#I LOATHED the feeling. but now I have pens that don’t smudge and everything is ok 🥰

[seokustic]

➝ three months into working for min&kim, coming across the forged company audit is the last thing you’d want in your plate. and min yoongi isn’t convinced that you’d keep your mouth shut.

➝ yandere!ceo!yoongi x secretary!reader

➝ 2 242 words

➝ warnings: dub-con, blackmail, coercion, unprotected sex, stockholm syndrome

➝ author’s note: read the warnings. don’t proceed if those elements make you uncomfortable.

―

“please, i won’t tell anyone,” you can taste the fear on your tongue as you gaze into yoongi’s unbending eyes.

“i understand i’m not in any position to make demands but please let me go home and i’ll forget this ever happened,” words of desperation and submission leaves your lips faster than the ‘sorry’s you owe every possible colleague that works under you.

“self-aware. i like that,” he husks, tossing the sleek black blazer of his onto the couch as he begins to undo the buttons of the cuffs around his wrists, “no wonder namjoon’s eager to keep you to himself.”

at the mention of that name, a bleached blonde haired man with the kindest dimpled smile flashes at the back of your mind. you remember shooting up from your seat and bowing as he passed by you whilst words of “have a good evening, mr. kim,” leaves your pretty wine red coated lips.

‘will i be able to meet him again?’

the thought chills you to your bones.

‘why wouldn’t i meet namjoon again?’ you internally laugh. if it was an audible one, it would have sounded pathetic yet hopeful.

to think you’re worrying about the future when your present is shriveled with uncertainty.

you watch as the man he calls his brother and partner amble towards you with leisure but dominating steps. like a hunter sizing up his prey.

if yoongi was black leopard, you’d be a white little bunny who’s trapped between the recliner and the glass desk, unable to move even though you’d spot him in your line of sight.

“i-is it money you want?” the words slip past your lips before you can even register them.

when you’re mentally hitting yourself for asking the co-owner of the firm you’re working at if he wants what little savings you have in your account, yoongi is already chuckling. it sounds melodic for someone who looks like he’s about to eat you alive.

“you and i both know i’ve got more money on my wrist than you do in your account.” he stops in front of you, feet wedged between your heeled ones.

as if on cue, the rolex on his wrist glints. as if mocking you as he pulls open the top most drawer, pulling out a miniature tripod with a phone readily attached to it. all you can do is continue to watch as he unlocks the screen.

the sound of you sucking in a sharp breath is the only thing that fills the silence when you see yourself reflected in the square frame. the time played over your wide-eyed gaze begins at 00:00:01.

“oh, that? don’t mind that. i like to look back at the time we’re about to spend together and... reminisce.” he wears a smirk on his face and pushes the hem of your dress up with his hand.

yet the billion dollar smirk you’d be dying to see and would fawn over with krystal from afar now makes your stomach knot with disgust. your heart’s palpitating but the sweat trickling down the side of your face is cold.

“please,” your head shakes, as if that little gesture could touch his heart and make him stop what he’s doing.

the metallic sound of his belt clicking as he undoes it drums it your ears, “get on the desk, sweetheart.”

when silence and your disbelieving stare is all he gets as a response, yoongi’s voice rises higher than the usual smooth, husked tone you’re used as he passed you and bade you good morning these past three months since you started working and min&kim.

“fucking do it!”

you scamper to hoist yourself over the flat surface of the table. both your ass and palms feel ice cold against the glass material.

“spread your legs.”

the tip of your heels teeter on the edge of the desk as you force your legs apart, gaze thrown to the pen holder on the opposite side of where the camera phone is set to capture every angle of your disgraceful position.

a whimper escapes your mouth when you feel something touch you through your panties.

“i must say, i didn’t peg you for a lace girl, ___.” gone is the rage in his voice once you did what he asked and in its place, a deep, appreciative purr. as if it’s supposed to be a compliment.

“won’t you even look at me?” he sounds almost devastated, as if your silence and refusal physically hurts him.

“look at me!” he roars a second later, giving you no time to ponder nor prepare yourself for it.

you meet his gaze with furrowed brows and bitten lip, trying hard not to show how much they’re trembling.

“pretty,” he holds you by your jaw, turning your face to the left and then right, as if conducting some kind of observation, “if only i didn’t take rose as my secretary... we would’ve had so much fun, you and i.”

“i can ask to be transferred here! i’ll keep your secret. just please... don’t do this.” gaze boring into his with sheer disgust while you beg with desperation while the cold nips on your exposed legs.

at your words, his hand seems to stop just millimeters from your clit. as if he’s truly considering the offer. the heart that blooms with hope gets crushed in that same instant as a smile stretches across his face.

“you really think you’re in a position to be negotiating?”

nimble fingers pulls your panties to the side before you feel his digit teases you, “sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.”

as if only realizing the juices leaking down your ass and the full view he has, your legs start to close, only to be tightly gripped by his free hand. you wince. that’s going to leave a bruise.

but before you can think of what excuses you’d use to wear skirts longer than your usual mid-thigh ones, the sound of the zipper grazing as it gets pulled down - brushes your eardrums.

“no, please! i promise i’ll do anything! everything you want! just please! don’t!” s series of pleas pour out of your lips like a broken tap. you don’t realize you’re crying until yoongi’s tall, lean figure becomes blurred from the tears.

“shhh,” he coos, sweet as honey but pushes himself in to the hilt.

the sigh the leaves yoongi’s lips makes your stomach twist.

‘how can he enjoy this?’

your palms clasp over your face and eyes as tears wet your skin. your back is cold as you lose all energy to hold yourself up. your body shifts upwards with every thrust.

but it’s the way he slides right into you that burns you with self-loathe. the way the discomfort you felt in the beginning gradually morphs into flames of wonton as you taste blood in your mouth, biting on your lower lip as hard as you can to not make a sound.

because you’re not sure if it’s a plea for him to stop or a plea for him to fuck you harder that will come out.

and you silently sniffle as yoongi turns you on your side, bent over to hold your body that’s wrecked with sobs and pleasure. the groans that brush your ear sickens you to your stomach but makes you clench around him harder as you near your climax.

“don’t be shy, moan for me, sweetheart,” he says grunts, tugging on your wrist as if trying to get you to stop covering your face.

as if he wants to see you break. see the tears cascading down your cheeks. see the shamelessly pleasured face you’re making as your heart beat to the staccato of his thrusts.

“stop...” you whimper, “stop, please, don’t- stop- ah! oh!”

“what’s that? don’t stop?” he laughs, “i’m not wearing a condom though. you sure you want me to but a baby inside you?”

“fuck, just like that. yeah- yoongi-ah right there- oh!”

you should’ve kept your mouth shut. because once the moans pour out of your lips like an open floodgate, there’s no stopping the salacious sounds from filling the room.

you don’t even realize yoongi pushed you to lay on your back again. don’t even realize how your legs clench around his waist whilst your ankles lock together on his lower back as he fucks you raw like he’s never fucked a woman in a long time.

you don’t even realize your lipstick smudging that area on his shoulder as you bite into his flesh, unable to take the surge of ecstasy coursing through your veins before a scream scratches your throat, your back arching as you see stars behind your eyes.

the warmth of his cum spreads through your lower belly as you lay limply on the desk, muscles still twitching from the sparks of electricity of your after orgasm. your legs dangle off the edge of the desk, still parted and in full view of the cum that pours out of you and onto the carpeted floor.

it takes you what feels like hours to push yourself up. gather your broken pieces, put your panties back on and pat down your skirt, feeling the warm, sticky cum drip down your legs and soils your skirt.

the heat of yoongi’s gaze digs into your pores. even when you’re all dressed up like the way you first walked in and saw the open email of the files of the unaudited expenditure of the firm’s income and the forged one. underneath the email, signed victoria song, the head accountant.

“come on, i’ll drop you home.” he says, the blazer he tossed now draped over his arm.

it’s as if he didn’t just smirk as he rewatched the first few seconds of the video. the sound of your desperate pleading commanding the silence while you laid like a lifeless corpse on the desk, trying to make sense of what just happened.

he’s acting as if nothing happened.

“i’ll take catch a cab,” you send your thanks to the gods for venom in your voice and the glare in your gaze.

“i said,” his husks, ever so gently with a threat that he will have no problems executing, “i’ll take you home.”

the whole ride is silent save for the sound of your sniffles yoongi pretends not to hear.

how gentleman-ly of him.

when the car rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building, you meet his gaze with round, terrified eyes. heart palpitating uncontrollably as he smiles like he’s dropping off his girlfriend after a date.

“how do you know where i live?”

you were too busy wiping away stray tears and gazing out the window to worry about giving him directions.

supposed he doesn’t need it after all.

yoongi doesn’t answer. he dodges it as smoothly as he dives in for a kiss. you recoil, pushing yourself up against the door and as far away from him before realization hits you like a pang of ice cold water in winter.

the glint in yoongi’s eyes is telling enough that he isn’t pleased with the trick you just pulled.

even if it was no trick at all. even if you truly only want to leave.

but there’s a video of you in a phone stored inside his desk 20 minutes from here. and you’d be a fool to think he didn’t airdrop it to his personal phone when he was rewatching the video after that.

who knows how long it’ll take for it to hit the internet if you so much as piss him off more than you do now.

the answer is a no brainer.

in a matter of seconds, min yoongi could ruin your life and rebrand you as a licentious woman who sleeps her way to the top.

those pleas for him to stop?

easily overridden by the way you clung onto him like you don’t want to let go.

“sorry, i was just... surprised,” you blink back the tears, lips curling into one of your professional smiles, heart thumping at the way his expression lightens into a pleased one at your own change of expression.

with a trembling hand, you touch his cheek. it feels soft under your fingertip. you wonder how it’ll look if you’d graze it with your fingernails.

your lips brush his and your stomach knots in discomfort. he deepens the kiss, pulling you by your hair, tongue slipping past your lips, tasting the fear that lingers like an unspoken truth on your tongue.

but it’s the way your arms involuntarily wrap around yoongi’s shoulders, kissing him back without even a word of command - that’s what makes you want to hurl your insides out.

it’s the moan that slips past your lips that makes you push him away. eyes wide. you look at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“i-i’ll see you tomorrow.” it’s almost as if waiting for his reaction has become an instinct to you too fast and too soon.

“yeah, see you tomorrow,” when yoongi reaches out his hand and wipes away the corner of your mouth that might’ve been lipstick that got smudged from the kiss, you grope for the door handle.

and you slip out of the car and walk to the entrance of your apartment building, not looking up even when you hear the amicable “good evening, miss ___, working late, are we?” from the security.

you keep walking until you’re inside the elevator.

and only then do you let out a breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding. then the sob wrecks through your cold body.

funny how being trapped inside a metal box gives you more security than any human could provide.

[eirian-houpe]

Bluebell

Fandom: >Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Prince Charming | David Nolan

Additional Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Courtship, A Monthly Rumbelling June 2020 (Once Upon A Time), A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time)

Series: Part 1 of The Language of Flowers

Summary: Belle has a secret admirer, one that leaves her pressed flowers inside random library books.  when she figures out who, she sends him poetry in return.

Written for the June, A Monthly Rumbelling prompt: Secret Admirer.

Bluebell

The flowers were a cliché, the method of delivery maybe less so.

It wasn’t always the same flowers. Sometimes it was miniature red or pink roses, sometimes bright yellow jasmine. Other times, especially last spring, he’d gathered a single bluebell and with care had pressed it perfectly. The color reminded him of her eyes. Otherwise the color of the flowers didn’t really matter, what mattered was that he sent them, and that she received them.

He would transfer the carefully pressed flower in its tissue paper cradle from the back pages of the heavy tome in the back room of the shop to a slim note book he kept in the inside pocket, and then he would temporarily close the pawn shop, and walk down the street to the corner where the library stood, now open and welcoming. He would wait, of course, until a time when he saw several patrons enter the library, and slip in along with them, heading to select a book at random into which he’d transfer the flower, then carefully place the book along with other returned novels and reference texts to the top of the stack waiting to be shelved, one tiny corner of the tissue deliberately showing outside of the pages. Then he would leave. Not immediately of course, because that would be too obvious, but soon after. It was too hard to do otherwise.

It had been his ritual for so many years, he’d lost count of how many, to bring her a flower once a week every week, hidden in a book in the library. He tried to be patient, to wait it out and told himself that one day she would figure it out and that even he - heartless Mister Gold - could hope to win the affections of the lovely librarian, but each week that passed caused the pain and self loathing in his heart to grow, and his resolve to do no ill - beyond that which had already earned him is reputation - crumbled just a little more.

**

Belle sighed, an almost dreamy sigh as she stood in the library doorway, clutching the book to her chest as though it were the most precious thing in the world, her fingers barely touching the softness of the tissue paper that peeked from between the pages, and watched Mister Gold’s retreating back as he limped along the sidewalk back toward his shop.

She couldn’t remember how long ago it was that she’d worked it out, where all the beautifully pressed flowers she found inside random library books had come from, and where she knew others might have been mortified - repulsed, even - to think that the the Monster of Storybrooke was trying to secretly court them, she, Belle French, was moved almost nightly to tears that she couldn’t explain at the thought of it.

She kept each perfectly pressed flower, hundreds of them by now, and carefully mounted them onto acid free card-stock, together with greenery and other complementary flora, in images of beautiful bouquets. Beneath each bouquet she wrote in perfect calligraphy, a simple word or two that encapsulated her feelings in the moments she made them: passion, love, sunlight, and longing - yes, longing. The day on which she had received the tiny spring bluebell, she’d been filled with such yearning for a life with a man that loved so completely that he would go to such length to bring his beloved beauty, joy and happiness.

She framed and hung the pictures she made around the library apartment, the secret hope she harbored growing with each one she displayed, and each time she saw them.

**

Shall I come to you when the day is new born, casting the red blood of life around the world?

The note was unsigned.

Two lines of text, carefully written on a rectangle of fine vellum in perfect flowing script. Her penmanship was delicate, precise and as beautiful a hand written note as he had ever seen, but the words… It was the words that turned his belly in knots and set his breathing to quicken, put the flutter in his chest.

He had found the envelope as he opened up the door of the shop that morning, sitting just inside the door as though it had been slipped beneath. At first he’d frowned. No one ever left him personal mail, or at least the last piece of mail he’d received in person, and not through the Storybrooke post office, had been hate mail from a tenant he had recently evicted, and had been delivered via a brick through the shop window.

This… this was unexpected, but it was welcome.

With a smile he walked to the back room, to the vase wherein the few sprigs of lavender he’d plucked and set in water to keep before he pressed them, so that they were fresh and might retain their scent. He lifted one from the water, and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply, his mind a whirl, trying to decide how best to answer. It had been weeks - years - since this floral courtship, as he now admitted to himself that it was, had begun, and it had taken until now for the object of his affection to show any reciprocating sign.

Was she truly so shy?

Still, having waited for so long, he was loathe to waste another moment, and was decided. He went back to the front, to a case he kept there and selected a tiny stoppered bottle, into which he tipped a small amount of water, and then carved the stopper so that it would fit around the stem of the lavender without causing it harm. Later that day he would deliver it to the library, and somehow ensure that she received his gift, but still without revealing himself to be the source, though he had no doubt that she would work it out.

**

Belle dipped the nib of the pen into the ink to which she had added the the barest splash of the essential oil she had obtained from the sprig of lavender that had appeared on the library desk in a tiny bottle to keep it fresh. The flower she’d taken and carefully set it to press, certain that it came from Mister Gold, though she hadn’t even noticed him come in. She wanted to add it to the latest picture she had made for them, that was almost ready for framing.

She paused in her lettering to consider the words she used. When did she begin to think of the pictures as theirs?  With a shrug, she turned her attention back to her lettering. What did it matter the when of it. What mattered was that it was true, and that had to mean that her feelings also were true.

Or shall I come to you when day is done, and evening’s first blush paints all the world?

Setting down the pen, she examined her work, carefully so as not to smudge the ink while it dried, making certain the scent lingered in the ink, and when the poetic missive was complete, she slipped it into an envelope, pulled on her coat, and took in the evening as walked along the darkened street toward Gold’s shop. There, she paused as if looking into the window, when in truth she used the darkened window as a mirror to ensure that no one was watching, so that she would be unobserved when she slipped the envelope beneath the door.

True, they were no longer secret to each other, and were now more openly flirting with poetry and flowers, but from the rest of Storybrooke, she wished to keep their growing affections between the two of them alone; not because she was in any way ashamed of her feelings for Mister Gold, but because - until they decided otherwise - it was nobody’s business but their own.

She made the short walk back to the library, and her apartment above, with a lighter heart, and a smile on her face.

**

After he received the third of her short, poetic notes, Gold finally admitted, at least to himself, that he was afraid… a crisis of confidence, perhaps - a lapse into the self-loathing, debilitating depression he felt. A man who had lost everything.

The Thursday morning saw him staring morosely into his coffee cup in a booth at the rear of the diner, instead of up at the front in his accustomed place.

“Look, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the problem is,” David said, he voice perhaps a little too loud in so public a place and Gold winced, reconsidering his course of action even as he pulled the carefully folded, much cherished piece of vellum from his pocket. David apologized, adopting, instead, a tone of confidentiality.

Gold didn’t have many friends, not in Storybrooke, nor anywhere else. He could count them on the fingers of one hand.

“Is that it?” David asked, as Gold stroked the folded sheet between his fingers. “What’s got you all riled up?”

“I am not riled,” he said through clenched teeth, “and would you please keep your voice down. This is a private matter.”  As David raised an eyebrow, and gave a quiet apology, no doubt, Gold mused, thinking that he had rarely, if ever, seen the dreaded landlord behave in such a way, Gold sat slightly forward in his seat and quietly, succinctly and confidentially explained the entire situation to the only man in Storybrooke that he might consider a friend - whom he still saw, he reminded himself.

David sat back in his seat, whistling softly as Gold finished his tale. “That’s some commitment,” he said. “How come you haven’t approached her before now? In person, I mean.”

“Please,” Gold said, “With my reputation? Besides, I had no reason to believe that she reciprocated my feelings in any way.”

“Until now,” David said, and it was definitely not a question.

“Until now,” Gold agreed, and handed over the latest of the notes he had received that morning. He watched as the other man opened it, saw the way his eyebrow raised as he read, and knew the words by heart - almost literally - as even thinking them made its beat a birdlike flutter in his chest.

Shall I come to you in cascades of yellow silk, a delicate chain of gold woven into my hair?

“Wow,” David said, looking up from the note. “And you’re talking to me why exactly?”

“Because,” he began, surrendering to a moment of almost painful honesty, “after all this time, in spite of the longing I feel for this - to take this further - when it comes to it, I fear I have so very little to offer her. I can’t give her what she deserves.”

David regarded him without words for the longest time, meeting his eyes and holding him in place with only his gaze until, uncomfortable, he began to fidget.

“I think you need to let her be the judge of that.”

**

Belle shelved the last of the books from the pile on the circulation desk and a soft sigh escaped her. She had hoped, as before, that she might find a pressed flower, or a fresh one standing in its little stoppered bottle. There had been neither, and her heart was so crushed with disappointment that she felt her eyes heat with unshed tears.

Had her poetic notes been too much? Had the flowers merely been… what?  Some cruel game to him?

She glanced at her watch. Five minutes before ten, and the library was empty, so it was close enough To closing time. She would lock up, head upstairs and drown her sorrows in a gallon of tea, and some trashy romance novel. Not at all her usual reading matter, but…

His soft voice began the moment she left the stacks to head back to the desk, rolling like a wave of warmth across the space between them as she came to a sudden halt, her heart beating so quickly it was like unto one continuous drum-roll.

“Or shall I come to  you,” he purred, “bearing a garland of bluebells.”

He approached her slowly, and it was only then that she noticed that he had turned out most of the lights in the library’s lobby, and that in his hand he did indeed carry a woven garland of mixed bluebells and ferns.

“So that we may speak without guile, and only truth?”

She felt herself blush softly as she realized that she too had been moving toward him as they came to a halt together, in front of the circulation desk, where it had all begun. She looked up at him, noticing the sprig of matching bluebells in the buttonhole of his suit jacket, and the liquid warmth in his eyes as they met hers.

“Mister Gold,” she greeted him softly, a little breathless.

“May I?” he asked quietly, resting his cane against a nearby cart, and lifting the delicate garland in both hands.

Blushing more fiercely, she nodded once, and then stilled, even holding her breath as he placed the flowers onto her head, and reached behind her to arrange the lilac ribbon to adorn her hair in a cascade of color.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as he withdrew his touch.

She watched as he retrieved his cane, and then tipped her head in query as he offered her his arm.

“Would you care to take a walk, Miss French?” he asked gallantly.

She smiled, and slipped her hand onto his arm.

“I should like that very much, Mister Gold,” she said.

[allsassnoclass]

oh okay WELL! back in 2016 when the only musical i really knew was hamilton, i was strongly in favour of hamilton sweeping. but now with (1) a more diverse taste and (2) more appreciation for the other shows in that season as well as (3) a general loathing for the american theatre wing, i'm a little more reticent about the whole sweeping thing. just in general tbh. i feel like hamilton's sweeping win kind of kickstarted a thing with the ATW where they would just pick One Show that would win everything each season (deh the next season, and then band's visit) and i did not particularly care for that. not to say they didn't NECESSARILY deserve these wins but i certainly think they didn't deserve all of them (also i still harbor a grudge for the fact that falsettos won NOTHING. NOTHING. but that's a separate thing). so that's where i'm at lol

oh god favourite words... i have quite a lot (i keep a list sort of) but uhh here's a few: i like saying crisp. i like defensible. likewise. indefatigable. trounce. decimate. snazzy. intricate. vibrant. darling and sweetheart are also both good. i have weird Things about words if you can't tell

preferred writing utensil is a mechanical pencil!!! pens tend to smudge because i'm left handed and i like that you don't have to sharpen a mechanical pencil cos who the fuck has the time these days. in this economy? no

oh boy uhhhh okay i'm gonna say for me, maybe telepathy? slash mindreading? bc i think i'm good at communication as well as reading or getting a feel for people's emotions. so i think if that translated into a superpower it'd be that. not sure what my name would be! Ms. Communication maybe that'd be funny lmao but it's a little gimmicky and... third-grade-youtube-video-esque. must reflect further on this. i am open to suggestions. i feel like it's weird to choose your own superhero name anyway

also while i'm here i'd like to say that i understand all grievances with waitress, i have some problems with it as well (ogie... nope. not the vibe) but i did see waitress when it was on broadway (betsy wolfe!!! loml) and i really loved it overall. also i cried at the take it from an old man scene. a whole lot. some of the music is really nice. but i respect your opinion!! xoxo bella

yeah I have A Lot that could be said about why the atw is not good. I also have beef with sweeping like while a show may be good there are always Multiple good shows out there and the overall best musical might not have the best lighting or costumes or featured actor and it’s infuriating that lately one show has been getting all of the credit and recognition when so many others also deserve it.  when the band’s visit swept I believe mean girls and spongebob had 24 nominations between them and only one win, which is ridiculous. don’t get me wrong: I love band’s visit a lot and if one of the shows had to sweep I'm glad it was that one, but it shouldn’t have. this also could start a whole different conversation about commercialized musicals and the shift in the state of theatre and how the atw has reacted to that but I am attempting to be concise

those are pretty good words heck yeah! and mechanical pencils are really valid especially since you’re left handed like my mama. I used to hate writing with pens but tbh I was converted by a boy I liked :/ however I really only like these specific pens, otherwise I would take a mechanical pencil over other pens.

I think telepathy works for you. I almost feel like your name needs to have nothing to do with your power because tbh there’s not many good names that connect to telepathy that aren’t already taken in comics. however I have no suggestions for you lol

spoilers for waitress below! I'm going to talk in more detail about why I didn’t like it (which you don’t have to read if you don’t want)

okay so first off I just really struggle with infidelity plots and there was a lot of infidelity in this show. Jenna I could understand but the doctor? Becky? like there was just a lot and I have a hard time feeling sympathetic towards cheating characters, especially when there isn’t really any karma for them in the show. there were no consequences for those actions

everything with Ogie. yeah. no. big no. nope nope nope. he literally stalked Dawn and her friends were like “yeah he’s the guy for you :)” and this is written off as completely normal and fine! very creepy. 0/10.

bad idea (reprise) was very uncomfortable for me to watch. I actually just now looked up a bootleg to see if it was the same staging and it looks like it is but yeah I just really couldn’t do that scene and even my significantly more sex positive classmates were uncomfortable at the kind of sudden turn to "a sex romp.”  it really put me on edge for the rest of the show.

perhaps my opinion would’ve been changed if I had listened to the cast recording beforehand, but none of the songs really stuck with me except she used to be mine, which I had heard before. the issue it that you don’t get that song until near the end, so musically the show didn’t grip me for the majority of it. if I re-listened and re-familiarized myself with it I could probably find more songs I liked (it’s been a year since I saw it and I haven’t listened to any of the songs since), but in general I nothing really stood out to me or left a big impression

also this is a really picky thing but the set design had the horizontal line of death all the way across it which is has been drilled into me as being Bad and is generally uninteresting 

I will say that Joe was my favorite part of the show, hands down. I think I teared up too but I do that very easily so!

[infernomoondivineenchantress]

Warding Ritual for Spiritual Protection of your Home

This warding spell for spiritual cleansing and protection can be used for any physical space, but is especially important for your home. I recommend regular energetic hygiene practices of some sort for everyone.

Beyond the basics of smudging, this provides permanent protection wards that are powered by allies from the Spirit, plant, animal, and mineral realms. Warding can be dialed up or down to be as simple or complex as you choose, and customized to your particular practice.

Psychic and sensitive folks appreciate the sanctuary that a warded temple provides. The beauty of a magickal ward, is that you can charge it to perform in any way you desire. Much like programming a security system, you can choose who gets in, when and how they are invited to enter, and what sort of behavior is welcome during their stay.

This ritual spell-work will use four main components:

Clearing, and consecration by the four classical elements

Use of banishing pentagrams

Evocation of protective Spiritual Beings; Archangels, Gods/Goddesses, Animals, Ancestors, etc.

Creating spell-bottles for the four corners of the property as the anchoring ward.

Banishing Pentagrams: Bouncing the Trouble Makers, then Locking the Door

The pentagram is a five-pointed star that is an ancient symbol of balance, power and protection. Each point represents an element: earth, air, fire, water, and Spirit, perfectly interwoven.

A common usage of this symbol in magick includes its drawing in a specific pattern, called a “banishing pentagram.” The “all-purpose” banishing pentagram we’ll use for the clearing and protection of the home from unwanted spirits, is the one for the element of Earth, as that is most related to the physical safety of our bodies and buildings.

To draw the banishing pentagram, you begin in the lower left corner, at the Earth point, then draw upward to the Spirit point, and then on around in a clockwise fashion until the star is complete.

Think of it as pointing down to everything here in the material plane that you want to banish, then flinging it back “up” to the Spirit realms where they belong. When I draw the banishing pentagram during protection work, I think of it as bouncing the trouble-makers, by putting the key in the lock between dimensions, and locking the door behind them. The banishing pentagram is like turning the key in that lock.

Preparations and Acquisitions

Step 1: Get your house in order.

Begin with a physical cleaning and organization of your home. Chaos and filth in the material world mirrors into chaos and filth in the spiritual world. As above, so below; As below, so above. Think about it this way: In the material world, if you leave your dirty dishes laying around, and garbage everywhere, you invite the cockroaches, rats and parasites to move right in and have a feast. The nasty bottom-feeders of the world will just looooove to hang around your house.

Step 2: Get your Spirit in order.

The same is true of the spiritual realms. There are energetic equivalents of cockroaches, rats and parasites. When you live in an energetic miasma of your own mental and emotional funk – baneful self-loathing, guilty, shame-y, fearful, hateful, violent and angry turmoil – you make yourself delicious to the nasty bottom-feeders and parasites of the spiritual realm.

They, too, will looooove to feast upon YOU. The entirety of Witchcraft is there to help you get your head on straight, and become the terrifyingly effective, well-balanced, and powerful bad-ass that simply will not abide any exploitation.

To paraphrase the Rede: What you seek is within you… if you don’t find it there first, you will never find it in the outer world. So get to witchin’!

Step 3: Planning and Acquisition

You have some decisions to make about whose aid you will call into these wards, and what materials you will need as an anchor, amplifier and conduit to that power.

Materials:

4 glass jars with lids – one for each corner of your home.

Paint pens in the four elemental colors, or other decorations on the lids to signify which quarter of your home they will anchor.

Now, what to put in your jars? In the end you will need 9 ingredients that fit in each jar.

This is the part that is highly customized to your personal practice. You know how ceremonial magicians will call upon “The Watchtowers” of the four quarters? See these four ward jars to be a physical watchtower that you are building, and imbuing with powers from the three realms – Upperworld (or heavens,) middle world of the elements, and underworld.

Each ward jar will need:

1 stone or metal to amplify the upperworld Deity or Archangel of your choice.

1 stone or fetish to amplify the underworld animal spirit or ancestor of your choice.

1 stone for Air – with mental and communication nuances.

1 stone for Fire – with active, defensive, motivational nuances.

1 stone for Water – with emotional and relationship enhancing nuances.

1 stone for Earth – with protective, grounding, material nuances.

3 varieties of dried plant material – with any properties you’d like to bring to the party.

Upperworld Powers

Deities: You may choose to call on “Great Spirit” with a single ingredient – like a quartz crystal. Or choose something for two jars to be held by the Great Goddess (perhaps jet) and two for the Great God (perhaps amber,) if that is your style.

For a more polytheist approach, consider choosing a God and Goddess of the Upperworlds, and a God and Goddess of the underworld. In this case, research specific stones or items that are sacred to each of those Deities. You would then assign each Deity to one of the corners (and one ward.) Make sure that you also work out an appropriate offering or exchange in service in gratitude for their aid.

Archangels: OR – You may choose to work with the four archangels associated with the watchtowers in ceremonial magick. Choose either an individual stone for each angel, there are many to chose from that are sacred to each, or four of a single stone. Angelite, Celestite, or Selenite stones are my favorites for connecting to Angelic forces in a more general way.

Gabriel – Water – Copper

Michael-Fire – Sugilite, or an agate

Raphael – Air – Emerald or Malachite

Uriel – Earth – Amber

Underworld Powers

Spirit Animals: If you don’t already have a few Underworld Deities on the team, you may choose to work with four animals spirits: If you can ethically and legally obtain a fetish from the animals of your choice, do that. (tooth, claw, bone, shed, bit of fur or hair, feather, etc) Seek consent to work with any part of an animal. Or you may substitute an emblem to represent their powers in the working – one animal and item per jar, in the quarter you think they best relate. Here are a few examples:

Air – Birds; Hawk, Crow, Raven, Wren, Owl

Fire – Lion, Red Fox, Ram, Horse

Water – All fish; Salmon, Dolphin, Crab, Snake, Eagle

Earth – Bull, Stag, Goat, Bear, Beetle

Ancestors: OR you may choose four of your ancestors, or mighty dead, and ask if they will aid in guarding your home with you. Include a photo, a slip of paper with their name, or an object that will draw them near in their jar. Make sure that you also plan to make an appropriate offering in exchange for their aid.

Middle World Allies from the Four Elemental Planes

Choose a stone to amplify each element – you’ll need to acquire four of each (one for each jar.) Here are a few suggestions that I like…

Air – Citrine – Success, confidence, mental clarity

Fire – Pyrite – Shielding and protective, stirs ambition and focus, financial riches.

Golden Tiger’s eye – motivation, creativity, success

Iron Nail for Mars energies and protection, banishes enchantment.

Water – Blue lace agate – clear communication, peace, calm, tranquility.

Rose Quartz – universal love, trust and harmony, friendship, deep inner healing, and feelings of peace.

Earth – Green Aventurine – growth, luck, abundance, relieves anxiety, calms one’s emotions, provides comfort,

support, and balance.

Hematite – protection, grounding, de-stressing and mental/emotional balance.

Plant Allies:

Dried herbs and botanicals that have powers you’d like to bring into the home, all of these have protection qualities, but they have other nuances as well. Choose three varieties, and have enough for a teaspoon or so in each jar.

Rose petals or Lavender for love

White sage or Juniper for purification

Frankincense and myrrh for the balance of Divine forces.

Angelica root for angelic aid and guidance.

Cinnamon, Ginger, or Bay for fiery power and success.

There are literally hundreds of options to choose from – just know why you choose to use each ingredient and what power you wish it to bring to your home.

Step Four: The Cleansing and Warding Ritual

Assemble everything you will need on your altar in a central place in your home.

Open your ritual in your traditional way, lighting and awakening consecration tools and calling upon Spirit to be present as you normally would.

State your intention. Something like: I cleanse this home of all baneful influences and Spirits; I consecrate and ward this home to be a sanctuary of peace, abundance, health and safety. Only Love may enter in; only Love may emerge, for the Highest Good of all involved, harming none. So Mote it Be!

I like to have both a black and white candle on the altar. As I light the black candle to start, and charge it to absorb and nullify all baneful energies that are present. I will allow this candle to burn out completely in one burning.

Consecration by the Four Elements

This part should be repeated regularly.

Materials needed:

Tealight candle, a red one is even better.

Smudge bundle of a purifying herb, such as ceremonial white sage, cedar, lavender, palo santo, etc. Or a burning incense blend of Frankincense and Myrrh – but I recommend using a high quality resin incense stick, like these from Nature Nature Incense Company, so you can draw the banishing pentagram with it in the air.

A bowl of purified water, salted with sea salt

Air and Fire: Carry the burning smudge or incense with the tealight candle on a heat-safe plate or bowl to the front door. Open the door. Hold up the smoking smudge: With the same power and authority you would use to open the elemental gates, state: I consecrate this home by air and fire! Draw a large banishing pentagram in the air with the smudge/incense stick. Visualize all baneful energies, all harmful thoughts, communication, and actions being blown out the door.

Now, repeating that phrase I consecrate this home by air and fire! carry the smudge, wafting as you go, clockwise around the entire inside perimeter of your home. Wind up and down stairs and other floors in whatever way seems natural, always flowing clockwise. When you come to an outside window, door, mirror, fireplace or any other opening, draw the banishing pentagram.

When you arrive back at the front door, see the space sealed. State with power: This home is sealed by Air and Fire! So Mote it Be!

Water and Earth: Now, do the same with the salted water. Carry it to the front door, present it and state with power: I consecrate this home by Water and Earth! Dip your index finger of your projective (dominant) hand into the water and draw the banishing pentagram over the door frame and on the front door itself. See all baneful emotional and physical energies nullified and banished from the home.

Now, walking clockwise around the perimeter of your home along the same path, continue chanting, I consecrate this home by Water and Earth! while sprinkling the water on the floor as you walk. Stop and draw the banishing pentagram with the water over every window, door, opening and mirror.

When you arrive back at the front door, see the space sealed. State with power: This home is sealed by Water and Earth! So Mote it Be!

Return to the Altar, state for the second time: This home is cleansed of all baneful influences and spirits; I consecrate and ward this home to be a sanctuary of peace, abundance, health and safety. Only Love may enter in; only Love may emerge, for the Highest Good of all involved, harming none. So Mote it Be!

Light the White candle and charge it to fill the home with blessings.

Building your Protection Ward Jar

Have all your jars open and arranged so that you know which quarter they will go into eventually. Pick up each ingredient in turn. Touch it, connect, and seek consent to work together. Awaken the ingredient by name. Blow gently across it and tap it three times, saying: Awake, Awake, Awaken to your powers of__________. (Name of ingredient) lend your strength and amplify the protective ward of my home. With gratitude, blessed be! Drop it into the jar.

Begin with the Deities or angels of the Upperworld.

Invoke them into the stone or fetish that will anchor and feed their power into the ward. Pray in earnest for what aid you seek from Them and if you feel that agreement has been met, make an offering in exchange for this Aid. See the stone as a conduit of their power. Continue by invoking the Spirit animals or ancestors you are calling from the Underworld in the same manner. Lastly, include the plants and stones from the middle world of the elements.

Sealing and Weaving the Wards Together

When everything is in each jar – making nine individual ingredients, seal it tightly. Hold the jar in your hand, push power into the jar: Say: This jar is my protective Ward. May it stand guard in the (associated compass direction) quarter of my home, protecting this sanctuary of peace, abundance, health and safety. Only Love may enter in; only Love may emerge, for the Highest Good of all involved, harming none. So Mote it Be!

(Note that you’ve now repeated your intention three times.)

When all four jars are sealed, take up your wand, or with your index finger, tap each in turn while chanting “peace, abundance, health and safety” in a clockwise direction, weaving them together and raising a cone of energy. Drop the cone into the jars; visualized a bubble of power that the wards continue to feed.

The Work is done! So Mote it Be!

Setting the Protection Wards

Now, carry the jars to the four corners of your home, according to compass direction, as close as you can manage. All while visualizing that sphere of power that weaves them together expanding to envelope your entire home (and property). You can set them on the floor in the corner of the room behind furniture. If you’d like to carry them out to the four corners of your land, you may bury them there, but remember to set a marker should you ever choose to gather them for relocation and reuse.

Closing Circle

Return to the altar, thank and release all the attending Beings and energies that you’ve called, and close your ritual without formally deconstructing the “temple” as you might in a typical esbat or spellcasting. Allow both the black candle and white candle to burn out completely. This temple is now permanently erected around your property.

May it bless you and your family always,

BY HERON MICHELLE

[bad-decisions-at-2am]

Prompt: “Do you think they can hear us?” “Yes we can”

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing: Anxceit

Rating: T (Cursing, makeouts, various implied kinks)

Notes: This has the tone of enemies as lovers so the boys are antagonistic to each other, so if that’s not your tea maybe skip this. This is also more of a drabble than anything else.

He knows better. He really genuinely does. But the way Deceit tugs off his gloves between his teeth so he can take the ink stained pen off Logan’s hands and murmurs that everything is fine makes something hot race over his skin.

“Not that this isn’t the pinnacle of productive,” the lie slips out, over exaggerated,  but the way Deceit takes Logan’s hand in his own and wipes away the black staining his skin is gentle and sincere. “But perhaps you and Roman could come up with a better solution for Thomas’ schedule.”

And for some reason Logan takes a deep breath and Virgil can feel the discordant emotions in him settle on the exhale. It sets his teeth on edge but no one seems to notice. “As much as I loathe to admit it, you’re right. We’re going to have to get more creative if we’re going to make time for all these engagements.” If he didn’t know Logan so well he probably wouldn’t be able to place the expression on his face as ‘sheepish’, but he can see it in the purse of his his lips as he glances over at Roman. For his part the normally boisterous facet has been quiet since Logan’s pen snapped between his fingers.  “I’m sorry for my outburst Roman. Perhaps we can find a better solution if we work together.”

Roman seems to shake himself slightly before nodding. “Of course poindexter! We’ll figure it out, we always do.”

Deceit pats Roman on the shoulder as he moves past him, careful not to smudge ink on his clothes. “I’ll go get something to clean this up.” As he heads towards the door his eyes catch Virgil’s and he winks. Oh, rage, that’s what the heat crawling across his skin is.

“I’ll help.” Virgil mutters before any of the other’s notice that his powers are starting to pulse over his skin. No need to make them all anxious again after things had just settled down.

Logan and Roman hardly acknowledge them but Patton seems to consider him for a moment before giving him an encouraging smile. Virgil’s fairly sure the other would be giving him that look if he knew why he was following Deceit.

And follow him he does. Out of the study, it’s new, hell, the entire house is new. A whole construct in the mindscape that connects their rooms with hallways and common spaces and Virgil’s pretty sure that it’s a symbol of how much they’ve all grown and how much more closely they’re able to work with one another now. And he wants to be happy about that, he really, really does. But if he has to watch Deceit flirt with any of the others whenever he spots them in a common area he might just have to take a sledgehammer to the walls himself.

“Now now Virge, I can feel the adrenaline pouring off of you. Be careful or you’re going to kickstart a panic attack.” Deceit purrs as he stops a little ways down the hall.

“Shut up.” Not his smoothest comeback, but damn it he’s right. If he gets too frustrated Thomas is going to feel it and he doesn’t know what he’ll say. Deceit cocks a brow at him before taking one measured step towards him. Virgil straightens up and stands his ground. “What was all of that?”

“All of what?”

“Don’t be obtuse. You know what. Logan was anxious. That means it was my job to step in and help him.” Why did Deceit move before he even got the chance? Why did he take off his gloves, why did he touch him?

Deceit circles him, it’s not an uncommon occurrence, but Virgil isn’t really in the mood for it. “Your job, sure, but are you really any good at it?”

The hall light shatters and casts them in shadows. Virgil stands stock still, caught under their pull, soaked in doubt and fear, anger bubbling up black behind them. In the low light he sees Deceit flinch, shoot a worried glance between the ceiling and him, before he twists his expression into a scowl.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so worried about taking care of the others and even just one off-hand comment can reduce you to this.”

He feels his body move before he gives it permission, feels his hands press against Deceit’s shoulders and push him until his back hits the wall. His fingers tangle in the fabric of the other’s collar and for a second he wants to wrap a hand around his throat and let fear sink so deeply into Deceit’s scales that he’ll be reduced to a quivering puddle on the floor. But then he realizes the other facet’s mouth is open, forked tongue peaking out from behind his teeth lightning fast to smell the air.

“Oh.”

Heat flares down Virgil’s neck.

“Oh, Virgil.” And there’s something soft in the words.

“Shut up.” But his hands are shaking, his shoulders, and the shadows aren’t angrily licking at his skin anymore, sinking into a writhing pool at his feet, twitching in reflection of his own nerves.

Deceit’s ungloved hand wraps around the back of his neck and Virgil wants to resist, but he lets himself relax into the touch, lets Deceit guide his head to rest against his shoulder. They don’t say anything for a long moment until the last of his anger leaves him in a rushed exhale.

“I need you to let me do my job.” He finally says.

“I need you to take better care of yourself first.” Deceit’s lips brush against the top of his head as he speaks. “But I won’t interfere again unless it looks like you’re in over your head.” And it sounds like the truth. Maybe it even is. “Now, getting you jealous on the other hand, I make no promises about.”

“Fuck off, I was not jealous.”

Deceit uses the hand on his neck to force him to look up. “Of course you weren’t. You also totally didn’t follow me out here to stake your claim.” He purrs.

“I hate you.” He doesn’t know if he means it or not. Deceit will.

“I know,” the acknowledgment does nothing to clarify his feelings before Deceit’s mouth is slanting itself over his. Virgil presses back, feeling whe whisper of fangs over his skin before he opens his mouth to let the unusually shaped, but oh so familiar tongue, inside. He feels the hands drop to his hips and hold on tightly as Deceit pushes away from the wall, walks Virgil to the one on the other side of the hall.

Virgil can feel the shadows of fear and doubt melt away. Because he’s scared and unsure of a lot of things, but this, this he knows what to do with. He knocks away the other’s ridiculous hat and lets his fingers curl into Deceit’s hair. He gives it a hard tug, swallows the hiss that escapes the other facet in return. He manages a soft gasp as Deceit’s lips move from his, nip across his jaw, and along his neck. Sharp hollow fangs glide over his skin and leave stinging tracks in their wake, a threat, a promise. That if things get to be too much Deceit will fill his veins up with truth venom and let him fall apart completely before he helps put him back together again. Virgil shudders against him with the need to be closer.

“C’mon,” He mutters, pulls Deceit closer, gasps softly as his bare fingers slip under his hoodie and shirt to press crescent moons into the skin of his hips.

“What?”

“Don’t be a dick.” He catches Deceit’s lip between his teeth, bites hard enough he knows it hurts more than anything else. But it gets Deceit to press him hard against the wall, to press the full line of his body against his front and Virgil chokes out a soft groan.

“Virgil,” and he doesn’t like that tone of voice. It does not promise wonderful, naked skin, rough things. He cuts the other facet off with a searing kiss. Tires to lick the doubts right out of the other’s mouth. But then there’s a hand around his throat, much gentler than he wants it, and pushing him back until his head meets the wall with a soft thump. Deceit leans in his lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “The other’s are right down the hall.”

“Shit,” it’s like dumping a bucket of ice water over him. It’s not like the lightbulb breaking or their argument had been quiet. And if that had gotten their attention then-- “Do you think they can hear us?”

“Yes, we can.” The words come in Logan’s clipped tone, spoken loudly and clearly from beyond the study’s door.

Virgil feels his face heat and the soft huff of Deceit’s laughter against the shell of his ear. “Shut up, asshole.”

“Ahem, if you two have… other things to do…” Virgil can physically feel Romans mortification at his own phrasing, “w-we’ve got things handled in here!” He finishes weakly.

He’s debating if it’s worth the embarrassment of going and facing them or if he’d be better off sulking in his room for a few days until he thinks he could look them in the eyes, but Deceit calls back. “We’ll be in my room if you need us.”

“Be safe and have fun you two!” Patton calls back brightly.

Maybe he should go ask Roman to borrow his sword. He could use it to slit his own throat. Or maybe he’ll slit Deceit’s first. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

Taking pairings from this list