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phcking-detective · 4 years

Text

FOUND

Find Familiar: ch 1

Rating: E

Summary: Nines cast the spell Find Familiar, but instead of an animal, they accidentally summoned a werewolf. Gavin is just happy to have finally found his mate and start pack bonding with the half-elf wizard. His best idea for a fun bonding activity? Touching his dick of course!

***

Gavin wakes up with a warm, breathing body pressed against his own, and it's all he ever wanted.

Then reality seeps in like cold rain and he realizes it's just the one person, not a dog pile, because he doesn't have a pack. Only a wizard who maybe sort of magically owns him now.

So that's a great start to the morning.

He gets a stew started like he promised, once he finds some potatoes and carrots, one lonely haunch of meat in an icebox, and no spices beyond salt. There aren't many places to look, since the whole room is five, maybe six hundred square feet.

Gods. Gavin's a lone wolf living half-feral without a tent or even a fire half the time, and he still thinks this is pathetic.

He knows better than to touch any of the books scattered around—fucking wizards—so he doesn't try to clean anything while he waits for his new … boss? Alpha?? person, to wake up.

(He does risk moving a stack of papers to sit in front of the black leather collar on the desk. Not hidden. Just. Out of sight.)

"No celery?" the wizard asks.

Gavin bites down on a flinch and a few choice swears. Sweet Selûne shift him. Who the fuck goes from asleep to awake completely silent like that?

"No," he growls.

Nines blinks themself more awake. "Is your negative an agreement to my question or simply a negative?"

"Baby, I have no idea what the fuck you mean, but there's not any celery."

"Oh. Thank you."

The conversation ends there when he dishes out a bowl of stew, that Nines eats at their desk, one agonizingly slow bite at a time, almost as an afterthought as they work on creating papers and papers of writing.

Since the wizard is so absorbed in their scribbles they can barely notice food, Gavin strips down and takes a bath. The water runs hot straight out of the faucet, even without any signs of pipes. Sinking into a whole tub of it feels goddamn luxurious.

He's half-shifted before he even realizes, but Nines probably wouldn't notice he got out and swung his dick around like a propeller, so he doesn't force himself back. His hybrid form always feels better anyway, the best of both animals, with human hands and wolf senses, still able to stand and walk upright but with stronger muscles and thicker protective body hair.

He's still sunk down and amusing himself by blowing bubbles in the water with his near-snout when Nines finally surfaces for air on their own side of the tower.

"Gav—oh."

They turn around and blink at him. Gavin hunkers down lower in the water and prepares to force himself back, but even without actively poking the bond, he can tell there isn't any fear or revulsion from the wizard. He still pulls his snout of out the water and scents the air just to check, but … nothing.

"Good. Yes. Feel free to utilize any of the …" Nines pauses, stuck on the words. "Accommodations. Can you read?"

It's probably a fair question—especially since the answer is barely—but Gavin still hauls himself out of the bathtub and onto the sand pit so Nines will have to look at him. All the scars, the body hair almost thick enough to be a pelt, the way his bone structure is clearly halfway between one form and the other right now.

But instead of making the wizard flinch away and stop asking questions, Nines just grabs a different notebook and begins sketching him.

"Why?" Gavin growls out.

He can still speak, but just like his amount of literacy, the amount is barely. With lots of effort.

"Hmm?"

Nines looks up. Sort of. They lift their head at least, but their eyes stay focused down on their notebook, reluctantly dragged up at the very last second.

"Mm? Oh. Yes, here is your contract," they say.

They place the small stack of papers they'd written onto the dining table in the center of the room, then the two of them meet in the middle, each awkwardly taking a seat across from each other at the table, then staring at each other even more awkwardly.

"That is my brother's seat," Nines says.

Gavin raises an eyebrow but doesn't move his ass out of it. At least he put pants on before sitting down.

"I have never had another visitor," the wizard continues. "So. That has always been …"

They trail off, then grab their notebook and begin reading from it.

"My name is Nines. I am a wizard. I am thirty-two year half-elf. I do not have a gender. I use they-them pronouns. Pause for—"

They stop abruptly and look back up at him.

"… Gavin," he says. "I'm a fighter, thirty-six, werewolf. Born, not turned, so we don't really keep track of any races. You're either a wolf or you're not. Probably human though. Uh, he-him."

If they don't bother with human binary genders, maybe they'd understand just … switching genders? He thinks about it while Nines writes down what he'd said, like anything he says is actually important enough to be recorded.

Maybe he should let them get a little more attached to him before he tells them about the other crazy, evil wizard with a claim on him—and all the transformations they'd done on his body.

"Does your entire pack consist of born lycanthropes?" they ask, drawing him back into the conversation.

"Can just say wolves," Gavin grumbles. "And yeah. Haven't taken in a stray for a while."

No one does. That's why he's still—ugh, stop it. Fucking feeling sorry for himself.

"Is there a significant cultural difference between born and turned … wolves?"

Gavin stares at the wizard. Significant cultural difference, Selûne shift and collar him.

"Turned wolves don't have a pack," he finally says. "No one to share the mental load—most of the poor fuckers don't even know what's happening until they're already shifted and scared and starving. They've got just enough instinct to go back home, and then the screaming and running starts …"

He assumes he doesn't have to finish it from there. A hungry wolf sees something run, and they think prey, not child.

"I apologize if I ask simple questions," Nines states while still writing. "But I have never had the opportunity to meet a wolf in person, and so my knowledge is likely biased and incorrect. Is a coastal environment a suitable habitat for you?"

Gavin shrugs. "Sure. You gonna let me run around outside at some point?"

"Yes, of course. You may come and go as you please," Nines says. "How much land will your pack need? I do own the surrounding—"

His pack? Gavin stares at Nines as they ramble on about this land they own and how it's too rocky to support farming but has access to a cove, and the ensuing treaty with the local pod of merfolk, and—

And his pack. He has no idea what game the wizard is playing, but he never imagined it would include letting him "come and go as you please" and providing land for his—

"I don't have a pack," he blurts out.

Nines stops and blinks at him.

"Got kicked out."

He doesn't explain. It's impossible to explain just one thing, because it's all tangled together, in his mind, the words stuck in his throat. Refusing his pack's Alpha, bargaining to have his body changed and transformed, his womb scooped out so he could never be bred, never ever—

And where exactly that got him. They sit together in silence for a long, horrible moment.

"No one has need of a ninth child," Nines finally says.

"You really call yourself that?" Gavin asks in return, for lack of anything less dick-ish to say.

"Yes." Nines looks at him without any self-pity and factually adds, "It states all that most need to know. They do not need me, and I do not need them."

Gavin nods. "Fuck 'em."

"Yes. Well. I—" Nines stops and abruptly pushes the small pile of paperwork closer to his side of the table. "Here is your contract. It details what I … do need. And, expectations. I suppose the fifth clause is no longer necessary, unless you intend to create your own."

"My own … pack?" Gavin asks slowly.

"Yes."

He snorts. "I'm not going to run around and start turning people."

"Yes, that is included in the clause," Nines says. "Subsection A. Not to offend, but I thought it best to lay out a certain number of precautions first. B notes that you will be beholden to all the same laws as any other citizen, and C states you will make adequate arrangements for the full moon with myself or Knight Commander Anderson."

Gavin pulls a face at the rank. That shit's almost definitely a paladin. No sense of humor, holier than thou, and allergic to critical thinking. Just because you pledged allegiance to a deity society deemed "Good" doesn't actually mean literally everything you do is always going to be right or kind or morally just.

"He is also a lycan—" Nines stops and corrects, "A turned wolf, you called it? If expecting the two of you to … have commonalities … is unreasonable, then the subsection can be adjusted accordingly. The point is merely that you arrange for a safe and secure location each month."

"Yeah, we're not going to sniff each other's butts and be best friends," Gavin tells him. "It's probably how you feel about sorcerers and warlocks. Magic just looks like magic to me, but—yeah."

He stops when he sees Nines's face collapse into itself in the purest form of affronted disgust he's ever seen. This time, he can't stop a chuckle before it slips out.

"I can just stay here though?" he asks.

Nines unfurls their face enough to nod. "Yes. My power may be my own, achieved through my own studies, but I was sent to the same monastery as my twin. I acknowledge you have been sent by my patron deity, and I will fulfill my responsibilities to you thusly."

Gavin's eyebrows shoot up. "You're religious?"

"I worship Selûne," Nines answers.

Gavin stares at the wizard.

"Children born under the full moon often have enhanced magical ability," they explain. "She is also the goddess of navigation, quests, and all who work by night. It was the battle with her own twin that caused the formation of Mystral, the goddess of all magic. Many arcane users still worship her as such."

"And werewolves," Gavin says as how this shit all happened clicks into place.

"Your duties outlined in the contract." Nines stops and clears their throat. "Every power has a price, and mine was enacted at my birth. I have always needed certain accommodations. I realize now a mere animal would not be enough to serve as my familiar, yet a person has never been summoned before. A familiar that is both animal and person, however …"

Gavin nods at the stack of papers. "So am I your familiar or your employee?"

"Well, both," Nines answers. "You are magically bound to me, but you obviously are not a simple animal. I have made adjustments due to these extenuating circumstances, but this is a standard contract for all minions, assistants, and others employed by wizards."

He snorts. "Do I have a union?"

"Yes, subsection E, although you will need to opt-in," Nines replies, very sincerely.

Gavin taps the top paper to make a point when he asks his next question, and the paper suddenly yells the word "HEREFORE" at him.

"Oh, my apologies." Nines takes the stack from him and scribbles a few marks in the top corner. "There, the volume should be properly adjusted."

Gavin cautiously slides the papers back over, being careful to only touch the sides of the stack. He takes the first page off the top and pokes his name, one of the few words he recognizes.

"Gavin," the paper announces.

"I have paperwork I must complete to officially register you as both my familiar and my new minion," Nines tells him. "I trust you can be left to your own devices to review our contract?"

"Yeah," Gavin says.

"Very good."

Nines gets up and returns to their desk. Still no collar, only … this contract. Gavin runs his finger along the first line.

"The entity known as Gavin, herefore referred to as THE FAMILIAR, will enter into a magically binding contract with Nines, herefore referred to as THE WIZARD, to serve in the capacities of both a FAMILIAR and a MINION, as outlined by the Wizard Coalition of …"

***

Gavin nuzzles into his bed and groans. Three days of barely stopping to hunt and sleep to get here, and now it's been another three days of slowly figuring each other out.

Which hasn't been bad or anything. He got to run around outside, do a few laps around the borders of Nines's land. Cold, wet, and rocky, but he has to admit, he's kind of digging the melodramatic sea-side vibe. The air smells like salt and storms all the time, crowding out all the memories of soft earth and dense forest.

And he's got a contract. A "boss." That's the word Nines wants to use, so Gavin says that, but they both know he means Alpha.

It's good to have a job, food, and a bed, blah blah blah, he's really grateful and all, it's just—

Maybe not everyone has them or wants to indulge in them, but Gavin does for both.

And it's been nearly a week.

"Nines," he finally says.

He pokes at their bond too for good measure. The wizard won't pay attention to him unless he does. They'll look up and point their face at his face, but somehow their hand will keep writing in the scroll and they won't hear a goddamn word he says.

Even with the mental prodding, Nines barely turns their head. "Hmm?"

"I need to jack off."

Nines keeps writing for half a second before they blink and actually look at him. "… now?"

Gavin half-shrugs, still laying down. "I mean, tonight, yeah."

He's a werewolf using testosterone cream—kept in a jar in his coin purse, which was much more important to enchant to shift with him than shoes—who just formed a mental pack bond again. Full moon already past or no, his hormones are screaming at him that he needs to fuck.

But that's probably not Nines's idea of a fun bonding activity.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks, then continues with narrowed eyes before he can even reply, "Do not use my spell components."

Gavin barks out a laugh. "What—I'm gonna jack it with oblex ooze? That'd melt my fucking dick off!"

"Yes, it would."

He pauses. "Do … you know that for sure?"

Nines sighs. Deeply. "I attended an academy meant to train paladins, clerics, and perhaps the odd druid."

"All the most repressed spellcasters, huh?"

Nines doesn't deny it. Gavin snorts, imagining all the magically-inclined tithe-children being told to keep themselves pure so they can be properly donated to the gods turning into magically-inclined teenagers hit with guilt and libido in equal measure—and all the idiot fuckery they probably got up to without any actual education about their bodies.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks again. "I do not keep supplies for that on hand."

"You don't keep supplies or you don't uh, keep anything on hand?" Gavin wiggles his eyebrows.

Nines flushes and glares like they're still a prefect at that academy. "I—that is not—"

Gavin raises his own hands to prove they're above the sheets. "If that's not any of my business, sure. Figured that, honestly. Which is why I'm telling you that I've got needs, but I can just go downstairs if you want."

"Downstairs?" Nines frowns less furiously.

"That little entranceway at the door is large enou—"

"I'm not going to send you out into the hall," Nines says, like that's what will make them clutch their pearls in shock. "You can stay in your own bed."

"Yeah?" Gavin gives the wizard a once over. "I'm good with that. So good. But what I'm willing to do with pack and what you think is appropriate for a roommate probably isn't the same thing."

Nines's frown turns more calculating, like they're correcting the runes in a spell. "We are discussing you staying in your bed to masturbate while I continue my studies, correct?"

"… yeah?"

"Are you going to call me names, attempt to touch me, or—"

"No, no," Gavin rushes to reassure them. "I can just …"

He moves his hand down and cups himself, just to demonstrate that he's only going to be touching his own body, before he remembers that's not socially acceptable around humans either. Nines only cocks their head to the side though, a mild curiosity leaking through their mental bond.

And fuck, just his hand feels good right now. It's been nearly a goddamn week.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks.

Gavin shivers under the sound of their voice. "Don't need it. Get wet enough myself."

He feels the bond pulse again with that academic sort of curiosity, like Nines is going to start taking notes on him again while he jacks off. He pushes his trousers down, moving slowly enough to give his boss plenty of time to look away. He isn't wearing smalls of course. They'd just be another piece he'd have to pay to get enchanted.

Nines eyes his cock like they might sketch it in exact anatomical detail.

Gavin doesn't mention how he got it—his bargain and the Collar, the collapsed tower, the vows of vengeance—he'll get around to confessing it all eventually. But in the meantime: a fun bonding activity.

Gavin grips his cock and gives it a few strokes. Nines blinks in a way that's more like shutting their eyes repeatedly. He exhales slowly and makes himself stop, although he does still keep his hand held loosely around the base.

"If you don't want echoes, you'll have to wall off your mind on your own end," he advises Nines. "I'm uh … a little too busy here to concentrate."

"Echoes," Nines repeats.

Shit, right. Human. Doesn't seem to specialize in any divination or enchantment magic—so they probably don't have any experience being inside someone else's head.

"Yeah, that's why I offered to," He jerks his chin at the door. "Distance helps, some."

Nines does that tiny little head tilt again. "May I observe?"

Gavin licks his lips. "Yeah."

"May I ignore you?" they ask next.

"Uh, sure?"

He doesn't have any human hangups about nudity, but he's not going to whip his dick out and waggle it at anyone who doesn't want to see it. Jacking off in the same room is probably already pushing it, but then again, the rules seem to be different in boarding schools and barracks and sometimes bars but sometimes not—humans have so many weird fucking rules.

"Then," Nines says. "You do as you please, and I will do the same."

"Works for me."

Gavin gives his cock another squeeze, and Nines turns back to their scroll. Yeah, he's a little disappointed about that, but it's enough just to have his pack in the same room and know he's not alone.

Since the wizard isn't watching anyway, Gavin rolls over and shoves a blanket down around his crotch. He has a whole nest of them, all piled up on top of a mattress Nines insisted he have. They'd tried to bring in an actual bed, but it's just weird, sleeping so high up and away from the ground for no reason.

He gets a soft little mound built up and grips himself again through the blanket. Even if Nines makes him wash it after, this will make his bed smell like him and home and—

Gavin buries his face into his pillow and inhales. It still has Nines's scent on it. All the blankets do too, so now they'll smell like the both of them, like pack.

He feels a fresh jab of interest spike back through their bond and guesses Nines is watching him again. Maybe jacking off right in front of them like that was a little too much, but with everything mostly out of view now, they're back to curious again.

It only takes him a minute to build up a steady rhythm, rutting into the blankets and his own hand. He groans into the pillow and hears Nines breathe in sharply.

Echoes. He grins and keeps going.

He doesn't know what kind of needs Nines has or wants to fulfill, but he likes the thought of making them feel good. Would like it even better if he could crawl over between the wizard's legs and find out what they're working with by licking it.

"Gavin …"

The wolf whines in response to his name in his Alpha's mouth. He squeezes his hand tighter at the base of his cock against the knot trying to plump up there, just in case Nines wants it.

"Yeah, baby?" Gavin manages to growl.

"Oh."

Nines breathes the word, and Gavin can feel a small simmer of arousal bounce back and forth between them—this time from the wizard's end, not his.

"Does it always feel like this?" they ask.

He groans in answer, the only response he has to the soft wonder in their voice. He knows humans' senses are weak and dull, that they don't get hit with lust and frenzy the same way wolves do.

But hearing the awe in his human's voice the first time they feel it too makes him want to show them how good it can really feel.

"Yeah," he bites out. "Better with … you."

His canines get in the way of the words, the partial shift rippling through his body. He's never had particularly good control of it, so there's no stopping the change now when his blood's up.

"Are you wet?"

The question stabs through him. Gavin loses his rhythm with a whimper, nearly overcome with the instinct to crawl over and show his Alpha, present his cock or his mouth or whatever hole they want to use.

And he is wet. He can feel it dripping down the length of his cock, more pooling at the head, smearing into the palm of his hand.

"Uh huh," he pants.

Gavin bites down into the blankets as he ruts harder, but a sharply clicked tongue brings him back to awareness. He turns his head to the side and blearily stares up at Nines as he continues fucking his own hand.

"I would like to hear you," Nines says.

"Baby," Gavin breathes in reply.

Nines closes their eyes and shivers. Well, if they like his voice …

"Wanna lick you," he says. "Suck on you and make you—ahhh, make you feel good."

"I—" Nines stares at him with wide eyes.

"Shh, shhh." Gavin keeps making the noise in a low mumble as he slows down his pace into a dirty grind. "Gotcha baby, get my mouth on your nipples an' your neck, your mouth, make you wet too."

"I don't usually like to be touched," Nines admits.

Gavin's brain snatches onto the word usually, but he doesn't want to push. There's some shit he knows for sure he won't ever do, but then there's a lot more he just doesn't know if he really doesn't want, or maybe only in the right situation, with the right pronouns and body parts, the right person, but then how is he supposed to know if he wants it enough to try it if he won't know if he actually wants it until he's already tried it?

So that's a whole big nest of wyverns, and neither of them need to try to sort it out right this moment.

"Can give you this though, yeah?" Gavin asks.

He twists his wrist on the upstroke against the head, but then stops and holds completely still. Nines tries to strangle a whine in their throat at the lost sensation.

"… yes."

That confession sounds much better. Gavin grins at the wizard and starts thrusting again, still looking at them. Their long eyelashes and shoulder-length hair almost soften their face into pretty, but then thin lips, a straight nose, and strong jaw sharpen the effect back up again. And the ice-blue eyes set against pale skin and black hair just sends it all careening past beautiful or handsome into big words about being scary-haunting-magical that the wolf can't think of right now.

He can feel his orgasm building up, drowning in those eyes staring right back at him, but he squeezes harshly at the base of his cock. The sensation strangles at the root, like the little moans Nines won't let escape their mouth.

He probably shouldn't tempt it, but he sinks into the feeling of tightening and loosening his grip around his knot and the waves of pleasure that sends rolling through them both.

"You," Nines says but can't seem to find anymore words.

"Mmgff." Gavin huffs into the pillow and tries to make his own words work. "Good, feels good. Sorry. Won't knot if—fffuck."

If that scares you. Disgusts you. Bores you, to be stuck listening to him come and come and come while the exasperated wizard is trying to focus on their studies.

He pries his eyes back open when he hears footsteps and stares up at Nines paused in an awkward-half crouch over him, like they're not sure if they're allowed to touch. His tail makes the decision for both of them by immediately wagging in anticipation of pets and attention.

"May I touch you?" Nines still asks.

Gavin nods past a desperate whine. A hand slides up the back of his neck first, while another soothes over his bare flank. Must've kicked off his trousers at some point. All that matters is the hand on the back of his neck, pinning him down, holding him place, exactly where he should be for his Alpha.

His tail wags harder.

"May I see?"

The hands urge him to roll over, and he does, without hesitation, like a dog showing his belly when his master comes home.

Laying on his back like this, he knows the partial shift is even more apparent. Just about everything humans think they know is bullshit, but his hybrid form really does look like those shitty illustrations of big scary wolf men.

And that's without the thick, hairy cock jutting out between his legs.

He's proud of it, wanted it, needed it, but that was for himself. He wasn't trying to impress anyone, and he's not expecting a human to like it.

"Does your phallus typically have this appearance, or is it increasingly engorged due to your partial transformation?" Nines asks.

Gavin stares up at them and tries to impress through their mental bond just how many fucking words that was.

Nines flushes and tries again. "Does it get bigger when you shift?"

"Yeah," he says. "Touch me?"

He holds his cock slightly out toward the wizard in offering. Nines hums in consideration but doesn't make any move toward it. That's fair.

"Do you knot without …" They struggle with the words again. "Sex?"

Gavin strokes himself, tugging upward and pause at the head. It leaves his knot free below, not quite there yet, but noticeably swollen under the attention.

"Can. Sometimes."

"Will you show me?"

Nines stares down at him and meeting their eyes is like looking at the moon. Humans want so badly to sort everything into Good or Bad, even the deities they worship. But some things aren't good or bad, only intense.

Gavin nods, mouth slack and panting. He wraps his left hand around his knot to work it while his right keeps stroking the rest. Nines's eyes sweep up and down him like a search light scanning for a rogue.

"Feel … good?" he asks between pants.

Maybe he's already asked, but it's hard to think right now. He tugs at the bond, trying to pull Nines's mind closer to him, get them to come down out of the sky and feel it with him. The wizard's hands clench into the robes draped over their kneeling legs.

Then they open their eyes again, and Gavin could swear their irises really have turned a silvery-blue.

"Behave."

The order thunders down their bond and into his chest. Gavin groans, the tightness coiled inside him easing another measure. He's not quite ready to unspool, but maybe—maybe just a little?

"I am asking about you."

Nines's voice changes from questioning and a little stilted to informing him of how it is, like casting a spell. Gavin doesn't have any ability himself, but as far as he knows, that's kind of how they do it. Spell casting is just telling reality what to do with enough conviction that reality up and does it.

"Do you want to be mine?"

Gavin thrusts into his hands in answer. It's sloppy and a little pathetic, because there's nothing for him to rut into. But he starts nodding again, just in case that wasn't enough.

"Like this?" Nines touches him for the second time, one hand gently curling around his throat. "To be mine."

He's coming undone. Falling apart. Food and shelter and an Alpha, their own little pack of two, someone touching him and promising to claim him.

"Suh … 'posed to be … yours."

He knows it's true, it's true, true. The call in his mind, their contract, both of them bound by Selûne.

"Yes," Nines confirms. "Show me."

Gavin comes almost before they finish speaking. He tries to hold eye contact as long as he can, but eventually his own squeeze shut as he curls in on himself with a shudder. The first wave passes deceptively quick, with just a few spurts from his cock.

But he's not done.

"Good boy."

Those hands are back again, just like before, this time encouraging him to roll back onto his belly. They stroke through his hair and scritch behind his ears when he obeys, and he thinks life couldn't possibly get any better until there's a warm body sliding onto the mattress behind him.

Then he's being spooned and everything inside him unravels without any warning.

When he's done coming for the second time, he's aware of a few things: the hand wrapped back around his throat, first. That the gangly half-human, half-elf is tall enough to almost envelope him completely. The soft murmur of praise in his ear, shifted halfway up his head now and nearly wolf-like.

Yours.

It's harder to send the thought out when he's only partially shifted. Even with other wolves, they all share best as animals, some basic concepts as hybrids, and only faint echoes when unshifted.

But being the wizard's familiar must be different, since he'd heard the summons in his head from damn near across the country, in all forms, while Nines can't shift at all.

You are mine. I will take care of you, if you allow me to keep you.

Oh yeah, that's definitely different. Wolves share senses and feelings, not full sentences.

Keep me, Gavin manages to think back.

"Yes," Nines murmurs aloud.

The third wave hits him, and he sobs as he comes for his Alpha. His body is just doing the best it can to please, still managing to pump out another two shots of cum. He can finally feel a tinge of mild revulsion from Nines, but it seems to be aimed more at the mess than himself. Bold feelings from a wizard who left a hunk of bread to mold so long they mistook it for a stoneshroom.

"Perhaps I should invest in a toy," they muse. "A sleeve somewhat akin to a bag of holding, so that it can contain all this mess."

Gavin groans in a not-sexy way. "Don't make me fuck a void."

"No, the pocket dimension would only be applied at the tip of the—"

He can't help but start laughing. Pocket dimension applied at the tip—and said completely straight. Goddamn wizards.

Nines expresses their irritation at being laughed at by nipping his ear, and yep, there's wave number four. To their credit, they do continue to hold him until he gets another brief reprieve.

"How many times does this occur?" they ask when he's done.

"Depends," Gavin scrapes together enough brain matter to say. "More with … partner."

"Hmm," Nines says, like the feral scientist they are.

Gavin flips off his pride and goes straight to begging. "Please."

He's not sure what exactly he's begging for though—not to be forced into multiple orgasms while Nines observes or takes notes, or that the wizard will get started on that right away.

"Please, please, baby."

Nines pulls him back to rest half on top of their body, which lets them switch their right hand for their left hand around his throat without him laying on top of their arm. And that in turn frees up their right hand to drop down to his cock.

"Yours, yours," he mumbles. "Alpha."

"What do you need?"

Their hand brushes his own, the one gripping his knot. He lets go for an agonizing second to press their hand against it instead. Nines lets him wrap his hand back around theirs, using both of their hands to squeeze and lightly tug the knot.

"Ah … ahhh …"

"Ask properly," Nines orders.

"Alphaaa!"

He practically wails the word, shaking apart in Nines's arms and beneath their hand, but he can't now, it's not enough on his own anymore, not without permission.

"Hmmm."

Gavin cries freely, but doesn't make Nines grip him tighter or stroke him off. His Alpha will give him what he needs, and he'll take what he's given, like a good boy.

But that doesn't mean he can't ask for more.

"Baby," he groans. "Need it, need it, I—phck, please!"

"Yes."

The final wave sweeps over him so hard he goes blind, or his eyes shut, or he's back on his belly again, face smushed into the pillow, Nines's hand still around him and the blankets beneath his cock to rut into and it's not the last because Nines tells him Again and Again, until he's coming dry, throat hoarse from crying.

And then once more after that.

When he regains consciousness again, his whole body feels sore in the best possible way. There's drool running down his chin, tacky and drying to the pillow. He has his knees tucked up beneath him, but that's OK, because this is how he's supposed to present anyway.

Except the hand reaching between his legs doesn't breach him. Something soft and wet swipes over him instead, and he can't even muster up the mental energy to be scared, to explain why that's still there, that he managed to bargain for a working cock and all his insides scooped out, but that's still—

"Hush." Nines soothes him with another hand rubbing his back. "You did very well. All you must do now is rest."

Gavin sinks back down into the delicious ache and doesn't move while Nines cleans the slick from between his thighs, then further up to his cock. The blankets he'd rutted into have already been removed at some point. He knows from experience not even the best wizard on the material plane could wash his scent out though and takes a moment to feel a little smug about it.

"Yes, you came a truly impressive amount," Nines says. "Excessive, actually."

Gavin smacks his mouth before he can speak. "Your fault."

"Hmmm."

Nines stands when he's done and moves away. Gavin manages to flop onto his side and curl up. His boss did say he could sleep now. He just needs a little nap.

He gets a flask of water shoved in his face instead. The hand petting him goes back awkward again, pat-pat-pat instead of real pets. Nines doesn't seem to know exactly what to do now that they're done, but clean up and water was still really nice of them.

Gavin finishes gulping down the flask and heaves in air.

"I have work I need to finish," Nines informs him. "Have your needs been sufficiently met?"

Sufficiently met? Fuck, he's had orgies that didn't wear him out this good.

"Yeah," Gavin answers. "Need to sleep now."

Nines smiles at him. "Excellent. Good boy."

Gavin grins lazily back at them. "And when I wake up, I'm gonna crawl over between your legs and make you feel good too."

Nines flushes and half opens their mouth to protest.

"When you need a break from your scroll-thingy, and only if you let me," he adds.

Nines closes their mouth. They don't say anything else, but that means they also don't say no. Their blush doesn't go away either. They simply stand back up and sit down at their desk, spending far too much concentration fussing over the exact alignment of all their inks and quills instead of looking at Gavin.

Who keeps grinning, even as he yawns and snuggles down in his bed. He just needs a little nap, and then after that … he has all sorts of ideas for fun bonding activities.

***

This fic was commissioned by one of my followers to continue the first drabble! Subscribers to my Patreon get early access to all my commissioned fics 2 weeks before they’re posted to AO3 and tumblr ^^

#reed900 #gavin reed #dbh #dbh fic #detroit: become human

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toxic-gorgon · 4 years

Text

Beautiful Lie: Lotor x Reader

I’m still disappointed with the last two seasons of Voltron, and Lotor deserved so much better than what he got. But despite that, I can’t let this show go. It’s still relatively good, for the most part.

Laying exhausted like you did most nights, you turned your head and watched as the prince left your side and quickly rustled around for his clothes. Panting, you reach up to your throat and wince. His grip was almost deadly this night, perhaps the negotiations didn’t go well? He often took his frustrations out on you, only solemnly seeking refuge in a different concubine’s chambers. Those nights you found the most peace.

The prince turns his head and noticed your painful expression. “Did I not satisfy you, darling?” his voice smooth like velvet to your ears, you despised it. Even more so, you despised how much it made you crave him. You briefly look at him, before sitting up, matching the expression of a statue.

“The only satisfaction I get from you, is when you leave.” you spat, resting your back against the cold wall, your body turned towards him. Crossing your legs in the lotus position, you ignored his running cum gushing from your core, but rather focused on your tough-as-nails façade. The prince never bought it.

“Oh? Do you hate me that much?” he asks, standing up, now fully clothed. He saunters to your bedside, but his yellow orbs studied you, watching for any sign of weakness. “I gave you a comfortable room instead of a freezing cell, I gave you far better quality meals than most of my underlings, and I allow you to continue studying what your species call alchemy. Have I been nothing but generous to you?” You grimaced at his words.

What he calls generous, you call sex slavery. Of course he would want to take relatively decent care for you, if not for his own gain. You’re no genius, but you are observant, and what you noticed was Prince Lotor didn’t keep anyone around, unless they can be useful. You wouldn’t be surprised if the other girls were medics, soldiers, or scientists. But you? You were just a nutjob human; studying a dead form of science-meets-occultism, which didn’t amount to anything besides being abducted by the prince and his cohorts.

Waiting for a response, Lotor’s yellow eyes shined with amusement and his smirk widens, just like when you first met. “What?” you snap at him, folding your arms over your bare chest. “You expect me to grovel and apologize for my insolence?” you mocked, not even batting an eye. The prince frowns as he comes closer, his knees dipping into the mattress, and soon he was towering over you, the palms of his hands slam against the wall, his face inches away from yours.

“I suggest you start being thankful for what I’ve given you. You are expendable and can be tossed out whenever the mood suites me.” his threat rings in your ears, but instead of you being scared, you prey for that outcome.

“You promise? Please do, I’m tired of being part of a collective, just some souvenir from the planets you visit.” your words spat venom, but you didn’t flinch from his intimidating presence. The prince stares at you, too long for your comfort. He was calculating something, you could feel it. You didn’t dare ask him what, he would show you soon enough. This cat and mouse game you both play continuously with each other, he’s not the type to admit defeat and neither were you.

“Is that what’s bothering you, darling?” he asks, his pretentiously sweet voice returning. He backs away, cupping your cheek softly with his bare hand. “I’m ashamed I haven’t noticed it before, please accept my apologies.” Your body flares up, his touch sending tingles throughout your senses, clouding them from the underlying meaning of his words. He knows you’ll cave in too, like so many times before. That bastard.

“J-Just go, please. You have duties to attend to, my prince.” you mutter, defeated. Lotor wells up with pride, he’s won this round. He goes to move off the bed, but not before leaving a searing hot, rousing kiss on your bruised lips from kisses past. You hate yourself for melting each and every time he locks lips with you.

His cocky smirk returns, as he leans away and flashes a pleasing smile. “Until we meet again.” he said, leaving you in your erotic prison alone. When the door shuts, you burst into tears, your eyes burning with emotions you held back. Your hands gripped your hair, as you cried out your frustration; your chest aching like it did every time you confronted your warden.

You cried until there was nothing left. Too depressed and empty to will yourself to do much. Sleep was the only place you can escape. Tomorrow was a new day, full of new ways the prince will torture you and make you succumb to him. You close your eyes, drifting back to a time before all this. Your memory was hazy at best; after all it’s been two years.

Two years of captivity and torture, your former life as a human on Earth seems like it was a dream. You can vaguely remember your family and friends, but it’s the little details that you’re always stumped on. Their sadden faces are what always chokes you up and makes you cry more. The mere fact they will never see you again, alive or dead, and there’s no way to let them know you’re ok. Even if they did know where you were, there’s no saving you. It was for the best they think you’re dead or ran away anyway. It would save them the true horrors what you experience.

You lie down and roll over to your side, tucking yourself into the blankets. You’ll need your rest; the prince wants you in top shape, he always does for your little games.

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You woke up and gathered what Lotor called clothing suited for his concubines. A deep purple, thinly layered, sheer skirt with decorative gold trimmings, with a matching bra that barely covered your nipples. High fashion for a royal whore such as yourself. How much you hated walking around with such a get up (when you’re allowed to leave your room), with other Galra males sizing you up, but for the sake of their lives, never act upon their obvious desires. It makes you sick just thinking about it.

Once dressed, you move over towards a table, littered with books, pens, and papers. You sat down and read a human alchemy book you’ve read dozens of times, but need to work on. So, why did Lotor allow you to continue your studies? To be frank, it’s no threat to him. Human knowledge is severely limited, and your alchemy is nothing like the alchemy from other planets. Not only that, but without any way of practicing with actual Earth ingredients, your studies are more like light reading anymore.

In fact, you were sure that’s what you offered the prince. A silly notion that you knew what real alchemy was that you were confident in your abilities, only to realize just how little you knew. In the end, you deducted that your use was indeed entertainment, amusement, nothing more than an ignorant human pet. A human pet with a thick skin, or that’s what you want everyone to believe.

You defied the prince on a daily basis, and every time he brings you back down a few pegs, waiting to see if you break. Every time he’s delighted to see your determination, and thusly the game continues. You were sure he enjoyed them a little too much, seeing you as a puzzle he can’t yet figure you out, and everyday he tests you. You just wanted to escape, but yet part of you want to crack his puzzle as well, as cheesy as it sounds.

You were conditioned to be the perfect whore and there were dozens of times you could’ve left, so why didn’t you? He doesn’t treat me like the others, you would say to yourself. In the very bottom of your still aching chest, you wished there was a sliver of love or fondness he had for you. You hoped there would be a day he would confess his love for you and treat you like a real person. Such a thought shatters your heart.

Your door suddenly opens, and as if right on cue, the prince walks through the threshold. His gaze immediately follows you, as he takes long but delicate strides towards your study area. “Ah, darling. Reading again?” you roll your eyes, what else would you be doing? You chose to say nothing, and let him take a seat across from you. Closing your book, you sat it on the table and allow him to have your attention.

“What do you want?” your voice void of emotions. Lotor scoffs, but is smile remains, his elbow propped on the table with his chin resting in his palm.

“Hm? I have to have a reason to come see my favorite? I thought you enjoyed my company.” his all-too-smooth voice sent shivers down your spine, but you distracted yourself by placing your hands in your lap.

“You have others that are desperate for your company, why not see them?” you ask flatly. Lotor chuckles and sits up, his yellow eyes peering down at you with that glimmer of amusement again.

“Others? But darling, I released them.” You gasp, your face falling into shock, and your arms lay limply at your side. What did he do? Your eyes widen, but you kept quiet. Your bewilderment said it all, so the prince continued. “I thought about what we talked about, and upon thinking it over, I decided that I’m only in need of one concubine. You.” He grins, savoring your reaction.

You licked your lips, your mouth gone dry. “W-Why would you do that? Where did they go? Don’t tell me you killed them!” you exclaim, standing up as well, and backed away from him. Lotor shakes his head and reaches out to grasp your arm, pulling you closer.

“No, I didn’t kill them. I simply dropped them off on a nearby planet under Galra rule. They have their freedom, but more importantly, only you will be taking care of my needs for now on.” his voice fell into a low purr, one that could easily make you crumble before him. You stood still, but gathered your courage to speak.

“I can’t offer you any advantages. I’m a lowly human with outdated knowledge on alchemy.” you growl. “You don’t need me, so why not release me too?” Lotor seemed taken aback, but cups your cheek with his free hand, bringing you closer.

“You’re a reasonably intelligent female, I would expect you already know. The answer is quite simple, you wanted this. You’re no longer part of a collective, as you put it.” his words precise and spoken with a hint of smugness. He has you in checkmate and you were out of moves. Mentally you curse yourself, your own words bit you in the ass, and all you can do is accept your fate. You are his forever.

“You aggravate me, you defy me at every turn, and you resist me, but you won’t break.” he whispers, standing chest to chest with you, his warm breath grazing your lips. “And yet I can’t help but to be drawn to it, enthralled by how much willpower you possess.” he steals a kiss, adding fuel to the flames between you.

The static was more than enough to bring the craving back, as you almost fell into his arms. You catch yourself kissing back, this new, tender side of Lotor could be another way for him to use his charisma against you, but you didn’t care. You were weak, you were tired, and dammit you wanted any love this man could offer lies and all.

He breaks away all too soon, with a thin string of saliva connecting your lips. “Let me care for you.” he whispers, before catching your lips again, his tongue darting into your mouth and rubs against yours. Moaning, you reach up and grip his suit, using it to steady your wobbly legs. You kissed back with just as much vigor, his words nearly bringing you to tears, but of course your pride won’t let them fall.

The prince picks you up princess style, gently, almost like you were made of glass. Never once did he break your kiss, even after he sets you down on the bed. He straddles your hips, hooking one his claws under the fabric of your bra and pulls it down, allowing breasts bounce free. Only then did he break the kiss, bending down and engulfs your left nipple with his mouth, his hand tweaking your right. Your eyes flutter shut and your mouth agape, as long syllables of gasps escape. Your hands grip his shoulders and your nails dug in when Lotor licks your harden buds.

The prince leaves your breasts, kissing between them before teasing his way down your torso and hips, until he reaches your skirt. He lifts his head to read your expression, dark red dusting your cheeks when he smirks. You watched his every move and bit your bottom lip. It’s not like him to ask for an invitation, not that you would deny him. He’s been oh so gentle, almost like when he took you the first time when you were captured two years ago.

Without wasting time, he diligently removes your skirt and spreads your legs, your cunt dripping for him. Lotor of course, was satisfied with how easily aroused you were. Then again, he always knew which buttons to push with how much time he spent mapping out every centimeter, and memorizing your weaknesses. His long but slender finger traces your slit, covering it in your juices, and takes a good look at it. He glances over to you and without braking eye contact, he licks it.

“Darling, you taste absolutely divine.” he coos and starts to unfasten his suite, pulling it down his broad shoulders, chiseled physique peeking. He gets up and stands at your bedside, yanking his suite past his chest and hips, allowing himself to step out of it. Every time you see the prince in his glory, it always renders you speechless; more so when your eyes drift down, taking in his every detail, even his Galran cock. He always catches you staring; you could swear you can see his ego inflating more than it already is.

“You know it’s rude to stare.” he quips. You quickly gaze away, your cheeks practically glowing from embarrassment. His orbs take in your bare form, like a predator ready to pounce on his prey. He gives his cock a few pumps, pre cum leaking from the top. You lick your lips, remembering the last time you wrapped your mouth around it, and how the ridges from its underside reaches spots in your core like nothing has before. He crawls back onto the bed, hovering above you; his long locks fan out around you.

Capturing your lips with much passion, he playfully nips your bottom lip, causing you to moan. “Ouch, that’s not fair.” you pout, reaching down to give his length a good stroke. The prince shudders, closing eyes only for a tic, but recovered just as fast.

“Nothing is fair in war, love.” he says, removing your hand from his cock. “But just for tonight, I’ll concede.” You arch an eyebrow; it’s not like him to give up so easily. However, your suspicions were confirmed, when he slithers down between your thighs, planting loving kisses until he reaches your outer lips. He looks up one last time, before giving you’re a slit a very slow, but tantalizing lick.

It was your turn to shudder, as you grip the bed sheets, shrinking against the mattress. You hold back your swears, but moan when your clit was being flicked by his skillful tongue. What really did you in, was when he inserted two digits into your depths, spreading you, and sucks onto your bundle of nerves. Your face contorts into a painful, but pleasurable expression, your right hand threading into the prince’s silky white locks and pulling, earning a groan.

“Darling, you’re so demanding.” he laughs, but you pout. He always loved that look on you, it made you resemble a spoiled child with cute puffy cheeks. He would never say it, but rather he smirks, gripping your thighs tightly so they left bruised imprints. You watch as he dives back in, sucking your inner folds, and dips his tongue inside before he sits back up, yanking you against him. You growl, he was such a fucking tease.

He kisses you again, and you can swear he was desperate, almost. You taste yourself, twirling your tongue against his, but all too soon he departed again, kissing down the front of your throat and leaving delicious love bites on your flesh. It was more than a kink to him, marking you up, claiming you. His possessive nature drives him, like it’s a need for his peace of mind in his vary soul. At this point, you welcomed it, easily taken by the charming prince.

He litters your chest with his bites, while his claws trace your inner thigh, scratching thin lines of red. The mix of pain and pleasure making your head swim, until he frees you, and helps you on your back. His usual hungry orbs soften, as he positions himself near your entrance, his cock teasingly rubs your clit. Your heart beats rapidly, as you waited patiently, like you were trained to.

Licking your lips again, you gulp. “M-My prince, if I may be so bold?” you ask, resisting the urge to grind your folds against his cock’s ridges. Lotor glances up and nods, pausing his teasing.

“You may.” he huffs, his control harder to maintain the longer his eyes linger on your wanton figure.

Your words come out like a breathless whisper, but so hesitant. “My prince, p-please.” you swallow a sudden lump that formed in your throat, your fingers curling into the bedspread. “Please, fuck me my prince.” Lotor’s eyes widen slightly, but narrow hungrily. Nearly broke of his composure, but not quite, he slams his cock into you, not allowing you to be adjusted. He bends forward, caging you against him, and nips your ear.

“As you wish love, but don’t blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow.” he hisses, already thrusting into your depths sporadically, losing himself every time your walls pulse around his length. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, your nails digging in like your hanging on for dear life. He seethes in pain, but it drives him so much more.

“I-Ah, fuck!” you moan, tilting your head back when his ridges hit your g-spot so perfectly, like your pussy was made just for his cock. Writhing under him, you scratch down his back, uncaring if you leave lines of blood or not. His dick is too good, and you’re afraid that your nightmare came true, you were addicted to it.

His large hands cup your ass, gripping it with vigor, as he lifts you up and angles your hips, so he penetrate deeper, leaving you gasping. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, your mouth hangs agape. He was defiantly leaving bruises tomorrow, but if you’re lucky he’ll kiss each one. But until then, you would rather enjoy the rolling of his hips against yours, and how he bounces you on his cock.

The prince grunts, holding back any high pitched moans. His pointed ears would rather listen how he reduces you to mush. He tortures you with precise thrusts, knowing which spot to hit and when, as his Galran cock stretches you so you feel every inch of him. He savors every moment and every moan, gaining a not-so-subtle ego boost. You’re the only one who can give him such a high.

Your throat feels sore with all the moaning that’s been erupting from you. You let Lotor position you to his liking and toss you as a ragdoll, anything as long as you were full of him. His cock hits your cervix, which makes you convulse under him. Your head was blank of anything except him, and the blissful fucking he’s giving you. You were clearly drunk off his cock, as your legs shook with strain with how they were wide open. When he pinches your clit and rolls it between his thumb and index finger, is when jolts of ecstasy rolled off you.

“Who’s are you?” he says between breaths, relentlessly thrusting into you, his member throbbing against your walls. “Scream it, I want everyone to hear.” he commands, pulling you out of your daze. You could barely focus, but when he slows down, you whine, but reluctantly respond.

“Y-You, my prince.” you mutter, gyrating your hips against his for more friction. Lotor shake his head and slaps your ass harshly. You yelp, but look up at him with a pout. “Mmmmn, P-Prince Lotor does-“ you said a little louder, which made Lotor thrust a little harder, but not quite how you crave him to. Frustrated and needy, you wiggle against him, but again you were defeated. Taking in a giant breath, you grip your prince tightly, as a mighty voice bellows from you. “I’m Prince Lotor’s!”

Gritting his teeth, he stops himself from coming undone right then and there. Lotor was beyond ecstatic with your answer, pounds into more intensely than before, and rolls your bundle of nerves. You scream, the buildup of your climax rushing through you. Your pussy walls contracted around his member, with determination of milking him dry until finally your senses were clouded with white, and you couldn’t feel a damn thing besides your lust-filled high.

The prince sharply inhales, as he was chasing his own orgasm. He claws dug into your plump ass, as he finally lost himself. His thrusts unhinged and almost violent, it didn’t take him long before his balls became taut and his pulsing member released it’s sticky ropes, coating your insides. Lotor stays still, panting for air, his eyes closed while he was lost in the moment. His chest rose and fell, as he gently lets you down and pulls out of you, allowing the mix of your juices to run out of you. He admires the sight, and best of all he was the one who did it.

He lies on his side next to you, wrapping an arm around your resting form, and nuzzles his nose into your hair. He sighs, satisfied and just enjoying the moment, cracking open an eye to watch as you curl up against him, a smirk plastered across his face. Your chest couldn’t help but to flutter against his touch, forgetting or forgiving him, you weren’t quite sure. The prince caresses your side and kisses you lovingly.

“I love you, darling.” he purrs, holding you closer. You turn around and snuggle against his firm chest, wrapping your arm around his midsection. You smile, listening to his heartbeat.

“I love you too, my prince.” You were utterly, completely hopeless and there’s no escaping it. You would believe a beautiful lie, than confront the ugly truth.

#voltron #lotor #prince lotor #x reader #spicy #alien #galra #one shot #scenario

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witchescompendium · 6 years

Text

WITCHES AND WICCA 101 Sunday School week 1

As promised, from our first Sunday School Lesson

BASICS OF WITCHES AND WICCA 101

Sunday School week 1

Witches are not the supernatural creatures we have come to think of from movies, films and books. Witches don’t sell their souls to Satan, ride broomsticks, conjure otherworldly entities to wreak havoc on their enemies and cook little children. Witches are everyday people who live everyday lives who happen to know how to tap into the universe and try to live lives as one with the universe and the energies around them.

To be a witch does not mean you have to be a Wiccan, conversely, to be a Wiccan does not make you a witch. However these two titles, these two words have become interchangeable and often one is used in the place of the other. However many witches hold the same principles as Wiccans, respecting the earth and honoring the seasons, the gods and forces of the universe and nature. (as they are different I will refer to them as separate things unless otherwise stated in the following texts.)

Wearing a pentacle doesn’t make you a witch or Wiccan, calling yourself a witch or Wiccan doesn’t make you one either. Wearing black and cloaks and pointed hats, another thing that doesn’t make you one. Attending rituals, sabbats and esbats, reading books, and internet posts and sites, or casting spells, none of these make you a witch or Wiccan. To be one (both or the other) you have to live the life. You have to understand what it means, what the responsibilities are of such actions.

The first rule most anyone practicing will tell you is Harm None. Self explanatory, Do what you want, but harm no one in the process, this includes yourself. Keep in mind, what you send out, comes back to you three fold. This isn’t limited to magical acts or spells; this is something to keep in mind for daily life. Act like a bitch you’ll get treated just the same but worse. All actions have consequences. And all magic comes with a price. Our thoughts, our words our actions, all of them have power and all of them come back to us. So think about that before you act hastily, or harshly. Remember that part of the responsibility that lies in your actions, can also affect other people as well, not just the one who is your aim.

Not everyone is perfect; we are all going to learn at different times and in different ways. Anyone who tells you they are perfectly in tune that they have studied for 20 30, 40 years and are masters and yet can’t cast a basic circle, or cleanse a ritual area, should tell you something. The effort you put into it is what the result will be. You can’t be a wayfarer studying when you want and expecting the world to bend at your knee. Reading only what serves your purpose and not understanding why you still can’t perform the simplest actions.

The other thing that many practitioner fall victim to is what I like to call “the Curse of want” This is where you believe and want all the items listed on the Tool list in a book. So you begin buying right away and suddenly you have 30 decks of tarot cards, 14 athames, 6 wands 45 quartz crystals, 8 cauldrons of various sizes and material, mortar and pestles and cabinets of herbs which you aren’t even quite sure what over ¾ of them actually are. I will admit that in the beginning I thought I had to have it all, but I didn’t rush out to get it. I took my time and let the objects and items find me. I will also admit I am one who loves to collect oracle decks and tools, but there are only a few of them that I use on a regular basis. Unless the others call to me, then usually I don’t even bother to bring them out or show them off.

What will follow over the course of the next little while will be a series of lessons and studies to not only inform but help guide through the process of deepening ones devotion and journey into the craft. This will include many different lessons, from basic etiquette in the circle, working with a coven, tools, timing, potions, spells, basic astrology, and more. We have already covered Dedication and the Altar, as well as Circles. Although I may touch on those things again as we continue, and re-share those hand outs.

So what are the basics a witch or Wiccan needs to begin? That’s simple, their will, a general working understanding of what they are about to venture into and the dedication to achieve it. Focus, Silence, and understanding, which coincide with the four fundamentals of a witch, To Know, To Will, To Dare, and to Be Silent. I strongly believe that these “tools” will get your further in your journey than anything. So our first lesson is: Understanding what it is to be a witch, what that responsibility entails and how exactly these four things play a part in your everyday life.

UNDERSTANDING WHAT IT IS TO BE A WITCH

Did you turn to the craft to gain phenomenal cosmic powers, to bend others to your will, to gain the ability to master the dark arts and conjure up spectral entities to avenge you when you have been wronged? Did you come to the craft thinking you would sell your soul because you were seeking the ability to bend time and space to your will, to harness the supernatural abilities of the universe, to strike fear in the hearts of your enemies when your eyes change colors and you wield the power of lightening from your finger tips? Or did you come with the hopes to fly on your broom stick to the dark reaches of the planet and gather the most mystical and unusual ingredients to whip up a powerful potion, physic or draught to bewitch and ensnare?

If you responded to YES for any of these, then you need to have a harsh dose of reality and a side or of grow up, super sized with a shake to wash it down. The truth is, that though many of these things are believed to be part of what a real witch is, none of them are the truth. Witches don’t fly on brooms, harness dark energy or use their powers or knowledge to strike fear into anyone. Witch don’t sell their souls or wield any sort of supernatural powers.

Witch is a name given to many, in old times it was given to pagans ore any of those who still held the “old ways” of worshiping nature and the universe, as well as a God and Goddess, by the Christians because they wanted to convert the masses, and to demonize the faith and belief of one race or nation, was a great way to boost your religions supremacy. Over time the word Witch became associated with Women and Warlock with men. However a Warlock is not a male witch, they are a traitor to the kind, “an oath breaker” as the title translates.

Witches were knowledgeable on the universe and the energies of the world around them. They knew how to use this energy, and their own energy to bring about change, to heal and to grow. In the eyes of those seeking to destroy them they were doing the bidding of Satan and were evil creatures. The funny thing is, the Devil is a concept created by Christianity when it demonized other nation’s gods. When they call witches devil worshippers, it never strikes them that in order to be a devil worshipper, you have to first believe in the devil, which is a Christian concept, so thusly; wouldn’t it stand to reason that only Christians could be devil worshippers since they believe so strongly in him?

To Know, To Dare To Will and To Be Silent:

To Know: Know your craft, but mostly know yourself. You may not fully know yourself, there are plenty of us who don’t know who we are, but know who you are at this point and time. Know what your limits are, know where you stand. You are going to be the greatest mystery you will ever have to learn. Magic, ritual, these are things that can be taught, that can become easier with practice and repetition, but you change as you grow, as you evolve and learn. As you become aware of yourself you begin to leave behind values and morals which no longer serve or suit the you who you have become.

Knowledge is power, so it is obvious I think why To Know is one of the “greatest powers” of a witch. But to simply read, and commit things to knowledge, if you don’t know what you have read, and practice it. Knowledge is a great thing, but you have to have the Will to make things happen, but you have to first Dare to do them.

To Dare: To Dare I think is one of those things that can be interpreted in many ways. To Dare, to dare to be yourself, to dare to be different, dare to start living the life you were meant to, dare to see the possibilities before you, dare to embrace the life of a witch. Dare to be! To dare is to shuck off those feelings of doubt and hindrance, to step out from behind the curtains, to embrace those things that are taboo, or scare you. It is about not being afraid to do something. Being a witch is a life that can carry fear, because witches have a stereotype and we live in a society that generally Christian controlled. Anything that goes against the grain is wrong, evil and ridiculed, at the same time not daring to realize or recognize that so many of their own traditions started as Pagan traditions, yet still shun them. At the same time, our family and friends may not understand; either because they live with a mentality as many do, that Wicca or Witchcraft is a bad thing, or not completely understand what it is. By accepting that not everyone is going to understand but that is a path for you and you alone to tread, then you are already making leaps and bounds, and the Dare has begun.

To Will: Now that you know and you are daring, you have to have the will to bring it all together. The will is one of the most important parts. Because you can have knowledge, you can have the mentality to say you want to do something, but if you don’t have the will to follow through, then you have nothing. The will really is the guiding force behind your actions. Without it you really won’t achieve much. You have to be able to see what you want and go for it. The Will is the part that makes things happen taking that knowledge and making it into something almost tangible. Think of it like this, you made a grocery list, and you know you have to go, but you don’t have the drive or motivation to go so you end up staying home and missing out on those things on your list that you want or need. With the will it’s the same thing, making the list, but you get up go to the store get what you need and come home and put those things to use. The will really is the most basic yet one of the most important of these 4.

To Be Silent: Silence is golden. Silence is a virtue. Silence can be deafening. Some people fear the silence. But few truly understand what silence is. And even fewer understand what Silence is as it pertains to, To B Silent. To be silent doesn’t mean taking a vow of silence, it means quieting yourself, your mind. Listening to what is around you. If your mouth never stops how will you hear what the universe is trying to say? If your mind never quiets how are you ever going to understand what the universe is saying?

To be silent also means to not go running your mouth to everyone about your practice. Some people feel extremely comfortable telling people they’re a witch (Wiccan) while others have to be more discrete. Some people use it as a way to boost their ego and to intimidate others by informing them of the fact. To some it is a title and that is it, for they feel saying they are a witch makes them one, and that if someone believes they are a witch then they will be less likely to mess with that person, or will perhaps be more likely to bend to that persons will. The Silence in this situation is especially important when you are a part of a Coven, for silence is a requirement. Again this goes back to privacy and in the old days it was a matter of safety.

Another thing, is silence is a vital part of your magic. If you go around boasting and bragging about your magic, you are going to weaken its charm. The rule is once you have cast the spell, don’t talk about it. Just let it go and do its job and rest assure it is doing what it is suppose to be. Talking about it weakens the magic, the more you dwell the more the expectations are built up to what we want to happen in lo of what the universe will let happen. (more on magic and how it works later).

Silence, will, daring, and knowing, our intentions, the fundamentals of a witch.

When you begin to know yourself, you know that you have truly begun your journey into becoming a true witch.

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nightingaledarling · 7 years

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microdrabbles: petits fours

Fandom: Samurai Love Ballad Party Timeline/Continuity: Canon and Modern AU. Characters: All 12 main lords + Shigezane, Hotaru, and Kageie Genre: Varied Microdrabble count: 50 total, anywhere from 2-4 per character Warnings: Spoilers for all routes, Acts 1 and 2. Slight dub con in Mitsuhide’s and Kageie’s sections, but nothing worse than you’d find in canon. Rating: Varied, up to R Notes: Once upon a time when fandoms congregated on Livejournal, they used to have these drabble challenges. One of them was one sentence fics. So you think you’ve seen run-on sentences with metric fucktons (this is an actual legit unit of measurement btw) of commas and hyphens? You ain’t seen nothing yet!

Breaking the rules here and utilizing multiple pairings/characters because that’s how I do. Oof.

Prompts are from Theme Set Epsilon of the 1Sentence Community.

I. Nobunaga

09. King With his sword at his hip, overcoat swaying in the breeze as he stands up on the battlements, smile lined with ruthless ambition, you think he looks rather like a king.

26. Goodbye It doesn’t matter that both of you are fading fast - you simply thank the gods that allowed you to be by his side until the very end, and you hope and pray that one day you’ll meet again.

40. History The pure conviction in Representative Oda’s voice reminds you of rulers from times past - but why does it also make you ache?

21. Fool He calls you a foolish, brazen little thing, but if he still loves you even now, four hundred years later, who is the true fool - he or you?

II. Mitsuhide

12. Wait You put a hand to his chest, your half-hearted protest dying in your throat when you see his pupils blown wide with want as he says, voice low and strained, I am sorry, my darling, but I cannot.

15. Hold My love, my darling, my dearest - all names that wrap you with the warmest affection.

49. Hunger You set the tray of treats onto the dais, and when you turn away and catch his eyes, they speak of anticipation and desire and promises to do all manner of things to you tonight that you flush and cannot excuse yourself quickly enough.

19. Soul Something about him is so familiar and warm and kind and dear that your heart seems to know him, even if you do not.

III. Yukimura

06. Gentle Those hands are strong enough to concuss a man, vicious enough to slice one to his innards, but when they lay upon your cheeks, they are so incredibly gentle.

17. Vision Admittedly, you are but a humble cook’s daughter - but when he looks at you, eyes lit up like the summer sky, you admit with pride - yes, I am his wife, I am the Lady Sanada.

41. Power It’s said that love makes you weak, but that’s a lie - because as he cuts through his foes on the battlefield with your smile on his mind, he knows that the man with someone worth fighting for is the strongest one of all.

01. Motion It all happens so very quickly - one moment your husband is at your side and the next, he’s pulling you underneath him and you can only watch in horror as he uses his body to shield you from the thousands of arrows that come raining down.

IV. Saizo

11. Blur The pair of you zip through the trees dizzyingly fast to leave the world behind, and when his fingers curl into your skin just a little tighter, holding you against his warmth, you thank the gods for his rare selfishness.

44. Wall Lord Yukimura said once that he never lets anyone in - but as time goes on and you see the fondness in those knowing smirks, the softness in the red of his eyes, the affection in the way he speaks to you - you wonder if you’ve made your way in.

18. Attention For the first time, you find that the roles are reversed - now you are the one who prepares to leave the room (only to get a fresh basin of cold water, of course) whereas Saizo is the one who, fever-addled as he is, wraps his arms around your hips in a silent plea to stay.

16. Need You bite your lip, allowing your body’s responsiveness to his touch speak for itself, but your lover is nothing if not determined to hear you voice your desire - be honest with us, little lady, and I might be kind.

V. Masamune

28. Fortune He has given you so much already; you find it is only right to give him an omamori made with the pieces of your hair pin, and it is all the more worth it when he grants you that smile that melts your heart and says thank you, I’ll cherish it always.

32. Eye It still surprises him when you tell him how you feel - because when you say that you love him, he knows that you mean all of him - even the parts that he can’t accept, even the parts that he hates.

13. Change “I will live as long as there are people who depend on me - that will not change, Mother, not even for you.”

37. Time Soon his hair will start to gray, and the backs of your hands will begin to spot, but you will stay by his side as he will stay by yours - because with the moon as your witness, you have promised each other your years, your hearts, your everything.

VI. Kojuro

04. Last There is a certain degree of insecurity to be expected when with a man of Kojuro’s experience - but though you may not be his first lover, you intend to be his last.

23. Child He has joked about it more than once, but when you notice him splaying his fingers over your belly and pressing kisses to the soft skin there more often in recent months, you wonder if he is serious after all.

48. Precious He says it fondly with a smile first thing in the morning, he groans it into your skin when you two are coupled as close as can be, he declares it with a warning when you become overly aggressive in tidying his study - no matter how the word escapes him, you never grow tired of hearing it.

VII. Hideyoshi

05. Wrong “No titles, no honorifics, just me - Hideyoshi.”

08. Thousand You have heard the rumors of course - the man of a thousand lovers - and when he puts his skilled mouth between your thighs, you think that they must be true, that you are only one of a thousand.

07. One But when he laces his fingers with yours and breathes your name with all the reverence and love in the world, you know that you are wrong - that you are not one of a thousand, that you are only one.

VIII. Inuchiyo

35. Sudden You straddle him in attempt to tickle him under his arms, but when he looks up at you shock-still and breathless, lips parted with want, you pause and realize in that moment that nothing will ever be the same again.

24. Now You cannot keep thinking of the past - not when he’s pushing you down into the futon, your hands clawing at his clothing - not when you want him now, now, now.

29. Safe His face pressed to your neck, you hold him close - for with all the years you spent apart, you may not know the demons he battles, but because he spent his childhood protecting you, you’re now more determined than ever to return the favor.

27. Hide You peek demurely up at him from under the wataboshi and whisper you found me, and though his cheeks are flushed from happiness and anticipation, he manages to reply I always will.

IX. Ieyasu

02. Cool This must be a dream, you think upon waking and finding a poultice and a compress packed to your brow, but when he mutters shut your mouth and get better, the sentiment is so him that you realize this must be real after all.

45. Naked Every inch of you is mine, he declares, drawing his fingers down between your breasts, over your belly, settling in the wetness between your legs, from here to here to here.

42. Bother He reaches out to grasp your wrist, tugging you to sit back down next to him - his eyes only straying from his book for a half-second to tell you stay where you are - and you’ve never felt so loved.

X. Mitsunari

31. Book You know that no tome in the world can capture what he’s trying to say, so when you enter his chambers and see him flipping through pages with an embarrassed blush on his cheeks, you press his hand to your heart and cup his cheek and quietly remind him don’t think - feel.

33. Never For someone so learned, he rarely uses his words when it counts - but when he holds you close like this, capturing your mouth with strong but achingly sweet kisses, he doesn’t need to.

XI. Kenshin

34. Sing Let me hear it once more, he murmurs into your hair, trailing his fingers down your throat, across the sweat cooling on your skin, that lovely song that is mine and mine alone.

39. Torn Ah but this is my favorite as well, Lord Kenshin says dreamily as he caresses a ripped blue kerchief, and you wonder if it would be overstepping if you offered to mend it - at the very least, this place would be cluttered by one less thing.

43. God They call him thusly, and when you see the blood dripping from his sword and the crimson that stains the front of his robe, the fear in you cowers to the name so well-deserved.

XII. Shingen

30. Ghost The sharp pangs of loss have long faded, but even now you sometimes think you can still hear his heavy footsteps in the hall, see the flash of his red hair, feel his insistent lips upon your skin.

20. Picture When your son holds out a brush and paper and asks you to show him what his father looked like, you take both items with a smile born no longer of pain but of fondness as you say well my love, I shall try.

XIII. Shigezane

36. Stop Your breath catches when you hear his thinly-veiled threat to your lord - if you don’t start treating her right, someone else will - and he sounds so determined, so sure of the inevitability that you can’t help but think what if.

50. Believe When his forces are vastly outnumbered on the battlefield, he sends you running with a disarming smile and a trust me, doll, and you find that, despite all odds pitted against him, you do.

38. Wash Not there - here, he says cheekily, moving your hand holding the washcloth from his upper back to his front and down until you go scarlet.

XIV. Hotaru

03. Young He may not know the intricacies of human emotion - but that just makes you want to gather him close and love him all the same.

14. Command You know what he can do, how he can bend man’s will with just a word, but he never abuses that with you and never has to - for all he needs to do is smile and you would willingly give him everything.

XV. Kageie

25. Shadow He’ll back you into your room, pressing cold fingers to your mouth to coerce you into silence as his lips fall onto your neck, your chest, before drawing back and leaving you with not a trace, befitting of the shadow that haunts his name.

47. Harm ...Or so you think, until you wake up in the morning and notice a stark purple bruise on the swell of your breast - right there where his teeth had been.

XVI. Reader’s Choice

10. Learn You’re a quick study, he praises you on a sharp intake of breath, curling his fingers in your hair, and though your face reddens, you push the covers away so he can see you swallow him down.

22. Mad All it takes is a kiss, openmouthed and filthy - or a touch, over your clothes to all your sensitive spots, and you’re left trembling and quaking and mad with desire.

46. Drive His hands steering, your hair in the wind - no matter if it’s by horse or by car, four hundred years ago or now, you loved him back then as you love him today.

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rocproductions · 6 years

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FFXV Small Secret Santa Gift

I’m pushing it for time, but it’s still the 23rd here, so here goes!

This fanfic is for @soundlolgic, one of their requests was for a present swap fic, and they like Cor/Nyx, so... :D

I hope you enjoy! :D :D To all who celebrate something this time of year, have a wonderful holidays! <3

Title: Good Night and Joy be to you all Length: 1563 words (sorry, I haven’t written a short fic in my life, and I was apparently unable to start now) Pairing: Cor/Nyx

Summary: The Winter Solstice is coming up, and Cor forgot about the whole darn thing until Monica reminded him. But Nyx hasn’t said anything either, so maybe it isn’t the biggest deal? (Men.)

“It’s the winter solstice in a few days, Cor; have you gotten something for your better half yet?” Monica asked, her smile knowing, and Cor froze.

Shit.

He had forgotten all about it. Cor thought about it as he finished his paperwork for the day, but couldn’t for the life of him think of a damned thing. Nyx wasn’t big on material goods, minus the occasional keepsake; he wasn’t one for fashion, he already had a phone, and his precious kukri were of world-class make. Sword polish was just boring, and while clothing was practical, that was also...too easy. The few people he had traditionally gifted to got easy to purchase consumables: a fine liquor of some sort for both Regis and Clarus, something that could strip paint for Cid, Monica got the fancy fruitcake she liked plus a cat toy for her fuzzballs, a little cake for Dustin, usually something useful sent by hunter out to Auburnbrie, gift cards for the rest of the Crownsguard-

He was pretty predictable. However, he now had a boyfriend. He was an adult in an adult relationship, and while he knew that Nyx would just laugh it off if he didn’t get him anything, Cor knew he’d feel horrible.

So.

Another day passed, and he still hadn’t figured it out. Nyx had been silent on the subject, and as far as Cor could tell, things were continuing as per usual. Maybe Nyx didn’t celebrate? Maybe he just didn’t care? Cor didn’t know. If he had actually opened his big mouth and asked at some point all of his stewing could have been avoided, but he was an idiot. He knew this, and Monica’s drily amused looks told him that she thought much the same.

Cor generally accepted that he made a good figurehead for the organization, and Nyx liked to say he looked great on the magazine covers, but honestly, Monica and Dustin kept the damn Crownsguard from crumbling under his stupidity sometimes.

He was just wrapping up an eval when he loaded up the news on his computer, something in the corner of the screen drawing his eye.

He would never admit that a popup advertisement on his computer gave him the idea for Nyx’s solstice gift.

Twenty minutes later he had a little inclusive vacation package booked at Galdin Quay for the twenty-second through the twenty-fourth, returning on the twenty-fifth, and he even had the forethought to call down to Altius and Ostium to verify that he could safely kidnap Nyx on those days before letting his head fall to his desk with a sigh.

A vacation actually sounded rather nice.

The morning of the twenty-first started much the same as usual, with Cor and Nyx moving around each other as they got ready for work. Nyx totally got a grope or two in while Cor managed to corner Nyx for a quick make-out session by the door before they left, so it was a good start to the day. Work was the same as usual, he was still wrapping up end-of-year evaluations, and what felt like half the office was out on holiday vacations of their own. Lunch was a boring premade salad, which did nothing to fill him up as he continued to slog through his paperwork.

“Happy Solstice, Cor, got any plans for the evening?” Monica said, her voice chipper and pleasant, and Cor hadn’t even noticed the door open.

Stupid paperwork.

“Nothing I know of for tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll be gone, though, so call me only if it’s an emergency.”

Monica waved away his concerns, then turned to leave. “Have a wonderful trip, marshal, you two deserve some time to yourselves.” The woman was gone before he could even reply, and he returned to his paperwork. A knock on the doorframe a few minutes later drew his attention, and he looked up to see Nyx leaning against it, a rucksack thrown over a shoulder.

What?

“Hey gorgeous, shut that down, we’ve got places to be,” Nyx announced, and Cor went into auto-pilot, saving what he was working on and wrapping everything up without a single word. He joined the Glaive at the door a minute later, Nyx hooking an arm around his and leading them from the Crownsguard offices and to the elevators in silence. It wasn’t until they were walking out of the Citadel did Nyx finally huff out a laugh. “Not even a question as to where we are going?”

Cor shrugged, nodding to the guardsmen they passed as they walked towards the gates. “I trust you, Nyx.”

Nyx actually flushed slightly, then leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek (Cor ignored the scandalized cough from Guardsman Fortis.) “You know just what to say, don’t you?”

By the time they did the second transfer on the subway, Cor was quite certain where they were headed, but he continued to keep his mouth shut as he leaned against the small space to the side of the door, Nyx tucked right against him as they travelled on. It was nice. As they pulled up to the closest station to Little Galahd, Nyx patted his side and turned towards the door.

“Time to go.”

The station was definitely more crowded than he had seen it in the past, but Cor didn’t think a thing of it; it was the solstice, after all, people were travelling.

Then they reached above ground.

“Welcome to a proper Winter Solstice celebration, Cor, Galahd-style,” Nyx said with a grin, and Cor spun slowly in place as he admired the bright decorations adorning the buildings, then watched the spinning dancers clad in clearly significant costumes move to the vibrant music that filled the area; his nose took in a delightful mix of scents both sweet and savory, and his stomach rumbled audible despite itself. Oops. Nyx laughed, before leaning in and giving him a quick kiss before taking Cor’s hand in his. “Let’s go find you some food first, I bet you just had one of those boring salad things for lunch-”

Nyx pulled him over to a street vendor, buying him a sweet drink that made his muscles unwind and his mind relax in minutes, and Cor found himself smiling as Nyx sat him down at a restaurant a block down the road from the drink vendor.

“Ah, I think I should have fed you before getting you that,” Nyx snorted, before he signalled for a waiter. “Of all the people I ever suspected of being lightweights, you weren't even on the list.” Cor hummed, not bothering to dignify that with a response. He wasn’t a lightweight.

The meal was excellent, and Cor was able to enjoy the rest of the festivities with a clearer head as they traveled around; they bumped into several of the Glaives, including Altius and Ostium, but they just wished them a happy solstice before continuing on their way.

“You don’t want to stay with them?” Cor asked, but Nyx shook his head.

“This is a night for us, Cor,” Nyx said, his expression sweet as he pulled them into the dancing crowd. Cor wasn’t a horrible dancer, but he didn’t know the steps; thankfully, Nyx didn’t even wince as Cor tried to figure them out as they went, and they were both laughing as they staggered away a few songs later.

“That could have gone worse, I suppose,” Cor commented, leaning in and giving Nyx a kiss with a heady grin. Nyx wrapped his arms around Cor’s neck and deepened the kiss, which Cor was entirely on board with. After they separated, Nyx took a small box out of the bag he had been carrying and handed it over with a smile.

“Happy Solstice, babe.”

Cor opened the box to discover a candle, and blinked at Nyx, who plucked it out of the box before summoning up a lick of flame to light it before swapping out the box in Cor’s hands with the lit candle.

“It’s traditional, Cor; we are thanking the year for its blessings while welcoming the new one,” Nyx said, before meeting Cor’s eyes directly and waving his arm, indicating everything. “It’s been a good year, hasn’t it?”

Cor didn’t even hesitate, nodding as he watched most of the people light their own candles before turning back to Nyx, wrapping an arm around the shorter man’s waist.

“Thank you, Nyx. This is a wonderful gift.”

A few hours later saw them ensconced in Altius’s apartment (Nyx had borrowed it,) the two settling down into bed (Cor was careful to only have one more of those delightful drinks, and thusly didn’t need to be poured into bed.)

“So where are we going tomorrow?” Nyx said with a smirk, and Cor groaned.

None of those damn Glaives could keep a secret.

--------

Galdin Quay was amazing. Minus eating and other biological necessities, they didn’t get out of bed for two days straight. Cor couldn’t remember the last time he had been able to do anything like that in general, and certainly not with anyone else. It was heavenly.

“We should do this more often, Cor,” Nyx commented as he ran a hand down Cor’s side, and Cor sighed happily as he shifted and gathered the man into his arms, tucking his face into the side of Nyx’s neck with a little smile.

“Definitely.”

#final fantasy xv #ffxvsmallsecretsanta #cor leonis #nyx ulric #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #Cor/Nyx #soundlolgic

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nepalguide-blog · 5 years

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Everest Base Camp Trekking Cost and Itinerary

Everest Base Camp Trekking

Each adventure begins with a fantasy. My fantasy was moving to the foot of the most noteworthy mountain on the planet. I was motivated by the assurance of the most youthful Australian to climb Mount Everest at 19, the age when most consider young men and alcohol. Alyssa Azar endeavoured Everest multiple times before summiting in 2016, however, was turned back the multiple times because of occasions outside her ability to control. I thought whether she can commit each snapshot of her multi-year to pave the way to the summit of Everest, climbing to the Base Camp ought to be a 'bit of cake'.

Before I knew it, I was perusing everything there was ever distributed about Everest and discovered motivation from endless individuals that have taken the fourteen-day trek. I woke up contemplating it, imagined about it while working and hit the hay realizing that one day it would be me doing it.

There are also many popular Trek in Nepal, Every Trekker love to do:

Manaslu Circuit Trek

Dhaulagiri Circuit Trek

Everest Base Camp Trekking

Everest Three Passes Trek

Gokyo Lake Trek

Annapurna Circuit Trek

Tsum Valley Trekking

Mera Peak Hinku Valley Trek

Around a similar time, I partook in an Instagram rivalry for a $1500 Student Flights voucher and WON! For an individual that has never won anything, it was a blessing from heaven. I booked my flights to Nepal and exploited Student Flights Cover-More travel protection for any inconspicuous crises in the strong Himalayas. It didn't make a difference the amount I read about the trek beforehand, there were as yet five things nobody enlightens you concerning climbing to Everest Base Camp.

You shouldn't be the fittest individual

Many will be frightened into not going as they are made to trust you should be a long distance runner. In all actuality, you essentially don't. In the event that you can oversee strolling 3-6 hours every day, here and there the slope, while conveying a light pack, you will be OK! On the off chance that you are running with a visit gathering, watchmen will convey the heaps for you and all there is left to stress over is your water, bites and camera.

Your greatest concern is acclimatizing to a higher height and this has not been demonstrated to have any connects to how to fit you are. Indeed, the slower you go, the better your odds of getting up there. You don't need to be a competitor when you resemble me and need to convey your rigging yourself. I was surely not fit as a fiddle, however, have constantly attempted to go to the exercise centre somewhere around two times each week and maybe complete an intermittent climb on my days off. A month prior to takeoff, when most think to wrench up their preparation force, I quit preparing all together and still figured out how to get to 5364 meters above ocean level with 16 kg in my knapsack.

It is surely more achievable than you might suspect, however, don't dismiss your wellness through and through for an agreeable voyage.

2. Practice and refine your pressing great before you go

Accept my recommendation and don't pack in excess of 10 kg in your knapsack. Work on gathering your sack before you head off and gauge it with something like two litres of water in it. A hardest aspect regarding the climb will pack for it and settling on savvy choices on what to convey and what to desert. Trust me, I wrongly packed at without a doubt the latest possible time and wound up conveying superfluous stuff that I didn't utilize once.

3. It is more costly than you might suspect

I am certain a large portion of you intending to go on this climb have officially heard that it gets increasingly costly the higher you go in height. With no appropriate foundation everything should be conveyed up from lower rises by human power (I swear doormen are super people) or if the entrepreneur can manage the cost of it, helicoptered in from Kathmandu. You can hope to pay as much as $10 AUD for a container of Pringles in Gorak Shep (5164 m above ocean level, I got some to celebrate in Base Camp) or $10 for a cut of cake from the most noteworthy bread kitchen on the planet at 4950 meters in Lobuche.

Everest Base Camp Trek Cost and Itinerary

You will discover a lot of articles of individuals guiding you to purchase shoddy rigging from Thamel, however even that I didn't observe to be the least expensive on the off chance that you need to spending plan for two after months in Asia early. My accomplice and I spent over $1800 for both of our "shoddy" copy gear (I just required several things as I had purchased most from Australia), flights to Lukla (near $500 per individual return!) and allows for trekking and for the national park.

It is without a doubt better to lease your down coats and camping beds whether you are just setting off to the mountains for about fourteen days. In the event that you are anticipating going for a month (which we planned on), I would consider purchasing a hiking bed as it might finish up costing more to lease it. From that point, we planned $50 every day for nourishment for both of us, yet generally, we generally surpassed that limit.

Kindly don't carry 10 moves of tissue with you on the trek, in the same way as other exhort. There is a lot of it accessible to purchase for shoddy (regardless of whether you are on a spending limit) in the event that you run out. Spare some space in your pack for other, progressively significant things like moist disposable clothes that can be pricey. (How does $15 for a packed sound in Namche Bazaar at an elevation of 3440 meters?)

Nobody ever cautions you about the huge ATM expenses in Kathmandu. The vast majority of them don't work in any case, which is particularly irritating when you need to stop your trek as you are coming up short on money and the ATM's in Namche Bazaar and Lukla don't work and simply remove cash from your record without administering it. (Genuine story!) When they do work, you are just permitted to pull back around $125 AUD at once, while being charged $7 AUD in ATM expenses over the charges from your card backer. I lost, in any event, $100 to ATM charges, don't commit a similar error as I did and carry enough USD with you for your time in Nepal and trade it when you get in the nation.

4. There is Wifi available to be purchased all over the place

The vast majority these days hope to have wifi wherever they go and that incorporates the most elevated mountain run on the planet. Telecom organizations in Nepal have detected an extending market and are trading in for money big time on the advantage of web associations high in the mountains. You will discover passwords to interface with wifi arrange being sold on a "scratchy" in each teahouse en route. The 250 MB of information gets increasingly more costly the higher you go. This will generally be sufficient for two or three messages and to refresh your Facebook status, however nothing more. While paying around $5-10 for information, ensure your telephone doesn't begin downloading refreshes out of sight, in this way utilizing everything. I witnessed thusly too often.

I would prescribe purchasing a neighbourhood SIM card with an information plan from Kathmandu before your trek rather, as there is gathering up to around 4000 meters and at times even in Base Camp. You can likewise hope to be charged for charging your telephone and cameras, generally $3-6 every hour relying upon how high you are in the mountains. The majority of this adds up.

5. It's OK to utilize Diamox

Prior to my trek, I found such huge numbers of various assessments about utilizing Acetazolamide for forestalling and diminishing the side effects of height ailment. There are a few symptoms to consider before taking Diamox to help with acclimatization, the fundamental being deadness, having shivering sensation in fingers, toes and lips, ringing in the ears, loss of hunger, retching and languor. As these can likewise be indications of your body responding to a high elevation, realizing the distinction can be troublesome.

The medicine, nonetheless, can diminish migraines (most basic reaction from not drinking enough water), sickness, dazedness and shortness of breath. This together with the need to drink something like three liters of water for every day will influence you to go to the latrine a great deal. I get it's everything part of the experience.

Diamox works by diminishing the measure of hydrogen particles and bicarbonate in the body, in this way enabling you to inhale further and quicker while additionally taking in more oxygen. The expanded oxygen will at that point help with acclimatization.

I went the safeguard way, taking a large portion of a tablet toward the beginning of the day and half around evening time when I arrived in Lukla and an additional one when I felt as I was going to black out with a part migraine on my approach to Lobuche. Abandoning Diamox is something a great deal of "perfectionists" will instruct you to do and in the event that you have adequate time to adapt, it truly shouldn't be essential. Be that as it may, in the event that you are going in a gathering, along these lines keeping up to a specific timetable paying little heed to how you feel or simply need to ensure you have done all that you can to get to the top, taking Diamox as a precaution measure is the best approach.

The medicine isn't to be utilized when you as of now have side effects of intense mountain disorder and quick plummet is the main fix. Additionally, I'm clearly not a specialist and you ought to counsel your very own specialist to check whether utilizing Diamox is directly for you.

I trust you have discovered something fascinating and helpful from this article and my desire is that it will help you with your fantasy of climbing to Everest Base Camp. I might want you to realize that it's certainly feasible going solo and like the colloquialism goes "In the event that you can dream it, you can do it!" I observed Student Flights be an extremely proficient organization to manage and incredible with regards to getting great arrangements on flights. From somebody who is accustomed to picking the least expensive choices, you can't improve bargain without yielding your solace from anyplace else!

Having travel protection is basic on a trek like that if there should arise an occurrence of a crisis and despite the fact that I was fortunate to not utilizing it, it gave me incredible genuine feelings of serenity that if something would occur, I would be very much dealt with. Me, however, the entirety of my apparatus and camera gear was secured too alongside seizing and unintentional demise protection!

Other Everest Region Trekking, Similar Trekking are:

Everest Base Camp Trekking

Jiri to Everest Base Camp & Kalapatthar Trek

Gokyo Renjo La Pass Trek

Gokyo Cho La Pass Trek with EBC

Gokyo Lake Trek

Gokyo to Everest Base Camp with Island Peak

#everest base camp trekking cost #ebc trek cost and itinerary #everest base camp trek nepal #everest base camp itinerary

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grantplant · 7 years

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They All Saw a Cat

Last week, I was innocently skimming through Emily Nussbaum’s New Yorker commentary on the Girls series finale. I stopped watching this show a while ago—I liked it, and much of the material in early seasons resonated with me, but to a point. That point, or points, were Adam, the whiplashiest character I’ve ever hate-love-hated, forcing himself on his girlfriend and then Hannah repeatedly assaulting her ear with a q-tip. But I digress. I’ve followed the cultural zeitgeist of the show and Lena Dunham herself, and I like Emily Nussbaum, so I read the review. (You can, too.)

Somewhere in the middle of the piece, in a parenthetical no less, Nussbaum asserts: (You can’t be a writer without being entitled: Why else would you think anyone wants to listen to you?)

Record scratch. Oh, god. Is that possibly possibly true? Or rather, are any of the components that make up this doozy of a declaration? Because she’s saying 1) all writers are entitled, and 2) that the act of writing is synonymous with the belief that anyone wants to listen to us, and 3) that that unanimous and inherent entitlement is the reason why we believe that anyone wants to listen to us.

Before I put “Delete blog/set book(s) on fire” on my to-do list, I paused to think.

Couldn’t this (horrible! faulty!) logic be applied to anyone who ever created anything? A chef, or a painter, or, as my tech-minded husband said testily, “How about all the people in the world who feel sure that their app is the one that needs to be made?”

I admit, I spent five years of my life working at a nonprofit that encourages hundreds of thousands of people annually that they have a story (or perhaps dozens) to tell. This nonprofit has been likened more than once to a new breed of parent that believes and convinces their child that he or she is a special snowflake unlike any other, and is capable of—and dare I say it, entitled to--anything he or she sets his magical little mind to. (I am parent to a nine-month-old snowflake myself, and understand how terribly, seductively easy it is to adopt this mindset. No judgement here!)

I’m not now, nor was I ever, saying we’re all Pulitzer-quality yarn-spinners (Nussbaum actually is), but I genuinely do believe that we all have stories to tell that are unlike the stories that anyone else can tell. No one is exactly the same, and while that doesn’t imbue their differences with magic or the right to special treatment, it does add value to their perspective. This perspective allows each of us to experience, understand, live, and do everything differently from each other, and it also makes that uniqueness of experience unknowable to anyone else. That is, unless we decide to share it. And how do we share it, but by telling stories. That story could be painted, plated, coded, thrown on a wheel and fired in a kiln, or knit from dog hair into a dog sweater. Making something out of nothing is telling a story of some kind.

This storytelling isn’t new, btw. We are not talking about a tool for millennials to message each other disappearing videos, or broadcast their every location or opinion or achievement to the masses. People have been telling stories from the very beginning, with words and hieroglyphs and inventions and yes, novels and essays and, now, blogs and critiques and columns.

I am tickled by the thought that anyone ever looked at a cave painting drawn by one of our earliest ancestors and thought, “That entitled sonofabitch.” Maybe they did! Totally their right to feel that way, too.

As part of this snowflake-producing creative writing nonprofit, NaNoWriMo utilized the horrible, useful, sometime hilarious millennial tool for storytelling (and searching and archiving), the hashtag, specifically for a campaign called #whyIwrite (about, you guessed it, why you/I/anyone writes). I did a quick search (thanks, hashtags!) and not a single person wrote “Because I am entitled.” (But then who, other than Emily Nussbaum, is that self-aware? I’m looking at you, caveman.) My quick-search also turned up what I and my cohorts had to say on the subject back in 2011.

“I write because so many things are better read than said. Misunderstandings are too easy in spoken communication; we talk so much and so fast and with so many interruptions! Writing is a haven where I may sit with a concept, clarifying here and editing there, until I can stand back and say, “Here. This is exactly what I mean.””

Reading this makes me realize, I guess, that I’ve gone and made a leap of my own. I am operating on the (possibly gross/horrible/faulty) logic that to write is to tell a story of some kind. And while my above answer does address why I *write* my stories instead of, for example, saying them out loud or painting them (can’t) or cooking them (sometimes I do that, too), or coding them (nope), it doesn’t ask or address exactly why I tell stories (aka create anything, written or otherwise) in the first place.

We’ll get to that in a sec, though.

Do you remember the study showing that by reading literary fiction, we humans’ emotional sensitivity is improved? The NYTimes characterized the findings thusly:

“…after reading literary fiction, as opposed to popular fiction or serious nonfiction, people performed better on tests measuring empathy, social perception and emotional intelligence — skills that come in especially handy when you are trying to read someone’s body language or gauge what they might be thinking.”

I don’t know what middling impact or nonimpact my nonserious nonfiction (as opposed to its serious counterparts, or literary or popular fiction) might have or not have but… this is #whyitellstories. My stories happen to be true stories, and they’re not always mine, and so I have no idea if any of it increases or promotes understanding in this often baffling and misunderstood world. If not this way, though, how else will we gain any insight into what’s happening elsewhere to other people of other belief systems and capabilities and ethnicities and everything else that makes up our own snowflakey identities?

I’m not writing to be read, or telling stories to be heard or listened to. The writing-down part is ultimately a selfish act; a putting together of disparate pieces to make something comprehensible in times of confusion. I am using the written word to make sense of, well, everything. So why do I share it? Why tell the story instead of logging it away, sussed but otherwise unconsumed? In the hopes that maybe I’m not alone in my wonderings or bafflement. That anyone else who ever felt confused or amazed or humbled or edified might see the way it happened over here, through this lens of experience, and might think that even though it was different for them, maybe it was also the same.

Even though I think hope Emily Nussbaum is wrong, there’s more than enough room for her opinion and perspective and… were we to meet over a Cinnabon or a tub of hummus, she may come to believe I am the wrong one, indeed the most entitled nonserious-nonfiction writer she ever did meet. We’re probably both right. And wrong. And there is plenty of room for both versions or some combination therein.

As I am often guilty of doing, because I ultimately believe that all of life can be explained by children’s books (which further reinforces my view on the value of storytellers, I guess) I will bring this back to a book that we, the Grant-Bowens, have been reading a lot. They All Saw A Cat is about a cat, as seen by a child, a dog, a flea, a bird, and a bat, among other animals, until, in the end, it sees itself. Each creature sees this cat differently, based on its size, perception, biology, and biases. The way the cat sees itself is the only way it could ever perceive itself in the world, unless that child, dog, flea, bird, bat, and anything else so inclined, shares the way *it* sees the cat. This not only changes the way the cat sees itself, but also the cat’s understanding of the way a child, dog, flea, bird, and bat sees things, too.

I used to think this should be required reading for all nonfiction writers, and then expanded it to all writers, period. Increasingly, I’m thinking it goes on the syllabus for life.

We all see the cat. But how do we see it? And more importantly, why do we see it as we do? If no one else pipes up to answer the question, we will only ever see it one way—our own way--and worse, never realize that there are other ways; ways we can’t even imagine.And they are all weird and surprising and beautiful, and they are all true.

The entitlement of the writer, or the solipsism a writer-free world. I know which I fear more. And so I hit ‘publish.’ Emily, send me your address and I’ll send you a book. It’s about a cat.

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smartphone-science · 5 years

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The novel Good Omens was first published in 1990. And this is my original copy.

Unless you’ve been asleep for the last few months (if so, are you a snake, by any chance….?) you will have noticed that there’s recently been a very popular television adaptation of the much-loved book by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman: Good Omens.

I have always loved this book, and I love the TV show even more. Obsessed? Erm. Anyway. Can I wring a science-themed post for my blog out of a story about a demon and an angel saving the world from Armageddon? Of course I can.

Here goes. There’s a moment in the second episode of the TV adaptation* when the demon, Crowley, is driving his Bentley very, very fast, and the angel, Aziriphale, says: “You can’t do ninety miles an hour in central London!”

This caused a bit of confusion for some non-British viewers§. Not the idea that you can’t, or at least shouldn’t, drive extremely fast in a built-up area, but rather the fact that Britain is a European country, isn’t it? At least, for the moment. Don’t the Europeans use the metric system? Shouldn’t he have said one hundred and forty-five kilometres per hour?

So you thought Brits used the metric system? Haha.

I mean, okay, we do. Scientists in particular are quite keen on it. But we also use imperial units really quite a lot. And coincidently, this all arose just after the politician Jacob Rees-Mogg issued a style guide to his staff declaring that they must “use imperial measurements” — which at first sounds typically Victorian of Rees-Mogg, but actually… if your aim is to at least try to be consistent, he might, just might, have a point…

Allow me to try to explain.

Firstly, a little clarification: the “metric system” is an internationally-recognised decimalised system of measurement, that is, a system where units are related by powers of ten. I stress this because “metric” and “decimal” do not mean quite the same thing, which is relevant when it comes to money. The metric system takes base measurements — kilograms, metres and so on — and says that all versions of those measurements can only be connected by powers of ten, and must not introduce new conversion factors. So, grams (1000th of a kilogram) and tonnes (1000 kilograms) are both metric, but a pound (0.454 of a kilogram) is not. Scientists know this as the SI system of measurements. Okay? Right. Let’s get on to the amusing cocktail of units the British have to cope with in their every day lives…

Britain loves inches.

Length The length of small-ish objects is measured in centimetres and millimetres. Sometimes. Except the diameter of pizzas, the sides of photos and photo frames, and the diagonal of laptop screens and televisions — all of which are almost always given in inches. Screws, as in woodscrews, are often given in fractions of inches. Let’s not get into jewellery, for that way madness lies.

Longer objects are measured in metres and centimetres, except for the height of people, which is almost always quoted in feet and inches. Chippies (that is carpenters, not people that cook fish and chips — keep up) tend to colloquially use feet and inches for planks of wood. For example, “I need a bit of six by nine” — meaning a piece of wood 6 feet long and 9 inches thick.

What do you mean, how do you know which one is 6 and which one is 9? You’d hardly have a 9 ft piece of wood that was only 6 inches thick, would you?☨

People do sometimes use metres for short walking distances, e.g. “it’s fifty metres to the shops”, however Brits also like to use yards, a yard being 3 feet. But that’s okay, because a yard is close enough to a metre as to make little difference to a casual walking estimate, so they’re pretty interchangeable.

Marathons are measured in miles. Shorter road races use kilometres.

The sorts of distances involved in lengthy travel are always measured in miles. The distance from Oxford the city to Oxford Street in London, for example, is about 55 miles. No British person would ever describe this as 88.5 km. Speed, as we saw in Good Omens, is thusly described in miles per hour (mph). For the record, the speed limit in a built-up area such as Oxford Street would normally be 30 mph, or sometimes (more and more frequently) 20 mph. Crowley was indeed driving ridiculously fast, but then, he has demonic magic to help him avoid both pedestrians and police.

Miles are also used for marathons. However, not for shorter running races, which are often described as “5k” or “10k” meaning, obviously, 5 kilometres or 10 kilometres. The cynics may wonder whether this is because 5 kilometres sounds longer than 3 miles, but I’m sure runners aren’t concerned about such vanities.

Is all of that clear? Okay, let’s move on…

Weight Weight (physicists: I mean mass, yes, you’re very clever, shhh now) of people is measured in stones and pounds (there are 14 pounds in a stone). Except for babies, which are little and are therefore measured in pounds, because everyone knows a baby ought to weigh somewhere in the region of 7 pounds or so, and if you quote a baby weight in kg, Brits have no idea whether to gasp, coo, or wince sympathetically.

The weight of food is mostly measured in kilograms and grams (or possibly grammes; it’s essentially the same thing) these days, although a lot of people still favour pounds and ounces. This leads to oddities, such cake recipes which call for 225 g of butter (half a pound). There are, by the way, 16 ounces in a pound, because it would be far too easy if it were consistent with the pounds/stones thing, wouldn’t it. Oh, and Brits have quarter pounder beefburgers in restaurants — none of that ‘Royale with cheese‘ business for us, thanks.

Larger weights are mostly quoted in tonnes, because that’s easy, but sometimes we use tons as well, which has the added amusement of sounding exactly the same when you say it out loud. 1 tonne is about 1.1 tons, so it’s not too much of a problem unless you’re planning a really big building project. Very large amounts are sometimes given in hundredweight, which sounds metric, doesn’t it? It’s not. A hundredweight is 50.8 kg, or 112 pounds. Did you think it would be 100? Yes, well, there are reasons.

Once again, let’s not get into jewellery. If we start on carats we’ll be here all day.

Beer, blood and milk are measured in pints.

Volume Small volumes of liquids tend to be measured in millilitres or (particularly for wine) centilitres. The exceptions are beer, blood and milk — which are given in pints. Wandering into a British pub and asking for half a litre of beer is guaranteed to cause everyone to stop what they’re doing and stare at you. As will asking for pint of blood, for different reasons.

Larger volumes are measured in litres. We’ve mostly given up on gallons, now that all the fuel stations quote their prices in pence per litre because it looks cheaper that way.

Chemists like to be awkward, though, and use cubic centimetres — written cm3 or occasionally cc just for fun — for small volumes of liquids, and dm3 (cubic decimetres) for litres. 1 cm3 is 1 ml and 1 dm3 is 1 litre, so there’s really no reason for any of this other than to confuse students.

Temperature Temperatures are mostly quoted in Celsius (aka centigrade, well, more-or-less), and most Brits these days have a fairly good feel for that scale. But Fahrenheit still gets rolled out when either a person or the air gets hot. A midsummer’s day might reach ‘100 degrees’ (that is, a little under 38 oC) and someone with a fever might also be described as ‘having a temperature of over a hundred’. Once it gets chillier, however, we’re firmly back to Celsius, because ‘minus five’ sounds a lot more dramatic than 23 oF.

In case you’re wondering, no, I did not choose this particular picture of a thermometer by accident.

In case you thought you were on safe ground here, don’t forget there’s also Kelvin (where 0 oC = 273 K) which is the SI unit of temperature and very popular with physicists. And, if you’re cooking, the mysterious ‘gas mark‘ — which is more-or-less unique the U.K. and which is based on some sort of occult formula. (Gas mark 6 is about 200 oC or 400 38 oF.)

Energy Energy is measured in Joules. Except when it comes to food, where it’s measured in calories. Actually, kilocalories, but everyone just calls them calories. There’s meant to be a capital C to help tell the difference, but no one ever remembers. This is all fine.

Pressure Are you sure you want to go here? Okay. FINE.

Tyre pressures are quoted in pounds per square inch, that is, PSI. Most British car owners can probably tell you roughly what their tyre pressures ought to be in PSI, even if (having learned metric at school) they have a somewhat shaky grasp of what either inches or pounds are.

Atmospheric pressures are usually quoted in atmospheres, because everyone knows what that means (sea level is one atmosphere, give or take). Of course, that’s not the SI unit, which is Pascals: 1 atmosphere is 101,325 Pascals, which is a bit unwieldy, so scientists often use bars, where 1 bar is 100,000 Pascals, and thus 1 atmosphere is more-or-less 1 bar, which, for once, is sort of helpful (no, really).

Blood pressure is usually quoted in mmHg

But then there’s also Torr, which arises from the historical practice of using mercury to measure pressure. 760 Torr is 1 atmosphere, while 1 Torr is 133.32 Pascals. Blood pressure, of course, was traditionally measured with a mercury sphygmomanometer, but just in case you thought you were on top of this, 1 Torr is nearly, but not quite, the same as the measurement in that case, which is mmHg, 1 of which is equal to 1.000000142466321 Torr.

Money British money is decimal (but not metric, for the reasons described back at the start there), but only became so in 1971. If Rees-Mogg has his way I’m sure we’ll be back to pounds, shilling and pence before we know it.

It’s all your fault, isn’t it, Crowley?

In summary…. Since no one in this country is going to give up miles any time soon, if you want to be consistent about units it makes a certain kind of sense to insist on sticking to imperial, I suppose. As much sense as imperial measurements make anyway, which is not much.

You do have to wonder how we ended up with such a confusing mixture of measurements. It’s almost… demonic….

* Page 51 of the original print edition, second line up from the bottom. Obsessed? No idea what you mean. § And possibly non-British readers of the book in the 1990s, but Twitter didn’t exist then, so any puzlement went largely unnoticed. It was a quieter time. ☨ would# you? I don’t bloody know. Apparently it’s obvious. # or, indeed, wood.

Escape Artists Podcasts are brilliant and you should download and listen.

Would you like to listen to the lovely Alasdair Stuart and me natter on about how utterly brilliant Good Omens is, and all the clever little things we spotted in the show for about an hour or so? Of course you would! It’s part of the premium content bucket at the EA Podcasts Patreon. Please do consider supporting Escape Artists podcasts; they produce truly brilliant fiction podcasts on a weekly basis. If you’ve never heard of them (where have you been?) why not subscribe to their free podcasts: Podcastle (fantasy), Pseudopod (horror), Escape Pod (science fiction) and Cast of Wonders (young adult).

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mixedfeelingsproject · 7 years

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Kevin

Where are you from? Born in Arizona, raised in California

How would you describe your race/ethnicity? My mother is black, and from the Caribbean. My father is white, from Montana. Both actually have a colorful genealogy, but I default to saying "I'm half black, half white."

Do you identify with one particular aspect of your ethnicity more than another? Have you ever felt pressure to choose between parts of your identity? I've never really been allowed to be one ethnicity or the other. Friends, family, coworkers and strangers have always arbitrarily decided what ethnicity I am. I spent a good portion of my life trying to distance myself from my whiteness, but found it much less stressful once I accepted both halves of my heritage.

Did your parents encounter any difficulties from being in an interracial relationship? Yes, but both my parents are aggressive and hard-headed enough that they wouldn't let it bother them. We could talk cultural differences, but they were adaptable people as well. Two stories that come to mind, though were: 1) My mom was a teacher for decades. One parent of one of her students was one of those Blacker-Than-Thou types, who calls people 'brutha' and 'sista' and speaks of 'whitey' with contempt. A real cartoon character. He tried to create a connection with my mom due to race, but quickly dismissed he found out she married a white man. 2) My dad was in charge of quality assurance at a number of military bases across the country. One base, to be blunt, was full of racist Southerners. The entire time my dad was on base, they'd throw out 'nigger jokes' or talk about this 'dumb niggger' they met or saw or heard about. My dad kept his mouth shut until he gave his assessment of the base's readiness. He, in front of the entire on-site staff, told them how the base reminded him of family. About his own family, loving wife, strong young boys, who were waiting for him back at him. All of them, he would pause, black as night. He then proceeded to give the base failing marks in all possible area.

How has your mixed background impacted your sense of identity and belonging? I've never really felt strongly as a part of a group. I remember, in high school, having the hard rock/heavy metal kids tell me to go listen to rap with the other black kids. Then have the hip-hop guys tell me I'm too white to understand the music, and I should stick with rock. I was told I shouldn't play soccer, since that is a white man's game, and I should play basketball instead. The list goes on, really.

Have you been asked questions like "What are you?" or "Where are you from?" by strangers? If so, how do you typically respond? I've been asked that so many times, for a while I would tell people "I'm a human being" and that "I'm from Earth." Ironically, that would upset the people asking me what I was or where I was from. One bizarre time, a Nigerian man shouted out to me, "Hey! Hey, man! You black? or you white?" Honestly, I felt like hitting him for asking me that.

Have you experienced people making comments about you based on your appearance? All the time! A number of my circle of friends find it unendingly hilarious to say I look like a terrorist. I've been told I must be good at basketball. I must be a good dancer/singer. I must have a large penis. Maybe the most unsettling was, in Japan, I was asked how many women I've raped before? There is, to be fair, a lot to unpack from the question, in regards to Japanese power and sexuality issues, but it still caught me off guard.

Have you ever been mistaken for another ethnicity? I've been mistaken for Middle Eastern. I've been mistaken for Mexican. Weirdly, when I used to spend more time in the sun, I would be told/asked, "You're not black, right? I mean, not really."

Have you ever felt the need to change your behavior due to how you believe others will perceive you? In what way? I'm proud of my heritage, but I'm sick of it being ignored or wrestled away from me. I sometimes find myself acting like the black stereotype, to convince people there is blackness in me. Conversely, I find myself often quantifying the aspects of my personality or interests that show I'm white.

What positive benefits have you experienced by being mixed? It's made me connect stronger with the things about myself that are related to my interests, my personality, my hobbies, and the like. I also find myself connecting with others in the same fashion. I don't care about race, outside of what it may mean to a person's history.

Have you changed the way you identify yourself over the years? I define myself more by my passions, rather than my appearance. This becomes especially true since, as I get older, I see my father's face in the mirror, but with brown skin instead of white. Since people are always so ready to tell me what my ethnicity is, I'll tell them about who I am as a person. I mean, they already decided my ethnicity before even speaking with me, so why waste my time and theirs.

Are you proud to be mixed? Yes

Do you have any other stories you would like to share from your own experiences? My ex-girlfriend had been dating me for a while before she came to America with me to visit my family. When we went back to Japan, her father, who was excited that his daughter might finally get married, suddenly wasn't happy about me being her boyfriend...because, while showing him pictures of America, she accidentally showed him a picture of me. He thought I was white.

My younger brother refuses to see himself as white, and refuses to see me as black. Any opportunity he gets, he tells me how white I am. I read comic books. White. I drink craft beer. White. I listen to heavy metal. White. I talk about an aspect of a woman's physicality that isn't her butt. White.

I went to college in Oregon. Pretty much all my friends were white. So, I became the go-to guy to tell them about black/hip-hop culture. What's a whip? Are chitlins good? What is Kelis' milkshake? The funny thing about it was that I had no idea. I made up most of my answers.

While having drinks with a large group, my friend referred to me as his white friend. The whole room exploded at him, saying things like "How do you think he feels to be called white?" and "That's awful" and "You're erasing his culture." I was on my friend's side because not a single other person in the room even considered that I was mixed.

I live in Japan, and the Japanese like to take words from other languages and make them their own. A lot of times, however, the meaning gets twisted or backwards. When I first came to Japan, "half" was a popular term, since a lot of celebrities, especially those considered attractive were mixed, and thusly termed "half." I would often tell Japanese people I am also half, and their immediate reply would be "so, is your mother or father Japanese?" It took me longer than it should, but I realized that, in Japan, "half" meant "half-Japanese." The concept of other races mixing did not compute.

It got old a long time ago, but, once they find out I'm half black/half white, people love to think they're clever and ask me "so, did you get your penis from your mom or your dad?"

#mixed #black #white #caribbean #identity

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geekade · 7 years

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Back to Hogwarts - Part the Seventh (and a half)

Here we are at the end of the story. Of course it’s sad to be here, but one thing rereading these books has taught me is that revisiting them is so much fun. I’ll certainly be doing it again and again. I think the next time I’ll be ready for a complete reread, my kids will be old enough to read along with me, which is a VERY exciting thought. And the reason it’s so great to keep coming back to this series is that it’s so broad, well-thought out, and inclusive. Ultimately, it is Harry’s story, and although his friends are closest to him, it’s the adults who have shaped the events around him (Dumbledore, Snape, Voldemort) who are as important to the story as he is. However, Rowling treats all her characters, big and small, as real people with full lives. Thusly, the conclusion of book 7 is full of hero moments. If this piece were the end of year feast at Hogwarts, Dumbledore would be handing out points left and right to everyone involved. Ranking the contributions against each other to assign point values is a little callous and I won’t do it, but everyone here deserves recognition.

First, let me give credit to Lee Jordan, for his noble efforts to keep the wizarding public informed. It’s nice to see characters who were not originally in the Order of the Phoenix getting involved, now that they are are forced to live in the nightmare the Order tried to prevent from coming to life. In addition, his radio show code names are pretty cute, though not as good as Rowling’s (I mean Xenophilius Lovegood is pretty next-level).

Next, of course, I have to recognize Dobby, for his brave sacrifice. The honor shown to Dobby in his final appearance is impressive and well-earned. He has evolved as a character and earned a noble death. I hadn’t cried for any of the deaths yet on this reading, but this is the hardest-hitting. Hedwig was an innocent victim. Mad-Eye was a brave soldier. Dobby is a reluctant, but noble hero. The time Rowling takes to allow Harry to process this loss makes the resulting character growth Dobby’s final gift to his Master. This event causes a shift in Harry’s perspective to a new, more mature view of the situation, the perspective of an adult who truly recognizes the stakes.

We’d be remiss not to heap great admiration on Neville GODDAMN Longbottom, for having balls the the size of quaffles. For real, Neville Longbottom is the hero of Hogwarts. The series focuses on Harry, Ron, and Hermione, because their mission is crucial to the main goal of defeating Voldemort. But Neville (along with Ginny and Luna) continuing to head up the DA for the protection of the students left behind under Snape’s regime are just as heroic. It is through his efforts that we see the heartening return of the rest of the DA members when the Battle of Hogwarrs is imminent (despite Harry’s deeply-felt dismay due to a lack of evidence about the remaining Horcrux, leaving only hunches to go on). And if keeping the DA going were his only contribution, it would be enough. But then he goes and proves his Sorting accurate by stepping to Voldemort. He didn’t know Fawkes would deliver Gryffindor’s sword, he didn’t know he’d have the opportunity to kill Nagini, he didn’t even know if the sword would be enough to kill the snake. He just knew he’d had enough.

From the Hogwarts staff, most deserved credit goes to Minerva BAMF McGonagall, for putting the safety of her students ahead of her own. Unaware of Harry’s presence, his quest, or its importance, her squaring off against Carrow is medal-worthy in and of itself. Likewise is Harry’s use of Crucio on Carrow in her defense (though his understanding of having to mean it for it to be effective smacks of Luke’s dalliances with the Dark Side). Her duel with Snape even more badass, if such a thing is possible, though I do wonder what might have happened if they’d had time to talk it out, without the threat of the Carrows eliminated.

To the Weasley Family, what can I even say? Percy’s reunion with his family is well-earned and made me cry, especially given his fear in trying to escape the regime at the Ministry, sheds light on a predicament that probably more wizards than we realized are facing. Not only that, but as an astute tumblr poster pointed out, he gives Fred his last laugh. Speaking of whom, Fred’s death actually killed me (I’m writing this from beyond the grave) and then Ron’s grief went and did it some more. Despite all that, the Weasley I most feel for is Ginny. Even though I am a parent, I wanted her to be allowed to participate and if not that, I wanted her to go all Eponine. It’s a shame all that promise went to waste in the climax. And don’t even get me started on Molly Weasley, taking the title of most awesome mom since Ellen Ripley.

The Unsung Hero award goes to Aberforth Dumbledore, for filling in the blanks in his brother’s absence. His revelation of the Dumbledore family history is enlightening, it shows Harry that Albus was flawed, like him, like the most interesting heroes always are. Aberforth’s contempt for Albus for leaving a mission to ill-equipped kids is probably something Albus felt himself. In a way, Aberforth is sort of a shadowy reflection of Albus, one that allows us to see the darker parts of the Headmaster that he wouldn’t want anyone to see, but that need to be seen, in order to better understand him. And once all the cards are out on the table, both Harry’s and those of the Dumbledore family, Aberforth chooses not just to aid refugees fleeing Hogwarts, but to join in the battle.

Reluctantly, I must recognize the efforts of Severus Snape, out of pure pity, for redeeming himself. Seriously? Lily Evans must have been super hot. After learning the whole story, Snape comes off as unbalanced. I mean, a girl rejects you so you turn to the DEATH EATERS? Not cool. Knowing his history makes all the sacrifice and struggle a lot less noble. In the end he’s more of a tragic figure, one mistake screwed up his whole life, which he spent trying (and I think ultimately succeeding) to make up for it by ensuring that Dumbledore’s strategy played out as planned.

And at last, we should get on to addressing Harry’s journey. The second half of the last book is really where we get into some deep dark stuff for his character. Aberforth’s complaint is that Albus left such a serious duty to a child, but undertaking the quest has turned Harry into a man. It’s obvious that any story that takes characters through their teen years is a coming-of-age story, the main characters literally come to be of legal age in the wizarding society in this book. But for Harry (and, to a lesser degree, his friends), it means a lot more than that, which was a new revelation for me. Harry experiences, addresses, processes, and understands some very adult situations and emotions in finishing his quest.

His exposure to Voldemort’s bloodlust for the Hallows and the debacle at Malfoy Manor provide perspective and allow him to grow. Just as the Dark Lord is consumed with collecting the wand, cloak and stone to the exclusion of all good sense, Harry is caught in his quest to stop him, leading to the mistake of using Voldemort’s name, which in turn leads to their capture, Hermione’s torture, and Dobby’s death (and, thankfully, the rescue of Dean, Luna, Ollivander, and Griphook), and these events lead Harry to a true understanding of the gravity of the situation. From this point, he has to make serious choices, including choosing not to race Voldemort to get the Elder Wand from Dumbledore’s tomb and choosing to continue to believe in Dumbledore. Both these choices reflect to the reader that when we don’t know what is right, we can only do what we believe is right, an important sentiment that can be difficult to impart through mere words. Seeing Harry’s choices helps readers understand how and when to trust themselves. Then, when Harry gets to “King’s Cross,” he is once again faced with a huge choice most would never want to face, and yet in some ways, it’s a choice we make every day: the choice of whether or not to continue living. Amazing.

Going into the Battle of Hogwarts, we get to see Harry learn about self-reliance. He’s always had his friends, but he’s at a loss when he’s separated from Ron & Hermione. This forces him to figure out what to do on his own. And, in 2017, with inclusiveness in the spotlight more than ever, I think the inclusion of the ghosts’ backstories is even more important now than when it was written. Not only does it provide the crucial information about Ravenclaw’s diadem, but it opens Harry’s eyes to see yet another marginalized group as its own entity. Once he is willing to treat the Ravenclaw ghost with the respect she deserves, he’s rewarded with the information he needs. The sequence with the diadem also serves to cement the differences between Harry and Draco, between Gryffindor and Slytherin, as if that really needed to be done. Harry’s compassion for the Slytherins gives his heroism complexity. And Harry’s catching the diadem as it falls into the Fiendfyre, as only the best Seeker could, is a nice little way of showing us that Harry was truly meant to be the one who stops Voldemort. Literally only he could have done it.

Armed with the new adult skills he has learned of late, Harry makes the choice to face Voldemort. Rowling allows us to get a clear vision of being terrified of doing the right thing and determined to do it anyway. This whole chapter feels like slow motion. Somehow the description of how precious Harry now realized the last moments of his life were could only have been written by a mother. And self-sacrifice is such a fitting move for a hero his age. For a naive young adult, it’s always the go-to solution. A more experienced hero is often able to think enough to find a solution that doesn’t involve him dying, but this resolution makes sense as what would first occur to Harry. As usual, it is Dumbledore, older, wiser, and more magically knowledgeable, who comes up with the greater plan, which teaches him yet another lesson, that there is always another way.

The ending of the story is just so incredibly satisfying. It would have been enough for Good to defeat Evil and let our heroes live Happily Ever After, but there’s more than that. There’s closure, as the theme of mother’s love returns with a vengeance. Not only is Lily’s love for Harry his salvation in his encounters with Voldemort, but also Narcissa’s love for Draco causes her to lie and protect Harry and Molly’s love for her children allows her to take down Bellatrix, arguably a far more powerful witch under different circumstances. And there is salvation when, in Harry’s moment of triumph, not only does he defeat Voldemort, but he tries to get him to feel remorse, thereby saving his soul (thanks to Dumbledore’s influence). And, having completed his coming of age, Harry is now able to make the right choice about what to do with the Hallows, as approved by his mentor. I do find the title of the final chapter, The Flaw in the Plan, a little ironic. To me, there’s a slight flaw in Rowling’s execution here, as telling the story from the hero’s perspective necessitates that some climatic events go unseen while Harry feigns death. I’m not saying we don’t know or can’t imagine what happens, but it would have been nice to see. But that’s a minor criticism of an otherwise near-perfect ending.

I don’t have much to say about the epilogue except to say that I’m grateful for it. Glad as I am for any story that respects the power of a good ending, those types of stories always leave you wanting a little more. The epilogue gives just enough ‘more’ for us to be satisfied. And I am. But last summer, there was a little more ‘more.’ Rowling collaborated on a script for a play that became the official 8th story in the Harry Potter ‘verse. And so I’m happy to say, our journey doesn’t end here, I’ll be reading Harry Potter and the Cursed Child for the first time and will be back again soon, one more time, with my thoughts on that story. See you then!

#books #articles

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drtanstravels · 7 years

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I just realised I hadn’t published anything for the entire month of March, mainly due to the fact that we haven’t traveled anywhere in the last couple of weeks. Today has been a slow news day, thus I’ve finished all of my work, and I’m waiting to pick the dog up from the vet from being spayed so I thought I’d have a look through the photos in my phone and try to piece together the final days of a journey that took place almost nine months ago. It will be pretty brief because I’m just relying solely on photos and the results of looking for something similar on Google. I’ll get Anna to have a look through this piece too before I publish it to see if she can shed any additional light, but I am really just tying up the loose ends of our South American adventure.

Thursday, June 30 We got up on time to catch our flight from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, in order to return to Lima, Peru, did the stinky drive past the favelas to the airport, but when we went to check in they had no record of us being on that flight. The woman at the counter apologised profusely, said it must’ve been a booking error, however, there were some business class seats available on the flight we were trying to board that morning, so she gave us a free upgrade as compensation for the hassle. Man, I wish that would happen on long-haul flights. We made the most of our luxurious five-hour flight and touched down in Lima. It was definitely nice to be back. We loved it in São Paulo, enjoyed Rio, but we definitely felt a lot safer in Peru.

Anna really loved the tiles at our new hotel

We caught a cab from the airport to our new hotel in Lima. Rio is three hours ahead of Lima so it wasn’t time to check into our room yet, but we thought we would try our luck anyway. We approached the desk and asked, but when the man looked up our reservation it turned out they weren’t expecting us until the next day. What a strange coincidence! To make up for their little boo-boo the hotel upgraded our room, but we would have to wait an hour or so for it to be ready. That wouldn’t be a problem, we left our luggage at the hotel and went to get a bite to eat. On our way I started thinking about what had happened with both the plane ticket and the hotel room and how both occurrences had been way too much of a coincidence to be possible. “Anna, you don’t think we accidentally left Rio a day early, do you?” She checked all of the bookings and confirmation emails and it tuned out we were still supposed to be in Brazil for another night and weren’t really deserving of those upgrades and improvements. I guess anything is possible if you believe strongly enough in what you are saying. That definitely explains Trump’s election, anyway.

The weather wasn’t particularly great, but it was still nice to walk around, checking out the neighbourhood, so that’s how we spent most of our first day back in town:

An abandoned house near where we were staying

Anna wants a gramophone now

Peruvian Food is so good

These birds were everywhere and getting up close wasn’t a problem

Anna HATED the crow statues

Nothing much, just walking the pig….

Not sure where that parachutist is going to land…

Dinner

…with a traditional, Peruvian band

Friday, July 1 We were staying in the Miraflores region of Peru, an area known for having cool shops along with great bars and restaurants, but it is also close to Pueblo Libre, home to the Larco Museum, described by Wikipedia thusly:

The Larco Museum (Spanish: Museo Arqueológico Rafael Larco Herrera) is a privately owned museum of pre-Columbian art, located in the Pueblo Libre District of Lima, Peru. The museum is housed in an 18th-century vice-royal building built over a 7th-century pre-Columbian pyramid. It showcases chronological galleries that provide a thorough overview of 4,000 years of Peruvian pre-Columbian history. It is well known for its gallery of pre-Columbian erotic pottery.

There are several permanent exhibitions at the Larco Museum, such as The Gold and Silver Gallery, a collection of crowns, earrings, nose ornaments, garments, masks and vases, wrought in gold and decorated with semi-precious stones. But that’s not what we were there for — Spending a Friday afternoon in Peru looking at erotic pottery could be both interesting and amusing so we went to see what all the fuss was about. They weren’t kidding either, the pre-Columbian civilisations of Peru were pretty damn explicit when it comes to their crockery.

Sorry the side is cut off, but you get the general gist

Don’t worry, this is not of what “erotic pottery” consists

Just sitting here, thinking of dick things…

Next on the agenda was Iglesia de San Pedro (Church of St. Peter) one of the more famous of Lima’s landmarks. We hadn’t actually planned to go there initially, but we were nearby and recognised it when we saw it. We attempted to enter past all of the heavily-armed guards, but it was too much of a hassle, so we decided to take a look at another cathedral across the road. Neither of us can recall the name of the place, but it was pretty cool, lot’s of carved wooden sculptures and a bunch of tiny caskets inside. These things were really small! From there we took a walk around the area until it was time to grab a drink and something to eat so we pulled up a seat in a bar where you sit in wheelbarrows.

Sights like this almost bring a tear to my eye, I always wanted a beetle!

Anna inside the church

One of the carvings inside

These caskets look a lot bigger from a distance

Barely as long as my arm

Looking at Iglesia de San Pedro

In the town square

Iglesia de San Pedro

Town square again

Beers in a barrow

Anna drinking something green

After a couple of wheelbarrow-bound drinks it was time for dinner, which meant going to ámaZ for Amazonian food. Ranked as one of the 50 Best Restaurants in the World, ámaZ is described on theworlds50best.com like this:

Amaz head chef Pedro Miguel Schiaffino may have learned his craft abroad but this menu is pure Peruvian pizzazz. With extensive knowledge of the Amazonian region and a tireless approach to fresh, traditional forest ingredients, the US-Italian chef adds wild jungle touches to classic Latin American dishes such as ceviche, tacacho (fried mashed green bananas) and cecina (dried pork).

This second 120-cover restaurant pitches such hearty gems as chorizo oil-drizzled snails, lime and raw fish, and garlic Amazon peppers. Drinks are not forgotten either, with the cocktail menu also featuring rare and unfamiliar fruits from the Amazonian larder. At once colourful, intriguing and democratic , Amaz wholeheartedly celebrates its food’s rainforest roots.

That sounded pretty damn good, especially those snails, so they were among several dishes we order and the snails, which were of the river variety, were huge! The ones we received came with some sort of roe and the egg we ordered was of some specific Amazonian bird served on a particular bark, but unfortunately I can’t remember what species either was. The menu changes all the time so I am unable to find out what they were. Anyway, it all tasted pretty spectacular:

River snails

Mmmmm…..

Maybe it was snails in those caskets earlier. I’m just glad there was no dress code

Egg

After dinner we walked around to find another bar for some Friday night drinks. All we really came across was a dodgy looking reggae-themed bar that was relatively empty. Still we made the most of it, but we couldn’t have a big night; we were flying out tomorrow.

Bob Marley statue with a real joint in its mouth

Don’t worry, they gave us the pen to do it

Saturday, July 2 It was our last day in Lima, it’s not a particularly big city and we had seen most of it, both over the last couple of days and when we were first here two weeks previous, so we decided just to spend the day wandering around, trying to find new areas we hadn’t stumbled across already. We also wanted to return to some of the places we liked the first time around. First stop — lunch.

I can’t recall the name of the restaurant, but the place where we went to eat did meat in an exceptionally big way, as well as bunch of local fare and we decided to make our final non-airplane-food meal count so we grabbed a bite to eat. Most of the dishes they served, especially the meat dishes, were obviously intended for sharing. We got some sandwiches, as well as some mixed pig intestines and vegetables. Always goes down well.

I wasn’t kidding about the meat

Part of our lunch

Anna and her meditating monkey coaster

For the rest of the day we just walked around, unsuccessfully trying to find new areas to splurge in and also for Anna to find a ring, just like she buys in every country we go to. She managed to find one, however, unfortunately for her it broke not long after. We also saw some cool street art and even cooler cars.

I had never seen a kombi-ute before

A beetle in slightly better condition than the yellow one

Smokey and the Bandit have fallen upon hard times

You know you’re getting old when this looks appealing

Before long it was time to return to Jorge Chávez International Airport and make our way back to New York City. We had had a great trip and some interesting experiences over our two weeks in South America, such as eating guinea pigs and shitting in shopping bags. I also managed to grow an excruciatingly painful pimple on the side of my nose that even hurt when my t-shirt brushed against it as I got dressed each morning and was still there with a head toward the end of September, regardless of how often or how hard I squeezed it! It may not have been necessary to stay overnight in the Andes in order to arrive at Machu Picchu, but it was worth any hassle to get there and take in that view. We already knew that trek through the Andes would be painful at the time but would turn out to be something we would appreciate in hindsight and that is most definitely the case. We loved São Paulo and didn’t mind Rio de Janeiro either, but I would definitely suggest that everyone go to Lima at some stage if they’re ever in South America, even if it’s just for the ceviche. Seriously, it doesn’t matter if you’re allergic to seafood, that would be the way I’d like to go. Still, we have so much more of Central and South America that we haven’t explored yet, so we’ll definitely be back.

Now all we had to do was to make our way through all of these wheelchairs to get on our flight back to the United States and hopefully scam some more free upgrades…

South America, Pt. 5: The Scam I just realised I hadn't published anything for the entire month of March, mainly due to the fact that we haven't traveled anywhere in the last couple of weeks.

#amaz #Andes #art #church #Flying #food #larco museum #Miraflores #pottery #scam

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