#god forbid we round out the human experience

[separatist-apologist]

I think my issue with a lot of fantasy heroines is how JOYLESS they all tend to be. They're miserable, angry, and suspicious and we're too often in their head for all of it. They find nothing that offers them the slightest bit of happiness nor do they ever try and seek it out. And I find that so at odds with my own experience of being human and being alive.

More than that, though, it makes is SO DIFFICULT to see what people even like about this person. She's rude and angry (which always translates to tough for some reason) and yet men are falling all over themselves to romance her and everyone wants to be her friend. Why? She offers none of herself in exchange- no vulnerability, no kindness, no friendship. She is allowed to insult them, to hurt their feelings, and remained closed off and everyone around her is expected to endure it because she's special.

I don't like it. I hate her, and often her source material and the author for eschewing kindness, humor, or emotional venerability in favor of sword swinging and sharp words. I'm tired of being told this is feminism, that this woman is the kind of badass we should all strive to be, or that this is even an enjoyable time being in the head of someone who can't bring herself to smile at another woman offering her compassion because kindness = weakness.

[iluvshinytwink]

World - Jude Bellingham

"My darling, you are my home and world. In your return, I'll stay by your side. My whole world will be you."

Synopsis: You've comforted Jude lots of times, but now it's his turn to comfort you.

a/n: first person to guess the song used gets 0.2 robucks

There's no doubt that football is a harsh sport, a sport that will result in injuries, a sport that requires the best mentality, a sport that requires peak physical attributes-- the list goes on. But sometimes, like every human being, we feel tired. That is something all of us, even the best players, have to experience.

There's been many times where Jude has a bad game and enters the house without saying a word. His eyes fixated on the ground as he holds his breath.

Jude enters the house, a sigh leaving his lips. His eyes close momentarily before being forced open, the things in his hands fall freely on the ground as he makes his way through his couch. His body ached, his arms felt loose, his legs felt shaky, his fingers felt numb.

Jude closes his eyes, the warm room making him sweat. Suddenly, soft footsteps descend the flight of stairs. "Jude?" your voice called out to him. His head wanted to jolt towards your voice, but it hurt. His body hurt so much. His arms wanted to reach out to you, but they felt so loose, so numb. His lips wanted to call out your name, but they were cracked and his throat was dry. His eyes wanted to search for your figure but they were too heavy to pry open.

"Jude!" you say, finally spotting him in the depths of his couch. Finally, his eyes pry open, but just a little, just enough to see you. "Jude, if you were too tired to drive, you could've called me." you sighed quietly, crouching to his eye level.

Your hand finds its way to your boyfriend's hair, stroking it softly. A weak smile appears on Jude's face.

There were so many days where Jude hated football, he hated being tackled, he hated being out of breath, he hated having injuries, he hated running around, tired. But at the end of the day, you were there. There were so many days where he wanted to quit football so he could sleep in and live the hours in your presence. But dreams were rough, you'd have to fight for them, you'd have to cry for them. bleed for them, sweat for them and Jude has accepted that, as long as he could end the day with your touch, your smile, and your lips, he could continue on.

There were so many night where Jude hugged you tightly, never letting go. Times where you loved him regardless and did nothing but whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

But what happens when its the other way round?

Jude enters the house, humming the song playing from his earphones. The house was silent and dark. Jude didn't pay mind to it and placed his things on the table. "Babe?" Jude calls out, putting the last of his things down. No response. Jude takes out his earphones, making his way upstairs.

Meanwhile, with you, you found yourself covering your mouth, securing a strained sob. Today was particularly hard for you, everything didn't seem of going your way and you couldn't help but cry. You couldn't stop the tears once it started. It came out, one by one, your feelings had stained the bedsheets, your emotions was heard by the empty house.

You couldn't let Jude see you like this. God forbid. Your hands covered your mouth, suppressing breaths and threats.

"Babe?" Jude calls out once more. No answer once more. Jude grew worried with every second past unheard of your voice.

Jude opens the bedroom door but was met with darkness. Jude touched the walls, looking for the light switch.

You hid under the sheets as you had no choice. Another tear slips from your cheeks and into the bedsheet. "I see you." Jude chuckled, not knowing of your struggle. Your body hugs itself tighter. Jude laughs, approaching you.

Jude has never seen you cry therefore you didn't know how he would react and so you were scared. You didn't know how to approach him about your problems, you didn't know how to say that something was wrong and so you hid. Away from him.

Jude's hand makes contact with the bedsheet, slowly pulling it away. You didn't have any time to react.

Your eyes was glued on anything but him, you couldn't bare to see the reaction he'd have once he'd seen you vulnerable. "Babe? What's wrong?" Jude said quickly, kneeling before you.

Jude's hand touched your cheeks, wiping away the hot tears. Your eyes couldn't dare look at his. Jude touches the hand that covered your mouth, trying to slowly pry that hand away from your mouth. Your arm tensed but after a few seconds, you complied to it.

"What's wrong?" Jude whispers, caressing your hand. Even with the softness of his voice, your eyes couldn't meet his. "Please look at me." Jude pleaded with a whisper. Your eyes leaked another tear before slowly finding its way to Jude's eyes.

His eyes softened at your gaze, a worried expression on his face. His lips parted and his eyebrows knitted in sadness.

"You're too pretty to be crying." Jude smiled in relief, wiping another of your many tears. "What's wrong?" He whispered once more. If he spoke louder the uneasy tone he was hiding would've come out. If he spoke louder, you would've heard his trembling voice.

Minutes pass and no answer came from your cracked lips. You wanted to speak, to whisper something, to mumble anything, but you couldn't. There was a knot in your throat that was tied too tight.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it right now." Jude whispered with a smile. "Can I join? My knees hurt." Jude joked, standing up. Your body moved to make space for your boyfriend and he quickly joined in with you.

Jude covers the both of you in the sheets so the both of you saw each other clearly. Embarrassed, your eyes still couldn't connect with his freely.

Jude scooted towards you. Jude brings you towards him, putting his chin on top of your head.

Jude's hands played with your hair, his fingers twirling your strands. Jude starts humming.

He remembered how you'd always hum to calm him down, it could've been a song you just heard about today or a song both of you know, he didn't know why but it comforted him.

You close your eyes and another tear slips away. But those weren't tears of happiness, more like tears of happiness that you had this lovely boyfriend that loved you regardless, even if you didn't talk, even if you couldn't meet his eyes, he loved you relentlessly.

Jude closed his eyes, a tear of his own falling from his eyes. His heartbeat pounded against your chest. He couldn't bare to see you cry, he knew that now. Jude kept humming, he hummed the song that played in the car a while ago, he hummed a song that you loved. He didn't know if he was calming you down but he didn't know what to do, the poor boy.

Finally, the tears stopped. A smile wrapped your lips as your arms hug him back.

I initially got this idea in the morning but i was too busy and didn't finish it until i just sat down and thought "oh shit i forgor."

Anyways hope u enjoyed this one, much love to everyone who likes this 🫶

And of COURSEEEE DON'T FORGET TO SLASH THAT LIKE BUTTON AND DEMOLISH THAT SUBSCRIBE BUTTON FOR KORE BANGERZNZBZBZBZB LKKE THES

[oc-poll-tournament]

OC Poll Tournament Round 3 Finale!

Propaganda below the cut:

Chess (she/her) @concealeddarkness13 (the picture for her is made by the wonderful @drabbleitout, and she is the person on the left with the prosthetics in the picture): Chess is a special character, and I hope to show how special and awesome she is! She’s extremely distrustful, but she’ll trust people who even treat her with an ounce of decency, and she’ll protect the people she cares about with her life. She’s flirty and confident, but underneath, she has an abysmal amount of self esteem and thinks she’s a monster that will never have love or friendships. She is my blorbo who has been rotating in my mind for the past two years, and I hope you can love her as well! Someone described her in one of the AUs I’ve done as oscillating “between being a poor, wet little meow meow and a fierce feral protective lioness being held back by the scruff of her neck because she is still little”. (credits to @ratracechronicler)

She did start out with a loving family, but like all good protagonists, her parents were murdered when she was 10, and she was left alone. Especially because the society she lives in ignores violent crimes and the victims of those crimes, erasing them all from society as if they never existed. So, she technically didn’t exist in society’s eyes, so she couldn’t get a job or own property or anything. The people around her helped her for a few years until she was old enough to take care of herself, and then she learned to steal.

At twenty years old, she was kidnapped and forced into prosthetics experiments that gave her fire magic that hurts her, from her prosthetic right arm and left leg now. She has a magic fire in her lungs that flares up during physical or mental stress and burns her throat and makes her cough up smoke. Aeflin, the person running the experiments, believed her to be very strong (because she snarked at Aeflin so much and didn’t let her see her pain as much as possible), so she decided to make Chess into her weapon.

She changed her name (since Chess’s original name was Ezra) to Chess, and she put her through even worse torture. Finally, Naivi, the other person running the experiments, got Chess her own team and sent her out into the world to do what the experiments were for and to get her away from Aeflin.

Chess tried to escape that, but a random person found her and took away her memories and brought her back into the enclosure, where most humans are trapped. And she realized right away that the humans inside the enclosure found she was from the experiments and hated her and hurt her and called her a monster because God forbid women do anything (just trying to survive). She learned that the only way that she could get a warm place to sleep (not an alley) was to make herself attractive to people and flirt. She liked sleeping with people, but she mostly did it to have a warm and somewhat safer place to sleep. And even then, she’d have to stay alert because her partner could wake up and try to hurt her.

That’s where she is at the start of her story! She will get a found family and someone or someones to love! She’s pansexual and polyamorous and flirty, and she loves physical touch! She just wants people to treat her decently, and if she has to, she’ll fight to protect her boundaries. And she loves punching jerks in the face with her prosthetic! And we love a woman who loves to fight, right? Thanks for reading!

Crislie Crimsworth (she/her) @gailynovelry: The story of Crislie’s life is that she followed a really sad, really pretty girl out of her sleepy little village and got several new scars, a case of lycanthropy, a little bit of god-killing, and lots of trauma out of it. But she did get a girlfriend and a sick ax along the way, so it balances out! Since “sunset orange” is a mourning color in her country, she’s also a casual goth as well as a jock. If you become her friend then she will carry you around like a sack of potatoes and sometimes hand you a little carved wooden animal. I love her dearly.

Nat Finch (he/him) @albatris: I'd like to submit Nat Finch! he/him, 25 years old, brand new baby vampire. he works the night shift at dodgy petrol and convenience store Stop 'N' Go, where he falls asleep on the clock and encourages shoplifting. he's schizotypal like me and he loves cats, cooking, and his friends! he's the protagonist of my campy gory horror trilogy, though he'd rather not be!

he's short and fat with red eyes and lots of freckles. his hair is long and black, often uneven and choppy in length, because he just cuts tangles out instead of untangling them ❤

he's a sweet boy, earnest boy, awkward boy; he doesn't have many friends at the start of the story due to his paranoia, psychosis, and social anxiety, but by the end of it has a whole bunch of good friends AND a kitty he adores named Grub who purrs like a faulty tractor

in this story vampirism is a sentient entity and all connected via a hivemind known as "the Garble".... it lives in the vampires' blood and can manipulate their thoughts as well as give them heightened strength and speed, claws and fangs, and night vision when they need it. it can be useful, but mostly it's a bully and an inconvenience

at the centre of the Garble hivemind lives the very first vampire, an undead rotting corpse and the god of vampires, and a few of their close friends and confidants. all life force collected by regular vampires flows to them at the centre and grants them immortality and power. it's a sweet deal for the folks at the centre, and a terrible deal for ordinary vampires like Nat who rarely reap any real benefits from their condition, but are threatened and manipulated into participating in this system regardless

Nat's story sees him struggling to solve the mystery of how and why he was turned and trying to balance his kind, caring nature with his new violent condition... and eventually leads him to, "hey, I think I'm going to hunt down and eat the rest of vampire god"

good for him!

some other Nat Facts:

huge drama queen (will play up being sad and pathetic to get what he wants)

vampires are hardwired to seek warmth and coziness so Nat is always down to snuggle 24/7

bouncy cheery overexcited lad who will grin for weeks if you say something nice to him

vegetarian, aside from eating people, which he insists does not count

speaking of eating people, primarily preys on rich pricks and abusive bosses

is too awkward to tell his neighbours he bought them a cute knitted blanket he thought they might like for their corgi because what if that's a weird thing to do. this has been going on for three weeks

is too awkward to tell his neighbours his name is Nat, not Matt. this has been going on for three years

has a giant scary monster mode full of eyes and teeth >:3

please consider voting for my boy!

[no-touchy]

Norson’s NSFW Alphabet

I figured he needs one ;3

A= Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Norson is an absolute gentleman when it comes to aftercare, considering its going to take you longer to come down from heaven than him. Usually he has things set up before the deed; towels, water, a few snacks. After however, he is holding you tight. Soft praises and lots of kisses. He stays with you close until you’re coherent again so he can get other things if you need them or to carry you to the bathroom.

B= Body Part (Their favorite body of their own and their partner’s)

Norson for him would be his hands. They’re absolutely massive and he can do a lot with them. And a lot to you, grabbing, spanking (if you’re into it), fingering, stroking. Whatever it is, he can do. For his partner’s, definitely their hips. Regardless if you have any or not. He likes to watch you walk, the way they sway from left to right. Its a good spot where he can rest his hands and leave cute little bruises on them.

C= Cum (Anything to do with cum)

Jesus, this man is a pristine baby batter maker. His ‘average’ load is the size of at least three large loads of the typical man and he loves to cum inside you. Loves to see your belly be a bit bigger with his liquid seed (yes, he has a breeding kink but that will come later). Its also thick and globby. Like glue almost but without the sticking things together part. If you’re blowing him and you can’t swallow all of him down, that’s okay. He loves to watch run down your chin. But you do you, baby boo.

D= Dirty Little Secret (Pretty self explanatory)

Norson has one that he doesn’t talk about much because its made others uncomfortable. But he really wants to tie you down and do whatever he likes to you. However, this will be brought only after you’ve been together for a while because what he wants you to be comfortable with the whole idea of letting go wild.

E= Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Experience-wise, Norson has only a little real world experience. What he does know is seen through porn and asking way too many questions. But surprisingly enough, Norson is very good from just observational learning, From taking with his older brother, Keane, he knows exactly what not to do. 

F= Favorite Position (Also self explanatory)

The mating press, hands down is his favorite position. Legs pressed against his shoulders as he slams into and watches you lose your mind. That is a five star Michelin meal to this man. But doggy style is a very close runner up, hands on your hips as he pulls you back to him. Norson will not able to get enough of it.

G= Goofy (Are they more serious or goofy in the moment?)

IN the actual moment, Norson can be very serious. Hyper fixating on you, making you feel all sorts of things. Before the moment, he can be a dork. Cracking jokes but in a teasing type of way, loves making you giggle. He notices that some soft humor can help people relax before a big moment and helps develop a strong connection between two people. So he uses light humor when he can before, during and after said deed.

H= Hair (How well groomed are they? Carpet match the drapes?)

Being a former military man, Norson is very neat when it comes to his hygiene. Very well groomed and trimmed short. But if he grows out his pubes a bit, they’re soft and curly. They’re a bit darker than the hair on his head but undeniably his.

I= Intimacy (How are they during some heat, romantically?)

Norson has this ability that during your moment with him, you two are the only people on the planet. That time has slowed down or stopped. Forehead to forehead with those slow, deep thrusts. No one else can enter your guys’ own little world. No matter the position, he is there with you and the only one with you. God forbid anyone should try to enter this little domain.

J= Jack off (Masturbation stuff)

Norson has knows he can’t have you all the time so sometimes when he’s got nothing else to do, he lets one loose. Its a pure boredom thing and something to pass the time. And a bonus stress relief. How often though? Once in a blue moon, he is a mechanic so he barely sits down.

K= Kink (What kink or kinks do they have?)

Oh boy, here we go. Stay with me now. One, his domination kink. The man loves to manhandle and control you, plus being an absolute unit of a human, this task comes very easy to him. Two, breeding kink. Even if you can’t have kids, regardless he is still filling you to the brim, having you beg to put a child in you. Three, size kink. Norson is 6′ 10″, everyone is small to him and he loves it. Four, overstimulation. Whether its his hands doing the work, his tongue or anything else. He loves to have you shaking and begging for him to stop only to pull away and making you whine for him.

L= Location (Where does he like to do it the most?)

Anywhere and anywhere, babe. Anywhere around the house, even in the backyard or front yard. In his shop, in a client’s car, in his little office over the desk. You have a place you want him in, already done. No questions asked.

M= Motivation (What turns them on? What gets them there?)

The real question is, what doesn’t? You could breathe a certain way and it makes him throb. A look you give, the way you lick your lips, anything and everything. He could watch a video on social media and be like “I should call them.” It really doesn’t take much.

N= No-nos (What is a no zone? Turn off?)

Anything that causes a lot of pain. Spanking is a lot lee way though. But things like burning, deep cuts, etc. Its a red no. Its happening kind of thing. As for turn offs, seeing you cry out of pain. (but if the tears are an involuntary reflex, then its a bit different.) He doesn’t want to cause his baby pain, even if they ask.

O= Oral (Giving or receiving?)

Norson prefers to give. But will never say no if you want to go down on him. The man will spend hours between your thighs if you let him, the overstimulation kink comes in handy here. Not to mention, Norson has a very nice tongue. Its long, he can touch the bridge of his nose with the tip of his tongue and its split. Loves to lick your deep.

P= Pace (Are they fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

Truly, it depends on you and how he is feeling. If you’ve been a brat and are begging him to go faster or harder? Guess what, he’ll slow down and keep it light. But if you’ve been prefect, he’s a bit on a harder pace naturally. Always a skin to skin slapper.

Q= Quickies (Do they like them?)

Norson is always down for a quickie. He’ll never say no to you and understands sometimes you just need to get down and dirty. But he usually has kinda long quickies, so jus prepare for a quickie to last quite some time.

R= Risk (Are they risky? Are they willing to spice it up?)

Yes, Norson will be risky for you as long as its within certain boundaries. You wanna try some very spicy things? He’ll talk it over with you, figure out a game plan to where its fun and you both remain safe. He wants the best for you.

S= Stamina (How long is the round and how many rounds can they last?)

This man will be able to make you stay in bed for days. A single round can last anywhere from 10 to 25 minutes. Depending on how long he’s been teased and if he’s masturbated beforehand. But a full session can last up to seven hours. And no, he doesn’t always have to be inserted into you. Most of it is foreplay but he is hard the entire time.

T= Toys (Do they have toys? Do they use them? On their partner?)

Yup, big man has toys. But he has to special order his. Sometimes his hands aren’t enough. Using them on his partner? Oh yeah, especially when he has you tied down.

U= Unfair (How much do they tease?)

Good Lord. I hope you have an unlimited amount of patience. You’re going to need it. Norson LOVES to tease, naughty words throughout the day, scandalous touches. And he learns everything that gets his partner going in a very short amout of time too. There is not a minute that goes by that he doesn’t want you. 

V= Volume (How loud? What noises do they make?)

Norson can be very loud, he very much voices the pleasure you’re giving him. Groaning at the smaller touches, moaning at the bigger one. Words of praise or degradation (whatever you’re into). Growls and snarls. Norson has an insane deep voice too. It’ll make you wet or hard at the simplest words.

W= Wild Card (A random headcanon) 

Norson is a ring maker. In his home garage, he has a tiny workshop that he makes rings. Sometimes he sells them, others he gives away as gifts.

X= X-ray (What are they packing?)

Norson is...proportionate. A incredibly thick eight inches. Thick at a monster energy drink can from base to tip. He is cut and a shower. When he sits down and his pants tighten at the crotch, you can faintly see the outline of him and its intimidating.

Y= Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Norson is a moving freight train. He has a ridiculous high sex drive. Almost insatiable. Always ready for you when you need him.

Z= Zzz (How quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

He will wait for you to fall asleep. Norson will talk about mundane stuff with you. Cracking jokes and about things about your lives. He loves to watch you sleep as he holds you to his chest.

Hope you enjoyed this!

[earnestly-endlessly]

Hi love! Merry Christmas! I hope you are having an amazing Christmas!

I was wondering if as a Christmas gift you could make a cherik rec of enemies to lovers and/or friends to lovers?

🎅🏻🎄✨

A very, very belated Christmas to you. I had a very nice (though a bit busy) Christmas. I’m so sorry that this took me this long to answer but I took extra care to make this list. There are a LOT of great fics out there with both of those themes. I’m sure that I’ve missed some excellent ones but I do have quite an extensive list for you. I hope you enjoy!!

Enemies/Rivals to Lovers

Wasteland – FuryRed

Summary: After Shaw succeeded in his plan to unleash nuclear war, Erik could only watch in horror as the world completely fell apart. Atom bombs. Sentinels roaming the country. Mutants being rounded up and forced into death camps. These were dark days, indeed.

Countless lives were lost in the war that followed, until the remaining mutants and humans scattered across the land- each just waiting for an opportunity to eliminate the other side.

Erik was confident that the Brotherhood would emerge victorious, but what he hadn’t counted on was the human resistance acquiring a mutant as their leader- a telepath, who insisted that humanity and mutantkind could one day live in peace…

Few experience (what you really are) – flightingflame

Summary: Magneto despises the humans that experiment on and enslave his kind. Recaptured after escaping the lab where he spent his youth, he finds himself bought by a rich man whose household is full of mutants. But Charles is keeping secrets of his own, and while he’s a dangerous man, he’s a powerful one to have on your side.

Sink or Swim – endingthemes

Summary: Erik is a struggling single dad of three kids with a burning hatred for Sebastian Shaw, the man who wronged him years ago. He’s tried to move on with his life, but a run-in with Shaw’s rude, spoiled omega, Charles, drags up old anger.

When Charles ends up in the hospital after an accident, Erik goes to confront him only to find that Charles has amnesia. In the confusion, Charles mistakenly assumes that Erik is his mate.

Erik knows he should clear up the misunderstanding, but how can he pass up this perfect chance for a little revenge?

(An Overboard AU)

The Skin Outside Is Taking You For A Ride – blarfkey

Summary: The fights between Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are legendary, and after four years Principal McTaggart is sick of it. After their most recent screaming match in debate club, Principal McTaggart gives Erik and Charles an ultimatum: they must help Raven work on the Senior play and the next fight that breaks out between them will result in expulsion.

Forced to be civil for the first time in their lives, Erik and Charles must reconcile their tumultuous rivalry with the new versions of each other they slowly discover.

The Burdens We Long to Carry – arcapelago (arcanewinter)

Summary: When mutant-supporter and ally President Kennedy is assassinated and all pro-mutant progress is dismantled, Charles is no longer so confident that he's on the right side, and extends his hand to Erik after a year of animosity. They settle tentatively into their old partnership, but not everything is the same as it was--and not everything can be. When Hank develops a metal frame to move the lower half of Charles' body for him if he wants it, Erik offers the use of his mind and his ability in order to make it work. Both find out what they're willing to do for each other, and neither knows if it'll be enough to keep them together.

Robbers – dsrobertson

Summary: 1933. Bank robber AU.

The Bureau of Investigation are after Public Enemy Number Two, bank robber Erik Lehnsherr. Charles Xavier is fiancé to Special Agent Moira MacTaggart. A closet homosexual, Charles visits the Manhattan pansy club scene and meets Max Eisenhardt. Only as time goes on, Max Eisenhardt turns out to be Erik Lehnsherr. Public Enemy Number Two.

Charles learns exactly what happens when you accidentally fall in love with a male bank robber in 1930s America.

Warning: Bring your tissues for this one. 

Enemies With Benefits – bettysofia

Summary: Casual sex with your sworn enemy gets tricky once feelings get involved.

For the Roses – Nausicaa (ignusphoenicis)

Summary: After an accident left him paralyzed below the waist, former elite track star Charles Xavier needs a new hobby. His longtime rival, the German runner Erik Lehnsherr, might just be that hobby.

Note: Unfinished but worth a read.

Friends to Lovers

Best-laid plans – ikeracity

Summary: Charles decides that the best way to confess his feelings to his best friend is to surprise Erik at his apartment, naked, wearing nothing but a bow. It's perhaps one of Charles's worst ideas--or his best.

For The Record – endingthemes

Summary: As prominent figures in the mutant rights movement, activists Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are pretty much household names. When a romance scandal between them breaks, their celebrity reaches new heights, and though the increased exposure is great, there’s a big problem -- the two of them are just friends.

Too bad no one believes them.

A Winter in New York – nextraordinaire

Summary: Charles and Erik have been childhood friends for as long as they can remember – Erik, living with his mother in Queens, and Charles in the big mansion in Westchester. For all, expect themselves, it was just natural progression that they'd end up together.

A series of ficlets from the same universe – can be read as separate and are out of chronological order.

Resolutions - Black_Betty

Summary: Charles ends the year with honesty and courage and by finally telling his best friend how he feels about him.

Or he would have, if Erik had bothered to show up.

Love Story – Sophia_Bee

Summary: Charles and Erik are best friends, until they're not. A love story in three parts.

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

Speech Making – phalangine

Summary: Modern Emma AU- Charles Xavier, accomplished matchmaker and headmaster of North America’s preeminent school for mutants, intends to add another notch to his belt: setting up his friend Moira. His oldest friend, Erik, has doubts about this plan.

Charles doesn’t share them.

Made To Be Broken – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles makes a New Year's Resolution:

“No more straight men,” Charles repeated as he began scrolling through the apartment directory for Emma’s name. “No more futility. No more pointless hoping and heartbreak. In 2013, I never want to hear the words ‘exception,’ ‘experimenting’ or ‘phase.’ If, God forbid, I hear ‘bicurious’ even once, I may take a hostage.”

Then he goes into the party, and Erik is there.

Math Reasons – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

I ♥ NY (It’s My Friends I’m Not Sure Of) – oddegg

Summary: Erik is a single, successful man who likes quick sex with no strings attached. Then, he meets college professor Charles and it's love at first sight, at least for him. Charles, who heard of Erik's notorious ways, wants nothing to do with him besides being friends. Cue Erik bending over backwards to steal Charles' heart.

Love Medley – ikeracity

Summary: Charles and Erik have been friends and roommates for two years. They've also, coincidentally, been in love with each other for two years. Neither of them has ever had the courage to admit it to the other, but Erik's new friendship with Magda and an untimely accident forces them to confront their feelings once and for all.

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania – Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

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So I wrote something for “The Worst Three-Legged Race.” Because, ykno, queer baiting. I’m queer, I took the bait, I wanted them to experience genuine feelings instead of a shitty joke-kiss, yadda yadda here’s some awkward genin feelings.

This is immediately after the episode ends, their hands are stuck together in a chakra ball, you know what’s up.

(1,825 words)

[[MORE]]

It wasn’t going to get easier any time soon, this Sasuke was sure of. Naruto had managed to settle down after their mission report once Kakashi Sensei and Sakura had taken turns feeding him ramen (Sasuke still had use of his dominant hand and, frankly, wouldn’t be caught dead being spoon fed).

But now, alone in Naruto’s apartment past sunset, came the upheaval of just how awkward things were destined to be for the next three days together.

Three. Whole. Days. AND nights.

Sasuke sighed and closed his eyes, feeling his brows scrunch together and downward for what felt like the millionth time since the crook had sealed their hands together with his unique (and frustratingly solid) chakra.

Kakashi sensei had the good grace to walk them back to Naruto’s apartment (Sasuke had yet to have another living soul join him on his family’s compound following the massacre and he’d be damned if NOW of all times was going to be the time he broke that trend) but once he disappeared from the scene in a flash of smoke, the boys were left alone in the entryway of the dark apartment.

“So, uh, usually I just leave my shoes over here-“ Naruto began to move down the small corridor, already knowing well enough to wait a brief moment for Sasuke to catch on to his movements so as to not send the other boy jerking along behind him.

Once they rounded the corner, just a few feet away from the door Naruto removed his shoes and waited for Sasuke to follow suit.

After that, well…it became very clear that Naruto had absolutely no plan for the evening. Which didn’t surprise Sasuke in the slightest, seeing as this whole bound-at-the-wrist thing was an admittedly new development. Had they been at Sasuke’s home, he was sure that he would fare no better than the blonde.

“Well it’s a good thing we already ate because I’m pretty sure my 24-hour-store produce wouldn’t be up to your standards.” The attempt at light banter was followed by something akin to a huff of breath mixed with an awkward chuckle, as well as with a shuffling of bare feet inches from Sasuke’s own and a barely noticeable tug on their joined hands.

Sasuke suddenly felt an unexpected and immense sympathy for the bewhiskered boy in front of him. So much so that it shocked him, but he was struck with the realization that Naruto likely hadn’t shared his space with another human being in his entire LIFE and that this was a completely foreign and embarrassing situation for the both of them.

“I don’t think instant noodle snacks count as produce, dobe.”

This earned a more genuine bark of laughter from Naruto, who undoubtedly appreciated the reciprocation of their casual-yet-teasing banter that always came so naturally.

“Shut up, teme, or I’ll just have to plan a little ‘grocery’ trip over the next couple days. I’m sure you’d LOVE a tour of my local convenience store. The clerk would LOVE you.” The shit-eating snickers that followed this threat left sasuke almost curious to find out just what kind of person this shop keeper was.

Instead of asking, Sasuke simply rolled his eyes and looked around the small living room. Naruto seemed content chuckling to himself over his seemingly-genius hypothetical scenario, while Sasuke properly took in his new surroundings.

Sasuke’s attention snapped back to his begrudgingly bound companion when the ridiculous giggles turned into an intense yawn.

“We should get to bed. The sooner we get through tomorrow the better.” Sasuke knew the bitterness of his statement was unwarranted, but as he spoke he became acutely aware that he wasn’t in control of this situation. He knew he was better off here with Naruto than with Kakashi or (god forbid) Sakura, but Sasuke wasn’t a fan of situations outside of his control- or at least his willfully consenting participation.

“Yeah, I’m beat. Tomorrow’s gonna be a nightmare.” The shorter boy’s whole body slumped forward as he finished his sentence, shooting Sasuke a brief, sidelong glance before trudging off in the direction of what Sasuke could only assume was his bedroom (please let it not be the bathroom, please let it not be the bathroom, please let it-)

Sasuke had to hold back his sigh of relief as the bed and sparse furnishings (most notably the lack of a toilet) filled his view.

“Huh.” Naruto had stopped in the middle of the room.

“What is it?”

“I mean, I guess changing into pajamas is sorta outta the question isn’t it?”

The hand that wasn’t stuck to Sasuke’s in the chakra ball reached up to scratch the hair behind Naruto’s left ear as he spoke.

“Yeah, unless you want me to cut them off you.” His Kunai knife made a dull sound against his palm through the holster as he brought his free hand down to pat against it in accordance to his threat.

However, what was meant to be a clever and sarcastic threat toward his rival instead left both of their faces burning in the dull lamp light that Naruto had turned on upon entering the room. The blood pumping in Sasuke’s ears did nothing to stop the mantra of regret filling his mind as Naruto began to splutter briefly, tripping over his words.

“S-shut up, bastard, that doesn’t even make any sense. How would I get my pajama shirt on then, huh? What, are you gonna cut it ON to me?”

“That doesn’t make any sense either.”

“None of this makes sense! Let’s just go to bed!” Naruto raised their joined hands into the air in frustration along with his own free hand.

Sasuke simply offered up a “Tch” in response to the admittedly true statement from his team mate. He anticipated Naruto’s movements and began moving toward the bed at the same time that the blonde spun on his heel.

Stopping just shy of the edge of the bed Naruto turned partly back toward sasuke, not quite facing him and blush still firmly in place. Sasuke thought maybe it had actually gotten worse in the three feet they had traveled, not that he was paying attention to that sort of thing.

“I’ve always just slept in the middle, so, I donno....do you have a preference?” The words were spoken in the softest tone Sasuke had perhaps ever heard the younger boy speak, and he found himself taken aback for the second time that night.

Of all the things to be embarrassed by in their current circumstances, choosing which side of the bed they would sleep on hadn’t crossed Sasuke’s mind as one of them. Though he supposed it made sense. Closeness of any kind was a particularly vulnerable experience when all of those close to you had been taken away. Or if you’d never known closeness to anyone at all.

At least Sasuke had experience with sharing a bed in the past. As the younger sibling, he’d not really been allowed a choice, Itachi had always instinctively taken the side of the door to protect him in case of intruders.

Sasuke clenched his jaw at the uninvited memory and felt his hand pull minutely at their joined chakra ball as he tried to physically retreat into himself on impulse.

“Sas-“

“I’ll take the left side.” He looked directly into Naruto’s eyes as he cut him off. His eyes were cold and sharp, daring Naruto to question his brief hesitation and the bodily twitch he had definitely noticed in the dark haired boy.

Naruto’s face sobered immediately in response to the challenging expression.

“Sure, fine by me.” It was mumbled and Sasuke barely made it out as Naruto turned fully toward the bed again, bringing Sasuke with him by association.

The dark haired boy knew immediately that Naruto had misconstrued his reaction to what had clearly been a vulnerable question. But he only felt angrier at this fact, trying to shove his frustration down deep as he climbed into the bed. No point trying to fix it now. He just needed to get through the next three days.

“Please tell me you at least sleep under the covers.”

“Of course, Dobe, it’s freezing at night.” Sasuke gave him a long-suffering look, wrenching the covers aside and forcing Naruto to shuffle out from on top of them.

Once they had settled beneath the covers, bound hands laying between them on the pillow, Sasuke felt himself fighting the urge to squirm under Naruto’s concentrated gaze. It was one he’d met countless times in class or on the training field or even on a mission- but he was caught off guard by the intensity of the bright blue eyes as they watched him through the darkness of this foreign space that Naruto called home.

Sasuke hadn’t dared to share the single pillow with Naruto (although it seemed more than big enough) so he was met with only half the blonde boys face, smooshed into the pillow and blocked partially by the chakra ball. It was decidedly the most vulnerable position he’d been in with Naruto to date so he closed his eyes determinedly.

He needed to sleep. Tomorrow was already going to be difficult, he was not about to add sleep deprivation to the list of road blocks.

Sasuke felt Naruto’s toes brush against his shin as the boy shifted slightly and Sasuke flinched back minutely on instinct.

“..Sorry.” Came the mumble across from him in the darkness.

“..It’s okay.” He whispered back.

Okay. So maybe sleep wouldn’t come as easily as he’d hoped, but he’d dealt with worse nights. Way worse. At least he wasn’t alone this time.

Wait, no, hold on. Wasn’t that the whole problem?

You know what, forget it. He’d deal with these thoughts tomorrow. Or never. He just needed to sleep.

Naruto started to snore softly beside him, but the volume didn’t stay quiet for long.

It was going to be a long three days.

[dxmedstudent]

As a longterm single person... or a person who was single for long times during parts of my life, I’m usually very onboard with shifting the focus. But it feels like this entire article is a lazy missed opportunity. It somehow manages to alienate me even though I really, really want to be able to agee with it. For a start, the article does nothing to address that yes, society does highly value romantic relationships at the expense of other meaningful relationships, and pressures people - particularly young women, to conform to the expectation to be in one. The expectation to be in a relationship and how we are treated when we’re not in one goes far beyond people valuing sex.  I’ve talked about this at length before, so I’ll skip over that part for now. It doesn’t even touch on how ace or aro people experience such a ban - you don’t have to be in love or having sex to miss a significant other - the key is in the ‘significant’ bit. 

“And while I know there could be some troubling long-term consequences to this legal accident, I can’t help but feel that the frustration of many is misplaced.”

No. This is your first mistake. People are allowed to be frustrated that such a rule renders physically continuing intimate relationships if you live apart illegal.   People are allowed to be frustrated that they can go to primark, risk coronavirus at work, use the tube, but aren’t allowed to hug their GF. Hell, people are allowed to just be annoyed they can’t go to the pub. It might not be a priority, but I wouldn’t write in whining about how other people miss something that I am not personally fussed about. “It means we can’t go to the pub, to a party, or to a friend’s house to sit on the sofa with a bottle of wine laughing our heads off; we can't have our families round for Sunday roast; we can’t even go inside if it starts to rain during one of the permitted back garden gatherings of six.”

But fundamentally, we can have a party. We can see 6 friends or family outside. We can share food with them. We can use the bathroom. We will soon be allowed to start going to establishments to eat and drink. However rather hilariously, the article somehow manages to paint sitting on someone’s sofa as equally (or more) important than romantic and physical intimacy with a life partner. Who cares that some people haven’t been able to see their intimate partner at all, much less so much as hold hands in 3 months, when I wanna sit on someones sofa!

I get it. These rules are still wildly different to our usual lives. You’re right, it sucks that we also can’t enjoy platonic touch. Hugging a friend, patting someone on the back. Just being able to be indoors and have a meal. But the rules let us live out a much closer approximaiton of life with friends - which is a start.  Now, I have friends who run the full tactile spectrum from ‘absolute huggers’ to ‘don’t touch me’. I miss a good hug or just being able to sit beside each other, but for the most part I can easily enjoy most of what I can do with friends under the current rules. Apart from sit around playing board games together, cos you can’t do that 2m apart and it’d be less than ideal to do outside. This has still had a big impact on our social lives - particularly if you live apart from friends as I do. So I feel you. I can’t just up and drive over to most of my friends’, and even if I did, sitting around outside for a couple of hours wouldn’t be with the long trip. When you’re not allowed indoors or to stay the night it makes the kind of socialising many of us do much harder. It’s the same for me seeing my family, too. So I get it. It’s just that being banned from being within 2m of someone has a much bigger impact if you’re in a romantic relationship. Because physicality (and not just sex), and spending lots of time together is a bigger part of the deal when it comes to having a significant other. Many people aren’t overly physically affectionate with friends - I know many people who barely do beyond a handshake or stiff hug - and that’s fine. These laws just take away a much bigger dimension from a romantic relationship, than from most platonic ones.

On the Facebook group I run for single people, those who live alone simply want to know when they will be touched again. And by touch I mean simply a pat on the arm, a cuddle from their mum, their best friend holding their hand. These are simple things, but are so important. They matter to people just as much, if not more, as whether they have a 'significant other' sharing their bed - but you wouldn't know that from the discussion around these new rules.

See, this is important, so maybe lead with this? It’s heartbreaing that many of us effectively have been banned from all human physical contact.  But that doesn’t mean intimate relationships aren’t important to others - and complaining that those people are commenting on how it affects them is misplaced.  Ths is not a competition between whether it’s worse that we can’t hug our friends or our boyfriends. Not being allowed to see an intimate partner is also depriving you of cuddles or simple gestures - a lot more than just sex.And yet the article frequently chooses to frame it as a ban against hookups when it also affects many people in relationships who can’t move in at this point in time. I’ve seen people complain that they can’t spend time with or touch their partners of several years, for example.  But actually, we also shouldn’t have to minimise the importance of sex, even in  a casual setting. So let’s get onto that. “Those grieving for those they've lost to Covid-19, I’m sure, are far more interested in when they can hold their loved ones than when they can next hook up. Headlines about sex bans must feel particularly grating to them.” News just in: holding your loved ones and sex are mutually exclusive. You know, if  any of us lose loved ones, we’ll be heartbroken and it will suck whether we can’t hug our sister who lives far away, or our boyfriend who we don’t live with. Please don’t use cheap emotional blackmail to suggest people can’t miss both or that both can’t be one and the same if you love your partner. I’d argue this probably says a lot about what the author thinks about relationships or sex, but I hope it’s just poor writing. “The uproar about the apparent ban on sex also plays into the rather sixth form idea that absolutely everyone is having loads of sex all the time. God forbid a few of us have to wait a few months for our next chance.” Also, tangential much? People aren’t upset because they can’t go 3 months without sex, they are upset because 3 months in a pandemic without any intimacy with a loved one is hard, especially if you’re in an intimate relationship that got suddenly cut off. Because that person and their support and cuddles is particularly important to you.  This is also a weird double standard: It’s apparently OK to be devastated because nobody can give you a hug, but god forbid you are sad about being entirely separated from a significant other against your will. Also, apparently we’re all fantasists playing up how much sex we’re having. I don’t understand why this article comes across as so weridly moralising, but it does. Reducing sex to hooking up is moralising behaviour: and as someone with an interest in sexual health I have to state that it’s not up to you to put a value on sex for someone else. I don’t like it being illegal for me to hug my sister, or ... yes, have sex with my boyfriend-  or you know, hug him too since this isn’t about sex alone. But I’m not here to police if someone doesn’t like the rules because they just miss sex. Whoever they have sex with. Sex is a fundamental part of being human for most people. Intimacy is core to many  people’s mental health, particularly in a relationship, and that need is valid. Physical intimacy in general is a massive part of intimate relationships. It’s taken decades of progress for people to accept that sex is valid and enriching, not shameful. I’m worried that yes, behind our attitudes lies the still pervasive social attitudes that sex is dirty, wrong, and something for us to police if it doesn’t fit the bounds of what we consider acceptable. We haven’t eliminated harmful attitudes to sex, and the desire that others get to decide if vulerable populations like disabled people or the poor are allowed to have initmate lives. This is about how easily rules can be used to oppress or police others - as they have been in the past. What happens to sex workers? To our LGBTQ friends if someone decides that gay sex is riskier? It’s worth noting that intimacy is only illegal if you live apart - favouring those rich enough to have the space to move in together and the married. The poor, those living with others, those who aren’t ready to take that step, those who rely on sex to make a living - face an entirely different set of rules. It’s worth asking yourself why it’s OK to move in (and risk exposing each other) but not OK to visit the person you’d be allowed to expose all the time.  Why it’s OK for the government to draw a line on which relationships matter, and when - and what hoops you have to jump through. This isn’t new - out LGBTQ friends will tell us this was always a thing. But we need to be ever more vigilant as our personal lives are policed more and more. “Nobody is talking about this” is legitimate criticism when we’re talking about a horrifying event people may be unaware of, but lazy writing when we’re talking about something that both evidently affects many people and ... is being discussed. It allows you to fill an article with righteous indignation about how people aren’t doing something rather than just... doing it. As it is, I’ve read multiple articles about people missing grandchildren, wanting to see recently born babies, missing their friends, struggling with this whilst being single. I’ve read articles about the lonely and vulnerable. And actually, more articles about all those things when you add them up, than I’ve seen about romantic relationships. Which is great -  because this pandemic and the lockdown are having a massive effect on a lot of people in many ways, and it personally interests me that we record those experiences and share them. I’ve even seen so many articles about people missing going to the pub, or which restaurants they wish they could visit. And that’s OK, it can be the little things about normality that we miss. I miss museum dates, for example, and there wasn’t even any sex involved!  We all miss normality.  And I’ve had those conversations in real life, too. These conversations are important, but it’s possible to have them without downplaying something that doesn’t matter to you when it obviously matters to other people. I have been single for long periods of time; I’d be the first to suggest here’s more to life than romantic relationships. Hell, at times that was my absolute last priority.  I’ve lived away from friends and family  - I am not new to loving people at a distance, and it’s still been hard despite my having the experience to deal with it. If anything, this pandemic just shows how those links feel very different, when we’re not able to travel. Suddenly everyone feels much further away, and I re-evaluate just how happy I am to live far away.  For what it’s worth, I think we need more articles highlighting how difficult it is to manage all sorts of interpersonal relatioships at a distance as lockdowns ease.  And as someone who’s in a romantic relationship, the pain of bieng isolated in all these spheres just isn’t the same. I miss hugging my mum. And I miss my friends. And I miss my boyfriend. It all hurts. Looking at her own personal examples, the crux of the matter isn’t that she can’t see her family or friends - it’s that most of them live far away, and even if they live nearby, she’s not allowed to hug them. I’d love to hear more about people’s lives - what they are missing, what they hope to be able to do soon. And I can completely empathise with her: I wish I could see my sister, too: I’ve only seen her once since lockdown, briefly and under social distancing. I miss my friends - we live far apart but that used to be easier to bridge when we weren’t under lockdown. I have friends’ babies I’m yet to meet. New BFs yet to be introduced, etc. Weddings we’ve all missed. I can fully empathise with the author’s frustration at being unable to do these things - it has truly had a significant impact on my life this year that I’m mssing out on many of these things too. But that doesn’t in the slightest make it any less awful that I can’t be with my boyfriend, too.

[asweetprologue]

Fandom: The Witcher Pairings: Geralt/Jaskier  Words: 16,147 Chapter: 1/5 Summary: After a job goes wrong, Geralt must rely on Jaskier as he is left blind and deaf. As they attempt to navigate the curse and find out how to lift it, Geralt comes to realize that his feelings for the bard have grown deeper - but how can he know if Jaskier returns those feelings if Geralt can't see or hear him?

Also on AO3

your skin carries echoes of me

Winter in Temeria was a hell of a thing. The entire country was, broadly speaking, a damp and slightly rancid place. From the time of the first thaw until the Velen equinox, it was redeemable by virtue of the sweeping golden fields in the countryside and the lush, vibrant forests in the west. Come winter, however, the forests became gray, fractured matchsticks scratching at the sky, the golden fields rotting away into mud and gravel. Even when it wasn’t cold enough to set your teeth on edge it was wet, slimy and miserable. Humans and monsters alike tended to burrow into their respective hovels until the warm rays of the spring sun graced the region once again.

Which is why Geralt, finding himself deep in the south as autumn began turning the landscape around them a fetching red-gold hue, was in desperate need of some quick and easy work. Wintering in Kaer Morhen would be out of the question. There was no way that he could make it to the pass through the Kestrel Mountains before the winter snows claimed the valley. And besides that, he had a particularly aggressive tag-along that he suspected wouldn’t fare nearly as well as Roach might along the steep mountain trails.

Said tag-along was standing besides Geralt at a notice board in the ramshackle town they’d stopped at for supplies, a pout on his youthful face. He crossed his arms over his chest, the deep navy of his current ensemble stained near black in places from the muck of their travels. “I just think,” he continued, resolutely ignoring the fact that Geralt was ignoring him, “that she cheated us of well-earned income. I mean, ‘a fearsome beast tearing apart the garden and scaring off the sheep.’ Those were her words! ‘Kill the beastie that’s ate my poor Bella.’ That was the job! It’s not our fault the culprit was a wild dog and not a bloody griffin.”

Geralt pulled a flyer down from the board, looking it over before turning it in Jaskier’s direction. “Caravan escort?”

The other man sniffed, eyeing the paper with a distrustful look. “The last one of those ended poorly. If they want entertainment that’s one thing.”

“Hmm. Roadside protection is asking too much?” He stuck the flyer back in its place, looking over the others again. Nothing too promising - someone asking for help with autumn logging, the herbalist looking for fool’s parsley, a dog gone missing. Not exactly witchers’ work, though he supposed he was reasonably skilled enough in alchemy to dig around for roots and plants if it came to that.

“It’s not that it’s not a reasonable request,” Jaskier said. “They just always seem to want it for a very particular reason that they aren’t at all ready to discuss with the hired help. It’s just. Well. It’s one thing to prepare oneself for the inevitability of bandits on the road. Quite another to wake in the middle of the night with an assassin’s blade at your throat in nothing but your drawers.” Geralt shot him an amused look. “A situation that you handled admirably. Still. We wouldn’t be in these circumstances if that hag hadn’t skimped on us.”

“Hmm.” People rarely, if ever, paid what they said they would in Geralt’s experience. Once their fear of the monster was assuaged, their distaste for mutants resurfaced with a vengeance. They seemed to have little remorse about trying to weasel their way out of their agreements, though it happened with less and less frequency the longer Jaskier kept his company.

Geralt glanced back at the bard as he turned away from the unhelpful notice board and back towards Roach. The man had been traveling off and on with him for some time now, though this latest stint had been longer than typical. They crossed paths often enough, but usually Jaskier would only spend a few weeks trekking after the witcher before disappearing back into civilization once again. He would spend his time on the road singing snippets of ballads, humming seemingly thoughtless tunes and plucking the strings of his lute absentmindedly. The witcher would have said that the bard used his time with Geralt to freeload if he didn’t inevitably hear the same snatches of song on the lips of strangers, even in the most remote parts of the land. And he had to admit, his purse had been significantly heavier, the eyes of strangers less accusatory, in the last few years than they had been in decades.

Jaskier continued, unaware as ever of Geralt's internal musings. “She hired a witcher, and that’s what she should have paid for. I don’t think -” Jaskier was suddenly interrupted by a hand reaching out to snatch at the sleeve of his embroidered doublet. He made a small noise of surprise, likely in reaction both to the hand and to Geralt’s sudden move into his space as he faced the newcomer. “Excuse me!” the bard exclaimed, and Geralt was unsure whether it was directed at him or the assailant.

Who, fortunately, turned out to be a pleasant looking middle aged woman, who quickly let go of Jaskier’s tunic when Geralt stepped forward. She backed away, shoulders drawn in fear. “F-forgive me, sirah, but if you please, I have a request for you?”

She phrased the statement as a question, and Geralt attempted to relax his posture invitingly before he realized that her eyes were unfocused and clouded. She was blind. He cleared his throat. “Go on then.”

“Well, sir, um. I heard your companion -” she gestured vaguely in Jaskier’s direction, leaning around Geralt’s shoulder - “mention you work as a witcher? If that’s for true, I would ask for your help. We’ve not much by way of coin, but we’ll find some way to gather a nice pouch for you if you care to help us. We’ve been plagued for too long now, and I’m not sure how much more we can take.” Her hands twisted in her stained apron, which smelled faintly of flour and cloves. A baker, or a baker’s wife.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

“A witch,” she said, her voice pitched slightly lower, as if she feared said witch was listening in. “It began with the chickens. She was takin’ em at night, to use in some foul ritual, and then a pig. And the animals in the wood have all run off, it seems. Samuel, our hunter, hasn’t found more than a few pheasants in weeks, and with the snows comin’ we’ll need meat to dry. A few of our men tried to confront her, and when they came back they were all foul tempered, mean spirited to a one whereas before they were gentle souls. I went to confront the wench myself, and she…” Here the woman grew quiet, drawing herself inwards as she reached up a hand to hesitantly touch below one of her sightless eyes. After a moment she shook herself and stood again, shoulders back in defiance of her plight. “Please, master witcher, help rid us of this scourge and we will find a way to repay you.”

Geralt opened his mouth to speak and found himself cut off by Jaskier, who was already pushing his way forward to gently take the woman’s hand in his own. “My lady, I give you my word that we will do everything in our power to help you with your plight. Consider it done.”

The woman looked near tears. “Oh, bless you both. Bless you.”

Geralt huffed, annoyed at Jaskier accepting his job for him despite the fact that he’d planned to say the same himself, though in significantly less words. “Fine.” Jaskier turned towards him with a bright grin. “Where can we find her?”

* * *

On the plus side, despite the fact that this witch seemed like, well, a bitch, they were typically easier to deal with than monsters. They usually wanted something, or were trying to get something, but they weren’t nearly as difficult to manage as a kikimora or, gods forbid, a sorceress. Most weren’t actually capable of going up against a professional witcher; their magics were more indirect in nature, a glimpse into the future here or slew of bad fortune there. Very few had anything approaching the battle magics wielded by true mages, or even the alchemical knowledge of a witcher. Most could be reasoned with, forced into moving on or, if necessary, put down with a bit of steel. Geralt was sincerely hoping that it wouldn’t come to the later in this case.

Which was why Jaskier had been allowed to tag along, much to Geralt’s chagrin.

The bard, for his part, seemed happy to have been allowed to come. Despite his detailed and often blatantly exaggerated retellings of Geralt’s exploits, Jaskier was rarely allowed to actually come along for the battles themselves. He had, at this point, utterly perfected the art of sneaking after the witcher on hunts, staying far enough away that Geralt’s heightened senses wouldn’t pick up his presence and closing in when Geralt was distracted by his quarry. It had, to the witcher’s extreme annoyance, actually proved useful once or twice. It wasn’t that his life was typically in danger when he was injured in a fight, but. Well. Having someone around to help patch up his wounds and haul him back to an inn was an improvement on lying in the mud throwing back potions until he could stand again.

This time, Jaskier was traipsing along by the witcher’s side, after he had - again, much to Geralt’s annoyance - convinced the witcher that he would actually be an asset on this particular hunt. Geralt anticipated that this job would involve a lot more talking than fighting, and even he could admit where his skill set ended and Jaskier’s began. In spite of his frequent bouts of oversharing and his tendency towards nervous chatter, the bard was profoundly charismatic. Geralt was made keenly aware of this every time he found himself searching for Jaskier in a crowd or buying the man another round at the bar in spite of his own oft-light coin purse. It wasn’t his fault; Jaskier just did that to people.

He hoped it would come in handy this time around. He really didn’t want to have to kill this witch.

“So, what do you think she’ll want?” Jaskier said, his eyes on his boots as he unsubtly moved through the underbrush. He’d recently been convinced to finally purchase a pair suitable for traveling, and had immediately had them dyed an aggressive shade of mauve. “New dress? Pearl earrings? Our first born sons?”

“Witchers can’t have children,” Geralt corrected absentmindedly, holding a branch back so that Jaskier could pass. “And I’m assuming you’ve already fathered many.”

The bard spluttered indignantly at him, and Geralt turned around to hide his smirk. He paused suddenly, holding a hand out towards Jaskier to stop both his squawks of protest and his forward momentum. It said much about Jaskier’s character and his time with Geralt that he halted immediately. “I think we’re here.”

The cottage was small, almost cozy, with smoke curling lazily out of the chimney and ivy clutching the west facing wall. It looked more like a place that someone’s elderly relative might retire to than a witch’s hovel.

“Looks like a nice place to settle down,” Jaskier pipped, echoing Geralt’s thoughts uncannily. “Should we knock?”

Geralt held up a finger and Jaskier quieted, allowing the witcher to listen. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose as he peeled away the layers of noise around them. A witcher’s senses were sharp, but often finding specific information in the cacophony of life was like searching for a needle in a haystack. It took years of training to learn how to turn the blunt instrument of their broad senses into a finely honed scalpel. Geralt fell into that place as he had so many times before, concentrating on the house and everything in it. The thick smell of honeysuckle from the plants growing against the side of the cabin, the sweet scent of cedar and pine, the faint rust of old blood. Rustling leaves, the muffled snap of wood burning. No shuffling footsteps, no soft sighs. No heartbeat, fluttering quickly away in comparison to the slow rush in his own ears.

“She’s not here,” he said a moment later, satisfied that the witch was nowhere in the immediate vicinity. “Stay put. I’ll see if I can find out where she went.”

“Tch,” Jaskier said, for once following directions as he leaned against a nearby tree. “Out looking for babies to gobble up, perhaps?”

“You’re thinking of witchers,” Geralt quipped, already checking for footprints around the stoop. Jaskier barked a laugh behind him.

“I had no idea your diet was so restrictive,” the bard replied, mirth coloring his tone. “It’s an honest mixup, you see, witches and witchers.”

It was novel, still, having someone to jest with while in moments like these. Geralt looked up to find Jaskier watching him with an amused expression, something soft in his gaze that Geralt had seen before. It always lingered with him when Jaskier inevitably moved on. He could say with absolute certainty that no one else had ever looked at him like that - with an utter lack of fear and pure, open affection. Feeling off balance, Geralt tried to focus back on what he was doing, away from Jaskier’s too-blue eyes.

This, too, was part of the reason Jaskier wasn’t invited on hunts.

The man was… distracting. Geralt wasn’t sure exactly why. He was loud, and annoying, and occasionally disarmingly funny. And sometimes, when Geralt brushed a leaf out of his hair and Jaskier turned to him with a grateful smile that was devoid of nervousness and the sunlight through the trees made his skin honeyed gold, he was very… something. Something distracting.

It wasn’t great for Geralt’s concentration.

That’s what he would blame it on, later, when he was cursing himself for not noticing her approach. Jaskier was too busy thinking of something else snappy to say about witchers kidnapping children, and Geralt was too busy not-thinking about the way Jaskier’s eyes shone when he laughed, and the witch walked up already fuming.

She was tall, almost as tall as Geralt, with brown hair woven through with silver cord and viney tattoos winding up her arms. At first they looked to be flower designs, but Geralt’s keen eyes could make out small, detailed runes etched out between the artwork. The witch’s bright blue eyes, cold as chips of Yuletide frost, bore into him intensely. “You are trespassing,” she said sharply, sliding her hand into a woven bag she had draped over one shoulder. “I told you all not to return here.”

Geralt stood slowly, resisting the urge to look towards Jaskier. From where she was standing, it was possible that the witch could not see him, hidden as he was in the shadows of the forest. She had emerged from another path that came around the backside of the house. Based on her equipment, it looked like she’d been hunting for herbs, possibly near the river to the north of the town. “Folks from the village sent us to discuss the… situation,” he said slowly. “W- I don’t want any trouble.”

The witch gave him a disbelieving glare. “Trouble is all I get these days, witcher. Don’t look surprised, I’ve heard the songs. I’m not a complete recluse. I know the White Wolf, as they call you, or the Butcher of Blaviken. I suppose I should be honored that you’ve graced my small corner of the world.” She spat the words at him, sneering. “Tell those simpering peasants that if they want to burn me at the stake they’ll have to come and light the tinder themselves.”

Geralt sighed. This was more antagonism than he’d hoped to start out with. “Haven’t heard anything about stakes. They just want you to stop stealing chickens.”

“The blood was for protection rites, to protect my home from the whoresons that have given me no rest since I arrived. They came a fortnight back with accusations on their tongues and cleavers in their hands, and I turned their fury back towards those they love.” She smirked. “I thought it was poetic.”

“People are always spiteful,” Geralt said, annoyed. “You can’t pay them back in kind.” He wasn’t unsympathetic, of course. Throughout his life he had more often than not been spat on and cursed at whenever he showed his face around humans. They knew that he was other, sensed how dangerous he could be if he decided to turn his skills on the ones who fed him. In his experience, this did not make them more cautious in his presence. People reacted to fear with violence in most cases. But the only appropriate response was to turn the other cheek. He could cleave through an angry mob without a second thought, destroy an entire village if it struck his fancy, but it was not what he had been made for. He had refused to let himself be molded into a monster for decades. The least this woman could do was try the same.

The witch broke him from his frustrated thoughts with a snort. “Easy for you to say. Always moving, never in one place for long. People call you a hero. ‘Friend of humanity.’” She scoffed. “They call me a devil. I could help them, and instead they cast stones my way. No,” she said, eyeing him coldly. “I will not bow to them.”

“I can’t let you continue to do them harm.” He felt tired. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this to go. Against his will, he found himself looking in Jaskier’s direction, and found the bard looking back at him with wide eyes. He seemed conflicted, his hands wringing the strap of his lute case nervously as he looked between Geralt and the source of the witch’s voice. Debating whether to try and step in, solve things diplomatically, Geralt realized. He shook his head slightly, and Jaskier nodded, though his brow furrowed in distress. When Geralt looked back to the witch she was watching him with an expression of disgust.

“You’re just like them,” she said, her voice angry and filled with grief. “No one understands. No one sees .” She drew herself up, pulling her hand from her bag. In it she clutched a handful of items - herbs, some kind of stone, and what looked like a human ear. “Very well. If you can hear no foul lies and see no bright pyres, you’ll do less harm to me and mine.” She raised her hand.

Several things happened in rapid succession. Geralt drew his silver sword, and ring of metal on metal echoing through the clearing as the witch tossed the objects into the air. He rushed towards her, raising his hand to begin etching the sign of quen . From his left there was a burst of noise, and he had time to think, ah, Jaskier just as the bard tackled the witch to the ground. She landed with a cry and quickly elbowed him in the jaw, a surprising move from someone so slight. Jaskier tumbled off of her from the force of it, and she turned back towards Geralt. Her eyes were full of fury as she opened her mouth and shouted a word.

Geralt’s sword swung down towards her neck, and the world went dark.

Part Two

[reifromrfa]

Threads of Thoughts | Juminzine Fic

Hi guys! Here’s my fic for the @juminfanzine! :)

This is a bit different from my other pieces, but I really hope you like it <3 I love Jumin and it was so much fun to try and write from his perspective ^^ Thank you to everyone who supported the zine! 

Also, thank you to my amazing collab partner, Franjipantree (follow her on twitter!) <3 

Enjoy! :D

Heir Exclusive is privileged to get a sneak peek into the thoughts of Korea’s wealthiest man, Jumin Han. The following is an excerpt from his upcoming memoir, Threads of Thoughts, capturing the innermost thoughts of C&R’s CEO regarding the various kidnapping attempts throughout his life. His book will be available early next year in bookstores internationally.

1st of September, 2018 | 01:42am

I have always been different. Born into wealth, my experiences differ from the normal South Korean citizen. I do not drive…I have chauffeurs. My meals are planned for me by a professional nutritionist, my physical health overseen by a personal trainer. At a young age, I have been taught how to run a business, given advanced lessons…I have been placed on a luxury jet, while other children share a bus or take the public transport.

We never choose the families we are born into. As children, we simply do what we are told, accept the cards we have been dealt; it is up to us to decide whether it will be a winning hand or not. I, of course, knew at a young age that I would inherit my father’s massive business empire —as Chairman Han’s sole heir, who else would he trust to run his company? I had been dealt a winning hand, but that did not mean I was going to relax; no, I intended to use my cards to my advantage and further increase their value.

There are those who cannot comprehend that the fortune my father amassed was gained through hard work…a sincere dedication to his business. There are those who take one look and classify my family and I as aristocratic snobs…as people who live off of their fortune, spending days languidly beside luxury pools or sophisticated parties. I do not feel the need to defend myself against such false accusations. C&R stands tall and firm because of the foundations my father erected, and as his heir, I plan to continue his legacy.

Unfortunately, the world is rife with greed. People will do anything for an easy way out...A shortcut to wealth, to a better life. This journal is where I am able to freely express my unfiltered thoughts. What I wish to talk about tonight is not about our family business…nor is it about my father. No…I wish to talk about the people who allow their greed to consume them, enough so they dare to commit atrocious crimes.

Such as kidnap.

I remember when I was a young boy…I did not question the team of elite bodyguards who accompanied me everywhere I went. I knew my status made me an easy target: sole heir of C&R, a mere child with no means to defend himself. I was already wary of people; who wouldn’t be, with my father’s endless parade of women? And having my father tell me of the threats to my life…of course I trusted him. He is my father, who else would care about my safety more than him?

Indeed, he was right about the dangers that lurk outside the walls of our estate. The first time someone ever attempted to kidnap me…yes, I still remember it vividly.

Class had just ended. I was safely in our car, seatbelt securely fastened when several black vans blocked our path and men with guns exited the vehicle. The other car with my backup bodyguards was nowhere to be seen. The guards with me immediately drew their own guns as we were surrounded by the strangers in masks. I watched the men shoot at our bulletproof windshield, try to pry open the doors with crowbars, yell out threats and demands from outside.

My father warned me about such situations. He said I should remain calm and think rationally, putting my safety above everything else. Showing fear would only give them more power, more leverage. I knew my father loved me —he still does. He would never give me false advice. Therefore I remained calm. Composed. Not showing a trace of fear to the barbaric kidnappers outside the vehicle. With the heavily tinted windows, I doubt they were able to see me anyway.

It was over before it even began. One minute, the men were threatening us while shooting at our car, the next, my bodyguards from the other vehicle came and shot their leader, bringing the other kidnappers to their knees. I still recall the bodyguards exiting the car, leaving me sitting in the back while they rounded up the kidnappers and surveyed the area. Only Driver Kim remained with me, offering a kind, reassuring smile.

My close encounter with the kidnappers was all over the news that evening. My father shielded me from the rabid reporters and hungry journalists, desperate for the drama a ‘traumatized rich boy' such as myself would offer. Yes, it was quite a shocking experience…but I would not go as far as to calling myself ‘traumatized’. Worried, my father had me examined by various health professionals, checking my physical and mental health with regards to the event…I was fine. I did not want to cause a fuss, and I was safely in the car when everything was happening. My father did not have to worry about me. I didn’t know it then, but that experience would be one of the many kidnapping attempts throughout my life. 

To be honest, I do think these experiences have affected me subconsciously. At a young age, I have learned that humans are fragile creatures…easily broken. Humans are greedy and cannot be trusted. There are lengths to which some people would go, for money.

As an adult, I am very much aware of my status and the people who relentlessly chase me for my wealth. That is why I have hired the top men who would ensure my safety and my loved ones’ security. It has made me wary and indifferent to most people.

But she…she is different. My beloved MC…my precious wife. She has brought immense joy to my life, and to be honest, I am able to breathe easier when she is with me. The threads…she untangles them for me, loosens their hold on me.

She is my life.

And it terrifies me.

I know how easy it is for things to change…how easy it is to manipulate the thread of life. Just one snip…and a life is over. It is ironic that one such as I, a man with wealth and power, can have so much to fear.

But no amount of money in the world can ever bring back those we have lost…and I came very close to losing her today. Gone are the days that kidnappers targeted me. No…they know my weakness now. They know I would do anything for my wife. If it were me they took, I would never give the kidnappers anything. Therefore, they grew bold and tried to kidnap my wife.

Earlier this afternoon, MC had insisted to go out with Assistant Kang, to do some last minute preparations for the RFA party. When several men entered the store they were browsing in, the bodyguards contacted me immediately and I rushed to the scene. I called her, of course. I wanted to hear for myself that she was safe, she was unharmed. I shudder when I remember her anxious voice…

“My love, I see the men, they are already in the store and they are coming closer…Do not worry, Jumin, the bodyguards have spotted the—ah, please sir, don’t touch me!”

They dared to touch her…my precious wife. I grew so agitated and restless, I wanted nothing more than to be beside her and introduce the stranger to my fist. God...I will make sure they know what a grave mistake they have made. Thankfully, Assistant Kang is knowledgeable in judo —she was able to defend herself and MC from the men before my men took the kidnappers away.

However, the fact still remains…I could have lost her today. Had it been a different friend with her…or had they pulled out a weapon…God forbid.

Sometimes…Sometimes I wish I could keep her locked up in the penthouse. It is the one place that is heavily guarded, extremely difficult to reach…a safe haven. She would be safe at home.

…yes, I do understand it sounds like I am…unhinged. Rest assured, I am perfectly fine. I simply prefer exercising control over matters. When she is out there…though she is protected…there are other variables I cannot control, cannot foresee. There are innumerable dangers the world poses to my beloved wife. She has become a valuable asset, because she is the queen to whom the king would willingly sacrifice himself for.

She is my everything.

One word from her lips and I am unraveled, I am bested. I am willing to do anything for her. Today, I learned what true fear was. Today, I felt like a boy once more…powerless. Trapped inside a vehicle, waiting for news…good or bad, I have no control. Today, I clasp her thread tighter in my hands…for I do not want to lose her. I can’t. She does not know how much she means to me. And I do not dare to keep her locked up inside a cage…though I desire it, her happiness is also my priority. I want to see her smiling, her radiant glow driving out the hollow emptiness in my soul.

Earlier this evening, I held her close to me, my fingers stroking her hair, wet from her bath. MC was clearly a bit shaken, and I sought to soothe her nerves, reassure her that she was safe. I pressed my lips to her head and spoke to her…

“You are home, my love. Nothing will hurt you here…you are safe.”

“Yes…I know that, Jumin. But I still got scared. If they had gotten me…they would have used me against you. And I never want anybody to use me to blackmail you, Jumin.”

Imagine my shock…my wife still thought of my well-being despite being put at risk. But none of that mattered.

“MC, you are the most precious person in the world to me. Please, I ask you to put yourself above anybody else, even me. Your safety and happiness always come first.”

“No…Jumin, you are my husband. To love and to cherish…I made that vow to you. I don’t care what happens to me…if you are well, if you are safe and happy then I am happy.”

I pull her closer to me then, burying my face in her hair.

“I do not deserve such a wonderful person like yourself, my love…But know that I am never letting you go. I love you, MC. I love you.”

And I meant every word.

A million thoughts ran through my mind as I rushed to her earlier…different outcomes, possible scenarios. I thank God that she came out of it unscathed, unharmed. However, fear remains gnawing at the corners of my mind and my heart. What if someone attempts to take her away from me again…?

No. I must study her security detail once more. In the morning, I will have her bodyguards re-evaluated; perhaps I should add more men to guard her.

Ah…my wife calls for me. It seems as though my thoughts have consumed me, I have lost track of time. It has gotten quite late and I want to be with her…to hold her close and cherish her. Rea her she is safe, and I will never let anything bad happen to her.

Because she is my love...my life.

My MC.

Until then, my old friend.

I would love to know what you think <3 I hope you liked it! ^^

Check out my other Mysme writings here!

Mango Shake/Ko-fi is always very much appreciated (ᵔᴥᵔ)

I’d be honored to write your story <3

My patreon is quiet right now as I work on my original fics, but if you’d like to become a Patron and support me I will forever be thankful ;w;

[allyvampirelass29]

The King of Nothing: Scene 1

A Vampire Diaries Prequel By: Allyssa J. Watkins

<3 <3 <3 SPAIN 1864 <3 <3 <3 

Klaus sat perched upon the wooden fencing of the round pen, his fingers steepled, just under his stubbled chin, looking every bit like a haughty king on his throne, a winged predator, watching the mice dance.

"AGAIN!!!!" He yelled out, his brow severe and slanted forward with his disgust, as the lovely Natalia, landed hard once more in a spray of reddish brown dirt.

She leapt to her feet, growling in frustration, plucking up her sword, and the broad shouldered Elijah bowed to the raven-haired beauty, before raising his own sword.

"ENOUGH of the ceremony, Elijah, you're fighting my charge to the death, not dancing the bloody quadrille!!!"

Elijah's eyes seemed to heat up behind the placard of ever somber nobility, as he stared back hard at his preening brother. "I'll have you know, there are several skills gleaned from dancing the quadrille that might be applied to the art of swordplay."

Klaus rolled his eyes, gesturing his brother forward. "No one cares about your prancing, Brother, keep your musings to yourself, and FOCUS!!!! I said, AGAIN!!!!"

Natalia charged at Elijah, with pure force, and a yell, slashing her sword, and there was a clang as steel met steel, Elijah parrying effortlessly. Natalia struck again, with a turn, and Elijah turned around her, meeting her blade with considerably less force.

"Oh how ADORABLE!!!!!" Klaus sneered. "Look at the two of you with your precious little faux fight!!! What the HELL was that, Elijah!? I might as well be watching the two of you circle 'round each other at some insipid ball!!! PUT SOME BITE INTO IT!!!!"

Natalia glared over her shoulder at Klaus, even while she spoke to Elijah, the hot summer's breeze making her curls dance. "How badly do you want to knock him off that fence right now?"

Elijah sighed, hoping his face did not betray the shocking violence of his thoughts. "Immensely so. If only there were a considerably large trough of water that he might fall into to make the experience that much more satisfying."

Natalia giggled, brushing a curl from her forehead. "Sadly, I don't even think that would cool him off...…"

Elijah nodded in agreement. "I'm afraid we must perform quite the show if we are ever going to placate his raging thirst for a violent spar."

"I'm game if you are," Natalia smiled with a wink.

"I'm SORRY!!!!" Klaus yelled from the fence, curling his fingers on either side of his lips to sound louder. "Did I say CHATTER or BATTLE!? EN-BLOODY-GARDE ALREADY!!!!"

Natalia huffed, biting her tongue to keep the scathing remark from hurling itself back at him. She raised her sword, and swiftly sliced it at Elijah's side. He blocked much harder than before, and thrust the pointed tip of his blade toward her torso which she swiveled to avoid just in time, slashing upwards, and cutting his cheek.

"Draw some blood, Sweetheart, that's it!!! Elijah, are you even TRYING!? She's a NEWBORN, and she'll never learn if you insist on letting her win!!!! FIGHT like you HATE the very sight of each other!!!!"

"I'll just pretend you're him," She teased to Elijah, and he smiled widely, the cut on his cheek already healing.

Elijah felt his speed increasing, deciding if he gave Klaus a swashbuckling spectacle, he would quiet his heckling chide, and let them end the day early. He felt the reverberations through his hands, as his sword met with Natalia's again and again, his movements less fluid and more savage, thrusting and parrying, forcing his blade down toward her determined face, and her own flew up to block it, a murmur of effort escaping her lips, as the two blades scraped against each other, back and forth, still crossed, and Elijah's strength won out, his blade biting down on Tal's, flinging her across the arena, and she stumbled backward with the force.

"AGAIN!!!!"

Natalia rose up in a fury, flying at Elijah, who looked a little guilty, and she slashed at his chest, as he nimbly jumped back, and blurred behind her, pressing the cool steel of his sword, to the warmth of her pulsing neck.

"That's cheating," She hissed, starting to get pissed off. "I didn't know we could cheat."

"Hush now, he'll love it," Elijah whispered back, holding his sword steady, careful not to let the sharp edge cut her throat.

"Well, well, FINALLY somebody's playing dirty!!!" Klaus crowed. "Natalia, PLAY DIRTIER."

Natalia blurred out of Elijah's grasp, her hands closing over the hilt of the dagger tucked in Elijah's black boots, and as he moved to strike, Natalia met his thrust, distracting him with her sword, before stabbing the smaller blade into his other side, as he yowled in surprise.

"AGAIN!!!!" Klaus screamed, no words of encouragement, of course. So quick to reprimand what I've done wrong, and GOD forbid you tell me when I KNOW I've done right.

Elijah fumed, grasping her wrist, pulling her closer. "That was just mean," He growled back, his breath labored, as he pulled the blade from his side.

"You said it yourself, Elijah...…. He'll love it." She whispered back teasingly.

Elijah released her, feeling affronted, casting the dagger aside furiously, and this time when he swung his sword toward the side of her head, she could almost feel the heat coming off of it.

She brought her sword up, forcing his back, lunging for his arm, and he whirled around, kicking her in the side hard, sending her tumbling.

"AGAIN!!!!"

Natalia, having been flung into the dirt, one too many times, gritted her teeth and blurred like a speeding bullet towards Elijah, swooping down to slash into his leg, feeling his knee buckle, and then driving him backward as hard as she could, swiping the blade at his own neck. But the eldest Original's pride was still wounded, and the girl's tricks were wearing thin. He grasped her blade with both hands, and she hesitated, horrified, as his palms bled, staining the forged steel red, and he ripped it from her grasp, letting it cut deep into his flesh, drawing the tip across her shoulder, before flipping it in the air, popping her in the cheek with its iron hilt, and she went down hard.

"AGAIN!!!!" Klaus yelled, just as the petite blonde threw herself against the fence exasperated.

"OH MY GOD, NOT AGAIN!!!! Can't we do absolutely ANYTHING else, besides watch Natalia get her ass kicked? Nick!!!! I'm bored!!! Play Sire Games another time, won't you?"

Rebekah pouted her pink lips, crossing her arms over the rounded wood, shaking the dust from the hem of her light pink muslin dress.

"Rebekah behave. I haven't time for your squirming squall right now, Natalia must be tested."

"Natalia, Natalia, Natalia!!!" Rebekah exclaimed dramatically, crossing her arms, sulking. "Your kingdom for bloody Natalia. My GOD, I go away to Paris for two weeks, and you bring home that dreadful thing!!! I HATE her, Nick, that ungrateful little troll lives in my house, steals my clothes, and hasn't a kind word for anyone. Boohoo someone killed her whole family, why do I have to suffer for it?"

Klaus narrowed his eyes annoyed, as Elijah leant down sheepishly to help Natalia to her feet, and she slapped his hand away.

"You're being ugly, Rebekah, and my patience wears ever thin. Natalia is mine to do with as I wish, and if I seek to strengthen this acquired weapon with rigorous training from now until Judgement Day, so be it. Your boredom means less than nothing to me. Stay, watch, keep your mouth shut, or go back to terrorizing Paris.

"How very droll," Rebekah drawled, hastily brushing the dirt from her layered sleeve. "Is it just me Nick, or have you been nastier, angrier, and more all around beastly since your tenacious tart arrived? My, my, how fitting you train her in the round pen. What's next, are you going to tie your little filly up with the rest of the livestock?"

Klaus snarled, grasping Rebekah’s white lace glove, pricking his nail hard into her palm. "Don't you EVER talk that way about her again, do you understand!? You spoiled, self-aggrandizing, little prima donna, that girl has survived atrocities that would drain even your worst nightmares pale, and she will have your respect, I DEMAND it!!!" 

Rebekah yanked her hand away, with an indignant scoff, showing Klaus her palm. "You see that!? Just look what you've done!!! Blood, on my best gloves, from Milan no less!!! Oh tosh, demand my respect, do you? What for? It's not like you show her ANY. You treat her worse than anyone, too proud to return your pet to her nothing human life, because of some stupid blood bond, and now I'm bloody stuck with her, playing nursemaid to some disdainful wretch!!!"

Klaus took pause, his stormy blue eyes intense in their focus, leaning forward. "I will speak to her as I see fit, mine is the voice that she will heed as gospel. I am her Sire, her damned master. You will NOT provoke her. Not if you intend to keep your pretty things, including that glove, and yes, that hand."

"I am sorry, Natalia, that was a bit much......" Elijah pleaded, his eyes repentant he stood over her. "How is your jaw?"

Natalia glared up at him from her place in the dirt, her fiery eyes full of spite, rubbing her right cheek, feeling the ache, tasting her own blood. "You broke my tooth!"

Elijah winced, looking ashamed. "Forgive me, Miss Callidora. In striving to sate Klaus' thirst for cutthroat sport, I, myself, may have drank from the same cup."

Rebekah's piercing wail met the pair of them, and Natalia smiled sarcastically. "Great. Look who's home. Apparently Paris has enough petulant, pastel, fluff and feathers snobby bitches, and even worn torn France couldn't endure her."

"You certainly don't make things easy on yourself, do you?" Elijah tsked, extending his hand out graciously to the smouldering raven maiden.

Natalia slapped his hand away, and rose from the dirt on her own, still tasting blood as the bruise formed on her cheek. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Rebekah's a little blonde brat who deserves every word spat against her. I was raised a proper young woman, Elijah, and my own privilege didn't turn me into a sanctimonious she-devil!!!"

"Yes, although, I see such an upbringing did not deter that sharp tongue from particularly vulgar language."

Natalia laughed, tossing back her curls, her eyes snapping. "I'm not that sweet Spanish Lady anymore, Elijah, I'm a creature of the night now, remember, a monster just like you with nothing to lose. I don't care anymore, to hell with propriety, it was all fuss for nothing anyway."

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, it does pain me so....... You are not a monster like me, Miss Callidora, nor will you ever become such, not as long as I breathe. The very comparison sickens me, even in your snark and playful jest. You are a lady, make no mistake, even with your defiant predilection sorely amplified....... Rebekah is a great many things, but you would do well to remember she is also Klaus' most favoured sibling."

"Oh COME ON!!!!" Natalia spat back, rolling her eyes, looking at Elijah incredulous. "WHAT!? You've got to be kidding, Please..... tell me you're kidding!!!"

"What?" Elijah half smiled, twirling his sword through the air, with a few practice swings. "Did you think it was me, Niklaus was closest to? Now, it is you, Miss Callidora, who must be kidding. As far as brother against brother goes, even the North and South in this Uncivil War, have not perfected the betrayal quite like the Mikaelson Clan. No, Klaus, would rend my head from my shoulders if it meant sparing the life of his faithful, though at times grating little sister. Thus it has always been, even as young children. Klaus and Rebekah, Always and Forever.

"And yet he scolds her frivolousness, orders her around, and controls her too!!! What the HELL kind of family is this?" Natalia glowered, wrinkling her nose with disgust.

"A complicated question that I cannot answer in truth, Natalia, if Klaus is bent this hellishly so on keeping you amongst us......" He looked away, a hardness in his eyes that Natalia had never seen before. "If you knew even a shade of what we, all of us, had done, what we're capable of........ You'd redefine the word monster, with much more fearful reverence, flee from this house in frenzy, and never once look back. If he felt anything at all for you....... He should release you at once."

Natalia felt the chill ease itself warily through her body, despite the beating heat of the day, and for once she didn't have a scathing counter ready on her tongue.

"Klaus may reprimand Rebekah, boss her about, kill any man that seeks to spirit her away, but he loves her deeply, in that strange, twisted, overprotective means he's come to don. And it would be prudent for you to remember a kind word for her, is one less cross one from him.

Natalia laughed amused, twirling her sword in her own hand. "His precious Rebekah can go to HELL," She simpered, her voice overly sweet. "All of Klaus' most CUTTING scathes, cannot traumatize me quite like the arduous experience of having to be nice to that screeching blonde banshee!!!"

"Girls, GIRLS, am I interrupting your little hen party!? How about a little less idle chit chat, and more vampire VIOLENCE, if you would be so kind!?" Klaus taunted from the fence, hands clasped together, but his eyes were callous, despite the teasing lilt of his voice.

"Niklaus, as we have been toiling tirelessly since dawn broke, might I suggest a brief respite? You know full well, a young vampire needs twice as much blood to sustain their strength, and Miss Callidora hasn't had near enough for this level of physical engagement."

"Miss Callidora, MISS Callidora, will FEED once she's done something to merit my keeping her ALIVE!!! That goes for you too, Brother, I want to see LESS flirting and MORE BLOODY FIGHTING!!!!!" Klaus roared, his unhinged voice echoing through the arena, and Rebekah hopped up next to him on the fence, her painted face, smug.

"Come now, Dear Brother, Elijah for all his dastardly swordplay prowess is never going to hurt a lady, and yes," She looked down her nose at Natalia, still covered in dirt, with vehement distaste. "I do use the term...... loosely."

Natalia laughed without mirth, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh Rebekah, you would know all about being a loose lady, now wouldn't you? Why DID you rush home so fast? Did you bed all the men in Paris already, and still none will marry you?"

Rebekah moved to leap over the fence with a furious yell, when Klaus caught her fast, gripping her forearm, and Natalia swore she saw the faintest smirk tease the curve of his bottom lip. Favourite sibling, huh? You sure about that, Elijah?

"NICK!!! Are you really going to allow that HORRID strumpet to appall and humiliate your sister so? Elijah has obviously failed as a challenging sparring partner for her, so why not let ME settle this, just between us girls?" Rebekah smiled evilly with a feminine shrug of her shoulder. "No one fights a woman better than another woman, you know I'm right...... I've just been dying to spend more time with your little sired bitch."

"NO!!!!!" Klaus seethed, with a dark scowl, knocking her off the fence, and she landed behind it in a blur of blonde hair, and a rustle of overturned pink muslin, aghast. "You are NEVER to touch her, Rebekah, not once!!! I FORBID IT!!!! Do NOT try me!!!! As much as it would alleviate all of our suffering to let the two of you have at it, I want her trained, not dead."

Klaus arched both red blonde eyebrows, just daring her to move against him, and finally with a sigh, Rebekah hung back, away from the fence. "Fair point, Nick, I'll behave, since you asked SO nicely. But, my, whomever are you going to get to dance with your little scrapper, since clearly Elijah's too frilly cuffs and coddled manners to get the job done proper?"

Elijah had just raised his sword to Natalia's once more, and before he'd even swung it, Klaus could taste the disappointment like a rancor in his mouth, rubbing his finger hard against the scratchy stubble on his chin, his blue eyes, biting as they chastised such impending failure.

Everyone froze as Klaus rose to his full height atop the fence, his balance perfect, as he straightened his leather vest, plumed with gold scrollwork at the breast, and he leapt into the arena, like a great lion, with lithe, lethal grace, his leather boots not making a sound as he landed with menacing flourish.

"Rather than watch the both of you continue to henpeck at each other to exasperating boredom, why not let the fox have his play?"

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

[oc-poll-tournament]

OC Poll Tournament Round 2 Poll 1

Propaganda below the cut:

Chess (she/her) @concealeddarkness13 (the picture for her is made by the wonderful @drabbleitout, and she is the person on the left with the prosthetics in the picture): Chess is a special character, and I hope to show how special and awesome she is! She’s extremely distrustful, but she’ll trust people who even treat her with an ounce of decency, and she’ll protect the people she cares about with her life. She’s flirty and confident, but underneath, she has an abysmal amount of self esteem and thinks she’s a monster that will never have love or friendships. She is my blorbo who has been rotating in my mind for the past two years, and I hope you can love her as well! Someone described her in one of the AUs I’ve done as oscillating “between being a poor, wet little meow meow and a fierce feral protective lioness being held back by the scruff of her neck because she is still little”. (credits to @ratracechronicler)

She did start out with a loving family, but like all good protagonists, her parents were murdered when she was 10, and she was left alone. Especially because the society she lives in ignores violent crimes and the victims of those crimes, erasing them all from society as if they never existed. So, she technically didn’t exist in society’s eyes, so she couldn’t get a job or own property or anything. The people around her helped her for a few years until she was old enough to take care of herself, and then she learned to steal.

At twenty years old, she was kidnapped and forced into prosthetics experiments that gave her fire magic that hurts her, from her prosthetic right arm and left leg now. She has a magic fire in her lungs that flares up during physical or mental stress and burns her throat and makes her cough up smoke. Aeflin, the person running the experiments, believed her to be very strong (because she snarked at Aeflin so much and didn’t let her see her pain as much as possible), so she decided to make Chess into her weapon.

She changed her name (since Chess’s original name was Ezra) to Chess, and she put her through even worse torture. Finally, Naivi, the other person running the experiments, got Chess her own team and sent her out into the world to do what the experiments were for and to get her away from Aeflin.

Chess tried to escape that, but a random person found her and took away her memories and brought her back into the enclosure, where most humans are trapped. And she realized right away that the humans inside the enclosure found she was from the experiments and hated her and hurt her and called her a monster because God forbid women do anything (just trying to survive). She learned that the only way that she could get a warm place to sleep (not an alley) was to make herself attractive to people and flirt. She liked sleeping with people, but she mostly did it to have a warm and somewhat safer place to sleep. And even then, she’d have to stay alert because her partner could wake up and try to hurt her.

That’s where she is at the start of her story! She will get a found family and someone or someones to love! She’s pansexual and polyamorous and flirty, and she loves physical touch! She just wants people to treat her decently, and if she has to, she’ll fight to protect her boundaries. And she loves punching jerks in the face with her prosthetic! And we love a woman who loves to fight, right? Thanks for reading!

Viper (she/her) @maple-writes: Loyal and devoted Viper is a member of a small band of mercenaries led by Winter, her definitely not girlfriend (neither have admitted it to the other) called the Aristata. Within the Aristata she is in charge of their horses, training, upkeep, and anything else that comes up, and she loves them all. Unable to speak around those she doesn’t know and trust, she can only manage a whisper with those she is able to talk to. She comes off as a stoic, strong silent type to those around her or in front of anyone watching her while she is actually very anxious around those she doesn’t know and prefers to have a friend she can lean on in social situations. Viper is observant, and smarter than she thinks she is but will swallow what she knows and any feelings of unease in favour of what Winter wants done and will protect her no matter what.

[supportourgoddesses]

The queer community is it’s own worst enemy.   

It’s gay men and lesbians against bisexual people, who “just need to choose.” Angry spitfires who say asexual people aren’t really part of the community, aren’t really human. Cisgendered queers who degrade and dehumanize trans and non binary people.   

We put each other in boxes. We tell one another that there’s something false about that person’s LGBTQ+ identity. We say “you don’t belong, you have to fit into this cookie cutter. You can’t be that one, or none at all.” There’s always something wrong with you, but if you were to be something else, then you’ll be part of the community. We’ll finally get equal rights, if only you change. 

Get married, adopt kids. Don’t be poor, don’t be disabled, don’t be a person of color. You can be queer, but not too much, because then they won’t help us. You’ll scare them away. You can come under the umbrella, but if you’re this-or-that, we’ll push you out into the rain. 

This is what assimilation does to people. It pits them against each other, because everyone is holding themselves to a standard of a people that is not their own. And it isn’t just the LGBTQ+ community that does it. 

 ~ “You’re dark skinned - you’re not as good, not as clean, as people with light skin.”   ~ “You’re light skinned - you’re not black enough. Who do you think you are?” 

 ~ “You speak Spanish, so you’re living in the past; you aren’t ‘American’ enough.”  ~ “You don’t speak Spanish, so you aren’t in touch with you’re Latinx roots.” 

And round and round in circles. No one is safe, no one is free. There are too many eyes, too many boxes, and so an identity is scattered like loose change. A people forgets that they are all the same blood, in an effort to dilute it. This is what assimilation does to a people. Society hurts the community, which hurts the individual. All people, vs. your people, vs. you. 

To be queer is to be gifted with an eye-opening experience that never truly ends. It’s a life-long journey of discovery, about who you are and how you want to express that. It’s a description, not a definition. The LGBTQ+ community is vibrant, diverse, and all-encompassing. To be a part of it is to belong, to learn, and to gain friendship. It spans the globe, it brings out the best in people. Your never really stop seeing it’s beauty.   

But it’s made to be something else. It’s told it must be a set of easily identified categories. Queer people are told that they must fit one of these categories, and stick to it. Their identity must be a tight package to fit into. It must be easily understood and easily explained, because God forbid we confuse anyone! And so the queer individual suffers. 

And when the person suffers, so does the community.

[thecloserkin]

fic rec (2/2): I Don’t Hear the Church Bells Chime Anymore Part by Noccalula (Part 1 is here)

They present themselves at the Hydra compound to volunteer as human guinea pigs. This is their last, best shot at taking down Tony Stark and his “imperialist death machine.”

Both of them were iron deficient, running light fevers, and dehydrated to the point that they were immediately given IV fluids. The first few weeks were nothing but antibiotics and lightning rounds of samples and examinations as the medical team worked to ensure that the twins were at least coming to a safe point to begin working on gaining weight and exercising; Pietro could not aptly put into words what it did for his heart to watch the sallowness in Wanda’s skin disappear, her eyes brighten again

almost makes you think their freedom a small price to pay for being restored to to peak health doesn’t it

but that autonomy had been the first thing they were informed that they would be signing over.  Wanda had reached down to lay her hand across her brother’s, which lay across her thigh, and gave it a soft squeeze before she put pen to paper and quite literally signed her life away before handing him the instruments to do the same.

have any of you guys ever signed a cell phone carrier contract? or bought anything online from any merchant at all? or opened any kind of bank or credit card account? nobody actually reads the fine print — maybe you’ve seen the video of the voice actor who was hired to read Amazon Kindle’s TOS front to back and it took him 8 hours — but how much of that autonomy that Pietro and Wanda value so much was illusory? Even if they’ve never had a cell phone? …. Sure, we’re free to sign these one-sided impenetrable legalese contracts or walk away, but how do you function as a person in the modern world without signing them? You don’t have to worry about affording a lawyer to decipher them for you, since most of them include mandatory arbitration clauses to prevent you getting your day in court, or god forbid bringing a class action suit against the corporation. There’s no overt coercion going on but it’s not much of a negotiation when one party is holding all the cards. In the previous chapter Pietro and Wanda observed that they didn’t have a choice, really, and here the “choice” to sign their rights away is a farce of freedom. Capitalism is fucking depressing let’s move on to a lighter subject aka sexytimes:

So many of the things that Pietro was dying to do were still logistically tricky but it didn’t stop him from whispering them to her in the dead of night, his lips against her ear or the back of her neck just like old times as she heaved soft sighs, her back pressed against his chest. If they were covert enough, sex could pass for spooning or cuddling when the nurses passed by, shining muted lights into the room to ensure no one had gone awol. Somehow, the thrill of possibly being caught and the shame of just how forbidden the act was became part of the appeal for Wanda.

This is my jam: Sex that passes for spooning? Yesssss. The thrill of being caught? Hell yes. The taboo heightening the hotness? Sign me the fuck up. Can you imagine how wet she got when he whispered all the things he wanted to do to her? And the herculean struggle to stay quiet, to not tip off the nurses, damn I need a shower.

So Wanda gets her period after five years of being too undernourished to get it and the way it happens is the two of them wake up in a pool of blood which ofc freaks them the fuck out THEN when Pietro starts lifting weights without a shirt on there are all these scratches on his back from Wanda’s nails and the doctor who is no one’s fool decides Wanda needs to go on birth control asap. THEN the experimentation begins in earnest and the they insist on separating the twins afterward — these are Herr Strucker’s instructions. Nobody, no other subjects so far, has survived the second round of treatments.

”Now, most of Mengele’s experiments on twins were utterly worthless,” Von Strucker continued … “Because he was not interested in science - he was interested in torture … But we, doctors, are not interested in torture, no. And we noticed very quickly that there was one thing that Mengele missed, His research suggested that twins were more likely to survive lethal experimentations for longer if they were reunited after a separation.”

This is sO cReEpy — no we are doctors we are not torturers we are doing this for SCIENCE ok. It’s little wonder Strucker didn’t miss a beat when the true nature of the twins’ intimacy came to light: he saw it as something he could use. Their soul-deep bond would give him the leverage to fashion them into the perfect weapons. And spoiler alert, they survive! Pietro zips around super fast! Wanda can read minds now!

Though Pietro posed the more immediate physical threat, everyone was markedly more afraid of Wanda. This was something Pietro was almost visibly proud of.

There is a very specific kind of competency porn where one member of your OTP is just bursting with pride at the other member of your OTP doing something superbly well and this is a prime example of that, this is Pietro Maximoff telling these bitches to fuck off because look at my sister she is a telepathic reality-warping witch. (I just rewatched Firefly and the scene in “Ariel” where Simon breaks character in the middle of a hospital heist to save a random patient’s life and River just looks at him is also a prime example of this trope.)

“Superheroes.” The word felt disgustingly capitalist on Wanda’s tongue.

I am crying haha because this is so true. Isn’t the superhero story par excellence about a human with extra-special abilities accomplishing extraordinary things rather than, say, a bunch of regular schmucks building collective power through solidarity? One of the things I love about this fic is the fact that the people who work for Hydra, from Strucker down to Doctor Bellato and Istvan, are none of them evil people. They commit evil deeds, to be sure, but they are working within a system which greatly constrains their array of choices.

They could run forever – he could run forever, with Wanda in his arms. But he knew there was still a growling, raging thing in the pit of his heart that lived in Wanda’s as well, and that thing would not know satisfaction until it knew justice.

This is a very good, succinct account of what drives the twins. Justice is what propels them forward day by day but it is also, I think, what drives them to be together in the romantic sense, because I am not sure if, in a universe where Sokovia remained at peace, the Maximoffs would turn to each other. I think the shared trauma was a necessary precondition to the incest. Fight me but that’s my reading of their characterization in this particular fic, not applicable generally, and god knows I haven’t read any of the comics.

Wanda and Pietro had carried nothing from the old life but one another and fistfuls of nightmares, scars that would never fade and wounds that would never heal save but for through one another.

There is a whole chapter that is like, just the two of them holing up in a hotel and screwing each other’s brains out. A well-deserved interlude, kids. (Well-deserved for me the reader as well, I hasten to add I thought it was a real treat.) There’s a mural erected by some of their erstwhile comrades from the anarchist commune, titled “Long Live the Maximoffs” because they are now apparently the face of the (failed? stalled?) revolution. You know, every time I read the twins’ internal monologue repeating that old “we came into this world together and we’ll leave it together” aphorism it’s like twisting a knife in my heart. Of course it never occurs to them only one of them will die, and the other will have to learn to live without him.

The ultimate betrayal of Wanda’s heart was that the damned thing continued to beat without him.

And there it is. Not to take anything away from Vision but Pietro was the love of her life, thanks for coming to my ted talk. Thanks for joining me in combing through one of my favorite fics of all time and enumerating all the 987654321 reasons I loved it, and thanks to @noccalula-writes for the gift of this brilliant story.

[lighthouseofthewanderess]

Self-love

I don’t think I’ve met a single person who’s learnt to love themselves without learning it the hard way first. And I know that there are still many who are yet to be blessed with the wisdom to realize what self love can do. It’s almost like someone built a world for you before you were even born, confining you to ages of repetition, deciding what you can and cannot do. God forbid you start straying into the journey of finding yourself, then would follow lectures in hope of ‘getting you back on track’. While pressures of the society is something we all have to live with, doing that without loving yourself makes the whole ordeal, harder. And I refuse to have anything pre-defined for me, except my name. Well, maybe not my name either. In its entirety, my name has 29 alphabets -- Priyadarshini Balasubramanian. As a South Indian, I took the name of my dad as my last name. Till date I don’t know if it ends with a ‘m’ or and ‘n’. Does it even matter? Whenever I hear this long name, I feel heavy. I absolutely hate it. I don’t believe it matches my identity at all. My mom launched into an explanation of how she named me ‘Priyadarshini’ so that people can all me ‘Darshini’. Well, screw that. She also said it was borrowed from Indira Gandhi’s middle name -- Priyadarshini . Screw that too. I’m not a celebrity, I’m not nobel. I’m simply me, and this was way too long a name. Longer than the English alphabet. So when people in US couldn’t pronounce my name for nuts (how can I blame them) the Principal politely suggested a shorter name. “Just for the schools here” she stressed, as if it is their shortcoming. I gladly welcomed that opportunity and snipped both the names. At the end what we had was  -- Priya Bala. A short, self-made name for a self-made woman. Works. So when my prefect badge had my whole ugly name crunched on it, I marched up to the principal and made a deal. No one’s taking me away from me. It also made me feel like I had something to live up to. While Priyadarshini meant personification of love, Priya just meant love. It was a lesser burden. I wasn’t going to embody all the good, personify it. I was just going to action the word out. And as a verb carried out by a human, it was okay flaw while loving. This I can live with, I told myself. Problem is, for the longest time, I considered the whole act of loving as something you do for the world and the people in this world. And life tried so hard to show me it wasn’t others you need to seek love in return from, it is from yourself. From within.

I remember in school, I had a friend called Megha. I considered her my best friend. Looking back at it, I don’t even know what led me to that conclusion. One day, we both had bunked our classes and were walking around the campus. I cherished these one-on-one conversations with people; it made me feel real important and wanted. But soon, a gang of boys (who were also her friends) came by and I took three steps back. No boys rule. She quickly came over to me afterwards and said “I’ll be right back, they’re calling me for a game.” I nodded enthusiastically. Love is patient. Love can wait. I waited. And waited. The bell rang, lunch hour was upon me, and still no sign of Megha. Here’s where there’s a fork in the road. If you love yourself even a little, you would be able to brush it off; chalk it to the other person being well, a person, and walk away. But if you all you’ve done is pull out oodles of love, stuff it into people’s heart, and expect their validation, then you’re in for trouble. Like the little me now. I went spiraling in my thoughts wondering if I was a bad friend, if I wasn’t loyal enough. Why did she even want to leave me alone in the first place. The thought killed me for a few hours and when I met her again, I was struck with agony to see she wasn’t even sorry. It wasn’t her fault. It was my inability to let things go. That I cannot expect things just because I gave some love. Love isn’t a transaction. It isn’t a process. I smiled, I hugged her, we forgot it. Inside, I told myself not to love anyone too much.

But it kept happening. And whenever it did, I pointed fingers at myself. The birthday party where I invited 3 people and only two turned up. Wasn’t I good enough? The day people made decisions without even asking me if I was okay with it. Did I not matter to them? The family gathering where I ended up singing carnatic music just because I was taking classes. Why did they force me even after I said no? I saw the pattern. I went out of my way to make others happy; I did things I regretted. I didn’t know any other way. Then there came a day when I that changed. It was only a small instance, but I learned a great deal from it. Whether it was mom, my then lover, or friends, the rule was simple -- does it work for me? It went like this.

I was at a party. Sitting there, plastering a smile on my face, having shots because it was what everyone was telling me to do. The conversation was boring. Over some hostel story that I didn’t want to know, didn’t have anything to contribute to. It looked like the only thing that kept me there was the fact that I had said yes to being there. And so, in the middle of it all, I felt like I was done. I got up to go. I put some money on the table and said they were all assholes for forcing me into their idea of fun. How stupid. But it felt good to have my opinion on my table. I knew I probably won’t see them again, and I was happy for that. I didn’t wait for them to stop me, and they didn’t either. I rode home feeling lighter, smiling to myself at the signals for doing what I wanted instead of going along with someone’s plan. I got home, made myself a nice meal and plonked with my laptop. Watched a horror movie, slept, danced around with a tea cup in the evening, and read a book basking in the sunset. The day had just turned out fabulous. And it was because I had got up and chose myself over them.

After that, I went on a detox. Don’t be wrong to think it had to do with food. I did a complete cleanse of my friend circle. I stopped meeting people who were okay if I tagged along. I sent a message out there into the universe that my time was precious. If they wanted me around, they better let me know instead of me assuming and randomly showing up. I deleted people off Facebook. I stopped responding to pointless forwards and engaging in small talk. My words were precious. If I was to spend it on you, you better know you’re important. My circle dwindled to people I can count on my fingers. And that was okay. They were all people who took me in because they valued me for me. I am flawed, I snap when hungry or just the same when I’m normal. I cross lines when drunk, say what’s on my mind. I frown when I work, I sit silent on group discussions observing people. I bring my bike whenever I come to meet you just so that I have an escape plan if things don’t go well. I always have an escape plan. I don’t contribute to conversations that involve history, politics, or celebrities. I know a very few things in life, but I’m willing to learn. And if you don’t judge me for that, then you have me. If not, then au revoir.

That said, it’s not like I wasn’t social. I talk to people who talk to me. Some amount of small talk is okay. But these are the people who know me for what I let on. I laugh a little on the inside when people say I have it all together, I’m always traveling, sweet to people, or that I love my work. You have no idea what’s beneath the surface you just managed to scratch. The real me is exclusive to just a few. And it is just these few that are allowed when I’m a bloody mess -- howling away, breaking to bits over a burger, panicking when I can’t decide what to wear. For this support system, I would cancel other plans. Throw in my essentials and come stay over. Pick up calls at 3am and listen to their stoner-talk. I love them because I can see a bit of myself in them. And because I love myself, I can allow to love them too. That’s how it works.

You love yourself first. Then you grow your circle of those who love what they see in you. Not the other way around. It has taken me all of 23 years to learn that, and I’m still not done. Here are a few things that has helped me, in bits of the Serenity Prayer. 

You cannot do anything about your face -- I was body shaming myself for the longest time. I wanted to be petite so that I can fit into any and every kind of clothing. I experimented with my hairstyles just to make my face look smaller. But it is huge and round. I cannot do anything about it. I can only make sure my body stays fit. But that doesn’t mean I become a fitness freak and hope for smaller hip bones. My built is this, I shall dress for it. That’s how my boho-chic style came to be. A ‘I-don’t-care look.’ Give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change.

You can only love people so much -- It is not your job to go around fixing people. Just like you found a way to fix yourself, they too need to hear from within. No amount of positive talk or empowering compliments is going to change their mind. So don’t set out on a mission to heal the world like a savior. Love them, hold them when they need you, and inspire them. The rest is in their hands. Give me the courage to change what I can and the wisdom to know when to stop.

You are not what happens to you -- So when a project goes wrong, a person cheats on you, or your parents think you are a disappointment, double check how much of that has to do with what you’ve done. If you find a way to fix it, go ahead. If you cannot, then it’s not your fault. Don’t go looking around for sympathy when you’re the only one who can forgive yourself for your losses. Or if you can’t, just cut them from your narrative. And for god’s sake -- don’t jump to the conclusion that you’re not good enough. Like literally don’t off anything, ever. Everyone errs, to err is human. Give me the power to accept my hardships as a way to become stronger.

Self-love is an ocean that I can scrutinize from every angle. I can simply put it like this: your heart holds a lot of love. It is easy to underestimate how much love you can give others. We do it all the time, leaving a bit of our heart with so many people -- scattering it away like they’re breadcrumbs for others to find a way back to you. But whatever you do, don’t spend it all. Fortify your own before you try to be a pillar for others. You need some for yourself, you cannot depend on others’ bread trails because they don’t lead to you when you’re lost.

[tipsycad147]

Graveyard magick: A Witch's guide

by Michelle Gruben

Just about every Witch loves to poke around in old cemeteries and graveyards. And yet, actually doing magick in graveyards is a guarded subject, even among people who practice their craft without shame.

Is it discomfort with death? Fear of not being taken seriously? The overwhelming influence of the white-light crowd? Who knows. Graveyards are often associated with curses and hexes, with secrecy, with people who take angsty selfies and write vampire poems—but it doesn’t have to be that way.

Here’s a handy Witch’s guide to finding, exploring and working within graveyards—no black nail polish required.

Why Graveyards?

Graveyards are amazing places for magickal work for several reasons:

Cemeteries are a shared spiritual space that doesn’t belong to any one religion or group. After all, death is the thing that we all have in common.  No matter what words are said over the casket, we all return to Gaia in the end. For Witches and Pagans, graveyards can function as a neutral religious space, or even a temple when none is available.

Burial places are also one of the few types of land that has been mostly immune to commercial re-development. Even our materialistic society draws the line at digging up great-grandma to build more mid-rise condos. In mature cities, cemeteries are often among the last public green spaces available. If you want to be close to nature (but not run over by joggers and bikers) you could do worse than to cozy up to some tombstones.

Finally, there are the metaphysical traits. Graveyards are set apart from the hustle and bustle of everyday life—they remain quiet and sad while the world grows up around them. There is a stillness and a timelessness in graveyards. They often hold strong emotional energy, which can be attractive to visiting entities. They are a symbolic boundary between the world of the living and the Underworld.

Finding Old Cemeteries

You can often find quaint little cemeteries just by driving around, especially in older communities. Old churches and funeral homes usually have burial plots attached. Some large city cemeteries are historic landmarks in their own right, with splendid monuments to the city’s heroes, villains, and well-off boring chaps.

In witchy cities like New Orleans and Salem, graveyards can be a huge tourist draw. A tour company or visitor’s bureau can give you a list of cemeteries to visit.  As ghost hunting and witchcraft have become more mainstream, many cemeteries offer special occult-themed tours. (Take the tour to scope out points of interest, then come back later without the crowds.) When traveling in rural areas, watch the side of the road for cemetery markers—the graveyard itself will usually be off the main road and up a hill. (To keep dead bodies out of the drinking water. Hooray!)

Another cemetery scouting tip: Photographers love graveyards almost as much as Witches do. Follow your local photography club, as they will do a lot of the legwork of sniffing out old and picturesque graves.

For cemetery visits that are off the beaten path, check in with the local historical society or civic clubs. Retirees and veterans often do the work of maintaining gravesites year-round. Historical groups can clue you in to little-known or neglected burial sites. Slave cemeteries, Jewish cemeteries, and pioneer cemeteries all have incredible stories to tell, and energies that are very different from what you will find at large memorial parks.

Some traditional graveyard spells call for a certain type of gravesite. (A murdered person for a revenge spell, rich man for money spells, child’s grave to conceive a baby, etc.) This is another case where it’s helpful to have history buffs for friends.

Like all other cultural artifacts, burial sites change over time. Headstones from the colonial period and earlier often gave a lot of biographical details, but later ones tend to have simple inscriptions. The stories of the deceased are in danger of being lost to time. Sometimes, however, the opposite is true. The graves of regular people can sometimes become local legends, pilgrimage sites for wish-making and little rituals.

As colorful as old cemeteries are, don’t neglect modern ones for you magickal needs. (In fact, some Witches prefer fresh gravesites for gathering graveyard dirt and certain other tasks.) If your home is near a cemetery (old or new) I highly recommend spending some time there. The practice will help connect you with the history of the land and people who helped build your local community. Your magick will be better for the experience.

Know the Rules

There are mundane rules and occult rules for working in cemeteries.  First, the mundane rules. These will usually be posted at the entrance, especially in newer and commercially maintained burial grounds.

The mundane rules should also be obvious to anyone with a trace of manners and common sense. Don’t litter (duh), don’t plant or bury anything, don’t vandalize graves, don’t disturb mourners or memorial services. Open flames and glass may also be prohibited for safety reasons. Very old and historic cemeteries sometimes restrict grave rubbings in the interest of conservation. But normally it’s not against the rules to take paper rubbing of an interesting stone or marker.

Observing visiting hours is a very important consideration for graveyard Witches. These are not always posted. In many places, cemetery hours are covered by state laws or local ordinances. The laws are on the books and you’re just supposed to know to leave at sundown.

I know, I know—but we’re Witches! We do our best work at night. Unfortunately, it is usually illegal (and bad luck, some say) to be hanging around in a cemetery after dark. Some Witches and ghost hunters rely on their stealth powers to get around this rule…but I don’t recommend it.

There’s still a lot of ignorance about the Craft. Caretakers may not be able to tell the difference between the itinerant Witch and the ordinary vandal (or may not care). Cemetery owners and neighbors will call the police if they catch you there at night. Nothing kills a magickal buzz like a criminal trespassing charge, I promise.

At night, you also run a greater risk of encountering living people who are up to no good: Drug deals, furtive sex, and goth kids drinking wine coolers. They might even try to read you some vampire poetry. Not cool.

The mundane rules are easy enough, but what about the magickal ones? Ah, that’s where it gets complicated. As human beings, we don’t know very much about death—and we’ve had thousands and thousands of years to make crap up. There are about a billion superstitions involving graveyard visits. Here’s a sampling:

Don’t point at graves or photograph them. (This rule probably gets broken the most.)

Say “sorry” when stepping over a gravesite. (Observed 100% of the time in Irish cemeteries, I’ve noticed.)

It is bad luck to wear anything new to a cemetery, especially shoes.

Don’t whistle in a graveyard, or you tempt Death.

Leaving coins on a grave is a token of respect.

Don’t yawn near a grave, or ghosts could get inside your body.

Smelling roses when there are none around is a sign that a benevolent spirit is nearby.

The person who takes something from a graveyard will return more than he took.

As silly as some of these adages sound, there is a grain of occult wisdom in most of them. However, don’t assume that they apply in all cases. Every cemetery is different. Different Earth energy, different spirits, and different customs mean different rules for the magick worker.

Well…that’s not very helpful. How do you learn the rules? As much as I would like to be able to generalize about cemetery work, there are few absolutes.

The only constant rule is respect. Respect for the dead is paramount while working in graveyards. If you behave like an ass with your actions or your intentions, you might or might not suffer some unpleasant consequences. Most likely, you will just find that the gates of magick are closed to you there while you are there.

Listen Harder

I can share one helpful tip for embarking on a cemetery working: Every graveyard has a guardian. In my experience, this has been true without exception. The guardian is a presiding spirit who watches over the boundaries and entrance of the site. The guardian is like the bouncer at a nightclub, basically. You won’t get very far without checking in with Him/Her/It, so follow the dress code and try not to get 86’d.

Tradition has it that the guardian is the spirit of the first person buried in the cemetery, who is bound to stay behind and watch over it. In the past, communities would sometimes try to cheat the curse by burying an animal or a vagrant in the first plot.

I don’t think this idea of guardianship is correct. However, I can’t definitively say who or what guardians are. They may be senior human spirits, Gods or emissaries of Death, psychopomp Fae, genii loci, random thoughtforms assembled from the social norms of visitors, all of the above or something else. (Insert your magickal worldview here, basically.) But guardians are real (enough) and powerful.

Cemetery guardians have a lot of jobs. They are largely responsible for setting the energetic tone of the site. They help control what entities can enter the ground, or stick around. They work with the caretakers and visitors to maintain the place physically, also. Sometimes cemetery guardians will set up a collaboration with a local sorcerer or priest/ess who works there often. If a graveyard you visit has been “claimed” in this way, you’d be wise to tread lightly and keep your magick compatible with theirs.

Open-feeling, peaceful cemeteries have guardians that welcome visitors. Haunted, forlorn, and forbidding burial places have guardians that don’t care for human company. The guardian(s) will ensure that you know which is which. They will also give you hints and nudges about the types of magick their domain supports. They may send you somewhere else if it’s not a good match. Remember that you are in their space. Respect it.

Developing a relationship with the guardian(s) is one of the best things you can do for your graveyard magick. It’s much better than just tromping through the gates with your candles and sticks and bones and expecting all the energies to fall into place for you.

So introduce yourself! The first time you visit a graveyard, pause at the entrance and share your energy and intentions with the guardian(s). Take in some of the energy of the place in exchange. See if you like the vibes—collaboration is a two-way street, after all. It’s not a bad idea to ask permission to enter or bring an offering to show you’re not a threat.

Once inside, open your super-special magickal antennae senses and see if there’s anything they’d like done around the place. Picking up trash is almost always a welcome contribution. Perhaps there’s a neglected area that needs visiting. Sometimes there’s a spirit with something to say, or a bit of energetic cleanup to be done somewhere. It only takes a few minutes, and then you can get on with your Voodoo, Hoodoo, or whatever it is you do.

What kinds of magick can be worked in graveyards? Just about all of them. Witches go to cemeteries to cast spells for love, money, healing, and success, as well as the darker workings like binding and revenge spells. Cemeteries are a good place to charge amulets, tools, and talismans. Since they are left alone most of the time, they are energetically “cleaner” than areas frequented by lots of people.

Plenty of graveyard magick involves the spirits of the deceased. Practitioners of many forms of magick believe that spirits of the dead can empower spellwork by the living. Prayers and offerings are made to spirits to earn their sympathy and support.

Graveyards are kind of temple for Pagans who connect with gods of Death or the Underworld (such as Hades, Morrighan, and Hecate). Witches and Pagans go there to contemplate mortality, to connect with ancestors, or just be in the company of the dead.

Burial places are a traditional spot to practice mediumship and spirit communication, and for a good reason: Cemeteries are where spirits go to be heard because they’re where the living go to listen.

As I mentioned before, a major part of effective graveyard magick is listening. If you’re not sure what to do, listen harder. Your instincts will guide you toward the right time and place to perform your working.

When in cemeteries, pay attention to particular areas that pull you in. You may see movement or light. Something may draw you to a certain gravesite—a visiting bird or pretty flower, a significant name or date. Cemeteries are an ideal place to receive oracles from the other worlds. Sit down and listen when invited to. The speaker is not necessarily the occupant of the grave. Keep an open mind.

On offerings: Flowers, liquor, coins, tobacco, and food are traditional offerings to a spirit who has helped you. Some offerings will be more appropriate than others. You wouldn’t want to offer whiskey to a non-drinker, for instance. On the other hand, anything offered in love and trust is unlikely to offend. Consider the ecology of the place—take trash home with you. Offer energy and prayers if you’re not sure what’s okay.

Some Witches trek into cemeteries for ritual ingredients: graveyard dirt, stones, tree branches. Specific magickal rules govern the removal of these items (though they vary by tradition). In short, don’t take anything that isn’t freely given, or fairly bought and paid for.

When choosing a gravesite for a ritual activity, check in with any guardians or spirits in the area. Necromancy—magick involving the dead—has come a long way in the last 500 years. Once upon a time, a magician would wave a magick wand and command earthbound spirits to do his bidding. But there has been a major paradigm shift in Western magick. These days, most Witches think of discarnate beings as collaborators, sentient folks with independent wills that should be respected. You will occasionally meet a Witch who claims to bind or boss around spirits as part of their magick, but this is quite rare.

Some people might argue that the right to give consent ends with death…but that’s a rabbit hole for another day. If you get a strong feeling that your intrusion is not welcome, move on to another spot. You’ll get better results from willing spirits, anyway.

Be Safe

Let me get this out there first: Graveyards are not unsafe places for magick. They’re not inherently dark or evil or unlucky to work in. That's superstition. What they are is portal places. As such, they carry certain magickal power and certain risks. It is possible to encounter negative or chaotic energies that you don’t want to bring home with you. At times, even the psychic impressions from ordinary human emotions can be overwhelming.

If you have a protective amulet or protection ritual, now is a great time to dust it off. Ground and center yourself before beginning your working. Ask your guides/angels/higher self to surround you with protection. Scan your body for attachments when you leave.

Scrying, channeling, and trance work should only be practiced in cemeteries if you’re confident in your ability to screen out unwanted garbage. This is yet another reason why building a relationship with the site’s spirit guardians is a good idea. They know the psychic geography of the place and can spot trouble before you can. They can be your allies and will act as gatekeepers if they support your work.

Remember that spirits don’t know everything just because they’re body-less. Don’t obey orders from a spirit that you wouldn’t obey from a person, and take anything they tell you with a grain of salt.

With just a few simple precautions and courtesies, graveyards can be a wonderful place to work your magick. Happy exploring!

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/graveyard-magick-a-witchs-guide

[wolf-with-a-pen]

Twin Skeleton’s Part 1

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Death, Gore, Unreality, Murder, Being Watched?

Masterpost, Next

Please tell me if I have missed a trigger, and I will be sure to add it, if you want to be mentioned when I post a new part, ask, and if oyu want me to tag this with anything else, tell me.

This is a new series,hopefully shorter than Knockin' On Heaven's Door, it physically wouldn't let me work on it until I had wrote at least part of it. I should hopefully be able to work on it next week, but if not, expect another part of this.

Word Count:2909

I HAD BEEN dead for 6 years when they arrived. Unwilling to leave the hotel after the horrors they saw and the near-death experience they had. I watched as their friend took their last breath, just like I had so many years ago, albeit in a more... bloody way than mine. Almost reminded me of Psycho with the amount of blood that poured out of them, spilling on the yellowing carpet, pooling around both of them. However, this time I wasn't fully fixated on the dying people-not this time. No, I managed to dial 911 and somehow get an ambulance for them (I'm as surprised as you are) and made sure to memorise the perpetrator’s face in case I saw them again. Anyone willing and able to kill is bad in my books. Especially after that, but I refuse to talk about it. There's no point dwelling on the past anymore.

For the event that happened, it was quite a sunny day. Surprising since deaths almost always happen in the rain. (Yes, I'm looking at you authors. Why? Oh, and hi to the audience I suppose. Who knows why you are using my life for your entertainment, but who am I to judge? Still don't like you, but I guess I'll put up with you.) Anyways, where was I? Right, honestly, I didn't mind that day, for the life of a ghost is a lonely one- we are rare. Only people with unfinished business become ghosts. Surprisingly only a small amount of the population. Most say "I want to do X before I die", but most of those desires aren't strong enough to cause them to become a lost spirit. And even then, most leave within a few years, or their unfinished business isn't necessarily needed to be done on earth. The rest of us are doomed to stay in one room for most of eternity, invisible to almost all. Almost being important. There are a few who can see through the veil of death, but it is rarer than ghosts themselves. Imagine my surprise when I found out that 1) they are created, not born, and 2) when one found their way into my room. Are you imagining it? That's you audience. Yes? Ok, now times it by 100. Yeah, I was shocked.

It was a month later I found out. You see I believed that both of them had died. I only saw one of their souls leave, but I assumed the second's wounds were just as severe- severe enough they wouldn't survive. I was wrong. They stumbled in 4 weeks later, discharged but clearly not out of the wars. Way too many bandages were on them, almost excessively. Their entire body appeared to be covered, save for their head and hands, despite only one wound being present. And it was on their chest. They didn't need half of them. But, oh well, better safe than sorry I guess? Who knows. All I know is they were followed by one of the staff members- clearly to make sure they didn't get hurt. However, they ignored their aide to stare straight at me. Yes, that's right. At me. Not through me. In the background the aide started. “Here you are,” he announced. “It hasn’t been changed beyond the clean-up and we made sure it stayed empty the entire time,” he launched into a full blown speech- I could tell he would. I cautiously stepped to one side, sure that they couldn’t see me, and were just staring off to the distance. Their eyes followed keenly. I knew I had to react before they told the staff member. Quickly I put my finger to my lips, saying out loud. “They can’t see me, act like normal.” I saw them nod slightly, before turning to the staff member, pretending to be interested in what he was saying. But the whole time, they carefully cast sidewards glances at me, as if I would disappear if they didn’t constantly look at me, while trying to decipher if I was actually real or not. It appeared they couldn’t decide.

Only once the other human had left did they talk. “Who are you? And how can I see you?” they said tentatively.

“Who I am does not concern you as of yet. And I don’t know how you can see me. Probably something to do with being stabbed made you able to see through the veil – you can see through the divider that separates our world and yours, automatically making me visible to you.” I replied curtly.

“Wait, so are you a ghost or something?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So, I can see ghosts now?”

“Yes, you can see ghosts,” I replied, annoyed “you can also see angels and demons in their true form, though why anybody would ever want to do that, I don’t know.”

“And you saw me get stabbed?”

“Who d’ya think called the ambulance sweetie?”

“And I’m gonna ignore how you managed that. Despite saving me, you don’t want me to know who you are.”

“Of course not. You might get attached and do something stupid “to be with me” or worse, I might get attached and have to watch someone else die. No way am I letting that happen. I can’t do that again. I don’t think I’d last. Plus, the first thing is a fast track to hell- it wouldn’t work. The only reason I’m still here is unfinished business. You have none. And you have the rest of your life to live out. I don’t want to infringe on it."

“Fine, keep your secrets then. I’m staying here and talking to you anyway, whether you like it or not.”

“Great, just what I needed. A companion. I have been fine for the last 10 years, I think I’ll be fine for 10 more, or however long it takes for my spirit to disintegrate.”

“Don’t be like that. I might not be that bad.”

“Fine, you have one chance, don’t waste it. You have a month to earn my trust. If you don’t, you leave me and this place alone. If you do, I might let you stick around for a while. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The first day was relatively annoying. For some reason they decided to pester me until I gave them some information about myself, whether on accident or on purpose to shut them up. That and gushing about how they have always wanted to meet a ghost and asking me to explain how everything in the new world they discovered worked. I didn’t mind telling them that much. Why wouldn’t I when they would have to get used to it, and fast? Despite being a minority, they would soon see us everywhere. Well, us and angels and demons. God forbid they meet a Guardian. That’s why I don’t mind. They opened up a world of just new, unfamiliar and dangerous things. I kinda owed them an explanation of what was going on. How the world truly worked. I started with two concepts that most people already knew of: heaven and hell.

“So, what do you know of heaven and hell?”

“Just the religious speculations people came up with. Heaven is said to be a safe haven of angels you reach when you die- if you have done good deeds that is. Hell is supposed to full of demons, and where you get tortured for eternity for all the bad things you have done to others. I always hoped it would be the other way round cause everyone says I’m going to hell.”

“First, none of that is really right. Second, what do you mean by you’re going to hell?”

“Because I’m a demigirl and a lesbian, everyone says I should be in hell.”

“Well, we’re all going to hell- only those of pure heart or are naive enough to be manipulated go to heaven. There are few exceptions to that rule. The rest of us end up in hell for having too much personality. It’s better for us anyway- you don’t want to go to heaven. It is a dictatorship, ruled by one person with a hive mind to enforce their laws. Highly corrupt, anyone who even slightly misbehaves or shows opposite ideas to the leader has their soul removed and their shell is sucked into the hive mind- an army of ruthless soldiers with no feelings or general consciousness. All actions are controlled by the leader. Hell is much better. It is more of an anarchist government type thing, with no rules. What you can do is only limited by the strength of your moral code. Only those who are deemed the worst of the worst are punished- mostly the ones likely to disrupt the relative peace too much or are general pieces of shit. For example, genocidal maniacs, and the likes of Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk. From what I’ve heard, there is a special place in hell for those two to suffer. Plus, demons can come to earth, whereas the angels are trapped in heaven from the second they step foot in there by the guardian angels and the border guards.” I rambled on, forgetting who I was talking to, and the fact that most readers and listeners prefer to have shorter paragraphs.

“Wow,” they said once they managed to recover from the information overload, “So, technically I was right about the role reversal.”

“I guess.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to introduce myself, I’m…” they started before I cut in.

“Ruby-May Johnson, but you prefer to be called Bee. You are 30 years old, and have been single all of your life. You were born on the 19th of May, which is likely where your double-barrelled name came from. You are an extrovert and sister to Lily August Johnson-Kennedy, who died in the attack.”

“How do you know all that?”

“Your passport says a lot. The rest are assumptions from watching and listening to you before, I had nothing better to do, so I watched you.”

“Right, OK. You still not willing to tell me about you?”

“Nope.”

“Alright. What should I call you and refer to you by? I’ll go first. I’m a demigirl, I like she and they pronouns, but prefer they to she. With relationship terms, I prefer the gender neutral terms, but I’m still fine with the female ones.”

“Ok Bee. Try not to refer to me. Nobody else knows I exist, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. If you have to use she/her or you’ll get she/hurt. If you need me, use Spectre. Everyone else does.”

“Thank you Spectre.”

“It’s late, sleep now.”

“No, I wanna know more.”

“No,” I announced, forcing them into their bed, “I refuse to tell you any more until you have slept.”

“Fine, but only because you leave me no choice,” they agreed begrudgingly, “Good night.”

“Good night,” I replied, making myself invisible to all- including veil-seers- and turning off the lights.

“Wait! Please stay until I fall asleep. And, can you turn the light back on.” I heard, their voice cracking slightly.

I made myself visible, flicking on the lights before inquiring, “Autophobia, nyctophobia or somniphobia?”

“A bit of all of them.”

“Ok, I’ll stay. I’m pretty sure in the bottom draw of the dresser, there is a night light if you want it.”

“Really? And yes, thank you.” They climbed out of bed, making their way towards the dresser grabbing the night light and pushing it into the wall. It illuminated the room nicely, I remembered that from when I had to use it. I simply answered her first question: “Yeah, I know what it’s like. Now, sleep. You are safe as long as I’m here- I will be watching you and making sure you don’t get hurt.”

“Thank you.” Bee whispered, closing their eyes and falling asleep.

“Sweet dreams. I hope.”

The second they fell asleep I turned invisible and ventured as far out of the room I was able to go. Here, the barrier between the possessed areas of the world were thinner, allowing me to talk with the nearest spirit to me. Or at least, what I believed must be the nearest spirit. And he probably wasn’t actually a ghost, but good enough for me. I called out to him, knowing he would most likely be there. “Ashton, are you able to talk?”

“Yeah, sure, nice to talk to you again Spectre. How long has it been? A month or two at least. Anyway, what did you need?”

“What, no, I don’t need anything,” I said. You know, like a liar.

“You only talk to me if you need something, whether information or more physical, you cannot fool me.”

“Fine. I managed to somehow end up with a veil-crosser.”

“Seriously? Cool. How did you manage that?”

“I called an ambulance.”

“You know we’re not meant to interfere.”

“It was them, they struck again. I couldn’t let it happen again.”

“I understand, but you still know the rules. If anyone found out you’d be doomed to stay there forever, unable to interfere anymore. You’re lucky that I’d be a hypocrite to tell them, if I was anybody else…”

“I know. And I need help. What can they do that I need to know about, and what do I need to teach them?”

“Firstly, you need to teach them about all of the aspects of death.”

“How am I meant to do that when I don’t know all of them myself? You refused to tell me more than angels, demons, ghosts and veil-breakers.”

“There are more, I’ll get my human to take the book to your room, and see if I can get him to talk to them, and teach them a bit. As for abilities, they depend on the person, you just need to wait for them to figure it out themselves. They only find them when they need them the most. It works on instinct, don’t force it.”

“Ok, thank you. It should be helpful. How are you getting on with yours?”

“Turns out he can give us temporary physical forms.”

“Is that how I could call the ambulance? Usually I can’t touch anything.”

“Probably.”

“Tell him thanks, if it was him. Also how is the asking out thing going?”

“Badly, I have tried so many times and it never worked. He’s just really oblivious.”

“Himbo?”

“Yes.”

“Ask him out straight. Well, since you’re gay, it wouldn’t be straight, but you know what I mean. Tell him outright that you want to date him.”

“I’ll try.”

“Keep me updated, I want to know if he accepts.”

“I will. I suppose I’ll speak to you later then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Bye then.”

“Goodbye.”

I stayed in the bathroom a few minutes before making my way back into the bedroom. The first thing I noticed was that they were still asleep. “Good.” I thought, “At least they won’t be sleep deprived.” Then I noticed it- the door was ajar a crack. “Strange.” I thought. “I was sure I made them lock it.” That’s when I saw it. A singular eye, peering at them through the door, filled with a malicious intent I noticed instantaneously. I shivered. Bright blue with red streaks running through it- easily distinguishable and recognisable. It was the same eye I had seen 1 month ago, and again 10 years ago. They were back to finish the job. Gently, I used whatever power I could muster to push the door closed and lock it, leaning on it to make sure they couldn’t get in- I knew whoever it was had the keys. Quickly I remembered something Ashton had given me a while ago in case of a situation like this. Carefully, I fished a small silver charm with wood beads in white and yellow out of my pocket, and tied it around the door handle. Hoping it would work, I stepped away form the door. Their key turned in the lock, unlocking it again. I prepared for the worst, standing by the telephone- next to the door in case I could apprehend them.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” screamed the door as they tried to force their way through the door, quickly realising it wouldn’t open by the handle, after trying the key in the lock a few times. Despite it being just wood, they were failing miserably. Glad to know Ashton’s charm worked. For he believed it was a protection spell, given to him by a god looking like a crow, but at the same time, he could tell it wasn’t really a crow. Why wouldn’t a god choose a crow to parade around as- I mean, it’s jet black, sleek and pretty, and supposedly very clever. As I always say, who am I to judge? At least I knew the charm worked, and we had something to protect us until I could convince Bee to but some more security stuff for the doors and windows- especially the hinges that have a pin to lock them so it doesn’t pivot. Those would be a godsend. Then we’d only have to worry about the strength of the glass and the door- easily fixable with the charm. With that plan set, I sat in the corner, next to the bed, and with a clear view of the door. I sat, planning out a security plan for next time, before eventually losing consciousness- something I didn’t know ghosts could do.