#i just really wish the house was a bit more usable like even in normal circumstances

[lilgynt]

i don’t have the heart to tell my mom the scooter doesn’t work inside the house bc of the hoarding so i’ve been just limping with my broken foot and hoping for the best

[bestiesenpai]

Canidae - Geto Suguru

Ah, my first hybrid au and full on yandere piece for jjk! A momentous occasion, I hope everyone likes it lol, femme reader btw. 7.5k words

part two

Content warnings: pseudo-incest, yandere shit, kidnapping, not a/b/o but there’s mentions of going into heat, size difference(although I’m not sure how well I wrote it), talking about a past murder(but no actual killing), choking, stalking, dumbification, kind of shy/skittish reader, drugging(w/ pills and w/ a syringe), brief mention of drug usage, needles, slimy men...there’s a lot of slimy men in here

(S/N) = stage name

It’s been about two months since you ran away from home. You try not to think about it, but in the quiet moments of the day, the hours that you should be using to sleep before your next shift, during meals and even at work, it creeps up like a sickness that just won’t leave.

You hadn’t wanted to leave your home, even if the people there weren’t really your family by blood. After being adopted by the Getou family in your late childhood, you thought life would get better. They seemed like a wonderful family of fox hybrids, all silky black hair and cunning little smiles. Although they weren’t in your same species family, as a house cat you could get along with them easily, a subtle praise to evolution for making foxes more like cats than dogs.

“Hey house cat, stop sulking by the bar and go talk to customers.” A slap on the wall next to you jolts you out of your thoughts and into the loud and bustling world around you.

“S-sorry boss.” Ducking your head away from your furious boss, you adjust the skimpy shorts and crop top that truly did nothing to hide your skin. Working at a seedy hostess bar wasn’t exactly the plan when you ran away, but they were the only place willing to hire you.

Looking out across the crowded bar floor, at least you didn’t have to worry about going out on the street and handing out flyers to get customers tonight. There were several men of different species and ages, sitting at the bar with dark liquor or having pretty bunny girls pour drinks from overpriced bottles at private tables.

Taking a glance at what table you’d been assigned, your stomach twisted in knots. It was a table full of lion men, their business suits wrinkled beyond hope and their manes even more disheveled than what was normal for a lion.

“Hey pretty kitty!” One of them shouted drunkenly, waving a large clawed hand at you as you shuffled closer.

“H-hello.” Giving a nervous wave, you felt a little better at seeing a coworker - a red panda hybrid - sitting between a few of them.

“Ah this is (S/N), she’s a newbie!” The girl, who called herself Fuyumi, announced. Holding up her glass in salute, she took a sip.

“Fresh meat huh?” Suddenly, all eyes were on you again, but the atmosphere shifted. A predatory look was shared between the group and a few men got up to let you slide into the booth, next to your coworker.

“What a pretty little thing you are.” A lion purred loudly next to you, putting a heavy hand around your arm and squeezing your shoulder.

“T-thank you! Let me- let me pour you a drink?” Shrinking under the weight and his lecherous gaze, you grabbed the liquor bottle they ordered and refilled a few drinks that needed to be topped up. Your ears were pressed flush to your head from the nerves, tail slightly puffed up behind you.

“So, your name is (S/N)?”

“Mhmm!” The stage name was something you thought of on the fly, trying to make it the least like your real name as possible. Accepting a drink from Fuyumi, you tried to ease the anxiety pricking at your skin.

Listening in on a story being told by one of the men, you tried to act like you were paying attention. Faking a smile, laughing loudly and keeping the drinks full - those were the only things on your mind. Not the clients walking by being escorted to secret back rooms or the people so obviously snorting something up at one of the tables in the back.

“(S/N), you’ve been quiet!” The man with his arm around you shook you side to side, his eyes falling to your breasts moving and being squished together when he squeezed you to him. “Tell us about yourself!”

“Uhm-” Taking a quick glance at Fuyumi, you cleared your throat. “Well I’m new to Tokyo-”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He cut you off, an eager look in his eyes. You shook your head obediently. Even if you did have a boyfriend, you couldn’t say yes. You had to be seen as attainable, just within arms reach if they wanted to have you for themselves.

“That’s good, the boys in Tokyo won’t do you any good.” A man to your left chimed in. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his hairy chest covered in golden fur. “But the men in Tokyo are a different story.” He winked at you and you forced a giggle up, covering your mouth with your hand to hide your slight displeasure.

“Yeah, what you need is a man, (S/N). You seem so nervous!”

“House cats usually are.” Fuyumi piped up. Grabbing your chin, she pursed your lips with the tips of her white painted claws. “Isn’t that right?” Cooing at you like a baby, she shook your head and turned you to face the men at the table. “(S/N) was so nervous for her interview she nearly cried!”

A round of mocking teases sounded at the table as Fuyumi let go of you, some of them calling you a ‘poor baby’ while others offered to buy you another round of drinks to help you feel better. Your face burned, embarrassment and the close proximity of all the bodies around you making a light sheen of sweat glisten on your skin.

“I’m fine now, though, promise!” Biting your lip, you did as you’d practiced before your shift: putting an arm under your breasts, you pushed it up and tilted your head down, looking up at the men from beneath your lashes. “I feel much better with all these big strong men here.”

It made you sick, the way they all leered at your body and visibly adjusted the front of their pants. Ordering a few more bottles for the table, the sick feeling refused to leave. It clung to the back of your throat, rising bile that refused to be swallowed down.

Hours later, as the sun began to rise and proper members of society were starting to head to work for the morning, you were finally done with work. The table of lions had bought your time for the whole night, their egos boosted by your show of submission.

“You actually did okay tonight, house cat.” Your boss grunted, thumbing through the cash she was counting. “Here’s your cut.” Holding out a handful of bills, you knew better than to question how much was in it. The last time you’d tried to speak up about being shorted, your only window was shattered by a brick and it cost all of your money to fix it.

“Thank you.” Nodding politely, you took it from her hand. It felt slightly larger than normal, but you knew it wasn’t the full amount you’d been promised to receive when you started working. There was always a bit taken off the top, and since you were a newbie, even more.

Quickly changing into baggy sweatpants and a hoodie, you slinked out of the club's back entrance with your hood drawn tightly. Located in the red light district, no one batted an eye at you or where you worked, but it wasn’t them you were worried about.

Running away from home meant running away from the only family you had left, an over controlling big brother with an obsession. An obsession with you. Ever since you met, got adopted all those years ago, he had been infatuated with you.

As a young, freshly teenaged fox, suddenly acquiring a little sister had been exciting. Especially when it turned out you weren’t the same species. He always wanted to be around you, ask you questions about what it was like to be a cat. At first they were innocent, asking about your diet and favorite toys, but as he got older, his interest in you skewed.

You saw the search history on his computer, he spent hours researching cat hybrid heat cycles and when the best time to mate was. He started to go through your phone, taking it away from you under the guise of just being an annoying older brother while secretly looking through all your messages. Always getting jealous if you hung out with friends or didn’t want to sit in his room with him. And his friends knew about his obsession, feeding into it and talking about how much they wished to have a little sister like you, and if he’d be so kind as to share.

Your older brother became more obsessed with you while he was looking for a job after university. Spending hours applying for jobs and going to interviews, he wouldn’t shut up about getting a good job and moving out with you. And when he finally got that good job he always mentioned, that’s when you had to run.

Walking with your head down through the streets, waiting at a crosswalk to pass had you on edge. Just remembering the way he held your hand in public with a grip tight enough to cut off circulation had you shoving your hands into your pockets. A couple walked across the street with their arms around each other, and suddenly the suffocating weight of your brother's arm around your waist as he slept in your bed with you was back.

Forcing air through your lungs, you ran the rest of the way home. It wasn’t a long way to the crummy apartment block you called home and you were inside your cramped studio space and crumpled against the door in no time.

It didn’t always feel good to be in here with it’s water stained ceilings, barely usable pipes and the one, barely big enough window near the front door. You could hardly call it a home, it was just a room with the mattress you bought second hand and the clothes you ran away with strewn across the floor with a tiny kitchen shoved into the corner and a bathroom that surely wasn’t up to code.

But for now, it felt amazing. Your running had only exacerbated the exhaustion you had from working such grueling hours, and just crawling over to your dirty bed took all the energy you had left. With the sun beginning to rise properly into the sky, you closed your eyes and went to sleep.

The sudden alarm from the crappy phone you bought was what woke you up, the early evening sun and the sound of your neighbors yelling at one another through the walls pulling the last few bits of sleep from the edges of your mind.

And so do the set of crystal blue eyes staring in at you from your window, one that not even you can see out of because it’s too high.

“Sat-” The name catches in your throat, and when you blink again the eyes are gone. Rushing out of bed, you rip open the front door and look up and down the hallway. But there’s no one there, no bright white arctic fox fur to be seen, and certainly not the man attached to it.

Gripping the door tightly in your fingers, you linger in the threshold. The longer you stayed out, the more the vivid eyes watching you sleep became a memory, something your overworked mind must have conjured up as it went from sleeping to being awake. With a shaky sigh, you step back into your apartment to get ready for your next shift.

Meandering through the busy streets, you passed by shops that were starting to become familiar to you. There was the odd convenience store, a few illegal gambling dens with restaurant fronts, strip clubs and sex shops.

With time to kill before your shift, you dashed into a convenience store, it’s stark fluorescent lighting a nice switch from the everchanging neon signs outside. Scrounging up what little pocket change you had, you bought the cheapest food possible and sat down at the tiny table near the windows.

Eating slowly, trying to savor not only every bite but every minute before going back to work, a flash of white caught your eye as the convenience store door was opened. The little jingle that played was the only indication someone had actually entered, you barely saw the door open or close.

You could only see a glimpse of the pure white, not even a full on look. Glancing over your shoulder, you didn’t see anyone standing in the aisles, no ears stuck out to give you an indication as to who had come in.

But there was the feeling of being watched that had you on edge. When you turned fully away from the window to look at the store behind you, there wasn’t anyone watching you, yet the feeling still stuck. The target on your back had just been shot dead center, a sharp pang of fear gripped your heart the longer you looked at the seemingly empty aisles.

“Long way from home, little kitten.” A familiar face emerged from your right, but it wasn’t the man you thought it was.

“N-nanami?” It was a shock to see him in a neighborhood like this, his pristine suit more fitted for the financial district a few train stops over that he sometimes visited for work. He was in his usual suit, the one he liked to wear when he was over at your house, and his blond ears and tail were as immaculately trimmed and proper as ever.

“Hm, you’re not calling me Kento-nii anymore?” He said scornfully, sliding into the seat next to you and leaning his elbows on the table.

“Sorry, Kento-nii.” Bowing your head, you turned back to the table as well. Clenching your quivering hands in your lap, your claws dug into your skin to try and ground yourself. Kento hadn’t even said much and yet you were ready to pass out.

“Why’d you run away? You know we all miss you.” Leaning his head in his hands, Kento stared out the window at the people walking by. His lip curled a little in disgust, and a low growl rumbled from the back of his throat. “This isn’t the place for a girl like you.”

“You know why I had to leave.” Staring down at your hands, your eyes burned as you blinked away tears at the memories forcing their way back to you.

“I don’t. Enlighten me.”

“Kento-nii, please-” Your voice trembled, catching in your throat as it broke.

“Tell me, (Y/N). Why did you leave?”

“S-su-” It made you want to throw up just saying his name, so you didn’t. “He killed our parents.” Saying it out loud made the painful burn behind your eyes grow stronger until you were blinking hot tears down your cheeks.

“That’s not true.” Kento said calmly while turning to you. “Your parents died from-”

“Don’t lie for him!” You shouted, finally looking up at Kento. As soon as your voice raised, he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, forcing your head against his chest and pulling you into a tight hug. Dipping his head down, Kento’s chin brushed your ears as he pressed his lips to them.

“Listen little kitten, you know better than to raise your voice at me. And you know better than to lie.” The fingers around your neck tightened and Kento dug the tips of his claws against your pulse. “Your parents died in a murder-suicide, nothing more nothing less.”

“Let go!” You sobbed, thrashing around in his hold. It was truly useless to try and fight against him. Foxes - and truly, a lot of other hybrid types - were much larger and stronger than you. There wasn’t any chance you had at trying to beat him in strength, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t try.

“Calm down, you’re making a scene.” Fully enclosing his hand around your neck, Kento squeezed the air from your throat and shut down the subsequent scream that followed. Reduced to whimpering, you stilled your body and tried to tug his hand off.

Gasping and choking when he finally let you go, your body was weak from the lack of oxygen and you fully slumped into Kento’s hold. Struggling to catch your breath, there was little solace you could find in his hand stroking between your shoulder blades.

“Come home, (Y/N).” He said gently, like he was coaxing a child into eating their unwanted vegetables.

“No.” Shaking your head weakly, your body trembled violently. Kento didn’t need to speak for you to know he wasn’t pleased with your answer, the pregnant pause that followed was enough.

“Why must you be so difficult, hm?” With a heavy, disappointed sigh, Kento let you sit upright again. Tsking at your bloodshot eyes dripping with tears, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped your face clean.

Your lower lip shook as you looked up at him, honey colored eyes to match his blonde hair. Vertical pupils stared back at yours, the only thing the two of you really had in common.

“I’ll ask one more time: will you come home with me, (Y/N)?” Cupping your cheek, Kento wiped the snot dripping from your nose and the drool that had started to drip past your lip. “If you say no one more time, I can’t promise anything.”

“Kento-nii…” Sniffling pathetically, you blinked hard and shook your head.

“(Y/N).” Groaning in annoyance, Kento dropped his hands and put his head back. “I don’t think you’re listening-”

“Y-you listen to me!” Standing up abruptly, your chair fell over from the force and loudly clattered to the ground. “I’m never going back there! Not ever!” It was dangerous to shout at Kento, especially as you saw his pupils begin to dilate. Out of all your brothers friends, he was the one who took the rules most seriously.

Grabbing the food you had left, you ran out of the convenience store. As your feet slammed against the pavement, you didn’t dare look over your shoulder to see if he was chasing after you. Kento hadn’t been the type to play those sort of chase games back at home, but the desperation to have you back in that house was strong enough that he just might follow you.

Running all the way to the clubs back entrance, you slipped inside and hid in the storage room. No one truly bothered to come back there anyway, it was the perfect place to hide behind a few untouched boxes until it was time for your shift.

“Hey house cat, someone personally requested you.” Your boss grunted when she saw you, a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips.

“Who is it?” Attempting to look at the clipboard in her hands, you didn’t quite catch the name of the person that was written down.

“Who cares, it’s some rich fox wearing glasses. He’s at the back, you can’t miss his white hair.”

“What?” Your eyes shot open, heart stopping as her words bounced around your skull. It was too much of a coincidence that Kento had found you and now a white haired fox had requested you.

“Hey.” Grabbing you by the shoulder, your boss glared at you and turned your body around. “Get to work already and stop zoning the fuck out. You don’t want to make me put you on flyer duty do you? There’s some weirdos out tonight that would just love-”

“No! No, I’m sorry ma’am. I’ll get going right away.” Stepping away from her tight hold, you tried not to tremble as you walked to the back table. As you got closer, your knees nearly gave out on you as the fear you had was materializing right before your eyes.

It was indeed Gojo Satoru, your brother's best friend and the deadliest arctic fox you’ve ever come to know. With his pristine snow white hair and ears, keen blue eyes and those trademark dark sunglasses he wears, there was no mistaking him.

“Hey, little sister.” He crooned as you slid into the booth next to him, keeping a healthy distance between the two of you. “Missed ya.”

“Toru-nii, why are you here?” Keeping your eyes locked on the melting ice in his cup, you could barely breathe from the weight of your fear. There wasn’t anything that Satoru couldn’t - or wouldn’t - do. He’d always been the smartest, the strongest, he could beat any hybrid in anything he set his mind to, even with clear biological differences set between them.

“What do you mean why am I here? I’m here to see my favorite little kitten at her new job!” Throwing his arms open wide, Satoru had an easy smile on his face despite your obvious discomfort. “Although, I can’t say you’re doing very well so far. My glass is still empty.”

Wordlessly, you stiffly poured him a drink and slid the glass over to him. Pouring one for yourself as well, you clinked your glasses together when he raised it and took a short sip. Usually you didn’t drink on the job, getting the bartenders to mix you something that was mostly pure juice. But tonight you needed to take a bit of edge off.

“Please just go.” Forcing the words out of your tight throat, a wave of nausea washed over you as Satoru put his hand on your shoulder.

“I can’t leave here without you.” His lips brushed your ears like they used to back at home, but this time he wasn’t whispering crude little jokes to get you to giggle. Sliding his hand from your shoulder to around your ribs, Satoru quickly overwhelmed your personal space with the size of his body.

“Toru!” You gasped as his claws dug into your ribs, threatening to push through the spaces and break them entirely. Tugging on his hand, you looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention to your lonely little table in the back.

“Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. Kento already tried to be nice and you were just so mean to him.”

“T-toru-nii, please!” Desperate tears sprang to your eyes as every word he spoke was punctuated with a tightening grip around you.

“And here I thought we trained you to be a good girl, (Y/N), I really did. But good girls don’t yell at their big brothers, they don’t lie and-” Satoru broke off to send a charming smile to a few passing hostesses before returning to you, “They certainly don’t run away.”

A choked sob racked through you, drowned out by the loud music being played overhead. In your struggle to get his hand off, you hadn’t realized Satoru slid you onto his lap until it was too late and he could wrap both long arms around you.

Forced to lean back against his lanky body, his fluffy white tail wrapped around yours, deftly hugging it close to him. Engulfing your scantily clad body, Satoru burrowed his nose between your ears, inhaling the scent he always said he liked back home.

“I’ve always wanted to see you wear something like this, ya know.” Thumbing the edge of your crop top, Satoru dipped his fingers underneath the fabric. “Always wanted to dress you up and play pretend, be my cute little hostess for the night.”

“Stop.” Grabbing his wrist, your eyes desperately searched for someone to come save you. But being seated at a table so far in the back of the club was playing to Satoru’s advantage; no one really paid attention to the back of the club because that’s where the truly shady things happened.

“C’mon kitty, play with me.” Satoru whined, bouncing you on his lap a few times. He was always childish, always whining for you to pay attention to him whenever he got the chance, and now was no different. You couldn’t see it, but you knew he had that trademark silly smile on his face regardless of the fact he had a death grip on your body.

“Toru-nii.” Jutting your lip out in a pout, you finally lurched your upper body forward enough to look at him over your shoulder.

“There’s that cutesy little face I missed.” Cooing at you, Satoru loosened his grip enough to let you sit sideways across his lap. Forcing you to wrap an arm around his middle, Satoru kept a tight grip on your back.

“Toru-nii…” Fiddling with the fabric of his shirt, you stole a glance at the eyes staring right through you. “Why do you- why are you helping him so much? You know what he did, I don’t-”

“I helped him do it.”

“What?” Your jaw fell slack and you stared right at him.

“Look, there’s no point in lying to you.” Leaning forward, Satoru grabbed his drink and took a generous swig. “I helped your brother kill your parents and stage it. We even practiced on a few drifters before moving onto the real deal.” Satoru’s smile had fallen, an unfamiliar serious look taking its place.

“You have no idea how long we all planned it, all three of us. Kento took care of your trust fund and the insurance, I subdued your parents and got them in position, and Suguru was the one who pulled the trigger.”

Tears were streaming down your face, smearing the makeup you’d put on, dripping into your open mouth. All other noise in the club fell away, leaving your ears ringing loudly from the silence in your head. Air was barely coming in or out of your lungs, your throat too tight to properly breathe.

“We had it all planned out perfectly, but then you just had to go and mess it up.” Satoru landed a swift slap to your thigh. “You just had to be a bad kitty and run off.” A second slap knocked the air back into you and your body jerked back.

“Toru-nii, why?!” Your scream was loud enough to be heard over the music, and Satoru looked around at the few curious eyes that were now looking at you, his ears flattening against his head as he forced a smile.

“We had to do it (Y/N), so we could all live together as a pack.”

“B-but we already had one.” Sure, you didn’t necessarily need to live in a group but it was nice to be in your adoptive family's pack and be surrounded by their love and care.

“That one...wasn’t the right fit.”

“For who?” Sniffling loudly, you wiped the snot from your nose. “Who wasn’t it right for?” It had been perfectly fine for you. There wasn’t any fighting, no strained dynamics and when your parents were alive, there wasn’t an overbearing older brother trying to completely consume you.

“You’ll do much better in the pack we have now, (Y/N).” Gripping your upper thigh tightly, Satoru leaned forward to press his lips against your ears once more. “Your big brothers will take great care of you.” A sound got caught in your throat, something halfway between a gasp and a scream.

“T-toru-Toru-nii.” A fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes and you blinked hard to keep them at bay. “Can I use the restroom? I just- I really need to use it.” Satoru stilled for a moment, sizing up your words and his options.

“Alright, but be quick.” Slowly releasing the tight hold he had on you, you could finally breathe again. Sliding out of the booth, you bolted to the employee bathroom and collapsed against the far wall.

There wasn’t a way out of the club without Satoru seeing. Even if you ran out the backdoor, he would still see you coming out of the bathroom. The front door was no use, there were too many people you would have to maneuver around.

“And then I said- what the hell, house cat? Are you drugged out?” A few bunny girls walked in, their long floppy ears decorated with silk ribbon. They never really spoke to you, but they weren’t mean to you either.

“My client- he’s just- I-” Stammering, you couldn’t find the words to explain the situation.

“Is he being a fucking freak?” Sauntering up to you, they tugged you up from the floor to lean against the sink counter. Sighing loudly as you nodded, one of them pulled out a small baggie from her bra, a few red pills tucked safely inside. “Here, slip one in his drink and he’ll be out like a light. Then you can have security escort him out.”

“No, he’ll notice.” Satoru would notice without a doubt if you tried to slip something into his drink. He was always watching you, sometimes more than your brother was.

“Alright well I’ll mix a drink and bring it to him, tell him he gets a free drink as a first time customer.”

“You’d do that, really?” You were nearly beside yourself with a sudden rush of hope.

“Yeah, why not? It’s been a while since I’ve had to drug a client. Plus, we can’t have our newest recruit quitting on us already!” Giving you a cheeky wink, the girls sent you on your way, promising to handle it swiftly.

Returning to the table, Satoru pulled you onto his lap once more. You didn’t struggle or make a single peep as his arms wound around you again. His grip was much softer now, not threatening to bruise and crush you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the girls you talked to walk to the bar. They didn’t look at you at all, going straight to the bartender and whispering a few things in their ear. Attempting to make conversation with Satoru, you didn’t have to wait long for them to come to your table.

“Hi sir, we heard it was your first time here!” One of the girls shouted, bouncing on her heels and making her ears flop around.

“Mhmm, so we thought it would be a nice treat to give you a drink on the house!” Another girl came up, setting down a bright pink cocktail. “Go ahead and try it, I bet you’ll like it!”

“Hm, okay.” Shrugging his shoulder, Satoru grabbed the drink and took a sip, smacking his lips together at the flavor and then taking another. “This isn’t bad, thank you!”

“Of course sir, our pleasure.” Winking at the both of you, they walked away slowly, keeping their eyes on Satoru and fully turning away after seeing him down half the drink.

Satoru always did like a bit of liquor, and it would quickly be his downfall. The drink was a sweet fruity concoction to mask the bitter pill as it dissolved and Satoru’s deadly sweet tooth was hooked immediately.

You didn’t even fully wait for him to pass out before getting out of his lap. His heavy head bobbed side to side, his words slurred not like you’d heard before and his arms had fallen slack off of you. Only his droopy eyes could seem to follow you, silently demanding you to stay in place.

Throwing on your outside clothes in the back room, you kept your hood tightly drawn as you ran from the club. You weren’t worried about pissing your boss off and having to deal with the repercussions, you wouldn’t be returning to that place ever again.

Bursting through your front door, you grabbed whatever clothes you could and shoved them into your bag. The small stack of bills you kept hidden in the bathroom was a welcomed weight to your growing pile, there was enough to at least buy a train ticket and a hot meal a good distance from Tokyo.

Under the cover of the moonless night, you tried to stick to the back alleys on your way to the station that would take you out of town. It paid off to live in such a seedy area, you knew all the ins and outs and where to go to avoid being seen.

Popping your head out from an alleyway, the street before you was deserted. A long string of old warehouses called the street home, their brick and mortar facades well worn from time. Dodging the streetlights as best you could, you could practically taste freedom on the tip of your tongue.

“Oh little sister.” A voice rang out into the dead street, an eerie song sung on the lips of the one man you’d never wanted to see again. Keeping as still as possible, your eyes burned from not blinking, and your lungs from not breathing.

His slow, methodical footsteps scraped across the cement ground, echoing in the silence and heightening your anxiety with every slow drag of his feet. As the sound drew closer, you pressed yourself against the doorway of a warehouse. There wasn’t any way you could outrun your brother, so you had to devise a plan to outsmart him when he got close enough.

“Little sister, I’ve been looking for you.” Suguru came to a halt right in front of you, his towering build casting a shadow over you in the already dark alcove. He was wearing what he had on the last time you saw him, a simple black tracksuit and his favorite slides. His hair had gotten a little longer, resting a few inches past his shoulder blades with the top half in a bun.

Quirking a brow, Suguru hummed low in his chest, reaching an arm out and resting a hand next to your head. His long black claws scraped against the wood of the door, his hand easily large enough to encompass your whole face and then some. The natural musky scent of his body was sickeningly familiar, like you’d only gone just a few hours without smelling it.

“Tell me, did you have fun playing hide and seek with your big brother?” Flashing two rows of gleaming white and perfectly straight canine teeth, Suguru leaned over you, the expanse of his chest blocking out any wiggle room. “I hope you did, because I’m done playing now.”

“Y-you’re not my- my big brother anymore.” Screwing your eyes closed, you twisted your head away from him as much as you could.

“Don’t say such things, (Y/N), you’ll hurt my feelings.” Suguru laughed dryly, clearly unamused.

“Getou li- ahh!” In a flash Suguru had his other hand around your neck, lifting you up to dangle on your tiptoes as he choked you.

“Don’t you ever call me that again, do you fucking understand?” Staring at you with unblinking eyes, Suguru squeezed hard. When your eyes started to roll to the back of your head he let go, stepping back slightly to let you fall to the ground.

Struggling to regain your breath, you tried to crawl away through the small gap left between the wall and him. You barely got one full step before Suguru grabbed you by the back of your hoodie, forcing you to stand and practically dangling you in the air like a doll.

“What’s this?” Seeing the sliver of skin underneath the hoodie, Suguru wrenched it off of you. Your sweats came off shortly after and you were exposed to the elements and his growing glare. “Care to explain why you’re half fucking naked?”

“G-” You started but quickly pressed your lips closed at the sharp look he sent you. “Suguru, just let me go.”

“Answer my fucking question.” His tone left no room for further argument, and you slowly drew your arms over your exposed midriff.

“I started working at a...a hostess bar.” Your words hung in the air, the weight of them heavy and clinging to every part of you. Suguru’s face made no change, the only thing that tipped you off to his anger was the intense flaring of his nostrils.

“My precious little sister has been working at a hostess bar for the past two months? You’ve been dressed like this every night, getting stared at and perved on by god knows what kind of men? You ran away for this?” Suguru’s voice was far too steady for the situation, spiking the already high adrenaline in your blood.

“Suguru please-”

“And it seems you’ve forgotten the number one rule. You know what you’re supposed to call me.” Backing you up onto the door again, Suguru’s fluffy black tail flicked out behind him, it’s long drawn out shadow swaying back and forth.

“You’re not my brother.” Licking your lips nervously, your eyes followed his tail. There was no way you could look him in the eye after saying that. Suguru began to laugh, a cold and hollow sound from the base of his throat that sent a chill down your spine.

“And why exactly is that?” Slamming both hands down on either side of your head, he leaned down to make eye contact with you, his pupils blown wide against his already pitch black irises.

“You know.” Forcing the words out of your mouth, you curled into yourself as much as you could.

“No, I don’t.” Speaking slowly, Suguru waited just a few seconds before slamming his hands down again. “Tell me little kitten, right now!” You let out a piercing scream, covering your face with your hands.

“You killed our parents! You killed them and I heard you fucking do it!” Coming face to face with your adopted brother, the man that killed your parents in cold blood, and having to talk to him about it were all making your head spin.

“No, no I didn’t do that, honey. You’ve got it all wrong.” Suguru’s voice dropped low, instantly adopting a soothing tone. His fingers toyed with the edges of your ears, brushing the soft fur gently. “Mommy and daddy...they had problems. And I know it must be hard to believe, but they did it to themselves.”

“You’re such a liar!” Smacking his hand away from your ears, you glared at him, frustrated tears stewing on your lash line. “I heard you shoot them Suguru! I heard mom-” Your voice cracked, and the tears began to stream down your face. “I heard her tell you not to do it.”

Falling silent, Sugurus face remained neutral. His hand remained in the air from when you smacked it away, and the only indication he was still alive was the subtle flicker of his eyelids and the way his chest barely moved as he breathed.

“I knew I should have drugged you more.” He finally broke the silence, putting his hand back on the door to keep you trapped. Everything Suguru did felt like you were watching it in slow motion. The way he drew in a deep breath, expanded his chest and arms out wide and then drew you into a tight, bone crushing embrace all felt like it happened too slow. Like you should have been able to prevent it.

“Suguru!” You screamed his name from the top of your lungs, throat quickly going raw from the volume of your shouts. “Let me go! Let me go!” Writhing around, you felt the air quickly being squeezed out of you.

“It doesn’t matter now though. It’s all in the past!” Laughing to himself, Suguru took a few steps back, going to the middle of the deserted street and under a light post. “That’s right! The past! No need to worry about it, what’s done is done!”

“Su-Sugu-nii! Sugu-nii please!” You finally broke. You finally called him what he had trained you to call him for all those years. Your precious big brother.

“Oh how I missed hearing you call me that!” Still laughing, Suguru let out a loud hum. “I think I should record you saying that so I can play it over and over whenever I need my fix.”

“Sugu-nii, please!” The tears of frustration were now turning to tears of fear and desperation. The squeezing had stopped, you could just barely suck in air, but your feet still dangled off the ground. “Please let me go- this isn’t okay!”

“What does a dumb little kitten know about what is and isn’t okay?”

“Sugu!”

“You’re just a stupid little baby who got scared without her mommy and daddy and ran away. Well don’t worry, my darling sister, Sugu-nii is here to take care of you.” Nuzzling his nose against your ears affectionately, Suguru sighed contently. “We’ll be a family again, just like before. You’ll be with the pack just like you’re supposed to.”

“I’m not- not even a fox, Sugu!” Your chances of leaving his hold anytime soon were quickly diminishing, there wasn’t much you could say - if anything - to convince him to stop. “I don’t need to live in a pack, I don’t- I’m not a canine at all!”

“Hm, like that matters. Foxes act more like cats anyway.” Shrugging his shoulders, Suguru put his hand on the back of your head, raking his nails softly against your scalp. He was holding you now like a baby doll, the arm that had previously been crushing you against him now coming to rest under your bottom and cradle you.

Something caught your eye, making you twist away from Suguru in hopes that it was someone that had heard the screams and was coming to save you. Your heart deflated just as quickly as it swelled when it was Kento who had appeared, a metal briefcase in his hands.

“Look, Kento-nii is here. Go to him.” Putting you on your feet, Suguru nudged you forward. Your knees locked, refusing to move toward the imposing figure.

“It wasn’t nice to drug Gojo like that, little kitten. He’s passed out in the back of the car as we speak, you’ll have to apologize to him when he wakes up.” Kento closed the distance between the two of you, eyes glowering and brows tightly knit together.

“How did you-”

“You think just because you run away we can’t track your scent? How do you think we found you at the club after you so rudely left our conversation? Just a few sniffs and it was like you walked us right there.” Flicking the briefcase open, Kento’s face was obscured as he began to dig around for the contents. “I was waiting by the backdoor of that shitty little club, I had a feeling Gojo wouldn’t be able to convince you to come back and you’d make a run for it again, and you did. It was far too easy to call up Getou and let him know.”

The words Kento was saying were barely sticking inside your head, your complete focus going to the loaded syringe he had pulled out from the briefcase and was now holding in his hands, an almost bored expression on his face.

Taking a step back as he took one forward, you bumped into Suguru’s chest. He made a tsking noise, quickly sliding an arm under your chin and another around your middle to keep you from moving.

“Stop! Stop, Sugu-nii please!” The tears that dripped down your face didn’t matter anymore. Your voice going hoarse from all the screaming didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. At least, nothing you wanted mattered.

“Just try to be calm, little sis. Kento will be quick.” Suguru chuckled darkly, resting his chin atop your head. Any further words you had dissolved into frantic screams as Kento grabbed your arm and wrenched it away from your body.

Pushing the needle into you, he injected you with a serene face. Like he had practiced this before, almost as if he was a doctor giving you a flu shot. Whatever was in the syringe was gone quickly, Kento unloading the whole vial into you before calmly placing it back in the briefcase and shutting it.

“Don’t cry baby.” Suguru cooed, pressing a flurry of kisses on your head as he loosened his hold and began to wipe the tears off your face.

“Sugu- Kento-” You were losing track of the world and fast. Things blurred together, the crisp edges of Kento’s body were melting into the brick walls behind him. Your limbs were giving out on you and Suguru was quick to pick you up and cradle you like he had done before.

“Sshh, just go to sleep.” Pressing his lips against your ear, Suguru whispered softly, giggling at the way you closed your heavy eyes and relaxed into his embrace. “We’ll be home before you know it. One big happy family.”

[concrete-paver-molds-blog]

How To Minimize Concrete Paver Molds On A Winding Path

This could be an important factor to assume about since you're considering of doing the project slightly bit at a time. I even have that very same mould and used it for a sidewalk years in the past. I have a 16x16 foot deck at our present house and used the mould for a sidewalk on two sides. It has held up good aside from the filler between the stones concrete paver molds.

Use a leftover scrap to make a single mold, or buy a benderboard roll and make a quantity of molds at once. Benderboard is often overlapped and secured with screws, however this will depart an impression within the paver, so you'll find a way to simply tape the ends collectively. First brush inner mildew surface with mould launch, making use of with a cheap paintbrush. Remove excess oil with a paper towel or dry paintbrush. Next, measure out dry concrete or mortar mix in a wheelbarrow or utility tub.

While you'll have the ability to definitely choose interesting and beautiful ready-made concrete pavers, making your personal provides a inventive dimension that appeals to many gardeners. Install a paver patio or walkway to add both visual attraction and performance to your landscaping. Pavers assist define a garden’s type while also bettering entry to it and including outdoor dwelling area. Ready-made pavers, although, may be cost-prohibitive for many concrete paver molds homeowners.

Many people are turning to paver molds to create floors for patio areas. Rather than fussing with laying large blocks of stone, they're using the molds to make beautiful patterned areas for out of doors entertaining. In at present's world of big box home and garden stores and smaller specialty backyard centers, you might surprise why utilizing a mold to make concrete pavers is better than buying ready-made pavers. Find a flat, level place on the bottom or a piece of plywood the place you'll find a way to lay your type once it is able to obtain the moist concrete. Pour 2-3 inches of sand on the flat spot, and degree the sand.

If you employ the best concrete paver molds recipe, it can be as sturdy as cement, and quite a bit cheaper; in my case, I basically mixed cement with the clay I dug out of my yard. Bend the benderboard items to form a circle with the two ends butted towards each other. Follow the pure curve because of the board being in a roll.

You additionally could have plenty of time to regulate the color as you're working on them. You don’t need to end up having to buy expensive stains or dyes, together with etching products and sealants, to appropriate the colour if the color isn’t what you have been going for. Let these take a look at items remedy a minimum of three days -a week is better. You don’t need to use your vinyl straps, just plop your wet combination onto the ground where your stones will go and make them into any shape. Just bear in mind that when the cement is wet, it appears quite darkish, however will cure to quite a light-weight shade of gray that nearly appears white. With my vinyl straps, I was limited to creating solely three molds at a time.

Return tackle isn't the company address on Jaxpety web site. Our customer service will provide you a return handle after return approved. All NON-seller mistake returns for refund are subject to 10% re-stocking payment and purchaser will be liable for the return shipping charge. We need you to be utterly satisfied together with your buy on Wish. Return all products inside 30 days of delivery if they don't seem to be as a lot as your satisfaction. According to the structural design of the concrete ditch, there are notches on the 2 ends of the facet to facilitate the inspection of the ditch blockage.

Concrete Success options all kinds of mould shapes to create interlocking patio stones as well as stones for backyard paths. With so many molds to choose from, you're certain to search out one that matches your backyard. Since including stones and pavers takes time and effort, and the results aren't easily moved once they're put in, take your time to select the right look and feel on your backyard. Be positive the concrete is filled to the top of the shape and is leveled and smoothed.

Mainly prefabricated concrete edge blocks for urban roads. If you do find yourself with leaf stains, a stress washer and some OxiClean, or maybe tsp will help remove them. You need a mix that permits for the biggest dimension stone you propose to make and can meet the thickness you need. Otherwise, good ole fashioned hand mixing with a hoe and extensive bin will work. Here are two different fun tutorials where I used concrete to make a stone formed planter and in addition to make a rock shaped planter. I had my concrete covered because it was the height of pollen season and I didn’t need the yellow pollen staining the stones.

I think you'd be better off with sand or screenings between them rather than mortar unless you'll have the ability to put a concrete base underneath the pavers, you then could be OK with mortar between them. A couple of things I wish to point out earlier than I get onto my question. The first is that the mildew creates particular person stones, this isn't a stamp. Once the mold is removed, they are utterly separated pieces. The mortar is swept in dry, then sprayed with water to create a bond between all the blocks / stones. The second thing is that the finished cement is 2 inches thick.

At my customer's insistance, I did a flagstone patio dry laid on a tamped mattress of stone over fabric & upper layer of screenings. We did everything we may to roll water off the patio. We used mortar joints between the flagstones and so they popped some joints. The key's to make sure you begin with good, quality molds and that you combine constant batches of concrete.

I truly have 225sqft I'm going to be putting in pavers on so roughly $500 or so for normal formed pavers. My spouse is wanting different designs so if this methodology is cheaper it might be a good route. In common, customers are extremely glad with the functionality and usefulness of the Pathmate random stone mould.

The very first thing you have to determine is whether the "completely different designs" your wife needs may be satisfied through the use of molds, or by alternating the design of pavers . Also understand that the finished molded concrete pavers will crack (ideally alongside their "grout" traces, which isn't an issue), and can respond to frost heave less properly than pavers. Spray the inside of the paver mould with nonstick cooking spray to make it easy to release the concrete.

Concrete Countertop Molds And Edge Molds

As well, you should spray down the stroll maker form after each couple of uses- this helps it launch easier. Wash the Poly PVA Solution off the unique stepping stone mannequin with water after which place the original stepping stone and reproduced stepping stones into the walkway. Apply Pol-Ease® 2300 Release Agent to the stepping stone, mold box walls and mildew box bottom board after which brush it out with a dry brush to encourage even coverage. We left zero.75″ of house between the stepping stone and mold field walls to create 0.75″ thick mildew walls. Some gardeners may be intimidated on the thought of making their own concrete pavers. If you might make a cake, you can even make concrete pavers and stepping stones.

If you have a very porous mannequin, like the one on this tutorial, you might have to use more than one coat of Poly PVA Solution. We applied two coats of this sealer, waiting for it to dry (~ 1 hour) in between coats and earlier than moving on to the following steps. Select essentially the most intact stepping stone from the walkway.

There are extra choices than you assume in relation to the molds needed to type stepping stones.

The best part is that once the pavers are laid and vibrated in, the project is done and usable IMMEDIATELY.

This helps to take away any air bubbles that could show up within the stone.

Since I'm in no rush and have loads of time I want to hear from someone who has really tried this technique earlier than.

Dampen the Sand Mix with a nice mist of water (do not over-wet).

If you have the actual DIY spirit, or are simply looking to save money in your next hardscaping project, contemplate making your own concrete pavers. A reference value is offered by the vendor of the merchandise . Percentage off and savings quantities are based on the vendor's reference worth. The reference value can give you a sign of the value of the product butsome shops may sell the merchandise for lower than the reference worth. If you feel a reference price is inaccurate or deceptive please report it with the URL for the itemizing to report-

My concern with massive concrete slabs is the 10x10 that is already there has cracked in several locations and just does not look good. The identical settling in a paver setup could make them slightly off degree in a certain spot, but that is much easier to treatment and look good than a cracked slab. Home made high quality control might attain the extent of crappy 2x2 slabs however not of commercially produced patio/driveway pavers. An interesting aspect observe, was talking to my brother yesterday and talked about I was thinking of getting slightly concrete mixer. He bought a garage and it has a industrial concrete mixer in it with a new electric motor.

Our concrete molds are designed to final, and you must use one p ath maker many occasions. The only cause why one could contemplate shopping for another concrete p ath mould is to make the process even quicker. You could fill in the second brick paver mildew while the primary one is getting dry. But for some purpose, when I made these concrete stepping stones, I didn’t suppose the colour of the pavers would turn out gentle -like the bowl in my exams did. Make natural looking DIY concrete stepping stones or pavers. Color the concrete and mould it into the form of real fieldstones or flagstones.

We actually have 1000's of great products in all product categories. Whether you’re in search of high-end labels or low-cost, economic system bulk purchases, we assure that it’s here on AliExpress. Each order comes with easy to use mold instructions to create ornamental wanting ornamental pieces for your house or garden. • Avoid vigorous tapping when eradicating air bubbles; this can trigger cracks within the plastic. Should a crack develop in the mildew, fill it with epoxy or Bondo, found at any ironmongery store. Apply these adhesives to the outer surface of the mildew.

How To Minimize Pavers On A Winding Path

The Pathmate Paving Stone Mold offers an ideal method to mildew a walkway in a yard with pace and effectivity. It's constructed of a plastic materials that is out there in black shade. This paving stone mildew features varied shapes and sizes so you could get creative along with your pavers. It may additionally be reused after cleansing so you can make as many as you need. This concrete paver mold allows you to design your own path with numerous colors and designs.

Add any desired imprints or elaborations, corresponding to mosaic tile, immediately before the floor begins to set. Using a hose and spray nozzle, clean the concrete residue off the mould earlier than it dries if you finish up finished using it. Gradually add water to the concrete mix based on the directions on the package deal. Stir the water into the concrete with the hoe as you go.

All of the center sections can be accomplished as fast as you can drop them into place. You can estimate approx $2.50/sq ft for the finishing supplies and somewhat bit extra for the gravel/base mix and a few sand to prime it off. The best part is that once the pavers are laid and vibrated in, the project is finished and usable IMMEDIATELY. It is easily repairable and may easily assist automobile and truck traffic. Again, the price just isn't as much as you would suppose becase the pavers are fashioned from very high energy concrete and colored through. To duplicate this, you would wish to buy the most costly type of bagged mix and if you have not priced the dye/coloring combine, you might be in for a suprise.

I can color the concrete to my likening and I get to work at my own tempo and budget. A couple pics of another person's work may be discovered right here and here. Since I did most of this project by myself, I discovered it was best to go combine one other batch and arrange the following mold, pour it and frivolously stage it. This technique made it straightforward to see that I would have a mixture of 5 giant stones and a number of other small stones – again, which if combined, would make 9 giant stepping stones. Also, many people wish to make ornamental stepping stones like garden mosaic stepping stones. They are usually made by including mosaic glass or different embeddable materials into the concrete.

I'm seeking to put a garden shed on some this summer time. Seem like most the stuff I discover on there is leftovers. 225sqft doesn't sound like a lot but if you break it down by pieces I would wish over x8 pavers or x12 pavers.

[mother-snake]

promised story 1-

(this one is an origional and first chapter to a book im going over at  the minuet, any constructive critisism would be nice and anything you liked about or didnt like would be good for me so i can perhapse change certain things in future!) -if you guys like it enough i might post the other chapters as i work along them. and if youd like, i can tagg you in!-

UNLOCKED: kurbose words: 3641 warnings: small fight thing happens at begining.

chapter 2-  n/a

chapter 1 -I will eat this sandwich; fate just has other plans.

At least crows don’t judge people for doing the bizarre things they do, I suppose. For example; the fact that I was sitting down on top of the rather worn-down churches roof that lay in the dead centre of the village, slowly turning into a town. Very slowly... I’d blame me getting up here on my habit of using my, not so useful, skill of getting into trouble; but in all honesty that excuse’ became unreliable since the tenth time I’d deliberately made my way up here. Not that I minded much.

Ten or so crows were lined on either side of me cawing loudly at one another trying to get closer, hoping that they could snag some of the sandwich I was eating. It had been wrapped up and stayed in my pocket since the morning. I had always left then in the early hours and barely came back until nightfall. the murder was slowly becoming more and more agitated as they looked at the sandwich with a keen eye.

lunch I had to skip due to them… I don’t mean the birds of course. not the birds. Never. Ever. blame the birds.

the night air was always calming. The stars seemed to look down upon me with a curious gaze, as if asking why I was still in the melancholy village. Living in such a boring place for years. sometimes it felt like hundreds of eyes were on me. that’s why I always sat on top of the roof. And when I did, I couldn’t help but feel a form of freedom I couldn’t get anywhere else. Mayhaps that was because I wasn’t supposed to be up there in the first place. Alas. We shall never know.

sure, some people would enjoy the normal life. Not worrying about what would be around the corner. But I I’m not like that, when it’s all you know. You’d wish for something to change.

I surveyed the area in my line of vision. It was slowly becoming dark enough that everything was blending together. But I could still see the outlines of everything. the sound of the canal that split the village up in sections was only a couple streets away.

I could recognise some of the people lined up by their houses getting the final things ready. And those who were wondering the streets were making their ways home. it was fairly easy to remember everyone in the town. No one really moved here, and if they did, they would mostly stay till they were old and grey.

One of the many people I could see from where I was is Miss hazel. I could see her picking some of the herbs and flowers for her medicines and potions. She was our physician much to many traveller’s surprise.

Then there was Mr. jackal who was sitting on his doorstep. A small wooden pipe in hand, a faint smoke ring coming from the pipe. Sometimes I felt that I’d never seen him going anywhere without it.

The brother and sister, Lawrence and Catherine were running after one another, up and down the street below. They were five and seven. Catherine being the eldest. She was very much a saint in many eyes. Learning how to climb into small places for things we had lost.

Her brother Lawrence had been practicing magic as far as anyone knew. He was getting better as the year continued to pass. He had started in early spring and not seemed to have stopped since. He had a wizard’s soul, that’s for sure. Only one in thousands seemed to appear.

Mrs. Evelyn was looking around the streets from one of her windows waving down to everyone, looking up and spotting me, I gave a quick wave back. I couldn’t hear her but I could tell she was laughing as a crow hopped up onto my lap and stole a slither of meat from my sandwich.

Sometimes it was nice to see a familiar face, but when you know practically everyone who walks the street daily. It can get rather boring, their conversations tended to repeat with nothing interesting happening most of the time.

I was cut from my thoughts by an annoyingly familiar clink of something hitting the roof grabbed my attention. I quickly wrapped my sandwich back in its paper bag and placed it into my cardigans pocket. I turned my attention to the gutter, a small sharp stone that hadn’t been there before laid on top of some moss.

The murder realising what was going to happen fluttered away in a frenzy, cawing in disarray. Not wanting to be caught in the stupidity that laid below me in the church garden.

Preparing myself as best as I could, I looked around and caught sight of the gargoyle sitting perched slightly off from where I was positioned. If I miss this, well… I either die or break my legs.

The gargoyle itself had a monstrous face, baring fanged teeth and its wings spread out, poised to strike. another rock landed near my position. deciding to take the risk, I pushed myself slightly in the direction of the beast. landing with a small thud behind it, I let out a breath. Two more stones were thrown in my direction, the sound of them rolling onto the gutter caused me to flinch.

They were too close. One thing I could say is that the people below were getting better at their aim and way of throwing.

There was a slight warmth coming from the gargoyle, they were in hibernation. They would remove the stone shell around them late into the spring most likely. But they were still aware of what was happing around them. “sorry Mr gargoyle, I hope you can forgive me for using you as a shield…again,” I muttered as I sat behind it. it was hard to keep myself completely hidden. My height being the main reason. Why on this planet did I have to be one of the tallest people. Why? What reason was there for someone to be over six feet? What reason was there?

A couple more stones landed on the roof. I grumbled to myself and peaked over the wing, trying my best to be as careful as possible.

A rock soared over my head causing me to duck slightly. A small part of me was proud. That was the closest they’d gotten in a long time. After all this had been a weekly routine for a while now. A bit inconvenient when trying to eat. But at least it kept my somewhat self-preservation skills usable.

A small cackle came from down below. I rolled my eyes. If only they were as smart as their egos. Their rich snobbish attitudes had been like this for years.

“is poor goliath too scared to come down?” Jonathan yelled; the noise being muffled by the distance. “sorry! It’s not my fault I’m allergic to social interaction” I hollered back; I peeked back over the wing, slightly thankful for the small heat it gave off the cold winter air biting my exposed skin. Wearing knee length shorts in winter is not advised for a reason. That’s the joy of being a dysfunctional mess such as myself.

Anyways, as I peeked over the first thing, I could see was his obnoxiously blonde hair, it was almost three shades close to white. I would have easily called it fake if it wasn’t for the fact that I hadn’t grown up with him. the blonde hair was held in a ponytail today.

My eyes also caught sight of the two figures standing either side of Jonathan. Both recognisable by the way they looked. the ginger on his left was always known for her seemingly endless collection of silk blue dresses. Each one would have cost my family a year’s worth of food.

Then the boy on his right was a lavante, he had been one of the few to move here. His species are known for the fact their basically living lava, skin ossified by the oxygen. His eyes were pools of red lava. His hair was like living fire. the older they got, the bluer their hair became.

He looked a bit conflicted to what they were doing. He always did. We were mutual friends. He gave a weak smile and waved. To be honest I forgot his name years ago… too late to ask now.

“you’ll come down eventually!” blue dress screeched as she readied to throw a stone in her hand.

“you underestimate my pettiness, I've got food in my pocket, I could stay up here longer that you could down there!" I yelled back; my pettiness was something barely anyone was able to match.

Seeing her pull her arm back to throw, I ducked myself behind the wing one more time. soon one after another, a barrage of rocks was being thrown my way. one sailed over my head; I could feel the air move as it ruffled my hair. It rolled down and landed by my foot. I picked it up and threw it back as possible.

I looked down to my other pocket. reaching in I pulled out a bronze pocket watch. The lid had long since came off, according to my dad it was the day he met my mother. I chuckled to myself as I remembered the story.

 “what on earth do you think you’re doing?!” I sighed in relief as the voice of the father reached my ears; even if the malice in his voice sent small shivers down my spine.

Is wrath being something to fear. They could try anything they wanted. But as soon as the father got involved then they were very much screwed over.

I tuned out the shouting down below me, sitting in a better way that made my lanky legs sigh in relief. I looked into the gargoyles eyes and mouthed a quick thank you.

As the noise went silent, I looked over the wing to see them walking away out the garden and back to whence they came, a wave of ease flooded over me. At least I would be home in time. Hopefully.

I stood up, stretching and listening my bones crack as I did so. Clapping my hands together I turned around and climbed back onto the top of the roof struggling to get a grip as I did so. I shakily stood up, trying to balance myself in hopes I didn’t fall over.

I walked over to the edge of the building, I crouched down and grabbed the rope I had long ago tied to the building. holding on as tight as possible, knuckles going white in the process, I swung my body over the edge. The rope swayed from the motion. I wrapped my legs around the rope, hoping and praying I didn’t mess this up. taking a deep breath, I let slightly let loose of the rope. Gravity swiftly dragging me down, the rope slightly burning my skin in the process.

I quickly held onto the rope tighter as the ground came too close for comfort. it was that moment father Francis turned the corner. I gave a nervous chuckle as my body hung in the air. “what are you doing,” he groaned. “you know, just hanging around,” I responded, getting a smack on the back of the head causing me to spin slightly in the air.

Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I stood up and rubbed my hands on my shirt, getting rid of the small amounts of dust and mud that clung to them.

He began to walk away, waving for me to follow. I jogged to keep up as best as possible. He didn’t say much anymore. But he was one of the best people in my mind. before he had joined the church, he had been working in the north. He had been one of my inspirations growing up. the stories he told about dragons and monsters he had seen had filled m wonder and desire to see what was beyond here.

People would joke around that the reason he had grey hairs was because of me. I didn’t blame them really. “sorry about that father Francis… again…” I sighed as I averted my gaze. he let out a small chuckle and patted my back, “only a gentle giant like you could hie instead of bashing them in,” he gestured for me to begin moving, “only you goliath.” “why won’t you let that die?” I muttered. he let out another laugh. “I’ll walk you back to your home, make sure you dad knows that they were back again,” there were very few things that could make me shiver, but having my family know about this was one of them. “or, you don’t tell them?” he only gave a deadpanned look in response. I wasn’t getting out of it.

It withing a minuet we were out the garden and onto the streets. The greys and browns of the buildings seemingly blending together in the darkness. we walked in silence turning when needed. The sound of the canal getting closer. brass lamps were lined neatly on each side of the streets. Fireflies the size of a grown adult’s hand laid inside, buzzing away to one another. the people in their homes slowly turning of their lights in hopes of falling asleep. I’d never understood why it was always this time of night that they locked everything up. weather it was a habit or just a bizarre timing factor.

I reached up to my hair and pulled down the bobble keeping my hair up in a simple ponytail. My brown locks dropped down to my sides. I ran my hands through my hair grumbling. I stumbled for second after tripping on a rock. Barely stopping myself from tumbling over.

 The darker and closer we got to my home; the more noises filled the air. Small neon bugs lit up houses and other buildings. Small mice with glowing whiskers would scuttle past us as quickly as possible. The vibrant colours would almost leave a blur in their trail, making them easy to spot in the dark.

Small groups of night birds flocked around piles of litter left by merchants that had been wandering the streets. Nibbling or defending pieces of food, or guarding small shiny things they found on the ground. Like children defending their own things.

So much happened in the night, so much happened and I only get to see a portion of the neon lights, I wished I could have seen more sometimes.

Soon we were out of the main village turning town and making our way down a mud and stone covered path towards the farm.

 Soon enough, but not long enough to gather my thoughts and mentally prepare myself. we arrived at a metal gate surrounding what looked like a nearly collapsing house. I stepped forwards and opened the rusty gate, the hinges creaking with the movement. I had been needing to oil them for a while and had been putting it off for around two weeks now.

The house looked barely liveable. The roof looked both old and new in patches. the chimney looked cracked and ready to fall on the house. the porches roof looked close to caving in as well.

But sill it was home. I took a deep breath and made my way forward towards the door. Hoping with every fibre of my being they were all asleep by now for the sake of my sanity.

As I got closer, the porch light flickered before turning on completely and giving off a small hum. A small dread filling up. the light could only be turned on from the inside after all.

I quickly checked the time on the pocket watch. Oh… I was late. Not too late, but just enough that I was going to get chewed out at most.

The door swung open. A figure walked out and stood in the doorframe with an icy glare directed at me. “where have you been?” yeah, I wasn’t going to survive. the figure let out a sigh, “come in, you will have some explaining to do whilst Eric gets you both some tea.” “sorry for being late…again miles,” I chuckled as I rubbed the back of my neck.

He steppe bac and walked into the house. I let father Francis go in front of me as we made our way inside. I would have taken my shoes of if I had worn them today. I gave a small weak smile to Francis. If it were my dad that we had been greeted with he would have to only stay for five minutes. The twins on the other hand were another story… they had been like this for as long as I could remember. They had always been protective of me. I was sixteen. Yes, it was strange but the reason behind why they were so overprotective is a story for another time.

The entrance was small. Barely able to fit the three of us. Miles made his way up to the first couple steps on the staircase to give more room. I looked to the right; the lights were off witch was probably to save energy. I made my way into the left room. The fireplace warmed up the room, relaxing my body compared to the cold nipping air that was outside.

There was a figure identical to miles, the only difference being their hair partings. They had both their own unique skills, that was one other way to tell their differences.

The cardigan that I was wearing was knitted by Eric. It was at that moment I remembered what was in its pocket. I quickly reached down and pulled out a slightly squashed paper wrapped sandwich and sighed, putting it on the kitchen table that was one wrong move away from losing a leg.

The door at the back of the room shuttered. Looks like it was going to be a long night. the room was slightly crammed, but I didn’t mind that much.

Pulling out a chair and sitting down, I looked over to where the twins were arguing silently. miles had his parting on the left, the smaller part was cut off, it was the same for Eric except with his parting on the right. their hair was an inky black. they glanced over in my direction as I took a bite out of my crushed sandwich.

Red and green heterochromia. One eye green, the other a blood red.

“so, what are you two thinking about?” I said before taking another bite. “why we put up with your antics every day,” miles deadpanned at me. “you love me. That’s why,” I grinned as they sighed. “you’re ten minutes late Charlie, where have you been,” a voice forms the entrance. I looked up to see a scruffy looking man and grinned, “hey pops. And I think the pocket watch may be on the fritz again if that’s the case. It says I should be on time.” “either way, may I ask why the father is currently in our home? Again.”

“Jonathan and the other two again, I simply came to make sure she got home safely instead of running off.”

 They began to talk, leaving me to my own devices. The sandwich that had only one or two more bites worth lay on the table. A half-drunk cup of tea next to it.

Standing up and cracking by back, I made my way past the gossips and made my way to the living room. The light now on as dumbass one and two sat on the floor with cards.

Falling on the sofa backwards, the two who were absorbed in their game gave a little squeak and flung back. I let out a chuckle and stared at them with a curious look as the grumbled curses and words that would put sailors to shame.

“so, what has caused you to grace us with your company?” “if you were in the room with those two gossips, you would leave after a while too.”

Eric laughed and reached his hand over to the small wooden table in the middle of the room. “shift over goliath,” Eric muttered pushing me up. I swung my legs from the arm of the sofa and crossed my legs as I felt a pair of hands running down my hair before getting caught in a knot.

“I swear your hair is worse than ours on a good day,” he groaned before he began to brush my hair. “you do know I could do this on my own, right?” I said. “yeah, but it’s not like I’ve got much else to do in the first place.”

It was another fifteen minutes before I heard the noise in the kitchen slowly rise into the room. the three of us looked between one another with concern. They hadn’t fought before as far as we knew.

“she can’t know!” the voice I could clearly tell was my dad yelled. “she needs to know sooner or later, the sooner the better.”

I stood up from the sofa and slipped into the hall and peaked my head into the room. I could see my father’s face, eyebrows knitted together and eyes glaring at the father. His knuckled white from gripping the cup.

“look, I get why you don’t want to. But all your doing is speeding up the inevitable.” “I know… I’ll tell her soon. I promise.”

I walked into the room and locked gaze with my dad, “or you could tell me now instead of hiding it.”

“how much did you hear,” his face paled. “enough.”

[gem-quest]

[ O P H E L I A ... ]

“There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination. Living there, you’ll be free, if you truly wish to be.” 
- Pure Imagination

Real Name: Catriona “Cat” Walsh Age: 20 FC: Saoirse Ronan Species & Class: Specter Bard Guild: Moonstone 
 Description of In-Game Powers: Specters are Gem Quest’s non-corporeal undead player race.  They’re notable for only having 9 stats instead of 10, with Strength being omitted from their stat lineup because they literally have no physical bodies.  Instead, their Willpower stat serves as their Strength equivalent.  This means they have a rechargeable meter of how much they can possibly interact with physical objects before taking a rest or recharging with a spell or potion.  Beyond that, Specters are distinguished by their inability to be damaged by non-magical weapons, increased susceptibility to light magic, and inability to be healed via healing potions or traditional physical healing spells (only a period of rest or spells/potions aimed at restoring mental wellness can heal them).  The non-magical weapon immunity is amazing lower levels, but it’s not long before everything thrown at you seems to be enchanted or blessed or cursed or whatever.  Weirdly enough, as far as the whole “incorporeal being” conceit is taken in other aspects, Specters can indeed take potions, as well as eat and drink.  They get decreased buffs from some potions and foods, though.  To balance this out, spells that provide small buffs and aren’t explicitly light-aligned are extra effective on them.

There’s a lot of frustration with the class because of its “fake” weapon resistance, since any old dagger with any mild enchantment or magical effect at all on it can hit them.  They can’t viably hit physical things in combat without specifically taking Knight, Rogue, Rider, or Mage-Knight as their class.  And even then, they’re arguably the weakest race choice in the game for non-magical melee combat.  Meanwhile, a lot of physical things and all magic can still hit them very hard very easily. 

All of this said, there ARE skills to really like here, too - namely, superb mobility.  Specters can pass through physical materials five feet thick or thinner as long as those materials aren’t specifically enchanted to prevent phasing.  They float slightly by default and have a rechargeable flight ability that allows them to lift much further off the ground in short bursts.  They also have a rechargeable ability (with more uses per charge than flight) that allows them to teleport from where they stand to any spot they can see within 20 feet without a spell as long as they haven’t been hit with an attack in the past 5 seconds.  This gives them excellent mobility even in the heat of battle and allows them to have a lot of control over their position and angle.  It also means that it’s often smarter for them to worry less about defense than about being hard to hit in the first place.

Place of Birth: Dublin, Ireland

Appearance: Ophelia has a Specter’s signature slightly translucent skin, under-saturated color palette, and skirt hem/legs that trail off into mist.  Her eyes are a stormy gray, and her wardrobe is almost exclusively black and white.  When it comes to fashion, she prefers some of the more dark Victorian-inspired looks in the game as opposed to the high fantasy, renaissance, or medieval looks that a lot of other characters favor.  That said, she’s got a pretty extensive and well-curated wardrobe behind her.  She considers it highly important that she have at least one appropriate black and white ensemble to wear in each and every level in order to fit in with the theme.  That said, she also has her own signature look that she uses as her “default” (the outfit she’s wearing in her pic at the top of her audition - full-body edit to be shared later!).  Oh, and she loves gloves and capes.  LOVES THEM.  And kind of hoards them, tbh.

Places Most Likely to be Found In-Game: Ophelia’s favorite haunt at the moment is the City of Magic in Level 11.  It’s the logical home base for a character who’s both a crafting/magical class AND a ghost. There’s a high enough concentration of both useful items and ingredients AND sufficiently gothic-flavored areas and NPCs to suit all her needs, both practical and aesthetic. She’s set up her own little shop in one of the many background spooky haunted house locations within the shadier-looking part of the city, and her Aesthetic demands she sometimes hangs out at the city’s main graveyard.  

Beyond that, she can sometimes be found in various libraries and shops across the levels she can access, looking for interesting bits of crafting knowledge, hints of new items she could try cobbling together, and items that she could modify or combine with something to make can even more useful item.  She’s also been known to turn up in random wilderness or roadway portions of levels in the first half of the game, foraging for crafting components that grow or randomly generate within those environments.

Current Inventory:

Screaming Lute (x1): Ophelia is very, exceedingly proud of her combat lute.  She crafted it herself out of her bardic starter instrument.  Specter Bards begin the game with an instrument they are capable of interacting with consistently.  Cat has decided that, within Ophelia’s story, this was Ophelia’s lute in life, and it was destroyed shortly before her death as a way of intimidating her.  Anyhow, Ophelia has heavily modified her starting weapon to the point that she thinks of it as an entirely new item.  It’s covered in strange etched carvings and shifts between glowing with an eerie red light from the inside and constantly trailing wisps of white smoke.  She uses it as her primary weapon in the game, as strumming specific notes and chords on the lute lights up some of the etchings and fires off various spells and magical effects and spells Ophelia has been able to learn.  The lute downright shrieks whenever she uses it to cast a spell.  How does it work, you might ask?  That is a very long story, and one I’m saving for another post XD  Most of the spells Ophelia has at her disposal are cast through her rune-covered lute and will be catalogued in her lute info.

Whispering Flute (x1): Ophelia likes rhymes and the aesthetics of symmetry.  A secondary combat and utility weapon of hers, this is a flute enchanted to fire off up to three charges of Ventium per day, and one charge of Murmurationium per day.  A good insurance weapon to sneak into a dangerous social situation, as it’s a perfectly normal and usable flute until she uses it to unleash the fury of the cold cruel winds of death upon you XD

Empty Unbreakable Bottle (x5): Ophelia favors magical items strongly because Specters can interact with non-martial ones automatically, without having to expend any extra effort or have at least X amount of Willpower to do so.  Unbreakable Bottles are the cheapest magical container commonly for sale in game that’s capable of reliably holding liquids, so Ophelia likes to store all liquids important to her in them.  And she likes to have at least a couple of empty ones on her at all times in case she wants to take a sample of something or otherwise just needs one.

Unbreakable Bottle of Rune Ink (x5): Rune Ink is an item that can be used as permanent and unfading ink that’s nigh impossible to remove or cover up.  More importantly, though, it allows a PC with knowledge of the game’s runes, basically a language of magic that appears in a level or two and on some items, to write runic symbols that absorb nearby magical energy and store it within the object with runes written on it.

Enchanted Carving Tools (x1): Basic carving tools, enchanted to be able to create magical items and inscriptions.  Ophelia uses them for crafting both magical and non-magical items, since any given item needs to be enchanted for her to be able to actively use it for long stretches of time anyway.

Enchanted Mending Kit (x1): Enchanted mending/tinker’s tools able to repair magical items without damaging their magical properties.  Ophelia uses these to repair any repairable item sent her way, for the same reason she also uses enchanted carving tools for everything.

Paxanimi Potion (x3): A potion that mitigates psychic damage or corruption and provides a temporary boost to a player’s Psyche stat.  For Ophelia, as a Specter, this is the closest thing she gets to a reliably available health potion.

Psychometry Scroll (x1): Allows caster to make one inquiry about the past of an object or place, then projects a scene or quote from the object’s or place’s history that provides a relevant answer to that question into the caster’s mind.  Without crafting very specific questions, the results can often be vague and unhelpful, as the game will take the path of least resistance in providing a vision that meets the requirements of the inquiry.

Ictuium Scroll (x1)

Second Sight Scroll (x1) (Learning)

Assorted Random Crafting Bits and Scraps

She actually has more inventory kept hidden away within her home base rather than coming with her everywhere.  Most of it is just more tools and materials and many, many changes of clothes.

“How much does it weigh?  Can I touch, smell, and taste it?  Can I put it in my inventory?  Is it magical?  Is it combustible?  How many knowledge checks can I roll on it?  Does it match my outfit?  Can I keep it?” - Catriona, literally every time she sees any new item in D&D

Strongest character trait: Imagination

Strengths: Ophelia is an immensely imaginative and resourceful person who comes to Gem Quest from a background of extensive fiction reading and making famously effective TTRPG characters.  It helps that she researched Gem Quest *extensively* before starting and continued to be active in forums and the GQ Wiki right up through getting stuck, along with getting early advice and support from a beta tester acquaintance.  Her ideas are typically wildly innovative and a bit risky, but to her credit, they pay off more often than not.  She’s slow to trust others with much critical personal information, but pretty open to giving others a chance and to judging people based on her own experience rather than on gossip.  Thinking on her feet is second nature to her, and she’s rarely at a loss for ideas.  Her devotion to her character and planned story arc have helped her to maintain a degree of focus and stability that’s thus far proven to be her most valuable coping mechanism. 

She’s generally friendly and pleasant despite her spooky aesthetic, story, and demeanor, and she will genuinely try to help anyone who asks her for it.  In business and in social encounters, Ophelia is considerate, well-mannered, and often downright chatty, though she usually knows to take a hint when people make it clear that they don’t want to talk.  She makes and offers a selection of odd but useful items at very fair prices because she’s not here to make a profit - she just needs enough resources to keep going.  She’s earned a bit of good will based on that.  Her skill in puzzle and strategy-based quests and willingness to dispense hints on the above, along with her crafting, has garnered her a good reputation as a support player and PC shopkeeper within her guild.

Weaknesses: Even knowing that the game is now a matter of life and death, Ophelia still seems to care more about her in-game narrative and goals than practicality, survivability, or winning.  A vibrant creative type who wishes no irl harm to anybody, she has a hard time conceiving that even the most blatantly destructive PCs would truly do harm to anyone outside the narrative.  She catches most of the references you make and then obnoxiously, steadfastly denies that she has caught them if you inquire, because Star Wars doesn’t exist in the world of Gem Quest and of Ophelia, dammit!  While her coping methods might be working for her internally for now, her devotion to staying in-character makes her a bit of an acquired taste.  She is very, very particular about sticking to character, even when it’d be more practical and less annoying for her to drop it. She’s been known to make important decisions that risk her safety (and sometimes, indirectly, that of others) in the name of “authenticity” to her character and story plans. 

Far, far too curious and adventurous for someone with a Defense stat of 2.  She has lots and lots of interesting ideas, all of which she gives equal chance to, plenty of which aren’t good.  Just because her creative ideas pay off more often than not doesn’t mean that there aren’t times when they don’t pay off.  And when they don’t pay off, they tend to not pay off SPECTACULARLY.  Reasonably likely to get herself killed enacting some inventive and exceedingly high-risk scheme to take out a dangerous boss before it can do damage. 

For some folks, the mix of creepy aesthetics and backstory and acting choices with effusive goodwill and pleasantness is more off-putting than inviting.  Arguably talks too much, especially when she’s nervous or upset.  Has a weakness for getting emotionally involved with NPCs, particularly minor NPCs with chains of side quests or that can serve as temporary companions, despite theoretically knowing that they’re just chunks of code.  Seems physically incapable of just sitting back and relaxing for a few without having to start some new project or come up with some new big subplot or plan. 

Plenty of folks are happy to buy her crafted items, but she has a bad reputation as an active combatant due to a few infamous Incidents.  At this point, only the truly uninformed, the truly desperate, the truly experimental, or the truly crazy in Moonstone would willingly party up with her XD

“Death has made me less than kind.  And very, very creative with a broken lute, who knew?” - Ophelia

Player Stats: Ophelia’s defensive strategy in combat is just to not be hit at all.  Her Defense stat is dangerously low, with any points that could buff it up as she’s gained levels and experience instead going to Agility and Luck.  She prefers to draw her “defense” from stats that she can get more versatile use out of.  She’s unusually low in Charisma for a Bard and has only enough Willpower to allow her to craft with physical items.  She can’t wield non-magical weapons at all.  However, she opted to invest a bit more in Psyche than a lot of other players did since a lot of a Specter’s durability lies in their emotional stability.  She also has uncommonly high Intelligence, which combines with her Psyche and Luck to equip her well for puzzle-based and strategy-based challenges.

STRENGTH: X

DEFENSE: 2

CHARISMA: 6

PSYCHE: 7

WILLPOWER: 7

CAUTIOUSNESS: 4

AGILITY: 8

ENDURANCE: 5

INTELLIGENCE: 9

LUCK: 8


Personality: (A lot of this is already in her strengths and weaknesses, so I’m putting a bit of a summary and some extra detail in here.)

She eats fictional media for breakfast, means well, talks a lot and talks often, has an overall spooky quirky nice one vibe (you know the type), fancies herself an actress regardless of the feedback she might receive, will (un)live and die in-character out of a fruity cocktail of artistic integrity and spite, is the Bard equivalent of a TV mad scientist who tends to cause the problem at the start of the episode with an experiment and then solve it in the last 2 minutes with a crazy genius plan that’s then shown to have not *totally* worked in a post-episode stinger, and is too smart for anyone’s good.  

Building a clear narrative here helps her bring some degree of organization and order to the wild creative whirlpool that is her brain.  She’d never considered herself much of an escapist until she discovered GQ, where she hasn’t escaped from responsibilities and work and struggle so much as she’s found an intoxicating degree of control over what her responsibilities and work and struggle are.  She can write a meaningful story here, be its central driving force, have the impact she increasingly feels like she’ll just never be able to have in real life, and stick her epic quest out to a glorious conclusion.  Ironically, she’s a weird mix of always needing an outline and a sense of narrative while ALSO constantly bursting with new ideas and clever but risky plans that she takes quite seriously.  Cat harbors perpetual mild guilt for feeling so restless and unhappy - after all, she’s lived comfortable life and has a family who loves, and it’s not like people have to like anything she makes or does or says in order for her to have a high quality of life.

“Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.” - James Joyce

Biography: Catriona Walsh was born in Dublin, Ireland to an Irish mother and an American father of Irish descent.  The family moved to New York City for her father’s job when she was just 5, but she and her mom remain close with her mom’s side of the family back in Ireland.  After 3 years in New York, the family moved to Columbus, Ohio, where Cat spent the rest of her young life, except for summers.  Most summers since she was 13, she’s stayed a couple months with an aunt and uncle who own a small tour company in Dublin.  From 16 on, she’s been helping with business while there.  Now she’s at college in Dublin and working at the company on the weekends, in exchange for staying with her relatives. She’s studying business for her parents and literature for herself.  

Cat has always had a great fondness for the tour company, though mostly for the actual tour guide end of it.  She’s a natural storyteller and explorer who delights in going off the beaten trail and sharing all she knows about xyz subject with anyone who seems interested.  Unfortunately, her improvisational bent has landed her in trouble with her aunt and uncle more than once.  There are schedules to keep and itineraries people pay to be taken through, after all.  This landed her behind the front desk of the office answering phone calls and administering group ticket sales, which she very nearly hates.

School is hard, especially with her true interest pushed to the side by necessity.  Feeling like none of her ideas ever get taken seriously is hard.  Making friends that last beyond one semester sharing a class is hard, and as she gets further into her college career, her future looks increasingly stifled and bleak to her.  Attempts to get some poetry and original music off the ground haven’t gone anywhere, ending in some spikes of faceless nastiness that prompted her to delete her one YouTube account and take a step back from social media about a year and a half ago.  Sure, she knows she’s supposed to have a thicker skin than that if she wants to go anywhere, and she *does* want to go somewhere.  But she can’t seem to make her skin much thicker.  She wants to argue with her uncle and aunt a bit more, as she increasingly disagrees with them on quite a few things, but they’re both extremely conflict averse, and she can be extremely lacking in tact about things she’s suitably worked up over.  

Through it all, she knows full well that so so many people have it worse, and that she has no reason to feel restless and dissatisfied and unhappy.  It’s just that she has a hard time connecting with people and feeling heard. She’s not alone, so why is she lonely?  Cat takes refuge in being the zany, intensely individualistic artist who’s sometimes worth inviting to a party for the interest value and who surely has friends somewhere - you just haven’t ever met them.  

For the past year or so, all the time Cat has for herself and an increasing amount of time that used to go into schoolwork has been split between her long-time refuge in tabletop roleplaying and her new favorite place: Gem Quest.  She’s part of two Dungeons & Dragons games currently being run on Roll20 (well, was a part of them, anyway), both of which she plays as a multiclassed build with some degree of casting put together for a mix of strong utility and intricate storytelling.  Gem Quest continues a years-long trend of being in love with exactly one fantasy video game at a time and playing it as much as possible, though it’s her first MMORPG.  

Catriona researched Gem Quest *extensively* before ever getting it or creating her character.  She heard about it from a fellow member of one of her online D&D groups, an avid gamer happened to be a beta tester.  Cat was drawn in by the idea of being able to entirely occupy the space of a created hero within a sprawling fantasy setting and be a version of herself designed as a protagonist in a world designed to be impacted by her.  She had a cousin who had a VR headset but decided it just wasn’t really his thing, so it wasn’t hard to convince him to let her use it for this.  After waiting to see more setting and story info during the early general release and researching everything there was to know about GQ thus far, including via discussion with her beta tester acquaintance, she entered into the game a short while after launch. She’s had time to level up, mostly in being an item crafter and utility character with a surprising capacity to serve as a highly mobile glass canon blaster (and inexhaustible source of very creative and very insane plans) in combat.

She also has a whole, novella-length backstory for her character - a summary of which I will post later! - that she treats as her character bible and guide for all in-game interactions.  It’s based on a single image of a skeleton in a black and white dress in some official art of one of the higher levels where there are a lot of scenic skeletons lying around.  This is the sort of brain Cat has XD



Ophelia, as a character, is the ghost of a minor noblewoman and court musician who was betrayed when she starting poking around into the disappearance of her older brother at court.  Her desires to find her brother and for vengeance brought her back as a Specter, but she came back a world away from the place she died and has to go on a quest to make it back and finish her story.  Cat built the character to be tied to a mid-to-late game puzzle-heavy level so she could have a big climatic Moment there.  Then, she’d continue to the end in search of her fictional brother.  Ophelia wields a spectral lute as a spellcasting focus and spends a lot of time pursuing leads about both her brother and her murderer (aka quests Cat finds thematically/aesthetically good for Ophelia).

Cat is VERY set on seeing this plot through and being the hero of her story, from start to finish, despite what’s happening with the game now.  She does her part to provide puzzle guides and crafting support for those working to beat the game, but she’s not going to rush through her story and suddenly snap back to being poor little ungrateful and inexplicably depressed Cat who has no place in anything and can’t do anyone much good with what she’s got.  While she’s in the game, she’s going to be Ophelia.  At least Ophelia has a *reason* to be unhappy and restless, a wildly creative and wildly striving brain tied to the world with a few wisps of smoke.  And at least Ophelia is good at what she does.

Never mind how much she adored aggressive exploration and creative combat at first.  She’s learned well enough that she’s just a liability there, she’s bad at being in a group, and, not so different from real life, she’s at her best when she’s just at the shop counter being support.  She’s already been booted from a couple of parties over her crazy plans, play style, and general personality. And there have been more than enough incidents with her pulling something crazy because it was in-character and genuinely seemed like a good solution with the resources given, usually with at least decent results but always with high risk, that no one in the know is willing to party up with her anymore. 

She’s kind of stuck either in her shop or going solo.  At least she makes good things, though, right?  And she’s just taking her plot slow because of she’s savoring and developing her story, not because people don’t really like conquering life beside her out here either, right?

Right?

Relationships: I’m very much open to some plotting and planning with anyone who’d like to try working something out!

In regards to side characters or such of my own, I have some ideas already for this.  I’ll fill these in as I finalize my ideas a bit more!

Char 1 -

Char 2 -

Char 3 -

Playlist: TBF Pinterest: TBF Extra: TBF

[ladykateofledfordpark]

The Lake

This fic was inspired by the Choices July Challenge! =)

Day 29 Prompt: Comfort

Main Pairing: Parker x F!MC (Harper)

Warning: Talk about death

This fic is dedicated to @darley1101. It took me quite a while but I finally finished it. =)

Tagging also my wonderful friends @lady-kato @mariaoz @itsbrindleybinch @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @kingliamsbish and @jlpplays1! Thank you for all your support!

Summary: A few years after the finale, after Harper finishes college, the gang meets up once again.

Unedited-ish. Please excuse grammar errors and typos.

Harper’s boyfriend pulled on her hand. His eyes shone with the most beautiful happiness in the world, like a mix of mischief and elation in one. When Harper’s eyes met his he smirked devilishly, as if he knew something she didn’t.

She furrowed her brows. “What?”

Parker’s smile grew. “You’ll see.”

He led her down the nearly empty street, the eerie silence their only companion. Harper drank in the familiar neighborhood: the white, rickety houses; the barely usable fences; and the familiar pathways. A strange mix of nostalgia and dread filled her, as if her body didn’t know what to feel. 

The truth was Harper did miss Palm Springs while she was away, but this area held too many bad memories. Each house they passed reminded her of Ned’s, making her rehash the same scenes over and over again: Ned’s smiling face as she offered to work together with him; his empty eyes, urging her to run as fast as she could; and the constant fear of the Society as she looked through the window, her heart pounding at every sound.

This place held so much hope and so much fear, Harper couldn’t understand how Danni could still stay to live here after everything that happened.

At some point, Parker woke her from her thoughts. “We’re here. Do you want to call them, or should I?”

She didn’t think twice before jumping in. “I’ll do it.” The dark tingling was now so much stronger, urging her to look where she first met Danni. Harper knew it was there- her senses were screaming at her- but she also knew that looking, even if only for a second, would only intensify her pain.

So she forced herself to look straight ahead. She slowly walked toward the door, ignoring the tempting voice whispering in her ear. They were Ned, they were Josephine, they were Richard: people that haunted her dreams, and every waking moment too.

Harper paused before the door. She swallowed, took all the strength she had in her, and knocked. Before she could prepare herself, Danni opened the door. A smile rose to her face at the sight of Harper, but just as she opened her mouth Tom rushed past her. His arms wrapped around his best friend, an enthusiastic cry leaving his mouth. 

“Harper, I missed you!”

She smiled. “Long time no see, stranger.”

Danni shoved Tom away. “Not now, Tom.” She turned to Harper and absentmindedly patted her shoulder, grinning. “Never expected to see you again. How long were you stuck in that college for?”

Harper chuckled. “A few years.”

Warm arms wrapped around her, and familiar lips brushed her earlobes. “For the record, I missed her too.”

Danni crossed her arms. “I wasn’t talking to you, Boy Scout.”

“I told you I was an Eagle Scout.”

“I know.” 

Before Parker could answer, a shrill voice called out. A slim figure rushed toward them, a box in its hand. As the person neared them, Harper made out a familiar blob of curly hair and a warm smile, one with kindness she never met somewhere else.

“Sorry!” The girl apologized as she came closer. “I brought pancakes.” She held out the small plastic box like a peace offering, fidgeting. She tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Tom smiled. “It’s okay, Genny, we’re just happy you’re here.”

Danni turned to take the bag that lay at her feet, and then turned to the others. “Let’s go, then.”

Their walk was slow and relaxed, as if they had all the time in the world. It was strange walking down the streets of Pine Springs with the whole group, as if they were back to the summer of 2020. As if nothing changed since all the life-threatening situations they endured.

She didn’t know how to feel about that.

The group soon arrived to a grassy hill. Below them lay the lake, shining in the strong light of day. It seemed so quaint, so innocent. If Harper didn’t know better, she would have called this the most enchanting place in the world. However, memories of the lake tainted its allure, making it seem more like an enticing deathtrap than nature’s beauty. 

For a moment, Harper wished that she could look at this view in that innocence. She wondered how it was to be one of those people, humans who knew no better than what they were told. She couldn’t remember looking at any body of water that way, let alone the original lake itself.

“Harper.”

She turned toward Tom. He scanned her, his eyes betraying his worry. “What’s wrong?”

Harper clenched her fists. “It’s everything, really. This lake, the memories. They don’t go away.”

His mouth tightened in a thin line. “I know.”

Harper sighed. “I just wish there was a way to forget this ever happened.”

“No.” Danni interjected. Her eyes blazed like a living inferno, sending random bursts of lava as warning. “Forgetting is not the solution. It never was, and never will be. It’s a way of running away that only adds harm. Because if you forget, you don’t learn. And if you don’t learn, you repeat the mistakes. We can never forget, Harper. This happened, and we need to learn from it. There is no other way.”

For a moment, they were all silent. Harper turned toward the lake, the sparkling waters now seeming like a cackling laugh. She closed her eyes before giving a silent nod. “You’re right.”

Tom met Danni’s eyes, but didn’t say anything. He stepped past the two girls and walked to where Parker and Imogen were taking care of the picnic. Harper watched him, her heart aching at the sight. “Do you think we’ll ever completely get past this?”

“No, we won’t,” Danni answered instantly. 

Before she could elaborate, Imogen’s voice called their names. “Come! The picnic’s ready!”

It wasn’t really a picnic, as Harper found out. A stack of plastic plates were piled on the checkered cloth, Imogen’s pancake box beside them. The empty picnic box was now on the side, waiting patiently for the group to finish.

“We really should have brought more food,” Imogen commented. She frowned at the picnic box as she took another pancake. “I would have brought more food, but life has been hectic lately.”

“Oh, really?” Harper teased.

Imogen beamed. “Yeah! I applied to the colleges I want, and got accepted to the one I want the most! Now I’ll be able to truly help people.”

“What are you thinking of learning?” Parker asked curiously.

“Finance. That way I can help charities earn money, so they could give to people who really need it.”

“So like what you did with your parents’ money?” Danni asked.

The happiness on Imogen’s face disappeared, leaving only a weak smile behind. “Yeah.”

Danni frowned, but didn’t say a word.

Before things could get worse, Tom spoke. “I’ll soon finish college. It’s strange but exciting at the same time. I’m happy to finally get it over with.”

“Congratulations, Tom!”

He grinned. “Thanks, Harper.”

“Honestly, though, I don't know what I’ll do now. I have to plan my future now.” Her eyes met Parker’s and they shared a hidden smile, one full of hope, happiness and love. Parker took her hand and gently rubbed soothing circles on her palm, his touch as kind as his soul.

“I’m just happy Harper is back,” Parker uttered. “Life feels like one long day without her. Don’t get me wrong: I love my job, but it feels a bit repetitive.”

Danni shrugged. “Same here.” Once she thought about it, she added: “Except the Harper part, of course.”

The following moments consisted of fun and laughter, but also calm and silence. It was the perfect blend of comfort, like a riveting drink meant to heal the pain and help to gather strength for the way ahead. Harper lost herself in those moments: laying with her head on Parker’s lap; sharing jokes with her friends; feeling for once like a normal girl without any worries.

But when it started to grow darker and darker, Tom, Imogen and Dannie. They gathered the picnic materials before leaving. Parker and Harper stayed behind, their bodies now lying side by side. They watched the sky slowly shift, until suddenly the sun was setting, casting the world in a warm and comforting light.

“Parker,” Harper uttered.

He turned to her with a questioning gaze. “What?”

Harper ran a warm finger over the bridge of his nose, his cheek and then his lips. Her eyes sparkled with colors more brilliant than anything else could ever hold. Parker watched as their shade changed from deep blue to ocean green to majestic purple, almost as if she was tied to the sun itself.

Harper smiled. “I love you.”

Parker pulled her closer, so now they were almost touching. “I love you, too, Harper. You have no idea how much.”

She chuckled. “Maybe.”

Harper closed her eyes as Parker now ran his finger over her face. Her breathing slowed and her smile widened. She buried her head in Parker’s shirt and breathed in his comforting scent. It hardly changed throughout the years. He still smelled like a perfect mix of cologne, sweat and salty sea. Like water.

She smiled. “Parker?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you want to do now?”

He stiffened slightly. “I don’t know. Do you want to stay here?”

She thought about it: about Elliot, about her grandfather, and about her history here. Did she want to stay near her family or run away from the threatening lake?

Eventually, Harper nodded. “Yes.”

Parker looked at her incredulously, like a little boy who just got the perfect present. “Really?”

She grinned. “I think I can learn to love the lake.”

How could she not, when Parker was like the side of the lake she never knew? The comforting smells, the purity and the calm he always gave her?

He pulled her closer, and lay his chin on her head. “You don’t know how happy you made me just now.”

“I feel the same.”

At some point they drifted off to sleep, lulled by the chirping crickets, the silence of the night and the beauty of the lake.

[soulephant]

It’s been a while since I last posted about 3H. Then, I implored people not to give shit to Black Eagles players for liking a house. By the way, don’t do that.

Turns out that isn’t the extent of the disrespect and snobbery that is displayed sometimes in regards to Three Houses.

Some people compare Three Houses ridiculously unfavorably to either Radiant Dawn or Conquest(?!?!). And then proceed to be all high-and-mighty and talk people down implicitly if not explicitly. Again, please don’t do that. Anyway, let’s address the comparisons first because I have some choice opinions about that.

(I guess, by the way, I’ll give some spoiler warnings for those who have not played Three Houses yet)

 Let’s start with Conquest. It plays really well. That’s more than can be said for the vast majority of pre-awakening games, most of which were marred by awful handling of weight (in what world should specific people be slowed down by Iron Lances?), multiple promotion items, handaxes and such being broken at the expense of bows, and other assorted problems, to a point where I wonder “how is this supposed to ever become more than a cult classic?“. Then again, so does Three Houses.

Conquest pretty much always has some difficulty. Conquest normal is perfect for me, but then, I’ve played several Fire Emblem games at this point. Now I’m not giving Conquest shit for this because it was designed for veterans difficulty-wise. It’s what the game set out to do and Conquest was marketed as such. Ideally though, normal should be normal. It should give the “average“, whatever that may be a challenge, but not be too punishing for exploring whatever the player wants to explore. My inner jury’s still out on whether Three Houses is too easy instead or not. I do not rule that out at present. But too easy is better than too hard, because with too easy, people at least get to play your game and like things about it.

Anyway, I will give Conquest props for gameplay, which I can’t stress enough is quite a good thing.

Characterwise, Conquest is a mixed bag. In part, because some characters had some pretty bad gimmicks (Setsuna would have been maybe okay if she was a general airhead, and didn’t have an absolutely ridiculous focus of falling into traps instead, which is simply not a viable primary trait), though it also has some characters like Niles and Peri, who have backstories and reasons for being the way they are. So far, there isn’t a single stinker in Three Houses, and the cast is shaping up to be stronger in general.

Storywise though... I’m sorry, I can barely begin to reasonably grant Fates fans any points in this regard. I was promised conquest, and what was I given? A conquest that is undesired to the point of Corrin being very whiny pretty much always, when ideally you would expect Corrin to at least toughen up a little (hell, his Nohrian siblings were right there to show him how it’s done!). Other than, what, chapter 16? Where Corrin actually quite masterfully plays Iago, they actively reject character development and keep embracing angst (after Ryoma’s death being the best example). And I get what IntSys/whoever the writer was was going for, because the war isn’t pretty. But it fails to work I find. Also, Conquest throws deaths left and right but... how are most of those supposed to affect the player again? Lillith being the most glaring example. She’s the reason your castle exists, and that’s... about it. Conquest just falls flat storywise (even if bits and pieces could have been okay), and comparing it to Three Houses favorably in that area is something I can already never comprehend.

Now Radiant Dawn. This mostly comes up because Edelgard is compared to Micaiah and people favor Micaiah? But here’s the thing: Radiant Dawn has a prequel (that, on a side note, is a more solid game). That prequel has a cast. That cast benefits from a support system, which Radiant Dawn practically removed. Then Radiant Dawn puts that cast, Ike and co and basically every legitimately good guy, against Daein, which has mostly just lost its mind again. Daein did not deserve the brutal occupation it had during Part 1, but that’s all I can say in Micaiah and the Dawn Brigade’s favor. The key thing is that if you have played Path of Radiance, and notice that Daein is awfully racist and quite unhealthy besides, why would you still willingly side with Micaiah? Why would you not wonder why the game forces you to guide her to victory, instead of teaching Daein a lesson again with a cast that you actually got to explore?

Basically, Micaiah’s enemy is not wrong. Daein may have been yoked by a blood contract, but let’s face it, most of Daein’s army just revels in fighting “sub-humans“ again regardless of why they would actually go to war. To boot, most of Daein’s cast has... little to no character to be found. Even if there was, the player would only have had Part 1′s 10 chapters to get that depth as opposed to the 26 or so that Path of Radiance’s cast had.

The same can’t be said for Edelgard. IntSys made the attempt to treat all houses equally, for starters. All houses are on equal footing. Edelgard’s methods are wrong, and she’s more extreme than most of the Hardin archetype, so please spare me that old news because I know already. But there’s enough things in the game to prove that Edelgard has a point regarding the nobility and crests (just look at some characters’ backstories!). To boot, there’s enough implications that the church has been untruthful for, what, at least a century? And don’t get me started on Rhea because she seems entirely too eager to execute dissenters and erupts the moment she doesn’t like something. Edelgard’s enemy has skeletons in its closet, is implied to be problematic, or at least aren’t the literal heroes of the game. Her enemy is actually potentially wrong!

Two other things in Three Houses’ favor are balance and difficulty. Radiant Dawn’s normal difficulty is... schizophrenic (supposedly localization turned what was hard mode into what we know as normal mode), sometimes too easy, other times outright making me break my no-death rule out of sheer frustration, and further serves to make Part 3′s Daein chapters absolute nightmares because the Dawn Brigade has like no exp pool. Three Houses, again, may turn out to be too easy but I’d take that over whatever Radiant Dawn’s normal mode was. Also as alluded to, a fair few units especially among the new cast just aren’t good. In Three Houses, everyone is usable. Sometimes a few units are broken but at least you can use everyone!

So for short, Three Houses:

The most morally gray or whatever side has a point and their enemy has actual skeletons in their closet.

Normal difficulty is perhaps too easy, but at least the game is accessible. You know, unlike most of the franchise.

Balance is satisfactory. No one is really useless.

Has a proper support system.

Radiant Dawn:

If you played Path of Radiance, why the hell would you still side with Micaiah? Her enemy is not equally wrong. Not even close!

The normal difficulty is schizophrenic because it was in fact supposed to be hard mode. Also because Dawn Brigade has like no exp pool. Still accessible enough, but only just, and pales in comparison to PoR and basically every post-awakening game including Three Houses.

Several new units are as useless as they are underdeveloped.

Has a pathetic excuse for a support system that makes any new addition to the cast a pretty poor character because they have no real opportunity to actually have potential depth explored.

I wish I could change people’s minds but I know there’s always people I disagree with. That’s fine, despite some of my strong word choices. If I end up displaying some hypocritical snobbery of my own in the process of outlining my own thoughts, that’s my mistake and one I will own up to.

What I am not okay with is when people go like “they’re just generous“, “they must be men” or any derogatory variation thereof. Come on man, that’s not being a critic! Being a critic is outlining positives as well as the negatives, and not getting particularly hung up on any of them. It especially isn’t being a snob towards people who don’t see things the same way! They don’t deserve that treatment, much less over video games!

So I hope I have clearly outlined my thoughts here.

[tipsycad147]

Proper disposal of magickal trash

by Michelle Gruben

The candles have been extinguished, the circle opened, and the spell completed.  But what do with the leftover stuff?

You probably know how easy it is to get saddled with ritual debris: candle stubs, bits of fabric and string, bottles, bags, and written spells.  Though no longer useful, these items once held great meaning.  Just throwing them away seems inappropriate.   But keeping them around can stunt your magic and clutter up your house.  In this article, we'll consider ways of ethically, safely, and effectively disposing of the physical remnants of spellwork.

Re-using ritual items

Some ritual items are suitable for re-use, and others are less so. Never absolutists, we'll help you sort your magickal junk into "usually," "rarely" and "sometimes" re-usable.

Usually re-usable: Generally, stones, crystals and metal charms can be cleansed and re-activated for another purpose.  (Don't throw out that Quartz point--your little ritual was just a blip in its million-year existence!)  Your consecrated altar tools, obviously, are also fine to use again and again.  The exception is when an item is so tied in your mind to a particular working that using it in a future one would distract you.  (We'll cover the cleansing of ritual objects in a later post.)

Rarely re-usable: Most consumable organic matter belongs firmly in the "throw out" category.  Oils, herbs and food are considered to have passed all their energy to the present working, and are not usually recycled.  Ashes and paper rarely serve any useful purpose after the spellwork is complete.  Offerings to spirits or deities are never re-used under normal circumstances, as doing so might offer insult to the receiving entities.

Sometimes re-usable: The recycling of candles, spell bags, bottles, poppets, and so on is really up to the individual practitioner.  Conventional wisdom states that once dedicated to a certain purpose, these items are spent.  But many a thrifty old Witch has been known to melt down leftover candle wax, or re-baptize a voodoo doll (perhaps with a new hairdo). Ultimately, the answer to this question comes down to your gut, your budget and the rules of your personal practice.

Evaluate your trash

Once you've determined that it needs to go, it's time to take a good hard look at your garbage. Consider its size and content.  Is it biodegradable?  (And if so, how long would it take for it to decompose completely?) Could your trash harm someone--physically, emotionally, or psychically--if they were to run across it? The answers to these questions may rule out some methods and locations for disposal.

Obviously, some types of juju are easier to get rid of than others.  Water, herbs, ash (and the like) can usually be given to Nature--scattered or left respectfully outdoors.  Bone, cloth, wax, and plastic can stick around for months or years, and require a bit more effort to release. But if the remnants of your ritual are toxic, sharp, biohazardous, energetically icky, or personally identifying, take extra care.  You want this stuff banished permanently, where it won't come back to haunt you, literally or figuratively.

Near or far?

Finally, you may want to consider where, geographically speaking, you want your stuff to end up.  Witches who own real estate often prefer to keep magickal remnants on their own property--even building up a "spell graveyard" over time.  This anchors the energy in a familiar place and usually ensures that it won't fall into the hands of outsiders.

However, there are times when it may be more suitable to leave leftovers in a distant location. Say you did a working to excise an awful person permanently from your life, burning their photo and sealing the ashes in a bottle.  Would you really want that garbage in your backyard? Subconsciously, you might feel that part of that person was still lurking around. It would likely be much more satisfying to drive it to some godforsaken lot on the edge of town, and never go back there.

You may wish to take your sacred trash to a place connected with your Gods and ancestors, or that is significant to you in another way.  You may also not have a place at home to properly dispose of it. There are lots of options--just refrain from polluting or trespassing on private property.

Disposal by Earth

A tried-and-true method for sealing a working is to bury its components in the ground.  If you live in an urban environment and don't have access to open soil, a flowerbed or potted plant is the next best thing.  

Our wonderful Earth eventually absorbs and recycles everything--energy and matter.  A "dirt nap" is arguably the best method for anything that carries negative or erratic energy.  Earth is really the only proper way to dispose of stubborn or potentially hazardous materials.  Bury it and meditate on its transformation.  Graveyards are a traditional place to leave magickally charged trash--but get permission from the site's guardians first.  In gratitude for taking your rubbish, you may also want to leave a small token for presiding spirits and Fae.

If you can feel ley lines or geomantic energies, you'll find that placement of your garbage can make a subtle difference. In general, active spots will disperse concentrated energy more quickly, but can have other, unpredictable effects. Play with it!

So while we're on the topic of Earth...what's wrong with putting spell ingredients in the regular trash? If it winds up in a landfill, how is that any different, really, than burying it yourself? This is just the kind of marvelous, irreverent question that I love to be asked.

One of the tenets of my Pagan religion is that "there is no unsacred space."  So yes, the kitchen wastebasket is sacred, too! The problem arises when it is done without ritual.  Ritual creates focus, and focus is essential to magick.

Your subconscious recognizes an end to the working when you bury your items with ceremony, but glosses over it when you toss them out with your half-eaten hoagie and bus pass.  In your deep mind, it's not really over.  If you must dump your stuff in a regular trash can, take a moment to visualize yourself consigning it to the Earth, the same as you would if you were burying it with a shovel or spade.

Disposal by Air

The element of Air contributes a lot to magick--fresh ideas, wisdom, and adaptability.  But when it comes to clearing away the physical detritus of spellwork, Air just doesn't pull its weight.  It's best used for small amounts of ashes, salt and herbs.  Gather these up and scatter them, visualizing them blown to the corners of the world by the Four Winds. Clap your hands, wiggle your nose, and be done with it.

Disposal by Water

Water, especially deep or running water, is a wonderful way to release the pent-up energy in your ritual objects.  Sometimes gently, sometimes dramatically--water absorbs, transports and changes all that is given to it.  A water burial is especially suited to items used in the magick of transformation or healing. Moving water will carry an object far beyond its starting place, so it's also a place to cast symbols of your wishes and dreams.  (Weight anything that you want to stay submerged. Debris released to the sea may eventually wash ashore, so consider that, too.)

What about the toilet? asks the irreverent Witch.  Can't I just flush it down the potty?  Like the garbage can, using it offends some people's fanciful aesthetics. The toilet is just too mundane to be a "real" magickal tool.

Personally, I advocate the use of toilet water--especially for banishing magic. Hearing the "fwoosh" of the toilet is a powerful sensory trigger as you flush that "crap" out of your life!

Disposal by Fire

Fire is excellent for creating a very clean and permanent break with your ritual junk.  There is no retrieving or reconstructing items given to Fire.

A balefire (from the Old English word for "funeral fire") is a ritual fire prepared for the purpose of disposing of old mementos and ritual items.  Many Pagans elect to make a balefire annually at Samhain, either alone or with a group.  You can collect castoffs throughout the year, keep them in an energetically sealed box, and burn them all at once.  For added closure, bury the ashes once the fire has cooled.

As powerful as Fire is, there are always some caveats: Nothing plastic should be burned around people, ever, because of the fumes. (Same goes for polyester and nylon.) Items with trapped air (such as bottles) can burst if you're not careful.  Hair and horn are fine to burn, but smell nasty, so good ventilation is recommended.  Also, Fire disposal is not recommended for haunted, cursed, or "possessed" objects--or anything with really, really bad vibes. The sudden destruction by flame can cause this energy to be released and dispersed in a sudden and unpredictable way.  Cleanse the object properly and bury it instead.

Cleaning up is often the final step of magickal work, so it shouldn't be an afterthought.  The careful and reverent release of items that have served you will result in a strong conclusion to your magick.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/42338817-holy-crap-on-the-proper-disposal-of-magickal-trash

[smolchildren-ily]

CAREFUL! VERY GRAPHIC AT TIMES!!!! Can be triggering for people who lost pets :(

Yesterday you crossed the rainbow bridge. Susi. A name I gave you just for fun. You, a random cat who kept stopping by and who ended up having her on basket on our terrace, sheltered from the wind underneath the table. You, who, without me knowing, grew really attached to my heart. I bought food for you passionately, I did, as weird as it may sound, I was eager to go shopping for you and I was so happy every time I could feed you because I saw how happy it made you. Unlike our two 'actual' cats who just ever complain, dont eat up or just straight up leave the food the way we put it in the bowl. I would be even happier when I could give you their leftovers because it meant you would have an extra full belly that day. I made sure to always provide you with dry food, too, always filled up the bowl when it was empty - which it was a lot, but a handful of other cats come by, too, I know. Also your brothers, or at least those who I call your brothers, because often times after I would have given you food you licked it a bit and then vanished just to return with Oliver and "Lackl" behind you. I felt like you always made sure they also got a full belly, even more than you yourself, actually, and that is the reason why you kept getting them. Now, with you gone, they have no more lead, and they will never know where you disappeared to or why their beloved sister left them. I feel so sorry for them, too. But they still stop by, just an hour ago both came here together. I will feed them in your stead. I will give them one pack extra, the pack that used to be for you. I loved you so much and I didnt even realize until I saw you motionless, like you were sleeping, in the absolute middle of the street in front of our house, but hidden behind big bushes so I couldn't see you. I couldn't help you. When the lady with the dog came and asked me who owns a fluffy, grey-black cat and that she would be out on the street, dead. You were already dead. Already dead. Blood poured from your mouth, and from your mouth only. A small puddle had formed under your head. Thick, cherry red blood. When I... When I picked up your body later that day, in the evening, to... to... to take you to the most heartbreaking, unholy and disgusting place, unworthy of any loved animal or animal at all, actually, because my mum didnt want you in her garden next to her beloved cat, I realized. I realized that you had only been dead for a maximum of 30 to 60 minutes. The 30 to 60 minutes I had just gotten up. I think it was late that I got up, either at 9.5 or 8.5 or maybe it was 8.14 after all. And because I felt it was so late, I was so surprised not to see you in front of the door already, like I saw you every day. Every day, for, I dont actually know how long. I dont know for how long I've known you. I dont think it was very long, but I dont remember. I just know that you were suddenly just t h e r e. Because, your brothers, they had actually visited us even before you started coming to our house. And then one day they brought you and you stayed.

You weren't there yesterday morning, and I didnt think about it much. It sometimes happened that you needed to catch on as to that I was awake - usually by my steps or latest when I opened the blinds of the kitchen window which faces the garden and the direction that we believe you stemmed from. So I went to open the blinds and sat bored beside my other cat and watched her eat, as I have to do because otherwise she wont eat often times. And I was looking forward to seeing your small, excited face behind the glass door, and to pet your soft fur. Then watch you eat away and walk into my way to beg for more. When my cat was done, I happily grabbed a pack, a different one from usual, because you had begun to not like the usual, so I wanted to give you a special treat. And I grabbed that pack and skipped to the door, opened it energetically and awaited your absolute immediate arrival and exploding joy over me and the food I was bringing you. You didnt come, which was weird. Somewhat weird, but it had been raining all week, and during rain you seemed to spend a lot of your time somewhere else. Maybe at the place that was originally your home? Your origin is still 50/50 a mystery. My mum says from the farmer where your brothers are from, but I'm not sure. But it must have been the case, because where else would you have come from? A bit run down, skinny. God, you looked so healthy just a couple of days me feeding you. So little days. I was proud you recovered so quickly, unlike your brothers, who seem to be doing very badly all the time. Such soft fur, so sleek.

And the blood was fresh and your limbs were still moving normally when I touched you. That is, later that day, that I realized: If I had gotten up earlier. If I hadn't been so lazy or tired or both. Just, maybe a couple of minutes? Maybe just 15 minutes? Who knows if you would have made it safely across the street to our house. Because you would have heard me open the blinds sooner. And you would have made your way to me sooner, and the car, the driver who was on his way to work, he wouldn't have hit your head, or any other part of you. I was just so happy that you weren't obviously hurt anywhere. Just this blood dripping from your mouth, forming a small puddle under your small, beloved head I loved to pet more than I had realized.

And I wonder, if I hadn't been so lazy or tired, if you would still be here today, and yesterday. Or if it already happened before I got up. While I was still... I wasnt sleeping, I was awake. As always, as usual. My cat always wakes me up in the middle of the night and or I just wake up at 5 or 6 or 7. Usually I stay in bed until 8, in any of those cases. But I stayed longer than 8 even, and if I had just gotten up. I wonder, could I have helped you? But I wouldt have seen you, hidden behind the big bushes, outside on the street.

The lady vet who was very busy but was one of the only ones who answered my call told me if a car hit her on the head she was probably immediately dead. Or wherever you were hit. I hope. I hope. I hope you were. Were... you know, immediately. Without pain. I wish that you died loving me and looking forward to seeing me again and to receive pets. And I will give them to you, and all the food and all the hugs you want, once we meet again. Because I hope we meet again, I dearly do, seldom have I hoped so intensely for heaven to exist. I realized that the older I get, the harder it becomes to say goodbye, to lose someone. Up until this day I believed it would become EASIER. Easier, because by an old age, you would have been through so much already. Lost so many people, so many cats. But I realize it's not and I dread the days I have to say goodbye to our other cats, to any cat, actually, to any animal. I will not be thinking about people at this time, because it is too soon. To soon, to soon, to soon. As it was too soon for you. I love you so much.

Given we have somewhat a neighbour hassle I put my mind to try to find a vet who would examine your body. To make sure you weren't poisoned, because I couldn't see any visible injuries on you. Just this little, thick puddle of cherry red blood underneath your mouth. So many vets only opened in the late afternoon, so many were on holiday, so many only opened again on Monday. But I found this lady vet, and whilst having a patient on the table she hurryliy told me that, if I found you in the middle of the road, it was most likely car. And you were probably dead. You know. What I hope you was. For your sake. And for my sake. I dont want to talk about it anymore. I love you.

After this lady vet, who said that she technically does examine bodies, but who seemed somewhat reluctant and like the result was clear anyway, I called who I was going to call in the first place: the animal clinic 40 minutes from us. I wasnt keen on being with... a body, because that is what you were at that point, a body. With a body in the car for 40 minutes, but I was gonna do it, just to know, just to make sure that t h i s o n e t i m e I would actually k n o w what happened to my cat. So I would know and not wonder for the rest of my life: What happened? What went wrong? Could I have done something? Do I need to guard our other cats? But I was going to do it.

The lady who picked up this time was very friendly. She caught on almost immediately that I'd just lost a cat, and after she called me back to tell me that poison leaves the body too quickly to get usable results and that it would be a few hundred euro to have this analysis done, told me she wished me all the best and if I have any questions I should call. She was the first person that day - yesterday, it was just yesterday. But it felt like a nightmare, and it feels long ago already. A nightmare I want to forget, but I dont want to forget you. Susi.

She acknowledge my pain and your death and she consoled me when I had noone else who would do that for me. My parents are on holiday until tomorrow, the one friend who I told about your death literally just replied "I'm so sorry, that's so terrible, crying faces". But I needed more than that. I didnt get it until today when I woke up just as devastated as I was yesterday and went to have lunch with my grandmother, who also knew you. And who liked you, too.

"The green-eyed one" is what she called you. The green-eyed one, because green eyes you had. So beautiful, so big. In German, we like to say "Telleraugen". Eyes as big as plates. She was also visibly devastated. It is always said to tell your old grandmother that another beloved person or animal died. So much pain they have gone through already, and it just keeps getting worse.

But we talked a lot and long about you. And how it happened. Probably happened. And who I suspect to be the murderer. Our immediate neighbours, one of them at least. When I opened the door, shortly after, I heard them leave. The woman left in her white car. But I was just glad she left, I didnt care what direction she drove off to, so I didnt see where she went. I wish I had. And usually she drives into the direction where I found you on the street. May God punish her for her sins, and do so gruelly and painfully. If it was her. Maybe it was him, because later he returned in his old, small motorcycle thing. Maybe it was him. He shall be punished just as hard and gruelly as his girlfriend if it was either of them. And if it wasnt, I wish your murderer the plague and death and a hell of a lot of gruesome pain for the rest of their pitiful life. My first suspicions had been the neighbours who had newly moved here the last couple of years. Some younger people and old people who dont care at all that we have limit here in our village of 30 kmh. Who just never care and race down the hill like they own the place. And then hit a cat that just casually wanted to get her breakfast from a human who loves her very much. I hate all of you spenders, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, and I hate this neighbourhood and I hope everyone here dies a cruel death. Bit most of all, I hope your murderer and all other spenders who put the lives of loved ones at risk, die gruesome and cruel deaths. Just like you had to. I still love you.

Time is progressing, my battery decreasing and it is getting colder. I've written so much by now, but I have so, so much more to talk about. Tomorrow, my arms and fingers will hurt because I typed all of this on my phone. But at least I still have a body and feelings that can hurt me. Unlike you, who is not here anymore.

That day yesterday was so cruelly terrible. Oh my god.

I was so restless the whole day because I didnt know what to do with your body. I put it in the semi-shed/semi-room at the back of our house, where the small greenhouse and the grave of my mother's beloved cat, who was also hit by a car, but out of nowhere after a whopping 7 years of life. The grave which is also there. I had put you in a wooden basket somewhat, onto kitchen roll. For the blood to drip onto. And to make it more comfortable in your death, even though it probably wouldn't have made a big difference, even if you could have, or would have, still felt it. It was a bit too small for you and when I picked you up, you were so heavy, and so motionless, like, and I hate to draw this comparison, but like a sack of potatoes. Heavy and motionless and it was so weird to lift you up without you moving and squirming and trying to get away from me. It was so strange, alien strange, horribly strange. I saw the puddle out of the corner of my eyes but I didnt really see anything and I didnt want to see anything, the lady with the dog just wanted you off the street and that's what I did. I was blind with tears and when I put that wooden basket thing down I saw I hadn't put your head in a too comfortable position so I... I moved you a bit so that your head wouldn't be down at your chest, and your legs moved instead a bit over the rim. Then I squatted there, looking at you. As I do a lot with my other cat. To make sure you really weren't breathing anymore. To discover that you would still be breathing and I could still take you to the vet after all and I would still be able to feed you and pet you, and all would be good. But after staring at you intensely for 2 minutes or so. Blood still dripping a tiny bit out of your mouth, just luckily I didnt have to see that, your head was still moved so that I couldn't really see your face, just mostly your body. But I saw the blood on the kitchen roll expanding. It was seemingly clear that you were. The four letters.

But I didnt really believe it. Not really. Not really so. I went back upstairs to cry, and to do something about my sadness. To call the vets, have you examined, get clearance. To put my sadness to work. And as I sat there at the kitchen table with the phones I still expected you to come running up the stairs, staring into the room and scratching the glass door to have your food. That you just passed out for an hour or two or so and would come back. I really did!

And every shadow I saw out of the corner of my eyes, I thought they were all you, returning from the backside of the houses happily and healthy and excited and quirky as ever. Just your usual self, you know.

But you didnt come, and I was restless. After I had talked to the first lady vet I realized, I decided it was most likely a car that hit you. So at least I knew how it most probably happened. But what do to with your body? And I didnt want to bring you away just yet. Because it was clear to me that I would have to bring her to the most horrible, ungrateful and unworthy of any beloved pet or animal place on earth. Because you weren't my mums favourite, and she wouldn't want you in her garden. But at lunch I asked her anyway. I texted her about that I found you dead in street in the morning, and if I could bury you next to Leeloo to give you the forever home you probably always wanted. Just a little too late.

But my mother said no. Well, not explicitly. But she suggested I take you there, and after I said I didnt want to but it is her garden and her decision. I had to wait another couple of hours, until 6 o'clock in the evening, one of which I spent half asleep in bed with our second cat, because the living still demanded my attention, oblivious of the fact that one of them had just reached the end of their road. Until 6 clock in the evening when she finally replied to take you there.

Up until that point, I had gone back a couple of times to check on you. I sat at the kitchen table knowing flies would be all over your body at some point, because this is not the first time I had to witness the dead body of one of our cats. And I didnt want the flies there so I covered you up with newspapers. Another time I came to you with scissors and an empty box that had stored Qtips, because I wanted something od you to remain with me for the rest of my life. And your fur look so inviting, not flat on your skin but a bit more wildly into the air. So I carefully cut a few tips of your fluffy silkness. The box is sitting in front of me in the book shelf, originally I wanted to bury at least this bit of you in the garden next to the beloved cat. I wanted at least some part of you to have a furever home. And I still do. But I cant do it just yet. It could be that I will just keep it here. But I will definitely put up a stone with writing on it, saying "In love and remembrance of Susi".

Another time, before that, I think, I spent a long while sitting on the tiny stone rim in front of Leeloos grave, because I was pondering if I shouldn't just bury you anyway, despite what my mother says about you. But it was her garden, so I didnt. Just this one time, I wish I had not done as I was told. I wish I hadn't even asked.

But there, in the middle of the path to the grave, there were a bunch of unusally long daisies growing l, and I had the strong desire to put up flowers for Susi. For you. So I picked them and laid them down next to your body.

I think I went down another time, always in "full gear", with heavy boots on because the grass at the backside is usually wet and gross. But you laid on concrete in the semi-room, so no worries. So I went down there just to be with you. Because I still didnt want to believe it. I couldn't believe it. I refused to. I thought if I just spent some more time with you, you would wake back up. I had one of the masks on and one time gloves when I touched you. Which I didnt for the most part.

When I had Google about the poison, many people describe situations like your death. No, sorry, I googled what the blood meant, and that is where I found it could be poison, or even a heart attack, or inner injuries. But these people also described their cats having their eyes open, so I went to check your eyes cause I hadn't seen them. And they were open. Though I only saw one. One side of your face. If your cute, beautiful face. And I tried to close them, it, but almost immediately realized it didnt work, so I gave up. But I wish I could have done at least that for you.

[curejulie]

fic idea for otayurijj, though it could be read as pliroy<--otabek at first although I guess I haven’t fully fleshed it out yet,  I may never get to write it so just dumping my thoughts here.

chapter 1 background:

- JJ and Otabek are friends, perhaps simply by the virtue of being 19 (along with Leo) and also due to the time otabek spent in Canada. 

- despite their year spent together at the rink, they don’t necessarily click. otabek keeps JJ at arm’s length. at best, they’re distant friends. more than acquaintances but not quite at the level to be friends.

- JJ never stops with the friendly overtures, though otabek more than likely politely declines his offer to hang out most of the time. they message more they talk in person, although that’s not saying much. JJ respects the low communication need from otabek and that’s that.

opening:

- story begins a month post-GPF, JJ texts otabek and asks about his budding friendship with yuri. much like his personality otabek’s texts are short, terse, and infrequent. JJ manages to convey to otabek that he would like to make more friends with the ice skaters at his age range, and persuades otabek to convince yuri to have lunch with the three of them while they were all attending a skating event in france.

- otabek complies, because he thinks both yuri and JJ could use more friends and could work out their strained (non-existent relationship). 

- yuri is surprisingly compliant to otabek’s request (because it’s otabek), but he complains about JJ all the while walking towards meeting location. otabek constantly assures yuri that JJ is actually a good person. they meet JJ at a cafe in Paris.

- JJ gifts yuri a custom-made white tiger plush (per otabek’s advice) wearing his FP costume, with a gold medal. yuri is absolutely overjoyed (”kuso yabai”) but he tries not to show it, but the way he’s cradling the tiger in his lap gives it away.

- JJ apologizes sincerely for starting off on the wrong foot and shakes hands with yuri, wanting to start off fresh as friends. Yuri agrees to do so, but he still sits next to Otabek  and even when JJ tries to make conversation he makes Otabek answer for him. lunch is good, but a little awkward due to this odd three way conversation.

- JJ and Yuri exchange numbers on a friendly note, although Yuri doesn’t bother texting him other than to thank him for the gift (and uploads it to instagram, but with no real identifying tags). the three part ways. 

- JJ also tells Otabek he still doesn’t feel confident in texting yuri even though he clearly won him over with the gift. 

- two months later, yuri’s grandfather has a heart attack scare and is hospitalized. emotionally distressed, yuri calls otabek and asks him to stay with him while his grandfather recovers. otabek doesn’t even tell his coach or family when he books the first ticket to st. petersburg.

- the first night, yuri can’t sleep, so he has otabek join him in bed, and otabek strokes his hair until he falls asleep. he knows, and probably has known then he has been harboring feelings for yuri that’s hard to categorize, verbalize or even to express, but decides this is nice for now. otabek falls asleep next him.

- otabek spends the next three days with yuri at home and in the hospital. when they’re at home doing domestic chores, otabek wishes he could freeze this moment in time and keep them for safekeeping.

- yuri’s grandfather is discharged within days, and otabek returns home (coach is probably furious). he sees a flurry of texts from JJ, asking about yuri and how he was faring, and how his grandfather was faring. word spreads fast in the figure skating grapevine, it seems. JJ sounds quite worried, asking if it was proper to send flowers to his house or if that wasn’t russian tradition. 

- otabek is very tired from his trip but feels obligated to update JJ, so he lets him know yuri was okay, his grandfather has recovered very quickly, and he didn’t think it wasn’t proper. he suggests JJ to message yuri himself, but JJ quickly responds that he doesn’t feel right to message yuri abut a family issues. otabek, for the first time, realizes JJ does have a quite sensitive side. 

- yuri asks otabek about flowers sent to his home, with no sender’s name. yuri thinks it’s otabek and pre-emptively thanks him but otabek tells him it was not him. he doesn’t tell yuri who he thinks sent it either, especially not after yuri tells him he was surprised the sender knew his favorite flowers, because it reminded him of his mother. otabek feels something heavy in his chest at the omission. 

- a couple months have passed by since yuri’s grandfather incident. yuri excitedly tells otabek he grew 1.3 cm. otabek takes to drinking vitamin D and calcium fortified milk on the daily.

- JJ and otabek message each other infrequently, just very dry conversations about progress on the rink. in the past month, JJ’s messages have been shorter and less excited from his usual self. otabek figures he’s been busy shooting CFs and other off-rink work.

- otabek is having an off day, and somehow during his motorcycle ride his handphone flies out of his jacket and breaks on the sidewalk. it’s still usable but the screen is damaged beyond repair. he lets yuri know he won’t be available for a few days and he sends the phone off to repair. 

- although the repair should have taken 2 days at most, it ends up taking 5 days because otabek either misses the repair shop closing time and other technical mishaps. 

- otabek boots up his phone late after training to find pictures of yuri in disneyworld. with JJ. he’s baffled. there are also gotten a billion messages from both of them. otabek usually responds in a timely manner but the normally calm otabek feels himself a bit agitated and confused so he decides to sleep it off.

chapter 2: JJ POV

- getting engaged at 18 was probably not the best idea, and most certainly living with someone before marriage as well. JJ and Isabella have been fighting more and more after the GPF, and they decide to go on a break. 

- JJ misses Isabella a lot but he knows intuitively this break isn’t really temporary. he’s torn up inside and it’s showing in his performances. he goes on a small break, without letting any of his fellow skaters know. 

- JJ doesn’t feel really safe confiding in anyone about his breakup--certainly not his local friends since they know too much (and many have taken sides or wished to remain third party). he lets Leo know what’s going on with him, and he is quite supportive. 

- JJ doesn’t feel it’s right to burden otabek with his current situation. (he’s actually not sure how otabek would deal with emotions). he’s typed out a message to otabek many times, but has deleted it just as much. 

- instead he decides to bring up a topic that otabek is obviously emotionally tied with--yuri. he half wonders how they got to be friends in such a short amount of time. in truth, JJ was absolutely floored by yuri’s progress and performance, and though he liked to tease yuri, he wished they started off as friends first, so he builds up on the momentum to ask otabek to have lunch with him and yuri. 

- he asks otabek for advice for a gift to get yuri on placing gold, and otabek gives him pointed advice, with more words than JJ has ever seen him use in all of his messages with JJ. he decides to get a custom made white tiger doll, just cute but also just fierce enough to represent yuri.

- JJ actually has a good time during lunch with both of them. he can’t forget that look on yuri’s face when he gifted him the doll--and feels like yuri has slowly warmed up to him during lunch. he feels a lot better just hanging out with people unrelated to his hometown, and figures this was the release he needed.

- they exchange numbers at otabek’s suggestion--though JJ feels too nervous to message yuri first, for some reason, as if he’s texting after a first date. yuri saves him the grief and messages him first, thanking him for the doll. JJ responds excitedly (too soon), but yuri doesn’t message back. JJ makes a note to save Yuri’s birthday to his calendar and to commission a lion plush in time.

- when news of yuri’s grandfather spreads, JJ texts otabek, but doesn’t get a response. he actually personally goes to a florist and takes his time learning about flowers and flower messages. he sends gladiolus and gardenia flowers, somehow arranging a friend in russia to order in his place.

- a month later, isabella asks to meet JJ and they rekindle. they schedule another lunch date on the spot. JJ is confused but overjoyed, as their one year anniversary is coming up. 

- however, JJ misread her intentions--she really wanted to stay friends, which she makes very clear on their next date. JJ feels like an idiot for having rushed through his heart instead of his brain. 

- he remembers just then that he had booked plane tickets and tickets to disneyworld several months prior in preparation for the anniversary. he can cancel the plane tickets but not to disneyworld...he would have given the tickets to his siblings but they are in school. all in all, JJ just wants to flee canada and just not think about anything.

- that night he decides getting drunk was the best option. upon his fourth beer, he somehow worked up to courage (yolo) to one sidedly spam yuri about how sad he was because of what happened with him and isabella. he also manages to ask yuri if he’d want to come. he’s sure yuri would say no but he’s drunk and he’s going to say stupid stuff, he might as well do it now.

- yuri responds: yes. and when. JJ nearly drops his beer and asks yuri if he’s serious. yuri responds that he has never been to disneyworld and he’s always wanted to go...and that he would go if JJ paid for everything. 

- (yuri also isn’t heartless--he knows JJ must be considerable upset to message him all of a sudden and unleash his sob story on him, and probably could use a break)

- JJ suddenly gets the feeling...he doesn’t know how otabek would feel about this, but what if he’s looking too much into it...asks yuri if he needs permission from otabek. yuri actually gets angry, exclaiming he doesn’t need permission from anyone to go anywhere he wants. JJ thinks the outburst is cute, and then they arrange  for yuri to come to florida. the conversation with yuri wakes JJ up from inebriation faster than an icy cold shower.

- JJ messages otabek out of courtesy, but he figures yuri would probably tell him. he lies awake in bed and tries to process what just happened, and so fast.

Chapter 3:

- JJ and Yuri meet at Orlando international. JJ is nervous about the whole thing, and Yuri whacks him on the head, tells him to cheer up BECAUSE THEY’RE GOING TO DISNEY WORL 

- JJ starts loosening up considerably once at the park. He prepared Minnie and Mickey mouse ears for the occasion....and Yuri makes him wear the Minnie one. Yuri has become a total child, laughing freely and enjoying the rides. JJ feels like he’s never seen this side of Yuri and although he’s been to the Disney parks several times with his family, it feels like a brand new experience and he’s much happier for it. 

- The ears get wet on splash mountain, and yuri wants to check out the stores anyway so they shop for a new hats/ears. they decide to shop for each other and yuri presents him with goofy hat + ears (”because you’re stupidly tall and you have a dumb laugh”) and JJ presents him with donald duck hat (”you’re small and angry, all the time”). they both laugh at how apt the descriptions are and decide to purchase new hats. 

- yuri..finds out JJ is actually fun, a teenager who likes to make jokes and tease just like him, and feels decidedly less neutral about his new....friend.

....I have only thought about here, it’s also been a while since I’ve been in disney so I’ll have to brush up on the attractions there. 

IF YOU READ UP TO THIS MUCH PLS LIKE N SUBSCRIBE no, I mean, thanks. I plan such grandiose fics and I just don’t have the time or mental brain power to see the idea to completion so I figure sharing my ideas would be the best way to help this starved fandom (yes).

[hiddendreamer67]

ch. 8- Jacksepticeye and the beanstalk

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Jack rolled his foot around, testing his limits. The ankle seemed to working better with every minute. It felt more like waking a sleeping limb than recovering from a possibly broken bone. Certainly it was capable for a bit of walking. Jack estimated that within the hour he’d be fully healed and ready to climb back down the beanstalk and away from the castle forever. ….away from Mark. “Stop it.” Jack scolded himself. “You can’t pity the guy just because he helped you out. Don’t forget, he’s the reason you’re hurt!” Jack’s self-scolding didn’t stop the flow of guilt. Could he live with himself, disappearing with no explanation? Possibly scaring Mark, who would wonder what happened? While the thought of ‘scaring’ the giant seemed amusing, Jack didn’t have it in him. When the floor began to rumble, Jack stood up on the pillow and tried to look confident. “I brought pancakes!” Mark said cheerfully, carrying in a plate of fluffy pancakes and grinning even wider when he saw Jack standing up. “Hey, looks like you’re feeling better.” “Uh, yeah.” Jack tried to continue his confident exterior look even while quaking in his boots at the mere sight of Mark. The giant came and sat next to the couch again, setting the plate on the coffee table. On top of the pancakes three times Jack’s size, there were some tiny droplet pancakes that were clearly made just for him. The thought made Jack feel more guilty for leaving. “Look, Mark-” Jack rubbed his neck, not sure how to continue. “-I, uh, appreciate everything you’ve done to help me, but it’s really best that I go.” “You’re leaving?” Mark’s smile fell faster than a kid who realized Santa brought him coal. “I’ve gotta head home.” Jack shrugged, not meeting his eye. “Why?” Mark asked. “Is there someone waiting up?” “Uh, no.” Jack lied, biting his lip. There was no way he would even chance putting his Ma in danger. “I live alone.” “Well, what’s the hurry then?” Mark pushed. “Do you live far? I could help you get there faster. If you need something, I can help you get it. Hell, if you wanted to just move in with me you could!” Jack’s eyes went wide as Mark began rambling on. Jack had no intention of being treated like a caged pet the rest of his life, no matter the kind nature of his captor. “Uh, nah.” Jack tried to just shrug off the thought, hoping Mark would drop it. “Why not?” Mark urged. “I could help you get a lil’ bed, and make lots of food, keep Chica away-” “IT’S NOT THAT SIMPLE!” Jack shouted suddenly, pissed off. Mark stopped, looking at Jack with an unreadable expression. Jack gulped, having momentarily forgotten their size gap. If Mark got enraged, there was nothing Jack could do to protect himself. “I’m sorry.” Jack apologized immediately, frightened of the damage his words had already caused. When Mark didn’t react, Jack kept talking. “Look, I appreciate your intentions, but I’m still an independent man. I can and prefer to take care of myself on  my own terms. You understand, don’t you?” “Yes.” Mark looked almost guilty. “I’m sorry, Jack. I understand if you want to go now.” Reaching into his chest pocket, Mark grabbed something and set it down in front of Jack. “Here.” “My pack!” Jack gasped. It was dripping dog drool and a bit squashed, but still usable. He put it on immediately, grateful to have it back. “I figured it was yours.” Mark smirked. “It certainly didn’t fit me very well.” Jack rolled his eyes at the thought of Mark attempting to wear the pack the size of his finger. “I do have one request, though.” Mark said, sounding hesitant. “Would you at least stay for lunch?” “Well….” Jack considered it. He was already very late to return home and chop down the beanstalk like Ma told him. “Please?” Mark pleaded, picking up  one of the tiny pancakes with his fingerpads and holding it out to Jack. The heavenly aroma reached Jack’s nose, causing his stomach to growl louder than ever. Mark smirked, hearing the growl and knowing he had won. “Fine.” Jack muttered, snatching the pancake as quickly as possible. Mark looked happy as a lark, grabbing a pancake for himself and taking a few bites. Jack turned his head, trying not to watch as mouthfuls of food the size of him were ground up by those giant molars, sloshed around in saliva and pushed to the back of the throat….Jack gulped at the thought of being in their place. “So, Jack,” Mark swallowed, either not noticing or ignoring his guest’s discomfort, “tell me about yourself.” “I’m Jack, and I want another pancake.” Jack replied, having finished his first one. Mark sighed, handing over the entire batch of tiny pancakes. “No, c’mon.” Mark sighed. “I want to know more about you.” “What if I want to know more about you?” Jack pointed out. “This seems very one-sided.” “There’s….not much to me.” Mark had hesitated. “Do you live alone?” Jack turned into interrogative mode. Mark seemed to wince. “Just me and Chica.” Mark joked, but his eyes lacked their amused charm. Jack wondered at this. Was Mark lonely? “Alright, now you, Jack. Are there other people your size then?” “Not telling.” Jack answered immediately. “Are there other people your size?” “Not telling.” Mark smirked. Jack should have expected that, in hindsight. “Are you some kind of leprechaun?” Jack nearly choked on his pancake. “What?!” Jack exclaimed. “Do I look like a lil’ fool with a pot of fake gold?” “You’ve nailed the little fool part.” Mark laughed. Jack turned a shade of crimson, annoyed with how Mark refused to take him seriously. They ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being Mark’s chewing. “Jack,” Mark said softly, “Was that you I saw a few days ago?” Jack froze. Hiding in the fireplace. Running out the door. Bringing back the bean. “Yeah.” Jack answered truthfully, uncomfortable. “And again, last night?” Mark continued. “Or was that just a weird dream?” “I was there.” Jack sighed. “Why were you sneaking around my house?” Mark asked. Jack shifted around, not sure how to respond. He didn’t really have a good explanation without giving away his family, but would Mark be angry and assume he was a thief? “I can’t tell you, Mark.” Jack decided, putting the last unfinished pancake to the side. Mark was quiet a moment. “You know that fairytale I mentioned, Jack and the beanstalk?” Mark said, sounding more serious than usual. Jack looked up at him slightly fearfully. Mark seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “In the story, Jack comes three times to steal from the giant at the top of the beanstalk.” “I didn’t-!” Jack shut up when Mark put up a hand, telling Jack to let Mark continue. “Jack only comes three times.” Mark repeats. “Then he climbs down the beanstalk and cuts it down, never to return.” Jack felt goosebumps forming. How the hell was his life in a weird children’s book?! “I know that’s not reality,” Mark continued, “but- I’ve just got a weird feeling I might never see you again. And I want you to know, I don’t want that. I won’t ever force you to stay, but- jeez, if you ever wanted to come hang out please do. If you need help I’m here but I understand wanting to be on your own. You don’t have to promise anything, but... I hope I see you again.” Jack nodded, not trusting his voice right now. There were too many emotions tumbling through his little brain. If he was conflicted about leaving before, he was even more conflicted now that he had a rational reason to come back. Mark seemed to be miserable out on his own, and Jack felt guilty about walking out of his life forever. Jack barely knew the guy, but still wished there was a way everyone could be happy. Sometimes not everyone got a happy ending. “Sorry.” Mark wiped at his eye. “I’m a dramatic sap. Thanks for staying for lunch. It was nice to meet you, Jack.” He stuck out his index finger towards Jack. “Likewise, Mark.” Jack took the index finger with both hands and shook it as an attempt at a normal handshake. The two smiled at the ridiculousness of it all. “I...I hope to see you again too.” Jack scolded himself- how could he get Mark’s hopes up whilst knowing he could never return? “So, do you want a lift off the couch, or…?” Mark trailed off, not sure how to go from here. He held out his hand, palm up, in offering. “Nah, I can just do this.” Jack tied his rope to the edge of the armhold. After testing the knot, he slowly began to rappel down the rope to the ground. Thank god the rope reached all the way. “That seems kind of inefficient.” Mark argued. “I could help.” “It’s the principle!” Jack argued, only now reaching halfway. “Whatever.” Mark rolled his eyes. Jack suddenly paused. “Hold on, where’s that dog?” Jack clutched to the rope tightly, worried about being on the ground and having to sprint from the mutt again. While his ankle felt fine, Jack lacked the mental stamina for a fight-or-flight response. It had been a long day. “Chica?” Mark said. “She’s locked upstairs. Don’t worry, I didn’t want her startling you anymore.” Jack nodded in thanks, now touching his feet to the ground. “So, uh, how you planning on getting that rope down?” Jack gazed at the knot several dozen feet above his head. Shite, he hadn’t thought of that. “My souvenir to you.” Jack pretended it was intentional. He was too proud to try to get it back now. “You’re welcome.” “Gee, thanks.” Mark rolled his eyes, clearly not buying it. Jack looked around, not recognizing his surroundings from floor level. “Uh, which way to the door outside?” Jack asked. “That way.” Mark pointed to a doorway. Jack tried not to flinch as the small movement of giant muscles cast a large shadow over the irishman. “Go through that doorway, and it’s to your left.” “Thanks.” Jack began to walk across the room, trying to ignore the feeling of Mark watching his every move. Jack understood the sense of curiosity, but this was ridiculous. His ears turned redder at a steady pace the further he went. “Where you going, exactly?” Mark teased a few minutes later when Jack was only a little further. Jack suppressed a groan. Curse these giant rooms. “To find a beanstalk.” Jack replied. Mark laughed, clearly not realizing the truth to the statement. Jack flipped him off. It seemed to take forever to reach the doorway, only for Jack to turn and see the outside door still closed but with no blanket underneath. “You want me to come open that?” Mark called out, clearly enjoying himself. Jack curled his hands into fists, trying not to get angry at his cocky attitude. “I’ll be fine.” Jack yelled back, walking to the door. He had squeezed under once and could do it again. “You sure?” Mark called, but Jack gave no reply. Now out of Mark’s gaze, Jack dashed down the hall as fast as his legs would carry him. Ma was going to be so mad about his tardiness. Reaching the door, Jack sucked in his breath and went through the crack beneath the door. It was harder on a full stomach, but he managed. The floor began to rumble at the sound of Mark approaching, but it was too late- Jack was already gone. Jack ran across the field of grass, ignoring his rapid breathing and stitch in his side. The ankle gave him no trouble. The sky, being the same above and below the clouds, indicated that the sun would be setting shortly. Jack urged on. Reaching the edge of the grass, Jack stopped to catch a breath. Something was wrong. Looking around, Jack gasped in realization. The beanstalk was gone.

[loudlydecadentkryptonite-blog]

The Last Safe Haven

We are all told to dream big. To follow our dreams and never give them up. But perhaps what we all fear the most is one day we will awaken from our real dream? The last thing that one seems willing to give up is their dream of who they wish they were. And who they have spend the bulk of their lifetime attempting to be. Yet that may be the only acceptable path to follow? The only way to escape being enslaved by the universal spider upon whose web that we are sooner of later caught upon. Wrapped luxuriously tight wound in fine silks until there is no more possibility of escape. Our inner being dissolved slowly until there is merely an outer  shell left. A semblance hollow and without substance. The dream I awoke from was a nightmare. But it hardly compared to the nightmare that I found myself within.

It was the end of May. Some five weeks since since the power had been cut throughout the region. Was it a war? The television stations and radio stations that had continued to broadcast were giving conflicting reports that consisted mainly of stay in your homes no matter what in the first hours. But they had suddenly gone dead for even those with generators or batteries to power them. No one knew? At least those few that still clung to life. By the end of the first week of SHTF, half the population was at each other's throats. The food stores had been out of stock and roving gangs from the ghetto were burning and looting anything that they could find. The small bands of residents of houses in the suburban areas that formed a belt around the city were beginning to run low on ammo. Some groups had formed barriers around their neighborhoods with the help of local tow trucks that pulled the burned out wrecks and abandoned cars from off the nearby boulevards that had become choked with them. That was until all the gasoline had dwindled. The vandals were now coming from everywhere. The bodies of the dead lays untended in the street and throughout the residences where they had fallen.

The strong were killed off one by one by bands of those who were desperate and collectively stronger and their goods looted and houses burned. The entire city lay devastated by the pestilence of growing disorder. There were no food trucks, or police or state militia. Some endured the invasion of their homes giving themselves freely to the whims of their invaders. Stripped of their garments and belongings and humiliated in every way that the darkened minds of their captors could conjure. Then left battered and naked to the vagaries of the changing seasons. The winds that seemed to continually blow cold smoke and burning embers from yet another community far off that was actively being torched. The fourth week saw an uncustomary calm where the streets were now  populated only by dogs and birds picking apart  the bones of fragmentary corpses. The entire neighborhood below was now empty. Or so it seemed? From the tenth floor of the largest high-rise there was no indication of movement. The lone resident carefully crawled about checking just above the sill's of her broken windows with barely and an eye exposed above each. The inside of the three rooms were trashed with anything useful carried off. The first group had forced their way into each apartment yelling to each that if they did not surrender and open up the door all would be slaughtered. By the time the fifth door had been breached anyone with fight still left in them had shrieked their last.

She had simply opened the door and let them in to have their way. She was used of course. But the exhaustion come of the immediacy of recent slaughter combined with a rapid inebriation from so quickly imbibing purloined alcohol kept it to more humiliation than unrestrained violence. They had left in the midst of night after breaking everything that could not be carried away then tossing much of it out of the windows to the street below. She was left shivering in a darkened corner retaining only her torn T-shirt and stained briefs. From that point on she took to hiding in hallway closets during the day with the most usable pieces of rubble pulled over her for camouflage. She heard several more groups of scavengers pouring through the vacant apartments displacing whatever what remained but eventually they all would move on. She would come out of her hiding place at the bewitching hour and cautiously scouted the other empty flats. Some of the corpses that had been her neighbors were no becoming unrecognizable in part from rot but equally from the flocks of birds who flew in through the broken glass. She managed to pull off a sweater from one and some deck shoes from another. Hunger and thirst drover her to the descend the stairwells to other floors to glean what little she could. The effort being inconsequential in most cases. Having gotten as much as she could from the general vicinity she began to range further and further from the confines of the building. The small houses that were left were near to total wrecks. A can here of something in a misplaced jar that had rolled under a broken chest afforded the girl enough to keep her from collapse. What ever she would find.

The increasing distance of her foraging meant that she had to occasionally find cover farther from the sheltering warren that was her former apartment complex. The immediate evidence of another in the vicinity sent her scrambling to avoid them. Many times it was her imagination. The lack of food for many weeks running had jarred her senses. There was the dilemma of the aching pains of her abdomen and the lightness of her head that drover her more and more to risk the unknown traveling ever further another block over. It was uncanny how her sense of smell could so naturally block out the ever-present sickly scent of decay in favor of some unexpected delicate aroma signifying a possible morsel of something eatable. She was nearly a mile beyond her normal haunt when at dusk she caught the smell of something from another past time in her nostrils. Something that she now might have ranked with the most exquisite of rarest delicacies imaginable. The smell of cumin. Chili. The scent of it from across alley behind the corner of the garage that she tremulously huddled within. The fact of it drove her to near frenzy wanting to run over to find its source but equally terrified that she might encounter someone. The weight of danger in following through wanting her to abandon the searing pain in her abdomen that it inspired punishing the emptiness. The safe bet might mean that the longer she hesitated the more the possibility that another would like her find it and snatch it away. Her hunger getting the better of her.

The aroma was coming from the back of a house that looked almost relatively untouched. As she drew closer it blossomed into a richness of a sort of bacon-like overtone that enchanted her as she sidled along the side of the garage that was across from her former hiding place. Looking back and forth she could not hear a soul. Her heart leaped into her throat as she tiptoed to the back door and peered over the undisturbed glass into the amazing sight of what seemed to be a properly intact kitchen. The door was open, slightly ajar and now trembling between abject fear and unbounded expectation she nervously crept past it slowly approaching the burner of a wood stove with a large stainless pot that sat simmering away atop it. Memories of another time overtook her brain and she wondered if somehow she was still a child in her grandmother's farmhouse kitchen. Somehow awakened from a terrible dream that was so vivid that she was left confused by it in this tremulous state. Unsure if it was really there she stopped in the middle of the kitchen confused a bit of how best to proceed. She looked over to the counter by the sink to see if there were implements handy. A drawer with a spoon or fork. Perhaps a bowl in the overhead cupboard. The flash of a face just outside the window peering at her turned her immediately into electrically charged ice. The floor seemed  to drop away under her and she caught herself falling down beneath it landing on her rump upon a slid that whisked her away from the kitchen above into blackness.

The slide whooshed her down into an enclosure and she tumbled into a concrete wall kicking her feet and clawing forth trying to amble up to escape somewhere. She scrambled against it's coolness quickly finding a corner and then following just as quickly to its juncture. All told she was in a small concrete space of some ten feet by twelve. The trap in the floor above had fully retracted and the space was pitch black. She fought the long disused impulse to scream letting out a couple gasps and coughs with the effort. Cradling herself in her arms she stumbled around rechecking the room's confines in hopes of finding some overlooked point of possible exist. There was none besides the colder smoothness of a steel door. She fumbled around tot he opposite corner and huddled down into it trying to make herself as small as possible. There she sat for an infinity of minutes. The minutes turning into interminable multiples that might have been reckoned as hours before exhaustion released her into sleep. The sharp slip of metal grating and the prolonged squeak of rusty hinges bringing her instantly back to consciousness. That damn smell lurked outside the doorway wafting its way in. This time from a bowl that a shadowy figure standing just outside held close to his middle as if waiting for her to approach to take it. Her fear fought with the futility of the situation. Here she was completely defenseless having been cast into an inescapable concrete prison without he torment of much needed sustenance just outside of its entrance in the hands of her captor. Minutes past but there was no sound from the lips of this person partly in shadow. The scent of food was wracking her frame overcoming her bringing to mind so many rationale's as to why she should abandon her position and accept the silent but implicit offer. Though she was now unused to speaking she searched her mind for something that might magically proffer her safe passage or mitigate and possible mischief that might be in the thoughts of that silent figure so patiently waiting to greet her. Slowly and with great reluctance she got to her feet and slowly approached the figure who now held out the bowl.

Her eyes adjusted to the dimness allowing her to note that her host was a very normal looking man in work clothes and an apron. His face not terrible in some malevolence of ill intent. Rather to the contrary bland and emotionless. He placed the bowl into her own outstretched hands and she brought it up to her mouth and tipped its contents to her lips. The heat of the contents within it cautioning to slow her ardor in too quickly consuming it. The taste of something real to eat once again made her forget her surroundings and she gobbled and gulped in-between short bouts of gagging and shocking as its bulk hit her depleted stomach. The man just stood there unmoving watching her. Though in the universe before the current Hellish world the size of the bowl that she ate from might have been considered moderate she found it nearly impossible to consume more that half before she sank to the ground doubled over from the pain of trying attack its contents. She curled up beside it rocking a bit her eyes remaining upon the dish wary that the man might remove it from her grasp even though she was presently unable to withstand consuming the rest of it. She began to cry and sob until she passed into a state of near stupor. It was then the man pulled her arms from the bowl and began to pull away the varied scraps of rags that covered her until nothing more of them remained. He pulled her up unsteadily and in his embrace she careened across the outer room into an ante chamber. A series of small enclosures measuring four feet square composed of welding rod with a small door awaiting her as her new birth. Some of the other cages containing occupants as best as her compromised wits could imagine. He set her down and urged her within. She crawled through its opening and he swept her leg in after her and set its lock into place. She was now a prisoner within some strange place full of others not unlike herself. Naked curled up on cold concrete she shivered herself to attempt escape via sleep into the last safe haven of dreams.

[redditnosleep]

The Dinner Bell

by ALLFATHER2233

I clean my father's rifle across from her cage, and she watches me with her one usable eye with a surprisingly icy glare. Don’t see many looks like that. Not here. Hard to look defiant when you’re half naked, three days starved, covered in your own shit, with one eye swollen shut, but damned if she’s not pulling it off.

This bitch is tough as nails.

She was sweet enough when we met at the Huntsman. We shared a bottle of champagne, her fingers deliberately brushing mine as I handed her the glass, her thigh flush against mine. She even made me laugh. A big belly laugh, not a fake chuckle like I usually had to force out with these girls.

By the time I got her in the Bentley she was looking at me like a tigress, all but tearing my clothes off as I drove. Tough as it was, I had to beg her off. The road was dark and winding, and I told her it wouldn’t do for her to take a spill into the ravine, where she’d never be seen again.

Not prematurely, anyway.

She actually made a noise in her throat when we pulled up and she saw The Lodge. I had to laugh. She was probably thinking she’d finally made it.

Inside, I sat her down next to the fire and poured us two snifters of Pappy van Winkle, and made idle conversation. She told me about her three brothers in Chicago. I told her about how my father taught me to hunt in these woods as a boy, and it had become my great passion. I gestured to the muzzle loaded hunting rifle hung above the fire place, my father’s rifle, and when she looked at it with drunken, heavily lidded eyes, I swung the bottle and cracked her hard across the face with it. She went down like a pile of laundry, and I was relieved to see that the bottle didn’t break. Damn good stuff, Pappy.

As I carried her to the pen I was musing how this was liable to be the worst hangover this broad has ever had, when, imagine my surprise, she woke up and clocked me upside the chin, making me bite my tongue. I dropped her, and she was on her feet a second later, like a cat. She tried to knee me in the balls, but I got a leg up in time and grabbed a handful of her hair. I yanked her head back and knocked her around a bit before she went limp again. She snapped awake one last time as I was cramming her into the cage and bit me hard on the arm, breaking the skin. I got the door shut, though, and that was the end of that. She cursed me something good as I walked away, but I cut her off mid “cocksucker” as the soundproof door clanged shut.

My tongue and arm hurt, and I needed to clean the latter. It was bleeding pretty good, but I poured some antiseptic on it – no telling where that randy bitch has been - and wrapped it in gauze. After that, it took a couple bourbons to relax. In that time I resolved to take my time with her. I had been meaning to try something new for months now, and I thought what better time than now? I had a pack of a dozen of the meanest dogs you’ve ever seen, bred specifically for this purpose, but lately they been chasing these idiots down in under twenty minutes. No fun at all. But this one would give me some sport, I knew.

She was tough alright, but all the piss and vinegar would leak right out along with her brains when a .50 caliber round blew a hole through her skull.

I thought that three cold days alone in a cage too small to sit or stand up straight in would have taken some of the bones out of her. I expected her to be a quivering shell like the others, begging for her life or just sobbing uncontrollably.

But I was mistaken.

Her once glossy black hair is a wild bird's nest of loose strands, and her expertly applied make up is smeared and blotched, making her look oddly ferocious. Like some kind of Indian Brave in war paint. A little Apache. She looks ridiculous in that little black party dress, though. I also notice that she doesn’t have shit to say when I start cleaning the rifle.

Who's the cocksucker now?

I finish up and put it aside, and I wonder if she knows what’s coming.

“Well, darlin’.” I say, slipping on that southern drawl and becoming every inch the gentleman that charmed her and all the others to the cabin in the first place, “Time we got to goin.”

“Fuck. You.” She growls back. Her voice is hoarse and gravelly, and I just laugh.

“Now now. You keep talking like that, and I’ll cut you with this,” I pull out my Bowie Knife, “and then I’ll sic the dogs on you. Got them trained like sharks, just a drop of blood and they’ll chase you down and eat you the fuck alive. Is that what you want?" She just glares. "Hm?" It gives me great pleasure to force her shake her head "no". "I didn't think so. I didn’t wanna do that either. I wanna give you a chance. So I’m gonna open your cage and you’re gonna run.”

I do, and she does.

About a thirty strides into the yard, she turns back and gives me a good long stare, then half jogs, half limps towards the tree line.

Normally, I’d give them about a half hour head start, then I’d throw the switch to open the kennels and the air strike klaxon I’d rigged up would sound - The Dinner Bell I called it. The drone of that howling siren would get the girls good and shitting and the mutts slavering. I always wondered what Pavlov would make of it. But this time I just have a drink and a cigar, real casual, and then I set off after her.

It rained earlier in the day, and her wonky foot prints are as clear as they would be in fresh snow. She’s sticking to the path where she’ll make better time, but barefoot and wounded she’s going nowhere fast, so I follow at my leisure.

“Go on girl!” I shout. “Take your time! Stretch them long legs!” There's no answer, except for the dull echo of my words coming back at me. It’s quiet. At this point in the hunt, the howls and yodels of my dogs would have filled the air, and I liked to imagine where the girls were at mentally. Maybe they thought they could fight them off. They were just dogs, after all. How bad could they be?

Bad enough.

These weren’t your childhood pets that would let you pull on their ears and roll around on the ground with them. These were eighty to one-hundred-and-twenty pounds of gaunt and hungry muscle, teeth, and claws, no want in them but killing. The arrogance of the girls would evaporate when they saw all twelve of them coming, like bolts from a crossbow.

I smile, and once again question my decision to leave the dogs out of it this time. This bitch had plenty of arrogance, and it would be sweet to see the look in her eyes – well, eye - as the hounds chased her down. But I also find I’m liking the serenity. I had forgotten until now that, while the dogs gave me a thrill like nothing else I could find, hunting could also be relaxing. Cathartic. I listen to the birds singing, and notice the subtle beams of light shining through the trees despite the clouds. I smell pine needles.

I focus back on the tracks, which are still clear, but veer off the path, and I know she's trying to lose me in the trees. I wish her luck. I’d been hunting these woods since I was a boy. I told her that. Does she really think this will help? I notice the prints are more stable, and the strides are longer. Seems she’s worked out some of those cramps and is making better time. They continue on for a bit, but then loop back towards the house. I curl my lip. She’d doubled back, trying to get behind me, and I’d somehow missed her. Too much time listening to the goddamn birds.

But it's no problem. I have her tracks, and there's nothing she could do about those. I walk for a few more minutes when suddenly a sound splits the air that makes my stomach drop into my balls and the wound on my arm throb through the tight gauze dotted with red.

The Dinner Bell was ringing.

[dipulb3]

2020 Acura NSX review: The softer side of supercars

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/2020-acura-nsx-review-the-softer-side-of-supercars/

2020 Acura NSX review: The softer side of supercars

It’s a wide boi.

Andrew Krok/Roadshow

Supercars are supposed to miss the forest for the trees. These ragged-edge cars focus so intently on high-speed performance and high-cost trimmings that they’re often tough to truly utilize on a daily basis, relegating them to weekend warriors at best. But not the 2020 Acura NSX. This Japanese scalpel is more than ready to rumble on a backroad, but it carries a softness that gives the car more than enough pliancy to make for a quality grocery-getter, albeit one that’s a bit over equipped for the task.

Like

Ever-present hybrid power

Impressive in daily driving

Never stops being fun

Don’t Like

Mediocre infotainment

Persistent windshield reflections

No Individual mode

Before I even get behind the wheel of the 2020 Acura NSX, I’m hit with that familiar kind of supercar weird-for-the-sake-of-being-weird-ness. On approach, the thin door handles pop out to greet me, which is a fun parlor trick. Thankfully, the doors open in the normal direction, as the NSX has absolutely no problem turning heads without bringing atypical hinges and butterfly doors into the equation.

With interesting angles in every direction, from flying buttresses out back to the aggressive front bumper, the NSX is like most other supercars in that it’s damn near impossible to blend in anywhere. Even beyond the show-off styling, my tester’s $6,000 Valencia Red Pearl paint job isn’t about to let that happen.

First impressions come quickly after sliding past the NSX’s door. Despite the body’s relative position to terra firma, the seating position is a little higher than I expect, giving me a greater feeling of normalcy than I encounter in, say, a McLaren or a Lamborghini. Visibility is quite good in most directions, with loads of forward sight (thanks in part to way-thin A-pillars) and superb blind-spot coverage from the mirrors that sprout from the body like antennae. The view out back is fine, considering there’s an engine a few inches behind me. Be mindful of the sun’s position, though: Too many direct rays from ol’ Sol and the front windshield begins to resemble a cheese grater thanks to serious reflections of the massive speaker grille below. It can be really annoying, especially in spirited driving or slow-speed neighborhoods where children and squirrels are likely to be in the street.

Overall, the NSX’s interior quality feels worth the $150,000+ cost of admission. Soft leather covers most of the dashboard, door panels, center tunnel and steering wheel, and what isn’t made from the smooth stuff is bedecked in carbon fiber (a $2,500 option) and satin aluminum. The small bit of piano black trim on the transmission controls, which should be very familiar to most recent Honda or Acura owners, is the only part of the interior that feels a little low-rent, and only then it’s because of its propensity to accumulate finger grime. The cup holders are small and only attach to a slot on the center console, but you can tuck them into the diminutive glove compartment when not in use. Other storage comes by way of wallet-sized slots in the door panels, a key- (and mask-) sized slot in the center console and a small hinged cubby against the rear firewall that houses the USB port. It’s tight, like many supercars, but there’s still a decent amount of room for my 6-foot frame to get comfortable.

Most mid-engined supercars throw owners a storage bone by way of front and rear trunks. But not the NSX — electric motors and other hardware live under the hood, so the only cargo storage is located aft of the engine. Not only is the trunk small, its proximity to the twin-turbo V6 means whatever goes back there has to be heat-tolerant. Put your bags of ice in the passenger-side footwell.

All of those silly concerns melt away from the second I push the start button. Just behind my head, the 3.5-liter, twin-turbocharged V6 growls itself awake before quickly settling into a quieter idle, something neighbors are bound to appreciate. A push of the Drive button puts the nine-speed dual-clutch transmission to work, which provides just a smidgeon of slip as first gear engages.

In the default Sport mode, the NSX proves to me that it can absolutely function as a daily driver. Despite lacking air or McLaren’s complicated hydraulics, the NSX’s static suspension is surprisingly comfortable, soaking up a wide variety of bumps and humps without unsettling the car or its occupants. The chassis’ inherent stiffness remains obvious, but the ride is far smoother than I went in expecting.

Small issues with the cabin disappear completely once the speedometer starts to rise.

Andrew Krok/Roadshow

Gear shifts are unobtrusive, and in low-rev situations, the V6 (which produces 500 horsepower and 406 pound-feet of torque on its own) is content to putter along quietly — if it’s even running at all. In Quiet mode, the NSX will use its small battery to operate like any other hybrid, silently hustling along under electric power alone — Sport offers electric-only operation, too, but in more limited quantities. The V6 cuts in and out with little, if any jostling in the cabin. It’s Prius smooth, in a good way.

Twist the mode knob to Sport Plus, and the NSX emits some sort of magic substance that causes me to forget about literally anything that isn’t the car or the road directly ahead of it. I feel the frenetic energy start to rise as the engine dramatically increases its volume at all times, even though it’s a little meh on the tonal front at lower revs. The V6 calls on the help of three electric motors — two up front, one out back — to generate a net 573 hp and 476 lb-ft. As you’d expect, the electric motors absolutely assault me with torque at a moment’s notice, and it’s really evident in tight corners, where the front axle helps pull me through as Continental SportContact performance tires grip the pavement. It’s easy to approach a corner with more speed than expected, but thankfully, it’s also easy to shuffle out the other side. Between those points, optional carbon-ceramic rotors ($10,600!) will scrub speed with both excellent modulation and impressive haste, over and over again. It’s impossible not to have fun in the 2020 NSX.

My only real gripe here is that I wish I could mix and match the modes. I get it, Acura put these modes together to make sure the car exemplifies whatever it’s after, but if I really wanted to daily drive this car, I’d want the engine constantly in Sport Plus with the suspension in Quiet. Why the hell can’t I have that?

You never really hear the NSX’s turbochargers spool up until you really glom on the throttle, then it’s all you’ll hear.

Andrew Krok/Roadshow

One thing that Acura has in common with every other supercar manufacturer is its middling-at-best infotainment system. Ripped straight from, oh, every single Honda Civic on the dealership lot, the NSX’s 7-inch head unit packs suction-cupped-Garmin-era graphics, just-OK response time and limited functionality. Apple CarPlay and Android Auto are on offer, which means it’s pretty easy to ignore the standard setup altogether. The motif changes from red to blue depending on vehicle mode, but I kind of wish Acura could have put its own unique spin on this — or at least upgraded the 2020 NSX to the most recent (and prettier) version found on the Odyssey and other large adult Hondas. The gauge cluster is entirely digital, too, and while it’s weird that it’s tilted away from my eyes, it provides me with all the data I could possibly ask for. It’s easy to mess around with, too, thanks to super-simple scrollers on the steering wheel.

As for safety systems, you get… parking sensors. And non-adaptive cruise control. Want anything else? Buy a TLX.

With a starting price of $159,495 after destination, the 2020 Acura NSX is almost competing with two separate classes of high-performance vehicle. On the one side, you have the hardcore non-supercars like the Porsche 911 Turbo, the Mercedes-AMG GT R or, if you don’t need a six-figure window sticker, the mid-engined Chevrolet Corvette, all of which are excellent cars, but all of which lack the “What was that?” emotional appeal of proper supercars. Speaking of which, the NSX is positioned against some big names here, too, like the Audi R8 and, if you want to drop another $30k, the McLaren 570S. Those cars are more along the lines of the NSX, but they’re also a fair bit sharper than the Acura, too.

When a car is engineered with performance at the top of the masthead, comfort has to be put back ­­into it. Sometimes it requires complex components, other times it just doesn’t happen very well. But the 2020 Acura NSX does an excellent job blending daily usability and performance in a way that other supercars don’t. Does it leave a little bit of skidpad rating on the table? Sure. But I’ll be damned if you can find a more entertaining way to commute in comfort.

[tipsycad147]

Proper disposal of magickal trash

Posted by Michelle Gruben on Sep 11, 2015

The candles have been extinguished, the circle opened, and the spell completed.  But what do with the leftover stuff?

You probably know how easy it is to get saddled with ritual debris: candle stubs, bits of fabric and string, bottles, bags, and written spells.  Though no longer useful, these items once held great meaning.  Just throwing them away seems inappropriate.   But keeping them around can stunt your magic and clutter up your house.  In this article, we'll consider ways of ethically, safely, and effectively disposing of the physical remnants of spellwork.

Re-using ritual items

Some ritual items are suitable for re-use, and others are less so. Never absolutists, we'll help you sort your magickal junk into "usually," "rarely" and "sometimes" re-usable.

Usually re-usable: Generally, stones, crystals and metal charms can be cleansed and re-activated for another purpose.  (Don't throw out that Quartz point--your little ritual was just a blip in its million-year existence!)  Your consecrated altar tools, obviously, are also fine to use again and again.  The exception is when an item is so tied in your mind to a particular working that using it in a future one would distract you.  (We'll cover the cleansing of ritual objects in a later post.)

Rarely re-usable: Most consumable organic matter belongs firmly in the "throw out" category.  Oils, herbs and food are considered to have passed all their energy to the present working, and are not usually recycled.  Ashes and paper rarely serve any useful purpose after the spellwork is complete.  Offerings to spirits or deities are never re-used under normal circumstances, as doing so might offer insult to the receiving entities.

Sometimes re-usable: The recycling of candles, spell bags, bottles, poppets, and so on is really up to the individual practitioner.  Conventional wisdom states that once dedicated to a certain purpose, these items are spent.  But many a thrifty old Witch has been known to melt down leftover candle wax, or re-baptize a voodoo doll (perhaps with a new hairdo). Ultimately, the answer to this question comes down to your gut, your budget and the rules of your personal practice.

Evaluate your trash

Once you've determined that it needs to go, it's time to take a good hard look at your garbage. Consider its size and content.  Is it biodegradable?  (And if so, how long would it take for it to decompose completely?) Could your trash harm someone--physically, emotionally, or psychically--if they were to run across it? The answers to these questions may rule out some methods and locations for disposal.

Obviously, some types of juju are easier to get rid of than others.  Water, herbs, ash (and the like) can usually be given to Nature--scattered or left respectfully outdoors.  Bone, cloth, wax, and plastic can stick around for months or years, and require a bit more effort to release. But if the remnants of your ritual are toxic, sharp, biohazardous, energetically icky, or personally identifying, take extra care.  You want this stuff banished permanently, where it won't come back to haunt you, literally or figuratively.

Near or far?

Finally, you may want to consider where, geographically speaking, you want your stuff to end up.  Witches who own real estate often prefer to keep magickal remnants on their own property--even building up a "spell graveyard" over time.  This anchors the energy in a familiar place and usually ensures that it won't fall into the hands of outsiders.

However, there are times when it may be more suitable to leave leftovers in a distant location. Say you did a working to excise an awful person permanently from your life, burning their photo and sealing the ashes in a bottle.  Would you really want that garbage in your backyard? Subconsciously, you might feel that part of that person was still lurking around. It would likely be much more satisfying to drive it to some godforsaken lot on the edge of town, and never go back there.

You may wish to take your sacred trash to a place connected with your Gods and ancestors, or that is significant to you in another way.  You may also not have a place at home to properly dispose of it. There are lots of options--just refrain from polluting or trespassing on private property.

Disposal by Earth

A tried-and-true method for sealing a working is to bury its components in the ground.  If you live in an urban environment and don't have access to open soil, a flowerbed or potted plant is the next best thing.  

Our wonderful Earth eventually absorbs and recycles everything--energy and matter.  A "dirt nap" is arguably the best method for anything that carries negative or erratic energy.  Earth is really the only proper way to dispose of stubborn or potentially hazardous materials.  Bury it and meditate on its transformation.  Graveyards are a traditional place to leave magickally charged trash--but get permission from the site's guardians first.  In gratitude for taking your rubbish, you may also want to leave a small token for presiding spirits and Fae.

If you can feel ley lines or geomantic energies, you'll find that placement of your garbage can make a subtle difference. In general, active spots will disperse concentrated energy more quickly, but can have other, unpredictable effects. Play with it!

So while we're on the topic of Earth...what's wrong with putting spell ingredients in the regular trash? If it winds up in a landfill, how is that any different, really, than burying it yourself? This is just the kind of marvellous, irreverent question that I love to be asked.

One of the tenets of my Pagan religion is that "there is no unsacred space."  So yes, the kitchen wastebasket is sacred, too! The problem arises when it is done without ritual.  Ritual creates focus, and focus is essential to magick.

Your subconscious recognizes an end to the working when you bury your items with ceremony, but glosses over it when you toss them out with your half-eaten hoagie and bus pass.  In your deep mind, it's not really over.  If you must dump your stuff in a regular trash can, take a moment to visualize yourself consigning it to the Earth, the same as you would if you were burying it with a shovel or spade.

Disposal by Air

The element of Air contributes a lot to magick--fresh ideas, wisdom, and adaptability.  But when it comes to clearing away the physical detritus of spellwork, Air just doesn't pull its weight.  It's best used for small amounts of ashes, salt and herbs.  Gather these up and scatter them, visualising them blown to the corners of the world by the Four Winds. Clap your hands, wiggle your nose, and be done with it.

Disposal by Water

Water, especially deep or running water, is a wonderful way to release the pent-up energy in your ritual objects.  Sometimes gently, sometimes dramatically--water absorbs, transports and changes all that is given to it.  A water burial is especially suited to items used in the magick of transformation or healing. Moving water will carry an object far beyond its starting place, so it's also a place to cast symbols of your wishes and dreams.  (Weight anything that you want to stay submerged. Debris released to the sea may eventually wash ashore, so consider that, too.)

What about the toilet? asks the irreverent Witch.  Can't I just flush it down the potty?  Like the garbage can, using it offends some people's fanciful aesthetics. The toilet is just too mundane to be a "real" magickal tool.

Personally, I advocate the use of toilet water--especially for banishing magic. Hearing the "fwoosh" of the toilet is a powerful sensory trigger as you flush that "crap" out of your life!

Disposal by Fire

Fire is excellent for creating a very clean and permanent break with your ritual junk.  There is no retrieving or reconstructing items given to Fire.

A balefire (from the Old English word for "funeral fire") is a ritual fire prepared for the purpose of disposing of old mementos and ritual items.  Many Pagans elect to make a balefire annually at Samhain, either alone or with a group.  You can collect castoffs throughout the year, keep them in an energetically sealed box, and burn them all at once.  For added closure, bury the ashes once the fire has cooled.

As powerful as Fire is, there are always some caveats: Nothing plastic should be burned around people, ever, because of the fumes. (Same goes for polyester and nylon.) Items with trapped air (such as bottles) can burst if you're not careful.  Hair and horn are fine to burn, but smell nasty, so good ventilation is recommended.  Also, Fire disposal is not recommended for haunted, cursed, or "possessed" objects--or anything with really, really bad vibes. The sudden destruction by flame can cause this energy to be released and dispersed in a sudden and unpredictable way.  Cleanse the object properly and bury it instead.

Cleaning up is often the final step of magickal work, so it shouldn't be an afterthought.  The careful and reverent release of items that have served you will result in a strong conclusion to your magick.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/42338817-holy-crap-on-the-proper-disposal-of-magickal-trash

[treeyo]

Harvesting yields is one of the obvious goals of Permaculture and the summer season is indeed bountiful.  Rhythms change from spring, foods diversify, and the heat intensifies. Time is an interesting dynamic with day

Home: Treasure Lake

length long but shortening day after day after the summer solstice. With time, the buildup of a permaculture site is about both short term bursts and waiting long term.  I wish I could say my plums are ripening but they are still too young to produce.  However the forest remains abundant with wild foods and the lake continues with its never ending beauty.  Summer, it is a season of enduring heat, managing systems, and yeah picking food. The extreme heat of this region is obvious again this year with the oddity of lack of rain after a spring inundation.  Finally a reprieve yesterday through some good rain.  Photosynthesis again rages as everything springs back to life. And I get the chance to develop the tinystead with others as evolution of living at the lake continues as well.

Education

Summer is also about travel, people coming together here and there, and having fun. Chances to teach come from this cultural trend. I got to do exactly this at Whippoorwill festival in the Red River Gorge area of Kentucky.  After learning from others like Bill’s body hacking (kneepainguru.com) and Tim Hnesley’s mushroom mastery in the field, I got my time to teach as well.  Active forest enhancement, a movement I am pioneering that combines so many fields including permaculture, agroforestry, syntropic farming, and my degree in fish and wildlife management.  It’s about seeing the forest as another important part of the ecosystem that needs intervention to obtain even more yields for ourselves and the other players of the ecosystem.  I had a very engaged group in a sweltering day walking through the forest and learning tips and tricks from my 20 years of experience doing this. I look forward to further launching this movement.  I also got a chance to teach about the interesting tips for a tree planting jar which has been able to plant over a 1000 dollars worth of trees in our local community and Treasure Lake where I live.  In essence we need to drive home investment in tree planting.  Even if you have no land, how can you give back to the earth for this vital resource and noble act?  I encourage you to do so.  Skip going shopping or the bar one night, unless your bar is like mine, where the tips for the night go directly to tree planting.  In the end Whippoorwill was not just about teaching but gathering with community, old friends and new connections.

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Tip money from Treasure Lake collected for tree planting rather than income, a community fund

Tim Hensley of Berea, KY schooling us on mushroom ID

My next teaching opportunity is right around the corner with me and Abby coming together once again.  Its almost paw paw season and I am stoked to continue to educate people about this plant as it exemplifies my work of active forest enhancement.  My focus will be on the propagation side of it all this time.  Lets see what we make with the harvest this year as well!

https://treeyopermaculture.com/permaculture-design-courses-pdc/herbal-walk-and-permaculture-planting-with-abby-and-doug/

Paw Paw fruit

Harvest and Foraging

I have planted countless gardens over the years and one of the staples in them is tomato plants.  Everyone loves them, they are challenging but abundant, and aromatic.  You have to trellis them, baby them, and voila, delicious veg.  However I don’t eat tomatoes raw, so all these gardens I have barely enjoyed them.  This year I planted amish paste tomatoes as my Italian blood asks for this kind of food everyonce in awhile.  So I have been getting nice yields from my plants in the guilds of two newly planted Mt Ash trees out in front of the bar.  Mixing perennials with annuals, I love doing it and don’t forget that part of food forest management.  Plug some annuals in before the perennials fill out and obtain a yield.  Soon I will share my recipe for pasta sauce!  Also in the forest when we have had our little bit of rain the oysters growing on fallen hickory and chicken of the woods on well rotted oak have flushed.  I need to go check again now that it finally rained again!  Definitely after whippoorwill andTim’s session i am seeing even more.  It’s also one of the reason I love working with Abby because she is always teaching me something new as I adjust back to this ecosystem. Another harvest we obtained based off of our handwork and ecosystem management was honey.  Well its mainly the bees hardwork but we took a tiny bit, a fraction of a normal harvest as well still encourage bees at this site.  It’s been a challenge with how we have managed this hive but as I get into it more, well more yield comes.

Chicken of the Woods Primordia

Chicken of the woods maturing

Amish Paste Tomatoes

Daniel, My neighbor down the road, holding a bit of his Egyptian Walking Onion Harvest dried at the lake

honey from our hive

oyster flush on pignut hickory

TinyStead Development

I still am moving into the tiny house and developing its surrounding area. I need to go slow with this, again tiny steps as i said in my last update blog. But me and my friend, carpentry master, Tom, hammered out a deck on the northside of the tiny house.  Two years ago we took apart a deck and built picnic tables for the campgrounds at the lake with the bigger wood.  The deck planking we still had and I got a chance to salvage more deck wood from a project my friend Bryan was working on.  So then me and Tom combined this into an oddly shape deck maximizes all the reused materials.  Ok me and Tom occasionally screamed and yelled at each other, but we are like that.  In the end it was fun and I’ am grateful for Tom’s effort to build this with me.  Community continues to be vital in this project and I am grateful for all who put in effort to evolve this place.

Tom being Tom

deck construction

deck construction

deck construction

Before deck

Deck after

Urban Permaculture

Occasionally side gigs pop up for me here and there like puffball mushrooms in a field.  I have been heavily vested in the Cincinnati Permaculture Insittutes edible Nursery both in the city of Cincinnati and here at the lake. Its one way in which I practice urban permaculture as our nursery helps to fuel edible plantings.  I enjoy it.  Through that, I have gotten hooked up with a landscaping job of furthering bringing life and functionality to an urban garden that has had some issues with continuity.  Its definitely a problem in designs that one must solve.  Anyway i have been just cracking on when i can, clearing the jungle overgrowth and mulching the existing fruit trees that have been growing.  The overgrowth has not been welcome by the community of Lincoln Heights where the garden is located.  Its a African American community, set up in the 1800’s, that really could use a space like this to help with food insecurity and connection with nature.  So i chop and drop vegetation and sheet mulch as i slowly bring the jungle under control for the purpose of making the space more usable.  Its been a fun job, not easy at all, but indeed when i leave the site i look back and say, wow, that looks much better than it did before.

Beginnings of sheet mulch

freshly mowed with next layer of sheet mulch of grass clippings on top of previously mulched fruit trees

Thick mulching

Fruit trees and gardens

And with that phrase what if humanity could do that?  What if our time on earth granted us the opportunity to co create with nature and others to beautify this planet.  In the face of so much social turmoil, just as Rob Hopkins, predicted in his book Transition Towns, well it really comes down to what will be your legacy?  You cant control humanity but you can control your actions and being an influencer of positive change.

Treasure Lake

Mussel shell eroding

Monarch, will the world still see this in 50 years

the lake

Bee Balm

Sunset boat rides

the campsite we call florida, a favorite spot on the land for me

lake

paw paw

  Summer Yields Much: TreeYo Project Update Blog Harvesting yields is one of the obvious goals of Permaculture and the summer season is indeed bountiful.