#I’m a wannabe silly sometimes

[neek00draws]

Well I ended paying the money so I better get some Smiles out of this Session

What do I have to to get the deluxe version of Smile Sessions.. preferably without saying goodbye to a whole paycheck-

[waspgrave]

This might be the only sane site with Veilguard takes so I’m gonna praise it here but it’s so good. It feels like mass effect and da2 with the mix of atmosphere and high stakes. I don’t get people who are saying dialogue is bad bc every dragon age has been campy in some way especially when you’re picking the humorous option. ‘Beg that I succeed’ was just one hard af line amidst hundreds of standard and sometimes silly conversations that took place in inquisition. But it is funny watching the Exact same thing that happened to Inquisition in 2014 happen now in Veilguard. Gamer bros HATED inquisition until veilguard, HATED da2 until inquisition, and even Origins was called ‘baldur’s gate wannabe’ when it first came out. Pitiful.

[nerdieforpedro]

A Poor Plan to Confess

Dieter Bravo x plus size female reader (Moon Pie)

This is fic is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 2.1k

Warnings: Dieter being a bit rude, porn use, mention of masturbation, teasing, improper toy use?, very bad communication, some mentions of sexual activities and acts, Nerdie is unsure of what she wrote

Summary: Dieter is doing his best to stay sober. You have a large part in his plans. They aren’t well thought out.

Notes: Written for the Dieter Bravo Brain Rot Server Challenge. @wannab-urs brought me back to Dieter, originally I didn’t have any ideas for this and then boom! 🤯 I had a few. Thanks to @missladym1981 for beta reading for me. 😘

Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist

A joke between old friends. Dieter was doing well. Three years sober, well from the harder drugs. He still had the occasional joint and alcohol. You weren’t really into the weed, thought it stunk to high heaven. Dieter always managed to find some really fragrant strains though, smelled like incense. Type you would burn laying on a chase couch in a fancy silk robe. Maybe smoke one of those long cigarettes except it had bubbles coming out of it. Dieter bought you one and told you to make bubbles come out of it over FaceTime.

The two of you have many silly jokes over the years. Some about video games, some about animals, some about his job and yours. He never wanted to hear about relationships and didn’t mention any of his to you. You asked why one day because friends normally at least mention if they’re dating someone or not and Dieter flat out told you, “I don’t need to have the image of you fucking somebody in my head.” Had you not been as secure as you were, you’d take offense, but you left it alone, keeping it in the back of your mind.

One thing Bravo hadn’t joked about thankfully was his sobriety, finally taking it seriously. He told you that if he ever called you mentioning coke or pills to lock him up and prevent him from calling anyone for the drugs. This was another joke. He even bought you handcuffs, zip ties and some bondage tape. His assistant dropped it off with a quizzical look on their face. You smiled and put them in your office. You knew why they had that look, you two as just friends and Dieter’s never given you anything like that before. Like an idiot, you googled how to use the zip ties and tape, ending up on Pornhub and unaware that someone was banging on your door.

When the next pop-up blocked your screen again, that was when you heard, “Hey! You alive in there?! Open the hell up! What kind of friend are you?” Running downstairs, you open up the door recognizing the voice, Dieter’s at your door. It’s 11:30 at night. He stares at you and you wonder why. Ah…I’m in my nightgown. My pink satin one to match the handcuff fuzz. I don’t think I washed my hands, and they smell like…fuck.

You now know why.

“Moon Pie, you got someone up in here? Didn’t know you had someone. I need your help your help though, just a room.” He pleads at your doorstep, before you can answer, whatever ad has finished and there’s loud moaning from the video you had been watching. His eyes cut upward to where the noise is coming from. “Or maybe not. I didn’t think you watched porn.”

Putting your hands on your hips, “Anyone can watch porn Dieter. Am I not allowed according to some weird ass rule you have? I have sex sometimes too!” His eyes went wide as you stepped aside letting him in and he raised his hands to signal defeat, though he did laugh when you said the word sex.

“You can’t even say fuck Moon Pie. Listen, let’s not talk about that. I need you to keep me here. I’m feeling like I may need to make a bad call. I did give my assistant my phone, but I don’t want to chance it. You still got that box?” He pays your shoulder, plopping down on the couch.

“Go find your silly box yourself Dieter. I’m going back upstairs.” Waving your hands, you start upstairs, making it up three stairs before some slaps are heard from your laptop in your room. You really need to turn that off.

“To finish your porn instead of helping your friend?” He popped up met you at the bottom of the stairs, “Come on! You still have the tools, right?” His hands ran up your arms. This man. Despite showing up unannounced, late, interrupting some ‘me time’ and requesting he use tools you don’t know how to use save for the handcuffs, you’d still help him out. Even if he could be troublesome and rude at times, he always supported you in work endeavors and listened to you talk way too much about Final Fantasy games. He blames you for knowing about crystals and different jobs like paladin and black mage.

You didn’t answer him and walked upstairs to your room, to turn the porn off but the screen was frozen, playing the same moan ever and over. The image had a man zip tied to a pole while standing as a woman sucked him off. They both were letting out a combined moan. Swallowing hard, Dieter watched you switch your weight between your large hips, he removed his robe and brown t-shirt leaving himself in his brown pajama pants and removing his gray socks. “Moon Pie. Have you ever done that sort of thing? I doubt it.” His voice snapped you after your haze, turning to look at him, confusion dots your face.

“Why did you remove your shirt? I just need to tie you up and prevent you from leaving right? Put your shirt back on Dee.” His chest only has a small splattering of dark hair on his golden skin. He lays across your bed grinning. “Wait how long am I supposed to keep you here? You’re not getting me arrested.”

“I was hot and until I don’t feel like using. Where’s the box?”

“Stay there, it’s in my office.” You’re back momentarily with the fabled box and open it, taking out the handcuffs, zip ties and tape. “Here which do you want me to use? I’m tired.” Dropping the box on the bed, he frowns, you’re not playing along, you see annoyed. Shouldn’t you be happy he’s across your bed? Dieter is, why aren’t you?

You are tired sure, but you’re hornier and more aware that Dieter is not going to want anything to do with relieving any frustration you have. Holding your hands palms out, “Just tell me what you want me tie you up with so I can set up the guest room.”

“Hey, why are you pissed at me? I’m not leaving until you help me, you said you would.” Dieter scoots to the edge of the bed and leans on his elbows. “Are you really that mad I stopped you from finishing your porn? You don’t need it.” He picks up the handcuffs out of the box and studies the pink fuzz. It looks about the same shade as your nightgown. Moon Pie hasn’t used these has she? No, they don’t look used. I think. These are mine, I bought them for her to use with me. She shouldn’t be watching porn. I need to be the toy.

“Damn it Dieter! I’m not just your friend, I’m a woman who has needs no matter if you wanna think about it or not! Fuck you!” Charging at him, you grab his shoulders and knock him back on the bed, pinning him to bed. He slaps the handcuffs on your wrist and his. “What the hell?! They’re only supposed to go on you not me!”

Bravo licks his lips and turns his head to the side to kiss your hand after pulling his wrist to his mouth. “Oh, I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs. You should fuck me Moon Pie.” His curved nose inches closer to your hand and sniffs it. He has your scent now, sticking one of your fingers into his mouth and pulling it back out.

The sensation from his lips went straight to your cunt and you stifled a moan. He will not have his way; you can ensure even if you’re handcuffed to him. “You said you couldn’t picture me fucking Dee? Are you looking for that much of a distraction?” You moved to sit beside him on the bed, but he pulled you back on top, his free hand roaming freely over your love handles. “Dee, I’m not just going to be used for you staying sober.”

Leaning forward, his face connected with your neck, licking it, “I’ve been using you to stay sober since I finish rehab three years ago. I knew if I went back, it would disappoint the hell out of you.” His teeth bit into your neck and a whimper escaped, small but it was enough to encourage him. “I didn’t want to think of someone fucking you other than me. I’m sure you have; they’re flies drawn to honey.” His hand ran from your rolls to your ass squeezing it. “If I’m going to stay sober for you, I should have you, shouldn’t I?” Rolling his hips up into yours, he licks the bite and lets go of your ass slapping it.

Dropping your hips, you press right into his clothed bulge, feeling it throb against your bare cunt. “You’re insane Dieter, how does that make any sense….?” Unfortunately, he’s making it so much worse, your nipples are visible through your nightgown, erect as you leak onto his pants from your core. “This is only because you stopped me earlier with your stupid request.”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself Moon Pie. Only I’m going to see you like this from now on, right?” The pads of his fingers trail up your spine and pull down one of the straps of your nightgown letting a breast become fully exposed. He licks it before blowing on it, eliciting another whimper. “Tell me I’ll be the only one. I’ll take the handcuffs off and make sure you come. Don’t be difficult tonight. Not when I need you.” He doesn’t wait for your answer before taking it in his mouth, and sitting up, pulling you into his lap. Instinctively, both of your hands grab his head, pulling his one hand back. He disconnects from your nipple to yelp from his shoulder suddenly going back.

You grin and try to reach for the key that’s in the box since he’s distracted, but Dieter gets on his knees and pulls on his wrist, having your arm come back toward him and making you fall face first into the bed. “Dieter let me get the key, then I can lock you in another room. Clearly you need to be.” His fingers trace your thighs but don’t go any higher, sighing, he lays down next to you.

“You seriously don’t want to have sex with me? Even after I tell you I want you to be my only one? So cold to me.” He pouts. This man is seriously pouting after he’s teased you? He doesn’t move as you get the key and unlock yourself. You consider handcuffing both of his hands but release him as well. Moving to the edge of the bed, you stand and turn off your laptop then return to sit on the bed.

“You’ve got to do better than trying to guilt me into it. You’re horrible at this.” You laugh as does he. If it had been anyone else, you’d never speak to them again at minimum, Dieter rolls on his side and kisses your thigh.

“We’ve been friends how long? You know I’m shit at this. I feel like I should ask, you’re not going to have me arrested for this are you?” You poke the scruff on his cheek.

“No, though I should. You’re insane Dieter Bravo. We’ll sleep on it.” You lay back and scoot up to the head of the bed, closing your eyes.

“Did you want to finish your porn? Or make our own? It will be Moon Pie’s debut!”” Slinks up the bed and lays his head on your chest, kissing your collar bone.

“You’re a dumbass Dieter. I would tie you up but you’d like it too much. Go to sleep.” Placing your fingers in his hair to scratch his scalp makes him purr, wrapping a leg around one of yours.

“Keep scratching my head like that and we won’t be sleeping at all you cheeky Moon Pie. I’ll be under that gown soon.” His face found its way back to your neck, licking the teeth marks he made earlier. Letting out a soft groan, you pull on Dieter’s hair, so he pulls his head back. “Jokes on you, I enjoy my hair being pulled. Manipulate me more.” His grin is criminal, he should be arrested for that if anything.

It wasn’t even two hours before Dieter had your legs up around his waist. He’s temperamental and a horrible communicator but damn if he didn’t have you call him an Oscar winner while he rutted into you from behind giving you your third orgasm before one in the morning.

Trash Panda Pals 🦝: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @titlee78 @tinytinymenace @magpiepillsjunior @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @pedroshotwifey @heareball

[dancingtotuyo]

“come here often?”

Javier Peña x female reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: fucking men in bathrooms of dirty bars isn’t your usual cup of tea, but sometimes you make exceptions.

Warnings/Tags: strangers, alcohol consumption, sex (p in v), unprotected sex (wrap it up), mirror sex, dirty bathroom, rough sex, mentions of bruising, hair pulling (reader has hair long enough to pull), degradation, 1 slap on the ass, Javi is a menace, Javi touches reader in flirtatious ways without consent, hints of exhibitionism, use of “good girl”, dirty talk, aftercare, soft! Javi at the end. Let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: I’m hardly the first to write Javier fucking you over the bathroom sink of a bar, and I hope I am not the last. If I had a list of all the wonderful fics I’ve read with this scenario, I would supply one, but alas, my capacity to keep track of fics does not exist (believe me, I’ve tried).

This little fic came from a silly little writing game I’ve been playing with some friends. Thanks @wannab-urs for giving me the spark of inspo that started this. I also took inspiration from @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and her fic, hand in unlovable hand, on this one! Shoutout @fhatbhabie for giving this baby a once over! @janaispunk for helping me sort out tags. @saradika for the dividers. And all my other amazing encouragers! You know who you are 🫶 ILYSM.

Words: 1171

You sit at the bar, swirling the whisky in front of you. You’re bored and in need of something to do on the hot summer night. Sweat collects in little beads across your skin, and you finish off the glass.

In the heat of the night, you don’t think you’d notice the presence of another behind you, but you do. It’s heavy and brooding. You feel it across your entire back as the person leans in beside you. His broad shoulders cover your frame.

“Ever heard of personal space?” You cock an eyebrow

He chuckles at you. A dark, thick mustache sits above his upper lip, highlighting his perfect teeth.

“A whiskey for me, and another for the lady,” he says to the bartender.

It is the least he could do.

He doesn’t move, keeping his eyes on you, letting his eyes roam across your body. He’s less than subtle about it. He catches a bead of sweat as it falls from your neck, tracking it down between your breasts, exposed in the sundress you wear. Finally, it slips out of his sight

He licks his lips, letting his forearm rest against the bar. “Come here often?”

You want to roll your eyes at the cliche words, but his lips are right at your ear, breath fanning over your bare skin. It sends a jolt straight to your core

You meet his gaze with stubbornness shining in your eyes. “No, I don’t tend to enjoy being eyed up by sleaze balls”

He chuckles deeply again, fingertips tracing your shoulder gently. “Good thing I’m here to keep them away.”

The bartender sets the drinks in front of you, giving you a look that asks if you want him to chase the man off. You shake your head. You can take care of him

“What are you? God’s gift to humanity?”

He smirks. “Some say that, yeah.”

You roll your eyes.

“C'mon, Hermosa. I think you’ll like it.” You brush him off, yet, he draws closer “I think you like sleaze balls like me making you feel good in seedy bars.”

“What makes you think you can make me feel good?”

“I like a good challenge” he winks

And god, if that doesn’t work. Your core clenches. Your stomach drops. You want to melt. Throwing down the whiskey, your eyes dart around until you find the sign for the bathroom. You don’t say a word. Adding a sway to your hips, you saunter off, heart pounding a million miles a minute.

You enter the bathroom. The door doesn’t even have a chance to close before his hands are on your hips. He kicks the door closed, making sure it’s locked. He pushes you forward, and your hands find purchase on the basin sink

The bathroom is small. It’s dingy and disgusting, but you don’t care.

“You are a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he whispers in your ear, biting down on your earlobe

You let out a soft moan, tossing your head back. He cups your breast through the thin material of your sundress, and your nipples harden.

“Please” you stutter

“Please what, Darlin?”

“Fuck me” you moan.

He downright growls, shoving your hips into the sink. It hurts, but you can’t help but love it.

He flips your dress up to find your aching cunt dripping for him. “Just what I thought.” He clicks his tongue. “Such a good little slut. All this for me.” He runs his fingers through your dripping folds and then brings his finger to his nose smelling your juices before sucking his fingers clean. “Taste and smell so good for me, Hermosa.”

You whine.

“Just for me, right?” He says, running a hand over your ass, giving it a nice squeeze. You whine, core clenching around air.

You’re a pathetic, dripping mess

And you love it

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging you up roughly. “I said, just for me- right?” He smacks your ass and you moan.

“Yes, yes, just for you.”

“Good girl.” He lets go of your hair. You drop over the sink, panting heavily. You hear the buckle of his jeans.

Looking up just enough to see your reflection in the mirror, your hair is a mess. Mascara smudges under your eyes. Then, your eyes drift to him. His thick cock springs out of his jeans. The fucker isn’t wearing underwear, but you’re not complaining. It’s one less obstacle, and the sooner he’s in you, the better

He catches you eying him and smirks. “You like what you see, Hermosa?”

You nod, letting out a soft whimper

He smirks, hands moving back to your ass, squeezing and massaging it “You’re gonna take it so good for me.”

He lines himself up at your entrance. You only get a half second until he’s splitting you in two, forcing himself into you fully and completely. Your hips run into the sink again, the porcelain cool against your raging flesh. Your legs spread further of their own accord. You cry out, not caring if the whole goddamn bar hears you.

He withdraws and you feel empty until he’s ramming back into you. It goes on like that over and over and over. Tears drip down your face. Your moans of pleasure echo off the walls until you’re sure you’ve drawn spectators outside the door. With each thrust, your hips run into the sink. The balance between pain and pleasure quickly sends you to the edge, tension curling in your stomach.

Your legs shake. “Please, I’m so close.”

“You’re such a good girl, and a tight fucking cunt too.” He grits out, skin slapping against yours. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes, please.” His cock hits deep within you. Your breath catches. “Javier! I wanna cum for you.”

His fingers find your clit, his pace keeping steady and you’re coming in seconds, drenching his cock. He’s not far behind you, emptying himself inside you with a loud moan.

He pulls out of you, taking a second to collect himself. You’re draped over the sink, unable to move.

He pulls his pants up, tucking himself into his pants like it’s just another Tuesday.

He comes over to you, pulling you up gently, letting your skirt fall back into place. You struggle still to catch your breath. He cups your cheeks, wiping away the tears and smudged mascara, smoothing out your hair. You feel him leaking out of you.

“Too much?” He asks

You smile breathlessly “Just right”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, hands finding your waist. “Good girl.”

Once you’re home, he cleans you up, kissing your hips where bruises have already started to form.

He snuggles in close to you, both naked and without the comforter due to the heat, pressing soft kisses to your head.

His fingertips trail across your body aimlessly.

You let your eyes fall shut to his beating heart. “Wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime.”

He laughs, brushing your hair back as your breathing evens out. “I’ll keep that in mind, Darlin.”

[dekusleftsock]

How shocked and how dramatic do you think the broader scope of mha consumers will be when toga doesn’t actually die? How they’re jumping the gun into thinking that she’s dead just due to a blood transfusion?

Imma be honest I am living in a bit of an echo chamber rn, there’s not all that much I really KNOW about their reactions.

For all I know, I feel like it’ll be an average Tuesday yk, kinda like when bakugou wasn’t ACTUALLY dead and people weren’t freaking out over it.

I have this like, image in my head sometimes. Ochako, Izuku, Katsuki, and Toga are standing on a hill in silence with a sunset background. There’s nothing said, no words spoken, but it’s always what I imagine the ending to this series. Do I think or want what I imagine to happen? Not really. I want toga and ochako to get a kiss, or at the very least I want bkdk to kiss bc it IS a slowburn.

But unfortunately what I’m personally most scared of is if izu//ocha just never become a thing and… bkdk + tgck are just implied. Because it’s not what I think will create genuine change. What will create change is a confirmation of one or both of them that, yes, these two same sex characters are lovers. And there’s no argument you can make, or theory you can write, or hc that can make this be anything than what it is: True queer representation.

Do I think toga not being dead will create uproar? Maybe some. Maybe in the distant annoying fans on Twitter who complain about “the 30 year old white women who like bkdk”, but do they really matter? They’re a loud minority sure, but most of them are just fucking wannabe edgelords that like making people angry or uneasy. They like a show, a reaction. That’s it. That’s all they ever want.

But what I want though? I want shonen jump’s merch to take a spike in sales for mha, I want people across the world confused and disoriented that this random anime has been trending for weeks on Twitter, I want tumblr to break itself and your dash to be filled with nothing but the fact that mha’s joke ships fucking won. Bkdk’s are REALLY easy to make fun of. A lot of them are teenagers, a lot of them are lgbt, and there’s a lot of them in general. They’re everywhere. Just like how in my state we call New Yorkers the “roaches of the east coast”, mha fans are kind of the roaches of anime fandoms. It would affect everyone, even people who could give less of a fuck about the manga.

(I mean that in the best way possible btw, I love that we’re everywhere and I can be connected to so many different types of people just bc mha is so big. WE THE ROACHES BABYYYYY)

What I mean by all of this is that, I want mha to be a silly footnote in queer history. There’s very few shows that get the opportunity to even be decently popular, much less as popular as mha. In my mind, mha has a chance to say “fuck you” to all of the misogynistic and homophobic people in the world personally. They came into mha to get a battle shonen, and they leave with the first large shonen manga with not one, but two queer love stories.

That doesn’t happen often, or ever. Horikoshi has the ability to make a name for himself as someone who mattered, or someone who became another cog in the machine. Thats what I think will truly create a reaction.

[cleosertorikinnie]

WELCOME BACK TO HATING WIT NYA🗣️

On today’s episode we have…

Dareth :catdark:

This doodoo stain, fake ahh, wannabe ninja whore. I AUDHAIHELABELQJEIAHUSGDUS AUGHHSIAHEIAHDKWNDLANKENWNFBWKFBKWBDSKNDJSFHD

This guys very existence just bothers me. I need him to unexist NEOW

Now before I get. brutally attacjed by his gay ass, asslicking dickriders PLEASE EHEAR ME OUT

SEASON 6.

Season 6 was…. SO FUCKING ASS OMG I HATE IT SO MUCH.

and the fact that bro was. misogynistic “mind sticking around for a segment to teach girls how to apply makeup🥺” I will skin you alive and make you eat it. 🐜 “Oh mimimi you guys added a GIRL!!!!!! to the team🥺🤓” JUMPSCARE FEMALES!!!! HATE IT WHEN VAGJNA HAVING BITCHES EXIST!!!!!

He’s such a fucking loser. “Oh i’m a ninja☝️🤓🤓” jump up kick back whip around and kill yourself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ANNOYING AHH!!!!!! WHY DOES HE KEEP RETURNING.

Rizzless ahhbdishekwhdkanfkdj

me @ that useless ass ‘ninja’

HE’S JUST ACTUALLY SO ANNOYING I CANT IMMSJANELSJD.

When he first appeared I was like ‘Ok.. this might be silly..” BUT MO. I CAN’T HAVE A MOMENT OF PEACE WHY DOES HE HAVE TO EXIST QUIT IT.💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

Also his personality is just ahh… HE WANTS TO BE INVOLVED SO BADLY💔💔💔💔💔 ITS SO CRINGE

“I’m the brown ninja yappa yappa yappa🥺🤓” Ok wheres ur elemental power? Where’s ur ninja training? WHERES YOUR ACTUALLY BEING PART OF THE TEAM U USELESS DISGUSTING NASTY FILLER CHARACTER!!!!!!!

He is the reason why I hate men/hj

I bet he fucking stinks too. I JUST KNOW HE SMELLS LIKE CHEAP ASS DEODORANT R SMTH IDK BUT HE LOOKS LIKE HE SMELLS

Lisyen ik that he’s been useful sometimes but that does take change the fact that he’s a weirdo and misogynistic.

People will stay defending his gross ahh just because he’s a MAN And I don’t like it☹️😒

See now if the roles were reversed../j

But seriously if it was a girl character hating on a man n allat peoppe woulf not SHUT UP ABOUT IT

BUT BCS HIS LOSER AHH IS A MAN. EVERYONE LIKES HIM????? BE SO FR RN😒😒😒😒😒😒

NOT TO MENTION HIS DESIGN IS JUST…🔥🔥🔥🔥

also his voice just annoys me so MUCH idk his tone is so irritating. IT MAKES ME WANNA OUNCH HIM

He has that ‘cool jock’ guy voice kinda… idk but it PISSES ME OFF.

Also I hate his fanbase SO MUCH!!!! WEIRD AHH PEOPLE😒😒😒 biggest dickriders ive ever seen man.

like yall will literally praise him eventho he’s sO ANNOYING AND LOWKEY PROBLEMATIC BE SO FR.

ALSO HIS HAIR IS UGLY. IT HAD TO BE SAID MAN I DONT MAKE THE RULES

He gives off 47 in 1 shampoo, conditioner, body wash, hair oil, hair cream, soap, car oil, cat food, yappa yappa yappa yappa

[fairy25]

I deleted my facebook account a few years ago so I don't know if they still do that birthday reminder thing. But every year, most of my 400 or so "friends" would send me a happy birthday message. And every year, without fail, I would reply to all of them. I had always had a nagging suspicion that none of them would remember my birthday without that god awful reminder. I was different, you see. I noted down everybody's birthday and email address in my shitty Nokia phone calender. Everybody who mattered, that is. So not 400 people. More like 50 or 100 (yes, I was squandering my life away). And I would send them an online birthday card to prove that I cared more than the rest of their friends.

And then I turned 19. High school had just ended. My parents and I were moving to a different city. So I was not going to the same colleges as my friends. And I was slightly put off. That's when I got a rather horrid idea. I turned off that blasted reminder. I wanted to show myself that all my friends that I had collected so painstakingly over 18 years would never forget me.

Four people remembered my 19th birthday - three were my cousins who wanted to avoid a phonecall, and one was a clingy wannabe boyfriend. Was I broken? Yes, somewhat. Was it the end of the world? Not really. But it was one of the best decisions I've ever made. It liberated me. I was under no obligation to update my silly calender anymore.

I made new friends after that. Some stayed. Most left. And then my birthdays didn't matter so much to me anymore. I had truly forgotten about all this until I saw your post. The point I'm trying to make is that sometimes, life just happens. If your friends seem to have forgotten you, then you should be slightly grateful that you didn't have to forcibly eject them from your life. It's much better to drift apart than to lose someone because they deliberately hurt you.

I know you're hurting today. And you'll definitely be hurting on your birthday. But you'll also have a lot of good things to look forward to. You'll make new, better friends. You might get a dog or a cat or a horse or a peacock or - if you're living my childhood dream - you might even get an elephant!

The whole point of life is to accept change. You're ex-friends have given you the chance to begin the rest of your life today. And it's a pretty good life, I'd say. 💖💖

I’m glad you were able to find a silver lining but this is not encouraging at all. It honestly comes off a bit condescending and I don’t think that was your intention but being told to “accept change” when all my friends have forgotten me and I know I’m going to spend another birthday alone getting drunk is um… tone deaf? At the very least

[ladykatdollx]

Some of my Oz headcannons <3

•He just gives me true gentleman vibes😫I know he’s MENTAL but for you he has a soft spot, he’ll open doors for you (he defo checks you out as he walks behind you), calls you “love” “darling” “pretty girl” “sweetheart”, carry you over rough ground if you’re wearing heels. Just things like that🫶

•he’s secretly a true romantic even though he may not show it sometimes, he’ll kiss your neck and breathe heavily, play with your hair and hold your hand. He definitely gets jealous and protective over you and is always prepared to fight somebody if someone approaches you and won’t leave you alone.

•I feel like he’s an animal lover, considering his crime name is literally Penguin…Telltales backstory I’m not actually sure how he got his name, loves birds especially. He’d be the type to laugh at penguins waddling and sliding into the water at a zoo.

•I feel like he’s life in England was great for him and he low-key misses it, as that’s where he was brought up, especially his criminal life and being a boxer, boxing ring proprietor. I feel like he may have had a few flings or maybe a relationship but it just didn’t work out and it may have made him feel shit deep down, then resorting to drinking and other bad influences (such as gambling etc) to get over it, but that’s something he’d probably never admit, he puts on his overly confident, loud and tough boy personality to cover it. Also, when him and Bruce were good friends, Bruce definitely got more attention, especially female attention and it may have had an effect on Oz, thinking that he wasn’t as handsome as Bruce and couldn’t pull girls like Bruce could (even though Oz has natural charm and IS A HANDSOME MAN NOW😫he’d have all of us over him <3)

•he’d defo invite you to watch him at a boxing match, he’ll brush his hair back and flex in front of you to impress you and he’ll do the most to make sure he wins that fight, he couldn’t bare the thought of losing in-front of you.

•I’m not entirely sure how he really feels about the scar across his nose bridge, I feel like sometimes he looks in the mirror to look at it, getting flashbacks to the fight he had that caused it, but he probably laughs it off and thinks it looks cool. But even if he did feel insecure you’ll tell him it’s attractive, which would make him feel better.

•he got prison tattoos in prison FOR SURE AND TELLTALE WE NEED A TOPLESS 3D MODEL OF HIM

•if he’s had some trouble he’d come and find you, you are his peace and comfort, especially if he’s had a brutal fight, I feel like he’d lay down with his head resting on your lap whilst you sort his face out, he’ll groan due to the pain tho.

•I know it’s sort of contrasting to the point I said above this but although he’s highly protective of you, if you were willing to join him in the criminal underworld, he’d feel unsure but deep down he’d love you to be by his side.

•he has a good and silly sense of humour, I love his British humour throughout season 1, especially as me being a British girl. For those who remember episode 5 when Bruce gets back into the computer and Oz used the comic sans font to type “cobblepot enterprises” LMAOO and changing Bruce’s medical history💀💀I can just imagine him messing around and being stupid with you, like maybe physically annoying you too😭

•defo gets drunk on a Friday and Saturday night and is painfully loud but is funny as hell when he’s drunk

•absolutely HATES these young wannabe gangsters that think they’re hard, they irritate him, he thinks they’re dickheads and will say something like “they have no bloody idea of the real world…twats” as he shakes his head

•probably not best to ask him about how him and Bruce’s friendship, he’ll give you a look and you’ll know to stop talking, or he’ll be like “I don’t wanna talk about it, alright?” And he may get annoyed. Although he will eventually open up to you about his parents and how badly he misses his mother especially.

•has a shocking sleep schedule but he’ll happily let you sleep, he’ll keep checking up on you and may sit down on the bed and watch you for a while, when he eventually gets tired he’ll lay down beside you and wrap his arm around you.

•he loves his old fashioned style and thinks modern fashion especially modern men’s fashion is SHITE

•I KNOW ITS BIG I KNOW ITS BIG!!!!

[reluctantjoe]

Mathew Baynton: ‘I sometimes think the culture wars only happen in people’s minds’

As he prepares to play Bottom at the RSC, the Ghosts star talks about why making comedy in the UK is no laughing matter

Before I meet Mathew Baynton I’m half expecting to encounter a version of the Regency poet he played with such expressive romanticism in the BBC’s exquisite hit sitcom Ghosts. Or the flamboyant rapping Charles II, just one of the many historical characters the collective reimagined with antic gusto in the children’s TV series Horrible Histories. Or even the fabulously reptilian Mr Fickelgruber from the recent blockbuster hit Wonka. In other words, surely an actor renowned for playing delicious Technicolour caricatures would be a bit outsized himself?

Instead when we meet at the RSC rehearsal studios in Clapham, Baynton slides along the wall as though trying to disappear into the paintwork. “I don’t like entertaining people socially,” he says apologetically. “At a recent wedding I was too shy to dance. I’d have no hesitation dancing my socks off in a show and looking very silly, but not at a wedding thank you very much.”

Baynton, 43, is about to play one of the silliest characters in the western canon, Bottom, the hapless, deluded wannabe actor in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the RSC. It’s Baynton’s first theatre gig in 10 years. The reasons he hasn’t trod the boards for so long are perhaps predictable – the combination of screen and family commitments, he says: he has two children, 12 and eight, with his partner, the film historian Kelly Robinson. But also perhaps because no other stage role until now has made him think that “if I said no, I might spend the rest of my life wondering if I’d made a massive mistake”.

He’s been relieved to discover the Mechanicals, the amateur acting troupe of whom Bottom is arguably the least talented, are not the “beer-swilling rotund yokels with West Country accents” he remembers from mediocre productions in his youth. “My feeling with Bottom is that someone once said to him he was quite good at acting, and that’s been enough to make a monster out of him. He has precious little experience but just enough to make him think he can do it all. My Bottom will be ridiculous. But there is a real sweetness to his enthusiasm.”

Baynton is very good at finding the sweetness in the patently ridiculous. It’s there in Ghosts (which he co-created) about a mismatched bunch of spectral beings trapped together in a crumbling old house and whose final episode after five seasons last Christmas attracted 6.6 million viewers. There was an endearing bumbling charm to his pathologically helpless Berkshire county council worker Sam Pinkett in the 2013 cult sitcom The Wrong Mans, which he developed with James Corden. Even Fickelgruber wasn’t too menacing.

Surely, though, he would have been even better casting as Wonka himself? “Er, I don’t quite have the global reach of Timothée Chalamet,” he splutters. “Although, a bit like Bottom, I always think: I’d have a go at that!” He adores the way the film embraces old-fashioned spectacular storytelling. “It’s lovely to see budget being used for big choreography and lots of people dancing in a town square, and not just explosions and fights which are usually the things budget buys.”

He deplores, though, how hard it is now to get original family blockbuster entertainment greenlit. “I grew up in a golden era of that sort of thing – ET; Back to the Future. These days you can’t do anything in that area that doesn’t have existing IP. You need to give the financiers a pre-existing brand. You can’t say ‘I’ve written this idea about this kid who is friends with a crazy scientist’ and hope to make it into a big film. And that is very sad.”

You can, though, just about, still pitch original ideas with cross-generational appeal to TV. Ghosts was a rare example of a TV sitcom that enthralled adults as much as it did their children. What’s more, it did so with almost surreal placidity. In a cultural climate that seems to trade on people being as loud and divisive as possible, Baynton’s faith in an inclusive gentle comic mayhem feels positively subversive.

“Everything these days is designed to agitate because agitation is the quickest way to get someone’s attention,” he says dispiritedly. “In season two of Ghosts, we had an episode featuring a gay marriage, much to the outrage of Lady Button. But eventually she realised that the unhappiness in her own marriage stemmed from her sexually repressed homosexual husband. Softly softly, there is a thesis there. Which is that if we could just put our f---ing phones away and sit down with each face to face and talk, then [these polemical attitudes] will loosen.”

Baynton grew up in Southend, the youngest of three brothers, and spent an awful lot of time watching Monty Python and Dad’s Army with his father. He attended Rose Bruford College and then trained in clowning at the Ecole Philippe Gaulier in Paris. His first major professional success was Horrible Histories, which ran for five years from 2009; around the same time he started working with James Corden. 

“We immediately hit it off,” Baynton tells me. “We were laughing at similar things,” Corden wrote him a part in Gavin and Stacey and Baynton then approached him with the idea for The Wrong Mans. A classic British sitcom pretending to be a Hollywood thriller, in which two jobsworths find themselves inadvertently embroiled in a fast-spinning web of crime and conspiracy, like much of his work it’s quietly radical.

“I had this bee in my bonnet about how comedy at the time was never allowed to have high production values. You had single-camera family sitcoms and you had brightly lit studio sitcoms but never anything that looked like a Coen brothers movie because the budgets are so low. So we thought, if we write something along those lines with James in it, maybe someone would take a punt. But the BBC said they couldn’t afford it. They said, either you rewrite it, or we junk a lot of it. So we went to America. In the end, it became one of the first America/UK co-productions [it was a co-production between BBC Two and the US streaming platform Hulu]. And that’s now become a widespread model.”

Baynton seems to be permanently busy: he’s currently writing a comedy film, which he can’t discuss, and this year will appear in the BBC’s forthcoming adaptation of Holly Jackson’s young adult thriller A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder. He worries, though, for the future of comedy on TV. “For the sixth year running Ofcom has labelled scripted comedy [at the BBC] to be at risk,” he says. “The amount being produced is at an all-time low. I know commissioners wish they could commission more, but for whatever reason they aren’t given the budgets. Which is mad when you think about how much comedy means to people over other sorts of programmes. No one puts ‘good sense of drama’ on dating apps.” Does he think comedy has become a casualty of the culture wars in which people are increasingly fearful of causing offence?

“You might think that if you only paid attention to the culture wars,” he says. “I sometimes think the culture wars only happen in people’s minds. Comedy is wide enough to accommodate many voices. And if you just get out there and go to a comedy gig, you will see brilliant people being funny all the time.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

A Frozen Pumpkin

Summary: Icy's spell backfires and she turns into a pumpkin. While trying to turn her back, Flora sees a side of Icy that she hadn't expected to see.

Day 1

At this point she is perfectly used to things going awry. To the Winx girls making a mess of her plans. But it is no less annoying this time around than it had been any other time. In fact, she would wager that each stolen victory is more aggravating than the one before it.

Sometimes she swears that the universe itself is working against she and her sisters. Conspiring to take them down; those silly faeries always have help from the outside whether they ask for it or not. The universe seems to hand them each and every tool that they need. And Icy is growing tired of it!

And her sisters…she swears that they are losing competence with each skirmish. “Would you pay attention Stormy!” She snaps, having watched the woman get fooled by one of Mirta’s illusions a second time. “And to you, Mirta, everything about you is annoying me right now! Your stupid tricks, your good attitude, and your little t-shirt.”

The little wannabe witch seems to curl in on herself. Shrinking before her eyes. Icy wishes that she would shrink until she disappears completely. “Pumpkin?” She pauses. “You like pumpkins so much, maybe you'd like to be one!” The magic crackles on her fingers. Fueled by a frigid hatred, this spell is going to be particularly brutal.

She should have known that, like most things these days, that it wouldn’t go her way. 

“Leave her alone!” Bloom shouts as the spell leaves Icy’s grasp. 

“Too late, fairy.” She sneers.

She finds that her mood is steadily getting better. Perhaps they won’t get the dragon fire this time, but she will have vengeance and entertainment. “Why do you two look so horrified?” She asks of Darcy and Stormy. They better not be going soft on her. They don’t actually pity Mirta, do they?

They don’t pity Mirta, she understands at the last moment. They pity her.

She has only a brief second to comprehend this and just as soon as she does, her own spell engulfs her. 

It wraps her up, envelopes the entirety of her body. And by the time the golden sparkles of her curse dissipate she doesn’t have a body at all. Not in the sense that she once had.

“Well that clearly didn’t go as planned.” She hears Stella’s light and lilting voice and that insufferable giggle. “What a shame.” She ends with a dramatic, taunting sigh. 

This is the exact sort of humiliation that will be particularly grueling to shake off. Of course she might not have to worry about that at all if she is going to live out the rest of her life as a pumpkin, the victim of her own spell. 

Day 2

It is humorous at first.

Stormy has an absolute riot; Darcy hadn’t realized that there were so many pumpkin puns.

But then a week's worth of spellwork goes by and they still don’t have their sister back. 

Stormy’s jokes start to taper off. Darcy had stopped laughing at them on day three. She is certain that Stormy only kept it up to lighten the mood. Stormy never has been particularly good at dealing with the serious stuff. 

In her defense, it is quite hard to take a pumpkin transformation seriously. 

But Icy’s leaves are starting to brown and it becomes apparent that this goofy little trick is more sinister than they had assumed. Darcy’s stomach flutters—she hadn’t taken her sister for a murderer. A bully and a bitch for sure, but a murder? 

They are quite dreadful and they revel in that but they aren’t outright evil, are they? 

They aren’t killers.

“You didn’t know about that, did you, Icy?” She asks. Not that she will get an answer. Sometimes she feels as though she is talking just to talk, Icy hasn’t really given any indication that she could hear the outside world. But it does seem appropriate to talk to her just in case. “I’m not much use.” She murmurs. “I don’t have the kind of magic that it takes to fix this.” She can’t name a single witch that does. “And I don’t trust Stormy to try.”

“Hey!” The witch calls from her own bed. 

“Full offense, Stormy, but you’d probably blast her to bits if you tried.”

Maybe she is imagining it, but Darcy swears that she feels the slightest bristle, a light rustle of leaves. 

“I’m helping in my own way.” Stormy insists. “I always turn the radio on before we leave the dorm so that she can at least suffer with good music.” 

“Your taste in music is questionable.”

“Your taste in clothing is questionable.”

“Stormy, we have the same fashion taste…mostly.” Darcy likes to think that their banter helps. That it might add a sense of normalcy in a bizarre situation. Sometimes she still expects to hear Icy yelling at them to knock it off. And every time that the scolding fails to come, she feels a prickle of loss.

“Speaking of questionable…” Darcy begins. “Maybe we should…get help with this.” 

“From Griffin?”

“From the Winx.” Darcy lets the suggestion hang there for a moment. “They have the right type of magic for this. We might have to swallow our pride.”

“That’s completely humiliating!”

“Icy is already a pumpkin. And it’s her own fault. Might as well keep the embarrassment going. She’ll die if we don’t.”

“She’d rather.” Stormy grumbles. 

“Well I’d rather she didn’t.” 

Day 3

She hates Darcy for this and she hates the Winx girls for actually agreeing to help her.

They weren’t supposed to agree to help.

 She thinks that she really would rather let herself rot away than to suffer any of the Winx girls trying to reach out to her. Even if this does work, even if they do manage to reach her, she isn’t sure that she would like to look any of them in the eye afterward. She doesn’t want to face Darcy or Stormy either, she can’t imagine them ever letting this one go. 

All of Cloud Tower is going to have something to say about this one.

About the witch who cursed and made a fool of herself. 

She’s going to be a nobody again.

Worse than that, probably.

Day 4

Day four.

At least that’s what they tell her it is, she’s hasn’t been keeping track. But she supposes that she should. 

It is perfectly morbid and perfectly suitable for a witch to count down the days to her own death. Of course hers won’t come with the sleek and dark elegance of a deep blue coffin with silvery snowflake embellishments and bouquets of black roses and tacca chantrieri. None of the bleakly beautiful ambiance of the funeral rites. 

It would look just silly to put a rotting, molding pumpkin in a coffin. And a waste of time to put that pumpkin in the ground, even if it used to be a witch. 

Day 5

Flora is an unwelcome guest in this world that lays somewhere between the physical world and the world within her own mind. It is a strange place to be really; neither in the physical world nor the psychic world. Neither grounded nor transcended but suspended in some new type of in between. A meta-physical world that has no right to exist and no way of being truly comprehended. 

Flora holds out her hand just as she had yesterday. 

Icy refuses to take it just as she had yesterday.

“Please, Icy. If you want to be a witch again then you’re going to have to work with me.”

She would rather be a pumpkin.

Day 6

“Why are you being so stubborn!?” She has never seen Flora so flustered and frustrated and she takes a sense of pride in having been the one to achieve getting her there. “I’m trying to help you, you know?”

Icy laughs.

It is good to know that she can still bother a fairy even when she is at her lowest point. 

The look on Flora’s face…priceless. 

She forces another laugh. 

She has to. It makes her feel like herself. One of the only things that does. 

It is hollow. 

She is hollow. 

She probably always has been.

Day 7

She wonders what the lifespan of a pumpkin is. 

Day 8

“They miss you, Icy.” 

For some reason this makes her feel unpleasantly fluttery. It makes her feel the way that she used to feel when she was younger. When her hair was shorter and her face was free of makeup. When she still had round baby-cheeks and wide eyes. 

Anxious.

It has been so long since she’d been anxious that she’d forgotten what it feels like. 

She has worked hard to bury that part of herself and she intends to keep it buried.

“Darcy and Stormy need you. They won’t admit it but I can tell. All of us can.” Flora continues. “They want you to come back. Don’t you want to go back?”

She keeps her back to the fairy but she thinks that she might have let a slight nod slip.

Yes. She does want to go back. She does but, at the same time, she dreads what going back will look like for her. What it will be like. 

Day 12

Apparently there are blank spaces in her mind. Things that she, for the life of her, can’t recall. A handful of days that Flora remembers, but she cannot. Things and blank spaces that explain why Flora had gotten so frustrated so quickly.

 It comes with a potent sense of dread, this notion that she is losing parts of herself.

For how long will she be Icy?

When will Icy disappear and become just another pumpkin to carve.

Hopefully long before the rot begins.

Day 13

She misses the outside world. She misses the feeling of ice magic working through her veins. She misses the way her mattress feels after a long day. She misses the chatter and chaos of the lunch room. She misses food—ice cream melting on her tongue, a burst of mint and chocolate chip, she misses pretending that she hadn’t asked for sprinkles and that “they never get my damn order right”. She might just openly order her ice cream with sprinkles—the rainbow ones too—if she makes it out of this.

She even misses Magix history class and the shitload of homework that the professor always gives to the class.

She misses talking to Darcy and Stormy. 

Misses hearing their ridiculous banter and how it would keep her up at night and leave her feeling cranky and tired in the morning. What was the last thing that they had bickered over? Before she’d become a pumpkin they had been debating over whether or not Melouise and the Meloncholy Moon is a goth band or not. Apparently, they have been putting out some pretty fairy-esque lyrics lately. 

Post-pumpkin, she recalls them fighting about which songs to play for her while they went to class.  Flora says that they had been arguing during one of those days that she can’t remember. Flora insists that she had told her to get them to shut up because they had been annoying her. 

Now she can’t hear them at all. 

Now she would give anything to let them completely aggravate her. 

Day 15

She has thought about what Flora had said. About Darcy and Stormy missing her. She can’t imagine that they are doing too well without her guidance. And what kind of sister and leader would she be if she left them to fend for themselves. 

“Good morning, Icy.”

It very much is not. 

And morning means nothing to her anymore here in this space where the sun doesn’t exist and day and night are the same damn thing. There is color in this world; it is mostly an inky blue with swirls of glimmering white, silver, and baby blues.

“Will you work with me this time?” 

Icy opens her mouth to reply but she finds that she can’t remember how to move her lips, where to rest her tongue, how to shape her mouth to produce the right sounds. Had she a physical throat, she would swallow hard. Had she a physical stomach, it would sink. 

She hadn’t even considered that refusing to speak to the fairy would leave room for the ability to talk to slip away. 

With ample dread, Icy resigns herself to the knowledge that she can’t remember how to talk. She practically doesn’t remember what words are. 

And maybe that sense of terror appears on her face because Flora drifts closer to her. And this time she doesn’t push the fairy away. 

“Look at me, Icy.” 

She does. 

Spectral Flora places her hands on Icy’s spectral form. 

“Watch my lips move.”

She wastes a whole day reminding Icy of how to speak.

Day 16

“Am I dying?” It is the first thing that she asks upon finding her voice again and she isn’t certain that she is using the right words. Little by little she is losing fragments of her humanity. There are many words that she cannot remember; words that stubbornly cling to the tip of her tongue until they fade entirely. “I think that I can feel myself withering.”

Flora shakes her head. “You’re fine, still a bright orange…”

Icy would not call that fine by any means. She has been described in many ways; evil, cruel, frigid, bitch, horrible, a nightmare, and even on occasion, ugly and unfashionable. Orange is not on that list and she thinks that she’d rather get called unsightly than orange.

“And your leaves are really bright!” Flora finishes. “Anyways, sweetie…”

And she would rather get called ‘orange’ than ‘sweetie’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘cutie’, or any variety of those appalling things. If she had hands she would use them for slapping. But she has leaves and vines and she has no idea how to move those. 

“...pumpkins can live for eight to twelve weeks.”

And a witch can live for over one hundred.

“So, at worst, you have fifty-six days to live.” 

She is on her sixteenth day as a pumpkin. So she has less than even that. 

Day 17

She is losing her memories too. 

The ones that she has had the longest. 

Even the ones that she treasures the most. 

Broom & Doom Fest, 1997; it is printed on banners at the ticket booth and on the map in her hand. The map that she flips over to find today’s lineup.

She has circled the bands that she most wants to see. She has done so for all three of the days.

There is a certain energy, frantic and charged. 

As soon as the gates open everyone is hauling ass, straight to the acts that they want to see the most.

 It is already pleanty loud, and as the day goes on, it grows louder still, invigoratingly so. She and Darcy  keep towards the back of the crowd. Stormy is somewhere in the throes of it, lost in the pit and probably going feral…absolutely batshit insane to the beat of the song. 

That was never Icy’s scene. 

It was never Darcy’s either. 

Music is best enjoyed without fretting over whether or not her nose will bloodied by the end of the show. Music is best enjoyed when she can close her eyes and feel the vibrations of the guitars and drums in her chest as they burst from speakers taller than small houses. 

The world smells of leather and cigarettes and Darcy’s breath smells of booze. Icy isn’t exactly sober herself. Probably the both of them will find themselves passed out in the field by the end of the festival. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Today has been a good one.

The three of them are about to start their first year at Cloud Tower.

Their first year as witches.

And what a better way to establish oneself as a witch than to listen to ‘Hanna Howler’ and ‘The Primordial Hex Band’. 

Darcy had been wearing that perfume that smelled like blackberries and a crown of bare branches and spiderwebs. Stormy had laced up her combat boots and jammed screws, bolts, and dull nails into her hair. Icy still wore spiked collars then and that silly snowflake charm bracelet. She still spiked the front of her hair too and tipped those spikes with icicles. 

The day had begun with singing along to one of Darcy’s favorite albums, like idiots, as they drove to the festival grounds.

The day ended with black lipstick stains all over her neck, chest, and belly. She can’t put a name to a single man or woman that kissed her that night. She wouldn’t want to. It would ruin the magic of it. The nostalgia. 

The night ended with she, Darcy, and Stormy on the ground, cackling at jokes that were only funny because of the alcohol, and counting strobe light flashes. 

Nobody would have known that they’d only just met each other the night before. 

That, that night had happened on a whim.

She will let every other memory fade before she lets that one go.

She will forget her name before she forgets the look on Darcy and Stormy’s faces.

Day 18

She doesn’t mind sharing that memory when Flora proposes that sharing profound memories might help  her reconnect to her humanity.

“That sounds like it was an amazing time.” Flora comments. “I think that maybe you aren’t as evil as you seem.”

“How do you figure that?”

Flora shrugs. “You seem to get close to people really quickly. I assumed that the three of you knew each other for…your whole lives.” She pauses. “You care about them a lot, don’t you.”

“Not really.” She shrugs. 

Flora laughs.

Until then, she hadn’t realized that she was such a terrible liar.

Day 19

Icy has started using Flora’s face as a gauge for how bleak and deeply hopeless her situation is. Today there are unshed tears in her eyes. They come after she finishes her story. She know, even before Flora tells her so, that she has missed a few details. 

“The festival was called Broom & Doom Fest. The year, 1997.” Flora informs her. 

Icy rubs her spectral hands over her face. 

She would never forget that.

She can’t possibly be forgetting it. 

But she is.

Along with what accessories she and Darcy were wearing and the name of her favorite song.

Day 20

She recalls less this time around. 

She can’t remember how the night had ended. 

She had forgotten that there were two other days of the festival.

Day 21

Icy isn’t one for tears. 

But Icy cries. 

She mourns the person that she is losing. Mourns the memory that she has lost. She doesn’t even know what it was, just that she had cherished it. Cherished it more than any other. 

And if she can forget that then what hope does she have of remembering anything else? The smaller delights. What if she forgets Darcy and Stormy entirely?

Somehow that bothers her more than the prospect of forgetting Icy…herself.

Day 22

She can feel herself shriveling, her leaves browning, parts of her pumpkin body sagging and she thinks that she doesn’t have much time.

It is only day twenty-two, Flora tells her. She might not even live for fifty-six days. 

Even if she does, she doesn’t know how much of her will be left when she makes it back to her physical form. 

Would she really be alive if she returned without her memories? Without all of the bits that made her Icy?

Day 26

Day twenty-three is her most desperate day yet. Icy, Darcy, and Stormy. She repeates their names over and over again for fear that she will lose them if she doesn’t. They are the Trix. They are witches. Over and over again she reminds herself of this. 

She repeats this until the names mean nothing. 

Nothing accept that they had once been important to her. 

She asks the other person her name.

“I’m Flora.” She says. “Fairy of nature.” 

The way she says it leads her to believe that she has asked this before. 

“And your name is Icy. You are the witch of ice.” 

Oh yes, they have definitely been through this song and dance before. 

Icy is crying again. 

Icy lets the fairy hold her. 

Day 27

It leaves Icy shuddering.

Shuddering and thankful that she doesn’t have cheeks that can grow warm and flushed. 

But there is some relief to be had in her renewed sense of shame. 

In the past few minutes…hours? Days? In the past few how-ever-long-it-has-beens Icy has relived her very best days and the days that she had yearned to forget. It is all so fresh in her mind now; her most prideful moments. And the ones that make her feel small and weak. 

And the fairy has, in some sense, lived them too. 

She knows now.

She knows who Icy used to be. 

What she used to be. 

She knows that Icy had been more of a fairy than a witch. Knows that she used to keep to her own little corner of any given classroom in her old high school. Knows that she had been timid and shy. Easy to victimize. 

And Flora knows that she was victimized. Scrutinized and picked apart until she hated everything that she was. Until she believed them when they said that she was an embarrassment. An embarrassment whose powers are weak and useless. 

Until she saw fit to change herself more or less completely. 

And now she is Icy.

She was Icy.

She is a pumpkin now. 

She is once again perfectly content to keep it that way.

Day 28

She has seen sides of the witch that she hadn’t imagined seeing. She feels almost guilty for it. Icy had given her permission to look into her soul, but Flora still feels like an invader of sorts. She can’t imagine Icy giving her that sort of permission on a normal day, under any other circumstance. She knows that she is just trying to help but she still can’t shake the feeling that she is taking advantage of the woman’s vulnerability. 

“Do you mind if I give you a memory?” Flora asks. “You’ve shared a lot of secrets with me.” All of them maybe. Possibly things and memories that she hasn’t even shared with Darcy and Stormy. “So I thought that it would be good to share one with you.”

Day 31

Icy hasn’t said a word to her. Not since she’d seen those memories play out.

“I won’t tell anyone. If that’s what you’re worried about.” 

She shouldn’t be surprised that Icy is so good at giving people a cold shoulder. 

“I don’t look at you any differently.” 

At this Icy sniffs, a haughty, disbelieving sort of sniff. Her skepticism is completely warranted. “Yeah, I guess that it would be hard not to see someone differently after seeing their whole life play out.” Flora admits. “I don’t think that you’re weak, Icy.” She stoops down next to the witch. “Trust me, I’ve been working on lifting this curse for a month now. You could probably hex that Snowbell girl into oblivion.”

“She’d deserve it.”

Flora chuckles. 

Icy finally turns to her. “You think that that’s funny?”

Flora nods. “A little.”

“I didn’t realize that you had a sense of humor. Did you take a part of me back with you?”

Flora holds out her hand. “I’m hoping to take all of you back with me.”

Reluctantly Icy takes the fairy’s hand.

Day 32

She feels huge…no that’s not quite right. 

Long. 

That is more like what she feels. 

Long and weighted but not particularly heavy. And there is a tingle and twitch for every inch of her body.

Although she would very much like to be awake, she can’t seem to pry her eyes open.

Day 33

For some reason she had been expecting daylight upon awakening. But she certainly isn’t complaining, she enjoys the night more anyhow, and it is much less overwhelming. There are less sounds to bombard her and sight is muted. 

Icy winces, she is so stiff. 

It is quite a struggle to sit up. 

When she finally manages, her hair spills over her shoulders. 

It is so much longer than she remembers and she recalls it being absurdly long.

It is only when she brings her hands to her eyes and rubs them that full alertness settles in. She has hands. Hands with fingers that she can flex. And for the longest time she can only bring herself to stare. 

Stare until her fatigued body flops back onto the mattress. 

Day 35

She had forgotten how annoying it is to have a physical body. 

And how agitating it is to have that physical body squeezed. 

Squeezed by two witches who are extremely adamant that they didn’t miss her that much because that would be totally lame.

Icy thinks that her lameness tolerance threshold has increased drastically. Probably because she had set the bar so damn high. Turning oneself into a pumpkin is the pinnacle of lame and pathetic. Anything that falls short of that is tolerably lame.

“Welcome back, Icy.” Flora greets. 

“It’s dreadful to be back.”

Flora laughs. 

That’s right, the fairy is well aware that she is a terrible liar. 

While it may not be dreadful to be back, it is terribly intimidating. She won’t admit it to anyone but herself, but she isn’t certain that she is ready to go back to Cloud Tower. She isn’t sure that she can go back at all. “How bad is it?” 

“How much are the other witches laughing at you?” Stormy asks. 

Icy nods. 

“A lot.” Darcy replies bluntly.

“Great.” Icy grumbles. “Just perfect.”

“You can stay here with us.” Flora suggests. “Mirta did.”

“Not a chance, fairy.” She has dealt with a lot and she will deal with this. “What kind of witch would I be if I let all of those losers run me out of there?”

“All of the witches at Cloud Tower are losers?” Flora quirks a brow.

“All of them but myself, Darcy, and Stormy, yes.”

She can tell that Flora is trying to hide her amusement. Icy is still not entirely sure that Flora hasn’t taken a touch of her personality. And she isn’t sure that she hadn’t taken a little piece of Flora.

She can’t see any other reason as to why she feels slightly compelled to take Flora up on her offer to remain at Alfea. 

It sure would cause quite a scene if she chose to attend both schools. 

She has already caused a stir.

Maybe she will just keep that ball rolling.

She enjoys shaking things up anyhow. 

“I’m not going to regret turning you back into a witch, am I?”

Icy shrugs. “I guess that you’ll have to wait and see, Flora.” 

She herself will have to wait and see.

[voxasks]

🫐 So she/her, female, teenager, always the therapist friend, always wanting to be the best but then lacks the courage to put effort and gets mad when someone else is better than me, generally gets irritated when someone is better at something I was supposed to be good, like IT and coding (but it sometimes irritates the hell out of me with errors and bugs), loves music way too much my headphones are tired of sending the reminder to put volume down but gothic rock and all some gothic love sad songs are too good to not listen, a dark romantic, has too many ideas to do and ends up doing nothing, heavy simps in patterns like; mad/crazy scientist who has been just through traunatic experiences, character older than me and overall questionable just like my liking and heavy kin to Vox, loves pets but gets easily scared, actually feeling more free in expressing myself in english than my native language, stays almost 24/7 on character.ai creating silly stories with my oc and canon characters, doesn't like to go out and meet with people this much but actually wishes that I would have anyone to go out with and do silly things instead of sitting all day in room, wannabe cosplayer but I need to wait for things to arrive and to gather confidence, loves to dye my hair into unnatural colors as I get easily bored with natural ones

“this  time  i’m  getting  the  vibes  of  some  SERIOUS  mommy  issues,  though  i  could  be  wrong,  i’ll  admit  that.  though  i  gotta  say  character.ai  chats  are  hardly  even  in  character,  or  so  i  was  told  by  my  editor.  you’re  scared  of  putting  in  effort  because  you’re  scared  it’ll  be  for  nothing,  that  the  product  will  turn  out  like  the  explosive  shit  you  see  in  dive  bar  bathroom  stalls,  which  also  why  you  hate  being  upstaged.  the  other  few  people  who  commented  this  emoji  have  actually  either  given  me  hermit  vibes  or  have  admitted  to  being  a  hermit  so,  no  surprise  there.  another  similarity  you  share  with  the  others  is  that  you  just  hate  being  perceived  so  you  never  go  out  and  you  dress  up  as  other  people  to  be  perceived  as  that  character  instead.  you  don’t  really  know  what  you’re  doing  with  your  life  or  who  you  really  are  so  you  flip  flop  between  hair  colors  because  if  there’s  no  one  identity  you’re  anchored  to  then  there’s  no  one  appearance  you’ll  be  satisfied  with.  naturally  with  anyone  who  has  ‘unusual’  interests,  such  as  gothic  rock  and  dark  romance,  you’ve  probably  been  casted  out  by  a  lot  of  people  which  further  promotes  the  comfort  of  being  shut  in.” 

“here’s  the  cheese  on  the  cracker;  i  didn’t  get  to  become  one  of  hell’s  biggest  companies  by  being  like  everyone  else.  and  i  also  hate  any  average  fucker  that  dares  to  tell  me  i’m  not  worth  shit  just  because  i  have  a  few  whacky  ideas  for  tech.  but  people  fuck  up.  even  you.  even  when  you  believe  in  your  dreams  like  a  naive  child  and  do  your  best.  but  that  doesn’t  mean  you’ll  fuck  up  every  single  time.  the  more  attempts  you  make,  the  greater  the  amount  of  successes.  you’re  still  alive.  pick  yourself  up  before  it  gets  harder  when  you’re  down  here.”

based off of the 200 follower event.

“🫐 — tell vox about yourself and he’ll tell you his inner thoughts about you.”

[franstastic-ideas]

Lmao, that was a joke!! Because I was vibing with you so much I called you a mutual, but then followed up with clarifying that I just found your blog. Interesting! I may need to look into this LA fic 👀

Also felt. Re: special bond for reasons, but it’ll get a bit wordy if I explained it. And FELT she should’ve been up there if you played as Lyra, or my personal ideal: you can’t see the figure on Mt Silver bc they’re covered by fog, and a text option pops up going “There’s a blurry figure. It looks like a girl/boy.” So that way you can choose!! Without needing to play the whole game as one gender, AND they had the animation quality to do it and make the fog clear up if they could animate the Legendary summoning. And these text options they’ve been doing since Gen 1 such a missed opportunity :( oh well, she’s canon in my heart and the insane AU fic series I’ve been building for years. If you want to talk my ear off about your own AU, I’d be willing to listen through posts on your blog or DMs (at a later date tho, headaches and exams kicking my butt rn)

HELLO??? VoloKari and no ship name. Wild, Wieldershipping sounds about right! Man, pairs so rare you gotta name them yourself, an age old fandom battle for sure. I accidentally stumbled upon a Leaf x Leon aroace soulmate fic on Ao3 and walked out of there going…huh. Leon’s about 20 in canon right. They say he held the title for a decade. Kids start at age 10. If I’m making 6 years pass since S1 of the anime, and Leaf’s older than Ash then technically…I have zero ideas for a ship name but man it sure is funny to think about in a Dad Lance context where he’s all “hey look, here’s someone like you who won the Championship young!” And Leaf just sees a weird goof with tacky fashion. Until she finds out he has “I’m too strong angst” in the way Red did. Who ran off to an ice mountain for three years. Then nothing is funny anymore. And everything with Rose. AND he has a little brother. That’s great because Lance is a father of two with Silver(? maybe in the non-anime centered fic) as well. Relatable. Younger siblings becoming the Chosen Ones all the time sure is wild huh? (Technically Ash unless if I bring in side-media) and it’s just plain funny to hear how annoyed Lance gets at her complimenting Leon’s cape as a joke but calling his an oversized bib on the wrong side and whatever else. Silly dragon man wannabe superhero Dracula looking- lmao. I noticed you have a love triangle with Leaf, Green, and Brock. Totally valid :D it’s cool co-existing with everyone and their different takes. I personally write Leaf and Brock’s relationship like the one between a law student and a med student.

“Jumping the Sharpedo, Packed like Wishiwashi, Bullying a Dragon-Type” lmaoo these are so good, and such good descriptions. But my favorite HAS to be the one about The Renegade. Oh that is incredible. It’s been fun talking with you :D

My LA fic is currently in progress, but I'll be posting it on my sideblog 'sweet-hearts-and-destiny-knots'.

'What Once We Were' or WOWW for brevity's sake, takes place post postgame about eight months following The Spear Pillar Incident. After telling Laventon that the two of them would likely never cross paths again, Volo suddenly appears before Akari, on his hands and knees, pleading for her forgiveness with a look in his eye that can only be described as reverence...

Things get weirder before they get better.

It's funny that you mention Leon x Leaf, because I was just telling a friend the other day how I think I'm the only person on the face of the earth who's thought about them as a pair. I envisioned the two of them meeting when Leaf and Green take a trip to Galar together sometime before the events of SwSh, and Leon is quickly smitten.

Leaf is just as silent as her brother, but she's an extrovert and makes friends with ease wherever she goes.

I have no idea what the shipping name for them would even be either. The closest I came was 'KanlarChampionshipping' (Kanto + Galar), but it's kind of misleading because neither of them are Champions later down the line - the current Champion of the Indigo League is probably still Kotone/Lyra or Hibiki/Ethan, not Leaf at the very least, and Leon loses his title by the end of SwSh.

So if anybody has any ideas for what their shipping name could be, I'm open to suggestions!

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #645

Top Ten Reasons the Summer Sucks

One of the few things I’m looking forward to as I get older is being old enough to legitimately become a curmudgeon. In the meantime, I’m just a grumpy chip-pisser, and it is this spirit that I bring this week’s list.

As the school year screeches to a rapid halt, we face six unbroken weeks of summer. As I write this, it’s chucking it down, so there’s that. But whilst my title this week is probably hyperbolic, I’m really not much of a summer person. Give me autumn or winter any day: warming, hearty food; crisp autumnal weather; leaves underfoot; the Doctor Who Christmas Special. Ah, bliss. But summer? Well, for reasons outlined below, I don’t really get on with it.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually hate the summer. There are plenty of things I like: barbecues, sunglasses, drying your clothes on the washing line. Also pretty much everyone else seems to like it, and whilst in general I view the opinions of the world at large as scary and wrong, enough people that I actually like like the summer, so I bow to them and gladly allow them the joy of, well, sun and warmth and all that jazz.

But maybe I’m not alone. Maybe there are other wannabe curmudgeons out there, for whom the prospect of weeks or months of summery sentiment induces a sigh. For those – the grumps, attempting to suffer in silence so as not to rain on everyone else’s sunny parade – this list is for you.

Now. When do the kids go back?

It’s too hot: I mean, this is the biggie, right? It’s just too damn hot. When it’s cold, if you’re cold, you just put on more clothes. The worst case scenario is, like, you burn something. But when it’s hot? Basically, you just have to sweat. Uncomfortable stickiness, unflattering hairlines, damp patches on your clothes, and disturbed sleep are the way forward. Yuck.

It's too bright: the sun is bright! It is very bright! You can’t go anywhere without squinting or wearing sunglasses. But more than that, it’s bright for a long time; have you ever tried putting a young child to bed when it’s actually kinda late but also beaming sunshine? It messes with your rhythm. It ain’t natural, I tell ya.

There are bugs: have you heard about this? There are all these tiny creatures, flying and crawling and being icky. They live outside for the most part, and in the summer they fart about getting in your face or landing on your food and stuff. Some of them – get this – some of them sting you. They’re all over the place! Outside! Madness. It’s madness.

You have to wear sun cream: sunscreen, sun tan lotion, call it what you want; it’s a ballache. It’s horrid and messy and sticky and sometimes it ruins your clothes. And you have to slather yourself in it because the bloody sun is actively trying to kill you. Screw smoking; you’ll get murdered by the summer just by setting foot out your door. All this before we even factor trying to get sun cream on a child. I mean, Jesus Christ.

Summer clothes are unflattering: I’m too English to wear shorts. It looks and feels wrong. I’m just not built for summer clothes. T-shirts don’t give you any cover. No jackets means no nice inside pockets. And don’t get me started on footwear; sandals and flip-flops are horrible, so you have to wear little shoes with those silly tiny socks. It’s rubbish. Give me multiple layers, dark jeans, heavy coots, and massive boots.

Summer food is less interesting: yes, okay, I’ll give you a barbecue; they rock, because it’s fun to set stuff on fire. But generally speaking, when it’s quite warm, you don’t really want to have the oven on, cooking a big, hot meal. Chances are you’ll want something light and – possibly – cool. But all the nicest food is hot and hearty! This isn’t me being anti-salad or anything; I’m just saying, a full roast dinner is tastier than a cool bowl of Greek pasta.

You’re kind of expected to be outside a lot: I’ve already explained how everything outdoors is trying to kill you in the summer, from bees to the actual sky; but you’ll find yourself being outside anyway, because that’s where everyone else is. I don’t want to be a misery, and I certainly don’t want to spoil anyone’s fun; but for me, eating al fresco is just less enjoyable than being inside. Too many variables, too much wildlife. People – normal people, I guess – don’t like hiding inside with the curtains shut in the summer. So you’re obliged to join them outdoors.

You can’t see an LCD screen in the sun: in the past, I’d have been very happy to be outside if I could have used my laptop; nowadays, I find genuine reasons to require a phone in my hand. But can you actually read the damn thing? Can you buggery. As well as burning your skin, it turns out the sun’s lethal rays also make it really, really hard to see an LCD screen. This is, I think you will all agree, rubbish.

All the best holidays are in the winter: it’s true! Halloween, Christmas, my birthday: all the cool dates in the calendar occur when it’s a bit chillier. Even at the start of the year, everything from Valentine’s Day to Easter happens when it’s generally a bit spring-y at least. This means the best parties, the best feasts, the best presents, don’t happen in the summer. Facts!

The kids are off for ages: six flippin’ weeks! What the hell are we meant to do?!

I will say one genuinely great thing about summer: the films. Summer blockbusters are amazing, even the rubbish ones, and stepping out of a dark, cool cinema into the bright warmth of a summer’s day is such a fantastic sensation. See? I’m not always grumpy.

I also quite like ice cream.

[starlightiing]

Purely based off of what I see/the content they provide/what I know of them:

Alexandra- apparently works at an art gallery, had a private ig for agessss then suddenly made it public recently for some reason. Not really sure about her intentions maybe possibly trying to be more influencery but I think she does use Leo for clout a lot especially at races (but Charles isn’t much better)

Rebecca- is a model in her own right. (Not from Carlos). Not convinced on their rs, most videos I see of them together they look stiff

Lily M- pro golfer. Her and Alex are adorable together. Do I think they sometimes exaggerate for the cuteness clout? Yes. Do I still think they’re genuine? Yes.

Carmen- use to work in finance, been proven she doesn’t anymore even though she still tries to convince people she’s doing something in that area. Used to have private ig until George moved to Mercedes… is definitely one going down the wannabe influencer route. None of the content she posts of her and george looks genuine to me. It all looks to perfect and posed. I get weird feeling about her the most.

Lily Z- don’t know too much about her other than she’s studying engineering or something like that? Seems very introverted but sweet.

Kika- model in her own right. I know people are sketchy when it comes to Pierre and I think they’re a little performing sometimes but I also believe they’re genuine and they seem to have fun.

Tiff- pro cyclist. Is one of the few I’m not bothered by coming in the main entrance bc she doesn’t use it as a catwalk. She wears whatever the hell she wants and it’s very obvious she’s only there to support Valtteri which is sweet.

Flavy, Leila, any of the other wags I don’t really know much about/follow so can’t comment aha.

Interesting! I think Lily M was the only one who I knew the profession for. I wish I had like actual feedback to give you on this, but I don't know very much about them at all. Alex and Lily are super cute, I'd be heartbroken if they weren't genuine ahaha.

Why are people sketchy about Pierre? Does this go back to age again? I saw maybe a month ago a little video he put up in his Instagram and the way he looked at her, then down at her lips, and then back up at her eyes again and smiled and just,,,, it looked like she was his world. It was really sweet. That's all the experience I have with Kika really though. It was one of those looks where you know his stomach was absolutely fluttering and it was super cute.

Flavy I don't KNOW, I've just seen how passionately she seems to support Esteban, and how he supports her right back. I believe she is in the medical field or in school to be in the medical field? I am not super sure but she is kind and tends to interact with fans (shes interacted with me), and he's posted some videos of them being silly together. They're really cute!

I didn't think Carmen was too bad really! But again, I don't follow her or anything. Interesting that you get the bad vibes from her. Do you think George also isn't super into her? Cause to me he seems to love her but again all of this is just. They're in the public eye and everything is brushed over by PR so...

Anyway, just my thoughts. I really do not know them so it's hard for me to give you any good material to work with here.

Also their relationships are not my business so I tend to steer clear unless something pops up on my feed ahaha. It's very interesting to hear what people think about them!

[wannaberp]

— WHO IS SATO KOU?

he’s a TWENTY year old wannabe, born AUGUST 20, 2003. he’s currently eyeing STUDIO DELTA and lives by the words “what seems threatening is just the echo of the fear in my own heart.”

maybe you should learn more or ask him a question.

▶ PLAY THE CLIP [ dream_reality.mp4 ]

a dream.

if kou is being completely honest, being a kpop idol isn’t exactly his dream. it wasn’t even in his sights. sure he respects the glitz and glamour, the music that they make, and the synchronized moves, but it wasn’t exactly something he’d been particularly drawn to.

so no, kou isn’t a kpop idol wannabe. still, it would be a little rude to correct this person right? what exactly would he even say - “hey not really! i have no interest in that idol life!” and then go on about his indie scene? no, that’s not kou.

he ignores that part, because it adds no essence to this interview, and kou has never been a fan of acknowledging things that added little essence to his life. “i want people to feel happy when they’re happy, and sad when they’re sad,” he replies. it’s a ridiculous answer, probably. and the interviewer as well as everyone else, has the right to look at him incredulously. “i just think that people aren’t allowing themselves to really... feel what they should. they ignore it because life has to go on. but i think that sometimes you just have to, acknowledge your emotions, and then move on. that’s what i mean.” he continues.

yeah, kou most definitely isn’t the kind of person that’s particularly suited for interviews. which was exactly why he’d let his ex-band members talk whenever they did their tiny little underground appearances in japan. “and i’m not very talented or smart. the only thing i’m confident in is my music. so that’s the only way i can think of accomplishing this dream.”

that’s it. it really is as simple as that. if kou could find a way, to accomplish this silly little dream of his, he’d take it - no matter what exactly he’d have to, or the route he’d have to take. that was really just it. kou’s simple explanation, his simple dream, and his simple reason. to share his music with people.

[cookinguptales]

I’m nerding out a bit over your card readings, may I please request a silly one with deck 3? It’s my lucky number 🌸🍑🐇

Of course! It's also one of my favorite decks. 💜

So we're back to the Floriography Tarot -- but silly style this time. :P

(As a reminder, my silly readings have nothing to do with any known tarot card meanings! Just gotta make some shit up as we go.)

So this Harry Houdini-looking motherfucker was out in the woods with a friend, and he had cut down no less than nine saplings.

This is honestly a lot of hard work for one dumb magic trick, but his companion knew, by this point, that there was really no stopping him once he got a bug up his ass about these things.

"I will now make all of these wands disappear," the man said with a flourish.

His friend, who had already put up his entire tent by this point, was just watching him boredly. As far as he was concerned, it was pretty damn easy to make a "wand" or two disappear. That was kind of the point of this excursion, anyway.

Away and hidden behind a tree, a park ranger was observing. He also knew a thing or two about wands and where to put them, but very little about magic. He kind of wanted to see where this was going.

"It will be easy," said the wannabe magician, and he brandished a small flame.

"Oh shit," said his friend.

"Oh hell no," said the park ranger.

"Oh dear," the man said as the flame burned down a little too quickly and he dropped it into the brush.

(Thankfully, there was a park ranger nearby to put out the fire. Less thankfully, that meant there was also a park ranger nearby to write them a rather sizable ticket. Sad day.)

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

If had to assign a meaning to this reading, it would largely be that sometimes you should just go for the obvious answer rather than the fantastical one, that you don't necessarily have to complicate wand-hiding, and that you should never light fires outside of designated campsites in national forests unless you'd like to be banned from them in perpetuity.

Like these numbskulls.