “Well, that’s enough excitement for one day, don’t you think? Let’s go back to transmuting one element into another.”

He could have predicted the rumors that spread after, especially when he just casually showed up to the Great Hall with one arm to eat lunch and later dinner.

But Hermione soon forgot everything about that, because her Christmas turned quite hectic when Mister Weasley is bitten by a snake and rushed to St. Mungo’s in critical condition.

~

“Could you hurry up?”

“I would if you’d just stay still, Ed.” Winry replied,  “How did you even lose your arm again?”

“It’s not my fault no one told me the forest was forbidden and it had gigantic man-eating spiders in it.” Ed huffed, before he was cut of by pain from his shoulder.

Winry made a face as she moved on to the next nerve to reconnect. “Iew” she said, “Do those really exists?”

“It’s probably called forbidden for a reason, brother.” Al commented as he passed on his way to the kitchen.

“Shut up, Al. Apparently they’re only found in that forest, but yeah. They’re real.” Ed  said through gritted teeth.

“Winry wiped her hands on her pants and said: “Well, I’m done. Try not to ruin my beautiful automail again.”

“I will don’t worry, sheesh.” Ed waved her away.

She gave him a concerned look and asked: “Are you really okay there? You must miss home.”

He shrugged and said: “I do, but it’s good for me, I think. I like teaching a lot more than I anticipated, but I do wonder how they got so far with how little they know and understand.”

“Just because you’re a genius, doesn’t mean everyone else is dumb, brother.” Al called from the kitchen door as he came in carrying some tea.

Edward gratefully excepted and smiled as his brother took a cup as well, it was great to see Al drink again. Then he replied to his brother: “Not just that, they think Alchemy is magic, which is disgusting, honestly. Besides that, they don’t even know what automail is, how can they live without it?”

Winry gasped: “They don’t know automail?”

“Yeah, they don’t. Everyone was completely horrified when I showed up without an arm that last week. I had to explain automail, I don’t even know much about automail!” he said, horrified for her sake, which she appreciated.

“Hopefully, you didn’t give me a bad name.” she accused, playfully, but with a serious undertone.

He raised his hand in surrender and said: “I didn’t I swear, please don’t pick up your wrench.”

“Okay, I believe you.” she laughed, and she honestly did. When she had been introduced to people Ed and Al had met over their journey almost all had recognized her as ‘that great mechanic he’d talked about’, he had been out there fighting for his life, but still giving her a good name.

When it had quieted down a bit Al asked: “When are you going to central to give General Mustang your report?”

“Well, since he’s coming over for Winter Fest anyway, he told me that I didn’t have to come all the way to Central Command, but I could tell him all after or during dinner.” Ed told them.

“Really, brother, that’s great!” Al exclaimed.

“Yeah, it is.” he said, “Hey, did Ling and Mei respond if they’re coming and has teacher told you which train they’re taking?”

“No not yet, but she did say she would come early and I didn’t hear from Ling, but Heinkel and Darius are coming and Mei said she’ll be here as well.” Al informed him.

“That’s great! When are we going shopping? I know we’re going to need a lot of food.”  Ed said with a smile.

It really was great that those two had met so many amazing friends over the years and that they were all willing to come and spend the Winter Fest in such a small town as Risembool.

~

There had been a lot of commotion and a lot of days spend in the kitchen, but in the end everyone was sitting peacefully around the table. They were with fifteen people total: Edward, Alphonse, she herself and Granny, Heinkel and Darius, Mei, Havoc, Breda, Kain, Falman, Hawkeye and Mustang and Izumi with Sig. Ling had send his and Lan Fans apologies, but they were too busy in Xing and couldn’t make it.

All were eating and laughing with each other and it reminded Winry of how different it used to be when Ed and Al were still looking for a way to get their bodies back. Just two years ago she had spend the Fest with just Grandma and an empty table. So much had changed.

The next morning they said goodbye to most of their guests and just Mustang and Hawkeye remained.

~

They were sitting comfortably by the fire. It was already evening and they were drinking tea to calm their stomaches, which were filled with the leftovers from yesterdays Fest. Finally Mustang leaned back and said: “So, Fullmetal, how have the Wizards been treating you?”

Edward shrugged and said: “Pretty good, but man are they incompetent. There is this Dark Wizard dude, who named himself Voldemort, don’t ask, but no one says his name, cause they’re scared so they just call him You-know-who, which is really confusing if you don’t know. Anyway, he’s been gathering followers in the shadows, from what I gathered and he wants to restart a war a baby ended years ago. It’s really confusing, but this baby was apparently protected, because magic. The Ministry, aka the government, is denying he exists.”

“That sounds confusing.” Mustang said.

“It is, but I feel like you’re still following me. I explained it better in the letters.” Edward replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, you did. You also complained a lot about this Umbridge person, who you creatively refer to as Umbitch, which I have to correct in each report.” Mustang said sufferingly.

Edward grinned at that and said: “Must suck to be you, General Bastard.”

After that Edward just laid down the facts efficiently. If there were magic folks in Amestris they wouldn’t know and it wouldn’t fall under Hogwarts. Magic was dangerous, it didn’t abide the rules of Alchemy and you could kill with a word. Wizards themselves weren’t so dangerous, they didn’t have an army of any other form of violent task force, just Aurors, but those were more police not men of war. They had cut down violently on rebellions in the past, but only by those they considered less, which was quite a list that Edward didn’t agree with. He had also read up on house-elves at Hermione's recommendation and he had been horrified.

In the end Mustang concluded: “So and allegiance would be useful just because of how powerful magic is, but the people themselves or on the brink of war and not that competent.”

“If I’m honest,” Edward said, “we should probably wait with an allegiance, if we ever make one, until they’re done with their fight. We are just starting to make peace and the last thing we need is to be sucked into a war we’re not a part of. I’m willing to finish this year and to see how it goes, but I feel like there isn’t all that much more to discover there.”

Winry looked at them from the door, she often missed the brash teenager and confident child. She especially did when he was being so seriously, talking strategies for war and politics. He had tried the easy country life, she knew he’d tried. He had been here while Alphonse got back on his feet, literally, and helped around in the shop, but they both realized this wasn’t for him.

He wasn’t made to for this life, he was made for adventure and trying to fix the mistakes he knew his country had made. She knew that, she also knew that Alphonse wouldn’t stay forever. He was almost as good as new and she had seen him look at maps and read the Alkahestry books Mei send him. He wanted to explore as well.

She also knew Granny wouldn’t live forever and she herself was making plans of leaving. She would start her own shop in Rush Valley, take Granny with her, so that she could have a normal retirement.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when she saw her old friend sitting down talking with one of the biggest name in the Military. She often forgot Colonel Elric in favor of seeing Ed, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

She sighed some more and turned to make some more tea. Eds break wasn’t over yet, she had time to get used to the idea of an emptier house again with mail tied to an owl and short phone calls.

[jenncognito]

The Nine Spell Sisters You’ll Meet in the Cactus Garden of Insta

If you've found this blog lovely, deep down you already know you have a serious problem. It’s cool. As useless as reading this will be to save your wallet, you’ll find some peace in knowing we’re in this together. So let’s get on with the first step in solving acknowledging our shared problem by admitting that some or all of the following shit has been going on lately:

“We”* have been frantically Googling Spell and the Gypsy Collective, Joplin Jacket or worse Spell Xanadu eBay... or even more hopelessly tragic Spell Folktown. We've been waking from dreams of blue skies and going to bed fantasizing about Lotu...actually we don't go to bed - at least not lately. We’re not sleeping much are we? No. We’re up sweating; obsessing over the one that got away... or in all probability will, at the next drop - because our internet isn't fast enough; because 7 seconds is suddenly an eternity during check out; because XS sells out first. Every. Fucking. Time. What we have is full blown PTSD - Post Traumatic Spell Disorder, with more than a healthy side case of drop anxiety.

* Please note the use of the ‘Spell sister we’ here.  Much like a ‘spousal we’ this in fact means you.

Sound about right?

Welcome friend. It's nice to have you. You’re safe here. At least until the end of May, when Lotus drops.

Ever wonder how this started? I do (and so does my husband, my wallet and all my abandoned hobbies.)

Since science is ignoring me won’t explain the root cause of my condition, I've been working on a few conspiracy theories to help explain how one innocent retail therapy sesh, consisting of a Route 66 dress, turned into a full blown brand dependency that has me mapping out intricate buying strategies a full 48 - 72 hours before every drop:

Conspiracy Theory 1: Spell infuses their hand drawn fabrics with Stevie Nick's breath which they have bottled into microscopic nanotubes that fit into the heads of sewing needles. After the Australian TGA denied approval on a Stevie Nicks Vape pen, wherein the user would actually inhale the muse’s vocal chord filtered CO2, Spell had a shitload of unregulated gypsy breath on their turquoise encrusted hands. As Spelly and Lizzy are committed to sustainability, they quickly found a way to repurpose this rare and precious resource. The result? Once you start wearing a Spell piece, Stevie’s magical gypsy breath whispers into your pores, delivering you an effortless high that obviously demands you chase it again and again... on the wings of an enormous owl, obviously. Why this is probably true: Look no further than yourself - yes or no, you increasingly find yourself totally down with multiple layers of lace you would have never considered wearing at this age (or since that rad 1990 Jr. Prom dress)? Yes or no, you have found yourself with both a Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac Spotify Channel on endless rotation? Yes or no, when someone mentions the word leather, you blurt the lyrics “take from me my laaaace?” (note: There is actually a Spell Sisters 70’s Festival Jamboree playlist on Spotify. You’re welcome from Lulu Mey, the goddess who created it.)

Conspiracy Theory 2: Spell runs a genius instagram account 782k followers strong and just when you think you can ‘totally survive without another piece from Festival ‘17 BAM - you see it styled on a muse that could easily be you. You could be in Thailand, in that backless Lolita, in front of that waterfall, with those lovely beachy waves in your hair and no shoes because you floated there (on the owl - duh.) In fact it probably IS you… because they plucked that image straight out of your unicorn mind, put a 72% Lark filter on it and fed the ‘travelling you’ right into that instagram channel. They did this as a courtesy ICYMI; you know, all the retargeting ads the other gentle signs reminding you that you actually do NEED this piece in your life and it’s no longer optional. Why this is probably true: because it is true. See: @spell_byronbay.

Pick your theory but the FOMO (Folktown Obsessed Must Own) is real. Obviously, they have put a serious Spell on us - sorry not sorry, pun was too obvious. Show me another brand tribe that feels compelled to share their instant bond on insta when they show up full twinsies at a party (Who wore it best? Both of us! Yay! Love you! Love you more! #twinsemoji) Show me another brand tribe that has women from ages 18 - 81 searching for a magical unicorn in the shape of a mumu. Show me another brand who has more authentically gorgeous UGC. See: #myspellcollection #spelldesigns #spellskirtswish #vintagespell #spellluxelace #spellfestivalstyle

While we share a familiar ache in our wallets and art museums for closets, we’re a globally diverse tribe to be sure. Still yet, with every Spell Sister you meet, you connect with a little piece of yourself, right? Just in case your affliction is fresh and you’re still trying to find your cactus rose footings... Here’s the short list of the nine Spell Sister’s you’ll meet fall in love with in the cactus garden we call Insta (ps, I’m @jennvonhagen )

1) The Unconditional Lover: She buys something from every drop, and even if she's secretly not 100% sure it works on her, she's committed to making it work and her tribe is there to help her rock it hard. Queue the extra large knotted hemline and for God’s sake woman - just belt it. Spell can do no wrong - not even a dress recall phases her - she kept that Blue Skies Maxi Wrap dress, and she wears a kimono made of bubble wrap over it - and somehow it actually works for her - because she belts it.

2) The Fresh Collector: She "just found this new brand OMG" Bae got woke somewhere right after Hotel Paradiso and she can't shut the fuck up about her OZ obsession - because she DISCOVERED it you guys. We don’t blame her for the misconception, we felt EXACTLY the same way. Her insta is full of ‘lowered gaze’ shots that have you wondering WTF she’s staring at. Educated guess - it’s 16 trash bags full of labels she’ll never wear again. Regardless, she looks amazing in that dress, so we don’t give a shit - we welcome her with open kimonos.  Babushka was her first ‘fully aware drop’; her collection has a shit ton of it. We’re simultaneously proud and worried, because she has no idea what she’s gotten into.

3) The Hider: Everything is NWT. She hasn’t even worn what she's got, and the challenge of justifying the spend is getting exponential. With her towers of white boxes getting harder and harder to conceal, the Husband is now on to her. Busted a few times during a delivery, she now sends the white boxes to the neighbors house and swears:

“It’s from Target/ I’ve had this forever/I’m borrowing it/Yay Swapped!”

(Rejoice hiders: the boxes are being transitioned out. You’ll no longer have to hide them - now you can simply obsess over collecting the cute new calico bags.)

4) The Girl Next Door: Nobody knows what she does for a living, but apparently she lives at Spell. I mean right inside the fucking Byron store... 12 minutes after a drop goes live, she's #spellswishing in the latest sold-out-soon-to-be-Unicorn. We hate her. Just kidding we love her. Just kidding we want to be her. Just kidding, we’ll settle for a sleepover - in her bohemian yurt, which is probably located right outside Spell’s cactus garden. 

5) The Historian: Her collection dates back farther than Gypsy Queen and she probably has that first Sugarhigh+Lovestoned tee they styled the early jewels with in a safety deposit box. She can recite the name of every collection and every piece in it. She can spot fakes too, because she knows exactly when the logo lock up changed thanks to Rachel Pony Gold (circa April/May 2012). She indulges in the bootstrapped sisterly romance of it all. Damn right she owns the book; it’s signed - obviously.

6) The Cheerleader: She likes EVERY photo with Spell in it, and she will tell you you look GORGEOUS every single time she sees you on Insta because she believes that you have a beautiful unicorn soul. “You in that Sunset Road + Festival ‘16 mashup = AMAZING!”

She imagines you in your private cactus garden teaching your children how to hand letter affirmation mantras and macrame their own diapers as you sip organic kombucha and braid your bestie’s hair. She loves you. So. Fucking. Much. Her pronouns are heart eye emoji and kiss emoji.

7) The Impulse Buyer: constantly swears to God and all that is will-powerful that she WILL. NOT. CAVE to the next drop. She is going to be practical for fuck’s sake. (Yah, Lotus has alot of yellows and olives.. I’m more of a “summer”) But then she buys the Joplin Jacket because Florida winters are “brutal”. She has a large return shipping bill, admits that this is merely an endless paypal exchange and knows the Customer Service Angels by name (Oh, hey Angela). She uses the RA form and chat feature to send them love notes and see how they’re holding up after each drop.

8) The Wing-Woman: you either are one, have one - or both. She’s as hardcore as you are and she doesn’t judge your illness. You both have issues. This is the person you spend hours strategizing with before every drop. You two have your own kind of math and it’s harder to follow than ‘conceptual math. But this secret Spell math is a thing of fucking beauty: no matter what the equation, you always get the answer you want: 

”Ok, I returned my Blue Skies Wrap, so I have a credit, plus what I saved on the Babushka Midi equals the price of the Joplin …. I’m net zero!” 

You size up the line, screen shotting Snapchat and teasing each other via text. You pro/con every piece based on some fictional, rational version of you that “doesn’t need another gown, but needs to go with 2 piece sets you know, for more daily use.” (Um, sure - whatever you need to tell yourself hun.)  If you’re on vacay during the drop, she’s got your back - as in your paypal payback - unconditional support is just a click away. She’s also hunting unicorns for you on the side and blowing you up on text in the middle of the night with buyer’s guilt (note the lack of remorse. There is never remorse, just fleeting guilt and temporary indulgence shaming for going overboard with both the Stardust Cami AND the Jacket “I’m a living Goddamned disco ball, WTF have I done? But I lurrve them.Yay me!)

9) The Unicorn Hunter: She’s next level obsessed, willing to throw cash and half her current Spell stash at the "last ever of it's kind, ever." ‘Evil-bay’ is alternately her nemesis, and her reluctant savior. After multiple talks off the Buy It Now button and pleas to her practical side, she eventually caves for her Unicorn, pays an obscene price and then never takes it off. See: Anything Folktown or a Xanadu Maxi Dress on eBay/Poshmark/Depop/Facebook Swap & Sell insert streaming tears emoji + unicorn emoji

As different as we may be - there’s something beyond swirling around in art that pulls us together. Perhaps it’s the addictive cocktail of anticipation + adrenaline + winning. Even as we’re confident that Spelly, Lizzy and all the Angels are sorting through the surprise growing pains, deep down we know there’s a small part of us that will miss bonding/sweating/crying over the chaos. More likely though, it’s the authentic friendships formed while supporting each other. ( I just heard a story from two best friends who met via a hashtag. They live a world apart, but talk every day.)

While I can't offer a cure (because Lotus/May/God help us), we can still justify our spending take comfort in knowing we’re not alone. (Or maybe that just adds to our stress because at least 20K+ of us have the notifications turned on for an intense Facebook page where we channel our obsession into smarter ways to buy/sell or swap more pieces.) Either way - rejoice in the Spell Sisterhood - our love runs deep, our tribe is epic and your OOTD is eternally on point.

PS - does anyone have a Turquoise Folktown Skirt and Top set in XS? Seriously, I die.

Note: You can follow more of the saga on Insta @jennvonhagen After I wrote this blog, I stumbled upon a hilarious thread on the Facebook Spell Designs Buys Swap and Sell page where fellow sisters are sharing their legit addiction and proven survival techniques. I’m currently interviewing for a follow up to this post, where I’ll share stories from all nine types of sisters. If you identify with one or more of the above, comment with your number(s) and if you’d like to be a part of the next post, message me here, on Insta or email me at jenn@ambidustrious.com

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