#Like I wish Toffee was that... well written?

[scooterpengie]

I'll take any excuse to draw Toffee 😔

(although I don't think Belos is properly dead 🤔 thoughts?)

Bonus scary version:

#The owl house #Toh #Emperor belos #philip wittebane #star vs the forces of evil #Svtfoe #Toffee #toffee of septarsis #svtfoe toffee #Handshake meme #My art #Could I have just done this with that handshake meme? Yes #Did I draw this anyway? Also yes #I love Toffee but ngl I am a bit jealous of belos #Like I wish Toffee was that... well written? #The owl house spoilers #Toh spoilers

[xerxeswitch]

My Bane Magic

(This doesn't cover curses, because the post would be way too long) ---

This type of magic has always came to me very easily from my experiences, both consciously intentional and "non-intentional." I once had a unhinged woman berate racist profanities at me over a cup of coffee at my work, (because she doesn't like the extra costs of 1 pump of vanilla, 1 pump of mocha, 1 pump of toffee nut, two extra shots, and extra caramel drizzle) and she screams how I parked my bike was offensive and it "triggered" her. (It was parked on a bike rack as its intended purpose like everyone else) I bitterly thought, "I hope someone finds your car offensive and just hit it." I performed a freezing hex with the intention to just keep her from bothering me in the future, but I still was hyperfixated; stewing on the idea of her car getting hit. Two days later, she got into a bad car accident. She came back with a broken arm but thankfully that's it. (Even then, I never wish death to anyone.) I also suspected my spirit Family may have had their hands on that too, to really make sure it works. I suggest anyone into this to be careful in general. --- As a side note, I personally believe that everyone's energy type is different and some people can perform certain type of spells better than others because of that. For example, some people's energy are naturally talented moreso in healing energy and they do well in reiki healing, but they need to implement far more effort or practice if they want to do bane magic. Think of the series Avatar, a natural born airbender having problems with earth bending. ... Take it with a grain of salt though. ----- So what is bane magic?

It's casting magic with the intention of inflicting or reflecting negative energy with the motive to harm. That can include bad luck, blocking someone's path...or well, leave it up to the imagination. Some witches do it because they want to get back at someone...which is 99% of the time from my observation -- and I'm no exception. My personal rules with bane magic:

Reflect on why it angers me. Is it really warranted or was my ego getting inflamed with something that wasn't intentional?

Was I in the wrong in the situation instead?

90% of the time, I use bane magic to reflect bad intentions sent to me back to sender.

I do my best to never hit first.

I do not believe in the Wiccan rede of the three, but I still believe that energy is transactional and something will come to you at a cost...and it depends on what coverage you get with the intent of the magic and the situation.

Is it worth using my energy on using bane magic? If not, I don't use it. I consider bane magic like spending money instead of saving money. The currency is not just energy...

I want to take responsibility and accountability of what happened if it didn't go according to plan.

I do not cast bane magic on someone who I live with -- I'll be around taking in that second hand smoke.

Use protection for yourself before performing any of this ... Types of bane magic I use: Freeze Hex - Some people don't consider this a hex, but I personally think it does due to the wide range of intentions that can prove to be harmful in a passive way. It's more of a gray arts aspect -- because it can be used to "freeze" someone's intentions or actions towards something. That something can imply stopping them from being harmful to me, or to even stop them from performing tasks rendering them stagnant. On the other end, I had used a freeze hex on someone with the intent to stop them from harming themselves. It really depends. I consider freezing hexes one of the mildest ones to use because of these spectrums. The procedure is putting the appropriate herbs, liquids (hand-squeezed lemons is great to "sour" it up) that brings out the nature of my spells, and something that belongs to my target. If that last one isn't available, I use a picture or their name written on a bay leaf in the jar. Poppet Hex - Poppets are not just used for voodoo, it's a concept of use in many cultures around the world and in history. This also can be a gray arts spectrum -- it entirely depends on what you use the poppet for, obviously. For hexing, I take a poppet that represents them and pin in needles for discomfort or even sickness. (This is consider a big hex if I really, really, really despise someone. I only ever did this once because they severely abused a friend) Or, I use a poppet of someone to surround it with healing, or calming energy instead. Again, it depends. Hex Water - This one is passive too. I basically place in my herbs, some nails, freshly squeezed lemon juice, sigils, insect carcasses, and my death and hex oil. (The death oil isn't used for "death" -- it's to end the cycle of the situation) I can use this as a hex protection spell where if someone wants to harm me, the energy in the jar will bounce back. But most of all, if warranted, I would take their names and place it in the jar of hex water and I shake it vigorously to get it to work. I even carry around a smaller jar of that water and I shake it near that person's presence if they warranted it. (Mostly if I come across really bad customers at my job. But otherwise, I let it go if they're just being a pain) Earwig Hex - This requires using a head of lettuce, writing someone's name on the lettuce, cutting a hole in it and place your message in it with the earwig, dead or alive. (Preferably dead) This is exactly what it sounds like: Go into someone's head, worm around and implant a message in their thoughts. I use this to prevent the person similarly to the freezing hex. This hex is credited to Kate Freuler -- the author of the book "Of Blood and Bones." (Highly recommend; it's my favorite witchcraft book so far and it fits my energy) Psi Vampire Hex - This one comes to me more naturally since I'm a psi vamp. True, I take vital energy from others out of necessity but this is to really pinpoint someone while feeding. It's how it sounds; I basically just zero in on someone's energy and feed. If I really want to, and if they are still around, I keep feeding until the effects take in which includes signs of fatigue, headaches, other body aches, and even sickness. Personally, I don't like to go that far to sickness. Sending a Spirit/Entity - Just how it sounds. You can place an offering to a spirit/entity that can be outside or inside your spirit team. However, they can always refuse the offer -- mind that and respect it. ---- Overall, for me, I always tell people who are interested to use hexes wisely. It's a responsibility. The number one rule for me is making sure if it's worth the risks and the cost. Sure, one can say that there's no real consequences or the three way law, but there's always a cause and effect. So, at your own risk, fuck around and find out. Or, you can take heed of the rules, protection measures, and self reflection.

#witchcraft #bane magic #bane magick #spirit work #witchblr #spells and hexes #hexes #use responsibly #witch #poppets #hex water #psi vampire #vampirism #freeze hex #of blood and bones #kate freuler

[spells-and-liquid-luck]

"Just Friends" - Weasley Twins x Reader

The twins tease you about which one of them you like

"I really wish my Nan would've packed me some sweets in the parcel she gave to me." You reached in your pocket and pulled out a piece of toffee. "Here Neville try this out." You said in blissful ignorance while the twins made a face that left you both confused. Nevilles round face was mortified and twisted in a way that looked painful. All he did was point to his tongue. Madam Pomfrey happened to walk outside from the green house to see you and the Weasley twins with your eyes widened in a shocked expression. "Fred and George Weasley, detention!" "But Professor Sprout, we didn't do anything did we Fred?" He said with amusement and a slight smile. Right George! We were just innocent bystanders. How could you blame us for doing that to Neville." "We didn't force him to eat the ton tongue toffee. Besides, it was Y/N who gave it to him." You gave them a shocked expression for just throwing you under the bus like that. "You sell them and make them! I forgot that you had given me some. I'm so sorry Neville!" You argued and said your apology with guilt written all over your face. "But, our dear Y/N, we didn't give it to him. You did." George pointed smugly at you. They both nodded in unison. Professor Sprout was furious at what happened to Neville Longbottom. "Y/L/N! Detention for you as well!" You didn't even try to argue back. "Yes, Professor Sprout." You said with your head hung low. "Now, if you excuse me. I will have to go escort Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. Explaining this to Madam Pomfrey. Oh, poor Mr. Longbottom. She'll have you fixed up in a jiffy." She exited off with Neville and his unnatural tongue.

You met up with Professor Sprout to discuss your punishments. "Gnome duty. The Garden Gnomes are back at the quidditch field, and you three will get rid of them. Hagrid will keep an eye on you. Now, if you excuse me I have some plants that need attending to." You groaned in annoyance. "If I wasn't thoughtless, we wouldn't be in this mess. After detention, I should check up on Neville, and see if he's alright." You said sounding guilty and remorseful. "Oh, c'mon Y/L/N. It wasn't even that bad. It's just an egorgment charm. All he needed was a reversal spell. I'm sure he'll live. It's just prank, that's all it is." George said with little to no remorse in his voice. "You both should really look at yourselves. I mean you don't feel bad at all?" They both looked at eachother and laughed. "I mean, we technically did look at OURSELVES. We are twins." Fred said pointing his hand at him and his brother like it wasn't an obvious joke. George made a gasp and said "WE'RE TWINS? Why didn't you tell me?" They laughed again. You couldn't help but to laugh with them.

Going to detention the three of you changed into appropriate clothes to help get the Gnomes out of the quidditch field. The Gryiffindor twins couldn't help but look at you. It wasn't your outfit, but you had looked a little different and attractive for someone who was about to start swinging gnomes around. George had to make a comment sounding a bit like gibberish and finished with a 'wow.' Fred pushed him a little and walked up to you "Fred, my dear brother. I don't think she speaks 'ahdjajjiskahs.'" You rolled your eyes and smiled. You knew at least one of them liked you, but you didn't want to say anything in fear things would get awkward. "Since when did you both want to flirt with me?" You teased in an innocent tone. "Oh c'mon. We've been friends since the sorting hat ceremony. We've noticed you. The changing. Your hair, your face, your attitude. Honestly, it would be weird if one of us didn't get feelings for you at some point." George stated in a matter-of-fact tone. You snorted but held on to one thing that he said. "My attitude?" You questioned "You're one of us." George smiled. "A Weasley?" You teased. "An enjoyer of harmless pranks." Fred nodded in agreement. You laughed and shook your head and was about to say something when Hagrid came out and stated "Let's get ter moving these gnomes out o' the field." The three of you began to work. Flinging the gnomes was kind of fun. Hagrid explained that it didn't hurt them, but made them just awfully dizzy. Still, you thought it was a bit mean to do.

After detention the three of you began to talk some more. It wouldn't leave your mind that they actually liked you in a way that was far from being just friends. "Both of you?" You asked suddenly. "Both of us?" The boys asked in unison. "The both of you have feelings for me?" You asked seriously. They nodded reluctantly. "We didn't plan it." Said George. "Obviously, you didn't." You rolled your eyes. "See!" Fred pointed at you. "What?" You questioned. Fred continued "You're hot, and you don't even know how you do it, which makes you even hotter." He sounded a bit whiney. "What a predicament." You sighed. "You both like me, and you have no idea who I have a crush on." You smiled. "It's not Malfoy is it?" Fred teased. You laughed and shook your head. "Hmm, I don't think I'll tell you." You laughed when their faces changed into a pout. "Well, which one of us do you like more." George said as he raised his eyebrows. "I don't think I could pick a favorite." You teased. "You both look and act the exact same!" You defended. Truth is, you always had a think for George. There was just something about him. "Okay, let's say me and my dear brother here ate some of this toffee, (George pulled out his Ton Tongue Toffee) and are tongues got all weird, which one would you help first? "Whichever of you ate the toffee first." You said quickly. George smirked at you and made you get a pinkish tone to your cheeks which was a dead giveaway to George who was looking right at you. You tried to turn away so he wouldn't notice, but it was too late. He walked closer to you and put his arm around you which made you clear your non blocked up and very dry throat. "Don't you think we should head to the Great Hall. I'm getting a bit hungry after all of that hard work. Aren't you hungry Y/N?" George continued to talk to you in a teasing tone. "I am a bit hungry, but I should see Neville first." "Eating would give you a cleared mind and you can have a better conversation with a filled tummy. Don't you think?" Fred said actually caring whether you were actually starving or not. "Yeah, I guess I should have some food first." You walked off and headed to the Great Hall and sat down in between Fred and George. Expect George so happened to be holding your hand.

#fred weasley #george weasley #weasley twins #hogwarts

[indecisivepsyche]

Tag people you wish to get to know better!

@lovely-english-rose @thedarkivist @tyizera

(You don't have to tag people or even participate! 💛)

I was tagged by @koscheyyy . Thanks, Tilly!!!

Relationship status: Happily single!

Favourite colour: Some shade of blue grey.

Favourite food: Shoot, my answer for this actually changes every time I'm asked it. I'll just go with angel food cake with strawberries that my mom makes this time.

Song stuck in your head: PWND by Two Steps From Hell. Their latest album, Myth, is very good!

Last thing you googled: Bandy bandy snake. One showed up in a fanfiction I was reading.

Dream trip: I would love to go to Disneyland Paris again with my mother to ride the Phantom Manor. It was closed for refurbishment when I had the chance to visit some years ago. I may have a slight Haunted Mansion obsession.

Last book you read: Dracula, this morning! Committed to Dracula Daily and am absolutely loving it. So many things I didn't know about the book!

Last book you enjoyed: The Nobleman's Guide to Scandal and Shipwrecks by Mackenzi Lee. I highly recommend the Montague Siblings trilogy! They're all quality, and my favorite is the second one because the main character is asexual! She sometimes has perspectives and says things that really embody the uncharitable thoughts I sometimes have to snuff out about allos, so she really is well written.

Last book you hated: Hate is a bit strong for it, but I'm halfway through Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead and I'm just kind of 'eh' about it. I think I would enjoy it much more if I was seeing it in person, as it seems like there's some good opportunity for physical comedy and cool tone shifts like when they transition to iambic pentameter. Also, Hamlet isn't my favorite of the Shakespeare plays.

Favorite thing to cook/bake: Maybe cracker toffee! I've been making it for a long while, and it's a simple recipe that I feel comfortable experimenting with every so often. Also, it's very fun to lick the spatula after you finish spreading the chocolate and peanut butter chips.

Most niche dislike: Gel hand sanitizer.

Opinion on the circus: I associate the circus with cotton candy. Been to it once when I was a little kid. Probably wouldn't these days without doing a deep dive into the treatment of animals and workers, and honestly I could do other stuff with my time and money. Excepting Cirque du Soleil, which isn't really your typical circus, anyway.

Do you have a sense of direction?: Hm, probably not a fantastic one. I definitely overrely on my GPS and don't devote too much brain power to memorizing streets. It's not absolutely terrible, though.

#psyche rambles

[readyplayerhobi]

On My Mind

; Jimin x Reader

; Genre: Smut

; Warnings: Phone sex, slight dom!Jimin, sex toy use, masturbation

; Word Count: 3.9k

; Synopsis: When you just can’t get Jimin out of your mind and you’re determined to be on his mind, even if he’s not there.

; A/N: This is the first time I’ve written smut in ageeeees. Sorry if it’s not the best or anything, it’s ended up longer than I anticipated but...it’s something to get me back into the swing of things :) I hope it’s okay! Please leave comments and feedback/asks so I know what you think!

-

Sighing, you flop back onto your bed and just stare up at the ceiling. Today is one of those days where you feel like you can’t be bothered to do anything, but it’s annoying that you don’t do anything. Part of you wants to drive to McDonald’s to get another toffee latte, but you know that if you do that then you’ll just incur the wrath of Jimin when he finds out you went without him.

The other part of you just can’t be bothered to move from the bed. Jimin was hanging out at his best friend, Taehyung’s, house for a few hours. You didn’t think they were doing anything in particular today. Maybe they’d roped Jungkook into going over too, though you knew he was busier than usual lately with wedding planning.

You adored the younger man, thinking Jungkook was perhaps the sweetest man alive, but you weren’t a fan of his fiancée. You’d go as far as to say none of his friends liked her and whilst you weren’t fond of stereotyping women, you’d never seen someone become the physical embodiment of the word ‘bridezilla’. 

Which was why he wasn’t able to hang out as much anymore, and also why he didn’t hang out with you as much. You’d never tell him what to do, but part of you wished that he’d realise she wasn’t good for him. It was hard though, because Jungkook loved deeply and fiercely, which meant it was hard for him to fall out of love.

So you’d support him as best you could, which meant not complaining when he’d declined your invitation to hang out. At least it wasn’t just you, because you knew that he wouldn’t have accepted Jimin’s invitation either. Though at least that would just be because he was busy and not because his fiancée had some weird idea that Jungkook might accidentally sleep with you or something.

A patently false idea because as much as you loved Jungkook and thought he was attractive, you also had zero intention or want to sleep with him. Not when you had Park Jimin as your long-term boyfriend. 

The two of you had gotten together in your last year of college and had been happy with each other ever since. He was handsome, smart, funny, kind, sweet and the perfect man who made you smile every time you thought about him seriously.

He also had a fantastic dick and knew how to use it, alongside his tongue and fingers. So you were a very happy woman with no need to consider the equally handsome Jeon Jungkook as a potential partner. Plus the fact that Jimin was not the sharing type.

The way your meandering thoughts has gone leads to your lips pursing into a pout, images of Jimin’s sinfully beautiful body popping into your mind. You hadn’t had sex in well over a week due to your period and then the two of you being too tired and uninterested in getting physical for the last two days. 

But now...now you were suddenly reminded of the fact that you hadn’t slept with him in a while. That you hadn’t had his dick deep inside you, his fingers playing on your clit whilst that beautiful mouth of his dropped wet kisses all over your neck and chest.

Whining to yourself, you clenched your thighs and pondered whether you should masturbate to get rid of some of the tension. But the thought of using your fingers instead of his had you pouting even harder. You briefly contemplate using the dildo that the two of you had made of his dick using one of those stupid clone-a-willy kits. It wasn’t perfect but it was the closest thing you have.

But it wouldn’t be hot like him…

Groaning out loud, you roll over and grab your phone. Unlocking it quickly, you open up your chat with Jimin. The last message you’d sent him had just been some generic ‘have fun’, to which he’d just responded with ‘k’.

It takes no effort at all for your thumbs to begin rapidly tapping on the screen, typing out the message that has you grinning bigger than ever. 

[17:52 Y/N] baby

[17:52 Y/N] baby are you there?

[17:53 Y/N] baby I want you

[17:53 Y/N] Jiminieeee, I’m hornyyyyy

[17:53 Y/N] Are you already watching the film?

[17:54 Y/N] Do I need to help myself? 

[17:54 Y/N] I miss you, it doesn’t feel the same

[17:55 Y/N] I love your fingers in me…

There’s no response and he hasn’t even read it, causing you to sigh defeatedly. Maybe you were being a little selfish, getting horny when he was with his friends. You weren’t a teenager or in college anymore.

Instead, you were a grown adult woman with a job, a house and a fiancé of your own. Which meant you could get horny if you wanted to because there was no one to overhear the wild sex you could have with Jimin. Only he’s not here.

[18:00 Y/N] Jiminieeeeee

[18:01 Y/N] :(

[18:01 Y/N] please

[18:01 Y/N] pleeeeeease

[18:02 Y/N] pretty pleeeease

You’re about to text some more stupidity to him but the messages suddenly switch to ‘read’. Swallowing, you sit up and hunch over your phone, gaze fixed on the lower-left corner to see what he’ll do. Sure enough, the bubble that indicates he’s typing pops up and you bite your lip in anticipation.

[18:02 Jimin] you’re annoying

Sure, it’s not the answer you were expecting but you didn’t think he’d give in that easily. He liked teasing you just as much as you like teasing him. Humming quietly, you wriggle on the bed and shift until your back is resting against the pillows.

This will be fun, you just know it.

[18:03 Y/N] it’s why you love me

[18:03 Y/N] I want you, can we have sex?

[18:04 Y/N] or at least, call me and talk me through it

[18:04 Y/N] I wanna hear your voice...feel you in me

The response comes much faster this time.

[18:05 Jimin] can’t you just get yourself off? You’re very good at that if I remember right

[18:06 Y/N] I want my Jiminie though :(

There’s a moment of silence before suddenly your phone starts to vibrate and Jimin’s name pops up on the screen. Quickly, you press the green answer button and press the phone to your ear.

“Babe, seriously? You’ve got a drawer full of toys, right there. More than enough to keep you happy.” Jimin’s voice is low, deep enough to let you hear the husk of hidden want behind his words. He might be trying to write you off, but you knew damn well that he wanted to be part of this moment.

No one liked seeing you whine and moan more than him, though he was the only one who got to see that.

“But it’s not you. It’s been so long since we last fucked and I want you so badly. Please Jiminie.” There’s a brief moment of silence before a deep breath is let out quickly, the air rushed and ever so slightly strained.

“I’m at Tae’s, you know that.” There’s not any censure in his voice and you know that you’d got him. Though you’re pretty positive he’s excused himself and is probably holed up in Tae’s bathroom right now, not wanting his best friend to overhear his salacious commentary.

Even though you have no doubt that Taehyung knows exactly what his best friend is doing right now. The two of you may have been together for five years, but you’re still more than happy to fuck, or at least get frisky. It was your cross to bear.

“I know,” You whine quietly, lips pursing once more into a pout and you just know he can hear it in your voice. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re totally not sorry.” Jimin laughs quietly, the notes a lot huskier than they normally were and you feel a shiver down your spine. With your phone pressed to your ear, it’s like his lips were right there and you resist the urge to sigh. You’re not a fan of ASMR, but you certainly are when Jimin’s the one doing it.

“You’re right, I’m not. Well, okay a little bit. But I miss you, Jiminie. What time will you be coming home?” Sighing deeply, you roll onto your back and stare up at the ceiling. There’s a brief moment of silence before you hear Jimin sigh on the other end as well.

“What are you wearing right now?” He asks and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself squealing. Okay, so he may not be coming home but it’s good enough for you until he’s back.

“I can be wearing nothing,” You retort, smiling at his chuff of laughter at your playful words but you’re already taking your clothes off anyway. “And now I am wearing absolutely nothing...nothing at all. Just me and the air.”

Jimin’s quiet before letting out a soft groan and you smirk, knowing he’s probably more turned on than he’d liked to admit. It’s been a long time since the two of you had phone sex but you’re sure that you can get back into it quick enough.

“Okay princess, are you all comfy on the bed?” An affirmative noise leaves your throat and you turn the speaker on your phone, placing it down between your breasts to leave your hands free to play. At his command, you begin to gently stroke along your body, letting your fingertips trail along the sides of your breasts before reaching the sensitive skin of your nipples. With your eyes closed and his voice speaking out to you, low and eager, you can almost imagine he’s here with you.

“Good girl, pretend it’s my fingers tweaking those pretty nipples, yeah? You’ve always had such gorgeous tits, wish I was there to see them. I’d suck on them till you make that gasping noise I love so much,” As he speaks, you dip a finger into your mouth before circling one of your nipples and tugging on the bud. “Yeah, that noise. What did you do to cause that, princess? Imagine my mouth on you?”

“Yes, god yes. I want your mouth on me Jiminie, want your tongue on me.” A moan leaves your lips without you even meaning it.

“How’s your pussy, princess? Is it wet already? Put your fingers there, sweetheart. Tell me what you feel.” He coos to you, keeping his voice low enough that Taehyung wouldn’t be able to hear what he was saying but more than loud enough for you to hear him.

You follow his command without complaint, letting your fingers trail down your stomach until you reach the place only Jimin has access to. Spreading your legs wide, your fingertips trace down until they’re dipping past your lips, the extra sensitive flesh there warm and swollen from your desire. A gasp escapes as you brush over your clit, immediately finding the perfect place to send jolts of pleasure through your body.

It’s only when you hear his tut that you remember he’d asked you to do something.

“Naughty girl, touching yourself and not listening to me. I asked you what you feel?” Jimin’s breathing is a little harder than normal and you relish the knowledge that you’re getting him a little riled up. He’s going to be insatiable by the time he comes home later.

“I’m sorry. I’m wet,” You pant out, letting your fingers move past your clit before sliding into your entrance to feel all the sticky slick that’s already accumulated. “I’m so wet, it’s your favourite kind. All sticky and thick.”

Now he lets out a louder groan before swearing quietly. It probably sounds ridiculous but he knows exactly what you’re talking about, that kinda wetness that you get when you’re so ridiculously aroused that you don’t even end up needing lube because you’re so into him.

“Shit,” He curses again before taking a deep breath. “Slip your fingers into it, princess. Get them soaked and then play with your clit. Think of me eating you out, laid between those beautiful legs with my mouth full of your gorgeous pussy. I’d dip my tongue into you, scooping all that beautiful wetness out and spreading it around your clit before sucking until you whine. Pressing down on it till you’re grinding on my face, begging me to cum with your fingers in my hair.” 

It’s almost embarrassing, how easily you visualise the sight in your mind. You can practically feel the soft strands of his black hair in your fingers, gripping onto them tightly as his tongue swirls around your clit before his lips encircle the engorged bundle of nerves. How pink his tongue would be and the devious look in his eyes as he glances up at you, stretching his tongue out to flick against the most sensitive part of you whilst keeping full eye contact.

A high-pitched moan escapes your throat as you keep your eyes closed, fingers pressing in a rhythm that you’ve developed over many years of self-exploration. It feels so fucking good and hearing Jimin talk you through it is even better, the rasp in his voice as he talks out his fantasy of pleasing you with just his mouth. And it works, because you’re whining without even realising.

“Princess, am I getting you all hot and bothered?” Jimin asks, his voice sweet and filled with an innocence he doesn’t have.

“You know you are.” Panting out the words to him, your chest jolts forward at a particularly good move of your fingers, catching your clit in just the right way to have you letting out a cursed moan. All your fiancé does is laugh.

“Get the dildo out, you know the one.” For a moment, you have to pause in confusion as your pleasure addled brain stalls out on the change of subject. The two of you have many sex toys that you’ve accumulated over the years and you wonder which he’s talking about, but then it clicks in your mind.

He’d got you the kit as a joke present for your 24th birthday, given in the comfort of your apartment away from prying eyes. It had been an amusing experience as you’d both finally decided to use it, neither of you expecting it to work. And yet…

Leaning over, you pull open one of the built-in drawers in your bed and rummage through the carefully stored toys. Finally, you find the one he’s talking about and pull it out, biting your lip as you do so. 

To the casual onlooker, it’s just a blue, glow-in-the-dark dildo. An amusing toy that’s probably more as a joke than anything else, but to you, it’s something entirely different. Because this is a perfect replica of Park Jimin’s dick, down to the grooves of the veins that run along it.

Jimin had been simultaneously impressed and weirded out by it, but you knew he loved the idea that you could pleasure yourself with his dick even if he wasn’t there. Which was no doubt why he’d brought it up now.

“I have it, it’s not as good as your dick though.” You whine softly, running your fingers along every vein and indent before tracing along the mushroom head of it. The sight of it, and the knowledge that the real thing is on the other end of the phone, have you clenching around nothing and shivering.

“I know, princess,” Jimin purrs and you wriggle on the bed. “But it’s good enough for now. It’s my dick, after all. Are you wet enough, or do you need some lube?” 

Dipping your fingers back into your pussy, you contemplate for a moment as you scoop up some of the slick that you’d produced before dragging it along the shaft of the dildo.

“I think I’ll be okay...I’m so fucking wet, Jimin, you don’t even know. I’m so fucking horny.” Whining, you desperately wish he was here with you. Though at least you could get some relief in the comfort of your own home; Jimin was stuck at his best friends until later.

“Fuck princess,” His breath is heavier now and you wonder if he’ll get himself off, whether he’s got his dick in his hand and is stroking it right now as he talks you through. “If you think you can handle it, then I want you to slide the dildo into your pussy.”

Jimin’s voice is even quieter now, each word laced with lust. It makes you clench your thighs, knowing he was just as turned on as you are.

Taking hold of the dildo, you shift on the bed until you’re in a more comfortable position before you use your spit to add a little extra lubrication. It’s not much but you already know there’s going to be no issue down below, not with how wet you are right now.

Stroking the shaft, you imagined that it was actually Jimin and could almost feel the heat of his dick beneath silky soft skin. Without hesitation, you move the dildo down your body until the head is resting on your clit, the coldness ruining the fantasy a little.

Ignoring it, you run the shaft along your pussy, twisting it around until it had an almost even coating of your arousal. Humming in delight, you use your free hand to move the phone down until Jimin could hear the slick noises and the sound of the dildo sliding into your pussy. You’re that horny that it’s audible and Jimin lets out a louder groan before cursing.

“Shit, you sound so good, princess.” He murmurs and you pant, body tightening on the fake dick inside you and enjoying the way he’s contemplating his life choices right now. Grinning, you decide to tease him a little and keep the phone close as you begin to slide the dildo in and out of your body, moaning out his name and writhing on the bed as it presses on all the best spots inside you.

“Feels good, Jiminie,” You gasp, back arching as you shift the angle and the head of the dildo begins to press on a particularly pleasurable spot inside. “Oh fuck, Jimin...fuck.”

Letting the phone rest on your stomach, your free hand moves to your clit and you begin to circle it in measured movements, giving just enough pressure to have sparks of delight racing through your veins. Back tensing, you lift off the bed a little at the combined pleasure and moan loudly, eyes tightly closed as your mind focuses on the dildo in your pussy and your fingers on your clit.

The sound of Jimin swearing softly just encourages you and it’s not long before he gets his head back in the game, his voice a little more assertive.

“That feel good, princess? You like that fake cock in your pussy? You know mine would be better, I’d fuck you so good right now. Nice and hard, deep into you. Lift your legs up onto my shoulders and pound into you, get you so fucking wet that you’re practically dripping on me. Just how you like it, right princess?” Jimin murmurs, his voice an intoxicating combination of sweet and intense whilst the endearment almost ends in a hiss.

“You can fuck yourself good with that dildo but it’ll never be me, you know that. Won’t ever math my dick, won’t fill you up as well or fuck you as good. Fuck yourself to a nice orgasm but you’ll never be full of my cum without me, without the real thing. That what you want? You want me?” A small part of your mind wonders if he’s jerking himself off right now with how forceful he’s gotten, but it’s swept away by the unbelievable pleasure you’re experiencing and the beautiful image of him fucking you.

Because he’s right, playing with yourself might be fun but it’s never as good as when it’s with him. You might get yourself off quicker but it’s always better with him.

“Jiminie, fuck Jimin. Oh fuck, fuck fuck, I’m gonna-fuck I’m-Jimin!” Your words devolve into whined gibberish as your fingers go into overtime, the dildo faltering inside you as your brain stops working quite as well whilst the orgasm overwhelms you. Jimin’s talking absolute filth into the air, encouraging you on and enjoying every moment of hearing you cum so hard that you can’t even speak properly.

Jerking forward, you let out a strangled moan as your body convulses, toes gripping the bedcovers whilst your calves stretch out and your shoulders jerk off the bed. The dildo deep in your pussy keeps the pleasure going on a little longer until you grimace in oversensitivity, letting go of your clit and just laying there for a moment. Closing your eyes, you could almost imagine that Jimin was right there, kneeling between your legs and staying inside your warmth to enjoy the post-coital bliss.

But it’s not him, so you pull the dildo out slowly and look it over with a tired grin. 

“Shit, fuck, shit. Goddammit, I can’t go out with this fucking boner,” Jimin mutters to himself, obviously not wanting to get himself off in his friend’s bathroom. “You have a good time, princess? Enjoying yourself while I’m not there?”

“Yes, but it would be better with you. When will you be home?” He’s quiet for a moment before sighing and you just relax onto the bed, blinking a little sleepily. You need to get up and go take care of the usual aftermath but you don’t have the energy just yet.

“In a little while, I promise. I hope you’ll still be wet for me.” Laughing, you look at the dildo that you’ve stood up on your nightstand. There’s no worry about that, you’re pretty sure.

“I think you should go back to Tae, it’s been a while. He’s probably wondering what you’re doing.” You say lightly, feeling fantastic and satisfied. Not as satisfied as you’d be if he was actually here, but better than you were. The craving was gone for now.

“Either he thinks I’ve just had phone sex or I’ve got a severe case of the shits, but I’ve gotta go. That was hot, by the way. Don’t get too comfortable though.” With that, he tells you that he loves you and ends the call, leaving you to stretch idly.

Glancing over at the dildo once more, you smirk and grab it.

It takes a few shots to get the right lighting and angle, but finally, you get the perfect picture. The tip is just slipping into your pussy, hidden by orgasm swollen lips but the shaft is perfectly visible. Alongside the streaks of creamy arousal the coat it, clearly still wet from your play and an obvious sign of how turned on you’d been.

Biting your lip, you send the photo to Jimin and just wait for his response. It’s almost immediate and you have to resist the urge to laugh at how quickly he’d typed the message out.

[18:26 Y/N] Sent a picture

[18:26 Y/N] I think there will be plenty left for you ;)

[18:26 Jimin] Fucking hell, don’t move

[18:26 Jimin] I’m coming home

#armiesnet #bangtansorciere #networkbangtan #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin fic #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jimin x reader #jimin x you

[writesowhatnext]

elementary, my dear weasley // fred weasley

Summary: Fred receives an anonymous love letter so he enlists his best friend to help him figure it out

Request: Could you write some fluffy Fred W x Reader? The reader gives Fred an anonymous love letter but since they’re friends, he asks her to help him figure out who it is? You can go anywhere from there! Thank you x

A/N: this is such a super cute prompt so I really hope I can do it justice

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: none actually, I think

As Fred walked towards you with a very serious look on his face, you regretted every decision you’d ever made, simultaneously. Why did you tell your mum that your cat had broken the vase? Why did you snog that boy in first year? Why did you dye Ron’s hair pink and let the twins take the fall? Why did you start your last Charms essay the day it was due? Why did you write Fred that stupid letter? Your mind was in overdrive trying to devise a getaway plan, if you avoided Fred now then he’d definitely come and find you at some point but then, at least you could be more emotionally prepared for rejection. How had he even found out it was you? You’d gone to extreme lengths to throw him off the scent.

In your panic, you’d forgotten to actually try to execute any form of escape plan and so there you sat, a sitting duck, with Fred Weasley charging towards you. You winced as he slammed the familiar paper down in front of you, familiar handwritten peeking out from between his spread fingers. You looked up from his hand to his face very, very reluctantly. And for some reason, he was smiling.

“You will never guess what I’ve just found.”

You frowned, watching him with a fairly healthy level of confusion as he dragged a chair to sit at your table. He ignored the annoyed looks from the Gryffindors at the table he’d stolen from and sat down, pushing your letter towards you.

“Read that.”

Your frown deepened as you slowly pulled the letter toward you. What sort of mind game was he playing?

Your heart beat loudly in your ears with every word you read: from the ‘Dear Fred,’ to the ‘With love.’, you’d reread and checked the letter more times then you could count and you could practically recite it by heart at this point. When you left it for him, it had been a good idea, now it just filled you with regret and a horrible sick feeling in your stomach. You raised your head to look at him and hummed, carefully watching his reaction.

“Hmmm?” he asked incredulously, snatching the letter back and staring at it. “I know it’s not surprising because I mean, come on, but surely someone confessing their love to me via the timeless art of letter-writing deserves more than a ‘hmmm’, don’t you think?”

You stared at him for a moment. All the while, he just looked at you expectantly. And then it clicked; Fred had no idea you sent that letter. Your mouth fell open slightly as you tried to figure out how you would behave in this situation – if it was someone else that’d been hopelessly in love with Fred.

“Let me read it again.” You insisted, pulling it from his hands. You didn’t read it; you just stared down at parchment, trying to figure out what you were going to do about it. He didn’t know it was you; that was perfectly clear. It would be fine. He never needed to know it was you, not really.

“Who do you think wrote it?”

Happy that you were finally asking the right questions, Fred smiled and rested his elbows on the table.

“That’s what I need your help to find out.”

“You want to find out who sent it?” you asked loudly. Perhaps a little too loudly, you discovered; a couple of people in the common room looked up at you.

“Do I-“ Fred shook his head. “Blimey, Y/N, what has got into you today? Of course, I want to find out who sent it.”

“Why?”

Fred could not fathom your behaviour right now – his fish impression proved that. Once he’d stopped opening and closing his mouth, he placed a hand on the paper, pointing at it with his finger.

“Whoever wrote this says that I am the sunshine of their world, Y/N.” he shot you a deadpan look. “The sunshine of their world.”

You made a face, your composure slipping, a horrible cringing sensation coming over you. “And?”

“And…” he stressed, rolling his eyes. “I want to find out who thinks so highly of yours truly.”

“To do what?”

“Bloody hell, Y/N, what’s with all the questions?” Fred huffed, making a face. “I just want to figure out who sent it – I have to talk to them.”

You wanted to know what he meant by that but you couldn’t afford to keep asking questions without raising some sort of suspicion.

“So how are you going to figure out who?”

“Well,” he said, frowning. “That’s why I’m here. George took a look and said that if anyone could help me, it was you. So, dear, dear Y/N, any ideas?”

You paused for a moment, confused. Why would George think you knew who wrote it? Sure, you knew a fair few people but you were hardly Sherlock sodding Holmes. It was probably a coincidence, you thought. Though, the strange nervous feeling in your stomach lingered.

“Well,” you leant your chin on your elbow. “Tell me how you found it.”

The smile that lit up his face at the promise of your help was almost enough to quash your guilt at the fact that this definitely, probably, certainly qualified as lying to him.

You barely listened as he talked you through his morning routine. He’d woken up, late as usual, and thrown on his robes because he thought it was Monday – it was not. When he was rifling through them to find some Helium Toffees that he swore – though you were thoroughly unconvinced - he didn’t plan to use on you, he found a folded-up section of parchment. And, the first thing he did was smell it.

“You what?” you asked, definitely now listening. “What did you do that for?”

“To see where it came from.” He replied as if it were obvious.

You frowned at him, lost for words. Not only had you not disguised any sort of smell when you’d written it, you were also kind of worried about Fred’s mental state that that was his first thought.

“So, what did it smell like then?”

“Nothing, really.”

You stared at him for a moment. You were exasperated, for sure, but you couldn’t help the way your stomach flopped, replacing it with fondness.

“Well given that very promising lead didn’t pan out-“

“Oi!” Fred poked you in this side, earning a hideously loud spout of laughter from you. You grumbled as he smiled proudly.

“What’s next?”

“Well,” he began, leaning forward as if revealing the biggest conspiracy to sweep the wizarding world since, well, Harry Potter. “I figure whoever it is has to be close to me, right? To get it in my robes and all.”

You tried to fault his logic, but you’d forgotten, with how horrible of a student he could be, that Fred was actually a genius when he wanted to be. You just nodded.

“I don’t know where to go from there though: I don’t recognise the handwriting; I don’t know when they put it in there; I can’t write one back-“

“You’d write back?” You tried to hide how breathless the thought made you.

“It’s like you know nothing about letter-writing etiquette.”

If only he knew.

Forgetting that you were trying not to be helpful, lest he discovered that you were his secret admirer, you were accidentally helpful.

“Didn’t you go through your pockets before you changed last night to find that chocolate frog Ron stole?”

“So, Ron stole that frog.” he turned to you, smirking. You remembered in that second that you’d promised Ron that you’d keep that information to yourself.

“What? Who told you that?”

He narrowed his eyes as you painted the most innocent expression you could on your face.

“But yeah, you’re right. So what?”

“So what?” This boy. “So, they must’ve put it in your robes after that.”

His face lit up.

“Okay so, who did you see after that?”

Finding his concentrated frown much cuter than you should’ve, you were almost disappointed when he started talking.

“George, Ron, You-“ you were both sad and happy that he didn’t pause. “Hermione?”

You shook your head, making a face. He nodded in agreement.

“Harry, Lee, Angelina. Do you think it was Angelina?”

You stomach sank at his excitement. “Could be.”

He smiled, leaning back on his chair, pleased with himself.

“So, what are you gonna do?”

He seemed surprised at your question as if he’d forgotten what the point of your detective work was.

“It’s still lunchtime, right?”

You looked at the clock on the wall. “Just about.”

“Come on then, my little detective.”

As you followed him to the Great Hall, you tried to ignore the way your heart jumped at the nickname.

When you reached the Hall, Angelina was sat down, surrounded by her friends. George was also there, probably late from his detention with Snape.

“Alright, George?” Fred said, nudging his shoulder against his brother’s. George looked at you, and then at Fred. Something was strange about his stare.

“Why do you look so happy?” George asked, crossing his arms.

“Y/N and I have cracked the case!”

“Oh, really?” When George looked at you almost pointedly, a lump formed in your throat. He knew.

“And I’m going to go seal the deal – wish me luck, Georgie.”

As Fred walked rather confidently over to Angelina, you and George stood shoulder to shoulder. In silence. It was eating you alive. Your mind swam with things to say: explanations, excuses, ways to make a clean exit.

“I didn’t think you had it in you.” He said, his tone light and a smile on his lips as he watched his brother strike up a conversation. Out of all the things he could’ve said, you hadn’t expected that. You looked up at him and he nodded over to Angelina’s confused face. “Letting him trot over there thinking Angelina wrote that letter? Very wicked.”

You paused before deciding you had nothing left to lose.

“What was I supposed to do? Tell him?”

“Yes.” George said as if it was obvious – his expression a carbon copy of Fred’s.

“He would hate me, George.”

He laughed, throwing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. You wondered what about your misfortune he found so funny. “My sweet, sweet Y/N,” you both watched as Angelina’s friends burst into laughter. You felt even more guilty at Fred’s discouraged expression. “Fred could never hate you.”

As Fred returned to you, tail between his legs and ego wounded slightly, he didn’t even notice George’s arm around you. He just frowned, nodding.

“At least that narrows down our suspect pool.” Then he turned to George. “Up for helping us figure out the mystery?”

George let go of your shoulder, making apologetic gestures as he backed away.

“Sorry mate, still got detention.”

Fred made a face before turning to you. George winked as he left the Hall in the opposite direction of the dungeon.

“So, who’s left?”

You were worried about how short the list of possible authors was getting and George’s words were echoing in your head.

“Fred,” you started, tilting your head to the side. “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” he asked, frowning and crossing his arms.

“Well, I-“

You cursed yourself.

“So, I-“

“What I’m trying to say is that I…”

You closed your eyes and sighed.

“Basically this is really hard to say and I really don’t know what to do if you hate-”

“You wrote the letter?”

Your head shot up to see Fred, smirking with an eyebrow raised.

“I can’t believe you’d send me off to go ask Angelina whether she wrote it. Blimey, love, you’re more ruthless than I thought; should be a bloody Slytherin. It’s a good job I figured it out before I plundered over there like a right git.”

You blinked. What was happening? Why was Fred smiling? How did he know?

“You knew all along?”

He just smiled.

“Why- Why did-“ you stopped, mouth open. “Why did you make me help you?”

“Bit of fun,” he shrugged, pressing his lips together. “Wanted you to tell me.”

You placed your hand to your forehead, groaning. You must look like a right idiot.

“How did you know?”

“Smelt like you, didn’t it.”

You frowned, moving your head.

“You pay attention to what I smell like?”

“I pay attention to everything about you.”

He placed his hands on your hips. You were sure you’d short-circuited.

“The way you smell… the face you make when you lie… how suspicious you look when you’re messing with my robes.”

It was impossible, you thought, to be more embarrassed than you were in that exact moment.

“You saw me put it in there.”

“I saw you put it in there.” He said, pulling you into him. “Was quite pleased when I read it, actually, I’ve fancied you for years.”

“You’re lying.”

You placed your hands very tentatively on his chest, his soft jumper underneath your palms.

“There’s only one liar here.”

You made a face. He looked over your head, pursing his lips before looking down again.

“The sunshine of your world, ay?”

“Shut up.” You groaned, cringing again. He laughed, his whole body shaking. “What does this mean?”

“Well,” he moved his hand to the small of your back. “I was hoping it meant I could kiss you.”

You nodded, again at a loss for words.

“That alright with you?”

You just nodded.

#writing #imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter

[winterlovesong1]

As we approach the return of the show, I made a wish list of sorts - I’m sure many have their own but this is mine lol

Bughead related things I need in 5B:

A scene in the Blue and Gold - it could be any scene but if one thing led to another and it became that kinda scene I wouldn’t be disappointed 😏

Betty wearing Jughead’s glasses - please ❤️

An explanation of Jughead’s tattoos - at least the one that is clearly over his heart - and preferably this explanation is to Betty and not just in some off handed comment to another character.

More information on Betty’s time in captivity- does she have scars? Will we get an explanation of those if she does? What about her nightmares? Will Jughead be witness to one? I know I’ve written about Jug witnessing her nightmares several times and so many of my favorite fic writers have as well - please let it be canon ❤️

Many scenes of them at school together - maybe even a few whispers from students about said teachers after a few episodes where there are some longing stares and the students are just like “what’s up with Mr. Jones and Ms. Cooper?”

Betty wearing the S shirt again as a call back to so many times - but maybe a specific call back to 5.04 - with a “is that ok?” And him changing the line saying “of course” or “it was always yours anyway”

More information on Jughead’s novel - I need details ie dedication - what is it? I think I’ve written what it could say in three fics now lol

More Toffee Cooper - this cat better be alive.

A hug - like a long, drawn out hug where we get to see both parties reactions

Crying in front of one another - I need tears whether it’s because of the breakup or their shared traumas or for some outside reason, I need the tears and the subsequent comfort afterwards

Line call backs to “I never stopped loving you” ; “hey Juliet” ; “I know you’d be the one to find me” ; “you’re brilliant” ; “stay” ; “also...”

#winter’s wish list #bring on 5b #bughead things #winter's rambles

[popculturebuffet]

Prince of Wishful Thinking (Tom Retrospective): Tough Love or The True Monster

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to Prince of Wishful Thinking, what is usually my look at the life and times of Tom Lucitor but since I NEED to cover the season 3 finale as vital part of Tom’s story, we’re taking one last look at the tragic tale of Meteora Butterfly before the finale sends these two stories hurtling together. You’d THINK this would be the last detour of this already sizeable arc.. and you’d be wrong as i’ll also be covering Kelly’s World, as I feel it’s vital for both “Curse of the Blood Moon” and “A Boy and his hard to remember title”, as it provides extra context for Marco’s anguish in the former.. and provides extra evidence for why a CERTAIN MOMENT in the latter pisses me off to no end.. seriously even when as universe dies and the only people left are Frankllin Richards and Galactus, there will still be a little note reading “Fuck how they treated Kelly” written in all caps so Galactus remembers to yell it. 

So sadly that DOES mean it’s been three entries in this retrospective in a row that either haven’t feature Tom at all or in the case of the last episode only had him in short cameos. I mean we did get his love affair for pie but we also got a creepy goblin man forcing his girlfriend and best friend to kiss each other, his best friend being WAY to eager to jump to that conclusion, and neither considering using Marco’s Scissors because the writers only remember he has those half the time in Season 3... and clearly I ddn’t either as I forgot to mention that plot hole, something @jess-the-vampire​ brought up to me. Sadly I DID forget to consult on this when we talked earlier this week , and she’s not online as I write this so I won’t have her insight for this one. 

But if you want some Tom content, i’m happy to share my crossover ship for the boy with you. I’ve been shipping him with Octavia from Helluva Boss lately.  Because of course it’s Helluva Boss, i’ve not been at all subtle with my obession with it and much like Letterkenny, X-Men and Dragon Ball Z Abriged it is a love I never plan to be subtle about. 

But I just think they compliment each other well: They have contrasting atittudes, and tastes in music, but seem like they’d share hobbies. Like taxidermy.. I could see Tom buying this... demonic combination of a badger, a skunk, a deer and my nightmares Octavia is preciously holding up.

Granted I also feel tom would both animate them with their dead souls.. and then use his new woodland friends of the dammned as a chorus to sing “Can You Picture That” from the Muppet Movie, because that’s what my mind does on a regular day. I think the contrasting attitude creates great chemstiry and it made me also realize I have a thing for ships with directly contrasting home lives.  Tom has two loving decent parents who deeply love one another and at worst simply didn’t reign in his worse behavior because it was standard for demon stuff. Octavia in contrast simply has two parents, one who DOES love her and tries his best, but his best includes calling his side piece “My big dicked blitzy” right in front of her and hiring said side piece to guard them, and her mother who clearly thinks so little of her daughter’s emotional well being she hired a cowboy to shoot her daddy dead in the middle of a large crowd. The point is I think they’d be adorable and they both badly need to be happy after being emotionally fucked over by people they care about. 

But  alas my new ship will have to wait as we marginally important things to get down too.. things that will impact both this season and the next’s endgame and utterly destroy Eclipsa and Moon’s relationship for good. Sound fun? Well if so join me under the cut won’t you?

We open in the Pidgeon Kingdom.. and things aren’t exactly great.. and by that I mean Meteora stomped a hole through it and ravaged the place and Rich demands blood.. and vengance.. and possibly blood vengance. But not Tekken Blood Vengance.. he already has like 5 copies of that on dvd. Still needs it on Blu Ray though, hook him up if you got it. 

So Moon and Eclipsa are trying to smooth this over/find out which way did she go George which way did she go, and are angrily dismissed after they try Rich’s patience, not helped by Eclipsa not being familiar with the Pidgeon Kingdom because they hadn’t slaughtered everyone who used to live there yet. Look that’s what happened, Star outright mentions in the Big Book of Spells that htey suddenly sprung up where another kingdom was and no one knows what happens. There was some bird murders up in that place.. or birdur if you will. Some birds drank some human blood. This is what Alfred Hitchock tried to warn us about with his film built on horrifying actress abuse. 

The point is with some more pidgeon-led murder stabbings on the cards our heroines are trying to find her since their attempts to convince Rich not to go on an Archer Style Rampage fell on deaf ears. 

But it’s clear from the second the two are alone both have diffrent priorties: Eclipsa desperatley wants to find the daughter she lost and talk her down from what sh’es become, help her become better and hopefuly heal from the pain she’s been in. She’s lost her husband, her kingdom and centuries. She can’t loose her baby girl too.

Moon on the other hand... clearly has no intrest in helping Meteora or stopping this peacefully. Her first thought is stopping Meteora. Her living through it is not necessary. It’s also clear her racisim isn’t REMOTELY gone depsite Buff Frog and Star’s best attempts and despite learning just how deeply and horribly Mewni’s engrained racism has hurt eclipsa and destoryed Moon’s own family history. To Moon this is just a big monster to fight.. i’ll dive into this more in a bit.

For now our heroines encounter an angry mob. This time their not here for Homer Simpson, but for Meteora as her rampages have destroyd their towns, livelehoods and given some weird guy a hat. It’s the best bit of the episode and i’m embarassed I forgot it happened. 

So with them being no help our queens back out but end up finding some actual help: Eddie! You know the guy from the episode I skipped over... River’s cousin or something like that. He dosen’t have a wiki entry, I do not know why. He’s voiced by Rhys Dharby of Flight of the Conchords Fame whose since made quite the career as a voice actor. No major roles yet that i’m aware of, but a lot of delightful minor ones like this. It’s good to see him he was one of the highlights of that show and not just because he sang this..

Eddie showed up in the Bog Beast of Boggabah and I honestly forgot he was in this episode.. but again, it’s Rhys Dharby. It’s not like suddenly finding out “Aw god dammit Pauly Shore is in this”. So Eddie agrees to help as he’s been tracknig Meteora.. and we find out something troubling: Meteora is getting BIGGER. Gradually, to the point the bog from said episode Is skipped over is drained because she DRANK IT. We also get a great exchange “I’d hate to see the size of her mother” “Actually her father more than helped with that”

Awwwww.... seriously Esme Blanco is a national treasure and has some great deliveries in this one.. and some heartbreaking ones. But before we can get to that it turns out Meteora sucked the powers out of Eddies family.. who he misses..e xcept one guy> That guy can fuck right off. Seriously Eddie is also a national treasure and I wish he’d shown up in season 4. I mean he couldn’t of HURT it. For one it’s Rhys Dharby and for another that season shot itself in the face, both feet, the groin and then the face again enough that I don’t think anything could hurt it as bad as the writers already did. 

But sadly we say farwell to Eddie as he goes out how men have since the begining of time.. deciding to poke a strange creature till it murdered him. Or took his soul out in this case, speaking of which...

Yeah while I couldn’t get Jess in time for this review, she did bring this up in the past: Meteora’s ablility to pull a 

Comes right the fuck out of nowhere with no build up and no explination for it. She DID drain personalites and according to this episode youth.. but that was with a big ole machine. It MIGHT have been intended to be one of Globgor’s powers.. but that makes zero sense, as if he COULD do that, as we saw with Toffee last season when he had that power, also out of nowhere but at least it made a touch more sense given his power was draining magical energy anyway at the time, so adding souls to that isn’t a huge stretch, but as we saw that would’ve been game over for the comission, especially since we DO see him fighting them one on three next season. If he had this power, he wouldn’t be in crystal and I think they realized that, but just tried to act as if his daugther COULDN’T do that and assumed everyone would casually forget. And I get not accounting for me writing about this years later, even I wouldn’t of thought that, but not counting on fans both young and old to latch onto a continuity error? Have you met fandoms Disney, have you? It dosen’t bring the story down entirely and I get WHY ti’s there, so she can nonlethally kill people so we’re not down most of the cast for Season 4, but it feels like an easy win button and one she barely uses despite it being eye beam activated. It should be easy enough to pull, boom, soul suck, win, rinse and repeat. It’s okay to have uber powerful tequniques but they have to have a drawback. For instance the Kaioken from DBZ. It’s a really damn cool technique that gives the user a neat red aura and amplifies poewr.. but the more you amplify the more strain it puts on your body and the more likely you’ll die, and Super later creatively explained why it hadn’t been used since Super Sayian was introduced because said form would’ve sped it up so much it’d be too much for a body to take. Here whie Meteora dosen’t use it in EVERY fight, she uses it enough that it makes no sense this isn’t just her first move for every fight she gets into, mental breakdown or not. 

That being said Meteora’s current mental state as she talks to her mother, having regressed to talking in only a few words and acting like a child, makes perfect sense. Henious already wasn’t in great mental shape to begin with, having a slow sustained breakdown since Marco overthrew her. and now on top of this she remembers her whole life has been a lie, starts to mutate into her natural state at a rapid and likely unehalthy pace, and then finds out on top of all of this Mewni is rightfully owed to her. Given she ended last episode blowing a guy up for rejecting her, it’s not a stretch that given even more power and no time to process anything, Metora would deteroate further. 

Esme and Jessica really knock this scene out of the park as Eclipsa presents Metora with her old doll Bobo and gently trying ot talk to her.. but you also get the fear Eclipsa feels as she tries to awkardly manuver around the fact her daughter is far more unhinged than she was prepared for, even threanting Eclipsa simply because Eclipsa wanted to be called mother instead of mommy. But despite this fear.. Eclipsa wants to help and Walter beautifuly captured metoera as a hulk like tragic figure:a being with low sanity and too much power desperate to be loved by the one person it cares about. And it makes it even more heartbreaking as Eclipsa explains what happened: bad people trapped her , a disfunctoinal society with a racist queen and even more racist subjects has taken hold in her absence... and it’s clear both want opposite things: Meteora wants what sh’es owed, her family back on the throne and Mewni back in her graps, but has lost herself so much to rage, anger and insanity she can’t see it’s not hers to take, while Eclipsa.. just wants her daughter back. She’d be happy just settling down with her and having a LIFE after hers was taken away. Eclipsa just wants a chance to be with what family she has left. It just HURTS to know that despite RIGHTFULLY hating the comission, despite having eveyr reason to take the crown from Moon by force and make the world better by force.. she dosen’t want that. She just wants some peace. It’s selfish... but it’s hard not to be when you havealmost nothing to hold onto. Eclipsa has lost her legacy, her husband and her crown... Meteora is all she has and all she wants and sh’ed of been happy if she just accepted that. If that was enough. 

But the real telling part, and the thing that ultimately makes this go as bad as it does.. is Moon’s reactions to all of this. Sh’es CONFUSED by Meteora having a toy as if that’s foreign to her a monster would, and she’s cleaerly livid , if restrianing it, at both Meteora’s deire for the crown and Eclipsa RIGHTFULLY calling out the state of how things are, and mildly at that. Despite seeing how much damage Mewni’s inherent racisim has done, how it lead to her living a lie, ruined Eclipss, Globgore and Metora’s lives, despite how DESPERTLY her daughter struggles to fight against it, despite seeing firsthand that Monsters can have famiies and lives... she can’t let it go. She can’t see monsters as people. SHe dosen’t see a flawed person who was turned into a metpohrical monster by years of brainwashing and abuse and is slowly unravling under the weight of her true self.. she just sees a threat to her kingdom. She dosen’t see her kingdom as racist, just as it should be. And she dosen’t see herself as stepping down like hse damn well should’ve the MOMENT she found out everything. Because at her heart Moon can’t accept the truth and clings to her racisim. 

And that my friends.. is what ultimately leads to Tragedy. Not Meteora’s unraveling mental state, not Eclipsa’s naitvite. What happens next is ENITRELY Moon’s fault. Whle Eclipsa was failing to get through to Metora, she was trying her best and might of gotten somewhere.. but Moon was already settling to attack.. and does so, making it look like Eclipsa set her own child up. 

A fight ensues, a suprisingly even one... but Eclipsa breaks it up and PROVES her way could’ve worked. In one of Esme’s best performances sshe tearfully tells her daughter she loves her.. that ALL she wants is time with her to make up for what she’s lost.. she dosen’t need a kingdom or her crown or her wand, all things she DESERVES... she just wants her daughter. She just wants to help her baby girl before she goes so far down this path of hatred and vengance she’s alreayd well trod upon there is no point to return to. 

It gets through to Meteora, makes her stop... and Moon TAKES ADANTAGE OF THAT. She then restrains metoera with a magical rock barrier and starts palpatineing her to death. It’s a horrifying moment that ultimately shows who Moon really is.. that when given the chance to let Meteora go, let her CHANGE and grow as a person and help the kingdom.. she instead tries to kill her. When she’s no longer a threat,  hasn’t seriously hurt her in their fight, and could use her power to RESTORE the damage she’s done, fix what she’s broken and help the kingdom grow and mend the bridges racisim has torn down. But all she can see is a monster, and something to destroy.. not someONE to save. 

So Eclipsa does what Moon would do if it were star about to die and saves her daughter, desperatly trying to stop mooon.. and allowing Meteora to get a clear shot and take half of moon’s soul. While Eclipsa is able to stop her from taking the full thing, Moon is left disoreinted and half alive and leaves on insticnt to parts unknown while Meteora escapes. Eclipsa is left alone, devistated and with her daughter truly lost. And the worst is truly yet to come. 

Before we get into final thoughts i’d like to talk about how this scene impacts Moon’s betryal later. To me having rewatched this scene.. it only makes it work MORE making it clear Moon simply can’t fahtom racial equality and that she can’t fahtom that eclipsa had very good reason for doing what she did ... to me it comes off as her using Eclipsa betryaing her as a very flimsy justifcation to not validate her rule and to first retire and then try a coup. That “Well she “BETRAYED” me so i’m fine. “ But in truth... she betrayed Eclipsa first. She attacked her daughter TWICE when Eclipsa was close to getting through to her Her reasons are flimsy.. because i’ts not ABOUT eclipsa, but what eclipsa represents: equality with a race Moon dosen’t see as people. It’s about Moon’s racisim coloring everything tills h’es truly blinded and should have lost everything She didn’t because the ending is a fucking disgrace, but we might get to that at some point, the point here is for all that disgrace’s faults... it did get it right here, and Moon was always portrayed as being unable to let go of her racisim no matter what it cost her or how much her daughter despteratly tried to change her. Trust me as someone whose Dad used to argue that gay marriage meant he should be able to marry his cat, and who still argues against trans people using the bathroom of their choice, I get trying desperatley to change someone who don’t wanna. “Sigh”. 

Final Thoughts: This episode is truly excellent. The writing is top notch as is the voice acting for all involved and the climax isa true, well led up to tragedy. The animation is also on point, with the characters emotions on perfect display. This is an episode I now realize is one of the series best and worth ar ewatch if you haven’ts een it. Truly amazing stuff that gets me pumped for the finale.. and disapoints me in how the series could reach these highs for one finale.. but would sink to it’s lowest point for next seasons.  Next Time on Prince of Wishful Thinking: Star tries depseratly to find her mom, while Marco, Tom and a motely crew of misfits try to take down Meteora and Tom learns the awful truth from the photo booth and wears a zuko ponytail which weirdly looks good on him. That boy can rock anything let me tell you. 

If you enjoyed this reviews, please consider joining my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. As mentioned my 30 dollar stretch goal includes a review of the cluster fuck that is the series final arc, and the goals up to that , me making 20 and 25 dollars a month repectively, have their own nifty rewards: At 20 i’ll review Darkwing Duck once a month, the two remaning Ducktales 87 mini series I have not covered and the Danny Phantom film The Ultimate Enemy. 25 meanwhile gets you reviews of the Proud Family Movie, the theatrical recess movie and the Kim Possible almost finale movie so the drama. And 30 also gets you reviews of every episode of gravity falls season 1 at least one a month till I finish it at some point, so as you can see you get a lot of bang for your buck and these reviews will be public for everybody. Not only that but joining my patreon gets you a review a month if you pitch in 5 dollars and evne if you can’t swing THAT much just 2 bucks gets you access to my discord, a guarnateed pick in my shorts, votes for patreon exclusive reviews, and SAID patreon exclusive reviews. It’s a lot of bang for your buck is what i’m saying so please help me out so I can make a living off this and sign up today. I even JUST ADDED an exclusive and utterly insane scrooge mcduck review, The Great Wig Mystery. So throw in a buck to check that out. 

And if your intrested in Tomtavia... please hit me up. I’m really proud of it and until then... i’ll see you at the next rainbow. 

#star vs the forces of evil #tom lucitor #prince of wishful thinking #meteora butterfly #eclipsa butterfly #moon butterfly #rhys dharby #disney xd #disney channel #disney plus #reviews

[babbushka]

I NEED PASSOVER PROMPT ONE

(we know I love Paterson and am a sucker for anything written for him but you can decide who you’d like to write it for 🥺)

A/N: Thank you so much for asking!! Pat is such a mensch, I couldn’t resist jumping on this prompt :) I hope you enjoy it! 

1.4k, no warnings just fluff and humor :) Jewish!Paterson x Jewish!Reader

He listens to the rhythmic sound of the wipers, as they steadily swish away a light rain that pitter-patters on the windshield. Paterson drives through the winding upstate New Jersey roads, you in the passenger seat next to him, and his friend Doc the bartender, in the backseat. Paterson had celebrated Pesach with you for many years now, even before you were married and he could only call you his girlfriend, but the addition of his friend is a new one.

Doc had mentioned off-handedly a couple days ago that he knew the Jewish holiday was coming up, but had never experienced it for himself. Paterson brought it up on one of his nightly visits for his single beer, and Doc had been interested enough to agree to join you and him for Seder. 

Now though, as they’re all on their way to Paterson’s mom’s house, Doc realizes that he has no idea what he’s getting himself into, especially as Paterson is explaining it to him, prompting him to ask,

“What do you mean there’s fifteen steps?”

You chuckle just a little at the surprise in his voice, and even Paterson’s dimples make an appearance.

“I think last year it was three hours before we even got to eat.” He says, his eyes flicking up to Doc’s in the rearview to give him a friendly smile, “But that was because my cousin kept interrupting.”

“Three hours?” Doc groans,  “Pat tell me you’re joking. I haven’t eaten all day!”

To prove his point, a loud stomach growl sounds from the backseat, and Paterson’s smile turns into a full on chuckle of his own, as you’re doing your best to not encourage him too much over in your seat. In your lap is a big Tupperware of matzah toffee, a coveted recipe that you’re tempted to let Doc try now to hold the poor man over.

“No one told you to fast.” Paterson says, his voice soft and only a little teasing, “Only the first-born in every family fasts the night before Passover.”

“Wish I had known that now, I’m starving.” Doc grumbles, his normal steady mood shifting into something a little exasperated when he wonders aloud, “What even are these fifteen steps?”

“Do you really want to know or are you just asking to ask?” You ask, finally breaking your silence. You love telling people all about Seder, love talking about the holiday. It’s one of Paterson’s favorites too, and his eyes practically light up at the thought of getting to teach his friend.

“No I want to know.” Doc scratches the back of his neck, “I did some reading but…”

“Well, it starts with the Kadesh.” You let Paterson take the lead, loving the way the deep rumble of his voice soothes your ears. He explains, “It’s a blessing over the first cup of wine, and to commemorate and sanctify the holiday. Then there’s the Urchatz, a ritual hand-washing to cleanse ourselves before we begin.”

Paterson drives steadily, carefully through the trees, remembering how he had always dreaded the next step. You pinch at his nose playfully when it crinkles up, his expression endearing.

“Next comes the Karpas, the first food that we get to eat although it isn’t really…food food. It’s a piece of green vegetable, I think we’re using parsley this year?” Paterson asks, looking at you. Sometimes you used celery, but Paterson’s mom liked to switch it up every other year. You nod, and he continues, “We dip it in salt water to represent the tears our people shed while enslaved in Egypt.”

“Damn, you guys don’t mess around huh?” Doc lets out a laugh at that, and you’re inclined to agree.  

“Trust me, it gets way more dramatic.” You say, while Paterson tries to figure out how to find the detour for some road work ahead of him, “Then there’s the Yachatz, where the first piece of matzah is broken in half. The larger piece of matzah is called the afikomen, and is hidden somewhere in the house for the kids to find at the end.”

“Aw that’s pretty cute actually.” Doc smiles, and Paterson beams. He can’t wait until he has children of his own to go running through the house, wreaking havoc.

“Some families do it where the kids have to steal it off the Seder leader’s lap without them noticing, which is also really funny.” You nod, because you also agree, “But it usually distracts the kids during the Maggid, so we personally don’t do it.”

“The Maggid?”

“It’s the longest part of the Seder, this is when we read the long and drawn out story of our Exodus.” Paterson explains, “All the plagues, the slaughter of the first born – ”

“They get slaughtered and they have to fast?” Doc interrupts with raised eyebrows, “That sucks for firstborns.”

“Then we wash our hands again with the Rachtzah,” Paterson only continues with a smirk, glad that his older brother Paul has to wear the brunt of that responsibility. Nevermind that they’re twins, he’s older by two minutes, “And we’re not allowed to talk, it’s a silent hand-washing.”

“Oh do we get to eat now?” Doc’s eyes light up, as his stomach growls again.

Successfully navigating away from the road-block, you and Paterson exchange an apologetic glance.

“No,” He shakes his head, “Then we break the second matzah while saying the Motzi.”

“And then we eat the Maror, the bitter herb.” You add on, “This signifies the bitterness of slavery. Again. But after that we get to eat the Hillel sandwich.”

“Oh thank god – ”

“It’s bitter herb sandwiched between two pieces of matzah.” Paterson squashed Doc’s hopes before he even has a chance to get them too high.

“Dammit!” Doc laughs, feeling like this is the dinner that never ends. He isn’t entirely wrong, but there is relief on his face when Paterson pulls up to the drive-way, and you unbuckle your seat belt, turning over your shoulder to smile at him.

“After that you get to eat though.” You wink.

“For real this time?” Doc asks cautiously, making Paterson nod with a grin.

“For real.” He clips a yarmulke to his hair like the good boy he is, “And I promise it’s worth it.”

The three of you get out of the car, and you make sure that you have everything that you need before going in. Doc looks a little hesitant, eyeing the house that already has music and happy chatter sounding from the slightly open window.

“What do we do after we eat?” Doc asks, his hands in his pocket.

“The kids hunt for that piece of matzah, we do a final blessing after we eat called the Barech, invite a ghost in to come hang out with us and protect us, and then we sing songs.” You offer him a hand for him to hold, knowing that he must feel a little intimidated by it all.

Seder was intimidating for a lot of people, even those who had celebrated it for years. But then again, rituals are meant to be shared with family and friends, and you’re just glad Doc wanted to see for himself what it was all about.

“Did you say ghost?” Doc immediately blinks, making you laugh – it really was a silly part of the tradition, but an important one nonetheless.

“His name is Elijah, he’s really nice.” Paterson locks the car door and “When Elijah leaves though, we drink another glass of wine and dance. But by that point usually everyone is trashed enough that we all black out on the couch. It all depends.”

Approaching the front step, Doc takes in a deep breath. You slip him a piece of matzah toffee that he happily accepts, eagerly eating the dessert. His face lights up when he tastes how delicious it is, and he can’t help but smile.

“This sounds like one helluva dinner Pat, I gotta say.” Doc sounds almost impressed, that something so elaborate continues to be observed year after year after year.

“Are you ready to find out for yourself?” Paterson asks, gently nudging Doc with his elbow in a friendly gesture.

“If there’s more of this,” Doc points to the matzah toffee, “Then I’m more than ready.”

The three of you grin and Paterson steps through the threshold with your hand securely held in his, as the family welcomes you all and gives a most warm welcome to Doc, who finds that by the end of Seder after four full glasses of wine on an empty stomach, it is one helluva dinner indeed.

                                                   -------------------

Taggin’ some Paterson lovin’ friends! @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @sunflowersinthesnow @steeevienicks @the-unmanaged-mischief @chapterhappygirl 

#paterson #paterson x reader #paterson/reader #paterson x you #paterson imagine #paterson fanfic #adam driver fanfic #adcu #passover #jewish!reader #glassbxttless

[bibliocratic]

Written for Aspec Martin Week – Day 3, Prompt: Frustration

Ace!Jon / Ace!Martin

NB:// this is tagged for internalised acephobia and unhealthy ways of dealing with repression. I've discussed these in greater detail in the tags, or if it’s easier to read, I'm going to put them in the end notes when this goes on A03, so you can prepare yourself more going in if needed.

(If you need me to add tags, send me a message, and I’ll gladly)

You know lots of words.

You don't use them. That's not what they're for. They sit and fizz under your tongue like sugar pills, a crackling burst of flavour like popping candy. You're not so good, are you, with getting the words out. All those words you know and you dredge up seaweed and detritus and plastic from your sea-beds when it's time to speak. The words you want to use stuck between your molars, flattened like stuck toffee behind your slightly bucked teeth. You used to have a stutter, when you were younger, and the poorly-set bone fragments of that linger.

You collect them though. Words. It's easier. You press the petals of them into the back of  your notebooks, line the corners of your nest with them. You like to admire them, the carefully noted lines and lines of obscurities.

Some of them are about Jon.

On earlier pages, you wrote saw-toothed, caustic, mettlesome. Evolving to revenant, indomitable, hallowed.

Your word for Jon at the moment, your most recent, ink-damp addition is lucent.

[lucent (adj), you wrote, meaning: giving off light, glowing, or being clear, translucent]

Since you came to the cottage, Jon's shown you everything. Like he's sworn off anything but an intense, avowed honesty, like if he's not offering you his everything, he's somehow failing you. He shows you all the places he is glass and trusts you to look through.

He sits by the window wearing the biggest jumper you own, and the light patters through him and he has his eyes closed like he's sleeping or praying or giving grace and you think of him as shining.

All of your words, and still you're so prone to lying.

–

You should be used to this.

You are kissing. Jon caught you mid-lecture on the appropriate footwear for the ground this home is founded on, and smiled and there suddenly wasn't any words for you to use at all. Jon has his fingers tangled in your hair, and you have a palm splayed steady at the dip of his back.

He plants a hand on your hip. There is an ossified mass in your chest that's gathering bigger, and it's nerves, it's always nerves with you, the stutter in your soul that never played out.

“You want to...?” he asks, and he glances up at you with a dappling light across his face that follows the streak of his giddy smile, and he looks antic, elfish. The hand on your hip gives a suggestive, implying squeeze. 

You wait for him to add more, but he doesn't, so you lean back down like the submitting bough of a willow branch, distract him with another bruising collision of a kiss and hope it will drive all thoughts from his head.

Finally, you separate. He kisses like he used to talk, like he wants the last word in an argument, so every kiss is chased by a follow-up, a softer imprint like the closing of a wax seal.

His hands work on the top button of your shirt.

“Would you like to....?” he asks again, short-winded,  his breath a little more gone from him than you. He even tries to wink. It's goofy, purposefully, looks silly on him, and all this feels too heavy.

This is not the first time you have done this, but it's never been right before. It'll be better. It's with Jon, you want this with him, you can do this with him and it'll be everything you've always suspected it could be for everyone but you.

You surge against his lips again so he can't see your nerves, you stupid, unfounded, calcifying anxieties, the barriers you keep putting up yourself because you are so terrified of being happy.

“Maybe... not tonight?” you mumble into your shared air. If he pushed, if he asked again, you would. He dragged you from the shoreline, out of the fog, this is the least you can give him. You'd lie on your back, or you'd cover him with your shape, and you'd try so hard to make him happy so he wouldn't notice you not sharing the same. “'m a bit tired.”

Tricky, is what you are. Perjurious. Prevaricating. Two-faced.

You're not tired. The lie makes your tongue swell, like allergies, hay-fever, rigor mortis. Something damningly biological.

These days, Jon is artless, candid, forthright. Everything is a solemn rite, a service he's engaging in that he thought he was unsanctified for.

You are the most proficient dealer in dishonesties you know. It's a growth, down to the bones.

“Alright,” Jon says lightly, like he's not disappointed, like you haven't been substandard, below par, vexing. “Do you want to continue this for a while? Or, you know, we've still not done that jigsaw.”

His easy joy is so bright it shames you. You wish the Lonely had eaten that emotion out of you.

“That jigsaw's not going to solve itself,” you say, and Jon smirks, and moves away but keeps your hand locked in his, and for a while you allow yourself the easy deception of being uncomplicatedly happy.

–

You are a solecism.

It's a useful word. It's all the words you've ever misspoken, all the poorly expressed sentiments, the wrong things you should have said or felt or been, but didn't or weren't. It's the stammer you've got ingrained in the warp and weft of you.

You are in bed, and you are kissing again. You like kissing. The pressure and huff of air. You like holding Jon's head in your hand, stroking the stubbled skin down his chin, the abrasive landscape that travels down. Scar-shiny crags and rises, his personal geography. You like looking at the evidence of his survival. If you scrape your blunt nails against his scalp, he'll take a ragged in-breath; when you press a little harder, nip with teeth against the skin of his lips, he'll sigh and hum. And you like these things too.

You've been kissing for a while now. You've been worrying whether it is acceptable to carry on like this. If you should be doing something more. If you have to.

You are on your side, and Jon has slipped his hand over your hip. Moving it up to the bunching skin circling your stomach. You breathe out shaky, because his hands are algid, nippy – 'God, Jon, you're freezing,' you complain, and he smirks, gives another goofy eyebrow raise,  'are you going to let me warm up then?'.  He moves them again and he must take the noise you make as encouragement, as desired – stop it, you've done this before, it's not so bad, it's Jon now, it'll be alright this time – and traces them further up to skate over the more delicate skin below your collarbone, over your chest.

You know he's looking at you. He rarely blinks these days. He watches because he wants to see you happy, wants to know he's making you happy, cataloguing the things that bring you joy like the words you scribe at the back of your notebook.

You've never told him that you've never caught the art of this act, that you know what he wants, and that it makes your stomach fizz like you've swallowed all the words you can never say, how it's not like the books make it sound, not like all the poetry you wish you could understand. You never feel buzzing, live-wire, heady, champagne-drunk on an overwhelming, delirious passion. You feel anxious, deep-down heartsick, overthinking and second-guessing what you're meant to be doing.

But there are some parts of it that are nice, you guess. And Jon loves you, you Saw that, you see that. And if it's the admission price for all the other things, the hand-holding and kissing and the waking up with him coiled around you like a warm and sweaty bracket, then it doesn't matter, does it, not really. You've borne worse in this world for less.

“Do you want to...?” He says, and brushes his palm over your chest again. You nod, make an encouraging sound, and you don't flinch. You make to pull him closer, so his weight pushes the air out from you, and his knee has moved between your legs, and you don't flinch, and your body shores up its well-hammered armour, and he kisses you again, deeper, wetter, and your eyes clench shut even as you hum an appreciative noise, because you know that this is easier in the dark.

The weight lifts suddenly, pushing back and away.

“Martin?”

“Hm?” you ask, opening your eyes again, unsure as to why you've stopped. Jon is staring down at you, face frowning, and whatever he sees, it has him sit back on his hunches. Hair askew, eyes dark, unblinking. He fumbles around for the beside light.

You sit up slightly. You feel cold again. Frigid. Hyperborean.

“I-is everything ok?” you prompt. Jon's frown deepens like a fissure, and you wish he'd stop looking at you like he wants to solve you.

“Something's.... I Know something's not right,” he says, distractedly, looking down at his scar-seared palms. Then he looks back at you.

“Is everything alright with you?” he asks back.

“Yeah! W-why wouldn't it be?”

“Are you... do you want to do this?”

The heart in you cadaverous. You lean closer because he's too far away, because you don't want to be alone, because you don't like the creeping distress that casts itself across like shadow over his face. He leans back, keeping a distant point of orbit. Perigee. He's close, but not in your atmosphere, he's close but he won't touch you and you can hear your own voice getting pitchy.

“Course I do!”

“Do you want me to take it slower?”

“No...”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, it's not – ”

“It's... you don't seem happy, Martin. There – there's something wrong, I can, I know it...”

“Maybe I don't like you using your bloody mind-reading powers when we're in bed together, Jon,” you snap.

Jon winces.

“I can't exactly switch it off,” he says, obviously hurt.

His eyes roaming over you, peripatetic, taking in all the parts of you you are desperate for him not to look too closely at.

Jon is breviloquent. He doesn't amble along to what he's going to say, he's direct and terse and brief as he needs to be.

“Is this – is this ok?” he asks again.

You realise you're breathing a bit harder. Force yourself to relax, showcase an almost easy smile. Because this is what you're excellent at. Evading. Equivocating. There's not an honest answer you couldn't twist into incomprehension, there's not a simple option you can't complicate because you worry and overthink and fuck it up for everyone else.

“Just nerves, I guess,” you hear yourself say. “We can... let's keep going, I'm sure I can build myself up to it.”

You reach out a hand to his, and he yanks it away. And that, that hurts. Like tearing scab-tissue, like splitting skin.

“Build yourself...” he repeats with a tinge of something horrified. “Martin, you don't have to make yourself do anything, why are you – ?”

“I'm not making myself.” You've started breathing wobbly now, desperate. Why did you have to mess up this performance with him, when he's right here and he wants you, and you can't get through dress rehearsals, never mind opening night because you can't remember your lines, where your feet should stand, what words you need to trot out of your mouth.  “I – I'll, I'll manage, ok, it'll be fine, c-can we just forget this and carry on?”

Still he won't stop looking at you, won't get any closer, and you feel like crumbling.

Jon's voice has dropped soft.

“I'm not just going to forget it. Martin, you're not comfortable, you're not happy, how can I ignore that?”

“It doesn't matter,” you say, “it's nothing, it's stupid, it doesn't matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Adamantine. Headstrong.

Jon pauses in the shallow waters of the awkward silence. He reaches out, and takes your hand. Laces your fingers together, and the ossuary in your chest loosens.

“I don't trust... I don't want to ask you questions,” he finally says. “In case I... well. You know. But I'd like to understand. I want you to feel that you can tell me anything, even if you think it's not what I want to hear.”

You are suddenly so very tired of pretending with him. His brightness keeps finding the cracks  in you you've poorly papered up, and it fills you with something that could be bravery if it didn't leave you feeling so hollow.

“I don't know if I can,” you reply. You sound burnt out, structurally compromised in the yellowing halo of light. You sound ashen, like you've been set on fire.

He clenches the hand he's holding, and waits. He'd keep waiting, you realise. Even if you never said the words out loud, he'd be patient.

“I can't,” you try again – Christ, it's Sisyphean, Herculean, “I can't – it's not, it's not you, although I-I'm sure everyone says that, right, but it's not. I thought, finally with the right person, I could... but it's – I can't. I can't be what you want me to be. I don't – I don't think I want the same things.”

“You mean a relationship?” Jon asks, eiderdown soft. He shrinks in on himself at the idea, but holds his head high, doesn't lose your gaze.

“N – no,” you say quickly, needing him to understand. “No. I-I want that. I want you. I love you.”

“Then what...?” he prompts.

You feel the gravel of the words under your tongue.

“I don't... I don't like it. The – when we – I don't want it, and I know that's not what you want to hear, and I'm sorry, and it's me, I can't just get out of my head and make this work, and I know it must be disappointing....”

“You don't want to have sex?”

You cringe in on yourself as he lays it out. He's always been better at jigsaws than you.

“If you – we can! - it's not, it's not such a big deal, right! Just give me a few minutes, I can work through it – ”

“Martin,” he grumbles out, and he's shuffled closer, captured your other flailing hand. “I don't need to have sex with you. And if it's not something you're comfortable with, then I don't want to have sex with you.”

“It's not about – about being comfortable, it's about making each other happy.”

“I am happy! You make me happy! I don't need sex. And it's hardly making you happy, is it?”

“That's not the point.”

“It is! Of course it is.” He deflates. Reaches up. Wipes your cheek and his fingers come away damp. “Explain it to me. Please.”

You spit the words out like sunflower seeds.

“I've never... I don't, I mean, I-I have, this isn't, y-you know, the first time, but it's not something I-I like, necessarily, a-and I'm not, I don't think I'm made like that. And I know, it's –  it's not what you want to hear...”

“Martin.”

He stops you and you clamp your mouth against the onslaught.

Fractography is the study of cracks, or flaws in a material or structure. It works through observing broken, collapsed, irreparable things and figuring out what final weight snapped its back. It works through observing things unweathered by life, predicting where stresses and pressures might eventually start to form. You are worried Jon will look at you like something due to shatter.

“Martin, I think we need to talk. I think we should have talked before.”

Your voice, miserable, dull with expectation: “If you're breaking up with me....”

“No – no, oh god, Martin, of course not.”

He shuffles closer, lies back down next to you, pats the pillow to indicate that you should join him.

You slide down. He clasps your hands against his breast, and he's so close he's blurry, the air between you warm and dense, your bodies making a cocoon.

“Shall I go first? If that's ok?”

You nod.

“Alright,” he says, and for a second, you just listen to him breathing. “So, I'm asexual. I don't experience sexual attraction to people. Romantic attraction, yes, definitely. I've been in relationships with em, mostly women, a couple of men, and generally they didn't have, shall we say a physical element. But I've been in love. A few times. I'm in love with you, in case – in case you didn't know.”

He says it so matter-of-factly. You can see some of that light shining from the insides of him, incandescent when the words leave his lips.

“And I'd be lying if I said I didn't think you were attractive, aesthetically speaking. But I don't – it's hard to explain, but I don't want to have sex with you, you know, want want. I don't have that urge. But I have been in a few relationships, where I've had sex. Not often, and I don't mind the experience personally, though I can take it or leave it. I like to be involved if my partner enjoys it, and that's – that's what I thought we were doing here. You didn't seem like you were going to make the first move, and  I wanted to make you happy, because I thought it was something that you'd like to do together.  Like doing jigsaws, or or listening to the radio.  I should have – I should have checked. I should have explained first.”

“The word,” you say, dry-mouthed.

“Pardon?”

“The word. What's the … the word you said?”

“Asexual.”

You mouth it to taste the sound. Wonder if you'll write it at the back of your notebook, next to deflagrate and ideoneous.

“That's... that's a new one to me,” you say slowly.

Jon's eyes go lower, go sad. He strokes the dampness from your face again.

“B-but I like kissing,” you say quietly. Because if this word means no intimacy, then you couldn't bear it, the way Jon held himself apart from you before. “I – I like hugs, and holding hands, a-and you know, relationshipy stuff like that. S-so I can't be... can I... those things are all part of it right, so I can't.... And my body, it has – ”

Here, you redden, the stalks of your words knotting.

“– it has r-reactions, i-i-in the mornings, and sometimes if I'm a bit stressed or I can't sleep, I want to, y-you know, sort myself, and that's....”

“These things don't disqualify you,” Jon says earnestly. “It's not something someone will give you a test on. It's personal. It's a personal thing. It's no less valid than anything else. But I want nothing from you that you don't want to freely give. Not because you think I need it, or you think it's the only thing I want from you.”

“Oh,” you say, and for a moment, you have no words left.

Jon waits.

“I don't want to have sex with you,” you manage finally. Small-worded, slipshod voiced.

Jon nods.

“Alright. That's alright.”

“I – ” You try again, and he makes an encouraging expression, and your sentence staggers forward. “I don't, I won't ever want to.”

“That's alright,” he replies.

“Yeah?” you croak, feeling your eyes go blurry with damp.

“Yeah,” Jon says.

You let him hold you for a long time after that. His fingers stroke your back, scrunch and scratch soothing motions in your hair.

“Asexual,” you repeat the word after a long while quiet.

“Hm,” Jon says. “There are some websites, I could show you. When you're... if you're ready.”

“I'd like that,” you say, and you mean it. You make no effort to move.

“There's even a flag,” Jon continues.

“Yeah?”

“Hm. It's pretty cool. Greys and white and purple.  I think I've got some socks with the colours somewhere. One of my exs got me a bi-flag set, and an asexual set. ”

You give a wet laugh, imagining Jon's garish footwear.

“What a striking look,” you tease, and Jon elbows you and responds that it's incredibly dashing, thank you very much.

You linger in this liminal doze for a long time. For once, you feel like nothing is expected of you at all.

“You want to get up?” Jon says, yawning wide, cat-like. “Have another go at that jigsaw?”

“ Let's stay here a little longer?” you murmur. Your t-shirt is starting to stick to your skin. Jon's petting has made your hair go haywire, bed-headed. You don't quite want to let this go just yet.

“Alright,” he agrees, and it's as easy as that.

#AspecMartinWeek #tma #the magnus archives #ace!Martin #ace!Jon #cw internalised acephobia #cw self-esteem issues #cw repression #trigger warning for a character who is sex-repulsed trying to make themselves have sex #while consent is given by both parties #i'll tag as dubcon to be safe #hurt/comfort #i'll put more detailed warnings on A03 but essentially #sex-repulsed!Martin #sex- #neutral!Jon #poor communication

[neo-shitty]

toffee!

hehe glad i could make you laugh, oooh that sounds awesome! yeah id love to be tagged it sounds great :)

YES the differences are so fucking weird. like, they do know they're the same age right? i feel like its just an exagguration of how much the persons role in the group matters, like we see chan being held up as such a mature, old leader while jungkook who is literally the same age, is still babied etc. like enha hyung line is basically the same age (if a bit younger) as chenle and jisung but somehow the rules are different?? as you point out, still legal but still bizarre. hehe yeah, i mean where else are we going to rant? quora lol. mmm, hopefully more people can just write less smut abt people who are barely adults

ah, no prob it didnt take long. yeah i think thats right (i keep forgetting you know my url lol) mmhmm :( i think if that happened irl there would be some major trauma going on. knock wood it never happens to you or me lol (/hj)

hehe same! oooh glad Redemption For Cheese was realised! yess we cant rllycomplain that theyve written/produced too much good music lol. yeah, ive dragged him into being a stay so *dusts hands off* mission accomplished. mmm yeah, they tend to have a certain vibe but tbh it couldve worked if they were any other group but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ahh ur one step ahead of me on the stages of listening to ssick i think, still not convinced but thats okay! hehe, it had to be said. yesss the itch in the back of my brain is very satisfied by sorry i love you, felixs vocals deserve to be appreciated! (side note i feel like hes trying to sing more like his speaking voice, sorta husky, but tbh i wouldnt be mad if he sang like in glow, his sweet honey vocals made my life lol. but i think ive heard him say he doesnt like singing like that cos it makes his normal voice less husky, so what can you do)

> YES SOMEONE SAID IT. seungmin rap KING, he sped thru that rap like it was nothing, he deserves more rap lines. i do like how they gave minho some melodic rap lines this comeback, my guy deserved to show off those skills that made him not be eliminated (flashbacks to stay collectively wanting to murder jyp) and we already know changbin can sing, my man murdered masked singer. hyunjin can obviously sing as can jisung and felix, and i want to hear chan rap more! i feel like he started as part of 3racha (as a rap unit not producing) and then just became a vocalist (which im fine with, but it could be nice to hear him flex his rapping skills) and was partially replaced by hyunjin. anywayyy

back to album talk. lmaooo sad music to twerk to PERFECTLY describes silent cry. yes secret secret is and will always be, a masterpiece. hehe glad i could make you laugh :) i just felt like they have similar vibes. putting off skz stuff bc of not having time to cry IS the kpop stan life summarised. oh my beloved track, red lights. ahh thats okay, we can have different opinions, but by god the lyrics are *chefs kiss*. *banging on table* TWISTED AU TWISTED AU TWISTED AU. yess id love to see ur take on it! sdfghjkl it would have been glorious

no no! not stupid, just able to predict my brainwaves. ooooh thats so cool! makes me want to go there (wherever there is lol) yeah the waves are pretty good here, but none of my familys a surfer, so we dont rlly enjoy the full potential lol. YES moving on to gone away, it is indeed a heartwrenching track, but the vocals and the bloody key change? makes me want to brave being sad just to listen to it. mmm yeah, good point :( i feel like ive just gotten used to overthinking so much so that it doesnt matter what mood im in, ill do it anyway, so might as well just do what i feel like doing anyway.

yeah i think ur right! it is quite comforting knowing that all the tracks will get the love they deserve. i feel like also people assume kpop is just one genre which is utter bs. there are so many different vibes and feels and songs, i couldnt get into kpop (of which i thought only the bright cheerful present day bts stuff existed smh) until i heard gods menu so... idk where i was going with this but yeah. :)

YES FUCK YG, theyre literally on the brink of being kicked out of the big three and they are holding their salvation hostage without letting them do ANYTHING. idek what thought process goes thru their minds but arghhh its so infuriating. yess lisa's cb will be awesome but ot4 is the gold standard here.

hehe, glad u could get to this point. no no! u dont sound like a cult member at all lol yeah, i loooove some of their songs but the whole 23 members thing is getting to me. thats prob a common problem with nctzens but what can i say? im a simple girl with a limit to how many korean boys i can give my money to. atm im just trying to get into ateez and finish memorising enhypen's faces. also kard is kinda sucking me into their fandom atm, as well as eric name lol. ah what can you do? ooh thats good!

hehe i love it too! its exactly like online penpals, that was rlly well put. aww ty! hmm im okay, recovering from a bad case of rsv so thats fun. im doing okay mentally, starting therapy soon (after having to convince my mother that its not just smth i can brush off). physically i wont go into, basically i should be doing stretches to help but they dont completely fix it so my lazy ass doesnt do them, plus i got told recently im going to be stuck with this condition for the rest of my life so thats fun! ah, before you type smth dw abt me ill be fine. the weather atm is cloudy but warm, its been raining on and off today which is good for the garden. uhh i just finished reading sunburnt veils and im in the middle of prom theory which is rlly good. ummm ive got a concert tonight? that i may or may not be able to sing in (bc of the whole rsv thingo) and uhhhh idk. my dog is cute? im drinking tea rn? ive got a school dance coming up?

wbu? hows ur day going, how are you? whats the weather like on ur end? done anything interesting lately? found smth that makes you rlly happy? just any random thing youve been dying to tell someone?

no no! dont apologise, i love these exchanges. i think im happy to continue them for a long time :) on the other hand, if you get tired of them, feel free to just not answer at any time. goodness gracious this was a long ask haha hope it isnt too annoying

<3 w.a. 🐺

sorry it took me a bit to reply, i was fixing my theme ;n;

yeah, i figured it was because of the roles too. my friends and i still get taken aback when 3rd gen idols are the same age as 4th gen ones. in my head it doesn't add up sometimes. PLS THE RANT AT QUORA SKJDK tbh tho it's just going to be normalized as the years pass? esp that the boys are growing older and the amount of explicit fics will just increase. i might have to start blocking tags.

i had to look up the previous ask to remember what we were talking about xd i hope the events in champagne problems never happens to anyone. realistically, it probably happens a lot. damn i really won't wish that pain on anyone. dragging your brother into being a stay i whEEZED JFKSA additional noeasy music enthusiast o.o and ALL I CAN SAY WITH YOU GUSHING ABT FELIX IS AHA WHIPPEEEED OML can't blame you tho, i also want to hear felix sing more in other shades (if that makes sense HAHA) i really hope they'll do the role exchange in the next comeback :( or like in the near future bc i know they can do it :( the day i hear seungmin rapping it i will respectfully pass away. minho was given more lines this comeback thank fUCK i could rmb my irl being vocal abt her frustration. i don't get why minho barely has center time/lines in title tracks??? like the line distribution in the past eras just made me ???? if seventeen can balance lines with 13 members why cant a group of 8 do the same? moving on. i haven't watched the stray kids show simply bc i don't want to cry HAJS but i've seen clips. imagine if skz debuted without minho and felix?!?!? i rmb another irl catching bias feels towards changbin bc of the masked singer only to find out that the man's a rapper. i love how skz's vocals were highlighted this comeback :c there were a lot of mellow tracks! i find it cute when chan sings/raps bc it gets kinda obvious that he's a foreigner? the accent (im not even sure if it's the accent) it just shows. "putting off skz stuff bc of not having time to cry IS the kpop stan life summarised." CORRECT.

abt the twisted au o.O i'll inquire my irl if she wants to write it or not. if she doesn't want to, i'll do it. i miss writing twisted aus <3___<3 and i also miss going to the beach with my friends :' ) but it's starting to get cold here and i don't think i'll be able to enjoy the beach as much as i would if i went beaching in the summer. so maybe next summer? gone away really has an sm-ballad vibe. the thing about skz being a self-producing group, their songs don't sound like typical jype songs? and i just appreciate that bc in all honesty im not a fan of jyp groups at all. PLS the overthinking. i wish i could mute overthinking.

anyone who assumes kpop is just one genre obv hasn't listened to a single track. if kpop was just one genre why do i like some tracks more than the others??? oh you've only recently become a kpop stan? tbh im not a fan of the bright songs of bts either. i liked their older ones *chefs kiss* really matched high school vibes. yg has good artists and they're just wasting the talent ~.~ that strategy they have will get tiring eventually. people will stop waiting on blackpink and move on to newer more active groups ://

HAHAHAH yeah the 23 members is pretty overwhelming! it was the reason i didn't bother stanning before quarantine started. i don't regret stanning tho, met my ult bias in that group <3___<3 i don't really purchase albums unless i like the tracks xd ohhh getting into ateez just in time for the comeback! let me know what you think about them! i was fond of them at some point but grew out of it. good luck with memorizing enhypen! it took me a while to distinguish to people there XD i haven't checked out kard yet but chan plays their songs during lives and they're sexc hype music me likey *u*

i had to look up rsv im sorry. i'm glad you're recovering! please rest more and don't stress yourself out. bro i wish i could go to therapy too bc i have weird issues i can't justify and i need a professional to tell me what's the reason behind it. stuck with what condition btw? what happened? i'm sorry in case i just forgot. yesterday was a bit rainy for me too :(( it's not the type of rainy that makes me anxious so B) oh concert! good luck and i hope you'll be able to sing but i also don't think it's best for you rn :c what's your dog's breed? and yes i just finished drinking tea too. AAAAA i miss school dances :(( the last one i was supposed to have was cancelled bc of covid.

i was less productive today and i'm teetering between being mentally stable and becoming a hermit again. i'm anxious with a lot of things atm so like : D not the best state. today it was a bit sunny but not hot hot which was nice. i changed my theme today bc i couldn't wait for sept. 1st. and no i haven't found anything that makes me happy HAHAHA shit like that's hard to identify. don't have anything to say too, i'm just thinking about why i'm procrastinating too much atm T_T and i'm listening to this rap song atm and one of the rappers sounded like han.

it isn't annoying! i enjoy the long exchanges but i do admit it takes me awhile to type down a reply. so if i get more busy, it'll prolly take a bit longer for me to reply.

#toff.asks #wild anon 🐺

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Six

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa.

Chapter Six: Dear Nina

Hello, lovely,  

Some news and a request. I am going away on an assignment for the next several months, and this one’s rather sensitive. It means I’ll be out of reach for a time. Don’t worry your wonderful Inej brain about it, though. You know very well I’ll be just fine.  

Here’s how I’m thinking we make due in the meantime. I’m writing down all my adventures and silly thoughts to send you as soon as it’s safe, and then we’ll be able to catch up in no time at all when all is right with the world again. You should do the same. Once I’m able, I’ll send a giant wad of letters along with where I can be reached to the Van Eck mansion for Wylan to hold on to for you until your next trip to Ketterdam. There. Not so bad, right?  

I miss you more than cake. And that’s not an exaggeration. Be safe, lovely. And give them all hell.

All my love,

Nina

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(enclosed in an overstuffed envelope marked “Nina”)

(translated from Kerch)

Dear Nina,  

Your last letter has made me grouchy. I don’t know if there would have ever been a good time for you to fall off the map, but I think there could have at least been a better time than this. I’ll take your suggestion, though, and settle for trying to imagine your face when I tell you these things. When you read this, let’s imagine that we’re at that cafe in West Stave. The one with the little white tables outside. You’ve ordered enough waffles to feed five men, and I’m all hopped up on hot chocolate, and we can’t stop snickering. It’ll happen again someday, right?  

I’m going to use this letter to take a break in entertaining you with stories of battle at sea and the many delightful ways in which bad men beg. I’m docked in Ketterdam today with my head dangerously full of some truly mortifying events. I don’t know what to do, Nina. Keep eating your imaginary waffles – I’m going to offload a great many details and bring you up to speed.

I’ve told you that Kaz and I write letters. That they’re sort of a romantic nature. I know you think I’m crazy. I’m well aware that I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know -- there’s just something about him I can’t give up yet. And I love these letters. They’ve become the first thing I pick up at every new port. They’re these little slices of Ketterdam – all of the good stuff, that is, and none of the bloodshed.

It’s dangerous, though, isn’t it? Only getting the good side of things. It messes with your perception of reality.  

It should surprise no one that Kaz Brekker is good with pen and paper, considering how we’ve seen him con. Sometimes I worry that’s what letter-writing really is to him. Another way to con. He says things in letters that you could not even imagine, Nina. He can be affectionate. He can be really funny, maybe even playful. He can also write the most sincere, heartfelt sentences. You read them, and you really forget he’s, well, Brekker. It’s almost like, when he writes me, he’s not. Like some other side comes out when he picks up a pen, and it’s the side I’ve always hoped was really there all along.  

I’m such a goner for this other side, Nina. It’s become a problem. Try not to spit out those imaginary waffles.  

It’s a problem because, in person, when I’m in Ketterdam, he’s still Kaz Brekker, the persona, the enigma. It started messing with my head, because there is such a stark contrast between Kaz Brekker the enigma and the Kaz who writes me these insanely charming letters. That’s not to say Kaz Brekker isn’t trying to be less enigmatic, but it’s little things. He can take off his gloves more now without having violent reactions to a brush of skin. He’s managed to hold my hand for a few, brief moments. I’ve tried to cozy up to him, but I don’t know. It’s impossible to know what he thinks of it, if he likes it, if he hates it, if he resents it – until a letter shows up. And then he’s writing, “I miss you” and “I’m dreaming of tasting your lips.” (I’m imagining you making that silly fanning yourself gesture, and I really hope that’s true. Saints, I miss you.)

I’m rambling so much. I wish you were just here instead.  

He wrote me this letter after Jesper’s birthday, Nina. Ughhh, why are you so far away? It was a really good letter. A really, really good letter. We had a moment during this hot air balloon ride (yet another reason you need to come back to visit Ketterdam – we do birthday experiences now). Jesper and Wylan were on one side of the balloon’s basket, wrapped up in each other and all the sights with their backs to us. And, out of nowhere, he pulled me close, tucked me right up against his side, close enough that I couldn’t help but hold him back. At first, I could actually feel his heart racing and thought maybe he’d pull away. But he settled after a minute, and we rode in the balloon for a good while like that, stars overhead, city lights below. That was all, and it was more than enough for me. I still think about it all the time. He told me later that he thought it was a nice night, and so I thought it best to leave it at that. We had a nice night. Nice, like when your dinner isn’t ruined or someone opens a door for you.

But this letter that awaited me in Os Kervo. You know Suli, right? So, if I use the phrase (nearest translation: “I shit a brick”), you’ll understand just how shocked I was. He wrote how he never wanted to forget that night and the way I looked and the way he felt. It was perfectly un-Brekker-like. It might have made you cry.

The contrast has never seemed so stark.  

And so it came down to this: I needed to know that Kaz Brekker in Ketterdam was capable of actually being this person who keeps showing up in envelopes and using his name.

Which brings me to my most recent trip to Ketterdam. This was the trip after the hot air balloon ride. Before I arrived, he asked if I wanted to stay in the Slat this trip – with him. Don’t choke on your waffles, please. Nothing was going to happen – he can barely hold my hand for more than a few minutes, and at least one of the times it’s happened, I had to bribe him with Ravkan toffees first.

I had one condition for this arrangement. I wanted to bring letters for him to read aloud. Perhaps most incredibly, he agreed.

Right. This is where it gets ugly.  

I’d spent the day at The Slat. Usually my first day on land, I find I’m unusually exhausted, and everything in The Slat is fresh and new since Seeger’s fire – I’d even venture to say comfortable. I slept most of the day, a luxury I know you’d appreciate. I was up around dinnertime, and he’d brought in dinner. (It was those meatballs and mash pots we used to love so much. I hope I’ll be able to eat them again after this without wanting to hurl.)

Dinner seemed like a good time to try out the letter reading. We’d spread out the food on his desk and passed a bottle of kvas back and forth to lighten the mood before he rolled up his sleeves and I gave him the first one. I had tried to pick a variety of his letters to bring along, the ridiculous ones right up to the one I can’t get over – the one after the hot air balloon ride.

Before you get too excited, we didn’t get to the hot air balloon ride letter.

It was going so well in the beginning. My cheeks were hurting from smiling so hard, listening to so many charming words come from that voice. He seemed to be enjoying it even – feet up on the desk, a sip of kvas here, read an old joke there, and he’d try not to smirk to himself when it made me laugh. He even let one of his own laughs slip once or twice. It was just what I wanted. I felt like I was finally putting together a whole picture out of two halves.

But then we came to this letter he’d given to me on the docks of Fifth Harbor, thanking me just before I left after Seeger’s fire. I was getting ready to hand it over to him, and my heart dropped right into my feet. Nina. I’d forgotten I’d written something really, really, REALLY embarrassing in the margins. Just. Sankta Alina. I don’t know if I can repeat it.  

I tried to skip over that one, but he was having none of it. Everything had been playful and a little flirtatious up until that moment, and he swiped it from my hands. Sankta Elizabeta, my face is burning up while I’m writing this. Tell me this is salvageable. Oh, wait, you’re in backwoods Fjerda or something. Ugh, why, Nina, why?  

Everything got really quiet – he’d seen it right away. I could tell he was surprised, but that was it. I have no idea what else was happening in that brain of his.

What it was was this. I’d made a note of how different he was on paper and labeled that Kaz by his original name. I’d written that I like Kaz Brekker, but after these letters, I was in love with Kaz Rietveld.  

NINA. (Untranslatable Suli vulgarities)

I snatched the letter back – he wasn’t even making eye contact with me. He hadn’t even budged. It was too horrible. The silence felt never-ending. So, I left. That was yesterday. Now I’m staying on the Wraith. Maybe forever.  

I have to say something, and I wish you were here to help me figure out what to say. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there are fragments of lessons and sayings my father would have about this, if I could only cobble them in to something coherent. I’m trying and trying to imagine how he must be feeling.

He couldn’t have been that surprised about my feelings, could he? Not after all this time, not everything we’ve written. It’s not as if I’ve been terribly coy. I’m forcing myself to believe he would not be horrified to know how I feel. No, there’s something else.

How awful it must feel to think someone you trusted finds only a part of you lovable.

I have some soul-searching to do, Nina.

Come back.  

Inej

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(hand-delivered, unaddressed envelope)

Dear Inej,  

I’ve spent the whole night thinking, and I have some things to say. I won’t read this one out loud, so if you have a hard time believing it’s me, I guess you’ll just need to get creative.  

I know you’re embarrassed. You might remember I have intimate knowledge of what it’s like to be in your position. At first, I wanted nothing more than to ease your mind and put everything back the way it was. There was a large part of me that was awestruck that you’d find even a small, half-dead remnant of myself worthy of loving. I was ready to crawl back to you and do anything to erase this moment from time.

But then I realized that’s not a fair deal to Kaz Brekker.

And before you start making faces, I’m not becoming one of those politicians that likes to bloviate in the third person. Just for the sake of clarity in this letter alone, I’ll use the labels that you used.  

Inej, Kaz Brekker saved my life. Yours, too. And a lot of other people’s. Kaz Brekker could find me food and dry clothes and shelter when there was no one else. Kaz Brekker has fixed and built and risked and fought and salvaged. And yes, there are a good many things he’s terrible at, like not being an unmitigated asshole. He is not friendly or particularly kind, and he’s rarely truthful. There are many things he should never have done. He’s done unthinkable things he’s not even sorry for. Trust me, Inej. When it comes to hating Kaz Brekker, I have a front row seat.  

But the only reason there’s a Kaz Rietveld here for you to love at all is because Kaz Brekker brought him this far.  

At first, my instinct was to write a letter detailing all the many ways I can become more like the man you love. And that’s not to say there isn’t some wisdom in trying to coax him out a bit more – you tend to have good taste in most things. There’s probably some value in striking a balance.

But Kaz Brekker is part of the deal. You can’t have one without the other. There is a lot about him – about me -- that I would not and will not change. So, I need to know that you see the same value in him. In all of me. Because, if you can’t, I’m not sure it will matter how much I’m in love with you, too.  

And to think we might have avoided this whole mess if I just would have let you bring a flute. To that I say, mati en sheva yelu. I am in love with you even if you play a damn flute.

Are you smiling at least a little bit? I hope so.

Sincerely,

K. Rietveld

#six of crows #soc #six of crows fanfic #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #leigh bardugo #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #fanfic #fanfiction #kanej #kanej fanfic

[goldinavonlea]

Prompt: Anne/Gilbert courting they’re in Anne’s room and then marilla returns so Gilbert has to sneak out lol!

OKAY HERE WE GO! I actually finished something for once! It is TOO LONG and SELF INDULGENT and I had the BEST TIME! A few people have expressed interest in this (madmen, all), so I’ll tag you in then post with a cut, or you could rock on over to read it on Ao3! @platonic-oxymoron, @jump-on-winds-back, @chocolatelatte121, @andim-pirate, @neliel-deathberry

So without further ado (or only the brief ado it takes me to figure out how to cut on desktop)…

Summer had arrived in Avonlea. In all truth, summer had arrived in Avonlea several weeks earlier, but the inclement internal weather of Anne’s life of late had rendered the view rather cloudy from her window for a while there, and so perhaps it was better to say that summer had arrived—finally—in Anne. 

And what a summer it was.

The Snow Queen had advanced her reach so far that year that, with Anne’s window thrown open to the warm breeze, her outermost boughs reached past the casement and allowed the scent of blossoms to settle without having to do the tremendous injustice of cutting any sprigs loose. In the deliciously lazy few hours after lunch, the sun was in its prime and perfect position to extend its rays into the gable room, that so beloved tree stepping in again to render the light not sharp or overbright, but soft and golden and glorious, throwing shifting patterns on the floorboards. All the air was warm, perhaps under other circumstances too warm but with the light wind, the shade being indoors offered, the lack of necessity—there, in her own space—for long thick stockings or fussy aprons, no one to tell her to roll her sleeves back down her arms, rather than oppressive the afternoon seemed sweet, a little sticky but not unpleasantly so, stretching out slow and endless like toffee.

The house was quiet, Matthew tending the back field and Marilla having retreated to Rachel’s for the afternoon, leaving Anne alone but for the beating embodiment of her sudden shift in seasonal outlook, making himself quite at home as he lay, barefoot and trousers rolled to the knee, nose in a book with his head hanging upside-down off the edge of Anne’s bed. 

He had more freckles, in the summer. Anne could count them all, if she wished to, but for the moment found herself quite content to sit propped up against the footboard, a book of her own in her lap, watching. 

Well. Almost content.

“I don’t believe for a moment that actually works.”

“Sure it works,” came Gilbert’s reply as he lazily turned a page, the book obscuring his face for a moment though she could hear the smile in his words. “The brain needs oxygen to function, oxygen is carried in the blood, blood is as amenable to the affects of gravity as anything else, therefore: lying upside-down makes your brain work better.”

“There’s a logical fallacy in there somewhere, I can smell it.”

“Oh can you?” Gilbert asked, the smile in his voice broadening. “Where?”

“Don’t know,” Anne replied with a sigh, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes. “It’s too hot to think: ask me again in Autumn.”

“I strongly suspect neither of us will remember to raise the argument again come Autumn.”

Anne snorted. “Me, miss an opportunity to point out a flaw in your intellectual argument? I think not.”

“Well that’s true,” Gilbert agreed, his smile finally reappearing to Anne’s eyes as well as her ears as he set his book down, still open, on his chest. Blinking at her a few times (and looking rather comical doing so, being as he was upside down), he sighed. “I’ve been reading the same three pages for half an hour and I don’t think I’ve taken in a word of it.”

“Probably too much oxygen to the brain,” she quipped back, before setting her own book aside. “I never would have thought there was any circumstance that could deter me from the written word, but even I am struggling to process much from the page on so compellingly syrupy an afternoon,” Anne said, swallowing down a yawn and swinging her legs round so that she could lie back besides Gilbert, eyes drifting shut. “It’s like bathwater: I just want to fall asleep.”

“If you fall asleep now you won’t tonight, and then you’ll have hell to pay from Marilla when you refuse to get up in the morning.”

“Oh why should we get up in the morning, anyway? There’s so much day to be getting on with at the moment, surely some small portion of it could be given over to that most delightful and rare of luxuries that is the lie-in?”

“I thought mornings were for chores around here,” Gilbert said with the grin of one allowed entirely free reign over his own comings and goings.

Anne groaned. “Oh don’t, it’s summer: a season much too romantical to be tainted by the likes of laundry before ten in the morning. And don’t think I can’t feel your smugness without looking at you, Bash keeps you on entirely too long a leash.”

“Hey, I do laundry!”

“You do laundry precisely when you do everything, which is at whichever point in the day suits you. I love Marilla with the depth and wholeness of my heart, but Lord in Heaven does the woman love a schedule. I swear, once I have my teaching certificate and the promise of endless, uninterrupted summers, I won’t be getting out of bed before eleven a single day of them. I won’t even sleep that long, I’ll just wake up and stay in bed for hours and hours and hours, simply because I can.”

Gilbert’s grin softened at this, all teasing and fond. “I don’t reckon you could last ten minutes in bed after waking up without being bored to tears.”

“I certainly could,” Anne insisted, warming to her theme. “I’d keep a veritable mountain of books on my bedside table and spend the whole morning just reading. Maybe I wouldn’t even bother with a bedside table: just pile up all my books on the floor and balance my coffee on top of them.”

“If you don’t plan on getting out of bed,” Gilbert began slowly, clearly aware that he was walking into a trap and full of the imminent delight of being thus caught, “how do you suppose you’ll be getting ahold of coffee?”

Anne paused, then rolled her head ever so slightly to the side and cut a pointed and speculative glance at Gilbert.

The beaming, boyish smile that overcame his face was thrilled.

Gotcha. 

“Now that seems decidedly unfair.”

“Well,” Anne sniffed, returning her gaze to the ceiling. “Doctors don’t get summer holidays.”

“That is a sore wound and rubbing salt in it is actually very cruel.”

“Oh how you shall suffer, upheld as you shall be as a paragon of upright gentlemanliness wherever you go—”

“I’ve no doubt you plan to make that very difficult.”

“Positively fawned over by your grateful patients bringing you flowers and cakes and… and jars of various preserves—”

“From which you will get equal if not greater enjoyment, so you are, in advance, welcome.”

“People naming their dear children after you—”

“God, I hope not.”

Anne pulled up short at that, snapped out of the playful exchange as she turned again to Gilbert with a frown. “Well what’s that supposed to mean?”

His face screwed up in evident distaste. “We have to swear an oath, you know: Do no harm. Not sure I’d be able to say I was honouring my promise if my presence lead some poor child to being named Gilbert.”

“What’s wrong with Gilbert?” Anne asked, contrarily offended on his behalf. “I like it.”

He gave her a look that suggested she might have gone quite mad.

“Well I do! I don’t think I’d considered it all that much prior to coming to Avonlea, and… I will admit for a while it did prompt a thrill of what I generally assumed to be rage, but now… names are just words for people, aren’t they? Gilbert is the word that means you, so naturally it has to be one of my very favourites.”

Again his faced softened, became something that wasn’t exactly a smile but was so unflinchingly open, so tender, Anne was of half a mind to look away. She didn’t. 

“You know,” he said, absently tangling their fingers together on Anne’s faded quilt, “for someone who seems to relish in being mean to me you can be incredibly sweet when the spirit moves you.”

Anne shrugged. “I contain multitudes.”

Like that, the broad, delighted grin was back. “That’s Whitman—Song of Myself.”

“I know. I might have to wait until sunset at the moment but I have managed to do some reading.”

“And you chose to read Whitman.”

“Of course,” Anne said, genuinely a little baffled that he seemed so very pleased by the fact, as though it wasn’t obvious the copy of Leaves of Grass would leap directly to the top of her extensive to read list the moment he placed it in her hands. “I know it means a lot to you.”

He simply blinked at her for several moments, before his mouth went crooked in a wry smirk. “I might start handing you copies of The Lancet, just to see if you could force yourself through all that dull writing.”

Anne, forsaking for a moment the mantle of a mature young woman, stuck out her tongue. “Now who’s mean?”

“I suppose we’re equal.”

“Well then, rejoice old world, for all is as it should be.”

He squeezed her hand, his eyes soft and brown-sugar warm, something in them that, even in the summer, always seemed to remind her of Christmas. He smiled. “Yeah.”

Anne wasn’t sure, with all the years and years of promise she had ahead of her in order to test the truth of such a belief, that she’d ever grow accustomed to this part. For all the marvellous, sweeping romances she’d read through the years not one of them had ever truly provided any great detail on a kiss, shying away into the vagaries of metaphor which, while lovely, paled in comparison to the focus and specificity of the real thing, and to that entire grand pasture (until recently existing entirely unbeknownst to Anne even in her wildest imaginings) of all that was around a kiss in and of itself. 

For example, this: those breathless moments leading up to it, wherein contact became an inevitability and yet still—even after several seemingly eternal weeks of increasing familiarisation with one another—the thrill of nerves, the restless, impatient aching in the palms, the sides of the neck, the small of the spine that those eyes, suddenly heavy, brought forth in her. The fading out of the outside world, only ‘fading out’ wasn’t quite right, it was more like fading in, all the focus that had been spared for other things narrowing its scope (and how could she ever have imagined that a narrowing of scope might bring such a rush of muchness!) until all it encompassed was her, and him, and them—this thing that they became together, united in purpose and humming like one of Miss Stacey’s wires, the length and breadth of them startling and electric and alive. 

God, he hadn’t even touched her yet. Perhaps attempting this with their heads hanging off the edge of the bed wasn’t their wisest of plans: the whole thing left her light-headed enough when she was the right way up. 

Still, Anne had never been one to back down from a bad idea, and Gilbert had never once tried to dissuade her—only ever asked for the chance to join in. 

He asked her now, with the tilt of his head, his breath warm in the already warm room, the soft downturn of his softer eyelashes blurred to dark brown smoke from this close (and he really was terribly good at getting that close without Anne entirely realising it was happening. Probably she should ask how he did it, but really she already knew that the answer was magic).

Anne, as she was so often inclined to do where he was concerned (now that she had allowed her inclinations the free reign they rightly deserved) said yes.

Oh, she was certain she’d never get used to this.

It started soft, as it usually did, the barest brush of lips that sparked and made her breath catch, reminded her that she was breathing at all. His fingers, still intertwined with her own, tightened their grip involuntarily, and even with her eyes closed Anne could feel the furrow of his brow, that little line of concentration and control that baited her, bothered deliciously at her until she inevitably managed to soothe it flat, until he relaxed and melted into it like clay under her hands.

That wasn’t just yet, though: that part came a little later. 

For now it was delicate and fluttering, not indecisive but unhurried, a little awed. There was no reason, Anne had concluded, no reason at all why placing one’s mouth on someone else’s ought to be so thrilling to every last thread of her, except for the fact that every point of contact, every movement of his lips against her own (a little firmer, now, a little longer, a little more intent) sang with the knowledge that this was Gilbert, Gilbert with the good heart and the gentle hands and the lopsided smile and the brilliant mind, and that that mind had chosen in that moment to put his mouth to her, to kiss her this way and then that, that of all the things that he could have elected to be doing right then it was kissing her that he wanted… that was where the thrill lay. Kissing in general, she supposed, might well be fine enough, but kissing Gilbert…

He shifted his attentions from Anne’s top lip to the bottom, and she pressed her sudden advantage to slot them together properly, like puzzle pieces sliding into place. Surely no-one else would fit her the way he did? Surely they were made for each other, when they worked together so well?

Ever so gently, his teeth scraped against her lip, and any question marks in her thoughts turned to dust.

Loathe to lose the contact, Anne decided against trying to sort out which fingers belonged to who on their entangled hands, instead rolling onto her side just enough for the hand she had spare to reach Gilbert’s face, trace the high of his cheek, the cut of his jaw of which she was so inexplicably fond—perhaps because its sharpness under her palm felt so very real, perhaps because the roll and motion of it took her back, again, to the mechanics and deliberation and will—his will, Gilbert’s!—behind his mouth on hers, or perhaps because of the way that every time she touched him there he shivered a little, and she felt the kick of it in her bones. She felt rooted, certain of and one with her skin in a way she rarely had the luxury of experiencing: she knew she was solid, and grounded, and there, because Gilbert was, and she had moved him. What a power that was, she thought as her fingertips skimmed the shell of his ear, found their way to the curls at the nape of his neck (which she had found she was also tremendously fond of)—to know that she could put her hands on him and he would move for her, just like that. She couldn’t entirely fathom what she’d done to deserve such a thing, but then she felt the instinctive shift of her own spine under his hand as it found her waist, and realised perhaps that was it: the utter trust it took Anne to be able to respond to him without thought or hesitation was a gift that earned the same in return. It was about balance, and faith, and equality, in this as in all things between them. 

She loved it.

She ran her fingers down the line of his throat to his collarbone, felt him draw a sharp breath straight from her own lungs as his hand flexed, tightened against her waist, and then gave her breath back in the shape of her own name.

“Anne.”

She wondered whether that was one of his favourite words, too—it certainly sounded that way, when he said it—and decided it was only fair she got the same opportunity to voice the name of her own joy that he did.

“Gil.”

Things blurred and sharpened then, the passage of time becoming hazy and malleable even as otherwise minute details—the exact pinpoint location and pressure of his thumb against her ribs, the back of her foot brushing against his shin, how she could just feel his heartbeat against her palm with her fingers hooked over his shoulder, the only fast thing in a world gone slow as honey. 

What a thing, to feel with her hand the impact she had on the heart of him; to know his love (he loved her, he loved her!) as something tangible, this thing she’d longed for no longer only curled through the landscape of her imagination but right there, held close, a rhythm against her skin.

His mouth sought out her throat, the exact spot just above the collar of her dress where her pulse beat strongest, and how could she do anything but smile, laugh breathlessly at the reassurance he was searching for? Yes, she said, with her fingers tangled in his curls, with the tilt of her head to make room for him, yes, Gilbert Blythe, I love you too.

And so they went, the tick of Anne’s clock forgotten amidst the heady sweetness of being together, and close, and in love in their own little corner of the world, into which nothing else might enter and from whence no-one might remove them.

Or… almost nothing. Almost no-one.

Divinely and determinedly distracted as she was, even Anne’s dubious sense of self-preservation cut sharply through that most pleasant of fogs at the creak (oh blessed creak!) of the kitchen door. Gilbert, who had eventually corralled enough mental direction to unwind their joined hands and set about one of his favourite pursuits—the utter destruction of whatever sense of order Anne had managed to impose upon her hair—displayed less wisdom, taking a few moments to respond not to the sound of the door itself, but the sudden tension of the girl in his arms. 

“Anne?” he asked, withdrawing with evident reluctance from the crook of her neck, eyes dazed, colour high in his cheeks and—and this Anne noticed with a dangerously distracting level of satisfaction—his hair just as dishevelled as her own would inevitably be.

“Shh,” she hissed, utterly still as she strained to hear any further sound from downstairs, as yet hopeful that she might have been imagining things. 

Footfalls, sharp and eminently recognisable. Anne’s eyes snapped back to Gilbert’s, wide and alarmed as the same sudden understanding dawned on his face. “Marilla.”

Sitting bolt upright (and fighting the sudden head rush the movement prompted), Anne let out a soft curse she’d never have voiced in any other company, hands flying to one of her braids as Gilbert followed suit, the protocol for such a disruption already perhaps an undignified level of established. 

“I thought you said she wouldn’t be back until five?” Gilbert whispered sharply, doing, Anne had to admit, an admirable job of not becoming sidetracked as he combed his fingers through her hair and set about reconstructing her right braid. 

“She’s an autonomous being, Gilbert: evidently she changed her mind! See this is precisely why we should meet at your house instead of here.”

“And risk Hazel wandering in? If you’d like to explain to Bash how his mother came to have a heart attack then be my guest!”

“You have a barn, don’t you?”

“You have a barn!” Gilbert replied, sounding just a little hysterical as he fumbled with her ribbon and dropped it. Twice.

“My barn is regularly occupied by both Jerry and Matthew, idiot.”

“And mine by Bash.”

“Better Bash,” she said, turning her focus to the potentially tricker task of flattening out Gilbert’s hair into some semblance of decorum, “than Marilla.”

“I… that’s fair. Okay, what am I doing?”

Anne bit her lip, casting about the room for escape routes. “You could climb out the window?”

“Out the window?” he repeated, managing to sound simultaneously amused and horrified. “Anne, I’d land directly outside the window downstairs, do you not think she might notice?”

“Well what if I climbed out the window?” Anne asked, rather clutching at straws at this point.

Gilbert was evidently trying to swallow down laughter. “What good would that do?!”

“Fine, okay, okay you’re just going to have to be quiet and hope she doesn’t come in here, and then we’ll… figure it out.”

“Anne, what do you—”

“Shut up, shut up she’ll hear you just, just shh!”

“Alright, alright I’m—” he stopped mid sentence, falling abruptly silent at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Again they stared at each other, eyes locked in panic, although it became rapidly obvious that this was a mistake as Anne felt a fit of giggles bubbling up her throat.

“Anne? Anne, are you up here?”

Praying that the Good Lord (being entirely responsible for sending trouble her way) might allow her passage through her current trials unscathed, Anne swallowed the laughter down and attempted to even out her voice. “Afternoon Marilla!”

If the look on Gilbert, eyes screwed shut and the back of his hand pressed to his mouth as his shoulders shook silently, was anything to go by, her attempt had failed.

“Oh, you are home! I’d not have expected to find you inside on a day like this,” came Marilla’s voice again from the other side of the closed door.

“I… it’s only, you know,” Anne began a little desperately, thwacking Gilbert with the back of her hand as the trembling of his suppressed laughter increased, “sunburn is such a tremendous pain to be dealing with, I thought I’d better not chance it.”

“Well now. How uncharacteristically responsible of you.”

At this Gilbert threw his head back, having to turn his hand to cover both his mouth and nose as tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, the suggestion of her responsibility whilst she desperately fought to evade the detection of a young man in her bedroom clearly proving itself too much for him. Not today, and perhaps not even tomorrow, but some day soon Anne was going to push him into the Lake of Shining Waters for this.

“Yes, well. Thanks.”

“Well I’m only back for a minute or two—Rachel’s gotten it into her head that she absolutely must furnish you with a new quilt when you leave for Charlottetown, honestly that woman has too many sons and is far too intent on spoiling other people’s daughters,” Marilla added in a undertone which threatened to unbalance Anne’s tenuous grasp on herself and reduce her to Gilbert’s level of amusement, “so she’s sent me back to collect all my patterns that she might judge the most appropriate.”

“That’s… that’s very kind of her. She really needn’t trouble herself.”

“As I have endeavoured to explain to her, though she’s having none of it. Still, I don’t suppose it can do any harm—I do hate to imagine you getting cold all alone, come winter.”

Something about the tone of Marilla’s voice bled the hysterical amusement from the moment, leant it a fond softness that Gilbert clearly felt too, since he was able to uncover his mouth and reach for her hand, thumb brushing softly across her knuckles.

Anne squeezed his fingers. “I won’t be alone.”

“No,” came Marilla’s reply, before a pause. Anne, who was well acquainted with Marilla’s various pauses, could hear the smile in it. “No, I don’t suppose you shall. Well, anyway, I just thought you ought to know my return may be a little later than I’d anticipated, what with Rachel on a mission, so you and Matthew may have to fend for yourselves for dinner. Stick to the stovetop, mind, and don’t be laying a finger on the cake in the pantry, it isn’t for you as you well know.”

“Yes, Marilla, I know.”

“Good. And enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

“You too,” Anne replied, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders as she heard the footsteps retreating back down the stairs and then, a few moments later, the opening and closing of the kitchen door.

A further few beats of silence, and then a great relieved sigh from her co-conspirator. “Well. That was a bit close.”

Anne, entirely without hesitation and displaying the height of dignity, picked up the small cushion Marilla had sewn for her and whacked him over the head. “You rogue, you utter disaster of a man, could you not have made a little more of an effort to contain yourself? She could have heard you!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Gilbert laughed, sounding anything but as he raised his hands in defence.

“You are not, scoundrel, you’re no good at lies and they don’t become you so you’d do much better not trying. See if I invite you here again.”

“Perhaps it’d be wiser if you didn’t,��� he replied, still evidently amused. “Wouldn’t want Marilla thinking you aren’t responsible.”

“Oh she already knows I’m not,” Anne said primly, standing at last from the bed and smoothing out her skirts. “It’s your dishonourable conduct she’d be shocked by: she thinks you’re such a nice young man.”

“Most do,” Gilbert agreed cheerfully, leaning back against her headboard with that lopsided grin again, entirely at his leisure. Oh how intolerable of him, to make her love him so even when he was being absolutely insufferable. “And what do you think, Miss? Do you find my conduct to be dishonourable?”

Though he smiled, Anne was attuned enough to him by now that she could detect the undertone of sincerity in the question. Seating herself again on the bed beside him, she raised a hand to his face then ran it back through his curls, flooded with impossible fondness at the way he leant into the touch. “I believe… that there surely cannot be anything dishonourable in offering a young lady precisely the affection with which she longs to be treated.”

“Well then,” he said, his hand coming up to cover hers where it had come to rest against his cheek. “Can’t imagine anyone else’s opinion matters all that much.”

Anne grinned. “Except Marilla’s.”

“Except,” Gilbert said, tilting his head in deference to her point, “perhaps Marilla’s.”

They sat like that in tender silence for several long moments, before Anne sighed and broke it. “You do realise you have to leave now, right?”

The wide-eyed, childlike disappointment on his face was Anne thought, tremendously comical. “What, why?”

“Because if you don’t we’ll only end up having this exact palaver again in a few hours.”

“We’ll keep an eye on the time!”

“Do you have the faintest idea what time it is now? No, don’t look.”

Having been instructed away from the small clock on Anne’s bedside, Gilbert narrowed his eyes. “… One…ish?”

“It’s half past three,” Anne informed him, unimpressed.

Blatantly disbelieving, Gilbert sat up to get a look at the clock himself. “It never is, it can’t…” He stopped, blinking at the hands. “Are you sure that’s right?”

Anne grabbed his hand and pulled, tugging him up from the bed. Probably her pillows would smell like him that night. “Come on, out.”

“No, Anne, come on, don’t make me go home: Dellie’s teething, the crying’s unbearable.” He fought her as she dragged him to the door, not hard but enough to make her laugh at his recalcitrance. And to think, she’d once thought mystery and melancholy to be the grand romantic ideal: how much better this was, to love and be loved by someone who shared his feelings with her unreservedly, however fleeting or ridiculous they might seem. 

“Then don’t go home,” Anne suggested, pulling him behind her down the hall, then giving him a gentle shove in the direction of the stairs. “Go for a walk, get some fresh air: they say it’s terribly good for you, Doctor Blythe.”

“Sunburn isn’t,” he argued, somehow managing to reach the ground floor without falling as he took the steps half-backwards, eyes still on her as she followed him. “It’s a terrible pain to be dealing with, I hear: I could be laid up in bed for days, and then how would you feel?”

“Find some shade,” Anne said, restraining a grin as she held the kitchen door open for him.

“Surely, being the far greater adventurer of the two of us, you’d be much better at such a search than I would,” he said, standing firm in the doorway and giving her a look of such utterly unconvincing false innocence she couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on, it’s a beautiful day: how could you stand to miss out on it? And think—it’s a matter of weeks before we’re off to the city, surrounded by smog and buildings and the great urban sprawl.”

“Eight weeks, which is in fact two months.” 

Gilbert elected to ignore this correction. “Think how badly you’ll long for a summer afternoon with trees and flowers and rivers then. Can you really throw away this chance, when it’s right here for the taking?”

Anne crossed her arms, fighting a smile and doing, she knew, a very poor job of it. “I suppose it is a glorious day…”

“Glorious,” Gilbert agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

“And I wonder… have I introduced you to my very favourite tree yet?”

He tilted his head, considering. “The Sugar Maple, up near the Andrews’ place?”

“Elm, outside of town—past the old bridge beyond the schoolhouse?”

“Then no, I don’t believe you have.”

“Well then,” Anne said, answering his triumphant grin with one of her own as she fetched her hat from the hook by the door and slid into her boots. “Who am I to deny the most wondrous call of summer?”

“Who indeed?” Gilbert replied, grabbing hold of her hand and pulling her beside him, out into the sun.

#anne with an e #awae #avonlea writes #shirbert #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #awae fic

[covrtofnightmares]

( @ocean-eyesahq / @ahqstart )

Carter Blackthorn loves the holiday season; one of his favorite aspects of celebrating (aside from the food) has always been gift-giving. His family has always enjoyed spending the winter season together, and although his job calls him away from the Wild Hunt regularly these days, he still finds time to participate in traditions in the Hunt. After carefully wrapping his packages in brown paper, secured with a bit of twine, a sprig of pine, and a pinecone delicately attached to each parcel, the Wild Hunt fae carried his gifts into the Widowed Oak, finding a familiar residence among the teeming mess of faeries flittering to and fro in preparations for the holiday season. With a soft smile spreading across his warm features, Carter set the small stack of presents outside of Mahina Kekoa’s residence, tucking a hand-written letter underneath one of the knotted bits of twine.

Dearest Mahina,

I hope these presents find you well, just as the holiday season does! Traveling about Astralis has awarded me the great pleasure of getting to experience unique cultures and customs that are different than what we’ve grown up with in the Hunt, and I hope some of what I’ve picked up on my travels may be of use to you.

In the first package, you’ll find small burlap sacks, tied together with string, that contain crushed flowers and herbs that are native to the Spring Court. You won’t find their likeness anywhere else in the fae realms, and I figured what better gift to a healer passionate about her craft than medicinal herbs and flowers of foreign lands? Even if you don’t end up using them in your healing concoctions, they smell wicked good and would make an excellent potpourri.

The second package contains a mortar and pestle to go with the fine herbs and flowers acquired. While I’m sure you have your own, I found this in an antique shop when I was perusing the Autumn Court and figured you might like it even for the display quality, if nothing else.

The third package contains a real relic here in the Spring Court! Honey is a huge thing here, as the bees get to thrive in the temperate Spring Court climate, with blooming flowers aplenty to choose from. This is a jar of organic, locally cultivated honey, with a sprig of wild flowers thrown in to enhance the flavor. I like to use it in my baking, I figured I’d spread the love here!

In the last package, you’ll find one of my personal favorites of the Spring Court: some of their culinary delicacies. Sweets are a thing of legend here in the Spring Court and I’ve had a great deal of fun baking and learning from master pastry chefs. In this box (careful when you open the lid!), you’ll find a classic Spring Court Bannoffee Pie. It has a buttery, melt-in-your-mouth cookie base, and the filling is a combination of three supreme ingredients: cream, toffee, and bananas. (I drizzled a bit of silky dulce de leche in my version for good measure; the caramel-y flavors really balance out the bananas and the slam-packed sweetness of the toffee). The concoction is then topped with chocolate shavings and whipped cream. I tried a few different recipes before I found one I liked, so I hope you enjoy this sweet and fluffy dessert as much as I did the...numerous times I taste tested it while baking.

Wishing you the warmest of holidays and I hope to see you soon!

( P.S. Tell my mother I said hi if you happen to stumble across her in the marketplace )

Happy Holidays,

Carter Blackthorn

#CARTER // #thorns and roses: ( mahina ) #thorns and roses: ( gift exchange ) #i hope you like it love! <3

[ordinaryschmuck]

Top 20 BEST Animated Series of the 2010s-20th place

Have you ever watched a series that started out astounding but slowly became blander with each season? It sucks, doesn’t it? To have a show that you love to watch nearly every episode to become something you regret watching. However, while this does become grating, I still believe that a show isn’t always bad if it slowly became so. Because if suitable elements are desirable enough, you have something that is honestly worth an initial watch.

#20-Star V.S. The Forces of Evil (2015-2019)

The Plot: A magical princess from another dimension, named Star Butterfly, finally gets a magic wand that has been passed down through her family for generations. There’s just one tiny winey little problem: She’s irresponsible with it in every way, shape, and form. So, to make sure that she doesn’t destroy the kingdom-I mean-to teach her responsibility, her parents abandon-I MEAN-transfer her to an ordinary school on Earth. There she meets her “best friend” Marco Diaz, and the two of them fight monsters who want the wand, save Star’s kingdom, and eventually get together at the end (It’s not a spoiler if it’s painfully obvious).

So here’s the thing about Star V.S. The Forces of Evil: It had a severe case of series rot. Again, I don’t think it was an overall bad show because of it. The series wouldn’t be on this list if that were true. However, while it isn’t bad, that doesn’t mean it deserves to be higher on the list. Mostly because everything that made this show wonderous ended up getting stuck in a limbo of mediocrity.

The first thing that’s worth mentioning is the animation. The first half of season one had some of the best-animated scenes out of every show in the 2010s. It was smooth, fast, and really expressive. Unfortunately, the rest of the series goes through a very noticeable downgrade. It isn’t bad (at least, it isn’t by season 2) as the slow animation can actually help the series during the more dramatic bits. It just gets a little frustrating given how great it used to be. In fact, I feel like the show’s animation quality is a perfect analogy for the show itself: Fast-paced and fun in the first couple of episodes, slow and passable in every episode after. And it’s not just the animation that got a downgrade, but the comedy as well.

At first, Star V.S. relied on a LOL Random sense of humor. A person can laugh at a random moment that comes out of nowhere, and even if they didn’t, there was another random joke that came shortly behind to make up for it. The problem is that a series needs to have the right energy to match fast-paced humor, and as we already established, this show lost that energy due to the animation’s downgrade. Because of the downgrade, the show had to adapt to the slow movements by switching from acting random to acting absurd. It’s still funny (sometimes), but not as hilarious as it used to be. Especially if people preferred the show’s original randomness. It’s like a show’s comedy switched from slapstick to dialogue exchanges. If done correctly, that could be funny, but nobody would have watched the series for its dialogue. The same can be said for Star V.S. the Forces of Evil, especially when it begins to mix said comedy with drama.

A trend people might notice during the 2010s is that shows begin as purely comedic, only to slowly become more dramatic. In some cases, it works, especially if a series has a perfect mix of comedy and drama. Sadly for Star V.S., the show has more of a contrast in tones than others. While certain shows had that required mix of comedy and tragedy only to slowly lose it, Star V.S. the Forces of Evil never really started with that mix. The jokes are funny, and the drama can be endearing, but here is the problem: If you are more of a fan of comedy, you will be bored with the dramatic episodes. And if you are a fan of drama, you will think that the comedic episodes are stupid and random. Which was what the show was from the beginning! The series used to be about Star and Marco going on some crazy adventure where they fend off iconic villains while having well-written jokes sprinkled in. Now it's about having characters going through serious stuff and occasionally doing something stupid and random. Speaking of the characters…

The characters in this show are...just fine. Some have the emotional depth to them, and others are nothing more than sources for comedy. Some of them are either really entertaining, are either really uninteresting and forgettable, or they are just flat out annoying (Case in point: Princess Ponyhead). However, there is one teeny-tiny issue that this show does with its characters that frustrate me: it’s the use of romantic subplots. Personally, I don’t mind romance. Hell, I fricken’ support it as long as it’s done well. And Star V.S. doesn’t do it well. 

Here’s the thing: Star and Marco will get together in the end, and it's apparent that they do. Don’t even pretend that it isn’t, and don’t complain if that’s a spoiler. Because they are two unrelated main characters of the opposite gender in a Disney cartoon. That alone should be enough to convince you that they’re going to eventually get together. And how do the writers utilize the relationship? Do they start off as a couple early, and the show continues on from there? Do they do a slow burn where they eventually get together by the end of the series? No, and sort of. You see, Star V.S. has the one cliche that everyone is just about tired of, and that is using a love triangle. But they just don’t use one love triangle. They use a love quadrilateral. And that love quadrilateral eventually devolves back into a love triangle, only to get replaced by another love triangle. And that love triangle turns into another love quadrilateral! And weirdly, that love quadrilateral is also a love quintuple! And if you want to add shipping into the mix, that love quintuple is a...shape that doesn’t even exist! And to top it all off, that love whatever-the-hell-you-wanna-call-it has Señor Marco Ubaldo Diaz in the center of it all! 

Look. If you want to include romance in your series, that’s perfectly fine. But if you wish to use love triangles, here’s some free advice: DON’T! DO IT! They force drama, are always unnecessary because it’s obvious who's gonna end up with who, and by the end of the day, someone’s gonna get hurt. And I don’t mean the characters. No, no, no. I mean the fans who were rooting for one couple or the other!

These are the reasons why I think Star V.S. the Forces of Evil lost its touch. I still like it, but these faults make it hard to do so. The problems this show has are either a downgrade from the first batch of episodes, are problems that become more noticeable as the series goes on, or are problems that are handled much better in other shows. That is, except for one reason that makes me recommend this show: The villains.

This show has some of the best, if not the best, villains out of any animated series in the 2010s. Ludo was hilarious as an incompetent foil to Star, only to become more unsettlingly psychotic throughout the series. There is a fantastic twist with Miss Heinous that actually makes her more terrifying and even more sympathetic. And I’m not kidding when I say that Toffee scares the utter-living crap out of me, even if his motivations are a little weak. The only villain I have problems with (kinda spoilers) is Mina, mostly because her motives are flat and her personality is unentertaining. But none of these characters, villain or otherwise, compare to Eclipsa.

The writers do a great job at dancing around answering whether, or not, Eclipsa is really a villain or is just misunderstood. She does things that are seen as evil and dangerous to others, but she doesn’t do them out of malicious intent. In fact, Eclipsa doesn’t even give off that much evil energy, and it seems like she just does whatever she thinks is fun. The writers also do a great job at not only making her motivations clear, but it also makes Eclipsa a fantastic mirror for Star. Whether it’s a mirror of what she could be or should be, I’ll let you decide for yourself. And yes, eventually, the show does answer whether she is friend or foe. But even then, her character doesn’t suffer but, rather, improves. Because the answer makes Eclipsa more sympathetic and much more understanding.

Unfortunately, these great characters aren’t enough for me to rank the show higher. It’s still a fun series at first, and I highly recommend it, but it doesn’t change how it’s a bit of a mess. In the end, while this Star doesn’t shine as bright as others, there are still things that make it shine bright enough. I know that’s a weird note to end on for a top twenty list, but just note that we only go up from here.

(But do yourself a favor and stop watching after season 3. Just...use your imagination for what happens in season 4. Trust me. It’s for the best.)

#top 20 of 2010s #star vs the forces of evil #what i thought about