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xerxeswitch · 1 year

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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

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comicbookgirl2 · 2 years

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The falling star of SVTFOE OT 1- the eclipsing of potential.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ua-ANnAVLjA&t=4185s

now before I begin I would like to address this video, it’s a very well made video and honestly I’d highly recommend you watch it- maybe even before or after reading this? I agree with a lot of what he said other than the parts regarding the one and only Eclipsa.

Now I know I’m going to get Flammed for this- because a lot of people believe that during the most darkest and dreary parts of this show- eclipsa ironically was the saving Grace- and I’d agree, because she was the one and only thing that seemed to remind you that you weren’t only watching this show for the terrible shipping but for the actual plot?? But then I’d also disagree because- wait for it- Eclipsa was technically the worst thing to happen to this show.

Now lower your pitchforks please- and let me explain.

Let’s go back to the good old days when svtfoe could be considered good, now shall we? Yeah I mean like season 2. Star and Marco were tolerable and their relationship was pretty well written. Star, being the free spirited child she was, had this persistant worry about the loss of her freedom when she became queen which was honestly? Quite reasonable to have. Being a queen is a huge responsibility- as you now become the ultimate servant and leader to your people. There really won’t be time for mistakes or adventures so star’s anxiety at entering this new phase of life was a really interesting perspective, and the message of her becoming a queen that could best serve her people in her own way was also a really good message to. Nowadays when kids grow up they might feel heavily pressured by society to get a reasonable job, settle down, anything done outside of the norm isn’t usually received well. So the message of telling star- yeah you have to grow Up, but you can still do it in your own way, while handling your responsibilities was a really nice message! Especially when you realized that other queens of Mewni had their own ways of ruling. Maybe star could look to them for guidance or inspiration? Maybe she’d want to set a completely new path while learning how to balance out her responsibility! I was really waiting to see how it would play out- heck they even fully addressed it in an episode! In addition to this, we had the whole plot point of Marco being possibly evil, and Toffee’s plan slowly but surely shaping up to be huge...IT HAD A LOT OF POTENTIAL-

until...it didn’t.

Enter in one of if not the worst plot twists of all time. Eclipsa and Meteora.

Now you can argue them not making eclipsa evil was an original/good thing and I’d say sure- fair- BUT. Them making eclipsa the rightful ruler essentially rendered Star’s whole crisis of being a good ruler while being true to herself ultimately pointless- she could easily just hand off the crown- because it wasn’t hers to begin with. What was the point of giving star that plotlines if it didn’t matter in the end? Heck what was the point of showing Moon being a good queen at the beginning of at the end she easily tossed it all away and suffered massive character assassination???

And the worst part of this- was the terrible racism analogy between monsters and mewmans. Monsters do not make good comparisons to POCs especially ones that can easily suck your soul out. In fact remember the plot line that The show told you involved globgor actually committing many atrocities against the spider folks? Then it conveniently dropped it? Yeah I do too. The fact that Eclipsa chose love over her responsibilities as a ruler for someone who’s committed a lot of crimes against mewman’s political allies should at the very least make the people suspicious and mistrusting of her. But instead the show rights this off as cool, and quirky and brave- while writing off anyone who didn’t like her as one dimensional racists- like what??? There are legitimate reasons for the mewmans to not trust eclipsa. Ones that DO NOT INVOLVE RACISM. ((Globgor was such an atrocious let down too)).

One of the worst parts about Eclipsa returning, and not being evil was how it killed soooo many potential plot points/purpose of so many things. Don’t get me wrong- a lot of GREAT things were dropped- but these were so bad..

What was the point of showing Moon being a responsible queen if it didn’t matter?

What was the point of Star struggling with the idea of her upcoming responsibilities if it didn’t matter?

What was the point of THIS if it didn’t mater?!?!?

Or THIS?!

In fact what was the point of teaching about the power of responsibility if you were ironically going to reward the least responsible character in the show??? Sure you can argue- she showed great responsibility when she was willing to kill Meteroa for Mewni- but I’d actually argue that having her take back the crown, after seeing what she did to Moon, and then later put aside her responsibilities to save her husband (who was said committed a lot of monstrosities against the spiderbite folk mind you), is just...not right. And ironically Eclipsa wasn’t the worst offender of this.

Her daughter, also easily one of the worst characters of the show, Meteora- who drained multiple princesses for their life force to stay young while making others miserable for a living- went on a huge genocidal rampage through mewni- against innocent people- for the throne- and all she got was a reset in life, where she’s now in line for the throne.....

So she essentially got rewarded for committing massive genocide! Great lesson to teach kids SVTFOE! Really nice!

She’s arguably worse than Toffee when you think about it, yet only one of them get their full comeuppance- which is ironic because the one who was right ended up dying the brutal death.

Ironically, Eclipsa could’ve been both right, and the villain?? If she had been a villain, I would’ve called her one of- if not the best, American animated villains. Why? Well to start- a lot of the things seemed to be really coincidental- like her just happening to have a spell that would kill an immortal (for no particular reason) that would just so grant her, her freedom. For someone who’s like “lol I’m not that evil” she has a lot of dark spells (one for invading someone’s privacy, and a bunch for just flat out KILLING people)- and her messages/advice to Star when struggling to deal with her power from her mewberty form was...questionable to say the least- she’s someone who seems to operate without consideration of responsibility- but that doesn’t mean that she’s not a schemer...

Some of the best villains or antagonists in fiction, are those that are usually right in some shape or form, that end up challenging the protagonist’s whole pov. Eclipsa could’ve been that.

Eclipsa’s whole point of running away could’ve been tied to Toffee- maybe you could’ve had her whole plot be the fact that she was a long term planner, who wanted to fight monster racism- a good goal, in the less than moral way possible. Maybe she had pulled some strings in the background that, if the show had actually acted on the potential of Marco becoming an evil monster that joined Toffee’s side- or Toffee becoming something monstrously powerful- could’ve forced monsters and mewmans to work together against a united goal, showing that there was potential for the species to equally co-exist and work together- something that Eclipsa had realized a long time ago, but realized that she wouldn’t be the one to be the catalyst for such revolution- but she knew that someday, somehow there would be a potential princess who would, she just needed to ensure the right actions would lead to the right results. Would it be cliche? Yeah, but it would’ve been a lot better than flat out character assassination, untied plot ends, and MASSIVE GENOCIDE.

Also speaking of the massive genocide, meteora and eclipsa- can we talk about that for a show that wants to be ‘complex’ when addressing social issues- it really seemed to ignore a lot of social issues in and of itself? It’s like racism is the only issue that anyone in this show cares to address.

No, like really- think about it.

Some of the mewmans live really really terribly- there’s clearly a caste system there, but it’s just passed off as comedy....why doesn’t it bother anyone??? Is poverty just not that important???

Some of the characters like Mina, and Moon, are clearly dealing with the trauma of their past- Mina who’s the victim of propaganda, and PTSD, has literal magic driving her crazy. But it’s usually passed off a joke and never further developed. The fact that Solaris, who is largely responsible for inventing such magic responsible the monstrocitity of a final we got- had the audacity to glare at someone who she, herself- recruited via BLATANT PROPOGANDA, and has suffered because of Solaris more than anyone else is disgusting.

The journal pretty clearly depicts Solaris as a genocidal racist to- so am I the only one missing the ten character arcs of development that she must’ve underwent to love Meteora? If it was in the journal, then that’s just terrible writing, because the watcher shouldn’t have to look for outside material when watching a tv show.

Moon, who had her mother killed by Toffee, the same man- who literally steals her soul, caused the death of council member, and almost killed her own daughter. Imagine dealing with that, she was so distraught when she saw Toffee, who she thought killed Star, she could barely think right. How come her trauma is never addressed or talked about???

Now I’ll admit, I don’t like Steven Universe, it’s far from perfect with it’s delivery at times, but at least- it could address multiple issues with mental health, social issues and a caste system. It at least could address it’s internal and external character plot lines.

This show? The second half of it? Eh no.

(Ironically his earth friends leaving was a great analogy for all of the potential for the show to be awesome dissipating in the later half of this show)

Also can we talk about the fact that for a show that seems to speak out against racism so much- how come when Toffee wanted to destroy magic it was bad, but when Star does it, it’s good? Isn’t that a little racist in and of itself?

Other plot points that were also rendered pointless by this stupid twist:

SMH THEY REALLY WASTED PATRICK STUMP’S TIME LIKE THIS!!!

The awesome ballad of star butterfly (song doesn’t matter because star isn’t even the real future queen, little miss genocidal maniac is)

#svtfoe #anti svtfoe ending #anti svtfoe last seasons #marco diaz #we got robbed #analysis #star vs the force of evil season 3 #star vs the forces of evil #moon #star #toffee

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casspurrjoybell-23 · 5 months

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Berserkr - Chapter 2 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Alphas Suck

The sun was an early riser, never late in its conquest to set the lands alight with its momentous display of power.

But just beyond the shore, in a quaint barn not far from the edge of the cliffs, was someone who arose right along with the ephemeral glow of the early morning horizon.

"Ahren, be kind to your sister, now. There is more than enough breakfast to go around, you know that I would never leave you hungry," a gentle voice sounded, hands undeniably tender yet simultaneously agile as they gripped the stem of a pitchfork.

The body connected to those hands was that of an Omega, one who stabbed relentlessly at the fresh bale of hay in an attempt to deconstruct it just like he did with every sunrise, rain, storm or shine.

Ahren gave a frustrated grunt followed by a sharp whinny of disapproval and the Omega immediately tutted, freeing his fingers from the farm tool that promptly dropped into the pile of hay to instead focusing pale eyes and loving hands on the muzzle of his tall friend.

Ahren was a good stallion, a strong and powerful horse that was easily worth his own weight in gold.

The Omega had been raised right alongside the impressive beast, ever since he stumbled upon this quiet village so many years ago at the ripe age of eight harvest cycles and was lucky enough to secure employment as a stable boy.

It was a tough job full of back-breaking heavy lifting that quickly rendered the young Omega's delicate joints dust.

It paid nothing more than one meal a day and shelter from the elements while he slept but it was necessary.

He was safe here.

He could hide away here.

And anything... Everything was better than before.

And besides, his manager, Arne was nice enough, a widowed shopkeeper whose late husband was the former Jarl or leader of the village he now called home.

"Oh, do not give me that look. You know that I adore you," the Omega praised with a smile bright enough to blind a sighted man.

As he lovingly scratched at Ahren's velvety muzzle, the sight of his own, multicolored fingers rendered a reminder of how he ended up here in the first place.

See, this Omega led nothing short of a... unique life.

Born into a family with a loving mother and father, that love quickly turned sour as he began to grow and his skin color began to change right along with the rest of him.

'Cursed. Damned. Demon.'

The Omega had heard it all throughout the earliest years of his existence, confusion about why this was happening to him steadily surmounting as his parents sought healers far and wide to take heed of his apparent ailment.

He remembered peering into the lake by his family home, touching his face with soft fingertips as he wondered why they thought that the intermittent patches of paler pigment that gradually spread across his toffee-colored skin were something that could be so terrible.

But unfortunately, when certain falsehoods are repeated enough, anyone will start to believe them.

"Begone, demon. With Odin as our witness, your sins will not taint us here."

He would never forget the day when one too many healers consigned his fate and his parent's love for him ran out.

The rain had been so cold that night as it pelted down on his back, strands of black curls sticking to his forehead like plaster and obscuring the very last view of his parents that he would ever glimpse before they slammed the door and cast him out for good.

He had been much too stunned, much too confused and perplexed to cry that day.

Instead, the eight-year-old had simply stood there, rooted in the spot as he clung to the idea that maybe this was all some heinous, treacherous trick.

But only when the sun nudged the moon from the sky and dusk turned to dawn did tiny seedlings of the truth finally seep into the cracks of his gentle heart.

His family did not want him.

He was a demon.

And now, he was all alone.

A bright neigh... pulled the Omega from the cavernous abyss of his mind and he wasted no time in swiveling his soft gaze toward the majestic mare that also lived alongside Ahren in the barn.

"Sigge, what is it?" he asked, brushing dirtied hands on his britches after giving Ahren's muzzle one extra pat of well-deserved attention.

An eyebrow rising with increasing awareness, the Omega quickly took heed of the slightest shift in the female horse's expression, the dryness to her tongue when her muzzle opened and a specific, inexplicable state of understanding that had somehow become second nature to him over the years of living, sleeping and breathing alongside these beautiful creatures.

"Oh, I see," he cooed, making the short trek over to Sigge to run those dual-pigmented fingers through her long mane.

The barely-detectable coarseness in the strands confirmed his suspicion.

"I am very sorry that I fell asleep without filling your trough last night. Manager Arne ordered me to help in the house until it was so late that my eyes couldn't stand it a second longer."

The young Omega sighed, still surprised by how he somehow managed to stumble back to his makeshift bed in the corner of the barn in the wee hours of the morning.

"But enough about me, you must be so thirsty, my love. No worries, I will go to the canal and fetch..."

"Valie."

The Omega's head snapped around in an instant, an instinctive, self-preservative movement in response to the sound of his name rolling off of the sharp tongue of his manager.

He knew much, much better than to keep her waiting.

"Ma'am?" Vale answered back in a space shorter than a millisecond, although his fingers remained tangled in the comforting depths of Sigge's mane.

"Fetch me water for my stew. Quickly, now."

"Yes, ma'am."

Valie moved like a breeze, more than used to being slight and unnoticed.

He placed a quick kiss on Sigge's nose before snatching up two wooden pails and scurrying out of the loose wallboards at the back of the barn.

A vague smile tugged at Valie's lips and a quiet melody hummed in his throat as he ambled along the side of the path that led down to the sea and subsequently, the freshwater canal that it supplied.

The village was on the larger side of small, a coastal town in which everyone knew everyone and rumors flew like the never-ending flocks of crows that liked to draw circles in the sky.

Valie was never particularly akin to taking part in the gossip, finding himself much more comfortable with existing on the outskirts of their quaint community.

Besides, it was unlikely that anyone would even let him take part even if he wanted to, the objectionable state of his dual-toned patches of skin the one and only nail in the coffin of any probability of social interaction.

Well, at least he had his horses.

"VALIE."

And Tofa. He also had Tofa.

A high-pitched squeal and a body crashing into his own left Valie tumbling haphazardly into the shrubbery that lined the far side of the pathway, leaving the misfit pair in a tangled mess of limbs and leaves.

"Tofa," Valie finally giggled once a quick sniff confirmed that his attacker was, in fact, his best friend and fellow Omega.

"You nearly killed me."

Tofa whipped his body back, still hovering over his friend with a mischievous smile but this time providing enough room to at least allow the black-haired male to take a breath.

"I could never hurt ya'," the smaller male replied, bright blue eyes glistening despite the fact that the sun was replaced by opaque clouds and heavy fog today.

"I'm just tired from workin' all night and I saw ya' walkin' by and it had been a while since I last saw ya'... and... and I just miss ya'."

Valie flushed, ducking his head to hide the supremely obvious blush that had a tendency to infiltrate the large patch on the left side of his face that was particularly de-pigmented.

"I miss you too, Tof, I truly do," he replied as his hands re-assumed their positions on the handles of his pails, truth interlaced into each word.

"But my manager is not a patient woman, you know that. I must get water for her before she loses patience and I sleep with an empty stomach again."

Tofa instantly deflated but nodded with understanding as Valie pushed himself back up to standing, preparing to continue his trek.

However, before he could step foot back on the path, a short body sidled itself up next to him.

"I can go with and I'll even help ya' carry ye'r pails back. Is that alright?" Tofa offered and Valie could not ignore the way his soul softened at the sweetness of his friend's generosity.

"Didn't you just finish working the mead hall?" Valie inquired, not missing the dark crescents that loomed just underneath his friend's bright eyes, revealing the Omega's proper state of exhaustion.

The smaller Omega's smile faltered but did not break.

"I did. But it's okay, they wer'nt too rough with me last night."

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nanaminokanojo · 2 years

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A Lot | SemiShira

CHARACTERS: Semi Eita X Shirabu Kenjiro CHAPTER COUNT: 1/1 WORD COUNT: 1600+ GENRE: fluff | boy x boy CONTENT WARNING: profanity | strong language SPOILERS: n/a CROSS POSTED ON A03 collection masterlist

"Glad you can make it."

Kenjiro’s voice registered in Eita’s ear, but he couldn't quite understand what the former was saying, unable to get over the way he strutted closer as if he was parting the Red Sea and emerging from it like a god surveying his domain. Kenjiro looked absolutely gorgeous in a pair of ripped jeans and a black, graphic shirt with some metal band's name printed on it, its wide armholes showing off his rather toned physique underneath.

It took the ash-blonde’s breath away. It was such a polar difference from how he would usually see Shirabu Kenjiro – almost always dressed neatly in either his med school uniform or something else proper as slacks and neatly-pressed oxford shirts – but the duality was a welcome sight with how Eita is finally seeing him wearing something more ‘human,’ so to say.

Just like the first time he met the younger guy after that impromptu gig where Eita’s band was called to perform, he had only one thing on his mind: ‘that,’ he thought, ‘that's the person I wanna marry,’ seeing how Kenjiro’s face morphed from that of utter tedium to genuine mirth which seemed to have lit up the dark, dingy bar where they’ve first crossed paths.

Even when Kenjro stood there, smiling to cover his confusion at the way Eita was just staring at him, the latter couldn't quite form words to say. His mind was just filled with the thoughts of what he wanted to do with Kenjiro if he had his way.

"Earth to Semi Eita?" the toffee-haired male said, finally making Eita snap out of it.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say, placing a hand behind his head as he suddenly felt embarrassed with how he was acting. Eita looked around, trying to keep his eyes off Kenjiro but to no avail. "This…this is something."

Kenjiro had given Eita tickets to the exclusive car show he was participating in. It wasn't exactly the older male’s thing, but since it was Kenjiro, he agreed to come, thinking maybe he would get to see more of what exactly goes inside his head. The former has been keeping him guessing for the past four months that they’ve known each other, but Eita had a hunch that Kenjiro liked cars. In what context, however, it was vague.

A smirk drew itself across Kenjiro’s mouth at Eita’s poor attempt at hiding the way he was staring but said nothing about it. The poor guy was acting atypically, usually cocky in his own environment with all the attention he gets on the regular for his pretty face and mind-blowing skills on the electric guitar, and yet, he had this side to him, all blushes and stumbling over his words. Kenjiro didn’t have to point that out. Besides, he found it sweet.

"Thanks for the tickets, by the way." Eita looked behind him where two of his friends were standing, saying things furtively to each other as they watched him, cheeky grins plastered on their faces. "I gave the rest to Tendou and Goshiki if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Glad you could all come."

Eita repeatedly rocked on the balls of his feet when his gaze finally locked with those caramel-hued eyes, unable to help it but check their owner out from head to toe. "So...is this your scene?"

"Uh-huh. You said you wanted to know, and this is pretty much it."

"You like going to car shows?" Eita surmised dumbly, Kenjiro’s rare laughter immediately filling his senses and rendering him useless.

Poor Eita did not even notice as a group of guys passed by, nearly knocking him over if it weren't for Kenjiro pulling him out of the way. In the process of trying to regain his balance, and quite frankly, his aplomb, Eita’s hands landed on Kenjiro’s waist, accidentally pushing him against the brick wall by the entrance to the venue, their faces mere inches from one another. He smelled of that strawberry lollipop he always had wedged between his lips and Eita wanted to taste it so badly.

Kenjro’s effect on him was just too profound. Eita was usually calm and collected but the former just causes him to be this bumbling fool whenever they were around one another.

"You okay?" Kenjiro asked, feigning innocence as his fingers lightly brushed over Eita’s tattooed arm. "You're acting all shy around me. What happened to the confident guitarist slash chick magnet I came to know?"

He's caught, so he saw no sense in lying. He chuckled. "You look extra hot today is all." Eita joined their hands together, lifting Kenjiro’s to his lips, also teasing him. .Two could play this game,’ he thought, not wanting to look stupid.

"Thanks?" Kenjiro’s expression didn't waver. "And to answer your question, I don't just like going to these events. I compete. I thought this was a good opportunity to show you." With their hands still entwined, he pulled Eita towards the inner grounds. "Let's go."

Eita would gladly go to wherever Kenjiro wishes to take him, liking the way he looked under the light of the setting sun instead of the usual smoke-filtered, dim lights of the bars where they would usually meet. The younger male’s excitement as he briefly looked at Eita was palpable, and it had the latter feeling all sorts of ways.

"What exactly do you do to compete?" he asked, absolutely clueless of what was happening.

"I build."

‘Is there anything about you that isn’t anything short of amazing?’

"Ta-da!" Kenjiro gestured towards this vintage Mustang, candy apple red with its top down and its interior in ivory.

Eita blinked at the car, shifting his eyes from it to the wonder that was this boy who seemed to hide so many things behind his unassuming facade. "You – you built this?"

"Mhmm. Full restoration. What do you think?" Kenjiro a toothy grin, eyes bright as he waited for Eita’s response.

"It's amazing. You're amazing."

Not really conscious of his actions anymore and filled with pride for Kenjiro’s talent, Eita found himself pulling the former towards him, arms snaking around his waist and planting a kiss to his temple.

Kenjiro laughed slightly but did not do anything to stop him. "If you keep doing that, I'll assume you actually like me, Semi."

His dark, drowning pools for eyes focused on Kenjiro, their fingers finding each other again in a slow, sensuous gliding of skin on skin and for a moment there, that spark which ignited flames in Eita spurred him on to admit how he felt on the inside without thinking. "I do like you."

It was Kenjiro’s turn to be flustered, not able to do anything else but look up at Eita, everything around them going quiet. At that moment, he could only focus on the person before him, not even hearing it when the number for his entry was called through the loud speakers.

"A lot, actually..."

"Semi..."

Kenjiro felt a hand on his shoulder and saw one of his crew members looking at him happily. "Jiro, you won!"

"Huh?" He extricated himself from Eita who was smiling encouragingly as he tried to make sense of what was going on. Everything was happening too quickly.

"Congratulations, Ken," Eita said, the nickname he gave Kenjiro, rolling off his tongue like spell that held the latter to him like the planets revolving around the sun. "Go on, claim your prize."

Kenjiro just looked at him, conflicted. Eita just confessed his feelings and yet he was pushing him to go get what he had won. It was the most polarizing thing for Kenjiro at the moment, and for the first time, he was disconcerted about things that involved Semi Eita. He is always the one teasing and confusing the silvery-haired dude, not the other way around.

Kenjiro turned but his steps faltered as he nodded slowly, gingerly pointing towards the podium, but he couldn't get himself to walk away when Eita, too, was looking at him expectantly.

Kenjiro had liked him since the first time they met. The feelings were mutual, just that he found it easier to be less obvious about it. Eita was just too attractive for words and Kejiro understood why people flocked to him and that's without mentioning how talented he is as a musician. He himself fell into that rabbit hole, and he was glad he did.

Over the time Kenjiro has known him, Eita proved to be this sensitive soul who was always considerate of people around him, and he spoke from experience. He just had a way of making Kenjiro feel important, asking about his preferences and showing up at the best of times even if he doesn't get any benefit from it apart from getting to know Kenjiro, his interests. His being. And Eita always seems to take pride in whatever Kenjiro did.

"Jiro, come on!" his companions said, but he shook his head, walking back to where Eita stood, a wide smile gracing his lips as their eyes met.

"Go ahead and get it." He spoke breathlessly. “I've got my prize right here.”

They laughed, shaking their heads as they walked towards the podium.

Kenjiro, on the other hand, made his way to Eita, throwing his arms around his neck when he was near enough. He stood on his toes and pulled Eita close. His arms automatically held onto Kenjiro despite his evident surprise, eyes growing wide at the sudden turn of events.

"I like you, too, Eita. A lot, actually," Kenjiro repeated Eita’s words earlier before crashing his lips to his.

-end-

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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theotherhufflepuff · 3 years

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Simon Snow Trilogy Tarot Cards...

Ok so, a little while ago I saw this frankly stunning artwork by @vkelleyart and I started thinking about the Major Arcana archetypes and how characters from my favourite book series could fit into them.

So I made this list. It took a lot of thought and I’m still not 100% sure on some of them but I have explained my thought process for each card.

I don’t know how much crossover there is in the Venn diagram of “Simon Snow fans” and “tarot readers” but I’d love to hear your opinions and/or alternative suggestions (be respectful though, obviously). I’ve left “visual prompts” for most of the cards explaining what they looked like in my imagination and if anyone wants to draw any of these (or their own alternative version!) please tag me; it would make my day! I can’t draw for toffee so I am 1000% never gonna try to illustrate any of them myself.

List under the cut because it is loooong.

Spoilers ahead for the whole series!

0 The Fool - Shepard - Shepard just follows magickal creatures around and says “yes” to everything... he is the pure embodiment of the Fool archetype to me; care-free, innocent... prepared for everything and yet totally clueless. Visual prompt: Shepard about to (attempt to) step into the fog as he follows a fairy into the forest.

1 The Magician - Penelope - “Penelope Bunce is a fierce magician, I don’t mind saying” Baz, at least once in each book. Penny never worries about not having the power or words available to do whatever she wants; she is comfortable in her power and it is always there, ready to be wielded however she sees fit. Visual prompt: Penny wearing her Stevie Nicks cape, standing by a chalkboard in the classic “Magician” pose, ring clearly held aloft.

2 The High Priestess - Dr Mitali Bunce - Dr Bunce is possibly a more formidable magician than her daughter. Highly intelligent, straightforward and, let’s be honest, judgemental. But she does have all the answers. Visual prompt: Dr Bunce carrying around her laptop, phone sandwiched between her ear and her shoulder.

3 The Empress - Lucy Salisbury - Lucy exudes the nurturing, Earth Mother vibes that are central to the Empress archetype. She saw the best in everyone and all she wanted was to love Davy and live with him in their cottage with her chickens and their child. Visual prompt: Lucy, barefoot and pregnant, feeding the chickens outside of their cottage.

4 The Emperor - Lamb - This is one of the ones I’m not totally sure about. I went through a few different ideas but ultimately settled on Lamb as the “Vampire King of Las Vegas”. He is an imposing figure, ruling his city with an iron fist; if you are in his favour, Vegas is your playground, but cross him and you will suffer the consequences. Visual prompt: Lamb sits on an antique chair in his opulent suite at the Katherine, the lights of night time Vegas visible through the window behind him.

5 The Hierophant - The Mage - Again, this one took some thought and I’m sure some people will disagree with this interpretation... I’m not completely sold on it myself. The Mage was all about reforming the old traditions of the World of Mages and he amassed a following by doing so. But he turned out to be somewhat of a false prophet; abusing his power to oppress those he deemed “the enemy”. Visual prompt: The Mage in his Robin Hood costume, sitting at his desk at the top of the Weeping Tower, surrounded by his piles of banned books.

6 The Lovers - Simon and Baz - Obviously. As stated at the top of this post, I love @vkelleyart’s version of this card, but there are a lot of scenes across the series that could be used to illustrate this archetype. I personally always love to see the original “and then he kisses me” scene.

7 The Chariot - Fiona Pitch - I struggled with this one a bit and I don’t really think that this is the ideal version. But the image of Fiona, rolling up to Blackfriars bridge in her vintage sports car to rescue Baz from the Numpties really stuck with me so that’s what I went with, for lack of a better idea.

8 Strength - Ebb - Ebb is often dismissed and underestimated by other magicians but she is wicked powerful. But more than that, the Strength card is about inner strength, self control and the wisdom to know when to fight, and when to rest. Ebb is highly intuitive about the people - and goats - around her and is always careful not to talk about her twin brother, only conceding that she knows of his presence once a year and never giving in to the temptation to talk directly to him. Ebb saw the war coming and knew that she could probably end it all by herself with the power she had; but she also knew that she didn’t want that and she had the strength to say no, to eschew the expectations the rest of the World of Mages placed upon her and live quietly, instead. Visual prompt: Ebb in the hills behind the school with the goats, she wears a flower crown that the Dryad made her.

9 The Hermit - Agatha - the Hermit eschews the outside world in order to take an inner journey of self discovery, knowing that this is the only way to find real answers and achieve real growth. Agatha, jaded by the World of Mages, took herself off to California, leaving her wand at home. She didn’t know what she wanted but she knew it wasn’t magic. Visual prompt: Agatha sits on the beach at twilight by a small campfire, Lucy the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel by her side.

10 The Wheel of Fortune - The Crucible - The Crucible’s decisions, like the Wheel’s, are unpredictable and inevitable. Once it’s happened, you’re stuck with the consequences - sometimes bad (being stuck with a toff vampire who hates you) and sometimes good (getting the best room in Mummers house).

11 Justice - Natasha Grimm-Pitch - Natasha needed justice to find peace; her whole story is about justice. She was swift to act when the vampires attacked Watford, dispatching them without hesitation. When she came through the veil to find Baz and ask him to bring her murderer to justice, she knew that would also provide some closure for him, too, both for her death, and for his. Visual prompt: Natasha Grimm-Pitch appearing from beyond the veil, looking for Baz and finding Simon.

12 The Hanged One - Nicodemus - The Hanged One is about feeling stuck, but also about finding peace where you are when there’s nothing you can do about it. Nicodemus chose to cross over for eternal life, but he was stricken from the book; his (considerable) magic effectively taken from him and his fangs removed. He was stuck in between - not a full vampire, not a magician; he exists on the fringes of both communities. He got himself there and then he had to figure out how to get by, carve out a place for himself in order to survive. Visual prompt: Nicodemus sits in the tree in the garden of his mother’s house in South London, waiting for Ebb to come and sit on the empty bench beneath him.

13 Death - [scene on the Great Lawn] - Ok, so.. this might need some explaining. My immediate thought for this card was that it should be the Humdrum but Death is all about clearing out the old junk in your life that doesn’t serve you in order to make space for the new. And the Humdrum isn’t making space for anything. So I was thinking about times that has happened in the story and I thought about how the death of the Mage made room for real progress and an end to the war with the old families. Visual prompt: Penny and Baz (literally) run into a fleeing Agatha on the Great Lawn; the Weeping Tower looms in the background, the Mage and Simon visible through the blown-out stained glass windows.

14 Temperance - Simon and the Humdrum - Temperance is, as you might expect, about balance and harmony. Simon used so much magic at once that he couldn’t control it and it tore holes in the magickal atmosphere. Simon had to fill the Simon-shaped hole to restore equalibrium and stop the magickal firmament from collapsing altogether. Visual prompt: Simon kneeling in the Weeping Tower, pouring his magic into the Humdrum as he fades away.

15 The Devil - Smith Smith-Richards - The Devil is about feeling trapped by temptations in your life, often because we’re afraid of what we would do with the freedom we’d have if we let them go. Which got me thinking about Smith-Richards (that name never gets any less ridiculous) and all the magicians who were taken in by the temptation of “fixing” their magic. But it was a false promise and those magicians who narrowly escaped taking Smith-Richards’ spell were all freed from the idea of their magic being “broken” in the first place. Visual prompt: Smith-Richards (looking like the guy who would be cast to play Simon in the Netflix series) standing on a stage in the packed-out White Chapel, rapt audience hanging on his every word.

16 The Tower - The Humdrum - Originally I wanted to use the Weeping Tower for this card because the imagery is on point but the meaning doesn’t match. The Tower is about absolute destruction, the crumbling of something you thought core to your being. The Humdrum steals magic and renders magicians homeless because of it. The Tower is about having to start again from the ground up - just as the Grimms did when all the magic was drained from Hampshire. Visual prompt: The Humdrum, wearing Simon’s face, stands in the grounds of Pitch Manor, laughing. (I have always thought of the holes looking like a burn in a piece of paper - sort of glowing and smouldering at the edges as it eats away the atmosphere. I know the holes can’t actually be seen - the Normals would freak out - but that is imagery I would use here)

17 The Star - Lady Ruth’s candles - The Star is about hope and healing after the devastation of the Tower. Lady Ruth’s candles were a symbol of hope that kept her going when she thought she had lost her children. They provided comfort and, at the end when it became clear the Lucy was gone, the healing of knowing that her child had finally found his way home to his family. Visual prompt: Lady Ruth’s candles in front of a window, a bright star can be seen through the window.

18 The Moon - Agatha and Simon - So, the Moon is all about examining blurred lines between illusion and reality - nothing looks totally clear in the moonlight. It reminded me of how Simon never really seemed to have a clear view of his feelings for Agatha and what their relationship was. When he properly examined his feelings, he found that he didn’t love Agatha and was going through the motions because he thought it was what other people expected of him. Agatha was doing the same. It also brought to mind Simon, going out of his mind worrying about Baz when he was missing - as well as basically every other thought Simon ever has about Baz before Christmas Eve 2015 - and somehow mistaking it for hating him?? Simon is not stupid but sometimes he’s real dumb. Visual prompt: Agatha and Simon meet on the ramparts, both looking for Baz, and break up.

19 The Sun - Simon - This card is all about innocence, optimism and joy. Nothing about this series personifies this more than Simon flying above Shepard’s truck in America, feeling free and hopeful about the future for the first time in over a year. Visual prompt: Shepard’s truck drives through the vast empty desert, the sun beating down. Simon flies above the truck, joy on his face.

20 Judgement - Niamh and Agatha - Ok, this one was hard to figure out and this is maybe not the right solution, but I was very stuck. Judgement is about self improvement through self reflection. As a small twist on that theme; Niamh and Agatha challenge each other’s view of themselves and their interactions with the world around them. Visual prompt: Agatha and Niamh, sweating to death in Niamh’s “shitty Ford Fiesta” (I’m very salty about that line; my Ford Fiesta is lovely and it has aircon). Niamh is frowning, obviously.

21 The World - Simon, Baz, Penny and Shepard - The World is about completeness, the ending of a story, fulfilment and belonging. At the end of AWTWB, Simon has finally found his biological family, he is starting to accept that his boyfriend and his found family love him for who he is, magic or no, and he can finally start to imagine a future for himself. Baz has learned new information about his vampirism, Penny has found new confidence and Shepard is finally fully accepted into the group. Visual prompt: Baz, Penny and Shepard sit on Simon’s sofa (possibly still pink from Baz’s spell, possibly he spelled it navy blue again) Simon sits on the floor. They’re all eating leftover sandwiches and cake from Lady Ruth’s.

#carry on #carry on rainbow rowell #rainbow rowell #simon snow #simon snow trilogy #wayward son #any way the wind blows #awtwb #tarot #tarot cards #major arcana #baz pitch #Penelope Bunce #shepard love #snowbaz

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animatedrapture · 4 years

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RINTOBER: [ Achilles' Heel ]

word count: 2,222

suna rintarō x reader

tags: ambiguous end, implied major character death, angst, implied sexual intercourse, toxic relationship, detailed pain(?)

song: achilles come down - gang of youths

a/n: HALLOWEEN SPECIAL because... death...?

a HUGE thank you, once again, to my wonderful wife, love of my life, bby @toffees-main 🥺 for proofreading the final piece and preventing me from sounding like a dumbass like, twice. also, thank you to @newfriendjen and @kaitycole for beta-reading the initial draft!

"Rin, Rintarō, I love you!" You shouted from the bleachers; a proud smile decorating your features as you cheered for him right after he'd hit the ball to the other side of the net, securing EJP Raijin another point—so close to winning.

His gaze and yours were two opposites of a pole with a pull unparalleled—a pull science can only wish to decipher. He finds you as he rotates through the set up and there's a beam in his eyes, making him break out into a grin you just know he couldn't find it in himself to reserve for later.

That day, that match—Suna Rintarō was named the MVP of the game. He owed it all to you and the swell of his heart with each cheer he heard from you; your voice distinct as if it were the only one that mattered in that whole gymnasium. Perhaps, at least that time, you truly were all that mattered to him.

But not anymore.

The first—the first was the lack of replies, the dryer replies. I love you's met with Love you's and very little effort to hide the lack of sincerity beneath. It began through texts until it was the quick, snipped tone laced with the parsimonious manner he answered you. The act of it was much like an attempt to deprive you of water until you're but withering rose in his grasp that he would rather replace than try to plant again and save.

Just how long were you willing to go without the water you needed to stay alive?

"Rin, love, I'll prepare dinner for us tonight, come home early, okay? I'm cooking your favorite!"

"I'll try," was his reply as you watched each of his hasty movements through your shared bedroom.

"I prepared you a bento, too. It's on the kitchen counter," you continued as he attempted to ignore the way you looked at him similar to the way you look when you're lost and searching for something. He hums in response, and just as he was about to reach for the door, you call out to him, "Rin, where's my goodbye kiss?" in the usual tone you would pull back then when he would forget and pepper you with kisses in retaliation, offering an apology before heading out.

He looks back at you with exasperation, "I'm late, Y/N." He doesn't wait for you to answer before he has the door shut close.

That's how you know he also forgot the food you prepared on the kitchen counter.

Foolishly, the answer to the question was that you were willing to wait until your next life for his love to drown you into bliss again. It's that answer that's disrespectful to the mystery of reincarnation—but you're everything Suna Rintarō wanted you to be; that is, if it was a fool he wanted you to be, you would play the part better than any award winning actor to have ever lived could. Even if it was a miscreant he wanted you to be, some sort of heretic to the laws of the world and the conditions of love. You'd be everything he asked of you. After all, who were you if not his other half?

Who were you if not water to shape into whatever container he put you in, right?

The second—the second was the lies that slipped past such sinful crimson lips. Oh, by the heavens, as if the lack of fondness in the timbre of his voice as he spoke to you wasn't enough to put cracks to the cemented foundation of you and him. Cruel, it's so cruel—you wonder if you're lacking somewhere, have you changed? Are you no longer diamond in the sea of glitter—? Worth not of his time nor the beating of the caged heart you thought you've acquired?

Now when he speaks, even the very sound of his voice reverberates like a sharp spear piercing through your chest without mercy—as if you're Spartan in the Battle of Thermopylae. The lies that come along with them about how training ended late again, or that he's travelling for a match again—Huh? No, you don't have to come, Y/N. I need to focus.

Did he have to lie about who he's with, what he's been doing? It's laughable. As if you wouldn't kiss away the taste of anything that lingered in his lips, if it was blood, alcohol or the lips of another girl. Rintarō, did he not know you enough to know you would surrender to his will no matter what mud followed his footsteps?

Ah, but, what would admitting such things do to his pride? Maybe it's that—or maybe he liked the way the lies were like lemon and salt to a fresh wound. You think, you never thought you could be so masochistic.

Third—the third is the sharpness of his gaze. It's the same gaze, same pair of eyes you've loved for such a long time and you fail not to love to this very moment. You're softer than clouds but now most hollow in comparison to the unacquirable stars among the cosmos—you think they're there but they're just a burst of light, something that has probably died lightyears ago.

It's like chokehold, the fourth—the fourth is like chokehold and he, the assassin. Ruthless—he's ruthless when he looks at you as you're not more than a tedious chore to him and the ring on your finger held no promise of relentless love greater than what a deity could offer.

Foolish—you're foolish. Delusion is a coping mechanism to the ones whose realities have been robbed in front of them—delusion is what you're supposed to call it when you fill your head with all the excuses and all the things you tell yourself have to change. You used to be a masterpiece. A masterpiece to him; as though you're Holy Grail found in a gallery of things that could never begin to hope they would ever amount to you.

Delusion is ignoring the liquor in his lips, the intoxicating smell of his cologne mixed with alcohol and cigarette smoke. You're confused and your reality that seems to have been distorting more often than usual. You question the strings that premeditate fate when it's you feeling the drunkenness and hangover the next day when it should be Suna and the tabloids of "Suna Rintarō spotted in yet another bar." You wonder if each sunset and sunrise you watched with Suna was a mere fever dream when it's you who vomits on the toilet. You, who sobs on the bathroom floor.

"Sfumato," your friend tells you, "The gentle blurring of edges to make rendered objects appear as one with their environment." The edges blur when you call that delusion as love—you only have to wait long enough before both are truly one and the same. The pain disguised as martyr sacrifice to the greatest allegory of love to exist. This is what you're told. They say, "Y/N, you've confused love with delusion," and yet you don't listen.

You don't listen most of all when you're back underneath him but you feel like you're being bloodied all over, stained like wine to a white dress. Yet you allow yourself to indulge in the kisses he's abated you of, you revel in each time you ask him to tell you he loves you and he finally does as he luxuriates you of your desires and of your whines for love—nevermind that he was doing it for himself. After all, it is as the word suggests, a luxury.

Suna Rintarō had become a luxury you couldn't afford, therefore, he did not have any business of giving himself to you. Not unless he wanted to.

Is there such thing as a free reign over the heart of someone? Hand it over as they will but how long would they truly allow you to borrow it—? Borrow it because one never truly surrenders such a vital thing to human functioning. Yes, you are and you have been delusional to believe so.

"You own the entirety of my heart, Y/N," you're unsure whenever it echoes in your head. He brings you enough torture, why must your own brain create such clamor in your head. Was such pain necessary? Is pain to love much like Adam's rib to Eve?

"It's a promise ring, bunny," he said as he tucked your hair behind your ears—his gaze is intense, almost like you would disappear from his sight if he looked at anywhere or anything but you.

You stared at the ring that shone under the light of the restaurant, your vision blurring at the tears welling from your eyes and you try your best to choke in the sob that involuntarily escapes you.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you cryin' for?" He questioned with a chuckle, looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes while his thumbs reached out to wipe away each tear that betrayed you—falling down your cheeks as he cupped your face.

"I-it's nothing, I—I'm just happy, love," you answer him through your tears.

There's a smile playing across his lips, he tells you, "'m just making a promise that I'll marry you one day, bunny, is all."

You nodded eagerly with a wide smile even as the tears that left you continued to fall, "I'm making a promise to say yes, Rin. No matter what," you answered him through your sobs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Guess I should start practicing to get on one knee then, yeah?" He laughed as he pulled you closer, his arms around you, you giggled along with him—it felt like you were molded together to form one perfect piece, like the act of staying there for all of eternity, in each other's arms, would turn you into one. Entangled together in all the right ways—as if Rapture has befallen the Earth and that was your final state as did the universe.

The fifth—the fifth is the screaming, the fights. Who would have thought you would break like a mere twig stepped on in the darkest forest on this Earth? It was under his shoe did you break from; each word that left his mouth was scathing—they didn't feel like a stab or pins and needles to the human heart, they felt like burns of acid that slowly ate at your decaying soul, breaking heart, dwindling sanity.

"I don't get it, Rin! Why do you treat me like this?!" You screamed through your tears, your chest heaving as your lungs tried its best to support you, even when it's already been punctured by the shattered pieces of your heart that continued to beat in separate shards, digging further into your lungs, damaging your ribcage, piercing your throat.

"Please, God, just tell me what to do—Rintarō, tell me what I need to do to turn us back to the way we were, please," you begged, falling to your knees and you let the shattered items on the floor puncture your skin. You felt numb yet your whole body was buzzing. The pain from the pieces of glass from under you doesn't register in your brain because all you can feel is the pain that was spreading from your chest and out into your whole body.

Under his mercy had he turned you inside out and greedily taken every part of you—everything you surrendered on your own volition until you were nothing, not even a shell of yourself but more like a ghost floating through the air. It looked like a battlefield—and perhaps it was. Love was never something you come out alive from. Love was greedy, selfish, treacherous. Love is like an assailant you allowed to enter in the safety of your own home.

"Don't you get it? Y/N, I don't love you anymore!"

No. You think, no. No, it repeats in your head, over and over. Denial. You were in denial, at this conjecture, you were aware of even this.

"I stopped loving you long ago, Y/N. You were dumb enough to stay." Has he always been this truculent towards you? You wonder but you can't recall anything else but the echoing of his words. Words he used like a champion of the battlefield, liberating away the life of his enemies.

No. Don't say that. You don't mean it. No.

Suna thought you would be the arrow to his heel—the one to bring him to his knees in the most torturous of ways. In reality, maybe you were more his heel than the arrow. He was both Achilles and his actions, the arrow that brought him to his own demise.

Sixth—the sixth was sickening grief. You're so unfair. You're so selfish. How could you run away from him, only to scream his name and the tormenting shout of "I love you" that haunted him awake or in his slumber. How could you be so cruel? To let him fall to his knees in front you the way you made him to. Ruthless—you're so ruthless. The pain was the excruciating kind, crashing towards him like ocean waves bringing him farther from the shore and near to wherever you were now. How could you leave him like you did?

After all, what was he if there wasn't you?

📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

#RINTOBER #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna #rintarou suna #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #;cloud #haikyuu angst #suna angst #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintarou x reader

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

2020 Fic Year Review

Thanks @janetm74 for the tag! I actually did a full summary here, but I’ll do this, too :D

Total number of completed stories: 66 (plus 3 still ongoing and 19 shorts on tumblr only)

Total word count: 268,863 on AO3 (plus a further 29,764 of tumblr-onlys)

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Looking back, did you write more, less or about what you expected? I honestly hadn’t written much in 2019 so I figured 2020 would be more of the same... It was not.

What’s your favourite story? Ooh, that’s a tricksy one. Long Way From Home wormed it’s way in purely because it’s a big project I’m enjoying writing, but out of the completed ones, I think Silent is probably my favourite? It’s the one that’s been in my head for the last few days, anyway.

Did you take any writing risks this year? Well plunging into a new fandom is always a risk! This is also the first time I’ve seriously sat down and written to other people’s prompts, which was an adventure in creativity! Also SensorySunday, and the seven chapters, seven povs setup I did for that.

Do you have any fanfic goals for the new year? Finish Long Way From Home, finish Bad Things Happen Bingo: Scott Edition, finish Toffee and Desert Sands. In the background, I’d also really like to properly tackle Uchiha Itachi again... the poor thing needs finishing! But honestly? I just want to have fun.

Most popular story? Okay, going by platform because they’re all different, on Tumblr it’s Out Patience, on AO3 it’s Bedtime (Should Not Be 4am), and on FFN it’s Grounded.

Most under appreciated story? There are a few I would have liked to see get larger responses than they did, ngl. Liminal is one I adore but got very little response. Firelight was short and sweet but I’m guessing that didn’t get much attention because there were no Tracys in it? And also Not Alone, which was an idea I’d been vaguely toying with long before BTHB came alone and gave me an excuse to write it! Compared to my other BTHB fics, that kinda flopped.

Most fun to write? Long Way From Home. If you’ve chatted to me about it, you will know how ridiculously excited I am for this fic and all the different ways I can mess with Scott! But if we’re talking completed fics, Grounded just flowed so well (and went completely off-track - it was supposed to finish at the end of the second chapter!)

Biggest disappointment? Generally, if I don’t like what I write, it doesn’t get posted! There are some I look at now and go ‘eh, could have been better’, but I’m not going to stand here and label any of them a ‘disappointment’.

Biggest surprise? How many people seem to know my name now! At the start of 2020 I was a no-name newbie in this fandom. I’d posted one crossover fic no-one read, and one piece of art a couple of months earlier, but that was it. Over this year, I’ve had no less than four separate people independently call me a “Queen of [Scott] Whump”, watched my fics head up towards the lofty heights of 40+ notes, had people in my inbox and DMs just to tell me they love my stuff, and to top it all off, when I finally joined a discord about two weeks ago, so many people just pounced when I mentioned I was working on Long Way From Home and sounded so excited about it! Never mind that one person (you know who you are) who rendered me literally mouth-opening-but-no-sound speechless just before Christmas by telling me that when they have writer’s block they read my stuff because it always inspires them.

Thunderfam, you guys are amazing. Never change <3

As for tags... @gumnut-logic @ak47stylegirl @darkestwolfx @hedwigstalons @womble1 @thunderbird-one-ai @misssquidtracy

#thunderbirds are go #2020 summary

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goldinavonlea · 5 years

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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

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min-youngis · 4 years

Text

i wanna tell you but i don't know how

gif not mine

i'm only honest when it rains / if i time it right, the thunder breaks when i open my mouth / i wanna tell you but i don't know how - Neptune, Sleeping At Last

~ Pairing : Kim Taehyung x Reader

~ Genre : Fluff, RomAncE, dramarama

~ Summary/Excerpt : Love. It slips off of his tongue so smoothly, so easily, without a second thought, and you wonder if he even realises how much it simultaneously terrifies and exhilarates you, every time he says it.

Established Relationship

~ Word Count : 1,351

~ Warnings : one f bomb, a fair bit of emotional constipation is all

~ A/N : yeah. this is uhhhh soft zaddiness. that felt weird to type.

i'd love to hear feedback! spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

जैसा फिल्मों में होता है हो रहा है हूबहू ।- As shown in the movies, that very thing is happening here.

~~~

He glows under the yellow lights, veritably shines in your star struck gaze. It hurts to look straight at him, but it hurts even more to look away.

Swirling the wine in his champagne glass, he takes a delicate sip, simultaneously fitting so perfectly into the calm sophistication of the restaurant and sticking out like a lovely, sore thumb, with his twinkling eyes and artfully messy, bleached hair.

The ring on his finger sparkles under the chandelier and makes little, tinny noises whenever it makes contact with his glass or the fork.

You suspect he’s doing it on purpose.

Watching him is like second nature now. Call it what you will, staring, scrutinising, observing. Either way, you catch yourself doing it more often than not.

In the middle of some nights, when sleep seems like an unattainable fantasy, when your body is crying from exhaustion, but you can’t quiet your mind, you find yourself turning towards him, studying how his chest rises and falls with each deep breath and how his eyebrows seem to look less fierce without the divot in between them.

It’s a far cry from the man you behold on stage, switching eerily easily between large, adorable, boxy grins and panting, sweaty, heaving shoulders with a gaze so intense, it feels like he’s looking straight into your soul.

There are those moments when you watch him from the corner of the room, when you’re standing next to the stylists, as he’s talking to his fans, smile unwavering and filling his whole person, exuding gratitude and love in every laugh, wave, handshake, hug.

Or when you’re spilling ice cream on your t-shirt, but you hardly mind the cold when burning warmth spreads through you at his giggle and crinkled eyes as he helps you dab at the spill, handing you his own cone and Yeontan’s leash, sun falling on his soft, smooth skin, like his own personal, permanent spotlight.

When you’re curled into yourself on the corner of the couch, your eyes quietly following the movement of his finger tracing frustrated circles on his forehead behind the glass of the recording booth as he works on perfecting that one run that he keeps stumbling over, and you want nothing more than to physically wretch the vexation from his mind.

And now, when he’s practically radiating charm in his white formal shirt that stretches across his shoulders just right, with his fingers curled around the stem of the flute of his glass, all while his foot runs up and down your shin, tracing random patterns.

Kim Taehyung is a fucking work of art.

It’s a conclusion that gets reinforced every second you spend watching him, every time you feel your heart clench when he laughs, whenever you kiss him and you become the very definition of no thoughts, head empty.

“I love you,” you whisper.

He stops in the middle of his story, something about Jimin and a V Live comment, and asks, “Did you say something, love?”

Love.

It slips off of his tongue so smoothly, so easily, without a second thought, and you wonder if he even realises how much it simultaneously terrifies and exhilarates you, every time he says it.

You shake your head in a silent “No,” and pick up your own glass, hiding your face behind it and gesturing at him to continue his story.

The moment’s passed.

It makes you a bit jealous almost, how simple it seems to be for him, whenever he gives you a quick kiss on your sleepy forehead in the mornings and nonchalantly declares, “Love you,” before zipping out the door, like he hasn’t very nearly given you a bloody heart attack.

Or how he doesn’t hang up on you after saying, “Bye,” but always makes it a point to tack on a “Love you,” at the end, rendering you incapable of getting any work done for the next five minutes, as you feel your stomach swirl with a curious combination of glee, soft fuzziness and fear, like you swallowed a bad toffee that was still sweet.

Or when he exhales the words against the back of your neck, arms loosely wrapped around your waist after you’ve lied to the company on the phone, telling them that your boyfriend’s in the shower so he can’t talk at the moment, before he cuddles you closer, pulling you into his warmth and expecting you to slip right back to sleep with all those tingles running down your spine.

Now you’re both standing outside the restaurant, huddled together on the pavement, under the building eaves, as his arm curls around your waist, thumb hooked into an empty belt hoop on your formal pants, cowered close to the wall so the rain doesn’t hit you.

It’s like the skies couldn’t decide between a storm and a drizzle, settling for a curious in-between that leaves you cold but not shivering, half-inclined to stay cuddled up to the warmth that Taehyung’s frame provides and half-ready to step out into the empty street and let the drops lash at your body.

You look away from the road, chin angled up as you set your eyes on your boyfriend, only to find that he’s looking straight at you. His fingers tickle your waist gently, as you rest one arm on his chest and the other lazily low on his hips.

“You were saying something earlier, at the restaurant,” he starts, breath hitting the shell of your ear, as he bends closer to be heard over the loud wind.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something, anything, probably along the lines of, “No, it was nothing,” or, “I forgot,” when abruptly, a car drives too close to the curb, right over a puddle, drenching the two of you in water.

You pull away in shock, gasping from the sudden, freezing cold seeping into your skin waist-down, and you hear Taehyung loudly cackle as he looks down at himself and you.

There’s a wild look in his eyes, and with a flick of his head towards the street, wordlessly, he steps out of the shelter, arms spread out, head upturned as he lets the water fall on him, a wide, free grin on his face.

You’re caught with your lungs crying out for help when the breath is wretched out of them as you watch him twirl around with abandon, rivulets of water trailing down his face and figure, the permanent sparkle in his eyes even brighter under the light of the street lamps.

Uncontrollably, your heart is clawing its way out of your body, crawling up towards your mouth and now you’re screaming over the rain, “I love you!”

A loud crash of thunder and Taehyung cocks his head, hand behind his ear, squinting to see you through the thick film of drops as he shouts, “What did you say?”

You cup your hands around your mouth, the words tripping over themselves to get out before you choke on them, and yell again, “I SAID THAT I LOVE YOU!”

The rain’s falling heavier and the wind picks up, roaring around you in your minimal protection, and now Taehyung’s approaching you, quizzical look on his face.

He steps up onto the pavement in front of you, and suddenly, he’s close, close, close, wet frame crowding your space, curious eyes locking onto yours, and fingers tangling in your own.

“What was that, love?”

Love.

You refuse to look away from him, gaze focused and direct. Confident. Sure.

“I said that I love you.”

His face lights up bright, mouth stretching into a vibrant smile as he lets out a deep chuckle, bringing a hand up to rest at your cheek, impossibly gentle, pulling you to him.

“I know, love," he whispers before your lips meet his, storm raging around you, your eyelids covering the miniature cartoon hearts that have settled in your eyes.

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tomthesoftie · 4 years

Note

can u do a imagine where it describes tom and y/ns romantic valentines day from morning to night and then towards almost midnight tom proposes her to be his wife and she is overjoyed btw y/ns sister is dating harry.

cheesy spoilers pt.2

a/n: this was so long... it took me like 3 hours to finish it, so hopefully it’s up to standards... enjoy my lovelies xx

warnings: minimal sexual innuendos, swearing, nervous tom

masterlist prompt list

pt.1 | p1.2

You awoke to the aroma of delectable foods coming through the cracks of the door. Your eyes fluttered open only to shut after meeting the beam of light peeking through the curtains. You groaned, shuffling under the covers, not wanting to get up.

You heard the door creaking as your brunette boy stuck his head into the open space between the door frame and the door. His eyes focused on you, he saw your figure under the large white blanket. Quietly, he tip-toed over to you and hopped onto your body, eliciting a moan of pain from you.

“Tom,” you moaned.

“Fuck, darling, do that again,” he sighed.

“Stop,” you blushed, “Get off of me. You’re heavy.”

“How rude,” he scoffed, standing back up.

You giggled and took his hand before he hoisted you out of the bed. He dragged you to the dining table, plates neatly displayed at two seats across of each other.

“For you, m’lady,” he pulled out a chair for you.

“Thank you,” you said softly, “Did you do all of this? Just for me?”

“Well, I had some help from Sam, but I did most of the work. Besides, why wouldn’t I do this for you?” He smiled proudly.

“I love you so much,” you gushed, “But we’ve been together for years now. There’s no need to be extra.”

“Anything for my love. Now, less talking and more eating,” he declared as he dug into his plate of food.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence while eating your brunch, only sounds of chewing or the knife cutting your meal occasionally filling the air. You would look across at Tom from time to time. He looked quite nervous about something as you could hear his leg bouncing under the table.

“Anything wrong, Tommy?” You asked, concerned.

He seemed shocked but answered, “No, nothing wrong at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, don’t worry about me. Just enjoy yourself,” he smiled before getting lost in his train of thought once more.

You couldn’t seem to put your finger on what he was so worried about. You tried to think back to the night before, but your memory was foggy. You couldn’t remember much from last night.

“Falling in love with you was the second best thing that happened to me,” he whispered.

“Second? Excuse you?” You tipped your head up to look at the brunette.

“But meeting you was the first,” he finished.

“Ew, you’re so cheesy,” your hand reached up to squish his cheek.

“You love me, though,” he turned his head in attempt to bite your hand.

“Ay! I do love you, but you’re such a div most of the time.”

“Who’s the one who does the dishes, washes the dirty laundry, and cleans the house?”

“Me,” you replied, eyebrows furrowed.

You felt like you were missing something crucial from the conversation. You focused on the conversation, hoping it would help you put the pieces together, but to your dismay, you could only remember getting tired and falling asleep in Tom’s arms. You shrugged it off and finished your meal.

Tom stood from his seat, plates and utensils in his arms, walking towards you.

“Finished?”

“Yes, thank you,” you grabbed your own dishes before he stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it. You go and get ready. I’m taking you out for a stroll somewhere you’ll love and then to dinner,” he took your plates and piled it into his arms.

You watched his back as he left to do the dishes. As much as you loved the boy, he annoyed you by always pushing you away when you offered to help. Rolling your eyes, you did as he instructed.

You walked out of your room, hair neatly curled and wearing a floral square neck sundress. Your white Chelsea boots clicked as you made your way to the kitchen.

“I’m ready, Tommy,” you announced, stepping into the room.

“Perfect, I just finished,” he said, wiping his hands on the washcloth.

He turned around to face you and was rendered speechless. His eyes were wide and tinted with admiration. He blinked, scanning his eyes over your form.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you teased.

“Let’s get going,” he chuckled, finally moving from his state of awe. “You look gorgeous, by the way,” he whispered in your ear as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

You giggled, blushing as you gently slapped his chest. As you reached the door to your home, you grabbed your round, straw shoulder bag and placed your phone and wallet into it. Tom grabbed the keys to his Audi, starting it up after leaving the house. You sat beside him in the passenger seat, staring at the neighboring homes as you drove by. Soon those homes became cars then trees.

“Where are we?” You asked.

“The Hill Garden and Pergola. You’ll love it.”

He parked the car and the two of you got out of the vehicle. He grasped your hand, leading you to the vast green land. When you entered, you did love it. There were beautiful shades of greens and occasional pops of colors from the flowers. You walked through the structures and into a large space. Pillars surrounded an empty center and supported to gridded roof. Past this area was a round structure with a teal dome ceiling.

“C’mon, Tommy,” you took your boyfriend’s hand, rushing him towards it.

A bright smile lit up your face while Tom looked nervous and frustrated. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his left hand remained in his pocket, grasping an object. In the confined, isolated space, he found this as a perfect opportunity.

“Y/N,” you turned to face him, “We’ve known each other for more than a decade, and we’ve been together for 6 years now.” He got down on one knee, revealing a red leather box with the word Cartier in gold on it. He opened the box, “I can’t imagine my life without you. You’ve been the love of my life ever since we were only teenagers. I want to have children and grow old with you. If you’ll do me the honor, that is.”

Tears filled your eyes, hands cupping your mouth. Your words came out as strange slurs and sobs. You resorted to nodding and stuck your hand out for him to slip on the ring. He stood for his stance and pulled you into a tight hug, spinning you in the air before connecting his lips with yours.

“Thank you so much, love. You’ve no idea how blessed I am to get a girl like you,” he spoke, your foreheads resting against each other.

“No, thank you, Tommy,” you sputtered.

Lost in the moment, you hadn’t noticed the small crowd that filled the area. They had started clapping and whistling, catching your attention. You laughed and smiled, waving at them. As the two of you exited the structure, many people congratulated you. A group of girls hid on the side, crying and whining in jealousy. They glared at you as you walked by, but you weren’t fazed by it, too consumed in the proposal.

Tom drove back to town, valeting the car as you arrived at the building. He led you into the it and up an elevator to 31st floor. The metallic doors opened, displaying the restaurant Aqua Shard. Remembering the familiarity of the restaurant, you realized it was rather expensive, in your opinion.

“No, I couldn’t,” you tugged on your fiancé’s arm.

“Yes, you can. Besides, I already have a reservation,” he objected.

“Fine but you can’t make me waste your money,” you snapped.

“You’re not wasting any of my money. You’re worth it, all of it,” he leaned down, gently kissing you.

The waitress behind the pedestal brought you to your seats. You had a perfect view of River Thames and Tower Bridge. You were also able to watch the the burst of pink and orange fill the sky as the sun set.

You ordered the most affordable dishes they had. You’d gotten pearl barley risotto, which surprisingly was able to fill your stomach. Tom offered to get dessert but you denied. Obviously, he thought you were acting obnoxiously and bought it anyway.

“Ugh, I’m so full but it looks so good,” you groaned.

“It’s for you, darling. Dig in,” he pushed the dish towards you.

“You’re trying to stuff me,” you argued but tasted the chocolate and toffee tart. “Fuck, it’s good,” you moaned as you took another bite of it.

“I told you,” he smirked, receiving a roll of your eyes.

Tom drove back home with an overstuffed you. You felt sick from all the food that was contained in your stomach. You complained to him multiple times on your ride back. He only laughed at you and ignored your complaints.

You stepped out of the car, stretching with a sigh. You were able to digest most of the food on the long drive. Tom unlocked the door, and you rushed in to the warmth. On the counter, there were a dozen of roses with a small note attached to it: Happy Valentine’s Day! Love, Tom

Then, the events from the night before came rushing back into your mind.

“That’s true, but who works their arse off to impress you and make you feel loved? Who bought you a dozen of roses and a promise ring to show their dedication?” He teased, poking at your sides.

“Oh my god! How did I forget?” You groaned.

Tom looked at you, confused, “What?”

“You told me about your gifts last night, but this morning, I forgot about it completely,” you face-palmed.

“Really? I thought you remembered, that’s why I was so stressed,” he explained.

“Well, I didn’t so it was a nice surprise,” you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around him.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he pulled you into a passionate kiss.

He pushed you against the wall, hips rubbing against each other. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, and your hands were combing through his curls. His hands reached down to grab your ass. He squeezed it, gaining a moan from you.

He pulled away and breathlessly said, “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

You didn’t need to reply, he was already making his way to your shared room. He slammed the door locked behind him.

Surely the next morning, you would be sore, but that’s to care for later. For now, you’d enjoy it. The night was restless. There was no silence in the house all night

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comicbookgirl2 · 3 years

Text

Me preparing to gather all my info/sources/common sense/free time to do an analysis on how the svtfoe plot twist sucked be like:

People always talk about how ‘oh the ending killed this show!’ Or ‘oh shipping killed this show!’ Nope. No.

Ya Wanna know what really killed this show?

The moment toffee died- they planned and God knows HOW they approved the eclipsa plot twist.

The eclipsa plottwist killed this show.

It rendered season 1 pointless. All that ‘oh star you can be the queen however you want to be-,’ ‘you have to learn to be responsible so you can wield your position with authority and the way how you want to-,’ all of that? POINTLESS. It’s like imaginé If in the final Korra book they said Korra wasn’t the avatar but was just some freak of nature and Mako was actually the avatar. Would that be good writing?

In addition to that, that plot twist turned the rest of the seasons from interesting magical conflict/world building to stereotypical ‘racism’ arc that was so poorly executed. Having moon be a villain? Terrible terrible idea. That was flat out character assassination- the moon who faced toffee like she knew she wouldn’t make it home safely wasn’t the moon who helped Mina. Having eclipsa just waltz back and take the throne when she’s clearly selfish and too irresponsible to do that? ((This clearly isn’t even mentioning how shady she got when people brought up the actual WAR crimes her husband committed)) not to mention the complete and utter mockery they made of the mewmans who had every right to be upset at their government for lack of transparency? Giving Meteora a second chance that she clearly didn’t deserve and then placing her in the line to the throne after she KILLED EVERYONE IN HER KINGDOM-

No seriously-

How come Meteora gets a pass for committing mass genocide???

#svtfoe critical #anti svtfoe ending #anti svtfoe last seasons #anti Meteora

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star-and-the-motherverse · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2 - Rollover

The Butterfly Who Lost Her Wings

Word Count: 3142 | AO3 Mirror | Previous | Next

Summary: It is the day after the disappearance of Star Butterfly, and things still seem uncertain.

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ♦ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

In a strange sort of phenomenon, the Kingdom of Mewni’s atmosphere often reflected the queen’s. There were days where this inexplicable aura copied Moon’s feelings well before she was able to fully realize them on her own.

The air that greeted Moon when she awoke the next morning was heavy with uncertainty. Her eyes flickered open to an empty, gloomy infirmary, and she immediately had trouble recalling why she would be here instead of in her bedroom. She laid there, unmoving, as she tried her best to remember.

There was no possible way to cover up the disappearance of her daughter, that much was obvious. People were going to notice in a matter of time. But she silently hoped that she might first have some time to come to terms with what had happened and figure out the best way of explaining it. Public morale was already dangerously low, and the last thing the people of Mewni needed to hear was that a member of the royal family had disappeared.

Magic wasn’t going to be of any help, either, on account of the fritz. Moon felt more out of touch with her magic now than she had when she was first learning to harness it. That in combination with how emotionally drained she felt made her connection with her butterfly form feel distant and inaccessible. Wandless magic simply wasn’t an option. There was a high chance that she wouldn’t be able to use it reliably until something came along to change that fact.

But things had not changed for the better. She suspected it would be a long time before that happened.

Staring at the ceiling, she continued to lay on the mattress, trying to garner the strength to move despite her exhaustion and pounding headache. When she sat upright, a rush of vertigo hit her with force, making her suddenly aware of how sick she felt—not feverish, but nauseous. Where in the world did this come from..?

In that moment, the door to the infirmary opened and a disheveled nurse entered the room. “Oh! Your majesty, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

With the way her head was swimming, Moon was barely able to process the words that she heard. “Dizzy,” was the answer that left her mouth. Not really a feeling so much as it was a symptom, but at least she’d managed to say an actual word.

The nurse crossed the room and stood beside her bed, pressing three fingers flat against her forehead. “Hmm… it doesn’t feel as if you have a fever, thankfully.”

“How…” The nurse waited patiently as she tried to get her question across. “How long have I been asleep..?”

“It’s been about fourteen hours."

“W-what?”That’s absurd! This situation is far too dire for me to be sleeping through half the day! “Why didn’t—“

“You fainted,” the nurse answered for her, falsely assuming that she wanted to know what had happened to her, and not why she hadn’t been woken up before now. “It’s clear that you needed rest, your majesty. These past few days certainly must have been traumatic for you.”

I don’t remember fainting… though, I suppose it’s not likely I would remember that. The more Moon thought about the preceding days, it didn’t seem all that improbable. She had briefly abandoned her queenly duties for the sake of uncovering the source of the magical fritz. It felt as if she had visited the Avarius family several weeks ago, when in reality it couldn’t have been more than a few days at most. Everything had transpired rapidly, giving her no time to breathe. The last time she had slept was when she and Star took refuge in the Magic Sanctuary, and that had only been for a couple of hours.

That explains the exhaustion, though I have no reason to feel as sick as I do. “I-I appreciate the sympathy, but… I can’t afford to waste so much time.”

“You haven’t missed anything, your majesty,” the nurse assured her. “People are being understanding. Manfred has been doing his best to allocate duties in your place.”

Her reassurance only gave Moon more questions. Why is Manfred assuming responsibility during all this? Where is River?

“We’re just trying to make things a bit easier on you,” the nurse went on. Her voice was cautious, as if she felt she was treading on ice. “Your grief appears to be making you ill.”

That’s not a real thing, Moon wanted to retort, but there wasn’t much of a point in arguing. She was no stranger to grief. Not many people were.

She hadn’t been granted much time to grieve her mother’s death, not while tasked with finding a resolution to the war. Back then, the entirety of Mewni had its eyes on her. She could not allow herself to be grief-stricken, with the threat of destruction looming just on their borders. It had to stay bottled up under her surface, so that no one would ever know what was really going on inside her head. Doing so had made her incredibly tired, but never physically ill to the point where it was debilitating.

Swallowing thickly, she made an attempt to stand up, placing a hand on the side table in an effort to stabilize herself. Her opposite hand came up to rest against her forehead as she screwed her eyes shut, the movement setting off a pounding sensation inside of her skull.

“Ah, I’m not sure if it’s the best idea to try to stand,” the nurse objected. “You should eat something first.”

Whatever level of appetite she might’ve had under normal circumstances was rendered irrelevant by how sickly she felt. Food was the last thing she wanted to think about right now. “I have a kingdom to look after.”

“Your health is important, too, your majesty. At the very least, may I bring you some water?”

Moon held her gaze for a moment, before sighing and giving in. “Some water would be great. Thank you.”

She smiled and dipped her head. “Of course.”

Relieved by her cooperation, the nurse was quick to exit the room, leaving Moon alone with her thoughts again. As she rested against the bed frame, her recollection of the events prior to her fainting slowly started to become clearer.

Word had gotten out about Star, despite her attempts to prevent it. She had only spoken to a select few guards about what had really occurred the previous day, not realizing soon enough that it was a mistake. It hadn’t been long before the entire castle erupted into roaring whispers and hushed speculation, and she suspected the castle town was no different. Word only ever traveled fast when it was the least desirable.

And like any good rumor, it was quick to lose its original meaning through miscommunication and generalization. The whispering shifted from “the princess is missing” to “the princess is dead” in a matter of hours. Moon was confronted about it multiple times, by captains and staff members and even a surprisingly outspoken servant, once. She could only refute it so many times before it had started to grate on her and make her question if she really knew the answer.

What are you thinking? Of course you do, she asserted to herself. Star is still alive, she has to be alive. You spoke to her on the day the wand was destroyed.

Moon buried her face in her hands, stifling a disparaged laugh. How crazy did that sound? She could deny that her daughter had been killed with as much insistence as she could muster, but at the end of the day, she had nothing to support her claims. She knew that it was possible to reach Star through the wand, but it was broken now and would therefore be useless in any of her attempts to prove her point.

She drew back her palms from her face, catching a glimpse of her arms. The dark magic that scarred her hands had stretched even further up her forearms, and her gloves were no longer able to hide the markings from view. She had failed to cast the Darkest Spell when she tried yesterday, but apparently it still had some sort of effect on her. If she’d been in her usual headspace, she would have been much more alarmed by the realization that several people now had seen her like this. But all that escaped her was a sigh.

It’s probably for the better that it failed, she admitted. She had resolved to never use that spell again, many years ago. As much as she wished to see Toffee face a gruesome punishment for his crimes against her family, he was the only person in the universe who had any idea of where Star was. He was her best chance at returning her daughter to her.

Of course, that’s assuming he’s willing to cooperate. Moon clenched her fists in irritation. There’s no way to know if catching him will improve any of this… but I have to try, don’t I?

The door to the infirmary opened once more, and the nurse offered her a smile as she returned. “Here’s that water, as promised. I’d like to run a couple more checkups before you head out.”

She bowed her head gratefully. “Thank you for your help.”

The nurse nodded once as she checked through the nearby cabinets. If you can think of anything else you might need, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Moon’s thoughts trailed back towards her previous musings. Her gaze fell onto her arms again. “Actually… if may trouble you for one more thing?”

✧·ﾟ: *·ﾟ✧

With a new set of arm-length gloves and a waning feeling of nausea, Moon made her way to the castle foyer. There were several guards and castle attendants hurriedly bustling about, but a hushed silence quickly fell over the room once people began to take notice of her. Manfred forced his way through the crowd and mercifully broke the silence. “My queen! I’m glad to see you are alright.”

She nodded her head once in acknowledgement. “I trust that you’ve supervised the kingdom well in my absence.”

“I have done my best,” he said, bowing.

Moon nodded her approval while thinking carefully about her priorities. Magic was still on the fritz, and the kingdom—no, all of Mewni—was going to suffer greatly if it was not dealt with. This wasn’t just about her daughter anymore. No, it was so much bigger than that.

Okay. Make a list of what’s important, then. Dwelling on such things won’t be of any use right now.

This fritz was a magical crisis, likely requiring a magical solution. She straightened her posture and assumed a serious demeanor. “Where is Glossaryck? Has he been recovered yet?”

“Nobody has found him or the Book of Spells.”

That was unfortunate. As difficult as it was to understand Glossaryck at times, Moon still found herself saddened by the fact that he was still missing. Recovering Ludo should have restored some sort of normalcy in her life, but it sounded like it wasn’t going to be nearly as simple as that. “Then, where is my husband?”

“Erm, well… we aren’t entirely sure, your majesty,” Manfred explained, his voice sounding rather apologetic. “That monster, Ludo, um… he ‘Levitato-ed’ him while he was in power. B-but I assure you we have scouts looking for him now, all across Mewni.”

“Well, if it was something that Ludo did, it can’t be all that bad.” Normally, the mere thought of such a thing would have amused Moon, but as far as she was concerned, she was lucky. “How is Ludo, anyway? Where is he?”

“In the castle prison, as you requested. He hasn’t said much of anything since he was placed there.”

Moon thought about it for a moment. “He should know where Glossaryck is. I’ll speak with him later.”

“I’ll be sure to put in a word to the guards,” Manfred promised. “What else do you wish to see done?”

“Recovering King River and the Book of Spells are our most pressing matters currently. From the sound of it, you’ve done a good job of prioritizing these things.”

“Oh, well…” Manfred mulled over his next words cautiously. “I had thought that you’d… forgive my bluntness, your majesty, but what do you intend to do about the princess?”

The silence in the room only grew denser as dozens of gazes watched, curious to see what her answer would be. Since Manfred had tossed the question into the air, he’d allowed them to get their answers without having to ask her themselves.

“At the very least,” he continued, “Don’t you think we should make some sort of statement about what’s happened to her?”

“There’s nothing to say. Until Toffee is found and captured, I don’t want to speak on this matter publicly.”

The room erupted into confusion, with so many people speaking at once that it was nearly impossible to decipher what was being thrown her way.

“But how long will that take—”

“—you would dare postpone—“ “—think the people will start to notice—”

“—death of a royal is far more—“

“—mourning of your own daughter—“

“—won’t make it go away—“

“—expect the other Kingdoms of Mewni to react—”

“Enough!” Moon shouted in frustration, her voice projecting over the entire crowd. “There’s nothing that I can do for her now, not while magic is so unreliable. I have no choice but to wait until the situation changes.”

“B-but certainly, your majesty, the people would be more than understanding if you needed time to mourn. If anything—“

“Star is alive,” she cut him off, declaring her statement with as much certainty as she could muster. “I know that she is. I haven’t lost her yet, and I won’t allow that to happen, I swear it on my life.”

Her audience shared wary, uncertain glances amongst each other. A familiar face, Lady Whosits, stepped forwards. “Do you know where she is?”

“…Not exactly,” Moon sighed. “It’s not somewhere that any of you can reach, let alone myself.”

Unspoken words travelled across the faces of the crowd. Even if no one dared to speak them aloud, the questions still met Moon with unrelenting force. Doubts crept into her subconscious. Even if Star is still alive… if she’s stuck somewhere where I can’t reach her, is that really any different? Is it better? Is it worse?

She couldn’t allow herself to show hesitation. Clenching her fists at her side, she stated, ”My daughter is a fighter, that much I know. I will never make the mistake of underestimating her, not again. You all would do well to learn the same and stop propagating these baseless rumors.“

The beat of silence that followed was chilling. Not one of them appeared to be willing to debate her directly. Hushed murmurs spread through the crowd, but Manfred was quick to start ushering guards out of the room.

“You heard the queen! We shall focus our efforts on the capture and containment of this ‘Toffee’ character. Now, shoo! Leave her be!”

As the crowd dispersed, Moon was able to pick out a face among the crowd that she hadn’t noticed until now. He was standing off to the side, near the royal songstrel and his group of performers. Admittedly, Moon didn’t know much about the extent of his and Star’s friendship—it really wasn’t any of her business—but she had gathered that they were close. This was likely affecting him in a similar manner.

“Marco? You’re still here on Mewni?”

He hadn’t been looking at her directly, and startled at the mention of his name. He glanced over his shoulder sheepishly. “Oh, yeah… I was planning on leaving soon, I promise. I got a bit sidetracked, sorry.”

“No, it’s not a problem, it’s just… don’t you have your own family you need to return to?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t leave with a clean conscience if I didn’t apologize to these guys for leaving them behind.”

“And like we said,” Ruberiot spoke up, unable to mask the smug grin on his face. “The resistance never forgets.”

The jester, Foolduke, slugged Ruberiot in the shoulder and cast a glare in his direction. “Don’t listen to him, Marco. We totally understand.”

Marco smiled appreciatively at her—and the mime, too, who pantomimed a big grin across her face. He turned back to Moon, and exhaustion found its way back into his expression. “Okay, maybe not just that.” He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “I’m really worried about Star, too.”

“I understand. Really, I do.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and mustered up a sad smile. “But I couldn’t forgive myself if I let something happen to you, too. You should go home. I’m sure that your friends and family are just as worried about you.”

“She’s one of my best friends,” he murmured, looking away. “I don’t want to just go home and do nothing about it… there has to be some way we can help her, right?”

“I’m afraid this is a lot more complicated than any of us could have imagined.” Things were grim, and Moon wasn’t sure if she had the energy to remain optimistic. The heavy uncertainty in the atmosphere was affecting everyone. Even the performers seemed at a loss for words, each one of them glancing away. “If we find out anything, you will be the first to know. I promise.”

Marco frowned, not satisfied with that answer. “I want to stay until River gets back, at least,” he argued. “I have to help somehow, it’s the least I can do!”

Moon attempted to consider potential options, but there really wasn’t anything he could do that wouldn’t put him at risk of getting roped into this mess any more than he already had. Toffee was simply far too dangerous. Moon had assumed he knew this, too, if their encounter with Toffee yesterday was anything to go by.

Wait, she realized. Why would he have known to be afraid of Toffee? Unless…

“You can help by telling me what you know about Toffee,” she decided. “I know now that Star faced him before, and I assume you were aware of that.”

His eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Toffee. He took a moment to process before sighing and confirming her suspicions as correct. “Yeah, I… I was there, actually.”

“I need to know the full extent of what happened. If I can try to understand his motivations, it might make it easier to predict his movements and track him down.” It would be good to know how much Star’s been keeping from me, too, Moon admitted, fully recognizing a part of her incentive for learning the full story.

“I’ll try to remember as much as I can,” Marco promised.

#star vs the forces of evil #svtfoe #moon butterfly #marco diaz #motherverse #tbwlhw #immersive

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

Text

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT. AU) pt.4

04: Fraternizing with the enemy

Summary: A blast from the past, body painting and a possible threat?

Warnings: swearing, implying smut, angst

Word count: 3000

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST

Special thanks to @godlydolans for being in the story as Yashi Singh

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1389 years ago

"It took us three fucking years to get her to this point! Don't mess up now!" Hermes whisper shouts, pushing Apollo.

Apollo shoots his brother a disapproving look, followed by a subtle sneer.

"And I actually...like this one." Hermes admits shyly, almost as if he's ashamed of himself too.

Apollo's eyes widen, nearly popping out in shock and disgust for his brother.

"You like...a...human?" Apollo gags, shaking his head vehemently. The very thought nauseated him. Humans were never anything more than flesh to Apollo, not even now.

"We're meant to use them as a means to an end, not actually develop feelings, brother!" Apollo speaks matter of factually, still in disbelief that they're even having this conversation and only minutes before admitting the truth to Yashi Singh, their current reason for squabble.

"She's not...insufferable like the others." Hermes defends, only getting a backhanded slap from his brother.

"If you focused more on the task at hand, maybe we wouldn't be spending our immortality chasing mortal women in vain!" Apollo adds, turning back to the door in an instant once he hears them open.

A woman of mere five feet and seven inches walks in, lips pursed and that tiny freckle on her cupid bow a little more visible with the action. Black braids fall about Yashi's face creating soft shadows under her cheekbones, but the rest of her hair flowed down her back like black ink of a tilted piece of parchment. Her eyes are black, not soulless nor lifeless. Instead they are like two pristine stones of onyx, that light up with a purple flare when touched by candle light.

She tilts her head, revealing one of her golden earrings with one of her braids joining flowing ink on her back.

"Why are you here?" Her sharp tone takes the brothers by surprise, finding it unusual for she was nothing if not a classy, gentle soul. Hermes deemed her to be a hopeless romantic, while Apollo always knew despite her gentleness that she's also very stubborn and short tempered. It's unusual due to her heritage, Athena being her root to Mount Olympus, but they didn't think much of it.

"We needed to talk to you about something very important." Hermes speaks first, not giving Apollo a chance. He is the one that cares for the potter's daughter after all. He admired her pottery skills and even more her beautiful sketches. Her artistry demanded his respect and attention.

"If it's about you being gods of Mount Olympus, spare me. I know of your lies now." She lifts her head high, accentuating her sharp nose with the move, not failing to see the brothers pale once she uncovers their schemes in a simple sentence.

Six words...they knew it was over in six words.

"How?" Apollo asks, noticing Hermes is rendered speechless.

"Athena told me. It was enough for me to see through your lies and I can't believe I let myself care for either of you." Yashi puffed, turning her head to the side trying to forget how they affected her from the start.

The pull was undeniable, so pure and so strong that it took the breath from her lungs. The very first time Hermes smiled at her, she nearly had an orgasm right then and there, let alone when she let him take her in every way possible. She would have taken him as a husband without a second thought, but his deceit had made her heart close for him and there was nothing but a mist of hate in her heart and mind for him now.

She'd forgive his lies had they not mortified her pride and claimed her honor.

"Athena?" Apollo frowns, his incredibly handsome features darkening once he realized that the gods themselves are working against him and his brother. He couldn't understand how or why, wondering why that happened.

"She came to me in a dream and told me all of your dirty little secrets. Now I must ask you to leave at once and never return or the next time I see you I won't be as merciful, nor will my fiance." She dropped the news of her engagement on the brothers, ordering them removed from not only her home but city as well, effectively taking their chance of going home and crushing it to dust.

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Present

"I have rules, so listen up." Y/N licks her lips, trying not to stare at the rock hard abs that basically invited everyone's attention. It's impossible not to stare when two guys with godly physique are half naked before you.

"No touching while I work. Keep the chatter to a minimum...and bend your knees." She adds the last bit with a blush when Grayson's smile grows wide and alluding.

"Bend my knees?" He chuckles at her, suggestively raising his eyebrows and Ethan flicks his shoulder for the flirtation.

"So you don't faint, frat boy." She rolls her eyes at him to cover up how fast her heart is galloping inside her chest.

"Sure. But I can't promise to be quiet." Grayson bites his lower lip before smirking, forming a small dimple Y/N never noticed before, mostly because she both avoided to stare at his face and his company. Her eyes are enthralled with him.

His eyes were like crisp toffee drizzled in melted chocolate and framed with darling lashes. A button nose and burrowed cheekbones, his appearance only to die for. She couldn't help but notice leathery, nearly black strands flopping over his face which to her distaste are veiling some of his enticing features. So perfect, yet so frustrating that she could bear no social contact with that sensuous man.

"Fine." She huffed, reaching out and pushing back the loose strands of his hair back in place. It was an instinct more than conscious action, one that took her by surprise just as much as Grayson.

She blinked fast, realizing what she did, quickly gathering necessary paint to start her work on Grayson so he could let her poor heart rest.

"You know, I never liked this rule about KDRs and Kappa's not interacting." Grayson begins, his eyes flickering from Ethan who laid back on her bed in his underwear and fidgeted with his phone and back to Y/N and her laser focused gaze that burned his thighs thus making his job of keeping his downstairs in check much harder.

"Why is the rule in place anyway?" She looks up briefly, biting down on her lower lip to continue her work. She choose a turquoise paint, a blend of baby blue and green - colors they both love. She remembered that about him.

If that's not fraternizing with the enemy, what is?

"You don't know?" Grayson smirks, averting his gaze to the ceiling for a moment before deciding to inform her thoroughly.

"When Kappa's and KDR were first formed, our leaders were actually in love and dating. However, when they broke up, Kappa's house burned down the same night and Kappa's always blamed our frat for it. Since they didn't have a house and they refused to move in with KDRs as rules demanded, the Kappa sorority was out of commission in Dartmouth for the next two years, but they didn't stand idly by until KDR went down with them. They planted evidence and got our leader and two more members expelled from school and ever since then, the rule remained. It's to remind us that love can turn to hate and partnership to vengeance." Grayson explains, taking note of her small pause when her hand covered the last of his legs and the tattoos he acquired over the centuries.

"Sounds like Romeo and Juliet had they lived and gotten a divorce." She mussed, but her mind was all over the place. She must write it down in the Kappa's book, the sisters should know their history.

"Something like that." Grayson confirms, wiggling his hips lightly which prompted Y/N to giggle.

"Settle down Shakira, I'm done in a few." And with a few giggles in between, she finished Grayson and beckoned Ethan to stand in, deciding to paint him white and black. He always exuded a black and white aura in her mind.

"Do you ever miss home?" Ethan asks, knowing she's a freshman and probably has parents back home who love her.

"I...don't. My father's never home and my mum passed away a few years back." She answers, swallowing tears when her mother crossed her mind. She misses the people, but not the big, empty house.

"Do you?" She inquires before either brother has a chance to offer their condolences or pitiful looks she's used to receiving, but hates nonetheless.

"I do." Grayson interjects, looking to his brother.

"I don't." Ethan shrugs, like none of it hurts him. But he didn't lie.

Hermes likes Earth. He likes indulging himself in all earthly pleasures, women in particular. He's also very bitter about the last couple of years he spent in his world when he worked for Hades, his uncle. Hermes was his successor in case something happened, which made him gleeful. But when Hades took his sister Persephone as his wife against her will and tricked her to stay in the underworld forever...that really made everything impossibly hard for Hermes. He tried to save his sister, he fought for her freedom for he loved her and wished her to have a choice in those she spends an eternity with.

But he failed and he never forgave himself for that.

The only reason why Hermes would be interested in going back is to kill his dear uncle Hades and claim his throne, but never because he misses home. As far as he's concerned Mount Olympus can burn and all the treacherous gods that abandoned him and his brother can burn with it.

But that's not the only reason why.

Hermes doesn't think any girl will take him over Apollo, the actual patron of love and beauty and art. It's a complex from the past where Apollo was worshiped for his good looks and Hermes was more of a worker bee than worshiped by anyone other than the working class and the gods who appreciated him for being a messenger...and well, the dead who needed to cross over into the underworld who found him to be comforting and kind, despite his job. He liked his job for it gave him a chance to travel not only in this world, but other dimensions, however, it does leave one scarred and confidence damaged. He knows his fate is to live and die on Earth and he's made his peace with that.

"Oh." Y/N's unsure what to say, noticing some tension rise in the room, not wanting to start anything between the brothers. She focused on the task at hand, working her hands and her magic on Ethan's tattoos in order to cover them up, finding them just as dark as him.

She always felt Ethan has sharper features than Grayson. His cheekbones are more defined and his eyes are a little more intense which is why he's more intimidating than Grayson, but his entire body gives off a darker vibe, something she can't quite put her finger on, but knows is there.

"I, uh. I should warn you Blair had a video of us singing One thing and she wanted to use it against you." Ethan's words freeze her, making her nails dig into his sides unintentionally.

"Had?" Y/N's eyes connect with his. Ethan's expression was pleasant, with an inkling of wistfulness, while the soft glimmer of his lucid eyes betrayed the poet and the dreamer. He'd never admit it out loud, but he liked the bit of pain her nails caused.

"I may have stolen her phone and set it to factory settings." He glances at the phone he was so taken with previously, bringing about the brightest smile on her face. It destroyed any ounce of worry that overtook her features previously, making him very satisfied with himself.

"If we weren't in a house full of people who'd burn us at the stake, I would hug your mischievous ass right now!" She whisper shouts, jumping on her tiptoes ever so slightly from happiness.

"Your smile is reward enough." Ethan smiles back, genuine and soft for her.

Grayson clears his throat, ending their moment and reminding Y/N to keep working before someone suspects something.

Once done, the boys were all asked to leave and a very annoyed, tomato red Blair congratulated the girls before leaving them alone to their own devices.

Y/N immediately returned to her room, jumping to her bed with a deep sigh. She felt her mind wander like crazy, bouncing between two brothers who both seem to be interested in her which made the matter at hands much worse.

Even the sheets smelled of them after they spent hours rolling on them and she still couldn't force herself to change them. Grayson felt like - spring. He smells clean, like laundry and flowers freshly picked from the garden. Ethan is more musky - like autumn. His smell reminds her of earth after rain, the leafs and a touch of very expensive cologne.

She heard a peck on her window, making her roll on her stomach and lift her head only to find Grayson on his window with a large white paper and black letters she couldn't read properly until she stood and approached the window.

CHECK YOUR PHONE

Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion, turning to her bed to grab her phone only to find a message.

Grayson: Took the liberty of adding my number to your contacts. Hope you don't mind.

He actually types full sentences instead of using abbreviations? I knew I like him for a reason.

Y/N: As long as it remains between us, it's not a problem.

She knew it wasn't right, but how can something so wrong feel so good?

Grayson: Wanna tell me about the art in your room?

Y/N looked around, finding only three paintings and all three looked different. One was a simple red rose, the other a cliff and the third...the one she liked the most was of the ocean at breaking dawn.

She stood up, closing in on the painting, watching every detail for it reminded her of something...of someone. And that's when she sees it - initials...her mother's initials in the bottom right corner.

Putting a hand to the initials, she feels her bottom lip quiver and her eyes brim with tears. There are more ways to immortalize your stay in a Kappa's room and her mother chose art - what she did best, her greatest passion.

She plops on the bed, staring up at the painting.

Y/N: It's my mum's. The ocean one.

She sniffles, seeing dots appear on her screen that indicate he's typing his response.

Grayson: Your mum was a very talented artist. That belongs in a gallery.

Smiling softly at the screen, she glances over her shoulder at Grayson who still stood at his window and he didn't bother hiding it or playing games with her. He's not running from the interest he's shown her and it's refreshing.

Y/N: Thank you for talking to me about this...I might have never seen it on my own. I owe you.

Grayson: Nonsense. I'm just happy you have a piece of her with you. Sweet dreams, pretty girl.

With the last message, she smiled at him, getting his famous tiny wave in return.

She turned the lights off, falling asleep with ease for the first time in a long time. Little did she know she'd be haunted in her dreams now as well.

Standing in darkness, Y/N found herself weary, but not scared. Not really.

"You're finally here." She hears a gaunt voice, turning in circles to find the source but failing until a spark of dark purple appears at her side and a woman takes form.

She stood before her, as clear as anything she had ever seen before, behind her a dark ocean turning wavy and a moon brightly shining, which in turn illuminations her face into almost a ball of light. Her eyes are emerald green, eclipsed by her pupils, her skin as pale as the very moon above her head. Her curved, nearly black lips resembled a smile, the black of her hair cascading down her face which perfectly matches her lavish black dress.

"Who are you?" Y/N whispers in wonder, feeling an unexplained connection to the woman before her, one reminding her of a connection she felt toward the gorgeous twins.

"Your past." The woman reaches out, her icy cold fingertips touch Y/N's shoulder, the black nail polish standing out against her skin.

"Your present." She starts to circle Y/N, her touch bringing shivers to Y/N's body.

"Your future." She steps before her, grabbing both her shoulders almost violently before a sneer-like smile takes her face.

"I am you and you are me and together...we'll bring the world to its knees."

Y/N wakes up, sitting up instantly. Her body drenched in cold sweat, her clammy hands shaken and her body numb and tingling from the nightmare...it felt too real.

Looking to her window, she sees Grayson's asleep, barely covered with sheets and a lot of the paint still clinging to his body. It helps her mind unravel and shake the dream off.

She sits in her bay window, watching Grayson instead of the sky until she lulls herself to sleep.

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Tags: @mutuallynotmutual @lanadeldolans @xalayx @accalialionheart @gia-kerks @historyheart @heeydolan @heyits-claire @daddygraysonsbitch @fallinginlove-16 @lanadeldolans @beautifulfound @thearachna-kid @dinnerwiththedolans @graydolan12 @justanotherfangurl272 @dxlansfxck @godlydolans @flowery-dolan

#grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins #grayson dolan x reader #ethan dolan x reader #Greek Mythology #GREEK GOD AU #greek gods #Apollo #Hermes #dolan twins greek god au #ethan dolan au #grayson dolan au

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