#they haven’t been long term separated ALL this time……

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Close to You - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer is needy and Reader has a work deadline to meet, so they try something new as a compromise.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: me writing another cockwarming fic? it’s more likely than you’d think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (no mommy kink this time cuz this feels more mild as far as the sub/dom dynamic goes, maybe next time!)

TW: sub!spencer, softdom!reader, cockwarming, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, creampie, afab reader

Rating: R/18+ (oops all smut)

——

The blue light of your computer screen was starting to make your eyes hurt, the hours of completed paperwork in your rearview feeling like nothing compared to the digital mountain of remaining work for your proposal you still had to complete by the deadline your boss had given you. Working from home certainly had its perks, but right now the only thing you could think of was how much more focused you’d be if you were still in an office.

“How’s work going?” Spencer’s voice broke your train of thought as he turned the corner into your home office.

“It’s fine, I still have a lot to get done.” You sighed, continuing to type away on your keyboard.

“You know, I was reading an article the other day about studies being conducted that explore the long term effects the extended work hours work-from-home jobs require have on the average adult, it went pretty in-depth on how psychologists suspect the lack of separation between work and the home environment can negatively affect the way we prioritize professional work with personal tasks and quality time.” You could tell your boy-wonder was using his vast knowledge to pick an article with a topic that was a bit too on the nose to beat around the bush of his point, but you didn’t know why.

“That’s very interesting Spencer, but why bring that up when you know I can’t stop working?” You questioned, calling his bluff.

“We haven’t had sex in 2 weeks.” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. You knew that, and it was driving you crazy just as much as it was him, but this project was major and if you wanted to get the promotion you had been working so hard to get, you had to set your personal needs aside for a bit.

“I’ll make it up to you once I finish this, I promise.” You weren’t lying, your accidental celibacy had stretched your imagination to some very interesting places, and you couldn’t wait to try those new things with him, but it had to wait, no matter how touch-starved you felt.

“I want you.” He almost whined, taking a couple steps further into your peripheral vision.

“Spencer, you know I need to get this project completed before my deadline tomorrow, I don’t have time for this.”

“But I need…help.” His words were drawn out, his hushed tone piquing your interest. You pushed your chair out, craning your neck to make eye contact with him before his gaze dipped lower and yours followed. The fabric of his pajama pants was pulled taut over his bulge, his fidgeting hands barely restricting your view despite his attempt to hide the evidence of his arousal behind them.

“Oh baby, that must hurt, huh?” You sighed, giving him a sympathetic look before turning back to your work.

“It does, I need you.” He pleaded, coming up behind you to rest his hands on your shoulders.

“You need to take care of it yourself.” Your statement came out more blunt than you intended and a hint of guilt started to pang in your chest, the stress of this deadline was starting to get to you and you didn’t mean to take it out on him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy, but I already tried and I just made it worse, you feel so much better than my hand does.” He over-explained, continuing to plead his case as his fingers started kneading the sore muscles atop your shoulders.

You mulled over your options, the concept of his admittedly impressive cock filling your neglected cunt sounding all-too appealing in the moment. You knew you couldn’t take the time to fuck him right now, after no sex for two weeks your carnal urges would absolutely take over and you’d wind up ignoring your work for the rest of the night, to the detriment of your employment status. You were about to send him away when an idea popped into your head, something that could be a good compromise to both of your predicaments if done correctly.

“Drop your pants.” You bluntly stated, beginning to stand from your chair. He followed your instruction, a bit confused but too excited to question, always eager to please you. You also stripped from the waist down, ignoring the growing slick between your thighs.

“Sit down.” Came your next instruction, your eyes fixed on his erection, his head blushed pink and dripping with precum. When he was situated you climbed back onto the chair with him, positioning your knees on the suede fabric on either side of his thighs, hips hovering over his member. You reached down, fingers wrapping around his length as you positioned his head at your dripping entrance, reveling in the first sexual contact the two of you had experienced in far too long.

You slowly sank down, your warm walls engulfing his throbbing cock until you were seated fully on his lap, the fullness giving you a sense of satisfaction. Spencer’s breathy sighs and white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were, but you knew he would want more any second. You on the other hand were always better at controlling your desires, even just this level of intimacy enough to satiate you for the moment.

You relaxed into him, back pressed to his chest as you began your work once again, ignoring the dull ache in your core.

“A-are you going to move?” Spencer’s desperate voice broke the silence after a few minutes of you typing away at your computer.

“No. This is all I have time to give you right now. If you’re a good boy and stay still for me, I’ll let you do whatever you want tonight.” You were curious to see how well he’d do with this. Even though Spencer prided himself on being the smartest in the room at any given time, he wasn’t very good at controlling his urges and it amused you how his composure could disappear if he was desperate enough, particularly around you.

“Okay.” He breathed, seeing the muscles in his arms relax and the grip he held on the chair loosen out of the corner of your eye.

You continued your work, busting your ass to complete your project as quickly as possible. Every once and awhile you’d flex your kegel muscles, your walls contracting around his cock to keep him as hard as possible, teasing him to see how hard you could push his patience.

You grew closer to your last tasks, the end finally in sight when you felt him start to shift under you, hips attempting to thrust up into you. You anchored your hips, holding him down to not break your focus. He let out the most pathetic whine you’d ever heard, running his hand through his hair out of frustration.

“If you move again, you won’t cum tonight. I’m almost done, do not distract me again.” You told him sternly, rocking your hips back one time as an incentive.

“Understood.” He groaned, thighs relaxing beneath you.

You wrapped up the last paragraph of your proposal, satisfied with the work you had done. You could feel Spencer tense when you closed out of the last application and shut off the computer, screen darkening and leaving the two of you bathed in the golden glow of sunset in an otherwise dark room. Instead of finishing him there, you rose off of him, leaving him groaning in desperation.

His cock was covered in your slick, veins throbbing and head almost purple from how desperate he was to cum. You started walking out of the room, finger motioning for him to follow you and he almost tripped over the chair, trailing in your shadow. You found the bedroom, stripping out of your remaining clothing while contemplating what position you wanted him in. Your thighs were starting to burn from sitting in the position you had held for so long, so you opted for good old-fashioned missionary. You laid down on the bed, thighs spread as Spencer pulled off his shirt and waited for your instruction.

“Come here.” The words had barely left your lips and Spencer was already on the end of the bed, crawling up to you like an animal on the prowl.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?” You asked, drawing out his torture just a little while longer.

“Yes please, need to feel your perfect cunt again.” He begged, looking down at you with his big brown eyes.

“Go ahead, but don’t cum until I say so.” You instructed, your hand finding the nape of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. He moaned, positioning himself at your entrance before thrusting fully into you, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced with each desperate thrust into your warm cunt.

His pace remained steady, pounding into you, your pleasure slowly building but not quite hitting the spot you needed him to. You wrapped your legs around his hips, angling your hips up ever so slightly and you couldn’t help but cry out, his cock finally hitting the soft spot inside of you that you’d been craving. He dropped his head into your shoulder, bringing his hand to your pussy to rub firm swipes over your clit, clearly desperately trying to make you cum so he could.

“So close, I don’t know how much longer I can last.” He panted, hips faltering slightly.

“It’s okay baby, don’t stop.” You moaned, too close to care about being firm with him anymore after how good he’d been for you today.

His thrusts became increasingly desperate, driving into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, the combined pressure on your clit sending you over the edge in a blur of white hot ecstasy.

“Spencer!” You cried out, nails digging into his back as you rode out your orgasm, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

His moans grew louder, hips stuttering and you could tell he was almost there, but something was holding him back.

“Cum inside me.”

Your request was all he needed to hear, not having to worry about pulling out anymore allowing all of his focus to finally come undone, hot ropes of cum filling your aching cunt. He pulled out of you, collapsing beside you with his head on your chest, long legs almost dangling off the side of the bed. You laid there spent, gently running your fingers through his hair until you both caught your breath.

“Thank you.” He spoke, lifting his head to look you in the eye.

“There's no need to thank me Spence, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. You were right about overworking, I’ll try to delegate a bit more.” You sighed.

“I just don’t want you to overwork yourself, you deserve to enjoy yourself more often.” He leaned up to pull you into a kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist as you finally got a moment to relax for the first time in weeks.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[charliemwrites]

Part 2!

Finally finished moving house so hopefully I’ll be updating semi-regularly again.

Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputin’s backstory (injury and illness)

Agatha is over again.

You don’t know why. She doesn’t like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She “keeps tabs” on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.

A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. It’s so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.

Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.

“I know your generation is different but that’s just not the type of neighborhood we live in,” she’s saying.

You’re a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and haven’t registered much of anything she’s said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.

“What do you mean?” you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesn’t buy it.

She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You don’t feel scolded, but you sense that you’re supposed to.

“Now you know just what I mean. People will talk.”

People always talk, it’s an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, you’ve never understood all the chatter.

“Talk about… the buttercups?” you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. You’re quite proud of them actually.

Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. “You ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.”

You blink. Men…?

A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think it’s cursing.)

Ah. Those men.

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you don’t need to justify.

“I’d rather they didn’t feel welcome,” she snips. “Better they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.”

You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.

“They’re nice,” you say. Nice to look at. Krueger’s face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.

“The only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,” Agatha snaps. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.

“Well,” you muse, “better to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.”

That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when it’s just you and the cats.

“You’ve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.”

You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as “young lady” in that insufferably condescending tone. You can’t wait for that day.

Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet “teaching” tone.

“Neighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. That’s why the farmers plant them that way.”

You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agatha’s lips get thin.

“Best that you stay on this side of the street, missy. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You don’t even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as “Off Limits” makes them instantly more appealing.

Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.

It’s nearly sundown when there’s a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.

Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.

“Oh!” Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. “Hallo, Bubchen!”

And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. You’ve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.

And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.

Guy is purring away in Konig’s thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Krueger’s tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.

Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.

“So… the cookies were good then?”

“Very good!” Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.

“We have no baking or cooking skills,” Krueger continues, “so tell us what needs fixing.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. It’s surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. “You don’t need to do that, I was just-“

“Is custom,” Nikto interrupts.

Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)

“In our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,” he explains.

You arch your brows playfully. “I don’t remember inviting you to be guests.”

He arches his brows right back. “We did not invite you either.”

Well shit.

“Okay, okay. I guess there’s a couple things…”

Konig perks up. “We would be happy to help, Biene!”

It’s strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, can’t remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.

There’s a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. It’s not just that they’re big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. There’s a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe it’s in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe it’s the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. And you’re definitely not trying.

You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet you’ve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method you’ve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.

Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesn’t run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when he’s set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.

You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that he’s invading your personal space. He’s not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.

“It’s not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,” you explain.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.

“What happened?” he asks.

You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.

“I’m not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.”

You sigh, scratching at Rasputin’s chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.

“The vet said that that’s probably from a fight with another cat,” you add.

Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. That’s as good an indication as any that Nikto’s probably safe enough.

“I ran down from an office building to save him.” You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. “But anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.”

When you glance up from Rasputin’s happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though you’re not embarrassed.

“I’ll, um, get out of the way,” you say, clearing your throat. “Keep an eye on things, Ras.”

With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.

You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure it’s not too early to start dinner.

“Will I be in the way if I start cooking?” you ask Krueger.

He flicks you a dimissive glance. “A little thing like you?”

You scoff and cross to the fridge. “You could have just said no.”

“Nein,” he snorts.

Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.

There’s meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - that’ll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully you’ll have enough to satisfy their appetites.

“So what’s the plan with the house?” you ask as you get to work. “Just fixing it up to sell or…?”

“We will live there, the three of us,” Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shithead’s batting paws. “Somewhere to stay when we are not working.”

You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still… getting to know people, right?

It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You can’t imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.

“Are you guys military?”

“Contractor,” Krueger corrects.

You perk up. “Wait, really?”

He scowls. “Does it sound like a joke?”

You huff and turn back to the veggies you’re cutting. “No, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?”

He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.

“Yes,” he answers slowly.

“Then… could you maybe answer some questions…?”

His eyes narrow. “Questions?”

You keep your gaze on the cutting board. “Okay, wait, it's not suspicious. I’m a writer and it’s hard to google very specific questions sometimes. It’s just easier to ask an expert in person.”

Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things aren’t accurate.

He makes a considering noise. “A writer?”

You flush. “That’s what I do. Why I’m always home? I publish fiction.”

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task you’ve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.

“And your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and ‘things’?” he asks.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Sometimes…”

“Fine. I will answer your questions,” he allows.

You beam. “Thank you!”

He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.

“What else needs doing?”

Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesn’t feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.

Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. He’s much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.

You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, there’s no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a “real” job.

Before you know it, the moon is high and you’re sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.

You tell yourself it’s not anticipation that goes through you, knowing they’ll be back with it soon.

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[resplendent-ragamuffin]

I have encountered issues with JVP in the past in regards to not accommodating kashrut/shabbat observance (and wheelchairs), but previously hasn’t heard about the Mikvah thing. Do you have any sources I can refer to?

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy. The noise I made when I saw this ask.

You are probably unaware but I have literally been working on a post on this topic since February. Bless you for asking me about it and giving me a reason to share it. Genuinely. I'm delighted.

Without further ado, now that I've finally finished:

On the JVP Mikveh BS

Some of you are no doubt aware of the Jewish Voice for Peace Mikveh Guide (on JVP’s website here, and here on the Wayback Machine in case that link breaks). You may have seen the post I reblogged about it, you may have seen the post about JVP in general on @is-the-thing-actually-Jewish, or you may have heard about it elsewhere. Or maybe you’ve somehow managed to avoid all knowledge of its existence. (God I wish that were me.) Even if you know about it, even if you’ve scanned through it, you probably haven’t taken the time to read it through properly.

I have.

God help me.

I was originally looking through it to help draft the @is-the-thing-actually-Jewish post back in February, but some terrible combination of horror, indignation, and probably masochism compelled me to do a close reading, so that I could write this analysis and share it with you, dear readers. For those of you who’ve never heard of a mikvah, for those of you who’ve immersed in one, for those of you who’ve studied it intensely—I give you this, the fruit of my suffering, so you too can understand why “Mikveh: A Purification Ritual for Personal and Collective Transformation,” written by Zohar Lev Cunningham and Rebekah Erev for Jewish Voice for Peace has got so many people up in arms.

Brace yourselves. It’s going to be a long journey.

First off, a disclaimer: When I say something is “required in Jewish law” or whatnot, I’m talking about in traditional practice / Torah-observant communities; what is often called “Orthodox.” There’s a wide range of Jewish practice, and what is required in frum (observant) Judaism may not be required in Reform Judaism, etc. Don’t at me.

Second note: I myself am Modern Orthodox, and come from that perspective. I’m also very much more on the rationalist side than the mysticism side of things. I did run this past people from other communities. Still, if I’ve missed or misrepresented something, it was my error and was not meant maliciously.

Third: I am not a rabbi. I am a nerd who likes explaining things and doing deep dives. Again, I may have made errors–please let me know if you spot any, and I’d be happy to discuss them.

Now then. Before we get into the text itself, let’s give some background.

WHAT IS THIS MIKVEH THING ANYWAY?

A mikveh (or mikvah, both they and I switch between spellings; plural mikva’ot) is a Jewish ritual bath, sometimes translated as an immersion pool. Some communities or organizations that run mikva’ot will have a single all-purpose all-purpose, some have separate human- and utensil-pools, and some have separate women’s and men’s pools. The majority of the water in a mikvah has to be “living waters,” i.e. naturally collected rather than from a tap or a bucket. Some natural bodies of water can also be used, such as the ocean and some rivers (ask your local rabbi). The construction is complicated and has extremely detailed requirements. Here’s an example of a modern mikvah:

(By Wikimedia Commons (ויקיגמדון) - Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17373540)

Whoever is being dunked (the scientific term) has to be entirely immersed, and the water has to be in direct contact with all of them. That means no clothes, no makeup, no hair floating on the top of the water, no feet touching the floor, no clenched fists. You have to be completely clean as well, so no dirt is obstructing you from the water.

In essence, a person or thing is immersed in a mikvah to change their/its state from tameh (ritually “impure”) to tahor (ritually “pure”). I use quotes because “pure/impure” aren’t really good translations—they have value judgments that tameh/tahor don’t. There’s nothing wrong with being tameh, you aren’t lesser because you are tameh—it’s just a state one enters when one comes into contact with death and related concepts. (There are also different levels of both.) As a matter of fact, technically speaking even after going to a mikvah basically all people are tameh now—the tum’ah (“impurity,” sort of) that comes from contact with dead humans can only be removed by the Red Heifer offering (see Numbers 19), which we can’t do without the Temple. (Why I say “all” even if you’ve never been to a funeral is a much much longer tangent that I’ll spare you for now.) To quote one of my editors on this, mikvah is “about the natural oscillation between states of ritual purity and impurity. Men go to mikveh after having seminal emissions. Menstruating women go to mikveh on a monthly basis (emphasis added).” It’s just states of life.

In the days of the Temple, one had to be tahor to enter it (the Temple). Archaeologists have found a ton of ancient mikva’ot in Jerusalem that were presumably used by people visiting the Temple, which personally I think is extremely cool.

Nowadays, there are three main traditionally required uses for a mikvah. First, and most importantly, observant married women will go about once a month as part of their niddah (menstrual) cycle, part of practice known as Taharat HaMishpacha, or “Family ‘Purity,’” which at its root is a way to sanctify the relationship between spouses. Until she immerses, a wife and husband cannot resume relations. And not just sex—in some communities, they can’t sleep in the same bed or even have any physical contact at all.

The second use is for conversion—immersion is a central part of the conversion ceremony. One enters the water a gentile, and emerges a Jew.

The third usage is a bit different as it’s not for people. Tableware—plates, cups, etc.—made of certain materials have to be immersed before they can be used. This isn’t what the Guide is about, so I’m not going to go into that as much, but felt remiss if I didn’t mention it was a thing. If you want to know more, Chabad has an article on it here.

Aside from uses required by Jewish law, there is a strong tradition in some communities for men to go to the mikveh just before Yom Kippur, or sometimes every week before the Sabbath, to enter the holiday in as “pure” a state as possible these days. (The things they’re “purifying” from still made them tameh, it just matters less without the Temple.) There is also a strong custom to immerse before one’s wedding. Less traditional communities have also started using mikvah for other transitional moments, such as significant birthdays or remission from cancer. There has recently been an “open mikvah” movement, which “is committed to making mikveh accessible to Jews of all denominations, ages, genders, sexual orientations, and abilities (Rising Tide Network old website, “Why Open Mikvah”).”

To quote others:

No other religious establishment, structure or rite can affect the Jew in this way and, indeed, on such an essential level. —Rebbetzen Rivkah Slonim, Total Immersion, as quoted on Chabad.org

The mikveh is one of the most important parts of a Jewish community. —Kylie Ora Lobell, “What Is a Mikveh?” on Aish.com

How important? According to Rav Moshe Feinstein, one of the great American rabbis of the 20th century, one should build a mikveh before building a synagogue in a town that has neither, and even in a town where there is a mikveh but it’s an inconvenient distance away from the community (Igros Moshe: Choshen Mishpat Chelek 1 Siman 42).

A mikveh is more important than a synagogue.

I’d say that’s pretty important.

Tl;dr: A mikveh is the conduit through which a convert becomes a part of the Jewish people. It is traditionally used to sanctify the relationship between spouses. It was required for people to go to the Temple, back when we still had it. It is extremely central to Jewish practice.

So. What does JVP have to say about it?

THE JVP MIKVEH GUIDE

The document in question is titled “Mikveh: A Purification Ritual for Personal and Collective Transformation,” by Zohar Lev Cunningham and Rebekah Erev. I am largely going to quote directly from the text and then analyze and explain it.

Now let me be clear. I’m not trying to say the authors aren’t Jewish. I’m not saying they’re bad people, or that you should attack them. I am not intending any of this as an ad hominem attack. But given the contents of this document, I do think it is fair to call this appropriative, even if it is of their own culture—in the same way someone can have internalized racism, or twist feminism into being a TERF, I would argue that this is twisting Judaism into paganism. In fact, while I use “appropriation” throughout this document, an extremely useful term that’s been coined recently is “cultural expropriation”--essentially, appropriative actions done by rogue members of the community in question. One example of this would be the Kabbalah Centre in Los Angeles, which is the source of a lot of the Madonna-style “pop Kabbalah.” It was founded by an Orthodox Jewish couple, but it and its followers are widely criticized by most Jewish communities. In much the same way, the Guide is expropriation. 

We start off with a note from the authors.

Hello, Welcome to the Simple Mikveh Guide. This work comes out of many years of reclaiming and re-visioning mikveh. The intention of this guide is to acknowledge and give some context to what mikveh is, provide resources related to mainstream understanding of mikveh and also provide alternative mikveh ideas. Blessings for enjoyment of this wonderful, simple Jewish ritual! Zohar Lev Cunningham & Rebekah Erev

This is fairly normal, though “alternative mikveh ideas” is a bit odd to say. I also find “blessings for enjoyment” to be odd phrasing, somewhat reminiscent of the Wiccan “Blessed Be,” but it could be a typo.

The first main section is titled “Intro to Mikveh,” and begins as follows:

Mikveh is an ancient Jewish ritual practice of water immersion, traditionally used for cleansing, purification, and transformation. It's been conventionally used for conversion to Judaism, for brides, and for niddah, the practice of cleansing after menstruation.

This is relatively accurate, and credit where credit is due avoids making niddah out to be patriarchal BS. I do object slightly to “purify” as a translation without further explanation, as I went into above, and “cleansing” for similar reasons—it implies “dirtiness,’ which isn’t really what tum’ah is about. Also, though this is pretty minor, a bride going to the mikveh before her wedding is actually a part of the laws of niddah. I’d also note that they entirely leave out that it was important for going to the Temple in ancient times, though given this is published by JVP I’m not terribly surprised.

For Jews, water signifies the transformative moment from slavery in Egypt, through the parted Red Sea, and into freedom.

On the one hand, I suppose it’s not unreasonable to connect the Red Sea and mikveh, though I think I’d be more likely to hear it the other way around (i.e. “going through the sea was like the people immersing in a mikveh and being ‘cleansed,’ so to speak”). Though they were, rather importantly, not actually immersed in the water. However I don’t think I’d say water as a whole signifies the Splitting of the Sea. In fact, water imagery is more often used to signify the Torah, see for instance Bava Kamma 82a.

There is also a mystical connection to mikveh as a metaphor for the womb of the divine.

A mikveh being like a womb is also not uncommon. It’s found in the Reishis Chochmah (Shia’ar HaAhavah 11,58) and the writing of Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan (The Aryeh Kaplan Anthology, vol 2., p. 382; both as quoted in 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History, by Rabbi Ephraim Meth), see also “The Mikveh’s Significance in Traditional Conversion” by Rabbi Maurice Lamm on myjewishlearning. Filled with water, you float in it, you emerge a new being (at least for conversion); it’s not an absurd comparison to draw. I’m not sure I’ve found anything for the Womb of the Divine specifically, though. (Also, Divine should definitely be capitalized.)

Entering a mikveh is a transformative and healing experience and we have long wondered why it is not available to more people, including the significant trans and queer populations in Jewish communities.

So. I am NOT going to say there’s no problem with homophobia and/or transphobia in Jewish communities. It’s definitely a community issue, and many communities are grappling with it in various ways as we speak. And I’m certainly not going to say the authors didn’t have the experience of not having a mikveh available to them—I don’t know their lives, I’m not going to police their experiences.

However, while Orthodox mikvahs are often still restricted to married women (who by virtue of the community will generally be cis and married to men) and potentially adult men (given the resources and customs, as mentioned above), there are plenty of more liberal mikva’ot these days. Some even explicitly offer rituals for queer events! The list of reasons to go to the mikvah linked up above, for instance, includes:

(Mayyim Hayyim, “Immersion Ceremonies”)

Again, that’s not to say there aren’t issues of queerphobia in the Jewish community, but if you are queer and want to go to the mikvah, there are options out there. If you’re looking, I’ve included some links at the end.

When we make ritual, we are working with the divine forces of presence and intention. The magic of mikveh comes in making contact with water. Contact with water marks a threshold and functions as a portal to bring closer our ritual intention/the world to come.

This is…a weird way to put things. I would say this is the start of the red flags. “When we make ritual,” first of all, is, to quote @the-library-alcove (who helped edit this), “a turn of phrase that is not typically associated with any branch of Jewish practice; we have a lot--a LOT--of rituals, and while it's certainly not completely outside of the realm of Jewish vernacular, the tone here, especially in light of the later sections, starts veering towards the vernacular of neo-paganism.” One might say “make kiddush” (the blessing over wine on Shabbos and holidays) or “make motzi” (the blessing over bread), but not generally “make ritual.”

The next section is titled “Who Gets to Do Mikveh?” Their answer:

Everyone! Mikveh practice is available to all of us as a healing tool at any time.

The healing tool part isn’t the original purpose of mikveh, but there are some who have used it as a part of emotional recovery from something traumatic, by marking a new state of being free from whatever caused it, see for instance Mayyim Hayyim’s list linked above.

The “everyone” bit is a little more complicated. To explain why, we’re going to skip ahead a little. (Some of these quotes will also be analyzed in full later.)

We want to make mikveh practice available as a tool to all Jews and non-Jews who want to heal wounds caused by white supremacy and colonialism. [..] To us, a queer mikveh welcomes anyone, regardless of spiritual background or not. […] Queer mikveh is accessible physically and spiritually to any and all people who are curious about it. You don't have to be a practicing Jew to enter queer mikveh. You don't have to be Jewish. (pg. 2, emphasis added)

Now, I am told there are mikva’ot that allow non-Jews to immerse. I have yet to find them, so I don’t know what rituals they allow non-Jews to do. I also haven’t been able to find any resources on non-Jews being allowed to immerse. I have found quite a few that explicitly prohibit it. If there are any sources you know of, please send them to me! I’d love to see them! But so far everything I have come across has said that mikvah immersion is a closed practice that only Jews can participate in. (Technically, to quote the lovely @etz-ashashiot, any non-Jew can do mikvah…once. And they won’t be non-Jews when they emerge. There is also one very extreme edge-case, which is absolutely not mainstream knowledge or practice, and basically isn’t actually done. You can message me if you’re curious, but it’s really not relevant to this–and even in that case, it is preferable to use a natural mikvah rather than a man-made one.)

If there are any legitimate sources that allow non-Jews to do a mikvah ritual, I would assume said non-Jews would be required to be respectful about it. Unfortunately, this is how the paragraph we began with continues:

Who Gets to Do Mikveh? Everyone! Mikveh practice is available to all of us as a healing tool at any time. You don't need any credentials. Your own wisdom is all the power you need to be a Jewish ritual leader. (emphasis added)

This is where we really go off the rails. First of all, you need more than “wisdom” to lead a Jewish ritual. You need to actually know what you’re doing. You can’t just say “oh you know what I feel like the right thing to do for morning prayers is to pray to the sun, because God created the sun so the sun is worth worshiping, and this is a Jewish ritual I’m doing.” That’s just idolatry. Like straight up I stole that from a midrash (oral tradition) about how humanity went from speaking with God in the Garden of Eden to worshiping idols in the time of Noah (given here by Maimonides; note that it continues for a few paragraphs after the one this link sends you to).

Second of all, this is particularly bad given this guide is explicitly to Jews and non-Jews. As @daughter-of-stories put it when she was going over an earlier draft of this analysis, “they are saying that non-Jews can just declare themselves Jewish ritual leaders based on nothing but their own ‘wisdom.’”

I hope I don’t need to explain why that’s extremely bad and gross?

While we’re on the topic of non-Jews using a mikvah, let’s take a moment to address an accusation commonly mentioned alongside the mikvah guide: that JVP also encourages (or encouraged) self-conversion.

I have been unable to find a separate document where they explicitly said so, or an older version of this document that does. This leads me to believe that either a) the accusation came from a misreading of this document, or b) there was a previous document that contained it which has since been deleted but was not archived in the Wayback Machine. EITHER is possible.

Even in the case that there was no such document, however, I would point out that such a suggestion can be read–intentionally or not–as implicit in this document. This is a guide for mikvah use by both Jews and non-Jews, and includes an idea that non-Jews can perform Jewish rituals on their own without any guidance or even background knowledge, as quoted above. Why would a non-Jew, coming into Jewish practice with very little knowledge, go looking to perform a mikvah ritual?

I would wager that the most well-known purpose of immersing in a mikvah is for the purpose of conversion.

Nowhere in this guide is there any explicit statement that you can do a self-conversion, but it also doesn’t say anywhere that you can’t, or that doing so is an exception to “you don’t need any credentials” or “your own wisdom is all the power you need to be a Jewish ritual leader.” It may not be their intention, but the phrasing clearly leaves it as an option.

Even if this were from a source that one otherwise loved, this would be upsetting and disappointing. The amount of exposure this document is getting may be at least in part because it comes from JVP, but the distress and dismay would be there regardless. If there is further vitriol, it’s only because JVP is often considered a legitimate source by outsiders, if no one else–in other words, by the very people least likely to have the background to know that this document isn’t trustworthy. It’s like the difference between your cousin telling you “the Aztecs were abducted by aliens” versus a mainstream news program like Fox reporting it. Both are frustrating and wrong, but one has significantly more potential harm than the other, and therefore is more likely to get widespread criticism (even if you complain about your cousin online).

On the other hand, as one of my editors pointed out in a moment of dark humor, they do say you don’t have to be Jewish to lead a Jewish ritual, so perhaps that mitigates this issue slightly by taking away a motivation to convert in the first place.

Returning to our document:

We do mikvahs in lakes, rivers, bathtubs, showers, outside in the rain, from teacups, and in our imaginations.

At this point the rails are but a distant memory.

In case you’ve forgotten what I said about this at the beginning of this post (and honestly I wouldn’t blame you, we’re on pg. 9 in my draft of this), there are extremely strict rules about what qualifies as a mikvah. Maimonides’s Mishnah Torah, just about the most comprehensive codex of Jewish law, has eleven chapters on the topic of the mikvah (though that includes immersion in it as well as construction of it). I’m not going to make you read through it, but let’s go through the list in this sentence:

Lakes and rivers: you might be able to use a river or lake as a mikvah, but you need to check with your local rabbinical authority, because not all of them qualify. In general, the waters must gather together naturally, from an underground spring or rainwater. In the latter case, the waters must be stationary rather than flowing. A river that dries up in a drought can’t be used, for instance. (The ocean counts as a spring, for this purpose.)

Bathtubs and showers: No. A man-made mikveh must be built into the ground or as an essential part of a building, unlike most bathtubs, and contain of a minimum of 200 gallons of rainwater, gathered and siphoned in a very particular way so as not to let it legally become “groundwater.” Also, it needs to be something you can immerse in, which a shower is not.

Outside in the rain: No? How would you even do that?? What??

Teacups: Even if you were Thumblina or K’tonton (Jewish Tom Thumb), and could actually immerse your entire body in a teacup, it wouldn’t be a kosher mikvah as a mivkah can’t be portable.

In your imagination: Obviously not, what the heck are you even talking about

We will (unfortunately) be coming back to the teacup thing, but for now suffice it to say most of these are extremely Not A Thing.

Mikveh has been continually practiced since ancient Judaism. It is an offering of unbroken Jewish lineage that we have claimed/reclaimed as our own.

I find the use of “claimed/reclaimed” fascinating here, given this guide is explicitly for non-Jews—who, whether or not they are permitted to use a mikvah, certainly shouldn’t be claiming it as their own—as well as Jews. I find it particularly interesting given the lack of clarity of how much of JVP’s membership is actually Jewish and JVP’s history of encouraging non-Jewish members to post “as Jews.” Kind of telling on yourselves a bit, there.

(Once again, I’m not commenting on the authors themselves, but the organization they represent here and the audience they are speaking to/for.)

We want to make mikveh practice available as a tool to all Jews and non-Jews who want to heal wounds caused by white supremacy and colonialism. We want to make mikveh practice available for healing our bodies, spirits, and the earth.

Setting aside the “Jews and non-Jews” thing, since I talked about that earlier and this is already extremely long, I do want to highlight the end of the paragraph. While there are some modern uses of the mikvah to (sort of) heal the spirit, I haven’t heard of anyone using a mikvah to heal the body—as a general rule Jews don’t tend to do faith healing, though of course some sects are the exception. Healing the earth, however, is absolutely not a use of a mikvah. Mikvah rituals, as we’ve now mentioned several times, are about tahara of a person or an object, and require immersion. You can’t immerse the earth in a mikvah. The earth contains mikva’ot. Healing the earth with a mikvah is a very strange worship (IYKYK).

We acknowledge that not all beings have consistent access to water, including Palestinians.

This is a tragedy, no question. I don't mean to minimize that. However, it is also unrelated to the matter at hand. The Guide also doesn’t give any recommendations on how we can help improve water access, so this lip service is all you get.

A lack of water does not make mikveh practice inaccessible.

Yes, in fact, it does. Without a kosher mikvah of one variety or another one cannot do anything that requires a mikvah. That’s why building a kosher one is so important. I haven’t gone looking for it, but while I’m sure there’s lots (and lots and lots and lots) of Rabbinic responsa out there of what to do in drought situations, you definitely do need water in all but the most extreme cases. If you do not have water, AYLR (Ask Your Local Rabbi)--don’t do whatever this is.

The spirit of water can be present with us if we choose to call for water, so even when water is not physically available to us we can engage in mikveh practice.

This is just straight up avodah zarah (“strange worship,” i.e. idolatry) as far as I can tell. The “spirit of the water”? What? We’re not Babylonians worshiping Tiamat. What source is there for this? Is there a source??

Like all material resources, the ways water is or is not available to us is shaped by our geographic and social locations. The ways we relate to water, what we decide is clean, treyf (dirty), drinkable, bathable, how much we use, how much we save, varies depending on our experiences. We invite you to decide what is clean and holy for your own body and spiritual practice.

This is going to require some breaking down.

To start with, let’s define “treyf.” To quote myjewishlearning, “Treyf (sometimes spelled treif or treyfe) is a Yiddish word used for something that is not kosher [lit. "fit"]. The word treyf is derived from the Hebrew word treifah, which appears several times in the Bible and means 'flesh torn by beasts.' The Torah prohibits eating flesh torn by beasts, and so the word treifah came to stand in for all forbidden foods.”

You may note the lack of the word “dirty” in this definition, or any other value judgments. Myjewishlearning continues, “over time, the words kosher and treyf have been used colloquially beyond the world of food to describe anything that Jews deem fit or unfit.” While this does have something of a value judgment, it’s still not “dirty.” I can’t say why the authors chose to translate the word this way, but…I don’t like it.

Now, when it comes to what is kosher or treyf, food and drink are most certainly not based on “our experiences.” There are entire books on the rules of kashrut; it generally takes years of study to understand all the minutiae. Even as someone who was raised in a kosher household, when I worked as a mashgicha (kosher certification inspector) I needed special training. What is considered kadosh (“sacred” or “holy,”  though again that’s not a perfect translation) or tahor is also determined by very strict rules. We don’t just decide things based on “vibes.” That’s not how anything in Jewish practice works.

Water, in fact, is always kosher to drink unless it has bugs or something else treyf in it. And mikvehs aren’t even always what I’d consider “drinkable;” I always wash utensils I’ve brought to the mikvah before I use them.

We come to our next heading: What is Queer Mikveh?

What is Queer Mikveh? To us, a queer mikveh welcomes anyone, regardless of spiritual background or not.

As I’ve said above, I have yet to find a single source (seriously if you have one please send it to me) that says non-Jews can go to a mikvah. As one of my editors for this put it, “to spin appropriation of Jewish closed practices as ‘queer’ is not only icky but deeply disrespectful to actual queer Jews.”

Also, and this is not remotely the point, but “regardless of spiritual background or not” is almost incoherently poor writing.

As Jews in diaspora we want to share and use our ritual practices for healing the land and waters we are visitors on for the liberation of all beings.

I have tried to be semi-professional about this analysis, but. “Jews in the diaspora,” you say. Tell me, JVP, where are we in the diaspora from? Hm? Where are we in diaspora from? Which land do we come from? Which land are we indigenous to, JVP? Do tell.

Returning to the point, I would repeat that mikvah has nothing to do with “healing the land and waters.” It’s ritual purification of whatever is immersed in it. You want to heal the land and waters? Go to your local environmental group, and/or whoever maintains your local land and waters. Pick up trash. Start recycling. Weed invasive species. Call your government and tell them to support green energy. You want liberation for all beings? Fight bigotry—including antisemitism. Judaism believes in action—go act. Appropriating rituals from a closed religion doesn’t liberate anyone.

We have come up with this working definition and welcome feedback!

Oh good, maybe I won’t be yelled at for posting this (she said dubiously).

Queer mikveh is a ritual of Jews in diaspora. We believe the way we work for freedom for all beings is by using the gifts of our ancestors for the greatest good. We bring our rituals as gifts.

I have nothing in particular new to say about this, except that I find the idea of “bringing our rituals as gifts” for anyone to use deeply uncomfortable, given Judaism is a closed religion that strongly discourages non-Jews from joining us, and that has had literal millennia of people appropriating from us.

It acknowledges that our path is to live on lands that are not historically our peoples [sic] and we honor the Indigenous ancestors of the land we live on, doing mikveh as an anti-colonialist ritual for collective and personal liberation.

Again I would love so much for JVP to tell us which lands would historically be our people’s. What land do Jews come from, JVP? What land is it we do have a historical connection to? What land do our Indigenous ancestors come from??

And why does it have to be our path to live on lands other than that one?

Secondly, to quote the lovely @daughter-of-stories again when she was editing this, “Mikveh as anti-colonialism, aside from not being what Mikveh is, kinda implies that you can cleanse the land of the sins of colonialism. So (a) that’s just a weird bastardization of baptism since, mikveh isn’t about cleansing from sin, and (b) so does that mean the colonialism is erased? Now we don’t have to actually deal with how it affects actual indigenous people?”

I’m sure that (b) isn’t their intent, but I will say that once again they don’t give any material suggestions for how to actually liberate any collectives or persons from colonialism in this document, including any links to other pages on their own website*, which surely would have been easy enough. It comes across as very performative.

*I disagree strongly with most of their methods, but at least they are suggesting something.

Queer mikveh is a physical or spiritual space that uses the technologies of water and the Jewish practice of mikveh to mark transitions. Transition to be interpreted by individuals and individual ritual.

I have no idea what the “technologies of water” are. Also usage of a mikvah to mark transitions beyond ritual states is a fairly new innovation, as mentioned above.

Queer mikveh in it's [sic] essence honors the story of the water. The historical stories of the water we immerse in, the stories of our own bodies as water and the future story we vision [sic].

This just sounds like a pagan spinoff of baptism to me, if I’m being honest. Which would be non-Jewish in several ways.

Queer mikveh is accessible physically and spiritually to any and all people who are curious about it. You don't have to be a practicing Jew to enter queer mikveh. You don't have to be Jewish.

First off, once again whether or not non-Jews can use mikvah seems at best extremely iffy. Secondly, accessibility in mikva’ot is, as one of my editors put it, “a continual discussion.” We have records of discussions regarding access for those with physical disabilities going back at least to the 15th century (Shut Mahari Bruna, 106; as quoted in 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History by Rabbi Ephraim Meth), and in the modern era there are mikva’ot that have lifts or other accessibility aids. That said, many mikva’ot, especially older ones, are still not accessible–and many mikva’ot don’t have the money to retrofit or renovate. Mikvah.org’s directory listings (linked at the end of this) notes whether various mikva’ot are accessible, if you are looking for one in your area.  If you want to help make mikva’ot more accessible to the disabled, consider donating to an existing mikvah to help them pay for renovations or otherwise (respectfully) getting involved in the community. If you want to help make mikva’ot more accessible for non-Orthodox Jews, try donating to an open mikvah (see link to a map of Rising Tide members at the end of this essay) or other non-Orthodox mikvah.

Queer mikveh is an earth and water honoring ritual.

Not even a little. We do have (or had) rituals that honor the earth or water, at least to an extent–the Simchat Beit HaSho’evah (explanations here and here) was a celebration surrounding water; most of our holidays are harvest festivals to some extent or another; there are a large number of agricultural mitzvahs (though most can only be done in Israel, which I suppose wouldn’t work for JVP). (Note: mitzvahs are commandments and/or good deeds.) Even those, though, aren’t about the water or earth on their own, per se, but rather about honoring them as God’s gift to us. This description of mikvah sounds more Pagan or Wiccan–which is fine, but isn’t Jewish.

Queer mikveh exists whenever a queer person or queers gather to do mikveh. Every person is their own spiritual authority and has the power to create their own ritual for individual or collective healing.

Absolutely, anyone can create their own rituals for anything they want. But it probably won’t be a mikvah ritual, and it probably won’t be Jewish.

Do you know what it’s called when you make up your own ritual and claim that it’s actually a completely valid part of an established closed practice of which you aren’t part? (Remember—this document is aimed just as much at non-Jews as at Jews.)

It’s called appropriation.

With the next section, “Some Ideas for Mikveh Preparation,” we begin page three.

(Yes, we’re only on page three of seven. I’m so sorry.)

The most important part of mikveh preparation is setting an intention.

This isn’t entirely wrong, as you do have to have in mind the intention of fulfilling a mitzvah when you perform one.

Because mikveh is a ritual most used to mark transitions, you can frame your intention in that way.

To quote myself above, “usage of a mikvah to mark transitions beyond ritual states is a fairly new innovation.” I’d hardly say it is mostly used for marking transitions.

You can do journaling or talk with friends to connect with the Jewish month, Jewish holiday, Shabbat, the moon phase, and elements of the season that would support your intention.

If this were a guide for only Jews, or there was some sort of note saying this section was only for Jews, I would have less of a problem. But given neither is true, they are encouraging non-Jews to use the Jewish calendar for what is, from the rest of the descriptions in the Guide, a magical earth healing ritual.

This is 100% straight up appropriation.

The Jewish calendar is Jewish. Marking the new moon and creating a calendar was the first commandment given to us as a people, upon the exodus from Egypt. Nearly all our holidays are (aside from the harvest component, which is based on the Israeli agricultural seasons and required harvest offerings) based on specific parts of Jewish history. Passover celebrates the Exodus and our becoming a nation. Sukkot celebrates the Clouds of Glory that protected us in the desert. Shavuot celebrates being given the Torah.

According to some opinions, non-Jews literally aren’t allowed to keep Shabbat.

If you are a non-Jew and you are basing the collective earth healing ritual you have created under your own spiritual authority around Jewish holidays and calling it “mikvah,” you are appropriating Judaism.

Full stop.

This isn’t even taking into account the generally Pagan/witchy feel of the paragraph, with “moon phases” and “elements of the season.” Again, if you want to be a Pagan be a Pagan, but don’t call it Jewish.

Things only go further downhill with their next suggestion for preparation before you go to the mikvah.

Divination: A lot can be said about divination practices and Judaism.

There certainly is a lot to be said. First and foremost, there’s the fact that divination is forbidden in Judaism.

(Screenshot of Leviticus 19:26 from sefaria.org)

One method of divination they suggest is Tarot, which is a European method of cartomancy that seems to have begun somewhere in the 19th century, though the cards start showing up around the 15th. While early occultists tried to tie it to various older forms of mysticism, including Kabbalah, this was, to put it lightly, complete nonsense. (Disclaimer: this information comes from wikipedia; I’ve already spent so much time researching the mikvah stuff that I do not have the energy or interest to do a deep dive into the origin of Tarot. It isn’t Jewish, the rest is honestly just details.)

I have nothing against Tarot. I think it’s neat! The cards are often lovely! I have a couple of decks myself, and I use them for fun and card games. But divination via tarot is not Jewish. If I do any spreads, I make it very clear to anyone I’m doing it with that it is for fun and/or as a self-reflection tool, not as magic. Because that is extremely not allowed in Judaism.

The authors suggest a few decks to use, one of which is by one of the authors themselves. Another is “The Kabbalah Deck,” which—holy appropriation, Batman!

In case anyone is unaware, Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism) is an extremely closed Jewish practice, even within Judaism. Traditionally it shouldn’t be studied by anyone who hasn’t already studied every other Jewish text (of which there are, I remind you, a lot), because it’s so easy to misinterpret. I mentioned this above briefly when explaining cultural expropriation. Pop Kabbalah (what Madonna does, what you see when they talk about “Ancient Kabbalistic Texts” on shows like Supernatural, the nonsense occultists and New-Agers like to say is “ancient Kabbalistic” whatever, it’s a wide span of appropriative BS) is gross, combining Kabbalah with Tarot is extremely gross. I’m not 100% sure, as the link in the pdf doesn’t work, but I believe they are referring to this deck by Edward Hoffman. For those of you who don’t want to click through, the Amazon description includes this:

(Screenshot from Amazon)

Returning to our text:

Another practice that's been used in Judaism for centuries is bibliomancy. You can use a book you find meaningful (or the Torah) and ask a question. Then, close your eyes, open the book to a page and place your finger down. Interpret the word or sentence you pointed at to help guide you to answer your question.

Bibliomancy with a chumash (Pentateuch) or tanach (Bible) in Jewish magic is kind of a thing, but the tradition of Jewish magic as a whole is very complicated and could be its own entirely different post. This one is already long enough. This usage of bibliomancy is clearly just appropriative new-age BS, though, especially given you can use “[any] book you find meaningful.”

Also, if you aren’t Jewish, please don’t use the Torah for ritual purposes unless you are doing it under very specific circumstances under the laws for B’nei Noach (“Children of Noah,” also called Righteous Gentiles; non-Jews who follow the 7 Noachide Laws).

Sit with your general intention or if you aren't sure, pose a question to the divination tool you are using. "What should be my intention for this mikveh?" "What needs transforming in my life?" "How can I transform my relationship with my body?"

As I hope I’ve made clear, there are very specific times when one uses a mikvah, even with more modern Open Mikvah rituals. You always know what your intention is well before going—to make yourself tahor, or mark a specific event. I’m not here to police how someone prepares mentally before they immerse—meditation is fine, even encouraged. But magic? Like this? That’s not a thing. And given the fact that divination specifically is not only discouraged but forbidden, this section in particular upset a lot of Jews who read it.

Those of us already upset by everything we’ve already covered were not comforted by how the Guide continues.

How to Prepare Physically For Mikveh: Some people like to think about entering the mikveh in the way their body was when they were born. By this we mean naked, without jewelry, with clean fingernails and brushed hair. This framing can be meaningful for many people.

We went into this at the beginning of this essay (about 6500 words ago), but this is in fact how Jewish law mandates one is required to immerse. This is certainly the case in most communities, whether you are immersing due to an obligation (as a married woman or a bride about to be married) or due to custom (as men in post-Temple practice) or due to non-traditional immersion (as someone coming out); wherever on the spectrum of observance one falls (as far as I could find). A mikvah isn’t a bath, it’s not about physical cleanliness—you must first thoroughly clean yourself, clip your nails, and brush your teeth. Nail polish and makeup are removed. There can’t be any barriers between you and the water. Most mikva’ot these days, particularly women’s mikva’ot, have preparation rooms so you can prep on site. When you immerse, you have to submerge completely—your hair can’t be floating above the water, your mouth can’t be pursed tightly, your hands can’t be clenched so the water can’t get to your palms. If you do it wrong, it doesn’t count and you have to do it again. It’s not a “framing,” it’s a ritual practice governed by ritual law.

We suggest you do mikveh in the way you feel comfortable for you and your experience.

This isn’t how this works. If you have a particularly extreme case, you can talk to a rabbi to see if there are any workarounds—for example, if excessive embarrassment would distract you from the ritual, you may be able to wear clothes that are loose enough that the water still makes contact with every millimeter of skin. But you need to consult with someone who knows the minutiae of the laws and requirements so you know if any exceptions or workarounds apply to you. That’s what a rabbi is for. That’s why they need to go to rabbinical school and get ordination. They have to study. That’s why you need to find a rabbi whose knowledge and personality you trust. For someone calling themselves a religious authority in Judaism to say “you can do whatever, no biggie” with such a critical ritual is…I’m not sure what the word I want is.

The idea is to feel vulnerable but also to claim your body as a powerful site of change that has the power to move us close to our now unrecognizable futures.

The idea is to bathe in the living waters and enter a state of taharah. Though that could be an idea you have in mind while you are doing it, I suppose. I could see at least one writer I know of saying something like this to specifically menstrual married (presumably cis) women performing Taharat HaMishpacha (family taharah, see above).

For some people, doing mikveh in drag will feel most vulnerable, with all your make-up and best attire.

Absolutely not a thing. As I said last paragraph, the goal isn’t to feel vulnerable or powerful or anything. It may feel vulnerable or powerful, but that is entirely besides the actual purpose of the ritual. What you get out of it on a personal emotional level has nothing to do with the religious goal of the religious practice.

And if you are wondering how one would submerge oneself in water in full drag, don’t worry, we’ll get there soon.

For some, wearing a cloth around your body until just before you dip is meaningful.

This is just how it’s usually done. Generally one is provided with a bathrobe, and one removes it before entering. You don’t just wander around the building naked. Or the beach, if you’re using the ocean.

If you were born intersex and your genitalia was changed without your consent, thinking about your body as perfect, however you were born, can be loving.

I’m not intersex, so I’m not going to comment on the specifics here. If you are and that’s meaningful to you, more power to you.

We enter a new section, at the top of page 4.

Where To Do Mikveh: There is much midrash around what constitutes a mikveh.

“Midrash” is not the word they want here. The midrash is the non-legal side of the oral tradition, often taking the form of allegory or parable. This is as opposed to the mishna, which is the halachic (legal) side of the oral tradition. They were both written down around the same time, but most midrashim (plural) are in their own books, rather than incorporated in the mishna.

There is, however, a great deal of rabbinic discussion, in the form of mishna, gemara, teshuvot (responsa), legal codices, and various other genres of Jewish writing. More properly this could have just said “there is much discussion around what constitutes a mikveh.”

Most mikvot currently exist in Orthodox synagogues[—]

This is perhaps a minor quibble, but I don’t know that I’d say they’re generally in synagogues. They are frequently associated with a local congregation, but are often in a separate building.

[—]but there is a growing movement to create more diverse and inclusive spaces for mikveh. Mayyim Hayyim is a wonderful resource with a physical body of water mikveh space. Immerse NYC is a newer organization training people of all genders to be mikveh guides. They also work to find gender inclusive spaces for people to do mikveh in NYC.

This is true! Mayyim Hayyim is a wonderful organization I’ve never heard anything bad about, and ImmerseNYC also seems like an excellent organization. Both also only allow Jews (in which group I am including in-process converts) to immerse.

The mikveh guides thing I didn’t explain above, so I’ll take a moment to do so here. Because the rules of immersion are so strict, and because it’s hard to tell if you are completely immersed when you are underwater, most mikva’ot have a guide helping you. Depending on the circumstance and the mikvah, and depending on the patron’s comfort, who and how they do their jobs can differ somewhat. For a woman immersing after niddah, it will usually be another woman who will hold up the towel or bathrobe for you while you get in the water, and will only look from behind it once you are immersed to make sure you are completely submerged. If you are converting, customs vary. Some communities require men to witness the immersion regardless of the convert’s gender, which is very much an ongoing discussion in those communities. Even in those cases, to my knowledge they will only look once the convert is in the water, and there will likely still be a female attendant if the convert is a woman. While there are negative experiences people have had, it is very much an intra-community issue. We’re working on it.

Mikveh can be done in a natural body of water.

Again, this is true, though not all bodies of water work, so AYLR (Ask Your Local Rabbi).

Some people are also making swimming pools holy places of mikveh.

We’ve already explained above why this is nonsense.

In the Mishneh (the book that makes commentary on the torah [sic]) there are arguments as to what constitutes a mikveh and how much water from a spring or well or rainwater must be present.

The main issue in this section is their definition of the Mishneh. As I explained above, the Mishna (same thing, transliteration is not an exact science) is the major compilation of the Oral Torah, the oral tradition that was written down by Rabbi Judah Ha-Nasi so it wouldn’t be lost in the face of exile and assimilation. It’s not so much a commentary on the (Written) Torah as an expansion of it to extrapolate the religious laws we follow. It’s certainly not “the book that makes commentary on the Torah.” We have literally hundreds of books of commentary. That’s probably underestimating. Jews have been around for a long time, and we have been analyzing and discussing the Torah for nearly as long. There are so many commentaries on the Torah.

The second issue is that while there are arguments in the Mishna and Gemara (the oral discussion on the Mishna that was written down even later), they do generally result in a final decision of some sort. Usually whichever side has the majority wins. Variations between communities are still very much a thing, and I can explain why in another post if people are interested, but there usually is a base agreement.

We are of the school that says you decide for yourself what works.

The phrasing they use here makes it sound as though that’s a legitimate opinion in the Mishnah. I cannot emphasize how much that is not the case. While I myself have not finished learning the entire Mishnah, I would be willing to wager a great deal that “whatever works for you” isn’t a stance on any legal matter there. That’s just not how it works. While some modern branches of Judaism may have that as a position, it is definitely not Mishnaic.

If you are concerned about Jewish law, the ocean is always a good choice. There are no conflicting arguments about the ocean as a mikveh. As the wise maggid Jhos Singer says in reference to the ocean, "It's [sic] becomes a mikveh when we call it a mikveh." Done.

(To clarify, I don’t know if that typo was carried over from the source of the original quote or not.)

This is true. However if you are concerned about Jewish law I would very much urge you to look to other sources than this one—be that your local rabbi or rebbetzen, the staff at your local mikvah, or a reliable website that actually goes into the proper requirements. If you want to use a mikveh according to Jewish law, please do not use this document as your guide.

We recognize immersion in water does not work for every body. Therefore, a guiding principle for where to do a mikveh is: do a mikveh in a place that is sacred to you. Your body is always holy and your body is made of mostly water. Later in this guide there is more information on mikveh with no immersion required.

I cannot emphasize how much I have never once heard this before. This, to me, reads like New Age nonsense. If you are unable to immerse in a mikvah, talk to your rabbi. Don’t do…whatever this is.

Our next section is a short one.

Who To Do it With: Do mikveh with people you feel comfortable with and supported by.

This is fine, though many mikva’ot (perhaps even most) will only allow one person to immerse at a time.

Do a solo mikveh and ask the earth body to be your witness.

With this, we return to the strange smattering of neo-Paganism. The “earth body” is not a thing. Yes, the Earth is called as a witness in the Bible at least once. It’s poetic. You also, unless you are converting, don’t actually need a witness anyway. A mikvah attendant or guide is there to help you—if you were somewhere without one, you could still immerse for niddah or various customary purposes.

Do mikveh with people who share some of your vision for collective healing.

As I’ve said before in this essay, collective healing is not the point of a mikvah. If you are Jewish and want to pray for healing, there are plenty of legitimate places for this–the Shemonah Esrei has a prayer for healing and a prayer where you can insert any personal prayers you want; there’s a communal prayer for healing after the Torah reading. You can give charity or recite a psalm or do a mitzvah with the person in mind. You can also just do a personal private prayer with any words you like, a la Hannah, or if you want pre-written words find an appropriate techinah (not the sesame stuff). If you want to work towards collective liberation, volunteer. Learn the laws of interpersonal mitzvot, like lashon hara (literally “evil speech,” mostly gossip or libel). Connect fighting oppression to loving your neighbor or the Passover seder. We have tons of places for this–mikvah isn’t one of them.

Next segment.

What To Bring to A Mikveh: 1. Intentions for the ritual for yourself and/or the collective.

See previous points on intention.

2. Items for the altar from your cultural background[…] (emphasis mine)

If I wasn’t appalled by the “immersing in makeup” or the “do divination first,” this would be the place that got me. This is wrong on so many levels.

One is not allowed to have an altar outside of The Temple in Jerusalem, the one we currently do not have. It’s an extremely big deal. One is not allowed to make sacrifices outside of the Temple. Period. This is emphasized again and again in the Torah and other texts. Even when we had a Temple, there were no altars in a mikvah.

And you certainly couldn’t offer anything in the Temple while naked, as one is required to be when immersing in the mikvah.

Even when we did bring offerings to altars (the Bronze Altar or the Gold Altar, both of which were in the Temple and which only qualified priests in a state of tahara could perform offerings on), the offerings were very specifically mandated, as per the Torah and those other texts. Even when non-Jews gave offerings (as did happen) they were required to comply. You couldn’t just bring any item from your cultural background. This is paganism, plain and simple.

Now, again, let me be clear: if you’re pagan, I have no problem with you. My problem is when one tries to take a sacred practice from a closed religion and try to co-opt it as one’s own. It’s a problem when someone who isn’t Native American decides to smudge their room with white sage, and it’s a problem when someone who isn’t Jewish tries to turn a mikvah into a pagan cleansing rite. And even if the person doing it is Jewish--I have an issue when it’s Messianics who were born Jewish, and I have an issue when it’s pagans who were born the same. Either way, whether you intend to or not, you are participating in appropriation or expropriation.

Which makes the line that follows this point so deeply ironic I can’t decide if I’m furious or heartbroken.

After suggesting that the reader (who may or may not be Jewish) bring items for an altar to a mikvah, the Guide asks:

[…] (please do not bring appropriated items from cultures that are not yours).

Which is simply just... beyond parody. To quote one of my editors, “This is quickly approaching the level of being a new definition for the Yiddish word 'Chutzpah,' which is traditionally defined as 'absurdist audacity' in line with 'Chutzpah is a man who brutally murders both of his parents and then pleads with the judge for leniency because he is now an orphan bereft of parental guidance.' If not for the involved nature of explaining the full context, I would submit this as a potential new illustrative example.”

The next suggestion of what to bring is

3. Warm clothes, towels, warm drinks

All these are reasonable enough, though most mikva’ot provide towels. Some also provide snacks, for while you are preparing. They may also not allow you to bring in outside food.

4. Your spirit of love, healing, and resistance

This, again, has nothing to do with mikvah. The only spirit of resistance in a mikvah is the fact that we continue to do it despite millennia of attempts to stop us. Additionally, to me at least “a spirit of love” feels very culturally-Christian.

Our next section is titled “How to Make Mikveh a Non-Zionist Ritual.”

Right off the bat, I have an issue with this concept. Putting aside for a moment whatever one may think of Zionism as a philosophy, my main problem here is that mikvah has nothing at all to do with Zionism. In Orthodoxy, at least, Jews who are against Zionism on religious grounds perform the mitzvah the same way passionately Zionist Jews do, with the same meanings and intentions behind it. It is performed the same way in Israel and out, and has been more or less the same for the last several thousand years. It is about ritual purification and sanctification of the mundane, no more and no less.

There is a word for saying anything and everything Jewish is actually about the modern Israel/Palestine conflict, simply because it’s Jewish.

That word is antisemitism.

How to Make Mikveh a Non-Zionist Ritual: Reject all colonial projects by learning about, naming & honoring, and materially supporting the communities indigenous to the land where you hold your mikveh. Name and thank the Indigenous people of the land you are going to do your mikveh on.

If you removed the “non-Zionist” description, this would be mostly unobjectionable. We should absolutely help indigenous communities. The framing of “reject all colonial projects” does seem to suggest that there is something colonial about the usual practice of going to the mikvah, though. I would argue that the mikvah is, in fact, anti-colonial if anything—it is the practice of a consistently oppressed minority ethno-religion which has kept it in practice despite the best efforts of multiple empires. Additionally, while Zionism means many different things to those who believe in it, at its root most Zionists (myself included) define it as “the belief that Jews have a right to self-determination in our indigenous homeland.” Our indigenous homeland being, of course, the land of Israel. (This is different from the State of Israel, which is the modern country on that land.) If you are a Jew in Israel, one of the indigenous peoples of the land your mikvah is on is your own. That’s not to say there aren’t others—but to claim Jews aren’t indigenous to the region is to be either misinformed or disingenuous.

Take the time to vision [sic] our world to come in which Palestine and all people are free.

I really, really dislike how they use the concept of The World To Come here. The Jewish idea of The World To Come (AKA the Messianic Age) is one where the Messiah has come, the Temple has been rebuilt, and the Davidic dynastic monarchy has been re-established in the land of Israel. Arguably that’s the most Zionist vision imaginable. This isn’t to say that all people, Palestinians included, won’t be free—true peace and harmony are also generally accepted features of the Messianic Age. But using the phrase in making something “non-Zionist” is, at the very least, in extremely poor taste. (As a side note, even religious non-Zionists believe in this–that’s actually why most of them are against the State of Israel, as they believe we can’t have sovereignty until the Messiah comes. They do generally believe we will eventually have sovereignty, just that now isn’t the time for it.)

Hold and explore this vision intimately as you prepare to immerse. What is one action you can take to bring this future world closer? Trust that your vision is collaborating with countless others doing this work.

Having a “vision” of a world where all are free isn’t doing any of the work to accomplish it. A “vision” can’t collaborate. At least not in Judaism. This sounds like one is trying to manifest the change through force of will, which is something directly out of the New Age faith movement, where it is known as “Creative Visualization.” Even when we do have a concept of bringing about something positive through an unrelated action–like saying psalms for someone who is sick–the idea is that you are doing a mitzvah on their behalf, to add to their merits counted in their favor. It’s not a form of magic or invocation of some mystical energy.

(Once again: I have nothing against pagans. But paganism is incompatible with Judaism. You can’t be both, any more than you can be Jewish and Christian.)

Use mikveh practice to ground into your contribution to the abundant work for liberation being done. We are many.

If you will once more pardon a brief switch to a casual tone:

Nothing says liberation like *checks notes* appropriating a minority cultural practice.

The next section of their document is titled “Ideas for Mikveh Ritual,” and this is where the Neo-Pagan and New Age influences of the authors truly shift from the background to the foreground.  

We start off deceptively reasonably.

Mikveh ritual is potentially very simple. Generally people consider a mikveh to be a full immersion in water, where you are floating in the water, not touching the bottom, with no part of the body above the surface (including the hair).

Technically, most people consider a mikveh to be a ritual bath (noun) in which one performs various Jewish ritual immersions. But if we set this aside as a typo, this is…fairly true. What they are describing is how one is supposed to perform the mitzvah of mikveh immersion. However, in much the same way I wouldn’t say “generally people consider baseball to be a game where you hit a ball with a bat and run around a diamond,” I wouldn’t say it’s a case of “generally people consider” so much as “this is what it is.”

This works for some people. It doesn't work for everyone and it doesn't work for all bodies. Because of this, mikveh ritual can be expanded outside of these traditional confines in exciting, creative ways.

Once again, if you are incapable of performing mikvah immersion in the proper manner, please go speak with a rabbi. Please do not follow this guide.

Before we continue, I would just like to assure you that. whatever “exciting, creative ways” you might be imagining the authors have come up with, this is so much worse.

Method One:

Sound Mikveh: One way that's felt very meaningful for many is a "sound mikveh." This can be a group of people toning, harmonizing, or chanting in a circle. One person at a time can be in the center of the circle and feel the vibrations of healing sound wash over their body. Another method of sound mikveh is to use a shofar or other instrument of your lineage to made [sic] sounds that reach a body of water and also wash over you.

This makes me so uncomfortable I barely have the words to describe it, and I know that I am not alone in this. This is not a mikvah. If someone wants to do some sort of sound-based healing ritual, by all means go ahead, but do not call it a mikvah. This is not Jewish. I don’t know what this is, aside from deeply offensive.

And leave that poor shofar out of this. That ram did not give his horn for this nonsense.

(I could go on about the actual sacred purpose of a shofar and all the rules and reasons behind it that expand upon this, but this is already over 9000 words.)

Method Two is, if anything, worse. This is the one, if you’ve seen social media posts about this topic, you have most likely seen people going nuts about.

Tea Cup Mikveh: Fill a special teacup. If you want, add flower essence, a small stone, or other special elements. Sing the teacup a sweet song, dance around it, cry in some tears, tell the cup a tender and hopeful story, hold the teacup above the body of your animal friend for extra blessing, balance it on your head to call in your highest self. Use the holy contents of this teacup to make contact with water.

This is absolutely 100% straight-up neo-pagan/New Age mysticism. Nothing about this is based on Jewish practice of any kind. Again, I’m at a loss for words of how to explain just how antithetical this is. If you want to be a witch, go ahead and be a witch. But do not call it Jewish. Leave Judaism out of this.

They end this suggestion with the cute comment,

Mikveh to go. We’ve always been people on the move.

Let me explain why this “fun” little comment fills me with rage. 

As you may recall, this document was published by Jewish Voice for Peace. Among their various other acts of promoting and justifying antisemitism, JVP has repeatedly engaged in historical revisionism regarding Jews and Jewish history. In this context, they have repeatedly ignored the numerous expulsions of Jews from various countries, and blaming sinister Zionist plots to explain any movement of expelled Jews to Israel (“In the early 1950s, starting two years after the Nakba, the Israeli government facilitated a mass immigration of Mizrahim,” from “Our Approach to Zionism” on the JVP website; see @is-the-thing-actually-jewish’s post on JVP and the posts linked from there).

So a document published by JVP framing Jewish movement as some form of free spirited 1970s-esque Bohemian lifestyle or the result of us being busy movers-and-shakers is a direct slap in the face to the persecution we’ve faced as a people and society.  No, we aren’t “on the move” because we’re hippies wandering where the wind takes us . We’re always on the move because we keep getting kicked out and/or hate-crimed until we leave.

But there is no Jew-hatred in Ba Sing Se.

Method three:

Fermentation Mikveh: Some food goes through natural changes by being immersed in water. If we eat that food, we can symbolically go through a change similar to the one the food went through.

Again, this has no basis anywhere in halacha. We do have concepts of “you are what you eat,” specifically with reference to what animals and birds are kosher, but there isn’t any food that makes you tahor if you eat it. In the Temple days there were, in fact, foods you couldn’t eat unless you were tahor.

Jews may like pickles, but that doesn’t mean we think they purify you.

Also, the change from fermentation is, if anything, the opposite of the change we would want. Leavening (rising in dough or batter, due to the fermentation of yeast) is compared in rabbinic writings to arrogance and ego, as opposed to the humility of matza, the “poor man’s bread” (see here, for example). Is the suggestion here to become more egotistical?

As we wrap up this section, I’d like to go back to their stated reason for using these “alternative” methods (“It doesn't work for everyone and it doesn't work for all bodies”), and ask: if these really were the only options for immersion, would these really fill that same spiritual need/niche? These obviously aren’t aimed at me, but from my perspective it seems almost condescending, almost worse. “You can’t do the real thing, so we’ll make up something to make you feel better.” If any of them had an actual basis in Jewish practice, that would be one thing, but this just feels…fake, to me. Even within more liberal / less traditional streams of Judaism, there is a connection to halacha: 

“We each (if we are knowledgeable about the tradition, if we confront it seriously and take its claims and its wisdom seriously) have the ability, the freedom, indeed the responsibility to come to a [potentially differing] personal understanding of what God wants us to do… [Halacha] is a record of how our people, in widely differing times, places and societal circumstances, experienced God's presence in their lives, and responded. Each aspect of halacha is a possible gateway to experience of the holy, the spiritual. Each aspect worked for some Jews, once upon a time, somewhere in our history. Each, therefore, has the potential to open up holiness for people in our time as well, and for me personally. However, each does not have equal claim on us, on me…Portions of the halacha whose main purpose seems to be to distance us from our surroundings no longer seem functional. Yet some parts of the halachic tradition seem perfect correctives to the imbalances of life in modernity…In those parts of tradition, we are sometimes blessed to experience a sense of God's closeness. In my personal life, I emphasize those areas. And other areas of halacha, I de-emphasize, or sometimes abandon. Reform Judaism affirms my right, our right, to make those kinds of choices.” – Rabbi Ramie Arian

“[Traditional Reconstructionist Jews] believe that moral and spiritual faculties are actualized best when the individual makes conscious choices…The individual’s choices, however, can and should not be made alone. Our ethical values and ritual propensities are shaped by the culture and community in which we live. Living a Jewish life, according to the Reconstructionist understanding, means belonging to the Jewish people as a whole and to a particular community of Jews, through which our views of life are shaped. Thus, while Reconstructionist communities are neither authoritarian nor coercive, they aspire to influence the individual’s ethical and ritual choices–through study of Jewish sources, through the sharing of values and experiences, and through the impact of the climate of communal opinion on the individual. …While we may share certain values and life situations, no two sets of circumstances are identical. We hope that the Reconstructionist process works to help people find the right answers for themselves, but we can only assist in helping individuals to ask the right questions so that their choices are made in an informed way within a Jewish context. To be true to ourselves we must understand the differences in perception between us and those who have gone before, while retaining a reverence for the traditions they fashioned. If we can juxtapose those things, we ensure that the past will have [in the phrase of Reconstructionism’s founder, Mordecai Kaplan,] a vote, but not a veto.” – Rabbi Jacob J. Straub (Note: the Reconstructionist movement was founded in the late 1920s, and has gone through a very large shift in the past decade or so. I use “Traditional” here to refer to the original version of the movement as opposed to those who have shifted. Both are still called Reconstructionist, so it’s a bit confusing. This is on the advice of one of my editors, who is themself Traditional Reconstructionist.)

You may note, neither of these talk about inventing things from whole cloth. To paraphrase one of my editors, “You don’t completely abandon [halacha], because if you did how would you have a cohesive community? Even in a ‘do what’s meaningful’ framework, you’re taking from the buffet, not bringing something to a potluck. Even if you don’t see halacha as binding, there are limits.”

(Again, disclaimer that the above knowledge of non-Orthodox movements comes from my editors, and any errors are mine.)

The next section is “Prayers for Mikveh.”

As a note, I’m going to censor the names of God when I quote actual blessings, as per traditional/Halachic practice. I’ll be putting brackets to indicate my alterations.

I’m not going to go much into detail here, because frankly my Hebrew isn’t good enough, and the six different people I asked for help gave me at least six different answers, but I will touch on it a bit.

First, the Guide gives a link to an article on Traditional Mikveh Blessings from Ritualwell (here is a link on the Wayback Machine, since the original requires you to make an account). Ritualwell is a Reconstructionist Jewish website, and accepts reviewed submissions. Here is their about page. The blessings on this page, as far as I know, are in fact exactly what it says on the tin. I’m not sure the first one, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al ha-t’vilah, is said for non-obligatory immersions (i.e. not for niddah or conversion), as it is literally a blessing on the commandment. The second blessing at that link is Shehecheyanu, which the Guide also suggests as a good prayer. This is the traditional form of the blessing, given at Ritualwell:

Baruch Atah Ado[-]nai Elo[k]eynu Melech Ha-Olam shehekheyanu v’kiyimanu v’higiyanu lazman hazeh.

Blessed are You, [LORD] our God, Monarch of the universe, Who has kept us alive and sustained us, and brought us to this season.

(As a quick note, you may notice this is not quite how they translate it on Ritualwell–I have no idea why they say “kept me alive,” as it’s definitely “us” in the Hebrew. There’s a long tradition, in fact, of praying for the community rather than ourselves as an individual, but that’s not the point of this post.)

The Guide, however, gives an alternate form:

B’rucha At y[-]a Elo[k]eynu Ruakh haolam shehekheyatnu v’kiyimatnu v’higiyatnu lazman hazeh. You are Blessed, Our God, Spirit of the World, who has kept us in life and sustained us, enabling us to reach this season.

Under the assumption that most of you don’t know Hebrew, I’m going to break this down further. The main difference between these two is grammatical gender–the traditional blessing uses masculine forms, which is common when referring to God. However, while there are often masculine descriptions of God, it is worth noting that Hashem is very specifically not a “man”--God is genderless and beyond our comprehension, and masculine is also used in Hebrew for neutral or unspecified gender. A whole discussion of gender and language is also beyond the scope of this post, but for now let’s leave it at: changing the gender for God in prayer is pretty common among less traditional Jews, and that’s fine. Some of the changes they make (or don’t make) here are interesting, though. The two letter name of God they switch to is–despite ending in a hey (the “h” letter)–not feminine grammatically feminine. I’m told, however, that some progressive circles consider it neutral because it “sounds feminine.” “Elo-keynu” is also grammatically masculine, but a) that’s used for neuter in Hebrew and b) it’s also technically plural, so maybe they didn’t feel the need to change it. Though if that’s the case I would also have thought that Ado-nai (the tetragrammaton) would be fine, as it’s also technically male in the same way. I’m also not sure why they didn’t just change ”Melech HaOlam” to “Malkah HaOlam,” which would be the feminine form of the original words, but perhaps they were avoiding language of monarchy. It’s apparently a not uncommon thing to change.

One of the responses I got said the vowels in the verbs were slightly off, but I can’t say much above that, for the reasons given at the beginning of this section.

Also, and this is comparatively minor, the capitalization in the transliteration is bizarre. They capitalize “At” (you) and “Elo[k]eynu” (our God), but not “y[-]a…” which is the actual name of God in the blessing and should definitely be capitalized if you are capitalizing.

The Guide next gives a second blessing that can be used:

B’rucha at shekhinah eloteinu ruach ha-olam asher kid-shanu bi-tevilah b’mayyim hayyim. Blessed are You, Shekhinah, Source of Life, Who blesses us by embracing us in living waters. -Adapted by Dori Midnight 

The main thing I want to note about this is that…that’s not an accurate translation. It completely skips the word “eloteinu.” “Ruach ha-olam” means “spirit/breath of the universe/world,” not “Source of Life,” which would be “M’kor Ha-Olam,” as mentioned above. “Kid-shanu,” as she transliterates it, means “has sanctified us,” or “has made us holy,” not “blesses us”--both the tense and the word are wrong. “Bi-tevilah” doesn’t mean “embracing us,” either, it means “with immersing.” In full, the translation should be:

“Blessed are You, Shekhinah, our God, Spirit of the World, Who has sanctified us with immersion in living waters.”

The Shekhinah is an aspect/name of God(dess), though not a Name to the same level as the ones that can’t be taken in vain. It refers to the hidden Presence of God(dess) in our world, and is the feminine aspect of God(dess), inasmuch as God(dess) has gendered aspects–remember, our God(dess) is One. It’s not an unreasonable Name to use if you are trying to make a prayer specifically feminine.

(Though do be careful if you see it used in a blessing in the wild, because Messianics use it to mean the holy ghost.)

“Eloteinu” is, grammatically, the feminine form of Elokeinu (according to the fluent speakers I asked, though again I got several responses).

It is, again, odd that they don’t capitalize transliterated names of God, though here there is more of an argument that it’s a stylistic choice, Hebrew not having capital letters.

The Guide then repeats the link for Ritualwell.

Finally, we come to the last section, “Resources and Our Sources:”

First, they credit the Kohenet Institute and two of its founders. I do not want to go on a deepdive into the Kohenet Institute also, as this is already long enough, but I suppose I should say a bit.

The Kohenet Institute was a “clergy ordination program, a sisterhood / siblinghood, and an organization working to change the face of Judaism. For 18 years, Kohenet Hebrew Priestess Institutes founders, graduates and students reclaimed and innovated embodied, earth-based feminist Judaism, drawing from ways that women and other marginalized people led Jewish ritual across time and space” (Kohenet Hebrew Priestess Institute Homepage). It closed in 2023.

I have difficulty explaining my feelings about the Kohenet Institute. On the one hand, the people who founded it and were involved in it, I’m sure, were very invested in Judaism and very passionate in their belief. As with the authors of the Guide, I do not mean to attack them–I’m sure they’re lovely people.

On the other, I have trouble finding a basis for any of their practices, and most of what practices I do find trouble me–again, with the caveat that I am very much not into mysticism, so take my opinion with a grain of salt.

Of the three founders, only one (Rabbi Jill Hammer) seems to have much in the way of scholarly background. Rabbi Hammer, who was ordained at the Jewish Theological Seminary (a perfectly respectable school), has at least one article where she quotes the New Testament and a Roman satirist making fun of a Jewish begger who interpret dreams for money as proof “that Jewish prophetesses existed in Roman times,” which to me at least seems like saying that the Roma have a tradition of seeresses based on racist caricatures of what they had to do to survive, if you’ll pardon the comparison. In the same article, she says that Sarah and Abigail, who are listed in the Talmud as prophetesses “are not actually prophetesses as I conceptualize them here,” (pg 106) but that “abolitionist Ernestine Rose, anarchist Emma Goldman, and feminist Betty Friedan stand in the prophetic tradition.” Given God says explicitly in the text, “Regarding all that Sarah tells you, listen to her voice” (Genesis 21:12), I have no idea where she gets this.

The second founder, Taya Mâ Shere, describes the Institute on her website as “spiritual leadership training for women & genderqueer folk embracing the Goddess in a Jewish context,” which to me is blatantly what I and some of my editors have taken to calling Jews For Lilith. Now, it is possible this is a typo. However assuming it is not, and it would be a weird typo to have, this rather clearly reads as “the Goddess” being something one is adding a Jewish context to–which is exactly what I mean when I say this guide is taking Paganism and sprinkling a little Judaism on it. If it had said “embracing Goddess in a Jewish context,” I’d have no problem (aside from weird phrasing)--but “the Goddess” is very much a “divine feminine neo-pagan” kind of thing. We don’t say “the God” in Judaism, or at least I’ve never heard anyone do so. We just say God (or Goddess), because there’s only the one. In fact, according to this article, she returned to Judaism from neo-Paganism, and “began to combine the Goddess-centered practices she had co-created in Philadelphia with what she was learning from teachers in the Jewish Renewal movement, applying her use of the term Goddess to Judaism’s deity.” The “Goddess-centered practices” and commune in Philadelphia are described earlier in the article as “influenced by Wiccan and Native American traditions, in ways that Shere now considers appropriative (“After Kohenet, Who Will Lead the Priestesses?” by Noah Phillips).” I’m not sure how it suddenly isn’t appropriative now, but taking the Pagan practices you were doing and now doing those exact same rituals “but Jewish” is, in fact, still Pagan.

Shere also sells “Divining Pleasure: An Oracle for SephErotic Liberation,” created by her and Bekah Starr, which is a “divination card deck and an Omer counter inviting you more deeply into your body, your pleasure and your devotion to collective liberation.”

I hate this.

I hate this so much.

For those who don’t know, the Omer is the period between the second day of Passover and the holiday of Shavuot, 50 days later. It’s named for the Omer offering that was given on Passover, and which started the count of seven weeks (and a day, the day being Shavuot). The Omer, or at least part of it, is also traditionally a period of mourning, much like the Three Weeks between the fasts of the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av–we don’t have weddings, we don’t listen to live music, we don’t cut our hair. It commemorates (primarily) the deaths of 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva in a plague (possibly a metaphor for persecution or the defeat of the Bar Kochba revolt). It is often used as a time for introspection and self-improvement, using seven of the Kabbalistic Sephirot as guides (each day of the week is given a Sephira, as is each week, so each day of the 49 is x of y, see here). It’s not, as Shere’s class “Sex and the Sephirot: A Pleasure Journey Through the Omer” puts it, a time to “engage…toward experiencing greater erotic presence, deepening our commitment to nourishing eros, and embracing ritual practices of…pleasure.”

The final of the founders, Shoshana Jedwab, seems to be primarily a musician. In her bio on her website, scholarship and teaching are almost afterthoughts. I can find nothing about her background or classes. She’s also, from what I’ve found, the creator of the “sound mikvah.”

So all in all, while I’m sure they’re lovely people, I find it difficult to believe that they are basing their Institute on actual practices, particularly given they apparently include worship of Ashera as an “authentic” Jewish practice, see the above Phillips article and this tumblr post.

The institute also lists classes they offered, which “were open to those across faith practices - no background in Judaism necessary.” If you scroll down the page, you will see one of these courses was titled “Sefer Yetzirah: Meditation, Magic, & the Cosmic Architecture.” Sefer Yetzirah, for those of you unaware, “is an ancient and foundational work of Jewish mysticism.”

You may recall my saying something some 5700 (yikes) words ago about Jewish mysticism (i.e. Kabbalah) being a closed practice.

You may see why I find the Kohenet Institute problematic.

I will grant, however, that I have not listened to their podcasts nor read their books, so it is possible they do have a basis for what they teach. From articles I’ve read, and what I’ve found on their websites, I am unconvinced.

Returning to our original document, the Guide next gives several links from Ritualwell, which I’ve already discussed above. After those, they give links to two actual mikvah organizations: Mayyim Hayyim and Immerse NYC. Both are reputable organizations, and are Open Mikvahs. Neither (at least based on their websites) seem to recommend any of the nonsense in this Guide. In fact, Mayyim Hayyim explicitly does not allow non-Jews to immerse (unless it’s to convert). ImmerseNYC has advice to create a ritual in an actually Jewish way. I would say the link to these two groups are, perhaps, the only worthwhile information in this Guide.

They then list a few “mikveh related projects,” two of which are by the writers. The first, Queer Mikveh Project, is by one of the authors, Rebekah Erev. The link they give is old and no longer works, but on Erev’s website there is information about the project. Much of the language is similar to that in this guide. The page also mentions a “mikvah” ritual done to protest the Dakota Access Pipeline, in which “the mikveh…[was] completely optional.” And, of course, there was an altar. The second project, the “Gay Bathhouse” by (I believe) the other author and Shelby Handler, is explicitly an art installation.

The final link is to this website (thanks to the tumblr anon who found it), which is the only source we’ve been able to find on Shekinah Ministries (aside from a LOT of Messianic BS from unrelated organizations of the same name). So good news–this isn’t a Messianic. Bad news, it also seems to have a shaky basis in actual Jewish practice at best. It is run by artist Reena Katz, aka Radiodress, whose MKV ritual is, like “Gay Bathhouse,” a performance project. As you can see from the pictures on Radiodress’s website (cw for non-sexual nudity and mention of bodily fluids), it is done in a clearly portable tub in a gallery. As part of the process, participants are invited to “add any material from their body,” including “spit, urine, ejaculate, menstrual blood,” “any medication, any hormones they might be taking,” and supplies Radiodress offers including something called “Malakh Shmundie,” “a healing tincture that translates to “angel pussy” made by performance artist Nomy Lamm” (quotes from “An Artist’s Ritual Bath for Trans and Queer Communities” by Caoimhe Morgan-Feir). The bath is also filled by hand, which is very much not in line with halacha. Which, if you’re doing performance art, is fine.

But this Guide is ostensibly for authentic Jewish religious practice.

And with that (aside from the acknowledgements, which I don’t feel the need to analyze), we are done. At last.

Thank you for reading this monster of a post. If you have made it this far, you and I are now Family. Grab a snack on your way out, you deserve it.

Further Reading and Resources:

https://www.mayyimhayyim.org/risingtide/members/

https://www.mikvah.org/directory

https://www.mayyimhayyim.org/

http://www.immersenyc.org/

https://aish.com/what-is-a-mikveh/

https://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1541/jewish/The-Mikvah.htm

https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1230791/jewish/Immersion-of-Vessels-Tevilat-Keilim.htm

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/why-immerse-in-the-mikveh/

Meth, Rabbi Ephraim. 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History. Feldheim Publishers, 2023.

[n0tamused]

hi.iii.... Booth,ill request!?!?

Boothill gets a component jammed, and in this particular fix-up with his mechanic, he's twice as curious and won't stop nabbing things (Tugging on the mechanics hair, grabbing tools from readers apron, whistling and asking too many questions about the practicality of certain tool ect.)

A/N: TEA REQUESTING BOOTHILL, SOUND THE ALARMS AND GET TO WORKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GET OFF YOUR ASSS! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT POOKIE <3 <3

Content: Boothill x Reader, no pronouns used, Boothill calls you darling bc ofc, playful Boothill

“What’s this for again?” 

“It’s for the little screws that connect your plating together”

“Hm, looks like you can stab someone with it” Boothill commented, eyeing the thinner tool peeking from your work apron which lost its original white color, having changed to a washed out green with blotches of oil and metallic spray paint. It’s been only half a system hour since Boothill first stepped into the mechanic station you worked at, and already he has made a score for how many questions can be asked within those 30 or so minutes. It’s been a terrible morning with terrible weather and terrible news and terrible first customer, and this talking-your-ear off wasn't something you needed - it wasn’t exactly soothing, but you had no heart to tell him to quiet down.

You love to hear him talk while you work, you got used to it and have adjusted to it long ago, but today just had to be special. It had started to grow distracting and such distractions can’t be afforded if you are to properly fix the jammed plating and components within his arm. The plating pressed onto the wires within, making his entire arm remain in a constant position that would be painful were he still made whole of flesh and bone. The uncomfortable bend of it made you cringe when you saw it, reminding you of that one time your leg cramped badly from, and so you quickly got to work.

“Anything can be used as a weapon if you find ya’self in a bad situation, ain’t that right, darling?” Boothill mused, his cramped arm extended towards you as you worked your way to separate all the plating, the jammed and bent screws making it harder to pull apart. “Perhaps I should get m’self one of those too, y’know- for some close-range encounters. But then again, there’s not many situations that my bullets can’t help to resolve” he kept going, looking at your eyes that focused on the opening you made.

“Y-yeah..” you absentmindedly responded, not being able to pay too much attention to his words, but you caught a few words of ‘weapon’ and ‘gun’ and made a surface connection based on that. ‘Just nod along..’ You were distracted from the start of this day, despite your denial of that.

What came unexpectedly was two of his metal hands coming up to pinch a loose and hanging lock to tug on it, just enough to break your focus and move your head back. “Ow- heyy!” you protested as you turned to sharply glare at him. “I’m trying to fix you up here, you know? Do you want your arm stuck like this for the rest of time?” Your words are a challenge to him, and he greets it with a toothy grin. a hearty chuckle and slanted, hiding warmth behind them under a guise of mischief.

“Oh, come on! You’ve been fixing me up for a long time, and we are on friendly terms are we not, partner? What got you so gloomy today, I haven’t don’ anything wrong, have I?” His fingers give another small tug to your lock of hair before you pull your head back and your hair out of his hold, shaking your head. He was acting so stubborn now! What in the world has gotten into him?

“No! But come on- Hey!” you try to grab the screwdriver before Boothill fishes it out of the pocket of your apron with his good hand, twirling it between his fingers and staring at it as if he struck gold with his catch. Your hands all but abandoned your work on his arm, standing up to retrieve the screwdriver from his hold but he persists, stretching like a big, long cat to move the screwdriver out your way, and despite his disadvantage of sitting  down in a chair, he did a wonderful work of avoiding your grabby hands.

You huffed in frustration, biting your lip in hopes to choke back the laugh you felt bubbling in your throat. Your face was flushed from holding your breath and chasing him around and around, yet moving nowhere.

“Boothill, give it back! I need that for your arm, you fool” you argue, making another dash for his hand, only to grab onto air as he swiftly moves his hand down. 

“Nah, I think I may try doing this m’self, can’t have you working on me in that sour of a mood. I don’t know what I’ve done- hold on, has someone else soured your mood?” 

“Give- it - back” in some last ditch attempt to pry the screwdriver from his hands before he can do more damage than good, you threw yourself over his shoulder from behind, reaching for his wrist with one hand and grabbing the screwdriver with the other. “Whoa there!” you hear him cheer, more laughter coming from him, and this time you can’t help but choke out a chuckle, now at the grips with him. Toe-to-toe and at a tug of war.

“No one has soured my mood, now, please, give it back” you plead but he stays stubborn, shaking his head and  you feel his head turn and tilt, his nose touching your shoulder. “Wh-” you gasp as you feel his teeth nipping at your shoulder through your clothes, a playful snap of his jaw before he is pulling away just as quickly as he leaned in. 

As you turn and twist to look at him in pure and utter disbelief, his eyes catch yours, and he sees just how flushed you look and before long he is losing his grip on the screwdriver from laughing. 

“Oh shut up, you ranger! That was so unnecessary!” You won the screwdriver back, but at what cost? Yet.. seeing him laughing so earnestly was contagious. 

Boothill himself often came in for check up and fix ups with a sour and snappy mood, but never at you, and he always made it a point not to burden you with gloom and boredom of his situation, he never lacked to tell you stories of the world and where his travels took him when you weren’t around. And god- it’d be a lie to say you didn’t try to cheer him up more than once before. It finally dawned on you that perhaps you were too gloomy and he was trying to cheer you up, in whatever way he could, given his own circumstances.

“Ahh, you should go and take a look at yourself, darling, you look red like a sweet berry, pah!” 

How could you not be distracted when you had such genuine company? No gloom can pierce this cowboy. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[yaekiss]

crawling like a zombie out of a grave with heavy brainROT thinking of that vampire bat thing… i KNOW that freak of a man childe would absolutely be into that, even biting his lips to add on more blood and get you hooked on and used to his instead of some lousy human… but also thing of cuties like kaveh who shiver at the taste, and you’re sure he’d be blushing if he could, whimpers flowing out from his lips so easily. a high class diluc having a glass pressed against his lips held from you, filled with exquisite blood that fills his mouth before you kiss him filthily, knowing full well how he loves how perverted it makes him feel, how his hands shake and grip tightens on you with every swirl of your tongue against his.

𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Sub! Tartaglia, Sub! Kaveh, Sub! Diluc (separate), no gendered terms for reader, vampire! AU, blood and biting, mentions of violence in Tartaglia's part, lightly implied top!reader in Kaveh's part, footjob and cumming in pants in Diluc's part, lmk if I missed anything! ꩜ A/N: I didn't mean for this to get so long... pulpie what did u do to me...... 2.2k of vampire brainrot orz,,, anyways hope you enjoy the difference in dynamics !! PLEASE FILL IN THE FORM HERE AFTER READING THANK YOU!!!!

🏷️𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝟎𝟕𝟐𝟎: 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒂 ꒷꒦ Vampire!Reader x Human!Tartaglia ꒦꒷

Someone as battle-hungry as Childe never backs down from a challenge, even if it means trying to tame a literal creature of the night. (Although, reading through countless dusty tomes regarding vampire courtship isn’t really part of the taming process.)

A plus side to having a bloodthirsty harbinger as your partner is that you haven’t known hunger ever since he started trying to woo you! Dragging to you the, still warm, bodies of enemies he had to dispose of with a cheery grin, he watches, enraptured, as you partake in the meal he so graciously gifts you.

His eyes are trained on your form as you lap up the blood from the existing wounds he inflicted on the body during the fight, coating your lips in a sickening glisten. Childe squirms in his place, feeling a heat rising within. Tearing his gaze away from you, he looks down.

Fuck. He’s hard.

Shakily, he palms himself through his pants, looking for some relief. He tries to muffle his moans but he’s never really known to be quiet. His mind fills itself with images of you, appetite voracious as you drink from the body, bloodied fangs piercing through skin, and before it even registers, he’s whining for you.

Your shoes come into view and as he looks back up, he knows he’s been caught.

“Help me, please?” At that moment, Childe sounds too delectable, and coupled with the pleading way he’s looking at you, it seems that you crave something other than blood tonight too.

Your hands move to grab at his jawline, the sudden chill of your fingers against his skin makes his breath hitch and the way your sharpened nails graze him makes him all the more harder. Childe keens when your lips smash onto his, parting his mouth as you deepen the kiss, making him taste the lingering metallic tang of blood. 

His brain is a traitorous thing when it inserts himself into the place of the body. The visage of your arms cradling him as your fangs trace over the exposed skin of his neck, teasing before they sink in, when he could be all you think of, the visage burns behind his eyelids. Pulling away to allow Childe to catch his breath, his mind betrays him a third time when he doesn’t think and bites down hard on his own bottom lip before he captures yours again.

Instantly, his taste fills your mouth. It’s not often you manage to savour the blood of someone touched by the abyss. The flavour is intoxicating and you find yourself wanting more. As if by instinct, your hand supports the back of his head and he moans into your mouth as you kiss harder. 

Childe doesn’t know if he’s spurred on by the fact that you’re so taken by the taste of him other than that other lousy human or if it’s the hunger shining in your eyes. There’s a part of him that sings when the thought registers. The thought that he, his blood, has such an effect on you, amplifying your bloodlust a hundredfold, that he is addictive to you. That you want him.

Moving forward, he doesn’t bring you any more bodies. Instead, he just brings himself, and hopefully, he’d get a little lucky too.

Childe never backed down from a challenge, even if it meant being tamed by a literal creature of the night ♡

🏷️𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝟎𝟕𝟎𝟗: 𝑲𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒉 ꒷꒦ Vampire!Reader x Vampire!Kaveh ꒦꒷

A vampire Kaveh would be… a little pitiful. The thought of harming someone else goes against everything he stands for, let alone drinking someone else’s blood (even if the blood was obtained through honest, human-vampire-law-abiding, means.)

He resorts to drinking animal blood instead. It’s not the most satiating or nourishing but it’ll have to do. At least he doesn’t have to imagine a human face with a family tied to the bloody beverage he’s gulping down. However, it leaves him weak and prone to feeling faint at the most inopportune of times.

Times such as now, when Kaveh can’t find his keys again and he’s locked out of Alhaitham’s house and he desperately needs to drink but his blood stash is in the house and he can’t find Alhaitham anywhere. It’s not hard to see that your poor fellow vampire is spiralling when you open the door to your home that he’s been frantically pounding on.

You lead him inside, carefully setting him down on the couch since he was dangerously swaying back and forth while he walked. Kaveh and you go way back, so it’s not surprising that he seeks you out when he’s in need. You’re just so understanding, nothing like Alhaitham, and you’ve always looked out for him unceasingly all this time. His eyes catch how your hand is still supporting his arm from earlier and if his heart could beat, it would be fluttering right now.

“How long has it been since your last meal?” Shit, you’re grilling him and he’ll be dead twice over if you find out he hasn’t exactly been taking care of himself. He deflates pathetically in his seat before he mutters out his answer.

“A week and a half… maybe two…” His answer trails off and he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes. He quickly tacks on an explanation for good measure when the silence drags on for too long and he can feel himself being simmered alive (undead?) in your gaze.

“M-my commissions haven’t been coming in and- and money is a little tight-” he sighs, “-before I even realised it, the amount of blood I have left was already running low…”

Your hand leaves his arm and the action has his head snapping back to look at you. He feels you rise from your seat next to him on the sofa and alarms blare in his mind. Did he say something wrong? He knows he should look after himself more, fuck, you don’t hate him now, right? He’s brought out of his thoughts when you push a cup into his twiddling hands.

“Drink up.” Kaveh looks up at you, expecting to see a disapproving frown. However, when all he can see is worry and concern on your face, he’s a little caught off guard.

“But isn’t it… human blood?” He’s sheepish when he asks this, brows knitted together.

“I’m sorry, but it’s all I have currently and you look like you’d faint if you don’t get something in your system right now.”

Even so, he doesn't budge, just holding the cup in his hands. Usually, the scent alone is enough to send hungry vampires into a frenzy. Judging by how hard he’s clenching it and how he’s definitely starving by now, you can tell he’s holding himself back. You don’t want to risk anything bad happening to Kaveh if you go out to buy a bag of animal blood right now so you press on.

“Is there any way I can convince you to drink it?”

Maybe it’s the spiralling state of mind he has, or the loopiness from the hunger, or that determined gleam you have in your eyes, but something weakens inside of him as he blurts out.

“Can you feed it to me? I don’ wanna think ‘bout who the blood came fr’m.”

His vision spins as you gently take the cup out of his hands. Why is the room spinning? Why are you getting closer?? 

Your lips meet his and suddenly his slurred words click in his mind. Eyes widening, he looks at you but he makes no move to push you away. He just leans into your touch when your hands cup his cheeks and as you part his lips, the taste of the blood hits him.

It’s been ages since he’s savoured this flavour, and with you kissing him too? He can’t stop a shiver from rocking through his body when your tongue enters his mouth, pressing his thighs together as he lets out a loud whimper. Your hand cards through his hair, messing up the blonde locks but he can’t find it in himself to complain, not when he’s practically melting in your arms. Now, it’s become less of trying to feed Kaveh before he dies, and more of making out with the closest companion you’ve loved all this time.

Filthy whines escape him as the initial exquisite flavour of blood mellows out, giving way to the taste of you. Did his fang accidentally pierce your tongue? He doesn’t have the power to think about it when all he can comprehend is you, the taste of your blood, the touch of your skin, your tongue down his throat. You override his every thought and he’s left craving. 

The intimate moment lasts for a bit more before you break apart. (To Kaveh, it felt like something between a split-second and his ever-eternal lifespan.) 

He’s still a little shaky, it’s obvious that that little mouthful of blood isn’t enough nourishment for him.

“Will you drink if you can only think of me while you do?”

Kaveh leaves your home glowing the next day. (He’s limping too but let’s not talk about that.)

🏷️𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝟎𝟒𝟑𝟎: 𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒄 𝑹. ꒷꒦ Human!Reader x Vampire!Diluc ꒦꒷

It’s awfully gratifying to have the Diluc Ragnvindr, a noble of high vampire society, knelt at your feet, his hands held behind his back. You don't even need to bind his hands. Frankly, it wouldn't really do anything because of his supernatural strength. But, oh. There's something so delicious about him willing to keep his hands behind him just because you asked. The way you have him utterly wrapped around your finger... tantalising. 

You hold the wineglass of your blood above him and he instinctively shuffles in closer, a low whine leaving him before he even realises. As you tilt the cup towards him, his plush lips close on the rim, fervently lapping up what he can. He's terribly messy though. Tsk, and to think he's supposed to be high class.

The frenzied way he's drinking up your oblation, watching the crimson trickle past his lips, staining his pale skin such a dazzling red as it drips further down to his bobbing throat, he really is mesmerising. And what’s this? 

Your dear Diluc is rutting against your shoe, trying to get off while you’re so graciously feeding him. Greedy.

He’s panting in between gulps, his eyes unfocused as the lust building in him drives him mad. There’s a conscious part of his brain saying that he shouldn’t be trying to cum right now, you’re being so nice to him, but fuck, it feels sosososo good!

You think he’ll forgive you when you cruelly pull the cup away from him.

Immediately, a pitched whine rips from his throat, and he chases after your blood, eyes begging for you to return his sweet salvation. But Diluc thinks otherwise about opening his mouth to try to reason with you when he feels your foot against his crotch.

“I’ll let you drink again after you cum, hmm? It’s not good to be distracted while you eat.” 

His brain kicks into overdrive when the tip of your shoes presses down onto his dick, the pain bleeding into sinful pleasure. Diluc lets out a sharp hiss as you move your foot, teasing his length that’s straining behind his pants. He’s grinding his hard cock against the bottom of your shoe, the darkened patch of fabric growing and lewd moans slipping from his lips as he does so.

You can tell when he’s about to cum, his eyes are screwed shut and his moans become louder and more clipped, focusing more on the tempting heat rather than getting proper words out. Quickly, you take a mouthful of blood before you lean in and pull him in by the collar of his shirt.

The kiss is nothing shy of filthy, smearing blood on your lips and cheeks as he drinks desperately. He’s addicted to the heat of your mouth, your blood, on his skin, and the ravenous way you’re kissing him makes him feel like he’s the one being devoured instead. His neck is straining from being tilted upwards but there’s no other way he’d have you, as if it was only natural to have a powerful being like him on his knees at your side.

A hard press against the tip of his cock is what sends him off the edge. Cumming with a shout, he leans into your kiss, the hands he held behind his back all this time shooting forward to grasp at your thighs. Diluc shakes as he rides out his orgasm, groaning every time he ruts against your shoe.

Pulling away from him, his tongue lolls out of his mouth with a dazed expression on his face, as if he’s been fucked dumb. You drink in his appearance. He’s dishevelled, his usual tidy ponytail all tangled and messy, a wet patch at the front of his pants where he came in his pants. Diluc suppresses a shiver when he notices the swirling hunger in the gaze you regard him with, the roles of vampire and human so easily reversed and perverted by you.

Your lips shine with a saccharine sheen under the dim lighting as they part to ask him.

“And what do you say, Diluc?”

“Thank you.”

 It's safe to say that, unlike Diluc, your hunger isn't getting abated anytime soon.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

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[celestialtarot11]

How to manifest based on your moon sign 🤍🍵

Hi friends! Today we’ll be looking at how to manifest based on your moon sign ⭐️✨ please share your feedback and support this blog. Thank you! Regardless of your moon sign and astrology in itself, all these methods can work greatly for anyone.

Moon in air signs ☁️ You manifest when you allow yourself to see timelines of your future. Allow yourself to think widely beyond your current circumstances. How good can it get? What is there to experience that you haven’t as of yet? Use your mind to see, not restrict. Journal, script, use vocal affirmations and most importantly soothe any anxiety or worry about how it’s supposed to unfold. You’re not meant to understand it logically, it’s a process for the soul.

Moon in fire signs✨ you manifest when you are active! Get that energy flowing! Use the power of your heart and breath to invite new energy. Yoga for invoking energies can be wonderful to move any stagnant energy out your energy field. Go for a run, hype yourself up, play music you love! Dancing can help shake up stagnant energy as well.

Moon in water signs 🌊 you manifest best when you get enough sleep. Hydrate yourself, make sure your energy is clear and flowing the way it should be. Find your inner stillness, listen to yourself, and remember you’re here to make space for yourself amongst others. Singing bowls, mantras, chants would work wonderfully! Listen to music, get in touch with your dreamy side, and be the one to invoke change whilst remaining calm and grounded through it.

Moon in earth signs 💗 you manifest best when you know you are committed to your dream. If its in your long term you want it all the way, and thats your motivation! When you feel like the boss is when you manifest best. Take your time figuring out what you want and if it aligns with you, its important to separate others wants and desires from yours. Tap into the luxury lifestyle you know you deserve!

Moon aspecting Mercury: you manifest best when you journal, script, or say aloud what you desire. Have fun with your affirmations! Crystal work can also help you tap into universal energies, and clean your energetic body! This’ll boost your manifestations.

Moon aspecting Neptune: you manifest best when you indulge in music, or the finer things in life. Set the mood, set the tone, and allow yourself to dream. Meditations for your heart and third eye will help greatly! Create mood boards and visuals for what you want! See beyond the physical ✨

Moon aspecting Venus: You manifest best through self care, indulge in dressing up, and most importantly doing shadow work to free your heart space! Also creating visuals and mood board would help a lot. Allow yourself to get out your comfort zone and release what you’ve been complacent with.

Moon aspecting Pluto: You manifest through speaking as well, although it may happen at times where you least expect it. Tap into your deepest desires and transmute past pain related to that desire, and attract it! You have a raw ambition, power and strength you embody regardless of your past or present circumstances. “I don’t know how it’ll work, but I know it will.”

Moon aspecting Saturn: You manifest when you tap into your dedication commitment and stability. Manifest through the belief that no matter what is happening around you, you still remain committed and unbothered. Manifest for the long term.

Moon aspecting Sun: You manifest through vitality, power, and fun! Allow yourself to get creative with your manifestations, create a ritual, and be your best hype man! Be bold in what you want, and you shall attract. Balance your intuition with the powerful influence of the soul.

Moon aspecting Mars: You manifest when you accept your need for change, and your power to invoke change within yourself and others. Tap into that assertive, active, and fiery energy! Balance it with your feminine, allow yourself to receive just as much as you put out. Practice breath work and meditations for the heart!

Tarot cards associated with your sign & how to manifest ☁️🤍

The Star (Aquarius) • Justice (Libra) • The Lovers (Gemini)

Air signs you manifest after seeing the light, the hope, the glimmer of faith after an unpleasant or difficult situation. Reflect on the moments where others thought you couldn’t do xyz, reconstruct your faith and hope in realizing was it ever really true what they said? The narratives past down through friends or family? Did it ever truly serve you? Were they truly saying that because of self sabotage, or was there a factual truth in what beliefs were passed to you? Get in touch with the fact there are multiple, and all truths. All feelings, all experiences. We are not limited by our past, nor our mind, nor the stories we conformed to in our childhood! Reevaluate if the stories were a projection or your truth.

The Sun (Leo) • The Emperor (Aries) • Temperance (Sagittarius)

Fire signs you manifest best when you tap into your inner child. Provide for it what it didn’t experience growing up. How can you add to their childhood experiences? How can you fulfill their dreams now? Take care of them the way you wish you had been by others. Provide truth, structure, and discipline, but also let your inner child free and have a say in how you manifest! Love yourself enough to hear them. Create a beautiful bond with whats inside, and listen to the deepest parts of you. Your intuition lights up like fire when you connect to your inner child! Remain balanced & committed in your dreams and aspirations. If one did not work, where can you improve? Modify any self sabotage beliefs from childhood, and work towards your power and truth.

The Hermit (Virgo) • The Devil (Capricorn) • The Empress (Taurus)

For the earth signs! You manifest best through transforming self sabotage into inner love & compassion. Lean into yourself rather external things to cope. Build better inner structure, and soften yourself. Holding on tightly can break things. Introspection is your light and awareness to realizing what needs to change. Your narratives and stories are keys in what you’ve been telling yourself for so long. Work on your self concept and what you choose to believe in, that’ll help you manifest. Be your own boss, take a stable and committed approach to yourself and making all and every dream come true the way it was always supposed to!

The Moon (Cancer) • Death (Scorpio) • The Hanged Man (Pisces)

Ya’ll water signs manifest best when you find inner stillness and cultivate true inner calm. Find your center throughout the chaos. Work on realizing its always there for you. Once you know that space is there, work on seeing the love that surrounds you, and how that space is easily accessible if you just tune in. If you just listen to yourself. Lean into your intuitive truth, and allow your intuition to come forward. Allow yourself to shift into this reality with ease. Find peace in knowing you can access any dimension and reality by tapping in. (Like sliding into dms 😂) anyway! Harmony. Create harmony within your environment and prove to yourself you can have it come to you too.

Paid Readings you can book here 💗☁️

[chilschuck]

omg… thinking abt chil reconnecting w his ex wife and becoming platonic besties. imagine they talk about it finding love again (chil’s ex has a new gf)… chil realises he’s caught feelings for reader… his ex teasing him about it…

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ OMG ANON THIS HAD ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET, WAHHHH. SUCH A CUTE IDEA!!!! it’s currently 2 am but i had to get this out for you since you’ve been waiting a while!!! it was so much fun!! <33

— ALL BECAUSE OF YOU.

꒰ info: ꒱ chilchuck x gn!reader

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none, sfw!! some cussing ofc lol

꒰ wc: ꒱ 586

✦ tumblr deleted this before i could post it twice so let’s pray it posts this time, LOL. short but sweet, i hope you enjoy!!! <333

“So… Who are they?”

That simple question was enough to make him choke on his drink. Was he that easy to read? Catching his breath, the half-foot immediately sputtered.

“What are you talking about?” Yet, the knowing look on her face said it all. Even if they had been separated for this long, she could still figure out just what he was hiding. So much for trying to keep some things personal…

“You have this expression, this content smile I haven’t seen in years, Chilchuck. Someone’s making you happy.” Her tone was not condescending in the slightest, rather content with this new revelation. Her words caused his cheeks to flush, more than the ale in his cup could.

And she was right. He was coming to terms with his feelings; and even the thought of you was enough to make him whole again. The fact it was so obvious was rather embarrassing, and he could feel the tips of his ears burn.

“Yeah, yeah… I guess you figured it out before I got a chance to tell you.”

They were nothing like they used to be, having settled on staying close through friendship. Although this maybe would’ve been hard to do in the past, Chilchuck felt more peaceful than he thinks he has in years. There was something about you that lit fire to his senses in ways he had long forgotten, and he found himself seeking you out more than he’d like to admit.

“I’ve told you plenty about my new girlfriend, now it’s your turn to spill. What are they like? It’s a sight to see you this happy.”

It was something only someone who really knew him could see; the change in his demeanor, the light in his eyes, the smile that threatened to spill from the corners of his lips. And it was all because of you.

“You’re going to laugh when I tell you how I met them,” he began, licking the ale from his lips in thought. “Laios’ party. I really ended up eating my own words about inner party romance, huh?” The last sentence came out in a grumble, one that caused her to laugh.

“Wow, they made you go against your own rules? Must be a keeper.”

And you were. Warm, but not enough to burn. Bright, but not blindingly so. Sweet, but not sickening. Chilchuck found himself feeling like a teenager again when it came to you. He bit his tongue.

“So you’re going to confess to them, right?” She teased, prodding his shoulder. “Look at you, blushing like a schoolboy. Must be serious.”

He opened his mouth to retort, before closing it again. The words died before he could speak, the full gravity of his feelings for you hitting him like a freight train. Burying his head in his arms, he groaned. “Shit…”

Chilchuck was doomed. Yet even as his head spiraled from a mixture of the alcohol and his new found love, it always went back to you. You, and your smiles, and your laugh, and your touch. There weren’t enough curse words he could possibly growl out in this moment to make himself feel better.

His ex wife laughed again, patting him on the back and stirring him from his thoughts. “Jeez, you really are a schoolboy. Maybe you should give them a love letter while you’re at it. Might be smart, actually.”

That’s how the rest of their time together went; two close friends musing about the ability to find love again. All because of you.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <3

[jolieblack]

Something finally came to me! (I usually can’t write to prompts to save my life.)

May Prompts 2024 by @calaisreno

May 24th: Imperfect

We've always done things the wrong way round.

We moved in together at a time when we knew no more than four or five facts about each other. Significant facts, granted, such as John being a war veteran and me having no patience with idiots, but neither of us could have claimed to have had anything even close to the full picture at the time. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if either of us had. Only on my really bad days, though.

I don’t have all that many of those any more, luckily. And when I do, I have plenty of good memories to help me pull myself up again. Take the ones of how we confessed our love to each other to a beautifully decorated room full of people in festive dress and in even more festive spirit, to much applause and cheering and well-wishing. Yes, you heard that plural right. Those are two separate memories, years apart and in two different places. I got to go first, and it wasn’t even me who was getting married at the time. That’s another thing that most couples would do differently. Coordinate it a bit better, at least.

The second time around, as a lot of you will remember well, it was John's turn to talk, and I‘d been told in no uncertain terms to keep my mouth shut and say nothing, not even to correct his grammar, till he was done. I can now attest that it is true that the groom never gets to have a say in anything at his own wedding. Someone got his late revenge there. And believe me, that doesn’t depend on whether it’s one groom or two. Yes, and I know there are still people out there even in this day and age who feel that it’s not normal to have two grooms at all. They can all go away and never show their ugly faces again where I can see them, or smell the foul breath of the bigoted filth they’re spouting. That’s not the wrong way around, that couldn’t be more right for both of us.

But we did other things the wrong way around, too. In most romantic stories, killing someone to save the person you love is usually the culmination of long mutual trust and dedication. It‘s supposed to be the crowning glory, the final sealing of a bond that has long been in the making. It’s not supposed to be the starting point. And John is usually the more patient of the two of us, but when it came to this, he could barely contain himself for 36 hours after our very first meeting before he did it. Ever heard of timing and pacing, Doctor, I hear you people wonder? And he’s supposed to be the one with the talent for good storytelling. The timing was good, though. The timing was excellent. There’s another 'what if' for you that is no fun to contemplate at all.

There is killing out of love, and - I have to say it, I can’t not, I‘d be lying by omission if I didn't - there's also dying out of love. I doubt, however, that there’s anyone out there who has ever put a more elaborate effort into pretending to die out of love than I have. As far as I‘m aware, that’s not really a romantic convention, either, and I sincerely hope I haven’t started a trend. I honestly can’t recommend it. Effort is well and good, and I dare say the execution in my case was flawless, but I can’t deny there was a certain lack of forethought as to the emotional impact on both parties concerned. Don‘t try this at home, folks.

People also usually date first, then start cohabiting, then get married, then raise children together. Please don’t ask me to define at what time in our lives exactly John and I were dating and when we weren’t yet. To this day we have never been able to agree on a definition for this mysterious activity that emphatically, according to John, for whatever reason, does not encompass two people who like each other going out together and having fun. But it is an undisputed fact that we had been raising a child together for a good while before we got married. And we have been going out together and having fun for years uncounted now. Crime scenes never fail to work that particular magic on us. Oh wait, no, that was another example I had on my list for what most other couples do differently. Hang on, do I see a certain Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard raise his hand in objection? Raising both hands, actually, showing us… what, seven fingers? Is that the number of couples working for the Metropolitan Police that you know personally who have met at crime scenes? Or are you reminding us of the number of times John and I were actually kicked off a crime scene because we were enjoying ourselves entirely too much, and were told not to come back till we could behave like adults? I could have sworn those were more than seven occasions, but I‘ll take your word for it.

Talking of raising a child together, I‘m sure Rosie will say a word or three about that herself later, but I have never understood why most of you had doubts about the practicability of that particular endeavour. Let me just tell you that a baby carrier is entirely compatible with a cashmere scarf, or didn’t you know cashmere can absorb up to a third of its own dry weight in liquid? And it got only easier from there when Rosie grew older and stopped affectionately drooling on whoever enjoyed the happy privilege of holding her and carrying her around. She hasn’t demanded being carried around in a good while now, and I don’t know what our poor old backs would say to that these days. But we were talking about happy memories, weren’t we, so there’s another. And at least in the metaphorical sense, I hope you know, Rosie, that you’ll be held and carried for as long as you want and need, as long as we both live. You were my daughter even before I was your father’s husband, and that has been one of the greatest honours bestowed on me in my life.

Because this is who we are, isn’t it, our crazy little family, where nothing is as you’d expect it to be. But we still wouldn’t have it any other way, topsy-turvy, weird, flawed and utterly imperfect, but also utterly us, unique, one of a kind. I don’t know if it was fate that threw us together, or if it really was just a whim on the part of the comfortable, corpulent, bespectacled gentleman sitting at this table over here, smirking with his trademark benevolence. But there’s a debt of gratitude to be paid there, and today is a good day to do it. In this at least, we’re doing the conventional thing, but who’s to say we’re not allowed to do that at least once in a quarter-century.

So, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends and family from far and wide, I give you: John Watson, the man of my life, the man at my side for over thirty years, and for exactly twenty-five years in the legal sense on this very day. Please raise your glasses with us to the next twenty-five. And for God’s sake stop snivelling like that, Mycroft. You’re embarrassing the whole room.

[grapejuicestyless]

Linger Like A Tattoo Kiss

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: After running away from a long term relationship to chase after a summer fling, JJ is left with the pieces of what once was. He can try to get it back, but at the end of the day JJ always fucks up.(Inspired by the folklore love triangle and Normal People.)

“I really hated you for a while.”

Crickets fill the void of silence, a puff of smoke dancing from the old pot beside her, a cigarette squished out in her wilting daffodils. Her hands fist at the hems of her sweater, pulling it impossibly closer to her body, stretching out the stitching and crossing her arms to keep it in place.

“I saw a girl walk by hand in hand with this boy. He had lipstick all over his face, and I felt bad for the girl, I really did, and I had no reason to. They seemed happy enough to have each other, no wandering eyes or anything like that. I guess they just reminded me of us y’know? With the kissing and all that. Figured if we were once like that, who’s to say he won’t go and hurt her too? It’s a real cruel thing to assume, I suppose. To think love is damned just because it was for us.”

“Don’t say that.” She says it so casually that I almost miss the tears in her eyes she blinks at rapidly.

“Well we were.” She laughs bitterly.

“You always did have a wandering eye. Thought it was just people watching because I thought I knew you. It’s probably for the best that I don’t, you and your reckless thinking but you know, strangers don’t kiss like that. Almost makes me feel bad for you that in our entire life together I knew nothing about you, but then I remember what you did and I feel better for it.”

She looks up from her feet which have been crossed underneath her this whole time, shoulders pressed against the old doorframe of her even older house.

“So why are you here, JJ?” She finally asks, cardigan falling from under her arms and her fists pulling down her jean pockets.

“Why’d you answer?”

Nodding slowly, she thinks about it, smiling to herself before scooting over the threshold and swinging the door by its rusting handle.

My hand spreads flat against the chipped yellow paint, an old mark left behind from where the mail box used to be before people stopped sending letters and the metal rusted right off of the wood.

“P-please! Please, Y/n/n.”

Looking at her watching me, I see that she doesn’t hate me like she said she did, not anymore. But she doesn’t love me and I can see that too. It’s like I’m nonexistent to her, neither good nor bad.

“I know I hurt you, believe me I do. I just need you to hear me now so I can explain myself.”

“I’ll never love you again, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just hope you’ll hear me and understand that I still do.” The screen door that separated the wooden one and the humid outdoors shook the whole frame of the house when it slammed shut again, her bare feet padding across the splintering wood to lead me away from her front steps.

“I haven’t seen you in months, JJ. You had all summer to make me see you and you wait until August is over? Did you enjoy spending July a bachelor too much or did you forget about me when you were six shots deep at the boneyard?” She tries to spin her anger like it’s a joke, but when she turns her head I can still see the twitching of her bottom lip. She pulls the soft flesh between her teeth to keep it still.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” She laughs.

“You were right.” I smile back at her, but it’s strained.

“Would it be wrong of me to blame it on my father?” I ask only half serious, hands stuffed in my front pockets and feet dragging in the dirt next to hers.

“I don’t think it would be wrong. Manipulative, maybe, but not wrong.”

“Well it’s true.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes away from me.

“You don’t believe me?” I ask, eyebrows furrowed.

“I think it can be half true. Maybe, if what you claim is the reason, your father did influence you to do what you did, but he did not make you do it. You did.”

Looking at her, though she sounded like she was smiling, I find that she was not. She even looked distant, detached from the conversation and uninterested at best.

“I don’t need to tell you how he gets, but I owe it to you to explain it to you now.” She stops just short of the old hammock strung from a big oak tree and a weaker dead one. It reminds me of the one back at the chateau, only more well loved and faded than John B’s.

“You don’t owe me shit.” She acts tough but she doesn’t move either and it tells me that she really does want to listen. At least part of her, anyway.

“Usually I don’t believe the shit he says. He’s a bitter drunk, he won’t even remember what he was thinking in an hour. But when he brought up your name, I don’t know, I couldn’t not buy it a little bit.” I scratch my arm and she says nothing.

“I mean, what would he know about young love? Abusive fuck with an absent wife, no love in his bitter old heart for his only blood but damn it beats when he’s beating on me. Guess I saw myself in him, to be honest. I’m always angry, and I’ve gotten better at hiding it but I’m furious just the same. I’m afraid I’ll inherit more than his temper, I’m already halfway to being knee deep in my own shit.”

She rolls her lips between her teeth, breathing out calmly.

“I don’t feel bad for you, JJ. I wish I did, I really do, but I just can’t. You’re a nice boy, you have decent morals and a good group of friends. It’s evident in you, no matter where you get it from. You are a bad person, I won’t lie to you and tell you, you aren’t because you are. Maybe I do feel bad for you then, but not because of what you’ve done but because you’re just now realizing it.”

“Y/n/n.”

“Look, you told me to listen and I have. You told me your half but I don’t owe you any of mine. You broke it, you don’t get the privilege of fixing it.”

When she turns on her heals I can see the dirt caked onto the bottom of her feet and I can feel it too. The same feeling of running wild when you’re still so young and naive to the real world and all its issues. I can feel the dirt between my own toes even if it’s not there.

“I won’t stop trying, you know.” I call out flatly.

“I already told you, I’ll never love you again JJ. I meant it.” She sighs heavily, spinning to walk backwards.

“I don’t need you to love me, I just need you to like me again. And I won’t stop it until we laugh like we used to.”

She doesn’t talk, but I catch her smile. It looks like shes not with the way her face scrunches in the fading sunlight but her lips are too upturned for her to not be.

“You came back.”

“I told you I would.” I smile with half my teeth, a toothpick dangling from my bottom lip and a new cut caked in dried blood evening it out on the top half.

“You were never one to keep your promises.” She talks from the windowsill by the kitchen. I can see her knees just under her chest and her socks scrunched up. She’s got her bottom on the counter and some baby carrots between her fingers drenched in ranch. Crunching away at them and double dipping.

“Maybe all this heartbreak has you losing your mind. I never broke any promises, I can promise you that Y/n/n.”

“You promised to always love me.” My confidence falters, she’s got a winning smirk and her knees beneath her now. Her elbows sit on the wooden frame and her head leans over the window to talk to me more clearly.

“Who said I stopped?”

I had her, I could see it in her eyes that I had her.

Y/n was never the strongest willed person I knew, but she had dignity and lots of loyalty that made her tough to crack. Even then, years of friendship built as a foundation for a long term relationship and a steady heartbeat in her chest made it hard to stop contact all together, even if she knew it was for the best. Which is why I knew I could crack her eventually, just not this quickly.

“Well,” she sighs, throwing her legs off of the counter to rinse her dishes in the sink. Her shorts are wet on the hems from the pooling water she sat on and her shirt is faded from the sun and the quick dry cycle on her dryer, “I guess I’m the one who couldn’t keep that promise then.”

“You don’t love me?”

“J,” she breathes heavy through her nose, “I loved you for so long, even before you knew. God, I think if you weren’t so blind you could have seen it too. You might as well have hung the stars and the moon for me. I loved so hard for so long. What we had, JJ, what we have done. We’ve done so much good for one another.” She sighs, hopping back up into her previous spot and leaning in just a little closer so she can rest her head on the windows frame. Her leg dangles outside of the house and her arms wrap around the knee of the other tightly. She looks smaller like this and I can see the darkness in her eyes clearer now.

“What if I never move on?”

The question lingers in the air like the cigarette smoke that danced in the sky last night.

“I can’t make you feel something you don’t. I guess that’s the scary part. I can keep reminding you of what you did and you’ll never quit, will you?”

I shake my head.

“You know I love you.” My elbows rest against the wooden plank underneath the bend of her knee. If I lean too close my thumb would brush against her skin and she’d surely run.

“And I know it’s hypocritical for me to say when all is done is done, but there is no girl, no person that will ever make me feel the same way as I do for you.”

It falls silent between us and I can see now that her sad smile has turned into a frown, like some guilt has started to eat at her when she has nothing to feel sorry for.

“I’ll stay.” I hum softly, a quiet promise just between us, “And I’ll never leave again. You don’t have to love me like you once did, but I do think you make me a better person.”

“And if I go?” She mumbles back, eyebrows relaxing into her sunken face and slouched posture. She looks tired, a whirlwind of a spring leading into the fall taking all her old charm from her aching bones.

“Then I’ll follow you. Wherever you go, I’ll be there and we’ll be okay.”

She looks at me unsure, unbelieving and she’s smart for it. There’s not a thing I’ve proven to her that shows her I’m reliable, not a bone in my body has the ability to be that for her all the time. But I’d like to be if she’d let me again. And I would fuck it up this time.

“It’s over now, anyway. I guess it’s a stupid question to have asked when there no point to it. Guess I just wanted to know the answer. Make me feel better.”

That was the thing about Y/n, she always spoke her mind full and true no matter what. She doesn’t need to tell me why she’s said something but she always does. Even if she hasn’t done anything like she’s done now. When we were dating I thought it was because she could never stop talking, but looking back on it I guess she was never really loud. Only at parties and when she was scared. She rambles when she’s nervous I’ve realized, and I think it’s funny because it also means she can’t lie because either way the truth will come out.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be.”

Silence fills the space between us again, her body fidgeting at how close we’ve gotten, breaking her unwritten rule of keeping me at an arms length.

I can see her fingertips searching for her old lighter and her pack of cigarettes. She was never really a smoker, only doing what everyone else had done but I assumed she had picked up the habit while I was away. It made me sad in a sense, not because they were being used, but because she had always been that girl in middle school who would keep them away from all of us. Weed? Sure! But she was smarter than me and most of the other kids who were broke and just wanted some relief, so I guess my heart just hurts seeing how she doesn’t really care anymore.

“Do you want one?” I shake my head no.

“Since when do you smoke?”

“Since when do you care?” The paper is between her lips, balancing on the sticky pink lipgloss she’s coated on her lips.

I shrug, looking at her manicured hands, delicate and smooth cupping around the end where the flame lights just below the end of the cigarette to keep the wind from blowing it out.

“Just didn’t read you as someone who would.” She laughs.

“Yeah, I was kind of stuck up when we were younger, huh?”

“I don’t think thats the right word.” She looks at me, taking the stick away from her mouth and tipping her head back to blow the smoke out.

“What word would you use then?” She smiles down at her hand, rubbing her wrists down her legs and her cheek against her knees.

“Careful, probably.”

She sticks out her tongue, groaning and sitting back against the window frame.

“Might as well call me boring then, right? Can see why you would want to run away with someone so much more…exciting.” She rolls her eyes playfully, lifting the cigarette back to her lips.

“How many more times are you going to say it?” My fingers wrap around the stick, lifting it to my own lips and covering the mark her own had made before putting it out against the back of my hand.

“Me saying it less won’t make it any less true.”

Maybe a smart ass would be the right word to call her. Heartbreak be damned, she was always quick on her tongue only now she had motivation to shoot for the kill.

“Have a nice night, JJ.” Her legs swing over to the cool counter tops where she scoots herself down and back onto the floor. I can see she’s wearing a baby blue bra when she bends over to shut the window, not that I was looking, and she smiles unenthusiastically until she’s turned the corner out of my sight.

“You’d think after a month of this you’d be bored.” She laughs, mittens covering her fingers and a soft cardigan over her heavy sweatshirt. Her nose is numbing from the cold and the grass is crunching underneath the winter frost.

“I could never be bored of you, Y/n/n.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but bites her tongue with a gentle smile. Her cheeks glow and her eyes avoid looking into mine. The plants by her feet are long gone, only weeds that have frozen left behind among the cigarette stubs from all of our small talk by her windows and on her porch. Even with the constant sweeping, we’ve both picked up on the habit and we burn through them each meeting.

“Well, I’m not so sure about that.” She laughs more to herself than to me, hands crossed under her arms and shoulder pressed against the door.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know, I suppose I’m just not all that interesting of a person. Not much about me that makes me special.”

Theres a bitter windchill that weaves its way between us and a relentless shiver that travels up my spine and down to my fingertips.

“Well I think you’re plenty interesting.” I smile proudly, almost foolishly at her and wait for her reaction.

She only hums with a puff through her nose and nods, and when her eyes flicker back up to mine they seem a little bit more focused in on me than before.

“I think you’re very pretty too, by the way.”

She laughs again, holding her index under her nose and crinkling her eyes.

“Don’t.” She braces herself further into the doorway and lulls her head back for a moment before coming back.

“Well it’s true!”

“I would hope so, I mean we were together for, how long?”

I fake offense that she doesn’t have the days counted down like I do. Years to months to days to hours to seconds, I have it all calculated in my head.

“You’re relentless, do you know that JJ?”

“I’ve been told a few times, yes.” It’s my turn to laugh, shifting from the heals of my feet to the balls of my toes. I shove my hands deep into my pockets and pray she doesn’t see the blue of my lips and send me home.

It goes quiet for a brief moment, our breathing pausing in our throats and the cold air releasing foggy puffs through the parts of our lips. It doesn’t get as cold as it would up in New England here, but the frost still nips away at the thin skin I’ve grown and bites at the tips of my fingers and the bottoms of my toes.

“How’s Pope doing?” Her breathing has gone heavy again.

I know she’s specifically asked for Pope because he’s the only one who truly saw my faults. John B and Sarah far too woven into their own web of unfaithfulness and Kiara too unbothered to care. Pope was always the most sensible out of us, so when I came home after nearly half a decade unfazed and claiming to have ended things without solid grounds to stand on, he let me have it. In his dad’s truck, specifically.

Driving downtown to the rich side of the island with bags of groceries slung over each shoulder and the bumps in the road shaking the plastic outrageously loud. I told him first, and part of me knew he would see my mistakes and call them out, but I hadn’t and I didn’t want to. I’d never seen him so mad, threatening to pull over if I didn’t make things right.

You can’t force a person to love someone forever, and you can’t force a person to change their behavior if they can’t see it’s broken. Pope couldn’t have done anything to make me go back. If I had, I would have faced her teary eyes and sad smile telling me that she was alright as long as I was well. She believed me when I said we were better for it, and sometimes I wished that I had picked a girl who could fight.

“He’s well. His dad too, actually. Started making deliveries to the far side of the island to make more money. By this time next year hopefully he’ll be on his way to college.”

“Well, he always was the smart one.”

She smiles underneath her mitten clad hand, looking at her feet.

“We all got lucky, you know? Having someone like him around. It’ll be weird without him around so often anymore.” My thumbs press harder into the bottoms of my pockets to savor the warmth radiating from my thighs.

“I like Pope, he always was my favorite.”

I nod, smiling into the silence again.

“Is he still your best friend, then?” She asks plainly, not really looking for much of an answer.

“No.”

She cocks her head, leaning all of her weight into the wooden door frame.

“Why’s that then? Has John B finally made you lose your mind?”

She never really did like John B. He was loyal and she respected him for it, but he was just like me. He was good but he wasn’t a good person.

“No.” I answer again, trying to hide my growing smile, “You are.”

“That’s funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

She laughs through her nose.

“Yeah well, we barely talk so, I don’t think I can be your best friend.”

“Well you are.”

“Well then thats sad.” She looks at me sympathetically, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout.

“I don’t get to do this with anyone else.”

“Do what?”

“This.” I motion with my hands. “Just sit and talk, even if it’s only for a moment. I guess I just feel better around you, I can’t explain it.”

She’s nodding her head thoughtfully at my words, pulling her mittens off and holding them in one hand carefully.

“JJ.”

I hum, looking up from where I’ve began to stare a hole into my boots.

“You should come in.”

“Okay.”

It’s been too long since I’ve smelled the warmth of the inside of her home. Soft vanilla mixed with the citrus and salt that can only be found in places surrounded by ocean. Yet, I can’t find this smell in any other place. Her perfume lingers beneath the surface of the smell but I can’t quite recall the name of it anymore. It drives me crazy when everything smells like her and I go mad wondering why I would have chased after another girl when I already had her.

“Sorry for the mess.” Her house is small, maybe just a bit smaller than mine but it’s nicer than mine.

She kicks a blanket that has fallen off of the arm of her plush couch into the corner, and I pick it up.

“No, it’s perfect.”

She laughs, opening the door to her room and situating herself underneath her worn in white bed sheets. I hesitate, unsure if she’s welcoming me in with her, though I wouldn’t mind just laying on the floor. She has this soft carpet by the side of her bed that would be comfortable enough for a short time. But to my surprise she does open the bedsheets, scooting over and letting me sit underneath the thick layers.

“I still don’t forgive you, by the way.” She mumbles as I climb in beside her, crossing her arms to prove something.

“I don’t expect you to.” I smile at her, and I catch her vaguely smiling back.

Sitting waist pressed to waist, the heavy comforter weighed down by her stack of blankets piled on top shifts into a tent as she crosses her legs. She pulls it up to her chest so she can hold it under her arms and I wonder how she’s not hot even in the winter chill. I can feel my own sweat sticking to my skin underneath my clothes. Her lighter flickers beside me, a ball of smoke tumbling past her lips before she passes it to me. She lights another for herself.

I laugh at a thought I have, but it comes out stiffed with the paper caught in my mouth.

“I bet you’d pretend not to know me if we bumped into each other.”

The smoke from the blunt I dangled between my fingers disperses into the air leaving a faint smell of weed behind in its wake. I can feel it on my teeth too when I smile.

She doesn’t say anything, staring at me with a gentle smile and serious eyes. Her watchful expression makes me realize how depressing my words were and how true they could be. I swallow, looking down at where the blankets have pooled in my lap.

“Sorry.”

“I would never pretend to not know you, JJ.” She looks at me honest.

“I don’t deserve that.” I confess to no one in particular. I just say it out loud as it comes to my mind and let the reality behind it sink in like a knife to the heart.

“You did bad things.” She swallows, “But you still stuck around after. You promised to make it right and you are. I guess what you’ve done doesn’t seem so bad to me now, even if it is, is what I’m trying to say. Compared to most people, you were actually pretty nice to me.” She smiles sadly and all I want to do is to wrap her in my arms and press soft kisses along the top of her head, but it’s no longer my place to do that and I’ve made it so.

“I wish it were different.”

“How?” She looks at me pitifully, water collecting on her lower lashes. I’m not sure where she’s put the burning paper, if it died between her manicured fingers or if she rubbed it out on one of the books beside her bed, but it’s no longer in her hands when her arms fall heavy against her duvet in defeat.

“I wish we never dated, at least not so soon.” It’s my turn to swallow now. “We would have been better for it. If we had grown up a little first.”

She shakes her head, looking back down at her covered lap.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“I think we’d grow, but not by much. Growth doesn’t fully change a person and by facing adulthood I don’t think it would have made us end any differently. At the end of the day I’ll still turn to my cigarettes and you’ll still be drunk in the boneyard talking to some pretty tourist.”

“Well I like to think so.”

“And I think you’re naive for it.”

By now the smoke has dwindled down to fog around the room and the old blunt has died out between my index and my thumb.

“I would have done it differently.”

She hums, tell me more, it says.

“I would have bought you flowers. Not only on the special days but just because I love you. Wouldn’t need a reason to show it to you and I wouldn’t be stupid enough to run away from you either.”

I could list everything I could have done better for her endlessly but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s been done.

“We’re still so young, it’s hard to know where things start to go wrong.” She tries to reason, and our eyes avoid the others wearily.

Neither of us talk, listening to the whistling wind banging on the large windows and feeling the faint chill seeping through the walls.

“I don’t drink anymore.” She looks at me.

“Good for you.”

“I do stupid things when I get drunk, I get sloppy I suppose. Talk to people I shouldn’t, hate the wrong people and make everyone feel bad. I don’t really like that feeling. I don’t like being a bad person.” I confess, looking at her and remembering how she’s confirmed my deepest fears without knowing.

“You can be intense but eventually you mellow out and you’re okay again.” She shrugs.

“I know, and I know everybody knows I don’t mean it but if I can prevent it I will.”

She nods again, eyebrows furrowing and her teeth catching her bottom lip. She looks to me with a serious expression.

“What about you. Would you love me if you met me now?” She asks.

“I’ll always love you.”

“But if you didn’t know me, if you didn’t love me. If I was just some girl you’d seen on the beach or in town. Would you be able to love me then?”

“Eventually, yes.” I admit. “I like to think that in some fucked up way you were made for me.”

She smiles at that, picking at her nails shyly.

“Yeah?” She looks up at me with shy eyes.

“Yeah.”

The grass under my feet is soggy, but the warm sun beating down on our shoulders slowly dries it and the dripping leaves above us too. It wasn’t a long winter, but it never really is here. Spring had rolled around just a few months ago with endless showers and relentless sunshine following behind it. Pollen dances in the air in a heavy dusting and the bees have begun picking out the prettiest flowers and the early summer air hangs humid around us.

“You disappeared for a while.” Her hands fold underneath her elbows. She’s swapped out her heavy cardigans for graphic baby tees and faded jeans. Her hair is lighter now than it was in the winter, and she has more freckles on her face.

“It’s only been a few weeks.” She looks at me and I swear I can’t read her so I clear my throat.

“I picked up some shifts with Pope. Trying to save up some money so I can finally do something with myself I guess. You know, I was never really the smartest with my money.” She laughs.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be annoying. Just…missed you is all.” She smiles up at me with a look I haven’t seen in some time.

“You could never be annoying.”

“It’s funny because I was over here thinking that you probably hate me. It’s kind of pathetic because you weren’t really gone for long, but you’re really the only person who still talks to me.”

She leans back against the old wood of her house, her face finding shade underneath the small overhang of her porch.

“I never hated you. I could never hate you. I think you’re really awesome.” I confess and it makes me feel a rush when I say it.

Y/n swallows hard and I can see her smile falter when she looks back up.

“Well…I like you.”

“I like you too.”

She smiles at me and I can’t tell if it’s the birth of exclusivity or friendship blossoming between us.

“I wish I could read your mind.” She mumbles out, stepping closer.

“Why?”

“You’re confusing.”

“Well, I don’t think I am. Maybe you’re confusing yourself.”

“No, it’s definitely you.” She smiles.

“I saw Kiara last week, while you were away. I thought about asking about you but then I figured it might have been weird because it wasn’t really my business. But then I noticed she was wearing my old shirt. I knew it was mine because I used to leave it at your house when we would fall asleep before I could crawl out the window. I never took it back and she was wearing it.” She breathed through her nose, “I guess I was just confused why you kept it. I mean, we agreed that we were better for it, you were so convinced that if we saw other people we would be so much happier. You saw another girl all summer, so I guess it just confused me why you wouldn’t have tossed it.”

“Maybe I wanted an excuse to see you again.”

“See, you’re confusing.”

“I don’t get your point.”

She huffs, hanging her shoulders and rolling her eyes.

“Someone who falls in love with someone else doesn’t keep their ex girlfriend’s shirt, they don’t worry about the next time they’ll run into each other.”

“Maybe I was just being a good friend.” I shrug, smiling as I stuff my hands into my pockets.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what!” I throw my arms up playfully and I can see how hard she’s fighting against a smile.

“Well were you? Being a good friend, that is?”

I shrug.

“Maybe, I’m not sure. I mean, I guess I never really thought about throwing it out because I was so used to you being there. You never said you wanted it back so, I never asked you. It’s funny too because when Kiara found it, she told me the same thing. She said it was stupid of me to keep something that wasn’t mine and took it. But I guess she didn’t have the heart to give it back to you either.” I find myself rambling.

“What if I wanted it back now?”

“Well do you?”

She shakes her head and all of our words seem to die on our tongues.

“She never stayed the night, by the way.”

“What?”

“The girl, the one I saw this summer.”

“Oh.” I see her cringing at the mere mention of the girl, Amanda, I think was her name but the whole summer was a drunken blur and the only times I ever saw her was after I was six shots deep and in need of a distraction.

After a five day bender and the hard reality of sobriety I came to my senses, she was nothing more than sex. Still, explaining that to Y/n wouldn’t have helped my case. It would have only made both of us feel bad. I left her for another girl who I didn’t even really like and nobody knew why.

“I don’t think it’s important, but I thought you’d want to know.”

“I’m not mad anymore, about her.”

“Well are you still hurt?” She looks at me through her lashes, index fingers picking at the skin around her thumbs.

“Sorry, stupid question.”

“It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

“But I still hurt you?”

“JJ.” She sighs, hands finding their way around her stomach.

“I still feel like kicking myself every time I think about it. You were always so good to me, you are. You let me into your house and you give me all these chances even after I fucked it all up. I don’t know why I did it, and I hate myself for it everyday.”

It goes silent for what feels like the millionth time today.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” She looks at me carefully, fingers pulling at the fabric around her waist like it’s suffocating her.

“I don’t expect you to say anything.”

She nods, “Okay.”

“Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?”

Theres a pause, and her eyes move back like she’s thinking really hard for her answer.

“I already have.”

Her words don’t give me the clarity I hoped they would. In fact, they make me feel worse. Even after I hurt her, left her alone for something not even half as good. I played two girls in the span of three months and I paid little to no consequences. She let me show her how sorry I was when she shouldn’t have and now all I can picture is her sorry face when I told her it was over for the first time.

“Do you think I’m naive for it?” She asks quietly.

“For forgiving me?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “For falling in love with you again.” I don’t know how to answer her when she consistently leaves me speechless.

“I don’t know.” I look her, hoping to find an answer. “How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know, thats my issue. I can look back on something and think I know what I felt at the time but, I don’t know. When it’s actually happening, I guess I have no idea how I feel or how to think.”

“Then how do you know you love me?”

“I don’t know. I never have a clue. I guess I just feel different around you than most people. But it’s not as obvious as other people make it sound, it’s the little things.” She confesses.

“I can tell you how I feel, if that would help.”

“Okay.” She nods.

I take a second to gather what I have to say in an effort to avoid some sort of word vomit from spewing out, but it’s to no avail.

“I thought you were shy when I first met you. Normally for me, I wouldn’t stick around for long because even with talkative people I find myself annoying. I hate the sound of my voice after some time. I figured I’d grow tired of my own voice quickly with you.”

Y/n looks at me, trying to figure me out.

“But you’re really not all that shy, you’re just careful. You think before you speak and maybe that’s why you don’t do a lot of it. Because you know what and when to say things and what sounds bad before you say it. You never know how you feel, but you know what you think and I think thats twice as important. Our conversations were different because of that. I could talk for hours and because I was talking to you I never focused on the sound of my voice or how tired I was of hearing it, I only thought of you. I guess that’s the scary part of it all, falling in love, that is. You don’t know you’ve done it until you try to think of something else and you realize you haven’t even tried to think of anything else without everything leading back to that one person.”

“That’s kind of scary to think about.” She laughs half heartedly.

“Because it is. That’s the fucked up thing about it all, nobody tells you that falling in love is more of developing an obsession to another person. It’s wanting to be around them all the time and praying every second you’re away from them that they’ll come around again soon. It’s the inability to let go after you swore to yourself you were done and it’s why I keep coming back to you.”

Theres a pause. I don’t realize how red my face has gotten until I stop talking.

“I think we’re probably just sick.” She smiles with her teeth, pushing my shoulder back to walk past me. We’ve left her front lawn so many times before. I’ve chased her across her lawn and rolled with her in the weeds, but I’ve grown so used to the faint glowing of her front porch lights and the flickering of the fairy lights strung across the door that it always catches me off guard when she moves away from the doorway.

“I think you’re probably right.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t be together, then. Maybe you were right. We were better for it.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s true.”

“How could you not? You said it so you must believe in it.”

Shes playing with me and she knows it. Even though Y/n claims she’s hurting less and less the more we open up, I can tell theres still a wound bleeding somewhere deep, someplace within her that likes to see me frantic.

“Maybe I did then, but I don’t now.”

“Why?”

“Well, then you were just my girlfriend.”

“And I’m your ex now, so I guess it’s probably worse.”

It’s my turn to laugh now.

“No. I think it’s different now because I’m not only in love with you, but I love you.” I feel like I’m seven again, running around the blacktop and chasing around Y/n and tugging her by her pigtails. I feel like I’ve just confessed my school crush to her and it’s thrilling but horrifying all at once.

“Do you love me enough to be honest with me?” She smiles wider.

“I love you enough to do just about anything for you.”

“Did you ever see me in her?”

Somehow every time it gets good I am reminded of my past. It’s my karma. I’ve hurt her so it only makes sense for her to want to know everything before I earn her heart again.

“All the time.”

For the first time in forever, she steps closer, her hands resting on my waist gently and her breathing shallow against my neck.

“How?” Our noses practically touch when I look down at her.

“She was quiet, careful. She was never as smart as you but if I was drunk enough I could have made up anything. You guys would have been best friends, I’m convinced, if it were a different lifetime. Same jokes, same hobbies. The only difference was her heart.”

I find my hands threading themselves between the stray hairs by her neck, and I can see how her eyes relax the closer I inch towards her.

“You were much softer than she was, and I realized then that I only really ever wanted her because she reminded me so much of you. And it’s weird because I already had you.”

For a second I think she’s going to kiss me, and for a second I know she thinks so too. But her hands slip away from mine and her head ducks beneath my hands to unthread them from her hair to get away. She’s clearing her throat and mumbling soft apologies as she makes her way back up to the porch.

I feel angry, and I know it’s not my right to. I had her and I lost her through my own actions. I have no one else to blame. Yet, I find myself feeling vulnerable in a way I’ve never felt it before. It makes me feel sick knowing how close we got to fixing things and how quickly it was stripped away. I feel useless, and I figure it must be how Y/n felt when I left her and told her it was for the best.

“So that’s it then? What, we just tell each other we love each other and we pretend it never happened?”

“JJ, please.”

I can tell shes tired, conflicted over her own actions, but I can’t wait any longer to figure it out.

“I know it’s my fault but I’m trying to fix it, fix us! I miss you, more than anything and I can’t talk to anyone like I talk to you. I don’t know what else to say, Y/n. I love you, I love you so much it drives me crazy and I fucking miss what we had.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“JJ, I told you when you first came around. You knew this. I won’t fight for us, I can’t do that again.”

“So then why do you let me stick around?”

“Someone ought to hold you to your words. If you’re going to stay, then stay but I won’t fight for you if you leave.”

“Well I wish you would.” I can feel myself growing angry. I wish I didn’t get that from my father, his temper. I wish I was more like Y/n, more level headed and calm. But I was born angry and I am because I remember the way I ended things and I remember how quickly she accepted it.

“You lost that privilege when you left me for her.”

“Don’t throw that at me, we both know you couldn’t even argue with me then!”

“How could I, JJ? You’d made up your mind, why should I stick around if you’ve gotten eyes for someone else?” Her throat is scratchy, she doesn’t even have to look at me for me to know she’s trying not to cry. I want to beg her not to, because I know I won’t be able to withstand her wet doe eyes, but I’ve done it to myself.

“You know that’s not what happened, I told you what happened!” I feel the way we’re both growing tired. We get good and we fall apart.

“If you want to talk, we can talk but I can’t give you what you want. I can’t fight for someone who’s not even mine.”

“So then you want to see other people?”

“I never said that.”

“Well you implied it.”

She doesn’t say anything, shoulders shaking over the old railings of her porch. Her breathing is heavy but she doesn’t speak.

“So I guess if you want to see other people, then we should see other people.”

“Do what you want JJ, but just don’t come back here.”

She doesn’t mean it, we both know she doesn’t. She told me months ago she would never love me again, and though she has grown to find room in her heart for me, she’ll never let me see her vulnerable again.

I can feel the dirt coating my socks as it kicks up behind me. I’m not walking fast, but it feels like it with how dizzy I’m getting. Her door shuts with a slam and I swear I can hear a faint cry echo through her kitchen. But I’ll never know because I was too careless to try and knock.

It’s a different girl every time, but they’re all the same. John B gave me shit for it last summer when it first ended. I claimed to be chasing something better but they were all just different versions of the same girl.

There was always something off, the hair, the smile, the laugh. But if I drank enough and squinted hard enough I could almost see Y/n again and it would help convince myself that I was fine with her absence.

I find the fog of the early summer bonfires to be suffocating now, even with the solo cup in my hand and consistent pats on my back from classmates and old friends. I’ve flirted with half the island by now, I’m sure of it, and I probably look a mess but the tourist in front of me doesn’t seem to mind.

She looks like my Y/n too, they both like the same music. I wonder if I’ll accidentally call her the wrong name later tonight.

I told Y/n I stopped drinking, but I never promised it to her. So I suppose that’s how I ended up back where I started, trying to drown out my own issues with a warm beverage and a random girl.

I haven’t really been listening to what she has to say, I can only wonder what Y/n would think about her and if she would approve. It makes me feel sick knowing how many people I hurt in the process of healing, and I wonder if you can even consider it healing at this point.

“JJ!” A soft voice breaks through a loud crowd, dashing through the center of a bonfire to find me hanging back along the outskirts.

The girl in front of me shoots both of us a dirty look and walks away without saying a word.

“Y/n?” My vision is blurry and I wonder if it’s really her or if I’ve drank far too much.

“You’re drunk.”

“What?” The cup in my hand finds its way into the hot sand and over the intense stench of alcohol I can smell the welcoming scent of her perfume.

“Do you take me as a joke?” Her eyes are watering, shaky fingers wrapped around my wrists. I can see the faint flickering of the bonfire illuminating the side of her face. She looks so pretty like this, so tired.

“What the fuck are you on about, Y/n?”

“I let you into my home, into my bed; my bed!” She restlessly pokes her finger into her chest, clammy hands gripping onto my skin harder than ever.

“Well I didn’t make you!”

“You didn’t make it easy either!” She shoots daggers in my direction, stray looks from passersby’s tell us to quiet down.

“Yeah whatever.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She all but begs.

“You could have any boyfriend you want, you know. Boy’s are consistently falling in love with you, from what I’ve heard.” I slur, my right foot falling in front of my left and still Y/n holds me in place.

“Stop that, stop it now JJ I don’t like it.” She pleads through her gritted teeth.

“Right.” I roll my eyes.

“You don’t hate me. You told me so when I asked you, you even told me you liked me so stop being mean.”

“Maybe I’m just immune to you.” I try and joke through foggy memories and a sloppy smile, “Because I knew you before, in school when you still wore pigtails.”

“Right, when I was ugly and pathetic? You obviously don’t know me now JJ if you’re acting this way.” I ignore her insults, I couldn’t even process them if I tried.

“No, you were never ugly or pathetic.”

She looked at me, confused, not sure where this fight is leading us and unsure if we’d ever bounce back from it. Even sober our conversation is unclear, weaving between different topics and creating sore spots that’ll surely kill us soon.

“I know I’d be a shit boyfriend if I were yours. I’d rather anyone else, even the guys on figure eight who spit on me when I walk by.”

“JJ, you’re drunk, let me take you home, we can figure it all out soon.” My hands rip themselves from her grip, stumbling back into the sand.

“Why do you care so much JJ? Let me take you home, we can talk in the morning.”

“Because I’m selfish and even though I know you’d be happier without me I can’t even stand the thought of you being happy with anyone else but me.” Looking at my feet, I feel the tears falling from my eyes onto my feet buried in the sand. “Y/n I need to know if you love me or not.”

Neither of us can speak, and it feels like everyone around us can’t seem to find the words to explain out situation either.

“JJ.” She pleads softly.

“I probably should have mentioned this before, but I was seeing someone.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

Y/n doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t even breathe, and the quiet is so loud that I can’t help the drunken rambling that leaves my mouth. “That girl, I can’t remember her name now, but the one I had last summer, I saw her up until the fall. I asked her out too. Should have mentioned that before but then again, I feel like you hardly ever let me in anymore so.” I shrug, and because of the way my eyes so heavily avoided her’s I almost missed the way she looked at me like I was poison.

“I called her by your name, that’s why she said no.”

The world seems to fall quiet around us, stray smoke from the nearby fire weaving between us and sticking in our hair and on our clothes.

“Why are you telling me this? Is it because you’re trying to be such a good friend, is that it, JJ?”

“No—yes, I don’t know, I just needed to tell you.”

Her sniffles are deafening, I feel sicker than before hearing her fighting her tears.

“Oh god, oh my god!” Her hands cover her face, pulling down until her hands clasp tightly over her quivering mouth.

“I’m sorry, I want to fix things, I thought if I told you, you would like me better!” I try to rationalize but she only shakes her head.

“I thought it would be different, you know? I really did believe you when you said we were better for it, having taken a break to grow and learn. But I’m just as naive as I was when I was yours and I’m just as stupid for taking you back!” She spits it like venom, still backing away.

“You said it yourself, I’m not a good person.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t believe you could be one.”

It’s quiet again between us, and her touch on my skin lingers like a tattooed kiss, her words replaying in my mind.

Y/n believed we could work it out, but she was smarter than I was and more careful too. She knew better than to chase after something that was never meant to work out.

“I do love you, I really do. What we had, what we have done. We’ve done so much good for one another.”

“No, no.” I try to follow her, but my feet fail me. I fan barely walk straight, let alone chase her.

“You know I love you, Y/n, you have to. I’m never going to feel the same way I feel for you for anybody else.”

She looks at me and it tells me everything I need to know.

I can promise her all my love and all my heart but it’ll never make us right, not ever again.

When she leaves, it’s quietly, the frame of her body losing its color in the darkness of the early summer night. It reminds me a lot of how this all started, and I feel sick.

I could stay as long as I wanted, but the truth was my devotion did not matter anymore, because she was always destined to go.

[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xvi

⟶ Chapter summary | The many layers of mysteries that are present in the home castle are beginning to feel daunting. But the biggest mystery of all may have been about your magic. After your last encounter with Yoongi and finding yourself in a predicament which further questions the secret behind your family’s magic, you try to find ways to find your own solutions to grow stronger, to gain control of your magic, only to constantly being face with one obstacle after another. 

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy AU, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 5,406 words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include mentions of medical terms, fantasy magic and spells.  ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

⟶ Author’s Note | It took me a while to finish this part, so forgive me for my absence. I’m splitting what was supposed to be the filler in chapter 16 into two separate chapters because there’s going to be a lot of information dump happening and I don’t want to confuse everyone. So please don’t be surprised with the short chapter(s) coming. Thank you for your patience and have fun reading! [Ps. This is highly unedited so I’m sorry if there’s any mistake]

chapter xvi. respite

Quite some time has passed since the first time you began using the magic portals, long since you have arrived in this castle and learned about the existence of magic in this realm, and you are slowly beginning to notice the changes happening with your body. 

It seems to you that the more you are using the portals, the easier your body becomes affected by their magic. Just as how you seem to be getting more sensitive to the flow of magic that is a part of the portals. 

Returning from Grimm had costed you quite a predicament. Once again, the journey had drained your energy that you slept through the night and nearly woke up late the next morning after your return. Even the palace maids who have been tending to your needs since the day you came to the castle had become so concerned, thinking that perhaps you have gone ill.

It wasn’t until later in the evening when you figured out the reason why you have been feeling a deep fatigue coursing through your body each time you returned from your excursions. Not until the moment the royal physician was brought to see you after a full day of being listless, with barely any energy for you to have a meal. 

The royal physician took his time examining your body thoroughly, yet once he deliberated his assessment, you were quickly taken by surprise, not expecting to hear him talk about your mana and how it had everything to do with the reason why you were feeling sluggish and drained. 

“It seems to me that you have exhausted your mana. Have you perhaps been using it excessively as of late, Your Highness?”  

“I—no, not that I recall. I haven’t done much but study with my tutor and keep myself busy with royal duties,” you simply answered as you laid back against the pillows, refraining from admitting openly that you hadn’t even begun training on how to wield your magic, much less to start getting to know about it at all. 

You had no idea how much most of the people within the home castle have learned about you, or if any of them ever knew anything about your previous life at all. Particularly about your life back at The Citadel, back in the human realm where magic didn’t exist. You also had no idea if there was anyone within the castle who may have learned about the family’s magic and the responsibility that had been placed upon you to protect the secret behind the magic.

A part of you wished that you could have said something about it. Because maybe then you could find someone to help you solve the things you had wished to know. To find someone to confide in. 

Someone who belonged in the castle, who was trusted by the King himself, instead of confiding to a member of the mercenary army suspected to pose a threat to the empire. 

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to stop thinking about this—to stop thinking just how dependent you were becoming to the handsome and mysterious stranger that you probably shouldn’t trust—just as the royal physician shared with you another theory while being oblivious to your trailing thoughts.  

“Then perhaps your body is having problems adjusting to the castle. The magic barrier that His Majesty, The King, has placed here is quite strong. It must have been draining your energy as you come in contact with it, or—” the physician stopped himself as he deliberated the issue further while rubbing at his chin. But then he suddenly started shaking his head, as if brushing away those thoughts with his lips curling downward in displeasure. 

“No,” he began wondering to himself, brushing away whatever thought crossing through his mind as he murmured, “I doubt that His Majesty’s magic would feed on your mana. The barrier surrounding the castle would require a power source, but I can’t see anyone else other than His Majesty who would be powerful enough to provide such energy.” 

That can happen? You couldn’t help but wonder. Has your father’s magic been feeding on your mana? 

But that sounds—so terribly wrong.

Just as these thoughts continued to run rampant in your head, a faint tingle ran through your forearm while you were being examined, and you couldn’t help but remember how similar it felt to the sensation coursing through you whenever you walked through the magic portals. 

Had it really been the reason? Have you been right for thinking that perhaps the magic portals have been draining your mana, your energy, feeding off your magic that had been lying dormant within you? 

Is this why Father had insisted that I only use the portal only once a day and not more, and to not stay any longer than the time limit that he had given? 

Or had it been the other way around? What if it has always been my mana which activated those portals, while the keys have only been the medium to help open the doors? 

Clearing his throat, the royal physician brought your attention back to him as he gently reassured you, “I will leave you with some remedy and a special potion to help strengthen your mana and help you rest for the night until your body recovers enough. I will also leave a list of nutritions that could be added to your meal. It may help you heal faster if your body receive the proper sustenance needed for your recovery. I shall leave it in the hands of your personal maids so they could hand them to the royal chef.” 

Your mind was still stuck in his previous comment and your own assessment of the condition that you found yourself in that you barely paid attention to his words, although you were still able to answer him with a soft murmur, “Thank you, Sir.” 

The physician said nothing else after. “In the meantime, please don’t strain yourself too much, Your Highness. You have quite a delicate constitution which may require a lot of care,” he inquired, before softly adding, “I am sure that His Majesty would prefer that you take care of yourself well until he returns home.”  

You said nothing other than gratitude to the royal physician as he made his leave, allowing you some privacy and enough time to have your much-needed rest. Yet the silence that you were left with couldn’t stop you from spending the night wondering, thinking back to everything that he said; about your mana being drained without you realising it. 

Looking down at your hands as you kept them rested on your lap, you slowly opened your palms. There hadn’t been enough books in the library that could have given you any clue on how to make use of your mana and practice your magic. 

You could only figure this out simply because you had tried to look. Out of all the magic books that you had been digging into in the library outside of your tutoring hours, you had found little to nothing that was written about any magic that may conjure portals. At the very least, nothing that seemed similar to the magic that your father had cast in these portals. 

And there had been nothing other than the old scriptures you found about ancient fairies and their ability to move between space and time that sounded similar to those portals. Although there were mentions of these ancient beings traveling to many different parts of the realm, even crossing between realms. 

But what if there was something in those scriptures that could explain about the source of your father’s magic? Had there been something in those texts that you had missed? 

That night, as you slowly drifted into sleep under the effect of the potion that had been given by the physician, you made a promise to yourself to return to those scriptures and learn more about the magic that was written in them. You fell asleep that night feeling hopeful, determined to find the roots of your father’s magic. 

Perhaps, with a little more digging, you would find the reason why he had left you with such a huge responsibility of keeping this magic as a secret, while setting things in motion to have you venturing into those portals and to walk across the parts of the world hidden behind them so blindly.  

Perhaps, you could also find the answer to one of the biggest secrets that he has been keeping from you and everyone else for years. 

The secrets about your mother. 

“I might have to show it to you to prove it…”

Yoongi’s voice echoes through your mind as if it bounces against the invisible walls standing all around you. 

The words that he gave you seems to have been engraved in your memory ever since the day you met him in Grimm, and they keep haunting you both in your dreams and during your waking hours. It has been a couple of days since, yet it still feels like yesterday when you parted ways with Yoongi in the dark forest of Grimm. 

Since then, you have been overcome with a deep feeling of regret. 

The regret for not being able to have more time to spend with him. The regret of not being able to catch his sight, to be completely helpless as you watch him getting swallowed under the thick foliage, held back by fear that had a tight grip in your chest. 

And you also feel the regret that always comes to haunt you whenever you recall about the offer that he made that day. When he reached out to you, offering to assist you in learning more about your magic. You hate thinking that you might have missed out on a chance to figure out your magic. 

But it couldn’t be helped, after all, when your father’s voice—repeating the same words and warnings about how important it was to keep the family’s magic a secret—kept echoing through your head while you were staring at Yoongi’s extended hand which he offered you that day. You had felt the itch to reach out to him, to accept his hand, even if it was only for the sake of feeling the gentle touch of his fingers on yours instead of actually having him help awaken the magic that was lying dormant inside you. 

Yet you just couldn’t do it. 

And now you are left with the constant wonderings—all the what ifs and what could haves—while the long list of regrets that are still lingering with you becomes the reason why you keep seeing in in your dreams. 

The dreams are never the same. 

In one dream, you recounted the moment you refused his offer. Only this time, you had stepped away from him at the tavern, choosing to end your time together earlier than what you had intended to so you could escape his attentive eyes. In another, you haven’t even heard the same words spoken by Yoongi before his image vanished right in front of your eyes. 

But there was one particular dream that appeared so vividly that you continued to see it even during the daytime, taking over your idle mind with his presence as if you were taken back to that moment, when you sat right across from him with his deep, unwavering gaze locked on yours.

“I might have to show it to you to prove it…”

You never truly understood what he meant by saying those words, but in this dream of yours, none of it mattered. And your father’s voice hadn’t been there to stop you from leaning forward at the table to give him your rapt attention. Your mind was also silent, and the thunderous sound of your heartbeat faded away when you spoke to him, 

“How?” 

“Give me your hand.” 

Time seemed to remain still as you reached out to him, giving him your hand. You barely touched the tips of his fingers when something magical happened; as a bright sparks of silver dust light up between both of your hands, with specks of blue dust erupting the moment you made contact with his skin, and the same tingling sensation that you had often felt from the portals came surging through your arms before settling inside your chest. 

Before your mind could ever make sense of what was happening, the light only grew brighter, and everything faded under its blinding glow which later pulled you away from the dream. And as you slowly woke up, finding yourself lying on your bed alone, nothing else remained from the dream, except for the tingles running across your skin which took their sweet time to fade away. 

Stepping out of the treasure room, you clutch the golden pocket watch in your palm, feeling victorious that you finally have it in your hand. 

You had come to the treasure room right before your afternoon lessons with your tutor, hoping that you would be able to find anything that might be useful for your next trip through the portals. Your father had been right, after all, that the treasure room may provide you with anything that you may need to support your daily activities while you adjust with your new life at the castle. 

Like a pocket watch, for example.

Something that is so small and simple, yet crucial for the sake of your safety while you are out there, roaming through any foreign land that the portals are taking you. 

Why have I never thought of this before? 

You cannot help but wonder as you look down at the ticking watch in your hand, regretting that you didn’t think of getting one in the first place. It could have saved you a lot of trouble if you had.

The last couple of trips you made had been risky, as you kept cutting it too close to the time limit that had been given to you by your father, only missing merely minutes or even seconds before the portal started closing behind you after you slipped back through. 

You had nearly gotten into a bigger trouble when you returned from Grimm, almost missing a toe when you barely managed to return to the portal before it closed on you. You blame it to your impulse need of chasing Yoongi into the deep forest when you started to feel like he was slipping away from and disappearing for good. 

It was after that incident when you finally learned your lesson and decided that something needed to change. That you would need something to hold onto which may help you to keep up with the time, instead of simply relying on the signs of dusk as a reminder to let you know when it was time to return home. 

The idea first came to you after observing Lord Gordan, the royal aide and the head butler of the castle, while he was working on his duties. You had often seen him pulling out a golden watch from the pocket of his suit to help him tell the time, and wondered if it would be something that you could make use of.  

After receiving the royal physician’s approval to return to your daily duties this morning, you feel like you are ready to embark on another adventure. With this golden pocket watch in your hand, the magic necklace that had been passed down to you from your late mother, and the dagger hidden under the skirt of your dress, you feel as if you are unstoppable, ready to face anything that may come to your path as you walk through the portal later once your tutoring hours are over. 

Now if you only could just find a way to calm the restless thrums of your heartbeat inside your tight chest, then everything would be well. That is all that you could only hope for, at the very least, as you make your way to your tutoring lesson.

Because what better way to find answers other than to gain them straight from the people who are in charge of teaching you everything that is needed to learn as the heir of throne? Who else would know the answers you need, other than your tutors? 

“You want to—” Lady Laurel carefully repeats your question. She is looking slightly wary to even voice it out loud, even if it is just the two of you in the library that her voice is lowered when she continues, “—practice using your magic?”

You have only been away from the library for a couple of days while you were resting, only keeping contact with Lady Laurel by corresponding through letters and the books that she had left behind through your personal maids for you to read. 

Today would be the first day that you are back with your daily lectures. You could tell from the moment you saw Lady Laurel sitting by the study desk in the library as she waited for you to arrive that she had a lot of things planned out to keep you busy for the day. 

But you have come up with your own plan when you marched your way to the library. 

For weeks now, Lady Laurel had filled your private lessons with lectures about the fairy tale land to get you to know this new realm a lot more. So far, you have learned about its history, about the kingdoms and the people, even the non-human beings that you may find should you ever have the chance to visit those lands—elves, fairies, werewolves, even human mages—and you have heard about the real events that are the makings behind all the tales known and shared in the human realm. 

During those long weeks, Lady Laurel had also been teaching you the basic knowledge of magic; the types of magic that you may encounter and each of their origins, the history behind them, and the ancient spells that have been written in the textbooks that you have found in the library during your solo studying. 

She was also the one who first taught you to find a way to identify your mana. 

She had mentioned how it would be helpful in the future should you start using your magic, as you would have become familiar to the mana flowing inside you by the time you begin your magic practices. If only she knew with what you have been doing once you were done with her lessons, how you have been using the theories that she had taught you into practice once you were left on your own. 

There has been nothing much that Lady Laurel could teach you in her lessons other than the ability to reach within, to feel the presence of your magic and have a good grip on it, to recognise it as a part of yourself instead of something that simply appeared in your body overnight. But your solo practices that you have been doing in the shelter of your bedchamber had taken it a step further, enhancing it until you could make use of it to recognise and then respond to the magic that exists around you. 

Just like the way you had used it to respond to the magic in the portals and to recognise Yoongi’s inner mana. 

Yet that is just as far as both of you could get. You could tell that there are restrictions that your tutors would need to follow when they are guiding you through your lessons. Because not once had she ever tried to do more; whether it was to help you unleash the magic inside you, nor to use it by conjuring the magic for a purpose. 

But you want more. You have been ready for more. And after your last encounter with Yoongi, you have gained the courage to express your desire to learn how to properly use your magic more actively. To learn how to expel its powers and make use of it for your own benefit. 

And that is exactly what you said to your tutor the moment you joined her at the library’s study area, as you were taking the seat right across from her as you usually would during your tutoring hours. 

Keeping your eyes on Lady Laurel, you try to gauge her reaction. Even from the moment you had first thought of bringing this up to her, you had expected to have an intense response from her, and for her to straight up refuse your request. 

And you have been prepared to deal with whatever the outcome may be, knowing that you are not going to back down that easily.

“Yes, that is exactly what I said,” you answer her with your chin raised, feeling determined about taking the next step into learning how to use your magic. “I want you to teach me how to unlock my magic and help me practice using it, instead of just trying to feel it. Because I already know that it’s there, lying almost dormant inside me without me knowing how to use it to protect the people who are dear to me, which is something that I want to be able to do.”

These thoughts have been running through your head for the past few days while you were being holed up in your bedchamber under the royal physician’s restrictions. The feeling of want and the deep curiosity you have to know more about your magic, to be able to reach within yourself so you could somehow wield it so that you could make good use of it, has been growing stronger that you can no longer deny it. 

That need had been lingering in your thoughts that it was almost impossible for you to remain idle during your bedrest, and you had then taken the risk to secretly try to find ways to unlock your magic on your own.  

You just couldn’t help it, after all. When you had nothing else to fill your time with aside from watching the scenery outside of your windows and reading the pages of your books, until neither could easily calm the havoc happening inside your mind. So you stole the short chances you could get between the hours you were given to rest under the heavy medication and the constant flurry of lady maids coming and going into your room as they attended to your needs. 

Using the vivid images of your dreams, the basic knowledge of magic that you learned through your lectures, and the small facts about your magic that you learned from Yoongi as your guidance, you had spent your quiet nights trying to get in touch with the magic that was believed to be coursing through your body.  

You tried everything you could; from using your necklace to see if it could bring out the mana inside you, to copying Yoongi’s action which you saw in your dreams, by placing your hands together to see if it could bring out your magic.

But no matter how hard you tried to concentrate and tried to cast your magic out through your fingertips, nothing seemed to be happening. Nothing more but a surge of energy crawling its way from your palms, through your fingers, stopping at each tip, before they vanished into your veins. 

And you continued to try, until there was nothing left but the exhaustion rolling through your body and the missing warmth of Yoongi’s hand which your body seemed to have memorised from that day and what you are now craving to feel the most. 

Having to openly ask your tutor for her help had been your last resort, knowing that she has her limits to what kind of guidance that she could offer you in learning about magic. Yet you had every reason to harbour some hope that she would somehow comply with your request. 

Oftentimes, whenever you would try to inquire about any specific theories to learn about during your lectures, Lady Laurel would have embraced it—she has always loved your curiosity and your eagerness to learn—and grabbed any chance that she could have to share any knowledge about the realm that you were still struggling to understand. 

This time, however, she seems uneasy to hear your request. Not because she is reluctant to teach you about magic, as she has been doing so ever since the first day she started her lessons. What seems to make her reluctant about this is the fact that you are asking her to help you learn about your magic. 

With a remorseful sigh, Lady Laurel leans forward in her seat. Reaching out across the desk, she places a gentle grip on your wrist. “Your Highness, I’m sure that you are curious to learn more about your magic,” she begins with a polite smile, “But His Majesty had specifically inquired—” 

Before she can finish her words, you immediately cut her off.

“I know what my father said”—as you have repeatedly said each time I tried to bring this topic up before, you silently wonder with a frown—”but His Majesty has yet to return, while here I am, feeling like my soul is slowly being sucked out of my body without understanding why. Maybe if I could control my magic, things will be different and I’d know how to prevent something like this from happening again.” 

Through the letters that you have been exchanging with your tutor, you had explained everything that the royal physician had relayed on you about your condition. 

At first, you simply mentioned about your draining mana in your letter to try and ask for her opinion to see if this was something that could possibly happen. Without mentioning the secret doors and the magic portals in your letter, you questioned her if there was anything that you may have come in contact with which might be able to drain your mana without you ever realising it. 

The response that you were given with hadn’t been enough to answer your curiosity. But there was something in her letter which caught your attention, when she explained in a rather plain sentence—

“There are certain elements that have been built all over the castle, each one imbued with His Majesty’s magic. Perhaps, with His Majesty being gone, these elements have been trying to find a new source of energy. I have highly suspected that your magic might be similar to that is of the King’s, which made it possible for the energy around you to mistakenly drain your mana to fill whatever they are lacking.”

“You know very well the reason why I would have to refuse taking over your magic training, Your Highness,” Lady Laurel regretfully says as she pulls back. You hate how genuine she seems to be as she is saying all of this, about the regret of not being able to fulfil your wishes, as she is being held under the King’s orders. 

It wouldn’t be until later when you notice the unspoken words hidden perfectly in her response, that she isn’t refusing your request because she isn’t capable of doing so. Because she is capable. But she is also bound under your father’s rules when it comes to your lessons. 

“All I can do without His Majesty’s guidance would be to guide you to become in tune with the mana that you have inside you, preparing you for the actual training that you are about to have under the King’s guidance himself,” she continues, and just like that, she turns to pick up the guidance textbook and the set of candles that she would use during these sessions, ready to start another one of her practices that she has been introducing you as of late. “We can continue to do that today and see how far ahead we can go this time. The last time we did—” 

Once again, you cut off her words before she could finish talking. “The last time we had our lesson, you were helping me identify my mana and how to channel onto it so I could feel its flow inside me.”

And to recognise it without exposing your magic form. Something that you have caught on after a while and seems to be one of the main tasks given to her when your father passed down the duty of tutoring you while he is gone. But you say nothing of this. 

After all, if you are trying to convince her to change her mind and sneak behind the King’s orders to fulfil your wishes, the last thing you should do is to show her that you have figured out all of her cards—the little tricks that she had played to skirt around the subject of your magic. 

You may never figure out the reason behind all the secrecy about the family’s magic, or why your father would prevent anyone from helping you in unlocking your magic without his presence. But oddly enough, the more you think about it, the more you understand why your father would take such measures. 

The magic that he uses to create the portals wouldn’t have been a regular kind of magic. You can tell that it is something special, something that your father has treasured for a long time, even before you ever came into the world. 

But would your magic be anything similar to what your father has, just like what Lady Laurel previously claimed? Would you be able to create your own portal one day to find your own escape? 

As if answering your question, Lady Laurel gently speaks to you, “I know that you are curious, and the lessons that you have been getting so far no longer seems to adequate to your needs, as you have gotten enough of the basic knowledge that you could gain in such a short amount of time. All I can ask of you is for you to be patient for now. His Majesty will be returning soon, and he will be able to guide you with your magic and answer a lot of your questions.”  

As much as you hate backing down, you realise that you have no other choice—at this moment, at least—but to give up, and follow your tutor’s advice. 

“I suppose, I can be a little more patient,” you finally say to her with a sigh. 

Your acceptance seems to please her, as a smile grows on Lady Laurel’s face. She beams as she rings the bell to summon the maids for a serving of tea and snacks to accompany your lesson, just like always. And while in waiting, she continues to set up all the books of magic that she would need for your lesson, followed by lighting up the set of candles that she has laid out in front of you.

“Let’s continue with our practice on your focus today,” Lady Laurel says to you as she returns to her seat while gesturing you to keep your eyes on the flickering flames. The same way that she has always guided you during your focus training. 

This practice might be far off from helping to unlock your magic, yet you still have to admit that this practice may have been quite helpful so far. Because it was through this practice that you had inadvertently figured out one of the skills that you have developed ever since you started learning about magic. 

The skill which allows you to trace and identify others’ mana; be it within a person or a place. 

The same skill that you revealed to Yoongi the last time you were together. 

As you try to empty your mind and focus on the flickering candlelights, the dejected feeling that came over you earlier is slowly being lifted when you remember that this day is still far from ending, and you still have other tutors to turn to. 

So you try to make it through the end of your lecture, doing your best with your simple training, Even if it only means that you will be walking out of here in the afternoon with sharpened focus. Perhaps it might be able to help you later by preventing you from falling asleep too soon if you ever decide to try to unlock your magic on your own again. 

— © 2024 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[slasher-male-wife]

"No way, I'm new wave": The Lost Boys x Male! reader

This is something I started to work on awhile ago but set it aside because I didn't know where to go with it, but after y'all voted on that poll I finished it. I hope y'all enjoy.

Content includes: Swearing, mentions of an orgy and sex (nothing NSFW actually happens), descriptions of the readers outfit (no body descriptions), hallucinations if you squint, reader eats fake maggots, use of Y/N, he/him pronouns and masculine terms used to refer to reader

Paul has never been gone for this long before. Sure there were times the four of them went their separate ways and they had some time by themselves, but he specifically told them he’d be back within ten minutes and now, almost half an hour later, he’s still not here. David is getting fed up with this, not being much of someone who wants to be seen waiting around for someone else. 

“Where the hell is he?” He asks rhetorically, dismounting from his bike and looking over at Marko and Dwayne. Marko Shrugs his shoulders and Dwayne looks out at the boardwalk. The three of them stay silent for a few more moments before Dwayne starts to walk and the other two follow after him. They walk for two minutes in silence until they come across Paul, sitting at a table with some random guy in a, well a seemingly random outfit. Purple pants, black and white shoes, some obscured black band shirt underneath a grid patterned button up and a bright blue sports coat with buttons and pins all over it, not to mention this guy’s hair probably has an entire can of hairspray in it. That guy just so happening to be you.

“Are you really a punk?” They hear Paul ask you. You raise your eyebrows and lean on the table you’re sitting at with him.

“Punk?” You ask in a rhetorical tone, “No way, I’m new wave. Totally different head. Totally.” You explain, gesturing with one of your hands, your tone slightly jesting.

“Right.” Paul agrees in a matching joking tone, picking up his drink and taking a sip of it. David comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Paul. We’ve been looking all over for you.” He looks over at you with his signature smile. “Who’s your new friend?” He asks, trying to keep his tone light. You stand up and give him a smile, holding out your hand for him to shake, your rings glinting dully in the lights of the boardwalk. 

“I’m Y/N. I didn’t mean to keep your friend from you but he commented on my pins and we started talking from there.” You say. David shakes your hand, his cold leather glove pressing against the warmth of your hand. 

“No problem at all.” He says, Dwayne and Marko soon coming up to the table, looking between Paul, David and you. 

“This guy is pretty cool.” Pauls says with a sort of vagueness to his tone. David keeps his eyes on you and nods, all four pairs of eyes on you, mostly looking over your outfit and choice of pins. 

“Ban the bum.” Marko says, squinting as he focuses his eyes on your pin. “And who’s that supposed to be on your pin?” He asks. You look down at your blazer and search for the one he’s talking about.

“Oh that’s Ronald Regan. I think you can tell that I’m not a big fan of the current way this country is being run.” You say, looking back up at him. Paul and Marko have wide grins on their faces as they look down between each other. David’s smile is more subtle and Dwayne is still stoic as always. 

“You fit in well here. I’m surprised you aren’t at some punk music show. Or I should say New Wave.” David says, an air of light hearted teasing in his voice. 

“Haven’t heard of any bands my style playing tonight.” You say as Paul stands up from his seat. “You guys look like you’d be at one of those shows too.” Your smile gets wider and your tone more playful. 

“You’d drive here?” Dwayne asks, finally speaking. Your attention turns to him and you shake your head. 

“I’m trying to drive less. I take the bus to most places. Not to get political again but we need more funding for public transport.” You tap your fingers on the table and pick up your drink. “You want to drive me home or murder me?” You tease, taking a sip of your drink before Paul chuckles. 

“You ever ridden a motorbike?” David asks, pulling a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lighting it, taking a drag and blowing the smoke out of the side of his mouth. You shake your head and shake your cup, setting it down on the table again. 

“Closest I’ve gotten to a motorbike is when one ran over my foot when I was 15.” After a pause you speak again, “I wasn’t serious about y’all taking me home. You don’t have to do that.” You say, feeling the outside of your pockets. “I’ve got a bus ticket. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself.”

“Who says we want to take you home.” Marko says, that grin still on his face. You nod your head and look away from the four of them for a moment. 

“I’m not interested in whatever orgy the four of you have planned. What you do with each other in the privacy of your house is none of my business but I don’t want to sleep with some people I just met.” You try to keep your tone light hearted but still serious enough to let them know you’re not joking. Then the four men chuckle, even Dwayne. 

“We’re not talking about sex.” David says, taking another drag of his cigarette. He keeps chuckling as he blows the smoke out of the side of his mouth. “We just have a place we want to show you. Somewhere you’ve probably never been before.” He shrugs and you cross your arms loosely over your chest. Against your better judgment you nod your head and keep your eyes on David.

“Alright. Let’s see what this place is.” You say, David smiling wider with your agreement. 

~~~~~~~~~

After a ride on the back of Paul’s bike that felt like hours you arrived at a cave on the shore line, an abandoned place for sure. You walk in with David as the other boys run ahead, lighting barrels with torches and filling the space with light. 

“This place used to be a grand hotel where the rich and famous stayed in the 1800s. That was until the San Francisco earthquake of 1906. This hotel sank underground, never to be seen again.” David explains, sitting down in what appears to be an antique wheelchair as the other boys settle around, you following suit. “Now this place is ours.” He says with a wide smile. 

“What a rich backstory.” You say with a jesting tone, nodding your head as Paul pulls out a box of chinese take out.

“You still hungry?” He asks, a smile on his face. “I saved this.” You take the box from him and the plastic spoon he hands you. Opening the box you find white rice, which you don’t remember ordering but you know it usually comes with chinese food. You take a bite and they start to chuckle. 

“How are the maggots?” David asks, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Excuse me?” You ask, already getting another spoonful of rice. 

“You’re eating maggots, Y/N.” You chuckle now and look down at the rice, finding that somehow the rice turned into a box full of live maggots. You loosen your grip on the box before quickly grabbing it again, some of the maggots spilling out of the top. The boys break out into full on laughter. You look back up at David and, with as straight of a face you can muster, you take a spoonful of the maggots and put it back into your mouth. 

Their laughter dies down and David continues to watch you, his smile shrinking but not going away completely. Once it’s in your mouth you look back down at the box and see it’s back to rice. 

“I didn’t take you as the kind of person who enjoys eating live bugs.” David jests, tapping his fingers on his knee as you chew. 

“Can’t eat something that isn’t real.” You retort in a less cheerful manner. He just smiles even wider at that. 

“What’s real is the snake around your hips.” He says, raising his eyebrows for a moment. You scoff and shake your head before you feel movement where your belt is. Looking down you find a black snake slithering its way around your hips.

“What the fuck?” You exclaim, jumping up from your seat as the boys start laughing again. You look back up at David and brush off the snake only to find that it’s gone, and in its place is your belt again. “Is there a gas leak in here or something?” You ask in a genuine tone, only making the boys laugh harder. David shakes his head and motions for you to sit back down, which you do slowly. 

“It’s safe down here, don’t worry about it.” He looks over at Paul with some kind of undertone you can’t quite pick up on and Paul gets up, walking over somewhere behind David. “Now maggots don’t bother you but snakes do?” You stare at him with a sour expression before you reply. 

“My mind thinking a box of rice is a box of maggots is one thing but feeling a real snake on my body out of nowhere is another.” You say, trying to hide your clearly tense tone. 

“You’re not scared are you?” Marko teases, a grin wide on his face as you look over at him. You hesitate before you shake your head and look back over at David.

“I’m just fine.” You say, putting on your best poker face as Paul returns with a glamorously decorated bottle. He hands it to David who starts to unscrew the top. He takes a sip from the bottle and looks back over at you.

“You drink Y/N?” He asks, adjusting his position on the wheelchair and leaning over to hand you the bottle. You look down at it and slowly take it from his hands. 

“You make homemade wine or something?” You ask, smelling the liquid inside the bottle. It’s got a metallic smell to it along with the alcohol, unlike any wine you’ve smelled before. 

“You could say that.” David says with that same smug expression he’s had on for most of the night. “Why don’t you try some?” He asks. You look down at the bottle again and give it another smell. 

“Come on, try some. Don’t be a wuss.” Paul says in a teasing tone, returning to where he was sitting. Dwayne nods his head and Marko looks at you expectantly. Against your better judgment you take a drink of the wine, earning a cheer from the boys. Marko pats your shoulder in a friendly way and Paul makes a noise of excitement. Dwayne smiles and David nods his head. 

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.” David says, taking the bottle back from you and screwing the cap back on. You know it couldn’t have been normal wine, but one sip won’t kill you, what’s the worst that could happen?

[itsnotgray]

We're living different lives

Heaven only knows

If we'll make it back with all our fingers and our toes

Five years, twenty years, come back

It will always be the same

For the first time since the end of August, all of the Fantilli siblings would be under one roof. Albeit, only for three days, but it was three days that they were determined to make count.

Luca was the first to fly home, following the conclusion of the first semester. About a week later, came the twins. First was Gianna, who left straight from the rink in Nashville (as Luca could tell by the wet hair she was sporting), nearly forgetting to even tell her teammates she was leaving, eager for whatever scraps of time she could get with her family.

The minute his baby sister stepped off that plane, it was as if someone had lifted the weight of the world off his shoulders. He threw his arms around her, smothering his face in her hair as he inhaled the scent of the shampoo she’d been using since she was 14. Gianna returned the sentiment, clinging onto her older brother as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat. “Lu,” she cried into his shoulder, the relief of being reunited with one of her brothers, one of the people whose presence had been so distinctly woven into her life force, that the past few months of separation has been akin to torture, making it’s way to the surface. “Gi,” he said soothingly, tilting her head back so he could wipe her tears, the same way he used to when she was learning to skate all those years ago. A watery smile made its way onto his face as he uttered the words he’d been rehearsing for the past week, “Welcome back sorella.”

At the familiar term of endearment only her family was privy to, she launched herself at Luca, her arms encircling his neck as she began crying again. At last, her tears dried up, and she unpried herself from her Luca, mostly at the insistence of her stomach. “Now, can I go grab a snack before Mo gets here? I’d wait, but I haven’t eaten since before the game yesterday,” Gianna questioned while quickly taking out her phone to make sure her face wasn’t too terribly swollen from the tears she’d just shed. “Sure Gi, go ahead,” he responded while glancing down at his phone to check for any updates from Adam. A few beats of silence passed, before Luca glanced up, confused as to why she hadn’t walked away. He locked eyes with Gianna, who stood there awkwardly, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Do you want anything?” She questioned, voice as earnest as it always had been. He shook his head softly, and she quickly pivoted on her feet and made her way to the nearest coffee shop. Luca stared after her, a small smile on his face- it was like the old days. As long as he ignored the looming feeling of dread, dread at the fact that their time was limited, that she and Adam (who wasn’t even here yet) both left in two (technically three) days, he could pretend it was just like the old days.

Around an hour later, the third piece of their puzzle was getting off of his flight. Luca shook Gianna awake, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder shortly after returning with her snack, and barely got out the words, “Mo’s flight just landed,” before she shot up out of her seat, as if pure caffeine had just been injected into her veins. Without haste, Gianna threw herself to her feet, before quickly turning around and yanking Luca to his. “C’mon Lu, be ready- wait, which direction will he be coming from?” She spoke, the words rolling off of her tongue, too fast for her brain to comprehend, excitement taking over her body at the prospect of finally being in the same place as both of her brothers. “Should come from the left, if I scoped out the place correctly,” he said while wrapping an arm around her shoulders, as if to hold the girl back from sprinting to Adam the second she saw him.

About twenty minutes pass, before finally, Gianna catches a glimpse of the “stupid and entirely unnecessary” beanie she forced Adam to wear, so they’d be able to spot the boy from a distance. “Lu I think see him,” Gianna expressed excitedly, the girl beginning to bounce up and down on her heels, Once Adam got within a few feet of the pair, both siblings took off towards Adam, wrapping him in what their parents (who had elected to stay home, both to give the siblings time to reunite, but also to get some sleep- which they knew would be hard to do having all of their babies under one roof again) would call a “Fantilli take-down,” mostly because, had Adam not planted his feet on the ground in preparation, he easily would've fallen straight to the airport ground, which he was not about to do. The moment he felt the arms of his siblings encase him, he dropped his bags to the floor and wove his arms around someone, though he wasn't sure who, because their three bodies were so intricately woven together in this moment, it was impossible to tell where Luca ended and Gianna began. He tried to force a few words out of his mouth, but the emotional shell shock at finally reuniting with his best friends had seemingly made his brain short circuit. Yet, there was no doubt that the silent sobs that wracked his shoulders, and the tears on his cheeks said all of the words he couldn’t.

For this one brief moment, it was like the world stopped. For the first time in about four months, the pieces of the tattered, kindred spirits that resided in the each of three siblings, were at peace. At that moment, they were one soul, split into three hearts.

[deathandrainbows1]

Kanej Headcanons - Touch

They might not be the physically intimate, can’t-keep-their-hands-off-eachother type of couple but the intimacy they can find in the smallest of acts like a brush against the neck or a caress of the hand cannot be put to words. They’re both so in love with each other it makes me sick.

Kaz loves holding onto Inej’s hand, he loves how warm and how alive she feels. By now he’s memorized every vein, line and callous on her hand, to the point where he knows the back of her hand better than his own. Inej likes how gentle, almost reverent he is with her, and the way he caresses her hand with his thumb.

Similarly, Inej loves holding onto  Kaz’s hands, the hands she’d spent so long admiring in their scarred, unnatural paleness from being in his gloves so much. She likes how it makes her feel in control; The control that she’d never had in her days in the Menagerie. Kaz finds the way she holds onto his hand and intertwined their fingers together comforting. He still gets chill everytime, in the good way (most of the time, at least).

It’s comforting for the both of them, they like rubbing the other’s hand with their thumb while they’re holding onto it and on days where holding hands is too much for them, they make do with linking their pinkies together.

And there are still days where its too much, days where Kaz can’t tell the feel of a living body from that of a dead one, and days where Inej can’t tell the touch of the boy she loves from that of a customer at the Menagerie.

They understand this, and respect it. They have memorized each other’s tells, whether it be the way Kaz freezes up at the slightest brush against his hand or how Inej flinches and sighs when she’s held, even if she tries to hide it. But, they try to push past their traumas together nonetheless. It has worked too, compared to when they started.

Still, when it does become overwhelming they both know to let go and give each other the space; Coming to terms with this fact alone makes them feel so much safer and more comfortable with physical contact. They’re both helping each other heal and recover from their respective traumas, and its beautiful.

That being said, they are still just kids in love.

Kaz is still utterly entranced by Inej. He stops to stare more often than he’d like to admit and tries to play it off when she catches him. She can see through it of course, that armour means nothing to her now.

Not that she’s any better either mind you, you’d think after all they’ve been through and seen, and how often they hold hands, she’d be used to the sight of Kaz’s bare hands. She isn’t, and still turns red whenever he takes his gloves off. Kaz still hasn’t noticed, clueless as he is but Inej is convinced that he does it on purpose.

Sleeping together in one bed is difficult, not that they haven’t tried. The amount of physical contact can get too much, too many nights Kaz has woken up in a cold sweat, shaking from nightmares about the Reaper Barge, and too often has Inej nearly stabbed Kaz after nightmares about the Menagerie. 

The solution? Separate beds.

They keep two beds next to each other separated by a small distance, that way they’re still close without quite touching. They still hold hands or link pinkies between the beds though it helps them sleep.

And on the days where they both can handle it, they push the beds together. It might take them a while before they’re comfortable enough to cuddle, but just the warmth and proximity is enough for the both of them for now.

Oh and Kaz absolutely does Inej’s hair.

It was therapeutic once they realised that its easier for the both of them when he touches hair rather than her skin. She finds it relaxing, and he is enchanted by her hair. She taught him how to oil it, brush it and braid it, and its almost a nightly or every-other-nightly ritual for them, Inej sitting there while Kaz does her hair. 

I do think that they would eventually become comfortable enough to move on to more intimate things, but that would probably take a long, long time.

[8ttached]

"One last time"

pairings - fontaine x blk fem reader

a/n : hey guys! I haven’t posted here in so long i hope y'all still hungry for Fontaine fics… but srsly came back with an overwhelming amount of love thank you all so much oh em geeee!! This was a scrap and I’m sure y'all can tell but bear with me lmaoo I'm thinking about making a pt2 just cus I feel like the plot/smut ratio is a little unfair (sorry) but anyway enjoy bookies!!! 

Warnings - 18+ smut minors dni!!, public sex, breakup/makeup sex, mentions of aave/n-word, more so plot than smut.

“I think we should stop seeing each other.” 

the last thing you said to Fontaine before you guys became no-contact for weeks.  Lately, you've been worried about Fontaine both mentally and physically. Losing homies and being around streets he got no business being in. but every time you mention any concern for him, his ears go mute. Him saying shit like “I’m cool” and “I’m fine” never cleared your cloud of fear. Yet, he continued his shenanigans. You knew as someone who grew up with a good family and a great upbringing, you shouldn’t be dealing with someone as reckless as him let alone dating. But deep down you loved him. You loved how he had a soft spot for you, or how he always reassured you whenever you were feeling unmotivated or unwell, even when he’d run baths and rub your feet as you rested. You knew Fontaine was a good person, all you wanted was for him to be more careful. 

You told yo-yo about your recent breakup and all she could say was

“I told you niggas ain’t shit, at least Fontaine isn’t.” she’s folding her clothes while you sit at her house head to the knees seconds away from breaking down. “He coo’ as a friend but relationship? Girl…. If toxicity was a city, that man would be mayor, believe that!” she whistles. She always did when she talked about anyone. Both bitches and niggas. You didn’t know how to live without him. Not only was he your lover, but he was your friend. Best friend at that. You’ve been through thin and thick together. Being each other’s comfort on different days and different nights. What were you thinking? You couldn’t live without him.

This was three weeks ago

Now, you're sitting at your desk organizing your planner, adding stickers, and color-coding events with colored pens and highlighters till you get a call. You look at your phone and notice the call came from an unknown number. “Now who the hell..” you whispered to yourself. It didn’t take till the 5th ring for you to just say fuck it and answer. You held the phone up to your ear, slowing down your breathing to try and hear something from the other end, till your heart dropped. 

“y/n?”

The familiar deep voice. The tone, the way he said your name, everything made your eyes widen from realization.

It was Fontaine.

You frown your eyebrows as your throat tightens. What happened to seperating? What happened to no contact? You felt sick. all of your love, your concerns, and your worries for Fontaine came all at once. You gasped lightly as you whispered his name. 

“I miss you, I wanna see you again”

Your heart sinks, just when you’ve already heard enough. You ended things with Fontaine. You were done with him. He should be done with you, so why is he calling you? and from an unknown phone number at that? “See me again? Fontaine, what do you not understand by separating? Your tone obviously sounded pissed. You were upset. This wasn’t gonna help anything between you guys. But deep down, you were happy to hear from him. You were more than glad to know that he’s still alive and okay.

“Look, I know we suppose to be alone n shit but lemme at least see yo’ pretty ass one last time, end things on good terms.”

One last time.

You take a deep sigh. 

“That’s it, one last time”

You tried to exchange a place to meet up but he insisted to pick you up and take you out for “lunch n shit.” You started getting dressed, wearing something casual but sexy, to remind Fontaine of what he’s gonna miss out on. Wearing your favorite perfume combinations, lathering your deep color legs with cocoa butter. you made sure to throw on anything Fontaine couldn’t resist. As soon as you heard the two honks from out your window, you knew it was go time.

You open the door to Fontaine smoking. The blunt between both his thick lips and his rough fingers, the view of it could make you bite your lips. Fuck the lunch date and fuck the back seat you needed him in the driver’s seat right then and there! But you wasnt gonna admit that especially with the position you were currently in. he noticed your googly eyes toward him causing his lips to sneak a smile. “Y’tryna smoke?” he lends you the blunt but you shake your head as you shake your hand in the same direction. “I’m here for lunch, not no smoke sesh” you declined. “Mkay” he sets the blunt down as he shifts the gear and drives off. slouching on the car seat, left-hand steering while the other on his thigh, manspreading with the most obvious tent in his pants. The view made your legs quiver. 

“You mind if we make a stop real quick?” the male asks without moving his sight away from the street. “Nah do what you gotta do.” you weren’t expecting anything crazy, but you also weren’t expecting him to park in some random ass empty parking lot. “I’d be lying if I said I ain’t miss you,” Taine says. But it was quiet. So quiet that it took time to understand what he said. “taine, don’t start this shit with me, I came here for lunch, not so you can convince me to stay with you while you do what I left you for.” your tone started from upsetness to disappointment. “I love you, and there ain’t nothing that’d change it, but it’s draining having to worry about where you are and even if you’re alive” You look down as you fidget with your hands. “I had to grieve someone who’s still here so I wouldn’t have to once you’re gone.” he understood how you felt but unlike you, he had a rough upbringing. Being around drugs and introduced to dealing at a young age. of course, it was gonna be hard and nearly impossible to get out of what he started in. he loved you dearly but he knew it would be a crazy idea to just up and go. He sighs as he licks his lips.  “Lemme try to figure shit out, I ain’t promising nun, but I’ll try to reduce all the crazy shi, ight?” you look at him with deception. “You sure? I don’t gotta worry about whether ya ass is injured or dead?” you frown. “I ain’t say allat, I said ill try. It’s gonna take time” you sigh. You’re more than happy that Fontaine is at least trying to get out of what he’s in. The awkward silence filled the room quickly.

“But, until then” Fontaine stretches as he lets his seat down. “How bout you tell me why you came out like that, just for lunch” he mocks you as you smack your lips at the question. “Damn, I can’t look good now?” you smile, analyzing Fontaine. You knew Fontaine for years. You knew what he liked and when he liked it, and as of right now, he was ready to take ya ass to poundtown. “Nah, unless there’s a reason you wore them scents ykno’ i like.” you had that man looking up and down in greed and lust and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling the same way either. After moments of intense eye contact, you were on top of Fontaine. grinding your sweats on his jeans, moaning through the messy, passionate kiss, hands holding his locs, desperate for any and all of Fontaine. Hands gripping your ass through your sweatpants, seamlessly and eagerly pulling them off while kissing your glistening breasts as he pulled down the zipper, teasing you as he planted hickies from the neck down. Lord, how were you gonna explain to yo-yo how they suddenly got there? 

You knew this was wrong, you knew ‘one last time’ would turn into multiple. But you couldn’t stop.

“I missed you so much, I missed this” he mumbled in between each kiss. Each one being sloppier and more passionate. You couldn’t say anything. You were so caught up in the pleasure that all you could do was sigh and moan. “Damn I see you missed me too” he grins as he rubs his fingers on your clit, spreading the wetness all over your inner thigh. “Don’t you think that’s why I-” You get interrupted by the male’s thick fingers teasing his way inside. You couldn’t do anything but grip his shirt and rub yourself against him to get anything from him. “Please don’t stop Fontaine..” you gasp, lying your forehead against his shoulder. All you could do is gush and melt onto him. “Im not gonna stop ma,  haven’t seen ya’ass in a month and i still know what you like” and with that you fell apart, cuming all over Fontaine hands. Rolling your eyes back and crying, practically screaming his name.

After a moment you finally catch your breath slightly raising your head up to look at Fontaine’s reaction and his cheesy ass was smiling. “Damn you must of really missed me” he laughs at the mess you have yet to see. “huh?” you sigh as you look back and notice a nice-sized wet spot on his pants. “shit im so sorry i didn’t mean to-” you get caught off by a heavy sigh “shit! how we supposed to eat when I look like I dun’ pissed myself” you laugh. “You can wear my sweater around your waist” you suggested but Fontaine had a different idea. “Nah, ima change at the house after i finish what you started” he lazily wraps his arm around you enjoying your defense argument on how he started this whole thing.

We all knew that one last time was gonna be a few.

[itsdrawingmen]

We need to talk about Zen.

Every character in Mystic Messenger is a tragic one, and the Casual Story trio is often disregarded in that respect. But there is one character for whom I’ve hardly seen it explored at all. Maybe it’s because his route sucks such major ass, or because he’s honestly a bit of an asshole, misogynistic, homophobic, and ableist; or maybe it’s because his trauma is only briefly, fleetingly mentioned, as he and his friends refer to it, and then quickly brush it aside.

Zen Ryu, beautiful, stupid, and self-absorbed, is, on the surface, a perfect comic relief character, a beloved himbo, brash but well-intentioned. And I think this wonderful actor has been playing that role so well that he has fooled everyone, including the fandom.

Some character exploration and the uncropped art under the cut.

It’s no secret that Zen’s selfishness is nothing but a coping mechanism, masking a deep-set fear of inadequacy and paralysing self-doubt. It’s stated explicitly by Ray in Another Story, and it’s pretty evident from the way Zen is quick to worry there’s nothing more to him than his looks.

It’s obvious where he got it, considering how his mother treated him and his passions, and how his brother turned his back on him when he needed him the most. But there are more things I haven’t seen discussed anywhere, and I have a lot of thoughts and headcanons, and simply questions, so let’s start from the very beginning.

It’s made very clear in Zen’s route that his early life was… well, horrible. As early as kindergarten, he started getting singled out for his looks. Strangers kept staring at him and wanting to touch him, which bothered his mother.

Instead of getting on their child’s side, little Hyun’s parents tried to convince him he was ugly, to ‘humble’ him. It’s said that they just wanted him to be successful and to have a stable, secure life. Well, good intentions pave the road to hell, as it’s said. What they got as a result was a child who was harassed and stalked at school and in the streets with no one to confide in but his brother, who didn’t explicitly dismiss it, but still made light of it.

A little interesting point:

Make a note here of the ‘protection’ line, because I will get back to it later.

Anyway, whatever small support and understanding little Hyun’s brother provided him with, it wasn’t meant to last. Zen states that their parents treated them so differently they effectively separated them.

When he entered middle school and found passion for music, what his mother saw was her son turning to a precarious road and basically undermining his future. When she tried to convince him his dreams were stupid, Hyun’s brother took her side, leaving Hyun without the last person in his family who supported him. So little Hyun ran away from home, and thus began the story of Zen.

And here is where things get interesting. Zen left home when he was in middle school. A middle schooler in South Korea is anywhere between 12 and 15 years old. And a person living on their own must eat something and sleep somewhere. But here’s the catch: you can only rent if you are at least 19 (I’m assuming, Korean-19, so 18), and you can technically work part-time jobs starting at 13, but you need parental permission for that. And for any full-time job you must be 18. And this is the first big question with no easy answer: how did little Hyun survive after he left home? Where did he live, and what did he eat?

We can assume that for a while, he stayed with his friends, whom he for some reason tried to hide from his parents.

However, it would have been problematic for him to make it a long-term arrangement. If his friends were teenagers like him, their parents would be likely to tell his family where he was so that they would come collect their son. And if the friends were older and employed, it’s doubtful they would be well off enough to host a dependent long-term, unless there was something sinister going on. So the question remains: where did he live and what did he eat?

He mentions part-time jobs and extortion as sources of income, he worked night shifts to make ends meet, and there are also the mysterious 'bad things' that we will get back to later. But there are more variables here than just money.

Well, as far as I can tell, the answer to that is right here:

And now, I want you to stop for a moment and think about what this implies.

A child in his early teens (I like to assume 13-14), and a very pretty child at that, with a history of harassment that was never addressed, let alone stopped, finds himself on the street (at this point, we can presume: homeless and hungry). And he catches the eye of gangsters. Perhaps it’s my fresh experience watching ‘Banana Fish’ speaking (definitely not, I've had this conviction basically since I saw 'bad things' mentioned), but I want to really ask you: what do you think gangsters are likely to do with a beautiful and vulnerable young boy, besides use him for petty crimes Zen admits on the screens above? What 'bad things' could he have been forced to do to survive?

This admission by Zen himself doesn’t help my train of thoughts at all:

Of course, this is said in the context of exploitation at work, but given the gangs and the ‘bad things’, one can’t help but draw a connection.

Besides, this is where that screen I told you to take note of comes into play. Zen says that after middle school, he understood what his parents were trying to protect him from, essentially what dangers being pretty entailed. It couldn’t have been the usual harassment that he had been facing since kindergarten, he would have understood that by then. Another interesting point is that for someone with a gangster past, Zen is suspiciously gender nonconforming in his looks, and mellow in general demeanour. Yes, he’s rough around the edges, he’s homophobic, misogynistic, and foul-mouthed, but he isn’t really violent. Someone who used to fit in with gangs, especially as a youth, I would think, looks and acts differently. And this all takes me to a very grim conclusion: I firmly don’t believe that a good-looking and vulnerable child with no support network and with a history of harassment survived in gangs without being molested or sexually exploited once.

But let’s not delve into my headcanons and continue with the facts we have. These bits and pieces that come together to form a picture of Zen’s teenage years already paint a pretty morbid picture. But he made it big, became an actor, and left it all behind, and he’s happy in the canon timeline, right? Right?!

Wrong.

The most obvious thing is the contents of Zen’s fridge, which Jaehee points out when she goes to see him.

It’s referenced many times in the game, Zen lightheartedly says he often skips meals and in general eats pretty badly, and I think even V refers to it. And it’s easy to chalk it up to his insane diets and the expectations of his body and looks that he has to maintain to stay in the industry. Or, if you are a little like me and like to assume the worst, you can also attribute it to Zen’s borderline self-harming workaholism. But I think there’s a little bit more to it, and the key to it is actually where Zen lives.

I remember being a little confused as to why everyone was surprised that Zen lived in a semi-basement.

But I didn’t give it much thought, after all, semi-basements seem to be cheaper here as well, and Zen’s flat looked pretty nice on CGs (if extremely beige). And it wasn’t until recently when I was talking to a colleague about his friend sharing her experience in Korea that I learned that semi-basements were actually a signature dwelling of the poorest, and seemingly a clearly understandable trope for a Korean. Those semi-basement apartments are often at risk of flooding, which is apparently a well-known fact, and also why they’re supposed to be banned as residential quarters. And, of course, Zen is quick to tell everyone he likes that place with poor ventilation and little sunlight, because it’s Zen, after all. He has that working class mentality because he’s cool, and he likes underground apartments and old tech.

But it seems that the picture of his present life is also pretty grim. Now, I’m not in South Korea, and I know little about how theatre actors are paid there, but I can tell you what I know from several actor/actress friends here in Ukraine: theatre actors aren’t, unfortunately, paid shit. Even the ones you recognise and talk about, working in cool popular theatres, drop over half of their salary to rent a shitty apartment, and are left wondering what they’re going to eat. So it seems pretty likely to me that Zen’s empty fridge, old computer and mp3 player, daily subway commute, and semi-basement apartment all point to one simple fact: he’s simply poor.

And to make it worse, he seems to be extremely lonely.

I’m pretty sure he also mentions isolating himself when he’s feeling bad, but I can’t seem to find screenshots for that anywhere.

All that said, when the fandom looks at Zen, they see a self-absorbed himbo, the ‘don’t kill yourself you so sexy aha’ type of guy. And he is, and I think he’s hilarious, and I’m the first one to laugh at him tbh. But when I look at him for a little longer than a second, I see a young man who has been harassed to hell and back starting as early as kindergarten, who never graduated from school, who ran away from home in his early teens, worked multiple jobs, and still had to resort to crime to make ends meet. I see a young man who was once a vulnerable teen at the mercy of gangsters, who had to learn that all help comes with strings attached. And I see a young man struggling silently with poverty while maintaining a facade of a glamorous and charming actor.

And I think the charming actor has fooled everyone.

[acediaedeus]

this does contain them sweet

SPOILERS

what I find really upsetting about Ichigo’s dynamic with his friends/family/mentors is how they treat the fact that he’s part-Hollow. especially when it comes to the Visored and Orihime.

bc yeah, the Visored did struggle with their Hollows, bc they already lived hundreds of years without that aspect. they were comfortable with their shinigami existence, but then this hollowfication bullshit drops on their heads and suddenly they’re not only barely in control of themselves, constantly in a fight with an inner “demon”, but also there’s no one to support them AND they’re getting fucking exiled and then they exist as this tightly knit community of eight for a fucking century with no one to understand them but each other. I’d hate the Hollow in me too, probably.

BUT, then there’s this fresh guy, that hasn’t accepted the fact that he’s now an amalgamation of a million different things, including something that he has been told he has to fight and exterminate, that they have to teach to manage the hollowfication bullshit™️ so what do we do? correct, scare the shit out of him and present existing with a Hollow as amensalism (one is harmed, one is unaffected) or parasitism (one benefits, one is harmed) when it’s more like commensalism (one benefits, one is unaffected), in which the shinigami is clearly the one who’s benefiting from this.

(although we could argue that for the Visored this is a symbiotic relationship in which both are getting harmed, but even then the shinigami still gains benefit and the Hollow gets nothing but hatred, so like, fuck them, lol (I’m advocating for inner-Hollow rights 💀🙏🏻)).

biology lesson out of the way, they essentially do not teach Ichigo anything that would bring long-term benefits (we see this when Ichigo is unable to complete his training with Squad 0, bc he has no fucking idea who Zangetsu (or he himself) actually is (this is, of course, in part his quincy power’s doing, but I wouldn’t say his supposed “mentors” helped much).

in conclusion what does Ichigo get out of this? self-hatred and the habit to suppress what is, whichever way you look at it, a big part of his being, thus blocking himself and Zangetsu from reaching their full potential.

but I guess you can’t teach lessons you haven’t learnt yourself, so there is that with the Visored.

now onto my dear Orihime, who I love dearly (this is a disclaimer). for someone who, supposedly, loves Ichigo more than anything and who we have to take seriously as not only just a potential love-interest, but the actual, one-and-only lover, she is a little bit too scared of Ichigo.

this, of course, for me, begs the question of how am I supposed to accept a love-interest who is consistently terrified of the mc? not a single battle with Orihime present (and Ichigo using the mask) without her shaking in fear and having to be reminded by others (who have known him for much less time than she has), that not only is it still Ichigo in front of her, but he’s also fighting and pulling out the mask he himself doesn’t like much, in order to protect her.

it’s plain and simple upsetting how there’s absolutely no one to accept and embrace the essence of Kurosaki Ichigo. everyone around him wants the shinigami and human in him, no one is interested in the Hollow (except for *ahem* Grimmjow *ahem*), all they do is reject and cower and isn’t that fucking hypocritical after hiding behind his back and begging him to save them?

everyone around Ichigo just really pisses me off with their constant whining. I feel like the only ones who love and cherish Ichigo for the absolute gem of a person he is are Chad and the fucking Arrancars 💀🙏🏻

as I mentioned in the ALT to the last photo in this parade of idiocy: trying to separate and think of Hollow Ichigo and Ichigo as two different entities is crazy and delusional behaviour, bc we have been told countless times, that a person’s inner Hollow is a manifestation of all repressed emotions and traits that they view as unsavoury. which for Ichigo happened to be aggression, cruelty, being merciless and thirst for bloody battles.

let me remind everyone that you cannot truly love a person w/o accepting and acknowledging all their flaws (including yourself).

this is not me trying to say Orihime doesn’t love Ichigo, it’s not really about the characters, more so the writing. I am actively trying to square up with Tite Kubo. for many reasons, but this is one of the ones I pay most attention to.

Ichigo is someone who is in perfect control of himself, who protects no matter what, bc even when he turned into the vasto lorde (after getting his heart ripped out of his chest) it was all his Hollow, yet it still carried out the mission of protection seamlessly, that’s how strong his will is. Kurosaki Ichigo deserves ppl who actually love him around, thank you.

thanks for coming to this ted talk, love y’all!